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shutupanakin · 3 years ago

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Wasting Your Time ch.1

“Wh— what?” Tommy choked out, his voice hoarse from the lack of use all day.

The man rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t just ask a completely impolite question. “I said, do you have any booze?”

Tommy sat still. He reached into his jacket pocket, his hand finding only a plastic pen. Could he stab this man with a plastic pen?

Tommy pulled said piece of plastic out, visibly holding it up. “I have a pen.” Something about the bemused look on the man's face made Tommy click it, and again, repeatedly.

click click click click click click click click—

...

or; Tommy planned on dying. He meets Wilbur instead.

crossposted on ao3 here

Tommy stared at the yellow line, centimeters away from his feet. The announcement of the incoming train ringing in his ears, feeling the approachment of the vehicle vibrate the concrete under his feet. He forced his head up, glaring at the incoming lights.

Tommy squinted. He threw a glance at the only other person waiting on the 11:25 pm train— a little old lady, Tommy was sure that he had at least a foot on her. Her wrinkled hand clutched a brown cane, the other one on her ruby red purse.

Tommy would hate to inconvenience her.

Tommy stepped a few inches back, safely behind the yellow line. The train slowed to a stop, waiting a few moments before the metal doors pulled open in front of him, clicking with a metallic sound. There were a few stragglers at the front, where the elder woman had gotten, and a couple sitting in the midsection. Tommy ducked his head and grabbed a seat at the back.

Tommy threw his feet up on the empty seat next to him, resting the back of his head against the warm glass. Another few seconds and the doors hissed shut. The train pulled away, the lights in the tunnel buzzing past him.

Tommy mentally tallied how many people were in here with him; the three at the front, with the elder woman who was with him on the platform, and the couple. Six people who’s nights he could've possibly ruined. Delaying a train at this time of night would be rude.

Sam would be sleeping, he had morning classes that he couldn't afford to stay up late for. When Tommy slipped out of their flat his older brother had been snoring away peacefully in his room. The thought of Sam makes Tommy pick at a loose thread on his jacket, pulling it with his fingernail. He didn’t want to think about Sam right now.

Tubbo would be up, definitely. His absent sleep schedule sucked. He was probably in a discord call with Ranboo, talking or playing CSGO or messing around in Minecraft , he didn’t know. On a normal night he’d probably be with them. Laughing so hard and loud that it makes the neighbor's dogs bark. Falling over in his chair… and Sam would sleep right through it, like he always did.

Wasn’t exactly a “normal” night, though.

Honestly, he hasn’t had a normal night in a while. Tubbo, often Ranboo, would text him; “wanna play?” Or “why aren’t you in vc?” And Tommy would reply, “sorry, don’t feel like playing”, or,”can’t, got a bunch of homework.” Sometimes that wasn’t a lie. Then, Tubbo just stopped asking. And of course, Tommy couldn’t blame him, it hurt, yeah, but Tommy unintentionally ghosted them.

He just couldn't stand to be in that call, after the last few times. Tubbo and Ranboo giggling at each other, poking fun with inside jokes that Tommy didn’t understand. Little moments like those would have Tommy faking a yawn and saying goodnight. He didn’t want to ruin their fun.

Tommy’s phone buzzed, the little bit of reception that he got down here snapping him back to his current reality. The train had stopped at the next station, the couple standing and the old woman following. Tommy’s eyes followed them as they left, debating if he should follow. Another buzz. Tommy turned his attention back to his phone.

Tubbo at 11:30 pm

Toommy

Tubbo at 11:30 pm

do u wanna play Terraria

His fingers started typing, beginning a message, but shook his head, shoving his phone back in his pocket. His activity on discord was already invisible. Tommy didn’t know what to say to him. He didn’t want his last possible text to Tubbo to be something as simple as a turndown to play a game.

A thump from across Tommy startled him, the cause of the sound being a man with a mess of curly brown hair mirroring his position across the aisle. His leg up and arm resting on the top of the seat. Brown eyes framed with round glasses met Tommy’s.

"Got any booze, kid?” The train was pulling away.

For no particular, definitely unrelated reason, Tommy wished that he had just gotten off.

“Wh— what?” Tommy choked out, his voice hoarse from the lack of use all day.

The man rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t just ask a completely impolite question. “I said, do you have any booze?”

Tommy sat still. He reached into his jacket pocket, his hand finding only a plastic pen. Could he stab this man with a plastic pen?

Tommy pulled said piece of plastic out, visibly holding it up. “I have a pen.” Something about the bemused look on the man's face made Tommy click it, and again, repeatedly.

click click click click click click click click—

The man waved his hand, leaning forward. “Fucking— stop that! You are annoying.”

Tommy grinned, it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know,” He said, pocketing the pen. “and you are a loser.”

The man gasped in a show of dramatics. Bringing his arm up to his forehead, the brown fabric of his coat covering his eyes. “Oh, woe me, the tragedy, meeting my end to a child!”

Tommy scowled. “You’re a real prick.”

The older man didn’t falter, continuing his tirade. “Poor, poor me. All thy’ve ever wantedth was thy vodka.”

Tommy didn’t know why he egged this on. He could pull out his earbuds and tune out his nonsense until Tommy or him got off the train, whichever was coming first. “Your Shakespeare sucks,” Tommy grunted. “ Wantedth isn’t a word, bitch.”

“Then you know Shakespeare?”

Quickly, Tommy shook his head. “Absolutely not. None of that nerd shit. I just paid enough attention in Lit to know you’re a fucking moron.”

His eyes narrowed at Tommy, or more so, what he was wearing. “What sport do you play?”

Tommy’s eyebrows shot up, what made him ask that? “Pardon?”

He groaned, rolling his shoulders. “Your jacket, you insolent toddler,” He gestured vaguely at Tommy. “what sport?”

Tommy looked down, glancing at the red thread he was picking at earlier. “Oh,” That came out quieter than Tommy wanted, a whisper. “it’s my brothers,” There was Tommy’s voice. “Got it when he was visiting the states.” Tommy shook his head, brushing the thought of Sam away. “And my names Tommy, dickhead.”

The complete ass, he had the audacity to hum at him . “Wilbur Soot,”

Tommy scoffed. “That’s a stupid fucking name.”

“You are a child.” Wilbur chided, there was no true heat behind his words.

Tommy shrugged. “You’re a bitch.”

Another stop, Tommy tallied that as the third one; another stop he hadn’t gotten off at. This wasn’t meant to be a trip, he remembered. The ticket, which sat folded in his pants pocket, was one way. Tommy had bought it out of... what was it? Courtesy? He hadn’t intended to survive long enough for the ticket collectors to come around.

Excuses. Excuses, that’s what this was. Tommy was making excuses, simple as that. He wanted to go through with this, he was sure of it. He’d thought about this for weeks, planned this out for days, he figured out which day and which time of night would have the least people. But there were still people, there was the old lady and couple who had gotten off earlier and the four people at the front and the—

Well, there was Wilbur Soot, who for whatever damned, unknown reason, had sat down across from Tommy. Now Tommy was stuck with him until either of them get up and leave. He silently wondered who would go first.

No one had gotten on, or left. The train moved on.

“So uh, where—“ Tommy stumbled, swallowing. “Where you headed?”

Wilbur shrugged, Tommy furrowing his eyebrows. "Nowhere in particular, just felt like getting on. You?”

The fuck did that mean? Tommy thinks. “So you just... got on, no reasoning. Just like that?”

“Just like that. You didn’t answer the question.” Tommy groaned. Tommy was edging back to wanting to punch his stupid face.

“Not when you answer so vaguely,” Tommy cried. “I’m not going anywhere in particular either, for your information.”

“Really?” Wilbur pushed, incredulously. Like he had the right to be skeptical.

“Really.” Honestly, who did this irritable dickhead think he was? Tommy shuffled, folding his arms. Maybe he will get off at the next stop, he won’t ever have to ever see the enraging presence that was Wilbur Soot and his stupid Reagan and Bush sweater again.

Reagan, Reagan… that was an American President, right? The more and more he observed the man, it could be concluded without a doubt that he was a loser. Not only that, but an irritable one. An irritable loser. What a fate, worse than death. He’d say it was a cursed existence, if you asked Tommy.

Tommy shifted uncomfortably, becoming too aware of the hard plastic seat underneath him. “I just needed to get out tonight. Don’t know why.”

Wilbur rapped his knuckles against the window, in a rhythm that Tommy didn’t recognize. “Running from something? School? Parents?” He grinned. “Girlfriend?”

Tommy’s face twisted in disgust. “I— no no no. To all of those! Down the list, no, no, and no. ”

“Running to something then?” You could word it like that. Tommy frowned, decidedly not answering. “What, were you gonna jump then?”

Tommy knew that Wilbur was joking, but he couldn’t help the way he flinched. “I wasn’t going to jump, bitch— do you do this to every stranger you meet on the rails? Interrogate them for their life story?”

Wilbur pointed his index finger towards the front of the train. “They would not care, you know,”

Tommy’s mouth was dry. “What?”

“Them,” Wilbur gestured. “everyone, they would complain about the delay, they— they would be at best inconvenienced. At worst angry at you .”

“You’re real emo, you know,” Tommy deadpanned. “A right gothic.”

“I prefer poet,” Wilbur corrected. “I am not wrong though, the people here, no sympathy. No empathy. Just inconvenienced.”

“You’re inconveniencing me.” Tommy expressed.

“Because you were going to jump?”

“ Oh —“ Tommy snapped. “That’s none of your business! Stop trying to psychoanalyze me you pretentious prick, what I came down here to do is none of your busin—“

“So you were going to? That is what you came down here to do?”

Whatever battle they were fighting, Tommy was losing, and he was exasperated . “Oh, so, what if I was? Why do you care?”

“Come on,” Wilbur said, swinging his legs over the seat and standing up. How his legs weren’t asleep, Tommy didn’t know. Tommy hit his asleep leg, silently cursing it.

“Wha’?” Tommy asked, narrowing his eyes. “What makes you think I wanna get off with you?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Well, I have nowhere to go, and you have nowhere to go, and to be honest this is getting depressing. And, I would rather not leave a possible suicidal teenager alone. Also, I know a store outside this station.”

Tommy groaned. “Oh no,” He said. “I’m being kidnapped. No, stop, someone help please.” He stood up, shaking the static like feeling out of his left leg. Begrudgingly following Wilbur when the sliding doors pulled open. “Is this the part where your gang comes around the corner in a white van and shoves me in?”

“I don’t have enough friends for that.” Wilbur insisted, leading Tommy up the concrete stairs of the station. Tommy couldn’t help his smile. “I believe you.” Wilbur blew air out his nose, hopefully in amusement.

Tommy checked his phone, the bright light illuminating his face as he and Wilbur stepped out of the tunnel. 12:22 am stared back at him, along with a few more texts from Tubbo. Tommy pocketed it.

Tommy breathed in the crisp midnight air, after almost an hour in the underground, the fresh air felt nice. The area was rural, decently lit for the middle of the night. Tommy turned to look at Wilbur. “So where we goin? Pub? Club? I don’t have a fake ID, big dubbs.”

“No,” Wilbur shook his head, starting his trekk up the hill. “Store, if you can call it that. He is open until three.”

They crossed the street before Wilbur came to a stop, tapping his foot against the ground. “This it?” Tommy asked, reading the sign. Wilbur giving a mmm hmm — in response.

JACK OF ALL TRADES

That was… lame, Tommy thought. “I can’t go in though.” Tommy double-took, stepping back.

“What do you mean you can’t go in?!” He hissed.

“Got banned.” Wilbur replied, as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“How?”

Wilbur slapped him on the shoulder. “Story for later, my young friend. Maybe refrain from telling Jack I sent you in, though.”

Tommy huffed. “You suck.” He stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket. “You’re not gonna ditch me here are you?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes, holding up three fingers. “I swear on it.” His smile grew, eyes shining.

He sighed. “Why am I going in again?” It seemed rather pointless, to take Tommy to a store he wasn’t even allowed in. With a quick glance through the windows Tommy guessed it was some sort of gift shop, snow globes and odd looking jewelry lining their respective shelves.

Wilbur tilted his head. “Because it will give you something to do other than to ride the tube to the end of the tracks trying to make up your mind.” He answered.

“When you put it like that,” Tommy grumbled, pushing open the door, triggering the bell at the top to ring. The inside was small, and warm. It was definitely homey.

“Hello!” A heavy accented voice greeted Tommy looked up, a shaved headed man wearing a striped hoodie smiling at him. Jack, he assumed. He sat behind the counter, his legs perched up on the counter. He put down the magazine he had been reading. “What brings you here this time of night?”

Tommy’s mouth formed into a ‘o’, he didn’t expect to have to make conversation with another stranger tonight. “Oh, um,” He cringed, running his hand through his hair. “out for a walk, saw you were open.” He lied, Wilbur had said not to bring him up.

Starting to pick at the thread again, his eyes scanning over the snow globes and miniature statues. His attention fell on a bowl of pins, some were round and others were shaped. The scan bars on the back faded or scratched out.

He reached in, moving around the pins. He wasn’t really searching for anything specifically. Tommy rubbed his thumb over the bee shaped pin he had pulled out. “How much?”

“The pin?” Tommy nodded. “Two pounds.” Jack answered.

Tommy blinked. “That’s ridiculous.” He grumbled, opening his wallet. He handed it to Jack, fiddling with the bee pin.

“Have a goodnight now!” Jack called as Tommy left, stepping outside. Wilbur was there, like he said he’d be.

“Did you get banned for complaining about his obscure prices?” Tommy sneered, making Wilbur laugh. “Absolute ridiculousness.”

“What did you get?” Tommy opened his palm, showing the bee. He attached it to his jacket, the needle clicking into place.

“Jackets blank, thought it could use something.” Tommy explained, walking beside Wilbur. “I’ve been completely ripped off, though. You did this to me.”

“No no, mister Jack Manifold did that to you. Not me.” Wilbur expressed. “I merely brought you there.”

“To be scammed.” Tommy insisted.

Their walk back to the tube station was pleasantly uneventful, Tommy didn’t comment on how Wilbur got on the opposite platform they got off of. He guessed that was the sign that this night was coming to an end. They were going back in the direction they came.

Tommy silently wished that they didn’t, that they kept going. The idea of returning home was becoming less and less appealing. The robotic voice echoed through the speakers, announcing the incoming train.

Tommy resisted the urge to make a jumping joke, knowing that would earn him a smack against the head or something. So he stood behind the yellow line, Wilbur at his side. The inside had a single man, at the front alone. Tommy ignored him, hitching his seat at the back, Wilbur sitting across from him.

“This wasn’t how I planned my night, by the way,” Tommy grumbled.

“I know,” Wilbur told. “I am sure this had the better outcome though. I will make you a deal, okay?” Tommy nodded, starting to play with the edge of his sleeves. “If you can make it to the end of the week without, trying to jump in front of another train, or try to kick a chair out from underneath you—“

“That would be a really lame way to die,” Tommy interjected.

“I am giving an example, Tommy,” Wilbur huffed. “If you make it through the end of the week, come back here. Same day.”

Tommy considered it. “Same time?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Sure, although I would not recommend making a habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night.”

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose, contemplating. This offer— there was no reason he had to take it. He could get off and never see Wilbur again, it wouldn’t change anything. The world will continue spinning, they would both move on, Wilbur would eventually forget about this strange encounter, and so would Tommy.

They stopped, again, no one getting on or off. Wilbur was still waiting for his answer. Tommy didn’t have it.

This was nice though , Tommy thought. It was nice to leave that flat, to get off his mattress. To have a reason to ignore the discord messages from Tubbo and Ranboo. He didn’t have to lay in bed, dreading going to his classes the next day, because he was occupied. He had something to do.

“Alright,” Tommy said. “I’ll take that bet, big man.”

“Deal?” Wilbur reached his hand out, Tommy leaned forward, shaking it.

“Deal,” Tommy gave a toothy smile. “I’ll try not to become a tubeline statistic until next week.”

“That is not funny,” Wilbur warned, although there was no true malice in his tone. “I will have you know statistics are no laughing matter.” Tommy barked out a laugh, the serious expression Wilbur word dropping. If the stragglers at the front were giving bewildered stares at Tommy, he didn’t notice.

“It was…” He wheezed. “It was kinda funny. If anyone gets to joke about that it’s me, alright? Isn’t that some, therapist shit or something? Using humor to cope? That’s me. I’m doing that.”

“You should try that, seeing a therapist,”

Therapy was useless, at least to Tommy. He didn’t need someone in a fancy office to tell him something was wrong with him, he knew damn well what was wrong with him. No pens, or clipboards, or uncomfortable couches, or ticking clocks and judgemental eyes will be able to tell him something that he didn’t already know.

Tommy thinks Sam knows one, or at least she’s studying to become one. A school friend that Tommy’s met maybe twice. The mere idea of dumping his shit on her, he almost felt bad! No thank you , Tommy thought. He would be avoiding that.

“Nah,” Tommy brushed it off. “I don’t do that. Don’t need that. Won’t do anything for me.”

Tommy didn’t realize how long they had been talking, because when the train slowed into a familiar station, Wilbur pulled himself up. Tommy frowned, watching the man stand next to the doors, waiting for them to pull open.

“So, see you next week Toms?” He teased.

Tommy groaned in annoyance. “We are certainly not at Toms yet, big dubbs.”

“I will get there I’m sure,” He said, stepping out. “Farewell Tommy!” He waved, Tommy’s urge to punch those stupid glasses off his face coming back.

Tommy flipped him off, watching the curly mop of brown hair disappear as the train started moving, the platform and the man with it being replaced by the cement walls.

His stop was next, he realized. Tommy would get off, he would walk home and slip into his bed and would have to pray that Sam’s heavy sleeping habits had not changed; that he hadn’t gotten up and realized that his bed was empty, or that the door was unlocked. The thought of Sam sitting there on the couch, waiting for him to enter the door like some sort of walk of shame—

Tommy quickly checked his phone, looking at the notifications. He breathed in relief, no notifications from Sam. No missed calls, no voice mails, no worried text messages; all things that would indicate Sam was awake and that he knew Tommy was out.

Shakily, Tommy stood up. The doors clicked open, waiting for him to exit. He could just keep going the other direction, he thought. He made no promise to Wilbur to return home.

Tommy stepped out, the doors hissing shut behind him. Wind bristled through his hair as the train moved again, almost taunting him. Look at me! Look what you missed!

He chose not to, though. Tommy didn’t because of a bet, and he didn’t even place money on it. A simple bet of wills was supposed to keep Tommy running till the end of the week. It wasn’t like Tommy didn’t enjoy Wilburs company either, it was… nice, having someone to just talk to, to engage with. He didn’t have to raise his voice or make a scene to get him to listen to him.

He would never tell Wilbur that, though. He was fucking irritating enough.

Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets, leaving the station. He’d come back, alright. If not just to prove something to Wilbur but to himself, maybe.

He really should've put money on it, though.

#tommy #tommyinnit #sbi #sleepy bois inc #sleepy boys inc #crime boys #wilbur soot #wilbur #crime bois #dream #dream smp #dsmp #wyt shutupanakin #shutupanakin posts

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just2bubbly · 3 years ago

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Cursed Souls

Masterlist

TLC Ship Week 2021!

*written for tlcshipweek2021- kaider for the prompt 'Cursed'

@kaiderforever

Summary:

"Thorne, Do you think I'm cursed?"

"What?"

"Uh- like do you think I'm cursed? that Cinder- s-she is-"

"Is suffering because of you?"

"You really love Cinder."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

...

Grief can make your mind think distressed thoughts, Kai with a haywire mind turns to Thorne for help- feeling overwhelmed just moments after the rebellion as he waits to hear news of Cinder.

A snippet of Kai alone with his thoughts as he waits outside the OT following the brutal injury of Cinder in Winter.

Ship: Kaider

Words: 2.5k

Genre: Angst, Hurt-Comfort

Prompt: 'Cursed'

*Sort-of canon-divergence.

Kai's Perspective:

Saying that he was anxious would be an understatement of his (let's assume long) lifetime. Everything around him was intense. After making sure that the Earthens were in a secure place, Kai followed by Torin had hastily returned to the Throne room. He could not focus on anything after Iko had told him that Cinder had gone to face Levana- alone.

Kai was praying to anyone who would listen- he prayed for Cinder's safety. Everything around him had been so rushed in the last few days- he had been high on adrenaline since the time he had helped Cress stick to the plan, coming back for crowning Levana as the Empress, to the sudden outburst of Lunars, the rebellion, him being captured and later escaping.

Kai was not sure how he remained on his own two feet walking through the pale halls of Artemisia Palace.

"Kaito, she shall be fine", Torin assured.

Kai was not going to buy it- how could Cinder be fine with a tyrant like Levana, who was likely trying to kill her?

He yelled at his own mind for letting Cinder go alone to confront Levana.

All of a sudden the sound of gunshots was heard, followed by a cry of pain making Kai look in horror at his advisor. He hoped it was anyone but Cinder. His heart was pumping loudly- at some inhuman speed and the rush of adrenaline forced him to walk faster than humanly possible. As the elegant and large doors of the throne room became visible, memories- horrors of incidents that would likely haunt him for the rest of his days flooded in Kai's mind.

Now was not the time to be sentimental- it was the time to be brave and help Cinder... if she was in a position to be helped.

The sight that was before his eyes stopped him in his tracks. Kai was dumbstruck at the sight of so much blood pooling in the throne room- the red a stark contrast to the pale marble floor and the real condition of the usually-disguised face of Levana- the face behind the glamour was enough to make him go stiff and be rooted to the spot.

However, Torin shook him out of his reverie to point out things- people. No, not just any people, his newly made friends.

He exhaled sharply when he saw Thorne, Scarlet and Wolf alive. He could not say the same when his eyes fell on Cress and Cinder. A sob escaped his shaking lips as Kai ordered Torin to call for doctors.

As he ran towards her with a thumping heart, he hoped he would not collapse at the sight of Cinder's misery.

