#which i tentatively think may be the implication for what his life looked a little like pre-series but still thinking through that

[waystarresourceco]

Kieran Culkin on Roman's playboy image and the way the actors/writers understanding of backstory fits together. (x)

[damn-oh-dread]

Some, frankly ridiculous, over-analysis of 3 pages in chapter 15 of Fires of Heaven:

I honestly did not think there was going to be a scene specifically about Moiraine reacting to the idea Siuan could be dead. I kind of assumed it would be an implied conversation or something along the lines of Egwene going “Moiraine guess what,” with a response something like “I know.” So anyway, these whole 3 pages were really fun! Thank you, Robert Jordan, for doing this one thing for me. To celebrate the fact this exists I’ve decided to completely over-analyze it!

So, we enter Moiraine’s tent to find that she is still eavesdropping on Rand and probably everyone else while shes at it and I personally find it hilarious that Egwene is surprised she is still doing this. Girl, Moiraine has been eavesdropping on everyone ever since she learned how to channel, you think she would stop now? Because someone asked her not to? Moiraine never once told anyone she would stop eavesdropping actually. She just mentioned that they should “allow Rand some privacy” which does not specifically mean privacy from her. The way she speaks so much through implication and what she keeps unsaid is *chefs kiss* she is just so fascinating!!! And when she says “goals, which may not be those of the Tower” ??? I am hysterical. Because, on one level, yes she is correct. The Wise Ones do not have the same goals as the Tower but really what I think she means to say is that they don’t have the same goals as her and Siuan. Moiraine has spent only a handful of days at the white tower in 21 years, she is not around enough to really be apart of the white tower action. Moiraine is not working for the white tower. Like yes she is working with the Amyrlin but not because the Amyrlin seat is the number one authority, she is working with the Amyrlin because they're besties.

Brief interlude about Egwenes dreams:

Rand sitting down in a chair, and somehow she knew that the chair's owner would be murderously angry at having her chair taken; that the owner was a woman was as much as she could pick out

Me frantically writing down all the women rulers in Randland: So, Caemlyn? 👀

Every time he moved closer to Perrin it was as if a chill of doom shot through everything

(sidenote: is perrin just not in this book? Where is he? where are you girl?)

Mat throwing dice with blood streaming down his face, the wide brim of his hat pulled low so she could not see his wound

Okay the only thing I can think of that would bleed and also be covered by Mats hat would be if he got some injury on the top half of his face so like, sexy pirate look? Scar over the eye? I think mat could pull off an eye patch. Can not wait for Mat's sexy pirate era as he deserves! 🤩

Thom Merrilin put his hand into a fire to draw out the small blue stone that now dangled on Moiraine's forehead

You know, everything in this book so far is really making me think that RJ is gonna kill her off. Rip the mentor character, you guys are always my favourite. 😔 How would Thom get her kesiera though? He watches her die? She dies in a fire? He takes her kesiera from the fire and keeps it in hopes he will meet her in another life so he can figure out which Aes Sedai to kill to avenge his nephew? Sorry guys I literally have no ideas for this one. TLDR, Moiraine probably dies and Thom for some reason has feelings about that. I mean he is kinda horny for her in book 4 so I could see him being a little sad in a “oh no that girl I thought was sexy is dead, you win some you lose some I guess” kind of way. Which can not fault him, Moiraine is super hot. Have you guys SEEN Rosamund Pike???

ANYWAY MOVING ON

The fact there is an arrest warrant for Moiraine because she's helping the dragon reborn is hilarious to me for the reason that yes, she has indeed been helping the dragon reborn and that is a no-no but she has also been doing so many other illegal things. If Elaida, somehow, wasn't aware that Moiriane was also looking for the Dragon Reborn she still could have gotten Moiraine thrown in White Tower jail for so many other reasons. And Elaida decided to get her for treason? Bo-ring.

Just off the top of my head, a list of (what I assume would be counted as) crimes Moiraine has committed:

Knowing how to cast balefire

CASTING BALEFIRE

killing another Aes Sedai

being in cahoots with the Amyrlin

being married to the Amyrlin

Lowkey stealing a sa'angreal (yes I know that Siuan gave it to her but I think overall this is generally a thing that makes them both look very bad)

Just generally doing what she wants at all times

Elaida could have gotten her for SO MUCH.

Next point,

"Is that all you can say? I think Siuan was your friend once, Moiraine. Can't you shed a tear for her?"

Egwene, even if Moiraine was super upset about Siuan, why would she break down in front of you? It has already been proven many times that Moiraine can stay straight faced through some intense stuff. You are not one of the two people that Moiraine has ever been vulnerable for!!! So, sorry Egwene. Like what were you expecting bestie???

Secondly, Moiraine responding to Egwene with, “I have no time for tears,” is just peak characterization right there!!!!! Yes girl!!! I love how that one line both further establishes Moiraine’s frankly insane sense of duty but also implies that if she did have the time to let herself grieve she wouldn’t be able to keep going to complete her mission. At this point she is staying with the mission to honour Siuan and the history that they have together. To stop now would be to dishonour her and her legacy. If Moiraine ever stopped for a second to think about literally anything that has happened to her and the people she cares about since starting her quest searching for the dragon reborn it would be very difficult to keep going I think. Moiraine can not slow down!

“We were friends once.”

Hey babe, quit telling everyone I’m your ex-girlfriend because we got married. Okay jokes aside I do really like this line because I think it speaks a lot to the depth of their relationship. Moiraine is a character that leaves much more meaning unsaid so you really need to read between the lines with her. Here she says that in the past they used to be friends. And yeah, because they were. After almost 21 years of working together in this cause they are so much more than just friends though! They were working together in an environment where if either of them were even suspected of being in cahoots it would have spelled disaster for them both. And the stakes are even higher when Siuan is raised to the Amyrlin Seat. It could have been so easy for either of them, driven by paranoia or fear or jealousy etc, to betray the other to save themselves. And yet they never did! Even when it would have been safer to be apart and work separately and never speak again, they still work together and stay really good friends throughout it all! So like yes they were friends once, but time and a shared purpose have tempered their relationship into something much stronger than the early friendship and comradery they shared as novices.

There is a saying in Cairhien, though I have heard it as far away as Tarabon and Saldaea. 'Take what you want, and pay for it.' Siuan and I took the path we wanted, and we knew we would have to pay for it eventually."

Take what you want and pay for it, is such a banger saying. But yeah, Moiraine and Siuan decided 21 years ago that they wanted and more importantly felt they needed to be the ones to find the Dragon Reborn and now they are both paying for that choice. The price they payed just happened to be the highest amount they could have been charged. They both knew they could die on this mission and so Moiraine has no choice but to move on and not think about it ever. They really did take what they wanted and then paid for it.

Now is a good time to introduce my two theories on what is going on in Moiraine's mind at the moment of this conversation.

Theory A)

Moiraine knows that Siuan has just been stilled either from the creepy fae people or from her crazy Rhuidean adventure. So obviously Moiraine would be worried, but knowing that Siuan is still alive would decrease that worry a little bit. That's why when Egwene gives her the news about Siuan, since she already knows about Siuan's fate, it allows her to take it with a straight face cause shes already expecting it.

Theory B)

The more agonizing of the two theories for sure: Moiraine is just as in the dark as everyone else, and assumes that the worst has happened to Siuan. From there, she is just holding herself back an insane amount after this news like a crazy person. Maybe she takes it with a straight face and then is sad about it when Egwene is gone.

I’m leaning more towards Theory A because there is no way after seeing every future in Rhuidean she doesn’t know generally what Siuans fate is. And! This entire book she’s been super on edge. What more could put you on edge than knowing your bestie has been through it and you won’t be able to be there for them??? And in the conversation where she and Lan talk about worries and how Moiraine is so worried lately she thinks about Siuan. Coincidence? I think not. And if Moiraine really was in the dark I feel like she maybe would have flinched, or there would have been a tiny reaction, even if it happened to be one that is quickly gone. You can’t react to the news your friend might be dead without a tiny reaction unless she already knew and was ready for it.

Do you expect me to be happy that the White Tower has split apart?

No, because it makes your life harder since you won’t be immune to tower politics anymore.

I gave my life to the Tower long before I ever suspected the Dragon would be Reborn in my lifetime.

You literally weren't even Aes Sedai yet when you learned the Dragon was reborn. Chill out drama queen damodred.

I could almost wish that every sister had sworn to Elaida, whatever happened to Siuan."

Okay but almost wishing for something is different than wishing for something. I do understand where she is coming from though. It would be much easier to manipulate or stay away from the tower if it was acting as a single entity. Now that it is fractured this spells massive trouble for Moiraine, especially because she is already on Elaidas hit list. The fractured tower is a huge headache for her and makes her plans so much more complicated. BUT! She doesn’t actually wish that (as much as it would help her) because a) Elaida is a huge bitch, a fact which Moiraine knows about quite personally and b) Moiraine is probably absolutely livid towards Elaida right now for hurting someone that she cares about. (Reading about what happens to Siuan made me livid so I'm doing a bit of projecting here BUT I think it is a fair thing to assume) Therefore, she wishes for Elaida to have the worst time possible regardless for how much harder it makes her goals!

But you forget that only thirteen sisters linked can shield any man from saidin, and even if they do not know the trick of tying flows, fewer can hold that shield.

Yeah Egwene, you forget that Aes Sedai don’t need to be working together to fuck shit up.

I mean to deal with the world as I find the world, for as long as I can

Okay this is starting to turn more into Elizabeth reacts to 3 pages in chapter 15 but I just really like this quote a lot. This is just, so Moiraine. This is her as a character. Someone who deals with the world and keeps going until the very end.

"With luck," the Aes Sedai went on, "we will not have to worry about Lanfear."

OKAY WHAT IS HAPPENING TO LANFEAR?!?!?!? I know Moiraine has been ease dropping on Rand right? So she probably just assumes that Lanfear and Rand are working something out. Right? RIGHT? Plot twist: Moiraine has actually been planning an elaborate scheme to somehow take Lanfear out this whole time.

"They may be strong in many ways, but they are sadly lacking in others"

MOIRAINE YOUR HAUGHTINESS IS SHOWING ASDFJASDIEWFN

Even Nynaeve doesn't think it is right.

Nynaeve is so obsessed with Moiraine, I love it. Like, sorry to break it to you Nynaeve but in order to hate something you do need to care about it and what happens to it.

well, anyway

that is it. That is all my thoughts.

If you read this far, thanks for sticking around!

[serpenteve]

I'm having the horrible realization that Aleksander never actually did any serious wooing of Alina in the books. It's all just Alina her self being horny attracted to him. But this is supposedly???? His grand scheme???? Of manipulation???? Implications! It seems like the girls in these books wasn't the only one slut shamed. I'm- ☠

Leigh wrote a man sexy and captivating and said "it's his fault, actually, that Alina got a crush on him. He shouldn't of.... uh.." Flips through papers. "Ah, had such pretty eyes."

Okay! 👀Yes, we are finally doing this!

I'm flipping through my copy of Shadow & Bone and noting down all the interactions between the Darkling and Alina which I've put in chronological order beneath the cut.

First of all, the Darkling and Alina are only alone together in about a handful of scenes. Most of the time, the are surrounded by other Grisha or Baghra or are in a public place. A lot of the Darkling's actions and words are clouded by Alina's own insecurities. She constantly voices how she feels like she's not good enough, not pretty enough, not strong enough and he takes it in stride and gently encourages and placates her. There are a few lies he does tell her (that the Black Heretic was his ancestor, that he wants to destroy the Fold, and he doesn't know what Baghra's power is, etc) but if we extrapolate the trajectory of her ill-fated romance arc, I think even book!Darkling would have told Alina about his real plans if she seemed like she'd accept them.

A lot of speculation has been made about the Darkling's seduction of Alina and honestly???? Aleksander literally just exists and Alina is thirsting for him because she's desperately looking for validation and re-assurance. I initially head-canoned his first kiss by the lake as being pure calculation and the kiss at the Winter Fete being 100% accidental (because Dark Lord Sasha played himself lmao) but on this re-read, I don't even know anymore. He already came close to almost kissing her after they have a tender moment, catches himself and then immediately leaves before he can catch feelings. Then when they share another tender moment at the lake, he kisses her and then is surprised by it and before he can really process it, Ivan comes by to cockblock.

Like, even Leigh (as much as she has shit on this ship) said at one point that the Darkling has strong feelings for Alina, even if he may not necessarily quantify them as love. So looking back, I don't read anything the Darkling did as manipulative seduction. He obviously lied about some stuff and wasn't transparent about his real plans for the Fold, but as a military commander who sees Alina as an opportunity for a coup, it makes sense that he'd play that a little close to the chest---especially when Alina has proved to be wary of his powers and has a very black-and-white sense of morality. If anything, this is less "the Darkling seduced Alina to manipulate her into being used!!11" and more "local dark lord tried to encourage his protege and accidentally caught feelings and it was a mASSIVE FUCKING INCONVENIENCE TO HIS EVIL PLANS"

But you know who does slut-shame Alina a lot? Baghra. Seriously, Baghra makes Alina feel like shit for her crush on the Darkling numerous times. She has all these lines:

"You want to be [his pet]...Don’t bother lying to me. You’re like all the rest. I saw the way you looked at him."

"Dreaming of dancing with your dark prince?"

"Foolish girl." (After Alina shamefully admits the Darkling might come to her that night)

At one point Baghra creeps on Alina and the Darkling's interactions and even though literally nothing happens between them and when the Darkling leaves, Alina catches Baghra giving her a snooty look. ("For no reason at all, I blushed")

She is determined to shame Alina for her feelings and make her feel like a lovesick idiot for daring to crush on him and this is in addition to all the slut-shaming Mal does. The narrative revealing the Darkling is the bad guy all along while leaving Alina no compelling arc to discover this on her own feels very much like Leigh hitting us all with Baghra's stick, like "Foolish girls! You thought he cared about Alina just because he has a sexy jawline??? HAHA HE LIED YOU SLUTS"

Scenes with Alina and the Darkling in Book 1

Their first scene together is in the Grisha tent. Based on Alina's description of him, she already thinks he's hot as barely any other character in this godforsaken series gets so many descriptions of their grey/smoke/slate/quartz eyes as Aleksander does 😏

The next time they're together he saves her life. Alina is traumatized from seeing a man sliced in half and the Darkling instructs her to keep her eyes on him instead. She is disturbed that he killed the person about to murder her and this aversion seems incredibly contrived and arbitrary on behalf of the author. It's almost like she wants Alina to be vindicated and shamed for not trusting her initial bigotry against him or something 🤔The Darkling admits even he can make mistakes and then he touches the back of Alina's neck (with some secret Heartrender/Healer abilities?) and she falls asleep riding on his horse.

They spend the next few days traveling. Alina notes that the Darkling hasn't spoken to her (probably because he's focused on getting her to the Little Palace without any more assassination attempts) but Alina is a paranoid she's offended him somehow. Again, this is just Alina's insecurity painting a narrative that simply doesn't exist based on what actually happened so far.

They exchange a few words by the stream and Alina fishes for pity points by saying she's ugly and can't possibly be Grisha. Aleksander appears 100% done with her stupidity and says she doesn't understand but he's not in the mood to explain at the moment and walks off ☠️

Alina joins the Darkling and his men for a meal. She notes that the grouse they've killed is meager shared meal but that the Darkling doesn't want to put his men in danger by sending them out to hunt in the forest at night 😌He also sits on the floor to eat like they do and he doesn't take more than the regular portion than they do 😌. Sorry, how is this man the most ~evil~ wizard on the planet? He is obviously a good and fair commander and beloved by the Grisha.

Alina has been checking Aleksander out the entire time so when he catches her, he walks over to talk. He fishes around for information on what Alina has heard about him. He seems sad when Alina mentions she has heard that Darklings are born without souls, though not surprised. He then spins the story about the Black Heretic being his ancestor and how the Fold was a mistake and how every Darkling since then has tried to undo it and how Alina is "the first glimmer of hope" he's had in a long time.

Because Alina is still on that "Grisha are unnatural monsters" agenda, she asks him about the Cut and he explains it but she's still distrubed. He asks her if it would have been better if he used a sword and she replies: "I don't know". The Darkling gets offended and leaves. Alina tries to convince herself she can't have possibly hurt his feelings (because Darklings don't have souls or feelings?) and then feels paranoid that she's failed some secret test. Yeah, the test you failed is called "empathy", Alina 🙄

Two days later, they arrive at Os Alta. Aleksander roasts the Grand Palace as the ugliest effing building he's ever seen. He leaves immediately after dumping Alina at the Little Palace and Alina actually seethes that he isn't paying more attention to her? I understand that it's overwhelming to go to a brand new place, but Alina expecting him to constantly hold her hand and explain everything to her after she basically insulted him is a bit strange.

The next time Alina sees the Darkling, they are scheduled to appear before the King and Queen. The demonstration is a surprise for Alina and Aleksander's lack of transparency of what's expected of her means she's forced to rely on him and trust his instincts. This might be his underhanded way of getting Alina to see that she can trust him; that he will not make her look like a failure or humiliate her; that they are in this together and it will only work if she trusts him.

After the demonstration, Genya and the Darkling trash the monarchy for a bit (Alina is horrified) and then the Darkling orders Genya to get a black kefta for Alina, to which Alina infamously wants a blue one. The Darkling doesn't really put up much of a fight, merely wanting to know why. Alina decides he doesn't approve of her choosing blue and wonders to Genya if he's angry.

After Alina's first day, the Darkling calls her to his quarters to ask her how her day was. Alina is surprised that this is all he wanted to know because she was paranoid he was going to torture her??? She says: "Why shouldn't I be afraid of you?...You can cut people in half. I think it's fair to be a little intimidated." If the Darkling is offended or angry about this, he doesn't show it and merely indulges her. He notes that she has a habit of running her hand across a scar on her palm and asks her about it, tracing the scar himself. Alina gets distracted by his touch but manages to answer his questions: she got the scar at Keramzin, Mal is also an orphan, he is good at tracking. He shows her a secret passage back to her rooms to avoid the main hall.

Alina starts her training and at one point laments that the Darkling is rarely at the Little Palace and when he is, he never speaks to her or barely looks her way and she is convinced it's because she's a failure and can't summon light on her own. It could also be because, you know, he's the commander of the Second Army and is usually seen in talks with other military advisors and the fact that Alina kinda lowkey insulted him with her wariness about his powers???

The next time they are together, Alina interrupts him and Baghra arguing. He politely asks her how she is. Baghra antagonizes her. The Darkling defends her. They talk about amplifiers and because Baghra is being a snarky little shit about it, they take their conversation outside.

Aleksander complains about how annoying his mom is and then asks Alina what stories she's heard about Morozova's herd. At one point he laughs for the first time and Alina practically creams her pants at the sound. Alina expresses her concerns that she can't summon any light and the Darkling says he's not worried and it will happen when it happens and worse case scenario, it will happen once she has the stag. They have a quiet intimate moment, gazing softly into each other's eyes and then suddenly Aleksander realizes he's catching feelings and steps back suddenly like "GoodLuckWithYourLessonsOKayBYE". Baghra watches this interaction from her hut and gives Alina a slut-shaming look.

Alina eventually does learn to summon light on her own. Baghra gives her grief about how it's not enough. The Darkling shows up during one of these lessons and says as much. Alina says she's useless. The Darkling corrects her (“I don't think you're useless, Alina....No Grisha is powerful enough to face the Fold. Not even me”) and then he apologizes for letting her down ("I've asked you to trust me and I haven't delivered"). He wonders if his mother is right and he's crazy to hunt the stag. They have a nice bonding moment, Aleksander lies about Baghra's power, and then he asks if Alina would think him crazy for still wanting to find the stag. She asks why he cares what she thinks, he seems genuinely surprised himself that he cares. Then he kisses her. He seems not to have meant to kiss her because then Ivan shows up for his 5 o'clock shift of cockblocking and the Darkling immediately pretends like nothing happened and walks away with him. Like dude is acting like a fucking dork who's allergic to feelings at this point. I should note here that Alina practically has an orgasm from how giddy she is about this moment. She can barely think of anything else.

The next time they're together, it's at the Winter Fete. They do their demonstration and Alina accidentally reveals her insecurities about how he had kissed her and then disappeared. He responds, "Did you really think I was done with you?" and then they enjoy some steamy kisses and thigh grabbing in an empty room before a random round of Grisha show up for their 6 o'clock shift of cockblocking. Aleksander is annoyed at his own attraction to Alina. He asks if he can come to her that night but Alina doesn't get a chance to respond.

and then the Darklina romance arc falls off a giant cliff and dies a terrible death 😭😭😭

[samstree]

Hug a Witcher Day (3/4)

In which Jaskier goes missing in the spring. Can Geralt finally realize his feelings for the bard in the middle of a crisis?

(hurt/comfort, soft geraskier, 3k, rated T, cw: mentions of a canon-era plague, sick children, and a citywide lockdown.)

part 1, part 2, read on AO3

The third year since Jaskier invented Hug a Witcher Day, Geralt all but forgets about it completely.

He steps into the Two Weatherfish, where they agreed to meet, and realizes that the bard isn’t here. Or in the entire city of Ard Carraigh. No one has seen any trace of the famous bard who won’t quit singing praises for witchers.

Geralt pushes down the slight panic in his chest as he steps out of the last tavern in the city, and decides to just head for Oxenfurt.

It’s not like Jaskier has been the most reliable companion in the past, often distracted by dalliances or even anything shiny and new. One time he wandered off to watch a local celebration and Geralt found him hours later next to a lake, with thousands of lanterns floating above the water, illuminating the night sky like burning stars peppered on a dark canvas.

The soft, orange light spilled over Jaskier’s features, his eyes gleaming like the stars too.

Geralt snorts despite himself. There’s no doubt the bard is just delayed by someone who caught his eye and decided that a promise to a witcher isn’t all that important—the same witcher who he keeps claiming to be his best friend.

Geralt isn’t sure how to feel about that, or how to react when he finally sees Jaskier. Perhaps he will cease to talk about hunts for a while, leave the bard hanging, just so he can get a taste of the same frustration.

The pettiness remains in Geralt’s mind up until he steps into the academy and rampant fear licks up his chest.

Essi is the one who meets him at the gates, worry deep between her brows and rambling about how Jaskier never made it to the yule ball like he should. In her hands are two letters, clearly Jaskier’s handiwork judging from the neat curves and flourish, talking about his excitement to see his ‘Little Eye’ perform again, and how unfortunately his travel would be delayed due to an unexpected ailment.

Don’t you fret, poppet, for I am sure to beat this sickness within days. The promise of listening to your new ballad is already doing wonders for my health! It is a shame that my stay in Vizima is soured thus. The city, so beautifully rich in culture…

“Vizima,” Essi says frantically. “A plague broke out in the city last winter. Smallpox.”

A buzz begins to ring by Geralt’s ear, muffling out Essi’s voice and leaving only the thundering of his own heartbeat.

“They told me King Foltest sealed the gate to stop the spread, and…and no one has heard from anyone inside since then. Geralt, please, you are a witcher. Aren’t you immune to human sickness? That’s what Jaskier told me, isn’t that right?”

“I…yes.” The lump in Geralt’s throat stops any other words from getting out. His blood runs cold in the warm breeze of Oxenfurt’s spring.

“Please, Geralt, you must find him. I need to know. The university won’t allow me to go, but I…I must know. No matter what happened to him.”

The implication hangs in the air.

Tears well up in blues eyes too similar to Jaskier’s. Essi would be my sister in another life, Jaskier once commented adoringly and it’s only standing right here that Geralt can truly see the identical fierceness in her eyes.

As if Geralt needs her to ask. As if he isn’t willing to charge into the land of the dead if it means Jaskier gets out of it unscathed.

“Of course, Essi,” he promises solemnly. Her clutch on his forearm is so tight that any other man would be bruised by the force. “I promise.”

“Keep him safe, if it’s not too late.”

In his near-century long life, Geralt has rarely felt cold, unrelenting fear as he does when Essi breaks into sobs.

 *

The sickness in Vizima casts a gloomy cloud over the sky, choking Geralt’s breaths. The streets are eerily empty. Only a few people will pass through in a frenzy every now and then.

Geralt’s legs take him right through the main streets, to the far corner of the city, where countless makeshift tents are set up and stretching towards the edge of the woods. If anyone has indeed fallen to the disease, that’s the most likely place they will be sent to. If anyone passes, that’s also where they keep the records so friends and families can look for their names.

Bile rises in his throat at the idea of looking through stacks of books for Jaskier’s name.

Geralt walks between hundreds of beds of one tent after another. Some healers throw him an odd look but carry on with their work, the flash of their white scrubs weaving through the busy establishment.

Against all odds, a pang of relief hits Geralt when he notices how the patients are well-treated by healers who seem to know what they are doing. The fever is brought down with a soaked cloth and a minty salve is applied for the irritation on the skin.

He searches and searches, until the sun is almost down, when—

A soft tune is carried over by the gentle breeze of spring.

And there Jaskier is, kneeling next to a little boy on a bed and humming a lullaby that Geralt only remembers vaguely. The bard is wearing the same white scrub like every carer at this camp, his brown hair slightly ruffled, and dark circles are hanging under his eyes. Geralt can see how tired he is by the hunch of his shoulders and the barely-there quiver in his singing, by his unkept stubble and the smile that’s dangerously close to falling.

And yet, he makes the most beautiful sight in the world.

Geralt stands there, drinking in the presence of his bard. The languid heartbeat of a witcher picks up, fluttering and almost bursting out of his chest.

