#this is stupid and terrible and it ruins what little faith i had left

[just-trying-my-best-everyday]

...wasn't it a pretty big plot point that Annabeth refused to give up on Luke...? Isn't this whole point defeated by having her hear him confessing his EEEEEVIL PLAAAN? Is the show TRYING to remove all nuance and complexity? Is it?

[toboldlygohome]

Oblivious

Leonard McCoy x Reader

Summary: You are oblivious to all of Leonard's attempts to flirt and all of your friends think it's hilarious.

Character(s): Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James "Jim" Kirk, Spock, Nyota Uhura, Pavel Chekov, Hikaru Sulu

Warning(s): Slightly cringe attempts at flirting, Painfully oblivious reader, Stephen King references

Leonard was finally ready to move on. The divorce had left him with wounds he wasn't sure he could heal from. He hadn't been interested in dating for years afterward. But for the first time since then, someone had caught his attention.

You were the new head of Archaeology aboard the enterprise. You had been transferred from the USS Celine to assist in the 5 year mission. To say you were new wouldn't be exactly correct, you had been on board for about 6 months already. You had taken to the position well and were already good friends with everyone in your unit, as well as all of the bridge and command personnel.

Leonard knew he liked you the moment you met. You had a firm handshake, a killer smile, and when Captain Kirk asked if you were single, you told him it wasn't his business. Jim's stunned face when you shook his hand and walked away was priceless.

Of course there were far more reasons to admire you other than your ability to take the captain down a peg. You were incredible at your job, finding ancient ruins in the most unlikely of places. You were like a dog when it came to fossils, sniffing them out almost as soon as you landed on alien soil. You were smart and always ready to answer questions. You were also highly tolerant of people's mistakes, something that was slowly rubbing off on him. When you were around, Leonard found he had more patience for stupidity and everyone else noticed as well.

You were kind, you were a great listener, you were hilarious, you were dependable, considerate, honest, cheerful, and you could always be counted upon for some witty banter. Not to mention you were the most beautiful person Bones had ever seen in his life.

That's not to say you didn't have your downfalls too, everyone does after all. You were self deprecating, a little easily distracted, and of course you were the most painfully oblivious person in the universe.

~~~

It all started one morning at breakfast. You were sitting in the cafeteria with Jim, Nyota, and Spock.

Leonard had made his decision the previous night while drinking with Jim. Bones wanted to pursue a relationship with you, but he wasn't going to just tell you point blank. He wanted to gauge your interest before taking that leap of faith.

"Mornin'" Leonard said as he sat down beside you. "Jim, you look terrible."

Jim, who was still hung over from the night before, frowned at the doctor. "Gee, thanks. I had no idea."

"You're welcome. Now Y/N on the other hand, you look great this morning," Bones smirked. Jim and Nyota immediately perked up, clearly not expecting him to be so forward (especially not this early in the morning.)

"Thanks Doc," You smiled at him and returned your attention to your oatmeal.

"What's your secret?" Asked Bones upon deciding that your smile was a good sign.

"My secret?" You raised an eyebrow.

"To looking so good every morning," he clarified. Nyota and Jim looked at each other incredulously.

"Ummmm," You thought out loud. "Get good sleep, take your vitamins, and don't get wasted at two in the morning." You patted Jim's shoulder and stood up with your empty bowl. "I better get to the lab, see you guys later!" You grinned.

Everyone bid you a good morning before gawking at Leonard, amusement etched on their faces. "What's your secret? Did you seriously ask 'what's your secret?'"Jim cackled.

"Leonard, you seriously need to up your flirting game." Uhura barely stifled a giggle.

"I know it's been awhile doc but seriously, that was terrible! And I've heard Spock's attempts at flirting," Kirk snickered.

"It wasn't that bad, y'all are acting like I'm some cretin who stole their oatmeal and called it flirting. I called them attractive, get off my back." Leonard rolled his eyes.

"No, you said they looked good. That could be interpreted in, so many ways. As far as flirting goes, that was pretty pathetic." Nyota said.

"I would have to agree doctor, perhaps you could take instruction from the captain or even-" Spock started.

"Shut up and eat your breakfast," Leonard snapped, causing another fit of giggles around him.

Bones sat there, glaring into his eggs, trying to figure out where he went wrong. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Uhura was right. You didn't realize he meant it in a romantic way. Maybe he was more out of practice than he thought. He was just going to have to give it another shot. Practice makes perfect after all.

~~~

The next day, Leonard tried a different approach. Coffee mug in hand, he made his way to your office only to find it empty. He looked all over the labs, nowhere to be seen. It wasn't until made it up to the bridge that he found you deep in a discussion about landing sites for an upcoming mission.

Your head perked up when you saw the doctor come in from the turbolift. "Ahoy, McCoy! We missed you at breakfast this morning." you smiled as he came to stand beside you.

"Sorry darlin', had some gamma shift engineers to patch up." Bones casually passed the mug over to you. "Made you some coffee."

"Really? for me?" You peered into the cup and beamed, "thank you doctor, it's just how I like it!" Jim gave Leonard a subtle thumbs up while you sipped your drink.

Leonard had a good feeling this time. You were happy with the gesture and even Kirk seemed impressed. It felt like a good first step, until-

"First Chekov brings me a croissant, then McCoy brings me a coffee. I'm so lucky to have such great friends. Thank you guys!" You smiled at the two men.

"You are very welcome!" Pavel grinned.

Leonard's mood plummeted almost instantly. While he was glad you got to enjoy a croissant and a coffee, Chekov's untimely generosity made his romantic gesture seem more like a friendly one. He was going to have to go back to the drawing board.

You turned to the captain, cradling your warm cup in your hand. "Is there anything else you need of me Captain?"

"No Commander, I believe you've answered all my questions," Jim said.

"Wonderful! If anyone needs me, I'll be in the lab trying to decode some ancient texts," you took another sip of your coffee before strolling back to the turbolift.

Once you were out of sight, Jim patted Leonard on the arm. Sulu and Chekov were trying their damnedest not to laugh, and failing miserably of course.

Leonard furrowed his brows at the two of them before looking back at Jim's cheeky grin.

"You told them?" Leonard scowled.

"Told them what?" Jim laughed.

"About..." Leonard rolled his eyes and gestured to the turbolift.

"The only ones I told were Uhura and Spock," Jim assured.

"He didn't need to tell us anything, It's written all over your face Dr. McCoy," Sulu said.

"Yes, you get all red in the cheeks and you have this look in your eyes like you've seen the sun for the first time. It is very obvious you are vying for the Commander's attention," Chekov agreed.

"If I'm so obvious, why isn't Y/N picking up on it?" Leonard crossed his arms.

"Maybe you need a new approach, try... I don't know, making up new excuses to spend time with them. Or maybe you could try touching them," Jim suggested.

"Touching them?"

"Yeah, nothing inappropriate or anything. Just little things, like pats on the back, nudging their shoulder. Stuff like that. Might show Y/N you're interested without having to use the words, you know?"

"I don't know Jim..."

"Look, you're a doctor right?"

"I hope that'd be pretty goddamned obvious by now," Leonard glowered and put his hands on his hips.

"And as a doctor, you have a pretty good gauge on if someone's uncomfortable right?" Jim asked, "just try it and if you get the sense they're uncomfortable, just stop doing it. Easy as that."

"Why do I get the feeling it's not going to be as 'easy as that?'" The doctor shook his head.

"Because you are an incorrigible pessimist, Bones." Jim patted his shoulder.

"I'm done here, some of us actually have work to do," Leonard grumbled and trudged to the turbolift.

"All work and no play makes McCoy a dull boy," Kirk beamed.

"Quote Stephen King to me one more time. See what happens." Bones said as the doors closed. Alone in the elevator, he allowed himself to think about where to go from here. Perhaps Jim's ideas weren't so terrible. He rather liked the idea of spending more time with you. He usually talked with you during mealtimes and meetings, but not much outside of that. The touching is what was making him nervous.

He came into contact with people all the time, being a doctor was a very hands-on profession. He just didn't have Jim's level of confidence anymore. It felt ridiculous, he could stitch a man's thumb back to his hand and deliver an infant in the middle of a battle, but he couldn't touch your shoulder? Maybe he'd just skip that step for now. Quality time, that seemed like as good of a direction as any.

~~~

He continued bringing you coffee every day, It gave him more time to get to know you and Leonard was falling harder by the minute. He hadn't really looked forward to anything in a long time, but he looked forward to your coffee talks. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough anymore. The chats weren't long enough and you still weren't catching on to his feelings.

It had been a particularly stressful day, it felt like everyone needed something from him and he was in desperate need of a break. The moment things got quiet in the medbay, Leonard snuck away and his feet carried him to the archaeology labs.

It was quiet inside. A few ensigns were at work in their stations, putting together fossilized bones and carbon-dating old tools. Leonard found you in the back of the lab where you were busy decoding some old scrolls. Learning to understand a lost language was no easy task; Leonard couldn't fathom the amount of reading it would take to accomplish such a thing. Still, you seemed ready to take on anything the Captain dished out.

"Commander, I see you're hard at work," Bones smiled and came to stand beside you.

"I see you're not!" You joked and looked up at him from your seat. "What brings you to my neck of the woods doctor? Did I forget about an appointment?"

"Not at all, I was just taking a break and wanted to see how you were doing," he said, hoping you would understand what he was trying to say: that he was thinking of you and wanted to see you out of everyone else on the Enterprise.

"Well I'm really glad you're here Len, because I've just made a breakthrough!" You beamed. "Take a look at this," you motioned for him to look closer.

Leonard leaned in to look at your scroll. "So, you know how I found these papers in a box under the Mofeli excavation right?"

"Mhm, you insisted there must be a basement and you found one," Bones hummed.

"I originally thought the site was a business, that these papers must be some sort of documentation. You know, like land deeds, proof of insurance, perhaps even money. Basically stuff you would usually keep in a lock box, but these aren't ledgers or inventory slips or anything like that at all."

"What are they?" He turned to look at you.

You met his gaze and gave him a grin that could melt the ice caps and outshine Sirius. "They're love letters," you said and his heart hammered his chest painfully. He was only just now realizing how close he was to you. How his hand was resting on your back, how his face was mere inches from yours.

"See, if you look here you'll find this symbol all over the place in these letters. It's the symbol meaning love or lover. I've completed the translation on this one right here." You returned your attention to the paper. Leonard swallowed and glanced at the sheet, trying his damnedest not to stare like some creep.

"What, um... what does it say?" He cleared his throat.

"It says, and I'm paraphrasing here, 'My dearest love, I find words elude me. My heart blossoms for you under the light of the sun and keeps me warm when the light fades. I find not the courage to speak, but many a whim to write. I desire your embrace. I seek your song. I crave your hand. I covet your blazing eyes. One day I-' This part is all faded so I can't make it out, but the last thing it says here at the bottom is 'May our hearts and bodies be intertwined for eternity, and our souls may sing together as one.' Then there's what I assume to be a name at the bottom, but I'm not sure how to pronounce it."

"It all sounds a little sappy to me," Leonard joked in a slightly strained voice. This whole thing with the closeness and the touching and the letter was really affecting him. If you noticed his struggle, you gave no indication, In fact, you seemed perfectly at ease being this close to him.

"Hey, a little sap never hurt anybody," you elbowed him lightly in the side.

"Croakus sap can."

"Touché"

Leonard chucked softly and lightly patted your back before crossing his arms casually over his chest Your easy conversation was already helping him relax again. "so, Commander, you've been down here in your lab for an awfully long time. What do you say we go for a walk to the observation lounge?"

"Sorry doctor, I would but somebody's got to make sure the ensigns don't blow the place up. That, and Spock wants me to finish three more translations by the end of my shift," you explained.

"Of course he does," Leonard huffed.

"But I'm free this evening if that works for you?" You tilted your head.

"Of course, absolutely." Leonard had no idea if that was going to work for him, but he was going to make it work.

"Great, I'll see you then," you said with a surprising amount of enthusiasm.

"See you then. Don't work too hard," he smiled and left you to your translating.

Bones was pleased with himself. He had managed to follow Jim's suggestions and they appeared to work. He'd even managed to secure a date with you later that evening...Well...he hadn't actually called it a date when he suggested it. No matter, Leonard would just clarify all that the next time he saw you!

~~~

He never got to make the distinction that your walk was intended to be a date. You had brought a friend with you. Leonard could feel the fear in your ensign companion's eyes. Bones was sure everyone on the goddamned ship knew what he was trying to do but you. It was still a nice night despite the unwanted guest. He learned a lot about where you grew up, your interests, and your favorite films and music. He learned your favorite flower was the iris, your first job was a librarian, he even learned you were in a band during your time at the academy.

The more he learned, the more he liked you. He wasn't even sure if liked was the right word anymore. You had quite a few things in common. Your favorite foods, you liked the same movies, and you enjoyed the same music. You asked him questions that got him really thinking. They were the sort of topics you don't realize you have an opinion on until you start talking about them. But what surprised him most of all was when you asked about his daughter. What sort of interests does she have? How is she doing in school? I wonder if she would like X,Y, and Z. He was always hesitant to talk about Joanna or his ex, but it felt easier with you. Like that wound he had been carrying for so long was finally closing.

Your friendship progressed beautifully, but he felt like you were growing more and more blind to his advances. He had seen you turn plenty of people down before. If you weren't interested in someone, you made it abundantly clear. But you had yet to do the same with Bones. It wasn't just him: Jim, Nyota, Pavel, Scotty, Hikaru, and pretty much everyone else who knew you were puzzled as well. Even Spock couldn't understand how you were so incognizant. It was funny for them at first. They would laugh at every compliment you didn't register, every smile you didn't realize had meaning, every coffee, every walk to the deck, every deep conversation, every breath of relief when you come back from a mission. He was even so bold as to tell you in no uncertain terms that he'd do anything to make you smile.

The laughter turned into looks of pity. Leonard was about ready to give up. Maybe you weren't interested and you just wanted to let him down easy, you were good friends after all. Bones sat at the bar as Jim poured him another glass. Normally he was the one playing bartender, but Jim insisted he take over.

"I gotta say Bones, I really hate seeing you like this." Jim poured himself a drink too. "How did lunch go?"

"I told them they have beautiful eyes." Leonard sighed and shook his head.

"And?" The Captain probed.

"They said 'if only they worked as well as they look,'" Bones groaned.

"Ah..." Jim stared into his drink. He tried to put himself into Leonard's shoes. What would he do if he were in this situation?

"I don't know what I'm doing wrong..." McCoy muttered.

"You aren't doing anything wrong, Y/N just-" Jim started.

"It's something I'm doing, it has to be. Maybe this is a mistake."

"No, Bones it's not a mistake. That couldn't be farther from the truth."

"And how would you know? It's not like you have any problems finding dates," Leonard rolled his eyes.

"Seems like Y/N's not the only one who's oblivious," Kirk chuckled.

"I'm not in the mood for jokes Jim." Leonard took a sip of his whiskey and ran a hand over his face.

"Believe me Bones, I wish it were a joke. There's just no way the two most unaware people are head over heels for each other. I'm waiting for the punch line" James smirked.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Bones scowled.

"Look, just... we have shore leave coming up in a few weeks. Ask them on a date. Like really ask them. Be frank, be clear, make sure there is no way Y/N can misunderstand you. Trust me," Jim squeezed Leonard's shoulder.

"Fine. But if this goes south, you owe me as many drinks as it takes to forget this whole debacle." The doctor downed the last of his glass.

"Bones if this goes south, I'll eat my hat."

"You don't have a hat."

"Point still stands. It'll work, you just have to have a little faith. And lucky for you, I have enough faith for the both of us." Jim winked.

