#the way the sunlight shone from behind a cloud

[rafestify]

OMG PLEASE WRITE SOMETHING WITH JJ X FEM READER WHERE HE SURVIVED I NEED HAPPY ENDING PLEASE

Blue Crown — JJ Maybank

**Season 4 part 2 spoiler alert! read at your own risks ⚠️

Summary : In which the only way to help JJ is by getting that blue crown back from Chandler Groff.

JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

Warnings : usage of knife, heavy language, violence, blood, gun, english is not my first language

A/N : im afraid this is my coping mechanism, oh btw rafe's not in this story i just dont know what i would do with him

The midday sun blazed high, unbroken and blinding, but the sandstorm approached like a golden wave, shimmering in the light. The air grew hot and dry, buzzing with an electric anticipation as gusts began to whip up the ground. In moments, the bright world transformed, the desert around cloaked in a chaotic dance of light and sand.

Grains swirled furiously, each one catching the sunlight, creating a blinding haze of gold and white. Visibility shrank to a few feet, the sandstorm casting the world in a strange, glowing fog. It was harsh, relentless, every breath filled with the sting of earth and sun, an unstoppable force of nature bearing down with brilliant fury.

JJ’s feet finally hit the dusty ground, the force of his landing sending a cloud of sand and dirt rising into the air. The narrow alleyway of Essaouira echoed with the sound of his boots hitting the cobblestones as he steadied himself. He clutched the wrapped blue crown in his hands, his knuckles white. “You good?” I asked, my voice full of concern as I stepped closer to him, eyes scanning his face for any signs of strain.

“I’m good, I’m good. I’m better, actually. I’m great!” JJ said with a grin that seemed to spread across his face like wildfire. He rushed over to me, pulling the scarf from the crown with quick, excited movements. “Cause look!” he exclaimed, his voice full of energy.

He held up the crown, now revealed, but it was covered in dust, the rich blue stones clouded by the grime of their journey. Despite the dirt, the crown’s intricate design was unmistakable, its value evident even beneath the layers of dust. My breath caught in my throat as I saw it, this relic, this symbol of everything we had lost. “No way, oh my god,” I whispered, my eyes wide with disbelief. My grin mirrored JJ’s as we both stood there for a moment, taking in the weight of the moment.

JJ’s loud cheer broke the silence, ringing out into the alleyway and bouncing off the high walls of the medina. “I... I did it!” he shouted, the sheer joy and relief in his voice undeniable.

I couldn’t help but laugh, my heart swelling with pride. “Do you know what this means?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, as if I didn’t want to jinx it.

“Oh yeah, I do,” JJ said, his grin widening. His eyes shone with an intensity that made everything feel possible again. “We’re getting it back. We’re getting back our home.”

His words hung in the air between us, full of hope and the promise of a new beginning. I couldn’t help but smile as I wrapped my arms around him tightly. “You did it, baby. You did it!” I whispered in his ear, my heart hammering in my chest.

For a moment, everything felt right, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from our shoulders. But then, a cold chill ran down my spine, and I sensed something shift in the air. JJ’s expression changed in an instant, his eyes narrowing as he looked behind me, his body tensing. Without a word, he grabbed my arm and pulled me back, hard. “Wait, wait, hey! Go, go, go!” he shouted, his voice urgent, his grip tight on my wrist.

Before I could react, a sharp crack echoed through the air. The sound of a gunshot. The bullet whizzed past us, a split second away from tearing through the space where we had just been standing. My heart skipped a beat, and my body went into full panic mode.

“Run, run, run!” JJ yelled, pushing me forward, his hand at the small of my back, guiding me with the force of his desperation. The narrow streets of Essaouira stretched out ahead of us, winding and twisting like a maze, but we had no time to think, only to move. The sound of the gunshot still reverberated in my ears as we sprinted through the bustling medina, the faded buildings on either side almost closing in on us, the warm air heavy with the scent of saltwater from the distant ocean.

I could hear the sound of heavy boots behind us, pounding against the stones. The mercenaries were closing in. I could feel my lungs burning as I pushed my legs harder, adrenaline fueling every step.

“C’mon, Y/N, we gotta find the others!” JJ shouted from ahead, his voice sharp but full of focus. He had a plan. I could tell by the way he moved, the urgency in his every step. He was determined, but so was I. We had come this far, and we weren’t about to lose everything now.

We reached a narrow staircase that led downward into the heart of the maze of Essaouira’s old city. The steps were uneven, some worn smooth by centuries of footsteps, others jagged and crumbling. We had to be careful as we descended, not just from the chase, but from the danger of slipping on the worn stones. My pulse raced as we moved, the sound of our feet pounding against the stone seeming deafening in the otherwise still air.

JJ called out to me, “Hey, Y/N! This way!” His voice came from behind, but I didn’t look back. I had a feeling this was our only chance to lose the mercenaries. I kept my head down and pushed forward, following the winding path through the narrow streets and alleys.

Finally, we reached a small open space near the bottom of the staircase, a brief moment of cover amidst the tightly packed buildings. The view of the city below was dizzying, the sea stretched out in the distance, and the maze of whitewashed houses. But I couldn’t afford to enjoy the view, or at least not yet. I turned to take a breath, my body trembling with exhaustion, “J!” I called out and just as I did, I felt a sharp pressure against my neck. A strong arm wrapped around me from behind, dragging me backward with frightening speed.

I gasped, my breath choking in my throat, as I struggled against the iron grip around my neck. My heart hammered in fear. “Shh!” The man behind me grunted, his grip tightening, cutting off any chance of air. My mind raced—how had they gotten so close? Where was JJ?

“Quiet, quiet. Shut—” His voice was low, guttural, as he squeezed harder.

“J!” I managed to croak out, each word a desperate gasp for air.

“Y/N,” I heard JJ’s voice, strained but strong, coming from the shadows. My heart leapt as I caught sight of him, standing firm, one arm shielding his face from the dust swirling in the air. “JJ!” I cried, relief flooding my chest, though fear still gripped me.

“Let her go,” JJ commanded, his voice cold but unwavering.

The man behind me stiffened, and I heard him growl, “Stop right there.” And that was when the weight of the situation hit me. The voice was unmistakable, Chandler Groff. JJ's biological father.

I swallowed hard, every muscle in my body tense, ready to fight back, but I couldn’t move. My body was locked in place, held captive by his suffocating grip. All I could do was let out weak grunts, trying to free myself from the hold, my hands instinctively pressing against his arm in a futile attempt to loosen it.

“Don’t move,” Groff ordered, his voice venomous as he squeezed harder. My lungs burned, and I gasped for air. His grip was like iron, and I could feel my vision beginning to blur. I tapped at his arm in a silent plea, trying to signal that I couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t seem to care.

“You know what I want,” Groff said, his voice laced with a twisted calm as he extended his hand toward JJ. “Give it to me.”

JJ’s voice was barely above a whisper, but it was full of resolve. “Just let her go.”

Groff chuckled bitterly, his breath hot against my ear. “You could’ve stuck with me, JJ,” he sneered, his words dripping with regret. “Think of what you could’ve had."

I felt the cold edge of a knife press against my cheek, and my breath caught in fear. “But now,” Groff continued, his voice growing darker, “you’re going to get nothing.”

I felt his grip tighten again as he hissed, “Nothing.”

JJ seemed distant, as if lost in his own thoughts. His eyes, focused but distant, flickered between Groff and the crown in his hand. Then, in a quiet but firm voice, he spoke. “No.” The word was resolute, cutting through the tension like a blade. He muttered to himself, barely audible, “I already have everything.”

I looked at him, confusion and worry swirling in my chest, but JJ didn’t seem to notice. His gaze grew distant, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “And I already have everything I’ve wanted,” he continued, his voice almost hollow, as if he was saying the words to convince himself. “Things that you’ll never have,” he added, his smile somehow broken.

Suddenly, without warning, JJ held out the crown, the weight of it now settling between us like a silent challenge. His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it. “You want the crown?”

Groff’s eyes locked onto the crown, and for a moment, his expression softened, as if the object was the only thing that mattered. “Sure, take it,” JJ said, his words cold, almost dismissive. “Take it. I don’t want it,” he reassured, his eyes never leaving Groff’s.

“Just… let her go,” JJ’s voice was low, but there was a sharpness to it now, a finality. Groff’s hand shot out greedily, reaching for the crown. “Perfect,” he said with a grin, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Hold it out.”

“Take it,” JJ repeated, his voice unwavering, no trace of doubt in it. His eyes were locked on Groff’s, his stance firm. “Easy,” JJ added, the words low, but there was something steady about them. He was ready for this. He was ready for this moment to be over.

I could barely breathe, my chest tight as I watched them, my heart racing. My body was still trembling from the fear, but I could sense the shift in JJ’s demeanor. His resolve was unwavering now.

“Hold it out. Come on,” Groff urged, his hand outstretched, fingers grasping for the prize.

In that instant, JJ pulled me into his embrace, and I gasped as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close to his chest. I buried my head in his neck, gasping for air, the pressure lifting from my lungs as I felt the safety of his hold. My hands instinctively wrapped around him, holding him tight, as if making sure this wasn’t a dream.

“I got you,” JJ murmured, his voice thick with relief. I felt his heartbeat against my cheek, steady and strong. His arms tightened around me as if afraid to let go. “It’s okay,” he whispered again, the words soothing, though his voice still trembled with the remnants of fear.

I pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, and my heart swelled. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, the words heavy with all the gratitude and emotion I couldn’t fully express.

JJ’s grip tightened, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt like everything would be okay.

“JJ.” Groff’s voice sliced through the tense silence like a blade, and JJ stiffened, his body reluctant but yielding. Slowly, he pulled away from me, his movements slow, almost pained, as if every inch away from me felt like a sacrifice. He turned to face Groff, his expression hardening, the relief of the moment slipping away as he steeled himself for whatever was coming.

Groff stood there, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, like a predator toying with its prey. “It’s a shame,” he said, his tone low and almost mournful, though there was no sincerity behind it. His voice carried the weight of a long-forgotten history, one that neither JJ nor I could escape from. “You and me,” Groff continued, his words heavy with regret or perhaps mockery, there was no telling. I stood silently behind JJ, my hands still gripping his shirt, my pulse racing.

Suddenly, I heard the sickening squelch of flesh, and JJ jerked forward, his body lurching as if the world had been ripped out from beneath him. My breath caught in my throat, and I let out a shaky, disbelieving gasp. No, no, no, this can’t be happening. My mind was scrambling to process what I was seeing, but everything seemed to slow, as if the world itself was holding its breath.

I heard JJ’s groan, a deep, painful sound that tore through the air. My stomach dropped, my heart racing. The knife had sunk deeper. “No,” I whispered, my voice trembling as my hands shook, my body frozen in place. And then, as if to mark the moment, I heard Groff’s voice, dark and cold as it slid through the air. “You could have given me the rope,” he murmured, his voice heavy with cruel satisfaction. His tone was like poison, dripping with malice.

Before I could even react, Groff pulled the knife out with a sickening, deliberate slowness. The sound of it tearing through JJ’s flesh was unbearable, sending a shudder through me. I watched as the dark blood poured from his side, staining his shirt, his skin. Groff didn’t even seem to care, his eyes devoid of any emotion as he took one last, final look at his son.

And then, with an almost casual air, he turned away, walking off as if nothing had happened, as if the pain he caused was nothing more than a fleeting moment in his day.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. My body moved without thinking, rushing forward, reaching for him just in time to catch him before he hit the ground. JJ crumpled in my arms, his body too heavy, too weak to stay upright. His hand instinctively clutched his wound, pressing desperately against the blood that poured from him. His face was pale, his eyes glazed, but still, he tried to hold himself together.

“JJ! No!” I cried out, my voice breaking. I lowered him gently to the ground, my hands shaking violently as I tried to arrange him, to make him comfortable, but nothing felt right. “No, no, no,” I whispered, over and over, as if saying it could somehow make the horror stop.

JJ’s breathing was shallow, ragged, every exhale more painful than the last. His lips parted, his voice barely a whisper, and the words that came from him shattered my heart into a million pieces. "I never told you my wish," he groaned, his hand trembling as he reached up to grab mine. His eyes searched mine with a kind of desperate pleading, but there was nothing I could do to stop the blood that poured from him, nothing I could do to undo the damage.

“JJ–,” I whispered, my voice cracking as tears began to well in my eyes. But his eyes were growing heavier. His body trembled, and I felt him sag against me, his hand slipping from mine. The breath he took was so weak, so labored. It was as if the world was slipping away from him, and I was powerless to stop it.

His lips parted again, and this time, the words that left him were barely a breath. "I already got it" The words were soft, too soft, as if he didn’t have the strength to say them. But in that moment, they crushed me more than anything else could.

“No, no, no, JJ.” I clung to him, my voice barely a whisper, but it trembled with all the fear and desperation I felt. I tried to hold him together, my arms shaking as I cradled his fragile body, willing him to stay with me. “You can’t leave, please don’t leave me.” My words cracked under the weight of the pain.

His breath was ragged, barely audible as he managed to speak, his voice strained and faint. "I love you, Y/N." The words came out in a broken gasp, as though they were the last thing he could say.

“I love you too, JJ. So much," I whispered through my tears, my heart shattering with every second. "Please, please don't go. I can't lose you, not now, not like this. You can’t leave me." My sobs wracked my body, the reality of the moment crashing down on me, but I refused to let go, even if I knew I was losing him.

And still, there was no response. His body became heavier in my arms, his head lolling to the side, and my chest tightened painfully as I realized how much I was losing. I pressed my hand to his wound, but I knew it was futile. His blood was everywhere, soaking through my fingers, and I could do nothing but hold him as he closed his eyes. I could feel the warmth of his fading life slipping through my grasp.

I felt the tears burning in my eyes as I whispered again, “JJ”

And all I could do was hold him, wishing for a miracle that would never come. The weight of his body in my arms felt like a thousand pounds, each breath he took growing more shallow, more labored. The world around me was nothing but a blur of pain, fear, and hopelessness. My hands were shaking, covered in his blood, and I could do nothing to stop it. "John B!" I screamed again, my voice cracking as I looked desperately around, hoping they would somehow hear me. "Pope!" I yelled, but the words felt hollow, lost in the chaos of my thoughts.

It was like time slowed as I held him, the seconds stretching painfully long. My heart was tearing apart with every breath he struggled to take. Suddenly, I heard footsteps, familiar voices calling out to me. I looked up through my blurry vision, and there they were.

John B and Sarah appeared first, their faces stricken with shock and confusion, but it was the moment they exchanged a glance that I knew they understood the gravity of what was happening. The look between them spoke volumes, a shared recognition that this was life or death.

Then, Pope, Kiara, and Cleo rushed in, their faces mirroring the same horror. Kiara’s eyes filled with tears, but she bit her lip, fighting them back, while Cleo’s hand trembled as she kneeled down beside me. Everyone was in shock, but the urgency in the air made it clear: something had to be done, and fast.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. My body shook with sobs, my chest tightening as I buried my face in JJ’s hair, whispering over and over, “Please... don’t leave me.”

Suddenly, amidst the haze of grief, it hit me, the crown. The crown! I gasped, my eyes wide with realization, my voice trembling as I turned to John B. “John B, the crown!” I nearly choked on the words. “Please get the crown back... It could save his life.” I reached for him desperately, my hands gripping his arm. “Please, it could save him. Groff took it. He has the crown!”

John B and Sarah exchanged a quick look, their minds already working, already on the move. John B nodded grimly. “We’re getting it back,” he said firmly, turning to Pope, who was already on his feet, determined.

Pope wiped the sweat from his brow, eyes steely with resolve. “Where is he? Where did Groff go?” he asked, voice low and steady, though I could see the urgency in his eyes.

“Somewhere nearby,” I whispered, choking on my breath. “He can’t be far. You have to find him... the crown can grant a wish... It’s our only chance to save him.”

They both nodded to each other and immediately sprinted off, their eyes scanning the surroundings, their minds racing to figure out where Groff would have gone.

Meanwhile, Kiara, Sarah and Cleo stayed with me, doing their best to comfort me. But nothing could bring me peace. I was too afraid, too consumed by the image of JJ growing weaker and weaker in my arms. Every second felt like an eternity.

John B and Pope moved through the winding streets of Essaouira with a precision born of desperation. They didn’t need words to communicate anymore, their shared focus on getting the crown back drove them forward. They knew the stakes were higher than ever.

After what felt like hours, John B finally spotted Groff’s silhouette in the distance. He motioned for Pope to follow him, and they carefully closed the distance. Groff was standing alone in the alley, the crown glinting in his hands, tucked safely within his grasp. His back was turned, unaware of the approaching threat.

Without a word, John B and Pope charged forward. “Groff!” John B shouted, voice cutting through the air. Groff turned, his face twisted into an amused smirk, as if he’d been expecting this.

“Routledge, you really are like your father, huh?” Groff sneered, his grip tightening around the crown. “You had your chance, kid, but now it’s mine.”

John B didn't hesitate. He lunged forward, throwing a punch that Groff barely dodged, but it was enough to send him stumbling backward. Pope followed, using the momentum to land a hard blow to Groff's side. Groff grunted but recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing with fury.

"You’ll never win, you know that?" Groff hissed, drawing a knife from his belt, the blade flashing in the dim light. "I’ve always been one step ahead of you."

John B and Pope exchanged a quick glance, knowing they had to act fast. John B charged again, dodging Groff’s swipe and knocking the knife from his hand. They were both quick, relentless, using every ounce of energy to fight him off.

Groff snarled in frustration as he tried to backpedal, but Pope tackled him from behind, sending them both tumbling to the ground. In the struggle, the crown fell from Groff’s grip, bouncing across the stone street. Without thinking, John B scrambled for it, grabbing the crown and standing up with it in his hand.

“I told you,” John B said breathlessly, looking down at Groff, “we’re gonna take back what's ours.”

Groff, seething with rage, scrambled to his feet, but he knew the battle was lost. He glared at John B and Pope with a venomous look, but he didn’t make another move. “This isn’t over,” he spat, before turning and disappearing into the shadows, leaving them standing victorious, but at a great cost.

John B and Pope rushed back to where I was, their eyes scanning the crowd. When they saw me still holding JJ, they didn’t need to ask. They knew. John B thrust the crown into my hands, his face filled with determination.

“We got it,” he said, panting from the exertion.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I stared at the crown, the only thing that could save him. I placed it gently onto JJ’s chest, my hands trembling. They all watched carefully as I closed my eyes, whispering a prayer to the universe. "Please, please let this work. I can’t lose you, JJ.”

And just like that, I felt a shift, a flicker of hope, a warm light growing from within the crown. The energy seemed to pulse, as if it was answering the wish I had silently made.

The moment the crown touched JJ’s chest, a strange warmth radiated from it, spreading through his body. I held my breath, my hands still trembling as I hovered over him, watching, praying for a sign. At first, nothing happened, just the faint rise and fall of his chest, the quiet whisper of his breaths filling the silence around us. But then, a soft glow began to emanate from the crown. It wasn’t bright or blinding, but it was enough to make the air feel charged, alive.

A shaky breath escaped my lips as I watched, my heart racing in my chest. I whispered again, my voice barely audible. "Please, JJ."

Suddenly, a jolt of warmth shot through my hands, and I felt the familiar weight of his body beneath me shift. His eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened, a faint groan escaping his lips.

"Y/N..." His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, but it was there. He was still here. I felt a wave of relief crash over me, overwhelming and dizzying. His eyes met mine, and I saw the faintest hint of recognition.

"J" I gasped, my voice cracking as I leaned down, pressing my forehead to his. I couldn't stop the tears that drop from my eyes "Oh my god, I thought I lost you,"

He blinked a few times, as if trying to make sense of the world around him. His hand trembled as it reached up to touch my face, his fingers brushing against my skin as though confirming that I was real. His voice was still weak, but there was a clarity in his eyes now, a spark of life that hadn't been there moments before. "You're not getting rid of me that easy."

I let out a chuckle as tears streamed down my face, and I couldn’t stop them. "J.." I couldn’t finish the sentence, my throat too tight, my emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

JJ tried to sit up, but the movement caused him to wince, his hand pressing against his side where the wound still lingered. I gently placed my hand on his chest, stopping him. "Don't" I said sternly.

He gave me a small, weak smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I promise."

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me, a sound of pure relief. I leaned down again, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "You can't kill a pogue" He mumbled as he looked around at his friends, his voice thick with emotion.

JJ reached up, his hand cupping the back of my head, his thumb gently brushing against my hair.

I closed my eyes, holding him close, savoring the warmth of his body against mine. The crown still rested on his chest, glowing faintly, as though it had worked its magic. I didn’t know how, or why, or what kind of power it had, but in that moment, I didn’t care. All that mattered was that JJ was alive. He was here. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

I looked around at all of them, my heart swelling with gratitude for the people who had fought so hard to get him back. We had all been through so much, but in that moment, we were together. And no matter what came next, we had each other.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

likes and reblogs are appreciated 🐇

[theyatosimp]

i dont beg god for anything, but for you,

my knees have never truly left the ground

[fanaticsnail]

A day is all I need

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 6,900+

Synopsis: Serving as Trafalgar Law's chronicler aboard the Polar Tang, he convinces you to finally cast aside your former love for a man long since passed. In a bid to move on, you find an intriguing figure in the market who bore a striking resemblance to the man who held your heart.

