#or soon after while her anger and grief are at its most fresh

[millidew]

can someone write a toga time loop/travel fic where she tries to prevent twice’s death please

[strawbabysimp]

Sous-Chef || Jealous!Zoro x Reader

Genre: Light Angst

Category: Jealous!Zoro x GN!Reader

Warning(s): Misunderstandings, Obsessive Working Out, Relationship Insecurities

Request(s): "Hello!!! I found your blog a few days ago and I felt like I absolutely had to make a HC request! Your writing is amazing!! Do you think you can do a HC on Zoro having a partner who likes to cook and shares the kitchen with sanji? maybe a little jealousy?"

A/N: I started this as headcanons but I got a bit carried away and it became a fic~ I hope you don't mind💕

"Those two are getting along pretty well, huh?"

Zoro looked up from his lap, his drift into slumber interrupted by the long-nosed sniper's words. His brow furrowed in confusion before following Usopp's gaze, catching sight of you and Sanji laughing amongst yourselves about something he wasn't privy to by the kitchen door. He wasn't surprised to see you there, often spotting you alongside the chef cooking up some new recipe he didn't understand the specifics of but would end up eating nonetheless. At his Nakama's lack of response, Usopp hurried to calm down the already cool-headed man. "Not that anything's, ya know, happening, or anything like that! I didn't mean that- I mean... You know what I meant." Zoro shrugged off his concerns inturn for returning to his attempt at sleep, this time without interruption from his crewmate.

He fell asleep to the sound of laughter.

~~~

The next day was interesting, having woken up to the shuffling of clothes and hushed voices. His senses were keen and he picked up on the ones responsible for the disturbance immediately. What were you and Sanji doing?

"Hurry up before you wake up the Marimo. I have something to show you!" The cook's voice was raspy in his attempt at quietness and Zoro was tempted to steal a peek at whatever was so interesting you had to get up before sunrise to see. "Shhhh!" You scolded the other man's insistent words.

Right after the initial shock of this wore off, a much more cynical thought made its way into his head.

He wasn't welcome. That's why you hadn't woken him up. That's why he couldn't come along with you, clinging close to your side in the morning air as you laughed off the curly-brow's stare of discontent at the sight of him. Whatever this thing between you and Sanji was, Zoro had no place in it and that notion was supported by the both of you. Zoro wasn't welcome in this part of your life, even as a spectator, and you had made sure of that.

You stepped out the door and his heart ached. He wasn't mad - not at you at least. He was confused. He hated being confused. Anger at least meant he understood the situation, but right now, he was left alone in the bed you and he were meant to share, feeling far too lonely for a man whose partner was just outside.

You came back in after some time, getting back into bed with a content sigh, the heat of his body warming you up from the cold dawn air. He was stiff beside you and you called his name in a low voice. He didn't respond to your questioning tone and you gave a soft smile to his relaxed face.

Zoro could only sense your stare, not your feelings, and turned over with a small, well-placed groan.

~~~

The light shined through under the door and it was Zoro's turn to wake up before you. It had to have been a few hours since your mysterious departure and return to the room and while he was still plagued by the many questions your actions left in his mind, no good could be done laying around.

He quickly got ready for the day, fixing his clothes in the mirror for a split second before heading out to the deck. The smell of food hit him and he knew that whatever the cook was making was going to be good. Not a surprise. Despite the pleasant aroma, his calm mood shifted and he wanted nothing more than to get away from the tell-tale signs of breakfast.

"Zoro!"

Your voice rang across the deck and his chest tightened. He turned around to face you, the soft smile on your face a welcome sight no matter any internal struggles he was facing. He knew trust was a difficult and sometimes fatal thing but he truly did have faith in the fact you wouldn't do anything to hurt him. This was his own issue. He trusted you(and Sanji but he wasn't about to say that).

He put off his training for a later time, the cook calling out that food was ready soon after you had approached him. Everyone quickly gathered and as the food was placed down, forks at ready to fend off their Captain's gluttonous hands, the Strawhats dug in. Your thigh was pressed against Zoro's and in the approaching winter island weather - and truly any instance at all - the contact was most welcome. Zoro poked at your plate playfully, expecting a laugh as he half-heartedly went for your food, but was surprised to see it garnered no reaction. His eyes traveled up your neck and he spotted your upturned lips which had a small smile of his own gracing his face, but as he looked at your eyes he realized you weren't paying attention to him in the slightest. You were looking at Sanji. And he was smiling back.

The pleasant expression on the swordman's face dropped away and he went back to eating, catching Robin's eye whilst doing so. The two shared a blank look and Zoro nodded at her before continuing his meal.

Your cheek pressed against his shoulder as he chewed around his fork, the warmth that filled him at the action burning in a masochistic sort of way. He knew he should talk to you but some part of him was scared of the answer and avoiding feelings was something Zoro did best. Be logical and win. That's all he had to do. But was there even something to win? And if so, hadn't Sanji already won?

The affectionate gesture received no reaction just as his had before and you removed yourself from his warmth.

~~~

Breakfast ended and with a quick press to your forehead Zoro was off, no doubt going to train up until lunch. The smile you received was tender yet rushed and you tried to trust in the fact that Zoro would come to you if something was wrong. Confronting him made him uncomfortable and you tried to avoid that when possible, giving him a place to express himself freely without forcing it out of him.

You made your way back into the kitchen, asking Sanji if he needed help with anything. He turned down your offer politely, content with the process of making the crew drinks on his own, but at the look on your face, he changed his mood. Directing you off into the food storage to get him some supplies, what he had originally planned to be a simple hot chocolate was now turning into an assortment of treats. He could tell you needed something to distract you and what better than cooking alongside the ship's gifted chef to soothe your need for occupation.

The snacks practically made themselves, you and Sanji working in sync as you gave the occasional comment or request. By the time it was done, there laid mugs of hot chocolate topped with fresh whipped cream and an assortment of cookies for everyone to choose from that would hopefully satisfy them until lunch was ready.

Sanji took the liberty of handing out the food to the ladies, stopping by Chopper as well because who could resist the cuteness of the blue-nosed creature. It was hard to believe anyone could consider him anything other than adorable perfection. You were of course stuck with the boys, balancing the dishes as you handed them off with a word of thanks from the recipients - or the occasional attempt at grabbing another serving.

The only person left was Zoro and when you didn't find him in his usual napping spot you crossed the deck with a sigh. That man truly was too predictable.

"Hey Y/N! Looking for Zoro?" Usopp questioned, the chocolatey drink coating his upper lip as he smiled. You nodded. "He said he wanted to be left alone to train. I'll graciously take his food though!" The sniper reached out for the goods, taking them from your frozen hands as you frowned. You always delivered Zoro's food to him when he trained, even if it went cold he ate it just so you would stop by to bring it to him. Maybe something really was wrong with your boyfriend.

~~~

Zoro's muscles ached under the strain of the weights, he had lost count of the reps by now and had no intention of stopping any time soon. His arms begged him to put them down, already far surpassing his goal for the workout session, but he couldn't. He found peace in the rhythmic movements and the pain only seemed to calm his mind. The endorphins in his brain fueled him on and he could easily see himself becoming addicted to the act; if he wasn't already that is.

All the anger and confusion faded into the background as his body screamed at him to stop. The sweat dripped down his face and the plain white shirt he adorned was soaked through with the moisture. He would have taken it off but that would require a break and that wasn't something his mind allowed at the moment. He let the fabric cling to his body as he focused on the movements.

A knock at the entrance had him dropping the heavy equipment without a second thought, looking over to where he had set his swords. He worked to catch his breath, the pain in his chest yet to subside due to the lengths he had pushed himself when the smell of tobacco flooded his senses.

"What are you doing, Marimo?" Sanji said without his usual instigating tone, the cigarette balanced against his lip as he spoke. The declared "Marimo" huffed, not happy to be interrupted by the main cause of his grief.

"Get out."

"I'll leave when you get your grassy head out of your ass and stop doing whatever it is you're doing."

"And what exactly am I doing, Cook?"

Sanji shot him a look, annoyed by his Nakama's false ignorance. His next words weren't a suggestion. "Fix this."

