#and every year around this time we uncover a new memory that was locked away!

[pluralcultureis]

Plural culture is talking about childhood memories and while you weren't there for them, when the conversation topic comes up your brain will pull up the memories from another alter who was there so you remember them

And then getting to one and just

"I don't actually know why I felt so scared and uncomfortable.." and then dissociating and feeling the memory get yanked away and just thinking

"ya know.. I'm not gonna try to think any more about that one. I might find something I don't want to"

And just leaving it at that

[mo0nfairy]

I gotta see a part of yandere Leon where reader remembers him as they get through los Iluminados maybe some yandere in action lol (at least only if you want to!)

part 1. part 3. part 4.

tw :: obsessive!leon, yandere!leon, mention of drugs, framing, handcuffs, stalking, trauma, guns, wounds, heights, being locked up.

⸺ ooooooo !!! i've been meaning to make a part 2 of my last ask, but had zero idea where to go from where i ended. i also had played a bit of RE2 before the remake came out recently, so a piece of my brain has been kept up in raccoon city for a little while. i would love to express my thoughts and mesh these two games together !!

let's start with where we left off in los iluminados.

upon having your handcuffs taken off by the stranger who is far too close for comfort, you pace backwards, far away as you can get from this insanity of a man. his attitude abruptly shifts into something softer, a major contrast to the emotional breakdown he had just seconds prior. he realizes you're afraid — afraid of him. and as much as the mere thought destroys him to the point of breaking down again, he shoves a sob back down his throat and keeps his distance, despite how desperately he wishes to close it.

6 years. 6 years. he has been waiting over 2,190 miserable days for this single moment. all the sleepless nights spent searching the world for you; all the hopeless nights spent clinging to pillows, praying by some miracle it will somehow become you. every second of these past 6 years has been spent dreaming of this single moment. and even though your reunion wasn't the teary-eyed, passionate kiss in the rain he had hoped for, you are still here with him nonetheless.

and like hell will he let you slip from his grasp again.

with as much time as his needy self would grant him being physically away from you, he is soon at your side. leon then wraps you in his jacket and you swear you hear a harsh gasp escape from him when his finger accidentally makes contact with the skin of your neck. despite your negligence and more-than-obvious discomfort, you do appreciate the new warm embrace after a week of cold rain and damp clothes. it smells exactly like him, as well.

and with that, he's got a gentle hand hovering over your lower back as he guides you through the depths of this hellhole. and piece by piece, memories that had been buried in your brain begin to disinter themselves.

for example, you got a staring problem bro?? for the entirety of the time you spend with leon in los iluminados, there is literally never a single moment where this mans eyes are not on you. half of the time it is to ensure you are unharmed, but the other half consists of him staring in complete and utter awe. it's kind of hard to focus on surviving when leon is constantly staring into your soul. but it has just been so fucking long since he has been able to see you in all of your glory, so please excuse him for any inappropriate behavior on his end.

also, you knew you have lived in raccoon city for a short period of time before the events of RE2 happened, but like everything else that relates to that damned place, you couldn't remember a thing.

except now. leon's gaze uncovers a memory you have of yourself being held in one of the RPD holding cells. the atrocious scent, the uncomfortable bench, the paint peeling from the walls. you try and scrutinize what on earth you could have been arrested for, but your attempts are merely futile. but unbeknownst to you, your arrest was nothing but bullshit. and to say leon has had a crush on you from the second you moved into RC would be nothing short of the truth. so, by pulling some strings, the rookie had managed to lock you up for what he calls 'bonding time'. he'll place a chair backwards in front of your cell, prop his arms on the backrest and admire you with your full attention finally on him (instead of just stalking you around town).

two things you now remember about this man: he was so adorably baby-faced back then and my god, was he awkward. he still cannot talk for shit and i mean this with my whole heart. his sweet, innocent eyes gaze at you while he tries to play it cool, pulling cards like "yeah, i workout" and "you come here often?". all as if he hadn't personally arrested you for possession of illegal substances he planted himself. (nothing will happen to you, obvi. he just desperately needed a second alone with you to show off how charismatic he can be. or try to be, at least).

and for the short second of seeing him after 6 years, his eyes were just devoid of any life. you had assumed the trauma inflicted from that night had caused such a contrast in his physical appearance, and you would be right to assume that. but the soulless eyes, monotone voice, and lackluster personality was entirely due to your disappearance. days upon days of the lonely, eternal torment destroyed his sanity. however, that illustrious boy you can barely remember seems to have returned with your presence.

another thing you can't believe you had forgotten was how intense his stare is. the way he stares is illegible and sometimes overwhelming. he shivers in his stance, whimpers at your every move, and his mind runs rampant with all sorts of obsessive declarations of love. although it may seem creepy to others and especially yourself, do not fret. he has no ill intent towards you, god he could never! this puppy-dog of a man is simply marveling at your sheer existence.

you are able to retrieve another lost memory when you have to jump from a window and into his arms (for those who say he won't be able to catch you, stfu. have ya'll seen how beefy his arms are??? anyways....). the secret agent you have grown to like during your stay in los iluminados jumps down marvelously (most def showing off his james-bond-esque agilities to you). he now watches from below as you stare at the distance beneath you in trepidation. this distrust you have — he is going to travel to the ends of the universe to fix it. no matter what.

you begin to ponder, he has savagely brutalized all threats in your path and held your hand as if he were holding the world all in the same breath. you should trust him, especially after witnessing the pure display of loyalty he has for you.

"don't be afraid, y/n. i'll catch you, i promise!" there is 10000% a way to walk through the house and down the stairs to get to him, but ofc he's not gonna tell you. why would he willingly throw away the opportunity to be your knight in shining armor?

"you will?" your voice is full of apprehension. his stare on you feels like the same bullets he's forced upon your attackers.

"always."

with that, you rip the bandaid off and jump from the ledge. and leon was most certainly not lying. you land safely in his embrace and he wraps his arms tightly around your form. and to finally have you so close, after so, so long of devastatingly praying he could feel you once more.......... if he had a tail, it would for sure be wagging so fast it would morph into a blur. and the way he holds you is different, as if his gentle nature is reserved for you and you only (which it is. this is literally him in a nutshell).

and when you had instinctively buried your face into his neck upon landing, clinging to him out of fear of hitting the ground, he literally melts. i'm serious, he literally just 🫠🫠🫠🫠. the faint hum of laughter and adoration that escapes his throat breaks you out of your state of shock. you made it safely to the ground without breaking every bone in your body, hooray! (as if there is a single reality in existence where leon would ever allow that to happen, but i digress).

you meet his gaze and there is that all-too familiar stare he gives you. leon's arms holding onto you like a lifeline uncovers a memory you have of yourself being held like this all those years ago. you can't recall exactly where in raccoon city you were, but you can remember how humiliated you were when you tripped over a crack in the pavement and ate shit. there was the fairest of scrapes against your shin, but the mortification hurt far more than any wound. while you dust yourself off and attempt to ignore the burning stares of pedestrians, a shout of your name sparks your attention.

the RPD gear and besotted eyes you're met with could be no other than that baby-faced rookie. you ponder of what he was doing on this side of town. was it a simple coincidence you had run into each other? or perhaps, had he followed you? just when you think you can't feel more embarrassed, leon gets down on one knee and dramatically inspects your wound. and my god, he acts like you were shot or something. he visibly shudders from the sight of your leg; people begin to gather around the commotion. with pure ease, he then scoops you into his arms to bring you to safety. you can feel his heart pound like a machine gun beneath the palm of your hand.

despite the humiliation deprived from this event, you fortunately are free from anything mortifying in los iluminados. however, leon doesn't seem to understand when to take a hint.

"uh... you can put me down now." you come out of your memory to thrash in his grasp and avoid his intense gaze, but your prince charming seems to still be caught in his y/n-filled daze.

after a few long seconds, your comment seems to finally reach his brain. "huh?" his response is faint and you almost don't hear it.

you repeat yourself and begrudgingly, leon then slowly puts you back onto your feet, savoring the last few seconds spent with you in his arms. exactly where you belong. you can only fear how much more suffocating affection you'll have to endure before you can finally remember what happened that night.

i think someone legit needs to slap me across the face and bring me back into reality cause holy shit...... i went WAYY too far with this. my brain is a mess thank u for reading.

i have more thoughts about this........ just incase u were curious........ ;)

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2021 | Day 1: Fallen!Cas

In A Fortress of Pine Trees | @mistofstars Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,380 Main Tags/Warnings: Endverse, Croatoan, 2014, 5x04, Smut, bottom!Dean, Angst, Top!Cas Summary: Future!Dean / Future!Castiel "Cas", he finally exhales. "I could need one of your amazing hippie massages right now" -it starts with a simple massage and ends somewhere else; Dean gives in to long neglected needs... DESTIEL in 2014

The Warmth of your skin | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,414 Main Tags/Warnings: Sharing Body Heat, Hurt!Cas, First Kiss, Naked Cuddling, Sharing a Bed, no explicit sex, human!Cas Summary: Dean and Castiel are in the middle of a forest, when a snowstorm surprises them in the middle of the summer. To make their luck perfect, Castiel breaks into the ice of a lake. There is only one way to survive this cold. Body Heat.

Are We Human? | @one-more-offbeat-anthem

Rating: General Word Count: 3,766 Main Tags/Warnings: human!/fallen!Castiel, first kiss, love confessions, pet cats Summary: After losing his grace, Cas struggles with being human. Dean tries to help him out—and in showing the former angel how to find joy in the little things, starts to find joy himself (if he's brave enough to reach for it). And also discovers that maybe cats aren't so bad.

The End Of The Beginning | @vampamber

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3,885 Main Tags/Warnings: ABO, omega Dean, alpha Cas, endverse, endverse Cas, heat, pwp, S5E4 The End, there's a sequel Summary: He just wished that Zach-y boy had picked a better time. Dean could feel those deep seated aches in his abdomen that could only mean he was a day or so away from his damn heat starting. Hopefully he could learn his little lesson before he had to lock himself away for a few days to keep himself from presenting to every damn alpha in a five mile radius. He usually took suppressants, but dealing with Lucifer had kind of taken front seat just long enough for Dean to miss a few too many doses. “Damn it,” he muttered to himself as he rubbed at his wrists, finally free. He wandered out to see where the hell he was. It was an old summer camp, that much he could tell, but that was about it. But as weird as all this was, as unreal and impossible as it had to be, the most mind blowing part was definitely Cas. Fuzzy, stoned out of his gourd, sex guru to a gathering of betas and omegas Cas. Cas, who smelled so strongly of alpha and everything that Dean had ever wanted that he had to shift himself when the guy wasn't looking to try and hide the quickly growing erection in his pants, praying that he wouldn't slick right through his jeans.

Finally Realized | @vampamber

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4,018 Main Tags/Warnings: ABO, alpha Cas, omega Dean, Dean in heat, human Cas, first time, porn with plot Summary: Dean is sick in bed, so Sam calls in a now-human Cas to come and take care of the cranky patient while he escapes goes on a hunt. Dean cooperates with Cas, but it just figures, when the cold is finally gone, his heat takes its place. Now denial stops being an options as Dean begs Cas for the thing he's always wanted, but could never admit to.

Sweet Cherry Pie | @imbiowaresbitch

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4,801 Main Tags/Warnings: No archive warnings apply, first kiss, first time, friends to lovers, top dean/bottom cas Summary: Dean takes the newly-human Cas to a diner to try some new foods. Cas wants more than a taste.

Tick Tock Goes The Clock | @vampamber

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5,784 Main Tags/Warnings: ABO, omega Dean, alpha Cas, human Cas, alcohol as a coping mechanism, implied mpreg, angst, porn with plot, drunken confessions, drunken sex Summary: It was a well known fact that every omega had a metaphorical biological clock ticking away inside of them, just waiting to spring the alarm and make the poor guy or girl go just a wee bit baby crazy. And as much as Dean Winchester tried to deny it, mostly to himself, the one inside him was gonna blow at any second. Even though Dean would never admit it to anybody, especially his brother, he had always felt pretty maternal towards Lisa's son, Ben. He’d always wanted a nice, big family with plenty of pups of his own, ever since he had presented as an omega as a teenager. At least, whenever John hadn't been pressuring him to act like the alpha his dad thought he should've been, that is. It had only gotten worse when Sam presented as a beta, so Dean had shoved that dream so far back in his mind that he completely forgot about it ninety-five percent of the time. That was exactly why the omega knew that his biological clock was gonna kick his ass any day now. Where he used to mostly forget about the idea of having a bunch of pups, it was now taking up the vast majority of his thoughts lately.

I Been Blind | @jemariel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 22,387 Main Tags/Warnings: Human!Cas, porn-watching, masturbation, mutual pining, porn with feelings, suggestion of m/f and m/m/f sex (in porn), oral sex, frottage, anal fingering, suggestion of bottom!Cas. Summary: Castiel is in love with humanity. At least, so long as he's not the one experiencing it. A lighthearted smutty romp wherein Dean helps Cas navigate the tricky minefield of human needs.

Roaming in the Dark (WIP) | @casbelieves

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 24,624 Main Tags/Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Drug Addiction, Explicit Sexual Content, Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Bottom!Cas, Top!Dean, Heavy Angst, Smut, Fallen Angels, Apocalypse, Croatoan Virus, Canonverse, Minor Character Death Summary: A reimagined look into how "The End" came to be. Castiel does not return to heaven after he rescues Dean from his stint in an apocalyptical 2014. The brothers don't reunite. The angels do fall. A dangerous and deadly virus spreads worldwide. But, without fail, Castiel follows Dean and, perhaps, that is his only fault.

Room A Thousand Years Wide | @mittensmorgul

Rating: Mature Word Count: 34,921 Main Tags/Warnings: Case Fic, Getting Together, Long-Suffering Sam Winchester Summary: Once the world and their lives are finally their own, and Cas has chosen humanity once and for all, he begins to find a new routine of daily life with Dean. Sam doesn't know how much longer he can take their apparently oblivious platonic domesticity, when their regularly scheduled evening goes out the window with a single text message from someone they never expected to hear from again. Ex-Ghostfacer Ed Zeddmore is afraid he's stumbled over something too big to let slide, and sends them a link to a potentially dangerous Ghostfacer wannabe, and a case that isn't at all what it appears to be on the surface. What they uncover dredges up a lot of interesting feelings all around, and they must finally face a few ghosts of their own.

Empty Spaces | @thisisapaige

Rating: Mature Word Count: 48,411 Main Tags/Warnings: Angst, Drug Use, Drug Abuse, Drug Withdrawl, Fallen Castiel, Pre-series Dean, Canonverse, Internalized Biphobia, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort Summary: [Castiel] found the colour. It was a green, one of the few gentle colours at the edges of his dreams and the one he tried to capture in his paintings, never quite finding the right hue. He spent so long chasing the colours, trying to find it though pills and needles, but they always evaded his grasp. Yet he found one, right here, hiding in the eyes of a stranger. He studied the colour, the subtle differences between dark and light, the little flecks of gold nearly hidden in the sea of green, the ring around the outside. He studied it, trying to commit the colour to memory. The other man cleared his throat. “Uh, dude?” Oh. Castiel forgot the colour was attached to a person. ~~~ What if Castiel had fallen before the start of the series and met Dean on a routine hunt? Set in the spring before Dean goes to find Sam in Stanford.

Gates of Bronze and Bars of Iron | iCeDreams (AO3)

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 80,466 Main Tags/Warnings: Season 9 Divergent, Dean in Heaven Summary: Dean realizes that staying in Heaven and catching endless fish isn't living up to its hype. Especially since the gates of Heaven are still closed and there are no angels to guide you in the hereafter. Castiel is surviving Earth, fallen and human until a reaper brings his attention to a hunt forcing him to seek out his fallen brothers.

[bloodylondonvtm]

A city that never sleeps, and when the night sets upon contemporary London, the dead come out to play their games.

Here on this discord Server, we offer you, the players, the chance to immerse yourself within this World of Darkness. Utilizing Vampire: The Masquerade 20th edition rules, we created a living and breathing City designed to provide those willing to uncover its secrets the chance to play VtM in a collaborative writing play-by-post setting.

Here in Bloody London! your motivation, passion and creative input in helping us weave intriguing storylines is valued by the Staff, offering plenty of opportunities to make new friends along the way as we explore a unique cast of characters that are going to call nightly London their home.

This isn’t a tabletop experience, foregoing the rather linear trappings of such a system in favor of player freedom. A sandbox setting, where every character matters, join us in recreating the gothic atmosphere of Vampire: The Masquerade with all its delightfully diverse themes.

The city awaits.

"Many thousands of passionate words have been spoken here tonight.  Some of those words I agree with, and some I do not, but all of them clearly come from the heart of the person they issued forth from.  As Aedile Fairfax so astutely pointed out, It is clear that every single person that has taken the time to speak up cares deeply for not only the Clan but also for London and the Camarilla.  We all want to see them each grow in power and stand for millennia to come.  I for one believe that the person that will lead this endeavor is Praetor Harrington, as I have no doubt made clear throughout the evening.  While I concede that Aedile von Berlichingen may be a better warrior, something that I think is clear to anyone in this room, I do not believe that she is the better leader.  If you think back on the words that she has spoken this evening, and the tone with which she has spoken them, it is clear that there is a great deal of rage within her.  That beast within each of us, that thing that calls for blood, is very loud within her.  It drives her forward, much like it does all of us, but as we all know it is not a being of logic.  It is a being of hate and malice, things that are good on a battle field no doubt, but not in a meeting room.  Aedile von Berlichingen is a weapon, and a strong one at that, but we need more than a weapon.  We need a skilled hand to wield that weapon effectively, and she can not be both.  Her words tonight have not been the words of a leader, but the words of a dictator.  She advocates for taking leadership, for taking territory, for crushing any that oppose us.  She wants us to put the lower clans in their places, which in her mind places them below our boot."

Edwin pauses and shakes his head before he finishes.

"These are not the words of a King, but those of a Tyrant."

Toering’s Edwin at the Ventrue Board Meeting

System:  Vampire the Masquerade, V20 with some homebrew 

Time zone:  Any time – we have players all over the world, so if you’re in a timezone that doesn’t get much love you’ll likely be able to find something!

Platform:  Discord play-by-post

•  New Players welcome! Whether you've played V20 for years or not once we'd love to have you.

•  Plotlines generated by both players and Storytellers.

•  We are primarily a Camarilla Neonate chronicle, but offer some opportunities for all sects.

•  Camarilla, Anarch, and Independent factions available immediately. 

•  Sabbat characters and some bloodlines available after your first character.

•  Kindred, Ghouls, Revenants, and Mortals all playable.

Want to know more?  Interested in joining our merry band of bloodsuckers? Find the link to our discord and more on our sidebar!

As Gilead and his shamed offspring began to walk toward the forest, Aleksandar put his hand upon his face, as if to shield his eyes from the pathetic spectacle. Yet, if one were able to see through his hand, they would see one single drop of vitae, descending from his eyes. The lone coyote had received enough humiliation, that the pity of an old man would only deepen the wound upon his honor. And though Aleksandar had never exchanged a word, nor knew of his existence before tonight, he decided to keep him in his memory, until the night he would cease to be.

Having wiped this single tear, out from the sight of others, the Hungarian Fiend stared neutrally as the father return without his child. It had to be done. And though filicide had taken place, the night would not end for them. Aleksandar joined the others in the celebration, singing and dancing with all his soul, as they partied the night away. The form of a drowned creature, with a skin fused with the stone, dancing fearlessly around the fire was unremarkable amidst the legion of monsters and fiends that laughed under the red starry night sky.

They were Tzimisce.

They were the uncountable heads of the Dragon. Each representing another aspect of reality.

They were a unique existence, one that could not be fathomed even by their kind.

One that could not be joined.

Though it could dream roaring at the world, and of soaring the sky at their side.

A Wolf could not become a Dragon.

Progidius’ Aleksandar at the Tzimisce’s Kupala’s Night

The keys jangle again as one is brought forth to the lock and pushed in. 

It clicks. The knob turns. 

The old door, swollen from humidity, sticks in its place before a forceful kick sends it swinging open toward the vampiric intruders. The whistled tune begins anew.

 A figure, exact features indistinct in the gloom of the lightless room, stands in the doorway. The whistling promptly stops. With a gasp the figure freezes in place, stock still. The keys drop from their hand, clattering onto the floor.

“Shit!” The curse is hissed under their breath. Hands fumble into pockets. Something is pulled free - thrown - in the direction of the trespassers. It thuds to the ground before anyone can get hit.

A garlic bulb. 

The frozen figure springs to life swiftly and attempts to scramble backward. Hands jam into pockets with a quickness and this time a lighter is freed. The flame that billows forth from it is more like a torch than your average lighter, clearly modified in some way. The figure's startled, youthful features are briefly illuminated in the firey glow. Shaking hands hold the lighter out toward the intruders.

In an instant the lighter slips from their grip.

FWOOSH

And the arm of an old nearby chair catches alight.

A wannabe hunter is confronted by a coterie of Kindred.

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

An old friend - Part 2

Summary: You've been invited for tea at the Bridgerton's household. You'll meet some new faces and perhaps dig in the past with your host...

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!reader

Other characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton

Warnings: looooots of yearning, face touching (?) if this counts as warning

Words: 3.6k+

A/n: I wasn't planning on doing a second part but here we are! I know it's long, and the start can feel a bit slow, but stick until the end; things get interesting there😏😉

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

As you stepped down the carriage, your eyes were immediately drawn to the facade of the house: even though you weren't a child anymore it still looked majestic to your eyes. The lilac wisteria hanged from the red terracotta wall, swinging his blooming flowers just above the door, giving the compound that vibrant hint of colour that you remembered.

When you heard the wheels of your carriage move against the pebble, you decided it was time to enter the Bridgerton's household. However, you soon realized that your feet were seemingly planted in the ground just before the gates of the estate.

Nervously holding your shaking gloves near your lap, you tried to calm down that sudden wave of anxiety. You truly had nothing to be worried about: your hosts were some of the kindest human beings you had ever met and the house was no stranger to you either. Nonetheless, war drums started playing in your chest at the thought that Anthony was waiting for you inside...

"Can I help you, miss?"

You turned towards the voice that called you back to reality to be met with the tall figure of Benedict. "Mr. Bridgerton"

He bowed as you curtseyed. "Well, this is embarrassing" he muttered, taking off his hat with an apologetic smile. "You know my name, but I don't know yours... should I know you, miss?"

You smiled back, shaking slightly your head. "Probably not, sir. I'm Y/N Y/L/N. I believe I am awaited for tea this afternoon: Lady Bridgerton invited me at last night's ball"

"I recall Anthony mentioning something about a guest..." he started but shrugged afterwards, "however I wasn't listening". His green eyes moved on you, squeezing slightly as they took in your features. "I beg you forgiveness in advance if I'm mistaken, but do you appear to be that little girl that used to play with Anthony when he still possessed a sense of humour?"

You hardly stopped a laugh from escaping your lips. "I shall not know, did Lord Bridgerton used to entertain himself with many young ladies when he was young himself?"

Benedict shook his head, still smiling. "Not that I can remember"

"Then that's probably me" you confirmed, chuckling slightly as the weight on your stomach eased considerably.

"I shall not believe that! The world is much smaller than I thought it was". He rubbed his cheek, his face lit by shock and delight. Then, looking at the front door and then back at you: "Why then were you standing here like a statue?"

At his question you lowered your gaze to your hands, not as shaky as before but still partly trembling. When you opened your mouth to reply, no rational answer came out from your parted lips.

Thankfully, Benedict seemed to notice your distress and simply took your arm in his. "Admit it" he said, smiling cheekily and guiding you inside, "you were waiting for me just to escort you inside. Isn't that right?"

With a giggle you nodded. "You uncovered my plan, sir. I shall hope it remains a secret between the two of us"

Benedict opened the door for you. "I'll take it to the grave, miss Y/L/N"

You flashed him one last smile before your eyes wandered on the interior of the household, leaving you speechless: everything was exactly where your clouded memories placed it, with few errant exceptions, like the china vase in the vestibule or the tiny pottery work on the table next to the door of the drawing room.

