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sorryjustafangirl · 3 years

Text

what home is

a/n: this is my submission for @antoineroussel 's summer fic exchange 2k21! thank you for organizing this all demi. i recieved @timstuetzle and i am so excited to finally share this! im sorry it's so late but i had a lot of fun writing for Tim and i hope i did him justice! i made this a gender neutral reader again, so please enjoy my take on some friends to enemies to lovers :)

pairing: tim stützle x reader

word count: 18k+ (holey moley)

warnings: some angst, set in no covid-universe, a few swears, an odd timeline

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction and real person fiction if you don’t like that, please don’t read! the banner is made by me, with photos found from pinterest and the transparent made by @art-and-the-hockeys (thank you!!!)

The start of the season was your favourite. The chill of the rink, the sound of skate edges on the ice, the smell of skate sharpening- it was all so familiar. As an analyst, the start was the best. There were new lineups, new plays, and a chance to try new things. Considering this was your first year as a real analyst, not just checking over others' work, you were excited. You got to actually help to build a Stanley Cup winning team.

What you didn’t love was how everyone seemed to lose their heads and decide to run around the arena. You’d been looking for the coach of the Ottawa Senators for the past twenty minutes. You’d think the man would be in his office the first day back, but no. He decides to take a stroll to who-knows-where and leaves you to follow invisible breadcrumbs.

Eventually, you found yourself on one of the lower levels. You continued down the hallway, entering an open space with concrete floors. The bustle of the new season was in full swing as you swerved between various people working like gears in a machine. You tried to do your best to stay out of other people’s way but you still ended up walking into a hard surface.

“Oof!” Shit. Hard surfaces don’t usually talk. You looked up at what you ran into and saw two men staring at you. Both were wearing Senators hoodies but one was a taller blond and the other a slightly shorter brunet. The brunet has a backwards snapback on but that wasn't what made you stop in your tracks. It was his eyes. They were soft and welcoming, something like a home cooked meal, but they had a glint of adventure in them.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! I wasn’t really looking where I was going. I am so sorry.” You apologized to the blond you ran into.

“Hey, all good. I’m-”

“Number 7.” You turned toward the brunet. “And...number 18, right?” When they both gave you a weird look, you shrugged. “I’m an analyst here so, uh, you’re just numbers to me.”

“Okay, ouch but you are the reason we’re going to be winning more games this season, so I'll give it to you. I’m Brady, and this is Jimmy.” The blond gestured to himself first, before gesturing beside him.

“It’s Tim, actually.”

You introduced yourself to the two players, before looking around the hallways. “Um, would either of you happen to know where the coach is? I can’t find him,” You held up the file folders in your hands. “I’ve got new numbers for him.”

“Oh yeah he’s probably close to the ice, we’ll show you.” Brady started down a hallway, both you and Tim falling in stride behind him. “So Numbers-”

“-Y/n-” You glared at Brady for the nickname, rolling your eyes as he continued on. From your peripheral vision, you saw the corners of Tim's mouth turn up.

“-If you don’t mind me saying….either you look really good for your age, or you aren’t old enough to be working here,” He continued, giving a glance your way.

You looked down at your shoes and gave a sigh. “I get that a lot, and I am young-er than my colleagues but I assure you, I am qualified to work for this organization.”

“Wasn’t doubting that, just seeing how much I get to tease ya. Jimmy’s the rookie,” He elbowed him and Tim tried to swerve around it, only to bump into a stack of pylons. Brady and you shared a grin at his expense. “So he gets all the teasing. Same for the numbers people. You’re the rookie.” He shrugged

“Well, I’m not actually a rookie anymore. This is my second year here,” You mentioned, looking towards the two guys. Brady looked impressed whereas Tim’s eyes went large and his jaw slack a little.

“How?” He asked, and you laughed. The three of you turned a corner, and you walked slightly faster to talk.

“I graduated high school pretty early. And then took my statistics undergrad at the University of Ottawa. I minored in sports studies and I met your GM at a conference for the department. When he found out I was in Ottawa alone, he kinda took me under his wing, checked in every now and again. When I graduated two years ago, he offered me an analyst position and I was lucky enough to land it. I love working here, even if I’m way younger than everyone else. Last year, I stayed in my office a lot, double checking people’s work but this year, they gave me more responsibility. I’m excited for the challenge.”

“You are going to be great.” Tim said, meeting your eyes, his gaze showing that his comment was genuine. You ducked away from his gaze but muttered a ‘thanks’. The three of you rounded another corner, Brady ducking out to talk to a reporter, but Tim said he’d help you find the coach.

You settled into a comfortable silence as you walked beside each other through the chilled hallways. He abruptly took a left turn, cutting you off and causing you to bump into him. You immediately apologized, this being the second time today you’d run into a hockey player.

“‘S my fault, I’m still getting used to the new arena,” He said, a sheepish smile appearing on his face. He nodded his head down the hallway, as a silent ‘after you’ and you started walking. As you got further down, you realized Tim walked you out to the bench. The light became brighter, the air a little crisper, and the floor turned from a concrete grey to a bright red. Your eyes wandered up, admiring the view from down here. You’d be truthful earlier, you’d only ever visited your office. But from down here, you could see everything- the thousands of seats, the banners hanging from the ceiling, the crystal white ice. You stood close to the wall, as if to try to intimidate a fly on a wall, seeing everything as if you weren’t there. You could feel Tim could up from behind you, letting you take it all in for the first time.

“That’s Coach,” He leaned closer to you as he pointed across the ice towards someone in a tracksuit. You nodded and although Tim dropped his hand, he stayed close to you. The coach eventually noticed the two of you and started to skate over to the bench. Tim cleared his throat and you looked at him.

“I got to- I have to go now, but, um, I’ll see you around?” You nodded to his question, a soft smile on your lips. He rocked back and forth on his heels, as if he knew he had to leave but he kept getting pulled towards you. “Good luck with the season.”

“Good luck with yours too.” At that he turned away from you, and you turned to the coach, pulling out your file folder to talk with him.

***

A week or two later and the start of the season was upon the Canadian Tire Centre. The home opener was in a few days and your week had been hectic, trying to get notes from practices and implement what you saw into your analysis. After a morning full of spreadsheets, you decided to take your lunch break in your sanctuary. Last year, the arena felt too big to stick around in on your lunch break. So you had headed outside, where you discovered a small hiking trail about a ten minute drive from work. It quickly became a place where you went whenever you needed to clear your head. And after the morning you had, it was the perfect place to go, so you hopped in your car and started towards it.

At the top of the hill, you put the car in park, grabbed your lunch bag and started towards your spot. It was past the picnic tables that had a nice view of the suburbs, but it wasn't secluded. Your spot was off the beaten path, but there was a small ledge with a perfect view of the arena, highway, and surrounding green spaces. You turn the corner, ducking under a tree branch, ready to exhale the heck of the morning you had.

But there was already someone sitting in your spot. Their head was down, but you recognized the logo and number 18 on their hoodie. Cautiously, you approached him.

“18...Is it okay if I sit here?” You asked, and his head shot up. He shot you a small smile and quick nod. You sat down, placing your bag in front of you, taking out a granola bar.

“You can call me Tim, you know. That is my name,” You gave him a shy smile and you could feel your cheeks heat up at his comment.

“I didn’t think anyone knew about this place, Tim,” You mentioned quietly. It felt weird, to be honest, to be sharing your spot with someone, but it didn’t feel like he was intruding.

“My city in Germany has a lot of parks. There’s a forest near my house where I’d go when I needed a break. This is the closest I could find near the rink. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Just don’t go telling the whole team about our place,” you winked at him and took a bite of your snack.

“I can keep a secret, don’t worry.” He laughed lightly and sent you a smile.

“I don’t know if you remember me but-”

“You’re the analyst, you graduated super early right? Y/n, yeah?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” You smiled at him. “So, how are you liking Ottawa?”

“It’s alright, I haven’t seen very much of it. The ice is very good. My house is nice.” He shrugged and you gaped at him.

“That’s all you’ve seen? So you haven’t been to Parliament Hill or ByWard market or…?” you trailed off when you saw him biting his bottom lip and slowly shaking his head. “Well, you are missing out, you should go see the city sometime.”