He turned around without another word, leaving Zoro alone once again, his only company being the cigarette smoke lingering in the air as a cruel reminder of the other's words.

~~~

Zoro didn't have the will to leave the space, the workout equipment surrounding his now near-sleeping form. He knew avoiding the issue would only make it worse but the comfort of being alone to dwell in his ill feelings was too tempting to resist. Just as he was about to lay down for a quick nap a knock broke him out of his wallowing state. Could he not get an ounce of peace on this damn ship?

His eyes widened at the person approaching.

"Y/N?"

"The one and only," you said in a somber voice, approaching the man. You weren't used to the lack of alcohol flooding your senses as you got close. He always smelled a bit of the drink and the small difference had you shifting on your feet, only adding to the uncomfortable mess of the situation.

You sighed, tugging Zoro up and along behind you as he simply gazed at you in confusion. He wanted to rip his arm away from your grasp, not a fan of being grabbed so harshly, but the lack of physical contact between you two left him a little more lenient if it meant he could touch you.

The trek to the food storage was silent, the tension between you two lessening slightly despite no words being exchanged. You caught a few looks from the others, some sending concerned frowns or even a stern glare from Sanji directed at your boyfriend. He didn't come in here often unless it was to steal alcohol - he came in here pretty often - and the way his eyes shifted around the room made it obvious he was uncomfortable with the situation yet decided to stay to see whatever this was through.

You let go of his arm to make your way over to the corner, pulling a box into view that had Zoro walking over himself to see. The top came off with a crack and you moved over slightly so he could get a better look from beside you. The container was filled with what looked to be little balls of algae but couldn't possibly be from how they sat on top of one another.

"Sanji found these on the last island. He said they reminded him of you, well, he said they looked like some sort of moss ball which is basically the same thing-"

Your words faded off into the background as Zoro peered down at the box, the contents staring back at him mockingly. He picked one of the fruits up, surprised at the hard exterior, and turned to face you.

"Is this why you snuck off yesterday?"

God, he felt stupid.

"Snuck off?" Your eyes widened in realization.

"It was supposed to a surprise! I thought maybe I could make you something with them. I would never... What did you think was happening?"

Zoro met your gaze with a shrunken expression. His words sounding pitiful to his own ears. "I didn't know what to think Y/N," his hand came up to card through his hair as his eyes shut, "I didn't want to think anything."

You gave a soft smile, knowing the conversation could get far too grim at a time that was supposed to be pleasant. "Sanji wanted to show these to me. I think he wanted to do something nice for us. He can be a bit of a dick," Zoro laughed at your words, "but he's sweet." There was a million different things he could say in that moment to counteract your words but decided against it. The weight that had been crushing his ribs finally dispersed and with a smirk he asked, "So, what can you make with these?"

You grinned, going off on a tangent about all the things you and Sanji had tried, the swordsman watching with bright eyes at the enthusiastic verbal reenactment of your cooking trials.

[capitainelevi]

For @pufferssss, happy late birthday!! ❤️

Waiting for sunrise

Words: 2968

The first and last time Levi visits Petra`s grave.

Levi arranged his cravat again, self-conscious at the thought of visiting her for the first time. He stood frozen in place, with a bouquet of orange lilies in his hand. Her favorite flowers. Just a mere coincidence, not an effort on his part, of course. He never imagined he would visit her here so early on. Staring at the newly carved headstone, he tried to set aside the nagging thought that the earth underneath it only held an empty coffin.

What should he say to her?

“Your dad came to see me after the mission, and I had to tell him that I don`t even have a body to bring back home to him”?

“I failed in getting justice for you and the guys”?

“I miss your tea”?

The only words he could spurt out were “Hi, Ral.”

He groaned at his awkwardness and settled on presenting her with the flowers he chose for her. He could feel his hands getting sweaty from anxiousness, much to his confusion. He had nothing to be nervous about. It was just Petra in front of him. His subordinate. Petra, who fought by his side for years. Who swore to devote her life to him. Just his Petra.

Levi sat on the ground next to the gravestone, unconcerned about the dirt he would have to clean out of his clothes at the end of the day. “I hope you can hear me, wherever you are. I like to think you`re listening.” He never spent much time concerning himself with death and the life that supposedly followed it, but ever since losing them as well, he found himself wishing they were happy. He knew that those brats would be wasting the rest they earned to look over him, no matter how much he objected.

“I hope you like the spot I chose for you. It`s sunny, but you also get some shade from the tree. I thought you`d like listening to birds singing." On their free days, he could always spot Petra with a book on her lap, under the shade of the oak tree in their yard. He never dared to bother her, worried he would disturb the angelic aura of the image, content with being fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of it. He never dared get so close to the sun.

"I`m going to bring some flowers we can plant next time I visit. I know you had a green thumb.” Levi omitted in letting her know it only took a month for the plant in his office that she cared for years to wither away in his care. Or maybe it just knew Petra would never be back.

Levi closed his eyes, lulled to sleep by the quietness around him and the feeling of the afternoon sky on his skin, considering if someone would bother him if he moved to the tree trunk to nap. He craved some peace.

“I`m sorry I didn`t get to come earlier. You missed a real shit show in Sina.” He took a glance at his wounded leg and sighed. “It`s not as bad as it looks, no need to mother me.”

Without raising his eyes from the ground in front of him, Levi admitted to her in a hoarse voice- “I kept calling out orders for you, and Erwin had to remind me that you`re not here anymore. Like I could ever fucking forget.”

Despite the emptiness in his chest, he went on- “Eren misses you. I really wish you could help me manage that brat. You always knew what to say to him. Hange misses you. I… everyone misses you.” They left a hole behind that he doubted he would ever patch.

Levi cleaned off some dust from her headstone before promising her he would be back as soon as he could.

As promised, the second time Levi visited her, he got her some daisies to plant next to her resting place. After wiping his hands clean on a rag, Levi sat down against the tree trunk to admire his work. He was sure Petra would be proud of the progress he made regarding gardening. He had even gotten a new plant to replace the one on his desk.

“Tch, not talkative today, are we? That`s alright, you know I always talk a lot.”

Visiting her calmed his restless spirit. His anxiety over the plan, his worry over Erwin`s wellbeing, his longing to have his old squad by his side again, they were all pilling up for the last few days. Levi found himself losing even more sleep lately. But he would never tell her that since it would most likely end in another one of her scoldings.

“You`re missing it, the final push. The brat`s finally going to do it, he`s going to seal the Wall.” Levi hoped that they would be able to carry out the mission. That his squad`s sacrifice to keep Eren alive would not have been in vain.

“You`re not being fair, are you? You already know what we will find in the basement, and yet you keep it all to yourself. Tch, be like that.” Would it all be worth it? The pain, the countless sacrifices, and the lives lost along the way? He wished Petra could answer that for him.

He never wanted to upset her, but Petra always encouraged him to let others help him carry the burden. Levi took a deep breath before speaking again- “I think Eren misses you. He`s been going on about how he wants to visit you again. Bring you flowers. To help me maintain this place clean." Levi rolled his eyes again and the memory. "Like I would ever need his help with that.”

Levi took the ribbon out of his pocket and started fiddling with it, ignoring the slight pang of guilt at how he came into its possession.

“I hope you won`t mind I took that.” The first night he spent without them, Levi found himself roaming the empty corridors of the castle. When his steps took him in front of Petra`s door, the urge to hold on to something physical to remember her overtook his sense of shame. He was aware that her belongings would go back to her parents in the next few days, but he hoped the red ribbon Petra used to tie her hair with would not be missed.

“I took your patch at first. I was going to keep it in my breast pocket. To have a reminder of your sacrifice. But when I saw that kid eaten up by guilt, I knew what I had to do. I knew what you would have wanted me to do with it.” He had no regrets about that. It was the perfect way to honor the kindest soldier the Survey Corps ever had.

When the light began to fade, Levi got up from his spot and left without saying another word to Petra. He did not want to say goodbye to her. Levi felt no need for it since death could be in his cards the next day. And he could get to see her again sooner than he thought.

The third time Levi visited her, it was not with a flower bouquet in his hand but with a bottle of cheap alcohol he found on Moblit`s desk. That night, Levi allowed grief to consume him.

"Erwin died. But I have a feeling you know that already, don`t you?" Levi wiped his nose with the back on his hand, too absorbed in his anger to even care about the disgusting habit.

"Are you mad at him? Are you mad that he chose to sacrifice your life?"

But only silence greeted him.

"Are you mad that I didn`t even question it?"

No answer again. The rage burning inside him overtook him, and Levi smashed the bottle against the headstone.

"Shit. I`m sorry, I shouldn`t have done that." Levi crouched down and collected the pieces of the bottle into his handkerchief. The grief, the anger, and now the shame for denigrating her place of rest were eating him alive.

"We found out the truth, you know? It`s a shitty world out there, Ral. But I have a feeling not even that would have cut off your wings."

Levi found himself craving touch. Her touch. And for the first time in his life, he felt the need to be comforted. He smiled to himself bitterly. How cruel must the deity who created him be for making him desire the impossible?

The fourth time Levi visited her, he brought a special gift for her. A small, odd thing that Armin called seashell.

“We saw the sea today. Just a big old pile of saltwater. But you would have loved it.”

Seeing the brats play in the water with carefree smiles on their face made him yearn for a glimpse of amber hair in the picture. He missed them all dearly.

“I would have to pull you out of it by the collar of your shirt, I bet.” For as devoted and strict as she was, Petra always seemed to cause him distress. Not that he minded it, of course. Levi found himself wishing to hear her timid knocks on his door again, even in the middle of the night. He longed for those times, where she shyly approached him after needing his help in whatever problem she found herself stuck in again.

While that was not his intention when he first came to her, his heart was heavy with words he never said to her. "The world hates us, Ral." He could never imagine how someone would ever detest someone as kind as Petra just for the blood running in her veins. But if he had to be true to himself, a part of him hated Petra as well.

"Maybe I hate you too."

Petra broke his promises to him, after all. Two years ago, when death was imminent on an expedition, and Petra put down her swords in acceptance, Levi fought with her. He made her promise she would make it to the end. That she would be by his side the day they kill the last titan.

"Do you remember your promises to me? Such bullshit. Never thought you were a liar, Petra."

But Levi knew she would have never left him had she had a choice. That she would have fought for even just a second more by his side. But it never dulled the pain of losing her.

With a heavy heart, Levi said his goodbye for the evening, guilty for blaming her for things out of her control.

The fifth time Levi visited her, it was snowing outside.

It was always a wonder how someone radiating light and warmth could be a winter child. But Levi was sure he memorized the date right. It was an important one for him, after all. Levi fought to make sure he had enough time to get ready for celebrating her birthday. She deserved nothing more than a perfect day. Hange had been more than understanding, the wound left by losing Moblit still fresh in their heart.

Levi put the bouquet of twenty-two golden roses on the frozen ground. “Happy birthday. Twenty-two, huh? You`re turning into an old woman, Ral.” The irony of his words made a slight pang of guilt rise in his chest. The passing of time would never touch her again.

“I have your favorite”- he said, lightly shaking the box containing a small vanilla cake. Sugar was a rarity, but getting a cake was an unspoken rule in his squad. Their lives were too short to worry about the money. The first thing Levi noticed about Petra was the faint flower smell emanating from her. The first thing after setting his eyes on her clean nails, of course. On her first birthday that they celebrated as a squad, Levi gifted Petra a bottle of scented body lotion. And some high-quality cleaning rags, of course. But she did not pay attention to that. She and the rest of the Survey Corps never knew how to appreciate the finer things in life. But Levi did not miss the way her face lit up when he noticed something she enjoyed.

“I could never understand your sweet tooth, but today, I`m going to have a slice of cake.” Levi always refrained from indulging in this vice. Having grown unaccustomed to sugar, the idea of sweetness was unappealing to him. He always felt bad for disappointing her each year when she sat in front of him, with a small piece of cake she had cut for him. “Or two slices. Two is more appropriate anyway. If I get cavities, it`s on your ass.”

The ground was too cold for him to sit down on, and Levi made a mental note to build a small bench close to her headstone. He opened the box and eyed the cake wearily, considering if he should change his mind. He took a small bite of the cake, and he almost choked on it. “Oi, this is so damn sweet. How the fuck could you eat so much of it?” But it did not stop him from finishing his slice.

Levi expected to find some flowers lying in the snow or at least some tracks leading up to her grave.

“Does your old man still come around? I`ve never crossed paths with him since the expedition.” Sometimes, when he closed his eyes at night, he could still recall Mr. Ral`s pained expression when he realized there was no one left for him to wait for.

“Maybe it`s for the best. I bet he doesn`t want to see me again.” To see the face of the man who was supposed to protect his daughter. The face of the man his daughter wanted to devote her life to. The man who could not even bring him a body home to bury.

“I`m a shit. Ruining your birthday with talk like this.” Levi was never good at this. In his spot, Eld would have teased Petra about her first expedition. Tell her how now that she was a big girl, she ought to refrain from soiling herself again. Petra would turn red from embarrassment and elbow Eld in the ribs. Gunther would point out that despite their age, they are still children. And proceed with teasing Petra himself. Oluo would try to defend Petra`s honor to gain her attention, which would make him the target instead. Levi gave a small smile at the thoughts. He missed them dearly, more than he would ever care to admit.

Levi crouched down and cleared the layer of snow covering her headstone. He ran his finger alongside the letters of her name, wishing he would have had more opportunities to write it down.

“Happy birthday again, brat.”

The last time he visited her, Levi had company. Gabi and Falco did not give it another thought before offering to help him see her again before they would all leave for a new life. A better life, he hoped. But without her by his side, it was never going to be perfect. Gabi set down the flowers before they gave him privacy. While they never asked him about who she was, they knew Levi must have cared for her a great deal.

"Hi, brat. It`s been a while."

He had so much to say to her, and yet, he did not know where to start. A part of him expected to join her during the last battle, but fate always had something new in store for him. Levi was uncertain if it was luck by his side or a curse to watch everyone he ever cared about die. But life was looking brighter, and Levi promised himself he would never lose anyone again.

"Are Hange and Erwin with you now? How about the guys?" He wished for nothing more than to be there by their side. But Levi knew they would never forgive him if he did not try to live the remainder of his life to the fullest. And for them, he would try.

"Does Oluo still bite his tongue? Did he try to flirt with you again? Is Eld still teasing you? Does Gunther still treat you as a little sister?" Levi chuckled at the memory of their antics. He learned the hard way that he never appreciated them enough before he lost them.

"I hope there is an afterlife. I hope it`s peaceful. You all deserve it. Such a shitty end..." He closed his eyes and sighed at the words coming out of his mouth. "I`m sorry, I didn`t mean it. But you already knew that. I was always an open book to you."

Levi felt guilty for leaving the home they bled for behind, but if he were truthful, it had not felt like home to him for years. With no one left by his side, nothing was keeping him in Paradise anymore. While neither of them voiced it out, he had dreamed of a future with Petra by his side. And for her, he would try to live a long and happy life. Before he got to be with her.

"I`m sorry... for the future I never got to offer you. The one you deserved. I`m sorry for the house I never got to build for us, for the vows we never got to take, for the brats that will never play in my backyard." Levi knew Petra would encourage him to find love, but he never would again. He could never imagine a future by someone else`s side.

Levi glanced back at her grave for one last time before he set out for the remainder of his life- "I`ll see you soon. Wait for me."

ao3

[yesttoheaven]

AMOR FATI

pairing – neil x female!reader

wc – 3.8k

warnings – mention of death, self-blame, anxious/intrusive thoughts, questioning reality, refusal of help, guns, stalking, but I swear there's a light at the end of the tunnel haha

a/n – The last time I suffered so hard for the death of a character, was when Newt died (Maze Runner) and now Neil has captured all my attention and his death has hit me in the same way 😩 I needed a happy ending so I decided to write this!

The Eternal Return and Amor Fati mentioned in this fic are one of the main ideas of Nietzsche's philosophy.

English is not my first language. I am getting help from google translator and he is not always a good ally, so I apologize for any typos or grammar errors.

Y/N – your name

She approached the painting hanging on the wall, watching the details closely. Ouroboros. A serpent eating its own tail. Months ago, when Y/N was visiting an antique store in Mumbai, she saw that same symbol. The owner of the establishment approached when she realized her interest in the piece and explained that Ouroboros represents the ideas of movement, continuity and, in consequence, Eternal Return. A concept that the universe and all existence and energy has been recurring, and will continue to recur, in a self-similar form an infinite number of times across infinite time or space.

"Max finally fell asleep." Kat returned to the living room, attracting Y/N's attention.

She walked away from the painting, taking back her seat on the sofa and asked:

"How is he after everything that happened?"

For a moment, Kat looked at the painting on the wall and then at the friend she won in the midst of confusion over the Algorithm. At that time, despite being fighting on the front lines to prevent a possible Third World War, Y/N seems complete. Happy. Today that happiness no longer exists in her eyes.

Letting out a sigh, the woman sat next to her, answering:

"Sator was never a present father. He was always busy... now i can see the kind of work he was involved in. Anyway, Max just got used to his absence."

"It's notable that he's happier at your side. When we first met Max was a bit of an introvert, but today he is radiant." Y/N confessed, showing a small smile and the blonde shook her head, agreeing with her words. "How's everything?"

"Perfectly well. It's weird sometimes... After years of being stuck in a failed relationship, freedom is good."

"It seems like life is good for one of us." The woman let out a bitter laugh, putting the latest events on a scale, but she didn’t want her friend to think she wasn’t happy for her. She really was. "I'm sorry, I just..." The words remain stuck in her throat, while she covers her face with her hands. In addition to physical and mental fatigue, Y/N tried to hide her grief.

Kat touched her shoulder, showing that she was here.

"I know you're hurt, but it's been three months and you never talked about what happened that day... This is not good for you."

"What do I have to say, Kat? The guy I fell in love with was a fucking time traveler! And now he's dead and I don't know what to do. My life just... stopped without him."

"I can imagine how difficult it's for you to cross that line without Neil at your side, but giving up is not an option. Grief is consuming you little by little and you are just accepting it..."

"We are trained to contain our emotions and deal with death in the best possible way. It used to be easy for me, but then he came and turned my life upside down." Y/N put her hands on her knees and stood up, walking without an exact destination. "Neil was always one step ahead of us all..." She stepped forward too and found the painting again, but her mind was lost in thoughts about him. Neil knew her so well. And he had a charming smile, but completely arrogant at the same time. "I was sent to Mumbai to help two agents and when I arrived at Priya's penthouse that night, there he was. When he saw me, that was the first and only time that he let his guard down. I'll never forget how he looked at me, it was one of those breathtaking moments... Completely cliché, I know."

On the sofa, Kat was impressed. When Y/N turned towards her, there was a bright smile on her face. The simple memory brought her a breath of happiness and Kat enjoyed seeing her friend like that, but unfortunately that moment did not last long. Memories aren't enough. Neil is dead and nothing can change that.

"I miss him so much, Kat." The smile disappeared as soon as tears appeared in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks.

"My dear..." Worried about her, the woman got up quickly and approached Y/N, wrapping her in a tight hug. "I'm really sorry."

"I spent the last three months locked up in my a-apartment because I thought I could handle this situation on my own. At times I b-believed it was just a fever dream... Maybe I was losing my mind, but this is proof that everything was real." Through tears blurring her vision, she looked at the watch on her wrist, remembering that night.

Y/N was in a private cabin on the ship. The others were with Ives and Wheeler, going over the mission in search of any loose ends. A standard procedure. Y/N knew she should be with them, but she needed a moment alone to organize her thoughts. And that moment is now. The past few weeks had been a real mess. The inversion was difficult to explain and mainly to understand. She was used to field missions, but being an inverted soldier on the battlefield was not in her plans. Either way, she agreed to be a part of it and running away with biased assumptions was not going to help. Humanity depends on them.

Three knocking on the door caught Y/N's attention, but she remained silent, waiting for the person to give up and leave, but when it didn't, she just murmured 'Come in'.

"So, here you are." The man used a surprised tone of voice and closed the door behind him. "What will our superior think when he learns that you are running away from the briefing?"

She let out a laugh before answering in the same mood:

"Don't worry, I know this mission like the back of my hand. I just needed a moment."

"There's something wrong? Are you ok?" Neil spilled the questions quickly, visibly concerned for her.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Neil." Y/N smiled at him, but looked away just seconds later, confessing: "Maybe I'm a little surprised by the situation. I have spent years dealing with terrorists, but the inversion is really not my point."

"I'm not good with advice, but someone once said to me: Don't try to understand. Certain things in the world do not need an explanation."

"It's wise advice, but I'm a methodical person. Logic has always been my ally in missions."

"A methodical person, huh?" He asked with an arrogant smile playing on his lips and she just rolled her eyes. "I know how worried you were when Sator shot Kat, but we are using the inversion to save the world and you're one of the most brilliant agents I have ever seen. Everything will be fine."

"Are you praising me?"

"What's that? Can't I praise my partner's talent?" Neil pulled up a chair to sit across from her, crossing his arms.

"In that case, thank you. Remind me to put this on my resume." Those words made him laugh and that sound could easily be compared to music in her ears.

Touching her knee, Neil added:

"We are very confident with the mission. You don't need to worry."

"Are you sure?"

"I cannot say that unforeseen events do not happen, but we are prepared for that." Y/N knew he was right, but this mission is the biggest one so far. It's not about saving a country. It's about saving the entire world. This was arousing insecurities in her and it was like walking in a minefield. Ironically, she was familiar with this, but not in such catastrophic proportions. "I want you to have this." The man took his watch off his wrist and handed it to her.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" The question came out as a whisper from between her lips.

It didn't make sense. Why does everything in this conversation look like a farewell?

"We will be on opposite sides tomorrow, but i want you to know... I will always be with you, Y/N."

"I saw the way he looked at you... That's how I used to look at Sator before he became a monster in my life." Kat started, running a hand through Y/N's hair. "When I was lying on that stretcher and partially drugged with the medicines, I saw him beside you... watching you sleep. There was so much love in his eyes. Love for a lifetime, Y/N. So don't do this to yourself. The way he left hurt us all, but there was nothing you or any other agent could do to change what happened at Stalask-12. Neil saved the world. This gave us a second chance. You cannot give up now. This organization needs you. And keeping your mind busy at that moment is the first step towards a fresh start."

"N-No, I can't..." She broke the hug, shaking her head in denial. "I left the organization."

"What? Don't you work for Tenet anymore? But when we first met you told me that you can't imagine working in another area... And that this is your life's work."

"Being an agent is my life's work. I was in Yemen when Tenet found me and assigned me to this mission. My only job is to make this world a less hostile place, but the motto of this organization is not what I believe, Kat. What's happened's happened. Really? It doesn't work for me." Y/N ended the sentence with drops of anger in her voice and Kat did not say a single word.

Through the newspapers, Max's mother followed what was happening in Yemen over the years – a real endless war – and knowing that Y/N was in the middle of it, makes the situation unquestionable. People died in front of her eyes. Friends of the corporation. And then some time later, Tenet arrived with a fresh start, but in the end everything remained the same. She lost Neil. It is as if her life's work never had a happy ending because the world will never stop being a hostile place.

"He knows?" It was easy for Y/N to identify who she was talking about. The Protagonist. Or just TP.

"Here's another problem. I worked with him and indirectly worked for him at the same time! God, that man created this organization! And his name remains a mystery to us all!" She pinched the tip of her nose, feeling frustrated with all the secrets that haunt this organization. "And answering your question, yes, he knows, but he did not argue about it. I was a complete mess and he was not doing very well either... He stayed in my apartment for the first month, probably to make sure I didn't do anything stupid." And Y/N would be forever grateful for that. She likes him. Just as friends, of course. TP was a reserved man, but it was he who held her when everything was falling apart. "But we've had a fight. I blamed him for what happened at Stalask-12 and since then we haven't spoken anymore."

It was easy to see that they carried more pain than they could actually bear. Y/N lost her great love and the man lost his best friend. The situation just turned into a conflict between them and that was the result.

Realizing the sadness reflected in Y/N's eyes, Kat decided to change the subject of the conversation. Keeping that thought, she smiled and pointed to the painting on the wall. Maybe that could help.

"You seemed interested in this one."

"Oh yes, in my spare time I am a lover of art and its meanings. It is really attractive the way Ouroboros is connected to the Eternal Return..."

"And Amor Fati too." Kat completed, piquing Y/N's curiosity. This part was new to her. "It's impossible to affirm the Eternal Return without loving life. We need to learn that things happen as they do. Sometimes seemingly good. Sometimes seemingly bad. We don’t always get it our way... Unless we choose that whatever way it is, is our way. When we choose to Amor Fati, to love everything that happens, to love our fate, then we will always get it our way. Because the way it is, is the way it is. Unchangable. And therefore it must be good, even if it sucks."

These words touched Y/N's heart. This was a contradiction to what she is experiencing right now. Love your fate. She would like to understand and accept what happened, she really wanted, but why is it so difficult to move on?

Because Neil is dead.

That was the only explanation for her. The end of a relationship would be more acceptable. If he were alive, things would be completely different now. However, grief is overwhelming. How could she just accept what happened?

"I... I gotta go." That was all she managed to say before picking up her bag and leave the penthouse, ignoring Kat's protests.

When the elevator doors closed, an exhausted sigh left her mouth and the instant she saw her reflection in the mirror, Y/N wanted to cry again. After three months alone, she thought visiting her friend would be a good idea. Kat was willing to help, but the problem was that Y/N is not allowing herself to be helped. As soon as the doors opened, she left the metal box and found the hotel lobby partially empty. Her watch showed it was 3:13 AM, this explains the absence of people on the street as well. In front of her car, she searched the bag for the key and coincidentally her cell phone started to vibrate. Probably the text messages were from Kat, but confusion hit Y/N the instant she looked at the identifier and saw that the messages did not belong to any of her contacts.