It felt almost unreal, like walking in a dream made long time ago... nonetheless, the way your heart jumped in your throat when you saw Anthony slouching on a couch near the window felt very much real to you.

"Miss Y/L/N". When Violet's voice reached your ears she was already in front of you, taking your arm to drag you away from her second-born. "It is a delight to see you again so soon. I believe you haven't met my youngest children, Gregory and Hyacinth".

The two siblings looked at you, Hyacinth smiling fascinated while Gregory was subtly munching something.

You smiled at them. "It's a pleasure to meet you"

"Miss Y/L/N, could I ask you something?"

Your eyes fixed in Hyacinth's, wide with curiosity. "Of course"

She took some steps towards you and you bent down so that she could cup your ear. "Is it true that you and Anthony made all the nurses go mad when you were our age?"

"Who told you that?" you whispered back, grinning. "We made them go mad when we were much younger than you"

Hyacinth covered her mouth, giggling silently as she went back next to her brother. Gregory, still looking at you, finally gulped down his food and turned to his mother. “Can we go play outside now, mama?”

With a sigh and a gesture of her hand, Lady Bridgerton released her youngest from the strings of formality and you watched them running one after the other out of the drawing room.

“Pardon their impatience” sighed Violet, sitting on the sofa next to her. She seemed terribly tired and you couldn’t imagine otherwise: if the other Bridgertons were half the troublemakers you and Anthony were, you were surprised the household was still intact.

You took a seat next to her, your back straightened as a greek column. “There is no need to apologise, I do envy their freedom” you admitted as your gaze fell in your lap. “They should enjoy every moment they have left before they come of age”

“From your tone, miss Y/L/N, it transpires the belief that there is no freedom in our society whatsoever”

You turned to Anthony, now seated a little more properly on the couch. His eyes locked in yours terribly easily, as they already possessed the key to your soul.

"Not if one wants to be accepted by said society, Lord Bridgerton" you clarified. "And we know well enough that not many would risk their place in this - pardon my words - refined golden parade for a semblance of temporary freedom"

"A golden parade". Anthony tasted your words on his tongue. "Shall we ever be freed from the chains society imposed us then?"

"It is possible, yes. Nevertheless, it may not be as easy as one might expect"

Anthony was still looking at you and the fabric of your gloves started sticking to your sweaty hands under his stare. You lowered your gaze. "But of course, this is just my humble opinion"

"Quite pessimistic, if I may" Benedict's voice broke through your thoughts. Slouching like Anthony on the other couch, there was no doubt those two were brothers. "But my word, you and Eloise would get along perfectly well"

"My second daughter. She is quite a free spirit" explained Violet seeing your confusion. "Unfortunately, you won't meet her today: she went for a walk with her friend, miss Penelope Featherington"

“On another quest to find the writer who hides behind the name of Lady Whistledown” added Benedict, earning a glare from his mother.

"I'm sure there will be many other occasions to meet her. And your eldest daughter as well. I’ve heard she married the Duke of Hastings, is that right?"

Her eyes lit as soon as you mentioned her daughter, and before you knew it, your mind was filled with every single detail of the wedding and engagement party, and all the circumstances that preceded and followed it.

A light knock made everyone turn towards the door. The footmen placed swiftly and silently the trays with teapots and cups on the small tables around the room, together with many small plates full of different biscuits and what looked like delicious refreshments.

One of the footmen approached cautiosly Violet, who was now talking about the scandal in which Colin had been unknowingly drawn. "Lady Bridgerton". The woman turned towards him with a smile. "Miss Francesca denies her medicine..."

Violet sighed, putting her cup back on the tray. "Goodness gracious... She went to Bath on her own, she's almost of age and she keeps throwing tantrums for these little things...". She then turned to you: "I shall be back in a few minutes, my dear"

You nodded, watching her leave the room with the young footman. The exact moment she disappeared through the door, Benedict jumped from his seat, almost making you spill the tea on your dress.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I shall leave as well" he explained, putting his tailcoat back on in a hurry. He looked towards Anthony. "If mother asks, I'm in my room feeling unwell and I definitely won't attend dinner"

"Shall I know where you're going?" asked Anthony with a smirk on his face. "Perhaps getting a new suit?"

Benedict ignored him, which made Anthony grin even more. “It’s been a pleasure, miss Y/L/N. We shall talk more next time we meet" he said with a small bow and a smile, before walking out the drawing room as well.

You took a long sip from your small cup, trying to focus on the taste of the tea and not on the fact that you and Anthony were now completely alone. The hot drink had a fresh mint scent and... and then his touch on your skin was everything your mind could think of.

"Are you enjoying yourself, miss Y/L/N?"

"Absolutely!" you replied, your voice an octave higher than normal. Clearing your throat, you attempted to think of something to say that wasn't in any way related to Anthony's hands on you. "The tea is divine"

He chuckled, taking a biscuit from the tray. "I'm glad you like it". He took a bite before asking again: "Does the house do justice to your memories?"

"It does" you nodded. "I'm surprised how few things have changed over the years but I'm glad to be able to recognise every corner. It's like stepping in the past"

Anthony smiled without taking his eyes off you. Looking down on your empty cup you felt your skin itch under his deep stare. Before you could think of anything else to say, you heard the sound of fabric rustling: Anthony Bridgerton had stood up and was now moving closer with every step. He stretched his hand out to you, smiling like he did only around you.

"Would you like to step in the past again, miss Y/L/N?"

With his eyes locked in yours, your mouth was wholly dry. You had no idea what he had in mind but, strangely enough, you didn't care: you just took his hand.

The heat radiating through the thin fabric of your gloves set on fire every nerve of your body. You held tight onto his hand as he pulled you down a maze of corridors, running within those walls like when you were kids. The excitement, and the new feeling that was pushing against your corset, let a wide, joyful smile appear on your face, as you felt lighter than ever before.

Then, after a last turn, he pulled you in a room, closing the door behind him. It took a deep breath for you to realise Anthony had dragged you in the library: it was smaller than you recalled, and even so it held so much knowledge you always found overwhelming stepping inside, as if you weren’t worthy of it.

Still panting, Anthony collapsed on the settee near the window, his smile wider than ever. "Good Lord..." he sighed letting his head fall back, his shoulders shook by laughter. "I haven't felt this alive in quite some time..."

"As much as I enjoy seeing you smiling, did we truly have to run all the way here?" you whispered, trying to steady your breath. "If anyone saw us, they probably thought we were up to something, which is not true at all"

Placing his elbows on his knees, Anthony bended over, his eyes lit by the spark of mischief. "If we're not up to something... then why are you whispering?"

You shook your head, turning your back to him. You walked closer to the atlas, opened on book stand in one of the corner of the room. With your index you gently traced the lines of the continents shown on the page, searching names of places you knew. Then a realization hit you.

“We shouldn’t be here”. Taking a step back from the atlas, you turned to Anthony.

He looked at you with furrowed brows. “Why so?”

"I'm quite sure you're aware that, for a lady, being in the same room as a man without a chaperone is improper and disgraceful" you clarified, rubbing your hands nervously.

"Is it?". You shot Anthony a glare.

"Yes, my lord. Awfully disgraceful". You looked at the door, terrified someone might walk in.

Anthony sighed. “Very well. But before we go... would you please read something to me?”. The request wasn’t exactly what you were expecting and Anthony, as he had read in your mind, added: “There’s nothing improper in that”

You took a sharp breath but then nodded. “Very well”. You moved your eyes on the many books on the bookshelves, the titles and authors embossed on their spines in golden letters: Shakespeare, Edgeworth, Scott.

"Do you want me to read anything in particular, my lord?"

He closed his eyes, slouching again on the settee. "Anything as long as I can hear your voice"

Taken aback by his words, you were glad he couldn’t see your scarlet cheeks. You took a small poetry volume, opening it at a random page. The words written on the paper danced in your mind with the finesse of a butterfly.

You sat down on the other end of the settee as your lungs tried their best to fill with enough air to keep you from fainting. You took a last deep breath before starting to read out loud.

"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,

The plowman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me."

As you kept reading, the book in one hand and the other resting in your lap, the verses rolled on your tongue like candid pearls on velvet; an ancient incantation created to charm minds.

You didn't realise that Anthony had been getting closer and closer by the second until the moment he took your empty hand in his. You stopped mid-verse as your eyes jolted to your joined hands.

"Go on" he gently asked, stroking his thumb on your hand.

Gulping down your beating heart you started reading again, but your attention was nowhere near the words printed on the paper. It was all on the way his fingers rested on yours and moved against your glove, as trying to find a path past the thin fabric.

That small and seemingly meaningless touch unleashed a thunderstorm within you: powerful, destructive and awfully seductive.

You finished the poem, the last word leaving you breathless. Closing the book, the closeness with Anthony felt way too much to handle.

"We should go now". You stood, breaking the contact with Anthony to put the book in its place. Your hand without his touch felt extremely empty.

You heard him sigh. "I believe we should". Anthony stood up, smoothing his blue tailcoat. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his eyes set on fixing his sleeves: "I must apologise, miss Y/L/N"

You turned towards him with eyes wide in confusion before frowning. "For what, my lord?"

"I'm convinced that my puerile behaviour put you in an uncomfortable and improper position" - his voice and face were completely emotionless, not the face of the Anthony you knew - "and I beg your forgiveness for that. I had no rights to act this way towards a lady such as yourself and I would totally understand if you chose to..." he stopped a moment, searching for the strength to finish the phrase, “...interrupt our acquaintance”

"Lord Bridgert-"

"Of course” he continued, "I would never want for you to interrupt your visits to my mother and family. And, of course, I shall have prepared a carriage to take you home and then, hopefully, everything will soon seem just a-"

"Anthony"

You finally moved from the bookshelf, catching his hand in yours. His eyes moved from the doorknob, first resting on your joint hands and then raising to your face. It had felt like days since he last glanced at you.

"Please, let me speak”. He didn’t move, his face still unreadable but his eyes had your complete attention. You took a deep breath as you put your messy thoughts in the right order.

“You didn't offend me" you explained, even if your trembling voice could've told otherwise. "Your actions, your attentions weren't a discomfort to me whatsoever. They were just-", a shaky sigh escaped your lips, "What I feel in your presence is overwhelming, like standing on a cliff while the wind howls around you, trying to push you off the edge... you wish you could ignore it but it keeps luring you in and-"

His hand on your cheek cut you off. His thumb caressed your cheekbone and slid down, along your jaw, to stop on your chin. "So this pleases you?" he asked, his voice deep as his eyes were staring into yours. At a loss of words, you nodded as fireworks exploded in your stomach.

At his words you suddenly remembered: “Your mother! She’s probably still waiting in the drawing room!”. You took your hands to your face, covering your heated cheeks. “Oh no... she’ll never forgive me...”

Eventually he smiled, and seeing his eyes lighting up was just what you needed to feel relieved. "That's good to hear” he murmured, stroking your cheek again and again, “but now you should really go home: we don’t want your mother to get worried, don’t we?”"

He shook his head chuckling. “My mother doesn’t hold grudges for such ridiculous matters. However, if it could help you sleep better tonight, I shall talk to her. You must trust me: I already have mastered a talent in finding quite believable excuses”

You smirked. “Why am I not surprised?”. Anthony smiled before taking again your hand. A bolt ran through your arm.

"I know it may sound bold, but would you join me and my family at tomorrow’s picnic in Hyde Park? These social gatherings always bore me to death but I’m sure your company would be the perfect remedy"

"Two invitations in a row?”. You grinned. “The ton will talk about this for quite some time"

“Is that a yes, miss Y/L/N?”

You smiled. “Of course it is, my lord. I could never refuse you anything”

<-•☆•->

When the carriage left you in front of your house, there was still enough light for you to see the pathway leading to the front door. As you entered and closed it behind you, your mother appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Thank Goodness you’re back!”. She run down the stairs, immediately cupping your cheeks. “Are you alright? Did anything happen to you?”

“I’m good, mama” you confirmed, with a smile. "Lord Bridgerton invited me to attend the picnic in Hyde Park tomorrow". At your words, every inch of blood seemed to be drained from your mother's face. “Is everything quite alright?”

“I’ve heard some awful rumors at the market today...” she whispered, taking your hands in hers. “About the Bridgertons”

You smiled gently. “Is it about the scandal surrounding Colin Bridgerton? Because I can assure you he had no part in-”

“it isn’t, my dear”. She shook her head, some locks of hair escaping her tight hairdo. “It’s about Lord Bringerton”

Your smile fell in a second. “What about him?”

Your mother took a deep breath before going on: “I believe him to be a rake, my dear, and from what I’ve heard, he spent most of last season attending the private rooms of different opera singers...”

"What?". You shook your head in disbelief. "No, it can't be... I know him and he's nothing like this"

"It has been years, sweetheart" she said, kindly caressing your cheek. "Maybe he's changed, like you have..."

"But he's not a rake!". You took a step back from your mother. "Lord Bridgerton is a gentleman, he would never-"

You stopped mid-sentence as what happened that afternoon replayed in your mind: surely you didn't dislike his behaviour, as daring as it was, but it was improper. Terribly improper. Something a rake would do with light skirts. Or with young and willing ladies.

Your corset seemed to be tighter than ever, squeezing your lungs until no air was left behind.

"I do not want to push you, my dear..." continued your mother, "but perhaps you should rethink your choice for tomorrow. You could say you had forgotten a previous engagement or-"

"No". Your steady voice didn't reflect the turmoil in your chest at all. "I have already accepted, mother" you said, walking past her to the stairs. "It would be disrespectful to refuse the invitation of a Viscount"

Besides, you wanted answers, and the only people who could give you some was Anthony himself.

Taglist: @ba-cute @xceafh @latekate1807 (if you want to be added or removed, let me know)

[fallingfor-fics]

Teachers Pet-chapter 21: occlumency

All chapters

Chapter 20

"So how is this gonna work?" I said taking off my robes and laying them on the table. He finally looked at me and for a second and looked as if he was already tired of me. I folded my arms waiting for instructions. "First off I want to know what you know already?" he asked leaning against his desk. "Well Beauxbatons taught me pretty much everything well I read a book there about it, except how to actually do either" I said smiling up at him. 

He hummed in response and thought for a moment "And may I ask for the real reason as to why you want to do this?" he said brows furrowed. I looked around for a second thinking up a good excuse. "I just don't want anyone in my head" I said looking down. "And you would also like to get into people's heads as well?" he said a sarcastic look on his face at my doubled sided statement. "Well why did you learn how?" I said looking at him and leaning against my table. "I had to." he said in a cold tone as if to say don't ask anymore questions. "Look if you don't want to do this you don't have to," I said looking sad and turning to grab my robes. "Y/n it's fine, plus Albus suggested that it wasn't such a bad idea" he said quietly, I paused for a moment, turning to him confused. He told Dumbledore? "What? You talked to Dumbledore about me?" I said more confused and worried than anything. He sat up straight off his desk and his face displayed a look of guilt almost. Like he wasn't supposed to say that. "Yes, I asked him for permission." he said turning and fiddling with papers on his desk. I'm not amazing at reading Severus since he was so hard to read, but I sensed he was lying and walked over to him. "Why did he think it was a good idea?" I said suspiciously and raised an eyebrow. He opened his mouth to speak but then paused for a moment. "You'll have to ask him yourself." he said, still not looking at me, whatever he wasn't telling me I would find out one way or  another. "Severus" I said in a more confident tone, to which he looked up at me with a glare. "Are there people that want to invade my mind?" I said spitting out any conspiracies I was cooking up in my head, I remembered the night when I was spying on him and Dumbledore's conversation about the Death eaters in Hogsmeade, they were talking about a girl and I still wondered if it was me, and that's why he was so secretive. "What no of course not if there were I'm sure you'd know" he said reverting back to his normal cold tone. As if he could intimidate me at this point. "Let's begin shall we?" he said, stepping around from behind his desk.

We stood apart from each other but first Snape raised his wand locking the doors. I looked back from the door to him, I guess he didn't want anyone to disturb our lesson. "Relax, and clear your mind of all thoughts and emotions, make it blank and calm" he said in his silky voice. Yeah cause this is so easy to do when all I can think about is the very man in front of me. "Okay." I said closing my eyes and doing my best to clear my head. "I'm going to attempt to enter your mind, now this may seem scary if you don't succeed in deflecting it, but it's going to be hard to get it on your first try." he said in a more apologetic tone, "Try not to see all my thoughts please" I said worried, I was determined to not let him in at all, I couldn't risk him seeing my feelings for him, I didn't consider the part about him actually having to try to read my mind in order for me to protect it. "I can only see if you allow it, now once I say the word you are going to start out with a simple shielding spell, or you can try a disarming spell on me understand?" he said and I nodded smiling "Although I prefer you don't do the second" he said in a serious tone.

I closed my eyes once more and cleared my head, numbing my body and looking into my mind and silencing everything else around me. I took a deep breath and slowly nodded my head, my hands sweaty, signaling I was ready. Shield my mind, this should be easy. I pulled my wand from my skirt and steadied my feet. "You must shut down your mind the minute I speak and the moment you feel me get into your head, it's going to be tricky your first try, so be prepared." he said softly. I kept my eyes closed, I didn't want to risk looking into his eyes and leaving my mind vulnerable. "Is it going to hurt?" I asked before he began. "No, although it may uncover hurtful memories" he said in a more somber tone. I shook my head and got ready. I heard him let out a breath and felt him raise his wand, "Legilimens" he said softly. I could feel him enter my mind almost instantly, it was a strange feeling, just them I saw memories flash before my eyes. Me seeing my mom cry, it was like I was on display for him to see, I was almost in that moment again. I tapped her shoulder, she yelled at me. Snape was trying to stay out of the more personal parts of my mind, although that was a difficult task. It was gone fast as soon as it ended, a new one popped up. My first day at Beauxbatons, a big smile on my face as I walked in, my blue shiny new uniform. Another, my second year, the mean girls that picked on me, this was when they decided to ruin all my textbooks by throwing them in the toilets. He seemed to move on quicker from that one, then it was my fourth year, my sister was talking to me about defending myself against them, teaching me the spell to get them off my back, her smile and her comforting voice, telling me "you won't have anymore issues with them" smiling and hugging me. I tried shielding my mind, I didn't want to see anymore, and I didnt want him to see them either. I kept muttering a shielding spell trying to focus it but it didn't work. I felt him exit my head and I opened my eyes with a small gasp.

   "Are you ok?" he said in a comforting tone. I looked up at him breathing out, "Yes, im fine, I tried but clearly it didn't work." I said looking down. "That is ok we can take a break." he said softly. "No lets go again" I said confidently, I was gonna figure this out one way or another, and taking a break wouldn't help. "As you wish." I closed my eyes again taking a deep breath and making sure my mind was empty again, I focused on the quiet and tried my best to not have a single thought. He raised his wand "Legilimens" he said once again and I tried my hardest to shield it, I didn't feel him in my head yet, but I could feel him fighting it, I pushed as hard as I could to resist it, but I let it slip by thinking about the man that was standing before me that was watching out for me. This time he was in a different part of my head. Me and my sister watching a movie, turning up the volume to drown out the sound of our parents arguing, "they are foolish" she said trying to lighten the mood, "I wonder what they argue about all the time" I said looking at the door, "Nothing important" she reassured me smiling down at me and turning back to the movie. I squeezed my fist around my wand trying to get him out, but another memory began to play, this one more deep. I was standing in the living room, my dad going on about how Albus shouldn't visit anymore. I never understood why he had a newfound hatred for the kind man, it almost came out of nowhere, the same time he began to grow cold to us and changed into a man that wasn't my father. A man that didn't care. "But dad I don't understand? What did he do?" I said, raising my voice to him. "Thats none of your concern! It's between him and me!" he yelled, "He's my godfather you can't just kick him out of my life for no reason!" I yelled back, I was never afraid to fight my father. He continued yelling, but Snape skipped through. The next one that showed up was a particularly dark day, I was sitting on the stairs, wearing a black dress I had stashed away now, tears rolling down my cheeks. It was the day of my sister's funeral. My mom and Dad stood in the living room not aware of my presence, they were arguing as usual, I never understood why they couldn't remain civil for one day. "Our daughter is right upstairs and she just lost her sister, we do not need her hearing us argue today!" my mother yelled at him, I couldn't recall what they had been arguing about in the first place. "I know i'm not an idiot!" he yelled hands up in the air, "This is all your fault and you know it, thats why you wont even bring yourself to talk to her, Constance would still be here if you hadnt made that stupid mistake!" my mom cried out. I always wondered what she meant by this, I never understood why she would blame my father, as far as I knew what had happened was not something we could have prevented. I never brought myself to ask. I stood from my spot on the stairs and they looked over in my direction. I looked at them with a cold expression, "You're an awful person" I said to my father with tears in my eyes, "Connie knew it, and I know it, and so do you." he grew red in the face as I continued. "I don't know what's infected your mind, what's caused you to act...crazy, but you need to kill it before someone else does!" I said, raising my voice, venom lacing every word. This was the most morbid thing I'd said to my father, but I never punished myself for saying it. "You little bitch! Who do you think you are talking to?" he said growing more angry, he began stepping closer to me getting in my face, I didn't falter, I was never gonna let this man know he got to me. "It should have been you, a million times it should have been you!" I yelled, hot tears running down my face, only this time I could actually feel them, and they were real. He grew nearer and I recalled what happened next, this wasn't something I wanted Severus to continue to watch, almost forgetting he was in my mind uncovering these messes, I squeezed my eyes tight and fought with everything in me, shielding the rest of my brain and slowly attempting to shove him out. I needed to be able to do this, I know I can. He ended the memory and a new one popped up, I was taken aback not expecting him to get to this part. It was the night in the astronomy tower, he was there talking to me. No he can't see this, he would find out too much, and I would never be able to face him again. I pushed this memory out controlling my emotions to where it was out of his reach, and blocked off, it only triggered another memory, this one even more recent. I was brewing Amortentia, Draco had just taken a whiff, It was my turn. Come on y/n don't let him get this far, focus. "Your turn! Better hope it doesn't smell like filch!" I leaned over the cauldron taking in the scent. No come on focus calm yourself, he cant find out. Leather shoes. Relax. Parchment. Clear your mind of all emotions. Firewhiskey. I released my grip on my wand, relaxing my whole body and resisting, pushing him out further and further. The memory slowly faded away. Come on. I let out a breath and the memory disappeared completely. I felt nothing and my body was cold. I opened my eyes and saw Severus standing in front of me, somber look on his face, breathing heavily. I turned away from him, sniffling and quickly wiping the tears off my face. I didn't want to see his expression. He knows why I was crying and why I wouldn't tell him. "Y/n." he said calmly. I breathed out, my heart beating fast. "Y/n look at me" he said softly. I fiddled with my fingers and turned back to him, not looking in his face still. What is he gonna think? What will he do? I can't even fathom what he's gonna say. "I'm sorry." he said kindly "What for? You just did what you needed." I said shaking my head and looking up at him. "You did good, it was your first try and you were able to get me out." he said with a small smile. "And what about what you saw?" I said looking in his deep black eyes. I needed to know, I didn't want him ignoring it. I needed to know what he thought or else I would go insane. He stepped closer to me, "Your sister seemed lovely" was all he said and I looked at him confused, "And your father was indeed as you described him" he added. What was he talking about? Doesn't he know this isn't what I meant? He's a smart man, why is he being so oblivious. "That's not what I'm talking about," I said quietly. He looked in my eyes and almost stared through me, reading my expression, he stiffened up a bit, but his face seemed apologetic. "I see no need in picking through your personal matters Y/n" he said, turning to walk over to his desk. I picked up my wand and followed him over. He can't just leave it at that. Not after what he's just learned. "This was a bad idea, I should have never suggested we do this, I let my pride get in the way and didn't consider the consequences" I said looking down at my feet. "Ms. L/n I do not know what you mean, you did exceptionally well." He said in his more normal cold abrasive tone. "My Amortentia" I stated, looking up at him to try and read any expression he may have, he looked away for a moment then back at me. "It's late, we have taken up a lot of time, you should go to your dormitory, we will continue on Friday. And i'll see you for tutoring tomorrow" he retorted sitting down in his chair and grabbing papers to grade. I stood shocked, why was he avoiding it? Was he gonna tell Dumbledore? Was he gonna have me expelled? But he just sat there not giving me another thought. I grabbed my robes and slowly walked towards the door. "Goodnight Y/n, I'm very proud of how well you did." he said in his usual tone, not looking up from his papers. Why wouldn't he talk about it? Were we just going to pretend like nothing happened? Did he not understand what this meant? I had so many questions. I took a breath easing my thoughts. "Goodnight Severus" I said as I walked out and headed to my room.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 30

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, vomiting

A/N: hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

Things were quiet, much to quiet. It was so quiet you could only hear your single heartbeat, beating forcefully in your brain. The house layout itself seemed to match the lack of sound in the room with most objects being covered by dark slumber pieces of heavy curtain like fabric. Most of the decorative accessories like pantings and plants were gone and if one were to come into the house, they would believe it to be only inhabited by the dust and somber darkness that lingered around like a lost seashell in a stormy sea. 

