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demigod-shenanigans · 2 months ago

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The choiceless hope in grief

Summary: Leo Valdez has lived and died for the gods. Their war has shaped his life since he was a baby. With Gaia defeated, he sort of hopes he can finally rest. He has friends and some semblance of home to return to for the first time since he was eight years old. Just this once, he allows himself to hope the good things might stick.

But the gods aren’t done with them just yet, by the time Leo finds his way back, Jason is gone.

This time, Leo decides he’s done just taking the Fates’ bullshit lying down. If getting his best friend back means striking a deal with the gods and venturing into the Underworld… well, it’s probably not even the most reckless thing he’s ever done.

The caveat of said deal? He has to trust Jason will follow him, or his self-doubt will doom them both.

And after the life he’s lived, Leo is so intricately familiar with self-doubt that he could probably trademark the word.

Or: The only possible way for Orpheus to succeed is if he learns to think of himself as a person worth loving.

Word Count for chapter 1: ~5k

Rating: Teen and Up

So! *claps hands together* I’ve been threatening you guys with my Orpheus Eurydice valgrace fic for a while! Technically I wanted to wait to post this until I’m completely done writing the fic, and I mostly intend to stick to that! I’m only posting this now because I have a minor surgery tomorrow and I’d rather be anxious about fic related things than about the surgery in question. So, take this chapter as a preview of sorts, more to come soon-ish but probably not immediately!

A couple of important notes before we start:

-TW for suicidal ideation. It’s less Leo actually wanting to die and more his canon behavior of “I’m doing something extremely reckless that might succeed but if it doesn’t, my death is an acceptable consequence”, paired with general grief related self-loathing, but if you think you’re not in the right headspace to read about that, come back when you are or at least tread carefully. This fic pics up at the end of The Burning Maze, so especially the beginning is pretty heavy on the grief stuff.

-Since ToA is vaguely canon to this fic, Leo and Calypso are technically dating in the beginning, but they don’t really interact positively as a couple (honestly they don’t interact that much in general) and break up pretty early on. Just be aware in advance that they’re still together for a little bit.

-Fic title is from Talk by Hozier which is maybe a painfully obvious pick but it was too perfect for me not to use it.

Chapter 1: Leo and Piper have an extended sleepover

It wasn’t a discussion between Leo and Piper whether or not to go to Jason’s funeral. They came to the decision that they wouldn’t silently—or as silently as one could come to an agreement when all parties involved were sobbing.

Maybe it should have been a discussion. There was a part of Leo that worried he’d regret this later—his refusal to take this chance to say goodbye and let himself grieve.

But Leo remembered his mother’s funeral. Remembered the way his aunt Rosa had looked at him like she knew his mother’s death had been his fault. Leo couldn’t stand the thought of people looking at him like that again.

He also didn’t remember his mother’s funeral bringing him any sense of closure or comfort. He’d stood at her grave, afterwards, just as desperate and afraid and utterly inconsolable as he’d been before the funeral, except it had suddenly felt sickeningly final. The wound it had torn in his soul had kept bleeding for years, and the scars would stay forever. He didn’t need any of Apollo’s shitty oracles to know Jason’s death would be exactly the same.

At this point, Leo was pretty sure his sanity was being held together by a combination of jokes and a truly questionable amount of duct tape.

Beyond all that, though, Camp Jupiter was a battlefield right now. It would continue to be a battlefield for the foreseeable future.

Leo wasn’t a coward. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go back and help. But one of his best friends was already in a box, and there was no way in hell he’d risk the other.

With how tightly Piper was clinging to him, maybe she was thinking the same thing.

For all his big talk about dragon escorts, Festus did most of the actual escorting on his own, occasionally torching what Leo hoped were monsters and not random public monuments. Leo, for his part, spent most of the journey crammed into the backseat of the car next to Piper, sandwiched between her and a bunch of moving boxes that seemed determined to flatten him into a Leo-shaped pancake whenever they took a sharp turn.

He’d spent so long thinking about seeing her and Jason again.

He’d talked Calypso’s ear off about them the whole journey, to the point where it had clearly started to annoy her. He’d thought about various ridiculous entrances he could make, and the fact that he’d probably get yelled at, but he’d also thought about sitting together by the campfire, sharing nachos. He’d thought about Jason hugging him so fiercely that he couldn’t breathe, and Piper cussing him out while she held him, making him promise never to do anything that reckless again.

Now Piper was actually holding him, and Leo couldn’t feel anything. There was a numbness in his chest. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to ever feel happiness again. Hell, even if he did, what was the fucking point? Every time anything even remotely good happened in his life, it got ripped away from him again.

They didn’t talk a whole lot for most of the drive. They cried until it felt like they couldn’t anymore, clinging to each other like desperate children.

Even if they’d wanted to talk about what had happened, Piper’s dad was right there, and despite the Mist usually working overtime for them, having him overhear seemed like a gamble. Or, well, maybe that was what Leo told himself. Maybe he just wasn't sure he was ready to hear it all. He still felt like he couldn’t think. He was overwhelmed to hell and couldn’t stop fidgeting.

Several hours into the trip, his stomach started grumbling. Piper dug through the bag at her feet and offered him one of her PB&J sandwiches, but Leo couldn’t eat. He hadn’t skipped a meal in forever—he’d been homeless and unsure when he’d even get access to the next meal enough times that it had been all but tattooed into his skull that he couldn’t afford to—but he couldn’t even think about eating without feeling sick. He thought about Jason. He thought about the state he’d left Camp Jupiter in and the fact that they hadn’t even been able to give the dead their proper funeral rites.

Had Leo’s help made any difference at all? Had anything he’d done in his life changed things even slightly?

Leo knew the Fates had intended for it to be fire that fell—for him to burn in a bright, hot blaze and turn himself to charcoal. But he’d refused to stay dead like a good little pawn, and now Jason was gone, and it was all his fault.

He wasn’t sure how Piper could even look at him right now, but he was beyond grateful that she was holding onto him as tightly as she did. It was the only reason he didn’t fall to pieces completely. The cog at the heart of Leo’s machine had broken in a way that made it utterly beyond repair, and now it felt like a matter of time before the whole thing came apart. Piper holding him was the only reason his remaining pieces were still functioning.

It should have been impossible for Leo to fall asleep under these circumstances, but he’d been traveling for hours and fighting before then and he’d cried out his remaining energy, so eventually, the world started to fade around him, reduced to just the sound of Piper’s breaths, until finally, those went, too.

~~~~

It would have been kinder, maybe, if Leo had dreamed up some shitty visions promising violent death and/or the end of the world. That would have been business as usual.

Instead, he dreamed of his time on the Argo II—of one of those early nights when the different groups were still getting to know each other, having a brief moment to breathe between their ridiculous tasks and saving the world.

It had seemed reasonable to catch each other up on what had happened on their end. Percy, Hazel and Frank had talked about rescuing Thanatos, and Piper, Jason and Leo had told them what had happened with Hera in turn.

This would have been a boring intel conversation at best, seeing as Leo had been there for all of their part, but they’d grabbed snacks and sat on cushions on the floor and made it a whole bonding activity. Jason had been wedged between Piper and Leo, and they’d taken turns storytelling.

And Jason had bragged. So much. But he hadn’t even had the decency to brag about himself like a normal human being. Instead, he’d talked about how capable Piper and Leo had been, somehow managing to make Leo sound like the coolest person he’d ever met. Which was ridiculous, considering he’d met everyone else on their team.

And sure, Leo made it sound like he thought he was amazing all the time, but he was exaggerating, which everyone, himself included, knew.

Jason didn’t seem to have gotten the memo, though. He had one arm wrapped around Leo the whole evening, and he got all starry-eyed when he talked.

“Leo took on three Cyclopes by himself. Three!”

“Dude, stop!” Leo had laughed, shaking his head. “I know I’m incredible and you’re blessed to be friends with me and stuff, but you weren’t even conscious for that part.”

“Still happened, though.” Jason had beamed at him. “You’re amazing, dude. I would have died about fifteen times on that mission if it hadn’t been for you. You guys should’ve seen him.”

It would have been easier if Leo had thought Jason was just trying to talk him up to the others to make them more willing to trust him after how badly he’d messed up in New Rome, but Jason wasn’t the type. He’d looked like he honestly believed every single word he was saying.

So, of course, Leo had refused to seriously deal with any of the things that made him feel.

“Sorry, Pipes, but I’m pretty sure your boyfriend is in love with me. It’s the fire powers, I’m afraid. I’m just too hot to resist,” Leo had joked instead, and Piper had untangled herself from Jason’s other side to throw Doritos at Leo, and everything had been right in the universe.

~~~~

Waking up from that, blearily blinking himself awake in the car full of moving boxes and remembering… that was a worse punch in the gut than waking up from most nightmares had been. And Leo should know. He’d had so many of those over the years that he was basically a certified nightmare expert at this point.

Leo wanted to go back in time and spend forever in that one evening, living it over and over and over again until the Fates or a temporal paradox or something eventually killed him. He wanted to hold on to what they’d been back then—the three of them together and happy and whole,back before they’d realized what the prophecy really meant.

He wanted to stay wrapped in Jason’s arm and hear him laugh at whatever stupid joke Leo came up with while he and Piper threw snacks at each other like ten year olds. He wanted to believe he could actually be the person Jason was bragging about—this invincible hero that could do just about anything and saved people’s lives.

But Leo had never been that hero. Even his sacrifice had been the selfish decision of a coward who wasn’t ready to die just yet. Jason had been their Superman. The guy who could fly and threw lightning and saved people from falling to their deaths. Jason had been the hero. And ultimately, that had been what killed him.

Leo wasn’t exactly sure what he planned to do once they got to Oklahoma. He should have been heading back to the Waystation, to give Calypso the normal life he’d promised. But he wasn’t thinking about Calypso, or the Waystation, and the thought of a normal life had gone out of the window the second he’d seen the coffin. Besides, the Waystation would mean people asking questions, wanting to know about his mission and asking him to talk about his feelings, and he didn’t want that.

The only thing Leo really wanted to do right now was not think.

By the time they got to the house, it was so late that cross-country dragon flight seemed inadvisable for visibility reasons alone, so Leo agreed to stay the night. Festus nuzzled him for a bit, got a fuel snack from the canister Leo had brought and then folded down into his million pound suitcase form for the night.

It took a little under two hours to carry all the boxes inside, which was an annoying amount of time to be carrying boxes but seemed like an absurdly short amount to move the contents of an entire life.

They spent some time in search of the necessities that needed to be unpacked, but the house was still furnished and also had running water and electricity as of a few days ago, so it wasn’t that bad.

While Piper went in search of some ancient camping gear so Leo wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor—this seemed silly to him, the floor was far from the worst place he’d ever slept—Leo asked Piper’s dad if he could help with dinner.

Tristan looked relieved at his offer, actually. He’d been staring at the assorted vegetables with a slightly lost expression, trying to hack at one of the zucchinis with a butter knife. It seemed like he was trying to remember how cooking worked and had just discovered he had absolutely no idea.

Considering how long he’d been an insanely rich guy with a personal cook, Leo guessed that actually might have been a pretty accurate read on the situation.

“You might want to try a sharper knife,” Leo suggested, which made Piper’s dad look absolutely mortified. “Try not to chop off any of your fingers, though. I think Piper’s been traumatized enough for one week.”

The words were out of his mouth before Leo could think to stop them. Tristan didn’t laugh, but at least it didn’t seem like he’d be tossing Leo out of the house over this. Maybe he realized people sometimes said stupid shit when they were grieving. Maybe Piper had just warned him in advance that Leo was like this sometimes.

Tristan just went to find a different knife, which would have maybe been concerning if he hadn’t gone back to hacking at the vegetables a moment later.

“Well, at least this one is actually cutting through the zucchinis. That’s already an improvement.”

“Yeah, I’m basically a cooking expert,” Leo said with a grin, only half-joking. He went to peel and chop up the carrots, and was done with those and about half the mushrooms by the time the poor zucchini had been hacked to bits.

“You and Piper went to school together, right?” Tristan asked after a while of them quietly chopping vegetables for the casserole, trying to make sense of things with information he didn’t have and that, judging from past evidence, probably would have made his skull crack. “You and her and Jason.”

“Yeah. We went to Wilderness school together.” Leo winced, trying not to think too hard of Jason while also trying to remember the lies they’d already told Piper’s dad. At this rate, he was pretty worried his own skull would crack, too. “Then all three of us switched to a different school. Then I was gone for a while.”

Tristan nodded like this made perfect sense, though he mostly seemed lost in thought. That was a little rude, in Leo’s opinion. If he went through all that effort to remember their elaborate setup of lies, the least Piper’s dad could do was appreciate it!

“I’m glad you’re here now, with everything that’s happened. Piper was really upset when you left,” Tristan said, still with that faraway look in his eyes. “The last few months were hard for her. Between the move and the breakup, she really could have used a friend.”

Leo promptly lost all rights to make fun of Piper’s dad and his vegetable chopping skills because at the word ‘breakup’, the knife slipped and he nearly sliced off two of his fingers.

“Fuck! Ow!” he said eloquently, trying to avoid bleeding all over the cutting board in his attempt to get to the sink. “Jason and Piper broke up?”

The question sounded absurd even to his own ears. Why would Jason and Piper break up? They’d been happy together.

Surely, Piper’s dad had to be talking about something else.

To Leo’s shock, Tristan nodded.

“A while ago, yes,” he said, but he didn’t go into details—possibly because Leo was bleeding all over the sink. “We should bandage that. Do you think you need stitches?”

“No, the cuts aren’t that deep,” Leo decided, turning on the faucet and holding his bleeding hand under the stream of cold water. Maybe he should have been more concerned about the injury, but his mind was still whirring at the thought of his best friends breaking up. Unfortunately, the cold water stung like hell. He hissed with pain. “Sorry for making your kitchen look like a crime scene right after moving in. Usually, I at least have the decency to wait a day or two.”

Because the house was a small, cozy place and Leo had not had the decency to curse quietly, Piper appeared in the doorway a moment later, an alarmed expression on her face.

“What happened?”

“I’ve been bested by a stupid potato,” Leo cursed, holding up his bleeding hand and wiggling his fingers for emphasis. He figured out immediately that this was a mistake. “Ow.”

“Stop that, dumbass!” Piper cursed, moving to stand beside him. “Sink was the right call, but you need to use soap or the cuts could get infected. Dad, any chance we have gauze lying around somewhere?”

Tristan didn’t seem to question why his daughter had immediately jumped into emergency medical treatment mode. He just abandoned the cutting board and headed for the front door.

“Not exactly sure what box our regular medical supplies are in, but I’ll get the first aid kit from the car. I’ll be right back.”

“Do we have to do the soap?” Leo whined, because fuck, that stung, but Piper nodded with a scary expression on her face, so he complied. “How do you even know this stuff? Are we sure you’re not secretly an Apollo kid?”

“I know this stuff because I’m friends with a bunch of morons who have zero sense of self-preservation,” Piper cursed, gritting her teeth. “You shouldn’t be around knives when you’re this distracted.”

“I can usually cook just fine when I’m distracted. Your dad was the one who told me you and Jason broke up in the middle of this stupid potato,” Leo said defensively. “Is that the Mist messing with him?”

That was the only explanation his mind had supplied so far that made any sense to him.

Piper shook her head. “We really did break up. That was a few months ago.”

Leo felt his jaw hit the floor.

“What the hell happened? You were together for ages. I thought- you always seemed so happy.”

“I know, but-” Piper broke off abruptly when her dad came back inside with the first aid kit. Demigod stuff, then?

Leo’s mind was racing. The breakup was a completely stupid thing to focus on, considering everything that had happened in the last few days. He knew that.

But it was easier to try and make sense of this than it was to try and make sense of the fact that Jason was gone and he’d never get to see him again.

“Is it alright if we do this somewhere else?” Piper asked her dad, taking the first aid kit from him.

“Of course. It might be easier to patch him up when you’re both sitting down, anyway.” He turned towards Leo. “Thank you for your help, but I think I can take it from here.”

Leo sent a silent prayer to whichever deity was responsible for protecting vegetables—Demeter, probably?—and gave what he hoped was an encouraging thumbs up with his uninjured hand before he followed Piper into the hallway to presumably be reprimanded some more.

~~~~ They ended up sitting on an old bed that looked like it had lived a long, miserable life and was excited for retirement, but the wooden frame thankfully didn’t break down under the weight of the new mattress or the additional weight of them sitting on said mattress. Piper explained that this had been her dad’s room when he’d lived here as a child, and that it would probably become her room now. Then she went very quiet and focused on bandaging his hand, clearly avoiding looking at him.

“It wasn’t because of me, was it?” Leo asked. The thought made him feel ill. “Please tell me it wasn’t something like, I don’t know, you two being unable to stand being around each other after what happened to me. I think I’d actually have to blow myself up again if it was.”

He tried to make it sound like a joke, but it didn’t feel like one at all. The thought that he'd managed to ruin his best friends’ relationship on top of everything else made it hard to breathe.

When Piper shook her head, it felt like a whole boulder was lifted off his shoulders.

“I actually think we would have broken up sooner if you hadn’t gone missing. We leaned on each other a lot after you disappeared. It wasn’t until we realized we wouldn’t find you and things started to settle down a little that I had time to think. And when I did…” Her voice went very quiet, and she still didn’t look up at him. “I realized I wasn’t happy in the relationship. I don’t think I ever was.”

“How did I not know that?” Leo wondered quietly. “I just… you two seemed happy to me. What kind of garbage best friend am I?”

Piper shook her head. “It isn’t your fault. I was telling myself I was happy for a long time. It’s almost- sometimes I wonder if I was charmspeaking myself. That maybe I kept saying I was in love with Jason until I convinced myself I actually was. And with Hera and my mom setting it up… I love-” her voice caught in her throat, and Leo felt like maybe he needed to throw up, “-loved Jason, but not like that.”

“Pipes, I’m really sorry.�� Leo squeezed her shoulder. “That sounds like it was super hard for both of you.” Leo felt awful about the fact that he hadn’t even been around to comfort either of them, but it wasn’t like he could fix it now. It was just another item on Leo’s unending list of epic screwups he’d never be able to make up for.

“Jason was… well, he took it exactly like I expected him to. He was surprised, but he didn’t get angry or anything. He mostly seemed okay. Part of me wonders if maybe…” But whatever Piper had been thinking about, she seemed to decide it wasn’t important. “It was hard to get a proper read on him, and as nice as he was about it, things were still super awkward after. I'm terrified he died thinking I didn’t care about him.”

And then she was tearing up again, and Leo thought he would shatter if she cried.

“He knew you cared,” he said as earnestly as he could manage, pulling Piper to his chest again. “You love way too annoyingly for him not to have known. Hell, even I know you love me, and we both know I’m a fucking nightmare when it comes to this stuff.”

“I missed you so much,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his back like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Oh, I’m about to make you regret saying that,” Leo said, forcing himself to smile. “I’ll bring it up each and every time you say you find something I do annoying.”

“You’re annoying as hell, but you’re still my best friend.” He could feel her tears dripping onto his shoulder, and he knew that would make him start up again too. “I don’t know how I’d do this without you.”

And well, passing away from dehydration after crying too much would be a really lame way to die the second time, but everything was just too much right now, so if that was how he went, Leo wasn’t sure anyone could blame him.

~~~~

For the next couple of weeks, Leo stayed.

Helping Piper and her dad unpack was the perfect way to keep himself occupied and not have to think. Usually, a mundane task like this probably would have driven Leo nuts. But right now, it was a bit of a godsend—if not literally, at least figuratively. Being productive was always so much easier when it was done in order to avoid something you wanted to do even less. There was a reason his spaces in the foster homes had only ever been tidy when he had exams coming up.

He helped cook, too, and Piper’s dad became increasingly less garbage at it the longer this went on—like muscle memory was finally kicking in after years of disuse.

It was mostly good—listening to Piper reminisce about trips she’d taken with her dad and where she’d gotten the weird variety of items she kept in her room. When they weren’t unpacking, Leo and Piper played video games or watched movies or explored the area. Twice, during the night, they took Festus on a little flight to a nearby fast food place. Finding a parking spot was a bit of a nightmare, unfortunately. Leo would submit a complaint about their inability to accommodate celestial bronze dragons the first chance he got.

The first time they tried hiking—Leo didn’t even like hiking, he’d spent enough time outside for several lifetimes, why did he do this to himself—they got hopelessly lost in the woods, and of course, due to demigod bullshit, neither of them had brought a phone, so Google Maps wasn’t an option. It was probably for the better. The last thing that situation needed on top of them being lost was a monster attack.

They were already jokingly planning out their new life in the woods when, thankfully, a girl their age came to their rescue.

“A human being! Thank the gods. The squirrels weren’t talking to us,” Leo greeted her, which had Piper shout “Please ignore Leo!” loudly from the branches of the tree she’d been climbing.

The girl lifted her head, spotted Piper and promptly burst out laughing.

“What in the world are you doing up there?”

“Trying to get a better vantage point,” Piper sighed, making her way back down the tree. “We’re hopelessly lost.”

“Well, nice to meet you, hopelessly lost. I’m Shel,” the girl said, still grinning. Leo decided immediately that he liked her.

Piper had almost made it back down when she somehow missed a branch and fell the rest of the way. In comedic movie fashion, Shel moved before Leo had the chance to and caught her mid-tumble. “That was a bit of a dramatic way to get my attention, but you’re cute, so I’ll allow it.”

“Oh yeah, Piper’s got a bit of a thing with falling for people that way,” Leo commented, and Piper gave him her most murderous look while she got back on her feet.

“You guys need help getting back?”

“Please, yes,” Piper said immediately. “It turns out we’re both garbage with maps.”

“Maybe you just need a tour guide next time,” Shel suggested, winking at Piper, whose face turned scarlet. Leo wasn’t even mad about being the third wheel for once. He’d give her so much shit about this later.

And he did. And then Piper properly came out to him—no label or anything, mostly as extremely confused but sure she liked girls, which also made a few additional pieces click into place regarding her breakup with Jason. She ended her anxiety-riddled explanation by thanking Leo for being so normal and annoying about all this.

Which was how Leo realized he’d apparently never told Piper he was bi.

Or maybe he had, and it had gotten lost along with their other memories of Wilderness. Stupid memory-stealing babysitters.