Leonard wished he had Jim's enthusiasm. Officious little prick, he thought to himself...Dammit, now I'm quoting Stephen King.

~~~

Shore leave was just around the corner and Leonard was no closer to his goal of asking you on a date. Everyone was running around, trying to prepare the ship for inspection, he still had his normal duties to attend to, neither of you had time for coffee all week, Spock was being especially nitpicky about protocol, and he was anxious about what you'd say when he eventually got around to asking the million dollar question.

Yeah, Leonard was about ready to lose his marbles.

He was prepping the supply storage units, when Spock strolled in for the tenth time that day.

"Dr. McCoy," Spock greeted, startling Bones to the point that he nearly dropped his box of gauze.

"My god man, what the hell do you need this time?" Leonard implored, "don't you have anything better to do with your day than pester me?"

"Indeed I do, doctor" Spock replied.

Leonard huffed and sat down his box, "then what is it, did you miss my face or something?"

"I saw your face only moments ago, I have no need to miss-"

"It was a joke Spock, what do you want?" Leonard pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I came to inform you that I saw Commander Y/L/N coming in this direction." Spock stated.

Leonard raised an eyebrow, "and?"

"It is my understanding you are anxious to speak with them regarding your-" Spock started.

"Your understanding is correct, I just..." Leonard sighed and shook his head.

"Would it help if I told you the odds that they will say yes?" Spock asked.

"Never tell me the odds Spock," Leonard grumbled.

"Then I will simply say, good luck." Spock turned and left again, leaving Bones to decide if he was ready for this. He didn't have time for a decision, because there you were in the doorway with two mugs in your hands.

"Hey, stranger," You laughed. "Looks like I got here just in time, you look like you need some." You handed over the cup and Leonard took it gratefully.

"Thanks," Leonard offered you a smile and took a sip from his mug. It was just how he liked it, right down to the temperature. Together, they retreated to the safety of his office. Once inside, they fell into their usual conversation. He waited until things got quiet, then he decided to go for it.

"So, got any plans for shore leave?" Leonard asked, leaning back in his chair in an effort to appear more at ease.

"No, not really. Maybe I'll visit with a couple friends, catch up on sleep. How about you? got any exciting plans?" You leaned in, resting your chin on your hand.

"Not yet," he admitted. "But I'm hoping to make some."

"Oh? You got someone special in mind?" You hummed.

"Someone incredibly special, yeah." Leonard smiled. So far, so good.

"Oh, well I hope it goes well." You shifted awkwardly in your seat.

"Me too..." Leonard agreed. You both didn't speak for a moment, the distant hum of the warp core did little to tame the silence.

"Hey Y/N... I was thinking maybe we could go to that restaurant you like, you know the one with the really good Chicken Parmesan you're always talking about." He mused, "what do you think?"

"I, um... I think they'd like it" The smile you gave him looked...sad?

"What are you talking about? Who'd like it?" Leonard couldn't possibly be more confused.

"Your special someone?" It was your turn to look confused.

You've got to be kidding me

"I'm talking about you darlin', do you want to go to that restaurant with me, just us, nobody else. You and me. Together." Leonard clarified, meeting your gaze.

You looked positively flabbergasted. He couldn't possibly mean what he was saying, right? There was no way Leonard wanted to... I mean, he was way too good for you! You had been trying for months to get his attention, to no avail. This must be a dream. You're going to wake up any minute.

"Darlin'?"

"I, uh...what?" You blinked out of your daze.

"Dammit Y/N, I'm trying to ask you out on a date!" Bones ran a hand through his hair, exasperation evident in his tone.

"Really? Me?" You asked hopefully.

"Yes!" He replied "Look, it's okay if you don't w-" You suddenly burst into laughter and all the words died on his lips. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, I'm sorry! It's just-" You giggled, "I actually came here to do the same thing..." You said sheepishly as you dug into your pocket "I, um... I got us tickets to see your favorite band. Figured if you said no, you could just take Jim instead." You handed the tickets over to him.

Leonard stared at the tickets in his hand, shock written all over his face. "Sweetheart, are you telling me we've both been dancing around each other for months, when we could have been doing stuff like this the whole time?"

"Seems that way, yes."

Leonard smiled and shook his head. "We're not very good at this, are we?"

"Not at all," You laughed. "Ahoy McCoy? What was I thinking?"

"Points for creativity darlin'," Bones chuckled. He almost couldn't believe things had turned out so perfectly. But in his experience, coincidence didn't exist. "Jim knew, didn't he?"

"He was actually the one who pushed me to come here," you admitted.

"Same. The bastard told me you'd say yes... Guess this was one of the few times I should have trusted him." Leonard concurred.

"So... What now, doctor?" You leaned a little closer. How had he never noticed your eyes before. He knew they were beautiful of course, but the way they were looking at him now made him weak in the knees. Had you always looked at him like that?

"Well, for now we're going to finish up our shifts, wouldn't want anyone to think we're slackers. But later, we're going to meet at the recreation room for a drink, possibly a game of darts. Then we'll see where the night takes us," McCoy smirked.

"How romantic, I can hardly wait for you to sweep me off my feet, they're killing me from all this running around, you know?~" You mused, resting your chin on your palm.

"Now you listen here darlin'. I'm a doctor, not a broom." Bones couldn't hide his amusement when you rolled your eyes at him.

"Well, what if I sweep you off your feet then?"

"You'll have to be careful, you might drop me and we could end up tangled in a whole mess of limbs."

"Oh, I'm counting on it.~" You teased.

Leonard swallowed hard and hid his bashfulness with a sip of his coffee, "Well in that case, sweep away."

You laughed again and McCoy was sure he had never heard a more beautiful sound in his life. He could see a future with you then. He wanted to sweep you off your feet, kiss you until you were breathless, share coffee with you early in the morning, and swap stories until late in the night. He wanted to introduce you to his daughter.

Baby steps.

"I hate to cut this short doctor, but I left the ensigns alone for too long, I'm worried there will be no lab to return to. I'll see you tonight?" You asked, fidgeting nervously with cuffs of your sleeves.

"Don't worry sweetheart, I'm not going to change my mind." Leonard smirked.

You blushed and smiled in relief, "good! Great!" You stood, grabbed your mug, and sauntered happily to the door. You paused just a moment and looked back at Bones sweetly. "See you later, handsome."

"See you later Y/N," replied Leonard. You gave him a cute little wave before hurrying back to the labs.

Once he was alone again in his office, Bones leaned back in his seat and admired the tickets on the desk. He almost couldn't believe how thoughtful you were, but this wouldn't be the first time you gave him an incredible gift. A couple months after you met, Bones had mentioned offhandedly that he missed a particular brand of whiskey from Earth. Despite being light years away, you managed to find some and give it to him. It wasn't even a special occasion, you got it just to make him happy. Leonard supposed he should have realized your feelings for him right then and there. Damn. He really was oblivious.

McCoy wanted to give you something tonight- no, he needed to give you something tonight. Something sweet, something romantic, something that says: 'you're special to me and I need to show it to you because I'm terrible with words'. But where was he going to find something like that on a starship? The botany labs. Flowers make for a great gift on a first date! Maybe if he was lucky, they would have irises growing down there. So what if bouquets are a little sappy?

A little sap never hurt anybody after all.

[archaictold]

HOW stupid he feels, in the grand scheme of things. Zhilan shuts his eyes to hide where he feels torn open, squeezing them tight in a fruitless attempt to stop his tears because they only make him seem more foolish. Xerxes is right. He knows nothing about him. Neither of them does. They're two misplaced souls in a world entirely unfamiliar, their secrets left behind, their pasts shrouded in the unknown. There's only so much they could know about one another, for the tethers of who they once were became severed the moment they arrived on this island. But Zhilan was trusting enough to have thought that he had an idea, that he'd pieced him together to know he was somewhere safe. Safe enough that he could reveal some of his innermost pieces too, a little at a time, and Xerxes wouldn't shun him for it. Why does it feel so bad to be wrong about that? He think it's because a large part of him still does have faith in Xerxes, of the person he is despite having that faith be laughed at. He would still offer him his heart in his hands, readily tear it from his chest and give it to him, believing in his best intentions with it. What a terribly gullible fool he is. You should leave. He should— Zhilan finally takes full hold of the doorknob, lightly twisting it open. His chest quietly heaves under an immense weight. —yet he doesn't want this door to shut. You've ruined enough. Wounding him one final time, his arms laying limp, no longer braced to block it. It cuts him deeper than all the rest in a way he can't explain, a point he cannot sit the tip of his finger on. I was so afraid of ruining you, I feel it even if I can't place where this fear's birthplace was. A memory of cradling him like a brittle bird, his hands caked with dirt but gentle. He picks up the string to it, following its winding length like a lifeline, only it is severed at the middle, with no context to back it. N a ï v e, how n a ï v e. I feel so—— L o s t.

❝ I'm sorry, ❞ is all Zhilan says. It's only ever been sincere, and it's all it'll ever continue to be. He steps back without a word, recoiling in truth this time. He hesitates, steeling himself, and then he's out the door—— ——and its hinge is left open, his heart too forgiving to slam the passage shut.

ZHILAN SPIRALS OF HIS OWN ACCORD, taking break's words and making the worst of them. wearing his heart on his sleeve, break can hear the tears in his eyes, alongside utter hopelessness. steps stagger when he flinches back, like something cornered, desperate to escape the merciless grip of break's grasp around his heart.

   content to release him, break's smile drops into a blank expression, the only part of him that reacts visibly.

   there's irony in zhilan's recounting of everything break had ever given him. his gifts, his time, his affections. only the mention of a feather moves the cold stone in his chest. maybe it was luck, then, that he kept its true meaning hidden from zhilan. or maybe it's misfortune. he's supposed to be a harbinger of that, after all.

   an ill omen, forecasting what's to come— a crumpled voice, broken by soft crying and him, standing motionless in the face of the hurt that he's caused. as if it were inevitable.

   this was almost too easy.

   there's something in him, a small version of himself, that sits at the bottom of this cliff, looking up in silent doubt. some part that knows the agency with which he wounds the people around him. wonders, silently, whether there really isn't another way, or if break is just too blind to see it. but it's small, and it's quiet, and its voice doesn't reach. what does reach is the ever present insistence of mad hatter, speaking even as their connection remains severed.

   a script learned by heart, after decades of listening to it.

   i'll die, either way. if there was anything else— i shouldn't have it. i have something to do, something to finish. i have to save. i have to destroy. i have to kill. i have to die.

   ' you should leave, ' he repeats, ease lifted, leaving only heavy resolution. break needs zhilan to avert his eyes, so he won't look at him with those teary eyes. shoulders, tense, drop in exhaustion, sure that he won't have to push too much more to succeed in this.

   ' you've ruined enough. '

[yandere-daydreams]

Twelve Days of Christmas - Day Eleven

Prompt: Christmas Eve.

Pairing: Yandere!Atsumu/Reader & Yandere!Osamu/Reader (Haikyuu!!).

TW: Nonconsensual Body-Modification, Nonconsensual Touching, Imprisonment, Mentions of Bondage, Marking, and Possessive Mindsets. 

“Hold still, baby.”

You weren’t sure why Atsumu bothered. Even if you���d been stupid enough to move, if you’d been naive enough to fight back, you couldn’t have, not with Osamu’s fist clamped around your wrists, Atsumu straddling your thighs, the two keeping you pinned to the bed regardless of all your writhing and squirming and pointless struggling. They didn’t have to, not really. There were a dozen pairs of handcuffs they could’ve used, a handful of coiled ropes, a few well-worn leashes, but tonight, your captors seemed to want to take a more hands-on approach. You couldn’t say you didn’t see why, but somehow, understanding did little to make the situation any more bearable.

You knew better than to misbehave, but you still jolted as the needle made contact with your skin, piercing the flesh just below your collarbone and withdrawing just as quickly, leaving little more than a bead of ink and a throbbing sting in its place. Atsumu hummed, splaying his free hand over your shoulder, but the sound was lost under the soft, constant buzz of machinery. You almost wished he’d talk, for a moment, that he’d break the near-silence just to cover up that awful, artificial noise, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be thankful when he actually did. Not when his tone was too smug for his empathy to be believable. “Wouldn’t want to mess this up, right? Tell ‘em, Osamu.”

You tried to glance down, to get a better look at what he was doing, but Osamu only caught you by the jaw, tilting your head back and forcing you to stare up at him while Atsumu worked. He’d explained that earlier, how they both wanted this to be a surprise, how you shouldn’t be able to see your gift until midnight and it was finally, finally finished. You had to wonder if they were drawing it out on purpose, with that in mind. You had to wonder if either of them really cared enough to try, or if the sadism just came naturally. “If you’re gonna, it’d be better if you could wait another minute or two,” Osamu started, as Atsumu cursed under his breath. “He’s doin’ mine, right now, and I know I’m your favorite. You can ruin Atsumu’s, if you want to.”

His playful lilt was obvious, accompanied by a lazy, careless smirk, but Atsumu still took a moment to glare, letting his needle plunge just a little too deep and leaving you jerking against Osamu, a stifled whimper forcing itself through your lips at the abrupt (albeit mild) pain. The sting seemed to get worse, too, turning from a jittery awareness to an incessant burn, but if Atsumu cared about the way you shrunk into yourself, he didn’t bother pausing, only hushing you as he worked on the next intricate, swirling line. “Your favorite’s distractin’ me,'' He grunted, choosing to ignore Osamu’s snicker. “Take it out on him if anything goes wrong. I don’t want to spend Christmas with a sulkin’ brat.”

“I don’t--” You tried to speak, only to be cut off by your own choked breath, the air hitching in your throat. Osamu clicked his tongue, drawing slow, deep circles into your cheek as a gesture he must’ve thought was comforting, but Atsumu didn’t seem affected. Or, he didn’t let your implied opposition get in his way, at least. “It’s starting to hurt--”

“Obviously,” Atsumu scoffed, pulling his needle away, the machine attached to it clicking off. You allowed yourself a sigh, but the relief was short lived, ending as soon as you felt him shifting backwards, a hand slipping under the waistline of your shorts. Your heart skipped a beat, dread forming a tight ball in your chest, but luckily, he only tugged at the fabric, edging it down just enough to uncover his next target. “But, I know my sweetheart can handle a little tattoo. Osamu fucks you up worse than this ever could whenever I leave the two of you alone.”

Your hipbone. You could feel it, Atsumu moving diagonally, just a little more eager than he was, before. Half-heartedly, you tried to thrash, aiming to buck him away or twist out of Osamu’s grip, but there wasn’t much you could do, not when all it took was a low growl on Osamu’s part to free you from that small bit of faith. He didn’t bare his teeth, but he didn’t have to, not when the threat was already familiar, not when you already knew what would happen if you ruined his brother’s fun. This wasn’t the worst option. This would stop hurting, eventually. You couldn’t say the same for all the scars he’d already left, the ones that seemed to smolder every time you got on his bad side. “We’re only gonna make you look a little prettier,” He mumbled, when you’d calmed down, as if that’d do anything to soothe your nerves. “Plus, we’ll never have to hear ‘stumu whine about it again. He might finally stop leavin’ all those ugly marks on ya.”

“Look at that jerk, pretendin’ he ain’t twice as bad.” Atsumu was laughing, again, but he didn’t let it disturb him. He’d gotten the hang of it now, moving quickly, daring to add an extra swirl, there, another loop, some embellishment that only worked to prolong the grueling process. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just as excited to have you all marked up as I am, and once I’m done, he’s not gonna be able to keep his hands to himself. You’re just gonna look that cute, when you’re all mine.”

“All ours,” Osamu corrected, squeezing your wrists absent-mindedly. He moved to go on, but he was interrupted by the chime of an alarm, too loud to be missed and too sudden not to catch all of you off-guard. Fishing his phone off the nightstand, Osamu waited for Atsumu to nod before he switched it off, Atsumu’s kit following shortly after. The buzzing died out, but Atsumu took a spare moment to lean down, pressing a fleeting kiss into the raw skin he’d just finished dying.

He didn’t pull away, as he spoke. “Show ‘em, ‘samu.”

You almost wished they hadn’t, that they’d kept it from you for just another hour, that they’d let you live in the hopeful delusion that it was anything but what you already knew it was. You didn’t have to search, not with Osamu’s hand still clamped around your chin, guiding you to the line of stark, bold text engraved in your collarbone, pitch back and just as eye-catching it’s twin at your hip. Just as unignorable. Just as terrible. Just as monstrous.

Osamu and Atsumu. One written across your collar, the other at your hip.

Their names, tattooed onto your skin. A display of ownership as permanent as it was sickening.

You felt light-headed. You felt like you were going to collapse. You might’ve, if Osamu hadn’t taken the opportunity to let go of your wrists and run his fingers over his name, salt poured into an open wound. A sob racked through your chest, tears beginning to blur your vision, but he only smiled. “Don’t be shy. Tell us what you think, angel.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an order, and there was only one right answer.

“It’s perfect.”

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 8: Visions

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

help lol. this was actual torture. We haven't even gotten to a point where it splits and holy moly. Enjoy! Next update is Tuesday! Much love and gratitude, guys. Hope you like~

Part 7 Part 9 Chapter Index

You woke up with a splitting headache. You stared at the ceiling of the infirmary and as you shifted and sat up, you could feel the bruises from the past two days rearing their ugly heads. It had been ages since you’d been so bruised up from practicing. It was fine. Nothing you couldn’t walk off. One of the monks returned to you upon seeing you awake. An older woman took the seat next to you and without a word, took your pulse and checked your eyes and fingernails.

You were used to this by now. The monks were good at what they did, better than some doctors that you’d seen over the years. You had faith in their knowledge and care. “I’m worried, Y/N.” The monk spoke carefully, motherly. You avoided eye contact. Your mother had used that tone when you’d first gotten sick. It was a tone you hated. Pity. “Since you’ve arrived, you seem to have trouble clotting. We’re running some tests.” You sighed but nodded and the monk gently clasped your hand, aged fingers over your bruised ones. “Don’t worry too much. It’s probably from the poison.”

“You’re probably right.” You had this sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that it wasn’t the case. You had to be optimistic but that wasn’t always easy. “Thank you for everything.”

“You can stay here if you’re worried. Your old space is still furnished.”

“No, no. I should head back to my room and get some rest.” You stood and stretched. You’d spent more than enough time in the infirmary. Your side was stiff and sore. Still, all things considered, you felt better than you had expected to. Other than the annoying headache, you were as good as new. The monk wished you well and then you left the infirmary and blindly walked back to your room. Even as you opened the door and stared at your bed, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not without having nightmares at least. It was cold that night and the gust of wind coming through the window made you shiver. You pulled one of the coats from your collection of hanfu over your shoulders and then left your room.

There was no sleep for you that night. You walked through the temple and unconsciously made your way to the fight pit. It had been cleaned up since you’d last been there but was abandoned for the night. You walked through the sand to the other side and sat on the edge of the cliff. Reaching into the folds of your clothing you pulled free the flower that Kung Lao had given you earlier.

You admired the petals again and brushed your fingers over each of them, counting them. Ten. You contemplated that children’s game of plucking petals in wonder of love but would have hated to ruin the flower. Then you tucked it inside of your hanfu for safekeeping. The wind made you shiver even as covered up as you were and while you were weary, you tried to familiarize yourself with the layout of the other side of the temple. It was like counting sheep, you supposed except you were counting windows and judging distance.

You felt his energy before you heard the footsteps approaching. Kung Lao. It was the middle of the night. What was he doing awake?

“You should be resting.” He stood next to you, hands behind his back. You didn’t look up at him. You didn’t need to.

“I am resting. This is resting.”

“It’s cold out. Liu Kang’s going to try to kick my ass if I let you freeze out here.”

“That’d be fun to see.” You yawned. He sat down next to you, resting his hat to the side of him against the wall. Silence followed and you shivered, pulling the hanfu tighter around you.

“You didn’t tell me how badly I hurt you.”

“I didn’t realize until I was getting changed. I don’t blame you or anything. Seemed silly to try and chase you down.”

“I forgot that I hit you. You just… took it. I should have been more mindful.”

“I told you that it was fine. I forgot. We were excited about my arcana.”

“The monks said you lost a lot of blood.” Kung Lao stared out at the temple, just as you did, avoiding eye contact. Why? You wanted the answer but didn’t want to ask. “Takes time to recover from that.”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it. I’m fine.”

“It is a big deal. I’m not one to make a big deal out of it if it isn’t, Y/N. You should know that. From what they told me you shouldn’t have lost that much blood in the first place even with the circumstances. It was stupid to go into the springs afterward, by the way.”

“Don’t judge me. I haven’t been thoroughly clean since you left me here. Excuse me for wanting to relax.”

“You lost so much blood. I’m judging a little.”

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Depends on the secret, Y/N.”

“They think the poison did something to make me bleed that heavily. Not sure if it’s true or not.” You considered that maybe it wasn’t just that. As you stared down at your folded legs, you remembered a time as a child where you’d scraped your knees and they had bled and bled into the night. You’d gotten sick and then in trouble for getting sick. Your parents had only been worried but it had felt like you’d done something wrong as a kid. This was all too familiar. “I haven’t told Liu yet.”

“And why not? I thought you two had become close friends.”

“We have but I haven’t seen him since I found out for one.”

“…and?”

“He worries about me too much, perhaps.” You didn’t think that was a bad thing, but you didn’t want to be his burden either. You knew your own limits. Besides, he’d had that nightmare the other night of you dying. You didn’t want his worry for you to keep him awake any more than it had.

“I can see why he’d be worried. You’re precious.” Kung Lao’s voice was serious and that instantly set you on edge. Even as kids, he had rarely sounded serious.

“Kung Lao…”

“I know that it’s been years since we last saw each other, Y/N. We don’t really know each other anymore but I would very much like the chance to get to know you again. I’ll try not to worry about you too much but I can’t make any promises.”

“I’d like that very much.” You smiled and then closed your eyes. The wind whipped over the edge of the cliff and you shook off the chills.

“You really should rest. That’s the best medicine or this sort of thing.”

“I told you, I am resting.” You yawned. “You should rest too. It’s late. Why are you awake, anyway?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Took a walk. Found you. Liu Kang would kill me if I let you stay out here alone.”

“I’m a grown woman and I’ll do whatever I want, Kung Lao. I’m not ready to go back yet. I’m enjoying the chill and calm.”

“Then I’ll keep you company.” They sat peacefully for a time. Then Kung Lao talked to you, told you about his trip to search for the flower that he’d brought you. He really had gone well out of his way to find it. You were glad that you’d kept it so precious and safe. It would fade, you’d press it in a book again, and keep it for as long as time would allow.

Then he yawned and you saw him falling over and falling asleep. He leaned against your shoulder and you laughed and gently shook him awake. His weight was knocking you over. He sat upright quickly, blinked away the sleep, and then wiped his mouth. He’d even drooled.

“Go to bed, Kung Lao.”

“I don’t want to leave you here alone.” He yawned and placed his hat in his lap.

“And I don’t want you drooling on my shoulder.”

“…you know, that’s fair. I’ll go to bed.” He stood up and stretched his arms over his head. “Sure you won’t join me?”

“You go. I’m still enjoying the quiet.”

“Could be fun?” He teased and you swatted at his leg at the suggestion. “Your loss. Promise me that you’ll get some rest eventually, Y/N.”

“I promise. Go to bed. Cold and alone.” You teased without looking back at him. He walked away, leaving you alone on the edge of the fight pit. You waited until his energy was out of reach and then took the flower from within your robes again and smiled. He really was sweet, even if he was a bit abrasive. You tucked the flower away again and leaned against the stone of the wall nearby. A few more minutes and then you’d get up and you’d go to bed. Kung Lao was right. You shouldn’t have been out there alone all night. It was frigid.

Before you knew it, you were being shaken awake. You jumped and grabbed the wrist of whoever was shaking you but your vision was blurry.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Liu Kang’s voice soothed you but it was laced with worry. You blinked desperately but there were black spots in your vision. Liu was crouched before you, searching your eyes, and pushing your hair from your face. “Focus on me, okay?”

Your ears were ringing and your heart was racing.

“What are you doing out here? You’re freezing…” Liu brushed his hands down your arms to try and warm you and then he stopped to take your pulse on your wrist. “Your heart is racing, too. Are you okay?”

His voice was drowned out by a high-pitched screeching, ringing from one ear to the next, then completely deafening you. You grasped your ears to try and force the sound away and skittered away from Liu Kang’s grasp. You couldn’t feel his touch anymore, couldn’t see him. Closing your eyes tight, you willed away the sound, the discomfort, the sudden fear, and pain.

Then there was silence.

You opened your eyes and when you did what met you was hazy, as if a violent sandstorm raged in front of you. There was blood splattered across the fight pit, and behind the pillars you could see people fighting. Darkness rose from the ground, filling the gap between pillars with swirling, thick smoke. From the shadows, a man emerged, regal and terrible, long dark hair, gold armor, dark cloak fluttering behind him. There was a wicked smile on his face and as he stopped, he turned to look right at you.

The whites of his eyes went black and with a raise of his hand, armies of horrid warriors with rows of teeth exposed on their faces, all the way up to their ears rushed forward. They shrieked and charged through the temple. You tried to scream, to cry for help, to run at them but you couldn’t move. It was as if you weren’t there. Yet the man with the dark eyes looked right at you. He saw you. Panic gripped your chest and you tried to close your eyes, but there was no closing them, no looking away. There were flashes of pain, of agony on the faces of people you knew and others that you didn’t. They were losing.

The darkness of the fog surrounded you and when you blinked your eyes open, you saw the lantern lit halls of the temple. You were being carried down the hall in Liu Kang’s arms. Panic gripped you and you struggled to ground yourself. “No! No!” You shouted and tried to get out of his arms and onto your feet. “Liu!” Ink was dripping down your arms and over your fingers. Liu Kang’s arms and chest were soaked in it.

Liu nearly lost his grip on you and he stumbled, the first time you’d ever seen him lose his footing. You wriggled free out of his arms, needing room to breathe, to feel less confined. Liu let you go and you fell to your knees then scooted away from him until your back met the pillar. You leaned your head against it, trying to catch your breath. Ink stained the stone beneath you with every move and you willed the magic to fade. You didn’t remember summoning the ink. It had a mind of its own.

Liu made his way to you and grasped your arms as if he needed to touch you. He searched your eyes, his face rigid with concern. “Are you there? Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you,” you whispered and he breathed a sigh of relief, hanging his head. “I… I saw something.” The harsh reality of those words shook you to the core. You had never wanted to say that again, never wanted to think that you would again see things that were beyond your sight.

“You were having a fit, you were… shaking and struggling to breathe and…” Liu Kang didn’t seem to hear you. He was panicking, something you didn’t think that you’d ever live to see. “Then you exploded with ink.”

“Liu, listen to me, please…” You made to touch his cheek but he was still holding your wrists.

“We have to get you back to the infirmary.” He made to lift you up and, arms free, you grabbed his hands and forced him to stop.

“No!” You shouted in desperation. “Liu, listen to me.” He stopped and relaxed just enough that the panic left him.

“Y/N, please,” he whispered, worry thick in his voice. “You’re freezing and…”

“Please, listen to me, Liu. I saw… a man with dark eyes and he… he burst through a wall of shadow with an army.” You tried to recall the rest of what you’d seen but your brain was buzzing again with panic. The visions were tangled like a mess of Christmas lights.

“…you had a vision?” Realization was thick in his voice and yet it was laced with wonder.

“We were in danger. You were in danger.” You weren’t sure how you knew he was in danger. The vision had been fuzzy, but your worry for him was exceptional. “Kung Lao was… and there were people I didn’t recognize, Liu. You were all in danger.” Liu Kang stayed quiet as though there was a war raging inside his head.

Then he pulled his hands free and held his right one before you and lit it on fire.

“You’re freezing, Y/N.” He was still worried but his nerves seemed to have calmed enough for him to stop trying to drag you away. “I need you to go to the infirmary for me. We can go from there.”

“Just stay here for a moment with me. Please, Liu? Then I’ll do whatever you like.” You breathed a sigh of relief. The heat from the flame was too much. He was right. You were too cold. The fire felt like an assault. You kept your eyes fixed on his face. “I need to see you. I need to know you’re okay.” It was true. Besides the panic of having seen something like that for the first time since you were twelve, you had found yourself worried about him.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Liu Kang extinguished his flame, picked up your hands and urged them to his cheeks. Your ink-stained fingers left smudges on his skin. “I’m okay.” He assured you. “I’m right here. No one is attacking anyone. It’s just us.”

“Just us.” You repeated, searching his face. He was covered in ink but no worse for wear. You brushed your fingers over his face, down his jaw and finally breathed a sigh of relief. Then you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and pulled him close in a hug. He’d put his worry, his panic aside to comfort you and you couldn’t have been more grateful. His arms slipped around you in return, pulling you tighter to him. “Promise me that you’ll be careful.”

“I promise.” He pulled back just enough to be face to face with you, voice a calm whisper. His hand rested on the side of your neck, tips of his fingers against your cheek. “What else did you see?”

“It’s a jumbled mess.” You furrowed your brow. You didn’t want to see it again. The panic you’d felt had been the kind of panic you hadn’t felt in years. You’d felt helpless, useless. Like a prisoner of your mind. “I don’t know where to begin explaining it. I wish I could just show you.”

“Lord Raiden will help you make sense of it.”

You let your hands rest on his strong upper arms and nodded. He was warm and you were absolutely freezing, it was better than the fire he’d used. Liu’s eyes were searching your face and he pushed your hair back, hands tangled in your tresses. The danger you felt still clutching your chest was immeasurable. You grasped his arm and in your mind’s eye you could see his face, filled with anguish and pain. You wanted to keep him from that. Liu Kang didn’t deserve that sort of pain.

“Y/N.” His voice was soft and concerned and you focused again on his eyes, wide and staring at you with worry. He was only a few inches away now and you held your breath, for fear that you would disturb him. Liu’s fingers brushed up over your cheek and his thumb brushed over your lower lip, parting your lips just slightly.

Heat rose from deep within your stomach, through your chest, and right up to your cheeks and the agonizing few seconds that passed afterward nearly killed you. Time stopped as his lips met yours, smooth and perfect, a slow and deliberate kiss that made your whole body ignite as though Liu’s fire had passed through you with that touch of his lips. If you hadn’t been seated, your knees absolutely would have given out.

His warm fingers ran up your cheek, through your hair, and to the back of your head, where he held you ensnared in his kiss. Breaking through the panic that had rendered you useless, you allowed your lips to part further, tilting your head into that gentle kiss, the intoxicating scent of soot and ink colliding between you. Your hand had found his shirt and your fingers tangled in the cloth, pulling him just a bit closer.

The soft and tender thing that the kiss had begun as shifted into something deeper, more primal. A desperate display of affection that you had both resisted for far too long. His hands moved from your hair, over the sides of your neck, down your shoulders, the coat of the hanfu falling away, but getting stuck behind you as you were pressed harder against the pillar.

Your lips collided, and a soft, deep half growl half moan emerged from deep in the back of his throat and you felt the pressure of his kiss, pushing your bodies closer together. You found your hands at the back of his shirt, pulling him closer, your heart racing so hard you were light-headed. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but his lips, his hands pulling you closer, traveling down your arms, over your sides, grasping you tightly.

Tilting your head to the side, you invited him to kiss you deeper, more intimately, but then pain shot through you side beneath his touch so completely that you bit his lip and pulled back with a gasp. It was like breathing for the first time, like the world suddenly came into view as Liu Kang pulled back in surprise, sucking on his lower lip that bled just enough for you to notice the color of blood on his flesh.

“Are you okay?” He seemed to struggle to breathe, to find words. As he urged his hands to pull away from beneath your hanfu he stared at his hands. One of them was stained with blood. Your blood. You shivered and with the loss of the heat of Liu Kang you were again freezing. The kiss felt like a distant memory already, a memory that was too far away, that you wanted to once again be lost in.

“I’m okay.” You finally managed words but they felt out of time. Your heart was beating so hard in your chest that you swore that you would stop breathing and die right there. If your last moment was that kiss with Liu Kang then you were okay with that.

“Your lips are blue.” He brushed his thumb over your lips again and you felt your stomach twist back into knots. Then he pulled back his hands and lit both of them on fire, holding them closer to you to warm you. The heat was overwhelming. “We need to get you to the infirmary and speak with Lord Raiden.”

“I’m exhausted, Liu.” You couldn’t think of walking anywhere. You weren’t sure your legs would work. Between your vision, the blood loss, and the recent memory of Liu Kang’s lips, you weren’t sure you’d ever walk properly again.

“We can sit for a minute. But not for long with you bleeding like this.” His whispers were still so intimate; for you and you alone. You nodded and let him warm you until finally you stopped shaking. Even so, your thoughts were still racing. Focus was nearly impossible, all things considered, and yet the thing that kept racing to the forefront of your thoughts were his lips. Liu Kang was watching you but when you looked back to him, he averted his eyes.

There would be plenty of time to wonder what the hell this had meant, but for now you had a laundry list of things to do.

[tanoraqui]

tanoraqui

Still thinking about an au in which for some reason WWX and the Wens are left to just live peacefully on the creepy death mountain - some detente wherein they don’t leave the mountain ever and in exchange no one tries to visit ever. Borders patrolled by corpses and sect disciples. So A-Yuan grows up raised kind of collectively but mostly by WWX and Wen Qing (the one most likely to tell WWX that he’s doing it wrong), and learns healing-focused spiritual cultivation AND demonic cultivation, and then at some point starts sneaking out to be the terrifying force of righteous kindness he was always going to be

tanoraqui

Righteous kindness but also, like, having picked up WWX’s cavalier confidence (or at least some of the ability to fake it) and Wen Qing’s general attitude of Do No Harm But Take No Shit

Like IMAGINE

tanoraqui

In this au, despite the strict border-by-mutual-agreement that’s the only reason somehow no ones tried to attack, LWJ sneaks in like one a year so he and WWX can make eyes at one another but not actually say anything ever, and Wen Qing and LXC are both EXHAUSTED bc both their dumb little brothers (WWX is a sibling by adoption now don’t @ me) mope for like a week after EVERY SINGLE TIME THIS HAPPENS, and it’s been /over ten years/.