Every once in a while, steps would break through the quiet atmosphere floor leaving him to only look around at the place where his mother once used to live in. After what seemed like a decade of waiting, his father had finally managed to free himself from everything that belonged to his late wife, even his son’s memories which with age seemed to falter every day. Next to the door however, was a very heavily pregnant woman. She couldn’t be anywhere below seven to nine months pregnant however she seemed to carry this hidden glow and love that inevitably seemed intertwined with the funereal in a ying/yang like atmosphere which led to a simply comfortable quietness.

However, Sebastian couldn’t take his eyes out from the pregnant woman. She couldn’t be much taller than the people around them, with long hair pushed back with a small, delicate pearl pin that matched the pearl-like button of her long blue flowy dress, probably the most comfortable thing a heavily pregnant woman could wear. She was makeup free and mostly jewelled-free expect for a small thin silver band on her fourth finger and the golden bird charm necklace. 

Noticing the blue eyes of the young mob boss to-be on her bump, the woman smiled softly at the boy before softly walking the wood floors with her soft ballerina shoes before taking a small seat next to the boy who had a walkman on his lap, with some headphones on yet slightly placed so that one of his ears were uncovered.

      - I saw you looking. - she had a princess-like tone to her voice, a sort of lively force that always permeated her voice. The colour drained for his voice, his mother’s words echoing in his mind about how staring was inherently rude and how he should always be an icon of mannerism. - Don’t be scared, I do look rather huge with this little peanut. 

      - Sorry. - he sheepishly hide his gaze from her, defences collapsing which greatly reminded Robin of his late mother. - When are you due?

      - Shouldn’t be too long. It’s a girl. Everyone wants her to be named Genevieve after the patron saint of Paris, however ... I rather enjoy Ella. It means beautiful or goddess depending on who you ask. - she spoke of her unborn child with an endless amount of love, almost as if she had already held the baby in her arms and looked into her eyes. - What do you like better?

      - Ella sounds like Cinderella.

      - You think she should be named after a princess? 

      - Sounds better. - he shrugged, not wanting to offend any of the names the woman had told them.

      - I will keep your opinion in mind, then. 

Y/N couldn’t exactly bare look at herself in the mirror anymore dressed in her friend’s wedding dress. It was almost like a cruel joke and she wondered if Gwen suspected anything as she would have to be extremely bad at picking tasks if it wasn’t. Nevertheless, there she was, dressed in white in front of the man who had taken her innocence, dressed in the white belonging to the wife that he was to take either he wanted it or not.

Truth be told, it was rather complicated to explain which one of them had their heart imprisoned and clenched yet if asked, one would probably guess it was Sebastian. He felt like an hypocrite, like someone who kept waving this promise of a peaceful place for the two of them, of a solution that he just couldn’t find. How was he to find the solution for a problem which he had been bound to since he was 13? He hadn’t even gotten his opinion heard, merely hearing from his father he would one day marry someone in order to strength an already strong family. Documents were signed, money was transferred yet he couldn’t help but spend sleepless nights wondering if he could just ... leave. There was always leaving. Several times he thought about knocking on her room at long hours of the night and just ... flee. Just go in the middle of the night, away from the constant danger that came with his position, away from the lousy lights of New York and the deadlines in between. However, he had no money to him if he were to escape. He couldn’t just withdrawal all his money from the banks and whatever he had stored in off-shores would never last for more than two years and he wanted nothing but to provide her with adventures in various far away frontiers. 

No, he couldn’t run away and so he would just spend more and more sleepless nights wondering what to do. He had promised her, Sebastian had promised her she wouldn’t be just a mistress and the mere thought, that being conscious or unconscious, of her being even mentioned as a possible mistress brought disgust and shivers. She would never be a mistress, no, Y/N was nothing like a mob mistress and he would be damned if she got called anything remotely related to it. 

Y/N on the other hand felt like Alice falling down a hole which she was too deep into to climb out. All she could do was wait until the laws of gravity pushed her onto her fate; crashing. One cannot deny the force of gravity even if their head was in the clouds and her head surely went to the clouds whenever she was with him. 

     - Can we talk? - he questioned, almost too softly for someone his rank in public. Somehow, between all the pins and needles carrying women surrounding her, Y/N managed to hear him, softly nodding her head afraid any of the pins would stab her. 

    - Could I please be excused? - Y/N asked one of the women surrounding her dress whom mumbled something under their breathe before stripping her off the expensive fabric, offering her a white satin robe to cover herself but not before Sebastian got a small peak of her dusky pink set. Out of the dress and veil, she followed the mob boss down the aisle until they reached an empty room which he locked, not wanting anyone to really talk to them.

She stood in front of him, unsure of how to start the conversation and still a bit drunk on the lack of sleep that had been hunting for the past days. The constant ever evolving mystery that was her parents and the information she had found about the Deschamps also did not allow her to be comfortable. Maybe she should tell him, after all he had been nothing than helpful towards her but the tenseness in his face convinced her not to do so. She loved him as as such she would never want to be a weight on his back, or on anyone’s back for that matter. 

    - I didn’t get to check on you after last night. I was worried. - he confessed, mostly curious about rumours about how she’d spent the night speaking with Jude Dubois. - I’m sorry we get interrupted. 

    - It’s alright, the night was about you, not me. - she smiled softly, yet anyone and everyone could see the pain that lingered behind the summery smile which almost brought back childhood memories Sebastian tended to hide away, much away from the child he once was. - Did you enjoy yourself?

    - Festivities aren’t my thing. - his hand mindlessly found itself to her forearm, feeling the silky smooth fabric of her robe. - I heard some rather nasty rumours about you and Mr. Dubois. 

    - We just talked, Sebastian. - her hands rested on top of his shoulders, a little grin forming behind the sad smile. Could the mob boss be jealous? Now, Y/N was always thought that jealousy was an ugly emotions but being jealous meant he was afraid of losing, something she surely hoped he shared as she felt it constantly. - It’s nothing but talking. 

   - Just needed to make sure. - his touch on her forearm became a grip as he softly pulled her towards him, feeling her chest collide with his. Merely having her in his embrace calmed him down, or maybe put him under a spell that made them both forget the place they certainly were in. They were in no place to be playing Romeo and Juliet, less they were both ready to die and while Sebastian would willing do so for her, he wouldn’t allow her to perish. 

She would ever so often just lose herself to sleep in his embrace, every once in a while kissing his shoulder. As she seemed to regain her consciousness, she just looked up to him about to say something before her mouth forcefully shut and she felt a heat creep up her stomach, a pain that made her hands fly to her middle abdomen. She clutched her stomach and covered her mouth. Her mouth had a horrible taste and it was as if someone had shoved something down her throat time and time again, making her stomach revolt and turn on itself. The stomach acidic liquids had started to make their way up her system and quickly she spotted the bathroom, running to the door and straight to the toilet.

She clutched the bowl fiercely and let out the contents of her stomach which was but nothing but whatever she hadn’t digested from last night’s food and the liquids of her stomach. Even if she wanted to take more things off her system, which she desperately needed to, she just seemed to be unable and soon enough there was nothing left in her stomach.

   - Are you alright, angel? - Sebastian had followed her once she had rushed into the bathroom. Grabbing a towel and wetting it under the faucet, he got closer to her in order to clean her face. With a calloused finger he wiped a stray tear from the force she made to push what her stomach had out through her mouth. 

   - I guess meat jelly didn’t sit well with me. 

   - Meat jelly doesn’t sit well with anyone. - before she could laugh at his joke, the urge to to vomit came again and she held onto the bowl once again, getting the rest of what was left in her system but, again, nothing but water and acid which left her in a bit of a coughing fit, her throat rash from the acid. - You sure you don’t need a doctor? I’m sure there must be one in the hotel. 

   - You worry too much. - she leaned her head against his shoulder. - Besides, you have more to deal with than me being sick due to terrifying meat jelly. 

  - No more meat jelly for you then.

  - No more meat jelly. 

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[ghostofstudentspast]

Obligatory (part 3)

Series masterlist

Warnings: a panic attack in the first half.

I am BACK! I finished this baby up this morning and while I won’t be posting as frequently anymore because of college I’ll still be posting/finishing up all my wips!

For the first time in your life, you would have given anything to stay at Hogwarts during the Holidays. Your house had lost its warmth and instead every shadow started to look like a ghost to you. Your father only left his study for dinner, where the three of you sat in uncomfortable silence as knives and forks scraped fine china. Your mother seemed light years away. She could often be found cleaning things unnecessarily, staring off into the distance and only ever casting you soft smiles that didn’t reach her eyes.

You could feel how the weight had shifted in the Pureblood community. Everyone was on edge and keeping secrets from each other. Christmas was a lackluster event in your house this year. Your mother had insisted on a tree and family dinner, but things felt strained. Not at all like the laughter filled Christmases you remembered growing up. Your mother had purchased an absurd number of expensive gifts, as if that would make up for the lack of holiday spirit. Clothes and jewelry and expensive quills littered the dresser in your bedroom and you didn’t want to touch a single item.

“Darling?” Your mother’s voice broke through your absent thoughts. “We’re expected at Malfoy manor in thirty, are you ready?”

You were perched on the edge of your bed, hands clasped in your lap to stop them from picking at the dark red material of your dress. You were vaguely aware of your mother coming to sit next to you on the bed and taking your hand in her own. Her fingers were warm and helped pull you back down to earth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t think-“she took a breath and didn’t continue.

All you could do was nod numbly as her thumb stroked the back of your hand. You hadn’t noticed your hand had been shaking until now. Raising your head to meet your mother’s gaze you saw how red her eyes were, how the purple bags were still prominent despite the makeup covering them, how she had faint tear tracks running down her cheeks.

“I know.” Your voice cracked as you nodded again, this time stronger.

“He’s going to be there tonight.” There was no need to say much more, her eyes betraying the fear that could never be voiced out loud.

“I’ll be good,” you offered her a lifeless smile, “I promise.”

The terrifying thought of seeing the Dark Lord in person hung over you all the way to Malfoy Manor. Stepping into the cold atmosphere of the ballroom did nothing to loosen the knot in your chest. Where once the parties thrown here had been lively, full of music and wine and chatter, now it was filled with hushed whispers and something stronger than wine.

“Can we talk?” Draco had appeared at your side like a shadow.

“No.” You didn’t meet his eyes and made to step away from him when a hush fell over the room.

There he stood, dark robes and snake slithering around his feet. The Dark Lord.

“My children,” his voice was high and sharp, “I’m so happy to see so many of you here tonight, proving once again who is loyal to our cause.” you doubted he had ever been happy in his existence.

As if he’d heard you speak his eyes locked on yours. A horrendous red colour, eyes like a snake, bored into your very existence. Your skin crawled and you felt like you might throw up at any moment.

“And our lovely bride and groom to be,” a smile creeped its way onto his face. It was less a smile and more a grimace. “The first in the new generation to follow in their parents’ footsteps. Wise.”

His eyes bored into yours and you could feel his magic pouring into your head. Pushing through your thoughts forcefully. Your heart rate sped up and your breathing hitched. The only thing that reminded you where you were was Draco’s hand resting on your lower back. You pushed all of your thoughts towards the back of your mind and focused on his finger tapping ever so slightly against you. You shot a glance at him and thought you saw his head shake the tiniest bit.

Legillimency, you could feel the Dark Lord prying at your memories. You knew he couldn’t go there, couldn’t know how disgusted he made you feel. You clenched your teeth and thought about the contract, you thought about marrying Draco, pushed the idea of loyalty forward with bile rising in your stomach.

“Continue with your festivities,” he finally broke eye contact and turned his eerie smile to the other guests as your shoulders drooped.

You felt exhausted. Like someone had just ran a bulldozer over your brain. He’d walked through your mind, through your thoughts. You’d never felt more exposed then at that moment.

“Excuse me,” you muttered to Malfoy and turned on your heel to slip away through the crowd of people.

Walking faster than normal you tried not to break into a run as your breathing became unsteady and panicked. You threw yourself into the large bathroom down the hall and threw the door shut before sliding onto the floor and letting out a painful sob.

Tears were streaming from your eyes as you desperately tried to control your breathing. He’d violated your mind. What if he’d seen something dangerous, you’d be endangering not only yourself but your family and friends. You sobbed pathetically, drawing your knees up to your chest and moving into the farthest corner of the room, away from the door. A soft knock at the door only added to the panic filling your veins. You shook your head and covered your ears, unable to breathe. Unable to tell them to leave you alone. Not even your sobs were audible anymore as you fought with your thoughts.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, he’s gone.” the voice was soft and kind and broke through your thoughts. You shook your head and kept your eyes squeezed shut. “Breathe Y/N. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” the voice repeated until you did what it said. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth.

Your breathing was shaky and didn’t quite fill your lungs but slowly you managed to control your air flow. Tears still running down your face and falling into your lap you uncovered your ears and opened your eyes. Across from you sat the last person you would want to see you like this.

“You’re okay.” Draco spoke softer than you’d ever heard him speak. You nodded, and he offered you a sympathetic smile. It wasn’t pity, instead it held understanding. “I get them too.” He confided without meeting your eyes.

“It’s new for me,” your voice was hoarse and sounded foreign to your ears. He nodded in understanding as you closed your eyes again, rubbing them with the palm of your hands, makeup smudged across your cheeks.

When you opened your eyes again Draco was gone just as quickly as he’d came in. The bathroom floor felt just a bit colder as you dropped your head back against the wall.

When you arrived back at Hogwarts the following week Draco made sure to give you space. You were grateful he hadn’t brought up the Christmas incident again and from the lack of pity in his friend’s eyes, you didn’t think he’d told them either. You did notice that he spent more time looking at you these days. He always wore an unreadable expression and his eyes still held a sharp calculating look but this time he was observing you.

It took a few days of him watching you for you to get fed up and resolve to talk to him. This is why you were currently following him out of the potions classroom and down the hall farther into the dungeons. He stopped about halfway to the Slytherin common room and rounded on you, arms cross and one blond eyebrow raised.

“Stalking me Y/L/N?” his lips almost quirked up into a smirk.

“Christmas, you said you wanted to talk to me,” you raised your chin, so you could look down your nose at him, “so talk.” If you kept up your snooty pureblood persona around him, it was easier to pretend he hadn’t seen the most vulnerable side of you.

“Right,” he let out a short laugh and shook his head, “I was going to tell you that I found something interesting in the Manor library over the break. It’s definitely not something we want to try as a first option but if you’re this desperate,” he dug through his bag and fished out an old leather-bound spell book.

“You found something to break the contract?” Your demeanor perked up and your eyes zeroed in on the book in his hands.

“Maybe,” his voice held an unspoken warning, “again, this is very much a desperate man’s last resort. Or in this case desperate woman.” He added seeing you fidget with your sleeves as he held out the book. “Don’t try anything without me.”

“Yeah, no of course not.” You snatched the book from his hand and immediately opened it to where Draco had folded the corner of a page. Skimming the title quickly you found your stomach rolling in unease, “This is blood magic.” You looked up at him with a frown.

“Yeah, which is why I don’t have high hopes for two underage wizards working it out safely.” He grimaced, “read it for yourself.” He motioned towards the book and turned to keep walking to the common room.

“No wait, Malfoy,” you chased him, still holding the book open to the folded page.

“I have bigger fish to fry Y/L/N,” he kept walking, his long strides taking him much faster than yours, “if you’re desperate enough to try blood magic, you know where to find me.” He sighed and left you standing by yourself clutching the book between your hands like your life depended on it.

Finding a free spot on a windowsill near the common room you began to read. The cold frost on the window had your wrapping your robed around you tightly as your eyes flicked between the pages. Blood sacrifice for magical contracts. No. Blood bonds and magical contracts. Also no. Breaking magical contracts with blood. Ah, that’s the one.

Magical contracts are rarely breakable. The witches and wizards who enter in a magic bound contract will be tied by said contract for the remainder of their lives. The only way to exit out of such a vow is for either party to pass on (ghosts cannot be held to a magical contract).

“I don’t want to kill him,” you rolled your eyes and kept reading.

It is therefore possible to trick the magic bond by imitating death. First, one or both parties must provide a vile of blood to be spilled on the original document. Second, one or both parties must take a dose of Draught of Living Death (instructions on pg. 66) and a half dose of calming draught (instructions on pg. 80) note; the users blood must be infused with both potions. These two potions will bring the user into a two-day long death-like state. This along with spilled blood on paper will render the contract useless as ‘one party will have passed on’ very briefly.

WARNING: taking too much of these potions or using too much blood can result in irreversible damage including but not limited to; loss of memory, narcolepsy, weakened magic, blood clots, death, etc.

You closed the book and stared at the cover as you tried to process what you’d just read. Basically, there was a very slim chance that you’d be able to pull this off and a very large shot at accidentally inflicting lifelong damage. Or death.Unfortunately, in all of your time spent researching, this was the only viable option you had come across.

How much are you willing to risk to break this contract?

Series Taglist: @xkonpinkx @detroitobsessed @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @pointlesscoconut @irlkell @thehumanistsdiary @mo-onstarrs @summer-writes @aplaintart @jjjmaybank

[macabretrees]

When his inhibitor chip malfunctions, Sinker finds himself stationed on an Imperial Star Destroyer, tasked with experimenting on captured Jedi for the purpose of researching their Force count.

His current subject: Former General Plo Koon.

tw: medical torture, ao3 version available

Pls consider reblogging!

----

Sinker comes back to himself in between the threshold of the holding cell back to the medical wing of the Star Destroyer he’s currently stationed on. It’s like the worst migraine of his life, so much so that it stills him in his tracks. With a hand braced against the smooth wall, the former clone sergeant groans deeply as the pain radiates through his temple, all the way to the back of his skull.

He crouches low, precisely aware of the bright fluorescent lights bouncing off of the pristine steel floors beneath him. It’s nauseating, and he clamps his eyes shut just to shield his eyes from the blinding rays. It does little, and the nausea blossoms in his stomach. Out of instinct, he smashes a hand to his mouth as his gut wretches, and immediately is  assaulted with the taste of something putrid and acridic, seeping through the gaps of his fingers.

What...the...hell…

It’s not vomit--at least not his. And upon further inspection, he takes note of the black and yellow-ish liquid staining his white gloves, the substance extending up to the fabric of his elbow.

“Trooper, is everything alright?” Despite the question, there is little concern behind the harsh, Coruscanti accent. It sounds like General Kenobi on a bad day, and with great effort the Sergeant draws his gaze away from his hand, and to the man standing squarely above him.

He looks through crescent  lids, the halo of light behind the officer agitating his growing migraine.

“Trooper, I asked if everything was alright. You are needed in the medical wing, those samples need analyzing now.” There is growing agitation in the man’s voice, tight lipped tone indicating that he is on an even tighter schedule, “the junior researchers have not seen you for the past fifteen minutes.”

Still, the clone cannot speak or will himself to move.

It’s all too much. Suddenly he was a drone, a mindless trooper just following orders. Now he is Sinker.

He must have looked like a spectacle, dry heaving on the ground and avoiding the light like some sort of vampire.

“I thought your kind couldn’t get sick.” Disdain still evident, there’s a tone of curiosity in the man’s voice as he inclines forward, his blond hair and beard coming into view. He certainly isn’t a clone, but Sinker knew that already.

Even with his body and mind stolen from him for the past...what? 10 years? 15? 20? He’s been afforded bits and pieces of information, past the “initiate Order 66” past the “Good Soldiers follow orders”, Sinker has weaved a net of sparse information together.

He’s in the Empire, the Jedi are all gone, killed by him and his brothers, and he’s a medic again. That explains the liquid on his arms, but what was it? And why did it taste like that? It's non-human, that’s for certain. But why ? The Empire doesn’t employ non-humans, do they?

And certainly not Kel Dor.

Time stops for Sinker in that moment, and not even the white noise of the ship registers to him. Nor, unfortunately, the officer above him growing clearly more and more agitated with him. The substance on his arm--the blood literally on his hands--captivates his conscious. He knows this blood. He knows it very well. Has tended to it on the battlefield, has washed it from his armour after his General had thrown himself atop of him, had watched in horror as it had oozed out after the General had taken a rather nasty shot to his side.

This is Kel Dor blood on one hand. In the other--Sinker looks, and bites his tongue as he staves off the sharp wave of nausea--is the sample.

“You must be going absolutel--”

Sinker rises with the grace of a still mind-controlled clone, masking the absolute horror building in his gut as to not tip the officer in front of him off.

“Apologies sir. I had a bad reaction to a gas from one of the subjects lungs. A bit too much helium.” He lies, inclining his head forward as he excuses himself, “Won’t happen again.” He brushes past the man, previous schedule melding with his conscience.

Things begin to come back to him like building blocks. Where he is. What he’s doing--what he has been doing. It’s all coming back. But this time, he has control.

He needs to analyze the sample--brain tissue. Scan it for midichlorian counts, see if it can be liquidized and transferred to others--to humans. This will take him about three hours. Then he will take his break, eat in the mess hall, and return to the subject to collect another sample.  Only today he will skip his lunch, see his subject earlier, and board the nearest ship and get the hell away from here.

He’ll get himself out. He’ll get his General out, and if he’s lucky get his brothers out too. But he doesn't know if they’ve been freed like he’s been, if they’ve gotten back to themselves, or if the Chancellor's orders are still ringing in their heads.

He doesn’t even know who’s on the ship. Who’s still in the Empire or who deserted.

--

The work is completed mechanically, and despite being thrown into the midst of a shit-show, his memory continued to trickle in the gaps. Every new revelation is another punch to the gut. In summary he was promoted to the head medic of the Star Destroyer, which for all intents and purposes is primarily a research vessel. Though the weaponry and guarded halls say otherwise.  

Sinker was a medical sergeant during the war, often making split second decisions to save his brothers and his General, as well as starting the first encyclopedia of medical field treatment across species. While Plo was his primary General, he’d opted on missions with the 501st and had often worked his way around Commander Tano’s complicated biology. Following that, he and the others had gotten together to come up with a rather large encyclopedia of their alien Generals and Commanders. And on his offtime, Sinker studied it like a hungry dog.

The Empire had put him to work immediately, his knowledge of Force sensitives aliens used on captured Jedi.

The Empire was trying to create a new army of force sensitives, trying to see if the Force could be transplanted into individuals. Sinker was tasked with making the concoction, and led the project since the rise of the Empire.

He’s the most brilliant researcher in the Empire, but his research stands on the bodies of captured Jedi.

He’s gotten good enough so that he has his own lab, but junior nat-born researchers are stationed everywhere, wide eyed students studying his samples, asking him questions. He takes note that none are clones. And a small part of him fears he’s the only one left on the station.

Still he answers the researchers questions, comments on their work, and offers them input when he can. Anything to appear normal, to appear kept together. To steady his shaking hands and throbbing heart and aching head.