A pool of dark red blood had surrounded her, her bosom had a knife- it did not take much to conclude that Levana had stabbed Cinder. His cheeks were damp with moisture as he huddled next to her- not sure what to do. Cinder coughed blood, her face gone pale because of the loss of so much blood. She could not cry but the worried lines along her forehead full with beads of sweat as she nibbled on her lower lip to think of anything but the wound- to avoid screaming with agony were enough to speak about her misery.

"Cinder," he cried through trembling lips.

"Kai, help Cress first. I won't-" she said through irregular words. Even in death, Cinder thought about saving others above herself.

"Shh, she is going to be fine. You're going to be fine." He said with questionable certainty. He had never known any person who had been stabbed to know how fine the after-effects were. Yet he refused to lose hope.

"Kai," she said smiling a bit sarcastically. As if both of them knew that they were lying to each other- to console, to convince.

"Don't speak I'm here- help is coming. Try to breathe. You're going to be fine." He said trying to assure him more than her.

"No- listen, Kai, look at me I might not have enough-" she hacked blood mid-sentence. Her stuttering words were cut short due to her current state. However, Kai very well knew what she was to say.

"All my ears to you, Cinder." He smiled at her, the same cheeky smile he had shown her at the garage, where they had met for the first time.

"Don't mourn for me Kai," she said. "-And I know I will not make it. My time as the revolutionary is over. I was not meant to be Queen or Princess. I trust you to do what you can for everyone," she muttered through ragged breaths, stopping from time to time to inhale sharply.

Kai would mourn for her death even if she prohibited it, even if it was forbidden. His throat ached as he tried to form sentences, probably not the last one she would hear.

"Cinder you are going to live through it. You will live long enough to rule yourself and do what you can for Luna." He said as his voice threatened to quiver, to cry out loud. He knew she was slipping away from him, as her glazed eyes rolled at the back of her head, eyes that would spontaneously shake looking at the ceiling. He would not lose her- hadn't he suffered enough grief to last a lifetime?

She closed her eyes and as calm resided over her features, Kai thought he had lost her. He could not hold it anymore, he cried not giving a damn- the Emperor of EC was crying for his beloved who was in his lap. Dying.

"No, Kai. I am a lowly mechanic. The Emperor should not cry for someone like me- Be h-happy Kai," she said with her eyes closed. It felt like she could bear to gaze into his eyes.

Kai begged for a miracle. How he wished that he would wake up and all this would just be a bad dream. He hoped that Cinder would live to see that she was never just a lowly mechanic. How she was always more than someone to him!

She cleared her mouth to say something instead a sharp breath was inhaled. Her lips now red with her own blood.

"You were the happy ending to my tragic life, Kai. I hope you remember that," She murmured.

He did not know if it was her or fragments of his own imagination speaking to him. He watched over as the others raised her and lay her across a stretcher. She was taken out to someplace where Kai followed blindly. They argued over something with Torin in the corner as he kept losing his mind- little by little.

He wanted to tell her, wanted to say them till she believed it.

"His ending without her would no longer be happy."

Still, he could not mutter any words as he choked on his own sobs. he was not brave enough to think that Cinder was dying inside. His haywire mind failing to register the happenings around him.

Torin appeared beside him and held him tight, unknowingly muttering soothing words- not knowing how to comfort the grieving Emperor. He stood outside white doors while Cinder lay inside, he cried his heart out on Torin's shoulder having had no clue if she was alive or not. He refused to listen to anything, he refused to talk- to ask about her state.

His mind played back the whole scenario over and over trying to make sense of his messed-up present.

Selene had been a mystery to him, she was a lost princess born out of his imagination, Torin used to describe it as a lost cause once. When he gave up on her, Cinder walked into his life. When the matter was revealed, he had hope. Selene and Cinder- just different names had been his hope for a long time, his ray of hope was struggling indoors. She was far away from him, from the world. He clutched on tightly to Torin trying to make sense of his falling apart life.

"T-Torin, is she a-a- okay?" he inquired.

"She will be."

"You think so?"

"Yes, Kai. She is a strong woman."

He remained silent for a long time- staring at the doors that would not allow him to enter. Trying to avoid thinking about the 'what-ifs'.

He did not move from his position for the entire day, keeping himself rooted to the seat before the door, with Torin beside him.

"You killed her, Kai. You are responsible for her fate... if not for you she would have never been drawn into this mess-"

"-She would not be dying right now"

"How selfish of you to use her for your own gain!?"

"She was just a poor girl aching to be loved- and look what you did!"

"You cursed her"

"'She is dead because of YOU"

He opened his eyes- panting for breath. All the voices sounded like Levana... she was dead right? He had never bothered to check if she was alive or dead, as he was in the haste due to Cinder's state- could she have survived?

Realizing he was just hyperventilating, it was a nightmare- nothing about it should trouble Kai into thinking that the tyrannical Queen was alive. He might have dozed off, sitting in the medical chamber of the palace, he thought trying to make his mind stray away from the loud thoughts of his mind.

'Was he cursed?'

Kai did not have many people in his life that he would have claimed to love, but the ones he did were either dead or dying.

'He had loved his parents, hadn't he? And where were they now?', He thought bitterly.

They hadn't even be buried like royals ought to, their goods burnt down to prevent the spreading of the disease to Kai or others. Their bodies were cremated in an incinerator as a precaution. Kai could not even be near them, being asked to see the whole ordeal from far away for his own safety. He had lost both of them to Leutomosis.

He loved Cinder and there she was a few metres away from him, perhaps already gone on another journey beyond life.

Maybe he was a cursed person, otherwise, why would all his loved ones die? Was he not capable of love? Could he not love anyone without having to lose them? And the ones he loved would all wither and die, while he watched them from far away?

Or was she the cursed one?

The girl who could not be loved, the one who would have a near-death experience, every time someone tried loving her. Cinder and Kai- were they two cursed souls?

Didn't she say, 'You were the happy ending to my tragic life.' and hadn't he thought, 'His ending without her would no longer be happy'?

Did she think he was responsible for her tragic life- her death? Hadn't she been an outcast for a major part of her life thanks to Kai, who failed to realize the sorrow of the cyborgs living in his own nation?

Were they just going to be each other's broken, sorrowful endings?

Not able to cope with his overwhelming thoughts, he looked around for Torin, only to find him nowhere.

He gawked at Thorne, who sat adjoining him and asked, "Thorne, Do you think I'm cursed?"

Thorne was confused, to say the least, maybe he was being too vague so he briefed, "Uh- like do you think I'm cursed? that Cinder- s-she is-"

"Is suffering because of you?" he provided, as Kai failed to continue. He nodded slightly, confirming that he was thinking the same thing.

Much to his surprise, Thorne smiled, not the flirty smile that usually did but a genuine smiled that reached his eyes and said, "You really love Cinder."

Taken aback by his remark he asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You are so alike, I can only imagine if the roles were reversed she would be here thinking the same thing."

"You think so?"

"I know so"

"What makes you so confident?"

"You had no idea how tensed Cinder was when you decided to marry Levana to prevent the wolf-hybrid soldiers from doing more damage. She never said it but she thought that she was responsible for all the mess created in your life."

"Okay," he replied, not knowing what else to say.

"Kai, what makes you think you are cursed anyways?"

"It's just- you know, all the people that I have cared about are dead and I do care about Cinder and she is inside fighting to stay alive- I just think I'm cursed, not capable of loving people," he explained.

Kai, would not admit it but saying it aloud made it seem foolish. Thorne would likely laugh at him for feeling he was 'cursed'- like was he even thinking through before popping the question to Thorne.

"Really Kai, sometimes I wonder the future of your country if you happen to be sentimental- how did we get two so feeble-minded monarchs to look after us?!" He asked, dramatically- can always rely on Thorne to disguise his sorrow with charm.

Kai rolled his eyes thinking to himself, 'why did he bother in the first place?' and looked away.

A sigh escaped him and he stated, "You are not cursed, Kai."

Now Thorne did have his attention, it might have been the first sincere thing he said after Cress was taken in OT. Kai realized how he was not the only one waiting for some news outside the medical chamber, not the only one who was afraid.

"You care about your advisor, umm what's his name?"

"Torin," Kai provided.

"Yeah Torin- you care about him, probably look up to him as well and he is neither dead nor trying hard to stay alive. You care about your people and I don't think all of them are dead right now, now are they?"

"No, they are not," he said even though it was a rhetorical question.

"I'm just afraid," he admitted after a long time to which Thorne honestly replied, "Me as well."

He looked at Thorne, trying to understand his grief- if Cress did not make it, Thorne would not be able to live with the guilt- knowing very well that he was responsible for her loss, that if not for him stabbing her in the stomach she would be alive.

"They would make it, right?" he asked, terrified of what Thorne would say.

He did not reply just pressed his lips in a thin line and looked before him. None of them was capable enough to answer it. So, Kai looked ahead as well and prayed because that's what all he could do. Pray.

"Kai stop thinking about bullshit things like being cursed."

Kai nodded, pointing out that he was listening and likely not going to think about how he might be cursed.

He thought before saying it aloud, rolling the words over and over before finally saying them.

"You are really a nice guy, Thorne. No wonder Cress really likes you."

A/N: I had promised I had come up with angst, and see here I am- keeping my promise to you guys.

I know I have knocked a lot of medical facts, I know she should be unconscious within seconds but I just choose to overlook it for my plot. I wanted some deep farewell/ goodbye shit before Cinder becomes unconscious (builds up the angst you know).

I wanted to this idea for a long time now, Cinder's almost-death through Kai's POV. This fic was likely going to have a different ending than one the it has now- I was just going to live the ending in grey area but I had to change it to keep up with the prompt 'Cursed' for ship week. Don't blame me writing angst, I am just writing ship week prompts- and apparently all of them happen to be angst!

Tell me what's on your mind after reading it!

Votes and comments are always appreciated.

Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @cinderswrench @gingerale2017 @linhcinder686 @shellyseashell @ladyvesuvia @shelbylmkaider @levanariddlebackup @cindersassasin @kaider-is-my-otp (Tell me if you wanna be added/removed)

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sunset-curve-fantom · 4 years ago

Text

Hollywood Ghost Club- Ghost!Luke and Ghost!Reader

A/N: I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT.

WARNING: SMUT, 18+ MATERIAL

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

You and Luke were one of the greatest love stories, you were his muse in everything he did. In life and in death, you were the focus of his love. He died in the most comical way, from a tainted hot dog, while you died in a car wreck the same night. You were so distraught that you ran off the road, dying on impact.

But Luke never knew you faced the same fate he had- death.

For 25 years, you had wandered looking for Luke. Only to conclude that he had already crossed over and was enjoying a ton of pizza and his music. But you were wrong- he had been trapped in a different dimension almost until Julie released them by playing their demo.

When Willie told you about this ghost band he found- you didn’t think much of it. People die every day so of course new ghosts appear. That was until he mentioned the cute guy- Alex… and you knew exactly what band he had run into.

Sunset Curve had finally made it to the ghost scene, or more so to the Hollywood Ghost Club.

“Willie do not tell me you invited them here- you know what Caleb is going to do” You stressed, anger beginning to drip on your words.

“I-I-I-I I didn’t know what to do… Caleb owns my soul, he would destroy me if I didn’t do as he said” Willie said, afraid of your anger. He knew you loved Luke more than anything and now- Luke could be in danger.

“Okay- I need you to find Alex and tell him to act like they don’t know me. I cannot… I will not let them get hurt because I am here. Go Now” You said, fear in your voice. You knew what Caleb would do to them if they acted like they knew you or even came close to you.

You were his main attraction, and he wasn’t going to let anyone get near you- especially if they convinced you to leave the club.

You began pacing back and forth before you were set to go on- you almost became nauseous at the thought of seeing Luke again. He was your great love story, and death came too soon for the both of you.

Caleb appeared down the dark hallway as you paced, “Nervous?” He said, the creepy tone griping his words.

You could barely catch his gaze- you knew he would be able to read you like a book, just like he had been able to for 25 years. He knew every little thing about everyone, and that is how he was able to control everyone in the long run.

“Always… I have a need to be perfect” You said, sarcasm dripping your voice. You wanted him to just drop it and go do his opening act. It was the same every night, he opened, and you closed. Same music, same routines.

He sent you his signature glare- before stepping onto the stage. “Hello, Hollywood Ghost Club! I hope you are having a wonderful evening- well a wonderful afterlife!”

As the curtains opened and closed behind him- You could spot Alex in the audience, meaning that Reggie and Luke were out there too. Running your hand through your hair, you cursed under your breath. They shouldn’t be here- a horrible feeling running down your spine.

You gripped your mic a little tighter as Caleb’s music was coming to an end. You knew you had to go out there and smash this performance- Luke hadn’t seen you in 25 years.

The beginning music to your song started- after Luke and you met the same fate, the music was flowing out of you. You thought he had moved on into the light and left you here alone but truly he never left you. But the aloneness made lyrics and melodies fall out of you, and that is how Caleb found you. You were the missing piece in his ghost club, and he knew he needed you.

So here you were- trapped in a world that made you miserable. A world without Luke, and without the life you both deserved.

As you were zoned out, the beginning notes on the piano began to dwell and the beat began to rise-

Don’t blink

No, I don’t want to miss it

One thing

And it’s back to the beginning

Cause everything is rushing in fast

Keep going on, never look back

As the words came out of your mouth- you couldn’t help but make eye contact with Luke. He looked startled to see you- he had no idea that you had died too. He thought you had lived on, started a family and a career, but no- you died the same night as him.

As the song ended, a smile creeped onto your face. For the first night in a long time, you felt proud of yourself- for your music, for your performance, for everything. You had Luke to thank for the extra bout of confidence. He gave you wings when you felt like you were going to fall, in life and in death he gave you the world.

The final bow was something so magical, watching the boys and Willie cheer for you in the audience. Watching Caleb’s creepy ass smile as he watched your every move. It was a night full of happiness, yet the fear of something happening to Luke because of Caleb.

You smiled, walking off stage. You made your way to your dressing room to take off this ostentatious outfit that Caleb had picked. You wanted nothing more to be in your comfy clothes, and just enjoy your evening. But the outfit you chose was something symbolic- it was Luke’s Sunset Curve t-shirt, it had rips and holes, but you couldn’t part with it.

A sharp knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts- God you prayed it wasn’t Caleb.

As you swung the door open- you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It was Willie, who happened to be eyeing your outfit with a smirk on his face.

“Hey Y/N. You good?” Willie said, trying to refrain from smirking even more.

“Yeah I’m good. If you are gonna make fun of my outfit- leave me alone William” You said crossing your arms over your chest. Clearly irritated with him just showing up at the door.

“I-I-I um… Luke is waiting for you in the alley, he wanted me to tell you. I think it’s kind of important” He said, trying to avoid my eyesight. You couldn’t even find the words before he spoke again, “And don’t worry- I’m going to keep Caleb busy”

You laughed as he winked at you before heading off down the hallway. You could feel the smile growing on your face as you slipped on your slippers, heading to the alley door. For being dead- the air was sure cold in LA right now. It was incredible you could still feel things like this.

Your hair whipped in the wind, as you turned to look down the dark alley. You could see a shadow walking towards you, and you knew by the walk it was Luke. A smile erupted on your face as you ran towards him, you could hear his chuckle as your got closer to him. You jumped into his outstretched arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. Silent tears ran down your face as he gripped you tightly, he couldn’t let you go, and you didn’t want him too.

“Baby… oh my god” He said, running his hand through your hair as he held you up. You gripped onto him for dear life, and you couldn’t bare being in this world without him any longer.

You could barely squeak out a “Hi” as sobs racked your chest. Your feet quickly hit the pavement as you looked into his eyes. His beautiful eyes, that always seemed to change colors. He was trying to take your appearance in- like it was the last time he was going to see you.

“What-what- what happened to you? How are you here?” He said, cupping your face with his large hands, pressing feverous kisses all over your face.

“I died when-” He cut you off, “I know you died stupid- but how did you die? Clearly I was the idiot who ate a bad street hotdog”

“Oh, shut up- I died that night too. I heard what had happened, that you… you all died, and I was driving to the hospital to try and make some sense of it. But I was so upset and distraught that I got in a crash and died on impact. I thought you guys had crossed over because I never saw you… I thought you had left me” You said, silent tears still pouring down your cheeks, as you caught his eyes a small smile formed on your cheeks.

“I could never ever leave you- not intentionally. I love you more than music can express. You are the one my heart loves” He said, tears forming in his eyes. You slid your hands into his as you leaned in.

Your lips touched and it was like fireworks coursing through you, he untangled your hands and gripped your waist tightly. He pulled you flush against him as he deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips. A silent moan escaped your mouth as you felt the first amount of pleasure in a long 25 years.

You pulled away from him, searching his face for the love you so deeply missed. You winked before poofing the both of you out of the dark alley. You took him to the one place you deeply loved before your untimely demise. It was the treehouse Luke had built you in the Patterson’s backyard.

You spent many of nights here alone, praying for a sign from Luke. The fairy lights always stayed on; I think it gave his parents comfort in his absence- well in both of your absences. They didn’t just lose a son; They also lost a daughter that night. His parents always knew that you and Luke were endgame, the full life of marriage and kids, growing old.

But that night- everything changed. The future they envisioned for the both of you had disappeared by a series of unfortunate events. This was the one place that Luke and you could have some time to yourself, away from the guys, your parents, and the world.

Luke was in awe at the place as he looked around. It was like he had forgotten how beautiful and full of memories this place was filled with. Your first kiss, your first date, your first sexual encounter, your first promise. Every bit of firsts had happened in this place, and now a new memory was going to be made. A restart to your relationship- 25 years down the line.

You couldn’t help but look at Luke in awe, he was the most handsome man. Even after all this time, it was like nothing had changed between you.

You walked over to him, running a hand down his chest. Catching his lips in yours, taking him by surprise. He was so in awe of you, and the relationship he cherished. You smiled as he gripped your hips, pulling you towards him. It was like you were falling into your old ways again, full of lust and pleasure.

~IF YOU ARE YOUNG, IT IS TIME TO BOUNCE 18+ MATERIAL~

You reached up, gripping his longer hair in your fingers and pulling gently, earning a moan from his lips. His grip on your hips tighten, knowing good and well he would leave bruises, you know if ghosts could bruise.

He chuckled as he moved a hand to your cheek, gently rubbing your cheek causing a blush to erupt on your cheeks. The kiss was soft yet animalistic, as you pushed him back onto the bed.

Discarding your shirt, well Luke’s shirt you hijacked as well as your bra as you caught Luke’s lips back in yours. As you straddled his lap, he was gripping your thighs tightly, slowly the kisses began to travel down your neck and to your breasts. Taking your hard nipple in his mouth, causing a slur of moans erupt from you.

You began shifted your hips, rubbing slowly against his sensitive crotch- making his hips buck from under you. He wasn’t going to be able to last much longer if you continued that motion, so he quickly flipped you over, so he was hovering. He quickly stripped out of his shirt, before moving to your pants. Your leggings quickly flew off your legs, and he took no time diving between your thighs.

You could feel his hot breath on your sensitive heat, as he licked up your slit before hitting your bundle of nerves. It sent a jolt through your body as he continued to explore your heat. Your hands flew down to his hair, pulling tightly as your orgasm began quickly approaching.

“Uh-Uh- Luke… I-uh- I’m cloooseee” You moaned as you pulled his hair even tighter, he continued to lick at your heat as your orgasm graced his tongue for the first time in 25 years. You could barely catch a breath as you caught Luke’s gaze from between your thighs. You took in his appearance, his face glazed with your orgasm as a smile graced his face.

“So, mind telling me why you are still half dressed?” You said, eyeing his jeans that were constricting his crotch. The smirk he gave you as he unbuttoned his jeans was something you so deeply missed. As his jeans slid down his legs, his cock sprung free.

He laughed as the look on your face, you were practically drooling at the moment you were about to have. An encounter of the century.

Luke began hovering over you before pressing his cock past your slit. He was watching your face as your eyes rolled back into your head. The pleasure was overwhelming as you adjusted to his size.

You met his slow thrusts with your hips, moving against him. His brows began to furrow as you continued the motion. He growled under his breath, “Stop that- I am not going to last”

You couldn’t help but smirk up at him, catching his lips in yours once again as your hands roamed his body and tugged on his hair.

Your orgasm began to overtake your senses, as Luke’s thrusts began to fall out of rhythm. His grip began to tighten on your hips as your orgasm washed over you. Your walls spasmed around his cock as he began to unload inside of you, filling you up.

“Holy god” Luke said as he collapsed on top of you, it was like you both forgot how much you enjoyed this time together.

“That’s all I get? It has been some time, I am sure I can do it all again” You said, flipping the both of you, so you were on top of him. You just giggled at Luke’s expression as he brushed your hair out of his face.

“Oh, I am always been down for a round two” He said winking as he began nibbling at your sensitive spot, causing a moan to erupt from you.

For the first time in 25 years- you felt more complete than ever before. Luke was back into your world full of life, and love. The Hollywood Ghost Club was the last thing in your mind as you spent every last moment with the man of your dreams.

TAGLIST:

@notasofti @julies-molina @parkeret @calamitykaty @kcd15 @crybabyddl @all-in-fangirl @gia-kerks @morganayennefertyrell

#luke patterson imagines #luke patterson #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson smut #luke #alex #alex x reader #alex julie and the phantoms #alex and willie #alexsmut #reggie #reggie x reader #reggie julie and the phantoms #reggiesmut #julie and the phantoms #julie and the fat ones #julie x reader

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bloodredx · 3 years ago

Text

Day 4: Medicine

It had been centuries since she first took up the practice, and if anyone knew the truth, one might argue that Lady Serena had invented the concept of modern medicine in Glacidea. She of course, would deny that if pressed, but fortunately no one would know to bring up the claim in the first place. One would just need to take one look around her office’s “collection of antique medical equipment” to see how things have changed over the years. Of course, these were really just a collection of favorite tools she herself used, some more delicate than others. Still, even knowing the good memories of helping people, saving lives, and removing pain from those who so desperately needed the care, the lingering knowledge of death would forever chase her.