Jaskier runs his fingers through the boy’s hair when the lullaby comes to an end. He tucks in the blanket and slowly pulls himself up, his knees creaking from the strain.

Blue eyes meet Geralt and Jaskier’s shock morphs into unbridled, blazing joy. Within the blink of an eye, the bard is standing right in front of Geralt.

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathes oh so carefully like he’s scared of waking from a dream. “What are you doing here? Wait, you don’t have any protec—oh right! Witcher biology. Can’t catch anything from us.” The bard lets out a sigh and his shoulders drop in relief. “How did you get through the gate? Punched another guard, didn’t—”

“You are okay,” Geralt says, dumbly.

“I am. Why wouldn’t I be?” Jaskier frowns. “Geralt, why did you come to Vizima in the middle of a plague? Not that I’m complaining about seeing you, but how exactly did you find me?”

Geralt doesn’t want to look away from Jaskier’s face—ideally for a long time to come, but he needs to rummage through his pack for the crumpled letters.

“You sent these to Essi last winter.”

Jaskier takes the letters, flattens the frayed edges before reading his own words.

“Yes, I did tell her…” Cold horror takes Jaskier aback. “Shit. She must think—Oh, Geralt, that wasn’t it! I only caught a stomach bug. It was never the pox! But then…they locked the city gate so fast and everything was in chaos for weeks. I couldn’t get more letters out. Oh, I wish I could take it back! I didn’t think—”

“You damn well didn’t.”

The words come out a lot harsher than Geralt intended, and Jaskier flinches back. Geralt pinches at the bridge of his nose, feeling contrite at his untimely outburst.

“No, Jask—I’m not…” he heaves out a sigh. “She didn’t even know if you were alive for months.”

Neither did I.

“I’m so sorry.” Jaskier is close to tears. “She must be worried sick.”

“She is.”

I was.

“And you too, Geralt. Please forgive me.” Jaskier’s chin wobbles, his arms hovering between the two of them as if he wants to put them around Geralt. “I want to ask you not to be cross with me again, but that seems to be all I do.”

“Jaskier…”

Geralt calls out when he finds not even an ounce of anger in his heart, not when he just spent weeks fearing the worst, not when Jaskier is standing right in front of him, safe and hale, his eyes flowing with guilt.

Jaskier might just be the death of him.

“Fuck. Just don’t pull this again.” Geralt softens his tone, knowing how unfair the request is when such things are out of Jaskier’s control, but the bard replies in earnest.

“I won’t. I swear.”

Exhaustion washes over the bard once again, making him look a lot older than he is. From the looks of it, Jaskier has been working in these camps for months and the last thing he needs is an unsupportive friend.

And Geralt doesn’t intend to become one.

“And you are dressed like this because?” Geralt nudges Jaskier in the shoulder to ease the apprehension on his face.

“Funny you should ask.” The bard presses his lips into a thin line before continuing. “I may have lied—nay, implied—that the seven degrees I acquired at Oxenfurt included…medicine. Hold on! Before you judge, I do know how to care for pox patients. I caught it as a child too and that’s why I’ve been fine this whole time.”

“Hmm. But you don’t have the—”

“The scars. No thanks to my grandmother’s secret healing salve that she insisted on keeping secret. It worked like a charm back then, almost like magic. We’ve been trying to replicate from whatever I remember. The mint is helping a little but something is still missing. Oh, well.” The bard rubs his fingers at the hem of his scrub. “Perhaps that explains all these crazy rumors about her heritage, with all her herbs and teas that always miraculously cured everybody. Honestly, I don’t even blame them.”

Geralt muses the possibility of Jaskier’s grandmother not being completely human and makes a silent decision to unpack it later.

“Then I guess your personal experience should come in handy if we are going to stay here for a while.”

“We? You are staying?”

“The exits are still closed.” Geralt tilts his head in nonchalance. “Might as well lend them a hand.”

And never take his eyes off of Jaskier again.

“That’s…wonderful, in a terrible, terrible way. Being trapped in the same place during a plague. Gods, that sounds like something out of the cheesiest romance novel.” Jaskier gasps as soon as the words are out. The smile on his face blossoms into a heated blush.

“Just promise me one thing, Jask.”

“What?” The cornflower blue eyes uncharacteristically avoid Geralt in a vain attempt to hide how flustered he is.

Don’t scare me like this again.

Don’t get taken from me.

Don’t leave me.

“Read less romance novels. Once this blows over,” Geralt answers, finally.

The fluttering in his chest returns, although this time for a completely different reason. The reason not being how adorable Jaskier looks embarrassed and rosy-cheeked.

No. Definitely not.

 *

“Little Simon asleep?”

Geralt asks as he stokes the fire, watching Jaskier struggle out of the sweat-soaked scrub and throw it into the laundry pile. The bard sits down next to him on the log with a groan and leans into his arm.

“As flattered as I am that he can’t fall asleep without my songs, it does get a bit taxing to sing every night while kneeling on the floor.”

“The kid is sick. Can’t blame him for having bad taste in music.”

The jab would have landed better if he isn’t wrapping his arm around Jaskier so that he can rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder. The days are too long even with most of the patients released home, and it’s been taking a toll on Jaskier.

“Cruel to me when I’m down, huh?”

Under Geralt’s palm, it’s unmistakable that Jaskier’s arm isn’t as thick as it once was, and he really doesn’t want to think about how the sharp of Jaskier’s jaw is becoming more prominent by the day.

Geralt rubs gently up and down Jaskier’s bicep to draw a contented purr out of him.

“Hmm. Now you’re forgiven.” Jaskier nuzzles into the crook of Geralt’s neck so his muscles loosen under the ministration. “It’s so unfair that a shift never wears you out like the rest of us, my dear. So unfair that you don’t need as much food too. I’d kill for some witcher superpowers these days.”

“Trust me, you won’t like what they cost.”

The late summer heat, mixed with the smell of sweat in Jaskier’s hair, should make it extremely uncomfortable to be sitting so close, but Geralt only finds it calming to have Jaskier sagging against him.

Jaskier’s thinning shoulder is too worrisome. Geralt will have to leave him most of the dinner rations again. Excuses are so easy to find, once Geralt realized that Jaskier never questions what he’s told about witcher biology, trusting every word from Geralt’s mouth. It’s just a little lie, a little exaggeration.

The bard is rubbing off on him.

“Simon is among the last ones here,” Jaskier says tiredly into Geralt’s neck. “It will soon be over. They are saying everyone can go in a month or so.”

“We can go even now.”

The prospect of traveling again stirs up something hopeful under Geralt’s skin, prickling with excitement, but he knows more patience is required for now.

“Nah, I should at least see little Simon home. You were right that the boy has suffered enough. The fever is terrible. Even I still have nightmares about it after so many years. It’s excruciating, almost like death is trying to mock you. One moment a fire burns through your whole body, the next it swallows you whole into this…nothingness, cold and alone.”

Geralt tightens his hold and breathes in the melancholic scent emanating from Jaskier’s skin.

“It was my grandmother, again. She sang the same lullaby to me every night, kept me sane. It’s helping little Simon too.”

“It’s in elvish,” Geralt murmurs absently when Jaskier is close to drifting off. The bard’s leveled breathing fans over the collar of Geralt’s neck.

“…hmm?”

“Nothing. Maybe for later.”

Geralt’s fingers reach the side of Jaskier’s head and thread between the soft brown locks, keeping his drooping head in place for the nap. When he looks down to where Jaskier casually drapes over half of his body, the two of them almost melding into one, Geralt is suddenly hit with how much their relationship has changed over the past few years, and at the same time, how it feels completely natural like puzzles fitting into place.

This newfound intimacy should scare Geralt, but strangely, it doesn’t. Maybe it’s because the witcher has learned long ago to treasure his bard as a companion and friend, to protect him and care for him, even without ever admitting it out loud.

Maybe he should.

And what would he even say? Geralt is equally elated and stumped at the thought of the two of them growing into something more. If the fluttering in his chest is a result of loving Jaskier, the bard deserves to know, and he deserves the best words.

Geralt scoffs softly when he realizes that he’d kill for something completely opposite. Not the strength of a witcher, but the silver tongue of a bard, the ability to weave the most beautiful prose to describe what Jaskier means to him.

The summer cicadas are singing with renewed vigor, the sizzling sound disrupting his train of thought. For now, Geralt will need to content himself in simply being with Jaskier.

And, perhaps, in pressing a tiny kiss into his soft brown hair as well. Under the night sky, only the stars will know.

--

I didn't know plague doctor Jaskier could be a thing until I started writing this chapter, and the ending just had to make way for it. Sorry that the chapter count has gone up. I promise hugs are cuddles are on the way!  <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @birdsflyhome @dapandapod @artisanbaguette

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[chainofclovers]

Ted Lasso 2x3 thoughts

Brendan Hunt confirmed on Twitter that the writers wrote the first three episodes of the season with the intention of releasing them on the same day, just as they dropped the first three episodes of season one on the same day. Having finally watched the first three over three different weeks, I really wish they’d been able to launch all three on the same day. I really liked the first two episodes of the season, but the third episode really puts a lot of things into context. Between the political storyline, the return of Sassy (and a bit of a level-setting conversation between Sassy, Rebecca, and Ted) and Rebecca’s navigation of her professional life as an all-in club owner and her experience reconnecting to Nora...all of that feels like we’re done setting up the season now. Exposition complete—and to the writers’ credit, all three of these episodes are far more than exposition. A lot of story has happened.

So much so that this week’s installment has categories.

Sassy and Ted and Rebecca

Hahahahahahahahahaha

No, seriously though, I love that they are mature adults about this and I also love that Ted is Uncomfortable and, to be perfectly honest, I like that Sassy’s aggressive unfilteredness becomes an opportunity for the show to venture into more sexual references and humor about characters other than Keeley and Roy. It was a lot of information!

I’ve seen a couple of people express disappointment that Ted seems weirded out by Sassy discussing Nora’s impending first period, but I didn’t get the impression that he was grossed out by periods. There is a lot going on! Nora is right outside the room with the door open and Sassy has run through a lot of very personal topics! I felt like his reaction was more about the proximity issue in specific and the personal nature of the conversation in general more than anything else.

So many thoughts about the intersection between the biscuits and this conversation that it had to go in its own post.

Nora!

I LOVE Nora. I want every episode of this show to be about her. I want this sitcom to be called Nora Collins.

I love that Nora’s a little bit sassy (pun on her mother’s nickname only lazily intended) in the way a thirteen-year-old can be, but also enthusiastic about spending time with Rebecca and genuinely interested in meeting everyone her godmother knows. Rebecca genuinely hurt Nora, but Nora can clearly see that Rebecca is all-in on their mended relationship, and that gives her the space to be a bit teasing. She knows Rebecca’s weaknesses and has a little fun (the cooking joke when Rebecca offers to make popcorn?!) but also isn’t going to manipulate her or take advantage.

The British doll company and all the riffs on American Girl dolls, OMG. So good.

Like literally everyone, I am extremely into Rebecca and Roy actually being friends and exchanging words with each other this season. Now everyone in the group of four mains have had some great conversational moments with each other this season (I count Ted and Keeley being into Sharon’s bike as a great conversational moment, OK?!), with the exception of Roy and Ted. Cannot wait for that.

During the photo op with the team, Sassy and Rebecca remark on how Nora is loving and hating having her picture taken with Sam and the rest of the players, and that is THE experience of being thirteen years old, and Kiki May does an incredible job infusing all of Nora’s moments with the right proportions of enthusiasm to cringe. Thirteen years olds are constantly cringing but still full of spirit and life, and at constantly changing ratios, and Nora is the perfect embodiment of that.

My heart melted during the email-writing scene. Rebecca’s writing the email on Nora’s computer! In the guest room where her goddaughter is staying! They’re wearing pajamas! And Rebecca’s smile is so genuinely huge and delighted when she signs it “boss ass bitch.”

Led Tasso and Jamie’s Redemption

This was so stupid and I loved it so much. I love that Ted’s angry alter ego is absurd rather than scary, kind of like a parody of how worked up some men get over sports. I wonder if Led Tasso’s appearance in some way foreshadows a more uncontrolled, genuine anger from Ted in a later episode, because this Led Tasso dude is ridiculous.

Tentative kudos to Led Tasso for being able to point out the, ahem, clit of the soccer ball even from within a fugue state.

The entire Chuck E. Cheese exchange with Sharon was so hilarious and wonderful.

When Ted has the idea to bring out Led Tasso, Nate assumes he’s going to suggest that Jamie talk to Sharon. I absolutely adore the implication that Jamie’s growth over this episode is attributable to both Led Tasso and Sharon Fieldstone. Because while some players are still unmoved by Jamie’s willingness to stand up to Led, it didn’t go unnoticed! And then I was so proud of Keeley for refusing to take on the emotional labor of listening to Jamie when she was too busy with her actual job, and I felt that Jamie’s pretty immediate willingness to see what the therapy thing was all about was extremely in line with his character. He’s always seeking out Keeley to talk, and sometimes he actually means “talking” when he asks to talk with her! Jamie feels like someone who’s standing at a wall of doors, knocking on each one, trying to see what sticks. He really lacks foundation. I’m curious to know what he and Sharon spoke about in their session, but I like that the writers left the session private. The knowledge that he’s started seeing a psychologist is valuable information in and of itself, and Jamie’s decision to act in solidarity with Sam and the other Nigerian players is the perfect evidence that he’s thinking in new ways.

Sam and Dubai Air

Toheeb Jimoh is always great, but he’s so great in this episode. It’s cool to see his demeanor, pacing, and confidence shift as he becomes more at home with the team—and it’s also lovely to see that he, unlike Jamie, very much has a strong foundation in his home country, his supportive parents, his own moral center.

I like that Sam didn’t spend a bunch of time and emotional labor on teaching Jamie why caring about other people (and the environment!) matters, because that would’ve undercut the other political messages in this episode. Sam’s leading by example and everyone can either catch up or stay out, and it’s really great.

I really like the way they handled the press conference with Ted and Sam. I like that Ted gave the floor to Sam but prefaced that with very brief (for once!) remarks of his own. And I appreciated that Ted acknowledged his position of privilege, and that the angle isn’t that bad things never happen to white dudes but rather that when bad things do happen to people like Ted, it gets attention with so much less effort than when bad things happen to people who aren’t white men. Because that’s how privilege works—it’s not a shield that prevents bad things from happening to you, but it’s a safety net that ensures people will notice and address and even pitch in to take care of your bad things, often at the expense of the people who lack that privilege.

There’s probably lots of other stuff I could talk about, like the hilariously and realistically bad usernames on Bantr and Keeley brushing her snacks off the desk and into her purse and how things between Beard and Jane are clearly very, very bad and I’m worried about Beard and how it was soooo fun and lovely to see Shannon teasing Ted again (little coffee and football rituals before work are the kinds of details I absolutely live for) and HIGGINS PRETENDING REBECCA SENT HIM A BRILLIANT AND HEROIC EMAIL (which she does for real with Nora’s help just a couple scenes later!) and how delighted I was to feel that by this episode this season has really hit its stride and feels like a fully lived-in portrayal of the energized, loving, imperfect, busy, full place that is the whole AFC Richmond community. Honestly, Higgins pretending Rebecca sent that email because he wants to make her look good in front of her granddaughter is kind of the perfect encapsulation of what this episode felt like. This is a show about a bunch of imperfect people who want each other to succeed.

Edited to add: I was delighted to find out Ashley Nicole Black was writing for the show and the writing here did the opposite of disappoint! ❤️

[ignitification]

Two Sides of the Same Coin.

So, I actually hinted at this in my Yoichi Shigaraki's post - but as I found myself thinking about it, it becomes even more clear that the parallels between Deku/Bakugou and Yoichi/2nd User are way too many to be ignored (and that at the same time, they can be applied to Deku and Shigaraki).

Now, I'd have to consider in this post that the 1st and 2nd movie are, if not canon, an alternative universe which directly links back to the main story (as we saw with the Compression Gauntlet made by Melissa in the 1st movie, and which Izuku sports in Ch. 309).

But at the same time, I am not going to mention of some implication which might be related to this post entailed the possibility of Heroes Rising and Bakugou or one of his ancestors being an OfA user because of two reasons: I. because I am not a fan of the theory and II. because as things stand now, it has little to no relevance for the post.

Now, onto the main part: if we think about it, it makes absolutely sense that a foreshadowing of the relationship between Izuku and one or both of his counterparts is shown through the Vestiges of OfA. As I already wrote in the past (and I am particularly referring to this post), the Vestiges are somehow an enclosed space where Izuku is free to explore the Consciousness of his own Quirk. At the same time, it allows him to have insight in himself and occasionally others from within the same environment. Point in case, this happens with Shigaraki - when after touching him through AfO's Quirks's wires, Shigaraki (possessed by AfO, that is) enters the Vestiges.

This narrates of the fact that, mostly - appearances are not everything. I guess, this is also why the Vestiges look like a piece of crumbled building; not only because they managed to fully shape after the power evolved - which means through Toshinori towards Izuku - but also that the Vestiges are a kind metaphor for the people inhabiting the Vestiges. If the Vestiges are a shared consciousness formed due to the embers of an identity left in it and embed with a personality before being passed, it means that there is a sort of personalisation of OfA. Well, that should have been clear when Horikoshi made Izuku develop Shoot Style, and manifest OfA in different ways from All Might - freeing Izuku form the shackles that is his admiration for the hero. But most importantly it also means that this personalisation comes from within, while the power and that is, the core and the shared value of these people, stays fundamentally the same. Which is then represented by the Vestiges. But, the fact that this Quirk Personalization makes its way through the cracks on a shared identity, is evident in the fact that every user if free to decide whether to acknowledge the other (and foremost Izuku) and what to think of the situation. As the 2nd User speaks, he is still not entirely convinced that Izuku's is the way to go (I wonder, whether the fact that Izuku cannot properly speak also depends on the fact that User 2 and 3 haven't fully accepted Izuku yet).

This brings us forward to the notion of Hero, of Saving and the 'Room'. As it is clear by the panels above, 2nd User and Izuku play the role of Saviours, offering a help which is thought maybe not needed, but it is offered all the same. It is also at the beginning of a life-long journey, even if Izuku and Bakugou's comes way much after. Yoichi considers 2nd his hero, and the initiator of the story. Bakugou considers Izuku not his hero, but at the same time - Izuku, time after time, 'saves' Bakugou and offers him a hand to get out of the room full of himself in which society closed him in. But, these consideration, in my opinion, fit more the Shigaraki and Izuku storyline.

First of all, notwithstanding everything, Shigaraki is the main 'antagonist' of the story. He's the leader of the LOV, and while not the brain of the operation, he is still the one who puts in practice. He is the one actually influenced by AfO. He is the one, again, to be closed off from the world by AfO. Same as for Yoichi - as a form of absolute control. AfO encloses in a definite space, both mentally and physically Yoichi and Tomura both. He wants from them to be dependent of him. Wants them to be grateful to him for what he has done. Because he is the one who saved them, who gave them the necessary power and helped them survive in this world. It is not a case, that looking-wise Yoichi and Tomura are so similar, especially after the 'Hibernation' Tomura went through. And this scenario also brings to mind the way Shigaraki's body gets hijacked by AfO's consciousness, and Shigaraki tries to fight it - but instead, he is put to 'sleep' and rest, as to recover - because of the amount of energy used during the battle against the heroes.

As for the Hero part played by the 2nd User in the original scenario, Izuku is the one most likely to represent it in the upcoming occasions. Lately, there has been a lot of speculations about Izuku saving or not Shigaraki (the whole Vestige talk is after all, about Shigaraki and Izuku), but in the end, as said countless times: the set up talks clearly. Izuku is dead set on offering the tentative hand to Tomura, because in the Vestiges he saw that Shigaraki Tomura is nothing else than an identity created by AfO out of spite, hatred and manipulation. It's a mask, which Tomura executes as its best capabilities.

And if Izuku, who is the one who actually puts the seed of ‘But after all, maybe, there IS something to save, if you can understand what made villains the way the are’ is, despite the double expressed by Ni-sama, the hero of this scenario - on a very evident side that Shigaraki, or rather, Shimura Tenko, is the one who embodies the concept of Salvation and Destruction (Restoration), that is at the core of the entire manga series (and of course, of the ideology brought forward by the OfA users). Izuku Midoriya is, after all, walking the same steps of the 2nd user: going to save someone tossed aside and in AfO’s control, giving birth to a new stage of society and consequently reality. It’s a change in tide. The beginning of something new, and the end of something long overdue. It’s the beginning of a new, reformed society which does not see murder as a way of salvation, but rather understands that Heroes can show and bring forward another way, while working on themselves and working to save the villains. And it’s, at the same time, the End of an era holding Heroes in the highest regard, and glorifying power and strength (All Might’s Quirk. Endeavour, even the criteria of the UA entrance tests). An Era which held All Might accountable for everyone else, too - and made him bear the burden. An Era which made society lazy and uninvolved with the villains and the ugly side of themselves (which I already explored in this take). As Yoichi puts it, it’s thanks to him that the OfA’s story begins - and it may be because of Izuku that it ends, as it will fulfil its greatest mission: to free the world from AfO and to save Shigaraki Tomura.

This is why, the parallels between becoming a hero, and offering a hand to someone who probably never even consider the possibility of needing it, is a foreshadowing for what is likely to go down between Izuku and Tomura.

But as always, parallels, even when everything, still might be just a perception of the real situation. A perception of a situation which is where different, also similar because, as we all know - history is a fickle thing and it has a terrible habit of always repeating itself.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Stu Macher Sugar Daddy AU Headcannons.

So back when I did Kinky December, to close out that super fun event, I wrote this, fun little peice, an AU story about an older Stu Macher being your sugar daddy and it was on my mind and figured fuck it, why not do a personal headcannon post for this AU? If you like this and got any additions or ideas, have it, shoot me an ask or something! I like to think in this AU Stu has some big job he got via family connections in the financial district in New York and also while he and Billy have some certain tastes, they never indulged fully but that is part of where you come in! So let's get into it under the cut.

This is a sex worker positive space and sex work is valid work, if you don't think so, move on.

Rating: NSFW. Length: 1.5K. Warnings: Daddy Kink. General Poly!Ghostface Fuckery.

-Stu and you start this with the explicit implication of what your relationship was meant to be. He found you through the site you advertise yourself through for sugaring. The usual protocol followed after that. A date to determine how compatible you both were and you were both kind of surprised by how well you got along on that first date.

-You both obviously wanted to see each other again and so after discussing the usual things, expectations, wants, needs, allowance, and so the arrangement began officially.

-Neither of you expected how quickly it would escalate or how well you would truly get along. You and Stu got on like a house on fire. Conversation was lively and frequent, he was true to his word and gave even more than initially promised. Money was seemingly no object, he would pick up the tab without question, and would surprise you frequently.

-You dropped your other regular dates shortly after that. He didn’t ask you to but it was something you wanted to do, simply wanted to spend as much time as possible with him and be available whenever he needed and money wasn’t an issue at all anymore.

-It wasn’t just a business relationship anymore, developed into more than that and you couldn’t be happier about it.

-Yes you do call him Daddy, but not explicitly in public a lot of the time, something he asks, but it makes the times he TELLS you to call him it in public that much hotter. He calls you tons of pet names and you love it.

-He takes the title seriously. He actually CARES for you. It is about a hell of a lot more than just the sexual angle.

-You would stay over at Stu’s constantly, loved his place and he loved to have you around. He still insisted that you have your own place, paid for by him of course, he would even come by on occasion but much preferred to go out or have you over at his place. He liked you having your own space in case you ever needed it and didn’t want to intrude on YOUR space, even tho it was intruding at all.

-He loves to bring you to work events and show you off. Not just how you look and how well you are dressed and the finery he buys for you to trot you out in but also with the intelligent and insightful things you have to say and contribute. He also may or may not have given you pointers on shit pertaining to the business he was in prior to the event to make you look even better than you already were. You had done the going to work functions thing in your line of work a lot and were no slouch and it was something else that made this set up all the better.

-What is your poison because my God Stu is gonna be giving you it so much. You a fan of high end coffee? Yup you can count on him bringing you one or asking you out for coffee, dropping one off or sending someone over with one or hell getting an expensive and personal machine installed in your kitchen. You like getting your nails done? Well fuck how much babe, let him flash some cash and let you go get the most crazy nails your heart desires. You a foodie or a total lush? Lucky you! He loved going out to eat and for drinks. Or do you have a total shoe fetish? You getting any and all pairs of shoes you have ever even remotely laid your eyes on with even mildly passing interest. Clothes too duh, he loves to dress you up.

-So what interests you? Because Stu is interested in it now as well. He could listen to you go on about what was important to you for literal hours and you better believe he uses every little bit of info to better spoil you! While he loved to get you the more obvious things, food, clothes, money, basic luxuries you better believe he would get you items especially tailored to your hobbies and likes.

-Any place you ever wanted to travel too? Oh what a wild coincidence! All of a sudden a beautifully planned and paid for trip that Stu just HAPPENS to have tickets as well as his scheduled opening up all MAGICALLY coincides and you have the best time.

-The sex is insane. I mean duh, of fucking course, that happened early and often and was a big factor in determining your compatibility. He loved to spoil you in that way too, lingerie and toys and lavishing you with attention. My God he sure liked to use that mouth of his for more than just talking.

-He loves semi-public stuff. Loves pushing boundaries too. He adores going out for dinner with you looking just so dressed up and gorgeous and not being able to wait to get back to his place and fucking you in the back of the towncar on the way home.