“Do you think you could show me around? You seem to know all the best places,” He offered. You met his eyes and nodded. He dug his phone out of his pocket, passing it over to you. You raised your eyebrows at the gesture but he just pushed his phone closer to you. Silently, you imputed your number, placing a small graph emoji beside your contact name. You handed it back to him and a small smirk graced his face when he saw the emoji, before he pursed his lips at the device. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“Sorry, it’s all good. Thank you. It’s- I have to go back now, but I’ll text you, yeah?” You nodded as he handed back your phone. He walked towards the parking lot, but turned around to wave at you before he disappeared around the bend.

Later that day as you sat in the stands, a clipboard and pen in your hands, you got a text from an unknown number.

It's 18 :)

You chuckled at his use of his number and texted him back.

i thought you said i could call you tim? :(

also it’s practice?? how are you on your phone?

It starts in a couple minutes

your teammates are already on the ice

Spying on me already??

it’s literally my job to watch you practice

Guess I'll see you in the stands then :)

Oh and I'm free this weekend for that showing of the city, team bonding’s on friday

i’ll check my schedule and get back to you

now get out on the ice or you’re going to be late :)

***

You had checked your schedule, and agreed to meet that Saturday. You said you’d pick him up since you knew more of the city. You didn't want to be late so you arrived five minutes early in front of Tim's place. He walked out in his signature backwards snapback, some curls poking out the front, and a monochromatic beige outfit. Waving animatedly at you, he jogged to the car, his ever present smile on his face.

The twenty minutes ride into the city was quiet yet comfortable. A few words were exchanged about how each other’s day was so far but nothing groundbreaking. The low hum of the engine filled the silence as you drove into the city.

After parking in a Superstore (‘Free parking in downtown Ottawa is hard to come by, Tim. We’re parking in the grocery store parking lot’) and walking a few blocks, you come to the far end of the market. Lined with local businesses and brick streets, it felt homey. Tim smiled as it reminded him of back home.

“So, what are we going to see first? Your school?” He asked as the two of you walked along the streets. You laughed and shook your head.

“Pfft no. It isn’t all that interesting. I figured we’d see some of my favourite places, if that’s okay?” He assured you it was and the two of you continued through the streets, Tim with his head down as you passed people. He wasn't famous just yet, but in Canada you find hockey fans at every corner. Soon, you arrived in a small plaza with coloured picnic tables and muskoka chairs.

“Ta-da!” You gestured to the large block letters that spelled ‘Ottawa’ in the middle of the space. “It’s not much, but you’ve got to be a tourist in your own city at least once right?” He laughed along with you and you got out your phone, ready to take a picture of him so he could send it to his parents. You thought he would want a picture of him but he was quick to insist you had to be in the picture as well.

“I’m sorry, but would you mind taking a picture of us?” You asked one of the girls who were taking turns with the Ottawa sign.

“Oh sure!” You stood beside him, between the two ‘T’s in Ottawa, his arm slung over your shoulders. You smiled and looked up at Tim to see him smiling as well- and not one of those classic boy coy half smiles, a genuine one. She took a few landscape and a few portrait ones before handing your phone back. “You two are such a cute couple!”

Before you could correct the girl, Tim answered for you. “We’re just friends actually.” She apologized profusely before rejoining her group. You shuffled your feet as an awkward silence overcame you for the first time since you’d met. Your body shivered and you promptly changed the subject.

“Hey, you hungry?” He shrugged and nodded. You nodded and led him away from the sign, through a few back alleys lined with a few merchants, home artists and such. You entered a building, bustling with people. It was long and narrow, with brick flooring and merchants on either side of the middle. There were lots of people, ranging from people doing their weekly grocery shopping to tourists looking for souvenirs. You weaved between strollers and friend groups, Tim grabbing your hand to avoid getting lost. He kept his head low, hoping it would disguise him enough. This day was about you and him, not you, him and the hockey world. Eventually, the two of you exited the indoor market and came to a small opening. Instead of staying in the opening, you turned left, tugging Tim across the street to two small shacks, one red and one blue. The red one had a classic fairytale vibe to it, with beige wainscotting, red painted window frames, and topped with a white and light brown canopy over the window. Underneath the canopy, there was a string of small Canadian flags.

“Do you trust me?” He arched one of his eyebrows but nodded. “I’ll be right back.” Confused, Tim stood there as you walked up the window, spending no time looking at the menu as you ordered. He looked above the shack to see in fancy lettering the word BeaverTails. When you came back, you were holding two paper containers and had a smile on your face. He looked at the sign and then back to the bags in your hands.

“A beaver’s… tail?” You laughed at him and handed him his BeaverTail.

“It’s not actually a beaver’s tail. It’s just a fried pastry that looks like one. They come in lots of flavours but I got you the best one, cinnamon sugar.” You could tell he was hesitant but bit into his and you took a bite of your own.

Almost instantly, he groaned. “Do you take every guy here? Wow. Oh my god,” He got cinnamon smeared over his chin and you laughed as he tried to wipe it off while holding his pastry.

“Hilarious Tim, but I’ll have you know you’re like my only friend here. So… no I don’t take anyone here.” He scoffed and you raised your eyebrows.

“You’re joking. How do you not have other friends? You’re great,”

“I started university as a 16 year math major. It’s not a surprise people didn’t want to talk to me. But it’s okay. I’m used to it by now.”

“Don’t you have people from home come and visit?”

You scoffed. “I don’t really get along with my mum. We moved around a lot when I was younger and I always sorta resented her for not seeing how it affected me. And then, when I got accepted to school out here, she sold the house and started travelling. Last I talked to her, she was in Tahiti.” He raised his eyebrows.

“What about your dad? Or brothers or sisters?” You swallowed your piece of BeaverTail before answering him.

“I have an older sister, Dani. But she’s eight years older than me, so we're not the closest. She checks in every week or so because she knows my mum doesn't. She’s never come out to visit though, she runs her own business back in Seattle.”

“It must be nice to have someone though. Especially when you were growing up. What about your dad?”

“I don’t- I don’t talk about my dad.” You picked at the pastry before changing the topic. “C’mon, you have to see this place.” You gestured to a side street and the two of you made your way towards your favourite destination. You exited beside a taller building and you pressed the button to allow the two of you to cross the street. As you were waiting for the light to turn, you turned to Tim.

“So, I’m guessing you don’t have any siblings then?”

“No, but the guys at the rink were like my brothers so it wasn’t bad.” The light turned red, and the ‘walk’ light turned on. You made your way across, staying close to each other as people walked both ways.

“Hockey tends to do that,”

“Is that why you picked to work in hockey?”

You glared at him as you made it across the street. “That’s personal.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends share personal stuff.”

“That’s… it’s just different.” You shook your head and lowered the volume of your voice. “Besides, we’re here.” The two of you had stopped in front of some shallow steps that led to a tall archway, with black statues underneath and on top of the arch. It had some engravings on it, both small and large letters. From where they were standing, Tim could make out some numbers, but not well enough to understand the significance. Behind the monument and slightly to the right was the green tipped roof and gothic architecture of the Parliament building.

“What is this place?” He tilted his head as he looked at the arch in the middle of the square. To him, it wasn’t anything special, perhaps another statue of one of the colonizers of the country.

“It’s Canada’s war memorial.” You whispered, and he nodded, clasping his hands in front of his body and lowering his head. “When I was going to school, I’d come here at least once a week.”

His head stayed where it was but he raised his eyes to meet yours. “Why?”

“I know it’s not exactly everyone’s favourite place...because I know so many people died for the country, but for me, it’s a place of silence. Of reflection. It reminds me to be grateful for everything I have. Some days school would be really bad, so this place was perfect to sit and remember that life isn’t bad at all. Not when I was in a safe country, not when I had an education, not when I had a warm house to go back to.”

He nodded. “That seems...perfect. Some days are too loud, there’s too many people saying stuff. I get that.” His voice was quiet as well, as he lifted his head to focus on the stonework and engravings. The two of you stood in silence in front of the memorial for a few minutes more before you tugged on his arm.