Perhaps when she was younger, and felt more guilt over her position in unlife, particularly over the damage she had past caused, that death’s hand being right next to her own would have made her quiver. No longer, for Serena was now quite confident with the fact that Adamsa Frisay often accompanied her on her lonely walks down the hospital’s hallways. The God of the End was the most mysterious of the pantheon, but that never changed the sad kinship she felt when reflecting upon that inevitability, even for herself. Though she’d been plenty successful in not meeting him just yet.

Still, she was no god. And no matter what, people died. Her eyes scanned the test results quickly, keeping pace with the strip of paper the blood chemistry machine was printing out. “Lymphocytes dangerously low…” The doctor pulled up her patient’s chart as she remained unsurprised. His blood smelled that way, even as she loaded it into the machine. “Ketone high as well. Just into the brink of acidosis.”

The Lady took a sip from a coffee mug, cheekily printed with a label to “Donate Blood!” Of course the substance within was the result of such generosity, but the taste of good blood still didn’t overpower the smell of her patient’s blood. “Creatinine is also sky rocketing.” She tutted her tongue as she made notes in her precise cursive.

Icarus, who never felt truly comfortable in the lab, seemed able to put aside his general discomfort for once to take interest in his mentor’s work for once. “Do you always talk to yourself this much while working?”

Serena shot him a look with targeted precision. “Does it bother you?”

Her ward nearly recoiled, lifting his hands in defense. “Not at all. I meant to ask, does it help you?”

“Organize my thoughts, yes. I suppose it’s more routine at this point.” She laid her pen down on the counter, and pulled the read out of results from the printer. Another sip of her mug as she crinkled her nose. “Does the smell not bother you?”

“Of that man’s blood?” Icarus raised his brow. “A little, now that you mention it. But it’s still so intoxicating in any other way.”

“Hmm.” Serena noted his response before turning to face him, a stern expression on her face.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s dying.” She took another measured sip of blood. “Critical failure of his kidneys and liver to an extent that he would not survive the wait list for a transplant. For either organ.”

Though it had been years that he’d known the Lady now, her bluntness never sat easy with him. Even more so at the weight for a potential death. “Anything you can do?”

“An ignorant question.” She concluded quickly. “There is much we can attempt, dialysis, intense regiments of drugs that would otherwise cause innumerable side effects to his overall quality of life. But the fact remains he was rolled into my ER unconscious and so affected by jaundice that even running these tests for a few minutes has cut off the effectiveness of any treatment by hours. Days even.”

“So you’ll let him die?” Icarus stood up, feeling heat coursing through his veins. Though he wasn’t sure what the cause was, certainly the Lady could be cruel, but she wasn’t heartless. At least not to that extent.

“Everyone dies, Icarus. Even us.” Her voice was icy, flat against the sterile lab environment. “But that being said, I have ideas of options for his family. Ultimately, that’s their choice, his fate. And you had best believe I’ll go through with any plan they approve to my best ability. I’ll move mountains, drain seas, and plug volcanos for them. But I am merely a medical tool, I can no better stop the inevitable than you can stop time eroding history.”

A silent standoff went off within Icarus’s mind. She was right on one level. But she did have other choices. One that most other doctors didn’t. “Have you ever thought about embracing someone?”

He regretted the question the second it left his lips, wincing reflexively to avoid the sour expression and lecture his mentor was sure about to bury him under. But after a few moments of extended quiet, he cracked an eyelid to see what stopped her from her relentless fury.

Instead of the traditional scowl, her face was heavy with an emotion he hadn’t seen on Serena. Was it sadness? Remorse? He couldn’t tell, but her lips frowned in a softer angle than he had seen before, and for once she had broken her near constant, near dominating eye contact. No, she was staring squarely at her own wrists, eyes following the too dark veins that crossed under her pale skin. She a drew a deep breath, one that both of them knew was unneeded, but still an element to any conversation, no matter the need of oxygen, before opening her mouth slowly to speak.

“I would love to lie to you and say no, it hasn’t.” A pause, unlike her. “But I am many things, a liar is not included amongst them.” A finger traced alongside the veins as she continued. “It would be very easy, the most perfect cure to illness, and a near perfect one to death entirely. And though I am quite content with my existence, I cannot find nor guarantee that anyone else would be. To be thrust upon bloodlust without even knowing it, to be so sick and nearly gone to meet the gods again, and then be thrown back to the world with such darkness taken within them. I cannot ordain such behavior.

“There was an opportunity long ago where I could have done so to save someone I loved above all else at the time, to change the entire history of my world. But I wouldn’t, no, couldn’t do it. And the world has never been the same for me since.” She stepped away from the counter, taking a few stride to where Icarus was sitting, all in order to place a calm hand on his shoulder. “I cannot ask someone to follow me to where I am, but I have thought of it. It’s almost a feature of the blood; that we make more of ourselves to survive. However, I only ask that if you come upon the chance to find yourself in my shoes, that you won’t fall back to the easy fix, the snake oil cure. Vampire blood does much, but it takes much more than it gives. Practice good medicine in all that you do. I would hope I’ve rubbed off enough on you to leave you with that guidance if nothing else.”

Icarus felt himself frown as he tracked the glow of light in her brown eyes. What could he say in response to that? Certainly nothing snippy as he normally would, no. Heaviness sat in the air a moment, lingering like cigar smoke before he broke her gaze. “Of course, Lady Serena. I won’t do anything to disappoint you.”

Her hand dropped down to his, lifting them to chest level as she squeezed them tightly. “I know you won’t.”

The tenderness struck him, but then again so did everything else about this exchange. And he knew a little bit better the exact person his mentor was. While he could do little in the nature of medicine that she could, he could at the very least go on with the same grip on existence. “You have a life to fight for.” He returned the squeeze to her hand before letting go with a little push.

Her normal features snapped back into place, resetting the scene as if it had never happened in the first place. “That I do. Please excuse me.”

(OC-tober challenge by @oc-growth-and-development can be found here)

#Lady Serena #Icarus #vampire #oc-tober #oc tober #blood #medicine #death #dying #writers on tumblr #bloodredx writes #embrace #hospital

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strigital · 3 years ago

Note

Do tell about Nim, I couldn’t find much info about her through your blog and I am dying to know more about this werewolf lady

well grab a pint and sit yo booty down, cause our bard of the evening tonight is Nim and she's drunk as all hell and ready to weave some outrageous stories!! 🍻

in all seriousness, thank you for asking! 😭💗 she came about back in ye oldie days of hype over the 11th of november 2011, and since then refuses to give up the title of my fav oc!!

now, a Paarthurnax would say: lets-a go!

a quick recap of the events in Skyrim:

Naali Saryn was born sometime in 4E 130 on mainland Morrowind as a result of a quick fling between an unknown Dunmer girl and Lucien Lachance and Kassandra Saryn's (The Hero of Kvatch's) son.

Sometime in that year, the baby was found aboard a ship bound for Raven Rock and when no one came forth to claim her a couple of elderly and childless ash yam farmers decided to take her in until her family was found.

The family, of course, was never found, and so they raised her as their own for the next sixteen years. They called the girl Nim - short, sweet, meaningless, and easy to shout out into the fields where the little brat is out adventuring when the house chores are yet to be done.

Nim grew up alongside her best friend Teldryn (don't believe his tales about his past, there's a reason why he wears a helmet in his hometown). For years the kids dreamt of leaving Raven Rock behind and making it big in the big city. And idea which really annoyed Nim's ol' Nana, who believed that everything needed for a simple happy life was right here on Solstheim.

After one particularly nasty fight with Nana about the ordeal, Nim gathered a bag of things and slipped out in the dead of night to catch an early morning ship with Teldryn.

They stuck together for a while then went on their separate merry ways. He - to Blacklight, she - to Leyawiin. Once in the wild, Nim had to quickly figure out her place in the pecking order. The romantic life of crime seemed to be the most attractive for her, but getting on top could never be easy. Especially for a young, inexperienced, and naive girlie. So she ended up running with the wrong kind of crew. Ended up in some truly dark places. Barely got out alive. Learned from her mistakes. Wore the scars of abuse like armor and made sure that since that day no one in this world or any other would play her for a fool, use her or put a finger on her without her permission.

By the time she turned fifty, Nim was well known amongst certain circles as the kind of scoundrel, thief, bard, and wench one should not trifle with. But her luck had to eventually run out, and so it did on the night of the fabled Umbacano Mansion heist, which failed so badly Nim had to either leave Cyrodiil or end up in a Thalmor owned torture chamber.

Skyrim seemed like a perfect place. After all, in a kingdom torn apart by the civil war, no one would even notice yet another greyskin refugee, right? Well, the Thalmor did. And so she ended up on a cart bound for Helgen to have a date with an executioner. But then Alduin showed up to crash the party before he himself got rudely interrupted by another dragon, who swooped in to save the Last Dragonborn.

After the narrow escape, Nim concluded her duty to warn Balgruuf of the dragon threat and went on to start a new career as a merc with the Companions. She and Aela became fast friends and when the prospect of joining the Circle came up she gladly accepted a sip of her new sister's blood. To never again be helpless and weak? To rip apart any fool who'd take her for just another elf wench who can't put up a fight? Well of course it was worth giving up the ability to sleep and having to get used to all smells suddenly becoming ten times worse!

After that Mirmulnir showed up and ended up as another ornament above the throne in the Dragonsreach. And Nim got stuck with a title which she would wear with great discontent for years to come.

Eventually, she ceased trying to run away and hide from her destiny, accepted her role as the Last Dragonborn, and begrudgingly began her quest to save the world. On her journey, she met and became tight friends with Yollokmir and Alasil who taught her how to speak, fight and fly like a dragon. With their help she inherited Konahrik's legacy: his mask embued with his soul, his citadel far up in the mountains - the NebenLok Zeikangaar - and the right to revive and lead the order of dragon riders sworn to defeat Alduin - DovahDein.

As she gained power and the word of her great many deeds spread across Skyrim, she managed to get quite the following of fellow men, mer, and Dov, willing to follow her into Sovngarde and beat the hell out of Alduin. Alas, she failed. Twice.

At that point, Alasil informed her of a special someone who might be of help in their quest against Alduin and who might prove difficult to convince to join her cause. That was the first time in fifty years that Nim got to visit her home. Unfortunately, Solstheim had changed. And upon arrival, she learned that her Pa passed onto the realm of Azura soon after her departure, and her Nana... well, she wasn't young anymore and suffered greatly due to all the ash ruining her lungs... and when the islanders got called to the All-Maker stones night after night by a mysterious spell, she just worked herself to death. That was the only thing Nim wouldn't forgive Miraak for, not until he swallowed his pride and sincerely apologized for being responsible for his potential mother-in-law's death.

And with Miraak's help, they finally sent Alduin back to his Maker, enjoyed a few peaceful years until High King Ulfric became a bit drunk on his power and needed a good ass whooping as well. Then Miraak suddenly found himself as the new king and Nim... she just did her own thing. As always. The end?

Oh and all the while running about, gathering forces, growing her Dragonborn powers, hunting Dragon Priests and Alduin's henchmen, she also meddled with the Thieves Guild, put Karliah in charge and became her right hand, managed to become an advisor on all things dragon at the Mage's College, ended up teaching lute and songwriting at the Bard's College (she's taking a break since Viarmo can't seem to handle her teaching tactics), earned the title of Thane in every hold and became a good friend to the Dawnguard fellas (Isran is more than happy to teach her kids the ropes of monster hunting) after kicking Harkon's ass into Oblivion. In what little free time she has Nim also manages the Lakeview Manor and leases the ash yam farm back in Raven Rock for some extra cash. All in all, a busy woman!

and some tidbits about the dovahmom:

Although Nim is perfectly aware of her real name, she chooses to use the one given to her by Nana. Both as a sign of respect and because, frankly, she dislikes both the Sarynes and the Lachances, who are, in her humble opinion, just a bunch of pricks. Somehow, the ghost of her murdered grandad finds this opinion of hers kinda funny.

Her friends sometimes describe her as "cyrodiilic brandy in a cup of tea": she's this small elf girl with pretty blue eyes and a smile on her face and you think that she'll be very pleasant and cute and shy and then... then you realize she drinks like a sailor, swears like one too, can beat anyone into the dirt (thanks, Hircine) and doesn't take shit from nobody. She openly speaks her mind and doesn't give a shit about what someone might think of her. She does what she considers the right thing to do, never plays nice with those she dislikes, never pretends to be someone she isn't. She's feisty, sassy, brassy, and, quite honestly, just doesn't give a fuck.

Nim is in almost complete control over her inner beast, partly thanks to her draconic blood, partly - to the ring she got when she and Sinding had that little party on a moonlit night in that grotto. She only loses control over herself when both moons are full and thusly will travel deep into the wilds a few days before the magical night. This way the only people that might get hurt are bandits, necromancers, hags, and the like. She and Aela also managed to get a small werewolf pack going, named the Whitemane Pack after the old man himself and dedicated to those who wish to take control over their inner beast, hunt with honor, and cause the Silver Hand as much grief as possible.

Nim is raising Blaise and Sofie as her own since they both were just wee lil' war orphans (the babes are in their teens now). She never quite really knew why... Nim was never a wifey nor a baby momma kind of woman. In fact, she can't even have children in the first place and, honestly, always thought of this as a blessing - never having to worry about contraception like all those other girls and just having fun without a care in the world! Her friends sometimes joke around, saying that she might've finally "ripened" for the motherhood, but she doesn't care. She loves Blaise, Sofie, and Sissel (thanks, Miraak, you're so good at kidnapping children!) and is content with being their famous Dragonborn mom. Post-Alduin Miraak, however, is secretly annoyed for not being able to get her pregnant. Oh well, the man can dream...

Oh yeah! Nim plays the lute and sings too! It's a skill she picked up across taverns all over the continent when she realized that bards get free drinks and a bed, as well as ample opportunity to sniff out and seduce prey. And even though her days of hunting for good-looking rich fools are long behind her, she still performs in inns and taverns across Skyrim. Firstly, it brings in a fair amount of money, and secondly, it's good for her Voice! And also just plain and simple fun.

Also, people get terribly surprised when she, a Dunmer, doesn't act like one at all! Nim might've grown up in Raven Rock, a Dunmer settlement, but she spent the rest of her life traveling the continent and then living in Skyrim. She's more Nord-ish than some Nords! And the Nords actually really love it! It's so so easy to just get plastered with the homegirl, punch some faces and pass out on a heap of hay behind the inn, just happy to be alive on this fine snowy day. The only truly Dunmer thing about her is the occasional "n'wah!" which escapes her potty mouth. I mean, she doesn't even like sujamma all that much and would rather have a pint of mead! Whatever Ancestors she has must be spinning in their graves fast enough to generate electricity.

uuuhhh I think that's all the important stuff? i might've forgotten, in which case, I'll add it later... meanwhile, have some more Nim content:

^^^ the fanfic is slow, but it's moving... at a snail's pace. my advice: don't expect updates, so that when they do come, you'll be pleasantly surprised!

#thank u for asking abt the dovahmom #i am deeply touched uwu #💞#the elder scrolls #skyrim #dragonborn #ldb #dovahkiin #konahrik #oc #naali 'nim' saryn #bethesda #ask #my art #sketch #traditional doodle #ballpoint doodle

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konglindorm · 4 years ago

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Lindworm: Chapter 1

(This is a little over half of the first chapter I had planned to share the whole thing, but then I realized it was 7,000 words. You can buy and read the rest of Lindworm here!)

“Thank you so much for thinking of me,” Marit said, “but really I would rather not marry a monster.”

Marit would not have thought herself the sort of person to talk back to kings, had she ever had cause to contemplate such matters. But then she never would have thought the king the sort of person to sacrifice a girl to a lindworm, and yet here she was, the third victim.

She was only seventeen, and this wedding was a death sentence.

Six months ago, Prince Harald had set out to find a bride, and had been stopped by a great serpent in the road. Since then, the serpent—the lindworm—had eaten two foreign princesses, both after a sham of a wedding. Both women had thought they were coming to marry Prince Harald.

Here, in the forest outside the capital city, rumors had flown. Rumors that they would shortly be at war with both kingdoms that had lost a princess, and rumors, more interesting to their small family with no members likely to be sent to the battlefield, of the lindworm, of why a man-eating dragon would be welcomed to the palace and fed. Rumors that said the lindworm was Prince Harald’s brother, that the king humored it instead of killing it because the monster was family.

Marit didn’t know how much truth there might be to such rumors. She didn’t know how a queen could bear and birth a serpent, but she did know the world was full of strange, incomprehensible things.

The king stared at her, his men standing stiffly by. It had not, of course, been thoughtfulness that led him to her cottage in the woods. Marit knew this, and knew that the marriage was not optional, and that one could not speak to a king in this manner and expect to keep one’s head. But when one has already been sentenced to death, such things as respect for royalty matter very little.

“It is not an offer,” the king informed her when he found his voice. “It is a command, and you may choose to obey or not, but willing or unwilling, you will find yourself before a priest in my great hall one week from now.”

One week, she thought. One week to live the rest of her life. She could run—could she run?

No, if the king was leaving her a few days to say her goodbyes, it was only because he knew she could not run. There would be guards posted. She would be caught and brought back. She would still end the week dead, and likely her father and sister, too, if the king suspected they had helped her. As they certainly would.

Her family—they were away from the house now, deeper into the woods, scavenging. There was little left to eat, their winter stores almost empty by March, and the ground still too frozen to begin the year’s planting. She had stayed behind to tend to the animals, too likely to slow them down after twisting her ankle yesterday, falling from a tree; it had barely hurt, and would be healed by tomorrow. The king would be long gone before they returned, and it would fall to her to explain her upcoming death.

“There will be a bride price, of course,” said the king.

Marit wasn’t quite sure what a bride price was, thought it may be like a dowry—she’d sewn items, slowly, over the last several years for her dowry, but doubted the lindworm would demand her linens as well as her life.

The king went on to explain the bride price, the amount of money her father would be given for this farce of a marriage—the opposite of a dowry, then, and a staggering amount.

It had been a long, brutal winter following a short, dry summer, and for that price Marit may have volunteered herself. Any number of young women may have; it was enough to save not only their own small farm, but those of a few near neighbors. Enough to buy a second goat, a few more chickens, enough to pay all of their debts in the city and have their broken tools repaired.

For such a sum, she would have volunteered. She would have gladly given her life to so dramatically improve the lives of her father and younger sister.

But the king had not asked. The king had demanded, and Marit knew she would resent him for however many days she had left to do so.

He left her, as she’d expected, with guards posted nearby, and she led the animals back to their shed and let herself back into the cottage, not wanting to look at them, their clean uniforms with shiny brass buttons, their polished boots slowly gathering mud, their faces as they avoided her eyes, because they knew, must know, that this was wrong, and yet they were loyal to their king, and would not let her run.

Marit watched through the back window, working idly on her knitting, unable to stay focused on the difficult stitch she’d meant to master this week, until she saw her sister and her father coming out from the woods. She ran to meet them, and hurried them inside before they could ask about the soldiers scattered about. And then she told them.

“Why you?” Greta cried. “Why you?”

She hadn’t asked how he’d chosen her, out of all the unwed maids within walking distance of the palace. She didn’t think she wanted to know why it was her that must die, and not Annette, who had no father to protect her, or Martine, who was more beautiful, or Signe or Gretchen or any of the other girls she knew.

She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want to be the kind of person who wished death on her friends, either.

Besides, the lindworm had already eaten two women, and there was no reason to expect he might stop at a third. They may all be dead before this ended, Gretchen and Signe and Annette and Martine, and the younger girls, Greta and her friends, all the forest, all the city, someday all the kingdom sacrificed to satisfy the appetite of a monster that should have been killed the moment it showed itself to Prince Harald.

She could only hope that the fathers of the dead princesses would declare war, that they would kill her king and his lindworm with him before the whole country was devoured.

King Olaf had always been known as a kind and noble king. He’d lowered taxes and held festivals and been much loved, before these last six months, and Marit didn’t understand. She didn’t understand how a good king could become a bad one overnight because of one monster.

Maybe it was his son. Marit would throw the whole world over for Greta, she knew, but she’d been at Greta’s side since she’d emerged from their mother’s stomach, been the first to hold the new baby, tiny and wrinkled and red, getting blood all over her vest, as their father had said his goodbyes to Mama, only turning his attention to Marit and the new baby when his wife was gone.

For Greta, for her father, for Mama if she’d lived, Marit would do anything. But if a boar walked out of the woods and claimed to be her long lost brother, she wouldn’t take him at his word, wouldn’t escort him into the city to trample the blacksmith just because he asked her.

She didn’t think the king could hide a paternal relationship with a lindworm for several years. They must have met only when he stopped the prince on the road. And Marit didn’t understand.

She gathered Greta in her arms and listened to the younger girl cry, unable to shed any tears for herself, unsure why. She looked over Greta’s head at her father, and saw the same desperate sadness in his eyes that she had seen when she was five years old, and her mother was dying in childbirth. Her father loved her, but he could do nothing to save her, and they all knew it. He could not defy the king; to try would only make him angry, would likely risk Greta’s life too.

He came and wrapped himself around them both, and Marit thought, but was not quite sure, that he wept too. She sat, dry-eyed, between them, for long hours, until it was time for dinner and bed.

They watched out the window as a new group of soldiers marched in, and the first group left. At least they weren’t expected to feed and board their prison guards.

In the morning they found that the soldiers would let Marit go where she pleased, but one or two would always follow, from a respectful distance. No one followed her sister or father, so they went in three different directions, to the neighbors and to the city, Marit to make her farewells, and all of them to give warning. The king is feeding maidens to his lindworm. Marit is the first; she will not likely be the last. Send your daughters quietly to family in other cities, if you can. Marry them quickly to boys in the village, if you can. We do not know why the lindworm wants weddings, but he does, so make your daughters unweddable.

Gretchen, when Marit told her, said it probably had to do with a dragon’s fondness for virgins. She then said that if the king came to her, she would rid herself of virginity with the first man she could find before she would go to the lindworm, with the whole town to watch as proof, if necessary.