-Having you suck him off under his desk at work on a lunch break.

-Having you ON that desk after hours.

-Fucking you on literally every surface of his apartment.

-So it doesn’t stay just Stu, you know that right? Once he is sure that you are an amazing fit he introduces you to Billy. Tells you that they have been friends for-fucking-ever and that you both liking eachother was important to him.

-You get along great with him too. You loved to see how they were together, he brought out this side in Stu that was so fun, not like he wasn’t fun usually but it was just kinda different, more playful you could say.

-You realize that you are introduced to Billy for more than just friendship.

-You are not opposed to this at all. You ask if they have done this before and the answer is yes. Sharing partners? Yep. Just them being together? Yes. Swapping? Naturally. Billy was hot and fun and treated you well too and again, the sex was fuckin’ good.

-So when the three of you were fully into the swing of this arrangement it was really fucking good. Plus you were literally never lonely. Some dates were just Stu and some were both and if Stu ever had to go out of town for some reason and you couldn’t come, well then Billy got you all to himself.

-He would insist that you stay at his place during those times to- “Properly keep an eye on you.” and you did not complain. Nights in with take-out that ended with you both on the couch or the mornings you’d share a shower before he had work or coming to his office all dressed up with lunch to impress his co-workers and maybe give him some head under his desk just like you do for Stu, all amazing.

His place was nice and you loved getting to have some time with just him, it was a great change of pace and Stu would love to come back to see you two being even closer.

-Stu coming back was so good too because of how he treated you when he missed you, a big date was a must after he was away and the way he fucked you after was specatular. The way he would whisper to you, asking about what you did this week and wanting to be filled in on all the dirty details of what you did with his best friend while he was away. You were all too happy to fill him in.

-Billy and Stu have some particular tastes. They suggest a weekend away, they have a game they want to play with you and you tentatively agree. You trust them both with your life and when you worded it that way the look they shared with a smirk should have been telling.

-A big rented beach house, a phone call, a “break in”, ropes and knives and costumes and more and oh my fucking God you got it. You understood it and were hooked and when it was all said and done and the ropes were being untied and you were still coming down with stars in your eyes and them praising the literal fuck out of you that they let it slip how often they had fantasized about this. That part of why they picked you, because Billy had been a bit more involved in the process of selecting you than you were initially made aware of, was how good they thought you would look being fucked by knifepoint.

-By what a-"pretty little victim you’d make” and well you knew you would be doing this again sometime. And it becomes a semi-regular occurrence in your sex lives.

-You spoil Stu in all kinds of ways. You surprise him with meals he loves, surprise visits when he is working, dropping in with the sweetest gifts, you try to remember all the little things he likes and love to listen to him. He knows he is in deep when you are traveling somewhere together the next day, a vacation, he works that day, comes back to his apartment to find you packed for him. You paid such close attention to detail and he felt so seen and appreciated.

-You do all the little things. Making breakfast the way he likes when you stay over, keeping in mind which clothes and lingerie he likes on you best, making notes when he particularly likes something you do or a color you wear.

-You still have your own life outside of your relationship. Friends and freedom, independence and it is all fucking great.

[anonthenullifier]

Alright, my headcanon/prompt that's been living in my mind rent free is the idea that Vision doesn't buy Wanda flowers, he buys her vases with sprouts on them, new life ready to grow. When he first heard of people gifting each other flowers he didn't fully understand why you would kill something, and make your loved one watch it slowly wilt away, when you could get them something they'd help survive. After watching so many loved ones die, I just think Wanda would be really touched to help something live and grow (just like her love for him blossoming)

I love this head canon so much. So damn much! I’ve written a story before (It’s About Thyme) that has them planting a garden and nurturing it as a way to mirror their relationship so to say I like to think about them with plants is an understatement. And then your gorgeous head canon looks at it in a way I never thought about and it’s perfect. Thank you for sharing it!

Here’s a little fic that came to mind as I was reading your ask. I hope you like it!

—

To say Vision is perplexed would be an understatement. Which is itself surprising because he has come to a tentative theory that to be human is to be irrational, and yet this, this crosses a line of reasoning he cannot begin to fathom. Typically he would have Wanda here to volley his concerns towards and to then explain in however many examples and phrasings that it takes for him to understand. Except he is here covertly, under the expert opinion of Sam, to procure a token of affection for all that Wanda provides him. Which brings him to a standstill of indecision waltzing along with a niggling horror at all the implications.

Luckily for him, he hopes, there is a sales associate close by. “Pardon me?” The man turns towards him, brown apron emblazoned with stitched on daisies and a name tag that reads Samuel, a fitting name since the other Samuel in Vision’s life suggested this course of questionable action. “I was advised that purchasing and gifting flowers is a socially appropriate way to convey affection.”

Samuel’s eyes squint for half a second, a common reaction whenever Vision goes out in public. “Uh, yeah. What does your special um,” this scanning over of Vision’s body is also common, uncomfortable, but he does his best to act unperturbed otherwise it might stoke potential fear into ire from his observer, “individual like? We’ve got roses, carnations, lilies, daisies, asters. Anything float your boat?”

If this decision were a boat it would be taking on waves at the moment. “But all of these have been removed from their roots.”

“Yeah, kinda the whole point of making a bouquet.”

The sass is not appreciated but Vision believes in remaining polite because the attitude of the man could be compounded with mistreatment from other customers or negative life events and not solely due to Vision’s inquiry. “Does that not mean they will wilt and die?”

Samuel does not share the distaste for this thought, a simple shrug and a rather unhelpful piece of advice given, “They all come with flower food, helps them stay fresh a bit longer.”

“I see.” Vision determines this issue may be best cogitated alone, so he sends a polite, tight lipped smile towards the man, “Thank you, Samuel.”

“Yep.”

The man leaves and Vision continues his stare down with the beautifully variegated display case in front of him. The differing colors and petal shapes form a kaleidoscope of awe, one that feels romantic and wispy and desirable. Except they will all wilt, the petals will curl up and fall to the ground, and within a week it will be in the trash. His love is not so brief, so fragile and he is perplexed as to why he would present Wanda with a token that cannot survive. Would it not imply his love will fade? That he will, even if fed her own love and passion and attention, eventually fall away from her? Even if she were to dry them out, like he has seen Laura do at the Barton farmhouse, it would require her to keep them someplace safe and to never touch them, the lifeless remnants too delicate and brittle for anything other than distant observation—a poor metaphor for his intended message.

Wanda has endured so much already, the memories as vivid as the Tiger Lily in front of him, days of listlessness and tears, evenings brimming over with invasive memories of all the deaths and all the pain, the only salves he could offer were strong arms and gentle reassurances. Why would he gift her something that will also die? Provide a further suggestion that her life must always be dictated by loss? Why would anyone, rational or not, believe temporal brevity a better show of love than something lasting?

Vision turns away from the bouquets, prepared to leave the store and find somewhere quiet to reassess his gift. It is this defeated swivel that brings a small display into his view, one tucked away as if it was an afterthought. On it are simple clay pots of various sizes, bags of potting soil heaped on the ground next to it, and a little table top rotating kiosk of seed packets awaiting to be planted and nurtured into a long and beautiful life. Vision’s lips curl up at the new idea in his head.

————

There is a subtle chime to her left, in the general vicinity of her door. It is the closest he ever gets to a knock. Wanda puts her book down and waits for the unmistakable gleam of vibranium and the glow of Vision’s phasing to come through the wall located mere inches from her fully functioning door. “Hey Vizh.”

He pauses, irises twisting rapidly to the left and lips puckered as if he’s been caught doing something wrong. Which would be not using her door and yet he still persists and still always makes this face, and it’s a welcome joy in her day. “Good afternoon, Wanda.” Unlike usual, his hands remain behind his back, pulling the threads of his synthetic sweater into a tension similar to his body. “I, um, brought you something.”

Hoping to ease his nerves, she shuffles to the side a bit and then pats the mattress, inviting him to come over and haltingly lower himself to the bed, body remaining twisted to hide whatever it is. “What is it?”

Slowly he brings his arms into view and in his right hand is a clay pot with a little seed packet inside, all wrapped up in a red bow, and in his left is clenched a small bag of soil. Wanda shares her gratitude with a smile, scarlet twining around the gifts and bringing them to her hands to inspect them closer. “I had been informed by a trusted associate that flowers are considered the socially acceptable gift for conveying affection.”

Gently, soothingly she offers a minor correction, knowing he doesn't like to be embarrassed by misinterpreting social advice. “Usually they mean a bouquet.”

A grave nod accompanies his, “I am aware.” Vision lifts his hand, waving it around to help usher out the full story, “But it seemed incongruous to provide you a fleeting gift for a sentiment that is not so,” he hesitates, maybe because he realizes the implication himself or because he can see it in the growing smile on her face, either way he’s committed to the admission of how long he sees this new relationship going and she’s hoping he won’t back down now. And he doesn’t, even if he stammers through it. “brief. I would rather my affections be shown in an appropriately long lasting form.”

Experiencing the fascinating way his mind works is always a pleasure and, due to listening to him and learning the way he thinks and feels, she understands it perfectly, feels a deep, warming thankfulness at this chance to play a hand in allowing something to live and grow, a chance she’s been denied so much before. Wanda ropes him closer with her powers and firmly plants a kiss to his nervous smile. “Thank you.” She unwraps the bow and studies the picture of a happy sunflower, a little confused. “I didn’t think these were indoor plants.”

“Oh well,” now that an explanation that is not tied to emotions is needed, he loosens up, “they are meant to be started and nurtured indoors and then, once large enough, can be moved outside or to a greenhouse.”

“Do we have a greenhouse here?”

Vision considers this, lips parted as his thoughts tick away. “Well no, but it could be enjoyable to convert one of the older equipment sheds into such a structure so we could have a year round garden.”

This simple gift blossoms into something bigger, something rooted in a hope for a future together. “I think it would be fun.”

“Yes,” Vision slips back into a slight, carefully paced cadence, “I selected this particular flower because it is often symbolic of adoration, loyalty and um,” he acts as if his actions have not already made it clear, as if his words should be a surprise, one he isn’t certain she’ll like, “longevity.”

Wanda offers a sunny smile, hoping to sear away any question as to her appreciation and reciprocal feelings, “I love it.” An equally exuberant curve forms on his lips. “Want to help me plant it?”

His instantaneous and joyful, “Of course,” is all it takes to settle them into a path towards a life and love they’ll nurture together.

[raijinden]

     e - heh . ;nsfw !!

undoubtedly dominant in all things learned over her 700+ year reign, and the bedroom is no different -- she is loathe to give up that sense of control that has grown to feel so stable to her . it is not an entirely impossible prospect though -- just do not expect to see the shogun beneath you in the first few times you are intimate with her, and certainly do not expect her to be some crying and submissive virgin

absolutely the slowest burn you could imagine, and then some . if you are invited to share her bed, it is because she knows you, has become incredibly familiar with you and has above all, placed her absolute trust and faith in you . sex, while incredibly intimate, is the most prime opportunity to do incredibly un - intimate things ( assassination, for example ) . but that makes it all the sweeter when you are invited to lay with her-- yet even as her partner, it will take a fair amount of talk and discussion for her to allow you to use anything related to your vision, if you have such a thing, on her .

she is, in all positions, very quiet . it is not so much through her voice and sounds that you will get your reactions, but rather through her body . a stutter in her breath, the flutter of her eyelids, muscle tensing and the way hands curl in or grasp to something, they’re all ways to gauge her pleasure . while normally her eyes are that dull, nigh lifeless shade of lavender, when she is wrought with emotion, as in the situation with the vision reclamation, her eyes will come to life with light . and, it should come as no surprise, in sex it is no different-- they are vibrant with amethyst and crimson mixing as one at her peak . it is also a way to tell when she’s turned on, though many might be led to believe the light up with an emotion such as annoyance or something else

you have, at your disposal, perhaps the simultaneously greatest and worst person you could possibly fall into bed with if you happen to be a connoisseur of erotic electrostimulation ( really, yall should have seen this one coming a mile away ) . she is the very embodiment of electro, and controls it just as easily as she breathes . she knows what it can do to the body, negative and positive, and knows exactly where to send a controlled shock to induce pleasure and pain-- do not ask her to shock you anywhere but your lower half, she will not, and is like to throw the whole possibility out for asking her to be irresponsible with you like that .

if you are her partner, expect a certain measure of possessiveness . certainly nothing overbearing, like demanding you live on the tenshukaku grounds and stay locked in a room from danger like some sort of pet . however, you will be marked with her sigil-- a shining violet electro mitsudomoe . you are asked first where you would prefer it, and she makes no pretense about its implications nor that she will do it . to keep the claims of others away-- almost like a ward of hers . if you bear it, you will not be struck by the lightning no matter where in teyvat you are-- the tatarigami will not touch you, the wily spirits of inazuma will not dare trifle with you . but it’s mostly to be used by her as an alarm of sorts-- it has much the same effect as if you were inazuman by blood: she can sense when you are in danger, and since you are her most beloved, she will without hesitation come to your aid .

funny enough, it is embarrassingly easy to get the ear of the shogun being that she is an archon and invoking her name, generally in prayer, will let your words reach her . as i said, generally in prayer, but there is certainly nothing to stop you from whispering filthy fantasies and praising words to her ear no matter where in the world you are, and she isn’t like to tune it out unless its from an unwarranted source . she’s not an easy thing to ‘ turn - on ‘ so to speak, but enough of this and she may be inclined to do something like respond belatedly if she’s in the middle of a meeting, so focused on your words as she would be .

branching a little in part from the possessiveness, she will often refer to you by a pet name unless you staunchly oppose it . something uniquely for you that she does not even think of referring to any other by . not something as common as ‘ sweetheart ‘ or ‘ baby ‘, no it is tailored based on how she views you . take, for example ( and definitely not referring to any people in particular wink - wink - nudge - nudge ;)))) ) ‘ my siren ‘, ‘ my vixen ‘ or ‘ my rook ‘ . notice the use of my in all of them ? good .

depending when you do fall into bed with her, you may notice the more ... animalistic traits of hers the stems from the power of the beastly first archon within her . sharp and ebony black canines that she tends to file down when they get out of hand and poke painted nails that grow out in a nasty point and are a natural shade of light purple . she has no problem in using them to further mark you, bruise you, leave physical evidence, especially if you specifically ask he to let them grow out and use on you ( which she is willing to do ) . if you are very lucky ? hidden and wolfish tail that is generally tucked away into her attire will react .

oh don’t doubt that she knows just how desirable she looks; she very much finds a fair bit of enjoyment in teasing her significant other with her body when they are alone . yes, yes, her almighty booba and yadda - yadda - yadda-- she knows well just how much of a magnet they are for salacious eyes, and she is unafraid to use her appearance to tease at her partner/s . she’s tall enough to loom over most people she happens across, and if she happens to trap you against the wall or the bed, leaning down until she is pressed up against you and murmuring sweet nothings and other such things in your ear .

while using ‘ baal ‘ is one way of trying to get into her head during intimacy, it is inarguable that it’s more effective to use her given name ( tomoe // ei ) due to the implications . that you call her by that name rather than her title as deity equates to you viewing her as human, and an equal . which, at its core, is what she views you as, if you become her partner .

perhaps something of a ‘ dirty - little - secret ‘, she has always had a certain ... appreciation for bondage, in any capacity . whether it is a simple manner of an electro - binding, an coat or sash, or as intricate as certain rope - bindings can get to be, she has an interest in it . in much the same vein as vision usage during sex, it will take a lengthy amount of discussion and where to draw the line, but she is willing to be tied up as well . and, for your information, she has certainly done her research and knows most of the knots, and even developed a couple of her own .

if such a thing is ever needed, her go - to safeword is ‘ narukami ‘ . as egotistic as it seems, she knows she is not likely to call out such a thing in the heat of the moment . as such, don’t call her that or any variation thereof in bed .

something i myself am kind of tentative about but -- i base a lot of headcanons off information that i learned when i first started writing in genshin with my zhongli / morax blog . in particular, especially since REX INCOGNITO spoke of rex lapis descending to the mortal world to travel it in many different forms, including a man, a woman and a child, i have toyed with the idea of such a thing being within the power of any archons . that is, the altering of one’s appearance, and since barbatos was able to mold his appearance based on his cherished bard, i could see it feasibly work-- so it’s more of a tentative thought than true headcanon at this point but if her significant other so desired it, she could alter herself . she is not terribly comfortable in another form for extended periods though, and she would respond solely to she / her / hers pronouns .

[booksimp]

Flame of Autumn - Part One

Midnight at Rita’s

A/N: My first attempt at writing smut! Let me know what you think :) Also, sorry it’s a bit late. This scene took on a mind of it’s own & ended up being wayy longer than originally intended. 

I’ve felt his attention on me all night, like a physical touch. Mysterious hazel eyes monitor my every move, from the rotation of my hips to the way I throw my head back in celebration when I laugh. For a while, I pretend not to notice. But he is not the kind of male you ignore. I blame what happens next on a mixture of drinking and dancing, and the encouragement of my friends. Instead of hurriedly looking away and disappearing into the crowd, becoming a wallflower like I usually would, I meet his eyes. The unabashed appreciation there surprises me. That look sends electricity sizzling through my blood, waking my body in a way no one has in a long time. So I decide to dance for him. 

A small smirk plays on his full mouth, dark eyes glinting as I run my hands along my body, through my hair, putting on a show meant only for him. He leans back in his booth, the picture of male satisfaction, and raises an eyebrow appreciatively. Keep going. Heat scorches across my skin at that smirk, and I can’t help but picture his lips in wicked places.

His face is elegant, classically handsome in every way. If it weren’t for the tattoos, scars, and diaphanous shadows swirling around him, I’d even say he was pretty. There’s an enthralling lethalness to him that acts like his own gravitational pull, completely captivating me. I always did love a bad boy. 

I spin and twirl, the silk of my dress flaring in a halo of midnight blue. I move for him until sweat runs down my bare back, and glistens in the hollow of my throat. And he keeps watching me, until the smirks and wandering eyes have me  desperate for more than just his gaze. The rest of the club has melted away, leaving just us. 

I look at him from beneath lowered lashes, a question in my eyes. Are you just going to watch all night, or actually dance with me? He’s outright grinning now, his eyes on my exposed thighs. He shrugs, and relaxes further into his seat. Why rush things? I quite like the view from here. I sigh, wrinkling my nose in frustration and flipping my hair over my shoulder. He smirks again, and twirls his finger. Spin for me. 

I do just that, the pleasure of following his direction like honey in my veins. I don’t even know this male, and yet I can’t help but do what he wishes. He’s the kind of otherworldly gorgeous that's utterly unattainable. Tousled raven hair, bedroom eyes, exceedingly tall, and a body that would make the gods weep. And Cauldron above, those wings. 

I keep turning in place, hips swaying and hands in my hair. I feel the exact moment he glimpses my naked back, covered in sapphire blue tattoos that perfectly match my dress. I found this gown in the palace of thread and jewels, and the shop owner would not let me leave without it. 

I’m endlessly grateful for her sage counsel when I glance over my shoulder to catch the males reaction. He knocks back the rest of his drink and rises to his feet, dark eyes devouring every inch of my bare skin. My breath catches in my throat as he slowly makes his way across the bar, until he’s standing mere inches from me. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an incredible dancer?” 

His voice is startlingly deep, and smooth as velvet. It takes me longer than it should to formulate a coherent response. 

“I- no. No, just you.”  Well, not entirely coherent. 

He smiles anyway, dimples appearing in his cheeks. Gods above, dimples too? The male leans close to whisper in my ear, and his scent hits me. Cedar and moonlight, rain on the pavement. I can’t help but inhale deeply.

“I’m Azriel. May I have this dance?” 

I can only nod, his proximity scattering any intelligent thoughts in my head. He places one scarred hand on my back, the other on my hip, and we begin to sway with the music, our bodies pressed together intimately. My skin smolders beneath his touch, stoking the molten fire he’s awakened in me. 

“I’m Sabine.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sabine.” 

From the intensity of his gaze, I know he can scent every reaction my body has to him. I lock my eyes on his as he trails a finger from my cheek, down my neck, and back again. I gasp when he leans down to press a kiss to the point where my neck and shoulder join, a throbbing starting in my core as he gently bites down. A small, involuntary moan leaves my mouth. Azriel chuckles darkly against my skin.

“Did you like dancing for me, love?” 

He inquires, voice soft as he tightens his arms around me. I let my head fall back, exposing more of my neck for him to explore. He obliges by trailing hot kisses up my throat, and nibbling on the shell of my ear. 

“Y-yes.” I gasp, heat rushing up my neck to fill my cheeks. 

Azriel growls low in his chest, and I can’t help but notice a considerable length pressing against my thigh. 

“I’m going to make you say ‘yes’ just like that, all night long.” 

I shiver in his arms, finally opening my eyes to see his have gone completely black with arousal. There’s a promise in them that has my knees going weak. His reaction to me inspires a sudden boldness. 

“Then take me somewhere I don’t have to be quiet, Azriel.” I murmur, biting my lip and hesitantly stroking a hand down his chest. 

A confident, male smile graces his lips. Without a word, he turns and leads me out the back door.  His hand is rough and calloused on mine as we hurry down the streets of Velaris, a fact that only makes me want him more. I can only imagine how they’d feel between my legs. 

Azriel leads me into a luxury apartment building, and we cross the marble floored lobby to the elevators. The doors take their sweet time closing, and as we wait, he admires me from the far wall. Hands in his pockets and smirk on his face. 

“When we get to my apartment, I want you to undress for me. Can you do that, baby?” He leaves no room for argument as the doors finally close, and he moves slowly towards me. A lion, hunting his prey. 

And I am eager to be caught. 

“Yes.” 

As he stands before me, he tilts my chin up and presses a soft, tender kiss to my lips. A flower of flame blossoms in my chest. 

“Yes, what?” 

I am only confused for a moment. He must see the realization in my eyes, because he hums in approval. 

“Yes, sir.” 

His eyes flash, and then his mouth is hard on mine. He backs me to the wall, pressing his body so firmly to mine that I feel every line and hollow of his muscled chest. I moan into his mouth, pushing myself up on my tiptoes for better access. Sensing my struggle, Azriel cups the back of my thighs and wraps my legs around his waist. For a moment, anxiety shoots through me and I stiffen. I’m not exactly small, with my soft stomach and round thighs. But he lifts me effortlessly, and with finesse. Thank the cauldron for Fae strength. When the action lands me directly on the bulge in his jeans, he releases a delicious groan. 

I smirk into the kiss as I rock my hips over that firmness, and Azriel’s hands tighten their grip on my thighs.

“Don’t tease me, Sabine.” He growls, hands slipping farther beneath the hem of my dress. 

“You may not like the consequences.” This he whispers in my ear as he finds the heat between my legs, and begins to rub slow circles over my clit. 

I gasp and tighten my already shaking legs around him, as he pulls my panties to the side and slowly inserts a finger in my sex. Within moments, I feel myself teetering on the edge of an earth shattering orgasm. Something about Azriel’s touch makes everything feel keenly hypersensitive, bewitching in it’s intensity. Thankfully, the elevator door dings before I can make a fool of myself by cumming before he even has my clothes off. Instead of setting me down, Azriel cloaks us both in shadows and exits the box, still hefting me in his arms as tenants enter the elevator behind us. 

“Azriel!” I hiss, hiding my bright red face in his shoulder. 

“They can’t see you, baby. But soon, they’ll be able to hear you.” 

I vacate my hiding spot so I can meet his eyes, not bothering to hide the overwhelming, all encompassing need burning in them. 

“Promise?”

His eyes are molten obsidian, making his answer obvious. We reach his apartment, and he seals us inside immediately. Azriel wastes no time taking me to his bedroom, and I am so wrapped up in him I don’t even peek at his apartment. Is it a swanky bachelor pad or minimalist studio? I make a mental note to snoop around a little before I leave. 

Azriel’s kisses have grown softer, almost reverent in their slow rhythm. He gently deposits me amongst his grey blankets and pillows. He hovers over me for a moment, a strange, almost confused light in his eye. 

“Az?”I whisper, suddenly self conscious. Has he changed his mind? 

And just like that, his eyes are clear again. He fixes me with a warm, male smile.

“I like when you call me that.” He kisses my throat once more, then skims his lips over the top of my breasts, my nipples peaking in response.

“Didn’t you say something about me undressing for you?” I murmur breathlessly, practically writhing beneath his ministrations. 

He chuckles against the skin of my shoulder before rising from atop me. Azriel crosses the room and settles into a leather armchair by the fireplace, which crackles to life as he approaches.

“How could I forget.” He murmurs, once again observing me from afar with eyes that promise immeasurable pleasure. While he sheds his leather jacket, he motions for me to begin.  

I start by crossing my legs in order to unzip my thigh high boots, before discarding them at the end of the bed. My hands shaking under the weight of his stare, I extend my leg and start to remove my stockings. 

“Keep those on for me. Just those.” 

I look up at his voice, and my mouth goes dry as I notice Azriel adjusting the very apparent tent in his jeans. Gods, a bulge that huge has spine tingling implications for later. My heart skips in my chest, and I’ve become so wet I know I’ll find my underwear a sopping mess. 

“Yes, sir.” I whisper, rolling the lacy garment into place as requested. 

“Good girl.” 

A moan slips past my lips at that, shocking even me. Never, ever did I think that I’d call a male ‘sir’ and get off to following his commands. But here I am. If it was any male other than Azriel, I’d laugh in his face or slap him. 