Themes: Donquixote Rosinante x f!reader, otherworldly themes, fluff, heavy angst, hurt / comfort, love, pining, crying, sorrow, no happy ending, platonic love, confessions of love, magic, world building, unnamed OC introduction.

Notes: This is a fic that has taken me months to complete for a swap with @ghostiequill who wrote me a Rosinante foster parent au fic. I hope you enjoy this one!

The pool swirled and coiled in a rotating spiral, the water within coiling and clouding out to become vapor at the circular edge. Within the viscous pool swirled several hazy images within the waters depths. Faces shrouded by clouded light, the echo of indistinguishable voices, and a soft forlorn melody humming beneath the water beckoned all who heard the song to approach the menacing liquid. 

“Why now?” a voice slapped in a reverberating purr, beckoning the tall figure closer to their arched light, “Why would you choose now, after so very long, to ask permission to return?” 

Inhaling a deep, shaky breath, Rosinante stepped forward with his eyes lowered to the pool. Gazing into the depths, he witnessed a grown man with patchy, blotched skin, pierced ears, and tattoos on his chest, back, arms and fingers smiling up at a polar bear mink. Rosinante lulled his head to the side, smiling warmly with his lips in a solid line before glancing to the other side of the pool.

The image swirled and dissipated, morphing into something new and away from Trafalgar D Water-Law and his crew, and shifting into a person sitting upright and rigid at a desk. Their hand movements scratched away at a page, chronicling quests and organizing calendars while shaking off fatigue with a soft sigh.

“Why now, Rosinante? You will answer me when I speak to you,” the voice spoke, smoke and vapors clouding in a spectral mist and swelling in a clap to reveal a figure clad in a dark robe with large, dark wings protruding from his back. The figure’s hair shone like gold in direct sunlight, his face expressionless and holding an unspoken taunt behind the amber hue of his eyes. 

“Forgive me, sir,” Rosinante bowed his head, closing his eyes and sinking down onto his knees with his palms clapped over his thighs. “Truth be told, I didn’t know I could ask. I thought we were only able to watch from here, not go back.” The figure offered Rosinante a soft smile, making his eyes gentle as he stepped forward with his hand extended. 

“Of course you can ask,” he confirmed while gently tilting Rosinante’s head up to pierce his gaze down onto his face, “It doesn’t mean I am likely to aid you in your plight, but you can always ask.” Rosinante’s eyes held both understanding and a gentle plea behind his expression. The figure suddenly looked to the side before gently kneeling down in front of him. 

“If I am to do this for you, there are a few things you should be made aware of,” he uttered in a voice just above a whisper, still gazing to the side while clutching Rosinante’s chin, “I don’t grant just anyone a trip to The Over. Many have asked, but The Over can only handle so much of this energy at once.” 

Rosinante nodded along to the warning, keeping his hands firmly affixed to his thighs as the figure’s fingertips began to tingle in gentle licks of flame against his face. The wings fluttered behind the creature’s back, feathers flickered and shook with subtle ribbons of golden shimmer falling from his shrouded skin. 

“There are two ways, you may choose only one,” he uttered, gently turning back his attention to Rosinante in front of him, “The first is, I allow you to visit in the form you are now: spectral in nature, but natural in appearance. You can speak with only one individual and a single touch can be granted in this form. It will only last for an hour at the most, but you will be able to accomplish all you need to to visit your person.” 

The golden bob of Rosinante’s head depicted his understanding, but his eyes held a slight disappointment within his caramel orbs. The golden-haired man hummed and smiled broadly while arching his brow high. 

“You seem dissatisfied with the first option, should you desire to hear the other?” he chuckled at Rosinante, gently smoothing his hand over his cheek before resting on his shoulder, “The other is a path less commonly taken.” 

“Please,” Rosinante whispered, his lips parting and eyes darting between the two spectral and intimidating orbs staring into his soul, “Tell me the other.” The man smiles and shakes his head softly. 

“You will borrow my wings for twelve hours,” he shrugged, his wings fluttering behind his back before falling to the ground and sweeping behind him, “A half day venturing between here and The Over at will.” Rosinante’s eyes widened, looking over the figure’s shoulder to his wings and back at to meet his gaze once more.

“Is there a catch for this option?” he asked, immediately charting a course internally to how he could travel between the realms with haste to visit the young boy once in his care, and to return to his unspoken love in The Over.

“Of course, sweet Rosinante,” the man hummed, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, “But I believe you would choose this option regardless of the consequences.” 

“I believe we can both agree on that,” Rosinante gave a gentle hum, exhaling a laugh through his nose and smiling down at the pool beside them, “How soon do we begin?” 

The winged man fluttered his feathers behind his back, his intimidating eyes baring through Rosinante's head and into his spirit. 

“Immediately.”

Sitting in your office, you finally exhale a hefty breath you didn't realize you held within your chest. Chronicling the journey for the Polar Tang in their quest to meet up with the Straw-Hat and Kid-Pirate crews, while ensuring the rendezvous doesn't collide with maintenance and replenishment of supplies for the grand submarine, really began to take its toll on you. 

You had been traveling with Law for the past twelve years, ever since he had attempted to join the Donquixote Pirates and serve Doflamingo as his right hand in training. Rosinante was quick to stifle that craving, aiding and serving him to rid himself of the amber-led poisoning, while attempting to zap the lightning desire to stay alive as opposed to longing for death. 

Smiling, you turn to your desk and lift up a small pendant on your desk: a gift Law had given you when you accepted your title as ship's chronicler and professed your wishes to serve him officially. The heart-shaped locket had a small picture within, something you didn't think the sixteen-year-old Law managed to capture with the Den-Den snail shell. 

Rosinante was holding your waist, sitting you on his lap with the warm light of the fireplace warmed both of your features. The way he looked up at you spoke volumes, his eyes both rounded and half-lidded, his lips parted in a soft smile, and his gaze never leaving your face as you spoke down at him. 

Running your fingertips over the picture framed within the locket, you snapped it shut before tucking it within your desk drawer. You never had the chance of giving in to your emotions with Rosinante, never confessing your love for him because Law was simply too important and finding a cure for his health was a far greater need. 

You had served Doflamingo since childhood, given the choice between becoming a person serving in the ‘Passion District’ of Dressrosa, or using your skills as an in depth chronicler to catalog the deeds, decrees, and contracts for Doflamingo and his crew. You chose the latter, and you were ever thankful to be given the opportunity to do so. Growing your skillset, you had become incredibly detailed in your work, and your code deciphering skills were unmatched. 

You were only five years older than Law, growing and serving alongside him as he trained beneath Doflamingo to rise in the ranks. You couldn't pinpoint for sure when exactly you began to develop romantic feelings for Rosinante, the new Corazon of the Donquixote pirates, at the time. 

All you knew is you never had the opportunity to confess your love and adoration for the lanky man. Your heart was his, through and through, and you had never felt the swell to match its equal since. Sure, you had taken a handful of overnight lovers from port to port, but in truth: your heart belonged to him and him alone. 

Marching away from your desk with your journal clutched in your grasp, you found your captain sitting beside Bepo manning the helm. 

“Captain,” you have him a curt bow before fully closing the distance, “I have the itinerary you required.” Law smiled at you, shaking your head and softly gazed lazily up at your stature. 

“Chronicler,” he acknowledged, reaching out his tattooed hand and gesturing for you to pass it over to him with a soft beckoning of his hand. As you passed your journal into his hand, he softly tugged you to his side and held up his index finger in a gesture to halt your movement. You nodded your head in understanding to wait by his side, gently rotating your neck and easing the tension on your shoulders. 

“You know, Chronicler,” the nasally voice of the red-headed orka-man called from beside you, “If your neck and back is still giving you trouble, I'd be happy to ease the tension you've got gathering there, or anywhere else.” You rolled your eyes and gently chastised him with your pointed gaze. 

“While I am pleasantly intrigued, as always, to be on the receiving end of your flirtations, Shachi,” you gently arched your brows and looked him over from the hat on his head to the boots on his feet, “We both know that it'd be a bad idea. Also, we're both on the clock right now. You should be manning the pressure gauge, honey.” 

Immediately, Shachi straightened his back and returned to work with a newfound hastened pace. You didn't ignore the barely audible chuckle falling from Law's chest, gently reaching for his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. He raised his hand to your wrist, gently cradling it against his face and offering your knuckles a swift peck. 

“While I don't think Shachi would be an appropriate match for you,” he whispered, alongside the sweetness of your name on his tongue, “I do think it might be time for you to find someone. You've been wearing black for far too long.”

While your uniform was cream in color and embroidered with the dark design of Law’s Jolly Roger, you appreciated the nod to your plight of mourning for a love you never claimed. You leaned forward and offered Law a swift kiss on the forehead as he passed you back your chronicler journal. 

“What do you suggest, hm?” you ask Law with a soft tease in your tone, “Find some unwitting soul and offer them a place in my bed for a night of heat and passion-?” 

“-I accept!” Shachi called over his shoulder, hiding his blush beneath his hat and focussing his glasses-shrouded eyes behind his darkened glasses. You chuckled, shaking your head and pulling your hand away from Law's shoulder. 

“Did you hear your name in this private conversation, Shachi?” Law growled at his red-headed crewman. Shachi shook his head with a muffled “no, sir” in response, prompting Law to bark back at him, “So mind your own business. Keep an eye on the gauge, we're about to reemerge.” 

You offered a soft giggle, looking at the chroniclers journal and noting several changes Law had suggested in the margins of the calendar border, mostly to do with the duration of interaction with both Eustass Kid and Monkey D Luffy was to go on for. Shaking your head, you gently scolded him with a soft tap with your journal on his shoulder which gathered another breathy chuckle beneath his breath. 

“I'm serious, you know,” he again whispered a call of your name, gently tugging at your wrist, “You deserve a chance to move on.” 

“Like you did, you mean?” you offer Law a knowing look, gesturing with your pointed gaze down at his chest tattoo, “Heart Pirates, the Jolly Roger, the feathers in your pullover. Of the both of us, who truly needs to move on?” He scoffed at you, pouting and crossing his arms. 

“That's different. I'm honoring him,” he gently mumbled, your body slowly stopping forward and reaching down to squeeze at his knee. 

“In my own way, so am I,” you whisper down at him, “But I will try for you, captain.” Offering him a more intentional kiss on the forehead before returning to the base of the Polar Tang porthole window with Ikkaku, you thought on the words your oldest friend offered you. 

You had been mourning the tall man for upwards of ten years, no longer the woman you once were and now fully embracing the identity you carved for yourself as a pirate. You pictured what would've come of Rosinante if he had survived. 

He would be thirty-nine years old, would be still wear his face paint? Would his hair be worn in the same style? Would he have joined you and Law and embrace a life of piracy, or rejoin the ranks of Marines? All questions that you would never know the answer to. Nor would you know how he would've responded to your confessions of love. 

As you docked at port and settled the three crews in together, you gave Law a gentle nod to excuse yourself from the meeting to resupply the ship with the essentials. Penguin was to accompany you a little later, after he managed to swap stories and recipes with Sanji and Killer; the chef's of the other two crews. 

Humming a soft tune from the days long since forgotten, you sift through a variety of ingredients at the local flora and fauna shop, enjoying the scents and looking at a large assortment of carnations. The one that took your eye the most was the soft, pastel pink bordering the crimson hue of the droopy leaf. 

“Carnations from Dressrosa?” you asked the shopkeeper, prompting him to turn to face you. 

“We got a shipment over the past week. Worth a pretty berry now, considering it's being shipped out by King Riku Doldo III,” he commented, ushering you closer into the shop and urging your basket onto the trolley, “While he's done a lot of good for the kingdom of Dressrosa, after the former king was dethroned and rotting in impel down, he's not as passionate about flower production as the Donquixote was.”

You offer him a soft, forced smile at the comment, knowing intimately well how much Doflamingo truly enjoyed flowers. It reminded him of his mother, and it was disclosed to you in one of his drunken stupors that he desired to fill the castle with carnations as a memorial to her kindness. 

“I'll just take what's in the basket, sir,” you nodded to him, offering a handful of Berry to claim your remedies, perfumes and spices. He nodded, placing them in a canvas bag and handing over your change and receipt. 

As you moved to turn on your heel and away from the shop, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder and urged you to turn to face the source of the wandering touch. Before you had the opportunity to meet their gaze, you saw the familiar petals of red and pink from the waving curls of leaf. 

“You forgot this,” the deep baritone softly called over to you, gently tugging it down to reveal their soft eyes to you. You darted your eyes between his, inquisitively mapping his face with your gaze. “If I may?” he softly gestured to your hair, raising the flower up to your ear. 

Softly nodding, you curiously accepted the gift of a flower in your hair as he tucked the petals into the crevice of your ear. Your eyes never left his face, finding something familiar in his gaze and a familiar softness in his touch. 

“Thank you, mister…?” you lulled your head to the side and looked from his whiskered chin up to his war-torn eyes. 

“You can call me…” his eyes seemed to search yours with a foreign pleading, “...anything you want, love. I'm not fussy.” You arch your brow and scoff at the unbridled flirtation, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms. 

“Alright then, smartass. Keep your secrets,” you step away from his touch and turn to make your way back to the market square where you suspect to be meeting with Penguin in a few hours. 

“Smartass?” he mumbled in a soft, appalled whisper, “That hardly seems an appropriate choice.” You click your tongue while biting back a growing smirk. 

“Any reason you're choosing not to give me your name?” you ask without turning to face him, eyeing off several of the fresh produce and marking the better priced goods for services in your journal. 

“Why, is there something wrong with yours?” he smiled at you, gently sifting through the fruits and finding several varieties of citrus. You offer him a lopsided smile of surprise, your tongue toying with your molars as you stare at him in awe. 

Using this soft moment of silence, you gently rake your eyes over his form. He was tall with lengthy legs, his back long and shoulders broad. His blonde hair hung in loose curls over his head and tied back by a piece of pink leather, his beard shrouding his lips was manicured in a light and maintained scruff. 

“Who are you?” you asked him, folding your arms over your chest and analyzing him further. 

“Just a man journeying the crossroads of life and death,” he shrugged, lifting an orange in his grip and offering the vendor his Berry. 

“Can you be any more vague?” you arch your brow up and narrow your eyes at him. He turned to face you, his expression mirroring yours in a soft mocking demeanor. 

“Can you be any more intrusive?” he laughed back at you. Your smile all but fled your face, your brows downturning and lip curling in an appalled pout. 

“Fine,” you shrug, reaching up and taking the flower between your index and middle fingers and offered it to him. He was taken aback, looking between you and the flower before slowly reaching his larger hands out and taking the flower between his index and middle fingers from you. 

As he placed the stem between his fingers, a soft moment of familiarity washed over you in a crashing wave. The small gesture felt like passing a hidden cigarette with Rosinante after all the crew had fallen asleep, passing notes well into the cryptid hours and swapping stories of your adventures. 

Before you had the opportunity to turn fully away, he raised the flower back up to your face and darted his eyes over your form with an expression of forlorn longing. 

“This is yours,” he whispered, gesturing to the vibrant flower in his fingers, “Please, keep it.” Softly pouting up at him, you nodded in a subtle bob and allowed him to once again place the flower in the crook of your ear. 

His smile seemed all-too familiar, but no matter how your heart yearned to place a name to his face, you refused to give in to the intrusive thought. 

“I'm going to go back to my crew now,” you assess him with your gaze, shrugging off your inhibitions and biting back your nerves, “Did you want to join us for dinner with the lot of them? My captain won't mind, I assure you.” The man seemed to stiffen and back straighten in a rigid beam. 

“Are you inviting me back to meet your crew?” he asked inquisitively, his gaze dating over your eyes and face as he assessed your intentions. 

“If you don't want to, that's all you had to say,” you scoff, turning back to the produce and marking another symbol over the page, “No need to be rude about it, Smartass.” 

“No, no, you misunderstood me,” he chuckled nervously, softly placing his hand on your wrist to halt you, “Please, let me join you. I just-... I didn't expect you to extend an invite back to meet your family at the offer of a simple flower.”

“Well, you caught me in a moment of weakness,” you tug your wrist away from his grip, softly scolding him with your eyes and turning your body away but holding your gaze against him, “A weakness I won't be willing to extend again in a hurry-.”

“-Please,” he halted you with his gentle, careful whisper, “I'll stop, I'll behave. I was just being playful. It's-... It's been a while.” You shake your head, offering him a soft smile. 

“It's been a while for me since I've received such an intentional pursuit too,” you offer him, giving him a soft, tight-lipped and sheepish smile, “I tend not to lean in, but my captain gave me a little push earlier today. This is what my new leaf looks like, believe it or not.” 

Your companion gave you a soft grin, a knowing look found in his eyes as he offered you his arm and clutched the assembling bag of groceries you ordered on behalf of Penguin. 

The questions fleeing from his lips, from what your current passions and hobbies were, to your family and crew felt organic and natural in each fluid sentence. It felt like you were talking to an old friend, his caramel eyes holding something within that seemed truly familiar and all-knowing. 

His smile never left his face, the softness found in his expression was soothing and almost dreamy. You felt your heart swell the longer you spent with him. 

As you rejoined the crew, you introduced him to your friends and comrades as, “The Smartass.” He didn't seem to correct you, only offering a soft smile and holding up his hands defensively and confirming the soft title. 

The glare from your captain to your blonde guest never left him, feeling as perplexed as you were the longer you held discussion with him. You gently excused yourself from your guest and moved over to your captain's side. 

The bearded stranger laughed alongside the Heart-Pirates, enjoying a few lengthy monologues from Bepo and balancing the soft teasing from both Shachi and Penguin with fluid-like ease. He was a natural, and it was unnerving to witness such ease and rapport from a stranger to the crew. 

Sitting down beside Law, you looked down at him and gently nudged him with your shoulder. 

“Does he seem familiar to you?” you asked Law, gently nudging your shoulder with him. “He kind of looks like-.”

“-Don’t say it,” Law growled below his breath, “It can't be. He's dead. Don't, and this is the last I'll speak on it, you hear?” You gave him a gentle nod, excusing yourself from his side and gently bowing out to leave the table. 

“I understand,” you whisper quietly, softly pressing your lips to his temple and turning away, “Give my best to our guest. I think it's better if I just bow out now before I say something stupid.”

“I didn't mean-,” Law began, turning to face you and reaching his hand out towards you, only to stop as your words covered his. 

“-Goodnight, Law. I'll see you in the morning, okay?” you gently smile at him, softly upturning your eyes as they meet with the ground in a stopped bow. “If both foreign captain's offer you any trouble, send them my way and I'll sort them out.” 

“And your new friend, the smartass?” he asked you in a soft growl, “What you want me to do with him?” You shook your head, softly smiling at the way the blonde was gesturing and speaking with animated gusto with Penguin, Shachi and Bepo while they all sat and ate their dinner. 

“He seems rather involved with whatever is going on over there,” you confess in an amused hum, “If he's too much trouble, send him away. If not, enjoy him. I'll be in my quarters.” You gently turn towards your guest, nodding to him to excuse yourself with a polite smile. 

He snaps away from his conversation and begins to move to stand with a subtle urgency in his step. Shaking your head, you urge him to stay and giggle in response to his soft fluster. His eyes darted between yours, softly slinking back to his seat and looking up at you with his eyes rounded and innocent. 

Once away from the troop, your bearded guest turned his sights onto your captain and gave him a gentle smile. A smile Law knew all too well. 

A phrase from the past, a momentum of the friendship he had with the heart of the Donquixote pirates, the smile that held everything in its soft emotion. 

“If you ever think of me in the future, I want you to remember me smiling.”

Law immediately sprung up from his seat, kicking the discarded stool behind him and marched over to the blonde guest while uncaring as to who saw. 

“You're not him,” he barked down at the blonde man, Law's eyes wide and feral in nature, “You're not. I won't believe it. This is some trick, some cruel gamble.” The blonde man held out his hand defensively, gently attempting to soothe him and repress his fiery temper with a soft gesture. 

“Listen, kid,” the man softly whispered, his eyes rounded and feigning innocence, “You need to keep calm.” 

Law’s eyes widened as his heart caught in his throat, immediately raising his hand and calling for both, “Room,” and “Shambles,” to give the two of them a moment of privacy to talk. 

Blissfully ignorant and consumed with your own plight and struggle to withhold your emotions, you simply dove back into chronicling in your journal to cast aside your comparative narration regarding your new potential lover. 

Several hours had passed, your mind finding escape within your pages enough to remove your memory from the dull ache reawakening your love for a man lost to you. Shaking your head, you gently coax all thoughts aside from work from your mind. Carving words in code onto your page, you gently discarded several blemishes from your divider and slouched back into your seat. 

A gentle knock on your doorframe calls you away from your work, prompting you to look up and witness the lanky form smiling at you in the threshold of your room. 