When his three hours are up, he makes a beeline to the holding cell, dismissing invites from other researchers to lunch with a smile and the typical, “You know how I feel about my work.” They laugh and call him a workaholic, and Sinker wants to cry at the irony of the situation. If all goes well, he won’t be working here.

Not anymore.

When he gets to the cell, he’s greeted by the plain white armour of two stormtroopers, inclining his head as a quick greeting before punching in the keycode.

“It’s popular in there, today.” The trooper jokes, just as he steps in, “Looks like a family reunion.”

But before Sinker can say a word, the door zips closed behind him. He’s too tired to linger on what was said for longer than necessary, though one look at the scene unfolding before him tells him he doesn’t have to.  

He’s met immediately with the sound of shuffling and cursing.

“How the hell did he get him stuck on here? I don’t want to pull him off, it may hurt him.” That sounds like--

“Wolffe! At the door, it’s Sinker!” And that’s certainly Boost, quick to concern and worry as usual.

Elation is too small of a word to describe the emotions that run through him. Because before him are his brothers--Wolffe and Boost, alive in well, albeit rather agitated and flustered at being caught attempting to remove Plo from his binds.

Though the elation is short lived.

He can’t see the General, and part of him is grateful for that. But it’s only temporary, he’ll have to face his fears if he wants to undo Plo from his binds. He’ll have to face what he did to the man if he wants to save him.  It’s no simple lock, and Sinker is the only one who can undo it. Not only that, but Wolffe is right, removing him may hurt him. Sinker did not create the medical bed with the intent of comfort. Plo is--was--an experiment to him, and up until now believed to be a traitor. He treated him accordingly.

“Boost, Wolffe, it’s--”

He doesn’t get the word out, as a fist immediately connects to his uncovered head.

And unlike the other two, he’s not wearing armour. Sinker staggers, but draws on his years of combat training and exercise. He may be a researcher now, but he can outfight Wolffe and Boost on any given day, armoured or not. He’s always been the superior fighter, and he’s taken a lot worse than a sneak attack from Wolffe and Boost.

It’s messy and too long, but within a minute he has Wolffe under one arm, and a knee to Boosts’s backgrounding hm in place

“You two need to stop, or they’ll hear us and we’ll never be able to get him,” he whispers, low.

“Sinker...you’re..you’re free?” Boost gasps, “How-when?”

“We’ll catch up later, but I'll need to report back to the lab in under an hour. We need to get him loose now.”

Sinker releases them, and Wolffe gasps for breath while Boost groans in pain. He’ll apologize later, but for now the General’s life is at stake. With urgency he turns to the back of the cell, where his General stands attached to an upright medical bed, bound to it with metal braces. Sinker gasps, and with every step he takes towards him fights the urge to scream and run.

The General is lacking all color, and where he was once a healthy burnt orange, he is now a mix of white and greys. The white extends to his half-lidded eyes, which are now dull and near  unseeing, and absent of their protective goggles. Throughout his body are large, thick metal piercings. Used to keep the Force at bay in particularly strong, Force sensitives. Sinker had invented them himself, and remembers with great accuracy the care he took into placing them in his General’s body.

They will need to be removed when he gets him off of the station.

There are scars and bandages all over his body, burn marks and more discoloration. The newest scar is above his temple, where Sinker took the brain sample from earlier that day. Sinker isn’t even aware that the soft tips of his fingers have brushed over the scar, tracing it gently as his eyes begin to sting with tears.

It’s still raw, and the bandage is yellow with blood.

Sinker doesn’t apologize, lest he break into violent sobs there. Rather he inputs the code into the keypad, bracing himself for his General’s body as it falls forward. When he embraces the taller creature, he takes note of how thin he is, how light he is. As their General, Plo Koon had been strong and sturdy. Even with his thick robes and gowns, his strength positively radiated off of him. The General took care of himself.

Sinker had ruined him in a matter of years.

The holding cell is not a generic one. And due to his position as head researcher, Sinker has made it a point to move certain medical supplies into the cell should he need access them. He thanks the Force that he’s left a wheelchair. Even with Plo’s height, it’s easy to settle him down into the chair, and Sinker straps him to it by the arms and waist. Then Sinker takes a glance over at his vitals, displayed on the screen.

The General is sleeping, now. Or, more correctly, had passed out during the removal of his brain tissue. He’ll wake later. And he’ll wake in pain.

Sinker takes an injection from one of the trays, and winces at how large and sharp the needle is. Unfortunately there’s no getting around the General’s incredibly thick skin, and even in the Clone wars, penetrating it was an uphill battle.

Though at the sight of an injection, Wolffe is summoned to his side.

“What are you doing with that?” His former Commander speaks as he places a hand over Sinker’s, ready to fight the man again if he has to.

“It’s to keep him sleeping, Wolffe. He’ll wake up if I don’t give it to him, and he’ll be in pain.” Sinker jerks his arm away, and sticks the general with the needle. Part of Sinker is hurt...hurt that Wolffe can’t trust him. Hurt that he thinks he’d do anything to harm his General of his own accord. Hurt that he can’t understand that it’s not Sinker’s fault. That he was under control of someone or something else.

The Kel Dor makes no indication that he’s been stuck, and instead his unseeing, half lidded eyes look forward into the distance.

“We need to put his goggles on, right? Do you know where they are, Sinker?” Boosts asks as he looked around.

“Yeah, I do.” He says flatly, wondering if at all he’ll be able to justify giving his test subject goggles or any other form of comfort, “they’re in that cabinet over there.”

Wolffe wastes no time in snapping them on the General’s face. All the while Sinker gets what medical supplies he can from the cell, and makes a note to collect more in the lab. Where there going will likely not be a medical facility, and if they’re going to keep Plo alive, they’ll have to make do with what they have.

“We’ll need to stop by the lab.” Sinker says aloud, “I just need a few more things and we can get out of here, assuming we make it to the platform without being caught or stopped with a test subject.”

Now it’s Wolffe’s turn to sound guilty, and a dark blush colors his face, “That..shouldn’t be a problem?”

“Why? Buddy buddy with the General or something?”

“I am the General, Sinker.” He admits, raising a hand when Sinker makes to ask more, “It’s a long story. The Empire promoted those of us who were good on the battlefield to Generals, me included. Do what you need to do,  and I’ll keep the other officers off of your tail until we’re ready to leave. But make it quick, because I have to check in with the navy in less than an hour. And If any of these brown nosers tip the Empire off that Plo’s missing, there’ll be an all out mutiny.”

“Nat-borns aren’t as loyal as we were,” Boost fills in, tapping his fingers on his biceps, “and aren’t happy about having to listen to a clone. They’ve been trying to take Wolffe down since he first got promoted.”

“You can tell them I gave the order to move him to the lab for another procedure. You take it from there--Boost, we need to get out. Get ready.” Wolffe commands, “I’ll meet you in landing bay seven in thirty minutes. Do not be late.”

Wolffe leaves with Boost in tail, leaving Sinker alone with more questions than answers.

Below him, General Plo is limp. Though his pulse is steady and his heart beating fast. He’s alive. He’s safe. Wolffe is alive, Boost is alive, safe. They’re all safe.

With luck, they can keep it that way.

Check it out here on ao3!

[nakunakunomi]

I think it's the first time I drop something in your ask box ?🤔 Anyway, congrats on the 300 followers! 🥳🎉🎉 So, I had a very hard time choosing a prompt👀 But here we are! Can i ask prompt 23 for Rosinante (Yeah I know, I'm a girl full of surprise 👀)with a fem! reader? You can put it in a Modern!Au setting if it's easier for you ❤ Luv u sweetheart 🥺

Hi babe! I went with in series, to give the softest clown a little in series love, he hardly gets enough love as it is! Due to the nature of the prompt, the story is a little angsty, but no worries, I can spoil a little that the ending is going to be good! I hope you like it and that it satisfies your wonderful Lusinante heart a bit! Much love!

Don’t ever leave again - Donquixote Rosinante (Corazon) x Reader 

Cliche with bae prompt #23: “Tell me why you did it” “because I love you”  Character: Rosinante - Word Count: 1.8k hurt/comfort - angsty with happy ending  ? 

You were in love. Madly in love. Deeply in love. It wasn’t the easiest of relationships. It was all secret. But it didn’t matter to you, because you had never been this happy. 

You couldn’t even remember how you got close to Donquixote Rosinante. You certainly went out of your way to avoid his flamboyant brother. But something in his silence drew you closer. And before you knew, you had discovered his secret, and not long after that, you had uncovered his heart as well. 

The relationship was strange, sneaking around all the time, Devil fruit activated bubbles of silence in order to whisper words of affection. He preferred visiting you in your house, so he could ensure no one would follow him. He never stayed the night, never really stayed long. He never really explained what exactly was going on. Why all the sneaking around had to happen. But you knew the family could be dangerous and refrained from asking too many questions. He had told you himself: the less you know, the less danger you will be in. 

Often times you felt like it would be better to break it off, to let him go. But the mere thought of never being able to see him anymore, him never hugging you to his chest anymore, no more running your fingers through his soft blonde locks, no more kissing as if you were both desperate for the love you never got to experience outside the bond the two of you shared, just crushed your very soul. You’d never be able to leave him. 

So when he came to your house in the middle of the night, urging you to pack your bags, you complied almost immediately. You were going to run away together. Away from his crazy brother and away from all the madness, all the secrecy. You could finally take the next step in your relationship, maybe even settle down together. It was a hectic night, but you fell asleep on the little boat he was using fairly quickly, completely ready for a new start. 

It took you a couple of days to arrive on the island. Rosinante had already picked out and prepared a little house. He had been planning this escape for months it seemed. He had explained very little on the way, being even more quiet than he usually was. He was probably just still very much on the lookout for danger. Even you knew that his brother’s influence was reaching pretty far, his network only growing every single day. 

The best moment came when the both of you finally went to sleep in the house. The comfort of an actual bed, the very first time you could actually sleep in the arms of your boyfriend, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and his soft breaths as you cuddled close, made you fall asleep almost instantly. You had never been happier in your life. 

So you were incredibly surprised to wake up without that presence. Had he gotten up earlier to do something? You listened if you could hear him stumbling around the house but to no avail. He could’ve easily used his devil fruit to sneak around quietly though, so you didn’t think too much of it as you got dressed and made your way downstairs. 

He was nowhere to be seen. Only a letter on the dinner table. You immediately recognized his clear, but messy handwriting. 

Dear y/n. 

I hope you can forgive me for doing this to you, but if you cannot, I will understand. I will never know, because you will never see me again. My brother was growing suspicious and I cannot let my cover be found out just yet. 

I moved you for your own safety. This is a nice island, nice people. I left you some money and food. Start a new life here. Do not seek me out. I beg of you. Our relationship was never meant to be. Besides, you could not love me if you knew all about me. Forget me, start anew. That’s going to make you truly happy. 

Burn this letter after reading, erase all traces and memories of me. It’s for the better. 

- Rosi 

You read the letter over and over and over and over, crying harder every time more of its meaning got through to you. He left you. All alone, away from everything you knew and was never coming back. He never even said he loved you. Your heart was broken, crushed, the pieces shattered, and right now. It felt like it could never be fixed again. 

You managed to adapt to life on the island relatively well. Rosinante had not lied: it was a very nice and welcoming place. In no time you had a job in a small grocery store, helping the elderly couple that owned it with picking up the heavier supplies and selling stuff all around. It was a nice life, and you were generally well accepted in the community. The initial pain of your one true love leaving you behind had subsided, but his absence created a hole that you didn’t think was ever going to be filled again. 

There was not a day you didn’t think about him or the letter he had written. You had burned it, like he had instructed you, but not before memorizing it. Every night in bed, you were thinking about it. It was almost a year after he had left you, and you still did not find peace with this sudden departing. And when you finally managed to fall asleep, he was almost always there in your dreams. Most of the time they were actual dreams, of green grass fields, and cuddles and soft kisses stolen as the two of you lay on the floor (he tripped, you lay down next to him so he wouldn’t be alone). 

Sometimes they were nightmares though, and tonight was such a night. Burning buildings, dark clouds of smoke making your eyes tear up and your breaths heavy,  your lover just out of reach as he left you behind. You, sitting on the ground, unable to move, unable to go after him, tears eventually falling from your eyes. This time around, rain was starting to fall, mixing with your tears as they slowly hit your face, creating even more smoke as the rain unsuccessfully tried to diminish the fires. 

You woke up with an actual wet face. It was raining outside, with pretty heavy winds, and you had forgotten to close your window before bed. You stood up to close the window when the very familiar scent of cigarette smoke hit your nose. You blinked a couple of times, your house was too far away from the village to smell anyone’s smoke, and it was literally the middle of the night. You looked through the open window and noticed a very familiar black feathery coat a step away from your front door.

You sprinted downstairs, not even sure what was happening. Maybe you were hallucinating, maybe even dreaming, but when you opened the door, your heart skipped a beat. There he was again, one finger to his lips, motioning for you to stay quiet. He had a sleeping child in his arms. You let him in, too confused to even speak if you wanted to.

You were not sure how to feel exactly. Your first instinct was joy. So happy that he came back, so happy to see him again, alive and well. But the more you thought about it, the more sad and angry you got about him leaving you behind in the first place. All the grief you went through, and only now you were healing again. You weren’t sure how much your heart could take still, and neither of you had spoken up yet. He put the child on your couch, placing his coat over it as a blanket and creating a silent bubble so the two of you could speak all you want without waking the little boy. 

“Y/n… I…,” he started off, hesitant to continue, not sure if he could ever say something to make it up to you, “I know I probably should’ve said something. But… it was for the best.” He took a breath, wanting to continue, but it was then that your brain finally caught up on the situation and your bubble burst. “Should’ve said something? You lied to me, took me here, promised me love, a life together and then just abandoned me! Far away from my family, my friends, everyone and everything I knew, in the middle of nowhere, all by myself! I didn’t get to say goodbye and we barely spent time together.” Your voice broke halfway through the rant, and you were trying so hard not to cry as you spoke. 

He walked over to you, touching your shoulder in an attempt to comfort you, but you didn’t seem to respond to his touch like you used to. You sank to your knees crying, and continued speaking, although is was barely a whisper.

“Why..?  Why did this happen? Just tell me… why did you do this?” His heart was breaking at the sight of you like that. “Because I love you y/n, always have and always will.” He took a deep breath, sitting down in front of you. Close enough to be reassuring in some kind of way, but not so close that it could possibly make you uncomfortable. 

“My brother would have you killed. Your family too. I had to protect you. I thought, that if I just left without really saying anything, you could forget me and start a happy life. I did mean it when I said you’d be better of without me.”

“I was miserable Rosi. You made me think you never loved me… That hurt so much.” “And I am so so so sorry for that… I’d get it if you’d never want to forgive me.” You shook your head, leaping up a little so you could hug him, and he promptly fell over, having the general balance of an elephant on a unicycle, taking you to the floor with him, thankfully he served as a nice pillow. 

You sobbed as he rubbed your back, comforting circles as you repeated the same words over and over: “Never leave again. Promise me. I love you.”

He gets up a little, still holding you close to his chest, kissing the top of your head.

“I promise. I love you too.” You tilted up your head, and Rosi only had to dip down his for your lips to lock. The kiss was so much more intense than any kiss you had shared in the past. There was so much longing, loving, regret, and pure desperation. No fights for dominance, just your mouths fitting together perfectly as if it hadn’t been over a year. You were out of breath when he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. “There is a lot I still need to do. But I won’t leave without telling. I won’t lie about my feelings. And I promise I will always come back.”

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH50

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 50: Witchcraft Sacrifice (XIX)

Isabel's task was obviously more difficult than Ellie's task of finding her sister. According to the hint of the system, this is probably a hidden story related to the main story of the Witchcraft Sacrifice. He even suspected that this was probably a necessary condition for playing the true ending. Isabel's lost memory must have key elements related to this task, and they must find ways to let her uncover that memory.

Qi Leren wondered how to start, so he simply discussed with Ning Zhou to take Isabel back to the temple first. Ning Zhou had no opinion, so the three people quickly returned to the temple.

As soon as they entered the hall, Qi Leren saw Ellie and Aisha looking at the rock wall in panic. Lu Youxin, Xie Wanwan, and Ye Xia were not there.

"What's the matter?" Qi Leren came forward and asked.

Aisha pointed to the stone wall and said, "Just now, new words suddenly appeared on the stone wall..."

When Qi Leren looked intently, there were only two lines on the wall, one at the top and in the middle, telling them that the living witches had gathered and the dead witches were about to wake up. Then at the bottom of this line, near the left side, is the tip of the first witch, that is, the witch candidate whom Qi Leren just went to great lengths to kill. At this time, there is a new line on the right and bottom of this line.

The sentence on the right is like a clue to solve the puzzle: [Kill us all and the altar will appear.]

However, the following sentence is similar to the prompt of the last witch candidate: [I have been awakened, wandering around, and those who kill me will get my wealth.]

After a little thinking, Qi Leren felt that he understood the routine of this task.

Every time a witch is killed, the tip about the new witch will appear below the tip in the previous sentence, and at the same time, a clue related to completing the task will appear. When they kill all the seven witches, there will be seven clues in total, which may be the final altar location or sacrifice method.

"The second witch is not the same as the last one. She should be a random BOSS." Qi Leren said.

Ning Zhou nodded.

Because of the cooling of skills, Qi Leren didn't want to take risks now, so he inquired about Ning Zhou, who looked at his injuries and shook her head.

"Wait for my skills to cool down and then go. It will take another half an hour." Qi Leren whispered close to Ning Zhou's ear, and his warm breath touched her ear. Ning Zhou quickly jumped two meters away.

Qi Leren looked at the goddess whose face was reddish but still pretending to be cold, and felt that he was attacked by cuteness. It was so fun to flirt with the goddess!

Do it again next time! He secretly said to himself.

"There are two more words!" Isabel's yell made Qi Leren wake up and hurry up to check.

Behind the second witch's tip, there appeared a corresponding clue sentence, which said that someone had killed the second witch, and Qi Leren looked at it carefully.

[We used to serve the Old Devil, but now we serve the devil who is in charge of deception.]

Qi Leren suddenly remembered that there seemed to be two players who had signed a demon contract with the Devil of Fraud on the airship heading for the Village of Twilight, which could plunder other people's survival days. Power, Killing, and Fraud; in the background of the Nightmare Game, these three demons replaced the Old Devil and ruled the underworld. So, did the witch who won this mission serve the Lord of Fraud? Maybe the player who finished the final sacrifice in this task will turn into the devil's servant?

Because at that time he couldn't understand it, Qi Leren quietly read out the hint of the third witch.

[Are you willing to sacrifice, have you ever been betrayed, and have you seen the distortion and beauty of love when it’s sprouted into despair? The fire of love, which I wanted but could never have, burned to the end of my life.]

Bloody words are engraved in the stone, flowing with dark red luster, and the twisted love seemed to penetrate into people's hearts through the words. Qi Leren suddenly remembered the resentful words of the witch who was killed with molten iron in the courtyard. She said: "I didn't hurt her... she lied to you..."

She... deceived?

At that time, the situation had been too tense, and Qi Leren hadn’t taken the witch's crazy words to heart. But now, looking back, why was she locked in a coffin and burned alive with hot metal? Who carried out this cruel torture and what was the reason? When Qi Leren was in this task, it was difficult for him to regard these details as ordinary coincidences, and he believed there must be a reason.

What happened in this underground palace when the witch was sacrificed last time? What does this have to do with Isabel's lost memory? Amid all the confusion, Qi Leren couldn't find a clue.

Footsteps came from outside the temple, and all the people on the stone steps looked at the gate. Lu Youxin walked towards them with a straight face. The original neat sacrificial clothes were covered in blood and looked shocking.

Lu Youxin, who had not been killed, seems to have another kind of coldness, like her right hand soaked in blood, and at that time he couldn't tell if it was her own.

"Don't worry." Lu Youxin was glad to see several NPCs retreat again and again, looking frightened. She laughed brightly. "It's not my blood, it's dead meat that has been rotten for three years. In fact, it looks good. I didn't even get a hot shot. It must be because I accidentally broke it too much."

As she spoke, she walked slowly to the front of the stone wall, gently crossed the second witch's prompt with her hand covered with half-dry blood, and read aloud: "Are you willing to sacrifice, have you ever been betrayed, and have you seen the distortion and beauty of love when it’s sprouted into despair? The fire of love, which I wanted but could never have, burned to the end of my life... This feeling of despair is really beautiful."

Lu Youxin seemed possessed and looked at the words on the wall and smiled until... She was pecked by a big blackbird.

"Oh, your bird is quite fierce!" Lu Youxin said angrily as she clutched at the pecked back of her head.

Ning Zhou whistled and called the bird back. With such an interruption, the atmosphere was much better, and the oppressive feeling of being pinched at the heart also dissipated. After a little thought, Qi Leren asked, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I saw two beauties fighting on the road, and I went up to do a good deed. Gee, I'm really kind-hearted." Lu Youxin boasted shamelessly and looked up and down at Qi Leren and Ning Zhou. Her expression was a bit subtle. "Mind if I ask, how do you know each other?"

Shit, Lu Youxin knew he was a man! If this kind of thing was exposed by others instead of admitting it himself, it would be easy for the goddess to think that he had ulterior motives! He also wanted to make friends with the goddess with the convenience of being a girl first, and then give the goddess a surprise when they’re out of the instance world! With the foundation of experiencing tribulations together, the goddess should accept him better then! Even if he couldn't be a couple, he can be a good spare tire. He will strive to be a spare tire that trains by himself!

Qi Leren, who was nervous, naturally didn't find any unusual behaviour with Ning Zhou. He was busy trying to wink at Lu Youxin, and couldn't wait to send his inner cry to Lu Youxin's mind: My lord, please, don't expose me!

"Well, we met in the woods, and Ning Zhou saved me several times..." Although Qi Leren actually heard Chen Baiqi mention Ning Zhou when he was in the Village of Dusk, Chen Baiqi didn't tell him the name of Ning Zhou at that time, but only said that it was a cold beauty. This description is really accurate. It really was a cold and beautiful goddess!

Lu Youxin’s eyes crazily jumped, and she didn't have to look to know that Ning Zhou was staring at her with murderous eyes -- telling her to shut up and roll away. Thinking about it, Ning Zhou didn’t want to expose his gender at this time and be regarded as a guy with bad intentions by his favorite cute girl. And now, the quest environment was so dangerous, it would be bad if Qi Leren had ill feelings for him. Moreover, he is still equipped with the skill card "Silent Mediation". Once he opens his mouth, he has to start from scratch. He’ll try to explain it slowly after the quest is over.

However, Lu Youxin, who has already seen through everything, can only respond with a smile to two people who believe that they are straight men, but in others' eyes, they’re lesbians, but in reality, they’re actually being gay: You told me to shut up, so don't blame me.

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The author has something to say: PS: "You are bringing about your own destruction." BY Lu Youxin Juju. PPS: Witch's tips and clues have confused even me. Here's the following: [ The living witches gather together, and the dead witches are ready to go. ] 1. Those who sleep in rusty iron, burn my body with fire, nourish the vegetation of hell with blood, and whoever wakes me up will be executed by hanging. ——Tips after killing witches: Kill us all and the altar will appear. 2. I've been awakened and wandering around, and those who kill me will get my wealth. ——We used to serve the Old Devil, but now we serve the devil who is in charge of deception. 3. Are you willing to sacrifice, have you ever been betrayed, and have you seen the distortion and beauty of love when it’s sprouted into despair? The fire of love, which I wanted but could never have, burned to the end of my life. ——？ ? ?

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Editor’s Notes: Chapter co-edited by Miko

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[sodone-withlife]

many faces

here’s something that has been in the works for a few weeks that I finally got myself to finish today. I was watching some edits on YouTube (as one does) and since Aaron Hotchner lives in my head rent-free, a line about death really just hit me, so here you go: almost 4k words about Hotch and Death

All credit to the writers of GoT for the quotes (even though they seriously fucked up season 8), and the last few lines in the blurb are very inspired by Arya Stark’s storyline in GoT seasons 5 and 6. Hope you all enjoy!

warning: canonical character death

word count: 3.7k words

There is only one god, and his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to Death: not today.