But it is Azriel, and he’s already awoken a part of me I had no idea existed. It lay dormant inside me until now, waiting for him to show me what I’ve been missing. And we haven’t even fucked yet. I shiver in anticipation. 

“Does someone like that? Being praised?” His voice is the deepest I’ve heard it, slow and commanding. 

“Y-yes, sir.” I’m still seated at the end of his bed, boots discarded and aching with need.

 I look up from beneath thick lashes, heat spreading across my face as Azriel unbuttons the first few buttons of his shirt, his jacket now draped across the back of his chair. 

“Look at me, love.” 

I obey, of course. The ocean of longing I feel is mirrored in his dark eyes, and I bite my lip to keep from begging him to take me. Take me and never stop. 

“You don’t have to feel nervous with me. You’re safe. I know surrender can be scary, but I promise I’ll cherish the control you’re giving me. I’m honored that you’d give yourself to me like this.” 

A light, warm sensation spreads through me at his words. The sincerity in his hazel eyes is what does it for me. I rise from the bed, and all of my nerves melt away under the scorching heat of his gaze. All my worries about my body, his expectations, become unremarkable. With my eyes never leaving his, I reach under my dress and hook my fingers around the waistline of my panties. Slowly, I slide the scrap of lace down my legs. He lets out a puff of breath, fingers gripping the armrests of his chair, all sense of smug relaxation gone. 

With a feline smile, I toss them into his lap. He grins back at me, while stuffing the panties into the pocket of his jacket. 

“I’m keeping these.”

I turn towards the bed, and look over my shoulder at his face as I slide the thin straps of my dress down my arms. 

And it falls to the floor in a puddle of silk. 

I am completely bare before him, and I have never felt more beautiful. Azriel looks like a male seeing his first sunrise, after spending an eternity in the dark.

With a growl, he crosses the room in three strides. His hands land on my naked hips, and he pulls me smack against him. I moan at the feeling of his length pressed to my backside, and my body grinds against him without my permission. 

“You have the most perfect ass I have ever seen. I think I may spank you later.”

His lips are at my neck, kissing and biting. He spins me around in his arms, onyx eyes exploring as he runs his hands down the curve of my waist and hips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He groans, massive hands coming up to cup my breasts. 

I whimper as he begins to pinch and pull gently at my nipples, and he relishes the sound. When he takes one of them into his mouth, I nearly fragment right there. 

I have to feel his skin on mine. I need him in me, immediately. 

“Az, please.” 

With desperate, shaking hands I yank open his fine black dress shirt. Buttons fly and scatter across the ground, but I hardly notice. 

 Azriel’s naked torso is the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen. He is all lean muscle and broad shoulders, a deep V leading beneath his pants. Black swirls of ink cover his chest, and trail down his arms. I curse under my breath and run my hands over every elegant line and ridge of his body, mouth agape. When my hands find the waist of his trousers, his core tightens and a strained chuckle leaves his lips. 

“Gods, love. Keep looking at me like that and you’re never leaving this bed.” For the first time tonight, he sounds just as breathless as me. 

“And if that’s what I want?” I purr, looking up at him from my kneeling position on the bed.  

He gives me the slow, confident smirk that first enraptured me at Rita’s, and unbuttons his pants. In moments, they’re discarded on the floor with my dress. 

I look down. 

Sweet cauldron above. 

Torrid flames lick up and down my body, and I can’t stop myself from touching him. It would take two hands to properly pump him, and who even knows if I could fit him in my throat. 

Soon, I would find out soon. 

Azriel hisses at the contact, hips thrusting into my hands. Next thing I know, his lips are slamming into mine and my back meets the bed. He takes my hands in one of his and forces them above my head as he kisses me, hips slowly thrusting against mine. 

His cock slides between my folds, and we both groan into the kiss. 

“Fucking gods. You’re so wet, baby.” 

His voice is rough with pleasure, and my entire body tenses at the sound of it. I could easily cum to just his voice alone. 

“Oh fuck, Az please, oh gods please.” I cry, rolling my hips against his in an attempt to get the release my body is screaming for. 

“Yeah? You want me to fuck you, sweetheart?”

My reply is inarticulate, the need and frustration boundless. He chuckles against my mouth, and soon he’s trailing kisses down my body. I gasp and tremble beneath him, squeezing my legs together when I realize where he’s headed. I’ve only ever let serious, long term lovers pleasure me in that way. It feels so intimate, so vulnerable.

“Relax, beautiful. I’m gonna make you feel good, okay?” 

He murmurs soothingly, massaging my hips with gentle hands. I hesitantly let my legs fall open, and I glance down at the gorgeous male. 

The sight of him between my legs alone nearly has me climaxing. Azriel presses hot kisses all over my thighs, his hands still massaging my hips. I feel myself go limp in his arms, my eyes closing in complete bliss. If I’m going to make an exception for anyone, it's him. Especially since I know that if there was anything I wasn’t comfortable with, he wouldn’t push me. 

“That’s right, love. Relax. I’ve got you.” 

I smile, and reach a hand down to tangle my fingers in his tresses.

And then his mouth is on me, and my back is arching off the bed and I’m gasping his name. Azriel devours me until my legs are shaking and tears are streaming down my face as I cum, his fingers pumping inside me.

And he does it again. And again. 

By my third climax, I’m nearly sobbing and my body is quaking under his hands.  

I open my eyes to see Azriel hovering over me, adoration in his eyes and lips glistening. He leans down, and I crash my lips into his. Kissing him is like… like coming home. 

I’ve had a few one night stands throughout my adult life. Most were drunken and sloppy, with zero emotions involved. Something about this time feels different.

“Azriel.” It comes out as a whine, and if I weren’t completely unraveled, I would be humiliated at how desperate I am for this male.

With a heated look, he grasps my hips and angles them up, settling himself between my legs. He rests his forehead against mine, our panting breaths mingling. When the tip of his cock pricks my entrance, I dig my nails into the scarred skin of his back. I think I even whimper. 

‘I’ll be gentle.” Azriel promises, pressing a torrid kiss to my swollen lips. 

“For now.” 

I open my mouth to comment on that remark, but Azriel buries himself to the hilt inside of me. 

In unison, we let out guttural moans that are loud enough to wake the neighbors. He curses into my shoulder, his breath fanning across the sensitive skin there. 

As he begins to gently thrust, letting me adjust, I realize just what it is to be with a male of his size. I am filled entirely, stretching in new, delicious ways. I  realize now why he was so insistent on pleasuring me so thoroughly. I’m sure he loved teasing me, but it was also to prepare me for him. I wrap my legs around Azriel’s waist, urging him deeper.

He complies, angling his thrust with a low moan. A string of incoherent curses leave my lips as the change strikes me deep, pleasure forking through me like lightning.

“Right there?” The supreme satisfaction in his voice, and the smirk on his full mouth undoes me. 

“Quit teasing me and fuck me like I know you want to.” I snap, glaring up into his eyes. This male has me beyond frustrated, beyond desperate. And he knows it. 

He raises an eyebrow, that cocky grin only growing. But he remains silent as he strokes his thumb across my lips, his attention drawn to where he and I are joined. His face is flushed, muscles tight with restraint. I feel a deep sense of delight when I realize he’s just as affected by me as I am by him.

The grin falls from his face, replaced with absolute primal need, as I take his thumb into my mouth. I can’t help but grin mischievously at the look on his face, and I swirl my tongue around his fingertip. With a growl, he gives me exactly what I’ve been begging for. 

Azriel unleashes himself, the sound of our bodies colliding echoing through the master suite. His hand wraps around my throat, and he uses this new leverage to pull me onto him each time he thrusts. I cry out, the sudden increase sending my vision into fractures. Azriel’s hips meet mine again and again, our moans combining into a symphony. 

“Bend me over.” I gasp, and I’m surprised when I hear the words leave my mouth. Azriel’s grins down at me, raven hair falling into his eyes. He chuckles darkly. 

“As you wish.”

Suddenly, Azriel is flipping me onto my stomach, and dragging me to the end of the bed by my hips. I squeal in surprise, the sound cut off by a moan as he sheathes himself in me once again. With a strength I’ve only ever seen Illyrian males exhibit, he hauls my hips back to meet each thrust, eliciting screams of absolute pleasure from me. Az tangles his fingers into my hair, and then there’s a sharp sting across my ass. I gasp, though the pain soon turns to pleasure. Azriel leans down, his voice in my ear. 

“Look at you taking all of my cock like a good girl.” 

I whimper and feel myself tighten around him, his voice always my tipping point. He presses his chest to my back, and groans into my shoulder, wings coming down to encircle us. 

“I-I’m close.” My voice is hoarse, and entirely breathless.

Azriel gently turns me until I’m on my back again, his forehead meeting mine. 

“I want to watch you cum.” He gasps, his movements becoming more and more fervent. 

I wrap myself around the shadowsinger, until I can’t tell where I end and he begins. He claims my lips once more, our tongues and teeth clashing in desperation. Heat flares inside my belly, my inner thighs beginning to shake with our rapid, passionate joining. I know I’m about to fall off the edge and I’m desperate to take him with me. 

His massive, silky smooth wings are still curled around me. Guided by an unknown instinct, I press a kiss to the scarred underside of his wing, my tongue stroking softly.

 His eyes shoot open, entire body going rigid and roaring as he spills himself into me. At the sound of my name falling from his lips, my own orgasm plows into me, our climaxes nearly simultaneous. 

My vision goes black, and then bursts into a kaleidoscope of colors, my entire body alight with white-hot pleasure. I shake apart in his arms, and he in mine. 

Then something miraculously unexpected happens.

The mysterious, ethereal link I’d felt enthralling me to him all night explodes into existence; pulling taut and snapping into place with dizzying velocity. 

His eyes are blank with astonishment, face pallid. I blink up at him, feeling as if I’m on the edge of sleep, not entirely awake. 

Azriel sits up abruptly, wings flaring behind him as he pants. I freeze, suddenly feeling very exposed beneath his gaze. I yank the nearest sheet over me, my face blazing red. It's as his eyes are searching my face that I feel it. A questioning, incorporeal tug down the bond. 

The Mate bond. 

Oh gods. Oh gods. I sit up hurriedly, scooting myself to the other side of the bed, even if moving away from this male feels like ripping myself in half. 

Mate. Mate. Mate. 

Azriel is - 

“Oh, fucking hell.”

[itachi-uchiha-deserved-better]

There were seven of them gathered in the tent that was serving as the temporary council chamber while the leaf village was being rebuilt. Kakashi sat at the head of the circular table, looking uncomfortable in the position of authority that had been thrust upon him in Tsunade’s absence. Next to Kakashi on his left was Shikaku Nara, with Shikamaru seated next to his father. On Kakashi’s right side sat Gai, Yamato, Naruto and then finally there was Sakura, sitting opposite Kakashi, wondering when in the hell she had become important enough to warrant an explicit invitation to a council meeting.

The elders, Sakura noted, were not in attendance. Kakashi had placed both of them under guard since Danzo’s treachery at the five Kage summit came to light. It didn’t really come as much of a surprise to Sakura that the Jonin of the village were hesitant to trust them with matters of importance.

Kakashi fiddled with his pen, as he seemed to search for the best way to approach whatever it was that was important enough for him to call a council meeting in the first place. He kept shooting Yamato glances, which Yamato always answered with a quirked eyebrow or a shake of the head, like there was a silent discussion going on between them. Sakura watched the exchange with fascination as she doodled on the note pad in front of her.

“Fine.” Kakashi growled, ending whatever argument he and Yamato were apparently having, “I guess we ought to just get on with it.” He took a breath, put the pen down very carefully, so that it was sitting perfectly straight in front of him. He swept his gaze around the room, locking eyes with each person who sat at the table in turn.

“You know I’m not the type to do things as officially as they should be done. Were it not for the delicate nature of this matter, I’d have left it for Tsunade to deal with when she recovers. Unfortunately, this is a matter that won’t wait until our Hokage is back on her feet.”

The air in the room seemed to grow still and heavy with tension. Everyone seemed to pick up on the carefully chosen words Kakashi used. Our Hokage. Not him. He had no desire to lead them. When Tsunade wakes up. Because none of them wanted to consider the other outcome.

“As you know, Yamato and I were present for the majority of the 5 Kage summit. I believe everyone here has read our reports regarding the proceedings of the summit and Danzo’s attempt at treason. That is not what we are here to discuss. This meeting is in regards to what happened before our arrival at the summit location. About information intentionally withheld from the official reports.”

Sakura observed the room. A large part of her medical training had focused on sharpening her observational skills. Teaching her to pick up on subtle changes around her, so that she can make decisions with the most information possible. So her keen gaze immediately picks up on the way that Shikaku straightened up in his chair as Kakashi admits to withholding information from the official documentation of their mission. She notes how Shikamaru’s gaze snaps to Naruto’s face, then to hers, trying to read the situation the same way that she was. She can almost visualize tangible waves of tension rolling off of Yamato and the worried look that Gai is giving her Sensei. It seemed that he had at least some inkling of what was going on.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure that this information should be shared with anyone. The source is questionable, but Yamato and I agree that given the potential ramifications for the village if the information we’ve been given is accurate, that at least the people in this room need to be aware of it.”

More glances shot around the table. Naruto at Sakura. Sakura at Yamato. Yamato and Gai at Kakashi. Shikaku and Shikamaru at all of them. The silence in the room swelled until Shikaku quietly prompted Kakashi, “please continue.”

“Itachi Uchiha.”

The name sent a shockwave through the room. White hot anger flared in Sakura. Itachi. Sasuke’s older brother. The shinobi who had murdered his entire clan in cold blood, who had tried to kidnap Naruto, who was directly involved with the organization that had killed Gaara, that had destroyed Konoha and caused so much pain to the person that she loved. Even if he didn’t love her back, Sakura could never forgive Itachi for the pain he inflicted on Sasuke.

Naruto was shrinking in his seat, like the name was a heavy weight descending on his shoulders. Shikaku and Shikamaru were both now sitting straight backed in their seats, giving Kakashi their undivided attention. Only Yamato and Gai remained impassive.

“What about the Uchiha?” Shikaku asked as the impact of the name started to settle.

“It seems that there is much more to Itachi’s actions than the village was initially lead to believe. Our information indicates that Itachi held no grudge against his clan. That his crimes, while heinous, were carried out under direct order from village leaders.”

Shikamaru laughed, the sound breaking through the tension like a paper bomb exploding in Sakura’s ears, “You must be joking. You can’t honestly believe that Lord Third would have allowed-“

Shikaku grabbed Shikamaru’s arm, and shooting him a sharp look to silence him.

Kakashi sighed, “I understand your skepticism. Like I said, Yamato and I don’t trust the source of our information, but given Danzo’s treachery and how long that was allowed to go on unnoticed, I don’t think we can dismiss anything outright. By the same token, none of this is to leave this tent. Until we are able to verify or disprove the claim, I want to keep this thing quiet.”

Shikamaru huffed, but Shikaku nodded thoughtfully, “Kakashi, you were his Anbu captain at one point. You probably know the most about Itachi of anyone present. Do you believe it’s possible that he was manipulated into massacring his clansmen?”

Sakura expected Kakashi to answer immediately. The entire thought of the village ordering a man to kill his entire clan was ludicrous.

Wasn’t it?

But Kakashi didn’t answer. One minute passed in silence and still Kakashi was sitting there, glaring down at his pen, unable to answer Shikaku’s question. It was Yamato who eventually spoke up.

“I served alongside Itachi on team Ro. Speaking frankly, I could never wrap my head around it. The Itachi I knew wasn’t capable of harboring that much hatred. Even with the proof right in front of our eyes, I couldn’t make sense of it.”

Sakura breathed in a sharp breath of surprise. Neither Kakashi or Yamato ever really spoke about their Anbu days, so she had been completely ignorant of the fact that they’d both been on a team with Itachi, much less been friends with him.

Did Sasuke know?

Kakashi nodded his head, “I agree with Yamato, Itachi Uchiha’s actions never made sense to me. I accepted that I must have missed the signs back then and once everything was said and done, I tried my best not to think about it. About him. He was my teammate, and I had failed him. But if this is true, then I failed him even worse than I ever could have believed.” Kakashi hung his head and Sakura could see how much this pained him. She could only imagine what he felt, having this ghost of his past being dragged back up to the surface, especially after so much recent pain and loss.

“Regardless of my and Yamato’s personal feelings about the man, there are other factors which lead us to believe that at least parts of the information we were given are true. Danzo did possess a number of Sharingan, including an eye that we can confirm belonged to Shisui Uchiha, who supposedly committed suicide by the Naka. Itachi was, at the time, suspected of murdering his cousin.”

Another pause, as Kakashi allowed the information to sink in. Shikaku was nodding his head in recognition of the name. Shikamaru was studying his father closely. Sakura could hear Naruto grinding his teeth in frustration.

“Alright,” Shikaku tapped his finger on the table, “Lets have it then. The whole story.”

Kakashi obliged, and slowly the story came out, with Yamato jumping in when it seemed that Kakashi was struggling to find the right words. About the plan for a coup d'etat that had been brewing within the Uchiha clan. The orders to spy on the Uchiha, to monitor them for signs of rebellion. Itachi’s assignment to team Ro, and his early promotion to captain under Danzo. About the death of a man named Shisui, who according to this had thrown himself off a cliff only after Danzo had stolen one of his eyes. The coup coming to a head, and Hiruzen asking Itachi to buy time to find a better solution than annihilation, and Itachi being approached later by Danzo, with a promise- that Itachi could ensure his little brother’s survival if he singlehandedly stopped the coup. The implication that if Itachi refused, Danzo would ensure the clan’s destruction, Sasuke and Itachi included.

The clan’s lives for Sasuke’s life. That was the deal that was put forth. And Itachi had accepted.

But it was the final bit of the story that chilled Sakura to her core.

“Hiruzen was aware of Itachi’s orders. While he may not have issued them himself, if our source is to be believed, he also made no effort to intervene. Its true that the Uchiha massacre solved the problem of the coup d'etat once and for all. But the only way it ended without anyone losing faith in Hiruzen was for Itachi to shoulder the blame. If he’d remained in the leaf village, Hiruzen would have been forced to punish him for the massacre. So instead, Hiruzen let Itachi leave the village, left the barrier jutsu formula intact so that Itachi could come and go as long as he remained hidden, and Itachi decided to join the Akatsuki. Not as a missing-nin, but as Konoha’s spy.”

Shikaku hummed, nodding his head, “I never was able to come up with a good reason why Hiruzen left the barrier jutsu formula alone. I assumed he believed that Itachi must not have any more reason to target the leaf, but even then when word came that Itachi had joined the Akatsuki, he ought to have changed it.”

“Right,” Kakashi was rubbing at his temple, probably fighting off a headache. He’d had a number of those since his brush with death at the hands of Pein.

“There are piece that add up. The barrier formula. The fact that the leaf village always had more intelligence on the Akatsuki and their movements than the other villages did. Danzo’s possession of the Uchiha eyes, Shisui’s eye especially. But there are also pieces I cant explain. Like why that bastard locked me in a seventy two hour genjutsu that almost killed me. And the only person who could confirm any of this, as far as I know, has been dead for three years.”

Gai said something in response to that, but Sakura had stopped listening, their voices fading to the background as something started to click in her head.

Konoha’s spy.

Had to stay hidden.

Could come and go as he pleased.

Her mind was spinning. Recalling strange orders issued by Tsunade. Treating a shinobi outside the hospital. Not allowed to use her healing chakra at all, only basic medical skills. The threat of being stripped of her rank as a shinobi if she disobeyed. A strange Anbu who never spoke. Who suppressed his chakra at all times. Who had eerily familiar eyes that always seemed to be filled with something she could never hope to understand.

“Sakura? Sakura are you alright?” Naruto’s hand was on her shoulder, shaking her gently. Tenzo and Kakashi were both watching her with concern, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The name. Recognition like a bolt of lightning struck her and Sakura stood up so quickly that she sent her chair flying back with a crash.

She felt like she was going to explode. Every eye in the tent was on her, waiting for some kind of explanation for her sudden reaction. How on earth could she not have put it together earlier? Then again, she’d never been given any reason to suspect that Ghost, the strange anbu operative in the blank mask was Sasuke’s older brother.

Tsunade. Tsunade must have known. Her orders were to protect Ghost’s identity, because if Sakura had felt his chakra, even for an instant, she would have recognized the similarities to Sasuke’s, and there was only one other Uchiha left in the world. So many thoughts were crashing around inside Sakura’s mind. Anger. Anger at Ghost…Itachi…for lying to her, even if he had no other choice. It wasn’t like she would have ever helped him before if she knew who he was. She’d have been the first person to turn him in, no matter how much kindness he’d shown her. Anger at Tsunade, for allowing the farce to continue, despite knowing that Itachi had made the only choice he could have. Anger that Hiruzen, for failing to intervene and stop all the pain that the massacre caused. For Sasuke, and for Itachi.

Her eyes met Kakashi’s steady gaze. Her sensei, always so adept at reading what troubled her, waited patiently for her mouth to catch up to her mind.

“You knew?”

“No.” Not a lie. She hadn’t known, “But I’m pretty sure this is the truth. I…” gods above how did she even begin to explain it all? To explain about Ghost, his strange behavior, the bizarre connection they shared.

Tenzo was her saving grace. He seemed to have put some of the pieces together himself.

“The Anbu? The one you told me about?”

Sakura nodded and sank back down into her chair, hugging her arms into herself. The eyes of the group moved off of Sakura, looking to Tenzo for more information.

“Earlier this year, Sakura confided in me about a patient of hers. She wanted to know if I was aware of an Anbu agent whose mask was blank, no markings at all. She told me that Tsunade had asked her to treat him and that the arrangement came with some unusual orders which had her uncomfortable.”

Kakashi raised an eyebrow, “Are you referring to-“ Kakashi cut off, but Tenzo nodded, clearly understanding the question. Shikamaru grumbled.

“Care to explain for those of us who can’t read your mind?”

“Ghost,” Tenzo shot back, “It’s a…well for lack of better terms, it’s a ghost story that exists among the Anbu. A few years back a few genin claimed they were saved by an Anbu agent in a blank white mask, who slaughtered the enemy shinobi who were attacking them and then disappeared without a trace. No one believed them, but since then all kinds of stories about the faceless mask have popped up. Most of them are incredibly far fetched, but there are elements that remain consistent throughout. Black hair. Always alone. Never leaves any survivors except for leaf shinobi. Only fights with Kunai and a tanto, never jutsu. At least, none that anyone ever sees. I didn’t think anything of it, but when Sakura mentioned her patient to me, I did some digging. There is a file for an Anbu agent, codename Ghost, but there’s no serial number on the file, and everything in it was encoded.”

Kakashi sighed, “It’s not proof, but that seems pretty damning.” Apparently Kakashi didn’t have any better explanation that Sakura did.

“In that case, there are a few things to address. First and foremost, it is very likely that Sasuke has also been made aware of the fact that his brother acted under orders. I don’t think he knows about Itachi’s identity as an Anbu operative, but we need to be prepared because I’m not sure what kind of effect this information will have on him. The last I knew, Sasuke’s sole focus was on killing his brother for revenge. It’s quite possible that his desire for revenge will shift to target the village, or at least those he feels most responsible for Itachi’s actions.”

Everyone in the tent nodded their agreement.

“The second question is one of what to do about Itachi himself.”

This time no one nodded. It was a momentous question.

“Are you sure we need to do anything at all?” Shikaku asked, trying to be as gentle with the question as possible. Tenzo slammed his hand down on the table and looked like he wanted to throw himself at Shikaku.

“Of course we have to do something! He’s a leaf shinobi! He’s put his life in danger for the past nine years, alone, hated by everyone in order to protect the village. He deserves to know that he isn’t being held responsible for being forced to make an impossible choice when he was thirteen fucking years old!”

“Easy, Tenzo,” Kakashi seemed to be doing his best to keep his tone level, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him while they sorted things out, “You know that I want to see him again as much as you do, as a friend. But we need to consider what’s best for the village. At the least, I don’t think we need to come to a decision right now. Our first priority is to rebuild the village itself. When Tsunade wakes up, I’m sure she’ll have something to say on the matter.”

Sakura clenched her fist and felt her chakra start flowing into them out of instinct. You better believe that she’ll have something to say. I’ll make sure of it.

She pushed herself up from the table. She needed to hit something. Needed to break something. And if she didn’t leave now, she couldn’t be sure what exactly it was she was going to break. Better safe than sorry.

“Sakura? Going somewhere?”

“For a walk,” She hissed, daring anyone to try and stop her as she stormed out of the tent.

[fallenrepublick]

JUNE I HAVE AN IDEA AHH AND I CAN'T MOVE ON FROM IT TIL I BLURT IT OUT

Chiss triangle because you already know the game

We know the drill: you're with Thrawn, he's with you, Thrass wishes he was with you, you care for Thrass, and Thrawn isn't thrilled by whatever Thrass has got going on for you.

On some level, Thrass understands what he feels isn't ideal. Not that he's ashamed of loving you, no, just the opposite - He's afraid of loving you so much that it will forever impact his life negatively, knowing he might never get to be with you and feeling his heart break every time you and Thrawn accomplish another milestone together. It's not like he can take himself out of the picture since he's family, and essentially in charge of making sure Thrawn stays in line as far as work is concerned, nor would he want to. Any time with you is better than none at all. Still, he knows it would be best to at least try to move on from these feelings. He knows he'd die for you, but if he's ever going to be there for anyone, he needs to keep himself in check.