Gretchen’s older brother, the only other person there save the guards, too far away to overhear, made a sound of disapproval in the back of his throat, but said nothing.

Marit wondered if it was too late to try Gretchen’s plan for herself, and concluded it probably was—if the lindworm demanded a virgin, then the soldiers would not let her cease to be one. The small chance of success wasn’t worth giving herself to a man she didn’t want and wouldn’t be allowed to keep. And the kind of man who might cooperate with such a plan would likely not make it a happy experience to cherish in her final days. She reminded Gretchen of the soldiers before moving on to the next neighbors.

Marit spend her days wandering, mostly. There was work to be done, and she helped, or tried to—her father said not to trouble herself with anything in these last few days, and when she insisted, she often found herself too distracted to finish, or at least to finish well, haunted constantly by imaginings of what the lindworm might be like, how it might feel to be eaten. She remembered breaking a finger in a slamming door as a child, the sharp crack of it, the pain. She imagined the pain and the cracking both amplified as an enormous snake swallowed her whole, as snakes will do, and then, bizarrely, imagined cowering on a banquet table as the lindworm sliced her to pieces with a knife held in its tail, popping each slice into its mouth one at a time, sometimes dipping a slice in a butter-sauce first.

She still had not cried, though she had found herself several times laughing hysterically at humorless jokes she couldn’t explain. Greta didn’t need to know about the butter sauce.

When there were two days left before the wedding, she went out intending to collect eggs from the chickens, and her feet carried her, instead, deeper into the woods.

The guards followed at a distance.

Marit stopped when she saw an old woman ahead. She was short, with white hair spilling from her cap, bright and cheerful in a blue skirt and red vest, and she smiled like an old friend at Marit, and asked why she was so sad.

Marit wasn’t a fool. She knew how it was with mysterious old women in forests, knew they were to be respected. Knew how often they carried magic within themselves. Knew that to cross them was idiocy, and that to be kind and respectful could change the course of one’s life.

So Marit told the woman her troubles, and the woman smiled again. “It will be all right,” she said. “If you obey me, it will be all right. Now, here is what you must do.”

Marit wasn’t foolish enough to think she might live through this, but she wasn’t foolish enough to ignore the gift of a wise woman in the wood, either, even when that gift was the strangest advice she’d ever been given. Wear ten shifts beneath your dress, have milk and lye and whips waiting in your bedchamber.

She was already going to die; what did it matter if the king’s servants thought her a madwoman?

Ten shifts, though, would not be an easy thing to manage. Marit had two shifts, and two night shifts, which were wool instead of linen, with sleeves too wide to be hidden beneath her dress. She would have to rip them off. Greta owned the same, not much smaller as she was tall for her age, but Marit could not deprive her sister of all her undergarments, so only took one day shift and one night shift from her. That brought her to six, and four more yet to find. She couldn’t buy them; the king’s money wouldn’t come to her father until the day after the wedding. She had her dowry linens, unneeded now, and could use the fabric to make more shifts. But she had two days left to live, and wasn’t willing to spend her last precious moments sewing. With Greta’s help she converted one white bedsheet into a shift, but would sacrifice no more time when she had so many goodbyes to say—to friends, to livestock, to trees and streams and every future she had ever imagined for herself.

She begged one more shift from Olga, whose family was wealthier and who had one to spare for an acquaintance going to her death. Eight shifts, eight, two short, and no time to find more. It would have to be enough.

The morning she was to be taken away, Marit’s father pulled out her mother’s wedding dress and offered it to her.

Marit shook her head. “It should go to Greta. To a real wedding.”

“You shouldn’t be alone,” her father said. “Take it, so your mother can be with you, as Greta and I cannot.”

So Marit put on her eight shifts, and she put on the dress. She was a bit smaller than her mother had been when she married, and it still fit despite the extra layers. Greta had wanted to make her a crown of flowers to match, but there were still few flowers in bloom, so she wove the crown from evergreen branches instead, coating her hands in sap, and placed it carefully on her sister’s head.

The three of them waited, solemnly, for Marit to be taken away. There was nothing left to say. All of the goodbyes were finished, all of the plans made. The next morning someone would come from the palace with the bride price and whatever was left of Marit to be buried. Her father would sell the animals and the house, give them away if he couldn’t sell them fast enough, and he would hire a wagon to take them far, far from the capital, to start a new life where the lindworm would never touch Greta. They’d gone over the details last night. Greta had cried again.

Marit still hadn’t cried, and thought she might be able to, now, but would not let herself; she didn’t want her tears seen by whoever took her away. She found she was more angry than sad. She felt a sharpness growing within her. Her life was forfeit, and so too was her sense of obligation to respect, to loyalty. The king, the queen, the prince, the priests who’d performed the weddings and the soldiers and couriers who’d stood by—damn them, she thought, damn them all, and damn the idea she owed them the barest amount of anything.

The king came to fetch her himself, and she refrained from spitting in his face only because of the guards that surrounded him, the fear they might kill her where she stood and cost her father the bride price.

The king was different, not angry and demanding as he had been a week ago, but stiff with an awkwardness that might almost be shame. Marit hugged her father and Greta one last time, and followed him back toward the city, his guards forming a circle around them. She didn’t care that he may feel shame; she had enough anger by now for the both of them.

He was quiet, and Marit didn’t want quiet. Not quite understanding the compulsion, she found herself goading him.

“What will happen after this?” she asked, and the king looked at her, then quickly away again. It was a long walk on foot, and she didn’t know why a king wouldn’t take a carriage, but she didn’t mind the extra time in her forest.

“You will be prepared for the wedding by lady’s maids. The wedding will be in the great hall, and after that we will have a banquet.”

“Not tonight,” Marit said, spurred by the thought of Annette being sent hundreds of miles away to an uncle she’d never met, of Gretchen searching for a man to defile her rather than be eaten. “Not to me. What will happen to your kingdom? After me, you’ll kill off every maid in the country, and then I suppose you’ll have to go to war, and find slaves to feed his appetite? Discipline is important for growing boys, Your Majesty. Learn to say no to your son.”

He raised a hand as if to slap her, and she tilted her chin forward, daring him—let him hit her, here surrounded by a small army, let all these soldiers, already uneasy with their roles, go home and report to their friends and families that their king was a man who struck defenseless maidens.

He lowered his hand, leaving Marit oddly disappointed. It would have been another reason to be angry, and her anger was protecting her from her fear.

The king sighed heavily. “We all do foolish things for our children.”

She wondered if he meant the lindworm, or only Prince Harald, who could not be married until it was satisfied. It didn’t matter—the result was the same for her.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, suddenly exhausted. Maybe a king could afford to do foolish things for his children. Her own father had to be sensible—foolishness would only have hurt Greta. She felt the anger draining away, the fear rising up again. She didn’t want to die.

They arrived at the palace from a side gate, not taking the wide, paved road beneath the cherry trees, where any number of people might have seen their arrival. The king and his soldiers handed her off to a large group of women, some more elegant than others, and she asked him, before he left, what time the wedding would be.

“At eight o’clock,” he said. “Will that give you enough time to prepare?” One of the more elegant women assured him it would, and he told her, “Give the girl whatever she wants. It’s her wedding day, after all.” He laughed, unamused, more bitter than cruel, and then he was gone.

“Is there anything special we can do for you, miss?” asked one of the plainer women, who was likely a maid.

Marit thought of the old woman in the forest. “This is going to sound a little strange.”

All of the more plainly dressed women left to carry out her last request, leaving Marit with a flock of beautiful women whose most simple everyday clothes were likely ten times more expensive than her mother’s wedding dress. They tried to have her out of it, into borrowed silks instead, but she refused. It was the last gift from her father, the only familiar thing in this place. She kept her evergreen crown as well, but let them take it away long enough to clean away the sap, rubbing it from the branches and brushing it out of her hair.

They re-braided her hair into a more elaborate style, stringing in gemstones to match her dress, and applied powders and creams to her face, which itched and made her sneeze. She watched them carefully, picking out one who seemed both kind and fancy enough to know little of a peasant’s daily life. She drew her away from the crowd and explained, in a whisper, “I haven’t any underthings. I only own the one shift, and I left it for my sister, so she would have one to wear on laundry day. I didn’t think it would matter, when I’m only to die tonight, but I’m—I’m embarrassed to have all these fine people watching me, thinking that if the light hits just so they’ll see I’m not dressed properly.”

The woman believed, somehow, that a peasant girl might have come to a royal wedding with no undergarments, and offered to find a spare shift.

“Could I have two, please?” The woman raised her eyebrows, and Marit ducked her head. “It’s a tradition—I know it shan’t be a real wedding night, but it’s a tradition to make the groom work a little harder the first time.”

The woman believed the tradition she’d never heard of, as well, and came back shortly with two more shifts, beautiful, silken things, bringing Marit to the required ten.

The next problem came when she realized the women had no intention of leaving her alone while she took off her wedding dress and put on the shifts, which was awkward for more reasons than the eight shifts she already wore. She explained that she was not accustomed to being seen undressed by strangers, and finally they left her, for the first moment of privacy she’d had in hours, and the last she expected to have in her life.

She took off the dress and put on the shifts. She paused to look in the mirror—a thing she’d heard of but never before seen—and wondered if that was what she truly looked like, or only the effect of the powders and creams. She pulled the dress back on, took a few deep breaths—she had not cried yet, she would not cry now—and reopened the door so that the women could help re-fasten the dress in the back.

They set the evergreen crown back on her head, and took her to the priest that would read her last rites.

The hall where they held the wedding was gorgeous, with shining wood floors and dark walls covered in rosemåling, blue and gold and red. All the court was seated when she arrived, dressed in their finest clothes, looking horrified. She recognized the king and the queen and the prince, familiar from a dozen parades, sitting in the front row. The rest were strangers.

And then she saw the lindworm.

It was the height of six or seven men, white like a maggot, or the mold on stale bread. It had dark wings on its back, too small to hold its weight in flight, and shiny white fangs quite visible even when its mouth was shut. It had no legs. There was a crown balanced at the top of its head, the size a man would wear, which might have been funny if it hadn’t planned to eat her.

It was staring at her with an expression of mild curiosity, recognizable because its eyes were the eyes of a man, over-large, but still small in its serpent head, the same shade of blue as a dozen young men she’d seen in the city.

#lindworm #fairy tales #folklore #Fairy tale retellings #new release #my book #it's almost here #two days #prince lindworm #king lindworm #king lindorm #kong lindorm #wax heart press

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insufferablelust · 4 years ago

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The dying and Its blossoming.

The one where Y/N love Spencer Reid, but soon find out that he might or might not have found someone else.

OKAY HELLO, this is the angst i talked about yesterday, it’s sad.. but has a happy ending so don’t cry just yet! anyway the reason why i write this is because i’ve been numb for few days and i want to cry bad so i just decided to write. And this is what i came up with, it made my soft ass cried so hopefully.. it can get through to you too, happy reading! oh and TAAHM is also uploading soon!

MASTERLIST OF ALL MY WORKS.

WARNINGS : ANGST, heartbreak stuff, fluff at the end, thats it i think!!

————🍃————

It was the little things he did that caught your eyes since you joined the team. The way he first introduced himself to you, shaking your hands with the brightest smile beaming on his face. The way he always put a coffee on your desk before you arrived. The way he would review all the case with you, going over the files together and staying late to work on paperworks together. The way he called you a week after Maeve’s death and asked you to stay on the phone. So on and so forth.

Falling for Spencer Reid is inevitable, how can it not be inevitable? when you and him practically do all things together, Dr Who marathons, Drive to Rossi’s, even accompanying him to Vegas one time to visit his Diana.

The first time you felt it, felt the spark— you shook away your thoughts and scoffed at yourself, it’s just a stupid crush. You tried, tried so hard to believe that it was just a stupid crush. Yet the more time you spent together, the more your heart take over your brain, convinced you to love him, and convinced you to think that he’s in love with you. Truth and confession aside, you could’ve sworn he’s in love with you, these are facts right? all these moments? surely it has to mean something to him, like it meant something to you.

Confuses and frustrated, the next person you called was Emily, your closest friend besides Spencer. She knows how head over heels you are for him, and how much you’re willing to do anything for him. So that night you spilled all your confusions and worries as you sipped on your wine, your teeth constantly biting your nails— if Spencer was here, he would’ve told you that “Y/N, do you know that biting your nails—“ and you would listen to him contently even if you already knew what he was about to say.

“It’s just— i’m not crazy to think he loves me back right? or at least like me?” You stresses, chugging down the last bit of your drink as you hear Prentiss chuckled on the other side.

“What? No Y/n, look i’ve practically grown up with you guys, and all i can say is that you both really need to realize how much you actually need each other, so stop worrying, go get your man.”

Now when Emily said that, she didn’t mean it as literally going over to Spencer’s house like what you were doing right now. Only wearing an oversize sweater and pair of jeans, you looked so comfy inside those sweater paws that you let out an annoyed huffed, ‘now he’ll think i’m a child’ then an idea popped inside your head, causing a big cute smile to appear on your cheeks. Your hand reached to the backseat, sighing when you find what you were looking for; Spencer’s purple sweater.

Now you didn’t stole it, he gave it to you, because you’ve mentioned one morning that “They are all sold out Spence! you’re one of the lucky ones” The annoyed look on your face must be so embarrassing that he gave his godforsaken lilac sweater to you the next day, with the Spencer reid’s famous smile “Here, you can keep it, i already washed it but it’ll probably smells like me still cause i smell like my clothes and i used my—“

“Lavender, you always use lavender for your clothes, i remember Spencer! oh my heavens! Thank you.” You can’t forget how seemingly happy he looked, cheeks flushed, as flushed as yours.

You sighed contently at the thought, as you exited your car, clutching his sweater on your chest as you head up to his apartment. Now you see, if the plan does work you’ll just say that you need for him to wear it again because the smell starting to wear off, which made you giggle. So you jog upstairs quickly to his apartment door before knocking, “Spencer?”

You frowned, usually he always opened his door right after you knock, why’s he taking so long? so out of worry you knock few times “Hello? Spencer?” this time you were met by voices of two people, giggling and hushing each other, as they got closer, you giggled in thought ‘maybe you’ll find garcia there who knows?”

But the moment someone opened Spencer’s door your eyes went wide, and your brain tries to make a sense out of what you’re seeing. Here standing in front of you is a girl, a stunning woman you’ve neither met or recognized but one thing you recognized is how well Spencer’s sweater clung on her body, and how happy she looked while she’s standing on his door wearing his clothes with his mug in hand.

“May i help you?” She asked with a smile, you could see the blue colored scrub bottom on her, A surgeon, judging by her uncharacteristically warm welcome, you guessed pediatrics. Damn it Y/N no time for profiling.

“Is spencer he—“

“Who is it, love?”

Oh... so this is why he canceled your usual movie night two days ago, this is why he’s been saying he’s busy when you asked him to drive you to your usual hangout library, this is why he’s been so happy recently.. this is the reason. a mid 20 possibly 30 years old gorgeous Surgeon with a warm smile and impossibly sweet attitude.

“Uh i think she’s your friend from work, Y/N right?”

You concluded then and there that you don’t like how she said your name, it was selfish but you hated how kind it sounds whilst you’re here standing in front of her, eyes glassy and lips trembling. Then when you thought you’ve seen it all, your eyes locked with Spencer, he— looked so content and comfortable, happy. He looked so happy with his...

“Y/N, hi what are you doing here so late? oh and Y/N meets (G/N) and (G/N) meets Y/N, she’s my best friend from work”

So thats what you were, Best friends who acts like a couple, best friends who hold hands, best friends who shared a drunken kiss, best friends who poured everything to each other, best friends who— you can go on and on yet you can feel how tight your chest is becoming, Anxiety— fuck you have to get out of here.

“Y/N?”

“I-i, uh here’s your um sweater, i— figured you might want uh it back, alright i gotta go now.” Spencer didn’t missed how your hand trembles so bad when you handed him the sweater, or how glassy your eyes looked, or how your face looked like it was drained of color, and how you struggled to breathe, her anxiety attacks.

“Y/N wait!” Before he could mention anything, she went down quickly and running towards her car.

“What was that all about?” His girlfriend asked him, which he shook his head in reply, and muttered “no idea, let me check” So he went down, to no surprise, her car was speeding away.

What Spencer didn’t know was that Y/N came home wishing she could’ve been smart enough to noticed the damn signs, or smart enough to never let her heart fooled her into thinking a genius, a guy like him would ever have any feelings for her.

She went to the bathroom, not bothering to wash her face instead she sat down near the sink and then she cried, she hugged her knees and Y/N cried that night, cried so hard that she tire herself out, falling asleep on the floor of her bathroom.

——————

The next morning, she woke up with a headache that’s practically yelling at her to take some meds and drink, her eyes opened slowly as she found herself laying on the cold bathroom floor. Slowly she tried to get up, holding onto the nearest wall as she feel her knees buckled and her head pounding, she let out string of curses before managing to stand fully, leaning over the sink to see herself in the mirror.

The sight is terrifying, her eyes bloodshot red, her face looks dull drained of color, her lips dry, her hair is a mess and her nose is runny. She continue to stare at her misery some more until her phone rang, flaring up the headaches. Great.. Must be a fucking case.

“Hello?” She mentally cringed hearing herself, she doesn’t sound like herself, she sounded like she just drank 30 bottles of alcohol then managed to broke her vocal cords.

“Hi... Y/N are you okay?” Emily’s voice was soothing at least, she sighed as she gulped down an aspirin and took some clothes out of her closet.

“Yeah, We have a case?” She knew that Emily would dig up the conversation more if she didn’t jumped straight to the point, and Y/N is in no mood to talk.

“Yes, wheels up in 40 but if you cant—“

“I’ll be there in 10.”

—————

Y/N took a quick shower, before putting on your work pants, a simple V-neck t-shirt and top it with a blazer, quickly gulping the rest of her water before combing her hair and then head out the door. When she parked her car, her memory drove back to last night, causing her to groan in mental and physical pain— tears welling in her eyes as she violently hitting the steering wheel.

“Not now, Not fucking now.” She closed her eyes before leaning back against the headrest and take a deep breath, calming herself down. She prayed to herself that she won’t break down if she sees Spencer.

She won’t break down.

She keep chanting that inside her pounding head as she walked out of the elevator, entering the bullpen, quickly grabbing her go bag and place it on top of her desk before heading upstairs to the meeting room.

She knew where he usually sit, so when she entered the room, she tried her best to look at Garcia, presenting the case. “Sorry i’m late, traffic is a damn bitch, Double homicide Garcia?” She asked, as she sit down between Emily and JJ, looking down at her files, noticed how stupid she was to use files instead of the tablet which she refused so she could review the cases with Spencer on the plane, Now look who’s laughing. What she didn’t realized realized is that all eyes were on her disheveled looking state, no amount of make up could cover the misery, i suppose.

“Yes, we’re thinking surrogates for a blond woman with wealthy family. Y/N are you okay?” She visibly tensed, hearing his voice is like opening up a fresh wound and pour some acid on top. She wished he could just shut up and not talk to her anymore, not now or in few days at least.

“Fine. Garcia, any other leads?” Y/N looks up to Garcia, to find her with a frown on her face, clearly wanting to say something. But Y/N has the pleading look in her eyes, and the way she tilted her head made Garcia shook her head and replied with a small “Nuh uh thats it, the rest is on your file” Nodding at her with a silent thank you, you get up and left the room, which in other cases Emily won’t appreciate but she let it slide because she knew something’s wrong.

“Y/N” Not him again, you muttered on your head, as you zipped up your go bag.

“Y/N..” Then he touched you, touched your arms, he touched you and you exploded, all your willpower ceased to exist as you swat his hand away and giving him a warning.

“Don’t touch me unless necessary, don’t talk to me unless it’s about the case, and do not call me by my first name, it’s agent Y/L/N, have a good day Dr.Reid”

—————

Throughout the entirety of the case, neither you nor spencer talk to each other, only piling up opinions about the case, the team have caught the unsub of course, so now you’re heading back to DC.

The longer you sit on the very opposite end to where Spencer sit, your mind started to wonder back to what happened three days ago. Being on the case has definitely helped distract you from the reality that Spencer Reid has a girlfriend and that you’re a fool to ever believed that he could love you. You’re so deep in thought whilst looking at the soft curls of his hair, you didn’t realized Emily has sat down next to you.

“A girlfriend?”

“What?”

“He has a girlfriend doesn’t he?” Your eyes darted to Emily’s as you sighed heavily, closing your eyes and leaned your head against her shoulder. “She’s a surgeon, pediatrics i think, she probably smarter than i am, um she smile a lot and she’s holding a cup of coffee when i arrived so i’m guessing she’s a nice person, there’re cat fur on her hair so i guess she has a cat which he should’ve hate being a germaphobe and all but i guess she love that kind.” Y/N half whispered half yelled, as she stared at his poking head still that is before she heard Emily burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, Y/N you profiled her?”

“Em!” You whined as you shove her shoulder, you crossed your arms on your chest as you huffed and pout like a child. “I’m sorry it’s just.. oh god you even notices cat hair” She laughed again, which caused you to laugh loudly, feeling the joy overcome you in full force before you started to cry, not knowing why. Tears kept on falling down your face as Emily hugged you and rubbing your back “Its okay, let it out sweet girl. I got you.” That was the last thing you remembered before falling asleep.

—————

It’s been a week since the last case, you’re finally able to hold yourself up and not cry every 2 hours is an achievement. You spent your time on an autopilot mode, woke up, work, avoid Spencer depending if there’s a case or not, then lunch, cried in the bathroom, paperwork, avoid Spencer, return home, cried again watching Dr Who, falls asleep, woke up and repeat. That’s how you’ve been for a week, and you know how difficult it is to move on but you’re trying and thats what matters.

Knock knock

You furrowed your brows at the sound, Emily wasn’t supposed to be here until 2 PM, so why’s she visiting now at.. 11 am? You sighed as you put down your tub of ice cream and opened the door only wearing your pajamas since its sunday.