Stay away from the car

They put a bomb

I'm on my way

Her first reaction was to take a few steps back and look around, trying to understand what’s going on and find the person responsible for these texts, but Y/N was alone in the dark street. When she thought it might be an unnecessary prank, a black SUV approached at high speed. The car stopped just a few meters away from where she was, but that was enough to make her body freeze.

"Y/N, come on!" The man exclaimed, the urgency in his voice would have made her run immediately, but she didn't move. Her feet had frozen on the floor. This cannot be real. "Come on, get in the car! We don't have much time!" He tried again, it was possible to hear the sound of the other cars approaching.

Y/N watched in slow motion the moment he left the car and ran towards her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"How is this possible?" She asked in a whisper, completely lost in his blue eyes.

"It's good to see you too." Neil admitted, feeling his heart race. She looked so fragile in his arms. Very different from the last time he saw her. "We have to go." He accompanied her to the car and as soon as Y/N took the passenger seat, he returned to his seat.

For her this moment was like a fever dream, so she just looked down and started counting her fingers. One, two, three, four, five... Neil noticed, but said nothing, just kept driving. The cars were fast approaching, but he would do everything possible and impossible to get Y/N away from these people.

"Give me your cell phone." He looked at her for a brief moment, but when Y/N didn’t react, he wasn't sure if she heard it, so he just took the phone from her hand and threw it out the window. That was enough to get her out of the numbness:

"What the fuck, Neil?!"

Despite the adrenaline rushing through his body, the man laughed.

"If I found you because of your cell phone, they can too." After that, he crossed the red light and made a risky turn, trying to end this chase. "Before you ask, no, this is not a dream. Unfortunately this is very real..." Neil didn't like what he saw when he adjusted the rearview mirror. "And now they are getting ready to shoot us."

That observation put Y/N on alert and she looked back, seeing a man with an AKS-74U and another with a Beretta M12.

"If you knew it wasn't a dream, why didn't you bring an armored car?" She ran her tongue between her lips, smiling at the man beside her. Neil tried to argue, but she just took off her seat belt and picked up the Glock 19 stuck in the vest he was wearing.

Y/N crawled out of the car and sat at the window opening. This encouraged the men in the two cars to start shooting, trying desperately to hit her. Neil shouted something that she couldn't understand and then she felt one of his hands on her thigh, giving her stability to continue with the plan. With her arm resting on the roof of the vehicle, Y/N aimed the gun at the car that was closest to them. Her intention was not to start a firefight in the middle of one of the main avenues in the city, but she had no other option. Holding her breath, she fired the first shot and the bullet hit the tire, taking the car out of circulation. Y/N celebrated while preparing for the second car, but dealing with this one was not an easy task. Now they were in a tunnel and, consequently, losing speed because of the other cars that came along the way. Neil left two pats on her leg, indicating that she had better get back in the car and that is what she did. Screams, honks and gunshots echoed through the tunnel, turning the place into a war zone. Whoever these men were, Y/N knew they weren't going to give up.

Tired of playing cat and mouse, she went to the back seat, getting on her knees. Through the broken glass above the trunk, Y/N adjusted the aim of her gun, ignoring the sniper and focusing on the driver. With another accurate shot, the bullet hit the man's chest and he lost control of the vehicle. The car overturned for a while, streaking the asphalt, but no other car was involved in the accident. Y/N sighed in relief and looked for another possible threat, just checking, but when she realized that the area was clean, she returned to the passenger seat, leaving the gun on the dashboard in front of her.

"Next time I'm going to get an armored car." Neil comments, stepping on the gas. "Nice shot, by the way."

"Anytime." Y/N smiled, trying to control her breathing.

With the adrenaline disappearing from her body, it was hard for her to believe that this was really happening. For many nights she cried, wondering what it would be like if Neil just came back to her, but now she was afraid to wake up and realize that it was just another vivid dream.

The sun was rising when they arrived in a shed away from the city. Seen from the outside, the place was a little scary, but the interior wasn't that bad. There was some equipment like trackers, walkie-talkie, bulletproof vests, weapons, ammunition; a table with a mess of papers and on the other side two beds and something that Y/N supposed to be a private bathroom.

"Where we are?"

We. That simple word echoed in her mind. Y/N thought that "we" didn't exist anymore.

"For now in a safe place. It's dangerous for you out there." He answered the question and took a bottle of water, handing it to her after taking a generous sip.

"Who are these people, Neil?" She wanted answers, lots of answers, and that frustrated the british spy because for the first time he didn't know what could happen.

Neil had a mission and that mission ended with him dying in Stalask-12, but after what TP did, everything changed.

"We have a name..." He wanted to say more, he wanted to reassure her, but that was all he had at the moment.

Y/N drank some water and left the bottle on the table, looking at some reports and photos. All photos were of the same man.

Lenard Vaher

"But apparently they don't just want you..."

It took a few seconds and when the realization hit Y/N, concern appeared on her face.

No, not him.

"Where's TP? He's safe, right?"

"He was going to see you when Lenard's men kidnapped him. This happened three weeks ago." And considering the anger in Neil's voice, finding TP was proving an almost impossible task, but in the midst of so much concern, one point attracted Y/N's attention.

"You said he was going to see me..."

"There was something he needed to tell you." Neil sighed, resting his hands on the table. A few strands of blond hair fell over his forehead, but he quickly shook his head back, as he always did. "He returned to Stalask-12, Y/N."

After that statement, the only sound that could be heard was Neil's footsteps closing the distance between them and the first thing she did was put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat. Neil smiled. And that was not one of his famous smiles. That was a shy smile. His heart was beating like a drum and it was all because of her. Loving Y/N was something so special and pure, that Neil accepted his fate without a second thought. Saving the world, he was giving her a second chance to live, but now he is the one who received a second chance.

"I missed you every day." Before she could begin to consider the meaning behind his words, he settled his mouth upon hers, robbing her of thought.

She closed her eyes and melted against him, flattening her hands on his arms. Neil caught her bottom lip in his teeth, nibbling and licking at it until she thought she might perish from the intensity of the feeling. She whimpered at the sensation, and he rewarded the sound by deepening the kiss, giving her everything she desired. His tongue stroked hers, slow and insistent. A lush, decadent pleasure unfolded within them, snaking through their veins as though it had lain coiled in anticipation for years.

Just waiting for this moment.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

a/n – really hope you enjoy it and thank you soooo much for reading ;)

[the-chick-of-the-air]

Hello my lovelies!!

Ok let me just start by saying- 600 followers?! Are you kidding?? Thank you all SO much! I can’t even begin to describe how grateful I am to have every single one of you interested enough in my blog to be following me! Thank you thank you thank you!!!🥰🥰

Now I’m gonna repay you by breaking your hearts!

This is my first try at anything super angsty, so if your gonna yell at me afterwards please feel free to do so in the comments or in my ask box or even just reblogging and cursing me in the tags🤣 please let me know what you think!

TW: Major character death, mentions of vomiting and allusions to body mutilation- nothing graphic just vaguely indicated but whatever you are comfortable with is up to you! If any of what I warned makes you uncomfortable please don’t read! Your mental health is more important than a work of fiction!

Update: I’m sorry- I posted this and for some reason the tag list wasn’t working but it should be now! If your username has changed please let me know so I can tag you properly down below!❤️

Summary: Someone important dies. Cardan deals with it. Grab your tissues❤️

Final Resting Place

“I’m…I’m so sorry.” The folk are not in the habit of apologizing, much less for something that is so common. It matters not, Cardan has ceased listening, has heard nothing after The Bomb uttered those damning words.

Jude is dead.

He recalls, distantly, a time when Nicasia drug him halfway to her underwater kingdom, wishing to show him its beauty and splendor. He recalls how helpless he felt, how he could breathe but it wasn’t right. How he was silenced and the pressure from the water was crushing his chest so painfully it didn’t matter if he could breathe or not.

This feels near exactly like that.

“Your Highness?” Someone is asking a question he doesn’t hear. He doesn’t even ask them to repeat themselves. All he can do is state,

“She is to be brought back here. Burned on the pyres.” A Queen’s funeral. The only funerals the folk bothered to observe.

Someone, The Roach, likely, grunts in disapproval, “She… we…are not able to bring the body back. It was…”

Cardan isn’t sure what part of that statement makes his stomach churn the worst, the fact that they just referred to his wife, their queen as a body, or the fact that there apparently isn’t too much of her body to bring back.

He tries not to think, not to guess at what death was so brutal that she doesn’t even have a body left.

And that really is it, isn’t it? She, his fierce, vibrant, deadly queen, who always looked over her shoulder, is- was always so cautious, secretly ruling over a land that was designed to kill her, the mighty Jude Duarte, slayer of the folk-

Killed by something mortal.

In the mortal lands.

Where he sent her.

It was almost laughable, Cardan did laugh. Hysteria bubbling up in his chest like bile, which it might have been because suddenly the churning in his stomach was no longer violent but imminent and he’s throwing himself into the bathing chamber.

He doesn’t hear the court of shadows, her court of shadows, retreating as he retches into the chamber pot.

~.~

Time has lost all meaning.

It’s been days, weeks, months. The days pass in a blur, marked only by those who knew what she meant to him coming to give their condolences. Like it could lessen the pain of her being gone. Lessen the pain that came with the knowledge that this was his fault.

It was so ironic it hurt. Had he not exiled her to the mortal lands for her protection, she would have still been alive, ruling where she belonged, right by his side.

And now, she would never get to rule her kingdom openly. She would never share his throne, his crown, his name, his bed again.

She was gone before he got to have her.

And it was his own damn fault.

He refused to hold any audience with Taryn. It wasn’t fair, her twin was dead and she was parading around wearing her face. He knew that should he take one look at her, he would break beyond recognition.

The only thing keeping him alive on the throne being Jude’s memory, how she would have wanted, commanded him to keep ruling, even if she wasn’t there to do it with him.

He did allow an audience with Viviane, once. She had all but demanded it and would hardly take no for an answer. She arrived, eyes puffy and bloodshot, looking as terrible as he felt which didn’t seem fair either.

He wanted to be alone in his pain, for it to be all his own, because no one could understand, could relate to how he felt for her. Why should they share in his grief? The newest plate of armor he has cast over his heart?

She wasted no time on condolences, which in itself was strangely comforting. She got straight to the point, “You missed the funeral.”

“A mortal tradition.” His voice was hoarse with disuse. Had he gone so long without speaking to anyone? That didn’t seem possible.

“Dammit Cardan! She would have wanted you there.” Her anger was refreshing, a nice change of pace compared to the complete emptiness that was left behind in the shape of a mortal footprint upon his heart.

He almost wants to disagree, but that would make no sense. The folk can’t lie, not even half-fae.

When he doesn’t respond, Vivi crosses her arms, “Will you at least come visit her? Say your goodbyes? You have to say yes, we both know you need it.”

And painful as it was, she was right. The one thing that hurt worse than Jude being dead, knowing that it was because of him, was that he didn’t get to say goodbye. That all his letters to her went unanswered. That she died without knowing how much he needed her. How much he missed her and all she was to him. How much he…

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he silently rises and follows Vivi to his queen’s final resting place.

~.~

The mortal world is bright and loud and reeks of iron and is so alive it feels audacious. How dare anyone else continue living when someone from this place, someone so important, so above them was forced to forfeit that right?

The plot of land where she- what’s left of her- is laid to rest is small. The headstone sits, new and clean, next to two more that are dulled with age.

Justin and Eva Duarte.

Madoc had somehow procured graves for the two mortals he slaughtered, and now their youngest daughter lay beside them.

They are standing there for ten minutes before Vivi speaks, “You know, when someone visits the grave of someone they love, they usually look at it.” Her voice is monotone as she stares at the slab of stone sitting at the head of a patch of newly sprouted grass.

He’s not sure he can. If he looks, if he sees there is in fact a final stop, a final holding place for this restless mortal, then he will know it is real. That this wasn’t all some elaborate trick or punishment of her own making to get back at him for her banishment.

Foolish as it is, that was a dark hope buried deep inside him. That she was really still there, biding her time, waiting until he was just ruined enough to waltz back into his life to teach him a well deserved lesson. Perhaps on gratitude, on not taking things for granted.

It would be such a Jude thing to do.

A hand rests on his shoulder and he nearly flinches away, “I’ll give you a minute.”

Her footsteps recede, utterly fae and silent. So unlike the ones he desperately wishes to hear a final time.

It takes him maybe two minutes more for his eyes to finally find the headstone. He is shocked to find he can barely read what is inscribed upon it through tears that have filled his eyes.

Jude Duarte-Greenbriar

Beloved sister and wife

2001-2019

His tears come in earnest, then. How had he never known she took his name as well? Had cared enough to do so? Or was this something her sisters did to spite him? He pressed his lips together in an attempt to stifle any sobs trying to break free.

Cautiously, so cautious she would be proud, he runs his fingers over the inscription of her name- their name. When he knows his voice will be steady, he speaks.

“Well, wife.” He presses his eyes closed as a fresh wave of tears pushes at his senses, “I doubt either of us saw it coming to this.” Gently, he tugs something out of the satchel he brought with him.

“It was yours. For you to wear upon your return. For when you came home.” He couldn’t stop his voice from breaking as he carefully laid the crown down at the foot of the headstone, glamoured so mortals would see it as a pile of painted rocks.

“I guess in a way, I got what you thought I wanted. For you to…” He can’t even bring himself to say it. He had never wanted this. When in palace lessons, he thought that dreams plagued with her scent, her voice, her touch had been the most horrid nightmares. He was wrong, this was far worse than any dream he had of her angry face, her soft hair. This was a nightmare terrifying enough to cripple the strongest of men.

“Well. I guess it doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter that I wish I could take back what I said about you in our childhood. That you would return to the earth, worm food.” He shudders, recalling that he had said those things while imagining that they would have followed a long life. One filled with her aging slowly due to living in Elfhame. Secret imaginings he only allowed himself in the darkest hours of the night- ones where he was by her side and they wreaked havoc together for the rest of their long, full lives. His next words are whispered, “I never imagined it would happen so soon.”

His hand returns to the headstone, gripping the cool rock tightly.

There is nothing left to say aside from one final message. Nothing left to do other than leave this place and continue on in his immortality, letting her fade into the backs of everyone’s memory as the Last Mortal Queen.

Taking a final shaky breath, Cardan utters the truth he had spent nearly his whole life repressing, trying to lie his way around. The words he now so desperately wishes he had said to her before he cast her out of their home in hopes of preventing this very thing from happening.

With one final look upon the place his wife, his queen is forever to rest upon, he whispers,

“I love you.”

~.~

Years and years and years later, young children of the gentry sit in their history lessons amongst their mortal classmates, and learn of the beautiful, treacherous life that was led by the Last Mortal Queen, Jude Duarte-Greenbriar

And that is that! Did I make you cry? Do you want to throw crumpled tissues at my head? Let me know!❤️ (I left out details of Jude’s death on purpose, it’s up to your imagination to come up with what happened to her, sorry for pain😬)

Tag list:

As always, please let me know through the comments or my inbox or any other way you are comfortable with and let me know if you wish to be added to my list so you can be alerted to my future works!

@maleckanejnessienjurdansolangelo @woodsbeyond1 @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @thewickedkings @aneurwin @snusbandxknifewife @jurdanhell @andromeddea @dressedindustandshadows @thesirenwashere @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @unidentifiedblackthorn @iminsanenotobsessed @df3ndyr @brittneyal @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @fuzzypineapples-blog @nahthanks @charrise @thefolkofthefic @theviolettulip @embersfromink @kittkatandbooboo

Till next time, loves!🥰

[winterscaptain]

three’s company.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: and here we are! the final installment of the ajf 100 arc. this takes place right after mosley lane in season five, and from here on i promise we’ll see some happier days :) i can’t thank you all enough for coming on this adventure with me, as hard and fraught as it was. 

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! (the pieces stand alright on their own as well, for the most part!) one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 1.6k warnings: none!

summary: “let us not burden our remembrances with a heaviness that's gone.” - william shakespeare, the tempest

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

“You’d never believe it, Hales. The sass on your kid these days is unreal.” A laugh leaves you as you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “He pulled one right out of your book the other day with Aaron when he told him it was time to come in out of the snow...” 

It’s just one of those Saturdays where you needed to talk to her. Not for any particular reason, but just knowing that if this was any other timeline, the two of you would sit out in the breakfast nook in the big house, watching the snow fall and the sun set as the February evening wore on. 

There’s a crunch of snow under day-off boots behind you, but you ignore him and continue talking, just as you would if she were here. 

“We miss you. I think the weirdest thing so far was skipping your Christmas present. Had it all wrapped and everything and then I remembered you wouldn’t be there.” You look up, taking a little breath. “Had a good cry about that one.” 

“It is getting better though, all things considered…” You trail off, not sure what to say. Sharing silence with a headstone is a little less companionable than the alternative. 

It wasn’t a lie, though. The grief didn’t overwhelm you now like it did those first weeks. It sometimes clocked you at the oddest of times, drawing a few tears (or more than a few) or a little smile. 

Sometimes, both. 

You huff a little laugh to yourself. “We had a really good case outcome last week. Found three kids who’d been missing, got them all back to their parents. It was just one of those that reminded us why we do it, you know?”

Aaron sits beside you without a word. 

“And you’d be proud of Aaron, Haley. He’s saddling the rest of us with the paperwork and going home early, most nights. It’s kind of impressive. Though, I know it’ll wear off and he’ll be back on his bullshit soon enough.” 

There’s a snort from beside you, and you finally acknowledge him. 

“Tell me it isn’t true and I’ll take it back,” you say, looking over at him.

He shrugs. “Can’t. But then again, you’d never lie to Haley and you’d never lie to the dead, so we’re two for two, there.”

You smile at him for a moment, gesturing vaguely to the headstone. “We were just catching up.”

“Of course. I thought it would be one of those days.”

“Where’s the kiddo?” You look over your shoulder, halfway expecting Jack to be playing somewhere in the snow. 

“Helping Jess with dinner.” He addresses Haley’s headstone. “Hear that, Hales? Your son is helping with dinner, now.”

You both pause, acknowledging the laughter you know you’d get if she were here. 

Looking over at him, you wryly note, “Yeah, see, Jack might be helping with dinner, but you still aren’t. What’s your excuse?”

“I have been sent to bring you to the apartment for dinner by request of my son and my sister.”

You tut at him with a little smile “Nice to see Jess has been promoted.”

He rolls his eyes. 

+++

The first time the entire team gathers at Dave’s after the New Year is a refreshing return to something that feels halfway normal.

You’ve got Henry in your lap so JJ can actually eat something. He’s messing around with one of the rubik’s-cube-like toys Spencer got him for Christmas. To everyone’s delight, the novelty of them has yet to wear off and they’ve saved the entire Jareau-La Montagne household a couple of meltdowns. 

“How’s he holding up?” JJ asks between bites.

You glance over at Hotch, on the floor with one leg outstretched and the other tucked underneath him. Jack’s holding his attention, explaining some advanced maneuver with his army men. “He’s doing alright. Better every day, I think, but there will always be bad days.” 

She hums. “And Jack?”

You shrug, catching Henry’s toy before it can fall from your lap. “He’s still adjusting, of course, but Jess is doing a great job at keeping up with his routines.” 

“Actually, that’s really all kids need at Jack’s age, other than socialization and physical affection,” Spencer says. “The retention of a consistent routine is key to development after the toddler stages of childhood.” 

You toss a grin over your shoulder. “Thanks, Spence.” 

He shrugs. “It’s just true.” 

JJ huffs a laugh and puts her napkin on the table. You pass Henry back to her, and he’s more than happy to tuck back against her chest. 

Dave, a kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder, takes your plate. You follow him back into the kitchen, turning the water on and starting on the silverware while he tackles the glasses. 

“Everything okay?” He asks. 

Your brow furrows. “Yeah. Why?”

He glances over his shoulder. “Just not used to seeing you so far from Aaron, is all. Fifty feet is quite a far distance for a shadow to cover, don’t you think?” 

With an eye roll: “Give me a break, Rossi.”

He raises his soapy hands as if to surrender, but you know he’s not even close to done. “I’m just sayin.’” He relents after a moment. “There’s only so much the rest of us can do for him.” 

“What do you mean?” You direct your question at the dishes, remaining studiously focused on your task. 

Unlike you, he pauses, turning square to face you. “For a pair of profilers...You know what? It’s not worth it.”

+++

Aaron stamps the snow off his boots and hangs his coat and scarf on the hook by the door, fresh from an afternoon of errands and paperwork at the office. 

Belatedly, he realizes he missed the fort in the living room when he first came through the door. The couch cushions and dining chairs have all been arranged in an elaborate configuration, supporting the duvet stolen from Aaron’s bed and a fair few flat sheets from the hall closet. All the linens are secured with carefully knotted neckties, or pinned together with some spare clothespins you found God-knows-where.  

Creeping forward, he picks up the corner of what he imagines is a door flap by design. 

In the dark of the fort, he finds you and Jack curled together on your sides around the portable DVD player. Jack’s out like a light - his little hand pressed against his cheek where it rests on your arm. You’re awake, waiting for him. 

Aaron finds your eyes. You smile a little and keep your voice at a whisper. “He’s only been sleeping about twenty minutes or so. He wore himself out playing architect, so I figured a quick nap wouldn’t keep him up too late.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Aaron assures you in a whisper with an equally small smile. “I’m just glad he had fun today.” 

“Yeah.” You arc an arm over Jack’s shoulders and brush at the feathered hair on his forehead. Returning your gaze to Aaron, you playfully (and quietly) ask, “Want to join us for another movie, or are you too old for stuff like this?”

He shakes his head, a real, genuine smile on his face. It’s the first one you’ve seen in a while and it warms you beyond measure. 

When he stoops inside, he rests his head on your calf and his hand on his son. You gingerly stretch for another DVD, and Aaron takes over the logistics after you hand it over - replacing the disk, lowering the volume, and starting the next movie. 

In the quiet darkness, you think of Haley. A few tears slip out of the corners of your eyes, landing between your temple and your arm. You don’t dare move for fear of waking Jack, but it’s as if Aaron can read your mind. He lifts his head just so, finding your lashes inexplicably wet in the light from the screen. 

Your eyes flicker down to his and your close-lipped smile is shaky. 

His eyes narrow. What’s wrong? 

Nothing. You shake your head just a little. I just miss her. 

You watch the inside of his lip pinch between his teeth as his mouth presses into a thin line. 

A trembling breath leaves you as you refocus on the screen, your fingers playing with the hem of Jack’s sleeve as he sleeps. 

Aaron watches you for a moment. He thinks perhaps you are the only person alive who understood what was between him and Haley - the love, the tiffs, the history. Somehow, you managed to see right through them, right through him, right through her, to the heart of it. 

He’s sure you love his son like your own. He remembers the desperate way you held his son when you found him in that trunk. It was that day - when he saw the panic flash across your face when you realized you hadn’t seen Jack, hadn’t found him - he realized that you’d kill, risk life and limb, drop everything, for Jack. 

That day tested you as well. If you thought too long about it, you could still taste the metallic tang of anger in the back of your mouth when you thought about Foyet getting his hands on Jack. It was that overwhelming flood of emotion that brought you to the same conclusion. 

Now, the secure weight of Jack in your arms lulls you into a kind of bone-deep peace. 

You let your eyes close, falling into the sheer comfort of the moment. After a few minutes, Aaron follows suit.

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc

[bibliocratic]

a tale as old prompt: stories / wish pairing: aceMartin / aceJon (with a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it aroSasha)

A long time ago, stories made tell of a beast, living solitary and woodland-bound at the heart of the great forest. In the days before in the first age of the king, strange Powers beset the land and its people with all manner of terrors unnameable with the human tongue, and those afflicted were both revered and shunned in kind. This beast bore the aspect of a man, agreeable in face if not in manner, and was possessed of dark powers of knowing gifted to him by an unkindly denizen of the planes unseen. Rumour would have you believe that the beast had been a warlock, cursed through the rot of his allegiances, or a monk from some lowly church whose worshipful songs had summoned others listening from the clutch of the deep, or even a scribe in name and nature, a misbegotten soul who had read the wrong scrolls by the wrong candlelight. The truth of who he was before is little of our concern.

It was said, that those who ventured into the most unhallowed, shadow-snarled parts of the forest to retrieve him were never to be seen again, but tongues are free and mouths are wagging, and it is as likely that most feared the power of the beast too much to ever enter his domain.

There was, at that time, another young man, bestowed the name of Martin. The world in its wisdom had gifted Martin a kind heart easily bruised like the skin of apples, and strong shoulders as the oxen have with which to bear the weight of his small and heavy world. He lived for twenty-four summers with his mother, in a thatch-roofed farm on the edge of the great forest, and his days were the to-ing and fro-ing of a labouring life.

His mother had taken to her sickbed years afore, and while doctors and soothsayers and cunning men had hawked glistening potions and sweet-smelling pastes that they swore could cure all manner of ills, she had only worsened as time wore steadily on. Winter was approaching, the winding drop and stripping of leaves promising a long season of hard earth compacted with snow, and Martin worried his mother would not survive until spring.

He had heard, of course, about the beast of the Black Woods. The reputation laid before him, spoken of gravely with clucking tongues and shaking heads, of a silver-tongued sorcerer in league with spirits of the air and deep, who could summon forth the answer to any question in return for payment. The reckoning varied on the teller, and fanciful notions of first-borns and blood-tithes and betrothals abounded.

But the trees outside the forest had shed their clothes to bareness, and the welcoming touch of speckling frost had begun to settle upon the ground, and Martin’s mother grew weaker, developing a cough that rattled in her rickety lungs. And so, Martin of the Black Woods packed a small knapsack and ventured upon the winding pathways of the forest to seek out the beast who lived there.

The forest was not forbidding to his mind, though the knotted roots sewed themselves thick and wily through the undergrowth, disrupting the pathway. The branched canopy of trees which had sprouted from saplings in eras long lost from memory stretched tall and wide, forcing the sunlight to submit to gloom. There was the tremulous warble of birds as he walked, the shush of far-off water, and Martin chose to think upon these, rather than his fear of the task at hand.