So, he decides to date around in his own circles, a little embarrassed by the fact that at one time he'd have any of these women on his arm just for appearance's sake, to compliment his own career. It would be hard to transition back to the same mindset he had before he fell in love with you, but for both your sakes, he was willing to try. He meets a fellow politician who seems nice enough - she's poised, elegant, intelligent, and knows what she wants. In the eyes of the Ascendancy, they'd be an ideal couple. That's good enough for him, he guesses.

Things go relatively well during the first month of their Chiss-typical courtship, and a family dinner is arranged with you and Thrawn. He knows he doesn't love her yet, and maybe he never would, but maybe this step was necessary to finally start breaking free. He doesn't mention much about you to her out of fear that she'd pick up on his feelings for you, so he doesn't say much other than you're his brother's significant other and what your profession is. In doing so, he neglects to mention that you're human.

The first thing she does upon seeing you is laugh into her palm and whisper to Thrass, "Is this some kind of joke?" to which he replies, "What are you talking about?" and she quickly realizes it isn't. How how the mighty Mitth have fallen, to allow their members to bring home trash from lesser space. It was unthinkable. She doesn't care to hide the mild distain on her face during the introductions, which doesn't go unnoticed by any of you, however, her snide remarks throughout the entire night indicated that didn't matter to her.

Thrass's brows knit tighter and tighter with every passing minute, seeing that although you're defending yourself quite well and minding your manners, her sharp words are subtly affecting you. Everything boils over for him when she shifts all her attention on Thrawn and asks him how you two met. He calmly tells the story, all but unaware of her politically-attuned reasons for asking, and she hums in response. "I see. If I may ask, is that even allowed?" She glares at you as though you were roadkill in a dress, not hiding her disgust in the slightest, "Does she have all her shots? Do you keep her indoors?"

Thrass bangs his fist on the table and immediately rises up from his seat, shooting a death glare her way when he asks her for a word in private. As they leave, you let out a sigh and lower your head.

"I'm going to excuse myself to the balcony," you whisper to Thrawn.

"Would you like me to join you?" he asks with a knowing care in his voice, and you agree to abscond with him. He wraps you lightly in his arms once you're both situated on a bench, ready to listen to your heart's concerns.

"I can't believe Thrass would fall for someone like that," you begin, "I really thought he was more..."

"Selective?" Thrawn guessed, and you nodded. He holds you a little closer, "Perhaps. My guess is that he wasn't aware of her prejudices. If my intuition is correct, she was mainly a distraction for him."

"A distraction?"

He raises a subtle eyebrow at you and smiles, charmed by your naivety. "In any case, I doubt we'll be seeing her again."

Before you can inquire further, Thrass steps out onto the balcony disheveled and alone. He looks to you and Thrawn, who gets up and whispers once he's at Thrass's ear, "You can apologize to me by covering dinner. You'll have to suffer more than that for her."

Thrass shoves his paycard into Thrawn's already-open palm and responds with a solemn look as if to say "I know" before Thrawn exits back through the corridor. Your eyes meet, and he moves to stand at your side, the epitome of guilt.

"I don't-, I'm so-, I can't believe-," he sighs, finally getting a grip on himself, "I apologize for everything you endured tonight. I never would have brought her had I known she'd be such a-"

"It's okay, Thrass," you interrupt calmly, "Really. I'm used to it."

The implications of your words melted his countenance into something pitiful, the realization that this wasn't a new occurrence for you breaking his heart. It didn't really occur to him that you likely were faced with disapproving looks and snarky comments nearly every day you interacted with the Chiss, since he himself had never seen you as anything less than perfect. He sat down at your side, taking your hand cautiously in his.

"You didn't deserve that. ____, I want you to know that I've never in my life thought of you as..." he let his thought get lost, making himself aware of what was appropriate to say, "I think you're wonderful. Please don't let what you heard tonight give you a bad impression of me, because I-"

You brought the back of his hand to your lips and gave it a quick kiss, charmed at how dumbfounded he suddenly became. "I know, Thrass. Thank you for being, well, you. I really appreciate it."

His eyes lit up, a feeling of relief washing over him. "You forgive me?"

"Of course," you answered, pulling him into a hug. He tentatively rested a hand on your back, thinking of a way to break the silence once it had dragged on a little too long, before he'd become a little too comfortable and say something he couldn't take back, but you beat him to the punch as you pulled away.

"So, what did you say to her?"

He stroked the back of his neck nervously. "Uh, nothing that bears repeating."

"Oof, that bad?"

He chuckled, remembering the heated argument from only minutes before. That beautiful human is the love of my life, and I'll sooner destroy you before you even look at her ever again. That, coupled with plenty of insults and expletives. "Yeah. Needless to say, we broke up."

Your expression was thoughtful for a moment. "I'd say I'm sorry, but... I'm not." You smiled, relieved when he returned it with glee. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he replied, "it's you I was more worried about."

He squeezed your hand, which hadn't left his the entire time, and you gave a reassuring squeeze back. A certain tension started to fill the air, and before you could acknowledge it, the sound of Thrawn clearing his throat from behind the both of you shook you out of it.

"I believe you have an early appointment tomorrow, Thrass."

He shuffled back onto his feet, backing away until he had both of you in view. "You're right. I suppose I should get going. Please enjoy the rest of your evening."

With that, he reverently gave a slight bow and strode out the way that Thrawn had stealthily came. You lover came and took the recently vacant seat next to you, setting an ornamentally-wrapped box between you both.

"What's that?" you asked.

"Dessert," Thrawn replied smugly, "courtesy of my brother."

You chuckled, leaning back into your rightful place in his arm. "You forgot to return his paycard."

"Did I?" He wondered aloud with no small amount of feinged surprise, holding it out in front of him. "Shame. I don't suppose there are any productions you've been wanting to see? Perhaps any jewelry you've been admiring?"

You gave him a good-natured slap on his wrist as you smiled. "I'm fine with dessert."

"As you wish, my love."

He was going to surprise you with something, anyway. Something expensive. It was the least Thrass could do, after all.

OHOHOH WAIT BUT THERE’S MORE

Think about it a second, do you really think that woman’s going to let Thrass get away with something like that? Chiss pride is a dangerous thing, and when crossed, can be fickle and vile to its victims.

And here, Thrass has crossed what he is soon made to regret. The woman goes to Thrawn, who’s obviously less than pleased to interact with her, but lets her speak regardless.

She tells him what Thrass said, everything so accurate to his personality, so reflective of how Thrawn knows him. Though her bitter demeanor gives him pause, he knows when someone is lying, and this... wasn’t it. The more the words circle around his head, the more he hates the knowledge that Thrass still can’t get over it.

It’s not his fault entirely. More often than not, it’s difficult to deny such strong feelings. And really, Thrawn has to at least give Thrass credit for trying. But that doesn’t change the fact that this ordeal may have only made it worse.

But Thrawn doesn’t tell you what his brother said, more for his own sake than Thrass’s, and only wants him to hurry up and seek out another distraction before he makes him. As long as he stays in a constant state of concern for himself, he won’t have the energy to pursue you. Thrawn’s certain of it.

[suca-loca]

it’s been a long year since we last spoke (how’s your halo?)

Read on Ao3

Words: 11.5k 

Tags: Hurt No comfort, Angst, No Happy Ending, No beta we die like Wilbur

Warnings: Body horror, Blood, Death, Suicidal Implications/Thoughts, Mentions Of Torture, Beating/Fighting

Author's Note: I tentatively present you all this fic as my ticket to board the Dream SMP Fandom. I took some creative liberties with this, such as hints of Niki and Wilbur being childhood friends, as well as Niki living near Techno's cabin, and making Niki respawning to restock her hunger bar during her spiraling/villain arc one of her canon deaths. Also, despite Niki wearing a new skin she has stated that her character still wears Wilbur's coat. Just adding that in here so people don't comment that I got her outfit wrong during a certain scene. And finally, even though I feel this is obvious, this is about the characters and not the streamers themselves. With that out of the way, enjoy the fic!

Summary: 

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry.

or; Niki tries, unwillingly may she add, the whole being dead thing. Oh, and Wilbur is there to "help"

The worst part about it is that Niki's whole life doesn't flash before her eyes. It doesn't happen in slow motion and neither is there some comforting, bright light for her to walk towards. It's simply this: one second she's at Church Prime and the next she's falling into pitch blackness.

Then again, she should have known better than to expect any of that dumb cliche stuff 'cause it's not like she died or anything. Not really. Her communicator may say she did, but she knows the truth. She was teleported.

So why does this feel like dying?

foolish girl breaking at the seams from using the same stitching of a burning flag to put yourself back together again. you think the afterlife cares how you arrive? the entry fee is the same for all

She comes in screaming and doesn't stop even when that's all she is anymore. Her body is unrecognizable to her, turned inside out, muscles stretching and bending and snapping in an attempt to mimic the shape she once was.

(She wishes her muscles luck in regressing back into a memory because oh primes, oh dear primes did she try, try again to be the girl wore a white and blue uniform with pride, but that girl only exists now in dreams and sometimes nightmares)

But they can't, for her organs and bones and flesh do not know what it means to not be confined (but they should know, they really should, because she still finds it hard to breath in small spaces ever since Schlatt caged her between iron bars and dirt and Sapnap left her in a hole in the ground over a fish) and so they shake. Convulsing and spasming until she is just sound, just an echo of shrieks that are happening in the past or the present or the future depending on how fast it travels down this tight, narrowed cave she lands in.

Wait, lands in?

She finds herself laying flat on the ground. She blinks. Then does it again for good measure to make sure she's not imaging having eyelids.

She touches her face. Feels the crook of her nose, the curve of her chin, and her soft round ears.

It's all skin. No muscle, no tissue, just her.

Still her.

(For now)

Her body is back. Not whole though - never whole - for she will always be a walking empty space within a solid object, but for now, her body is right. Her body is here. She closes her eyes in relief.

Someone is staring down at her when she opens them again.

"Hello Niki," Wilbur says. "It's been a while."

(It's Doomsday. His name shows up on your communicator and so you become a lit match. The fire eats you away just like the bark of a tree, like the walls of a bakery, two things you once loved most, and you're watching them both burn with his coat over your shoulders, which doesn't help you ignore who you must look like, who you're acting like, whose footsteps you're following in; and doesn't it hurt to know that what's before you isn't just a friend but a reflection?)

She's already scrambling back before she's even fully sat up.

She doesn't get very far, not with the way her wrists twist and bend before finally buckling under the pressure, and she can't find the strength to stand up and run. So all that's left to do is hyperventilate at the way his eyes land on her face, roaming, analyzing, absorbing, trying to read her like a book, unaware she's ripped out the pages long ago. At the way his shadow covers her and maybe once it felt like a blanket, but that time has passed, now all it is is heavy, suffocating, pinning her down. At the way he wears his Pogtopia outfit, pressed and cleaned when the last she saw of it it was covered in ash and black feathers and red, so much red.

But it never comes. In fact, her lungs don't move at all. Almost as if she doesn't need to breathe. As if she hasn't been breathing since she's been down here.

Is that why it was so easy to keep screaming?

"You're not here," she whispers. "Not really."

Wilbur tilts his head to the left.

(Does it in a way a predator would while observing its prey from afar, waiting for the right moment to strike)

"Oh? Where am I then, Niki?"

"My head," Niki responds, practically blurting it out. "Yeah - yeah, that's right. This is just my head playing tricks on me again. A horrible horrible trick, but that's all it is. I - I know it."

Wilbur hums. He sits down as if this will take a while. As if she won't blink and he'll be gone. "Well, that's a damn shame. I was hoping it'd be a beach. Mexican Dream has been talking a lot about La Jolla lately. Sounds like a nice place."

He smiles, suddenly.

(No, not smiles, more like baring his teeth. His very normal teeth that give off the impression that they should be very sharp and very large and very deep in her throat right now)

"Let's hope I don't blow it up."

(Niki is shouting for Wilbur over the chaos when her communicator pings in her pocket. It gets hard to breathe as she reads what it says, and it isn't because every inhale of smoke and pulverized concrete from the tumbling buildings poison her lungs. There's a ringing in her ears, and it isn't because of the TNT that just detonated in front of her. She feels broken, and it isn't because the force of the explosion knocks her back and she skitters across the field, hitting rocks and choking on dirt until she stops on her stomach, limbs bent at weird angles. Her communicator lands right beside her, the screen shattered and static flashing, but she can still catch glimpses of what is on the screen, as clear as day, like a taunt: WilburSoot was slain by Ph1lza)

Niki scrambles to her feet, presses herself as much as she can against the walls, and maybe, just maybe, she'll glitch and go through it and suffocate in a block.

She immediately throws herself away from it when she realizes what she just thought.

Wilbur stands with her. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," he says. "I thought it would lighten up the mood. So, how are you?"

"How am I?" Niki echoes. "I'm imagining my dead best friend even though I thought I was getting better and I could have sworn I was, I was I swear I was, and this place, this place, I don't know where this is but it, it just feels - I don't even know why - so familiar and so - "

She pauses.

She looks around.

She was so busy panicking from Wilbur's presence that she never took in her surroundings. She stares at the smooth stone walls, the occasional hanging vines, the little aquarium in the corner right next to the entrance, and, finally, the stand. The stand with two signs on the front that read -

No. It can't be. It just can't.

She won't believe it until she's seen the whole thing.

She walks further in, each step hesitant.

And she notices the way everything around her seems so devoid of life. Almost colorless. Close to numb. She thinks it's her body shutting down, the stress finally getting to her, but no. This is worse. Something's going on. She doesn't know what it is exactly, but she knows it isn't her that's wrong here.

(This time)

Wilbur follows closely behind and, as if to prove her point, his footsteps sound muffled, distant, apart from him, like in the way you hear something underwater.

Maybe she is underwater because everything is getting blurry and her face feels wet.

(Or maybe the better comparison is like hearing something behind glass. She's been tapping against the window of a caravan for months as men in suits discuss a country she bled for just as much as them, if not more, without her. The tapping turns to banging, but it is not the glass that shatters. Not the glass that breaks)

She stills as she catches sight of the small wheat farm in the back room, dried and frail and unkempt.

(Like a flower shop)

It really is her bakery.

"No," she mumbles. Then, more stern, as if it'll blow this place away, as Wilbur should have done the first time. "No no no no this can't… this can't be true. I, I shouldn't be here I - it doesn't make any sense, how how how - "

She whirls on Wilbur, the tears coming in waves now. "What are you doing to me?"

(It's his fault she's back here. It has to be, he's the reason you wanted to burn the memories why this is all gone why this should be gone why isn't this gone gone gone gone)

foolish girl who has become like the nation she despises, you are a crater, there is a hole inside of you where a soul once was and it was caused by your own hands because the only destruction you're good at is your own. you couldn't even kill a child with a nuke, so what makes you think you can end a small room on the side of some hill?

"What do you see?" Wilbur says, and the voice in her head disappears. She can't remember what it said. She shakes her head as if the words will fall out her ears.

Suddenly she can't remember why she's shaking her head.

Her next words come out frail.

"My… my bakery. But how? This shouldn't be possible I, I destroyed it - I - "

"Limbo is different for everybody," Wilbur interjects. "For me, it's a train station."

"Limbo? What are you talking about? What is going on? I was nowhere near L'manburg I was - " Niki's mind blanks.

(Smooth quartz all around her and she feels safe there, that she remembers because there is no killing here, the one place bloodshed does not haunt her, and then crushing disappointment that turns into actual crushing as her body gets shredded, mangled, undone like a ribbon except it does not look pretty)

Wilbur gives her a slicing smile. It cuts her down. "This is the afterlife, Niki."

She blinks. She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted to the spot. "What?"

"The afterlife," he continues, eyes sparkling. "Hell. The void. Eternal darkness. Whatever you wanna call it. I call it home."

"Home?" She repeats, shakily.

foolish girl with no place, no one to call home because she's an expert at finding comfort in things that don't stay, of course he sees this place as home. Although if he really wanted to surround himself in emptiness so bad then he just needed to wait a few months for you to become just that

"I'm not dead," she mutters. She attempts to laugh, because if she laughs then this will sound like a joke. Wilbur would joke about such a thing. After all, he poked fun at exploding L'manburg just a while ago. So of course this is a joke. It has to be. It is, and she will not allow her breakdown to be the punchline.

At Wilbur's unflinching smile she says it again, with more conviction. "I'm not!"

"How else do you think you're talking to me? How your bakery is still in one piece? Sorry to be your grim reaper Niki, but you're dead. And now you're here, in the afterlife, with me!" He leans in close, close enough that she should feel his breath on her.

There is nothing. He is nothing.

(And maybe, so is she)

"Isn't that great? We're together again! You and me, just like the old days. And look," His eyes glance at what she wears. It's the coat. Specifically, Wilbur's coat, wrapped around her shoulders.

"We're even matching," he coos.

She thinks she might scream.

She throws herself away from him, almost throws the coat too, but into the furnace next to her.

('I gotta burn the memories I need to destroy it I need to destroy it I need to destroy it,' she once screamed to no one but herself. History repeats itself)

How she ever found comfort in this ratty, old coat she'll never know. And she'll never care to find out. Not when Wilbur is acting like this, like before, like a loose city wire, all dangerous and unpredictable, each word an electric spark, and Niki is trying not to get stung. She remembers how that story ended.

But her's will not end. Not yet.

"I can't be dead," she argues. "I don't remember that I would remember something like that so I - I can't be dead, and I have two lives left so, no, no I can't be I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and I'm in bed I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive and you're not real, just a nightmare. I'm alive I'm alive I'm - "

"It's really me, Niki," Wilbur says, and the fire from the furnace roars in response as if his words fan the flames. It's the first time something in this wicked place has felt alive. "In the flesh. Or, rather, a close imitation of it. I think my corpse must have liquified by now, swelling up for months before bursting open, leaving nothing but a skeleton behind. What about you? What did you leave for them to find?"

She covers her ears. "Stop! Stop it stop it stop it!"

"Remember it. Remember your last moments."

"Wilbur, please - "

"Feel your wrist," he says. No, orders. And she does. Because she, at her core, is still his soldier.

(She says that she is loyal to him and he responds by saying he wants her to be loyal to L'manburg. She remembers being confused, for she saw them both as the same. Wilbur is L'manburg and L'manburg is Wilbur, one cannot coexist without the other. A few months later, amongst the wreckage of her nation and a father's anguished screams, she'll realize too little too late how true her statement holds)

She doesn't find her heartbeat.

For a second she thinks she made a mistake. That she has her fingers in the wrong place, but no. A soldier knows where to look for life so that they may snuff it out. She can't be making a mistake.

Still, she presses her fingers down, harder this time, nails first, that blood draws, and sobs as she's still met with nothing.

She has no heartbeat.

She is dead.

She chokes. She clutches her chest, not because it hurts to know what she lacks in her chest, but because she remembers. Remembers it so intently, remembers it happening in the snap of a finger, literally, from a smiling God (and maybe it is quite a fitting end, for she goes out the same way she lived, giving second chances to men who don't deserve it) and how the world tilted as the ground slipped away.

But what's worse is the realization that comes after.

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find," she says.

Wilbur raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"I didn't leave anyone anything to find because I didn't die," she says again, but weaker. More horrified. "I was teleported. I was on the holy lands when - "

"Teleported?' Wilbur interrupts. His features, just a second ago, eccentric and mad, turn curious. "Wait wait wait, hold on a second, are you telling me you were sent to Hell, Hell, on the fucking Holy Lands? "

Niki weakly nods.

It goes silent.

Suddenly, a snort. A snort that does not sound like it once did, back before the war for independence, before the election, before banishment, before it all, when all there was was a caravan and the worst of their worries was getting Sapnap a vegan hotdog. It's meaner, more shrill, and laced with a madness that seems to roll off his tongue so easily nowadays.

If she weren't watching how hard Wilbur's shoulders shake she'd have never guessed such a sound would come from him.

But there's something else about this snort that chills her to the core. Although she never could have imagined it coming from Wilbur doesn't mean she hasn't heard this kind of laugh before.

It's almost breathless, almost like something left on a stove, steaming, almost like the sound of  -

(Dream and Wilbur worked together, both wanted L'manburg gone, both almost killed a kid, both cut off attachments, both lost trust in others, all things Niki has done too, and if Niki is like Wilbur and Wilbur is like Dream then that means - )

(No. Please, no)

"That is -," Wilbur wheezes, wiping away a tear. "That is horribly ironic."

"DreamXD!" She shouts, head tilted up. "Take me back! Take me back right now!"

Wilbur shakes his head. "Oh, no need to try that. I've been there. The whole shouting for help thing? Yeah, will do you no good. No one can hear you down here."

"DreamXD! I'm here!"

"Scream all you want, prime knows you don't need to breathe down here so nothing's stopping you from doing it for forever, but when your screams are all you hear for eternity… well, it'll drive any person mad."

"DreamXD," she shrieks. And her lungs don't shake, don't even give a small quiver, she knows it. Nothing in her does, for the gears don't need to be turning to keep this machine of a body that's been on autopilot since an explosion knocked her off her feet alive anymore. "Please!"

"You stop talking after a few years of just endless screaming for your voice becomes a reminder of your entrapment. But then the silence itself, after a few years, is unbearable. Yet you don't dare speak or make any noise, so it's just madness of a new kind."

She pushes her way past him and makes her way to the exit of her bakery. "I - I liked the magic trick, DreamXD! I really did! You - you can teleport me back now!"

"Too scared to make a noise, but too scared to keep quiet. So you stand still. Your body deteriorates, muscles numb from lack of use, and all you do is use your nails to scratch marks onto the walls to mark how many years have passed since… since absolutely nothing."

She stills. She slowly turns around.

(L'manburg is surrounded by a wall. A wall so mighty and tall she never thought she'd see the day it'd be torn down, much less by its own inhabitants. But this wall right here, the one between her and this old friend, this is a wall that will never meet the same end as its predecessor)

"Wilbur," she whispers. "What do you mean by years?"

Silence.

Wilbur has a far-away look in his eye.  

(That look was born in a dirt hole on the side of a small hill and Niki doesn't learn that lesson for she builds her bakery in a similar place. Two places, so small, so cramped, started with hope, have become their worst downfalls, their unfinished symphonies. She parallels him in all the wrong ways)

"Time down here is like stars, Niki. We're dead, dead for thousands of years, but to them," he points up, "we still shine. It'll take light years for them to realize they are staring at just a memory."

She tries to take a step back, but she's rooted where she stands. "Wilbur," she weeps. "How long have you been down here?"

He laughs.

(There was a time it made Niki's heart stop. It still does, but for different reasons now)

"Eleven years."

Niki covers her mouth to stifle a broken cry. She was paralyzed before but now, with fear pumping through her veins, she runs. Fear is a more dependent motivator than strength or bravery could ever be, for fear, unlike any other heroic emotion, can't be beaten out of you. Can't be threatened out of you by a friend on your birthday as you try to stop him from pressing a button. Fear only grows, like a weed, you can try to get rid of it all you want, but it multiplies the more you struggle.

She finally gets to the exit, nearly throwing herself at it, only to find a stone wall staring back at her. It's been cemented shut.

She's trapped.

(She is in a cage, a zoo animal for Manburg citizens to point and laugh at. It is cramped, it is humiliating, and it is her home, her everything in wake of becoming nothing to people she once considered friends, Schlatt tells her. Until Quackity frees her. But there is no one to free her now. Except herself)

She pulls up her sleeves and begins mining with her bare hands.

She's been torn apart before, but at least it was quick. This, the way her flesh slowly peels off at each scratch is its own kind of torture. Not because it's painful, but the torture in knowing what you're willing to do to yourself just to see the sky again.

She keeps going.

(She does not throw up at the sight of chunks of flesh dangling where nail once was because she is a soldier and she has seen worse. Seen a child trapped in a box screaming for help and she's unfortunate enough to have a seat in the splash zone. Helped patch up Ponk's wound where his arm should be, afraid she might lose him to blood loss because whoever chopped his arm off didn't cut across the joint to avoid the bone and therefore had to hack again and again and again to get through the bone. Sewed Fundy's head back together from when Schlatt beat him over the scalp with a beer bottle before dying in the caravan; it took a couple of hours to finish because his fur made it hard to spot the bits of glass sticking out his skin. This is not the first or last time she will wash blood off her clothes, she just has to hope it will continue to be someone else's and not her own)

Wilbur comes up beside her. He doesn't even try to stop her, much less flinch at all the red on the wall. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Tommy did."

She snaps her head to him, her clawing ceasing. "Tommy was here?"

He nods. "Arrived a few years ago. I have to admit, when a space opened up here I thought it would be him again, not you. Not that I'm complaining. Don't get me wrong he's a good kid but, well, you know how Tommy gets."

(Everyone you've ever hated, everyone you've ever sworn to end; Schlatt, Tommy, and although you do not hate Wilbur or Jack you're relationship with them is complicated because they remind you of when you spiraled, you lot are all connected now, bound together from sharing the similar experience of death. She can never separate herself from them. Will be rever grouped in with the people she can't stand most)

"How long was Tommy here for?" She asks softly.

Wilbur clicks his tongue. "Two months I think."

She closes her eyes.

(She wanted to look deep into the crater Tubbo's nuke made and confuse Tommy's charcoal, burnt body for obsidian. She wanted to catch Tommy's choked last breaths in a bottle and get drunk on it every night. She wanted to leave spruce wood on his grave as a sort of flag marking her latest conquest. She wanted to stop thinking that if Wilbur was wrong for believing in Tommy then that means he might have been wrong for believing in her)

She doesn't want Tommy dead anymore and although they're still not friends even she wouldn't wish this on him.