- Syrio Forel (Game of Thrones s1e6)

He entered the world in the dead of night towards the start of winter, after the mother spent over twenty hours in labor. The father, passed out after too many drinks, was woken in time to hear the ear-splitting cry of the newborn. Faced with the dark eyes and dark hair that was so like his own, he could only turn away, hating the newborn’s innocence with a burning passion.

When the father gave closing statements only hours later that day, exhaustion overtook him. And so, the mother locked herself and the newborn in the nursery in fear of the vengeful phantom that alcohol made of the man who vowed to love and to cherish the woman.

Thus the next years were spent like this, the mother locking the door to the toddler’s room, reading story after story and waiting out the phantom. The innocence of youth was the only barrier protecting the toddler, one which dissipated the moment he turned four.

Their first dance was when he was eight and had collapsed in class after having spent hours struggling to breathe through the cracked ribs and move through the concussion that had been gifted to him by his father. When he woke up in the hospital, it was to the sight of both of his parents watching over him worriedly, but one’s expression was too vacant, and the other was hiding a familiar rage.

That wasn’t the last time his father put him in the hospital. It was easy to write off—who wouldn’t believe the only lawyer in town, who had done so much for his community?

Those that didn’t believe kept their mouth shut for fear of their reputation being sullied.

The little brother, young as he was, had no idea the power that he possessed. Ever since his birth, the mother’s skin remained unblemished and free from the bruising that was often there before, when she only had one child.

It was easy to play to the reputation the town had given the eldest. Silent and cold, stealing the joy out of everyone near him just as the dark of the Winter steals the light of the Summer, just as the father stole pieces of his being with every blow and every hospital visit.

He had already danced with Death many times before in his short life thus far, but now they were here to take his father away. He stood at the gravestone a few days later with a bottle of vodka he knew his father had hidden amongst his desk drawers. Now the eldest male in the household, the responsibility fell on his back and dragged him down into the depths of vodka and glass shards.

His Spring found him lying there, passed out with cuts on his arms as his mind was elsewhere, dancing with Death. She was relieved to see that they weren’t deep, and so she called her sister to help her bring him back to their house.

When he woke up with a pounding headache and throbbing arms, he saw the relief of his Spring. As she spent time with him in the days after Death took his father and reminded him of the light in the world with each dark secret he confessed, he fell in love all over again, just as the Spring coaxes the Winter into the light.

Later, he would think of the mottled red that had stained his father’s face and the unpleasantly warm, alcohol-tainted breath that washed over him as he stood in front of the wild, untamed man and took the abuse that was sent towards him as he was blamed for the man’s failures. He would think of the wide-eyed joy that his little brother explored the world with and his mother’s skin that had remained unblemished since his little brother came into the world.

He wouldn’t be touching vodka ever again.

He spent more time at her house, no matter how out of place he always felt amidst a family that was so close and open to each other, and slowly, his Spring taught him about the light of life.

They were lessons he strove to keep in the forefront of his mind in college and law school, even as he stared cheap alcohol and razor blades in the face with shaking hands. He went dancing with Death once, early in college, but he remembered her fear and worry despite the throbbing pain he felt.

He was dumping the alcohol down the drain as soon as he could and making it a habit to put his razors out of sight. He made sure she never found out about that one.

It was freeing to be in college and law school—Death did not reach him there. But soon he was graduating with a Juris Doctor degree and throwing himself into prosecuting crimes with a vengeance.

His father had once walked the same halls he was walking, and that was something he was reminded of each time he was addressed by his—his father’s—last name. Death walked in with each case, a silent spectator as he worked long hours to get offenders put away, to get justice for the victims who were sent into Death’s waiting arms far too early in life.

But it wasn’t always that easy. He knew that going in, but it didn’t take away that terrible feeling as he watched a jury buy into the misogynistic song and dance the defense put up in a rape case. As the defense uncovered some shady investigation on the police’s part and managed to get the whole case thrown out. As he watched a young man get sentenced for killing his abusive parents. As he watched an older brother get sentenced for assaulting a police officer that had assaulted his younger sister while that same police officer walked free with only his badge stripped and a year of house arrest.

Death walked the halls with him, with each case that he tried and with each new victim whose name and face he kept in the forefront of his mind. Young as he was, he was already one of the more jaded prosecutors in the office, His work ethic earned him numerous nicknames, and talk flew around about him potentially becoming the youngest district attorney in the county.

But the children…

The final straw came and went. Eight months after a serial pedophile walked free, with four years of prosecution under his belt and talk about him becoming DA, the youngest in county history—he threw it away and started over at the Academy.

A fresh start. He loved Virginia, but he fell in more love with the Pacific Northwest. The cool weather, the beauty of the temperate rainforests, and the scenic coastline were so different compared to the ghosts that haunted him back east. His and Haley’s first anniversary was a memory he would cherish forever; the picture never left his wallet

Two years of trying to solve cases before they got as bad as they were when they came across his desk in the prosecutor’s office and being part-time in the local field office SWAT unit hadn’t snuffed out the strange love he had for the region. Though he was more often calling Death to him to sweep the offenders he was hunting away, he did come close to dancing with Death a few more times—he was quite good at close quarters, but his true specialty was distance.

It was oddly comforting, though, to know that even as changes continued to happen, some things remained the same.

Only a week after his superior gave him a heads up about potential recruitment to the tactical team out in Quantico, he met David Rossi in San Francisco on a five-year-old cold case. He didn’t miss the look of surprise that appeared on the older agent’s face in reaction to his theory about the killer.

He had heard of the BAU and had listened to some of their lectures at the Academy about profiling—the confusion he felt at hearing about the years of training members of the team went through was reignited when Rossi started waxing poetic about an instinctual ability weeks later when they were at a bar after the case was declared cold.

That theory he had presented when he first met Rossi didn’t feel like an instinctual gift, and he said as much to the other agent.  Nevertheless, he and Haley were back in Virginia just months later—she was teaching at a local high school and he was the newest member of the BAU.

And so he danced, and he learned of the many faces Death had. He danced as Gideon started grooming him for leadership weeks after Rossi retired. He danced as Morgan brought his unending stubbornness and heart of gold. He danced as JJ and Garcia brought reminders of the light that was still in the world. He danced as Reid brought his own brand of uniqueness and painful reminders of his young age.

He danced with Death, who he could see peeking out from the eyes of the unsubs he and the team ended up facing off with. He danced more than he ever had, but his Spring kept him from falling into Death’s waiting arms. His Spring and the prospect of binging a child into the world together kept him going as Adrian Bale took out six agents with one bomb, sent him to the hospital for shrapnel wounds, and sent Gideon into a post-traumatic tailspin.

It was fine in the beginning; the expectation the Gideon would be returning made the long hours bearable. Six months passed, and he came back, but he didn’t return to leadership. Whispers that trickled down from up high made it clear that this designation was permanent.

They both thought they could make it work. Their child came into the world just days after he wove his web around Death and stared them down through a sniper rifle. He took a month off, and came back to face Death once more—only they were wearing the face of a man who killed multiple families.

He came close to another dance when Death wore a face that was nearly identical to his own—all that was different was their walks of life. He opened up more directly to Vincent Perotta than to anyone else that was currently on the team; Gideon could only profile, and he only explicitly told Rossi and his Spring about what his home life had been like.

Life went on, though with how often he danced with Death, it couldn’t really be considered living.

He danced, and he watched.

He watched as Elle danced with Death for the first time and was permanently changed because of his inaction.

He watched as Reid danced with Death for the first time and nearly fell into their arms because of his inaction.

He watched as Death taunted Gideon again and again until the man finally left to search for the fire that had been stolen from within him.

He watched, and he danced

He watched as his Winter darkness slowly crept towards Spring and their child, as his darkness became so oppressive that Haley finally left when he couldn’t stop himself from running to dance with Death. And when the light of Spring (not his, not anymore, she never was—) left, his darkness took over.

He watched as Death claimed Kate in an explosion of fire and debris and whirling him along in the quickest of dances, and he couldn’t help but envision his Spring in her position. He wasn’t blind, he knew how similar the two women looked, he knew what the team whispered behind his back, but it didn’t matter to him. All that mattered was the phone call he was going to have to make to Haley, who had gotten along so well with Kate but now had to face the reality of her death.

Colorado was a new hell for him, as he felt Death’s oppressive presence all over the compound that trapped two of his agents inside. When the buildings were engulfed in flames and debris, he could only sigh in relief that Death didn’t see fit to take his agents today.

When he met Death once more, they were speaking through Megan Kane. Hearing the confidence the young woman had in him, feeling the exhausted resignation she felt at her impending death…

The press got the tip just days after the SIM card was examined by the lab.

Death waits for nobody, however, and his ten-year-old demon woke up to shove onto him more responsibility and more guilt as ten people were found shot to death on the bus in Boston.

He had gotten the profile so right but still so wrong, and Death laughed in his face.

Death laughed as he was stabbed nine times and was in their clutches for thirty minutes before the doctors managed to shake him loose from their arms. They danced and they danced, and Death laughed as he found the bloody picture of Spring and the child.

And he found that he couldn’t wait to see the face Death chose to wear one more time if only to show him just how angry he was, how deeply he felt despite the mask that he put up. His team had no idea how close he was to the edge, and he didn’t let them see the depths of madness he had fallen into.

Even over twenty years out of college and he was still compulsively hiding his razors, but now he couldn’t be more glad but also more hateful for the habit.

But Death gives no respite, and nine months to the day Spring went into hiding with the child, he found himself unraveling quicker than he ever had as he was forced to listen as Spring was stolen from the world.

When the team finally got to the old house, they watched as the tenuous control he held over himself was ripped straight out of his grasp in a bloodthirsty, grief-stricken rage. His hands didn’t feel like his own, and he couldn’t place Jack into JJ’s care fast enough for fear that the hands of a killer would destroy the last precious light in his darkness.

Those same hands felt the unnatural cold that was already setting in on Spring, and his mind froze.

Should he have stopped dancing?

Could he have stopped dancing?

Would it have done anything?

Would it have saved her?

He lived only to make sure Spring lived on in their son. He couldn’t give up chasing Death, but he made sure to keep his son at the forefront of his mind, and if that meant staying behind and coordinating and the precinct, that was fine. It was a change that would have been asked of him when JJ was plucked from the team by the Pentagon, but with the whispered he’s been hearing in meetings, he couldn’t help but feel like she was walking straight into Death’s waiting arms.

There wasn’t any time to worry, however, nor was there time to marvel at the fact that he had made it this far after Spring was ripped from his weak grasp, as he soon had to send Emily away and pretend that she had been claimed by the being he was so familiar with. Barely over a year, and three women who had changed his life so drastically were all ripped from his desperate grip, and his team was barely keeping it together.

It was no longer a dance, but a chase. He chased Death, almost as if his efforts would somehow bring them back and fix everything. He closed himself off and kept chasing because otherwise he would crash and burn and take everything around him down with him.

He kept chasing, all the way to Pakistan and all the way back to face the wall of anger and betrayal that he knew was justified. He kept on going, as Beth came into his life and as Emily left to find her own equilibrium. He didn’t stop, not even when Maeve Donovan was murdered in a manner eerily similar to his own unraveling years ago, not even when he spoke to Sean for the first time in years only to lose him to the criminal justice system, but just weeks later he was given the option once more: he could fight the futile fight, or he could stop and protect his team from afar, standing guard just as he’s done for so many years now.

There was a brief moment that he wondered if he should have taken the section chief job, but just minutes later he was feeling the world tilt as his legs gave out from under him and he collapsed on the floor of the conference room, the pain in his abdomen that had been slowly burning for the past few days turning into a roaring fire that threatened to consume him from the inside out.

And how could he describe the tumultuous feelings of utter joy and desolate grief he felt when he saw Haley sitting in that dress she had worn on their first anniversary in the Pacific Northwest, the dress she wore in the picture that remained in his wallet for nearly twenty years? How could he describe the utter terror he felt when Foyet crashed their time together and shot her once again, or the renewed grief when he realized this would be the last vivid memory he would have of the Spring who had taught his Winter about the light?

But he woke up with the lingering feel of Haley’s lips on his own to see Garcia and her always brightly-colored clothing that matched her ever-optimistic outlook on life that was often a blessed reprieve from the evil that consumed their jobs, and he remembered why he stayed.

Not only to chase Death, but for the family he realized he had found along the way.

But just as life must go on, Death must as well.

Soon he was calling in favors while learning about the horror JJ had gone through during her stint with Pentagon. Soon his paranoia was reignited as he and the team tried to figure out just how deep the corruption went in that police force all the while Reid was hospitalized with a neck wound. Even as he was reminded of the dangers of the chase when he drove to his old mentor’s cabin in the middle of the night, he kept chasing, because, for all that he knew he had a family in the team, he knew it wouldn’t last.

It couldn’t last.

It was a truth he was all too intimately familiar with.

So he chased, and he chased, and he chased.

And Death laughed and taunted him, throwing him into a mental tailspin through Peter Lewis.

Perhaps that was the moment when he finally lost himself: sitting against the desk, paralyzed as his family was murdered in front of him.

Or maybe it was when he forced himself to play along to Lewis’s sick fantasy and pretend that he was going to shoot at his team.

Was it pretend, though?

Nothing felt real after that—one moment he was grounded in reality and the next he was hearing that awful growling noise right behind him and seeing that terrible Glasgow smile as the hairs on his neck stood up. But, as always, he never let the team know just how far he’s fallen, and he kept going and protecting and chasing with the whole of his being.

He threw himself into work with a vengeance when Garcia was being targeted by the darknet hit group and when Morgan and Savannah were being threatened by the vindictive Montolo Sr, knowing all too well what was at stake.

When Morgan told him about his intent to leave the bureau, he could only feel relief that Morgan wouldn’t fall down the path he himself chose to go down all those years ago, when he first realized he could never stop dancing with Death. He told him as such in that hospital room, and the two exchanged a look, one that was borne from years of respect and kinship that had formed between the two as a result of an understanding only two profoundly hurt yet fiercely protective beings could have.

But life goes on, the moment broke, and he went back to chasing, only to be stopped right in his tracks by Death once again when Metro SWAT stormed his apartment and arrested him at gunpoint right in front of his son. Now, Death wore the faces of all of those who swore revenge against him and tried to break his will.

They very early succeeded, too—it was the closest he felt to unraveling since that terrible day seven years ago, but he knew he couldn’t without taking the whole team down with him. He couldn’t let the seams burst open.

Not yet.

Not until he found out Peter Lewis escaped.

Not until he found out Peter Lewis was baiting his team while working to fulfill a vendetta against him.

Not until he found out the Peter Lewis had watched Jack at one of his soccer games, and not until he found out that Peter Lewis had stalked Jack to his school.

So he planned, he made calls, and he wrote letters to the team and his family.

One night, Aaron Hotchner left those letters on his office desk alongside his resignation letter and credentials, the one thing that truly defined him for nearly twenty years.

Without it, he was no one.

One night, after tucking his son into bed, no one slipped out of his apartment with both of his service weapons and a sparsely packed bag and disappeared into the night, one goal in mind.

Hunt.

I know death. He’s got many faces. I look forward to seeing this one.

- Arya Stark (Game of Thrones s8e2)

[power-of-plot]

The warmth of the soul.

I put a lot of effort into this bc we’re nearly 100 followers! Again i can’t thank you enough, i’ll try to write all my posts like this and improve :)).

Warnings: Sadness? Slight spicyness. (at the end, it’s more emotional than spicy but i put the warning just in case.)

Summary: To celebrate your time together you decide to go to a turistic place of natural hot springs, the circunstances end up making a much more enjoyable moment than it was expected to be.

Word count:10.5k 

Gn reader!

A couple birds flew above the heads of a couple, one with an odd hair color of red in the left and white on the right while the other had (hair color and length), their palms pressed against each other as they interwined their fingers staring down at the water body mere inches before their feet. Breaking the contact of their hand they took a step back from the other to take off their clothes revealing swimsuits underneath them, a smile crept into both’s faces at the sight, all left to do was to make themselves comfortable in that small natural pleasure.

The sun shone bright in the light blue morning sky as any small cloud was nowhere to be seen, the air was cold and, logically, so was the water..

“Eek! It’s a little cold hehe.. i’ve seen many videos of people going head-in into freezing water so we should just get used to it, right?” You said with a nevous smile as the skin of your leg bristled at the wind brushing over the cold water dripping from it.

“You’re right, besides, it shouldn’t be too deep” Shoto said calmly as he took a small jump into the water splashing some out to your feet, indeed it was cold, even someone like him who didn’t mind the lack of warmth flinched at the low temperature. “I-it’s fine, i doubt this is a dangerous temperature”

Seeing his stoic expression you supposed it was bearable so you followed him in. He wanted to rest his arms on the rim of the pool but what comfort would that bring if his skin bristled more than it already was at the slightest exposure to the surface? You tried your best to not move or shiver underwater to keep what little warm you had left, both remained still for an awkward minute internally debating wich was worse: to get out and freeze instantly or stay in the water freezing but waiting to get used to it. This was supposed to be something relaxing however it seemed you had entered an icy prison.

“Sho.. should we cheat?” You said with a small stutter as your teeth chattered softly

“...Why should we cheat on each other..?” He replied with a concerned look, once again to your delight taking things literally.

“N-no hehe i mean.. what if ins-instead of enjoying this the “natural” way we warm it up? With your quirk, if your comfortable with doing so that is! I know how you feel about your left side, i wouldn’t want to force you into something you-”

“I’ll do it” He cut off all your rambling bluntly but with a smile. “Seriously?” You gave him a dumbfounded stare tilting your head as a little excitement flooded your system “I’m sure about it, thank you for taking in mind my feelings” If only the warmth of his smile was more than metaphorical neither of you would feel like lobsters in the supermarket (lmao sorry for my lack of seriousness but i couldn’t get it out of my head) “I’ve done something similar during my training with myself in water multiple times so it shouldn’t be risky” 

“..Please, tell me if i’m overheating the water..” His voice changed as he made his request, despite it was imperative language his tone made it seem like a beg from someone in deep vulnerability, one look at him and the surrounding was enough to tell why: his left side, soon hot water and someone he loved, in a way all he once feared was right there.

“Of course but i know you would never hurt me, it’s your quirk, it’s under your control” Your reasuring smile gently pushed him into concentration as he took a deep breath, his gaze fixing on the water as his body temperature slowly rised, he was so lost in the thought of accidentally burning you the heating rate was far too slow to be felt at the distance you were from him. "Can i get closer?" You asked as your lips and nails were taking a blue tint, seeing your state he quietly nodded trying to speed up the heating to a rate that stayed under his parameters of "safe". 

Each limb you moved felt as if thin layers of ice were covering it, your toes brushed against cold uneven stone beneath them with each step and small ripples you provoqued damped the dry skin of your shoulders. As you switfly approached Shoto your shivers died down thanks to the sweet caress of heat all over your body, being right infront of him no coldness could be felt, how would it be to have contact with the source of heat then?

"Sho... can i touch you?"

I don't want to burn them.I don't want to hurt them.I can't burn them.I'm not going to burn them.I'm not going to burn them. You had touched and cuddled on his left side, you had touched his scar before but never when he was using his quirk, though the remainings of his old self begged it would never come to that he knew he'd have to overcome his fear and underestimation to his control over himself, for both. The heterochromic male quietly nodded preparing to feel your touch as his hands fidgeted underwater, your hand got closer and closer to his left shoulder and then

"Woah!"

"D-did i burn you?!"

Almost like a reflex sharp ice sprouted from the natural rock edges behind his back and around the pool, not exclusively on the surface but underwater as well, thin and easy to break layers of ice formed at the top of the water and his skin.

"No it's okay i'm alright! you didn't burn me, you surprised me!" You raised your hand ignoring the cold to show him your fully unharmed palm, any possible dread flooding his eyes washed off after he found no wounds, he released a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding.

"What were you surprised about..?" His shy voice asked

"You. I wasn't expecting it to feel that way, it was just..." You couldn't think of any words to describe your delight at the sensation of his warm soft skin, you gesticulated with both hands as your mouth was ajar with your lack of ideas "I'm happy you're learning to be okay with this part of yourself... i think it's- beautiful"

"That cursed left side of his looks more like him everyday, i don't think i can't raise that kid anymore... his left side is.. unbearable."

At the recesses of his heart where fire still wildly burnt everything on it's way, a storm of warm ice stopped the scorching destruction, gelid ice of hatred and avertion became one another with frost of love and longing. It all melted off to remove the weed of sour memories allowing new flowers to bloom and damaged roots to heal, was this what feeling affection towards his whole self truly felt like? This is how it felt coming from you?

"...Thank you." As he smiled tenderly anew, a small droplet sliding down his face freezed on his cheek before it was able to get to his chin, resulting in a diminute crystal clear orbe adhered to his skin.

The sun raised to a fortunate angle, as the sunlight touched the ice he had created, multiple rainbow reflexions proyected over the rock and the skin of both, his frozen tear produced a dim sparkle as the light remarked his fine features and pigmentless locks of hair, the image before you was beyond unique.. so must he be thinking to himself about you.

Slowly but surely you moved towards him to gently wrap your arms around his neck and torso, resting your chin over the crook of his neck with a sigh. “I’ll always be by your side whenever you need help, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I love you Shoto.. i’ll always will.” 

Heat. You were feeling heat coming from his body.

Both his arms wrapped around you holding you close and tight, his left hand rested on the back of your head while his thumb moved in soothing circles over your hair, you could feel the tension on his shoulders as he did so. “I love you too y/n.. thank you for everything, for falling in love with me.. and my quirk.” He planted a peck on your forehead “Quirks are hereditary, almost anyone can have one nowdays.. that’s not what i fell for” You drift away from his neck looking into his ocean and onix eyes, he in response raised an eyebrow asking for further explanation.

“It’s the warmth of your soul.

You are so special.. so kind.. so caring, one day you’re going to be a great hero everyone looks up to, i know so”

His ears but overall his cheeks adopted a peachy color at your words, out of all the times you unintentionally soothed the pain of the many cracks of his heart this, only surpassed by your amazement and appreciation towards his quirk, was the strongest blow you had given so far in the half year of your relationship. Once more, he felt a small something damping his cheeks.. followed by another one, and another one.

"I'll make all people feel as protected as i feel when i'm around you." His left hand moved to cup your cheek before it descended to your chin, his fingers tipped it delicately to close the gap between your lips, slowly, almost teasingly.

"Slow burn, huh..?" He closed his eyes as he felt the back of his head being pushed forward, connecting your lips in a passionate kiss leading into aimeless contact towards the face, the neck, the lips of each other. He radiated a pulse of heat with every single one of your caressess, to warm your hands up so they’d match his temperature he placed one of your palms over his temple, pressing kisses and pecks from your risk to your neck, leaving small hot patches over your body. You in exchange do a bigger move sliding your fingertips down over his swim t-shirt to pinch a small part, asking for permission, he confirms with a nod grasping the back of your hand, his toned chest and abdomen were quickly uncovered as the fabric smoothly slid up underwater, he couldn’t help a light smirk as you admired the result of all his harsh training. 

To think the mere image of the body he had avertion of in the past could enlighten someone as much as it did you, it could make him doubt of the meaning of many words, this feeling couldn’t be just simple sweet descriptions.

You gave him a whole new perspective on what it mean to be complete, what it meant to claim things that went against any logic.. you taught him to not be afraid of giving into his instincts. That day you complemented each other, not in a animalistic way, that was barely the tip of the iceberg, for the first time in years the feeling of protection and strenght, of being with someone dear to him and manifesting something as personal as his left side, cohexisted in his heart.. neither had to be pushed aside for the other to exist, he felt freedom and love. You realized just how much he cared for you and your well being, the way he might have seen his hands as claws that would burn you to ashes, how heavy was the weight of the path he had chosen.. what great treasure you had found, you swore to yourself you’d keep it and it’s flame alive for as long as fate allowed you to.