“Emily, its way to early to— Dr.Reid?” You can’t believe your eyes when you see a very nervous looking Spencer at your door, your heart still thump hard at the sight of him which you whined at inside— you still love him after everything. Damn it. You took a deep breath as you heard him say your name, before moving backwards to slam the door at his face,

“No! no no wait Y/N hear me out! please!” His voice cracks as he hold the door so you won’t have a chance to slam it in his face.

“What the fuck do you want? Is being an asshole and destroying my life enough for you?” You half yelled, as you turn around and let him see your angry tears. You were so mad at him, you hated him so much, yet you still love him just as much if not more.

“I know, i know you hate me and i deserved it. But please hear me out, you deserve explanation.” His voice are quivering, signaling he was about to cry as you chuckle darkly,

“Damn right i am. But i’m done, done with your games, i can’t keep up with you— i will never be enough and you have.. have someone so please just go and i’ll forget this will ever happen” You plead as your voice soften, you’re just exhausted, you want it to stop, you want to stop hurting. So you shoved him away before pushing the door,

“I love you! I’ve always loved you.” Your movement froze as you hear him continue, your tears still falling freely from your eyes

“The only reason why.. why i dated her is so that i can get over you. I thought.. i thought you’ll grow tired of me soon, and i don’t want to be the one who’s hurt so i.. i found her but i love you, i never stopped”

“You cant just assumed things like that Spencer! You can’t. You should’ve asked me you should’ve told me!” You’re full on yelling now as you let him in, god your neighbors is going to hate you.

“I know! I know but i never handled rejection well and you know that! everyone left me, my dad, Gideon, Morgan, Emily at one point, Hotch, and maybe my.. mom soon. I’m sorry Y/N, i really am, i’m— i’m sorry for being such a coward, for not telling you, for not—“ You cut him off with a kiss, pressing your lips against his in a desperate ‘i love you’ manner, you didn’t care, you just love him, and he could be lying but why? why would he be lying? You pulled back as you stare at him

“Have you end it?”

“5 days, 17 hours, and 28 minutes ago” You chuckled, the first time you chuckled after such a long time, as you let your head fall onto his shoulder.

“I love you too..” You whispered, causing him to hug you tightly as you both sob into each other’s arms, whispering I love you’s again and again like it’ll never be enough.

“I love you, Y/N Y/l/N, i swear.”

“I love you, sorry about calling you an asshole” You laughed nervously before he chuckled and leaned to push you on the couch, “You might have to make it up to me..” He teased, and you let out a grunt. “Fine, Blow jobs for a week anywhere you want..” His face beamed and he blushes before tickling you, “Deal, Baby.”

“Wait Spencer so does this mean—“

“Y/N, will you be the girlfriend of this asshole?” You let out a tear before nodding and tackling him to the couch to hug him tightly “yes, yes, yes i will” He kissed your lips quickly, reaching for his satchel and pull out a lilac sweater,

“I believe it’s yours”

“Like you’re mine?”

“Yours, always.”

——————

blurb requests are open! send some in, any genre is fine, and please like + reblog! if you have any constructive criticisms or feedback please private message me, thanks!

#spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer x reader #criminal minds imagines #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid imagines #insufferableblurb

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mooncustafer · 3 years ago

Text

Recover, Regroup, Roadtrip

Agent Dale Cooper disappeared in March 1989. The case is still open. Agent Dale Cooper disappeared in October 2016. The case is still open.

for @laughingpinecone /

/ @countdowntotwinpeaks‘ WONDERFULXSTRANGE 2021

“Diane, I am uncertain of the date and time, or indeed if such concepts have any meaning in this place. Nor do I have my recorder, but I find verbalizing my thoughts helps me to resist the confusion and lethargy. As for addressing my words to you, even though you’ll never hear them— well, old habits die hard.”

It pleased Wally Brando on a profound level to discover that a few pay-phones remained in Philadelphia, that reaching out was not yet the prerogative only of those who could afford a landline or a mobile. He could also have checked his email on a terminal at one of the city’s Public Libraries, and indeed, made a note to do so within the day so that he might catch up on the news of parents and former school friends. The pay phone was also blessed with both the yellow and the white pages, and the number he sought appeared under “F.” Getting transferred to Dr. Albert Rosenfield was a more complex quest, but he was persistent as well as polite, and after a few minutes he was able to speak to Dr. Rosenfield’s voice mail, if not the man himself.

He introduced himself with salutations, and was about the explain the nature of his request when a beep signalled that the allotted time had run out.

“To listen to your message, press one. To re-record your message, press two,” said the voice of the machine.

Silently cursing his volubility, Wally pressed two. This time he simplified the introduction, and asked if Dr. Rosenfield would be good enough to meet him that evening at the Morimoto Japanese restaurant not far from the FBI offices, to discuss a matter of deep concern connected, he believed, with the little town of Twin Peaks. When the beep came this time, he listened to his message and then, satisfied, hung up. The restaurant he’d named was slightly above his means, but he was meeting a friend of his godfather, and wanted to do justice to the occasion, even if the reason for it was one of peculiar anxiety to himself.

“Diane, I have tried so many times to escape— on the last attempt I really did get out into the world, but my plans, I fear, had dire repercussions for you, and to no end— my course still led me back to the Black Lodge. Some flaw in my own nature keeps trapping me in this loop; perhaps it’s what they sometimes call Saṃsāra.”

It was Agent Tammy Preston’s custom, when scraping the internet for information relevant to one or more recent cases, to check her email inbox every seven minutes— to do so every five minutes would disrupt the flow of her work, but ten-minute gaps might let something important go unanswered for too long. Just now the inbox was due another glance, and switching tabs she saw that two minutes earlier Director Bryson had replied to Tammy’s email of that morning with an invitation to come by her desk at her earliest possible convenience.

Tammy locked her screen, paused ‘Soft Fuzzy Man’ on her playlist and removed her headphones. Picking up the folder marked Missing Persons, 1989– Palmer, she slipped back into her pumps and made for Bryson’s office. The door was open but Tammy stopped at the threshold and rapped on the wall.

“Come in,” said Director Bryson, looking up from a folder. Bossa nova music played softly in the background as Tammy entered and pulled up a chair. It sometimes puzzled Tammy that apart from herself and Director Gordon Cole, no one in this particular division of the FBI seemed to have any interest in music recorded after 1979. (The first few times she’d heard ‘Du Hast’ pounding through the walls of Cole’s office, she’d wondered if this taste for metal was the result, or perhaps the cause, of his hearing loss; but after he’d joked to an unamused Agent Rosenfield about how these were difficult times and difficult times called for Dave Brubeck, she’d looked up the reference in case it was a coded message, and then the next day had overheard Gordon whistling ‘Mister Sandman,’ a song she knew primarily from an internet meme, at which point she concluded that the ear wants what it wants, regardless of demographic.)

“You told me you’d found some serious inconsistencies in the records surrounding Twin Peaks and the Palmer case?”

Tammy nodded, hesitated:

“I believe there may be inconsistencies as well in my own perceptions of the case.”

“Well now, that I find a little harder to believe.” Bryson smiled, but then her voice grew serious: “I’ve looked over the notes you made, and it confirms my own doubts about events.”

“Worse yet— the fact that I truly left the Lodge and then returned to it, will enable the beings that inhabit this place to take another twenty-five year turn in my likeness, unleashing even more evil on the world. The only thing stalling them is the doppelgänger I had MIKE make for the Jones family, but I don’t know if he’s still under the White Lodge’s protection.”

After all these months it still surprised Harry Truman there was so little physical pain, and so much boredom, to dying. Oh there’d been pain at the beginning, when he’d started treatment and had had to stop drinking; the memory of detoxing still made him shudder. But now he only felt a tiredness too huge for sleep to make any dent in it; and since he couldn’t sleep all the time, there were a great many hours during which all he could do was lie in the hospice bed or sit in one of the hospice chairs, and think.

At this point dying didn’t even sound so bad— it wasn’t like the past three decades had been all that great. He imagined going to sleep, just filling up a big bowl of silence and darkness and sinking into it, and then he felt bad for thinking that because Frank had already lost enough people without Harry lighting out too. Anyways, with the things he’d seen over the years he’d be a damn fool to think there was anything peaceful about death and whatever came after. So he’d lie awake trying to find some other topic to ponder, and that’s generally when the boredom set in.

Right now, courtesy of the nap he’d had in the afternoon after today’s treatment had left him especially exhausted, he was lying awake in the wee small hours. 3:52 am, said the clock on his bedside table beside the stack of paperbacks Frank had brought him on his visits— Harry wasn’t afraid of e-readers the way Lucy was of cellular phones, but he found the smell of paper comforting. It reminded him of the Bookhouse. The hospice tended to smell of disinfectants and sweat and soup. The food actually wasn’t as bad as the food at the hospital in Twin Peaks used to be, not that any food could be as bad as the hospital food in Twin Peaks used to be, but it made no difference to Harry, whose appetite had been gone for months. Frank always brought a slice of Norma’s pie too, carefully sealed in an old cookie tin to keep it fresh, but Harry could never manage more than a couple of bites, and they didn’t always stay down.

Being awake in the middle of the night in a hospice wasn’t as bad as being awake in the middle of the night when you were alone at home— the occasional voices or footsteps from the corridors beyond were reminders that whatever might be happening to Harry, life went on for the staff; and the lights from the city outside showed that life went on for others outside the hospice walls. When he’d first arrived, those city lights had made it hard to sleep, but now they substituted for the starry sky above Twin Peaks. There were fewer birds to watch in the city, though sparrows, pigeons or a starling sometimes lit on the ledge outside his window and peered in at him, or maybe at their own reflections. The frequent rain pattering against the glass— well, that sounded the same here as it did in a cabin.

Frank had called to tell him about Margaret Lanterman. Harry sometimes wondered if he should have stayed in Twin Peaks and died in his own home like her, instead of lingering in this hospice like the doomed heroine of some nineteenth-century novel. Or like Annie Blackburn. Or Audrey Horne.

The rain was spattering now against Harry’s window, bending the light from the Japanese stone lantern in the pocket-sized garden below. Harry couldn’t remember what the hospice building looked like from the outside, but he guessed it was similar in style to the mid-century one next door where the day-patients came for their treatments. A flash silhouetted the roofline; five seconds later came the thunder-crack. Harry settled back and closed his eyes.

Sleep pulled him into dreams of an espresso machine, like the one in the coffee place down in the lobby next to the gift shop for visitors. This machine filled a whole room, metal pipes feeding back on themselves like some kind of espressouroboros, neither steam nor coffee escaping from the grotesque contraption. Agent Cooper stood wearily before it with two empty coffee-cups. Harry was just wondering who the second cup was for, when Coop looked up and met his eyes:

“What year is this?!”

Harry sat up in bed, listened intently for two full minutes, but he didn’t hear Coop’s voice again. He sighed. Sometimes the mind pulls imaginary sounds out of the background noise. False pattern recognition or something— Coop would have known a word for it. Harry had little hope left they’d ever find Cooper, or if they did, that he’d still be the man he’d known. Yet he’d carried on, more (he told himself) out of habit than any real hope. He’d kept in touch with Agent Rosenfield, even when it meant letting him know about the cancer— not that Albert would blab the secret to anyone in Twin Peaks.

“Hello?”

“Good, you’re still alive.” Albert’s personality hadn’t mellowed with the years, exactly, but familiarity had worn the edges off his jibes.

“Shut up, Albert. So what have you found?” Albert’s calls generally came every three months, but never at nine in the morning, and he’d last spoken to Harry only two weeks back. Something important must have happened.

“Actually, Sheriff Truman, I’m the one coming to you for information.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, it’s not easy to do investigations from a hospital bed. What can I tell you that you can’t get from other sources?”

“I need you to summarize the Laura Palmer case back in 1989, and the actions of Agent Cooper in Twin Peaks at that time.”

“Albert, is this one of your damn cognitive tests? You already know—”

“We’re both too tired to argue, just humor me.”

“How detailed do you want?”

“An outline will suffice.”

Harry took a deep breath and briefly listed the finding of Laura’s body, and the living but dazed and injured Ronnette, and the arrival of Agent Dale Cooper to lead the investigation. He skimmed over the crimes of Jacques Reneault and some of the other peripheral drama that had occurred in the town around that time, noted that Leland Palmer had murdered his own daughter, albeit while not fully himself, and was beginning to recount Cooper’s temporary suspension and Windom Earle’s campaign of terror, when Albert interrupted:

“You’ve still got the unofficial version, then.”

“Unofficial?”

“According to FBI records and your colleagues at the Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Office, Laura Palmer is an unsolved missing-person case.”

Harry began to feel sick.

“Goddammit, Albert, you did the autopsy. I punched you and you fell across her body. You found a broken poker chip in her stomach—” Albert broke in:

“I hadn’t disclosed that detail to anybody I’ve questioned about this.” His voice was a little shaky. “Listen, Harry,” he continued. “Last Friday I was contacted by a young man wearing motorcycle leathers and talking like Jack Kerouac on quaaludes.”

“Wally.”

“Naturally I supposed him to be from your iodine-deficient neck of the woods even before he introduced himself as your godson and the offspring of those lieutenants of yours. He told me he’d come because he wasn’t sure where else to turn. Apparently he keeps in touch with his parents as he rides across the continent, but in their most recent conversation he’d noticed their memories of certain events had become confused. I was about to tell him I wasn’t the least bit surprised, when he added that he’d checked with other townsfolk, including your brother, and they all seemed to have had the same— how’d he put it? ‘The walls of their memory painted over like a childhood bedroom converted to a study.’”

”That sounds like Wally, all right.”

”Eventually he got round to explaining why he’d come to me. The message that had prompted him to call home was from Lucy; she said she’d shot a suspect who was attacking your brother Frank. She’d also mentioned some FBI agents arriving a few minutes later.”

Harry swallowed. He tried to imagine Lucy shooting anyone:

“Frank never said anything about this.”

“And when Wally called home, Andy and Lucy not only denied it had happened, they had no idea what he was talking about, not that I’d guess that to be an unusual state of affairs. Anyway, after I sent your godson away, I began to have contradictory memories myself of what Cooper had told me about the case. I remembered the poker chip after waking in the middle of the night from the worst dreams I’d had since medical school. I’ve been telling myself it was a false memory, maybe a composite of all the young female murder victims I’ve had to examine in my career, but I told myself I’d make one more phone call, just to check. And now you confirm it. Also, in my recall you knocked me across Leo Johnson’s body. Thanks for the correction. Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, glad he was already sitting on his bed.

“Now that that’s established,” said Albert’s voice on the other end of the phone: “here’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question: when do you remember Agent Cooper disappearing?”

“March 1989.” Harry tried to keep his voice steady, as though he was giving evidence in court. He briefly explained about the Black Lodge and Coop’s reappearance and unsettling behaviour and how he’d checked himself out of the hospital and was never heard from again. There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. “Are you still there, Albert?”

“According to FBI records and, up until two days ago, my own memories: Coop disappeared this past October while driving to Odessa, Texas for a case. The last record of him was a credit-card charge at a motel just outside the city.”

“What was he investigating in Odessa?”

“Missing person. I’ve tried looking into that case, but it seems to be a dead end, especially since Coop never seems to have arrived at the diner where the man he was looking for had allegedly been running drugs.”

“Sounds like the kind of establishment where nobody’d admit anything. Maybe Coop did get to the diner.”

“Gee, you’ve cracked it Sheriff, we would never have thought of that. The diner was old-school, but not so old-school they didn’t have a security camera trained on the front counter. We went over three days worth of footage. I admit we can’t be sure he didn’t slip in through the back for some reason; but you knew Coop— can you honestly picture him entering a diner and not ordering a coffee?”

“Not the Coop I knew, but— I already told you he was acting pretty erratically just before he took off.”

Harry heard Albert sigh.

“I’ve been checking with a few of my colleagues who were involved in the original Palmer investigation. I think Gordon knows something, but being Gordon he’s saying nothing, and as loudly as possible. Denise— Director Bryson, now— remembers the unofficial version, and according to her so does Agent Preston— oh right, you never met Agent Tammy Preston, the poker-faced glamazon computer hacker— I’m not sure she was even born yet in 1989, but she was on a case in Twin Peaks in October 2016, and during the course of the subsequent paperwork, she started noticing a lot of records and statements didn’t match up, and then she realized her own memories didn’t match up. Which brings up another problem with trying to reason this out by conventional methods: something in that Salem’s Pacific-Northwest Lot of yours is rewriting memories, documents, maybe the facts themselves. But so far it’s predominantly affected the people who were on the spot this past October.” Albert’s voice rasped a little from the long phone call, and he paused to clear his throat. “Unfortunately, that also means the people most likely to remember the original version of events are people who weren’t in the Sheriff’s Office during the incident that seems to have triggered the change. At the risk of sounding like one of those bullshit shows on the History Channel, we may never know exactly what happened that night.”

“Wait, what even was the case that brought you all back in 2016?”

“That’s the problem— I’m one of the people who was there, and I only have vague and disconnected memories of a British man with a gardening glove, the chorus of Guys and Dolls, Agent Cooper leaving the room with Diane, his secretary who quit the FBI decades ago, and Gordon, and only Gordon coming back.” Albert paused again. “It goes against my personal feelings and medical opinions, but would you be willing to let me visit you in person? I’ve some vacation time and enough frequent-flyer miles that the trip will probably cost less than the long-distance charges if we continue this conversation.”

Harry opened the drawer of his bedside table and took out the key to Coop’s old hotel room:

“Yeah, come by.”

“Diane, I am currently alone. I realize that statement implies that I’m not always alone here, and indeed I sometimes have a companion, who I still think of as Laura Palmer, though I don’t know if that’s her identity anymore; I’d hoped, after my last attempt, that Laura would no longer be in this place at all. She comes and goes, or perhaps we both come and go and our orbits occasionally intersect. I’ve tried to find some pattern to it, but with no reliable way to measure time, I’ve had little success.

The last time we met she told me about a room she hadn’t seen before, all white walls, in which a dark-haired woman was contemplating a mirror with a puzzled look. I can’t help but feel this parallels my own situation.”

“Frank sent me this last month. But when I thanked him the next time he called, he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.” Albert hesitated before taking the room key:

“Great Northern Hotel,” he read, turning it over. “Twin Peaks. Isn’t the front desk going to want this back?”

“Unless I miss my guess, it’s from 1989 when Coop was staying there.”

Albert’s ears stuck out more noticeably, or perhaps it was his face that was thinner. He’d spent the first part of his visit scrutinizing Harry and questioning him about his case and what the doctors were doing for it, until Harry told him to quit it or he’d run out of time to discuss Coop’s disappearance before visiting hours ended, and anyway weren’t Albert’s patients usually dead to begin with?

The trouble with the subsequent discussion was that it went in a circle— the people who’d been present for the 2016 Unknown Event had uncertain memories of what had actually happened; and the people who clearly recalled the 1989 Palmer case as a murder hadn’t been present for the Unknown Event. The one thing that seemed likely was that there was some connection between the 1989 case and the 2016 case, particularly since both had been followed by the unsolved disappearance of one Agent Dale Cooper.

“I hate to say it, Albert, but I’ve given up hope on ever finding Coop.”

“What’s hope got to do with it?” Albert asked. His tone was not sarcastic.

“Diane, I’ve decided that, if only to keep my mind occupied, I will go looking for the white room and the woman with the mirror. I’d feel happier if I had a ball of twine or some breadcrumbs to leave as a trail back to the waiting room, but I’m coming to terms with the idea that’s there’s no advantage to remaining or returning here— it’s not as if I need food or drink in this place, and I cannot be any more lost than I already am.

So far, I believe I’ve walked down five identical red-curtained hallways, and turned left five times. It therefore seems likely that I’m following a counterclockwise, roughly spiral path, although I’m uncertain if I’m proceeding inwards or outwards.”

“If this search is going to require juggling two sets of memories, then I’d better come along so you don’t get brainwashed again.”

“Sheriff Truman, if you haven’t noticed by now, you’re in a cancer hospice.”

“I just finished a round of treatments, I’ve got a couple of weeks free.” Albert snorted and Harry added: “You can monitor my health while we’re on the road.”

“I’m already thinking of your health. You’re immunocompromised, travel is too risky.”

“We’re crossing a few state lines, not going to the other side of the world.”

Albert pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. I’m driving. Which also means I get to choose the music.”

In fact, they went most of the way by plane, after Albert weighed the odds and decided five hours in a tube of recycled air would still be easier on Harry than a two-day road trip. Some of the passengers threw suspicious looks at Harry’s N95 mask, but they’d cleared it in advance with the airline, and Harry had briefly removed it when he went through TSA, and Albert was prepared to flash his FBI badge, but the flight crew were understanding.

They picked up a car at Midland International. Someone, presumably an employee of the car-rental company, had left a bundle of tourist-attraction pamphlets on the front passenger seat.

“According to these, Odessa has replicas of the Globe Theatre and Stonehenge,” Harry observed once he’d got himself settled.

“Why?” Albert asked.

“Got me there. The pamphlets don’t explain the motivation.”

Albert reached up and pulled down the car’s sunshade on Harry’s side, though the Sheriff insisted his cowboy hat was protection enough for his pale scalp:

“We’re not in the northwest where it rains every fifteen minutes,” he muttered, “and I’ve been looking up the side effects of your meds— you sunburn easily now.” Albert’s driving skirted the city, and they did not pass the Globe or Stonehenge.

The Pearblossom Motel, last recorded location of Agent Cooper, proved to be closed down. They’d noticed the papered-over windows as they pulled up, the sign unlit, not even to say NO VACANCY, but Albert got out to knock anyway. Harry watched him from the car; eventually he clambered out and slowly walked over to join him.

Albert was peering through a spot where the paper had torn away behind the window-glass. He stepped aside for Harry, and the sheriff took a look into the motel’s dim interior. He saw an ordinary, rather old-fashioned registration office, wood-grain panelling on the walls along with a few faded posters for local attractions. Rows of keys still hung on a board behind the desk, and a daily calendar read October 15, presumably the date the motel had closed, or the approximate date— Harry could imagine a concierge might not bother to keep tearing off the pages if they knew it was their last week on the job.