"Two months," she says, and it sinks in.

Is that how long she'll have to wait until someone comes looking for her?

That is if someone even cares to look.

(Puffy doesn't respond to any of her messages after their first date. She turns Jack away when he tries to pull her back into the obsession of caving Tommy's head in. Everyone grieving L'manburg remembers her setting L'mantree aflame. Anyone in the Eggpire is too far gone to even care about themselves. She doesn't have a Tubbo. Isn't anyone's disk. She's just Niki, forgotten, ignored Niki, the first ghost of the server before Ghostbur. Why spare a glance at someone transparent? Someone, not all there?)

No one will come for her.

Wilbur cracks his fingers, and Niki winces, for her bones are still on flesh display and slowly repairing. "Well, now that we've played twenty questions let's move on to a new game. You up for some solitaire?"

She rises to her feet and numbly nods. She might as well have something to do to, to try and prevent the inevitable insanity with a card game.

Might as well accept her fate.

Wilbur reaches into his pocket and pulls out the cards. He sits down on the ground. "Sorry," he says. "I'd offer we play on a table but there are no tables in a train station and I doubt your bakery has one either." He hands her half of the deck. "Help me set it up."

But Niki doesn't take them, for she's focused on the word table because -

(There's a table, a weird table, made up of this block she's never seen before. It's sponge-like, with a hole on top decorated by a blueish-green frame, and she's about to ask where they found it when Phil suddenly apologizes for exploding her bakery. At her shocked expression, he explains he'd like to air out all possible tensions before starting their first-ever official Syndicate meeting so that no past grievances keep them from working as an effective team. Techno merely snorts, saying it's not their fault her bakery was on government land, and Phil responds by shooting him a glare fit for his title as Angel of Death. She'd have laughed, she'd have cried because such a look was once how Phil got Wil to eat his vegetables if it weren't for the fact she tells them they have nothing to apologize for. Tells them she left the oven on the day before the attack and by next sunrise, it was already burnt to the ground. Ranboo doesn't blink once from where he sits across from her as she talks. She sees in his eyes that day, how her laughs and her wails blend in with the chaos around her, as if it belongs there, as if she is one with it. And maybe she is, for the fire that consumes her bakery grows and grows and grows but Niki just gets smaller and smaller and smaller as if she has to sacrifice bits of herself to keep the fire going. Perhaps she is, for every monster requires an offering, and her bakery is that. A representative of the old her burning alive to make room for the new, merciless, unhinged her. Good. She looks down at the flint and steel in her hand and in the reflection of the metal she sees a boy with mismatched eyes standing behind her, staring. And then he takes out his book and writes. It feels like Ranboo has placed a noose around her neck. The memory fades and she holds her breath. She waits for him to say something, to call out her lie. This time, Ranboo undoes the knot. He looks away)

Because she needs to tell Ranboo she appreciated his silence that day. Needs to joke about how all this snow reminds her of an ice cream shop and watch Ranboo nervously laugh as she lightheartedly punches him on the shoulder.

Because she needs to know how that story Phil was telling her about his adventures with Techno on another server, something about an Antarctic Empire, ends. Needs to feed the crows with him to make sure he doesn't stare at their wings for too long.

Because she needs to braid Techno's hair one last time while they talk about how pink is clearly the superior hair color. Needs to thank Techno for giving her these becauses, for they wouldn't exist in the first place had he not offered her a place in the Syndicate.

Ironically enough, she always knew she'd die before she could give back all that she owed them. But only because what she owed them was too long a list, too difficult to be expressed in any way that captured what they deserved.

(Somewhere, in a snow biome, there is a family. They're different from each other, too different at times, and yet Ranboo and Techno could wear each other crowns, each fitting perfectly on their heads and no one would know of the switch, except for Phil of course. Right now they're probably looking at their comms around the dinner table, confused by the last message. 'Nihachu fell from a high place.' They aren't worried. Not yet. But in a couple of days, months for her, they'll start to pace. Phil will stand at the edge of the roof, ready to step off, only to remember he doesn't have wings, can't look for her high up in the sky like he used to when she was a kid. Ranboo will force himself through experiments, lose sleep, break himself in, trying to learn how to teleport so as to cover ground faster in the search, to do more than just let his powers go to waste when they could be what brings her home. Techno will grab her rainbow sweater and put it to Steve's snout, but the trail will go cold every time until eventually all of Niki's clothes don't smell like her anymore. They'll do this every day. Nothing will change but their hope, dwindling away each day. So will they just stare at that last message, her unintentional goodbye, looking for some sort of explanation? For some secret message? Some coordinates until they go mad? They won't think she's dead until they've found a body. Won't stop looking, won't leave a corner of the server untouched. Won't stop till they have something to bury)

She can't do that to them.

She slaps the cards out of Wilbur's hands.

"No," she growls, trying to sound tough and less like a kid throwing a tantrum. Perhaps slapping the cards away was not the best start. "I am not going to waste my time playing Solitaire when I could be spending it finding a way back home. And I will if it's the last thing I do."

Wilbur frowns. Niki has the inkling suspicion it has more to do with the cards being all scattered about than from her declaration. "There is no 'last thing I do anymore.' You dying was the last thing you'll ever do. All you have now is this. This is your forever. Our forever."

She turns away from him, just for a second. Away from the sight of his furrowed brows and the crinkles in the space between them where her index finger would go to poke as she teased him. Away from the scrunch of his nose she would joke made him and Techno finally look like twins. Because despite everything, despite all the months that have settled into their bones since the last they saw each other and the wars they've fought on land and in their minds, it's still Wilbur's face. But only in the physical sense. After that, he stops being her Wilbur.

This would be so much easier if his face had physically morphed into a stranger, to prove to her how much he's changed, what he's become over the months, is not all in her head.

Somehow, she finds a way to start.

"You know, not too long ago I'd have stayed with you here. I wouldn't have even put up a fight. I'd have just laid down, closed my eyes, and let the vines on these walls grow over my body until I was just moss. I was… I was so tired, Wilbur. A part of me always will be. I understood. I finally got why you acted the way you did. There was a time I was on half a heart and instead of eating I would - "

Her body begins to shake so hard she almost expects to look down and she cracks in the ground from an incoming earthquake. The only cracks see she's are her own.

She can't say it. Not like that. Not yet.

" - I would respawn to restock the hunger bar," Niki chokes out instead.

(She respawns with dried blood on the back of her head and bones still rattling from the fall. Along her jutting spine, in an almost perfectly straight line that could be confused for an unkempt path lost to weeds and drought, are bruises. She doesn't feel them. All she feels is the urge to do it again)

She blinks and her hand is in her hair, looking for the bump. She pulls her hand away as if it's a hot furnace. "But I can't stay. Things have changed. I've changed. This is not the first time something dark has tried to consume me, but I can't let it win this time. I can't let this place turn me numb and unhinged, or worse, content. Not when I have people to go home to. Not when - "

She looks down at her hand, the one that traced her scalp, and sees it has clenched into a fist.

(At the count of three, Niki throws rock. She groans as she notices all the other hands make paper. Ranboo and Techno exhale as if the losing sentence wasn't shoveling the front lawn, but death. Or worse, going shopping with Phil for a refrigerator to put in the Syndicate meeting room. Ranboo lost that one. Niki points at Techno's hooves and says it's cheating since they can't ever tell which shape he chooses. She demands a rematch with the same tone one uses to declare war. A few minutes later, they're shouting, going over the rules of rock, paper, scissors, and they only stop when Phil comes home and pulls out the dad voice. They begrudgingly agree to do a rematch another time, once they've cooled down. That was yesterday)

She holds her fist close to her heart. The hand was never her rock, it was always three men in a snowy cabin, handing her a mug of hot cocoa. "Not when I have a lawn to shovel."

Silence.

Then, Wilbur sighs. "You know," he says. He places his arms behind him and leans back to get a better look at her. Somehow, even on the ground, he looks to hold all the power. "Years ago your determination would have been a sight for sore eyes, but here's a reality check. I've been here for almost a dozen years. Eleven years of letting the passing train rip right through me in the hopes it would send me to another layer of hell or maybe propel, heck, even drag my body to the next station. But every time I'd wake up back in the train station as if nothing had happened. Like my body breaking under the wheels was nothing."

He is an avalanche, growing and picking up speed with each word, and Niki realizes, too little too late, she's about to be buried alive. She tries to step back, but Wilbur is up quick and approaching. "There is no escape. The limbo is our stage and we have our lines, our cues, but we do not have a curtain call. We just keep going and going, an endless loop. You can't not play your part. It won't let you."

"I have to at least try," she says.

"Why? What's the point? They'll never know you tried."

Her fear turns to disgust. "Is that why you think I'll try? For the sole reason that one day they'll know what I've done for them? That's far from the truth."

(People built statues of Tommy, for all he's done, for all the influence he had on this server. Niki knows they will not give her the same treatment. But that's fine, more than fine. All she needs is a grave in the snow, beside a little cabin)

She didn't want to look at Wilbur's face before, but now, glaring at him straight on, all she sees staring back is Phil.

The day they found out Wilbur didn't inherit Phil's immortality was the day Phil looked like he should, centuries-old instead of thirty-three, the age when angels stop physically aging. Niki will never forget how deep the lines on Phil's face ran. They might as well have been cracks. And maybe it was, for Phil was breaking as he held his dying son - not dying now, but for an immortal, every second a mortal breathes is just inevitable death - in his arms.

But what still haunts Niki the most after all these years are his eyes. They carried the weight of the world in them. She could feel it, even now, pressing down on her shoulders. All the wars, the fall of cities, the birth of them, children with big smiles and even bigger graves.

Niki was not a soldier yet. She was just a nine-year-old girl who wanted to sleep over at her best friend's house.

She threw up in their sink and they mistook it as her reaction to the news. She didn't correct them.

The only reason she slept easy that night was from the knowledge she would never see those eyes on Wilbur's face. And yet, lo and behold, here it is, like a punch to the gut.

Except now, Niki has had time to numb herself to it. It's hard to get surprised by such a dead look when it's on the face of your roommate.

(Phil's screech - no, not a screech, a caw, high pitched and grief-stricken - is like an alarm clock. Except, instead of Niki waking up to the rising sun outside her window, it's to moonlight and blinking stars. This is the fifth time this month she's met Ranboo and Techno outside Phil's cabin, armed to the teeth, ready for war. The door creaks open, loudly, but they don't wince, for they know it won't wake him. Nothing really does when he's in this state, except for one thing. Techno holds him down and it's weird, will always be weird, to see Techno use such force, such retaliation, on Phil of all people, and then Phil nearly throws Techno through the wall with just a brush of his fingers, and she remembers it's necessary. This isn't Phil they're dealing with, it's the Angel of Death. It takes a while until Techno can get all of the Angel's limbs down, but even then they know it won't last long, and that's when Niki throws a slowness potion on him. Ranboo, meanwhile, turns around all the photos of Wilbur in the room, a safe distance away. They told him it's best he handles that since he's built like a stick, putting him anywhere near a powerful avian would be an accident waiting to happen. It definitely has nothing to do with them freezing up whenever they see Wilbur's smiling face, all happy, and so very alive. Phil's movements turn sluggish as the potion kicks in and Niki holds his face, murmurs soft words, and Techno gives his own weird, but comforting, comments. Something about how Phil can't afford to lose sleeping beauty to these night terrors, what with his old age. Niki snorts. Phil's eyes open immediately. Phil sucks in a sharp breath, like he's forgotten how to breathe, his fist clenching and unclenching. The eyes are back. Based on Techno's face Niki knows then she's not the only person that has seen them. They look at each other, nod, and hold him as he cries. They don't need to ask. There's only one person that could cause such a look. They force Ranboo, who is awkwardly standing to the side, to join. Eventually, they break apart, and Techno coughs. He says he hates them for making this all emotional and bans such an awkward event from ever happening again. And yet, when Phil keeps waking up with eyes too dark around the corners, Techno is there. And so is she and Ranboo)

She will not be the reason Phil's eyes age another year.

"It's about Phil, Techno, and Ranboo deserving someone who will never stop trying to find their way back to them," she says, with conviction. "I'm sorry you're too twisted to see not all actions stem from reward or acknowledgment."

She expects a laugh, a glimpse at his forked tongue spewing words so sweet she could use them as sugar in her desserts, only to take a bite and realize it was salt all along. But what she gets is silence. The type of silence before a storm.

"Phil?" Wilbur whispers.

Niki closes her eyes.

She should have never said their names.

She also should have never opened her eyes again, because Wilbur is looking more like Phil each second. Not because of the eyes. No, worse. Because she sees a boy, a boy with his arms spread open wide and flapping about in an attempt at mimicking his father's wings, and they're both running around in circles in the backyard as he tells her how she'll never have to walk anywhere ever again. He'll carry her when she's tired, when she's not tired, whenever she wants wherever she wants. They stop running around in circles flapping their arms when too much time has passed and his wings still haven't grown in, but the acceptance that it never would did.

She blinks and the memory is gone. Slipping through her fingers like sand.

"How is he?" Wilbur says. His voice wavers a bit. He hides it quickly with a cough, but Niki catches it. Niki thought she always would.

(But then a button was pressed and she realized just how untrue that was)

Niki hesitates. She thinks about the night terrors again. She almost mentions them but falters as she remembers Ranboo telling her how it was Phil who gave him a place to stay after L'manburg was blown up for the last time. How as Technoblade hibernates there's a blanket over his shoulders that wasn't there before and a stick missing from the fireplace. How he always places Niki's plate of breakfast down before the others, as if he knows of her first canon death.

He is a kind man, but that is not why he does these things.

"He misses being a father," she settles on.

Wilbur's shoulders slump. Somewhere, in a different life, Niki's hand is there, squeezing comfortingly. "Is he… is he mad at me?"

"No." She answers quickly. "He's just tired, Wilbur. We all are."

Wilbur laughs. It sounds defeated. Mournful. "Understatement of the fucking year."

He slumps against the wall and Niki is sure it's the only thing keeping Wilbur on his feet. His head hits the smooth stone when he suddenly throws his head back and laughs. Niki doesn't know if she winces from the loud crack the impact makes or from the shrill, unhinged laugh.

"I told him to kill me," Wilbur chuckles. His eyes are blinking rapidly. "I told him to fucking kill me."

(The diamond sword has collected dust. Sometimes, everyone jokes, Phil looks like he has to. Playful teasing about how he's a walking antique that should be displayed in a museum. Phil always laughs them off. But it's moments when he stands too still, alone in his thoughts for too long, that Niki wants to put him behind glass with signs that say 'do not touch,' because all it takes is one gust of wind for an artifact to shatter. But that is no way to live and Phil is not so easily breakable. Worn down a bit, rusted from the loss throughout the eons, yes -  who hasn't on this forsaken server? -  but not breakable)

Niki thinks she might throw up. "I know."

Wilbur looks at her. His eyes are red, but there are no tears. "You said you understood me. You get why I had to ask him to do it."

"Wilbur - "

" - And so you also understand why you have to stay here."

"What?"

"We've changed Niki," Wilbur starts. "For the worse. Don't you feel it? How that server has destroyed every cell in our body? A slow painful death eating us from the inside out until we've just withered away into someone new, someone unrecognizable?"

(Niki feels she's in a never-ending house of mirrors. Constantly encircled by reflections that are her and not her staring back, each representing different points in her life. Some are unrecognizable, stretched, or squished beyond identification, like a fuzzy memory of a girl carrying a backpack, skipping down a path she was told by a best friend would lead to a nation with yellow and black walls. Some are too terrifying, demonizing her features, giving her slits for eyes and claws for nails holding flint and steel over TNT. All of them she wants to smash)

Wilbur either ignores the horrified expression on her face or doesn't see it. "We killed our old selves as a sacrifice, an offering, to the monster we saw lurking in the edges of our mind. And once you let the monster in there's no going back. All we know from then on is to destroy, to rip apart all we once held dear with no remorse until there's just ash and dust. We thrive, no, revel in it."

(Nemesis, she names herself. Goddess of divine retribution and revenge. Maybe that's who Niki sacrifices herself to. Why she felt such an attachment to the name. A remorseless Goddess said to have led Narcissus to a pool, knowing full well he'd be too captivated to leave his reflection for food or warmth. He died there. It's no coincidence a few weeks before she lived the story herself, leading Tommy to his death in the form of a hot blast of air at the speed of light and seeing it as justice)

"I'm not having this conversation with you," she says, voice shaking. She whirls around, nearly tripping over her feet, fully willing to ignore him as she looks for an exit.

But his next words make her go still.

"Phil didn't know what I'd become. That's why he had to be the one to do it."

She winces. "Don't."

"He didn't even pull out the sword, his arms were too busy holding me, holding me, as if the shape of me still fit against his chest even though I felt so hollow, so much thinner - "

"Wilbur - "

" - he stroked my hair too. Even though it was dirty and unkempt and a mess like everything else about me and I'm pretty sure his fingers got stuck a few times he just wouldn't stop untangling each knot with such care and precision that I remembered my last thought being - "

"Wilbur - "

" - could he have brushed away all the knots and twists in my soul like this? Cleaned me up on the inside like he's doing on the outside? I thought I went crying, Niki. Maybe I did. I'll never know because all I felt was his tears ricocheting on my face - "  

"Stop - "

" - he tries to wipe them off. He's cursing at himself, apologizing profusely through hiccuping sobs and, and I don't understand why he's so sorry when it feels like, like when he'd lick his fingers and scrub the grimes of our faces after we played outside too long. Do you remember that Niki - "

"I don't wanna - "

" - because I do. We'd screech so loud, saying it was disgusting and unsanitary as we slapped his hand away and ran, but he'd always catch us a second later because of his wings. I don't wanna run away this time. I'm relishing it, craving every stroke because I'm starting to go cold - "

"Please - "

" - and I wish you weren't teleported here. I wish you had died instead - "  

"Wil - "

" - so you would know, so we could relate to what it feels like for the limbo to claim you. To mark you. It's like, it's like being mutilated over and over again. A mallet to your bones, a hole in your brain, everything from your skin to your tendons unraveling before you - "

"Wil listen - "

" - spilling out and about like confetti, and you, you are confetti! You're shredded pieces, everywhere and nowhere all at once, and just as the mangling begins it stops, replaced by the limbo trying to put you, no, force you back together again. It's the same sensation, but in reverse, almost a loop, a tunnel with no light at the end, and all you can do is scream  - "

"WILBUR SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME!"

Something shatters

Wilbur falls silent.

Niki looks down. There is a puddle, slowly growing at her feet. She looks to her left. Her hand has punched through the aquarium. Blood trickles down her hand, some get over the glass. She doesn't pull her hand away.

"You never listen," she mumbles, but it seems so loud to her ears. "No one does. No one wants to. I talk and I talk and I talk and yet no response. Not even from the wind. I am a voice box stuck on rewind, repeating myself as life moves on without me."

Niki can hear her voice ring down the bakery, bouncing around with nowhere to settle. Until it does, in Niki's chest, rattling, crackling like a fuse has been lit, and perhaps it has, for her anger feels sizzling. "You used to always say how words were powerful. How they could stop wars, how they could build nations." She lets out a laugh. It burns her throat. "But what would I know?! You and everyone else never gave me a chance to use my voice! Always talking over me whatever chance you could. Even before Pogtopia you walked all over me! Even when I was screaming at top of my lungs you'd - "  

She gasps. The glass presses deeper into her skin as her hand trembles. She does not feel it. "Oh primes, oh primes Wil, didn't you hear my screams? I came here screaming, Wil. I, I do know what it feels like for the void to take you. I still feel it, even now, why, why do I still feel it - "

Wilbur staggers to his feet, so quick he promptly falls. He catches himself halfway on Niki's wrist.

His hand scratches on the glass. He doesn't even flinch. Their blood mixes.

(They are one)

He doesn't even grip too tight, and yet it hurts. Stings. "You do understand," he grins. Wide, too wide for his face, that she almost expects his nose and eyes to sink into his skin to make more room. "You do, you do oh thank primes. I'm not alone in this. I've been alone for so long but now, now you're here and you understand! Oh, Niki, I'm so happy you're here."

"You're… happy, I'm here?" She mutters. "You're happy I'm dead?"

He nods frantically. "It's more than that Niki," he says. "DreamXD, whoever that man is, he's my hero for sending you here."

(Parallels between Wilbur and Dream and her and now Wilbur and Dream and DreamXD no no no she can't be them she can't she can't she won't she won't - )

"You don't mean it," she cries. "You don't mean that Wil. Say you don't mean it."

The grin, somehow, becomes wider. She realizes then his eyes don't have to disappear. They're already gone. Replaced by a black hole, too dark in the corners and its gravitational pull making it hard to look away even though she knows staring at it too long will get her sucked into an endless void.

He leans in close like he's sharing a secret. "I only wish he had sent you here sooner."

(Wilbur's life, Niki is realizing, is like a house of mirrors too. Except Wilbur has smashed every mirror. No, actually, not true. Niki sees, if she squints, that Wilbur has abandoned the sledgehammer and is observing a still intact mirror. He didn't keep the mirror depicting a little boy sitting on the steps of a home, their home, trying to play a song and failing because the guitar is too big for his body, but he refuses to buy a smaller one because "this is my Dad's guitar Niki! So, therefore, it's by default the best guitar in the world". Or the one of a father panting heavily on a couch, cursing his human legs while Niki is doubled over laughing because there is a baby fox is running on all fours around the house at 45 miles per hour who doesn't want to be put to bed. Nor the one of a leader, handing out purpose and meaning in the form of a blue and white uniform with a soft smile. No, it's the one of a man who's just pressed a button. Who long before L'manburg's destruction, always felt like he was breathing in smoke, but now kept warm by the ash and dust of his nation flying up to the red sky, it feels - for the first time in a long time - easier to breathe. Niki can't believe he didn't destroy it. He's… preserving it. Why is he preserving this version of himself of all things?)

foolish girl with dreams for a better nation, better server, better future, too much better somethings, you've ruined reality for no one but yourself. think for once about what is and not what was or could have been. he is different. changed for the worse. he's preserving it because he doesn't care about you. can't you see how happy he is over your death? how there's light in his eyes for the first time over yours being snuffed out? how he shows no sympathy in your entrapment here, forever away from Techno, Phil, and Ranboo because it benefits him. so give in and fight fight fight fight

She sees red.

Her fist collides with Wilbur's nose.

She doesn't even wait to hear the crack before she's already reeling back her arm for the next hit.

This time she aims for the jaw. She feels something split. It could be Wilbur's lip or bone. Maybe her mind. She doesn't know and she doesn't care.

What she does know is how familiar this is, having something break under her knuckles. It's easy, familiar even, throwing punch after punch, like some sort of autopilot response. Perhaps it is, for every punch is instinctive, out of body almost. No longer is there a before in the blows, only an after.

Except, that's not true. Not entirely. Because Niki is realizing why there is no before. Because before each blow there is always a struggle from your opponent. Flailing limbs trying to make contact with something, choked wheezes, an attempt to curl into a ball, and, sometimes, begging.

Wilbur does none of that. He's silent the whole time.

It's almost like he takes it willingly.

clever girl with hands too bruised, too scarred, too violent to ever be held so gently. a finger trained to pull the trigger is not meant to bear a promise ring. who's fault do you think that is? you've held back for so long, don't stop now. so give in and get revenge revenge revenge revenge

A swing at his eye. A swift kick to the ribs. A fistful of his hair so tight she could yank his scalp off if she twisted her wrist just so.

It's all a flurry of movements really, too fast for even her own eyes to catch. Half of the time she's lost on where the hits land, totally dependent on wherever the blood leaks the most and the bruises that weren't there a second ago to tell her. Eventually, the damage starts to blur, too much of his face has swelled up to spot any new marks and too many limbs bend at weird angles to differentiate what is and isn't broken, so she stops trying to guess.

Which is why she doesn't know which strike finally gets Wilbur to fall, all she knows is that he does. He doesn't even sway. One second he's on his feet and the next he's on his back.

It's kinda pathetic really, that this was her general.

For a second he's still, too still, and then he spits out a tooth. He licks his gums with a grimace, looking for the gap before finally speaking.

"I see Technoblade's been training you. Do you feel better now?"

clever girl who's seen her fair share of men with livewire tongues, spitting rogue sparks at your skin in the form of harsh words to quiet you down. do not be silenced once more. you let him speak before and it cost you a nation. this time silence him, and I will secure you a limbo without him. so give in and maim maim maim maim

She screams. She thinks she does. It's hard to tell over the deep reverberated banging of Wilbur's head against the stone floor.

The first slam simply causes blood to trickle down his forehead.

The second one caves in the front of his scalp.

The third one he's unrecognizable.

The fourth one there's nothing left to bash.

She keeps going anyway.

"Shut up," she pants between each crack and occasional splat. "Shut up shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP."

Wilbur tries to say something. All that comes out is a gurgle, wet and sharp and loud. So very loud. And it keeps going, stringing along and along and along longer than the large chunks of skin and brain on the pavement. It shouldn't be possible, his mouth, along with everything else, is practically gone. Nothing but a small pit inside a bigger pit.

Yet it continues, getting increasingly louder in pitch.

And then she gets it.

He's scared.

clever girl of never-ending war zones, jumping from one horror to the next. this is the last one. and I know that's been said before but you can trust me. just end it and you can finally rest. wouldn't that be nice? so give in and kill kill kill kill kill

She smiles. It hurts her face.