“Law said I'd find you here,” your guest hummed teasingly at you. You turned your whole body around in your swiveling chair and lulling your head to the side, “He's a fine young man, you've done so well with him.”

“Excuse me?” you arch your brow, scoffing at him and eyeing him up and down, “Do I look like his mother?” The guest all but slipped and tumbled unceremoniously against the doorframe, mumbling his apologies and stuttering. 

“N-No, I just. He said-... didn't you-? Did you-?” he continued to relay, tripping and stumbling within your office and causing your brow to arch up and your lips to purse. 

“Slow down before you fall over more than your words and your feet,” you shake your head, gesturing with your hands to welcome him in, “Come on in, make yourself at home.” He smiled up at you, gently walking in and collecting himself. 

“What I meant to say was,” he straightened up his pale shirt and fixed the seams at his wrists, “I spoke in depth with your captain. He's grateful to have you still with him after all this time, and all you've been through together.” You look down your nose at him, puzzled by the words he's producing, the flurry seeming more cryptic than ever. 

“Oh, and how did you manage to coax that out of him, I wonder?” you scoff, folding your arms over your chest and offering him a scolding look. He raised his hands defensively, remaining silent to the cause and always gentle in his movements. 

“Call it ‘shared history’, if you like,” he offered, shrugging his shoulders and biting back a soft smirk. You rolled your eyes, gazing over to your desk and finding your gaze immediately drawn to the locket you drew out for comfort earlier. 

“A friend of yours?” he asked, his head tilting to the side and reaching for it with his thumb and middle fingers. While you would normally halt such a touch to something so personal, your heart clenched firmly as you forced yourself to stop. 

As he held it up to his face, his eyes held a sense of purity you thought you almost recognised. He rolled the pad of his thumb over the piece, his face seeming to hold himself back from saying something he felt he shouldn’t. 

“He was my best friend,” you confessed in a soft whisper, turning your face away from him to gaze down at your boiler suit uniform. Avoiding his gaze seemed to spur you on, your soul screaming at you to talk about your emotions with a non biased party. Taking a shaky inhale, you gulped back and poised a question to your guest. 

“Would you mind if I spoke about him?” your voice was almost too quiet, but your question was answered immediately by your guest with an urgency you could almost laugh at.

“Please.” 

You fought back a shaky laugh at his haste, gently rising a smile to your lips while continuing to peer down at your uniform. Your guest, the smartass, was really growing on you, and you were grateful he allowed you the freedom to use him to pour your heart out about your lost love. 

“He was… everything to me” you began at the beginning, your smile beginning to shake at the corners, “Although we didn’t speak for some time, his selective mutism ensured that - a long story.” You held your hands up defensively while you moved your head to gaze out of the window. 

“He always listened when I needed him to. And… When he told me the truth, about who and what he was,” you bit the inside of your bottom lip to halt your emotion from swelling to full intensity, “He told me to stay behind, remain bound to the desk beneath the whim and thumb of his older brother.” You snuck a look at your guest to gauge his reaction, his back remained turned to you.

“I said ‘no’.” 

Your guest chuckled at your comment, his shoulders shaking with a clumsy laugh. His laugh was contagious, mixing with yours as it fell effortlessly from your lips. Even his laugh held that familiarity to you, and you felt at ease with his close proximity.

“Why did you go with him, if you don’t mind me asking?” he queried, the small chirp in his question felt innocent and prompted you to smile a little wider, “Was it the boy? Your captain spoke to me about it a little.” 

“Law was sick,” you nodded to him, “But that wasn’t why I came with him. I… I was…” You steadied yourself, gently taking in a large breath and breathing out steadily, “I was so, desperately in love with him, I couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving without me. Selfish, I know.” You shrugged, watching the man’s back as he continued to stare down at the image of you and your heart within the warm light.

“You really loved him, didn’t you?” his voice fell from his lips in a soft whisper. “Why didn’t you ever tell him?” 

“Who’s to say I didn’t?” you giggled in response, toying with the sleeves of your boiler suit before rising to your feet. Walking over to stand beside the taller man, you don’t move to gaze up at him, only peering at the locket in his hand, “I told him I loved him every day.”

“How?” the question left his lips before you uttered the last syllable of your former sentence. This prompted you to snap your gaze up and meet his eyes as they bore themselves into the image within the frame. 

Truly taking him in, really studying him, you could see the melancholy in his face. The soft creases in the corners of his eyes, soft pucker lines from cigarette addiction, the scruff of blonde and silver in his beard, and the soft curls framing his face. He was so beautiful, you felt yourself becoming lost in his presence. The deep sadness swelling within his chest escaped from within, littering his cheeks with a slow outpour of emotion from his eyes. 

“In the little things,” you nodded to him, placing your hand over the locket and gently holding the stranger’s hands, “In the way I made his coffee, in the blanket I’d draw over his chest to keep him warm while I kept watch. In how I would clear up the rum bottles to hide from Law, and in the soft touch I would sneak with him.” 

Rolling your thumb on the back of the stranger’s hand, you demonstrated the initiation of a gentle and innocent touch. 

“He probably didn’t read much into the actions, but this is how I showed it,” you shrugged, stilling your motions and holding your hand still in his. His other hand timidly reached up to withdraw the flower from your ear and fiddled with it in his fingertips. You sighed softly, truly enjoying being able to rid yourself of the burden caging your heart with him.

“Do you know what my favorite part of today was?” he asked, a softness in his eyes and his heart pressed on his sleeve. He finally shifted his vision from your hands to your own eyes, darting between them gently. 

“Tell me, Smartass,” you smirk at him, gently caressing his bearded cheek with your unoccupied hand, and smoothing your thumb over his jaw. In a bid to return playfulness rather than heavy conversation about love and loss with him, “What was your favorite part?”

Placing the flower down on your desk, he removed his hand from yours and softly returned the locket to its former position. In just those actions alone, you could’ve seen that same man you were speaking of within him - but that could’ve been that hope you spoke of moment’s prior with Law. 

His hands now bare reached towards you, gently drawing you closer to him and pressing his forehead against yours while stooping low. You closed your eyes on impact, almost expecting a kiss from the stranger but happy to sit in his presence and share breaths with him. Spectral golden dust began to surround his body, pooling at his back and spilling down to fall at his feet, prompting his anxiety to rise and propel him to confess. 

“I had the chance to fall in love with you all over again.” 

Your shock was evident on your face, your eyes widening at witnessing the otherworldly transformation of the man in front of you. 

“Rosinante?” you choke back your sob, the swell in your chest threatening to burst and force tears from your eyes immediately. Pulling away from his forehead, his face morphed with the aid of the golden dust and shedded his beard and shortened his hair. 

“I'm here,” he whispered, softly reaching down and claiming your hands within his own, “And I'll be waiting for you thereafter. Always.” 

Your heart burst at seeing the young man once more, makeup on his features and that smile you loved splitting up his face. Every emotion burst in your chest and flooded your cheeks with warm, heavy tears. The unspoken questions of how, why, when, what, and who couldn’t release from your lips regarding his ethereal presence: especially now with the presentation of large, black wings in lieu of his cloaked jacket. 

His body began to fade, the light shining in your eyes prompted you to squint to continue to gaze at him. Instead of asking the questions that plagued you, and leading truly with your heart, you managed to stutter out an articulation of your sorrow. 

“How can I move on without you? How can I live without you, Corazon?” you whimper out, gently reaching up and surging your head forward to meet his chest, “What should I-...? How can I-...? I can't-... Please, I can't move on without you-.”

“-Whichever person you welcome into your heart next, mi amor,” he whispered calmly, softly pressing his lips to your forehead and fighting the urge to release his own tears, “Rest assured, my heart is big enough to hold them with you too.”

“Corazon-.”

“-I love you.”

Your cabin split with a flash of gold, a flutter of black wings was all that echoed as you were once again left alone with your thoughts. All that remained was gratitude that you had what little time stolen from you from the beyond, and the hope that you would see him again one day. 

Once your tears dried up, and you deemed yourself appropriate enough to explore the corridors and halls of the Polar Tang, you would find your Captain in much a similar shape as you were. His face was stained with emotion, his eyes red and puffy while his heart was lighter than it had been for some time. 

“Did you see him, or was it all a dream?” he asked you, using the back of his sleeve to clear his cheeks of their spillage. 

“I saw him,” you nodded, immediately moving over to him and circling your arms around his shoulders to soothe him, “And we will see him again.” 

Law nodded into your chest hastily before his lips began to huff out heavy sobs. You never dreamed of hushing him through it, feeling the tension boil over in your own heart and beginning to mourn for your lost love all over again. 

“He said he was proud of me,” Law whimpered, his hands grasping the back of your boiler suit in heavy fistfuls, “And he loved us both so much.” You nodded, burying your eyes into the mop of dark hair at the crown of his head. 

For the next several moments, you both allowed one another to sob openly in the comfort of each other’s arms. The tightness in your chest felt itself becoming untethered the longer you clung to one another. After allowing yourselves the time you needed to calm down, you softly whispered into your captain’s hair. 

“I know I don’t tell you enough with my words,” you rubbed his back and gave him a reassuring squeeze, “I love you, Law, as much as one friend could love another. I would follow you anywhere, as my captain and as my friend.” 

Law held onto you further, his bottom lip quivering at the beginning of a rise of fresh emotions. 

“Stay with me?” he asked innocently, “Just like we did all those years ago?” 

“Of course,” you nod, pressing a kiss to his temple and holding him firmer against yourself, “For as long as you need.” 

For the next few weeks, the two of you would become as inseparable as you once were all those years ago. You were a comfort to one another, and that was all you needed to be until you were ready to part from shared quarters.

“You will look as if the years were never taken from you, a body that should’ve been yours should you have lived,” the winged Avariel confessed to Rosinante with a gentle hum in his tone, “They will likely not recognise you, regardless of how you dress and present yourself.”

“They will still know you as the man you once were, even in the form you are now, you will be familiar to them,” the man removed his cowl, offering it to Rosinante with open hands, “But you are not permitted to give your name in any form. No “Corazon”, no “Rosinante”, no “Donquixote”. If your name is spoken, you will return to me immediately.”

The blonde nodded his head, his heart beginning to stir and vibrate in longing. His gut clenched, his breath slowly returning to him as an ethereal ray swirled from the pool around his body.

“You will only have this day, and this day alone,” The figure stepped closer in, donning the wings on Rosinante’s back while pressing his forehead against the blonde’s own. “You will never be able to do this again, and remain here with me in The Under until you are reunited with those you love at the waters.”

Rosinate felt his body shift and change, age weathering his features. The sprouts of scruffy hair on his chin had his eyes begin to pool over with a bittersweet sorrow. He had always wanted a beard, but his marine lifestyle and his presence with the Donquixote Pirates required him to remain neat and tidy until he served his purpose. Knowing, should he have lived, he would’ve had a beard growing shaggily on his face meant he would’ve chosen a life of freedom and piracy. Before he came too involved with the way he looked, the figure spoke to him once more.

“Do you understand, Rosinante?”

“A day is all I need, sir” he confirmed with a soft whisper, clapping the wings onto his back and donning the shrouded cowl with a gentle clap over his chest to honor the otherworldly man, “All I'll ever need.”

“I just need to tell them how proud I am of them,” he whispered, feeling life return to him with the flutter of darkened wings firmly shaking to life, “And tell them both how much they meant to me.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory

[chvoswxtch]

pancakes

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: a major setback causes you and frank to have to think quickly on your feet to find a new lead.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of guns & bombs

word count: 7.9k

a/n: so, i had to do a LOT of research about bombs for this chapter. in the event that i disappear, just know the fbi probably has me detained somewhere for my questionable search history, and i'm having to explain i'm a writer, not a serial killer. as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

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A golden ray of honey dripped through the sliver of space between the thick wooly curtains in the motel room, dancing right across your eyes like a spotlight across a stage. The glow of the sun rising above the horizon of your eyelids parted the clouds of your subconscious, causing you to shift back into a sentient state. In your half-dazed condition, all of your limbs slowly uncoiled from their curled up position, and when your palm brushed against the empty sheets beside you that were cool to the touch, the absence of Frank’s warmth had you suddenly rousing awake.

Rubbing the remaining residue of sleep from your eyes, you glanced around the dimly lit room through a blanket of semi-coherence while you pushed back the thin quilt and scratchy sheets to sit up in the stiff bed. The motel room was completely silent, and the small analog clock on the nightstand showed that it was seven thirteen in the morning. As you looked around the room, you noticed that Frank’s duffel bag was missing.

Frank was also missing.

When you got out of the bed and made your way over towards the windows, you pulled back one of the thick wooly curtains, wincing slightly as the sunlight shone right in your eyes that were still in the process of adjusting to the new lighting in the room. When you saw that Frank’s truck was gone, a crease of confusion furrowed between your brows instantly. 

“What the hell?”

Surely Frank wouldn’t have left you alone in a motel room in the middle of nowhere when a terrorist group was actively trying to kill you…right? 

Looking around for your bag, you found it on the small round table next to the window, and your nimble fingers produced your phone quickly, only to find a dead battery signal glaring at you from the screen in neon red. As you frantically searched through your bag for a charger, it abruptly dawned on you that you didn’t have one. The only thing you had grabbed from your place the night you were attacked was your phone and your bag.

Panic instantly began to spread throughout your nervous system like wildfire on an unsuspecting barren forest. 

You had absolutely no idea what town you were in, no mode of transportation to get anywhere, no phone to call Frank, no anything. You didn’t even have a goddamn toothbrush. For ten minutes, you searched every inch of that motel room for some kind of note, or something that Frank might have left indicating where he was going and when he would be back. In a fit of mania, you searched all of the drawers in the nightstands, all of the cabinets in the bathroom, underneath the bed and beneath the mattress, even inside both of the pillow cases. You also ripped the horrendous paisley quilt and the scratchy sheets off the mattress in a frenzy thinking something might have gotten lost in them somehow.

When you realized that Frank hadn’t left any clues behind for you, instantly you began to catastrophize the worst possible case scenarios while furiously pacing back and forth in front of the bed. 

What if Frank was hurt badly somewhere? What if someone had come for you, and taken him instead? What if he had just abandoned you here because he didn’t want to deal with you anymore?

It was now seven thirty-seven in the morning, and you couldn’t take another minute of sitting in this empty hotel room alone with no answers. You swiftly changed back into your own clothes, deciding to stop by the motel office first to see if anyone had seen Frank leave. Maybe they could at least point you in the direction he had gone; Frank was not exactly an easy guy to miss. Someone had to have seen him leave, and it was the only idea you had at the moment that was keeping you from having a full on meltdown.

In the process of slipping on your shoes while sitting on the edge of the bare mattress, the lock on the door to the room suddenly clicked, and your head snapped up abruptly to see Frank’s broad figure appear taking up the entire door frame. In the span of a second, three emotions flashed through you; relief, confusion, and anger. Before he could even take a step into the room past the threshold, you subconsciously reached for the bare pillow on the bed beside you and hurled it in his direction as hard as you could.

Frank’s face instantly morphed from being stuck in an expression of concrete lividity to twisting up into pure obscurity. There was a faint twinge of offense nestled between his thick brows when he instinctively reached out to catch the the pillow, staring over at you in a state of complete disorientation.

“What the hell was-”

“Goddammit Frank! Where the fuck have you been?”

The shrill tone of your voice immediately caught his attention and subsequently softened the furrow between his full ebony brows. Frank’s eyes flickered around the space, taking in the disheveled state of everything before his curious gaze landed back on you. He took a cautious step into the room and gently closed the door behind himself, his vigilant stare locked on you.

“What happened?”

In a fit of frustration that was bubbling over with pure adrenaline from the anxiety rushing through your bloodstream, you reached for the other bare pillow and hurled it right towards his head, watching as it hit the wall behind Frank with a soft thud when he quickly ducked. Confusion creased in the center of his forehead again while he stared at you incredulously.

“You happened, you dick! I woke up and you weren’t here! All your stuff was gone, your truck was gone, you didn’t bothering leaving a fucking note. I had no idea if you were dead in a ditch somewhere or just ran off to be an asshole, leaving me stranded here in the middle of fucking nowhere with no way to leave and no phone!”

By the time you finished your hysteric rant, your chest was heaving from how hard you were breathing, and your hands trembled slightly at your sides where they were balled into tight fists. Frank’s face instantly dropped into a contortion of remorse when he took in the sheer look of terror in your eyes. Noticing the way your hands shook slightly with trepidation, his deep brown eyes softened with guilt, and he took a tentative step in your direction with his large hands held up in a faint sign of surrender.

“Sweetheart…m’sorry. I thought you’d still be sleepin’ by the time I got back. You usually sleep in when you ain’t workin’, and I thought…I shoulda left you a note or somethin’ just in case. I didn’t think ‘bout your phone bein’ dead. M’really sorry.”

The gentle cadence of Frank’s deep voice instantly soothed your lingering feelings of unease, and the overwhelming sensation of panic slowly dissipated seeing him staring down at you with his big puppy dog eyes swirling with regret. The contrition Frank felt was evident not just in his voice, but was also etched clearly on his face, and visible in his body language. He hadn’t meant to scare you. He also had a point; you weren’t a morning person by any means, and when it came to your days off, you did like to sleep in. Letting out a slow and deep exhale through your nose, you unclenched your fists slowly and and brought your arms up to cross over your chest.

“I would’ve slept in if those sheets weren’t made of sandpaper.”

Frank cocked his head to the side slightly as he heard you grumble under your breath, and the edge of his full lips curled up in bemusement at your sudden change in demeanor. For a second, he just eyed you quietly, taking in the sight of your messy bedhead, soft expression of irritation, and the evidence of the sleep you hadn’t gotten beneath your eyes.

“You’re awful grumpy in the mornin’, ya’know that?”

Letting out a quiet huff of annoyance, you narrowed your eyes into slits while looking up at him. Frank, unlike you, was a morning person. Well, sort of. Morning people are pleasant in the morning. Frank wasn’t always pleasant, he was just always up early. But given the recent knowledge of his military background, it made sense now. 

As a matter of fact, a lot of things about him were starting to make more sense.

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so grumpy if someone hadn’t made me start my day with a close call of cardiac arrest.”

Frank let out a small chuckle at that and shook his head, glancing around at the cataclysmic mess you’d created in the motel room once again before looking back at you with one of his dark brows arched in challenge.

“Nah, you still woulda been grumpy. Now, you got anythin’ else you wanna throw at me? Or you want some coffee and breakfast?”

»»———　　———««

Halfway through your second coffee and devouring a stack of pancakes, you paused abruptly while staring inquisitively over at Frank across the table.

“Where did you go?”

Frank brought his own ceramic mug of black coffee to his lips, which looked comically small in his large hand, and took a hefty gulp as he swallowed down a bite of pancakes.

“The warehouse.”

A dry scoff left your lips as you let your fork drop onto your plate, making a sharp clattering noise that tore Frank’s gaze from his own plate up to your line of sight. 

“I thought we weren’t going back there-”

“No, you weren’t goin’ back there.”

“Frank-”

“It don’t matter, it’s gone.”

As soon as those words left his lips, your vexation transitioned into perplexity. Your brows inched together in the middle of your forehead as you stared at Frank in pure puzzlement.

“What do you mean it’s gone? We were just there last night-”

“Someone burnt the goddamn thing down.”

Frank’s large hand was enclosed in a tight fist around his fork, and there was a slight edge to his gruff voice as he nearly glared across the table at you. His words only fueled your bewilderment, but the pissed off look on his face kept you from interrogating him any further. Frank leaned back into the booth of the table you two were sitting at in the small, outdated diner down the street from the motel and ran his fingers through his short, tousled dark waves in exasperation. His deep brown eyes scanned around the diner absentmindedly, a look of pure contemplation layering his appearance. After a moment of silence, he let out a heavy exhale through his large nose and looked over at you with a calmer expression.

“I went to check it out early this mornin’, and there were cops and firetrucks all over the damn place. Ain’t nothin’ left of it.”

Nothing left? 

A sinking feeling settled in your stomach that the cop that had caught you and Frank last night had tipped the Defenders of Freedom off, and they had set off a bomb in the warehouse to cover their tracks.

“Do you…do you think that cop tipped them off and they blew it up?”

“Nah, it wasn’t blown up. We woulda heard an explosion. Besides, the bombs these assholes are usin’, they’re strong enough to do some heavy damage, but not enough to level somethin’ completely like that.”

Tilting your head to the side slightly, you looked over at Frank curiously when you heard the conviction in his voice. He dismissed the idea you presented with such confidence, it made you wonder why he was so certain.

“How do you know that?”

“If it was a bomb, even if it was set off in the middle of the warehouse, parts of it would still be standin’. They’re makin’ homemade ones outta shit that can’t easily be tracked, so they’re small scale. They do a whole lotta property damage, and hurt people close to ‘em when they go off, but they ain’t made outta strong enough shit to level a warehouse made outta concrete and steel like that. I don’t know if that cop tipped someone off, but someone sure as hell set that fire on purpose. Whatever was in there, they didn’t want no one to find.”