Well, at least they got to hug about it now.

~~~~

It was strange how normal some days felt when nothing would ever truly be normal again. When in every moment Leo and Piper spent together, the gaping hole that had been ripped into their trio was so blatantly obvious.

The benefit and problem of this friendship was that Leo and Piper were both experts at not talking about things they were struggling with.

This wasn’t exactly news. From what little Leo did remember of Wilderness School, they’d spent months not talking about his mom, or about the fact that Piper’s dad kept canceling their weekend plans. They’d both known there were things left unsaid, but as long as they’d been able to cheer each other up, that hadn’t really mattered. It made sense, honestly. Put two people who hadn’t had a shoulder to cry on for ages in a room together and see what happens!

Right now, this meant they were expertly ignoring the box of belongings Piper had picked up from Jason’s school. It had been pushed so far under the bed during that first night that it was no longer visible, and neither of them made any effort to move it out of its new home since. They ignored the topic of Jason, period, until it inevitably hit them in the face again.

It was mostly dumb shit that set them off. Piper automatically reaching for vanilla ice cream at the grocery store because it was Jason’s favorite—seriously, who in their right mind even liked vanilla ice cream?

Sometimes, Leo would make a joke and burst into tears instead of laughing because he knew it would have cracked Jason up. They found old photos unpacking. One time, Piper’s dad suggested they make tacos and they started simultaneously bawling their eyes out.

Leo had spent a long time exactly like this—pretending everything was normal and okay when it wasn’t either of those things until he inevitably broke down. Then he’d started to actually feel sort of okay whenever he was with Jason and Piper. Now, he was sure he would spend the rest of his life pretending.

His appetite was too used to being stuck in survival mode for him to bow to nausea for long, so he went back to eating properly after a few days. He still cried himself to sleep most nights. He kept dreaming about Jason. The memories wrapped themselves around him like a safety blanket that he knew would get ripped away again in the morning. He always woke up feeling empty. Sometimes, he wished he could just go to sleep and never wake up again.

But other than that, it was mostly good.

Then demigod communications went back up, and everything went to hell.

———

Chapter notes:

Fun fact! I originally planned for this chapter (as well as the next few chapters) to just be backstory in my head and for me to maybe do a flashback or two. Unfortunately for me, Piper McLean waltzed into the room and refused to leave.

I do actually think the fic works better this way, but it will take a second to get to the plot! Hopefully you’ll enjoy the whole journey :)

I may not be able to have Leo and Piper go to Jason’s funeral without seriously messing with the plot of Tyrant’s Tomb, but I could at least pick the most evil reason possible for them not to go!

Side note: I sort of forgot that Hedge and Mellie were supposed to be here according to TBM, but by the time I remembered I already had this chapter written out and, as someone who cannot be bothered to figure out how to write them, I decided to just leave it. ToA is vaguely canon to this universe, but only for the most part. Some details are inaccurate, and I think that’s okay.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs super, super appreciated as always!!

List of people that at some point asked to be tagged when I post this: @poppitron360 @ginnyluna @keefessketchbook (feel free to comment if you want to get taken off or be put on the tag list for future chapters!)

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 months ago

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Just One Reason: Lost

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The car rolls to a stop. It’s only then that you realise you’re no longer standing in front of your building. You flick your tear-webbed lashes and sniffle. You wipe your swollen and raw nose. The night clears before you as a sleek and modern geometric home stands before you. You lean forward as you cup your forehead.

“Tootsie roll,” Lloyd startles you as the soft whir of the engine fades.

You look at him. You’re in shock. At least, you think that’s what this is. Everything feels distant. You’re numb and yet you feel everything at once. It’s like living that dreadful day all over again.

“How lovely,” your aunt Marguerite admires the silverware, “he always was a collector. He’d want me to have this.”

“And his coins,” Uncle Carlos adds, “priceless. A keepsake to remember him by.”

Family you hadn’t heard from in years, family you didn’t know, milled through your father’s home. Your home. They picked it apart like scavengers. They didn’t care about the funeral, not how much it cost, or even that your father was dead. They were only concerned about their bequeathal.

And your father was always a generous man. He thought of every single one of them and you knew he wouldn’t deny any of them. So you didn’t. They took it all as you watched helplessly. No condolences, no shared memories of the man that was, not even an empathetic embrace.

You said goodbye alone. You paid for the urn and his cremation and sold the house. You couldn’t afford it alone. You couldn’t bring yourself to keep living there with him haunting the walls. Instead, you took him with you to that apartment and he...

You snap back to the land of the living. A bright light nearly shines you and you shield your face with your hand. You look down at your boots, the snow melting and weeping onto the mat. Lloyd tugs at the buttons of your coat and you jolt in surprise.

“Hey, I know it’s been a long night--”

“He’s gone.” You say coarsely.

He tilts his head and his brows furrow in confusion, “he? Who?”

“He’s dead,” you croak and turn away from his grasp.

You bend over as you cradle your head and sob again. You want to scream. You can’t. You fold and collapse onto the floor.

You’re scooped up and sat on something firm. Your coat is stripped away, your boots unlaced, and you’re take away from the front door of the strange house. The walls move past you as Lloyd carries you and lays you down on a cloud.

You roll over and hide your face. If you close your eyes, it can’t be real. You sink into the mattress and your mind.

“You’ll be okay,” your father rasps as he pats your hand, almost too weak for the simple gesture. “You always were the strongest person I know. Don’t know where it...”

He didn’t finish the sentence for the rattling cough that overtook his frail body. He was no longer the brutish man who used to bluster in like a storm. He still laughed but it wasn’t that hardy bellow that made you warm inside. It was a rickety noise like the shaking of a stone in a can.

He left more than that unfinished. He left you undone. He left you.

He left you.

You flail onto your back and gasp up at the ceiling. Where are you? You sit up and the world swims in shadows. Only the soft glow of the lamp wards of the shadows in the corners.

You swallow dryly. Your head throbs, your eyes are half-swollen shut, and your nose is dried out. You’re still there. Why? Why are you still here without him?

You fall back on the pillows and heave. You have nothing left to cry. You can only shake as you stare at the plaster.

The lamplight eases with the rise of the sun between the curtains. You wallow in your renewed grief. It never truly went away, just ebbed until the tide came rolling over like a tsunami. Now you are lost to the depths.

A gentle tap sounds like a thunderous boom. You flinch and tilt your head to see the door as it opens. A blurry figure enters. It isn’t until he’s at the side of the bed that you recognise Lloyd. He sits lightly and touches your shoulder. His hand feels like flames.

“I called the building. It’s... nothing’s salvageable--”

“Leave me alone,” you close your eyes and suck back a hiccup.

“I know, it’s hard. Your whole life was in that apartment, sweetie, but you got me. You’re best friend. Huh? Me and you, we’re going to rebuild it all.”

“You can’t,” you mutter.

“Ah, whatever you want, tootsie, I’ll get it for you.”

“I don’t want... anything,” you hiss.

“Things are things, baby cakes,” he rubs your arm. “But you still got a friend, don’t ya?”

“If you hadn’t-- I would’ve been there. I could’ve--” you gulp and shake your head. It doesn’t matter.

“I’ll take care of ya,” he continues to pet you. “Get you everything you need. You’re gonna need a computer for work, huh? You can set up in here, or another room. Get a nice desk. Oh, you’re gonna need something to wear...” he pinches your sleeve. “Tell me your favourite snacks and I’ll order groceries--”

You sit up and shove him away. It’s too much. He’s smothering you.

You remember when you would have begged for someone to help. To just hug you. To just be there to cry with. Now, you just want to be left alone.

“No, I’ll find somewhere else,” you say. “You don’t have to...”

It won’t last. He’s nice now but he’ll leave you too. Just like everyone else. If he doesn’t do it himself, the world will take him away.

“Tootsie roll, you need to relax--”

“I can’t!” You snap and stand, only to stumble and land on your knees. You pant and heave as you keel over, arms shaking as you hold yourself over the floor.

“Baby,” he hurries around and lifts you back onto the bed. “Your body’s telling you to stop.” He drags you back and pushes you onto your back, “so stop.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #series #drabble #au #just one reason #the gray man

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wide-nose-and-wonderful · 1 year ago

Text

SNOWFALL SEASON 4 Franklin.

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Soft Black Fem Reader!

Warnings/Type: Established Relationship. Hurt/Comfort, Soft Smut. Use of the n-word. ONE SHOT!

Summary: With life spinning out of control and the war ragging in the neighborhood, you come to find that you are alone more and more under the watchful eye of Peaches. Being without Franklin has started to get to you. Can he convince you that brighter days are ahead?

Word count: 8,083k / Please consider leaving a comment to show some love and support. Like this story? To read other works please check out the Masterlist.

“I was just gon' let sleeping dogs lie, but then you had to go behind my back. Talk about my bidness, and create a whole shit storm of problems for me and mine and I can't have that. Can't lay in bed at night knowin’ that at any minute my future can't get blown up by my past. So, if there's somethin’ you wanna say to me, somethin’ you wanna get off your lil chest then please say it now because after this I promise, I fuckin’ promise you there are no more chances!”

“Alright. There's one thing. Tell me the truth you'll never hear from me again. Admit that you killed my daddy. Be man enough to tell me that I'm not crazy. Give me that at least.”

“Bye Mel. Take care of yourself.”

…

When Franklin Saint walked into Dallas Fort Worth international airport at 5:45PM, on Sunday March 22nd, in the year of 85, he wasn’t sure at what point his childhood left him. When he committed his first murder or when he lost his shoes and encountered RayRay and his boys in jail.

In the end, it disappeared.

The old Franklin was somewhere blowing in the wind and gone like a distant memory long ago left behind. At times when the world managed to get quiet enough, he thought about Kevin, about the time he’d taken them to the beach. How amazing it was. So amazing. So new for Leon and Kev. Did he miss that version of himself? Or was he okay with the new one? Those questions remained unanswered in his subconscious yet to be challenged, but the point was growth wasn’t it? There was no way he would have remained the same through all of this. All the bullshit. While he may have looked unchanged, the mind matured with strategy. He’d married the game. Formed an unbreakable wow. Such logic justified the journey. Justified everything that led to him straying the course just to find Melody in Odessa to make a point. He would not tolerate being fucked with, even by the girl he once loved.

He never wanted to kill Andre Wright, and made no tangible confession. Only a slight nod of confirmation for the girl next door.

He owed her more then that he knew, but fuck it. Life goes on. The past had to stay the past, so he never let a word be heard from his lips. She couldn’t handle the truth even if she craved to have it.

Seeing her again amplified the pain of being shot. He did not expect it. But he would carry the scars of her murder attempt for the rest of his life. A cold hard memory, forever edged in his flesh. Keloided in three different places on his back, the reality haunted Franklin most nights, and he would wake up in cold sweats with the sound of a gunshot ringing in his ears right after seeing the light leave Andre’s eyes and transport him to whatever came next, that undoubtedly awaited them all.

He remembered the blank look set to Mel’s glazed hues. Maybe she'd been cracked out on the day of the funeral, but her ominous gaze damn near swallowed him up. He’d left this woman heartbroken without a father, so he understood her hatred. He'd eliminated her protector. Never the intention, but being a police officer, Aundre became a bigger problem than Franklin had been willing to accept. What happened to Jerome, couldn't happen again. Still, walking away from Mel that day had to be one of his saddest goodbyes. Just another one to add to the collection of regrets and hard decisions lost in his path to freedom.

The game owed no loyalty to the past.

It changed and transformed faster than the young L.A native could blink an eye. He moved with it, leaving things he once knew behind for better or worse.

Franklin wasn’t a fool. As soft as the nature of a woman could be, there was no way he could have two. Even in his mind. So, he did what needed doing.

Franklin learned alot about sacrifices and brutality. A great pain hid behind the action of the will it took to put a gun to Aundre’s head and pull the trigger. The same will it took to stop Kevin from kicking off a race war. Or the tears he couldn't stop when he watched his mother board the plane to an uncertain future without him in it. Pain Franklin kept hollowed. The same pain led him to hit Alton with the back of his gun the night he'd confronted him about the reporter he’d been talking to, which made business with Teddy less than pleasant. Franklin would be lying if he didn’t admit he’d looked up to Andre in some aspects.

His father was absent for a significant part of his life, either by addiction or choice. To make up for his absence, Franklin collected father figures. Men he could count on for some type of pathway to adulthood. He molded and modeled himself after these examples, taking bits and pieces from different sources in the neighborhood. The old gray head who owned the liquor store, or Mr. Dunkin, who’d been well known for fixing cars at half price. Or Aundre Wright, who although Franklin thought a sellout, had only wanted the best for his little girl.

Fucking Alton.

Every now and then, the former Black Panther’s words would roll back in Franklin’s memory like a bursting tumor.

You are killing us all. Don’t you see that?

He didn’t like it, but success always came at someone else’s expense. That was the entire foundation of the American Dream. What America was built on. A lie sold to those who never had a chance at it anyway. Someone had to lose in order to win. In this case Aundre and Melody Wright, Fat Back, Courville, Khadijah, and the list went on. The unlucky contenders, and for that he was sorry.

Franklin shut his eyes to drown out the noise. Just business. He couldn’t let the shit get to him. To think that it became personal. He never planned to destroy his own people. His moves all had the same objective. Freedom. A way out of poverty. A better life for his mother, a brighter future for himself. He sure as hell wouldn't get that kind of opportunity at college, and he damn sure wouldn't be anything sitting behind a desk all day kissing the white man's ass like some good house nigga. To help his people once he got his own shit right, that was the goal. It would all just take time, but he'd turn it around. Most never even thought about that when they came up on an opportunity for a little bit of money. He’d convinced himself he’d be different from the majority. He’d be the one to do what others before him hadn't. He never meant to hurt anybody, even if he wanted so desperately to win.

Family.

Manboy spoke on family one time. But, the motherfucker said a lot, all the time. He’d talked about how he’d lost respect because right and wrong hailed more weight when Franklin refused to give up his people for the death of Skullys little girl. Manboy on the other hand had been ready to take his own out if it meant standing on principle.

Leon without a doubt was Franklin’s family, his best friend, and the reality of that truth was the reason he’d made the conscious choice to make Manboy an enemy. Despite that, Franklin would be lying if he thought the niggas words didn’t hold at least some weight.

You think you gon make it outta this? These niggas, they gon’ turn on you.

He looked Manboy right in the eye when he pulled the trigger, ending his life. The very first time he felt absolutely nothing.

The game showed him a lot of things.

Franklin convinced himself that when it came to Manboy, it all boiled down to survival. He had broken his own word to save Leon and to protect the source of his power, the plug. But Lee was his family, and losing Kevin had been enough. Him and Lee, they'd made this journey together ever since their encounter with korvell. So he rendered him protection.

Still, he wondered who’d be the next one to press the knife into his back. He would never consider Jerome, Louie.

Feeling rather incomplete without the cane he’d left behind at the church for Melody’s last and final reminder of him, Franklin shifted his stance while he waited in line as his mind settled. Amidst all the chaos there seemed to be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Had he found the one this time? A woman who could help him grow his empire?

Franklin took out the photograph. He carried it in his pocket. Cissy had taken it in the living room one afternoon. A different version of the moment existed, one that did not belong to him. His eyes drank in everything. From the almond hues, to the beautiful melanated complexion that complimented him so well. Skin that looked painted on. A smile that required nothing in return which greeted him whenever he'd come in from battle. From taking on the world. The best part, it didn’t just exist within a picture. He had something tangible. The living breathing experience of authentic partnership. Real.

Could a man exist without his appetite? Whether for wealth or purpose-made. A woman. Such a divine combination reminded him of Fire and Smoke. They had a catastrophic attraction. But when it was right. It was right. A compliment to his genetic makeup. Balance. Hard, soft. Masculine, feminine, woman, man. It all aligned. He’d found his peace somehow through all the chaos. Franklin smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to return to it. To peace.

The airport bustled with travelers. Franklin kept his eyes on the large board of flight plans while searching his pockets until he’d made it all the way to the front of the line and placed his ticket on the counter top. He watched the woman take it and begin to type something into her computer.

“Oh. I’m so sorry. This flight got canceled.” She placed the ticket on the surface of the counter and slid it forward toward him.

Franklin took it up skeptically. He needed to be back in L.A. The trip to Odessa was supposed to be quick and easy. “What. You sure?”

“Mmm hmmm.” She peered down at the register. “Yeah, next time I have is 7 in the morning tomorrow, sir. Looks like you’re making yourself comfortable in Odessa for one more night.”

She pulled a facial expression. One that articulated this half ass sorry in so few words. Franklin might have found it comical, if the new information hadn't frustrated him.

He needed to be back.

The young drug lord stood silent. Too long. The person behind him cleared their throat, pulling Franklin back to the reality of the situation. He licked his lips and took the ticket, shoving it in his pocket in a messy fold. He gave the woman a quick grin, forced by the tension in his jaw.

Franklin moved from the line and walked away as he muttered a low ‘fuck’ through gritted teeth.

….

To most people the space would read as a regular school auditorium. Nothing special. But for you it felt like a huge stage at a big opera house with a million eyes staring at you. And this, almost being what one would call a final performance.

Everyone dressed in fancy clothes and talked in hushed voices. You were nervous, but excited. You had never played for such a grand audience before, or any audience for that matter. A lot of what you'd created never saw the light of day. It stayed very much hidden, away from public scrutiny. Tonight you were taking a chance. That bold opportunity to finally be heard. Only, the words would fall upon deaf ears, to the person who they'd been meant for.

Two distinct times, you could remember two distinct times when the night sat still and Franklin had disturbed the quiet with his jolt awake, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. The second time was the worst. It took almost an hour to convince him he wasn’t where he thought. In prison, surrounded. He could never describe to you the haunting images from his nightmare, but you knew that the war in which he found himself had taken its toll. Caught up to him. He suffered this suffocating fear and guilt with memories that threatened to consume him, always. You weren’t sure he would welcome your arms on that one occasion that changed everything, but his guard had lifted with time and trust. Then without hesitation when you saw such a small opportunity, you wrapped arms around him and pulled him close, holding him tight as he trembled. If he ever cried he wouldn’t let you see it. But you knew he wanted to, and often. As some form of release, you became the substitute. He poured his pain into you in the form of intimacy and sex. So from that point forward, all you ever wanted to be for Franklin was Comfort, Safety, and Peace.

But that meant an even exchange.

Bottom line. He should be among those in the auditorium. That was all you could think as you stood behind the curtain listening to the tune the current pianist played. You hadn't asked for much. Nor required a great deal. So then, you had to strike the feeling of being let down, although disappointment was not something foreign to you. Truly, you'd known it most your life, but somehow you'd convinced yourself that this time would be different. That this man you’d chosen to invest your time into was different. This man who’s word you chose to cling to.

You were dressed in the beautiful rose pink gown that you had carefully chosen for the night. You’d been waiting for this evening for weeks and finally the soft chiffon fabric hugged your curves and made you feel glamorous. A special occasion, you spent hours perfecting your hair and makeup for the elegant evening ahead. You even put on silver high heels, which had been unlike you. And your hair was braided in four large french braids that inner connected into a large roped bun.

“Well maybe he will make it. Maybe if we just wait a little while longer. I can try and speak to the director, just so he has time to get here.”

Remembering the conversation, you hated how annoying your voice sounded with so much hope and optimism. Peaches, his right hand and the one whom he had to stay with you, of course brought you back down to reality.

“I'm sorry. But he ain't gonna make it.”

Why did you fight with yourself even when the truth was right in front of you? You shouldn't have let him go to Odessa. Wait. Let him? You had to check yourself on that one. Franklin was a grown ass man. He would have gone with or without an okay from you, and you knew that. You figured that the trade off was the promise he'd made to show up.

‘Won't take long. Fly there, fly back. Round trip. Simple. Just, somethin’ I gotta do. All this is almost over. Aight babe?’

Business. You accepted that sometimes your wants and needs had to be put on the back burner. Fine. Sacrifice happened in any relationship for any couple. That was to be expected. But did give and take happen also? That was where you saw the unbalance when it came to you and Franklin. You gave and gave and gave with little to show for in return. The relationship you’d had with your father growing up was something of a similar occurrence. You’d wait by the window holding on to empty promises of his return to spend time. A return that never came. He thought that time could be made up with gifts, those cold lifeless objects that held no meaning except disappointment. He’d traded you for an appetite he’d had for the women he’d left your mother for, and you of course were no exception to this selfishness. In the end, he left you both.

Only for this man. This man that had come into your life, Franklin Saint, you did not wait by the window. Instead you tried to search for his face in a sea of onlookers as the allpause mellowed out and the announcer called for you to make your way onto the stage, sparking a whole new wave of anticipation from the crowd. Peaches could be wrong. Franklin could have made it, and to your surprise have found his seat in the vast expanse of strangers to watch you perform a piece he’d encouraged you to finish. A piece of music he’d said had been the moment he fell in love with you when you first played it on a Wednesday.

A song written for him.

“There are no words,” you warned as you held the sheet of music to your chest like a well kept secret.

“That's fine.”

You were sure to make note of his eyes and the tantalizing grin he held when he said the next part.

“Some things don't need um.”

You couldn’t help it, you took his words to heart. So with a deep breath you walked on the stage.

Maybe not a million, but there were a lot of people already there. A good forty, although your eyes could have betrayed you in the count. You faced forward focusing only on the path. If you looked too hard, the moment would swallow you up and devour you whole.

When you made your way to the piano and sat down, there came a pounding in your chest. Nervously you adjusted the bench and placed fingers on the keys. You closed your eyes trying to fight back the want, that burning need to look out in the crowd one last time before you began to play.

At first your hands were trembling, but soon the music began to flow from your fingertips.Starting off slow as you followed the sheet music, you allowed the notes to linger in the air.

People had begun to pay attention.

You hoped the music would take them on a journey. A journey of your and Franklin’s love story. From the light and airy notes to the deep and soulful melodies, it spoke of everything. The nightmares, and demons that chased him. The compromise and the love it took to hold on. How much you loved him. And a question in certain notes; did he love you just as much? It couldn't be described in words. But maybe if the tune traveled high enough, the wind would carry the song all the way to Odessa, and remind him to remember you were still back in L.A, waiting.

Your fingers flew over the keys, as if they had a mind of their own. This strange wave of emotion coursed through your body as the notes filled the room.

The crowd, entranced and engaged made you feel more comfortable, so you began to pick up the pace. They must have been mesmerized. The only noise in the room had been your song speaking from the inner workings of a man made creation. As the music grew, your fingers moved faster and faster, as if dancing with the notes.This dedication to Franklin Saint.

When you finally finished, the room erupted into applause. You had played on the piano, yours and his story, and had done it, magnificently. This small surge of pride trickled in as you stood up and bowed. You realized only when you took the second bow that tears were streaming down your cheeks in hot trails of accomplishment and disappointment.

…

The sun had just started to peek over the horizon, casting a warm orange glow while you drove down the highway with the smell of Peaches joint filling the space in the Lincoln continental.

It was your favorite time, sunrise, when the city was just starting to wake up.

The palm trees swayed in the gentle breeze, the skyscrapers glinted in the sun, and the Hollywood sign loomed in the distance. The city had its fair share of chaos and traffic, but there was something magical about it so early in the morning. It was as if L.A was a blank canvas, waiting for its inhabitants to create something beautiful as the day progressed.

You turned up the radio, humming along to the tune of your favorite song as you took in the sights around you with eyes still delicate and sore from all the crying you had done hours after returning from your performance. Although you tried to stifle your cries into the sems of pillow cases, you knew Peaches had heard you. So that morning when he told you Franklin had paged him that he was back in town, he never asked about the redness of your eyes. The two of you boarded the car in silence and Peaches, like always, only followed instructions.