She picks his head up from the ground one last time. She's humming, like a lullaby. Maybe it is. She's putting the baby to sleep. She knows he can't die again, but wherever he goes after this, if the limbo keeps its promise, it can't be pretty.

"I said," she laughs. "Shut up."

She brings his head down.

She blinks.

Her empty hand meets black stone slabs.

"Niki?"

She looks up and immediately regrets it. Everything is too bright, scorching, a burning gaze on every inch of her skin, but what really hurts are her eyes. She thinks they're sizzling, like actually sizzling, because her sclera feels as if it's bubbling and her iris is definitely melting into her brain and there are so many spots dancing behind her eyelids.

And then the voice, soft and familiar, speak's again.

"Do you have your stuff?"

It takes a while, and a lot of blinking, but her eyes eventually readjust.

She gasps.

The first thing she processes isn't that George and DreamXD stand just a few feet away or that it was George speaking. No, it was how absurdly colorful, everything was.

Here there was life. Life. It was like she poked her head through a kaleidoscope, what with how the specks of a rainbow illuminated itself in the clear blue water of the fountain and the sight of shimmering white quartz glistening under the sunbeams that poured through the purple-tinted windows. No longer was everything dulled around the corners and drained at the center like anything in her dreadful, cramped space of a bakery she shared with -

Oh primes.

Her bakery.

This isn't her bakery. This is Church Prime.

"She's back," DreamXD exclaims. He turns to George, bouncing on his heels excitedly as if expecting some sort of reward, but George pays him no mind/ He's too busy looking at Niki, or, more so, through her.

"What happened?" He asks.

She opens her mouth, then slams it shut.

She's alive. Dear primes, she's alive and she's back and she should be happy, cheering, jumping up and down to feel the livelihood ache in her bones but…

She looks back down at the floor. The floor should be covered in blood. Wilbur's blood, and his bits of flesh and tissue and muscle and -

Oh primes. What has she done?

Or better yet, what didn't she do?

"George," she whimpers. "I don't know what's going on. I, I don't know what's going on here."

She hopes it was her imagination. It had to have been. Otherwise, she hosted Wilbur's head up by the splits of his hair, pushed down as hard as she could and -

She wouldn't. She couldn't, not anymore at least. She left that side of herself in a gate full of slaughtered chickens as Jack demanded they try and kill Tommy again. That side of her is as dead as those chickens.

Right?

She prays so, for this is a church after all, and that means prayers have to be answered here. They have to come true. They have to.

There's a smile in DreamXD's voice when he speaks again as if he knows how much this torments her. "I sent her to hell and then I brought her back."

No.

She sobs. She looks down at her hands. Their bear and yet they feel so heavy. As if the ghost of Wilbur's blood and gore is still there, a new thick-coated layer of skin.

She tortured him. Broke him brick by brick again and again and again even as he tried to beg. Her best friend, her general, her family, begging at her feet, and she kept going, would have kept going too, with an ear-splitting grin, like it was some sort of game.

And it had felt so good to finally get a checkmate.

Wilbur is not a demon. He's just seen too much in too little time. Too much pressure on too little shoulders. Too tired to be all there. It's not an excuse for all the pain he's caused, far from it, but it shows his actions didn't come from a place of malice, but rather a cry for help. Niki knows this, she gets it, and she'll say it time and time again. But all she could think about at that moment, before the final strike, was how happy Wilbur was about her death. He deserved a piece of her mind, but not like that. Never like that.  

What is wrong with her?

No, no it wasn't her. It was that place, that voice. It was a parasite, burrowing deep within her brain and planting itself in the center, telling her what to do and what to say. Telling her to slaughter left and right. It was so loud, rattling around in her head and echoing like war drums. She couldn't just ignore it, it was too much. So, no, she is free of guilt, free of responsibility, hands all clean.

But she knows that at the end of the day the host still needs to be somewhat conscious for the parasite to thrive.

Oh primes. Is this what Techno deals with every day?

Then, she jumps to her feet.

Techno, Phil, and Ranboo.

It's coming back now, that memory of fury in her eyes, that fire in her voice as she told Wil she had people to go back to. How she was willing to claw her fingers down to bone to make an exit. But that voice, that stupid stupid voice, it told her she could rest, could get revenge, and against her better judgment she listened. It caught her at a moment of weakness, Wilbur's words of memory lane, of Phil, of everything that came before and after his death, she was at a low point. And like a moth to a flame, she was there one moment and gone the next. Back to the old her.

She thought she had left that version of herself behind when she joined the Syndicate. She was so sure she was getting better with Techno, Phil, and Ranboo around.

But all it took was one voice to ruin all her progress. 

Her chest constricts and her head feels heavy. 

She needs to find them. She needs to tell them what she saw. She needs to tell Phil. She needs… she needs…

She just needs them.

"What did you see?" George says, snapping her out of her thoughts.

This time, her mouth has no problem moving. "George," she starts, voice trembling. "I have seen things. I... I... I have seen things. I don't know what's going on here but I don't know if I should - "  

Niki gulps. It's getting so hard to breathe. She should feel thankful that she can breathe in the first place, but every inhale stings as her lungs try to remember to do a motion so foreign to her.

How long has she been down there?

She doesn't want to know.

She just wants to go home.

She walks away, backward, from the two, eyes fixated tightly on them and barely blinking. She remembers the last time she let her guard down around DreamXD. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry George. Good luck with him but I - "

She doesn't finish, because she's already out the door. She wants to run, but she's so sure her lungs would explode at the first push forward of her heel. So she walks.

And walks.

The world walks with her, with each rotation. As if they’re friends taking a stroll. As if it hadn’t cracked open and swallowed her whole, chewed up everything good in her and spat her out when she turned bitter. Returned her back to a world that didn’t change one bit while she was gone, despite her herself changing so much. 

It’s like what happened to her didn’t happen at all. 

And then she realizes a horrible thing. 

Everyone on this server is going to see today as a normal day. 

Is it bad that a part of Niki wishes something like the Green Festival could happen right now, so that they could all feel the monstrosity of today?

She stands still. Stationary, like this Earth wants her to be. She thinks she could do it, stay like this forever. She feels numb enough. 

Somewhere above, a crow caws. 

She burst into tears.

[bthump]

What do you think about the point in the story we are at now? Would you say you like the direction Miura is going in or not? What are the things you dislike about Berserk as it is now?

lol this is hard to answer because it’s so heavily dependent on what happens next. I think we’re at a point where everything could start coming together in a way that really appeals to me or where everything could just fall apart and I’ll have to accept that this is no longer a story I’m particularly interested in.

Though I am slightly leaning towards the former right now, whether that’s based on real evidence or mostly blind optimism I’m not entirely sure lol.

Basically I think it’ll depend on a) whether Moonlight Boy becomes a major motivational plot point or turns out to be more of a red herring or brief inciting factor in the shift to a new arc, and b) whether Guts and the rpg group overcome the imminent challenge they’ll face thanks to their personal growth and friendship or whether it’ll fuck them up.

But the reasons I’m feeling tentatively optimistic right now are:

all the foreshadowing re Guts losing himself to the armour and wreaking some havok, which has to happen at some point lbr

fetus as the focal point of Casca’s traumatic memories and symbolizing her thorn-covered heart, which to me screams sacrifice material, which would be the only thing that could make it time sharing Griffith’s body interesting to me (ie what happens to Griffith if it’s sacrificed?)

I’m gonna link this post because I’m still mostly feeling the basics of this theory, ie Skull Knight and Elfhelm in cahoots plotting to use the behelit to entrap the godhand, at Guts and Casca’s expense. Plus another possible way for Moonlight Boy to come to nothing is if it’s a manipulation of Danann’s.

I think Guts is purposefully being written as emotionally distanced from the rpg group, which is a good sign for the power of friendship not saving him yet, and there are also aspects of Guts+rpg group that parallel Griffith+Hawks in the golden age (eg Farnese’s feelings for Guts being paralleled to Casca’s feelings for Griffith, Guts gaining followers who compare him to fire, etc) which also gives me hope that tragedy will strike.

Miura’s little bait and switch wrt Guts and Casca’s relationship that honestly felt like gentle mockery of people who wanted them to immediately get together lol. Yk Casca getting sent out in a pretty dress to meet Guts complete with romantic double page spread and having a breakdown, then changing into pants and cutting her hair and saying how much better it is, and not being able to look at Guts now.

Also more recently, Guts at a loss now that he’s brought Casca’s sanity back and it didn’t actually solve any of his issues. “The hell do I do now?” “You have reached the end of your journey. It is not always a happy thing.” I’ve been worried for a while that Guts’ complex issues have been dropped and we’re meant to see him taking Casca to Elfhelm as him genuinely growing past them, and that one moment was such a huge relief when I read it lol. It really suggests to me that this sidequest was always about Guts trying to find a distraction to avoid dealing with his actual issues (fear/trauma, insecurity, love/hate feelings for Griffith, regret, etc), and those are going to make a return sooner rather than later.

Miura implying in interviews that we’re not all that close to the end, so there’ll probably be at least one more arc after Elfhelm, which gives me more hope that this whole rpg arc will lead to some amount of narrative-shaking tragedy and we’ll get some interesting stuff after.

this parallel with the climax of the Millenium Falcon arc and my firm belief that it has to come full circle.

other stuff like complex apostle characters, the lost chapter worldbuilding, schierke suggesting that her elemental guardians are holy see angels alongside implications that holy see angels are the godhand. Basically my hopes for worldbuilding that doesn’t boil down to good spirit world vs evil spirit world.

all the little suggestions that NGriff isn’t as emotionless as he’d like to be that have nothing to do with a demon fetus giving a shit about its parents

So I guess my answer is that I do like the direction I hope Miura’s going in, but there’s also enough counter evidence that I may be wrong about that direction.

So some of the things I dislike about Berserk now are:

Moonlight Boy and the Fear that he will derail everything and the plot will soon revolve around, idk, Guts and Casca trying to free their kid’s soul bringing them closer together or some awful shit like that.

Moonlight Boy and the Fear that Miura is actually going to ignore the absolutely incredible foundation he wrote in the Golden Age to support the hints of Griffith’s current capacity for emotion in favour of pinning it all on a magic baby.

I have some lowkey fears that Guts “bleeding” for Casca is gonna be a thing, largely based on me recently re-reading the scene where Farnese gets upset about everything Guts has done for her while bathing her. Like yk, maybe Casca will remember Guts saving her and warm up to him... tho in all honesty I can’t actually think of an example of Guts being the one to save her post-Eclipse lmao, he fucks it up every time. Maybe when he first put on the armour and killed an apostle in front of her or w/e, yk. Some shit like that. Like I can come up with 50 counter arguments but those only work if you accept the basic premise that Berserk will be good, yk?

The fear that we are meant to understand that Guts has overcome most of his flaws throughout the Millenium Falcon/Fantasia arcs and will get a big moment to demonstrate that and overcome the armour or save Casca or whatever.

And less speculatively and more generally, like many people I’m not a fan of the current art style, I think the larger cast on Guts’ side is causing some poor writing and not helping the pacing issues (and tbh I think Berserk is paced fairly well up until the boat stuff), I don’t like the lighter more comedic tone right now bc I got into Berserk for the grimdark vibe and tragedy and characters succumbing to their fatal flaws and making huge mistakes and I miss that a lot. I’m not saying Berserk can’t be light and funny and campy but I prefer that Black Swordsman or Conviction Arc style where it’s offset by a lot of fucked up shit, or Golden Age style where there’s an underlying sense of dread bc we already know shit’s going to go wrong, yk? If shit does get dark soon I might end up being a lot less critical of the current tone on re-read tbf.

So basically to sum up:

hopes: tragedy, character flaws that haven’t been dealt with yet coming home to roost, Moonlight Boy becomes a non-issue.

fears: power of friendship staves off tragedy, slower gtsca romance, moonbaby affects plot and emotions, guts’ flaws get brushed under the rug instead of fucking him over

I can argue that the former makes a lot more sense than the latter, but I’ve been burned a lot in my life and I know a lot of fans would argue the latter makes more sense than the former so yk, everyone has their biases including me and idk how blinded I am by those biases lol.

Anyway ty for asking!

[sithsecrets]

The Littlest Princess

A chronicle of sorts, centered around the pregnancy of Kylo Ren’s lover (and the birth of the galaxy’s littlest princess).

---

3.1k words

Mentions: sex (not explicitly), pregnancy, childbirth

---

When the nurse tells you that you’re pregnant, you make her say so twice, just to be sure.

“You’re pregnant, miss,” she repeats, rubbing your arm in a comforting manner. The nurse must be able to sense the panic spiking in you, because she reaches out to hold your hand as well.

She knows who you are, obviously, you can tell by the look on her face. Anyone who doesn’t live under a rock knows that you’re the Supreme Leaders beloved, and this nurse must know the implications of the news she’s just given you.

“You can’t tell anyone,” you say to her, and you pray that she understands why.

“Of course,” the nurse affirms, nodding and rubbing your arm again. “I would be fired from my job immediately if I revealed anyone of my patients’ medical histories to another person.”

You nod at that, still rather shocked by the notion that you’re carrying Kylo Ren’s child at this very moment. Gripping the edges of the examination table, you try to steady yourself, knowing that you need to go to your quarters and gather your thoughts as all of this washes over you.

“Would you like to make another appointment?” the nurse asks you, helping you down off the table as you begin rushing to leave. The meaning of her question isn’t clear, and you’re sure that’s not by accident. You appreciate that, though, the choice that she’s giving you.

“Not right now,” you say, doing up the last few buttons on your dress.

As you go to leave, the nurse calls out to you. “If you ever need guidance, or help, or if you decide to start prenatal care, please don’t hesitate to call.”

You nod quickly and smile politely, wanting nothing more than to just leave and think about all of this. Before the woman can speak again, you duck out into the corridor, walking as quickly as you can without breaking into a run as you leave the medbay.

The whole walk back to your rooms, your head swims with a million thoughts. You feel drunk, almost, dazed by the revelation that you’re pregnant. This was far from planned, but you can pinpoint a time a few weeks ago where you forgot to take a couple of your contraceptive pills. That must have been the time you conceived, it had to have been, because you and Kylo have been careful every other time you’ve been intimate together.

Stars, Kylo. As you burst into your quarters, panic burns in your chest at the notion of telling your lover that you’re carrying his baby. You and Kylo are fully committed to one another and very open about your relationship, but still— the two of you haven’t been together all that long, and neither one of you has ever started a dialogue about children. You know that Kylo loves you, he tells you all the time, but will he love you like this?

You sit on the bed you share with Kylo, forcing yourself to breathe and think rationally. Quickly, you dispel ideas of terminating the pregnancy as they come to you. You have no problem with women taking control of their own bodies in such a fashion, but it takes you only a moment to recognize that this baby is something you want, no matter how Kylo feels about it. All your life, you’ve thought about being a mother, and now your opportunity is here.

After about ten minutes of breathing deeply and thinking clearly, the panic you felt mellows out into a steady thrum of curiosity and excitement. You’re still nervous about telling Kylo, of course, but the feeling is glossed over by a deep desire to know everything you can. You begin to wonder about so many aspects of gestation, musing on what your baby might look like inside you right now, in this moment. It must be small, smaller than the eye can see, but you wonder nonetheless if it has a heartbeat. Is it a boy? A girl? You have so many questions, and the prospect of even one of them being answered in the near future makes you want to weep with joy.

You come to stand in front of the large, floor-length mirror propped against one wall of the ‘fresher, the marble floor cold on your bare feet as you strip off every last bit of your clothing. Studying your body in the mirror, you turn this way and that, trying to imagine yourself swollen and heavy with child. Your stomach will grow, obviously, but what will your breasts look like as they become ready to nurse? Which parts of you will become softer, plumper, as the baby grows and develops within you? Suddenly, you find yourself mesmerized by thoughts of your pregnancy. It’s not vanity that has you fixating on your body, though, not at all. You and the baby will change and grow together, it seems, and the thought of that has you grinning and crying at the same time.

---

Kylo comes bursting into your shared quarters that evening in a swirl of dark cloak, mask tucked under his arm. You’ve been waiting for him, perched in a chair in the living room, and a whole new wave of nervousness washes over you at the sight of your lover’s face.

Kylo’s smiling tiredly as he comes to you, leaning down for a long kiss.

“How was your meeting with the Knights?” you ask, laughing lightly as Kylo gives you a deadpan look to indicate his feelings on the briefing he just came from.

As you listen to Kylo change in the other room, every fiber of your being wants to scream out to him, I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant, I’m pregnant! But that’s no way to tell Kylo that you’re carrying his child, so you make yourself focus on guarding your mind.

“I’m starving,” Kylo announces as he putters about, putting his things away neatly. “Have you ordered dinner?”

You stand, meeting him halfway as he walks back into the living room to be with you. “Darling,” you say softly, tentatively.

“Yes, my love?” Kylo asks easily, going in for another kiss. You push him off gently though, taking a step back. You’re trying to work up the courage to just say it.

“Kylo.”

“Are you alright?” Kylo’s regarding you with a questioning gaze now, obviously confused by your behavior.

You draw in a deep breath, steadying yourself. Still, the words stick in your throat as you finally say, “I… I’m pregnant, Kylo.”

Kylo’s whole expressions shifts to one of utter and complete shock. He says nothing in response, just stares straight at you as if he cannot fathom the idea of what you’ve just told him.

Panic spiking, you fight back tears as one of your hands clutches weakly at your stomach. No, at your womb—

“Kylo,” you say softly, voice breaking. He just keeps staring and staring at you, and your anxiety snowballs. “Kylo, are you upset?”

Suddenly, Kylo is on his knees, falling to the floor with a dull thud. He reaches for you, eyes still fixed on your face in shock. “Come here,” your lover commands, arms outstretched, reaching for you almost like he needs you.

“I know we didn’t plan this, but you don’t—”

“Baby, please come here,” Kylo begs, and you finally walk into his waiting arms, jarred by how Kylo grips your middle and clings to you as if you’re something sacred.

“Do you mean it?’ Kylo asks you. “Are you really pregnant? With my child?”

You stare down at Kylo, bewildered by his behavior but overjoyed nonetheless because, yes, yes you are.

“Yes, darling,” you tell him. “I found out today.”

“Oh,” Kylo breathes, awed, nuzzling his face against your abdomen gently. “Oh, stars.”

For the first time, you allow yourself to relax, to enjoy this joyous news. You drape your arms across Kylo’s shoulders, rubbing his back gently.

“I know,” you laugh, crying openly now, “that’s how I felt when I found out, too.”

Kylo gazes up at you again, tears sliding down his cheeks as he grins. “You’re going to be the most beautiful mother,” your lover tells you, reverent and seemingly consumed by adoration for you.

All you can do is laugh and look down at the father of your child, excited and afraid all at the same time.

---

“What do you think the baby will look like?” Kylo asks you that night, whispering in the darkness of your bedroom. Like you, he has a million questions, and the two of you have been up all night talking.

“If we’re lucky, they’ll look like their daddy,” you say sweetly, reaching out to cup Kylo’s cheek. He snuggles against your hand, obviously flattered.

Kylo pulls you towards him, rolling you gently so that your back presses against his chest. One strong arm circles your middle, and his hand comes to rest on your stomach, right where the baby is supposed to be.

“Marry me,” Kylo murmurs, talking right in your ear, and all you can think to do is close your hand over his.

---

Peering attentively at the screen before her, a doctor scans the image of you and Kylo’s baby, looking for imperfections and signs of healthy development. Yourself and Kylo watch her carefully, trying to make sense of the image as well. The baby sits suspended in amniotic fluid, and you can make out the outline of the child’s body. It all looks good to you, but then again, you’re not a doctor.

“Well,” the doctor finally proclaims, turning away from the machine she had been fiddling with, “would you like to know the sex?”

You nod quickly, grinning at Kylo. He’s trying to play it cool, being the Supreme Leader and all, but you can see the excitement shining in his eyes.

“It’s a girl,” the doctor says after a moment, and you grab for Kylo’s arm, ecstatic.

“A girl!” you exclaim, giggling as tears well up in your eyes. Kylo kisses your forehead, cracking a smile now, and the doctor looks on at the two of you with a content expression.

She leaves you alone briefly so that you may redress and have a moment with your boyfriend, and Kylo cannot stop chattering as he helps you back into your clothes.

---

Having always been partial to relaxing in the tub, you find yourself in the bath more and more often as your pregnancy progresses. There is the smallest, sweetest little swell in your stomach now, and every appointment and imaging session affirms that your baby girl is developing just as she should be. Soaking in warm water calms you these days, soothing any aches or pains that you may be feeling. None of them are too bad yet, but you’ve definitely felt a change in your body as you approach the halfway point of your second trimester.

Your eyes slip close as you sink down further into the water, steam wafting around you. But just as quickly as you relax, a slightly, fluttery sort of sensation in your stomach has you sitting right back up again. Breathless, you pause, waiting for confirmation that what you’ve just felt is what you think that it is. And then it’s there again, the fluttering low in your abdomen, and you feel as though you could cry.

“Kylo!” you shout, excitement thrumming through you as you feel another little movement in your womb.

Kylo is barging into the ‘fresher in an instant, seemingly panicked. He falls to his knees beside the bathtub, already looking you over.

“What happened?” he asks quickly, stricken by the notion of you being harmed. He’s been like this since you found out about the baby, so protective, always fussing over you. But you’re too distracted to calm him down, too excited, so you just grab one of his hands and press it against the swell of your belly.

“Feel,” you breathe, smiling big enough to make your cheeks ache.

Everything is so still and quiet, and then the baby kicks again.

“Whoa,” Kylo says softly, and it’s like he’s not even aware of the fact that his sleeve is soaking wet.

---

As it turns out, Kylo was serious when he asked you to marry him all those weeks ago. Tomorrow, just before sunset, the two of you are to be married in front of nearly every important person in the galaxy. You lost count after the guestlist tallied north of three hundred, and the number of gifts yourself and Kylo have already received is almost unfathomable. Tomorrow, you will be swathed in the finest fabrics and surrounded by luxury unlike anyone has ever known. You will receive guests, and dance, and be made over by everyone in your presence.

But tonight? Tonight is just for you and the love of your life.

Kylo was the one who insisted that the two of you actually be married the night before your decadent, opulent wedding. “I want to enjoy you,” he had told you.“The wedding is for everyone else, really. I want something that’s just for you and I.”

(And really, you should have expected it— Kylo’s always hated parties.)

So that’s why now, under the cover of darkness, you and Kylo stand with your hands clasped, reciting your vows to one another in front of an officiant. Your first kiss as husband and wife is lit by nothing more than moonlight, but it is the sweetest one you’ve ever shared.

The officiant walks down the beach after all is said and done, leaving you and Kylo to enjoy your first moment together as newlyweds. You take Kylo’s arm as the two of you begin making your way back to your accommodations, not at all in a hurry to be back inside. The resort chosen for your wedding is settled on the most beautiful tropical planet, and the warm breeze feels heavenly on your skin.

It’s late when you get back to your rooms, but you let Kylo undress you anyway. He’s so gentle as he lays you down and parts your legs, murmuring sweet little things about how beautiful his wife looks laid out underneath him. Kylo’s always so soft and tender with you these days, always so concerned about harming you when the two of you make love now. You miss the rougher stuff sometimes, if you’re being honest, but being handled like something sacred is an excellent consolation prize.

Later, when the two of you are finished, the crash of the waves outside lulls you to sleep as Kylo drifts off in your arms.

---

Your labor is long, and the baby does not come easily. Kylo is by your side for all of it, the pushing and the cussing and the panting. But finally, after many hours of trying, you deliver your baby girl. And stars, is she beautiful, an absolute vision with wisps of dark hair and light eyes that you’re sure will darken with time.

After you and the baby are bathed, cleared to leave the medbay, and dressed in fresh clothes, your new little family migrates to your normal quarters. Kylo tells you to rest once he has you settled in bed, and you’re more than happy to close your eyes for a few minutes. There will be plenty of time for you to fuss over your perfect little daughter when you’ve recovered a bit, and besides— it looks like Kylo’s got it for now.

It’s such a dream to watch your husband hold your new baby in his arms. He’s so gentle with her, so sweet, shushing the little bundle of blankets softly when she makes a discontent noise. You drift in and out as you watch Kylo walk about the room, showing your sweet little baby things you know she can’t see, like her bassinet and the couch in the living room. Still, Kylo gives her a complete tour of your quarters, and you supposed it would be comical to watch your rather large husband cradle your little girl in his arms if it didn’t make your heart swell so much. You had no idea that Kylo could speak so softly, that he could handle another person with so much care. He’s come close to it with you, of course, always so loving from the very beginning, but this is a different level of tenderness.

Later, when you’re feeling a bit better, a few visitors come by to see the galaxy’s littlest princess. It’s only a handful of people, really, and you’re only a bit surprised to see Chancellor Hux amongst them. You know good and well that he and Kylo have a history that’s punctuated with animosity, but you’ve always suspected that they liked one another a bit more than either of them was willing to let on. They respect each other, Kylo and Hux, and they’re secretly friends in their own strange sort of way.

Hux greets your graciously, bowing deeply and smiling as he looks down at you and your child. “Empress,” he says, tone shifting as he addresses your little girl. “And Princess!” Hux exclaims, still speaking rather softly. He fusses over the baby for a few seconds, more than happy to accept your invitation to hold the squirming bundle of blankets in his arms.