“I now realize that despite everything, I’ve still been harbouring hopes of finding my way back to the waiting room, hence my continual choosing of left-hand turns, as if attempting to mathematically navigate a maze. I must make a true leap of faith if intuition is to guide me, so I’ve closed my eyes and spun around several times in this corridor, first clockwise and then counterclockwise.

Now that I no longer can tell which direction I’ve come from… Diane, can you hear that? Of course you can’t, I don’t really have my tape recorder. I’m going to fall silent and listen for a bit.”

There seemed little else of interest at the motel (Harry, feeling a bit silly, had even tried the Great Northern’s room key on all the doors), so they turned back towards Odessa to look for the diner Cooper had been investigating. The motel was only a mile behind when they saw, ahead of them, a tall woman walking along the highway, her fire-engine-red hair, black t-shirt and pencil skirt out of place in a locale that was rural to the point of emptiness. Albert swore under his breath.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” he told Harry. “Roll down your window, I’m pulling over.” But the woman only threw a glance at the car as it slowed, flipped them the bird, and kept walking, though she stepped gingerly and Harry noticed she was barefoot on the asphalt. Albert leant across him and stuck his head out the window:

“Diane!”

“Fuck off, guys. I’m not Diane, and whoever she is I bet she’d tell you the same.” Harry gently pushed Albert back and leant out the window himself:

“Sorry, ma’am, mistaken identity. Are you all right though? I see you’ve mislaid your shoes.”

“Looks like somebody ran off with them,” the woman answered, her tone mocking despite the tired set of her shoulders. “I haven’t been up to anything illegal, officer. Just a bit of fooling around.”

“We can give you a ride into town,” Harry offered. “If it helps, you’ll be alone in the back seat— means you can get the drop on us if you start to feel nervous.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at the offer, then abruptly barked out a laugh and opened the back door of the car, took a seat and folded her long legs in after her. “Only because I need a lift,” she insisted, rubbing her bare feet. “I knew office romances were a bad idea, but he didn’t have to be a dick about it. Nothing to do now but go home and drown my sorrows in Hallowe’en candy.”

“You’ve still got candy left over from Hallowe’en?” In the mirror above the dashboard, Harry saw Albert raise an eyebrow and the woman in the back seat frowned, insulted:

“No! I may not have a maternal bone in my body, but I’m not going to give the trick-or-treaters candy that’s a year old.”

“Ma’am,” Harry asked, thinking about the calendar back in the Pearblossom Motel office, “what date d’you think it is?”

“Mid-October,” she began. Harry saw her reach into her purse with her black-and-white nails and pull out a mobile phone. Her eyes widened at the date: “No, it’s March. The fuck?—” She ran a hand through her scarlet hair. Harry wondered if it was dyed or a wig. Perhaps she was bald too. “Must be losing it. I was so sure it was October. And it’s not like I’ve could’ve been wandering around this desert for five months.” She tapped her phone screen. “5,230 messages?!” She looked frightened now, raising her head to meet their gaze in the mirror. “Where the hell have I been? And you guys— you’re feds, aren’t you?”

“No,” Harry began.

“I am,” said Albert. “He’s not.”

“Well, can you tell me what’s going on? Or is it classified? God, it’s not aliens, is it? I always assumed alien conspiracies were bullshit to cover up real conspiracies.”

“It’s probably not aliens,” Harry answered, unable to keep doubt from his voice as he remembered Major Briggs, “but I afraid it’s not going to sound any less weird.”

“To start with, we’re in the area investigating a colleague who disappeared in October,” began Albert, “and then you turn up, apparently amnesiac since that date.”

“And with my messages unchecked since then.”

“Yes, but there’s another detail— you look exactly like a former colleague of mine who was close to our missing man. That’s why I called you Diane when I slowed down.”

“I need a smoke.”

“No.”

“Albert,” Harry interrupted, “I’ve already got cancer, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Do you want me to answer that in detail?”

“No I don’t.” Harry turned to look over his shoulder at the woman in the back: “Just roll down your window first.”

“We’ll pull over and she can step away from the car,” said Albert.

He stopped on a shoulder, and their passenger got out and lit a cigarette. Examining the packet, she called to them:

“Three left. That’s fewer than I remember having on me in October, but not by much.” Albert, meanwhile, had pulled a shopping bag from the back seat:

“You should eat something,” he said to Harry, producing a sealed cup of applesauce and a box of plastic spoons. Between rounds of treatment, Harry’s nausea receded, but his appetite was still pretty weak. “There’s saltine crackers, too.” Harry chuckled in spite of himself as he tore the foil off the applesauce:

“This all makes me feel like I’m home from school with the ‘flu.”

“You’ll have to watch Roadrunner cartoons on your own phone, I’m not paying for the data,” Albert snapped.

“I’m surprised we even get reception out here.” The red-haired woman had strolled back to the car with her cigarette, though she took care to stay downwind from Harry’s rolled-down window. “Guys, is it just me or is this highway really deserted— like, Rod-Serling-voiceover deserted?”

“We were just thinking Roadrunner cartoons.”

“Can’t be, there’s no weird rocks.” She flicked ash onto the pavement, “Though it does feel like if someone painted a tunnel entrance on a wall around here, you might be able to drive into it. If you weren’t a coyote.” She took another drag and glanced at the power lines humming above their heads. “Maybe it’s the hum from those wires that’s giving us brain cancer— oh sorry, dude.” She broke off and looked at Harry in apology.

“It’s all right, ma’am,” he said when he’d finished swallowing his mouthful of applesauce. “I’ve got leukaemia, not brain cancer. And the sound from those lines is unpleasant. Like the whine of mosquitoes in the woods.” As he spoke the hum intensified, becoming a loud crackle. Albert glanced up as a shadow fell over the three travellers and their car.

In the sky a dark, nebulous shape twisted, circled, formed a comma or an apostrophe, and dove towards them.

The first few grackles, out of thousands, came down on the roof and hood of the car. Harry could see one pecking at the windscreen and glaring at him with hard yellow eyes. He suddenly remembered Coop had been afraid of birds; until now, he’d never been able to imagine why. He turned and pushed open the back door as the woman dove inside the vehicle. Around them, the flock blotted out the landscape.

“Hope they don’t scratch up the finish,” Albert shouted over the sound of wing-beats, “or I’m not getting my deposit back.”

“Is this nesting season? I mean, are the grackles round here normally this—”

“Oh fuck, one got in!” came a yell from the back seat. Eardrums ringing, Harry turned to see a small black shape ricocheting around the car’s interior as the woman flailed her long, bare arms. The grackle made for the gap between Albert’s seat and headrest.

And got stuck, its beak not quite touching the back of Albert’s neck.

Harry reached for the little feathered body, thinking of how to pin the wings against the bird’s sides to avoid injury to it or the surrounding humans, but the moment his fingers touched it, it crumbled. At the same time the din outside the car ceased.

“That— that’s not natural.” Their passenger was covering her mouth with her hand. Even Albert looked shocked. Harry stared at the palmful of ash that was all that was left of the grackle.

“Let me get a sample bag,” Albert muttered. He pulled out a small clear plastic bag, and held it out while Harry poured the remains in. Then he handed him a packet of wet wipes. “You all right, Diane?” The woman in the back seat did not correct him on the name this time.

“Couple of scratches,” she said, examining her right arm. Albert passed her a mini first-aid kit. Got to give him his dues, he prepares for everything, thought Harry, adjusting the brim of his cowboy hat.

“Y’know,” he said, “This could be a good sign. In that it’s any kind of sign. There’s nothing worse than working in the dark, waiting for some hint you’re getting warmer or colder— that’s the kind of thing makes you wonder if the thing you’re looking for is even out there at all. But this—”

“Someone tipped their hand, you mean, when they tried throwing a Hitchcock movie in our faces,” Albert cut in. “But what exactly did we do to worry them?” His glance, and Harry’s, moved to the dashboard mirror’s reflection of their passenger.

“You think the birds were after me, or wanted to break up our merry band?” She raised an eyebrow. “Trouble is I know a token effort when I see one.”

“Or a warning.”

“We found the Pearblossom Motel;” Harry thought he saw the woman flinch at the name. “And then left it, to head for Odessa.”

“Are you suggesting we drive around in circles and see if they attack again?” Albert muttered.

“I think that’d be a little unfair to our passenger.” Harry turned to her: “Ma’am, I believe Albert when he says he knows you; but I also believe you when you say you don’t remember him. We can drop you anywhere you like— your call.”

“Give me a few minutes, fellas. Given all the weird shit I’ve just been through, I’ve got to think about whether I’m safer away from you two, or sticking close by. Plus I’ve got messages to check.” She took her phone out again. Without taking his eyes off the road, Albert pulled his own phone from his suit jacket, passing it to Harry:

“You’d better check mine. Maybe Tammy’s got some news—she’s been looking up everyone connected with events in Twin Peaks, but not living in the area. She even emailed some couple in Japan, though I’m still not sure what they’ve got to do with this.”

Harry peered at Albert’s phone screen, occasionally commenting if something looked to be of interest:

“Gordon’s sent a grudging OK, tells you to be careful. Also tells you to look after me. I’d always imagined he’d type in uppercase— didn’t realize it was him at first. Hm. Do you know a coroner?”

“I know lots of coroners, we get together for an annual poker tournament and lucky draw. And when I say draw…”

“Do you know a Dr. Talbot in Buckhorn?” Harry interrupted. “Autopsied a headless body last September that turned out to be Major— wait, he— is this one of those revised timeline things?”

“Not exactly.” Albert brought Harry up to date as best he could on Major Briggs’ disappearance and decades-later reappearance. “I certainly remember meeting Constance,” he added, after a pause, and cleared his throat again. “According to Tammy, I made a favourable impression on her, which is… unusual among my acquaintances, even those who share my profession. So what does she have to say?”

“Something about a wedding ring and Schrödinger’s Cat?” Harry looked at the message again. “She says Tammy spoke to her, and was going to contact you too… a gold ring they found on Briggs… sorry, in Briggs… keeps disappearing from her office’s records and the FBI’s evidence files, then coming back again?”

Albert frowned in thought as he drove: “Does it have anything engraved on it?” Harry tapped a message on the phone screen, CC-ing Constance and Tammy.

Outside the car, suburbs, or at least car dealerships and big-box stores, were beginning to sprout up along the highway.

Albert’s phone pinged and Harry read the message from Constance:

“Yes, scribbled it down last time I could find the record. This ring any (wedding) bells? TO DOUGIE, WITH LOVE, JANEY-E”

“Janey-E,” said Diane from the back seat, and Harry heard her drop her phone. Turning around he saw her wringing her hands, the nails now robin’s-egg blue. “Albert,” she gasped, “Oh, Albert, I was almost lost again.”

“I believe the change in method may have led to a breakthrough: I haven’t found any rooms leading off of the corridor I’m following, but the decor has gradually changed from black-and-white flooring and red curtains, to dark brown linoleum flooring and institutional green walls hung with large relief maps of different parts of the world. The maps appear to have been manufactured some time between 1954 and 1965, as they show North and South Vietnam as separate nations. I’m just passing the continent of Antarctica, now, and… oh. I think there might be…

Diane, I found the white room, and when I call it that, I’m not simply echoing Laura’s name for it. It was like a cross between a sanatorium and a snow cave, if a snow cave had furniture. There was a bed with white blankets and a white metal frame like a hospital bed. Audrey was sitting on one end of it, wrapped in a white bathrobe and looking at a round mirror that stood on a little white table. She turned as I entered, and her face was older, drawn and, for a moment, frightened. Then she looked at me again and relaxed, saying ‘Oh, it’s really you.’ I fear she must have met one of my nastier doppelgängers at some point.”

At Diane’s request, they stopped to eat at a fast-food chain before approaching the diner Coop had been investigating in at least one timeline.

“I’m hungry, but I’d be too nervous to eat at the place where Dale might have… well, if they’re a front for something, then the food’s either spectacular or terrible, and I’m not feeling lucky right now. I want to be someplace as bland and mundane as possible for a while, so I can regroup.”

“Well this place has a twenty-minute limit.” Albert jerked his thumb at the sign.

“That’ll do.” Diane curled up beside Harry in the booth as Albert went up to the counter to place their orders. She still wore her pencil skirt, but on on of their stops she’d purchased tennis shoes and a couple of fresh t-shirts— the one she was wearing at the moment read NOT TODAY in flowery letters. “Now he’s got two of us to worry about,” she said under her breath. Harry decided to reply:

“Someone needs to worry about him.” Diane nodded, and Harry offered his hand: “Sorry, we never did the proper introductions did we? Harry S. Truman.”

“I know.” Her expression relaxed slightly. “I see why he likes you.”

“Not sure Albert likes anybody, exactly—”

“That’s not who I was talking about.”

Albert returned with a eye-searingly-orange plastic tray:

“Mushroom burger, cheeseburger, buttered biscuit for you, Harry, because they can’t just serve toast like a real restaurant and those things they claim are bagels are made out of lies.”

“Don’t worry Albert, I’ll survive a biscuit.” Harry picked up one half of the baked item and took a bite. It wasn’t too bad, actually.

“Diane, the ring that jogged your memory—”

“My half-sister and her husband. Don’t ask me how they’d be mixed up in this though, Janey-E’s aggressively normal.”

“And her husband?”

“Never actually met him. Janey-E and I don’t talk much,” she explained. “But from her comments he’s… passively normal. Works for an insurance company, drinks too much sometimes, the whole man-in-the-gray-flannel-suit thing.”

“I’ve been talking with Audrey, or the version of her that existed in the white room. You’ll notice I use the past tense. Still sitting on the bed, she raised a finger and pointed to the mirror in front of her, saying:

‘The other me— she ran away from home, like she thought Laura had done. I’m amazed she survived her first year in the big city, but look:’

Diane, I saw Audrey searching records online, tailing suspects, testifying in civil and sometimes criminal courts. It’s a life that can make a cynic of the kindest soul, but there are situations the police don’t or can’t investigate, and those were— are, I suppose— Audrey’s bread and butter, in that mirror world. And they seem to pay well enough she can afford to do some pro bono cases.

‘I wish I were out there,’ she said, and the mirror clouded and shifted. She patted the bedspread, and I sat down beside her. ‘You know how,’ she began, ‘when you’re a kid, and you’re reading your favourite book, and a little after the halfway point, you start to think ‘I’m getting near the end of the book?’ And really, you’re not— there are pages and pages left of scenes and pictures. You’re always surprised just how much more there is. But it’s not enough to shake the feeling it’s putting off the inevitable. Dawdling before bedtime.’ She stood up suddenly, bent and kissed me on the brow. ‘Say hello to the other me, if you ever run into her.’ And then she was gone, Diane. Not in flame or fadeout, just gone.”

I look up, and Laura is beside me.

The diner, when they found it, was not what Harry’d pictured. Instead of a lonely Edward Hopper tableau, or a grimy spoon where toughs whispered to each other along the lunch counter and cast knowing glances in the direction of the men’s room, “Wispy Dreams Cafe” was a blandly cheerful donut shop, the logo rather obviously altered from that of a national chain.

“Looks like they’re under new management.” Diane observed as they got out of the car. “Or else they got tired of paying for the franchise?” The three of them made their way across the parking lot the cafe shared with the landscaping company next door. Inside, the sound of chattering customers and a hum from the coffee machine both soothed and overwhelmed. Harry steadied himself against a gleaming, cream-colored formica counter. The woman on the other side— not a fresh-faced high-school senior or a kindly-faced matron, just a woman with her hair in a ponytail and circles under her eyes, doing her best to smile— threw him a glance and Harry nodded.

“I’m ok. Albert, Diane, what do you two want?”

A couple of minutes later, they sat by the window, feigning interest in their donuts and coffee.

“Well, we’re living the cop cliché,” whispered Albert. “So, what do you think? Soulless suburban hangout, or den of villainy?”

Harry gingerly sipped the brew in his cardboard cup and eyed the other customers. You couldn’t say the place wasn’t busy; the woman at the counter had already served a family of four in the time it had taken Harry, Albert and Diane to seat themselves with their coffees, and another customer had just come in the door.

“That counter’s been installed recently. Deep-fat fryer’s been replaced too.”

“And they don’t know how to use it yet. You could wax skis with these donuts. That’s hardly a crime, though.” Diane looked around at the blue and yellow walls painted with large trompe l’oeil sprinkles. “Doesn’t seem to be anything else funny about the place— I hate to say it but this place might be legit.”

Harry watched the new customer lean in to the counter. Harry couldn’t quite make out what he was saying— presumably the man was placing his order, but it seemed to be taking a while and there was something tense in the woman’s expression. Beside him he heard Diane swear under her breath, and faster than he could turn his head, his peripheral vision took in that she was getting up. She strode towards the counter and Harry had a glimpse of the angry red scratch on her arm as he struggled to his feet.

Diane was leaning on the counter now, trying to insert herself between the customer and the worker.

“What did you just say to her?” she was asking.

“Look, I come in here all the time, we joke around. What makes you think it’s your fucking business?”

“What seems to be the trouble?” Harry loomed up behind the customer— he might have only half his usual strength but he was still a good six inches taller than the other man. Behind him, he guessed, Albert was approaching. Harry knew the agent was unwilling to use physical force and not exactly skilled at defusing situations through diplomacy, so he turned his gaze on the customer with all the quiet confidence he’d used as Sheriff. In his ear Diane hissed:

“It’s nothing to do with the case, this asshole’s just creeping on the staff.” She must’ve locked eyes with the man too, for he was staring at her now, his bland pink features shifting expression from anger to terrified fascination.

Rather an unimpressive face, thought Harry, and then, what’s Diane doing? He turned to look at her sharp, smiling profile, and saw a tear slide from her eye.

“No,” she said loudly and abruptly, and blinked hard. “Do you want us to escort him out?” she asked the woman behind the counter; but the man was already out the door and running for his car.

“Diane,” Harry whispered.

“Diane,” whispered Albert. Diane was passing one hand across her eyes.

“I could have fried him. Just now. Something wanted me to; but I just wanted him to back off.” She beamed at them as Albert held out an arm for her to steady herself. “I think I’m back to normal. Well, normal for me.”

“Are we the only two left here now?”

“I’m not even here anymore.”

“I don’t know how to get back to the waiting room.”

“It doesn’t matter, the coffee’s cold.”

Somehow, the white room has become even more featureless, despite that being both a logical and a grammatical impossibility. Only the bed, the table and Audrey’s mirror remain. A moment in the glass catches my eye, and I look to see— oh Diane, I’m so glad you escaped! I see you travelling with Albert, and… oh, Harry…

…the cafe’s fluorescent lights flickered as the background hum, noticeable since their arrival, now rose to an ear-splitting volume then died away just as suddenly. As the three of them looked on, an old-fashioned hospital bed, its steel frame painted white, materialized between the counter and the booths, replacing two unoccupied tables. At one end of it sat Agent Dale Cooper, fully dressed in his suit and tie, a look on his face of mild surprise that turned to the familiar joy as his gaze met theirs. Coop had grown older like the rest of them, sharper angles in his face, but he looked hale and well, and his eyes did not have the cruel gleam that chilled Harry’s memories of their last meeting.

“Harry,” he said, as though a quarter-century hadn’t passed. In response Harry silently doffed his cowboy hat, revealing his pallor, his naked scalp. Coop’s smiled wavered a little. “I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he whispered, and rose from the white bed. In the background, the cafe staff and patrons continued to chat and serve and drink and eat coffee and donuts as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on right in front of them. Albert made a hesitant noise in his throat and Coop raised his hand in that just a moment gesture he always used to make, and in that moment Harry knew his friend really was back from wherever he’d been all those years.

“Apologies for being brusque,” Coop said, “but there’s a family in Las Vegas who I’ve reason to believe are in danger right now—”

“Janey-E?” Diane asked.

“Right on the button. For personal reasons which I’ll explain later, I can’t get in touch with them myself. The Mitchell brothers might be able to help, but I don’t know how much they’ll be able to recall of our last meeting.”

“Tammy and Constance are already on it.”

“Good,” Coop looked relieved, and Harry stepped forward, shaking a little in spite of himself, and as if the motion had at last given him permission, Coop sailed forward and embraced him— very gently, as if he feared Harry might break. He’s gauging by touch how much weight I’ve lost, thought Harry, but it’s all right. He’d forgotten how warm Coop was. He became aware of Albert and Diane joining in, arms circling his shoulders and Coop’s. If I died right here and now, it’d be all right.

But this embrace was not an epitaph, or an epilogue. Outside, somewhere else in the city, was an imitation of an ancient stone monument; and a copy of an old theatre where real audiences watched real actors. Somewhere the forces that had sent the dark cloud of grackles prepared another attack, and somewhere Tammy Preston was moving to protect Janey-E and Dougie Jones. Elsewhere Audrey Horne walked the mean streets and was not herself mean. This was an interlude, but let them have it for a while.

A couple of patrons turned their heads to smile at the reunion going in their midst.

#wonderfulxstrange #@laughingpineapple #twin peaks #@laughingpinecone

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redara · 3 years ago

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Okay, big rant with SPOILERS, i honestly thought RE7 Chris was Hunk without a mask. Without the DLC, i thought it would go like this :

Blue Umbrella sends Hunk to "save" the Winterses and claim himself as "Chris Redfield", building trust with them, etc. We'll call him Hunk!Chris for now.

Fast forward to RE8, the Winterses are having a nice little dinner, when BAM BAM BAM, gunshots and ambush from men in masks - i repeat, IN MASKS - like the ones worn by Hound Wolf Squad. One of them wears a slightly different mask, is called 'Alpha', and he takes Rose away.

Ethan's convoy crashes, and he's rescued by Hunk!Chris, and is told to go to the village and meet Mother Miranda and the Four Lords. They're not acting hostile at first, but they show how they hate the men in masks - bear in mind, the Lords look just the way they are, big woman, scary creature, and all.