Holy crap.. i’m kinda proud of myself. It’s official i’m gonna open the requests tomorrow :D! Thanks for reading!!

[rovewritesit]

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 5) John Deacon x Reader Series

GIF: @johndeac​

Apologies for the delay! Work has been an absolute shit fest. The big show I’m on got canceled, but we still have to finish the season at some point so oof. Also, my boss is moving to Italy? Pray for my sanity, folks.

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Strong language. Feelings of anxiety. Angst (oooo!)

Chapter Notes: I've rewritten this chapter so many times that I don't even know what it is anymore. Angst is hard, my dudes! Why can't it all be flirty glances and quick banter?!

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Songs Mentioned:

Moonlight in Vermont - Frank Sinatra

Blues Run The Game - Jackson C. Frank

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @brianmays-hair @deacyblues @squishy-geckboye @hae-bee @aprilaady @theresalexis @uglipotata72829

- - - - - - -

September 1982 - The Music Inn, New York City

“Bri, get a load of all these fucking maracas!”

Brian makes his way over to where Roger is gazing at a massive wall adorned with shaker-filled shelves, dipping his head low to avoid the sea of guitars hanging from the ceiling above his long frame. 

Queen was back in New York for their first-ever appearance on Saturday Night Live. Finding time in between the intensive rehearsals during the week had been hard, but Freddie insisted they would make the time for his favorite New Yorkers. When the time was finally found, he, of course, was unavailable, off antiquing at some of Manhattan’s luxury spots but promised to meet up with the group later on. 

The Limbs managed to snag the other three men for a trip to the historic Music Inn. Nestled in the heart of Greenwich Village, the dingy treasure trove was located a stone’s throw away from the city’s most prominent folk clubs that boasted discovering the talents of Bob Dylan and Simon & Garfunkel. 

You were quite confident that your newfound English friends would love it. Every visible space was stuffed or covered with an abundance of musical paraphernalia. So much so that you had been in the store dozens of times without ever finding out what color the walls were. Its layout was always changing to fit the ever-growing amount of items displayed, the familiar specks of dust that sparkled in the sunlight being the only constants.

“Hey, Jeff!” Steve calls out to the eccentric owner. “Where are these from?” 

The aging hippie shuffles over. “Mostly South America,” he explains in his usual gravelly drawl. “A customer brought back some new shekeres from West Africa last week that have a nice sound to them.” Jeff motions up the sprawling wall. Roger immediately grabs a few, testing the sounds out against the ones Steve is already playing with - the two of them like kids in a candy store.

Jeff had been a good friend to The Limbs since their early teen years, having let the group spend hours on end attempting to learn every exotic instrument they could get their hands on. Anyone who entered the shop could count on him as a spirit guide of sorts to a wealth of worldly music. And while The Limbs had kept their first album fairly plain in context, they were already itching, particularly Steve, to experiment on the next album. Whenever that would be.

Now that a few more of their singles were moderately successful hits, Columbia Records was focused on milking it for all that it was worth. The execs were currently setting up an extensive American tour of the Mid - West Coast part of the country, all the major cities they hadn’t hit on their first tour. 

“Y/N,” Jeff gestures for you to follow him, probably excited to show you a new find seeing as you were always eager and willing to give them a test run. You make your way down the staircase lined with large balalaikas to the musty lower level filled with various sound equipment and electronic instruments. 

“What on god’s green earth would you use that for?” you hear Rich’s deep voice implore. He rolls his eyes as Eddie moons over an ornately engraved mandolin.

“It worked for Rod Stewart, didn’t it? That mandolin solo in Maggie May shredded,” he retorts. “Plus, look how pretty she is!”

You watch your feet as you carefully maneuver around the amps and pedals haphazardly strewn around the floor, following Jeff to the back of the room - taking special care to step around John, who is crouched low looking over the wiring of a particularly grody-looking amp.

Upon entering the store, he had taken off on his own right away, immediately entranced by the sprawling selection all about him. But you had caught the worn, far-off look in his eyes when he greeted you with a short wave earlier. You try not to let the lack of attention bother you as you pass him without so much as a glance up. The heartfelt conversation you had the last time they were in town had rooted itself in your memory. Spilling your guts like you did that night wasn't a common occurrence for you- figuring you were already easy enough to read due to the panicked expression often etched onto your face. 

Why him? Even your bandmates weren’t privy to the babblings of your intimate thoughts. It couldn’t just be his boyish tooth-gap or the pleasing line of his straight nose. Maybe it was the confusing mix of nerves and comfort you felt whenever in his presence. It was unlike the persistent butterflies you were used to when around attractive humans. Feeling instead like a gentle humming that you somehow sensed everywhere at once.

You’re brought out of your swimming thoughts as Jeff clears his throat loudly to get your attention. You must’ve been staring blankly at the floor for quite a while. He gestures to a bulky item draped in a tarp, as you give him a small apologetic smile.

“Oh yes, very pretty,” you smirk at him.

He rolls his eyes as he attempts to sweep the tarp off in a dramatic reveal, but in reality, it gets stuck. The man scrambles to uncover it, and as soon as it peeks out, you gasp.

“A theremin!”

You gaze at the ordinary-looking wooden cabinet in awe. It must be old, seeing as they were mostly compact now.

“You haven’t had one in ages,” you marvel, locking eyes with Jeff.

“Which means it’s been a while since I’ve heard your ambient screeches plaguing these walls.”

Your finger points to him in protest. “Hey, I was getting better until you sold the last one on me!”

“Well, I didn’t see you making a bid for it,” he playfully shrugs.

“Let’s hear those screeches!” Eddie yells out. Rich claps his hands excitedly beside him. You poke your tongue out at them, but your eyes catch John’s, and you quickly close your mouth. Still crouched, he looks on with mild curiosity wrinkled on his brow. He lightly raises them at you in silent encouragement.

You slowly make your way behind the instrument as Jeff plugs it into the wall. Turning one of the knobs, it hums to life as you check the metal attachments protruding from the wood frame. It really is old. You have no idea how to even begin to calibrate it. Taking a deep breath, you timidly bring your hands up in position.

It lets out a high pitched wail that burns your ears from being so close, and you yank your hands away from the field of current. Eddie and Rich erupt into cheers while John slowly stands, moving a bit closer to see the mechanism properly.

Jeff lightly pushes you back towards it in a gentle coax. This time you slowly bring your curled hand a reasonable distance away from the pitch antenna, keeping your other low on the one for volume. Squeezing your eyes shut to focus on the tone, you slowly move until you find your starting note. It was all about sense memory and your ears to fill the gaps with nothing to physically touch. 

Uncurling your fingers, you begin the opening notes of Moonlight in Vermont - the one song you had somewhat taught yourself through hours of painstaking practice. You fumble a bit, eliciting a squeak or two while trying to remember the hand placements that produce the proper notes. While you might “play” many instruments, you were middling at many, master of none. You make it through the first verse before your head starts to pound from your jaw-clenched concentration.

“Fuck the mandolin, let’s get that for the next album!” you hear Rich tell Eddie.

“Ah, yes, you’ve heard Pet Sounds. Now prepare your ears for The Limb’s sophomore attempt, Ghost Sounds,” 

Their banter is drowned out as John chimes in. “How on earth did you learn that?” You meet his struck expression and shrug lightly.

“Don’t downplay it, Bun. It’s pretty fucking cool,” Rich assures you. “And her knowing ASL also helps,” he explains to John.

“Sign language?”

“Oh yeah, Y/N’s mom is deaf,” Eddie reveals bluntly. You shoot him a look.

“Sorry, hard of hearing,” he holds his hands out in defense.

John is silent for a moment as he mulls the information over, causing a speck of tension in the room.

“Your mother’s never heard you sing?” he asks incredulously as if he can’t possibly imagine it.

You give a small smile. “No, I guess she hasn’t. But I was in the car with her the first time I heard us on the radio. I turned the treble down and the bass all the way up and she bopped along to the beat pretty well.”

Rich chuckles lightly at the story. “She’s always been hoot, hasn’t she?”

You nod gently. “Aptly put. That’s how she describes herself as a matter of fact.”

John shoves his hands deep in his pockets as he takes a look around the room, his cheeks a light pink. You're unsure of why.

“I’m gonna head out for a quick smoke,” you decide, patting Jeff on the shoulder. “I know how you hate it.”

He gives your hand a light squeeze before you make your way upstairs, hoping to catch John’s eyes, but he avoids yours yet again. 

A pleasing blend of harmonies can be heard as you hit the landing. You peek your head around a large assortment of bongos to find Brian strumming a small acoustic on the other side of the store. Roger, Steve, and Lawrence all crammed around, the four of them singing a rendition of Blues Run the Game. 

Your heart warms at the sight, remembering the times when you and the boys would sit around a campfire and croon out the same sad tune. Eddie and Rich will be pissed they missed this. Steve notices your presence and silently ticks his head for you to come join. You hold up your pack of Marlborough’s in response to him before finally slipping out the front, trying your best to not jingle the adorned bells too much.

A cool breeze promptly passes through the knit of your sweater. It’s late September, and New York has begun to really cool off. You pull down the sleeves to cover your hands as you light your cigarette, wincing a bit on the first inhale. It was a leftover habit from your college days- scarcely used, only in social situations, or to get out of awkward ones.

Taking in the familiar street, you can’t help but giggle at the day you were having. To be showing Queen around your old hangout still felt absurd. No matter how genuinely they seemed to like the company of your band, you couldn’t fathom them wanting to spend the day with you all. Weren’t there bigger and better musicians in this city to be hanging out with? 

The sound of a lighter flicking to life comes from your left, and you turn. John leans against the faded wall as he takes a drag, his eyes trained on the dirty sidewalk. 

“I’m sorry, i- if I offended you with my comment about your mother,” he professes quietly. 

Your brows shoot up in confusion. “What?”

“We have a friend whose father is deaf. A lovely man. I shouldn’t have been so insensitive.” He sighs, finally turning to face you. “It’s just that the memory of hearing your voice for the first time isn’t something one can easily shake. I mean that in a way that- it’s just a shame really. For her to not be able to share in it when it’s something so...” he looks as if he’s racking his brain for an appropriate word. “Well, singular.”

You suck in a breath at his words. In all your years, you had never gotten that as a response to your mother’s disability. It was mostly a polite, “Oh, really? I’m so sorry to hear that.” His honesty and consideration for your feelings knock the present hum of your body up to 100. 

You flinch as gentle burning hits your fingers, and you look down at your forgotten cigarette, quickly flicking it to the ground before crushing it under your heel. John shifts his weight from side to side, never taking his eyes off of you while he waits for you to collect your thoughts.

“I write out my lyrics for her so she can read them as poems,” you state simply, smiling up at him. “Sometimes she makes up her own melodies and sings them around the house. It’s not the easiest on the ears, but she’s pretty inventive.” His eyes crinkle as he returns your grin - his first genuine one of the day.

“So she’s heard music before?”

“Oh yeah. She has nerve deafness, which didn’t start till her late twenties. She actually spent a lot of time around here when she was younger. Bitter End and The Gaslight are just a few blocks away.”

He hums lightly as he stares at you- like you’re a puzzle whose pieces are just beginning to fit together.

“Can you teach me something in sign language?”

Once again, your brows shoot up, shocked by his response. You blink a few times, trying to think of what to say. Going with the only thing that pops to mind, you sign out a phrase as he watches your hands intently.

“And what does that mean?”

You smirk, “You are a cheesy cow.”

“I’m sorry?” he laughs out.

You repeat it back slowly while signing along. “You. Are. A. Cheesy. Cow. It’s the first thing my mother taught me how to sign.”

He runs his hand over his jaw as he chuckles. “Rich was right. A hoot she must be.”

“I’m pretty shit, to be honest, and she read lips, so it’s mostly used for snide comments during extended family gatherings.”

You watch as he puts out his cigarette and carefully takes a step closer to you. “I’m assuming your colourful vocabulary extends to those instances as well.”

“Right you are.”

“Freddie will love that,” he snickers. “He always seems to collect vulgarities in other languages wherever we go.”

Your attention is torn away as a sleek black car rolls up to a stop at the curb. It’s out of place in the middle of the street filled with old and worn buildings, which can similarly describe the people who mill about.

“Speak of the Queen herself,” you laugh as a sunglass-clad Freddie steps onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, isn’t this quaint!” he exclaims, peering into the shop window. He straightens as he turns to you, hands-on-hips.

“Deacy. Thumper. Are we fans of freezing our tits off, or shall we go inside?”

You give John a small smile and push yourself off the wall, making your way over to Freddie, who immediately pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. The bells against the door ring out as you all enter the shop.

“Ah, Deacy,” Brian pokes his head out from one of the narrow aisles, still in a constant crouch to avoid the instruments above his head. “I was looking for you. Found these adorable teeny guitars I thought might be good to bring back for the kids. What do you think?”

“Kids?” you mumble to yourself as John makes his way over to inspect them.

“Brian has two, and John’s already up to 3. Maybe we should’ve nicknamed him Bunny.” Freddie laughs, nudging your arm. “You know… fucking like rabbits,” he expands due to your lack of chuckling.

He leans into your field of vision as he studies your statue-like expression, eyebrows knit in confusion. His eyes take in your ashen face and your lifeless expression. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing. When you lock your eyes with his, you know he understands from the sheer size of how big they become. He straightens up, glancing around quickly as if looking for something to put out a fire.

“Freddie!” Steven dances over, clicking a pair of castanets in his hands. “I wanted to show you thi-”

“So sorry, love, we can’t. Y/N promised to come to a fitting with me, and we’re already late," he announces loudly, pulling you by the arm and out the door before anyone can react.

- - - - - - -

You blankly stare at your reflection in the long mirror. Freddie had instructed his stylist to pull some outfits for you to parade around in as he tried on a bevy of metallic coats.

“You’re an idiot,” you tell the girl staring back at you.

Freddie sashays over, a shag jacket swaying with him as he places his hands on your shoulders, surveying the strappy dress you were currently squeezed into.

“Oh yes, this will do for the after-party,” he instructs.

“I’m not going.”

He heaves a deep sigh. “Darling, you already refused the ticket I got you for the show. You’re coming to the party,” he declares, turning away to look at more options.

“This isn’t really me…” you mumble, gesturing to the dress.

He regards you with a small smile. “Exactly. I say this with love, but you need a look, Y/N. Something that makes you feel unstoppable,” he gestures to his body as he twirls towards you. “Don’t you want to shock them?”

You chew your lip as you ponder that sentiment. Dawn usually just shoved you into whatever ensemble she had picked for you - leather jackets, monochromatic sets, tight jumpsuits. She kept hoping you’d find a style you fancied, but you had yet to find anything remotely likable under the lights of the stage.

“To be honest, I just want to be able to feel comfortable out there," you sigh. "But I can’t strut around in flashy outfits or conduct a whole crowd like you do." Huffing as you collapse onto one of the white couches around you. He perches beside you, throwing an arm around the back of the sofa.

“Then don’t,” he says simply.

You snort a response as you cross your arms over your chest.

“I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but have you tried showing them a bit more of yourself?”

“I can’t do that.”

He turns to you now, grabbing your attention with his eyes.

“And why not?” he questions.

You gaze down at your hands, which you’re now wringing together in your lap. “What if it’s nothing spectacular?” you whisper out the criticism that you'd drilled into your mind for the past year.

Freddie laughs lightly as he stands. “Let’s not start lying to ourselves, shall we?” He moves in front of you and kneels, now at eye level, making so you can’t look away.

“Sometimes people go to a concert for an escape. A big bloody show with dazzling lights and petite men galavanting around a stage in spandex tights,” he smiles. 

“But most of the time they just want to find a piece of themselves in it, don’t they? Commonality. They want to hear you, see you, and feel just a little less alone than we all know we are. I saw just a slice of it at your concert, and it was indeed something spectacular. So take that as you will.”

You’re not one to cry much, but your eyes soften as you take in the icon of a man in front of you. A man loved by millions, who was currently filling in as your personal rock n’ roll fairy godmother.

“You’re a fantastic person, you know that?” you tell him genuinely.

“Yes,” he quips as he gets to his feet. “Now, are we done scurrying around the real problem at hand?”

You sigh as you look away, firmly willing yourself not to break the dam of bottled emotions threatening to spill out. Why couldn't you just feel numb? It would be better than the wave of childish self-pity you found yourself in.

Freddie huffs at your reaction. “Oh, you brat. Sorry to tell you, but you’re an open book, my dear. And not one of those big pompous things Brian reads. A bloody children’s book. One filled with pictures.”

You're sure you’ve now bitten through the entire top layer of your lip as you contemplate how to even begin.

“I’m an idiot,” you shrug to yourself yet again.

“No,” he points a finger at you. “You’re decidedly not. Though I am curious as to how someone who’s as big of a fan as your friends say you are, missed out on that detail.”

“I’m not sure either. I mean, I listen to your albums and go to your show, but I guess I didn’t pour over the tabloids or press interviews or anything like that.”

Freddie nods along as he sifts through another rack of jackets, choosing an incredibly tight white leather number.

“I assumed you knew,” he answers while glancing at his reflection. “And I would say Deacy should know better, but he’s not quite himself at the moment.”

“What do you mean?” you press, suddenly much more interested in the conversation.

He turns to you, palms up in explanation. “It’s not that he wouldn’t normally be charmed by your shy presence and occasionally crass mouth… But I’m a bit worried he’s finding comfort in your smiles for the wrong reasons.”

“Huh?”

Sighing heavily as if debating if he should keep skirting around his words, he holds your gaze. “An impending divorce is crippling lonely, even if it is somewhat amicable.”

His mouth is brought into a pout as you suck in a sharp breath. 

Divorce. All your previous interactions play through your head from a different angle. Pity sneaks up on you as you remember John’s advice he’d given you. The concept of home is a funny thing. You scoff out loud at how your childlike crush had skewed your interpretation of your relationship with the man.

“I’m usually the one singing his praises,” Freddie muses, breaking you out of your inner monologue of resentment towards yourself. “But he seems more lost than usual at the moment.” 

He gently lifts your chin. “I don’t normally meddle in- well, actually I do. Just don’t want to see you get hurt, Bunny. Not when the world is soon to be at your feet.”

"I'm fine," you lie, gently brush away his gesture. "I barely even know the guy. I was just shocked to have my silly fascination with him interrupted. Stupid, really."

"Don't do that," he exhales. "Don't put it on yourself. You'd have to be blind to ignore the fact that he's quite taken with you."

"I'm fine," you repeat, making your way into the back to change out of the ridiculous dress that suddenly felt even tighter now.

Shutting the door slowly, you let out a deep breath. It's all good, you tell yourself. Of course you got caught up in the attention of a world-renown musician. Who wouldn't? It's nothing special. As Freddie said, he's not even acting like himself. Although you were indeed in true form- getting caught up by the slightest of interactions. Unconsciously playing them as a loop in your head. You can't help but cringe at your own escalation of the situation.

Squaring your shoulders, you take in the image of yourself in the dress again. Perhaps it was time for you to shock them all.

- - - - - - -

“And so my grandfather goes out to the alley and sees her just wailing on this scrawny man. I mean, really going to town. So he pulls her off him, and the dude’s got a black eye and a bloody nose. And he’s like, “Thanks mate, thought she was gonna kill me there.”

Roger ruffles your hair in response to your poor attempt at a British accent. The group of cast and crew around you chuckle at the gesture. 

You had decided that if you were going to be forcibly dragged to this after-party by your bandmates, you would at least aim to make it worthwhile. A debut of your new mentality.  One where you weren't just acting the part of a rising rock star, but living it. 

Which is why at the moment, you found yourself the center of attention, surrounded by the cast and crew of SNL laughing along to your amusing story. But this was all hinged on you carefully, avoiding the presence of John Deacon at all costs. Which, in reality, wasn't very hard to do- you had yet to see him since arriving an hour ago.

“Oh my god, who was it?!” the young cast member beside you presses. You think her name is Julia, but the sheer amount of people you'd been introduced to was dizzying.

"That's exactly what we asked him when he told us. All he said was that it was some man with big lips who was in a fur coat and looked like he hadn't eaten in a month..."

The cam op across from you gasps, "It was MICK JAGGER? God bless your grandfather, I would've wept if she murdered him."

"So would my mom AND grandmother," you laugh. "Give us each a glass of wine, and it's basically a Mick fan club."

"Who else?" Brian taps your leg, surprisingly urging you to divulge more gossip.

You can't help but smirk as the group leans forward intently.

"Robin Williams?" you tease as their eyebrows all raise.

"Horrible tipper, but he makes up for it by performing dirty puppet shows with the napkins."

"Sounds about right," funnyman Brad Hall confirms, offering you another drink.

You politely decline, determined to keep your wits about you this evening. "I'm gonna go grab some water. Anyone want anything?"

The group shakes their heads, but Lawrence jumps up to join you on your trek to the crowded bar.

"Wouldn't it be insane if this was us one day?" he exclaims as you weave your way through the mass of bodies littering the Capitol Grill. 

You smile up at him, "Dream big, buddy."

"Oh, I intend to," he confirms you as you spot Eddie and Rich waving you over from a spot at the bar. 

Rich promptly wraps his arm around your shoulders as you join them. He always had a stoic way of letting you know he saw through the cracks in your poorly constructed armor. Taking the role of a caring older brother, more so than your own.

"Have we lost Steve again?" Lawrence asks the group.

Eddie nods across the room. "He's exactly where you think he'd be," he scoffs as you catch a glimpse of Steve, trailing Freddie like a lost puppy.

"Um, excuse me?" a short girl mumbles from behind Eddies' denim-clad shoulder. He turns, glancing down.

"Hiya," he regards her casually, causing her a deep blush to creep across her cheeks. She shoves a napkin and pen at him.

"C-could I get an autograph? Please?"

Eddie smirks at her flustered appearance, making sure to brush her fingers as he grabs the items out of her trembling hand.

"And what beautiful name should I be making this out to?"

She lets out a jarring high pitched giggle as she stumbles over her words. "Oh, uh, Shelley."

"Well, here ya go, Shelley," he hands the napkin back to her, now adorned with his messy scrawl. "Maybe I'll see you later."

She squeaks as she hurries back to her shrieking friends who are huddled conspicuously off to the side.

"Gross," you state. "She's a child. Probably one of the executive's kids." 

He rolls his eyes dramatically. "Gotta keep em' interested, Bun. As the heartthrob of the group, it's my sworn duty."

"Slow your roll there, Rob Lowe," Rich interjects. "I think Y/N's giving you a run for your money in this dress."

You glance down at the Freddie approved ensemble. It was eye-catching for sure, precisely what you were going for. It's black suede straps crisscrossed strategically against your body, giving peaks of the skin underneath.

"It looks good, Bun," Rich assures you.

“Guys,” you all turn your attention to Steve, who has just joined the circle clumsily. His pupils are blown wide from his current blood alcohol content, and he sways slightly on his heels.

"I- I have something to say," he announces to the group, getting your attention. You all wait patiently as he hesitates, clearing his throat twice before lowering his voice. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m gay.”

You glance around to the other boys whose expressions mirror your own warm smile. You’d all known Steve was gay since high school, not that any of you had talked about it. You had just assumed it was something unspoken. That he’d tell you whenever he was ready or met someone good enough to introduce to you all.

Steve gapes at your expressions. "Where is the shock? I was expecting shock and awe, people!"

"Steve, please don’t take this the wrong way. But I’m assuming we’ve all known for a while," Rich says gently. You all nod lightly in agreement.

"How?"

"Do you remember the types of girls who used to throw themselves at you? Like Becky Whale? Man, I would’ve killed for Becky Whale to throw something at me. But you never took them up on it," Lawrence elaborates.

Steve smiles around at all of you, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

“I had a crush on Eddie in high school,” he confesses.

Eddie pumps his fist lightly. “Fuck yeah.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Lawrence exclaims. “You just had to boost that ego, didn’t ya? I know pretty boys are great and all, but I’m the one with the big soft cuddles. People love big soft cuddles!”