Yourself and Kylo share a pleasantly yet rather bewildered look behind Hux’s back as he makes over your little girl, surprisingly skilled and warmer than you’ve ever seen him to be towards well, anybody. As Hux walks the length of the bedroom, bouncing your baby girl gently as he goes, Kylo comes and sits beside you on the edge of the bed.

The two of your share a gentle, private smile, and though you’re tired, though your head is spinning with a million thoughts and worries about the baby, and nursing, and being a good parent, you cannot help but feel completely content in this moment. You have everything you want— a loving husband, a healthy child, and even friends that are willing to love your little girl like their own— and you cannot fathom what would make you even happier.

“Again?” Kylo asks, cutting his eyes towards the bundle of blankets in the Chancellor’s arms. He’s mostly joking, you can tell, but there’s also something serious in his tone.

You huff, exasperated. “At least give me some time to forget how long my labor with this one was, darling,” you plead. You’re sort of joking, too, but only sort of.

Kylo and Hux both laugh at that, and you can’t help but crack a wry smile.

[silverarmedassassin]

Home for the Holidays (2/2)

Bucky x Reader | Word Count: 5,661 | Warnings: None

A/N: Here is part two! Thank you to those who humored me and read this little mini story! Part 1 can be found on my masterlist, which is conveniently pinned to my blog 😬

This is part 2 to my holiday submission for @wonderlandmind4​‘s fall/winter writing challenge. My prompt was: Character B is very enthusiastic to introduce character A to all their traditions, but tries to be sensitive when A seems like they’re struggling to fit in/enjoy themselves.

Dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics​

“You’re going to love it here,” you announce as you take the exit to your small hometown. The drive out of the city had been relatively quiet, the playlist you’d crafted specifically for the trip was only briefly interrupted a handful of times by you pointing out a landmark or attraction tied to childhood memories. Normally, silence on a road trip would make you uncomfortable, but not with Bucky. In the few months you’ve known him, you’d come to understand he was a man of very few words most of the time, so you rarely felt the need to fill the empty space with senseless words.

You’d gotten to know him a lot better in the few weeks leading up to Christmas. He had been making an effort to spend time outside of his apartment more, which often meant he would come down to yours to share a meal or watch a movie. It was nice, getting to spend so much uninterrupted time with Bucky and, if the offhand comments that Sam had offered the handful of times you’d seen him coming and going, Bucky was enjoying the time too. If anything, it was helping him open up again. And, if that’s all you could offer your neighbor, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, instead he continues to look at his window at the passing landscape. Driving home has always been one of your favorite things to do, as the concrete jungle of the city slowly tapered off into nothing but dense forest, hills, and nature preserves. As much as you loved where you were in life now, there were always moments in time where you questioned why you’d ever decided to re-root yourself in New York City.

Once off the interstate, it doesn’t take you long to reach town limits, and it’s only a few short minutes of driving to reach your parent’s home. As you pull your car into the drive, you see Bucky tense out of your peripheral. You’d had a feeling the reason he was being so quiet today was because he was nervous, but this subtle action reaffirmed that.

“My dad’s not home yet,” you state nonchalantly in an attempt to ease his anxieties a little. “It’s just my mom home. I told her to be on her best behaviour, so you don’t have to worry about a million questions.”

Bucky glances over at you and the look in his eyes tells you that statement has eased him just a little. The fact he was so nervous to meet you family made you feel bad for even inviting him in the first place. But you knew he didn’t have anyone, as Rebecca’s family was going on a cruise, and Bucky had shared Sam was spending the holiday with his mother out of state. Despite your wanting to help him feel less alone during this awkward time of transition and settling, you felt guilty for bringing him all the way here.

Before you can let that guilt settle uncomfortably in your chest, you pop the trunk and jump out of the car. You’re only going to be home for four days, as Bucky didn’t want to stay away for too long and you wanted to use the extra time off of work to finally finish making your apartment feel like your home. Due to that, you both only had a small duffle of clothing, so unloading your things was quick.

As you lead Bucky up to the front door, you’re suddenly reminded to alert him of one tiny detail that might make him uncomfortable. As you turn to tell him, the front door of flings open and your mom comes barreling out, arms wide open. “I forgot to tell you,” you say, voice slightly muffled by your mother’s arms, “Mom’s a hugger.”

“Oh hush,” your mom says as she pulls away from you, her sights already set on Bucky. “Everyone needs a good hug.”

That night, Bucky had an easier time falling asleep than he ever imagined. New places, mixed with the fear of having one of his nightmares typically kept him up, if not all night, into the wee hours of the morning. The non-prescription sleeping pills Sam had suggested, mixed with the calming effect you seemed to have on him, were likely to thank for the early night. He isn’t surprised, however, when he startles awake around three in the morning. As he sits up in bed, sweat-drenched hair sticking to the sides of his face, he tries to remember what exactly the dream was about. It was another little something Sam and the others had suggested he do, something about acknowledging the things that hurt us most or something.

After a few minutes of sorting through his brain and trying to pin-point exactly what was the cause of his sudden consciousness, he gives up. Bucky decides that, instead of attempting to fall back to sleep right away, he would refill his glass of water and attempt to clear his mind of any lingering shadows.

Your home is quiet, a kind of peace settles over the entire building that no place in the city could ever harness. He thinks that maybe one day he’ll retire, move someplace quiet like this, maybe have a family of his own. Bucky pauses slightly in his descent of the staircase, caught off-guard by his own thoughts. He’d never been one to think about the future, not since he woke up in it. Just living to see the sunrise over Manhattan another day was enough for him. But his mind hasn’t quite been the same since you came along.

As he rounds the corner into the kitchen, he expects to find it devoid of others, but instead finds your mother sitting at the small kitchen table you’d all been sitting around just hours before, laughing and sharing a lifetime of memories with an outsider.

“Trouble sleeping,” she asks without looking over to where he’s standing. Instead, she raises a steaming mug to her lips and takes a tentative sip.

“Ye-yeah,” Bucky says, voice still thick with sleep and disuse.

Your mom hums as she looks over to him, profile lit effortlessly by the early winter moonlight streaming in from the back door. “That’s nothing a good cup of tea can’t help fix. There’s still water in the kettle if you’d like.”

Bucky watches her a moment longer before accepting her offer. She directs him on where everything he needs is located and, before he knows it, he’s sitting down across from her, his own warm mug full of a lavender and something concoction. If anything, at least it smells good.

“I’m really glad Y/N brought you along, Bucky,” your mom says as she takes another sip of her own tea. There’s a glint in the corner of her eye that Bucky can’t quite place, and it admittedly makes him a little nervous. “I do have to admit that her father and I were a bit shocked when she said she was bringing someone home. And then finding out that someone was a...well, you. I guess you never expect your own kid to get mixed up in the affairs of a superhero,” she chuckles to herself.

Bucky takes a large drink of his tea, instantly regretting it as it burns his throat the entire way down. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. When it had sunk in that he was going to be visiting you home for Christmas, meeting your parents and seeing your hometown, it made him anxious. He remembered that, back when he was still the punk who ran the streets of old-time Brooklyn like he owned the place, when a girl invited you to meet her parents it meant you were going steady, or at least headed in that direction. He knew things had changed a lot in terms of dating and relationships in general between men and women in the eighty-odd years he had been under, but he couldn’t help but wonder if this - spending one-on-one time with his beautiful downstairs neightbor’s mom - still held the same implications as it did in the forties.

“I, uh,” Bucky isn’t sure what to say. He doesn’t want to make it sound like he is disinterested in you, he knew that you talked about him in some capacity with your mother, afterall. But at the same time he didn’t want to sound too overzealous on the off-chance that this entire trip meant nothing other than a friendly visit for the holiday. “I’m really thankful you opened your home for me.”

Your mom takes Bucky off guard when she snorts out a small laugh. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to...Listen, I don’t know exactly what is going on between you and my daughter, but whatever it is, it’s really good for her. Y/N is, as you’ve likely picked up, a giver and a caretaker. She never asks for help when she needs it, and rarely accepts it when it’s offered.

“She took the whole Snap thing pretty hard, harder than she let on I think. That’s when she really threw herself at taking care of others, so much so that she forgot to take care of herself sometimes.” She pauses and looks intently down at her mug. “Y/N needs to be taken care of sometimes, too. And, whether you know it or not, I think you do that. I haven’t seen my daughter this happy in a long time. So of course we would open our home for you. Now and whenever you may need it.”

Bucky’s unsure of how to respond to such a tender sentiment, but the way your mom is looking at him tells him no response is needed. It’s a look, he assumes, only a mother can give. One of knowing and mystery and tender loving. One that she so openly offered to him, a stranger, an intruder in her home and holiday season. He realizes then that, everything he’s gone through, everything he’s ever done both voluntarily and not, doesn’t carry as much as he’s been thinking. That, despite it all, maybe he is more than what HYDRA made him and that he is deserving of the good things that have come to him in recent weeks.

“Well, Bucky,” your mom says as she takes one final sip of her tea. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. I suggest you do the same. Christmas Eve is kind of a big deal around here. You’ll need the energy, especially if you want to keep up with Y/N.”

Bucky quickly learned that when your mom said that Christmas Eve was a big deal, she meant it. You had come knocking at his door a little past seven this morning, telling him that, if he did not get up, you would not hesitate to grab a handful of snow. Despite the too few hours of sleep he ended up getting and the desire to hide away just a little longer before facing your entire family again, Bucky pulled himself out of bed and plastered a smile on his face.

The morning passes in a flurry of Christmas activity. Cookie dough is beat and patted and molded into festive shapes while various Christmas melodies flowed through the home. It was tradition, you had said as you deposited a fresh batch of snickerdoodles into the oven, that Christmas Eve morning was reserved for baking and eggnog making and singing out-of-tune to Christmas songs. So, you taught him how to use a rolling pin properly, showed him the perfect amount of pressure to put on the cookie cutters, and even scolded him when he took a spoonful of dough all for himself. The uncooked sugary goodness was just as good as he remembered.

As the last of the cookies are placed on a rack to cool, and the eggnog is nestled neatly into the fridge to chill, Bucky feels his back pocket start to vibrate. His heart drops momentarily when he pulls his phone out and sees Sam’s name scrolling across the screen. Sam only called for two reasons: Avengers business or to coax him out of the hole Bucky sometimes digs himself into, and only one was pertinent to the situation at hand.

Bucky excuses himself and steps out onto the back porch where he can talk in private. “Is everything okay,” Bucky asks in place of a proper greeting.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas to you too, bud,” comes Sam’s witty response. Bucky has never wished to reach through a phone and slap the grin he just knows Sam is wearing right off his face. “I was just calling to see how things were going.”

“They’re fine, Sam,” Bucky huffs out, crossing his metal arm across his chest. “I made cookies for the first time, I think.”

Bucky can’t help but crack a smile when Sam starts to laugh on the other end. “That must have been a scene. I would tell everyone not to eat ‘em, though.”

The easygoing banter continues for a few minutes before the topic shifts to how Bucky is really doing. He shares his past day - because really he’s only been away from the city for a little over twenty-four hours - and Sam updates him on the goings-on at his own family gathering. Bucky listens intently while watching a pair of cardinals take turns pecking at the bird feeder hanging just beyond the porch and the sunset looming just beyond the yard.

“You sound really good, Buck. I’m real happy this neighbor can look past your shitty moods and spend time with you,” Sam says before saying his goodbyes. Bucky would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to hear from him. It was one of those little things that reminded him there were people out there that cared.

Instead of going back inside right away, Bucky decides to stay out on the back porch a little longer to enjoy the view of the setting sun and the tranquility that comes with being out of the city. It was rare that he found himself in a place as quiet as this, with a view unobstructed by skyscrapers. He wanted to savor the moment a little longer, appreciate the things he hadn’t realized he’d been missing for all these years.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” While lost in reverie, Bucky hadn’t heard you join him on the porch. He looks over to find you standing just to his left, already focused on the view. He admires the way the last rays of daylight streak across your face, takes in the way it makes you look like you’re lit from within by some ethereal, otherworldly energy. And maybe you were. After all, you’d somehow found a way to look past his flaws and broken pieces and settle yourself deep within his bones, whether you knew it or not.

“Yea, it is,” Bucky replies without taking his eyes off of your face. He’s not sure if he means the sun or you.

You look at him, then, the softest smile he’s ever seen planted on your face. He notices that under your left eye is a streak of flour that had found a home there at some point throughout the day. Without much thought, Bucky makes to wipe it away. “You have a little...” when he swipes his finger across the soft skin of your cheek, he swears he hears your breath hitch in your throat, but he tries not to think too much into it. He had unintentionally used his left hand, after all.

You both stand there like that for a moment, his thumb still lingering just under your lower lashes and you looking at him like he was the one responsible for this sunrise and sunset every day. The spell is broken, however, when a winter breeze blows through, causing your to shiver and curl in on yourself for warmth.

“Hey, so, if you’re up to it, we still have one more Y/L/N tradition that we have yet to complete.” You wait for a reaction, and Bucky’s not sure what you were looking for, but when he doesn’t say anything, you continue. “The city goes all out with the lights each year, and we usually go downtown to look at them. You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. It’s usually kinda busy, and I know it’s cold and-”

“I’d love to,” Bucky smiles, and when he sees the unparalleled joy that spreads across your face, he knows then that he would say or do anything to be the reason for that look over and over again.

It’s just beginning to flurry when you make it to the main drag of your little hometown. Your parents lived just far enough away to feel like a quiet neighborhood, but close enough that you could easily walk downtown without immediately regretting your decision.

It comes as no surprise when you find the wider-than-normal sidewalks in front of the neat row of old storefronts crowded with other residents bundled up in their winter’s best. Despite the shoulder-to-shoulder situation in some sections of the street, you didn’t mind the crowd one bit. The unique and beautifully decorated window displays and intricately lit buildings and trees made the awkward shuffling and getting elbowed by strangers worth it.

At some point, you get separated from your parents and, when you turn to see Bucky’s reaction to the spectacle, you find he’s a good two couples away from you. You decide then that the only way you’re going to avoid being separated from anyone else is by looping your arm through his. He doesn’t fight it, and there’s only a slight moment of stiff awkwardness before he relaxes his arm and allows you to guide him through the crowd. Your cheeks hurt from the genuine smile on your face, and your throat is already feeling the effects of the amount of talking you’re doing. You have to point everything out to Bucky, though, from the horrifying, oversized light-up tooth the town’s dentist has put on display since you could remember to the ever-changing elegant light show that danced across the courthouse. You’re so enthralled in making sure you share every last detail of this special tradition that you fail to notice the way Bucky has closed in on himself.

Despite the glistening lights and the way the moonlight was catching on the large snowflakes as they fell, the light that usually shown in Bucky’s eyes had dimmed to barely the flicker of a candle. The smile that graced his lips was for your benefit and only appeared when you looked back at him to ensure he was still listening to you. As much as he loved watching your enthusiasm seep out of every pore, and enjoyed hearing the way the pitch of your voice got just a bit higher when you spotted something you especially enjoyed, Bucky wasn’t having a good time. The crowd, despite living in New York City, was making him nauseous. Every time he let you pull him down a side street, each seemingly smaller than the next, you felt the knot that had settled in the bottom of his belly tighten just a little bit more. At least when he was in the city, he felt comfortable, knew his way around most of modern-day Brooklyn, and had identified the perfect escape routes just in case a situation went south. Luckily, he’s never had to utilize such routes. But here? The place you were so excited to show him, share with him was foreign to him. The idea of not knowing what waited beyond each turn of the corner, who stood watching through the windows above the quaint storefronts took him back to his time on the run, back to when his days were filled with strict, careful routine, and he felt he was living on borrowed time.

“Earth to Bucky,” you laughed as you waved a hand in front of his face. He blinked a few times, pulling himself back to the surface before he could drown in his thoughts. You were looking at him, obviously waiting for an answer to a question he didn’t hear. “Where’d you go?” you laughed, blissfully unaware of the demons that were creeping in the shadows of Bucky’s still fucked mind.

“I, uh, got caught up in the lights, I guess,” he replied lamely, flinching when he realized just how stupid the answer sounds. He watches as an array of emotions flick across your eyes; amusement, questioning, concern. He had to look away before you could settle on a look of pity. Bucky couldn’t handle that.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” your probe, pulling him off to the side of the walkway into the entryway of one of the many buildings. “You don’t look so good.”

Bucky felt like kicking himself, wanted to scream at and scold his fragile mind for taking the joy and excitement you had been exuding just moments ago and turning it into worry, pity, anything but what you deserved to be feeling right now. “Bucky, please tell me if something’s wrong.”

He takes a breath before looking down at his snow-covered boots. “The crowds, being in an unfamiliar place...I still have problems with that, I guess.”

Your face falls even more at that. “Why didn’t you say something? We could have gone back home ages ago. Or not come at all. Or, or…”

“Y/N, it’s fine. Really. This is a tradition; I didn’t want to ruin it.”

You cross your arms and pout at that. He’s waiting for you to stomp your foot, much like Becca used to as a child when something didn’t go her way. The thought of his sister stings a little. She would have loved something like this, Bucky thinks, and that makes his uncomfortableness even more of a nuisance. He’s alive and able to see crazy Christmas displays and enjoy the things children growing up when he did couldn’t experience, yet here he is, broken and wishing he was anywhere else.

You pull him from his revere again when you start to tug on his metal arm. “Come on,” you huff, not out of annoyance or anger, but something else he can’t quite put his finger on.

“We’re not going back to your house,” he says, digging his heels into the concrete. This causes you to stumble a little and let go of his arm. “Please, don’t let me ruin this for you. I’ll be fine.”

“The only way you’ll ruin this is if you continue to be miserable while walking around. This is the same display as last year anyway,” you shrug. “I think I can skip one year.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, just looking at each other before Bucky sighs and relents. You loop your arm through his again, this time holding it a bit firmer and closer to your body, and begin to worm your way through the crowd. The further you get from the downtown streets, the quieter and emptier the sidewalks became. It wasn’t long before it was just the two of you walking along in silence. Despite the crowd-less walk, you don’t drop his arm.

“I’m really glad you came with,” you whisper after a few minutes. You’d lead him down the long route to your home, both for the fact it was sparsely traveled by foot and because you weren’t quite ready to lose the closeness of holding Bucky’s arm. “Even if I made you uncomfortable.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you think he’s retreated back into wherever he goes when he’s feeling stressed, but then he replies. “No, thank you. This is obviously a special holiday for you and your family. And here I am, intruding.”

You snort and bring your free hand up to wrap around his metal forearm. “You could never intrude, Bucky. I enjoy spending time with you.”

Despite the chill in the air, Bucky has never felt as warm as he does when those six words leave your mouth.

When you return home, boots are quickly shed and coats are hung neatly in the closet. Bucky stands quietly by the door, waiting for your lead. Despite your efforts of making him feel comfortable in your home, his movements were still shy and timid as he glided over the hardwood floors.

“I’m going to finish putting the dishes away,” you say after a moment and nod towards the T.V.. “You’re more than welcome to turn something on, I’ll only be a second.”

Bucky nods his head and watches you disappear into the dark kitchen. He waits until the clatter of pans and ceramic bowls reaches his ears to head up to the guest room. He didn’t feel much like socializing anymore. The day, despite its laid back approach and festive touch, had been both mentally and emotionally draining for him.

Bucky gracelessly flops down onto his back on the borrowed bed. He’s contemplating sending a message to Sam, maybe do that video chatting Wanda enjoyed so much but he loathed. He needed the comfort of home, the familiar to drag him from the hole he could feel himself sinking into. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t even enjoy himself on Christmas fucking Eve. He sighs as he flips onto his side and listens as the faint sounds of you puttering around the kitchen, his enhanced hearing allowing him to hear your humming of a Christmas song he can’t quite place, travel up the stairs and wrap him in a warm embrace.

He’s not sure when he drifted off, or for how long, but you pull him back to the surface of consciousness with three soft knocks on the cracked bedroom door. “Bucky?” you say softly, not daring to enter his space without an invitation. “Is everything alright?”

“Tired, I guess,” Bucky says as he pushes himself to sit up. As he swings his feet over the side, you push the door open a little more so that you can see him.

“There’s a...We have one more tradition that I’d like to share with you, but I wanted to do it separately.” You timidly step further into the room, arms held behind your back. “We usually share one present on Christmas Eve. Typically pajamas, sometimes just a gag gift. And I, uh, I wanted to make sure you were included this year.”

Bucky watches you carefully as you make your way to sit next to him on the bed. As you settle in on the mattress, you rest a neatly wrapped package on your lap. He watches as you run your hands along the paper in a nervous attempt to smooth out the nonexistent impurities. When he finally looks up to your face, he finds that you are already intently watching him, your gaze unwavering as his meets it.

“But I don’t have anything for you,” he nervously blurts out. He can feel the heat of embarrassment as it creeps up the back of his neck when you offer him a soft laugh.

“That’s not the point, Bucky. Just...here.”

You shove the gift into his hands and, as he examines it, he can feel you practically vibrating with the excited but nervous energy you’re not giving off. This was always the worst part of receiving gifts - having to open them in front of the giver. It always made Bucky a little anxious, worried that he wouldn’t deliver the expected or desired reaction. He smooths his hands over the silver paper a moment longer before he digs a finger into a seam in the wrapping. He’s slow to unwrap your gift, a part of him wishing that you hadn’t gifted him anything at all. Bucky didn’t have anything for you, and, the more he thinks about the fact he showed up to a holiday without even a small gift for the one who invited him, it makes him want to leave and never show his face around you or your family again.

When the wrapping is finally discarded, a brown leather book sits firmly in his lap. His name, his full name, is expertly embossed across the front, and the corners decorated with a simply but intricate design. When he flips it open to the first page, a set of familiar faces are smiling back up at him. His ma, dad, and himself with Becca tucked neatly in what he remembers to be a soft yellow blanket - the photo of when they brought her home, the first photo he saw when he visited her just two short months ago.

“I wanted to give you something special, meaningful,” you say when Bucky looks up at you. “Your family helped too. They gave me copies of your old pictures, provided some of their own.”

Bucky looks back to the book as he continues to flip. He watches himself grow older with each turn of the page. Pictures his ma had taken, some from school, even some from his time as a Howling Commando. Articles, magazine clippings, and copies of book pages filled the middle of the book, all about him, praising him for what he did and what they thought he lost his life doing. He can feel tears start to prick at the corners of his eyes as he looks over previously unread words of kindness, admiration, and sadness, all for him.

He doesn’t think he could feel any fuller until he flips to a hand-drawn picture of himself and Bridget, signed sloppily but in the most loving way. He can’t help but let out a watery laugh, and he can hear you add your own chuckle. “She was very excited when I asked her to contribute. That little girl loves you so much already, you know?”

Yes, Bucky knows. He knows his worth in this world now, thinks he’s finally found his misplaced spot in this place in time, and it’s all thanks to you. His chest grows tighter the further he flips in the scrapbook. Pictures of his sister when on her wedding day, when his first niece was born. Graduation photos, birthdays, and family get-togethers just because all were documented for him to see, for him to live through these pictures because he wasn’t around to bear witness in person.

When he gets to the very last pages, he pauses. A face he hadn’t expected to see smiling back at him was tucked neatly in this book, and it filled him with a warmth he thought his poor, frozen bones would never feel again. A picture of you and him on the day of Becca’s funeral, all smiles despite the somber day. It looks like you’re mid-laugh and had only just looked at the camera in time for the photo to capture your face. He’d almost forgotten that a family member - name and relation lost to him at the moment - had insisted on getting pictures of all those in attendance, had mentioned something about never seeing each other outside of things like these so he had to take advantage. He was glad that cousin or nephew or third-something-twice-removed had pestered them into taking it, because, despite not wanting to look at his broken, mismatched self, you were there shining brighter than he thinks he’s ever seen any star.

“Bucky,” you whisper, clearly unsure of what to make of his silence.

“I...I don’t know what to say, Y/N,” Bucky swallows the lump in his throat in an attempt to keep the tears that have begun to swell in his eyes from coming out in his voice. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever given me - done for me, actually.”

When he looks up at you, he tries to blink back the tears but it causes them to spill down onto his cheeks instead. “Oh, Bucky,” you gently laugh and raise a hand to wipe away his tears. When your hand makes contact with his cheek, however, you realize what you’re doing and make to pull it back. Bucky, however, is quicker and places his flesh hand on top of yours to hold it firmly to his fuzz-covered cheek.

“I lied,” he whispers and you give him a concerned and questioning look. “Earlier. I said I didn’t have a gift for you, but I do.” As he’s speaking, he slowly begins to lean in closer until your face-to-face, only a breath away from one another. “Only if you want it, though.”

You nod and bring your other hand up to fully cup his face as he closes the space between you, gently connecting your lips. It’s a slow, chaste kiss that has him craving more. More of the feel of your soft lips against his, more of your breath catching in your throat, more feeling your eyelashes butterfly across his own as you pull away just enough to rest your forehead against his. He opens his eyes slightly to get a peak of you. You’re already looking at him, a smile spread across your lips.

In that moment, he wishes he had the ability to read minds so that he could know exactly what you were thinking. Before he has the chance to say anything, you’re leaning back, this time pressing your lips more firmly against his own. If it weren’t for the fact he was so enraptured in the essence of you, he would be embarrassed by the low groan that rumbles deep in his chest. He feels your lips perk up into a wider smile before planting another quick peck to his lips before pulling away so that you could look him square in the eyes.

You brush a lock of his hair from his face and tuck it behind his ear before whispering, “Merry Christmas, Bucky.”