There was a hint of anger in Frank’s voice when he spoke, and it reminded you of the conversation you had with him in your office over a month ago when the last attack happened. He had sounded just as angry, and you suddenly remembered him saying how much he hated people that used bombs and how he had called them a coward’s weapon. You hadn’t fully understood his resentment then, but after learning about his past as a Marine last night, it all seemed to finally click in your head.

“You were attacked by one.”

Frank immediately tensed, and his eyes quickly snapped up to meet your sympathetic gaze. It wasn’t a question, but the look of rancor in his eyes that was as bitter as the shade of his coffee confirmed it. A crisp chill cascaded down your spine at the realization that there had probably been far more than just one attack that Frank had been caught in the middle of during his time in the Marines. It made you wonder if that’s where the scar on his left temple had come from, the one that made him freeze up when you touched it last night. 

“Even if they find somethin’ in all that goddamn rubble, it’s gonna take days to sort through, so it’s back to fuckin’ square one.”

Frank grunted as he lifted the ceramic mug to his lips to take another large gulp of coffee. He clearly had no intentions of elaborating on his history with explosives, and you decided it was best to leave it alone for the moment. 

Resting your elbows on the table, you ran your hands through your hair with a sigh and clasped your hands over the back of your neck as you stared down at your half eaten plate of pancakes and hashbrowns. There was absolutely no way you and Frank had come all the way upstate and were going to leave with nothing. Going back to the warehouse was out of the question since it was surrounded with law enforcement and reduced to ash, but there had to be some way to find a lead. 

While you were staring down into your coffee, an idea popped into your head. 

“Not necessarily.”

Frank quirked one of his dark brows while looking across the table at you, waiting to see where you were going with whatever thought was going through your head.

“You can’t build a warehouse like that without a permit. Someone had to have filed for that permit, and they would’ve had to have a deed of ownership for that plot of land.”

After your words hit Frank’s ears, his eyes seemed to light up with recognition while he processed what you were saying. If the two of you could figure out who filed for the permit, or who owned the land, you had a lead. He swiftly sat up a little straighter in the booth as he stared at you almost in awe.

“How do we find that?”

“Property records are public in New York. They would have had to file the permit with the local county office and provide the proper documentation.”

“So we find the local county office, we find the records?”

“Exactly.”

Frank’s warm whiskey eyes sparkled with an emotion that resembled pride, and his full lips suddenly split slowly into a toothy grin that caused crinkles to form at the edges of his eyes as he brought a bite of pancakes up towards his mouth.

“You’re a goddamn genius, sweetheart.”

There was something about the way that Frank was looking at you, and grinning at you, that made heat blossom across the tops of your cheeks and start to burn in your lower belly. You weren’t used to men complimenting your intelligence, or your ideas, and you weren’t sure how to react. Dipping your head a bit to hide the bashful smile that tugged across your lips, you reached for the bottle of syrup and cleared your throat, scrambling to form a coherent sentence in response.

“Finish your eighth cup of coffee and we can go.”

Frank let out a dry scoff of amusement as he watched you drown your pancakes in a pool of maple syrup.

“I’ll finish my eighth cup when you finish your tenth. In the meantime, how ‘bout I getcha some pancakes for that syrup, yeah?”

Setting down the sticky bottle of syrup, you rolled your eyes playfully as you looked across the table at Frank and attempted to hide your amused smile.

“It’s not that much-”

“I can’t even see your damn pancakes underneath all that.”

Without another word, you reached over with your fork and drove it into half a cut up pancake that was on Frank’s plate, and his face twisted up into an expression of mock offense as he set down his coffee mug when you stole the half pancake onto your own plate.

“Hey hey hey, whoa-”

“You said I needed more pancakes-”

“I didn’t say mine.”

“Well then you should’ve specified that you didn’t wanna share.”

You used the side of your fork to slice a part of his half pancake and smothered it in syrup before bringing it to your lips with a teasing smirk. Frank’s eyes narrowed slightly as he clicked his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He shook his head slowly before he reached across the table to swipe the two remaining pieces of bacon off your plate.

“I quit. I’m droppin’ your grumpy, theivin’ ass off at the next rest stop we pass.”

A loud fit of laughter erupted from deep within your chest at Frank’s disgruntled appearance, and you covered your mouth with your hand as a few patrons at the diner that were most likely regulars stared in your direction with looks of curiosity and annoyance. Frank glared at you lightheartedly as he tore the bacon in half and tossed one half piece into his mouth. You looked over at him with a whimsical smirk on your lips as you arched one of your brows.

“You can’t quit a job you don’t have, Castle.”

“The hell I can’t.”

Rolling your eyes frivolously, you pierced the half of the pancake with your fork and went to place it back onto Frank’s plate.

“Fine, here.”

Frank pulled a face of faux repulsion as he gently pushed at your wrist with his large palm.

“I don’t want it now.”

Your eyes widened slightly as you gawked at him and scoffed lightly in bemusement.

“Are you kidding? You just made a whole scene-”

“That was before you got it all soggy with all that goddamn syrup. Keep it.”

Placing the fork with the half pancake of Frank’s down on your plate, you crossed your arms over your chest and bit the inside of your cheek to contain the grin that threatened to take over your lips. You watched him eat the bacon he had stolen off your plate with a broody expression on his sharp features.

“And you call me grumpy.”

“You are grumpy.”

“You don’t think you are?”

“I am when you steal my goddamn pancakes without askin’.”

“Isn’t the whole point of stealing to not ask?”

Frank shot you a deadpan look as he brought the ceramic mug to his lips and downed the rest of his black coffee.

“Finish your fuckin’ syrup so we can go.”

The twinge of light annoyance in Frank’s voice mixed with the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glanced around the diner coaxed a small laugh from you. It felt so natural to be sitting across from Frank, having breakfast and bantering back and forth, as if the two of you did this every morning. Despite the rough start to the morning, for you and Frank, he seemed lighter, and in an all around pleasant mood.

He was so incredibly different from the stoic, intimidating man you were introduced to for the first time almost six months ago. Lately it felt like the more time you spent alone with him, you were granted more and more glimpses of the real Frank Castle. And while you were elated to finally breakthrough so many of those broody layers of his, you were also starting to get nervous.

Because every little interaction made the miniscule crush you had developed on your bodyguard develop and evolve into something inherently deeper and more profound for the man behind the job.

»»———　　———««

The second your eyes caught the sight of Frank tucking a gun into the waistband of his jeans against his back and cover it with his black denim jacket, you instinctively held your hand out and placed it against his chest to stop him from reaching for the door of the county office. He glanced down at your palm on his chest before looking at you with a curious furrow of his brows.

“No.”

Frank tilted his head to the side slightly in perplexity when you gave a firm shake of your head in his direction.

“No? No, what?”

“Frank, I am not letting you go in there guns blazing-”

“Aw Christ, it’s just a precaution-”

“-or letting you intimidate, or beat the hell out of whoever is working at that front desk just to get what we need. We do this my way.”

Frank clenched his jaw as he stared down at you, taking in the stern expression on your features.

“I was gonna ask nicely.”

“You don’t know how to ask nicely.”

Letting out a deep exhale of frustration, Frank narrowed his eyes at you in annoyance while his index and middle finger on his right hand twitched at his side a few times.

“So what the hell are we doin’ here then?”

“I am going to do my job, and I need you to let me do that.”

“What, you…you wanna interview ‘em and get an exclusive for a damn article right now? Is that more important?”

Frank’s evident exasperation and sour attitude were starting to get on your nerves, and you grit your teeth as you narrowed your eyes at him in defiance. 

“No, I’m not ‘getting an exclusive’, Frank. My job isn’t just writing. It’s called investigative journalism for a reason. You think all the evidence I get for my articles, I’m just…given? Not only do I have to hunt down my own sources, but I have to make them talk to me and give me what I need, by any means necessary.”

It suddenly occurred to you that in the six months Frank had been your bodyguard, he had never really seen you in action. He had been to your office several times, and watched you write countless articles, but the only person he had ever seen you interview was Steven. After the first threat you received, your story content was limited, and you were confined to topics that involved as little human interaction as possible for your own safety.

You understood Frank’s apprehension about letting you take the lead on this, but you also wanted to prove to him that you weren’t some damsel in distress. You could do this. It was your job, and it was what you were good at. Letting out a soft sigh, you fought off your own agitation to flash Frank an imploring expression.

“Frank, I know what I’m doing, Okay? Just trust me. And…behave, please.”

Taking in the pleading look in your eyes, Frank stared at you silently for a minute before throwing his hands up in resignation and letting out a grunt of agreement, reaching out to open the door to the county office and motioning for you to enter first. You tried your hardest not to laugh at the look of pure irritation that shrouded his face when you asked him to behave. As you stepped into the small office building with Frank, you just hoped the two of you could get what you needed and get out before a scene was caused.

The county office was small and stuffy, filled with the scent only a building that hadn’t been updated since its initial construction decades ago could have. Despite the cool temperature outside, there was an uncomfortable heat that lingered in the air. There was a stout, middle aged man sitting behind the desk with his feet propped up, arms crossed over his protruding belly, and his weary eyes were focused on a small television screen in the corner of the office that was playing a baseball game. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else at that moment, and you hoped you could use that to your advantage. 

To your right, there was a meager waiting area that had a few worn chairs lined up against the wall that had definitely seen better days, and a little square coffee table piled with magazines that were several decades old. Glancing up at Frank over your shoulder, you motioned towards one of the chairs.

“Sit there, I’ll be right back.”

Another displeased grunt sounded from Frank at your instruction, but he didn’t verbally protest. He plopped down into the chair closest to the door and crossed his big arms over his broad chest. His full lips were pursed in a slightly adorable pout that was accompanied by his signature broody expression, and if your phone weren’t dead, you would’ve definitely taken a picture to laugh about later. 

As you approached the desk, you fluffed up your hair a little and plastered your most charming smile across your lips before clearing your throat.

“Excuse me?”

The older man’s bushy brows were furrowed in aggravation at your interruption, but when his cobalt blue eyes navigated up to investigate the cause of the disturbance, they swiftly rose up his forehead in surprise. Before he could even get his feet off the desk, his gaze landed on your chest where the v-neck cut of your shirt’s collar showed a bit of your cleavage, and he stared unabashedly for a good ten seconds before a crooked smile split open his thin lips.

“My my, aren’t you a pretty little thing? I’ve never seen you around here before, Miss…?”

This wasn’t the first sleazeball you’d let ogle you to get concrete evidence for a lead. It was honestly easier for you to get information from men, because most of the time they were too busy shamelessly staring at your tits to even notice that you were hustling them. Still, it always made you feel a little cheap, like you needed a scalding shower afterwards to burn away their lingering stares. At least this time you had the comfort of knowing Frank was just a few feet away if there was any trouble.

“Oh, I’m not from around here. My name is Lorelai. I could actually really use your help. What did you say your name was?”

You asked in a sweet voice, tilting your head to the side innocently. The man rested his elbows on the desk, leaning in slightly towards you with that same crooked grin.

“Lorelai? Pretty name for a pretty girl. I’m Roger, and I’m happy to help you with whatever you need.”

It took every ounce of willpower you had not to gag at the wink he shot you. He probably thought it came off as flirtatious, but in reality, it just made you nauseous. Swallowing down your discomfort, you forced another convincing charming smile onto your lips and leaned forward on the desk slightly, granting him a better view of your cleavage. You hated yourself as soon as you did it, but you prayed this idiot would take the bait and just give you the documents you needed without any suspicion. 

“Thank you, Roger. See, I work for the company that owns the warehouse that burned down this morning, you know the one on Wick Road? Anyway, my boss wanted me to file an insurance claim, and in the middle of it I realized that I don’t have any copies of the permit or the land deed that I need to file the claim, and if I don’t get it filed by the end of the day, I’m gonna be in a lot of trouble. Can you help me? Please?”

Using that same saccharine voice that was several pitches higher than your normal tone, you batted your eyes a few times for dramatic effect, crafting a faux expression of innocence and helplessness. Incompetent men like Roger enjoyed playing the hero, so you laid the vulnerable act on thick.

“Of course I can help you, sugar. It’s no trouble at all. Anything I can do to help a sweet little thing like you, I’m happy to.”

The way his hungry eyes wandered over your chest coupled with the bravado in his nasally voice had you digging your nails so hard into your palm, you were shocked you hadn’t drawn blood.

You’re almost there. It’s almost over. Just keep it together.

“Really? Oh my God, you’re a lifesaver, Roger.”

You reached out to give his shoulder a light squeeze for good measure, and the overwhelming scent of his cheap cologne filling your nostrils triggered the early onset of what was sure to be a powerful migraine. Roger stood up from his chair and brushed his oily black hair away from his greasy forehead in a way that was probably meant to look slick, but made you shudder internally with disgust. 

“Why don’t you come with me, and we can-”

As his eyes caught sight of something over your shoulder, Roger’s reptilian grin instantly fell, and his “suave” expression melted into one of discomfort. His eyes flickered over to meet your gaze again, and he cleared his throat.

“Uh…is he…with you?”

When you furrowed your brows in confusion, Roger gestured with one of his sausage fingers behind you, and as you turned your head to see what he was talking about, you were met with the sight of a very pissed off looking Frank. His large hands were balled into such tight fists that his knuckles had turned white, and they were resting on the top of his thighs, like he was ready to spring into action at any moment. Frank’s jaw was set in a harsh line, and you could see a muscle feather beneath his skin when he grit his teeth. His thick brows were pulled together in vexation, and you could see a wrathful fire burning in his eyes that had nearly turned black with rage. 

You had to wrap this up quickly before Frank lost his patience.

Turning back around to face Roger, you gaped at him for a moment as you let out a nervous laugh.

“I…yeah. He…he’s with me.”

“He your…husband or…something?”

“He’s…my-”

Before you could finish, Frank’s heavy boots were thundering across the floor, and you suddenly felt the heat radiating from his chest flush against your back as his large hand settled on your right hip.

“You mind hurryin’ it up with them documents my wife asked for? We ain’t got all goddamn day. And while you’re at it, why don’t you try lookin’ her in the fuckin’ eye when you talk to her, yeah?”

While Roger had initially taken a sharp step backwards when Frank marched across the room to stand behind you, the barrier of the desk clearly made him feel safe enough to provoke Frank. He let out a scoff as he crossed his arms over his ill-fitting button up, glaring up at Frank in a mixture of offense and irritation.

“Hey, I didn’t see a ring, buddy.”

Frank took a step closer towards the desk and reached his hand beneath the collar of his black henley, slipping his thumb under the chain around his neck to pull it upwards to flash the gold wedding band that dangled from it. The gesture caught you completely by surprise, and you felt a slight pang in your chest at the sight of the wedding ring now that you knew Frank was a widow. His eyes were wild with animosity, and his gruff voice dropped a dangerous octave lower as he sneered down at Roger.

“There’s your fuckin’ ring. Now you got thirty seconds to move your ass and get her what she asked for, or I’m comin’ back there and I’m gonna fuckin’-”

“Okay! Okay, sorry can you just…one second.”

After flashing Roger an apologetic expression and a nervous smile, you swiftly turned around and pressed your palms flat against Frank’s chest to push as hard as you could to guide him backwards in the direction of the door.

“Out.”

You hissed quietly through gritted teeth while staring up at him with your own hardened gaze. Frank’s face instantly twisted up in fury and rebellion as he glared down at you, refusing to move to an inch.

“You outta your damn mind? I ain’t leavin’ you alone with this motherfu-”

“Frank, wait outside, now.”

You shoved at Frank’s chest as hard as you could, but he only wavered backwards half an inch. For a solid sixty seconds, the two of you seemed to be locked in a glaring contest. You didn’t have time for his shit, and you snapped your fingers and pointed towards the door as a final signal for him to leave. Frank shot one final death glare over your shoulder at Roger before staring back at you in unfiltered vehemence. The top left corner of his lip curled up slightly in a sneer, and he grunted as he stalked off towards the door and shoved it open with a force so powerful, it rattled the door hinges.

Fuck.

Swallowing thickly, you took a deep breath as you quickly formulated a plan for damage control. Turning back around to face Roger, you saw that he was glancing between you and the door with wide eyes, and his body language was significantly more conservative than it was before. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you took a small step forward and looked at him with a repentant smile.

“I…I’m really sorry about that. He’s um…he’s…been struggling a bit…ever since he came home…from his last tour.”

A look of cognizance flashed across Roger’s face, and as his eyes flickered towards the door before settling back on you, his features dulled into a more friendly look that was splattered with pity.

“What branch?”

“Marines.”

A wry smile tugged at the corner of Roger’s thin lips, and he nodded his head in a gesture of understanding.

“Tough sons of bitches.”

“Temperamental, too.”

He let out a snort at that, rubbing his plump hand over his patchy onyx beard that was loosely sprinkled with flecks of gray.

“No kidding. My father was a Marine, and he was always a real hot head. Wasn’t always that way, but…I guess they uh…never really come back, huh?”

For some reason, that caught you off guard.

They never really come back.

In the nearly ten hours that had passed since you learned more about Frank’s history, you hadn’t really had a chance to really process it. You hadn’t had a moment to think about what he must have gone through, the things he must have seen or done that changed him, the people he might have lost, or all the ways he could have suffered. In that moment, you felt an overwhelming wave of sadness for Frank, thinking about the absolute hell he must have gone through, and then the added weight of losing his wife on top of that.

“No…I guess they don’t.”

Roger wrung his worn hands together in front of him almost in remorse, gesturing loosely towards you as he let out a quiet laugh.

“Look I didn’t mean any disrespect to you or your husband-”

“It’s fine, really. You were just…trying to be nice.”

You were being a fucking creep.

“Here, let me get you those documents. Wick Road, right?”

A tiny surge of hope shot through you at that, and your lips parted into a small, grateful smile as you nodded eagerly.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Flashing you a tight lipped smile, Roger disappeared into a back room before emerging a few minutes later with a manila file that contained several copies of documents. He handed it over to you and slipped his plump hands into his pockets, nodding his head in the direction of the door.

“You uh, tell your husband I apologize…and uh…thank him for his service for me, would you?”

It made your blood boil that he was only willing to be respectful of you because he thought you were married, and because you had told him Frank was a Marine. But you shoved all that down as you took the file from him, nodding with a tiny smile.

“I will, thank you.”

“Have a good day, Miss Lorelai.”

As soon as you turned around to leave, your eyes rolled so far back into your head, it was painful. When you stepped outside the office, Frank was leaning against his truck with his arms tightly crossed over his chest, looking thoroughly heated. His head snapped up when he heard the office door creak open, and you marched over towards him with a pissed off expression of your own.

“What the hell was that?”

“You said you had that-”

“I did, Frank! Until you flew off the handle-”

“What was I s’posed to do, huh? Just sit there and watch that asshole stare down your shirt-”

“You were supposed to let me do my job!”

Frank scoffed and let out a dry, humorless laugh. His ferocious gaze roamed over the area surrounding the small building before he glared down at you with a look of repulsion.

“So that’s what you do, huh? You just let ‘em stare at you like that to get what you need? That all you do, Lorelai?”

The implications behind Frank’s words should’ve incensed you, but if anything, they felt like a jagged blade cutting through your chest. The fact that he would not only insinuate that you would use your body to get a lead, but look at you in disgust as if he actually believed it, hurt you more than anything. The venom with which he spit out your alias made you shudder slightly. Treacherous tears stung along your waterline as you clenched your jaw to keep the dam from breaking.

“I’d rather them stare at my chest than shoot them in cold blood.”

Frank’s anger faded slightly hearing the accusation laced within your tone of dejection. Clutching onto the manila folder in your hand, you spun around on your heel and started walking swiftly in the opposite direction. You didn’t know exactly where you were, or how you would get home, but right now Frank was the last person you wanted to be around.

The sound of Frank sighing heavily from behind you rang clearly in your ears.

“Where you goin’?”

“Home.”

“What, you gonna walk there?”

When you didn’t respond and continued to keep walking, Frank dragged his palms down his face in pure frustration.

“For Christ’s sake-don’t be ridiculous. Get in the truck. Y/N…Y/N! Get in the-goddamnit.”

For a moment, you thought Frank had given up and was going to actually let you find your own way home. But then all of a sudden, you heard tires rolling tumultuously across the loose gravel of the parking lot, and before you could make it to the edge of the street, Frank pulled his truck out in front of you a few feet away to cut off your path. He quickly hopped out and left the driver side door open, walking around the hood in your direction with determination.

“You ain’t walkin’ all the way back, alright? Just get in.”

“I can find my own way home-”

“You can’t go home. Not until I figure out-”

“Frank, I’m not your fucking problem anymore!”

Frank stared at you with a storm of emotions brewing behind his eyes. While the annoyance he felt was still lingering on his sharp features, the rage that had clouded his vision had dissipated into shimmering guilt. The migraine that had been triggered by Roger’s cologne had steadily begun to throb, and you rubbed at your right temple and sighed heavily in frustration as you took a look around at your unfamiliar surroundings. A few stray tears slipped down your cheeks, and you weren’t sure if they were from the pain in your head or the pain in your heart.

“You’re not my bodyguard anymore, alright? I’m not your problem, and you owe me nothing. Okay, I was just a job, and the job’s over now, so just-”

“Hey, hey…quit that.”