He walked for hours, although he had no comforting vision of the sun to mark his time. Resting for a moment, he set himself at the base of a sturdy oak to gather himself, taking a sip from his waterskin. He closed his eyes but for a moment, lulled by the birdsong and the faint tune of the water, and when he opened them, the beast was there.

Eyes thronged unnaturally about his head as one would wear a coronet of fireflies. The beast was simple in garb, kept neatly, and all about his skin sprouted more pupils that mixed and intermingled as oil and water.

“You are far from the path, pilgrim,” the beast said.

Martin said nothing, his throat too bound in terror at the beast’s appearance, and the beast made a noise of annoyance, and his coronet of eyes spluttered out like water thrown on a campfire.

“I have no time for the lost of this world,” he said.

Martin was sore afraid, but he forced himself to stand, to look into the eyes of the beast for fear of offending so mighty a sorcerer, focusing on the pupils on his face that gleamed out like polished glass.

“If you please, Lord. I have come in search of you.”

“What do you seek that would have you search out my haunts and hollows?” the beast replied. “I have long grown bored of those who track me down to demand riches or wealth in abundance, those who desire power and might and lack the will or judgement to bring such things about by their own hand.”

“If you please, Lord,” Martin said. “A sickness has long ailed my mother, and I wish to see her cured.”

The beast considered this, and the awful visage of his form folded back into him begrudgingly, for the young man’s request had a tenor of honesty.

“There is no discount for your honour, however touching I’m sure it is,” the beast responded dismissively. “You know the price I ask.”

Martin considered the many stories told of what payment would be demanded of him, and fearing to cause the beast to anger by confessing his ignorance, replied instead:

“I would have you name it, Lord.”

The beast huffed, and rolled his eyes and said:

“Do not call me Lord. I possess no titles and desire none.”

Martin asked haltingly what name he would prefer.

“Watcher is my name and occupation. I am a devourer, my hungers bountiful and unceasing. My price, Martin of the Black Woods, is to taste a story told true from your lips. Should it satisfy, I will grant you what you ask.”

“What story should I speak of?” Martin asked. And then the beast turned every eye upon his trembling form, and bid him, in a voice sturdy as moonrise, insistent as drowning, crackling like leaf-fall, to tell of his first heartbreak.

And so Martin did as he was bidden, helpless as his tale spilt like water from his mouth, a breathless recount of first love and rejection, sacrificed to the eyes that feasted upon all the shadows his memory cast upon his soul. When he was finished, for the tale was woefully short in its particulars by merit of its simplicity, Martin attempted to bring himself up to full height and wipe away the tears that had begun to drip down the round of his cheeks, awaiting the judgement of the beast who stood expressionless before him.

Finally, the beast spoke, his words suddenly rusted with tiredness: “There is a flower. White as dawn-touched feathers. The roots are fragile and take poorly to most earth, yet it grows in a clearing in these woods not far from here. Pick a handful and return to your homestead. The roots you must boil. When the water cools, she should drink this for three nights, though the flavour is bitter. Her food, you should season with the crushed petals as you would salt. Then her sickness will be cured.”

The beast pointed a long finger to guide his direction and bade him safe passage, and then he was gone, and Martin was left with the stain of tears fresh on his face, his mind warring between fear and wonderment.

He did as the beast had told. And the cough that had taken up lodging in his mother’s lungs diminished apace until she breathed clean and clear for the first time in years.

For those three nights, and for many nights after, Martin dreamt of the beast. His striking eyes waxing and waning in the skin of his face. His restless gait and glowering manner. His demeanour proclaiming a strange kind of lonely, and within Martin blossomed a kinship for this soul, whose life was bordered by the edges of the forest, who had taken Martin’s story from his back as though a yoke for a little while.

It was not long before Martin returned to the great forest. Settling himself down at the foot of that elder oak, bowed regally by the press of the wind, and waiting.

The beast did not look pleased to see him return.

“These are for my thanks,” Martin said quickly, and from his knapsack brought out a clay jar of honey from his own hives.

“I thank you then. For your kindness,” the beast said after a while, and his speech was the awkward and stilting gait of a new-born foal when he continued: “Your mother? Is she better?”

“Her cough has left her,” Martin confessed. “Though she is still afflicted with a malediction of the bones that the winter brings on fiercely.”

“You know my price,” the beast said, and Martin nodded, and when the beast’s many eyes gazed upon him like a flaying and demanded the story of his greatest grief, squatting ruinous at the tender heart of him, Martin poured it forth without resentment.

“You should pick more flowers,” the beast advised. He had bought out a folded cloth from his pocket, promising that it was clean, and offered it to soak up Martin’s tears which trickled plentiful down his face when his payment had been satisfied. Martin took it with a wary hand, but it was an offering sincerely made and as such, gratefully received. “They are known as cat’s tongues in common parlance. They nestle in thickets amidst blackberries, and their petals are long and red and they will score your hands should you attempt to pluck them. They grow half a day’s walk from here. They should be ground into a paste, and administered at dusk, rubbed over the limb like a salve.”

Again, the beast soon disappeared amidst the branches of the great forest. And Martin followed the missive delivered to him, the cloth tucked away in his pocket, and picked the flowers known as cat’s tongues, which scratched and tore up the skin of his hands in his mission.

Martin served his mother dutifully night after night. Her legs grew stronger, and she could walk around the small farmstead with the gait of a maiden threescore years younger. And once a week, once his chores were done and the livestock attended to, Martin packed his bag with offerings for the strange beast of the forest who so occupied his dreams and waking moments, to thank him for his pains. To request another medicine, to see his mother whole and well.

The beast requested tales of hurt and shame and loss and grief, and Martin had many of those to offer upon his altar. After a drawn-out tale of miserable indignities, Martin was left shivering and swaying as a ship with storm-tossed rigging, his legs ill-equipped to carry him hence. After a pause, the beast had snapped at him to sit down, to take nourishment before continuing his quest.

Martin did as he was told, sensing no malice in the beast’s tone. Opening his bag, he offered the beast some of his bread and cheese. The beast blinked with all his eyes before cautiously agreeing, and their silence as they ate was companionable.

As time passed, the beast asked for different tales; those of quiet joy, warmth and comfort. Martin had fewer of those, but he delivered what was asked of him, and the beast rewarded his pains with the knowledge of where more flowers and berries and herbs were to be found. Gradually the beast tarried longer, as if unwilling to immediately depart, and they often broke bread and shared water under the soft shadow of the great forest.

When the touch of winter had passed into a chill spring, Martin visited the beast once more. He had crafted a woollen blanket from the fleece of one of his sheep, spun it on the wheel in the candlelight while his mother slept.

“For my thanks,” he said, like he always did, his face flushed the colour of strawberries, and the beast held the gift carefully in his hands to feel the weight and warmth of it. His voice was unsteady when he declared Martin was too kind to present him such a gift.

“How may I help your mother today?” the beast asked quietly.

Martin was silent for a long while before he spoke.

“My mother has no sickness of the body remaining,” he replied. “Her pains have been taken from her through your patient instruction. It is only a sickness of the heart, rooted as ivy in her. She sees in my face the ghost of my father’s follies, and her manner has long hardened towards me.”

The beast appeared sorrowful.

“This, I have no cure for,” he said.

“I would not ask one of you.”

“What would you have of me then?”

Martin did not look upon the beast as he stammered and stuttered that if the beast wished, Martin would have his company, to sit under the branches of the great oak. That they might share a small meal, speak without transaction, that Martin might ask questions of the beast if that would be deemed permissible.

The beast smiled, the gesture foreign to his face. It would take a long time before he was to realise that love, unbeknownst to him, had begun to seed in the soil of his heart left to fallow.

For months, Martin visited the beast of the forest, to break bread and share small tales not fed to any god, but kept as keepsakes within the memories of the other.

One day, it came about that a band of soldiers travelled through town, passing through to reach the port a few day’s south. They roamed in search of able-bodied souls to swell their number, and Martin was not unknown to the villagers, to whom he sold the produce from their farm and involved himself in the passage of their lives. And so, to his door came a man as tall and broad as a barn door. His handshake was a frost-bitten chill of a winter’s eve without candlelight, and he introduced himself as Peter Lukas.

Peter Lukas gazed upon Martin with eyes the colour of fog, and offered him an apprenticeship, serving upon his ship that laid wait in dock not two days travel. He spoke with feigned sincerity on how valuable Martin would be to his crew, how honoured such a title was, but while Martin did not trust his over-sharp smile nor his fool’s gold promises, it was true that the farm was suffering. His mother, while hale, was too old to work in the fields as she once had, and the money Peter Lukas promised was enough to keep her comfortable.

It was enough for a good dowry, Lukas chuckled, as if the idea was cause for merriment, should Martin wish to marry. Enough for a home, should he wish to settle down. Martin’s lot was a poor one, and would consign any beloved to gruelling hard-work all the days of their life. And surely, Peter Lukas chided, Martin would want to provide for those he loved, not damn them to a thankless life easily washed away by an errant storm or an ill-tempered season.

Peter Lukas cast himself in the manner of a liar, but his mouth spoke the truth well enough.

That evening, Martin visited the beast of the woods and told him he would be leaving. With the soldiers, and Peter Lukas, to make what fortune he could while his body was unbroken by time and labour.

The beast was angered and afraid. He had heard tell of Peter Lukas, who served a god much like his own, and in his heart flourished a fear of Martin’s fate, lost to the fog and sea. He snapped and goaded and snarled, tempestuous and terrified, but Martin had set his mind to it, and finally the beast relented. Beckoning Martin to follow him, he lead the young man deeper into the woods, his corona of eyes a light by which to see by, eventually arriving at a clearing and the cottage where the beast made his home.

The beast’s cottage was comely, ringed with warmth from the hearth, the brickwork soaked with heat. Martin perused the laden piles of manuscripts and scrolls that tiered from floor to the low ceiling, and he wondered what knowledge they spoke of, for no one had ever taught Martin his letters. The beast searched impatiently through disordered piles before he brought forth objects that shimmered in the glow of the firelight.

“I would make three requests of you,” the beast asked. “Though I have little right to.”

Martin bade him name them.

The first, was to accept the unusual treasures he had gathered in his arms. The beast gave Martin a compass, well-used by time, the glass splintered like a lightening bolt through the centre of its face, and told him to keep it upon his person, that he may not lose sight of land, for the hand would ever point homeward. Next, he gifted him a mirror, plain and foxed in the corner with black speckles.

“So you will never be lonely. Its twin is in my possession, and whatever is spoken in yours will be heard in mine. Alas, the charm is old and warped, and I have not the skill to mend it, for the same does not bare out in the reverse.

“What should I say to it?”

“I would have you whisper into the mirror,” the beast said after a moment’s thought, and his gestures were as the flight of anxious birds and his eyes for once did not meet Martin’s gaze as he spoke. “On nights becalmed and troubled, when you are heartsick. The domain Peter Lukas presides over is peaceful, in its own way, a place to soothe and numb and forget. But I beg of you, speak to the mirror and remember every blistering, joyous, terrible moment of being alive, and what you have endured to call yourself such. So that I know you breathe still, that I have not lost you to the fog.”

The second gift the beast bestowed was the knowledge of his name, long unspoken and unheard even to the ears of the beast. And Martin tasted the word Jonathan on his lips, and knew the knowing of it would warm him even on the coldest of nights.

“The final request is my gravest charge,” the beast said, and he stood before Martin, studying him with every one of his eyes, and touched his hand against Martin’s chest to feel the fragile motion of his heartbeat.

“Name it.”

“Come back to me,” he asked, and Martin’s eyes prickled with tears as he gave his solemn word.

Martin gifted him the last of his honey, and another garment spun in candlelight and dyed with woad and weld so its colour was that of the beast’s eyes.

The beast watched him leave, standing at the threshold of his cottage long after his eyes could not see him.

Martin’s lot was arduous, though he quickly rose through the ranks under the tutelage of Peter Lukas. He saved diligently every penny of his earnings, with a mind to build a home in the woodland, to buy a modest ring of silver, to deck himself in clothes worthy of a man like the beast and ask him for his hand.   When it was his turn on lookout, he’d take the mirror up to the crow’s nest and speak gently into the glass as he sat curled under a bedrock of stars. His compass was ever in his pocket.

But the way of the Forsaken is a cunning one, the fog insidious in its beckoning. Martin struggled to recall the gift he had been given, and one day found the sea had taken it as payment for his continued service, and he was struck with a terror that he would forget the beast of the forest, and so he spoke the beast’s true name upon waking, upon sleeping, as a chant when the fog settled in low and their voyage was becalmed and there seemed nothing but emptiness from horizon to horizon. And in this way, he persisted, no matter how much of him the fog laid claim to.

It was many years before Martin returned to shore. Salt ingrained in his skin, a scattering of white to his hair like chicken seed. His apprenticeship served. The ship came to port far from his homestead, and he would have wandered lost if not for the compass which bore Martin true and back to the little village and his farm on the outskirts of the Black Woods.

It had been a long time since he had dreamt of the beast. And his return ate up his time and attention, amidst the newly made demands of his mother, grown more distant with age.

He had been returned some three months before he packed his knapsack and ventured along pathways his feet had never forgotten how to tread.

He waited patiently by the hollow all day. A jar of honey in his knapsack, and only one more story in his mouth. The beast did not appear, even as the day slid into night. He did not appear the next day, not the next, nor the next, but Martin made his faithful pilgrimage regardless.

He was rewarded for his pains on the sixth day. The beast appeared wreathed in eyes like a holly garland, his expression hard and hurt. His body had been struck and ill-used by time and events Martin had not been privy to, and he ached, to see him the bearer of so many scars.

“What would you will of me, Martin?” he asked, and his tongue was sharp to hide an anxious heart.

“I kept my promise,” Martin said, but the beast’s face did not soften at this, for he had endured years of silence, mourned and tried to forget the young man who had gifted him honey and blankets and promised to speak to him, even across the vast of the sea.

“I am glad to see it. I ask again. What would you will of me?”

“My mother would have me wed.”

The beast paused, before continuing with a sadness loosening the bricks of his heart.

“I see. Your apprenticeship has not left you a poor man, it was to be expected. And would you ask me for the finest silks, the cleverest bride or the prettiest groom or the gentlest spouse, the happiest matrimony in the kingdom?”

Martin did not flinch at the beast’s tone.

“My mother engaged me in a match while I was away,” he replied. “And although my betrothed is clever and dashing and would make me a happy man, I hold no love in my heart for her, nor she I. Her heart does not take to ardour as others do, though she cherishes my happiness and would be a steadfast companion. And I have never been mindful of passions of the sort expected from a husband.”

“It is not in my power to make people love,” the beast spoke harshly. “Nor is it to offer solutions to things that do not need fixing. The mechanisms of your heart are your own, as valued as any other, and I would not alter them.”

“That is not what I would ask,” Martin said. He approached the beast with open hands and an open face. “I ask only to tell you a story. The only one I have left to give you.”

Martin walked forward, and his eyes were not the grey the beast had feared but the blue of skies sighted through the canopy of the great forest. His hand, worn and calloused by his labours, reached out, and touched the chest of the beast to feel the rise and fall of his breathing.

“It is the story of my love,” he said, “for the soul who lives at the centre of the woods, blessed with the sight of a thousand eyes. Who gifted me his company, for a short time, and his name, which I have carried as a talisman to ward off all manner of evil. Of how I came to love him, and crafted gifts declaring my devotions when my tongue could not, and how my affections were not diminished by neither time nor tide. The man who whom I spoke my dreams and fears and hopes, even when I did not have the mirror though which he could hear me. Of the future I would hope for us, should my affections be returned. Of the life I do not dare to dream we could have, if only I knew he felt in kind.”

The beast took Martin’s hand and cradled it in a gentle grip.

“Such a request has a high price,” he said.

“Name it, Jonathan,” Martin said, and the beast’s face bloomed with a smile that lit up every one of his staring eyes.

“I would have the years of your life, Martin of the Black Woods,” the beast said. “I would have them to cherish and guard and hoard and share. And in return I would love you with all I have within me capable of such a task, and hope you found mind me worthy of the same.”

And so Martin embraced the beast, and swore to adore him all the years of his life. What further words and declarations they recounted to each other were not recorded. Years later, tales told of two beasts in the guises of men, who held court in their home at the centre of the forest. One, granted gifts of knowing, who would ask a story as the price for his learning. The second, a white-haired man untouched by time, who would find those lost upon the winding pathways of the forest and kindly escort them out, only to slip away amidst the trees like mist when his task was done.

But stories make tell of many things, and the truth of this tale is known only to the leaves and the trees of the Black Woods.  

[the-crows-typist]

Time for the 3rd installment of our Valentine’s Event with none other than, Vil Schoenheit and the word: Kiss requested by @twstdaydreamer This was very fun to write and I hope all of you enjoy this as much as I did.

CW: Alternate Universe: Cinderella and The Beast, OOC, Dark past, and discussion of the death of a loved one. 

This ficlet features characters singing certain songs so links will be provided for added experience. 

While some lyrics are gendered, the reader still remains gender-neutral.

Word count: 7843

Other works: Chocolate Feat. Jade, Cards Feat. Floyd

A Heart from Me to You

There once was a house as beautiful as those who lived in it. Its Lord and Lady produced a beautiful heir who, at a young age, strived for beauty unequaled to anyone in the mortal plane but at the price of the beauty of his own heart. One day, an old woman with a face aged approached the manor to seek shelter from the blistering snow…Only to be turned away with looks of disgust. This angered the lady, removing her form to reveal herself as a powerful goddess who cursed all who lived in that house with an enchanted rose.

This selfishness was what brought upon the family’s curse that when night fell should the family follow. The beautiful boy suffered from the curse the most, in his transformation did he end up killing those loved.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

“How tragic.” You whisper, sitting by the fire with a book on your lap. You enjoyed break times by the fire and being able to read by your lonesome especially when the winters became bitter in Pyroxene. You closed the book just as the head maid came in.

“Oh look at you, you’ve got cinder marks in your uniform. Come here. You must be careful, dear. The cinder marks are harder to wash off than you think.” She said and wiping the still fresh marks off your sleeves. “It was getting cold,” You explained. “But I’ll be careful next time, I promise.”

“Please and thank you.” She smiled at you the way a mother would to her child. “Come along, Vil will be coming home soon. We should go ahead and greet him.” You follow her towards the door just as you thought about Vil. His father was a famous actor that traveled but it wasn’t often that the two of them were in the same house at the same time.

“Welcome back, Vil.” Said the maid and you, bowing your head. “How was the trip?

Vil Schoenheit stood before you, his winter coat shining with fresh snowflakes and noise a sore red. “It went as it should. May I ask for some hot tea with honey?” You could hear the pulled-back shiver in his voice. “Bring it to me in the bath.” His footsteps were quick even in those high-heeled shoes.

“Can I leave it to you?” The head maid asked. “I still need to finish cooking dinner.”

You nod your head and smoothing out your uniform, ready to take on another task as well as the scrutinizing eye of one Vil Schoenheit.

Three knocks on the door and Vil halted in his actions. “Come in.” You opened the door, pushing the tray carrying tea and small biscuits carefully into the warm room. Vil had already exited the tub and dressed in a robe. Just as you had been taught, you poured a cup of tea mixed with honey and presented it to him.

“Thank you.”

Vil was a beautiful being, he really was. The way his body was sculpted and toned made you think he was carved out of fine marble by the finest artisans. His gaze towards you made you realized you were staring too long. “I-I’ll be on my way, Mister Vil. Please enjoy the night.”

“You’re the new one here, aren’t you?”

Vil set down the cup and stood up, the robe seemed to act like a flowing dress that flowed at the floor as he drew closer and closer to you. “I believe you’re the one whose mother passed last autumn.” You nodded your head with a sigh, remembering the stressful days after your mother was laid to rest.

Times were hard for you and your family, after the sudden passing of your mother, all of you had to make ends meet whenever and wherever possible. Your step-father, Mozus Trein, got a position as a professor in a known school while your step-brothers, Angelo and Donovan, set for the Rose Kingdom.

Angelo became a baker’s apprentice while Donovan became a tailor for an apparel shop. You stayed behind in Pyroxene, snagging yourself as a position as part of the staff of the well-known Schoenheit family. While the pay was good, appearances needed to be kept at all times thus why the head maid was often uppity with you especially on your first days.

“Yes.”

“I offer my condolences to you and your family.”

“Thank you…” You say and you look down at your shoes, your chest feeling heavy and empty at the same time. “But the tears have already been shed. All I want to do now is take care of my father and help my brothers.”

There was a smile on his face and he reached over, patting your shoulder with a damp hand. Up close he smelled of clean soap with a hint of citrus. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable. That’s what I want in the people who work here.” He pats your shoulder again with eyes of judgment. “But these marks on your uniform…”

Ah, crap.

“I stay by the fire during my break times.” You admit quickly and Vil only shakes his head. “It would do you good to stay further away. These cinder marks are unsightly.”

“I will keep that in mind, sir.”

He pulled back his arms and turned around as you were about to take your leave. “By the way, I would like to reiterate something while you’re here because I know the other staff will neglect to tell you this one important detail.”

The mirror before him reflected his serious expression, you gulped feeling as if you broke a rule. “When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

“What’s so special about the second floor?”

All of you ate on a table, the head maid serving up some warm cream stew. “Ah, that.” You gave your bowl to ask for seconds and she much obliged you. The old lady smiled to herself. “Nighttime is the only time Vil can rest,” She explained. “He’s quite the light sleeper so even the softest of sounds will wake him up.”

The look in her eyes was distant and smile knowing as she handed the bowl back to you. “Do you need anything else? We still have some sweet corn and roasted chicken,” she asked, pushing some more food for you to take. You sip at the hot morsel of food after shaking your head. “No, I’m fine.”

The howling winter winds that rattled your window was something you could never shut out of your mind. For as long as you could remember, you had always sought refuge in the beds of your family whether it be your annoyed yet caring brothers or the understanding tiredness of your parents.

Your mother was the best at calming you, though. She always knew exactly what to do…She was your first teacher, your first friend, your primary protector after the split and she became all the more lively after meeting Mozus, your step-father. And while life adjusted itself perfectly for you and your new family, it didn’t hesitate to strike tragedy at the calmest of times.

Your mother, after all the years she had been fighting and keeping her sickness at bay, succumbed one day in front of your step-father. Even with all the magic remedies and medicines in the world to keep her alive, there was no reversing what had already been done.

“I love you.” She said on her death bed, Trein’s hand never leaving his wife’s. “I love all of you very much. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.”

You and your brothers dealt with the grief differently, all three of them going off to their little corners for days and never showing their faces to you. It was days after the funeral when you saw your father cry, holding a picture of your mother close to his chest.

Since then, you and your brothers always needed to remind each other that they needed to be strong for their father’s sake. Angelo and Donovan spared no time in snatching every opportunity that they could while you stayed behind.

Vil’s words to you repeated like a record in your head, reminding you of how he viewed you. “You have a strong foundation to keep yourself stable.” The winds rattled and you brought your knees to your chest. Was your resolve, your foundation as strong as Vil saw??

Cutlery colliding against each other broke you out of your thoughts and startling you back to reality. Slipping out of bed and into your shoes, you made your way into the kitchen with your hands holding your coat tightly for warmth. The plates clattered amongst themselves and you hear the tap opening and closing.

You listen in the dark, waiting for the next noises. The footsteps were erratic and almost cobbled, the clicking of plates loud and sudden as if something was trying to walk. Had someone tried to break in? You hear the door to the living room open and shut and you poise yourself to follow but grabbing a nearby frying pan to defend yourself.

Opening the door, you hear the pair of footsteps climb up the stairs and you begin to panic. Vil’s room was up there! Whoever it was, was targeting Vil. Your movements hesitated, remembering the rule Vil himself told you.

“When the sun begins to set. Don’t go to the second floor.”

The dead of night had already come and everything around you was dark save for the lamps that provided little help in the snowstorm. You hesitated to move, weighing the options and their potential consequences. Should you stay and let Vil rest knowing a thief was roaming the halls or should you break the rules and protect him with all you had?

You bolted up the stairs without a second thought and the frying pan clutched tight, panting as you got to the top and looking wildly and trying to listen for the familiar intermittent footsteps. You turn to your side with you hear another door opening and closing and suddenly all the lessons you’ve learned grappling with your stepbrothers come back to you in a flash.

You inch towards the room in the door, turning the knob to open the door with a soft creek that makes your insides cringe. In the middle of the room was a floating flower protected by a glass dome, it was red-pink petals shimmering and lightings its vicinity in the same color.

It was mesmerizing to look at.

Setting the pan down to your side, you walked towards it with your hand stretching out to touch the dome that protected it. You dropped the pan entirely to take the dome off the rose, its glow, even more, hypnotizing up close. Just as your finger touched its soft petals, the window to your side blew open in a torrent of cold wind and unfurling the curtains that moved like the waves of a dark sea.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you.”

From the darkness within the room, a pair of purple orbs glowed and a growl preceded a warning voice. The intermittent footsteps of a convulsing mannequin were not far off and its happy face brought a lick of terror to your heart.

The creature of the night crawled forwards, its sharp teeth jutting out of its mouth and form menacing and mangled. The windows were soon closed and the curtains dropped to the ground with your foot stepping on the soft fabric.

“Give me the dome.” The monster’s long claws reached out for you and before you stepped back, you slipped; hitting your head on the soft material behind you, the howling winds and the piercing orbs fading to black.

“…I told you not to come in here.”

You stood by the door of your step-father’s study with eyes facing the floor. Angelo and Donovan standing on either side of you. The yellow light gave off a sleepy and exhausted feeling in the realm of books and writing materials. In the very center was a diorama of your family, toys he wanted to surprise the kids with.

And now, the surprise was ruined.

You could feel shame boil in you, it had been only a few months since your mother remarried and you had new brothers to play with…And now your new dad was upset with you. “Come here.” He said, the man suddenly on one knee, your brothers coming over to him in a hug and you followed soon after.