“See that building?” You leaned in close to him, your finger extending to point at a building in the distance, a little taller than the ones around it. “That’s the university’s mathematics and physics department. I had most of my classes in that building.” He nodded, leaning in closer to you, your heads almost touching. You lowered your hand and nodded with your head towards the way you came.

“C’mon, we’re not done yet. You’ve got to see the Parliament building.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed left towards it. You quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him right. “I’m the tour guide, remember? Trust me, there’s a better view.” You dropped his hand as he started to walk in time with you but you had to shove it in your pocket to replace the heat his hands gave you.

A quick ten minutes walk later and you stood atop a hill overlooking the river. It was a large park with benches and an eccentric art installation in the corner. You walked close to the peak of the hill and stopped, breathing in the fresh air.

“There is Canada’s capital building. It’s nicer to see it from here than from the front where there’s a bunch of tourists. Besides, from here, you get to see more of the architecture.” The building was across the river, its massiveness more pronounced from your viewpoint. There was a dome nearest the river that was covered in flying buttresses, each support beam having intricate details that stood out. The clock tower and green tinted roof completed the gothic look.

“This view is better. Quieter. It reminds me more of home,” You bump your shoulder against his lightly.

“Glad you like it.” The two of you stood in silence until Tim shivered, at which case you decided you should start heading back. If the hockey player was cold, it was cold enough for you too.

The walk and drive back was uneventful, aside from the two of you passing jokes back and forth. When it came to drop him off, he unbuckled his seatbelt but didn’t make an effort to leave the vehicle.

“How much for our snack? I’ll pay you back,”

You waved him off. “It was my treat, don’t worry about it.” He pursed his lips, then shook it. He pulled out his phone from his pocket. A few seconds later, your phone dinged. You glared at him as you opened the text to see an e-transfer. Before you could protest, he cut you off.

“You never said I couldn’t pay for your gas," He laughed, and despite your annoyance at the loophole, you found yourself laughing along with him. He had that effect on you; he seemed to be able to ease any tension you held. “I had a good time today. Maybe we could meet again sometime?”

“I’d like that. I’ll see you at the rink?” He nodded before getting out of your car, waving like he did that morning as you drove off to your place. When you arrived home, you saw a new text from him.

Can you send those pictures you took today?

You tried to suppress a smile, sending them over to which he responded with a ‘Thank youuuu’. You set your phone on your nightstand and turned off the light. Despite your efforts, you fell asleep with a smile on your face from a perfect day with a great person.

***

“Hey, Numbers!” You stopped in your tracks and turned around to see Brady sticking his head out of the dressing room. He had taken a liking to calling you that, especially as you had started hanging around the house more. It was nice, movie nights and sometimes you’d take a pre-game nap with Tim, you had even stayed for lunch at Tim’s request. At this point, it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary for Brady to shout the nickname from anywhere. Practice had ended and you had given your notes to the coach about what to focus on for the Toronto game. “You didn’t happen to see Jimmy, did you?” When you shook your head, his face scrunched into a small frown.

“Where’d he go? Didn’t media like just end?”

He shrugged. “He didn’t even bother to change from media, he just stalked out. He didn’t say anything to any of the guys, so I thought you might’ve seen him.”

“I’ll keep a lookout for him,” You told Brady before he returned to finish dressing and you returned to your office. But even after you’d settled back into your work, there was a feeling in your stomach you couldn’t quite place. Sending a quick text off to Tim, asking where he was, you dove back into work. But it only took five minutes before you were checking your phone, seeing if he’d read the text or responded. When neither happened, you gave him a call. It sent you straight to voicemail and you hung up before you could leave a message. The feeling in your stomach grew and you packed up your bag, knowing no more work would get done tonight. It wasn’t like Tim to sulk or get in his head; he was a generally happy guy. Something must have set him off for him to be acting this way -- even with you. And if it was something this big, there was only one spot he would’ve gone.

“Brady said you stalked out of media. Figured I’d find you here.” He turned around at the sound of your voice, his shoulders dropping a little. He shrugged, which you took as your cue to take a seat beside him at your lookout space. The sun was setting, the golden hour light reflecting on his stress lines, and the sky was littered with wispy clouds.

Your hands were in the pockets of your hoodie, your legs tucked together. Despite being here for close to six years, the Canadian chill always surprised you. You sat with your shoulder pressed to his, a silent symbol of you being there for him. With his head down, he mumbled something too quiet for you to hear, so you leaned your head down to hear him better. At your movement, he huffed and lifted his head.

“I’m supposed… They wanted me to come and make a difference and to help win games. But I’m not helping! I’m supposed to be putting up points and helping win games, but we’re still losing! Like, why do I suck?”

Your chest got tight at his words. “Tim…”

“You can’t deny it, the numbers say we’re losing.”

“Losing doesn’t mean you aren’t producing. This is your first year in the NHL, you wouldn’t be here if they didn’t think you were worth it. Hockey is a team sport, it isn’t just your job to win the game.”

“But they wouldn’t have gotten me right out of the World Juniors if they didn’t need me to start making an impact right away! They were counting on me. And I’m not living up to it….”

“You are nineteen years old. Nineteen. The five other rookies ahead of you in points are all at least two years older than you. Let that sink in. You have so many years ahead of you. And secondly, no one here is expecting you to turn this team around. McDavid’s first year he didn’t turn the team around. And sure, yeah, the next year, the Oilers had more success but guess what? They missed the playoffs the next three years. Hockey is a team sport, one person, not even McDavid, can completely turn a team around. No one is expecting you to turn this team around in one season. This isn’t on you.”

“But the numbers…”

“Are you going to trust the analyst on the numbers or the assholes on Twitter?” He glared at you but let you continue on. “If you really want to talk numbers, we aren’t last in the league anymore. We’ve beat the top team in the division a couple times now. You’re putting up points, you’re helping us win. Cut yourself some slack. You’re nineteen and living in a new country. This team isn’t expecting you to be Ottawa’s saviour, okay?”

“There’s pressure to be better though! Everywhere I go, I just see how I should be doing more, how if I don’t produce more, I’m going to be a draft bust. I’m the young guy, I’m supposed to be the new blood and be able to make a difference. I feel like I’m letting everyone down.” His words lingered in the sunset glow, a contrast to the darkness he was feeling. You fell silent at his outburst, the air feeling too quiet, even with his heavy breathing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

You ignored his apology, knowing he would never intentionally hurt you. “I graduated with a 3.8 GPA. I didn’t have enough job experience but my grades were one of the only reasons I was able to get hired so young. My first year, all I did was double check other people’s stats and predictions, and it was okay. No one expected much out of me because I was young and they didn’t really give me any responsibilities. But this year… they’re looking to me more. Teams with more than two analysts are more likely to produce teams that make the playoffs. I’m number three; I should be helping make a better team. But I’m not. I’m not getting the numbers we need or the stats we need. I know more updated methods and technologies but...it’s just not working. I’m not finding solutions to problems that this team has had for years. And the board and my colleagues see that. I know I shouldn’t worry about them firing me, but I still do. I mean, I’m not producing, why would they keep me around? This wasn’t what they wanted when they gave me the job.”

“They won’t fire you, you’re doing your best. And you’re young, you graduated early. They have to give you a chance to prove yourself in the workplace before they fire you.”

“You wanna take your own advice?” He flushed at your words, but you smiled. “Thanks, though.” He nodded and looked out over the suburbs surrounding the arena.

“The pressure in this league sucks.” He said and you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah. It does. But we’ll get through it right?”

“We’ll figure something out. Together.” He placed his hand on your thigh and the two of you looked out at the sunset, his touch lingering on your body until the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Silently, he helped you to your feet, and walked you to your car, making sure you got in okay, before he got into his car. On the drive home, your chest felt lighter from the conversation.

***

The final buzzer rang, signalling a 4-2 win for the Senators. You smiled at the scoreboard and gathered your papers. The game was nothing spectacular, but for you, it was a career defining game. Some of the lines you'd suggested were risky, but you had the numbers to back it up, and it worked. It worked. The conversation with Tim earlier last week helped with your confidence to take risks in terms of your analytic advice.