Rich expands his arms as he brings you all in for a hug. 

You kiss Steve gently on the cheek. “I’m proud of you, bud,” you whisper.

"Thank you guys, I just felt like it was time. And now that that's out of the way," Steve grunts as you all untangle yourselves. “I’m gonna go find Freddie. He said he’s taking me out to a club after this!”

He skips away with a grin, back towards Freddie, who catches your eye with a knowing smile and winks. It seems you weren’t the only band member who had found a fairy godmother in Mr. Mercury.

You all lightly laugh affectionately at your friend until Eddie and Lawrence wander off to scope out the food situation. You lean against the bar next to Rich, glancing around at the loud laughter erupting from the outgoing crowd. One person noticeably sticks out. A sullen John Deacon sits at the end of the bar, hunched over what looks like a glass of whiskey.

"Looks like he's in need of a friend," Rich surmises.

You tear your eyes away from the sorry sight to look at him. "They're around here somewhere," you shrug.

He rubs your arms up and down lightly before slinking into the crowd, knowingly leaving you alone. 

You sneak a peek over at John. He runs one hand through his curls as the other absentmindedly stirs the straw of his sweating drink. You watch him sigh, bringing the glass to his lips and gulping down the spirit without so much as a wince. 

Hesitantly making your way over to him, you rub your clammy hands over the expensive material of your dress. This is the opposite of avoidance, you scold yourself, silently willing your feet to change direction. But your willpower has seemingly left the building.

You carefully perch yourself on the stool next to his, as not to disturb his brooding. He glances over quickly, doing a double-take when he realizes who it is.

"Oh, hello there," he greets you with a small smile. "I didn't know you had arrived."

You nod your head lightly. "How could you? It seems you set up camp over here."

"Ah, yes," he breathes, straightening his posture. "Wasn't our best tonight, I'm afraid. Not much to celebrate."

You take a sip of your water as you continue to nod silently.

"Actually," he begins, angling his body towards yours, almost slipping off his stool as you notice his apparent intoxication. "I was thinking about that conversation we had. When I met your spritely grandfather."

"Oh?" you question. Keeping your face neutral even though your heart was already buzzing at the fact.

"Yes. Mostly about how naive I was—all that bloody nonsense about finding a home. Do me a favor and never take my advice, will you? You'll end up completely wrecking yours."

This was a bad idea.

"It's just- you draw these lines for yourself in the sand," he drawls, waving his hands about in front of him. "A stupid phrase, really. Where did it even come from?"

"The Bible," you tell him quietly.

He lets out a big sigh, rolling his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Well, it's gotten it wrong before, hasn't it?"

You simply hum an acknowledgment, too scared to probe for fear of where this was going.

"Anyway, you draw these lines. Moral, physical, promises you make to yourself, things you swear you’d never do, dreams to accomplish," he lists out. "But sand moves about, dunnit? It blows all over the place. Makes a mess. Gets in your sandwich. And those lines blur. Or fade away. And all of a sudden, you've crossed them without even knowing! Broken those promises. Skipped right over those dreams."

He's too far gone in his rant to register the growing panic sweeping across your features.

"You were right. Sometimes you look in the mirror, and it's just a complete stranger staring back at you, isn't it?"

Trying to keep your breathing steady, you stare at the crumbling man before you. He runs his large hands along his face before ducking back into his former position, signaling for the bartender to bring him another drink.

This is precisely why you should've stuck to your original plan. What were you supposed to say to the man who was so obviously hurting from his failed marriage? So much so that it was pouring out of him. You know that if it weren't for the alcohol, he wouldn't be confiding any of this to you.

But there was a reason the boys called you the mom of the group, and it wasn't because you were the only female. You feel a pang of need to comfort him. You gaze at him, not with pity, but an overwhelming sense of empathy for the man and make up your mind.

You clear your throat to answer, brushing away your own warnings about how it would only sink you deeper into your fascination with him.

"I was wrong, actually," you start as he brings his head up to look at you. "And you know what phrase I hate? That people don't change."

He furrows his brow but remains silent as you continue.

"Maybe we're not made up of lines in the sand. Maybe we're the wind?" You try not to cringe at yourself and your poor use of metaphor. "And winds sometimes blow in different directions... but that's okay because it's where life is supposed to take them." Falling silent, you decide to quit while you’re ahead. 

You're not ahead. You're not even out of the gate. What the fuck was that?

A slow smile inches onto his face as he holds your stare. "How did you get so wise for someone your age," he teases.

"And what age would that be?"

His mouth opens and closes as he studies your face. "Twenty?"

"Mm, close. Twenty-four."

"Really?" he ponders. "Freddie mentioned you dropped out of university."

"Ah, yes. The university I could only go to after working to afford it," you explain. 

He continues to stare, the look in his eyes shifting slightly as he takes you in. A look that matches the color and intensity of uncharted, open water. You need to get out of here.

"Well, that explains your extraordinary use of analogy then."

Dragging your eyes off of his, you glance around at the party you were missing. Gladly missing, unfortunately. 

"I should go check on Steve. He's having a bit of a night," you tell him as you stand. "Try not to drown yourself in those," gesturing to the new glass of whiskey in front of him.

"How can I drown myself? I thought I was the wind," he points out with a grin.

Before any more banter can ensue, you simply smile and make your way back to your friends. Thinking to yourself that maybe lines in the sand weren't so bad. And that perhaps it was time for you to start drawing some of your own.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Effie turns 40

(Hayffie 💜🔥💥. NSFW. Sexual content and intensities at the threshold of midlife. Despite the title, this fic is primarily Haymitch-centric. The story, set about 7-8 years after Mockingjay, is part of a longer arc. Envisioning H & E’s character development is such a muse for me. Their voices were difficult for me to write in this one. I’m figuring them out as I go along. It’s a labor of love right now. Thank you for sharing the prompt — #13 below.)

***

Some decisions are calculated; you make them after they’ve turned over in your mind for hours, days, years even. Effie moving to 12 had been like that. Other decisions can’t even be called ‘decisions’ really. ‘Impulses’ would be more accurate.

Haymitch was generally not impulsive, unless alcohol clouded his judgement or blacked out all thought. There had been no alcohol the night before — on the eve of Effie’s 40th birthday, sobriety was part of their deal. And the whole thing was argueably the best sex he’d ever had with her or anyone else. Not that anyone was arguing the point.

Except something nagged at him — an impulse half-remembered, not because he’d been drunk, but because it had been hers — her impulse... maybe. And only as the sun came up did he give it thought.

“Don’t pull out...”

Her words turned over in his mind, belatedly.

During the night, the sheets had slipped to his side of the bed. If she woke just then, she’d accuse him of stealing the covers, which he likely did, since his sleep was fitful. A lock of hair coiled above her collarbone. He wasn’t sure how the ringlet stayed, given how many times he’d raked his fingers through her hair, pulled at it, dove inside it with that part of him that was into her far beyond the reach of his body.

He traced the curl with a fingertip then glanced down her breasts to her belly. Over a year ago there had been a baby there, for a while. He usually tried not to think about it. But the memory of its heartbeat nagged that morning along with the rest of Effie’s words.

“...Come inside me. It’ll be okay... It’ll be incredible.”

He didn’t hesitate. After pulling out all those months, staying in and feeling her clench around him as he spilled inside her had been so intoxicating that he didn’t even drink afterwards.

Before the pregnancy, Effie was fastidious about birth control. She set timers and took pills at precisely the same minute every day. After the miscarriage, she needed time to decide what to do since the pharmaceuticals had failed. And she felt like her body had failed.

Was she using something new? Did she get a shot or an implant? She hadn’t told him. Why hadn’t she told him?? Why hadn’t he asked her as she clutched his hips and reassured him and kept him in when he would have pulled out. Damn... just thinking about it made him want her exactly like that again.

He was planning to eat her out with breakfast. There was whipped cream in the fridge, and strawberries. He’d bought champagne, which she preferred to hard liquor. He’d drink it from the hollow of her stomach and let her do whatever she wanted to him, within reason. His girl would not be happy waking up 40, but he was planning to make her happy.

His thoughts mulled hot like spiced cider. And his mind wouldn’t let go of uncertainty or the memory of the heartbeat...gone. He didn’t want to go through that shit again.

He slid the covers over her, tucked the curl behind her ear, and waited impatiently for her to wake up.

***

Even with the curtains closed, the sun tormented Effie with reality. In that moment, 40 was the last thing she wanted to be. She rolled away from the window, pulled a blanket over her eyes, and tried falling back to sleep to no avail. She sighed in resignation.

Beneath the sheet, Haymitch caressed along the curve of her hip. His thoughts and emotions which had been rolling earlier were holding steady at the surface. This was her birthday. How long should he let her wake up before asking what he wanted to know?

She dropped the blanket from her eyes and opened them. As he stared into her, there was nothing playful about his expression, just unmistakable intensity. The feeling of a luminous bubble expanded in her chest and stretched along her midline to the juncture of her thighs.

She reached out and held his face in her palm. His jaw was still smooth with just a hint of stubble. She brushed her fingertips in the direction she knew the hair would grow. The familiar act flooded her with sensations of the night before, and she wanted his mouth on her.

She inched closer and nestled against him. Her lips plucked his once, and then again, sliding the tip of her tongue along the seam of his lips. He opened as she expected, and he sucked her in all at once. His teeth caught her lip, and the sting brought her nails digging into his back.

He groaned along her tongue as their bodies brushed, seeking a fit to burst the bubble, which he was feeling now too. Intensity built quickly. He had something to ask, but there wasn’t space now between them for thinking, just feeling.

She drew her leg up along his side, and she opened. He clutched her hips and slipped in slowly, but slow wasn’t enough — like when horses turn home, anticipating oats and cubes of sugar.

She pressed her calf to his ass, urging. A thrill rushed through her as he sank into the sweetest spot. “I’m gonna come fast, honey.” She let go of his mouth in order to say so. “I can feel it.”

His toes curled in the words. He was snug inside her, and she was so wet already. “Fuck, Effie. We just started.”

“I know.” She met him with upward thrusts, letting go of restraint and taking control in turn, drawing out her own pleasure. “Look at me.”

He met her gaze again and held it. Her fervor was catching. He gritted his teeth and matched her pace, holding back when she slowed. Then pushing home like the horses.

“It’s so much,” she spoke of the feeling between them. Her nails played up his spine to the nape of his neck, then along his scalp. His shiver was a harbinger of what was coming. “It’s so much, Haymitch.”

His confession was quiet, tucked somewhere in between guttural sounds and a calloused thumb stroking her breast. “It’s everything.”

The admission, the gentle roughness, the flood of emotion lit her up. “Ohh, I can’t stop it.”

“Jesus. Why would you wanna stop it?” He said it to himself as much as to her.

Luminosity exploded. Her body quaked, milking the length of him. The force of creation swelled. For a moment she was the whole world — his girl. The whole goddamn world. He climaxed inside her without asking the question, without saying another word beyond their cries of pleasure and release. They broke open, glistening.

When her shaking stopped, there were tears on her cheeks. Her leg flopped back onto the bed. “Damn...” she whispered, “I’d be willing to turn 40 every day if each one can start like this.”

He wanted to linger inside her and kiss her tears and tell her how glad he was that she’d been born exactly WHEN she was so she could be exactly WHO she was — somebody who made him feel things he never thought he’d be feeling.

But the nagging uncertainty which had been holding steady on the surface boiled over, and he said none of that. Irritation crept into his voice.

“Damn it. You’re a fucking Siren.” His shift in tone was clear.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That depends.” He looked into her eyes once more, assessing her critically. Then he rolled out of her before he’d fully softened.

“On what?” She turned to face him.

“What birth control are you using now?”

She hesitated. “It’s called being 40.”

“What?”

“I’m old now.”

His face was blank. “40 isn’t old, and it sure ain’t birth control.”

“Withdrawal isn’t 100% effective, and you’ve been doing that for a year with no babies.”

Haymitch sat up, trying to figure out what was happening. “Me pulling out is a hell of a lot more effective birth control than you being 40!”

She draped her arm across her eyes. Saying the truth was uncomfortable, especially with him upset. “My eggs are mummified.”

“Overnight?! You were on your period last week for christ sake! Your drama is gonna get us pregnant again. Is that what you want?!”

Everything got quiet. She uncovered her eyes and dropped her arm to her stomach. “You said ‘us.’ Why talk about US getting pregnant when it’s never going to happen?”

“It ALREADY happened, not even two years ago. And right now there are millions, maybe hundreds of millions, of my guys swimming inside you. It just takes one *non-mummified* egg, and we’re back where we were a year and a half ago. Is that where you want to be?!”

She paused before answering. The delay was long. Way too long, he thought. Her thumb caressed her stomach, just once, but he noticed.

“Effie, do you want a baby?!”

“...I don’t know. ...Maybe. I don’t know!”

“Maybe!? You don’t know!? Well, you might have just gotten one, and I didn’t even get a say!”

He was inches from her in their bed, and he wasn’t touching her. He was scowling as if she’d stabbed him in the back with his own knife.

“I didn’t force you to be with me just now — or last night! ‘IT’S EVERYTHING,’ you said. You JUST said that! What happened to THAT?”

“‘Don’t pull out,’ you said! ‘Come inside me,’ you said! ‘It’ll be okay — It’ll be INCREDIBLE,’ you said!!”

“It WAS incredible! Sex is always good between us but never quite like that. And it’s not because you shaved, or I waxed or I wore that awful pleated skirt. It’s something more. I felt it last night and again just now. Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it too because I KNOW you did!”

He leaped out of bed and stood naked in the middle of the room, fuming at her. Every muscle in his body was rigid. She wanted to touch him and soothe him and make him understand.

“Why do you have to be like this and ruin everything?!”

“You tricked me.”

“I did NOT! When have I EVER been deceitful?! You’re being unfair.”

He stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door.

As the water ran in the shower, Effie stayed in bed. Only when the room was quiet did she realize what she’d been doing. While they’d argued, she was clenching her pelvic floor, holding in those millions of sperm he’d mentioned. If I’m certain that I’m too old to have a baby, and if I don’t even know whether or not I would want to have one, then why am I doing this??

The only answers she could think of were that just maybe she wasn’t too old, and just maybe she knew more than she’d realized. Everything was jumbled, and she didn’t want to let go.

When Haymitch stepped out of the bathroom, he dressed in stony silence.

“We need to talk about this,” she said.

There were fresh tears on her cheeks, but they barely phased him. “I feel suffocated. I’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Fine. Walk away...” As he did, she tried to sound angry. “Walking away is what you always do!”

She steeled herself against the sound she knew was coming. When she heard the front door slam, she told herself, “At the end of the day, it’s my bed he’s crawling back into!” She tried to sound confident, but her voice wavered. Because she wasn’t confident — and she wasn’t angry. Not really.

She was confused, and she was sad. She was 40 — and so goddamn sad.

***

Getting out of the house wasn’t enough. Haymitch wanted out of his feelings, out of his thoughts, out of his body. Walking away wasn’t enough, so he ran — at least fifty yards, veering off the road through a field, thick with grasses and aging saplings. He steered clear of scattered houses and the voices of people. People were just waiting to screw him over and slit his throat. Oats and cubes of sugar were a fucking fantasy. He was running toward nothing, chasing his own breath.

When he couldn’t catch it, he stopped and reached into his coat for his flask. It wasn’t there. Shit. At least coins jingled in his pockets. He gathered them up, and counted out enough to buy a bottle. He set off again in the direction of the Hob, walking now since he’d lost steam for anything else. He’d have to face people after all.

The building was uncrowded for mid morning. Fragrances of food and coffee made his stomach protest its emptiness. He bought a bottle of whiskey and had enough cash left on him for a bowl of soup.

“Mornin’, boy,” Greasy Sae greeted him in the usual way, “You’re showin’ up here mighty early.” She glanced at the bottle tucked in the crook of his elbow. “You pickin’ up supplies for the party?”

Fuck. He’d forgotten. Peeta was hosting a surprise that afternoon, baking a big cake and everything for Effie. Haymitch had no idea who all had been invited. Damn near everyone in 12 knew her now, outgoing as she was. Hopefully Katniss had reined in the boy’s generosity, and they’d keep the gathering small. Though Haymitch didn’t want to deal with any of that shit now.

“Can I get you a cup of beef soup?” Sae asked when he hadn’t responded, “Just made it fresh this mornin’ with the real thing.”

“The party. Right...” he answered late.

Peeta had asked him to come up with some excuse to get Effie to their place early in the afternoon. ...I just heard the kids talking about curtains, maybe you should go over and help them out... Something like that ought to do. Until the fight that morning, he’d been looking forward to spending time with them. He’d been looking forward to everything.

“...Soup would be fine,” he answered after Sae had already ladeled some into an oversized cup.

“How’s that girl of yours?” She filled the silence as Haymitch counted out change. “Turnin’ 40 can be tough for a woman. We tend to feel age differently before we’ve got kids. Once there’s kids, we ain’t got time to feel old. Take a moment to even breathe, and they’ll run right over you.” She handed him the soup. “I know she lost one, and losin’ ‘em hurts. It’s real hard to lose your first. But I got hope for you.”

As he stood there with the cup warming his hands, facing Sae’s crinkled brown eyes and thin smile, he felt Effie’s words filling his gut... Why do you have to be like this and ruin everything?! The thought stole his appetite, but he drank the soup anyway in three gulps and handed the cup back to her. The food calmed his stomach. “Guess I was hungrier than I felt.”

“Feelin’s can fool us. A body can get so used to emptiness that we start feelin’ full from it. But emptiness ain’t gonna nourish you. ...Now, I got customers waitin’. Tell Effie I’m wishin’ her a happy birthday.”

“I’ll do that,” Haymitch said out of habit. He was going to have to talk to Effie eventually, but he wasn’t ready.

He left the Hob feeling like a hypocrite. He’d accused her of tricking him when he was all too eager to finish off sex inside her with nothing in between them — so eager he’d done it twice. And, damn it, he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want to do it again.

He cracked open the bottle and tried to chase away regret about what he’d said to her. He followed the gravel road deeper into what used to be the Seam. Long ago it was home, but home changes. The only things that tied him to that stretch of land were memories and wounds long sealed by scars.

His open wounds were elsewhere now, like home was. Swallows of whiskey wrapped the wounds in a layer of gauze. He could think and feel through it, but the thoughts and feelings were hazy, like the mist that covers the meadow in the morning before it’s touched by the sun.

Ghosts of a sort came out of the mist and murmured their stories. He wasn’t sober enough to tell the voices to fuck off, and he wasn’t drunk enough to not hear them. So he listened through the haze, walking without a destination in mind.

***

The first voice — longing — came from the seashore. Skipping rocks and building sandcastles with Annie’s boy had flipped a switch in him. The kid had been his shadow. At the week’s end, the little guy reluctantly said goodbye with a bear hug and a sloppy kiss on Haymitch’s cheek. What might have been if Effie’s baby had lived and become a child? Their child. It would have been something in between a giant pain in the ass and a love big enough to eat him alive.

I’d be a fool to consider bringing a kid into this fucked up world on purpose, the second voice — reason — said. He was an alcoholic who drank to stay alive. He believed he had no business being anybody’s father. And Effie nearly had a seizure every time she stepped in a pile of goose shit. Babies crap all the time, and they puke all over the place. And sleep?... Forget about doing it because they don’t.

And sometimes they die. A third voice — grief — lamented. They fucking die, and I can’t do a damn thing about it.

That fateful morning last year when Effie was losing the baby, she’d roused him from sleep. The chill in her voice tugged his heart into his stomach. “Haymitch, something is VERY wrong.” Cramping had come on in her back and abdomen, and she was bleeding.

Adrenaline rushed to his limbs as if he was in the arena. He’d gone to call for the doctor, and when he returned, Effie was sitting in the dry bathtub, still in her nightie. A steady stream of blood trickled down the drain, and she was holding something reddish purple in the palm of her hand. It was the baby — no bigger than an apple. ...Its name had been pulled from the Reaping Ball before it even had a name.

“I’m sorry,” she kept telling the tiny thing. “I’m so sorry...” She looked at Haymitch as he wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and chest. Her eyes held no tears.

He wasn’t thinking about the baby just then. He was scared out of his mind about losing Effie. “The doc will be here real soon.” It was all he could say as he sat on the edge of the tub, kissing her forehead and stroking her hair. He must have said it as many times as she said “I’m sorry.”

The doctor’s arrival, exam, and treatment were all a blur.

“I know it seems like a lot of blood,” the doc said later, “But there are no signs of hemorrhaging or uterine abnormalities. I was able to remove the placenta. A miscarriage happens more rarely at this stage, but it’s not uncommon. I’m sorry, Effie — Haymitch. ...She appears to be developmentally normal for 15 weeks gestation. I wish could offer an explanation. Sometimes these things just happen. A miscarriage doesn’t necessarily negatively affect subsequent pregnancies. It may take several weeks to recover. When you feel ready, you can try again.”

“We weren’t trying.” Haymitch wasn’t sure why he’d felt the need to clarify.

“She?” Effie had heard the doctor say it, even if she took in nothing else. She had only let go of the baby long enough for the doc to examine it. Otherwise she held it against her chest.

“Gender can be difficult to determine this early, but the signs indicate a girl. An autopsy could confirm, and it might show the cause of the miscarriage. If you’d like—“

“No,” Effie insisted, “I can’t let you take her and cut her open. She’ll be staying here.”

That afternoon Haymitch dug a grave under the maple tree in the backyard. He made it a full six feet deep so the scavengers wouldn’t find her and pick her apart.

Effie wrapped the baby in a small blanket along with her umbilical cord and the pieces of placenta and laid her in a jewelry box. “She’s used to being inside me. She’d be cold in the ground without a blanket.”

The words had been madness. If he’d let himself think about it like that, then he wouldn’t have gotten through it. One of them had to stay sane. Burying the tiny girl was his first and last act of care for her. Shoveling all that dirt over her was like burying an axe in his gut.

I refuse to go through that shit again, the fourth voice spoke in a convergence — anger and fear. It had been the one yelling earlier, as he took the discomfort of his wounds out on Effie. Thinking about the baby was too much, and his body wasn’t even the one she’d lived inside all those weeks. ...Effie’s was.

His feet turned him around, and he headed back up the road. This time he knew where he was going.

***

At home in the yard, the geese barked at him about leaving them to forage for their own breakfasts. The grass was sparse due to lack of attention. Not wanting their hunger to be something else on his conscience, he scooped wheat into their water buckets and pellets into their feed bowls. As they ate, they quieted down and left him alone, which was just fine by him. He liked most of them better at a distance.

Grass didn’t grow under the maple tree. A dense network of roots kept other plants from taking hold. He’d dug through six feet of those roots, and he pictured them growing back now around the jewelry box. The little coffin wouldn’t drift underground whenever the rains came. The tree would hold it in place.

He sat with his back against the tree and took another drink of whiskey — just enough to try to restore the haze which had worn off, leaving him raw again. Mist filled his eyes. The memories coming up were vivid and close. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. He hadn’t cried about anything in so long that he’d forgotten the way tears clog a person’s head before slipping out. They slid down the back of his throat until he’d swallowed so many that he thought he might throw up.

Effie found him there. She shuffled her feet as she approached so she wouldn’t startle him. She sat on the ground, cross legged with her hands in her lap. In the moment, she didn’t care if the soil stained her skirt. In all the years she’d known Haymitch, she’d never seen him cry. She ached to touch him, but she was afraid he’d pull away, so she didn’t reach. He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t tell her to leave, and he didn’t leave either.

Long minutes passed before either of them spoke. In the silence, Effie was uneasy, but at least she wasn’t alone. He was right beside her. The geese wandered the grass, and a breeze was blowing through the maple leaves. The leaves brushed against each other, whispering things she could only imagine.

“We need to talk.” Choked up and hoarse, Haymitch sounded like a stranger.

“Yes, we do.”