It was a winding road that brought you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation as Peaches neared the destination. The airport where Franklin would be waiting.

The possibilities for the day ahead seemed endless when you pulled up to the sliding doors to find him standing outside of them.

Peaches got out first, and your gaze drank Franklin down to his shoes. There was something missing. Hesitantly you took hold of the handle on the door and opened it, getting out before shutting it behind you and approaching.

He’d met you half way and pulled you into a hug. L.A had been warm, but Franklin held a different type of warmth and you basked in it before you sniffed back tears. “Are you okay,” you murmured into his chest.

Franklin pressed his hands on your back. It was no longer a gentle hug, but one in which he tried to express himself. Say in little words that he'd been glad to see you. His hands spoke as if it had been longer than a day. Like this hug made up for all the times he'd left you. “Yeah,” came out simple, but there was something attached to it. Closure. “How was the-”

You sat up and broke away from his hold. “Fine. It went fine. No big deal really. Didn't mean anything.”

Franklin was staring at you with this look. Hard to describe. Nonetheless filled with emotion in the eyes at least. His face in general remained stoic. “I'm sorry.”

To counter that you smiled through hues under a thin glaze of tears. “Ready…” you said and turned to face the Lincoln Continental. You didn't wait for his response. Only walked. A glance passed between you and Peaches. This time when you got in, you sat in the back. A minute later, Franklin followed.

It wasn’t the silence that brought on your breaking point, but the fact that one of the songs that made its way from the speakers had a very specific piano break in it.

“Peaches, can you pull over please. I’d like to get out.”

Peaches hazel eyes reflected in the overhead mirror before he threw a glance and Franklin who had stared at you.

“Why?” he said.

The tears couldn’t be stopped. They overflowed and spilled.

“Because I want to take a quick walk on the beach. When will you ever see it be more beautiful than right now?”

The beach, symbolic for both of you. Just in different ways.

Franklin and Peaches passed glances between one another with Franklin gently nodding his head.

The drive had reached the outskirts of the city and the highway opened up to a stunning view of the ocean. The sun was now fully risen, and its rays danced on the water, creating a breathtaking scene. The car pulled over to the side of the road.

As soon as it came to a complete stop, you got out.

You were able to walk a few paces in the sand before you’d chosen a spot to plop down on and face the sparkling waters ahead. You let yourself cry, and the crying quickly turned into sobbing as you pulled your sleeves to wipe your eyes clear.

Footsteps began to fill in behind you. Franklin stopped just shy three feet from where you sat. “I meant to be there.” His words flooded in from behind, and you shut your eyes tightly.

“Baby please.” He took the three steps to get to you and took a seat on the sand beside you.

As your breath caught in your throat you tried to scramble out words that would make sense. “I needed. I just. I wanted you to...”

You sniffed and found by the next second Franklin had pulled you close and drew his arm around you to bring you into him.

“I know babe,” He whispered at the base of your ear. “I know…”

By the time you’d calmed down your eyes were even more swollen and you’d soaked Franklin’s shirt with tears. As his hand moved over the skin of your forearm he watched the people walking by before he focused solely on the ocean view. “Imma make this right. Make it up to you…”

When you were guided back to the car by Franklin's direction you clung to those words. Words you wanted so desperately to believe in. You would never obtain the same moment, in that same place and time, but you were willing to make new memories, give him the opportunity.

As Peaches headed back to your apartment, Franklin’s hand stayed locked to yours the entire way. He hadn’t left your side since departing from the beach, and every now and then he would look in your direction and pull your hand up to leave a soft kiss on the exposed skin before directing his attention to the window. When he did this you smiled briefly before your gaze would fall again. Sometimes to the hand he kissed, and other times to the scenery going by in the opposite window.

Pulling into the available space on the block, Peaches parked the Lincoln and shut it down.

“You can take off for the rest of the day. I need to handle some things.” Franklin’s eyes found you.

You held his gaze briefly before you looked toward the front seat. “Bye Peaches. Thank you.” You opened the door and got out.

Franklin not far behind stopped before he’d made it halfway. The familiar sound of his beeper rocked your eardrums.

He looked down at the belt where it sat and released a sigh. “Shit.”

You closed your eyes. Standing with your back to him. You turned and watched Franklin ascend the back seat, close one door and open another. He found your eyes, and let go of the car door to walk over to you. As you watched him, that's when you realized the thing that had been missing. His cane. You were standing on the sidewalk one foot in the direction of your apartment and the other toward him.This destination, unknown.

“Uh. Look babe I gotta make this call. It’s-”

You cut him off. “Business. I know.” The smile that you produced this time had been one of sadness unable to mask. You couldn’t tell him to stay. He wouldn’t. So you wouldn’t put on a scene. After all, you wanted to be his peace.

Suddenly those words of hope had faded for you. The only thing you could utter without totally blowing away like a passing whisper on the wind was, “Be careful.”

You brushed the side of his face with your fingers, turned and started walking, unwilling to look back and destroy yourself with longing and the depravity that he would not follow. When you got to the door, you unlocked it and went inside leaving the rest of the world and Franklin to his priorities.

…

Worry would eat away at you everytime he left. You wondered why you couldn’t be more like Louie. It seemed she never left Jerome’s side, always there, always present, taking an active role in business. Franklin wouldn’t hear a word of it. You asked him once, just out of curiosity, and he had shut you down with this stern regard.

“Naw. I’m not gettin’ you involved in this shit.”

You protested, eager to try your luck, offering within the words you’d spoken that you would be careful. Play the game.

“But why not? I’m pretty smart. I think. Besides I would be with you and-”

“No.”

So then you would never be like Louie, with time or tact. You hadn’t chosen your fate but settled into it in your little apartment finding things to clean or read, or do. A prisoner of uncertainty. But you found you often missed his presence in finding these things, his laughter filling the rooms and his warm embrace that always made you feel safe and protected.

Franklin wore two different faces. One for the world and the other that he kept especially for you. Out there he might be cold, detached and focused, but when he stepped across the threshold he was hearty, affectionate and free.

That was always the hardest part, waiting.

Your little apartment never felt so lonely, until you walked in it that morning by yourself. You sat on a plush red velvet couch in front of a vintage record player. In the corner of the living room, a wooden bookshelf stood tall, filled with old vinyl records. Your love for music was evident in every corner of the apartment. A way to make up for the empty space where you were hoping a piano could one day sit. You didn’t need anything fancy, just something that would keep a tune, convey it well.

Your family had never understood your style, especially when it came to your apartment. The furniture was a mix of retro and modern. These two opposites coming together. You always held the position that a clash was needed to create something extraordinary. Whether that was true or not you wouldn’t admit that you had bad taste. It screamed music, music, music! The walls were adorned with vibrant posters of famous musicians and bands, from Billy Ocean to Cameo.

Looking around, you thought of ways to curb your loneliness. You started with the obvious. Cleaning.

Within the hours it took for the house to be spotless with everything in its proper place, you’d scrubbed, dusted, and organized all with an eager anticipation that better days lay ahead.

You’d lost friends being with Franklin Sanit. You could remember how one statement used to stay on your mind.

“Leave him, get a fuckin’ back bone. You really want this to be your life, day after day?”

You didn’t want it to be, foolish or not, you were willing to suffer, for love.

Franklin missed dinner. Two tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil, one pound of Italian sausage, chopped onions, salt, black pepper, and the noodles and sauce it took to complete the spaghetti dish, not to mention the freshly fried catfish you’d added as a side.

You made enough to feed at least four. Some for left overs and whoever Franklin decided to bring. Sometimes it would be Leon, and other times Jerome. And if it were Jerome he would always take a plate for Louie. Even Cissy stopped by once. Usually though, Peaches always got a plate. But eatting alone made you tired and the bubble bath you ran after, steam rising to the atmosphere of silence took the last of your resolve.

As the night fell and the city lights came to life, you entered your bedroom wrapped in a purple towel.The walls were painted in a soft pink hue, with delicate lace curtains on the windows. A vanity table sat in front of a large mirror, with antique perfume bottles and jewelry boxes.The bed was covered in a floral quilt, giving the room a touch of femininity.You remembered when you’d given Franklin the grand tour. He had placed his hands behind his back and chuckled before turning to give you a look. “Damn. Think you got enough pink in here babe?” His eyes traveled and kept that little smile that complimented him. More of a smirk, and you playfully pushed his shoulder for making fun of your bedroom decor.

That was before the war outside got bad. You remembered him being around more in the beginning. Then little by little, he wasn’t.

You’d found a place on your bed, right in the view of that dress you wore the night before. It layed over a chair with silver shoes close by.

Falling back on the mattress you let the towel’s hold break its covering. The temperature of the room allowed a chill to cross your naked skin, but with a lazy arm you’d pulled the comforter and shaded yourself in the darkness of its covering. You laid there listening to the silence until eventually you closed your eyes to the temptation of sleep.

…

Your senses spiked. A faint sound of running water filled your hearing. You could talk in the morning. Say everything you needed to say. All those words left unsaid, written in a song. Instead of surrendering to waking up completely, you stretched your limbs within the softness of the blanket. You had meant to get up and find yourself something to sleep in after laying down that night, but your energy had been displaced from the oils in the bath, the thoughts of whether or not he would make it back in one piece, if this was in fact going to be your life, day after day, and hurt. Hurt because you had been let down. Once again you surrendered to a slumber that was calling you back to it.

Your dreams could be so vivid. Almost like they were real. Time became a concept unknown to you, and even if you wanted to search for the blinking numbers that would expose an actual answer on whether it was day or night, you didn’t open your eyes to force any discovery. There was no light to guide your way anymore. Someone had turned it off. The yellow glow was void in your tiny bedroom. Instead, all you focused on was the sensations you felt. A Lot of times when Franklin had been off fighting in this war, you slid your hands between your legs and pretended he was there with you, touching you. But these sudden sensations became all too real!

The distinct difference between thought and matter.

When the protective cloud you’d situated yourself in had slowly pulled from your body, only to be replaced with warm living flesh which covered you, you knew you were not in any dream.

He must have climbed in the bed already de-clothed straight from the shower. Normally you would be pulling at fabric and trying to free him from it, but not this time, this time those extra implications were absent. They'd been replaced by actions, and the evidence of his oncoming pleasure. Already hot and hard against your thigh, your inner walls desperately wanted something to latch onto.

Franklin’s lips were gentle. They showed up in different places. First your arm, then your shoulder, your neck, your collar bone, then to your cheek before a soft kiss pressed down over your lips. You opened your eyes and your vision cleared to find Franklin staring down at you before he lifted his head so that your noses touched. There was so much you wanted to say. The thoughts you had when he was gone were completely different from the ones you had when he was right there staring at you face to face.

“Franklin. I -”

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

Your blood pulsed at the command. Aching now, you pressed your lips over his, gentle but firm, and he proceeded to explore your mouth with tongue once you allowed entry before pulling from your lips all together to proceed in exploration.

His body slid down in an erotic trail over yours and you closed your eyes to acknowledge a breath that hitched in your throat as he moved. It started when he traced the path of your stomach, leaving the light sensation that sent this pleasurable chill racing through your core and up your back.

You suppressed a shuttering moan when his warm tongue found a different place on your skin and your nipples hardened under his touch. He’d keep hold on one and his mouth would pleasure the other running his tongue in circles before his lips sucked and pulled. Then he’d focus on the other, leaving the first exposed to the air that left a tingling desperation which begged to be spoiled further. Franklin didn’t stay in one place. He pressed on. A soft hum escaped your throat when his tongue touched the delicate skin. One of the area’s where you were the most vulnerable.

Your blood caught fire, pooling into your lower abdomen, wetting your core unexpectedly as one of his hands caressed the back of your leg. He was teasing you but you were powerless. The sensation of Franklin’s touch was overwhelming so early, or late. You couldn’t hardly think, or even breathe. You felt like you were caught between spaces. Reality and a dream. Sleep desperately clung to you, but Franklin’s words pulled you all the way into consciousness.

“Let me make it up to you. Let me take the pain away…”

And you hadn’t even noticed when he lowered his head and his lips vibrated over your mound when he hummed those heated words into your folds.

A wave of pleasure skittered through your nerves. You felt trapped, but not in the sense that you wanted an xscape. Your body was completely under Franklin’s sovereignty. His tongue, turning your entire form into a quivering mess of heated flesh as he moved forward, fingertips pressing into the inner parts of each of your thighs. His head delved between your legs and he tasted the very essence of you.

Struggling to hold back the moan fighting its way through your chest, you pulled on the bed sheets.

Franklin watched you through lidded eyes, and like a man who’d been left unfed there presented to him a favorable delicacy. You couldn’t contain yourself. You moaned when his tongue lapped at your center, his thumb separating the delicate skin to give himself better access.

He ate. And ate well.

Your panting filled the air, so sudden that you hadn’t realized you’d surrendered in that moment. Your body on impulse pulled away, but Franklin, alert and determined, wouldn’t let you escape. “Em, Em,” was all you heard filling the room as he protested your departure. That, and the movement on the bed springs giving indication that Franklin had then secured you in place.

With no way of escape you whispered his name in a lust laden tone. “F-Franklin, please p-please, Ahh. I can’t…Uh!” You cried these pleasurable words into the room that contained your many sessions of love making which were mingled in begging him to stop, and also begging him at the exact same time to suck out your very soul!

You should be angry with him. Upset still, but all that undoubtedly had washed away.

Once you got the opportunity to look at his face for a brief moment, you noticed how he seemed to be delighted by your uneven breaths. Like seeing you so vulnerable gave him pleasure.

The power this man had over your body and heart was almost frightening.

A soft bite at your inner thigh and you rewarded Franklin with this husky-like moan as your legs shoot. Your body jerked forward when he grazed your clit with the pad of his finger and you bit your lip ever so gently when you heard him hum in this proud satisfaction that he had you right where he needed you. Under his control. His talented mouth had rendered you sensitive to touch of any kind, and as he reached down to stroke his ridgid manhood, to prepare, you closed your eyes and clung to the sensation you'd trapped in your senses.The preparation was always the best part. This anticipation and the moment of entry you desired every time he made love to you.

Another gentle caress across your inner thigh had you clenching your walls. Franklin rubbed the tip of his erection teasingly over your folds. He always liked to cause you some sort of suffering right before, just a little bit. But too long had he deprived you with his business and war, family squabbles and old feelings, so you spoke without ever moving your lips to extend your hand down to grab what you craved until it moved inside you.

It might be the only time you stole his power.

Your breath caught at the connection, you could feel yourself being filled up and stretched out. You pulled in your bottom lip as Franklin pressed forward deeper and deeper taking back his position of dominance.

Your inner muscles quaked and you lifted your head to find your lips hungry to explore his mouth. Either that or you needed a place to shuffle in your moaning, and that had been the first choice. Damn you for being considerate, but you didn't want Peaches to hear. Your small little apartment could get deathly quiet, especially at night, and although there was a good chance Franklin had sent him home after returning, oftentimes he would be somewhere close in proximity. Sure, you wanted to be mindful in the midst of your love making, but your mind wavered. When you kissed Franklin you tasted yourself in the process as he burrowed inside your body only to withdraw before diving back again and that alone ignited a suppressed desire to focus on nothing but him.

The pace started slow at first but the inner workings of your core instinctively enveloped him begging for more attention. Franklin thrusted in again. You responded by whispering his name. He liked hearing his name. This time it was Franklin who rewarded you with a moan, as he sucked in a breath that transferred back out on shuttering lips. Although he hardly said much, he made up for it with his reactions. You didn't want his words. As he said before, some things didn't need them. His breathing, panting, subtle moans and grunts told the story perfectly. He felt the same as you did. You wanted more of him, and he wanted ALL of you! You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his back and neck, as your fingers traveled over his heated skin while your entangled bodies moved together in a steady rhythm.

Your wet slick flesh quivered around his length and the pleasure filled cries which escaped you knocked against the surrounding space along with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. Sorry Peaches. Franklin’s breathing had sped up too. You were now lost in eachother. You moved against him, taking him into your body eagerly. This pace tortured him. Slow, deep long strokes that hit every spot in perfect magnetism of the skin to skin contact. You both felt it, but Franklin’s mouth was wide open and a glance before you looked down to watch him disappear into you again indicated that your tight hot hole was right where he needed to be. Now he knew the feeling of being trapped.

“Fuck.” He lowered his head and muttered your name in what could only be described as an ecstasy filled sigh of relief. Perspiration had begun to form on his forehead, and without warning he picked up the pace of his steady thrusts. Faster, harder, he was now, glistening, covered in your pool of moisture that guided his way in the dim light of the room illuminated by moonlight.

Sitting back to reposition, he took the opportunity to watch himself disappear. A lick of his lips and you were certain he liked what he saw. Your breast bounced with every beat. Muscles milking him for every sensation, and every stroke that drove you both closer to the peak of climax. He'd gone so deep that your stomach felt the insertion when he sat your legs over his shoulders.

It had to be several minutes before an organism was fast approaching for him like the start of a raging fire to forest trees. You could always tell by that one single twitch of his length. Only this time, Franklin didn’t have an opportunity to warn you. Usually he would prepare you for his release, but tonight was different. Everything felt different. He gripped at your leg for a brief second before toppling over you and bringing you closer by cupping the lower part of your back so that you were partially off the bed, changing the position of your bodies yet again. You breathed into his neck. He held on for dear life and with this deep grunt, let himself go. That anguish you were so familiar with. It expressed itself in a warmness that filled you up and you lowered your head to catch a glimpse of his face.

God, did it look like a work of the most beautiful art when he climaxed.

His eyes were shut tightly and his shoulders shook. You were lowered back down on the mattress with the little strength he had left before his body all the way collapsed. You took his weight and hung on to him. Franklin buried his face into the crook of your neck. He stayed there between your legs, and you lifted your head to plant one gentle kiss on his shoulder, and he shifted to kiss your forehead.

Your bodies were heated, sweating, and both of you were struggling to catch your breath.

Slowly, Franklin opened his eyes and looked at you with a clouded gaze. This tender look of longing.

While your brown hues searched for answers with little to no success, you took one of your hands to rest it at the side of his cheek, feeling the smoothness with the pad of your thumb.

“What baby?”

“Imma make it right. When we wake up tomorrow, it’s your day.”

“My day?” Rarely had anything ever been made entirely about you. A little smile crept up on your lips. You could imagine Franklin waking up early to cook breakfast, messing up your kitchen in the process, but the effort he put into it would be cute, whether or not it tasted the best. He never cooked. So you had no opportunity to judge his skills. Now cooking, that happened to be your specialty, and although you didn't mind and most of the time enjoyed doing so, someone cooking for you would be a nice change.

“I’d like that,” you said almost in a whisper, making a path over his chest with a single finger, careful not to disturb or cause any unpleasantness to his gunshot wound.

As gently as he could, Franklin pulled out and readjusted your bodies so your back was lying against his chest. He wanted to hold you. You knew this because you often found yourself in this position. Spooning, they called it. You liked it. His hands moved around your waist and his head came to rest on your shoulder.

“Mhm. No beeper. No Peaches. Nothin' ta do wit’ bidness. Just you and me.”

The two of you laid there, and eventually time carried on into the late hours of the night with the promise of sunrise.

From the edge of sleep, you heard Franklin whisper something as he adjusted his arm so it wrapped around more completely.

“...You deserve the fuckin’ world. I'm gonna give it to you...”

With a lean into his chest, breathing deeply in his scent of faded soap and sex, you shook your head so gently, it barely caused him to stir.

“Don’t want the world…” you breathed. “Just you…”

……………………………………………………………….

Taglist: @megamindsecretlair @notapradagurl7 @hopelessdisasterr

Writers Note: So FYI this was the first writing for the Snowfall fandom that I wrote. I started off with an original black OC but after jumping into my second story and getting more comfortable with 2nd Person Perspective, I decided to do a revision to this. What did I do? I changed the OC to You and made it a one shot! I would like to thank everyone who supported the original idea I had and I hope you like what I've done with the turn around. Thank you for the love and support. Until next time, happy readings. 💙

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR CLAIM ANY OF MY WRITING. -Wide Nose And Wonderful /Mrs. Saint Writes.

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fandoms-in-law · 5 months ago

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Seeing Through

Summary: Today, Steve is moving out and his parents choose now to have one of their random days home.

Author's note: Why does it feel like half these prompts are the same or similar? I need to reduce the amount of Steve songs prompts I put down.

My Idea for this Fic: 'I see Through You' - Taboo songfic - Steve moving out, saying fuck you to his parents.

/\/

They weren’t meant to come home. Steve had planned everything around his parents never being there.

Except there they were pulling into the driveway as the Party helped him load all his things onto Eddie’s van; and his father did not look happy.

“Quit groaning, Wheeler, or you’re unloading all the boxes alone later.” Eddie laughed as he and Mike carried Steve’s mattress out. His parents would assume that was theirs, that Steve was taking furniture they’d brought with him, but after injuries and fighting the Upside Down for so long, he’d replaced it, saved and spent his own money to have a better nights sleep.

“Steven!” His parents had gotten out of the car now, and the yell had anyone close enough hurrying out, concerned looks on their faces. “What is the meaning of this thievery?”

Steve glanced from them back to the house, and around at the people he called his family. “I’m moving out. Not going to leave anything I brought in your mausoleum.” He replied, measuring the space between them and how much slower than a demodog they moved.

After everything they’d fought, after finally moving out, there wasn’t much power his parent could swing over him. Also Hopper was probably just inside, ready to either come out or go to his room depending on how his parents reacted now. The likelihood they’d try to call, or at least threaten them with, the police was decent but Hopper would cut that off immediately if they saw him.

“That mattress-” His father began again, gesturing harshly before Steve cut him off.

“-I brought myself. Yours will be back on that bed frame by now.” That had been his request, whomever was bringing his mattress down put the old one on before bringing it out, and Eddie double checked it just twenty minutes ago.

A cold laugh came in response. “You expect me to believe that? With the crooks van you got to move your things in plain view.”

Steve bristled, glancing over to check Eddie wasn’t about to react for him. “That van and its owner have done more honest work in the last 6 months than you two have in your entire lives. They’re my family; you’re strangers who share my DNA”

“At least we aren’t common thieves.” Hello Mother, nice of you to join the conversation, Steve thought meeting her narrowed gaze.

“Of course you are.” He scoffed, “White collar crime, Nancy called it. Underpaying workers, dodging taxes. You’re crooks in pretty clothes but common enough. I’ve seen through the mask and I’m gone. No more son for you to forget about.”

“We don’t forget you and the destruction you’re doing to our name.”

“Stop twisting your reality to fit your views. This is me taking my life out of your hands in the sweetest goodbye. Actually you’re making it a bit bitter by your presence. How about you fuck off as you usually have done?” Steve had noticed his father focus more on the van again, and Mike stood near it while Eddie disappeared into the back of it. Baiting them would keep the focus where it needed to be.

Possibly not that much though, as his father took a step closer, “You aren’t leaving. What money do you have to-”

“Quite a bit actually. Or did you assume the jobs you forced him to get paid nothing?” Robin was at his side now, Nancy’s handbag under her arm.

“Odd accessory choice. She got one of them?” He quietly asked, knowing that Nance was still likely to have two guns in her bag.

He didn’t need her now before turning back to his parents. “Also Grandfather died. I know you were far too busy for the funeral but I inherited a far amount from him despite you never allowing him contact. Guess you never were god.”

His father tried to retort, but didn’t get a word out. His mother simply levelled a judgemental look at him, one he hoped nobody suggested was similar to looks he pulled, before heading into the house, “And that was your Grandfather’s failing, wasting funds on untrustworthy youth. I shall be ensuring none of our things are taken.”