“All of you, such curious little mice.” He said, patting each one of you on the back. “Next time, I want you to ask for permission before you enter the study, alright?” There was a laugh behind you, your mother smiling to herself while she leaned against the doorframe with a blanket over her shoulders. She never got used to the cold she was born in.

“Promise me that.”

“Yes, daddy.” All the children say.

And as you relished the warmth of your new father, something wet trickled down your cheek. Your brother, Angelo, was always the sensitive one of your step-siblings and would not hesitate to stop the sibling tomfoolery the moment things go awry. He held you close, his tears accidentally running down your cheek when you moved, while Donovan sat in the corner with shoulders hunched over. What was once your father’s sleepy study was now the empty hallway of a hospital.

The wind rattled against the windows of the hospital, your mother had succumbed to the sickness on a cold day. And your father was getting everything ready for the eventual end.

“Kids.”

Trein came out of the room, looking older than you remembered. “Your mother would like to talk to you.”

When you turned away from your brother’s embrace, you were seated on the side of your mother’s bed. Her body was sickly and the cold messed with what life remained in her. She smiled at all of you and your eyes began to sting.

“I love you.” She says, her eyes looking so tired. “I love you all very much.” And soon the tears began to fall from her face. I’m sorry I had to leave so early.” You blinked at the hand you held, your mother’s hand soon replaced with Donovan’s as he pulled you from your seat. In his suit, he looked more solemn and his usually long and wild hair was tied back with a ribbon.

“Let’s say goodbye.” He told you and tugged you to the coffin where your mother laid. “Where’s dad?” You turned your head, your hand now vacant and the space behind you a void of nothingness. The door of your father’s study slightly ajar and the familiar yellow light spilling through.

Your steps were echoed and slow, approaching the room slowly. When you were by the door, you peaked through the cracks; your father kneeling on the carpet and holding a figure to his chest. The diorama you once played with in your youth was set up on his table, your mother’s figurine nowhere in sight. There was a held back sob, Trein’s body shaking under his mourning robes.

You took a step back, letting him grieve in his own time.

You knew better than to come in there without permission.

You woke up with a start and a sudden sting to the back of your head. Above you was a chandelier you had no memory of seeing in your quarters and a bed your hands never recognized. Your chest heaved when you pushed yourself up the bed only to be pushed down by the head maid.

“Stay down.” She says, holding your shoulders. The light of the new day filtered through the large window of Vil’s room. Vil stood by the rose with his back facing you, holding the dome to himself just as your breathing leveled and normalized. “You hit your head pretty bad last night,” She explained and felt for the bump that made you hiss.

Last night…

“Was last night real?” You asked, your sudden burst of energy was off-putting especially when you remembered the events leading to the memories you wished to never relish again. “That rose. Was it really glowing? A-and that monster—!”

The dome was placed onto the rose with a loud clack, the glass roughly hitting the marble surface. “T-that’s beside the point!” The maid scolded.  “Vil warned you never go to the second floor after the sunsets! Not only did you disobey one of the rules given to you, you hit your head while doing so.”

You bit back a hiss of guilt and opened your mouth to try to retort at your apparent rebellion.

“Elena.”

Vil’s voice was soft yet strict, eyes calm yet sharp. He regarded you for a moment while leaning against the marble table. “Let them be for the day, they’ve hit their head too hard.” You felt yourself shrink under his gaze. “See to it that they have little heavy activities as possible and prioritize that the bump is given care immediately.”

Elena bowed her head, her upset anger still very much apparent.

“Yes, sir.”

Elena’s nimble hands making quick work of dirty dishes. Your head had been bandaged with a compress pressed to where you hit your head. You stared at your meal with little appetite before poking at the grilled fish. “Miss Elena, why does that rose glow?”

The clattering of cutlery stopped and the head maid only sighed, shaking his head. “Always the curious one, aren’t you?” She turned around, leaning against the sink with arms crossed. “That’s one of Vil’s most treasured possessions. An heirloom that came directly from his grandfather then to his father then to him.”

Elena’s eyes looked to the side as if to remember. “I should know. I was there for every passing down. Vil is highly protective of it.”

It might have just been a coincidence, you thought to yourself, that the story you read by the fire had mentioned a rose but that was all there was to it. You ate your breakfast quicker after that. “I’m sorry for my behavior.”  

“Next time, listen to your instructions.” She said, taking the plates from you before you could even move an inch to help her.

The feather duster slid against the books, your toes tipping to reach up for the shelves above your head. From there, you took your damp rag and swiped it across the polished wooden table. Yup, this was pretty much not so labor-intensive but it would get painfully boring unless you had some entertainment to go with you so you sang a small song taught to you in your youth.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes when you’re fast asleep.” Your mother loved to sing this song to you and soon, to your new family. Trein especially loved it when they danced together in the living room when the children were ‘seemingly’ asleep. “In dreams, you will lose your heartaches. Whatever you wish for, you keep.” You closed your eyes, feeling the memories of the past come with the melody of your song. You remember the first time you snuck out of bed with your brothers to see your parents slow dancing together. “Have faith in your dreams and someday your rainbow will come smiling through.”

You’ve never seen your mother smile so peacefully nor did you ever see her hug someone so intimately before Trein, in fact, you’ve never seen her do any of those things with your old dad. She was happy. “No matter how your heart is grieving...”

You only wished to see that happiness last longer than it should have. If only things stayed the way they did. “If you keep on believing…”

You envisioned your mother holding you close, singing to you one last time. Just like how she did when could still hold you to your chest. Just one last time…

“The dream that you wish…will come true.”

Sighing, you leaned against your broom saddened by what you made yourself remember.  “Oh, I’ll never get my work done at this rate.” You say, taking your equipment with you and almost running out the library with a huff. Next to the fireplace, Vil lay on one of the long couches away from sight. It was only when you went out that he rose from his seat and hunched forward to let his hair cover his face.

He stayed silent, relishing the sound of your voice in his head.

During your break time, you decided to stay outside with a group of mice that decided to keep you company. You never understood why but the small animals around your area always seemed to be kind and almost human-like. When one mouse decided to sit by you while nibbling a small piece of leftover cookies did you begin to speak your thoughts.

“Is there something being hidden from me? Or am I being too nosey?”

One mouse approached you, listening to you at your feet. “I know last night wasn’t a dream, I know what I saw.” You say then feeling for the bump on his head. “It was real, I just know it.” There was a small squeak, one of the female mice touched your hand with her small paw as if to say words of reminder.

‘You’re stressing yourself out.’

Grimacing, you pushed yourself up and patting your uniform off the crumbs and dust. “I know.” You tell them and the mice look up to you in curiosity and concern in their beady little eyes. “I’ll be fine, don’t you worry. I’m a strong mouse just like you! I’m sure I can get to the bottom of this, I just…Need to find a better opportunity.”

The mice squeak in affirmation which makes you giggle. “Ahah, I’ll have to figure it out as I go along.” You tell them and look to the house, knowing that you had to get back in quickly. “I should get going, I’ll come back with some good food tomorrow.” You wave at the mice who give sounds of greeting as you leave.

What you saw on the second floor was real. You know it is. And you were going to prove it. You stopped by one of the mirrors, fixing your appearance quickly. “Huh?” Your hand touches the surface, small cracks brushed by your tips as if someone had driven something sharp into it. Looking up at the sky, you smelled frost in the air. Strong winds would accompany the night again, it seems.

The accompanying snowstorm was as fitting as it ever gave you a feeling of stealth. You always wanted to be a kind of spy when you were younger and here you are living the dream, though some nice gear and some goggles would have helped greatly. The wind blows and rattles the windows harshly when you brought yourself up the stairs.

“Tale as old as time, true as it can be. Barely even friends then somebody bends unexpectedly.”

You walk to the door you saw the beast. Placing a hand on the door to listen. “Just a little change. Small, to say the least. Both a little scared Neither one prepared. Beauty and The Beasy” Hesitantly, you open to turn the door to hear more of the beautiful voice. The room was dark and only the glowing rose giving light to the room around it.

“Ever just the same, ever a surprise,”

A mannequin hunches over a familiar huddle of fur and purple light. The movements of both almost unearthly yet the voice passionate and real…And so familiar. “Ever as before and ever just as sure as the sun will rise.”

The winds rattle harshly again and the beast bundles into a ball in Vil’s bed, the mannequin’s hands shakenly placing its hand on the shivering being. “Tale as old as time, tune as old as song. Bittersweet and strange, finding you can change; learning you were wrong.”

You open the door a little wider and watch the scene unfold. Somehow, it wasn’t your place to interfere at such a moment so vulnerable. “Certain as the sun rising in the east, tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme. Beauty and the Beast ”

The shaking beast’s form calmed itself and the mannequin leaned down, its monotonous face pressing against the mass of fur. A kiss goodnight. The cold of the wind blew through, the mannequin looking at you with its painted eyes. The silence was light and your eyes never leaving each other. Taking a step back, you pulled the door with you until it was shut. Everything was finally coming together.

Vil was the beast.

Breakfast was quiet and the wraps on your head were taken off. Elena made no move or sound to acknowledge you as you ate. “So the beautiful boy cursed by the goddess.” You could hear her hand grip the wet plates tightly and you knew what was coming but, at this point, you didn’t care if you got scolded. “It was Vil, wasn’t it?”

“You were given specific instructions never to go up there at night.” She said sternly.

“It’s him, wasn’t it?” You press again.

“Why are you so pressed on this? What good will it do for you?”

“The mannequin was you, wasn’t it? You were singing to that beast.” Elena fuming, slammed her hand onto the table and that was what made you pull back. “Don’t call him that.” She says and sighs, pulling away from you and straightening her back. “The next time I see you on the second floor, you are out of this house. Do you understand me?”

She takes your empty plates and splashes them into the water. Her breath was harsh and her skin almost sickly looking. A cough leaves her lips and her shoulders shiver. “Would you like some tea?” You ask softly and her shoulders hunch over.

“Yes, dear. Please.”

Just as you took the teapot from the cabinet, she spoke to you again. “Please follow that rule this time. Don’t make this harder for Vil than it has to be.”

You open the kettle and reach for the leaves, hearing the old lady cough.

You were back in the library before the sun began to set and adding wood into the fire for warmth. The snowstorm hadn’t let up since the last night and you were afraid that your quarters was not enough to warm you through the night. Using the heating pair of tongs, you adjust the wood in a way that it would burn properly and not caring if the cinders would cling to your uniform.

During the coldest of nights, you and your mother would love to cuddle by the fire and sleep until the morning. It only became a festive event with the addition of your brothers and your father. She loved the heat, the sleeping feeling it gave her and she loved it the most when Trein held her close.

Your shoulders sag, that was probably the only time you’ve ever seen him at peace. After that…Shaking your head, you push those memories away. You had to be strong, you had to be for the sake of your family. Reaching up, you swat the tears from your face. Your tears had already been wept the day she was buried.

“Stay too close to the fire and your uniform will get singed.”

Vil stood behind the couch, a warm blanket over his shoulders and hair despite being messy made him look immaculate. “I have a request.”

“What is it?”

“You can sing, correct? And sing well.” Ah, you’re not sure if you could answer that one wholeheartedly. Gulping, you nod your head. “I can sing, yes, but well, not really—.” Vil’s huff was hard and eyebrows furrowed. “Do not hide what good you have. It will not grow unless you expose it.”

“O-of course.” You nod your head and Vil closes his eyes. You noticed bags, his skin slightly paled. “Are you here because of the storm, Vil?” Nodding his head, Vil sank down next to you with a sigh. “The windows become too loud at night…I don’t like the sound of it.”

“I understand. I’m not much a fan of it myself.”

“We’re veering off-topic.” He looks to you, “Can you sing for me? At least for a moment.” The windows rattle and he closes his eyes again. You move, patting your lap for him to rest on and he gives you a look. “My mother used to do this to me. It beats having to lay down on flat ground.”

He is hesitant at first but follows after a few minutes of pondering. He lays on your lap, getting himself comfortable and you adjust the blanket on top of him. “Any requests?”

“Anything that will help me sleep.”

The winds rattle and his shoulders hunch. “Alright.”

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale. Sing sweet nightingale high above me.”

Vil’s eyes open ever so slightly, his violet eyes staring in the fire. Any moment, he would transform into the beast of the night. A curse passed down from generation to the next and yet, you stayed to sing. “Sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale high above.”

Elena had not been feeling well recently, her old age and the blistering cold made for one bad fever that she needed rest for. And while Vil was understanding of that, the winds that rattled the windows never ceased to let him sleep.

“Oh, sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet nightingale.”

But that soon changed when he heard you sing in this very library. It reminded him of the soft coo of a dove and the warmth of a wool blanket. “Oh, sing sweet nightingale sing…” His eyes felt heavy and soon his body became weightless, he yearned for the days he could walk out in the sun without fear of the night that was to come.

He yearned for the day he would no longer be afraid…

He yearned deep within his heart.

“Sing sweet nightingale…”

A black beast laid in the place where Vil once was, its gnarly teeth the same purple as Vil’s eyes. Your hands brushed the black fur as the fire crackled and spat cinders from within. The beast, no, Vil’s body laying peacefully on your lap. You move, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek and his body only moving to keep warm against you.

“High above me…”

The enchanted rose glowed dimly, its first petals beginning to fall to the countertop beneath it.

Your eyes open and the wood that once fueled the fire was reduced to ashes. Elena stood over you while Vil, in his human form, slept peacefully on your lap. The two of you shared glances and you immediately opened your mouth.

“I didn’t go upstairs this time.”

She knelt, adjusting the blanket over the sleeping boy’s long figure. You noticed how his body looked in this position, not too lanky and not too toned…but skin so pale from the days he never went out. Come to think of it, he never usually went out unless he needed to. And when he came back, he would stay in for long periods before taking his leave again.

Suddenly, you thought about his parents and wondering if they knew of his situation. Where were they? What happened to them??

Were they affected by the curse as well?

“I’ll bring the breakfast here,” Elena says. “You stay here and watch over Vil.”

Vil had no qualms about eating in the library, given that the fire was warm and the meal was hot. It helped after the bad snowstorm that passed the house for days. You noticed he had a small appetite and a big penchant for drinking lots of fluids. Well, he is a model so you don’t blame him for following the strict regimens.

“You have a nice voice,” Vil says, putting down his cup. “Thank you for last night. I hope that my beastly form wasn’t much of a problem to you.”

Shaking your head, you quickly swallow the stew you were eating. “No, no, it’s quite alright. I’m happy you think that but…About that form.” You feel Elena’s gaze on you and you force yourself to bite back a lingering question.

Vil himself was also silent. “If they’re going to stay here then they should know.” Elena’s shoulders relaxed but her expression remained unsure. “Vil, are you—.”

“I know a person with ulterior motives when I see it.” He looks over to you with a small smirk and boy does it match the messy hair and too droopy clothing. “What we have with us is nothing more than a curious little mouse.”

And you don’t whether that was an insult or a compliment but your squinting eyes only fueled his laughter, those shoulders of his bopping under the protective blanket. “Then what I saw…”

“Everything you saw was real, down to the very last petal of the rose.”

You knew it! You were right!! A smile graced your lips and you sat back against the chair you sat on. Vil took a sip and proceeded to ask more questions, some of which you didn’t have a direct answer to. “Now that you have all the information you need, what will you do with it?”

You looked down at your plate, mulling it over. “Nothing.” You answer. “You called me a curious mouse with no ulterior motive so I’ll do nothing with it.”

Vil hid his smile behind the cup of tea and Elena only sighed, a small burden lifting from her shoulders as the two of you spoke casually.

Vil was moved to the second floor, letting him rest on a real bed. You look around the room, seeing it with proper lighting for the first time. All the mirrors were covered in cloth, some cracked. The paintings that hung on the wall looked immaculate, beautifully painted…Except for one figure whose face was splashed with black. Your brows furrowed, trying to identify who this person was.

“I assume you still have more questions, little mouse.”

Vil sat up, motioning you forward to sit on the edge. “Who is he?” The family’s portrait hung as a centerpiece, you could identify a baby Vil, and his parents sitting across from each other…But that one person standing over them; you couldn’t make heads or tails of it with all the black paint in the way.

“My grandfather.”

A long sigh left Vil, his finger tucking a hair behind his ear. “Before my father went into acting, he was part of the family business led by my grandfather.” He closed his eyes, imagining the warm shop that housed many items and the many people coming in and out to buy supplies. A small Eric would clumsily put grocery items into a paper bag and wrap it, his father looming over him as he collected payments.

“He was strict when needed but his anger knew no bounds when it was released.” Vil slid down onto his bed. “Running a business is difficult, I understand that, but these fits were often quite scary to witness.” Staring into the rose’s glow, the light formed shadows of a figure hunching over a screaming beast. “It led him down a path of ruin, they went out of business and struggled during the bad brunt of the storm season.”

“He wasn’t the best at controlling his emotions, was he?” Vil shook his head at your question. “Not by a long shot. That was the very same anger that led to all this in the first place.” He looked up at the painting with contempt as if the painting stared back at him the same way. “Try as he may, my father could never outrun the curse…Even after I saw born.”

You remembered the book, the story you read by the fire. “Then…”

Vil’s hummed a laugh, eyes blinking slowly. The shadows formed by the glow of the rose moved to a scared family and a shaking figure holding a shadow of the rose. “He yelled at the wrong people, made enemies of those with magic far stronger than anyone could ever imagine.”

The shadows drew dimmer, the beastly form taking shape, roaring at the rose with all its fury and behind it was a weeping family. It all dissipated like a breaking film tape under Vil’s sigh.

Now, cursed and alone, the beautiful boy lived in a husk of his own home waiting the days for the earth to take him whole.

Your heart felt heavy, remembering the last line of the story. “I’m sorry.” That was all you could say to him but he hunched his shoulders with a dismissiveness. “What happened has passed. As you said before: the tears have already been shed.” The rose’s petals fall to the floor below it.

“Is there a way to reverse this?”

“An open heart.” he looked over to you with a smile unable to be read. “That’s all.”

You hung your head, unable to say anything. Vil only wraps his blanket around himself tighter while you stare at the glowing rose until its ethereal color was seared into your memory.

There was a splash of water, Vil sits in the tub with you preparing his robe and other items. “The snow should have receded by now. We could take a walk if you’d like.” As days passed through the house, you and Vil had grown closer. Now that either of you had nothing to hide, the tension that once felt between you was almost nonexistent.

“It has been a while since I’ve gone out. Some sunlight would do all of us good.” He said, leaning back on the tub with eyes closed. “A day in the sun…”

“Indeed. It would be nice to feel some warmth.” You learned that you and he weren’t very different. Both of you loved music, loved the theatre, just anything to dance to. And you also found out that Vil himself had a wonderful singing voice, almost like velvet.

“All those days in the sun, what I’d give to relive just one. Undo what’s done and bring back the light.”

You found out that his mother passed when he was young and his father, Eric, raised him all on his own after his mother was out of the picture. He was Vil’s first teacher, first friend, his support clutch in understanding why he was the way he was. “Days in the sun will return. We must believe—.”

“As lovers do…”

Your voices mingled together and while embarrassed to admit it, you had listened to it to his movies while cleaning. He may have caught you a few times, though. “That days in the sun…Will come shining…Through…” His deep beautiful voice echoed through the chamber, you imagined hearing it in a large theatre. Oh, you were certain Vil would love to do that.

“I always wondered why you never tried theatre.” You didn’t need to turn around to know his expression. “Do you think I’ll make it there, little mouse?”

“You’re Vil Schoenheit, son of Eric Venue. Of course, you will!”

A comfortable silence followed his laugh while you continued to face away from him. The Zen between you two almost unbreakable in the warm bathing room. The flower’s glow dimmed in the emptiness and losing more petals that piled beneath it.

With the music playing in the back, Vil watched from the balcony after getting his fair share of sunlight after the storm had passed. The voice of his father was rich and melodious as his role of a man finally falling in love after years of isolation.

He watched as you trudged around the snow before going back to his room, not once looking at the dimming rose and straight to his television. “I was the one who had it all,” His father sang. “I was the master of my fate. I never needed anybody in my life. I learned the truth too late.” The first time he had transformed into the beast he knew today, he had scared the recently hired help.

“I’ll never shake away the pain.” They were very cruel with their words, to the point that it was Elena, of all people, who told them to leave the house. Though the terror had left, it left Vil with uncertainty and fear of his appearance.

Eric’s character peered out the window just as the heroine pulls out a horse, the determination not hidden from even the viewer. “I close my eyes but she’s still there. I let her steal into my melancholy heart, it’s more than I can bear.” And now you took that place. From the get-go, Vil knew you have gone through hardships of your own. He could see it just by looking at your steeled expression and the aura you held on your shoulders.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even as she runs away.” Not only had you defied the rule twice, your curiosity only spurred you further on with your investigation. And even when you had all the information you needed and cracked the code, you did nothing with it. “She will torment me, calm me, hurt me, move me…Come what may.”

Vil stands up just as Eric’s character runs up the stairs, the spiraling staircase almost hypnotic from above. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.” He comes back to the balcony and opens the door, seeing you and Elena hauling in the bag of chestnuts. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in…” The two of you catch each other’s line of sight.

“And be with me for evermore.”

As the two of you smiled at each other, the rose begins to wilt and hunch over with each petal falling from the stem. The smell of spring drew close, Vil took a deep breath in then sighed it out. When he closes his eyes, all he ever sees are the days he’ll spend with you.

And the envisioning of a grand theatre, the same one he first saw his father in. He begins humming a small tune, thinking of the harmonizing violins, the beautiful costumes, and designs. The rose wilts more, only one petal remains on its dying stem.

The days had passed all so quickly, the winter giving its way to spring them to summer. You stood in front of the theatre, your family next to you. Trein takes you by the hand “Shall we?” entering the grand theatre, you and your sibling marveled at the beautifully crafted designs, the plush seating, and the long curtains.

“It’s beautiful.” Said your father, his smile soft. “Thank you for bringing us here.”

Angelo and Donovan pushed along, overly excited for the play. “Come on, come on.” One of them says. “It’s about to begin! Let’s sit down.”

The lights dim and the curtains open, droves of characters coming in their beautifully crafted costumes. You see Vil in his costume, waltzing with another character in yellow. The horns placed onto him were just as beautiful as him yet, after seeing his breast-like form…It never stood a chance.

The stage dimmed when he took the stage, a single rose in hand. His voice was loud, pure, perfect as he sang the song of a man who found love after years of isolation. His expression perfectly encapsulating the sadness he had felt.

“I rage against the trials of love. I curse the fading of the light.”

You remember the very first moment he bore his heart to you, the moment he asked you to sing for the very first time. “Though she’s already flown so far beyond my reach, she’s never out of sight.” Gone were the days he hid within the confines of his room and gone were the days he needed to hide out of fear.

“Now I know she’ll never leave me even if she fades from view!”

He twirls, his eyes searching the crowd until he finds yours in the crowd. “She will still inspire me, be a part of everything I do.” The background behind him changes, the spiraling staircase he walks one moved at his every move until he reaches the balcony, leaning his hands to sing his heart out with a hopeful look. The both of you stare at each other as he sings his heart out, saying the words he wanted everyone to hear with a voice he no longer feared. “Wasting in my lonely tower, waiting by an open door.”

He breathes, the wind and strings instruments beginning their strong ascend in a crescendo of harmonizing and accenting melody. “I’ll fool myself, she’ll walk right in.”

The rose glows in his hand and he hunched his back, readying himself. “And as the long, long nights begin.”

Vil looks up into the light, his expression one of pure passion and love. “I’ll think of all that might have been.” And the grip on the rose tightens but only for a moment.

“Waiting here…For ever—.”

Vil lets the rose float out of his hand and ascends up to the center of the room.

“—More!” The flower burst into a rain of petals that add to his last note and accompaniment of the instruments.

The last petal of the glowing rose falls, the stem falling on a pile of dried rose petals following the applause of the crowd. Vil regains his breathing, his eyes listless as he stares up at the ceiling when the music ends, the curtains fall, and the lights go out.

You pass through the crowds of colors and thrills, looking for the familiar mop of blond and purple hair. “Vil!” You yell out to him just as he comes to view in the sea of people. His arms are ready to take it in, “You were amazing out there!”

The sun begins to set during the embrace, Vil’s face continued to smile at you and soon giving a solemn bow to your father and brothers. “Mr. Schoenheit, it’s a pleasure to meet you. That was a wonderful performance.” He says, smiling at him with eyes trained to your hands holding the actor’s. Ah, gets it.

“Thank you, Mr. Trein. I’m glad you liked it.”

“Vil Schoenheit, you’re needed for a picture.” Says one of the stage crew and Vil reluctantly pulls away. “Coming. I’ll see you later?” He asks you and you tip your toes to him, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “I’ll wait outside. Bye Vil.”

You run out of backstage and yet he had a feeling that finding you won’t be that much of a problem. He touches his lips. “So this is love…” He whispered to himself and made his way to his troop, readying himself for the pictures.

[fallin-4-ya]

The Follies and Vices of You

cedric diggory x reader- part v of series 

based off the novel and film ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen

summary: Being the beloved sister of the incredibly wealthy Mr. Potter, you felt no need to rush into marriage. But one day, when you come to meet a new acquaintance, the proud Mr. Diggory, your views of love and follies change.

warnings: none! (gif is not mine, credit to owner!)

part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v

‘Maybe it’s that I find it hard to forgive the follies and vices of others, or their offenses against me. My good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.’ -Jane Austen 

The snow melted and flowers began growing, winter gone and the world welcoming spring with open arms. The earth turned ever so slowly and the cold months of the year began to pass, while the months of summertime approached slowly.

You thought often about the words crossed between you and Mr. Diggory and reread his letter hundreds of times. You replayed every emotion in your memory and found solace in his warm eyes, unable to remove him from your thoughts. The feeling of guilt, anger and love resided deep with you, for you couldn’t tell which thought to be corresponding to him.

Miss Ginny, however may have been right about two things in her letter sent to you in the New Year. You had received a proposal form not only Mr. Diggory, but from Mr. Malfoy as well which you declined almost instantly. While the other being she would be home before the flowers bloomed, which excited you greatly.