You went back to your office after the game, wanting to type up a report of how you impacted tonight's outcome. If it worked this time, who's to say it couldn't work again? But in a higher stakes game? You felt like you were finally contributing to the team, and damn, it felt good.

Your office was barely even that. It was small, but you had a desk, a window, and your name on the door. It was enough for your first major gig. You'd made it a little homey-er with a small succulent and some motivational quotes. You opened up your laptop and began to type up a document report. The words flowed from your fingers and you used the numbers you counted from the box to back up your findings. Time seemed to stand still as you typed, the document becoming longer and longer.

A knock broke your train of thought and you looked up to see Tim poking his head through your office door. He had a shy smile on your face and you shook the writing haze out of your eyes.

"Hey! Come on in," He nodded, closing the door behind him before leaning against the wall. "You played a good game." His cheeks flushed and he lifted his hat, running his fingers through his hair.

"Thanks, thank you. Anyway, did you eat yet?"

"I mean, I had an iced coffee before the game and a granola bar during the second period. So yeah?" Immediately he started shaking his head and he pushed himself away from the wall. You open your hands as if to say 'what’?" and he outstretched his hand to you.

"Coffee and a granola bar isn't a meal. Let's go get some real food, I'm hungry." He made a grabby hand with his outstretched hand and you sighed.

"I have to finish my report, I can't." He sighed, pushed your laptop shut, and grabbed your hand.

"That can wait. Besides, the boys went out and I need a ride home." He flashed you a shy smile and you rolled your eyes, before picking up your bag and leaving your office with him. You tried not to notice how Tim was still holding onto your hand, but as he tugged you along to a quiet area of the concourse, it was difficult to do. He stopped at a small table with two bar stools. He let go of your hand, cold enveloping you, and you hung your bag on the back of the chair. As you hopped onto the chair, he stayed standing, tapping his fingers on the tabletop.

“What do you want to eat?" When you shook your head again, he pulled out his puppy dog eyes. "Tim, seriously, I'm fine."

"I'm getting some fries and you will eat some of them. Deal?" Your face pulled into a frown and he repeated himself. "Deal?"

"Yes, Mom, deal."

He gave himself a self assured smile. "Great. I'll be right back."

A few minutes later he came back with a container of fries and two small containers. He set them down in front of you before he got seated. A closer look at the container showed one was ketchup and the other was…

"Is this mayo?" He picked up a fry, dipped it in the white substance, and popped it into his mouth. With his mouth full, he nodded. "You eat your fries with mayonnaise?"

"You don't?"

"No!" You shook your head. He took another fry, dipped it again, and ate it.

"You have to try it, it's good!"

“No, no thank you. You can keep your weird German eating habits to yourself." You laughed, dipping a fry in ketchup before eating it.

"Nope, you've got to try one. Please?" You scrunched up your nose, and he held out a white coated french fry. You gave in, taking it from his hands and shoving it in your mouth. You chewed it slowly, contemplating the taste.

"It's...not horrible." He raised his eyebrows at you. "Fine, it's alright." He gave you another look, a small smile forming on his face despite his efforts to hide it. "Okay, okay, I like it. Happy?" He let out a loud laugh.

"Yes! I knew you'd like it!" You laughed a little with him, before dipping another fry in the mayo and popped it in your mouth. The two of you ate in silence, the sounds of the zamboni in the background.

"Why didn't you go out with the guys? You had a good game,"

He shrugged. "I wanted something quieter. Besides, I was hungry and the guys wanted to go out to a bar. Bar food isn't exactly a meal."

"Neither is french fries,"

"Well, maybe, you're just better company than the guys."

"Damn right, I am." You smiled, tapped his fry with yours in a makeshift sort of 'cheers' way. When the two of you had finished your snack, you picked up the container and threw it in the compost bin near the table. You grabbed your bag off the chair, holding up your car keys. He got up off the table, joining you in a slow walk towards the parking lot.

You wished the custodians a good night as the two of you left the arena, the street lights in the parking lot illuminating the way to your car. Silently, you unlocked the car and you both got in. You gave him your phone, telling him to pick any playlist he wanted while you started the car. He picked one of your favourite playlists, a mix of relaxing beats and soft music, which was perfect for late night drives.

"You should have some lo-fi on here, it's a lot like this. I think you'd like it," he said, after you had merged onto the highway.

"Yeah?" He only nodded, allowing a comfortable silence to come back to the car. The rest of the drive was easy, the road being mostly empty and the music filling the car. He gave you quiet directions to the house, more points and here's than actual directions but you were able to find it.

"Thank you for the ride," He said, once you’d put the car in park.

"Thanks for sharing your food with me,” He shook his head and smiled at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“I’ll always share with you.” You caught his gaze, his brown eyes filled with sincerity. You could feel your cheeks flush and you waved him out of your car.

“I gotta get home too, you know.” You joked and he got out, popping his head back into the doorway for a second.

“Text me when you get home, yeah?” You murmured an ‘of course’ and he nodded, closing the car door and making his way to his front door. You waited until he entered the house before you drove away, turning on a lo-fi playlist from Spotify.

***

“Your turn to pick the movie, but no subtitles please, I’m too lazy to read today.” You handed Tim the remote for his TV while you pulled the blanket closer to your chin. The October chill had settled in his apartment and you hadn’t dressed for his room to feel like the arena.

“Jimmy!” Someone called from the kitchen and a loud clang dissolved any annoyance Tim had from his roommate interrupting his time with you. He rushed to the kitchen and you followed behind shyly. There were platters across the kitchen island, each with a different coloured dish. It looked like there was a salad, a couple casserole dishes, and some plates of desserts. A taller brunette was standing in the kitchen, frantically gesturing between Tim and a pot on the stove. There was a lid on the ground, a splatter of pinkish red liquid surrounding it. You entered the kitchen, picked up the lid before placing it in the sink. The other guy was still explaining to Tim what exactly he wanted to do, even though his head was tilted like a confused puppy. You brushing him aside llightly, grabbing the spoon Tim was holding to stir the pinkish red liquid on the stove. You sent him a small smile back over your shoulder and all you could see in his eyes was relief.

“Thank you!” The oven beeped and you noticed an embroidered #9 on the roommate's Senator sweats. You moved to the side to allow him to get another baking dish from the oven. He placed it on the stovetop and took off his oven mitts. “Thank you for doing that. I didn’t think he’d be that helpless in the kitchen.”

“I’m surprised anyone in this house can actually cook,” You laughed. The liquid that smelled of oranges and cranberries started to boil, so you reduced the heat and continued to stir it. You look at the baking dish that he brought out of the oven. “Are those brussel sprouts?”

“Yeah! My mom’s recipe; they’re delicious! Do you like them?”

“They’re one of my favourites! My recipe uses bacon though.”

“Oh nice! You’ll have to share it with me, I’d love to try it. And, sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Josh,”

“I know.” He shot you a look and you backtracked. “I-Sorry, it’s just-I actually work with you? I’m in the analytics department, so I know your jersey number and I saw it on your sweats and put two and two together. I’m not being a creep, I’m sorry.” The sound of laughter behind you made you blush.

“Not being a creep my ass. They did the same thing when me and Jimmy ran into them for the first time!” Brady commented, walking into the kitchen. He was wearing a nice pair of dress pants and a button up shirt. You shook your head before nodding towards his attire.

“Going somewhere nice?” He looked down at his outfit and shook his head.

“It’s Thanksgiving? It’s why they gave us the day off?” That...that would explain the amount of food in the kitchen. No matter how many years you lived here, you’d always forgotten that Canadian Thanksgiving was a whole month earlier. You placed the stir spoon on a plate next to the pot and wiped your hands on your pants.

“Oh! Um, right, well, uh in that case, I should be, I should get going. You guys must have plans. Nice to meet you Josh.” You made your way out of the kitchen to the foyer where your coat and shoes were without so much as a goodbye to the guys. You could hear Tim coming after you, his steps lighter and more graceful than Brady or Josh’s. But, he didn’t make a move to do anything except stare at you as you got ready to leave. It wasn’t until you were getting ready to put on your shoes that he spoke.