Once his parents were inside, Robin and Eddie were leaning on each of his shoulder’s, nail bat left leaning against the doors to the truck with Mike. “Wait, did you really inherit from your Grandad?”

“Yeah, we wrote letters for a while. First did it after finding his address, half sobbing cause they’d abandoned me. So many tears cried over such worthless people.” Steve replied, “I found better easily.”

“Steven.” His mother called, stopping him from climbing into the van, some letters in hand. “Why are all these utility companies saying they’ll be cut off from tomorrow?”

He blinked at her, continuing to sit down. “Because I saw through you. You tried turning them off ages ago just expecting me to pick the bills up, so I did. And now I’ve told them all I, the bill payer, will no longer be living here. They were very understanding.”

With the door shutting Eddie had them on their way to the apartment they’d gotten. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would be far more of a home and a family than he was leaving.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #steve harringtons parents #steve harrington has bad parents

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shappobunny · 3 months ago

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Stan Says Goodbye

I have never posted to tumblr someone pls tell me if it is abnormal to post a text this long.

Word count: 1764

____________________________________________________________

“Stanford, you can’t keep hiding away in that cabin forever. Ma’s memory is fading and she’s not going to be around for much longer. Don’t you want to say goodbye?”

Shermie had left a million messages on the Shack’s phone. Each one a mirroring plea of the last call, begging Ford to come see their mother before she passed.

But it was Stan listening to these messages, not Ford. He had no right to go see her.

The last time he had seen his ma, he had been hiding behind a curtain and a pillar at his own funeral. He nearly blew his cover when he saw her. Her hair was greying, and she was standing a little less tall than she used to, but it was her nonetheless. Those warm eyes that used to come down to level with him and the smile she would give him when she called him her special boy — all of that was the same.

He didn’t think his mother would show up, not after ten years. He knew she had no way of knowing where he was, but he thought she felt the same way everyone else did. That he was the fuck-up of the family. The no-good son that ruined their one chance of having a better life. Who could think anything else?

And now he had pushed her other son into a portal, forsaking him to some unknown world without knowing if he was alive or not. He couldn’t face her until he brought Ford back.

He had to watch as she cried over his casket and it damn near killed him the way it broke his heart.

But he had promised that day that he would bring Ford back soon and drag him along to ma’s house to show her that he was alive, and Ford was alive, and that they got along… Just like in the old days. They would sit in the kitchen and finally have tea with her — maybe even let her read their tea leaves once they were done. He would have saved Ford’s life and the family would gather again. For the first time in years, he wouldn’t be the fuck-up; he’d be his mother’s free-spirited Stanley.

Things didn’t quite work out that way for Stan. As they usually didn’t.

After 25 years he still hadn’t succeeded in bringing Ford back. After 25 years of sleepless nights and lonely desperation, he had nothing to offer to his ma in reconciliation.

Now he was sitting on his couch pressing through message after message from Shermie begging him to come see her one last time.

“Whaddya want me to do Shermie…” Stan muttered, folding forward to put his head in his hands.

Did he want him to lie to his own mother on her deathbed? Or to tell her that her other son was most likely dead and gone somewhere they’d never even find his body?

Stan wondered if Ford would have even gone to see her. The way he was the last time Stan had seen him, it was like the last thing Ford wanted was to see anybody.

The phone rang again and Stan let it ring. The answering machine beeped and Shermie’s tinny voice came through the speaker.

“Stanford I’ll be away from the city tomorrow to get a few things in order for ma’s funeral… You’ll get a break from my calls at least,” Shermie paused for a long while, and Stan thought that maybe that was the end of this call until he said, “She keeps saying your name, you know. Yours and Stanley’s… She‘s waiting for you,” he sighed. After a beat of silence, Stan heard the click of the phone hanging up.

He couldn’t sleep that night.

Stan watched the shadows of the pine trees dancing across his ceiling. What did his father used to say about the men in the Pines family?

He closed his eyes and listened to the wind outside his window. He could almost hear the sound of gulls and the crashing waves of Glass Shard Beach. He could picture Ford, red from being sat in the sun all day scribbling away the plans for their boat.

That Ford would want him to say goodbye to ma.

In his memory, Ford smiled up at him as he ran over and they raced towards the waves, letting them pull out their little bodies to the water.

Stan finally fell asleep.

The next morning he closed up the shop, and put on his cleanest suit. He wore Ford’s glasses, and found some six-fingered gloves lying around to slip on. Nothing fit quite right. The glasses were a little too loose, and Ford’s jacket was a little snug around the arms.

Looking up in the mirror, he looked like his brother.

When he got in the car he sat there for a long while. Not having the courage to turn on the ignition until the sun came at just the right angle to blind him. He finally began the car and started driving.

What would he say to ma? What would Ford say? Probably something smart, and then he’d invent the machine that would save her life.

That damn know-it-all, showing him up even in his own damn mind. If it weren’t for Ford trying to send him away 25 years ago, maybe they would have made up. Maybe they would have taken ma in when she started feeling unwell.

Maybe Stan wouldn’t have to say goodbye to ma alone.

Damn it. Was he crying?

He wiped at his eyes with his sleeves, steeling his nerves so he could drive straight.

He picked up some flowers at a shop down the street from the home she was in, and he checked into the home using Stanford’s name. Stan stood in front of her door for a long time, listening to see if anyone else was in the room. The silence was almost worse. He had no excuse to turn tail and run. He had to go in there and say goodbye to his mother.

He knocked, a quick three raps.

“Who is it?” His mother’s voice asked, as strong as ever.

Stan smiled and opened the door. “It’s me ma, Stanford!”

“Stanford?” She looked up at him from her spot on the bed, her eyes narrowed like she couldn’t see him quite right. “Sit down over here so I can get a good look atcha.”

Stan set the flowers on her bedside and settled into the seat next to her. She was wrinkled and all grey now, but her brown eyes were still the same.

“How have you been doing, ma? Shermie’s left me a million messages saying you’re on death’s door!”

She smiled. “That Shermie can be even more of a nuisance than you are, Stanley.”

Stan froze for a single second before smiling. “Ma you’ve got the wrong twin. It’s me, Stanford.”

She reached a shaky hand to pat his. “Stanley you think I wouldn’t recognize my own boy?” She smiled. “You must think so little of your old ma.”

He took a deep breath to compose himself. Her memory isn’t right, that’s what Shermie said. She’s just misremembering.

“Ma Stan passed away twenty five years ago, remember?”

It took everything in him not to choke on his words.

“And Stanford didn’t show up at all?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t scam your old mother, Stanley, I taught you everything you know. Stanford would show up at your funeral. That boy isn’t as cold as he thinks he is.”

He couldn’t answer.

His mother pat his hand. “Oh, there, there, sweetie.”

It took him a second to realize she was comforting him because his vision had begun to blur. He felt the damp trail of tears on his cheeks as he took in a shaky breath.

She tugged on his hand lightly so he would lean in, and he did. She put her arm around his shoulder as best as she could and gave him a weak squeeze. “Whatever fight you and Stanford have going on now, you’ll figure it out, sweetie. Ya always do...”

Stan tried to stop himself from shaking so hard in his mother’s embrace but he knew he was failing. He held on a little tighter to his mother’s hand.

“My sweet Stanley… You’ll figure it out.”

“Ma what if he doesn’t come back?” Stan asked shakily.

“Your brother is stubborn as a bull, he’ll come back just to prove you wrong.”

Stan laughed at that and pulled away a little, to look into her eyes again.

He missed her. So much.

“Your breath is awful,” she said, grimacing. “Did I not teach you to brush your teeth?”

Stan burst out laughing. “You don’t even have any teeth left, ma.” He didn’t want to tell her that he didn’t either.

“I’m on my death bed, what do I need teeth for?”

A loud knock came at the door and Stan turned away, making sure to wipe his tears dry. He stood when the person entered.

It was Shermie, holding a binder in one arm and a coat in another.

“Stanford!” He said, his eyes widening in surprise. “You came.”

Stan cleared his throat.

“Uh… yeah, I couldn’t not come. It’s just been so… busy.” He tried to keep his voice low, hoping Shermie had forgotten what Ford sounded like at this point.

“Well I’m glad you came,” Shermie looked over at their mother in her bed. “Aren’t you glad Stanford came by?”

“Why would I be glad that this little brat ignored me for years just to say goodbye?” She asked gruffly.

Shermie laughed. “Same as ever, ma.”

Stan took the lighthearted mood as his means of escape. He began walking towards the door but took one last look back at his mother.

She smiled warmly at him, her hands folded neatly in her lap. He wanted to burn this image of her in his mind, sitting tall and confident, reassuring him that things might turn out after all.

When he found Ford, he would tell him about her on this day. How she knew without hesitation, how she made all of his loneliness melt away, and how she gave him the hope to finally bring him back. He would tell Ford that she loved them both until the end, just as much as she did the day she brought them home.

Ford would cry with him

“I’ll be back, ma,” he said with a smile.

She winked at him before saying, “Doncha dare come back!”

#gravity falls #grunkle stan #stan pines #ford pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #stan #pines twins #light angst #i woke up in a sweat to write this

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formulapookie · 3 months ago

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💛💛

Under the cut to read on Tumblr, here to read on Ao3 ch1; ch2; ch3; ch4; ch5; ch6

Les fleurs du mal ch7 rosquez, 3,2k words

The flight is not worth any kind of notice, the air inside the plane feels heavy, as if someone just put tons and tons more worth of weight on Vale’s shoulder just to keep him anchored to the floor and not let him fly away.

The hostess passes by a few times, asking if he wants anything, Vale barely acknowledges her presence, shaking his head and saying he’s ok.

It’s still half an hour to Barcelona. From there it’s less than an hour drive to Cervera.

God he’s really doing this. He’s- what the fuck is he even doing?

They won’t let him near the body, or the fucking funeral for that matter, let alone close to his grave.

But he needs to see him.

Even if it won’t be sunny, happy Marc he’ll look at, but this strange version of him.

Still in his selfishness Vale wants. He thinks he’s owed that. To see Marc. To look at what he did, because he thinks it’s a suitable way to pay for his actions.

He wants to be the one in the front row saying his last goodbye, wants to be the one carrying the casket, it should be him.

Not Lorenzo, not Dovi, not Pedrosa, not Alex.

If he could, if he only could, he would carry him into the church and from there to the graveyard all alone.

He’d cry. Beg for Marc to come back probably. But at least he’d be close.

Unbeating heart next to warm skin.

Vale doesn’t cry often, before this the last time he cried was for Marco.

God how much had he cried for him.

Uccio and his parents tried to get him out of his room for days, he refused to eat, or drink for that matter. He thought about staying locked in there until the same fate that got Sic got him too, so that they could still ride together in the clouds, like he said Marco to be doing.

Only Luca had managed to get him out, shake him from the dark and rotten place he caved himself a shelter in, and bring him back out, but it was a long and difficult task.

Marco, he. He never fully agreed to the version for which he died before. The one saying that the moment he fell and slid on the track without his helmet he was already dead.

No.

He barely agreed to the one publicly accepted, which is that Marco was there, 50/50 with a chance of never recovering and he just sped up the process.

The fact is he believed and still secretly believes to this day that he killed him. Ran him over, snapped his neck, and killed his best friend. Because maybe he would’ve survived, maybe he could’ve gotten better, maybe they’d have raced again.

For what concerns Marc there aren't even alternatives or sets of opinions about what happened, or whose fault it is, or if it could’ve ended in a different way.

He killed him.

And even if he did it unintentionally he feels like he did it on purpose. Revenge, what a sick fucking felling.

It makes you think and act in ways you didn’t think were yours.

He feels his skin itching, cutting into his muscle and he wants to tear it off, but doesn’t move in the slightest, he wants this to hurt.

Pain is a way to punish himself, though not slightly comparable to the one Marc felt, but it keeps him there, tied to reality and unable to escape the fact he hurt so many people just by being an asshole.

He thinks about the night after Sepang. It’s not a good idea.

He gets up and runs to throw up in the toilet, the alcohol and the few bites of food he’s digested are now out of his system, and he cannot think about eating anything right now.

The image of Marc standing before him, pleading and begging for a chance to be them again.

He remembers the almost-tears in the boy’s eyes, those same eyes looking at his souls trying to get a hold of it.

The image of them two makes its way in Vale’s mind.

If someone had walked in, he would’ve seen a 20 something kid getting his heart shattered, trying to pick the pieces up from the ground as Vale kicked them around, smirking with that sick fun he proved that night.

How could he treat the person who loved him the most like that? Leave him to the wolves as if it had always been like this.

Then a memory from Valencia comes up.

The one moment who revealed to him what Marc was going through.

“You like helping him uh? You sucked his dick too? Did you go to him and let him fuck you as a thank you for letting him win? Did he fuck you well Marc? I bet you enjoyed his dick so much given how you ran to me immediately after to suck me off”

“Stop it Vale please”

“Ah stop what? I’m having fun here aren’t you? Does he know how you like to be treated like the whore you are?”

Then Marc had thrown up. Those petals, horribly yellow and blue.

“I’m sorry”

But sorry doesn’t fix anything, doesn’t fix the hole in his heart shaped like a shot wound.

Sorry doesn’t bring Marc magically back and places him onto his plane, sorry doesn’t give him the chance to tell Marc he loved him still.

Sorry doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t even make him feel better. The only thing that could brighten his day is Marc’s smile.

Or a kiss from him, a hug, holding hands. An action that told Vale “I’m here, I’m here with you”

The only noise is the signal that tells him to fasten his seatbelt because they’re landing. No laugh, no “Vale you want me to hold your hand? I know you’re scared of flying”, no little yelp Marc did when they started taking off.

Vale never liked flying. Not private, not commercial. He doesn’t like lots of factors, height, pressure, danger, noise.

He hates taking off and landing most of all.

And when he’s alone he always grips the seat so fucking tight he had to replace armrests more than once. The jet company had told him he should be sure if he wants to have something so fancy he’s so scared of.

He hadn’t cared.

“Vale? Are you ok? You look a bit - a bit pale. Have you eaten? Do you want me to take you something from the bag?”

Vale shook his head, put on a reassuring smile and sat in his seat, Marc beside him smiling so much Vale though it had to hurt.

“Are you excited? For our holiday?”

Vale had gone overboard that time, something he never did for his past girlfriends, not for anyone but Marc. Marc. A shooting star that came into his life to stay.

He planned a 12 day holiday in the Philippines, just the two of them, in this apartment far from the rest of the world, where they could be just themselves without the fear of being discovered.

“I already told you amore no? Really excited, we’re gonna be in this very beautiful house surrounded by nature and near the sea for twelve days, and most importantly I get to have you all to myself for twelve days. I have already planned a few things I’d like to do once there, you know?”

Marc had blushed, looked away.

Of course he “planned” a few things as well, they were completely alone for more than a week, having sex is the most expected thing there.

And he really wants to spend at least two days straight without getting out of bed. Vale’s tension hadn’t worn down during their small chat, Marc could see how he kept on looking outside the window, and how the armrest of the seat Vale was on looked like a wild cat attacked it.

“Vale, are you nervous?” “Uh? No no I’m ok don’t worry baby” “You look strange” “No no I just am really excited about going there with you”

Marc had watched him again, until a particularly sharp noise came from the plane’s engine.

At that, Vale had shut his eyes and his mouth morphed into a thin closed line, even with his eyes closed Marc could feel the fear.

“Vale, are you scared of flying?” “No” “Amor I won’t judge you, but are you?” Vale opened his eyes, the plane was ready to take off. “Yes. I don’t like it” “Ok then uhm I can maybe hold your hand? To make you feel more secure?”

Vale also doesn’t like to ask for help, or make it obvious he needs it, but the way Marc was looking at him moved something in his chest, it made him vulnerable, but in a pleasant way. A sweet kind of it.

“Ok. Yeah yeah ok you can just-“ “Yeah I solemnly swear I will never tell Valentino Rossi wanted me to hold his hand because he’s scared of flying”

They had laughed, and Marc had brought him a kind of warmth and comfort he hadn’t felt in any other moment of his life.

Right now he’s alone. There’s an enormous emptiness beside him. An obvious lack of warmth and doe eyes looking at him with love.

Those eyes, God. How many times has he looked at them, how many times has he seen them open at the first lights of the morning in creamy white sheets they shared, how many times has he fell in love with them.

The memories are almost enough to distract him from the impending touch with the ground.

Maybe the plane will break, or crash. Save the others and leave him a carcass twisted below tons of metal sheets, unrecognizable at the sight.

Maybe this would be the right way to pay back Marc. Maybe just this could be enough. Dying of a horribly painful death, like Marc did. Alone. Cold.

The plane lands, and there’s no explosion or collision. Valentino is alive, and painfully so.

He never understood people who said they wanted to die until now. Because there’s something about thinking that it can all be over, that he can get away with it without having to face the others.

Lorenzo, Dani, Dovi.

They will be at the funeral. They will be on track. And they will know it was him.

The hostess comes up to him, tells him they’re securely landed and he can climb off the plane.

He gets up, a hoodie and a pair of du glasses on. Phone in pocket and some cash in the other.

He doesn’t need anything more, he reserved a car during the flight, it’s already there waiting for him.

He gets off the plane and in the car as fast as humanly possible, fingers tapping uncomfortably on the steering wheel, a tightening sensation in his throat.

He’s crying once again, at this point he’s surprised there’s even tears left inside him.

He stays there for ten whole minutes, then convinces himself he has to do this. He has to go.

He starts the car and gets out the airport, he doesn’t need a navigator, he knows the route by heart, him and Marc made it lots of times.

Once he’s twenty minutes away from destination he feels worse and worse about what he’s doing.

How will he even hide himself? Cervera is not a big town, and he’s not sure Marc’s family chose to have an open doors funeral.

He’s going there blindly, in the vague hope he’ll get to cast a glance at his body.

The graveyard won’t be as much of a problem, he can confuse himself with people who will want to say their goodbye. He’s sure he’ll find a way to sneak in, stay far from the family as he too mourns with them.

The town is packed, as he expected, tons of people gathered there to give their last farewell to Marc.

There’s flags, cardboard signs, sheets, all in his honor. In the honor of the rider he was. They are mourning the icon, the sportsman he was. Not the man, the wonderful person he actually was.

And it hurts.

To them it’s an idol that died, an inspiration. To him and his family it’s a person, a brother, a son, a friend, a lover.

The square before the Church is barely noticeable, a sea of orange and red combing it whole.

Then he sees it, the side entrance Dovizioso in suing to get in. He can do it. He can get in somehow.

He squishes himself through the myriads of people waiting for Marc to come out, waiting for the men dressed in deep black to carry him out in a coffin.

But Vake knows they’ll never come out from the front door, no they’ll come out the side one, take another car with the corpse and go to the graveyard.

And he’ll find a way to follow.

He doesn’t manage to surpass the barriers tho, he has to just wait, wait until the function is over and he can follow them to the place where his love will be buried forever.

Once he notices the funeral procession, he’s the fastest he’s ever been, running back to his car and quietly following the one with Marc in it.

It feels shady, and it is, but that’s all he can do.

He parks fairly far from the spot where he knows they’ll place Marc, climbs down the car and makes the rest of the way by foot, quietly in the December freezing cold.

He’s lucky, he knows he is, he could’ve arrived too early, or too late, or be recognised and probably publicly executed.

The graveyard is gray, gloomy and unsettling. He can see Alex from this distance, and a priest reciting something.

He wants to be there.

He’s hidden behind a tree, a bit closer now, he can hear the sobs coming from the people there and the incomprehensible words said by the priest.

Alex is holding their mother, their father is just a few centimeters to the left, heavy eyes filled with tears.

Other family members gathered around the coffin crying as well.

Their colleagues stand a bit further, crying as quietly as they can, Dani especially seems broken, hiding his face in Lorenzo’s chest, while he strokes his back gently, Dovi has marks on his knuckles, red and blotchy.

He must’ve punched something at the news.

Once the person Vale supposes to be Marc’s grandmother moves out of the way he can see him.

Soft, pale and pure skin. Frozen, unable to move. Restrained in this position for eternity, It’s a sickening view, it’s unnatural for Marc to be like that.

He wants to come out of his hiding spot, under the soft and cold light of the December sun.

Walk to the coffin, say goodbye, say sorry, cry, beg for him to come back, then accept the truth.

He can’t think of leaving a flower, not with the way Marc died.

And now that he pays more attention he can see little flowers growing out of his mouth.

He’s heard of people whose ribcage got broken by roots and flowers growing out of it, and he’s glad Marc’s situation is not like that.

The unmistakably bright yellow being the only thing of his still attached to Marc.

He makes a small mistake, a little movement and Roser turns around.

He got caught.

Roser just saw him at Marc’s funeral and now he truly is doomed.

Vale begins walking away, wants to run between the graves and go back to his car. Once he’s almost out he feels a hand on his back. He stops and turns around, ready to face a blood thirsty Alex.

But he just sees Roser, eyes red and glassy.

And he feels even worse for it, feels like a fucking cancer once again. There’s hatred in her eyes, rightfully so, and anger, and so much pain. “Take the glasses off”

He doesn’t expect that, but it’s not a punch in the guts, so he takes them off. Icy blue eyes matching with the surrounding atmosphere, eyes Roser notices to be filled with so much more than she thought.

“Why are you here?”

Her English is tentative, broken, but it can transmit all her emotions well enough. Vale can’t answer, he wants to burn a hole into the ground and fucking disappear inside it.

Words are dying inside his throat, he just looks up at Marc’s mother to feel something close to that hate he has for himself.

And there is a lot of it. But there’s also - compassion?

Or at least something that is not just pure pain and anger.

“Rossi. My son loved you” “I know” “You not” “I did. I do now too. I came here to see him I - I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry”

The last part he speaks Catalan, which shocks Roser.

Valentino Rossi, the rider, the legend, the man who hurt her son so much is now crying in front of her, knees against the icy-cold soil of a graveyard, speaking her language, saying he’s sorry.

She would want to be strong enough to just leave him there. But this man is crying like a kid lost in the woods looking for someone to help him.

There’s anger in her heart, obviously, lots of it. There’s hate. But she will never not have compassion in her heart too.

The tears, the eyes, the words, they all seem genuine to her.

“estimaves el meu fill?” (did you love my son?)

“sì. no tant com es mereixia” (yes. not as much as he deserved)

“però ara ets aquí” (but you’re here now)

“ja és massa tard. ell és mort” (now it’s too late. he’s dead)

“ell mai va deixar de pensar que hauries tornat per ell” (he never stopped thinking you would’ve come back for him)

“ho sento” (I’m sorry)

And vale just stays there, crying, but without a sound, Roser standing in front of him. And he wants her to do something, maybe call for Marc’s father, or for Alex, or the other riders.

Instead he receives pity. And a hand on his shoulder.

“Go away before they see you, if you want to speak to my boy you should go to Church, ask for forgiveness, ask for him to be well”

And then she leaves. The mother of the boy he killed leaves. Lets him go, as if he didn’t commit the most atrocious and horrible act towards Marc.

He gets up from the ground, dirt and grass staining his jeans, the cold has made its way inside his bones, under his skin, pointy, stingy. He puts the glasses back on, tears don’t stop falling when he does, the sensation of being observed doesn’t fade.

The ride back is monotone, gray, and silent. The radio doesn’t work, and if it did Vale would turn it off anyway.

He gets to a lay-by and stops, he can’t hold it anymore, he gets out the car and vomits, it's almost just bile, maybe some alcohol still, no food. The image of Marc laying like that is too much.

It accompanies him until he reaches the airport again, leaving the car where he found it, it accompanies him while he climbs on the plane and when it takes off.

It fucking follows him to the bedroom door once he's home.

#alice writes #my fic <3 #rosquez #mcd mentioned #TW: intrusive thoughts #tw death wish #TW: funeral #mention on Marco Simoncelli #and his death #angst #angst no comfort

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penny00dreadful · 1 year ago

Text

Crossroads

So I was hoping to get some more Return of the King or Somebody to Love out but these antibiotics are burning a hole through my stomach so I needed something incredibly self indulgent for my own comfort.

Some warnings up front: this is a reincarnation AU so there will be character death. But they do come back, I promise. Apparently my comfort involves a fuckton of angst and devastation so there's that too 🤷‍♀️ but I make it better, I promise. This is a heavy one guys, so take care of yourselves.

Now with beautiful cover art by @subbaculture

AO3 Link

Steve kept his voice low and soft.

Comforting.

Respectful.

He gently gestured the small group of mourners through to the viewing room, content to stand like a sentry in the back, there if they needed him but invisible otherwise in his plain black suit and glasses with his hands folded in front of him after double, triple checking his phone was on silent.

Death was an old friend to him now, though it had taken him a very, very long time to see it that way. Maybe that’s why he’d chosen the profession he had. Becoming a mortician wasn’t something many people actively worked towards since their teen years, unless they were already in the family but it just felt right to Steve.