You told no soul about the proposal or the letter sent from Mr. Diggory, not even Miss Ginny; for to remember the memories of the conversation was far too painful. You had not seen Mr. Diggory since, you were told he was to go back home for the summer months.

One morning at breakfast, your brother turned to you, ‘Y/N, I am to go across country with Mr. Ron Weasley next week for some business.’ You hummed softy, ‘How would you like to join us? I think some fresh air will do you good.’

You looked up at Harry with sweet eyes, ‘Oh Harry! Of course, how exciting that sounds! What a wonderful distraction from life this will be, as what are men compared to rocks and mountains!’

The following week you rode up country in the carriage with Harry and Mr. Ron Weasley. The trip was splendid so far, as you passed the blossoming trees and blooming flowers. It felt as the world was at peace. You turned your attention to your brother,

‘Harry, where are we anyway?’

‘Derbyshire, I believe.’

‘Harry,’ Interjected Mr. Weasley, ‘Is that not the home of Mr. Diggory?’

‘Yes, Ron, I do believe it is!’ replied your brother, ‘Shall we pay our old friend a visit?’

‘Oh lets not!’ you quickly spurred out, ‘He um- Well he’s so rich. I do prefer not to.’

‘And what are we my dear sister!’ Harry shakes his head in amusement, ‘Nonsense, we shall go see our business partner. I thought you would love to meet an old acquaintance, Y/N.’

With that you slumped down into your seat, dreading the visitation of Mr. Diggory.

When you all had finally arrived to his estate you could not help but to smile to yourself, because it was more beautiful than you could ever imagine. You graciously made you way up the grand staircase up to the front doors. The doors opened and you were met face to face with Mr. Diggory, a meeting you had thought so long about. His eyes were still warm and you saw a smile that you hadn’t quite seen there before

‘Mr. Diggory.’ You bowed at his, returning the smile.

‘Miss Y/N, what a most pleasant surprise!’ He took your hand, greeting you properly. He then turned you your brother and Mr. Weasley, welcoming them to his home.

Soon you all sat in his parlor, conversation coming easily; all the while Mr. Diggory turned to you. ’Miss Y/N, would you do me the honor of perhaps playing the pianoforte. It’s been such a long while since music was played in my home.’

You nodded and walked up to the pianoforte, then began playing it graciously. The men once again became absorbed in conversation as you went into your own little world with your playing. It felt like hours had passed as you played; however, you were brought out of your piano trace with a presence stood above you. Without looking up or stopping your fingers you said,

‘You mean to frighten me, Mr. Diggory, coming in all your state to listen to me. But I shan’t be alarmed even if your family does play so well.’

He laughed, ‘Oh, Miss Potter, I know well that I cannot frighten you even if I were to wish it.’

You looked into his brown eyes, as if you were seeing their richness for the very first time. You saw the man behind the wall, a man ruined by tragedy and grief; a man numbed by the betrayal of friends and the loss of a most beloved sister. for how tragic life can be, as you knew that all too well. And perhaps Mr. Diggory was right, just because one has pride, we have no right to be prejudice towards the; especially when one’s character is severely misunderstood.

You stood quickly identifying your feelings, becoming very uneasy. You apologized and walked out of the room; for what you felt, you could not bear.

For the rest of the trip you pondered over your likeness of Mr. Diggory. You spend your nights lying awake solely thinking about him, he danced in your mind as a distance memory, something that was always just out of reach. And returning home did not fix your heartbreak, but rather made it worse. The feelings which you felt were buried very deep within your insides, for you could not handle the recollection of the emptiness you felt without him.

Month passed, and seasons changed. The end of summer came quickly. Your restlessness came to no avail, spending most nights walking the grounds of the estate. There your thoughts could not disturb you.

One night walking, you saw dawn soon approaching; but there was something else also steadily approaching you.

Mr. Diggory.

He headed onwards staright towards you, both of you dressed only in night clothes. Mr. Diggory came to you steadily with shaky hands.

‘Mr. Diggory! How- why?’

‘I could not sleep, Miss. Y/N. I think only of you and knew I had to come see you again, only to ask one more time.’

He paused looking at you, exhaling deeply. You nodded and gazed into his loving eyes.

‘Miss. Y/N, if your feelings have remined the same since last winter, please tell me so at once. My affections towards you have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. However, if your feelings have changed,’ he paused slowly, ‘I wish to tell you that you have bewitched me body and soul and I love- I love you. And I never wish to be parted from you from this day forth.’

‘It’s always been you, Mr. Diggory.’ You stared longingly at him, ‘For I cannot express the moment it stared; but that once I realized, I was only in the middle and far too deep to turn back. So, if you will take me as I am, I am yours.’

He took your hands in his, drawing them in slowly and planting a kiss onto each knuckle. Stars in his eyes and angels in yours, it was like this moment had been envisioned a hundred times in your head but never had the courage of playing itself out. Now, instead of dancing alone in his memories, you danced in each other’s, together.

For the first time you felt like you were home, and you loved him, and he loved you. And after all, how much more could you ask for.

(authors note: Ahh! its finally here! the last chapter of this series, but not to worry there will be an epilogue! if you came this far, thank you so much, i really enjoyed writing this series and I hope you enjoyed reading it! much love <333)

tag list: @freddieweasleyswife @truly-insatiable @annasdani @mullthingsoverinthehotwater

[faetxlity]

Here’s A Health To The Company

@save-a-witcher-bingo  Prompt: At Sea Characters: Witcher Gerd, Togeir the Red, Jerome Moreau

 Torgeir was looking up at the ruins of what had once been his home. What      was     his home.      Is.    The flames were spreading quickly, Fort Tuirseach was all but destroyed. Like the Jarl who had filled its halls with laughter and mead- ruined.

 At his side, stained in blood, sat the Witcher Gerd. His jaw was tight, his hands were fisted in the fabric of his own filthy shirt, but his eyes were clear. He did not watch the ruin of his adopted home, rather he watched the blood seep from the bandages that he had wrapped around Torgeir’s leg. Already they were in need of changing but they had no fabric with which to do so, his original job had been so hasty... Unless they ripped apart the sails there was nothing to be done. But to do such a thing as that was a death warrant.

 The little ship they had taken was not meant to go much further than around the cape but they had set out for sea with no choice. They had with them five men and a woman, of whom only two were well enough to take up oar, not counting the Witcher who had rowed them the first half hour from shore nearly on his own with eyes blacker than coal.

 The Witcher rested now though, so much as he could with his life burning on the shore.

 “We will die out here.” The Jarl said, voice was devoid of emotion. Gerd looked to his friend’s face then, to his lover’s eyes. The anger, the      grief    , all the emotions he had expected were nowhere to be found.

 “No.” Gerd replied, “we will live. We will see them pay for this and you      will     see it rebuilt.” He received no answer, no acknowledgement as the jarl’s hand did not return the gentle pressure that he put upon it. Gerd looked at the island they were sailing from, the land they may never get to set foot on again.

 They would live; he would accept no other outcome.

 ~seven days~

 For seven days the ship rocked, sailing for some imagined safe haven on the mainland but without hope or half a crew. One man had succumbed to his wounds on the first dawn and another had followed two evenings after. Torgeir had said nary a word since his ominous assertion of their fate, his leg had steadily grown worse over the days and it left him with little ability to do more than lay down and sleep. When awake he stared across the sea as if expecting death to appear to him with an outstretched hand.

 Gerd had taken over easily enough, tucked Torgeir into the captain's quarters and spent both days and nights looking for either a miracle or their end.

 On the seventh day it came to them in the form of a ship thrice their size. No man aboard their own was fit to fight but still Gerd drew his steel and braced himself. The dark hull of the incoming vessel felt like an omen and he was flanked by Andrea and Koll, the only two who remained in good health- though weak from hunger they would die on their feet. Of that they were sure.

 A figure leaned over the edge of the ship above, their back was to the sun and so Gerd could not discern any features.           “Are you in need of assistance?” The voice was, clearly, not Nilfgardian and that alone was enough for the man on Gerd’s left to sag. Andrea looked to the Witcher, her eyes wide and hopeful.

     Please, let this be a mercy.  

 “Yes!” He called up. “We are!”

 The ship called itself a merchant’s vessel though a pirate’s den is what it looked. They had been pulled aboard with canvas and rope, the men of the ship quick to provide them with fresh water and food while their medic checked each refugee for wounds. If the crew were upset to have a witcher in their midst they did not voice it. Their captain was nowhere to be seen.

 “Oh dear.” The medic said, in his hands were the bandages that Gerd had re-applied to Torgeir’s leg on the third day of their voyage, made from scraps of a shirt found in the captain’s chest.. The odor once they were removed turned even the Witcher’s stomach. “I need a knife.” Gerd tensed but produced his own blade, edging closer to see what was going on.

 Torgeir was sweating, his skin deathly pale and feverish as he had been for the last day. In that moment though the jarl’s eyes were wide open- “Where’s Gerd?” It was slow and slurred but clear enough.

 “I’m here, Torgeir.” He sank to his knees and took one scarred hand in his own. With his other hand he brushed the tangled mess of the jarl’s hair back from his forehead. The infection was nasty, but it hadn’t spread far. He smiled though surely it was more of a grimace, “Just here.” It took all his strength not to snatch the medic by his throat when the knife began to cut away flesh. It took nothing at all to blame himself for the state of the wound. He was a witcher, he should have known better.

     You had nothing on hand to help. You did what you could.    He reminded himself. It could have been much worse, the beam that had splintered and slashed the jarl’s thigh had nearly taken his head instead.

 Green eyes rolled back and the man’s labored breathing evened.          “Witcher?” The medic hedged, “I’ve patched what I can but he will need someone to keep an eye on the wound. We’re still some ways away from the next port but we’ll find a proper healer there.”

 “I’ll look after him. Thank you…” he pushed himself to his feet. “Where is your captain?” The men pointed him across the deck to where a slight man was coiling rope, seemingly unconcerned with the new arrivals. He was dressed in a loose fitting shirt and a pair of garish calico pants.

 “Cap’n.”

 The supposed captain turned and Gerd’s first impression of the man was ‘pretty’. He had light brown hair and blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He was handsome in a plain sort of way, surely a charmer in any tavern he wished. The bear’s second impression was      Witcher.    Which couldn’t have been right.

 There was no such thing as a blue eyed Witcher.

 “Jerome Moreau.” The man-maybe witcher introduced himself as he passed the rope off to a deckhand. At the silence he continued, “Maybe we should speak somewhere private.”  Gerd followed him across deck, listening to the slow beat of his heart. The captain’s quarters were decently large and Gerd had the ability to put space between himself and ‘Jerome’ once the door was closed and the lantern lit.

 “As I said, I’m Jerome School of the Griffin.”

 He wasn’t sure       why     he snapped. Perhaps it was the time at sea, trying to hold together men on the brink of death while the only one who he could have turned to for help laid on a cot in pain. Perhaps it was how long it had been since he’d seen another of his kind. Perhaps he simply needed to hit something to keep his meager sanity. Perhaps, it was because there were no witchers with blue eyes.

 It was a laughably short fight. An      embarrassingly    short fight that Arnaghaf himself would have thrown Gerd from the highest mountain peak should he have witnessed it in his youth. Seven days at sea with limited water and only small bites of food to stop the hunger pains had done him no favors: against a man he would have been fine, perhaps even against two or three by sheer luck of size. But against a witcher? He hadn’t stood a chance. The Griffin-turned-pirate ducked his blow and tripped him backwards, before he could hit the floor a strong hand pushed against his chest and slammed him against the wall, pinned him there on the floor while the stranger watched him with those      blue    eyes. Jerome bared his teeth and Gerd found himself far too close to fangs unlike any he’d seen before, a feral snarl tore from the other’s chest like a beast. It was a sound that the bear could do without hearing ever again. But, just as quickly as the anger came, it left and the Griffin spoke softly,

 “I am not your enemy. Do not bring such strife onto my ship or I will not hesitate to feed you to the first kraken that threatens us. You and your men have been through a lot; I can see that.” Jerome shifted back on his heels and eased the pressure on Gerd’s chest. “If I cared about having another Witcher on board I would have left you to die. We Griffins are not quite as fickle as your lot.” he smiled as if sharing a joke. “Well, you are here, so tell me your name.”

 “Gerd.”

 “And your friend is Torgeir the Red then.” The Griffin moved away so that they were both sitting on the floor, Jerome with crossed legs and Gerd with legs akimbo from his fall. “Don’t worry, your safety on this ship is assured so long as I’m alive. We’ll reach a port in a week’s time, you’re welcome to go ashore and we won’t expect any payment for our help; though we’ll discuss other options later. For now, I think it best if you have a meal and rest. You can answer my questions once things have settled.” It was a very one sided conversation but Gerd had both too many questions to begin with and not near enough energy to ask them. If most of them were about the captain himself? Well,

 He was a strange thing, even for a witcher.

 Gerd was given a water skin for himself and Torgeir and the captain put them in a private room that was used to store trade cargo. It was empty for the next weeks, as had been explained to him by a young lad, and therefore made for a good place to rest. An extra cot had been dragged within. Torgeir’s fever broke after some hours and in the darkness Gerd watched him crawl from his heavy slumber. He hadn’t allowed him to get a word out before pressing the water skin to his lips.

 “Drink.” He urged and the skin was nearly empty by the time Torgeir pushed his hand away.

 “Where are we?” The room was black as pitch once the sun went down.          “A ship came through to help us. We’re a week from port. Your leg… we’ll get you medicine for it soon.”          “What?” Torgeir asked.          “Fucking thing got infected. They’ve got a decent healer on board though. Stitched it up fairly nice.”

 “Fucking great-” the red head pushed himself up and Gerd was quick to move closer and support him. “The others?”          “We lost Ragnar and Beorn. The others are having dinner and resting. No sign of Nilfgaard chasing us so far.” With his lover awake and clear eyed Gerd felt the weight of the last week and a half hit him in full force. His eyes drooped and he began to list to the side like a sinking ship.

 Torgeir shifted and pressed their shoulders together more firmly. “Come on, y’ bastard. Lay down.”          “Can’t.”          “You said we’re as safe as we can get. When’s the last time you slept?” Torgeir’s hand squeezed his thigh, kitten weak compared to what it should have been. When Gerd didn’t have an answer for him the jarl sighed. “Tha’s what I thought.” Gerd let himself be poked and prodded until he was reclined against the hull of the ship with rags and old feed bags piled behind him as a comfort. One leg stretched out in front of his while the other hung over the side of the cot, Torgeir laid between them. It was a familiar enough position even if the environment around them was not.  He had planned to meditate again, afraid that if he slept then he would not wake for quite some time,  but the moment that he had Torgeir’s weight against his chest his eyes closed and sleep dragged him under.

 He woke when light spilled across his face, feeling only half as rested as he should have and mortified that he hadn’t been able to fight off the slumber.

 Jerome was standing in the doorway, a white shirt half open across his chest and a look on his face that was far too soft. “Your crew demanded that I bring you something to break fast with. Andrea, I believe? She said that if you didn’t take it, I should send her in here in my place.” Again, that smile graced his lips. “I can leave it here and let you sleep.” It sounded good, to be able to close his eyes once more and sink into slumber. Perhaps to wake only when they were docked. He extended a hand instead.

 “I’ll take it.” They were hunted men for all he knew. They would need their strength.

 “Good,” as witchers they did not need to light an oil lantern and Jerome closed the door behind himself, some sunlight crept in from above. “While none here should voice any judgement, I would advise you to keep any overtly forward displays within this room or in my study should you need it. My men are good but they have loose lips in port, drunkards are not half as lovely.”

 Gerd was handed bread and a bowl of thin porridge. It was meager for a man his size and even more so for two. But, they were a week from port and The Hawksea, as the Griffin’s ship was called, had not been prepared for five more bodies on board. Particularly not those of warriors and witchers.

 “Thank you.” The words were rough.

 “Don’t mention it. I’ll be putting you to work before long. Lots of things to do here that could use a witcher’s strength.” Jerome sat on a crate, one leg pulled up to his chest with his arm draped over it. “Can’t have any freeloading going on, might start talk of mutiny.” His eyes crinkled at the edges as if he’d spent a lifetime laughing rather than fighting monsters. Maybe he had, with a face like that.

 “I thought you Griffins were supposed to be chivalrous bastards.” Gerd grunted.

 “Chivalrous? Yes. Bastard? Most certainly.” Those fangs were flashed at him again. “I was under the impression you bears were the loner sorts.”

 “We are.” Gerd didn’t miss the way Jerome’s eyes lingered on the redhead asleep on his chest. Caught even longer on the scarred arm wrapped around the human like a shield.

 The Griffin hummed, “I see.”

 The witcher left them alone with their breakfast and somewhere above them a man began to sing.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Heart in My Hand (15x18 “Despair” coda, Dean-centric, Destiel. post-that scene)

(ao3 link)

He was right there.

Cas was telling Dean everything he ever wanted to hear since meeting the angel of the Lord... only each and every word of his confession stabbed at Dean's heart. Because once he finished, there's no more time for them. For him. For any chance of happiness - all that taken away by the Empty. And now he has to carry on.

He tries. Stands, gets in his car and drives where Sam tells him. When he meets with the others, though...

           Dean spots them easily, only two people left on the planet besides himself. Standing in the middle of the street, waiting. He rolls to a stop near some crashed truck and an abandoned bag of groceries that spills out the top. Egg yolks oozing into a small puddle, mixing with freely leaking juice burning bright against dark asphalt. Visible even from where he sits inside his car.

           With Sam and Jack advancing, Dean crams the rest of his emotions down. Puts on a brave face. What he sees in his rearview isn’t anything like that. Trembling lips. Red, blotchy skin. Wide eyes that look more haunted than an average, Midwestern home. It’s better than how he appeared earlier. And since they’re already here, he must move on. Steeling himself, he exits his car.

           “Dean,” Jack starts, glancing from him to his empty car, “Where’s Cas?”

           Dean fails, again. “Cas…” He croaks, words blocked by the boulder that wedged into his throat once that black portal of despair vanished. Water traces familiar pathways down his cheeks, Dean steadying himself on his open door. Hisses panicked breaths through clenched teeth. “Cas, he…”

           “Oh.” Sam stumbles backwards, news dealing its own damage. Jack stares at Dean, jaw hanging limply. Gaze wet from threatening tears. “Was it…” his brother coughs, regaining his footing, “was it Billie?”

           He shakes his head, still not ready to speak. Voice abandoning him like… well.

           “Chuck?” Jack asks, inching closer. “Did Chuck make him crumble, too?”

           Dean nearly forgot. Chuck… if only. His anger would have a target, instead of hanging around him as if it were a fog. Miasma thick he cannot see past a never-ending reel of those few, long minutes. Cas’s parting message replaying ad nauseum. “No,” he manages, staring at Baby’s roof. “No, he – he sacrificed… to take out… to save…” Gasping, Dean lolls his head upwards. Staring up at an empty sky, sending what’s left of his sentence into the heavens.

           Someone approaches, lays a hand on his elbow. There because it hovered over Dean’s shoulder and chose a different path. Dean felt how close it came to fitting over his angel’s mark. Heard a sharp intake of breath after they noticed it, confirming Dean’s suspicion. “Dean,” Sam says – of course it’d be him. He recognizes his little brother’s voice. Especially when he forces confidence through his tone. It lacks, however, as an undercurrent of worry threaded through it. “Dean,” he continues, “what happened?”

           First, he searches for Jack. The younger boy leans across from Dean, waiting. Curious. Heartbroken. “He,” Dean whispers, knees buckling under him, “Billie was out for blood and – and we couldn’t stop her on our own. So Cas, he…” Sam’s grip tightens on his elbow, adds another supportive touch to Dean’s armpit. Keeps him standing. Dean thanks Sam by letting his hands stay. “We were dead to rights. So Cas… let himself be happy.”

           Jack’s muttered curse resolves a lingering question, whether he knew. Doubly confirmed since Jack draws further attention to himself, slamming his fist on Baby’s roof. Dean doesn’t raise his usual objections. “The Empty,” he says.

           “The Empty?” Sam glances between Jack and Dean, “What would… why would the Empty be there? When Cas is happy – what are you talking about?”

           “A deal Sammy,” Dean says. Louder, rougher. Shattering the eerie silence of this deserted city scape. “He made a deal with that damned thing, his life for… for…”

           “For mine.” Jack tilts his head, brows drawn in such a mirror of his father Dean nearly collapses where he stood. He remains strong. “When I was in Heaven, after I… I died, the first time.” Sighing, he stretches towards them. Extending an empty palm in a gesture of regret. “I’m… I’m so sorry –“

           “No.” Dean slides his own hand, taking Jack’s. Squeezes it. Grounding himself further. “I don’t… it’s not your fault. Cas made the deal. He – he’s made his choice. It’s… if he had the chance to go back, he’d still do it. Again and again. That’s who he is.” Dean hiccups, face cracking as his mouth stretches wide, gracing the others with a rueful smile. “Putting everyone’s needs before himself even if it… even if it meant he could never…” He shudders, Cas’s peaceful expression when the Empty struck frozen in his mind. “Too good, Cas was – he was too good –“

           “Dean, Dean!” Sam tore Dean away from Jack and Baby, carrying him off to sit on the sidewalk’s curb. Bent him, head between knees, helping him work past growing hysterics. Jack followed them, hovering. Shadow blocking the sun from shining above, casting him in darkness. Thinking this makes Dean spiral further. “Breathe Dean, just breathe.”

           It’s stupid. Dean wastes valuable time, their world crumbling all around them. And what is he doing? Crying. Making Sam and Jack comfort him because Dean lost the shovel he usually buries his feelings with. Empty probably taking that, too. It’s stupid. Maddening. Also, completely unavoidable.

           Dean wondered if, one day, he might shatter so completely gathering those pieces might prove impossible. He has his answer, at the worst possible moment.

           Soon he calms, and Dean can lift his head without flashing back there.

           “Dean…” Sam starts, cautiously. Treating Dean too carefully given how far into this war they’re in. “Dean, Cas’s deal… the Empty wanted him happy?” Nodding, Dean waits for the next question. Dreading it. “What… what did he do?”

           Sam hadn’t broken down, when they found Eileen’s duffel – and her phone. Recovered best he could and shouldered his pain. Allowed those seconds of grief, then used it as fuel. Whereas Dean drags his suffering into eternity. Mourns his best friend, and their lost potential. A stolen future. Years spent in denial. If he’d taken a chance earlier… at some point. “Cas,” Dean sighs, “he let himself… he confessed…” Explaining it was too difficult, but Sam needed to know. Jack, too. “He loved me, Sam.” Laughing, Dean wipes at his eyes. “He loved me, after all I – he still… he loved me, and that killed him.” Whispering, he repeats, “He loved me.”

           Sam’s features shifted, journeying from shock to a pitying understanding. Rubs comfortingly at his back, sighing. “Loving you was what made him happiest?”

           “Yeah… it was, it was so simple…” Dean uncurls, teetering, flirting with the idea of lying on his back. He and Jack trade a fleeting glance, Dean checking his reaction. Not surprised in the slightest. Kid’s too damned insightful. “Just admitting it was enough and… and you know what he said? He said he… Cas believed it was something he could never have?” His chest tightens, and Dean scoffs. “I don’t… how could that be – how could loving me be, I’m… how can I be Cas’s happiness? Out of all he could have had, and what he wanted was me – what I… what I thought I could never have.”

           “Don’t say that Dean,” Sam admonishes, “you are worthy of having love.”

           Shrugging, Dean turns from his and Jack’s heavy stares. Looks at the pooling egg yolk again; focuses on that spreading mess. “Cas said about as much, before the Empty… had this whole speech that I – it felt like I was being peeled away. Called me out for… it all feels so meaningless. Is that what it felt like, with Eileen? Being with someone who can see through you and make all this big stuff seem – well, seem not so big anymore?” Sam agrees, as much. “There we were Billie hot on our heels. Waiting for death, and he spits out the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I almost forgot what was going on. It was just him and me… him seeing – seeing me. And you know what I did? Not a goddamn thing…”

           “Dean…”

           “I could barely speak, I – I was so scared,” Dean admits, “if you’d’ve been there Sam, the look of – look of finality that was there, alongside the love, and peace, and happiness. I always wanted to hear him say that, couldn’t predict him saying all of that… I would’ve traded it if it meant he’d stay. And I can – I get to have him in the only way we could. But he made up his mind, like with Jack. Took Billie down, and him, too. Leaving me there – alone – that it… when I finally said it back, I was too late.”

           They echoed. Hung in the air. Mingled with Cas’s blood on his sleeve and the fresh tears pouring out of him. Shook Dean down to the very core of his being, barely hearing it past the low pitch of static filling his ears. Dean thought those words innumerably before, imagined different scenarios, played pretend in the comfort of his room where no one can see.

           No one ever will, now.

           “I…” Dean tries saying his truth. It doesn’t want to come out. He continues regardless, “I miss him, Sam. Why do we do this? Hurt everyone we’ve ever cared about? Hell, the whole world’s collateral damage because of us!” Exhausted, Dean gives in. Falls fully off the cliff, lying on the sidewalk. Arms spread beside him while he watches endless blue.

           Sam squeezes his knee, “I miss her too. I miss them all.” He stands, adding another shadow. Jack’s advancing, too. Blanketing Dean in a strange temperature. Not cold, still there’s an absence of warmth he notes. “But it’s not on us. It’s Chuck. Always has been…”

           “Then is this it?” Dean asks, “One last play, even if it kills us? Even if it can’t bring everyone back?”            

           “At least we died fighting, then.”

           Dean cannot argue with this. He doesn’t feel too inclined to move yet. “For them,” he says, closing his eyes. “This isn’t about us, anymore. It’s about all of them. The world… our family… Eileen and – and Cas.”

           Their shadows move. He senses them leave, sunlight returning. Bringing with it more memories. Of how it felt first hearing Cas say it. A natural glow that lit from within. Snuffed in Cas’s next breath, as Billie’s fist pounded on the door, and when the bitterness of Cas’s declaration hit his tastebuds. Dean grasps for that feeling, basking under the sun. Pretends it’s Cas giving him that gorgeous, soul-shattering smile. Encouraging him into his final battle. Telling him it’ll be over soon, he’ll be done, and that he loves him.

           He loves him. He loves him. He loves him.

           “I love you Cas.”

           Dean will rise. Gather what little he, Sam, and Jack have and rush at Chuck until there truly is nothing left. Of this world. Or of them. But that’s later.

           Right now, Dean dreams of his losses. Apologizes, one by one, faces blurring together as he starts counting strangers his mind saved for no purpose other than to make him carry more crosses.  Never his, though.

           Cas’s face shines uninterrupted, clearly, like the sun. There even as everything else fades. In the safety of his mind, where the Empty can’t steal him. In the safety of his heart, that Chuck can’t control. In his hands, wearing Cas’s blood like a badge of honor and pride.

           And love.

[gayleftistlukeskywalker]

the stars pale beside your might ch1

ch1

words: 2k

a/n: can i offer you some nice bobin fic in this trying time? this will be a multi-chapter fic with angst, mandalorian diaspora, and lots of slow-burn. upates will most likely be sporadic, but let me know if you would like to be tagged!

cw: drunk din, spoilers for season 2 finale

ao3 link

The whir of the ship shifting into hyperdrive barely registered on Din’s mind, and neither did the ache of bruises forming underneath his beskar armor. A ghost of a feeling, a soft hand on his cheek, and a deep wrenching in his chest, rolled over and over again in his mind. He had not asked Shand or Fett where the Slave I was going before they departed, and with Shand co-piloting in the cockpit, Din was left alone in the cabin with only his thoughts to keep him occupied. Bounty hunters were not usually the type to understand companionship, or the loss of it; but Mando’ade were more than just mere bounty hunters.