“You should just stay. We’ve got lots of food.”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude…”

“Brady’s bringing his girlfriend and a couple other of the guys are coming over. You wouldn’t be intruding.”

“I really shouldn’t…”

“You should. Why won’t you stay?”

“I don’t know if you have this holiday in Germany, but Thanksgiving is a family thing, Tim.” You sighed. “Besides, shouldn’t I have brought something? Am I even dressed okay?” You looked down at your outfit - a simple pair of jeans and one of your comfiest graphic tees. He shrugged.

“Don’t worry about that. You look great, just enjoy the night with me. Stay? Please? C’mon schatz, you’re like my family to me.” The two of you maintained eye contact until you broke it and took off your coat. You could see Tim’s smile widen and when it came to walking back into the kitchen, he extended his arm. You took it and the two of you made your way back towards what would end up being a wonderful evening full of laughs and smiles shared between friends.

***

You had come over for a trashy reality TV binge after a particularly hard day at work. None of the numbers were adding up the way you needed them to and your laptop was having a hissy-fit all day. Soon enough, you called it a day and texted Tim, telling him you’d be over in twenty minutes. He greeted you at the door with your favourite chocolate treat, a box of Timbits, and “there’s popcorn in the microwave right now, it’s almost done”. You could’ve melted right on the spot. Instead, you made your way over to the couch where you collapsed and pulled the blanket he had already set out for you up to your chin. You breathed in the smells of pine and sock tape and felt your body relax. HGTV played in the background while you waited for him to bring the popcorn out when his phone dinged.

“Tim, your phone!” You yelled to him from across the living room.

“Who is it?” You sighed and moved from your comfortable spot on the couch to check his messages. You turned on the phone to see a message from Josh, saying he’s five minutes away. You went to lock the phone, seeing the unimportance of the message but something caught your eye. You swiped to clear the notification and his background came into focus. It was the two of you standing in front of the Ottawa sign at ByWard market, his arm around your shoulders and a grin on both your faces.

“Who was it?” He entered the room as he repeated his question.

“Just Josh,” you whispered, turning around to face him holding up his phone. “Am I your lock screen?” He blushes, opening his mouth stammering for words. “I am! I knew I was important to you.” You poked him a couple times for an extra tease when his face settled into a small pout and he retaliated by tickling you. You shrieked and hopped up from the couch, laughing as he chased you around the house.

“Stop doing that!” He laughed as you escaped his clutches once more. Your laugh echoed through the house as he tried again to try to tickle you, but you grabbed Josh and used him as a human shield.

“No fair schatz,” He relented his tickling and sat on the couch. You took a seat beside him, but kept your distance in case he decided to start his torture again.

“You know, you’ve never told me what that means,” You look over to him and he’s already scratching the back of his neck.

“What what means?”

“That thing you keep calling me. Like shats?”

Josh laughed and spoke up. “It means swe-”

“Friend! It means friend!” Tim interrupted loudly, his cheeks rosy. “It means friend.” You raised your eyebrows at his outburst and his explanation.

“You call your friends, ‘friend’?”

He scratched at his jaw and slowly nodded. “In my city, it’s common for friends to just call each other ‘friend’. It’s normal,” You managed out a ‘okay’ between breathy laughs, wondering why he was being so strange about it. It was just a nickname. But the blush in his cheeks didn’t diminish until well after Josh left the room, muttering under his breath about ‘idiots’, and you couldn’t help but think that maybe it meant more than Tim was letting on.

***

“Are you going to be at the gala on Saturday?” Tim asked you as the two of you ate (lunch for you, pre-practice snack for him) on the concourse. It was your first concourse snack since the All-Star break and you had missed him. WhatsApp messages and Instagram messages just weren’t the same as being in his presence. You finished your bite, and shook your head.

“It’s only for players isn’t it?”

“Would you want to come with me?”

“Like...as a date?” You looked up at him, your eyes wide. Maybe this was the clue you were waiting for.

“As friends?” Your eyes darted down onto the counter and Tim took that as a sign you didn’t want to go with him. “There’ll be puppies there.”

“Well,” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “If there’s going to be puppies, I need no more convincing.” You forced a smile onto your face and he returned the sentiment, before finishing up the food. You wished him good luck before the game, and left to go the the box.

Soon enough, it was Saturday night and you found yourself in front of the Fairmont Château. You gazed up at the stone walls and admired how the orange glow from the lights gave it such a warm feeling, compared to the shivers that were going up and down your back. You had found time to go and get a fancy outfit for the night, its gold fabric being a perfect fit on your body. Tim had told you he’d meet you inside, so walked upt the steps alone, avoiding the other guests in fancy attire. They looked like they belonged here. You couldn't relate. The front entrance of the hotel was exactly as you expected -- it had marble floors, crown moldings, and a domed ceiling. You followed the chatter to one of the conference rooms, someone offering to check your coat. With just your clutch, you entered the ballroom with the sound of your shoes following you.

You looked around to try to find Tim among the executives, easily spotting him when you heard Brady’s booming laugh in the corner. You made your way over to the group, including Brady, Josh, Drake, Tim and some respective dates. Josh waved at you and Tim turned around to see you walking towards him.

Tim stood there, memorized by the way the Senators gold fabric hugged your figure and the way your eyes had lit up when you saw one of the puppies. You came over to him, brushing his arm before joining the group. Hellos were thrown your way and it wasn’t long before everyone went back to their conversations and you were able to speak with Tim.

“You look handsome." You handed him your clutch, which he held unashamedly, as you adjusted his gold bowtie, letting your hands linger on the front of his chest. You gulped before snapping out of your trance and took your clutch back from him.

“Um, uh, thanks. You look...good too,” His voice was breathy and his cheeks had flushed a little. You smiled at him, before noticing another golden retriever stumbling around next to its trainer and darting off to pet it. Tim watched you go and he stood back, blown away by the way his heart was beating faster and how he couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs.

“You finally figured it out, huh?” He turned around at Drake’s voice. He had recognized the look on Tim’s face, it was the same one he had when he looked at his partner. Tim furrowed his eyebrows.

“Figured what out?”

Drake scoffed and took a gulp of his drink. “God, you already know and you’re denying it. You’re in love with them.” Tim shook his head, waving off the thought. You were his best friend, nothing more. “C’mon man, you can keep lying to yourself but it’s obvious to everyone else.” He was then swept away by a reporter, leaving Tim to his thoughts.

He wasn’t in love with you. He was sure of it. You were his best friend, his safe spot. It’s not like when he sees you his heart beats faster or he notices how your eyes crinkle when you laugh or when the sun hits your skin just right, you look like an angel. It’s not like the more he looks at your lips the more he wants to know if they taste like your sweet honey lip chap. It’s not like your smile could cure his darkest days or that he could see himself introducing you to his family as his partner.

Except it was like that.

Tim saw all of that with you. He saw more galas, more late night drives, lazy Sunday mornings. He wanted to see you after his games, not in your office, but in the tunnel where you’d be wearing his jersey and a special jean jacket. He wanted to take you home to meet his family, his hometown friends. He wanted to show you all the places that were special to him, just as you showed his places special to you. He wanted to meet Dani and see if she thought he was good enough to be your partner. As he stared at you petting the small golden pup, he realized Drake was right. He was in love with you.

He was in love with his best friend.

Fuck, what was he supposed to do now?

You didn’t give him too much time to think about that as you came up behind him, telling him everything about the golden retriever you just met. He smiled at you, and motioned with his head to find your seats as dinner was going to be served soon. You sat next to him, your leg brushing against his under the table. Even from that, he got shocks-- tiny lightning bolts trailing up his body. It was like every sense was heightened after he came to the realization that he loved you. How am I supposed to even act around them? He thought.

The meal passed without issue and while Tim went about schmoozing all the executives and donors, you stick with the other halves. You had already met Emma, Brady’s partner, and she introduced you to Dakota, Briar, and Marissa (she had also told you who they came with but that information had not stuck with you).

“Sooo… Emma, how’s the wedding planning going?” Briar asked. She had gotten engaged over the holiday break. She laughed and waved off the question.