The difference is, they claim to be the leftovers of Umbrella's old experiments, and that 'Alpha' and his team wants to eradicate them for good. Mother Miranda lets Ethan stay with them.

Well, our boy Ethan can't sit still, so he snoops around the guarded village, only to be attacked by the lycans, the monsters and all. He finds clues from the villagers, enough to make him secondguess the Lords.

Now, important, this is RE8, and Leon always appears in even numbered franchise, so we're gonna put him here.

In helping the villagers, Ethan is assisted by Leon. He then sees Leon talking on comms to Chris, and Ethan concludes 'oh must have been a member of Chris' squad or something'. The convo may sound like this:

Leon to comms: Chris? Where the fuck are you? ...yeah, but - well, have you seen the village lately? There are lycans everywhere, how am i supposed to be there - ...*sigh* aye ay, captain.

Ethan: Well?

Leon: Well... I'm needed elsewhere now.

Ethan: Chris' not an easy guy to persuade, huh?

Leon: You tell me. In the twenty years that i've known him, he's only listened to me twice. See you around.

(yeah, whatever convo they be having, Leon is implying that he knows Chris the best, and that Ethan believes him, and they part ways).

Eventually, after prodding around the village, Ethan finds out too much, and figures out that Rose is actually safe and sound in Lady D's castle, so he tries to get her back. Lady D and her daughters deny at first, until they can't play nicely any longer, and shows their true selves. After killing them, Ethan finds out Rose has been taken away to another Lord's house.

Now comes the hunt.

So Ethan goes on Liam Neeson's Taken mode. He goes to Beneviento's house, asks questions only to be played with, so he has no option but to kill.

While heading to Moreau's place, Ethan encounters the Men in Masks, got captured, and taken to their hideout. They are all still wearing masks. Though he hears them saying things like, "he killed two out of four Lords", "do you think Miranda knows?", etc.

Ethan believes he's going to be taken back to the remaining Lords and killed for good, but then BAM, big fishy comes to the rescue.

So now Ethan goes to Moreau, fights him, and gets told to stay away from Mother Miranda. In the brink of death, Moreau's willing to spill the details, but he is shot dead by sniper instead.

Coming forward is Hunk!Chris, claiming to have saved Ethan, and being all friendly and stuff. Naturally, Ethan tells him of what he has done, killing three out of four Lords, and meeting the mysterious masked men. Hunk!Chris tells Ethan to just kill the masked men whenever possible.

So, Ethan travels with Hunk!Chris to Heisenberg's place. Quite a way. All good at first, until Hunk!Chris offers to split up to cover more ground.

Poor Ethan meets Heisenberg all alone, has to join in his little game, kicked twice to the bottom of the factory. The second time, he's crawling out of the vent, and sees bloody Hunk!Chris being held by two men in masks. So naturally, Ethan jumps to help.

Sooo Ethan manages to have one of the masked men in grip, gun pointed to his temple, and begins to negotiate.

Ethan: you okay, Chris?

Hunk!Chris: *grunt*

Masked men #1 to Alpha: his name is Chris?

Ethan: so are hundreds thousands of people in the world.

Alpha: what's the last name?

Hunk!Chris: ...Redfield.

The masked men look around in shock, but the Alpha approaches Hunk!Chris.

Alpha: So you're the copycat we've been looking for.

Ethan: copycat? What the fuck are you talking about?

Alpha looks at Ethan: Ethan Winters, right?

Ethan: yeah?

Alpha: this man isn't the good guy like he claims he is.

Hunk!Chris: bullshit!

Alpha: shut up.

Ethan: i'm not gonna believe the men who killed my wife - Chris saved my fucking life!

Alpha: it wasn't Mia Winters that we shot, it was Miranda. She disguised herself as your wife to get to your daughter.

Ethan: then where's Mia?

Alpha: Miranda had locked her up. She's safe with us. Now, put the gun down, Ethan -

Ethan: if he's not Chris, then who the fuck is he?

Yeah basically it's a big "fuck you" "no, fuck you" moment, until Leon arrives at the right timing to declare.

Leon: Umbrella's special forces, codename Hunk.

Ethan: Leon?

Alpha: took you long enough.

Leon: i had a detour. Ethan, i've known Chris long enough to know that he doesn't look like that. That man isn't Chris Redfield.

Ethan: wha - why are you agreeing with him?

And Alpha finally unmasks, and shows the face we all recognize, and says, "Because i am Chris Redfield."

Sooo, Real Chris elaborates on how he has been hunting Blue Umbrella, about Hound Wolf Squad, about Mother Miranda and her real plan. Leon is apparently sent to deal with the identity theft, and he elaborates on info regarding Hunk, Blue Umbrella, all working together with Mother Miranda.

All in all, they get to an understanding. Ethan is fucking seething for being betrayed, but more importantly, he wants to help. Before all of them can compose themselves, Heisenberg drops by, clapping, having been listening to the whole thing. He manages to separate the group, Ethan going with Chris, while Leon goes with the rest of HWS.

Cue boss fight of Heisenberg vs Ethan and Chris.

Now afterwards, the duo heads to Mother Miranda. They split up, Chris to plant a bomb, while Ethan is supposed to wait for Leon and backup. But the backup never comes, and Ethan drives head on to face Miranda on his own.

Well, this is where Chris sees what Ethan really is, how he still survives despite being injured and all that. And Ethan seems to have come to terms with his unusual condition, that killing Mother Miranda is a one way ticket for him.

So Mother Miranda dies, Rose is saved, but Ethan is also dying. Chris forces Ethan up and running, carefully, as the body is crystallizing. But Ethan is at his limit.

And as you all know, he knows he has to sacrifice himself to detonate the bomb, cause let's face it, he will never make it out alive. Even if he does, barely, he doesn't want to live as a BOW. So he hands Rose over to Chris, asking him to please tell Mia that he's sorry, and that he loves her and Rose, and that everything's gonna be okay now, he's gonna set things right.

Aaand boom.

(sorry)

That's about it. No fast forward to some years later at the ending.

I'm also thinking that perhaps in mid story, there should be a time when the players get to play as Real Chris as Alpha, only that it's never mentioned who he is. The players only see from first person perspective, and his voice is like coming from radio (ya know what i mean), and it's shown how he goes so far to save Mia. How Mia reacts to him all scared and is all like, "who are you?" With no explanation, then it shifts back to Ethan.

Reading back, this is hella long to write, but yeah this is what i thought upon seeing RE7 Chris, like the fuck, that can't be Chris. And working with Blue Umbrella? Really? I think real Chris would be having Racoon flashback from just hearing the word 'Umbrella'.

#chris redfield #ethan winters #karl heisenberg #lady dimetrescu #mother miranda #angie beneviento #moreau reservoir #resident evil 8 #resident evil #what if #my au #stemming from why re7 chris looks fucking different #seriously why

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thebounty · 4 years ago

Text

Incompatible (Mandalorian x Hunter!Jedi!F Reader)

Chapter Three: The Pursuit

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: some violence, mentions of organ harboring (idk where that came from in my weird head), angst, fluff, soft mando, soft reader (this one gets pretty soft at the end), FEELINGS, slow burn, grammar errors probably

This one I actually really enjoyed writing, sorry it’s slightly shorter than the last ones, and it took me forever to write. School has been stressful but its fine (haha...haha). I hope you all enjoy, and again I am so sorry this is late, I love you all!

Chapter Three: The pursuit

Well, you didn’t necessarily lie to Mando. Most of it was true, except for a few major details you just so happened to have ‘forgotten’. Which was obviously the truth.

Obviously.

After the little incident that went down last night, you had to think fast. You could not afford to spill everything about yourself, but you also had to be smart about it. If you lied about the whole thing, there was no way he wouldn’t pick up on that. He’s a kriffing bounty hunter for makers sake, he definitely could tell a lie from the truth. Thankfully, you also knew how to maneuver around that as well. So, this is the story you told him after he threatened to kill you, after just almost dying yourself not even a few minutes prior.

Such a nice guy.

“Okay look, before you think of doing something rash let me explain myself.” You started calmly, seeing how tense Mando was didn’t make you feel any better than you already did with having to come up with something on the spot. His fingers were hovering over his blaster, almost like a warning for you to continue. You cleared your throat.

“I only found out I had these abilities a few years ago, my family never told me of them,” lie, “so before you go thinking that I’m some Jedi or whatever, a sworn enemy of a Mandalorian, just know I have never had training with this before, so I wouldn’t even know where to start. And plus, Jedi have those laser things, I don’t.” Okay that’s somewhat of a lie. You have had training but only a few short years of it. But the latter part of your sentence was obviously a lie, the lightsaber poking at your back was evidence of that, at least for yourself.

“I only use it when totally necessary, and by the looks of it, we were not getting away from those guys with a shootout or a fist fight. I was not about to die and let you take the reward of our bounties for yourself. You have the armor to protect you, I have this ability.” You spoke clamping your hands together in your lap. Mando eased just a little bit by retracting his fingers from his blaster, leaning back against the tree stump more as he contemplated your words.

All he did was shake his head. “How do I know that you won’t kill me with these abilities? How do I trust you?” Mando spoke in a lighter tone now, he felt a little more at ease with this new information. You sighed and shook your head.

“I don’t want to kill you Mando, far from that. However, if I recall you were the one who threatened me a few minutes ago. How do I know you won’t kill me?” You questioned staring directly in his visor. A short sigh escaped his modulator, if anything, it was a soft chuckle. Mando was laughing?

That’s more unsettling than a death threat.

“Look, if you don’t threaten me, I won’t threaten you. I- “Mando shook his head quickly and leaned against his forearms on his lap, leaning in a little closer to you.

“I was nervous before. I threatened you just out of instinct. I don’t really want to kill you. I just want to come to an agreement. You did save our lives back there and we do work well together, as hard as that is to admit. I just don’t want that to be compromised.” Mando spoke lowly causing you to shiver. You could tell he was telling the truth, and you felt grateful for his honesty.

You nodded, “I agree.” And that was how the conversation went, and you two haven’t spoken of it since last night.

---

Dawn came quickly and you knew that you both had to get to the city soon to track this gang, which shouldn’t take that long. You hoped at least. The sooner this was over, the sooner you could get as far away from Mando as you could.

However, despite this unspoken competition between you two, you were starting to feel something else flow from both of you. It was strong in the force, you felt it clearly. Mando was slowly starting to trust you. With trust came friendship, something Mando had extraordinarily little experience in.

However, so did you.

The last time you can remember having a friend was on your home planet, her name was Sif. She was just like you, a force wielder, a fighter, and strong. You two bonded heavily over that. Unfortunately, you didn’t know whether or not she made it out of harms way like you did, or if she suffered the same fate as your family.

This growing comfortableness between you and Mando was becoming intense but not unwanted. To put it in simpler terms-

It terrified both of you.

While you two walked together through the gates of the city Voss, after walking the longest bridge you’ve ever seen in your life, you two actually held up a conversation. It was nothing of importance and nothing personal was discussed, just talking about shared experiences while hunting bounties. Mando took an interest in your fighting style, it was unique. It was a type of martial arts style of fighting that he himself could never perform due to his armor.

It was- nice. You both found some form of comfort talking together without the unwanted tension that you two create around each other. You were both coming to realize you created walls to protect yourself from caring too much about one another. You both knew what being close to someone causes.

Pain.

You both stopped talking for a while after tracking the location of your bounties. They were last seen walking east from the city walls, in attempt to go to the Nightmare Lands, in hopes to lose any bounty hunters tracking them.

They obviously haven’t meet you and Mando before.

There was something rare in the woods that they wanted, that’s what the locals told you both at least. You and Mando made an agreement to catch them before they entered, you did not want to see what was beyond the tree line and Mando was not in the mood to patch up any more wounds you two might get. As a result, the two of you spent the remainder of the afternoon trudging through the woods following the low beep of the tracking fob.

“We’re getting close.” Mando spoke lowly as he brushed aside some branches. You nodded silently behind him.

“Do you think they’ll suspect us coming?” You questioned, Mando shrugged.

“I don’t know. They might have set up camp since it’s getting late. That’s really all I can assume.” Mando spoke as he walked next to you. His cape rustled against the slight breeze causing your cloak to move as well. You angled yourself towards him slightly so he couldn’t see the glimmer of your lightsaber. But you had no clue what he was looking at through the dark visor. You could only hope and go off of his feelings. He was somewhat anxious as you two approached where your bounties would be, he’s never taken anyone down with help before.

You could sense his uneasiness and tilted your head towards him, and a small, “I’m nervous too,” were all the kind words you could offer him without it being awkward.

Not that it would mean anything besides reassurance.

Obviously.

“I never said I was nervous.” Mando tried to hide what his voice might give away. He didn’t understand how you always seemed to read him so well despite wearing the helmet. He could read you sometimes, but it was almost always a guess.

“I can feel it radiating off of you in waves. Your helmet can’t mask all of your emotions.” You chuckled, sending him a quick wink to mask your ever-growing nerves as you two approached a small hill amongst the trees.

“I read heat signatures down in the valley, I think our bounties made camp for the night. Stay low.” Mando commanded as he got down on his knees and then his stomach as you two approached the edge of the hill. You got down on your stomach as well next to him as you looked down on the scene before you. They had one large tent housing all of them it seemed, and one little one next to them. No doubt holding the women they seemed to like to capture along the way.

You shuttered at the thought of what they do to them.

“We need to get the women out.” You whispered to Mando as he scanned the area with his small telescope. He paused for a second as if contemplating your words. He knew it was risky to try and free them, obtain your bounties, and stay out of harms way at the same time. But he knew how stubborn you were, and he did want to help them too.

“We will.” He states attaching his telescope back on his pulse rifle.

“Have any idea for a plan?” You asked gazing down at the camp. You saw smoke coming from the other side, meaning that your bounties were most likely around a fire. Not knowing they were being stalked like prey on the other end was kind of amusing.

“Most of the time I just stun them from a distance.” Mando says as he tilts his visor in your direction. The light from the sun setting created an amazing glow on the beskar, it was entrancing.

“I don’t think that’ll work this time with this many people.” You shot back, trying to think of an alternative plan.

“Do you have a better idea?” He asks taking another glance down at the tent.

“I do. It’s a little risky though.” You whisper causing him to look curiously in your direction, urging you to continue.

“I could offer myself as bait, seeing that they like women a lot, at least that’s what the locals say. I can keep my dagger hidden and then strike when they aren’t expecting it, that’s when you come in and help me take out the rest of them.” You say shrugging as if it’s not a big deal. Mando’s eyebrows stitched together under the helmet, were you serious?

“Are you kidding me? No, absolutely not.” He concludes shaking his helmet so fast you think he’ll get whiplash.

“Why not? You don’t think I’m capable?”

“No, I know you are. I- “

He sighed heavily, “I can’t protect you that well from up here.”

That made your mouth shut, and quickly. You just stared at him, his chest piece rising and falling as his heartbeat quickened. He didn’t mean to say that out loud. However, he was right. You didn’t know what they were capable of, but you knew what you were capable of.

You cleared your throat. “Listen, I know I can handle myself. With that being said, I trust you to come if things turn south. I can have my communicator with me if you want. But I trust that you’ll have eyes on me the whole time. Because I don’t think we have any other choice than to have some sort of bait for them.” You said, trying to speak the plan into existence. It was risky, but there was no other plan that would get they whole group to comply.

“Plus, I have that little gift I told you about.” You smiled. He only sighed and rolled on his back, arms crossing over his chest in the process. You could mistake him for being relaxed right now, but his emotions said otherwise. He was contemplating your words. You trusted him, that’s a big thing to him. He knew now that he couldn’t let you down if things did turn south.

He nodded once. “Let’s get this over with then.”

You both waited until the sun was completely down, the only light coming in from the ever-glowing moons in the sky and the light haze from the campfire below. Mando was perched up on the hill on the opposite side of the one you two were at earlier. It gives him a better view of the entrance of the tent.

The only way in and out.

You took off your cloak, wrapping your lightsaber in it as you set it down next to Mando, hoping he wouldn’t open it. You then started taking off your black pull over and revealing a black tank top, if you were to get into the tent undetected, you were going to have to show some skin. You kept your dagger concealed in your boot and made sure you didn’t have any other weapons on you.

Mando was pacing as you got yourself prepared, he kept making sure that his pulse rifle was loaded and making sure that the safety was already off on his blaster as well. He had to be ready for anything. He felt terrible that you were only going in there with a single dagger while these bounties were fully weaponized. He put his hands on his hips and leaned his weight back on one leg while he looked at you.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked for what seemed like the millionth time that night. You looked up to him from your kneeling position by your boot, tying it tighter as you spoke to him.

“Mando, it’ll be fine. It won’t take that long. They get me in their tent, you come down and we take them all at once. Going in quiet is our only option here. All they have to do is go in the tent all at once. Not that hard.” You whispered, making sure your cleavage was somewhat more prominent. Your hands were slightly trembling, you’ve never done anything like this before and you hoped Mando didn’t notice.

He did, and it sent him on edge, he notices everything. However, he also tried not to focus on your appearance too much, you were becoming slightly intoxicating to him and he couldn’t be distracted during this mission. He cleared his throat, darting his eyes from you.

“It’s all a risk.” He whispered as you got ready to finally leave, taking another once over of yourself. You placed a hand on his shoulder plate, gently as if to not scare him away.

“Look, the sooner we do this, the sooner we can get our reward. Then we don’t ever have to see each other again.” You said with a slight grimace. Despite everything he’s found out about your past, you were actually enjoying your time with him. He was a great fighter, bounty hunter, and he had this certain charisma about him. He felt the same way you did, but he couldn’t let you know that he was also enjoying his time with you, maybe a little too much.

“Yeah.” Was all he could say as you descended down the hill towards the camp. He sighed as he got down on his stomach again, blending in with his surroundings very well in the dark. He took a look through his telescope, to have a close eye on you the whole time.

You walked through the trees closest to the campfire where your bounties were. You counted six of them, but maybe there were more in the tent. You hoped that there weren’t anymore. After you rounded one more tree, you came into view of them.

“Excuse me?” You asked meekly. They all looked up at you from their roast. As if they were the same person, they smirked and laughed lowly at the same time. By the looks of it, they were all human. You mentally sighed with relief at that. Humans were easier to read and easier to take down, and given the wound still healing on your side, you were very thankful for that.

One man stood up and whistled lowly. “What’s a pretty las like you doing out here all alone?” He asked throwing his cleaned off bone somewhere in the brush. You smiled at him, rubbing your arms.

“I’ve been traveling alone for quite some time now. My ship broke down and I need some shelter. You folk are the first people I’ve seen for miles.” You whispered, allowing yourself to tremble slightly against the cold of the night. The man approached you as the others around the fire stood up from their positions.

“The names Randall, sweet thing.” He seethed, touching your hair. You were so grossed out but had to act otherwise, and just gave him a small smile instead.

Mando was reeling from his position. His grip was so tight on his telescope he’s surprised it hasn’t broken. He didn’t understand why he was feeling the way he was. He never cared like this before when he was with you. Not even about anyone else he’s encountered along his journey now that he thought about it.

“Why don’t you come inside, you look cold. We’ll take good care of you.” The man, Randall, smiled as his hands stroked your arms, dangerously close to your tank top straps. You grinned at him.

“That would be lovely, thank you so much.” You said as you grabbed his arm. He led you to the tent, but it wasn’t the main one. Your heartbeat started to quicken as he practically dragged you to the smaller tent off to the side, where you assumed all the other women were being held.

“I hope it’ll be comfortable for you sweetheart.” One of the other men said behind Randall, you didn’t realize they were all following behind.

Mando was concerned to say the least as you rounded the tent. He could see that they were taking you to the other tent now, but his view on you began to grow smaller and smaller until you were out of sight, even from his telescope.

“Shit.” He whispered, springing up onto his feet and stuffing his telescope into his pocket. He treaded lightly as he walked the perimeter to get a better look at the other tent these men were leading you to. He was starting to get a bad feeling about this, since they were all following you there.

His hand instinctively went over his blaster.

Once you arrived at the tent, Randall pulled back the curtain and revealed an awful sight. You couldn’t contain the scream that ripped through your chest at the sight; women, men, children, all dead, strung up by ropes inside the tent like meat. Their bodies were cut open, dripping blood everywhere. There were multiple coolers inside surrounding them, it was not a question to what they had inside.

Your stomach was in your feet as you struggled against Randall’s, now death grip, on both your arms.

“What is this?!” You screamed, struggling against his grip. Even if you were to break free, all the other men were just outside the tent.

You were trapped.

“Oh, this? We like to steal stragglers like you in the woods, harbor their organs, and sell it on the black market. Women’s organs sell the highest, and I can see why. Don’t worry darling you won’t feel a thing.” He laughed into your ear as you struggled more against him and managed to elbow him in the stomach, he loosened a bit, but a laugh broke through him instead of the grunt you were anticipating.

“A feisty one. I’m sure that’s worked on others, but not me sweet thing.” He seethed before your world turned black. The men all laughed as they wrapped rope tightly around you, stuffing you into the corner of the room.

Randall laughed lowly, “We’ll be back for you later darling.” He snickered with his friends.

Mando was resentful after hearing your piercing scream rumble inside his helmet. He was running now, and he did not care about anything else, only getting to you. It sounded stupid in his head, how caring and downright angry he was right now, except that wasn’t the worst of it.

Mando was scared.

He was not about to let you become their new donor in the black market, not at all. But he was also not about to lose someone he was starting to consider his friend.

He hated to admit that though, but it was true.

He hasn’t heard a peep from the other end of the commlink for awhile now. All he heard were the events of what happened a few minutes prior. Your scream, Randall’s voice in your ear, and then nothing from you afterwards. He listened to the men after you went silent start to discuss what they were going to do to you. He knew they were dangerous from the moment Karga talked about them at the cantina.

He was regretting taking this job now. But that didn’t matter right now.