------

When Boba’s ship had docked at the star cruiser, he had been surprised to see the sordid looks on the faces of the ragtag group that Din had assembled. When Boba looked to Din, he saw no child in his arms, nor clinging to his leg.

“The child?” He asked, addressing no one in particular.

Din merely shook his head, as his companions looked on, their eyes shining with compassion. Boba gave a somber nod in response, not prodding for details, but assuming things had taken a turn for the worst.

------

A bump on the shoulder startled Din, and he breathed in sharply, as if the sheer pressure of his thoughts had threatened to drown him. He hadn’t noticed the ship’s landing, or the cabin doors opening. Boba Fett, in full armor, stood on the ground below, and Din noted the bright light of harsh sun, and the dry heat now sweeping into the hold, palpable even through layers of armor.

“Fennec, with me,” Boba directed, gesturing to his side. Fennec nodded, and stepped off the ramp and onto the ochre-colored sand, her signature sniper rifle in tow.

“Shand and I have some unfinished business to attend to. You can either stay with the ship or we can part ways, but as far as I’m concerned, my debt to you is now paid.”

Din’s mind flicked through the events of the past few days; his foundling gone, his ship destroyed, his face. It felt as if his boots were welded to the metal of the ship's cargo ramp, and in the end all he could manage was a nod to Fett. Boba returned the gesture, and their heavy footfalls in the sand slowly faded into nothingness, leaving Din alone with his thoughts once again. He sank slowly back into the seating of the cabin, and let the door close, leaving him with only the glow of the overhead light.

It was over half a rotation by the time the door opened again, flooding the hold with fresh air, scented with dry earth. Fennec stood in the doorway, her eyes widening slightly with surprise at seeing the Mandalorian, his armor reflecting the glow of the moonlight on the sand.

“So, you’re still here after all, huh? Looks like I owe Boba some credits” she mused. When all she received was a blank stare from Din, she shrugged. “I’m here to move the ship, Boba wants to speak with you when we land.”

The first thing Din saw upon stepping out onto the desert was the warmth of lights shining out from a large, regal looking tower. Din breathed in the dry air, and glanced overhead at the sky, its moonlight casting long shadows onto the sand. He recognized the triple moons of Tatooine, though the structure perched on the cliff before him, it’s towers stretching overhead, was not familiar to him. As Din stepped into the throne room, trailing along Shand, he noticed how punctuated their footsteps were in the silence.

Jabba’s palace, usually a hive of activity, bounty hunters blowing off steam with their newly earned credits, or else getting into scuffs and negotiations ending in blaster fire, now lay quiet. There was only one figure Din saw upon entering the vacant throne room. Boba’s moss green armor decorated the sand-colored throne he now sat upon, like a jewel beset in a royal crown. Boba stood to greet the bounty hunters, his arms outstretched in welcome.

“Ah, you’re just in time for the celebrations,” he bellowed, casually walking over to the bar and removing his helmet, which he set down next to the various bottles of liquid.

“Spotchka?” he asked, offering a small glass of glowing liquid to Din. The mandalorian was quick to accept, raising his helmet just enough to down the liquid in one go. Boba nodded with approval before seating himself at the bar, and gestured to the space next to him. Din obliged, straddling the stool and propping his elbows up on the counter.

“I thought you said your debt to me was paid,” Din questioned, his head turning towards Boba, who was reaching across the bar to grab the spotchka bottle.

Boba chuckled, “I’m simply celebrating a victory with a fellow warrior.” He downed another shot of the glowing liquid, and promptly poured another for his drinking companion. It was only now that Din noticed the absence of Shand, who had apparently vacated the throne room without Din noticing. He and Fett were completely alone. Had Boba requested to speak with Din alone?

“This little hideout is going to be the base of my operations. Soon I will have work for every bounty hunter from here to the Inner Rim,” he mused, the throaty rasp in his voice giving a sharp edge to his words. “Plenty of high-paying jobs for a man of your skillset.”

Din considered this for a moment. Years of experience in this line of work had made him accustomed to people with ulterior motives, although he could not think of an angle that Fett might be trying to work from him.

“Thank you, Fett.” Boba reached to fill up both their glasses with his gloved hands. The air was comfortably still as they both drank.

“I expect you’ll be needing a new ship. Some weaponry,” Fett began, casually swirling the leftover liquid in his glass. “As it happens, I’ve recently come into some assets that would be of use to you.”

“I can’t accept charity like that,” Din responded. Truthfully, he was quite low on credits, having not been able to take many paying jobs the past few weeks. He could get a ship, he thought, but scraping up the credits planet-side on Tatooine would be quite an undertaking.

“Don’t think of it as charity, think of it as an advance. I get you up and running, you do some work for me until it’s paid off.”

Din exhaled, fixing his attention to his empty spotchka glass.

“It’ll be hard work,” Boba continued. “I’m not in the business of giving anything away for free.” He let his words hang in Din’s mind while the helmeted man worked his jaw, considering his options. Bounty hunting was a solitary occupation, it was every man for himself, and if you slipped up, the consequences were yours alone to deal with. But here Fett was offering him a hand, an easy way out. Fett had no real reason to put trust in Din, and for that matter, Din had no reason to trust Fett, so why take such a risk?

“Ok,” Din grunted, “I accept.”

“There’s a good lad. You’ll be richer than you ever were taking jobs from the Guild,” Boba exclaimed, clinking his glass to Din’s.

There was an easy silence as both men drank their fill, the cool night air was sweet against the scent of dank earth and booze.

“Fennec told me what happened on the star cruiser,” Boba said, breaking the silence, his voice suddenly low, and almost gentle. Though perhaps that was just the spotchka addling Din’s perception.

Din swallowed, Shand must have told him everything.

Boba continued, “It’s no easy thing, to defeat an imperial commander like that in single combat. You should be proud.” He turned to Din now, fixing his gaze into the dark eyesight of Din’s helmet.

“I don’t feel proud,” Din blurted out, almost taken aback by his sudden honesty. The spotchka was settling in his blood quicker than he realized.

“That sword you’re carrying is no mere battle trophy, as I’m sure you realize. What I would have given to see the look on the princess’s face when you strode in wielding that,” he chuckled darkly.

“I have a feeling she’ll be back for it sooner or later. Probably sooner.” Din paused, licked his lips. “I just- I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he muttered, averting his gaze from Fett’s bare eyes, which now felt as though they were piercing through his armor.

Boba poured Din another generous glass of the glowing liquid in response, and Din was quick to toss it back.

“Perhaps not, but such is the way of the galaxy, Mand’alor,” Boba teased. Din swung his head to face Boba, the lines of Din’s face creasing with exasperation underneath his helmet. Fett only shot him a sly smirk in response, shifting himself in his seat, his arms coming to rest casually on his thighs.

“I’m not-” Din started, but his sentence only ended in a groan. All he had ever known was his covert, his bounties, his ship; that was all that had mattered, until the kid.

Din shook his head, suddenly feeling as though his body was made of lead. “The foundling,” he started, his lips struggling to form the proper words, “He was… reunited with his own kind, with the jedi.”

Boba’s stomach twisted at the mention of the jedi, his blood suddenly running hot in his veins. If Din noticed the quick flash of anger on Boba’s face, it was gone just as suddenly as it had come, and Din did not give it any thought.

The bald man nodded, exhaling through his nose. “I see.” He grabbed for the spotchka bottle once again, filling up both of their glasses to the brim. Boba raised his glass above his head. “Then, may he grow strong, and make his father proud,” he pronounced, and drank deeply from his glass. Din quickly followed suit, and the two men sat for a moment in silence, letting the effects of the drink wash over them like a fog.

“I don’t know if.... If I did the right thing,” Din breathed. With his defenses down, there was nothing to stop the grief from bubbling up from deep within his chest. A strange feeling seemed to grip Din from the inside, as if he might confess all his sins to this man he barely knew. He felt so alone without his covert, adrift in the vast galaxy without hands to guide him. Caring for the child had all but consumed his waking thoughts. What had once been “return the foundling”, had unwittingly become, “care for the foundling”. Din had not thought about any kind of after.

Boba chewed over his words for a moment. He was not accustomed to people seeking sage wisdom from him, unless it was about the most effective way to fire a blaster through someone’s heart from half a klick away.

“You followed the path that was set for you, that’s all there is to it,” the scarred man said quietly.

Din looked deeply into his glass. “What would you have done?”

Boba exhaled through his nose, “My path is different from yours.”

Another glass deep and Din found himself suddenly choking on nothing but thin air, the events from the past few days suddenly catching up to him all at once, crowding his lungs. Images of his early childhood flashed through his mind, his birth father, looking down at him, silhouetted by the sky. His buir, lifting him above the rising flames and smoke. Din hardly even glanced at the glass being offered to him before he downed it. His head was swimming, and he lacked feeling in his face. Heat pricked the corner of his eyes, and hot tears began trailing down his cheeks completely unwillingly. He was far too drunk to consider being ashamed.

[soaimagines]

small worlds

an EZ Reyes Fanfiction

Chapter One

Pairing: Eventual Ez Reyes x Ilana Ortiz (OC)

Summary: When Ilana Ortiz left Charming she never thought she would be wrapped up in the life of another motorcycle club. But when she runs into an old friend she finds she’s already in deeper than she thought.

OR  Juice’s little sister falls for a Mayan

Word Count: 2238

Warnings: language, mentions of death, mentions of grief, trash writing? 18+ as always, soa spoilers? i guess. 

Authors Note: I’ve had this idea for a while now and I’ve finally written it. Thank you as always to my sweet friend @juniperjane for being my beta and reading through the dozens of drafts i sent u. u da bomb  

Disclaimer: i do not speak espanol, and try to use it sparingly and respectfully. if i have failed to do so please let me know, i mean no offense.

Tags: @minnicelli • @ifoundmyhappythought • @noz4a2 • @svintsandghosts • @rebel-without-cause-x • @i-shouldbepainting • @lady-pswrld • @spookys-girl • @multiyfandomgirl40 • @gemini0410 • @starrynite7114 7• @everyhowlmarksthedead

if you want to be added to the taglist let me know

There was always something slightly ominous about a gas station at midnight. A place that was usually hustling with travellers stocking up, refueling their tanks and heading off in search of their own adventures. But as the light of the day was replaced with the unrelenting darkness of night, Ilana Ortiz found herself alone, as she often did. She raised her hand, stifling a yawn as her gaze flickered to the petrol pump, eyeing the numbers as they rose. The hum of the pump pouring petrol into the tank of her car sputtered to a stop and she lifted the nozzle, shaking off the remains before returning it to the hook.

In the distance she heard them. Steadily growing louder as they approached. She knew the sound all too well, once the soundtrack of days spent in happiness all those years ago. The thunderous drone approached and she closed her eyes, basking in the memories that flooded her. Crashing into her mind like waves, dragging her out into the deep. Her fingers grasped the locket hanging around her neck and she took a deep breath as she opened her eyes. The breeze shifted, blowing a strand of dark hair across her face and she watched as they approached.

Half a dozen motorcycles, most of them low riders, spread out in a staggered formation as they thundered down the highway, with only the open road laid bare before them. One by one they sped past her, and Lana couldn’t help but think of them as ghosts from her past, the faces that would be forever etched into her memory haunting those of the strangers that rode before her now. The darkness of night hindered her ability to make out the patches on the riders backs, but they were there, their presence ever looming.

There was once a time where the presence of a motorcycle club had been a welcoming sight, surrounding her with a feeling of warmth and belonging, rather than the emotional sorrow that she felt deep in her soul. But those times were just memories now, chapters in a dark and lonely book that she didn’t have the strength to read again and so she closed it tight and left it to gather dust.

It took a few months for Ilana to settle into Santo Padre. Slowly, the shelves in her small apartment were filled with various ornaments that she gathered from local market stalls and thrift stores. While it was far from the apartment of Lana's dreams, it was affordable and in a reasonably good neighbourhood, and for now, at least, it was home.

She didn't have a lot of personal possessions, had never been one for materialistic items. There were only two things that she took with her wherever she went. The first, was the locket around her neck. Inside lived a black and white photo of her late mother, wearing a smile that had been passed on to her children. The second was a photograph, its edges frayed and worn. In it stood two siblings, matching smiles on their youthful faces as they stood beside each other, his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Juan Carlos and Ilana Rose Ortiz.

For as long as she could remember it had been the two of them. After their mother passed away they only really had each other and when Juan had decided to leave Queens and move to California, Ilana had been right by his side.

There was something about the small town of Charming, and the people that lived there that beckoned to the Ortiz siblings. And it was there that they made a home. Ilana found a job doing admin work at the local hospital, whilst Juice worked at the local garage.

After a few months he had told her he was prospecting for the Sons Of Anarchy, and she hadn’t exactly been thrilled. It was a dangerous lifestyle, and she couldn’t lose the only person she had left in this world. Juan had tried to put her mind at ease. He told her they would be safe, that they would look out for him and he would look out for them. He told her they would be happy here. And they were, for a while.

Slowly this band of misfits and outlaws truly did become family, a concept that had once felt so foreign. They finally belonged somewhere, and they were finally happy. But nothing lasts forever.

She couldn't quite pinpoint the moment things went wrong. But something changed when the Sons of Anarchy did their fourteen month stint in Stockton State Penitentiary. Things were changing, and none of them could have predicted just how dark things would turn.

Soon, the club that had once seemed so solid, so welcoming, turned into something dark and bitter and it fell apart at the seams. The binds that tied them were thick with betrayal and mistrust and she could only watch as one by one they fell like dominoes.

Whilst Ilana had spent years in Charming, she never pretended to know all the ins and outs of the club's business. Nor did she want to know. She knew there were rules, and ways in which certain things had to be handled. But above all else, she knew her brother. And she knew he didn't deserve what happened to him.

After the loss of her brother, Ilana spent a long time in that first stage of grief. In denial that this world could be so horribly cruel. Everything she had ever known had been ripped from her and she didn't know what she was supposed to do next; The town was too small for all the ghosts that lived in it and everywhere she looked, she saw death and pain. Memories of once joyful times turned to rot. And so she left.

She spent the next few years travelling, never staying in one place too long. To some people it may have looked like she was running away from her pain and those people weren't wrong. But Ilana liked to think of herself as an explorer, living out the adventures she had read about in the books of her childhood.

Eventually she grew weary of living out of her suitcase, and she found herself homesick, yearning for a home that no longer existed. She found solace in the sunshine state, and when a job opportunity presented itself in Southern California she took it. She found herself an apartment, albeit a rather shitty one, but it was somewhere to live nonetheless and Ilana found comfort in having a consistent income and a familiar place to lay her head.

Ilana smiled at the market stall vendors as she passed them by, gazing over the varieties of fresh produce they displayed so vibrantly. She purchased a selection of vegetables and fruit, slowly filling the woven basket in her hands. A display of fresh mangoes caught her gaze and she looked them over, picking out the ones she would buy.

“Miss Ilana?”

At the mention of her name, she turned.

“Chucky?”

Chuck Marstein wasn’t a face that was easily forgotten. Although, it was probably more to do with his distinct lack of fingers and his mechanical hands than his actual face, which was often apprehensive.

Four years had passed since they had seen each other, and he was aware that the way in which they were once acquainted had been the root of her sorrow. He looked at her nervously, as if he expected anger from her. But that anger he had grown to expect from people didn’t exist in Lana, and she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Chucky!” The grin on her face matched his, her eyes sparkling with the threat of tears. “What are you doing here! I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“Since your brother's funeral.” He nodded.

Lana nodded along with him, finding slight amusement in Chuckys lack of filter. Most people tip-toed around the mention of her brother, but not him.

“You left Charming?”

“Si,” The sadness that flashed in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. But Lana knew all too well that things in that small town, and in that life, were often complex, and now wasn’t the time to pry.

“But you’re okay?” Lana asked softly. “You’re working?”

“Si, mamacita.Romero Brothers Scrap and Salvage yard. I am always working hard” He rolled his ‘r’s excessively and Lana smiled at the familiar rhyming, as if his sentence was his own catchphrase.

“And what are you doing here?”

“I got a job doing admin work in town. It's not much, but it pays the bills.”

His phone rang out loudly, and Chucky flashed her a look of apology.

“Yello?”

Ilana hid her smile as he answered the call, looking away to give him some privacy. They had been close once, back in Charming. She had spent a lot of time at the Sons of Anarchy clubhouse, helping out Gemma in the office as she needed it. More often than not she was paired with Chucky to run errands, and she had enjoyed getting to know him. He was quirky, in many ways, but he was a kind soul and all he really wanted was to belong, something which resonated with Ilana.

“Absolutamante,” He said, and ended the call.

“I have to go, Miss Lana. Duty calls.”

Lana nodded understandably and held out her hand. “Give me your phone, I’ll put my number in it.”

He nodded, handing the device over and watching as her fingers tapped at the screen.

“Give me a call when you’re free and we can get dinner or something. Catch up, properly.”

“Really?” He asked, in genuine disbelief. “You would want to?”

Lana smiled at him. “Of course, Chucky. You’ve always been one of my best friends.”

The smile that spread over his face was like that of a child on Christmas morning and Lana couldn’t help but beam back at him, her heart warming.

“I will call you, for dinner.”

“I look forward to it, Chucky.”

It wasn’t long before Ilana heard from Chucky again.

In fact it was only that same afternoon that her phone had rung and his voice was on the other end of the line. She was glad to hear from him, albeit a lot sooner than she had anticipated, but she invited him to her apartment for dinner nonetheless.

She was already out in town, and after spotting a sign that read ‘Carniceria Reyes’, she decided to pick up something to cook. With a glance in each direction she jogged across the road before entering the shop.

It was nearing closing time, and Ilana could see that most of the meat had been packed away, or purchased already. Her eyes scanned what was left on offer as her mind ticked over what she could cook, her abilities in the kitchen being far from expert.

“What can I get for you?”

Ilana glanced up and smiled warmly at the wizened man behind the counter. His smile was warm and welcoming, though the creases on his forehead told of worries, both past and present and there was a forlorn glaze in his twinkling eyes.

“Hi, I’ll just take a couple of those steaks, please?”

The man nodded and slid open the window at the back of the counter.

“How’s your day been?” Ilana made conversation as she glanced around the small store.

Her gaze fell on a selection of books and she smiled as she walked over to them.

He cleared his throat. “It’s been good, busy.” The man said as he packaged the meat. He watched her curiously as she studied the old books, and the delicate way in which she traced her fingers over the titles.

“Are these all yours?” She asked, as she carefully lifted a worn copy of Alejandra Pizarnik’s poetry. It had been well loved, made obvious by the creases on the cover, and the yellowed, dog eared pages.

“Most of them belonged to my wife.”

Ilana smiled as she studied the inscription scrawled inside the cover. It was in español, which she couldn’t read despite her Puerto Rican heritage, but she always found something magical in old books, especially those with messages of love or well wishes written inside the cover.

“She has quite a collection.”

The man smiled and nodded towards the book in her hands. “You’re welcome to borrow it.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t.”

“Please,” He smiled at her. “They should be read, not left here to gather dust and the smell of meat.”

Ilana laughed lightly and nodded, slipping the book carefully into her bag. “Thank you, uh?”

“Felipe.”

Her purchases were ready now, wrapped carefully in brown paper and he placed them on top of the counter.

“Thank you, Felipe.” She smiled as she handed him some cash. “I’m Ilana.”

“Please, keep the change.” She lifted the parcel in her hands as she headed to the door. “It was nice to meat you.”

Felipe chuckled and waved as she walked out of the shop, shaking his head at the interaction.

“Who was that?”

Felipe looked up to see his son EZ, the same smile on his face as he wore on his own, stepping out from the shadows.

“New customer.” Felipe said as he walked to the door and flipped the ‘open’ sign to closed. “Cmon, Jimenez will be here soon.”

Masterlist

[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Here

The Mandalorian x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Some angst, A happy ending because I couldn’t bear giving them a sad one

Word Count: 1.7k+

A/N: After a million more years I finally finished it. Thank you to all who have been sticking with me and the story!

*Italics - Flashback

Out of Love // Lovely // Start Over

-

Din watched you from afar. 

Your smile radiated throughout the small little valley. He used to think it was the most beautiful thing in the world; your smile, your laughter, your eyes, your nose, your—he could go on and on. 

It’s not that he didn’t think any of that anymore, oh definitely not. He couldn’t imagine his life without you. 

But, there was his little girl. His little girl, with his hair and your eyes, grabbing a handful of flowers with small, grubby hands. The Child ran behind her, or as much as he could; he was having fun regardless. 

His little girl, who brought him nothing but happiness. Who gave him a whole new meaning to his life, who saved him from his own self destruction. The little human girl that Din would undoubtedly and unconditionally love for the rest of his days, and even after if that was a possibility; the one he would give up everything for. 

So yeah, you used to be on the very, very top of that list of beautiful things he’d seen in his lifetime. That was before she came along. And when he first laid eyes on your daughter, his daughter, he couldn’t stop crying after getting over the initial shock that this beautiful baby girl was a part of him. It amazed him that someone like him, hard, vicious, quiet, and dangerous, could create something so precious and small. 

Din, however, never planned for any of this. He never prepared himself for a family. For a quiet, settled life in a nice little valley. For you. Even watching his small but perfect family ahead of him, he still couldn’t fathom that fact that this was his. At first, it just didn’t seem… right. 

“Din?”

Cara thought she was going to have to grab Mando and shake him. Slap him even, if it woke him up from his anxiety induced trance. You stood there, swollen belly and a fury of emotions; shock, a double take, comprehension, grief, acceptance, then anger. Pure anger that even had the ex trooper scared. 

“Y-Y/N.” Din breathed. It felt—good, saying your name like that again without the pain punching him in the gut. The guilt, yes that was still there of course. But you were there, standing in front of him, carrying his child and looking like you were absolutely ready to murder him. It kinda made him feel whole again. 

“Cara,” you said with a calmness that made Cara shiver. “Can you please leave us alone for a minute?”

Din was rightfully terrified. You may have been heavily pregnant, but he knew without a doubt that you would and could destroy him. 

You were seething in your silent rage. He could sense it. And because of that, he didn’t dare say another word until you did. 

“Why?” You said calmly; a hidden storm waiting to explode with devastating rage.

That one word, so simple and short, was enough to make him shudder out a breath, so filled with unshed tears and a heartache so strong that it was going to kill him.  

“I had t—”

“Don’t,” you snarled, your voice layered with the tears streaming down your cheeks. “Don’t you dare say that, Din. You didn’t have to, you wanted to.”

His heart broke all over again. He made the love of his life, his rock, his world, believe that he—he didn’t want her. You truly believed him when he said it, and he knew it was no one’s fault but his own, but hearing it from you was a whole nother thing on its own. It made it feel even more real, a sin he couldn’t cleanse. 

“So tell me,” you continued when he didn’t speak. “Tell me why you’re here. If you didn’t want me, or…” she gulped, furiously wiping away the tears, not that it did much good. “Or love me anymore. Why are you here?” Then realization dawned on you. “Cara.”

“She brought me here. I didn’t know…” That probably wasn’t the best thing to say, but it was the truth. 

Your face hardened and your eyes became colder. “How long are you staying?”

He shrugged his shoulders. He couldn’t find the words he wanted to say, the words that crippled him and ate away at him. The words he wanted to say to you. 

You laughed humorlessly, all the while cradling your bump. Din couldn’t stop staring at it, and at the same time he had a hard time looking at it too. 

“Fine. Just… just leave me alone, Din.” You said and started to walk away. 

It’s like time slowed down and his life flashed before his eyes. His heart pounded with a vengeance and everything just… stopped. 

And he couldn’t do it. Not anymore, and not this time. He let you go before, practically threw you out, and this had to be a chance, right? His second chance at redemption. Not just for leaving you, but for everything bad thing he had ever done in his life; every life he’d ever taken, every bad decision he ever made, it was all screaming at him, taunting him. 

“Stop!” He shouted. 

You halted right in your steps, stiff and back turned towards him. You didn’t turn around, only tilted your head to the side to let him know you were listening. 

“And why should I Din? You made it perfectly clear last time—”

“I’m sorry.” He stopped you. “I’m so fucking sorry for hurting you. I’m sorry for leaving you, for not being there for you. I’m sorry that I thought of myself, I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you…” He could’ve kept going if you didn’t interrupt him. 

“Didn’t tell me what?” You demanded, now facing him. 

Your eyes held so much in them. Blurred and red from your tears but still just as breathtaking, especially in the sun. Din couldn’t take his eyes away from them, despite the fact that you couldn’t see, and took a step forward. When you didn’t flinch or step back, he took another, and another and another until your stomach barely touched him. 

“I—there knew your name.” He finally said. “Quarries, dangerous people. And I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Before, well it wasn’t as strong before—kriff you know what I mean, right?   Along the lines I… I fell in love with you and I never stopped. I’m weak. I’ve become so weak in my desperation to—to save you, that I just…”

He didn’t know how to finish it. He hoped that you could understand what he was saying to you. He hoped that you could see beyond his helmet, his armor, like he was so convinced you could do. He hoped that you could forgive him. It didn’t have to be now, but he hoped. 

You didn’t waver, only looked him over with hard eyes. He let you assess him, even growing increasingly nervous under the cover of the unknown. Your jaw clenched and you bounced on your heel; Din immediately recognized this as you breaking. 

“Din,” you suddenly whispered. “I can’t… if you have no plans at all, of staying and fully committing to this child.” You shook your head, biting down on your lip to keep yourself from sobbing. Sobbing at the image of Din walking away from you again, the man you gave practically everything to, the one who opened himself up to you—it was a sight you couldn’t stand, but you would do anything for your baby, and you would not let anyone, not even the Mandalorian, hurt him or her in any way. 

Din nodded. “I know.” He took a deep breath. “This is all… very new to me. I can’t say I’ll be a great father, or a—a lover.”

“Stay,” you said. “I—I’m not going to entirely forgive you right away, and there’s gonna be a lot of moments where I’m going to be very pissed off at you, and they’re going to come randomly. There’s going to be moments where I may not trust you to the fullest extent. We’re going to have to really work at this if we want it to work. Understand?”

He nodded to the point of giving himself a little headache under the weight of the helmet; the joy of another chance overweighed the uncomfortableness. “Yes. Thank you.”

You gave him a final stare and hard nod before saying, “Alright then, tin can.”

You smiled then, small but fuck. It was perfect. A whole new light of hope that he could touch. Speaking of—

“M-may I?” He asked nervously. 

It took you a moment to register what he meant, but when it clicked your face relaxed and warmed up. “Yes.”