“Frank-”

“You were never just a job, and you know it.”

Frank’s words immediately caught your attention, and when you looked up at him, he was already staring at you with finality. The timbre of his voice made it clear there was no contesting that statement, and it was almost like your ribcage had shrunk around your heart and lungs with how tight your chest felt. He took a step closer towards you and carefully brought his large hands up to cradle your face delicately, wiping away the tear tracks from your cheeks gently with the rough pads of his thumbs. Frank’s features had repressed into an expression of disgrace, and his eyes were shining apologetically as he looked down into your own.

“Look, I…I didn’t mean that, alright? It was a shitty thing to say. I just…I hated the way he was lookin’ at ya, and I hate the thought of you subjectin’ yourself to that kinda shit just for a goddamn lead. It’s dangerous-”

“Yeah, well being a woman and just existing is dangerous, Frank. I deal with that kind of shit everyday, even when I’m not chasing a story. When I’m walking down the street, when I’m in line at the grocery store, when I’m in the middle of a meeting at work…it…it happens all the time.”

Frank’s warm brown eyes held pure sympathy for you as he listened intently.

“I ain’t seen it happen like that though, ‘cept for when you interviewed that trust fund asshole.”

It took a second for you to realize that he was talking about Steven, and you involuntarily let out a quiet laugh that immediately made you wince and rub at your right temple.

“Yeah well, apparently having a big, scary looking guy with murderous intent in his eyes threatening people on my behalf has done wonders for keeping creepy men away.”

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of Frank’s mouth, but he was looking down at you in concern when he noticed the way you kept rubbing your head. He slipped his fingers into your hair to hold the right side of your head tenderly, and he gingerly brushed his calloused thumb over your right temple. Your breath hitched slightly at the contact, and you stared up into his eyes as his own inspected your face. The way he was touching you right now reminded you of the way he had comforted you after that night at the bar a few months ago, when he’d held you in his arms for the first time. 

The only time.

You hadn’t been that close to him again until now…and you wanted him to feel that again.

“Headache?”

“I think Roger’s cologne gave me a migraine.”

A crease of confusion sprinkled with a hint of irritation settled between Frank’s dark brows as he stared down at you, and his large nose was wrinkled up slightly like he’d just smelt something foul.

“Who the fuck’s Roger?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the way he asked that, and the look on his face, which you instantly regretted when a shooting pain seemed to split right through your brain.

“The guy at the office. He also said to tell you, ‘sorry for hitting on your wife’. Oh, and I may or may not have told him that you had PTSD and that’s why you were being an asshole, so he also said, ‘thank you for your service’.”

Frank blinked at you in sheer incredulity a few times as he processed those words. After a moment, his face twisted up again in irritability, and he carefully dropped his large hands from where they were cradling face and the right side of your head. He walked over to open the passenger side of the door for you while shaking his head in annoyance and grumbling under his breath.

“Roger can kiss my ass. Fuckin’ shithead.”

The fact that Frank seemed genuinely offended only made you laugh harder, and you let out a quiet whine of pain as you rubbed at your temple.

“Frank…please don’t make me laugh right now. My head is killing me.”

“C’mon, get in the truck, sweetheart. I got somethin’ for your head.”

Frank gently took your hand and helped you up into the passenger seat of his truck, shutting the door as quietly as he could to not cause you any further discomfort. While he walked around the hood, you could see the annoyance still plastered on his face, and you heard him grumbling to himself under his breath.

“Roger’s goddamn lucky I don’t go back in there and kick his fuckin’ ass.”

After Frank handed you a few pain reliever pills from the first aid kit he kept in his truck along with a bottle of water, he went to put his truck into drive, but paused for a moment and turned his head to look over at you analytically.

“Where’d you get that name?”

“Huh?”

“Lorelai. You use that all the time? Or is it always a different one?”

“Oh, um…it…it was my mother’s name. It’s usually the alias I give. It just…it makes me feel closer to her in a way. Like she’s…still around.”

There was a look of understanding in Frank’s warm brown eyes. He didn’t need to ask anything else to comprehend the grief and the longing in your cadence. Without you having to speak another word, he could interpret the loss you’d experienced, and he simply nodded respectfully in response. It was refreshing to have someone not pry at details you weren’t ready to discuss for once, and to have someone that understood the complicated timeline that came with mourning. 

It seemed as if tragedy was something that had plagued you and Frank both, and it was oddly poetic in a way how it seemed to connect you on a level you hadn’t experienced with anyone else before.

Wanting to switch the conversation to a lighter topic as Frank pulled out onto the empty two way street, you glanced over at him in curiosity when you noticed he was driving in the opposite direction of the motel. 

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace that ain’t got sheets made of sandpaper.”

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[flowerandblood]

The Man with the Empty Heart

[ Amor • Aemond x Psyche • female ]

[ warnings: angst, violence, mention of the murder and suicide attempt, trauma, mourning, manipulation ]

[ description: After she is attacked in a fair by a strange man and narrowly avoids death, her father the king decides that from now on she will be watched over by one of his 'ghosts', a assassin acting on his orders, wearing a black mask. The man follows her like a shadow, accompanied by their past, which keeps her awake at night. Gothic horror love story, angst, sexual tension, very dark Aemond. ]

This story is several requests combined into one: sworn protector x female; Amor x Psyche; Phantom of the Opera! Aemond x female. I took the liberty of creating a completely new story from this, having only elements of each of these requests.

Series & Characters Moodboard Lady Walford Moodboard Gothic & Horror Sensual Moodboard

Part 1 - The Man with the Black Mask | Part 3 - The Man with the Lost Soul | Part 4 - The Man with the Cold Lips | Part 5 - The Man with the Deep Scar | Part 6 - The Man with the One Eye | Part 7 - The Man with the Golden Gift | Part 8 - The Man in the Black Crown | Part 9 - The Man with the Bloody Sword | Part 10 - The Man in the Black Gloves | Part 11 - The Man in the Death Cloak | Part 12 - The Man with the Pearly Hair | Part 13 - The Man with the Fiery Gaze

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Next chapters: Masterlist

_____

That night she slept for only an hour, but experienced no rest during that time, tormented by nightmares. In her dream, a group of men rushed into her chamber, two of them holding her tightly as the third cut her throat − she choked, unable to catch her breath, her red blood gushing onto her nightgown and bedding.

When she finally opened her eyes she rose quickly to sit up, panting and shivering, all welted up, catching herself quickly by the throat, letting the air out of her lungs, feeling that there was no wound on it.

She sat at the table barely conscious when her morning meal was brought in, not even noticing that Vhagar was suddenly at her side, towering over her with his hands folded behind him.

"I hope you slept well, Princess." He said low, and she looked at him resentfully, knowing full well that he was mocking her. She turned her head away, reaching for a bread, not saying a word to him.

She thought he was a man who derived satisfaction from dominating and watching someone else's suffering.

He was perfectly suited to the job his father had assigned him, and he was certainly bored in her company, but he couldn't express it any other way.

He left her chamber as she ordered her servants to help her get dressed, looking at her reflection in the mirror with indifferent eyes, knowing what day it was and what she should do.

She visited her once every three days − the medics believed that more frequent visits would take her out of balance and increase her hysterical attacks.

When she stepped out into the corridor, walking ahead, she didn't look at him, but she knew he had moved immediately behind her − she felt his presence with all her being, his aura hung over her like a black storm cloud.

They made their way to a part of the fortress where servants and other court residents were not allowed to venture − two guards stood in front of the entrance leading to the stairs to the tower, but they did not stop her when she started to climb up, intense sunlight shone through the little windows.

The door to the small chamber was opened for her − she heard Vhagar stand still, having no intention of going inside. She stopped in mid-step, looking at him with furrowed brows.

"I want you to accompany me." She said in a disapproving voice, recognising that if he was going to tease and torment her with his behaviour, she would do the same.

He walked in behind her reluctantly and closed the door; her mother looked at her as if she didn't recognise her for a moment, and then smiled broadly, sleepily, bruises under her eyes − she was pale, her face unhealthily thin.

She seemed to weigh as much as a feather.

"My beloved child." She said softly, weakly, embracing her, and she reciprocated her grip, closing her eyelids, feeling a tightness in her throat at the thought that her father had locked her in a tower like some kind of animal.

It seemed to her that for her mother, Vhagar was indeed a ghost, for she sat with her on her bed holding her hand and looked only at her, as if she did not notice his presence at all.

"Why didn't Loras come with you? I can't even remember my little son's face anymore." She muttered in pain, and she lowered her gaze, not knowing how to explain to her that her father had decided that the future heir to the throne might be harmed by being with a mother who, in his understanding, had lost her sanity.

She swallowed loudly and tried to smile.

"He has more and more responsibilities as the future king, but he still speaks of you and has ordered to give you his warmest greetings and wishes for a quick recovery." She mumbled out with difficulty − her mother looked at her uncertainly, wrinkling her brow in disbelief.

"I am perfectly well." She spoke quieter and quieter, as if fading away in front of her − she squeezed her hand tighter not knowing how to reassure her, feeling the burning under her eyelids.

"I know, mother. I know." She said and smiled warmly, with concern − her mother smiled back at her too and only after a moment did her gaze escape to the side, her lips parted slightly in disbelief.

She turned over her shoulder wanting to see who she was looking at and swallowed loudly, stroking her skin with her thumb.

"It's Vhagar, mother. My guardian. He protects me and accompanies me everywhere." She said heavily, pretending she felt no terror looking at him, but she heard no reply, her mother looking at him with wide eyes, as if she had indeed seen a ghost.

"The gods are gracious." She said in a trembling voice, and she shook her head, not understanding what she was talking about.

"What?" She asked quietly, wanting her to repeat herself, to expand on the thought, but she was still looking at him, her dry lower lip trembling.

"You came for me like a death? Have you come to relieve my suffering at last?" She asked starting to shudder all over − she put her hands on her shoulders, stroking her reassuringly, thinking with horror that seeing his clothes and mask she imagined that he was indeed the personification of death.

"Mother, he is a guardian, he will not hurt you. He will protect us." She said soothingly to her, and she nodded quickly, as if to reassure her that she did indeed believe her words.

"Don't take her away. Have mercy on her and my son, they didn't know." She mumbled and she embraced her, stroking her hair.

"Mother, stop, please. Please." She mumbled out clenching her eyelids, feeling tear after tear run down her skin − only holding her in her arms did she find to her horror that all that was left of her was skin and bone.

"You need to rest, mother. You need to eat and rest. I'll bring you couple new books next time, all right?" She choked out wearily, and her mother nodded, saying no more.

When they got out of there she walked ahead for a while, feeling everything swirling around her, thinking only of the fact that it had all happened gradually, that at first her despair at what her father had done, at the extent of this massacre, seemed to everyone a natural reaction to what had happened.

However, then her mother began to hear strange noises, to speak of a secret passage through which ghosts passed, of hearing a child crying inside her chamber.

She stopped, gripping a pillar with her hand, seeing darkness in front of her eyes for a moment, breathing loudly, feeling the weight of it all crush her more and more.

She felt his gaze on her, his presence, his silence.

"Kill me." She said quietly, but she was sure he heard it, not a living soul around them.

Silence.

"Please, kill me." She whispered again, pressing her forehead against the cold stone pillar, closing her eyes, waiting for the sound of his footsteps, for the dagger to cut her throat.

Nothing happened.

She opened her eyes, as if suddenly regaining consciousness, and let out a loud breath, moving ahead again, his footsteps behind her echoing around them.

She spent the rest of the day in the library, trying to read but unable to concentrate, looking out of the window at the people walking around the castle courtyard, guards, merchants and servants speaking amongst themselves.

That same evening, as she sat alone in her chamber, sitting by the fireplace, gazing into the flames, Vhagar came in and walked up to her, keeping an appropriate distance.

"The King wishes to dine with you, Princess. Alone."

She lifted her gaze to him, sensing that there was something definitive in his words, and furrowed her brow, feeling uneasy.

Alone?

Why?

She swallowed loudly and nodded, getting up to leave − she heard him move behind her but he did not enter with her into the chamber where the King was staying, allowing the door to close behind her with a loud clatter.

She walked closer to the table behind which her father was sitting − he was eating without waiting for her and nodded for her to sit opposite him. She obeyed his command but did not put anything on her plate, looking at him expectantly.

"What's the matter, Father?"

"I heard you visited your mother again." He said indifferently, sipping the piece of bread he had just chewed with wine from his golden, ruby-decorated chalice.

She pressed her lips together feeling an unpleasant discomfort in her stomach and a cold sweat on her back at the thought of Vhagar telling him what had happened.

"Yes." She replied coolly, lifting her gaze to him, trying to calm her breathing, her heart pounding like mad. Her father murmured under his breath, reaching for a grape, which he tossed into his mouth with a light movement and bite through it with a loud crunch.

"I have moved her to another chamber. She has a bad effect on you, reminding you constantly of these... unpleasant events." He said lowly reaching for another grape − she felt a twinge in her lower abdomen as if she was about to vomit, her lips parted in disbelief.

"What? Where?" She asked unable to hide the tremor in her voice in which lurked growing terror and panic, her father lifting his gaze to her.

"Her fate is no longer your concern." He said in a firm, impatient voice.

She got up quickly and ran out of his chamber with a loud slam of the door, moving swiftly ahead down the dark corridor, choking on her own tears, unable to catch her breath, seeing that there was no one in the passage where the guards still stood in the morning.

She ran quickly up the stairs hearing loud footsteps behind her, stumbling and almost falling, bursting into her mother's chamber, which was now completely empty.

She clutched her stomach, leaning against the cold wall with her hand, and she sobbed loudly, slipping slowly down. She approached her bed and laid her head on the sheets where she and her had been sitting just a few hours ago.

She heard him stop in front of the door, heard his accelerated breathing, knew he was staring at her. She looked at him with hatred, rising slowly and grabbed the candlestick that stood on the table in her hand, swinging, wanting to smite him.

"You fucking bastard!" She growled in fury as she wrestled with him, his black-gloved hands squeezed her firmly by her wrists, easily blocking any of her movements.

"− tell me where she is − please −" She muttered pleadingly, feeling her rage turn to desperation, the candlestick fell from her hand with a loud thud of steel against the stone floor, his bright eye staring at her mercilessly.

"− please − please, Vhagar, I don't want her to be alone −" She mumbled in pain, tightening her fingers on his long leather coat, staring into his cold, emotionless mask, hearing only his quiet breathing.

"It's too late."

She looked at him in disbelief, shaking her head, struggling to catch her breath.

"− what do you mean? −" She asked in a trembling voice, hearing only the loud pounding of her heart.

"She didn't suffer."

She clenched her fingers on his shoulders so tightly that she felt as if they would pierce through the material of his coat into his flesh, an unnaturally high-pitched whine of despair erupted from her throat, she pressed her forehead against his chest.

"− gods, what have you done? −" She mumbled in horror, looking up at him, breathing with difficulty, everything around her was spinning. "− Vhagar, what have you done to her? −"

"It was your father's order."

His grip on her wrist eased; he didn't move from his position or push her away − he simply stood like a statue, waiting for her to calm down. She felt her body begin to spill into his hands, numb and soft, that she was losing consciousness, his arms caught her tightly before she fell to the stone floor.

When she woke up all around her was complete darkness. She thought with relief that it was just a dream, like the nightmares she experienced in the morning. When she looked around she noticed that she was back in her chamber, in her bed.

She turned her head sideways and froze, noticing a seated figure in a black mask on one of the chairs beside her bed − he was sitting with his legs crossed, looking straight at her, his left hand resting on the table top, his finger tapping it gently without making a sound.

She felt a tear of helplessness run down her face onto the pillow under her head, her lips parted at the realisation that it was all true.

Why had he stayed?

Was her father afraid she would commit suicide?

"You were supposed to protect her." She said in a trembling, weak, quiet voice full of remorse. He was silent for a long moment.

"I did."

She furrowed her eyebrows at his words, feeling her lower lip begin to tremble. She swallowed hard with a shake of her head.

"I showed her mercy. Your father the King wanted me to make it look like she took her own life. I gave her poison, after which she just fell asleep, although he suggested hanging. He thought it would look more...natural."

She stared at him for a moment and then closed her eyes, pressing her lips together, twisting onto her side and curling up like a small child, huddling into the furs that lay beside her, feeling her whole body twitching.

Your father the King wanted me to make it look like she took her own life.

He suggested hanging.

He thought it would look more natural.

"When will it be made official?" She asked in a trembling voice, and he hummed under his breath, turning his face to the side.

"Tomorrow morning the King will convene a gathering and announce the sorrowful news." He said indifferently. She swallowed loudly and closed her eyes.

"Do you still have that poison?"

She heard him move restlessly in his seat, felt him hesitate for a second.

"…yes."

She opened her eyelids, extending her trembling hand towards him.

"Have mercy on me too." She said in a pleading, tender voice.

He stared at her for a long moment, and then stood up slowly with a loud creak of wood, walking over to her, pulling a small vial of clear liquid from his pocket.

He handed it to her and she rose to sit down, feeling her whole body quiver, her breath hitched, her heart pounding like mad.

She wanted silence to finally resound in her mind.

She wanted her heart to stop aching.

She wanted to stop being afraid.

She looked at him with huge eyes, swallowing loudly.

"Is it going to be painful?" She asked in a trembling voice − he stood looking at her, she could see his iris shining in the moonlight that fell outside the window.

"No. You'll just fall asleep." He explained softly, his voice surprisingly calm. She nodded, feeling relieved at the thought and unscrewed the cork, looking at the liquid contents inside and lifted it quickly to her lips, pouring its contents down her throat.

She looked up at him, horrified at what she had done, thinking about how a part of her wanted to take it back, how she didn't want to die, but that it was too late.

It was already decided and nothing could be done.

She laid her head on her pillow feeling the tears of helplessness run down her cheeks − she looked at him pleadingly, her lips trembling.

"Will you stay with me?" She asked quietly, placing her hands on her stomach, not wanting to be alone now, not wanting to walk away inside an empty, dark room.

"Yes."

She closed her eyes, feeling with pain that her head began to hum, her eyelids growing heavier and heavier, slowly beginning to lose consciousness until she fell into a deep, pleasant sleep.

She shuddered as she felt someone force her mouth open and pour something forcefully down her throat − she began to cough loudly, her body went into convulsions, her stomach clenched tightly. She felt someone lift her up to sit and hold her as she began to vomit, heard his voice near her ear.

"Come on, you have to get it out of your body. Yes, there we go." She heard his low whisper as she vomited again into the bowl he held in front of her. She was panting loudly drenched in tears, her whole body shivering as if in a fever, her stomach clenched so tightly she felt like screaming in pain.

"One more time. Very good. Just like that." He hummed and helped her lie on her side so that she didn't choke. She was breathing unevenly, trembling, felt his hand take her hair from her face and was only able to think that he pulled off his gloves.

She wasn't sure when she'd fallen asleep again, waking only to vomit again, each time he sat in the same place, his hand on her back.

She had the feeling that it was all just a figment of her imagination.

That it wasn't really happening.

In the morning she had the feeling that what she felt was the opposite of a painless death − her body welted from the fever, all sweaty, her heart had slowed down, everything around her seemed hazy to her.

She heard someone rise from a chair, heard someone's slow footsteps, his figure stood above her like a great, tall black smudge.

"Why?" She asked quietly, struggling to keep her eyelids from closing.

A long silence answered her before she heard his low, deep voice.

"I changed my mind."

_____

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[emyn-arnens]

In Darkness Buried Deep

Frodo & Sam | G | ~900 words | @lotrweek day 5: "here with me" | AO3

Frodo’s skin melted like wax. He burned and burned until there was nothing left of him but ash that floated away on the wind.

But even so, he still burned. His spirit, laid bare before the Eye, caught fire and trembled. The flames licked at him, all consuming, until he was hollowed, worn thin like clothing worn to mere threads that when held up to the sun cannot hide its light.

He shook from the force of the transformation, trembling and bare before the merciless Eye. His hand burned.

“Mr. Frodo!” Sam’s voice pierced through the veil of horror. “Mr. Frodo!” He shook Frodo.

Frodo scrubbed a hand over his face, his mind still caught somewhere between nightmare and waking. His hand curled around something warm. It flared against his fingers but did not burn, and a light pierced through the last lingering webs of horror.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Mr. Frodo, but we have to be getting on.” Sam peered at him closely, worry stitching his brows together as tight as a seam. He paused and looked closer at Frodo, his eyes fixed on Frodo’s chest.

Instinctively, Frodo clutched the Ring with his free hand. It was cool and soothing against his palm. He drew away from Sam, mistrusting the look in his eyes. 

Sam’s gaze turned thoughtful. “Do you remember Bilbo’s song in Rivendell about Eärendil? When I heard it, I never would have thought that one day we’d have a bit of Eärendil with us.” He nodded to Frodo’s chest. 

Frodo looked down at his hand, still held against his chest. In it was the star glass. Sam must have tucked it in his hand while Frodo slept, sensing the dark paths Frodo wandered in his sleep. And unknowingly, Frodo had clutched the star-glass to his chest, as if it were a ward against the darkness. The glass now burned as if it were living flame, casting its light about them in a pale bloom and forcing the gloom of Mordor to recede.