Once he came up on the camp, he kicked the logs on the fire, drowning the flames in the dirt around it, causing the whole camp to be swallowed into darkness. They, unlike him, didn’t have night vision. He heard the group talking lowly, mumbling a few words he was able to pick up from his helmet. It was along the lines of,

“Who the fuck left the fire so small?”

“You did this didn’t you Derek?”

“Was she with someone?”

“You’re being paranoid.”

“Shouldn’t someone be with the girl?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Mando was smirking under his helmet. He was standing inside their tent now, completely surrounded in the darkness, anticipating that their next move was to come inside here. He had his blaster to stun pointed at the entrance. Mando was slightly disappointed that these men were their bounties, and you two came here for a reward.

If they weren’t, he would love to give them slow deaths right about now. He hoped you weren’t hurt.

He heard the rustling of the tent opening and aimed his blaster towards it, his finger quivering in anticipation over the trigger. He hopped Randall walked through first.

“Let’s just get the supplies and rip that bitch open- “

Blast!

The men jumped in sync. Mando assumed he hit Randall, since they all looked so shocked to see him now unconscious on the ground at their feet. As if they were one organism, all the men looked up and stopped breathing, similar to a child getting caught stealing candy, their eyes were bulging. It only fueled Mando on more.

Mando grinned under the helmet, “Welcome.” He spoke in his deep baritone voice. One of the men reached for their blade and Mando quickly stunned them down.

“Tsk tsk, that is not how it’s going to work gentlemen, please allow me.”

Mando didn’t hesitate to take them all down, giving them a few punches here and there to give them false hope, however they were no match for him.

It was almost too easy for him, but then he remembered that they were only smugglers. He could handle a thousand of them at a time if he had to, he has before.

After the fact, he focused his attention on retrieving you, and getting off this kriffing planet.

---

You awoke with a gasp, clawing at your chest. The last thing you could remember was Randall breathing down your neck, darkness, and the feeling of binds on your arms. However, the scenery around you told you otherwise. You furrowed your eyebrows and took in your surroundings. You were still at the camp the smugglers were in, which was odd to you. The fire was burning, and Mando was no where to be seen.

Was he okay?

You shook your head, of course he was, you thought. You noticed the blanket around you and the pounding in your head and the back of your eyes.

“Dang farrick.” You whispered, rubbing your temples and felt the small gash on the side of it where Randall slammed the butt of his blaster on you. You sighed.

“How are you feeling?” A voice said from behind you making you jump and turn. It was Mando, with some firewood hanging in his arms. It was an interesting sight, seeing a Mandalorian like him so domestic. He slowly walked over to where, you guessed, his sleeping mat was located and started adding the wood to the fire. You realized you were staring at him applying wood to the fire for a little too long and forgot to answer his question.

“Uh- yeah, yeah I’m fine. My head just hurts a little bit.” You answered, all of a sudden feeling shy under his gaze in the light of the fire surrounding you two. All he did was nod in return.

“That’s good. You had a pretty deep gash on your temple, but the bacta patched it up pretty quickly.” Mando responded as he sat back against the log. You nodded and glanced around.

“What happened, after I become unconscious?” You whispered, wrapping the blanket around you when you felt a cold breeze on your torso. You noticed Mando’s fist tighten into a death grip, the leather made a small squeak while doing so. He tilted his visor to the side looking away from you momentarily, almost as if he were grimacing at something sour in his mouth. The act confused you.

“Mando?” You whispered, “what happened?”

He grunted and stood up fast. “What happened was you were too reckless to see that these men were dangerous! We should have taken them together and maybe they wouldn’t have strung you up like a piece of fucking meat!” He seethed pointing a finger at you, his chest plate rising and falling rapidly with his increasing heartbeat. He felt a pit in his stomach at the sight of your face drop, his shoulders fell too.

You nodded. “I’m- I’m sorry. It was idiotic of me to think I could face them alone and be vulnerable like that.” You muttered looking down at the mat. You knew that it was risky, the whole thing was. Not just the bounties but letting yourself get so open around him. However, after seeing what could have happened to you, you truly did feel guilty. As much as you didn’t want to admit something like that to Mando, you knew it was the truth, plus he did save your life.

Mando dropped his pointed finger and sat down, closer than he was a few minutes ago and sighed.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you like that, but- they…they were going to harbor your organs, and whatever else they wanted to do to you. I couldn’t stand by and let them do that. I’m glad I got to them before they did again. You��ve- “he shook his head and looked down. “You’ve become a good friend, and a strong ally.” He admitted looking back up at you, and found you already looking at him. Somehow you were looking directly into his eyes, despite the dark visor he wore. It made him feel…

Seen, as if for the first time.

You smiled softy at him. “I appreciate that, I do. I believe we do make a good team, and I’d consider you a friend too, and a decent ally. Even though you are a pain in the ass.” You chuckled softly. Mando shook his head, smiling under his helmet. You sensed there was something more he wanted to say, so you tilted your head at him.

“Say what you want to say Mando, I can sense there is something more you want to say.” You asked calmly, he turned to you and looked down.

“I found something while I was retrieving our things, something in your cloak.” Mando started, turning around as he did so and rustled around in his bag and pulled out your lightsaber. You could feel your heartbeat in your ears as you stared at the shiny metal in his hands. You looked down feeling guilty once again. Mando didn’t take his eyes off of you though, “what is it?” he asked further.

You glanced at him and looked down at the saber. “It’s a lightsaber. I know I told you I didn’t have one, but since we’re being so honest right now, I didn’t trust you enough yet to tell you I had one.” You watched as he twiddled with it in his hand, it was almost mesmerizing. He didn’t know what he was holding or dealing with.

“Be careful with that. You don’t want to accidently impale yourself.” You grinned softly looking back up at him. He stopped his movement suddenly and set it down at your feet slowly, the act caused you to giggle slightly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to go looking through your stuff. I would be mad, but I understand what it means to have something for yourself.” He said, speaking softly. He knew what this probably meant to you, since you kept it hidden from everyone. It was something you knew you had that was specifically yours, and Mando felt the same way about his Creed. It was just his, and no one could take that away from him.

It was the softest you’ve ever heard his voice go. You didn’t know if it was because of the darkness surrounding you both or the fact that you two were finally coming to terms with letting go of the weird competition you two created, considering you two have recently just saved each other’s lives in the matter of two days.

“Did you make it yourself? How does it work?” Mando asked now leaning back against his hands, intrigued with this weapon. He’s heard of these…what were they called again? Saber swords? Laser saber? He couldn’t remember even though you just told him. He understood the Jedi used them; however, he’s obviously never met someone like that before.

Until he came close to you.

You picked up your lightsaber and nodded at him. “Yes, I made it with my old master, but that was many years ago when people like me weren’t hunted.” You said as you ran your fingers down the lines on your saber. You remember having to harvest the rare sap from a tree to build this wonderful weapon. Your master was amazing, and even though it was a short few years you still missed him. You missed everyone.

“That’s why you kept everything so hidden, isn’t it?” Mando said breaking your thoughts about your old master. Your shoulders dropped.

“I guess it isn’t much of a secret anymore, at least not to you.” You looked at him, feeling slightly anxious with the information he now possesses. He could sense your discomfort and shook his head.

“If your nervous about me telling anyone, I won’t. I know what the Empire was capable of, and if there is anyone like that still around then no one will know. You have my word.” He spoke strongly, as if to make sure you understood what he was saying was genuine. You felt instantly calm, he was radiating a comforting feeling and it helped ease your suspicions.

“Thank you.” You smiled at him and put your lightsaber behind you.

“Can you, can you still wield it?” Mando piped in, making your head turn curiously towards him.

“What do you mean?”

“Can you still fight with it I mean, do you know how to fight with it, since you don’t use it much to conceal your identity?” It was a good question. You knew you could still kill someone with it if you had to, but you were a little rusty on your sword fighting skills.

“I probably could, I mean I’m a little rusty, but it wouldn’t take long to pick it up again.” You shrugged, kind of liking how intrigued he was with the topic. He nodded while tilting his head, raising his arm out.

“Show me.” He asked, almost instructive making your gut fall to your knees. You just stared at him, cleared your throat, and stood up.

“Sure.” You shook the feeling off, you were strong. You were not about to let a simple statement like that shake you, this was Mando after all. You two hated each other.

You always will.

You squared your feet with your shoulders, stepping back from the fire, and ignited your lightsaber. The sound rang through your ears and it caused your heart to flutter, you missed the sound of the absolute power of the lightsaber flowing through you. The white saber emitted light throughout your makeshift campsite and caused the Mandalorian to have a different glow to him as he watched you hold the powerful weapon.

To say Mando was entranced is an understatement, he didn’t understand was he was feeling. He only knew that he felt drawn to you, like he was meant to be here in this exact moment and time.

“I think I can still do a few spins without cutting my leg off.” You joked and twirled it around your side and back, loving the sound it made cutting through the air. You brought it back in front of you and shrugged.

“That’s pretty much all to it. Hard to spar with it when no one else has a lightsaber. It cuts through practically anything.” You smiled as you retracted it, sitting back down across from Mando.

“It doesn’t cut through pure beskar.” He piped in causing you to nod.

“Yeah, that’s why Mandalorians and Jedi’s fought against each other. They were equally as challenging. But that was a long time ago.” You waved off the thought and yawned, feeling drained from today. Mando shifted and got more comfortable, feeling his eyes start to tug closed, but he knew he could survive off of a few hours of sleep. He didn’t know how you would though.

“You should get some rest.” Mando spoke softy as you started to lay down again. He only leaned back against the log, crossing his arms over his chest. Last attempt to try and cover his heart before he exposed it anymore to you.

“Goodnight, Mando.” You spoke softly as sleep took over you once again. Mando’s heart stopped at the softness of your voice, he felt as if he suddenly turned to liquid at the sound of it. At that moment he now understood he couldn’t cover his heart to you anymore, the thought terrified him.

“Goodnight.”

---

taglist: @tillytheslytherin @faith-quake @archaeoheart @darthcassi @areyouthorreal @cyarikaaa

#Mandalorian #din djarin x female reader #din x reader #din djarin #mando x reader #mando x you #grogu #the mandalorian #jedi reader #mandalorian x jedi

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mommymooze · 4 years ago

Text

Coffee is Delicious

Hubert x reader

Mentions of fighting/battles/death Coffee beans are mutilated

Your heart is pounding strong and steady as you continue to develop and perfect your lance skills while mounted on the back of your Pegasus. All members of the Black Eagles Strike Force hone their skills constantly, never knowing when they will be called to battle against their enemies. Rising with the sun, you consume a hearty protein filled breakfast followed immediately by sweat laden muscle building exercise. Allowing a brief cooldown while you drink plenty of water to compensate your body for the fluid loss, you then spar and develop your lance techniques.

Lunch is spent socializing with your friends as best you can. Mostly you observe them, too shy to comment or draw attention to yourself. Watching everyone laugh at Caspar’s antics, nodding while all are complimenting Dorothea on her latest opera performance, and hiding your snickers as they give Linhardt a difficult time for just being his obnoxious self.

The next several hours are invested in your magical development. Practicing lower level spells, learning new spells, building your casting abilities and increasing your focus and concentration. Next you are sprinting to the stables for Pegasus or horseback riding. Finally, you clean up, have a light dinner and spend time with friends, or continue research.

If you check the dictionary for the word Shyness, there is a picture of you hiding behind a book and Bernie hiding behind you. Carrying on a conversation with a single person is manageable for you. A war council meeting with 10 or more people? You can manage to be present at the meeting. Participation is out of the question. Entering the room, you take a seat, placing your hands and notebook in your lap. Visibly above the table only your eyes and head move to the direction of the person speaking. Copious amounts of notes fill the pages of the notebook. Thoughts, perceptions, even recommendations on how to carry out tasks that are brought up at the meeting. After a meeting one day when the only two remaining in the room consist of you and Hubert, he asks to see your notes. He is quite aware of your hesitancy to address a group.

“These are excellent observations. Why did you not bring them up during the meeting?” The dark mage inquires, already knowing the answer.

“I, uh, did not want to interrupt. I just…” your voice fades to silence and you can only focus on your notebook on the table.

“May I suggest that you sit next to me during tomorrow’s meeting.” Hubert begins, “If you will allow me to discretely view your annotations, I will offer your thoughts in such a way that no attention or scrutiny will be directed towards yourself.”

“Sure.” You shrug. Not that you would ever disagree with him. You have heard Emperor Edelgard state too many times that Hubert is an extension of herself and any order or direction from him is the same as if she had proclaimed it herself.

Hubert rises and dismisses you. Skittering to your room you drop your book, fall lengthwise on the bed, smash your pillow into your face and scream. Hubert, your crush, noticed you. He appreciates some of your observations and you are invited to sit next to him. It takes you a few minutes to get your breathing under control and the flush to fade from your face.

Quickly throwing on your sparring garb, you run out to meet with Ferdinand for lance practice. Both of you obtain a healthy, challenging workout as he also educates you on the finer points of his presentation that he had made during the council meeting. You actively banter with him, bringing up some notable flaws and considerations which he appreciates and will review your logical points.

The Strike Force is embroiled in a particularly rough battle close to the Oghma Mountains. The air is cooler there to begin with, however with it being Guardian Moon with temperatures below freezing, the winds tear through your clothes like frozen daggers of ice as you fly on your Pegasus. The close knit group is responding to the reports of a large quantity of enemy forces entering into Varley territory.

Your coal black steed swoops low, hooves barely clearing the ground as you direct your lance into the chest of an enemy cavalier. Just as the winged steed is directed to head back into the skies, an enemy mage strikes with a flash of purple light blinding your vision. An experienced flier such as yourself should have no problem hanging on, however the frigid temperatures combined with flying at dizzying heights and speeds have allowed the unforgiving chill of the weather into your limbs, your hands too numb to firmly grip your saddle, you are thrown from the back of your steed. The screams of dying soldiers the last thing you hear before you lose consciousness.

There is no camp as they planned to arrive, fight, and return. The Empire’s Elite forces decide to detour further into Varley territory, where roads are better constructed and Inns are not too difficult to find.

You are carried from the field after the battle concludes. The healers asses your condition. A concussion and aftereffects of being struck by black magic. Your resistance has greatly improved since the academy days and you will recover without any permanent damage.

Traversing the fields and undeveloped countryside on horseback is slow because several riders have to double up. Ferdinand offers to carry your unconscious form, however he has injuries of his own to care for. Hubert mounts his mages warhorse and is assisted with securing your unconscious form in front of him. He wraps his large cape around the both of you to assist in conserving warmth between you. Your Pegasus is given to another rider more accustomed to traversing at great heights, they scan the countryside and lead the way to safety.

The exhaustion from battle washes over everyone as they ride with little conversation heading east, eagerly anticipating a warm meal and soft bed for the evening.

Hubert checks your positioning, your back leaned up against his chest, your cheek pushed tight against his sternum.

A soft voice mumbles from within his cape. “Yumm. Smells so good. Coffee.”

The hand around your waist shifts slightly. “Shhh. Rest. You have a concussion.”

You snuggle closer to him in your haze. “Hubert’s voice is so deep and sexy. Mmmm.”

The dark mage’s eyes cast about him, nobody appears to be close enough to hear you but him.

The horse jostles you both as it steps into a dip of the ground and he tightens his grip around your waist.

“I want to have coffee with him. Stare into his gorgeous chartreuse eyes. Delicious.” You murmur.

The troops finally meet up with the road, the travel now much quicker with even ground for the horses to traverse. Hubert rooms with the Emperor while you are in a room with Linhardt and a few other injured soldiers.

You arise quite early in the morning, having slept through much of the ride here. Running down to the stables you check your Pegasus, relieved that he is quite healthy. Heading back inside you grab breakfast and a large coffee, finding a quiet corner to sit and try to recall what happened that led you to finding yourself here.

A few others of your group are scattered about the room. You half-listen in on their conversations. You take your dishes back to the counter and obtain a refill. As you return to your seat, you are followed by Hubert.

“Might I join you?” he requests as he stands across the table.

“Absolutely.” You quietly answer as he takes the seat across from you. The coffee is too hot to drink, you wrap both hands around the cup, warming your fingers nicely.

“Are you feeling better today?” Hubert asks, bringing his drink to his lips for a sip.

Your eyes are riveted on his. You realize that you are gazing at him far too intensely, suddenly you’re looking away and breaking out in an embarrassing blush. “Yes. A bit of a headache. I feel much warmer. I recall the cold was getting the best of me. I should have stayed on the ground when my fingers started becoming numb. I hope I did not cause any major problems.” Bringing your cup to your lips, the coffee is still boiling hot. How can he drink it like that?

“Not at all.” He smiles, taking another sip.

The room begins to fill with the rest of their group. Linhardt sits next to Hubert, placing his plate filled with sweet rolls and cup of tea onto the table. “I can’t wait to get back and get some proper sleep.” The healer frowns. “Someone talks in their sleep and wouldn’t stop rambling about coffee all night long.” The cleric’s green eyes drill holes into you. You weakly smile as you raise your cup to cover your face and hide behind it. You sort of know you talk in your sleep, but this is the first time someone understood what you said. Mostly you were told you mumble. Just another reason to hide away and keep to yourself.

The journey back to Enbarr is uneventful and quiet. Your Pegasus is not exactly thrilled to be grounded most of the way back, however the weather is cold and you do not wish to be chilled so soon again. Arriving home, you slip back into your regular routine, working on your muscles and skills. The weather is cold, wet and dreary, you must forgo riding for several afternoons.

Heading to the kitchen you decide a cup of coffee would be the perfect warmup on this chilly day. As you enter the always busy room, the cooks are bustling about, preparing the meat and vegetables for the next meal. As you finish preparing your drink, pouring it through a clean cloth filter, Hubert arrives to obtain yet another cup of his favorite caffeinated beverage. With too many people around you don’t speak, but you do wave to greet him.

“Afternoon.” The dark haired mage grumbles. “The weather is cold and miserable. Best for staying indoors by a warm fire.”

You nod slowly, gripping your cup firmly.

“There is a decent fire in the library should you need further assistance in combating the weather’s chill.” He says before the noise of grinding his coffee beans makes talking impractical.

You nod as you leave, heading to your room.

You mull over Hubert’s suggestion to sit by a warm fire instead of freezing under your blanket in your cold and damp room. Summoning your courage, you decide it is to your benefit to seek a warmer location while you are studying, no matter who or how many others may be occupying the room. Turning the corner to where the fireplace is located in the library, you are surprised that only Hubert is here, occupying one of the more comfortable chairs in the room. The smell of the burning hardwood fills the room, adding to the warmth of the blazing flames. The other occupant does not raise his head from his reading as you sink into an overplush chair that comfortably hugs you. The upholstery is warm, immediately making you feel secure and relaxed. Placing your still warm coffee cup on the arm of the chair you open your reading material to where the bookmark holds your place. Concentrating on your book, you only raise your eyes to reflect on a particular passage or to imagine the depths and runes of the spell you are studying.

Reading a particular dark magic spell you look to the other spellcaster in the room. Your mind conjures up the last time you observed him cast this spell, perfect concentration reflected in his face. His posture is immaculate, leaning slightly forward, his right arm fully extended creating the runes consummately while his voice deeply and powerfully orders the incantation. The purple luster of magic gathering in front of him, quickly growing in magnitude and power as the spell bursts forth, striking and eliminating the enemy. Unconsciously you let out a sigh of awe.

“Pardon?” suddenly his eyes are focused on you, his brows raised.

“Your spellcasting is fabulously perfect.” The words are out of your mouth before you realize you had said them out loud. Your cheeks burn with the heat of a blush as you desperately resist the urge to bury your face in the pages before you.

“Thank you.” He muses.

Both parties return to their reading, the only sound in the room is the occasional page turning and the popping and crackling of the fire.

A throat clearing ahead of you draws your attention from your book.

“Should you wish to further your development of your reason magic skills, I humbly offer my assistance.” Hubert proposes for your consideration, not looking up from his reading.

“To increase my abilities aiding the cause toward our Emperors victory, I accept your proposition.” You smile widely.

There is the slightest smile that flashes across Hubert’s lips that you are thrilled to bear witness to.

Hubert joins you in the spellcasting section of the training grounds when he finds the time. Your stomach flips every time he touches you to correct your arm position, your stance, standing behind you to watch your rune manipulation. By the time he leaves to head to his next appointment you are tomato red and breathless.

Today is one of your longer learning sessions and quite productive. After dinner, you decide to retire to the Library to procure a book Hubert recommends that covers additional spells and manipulation of runes. The two comfy chairs are taken by others, thus you make do with alternate seating on the couch that faces the fireplace directly. Placing your coffee cup on the end table you open the tome and become immediately immersed in its contents. The other occupants of the Library leave without your notice.

Hubert greets you as he enters the room. Taking a seat on the other end of the couch, he places his coffee on the end table, opens his book and begins reading.

After reading quietly for nearly an hour you are deep into the section dissecting rune manipulation and you find there are a few passages that are not quite make sense to you. You stop to take a sip of your now very cold coffee, nearly choking on the nasty liquid.

Hubert looks over to you. “Are you all right?”

“Cold coffee.” You stammer and catch your breath. “Actually, I have a question about this section here…” You say, holding the book between you, scooting a bit closer to him as you point out the section. The dark haired mage slides next to you so that you both can review the passage. He carefully explains the runes, their order and how the instruction of the manipulation contributes to the verbal incantation thus giving the magical energy and power to the spell.

Everything suddenly clicks. Smiling brightly in your frenzied joy, you turn to Hubert and give him a peck on his cheek.

Your gasp as your eyes go wide as realization hits you regarding your most recent action.

Hubbert’s gloved fingers gently grasp the side of your jaw, turning your face toward him again. “I think you meant…” he hums as his lips gently meet yours in a soft kiss. You grab his lapels, keeping your lips pressed together until you find the need to breathe again.

He slides his arm around your shoulder as you lean into his chest.

Hubert presses his lips to the crown of your head. “I find you delicious as well.”

#fe3h #Fire Emblem Three Houses #feth #fe3h x reader #hubert von vestra #FE16 hubert von vestra

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