tanoraqui

Meanwhile Jiang YanLi and JZX are FINE, and JYL somehow keeps up some sort of correspondence with WWX - or at least, he’s faithfully managed to send a birthday present for Jin Ling every single year, and every time, JYL makes her son write a thank-you note and bribes some series of people to get it smuggled back to Yiling

tanoraqui

...which means, honestly, that Jin Ling is probably wildly curious about his uncle the evil demonic cultivator kept trapped within the terrible ghost mountain by the forces of Good and Right, and WILL sneak out one day to try to visit. Optimally, obviously, at the same time Wen Yuan is sneaking out to see the non-mountain world

tanoraqui

The optimal plot is that Wen Yuan ropes Jin Ling into helping him set up WWX and LWJ, because he, too, is exasperated at this point, and Jin Ling ropes Wen Yuan into arranging like a parent trap reunion for the Jiang siblings, and obviously there are monsters and undead to complicate it all

tanoraqui

They kind of acquire Lan Jingyi somewhere, somehow. He’s having a blast

There is a 100% chance that the first Adult(TM) to find them is Wen Ning and they just kind of rope him into whatever the hell is going on at the time

...you know what, I think this is just a good au where JGY fucking died at some point

tanoraqui

Maybe someone threw him down the stairs again and he just broke his fucking neck. WWX is still vilified but between Jiang Cheng not really wanting to attack and Jiang (Jin?) Yanli being AGGRESSIVELY against it, and dragging JZX along with her, they’re left in peace.

tanoraqui

Oh man and Jin Ling has YOUNGER SIBLINGS in this...

Hey for u: Jiang Cheng/Wen Qing can accidentally happen while the Teens are trying to get everyone else to meet

Today at 8:42 AM

@professorsparklepants

I love this it's so goddamn wacky

tanoraqui

I just want teenager-based shenanigans ft. surprisingly competent teenagers and all the adults running around like chickens with their heads chopped off

professorsparklepants

Jingyi: why are you two more calm about this than the literal adults

Wen Yuan: have you met my dad?

tanoraqui

Also to be clear it is not at all hard to convince Wen Ning to join Team: Teenage Shenanigans, bc literally ANYONE in the Burial Mountain village would probably be down if you were like, “we’re engaged in a conspiracy to make Wei Wuxian fucking admit that he’s in love with that Lan guy who visits a couple times a year”

professorsparklepants

"This is my father, and this is his sugar daddy."

tanoraqui

I kinda wanna say he goes by “Wen Yuan” more often bc he’s 100% the baby of the entire remaining Wen clan there, but his adult name or w/e it’s called IS Wen Sizhui, because WWX asked LWJ if he had any suggestions and LWJ said this while maintaining eye contact

professorsparklepants

OH MY GOOOOOOD

tanoraqui

They meet LXC and he figures out what’s going on in like 4 minutes, despite the teens’ best attempts at obfuscation, and instead of calling anyone’s parents is like, “okay, I’m in”

professorsparklepants

#1 wingman...

tanoraqui

Jin Ling and Wen Yuan are definitely both traveling under false names, too? Wen Yuan obviously can’t admit to being a Wen and Jin Ling is making a privileged but slightly helicoptered teen’s rebellious bid for freedom

professorsparklepants

His dad is panicking at home and Yanli is like "boys need their freedom :)"

I saw a post forever ago about how Yanli would be the most hands off parent & Zixuan is an only child who would panic every time his kid fell down

tanoraqui

With a side order of “my mother is the only one who’ll say nice things about the Yiling Patriarch and she always looks sad when she does so I’m going to sneak into the Burial Mountain and either drag him out to see her or force my parents to come get me”

professorsparklepants

"I'm gonna beat up the Yiling Patriarch" "why" "he made my mom sad" "okay proceed"

tanoraqui

^ actual real conversation with WenYuan

professorsparklepants

A-Yuan then repeats the same thing to Wen Qing and she has the exact same answer, verbatim

tanoraqui

Side note: Wen Yuan has never been scared of the undead in his entire life, and probably this will lead to getting into severely life-threatening situations when he doesn’t have more backup than 2 other teenagers

professorsparklepants

Oh absolutely

professorsparklepants

He's so used to tuning out the sound of sentry corpses that one jumps on him and almost punches his lungs out

tanoraqui

Also what if he took WWX’s sword, so he looks like a proper normal cultivator - honestly, what if WWX gave him the sword when he turned 12, or whenever one customarily gives a child a sword in this world. He also has a flute stashed in his robe somewhere but he does know how to use both

tanoraqui

But also, while obviously it’s very important that this is the sword he inherited from his father, it’s never OCCURRED to him to, like, strongly associate it with WWX, in terms of “this would be a recognizable weapon”? Chenqing the flute, obviously, but WWX just left the sword on a shelf all the time

professorsparklepants

He's very good at fooling people into thinking he's a normal rogue cultivator until he busts out the flute

LOL YES

tanoraqui

So the first time someone looks at him and is like, “That is WWX’s sword” he achieves, like, “Who’s Morales? [NOT THAT DUMB]” levels of blank-brained

professorsparklepants

It like, doesn't even occur to him that this stick named whatever will be recognizable to people until it actually happens

"this is the Yiling Patriarch's sword!" "... I've never heard of him"

tanoraqui

“What sword?”

professorsparklepants

KDJAKSNJS

tanoraqui

“Oh, THIS sword? I...found it. In a stream.”

tanoraqui

Also...at some point...once the teens have admitted their identities to one another...and possibly gotten into a couple other increasingly public shenanigans...they run into a bunch of concerned people searching from the Jin or even Jiang sect - JC being there would be PERFECT - and Jin Ling is like, “aaahh, no, I don’t want to be dragged home... kidnap me.”

WY: what?

JL: pull out the flute, summon a couple corpses, shout that you’re the dread son of the Yiling Patriarch, and pretend to kidnap me

WY: ...yeah okay

AND THEN THEY DO THAT

professorsparklepants

The dumbass energy...... off the CHARTS

tanoraqui

They’re 15 and neither of them has ever faced consequences but in...actually not too different ways

They’re 15 and neither of them as ever faced consequences nor most of the real world

Oh my god is Lan Jingyi the most sensible person here

They’re going to DIE

professorsparklepants

JXHAKAJAKKQHSJA

JC and Yanli immediately see through this probably

"dumbass kid just doesn't want to go home. I'll break his legs."

tanoraqui

I think Yanli does but I have minimal faith in JC’s ability to think logically at any time

He’s still angry at WWX for leaving

professorsparklepants

Stomps to Yiling to demand his nephew back & wwx's like "lol, A-Yuan left two months ago"

Okay my shift is starting later

tanoraqui

/snort

Though, bold of you to assume that WWX isn’t also running around anxiously somewhere like ��oh god, oh no, my son is missing; I must find him”

professorsparklepants

Sizhui is a responsible boy, I don't think he would leave without telling at least ONE person where he was going

tanoraqui

Ok but it was Wen Qing who thinks it’s good for WWX’s health to stop brooding and go run around like a headless chicken instead, optimally if he runs into his totally-not-a-boyfriend-Hahahaha-why-would-you-say-that

Alternately it was, like, Granny, which, ditto

No one on this mountain is going to stop WWX from going out to cause trouble and hopefully get laid, is my point

tanoraqui

Also, the cultivation world has been basically at peace for 13 years and the reason is that this is an ideal AU where JGY is dead and whenever trouble starts to stir politically, NHS and JYL meet eyes across the room and mentally Rock Paper Scissors over who has to manipulate everyone into calming the fuck down

Neither of them actually wants this job; they’re just good at it and recognize both those aspects in each other

professorsparklepants

LOLOLOL

That is.... so goddamn in character

tanoraqui

concept: JYL and NHS are friends and no one else understands it, or attributes it to JYL just being that nice, bc NHS still generally acts useless

professorsparklepants

Nhs actively wants to be useless and life is conspiring to make sure he can't

tanoraqui

a little less dramatically useless, but why ruin a good thing when you're having fun and it's useful

professorsparklepants

Lol

tanoraqui

but JYL fucking identified him as Actually Competent one time when he couldn't hide it, so now sometimes they get tea together and bitch about politics and stupid people

professorsparklepants

He's the only person who can correctly identify when she's talking shit about people, because it's VERY subtle and her brothers & husband are too busy thinking she hung the moon to notice

tanoraqui

JYL striding into Nie sect HQ (whatever it's called) and tossing her coat over a chair. "You would not BELIEVE what my brothers are doing now."

NHS: *probably knows, because he's found that the minor investment of effort in maintaining a very good spy network pays major dividends in helping him avoid greater work* *immediately sits up and pours her a cup of very expensive tea* Oh, girl, dish.

professorsparklepants

Question: are they also friends with lwj...

tanoraqui

yes but he's obviously not invited to hte political gossip sessions

professorsparklepants

I'm trying to imagine lwj making eye contact with them at some meeting his brother dragged him to and both of them struggling not to break into hysterics

tanoraqui

but they both know that he sneaks into Yiling to visit WWX a few times a year, and every single time, JYL sits him down within a couple weeks and aggressively debriefs him as to her brother's condition

professorsparklepants

I'm sure she tried to get him to take treats in

tanoraqui

for sure

it's hopeless, though, bc there's no really predicting WHEN he'll go? It's basically just "every 4-6 months when LWJ's resolve breaks"

professorsparklepants

Too bad she's not a stress quilter instead of a stress baker

tanoraqui

she gets him to go at an actual arranged time, bearing pork soup, like once, for WWX's 30th birthday or something

professorsparklepants

:)

tanoraqui

omg lit brain: LWJ of course is hte WORST for getting gossip, but JYL has pieced together a reasonable amount about the people her idiot baby brother (#2) is now living with. And she's mildly despairing as to idiot baby brother #1's ongoing refusal to get married and have an heir or three. So she, if not actively connives, then certainly siezes the first available opportunity to set Jiang Cheng up with Wen Qing

tanoraqui

basically, this au is PEAK romcom

tanoraqui

...also, for max happiness, i'd like to think that WWX made some strategic raids to rescue additional Wen refugees and bring them back, so there's a properly populated village and they didn't all just die

professorsparklepants

!!!

Good... Good thoughts

Good because 1. more people die and 2. The Yiling Patriarch will attack your village and steal your people away!

tanoraqui

(romcom being exclusively adults-focussed; the teens initiate it all but Jin Ling and Wen Yuan are both so delighted to have an Additional (But Cooler) Family Member that they comfortably cousinzone each other instantly)

professorsparklepants

*nice*

tanoraqui

...i feel like i keep characterizing Jin Ling as an only child, when really he ought to have a small horde of siblings

maybe they just...couldn't conceive more. shit happens. pregnancy is hard.

professorsparklepants

That happens sometimes

[shining-m00nlight]

5 times Catelyn didn’t think of Brandon Stark (4)

Everyone thinks she is with Ned because of Brandon but they are wrong. Fourth one is Brynden.

Chapter 4 of my Nedlyn 5+1 story. It’s their wedding day, yay. Very fluffy and feel good. You don’t need to know the other chapters. Have fun.

"And I promise to love you and cherish you for the rest of my life. To be your partner by your side always, until the end of my days." Ned's words still rang in her head when they got to the wedding reception.

She never felt this much happiness in her life before. She was married to Ned. To her sweet, kind Ned, her rock. If she wouldn't have been in the middle of her wedding reception she would have squealed and screamed full of joy. But she had to remember that there were a lot of people around them.

To be completely honest she had a hard time remembering that other people participated in her wedding, the whole day. From the moment she had walked down the aisle the only one she saw was Ned. Everyone else had just fainted into the background.

Distantly she had known that her father had led her to Ned but even his significance blanched in comparison to her future husband. Ned who had waited for her at the end of the aisle looking at her as if all his wishes had just come true. He had claimed this two days prior but when she had seen it so plainy displayed on his face it had made her heart skip a few beats.

Before the wedding both Lysa and Lyanna had asked Catelyn if she was afraid that Ned would look as "frozen" as he always looked. She got quite mad at both of them because to her Ned had never been frozen when they were together. Yes it took her some time to recognize and read his emotions but frozen was not a word that came when she thought of her now husband.

People who called Ned frozen and unfeeling were people she couldn't understand. And the moment she had seen him she knew that everyone who thought that Ned was frozen today was an idiot.

It wasn't like any of those people mattered to her anyway. Nobody but Ned mattered today. Of course Ned would disagree with her on this. For him she was what mattered most on their wedding day. They had a long discussion about this and at the end they came to the conclusion that their love should be the center of their wedding which was a result both of them were satisfied with.

Now she was in her husband's arms while dancing. Ned always declared that he was a terrible dancer and she knew he had been nervous about dancing infront of so many people but she also knew no one had ever danced with her as well as Ned did today. She also knew no other man's arms could ever fit as perfectly around her as Ned's did. She knew that she could never feel this safe with anybody else by her side. And she knew that there was no one she would have rather married than Ned. She knew all those things without a doubt.

"I love you, Ned" she whispered in his ear. Everyone's eyes were on them but they only had eyes for each other. They pressed their foreheads together to be as close as possible to each other.

"I love you too, so much. Before you I never knew I could love someone this much." he told her and gave her a small kiss on the lips. It was a short kiss but it was full of promises. Promises for later today and promises for their life together, a life that started this moment.

After what felt like a wonderful eternity their first dance was over. She still felt like she was floating when Ned went to sit down at their table next to Robert, his best man. Catelyn stayed on the dance floor and waited for her father so they could start the father-daughter-dance. Hoster came to her smiling brighter than she had seen him smile in a long time with open arms to start their dance.

"Little Cat, you look radiant. I am so happy for you and I'm very lucky that I get to be here for your special day. I just wish your mother could be here to see you getting married. I know she dreamt of this day ever since you were born." he told her.

"Oh daddy, thank you. I wish mom would be here as well but I believe that she is with us today. Of course planning the wedding would have been easier with her here." she tried to make a little joke. One that was true.

Ever since Cat was five years old and her mother had shown her pictures of her own wedding, Cat had set her heart on having a wedding that resembled her parents. With Minisa Tully gone from life too early this had turned out to be a challenge and her father hadn't been of much help.

But again she had been blessed to have Ned. Even though he was missing his own mother, he had helped her plan the entire wedding and to find a way to perfectly combine the different traditions of their faiths. They somehow managed to have a wedding that was a perfect combination of her dreams and his wishes. There was no way in which this wedding could have been better.

At the end of the father-daughter-dance Rickard Stark took over for her father and other people started dancing around them as well. Cat enjoyed dancing and she liked her new father-in-law but she wanted to get back to Ned. She tried to find him without interrupting her dance. He wasn't in his seat anymore. Instead she found him dancing with his sister. He looked up and her and their eyes met. Immediately the smile returned to his face and she couldn't help but blush and smile back.

When the song ended they both returned to their table again. Ned took her hands: "I missed you even though you've only been gone for 2 dances"

She laughed and again Ned looked at her like she was the most beautiful creature on this Earth. It filled her with joy that they both missed each other irrationally. But this was their day of course they wanted to be together as much as possible.

She took one of her hands and stroked through his hair carefully to not get it messy. He silently raised his eyebrow and she knew exactly why. She had made him promise not to touch her hair until after the wedding to not ruin it.

"Don't look at me like that. I'm not making a mess out of your hair like you always make of mine. I'll make sure you will look just as handsome as you looked before I touched your hair."

Instead of saying something he took her hand, that was not in his hair and kissed the back of it. They sat together like this, just looking at each other and exchanging little touches until her uncle came over and asked her to dance. She was conflicted about leaving Ned again but he just smiled and gave her hands to Brynden.

Her uncle spun her around on the dance floor laughing and most likely not suitable to the beat. When their dance slowed down a bit the topic of how cheerful this day was came up again.

Brynden with his typical teasing grin on his face asked her a question she really expected: "Tell me little Cat are you happy with your choice of groom?"

"Of course I am happy. Ned is the best man there is. Why would you even ask that?" She was a bit irritated by his question. Why would she not be happy? If she had been unhappy she wouldn't have married Ned.

"Oh I just remember how enamored you were with the handsome older brother." he said wiggling his eyebrows at her. "Just seemed like you replaced the older one with the one that is less likely to take the wrong girl home after the wedding"

Cat almost fell when she missed a step because she felt it raging inside her. She knew her uncle was making a joke. One he wouldn't make if she had actually married Brandon. He would not laugh, he would threaten Brandon instead. But in this moment she was just mad being reminded by her own uncle that she had a history with Ned's older brother. She hated that people constantly asked about Brandon or assumed that he was the reason for her relationship with Ned.

"Uncle, why would you say something like that? At Ned's and my wedding no less! I love Ned. My loving Ned has nothing to do with Brandon. Ned is 10 times the man that Brandon is. And I'm really tired of all of you questioning my decision and thinking I have some twisted reason for being with Ned." She didn't yell but she came damn close to it.

She almost left her uncle on the dancefloor to get back to Ned but he stopped her to apologize. He told her he was just joking and that he didn't mean to hurt her. Cat knew that it was true but she told her uncle that she would not tolerate anyone saying these things anymore. They finished their dance but Cat's mood wasn't as good as it was before. Her plan was to go straight back to Ned but when she turned around he was already there to take over for Brynden.

"Are you ok? You looked like you got a bit mad there." he asked her. For the millionth time today she beamed at him as he put his arms around her and started dancing again. This was one of the many reasons she knew Ned was the right one for her. He always was so observant and could sense her distress very easily.

"I'm fine, my love. My uncle was just making a stupid joke." she reassured him.

"Mmh, I don't like you being upset you should be nothing but happy today."

"I am nothing but happy, I promise. I just look at you and there is no space in my heart for anything but love, hope and happiness." It was true the moment she had been back in his arms her anger at her uncle had completely disappeared.

Despite this little incident the rest of the reception had been lovely. She danced with Edmure, Benjen and even Robert, she saw Ned dancing with Lysa, she ate cake and had a great time. At the end of the day Ned and her ended up in their bed naked tangled up in each other in a way that you probably couldn't tell which limp belongs to who and she thought of nothing but their future.

No Brandon occupied her mind, only Ned. 

[ampleappleamble]

—

Debriefing the Crucible Knights went about how Axa had expected it would. She and her companions had staggered out of Heritage Hill only to be immediately escorted back to Crucible Keep along with the little girl they'd rescued from her family crypt, the poor waif falling asleep on Edér's shoulders as they'd made their way through town. Once inside, they'd had their wounds tended to and their bellies filled as they recounted the events of their harrowing mission, repeating themselves over and over to one bewildered Knight after another. By the end of the evening, rumors, misinterpretations, and half-truths about the "end of the Curse of Heritage Hill" were all anybody in Crucible Keep could talk about– unless one preferred to gossip about the mysterious Watcher of Caed Nua instead.

Restful sleep was coming harder and harder to Axa, and the troubling trend had continued as they'd bedded down in the barracks that night. She'd woken the next morning feeling worse than she had when she'd laid down the night before, and her attitude had very much reflected it. She'd particularly let her ire show when her breakfast had been interrupted by a man who'd introduced himself as Penhelm, a name she recognized as the one belonging to the Knight that Osric had sent her after the day before, hoping she could recover his family's breastplate from the snooty little gossip.

"Is it true that you're not actually a Watcher, but merely a Cipher? Like the... others of your kind down at Hadret House?" Arrogance and curiosity mingled in his insufferable smirk as he spoke, not even having had the decency to wait until she'd finished chewing.

"That depends," she'd replied, her mouth still full of bacon. "Is it true you steal people's family heirlooms after talking shit about them and getting them kicked out of the service?"

Needless to say, she had gotten nowhere trying to convince him to do right by Osric. So on her way out, she'd passed through the scriptorium and, with a careful eye and a whispered word to Aloth, she'd left Crucible Keep that morning with Penhelm's soul lineage affidavit tucked away in her satchel.

She had been on her way to Hadret House to have the affidavit examined for authenticity, hoping to gain a bargaining chip that might pry the heirloom armor from the little bastard's hands, when a messenger had appeared at her shoulder, letting her know that her presence had been requested... at Hadret House. She'd almost laughed at the absurd coincidence– until the messenger told her exactly who had summoned her there, his tone low and reverent.

"Who is Lady Webb," she'd asked, "and what exactly does she want with me?"

The messenger had been young, with a casual, almost flippant air about him, but he had still had the good sense to lean close and keep an eye out for eavesdroppers. "You don't know her, milady? She's the directress of Dunryd Row, Defiance Bay's investigative peacekeeping force. No one's actually met her face to face, in... I don't know, a long time. But they say that despite her advanced age, her mind is a steel trap and her will is an iron fist. She and her Cipher operatives keep the city safe from threats that most kith are never even aware exist..."

Axa had listened, at first. She'd tried to listen. But as he'd spoken, as he'd thrust the wax-sealed summons into her hand, she'd found herself distracted by an all-too-familiar feeling. Something was pulling her toward Hadret House, something that had nothing to do with Dunryd Row or Ciphers or Lady Webb, and she'd turned away from the messenger in the middle of his speech to pursue it, helpless to resist.

He was there. Just outside of Hadret House, on the far side of Brackenbury. He was there, and she approached him–

–she approached him, any confidence she'd had before dissolving now in her sick stomach, trickling down her trembling limbs. She couldn't do this.

She had to do this.

He was already watching her, but the impact of his gaze was no less powerful than if he'd turned dramatically to face her. It was as though he knew what she was going to tell him already.

Of course he does, she thought. He knows all. He knows what I've done. What I–

"You look as though you've seen a ghost, dear."

Lady Webb chuckled in her throat, but her face did not laugh with her. "Although, perhaps you have. After all, you are the Watcher who wrested the ruins of Caed Nua away from poor, mad Maerwald, as well as the Watcher who ended the... 'curse' of Heritage Hill, if my reports are correct." The old, frail woman rose from her desk, crossed the room with a deceptive grace. "And they are."

Axa kept her head low, but lifted her eyes to meet Webb's gaze. "Why have you asked me here–"

"–You know why I have asked you here, child."  With anyone else, she would have felt that she was being chastised, but with him, she only felt kind, fatherly concern. "Your fellow missionaries have reported a change in your behavior recently. You neglect your duties, you are quiet and distant. What troubles you so to make you act this way?"

Tears stung her eyes. Her whole body quaked. Her breath caught in her throat. The quivering pit in her stomach broadened and her heart fell into it, and for a second she thought she might actually vomit, but instead it was her confession that flew from her mouth:

"Your Eminence, I... forgive me, but I wish... I wish to leave the order."

He folded his hands, frowning–

"You're not a stupid woman, Axa Mala. You should know why I've asked you here. Defiance Bay's concerns are my concerns, you see, and evidently, they are yours as well. But neither of us is overly fond of beating around the bush, so let's cut straight to it, shall we?" Lady Webb stopped at her bookshelf, turned to face Axa again, her keen eyes piercing the other woman's mind, her soul. "Why do you seek the Leaden Key?"

She had known, somehow, that Webb would ask her that, but it still took her by surprise. Nevertheless, Axa didn't waste time asking how she'd known. "I'm looking for someone. A man I saw in the ruins of Cliant Lîs. He... did something to me. And I need him to undo it."

The wizened old Cipher nodded at her, then, let her eyes slip shut, her face twitching–

–"You have been nothing if not an extraordinary asset to us," he said, slowly pacing as he spoke. "Your conviction in our cause has inspired your contemporaries to greatness, and together with them you have brought the light of redemption to thousands, if not more! What could possibly shake your faith in yourself like this? Your faith in us?"

Somehow, without her realizing, he had ended up crossing the room to stand directly before her. He looked into her eyes, worry and sorrow emanating from him. "What's wrong, Anthea? What happened?"

She squeezed her eyes shut but she still saw him in her mind, still saw the compassion in his eyes that a despicable sinner like her could never deserve–

Lady Webb opened her eyes, gasping softly.

"The gods are cruel," she murmured. "The man you seek is none other than the grandmaster of the Leaden Key himself: Thaos ix Arkannon."

The name echoed in Axa's head, the bearded man's masked face floating before her mind's eye. It felt like she'd always known him, or at least known of him, but only now could she put a name to the face.

"Thaos," she whispered–

"I cannot stay, Your Eminence. I'm... I'm tainted, wicked and weak." Anthea lowered her head, letting her tears fall to the floor. "I've done something terrible, something I can never undo, an unforgivable act of blasphemy. I fear– no, I– I know I am beyond redemption."

She curled in on herself, wracked with sobs, unable to continue. Shame and guilt burned her face, but she knew she deserved to burn for real, to burn forever. But even to cleanse her soul with holy flame would be too kind a mercy for a traitor of her magnitude. How could he, how could the gods ever forgive such a miserable wretch like her?

His hand fell onto her shoulder, steady and strong–

"He is a man unlike any other," Webb explained, her voice quiet and serious as she made her way back to her desk, hands folded behind her back. "The Leaden Key is an organization dedicated to obscuring, muddling, and destroying information, including any evidence pertaining to themselves or their activities. There's no way to be sure, but what little we've found suggests that they have supposedly existed for over two thousand years." She looked pointedly at Axa, one eyebrow cocked. "And it was Thaos who founded them."

"But that's impossible," Aloth blurted. "Even the longest-lived elves haven't even come close to..." He trailed off, twisting his fingers together anxiously, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" Webb sighed, one drooping corner of her mouth briefly lifting into a smirk. "But when it comes to the Leaden Key, little is as it seems. If what we've managed to learn about him so far is true– and there's no guarantee that it is, but it's the best explanation we've got– he is one of Woedica's Favored, an agent of the Queen Who Was who has been gifted with the blessing of eternal life. In practice, this means that every time he dies, Thaos' soul is guided by Her hand to be reborn in an almost identical vessel, and once he reaches puberty, he Awakens to all of his past lives at once, in order to continue the work of his Mistress on Eora. So strong is his soul, in fact, that he can supposedly even project it out of himself and into others, crushing the will of lesser souls and usurping their bodies for his and his Queen's own ends." She regarded Axa with pity. "He is almost certainly the most dangerous, elusive, powerful man on the face of the planet. And while I can't deny being grateful for the company, you have my deepest sympathies that your path has also crossed with his."

"Why was he in Teir Nowneth the night the machine was activated in Heritage Hill?" Axa demanded, her head spinning. "What was he doing in Cliant Lîs? How did he Awaken me–"

–"So you have sinned," Thaos proclaimed gravely. "You have erred, stumbled on your path, and now you would cast yourself into the Void. Is that it?"

Anthea wanted to cover her face with her hands, wanted to run, to hide, but she could barely even find it in herself to draw the breath to answer him. "What I've done, no god could forgive me. Now or ever."

He brought his other hand around, then, gripped both of her shoulders firmly. "My child, my dear child, if you truly believe that then I have utterly failed you, as a teacher and as a leader. There is no sin so grevious that it cannot be absolved, no path so dark the gods cannot light the way to salvation! As long as you do not turn your back on Them, They will never turn Their backs on you."

She knew it couldn't be true. It was too good to be true, and nothing in her life had ever been half so good. Not since she was a child. But... would he really lie to her like that? He never had before. At least, she didn't think he had. Anthea slowly lifted her head to look at the man who would save her from herself–

Lady Webb sat back down, letting her chin hover just above her steepled fingers. "That's what I'd like to know. There's quite a lot I'd like to know about Thaos ix Arkannon and the Leaden Key, as I rather imagine you would, too. That's why I summoned you here today– to work with you, pool our resources, compare notes. The Key has been... active as of late, and where they go, you seem to follow, righting their wrongs. As you did in Heritage Hill." She smiled, her thin, red mouth like a slit cut into her face. "I'd like you to continue to do so, and to report your successes back to me. In return, Dunryd Row's resources shall be at your disposal should you need them, and with a bit of luck– well, a lot of luck, in truth– perhaps we two can corner him and get our answers at last."

There was something behind Webb's eyes, something mysterious and passionate and unrelenting that Axa couldn't quite place, but she knew instinctively that it wasn't for her. Whatever it was that drove this woman, whether it was a thirst for vengeance or a desire for the truth or a need for justice, the ferocity behind her eyes was only for Thaos.

She could respect that.

"Very well," Axa replied, "I accept–"

–"I... I want to believe that's so, Your Eminence," she stammered, "but even if it were, I don't deserve Their clemency."

"Some among the gods would see you punished, it's true," he murmured. "But the sting of the lash passes in an instant compared to the eternity afterward in which you shall enjoy the boundless mercy, the cleansing forgiveness, the all-consuming love of the gods. That is what makes one deserving– devotion. As long as you devote yourself to Them, They will return the faith you place in Them a thousand fold."

The tears fell afresh from her eyes, this time from sheer relief. Somewhere deep in her heart, she must have known he could make it all right, could show her the path to absolution. He always did. That was the real reason she had come here, wasn't it? What had she been so afraid of?

Thaos smiled warmly at her, his hands still gently clutching her shoulders. "Stay with us, Anthea. We need you. The gods need you. They have entrusted you with the truth of Their Word– will you return that trust?"

"I will," she whispered–

"Now, before you go– what was that bizarre display you put on just outside our door?" Lady Webb was already looking through another stack of documents, but she spared Axa a bemused glance. "It's not a good look, dear, standing around with your eyes glazed over and your mouth agog. You're liable to catch flies."

"I'm an Awakened Watcher," the orlan retorted curtly. "The memories from my past life tend to be a bit more vivid than the ones other Awakened kith might experience. And I don't exactly control what I see or when I see it."

The old Cipher shrugged. "I meant no offense. Only trying to warn you that you may have unwittingly broadcasted your whereabouts to someone who seems to have a bone to pick with you." She gestured vaguely toward the door to her office, and it swung open, an orlan man stepping in as though he'd been expected.

Webb looked at Axa the way a jaded teacher might at an impudent pupil. "Well? Show him the affidavit."

She blinked, and somewhat reluctantly, she reached into her satchel and produced Penhelm's affidavit, the one Aloth had pilfered for her at Crucible Keep. "Uh... Can you tell me if this is genuine?" she muttered.

The older man took it from her, looked it over briefly, and shook his head, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he handed it back. "Not at all," he pronounced. "Being perfectly honest, it's a rather shabby forgery, too."

Webb sighed, shuffling her papers. "Thank you, Kurren; you may go." The orlan gave her a respectful nod and left to return to his work downstairs as the directress of Dunryd Row grinned wryly at Axa. "Now you have your bargaining chip. Penhelm is waiting for you on the street outside. Do exercise caution, dear, and try to keep the blood off of my siding. We've only just had it repainted last month."

"Actually," the little woman smiled slyly, "I think I've got a better idea."

—

[strangeradventuresofp]

second thoughts (legolas x reader)

The Fellowship of the Ring - Part 4

masterlist

warnings: mentions of death, smoking, straying from canon, secret spilled, SUUUPER long a/n lol sorry

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

a/n: hello my lovelies! its long overdue i know im so sorry! i kinda fell of the train for a while, but im back and super excited to present chapter 4 of second thoughts! thank you all for being so sweet and loving and understanding with me, i appreciate it so much! also in the meantime i hit 400 followers! incredible are you kidding me? i appreciate all 412 of you i love you with my all my heart and THANK YOU. if you would like to participate in my follower celebration you can see that here or look at the pinned post on my blog page. SO all the BORING stuff out of the way (im kidding) this chapter is completely made up, none of this is canon but it takes place while they are at Lothlorien. i thought it would be fun to add a chapter completely made up to develop some of the readers relationships ! i hope you enjoy this and thank you all so much for bearing with me!!<3

“Stay close, young hobbits.” Gimli spoke in a whisper once you were further into the woods. “They say a great sorceress lives in these woods. An elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell… And are never seen again.”

“But is there any truth to it?” You asked, unsure. These woods were happily familiar to you, you must have had good experiences here.

“I do not know, lass. But either way, here’s one dwarf she won’t ensnare so easily. I have eyes of a hawk and ears of a fox—” A gasp escaped your lips as you came face to face with many arrow heads in your direction.

“The dwarf breathes so loud; we could have shot him in the dark.” A – very attractive – elf emerged among the arrows. He eyes washed over you and your breath caught in your throat. He was strangely familiar, too.

Legolas had noticed the other elf’s eyes studying you and for some reason felt a surge of a strange feeling passing through his body. He did not like the way that he looked at you.

“Haldir of Lorien. We come here for help. We need your protection.” Aragorn spoke fluently. The elf cocked an eyebrow.

“Aragorn, these woods are perilous. We should go back.” Gimli suggested, sounding rather irritated.

“Quiet, Gimli.” Your words were soft, looking curiously at Haldir who returned the gaze.

“You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back.” His eyes turned to Frodo. “Come. She is waiting.” He turned, and you followed.

Soon after, you found yourselves in Lothlorien, stepping up a tall, spiralling staircase. It was strange, for a reason that you could not explain or even pinpoint. But the peculiar could not overwrite its beauty. The staircase brought you to a beautiful arched building, supported by the tree branches it was built upon. It was white and glowing, and your eyes were fixed upon it entirely. Another staircase lay in front of you, of which two elves were situated on top, a man and a woman. He guided her down the steps with his hand. She was beautiful. Her skin was pale and her hair a platinum gold0silver. Her skin was flawless, her body covered by a gorgeously detailed white frock.

“Nine there are here yet ten there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him.” The man questioned. The woman’s eyes fell over your frame and you met them. Her gaze was intense.

“He has fallen into shadow.” She did not stop looking at you and you breathed silently, nodding slightly. She turned to Aragorn, and then at the other members of the Fellowship. “The quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all.” Her eyes wandered, fixing on Boromir whose forehead was smothered in beads of sweat and he avoided her look. You noticed, brows knitting together in confusion. Legolas had also noticed, though he said and did nothing. “Yet hope remains while the company is true. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace.”