“I never would have thought I’d be part of one of the great stories. Me, a gardener! But it makes the task easier, doesn’t it, to think of Eärendil helping us, even though he’s sailing where we can’t go, up high above the clouds in his star-ship, and we’re down here, picking our way along paths no sensible hobbit would take.”

Something long-buried unfurled in Frodo’s heart. “Yes, Sam, I suppose it does.”

Sam paused, thoughtful. “I suppose you could even say Eärendil was sent to us, just as the Valar sent him in his star-ship to help Middle-earth long ago. And maybe that means that even now the Valar still watch and send help, even though they’ve removed themselves from Middle-earth and dwell where no man can go.” Warmth spilled over Sam’s brown face like sunlight shifting between clouds. 

“Why, think of it, Mr. Frodo!” he cried. “Maybe they’re helping us, even here in this dreadful land of rocks and fumes. Us! Helped by the Valar!” He stuck his thumbs behind his suspenders and beamed. “I wonder what my old Gaffer would have to say about that! That I’m putting myself above my station, most like, and taking part in things grander than us plain folk should be involved in. ‘Sam Gamgee,’ he’d say, ‘if you head weren’t stuffed so full of nonsense and foolishness, you’d do better remembering your place.’” Sam rocked back on his heels. “The Valar!”

Frodo's lips moved in the memory of a smile, the movement foreign and wearying. The star-glass, warm against his palm, still shone in his hand, light welling between his fingers. He clasped his hand tightly around it, then slipped the star-glass beneath his tunic against his heart and took courage from the warmth seeping into his heart.

He closed his eyes and let his mind wander from the dark land they passed through. His mind stepped toward the familiar places of home, as it had when he was imprisoned in the tower, but their names were nothing more than memories with no meaning, and he saw nothing but darkness. Still, the names, though featureless, were a faint comfort, and he let his mind linger upon them, remembering why he had set out on this hopeless quest. The Brandywine, the market at Bywater, Woody End, Hobbiton—they had meant something to him once, and he seized hold of them.

He stirred. “Thank you, Sam,” he murmured and withdrew the star-glass from his tunic. The light in it had gone dark, and it looked now like nothing more than a phial of clear water. “Keep this safe for me.”

Sam helped him to his feet, and Frodo peered at the barren land, pitted with rocks and craters and ringed by a red sky, that stretched before and around them. His feet moved with renewed purpose, and his heart no longer hung as a weight in his chest. And though he could not bring himself to hope, for the embers of his hope had died to ashes in his chest, he could reach out and clasp Sam’s hope as a rope leading him through the darkness.

[manicplank]

The Color Pink (Noise x Noisette FanFic) (Part 1)

Hi ok so for starters, this is just my interpretation of how Noise and Noisette came to be. This is based off my headcanons and such, NO PART OF THIS IS CANON. This is fan fiction, so be prepared to be cringe. I am cringe, but I am free. Please be patient on updates and grammar/punctuation corrections. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

Hazel grumbled as the sound of her alarm ringing woke her up. She sat up and stretched, rubbing her dry, tired eyes. She lived alone in a small house, but the emptiness made it seem so big. She reluctantly crawled out of bed and walked to the bathroom to brush her teeth. It was four in the morning, earlier than most people can even think of waking up. She brushed her hair as she hummed. Slowly but surely she felt more awake. She put on a white t-shirt and topped it with her favorite pink skirt with overalls. She slipped on her favorite pair of red heels, but they weren't the tallest as to not squish her toes. Finally, she slipped on her pink bunny mask to finish her look. She left her home and locked the door behind her.

The sun was starting to rise and shone through the windows of the tower. She couldn't see all of it, but the tiny amount of clouds colored pink and purple by the sunlight was enough to make her smile. Hazel clutched her purse tightly as she walked through the slum. She hated the location of her cafe, but she was still so grateful to have one. She swiftly unlocked the front door, the bell above it rang as she walked in. She sighed in relief. Another day, another dollar, she thought, as she turned on the lights. She readied the coffee makers with clean filters and freshly ground coffee. The aroma of such filled the air. The bell rang as someone walked in the door.

"Mornin', Hazel!" The Vigilante slithered in with a smile on his face. He made his way to the counter and lifted himself up on the stool. "Morning, Vigi!" She greeted him enthusiastically. "You're up early today!"

"Yep," he responded, "it's hay day. Cuttin' down the field and shuffling the hay so it can dry... It sure does take a while. By the time I finish, it'll be sundown."

"So what can I get'cha today?"

"The usual."

She grabbed a mug from the shelves beneath the counter and poured the dark silky coffee, leaving a little room for a couple of sugar cubes. She handed it to The Vigilante, and he immediately took a sip before the coffee could even cool.

He sighed happily, "Just how I like it. Thank ya kindly."

Hazel smiled in reply. "I've been thinking about serving food in here."

"Oh yeah?" He smiled. "Like what?"

"I don't know," she hummed with thought. "I want to do something unique. I feel like every cafe does the same thing, I want to be different. It's always donuts, sandwiches, blah blah blah."

"Hmph... Maybe somethin' like pastries?"

"Uhhh... Maybe. I don't know, that's not super special. I want to do something you've never heard of. Something like... Peas and cherries!"

The Vigilante silently stared at her in horror.

"Get it? Like peas and carrots, but instead of carrots, it's cherries!"

He smiled hesitantly. "Yeah, uh... How about something... different."

She frowned. "You're right, that idea stinks! I'll think of something better."

While she took out a small notepad and took inventory, The Vigilante sipped on his coffee quietly while he read the newspaper. Hazel was a bit disgruntled, she hated doing inventory. It was so boring to her. Even being a small business had its tolls. She always dreamed of having her own cafe that was more unique than the big corporate ones, but she dreaded the side work that didn't involve making coffee and chatting with costumers. Even worse, business was slow. Days were long and grating. She hoped that maybe food would bring in more customers, but she feared that some of the questionable gangs from The Pig City nearby would put her business at stake. The Vigilante always insisted that he would be there if anything happened, but she didn't like depending on him. What if it took him too long to get up to the fourth floor? The thugs would've been long gone before he even stepped out of the elevator.

The Vigilante put his empty mug on the counter. "Well, dear," he spoke, "I better get goin'. Fields ain't gonna harvest 'emselves."

"Alright, Vigi. Thanks for stopping in!"

He tipped his hat as he walked out the door. "Anytime."

She sighed and rested her head in her arms on the counter. Once again, the cafe was empty and quiet, too quiet for her liking. She flipped on the T.V. in the lobby. PTV was on with those BORING shows about the history of pizza and pizza people. It hadn't had any new content in so long, but it was good background noise as she attempted to scrub those stubborn stains on the counter. Those stains were there before she was, and no matter how hard she tried, they stayed. They were so frustrating for her. She felt that they made her look lazy and dirty, but that couldn't be farther from the truth.

The bell rang again as the Pig City police force entered the cafe. "Morning, fellas," she greeted them. One tipped his hat at her while the others went to the booths. She walked over and handed them the small menus. The size of the menus haunted her as she felt that her cafe was lacking something. The Piggy Police quickly gazed over the menus as they found what they wanted. One by one they handed the menus back to her. "Y'know, ma'am," one spoke, "NTV has a crazy new show going on."

"Oh," she aired, "which one? I know they've got a few projects in the works."

"Ahhh, I think it's the one where he plays as the detective."

"Noise of the Unknown?"

"Yeah, that one! I think it premieres a couple times today."

"I'll change the channel," she tapped the menus on the table to straighten them out. "I'm sick of this PTV channel, anyways"

Hazel headed back behind the counter, quickly changing the channel to NTV before she began to work on the cops' orders. One coffee with frothy cold foam atop, another coffee with cream and two shots of espresso, an extra sweet cappuccino, an iced coffee with vanilla syrup. She was slightly swamped with orders, but she was happy to finally be doing something. She served those coffees to the first booth then headed to another booth to take their orders. She rushed back to the counter to work on the new orders. The bell rang as yet another customer walked in. "Be with you in one minute," she called out. She was focused intensely on her work that her surroundings disappeared. A hot black coffee with six sugars, a coffee with milk and mocha sauce, another cappuccino with hazelnut syrup and sugar. She collected the empty dishes from the first booth and rushed back to the counter. "That's a familiar face on T.V.," said the stranger at the counter.

"Well, yea, that's The-" she was struck with awe as she turned around see the tower's biggest celebrity sitting right in front of her. "-Noise... Hahhhahhh... hi."

"Hey," The Noise spoke as a smirk grew across his face.

"You, that's uh... That's you." She grinned from ear to ear, completely flustered as her celebrity crush gazed into her eyes.

"Yeah, that's me."

"..."

"..."

"So, uh," she cleared her throat. "What can I get'cha?"

"I don't know yet, first time here."

"Oh, right, um-" she handed him a menu, "here. I'll come back to you in a minute."

She went over to the second booth, her heart now racing. She could feel the blood rushing to her face as she was suddenly nervous. She collected the dishes from the second booth and then the first, putting them in the sink behind the counter. She printed out their receipts and handed it to them. The Piggy Police continued to sit and chat in their booths. She hastily made her way back behind the counter and approached The Noise, her heart still fluttering. "Anything catch your eye," she asked him. He looked up from the menu and winked at her. It took every bit of self control she had not to squeal.

"I'll have an iced coffee," he said, "shot of espresso, sweet cream, three sugar."

"Got it!"

Hazel rushed over to the freshest pot of coffee and poured it over ice. The Piggy Police came up to the counter to pay their bills as she quickly finished up The Noise's drink and handed it to him. They all paid but didn't tip, to her disappointment. A few cops tried to chat with The Noise, but he put his hand up and spoke, "Sorry fellas, I'm off the clock right now. Business only happens on the clock." They nodded to him and went on their way, their radios suddenly beeping in emergency. Hazel tried not to stare at Noise and kept her focus on washing the dishes. He finally took a sip of his drink, and his eyes widened. "Holy shit," he exclaimed. Hazel turned around in panic. "This coffee is amazing!"

"Oh, please," she smiled, "you're just saying that."

"No, seriously! This is the best coffee I've had in this tower." He took another sip. "I mean, a lot of the coffee you get in this place is pizza-flavored... I usually brew my own, but I have that little machine with the cups."

"I used to have one of those. Ironically, of course, heh..."

"It isn't the best, but it gets me going when we film early in the mornings... Or afternoons." He chuckled.

Hazel went back to doing the dishes and tried to give The Noise some space.

"Ya know," he started again, "I wanted to ask you something."

Hazel's heart dropped and her eyes grew wide. What was he going to ask? "Yeah? What's up?"

"The name of your cafe... what's up with that?"

"Oh... Oh! It's French for hazelnut! It's pronounced, 'nwa-zett', but everybody thinks it's 'Noise-ett'... I promise it's not named after you, no offense."

"That's..."

Her heart started racing again. Oh, god, is he mad, she thought.

"Hilarious!" The Noise laughed. "I can't believe people thought your cafe was named after me!"

She giggled with him, "Yeah! I thought it was silly. I corrected a few people, but it gets tiring."

"I can imagine." He drank his coffee. "You serve food here?"

"No. Not yet, actually. I'm hoping to serve food here soon enough, but I'm still debating what to put on the menu."

"You thinkin' pastries or somethin'?"

"No. Well, maybe. I want something unique. I don't know, though. I'm completely stumped. I mean, what hasn't been done?"

He listened to her as he continued to sip his coffee as if he hadn't drank anything in days.

"Funkin' Donuts and Farbucks have pastries and sandwiches," she rambled, "but I don't want to be like the big corporations! I want to do something different. I want my cafe to have a catch!"

The Noise's phone began to rang. "Sorry to interrupt you," he apologized as he answered the call. "Yeah, what's up? ... Ugh, really? I haven't even eaten anything yet... Alright, fine. I'll be there in ten minutes." He sighed in frustration. "Sorry to rush, but it looks like we're starting early today. What do I owe you?"

"Oh, don't worry about it. It's on the house!"

"No, please, I have the money, let me pay you."

"Alright," she handed him the receipt, and he paid her in cash. "Thanks for stopping in!"

"I'll be back eventually." He winked at her, and she giggled.

"I'll be here." She turned grabbed his glass and took it over to the sink to be washed with the rest of the dishes. The bell rang as he walked out.

-

With all the coffee pots washed and the machines cleaned, it was finally time to end her day at work. Hazel sighed as she went over to count the cash in the register. She glanced at the tip jar quickly, expecting it to be empty as usual, but... "Oh, my GOSH!!!" She exclaimed loud enough to echo through the cafe. A $100 bill sat in the jar, it was the only tip in there. She squealed as she took the money out of the jar. It made no sense to her; none of the police tipped. Hold on... That tip had to be from The Noise! She squeaked and hopped around. While her day wasn't close to ending, it was just made whole and complete.

[alpydk]

Words and Memories

Just some spite writing after my head cannon last night. I will not go into details, just my head didn't handle something well with it. Anyway, I have a unique perspective and voice. I won't let someone take that from me. I write for myself, that's all that matters.

Word Count - 1066 - Hurt/No comfort

Dearest Tav,

Gale scratched the words out. Solicallor… Another strike of the quill as it met the parchment, as the words seemed to catch with his own breath. He could feel the subtle tremor of his nerves, the orb soon to be in need of satiating, its darkness consuming everything within, from his magic to the very words he wished he could give her. Soon it would be over for him, though, and she would be left behind. She’d hurt, she’d grieve, but she would be alive, and that was all that mattered.

He watched as she slept on the bedroll, the way her white hair glowed the subtle gold of the candlelight. He reflected over the sunflowers he’d gazed upon earlier in the day, a fleeting dream that he could plant them alongside his tower and watch as they rose to the heavens, her smile the sunlight upon ambitious stems. Now those dreams were gone, grey clouds basking over those skies, the sunflowers doomed to wilt and rot.

His wrist ached with each marking of the quill, and yet he needed to be sure that all had been said that could be. I love you. That was all that really mattered, what lay deep in his heart, more powerful than any spell he could conjure upon his fingertips. Was there any rhyme or reason for the sleepless hours and torment he now placed his own body under or was this just regrets for how things had ended with Mystra, a desperate attempt to end things on his own terms?

----

My love,

Another letter imagined as he walked the road behind his group of friends, the words flowing in front of his sight as the breeze blew in his hair. It would make writing all the easier tonight as they slept shielded from the curse of the surrounding lands. He would claim he was keeping guard, as was his turn after so many nights he’d been unable to. The orb no longer attacked his body, and yet the guilt drained him instead now, knowing his fate was sealed.  

I love you. Would the words even be enough? Words he had wanted to say for so long to her. She’d glance at him, her lilac eyes full of the hope he believed he’d lost long ago. To touch her hand was to feel the warmth of the fire burning, to know that life existed in the darkened shadow of his existence. Life that would continue long after he was gone.

---

The battle had come and gone, but the letters continued to be written; for what right did he have to be alive? After all he had done, all the mistakes, a soul too burdened to fly, why did he deserve to live when so many others had not been so fortunate? …a more worthy love. That was what she deserved after all she had done for him, after all she had done for each whose path she had crossed. Butterfly wings fluttering upon the breeze, the ripples bringing change to so many; that was her blessing.

Solicallor: warm light of the sun, a dawn upon his conjured nights, an ever-burning star guiding travellers home. He would never see his home with her, never see the sunflowers bloom, or the docks under her bright gaze. He wished for her, though; the words flowing, unlike the tears he refused to shed. Instead of feeling sorry for himself, his only emotion would be hope for her. That she would find happiness after he was gone, that she would find a love more worthy.

---

1493

Gale had died, and time had meant little to Tav as she watched the night descend upon the tower once again. The stars shone, but none as brightly as he had. She’d watched as his projection had faded in her very arms, as her tears had smudged the ink of the letter handed to her, as sunflowers had bloomed and wilted in shadow.

It all felt so empty without him there, the silence now enough to drown her, his voice missing unlike that one magical night. The warmth of the study had gone, the bench on the balcony remaining vacated, a fear of disturbing it always in the back of her mind as she viewed it from a distance.

She was unsure why she stayed; there was nothing there for her. The others had tried to persuade her to leave, had wiped tears, and tried to lift spirits, but she clung on as if hope to bring him back was enough, as if denying his death would bring him back. The letter had not been enough, no number of words enough to fill the hole she had been left with, a darkness that consumed everything from within. He’d been her light, guiding her forward, leading her to be better, to be worthy of his love, and now he was gone.

Gone.

The bag fell to the floor with a thud, his pack one that she had dared not look in since his departure. She’d hung the weathered straps up next to one of his old cloaks, the smell of sandalwood, one she would bury her head in on darker nights. The smell lingered, the faintest hint of brandy that took her back to poetry filled evenings. There would be no more poetry. She approached the pack, its contents spilt onto the dark wooden floor, sheets of parchment and ink bleeding through the pages.

She gathered them up, little attention paid to the contents, a reflex to clean before damage was made permanent, before the blackened ink spread any further. Her fingers, her clothing, my love…

Letter upon letter, notes scribbled, I love you neatly penned a thousand times buried under devotion and prayer. Nights of script written for her eyes alone. Solicallor… His warmth drifting from unread words, his hope for her fluttering like butterfly wings, his love, something she wished she had been good enough for.

She sat on the study floor; the papers scattered around her. She wished words were enough to bring him back, that the letters could ease the pain, that sunflowers could reach the heavens and guide him back to her. But this was it; now he was nothing but the words in front of her, and it’s all he would ever be. Just tear stained words and lost memories.

[valentine-cafe]

"Why do I need the sunlight when I have you?" With 781 Talisen please!?!:D

[Gn reader]

Fluff?:D

-🍄

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ verse 781 talisen

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍮 ꒱ reaper x reader, grim reaper x reader, aetheer x reader, snake monster x reader ⊹ ۪ ࣪

the morning sun shone through the windows of the dimly lit dorm.

candle wax melting as flame licks away at the string leaving behind the gentle smell of roses and wildflowers.

a pair of eyes crack open. exhaust still quite evident in them. all from last night’s events that you had with your boyfriend.

traveling across the city to get to the old observatory and take in the night sky from way up above the hill and inside the tower, that the two of you have made into your own little spot. your own little safe haven.

where gardens grow vast and abundant. the berries sweet and the vegetables savoury for cooking.

oh the poems the reaper recited last night. exchanging fond smiles with his beloved whenever the pair of soft lips would finish off the last paragraph written on the paper.

gone home the two lovers had, early in the morning. bodies searching for warmth after the long walk down avenues and alleys.

the blankets of the plush bed had been comforting clouds, and the pillows, soft grass sweeping across a meadow of beautiful lilies when the two of you reached home.

and now, you were awake. taking in the scent of bread baking in the oven, and fruits cut for a satisfactory fruit salad with breakfast.

“tal?” the soft croak that calls for the man reaches his ears quick. his face catching your eyes as it cast a look over broad shoulders.

“ah xīn gān, you have stirred from your sleep. i see?” he chuckles. the corners of his mouth curling fondly, lovingly. a smile very few but rishen, alessio and you see. holding such admiration and deep rooted care for those the otherworldly being holds closest to his slow beating heart.

with a shift in your weight, you sit up straight. adjusting your pajamas and getting out of bed. bare feet tapping against the floor. halting in the middle of the living room to warm them on the rug.

“quite cold, this morning is.” you comment quietly, still adjusting your eyesight to the dorm.

a small hum emits from deep within talisen’s throat and leaves behind familiar fluttering feelings in your tummy. that lovesick feeling you’ve been feeling for years now coming back to greet you as an old friend.

“indeed.” he sighs, drawing the curtains.

“you wish for the room to be dark once again?” you ask in confusion. the candles shining like the sun now, whilst plants take in the soft glow of the room. illuminated and oddly more vibrant.

“why not?” the whisper catches you ears before your eyesight registers he has moved to be right in front of you. gently taking your hand in his and stroking his thumb across the palm of your hand.

“i need no sunlight peering through these old windows, when i have you to light everything up. my dear.” he croons softly. giving you a soft smile, his face flaring up a bit.

you cannot stop your own from doing so either. certainly, you must look like a tomato as much as him at the very moment.

with a little giggle and huff you pull him close and hug onto him. with no intention to let go. he minds not, so he drags you with him to the kitchen to finish up everything. for the two of you to eat.

[someonelol1872]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆𝐈𝐬𝐚𝐚𝐜, ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ♡"𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬"⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

𝕿𝖜𝖔 𝖉𝖗𝖎𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖊𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉, 𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊'𝖘 𝖘𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖆 𝖑𝖔𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖊𝖊, 𝖂𝖊'𝖗𝖊 𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖆𝖒𝖊 𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖇𝖔𝖜'𝖘 𝖊𝖓𝖉, 𝖂𝖆𝖎𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖉, 𝕸𝖞 𝖍𝖚𝖈𝖐𝖑𝖊𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖗𝖞 𝖋𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖉, 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖓 𝖗𝖎𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖊 -Audrey Hepburn, Moon River, (from Breakfast at Tiffany's)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Isaac's estate was expansive, adorned with lush gardens, winding paths, and a tranquil lake that mirrored the sky. Ever since you arrived, Isaac had been wary of letting you venture beyond the confines of his home. The traumatic memories of losing his parents had made him overly cautious about your safety. Yet, he could see how being cooped up inside day after day weighed on you. You longed for fresh air and the simple joy of the outdoors.