He hadn’t been taken seriously at the start. He was young. Very young to be in this line of work. Currently in his early thirties and still fifteen years the junior of most funeral directors in the country.

But he was good at what he did. How could he not be? He’d seen more death than any other human alive.

He’d spent so long trying to fight death and losing every time that death no longer felt unsettling to him anymore. It was a fact of life.

Unavoidable.

So he made it his business to ease the crossing from one life to the other, for both the living and the dead and they tried to meet the needs of as many religions, as many traditions, as many practices as they could, both new and old.

They’d spearheaded more eco-friendly and green practices and with the recent rise of neo-paganism and wicca and worship of the Old Gods, they tried to be as accommodating as possible.

If the Steve from all that time ago, still on his first go around and organising the single most devastating funeral he’d ever experienced, could see him now, the Steve whose hands shook as he washed and anointed him with oils, the Steve who was so consumed by despair and fury as he placed the coin in his mouth with one last kiss…

He was pretty sure that Steve of old would have been enraged at his calm acceptance of death in any form.

But this Steve had grown. After all this time. Maybe it had taken him too long. Maybe he hadn’t grown in time, hadn’t grown quick enough to break it.

His Curse, he had taken to calling it.

But that had been when he was a broken and angry man. Now he saw that it had been less of a Curse and more of an Opportunity.

But it had taken him so long to pull himself from his spiral of devastation and anger and as a result he’d squandered that Opportunity.

It had been too late by the time he’d let any humility in.

So this was it now. This was his life and though he’d never be truly happy again, not without him… he was calm.

He was as centred as he could be.

He’d accepted his Fate.

Steve glanced up at the sound of a woman’s sob, ready to step forward if he needed to. The woman, Marion, he remembered, ended up being soothed softly by her sons, Jeremy and Killian. Their fathers death hadn’t been sudden, Walter had been sick for a while but that didn’t make it any less devastating for the three. They’d be okay. They were strong together, Steve thought, loving. Funerals were often make or break for families but these three at least, would pull through.

Steve loved what he did, strange as it was. He loved being able to bring comfort to the living during their hardest times. Helping them to say goodbye and hopefully get some closure.

Closure that he himself had rarely had.

Having that person one day then… they’re gone the next.

He wanted to bring that closure to people.

The room was exploding in flowers, both as a show of love from the deceased's family and a kindness from Crossroads Funeral Home, to try to cover up the smell of Robin's embalming work and to quietly bring some beauty to the room.

Robin.

Pretty much the only good thing that had come from that previous Life.

She'd followed him to this one after they had both died, side by side, dragging Vecna/Henry/One back into the Rainbow Room with the last of their energy and locking everyone else outside before the explosion could go off on the cold night of New Years 1987.

She didn't know it, of course, no one did. No one ever remembered except for Steve. But she knew there was something between them. Some strange string of Fate that connected them. He didn’t know how he’d survived so long without her.

She'd told him once that he looked old. He'd snorted and pushed her away, sitting on that dirty bathroom floor in their comical sailors costumes but she just shook her head.

I meant, like, you don't look old. It's your eyes Steve. They're… they're ancient. Like this isn't your first go around, you know?

He did know. God, did he know. He’d been in a cycle of life and death, life and death, on and on for over two and a half thousand years.

That first Life had been good. Fantastic, even. Two men living together and keeping the same bed wasn’t unheard of at the time. It wasn’t the done thing but it wasn’t something that brought them the hatred of their neighbours.

It was seen as more of an eccentricity than anything.

In later years, in later Lives, they’d have to learn the hard way to hide. But for now, they were happy. They were content.

Steve would accompany Eddie to visit Her temple at the entrance to Thessaly though he never much bothered with worship himself. He never much cared for Heracles or Zeus or Demeter or Atlas. He had everything he ever needed standing beside him.

Though Eddie would often jab him with some kind of teasing comment about how Eros had come for him specifically through Steve, waxing poetic about his moles or the line of his shoulders, often loudly and in public with that terrible cheeky grin of his that Steve was just forced to kiss off his face.

And if it wasn’t Eros then it was Helios inhabiting his eyes or his hair or his skin with the light of the sun.

Everything had been so good.

Steve didn’t think he’d ever been so happy just living.

But they hadn’t had enough time.

Barely seven years they’d had together before death came to tear them apart and vengeance buried itself deep in Steve’s blood.

When it all started, when Eddie lay feverish and dying in their shared bed from an infected bite, Steve had gone to Her.

It was the first time he’d ever given much of a shit about the gods and he didn’t know much about any of them to start with. But he knew Her. He’d listened to Eddie as he’d spoken about the strange feeling he had, the weird connection he felt to Her. He’d watched as Eddie had placed little food offerings of grapes and nuts at their little household altar for Her. He’d seen Eddie find a weird rock or shell or odd trinket and it was always a toss up as to whether it would be placed into Steve’s hand or on Her shrine.

He even wore Her strophalos around his neck.

Hecate.

She was a strange deity for Eddie to focus his dedication to. Her temple was mostly women but Eddie had always been a bit eccentric.

Sorcery, witchcraft, necromancy, the moon, ghosts, gravesites, the night and crossroads. All the things She watched over. All things that were just so Eddie.

Of course he felt a kinship with Her.

Steve’s weird and wonderful freak.

When it happened… Steve had been incandescent with rage and desolation and wanted the world to bend to his will as a consequence of it. He’d been ready to tear everything apart.

His despair had crawled up on him in those last few days, sitting at Eddie’s bedside, watching his love slowly fade away.

Once the infection took hold, Eddie wasn’t really there anymore. He was in and out of consciousness, muttering nonsense and barely able to register anything around him.

Steve spoke to him constantly, holding his hand, stroking his hair but Eddie never responded, not coherently anyway.

They didn’t get to say goodbye. They didn't get any last ‘I love you’s’, they got nothing.

The only time Steve had left his side was to beg and plead and offer himself up at the small household altar. He told Her he’d give anything She asked, make anything She wanted to happen happen, She just had to save him. But like always, She stayed silent. No sign, no movement, no feeling, not even a gust of wind.

But when had the gods ever paid attention?

There was a reason he’d never worshipped. It never brought them anything.

When Eddie died, Steve had refused to let anyone else come in and perform the funeral rites. Eddie was his and his alone, no one else had the right to wash his body, to anoint him, to carefully place the wreath over his head.

Tradition could get fucked.

He had lost his whole world, so everyone else could deal with the consequences.

Steve had kissed him one last time after he had placed the coin in his mouth. He’d debated the coin heavily with himself.

If he didn’t pay the Ferryman, maybe Eddie could come back?

But in the end, common sense won out. He couldn’t keep Eddie trapped like that. He’d never forgive himself.

By then his rage had settled into something cold and constant in his gut.

He would get Eddie back.

If he had to climb to the top of Mt. Olympus himself to demand it, he would.

After the burial, he stood in the street outside Her temple, watching with a half drunk bottle of wine in hand. He wanted Her to know he was coming. He wanted Her to know he was a damn force to be reckoned with.

How dare She ignore him.

How dare She allow him to be taken.

How dare She not give him back.

Eddie was his.

And he was Eddie’s.

How dare She.

He didn’t know how long he stood there before he walked inside.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

It was forbidden. He shouldn’t have even thought about it. He’d been touched by death, it had entered his house and he would be unwelcome anywhere holy for at least a year, lest his miasma spread to the precious gods.

Funny how they claimed to be all powerful but shrunk away from the air of death that hung around the mortals left behind by loved ones.

Fucking cowards.

People tried to stop him from coming inside, of course they did. Everyone knew of his loss, his rage, his determination. He’d screamed so loud when Eddie had died, the sound had practically stretched through the entire town. They were all so loyal to the gods who couldn’t give a flying fuck about any of them.

As soon as he stepped over the threshold, the worshipers cowered away from him. The Priestesses fled, as though the taboo of the touch of death in this sacred space could somehow infect them.

He had managed to fling Her offerings to the floor and tear a small statue from its pedestal before he was dragged back outside.

The people on the streets gave him a wide berth in the weeks after that. He’d disrespected a goddess and no one wanted to get caught in the crossfire.

But fuck Her.

Let Her be pissed off.

She’d taken everything from him.

Steve felt like he was adrift. He spent hours every day at Eddie’s grave, barely able to exist away from him for long. And whenever he wasn’t there he was at home, in the dark, lying on Eddie’s side of the bed slowly dancing in between unbearable waves of sadness and crawling, festering anger.

The anger he felt was… it was poisonous. Sometimes he felt like he couldn’t breathe for how furious he was.

Physicians were sent to him and were all extremely alarmed at how out of balance his humours were. His Yellow Bile was in extreme excess and they desperately advised him of what he needed to do to become balanced again, but Steve didn’t want anything less.

He needed to stay angry.

His legs were carrying him to Her crossroads before he even knew where he was going.

It was the dead of night and the only thing lighting the intersection up was a single torch burning bright, hanging off a pole in the ground, illuminating up the three faces of Her statue.

She stood like a sentry watching and waiting carefully to make sure travellers made it across safely. A small gathering of offerings stood at the bottom of the statue and Steve had a sudden urge to burn them.

He wrenched the torch down from where it hung and thrust it at Her feet, catching the wreaths and flowers and fruit and small hand carved figurines worshipers and travellers had left behind in deference.

It did nothing to quell the rage within him so he swung back around, prepared to bury the charred and desecrated remains right in the centre, to send a goddamn sign straight to Her heart if he had to.

But as he straightened up he was forced to recoil in shock as the head of the statue had turned. She seemed to stand taller now. She had been of a height with him when he started. Now She loomed over him, glaring down at him with such ferocity he could feel it down to his very core.

But he refused to back down now, he couldn’t.

She was finally paying attention.

“Give him back.” He growled at Her. Her face didn’t move, She stayed as still as stone. Maybe She was still stone, he hadn’t actually seen Her move after all.

And angry wind blew through the crossroads, nearly snuffing out the torch Steve still held in his hand.

She didn’t speak to him but Her words were clear.

He is not mine to give back.

“You’re fucking right. He’s not yours. He’s mine. You had no right to take him.”

Something hissed behind him and Steve whipped around with the torch that almost seemed to phase, one into two into one again.

At the centre of the crossroads, slowly writhing and coiling about itself sat a giant serpent, its crystalline amber eyes burning through him. It was much bigger than it should have been, as thick as one of his arms and so long Steve couldn’t see its tail extending back into the darkness beyond.

I did not take him. She hissed, extending a forked tongue.

Steve swallowed, trying to stop the oil from the double-single torch dripping onto his hand and burning him but also keeping an eye on the giant creature in front of him, taking a shaky step back, heart beating furiously through his chest both from fear and all encompassing rage.

“I don’t believe that. He loved you and you did nothing to stop his crossing!” He spat back at the viper.

The dark was so close around him now, closer than it had been, though the single-double torch still burned as bright as ever.

The crossroads felt completely separated from everything else on earth at that moment, like he was on an island afloat in the darkness.

A low rumbling growl reverberated through the air behind him, sending another spike of fear up through Steve’s spine and forcing him to turn, trying to keep one eye on the giant snake and another on the behemoth of a creature that was slowly stalking towards him on the opposite side.

The dog was huge. It’s snout just about level with Steve’s shoulder, with teeth bared, head low and an angry look in its eye.

That is not my domain. She snapped at him with a gnashing of Her teeth.

“Then make it your domain!” He snapped back, baring his own teeth in kind.

He took another step back, away from the two creatures but was frozen to a stop as a great gust of air was exhaled onto the back of his neck and through his hair.

Turning again, he was backed into the centre of the crossroads as a great and powerful horse approached, towering over him. It did not glare or snap but simply observed.

Steve was now surrounded by Her on three sides, the writhing serpent, the gnashing dog and the stoic horse all slowly closing in on him.

The horse tilted its head, almost curiously.

If you have not earned your penance by the time I am worshipped again, you will bring your end to the both of you.

“Wh-what?” Steve was still trying to strike with anger but the roiling terror was starting to take hold, especially as Her three avatars slowly closed in. “What does that mean?!”

She didn’t answer and Steve knew in his soul the conversation was over. He’d signed his warrant by searching Her out in the first place and whatever happened now, he just hoped it brought him back to Eddie, somehow.

He felt the snake coil itself around his neck, he felt the teeth of the dog in his stomach and the crack of a hoof against the side of his head before everything went dark.

Steve was fifteen in his second Life before things really started to make sense. Because ever since he’d hit puberty he had all these memories that didn’t belong to him.

Or he thought they didn’t belong to him.

His parents thought he was some kind of Seer. He thought so too until one day four years later. He’d been hired as a private and exclusive Seer to a local wealthy politician who Steve suspected just preferred to look at him, rather than have him divine anything.

But they’d been travelling for days to a neighbouring city to marry his daughter off to some young aristocrat or other when their party came upon a familiar crossroad.

The place had changed in the twenty years since he’d last stepped foot here in his previous Life, where he’d sealed his Fate. He could feel it in his bones.

Her statues had been replaced with finer, more intricate and detailed reliefs. The offerings towered high, stretching out into the road itself, like the people here knew this place had been touched by Her.

Everything came back to him tenfold. All the anger, all the devastation, all the bargaining and rage and loss hit him like it had happened only yesterday.

What the fuck was he doing here? Following around some fat, over-indulgent, lecherous old man, spitting nonsense at him like that would help his political decisions?

That’s not what he was here for. He was here to find his Eddie.

Steve didn’t even know if he could find him. Is that how Hecate had punished him for disrespecting Her so much? To relive his life again but without him this time?

Didn’t matter.

If Eddie was here, he’d find him.

And he did find him.

Betrothed to his Master's daughter.

Of course.

But their wedding would never happen. He stole Eddie away with him into the night. As soon as they had laid eyes on each other the decision had been made. They had to have each other, no matter the consequences.

And the consequences did come for them. Thirteen years later they were finally caught and Steve had been forced to watch Eddie die again. They’d been sentenced to death by banishment.

The downsides of pissing off a politician with a grudge.

They’d been starved out, stripped of everything but the clothes on their backs and dumped out into the wilderness.

Eddie had died first of exposure to the cold and the only mercy Steve found in that was that he followed soon after.

He learned pretty soon in his following Lives to be a bit more careful when seeking Eddie out, trying to keep him as safe as possible.

Because Steve remembered everything.

Eddie remembered nothing.

Each new Life was a fresh start for him.

But it didn’t really matter how careful Steve had tried to be. Tragedy and devastation always came for them. And it always came for Eddie first.

He thought sometimes that maybe things would have been different if he’d tried to get Eddie back through Hades, or Thanatos or Atropos. But then again, they probably would have taken his desecration of their shrines much more seriously. Maybe Eddie’s connection to Hecate had been a kindness.

Throughout his various Lives, Steve had died almost every way it was possible to die. He’d been executed, fatally injured, succumbed to sickness, fallen victim to accidents and even died of old age a few times.

Eddie usually died too soon. Way too soon. But Steve wasn’t sure if that was just his own perception of things. No amount of time with him would ever be enough, so any time death came for him seemed too soon.

So maybe he wasn’t dying unusually early just because Steve was there.

But it certainly felt like it.

Once Eddie died, Steve usually followed not long after.

And then he'd be born again. Sometimes nine months later, sometimes years and years later, often in another country, another part of the world.

He’d seen hundreds of years of history pass him by.

He knew where Cleopatra was buried (with extreme disrespect), he knew what happened at the Library of Alexandria (it wasn't burned to the ground), he'd been to the Hanging Gardens of Babylon (estimated location was about 200 miles off where people thought), he knew what had happened to The Princes in The Tower (they hadn't survived five minutes once the door closed), he spoken and forgotten ancient languages and text, he'd been in moments of history again and again.

Each of Eddie’s deaths felt like dying to Steve. Each and every one.

Some were gentle.

Some were not.

In some Lives Steve never even knew what happened to him.

In some, by the time Steve found him, Eddie would already have a family around him. Some strange amalgamation of outcasts and ‘undesirables’. Sometimes he’d have a wife or a husband at his side and some children of his own.

Steve could never bring himself to get in between those relationships. Yes, Eddie was his. But only when he chose to be.

Regardless of Eddie’s choice, Steve would always belong to him.

And if that had to be as a friend, then so be it.

He just wanted Eddie to be happy.

Because he knew intimately all the ways it could end for him.

Steve had seen him sentenced to transportation for life to Australia, just reaching the dock as the vessel was on the horizon, disappearing soon after and Steve would never see him in that Life again.

He’d seen him starving and pale boarding a coffin ship during The Hunger, just slipping out of his grip before he could get to him. Eddie had never made it to Quebec.

Steve had seen Eddie hanged and stabbed and shot. He’d died beside him in battle.

He’d seen him fade from sickness and his own grief at the loss of all of his children during the Black Death.

Eddie had died in almost as many ways as Steve had and Steve had to bear witness to most of them.

The worst of all of them had been in 1602 in a tiny village on the edge of the Holy Roman Empire.

It was early in the morning. They’d been asleep in bed, curled around each other when their door was kicked in. Steve had been as prepared as he could be. He was always prepared now. It had been two thousand years at this stage and he was always ready for anything.

Well, almost anything.

He’d snatched up his sword without a second thought and swung. He was the most skilled combatant in the world, hundreds of years of training and discipline in some of the best armies, under some of the best commanders history had to offer. It allowed him to cut down three of the men before Eddie could even untangle himself from their blankets.

But no amount of skill could help him when he was overpowered and outnumbered.

Something had cracked him hard over the back of the head and everything had gone dark before he could raise his sword again.

He didn’t know how long it was before he came to, but when he did he almost wished he could go back to blissful darkness.

Almost.

Because Eddie was struggling, tied to a wooden beam on a small platform in the centre of the town with kindling being tossed at his feet and a long list of heresy charges and accusations of witchcraft being called out to the gathered townspeople.

Everything was still foggy, like his brain was being filtered through a slow fed sieve. His movements were sluggish and broken and he couldn’t break free. He was being held on his knees, on his own platform with a guard on either side.

Things were still fading in and out for him as he tried to shove the guards away and fought to loosen the bonds around his wrists, tying his hands behind his back.

Steve’s head was wrenched upwards by his hair as the first torch set the kindling under Eddie ablaze.

His gaze locked with Eddie’s, his wide, brown, beautiful eyes were tear streaked and terrified as he screamed out for him through the rapidly thickening haze, coughing and spluttering as he tried desperately not to breathe in the suffocating grey-black smoke.

The cry that Steve let out was one filled with millennia of fury and anguish as he snapped the ropes around his wrists clean away and reached over, unsheathing one of the guards swords and beheading the two of them before they could even blink.

He cut his way through the crowd, completely uncaring if it was civilian, soldier, guard or religious figure who stood in his way. If they didn’t move, they were removed.

Steve threw himself up on top of the pyre, ignoring any pain that came from the stifling heat and burning wood below him as he cut Eddie's limp body down and threw them both off the side.

But it was too late and Eddie was gone again.

Steve turned his cold eyes back on the crowd who were now standing back, regarding him with apprehension and fear as he slowly got to his feet and twirled the sword in his hand.

That town wouldn’t be found on any modern map. He’d obliterated it.

He’d let the streets run red and razed it to the ground.

It would never be remembered.

History never knew it existed.

He’d made sure of it.

Something in that Life had broken Steve irrevocably. Something had cracked. Doubt began to seep in. He started to worry that this cycle would never end.

This was the worst kind of punishment.

It was a punishment he’d not only doomed himself to, but he’d doomed Eddie too.

With each Life his soul felt heavier and heavier.

Until it all came to a head in Hawkins.

Being Steve Harrington, babysitter extraordinaire and ex-King of Hawkins High had been… easy at first. He’d been born into wealth this time which was always a relief. He didn’t have to scrape and slog just to eat or put a roof over his head but wealth had its own shackles, its own chains.

Expectation and duty and honour. That always travelled in wealth, no matter the century.

Add that onto the crushing weight of his Curse, the deal at the crossroads he’d made with Her… it wasn’t the worst Life he’d ever lived but it wasn’t the smoothest either.

Because the Life in Hawkins was the first Life he had ever lived where he made the choice not to find Eddie.

It should have been simple.

It should have been the simplest thing he’d ever done. Born, live, die in the same small town.

And Eddie would stay safe.

Live a long and happy life, wherever he’d been born into.

Steve had scoured the town out of the corner of his eye as soon as his memories came back to him but was able to breathe a sigh of relief when he couldn’t find hide nor hair of him.

Because if he wasn’t here, if he wasn’t around Steve, maybe he wouldn’t die tragically this time.

But it was almost as if the universe heard his sigh of relief.

Almost like She had.

Because a year later when Steve was thirteen, a miserable boy with a buzzed head and giant, defiant brown eyes turned up at school.

He’d be living in the town now.

Steve couldn’t escape him.

He could run away, get as far away as a bus would carry him and hope he wouldn’t be brought back, but he knew he’d never be able to. He’d seen Eddie now, so trying to physically separate himself would be like trying to rip his own arm off.

So no, he couldn’t escape him.

But he could ignore him.

If he couldn’t put physical distance between them, he’d keep the emotional distance as much as it killed him to do it.

He was growing crazy with it by the time he was sixteen and he thought…

Maybe he could try something else?

Nancy was as much of an Eddie look alike as it was possible to get. He hadn’t even realised that that was why he’d picked her. It hadn’t been a conscious decision.

But if he was going to let Eddie go, he could allow himself to have the next best thing.

Up until Tommy and Carol and Barb and the pool.

He couldn’t… he couldn’t do it.

It made him feel disgusting.

It felt so disloyal to do anything with anyone else. He never had. He’d never wanted to. He still didn’t want to, he realised.

Eddie wasn’t his in this Life.

Eddie had never been his to dictate decisions over anyway.

But Steve was Eddie’s.

In every Life, in every iteration, Steve belonged to Eddie.

Whether Eddie knew it or not.

So no, he couldn’t go through with it, with Nancy. She was a lovely girl but she wasn’t him.

Steve had only ever belonged to one person and he would only ever belong to that person.

And he was okay with that, he realised.

Nancy was a bit surprised that he’d stopped but understood well enough in the end.

All of that was swiftly forgotten about though, when they heard Barb scream from outside and had to pull her from the jaws of some otherworldly demon.

Steve had thought he’d seen everything the world had to offer but he’d never seen anything like this.

War was no stranger to Steve, he knew it well.

He and Eddie had fought side by side many times whenever Fate had pushed them in that direction, most memorably in The Sacred Band on Steve’s second or third Life. They’d actually survived long enough to retire from that troop and had another ten years together before death came for Eddie again.

Throughout time Steve had fought using an aspis, a gladius Hispaniensis, a Hallstatt sword, then maces, glaives and longbows. He fought as a knight in plate and then with canons and bayonets before getting his hands on an SMLE and then an M1 Garand.

But this war was different to every one he’d fought in the past. There was no phalanx, no column, no cavalry. Just vicious mindless monsters, a handful of kids and teenagers and one super powered child.

Steve fought that war like he’d fought every other one in his long life, with reckless abandon, trying to keep his charges safe and most importantly, trying to keep Eddie safe.

Eddie was a musician in this Life, like he so often was and he was going to go far. He was talented. He was beautiful. He had so much life in him.

Steve was going to make sure Eddie got there if it killed him.

Again.

He’d let him get as far away as possible and maybe, just maybe Eddie would live the life he deserved.

But that hadn’t happened.

Like the universe, like She had heard Steve’s silent pleas again, the two of them had been shoved together under the most apocalyptic of circumstances. Like it was all one last test of Steve’s resolve. To see if he could stay away. To see if he could let Eddie go. Allow him to look at him with those big, beautiful eyes and smile his devastatingly pretty smile and light up like a live wire in Steve’s space with so much energy and passion Steve felt like he was caving in on himself.

If he could let Eddie be, if he could avoid reaching out, if he could stop himself from ruining Eddie once again then maybe Eddie would be allowed to live. The Curse would be broken.

And he thought he had succeeded.

He felt something snap in him, something break, something release.

So he thought he’d done it.