~~~

It did not take long for you to get settled in, nor anyone else. You were each given fresh clothes and an opportunity to bathe. When the nine of you regathered to settle for bed, you chuckled to see that Aragorn looked the same as he had before. Legolas gave her a smile and stood beside her. You swallowed, thinking that he looked rather charming in the detailed silver tunic that wrapped his built torso. It suited him. In his hands he held a silver jug and he let out a breath.

“A lament for Gandalf.” He said, softly. You gave him a small smile which he returned.

“What do they say about him?”

“I have not the heart to tell you. For me, the grief is still too near.” You squeezed Legolas’ hand comfortingly, sharing a smile with him. Merry nudged Pippin, pointing at the two of you.

“It’s only a matter of time, young Pippin.” He whispered, a grin on his face.

“What does that mean?” Sam asked, but he was quickly shushed by the mischievous hobbits. Merry pointing yet again to you and Legolas.

“Do you think Y/N and Legolas will ever get together, Sam?” Sam shrugged to Pip’s question before they decided to continue preparing for bed. Meanwhile, Aragorn had made his way over to Boromir, who was sat in solitary with his head pointed towards the ground.

“Take some rest; these borders are well protected.”

“I will find no rest here.” Boromir declared. That caught your attention. You frowned, walking over to him, sitting beside him with a small smile ghosting over your lips. He let out a shaky breath. “I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me, ‘even now, there is hope left’. But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope.” Tears pooled in your eyes listening to him and you sighed silently, hugging his torso whilst he placed his arm around your shoulders.

“My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing. And our—our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right, and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored.” His lips tugged up gently at the edges. “Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?” It was not until that moment that you truly noticed how much you missed home. A few tears strayed from your eyes, racing down your face. You closed your eyes, leaning into Boromir’s side, sniffling quietly.

“I have seen the White City… Long ago.”

“One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guard shall take up the call – the Lords of Gondor have returned.” He smiled, turning to you to wipe the tears from your face before you pulled him into a hug. What he had said had terrified you. The fall of Gondor. Your home. And would any be there to save it? Or would people rather see it perish? After all, Denethor was completely useless and never aided those in need, so why would any come to Gondor’s need?

You stood, wiping your face with a small sniffle. Sighing, you walked away from the others, ambling off to wherever you could be on your own for a while. You took a seat on a flat tree root in a secluded area, trying to process the information about Gondor. You were so engrossed in your thoughts that you had not noticed the presence of another. As someone cleared their throat, you looked up, startled.

“Haldir. Forgive me I was—”

“Lost in your own mind?” He offered you a small smile.

“Exactly.” You chuckled. “It’s beautiful here, truly.” He stayed silent, taking a seat beside you. “It is strangely familiar to me.”

“Strange?” He questioned, tilting his head in confusion.

“Like I came here once in a dream.”

“Like a distant memory.”

“Exactly.” You smiled. Haldir watched you curiously, but with a knowing look spread across his face. As you turned to look at him, a realisation dawned upon you, and you found yourself repeating his words, “a distant memory…” He nodded once before standing, looking down at you.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” And with that, he was gone.

~~~

You had not slept very much during the night; you hoped that the next few nights would be better for you. The morning came around fast though, and soon enough everyone was awake and breakfasting. Not being particularly hungry, you only had a small breakfast. If it were up to you, you would not have eaten at all, but you did not want Sam to worry. Pippin and Merry were clamouring persistently to Boromir about how they wanted to practice. You watched them for a while, giggling at their stupidity before Aragorn sat beside you.

“Where did you wander off to last night?”

“I just wanted to be alone. A lot has happened in the last week; it all caught up to me.”

“You’re alright, Y/N.” He gently clapped you on the shoulder and you smiled at him, though tears gathered in your eyes.

“It is where I grew up, for the most part. I do not want to see it fall. And I’m afraid I won’t be able to help the way I want.” A stray tear fell down your face and Aragorn gently wiped it away with the pad of his thumb before he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Forgive me, I do not wish to be so emotional.”

“It happens to the best of us, mellon nin.” He gave you a smile which you gladly returned. “There’s that beautiful smile.”

Legolas watched the two of you, his brows furrowed together, that strange feeling pulsing through him again. Aragorn’s right, he thought. Her smile is beautiful. His eyes were fixed on you while you spoke to Sam and Frodo, so focused that he did not realise Aragorn was now stood behind him, leaning into his ear.

“You’re staring, Legolas.” He whispered, the elf’s blonde hair moving from Aragorn’s breath.

“No. I am merely watching.” Legolas denied, earning a chuckle from Aragorn.

“Whatever you say, mellon.” Aragorn strode away, a grin plastered on his face. A gentle blush dusted over the elf’s cheeks, something rather noticeable that stood out from his pale complexion. He tore his eyes away from you, instead joining Boromir and Gimli to train the hobbits.

“My old gaffer might just faint if he ever saw a place like this. Got a thing for pretty places, he has. Makes sense, him being a gardener. He’d love it here.” Sam noticed your vacant expression while he spoke and frowned, gently touching your hand. “Y/N, are you alright?”

“Oh, yes, I—I’m fine. Forgive me.” You gave him a smile, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

“What about your parents, Y/N? What are they like?” Frodo asked.

“My parents died when I was very young. I don’t really remember them.” Their faces dropped immediately and opened their mouths to apologise but you chuckled, waving them off. “Don’t apologise; you did not know.”

A small smile ghosted over Frodo’s lips. “My parents died when I was young, too, in a boating accident.”

“I’m sorry, Frodo.” You offered your condolences while he shook his head.

“That’s alright; It was an accident.”

“You really are a pair of remarkable hobbits.”

~~~

You jolted awake with a breath tearing from your throat. Frantically, you scanned the area, your hand automatically reaching for your knives on your belt – only they were not there. It was at that moment that you remembered that you were still in the comforts of Lothlorien. Something compelled you to make sure that all of your companions were still beside you and you counted as you gazed around at them.

“Y/N?” A soft, calming voice called out to you amongst the darkness.

“Yes?” You responded quietly, shivering slightly.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” The voice asked. You sighed at that.

“Just a bad dream.” It was an awful dream. Much like Frodo’s if you were honest. You did not want to think about it too much; you feared you might get emotional. The figure that had the voice stood and held his hand out to you. You took it, standing, and he led you a little away from the rest of the Fellowship.

As it became lighter, you could see the face of whomever had spoken to you. If you were honest, you were so drained from the dream that you had not distinguished who the voice belonged to. But, as the space got brighter, you could just make out the perfect contours of the face, the small curve on the lips, the concerned blue eyes that studied your face, the long blonde hair that gracefully fell over the broad shoulders.

“You were struggling in your sleep. I was worried for you.” He admitted, his voice seeming to get softer by the minute.

“Did I wake you? Forgive me I—”

“Do not worry, mellon nin; you did not wake me.” A small smile fell over his lips before his eyes filled with concern once again. “What were you dreaming of?” Legolas noticed the way that you squirmed at his question and furrowed his brows in response.

“Nothing important; I will be fine. But I appreciate your concern, Legolas.”

“Y/N, do not lie to me; you have no talent for it.” You smiled sheepishly. “You need not tell me, but I saw the way that you tossed and turned and the look of terror on your face. You were mumbling, incoherently, but you sounded terrified.”

“Everything seems so real now. It has finally seemed to sink in that Gandalf is gone and… It reminded me of my parents.” You sat down, your back flush against a tree trunk. “In my dream, everyone met the same fate, Gandalf’s fate. I was alone again.” Tears began to form in your eyes, your lip started to quiver. Legolas frowned, kneeling beside you before he gently tugged your chest against his, wrapping his arms around you protectively.

“Y/N, I will be with you for as long as you wish for me to be. You won’t ever be alone again.” He felt a terrible ache in his chest when you looked up at him, your arms still wrapped around his torso, your eyes puffy and a few wet streams leaking down your cheeks.

You gave him a weak smile, sniffling. “Do you promise?” He nodded. “Say it.”

“I promise.” He took a seat beside you after pulling away from the hug, a small distance between the two of you. After a long – yet comfortable – silence, you let out a sigh before moving closer to him, leaning into his body. You rested your head on his shoulder platonically, but Legolas could not escape the increasing beating of his heart when your leg touched his. He gently rested his head on top of yours, wondering what you were thinking about. Then, as if out of the blue – though it wasn’t really – you asked him a question.

“Have you ever been in love, Legolas? Have you ever loved someone so much to the point where it hurt?” Your voice faltered as you spoke, and the elf sighed silently. You could feel his breath shifting your hair.

“Once.”

“What was her name?”

“How did you know—”

“I can tell.” You looked up at him. “Your demeanour changed when I asked the question. Come, tell me about her.”

He did not know why, but he did. “Her name was Tauriel. She was the captain of the Elven guard of the Woodland Realm.”

“Was?” You questioned his use of the past. “What happened to her?”

“I do not know.” He let out a deep sigh and you frowned, wishing you had never asked for it was clearly a sensitive subject for him. “She did not believe herself worthy of me. Instead, she fell in love with a dwarf. Only, he died during a battle. I could not return to the Woodland Realm; my father gave me knowledge of Aragorn, and so I went to find him. I do not know what happened to her.”

“Forgive me, Legolas. I did not mean to upset you.” He shook his head at you, and you smiled, shifting a little closer to him to comfort him. He chuckled lightly as you wrapped your arms around him.