One bright morning, after much internal debate, Isaac made up his mind.

The sun shone brilliantly, birds sang harmoniously, and the flowers were in full bloom. Your excitement was contagious, and Isaac found himself relaxing as you walked hand in hand. He grabbed a blanket and a couple of books, and the two of you made your way to the lake. The day was warm, the sky a brilliant blue with fluffy clouds drifting lazily across it, the sunlight filtering through the trees, casting a golden glow over everything.

As you reached the lake, you gasped in delight. The water sparkled under the sun, surrounded by lush greenery and wildflowers. Isaac spread the blanket on a grassy spot near the water, and you settled down, basking in the serene beauty of the place. He laid the blanket under a large oak tree, and you marveled at the tranquil water, its surface shimmering in the sunlight. Isaac unpacked a basket while you wandered around, picking wildflowers.

Isaac opened a book, his mind half on the words and half on your delighted expressions as you explored the surroundings. You returned with an armful of blooms and sat down next to him, weaving them into a crown. The flower crown featured an artful blend of white daisies, sprigs of lavender, golden buttercups, and pale pink wild roses. Tiny clusters of baby's breath filled in the gaps, all woven together with slender vines and green leaves.

After a while, you finished your flower crown and turned to Isaac, who was absorbed in his reading. With a playful smile, you crept up behind him and gently placed the crown on his head.

"W-What? Oh—" He chuckled, feeling warmth spread through his chest. "I feel a bit ridiculous, but if it makes you happy, I'll wear it."

You rolled your eyes playfully, "You look adorable," you said, before frolicking to another flower field, your laughter echoing through the garden. Isaac couldn't help but smile fondly. He reached up and gently took the flower crown off his head, holding it delicately between his fingers. Studying the intricate arrangement of blooms, he couldn't shake the feeling of warmth that enveloped him. It wasn't just the flower crown—it was the joy in your eyes when you placed it on his head, the carefree laughter that filled the air, and the simple happiness of being together in this tranquil garden.

You spotted a dandelion and, with a soft gasp of delight, knelt down, your fingers delicately plucking one of the fluffy white seed heads from its stem. Cradling it in your palm, you turned to Isaac, a playful gleam dancing in your eyes.

"Isaac, close your eyes," you whispered, your voice as light as a feather.

Isaac complied, the corners of his lips curling into a smile as he anticipated the surprise. He felt a gentle rustle of air, followed by a soft puff against his cheek as you blew on the dandelion.

As he opened his eyes, he was greeted by a shower of delicate white seeds, floating through the air and his ebony hair like ethereal snowflakes. They danced around him, catching the golden rays of sunlight and casting a magical glow over the garden.

"Oh, Pickle..." he murmured, his voice filled with a tender affection. The moment was perfect, a snapshot of pure, unblemished happiness, a day neither of you would ever forget. ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

[yuzurujenn]

[2024.10.15] BRUTUS November 1, 2024 issue No. 1018 - Beautiful Architecture and Windows

OPEN MY WINDOW Open your own window. Hanyu Yuzuru special photoshoot.

Yuzuru Hanyu Hanyu Yuzuru / Born in Miyagi Prefecture in 1994. He won two consecutive gold medals in men's singles figure skating at the Sochi 2014 and Pyeongchang 2018 Olympics. He has also won numerous World Championships and Grand Prix Finals. In 2018, he received the People’s Honor Award. After turning professional in July 2022, he became a producer and held three solo shows, including "GIFT" and "RE_PRAY." He also has a picture book titled "GIFT" (text: Yuzuru Hanyu, illustrations: CLAMP).

What do you see from your window, Hanyu-san?

One summer day in a house studio, Yuzuru Hanyu was sitting by the window. He gazed at the garden, which glistens in the quiet sunlight shining through the trees. Behind the sound of the shutter, Erik Satie’s "Gymnopédie No. 1," which he had selected from his iPhone playlist, was playing on the portable speaker.

"During shoots, I always choose a song that suits the situation and the intention for each shot. Since turning professional, I've had more opportunities to be photographed not just as an athlete, but as a person and an artist, and each time I am reminded of how many people put in a lot of time and effort to create a single photograph. When I heard that today’s theme from BRUTUS was 'windows,' I approached the shoot as if I were trying to fit myself into a crafted story."

At the beginning of the score for "Gymnopédie No. 1," the performance instructions read, "Slowly, with sorrow." The gentle yet melancholic melody resonates with the struggles a skater must have faced both physically and mentally, before and after achieving glory. Hanyu-san, what do you see from your window?

"When I used to live in Toronto, my house was on a high floor of a building, so I could see the whole city. It was raining in the areas covered by clouds, but I often saw rainbows in the gaps between the clouds where it wasn’t raining at all. That scene left a strong impression on me. I also can’t forget the view I saw from the airplane window during overseas trips. Whether it was on my way to Europe or coming back, I can’t recall clearly, but the plane was flying above the clouds, and only the moon shone brightly amidst the surrounding darkness. The brightness of the moon made it impossible to see the stars, and that scene was so beautiful that I rested my forehead against the window and gazed at it for a long time."

A town in the rain and with a rainbow. Darkness and moonlight. Even these scenes seem to suggest the journey he has taken so far. During the photo shoot, Hanyu was photographed from both inside and outside the window, but which side does he prefer?

"Personality-wise, I guess I'm the type who likes to keep to myself. I'm an introspective person, and I've often thought deeply about myself and people since I was little, so in that sense I might be the type of person who prefers to close the window and focus on being alone. However, I believe that even the most sociable and cheerful people need personal space and sometimes want to close all the windows. But those windows must have handles on them, so that when the time comes, someone else can open it for them, or they can open it themselves… That's what I was hoping to express in that window-shoot I did earlier."

He announced his transition to a professional career in July 2022. It was a declaration of his unwavering commitment to move forward. Although he stepped away from the competitive world where he compared himself to others, his battle with himself continues as he strives for even greater heights. He has already achieved three solo shows, a first in the figure skating world, all of which were a huge success. If we were to compare Hanyu to a house, would it be that he didn’t move to a new house when he turned professional; rather, the house itself remains the same, but the direction the window opens and the view from it have changed?

"Well, it’s true that my fundamental personality hasn't changed at all from before I started skating to the present. I have always been inquisitive and curious, often wondering, 'What is a human being?' In that sense, it is the same house. I probably have windows facing all directions, and I probably hang blackout curtains over them. Sometimes I want to feel the morning sun coming through the east-facing window, and other times I don't want to see anything and keep all the curtains closed. I think humans, myself included, are very selfish and interesting, and sometimes we wish to be part of society, and sometimes we just want to shut ourselves away in solitude. When I'm on tour, I might close the curtains. I want to block out the noise around me, concentrate on myself, and deliver a good performance. Afterwards, I'll secretly lift the curtains to see how the audience reacts (laughs)."

In his solo performance tour "RE_PRAY" from 2023 to 2024, Hanyu himself became the protagonist of a role-playing game, blending skating performances and videos to express a world of opposites, such as success and failure, life and death, light and darkness, and game-over and continue. This unprecedented ice show struck a universal chord with audiences from all walks of life, touching their hearts. What’s next for Hanyu, who always exceeds the expectations of his fans?

“I can’t reveal the details... but I’m constantly thinking about new songs and programs. I said earlier that I haven't changed, but since I became a professional, the way I spend my time has obviously changed, and I don't have time to just sit idle anymore. This year I turn 30, and every day I reflect deeply on what I’ve worked hard for nearly 30 years and the meaning of my existence now.”

After the interview, we returned to the studio for the rest of the shoot, where we could hear Matsutoya Yumi's "Yasashisa ni Tsutsumareta Nara" playing in the background. "Open the curtains..." Perhaps now is the time to open windows in various directions and take in new input in anticipation of the next step. I tell myself that everything I see is a message.

Source: BRUTUS November 1, 2024 issue No. 1018, pg 65 Info: https://brutus.jp/magazine/issue/1018/ https://x.com/gucci_jp/status/1846128889573032006 BTS: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/_MEmG5MwL0g / https://www.youtube.com/shorts/lAnWsArkHYw

[starlitiris]

“Lilacs” ~ Painter x Reader (Part 1)

Part 2

warnings: angst, character death, mildly descriptive graphic imagery, grief, panic attacks(?)

beginning notes: thank you to cavern-creature for giving me the idea to write this! i’m not too happy with the pacing, but oh well. more notes will be at the end of the story.

word count: ~2.1k

~ 🪻 ~

It’s a beautiful spring day. The sun is high and shining bright, nary a cloud in the sky. The weather was perfect! Or so Painter had been told. He couldn’t feel the temperature himself, of course. He couldn’t feel the soft, gentle breeze brushing over his monitor, either. Or smell the floral aroma coming from the field of flowers him and his friends were in. A beautiful shade of purple surrounded the three on each side. Painter, his creator, and you.

He watched you run out into the field, his creator electing to stay behind so he could set Painter up on the crate they always bring. You came to halt, turning to face the wind, and held out your arms to feel it. The breeze, the sun, the flowers grazing your calves. It was bliss.

You looked amazing. The sunlight shone on your face, highlighting all of your beautiful features. Your clothes, moving with every gust of wind that rushed by, framed you perfectly. Your smile was as bright as always. You looked perfect. You are perfect. Painter was sure of that.

“Hey, stand still!” The AI called out to you. “I wanna capture you just like that!”

You giggled. “Just like this? Are you sure?”

“Exactly like that,” he reinforced, the sweetest smile painted on his screen.

“Okay, but try not to take too long! My arms are gonna start hurting if I have to stand here for hours.”

“I won’t take THAT long! Just hold still, I’ll paint you first,” Painter responded, wiping his page clean to start sketching you.

“He has been getting faster at this lately,” his creator adds, resting his elbow atop the computer.

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes, even though you’re still smiling. “Let’s just hope he’s fast enough,” you tease.

“Hey, you can’t rush perfection!” He tells you.

You laugh. Banter with Painter is always light and fun. You’re impressed that he already has a really good outline of you done. You’ve seen him paint a hundred times over at this point, but watching his process never ceases to amaze you. It’s kind of mesmerizing. You love it.

You love him. And he loves you all the same.

One of the cameras Painter is connected to picks up on motion somewhere in the blacksite, pulling him out of his daydream. He groans and sets his unfinished drawing of you aside as a draft. Back to work.

Urbanshade just sent down a few more teams of expendables, it would seem. What a drag. At least Painter could try to have some fun while he stalls them.

He doesn’t bother with actually watching them – it serves him no real purpose to do so. He just goes off of motion sensors and does what he can do in any given room the suckers wander into. Luring Z-96 around with the PA system, activating turrets, pissing off Eyefestation when it’s near enough. Fun stuff.

He giggles to himself knowing one of the active teams was just fooled by a false door.

“Moronsss,” he says to nobody.

Things continue this way for a while, like they always do. As the night progresses, all the EXR-P teams are gradually killed off. All but one, that is. That’s all thanks to him, as well as the many other dangers this place has to offer. The motion sensors indicate that the remaining team is down to two expendables. They won’t last long. Painter is certain.

Only one expendable enters the next room.

See? He knew it.

And, would you look at that. This room has turrets in it! Might as well put this poor sap out of their misery. He activates the weapons.

It’s one of the long rooms that has a large window peering out into the ocean, equipt with three turrets to cover nearly every inch of the area. Well, they used to cover every inch. But that was before panicked Urbanshade employees set up tables and lockers for protection. Now they could only scan most of the room. Oh well. The tables and lockers didn’t save those workers, and it certainly won’t save this prisoner.

He takes note that the expendable made it to a safe spot in the center of the room. Barely, though. A laser on one of the turrets grazed their ankle before they made it to safety. The weapon was alerted for a brief moment, then went back to rotating around the room when the person was out of sight.

“Ugghhh,” Painter dramatically groaned in his cage. How annoying. At least this idiot still has the other half of the room to get through.

The expendable warily leaves the comfort of their safe spot to move forward. They only make it a quarter of the way to where they’re aiming to go, though, before being harshly informed by a loud beeping that they didn’t time this correctly. They take a few bullets to their right arm and leg while hurrying back to where they had just been hiding.

“Ngh, dammit! F-Fuck, fuck, fuck…” they curse.

Huh. That voice sounds… kind of familiar to Painter. Weird.

He decides not to waste much time on that thought. There’s no way he could possibly know this person, and he needs to focus.

He has a job to do.

Kill the expendables. Stall for time.

He waits while the bleeding criminal braces themself to make another run for it. They certainly don’t seem to be in a rush.

“Cooome ooon, stop wasting time! You’re just gonna die anyway!” Painter complains, once again to nobody but himself. He hasn’t been talking to these losers as much as he normally would today. He didn’t even feel like taunting them. He was in a sour mood. They interrupted his daydream.

“God, how am I going to do this…?” He hears the person ask themself.

They sound familiar. So familiar. It’s bothering him now. He can’t hear them all that well because of the audio quality and their quiet volume, but there’s something about that voice…

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Get rid of them.

The expendable is on their feet again. They steady themself against the locker they’ve been tucked behind, and take a deep, shaky breath.

They hold.

They wait.

And they run as fast as their aching, wounded body will let them.

They shout when a bullet pierces their shoulder, and drop dead in front of the unopened door as they’re shot down.

And that’s the last of the EXR-P teams until Urbanshade sends more down in a pathetic attempt to retrieve their precious crystal.

Suckers.

Finding himself with nothing to do again, Painter tries to go back to his daydreaming. That wonderfully beautiful face, amongst that beautiful purple field, underneath the beautiful beating sun. But he finds himself distracted by that voice again. He tries to brush it off and forget about it, but it’s bothering him. Like an itch that won’t go away. Now that he thinks about it, it sort of sounded like…

No. That’s impossible. You were on the surface somewhere, safe and sound. Blissfully unaware of the horrors taking place at the bottom of the ocean. Unaware of the horrible things Painter is doing for the sake of freedom.

You are safe.

Hell, you might even be in that field at this very moment. It may be cold out this time of year, but you three used to agree that it was gorgeous there year-round. That’s why you all would visit it all the time.

That’s probably where you are. Yeah. In the field. Waiting for purple to blanket the ground once again.

… But even knowing that, he can’t shake the anxiety building within him. Just the thought of you ending up here somehow, let alone being killed- by him.

But it’s not you. He knows that. And just to prove to himself that it isn’t you, he’ll go look at the corpse through a camera near the door so he can see that it’s clearly… not…

…

He has to stare for a while to fully grasp what he’s seeing. He shows up on the sign next to the door.

That wonderfully beautiful face.

You’re paler than he remembers. Likely due to the fact that all of the blood that should be swimming through your veins is now a massive puddle on the floor. Your eyes, once bright and warm, now look dull and lifeless. Your face holds no emotion. Blood has seeped out of your nose and the corner of your mouth, contributing to the pool of crimson surrounding you.

You’re surrounded in red.

You should be surrounded in purple, but all he sees is red.

“... No…”

Painter doesn’t want to believe what he’s seeing is real.

“No… no no no.”

All of his anxiety is replaced with panic.

“Y/N! Y/N, wake up!”

He can’t accept that you’re dead. He won’t.

“Y/N, please! I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to! Please!”

He can’t lose you too.

“Please!!”

His voice cracks as if he’s crying.

And he is.

That’s not something he wanted to know he could do.

He starts to desperately alert to Sebastian that something is wrong. Painter can’t do anything for you himself, but his friend can. He can help. He can fix you.

Painter keeps begging for you to wake up, telling you help is on the way. Minutes feel like hours while he waits for Sebastian to arrive at the scene.

When he does arrive, he bursts through the only door in the room not marked by the navi-path.

“What, what?! I’m here, what happened?!” The man shouts, looking around to try to see what the fuss was about.

“Sebastian! Help them, please! You have to help them!” Painter pleads.

“Help who??” Sebastian asked before noticing your corpse on the floor in front of his friend. “Uh…”

“Hurry!! What are you waiting for?!”

Sebastian slithers over to you, a look of uncertainty plastered on his face. He barely recognizes you as one of the expendables that was in his shop not that long ago.

“Uh… Paint? I don’t really know what you want me to do here,” he admits.

“Help them! You have medkits, don’t you?! Use them! Use anything!! Just save them, please!!” Painter cries.

“Why, though? It’s just an expendable, you’ve done this plenty of times-”

“They’re not just an expendable, they’re my friend! I knew them before I was brought here- just, please!! We don’t have time for this!!” He shouts, frustrated that Sebastian isn’t doing anything to help yet.

“You… knew them?” Sebastian asks, now with a look of concern.

“Yes, why aren’t you doing anything?!”

“... Paint…”

“Do something!!”

“Paint.”

“They’re dying!! I can’t-”

“Painter.”

“I can’t lose them, too! I can’t! I can’t- I can’t be the reason- please!”

Sebastian frowns. It hurts seeing his friend in such a state.

“Why are you looking at me like that?! Please…!”

“Painter.”

“Stop saying my name! Why- why aren’t you doing anything?!” Painter sobs.

“They’re gone. There’s nothing we can do for them.”

“No- you’re not even trying! How do you know that if you haven’t even tried?!”

“Look at them, Paint. They’ve lost way too much blood to be saved.”

“That’s not true!! It’s not true! It’s not…” he trails off.

Sebastian remains silent. He patiently waits for his friend to process that you won’t be waking up.

It takes him a while, but eventually Painter is able to speak up again.

“Oh god…” his voice shakes. “Oh god… I killed them.”

Sebastian sighs.

“I killed them. Sebastian, I killed them. I killed my best friend. Oh, god.”

Sebastian carefully makes his way around your body to gently pat Painter’s screen while he continues to weep. He repeats over and over to himself that he killed the first person he ever loved, as if saying it enough times would somehow make it hurt less.

He did this to you.

He couldn’t bear it.

Painter was an inconsolable mess. But even still, Sebastian would stay with him for as long as he needed. He doesn’t mind putting off whatever he was doing before this to be there for his only friend.

Expendable or not, he sincerely wishes he could bring you back for Painter.

He doesn’t believe he and his AI companion can afford to lose anymore than what they have.

Reality was cruel. It proved itself to be, every goddamn day.

What Painter wouldn’t give to see you in that field again. The sunlight shining on your face, highlighting all of your beautiful features. Your clothes, moving with every gust of wind that rushed by, framing you perfectly. Your smile, as bright as always.

Surrounded in purple.

Lilacs were always your favorite.

~ 🪻 ~

ending notes: according to multiple sources, lilacs often symbolize joy, youth, the impermanence of youth, and first love. though, one source also says that lilacs can symbolize old love, stating that victorian widows would often wear them as a sign of remembrance.

Since this didn’t follow the suggested prompt exactly, I’ll likely write a less-sad part 2 for this. Let me know if you would like to see it! (It’s actually out rn if you wanna go read it, it’s linked at the top of the post! <3)

Thank you for reading.

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Haha hey remember that fluff I wrote, well, uh, whoops

The sun shone so brightly, almost too brightly. She shielded her eyes.

Ganondorf waited in silence. Tonight was the night.

Red mixed with stone. Fluid in its motion, like water flowing through the streets.

Hemisi stood before him, looking somewhat uncertain. The sight of it frustrated him, conflicting emotions creating an admixture that led to anger. “You know your duty, daughter.”

“I… I know,” Hemisi said hesitantly. “But I… why do we have to attack them?”

“The Triforce is a power long hoarded by Hyrule,” Ganondorf explained. “A power they have kept to themselves when we could utilize it.”

“It will bring our people prosperity,” Nabooru added reassuringly.

Hemisi and her brother glanced at each other. Merovar nodded, eyes alight with interest and desire. Ganondorf smiled at his son; he’d certainly inherited his thirst for power. It was one of the reasons he had especially taken the boy under his wing. Hemisi held more of her mother’s caution, which, while useful, was certainly impeding them tonight.

Her brother elbowed her. “Relax. It’s not like we’re attacking him. He just needs to be taken out of play.”

His daughter hugged herself, looking away, before she tipped her head in acknowledgement. “I’ll handle it.”

The sunlight grew brighter, nearly blinding her. Then its light shattered into sparkling rainfall, coalescing into three golden images.

Castle Town was silent as they approached. Ganondorf felt himself smile. Finally, after years of waiting.

To think everything had come to this. He had spent years trying to curry favor of the king of his own Hyrule, so long ago it felt like a lifetime, before that little green clad brat had thwarted him. He’d figured he’d meet his doom at the hands of the sages, but when Din had granted him her favor and allowed him to escape into the Twilight Realm, and then shown him a way out of his future execution at the hands of yet another Hero…

Well. He wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. Din’s words of warning were long forgotten in the back of his mind.

Your lust for power will be your undoing.

Bold words from the goddess of power herself. What a hypocrite.