But then he’d made it back to the trailer to find blood. Blood and torn flesh and bubbling breath and one last whispered “Stevie?” before Eddie’s endless brown eyes went dull.

And Steve was done.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

He’d walked to the crossroads just outside his house and screamed that he was done. It was over. She’d won.

He didn’t get an answer.

He didn’t expect one.

So he went into that Rainbow Room with Robin convinced this was his last Life. Ready for it to be over. For good.

Almost wishing for it.

But he’d been born again in 1992 and now?

Well now he had learned to just exist.

To just be.

And to find whatever contentment he could.

He had his business. He had Robin. So he was… okay.

And that was okay.

Robin stuck her hands in her pockets as she stood in the cold of the morgue, watching Steve close everything up for the evening.

“I don’t want to go.”

“You have to go, Birdie. You need to break up with her.”

Robin sighed, long and heavy. “God, I know. Can’t you do it for me?”

“For the last time, no. Break up with her over text if you have to. She deserves shitty treatment. Fuck her.”

“I can’t. She’ll refuse to accept it. She’ll keep showing up and insisting it never happened and then she’ll throw the mother of all fits when I try to tell her it did happen!”

“So that’s why you’re taking her out to dinner? So she has to listen?”

“And we’ll be in public. So she can’t cause a scene.”

Steve scoffed. “That’s never stopped her before,” he muttered to himself but raised his voice again at Robin's scowl. “That’s all very red flag behaviour, Birdie.”

“Yes I know Steven, thank you. Why do you think I’m breaking up with her?”

“Okay.” He gave the door to the morgue one last tug, making sure it was locked up tight. “No dead bodies are escaping from me tonight. Call me after?” He jabbed his finger up to the ceiling and behind, in the direction of his house, tucked away at the back of the business, separated and hidden from sight by a line of trees.

“I can’t believe you still own a landline. Who even has a landline anymore?”

Steve shrugged but grinned at her still. “I’m old fashioned.”

“Whatever. Okay. I’m gone. Wish me luck!” Robin called back as she bounced her way up the stairs.

“Good luck!” He shouted after her. “Let me know if you need my assassination skills!”

“You’ve never killed anything bigger than a spider, babe!” The sound of the front door closing was the only thing she left behind to punctuate her statement.

Steve frowned. “Never killed anything bigger than a spider,” he mimicked as he trudged back upstairs, grumbling, “I’ve taken on the damn Mongols, never killed anything bigger than a spider, pshh.”

He continued to mutter to himself as he walked through, switching off the lights before making his way outside to lock up the front door.

He had just given the door one last tug when he heard a voice behind him, speaking in a language he hadn’t heard in over two millennia.

“I’ve been looking for you, my sunshine.”

Steve swiped around, scarcely daring to believe what he was hearing but there he was.

Eddie stood in front of him, ripped up black jeans, black cons, long curly dark hair and a yellow sweater that looked like something Steve had worn in the 80’s.

All Steve could do was breathe out his name. “Eddie.”

Eddie smiled at him, a warm, gentle, pretty thing that filled Steve’s heart and made it ache all at once.

“What… what do you-?”

“I remember everything, sweetheart.” Eddie stepped forward, only stopping when they were toe to toe.

“Everything?” Steve could scarcely believe it. Wouldn’t dare believe it if it wasn’t for the strophalos symbol hanging around his neck.

“Everything.” He nodded, placing a hand at either side of Steve’s face. “You came for me. Every single Life. You were there. I figure it’s about time I return the favour.”

A laugh burst out of Steve without his permission but it was really more of a sob than anything as he raised his own hands to encircle Eddie’s wrists.

“What does this mean?” He whispered, terrified that too loud a noise, too sudden a movement would shatter everything. “What does this mean for us?”

“It means it’s broken, baby.” Eddie touched their foreheads together and said, with scarcely a breath between their lips, “It means you have me. And I have you. Forever.”

And Steve was so scared. So scared that it wouldn’t stick, that it would all change the second he closed his eyes but he couldn’t deny he could feel it. Deep down in his soul he could feel that he was free.

Steve nudged himself forward, just barely a hair but it was enough to bring them together, it was enough to kiss and it was only at that moment he realised he hadn’t kissed Eddie in decades.

Since before Hawkins.

It was like electricity had shot through him, his whole body, his mind, his soul had been aching, craving, needing Eddie's touch and it was like he could breathe again with it.

When their kiss broke neither of them pulled away, they continued to hold each other, to hug, pressed flush with arms tight around each other and Steve didn’t think he’d ever be able to let go.

Yeah. Forever sounded pretty good.

I am not a particularly religious or spiritual person but when I tell you I felt seen as I was writing this know that I am not exaggerating 😅 it was less that I felt watched, more that I felt observed.

I shit you not when this idea popped into my head, Hecate started appearing everywhere. On my podcasts, in my YouTube videos, my tiktoks, on the radio, in conversation at work... Everywhere.

Being Irish living in Ireland I'm surrounded by mythology and legends and stories and paganism all the time so that did fuel some of my interest. I follow a good number of pagans and wiccans on social media and I know a few in real life too so I tried my best to be as respectful to their beliefs as I could in my depictions.

This has been my most researched fic to date. The amount I read for this was intense. Funeral rites in Ancient Greece, as much as I could read on Hecate, how funerals work in America because apparently the Irish do things very differently to the rest of you?? The greatest mysteries in history, millennia of military tactics, the intricacies of the Greek Gods... just so much stuff! And it was fun!

ALSO The Sacred Band! Holy shit! The Sacred Band was a specific troop of soldiers in Ancient Greece composed completely of male lovers under the understanding that if you're fighting next to your love you'll fight harder. And people say this whole queer business is a recent thing 🙄

Anyway I hope you liked it! 🖤

Hecate

Strophalos

The Princes in The Tower

Coffin Ships

The Hunger

The Black Death

Holy Roman Empire

Heresy witch burnings

The Sacred Band

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tojivu · 2 years ago

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PICK YOU UP AT 8.

a/n hahah Hi

warnings/tags dates with genshin men. gn!reader. includes zhongli diluc childe xiao thoma. a little favouritism in childe LOL sorry. petname ‘baby’ used in childe’s. mentions of wearing a dress in xiao’s.

ZHONGLI never lets the romance die. you’ve been together for a while now, and he has never disappointed you in that time. candles, picking you up in his car, getting out of it and opening the door for you—dates with your boyfriend are truly the highlight of the week. due to his busy schedule at the funeral parlour, he often leaves you alone in the wee hours of the night; but he never lets you go a week without a date where it’s just the two of you. he values you greatly and it shows in the way he puts so much effort into these special nights, and he’d often ask you how you liked it afterwards (if there need be improvement, though rare).

“hello, dear. ready to go?” he’s walking you to his car, your arm around his—and you nod.

you wonder where he’s taking you this time, since it was his turn to pick this week; but you don’t really care. anywhere with zhongli is fine with you, even if it was a junkyard and you two spent the night eating chips & watching the stars.

he ends up taking you to a fancy restaurant in the city, in a high rise building—he pulls the chair back for you, and you’re speechless at the view. the city lights were bright, and you could see cars commuting multiple floors below. it overlooked many of the other buildings, but what caught your attention the most was the night sky.

“the view is so.. stunning, zhongli—how did you get a spot here?”

“anything for a beautiful view, y/n.”

you notice he’s not even looking outside, but instead staring right at you. you don’t know why, or maybe you do and you’re just shy: but something’s telling you that it’s not the city view he’s talking about.

DILUC never understood the appeal of date nights before you came along. he thought they were pointless, spending money to do something outside the comfort of your own home seemed like just that. it was only until you expressed your need for quality time that he finally gave it a try. having a busy schedule, he wasn’t sure when to take you out—but when he finally did find an opportunity, he found himself enjoying it much more than he thought he would. ever since then, he’s been picking you up from work at least once a week and taking you out to somewhere new; diluc’s never one to disappoint.

work ended late into the afternoon and you were starving. your coworkers waved you goodbye as they entered their taxis home, and you were just about to book a ride too—but a few seconds later, you see a familiar white car stop in front of you.

the window rolls down, and you see your boyfriend in the driver’s seat. what an extravagant entrance, you think, and you find yourself snickering at him.

“what’s so funny?” he asks, blank and deadpan expression worn.

“nothing. where are we going now?”

“you ask this every single time; you wouldn’t know.”

“i thought so.” you smile. it’s amazing, how someone could know so many places. at least now, you’ll have more places than just your shared apartment to make memories in.

you get in the car, and you both drive off.

CHILDE plans the most obnoxious, extravagant dates. he knows that you think it’s cringe, but he loves seeing the embarrassment on your face when he appears at your doorstep in his finest suit with the most colourful flowers, a sign in his left hand saying “will you go on a date with me?”. you could say it’s not surprising, a man of his nature doing such things—yet it’s sweet, not more sweet than cringeworthy, but still sweet nontheless. you were the lowkey, stay at home with pizza and binge movies type: after all, that was what your ex boyfriends had given you—but it’s childe, so you can always expect something more.

it’s a rainy friday night and childe hasn’t texted you. you’re sure he’s up to one of his stupid antics again, but a part of you thinks he’s probably swamped with work and can’t text you. it disappoints you a little, but it can’t be helped anyway. there’s always next week.

just then, your doorbell tune plays. you get up from bed, excited, but then you remember you ordered food an hour ago. could be the delivery guy, childe wouldn’t just appear at your door during a thunderstorm without telling you he’ll be late, right?

but you open the door and see him, drenched from head to toe, holding a bouqet of flowers (that were also wet). “i’m so sorry baby, i got caught in the rain while buying these.” he explains, using his free hand to move the hair away from his face.

it’s safe to say you two didn’t have the expected date that night. but he’s here, in your home, snuggled up next to you—he’s warm from the shower you told him to take, so you don’t really care; a break from the glam once in a while isn’t a bad thing.

XIAO is never late. he plans down to the minute, every detail in his mind—it always goes according to his plans whenever you two are out. usually, it’s always him who handles the where, when and how. you were never the type to plan ahead, often throwing yourself out there and seeing where it took you—and always the one following others plans and agreeing with everything. it was a friday night and you’ve gotten sick of the restaurants; you’ve sworn that you visited one of them at least more than 5 times in a month already.

you’re tempted to ask xiao to change it up a little, but it’s last minute—you’re getting ready and he’s on the way. you’re sure he would get mad, who wouldn’t? he’s booked a reservation, he’s wearing his nicest suit and you’re in your prettiest dress, it’d be a bit rude; but you’re sick of the monotony, work has got your legs sore and there’s nothing you want more than to lay in bed with your boyfriend.

xiao shows up at your door, and you hesitantly speak up before he takes your hand. “can we just stay in tonight?”

“tired today?” he smiles, expression soft and understanding—and you’re immediately relieved.

the night definitely did not go as xiao envisioned, but it’s okay—he’s with you, still, and that’s all he needs to check off his list.

THOMA grimaces at the thought of sitting across his lover, eating and just talking. that is the most boring thing ever, he would say; and that’s not because he doesn’t enjoy conversation with you, it’s mostly because there isn’t an opportunity for him to see you laugh or smile until your cheeks hurt at a dinner table. you won’t see anything funny at a fancy restaurant that would make you burst out laughing—and thoma loves that most about you, how your voice jumps an octave when you’re laughing and smiling, how your eyes sparkle most in those moments, or how you clutch your stomach when it’s too much to bear. there’s no fun in it, he would tell you time and time again.

due to this, it was clear what he needed to do. rule number 1, no dinner dates at fancy 5 star restaurants (unless you’re really craving a good steak). the weekend arrives swiftly, and you know your boyfriend is going to surprise you with a new adventure. this time, it’s going hiking and ziplining.

“oh, but we’ll be going together!” he responds, all cheery when you tell him you’re not a big fan of heights.

“that doesn’t make it any better.”

“are you sure? we could hold hands—“ thoma adds on, clearly convinced this was the most romantic thing to do with your lover.

“we are going to a restaurant after this. and i’m going to talk the entire time.”

140323 — omg this was shpposed to go up 2 months ago but i got swept up in so much :,, anyways not proof read as always don’t comment anything mean or else it’s another hiatus ok bye

#genshin x reader #childe x reader #zhongli x reader #diluc x reader #thoma x reader #xiao x reader #xiao fluff #childe fluff #zhongli fluff #diluc fluff #thoma fluff #genshin fluff #genshin x reader fluff #childe x reader fluff #zhongli x reader fluff #diluc x reader fluff #thoma x reader fluff #xiao x reader fluff #genshin impact

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leslutdepointedulac · 3 months ago

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Ghosts

Vamptember ~ Day 15: Ghosts

“There was nothing you could do.” Armand tells him again, sorrow and regret evident in his tone. “It wasn’t your fault.” He pauses while he studies Lestat for a moment, then says, “Many years ago now, I told Louis that very few vampires have the stamina to endure immortality. The ones who don’t will eventually come to that realisation, they will realise that they don’t have it in them to face forever. They face only despair and fear for what the future will hold for them, they are corrupted by it, and seeing that there is no end to their turmoil, they find their freedom in death. He had to do it, Lestat. Nothing was going to stop him and believe me when I say I did try to sway him.”

Lestat shakes his head and frowns at Armand. “He wasn’t some old dog to be put down after no longer being able to serve his master.” He retorts harshly. “He was a person, he was one of us. He was happy once.”

This time, it’s Armand’s turn to shake his head, only his expression remains dejected. “That’s not what I’m saying. Don’t you see? He may have been happy once but that passed; the darkness overtook him, he couldn’t see clearly anymore. He was suffering as a prisoner of his own mind. To at least try and talk him down was all I could do but I couldn’t force him to leave his thoughts of the funeral pyre behind. He’d already convinced himself that that’s what needed to be done and I couldn’t get in the way of that; it would only have done more harm than good. What he did, it was a mercy to himself.”

“I just wanted him to be happy.” Lestat says in a small, broken voice. “Why couldn’t he be happy?”

Armand glances down and shakes his head again. “I don’t know. I don’t think he knew how. Happiness was simply too difficult for him to achieve, his mind was far too fractured. But it wasn’t up to you to fix him, it wasn’t even up to me. All I could do was attempt to control his tempers but I couldn’t salvage his broken mind.”

“Control his tempers.” Lestat lets out a small laugh and gives Armand a weakened smile. “Like when you cut off his hands and left him to starve?”

“He was erratic, nothing else would keep him in check.”

Lestat nods. “I know, you were only trying to help. You did what you had to do.”

[No Good At Goodbyes A03]

@vamptember

#vamptember #ghosts #lestat de lioncourt #armand #nicolas de lenfent #lesmand #nickistat #nickimand #vampire chronicles #tvc #vc fic #vc fanfic #my vc fics #my vampire chronicles #vc events

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beastofburdenxo · 1 year ago

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Raising Catherine

~Chapter 1~

Tommy takes in a friend's daughter to raise on a deathbed promise. No smut, language, hint of violence, mention of blood and death. 1.3k words. Tommy is a sweetheart in this one ^^

“You’ve got to promise me, Tom, that when I die, you’ll take care of my Catherine. Promise me please.” Thomas looked at his ailing friend in the eye, knowing it wouldn’t be long before tuberculosis took him. “I will, I promise. She will be safe with me old friend.” Three months later, at the funeral he stood beside his dear departed friend's daughter, Catherine. “I’m sorry for your loss, Love,” he told her, “He is no longer in any pain.” She was silent in mourning, she just took his hand and lightly squeezed. After the funeral, he took her back to pack some things to take with her. “I’m afraid you are coming with me,” Tommy told her, “I promised your dad I'd take care of you, and that is what I plan to do. I have a huge house, plenty of room for us both. There will be lots of room to play, what do you like to do?” Catherine just looked at him with the somber eyes of a woman beyond her years, “I’m 12 Tommy, I don’t play.” He chuckled, “Well I'm sure you’ll find something to do and pass the time.” He takes her bags in his arms and leads her to the car. “I like to draw and paint.” Giving her space to say goodbye to her childhood home he replies, “Do you now? Consider it done, catherine. Whatever supplies you need I will get you.”

The first week in the new home was difficult to say the least. The place was huge, and Catherine got lost several times, she had to ask the maid Frances for help. It was difficult for Tommy too, not used to having to take care of another human, much less a 12-year-old girl. He had no idea what to do with her, what to say to her. He just knew to keep her fed and make sure she had enough art supplies. Tommy knew she was hurting, he too knew loss, but didn’t know quite how to go about it. Sometimes he’d walk by her room and hear her crying. He wanted to comfort the poor girl, but how? One night, he heard screaming, a terrible, gut-wrenching sound coming from her room. He also knew of night terrors and decided to go check on her. The poor thing was thrashing in her bed, her face red and tear stained. “Catherine, wake up sweetie, wake up it’s just a nightmare.” Tommy lightly shook her awake to not scare her further. “Oh God Tommy, it was terrible,” she sobbed, “I dreamed he was lying in bed, covered in blood that was oozing from his mouth. He wouldn’t stop screaming. There was so much blood Tommy...” Tommy wrapped her up in his arms, “Shhh, it’s okay,” he soothed, “It was just a bad dream. It's over. Your dad is in a better place now catherine. Easy now, love.”

He held her for a while, gently rocking her, until the tears stopped. “Try and go back to sleep now, I'll be close by just in case, okay?” Catherine just nodded her head, as she allowed Tommy to tuck her back in. About an hour later, right when Tommy was just fixing to go to bed himself, the screaming returned. He woke her back up to her sobs of terror. “Oh God, it won’t stop. Why won’t it stop? I can’t sleep, I see his poor sickly face every time I close my eyes. Tommy don’t leave me! The blood, so much blood...” Tommy held her again, rubbing her back. “I’m here, I'm here, I'm not leaving. Why don’t you sleep in my bed tonight, eh? Keep me from going back and forth.” He scoops her up like she’s a newborn baby and carries her to his room. “There is plenty of room for us both. I’ll be right here love, if you get scared again, eh?” Tommy tucks her in his bed, lying down beside her. He refused to go to sleep himself until he heard her relaxed breathing. She only woke up only one more time after that, and Tommy vowed to himself that nothing was going to hurt her ever again. If it was the last thing he ever did.

They both started to adjust to each other. When she wasn’t at school, he’d sometimes take her with him to the betting office. She’d always have her sketchbook with her, drawing everything and everyone she saw. One day after school, she walked to the office and Tommy noticed that she was upset. “Cathy love, what's wrong? He asked her. Trying to be brave and not sniffle, she told Tommy about the boy at school that was bullying her. Apparently, it had been going on before her dad died and she just didn’t tell anyone. But she finally couldn’t take anymore. Tommy was furious, “What’s the little shit’s name? I'll find him and handle this right now!” Of course, she tells him, further making his blood boil. Polly walked in, hearing Tommy’s angry fit, “Alright, what’s it this time Tommy? You’ll find yourself with a heart attack one of these days I swear it.” Tommy tells her Cathy’s plight. “Tommy, you can’t handle this like a peaky blinder, you must go about it like a responsible parent! What are you gonna do, find the kid and cut him a smile? Put him in the cut? Then what, pay off his parents?” Tommy starts to pace, “I know the shit’s father, if he’s anything like him, they both need to be thrown in the cut. The whole lot of them are assholes! They need to learn not to fuck with the peaky blinders.” Catherine softly interjects, “I’m not a peaky blinder Tommy, or a Shelby. You know that.” With a softened expression, he bends down and strokes her cheek. “Yes, you are, Love.” he tells her gently, “You are one of us just as much as my own brother is, and we take care of our own.” With a forehead kiss, he sends her off with Polly.

Tommy calls Finn into his office, with him being close to her age he’s the perfect solution. “You’ve got it Tommy,” Finn tells him, “He will be taken care of. Cathy will be left alone. I’ll walk her to and from school just to be sure.” Tommy slaps him on the back. “Good man, Finn. Just don’t kill the boy, I’ll have Polly on my ass for sure then. She already thinks I'm overreacting. I’d do it my damn self if the fucker was grown.” The next day, she saw her bully with a swollen eye, avoiding her like the plague. It was a good day. She asked Finn on the way home what happened. “Oh, I have no idea,” he replied with a smirk, “But I bet he’ll be quiet from now on.” After dinner, she made her way to Tommy’s office. He was busy with paperwork as usual. “Come in love, how was your day?” He patted his lap in invitation. She accepted, wrapping her arms around him. “It was good. James had a swollen eye today, and he refused to even acknowledge me.” A ghost of a smirk reached his lips at this news. “Well then, looks like he messed with someone he shouldn’t have, eh? Got what was coming to him? I bet your day was good then.” Catherine is curious, she must know if he had anything to do with it. “Tommy, did you have anything to do with this? I asked Finn about it on the way home, but he was being dodgy about it.”

“Why would Finn know, love?” he asked her, “All that matters is that you are safe and happy. Don’t worry your little head about it. What’s done is done.” The topic of conversation changes to her favorite teacher, needing a new sketchbook, and what she is reading now. At bedtime, Tommy tucks her in her own bed, her nightmares finally a thing of the past. “Tommy,” she whispers to him right before he closes her bedroom door. “Yes, Love?”

“Thank you” In the darkness, he can finally release the grin he’s been holding in at her bully’s misfortune. “Don’t mention it.”

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine

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kanerallels · 2 months ago

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But You Walked In The Room And I Knew At Our First Glance, With You I Wanna Dance

@kaneraweek day 2: reunion!! I went with a unique take on the prompt, and it ended up kinda long. Hope y'all enjoy it!!

Taglist: @accidental-spice @day-to-day-thots @auroramagpie @opalknight @cassie-fanfics @ana-cantskywalker @nyxlotl (DM me or send me an ask if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!

Read on AO3!

Hera remembered her high school years fairly well. It was strange to think that it was already ten years since she’d graduated. She definitely didn’t feel old enough for that—although some days and late nights at work made her feel twice that old.

To be fair, she was a year younger than most of her classmates. She’d been a smart kid, smart enough that they’d moved her up a grade when she graduated to high school, and kept up with the other kids easily. It was those smarts that had gotten her through college if not easily, at least fairly smoothly.

And here she was, ten years after the whole experience, about to go to a reunion of her graduating class. And dreading it immensely.

“It can’t possibly be that bad,” her roommate, Omega, scoffed from where she was sitting on her bed, watching Hera get ready in the adjoining bathroom. “I mean, it’s a bunch of your friends. Aren’t you excited to see them again?”

“Some of them,” Hera admitted as she carefully applied mascara. “Lucy—she’s the one who organized the whole event—was always sweet. And it’s going to be very satisfying to see if Gabby brings Matt. They had the biggest crushes on each other back then, and now they work together.”

Omega grinned. “Nice. So what’s the big deal?”

Hera grimaced a little. “Well…”

Her friend held up a hand. “Ah, right. That guy you hate is gonna be there. I still don’t get why he’s so bad.”

Capping the mascara brush with a little more force than strictly necessary, Hera tossed it to the side. “That’s because you never met him.”

“I may as well have,” Omega remarked. Clearing her throat, she imitated Hera’s voice. “‘Kanan Jarrus was an arrogant, wise-cracking jerk who thought he was sooooo much better than all of us. I’d be glad if I never saw his stupid face again, no matter how cute I found it.’”

Shooting Omega an offended look, Hera said, “I did not find him cute.”

Omega shrugged innocently. “You talk about him an awful lot for someone who doesn’t find him cute.”

Sighing with annoyance, Hera turned back to the mirror. It was true, she’d ranted about Kanan a time or two to Omega. But in her defense, he was an obnoxious little jerk.

He’d been two years older than her, but thanks to a late birthday and homeschooling most of his life, he’d stayed back a grade. Hera’s first year of high school had been his first year as well, and they’d immediately clashed.

In her defense, he’d acted like he knew everything and took nothing seriously. And worst of all, despite seeming to ignore all the school work they were given, Kanan had matched Hera at every test and quiz. It had infuriated her, and she’d done everything in her power to defeat him at every turn.

This had continued throughout high school—to their friend’s dismay—and into the first year of college, when they discovered they’d gone to the same school. But then, a few months into her sophomore year, Hera’s mother had fallen ill. Hera had raced home, just in time to say goodbye.

It had been hard to go back after the funeral. But she’d forced herself to, regardless. The thought of Kanan getting ahead was a keen motivation.

But then she’d come back, and Kanan was gone.

At the time, she’d simply thought, good, and moved on. Later, she’d thought to wonder where he’d gone—but schoolwork and life was all consuming. Hera didn’t have time to look up someone who’d annoyed her most of her life.

(not all of it, she had to admit, if only to herself. There were times when Kanan had been…not awful. But she didn’t spend much time dwelling on that.)

Finishing her makeup, Hera turned to face Omega and spread her arms. “Well? How do I look?”

Her friend scrutinized her, taking in her outfit—a soft orange dress that contrasted her green skin beautifully, with a full skirt and wide sleeves that hit just above her elbows, one slightly off the shoulder. Nodding in approval, Omega said, “I’m so glad you let us convince you to wear a dress.”

Grimacing, Hera said, “I’d better not regret it by the end of the night.”

Omega headed with her out into the main room of their apartment, where Hera slid on her boots and grabbed her purse and a jacket. As she pulled it on, she told Omega, “If I text you the code phrase, call me and make up some excuse to get me home.”

Laughing, Omega said, “I’m sure it won’t be that bad. Have a good time.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Hera muttered darkly as she headed out the door.