Back over by the others, Aragorn had awoken, but he did not move. Instead, he rolled over for he could hear familiar voices whispering behind him. As he turned, with a stealthy eye open, he watched you and Legolas sit together, a knowing smirk growing on his face.

~~~

The morning came quick, after you and Legolas had spoke about your lives all night and gotten a few quick hours of sleep before the others had awoken from their dreams. It was the last day that you would spend at Lothlorien, for you must all be getting a move on, and soon; the Ring would not take itself to Mount Doom. Since it was to be your last day in the comforts of the Lady of the Wood, she had asked to see all of you.

When the nine of you presented yourselves to her, she gifted each of you and Elven cloak, paired with a green brooch as a clasp. She named them the Leaves of Lorien. The Elven cloaks had been woven by Galadriel herself. They could not deflect a shaft or blade but instead, they could act as camouflage to unfriendly eyes. When you put it on, it was light and very agile. It was difficult to tell that you were even wearing a cloak. She explained that they would be warm or cool as needed. Then, she wished you all luck on your journey, and the nine of you quickly returned to the camp to begin packing for the day ahead; setting out early was important to travel as much as possible while it was still light.

Back at the camp, you all breakfasted. You made sure that the hobbits had taken enough before you started to pick at your own food. Aragorn wandered over to where you sat, perching himself beside you, a bowl in his hand, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“What are you so amused by?” You paused chewing to ask, swallowing the remainder of the food in your mouth afterwards. A chuckle escaped him, and he turned to look at you.

“What is going on between you and Legolas?” His questioned startled you. You coughed profusely, trying to rid of the piece of food that lodged in your throat.

“What do you mean?”

“I happened to wake up last night, and…”

“And, what? You were spying on us?” You quirked your eyebrow cheekily, the hint of a grin on your lips. Aragorn grinned.

“And,” he lowered his voice. “I saw the two of you sitting together.”

“So? Is sitting together such a crime, Aragorn?” You shared a laugh with him. “Since you are so curious, I’ll tell you. The truth is, I was upset, and he comforted me. Then we spoke about life.” Aragorn raised his eyebrows, unsure if you were telling the truth or not. You giggled. “Have I ever lied to you, Aragorn?”

“No, I suppose not. My mistake. Forgive me, I thought something more might have been going on.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint, but nothing more is going on. He is kind, but we are friends, that is all.” Aragorn nodded at your words, then left you to sit in peace while you ate. He kept a close eye on you from afar, watching until you were distracted by the hobbits and by Boromir until he made his way to Legolas.

“Y/N looks nice today, don’t you think, Legolas?”

“Do not think I’m unaware of what you’re doing, Aragorn.” Legolas said with a scowl. Aragorn chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Alright. Though, you do seem very fond of her.”

“What’s not to be fond of? She’s kind, funny, a good fighter, she takes care of the hobbits.” A pink blush dusted over his cheeks. “She’s beautiful…”

“Legolas.” The ranger smirked. “Mellon nin, are you falling for Y/N?”

“Lower your voice, Aragorn.” Legolas urged, the blush growing on his face. Legolas wouldn’t say he was falling for you. He thought you were pretty, very pretty, and he enjoyed your company, but that does not mean that he liked you like that. His heart raced when you were close to him, and even harder when you touched. He hated to see you upset, loved to see you smile and laugh, although he preferred to be the one to make you smile. But none of that meant that he was falling for you, did it? He didn’t think so.

But as his eyes fell over you now, he could not help but feel that maybe, just maybe, that Aragorn was right. He watched your lips part and turn up into a smile, a hearty laugh drawing from your throat at something that Merry had said. Aragorn did not miss the smile that grew on Legolas’ face whilst he watched you, a longing, loving look in his blue eyes. All the ranger could do was smile at the elf and chuckle to himself, before finishing his food and continuing to pack what will be needed for when the journey resumes at dawn. Until then, the nine of you decided that you would appreciate the comforts of Lothlorien once more.

Time seemed to pass very quickly, and as fast as the morning had come, the night came. You and Aragorn were still awake, sitting beside each other, sharing his pipe, giggling about old times. You let out a contented sigh and he opened his arm for you to shift into him. As you did so, he plucked the pipe from your fingers and stuck it between his lips. You chuckled at him before sighing again.

“What’s wrong, mellon nin?” He said, the pipe bobbing in his mouth as he spoke.

“I have yet to find out what this place means to me, and we are already leaving.”

Aragorn sighed. “Y/N, you were born here.” Your eyes widened in shock.

“What?”

“Your mother and father lived in Lothlorien; that is why you recognise this place.”

“How do you know this?” You asked. You need not ask if Aragorn was telling the truth; he knew how much this meant to you.

“Haldir. He and your father were good friends. He wanted to tell you himself.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“He thought it would be better to come from a friend.” He offered you a smile and you smiled softly, relief lifting a huge weight from your shoulders. Returning the favour, you plucked the pipe from his lips and placed it between your own. “You’re not angry?”

You shook your head, blowing out some smoke. “Why would I be?” Aragorn shrugged and you chuckled, resting your head on his shoulder. He gently pressed his head against yours and before you knew it, your eyes were fluttering closed and you were drifting off to a sound sleep.

taglist: @entishramblings​ @falcor-thee-luck-dragon​ @biscuit-buddy​ @beakami​

(send me an ask if you want to be added to my taglist<3)

[shinymooncolor]

@lumosinlove most recent chapter was a rollercoaster of crying, yelling and a lot of love for her oc’s. Can we get a round of applause for NatALLY? ❤️

I promise Prague will come up soon, just had to react to the gem that was the last chapter 🏳️‍🌈

So here’s a little sweater weather chat for you as well 😍

(Sergei and Kuny texts in Russian, but to make it easier - it’s in English 😜)

Sweater weather chat #11

Sergei goes into dad-mode. Kasey considers murder. Kuny is a cat. Nado trolls. And he’s got some creative threats. Natalie and Lily are amazing. Walker has a good idea. We struggle with metaphors. So many rainbows. James organizes a “let’s protect Re at all costs” schedule. Sunny texts Hank. Dumo is Dumo ❤️

—-

Dumo: sergei. Hey. I wanted to know how you’re doing.

Sergei: are you ask if I support cap or are you ask if I am ok?

Dumo: you know me too well, old friend.

Sergei: I do not share views with my home on all things.

Dumo: I know. I’m sorry. But we need to support Sirius, and Remus, for that matter, as a team. I need to know I’ve got my best friend with me.

Sergei: I support. We win more. I play my time for Russia. Is ok.

Dumo: what about Kuny?

Sergei: I talk to him. No problem. He is young. Different age.

Dumo: he doesn’t have to say anything. We can keep media off of him but they might ask from Russian media? How can we protect him. Alice is on it. But.

Sergei: Pascal. I raise that boy from he 17. Anya and I not let him ruin national career. But I know him too. He is a good boy and he will support his cap.

Dumo: can I add sunny?

Sergei added Sunny to the chat

Sunny: well that was a shit show. Thank the hockey gods we didn’t have social media when we were babies

Dumo: hehe they’d have never let Sergei back into Russia. 😂

Sergei: I know you have picture. I have too.

Sunny: what’s the plan? I’m not afraid to take a misconduct and a ban if someone says shit

Dumo: it won’t help. But I get it. All star is not going to be fun for him. At least cherry is no longer on tv to say something.

—-

Sergei: hey kid, how are you?

Evgeni: it’s crazy. I mean. He seemed happier but it was so bad the way it was done. I’m really sad for them.

Sergei: I know. No one should have to experience that. Being forced. But kid, how’re you? Anyone tried to get comments?

Evgeni: I... yes... but I don’t know what to say. I don’t care. But. What can i say? I want to play for home. 😟

Sergei: I know. You’ve done two great worlds as a senior, one Olympic and they would be crazy not to pick you. But you know them. You know what it’s like, what they say.

Evgeni: but. He’s my captain. I don’t know. Will you say?

Sergei: I’m old. I’ve done my national duty, we’re happy here. If I can’t come home because i support my friend and captain. I’ll stay. We can try and keep them off of you ok? Alice knows this and she will help. You’re already not their favorite because you pretend to be stupid. But they’re going to be asking from home soon. They’ll expect you to denounce it.

Sergei: I just want to say I love you kid. And I support you. But remember the team is your family too.

Evgeni: I know. Shit. I’m scared. And I’m not even gay. It’s just. I know people joke about me and nado.

Sergei: I think malkin got us covered there. Half the world seems convinced him and Crosby has a secret affair. Don’t worry kid. We’ll work it out.

Evgeni: hehe they do look at each other a lot. And they always fight whenever someone takes the other one down.

Sergei: you fight everyone. And you’ll have to, even more now. They’re going to be mean about this. They’re going to come for us. You have to be strong, kid.

Evgeni: yeah. Don’t care what they say.

Sergei: I know. How’s Nado?

Evgeni: he’s okay. Mostly shocked but he’s already started fighting with people online. Blizzard too.

Sergei: be careful, kid. You’ve got a lot to lose to. Just think before you post?

Evgeni: I will dadddddd

Sergei: shut up. See you for practice. Don’t be late.

—-

Siriusly left the group chat

Blizzard: I DONT CARE IM GOING TO FUCKING MURDER EVERYONE WHO EVEN THINKS ABOUT SAYING SHIT

Prongstar: we’re going to divide and conquer. We need to support Re.

CarbO’Hara: send us a schedule. Hehe also. I’m with kase on this

Nadotheman: fuck yeah.

RussianGod: 🤬👊

Sunnysideup: hank messaged me that the rangers are going to send out a statement in support of an open league for all at least. 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈 Pens too it seems.

Krisvolley: yeah looking at the all star it’s really cool. @carbo’hara your brother started it?

CarbO’Hara: yeah big bro 😜👊🏳️‍🌈

Walkietalkie: I think it’s safe to assume that other than the snakes, we won’t really get much shit. I know some are going to be stuck up shits but. I’ve got faith. Also way to go finno. 😜😜😜 two birds in your lap is better than one on your head or whatever it is

LeWilliam: you having a stroke? That’s not how the metaphor is.

Walkietalkie: just congratulating my future brother in law. ❤️🏳️‍🌈also hey why don’t we all wear rainbows to next practice? I bet Alice can whip something up? We can get bots and Marls to comment too? 😎

Prongstar: YES! Thanks walks! Also brother in law? You marrying Alex? 🤣

Walkietalkie: naw man. I’m gonna woo noelle, marry her, build her a house and make a bunch of hockey babies. We’re gonna be a dynasty. 😍

Logantremblayzzz: you gotta ask me first. But I like you and she’s happy. Also. Ew don’t talk a about making babies with my sister 😳

Walkietalkie: tell leo to get his hands outta carb’s pants then. They’re getting freaky without you bro.

Logantremblayzzz: YOU PROMISED.

Newt-leo: sorry lo. Also it’s a lie. He was helping me tuck in my shirt. Also walker isn’t even here.

Prongstar: sure. Kuny is hogging all the nachos. If you want any better get in here.

Ollibear: so I’m cat sitting for the terrible twins at their house while you all watch all stars and comfort re? I feel left out 😫

Blizzard: sorry Olli bear. If it helps, you can come and sit in my lap. James said no and my girlfriend is being weird with lily.

Timmyforrealz: I wanna sit in your lap too kasey.

Prongstar: oh you’re too late. He’s got a lap full of Russian enforcer.

CarbO’Hara: I don’t understand the physics of how a giant like that can curl into such a small ball of enforcer. It’s cute. Gotta get a pic.

Nadotheman: careful blizzard. He’s like a cat, once he’s comfy he won’t move. He even purrs if you scratch the back of his neck. 😂

Newt-leo: 🦁🦁🦁

——

NatALLY: ladies. We need to get some food going for Re. Lils and I’ve got it covered for the weekend for now. Anyone check on the disaster twins?

Celeste: Apparently Nado is already making problems online. Alice yelled for 20 minutes at dumo to talk to him.

GingerLily: what did he do?

Celeste: I’m not sure. Something about spamming someone with rainbows and threatening a journalist to run him over with the Zamboni.

Anyaismyname: they came here yesterday. Kuny and Sergei need talk and decide how to handle Russia media. I helped Nado. Was fun. He made Twitter @STILLMYCAPTAINBLACK. Is cute.

NatALLY: I followed. Fuck he’s hilarious. Hahahahaha. Also Kuny showed up at Re’s. That guy can smell nachos across a whole fucking city

—-

Nat: hey Jackie. Great work on the Twitter. Might I get the login? Just thinking you’ll need an administrator when you guys take the ice.

Nado: hey nat. Of course. Already shared it with Olli, kris and timmers. He he. Bitch ass trolls won’t know what hit them.

Nat: they wont. Thanks man, this is brilliant.

Nado: @STILLMYCAPTAINBLACK

PASSWORD: SNAPEISASLEAZEBALL

NatALLY: when did you get so smart?

Nado: honestly it’s mostly Kuny. I know we laugh at his English but the guy is fucking smart you know? Man he’s already trolled some Russians. Sergei and Sunny both refused to translate.

[hargrove-mayfields]

No, see, this is the point where I now come into your ask box /begging/ you to give me even a single religious Neil headcannon in exchange for my entire heart ❤️🤲

Ahh thank you for the ask! I’ve been wanting to ramble abt this! Here’s a few hcs for you!

-The number one most important one I think is that Billy is left handed. We all know the association between left handed folks and the devil and it would tick Neil off to no end when they notice that little Billy is tying his shoes left handed and picking up crayons and sippy cups with his left hand, so he trains Billy to use the right one instead through typical Neil fashion. His mother never let Neil hit him but he definitely scared him through threats of it, and when that doesn’t work he breaks his left arm so he can’t use it and pretends it was just an accident. Billy learns his lesson and starts forcing himself to use the right hand, but because of the constant focus on using the wrong hand or facing the consequences he develops pretty bad dyslexia. If you’ve got dyslexia you can’t read the Bible, so Neil tries everything he can to cure him of it (making Billy pray it away, forcing him into every educational church related program he can find, beating it out of him) but it only makes it worse. It takes him years after moving out of Neil’s place to be comfortable using his left hand for anything and even then he’s still mostly ambidextrous because there’s some things he just can’t shake using the right for.

-They have bibles literally everywhere in the Hargrove-Mayfield house. One on every bookshelf, in every drawer, on every side table, and whenever Billy or Max get in trouble for minor things they get verses read to them (in Billys case because of the dyslexia he has to read them himself and it always goes terribly) and forced to apologize to whoever is punishing them, whoever they wronged, and to God.

-Their church had a pastor who tried to be like, very hip with the kids but he was truly a nasty s.o.b under the surface. Neil was very close friends with this dude so he was able to get Billy one-on-one sessions with him after the church cleared out, and they are, very tough to sit through because he’s got this facade of being Billy’s friend, but he’s saying terrible things about him because of who he is (I hc that Billy outed himself before he realized the consequences of it as a little, little kid) and it’s so confusing to him that he ends up just bawling his eyes out after every one. His faith in the church is shaky at best, but he really internalizes a lot of what that man says to him because of the way he presents it. When the pastor moves on to another church and they get this new old guy in who’s genuinely really nice, Billy's still terrified of him regardless and sits through every service unable to look to the front.

-Bible school was absolutely mandatory. Most kids would go to have fun, but Billy didn’t like the church, and he couldn’t really click with the other kids. Making a prayer pillow and listening to the creepy kid friendly songs and reading in the Jonah and the whale tent just wasn’t cool and exciting like it was to his peers and he feels so isolated. So he sneaks off to go chill in the nursery where he can be alone and it’s not suffocating and crowded, but Neil wants updates since he can’t be there, and he knows Billy’s lying about attending because he asked the ladies in charge of it. As punishment for blowing off what he considered the easy route to teaching Billy the right path to take, Billy winds up enrolled in church camp.

-Church camp sucks. A lot. It’s marketed as being a fun outdoorsy getaway but it’s a lot deeper than that for kids who don’t have a normal relationship with their religion, and especially not for kids whose counselors know they’re gay. It’s basically torture, being away from home in a secluded place where literally around him treats him like a freak because they all know his secret. It’s like, during worship times it feels like everyone’s staring at him, and nobody eats with him in the mess hall and he’s got a bunk bed all to himself because no one else is allowed to share with him and it’s awful. When he gets to come back home he breaks down hard, and Neil is smug as all hell that it had made him that miserable. Billy starts pretending then and there that he’s changed, because he knows the next step would be conversion therapy and what he’s been through was bad enough, so he basically hides away anything that was left of his personality after church camp. For the first time ever Neil’s proud of him.

-Whenever Billy would get in big trouble he’d pretend to pray. Hide in his room and get on his knees at the foot of his bed because his dad wouldn’t hit him if he’s praying, right? Wrong. Neil started making him say his prayers out loud, and he’d stand in the door and wait for Billy to do it right. It makes the whole thing that much more unpleasant because now he knows what was inevitably coming when he got through with it, and he’d only get in more trouble if he stalled. Neil isn’t stupid either, he knows that Billys just trying to buy himself some time and he doesn’t truly mean what he’s saying, so once Billys got his punishment he makes him pray again through his tears. Just to drive the point home.

-Neil definitely made the kids do the annual Easter Pageant when they were little. It was humiliating for Billy, getting put in a reused costume and having to tell the story that’s been used against him so much. All the old church ladies fussing over how cute he is, standing up on the grassy hillside to be gawked at while Susan insisted on snapping picture after picture of her new step son even though he didn’t have any lines. It’s all just way too much. By the time he’s old enough to refuse doing it anymore Neil accuses him of tearing the family apart, ruining their traditions, embarrassing them in front of their community, but he stands his ground, and they all watch Max perform in her little angel costume, and Billy gets his ass beat as soon as it’s over.

-Their church used to have annual holiday parties for stuff like Christmas, Halloween, and Easter, and that was the only time Billy ever had any fun when it came to his religion. They weren’t the greatest little parties but there were some really tasty baked goods and the games were kind of fun because there was no underlying biblical message behind like, carrying a ping pong ball across the room with a spoon and pin the tail on the donkey. Neil doesn’t approve of them though, thinks they distract from what the church should be teaching, and Billy and Max are forbidden from going to them.

-As time goes on Billy still goes to church every Sunday and attends the holiday services but he’s not forced into the extracurriculars anymore because he’s a lot better at acting and following the rules. But I think the worst part would be that he would truly want to believe in God. Of course he’d be bitter that he’d been forced to go through so much abuse at the hands of someone who claimed to be religious, but deep down he knows that isn’t what it’s about and he doesn’t want to have to pretend that there’s something for him to believe in. He genuinely wants to believe that there’s hope for better things and someone looking out for him, but there’s just so much trauma associated with his faith that he can’t, no matter how hard he tries, and if not for everything else he did, he hates Neil so much for ruining that for him.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars XCIV (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: This has nothing to do with the story I just want to say I believe in Bi!Fred Weasley supremacy -Danny

Words: 2,621 

Series’ Masterlist

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Listen to: This kiss -By Faith Hill

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Unwanted Attention.

Their little trip to the kitchens ended up in a bad note when they found Winky drunk in butterbeer and Hermione broke, yelling to all the house-elves about their rights. 

Least to say they were unpleased. They kicked them out, Ron was so angry at Hermione for ruining his chances at getting more free food that they didn't stop bickering for the rest of the day.

Normally, Mel and Harry would've complained and roll their eyes, but considering this as a huge opportunity to finally spend time alone, they left the angry pair in the common room and went to the Owlery, where they sent a package filled with wonderful food to Sirius.

They stayed there for a while, leaning on the windowsill and talking. Closer to each other as the night started to fall.

"I wish things were a little bit different," Mel said wistfully. "I would take you on pretty dates, not caring about useless rumours..."

"I don't want dates, I only care about being with you," Harry shrugged, playing with her fingers. "Everything else doesn't really matter... unless it does to you?"

"Not really...  I'd love to have a quieter time in school, but that's impossible when you're here," She teased. "You bring nothing but trouble, Potter."

"You like it, though," He smirked. "At least a bit, if you've stuck around for so long, I doubt it annoys you that much..."

"What d'you want me to say?" She scrunched up her nose, knowing the question would only make him even keener to tease.

"I'd love to hear that you like me," He replied boldly. "Don't you like me?"

She caught his hand playfully and stroked the back of it, humming to herself.

"Do you?" She finally questioned.

"I like myself plenty," Mel slapped his arm playfully and he laughed. "I fancy you a lot."

"You know," She looked away. "I really like this weather."

She fixed her eyes on Hagrid digging outside his cabin, perhaps planting something.

"I like you," Harry beamed, his hand closing around hers. "I also like to say that I like you, feels good to admit it."

"Been dreaming about this for a while, have you?" Mel smiled, still not looking at him. She was trying to keep her composure, even though the air felt charged and it was getting harder to breathe.

"You haven't?"

Madame Maxime got out of her carriage and walked to Hagrid, seemingly trying to start a conversation.

"Not at all," She said absently. Harry stiffened beside her and she giggled.

"You're funny..." He pouted. Unexpectedly, he reached for her waist with his free arm and pulled her closer. "Really, you crack me up."

Hagrid responded to whatever the woman was saying but he didn't talk much. In the end, the woman walked back to her carriage looking defeated.

"I think Madame Maxime regrets what she did to Hagrid," She said. Harry, who'd been half-looking at the scene as well as shamelessly flirting with her, nodded with very little interest.

"Guess she realized how stupid it's to worry about what others think..."

"Isn't that kind of the same to what we're doing?" Mel frowned.

"What d'you mean?"

"We're hiding from all of our loved ones. We care about what others think."

Harry came out of his daze then, blinking in confusion.

"This is different. We're not hiding because we're afraid, we do it 'cause we know Skeeter would bring it out of context."

"Okay then, why do we hide it from Ron and Hermione?"

"Well," Harry looked away. "I don't know..."

"We know they'd be happy for us..."

"Yeah."

"Then why do we hide it?"

"We don't want to ruin it," Harry shrugged. "You know what I mean, I won't try to explain it."

She smiled at how easy it was to talk to Harry now that they knew about their feelings.

"You know, sometimes you can be clever..."

He scoffed, shaking his head in amusement.

"Look at you, all cute and frustrated," She cupped his face with her free hand and squeezed his cheek lovingly.

"Quiet, Mellow."

However, before she could decide whether or not to be quiet, Harry leaned further and kissed her.

Mel wasn't expecting to see any reaction from her classmates when the article about Hermione and Harry's relationship spread around school. Few people believed it, but the most they would do was stare, wondering how come Harry was so comfortable around her despise his 'heartbreak'.

She knew –because Erick told her– that most people were confused, they'd thought that Harry and Mel were the ones dating. Now that those rumours had been killed by the article and none of the people involved were interested in clearing things out, the interest has worn out, most students moved on; Harry and Mel were being less watched, which gave opportunities to sneak away from prying eyes more often. However, they completely forgot that it wasn't only the Hogwarts students receiving these articles and reading them in their spare time. On Monday morning, they got a very unpleasant surprise.

Hermione mentioned a subscription to the Daily Prophet and was waiting to get it when an owl came down to their table.

"How many subscriptions did you take out?" said Harry when four other owls landed next to the one.

"What on earth—?" Hermione took one of the envelopes. Mel took another and examined it. "Oh really!" Her friend scoffed.

"What's up?" said Ron.

"It's — oh how ridiculous —"

She handed the letter to Harry, it was a bunch of letters from a newspaper cut out and rearranged messily:

'You are a WickEd giRL. HarRy PotTER desErves BeTteR. GO back wherE you cAMe from mUGgle.'

"They're all like it! 'Harry Potter can do much better than the likes of you...' 'You deserve to be boiled in frog spawn...' Ouch!" A liquid with a strong smell came out of the last letter she'd opened and poured over the girl's hands.

"Undiluted bubotuber pus!" Ron winced.

"Ow!" Hermione teared up, trying to clean up her own hands.

"Don't spread it!" Mel stopped her, she took Hermione's arm and helped her up.

"You'd better get up to the hospital wing," said Harry, looking at her in concern. "We'll tell Professor Sprout where you've gone..."

Mel made an attempt to follow her but Hermione mumbled 'Get rid of the rest', before hurrying out of the Great Hall.

"I warned her! I warned her not to annoy Rita Skeeter! Look at this one..." Ron picked one up and read in horror.  "'I read in Witch Weekly about how you are playing Harry Potter false and that boy has had enough hardship and I will be sending you a curse by next post as soon as I can find a big enough envelope.' Blimey, she'd better watch out for herself."

"Who do they think they are?" Mel asked in anger. "Feeling entitled to attack a fourteen-year-old without knowing the whole story!"  

When they were heading to Care of Magical Creatures, Pansy talked from a few feet away:

"Potter, have you split up with your girlfriend? Why was she so upset at breakfast?"

"She found out your brain's beyond repair and that just broke her," Mel spat, pulling her friends forward.

They studied nifflers for Hagrid's class, made a funny little competition out of it, which Ron surprisingly won. However, for some reason that didn't please him. Hermione got back at the end of the class with her hands completely bandaged and informed Hagrid about her misfortune.

"Aaah, don' worry," Hagrid replied softly. "I got some o' those letters an' all, after Rita Skeeter wrote abou' me mum. 'Yeh're a monster an' yeh should be put down.' 'Yer mother killed innocent people an' if you had any decency you'd jump in a lake.'.. Yeah, they're jus' nutters, Hermione. Don' open 'em if yeh get any more. Chuck 'em straigh' in the fire."

Ron was unusually quiet, frowning at the prize he'd won in Hagrid's class (a chocolate bar from Honeydukes).

"What's the matter? Wrong flavour?" Harry asked gently.

"No... Why didn't you tell me about the gold?"

"What gold?"

"The gold I gave you at the Quidditch World Cup. The leprechaun gold I gave you for my Omnioculars. In the Top Box. Why didn't you tell me it disappeared?"

Harry and Mel shared a look before they finally remembered what was he talking about.

"Oh! I dunno... I never noticed it had gone. I was more worried about my wand, wasn't I?"

"Must be nice," Ron said quietly. "To have so much money you don't notice if a pocketful of Galleons goes missing."

"Listen, I had other stuff on my mind that night," Harry replied sternly. "We all did, remember?"

"I didn't know leprechaun gold vanishes," He said with embarrassment. "I thought I was paying you back. You shouldn't've given me that Chudley Cannon hat for Christmas."

"Forget it, all right?" Harry insisted.

Ron stared intently at the food of his plate and mumbled, "I hate being poor. It's rubbish. I don't blame Fred and George for trying to make some extra money. Wish I could. Wish I had a niffler."

"You're not poor," Mel patted his hand lovingly. "Not in the ways that matter– look at Malfoy, he has all that money and he's always in a terrible mood. He's got terrible friends as well."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't hurt if I could buy new things for once, would it?" He pouted.

"Well, we know what to get you next Christmas," Hermione tried to lighten the mood. "Come on, Ron, it could be worse. At least your fingers aren't full of pus? I hate that Skeeter woman! I'll get her back for this if it's the last thing I do!"

With the arrival of Hermione's hate mail also came a new wave of interest for Harry's love life, which meant they had to go back to the stage of walking on their tiptoes to avoid any unwanted attention, and it was driving them mad.

Hermione grew obsessed with finding out how Skeeter was getting all the information, Harry suggested that maybe she'd put microphones around the school but Hermione quickly brushed it away, reminding them about how that sort of Muggle technology was of no use around school.

The teachers were handing them more and more work as the end of the year started to inch closer. Mel and Dumbledore finally moved on from wandless spells to tracing hidden magic and she was doing splendidly well, mostly because she wanted to get everything done so they could start with her animagus studies.

The last days of May, Harry and Mel were in the library discussing Percy's letter while searching for some books for her lessons. Ron didn't want to join them and Hermione was busy with her research, so they found themselves in the bliss of another moment for the two of them only.

"Percy's in denial, he's too fond of his new position," Mel commented as she reached for a book in a higher shelf. "He's a pain, too young to be given all that power..."

"I thought you admired Percy," Harry replied.

"I appreciated his dedication while he was in school but I this is getting out of hand, something tells me he's not apt for the job."

"I reckon he strongly disagrees," Harry took the books as Mel handed the lot to him.

"Well, we're as close to figuring that out as we are to finish our assignments. I can't wait to be back home next month!" She tried to take the books from Harry's hands, but he refused to let go. "Just imagine– Glasses, knock it off! I'm capable of carrying my books!– As I was saying... picture us with all the time in the world to do whatever we want..."

"We could go to the movies!" Harry offered. "I have no muggle money, but maybe Emily could take us to Gringotts so I can exchange a few galleons..."

"I like the sound of that, we're old enough to do so," She happily walked up to the table on the corner.

"Been dreaming about it, have you?" Harry teased. She left the books on the table and stopped.

"What I've been dreaming of," Mel said carefully, "is for the tournament to end. I feel like I'll only be able to rest once it's over."

"I haven't been terrible in it, have I?" He tilted his head.

"You know I don't mean that," She lifted a hand and pushed some strands of hair away from his eyes. He sighed shortly, leaning into her hand instinctively.

"Just one more task," Harry said quietly. "Then it'll be over."

She nodded in silence, that wasn't the only thing she was thinking. Mel was hoping for the moment when they would finally be together in peace, without articles and journalists nagging around... Mel moved her hand from his cheek to the back of his neck and, catching him off guard, kissed him.

This one, though still innocent and short, conveyed all the emotions she was feeling. A loud thud startled them and caused her to bump noses with Harry. She heard him grunt as she held onto her own nose, tearing up a bit.

"My apologies!" A voice came from behind. "Did I take you by surprise? Well, I dare say you're not the only ones..."

"Not you," Mel groaned. "Why, of all the people that could've found us it ended up being you..."

"It's a gift," Erick smiled with no hints of shame, sitting down at the table they were planning to take. "It gives me the opportunity to eavesdrop a bit, and Merlin, it's always worth it."

"You can't tell anyone!" She hissed, finally letting go of her nose. "Not even Hermione!"

His eyes widened in wild interest. "Why, is this the first time that happens?" He looked at Harry. "Well, it certainly didn't look like it. Most of us think you're almost married. What is it?"