It felt so… he couldn’t describe it. You were like an foreign object to him—no, it was the baby growing inside of you. His baby. He wasn’t sure on how to touch you, or how he was supposed to eventually hold this special creature. Din was going to try his fucking damnest to make it work. 

He recalled that memory with a fond smile. It brought him to this moment. Now, without the familiar weight of the Creed on him, he took a deep inhale of fresh, sweet air and exhaled with a tilt of his lip. 

“Din?” You said again.

Din blinked down at you lazily, smiling in his haze. “Yes, cyar’ika?”

You wrapped your arms around his waist with a lopsided smile and squinted eyes; there wrinkles around them now, and you were just as beautiful as the day he met you. His own wrapped around yours, holding you tightly to him.

“I think there’s a storm coming.” You mumbled into the crook of his neck, lips barely brushing against the juncture of it but still giving him shivers. “We gotta get the kids inside soon.”

“Hmm.”

You looked up at him curiously. “Hey,” you whispered. “Where’d you go?”

The laughter of his children continued to echo. It used to bring nothing to him other than an occasional longing for something more than the life he had. But now, it was so much more and he had you to thank. It all started with you. 

“No where’s.” He whispered back. “I’m right here.”

Tags: @scarlett-berserker​, @justlovetoreadfics​, @lil-baby27​, @mando-vibes​, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch​, @im-the-music-whore​, @certifiedhunter​, @softpedropascal​, @domino-oh-damn​​, @okaydacre​, @lemongrove​, @appreciating-chase-brody, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony​, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd​, @elusive-ivory​, @dizzydazed​, @bluejeancntrygrl​, @dadzawas-eyebags​, @moonstruck-witchy @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi​, @evalynanne​, @purplewaterbird​, @vikingqueen28​, @tedpicklez​, @blunt-cake-yes​, @agoldin​, @lustriix​, @readsalot73​, @kateb013​, @eupphoriaaa​, @imalovernotahater​, @everything-lost-and-unsaid​, @dlmafa1, @hoodedbirdie​, @drunkenliterary, @fioccodineveautunnale​​, @fangirlfree​, @mrsparknuts​, @amarvelousmandalorian​, @ironheart-hanako​, @bunniotomia​, @thisisthe-way, @sando-rann, @meganoid1997​, @adikaofmandalore​, @cahooter​, @charliepeaceout, @dreamgirl-67, @phoenixhalliwell​, @acrylics-and-sunshine​, @sunkissed-winter​, @oloreaa​, @equalstrashflavoredtrash​, @dyn-djarin​

[themoonwheniamlost]

Okay. Here we go. A.K.A. I hurt myself and also I hate it here.

So out of everything that decided to come for my neck yesterday, (Superman Yusuf, Dance AU, Boopley/Coper, ect.) 

Book of the Nile won because of these posts, (x), (X), (X), (x) 

So here’s this One-shot so that I can move on with my life and finish my other fics!

There is a NSFW section in between the asterisks. ***

So she works at him. They spend days pouring over new technologies, better ways to case targets, and hide resources. Days where they drink nothing but tea because his hands are shaking for a bottle but she reminds him how proud she is of him. Days where they talk about family and trying to find a place to stay after losing everything. They talk about these things with the whole team of course. But sometimes. Sometimes they are just Nile and Sebastièn. Talking on the couch at 3 am, knees brushing, eyes soft. 

The first thing Nile notices is how he watches her. Booker’s eyes are heavy enough for her to feel them but he always turns away when she looks back. She wonders if he knows how young it makes him. He must have noticed the trembling feeling, the slight shift in the air when they share the same space. But neither of them is ready. So they wait.

They wait and it takes years. She has to push him on almost everything. They talk about how he has to stop calling her a kid, how she’s there for him just like the rest of their team, their family. He’s gotten better, he’s done some healing, but orbiting around JoeandNicky, QuynhandAndy can hurt sometimes. Whether that hurt is envy or remorse, she doesn’t always know. But if Nile knows about anything its dedication.

The change comes when they start to talk about purpose, belonging. Nile talks about having to fight her entire life. Sebastièn tells her of fighting and fleeing. If he couldn’t save his sons, how can he save anyone else? Does he even deserve to? She feels like she abandoned her family. And no matter how much money she squirrels away to them it will never be enough. She won’t ever be with them again. They cry together, and nothing else is said. Because some grief you cannot get over you just get used to living with.

Nile tries to show him that they have a family to lean on. Here and now, his grief isn’t a weakness and he doesn’t have to hide it. Nile and Andy take bets on when Nicky will finally be able to talk to Booker, Quynh mentions having seen Booker and Joe watching the game, but at intermission butting their heads together to talk and giggle like little boys. It’s good to see him growing.

Nile grows too. They train her all the time. About pressure points and poison and wrestling holds. Nile asks for a set of broadswords. The team all take turns teaching her something. This is not to say that she doesn’t miss her old life, but she is steady and reveling in the new one. She feels alive and ready to topple anything in her way.

Booker remembers that first conversation when Nile held her hand in the fire just to see what would happen. To test herself. He does not want to be another flame to her if all he does is rend her flesh. He thinks about keeping her warm, about the gold tones of her skin in the glow. He is trying to find out if he is worthy enough for such a treasure. If nothing else, surely he can tell her, in small ways at least, of the fire he sees in her, the fire she lights in him.

The energy between them changes, deepens after her thirtieth immortal birthday. They throw a seven-person party. They take a moment to be silent over the chair. And then they start passing each other fresh bread and warmer smiles. They all give her gifts. Nicky and Joe give her a pass to an art seminar she talked about. Andy and Quynh give her a new set of throwing daggers, and the promise that when she’s mastered them they’ll talk about the broad sword. Copley gives her a new drawing tablet and a better analog camera. 

Booker gives her a tiny box the color of a blue robin egg.

The white letters “Tiffany” shock her. Inside is a rose gold locket, with pictures of her family. She sheds a few tears, he nods and they move on. Three bottles of wine and a ridiculous game of twister later, they all head to their rooms. Booker waits, clears the table, washes dishes, listens to make sure he is the last one there with her. He watches the line of her back for a moment, while she takes the gift out of its box.

“Will you help me put it on?” Nile is turning the locket over, holding the chain tight between her fingers.

He says nothing, just takes the chain from her hand, and drapes it around her neck. When it’s done he hooks a finger under her chin and moves her head back and forth. 

“Just like I thought. It fits you,” he lets her go to take a step back. He does not expect her hug but finds that he cannot help but return it. He presses his nose into the hair at her temple, nuzzles there while she squeezes his ribs. She whispers, “Thank you.”

Sebastièn holds her closer and says, “Happy Birthday Queen.” It is thanks enough to hear her laugh. 

 Nile doesn’t know what she expected to happen, but it wasn’t this. Not this subtle dragging kindness. Sebastièn starts complimenting her, seemingly at random. It’s not new per se, he’s done it since the beginning really. But soon Nile notices that the compliments are different. Measured. 

Sebastièn watches her, mumbles “I like it when you wear your hair that way.” Four days later she finds a small bag of gold beads for her braids. 

She’s been working on an oil painting all week when he says quietly, “Your style is starting to stand out more. I like the theme of water that you use.” The next morning there are new bangles on her side table.

One time they are helping Nicky in the kitchen when she cuts herself. Booker puts her hand under the tap and says, “For the brain of this outfit you sure are clumsy.” 

When she goes to bed that night there is a small antique ring on her pillow. Nile has questions. So the next day Nile does what she always does in these moments. She goes to Andy. A sparring session may be the wrong time to ask, but here they are.

Andy knocks her flat on her back and says,  “No. Absolutely not, ask him about it and leave me out.” 

 Quynh laughs, “Nile the ring probably means something. Which means you should talk to Joe and Nicky.”

So she does. After dinner, she asks them to walk her to the plaza to paint. They share a look and start putting on their coats. As they walk through the town she mostly listens to them talk, too busy turning the problem over in her head to be really engaged. When they get to their favorite bench in the plaza, they sit down with her in between them. 

“So are we going to keep talking about textile art? Or is our little sister ready to talk to us about love ah? About romance?”

“Amore we cannot tease her. At least not too much!” Nile pretends to slide off the bench while they laugh.

“This is why I always talk to Andy first!,” They kiss her cheeks and squeeze her arms. Joe says, 

“You know Andy! She’s very old, and can’t die. So you can imagine the kind of stress she’s under.”

They laugh together, give her time to breathe with them. Then they listen to her. Nile talks about how it has always been different with Booker, how they watch each other so often. The early morning conversations. They trust each other now. Warmth is growing between them. So that’s why she worries about the gifts. 

They’re beautiful! Yet she feels as if they are in the place of his affection rather than an extension of it. She asks her brothers why Booker thinks he has to buy her love? Does she seem that shallow? They tell her that isn’t the reason, that is more that Booker doesn’t think he can, or should, give her his affection. Which doesn’t make any sense so she just puts her hands out in frustration. 

Joe seems to be stumbling around saying something. Nicky keeps frowning. Nile watches them have a silent conversation when suddenly Nicky goes very still and looks away from them. Eventually, he is the one who explains it to her. 

“When you love someone… after you’ve done terrible things. After you’ve carried anger and bitterness inside of you for so long, you feel like you’ll break everything you touch. Like your hands aren’t worthy to hold your beloved, because you aren’t even worth the breaths you take. How dare you think to sully their beauty with your hands. The most expensive gift in the world is nothing in comparison to the worth of them in your life. So you don’t love them openly, You hoard your love, then try to show it anyway without putting yourself in the picture.” 

Nile watches Nicky look out at the stars. She turns to see Joe looking right back at her. They nod. Nile stands and moves to the other side of Nicky and pushes him into Joe. 

She opens her mouth to ask how Joe did it when she feels his hand on her head. She leans closer to them, turns into the arm Nicky holds around her, and listens. 

“It may take a while,” Joe is patting her head softly while he speaks. “You will have to remind him that love is not earned, it is given. You will have to tell him that hurting himself hurts you. You will have to remind him that you make your own choices and that you’ve chosen him. You have to have faith that he knows you belong together. There is hope yet, and I do not think it will take you so long as us.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because my darling river, the ring he gave you says *Adore.* And that is moving much faster than we ever did.”

She looks at them again. Watching the way they lean into each other. These men who have gone through so much together and still love so fiercely. She thinks of Sebastièn’s arms when he holds her, the way they can banter, the way it feels when he trusts her with his secrets. She thinks of how safe she is with him, how she trusts him. How long it’s taken them to get this far at all. She decides that its time to take the next step forward to their future.

Nile isn’t one to wait long once she’s made a decision. So the next morning when she comes down for breakfast, she is wearing every gift he has given her. Before he can say anything she slips away to the study, then passes him again to sit at the table next to Quynh.

She is constantly surprising him, this woman. He watches her come into the room and he probably stops breathing. She is beautiful, shining in pink and gold. He wishes for Joe’s skill in art so that he could capture the way she looks now. Sebastièn feels as if she is walking through the room with his lungs in her hands. She does not acknowledge him any differently than usual, she just says, 

“Good morning Book.”

And what? What is he supposed to do? He never thought that she would truly acknowledge him this way. He’d hoped but… He is watching her move past the table when he catches Nicky’s eye. Watches him drag a thumb across his neck. Booker looks to Joe, but they can’t make eye contact without laughing. It’s not perfect, but it is something, and Booker will take what he can get.

After everyone disperses for the day, Quynh and Andy sit in the study with him. He hasn’t read a single word on the page open in his lap. 

“Are you ready for this? Have you talked to her? Told her what you want?”

“Andy. I’ll take whatever she gives me and nothing more. I’m not sure that I’m not dreaming right now.” 

Quynh, taking a drink from his cup says, “She told me about her plans. Get ready.”

Booker has no idea how to do that. Nile is the first person to make him want to be ready to live, not just yearn for death. He is a bit scared of her to be honest. But he has read enough books, studied the world long enough to remember that water leads to creation. He wants to know what she will make of him.

She figures the best way for him to know that he doesn’t have to buy her love, is for her to show him. So she starts to leave notes in the books he’s reading. The first thing she leaves him is Barter by Sara Teasdale. 

“Spend all you have for loveliness, Buy it and never count the cost; For one white singing hour of peace, Count many a year of strife well lost, And for a breath of ecstasy, Give all you have been, or could be”

In return she finds Pablo Neruda’s Sonnet XI in her jacket. From then on it is a game of truth or dare. Endless excerpts of Chaucer and Wilde. Nile leaves her annotated copies of Angelou, Baldwin and Dumas around the house. Laughs when she cannot find them again.  There are so many words scattered and building between them, but they have spoken none of them aloud. It is a hovering cloud of sticky scared desire. She keeps playing the game anyway.

Booker wants to know her mind. So he steals her books and in their places leaves her more adornments and words from much better poets than he. A section of Milton and a silver anklet. A page of Naidu and a small jade necklace. He gives back her Angelou, but with a new gold cross inside. A book of Sappho, with pressed flowers. E. E. Cummings and a new set of paints.

He hopes that she knows what it means to him. The ability to read her. The things she says without moving her mouth. The way she will talk shop or sit in silence with him. They way she trusts him. He hopes she cannot see how much he follows her presence through the house. 

Upping the stakes, Nile starts to touch him more and more often. She holds his wrist to pull him into the car. A hand on his shoulder as she leaves the table. Her favorite perfume just before she hugs him good night. She pretends not to notice how he turns his face into her neck, how he tenses and bends under her hands. No need to tell him that he folds for her like molding clay until their tenth anniversary. At least that’s the advice she gets from Quynh.

It is somewhat of a team effort, enfolding them together. A charade in small acts. Andy helps her find the books he still wants for their collection. Nile and Joe spend hours debating the virtues of different kinds of prose while they sketch and paint. It soothes a small ache in her heart when Nicky and Quynh snatch her away for midnight ice cream, reminds her of her little brother. Her new siblings give her lessons on how to tease your lover without showing your hand. Trading embarrassing stories about each other under the eyes of the night.

She plays the game for months, knowing that he needs time, eager to show him that she is a safe place to stay. Eventually she has to go shopping for a new jewelry case, and a new keepsake box. 

They take a trip to the beach. She bought a new swimsuit just to see what he would say. He tells her, 

“It is good to see you happy, Chèrie,” and presses a perfect conch shell into her hands. Now Nile is a patient woman, but even her will is tested when she watches him help a child who swims too far out to sea that day. She watches him hold the boy to his chest, listens to him soothe the boy with a quiet, “You are safe now Mon chou. No more tears hm? Look, here is your mother. Smile for her, mon ours.”

She wonders who this man thinks he is? Realizes that she thinks of him as hers. She watches him move past the shadow of sadness and return to their small portion of the beach. She realizes that she wants his first move to be towards her, always. She says none of this. Instead she tells him that she looks like a drowned rat. Hears him say,

“Better than looking like a boiled lobster, Chèrie.” To which they all look towards Nicky and laugh. Nile laughs even harder when Nicky just responds with a single finger. It is good to see her family together like this. 

It is good. They are good. But she wants more than good. Nile wants more than this silent sharing of words between them. She might do something drastic if Sebastièn doesn’t say something soon.

They’re in the south of France when the tension breaks. She should have seen it coming actually. They’ve finished a quiet job, and everyone is a bit restless.  It’s safe enough to stay in the city so they decide to go to the theatre. A lauded production of Antony and Cleopatra that Joe’s been raving about. When they step out of the car, Nile tries to tuck her hand into the crease of his elbow only to be sent to buy some wine before they’re seated. When she gets back the only one there is Booker.  

He knows what they’re doing of course. Quynh whispers to him about courage, Joe says something about faith. Andy and Nicky nod. Then they leave. It is not that he doesn’t want to tell her, it is that he doesn’t want to hurt her. That he wouldn’t be able to stand losing her when he fucks it up. It fills him with heat and dread to see her coming near. The way she walks, the angle of her chin as she looks for them. The sharpness of her eyes as they settle on him. 

He does not know what he will do if, when, he loses her.  She deserves everything, how can he give her a shell of nothing? There are some days when he feels that he can work towards deserving her. Today is not one of those days.

Nile watches him tighten as she moves close. As they get to their seats, she sees him trying to sit in a chair a space away from her. Thankfully, another patron arrives and Booker is forced to sit next to her. She clenches her jaw and asks, 

“Am I that scary, you don’t even want to sit next to me in a dark room?”

“You are that scary, dark room notwithstanding.” She moves to slap his arm but he catches her fingers in his. The curtains open. In act one Nile waits for him to interlock their fingers, and when he doesn’t, she moves to pull her hand away from his. Onstage, Cleopatra is awaiting word from Antony only to find that he has married Octavia when Sebastien grips her hand harder in his. They do not get up during intermission. They say nothing. But his hand is in hers and his thumb runs over the ring he gave her. Slow and again, his eyes dark in the dim light.

Egypt goes to war with Rome and he brings her hand up to kiss her wrist. Antony is dying, but all Nile can hear is her heart in her throat as she rests her head against his arm. Neither of them truly watches Cleopatra die of the serpents bite. Too busy sharing air and tracing patterns on each other’s forearms. 

The air is tight between them as they leave the theatre. No big declaration. No long conversation about what they mean to each other. Instead, Nile is too busy laughing at what he says about the actor playing Caesar to worry about the rain starting to fall. They walk in the rain for a while before the droplets start to fall like pennies. Booker slips his arm around her waist to shuffle her under an awning.  Trying to shield her face as best he can, he says, 

“Mon étoile, why don’t you wait here while I-”

Their first kiss tastes like rain and softness. Nile grips the arm of his coat and the hair at his nape. He tightens his arm to pull her in tighter, she fits there like she fits into his bones, his spirit. The back of his coat is soaked in rain when he pulls back to clear his throat. 

“Why don’t you stay here while I go get the car?”

“As long as you make it quick.” She is smirking at him now, rubbing the tips of her fingers down his neck. He nods. He is back with the car in three minutes. 

***

Thankfully their path is free of immortals when they reach the house. This means that he can push her against the railing and steal his breath back from her. He is quietly proud that she is already making small sounds of want. He wants to hear pleasure out loud. So he carries her up the rest of the stairs and into her bedroom. 

The first time they make love their skin is still damp from the rain. Sebastièn undresses her with his eyes as much as his hands. Spends aching moments feeling her skin under his fingers, studying her shape in the glow. He thinks of how fitting it is to lay her by the fireplace. To watch her skin under that same glow and to know that she burns for him.

He leaves her jewelry on. It prides him to see her warm and adored. He hears her say, ‘’Hurry up love!” So he doesn’t. 

He takes her slowly. Long moments spent with his mouth on her breast, his scalp tight as she pulled his hair. He tries to cover her skin in his love. He kisses her jaw, her shoulders. He strokes her spine every chance he gets. His hands squeeze her hips, her waist, her ass.  He feels her hands everywhere. She holds his biceps, his neck, his thighs. She kisses him like he stole the air from her lungs and he tries his best to breathe for her in every second. 

When he moves down her body she tightens her thighs around him. He presses a hand under her knee. Moves to put her leg over his shoulder. He stops to bite her calf, to mold his mouth to her ankle. He lays his tongue against her heat until she cries. His tongue traces the words Adore, and L'amour across her lips until all he can taste is the honey she spills. 

He runs his hands over every inch of her that he can reach, and when he’s sure she’s ready he moves his hips to her. Her mouth pressed up to his while he presses into her. He moves slowly to savor it, but cannot resist the heat of her around him. He is probably raining on her with his tears, but he feels her hands and her mouth on his face and knows that it doesn’t matter

Nile is sure that he would have bruises from her hands if they were anyone else. She listens to him whisper in French. Wonders if he knows that she understands when he calls her perfect. That she knows when he thanks her for gifting him a treasure. She rolls her hips into him, shifts their weight to push him flat on his back. She grins down at him and says that he belongs to her now. 

They learn how to move together, not an instant tide. But instead a rhythm that they work for. They are both crying and laughing when the time comes. Her mouth against his neck and his hand rubbing circles against her heat. They lay there, chests heaving and limbs weak for…who knows how long. It could have been minutes, hours while she pushed his hair back and held him close. She would have laid there for days with his head against her breast. His mouth against hers. It is good, so they stay.

***

Two days after watching Antony die from love and hubris, she sees a gilded box from Chaumet at the foot of her bed. Nile opens the box first because she knows that the note is what he really has to say. She puts her newest gifts in her ears and  meets him on the balcony. 

She puts herself into his lap like she belongs there, because she does. He already has breakfast ready for her. Nile looks at the bowl of her favorite fruits, the still-warm egg, the cheese croissant on the table next to his. The first kiss of the day is lazy and long. His hand behind her neck and her nails in his shoulder. Long sweeps of his tongue against hers, a small bite at the corner of her mouth. Their kisses are easy like their laughter, and as patient as the day is long. She pulls back only to look in his eyes. 

“Good morning love,” she runs her nose along his jaw. His answer shakes her into laughter. 

“Good morning Queen,” In her mirth, he presses their heads together, buries his nose behind her ear, breathes in the scent of her. Nile has her hand on his chest, counting the beats of his heart next to hers. There is a bird on their railing, and Sebastian feeds her from his hands as she listens to the bird sing up the dawn. It’s beautiful how much love lies in what he does. She could listen to the song in his chest while the earth makes all its turns.

She knows that eventually they will have to face the rest of their family. Endure their teasing brothers and smirking sisters. There will be hugs and smiles and money exchanged. But right now? Right now she feeds him the taste of strawberries from her tongue. They have time.

There is an unopened note on her bedside table. Later, when they’ve said I love you and promised forever, this is the note she will come back to. A vow that he whispers to her on their journey across centuries. It reads; 

Egypt, thou knew’ st too well, My heart was to thy rudder tied by the’ strings, And thou shouldst tow me after. O’er my spirit Thy full supremacy thou knew’ st, and that Thy beck might from the bidding of the gods, Command me. - You knew just as I, that I have always been yours.

*

Thanks for reading! If you liked it please lmk! My whole kingdom for the best cheerleader/beta/Bestie ever!!! @jesuisnilunnilautre Tysm my love.

I am currently working on my *Save the Ocean/Quynh* and *Fundie Nicky* fics… But after that, what should our next Book of Nile fic be? I made more moodboards. Do we like them? Also here’s the vibes playlist on Spotify.

[searching-for-arcadia]

Death Follows (short fic under the cut | cw: temporary major character death, mentions of suicide)

Jack didn’t remember the first time he saw one of those hounds hovering in the shadows, staring at him with glowing red eyes. He had had other things on his mind then and had probably wrote them (though at that point, and for a long time after, there was only ever one) off as a figment of his imagination. He would be forgiven for thinking that since they only appeared when he was injured (fatally, as he would later realize) or well on his way to drinking himself to death. These visions were unimportant compared to his confusion, grief, and anger at being stranded on a backwards planet in a backwards year.

It was only after he figured out that he was dying and not simply coming near death and miraculously recovering that he started really noticing, that more often than not, when he died outside, there was a massive shadowy hound watching.

It was never there when he woke and never appeared when he died indoors. Or at least that was true until he was captured by Alice Guppy and Emily Holroyd. There wasn’t a hound every time he died, but every once in a while, as he died to their experiments, one would appear behind Alice and Emily and hold his gaze until he succumbed to the darkness.

He became used to dying with red eyes filling his vision.

Then he began noticing the hound appearing even when he wasn’t dying. Yet. A death tended to follow quite quickly, as if the hound new it would be appearing for him soon enough. The hound was not a warning. It was a prophecy.

-

He thought he was the only one who could see the hound, but one day, when he was out on a late night retrieval with Dafydd and Elen, the hound appeared and Elen, every observant, froze and stared right at it.

“You can see it?” Jack asked, confused and also concerned. “The dog?”

“Of course.” She whispered. Jack felt, strangely, disappointed at her response. She shivered and tore her gaze away from the hound, frowning. “We would do well to be careful. I do not think that what we are approaching is as harmless as we thought.”

Dafydd nodded. “It is never a good sign to see the gwyllgi.”

“You two should be okay. It just shows up when I’m going to die.” Jack shrugged and flashed a quick grin.

Dafydd looked sideways at Jack, a little disturbed at his glibness. Even though Elen already knew the answer (and was disturbed because the gwyllgi didn’t show up for just any kind of death), she asked, “You’ve seen one before?”

“I see it all the time.” Which wasn’t quite true; Jack was trying his best not to get killed all the time now. “Seems like it’s following me.”

“Death is following you…?”

Jack didn’t know how to respond so he just shrugged.

Dafydd, who had been staring at the hound silently, visibly shook himself. “We should keep going but Elen is right. We should be careful. We do not know that it is heralding your death, Jack. The gwyllgi could be appearing for any of us.”

Dafydd and Elen were right to be concerned. It turned out it was appearing for all of them.

-

The first time a hound appeared without Jack dying soon after, Jack started to wonder if it was attracted to him because he constantly reeked of death, wondered if he’d died enough that he was more dead than alive in the grand scheme of the universe.

The first time more than one hound appeared was soon after he hired Ianto Jones. He was unnerved, concerned about what it meant. Ianto gave no indication that he could see them (nor did the rest of the team), so he figured they were safe. After all, Dafydd and Elen had seen the hound before they walked to their deaths.

Then Suzie was revealed to be a serial killer right before killing herself. Jack figured that the hounds would disappear after that (at least until he was next fated to die); he reasoned that they had been hanging around as an omen or sign of Suzie’s actions and fate. When they didn’t (and instead continued to multiply), Jack was concerned. He felt vindicated (underneath the rage and betrayal) when the cyberwoman was revealed in the basement. This was what they were warning him of, he thought, as he shot the body that had once been Annie down.

But they didn’t disappear even then. Instead, people kept dying around him.

Perhaps Elen had been right. Death was following him.

-

Then Abaddon rose from the Rift. Then he was running for the TARDIS. Then he was told that he was too alive (not too dead, but still wrong).

-

He didn’t understand until that year.

Gwen (strong, beautiful, determined Gwen, who fought until the very end) whispered of hounds, black as night with eyes red like fresh blood, keeping watch at night (not always, but enough). Owen (brash, hurting, caring Owen, who never learned to heal himself) told Jack, while they were shackled across from each other, of hounds that led the way to safety (and sometimes even medical supplies). Tosh (lovely, brilliant, courageous Tosh, who never lost her mind) reported, with almost the same excitement she had once brought to her special projects, that the hounds seemed to know when they were needed the most (as if they had to prioritize their appearances which meant that they were bound by rules, even if she had yet to figure them out).

He didn’t understand until he gasped back to life, dangling by his wrists, with a hound lying at his feet. It rose to its paws and regarded him with its steady red gaze before rearing back onto its hind paws to rest its forelegs against Jack’s shoulders. None of the hounds had ever come this close; never close enough to touch and certainly never close enough to smell. But now—

Jack’s breath caught at its familiar scent.