Ganondorf’s smile grew. Tonight was the night.

She could almost make out the first image. The gold stained red and black, a cloud shrouding its bright majesty and nearly enveloping her as she screamed and pulled away.

Link wandered the hallways of the castle, yawning. He was mildly annoyed that he’d gotten the night shift tonight, as he’d just returned from his journey to the desert. He wished Lady Impa would at least give him a day’s rest before he had to stay up all night. Oh, well.

Stretching, Link glanced at the window, his red eyes hardly visible on the glass. It was practically pitch black outside with the new moon.

When he heard a light footstep behind him, he twirled, immediately reaching for his sword, and then paused midway through the motion. “Hemisi?”

“Orik,” the Gerudo warrior acknowledged with an apologetic shrug. “Hey. Sorry I scared you.”

“How did you get in here?” Link asked. “You’re not allowed—”

Hemisi pulled him in for a quick kiss, catching him off guard, and then she laughed nervously. “I—sorry, I just wanted… wanted to…”

Link stared at her, dumbfounded. He wasn’t unhappy to see her, but… something was clearly bothering her. “What’s wrong?”

Hemisi bit her lip, and she guided him further down the hallway, pausing in front of a door to a closet. “I’m sorry.”

Link blinked, even more confused. “Sorry? For what?”

Hemisi pulled him for another kiss and then hugged him, holding him so tightly it almost hurt. She was trembling.

“Hemisi, what—”

Before Link could finish the question, Hemisi shoved him into the closet hard enough for him to smack his head against the back wall, and then the door slammed closed. Link stumbled to the ground, dizzy, and then tried to open the door.

It was locked.

“Hemisi!” he called.

“I’m sorry, Link,” was all he heard in reply.

She couldn’t quite outrun the darkness and gloom. It snaked around her ankle, making her scream and fall, before golden light burned it, holding it at bay.

The streets of Castle Town ran red with blood. The bells in the tower began to toll. Soldiers ran to find guards already fallen. A Sheikah warrior screamed from his new prison, searching frantically for an escape route as he slammed repeatedly into the door until it yielded to him.

The golden light in front of her coalesced into a figure. Short in stature, strong in build, fearless in stance.

She knew him.

Link tore through the hallway, breathless and frantic. What is happening what is happening—

The gloom overshadowed everything. The corrupted gold melted into the warrior, trying to kill him. She cried out to him, and the final piece encased her in its light.

It wasn’t enough. The darkness came, and Zelda was eaten alive.

Princess Zelda gasped as she awoke from her nightmare, adrenaline rushing through her just as the door to her chambers burst open.

Her Sheikah protector, Orik, ran to her side. “Princess, are you alright?”

“I—” she paused, trying to slow her racing heart, when she heard the bells tolling, indicating something was unfathomably wrong. Ice filled her veins. “The Triforce!”

“Wha—Princess!”

Orik’s protests were lost to her as she ran out of the room. She didn’t care that she was in a nightdress or barefoot, she had to be sure. She’d never experienced such a dream, but she knew, she knew that it had to do with the Triforce. She’d been getting an overwhelming sense of dread ever since the Gerudo had started to negotiate with her father.

It didn’t take much to curry favor from the man, after all, and Ganondorf had been more than eager to stroke his ego.

Zelda shook her head, ridding herself of the thoughts. What mattered now was the safety of their most precious and holy relic.

“Princess, it isn’t safe!” Orik called from behind her, but she ignored him. She took the fastest route to the Temple of Time, utilizing the passageways that were just for the royal family.

Blood stained the cobblestone as she rushed outside. She inhaled sharply, avoiding ramming her foot into the armor of a fallen soldier. Orik froze at her side, taking in the scene as well.

Both the princess and the warriors’ eyes fell on a fallen enemy. A Gerudo.

“No…” Orik whispered. “What…”

“Make haste!” Zelda insisted, running ahead. “We have to protect the Triforce!”

Ahead, the Gerudo had already eliminated the final guards. Ahead, Ganondorf walked forward proudly, basking in his victory. Nabooru turned as she heard the pitter patter of bare feet.

“Quickly, Gan,” she whispered.

The Triforce floated in front of him, unprotected and exposed. How foolish these Hylians were, to not even hide it in the Sacred Realm as the people in his own timeline had done so.

Ganondorf reached forward. Victory was at hand.

Princess Zelda reached forward. Everything was at stake.

Link reached forward. This couldn’t be happening.

A golden light shone brightly, almost too brightly. The world grew unbearable in every way imaginable, hot and cold and painful and numb and light and so, so dark.

Gold split thrice over, and the world changed forever.

[iheart-nana]

xi. strings of fate

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩⋆｡° ✮

CHAPTER ELEVEN ─ strings of fate.

❛ i'm so in love that i might stop breathing ❜

Narrator's Perspective

The bus ride back home was a quiet one by all means. Sunjae's friends had offered to take him home but he refused and chose to go with Eunyoung. His father had run off to make arrangements to celebrate his son's victory. Not only had he won a gold medal, but he had also beaten a record. It was a groundbreaking milestone, which his father deserved to be proud of.

Sunjae fidgeted with the medal, looking around, not knowing what to say after the rather intimate moment they shared after the match. The scene replayed in his mind; It was almost as if he was reliving the moment again. He could still feel her warm touch against his cool skin and the thumping of his heart had not calmed since then.

"I'm proud of you, Sunjae," Eunyoung spoke with a gentleness and warmth in her voice that melted Sunjae's heart.

"After everything you said about my shoulder, I think I deserve to say ❛I told you so❜," he said cheekily, "I told you I'd be fine."

"I'm sorry I doubted you, Sunjae," she chuckled. The elegance and beauty of her laugh resounded in his ears, pulling at his heartstrings effortlessly. She always seemed to know what to say at the right moment. He turned away, trying to hide his flushed face.

The soft pitter-patter of raindrops against the bus window diverted their attention outside. The rain fell in a light drizzle outside while the sunlight dimmed and clouds began to appear in the once-clear sky.

"It's raining an awful lot lately," Sunjae observed curiously.

Little did he know, that it wasn't just rain; it was the universe pulling them together.

💿

"By the way," Yumi asked Eunyoung at dinner that night, "Where did you run off to today? Who goes out that early on a Saturday morning?"

"Sunjae's swimming match was today," she answered, trying to hide her excitement, "He won a gold medal and broke a record."

"Tell him I said congratulations," she told Eunyoung.

"And me," their mother chimed in.

"I sure will," Eunyoung smiled.

"Speaking of which," their mother began, "What's the deal with him? You ran off to give him the umbrella last night too."

"What're you asking?" Eunyoung asked in confusion, "I thought he would need it since the rain was kind of heavy─ but how do you know that, Mom?"

"I came to see where you were after you said you were going to return Sunjae's umbrella," she explained, "And I ran into his father. He's the one who told me."

"Oh."

"Oh, cut the crap, Eunyoung!" she snapped, "If you're dating just tell me!"

"It's not like that!" Eunyoung said defensively, "We barely know each other. We're just friends I swear."

"His dad knew your name."

"So what?" she looked up from her plate, "I have a memorable name!"

💿

Yumi stood at the bus stop, her eyes wandering lazily with no thoughts in her mind. She fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, which did nothing to drive away her boredom. Each passing moment felt like an eternity, and waiting five minutes for the next bus seemed tiresome after piano practice. She felt increasingly exhausted on that particular Monday, despite the clear, cloudless skies and warm weather. Her shirt stuck to her skin and the humidity irritated her to no end.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed someone crouching in the bushes behind her. The boy wore a light blue biker jacket that shone brightly in the afternoon Sun. As she was about to turn away, he stood up revealing a rather familiar face that was Kim Taesung's. For a moment, she was stunned. He seemed to have a knack for showing up when she least expected it.

"What were you doing in the bushes?" she asked as he looked at her with the same amount of surprise.

"Why are you always showing up randomly?" he said, as if he had read her mind.

"I could ask you the same thing," she retorted.

As he stepped towards her, moving away from the bushes, she spotted a little black and white kitten where he was crouching. This seemed to be an answer to her earlier question. An uncontrolled gasp of adoration escaped her mouth as she smiled at the sight of the kitten. She advanced towards it, but found that it was eating something.

Upon seeing her contagious smile, Taesung's lips stretched into a smile as well.

"I feed her sometimes," he told her casually.

"This kitten always runs away from me," Yumi complained, "My biggest goal in life is to pet her."

"Look, I'm no expert, but if you run towards her like that she's going to get scared," he explained gently.

"I'll try a calmer approach next time," said Yumi thoughtfully, "But it'll be tough for me. I get really excited when I see cats."

"You like cats?"

"I love them."

💿

Knock knock.

"Come in," Eunyoung answered. It had been several hours since she had looked up from her desk. Loose sheets of paper were scattered everywhere─ on the floor and even on her bed. Some papers crumpled by her sheer agitation lay lifelessly in the dustbin by her foot. Eunyoung's hair was tied into a ponytail that was slowly falling apart as strands of her long hair fell messily on her face. She didn't bother to fix them; All that mattered at that moment was the article about the swim team.

Taking her first step into Eunyoung's room, Yumi stopped in her tracks, glancing at the room from a distance. "This place looks like a war zone." She looked at what Eunyoung was scribbling at her desk, "Oh, is this the article about the swim team?"

Eunyoung only answered with a grunt. Yumi took it as a sign of her focus and determination. She distinctly remembers how Eunyoung became a total wreck while writing articles in high school. Her justification had always been "The chaos on the outside contradicts the organization inside. It's called balance." Yumi never understood it, but it seemed to work so she never questioned it.

Yumi flopped down on Eunyoung's bed, making herself comfortable, "I'm almost done," Eunyoung told her. A few moments later, she finally put her pen down. Her neck made a loud cracking sound as she looked up.

"Dear God," Yumi exclaimed.

Eunyoung chuckled, gathering all the papers around her. She tossed some into the bin and placed some of them in her folder, which she kept in her school bag. "Okay, I'm really done this time."

"Your tape recorder is here," Yumi held up the little device with white headphones dangling.

Eunyoung took a seat beside her, "Yeah, just leave it there. So, how come you're here?"

"This is my house."

"No, I mean here," Eunyoung emphasized, "Here in my room."

"Why, can't I be here?"

"That's not what I said."

"Then?"

"Don't make me hit you."

Yumi burst out laughing, slapping Eunyoung's shoulder playfully, "I'm kidding. I just came to hang out. We haven't talked much lately."

"Aw you missed me?" Eunyoung hugged Yumi, "Tell me, what do you wanna talk about?"

"You remember that cat near the music club?"

"The one you always like to pet? What about it?"

"I think I know how to get it to like me," Yumi told her excitedly, "I got some advice."

"From who?" asked Eunyoung curiously.

"Taesung," Yumi's voice was reduced to a whisper as she said his name.

"Taesung, as in the guy with the motorcycle?"

"Yeah."

"Hmph."

"Don't be so judgy!"

"I didn't even say anything!"

"You didn't have to!" Yumi said, laughing, "Dont be so hard on him. How's it going with Sunjae?"

"Don't even get me started."

☾⋆｡𖦹 °✩⋆｡° ✮

nayoung's notes: taesung feeding the cat is such a funny crossover to me, it's like cat meets cat. eunyoung's mom is such a mood lmfao. hope you liked this much needed taemi content lol.

delphi's notes: taesung was definitely (nayoung- definitely what? complete ur sentence byotch)

next chapter: saturday (out now!) list of chapters here!

[stuffymcstuffsworld]

Love at first strike

It all started on an average Tuesday. He hadn't thought much of it at the time. How was he to know his life would be changed in an instant that day?

Dali couldn't help it. Really, it was inevitable. There was no running or weaseling his way out of it. He had fallen and fallen hard.

He could still remember it all vividly. The chatter in the halls the sunlight pouring through the windows. Walking into the library and ready to greet the newest suck- Librarian that was hired.

***SMACK***

He never saw that broom coming. He's hit directly in the face and falls backward. Staring up at them from his spot on the floor, he watches them chasing some creature around the aisles.

"GET BACK HERE YOU MENACE!!! LITERATURE EATING PEST!!!! OUT!!! GET OUT OF THIS LIBRARY!!!" They scream repeatedly, swatting it with the broom.

How was Dali supposed to know that the beating on his heart and the flushed face he wore were signs of love? He thought he had been caught off guard! Surprised!

All he could say was he never regretted stepping into the library that day. He remembered laughing his ass off as he watched the chase. How the rage in their eyes shone brightly.

The cute way their tail twitched. The cry of victory they had let out once they had successfully disposed of the creature. A furious little imp with a mighty swing to match.

A little psychopath on a rampage as you got everything organized. Forcing your will onto him and making him help. All without introductions or an apology for hitting him.

"How can anyone find anything? This is a learning environment! You're supposed to help the children find things they have an interest in or have trouble understanding, not hide everything!"

Tossing rags of cobwebs away and disposing of long forgotten snacks left on the shelf. They continued ranting vividly about strangling the previous caretaker of the library. So cute!

Their furrowed brows. The puffed cheeks. The frustrated huffs as they vigorously scrubbed the library clean from top to bottom.

It looks like a reverse hurricane sweeping by. Leaving nothing but order behind instead of chaos. How amusing!

At this point, Dali had forgotten his reason for coming and just handed them things on occasion while watching them do the impossible. "Flithy! Disgusting! When was the last time this place was clean?"

That was a fair question. He watched as they swept clouds of dust into the air. For as long as he could remember the library if babyls had been a mess.

More focused on gaining knowledge than organizing it. Yet here, this newcomer was only a few hours into the job and halfway finished cleaning. He wondered if it was some kind of magic.

"And none of these are organized! It will take days to sort out!!! Do we even have a master list of the books here?!?"

Dali can't help but chuckle mischievously at the biting remark thrown his way. "Oh... I'm sure we do. Somewhere around here..." Casually leaning against one of the shelves as he drawed out his words.

That, of course, earned him a new smack. This time with a duster. What was it with them and constantly hitting his poor face?

***SMACK***

Speaking of which, he snapped out of his reminiscence by a familiar ache. He stares at the demon in question. The imp has the nerve to smack him again with the paperwork in their hand.

"Just look at all this paperwork! I didn't take this job to sign papers all day long! I did it to relax in a cozy place with books!" They huffed.

"Awww, don't be like that, dear." He wraps his arms around their waste, admiring how their tail gave a small wiggle. "Why don't I sit with you to pass the time?"

"I feel like you're just hiding from your own mountain of papers." "Mmm, I do have many essays to grade." He rests his head against theirs.

"But I'd love to do my work with you by my side." He purrs softly, making them blush and shove his face away. "Alright, alright. So needy."

[wolfoncaffeine]

DAI WIP

Stepping from her tent into the snow, Eirlana inhaled deeply. The cold stung her nostrils and chased away a little of her lingering fatigue. Her ribs still ached, as they would until the bones strengthened again, and her extremities were still tender from the healed frostbite, but otherwise, her injuries from Corypheus’ attack were mended.

Breath fogging, she strode forward.

Blue shadows draped the grove, laying long against red banners of sunlight. She’d slept a few hours. She found her way to a fire, where a recruit handed her a steaming mug of tea and a slice of bread topped with roasted meat.

Eating, she stood off to the side and watched as more people appeared, drawn by the warm smells of fire and hot food. Grief remained on many faces, yet mingled with hope, even in the awkward smiles and hesitant hellos. Mother Giselle’s efforts had come through. And my own, she thought, swallowing the last of her over-steeped tea with a grimace.

She returned her mug and followed the pull of magic to a corner of camp humming with it. Several mild, sustained inferno spells kept the medical tents warm, while inside the few mages with skill in healing magic worked alongside the medics.

Once convinced of her own knowledge, the chief medic set her to work. Those survivors with severe wounds had been treated in the hours she was missing, after the avalanche; dozens of less grievous injuries still needed tending. With her mana still dry, she was limited to stitching wounds and setting breaks by hand. All of the heavy anesthetics were used up, so she tucked pieces of leather between teeth and worked as quickly as possible, muffled cries jabbing at her concentration. She murmured comforts and kept her eyes down, afraid of seeing fear in someone else’s. Soon, her fingers and knuckles were cracked from sanitizing, the reek of blood and salves clinging like cobwebs even so.

Eventually, she became aware of a familiar magic, river-cool against her awareness. Knotting a bandage, she looked up at Solas.

He knelt alongside an unconscious soldier, palms aglow and hovering over their darkly bruised stomach.

She swallowed, nauseous with knowing how severe the internal damage must be, but unable to look away. He worked with his eyes closed, brows pinched in focus. His skin shone pale in the turquoise light, as the soldier’s bruise faded to a muted purple. When he drew back, his gaze fell on hers.

Despite the dark circles marring the skin beneath, his eyes were clear, sharp. His forehead smoothed, expression settling back in neutrality.

She stood and felt the world tip.

Stumbling back a step, she caught herself but not before someone noticed.

The chief medic, a silver-haired dwarf, strode over with a frown. “Herald, out. You’re still recovering. And you,” they said to Solas as he approached, “were here for hours last night. Out, both of you,” they added when neither immediately moved.

With a nod, she ducked outside, Solas’ footsteps following.

The day had brightened to mid-morning, and the sky to a delicate blue.

“Eat with me?” she asked.

“If I may have a word.”

She led him to a fire, where they both ate game-on-bread and Solas turned down a mug of tea.

“Tea not to your liking?”

“I detest the stuff,” he said, walking toward the edge of camp. “Caffeine hinders one’s ability to enter the Fade. Not to mention it is particularly bitter.”

She hummed, sipping from her own mug, and followed him out of the copse.

They moved across a stretch of unbroken snow to a knoll overlooking the valley — snowy woods and meadows, dark rivers twisting downslope. To the west, clouds rolled in to obscure the mountaintops.

He folded his hands behind his back, eyeing her without turning fully to face her. “I am beginning to believe that you are bent on courting death at every turn,” he said, voice cool.

“Of course you’d bring that up,” she replied, crossing her arms, half-full mug dangling from her fingers.

“Do you value your own life so cheaply?”

“I am painfully aware that it was reckless,” she said, mirroring his tone, “but there wasn’t time.”

“You should have at least consulted with someone.”

“So I’ve been told.” She glared toward the mountains, instead of at Solas. In her peripheral, he watched, waiting. “I just…didn’t want anyone else to die because of me.”

“Because of you?”

“Corypheus came for the Anchor. Whatever I did at the Conclave tied it to me; I’m at least partly responsible for all this ruin.”

“You are not.” He turned toward her, a shade of resolution in his voice. “Whatever mad plan Corypheus is following, it is his own. You are not to blame for attempting to stop him, then or now.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, not in agreement but suddenly too tired to argue. “Okay.”

“Your recklessness, however, is not what I most wanted to speak to you about.”

Shifting her weight to one hip, she lightened her tone, aiming for levity. “Oh? What else have I done?”

His lips quirked. “Nothing that calls for reproval. Its opposite, in truth. The humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting.”

She blinked, hoping her surprise didn’t show. “Our people?” That’s new.

“Their faith is hard-won, lethallan,” he continued, “worthy of pride, save one detail. The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is ours.”

Her breath caught, surprise skittering into something sharper.

“Corypheus used the orb to the open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived. And we must prepare for the humans’ reaction, when they learn the orb is of our people.”

“It’s elven? How…what is it?”

“Such things were foci in the days of Elvhenan, said to channel power from our gods. Some were dedicated to specific members of our pantheon. All that remains are references in ruins and faint versions of memory in the Fade. Echoes of a dead empire.

“But however Corypheus came to it, the orb is elven, and with it, he threatens the heart of human faith.”

Her jaw clenched. Such a powerful artifact, lost to a darkspawn. She glanced back at the camp, pulsing with magic and voices. “I wonder if the blame would fall on elves eventually.”

His eyes narrowed. “I suspect that it would. It is unfortunate, but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies. Faith in you is shaping this moment, but it needs room to grow.”

“It won’t be growing out here,” she snorted.

His mouth twitched again, perhaps on the verge of a smile. “Considering last night, I beg to differ. But I may have a solution. I dreamed last night, looking for a place the Inquisition could go.”

She took an unconscious half-step toward him and then back, trying to contain a rising jittery feeling. “You found something.”

“Yes. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. A place where the Inquisition can build, grow, beholden to no one else. However, the journey there will not be easy — it is far to the north, far deeper into the mountains.”

“Shit. With our wounded….”

“Some may not survive. But I cannot advise delaying our departure overlong, with our lack of supplies.”

She felt cold, knowing he was right. It’s miracle that the scouts and soldiers had time to grab as much as they did. And with this weather, we’ll burn through what’s left too quickly. We’re going to lose people. She drew herself up. “I’ll speak to my council, get a tally on what we have, and we can start planning a route. You’ll guide us?”

Solas dipped his head. “I will guide you, though I believe that you should lead. You saved them from Haven’s destruction; now you must lead them to safety.”

“Playing on my Herald status?”

He raised a brow. “It will be far more inspiring for you to be seen leading than I. Scout to the north, be their guide. I will not lead you astray in this.”