Mel felt so stupid, caught red-handed after all their efforts...

"You know what Skeeter would do with the information, now more than ever," She grumbled.

"That doesn't sound fun, does it?" Erick inquired, she'd never seen him so ecstatic.

"Just keep your mouth shut, will you?" Harry spat, his voice came out muffled since he was covering his mouth. Mel was about to scold him when Erick let out a hearthy laugh.

"Never been one to gossip– I'm happy for you though, it's been exasperating, flirting with Mel without her noticing to get a response from you. I had to hold back from getting involved so often!"

"That was you holding back?" Mel scoffed. "Can't imagine what unrestrained would look like... What are you doing here?"

"This is a library," He replied with a grin. "Believe it or not, I study without you."

"Okay then, study."

"I'm about to, this is my table."

"I don't see your name on it–"

"We can share it–"

"Not after what you just saw, I won't tolerate your teasing," Mel blushed furiously, picking up her books. "We'll go back to the tower, Harry, c'mon..."

"Be my guest," Erick half-bowed from his seat.

"You're enjoying this too much," She glared at him.

"Haven't even reached the I-told-you-so phase, you've seen nothing," He retorted. "Take your girlfriend before she sets the library on fire, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes at the pair. He wasn't going to admit it, especially not in front of Flint, but he'd felt a pleasant boost of energy at the word girlfriend.

"Come on, Mel..." He nodded at the boy. "I hope to never meet you like this again, Flint. Bye."

"Have a good night, lovebirds."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha​ @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere​ @t-rexs-world

[wordsablaze]

hardest of hearts

A fix-it songfic inspired by a request for something post-mountain where Geralt feels guilty for hurting his bard and Jaskier struggles with low self-esteem...

A/N: @holisticfansstuff hey, i finally wrote this for your ask !! sorry it took a while and i’m not quite sure this is what you wanted but i hope it’s alright !! the song is hardest of hearts by florence + the machine x

-

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!”

And with that one sentence, Jaskier shatters.

And everything changes.

there is love in your body but you can’t hold it in

Meletite knows Jaskier has had enough practice picking up the broken pieces of himself, whether it’s literally pulling his skin back together after being too troublesome or reassembling the shards of his heart after someone carelessly, unknowingly damages it.

He’s broken and been broken countless times before and really, it should be nothing new to witness himself do so once more. Because Jaskier has always loved freely and deeply, but it had been different this time.

And yes, he’s long since lost track of how many windows he’s leaped out of before the sun has risen or how many hushed promises have turned into hazy tavern memories. But this time, it was Geralt.

It was his livelihood and his muse and his very reason for making it through winter, and it was different to any other love he’d nurtured - it was the only one he’d offered slowly and steadily, the only one that had been so sharply spat back at him.

Never has he struggled so much to even breathe right as he turns away.

it pours from your eyes and spills from your skin

Geralt is so, so fiercely angry that he forgets how to be guilty.

That is, until he sees Jaskier’s expression, because Jaskier should be angry or upset or amused but he’s simply a brave face, a faux smile, a testament to Geralt’s mistakes.

An excuse is made about collecting the rest of the story but they both know there’ll never be an accurate song sung about a dragon hunt. And if Jaskier’s expression isn’t enough, the bitter sorrow and sharp pain that radiates from him even after Geralt has turned around is evidence enough.

He’s messed up and he’s messed up horribly and he’s frozen in place as he hears Jaskier’s footsteps fade until they’re too far to follow.

Part of him hopes Jaskier will stay so things can go back to normal but by the time he remembers to move, the only trace left of him is a lingering floral scent that does nothing to fill the sudden void in Geralt’s world.

tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks

Jaskier walks until his feet hurt and then he carries on walking because that’s what he always does when his heart breaks. Only this time he’s certain the blisters on his feet will heal long before his heart does, if it ever does.

He’s no stranger to this sort of pain, he’s travelled a path paved with the disdain of people he’s loved, but Geralt’s blow seems to have hit the hardest of them all despite never truly touching him.

And worst of all, he doesn’t dare sing about it lest anyone get the wrong idea about witchers, for that would unravel decades of effort and he couldn’t bear to see their kind suffer just because it turns out he has a weak heart.

“Toss a coin to your witcher…” he sings, tempted to toss and lose the coin that’s been nestled in his pockets since Posada.

He’s a fool for keeping it, he knows he is, but he can’t bear to part with it, can’t bear to admit that he’s been cast aside by yet another love.

and the kindest of kisses break the hardest of hearts

It’s no secret that Geralt is a quiet person by nature.

He’s never pretended otherwise, which is why it was such a shock when Jaskier slots into his life as if he were born to do so.

Because Jaskier talks enough for the both of them and he becomes an expert in knowing what Geralt is feeling, even when he himself hasn’t figured it out. And Geralt hates it at first, hates the way Jaskier knows when he needs help with bargaining or when he just wants to get away from people and shelter in the forests.

He knows he doesn’t express his gratitude enough, he knows that Jaskier deserves someone who can match his love, who can hold his hand in broad daylight instead of curling up with him in the dead of night under the pretence of necessity.

It doesn’t bother Jaskier though, and all the bard asks for in return is tales of heroics and heartbreak for his songs - Geralt hates himself for so harshly providing the latter.

there is love in your body but you can’t get it out

Sometimes, just sometimes, Jaskier regrets building up his career on Geralt’s adventures.

He’d never imagined that they’d part ways - or rather, he’d let his guard down and forgotten to remember that most people leave him eventually - so he’s wholly unprepared for how much it hurts to sing about witchers when he’s no longer travelling with one.

But he does it anyway because he’s loved Geralt from the start and he doesn’t think he’s capable of ever not loving Geralt and he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.

So he keeps going.

On and on.

He travels as far as he can so that he can stay out of Geralt’s way, taking his broken heart with him and ignoring the way he feels like its shards are tearing into his insides a little more with each passing day.

it gets stuck in your head, won’t come out of your mouth

There is more than one town in which Geralt wants to murder a bard.

His bard - for that is what everyone knows Jaskier as - has created masterpieces and they are being butchered by men with far lesser voices, by men who don’t deserve to sing them in the first place.

And Geralt yearns to hear the original versions but it seems he is fated to hear Jaskier’s pain second-hand. He asks around, of course he does, for where to find Jaskier, but nobody knows what to tell him and he has never been good at bargaining for information.

He wishes he knew how to say more than please and thank you but Jaskier was his communication and without him, he can only really achieve the minimum required from him.

Regret pools in his gut every time Jaskier’s trail fizzles out.

sticks to your tongue and it shows on your face

Performance has always been Jaskier’s area of expertise but gods is it difficult to pretend he isn’t drowning in the love he was never meant to keep for himself.

He doesn’t know what to do with his compliments and his teasing and his fond exasperation because all of it was for Geralt and if Geralt doesn’t want it, doesn’t want him, he doesn’t know what to do with it, with himself.

He wastes some of his unwanted love on drunken adventures and always regrets it when he’s asked to stay and give up his travels or asked to leave and flee before a betrothed returns - both demands are knives that sink into his chest and add to the cracks in his heart.

It seems that nobody can truly understand what pleases him but he cannot fault them for he has forgotten how to be honest, whether it’s with others or himself.

Jaskier is tired of loving and hurting as if they are one and the same.

that the sweetest of words have the bitterest taste

“I care for you,” Geralt tells Ciri.

“I want you to be safe,” he adds sincerely.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, because he is.

But all he’s doing is repeating what Jaskier had done, what Jaskier had taught him, and the words sometimes refuse to leave his lips because even they know someone else should have had the right to hear them first.

And all Geralt can do is hope Ciri understands that he means well, he really does. She does, of course, because she is far smarter than she seems and because she too has learned from Jaskier - another fact that sends wave after wave of sour guilt through his mind.

With no way to cure it, his guilt only festers.

darling heart, i have loved you from the start

Jaskier was a mere infant the first time he was abandoned, not that he truly remembers the woman who had decided she didn’t want to take care of him anymore. He only knows because his parents had held it against him, as well as every other heart he failed to win over, right from the start.

Geralt hadn’t abandoned him, Jaskier reminds himself every time he feels anger rise inside of him, he was the one who had abandoned Geralt. And he feels terrible, especially after hearing about Cintra, about Nilfgaard, about everything.

A part of him firmly believes that Geralt is safe because he refuses to think that the love of his life could die without him feeling it, but a part of him is too scared to hold onto that faith.

“I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting…” he sings, because he is.

But only ever for his white wolf.

but you’ll never know what a fool i’ve been

Geralt takes Ciri to Kaer Morhen and feels sick when his brothers tell him how soldiers have been none too gently questioning any bards they come across.

He feels stupid when he realises that all this time, he’s been endangering Jaskier by not trying hard enough to find him, to make sure he’s okay, to apologise for his cruel words on the mountain.

And he feels even worse when he thinks of what little Jaskier has told him about his past, of how he had never spoken of his parents, of how his touch had lingered as if waiting for permission that he hadn’t thought to grant.

Oh, how ungrateful he had been of the first person to teach him the true meaning of emotions.

“You have to find him,” everyone says, and he can’t bring himself to argue.

there is love in our bodies and it holds us together

Funny how one can never be prepared for the sting of a whip, Jaskier thinks.

A brief flirt with fame had inflated his ego but no matter because bleeding out in a stone cell is the perfect way to remember that he is nothing and means nothing to anyone.

He lives, of course he does, but only because he hangs onto the possibility of once more meeting a golden gaze the same way he hangs from the ceiling and ruins his wrists, which is to say he does so every day.

And he’s okay with all the superficial agony inflicted upon him because although nobody learns anything from him, he learns from them that they’re still searching, that Geralt is safe, and that he has no true reason to be upset.

He doesn’t even care that there’s not a single person he can think of who would bother trying to save him.

but pulls us apart when we’re holding each other

Witchers cannot travel in time but Geralt so dearly wishes they could.

He doesn’t find Jaskier before snow starts to fall and travel becomes impossible.

He fails and it’s his fault that Jaskier is out there somewhere - possibly hurt, possibly dead, and possibly worse - when he is given warmth and love and everything his bard deserves more than him.

A deep chill settles into his very bones and although he is offered blankets, he knows it cannot be averted except by Jaskier’s touch. Oh, how he craves the warmth of sharing a bedroll and waking up at ungodly hours so Jaskier can learn about the constellations for his newest ballad.

He wants nothing more than to take back his words and keep Jaskier in his life, in his arms.

we all want something to hold in the night

A noble lineage meant that Jaskier was taught independence before anything else.

It meant he was always “a big boy who needs to stop wasting time” and “not a child anymore, for goodness sake” and “such a pathetic excuse of a noble, you should know better than that by now” but he was never truly loved.

And he never learned that he was meant to be loved, never learned that the affection he gave was supposed to be returned in equal.

So as Jaskier wobbles and stumbles through his escape, collapsing into the forest floor when his legs refuse to support his weight any longer, he just closes his eyes and pretends that he’s not in his own arms, that he’s in the arms of someone who cares enough to look for him.

But of course, he’s not.

And he wakes up alone.

Over and over again.

we don’t care if it hurts or we’re holding too tight

Geralt leaves at the first sight of spring.

He couldn’t possibly wait a day longer when he’s made Jaskier wait so long, even though he can’t be sure if Jaskier is even still waiting for him or if he’s moved on, which he had every right to do.

He forgets how to plan and finds that his resources run out before he’s crossed even two towns, but he makes do from under the cover of shadows and night because he couldn’t bear to give up, not on Jaskier.

With the bounty on his head, he finds himself fighting monsters just to survive rather than for coin. And with the bounty on his head, he finds himself having to treat his own injuries because he can’t ask a healer and he doesn’t have his best friend to help him.

Nothing hurts as much as Jaskier’s absence.

darling heart, i have loved you from the start

The only reason Jaskier survives past winter is because he heads to the coast.

He’s lucky that despite his reputation for trading secrets, he’s never traded all of his own. He’s always kept his love of the open water to himself and that’s the only reason he makes it there at all.

It still hurts to curl up inside his secret little coastal home though, because he’d spent so long imagining what it would be like to bring his- to bring Geralt with him. But he knows that can’t happen because Geralt had grown tired of him and wants nothing to do with him.

He doesn’t have a lot of food and he knows he should be concerned about that but he can’t bring himself to care because for the first time in over two decades, he doesn’t have anything - note, anyone - to live for.

but that’s no excuse for the state i’m in

It’s harder than it had seemed to travel without being seen.

Geralt knows how to hunt. He knows when to hide and when to begin travelling but for some reason, getting to Jaskier is far more difficult than any contract he’s ever taken.

He’s never been one for Destiny but he finds himself practically praying to her for a way to reach his- for a way to reach who he so dearly wants to make his again. His bard, his friend, his Jaskier.

Roach jerks to a halt every time he almost falls asleep whilst still on the saddle but he doesn’t learn from it, he can’t afford to when he so desperately needs to make amends, so desperately needs to figure out how much damage he’s caused and then fix it before he loses the best part of his life.

Desperation has never been his colour but then again, he's never cared for being fashionable.

my heart swells like a water at work

There’s a knock at the door but Jaskier doesn’t have the energy to move.

He stays where he is, huddled by a fire that’s long since run out of fuel to burn, and hopes that if it’s another mage, they kill him quickly this time. But it’s not.

“Jaskier, please!”

He blinks.

It can’t possibly be who he thinks it is, who he wants it to be, can it?

It can.

“Jaskier?” Quieter this time, as if he’s worried.

And then a crashing thud echoes, followed by his favourite set of footsteps and a hand on his shoulder.

He flinches without meaning to, not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. Geralt offers him a small smile and he promptly decides to do both.

can’t stop myself before it’s too late

“I’m sorry, Jaskier, I’m so sorry.”

It’s an apology long overdue, Geralt knows that, but he has to try, he can’t stop himself from trying, not this time, not when it comes to Jaskier.

And he looks so awfully small wrapped in blankets that Geralt can feel his heart clench. He feels even smaller when he melts into Geralt’s touch as if he’s never been granted the luxury of being held as he cries.

“I know,” Jaskier replies between sobs.

There’s so much more that Geralt needs to say but it’s a start and it’s more than enough because Jaskier is alive.

“Come to Kaer Morhen with me,” Geralt says, not sure if he’s asking or demanding or begging. But it doesn’t really matter which because Jaskier agrees all the same and he’s just glad he has another chance.

hold on to your heart

Jaskier doesn’t want to get comfortable again.

Well, he does. More than anything. But he doesn’t want to risk the consequences again, he doesn’t think he can live through another heartbreak because there’s so little of his heart left intact and he’s scared to lose himself entirely.

So he goes to the school of the wolves and he gets help for his injuries - and scars, but he doesn’t want to think about that any time soon - but he can’t bring himself to relax, not entirely.

He’s sure they can smell his constant worrying and he feels awful for being such a pain but he doesn’t know what he’s meant to do and his fingers itch for a lute but he doesn’t want to annoy anyone by asking for one.

“I’m okay,” he promises, knowing that it’s a broken one even as it leaves his lips.

‘cause i’m coming to take you

It’s a month before Geralt clocks on to the problem and risks leaving, returning just before dawn with a lute that he places on the table beside Jaskier’s bed.

It’s another week before music fills the building.

It's two more everyone finds themselves humming or singing along every time they hear the lute being played. And another before Geralt finds Jaskier waiting for him where he usually trains, a hesitant smile on his face. “Thank you.”

Geralt nods. “It was the least I could do.”

Jaskier frowns, slowly shaking his head and shuffling his feet. “It’s far more than that. Music, it- it’s almost everything to me, I can't explain it...”

Geralt exhales softly. “But I can understand it because, Jaskier, you’re almost everything to me.”

hold on to your heart

A childhood filled with recklessly throwing around his heart meant that Jaskier became more careful with who he truly trusted over time.

Not careful enough, but still too careful to forgive and forget.

But Geralt is patient and kind and more affectionate than Jaskier has ever seen him and he can’t help falling in love all over again, not that he’d climbed out of it in the first place.

He wants to let go of the dragon hunt, he really does, but Geralt’s words still sting and they, along with his mother’s and father’s and countless fleeting lovers’, flash in his mind every time he thinks about surrendering his heart once again.

And he’s scared, he’s oh so scared that Geralt will get bored of him, sick of him, fed up with him again.

‘cause i’m coming to break you

Geralt waits until summer is waving goodbye before telling Jaskier.

He can feel Jaskier’s doubt rising, he can feel the way he’s not sure whether he’ll be invited to stay for winter or not - he will, of course, because he has become one of their own and it would be foolish if he wasn’t.

But when a week goes by without even the faintest echo of a lute, he and Ciri gather up the prettiest flowers they can find and after their evening meal, he offers them to Jaskier.

“I love you,” he admits softly.

Jaskier is still for all of a few seconds before he starts crying.

And Geralt’s whole body is telling him to run because he hates to see tears in his favourite blue eyes but he resists that urge and slowly, carefully wraps his arms around the bard instead.

“I think I’ve loved you for a long time, Jaskier, and I don’t think I could ever not.”

Jaskier doesn’t reply, but he falls asleep in Geralt’s embrace and finally lets his guard down, and that’s answer enough for anyone.

hold on

The war rages on but Jaskier finally finds peace.

Nothing about their life is particularly easy but he has never been more at ease because as much as Geralt had hurt him, he’d also helped him to heal far more than anybody else ever has.

“You have my heart,” he confesses one morning, after waking up to Geralt’s rare but increasingly more common smiles.

“You can keep it to yourself, your love is enough for me,” Geralt murmurs.

Jaskier blinks slowly, suddenly overcome with the urge to cry. He doesn’t, but he does curse softly. “When did you become so poetic, my dear witcher?”

Geralt chuckles, pulling him impossibly close and leaning right beside his ear to reply, “When you taught me how, my dear bard.”

It takes a matter of seconds for Jaskier to decide that he wants to get married.

hold on

Geralt says very little the day they lawfully commit to spending the rest of their lives together.

He says very little as Yennefer and Ciri craft their rings and loop them into matching chains. He says very little as Eskel and Lambert place their bets on who’s going to cry first - they’re both idiots, it’s obviously Jaskier - or who’s going to remain dry-eyed. And he says very little as Vesemir gives them his blessing.

But when they return to their room, Jaskier places his hands on either side of Geralt’s face and smiles softly. “Geralt, my love, will you tell me what’s wrong? You’ve barely said a word.”

And finally, Geralt cracks. “We vowed to stay with each other until we die, right?”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. “Of course, but I would have done that with or without the ceremony, you know that.”

“Witchers live for a long time, Jaskier. I-”

Jaskier places a finger on Geralt’s lips, grinning. “You beautiful fool of a witcher, do I look like the kind of bard that’s going to die any time soon?”

When Geralt really looks, it’s obvious that he doesn’t.

And so, with that one sentence, everything changes again.

For the better this time.

-

it's not particularly original, i know, but i really love this song and kind of let this write itself, and i have too many WIPs to have spent any longer trying to make this better :p hope it was okay anyway <3

-

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher sideblog: @itsjaskier

[sometimesrosy]

Thanks for being one of the last blogs left to discuss the show to the end. I understand the hurt and betrayal people feel right now. I feel it too, but as a new fan who binged 1-6 back in March, I keep thinking about the crazy moments that were reversed or resolved at the end of seasons. If it hadn't been for Jason's word of God post or the anon accounts, I would have scoffed at this "death", b/c it seemed like a setup. I may not like JR, but I need to see how he ends this before I criticize.

Yeah. I know exactly what you’re talking about.

I think in fandom, we have a hard time adjusting to the immediate storyline, and we forget the long term one. And this DOES seem like the story is not done. Usually when they die, it’s confirmed that they die. A hole in the head. That blank eye. Blown out into space. They die in someone’s arms. We see their last breaths. A dead body or grave. The light goes out. In this, we don’t see that. We see Clarke ripped away from the scene, her last sight the result of what she did.

No conclusion, no resolution, no CONFIRMATION-- in narrative anyway.

On social media we got goodbyes. But I have NEVER used social media as confirmation for canon. I can ONLY accept canon.

And canon is up in the air. It looks bad, I’m not gonna lie. But it isn’t confirmed, resolved, or concluded.

It’s the rumors that give us a “reason” for the lack of conclusion. And I can’t say that the rumors don’t explain it, because they do make sense.

But they’re still not canon. 

Bellamy also died at the end of season 1. But he didn’t die. Clarke died at the end of season 4... we saw her, remember? Covered with radiation sores and falling to the floor, but she survived. Not that B knew. Speaking of season 4, Octavia also died in season 4. We saw her fall from the cliff, stabbed, and B collapsed on finding out. Season 6 Clarke died again. We saw the lights go out that time. No one believed it. Bellamy died at the beginning of season 7 too. No one believed it.  Seems like we stopped believing when they die.

Within the show, they have the capability to save him. Bardo has a high level of tech, including medical tech, a disciple has his hand on Bellamy’s chest in the last scene, and they have immediate access to the medical labs by going through the anomaly. 

The only thing that makes everyone take it for certain is the social media. Even if it looks terribly damning, I can’t take that as evidence. 

STICK TO THE TEXT.

Yes, I am going to watch the next three episodes. I didn’t commit to all this hell to back out now. 

The hardest thing to understand right now, for me, is not that B died. I expected him to die. I think I had him (and Clarke) at a 90% or 95% chance of dying this season. It’s the WAY it happened, with that lack of resolution. And the splitting up of Bellarke. That Clarke did it. 

It seems to ruin the long term narrative of Clarke being the hero, Bellarke saving the world together, Bellamy saving Clarke while Clarke saves humanity, Bellamy’s character development and learning to let those he love make his own choices, Bellamy being a leader, Clarke understanding that some things are not worth it. 

Like, there are TWO options that make sense with all this...

Bellamy isn’t really dead and this is a fake out to raise tension... which makes sense with the narrative and the way the story has been told for 7 years.

OR

Bellamy is dead and JR totally betrayed his narrative, Bellamy, Clarke, Bob, and the audience because he’s a mother fucking egotistical jackass. because even if bob quit for health reasons he didn’t need to tank the story to write him out.

Now, there’s been a fandom narrative of JR being a fucking egotistical jackass who is taking vengeance on fandom and various actors. So that slides very neatly into what the antis believe.

But that narrative never really fit the story on screen. I mean, I think yeah he’s probably an egotistical jackass, but he always put the story before anyone else. It was HIS story and he wasn’t going to let anyone tell him what to write. And he would kill off characters and doom ships and let story lines fade off into oblivion for ONE narrative, and that’s what he just killed, or appeared to kill in the last episode. So why would he now sink it? IDK. it’s weird and it makes no sense.

DID he just give up in the last season because he moved on to the other pilot-- which has no guarantee of being picked up, and seemes to be waiting on how THIS story does? Why would he do that when his name will be based on THIS show. And when we have a glaring example of showrunners who did that with GOT and ended up LOSING huge deals for new shows because of the mess they made. That seems remarkably stupid to not learn the lesson and to go down the exact same path, even to having one love interest kill the other, who was one of the main heroes.

Isn’t that WEIRD? IS JR COMPLETELY STUPID? Despite years of evidence to the contrary where he seems pretty savvy? Could he possibly be using that fandom fear and belief to make everyone believe he killed off Bellamy for no reason? Would he USE a social media account to manipulate viewers into having emotional reactions to the story by lying??? WELL NO. He’s not lying. He says this was Bellamy’s death but he doesn’t say he stays dead, or that Bardo can’t bring him back. Remember season 2? Lincoln died and they brought him back. And when he thanks Bob for his 7 years, that also is not a lie. Bob gave him 7 years. We’ve seen Bellamy’s story for 7 years. Whether it ends here or continues for another three eps. It’s definitely implying that he’s not coming back, but it’s not lying if he does come back.

Well, I don’t know. Maybe JR is completely stupid. I’ll wait to see if he stick the landing, but my faith is low. It’s just all very weird and makes no sense in a story that has always made sense if you follow his storyline. And as a writer I just don’t know why you would tank your long term story three eps before you finish it up. And he DOES love to scare us and make us feel anguished and kill of our  mains and thinking ALL IS LOST before finding out that no indeed, all is not lost and our heroes can and do come back and reach victory.

THAT fits his story. But maybe he’s so desperate for us to believe it’s over that he’ll mislead us IRL to make us believe his plot twist in the narrative.

Can’t say I wouldnt prefer it to be a fake out, but if it is a fake out he’s still a HUGE fucking egotistical asshole. 

I just can’t believe it until I see the canon. I need to see the conclusion, because this seems like a total trashing of the story, and that just makes no sense for what we’ve seen for 7 years. Actually, when I think about all of this, it gives me a little faith in the story back. Not a lot, but a little. BECAUSE IT MAKES NO SENSE. It is PURELY the fandom narrative that JR is an egotistical jackass and doesn’t fit with the canon narrative. 

Listen, I don’t think I’ll ever get involved with a fandom again. it ruins the story. All this gossip and negativity and shipwars and harassment and I don’t even LIKE the behind the scenes tales of who did what to whom. I just want to watch the stories and enjoy what I enjoy. I wish we could talk about it all without creating this huge writhing mass of maggoty decay as so called fandom attempts to take apart everything good about a show we’re supposed to love.

[consumedkings-archive]

ancient names, pt. xviii

A John Seed/Original Female Character Fanfic

Ancient Names, pt xviii: even as a dream

Masterlink Post

Word Count: ~7.4k  

Rating: Mature; nothing explicit, just mentions/references.

Warnings: almost none, though some descriptions of Elliot's recent actions, as well as some colorful threats and some poor decision making on John's behalf. This whole chapter is basically Elliot suffering and that's probably why it was so hard to write.

Notes: Hello my friends! I am once again asking for your patience as I come to you with a chapter full of emotional manipulation and almost no physical plot movement! All of this felt important to dig into and though it may not be the most fast-paced (or smutty) chapter, I hope that you still enjoy it nonetheless. Drama abound as we are slowly but surely closing in on the end.

I want to give a super special thank you to @shallow-gravy​ for listening to me whine and complain about this chapter as well as lend me their eyeballs so that I didn't go just fucking nutso trying to write this thing. As well, @lilwritingraven​ has been SO sweet, cheering me on and keeping my spirits up even when I think this was one of the harder chapters for me to get through; and everyone who comments, kudos, likes/reblogs depending on what platform you're on, thank YOU so so so much. It really keeps me going!

As always, my most beloved @starcrier​ put her eyes on this and let me feel less like I was going insane. I love you so much and thank you for loving my girl Elliot as much as I do!! God knows she DESERVES it.

“We should get our story straight.”

John’s voice wrangled Elliot out of her brain. She’d been trying to mentally prepare herself for whatever mind games were about to commence, but John stepping in front of her to block her way into the chapel and speaking was enough to yank her right out of it.

“Get what story straight?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze flickered to Boomer, waiting expectantly, and she made the quiet little motion for sit ; he did, obediently.

“Our timeline,” John clarified, “for—”

“You know, for someone who insists his brother doesn’t scare him,” Elliot interrupted, “you sure act like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar every time he wants to talk to you.”

The brunette’s mouth twisted into a grimace. His arms crossed, mirroring her own.

“I don’t ,” John said, speaking slowly, “want Joseph to get the impression that because we are romantically entangled—”

“Please stop.”

“—that it somehow compromised the work I was doing with you before,” he finished.

“But it did,” Elliot pointed out mildly. “Or did you forget telling me about how long you’ve wanted to fuck me for?”

She saw, for a brief second in time, irritation spike in John’s expression. All this time it had been Elliot smothering him, stopping him from saying the words out loud—but there was something a little liberating about doing it herself, like she had discovered something sharp that had been hidden inside of her all along. It wasn’t useful enough to be used as often as she would have liked, of course; but that didn’t stop her from getting some satisfaction in seeing John’s expression clamp down because the control freak couldn’t stand the idea of her derailing his perfect plan.

(And maybe that had been what she really liked this little game they’d played, all along—the increasing frustration in his voice every time he’d cut in to her walkie talkie, like she could tell that he was losing control thread by thread.)

“I didn’t forget.” John managed to somehow sound both incredibly frustrated and nonplussed at the same time, like ambivalence was a tone of voice rather than an opinion that he could emulate. He continued, “I just think we should be clear about the timeline with each other.”

“Nothing’s unclear,” Elliot replied. “You’ve wanted to fuck me all along—”

“Well, now—”

“—and I finally let you,” she continued.

He sounded spiteful when he said, “Twice.”

“Twice,” she acquiesced, “but do we need to include details?”