“Oh, not at all! We’re just enjoying being engaged, it’s like the honeymoon phase all over again,”

“Just like you and Tim,” Dakota nudged you and wiggled her eyebrows. You coughed on your drink at her statement.

“What?” You managed to sputter. Emma looked uncomfortable but didn’t say anything. “What do you mean, like me and Tim?”

“Oh come on, it’s so obvious the two of you are in your honeymoon phase! Don’t be ashamed of it, you’re such a cute couple!”

“Ooh yes!! How his bowtie matched your outfit is like goals, I wish my boyfriend did that with me,” Marissa mentioned. Your voice felt caught in your throat and you were instantly aware of the breeze in the room and the sweat on the back of your neck.

“We’re just friends,” Your voice was small.

“I’ll believe that when pigs fly, babe. Oh, look, here comes your man.” Dakota winked at you before turning into her own date. You turn around quickly to see him walking over to you, laughing with Brady and Josh. Normally, the sight of him would calm you down. He was such a genuine person and you appreciated how you never had to shrink yourself to fit in with him. But with the girls’ comments, you suddenly couldn’t be around him. When his hand met the small of your back, you flinched before relaxing into his touch. It was just Tim, your Tim. It’s not a big deal unless you make it a big deal.

“Timmy, I was just telling Y/n what a cute couple you two are!”

“Well, what do they say? Oh right, they complete me,” He sent you a wink and pulled you closer to his side. You went stiff in his hold, and he noticed, instantly letting you out of his grip. You muttered out an excuse about work and said quick goodbyes to the group before you were out of the gala as fast as your shoes could allow. Your cheeks were hot with...embarrassment? No, that wasn’t quite it. But they were hot, and the room felt small with Dakota’s teasing so just needed to escape. You needed to have fresh air in your lungs, needed to feel the cool Ottawa air on your arms. Needed to be somewhere other than beside him and his light teasing that left your stomach in knots.

But you hadn't even reached the front door and grabbed your coat from the coat check when Tim caught up to you. He watched you try to put on your coat, as he rocked back and forth on his heels like that first day you met.

“Do you… do you actually have work in the morning or were you just saying that?” You looked up and met his eyes, the orbs holding a certain vulnerability you hadn’t seen before.

“I got called at the last minute. I forgot to tell you, Jody’s kid got sick so I’m covering the game on Sunday but I haven’t prepared my notes or anything and you know me, I’ve got to be prepared or I won’t make a coherent analysis and then I’m really in trouble-” Tim cut your rambling off with a murmur of your name and you slowed your frantic movements to look at him.

“We’re okay, right?”

You smiled at him before you walked out the glass door. “Yeah, we’re alright.”

***

Last night was confusing to say the least. You could still feel the heat in your cheeks from...embarrassment? No, it wasn’t that. It was more like you couldn’t stand around to see what he meant by his comment. You couldn’t stand around why everyone else say you as a couple when you knew you weren’t. But you were okay with not being a couple weren’t you?

It’s like not you liked him that way. Yeah, a simple smile from him could turn your day around and your concourse snacks were the highlight of your week. But that’s because he was your best friend. It’s not like you wanted to spend every morning waking up to him or spend your afternoons running your fingers through his hair. It’s not like you wanted to take him back to Seattle to meet Dani or how you wanted to wear his jersey to call him yours. It’s not like you daydreamed about him gently holding your hand as you walked through ByWard market or how soft his lips would be as he leaned in to kiss you or what his abs felt like without a shirt separating your fingers from his skin.

Except it was like that.

And then came the comment at the gala. Did that mean he liked you too? But he said you were just going as friends. Did he mean it platonically? What if you read things wrong? Fuck, why were feelings so complicated?

Dani, you needed to call Dani. She’d know what to make of all this. She picked up on the fourth ring. “Thanks for calling Books By The Ocean, may you please hold?”

“Dani, it’s me.” Hold music filled your ear and you rolled your eyes. A few minutes later, there was almost certainly a hole in your rug from your pacing and she finally picked up.

“Why’d you resort to calling the store? I would’ve answered my phone eventually,”

“Yeah, eventually. I just really need to talk to you now,”

“Okay, so what’s up?”

“There’s this guy…”

“Is it Tim? Please tell me it’s Tim.” When you didn’t answer, she rejoined before reeling it in and telling you to continue.

“Anyways...we’re pretty good friends, I've known him since like the start of the season, and I don’t know, like I think he likes me? And I mean, I like him, he’s really great but, like, I just-”

“Can you get to the point please?”

“I want to take the next step with him. I want to be more than friends with him. I want all those things but… I just seem frozen. Like when I think about telling him, my body feels like it won’t move. It feels like I’m underwater. But I want to do more with him. I want that. Why won’t my brain get that and let me… I don’t know, let me act on my feelings?”

“You’re protecting yourself. You’ve never got hurt before,” You scoffed at her statement.

“What do you mean, of course I have,”

“Okay, sure, when you scraped your knee or when Nancy Peters called you dumb in second grade but you haven’t got hurt before. You haven’t opened yourself up to someone and let someone into your heart and let them see you for who you are.”

“Well, yeah, okay, but that’s because they might not like what they see,”

She sighed. “You can’t go through life with your walls up, kiddo. It’s hard, but you have to trust yourself. You have to let yourself feel. You have to let people in. When we were little and moved around a lot, maybe it was a survival tactic. But you’ve been in Ottawa for close to five years now and have unpacked all your boxes? Have you had any friends over? You’ve put down roots there but you’re still holding onto a survival tactic when you need to be living, not just surviving.

“I let people in--”

“No. You don’t. Has Tim ever been in your apartment? Has he seen that even though you resent Mom, you still have family photos of the four of us in your living room? Does he know about Dad? You might have told him stuff but you’re still living behind walls.” She sighed.

“Look, I don’t mean to be hard on you, but I want to see you thrive kiddo. I want you to experience life, and yeah, hurt is a part of life. You aren’t doing life right if you come out unscathed. And sure, maybe he’s a great friend. But in some instances, that romantic partner can fill a more emotionally secure place. People usually place more trust in their partner than just a friend. You’ve got to open up to him more than you already have if you want more from him.”

“How do I do that?”

“You’ve got to figure that out on your own kiddo, but it probably wouldn’t hurt to talk to him. Honestly; no hiding behind your friendship.” You nodded to her advice, before realizing she couldn’t see you, and thanked her for her help. She hung up with the promise to chat again on Wednesday like you normally did. You threw your phone beside the sink and leaned your head against the cool counter.

Be honest with him

Okay, you could do that. Easy enough right? You just had to make a plan to tell him. You could do that.

***

You were walking through the halls close to the bench to deliver your latest stats to the coach. It was your job after the other analysts determined you “had the youngest feet” and could go scouring around to find the coach. You didn’t mind. Besides… if you just happened to bump into Tim while you were down here, well then that was a completely unplanned coincidence. Since the gala and your chat with Dani afterwards, you were feeling good about where you stood with Tim. And you’d made your plan. After the game, you’d meet up for after-game snacks like most home games and you had told yourself you’d talk to him then.

You had given the latest report to the coach on the bench, walking past the locker room towards the box when you heard Tim's voice.

“...I don’t know man, I just need a break from Y/n.” You stopped in your tracks. It wasn’t that you meant to be nosy, but at the mention of your name… you wanted to see what else he had to say. You hadn’t meant to smother him but you guess he saw it differently. Your shoulders dropped and you bit your lip.

“I only have a problem around them!” You could feel the breakfast in your stomach start to turn, the feeling of bile starting to rise up. A ringing started to fill your ears, the white static noise only being pieced by his once comforting voice.

“It’s just… We work together, you know? It’s awkward,” Where was this attitude when you were hanging out at the start of the season? Last week? If this is how he felt, why didn’t… what did he mean by his comment to Dakota?

His voice shook you out of your trance. “Like at the end of the day, I’m me… they pay me a lot to play my game and they’re...them.” At that, you rushed away from earshot. If that was how he really felt, then screw him. If he was the hockey star and you were just the analyst, then that’s what role you’d play. Nothing more, nothing less. And he wasn’t brave enough to say that to your face, you’d say it first.