~~~

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this nervous.”

Kanan glared at the grinning face of his friend, Kelly Severide. The other man looked far too amused about this situation. “I’m not nervous.”

This was a complete lie. Kanan was definitely nervous, and they both knew it. They both knew exactly why. Severide had been a year ahead of him in their high school, but they’d been pretty good friends. He’d even been there when Kanan had realized—

Enough of that. The more you think about her, the more nervous you’ll be.

“I can see you trying not to think about it,” Severide observed. “You know, I’m not exactly a great example of working through your feelings, but if you want to talk about it—”

“I’m fine,” Kanan cut him off. “Remind me why you’re coming to this event again? This isn’t your class.”

“Cause Lucy invited me. And I’m invested,” Severide added, wiggling his eyebrows. Kanan chose to ignore it.

The two of them were driving together, in Severide’s Mustang, to the event center where the Lothal City High School’s Class of ‘15 Reunion was happening. It was going to be a great event, Kanan was sure of that. Lucy, the organizer, had always been good at that kind of thing.

That wasn’t why he was nervous. He was nervous because he was about to see, for the first time in years, someone who was…important seemed a strange word for it. Hera Syndulla had shaped so much of his formative years, pushing him to work harder than he would have otherwise.

He’d kind of hated her for a couple years. She’d seemed so obnoxiously sure that she knew everything, and Kanan hadn’t been in a great place when he’d had to leave his peaceful existence as a homeschooler to head into high school. So he’d pushed back, and found that irritating her was an outlet. One that turned out to be kind of fun.

But also, just because he’d been homeschooled didn’t mean he was going to let some prodigy school him. Kanan had been ahead of almost everyone in their school, with the exception of Hera. They’d competed fiercely for the three years they’d been in school together.

And yet, that last year, things had felt different. Kanan hadn’t really been able to put a name to it for a while. Certain friends of his (namely, Severide, and his best friends Matt and Andy) had claimed that Kanan had a crush on Hera. Kanan had scoffed and ignored the commentary.

And then they’d wound up at the same college, with Hera the only familiar figure in a school full of strangers, and Kanan had started to wonder if there was a reason he listened more closely when she raised her hand in class, or why his eyes always managed to find her in a crowd.

He really hated it when Severide was right.

But just as he started thinking about it, things had changed.

(He’d seen Hera slip out of class ten minutes before it finished, and headed after her, figuring he’d offer her his notes and maybe a few teasing comments. See if he could make things a little less tense between them.

But then he’d found her in an empty hallway, clutching her phone with a death grip and staring at the wall. And the look in her eyes…Kanan knew it all too well. He’d felt it, seen it in his grandfather’s face when he’d gotten the news about Depa.

“Are you okay?” he asked, throwing aside any pretense as he approached.

Hera looked up, and for a moment Kanan wondered if she was going to punch him. But then her face crumpled and the tears spilled forth. “It’s my mom,” she whispered, choking back a sob.

And Kanan, despite their animosity, despite how much he knew she didn’t like him, felt his heart break a little for her in that moment. Stepping forward, he’d pulled her into a hug, and let her just cry.)

Hera had left the school to go see her mother. She’d only been gone for a few weeks when Kanan found himself leaving the school behind, too. And he was leaving for good—the fire academy he’d taken a test for had accepted him, and he needed to be there ASAP. So Kanan had left, finishing his associates degree online, and went to become a firefighter.

Overall, it turned out well. He loved what he was doing now, and he probably wouldn’t have had the patience for three more years of that school. But Kanan had never seen Hera again, and there were many times he wondered, with a twinge, what would have happened if he’d stayed. He knew vaguely where she was at, thanks to mutual friends, but they hadn’t seen each other in nine years.

And, as Severide pulled into the parking lot, that was about to change.

They parked, and Kanan bailed out of the car before Severide could start joking about being his wingman or something like that—he really needed to remember to not tell Severide about things like this—and headed toward the building. The nervousness built in his chest, but he wasn’t about to give in to it.

The curiosity was stronger, anyway. For the most part. He stopped at the door and glanced back to see if Severide was keeping up. He was only a few steps behind him, and was wearing a decidedly obnoxious grin. “In a hurry for some reason?”

“I just didn’t want to be stuck in a car with you anymore,” Kanan informed him, pulling the door open. “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely. Hey, you want me to talk you up in there? I can be a great wingman—”

“We both know that is absolutely not true,” Kanan told him. “So don’t even think of it.”

Severide laughed, and then they were inside.

The room was tastefully decorated, with hanging lights, a “Class of ‘15” banner hanging from the ceiling, and tables surrounded with folding chairs clustered here and there. A long buffet table outlined the far wall. There were already quite a crowd of people here, and Kanan vaguely recognized some of them. He hadn’t been close to many of the people in his grade, though.

“There’s Matt and Gabby,” Severide said, and Kanan followed his gesture to where the couple were standing by the buffet table, arm in arm. “How many people do you think have said “I told you so” about the dating thing so far?”

Kanan started to answer—and then his words stuck in his throat as he spotted the two women talking with Matt and Gabby.

The first he vaguely registered as being Lucy, the woman who’d set up the whole reunion. She’d been friends with almost everyone in their grade, despite not being the most popular among them, and had stayed more connected than anyone else.

And then next to her, in an orange dress that lit up like a sunrise against her green skin, was Hera Syndulla.

She was…different. Taller, and looked stunningly elegant and self-assured. The warmth of the smile she directed at Lucy was enough to stop Kanan dead in his tracks and…kriff. Even from a distance he could hear her voice. There weren’t enough words in the galaxy to describe that voice—like the song of a violin’s strings, pulling him toward her.

He was pretty sure Severide was laughing at him from next to him, but suddenly, Kanan wasn’t sure he cared. “You okay?” his friend asked.

Words fail me. “Fine,” Kanan said, tearing his gaze away from Hera. Come on, Jarrus, get it together. Just because she’s beautiful doesn’t mean she doesn’t hate you. And maybe she’s a terrible person now, who isn’t smart and witty and passionate about what’s right.

And maybe I’m about to sprout wings and fly out of here. “If I start to say anything too stupid,” he told Severide, “hit me.”

Grinning, Severide said, “You got it, buddy.”

Taking a deep breath, Kanan headed toward the group across the room. Here goes nothing.

~~~

So far, the event actually wasn’t that bad. It was good to see some of her friends again—Matt and Gabby were adorable together, and Lucy was busy regaling them with horror stories from her job. Hera was finally starting to relax and enjoy herself.

And then. A voice that was familiar and yet…not. Older and deeper, without any of the cracks of youth.

“Hey.”

Hera spun around, and her heart jumped into her throat. She’d recognize that smile anywhere, no matter how much the man wearing it had changed.

And he had changed a lot. Kanan had used to be her height, maybe a little taller. Now he was at least as tall as Matt, dark hair swept back in a ponytail. He had a goatee, and was wearing a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. And he looked…good. To Hera’s absolute mortification, she felt herself blush, and prayed it wasn’t obvious.

“Hey, Kanan,” Matt said, giving him a wave. “Hera, Lucy, did you know Kanan’s working with us now? Transferred over to our station…when was it?”

“About two months ago,” Kanan said. He looked as infuriatingly at ease as he always had, and Hera felt a reassuring spark of annoyance. That’s more like it. “Pretty sure Severide had something to do with it, though.”

“I will neither confirm nor deny that.” Hera’s gaze flashed to his companion—Kelly Severide, who’d been a year older than them and close friends with Kanan. His trademark grin, which exuded both cockiness and a friendly demeanor, was in place, and he was dressed more casually than anyone else in the building.

“Why am I not surprised that you’re here?” she said. “Considering this isn’t your actual graduating class.”

Severide shrugged. “You guys are more interesting than anyone else in my class. No offense, Casey.”

Matt laughed. “None taken. I’d rather hang out with you guys anyway.” Hera saw the way Gabby settled a little closer to him at his words, and held back a grin. Almost automatically, she exchanged a look with Kanan—who she’d never been friends with, but everyone in their class had bemoaned Gabby and Matt’s cluelessness over the years.

Their eyes met for a moment, and Hera forced herself not to look away. Don’t back down now, Syndulla. There was no way to get out of it without actually talking to him, unfortunately. “I never knew you were planning to be a firefighter,” she told him. Harmless enough.

“Never came up, I guess,” Kanan said with a shrug. “I never would have made it without you there pushing me, though.”

Well. That’s…unexpected. Why was he acting so…humble, almost? Not as prickly and overly confident as he had been as a kid, always interrupting in the middle of classes or getting on her nerves.

Maybe because he’s not a teenage boy with a chip on his shoulder, a more reasonable side of her brain whispered. He’s grown up. Into a man—one who’s not exactly terrible looking, either.

Oh, none of that, she scolded herself. Maybe this wasn’t her reasonable side after all.

Before she could even think of something else to say, the lights went out, and the entire room was plunged into darkness.

~~~

As darkness dropped over them, startled voices rang out and Kanan bit back a groan. This is so on brand for our life. He heard Severide curse, and a few seconds later a phone light flashed to life, nearly blinding Kanan.

It illuminated Hera’s face, a deep frown twisting her face. “Lucy, tell me you were allowed to plug in all those lights.”

“I…didn’t ask.” Lucy admitted. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“Probably just a blown fuse, in that case,” Matt guessed. “Kanan, go check that out. We’ll try and keep things from blowing up down here.”

“On it, Lieutenant,” Kanan told him.

“I’ll go with you.”

Hera’s voice was the exact last one he’d expected to hear, and Kanan threw her a startled look. “Um…”

“I went to school for mechanical engineering,” she told him with a touch of irritation that was so familiar Kanan almost laughed. Only almost, because that would get him punched in the face. “Whatever happened, it might be helpful to have someone who knows what they’re doing.”

“Fair enough,” Kanan said, deciding it really wasn’t worth a fight. “Okay, we’ll be right back. Uh—Lucy, where’s the breaker box?”

“The place is only one floor, so…somewhere on the south side of the building?” Lucy offered. “I didn’t see it when I took the tour, so it’s somewhere out of the way. It’s not that big, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“Got it,” Kanan said. Pulling out his own phone and switching on the flashlight, he remembered a doorway on the far side of the room he’d spotted earlier and started toward it.

And then stopped, realizing Hera wasn’t following him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her talking to Gabby, frowning fiercely. Finally, she gave a quick nod, and turned to head after Kanan.

Interesting. Kanan briefly contemplated asking what that was about, but decided to not push his luck. Instead, he waited for her to catch up with him. “Ready?” he asked.

“Ready,” Hera said, and they headed through the crowd to the far side of the room.

Things were already a mess—people panicking, pushing into others. Kanan had to stop multiple times to calm down a few people. Hera helped with that, and Kanan was surprised at how quickly people listened to her. Her calm, authoritative tone pulled many a former classmate out of a panicked state by the time they’d made it to the far side of the room.

“I’m officially impressed,” Kanan told her as he tried the door. It swung open, and he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. “Where’d you learn crowd control like that?”

“The military,” Hera told him, stepping through the door he held open for her, and Kanan’s eyebrows shot up.

“I…didn’t know you were interested in that,” he said, following her through the door and into an empty, dark hallway. “Back in high school, anyway.”

Hera shrugged, holding up her phone to illuminate the hall. “It helped pay my way through college after…well, I needed the free tuition. And I always wanted to do something to help people.”

“That, I remember,” Kanan said, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as memories whispered through his mind. “With the amount of actual physical fights you got into, I’m shocked you were the valedictorian.”

“Not for lack of trying on your part,” Hera quipped as they kept moving. “You were certainly motivated to get there before me.”

“Nah, not valedictorian,” Kanan said. “I definitely didn’t have what it took to make a speech in front of everyone. You were way better for that. I just wanted to beat you at everything else.”

Hera laughed, and Kanan felt like his heart could take flight. He’d never made her laugh before, and he suddenly thought he’d do anything to hear the sound again. “Oh, is that all?”

“That’s all,” Kanan agreed, pausing to squint at a door. Satisfied it wasn’t what he was looking for, he kept going, adding, “I rarely succeeded, though.”

He heard Hera make a soft, thoughtful noise. “You’re so much less—you’re different than I remembered.”

Kanan couldn’t quite hold back a snort of amusement as they turned a corner. “You mean less obnoxious, don’t you?”

“I didn’t say that,” Hera said. “But now that you mention it…”

“Oh, thanks,” Kanan said, unable to hold back a grin. “But you’re not wrong, I was kind of a pain when I was a kid. Especially then. I was ticked off about being shoved into the public school system and being looked down on just because the way I had learned was different than everyone else. You…kind of happened to be an easy target because you were just as ready to pick a fight as I was. And after a while it got kind of fun.”

He heard Hera let out a scoff. “Oh, very flattering.”

“Hey, you just called me obnoxious,” Kanan pointed out. “Fair is fair.” He paused at a new junction, pointing his phone light toward a nearby door. “Huh. Utilities—that could be it.”

“Let’s check it out,” Hera agreed.

The door turned out to be locked. But Hera dug through her purse and produced a mini tool kit. With the contents, they managed to pick the lock.

“I still can’t believe you carry a tool kit with you everywhere,” Kanan said, pushing the door open. The room inside was dark, but he lifted his phone, illuminating the wall, and—bingo. Breaker box.

“Let’s just say I’ve learned it’s better to be safe than sorry,” Hera told him wryly. “And as a firefighter, you should know it’s smart to be prepared.”

“Oh, I do,” Kanan assured her, pulling open the panel and shining his light on it. “I just don’t expect everyone else to be. I should have known better when it comes to you, though.”

“You should have,” Hera agreed. “Do you actually know what you’re doing over there?”

“More or less, yeah.”

“That’s reassuring,” Hera quipped. “Move over, I’ll take a look.”

“All yours.” Kanan shifted to the side, keeping the light on the interior of the panel as Hera slid into the gap, inches away from him as she studied the controls. Inches that Kanan found himself suddenly all too aware of.

~~~

There was absolutely nothing to think about being inches away from Kanan Jarrus. It was simply a fact. There was nothing particularly unusual about it, about being able to sense him breathing, his arm brushing against hers every so often.

Focus, Syndulla, Hera told herself, studying the panel. The sooner the lights came back on, the better. That was all that was throwing her off balance, the darkness. Not Kanan, or the fact that he actually turned out to be kind and friendly and made stupid jokes at his own expense.

And now he was talking again, and Hera pulled her attention back to him.

“So, you’re in the military,” he said. “And a mechanical engineer? Are you secretly a superhero in your spare time? Dance fighter, maybe?”

Hera couldn’t hold back a laugh. “No—and I’m not on active duty,” she said. “I’m currently working at a local mechanic shop for the time being, but…I’ve got my eye on something else. We’ll see how it works out.”

“Busy as ever,” Kanan said, and she could all but hear his grin. “Maybe it’s a public school overachiever thing.”

Scoffing, Hera said, “I like to think it’s uniquely me. Why did you ever join public school if you have such disdain for it?”

“I don’t have disdain for it,” Kanan corrected her. “I just think that there are some big issues with—you know what, I’m not going into this rant right now. Anyways, it wasn’t really my choice to go to public school.”

“I think I’ve got it,” Hera said, reaching up and flipping a few switches. “Why did you have to go, then?”

He went quiet, and Hera wondered what she’d said, if he’d even heard her. Then the lights finally burst to life, and she could see his face. Serious and…sad, holding an old grief that Hera instantly recognized.

“My mom died,” he said. “And my stepdad had a full time job, and my grandpa was working as a sergeant in the LCPD back then, so…there was no one else to teach me. So into public school I went.”

Hera stared at him, shock slicing at the inside of her chest. “What—how did I never know about this?”

Shrugging, Kanan switched off his phone flashlight, pocketing it. “We weren’t exactly close back then—and I didn’t really know what to expect in public school. That first year, I…didn’t really tell anyone. Believe it or not, Severide was the first person I told.”

“What did he say?” Hera asked, finding herself dazed in the wake of his words. All this time… Looking back, she remembered him bringing his stepfather or grandfather to school events, but never his mother. And the day she’d found out that her mother was dying…he was there. This is why.

Kanan’s smile was bright, but still sad. “Offered to buy me a beer. We were seventeen at the time, as I recall.”

Hera snorted. “Sounds about right.” She paused, rallying the words she wanted to say. “I’m so sorry. That I didn’t know, and that—that I was so awful to you back then.”

Kanan laughed, and it was a real laugh. “I mean…a little, yeah. But I was awful, too. Such is the way of being a teenager sometimes. And having an archnemesis really helped take my mind off everything. So seriously, don’t worry about it. I’ll just be happy if we can be friends now.”

Friends with Kanan Jarrus. Somehow, it…didn’t sound terrible. Hera of an hour ago would scarcely have believed it, and yet? “Friends it is,” Hera agreed.

“Good,” Kanan said.

They closed up the breaker box and headed out of the room and back into the hallway. Even from a distance, Hera could hear relieved voices and the sound of music starting up. “Looks like everything’s up and running again,” she observed. “We should probably get back to the others.”

“Yeah,” Kanan said, and Hera knew the tone in his voice. She’d heard it a hundred times in high school, when he’d been about to pull some insane stunt, when he was about to figure out some way around the rules in the classroom. It was a tone that tended to herald mischief and ignoring the rules.

Spinning around, she squinted at him suspiciously. “What?”

“Nothing,” Kanan said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Just—honestly I don’t really want to go back to the party. Severide’s been driving me crazy, and I’m just…” he trailed off, and Hera saw the smallest flicker of the sadness from earlier cross his face in a heartbeat. “Not in the mood for it all,” he finished.

“Fair enough,” Hera said. “Do you have any better plans?”

Kanan’s startled gaze flicked up and met hers. “Are you saying you’re in?”

“Are you saying you have a plan?” Hera countered.

The corner of his mouth tipped upward. “I’m saying I have a mechanical engineer with a tool kit, and…” he trailed off, pointing at a nearby door.

Hera glanced at it, reading the sign on it. Roof access: employees only. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe a little,” Kanan said, his grin widening. “Well?”

Kriff. How was it that over the course of an hour or so, the idea of hanging out on a roof with Kanan Jarrus had somehow become appealing? But…she wanted to spend more time with him. Ask him more questions, see him smile more.

She’d definitely lost her mind. “Let’s do it.”