John chewed on that for a minute. “Should,” he ventured, and he was clearly trying not to sound smug. “If it’s going to happen again.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think Joseph needs to know that.” And then, light-heartedly, “But if you think he does, we should include how you said please so very nicely for me—”

“Unnecessary,” the brunette interrupted. “Fine. It happened twice, the nature of our relationship is...”

“Tenuous at best.”

“... But not without hope,” John concluded. It took every ounce of her strength not to roll her eyes so fucking hard that she passed out; because yes , she did want to say, I know John was good, sometime, somewhere inside of him, and that means maybe I can bring it back, and if he said that he’d go with me I’d let him.

“Isn’t that right, El?”

Elliot sighed. She regarded him for a moment—grinning, handsome and boyish, flashing his teeth like the cat that had caught the canary. And handsome. He’s handsome, too.

“Whatever,” she relented, at last. “Is that all? Can we go in now? There are things I want to do with the day.”

As she reached around him for the door, John said, “So what are we?” and she groaned.

“ John.”

“I just think that—”

“You are ruining,” Elliot told him, poking a finger into his chest, “the mythos of whatever this is.”

John frowned. He looked like he wanted to say something; he looked like he wanted to say it and very terribly, but like he thought she might be mad if he did. Then again, Elliot had to consider that John said plenty of things that made her angry, and he did so knowing they would make her angry, and that there was no reason that he should start now.

“It shouldn’t be a mythos,” John said after a moment. “We’re… Together, you know—”

Elliot fished the carton of cigarettes out of her back pocket and tapped one out, lighting it. John had stopped himself to watch her, his gaze sweeping over her before he grinned again, wolfish and pleased.

“Does it stress you out?” he asked.

“Baby,” Elliot deadpanned, “if stressing me out was an Olympic sport, you would be a gold medalist.”

John plucked the cigarette out of her hands after she took one drag, dropped it on the ground, and stomped it out, much to her chagrin. One wasted cigarette.

“You owe me,” she said.

“I just want to make sure that we’re on the same page when we go in there,” he reiterated. “Nothing about the nature of our relationship affected the time that you spent in my custody.”

She eyed him. Out of spite, she almost wanted to agree and then say something completely different once she was inside—just to make him squirm, and all for stamping out her cigarette. 

“Fine,” she relented, at last. “But that’s all we say about it. I don’t think anything else needs to be said, do you?”

For one second, John opened his mouth again. It was all Elliot could do not to immediately groan; stupid, pretty John, who for some reason needed to constantly be talking, the same way a shark would die if it stopped moving. 

But then he said, “Sure,” and suspicion spiked high and hot in her brain. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to hers; the kiss was unhurried, but short, and succeeded in frying her brain pleasantly.

“Don’t try and distract me,” she snipped half-heartedly, even when she felt the blush crawling up her cheeks. He grinned as though to feign innocence, before he turned and opened the door to the chapel; when he stepped inside, it left her alone.

One blissful, serene moment alone. It felt more and more like she was running short on those. It was probably intentional. Whatever it was happening between herself and John—whatever this mythos really was—it was harder and harder to keep straight with him around her all the time, breathing her in and exhaling her out, hands and mouth and—

And if she just got one more second —

Inside, Joseph said, “You don’t have the deputy with you?” and John made a noise like he was surprised she hadn’t followed right in. Elliot motioned for Boomer to stay before she stepped inside and closed the door behind her; the movement plunged her into the dim, cool light of the chapel, illuminated only by the cut-out of the Eden’s Gate star-symbol, slanting golden light across the floor. Everything else was dark. Like a womb, living and breathing and spitting out cultists.

“I trust you’ve gotten sufficient rest?” came Joseph’s next question, and it was clearly directed at her. Elliot made her way to the front of the chapel and stifled a sigh.

“Faith said you wanted to talk with us?” she prompted, and Joseph looked like he was trying not to smile; the corners of his mouth ticked upward for a moment as he watched her. He liked to do that—let a silence linger between them, let it fester for a moment until she thought she’d rather curl up and disappear than stay there any longer.

He finally spoke and said, “It’s come to my attention, Deputy Honeysett, that your relationship with our brother John has developed.”

‘Our brother,’ he said. Joseph talking like he was the fucking Pope made her molars grind.

Before she could remark on it, Joseph continued, “It would stand to reason, then, that you are intending to enter the End with us?”

I want a home with you.

“Of course,” John said, just as Elliot said, “‘Reason’ is a funny choice of word for you,” and then their eyes met. John’s expression said we’re supposed to be on the same team, but as far as Elliot couldn’t bite back instinct so easily.

She knew John could be good. She knew it, and yet he insisted on acting otherwise, and it just made her think maybe she had been some kind of exception and he really was, all this time, just rotten.

“I know that you’ve had a lot to process these last few days,” Joseph continued lightly. “The devastating loss of Hudson, having to purge all of that old poison concerning your last boyfriend…”

Elliot felt the panic wash over her in an instant. It was the same feeling that she had gotten with Kian, but the kicker here was that she’d volunteered that information to Joseph. He’d gone digging around in her brain, but she’d given him permission to have it.

I don’t want John to know, something in her said frantically, he can’t know.

“Reconsider,” Elliot bit out venomously, “what you’re going to say next, Seed.”

A moment of silence lapsed between the three of them. John was watching her curiously, waiting, perhaps, for her to elaborate on her angry outburst. She wouldn’t. He’d be waiting until he was in his fucking grave and then some if he thought she was going to say anything about it.

“John,” Joseph said, glancing at the brunette, “I’d like a moment with our deputy.”

The brunette’s expression tightened. Something, just a tiny little something, about that statement bothered John, Elliot could tell—though he said nothing about it, and instead swallowed back whatever it was, clearing his throat.

“That’s not necessary,” she insisted, looking between the two brothers. “John, it isn’t.”

Don’t. Don’t leave me alone with him. Please. I’m so tired, I’m so tired, I don’t want to do this anymore. Not with him.

“I’ll be outside,” John said, but he said it to Elliot, not to Joseph, and it did so very little to inspire any confidence in her; that John thought he needed to explain to her that he would be close by only reminded her that there was something predatory about Joseph that John didn’t like, either. 

As he went to move past her, she grabbed his wrist out of instinct—the pads of her fingers brushed the crescent marks that she’d left on him that night in the river, and the differences in the ways that she gripped him now felt monumental.

The moment lingered, suspended, between them. John reached up with his un-gripped hand and brushed some of her hair behind her ear.

“It’s only a few minutes,” Joseph offered, as though it were supposed to comfort her. It didn’t.

She dropped her hand from his wrist, and his hand drifted from her face, and he was heading back to the door before she could figure out if she wanted to pitch more of a fit or not.

When the door closed behind them and left Joseph and herself alone, in the eerie stillness of the chapel, Elliot took in a slow breath. The last time she’d been alone with Joseph, she’d been doing what she knew he wanted her to—confessing to the things that hurt, the prickly, sharp parts of her that stung the most on their way out. She’d grappled back a thread of her control that day, but what should have been a catharsis had just felt—

Dirty.

“I know that you must be tired,” Joseph murmured, closing the distance between them. “You’ve been fighting for a long time, Elliot. Longer, I can say now with certainty, than before even us. Before this.”

Fuck you, she thought hatefully. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You took everything from me, you wretched fucking man.

“I am tired,” she relented, desperate to keep that tiny bit of Joseph’s favor if it just meant that he’d stop trying to pry her open all the time. “But that doesn’t—”

“The End is coming,” he interrupted, though with the slow, rich cadence of his voice, it often felt less like an interruption and more a gentle redirection, “whether you believe it or not. But let’s say, theoretically, that it isn’t. That I’m wrong.”

Elliot’s mouth went dry. She didn’t like hypothesizing theoretical situations, least of all with Joseph. “Okay...”

The man had closed the distance between them now; his eyes were fixed on her, the relentless, dauntless part of him that did not soften to his Fatherly persona. He lifted his hands, and it took everything in Elliot not to flinch back out of instinct—his fingers brushed where John’s had just moments ago, trailing the slope of her jaw, landing on the feverish bruise marks on her throat.

“We retrieved Kian’s body from the forest,” he murmured, his fingers not leaving her neck. He looked to be inspecting the bruises on her neck, at the corner of her mouth.

The scrutiny made her skin feel sickly-hot. “And?”

“You obliterated his face,” Joseph said plainly. “Crushed each bony structure on it, caved him in. His eyes barely stayed in his sockets by the time you were done with him.”

Do you feel guilty for what that man did to you?

Elliot felt her stomach churn, the vicious nausea rolling around inside of her head. She could still feel Kian’s bones crumbling under each impact of the shotgun cold, dark metal, taste the arterial spray in her mouth. And just like that, she could feel Joseph digging his metaphorical claws in, cracking open her rib cage so he could stick his hands right into the gore of her.

Will you feel guilty about this, too?

“It—” Elliot felt her brain swoon dizzyingly; for a second, the only thing keeping her anchored was Joseph’s feather-light touch. “It w-was—self-defense—”

“ I know that,” Joseph murmured, “and you know that, and John—even Jacob, and Faith, and the others. We all know that, Elliot. But your friends from the resistance? Mary May, Grace... Pastor Jeffries...” His voice trailed off. “Do you think they’ll understand, when they read the reports of what you did to that man? Of the trail of bodies you’ve left behind yourself?”

“H-He was going to kill me,” and the words came out barely past a whisper; anymore volume and it would have been a wail. “ They were—”

“Yes,” Joseph agreed, “and you mutilated his body well past the point of death.”

“He deserved it,” she managed out, “he deserved it, he—” He was in my home, he touched my things, he pushed his way into my head, he took my Joey from me, she was the only good thing I had left and he took her.

“I know.” Joseph’s breath fanned across her forehead. “I know, Elliot. I hope—”

He stopped himself, and then he pulled back so that their eyes could meet, his hands cradling her face. It was both an anchor and invasion, this incessant need of Joseph’s to touch her. It grounded her to reality, but it also rattled violently through her skeleton, aftershocks of an earthquake she’d been living through for the last week.

“What I mean to say is, I only hope you understand,” he continued, his voice low, “this gift that we are giving you.”

I want a home with you.

“Do you?” Joseph asked. “Understand?”

What would Pastor Jeffries think? How would Mary May look at her? Sharky, and Grace—would they still like her spark?

Or was she ruined now, too, like everything else Eden’s Gate had touched?

Are you happy, Elliot?

“Yes,” she managed out. “I do.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When the chapel door opened, John had been standing around outside for about ten minutes—enough time to hate it, enough time to look at Boomer waiting patiently at the foot of the stairs and think, fucking dog has better patience than I do.

“We’re going,” Elliot said, moving down the steps. Joseph lingered in the doorway behind her.

John balked. Faith had said Joseph wanted to speak to both of them; she’d made it sound like there had been more for him to be a part of, and yet Joseph had just collected one-on-one time with Elliot for himself and that was it?

“We’re?” he asked. Her voice sounded thick. “To where? Joseph, didn’t you—”

The blonde walked past him, and with a single gesture of her hand, Boomer was trotting off after her. John watched her, and then looked back at his older brother; he was sure the confusion was written clear on his face, but true to his nature, Joseph let it linger for a moment before he said, “She requested a car to visit someplace important to her. I said it would be fine, if you went.”

“Where?”

“It didn’t feel pertinent to ask,” Joseph replied. John paused, and as soon as he turned to start walking after Elliot—and perhaps get more information than what it seemed his brother was willing to supply him with—Joseph said, “John?”

He stopped and turned to look at his brother, and said, “Yes?”

“The opportunity is slipping.” Joseph’s head cocked to the side, his gaze hardening. “Do not let your family down.”

John felt something—anxiety, perhaps, but probably more dread —creep down his spine at Joseph’s words. He swallowed and nodded once before he started heading off again, the slow IV-drip of his older brother’s casual, cloaked venom seeping straight into the marrow of his bones.

Joseph’s voice rattled in his skull. Tell me you can do this.

You can’t have both, Elliot’s mouth against his, voice teetering on something broken.

He gritted his teeth, catching up to Elliot as she pulled herself into the driver’s seat of a truck. 

I can. You’re mine, and I can have both.

“Ready?” Elliot asked, having elaborated not at all on what was going on and only expecting that he would come along blindly. Well, she was right—to some extent, anyway, because here he was, knowing only one thing more than before and that was that Joseph’s patience was enduring, but running thin.

John flashed her a smile when she glanced over his way. 

“As ever.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It didn’t get any more clear where it was Elliot was taking him. Perhaps “taking him” was a bit of a stretch—he was going along because Joseph had insisted, and even if he hadn’t insisted it probably would have been his first choice of how to spend the afternoon anyway.

They were running out of time. That much had been made clear to him, either by Joseph or by Elliot’s itching to get out of the compound; pulled two ways, and only one of them was able to give—Elliot, with the proper amount of planting, guiding. 

John knew that he needed to stay focused. There could be no more lingering, favoring glances; she would need to be his, and he would have to make it happen. 

Fast.

The blonde turned the truck up a long, winding drive that took them further back into the wilderness of Hope County and parked in front of a house that he’d seen only once or twice before, and only in passing; he’d even considered reaping it for himself, at one point, but it was far out and small enough that it would have been more of an inconvenience than it was worth.

“So,” he said, when she put the truck in park and pulled the keys out of the ignition, “where is this?”

It was a small house, but not as small as most houses in Hope County; by all accounts, the house was probably considered upper class —the snob in him wanted to scoff audibly even as the thought considering how fucking incredible that statement alone was—but the two-story ranch house screamed Gothic South at him, even though he wasn’t entirely sure where it was where Elliot’s parents hailed from.

All of the lights in the house wereoff; the wisteria climbing the trellis that arched over the pathway had just finished blooming, and some of its perfume still lingered; ivy climbed up the elaborate railing of the top front porch, and the garden had clearly been meticulously well-kept.

“My mom’s,” she replied after a moment, sliding out of the driver’s side and closing the door. She sounded more put-together now; whatever had transpired between herself and Joseph had shaken her, but only temporarily. She’d stuffed it down, locked it away somewhere far away from him.

Oh, John thought, feeling that little thrill of delight he got every time he thought Elliot might be about to let him in and under and through. Mom’s house, hm? Interesting.

Boomer leaped from the back without waiting for the tailgate to get dropped and raced excited circles around Elliot as she made her way up the bricked path. He barked once, twice, and then Elliot lifted her hand and he quieted just before she gestured for him to go and he took off running. 

“I drove past this place when I first came back,” John said as he followed. “Your mom likes gardening, huh?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Elliot sighed, lifting one of the flower pots by the front door to fish a key out from underneath. There was something bitter and a little humorous as she added, “Scarlet Honeysett would never lift a hand to garden, except —” And here the blonde lifted a finger quite dutifully, that little Southern twang peeking through. “For her rose bushes. Nobody goes around touchin’ her rose bushes.”

John glanced around the front porch. The steps up were lined with the aforementioned bushes, tiny scalloped fencing keeping them from being in the way of foot traffic while still on perfect display. Ah, he thought absently, the neuroses.

Elliot unlocked the door, nudging the front door open with her foot and stuffing the key into her pocket. John followed her inside, glancing around in the late-afternoon light; the polished dark wood floors, the carefully placed decorations, plush foyer rug, elegant painting on the far wall leading past the stairs.

It was luxe, to say the least. A portrait hung on the wall closest to the door, a photo of a young woman and her blonde look-alike toddler. John thought that it was the kind of thing that you only saw in the home of a woman who put her daughter into pageants and drank martinis at ten in the morning. 

“Elliot Honeysett,” he began, with no shortage of needling glee, “are you rich?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “ I certainly am not,” she told him. “My mother, however, is a trust fund baby, likely has not worked a single day in her life. Papa Graves was a retired jockey—made a lot of money, real quick, invested it, retired...”

Her voice trailed off and she walked past him to the room on the right, fiddling around with something past his line of sight. He picked up a frame on one of the side tables; it was a young blonde girl, grinning ear to ear, sitting atop a buckskin horse, her fingers tangled into its dark mane,

“You like horses?” John called.

As if to clarify, she replied, “Animals.”

Something in the next room clicked. For a second, John’s brain panicked; a gun, he thought, a brief second of considering that Elliot had brought him here to—

And then the music started to play. It was older music that didn’t quite suit his picture of Elliot—the same girl that had blasted Guns’N’Roses on their way out from the ranch—but dreamy. Hazy. The perfect kind of music to suit the golden light of the late afternoon slanting through the gauzy curtains framing French windows. For a second, John thought he could forget himself: she had let him in, to the most vulnerable part of her, this place littered with photos and monuments to Elliot as a child, Elliot as a girl, Elliot before any of this.

Joseph hadn’t gotten this. Nobody had gotten this—not Joseph, and not her ex-boyfriend, and not anyone. Not anyone except for him.

See the pyramids along the Nile; watch the sun rise on a tropic isle.

Next was a gentle clink. It sounded like ice cubes in a glass. John moved down the hallway, picking up another frame—what he could only presume to be young Elliot, perched atop the shoulders of a red-haired man, grinning like a scoundrel at the camera.

He could hear the sound of liquid pouring a room over. As he walked, he realized the table—and the walls—were covered with photos of this man, this red-haired stranger, freckles covering his face. He was handsome. His eyes looked familiar, too.

Just remember, darling, all the while, you belong to me.

“John,” Elliot said from the sitting room—what an absurd thought; Elliot Honeysett, in a sitting room , and that’s what it was, a sitting room, “what are you doing?”

“Learning about you,” John replied. “Your parents left with the resistance?”

There was a pause. He thought that he knew the answer—the only pictures of the man whose eyes were mirrored by Elliot’s own were from when she was quite young. Maybe too young to even remember?

“Mama did, yeah,” Elliot replied. He heard a match striking in the room next to him. She didn’t elaborate on her father; everything in John was itching to pry, to slide just under her skin and figure out what was going on in that brain of hers. Per usual, her decision to remain tight-lipped concerning just about everything that held any emotional bearing on her proved the biggest obstacle.

I'll be so alone without you.

John rounded the corner back into the living room. Elliot had started a fire in the fireplace, kicked off her shoes, and in her hand was a drink; she looked tired , neck still mottled with bruises, but more relaxed than he thought he had seen her in a long time. Even more relaxed than when she was sleeping.

“Didn’t even make me a drink,” he tsked, walking behind the couch to the bar cart. “Just pulled me out here for a little vacation, did you? We could visit.” His gaze slid to her, still perched on the couch with her back to him. “About whatever you’d like.”

“Just wanted to get out of the compound. Felt like I couldn’t breathe in there.” She waved her empty hand in a vague gesture, as if to indicate he was welcome to help himself. “You really don’t stop talking, do you?”

“It’s my job,” John replied, “and you’ve forbidden me from using my mouth otherwise.”

“Oh,” Elliot drawled as he idled around the back of the couch, taking in every meticulous detail of her mother’s living room, “so all I had to do was forbid you and you’d stop doing shit?”

A short laugh billowed out of him. It was so strange to have Elliot like this—was this how she had been with Joey? With the other deputies, with her friends? What she was like before that pesky ex-boyfriend of hers?

Maybe you'll be lonesome too, and blue.

John walked around the side of the couch and sat next to her, regarding her amusedly. She side-eyed him like she didn’t want to exert the effort of turning her head all the way to look at him; when he reached up to brush his fingers along her jaw, she only tilted her head out of his reach for a moment before relenting.

“Might not have worked before,” he suggested. “You’ve definitely gotten more persuasive.”

“Ah.” She arched a brow at him loftily, letting him tilt her face so that she was facing him, and took a sip of her drink. “Maybe your brother is rubbing off on me. After all, romantic coercion isn’t really your style , is it, John?”

He felt his mouth sour at the words. Dropping his fingers from her chin, he instead lifted the drink from her hand; though she relinquished the glass readily, he did see her eyes narrow, just a little. “You just can’t resist, can you?”

He waited for the bite; a part of him anticipated it now, sat patiently, eagerly for the quick-strike of venom. It had become so intrinsic to their day-to-day that he couldn’t tell if he liked it more when she was prickly and headstrong or if he liked it when she was sighing his name like a prayer.

Probably the latter.

The blonde feigned innocence. “Resist what?”

John took a sip of the drink. It was a vodka soda—strong, burning on its way down. Maybe her drink of choice? Or someone else’s. “Picking a fight with me.”

“You do have an exceptionally punchable face,” Elliot acquiesced. And then, as though to soften the blow: “But you have lovely long eyelashes.” She smiled, angelic. “Like a lamb.”

“Fuck you,” John snapped.

“You can,” she replied idly, “if you beg. ”

John felt a flare of something—maybe delight, maybe shame —red-hot and searing in his chest at her nonchalant words. He wanted to stay focused; this was the perfect opportunity to pry more out of her, to really know her and figure out exactly what it was that made her tick, what got those little draconian gears in her head churning.

And they were draconian—after that little show she’d put on with Joseph, he thought maybe Elliot was just a bit more wicked than she liked to let on.

Regarding her for a moment, John set the glass back in her hand, the burn of the alcohol still lingering in the back of his throat. She looked comfortable, draped against the couch; before, being in the same room as him put her on edge, teeth grinding and eyes wild.

“Liked that?” he asked, forcing his voice to lightness, digging. “Having me beg for you?”

“Well,” Elliot said demurely, “who wouldn’t like to hear you begging for something, you smug fucker?”

He bit back his knee-jerk retort and instead willed his words out. “You really are filthy then, aren’t you, Deputy Honeysett?”

Elliot took a swallow of the drink and looked as though she were measuring something, weighing the pros and cons of it in her head. In a fluid motion that must have cost her quite a bit of labor considering the current state of her skeleton, she swung one leg over his lap and settled herself there; straddling him, one hand flattened and smooth against the fabric of his shirt, the other holding the glass and draped over the back of the couch.

“I suppose,” she said, her eyes flickering over his face, “that you’re going to offer to cleanse me of my sins?”

“You’re a quicker study than you let on,” he replied, grinning. “You’ve confessed, but you’re hardly clean. ”

“You should hear yourself.” Elliot’s voice was clipped coming out of her mouth, even as John’s hands came to her hips and tugged her down more firmly against his lap. Her fingers undid one of the buttons on his shirt. “ ‘You’re hardly clean’. You sound so fucking stupid—”

“Let me baptize you,” John insisted. He tried to stuff away his irritation at her words, but it was hard to—even when the sharpness of her words was punctuated by a kiss, her lips parting silkily against his as she sighed, the sharp bite of the vodka chasing the warmth of her mouth. Joseph’s low, murmured threat sat heavy in his chest. “Let me—”

“Drown me?” she said with no absence of venom, even when she said it against his mouth. “Or was that just a one-timer?”

“It’s different,” he snapped. His hands slid beneath the hem of her long-sleeved shirt, tracing the dips and curves of her before splaying against her spine. “It’s different when you choose .”

She sighed; for a moment, John thought she was going to slide off of him, but she stayed, shifting idly on his lap and making the temperature of his body spike. Wicked, wretched viper, he thought, but it was affection blooming in his chest. Wicked and wretched, but mine. Legally bound to me, and all mine.

Besides; where was she going to go, after all of this? She didn’t seriously think she was walking out of Hope County like nothing had happened.

“You gave Joseph what he wanted,” he continued, feeling a little spiteful even as he kept his hands in the slope of her hips. “How’s it feel, knowing that?”

Elliot’s mouth twisted in a grimace. His words had sucked the wind right out of her sails; he saw the impact on her face, meteoric in its destruction.

She said, “John, don’t—”

“I will ,” he insisted, watching her take another dutiful swallow of the alcohol in her glass, “and you did. You gave him exactly what he wanted, after spending all this time insisting you were going to kill him the second you got a chance to. You’ve had a chance. We all know what you did to Kian; all it would take is what, ten minutes alone with him? So, I’ll say it again, how—”

“Worse,” the blonde interrupted, her voice thick with an emotion that John couldn’t quite pin down, “than giving you what you want.”

Yes yes yes, the monster inside of him chanted. He could feel it writhing just beneath his proverbial fingers; so close to sticking the wings of her little butterfly, that special thing that she didn’t want him to have or know. Yes, all mine, give it to me, I deserve it.

The air felt thick, molten-hot and bubbling between them until he thought he was going to be dizzy from trying to breathe something so oxygen-thin. He could feel the flutter of Elliot’s pulse, unsteady and hammering, against his chest: not the heartbeat of an apex predator, but that of prey, snagged and caught and his.

John pressed his mouth to the slope of her neck, tightening his grip on her; his tongue traced the marks left there just below her jaw, and then he murmured, “Tell me how it feels to give me what I want, El.”

Elliot’s free hand had tangled into his hair, knotting there and gripping just a little tighter at his words.

“Good,” she managed out. Her voice barely broke the sound barrier of a whisper; that single word alone gave John a vibrant surge of triumph in his chest, billowed the breath right out of him. But when he pulled back to look at her, she finished off the rest of the vodka and set the glass on the side table before she plunged on, “I had a dream the other night.”

A brief pause dragged the silence on, with only the music playing absently in the background as she righted herself on his lap.

“It was after my walk with Faith,” Elliot continued. “You were there, and—it was just a stupid dream, but—”

“Dreams can be prophetic,” John said, because whatever she was unraveling was making her upset, and he wanted it; that little tremble in her voice, so sweet so sweet, the same kind of sweetness he’d wanted to taste that night he’d first gotten his hands on her.

When he opened his mouth to continue to encourage her, she slapped her palm over it and said, “Shut up or I’m going to lose my train of thought.”

John made a muffled noise of acquiescence. Elliot dropped her hand from his mouth and took in a short, sharp little breath.

“You were there, and you kept saying things like… That you wanted to be—mine,” she explained, and this whole time she hadn’t been looking at him, but she did now. “That you wanted a home with me, that we would—after Kian, we would leave Hope County and for a second—I fucking—everyone, and everything, it’s all gone to shit and for one fucking second when you were saying that I didn’t—I didn’t feel—”

So close, John thought, watching her try to work around the words that she wanted to say but that fought against her entire being to come out. I just need to hear it. That’s all I need.

“Alone,” Elliot finished softly.

It was the perfect opportunity; Joseph had made it clear that they weren’t going to be waiting to finish off the Family to retreat for the End, and that meant that John only had so much time to bring Elliot around. This was the moment that he had to take advantage of, to tell her about their marriage and hope for the best.

“It wasn’t,” John said after a moment. “A dream, I mean.”

The blonde stared at him for a moment. Her expression was guarded. “What wasn’t?”

“That night that you came back from your walk with Faith,” he began, “you weren’t feeling well, and I walked you back to the bunkhouse—”

“Uh-huh.”

“—and I told you that I didn’t want you to be alone anymore—”

“John.”

It’s fine, he thought, even when Elliot’s expression flattened and emptied out, it’s fine, it’s fine.

“—and that after all this was done, I would leave with you, and I wanted a home. With you.”

Elliot blinked. A few moments passed. Surprisingly, there was no fury radiating off of her; she looked blank, like she was still processing and taking in all of this information. Like maybe it hadn’t quite hit her yet.

John opened his mouth, very deliberately, to proceed and inform her of the next part—the completely fine and totally normal agreement to get married when Elliot said, “So you lied to me?”

His mouth closed. “Sorry?”

“I asked you about it,” she began, and now she was biting the words out, “the next morning. In the chapel. Jacob was there, and I asked you if something happened—”

“—less like it happened—”

“—and you said, John, that I walked myself to the bunkhouse and went to sleep.” Her fingers had fisted into the front of his shirt now, gripping, as if she were preparing for him to try and squirm out from underneath her. “I fucking knew you weren’t telling me the truth, I fucking knew it because my gun was on the table and I’d never fucking put it there to go to sleep, you stupid fuckhead—”

“El,” John said, lifting a hand, though he didn’t know why; maybe in an effort to soothe her, maybe to block any incoming blows, but Elliot smacked his hand out of the way.

“You fucking weasel—”

“Elliot, listen to me!”

Bad, John thought, and he hadn’t even told her about the part of this that was the most legally binding, the part of this that didn’t make her a Honeysett at all anymore but a Seed. All of that softness from before had evaporated in the heat of her rage. Bad, so fucking bad, fuck I’m fucked fuck.

“I’m gonna fucking dig the decay out of your teeth with a hunting knife, you lying piece of shit,” Elliot snapped. “You saw what I did to Kian, huh? I let you fuck me, and you lied to me—”

“I was—”

“—fucking rotten through and through—”

“Elliot,” John managed out, scrambling for something as he ducked an otherwise well-timed blow; he snagged her wrists, both of them, to stop her from landing any kind of hit. “I was embarrassed, okay? When you came in the next day and you didn’t remember, I—freaked out. Jacob was there, and I thought you’d kill me if I didn’t tell you, and also that you’d kill me if I said it front of Jacob, and I didn’t want to say it in front of him anyway because it was about how I was going to leave with you rather than stay with them!”

Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth pressed into a thin, hard line. It was a lie —a big fucking lie, in a lot of ways, but most importantly a big lie-by-omission, but though he knew it John thought certainly there was no fucking way in Hell he was going to bring that part up to Elliot now, too.

She’s clearly emotionally fragile, he reasoned, I should wait until a better moment.