This is why you didn’t open yourself up. If you were going to get hurt either way, it might as well be the least damaging option.

Over the next few games and practices, you kept your distance from the players. You avoided the bench, sending Jody to give reports to the coach. You kept your office door closed, the blinds closed, and you made sure to time your exits of the arena to avoid Tim. If avoiding him meant you avoided the inevitable conversation where he would tell you your flaws and point out every way you misread things, then you would do that.

After you heard that, you stopped going out of your way to pass by the boys in the arena. You went into your office, closed the door, and didn’t leave until you went home. When you had to sit in the stands for practices, you sat higher than you used to and ignored the waves and stared you got from the team. He sent the occasional text but you replied with an im busy too many times that he stopped trying. It was odd to you how he kept reaching out when he was the one who said he needed a break but you ignored that voice in your head.

It was a Friday when he finally confronted you. You had been so close to leaving the arena, just one more hallway, and you would’ve been out the door and into the parking lot. He had called your name and you tried to turn the corner without him but he caught up easily, grabbing your wrist to get you to stay.

“What’s up? It feels like I haven’t seen you in forever,” He let go of your wrist as you turned to face him.

“Well that’s what happens when you’re a bigshot NHL player and I’m a lowly analyst.” He squinted his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows at your statement.

“What?”

“Look, I don’t-- I don’t think we should be friends anymore,”

He slowly nodded, thinking your words over in his head. “Okay. Um...I think… yeah, that could be good. I don’t think we should be just friends either.” He shot you a shy smile with a spark of hope in his eyes but you frowned.

“Good. It’s settled then.” You turned on your heel and walked away from him, only wiping your teary eye once you had rounded the corner, refusing to let him see you cry. You missed the way he frowned as you retreated.

The weekend was spent in bed, repeat episodes of Loki playing in the background. Loki never hurt you the way Tim had, the way his words dug into your insecurities of being alone creating a wound like no other. You had turned your phone off earlier as it kept buzzing with messages from him. You didn’t want to hear his excuses of why and you didn’t want to explain that you’d overheard his conversation. But the season wasn’t over yet so you gave yourself two days to grieve. When Monday morning came, it was like nothing had ever happened.

Tim caught you in the main entrance way at the rink. It was close to 8am and you knew he didn’t have practice until 11, so it was obvious he was waiting for you. You walk right past him until he softly calls your name and you stop walking, but don’t turn around. “Why are you ignoring me?”

“You know why.” You whipped around and scoffed at him. “And you know what else? If you had a problem with me, you could’ve just said something. You didn’t have to keep hanging out with me.”

“What?”

“I think we should just keep this professional, 18. I’m nothing more than a background analyst to your hockey superstar, so let’s just stick to our jobs, yeah?”

“What are you talking about?”

“We work together, we shouldn’t be friends, you said it yourself. It’ll be better this way. Now, please, just leave me alone.” You brushed by him, bumping your shoulder with his, and you missed the way his jaw fell open at how quickly your relationship seemed to change.

He seemed to leave you alone after that. He didn’t check in and he didn’t send funny memes he found. He didn’t text you to tell you he landed safely on road trips and you didn’t congratulate him on a game well played. You could tell Brady and Josh thought it was weird but didn’t say anything, just gave you pitying looks when you passed by or caught their eye in the halls.

The Senators failed to clinch a playoff spot, thanks to an overtime loss to Winnipeg. The end of the season for you was nice. It meant a shift in your work to more prospects, and thankfully, a more flexible work schedule. You didn’t have to go into the arena and most of the players went back to their hometowns to visit. It was supposed to be a reprieve for you, knowing Tim wasn’t even in the country. It was supposed to be relaxing, going to all the places that had helped you in the past to regroup your thoughts.

But instead, it felt suffocating, strolling through the market. You’d been here thousands of times to clear your head, but this time the deeper you walked, the more the thoughts in your head swirled into a hurricane.

You’d never know what home felt like. You’d had friends tell you it’s having like extended family over around the holidays or it’s the peacefulness they felt at their lake house. You thought you had found it in Ottawa, its quaintness and history bringing you a sense of calm you hadn’t had before. But only with Tim did you feel that inner peace that home felt like. Only with Tim did you feel like you could take on the world. Only with Tim did you feel whole.

And that was scary.

Feeling like one person could complete you, like they had a piece of your heart you didn’t know you gave them, was scary. You were used to being on your own. You’d done it throughout your levels of schooling and throughout the beginnings of your career. And all it took for that strength to come crashing down was a bashfully confident German hockey player.

He couldn’t even tell you why. It would’ve hurt more to hear the exact reasons why you weren’t good enough for him, but it would have quelled your mind from picking on every single insecurity your mind could come up with.

Before you knew it, you were staring at the Ottawa sign. You glanced around to see couples waiting for their turn at the sign. Some of the guys had their arms around the shoulders’ of their girlfriends. Some of the girls had their hands clasped in their girlfriends’. Some people had their arms around the waist of their partner. But they all had a smile on their face, a fondness that was reserved for the love of their life.

Your eye caught the sight of a backwards Senators cap and your head whipped around. The person was tall and was wearing a grey hoodie. The man turned to the side and you caught a glance of the brown tufts of hair that stuck out of the cap. He threw his head back and the corners of your mouth turned up. Tim’s laugh was always infectious, even if you were upset with him.

But it wasn’t him.

He hadn’t reached out since the day in the hallway. As much as you knew you didn’t want to hear him say things more hurtful than what you overheard, you couldn’t help but wonder where you went wrong. The what-ifs tumbled around in your head, the possibilities of why suddenly your friendship was too much for him.

As you stood there in the market, the memories racing through your mind mixed with images of happy couples all around you, you knew you had to get out. You don’t really remember the rush of leaving, all you know is that the city that felt big for so many years now felt too small. You can’t go anywhere without being reminded of him, his smile, his laugh. How his eyes glimmer from the light of a movie. You drove yourself to the airport, knowing there wasn’t going to be a cab this early in the morning.

Before you knew it, you were standing outside of the familiar blue painted bookstore with your duffle bag in your hands. It was raining and overcast in Seattle, which wasn’t unusual, but even the fat teardrops felt melancholic. The sign in the window said closed, but you knew Dani would be in the back, organizing new stock. You knocked on the window, the sound rattling through the worn building. A few seconds later, her head of light pink hair came to the door, opening it. Before she could question your presence, you spoke.

“He didn’t want me,” you cried. “He didn’t even see all of me and he didn’t want me.” You dropped your bag as she pulled you into a hug. One hand cradled the back of your head as she pulled you out of the rain and into the store. You inhaled her scent, a mix of sea salt and the old bookstore, and squeezed her tightly. When she released you from the hug, she tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, her fingers grazing down your jaw. She gave you a soft smile, before walking to the back of the store, where her apartment was. Your shoes squeaked against the old hardwood floors as you followed her towards the kitchen, where you could smell a pot of tea brewing.

She was silent as she poured you a cup, kissed your head, before whispering everything was going to work out. She slipped out of the room, giving you your space.

You didn’t even have to ask. Dani let you stay with her for the summer, as long as you helped out around the store when you weren’t doing your own work. She didn’t push you for details about Tim, she just let you be. You tried your best to be cheery around the customers but that facade only lasted so long. When you were alone, you didn’t try to hide the emptiness you felt there.

***

Too soon did the days start to get shorter, the nights colder, the pitter-patter of raindrops became more constant which meant fall was coming. The season was starting up again, and you had to head back to Ottawa. This summer at home was a nice break but you knew that running away wasn’t going to solve all your problems. You were packing when a text from Josh came in.

So when are you getting in?

i land at 9pm on the 20th. Why?

Can’t I wonder when my friend gets into the city?

we’re friends?