He looked at her with swollen eyes. Hers were more pink than white. He was beating himself up inside for making her cry about this, especially today. “I don’t wanna fight,” he said. The battle raging between the voices in his head was all he could handle.

“I don’t want us to fight either. ...Not here. Not about this.” She glanced at the the baby’s grave. “I had no intention of tricking you about anything, especially this.”

“I know.” His swift acknowledgement surprised her. He reached for her hand and interlaced their fingers in her lap. “I didn’t mean to ruin your day.”

She held his hand as a lifeline. “It isn’t ruined.” She paused before saying it in order to keep from crying again.

“It’s not what I planned.”

“Things don’t always turn out the way we plan.” She hesitated before saying more. “...For a short time after I lost the baby, my breasts made milk. Did I ever tell you that?”

“I don’t think I was hearing much then.” He looked at her breasts, wondering what other details she’d faced alone. “I remember tracing veins there that I hadn’t seen before. ...Sometimes I watched your stomach while you were sleeping.” Sometimes I still do, he didn’t say.

“I never got to feel the baby moving inside me. She was always too small to feel. ...She had the prettiest hands. Long fingers for playing piano. Do you remember?”

He shook his head. He couldn’t remember her hands. He leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes. “I’m mixed up, Effie.”

She scooted closer and laid her head on his shoulder. “Oh, honey, I am too.”

He caressed her thumb with his, and she watched the maple leaves cast shadows over their entwined fingers.

***

Eventually the geese wandered over, honking for more handouts.

“Give them an inch, and they want a yard.”

“If they had an actual yard, they probably wouldn’t be so demanding.”

“Suddenly you’re the goose whisperer?”

“‘Goose’ and ‘whisper’ do not belong in the same sentence.”

“I’ll give you that.” He pulled her to her feet, and they went in the house.

Despite the bit of teasing, the solemn mood followed them inside. There was much more to say, but they were both saturated.

“Listen,” he told her, “I don’t know if you want to hear this, but in about an hour I’m supposed to tell you that the kids are talking about getting new curtains and maybe you ought to go over and help them out.”

“Is that the secret code for my surprise party?”

“Peeta is trying to be subtle.”

“That dear boy is anything but subtle. This morning he was decorating a two-tiered cake with the blinds open. They actually COULD use some curtains.”

“If you’re not up for the party, I’ll have them call it off. Peeta might have invited half the town. I don’t know.”

“Be with me awhile. Then I’ll be okay to go.”

Haymitch was unsettled by the realization that being with her ‘awhile’ might never again be enough. Having witnessed so much death, ‘forever’ had always been a subjective and fairly meaningless concept. But it was starting to feel like something other than an endless train of horror. It felt precious and terrifying in a different way.

Effie stepped into his arms as he opened them. He needed to be held as badly as he needed to be holding her. Needing somebody other than himself was dangerous. He was uneasy with it, but he didn’t let go.

“Are you hungry?” He spoke softly against her temple. “I screwed up what I had planned for you for breakfast. I wanted to make you — happy.”

“I ate a little. Maybe we can have your breakfast for dinner?”

Sex was a touchy subject just then, but he wasn’t going to tiptoe around it. “It was gonna be breakfast in bed, using our bodies as plates and glasses. ...Are you still interested?”

“That depends. Will I get to make you — happy — too?”

If he thought too much about her sucking whipped cream off his dick, then they’d never make it to the party. “It’s your birthday, sweetheart. You make the wishes. I wouldn’t turn down that offer.”

At the end of the day, it’s my bed he’s crawling back into. The understanding was as comforting as his arms around her. She didn’t know what ‘everything’ would be, but whatever it might be, she wanted it with him.

[thepandapopo]

Promises - A Sylvix 2020 Holiday Fic

Summary:

When Felix learns that Sylvain has never had the chance to truly enjoy the Yule holiday (or any holiday for that matter), he makes it his personal mission to correct this injustice.

OR

Felix just really wants Sylvain to know that he's loved. What better way than to melt down his favorite sword into an engagement ring?

Posted for A Very Sylvix Holiday 2020

Warnings: N/A. Rated T for vague mentions of sex. 

Sylvain/Felix #Sylvix  Fluff | Proposals | Family/Found Family #sylvixholiday  4300 words https://archiveofourown.org/works/28086762  I hope y'all like my sylvix holiday oneshot! As usual kudos, likes, and RTs welcome :) I hope I can share a little joy with all of you this holiday.

It was no secret that Sylvain and Felix grew up together. In fact, it was something that the older boy liked to remind their mutual friends every chance he got how adorable little Fe used to follow him around like a lost duckling, clinging to him whenever something or the other inevitably made his eyes mist with tears.

But in all his years growing up with Sylvain, the full force of Sylvain’s absolute joy over the Yule holiday never really came up until the year after the war ended, only a few months into his official ‘move in’ to the Fraldarius castle and the freedom that came from saying a long overdue fuck you to Margrave Gautier, whom – Dimitri assured – was on the fast track to being unseated so that Sylvain could finally take over and begin peace talks with Sreng.

“You’re acting like you’ve never celebrated Yule before.” Felix deadpanned as he watched his boyfriend (and new housemate) string tinsel along the hallways, complete with a mistletoe at every door.

Instead of a reply, Sylvain merely stuck his tongue out at him in an eerily reminiscent way that made Felix’s head spin with memories of two younger children in days long past.

He never really got an answer as to Sylvain’s strange behavior.

The Yule holiday season came and went, and it was only halfway through the next year on a sleepy summer morning that Felix learned why in one of their rare early morning pillow talks.

“What do you mean your family didn’t celebrate holidays?”

A warm huff of breath tickled the hairs atop his head, “it’s exactly like it sounds, Fe. My family wasn’t exactly the type to sit around a dinner table and chat amicably. The only time we celebrated was when we were with company or if my father wanted to rub elbows with other nobles and sniff out a marriage candidate for me.”

Felix is very glad that his face is buried in Sylvain’s chest so that he can’t see the fury in his eyes or the way that his eyes scrunch against a familiar sting when the truth squeezes his heart in a death grip.

His arms must also tighten unconsciously because just as soon as Felix makes some absent calculations on how long it would take to ride to Gautier and castrate Sylvain’s father, the warm strong arms around him are pulling him in tighter in reciprocation and a large hand tangles itself into his unbound locks.

“It’s fine,” Sylvain mutters, lips moving in a whisper across Felix’s forehead. “After all, I’ve got you now, don’t I? Holidays are for spending time with family at home and you are my home, Fe.”

Well, fuck him three way to Ailell if the fool isn’t right. Sylvain’s home is with him, here in Fraldarius castle. Here in his room, in his bed, and in his arms.

And fuck it all even more if Felix doesn’t make every holiday from that day forth the best damn holiday Sylvain has ever had to make up for his lost childhood.

Which is exactly how Felix finds himself standing in front of the stall of his favourite blacksmith in Fhirdiad later that year on the first snowfall of the season.

(It is very important that he does not go to a blacksmith in Fraldarius for this particular task because Goddess forbid Sylvain catch wind of this secret order and bother him about it.)

The weight slung across his hip is a familiar one – the well worn scabbard an extension of his own body and the sword sheathed inside a friend that carried him through the war, but more importantly, also the savior of Sylvain’s life too many times to count.

It only seems appropriate that it continues to accompany them throughout their future together.

“Lord Fraldarius!” The blacksmith greets heartily when he ducks under the entrance flap. “Or should I say Your Grace, now?”

The heat is sweltering inside, but it is easily overshadowed by the thrill and excitement of seeing the wide assortment of sharp blades strewn about for display. But alas, that is not what Felix is here for and he cannot bring home any evidence of what he is up to.

“No need for formalities, Than. Just Felix is fine.”

“Well then, young master Felix, what can I do for you this day? Another sharpening? Or perhaps a new blade?”

It’s all very tempting, but that’s not the reason why Felix has laden his gold purse with a hefty sum before coming here today.

“Actually, I was hoping you would be able to take on a custom request for me…”

----

It takes exactly 53 days before Than finishes his order just in the nick of time when Sylvain and Felix travel to the Kingdom capital with an invitation from Dimitri to spend the holiday with him, Byleth, and basically every other friend from the war that he can send a missive to.

It’s easy enough for Felix to slip away to the blacksmith’s once again while Sylvain is busy catching up with Ashe who chatters non stop about the booming success of Dedue’s Duscur cuisine, much to the embarrassment of the quiet giant who looks like he is torn between wanting to change the subject and basking in the praise of his ‘close friend’ (Sylvain snorts at that one because anyone with eyes can see how smitten Dedue is with the archer and vice versa).

It’s even easier to conceal the little velvet box underneath the layers and layers of wool that protect him from the bitter winter winds that Faerghus is known for.

What isn’t easy, is dragging Dimitri and Annette away to tell them his intentions because the last-minute invitation from their King throws off his entire original plan.

“Oh Goddess! Felix, it’s beautiful.” Annette gushes and peers at the silver band nestled snugly within the ring box cushions.

He’s not too sure about beautiful – there are other things more fitting to the word, like the very man he wants to give this ring to – but he does know that it is breathtaking in its own simple way.

The silver shines brighter than any gem and catches the light no matter which way it is turned. Etched onto the surface of the band in delicate handiwork are swirling lines weaving the symbols of Fraldarius and Gautier together to become something wholly new, something wholly Sylvain and Felix.

“There’s more.”

Gently, Felix pulls the ring out to show his two soon-to-be accomplices the detailing on the inside.

“Don’t bend it,” Felix glares a warning at Dimitri as he places the ring on the outstretched palm of his king.

“I promise I will not,” Dimitri chuckles, but Felix can hear the nervousness buried underneath in a way that only an entire lifetime of friendship can uncover. Regardless, the boar does not close his hand or pick up the seemingly tiny ring dwarfed in his palm, choosing instead to rotate his whole hand so that him and Annette can peer at the graceful cursive inscribed on the inside.

In Life and Death

“I…” Felix swallows the lump of emotion in his throat before continuing quietly, “I had it made from the sword that I used throughout the war.”

Both of his friends gasp at his admission, the crackling fire in the hearth flickering shadows across their faces that twist their face into a deeper shade of shock.

“But Felix,” Annette chokes, “You loved that sword. It was your favourite sword.”

Beside her, Dimitri nods emphatically, “I believe the very words you had said were ‘I will take this sword to my grave’.”

“You carry it around everywhere whenever you travel.”

“Indeed. I have rarely seen you without the familiar scabbard by your side.”

“You literally visited the blacksmith every moon during the war to make sure the blade was upkept.”

“The number of late nights you’ve spent sharpening-“

“Enough.” Felix hisses at them. “I get it, already.”

It’s another heartbeat of silence before he can muster up the courage to verbalize the emotions that are currently running through him; that have always thrummed in his veins whenever Sylvain is by his side.

“It’s… it’s because of how important that sword was to me that I wanted to re-forge it into something that I could give to Sylvain.”

Golden eyes turn down to the floor and Felix has to fight the visceral urge to scuff his boots against the floor like a boy who was just caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Or in Felix’s case, with his hand on his father’s ceremonial swords mounted high above the fireplace, requiring both him and Glenn to even reach it.

“He still thinks I’m going to disappear someday and become a mercenary.”

It stings to say out loud, but it’s the truth and Felix will be damned if he ever becomes so much of a coward that he cannot even face the facts in front of him.

A shaggy lock of blonde hair falls from Dimitri’s half updo as he shakes his head. “I’m sure Sylvain doesn’t think that, Felix. You told him that you had decided against that and he believes you.”

But that’s not how Sylvain is. Felix knows that even if Sylvain tells him that he believes that Felix is here to stay, there will always be demons and ghosts lingering in the darkest corners of his mind, whispering poisonous words and you’re not worthy of love’s in his heart.

“He does, but I know him. He’s still scared; I want to give him this to prove that our promise is more than just dying together.” It is more. It is so much more. “It’s… it’s about living together, too.”

Felix does not elaborate further because he doesn’t need to. Despite Dimitri technically being his oldest friend, Sylvain was always his closest and it is no secret that Felix would fight a hundred wars just to see him happy. In fact, fighting to rebuild a world where crests no longer ruled over everyday life was one of the biggest reasons why he had fought to begin with.

He wanted to build a world where Sylvain was free to be… just Sylvain.

Turns out fighting an entire imperial army and a whole legion of crazy cultists is a lot easier than arguing with Sylvain’s demons.

“Oh Felix,” Annette sighs wistfully, “He’s going to love it.”

Felix certainly hopes so, because if he doesn’t, Felix is not only down one extremely well crafted blade, but more importantly it proves that maybe Felix doesn’t know Sylvain as well as he thinks he does.

Dimitri nods his assent, “It suits you both. Even if he didn’t, which I find impossible, he will love it simply because it is coming from you, Felix.”

If his self discipline was ever in question, it is long cleared based solely on the fact that Felix is still standing here under the awed gazes of his king and irritatingly fond friend despite how much every vein in his body screams at him to run literally anywhere else, just to get away from their scrutiny and out of the limelight. But his purpose in dragging Dimitri and Annette away is twofold and he has merely completed the first part of his goal, leaving the second most important bit still hanging in the air.

Taking a deep breath, Felix fills himself with the same steely determination that he brings whenever he steps on the battlefield.

“I’m going to need your help.”

----

Felix hates balls. But Sylvain likes them, and Felix likes making Sylvain happy so somehow Felix always ends up going to them.

Will you dance with me, Fe? Sylvain always asks with that stupidly blinding smile that makes Felix’s heart feel three times too small for the amount of love he feels for the man. And even though he wants to say no, there isn’t an ounce of will in him to actively go against something that clearly means so much to Sylvain.

Each time without fail Felix ends up being twirled around on the dancefloor to the lilting notes of a waltz – or maybe it’s the quickstep? Not that it matters since Sylvain’s leading is graceful enough that even Felix can keep up.

Which is exactly what he banks on.

“Come on, Fe! You owe me a dance still.” Sylvain tugs the flute of champagne from his hand, slipping his own calloused fingers through Felix’s and drawing him gently towards the open floor.

In the sea of Faerghus blues and whites, Sylvain cuts through the slowly diminishing crowd of the Yule ball like the blazing dawn of a new day tugging Felix along by his heartstrings.

He must make a face, because soon enough he’s being bombarded with pouty honey browns and Felix is drowning and completely at the mercy of the man before him.

“Just one.” Felix huffs. He has to put on a show of his usual reluctance after all. Otherwise Sylvain will start to become suspicious.

Sylvain winks like he’s in on a big secret, “just one.”

(They both know it won’t be just one.)

From across the room, Felix nods subtly to Dimitri who is following them with watchful eyes, and immediately, the King disappears to put into motion their grand master plan. If all goes well, Annette should also be on the move rounding up all their friends and entreating the small string quartet to play a half dozen more songs, just enough for the remaining stragglers to retire for the night at the encouragement and behest of Dimitri, before ending the evening with one final song request.

Felix barely has enough time to quickly run through the rest of his plan in his head before warm hands circle his waist and tug him closer into a lungful of citrusy bergamot and earthy pine.

The weight of the small box in his pocket is heavy, but the way Sylvain’s eyes melt into warm chocolate and the encompassing warmth of belonging make Felix feel like he’s walking on air. The world falls away to nothing around them and Felix knows with a surety borne from walking alongside this man for his whole life, that Sylvain is also here in this moment with him.

I love you.

I want to spend the rest of my life with you.

I never want you to feel lonely ever again.

His heart is pounding but Felix does not know if it’s from nerves or from the suddenly overwhelming need to let Sylvain know just how much he is loved.

Steps flow into more steps, and yet it feels like no time at all passes before the world comes back into focus as the first lilting notes of Felix’s requested song (communicated by virtue of Annie) fill the room.

As planned, the hall is almost entirely empty now save for their close friends who loiter around the sides. A flash of bright orange in his periphery tells Felix that Annette is busy running proxy and filling their companions in on the plan.

Goddess knows what Dimitri is up to. Though Felix has a sinking suspicion that the stupidly soft-hearted boar is probably sniffing away happy tears somewhere behind a glass of sparkling cider.

The music swells and that is Felix’s cue.

“Sylvain.” He doesn’t dare speak any louder, lest he break the spell that they are under.

Hazy brown eyes focus slightly, even as Sylvain gives a distracted hum in response.

“I…” Goddess, why are words so hard? “I… I know that you never got to enjoy Yule or any other holiday really when you were growing up.”

“Hm?” Now he has Sylvain’s full attention. “Felix, are you still thinking about what I told you in the summer? It’s fine. Really. I have you now and that’s all that matters.”

“But it’s not okay,” Felix grouses out, still dancing. “It’s not okay that you were robbed of happiness so early in your life. It’s not okay that you never understood what it was like to be loved until we basically beat it into your thick skull at the academy.”

Insulting Sylvain is definitely not how Felix wants this to go, but he relaxes a little when Sylvain merely laughs, “that’s one way to tell me you love me, Fe.”

“I do.” Felix says, almost defiantly as he raises his gaze to meet Sylvain’s stunned one. “I love you more than you know and more than you believe, and it’s because I love you that I promise that I will make up for all those years that you should have been happy – I’ll make every year better than the last.”

It must look so odd, Felix thinks, how the more determined and steelier his face gets, the sappier and lovestruck Sylvain’s expression becomes.

“Fe,” Sylvain’s breath washes over Felix’s face as he presses a soft kiss to his lips. “You already make me so happy. Everyday with you is worth everything I’ve gone through and more. I truly… I truly don’t deserve you.” When Sylvain pulls away, there is a sad smile tugging at his face and a distant part of Felix wants to smack it right off.

“You do deserve me.” Felix snaps. The music is slowly dying away now and his voice comes out louder in the growing silence of the hall than he intends, but his heart is beating a mile a minute and there’s no stopping now, and so Felix decides to hurl himself headlong into the deep end.

“You deserve so much, Sylvain. So much more than I can give you, but I’ll be damned if I don’t at least try.” Felix pulls them to a stop in the middle of the dance floor and gathers both of Sylvain’s much larger ones in his.

He doesn’t dare look up at the love of his life, but their lives are so entwined that Felix can picture with crystal clarity the look of growing confusion and wide eyes that is surely adorning Sylvain’s expression.

“Sylvain Jose Gautier.” Felix likes the way the name rolls off his tongue, but he would like it even better if there was another name added to the end. “You are the biggest fool I’ve ever met. You throw yourself into danger to protect those that you love, yet you never consider yourself worthy of love in return.”

Felix builds enough courage now to look up at Sylvain to see the startled wild confusion grow in his eyes.

Eyes that widen even further as Felix sinks down to one knee with his hands still cradled in Felix’s left, as his right reaches into his coat pocket to pull out a simple velvet box.

“I know,” Felix swallows the lump in his throat and tightens his grip on Sylvain’s hands which are now physically trembling, “I know that you’ve never thought that you would be happy. That you deserved to be happy. But I want to prove you wrong.”

There are tears running down Sylvain’s face now as his mind finally puts the pieces together and the reality of the situation fully dawns upon him.

“I never want you to feel like you aren’t loved ever again. I never want you to feel lonely or like there is no one out there who has your back. I never want you to feel like your life is conditional and that you have to cripple who you are just to be accepted.”

Goddess. Sylvain truly is an ugly crier. Blast him for looking so handsome anyways even with his nose scrunched up and fat crocodile tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

“I love you, Sylvain, and I want to spend the rest of our lives proving it to you, so will you marry me?”

The beat after the metaphorical ball drops is painfully long, but when time resumes again, Sylvain’s knees buckle beneath him and he collapses in a sobbing heap, his body leaning into Felix like he is touch starved and Felix holds the warmth of home in his arms.

“You-“ Sylvain’s voice is hoarse as he chokes the words out through his tears, “You… want to marry me? Marry me?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to.”

(Across the room, Dimitri has to hold Ingrid back from throwing a cup at Felix’s head)

“But, it’s me! Felix, I’m a mess. How could you ever want someone as broken as me?” There is desperation in Sylvain’s eyes, but it is wild, like Sylvain himself doesn’t know if he’s desperate for Felix to just take this last out he’s providing or to reassure him that yes, this is really happening and yes, Felix really wants to marry him.

“You idiot.” Felix huffs fondly, reaching up a pale scarred hand to gently thumb away the nonstop tears on Sylvain’s face. “I’ve wanted you since we were children. I will never stop wanting you. You might be a mess, but you’re my mess.”

Felix withdraws his grip slowly and finally opens the velvet box clutched in his hand. He doesn’t hear so much as feel the sharp inhale from Sylvain as he reveals the glittering silver ring nestled in the soft cushion.

“Do you remember the sword that I carried with me throughout the war?”

Sylvain scrubs his eyes and nods, “Yeah. I remember. Why? What happened-“

Brown eyes widen almost comically again and Sylvain stares at the ring with his mouth agape.

“Felix. Felix, don’t tell me…”

“If this doesn’t prove how serious I am, then I don’t know what will.”

“But Felix, you loved that sword.”

Felix doesn’t even pause to think before he retorts, “You truly are a fool if you think that I love a sword more than I love you.”

Felix does not expect for Sylvain to burst into sobs again, but rather than the irritation that he’s sure he would have felt under different circumstances, the only thing Felix can feel right now is warmth and love blooming in his chest.

“Sylvain,” Felix feels a small smile tug at the corner of his lips as he brings his hand up to frame Sylvain’s tearful face, “will you marry me?”

The crooked wobbly smile that graces Sylvain’s face next is one that Felix will remember for the rest of his life. It is the same one that he’s seen only a handful of times, but he knows what it means and Felix swears that he will dedicate the rest of his life finding ways to silence the demons and bring out that smile again and again and again.

“Yes.”

----

Neither of them remembers much of the celebration after Felix slips the ring on Sylvain’s finger.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of bottles upon bottles of champagne (the good stuff, according to Ashe who may have had a peek in the cellars) and laughter and congratulations.

But most importantly, it passes with Sylvain being surrounded by the people who have risked life and limb for him, and Felix hopes that this is at least a decent start to spending the rest of his life making his future husband happy.

---

It is only much later that night in the aftermath of rumpled sheets and whispers of pleasure that Felix succumbs to the incessant voice at the back of his mind, itching to ask what he already knows but wants reassurance of anyways.

“Did you… was this Yule better than last year?” His breath ghosts over the red hairs on Sylvain’s chest, stirring the owner to shift away ticklish and shuffle so that he can look down at his fiancé.

“Yeah, it was. It was absolutely wonderful.” Sylvain’s voice is quiet when he answers. Quiet enough that the sincerity of it strikes Felix through the heart and stirs the butterflies in his stomach. Above him, he can feel Sylvain’s muscles shifting as he examines his new engagement ring in the moonlight and Felix pointedly does not point out the fresh batch of tears that well up in Sylvain’s eyes when he finds the inscription carved on the inside.

Felix nods his head once in a jerky movement, the abruptness a stark contrast to the curl of satisfactory success blooming in his gut. Good. That’s one year down and an entire lifetime to go.

“I keep my promises, you know.”

He doesn’t need to say it, but the part of him that is finely tuned into the entity that is Sylvain tells him that these are words he needs to hear regardless of how difficult they are tripping up and out of his mouth.

“I promised that I would make up for all those shitty years that you never got to celebrate properly.”

Sylvain huffs a laugh into his hair, “well, you’re off to a strong start. I believe you also promised me that you would make each year better than the last.”

He’s teasing, but Felix hears the small sliver of shy hope that toes the open space between them timidly, almost as if the fool didn’t just hear him say that he keeps all his damn promises.

It will be a long and hard battle before Felix can officially claim victory over Sylvain’s doubts, but he’s no stranger to war and this is one that he already knows the outcome of.

“I will,” Felix whispers into a sweet kiss, “I promised.”

---

It comes as no surprise that Felix stays true to his word.

Either Felix is the most brilliant strategist in all of Fodlan or Sothis herself watches over them, for in a fortuitous twist of fate, the next Yule seasons brings Sylvain and Felix a beautiful baby girl that they lovingly name Sophia Gabriella Fraldarius-Gautier.

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