“Why’d you want me to get baptized then?” she snapped. “If you were planning on leaving with me?”

“Because,” John said slowly, come on come on come on, “Joseph—knows about us, and it would be suspicious. If you didn’t.”

Elliot stared at him. “And?”

“ And,” he insisted, “I planned on telling you in the car on the way out of the compound that night, and then we got hit, and we went on Kian’s fun little nightmare carnival ride, and—”

“Shut up.” Elliot yanked her wrists out of his grip and passed a hand over her face exhaustedly. John wanted to keep talking—it was instinct to want to weave the most elaborate tale that he could in the face of Elliot’s fury—but he did as she said, keeping his mouth shut as she processed whatever it was she had taken in.

Her hand dropped from her face, and she stared at a spot on the wall over his head for a minute before she sucked her teeth and said, “You don’t fucking lie to me, John.”

“I—”

“You don’t fucking lie to me,” Elliot reiterated again, “because if you do, I will find out, and I will make you fucking suffer.”

John regarded her warily. He knew that he needed to tell her. He knew that he should, because if this was any indication to how she was going to handle it, the full truth would be astronomically worse. It would be best to get it out of the way, let her process it, and maybe by the end she’d have come around to the picture he’d paint of them, together, as the End crept in; safe and in the bunker and—

“Okay,” he replied, “no lying.”

“No fucking lying.”

“Got it.”

“And if you do—”

“Skeleton pulled out of my body,” John supplied, lowering his hands hesitantly back to her hips. She eyed him through her lashes for a moment before she seemed to relax a little, sucking her teeth and crossing her arms over her chest. As each second ticked by that she didn’t make good on her violent promises of emergency tooth surgery, John felt more and more confident that he had assuaged the monster and reached up to gently unlace her arms. She balked at first, and then relented after another few heartbeats; when she allowed him to pull her arms around his neck, Elliot let out a soft little exhale, like she’d been holding her breath.

He said, trying for lightness, “I like when you get scary.”

“Did you mean it?” she asked, ignoring his little playful remark. When John looked at her expectantly, looking for some elaboration, she took in a breath and said, “About... leaving?” And then, with concerted effort: “With me?”

Soft —she was so soft, right then and there, and only for him. It was in moments like this when John wanted to drag her down into him, kiss her until his lungs ached, until their breath mixed and intermingled; to capture something like this and keep it his and his alone, forever.

He’d tell her. He’d tell her when things were better—when she wasn’t so emotionally raw, when she hadn’t lost so much so quickly, and when she’d have a more level head about it. She’d feel safer, more secure, with this little white lie; and then he’d tell her about the End again, once things had quieted down for a few days, and explain the importance of having her by his side. As his wife.

“Yeah, El,” he replied. “I meant it.” And then, because she was staring at him with those eyes—wary, cautious, guarded—he took her face in his hands and said, “I’m yours.”

“Don’t,” she managed out, and now her voice was really wobbling, “don’t fucking lie to me again, John Seed.”

She’ll see that I did this for us. 

“I won’t.” And technically, sort of, it was true—he wasn’t going to tell her another lie now that she’d just said not to do it again. Unless she asked again. But she wouldn’t. So it was sort of like he was doing exactly what she wanted, wasn’t it? 

Elliot’s forehead brushed his. She let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t have anything left,” she said after a second, “anymore.”

He pressed his mouth to hers in a kiss—luxuriated in, drenched himself in it, indulged in the feeling of her leaned into his touch.

“You have me,” he said against her mouth. “You know that.”

“Yes.” Elliot’s voice was an exhausted murmur; her eyes fluttered shut. Got you, John thought, dragging his thumb along the slope of her cheekbone, and she said, “I know.”

Got you, hellcat.

[vampiresuns]

Manmarziyan | Haider x Anatole

✴︎ 5.3k words. The Earth has no option but to orbit the Sun, and Sun has no choice but to shine on Earth — only it is a choice, one that Haider and Anatole cannot keep pretending they do not make.

Haider belongs to @atypicalacademic. CWs: contains mentions of 🍋, though it’s not 🍋

Translations, courtesy of Kani: Priyo - darling, Amar shona - my love, Amar Jibon - love of my life.

Title song: Manmarziyan - from the Lootera OST.

Anatole had been learning about the different religions and belief systems of the world since he was little. From mythologies to now-a-days-religions, he found the subject fascinating, even if he didn’t have a personal sense of religious faith. He had done so with Amparo’s and her grandparents, with Milenko, his mothers and his uncle Blasio, and he had done so with his great grandfather’s one. 

The belief system Valerian had been raised in had common motifs with others, but it was a little different to what Anatole was used to. He didn’t quite understand this Death of theirs very much, even though Valerian had told him neither did he when he was his age. However, it made up for being the most confusing with having the best stories around it, in Anatole’s opinion. 

One of Anatole’s favourites was the story of the Sun and the Earth.

The Earth had become enchanted with how beautiful the Sun was. Though it understood the Sun could not always be around —that the object of its affections being gone was necessary so green could grow on Earth, for the Rain too was a blessing— being apart from it was unbearable. 

Thus, the Earth came up with a way to always be close to the Sun. The Earth shook itself and roared until from its flats it created mountain ranges all over the world, each of them competing with each other to see which one would be the tallest, and the closest to the Sun. The Mountains were divine and magnificent, beautiful and awe inspiring, commanders of great respect. 

And just like the Earth had aimed for, some of them had grown so high they could pierce the clouds. 

So the Earth told the Sun: “I did this so we could be together.”

To which the Sun told the Earth: “My foolish beloved! Doing all of this when I shine on you so we can be together. I nurture your plants and I shine on your oceans so I can be with you, and you with me. I have never left you.”

The Earth didn’t understand. It thought the Sun had not liked it’s gift. When the Earth said as much, the Sun laughed.

It told the Earth: “I do love your gift. Not loving your gift would mean I do not love you.”

The Sun cradled the Earth in its hands and with a kiss it said: “And you’ll find not loving you is something impossible to me.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

His knock on the door was answered with a distracted ‘come in’ from the other side. His uncle was barefoot, curled up in one of his sofas, reading a book, his reading glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. Anatole called for his attention, and he lifted his index. 

“I am almost done with this chapter, Aelius.” 

Anatole waited, trying not to fidget too much — his uncle always noticed his fidgeting. Other people could take it as talking with his hands, thinking, or impatience, but not Valeriy. Fooling his uncle was as difficult as his uncle fooling him. Instead, he occupied his hands looking at the volumes in his personal parlour’s library, until he heard Valerius close the book and fold his glasses away. 

“Sorry, Aelius, I did not want to lose my track, and this book is very interesting.” 

“Is it the one about the art smugglers you told me about last week?” 

“Very much so. I finally had time to put my hands on it again — wine, dear nephew? I want to see what your coffee-ruined taste buds have to say about my first experimental batch.” 

Anatole indulged him. When he was his private self, Anatole had a very hard time denying his uncle. Especially now that their relationship had improved significantly after it’s mishaps, and he was ever so eager to have his opinion on things. Like he did when he was young, and prepared to fight every Prakran and Balkovian political office to have his nephew working with him. 

“What is it?” He asked as he poured some wine into a glass. “We’ve both established I cannot lie to you, because you notice, and you cannot lie to me, because I notice. So better get out with it instead you pretend it’s nothing.” 

“I need a favour.” 

“Who in the Court do I need to have a chat with?” 

Anatole laughed, accepting the glass of wine when he was sure he wouldn’t spill it. “Nothing like that, this is personal.” 

“Go on. Don’t clam up now, sit with me and give me something I can tease you about.” 

He hesitated for a moment, exhaling slowly, biding his time to make up the courage to just say it. His uncle raised an eyebrow at him. “Out with it. Unless you poisoned someone, nothing you say can be worse than something I’ve done, so do go on.” 

“Val.” 

“Tsk, don’t worry about me, and don’t ‘Val’ me. What is it?” 

Right, better get on with it. “I wanted to know if you could help me find a painting by Thasveer Wazim.”

His uncle looked clearly surprised, putting his glass down, and curling his fingers against his own lips. “Wanting to start your own collection?” 

“It’s a gift for someone else.” 

“Why haven’t I met him? Or them?” 

Anatole made a non-committal gesture and Valerius actually laughed. 

“You began going out with your someone, who must either have a streak for Zadithi painters or is actually related to Wazim, and you didn’t plan to take it this far, but now you’re scarily fond of them”. 

Anatole tapped the side of his nose. “Like a fool.” 

“You’re a lot of things, but not a fool. Who is it then? I will spare myself the comments about his suitability for you, but I will not spare myself the remarks. If we’re going on a little hunt on auction houses and private collectors, at the very least tell me his or their name.” 

“His,” Anatole paused. “It’s his son.” 

“You fell in love with the line of an overthrown aristocrat,” Valerius laughed again, and Anatole threw a small cushion at him, which he caught. 

“How charming of you,” the comment made Anatole roll his eyes. “What’s his occupation now?” 

“He owns a restaurant.” 

“From riches to rags, but well, my great grandmother was a smuggler.” 

“And your grandmother, a partisan.” 

Valerius winced. “Don’t remind me.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Anatole had known Haider Wazim for around a year, they'd been sleeping together for 11 months, and they still hadn’t made anything official, even if they both had agreed that in a month, they’d do something for the year mark. Haider wanted to take Anatole to his studio in the Catclaw desert. Anatole has been in love with Haider Wazim for around 9 months and three weeks, and he still hasn’t told him.

He was already aware how much of a bad idea it was continuing to keep it to himself, as he was aware his ‘casual’ arrangement had absolutely backfired, and given how Haider was, it was questionable if it was ever meant to work. He knew. He lived with that knowledge every day, every time they touched with a little more meaning, every time the sentiments and intentions in Haider’s words drew past his barriers. Because yes, Anatole could use his magic to check on Haider’s feelings, but he felt like it would be an intromision. If Haider wanted him in any other way than sexual, with the added benefit of the pleasure of his company, he would’ve said something, right? 

What Anatole didn’t need right now was his friends and cousins questioning his logic. He knew. 

“My guy, listen,” Leonore said, clicking his mouth, “you are the smartest person I know but I also think you’re being purposefully daft, like proper, massive stupid.”

“I hate to agree with him—”

“Aw. Asra, you warm my heart.”

“Anyway, as I was saying, I know Haider, and I think there’s a chance you’re both acting the same way because no one has said anything. Anatole I’m not going to tell you what to do, but don’t you think it would be better to just say it?”

“He might not, but I will,” Amparo said, “so I compel you to say something. You both are pining, he is acting like your official date, and you’re the Consul. Don’t you think it’s better to clear that up?”

“There’s nothing to clear up, it’s not like I’m madly in love with him or whatever.”

“You know, you are amazing at redirecting topics when you don’t want to answer something, and you might be good at doing the Diplomatic vague statements at work,” Medea said, tenderness in her voice, tenderness that shifted into an accusation as she poked her finger at his chest, “but you suck at doing it with yourself.”

One of the Palazzo’s staff cleared their throat, telling Anatole Haider was looking for him. 

“I asked if there was anything I could do for him, and he asked about you, sir.”

“Right, right, I’ll be right back, I’ll find him, thank you.” 

Once he and his friends were alone again, he was met with no nonsense stares from all Leonore, Medea, Asra, Amparo and Milenko. The latter snorted. 

“I don’t remember your non-official affairs, the non presented to the public, the ‘oh, I’m doing this one for me’ deals to have the power to summon you through your staff. How was it Amparo?”

Amparo’s impression of Anatole had always been good. She cleared her throat. “‘Wait until everyone is gone, and then we’ll attend to each other, does that work for you?’”

“Oh, fuck off. Fine, fine, fine, I’ll tell him soon enough okay? Gods, you’re all terrible.”

“We love you, and we don’t want you to be hurt, or sad, especially by your own hand when there’s no reason.”

“You don’t know that, Amparo, I don’t know that.”

“May the moon hold me tenderly in the face of stubborn asses,” she said, “what happened to the brutally hopeful man I knew in my cousin?”

“Oh, I never said I didn’t hope, I said I didn’t know.”

“Smartass.”

“Oh, my, it might be that we are related, Amparo Elira.”

She stuck out her tongue at him as he straightened his clothes from imaginary wrinkles, finding a mirror to freshen himself up some, evaluating his look. 

“I can feel you all looking at me, and no, this isn’t because I’m about to see Haider.”

“Stop lying,” Leonore said, walking in circles and extending the final g. “I already have enough of your betrayals with you picking up his pronunciation on rasgullas.”

After Anatole was gone, they all stayed behind a bit longer. Amparo was the first to break the silence, asking if they all wanted to bet that Anatole would not actually have the conversation with Haider. As bets came and went, Milenko remained quiet. He disagreed: Anatole would have the conversation with Haider, because he was terrible at lying to himself. He was fairly sure Haider felt the same way about him, too.

However, they would have the conversation at the worst possible time. “Trust the Earth to be as stubborn as the Sun,” he said with a sarcastic snort.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

In his defence, Anatole did try to have the conversation with Haider. He didn’t try very hard, but he tried. It just so happened that he hated to admit it, because it meant he would have to deal with feelings he didn’t precisely want to deal with outside of himself — the possibility of being rejected if he wanted something more, twisted him up too much. He had tried battling with it, reasoning with it, and just letting it past and taking assertive action and it still loomed over him. 

His friends were aware, his family was aware. Haider had met his parents last November, for Anatole’s birthday. They both had mentioned how happy they were for Anatole, that he had found someone who loved him so transparently. When their son told them this wasn’t that kind of relationship, if it was a relationship at all, they both exchanged concerned looks.

His mother had said: “Oh, honey,” and gave him a pat on the cheek.

Anatole never introduced people he was ‘just sleeping with’ to his family. Ever. He didn’t let those people become part of his routine, he didn’t let them take care of him, he very specifically never subbed for them in sex, because while he did enjoy it from time to time, it required him to feel safe in order to even consider the possibility. Haider had done all of that without even being his boyfriend yet.

They were celebrating anniversaries without being boyfriends yet. Maybe he was a fool. 

In his defence, he had tried. He had tried during said not-anniversary trip and failed catastrophically. He had planned to say ‘Haider, I believe we need to talk’. He had said: “Haider, I want you” instead. When Haider grabbed him, lifting him by putting his hands under his thighs, Anatole had wrapped his legs around his waist instead of stopping any of them to have the dreaded conversation. 

In his defence, Haider was a very good kisser. In his defence, it was very hard not to be tangled in each other. They had begun seeing each other merely because they thought they were hot and flirting was nice and came easy between them. Anatole had a mental catalogue of looks he found positively indecent that Haider had thrown him — categorised alphabetically, by situation, and by date — and he knew he had thrown Haider some which were equally disrespectful.

He had also said Haider had an ass like those very thick and fluffy pancakes, and given a dreamy whistle about other bits of Haider more than once. Like his arms, or his lips. Or his dick if he was going to be honest. 

The first morning of their not-anniversary Catclaw trip, Haider had made him breakfast, Anatole had asked why he was always so good to him, Haider replied “Oh, you know why”. Anatole had gotten him a variety of art supplies and a couple of sketching notebooks as a present, when Haider asked, his reply was the same. It’s what they always said when any of them wanted to say ‘because I love you’ but back tracked on it. Both of them blissfully unaware they were doing the exact same thing. 

He had spent the weekend doing some short hikes and looking at the stars with him — or looking at his hand while Haider pointed at things. When they weren’t acting like a couple, Anatole was too busy putting Haider to his knees. So, once again, in his defence, he was distracted. 

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Anatole rolled around the bed finding a cold spot to put his feet against, bundling himself up in sheets that weren’t his own. He was still too asleep to register the hour, or the lack of Haider at the other side of the bed, let alone the smells or sounds coming from the kitchen. 

He almost registered it but sleep won, his mind going to his private, faraway dreamland as he slept naked in Haider’s bed, even if mornings like this were on themselves a dream. 

He would only fully open his eyes a quarter to ten, half complaining about Haider kneeling by the bed and giving him small, light kisses, and fully complaining when Haider tried to move again, dragging him back to the bed with him. 

“You’re my prisoner now,” he mumbled, groggy. 

“What about your willing captive?” 

Haider’s fingers had begun tracing figures over his spine. 

“Hm, you can’t say things like that so early in the morning, or I’ll end up saying very compromising things.” 

Haider chuckled, pressing a kiss to the crown of Anatole’s head. “Why?” 

“You know why.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

When he returned to work on Tuesday, Medea raised an eyebrow at him.

“I promise I will talk with him, alright?”

After that she dropped the topic, more interested in knowing if her friend had had a good trip rather than telling him what to do.

Anatole had always danced around people he wanted until he knew he could make a strategic move without stepping on false, prone to collapsing ground. Furthermore, this wasn’t the first time Medea has seen him do this dance where feelings were reciprocated but no one did anything. It had happened with Leonore’s older brother, Navneet, it had happened with Julian Devorak. Medea has known Anatole for 10 years. The preliminary dance wasn’t surprising. 

However, both those instances had their reasons not to prosper, finding friendship in the two men instead of a romantic relationship, and they didn’t last as long as the Haider dance was lasting. Granted, one could argue the Navneet one had lasted a couple of years, but once Anatole had become aware of it, it burned and crashed in three months, both parties moving on with their lives. 

This was an abnormally long dance. 

During the two months after their getaway, Anatole’s job got in the way. It seemed more busy than usual, giving him little respite for anything outside of it. When he did get some of those blissful moments, he preferred winding down rather than having emotionally charged and stressful conversations. He loved his job, but it was requiring a lot of his attention, and Anatole wasn’t sure if he would be able to be at his best capacity if everything went wrong with Haider now. 

Something inside him asked about the possibility it went right. Then, Anatole thought, it wouldn’t be a problem, but he would prefer to gamble with the scenario when he wasn’t about to leave on a diplomatic trip.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Along the same time Anatole was supposed to be on his diplomatic trip, Haider would be visiting his family for three weeks. Anatole would be close enough to make a detour and see Haider, if he wanted to; given both their travelling schedules, if Anatole took a week after his work trip was done, he could return to Vesuvia with Haider. 

He wanted Haider to want him to be a part of his life to that point, he wanted what they already had but without the weight of yearning and the domesticity between them. He wanted to hear stories from his childhood from his grandparents, and he wanted to have the option to wear one of his scarves or shirts to work, because they shared a room, because they shared all of them with each other. His issue was he had no excuse to shimmy himself into it, nor he felt he had a right to meet Haider’s family, even if he would love to. 

He’d do anything for Haider. He didn’t know how it made him feel.

Around two weeks before he left, Haider and him were standing close to each other, Haider hugging Anatole from behind, both of them swaying to imaginary music. Haider’s thumbs went back and forth over Anatole’s sides, making him want to feel them over his naked skin. 

When Haider began asking about his work trip, he didn’t expect him to ask what he himself had not dared to suggest, the words echoing in Anatole’s head and his heart on his throat. 

“If you wanted, you could make a detour and stay with us. I know it’s not wise, and out of place for me to ask, but I’d love you to meet—”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll go. I’d love to go.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Nadia’s green light was both a relief and a nightmare. The former because he would hate to make Haider hope for something and then take it back. Anatole wasn’t someone who took, he was someone who delivered and was proud of it. The latter because he would meet Haider’s family despite them being formally nothing. 

Natiqa didn’t miss a chance to tease him as soon as she was informed she would be delivering a written report on Anatole’s behalf to her sister. Also involved in the trip as a diplomatic envoy, Anatole’s old acquaintance took more than one chance to remind Anatole of the Vesuvian saying about Consuls and their spouses. 

“Don’t you say that ‘good Counts make their Consul their friend, while good Consuls keep a happy marriage in their beds’?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anatole said without looking up from the report he was writing. 

“Given that began with your family one would think you do.” 

“We’re not together, Tiqa.”

“Nana, you’re meeting his family.” 

“I know.” 

Though she made a few more jokes at his stake — which was fair, Anatole thought — all she said on the matter was she was there if he wanted to talk. “Even if I haven’t forgiven you for preferring the Vesuvian Court to working with me, but we are still friends, Radošević, because I’m gracious like that.”

Out of time crunches, they didn’t quite get around that chat but Anatole appreciated it all the same. Soon came the time they had to depart, Anatole handing her the full volume of his preliminary Diplomatic report to Nadia before hugging Natiqa good-bye. 

“You’re adorable, Radošević, I’ve never met anyone with more worries, and Nadia’s my sister.”

“I don’t know how to take that.”

“As a compliment.” 

As Natiqa embarked herself in a Vesuvian-bound ship, she turned away to yell at him: “You’re a great catch, Radošević, anyone who doesn’t see that is an idiot!”

Her cat-like, dastardly grin was all the confirmation he needed to know she had done that on purpose.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

The trip towards Haider and his family was uneventful. Anatole occupied most of his time reading for leisure, or finding things to occupy the passing hours with. It was an 8 hours ride, the distance too short to merit taking a ship there. He arrived past sunset but before the night fully settled in.

Haider was waiting for him, wearing a sky blue scarf that contrasted with his mahogany eyes and his black hair. Anatole didn’t think of it twice, running towards Haider on impulse. He caught him in his arms and spun them around while they hugged. He didn’t let Anatole go when they stopped spinning. 

“Can I kiss you hello?” 

“After not having seen you in so many weeks, I surely would hope you did.” 

Haider, as always, indulged him.

He offered to help carry his things inside, Anatole joking about how he should be thankful he was only carrying two trunks. His third one along with the rest of his things — except for his sword — had gone back to Vesuvia with Natiqa. Anatole accepted the offer, but not before taking a piece of chalk out of his bag and writing a series of glyphs over his luggage. He took a deep breath before putting his hands over each inscription and releasing, the words shimmering and disappearing into the material of the trunks, imbuing themselves in it. Haider couldn’t help staring, marvelling at this facet of  Anatole.

When they both lifted the trunks, they were almost weightless. 

“Comes in handy, doesn’t it?” 

Haider and him exchanged talk about their specific journeys, what the former had been up to with his family, and how Anatole’s work trip had gone, as well as his trip there. 

The closer they got to the house, the more nervous he got. 

“They will love you, I’m sure.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“You always frown in the same way when you’re nervous.” 

“And how’s that?”

“As if someone had put some really atrocious ensemble together but you were obliged by politeness to not say anything. Something that’s awful in a non-charming way.” 

“That’s certainly one way of putting it. It’s just— it’s just I haven’t met anyone’s parents in a very long time, that’s all.” 

What he didn’t say was: What will be the use of them loving me, if there’s a possibility you might not. Not how I’d like. 

They were inside now; it was too late to turn back. 

“Everyone, this is Aelius Anatole, my— I mean, the Consul of Vesuvia.” 

“Hi,” Anatole said, with his most confident smile, “it’s a pleasure to meet you all.”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

That might have become the most delightful week of Anatole’s life and he still hadn’t had the conversation with Haider, his excuse now being it was a terrible idea to have such a discussion during a trip. 

Haider’s family was lovely. Lively and colourful, a myriad of humbled aristocrats and bohemians who had preferred a life lived with others, for others and for art in its many forms, than a life of privilege. In so many ways it reminded him of his own, with its mismatched ends and its stories that seemed almost like legends of their own. 

There was also Haider. So much of him, under the sun and under the moonlight, clothed and unclothed, in the privacy of their bedroom and in furtive looks stolen when they thought no one else could see. There was Haider and the water, Haider and the kites, Haider and his hands on him, and his lips on his own.

There was him on the veranda, trying to do mehendi on Anatole’s hands and there was them ruining it on accident, too overtaken by craving each other. Most of the paste had ended up on Haider’s skin, but some had on his kurta too. No one had come to retrieve them, so they had no reason to stop. Wasn’t it always like that anyway? Once they began, they couldn’t stop, too much unsaid between them as always, too many things to act on?

Anatole did not regret missing dinner. He was too busy riding Haider in the veranda. He didn’t even mind when, later that night, they both were having dinner in the kitchen, wrapped around each other and looking like a mess of disheveled clothes and henna stains when Haider’s grandfather walked in. Haider had felt compelled to explain themselves, which ended up being more embarrassing than anything else, since Asghar clearly did not buy into Haider’s ‘I was showing him around and Anatole tripped’ excuse. 

His cousin Shaan had walked into the kitchen to get some water right when Haider was explaining, though he stayed until Asghar was gone to make any comments. 

He took a look at them, and gave them a sly, cheeky look. “Yeah, I’m sure there’s plenty to see.”

Haider’s blush intensified, but Anatole raised an eyebrow at him, a cat-like grin on his face. “I don’t know,” he said, nonchalant as could be, throwing a look at Haider’s chest, “I’ve seen that before, so not really.”

Shaan laughed, stating he liked Anatole and asking if they could keep him. Anatole didn’t say how, if Haider wanted to, he’d stay forever.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Anatole should’ve known his incapacity to say anything to Haider would come back to bite him on the ass. He had slept in — courtesy of not having had a vacation in a while and staying up until a little too late with Haider. Their pillow-talk had drawn out to the point of becoming another round, so they didn’t go to bed until two am. Haider was gone with Shaan and some of the others in the morning, having left a note and breakfast for him, telling him to enjoy a lay in as much as he wanted. 

Haider came back around lunchtime, walking into the kitchen to find Anatole helping prepare it, looking worried in the way he always did when he tried to pretend whatever which troubled him wasn’t important. He looked that way all over lunch, and he continued to do so when Anatole pulled him away into their shared bedroom to ask him if he was okay.

“I’m just tired, priyo, that’s all.”

“Seriously? You’re going to hit me with the I’m tired line?

“I thought you didn’t do the language magic thing with me,” Haider said, trying to joke.

Anatole pursed his lips. “You’re evading the topic. We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to, but I’m here for you, if you do want to talk.”

Haider sat down on the bed, he sat up again, turning over himself to look at anywhere but at Anatole, until he was looking only at him. “Nana, why did you come?”

“What?”

“You took a purposeful deviation from a work trip. You skipped personally informing the Countess of a serious enough diplomatic trip to send her Consul to.”

“I don’t think Nadia minds me taking a couple of weeks off, since I’m always working, and I sent a full written report with Natiqa, so I don’t see where your question is going.”

“But you always say you don’t do those things.”

“Haider, I can’t even remember the last time I said such a thing. I’m here, isn’t that what matters?”

“Yes, but why, Nana?”

“Oh, Haider, you know why.”

“What if I don’t?”

If someone would’ve had access to Anatole’s mind in that moment, he would’ve heard high pitched screaming. A note so high it was only audible to dogs, never mind Anatole’s voice register wasn’t nearly as high as such a thing suggested. Dreads settled in his gut as they started one of the most stupid circular arguments Anatole has ever witnessed or been part of. It was like there was a duplicate of himself watching them fight, shaking his head at him, saying ‘I told you so’  while he realised that if this was it, if for some reason this was how it ended, as dramatic as it sounded, he didn’t know if he’d ever fully come back from it. 

The argument was too stupid for Anatole to let it fester any further. 

“How can you not know that I love you, Haider? How can you not realise that I’m in love with you?” 

Well, he said it. It was out. The only way to get out of this conversation was there was no way to get out of that conversation now. Unless, of course Anatole climbed out of the window without breaking a leg in the process. 

“Iloveyoutoo,” Haider blurted out without missing a beat. A somehow candid and terrified look on his face, which went away when he repeated the words, more slowly, more surely. “I love you too, amar shona.” 

The certainty in his words made Anatole forget how to breathe. “You— you love me too?”

“I do. More than anything.” 

Anatole barely let him finish that sentence. He made his way across the room in a flash, walking over the bed (thank the Gods he was barefoot) to close the distance between them as fast as he could. He climbed on Haider, pulling him into a kiss, and Haider caught him in his arms — Haider would always catch him, Haider would always be there, and he was a fool not to realise it sooner. 

“I love you,” Anatole said against his lips, “I’m so sorry I didn’t say it sooner.” 

Haider kissed him back, wrapping his arms around him like Anatole could evaporate in front of him at any moment. All his family had told him not to let him go, and now, now that he knew himself loved and Anatole knew he loved him, he would hold onto him until he had a chance to say it for all the months he wanted and didn’t. 

“I love you too,” he said between kisses. “Amar shona, Amar Jibon.” 

Anatole knew the language. He didn’t need Haider to translate to know he just called him both ‘my love’ and ‘love of my life’. Haider repeated it in every space between kisses where he could fit the words, over and over again.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

When he was around ten and Valerian had told him the story of the Earth and the Sun for the hundredth time, he said he wished someone loved him like that one day. 

Valerian had kissed his forehead. “You will find your Earth, I’m sure of it.”

Now that he was lying on top of Haider, spent and happier than he had ever been, he knew he had.