~~~

The roof of the building wasn’t too far off of the ground, which did cut down on the appeal a little. But when Kanan finally got the door open, a fresh breeze cut across his face and it was worth it.

(somehow, having to admit what had happened to his mother had locked iron bands around his chest, and Kanan couldn’t bring himself to go back to laughing and joking with the others. He needed to breathe, to be away from everyone else.

Well. Almost everyone else.)

Crossing her arms, Hera shivered a little as she stepped out onto the rooftop behind him. It was already getting dark, the last of the sunlight bleeding away behind the horizon. “Remind me why I went along with this plan?”

“Well, you never went along with any of my plans in high school,” Kanan pointed out. “Consider this an opportunity to make up for all that.”

“I still think most of those plans were nuts,” Hera said, pulling her arms tighter to herself as another breeze whisked past them.

Snapping his fingers, Kanan said, “I knew I should have worn that suit coat after all. Could have done the chivalrous thing and given you my jacket.”

“And I knew I should have worn the jacket I actually brought with me,” Hera quipped. “And yet it’s sitting safely inside where I don’t need it.”

“We all have regrets,” Kanan said, and Hera rolled her eyes at him. “Come on—I bet we can get out of the wind over there.”

The roof was crisscrossed with big silver vent shafts, and they headed to the far side of one, settling on the roof behind it to shelter themselves from the wind. Letting his head drop back against one, Kanan squinted up at the sky. “Shouldn’t be too long before the stars come out.”

Hera dropped down next to him. “Why in the name of the Force did I think it was a good idea to wear this dress?”

Kanan couldn’t quite resist a glance toward her— skirts tucked around her legs, one of her lekku resting on her bare shoulder. How could she look so perfectly at ease, yet stunning at the same time? “You look amazing.” The compliment slipped out before he could think better of it, and he didn’t really want to.

She flicked a glance at him, and Kanan’s heart skipped a beat. Then she rolled her eyes. “It’s too cold for me to deal with you making fun of me.”

She wasn’t wrong about the cold—it was early autumn, but there was already a nip in the air that promised frost on the way. Even in long sleeves, Kanan was cold. But it was worth it, in his mind.

“Just think,” he mused. “Ten years ago around this time of year, we were probably already a month or so into school. Determined to destroy each other at all cost. Those were the days.”

Letting out a snort of amusement, Hera shifted a little closer to him. When Kanan glanced at her, she scowled at him. “You’re warm, and it’s freezing out. Don’t judge me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kanan said, holding back a laugh. “You’re yelling at me—now it really feels like high school.”

Hera scoffed. “Oh, we never would have hung out like this back then. Not without me trying to toss you over the edge of the building.”

It’s true, Kanan thought. They never would have sat like they did now, arms brushing, Hera’s fingers nearly touching his. Suddenly, he didn’t miss high school at all.

“So,” Hera said. “I don’t think I ever heard why exactly you just disappeared from our college.”

“And you must have missed me so much,” Kanan teased, and Hera rolled her eyes. Turning serious, Kanan explained, “I got into a really good fire academy I’d applied to across the country. It was leave for the training sessions then or wait for the next class, so I went. Finished my degree online, got certified as an EMT when I was done with that.”

“You’re an EMT, too?” Hera said, raising an eyebrow.

“Not professionally, I’m just certified.”

Shaking her head, Hera said, “Between the two of us, we might have enough random skills to fix the world.”

“Nice,” Kanan said. “Now we just need a friend willing to take over and put us in charge.”

Hera laughed. “Brilliant plan. Oh—look, the first star!”

For a moment, they fell silent, watching the stars slowly flicker to life in the darkening sky. Kanan felt Hera shiver next to him, and, after a moment of indecision, lifted his arm and slipped it around her shoulders.

He felt her stiffen a little, and paused. “Is this okay? I just thought—”

“It’s fine,” Hera assured him, settling a little closer to him. Kanan felt his heart skip a beat, then start pounding harder than ever as her head settled right next to his shoulder. “I grew up where 60 degrees was cold, and I’ve never really been able to shake that,” she told him, letting out a sigh. “Not exactly convenient.”

“I can imagine,” Kanan said, unable to tear his eyes away from her. Even in the dim light, he could see the patterns on her lekku, could smell her soap. “Hey,” he said. “Remember like an hour ago when you hated me?”

He felt the warm chuckle Hera let out before he heard it. “Yeah, well, you’re warm and this rooftop isn’t. So don’t read too much into it.”

“I wouldn't dream of it. You want to go back inside?”

“Not yet.”

The sky grew darker, and the stars multiplied. Staring up at them, Kanan said, “Remind me, you had an astronomy phase, right?”

“You could say that,” Hera agreed. “Why?”

“Just wondering if you remembered any of the constellations. My mom taught me a lot of them,” he told her, wondering why even as he spoke. As a rule, Kanan talked about Depa to exactly three people—Mace, Gray, and his therapist. But here he was, reliving memories with a woman who’d hated him for years. A woman who he found it all too easy to talk to. “We borrowed a telescope from a family friend once, and looked at all of them, at the moon. I dropped it when we were bringing it inside, and broke the lens. But Mom—” Kanan stopped, feeling his throat tighten. “She said it was fine. Told the friend she broke it, so I wouldn’t feel bad. She always had my back, even if she made me help pay for it.”

Letting out a shaky laugh, he pressed his eyes closed against the blurring stars. “Sorry. I don’t know why—you’re easy to talk to, I guess.”

Hera didn’t say anything for a moment. “I get it,” she said quietly. “It sneaks up on you. My mom’s been gone since college, but I—I still miss her. I still want to tell her everything. I’m not really as close to the rest of my family—my brother’s been in Europe for a long time now, and my father is…difficult to get along with. I miss having someone I can tell anything to without worrying I’ll be belittled or made fun of.”

“Anyone who belittles you is out of their mind,” Kanan said heartfeltly. “You can and always have done everything you set your mind to. Except beat me in that math final.”

“Don’t make me rethink being friends with you,” Hera warned him.

“Oh, we’re friends now?”

“Not if you keep pushing it.”

“Understood.”

They fell silent again, watching the stars for a while. “Thanks for listening,” Kanan finally said. “I don’t…really talk about my mom with people that often. Most of my coworkers and friends didn’t know her, and I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse. I don’t think I’ve even told my grandfather that story.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Hera told him, and Kanan smiled.

“Thanks, Hera.”

“Anytime,” she said, and there was something in her voice that Kanan didn’t quite understand.

Glancing at her, he squinted, trying to read the emotion on her face in the darkness. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Hera said. “Just—oh, kriff, I cannot believe I’m telling you this.”

“Telling me what?” Kanan asked slowly.

Her grimace was obvious even in the shadows as she squared her shoulders. “I’m thinking about applying for a job at NASA.”

Kanan’s eyebrows shot upward. “NASA?”

“Yeah,” Hera said. “I originally applied to be an aerospace engineer, but I…okay this is stupid. But when I was a kid, I wanted to be an astronaut and it still sounds like it would be an incredible career, and if you’re going to laugh at me just get it over with—”

“I’m not laughing,” Kanan told her immediately. “You’re talking to the guy who grew up to become a firefighter, remember? Being an astronaut sounds incredible, and you’d be amazing at it.”

Hera sent him a skeptical sideways glance. “You just saw me again for the first time in eight years, and you already know that?”

“You’ve always been good at whatever you set your mind to,” Kanan told her, hoping his sincerity came forth in his words. “Even back in high school. Except, of course—”

“Do not bring up the math test.”

“Shutting up now.”

Hera laughed, and was silent for a moment. “I haven’t told anyone about this,” she told him. “Not even my roommate, Omega. I don’t know why I told you.”

“I’m glad you did,” Kanan told her, and caught the flash of white that was her smile.

They stayed like that for a while longer, watching the stars and just…talking. Catching up on pieces of the past eight years, and slowly getting to know each other as friends. Not enemies, not teenagers bent on destroying the other.

Just friends. Mostly. Because when they got up to go inside, driven in by freezing cold wind and a dozen increasingly dramatic texts from Severide, Kanan offered Hera his hand, helping her to her feet. And when she took it, she didn’t let it go until they finally reached the door and stepped inside.

~~~

Usually, Hera hated it when she was wrong. Generally it was for work stuff, and she had to redo something she’d been working on for days now.

But right now, heading into the parking lot with her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, she was more than happy to be wrong.

It turned out Kanan wasn’t an insufferable jerk. Not any more, at least. He was…a friend. Who’d encouraged her, teased her, and maybe made her blush a little bit when he told her she looked nice.

If younger me could see me now, Hera thought wryly. She was okay with that, though. After all, what was growing up but readjusting your perspective time after time? Now Kanan was in her life again, even as a friend, and—

Wait.

He was in her life. But how exactly were things supposed to stay that way? She knew he worked at the same firehouse as Matt, Gabby, and Severide, but not how to contact him. She certainly didn’t have his phone number, and it was shocking to admit that she wanted it. And a little embarrassing.

But sometimes you had to be a little embarrassed for a good cause.

Turning, Hera stared across the parking lot. The gathering had broken up not long after they came in, and she’d lost Kanan in the crowd. If she remembered right, he’d come with Severide. You’d think I could spot one ridiculously tall firefighter in a crowd…

But there was no sign of him, and Hera pushed back an unreasonable pang. She could always reach out to Gabby or one of the others if necessary. It certainly wouldn’t be eight years again, not if she could help it.

Pretending she wasn’t still looking for any sign of him, she turned and headed toward her car.

She’d made it to her car, and was digging for her car keys when she heard a shout behind her. Instinctively, Hera spun toward it, her hand slipping into her purse—and then someone crashed into her.

She stumbled, nearly toppling backward, but a strong arm around her waist caught her, pulling her upright and face to face with Kanan. “Sorry,” he said, breathing hard. “Thought I was gonna miss you.”

“So the solution was to barrel into me at top speed?” Hera asked, lifting an eyebrow and pretending like a smile wasn’t struggling its way to the surface.

Kanan must have been able to tell, though, because he grinned back. “It worked, didn’t it?” He seemed to realize he was still holding her, and let go, stepping back a little. “Look, last time we went our separate ways, we didn’t talk for eight years. I don’t know about you, but—”

“I don’t want that, either,” Hera told him, and a brilliant smile spread across Kanan’s face.

“Good. Then, uh, can I ask for your number?”

“After all that, I think it would be heartless to say no,” Hera said dryly, digging inside her purse. Producing her wallet, she pulled out one of the business cards from the mechanic shop she worked at, and a pen, and scribbled down her number. Presenting it to him, she said, “Try and use it wisely.”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing otherwise,” Kanan said gravely, accepting the card. The smile he wore and the way he studied the card undercut the tone somewhat, and Hera couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

“It was good to see you again,” she told him, and meant it.

“It was good to see you, too,” Kanan said, and smiled at her in a way that made her heart flutter. You really are crazy, Syndulla. First astronaut school, now this.

But who knows? She thought as he strolled away, a spring in his step. Stranger things have happened.

#hera syndulla #kanan jarrus #kanera #star wars rebels #swr #i'm not gonna tag all the cameos from my new favorite procedural drama. let's just put #crossover #modern au #man my modern au stories get LONG #but i love them. so there #kaneraweek2024 #writing stories is a kind of magic too

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yzeltia · 3 months ago

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FFXIVwrite2024 17. Sally

Featuring: @erickgage 's Erick Gage. Allusion to @driftward 's Zoisette Vauban Characters: Sally, U'rahn Nuhn, Violet Fisher, Thancred Waters, Alisaie Leveilleur, Alphinaud Leveilleur, Jullus pyr Norbanus, Estinien Wrymblood, Krile Baldesion, G'raha Tia, Y'shtola Rhul, Jannie Eyradoux Fortemps, Artriole Fortemps, Haurchefaunt Fortemps Rating: T Summary: The Scions and friends mourn the loss of one of their own. Notes: Used lines from Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden

U’rahn swallowed as he looked at the crowd out familiar, yet sad faces, adjusting his tie briefly before leaning into the podium checking in with Y’shtola as she tended to the one most aggrieved by the loss as she sat stunned. Getting a nod that it was time, he cleared his throat and began. “Thank you all for coming today. We all loved Sally dearly. She was the most faithful of companions and a true Scion in her own right. I do not have the words to describe the loss we will feel in our lives without her, but I know we collectively have fond memories of her and invite those who have one they’d like to share to come up and take the stage.

Violet shifted, looking over her shoulders to see if anyone else would be brave enough to go first. “Oh swive me,” he muttered under her breath before standing and relieving U’rahn of the mic. “Sally was always dependable. She saw me through so many…many mistakes and at one time, saved me from ruining a good friendship…”

Violet stretched in the cramped hull of the ship, careful not to knock her hand against the metal interior with her bottle of ale. Across from her, Thancred nursed his own bottle, still shaken from the revelations of the Word of the Mother. This little excursion, Violet had thought, was a good means to get him to forget. At the very least he was in a safe controlled environment where he could get it out of his system.

Eyeing his goatee, she grunted then straddled his lap, tilting his chin up with a finger. “I really hate this thing. When are you going to shave it,” she asked with a smirk.

“Haven’t heard a complaint from a lady yet,” Thancred responded gruffly, wobbling his head as he tried to move from her finger.

“I’m a lady,” Violet said, raising her brow.

“Ne’er knew a lady to say ‘swiven’ was her favorite word,” Thancred growled.

“Word. Expletive. Adjective. Verb,” Violet listed.

Thancred jerked his head away then held Violet by the small of her back as he sat up. “A regular grammar dictionary are you now?”

Violet flushed, finding his head pressed against her breasts as he embraced her. They’d always exchanged innuendos, yet always as careful banter as he’d had eyes for only Minfilia…perhaps not eyes, but definitely his heart. Now she was gone and Violet even tipsy could sense the loneliness. Frowning, she stroked through his hair, pulling his head back a bit as she gazed down into his eyes.

Her heart raced a moment, their gaze locked. Shyly, she leaned forward, drawing her face in before being lurched off Thancred’s lap as they ran aground. “Swiven hells,” she huffed, getting up to go see what they’d found. Finding themselves running along a sandbar, she raked her hair back then focused on getting them back on course.

“Sorry,” Thancred mumbled from behind, leaning forward to make sure they were free of the obstacle.

“Don’t mention it. Ever,” Violet said, face still flushed. “Why don’t you get us some water? Maybe we talk about Minfilia and Lousioux and drown our sorrows in memory instead.”

Violet drummed her fingers on the side of the podium for a moment then shook her head. “Anyway. She was beautiful and she’ll be missed,” she said before returning to take a seat, Riol looking at her with his brow raised a moment before looking away immediately as she snapped her attention to him.

Alisaie came up next, Urianger behind her with his hand on her shoulder as she snuffled away. “Sally was…I didn’t even get to say goodbye…I…Urianger, please, the poem,” she squeaked, unable to prevent the tears from coming.

Urianger nodded then cleared his throat, “Stop all the chronometers, cut off the tomestones. Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone…

Alisaie crossed her arms as she pressed her cheek up against the porthole, watching outward into the empty nothingness of the sea. “Are we there yet?” she sighed.

“Thou will be upon the shore again before thou knows it,” Urianger said, not looking up from his book.

“I’m bored though. There’s nothing to do in this cramped tin can,” she lamented, knocking her knuckles against the side.

“There is an endless expanse of sea just outside your window. A whole hidden world. Relax, and take it in,” Urianger responded, flipping a page.

Alisaie rolled her eyes and let her attention wander out into the empty expanse, though after a bit, she noticed that something was amiss with the veil-like light filtering down from the sea above. Squinting carefully, she began to notice a scalelike quality to veil. Her eyes widened, realizing it was a large school of fish swimming in perfect unison.

This didn’t go interrupted though. Soon a large maw appeared and scooped up the lot followed by a low song. Alisaie pressed her nose against the glass, hearing a melody all around them as two baby whales circled about their parents, scooping more of the fish veil as the rest of the school scattered. She watched in awe, the little family following alongside them. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad under the sea.

“...Pour away the ocean, and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good,” Urianger finished before taking a sobbing Alisaie back to her seat.

Alphinaud followed his sister, looking out at the crowd gravely. “I’m not sure what to say. I thought Sally would long be a beloved part of the Scions. I have never been found of the water, as many of you know, but Sally helped me overcome my fear of the swimming and so much more…”

Alphinaud hugged his knees, the Thavnair’s humidity getting to him. Jullus beside him had long discarded his coat into the bowls of their ship, leaning over the side now touching the still seawater as they floated through a wooded lagoon they surfaced in. Fireflies danced about them as Jullus’s hand reached for Alphinaud’s

“Sally sure found us the perfect spot. This place is almost like a dream,” Jullus breathed out before turning to the other.

Locusts cried while crickets creaked. Frogs sang to one another as catfish splashed around them. Their vessel seemed to slowly spin, making Alphinaud slightly dizzy. He leaned into Jullus who caught him then pressed their foreheads together, smiling softly before tilting his head to go for a kiss.

Alphinaud blushed as the memory ran across his mind, hand briefly coming up to touch his lips before being pushed aside by Estinien. “Sally helped me take on my greatest foe and brought me my greatest rewards,” he said into the mic as it squeaked out.

Estinien’s eyes widened as his prey came into view, the console beeping as the creature came closer. “By the Fury, Sally, there she is. The great squid of the Indigo Deep. Tonight we dine like the saints of eld,” he said before getting his harpoon ready.

“No one believes you’ve taken on and fried a giant squid,” Krile interrupted from the audience, giving G’raha tissues as he wept. “Oh, Raha. You didn’t even know Sally.”

“I knew OF her though! So many adventures. Every one meticulously logged so that I felt as if I was there myself,” G’raha blubbered.

“Prayers…Sorrows…,” Krile sighed, patting his back.

“I have a memory,” Jannie chimed in, cradling Haurchefant in her arms as he slept. She stood, taking the podium as Estinien grumpily stepped down. “Sally made sure that Arteriole was there in time for Haurchefaunt’s birth.”

Jannie cried out as she felt another contraction ring through her body. She cursed Rahn for convincing her that the relaxing sea air of Costa del Sol would do her some good before the pregnancy…but also was relieved to have him around as he fetched her water. Grateful that he took his doula training very seriously in preparation for his own daughters. Still, her husband hadn’t come with them, instead seeing to business in Limsa Lominsa in hopes of fostering further trade between the seaside nation and Isghard. For that, she felt might not forgive him.

“Rahn! I swear if Arty misses his son's birth I will swiven let him throw you into the deepest dungeon of the Vault where even Aymeric will not find you,” she hissed before letting out an appreciated whine as he laid out a cold cloth over her head.

“Okay okay! Let it all out. I am used to the verbal abuse of the huntresses by now,” U’rahn assured her.

“Yeah! Let Rahn have it,” Violet cheered, keeping her distance from the scene.

“I promise Arty is coming. Sally will see him here! In the meantime, big breaths and squeeze me. Don’t worry, you can’t break me!”

“I’m sure going to try,” Jannie hissed, taking his hand and squeezing it with all her might.

“Jannie! Jannie my love! I’ve come with a courjen!” Arteriole’s voice called out from across the beach, looking absolutely winded as he did his best to run through the sand, their baby bag tucked under his arm while a little lalafell in a lab coat followed.

Jannie let out a sigh, looking out to Sally in the distance and smiling before closing her eyes, relieved and ready to begin to bring their son into the world.

“If it wasn’t for Sally, you wouldn’t have ever gotten to meet your Uncle Rahn,” Jannie cooed to Haurchefant as he stirred awake, U’rahn swallowing behind her as she went to take a seat.

“Ah. Well, if that’s everyone…We will now let her sink to the depths of the aquarium where she can live out her days among us and in the ocean waters she loved so much. For the last time ladies and gentlemen: Dive Sally, Dive,” U’rahn said solemnly, getting a wail of grief from the front row as the urn plunged into the water.

In the back a door swung open, Erick gage scanning the crowd then up at the stage. “What is wrong with all of you? This is a place of business!! Who throws a funeral for a submarine!?"

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ladyeyrewrites · 1 month ago

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Feelings Hurled Like Hand Grenades

Read Chapter One

Chapter Two: To Reason With Outrage

Rated M

3,728 words

Tony was ten the last time he saw his brother Tommy, or at least the last time he caught more than a glimpse of his older brother sitting in a pew at the back of their Nonna’s church, or the broad expanse of Tommy’s black-clad back as he hurried from the church trailed by the human embodiment of a golden retriever.

That first sighting of Tommy sitting in the back pew with his mystery friend – boyfriend, according to Mikey – had sparked a series of emotions in Tony.

First, childish hope that his older brother had finally returned to rescue him. But Tony had shaken that hope away. He was almost thirty. He didn’t need rescuing. Didn’t need some prodigal brother sweeping in to save the day. He was doing just fine without Tommy, thank you very much.

Besides, Tommy hadn’t stayed long. He’d arrived right before the service started and left as soon as it ended and Tony hadn’t even gotten to speak to his brother, unlike Mikey. He wasn’t sure if he was jealous of Mikey or not. On the one hand yes, because Mikey got the chance to say whatever it was Mikey wanted to say, but on the other hand what would Tony have even said to Tommy? In the months since the funeral Tony had been running through all sorts of hypothetical conversations he might have had with his oldest brother, running the gamut from tearful reunion to fisticuffs. He wasn’t sure which scenario he would have preferred.