Of course we are Numbers! I don’t share family recipes with just anyone :)

good to know thanks :)

You continued packing, thinking about what he said. You knew the two of you were friends, but he was Tim’s teammate. His roommate. To hear him say, regardless of where you and Tim stand, that you two were still good was a relief. As much as you’ve enjoyed your time away from the city, you missed work. You missed sitting in the arena, a brisk chill over your shoulder, the sounds of scraping ice and whistles. You missed the quaintness of Ottawa and, as much as he’d never let you forget it, you missed Josh’s cooking. Nights with Dani didn’t compare to nights with Brady (and sometimes Emma) and Josh.

Dani parked in the loading zone of the airport. She got out of the car to help with your bag, even though you had only brought one.

“Hey, listen, um. I know you don’t want to talk about what happened with Tim but… I think you need to talk to him.”

“Dani...”

“No, listen. I think you need some closure. You ran away from a city you haven’t left in five years, a city you so obviously love, because it hurt to think about him. Maybe closure means you talk to him. Maybe it doesn’t. But you’ve spent this whole summer looking lost, like you’re waiting for something to magically appear and make everything better. You look like you’ve lost a piece of yourself and you don’t know how to get it back. And that’s not you, kiddo. It’s never been you; you’ve always been so straightforward and sure of yourself. I want you to feel like yourself again, that’s all.”

“What if…” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “What if the piece of me that I lost isn’t something I can get back?”

“Then you fill it. It might not be perfect and maybe you need lots of tape, and maybe you accept that there will be small cracks in it, but those holes make your souls yours. It’s a part of life, and you can’t avoid it no matter how hard you try.” You pulled her in for a hug, some of the tears in your eyes dropping onto her shoulder.

“Thank you Dani. For everything.” She pulled back to wipe the tears from your face, a smile on her face.

“You know I’m always here for you, kiddo. Take care of yourself, okay?” You nodded, knowing if you spoke again, more tears would bubble over. You walked towards the departures gate, walking towards the reality you ran from.

Several hours later, you were happy to be back in Ottawa. You had missed it, as much as it pained you when you were here. Tim Hortons, bilingual signs, friendly smiles, and oh god you could have real poutine again. Yeah, it was nice to be back.

Dani’s words mulled over in your head throughout the flight, and continued to as you made your way through the airport. She was right, maybe you needed closure. Accept what happened and move on. You’d lost friends when you graduated early, you’d lost friends when you moved away. You’d lost friends before and this was no different.

Except you knew deep down it was different. It was Tim; it was always going to be different with him.

You shook your head, as if to physically rid yourself of the thought. If Tim didn’t want to be around you, then you weren’t going to waste your time waiting for him to show up. You’d suck it up everything you had to look at a stat, but other than that you’d focus on work, focus on proving yourself in the company. You started to walk towards where you’d parked your car (without wondering how much the parking was), ignoring the happy reunions of students and families. You had been perfectly fine being in Ottawa on your own until you realized how much better it could be when you had someone.

A hand grasped your wrist and instantly, you turned around and ripped your arm from the stranger. You looked up, first to see a bouquet of flowers made up of peach roses, white tulips, and hydrangeas. Behind the colours of the flowers, you see a familiar face, eyes full of sorrow and hope. Even when you were ignoring him, he was still so easy to read.

“Number 18.” You struggled to keep your voice even, but you lifted your head to appear as if he had no effect on him.

“Hi Y/n,” He met your eyes, which you quickly darted away. “These are for you.” He tried to hand the bouquet to you, but you shook your head.

“How did you know when I got in?” The coldness in your voice surprised Tim, but he didn’t show it, swallowing slowly before answering you.

“Josh told me." You folded your arms, your hands gripping your bag in case you needed to get away from this conversation.

“Josh mentioned it or you asked Josh?” When he didn’t answer, you knew it was the latter and scoffed at his sneaky actions. You quickly turned away from him and moved faster towards the exit. You heard him sigh from behind you and before you could make a sly comment about it beneath your breath, he was ahead of you, blocking your way. You tried to side-step him, but hockey reflexes prevailed. You glared his way and tried again, silently begging him to move.

“C’mon, you have to talk to me sometime, we work together,” He commented.

“That’s exactly it. We work together. You’re the high and mighty NHL superstar and I’m the nerdy analyst. We have our places. They don’t mix, so really I don’t have to work with you at all. So, please, if you could just move, I have nothing else to say to you.” You tried once more to step around him, but he lightly grabbed your forearm to stop you.

“But I have stuff to say to you.”

“You had months to say it, so I’ll say it again, please let me by.” Suddenly, he was on his knees in the airport, the flowers still outstretched in his hands.

“Y/n,”

“What are you doing?” You hiss to him, your face darting around to see people starting to stare at Tim’s grand gesture.

“I need you to talk to me, and you won’t, so I’ll beg until you agree to hear me out,” You could feel more people staring, the shutter of camera phones, the eyes of everyone in the Ottawa airport (or what felt like it) easily making up your mind. There was a reason you were an analyst, away from the spotlight, doing your work behind the scenes.

“Get up,” you started to pull on his arm, but he just stayed anchored to the ground.

“You’ll talk to me?”

“18, I will do anything as long as you stop making a scene,” At this point, your cheeks felt as if you’d stood under the beating sun for an hour. He got up from his knees, the flowers still outstretched in his hands, and you let go of his arm. You grabbed the flowers from his arms, dropping them in a garbage bin as you stalked out of the airport. Tim caught up to you and walked by your side.

You said nothing as you reached your car, unlocking the doors. You didn’t even wait for him to have his seatbelt on before you were backing out of the stall and driving away. Thoughts were running wild in your head; you were angry and embarrassed at the stunt he pulled at the airport, appalled at the audacity he had to show up after what he said, and last of all you were reluctantly happy to be back in his presence again. So you went to the one place you knew you could think.

You put the car in park overlooking the suburbs. You turned it off and rested your arms on the steering wheel. You couldn’t make the effort to get out and walk to the lookout spot, the car creating a safe bubble for your thoughts.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” His soft voice broke the tense silence in the car and you scoffed.

“We’re not friends anymore. You’re the Senators star player and I’m just the nerdy analyst. There’s no reason for me to need to talk to you.”

“See, you keep saying that but I-I don’t get it! What does that even mean?” You furrow your eyebrows as you turn to face him, his own face scrunched up and his eyes hard.

“What do you mean you don’t get it? You said that! The last game against Montréal? I was walking past the locker room and… I overheard you talking with the guys.” You looked down to your lap, findling with your hands. You briefly saw Tim’s hand start to move towards you, but you shook your head and it stayed in his lap. “You said you needed a break from me. You said that ‘at the end of the day they pay me a lot to play my game and they’re.. them’. You said you had a problem with me. What was I supposed to take from that except that you didn’t want me to be in your life?”

He stammered for words but you cut him off. “No, I don’t think you understand how much it hurt. Hurt to have the one person who I thought understood me to talk behind my back about how I wasn’t enough for them. It hurt to know that the one person who I always wanted to talk to, didn’t want to talk to me. Hurt to think that you’ve only ever seen me as just some nerdy analyst who has no place in your life. I had been fine before, without you in my life, but then you came in and knocked down every barrier I ever had. And then left as if you didn’t just break my life into pieces!

“I left Ottawa because it hurt too much to go to all my favourite places, because I went there with you. I let you into my safe spaces, and when you left, you shattered that security. You tainted all the good I had there. I thought that Ottawa was home before I met you,” you scoffed. “Not even close. You feel like home to me. And for you to say that I was a problem in your life?” You shook your head at him and looked down at your hands. “I tried to get over it, believe me I did. But every single place I went I was reminded of you… and how everything we had didn’t feel like a big deal to you.”

“I never meant for that to happen.” His voice was quiet and strained, as if he was trying to keep his emotions within him.

“You know the hardest part? I didn’t just have to get over losing my best friend. I had to get over someone I fell in love with! I lost the single most important relationship with one tiny little passing conversation. And you acted like nothing happened! Like we were still friends, like you still cared for me-”

“Ich liebe dich du trottel!” His outburst caught you off guard and you gulped. His heavy breathing was the only sound in the car as you whispered.

“You know I don’t speak German…”

“You don’t need to know German to know what I said,” His eyes were hard, a look you had only seen during games.

“Oh.” You shook your head and looked at him. “Wait what?”

“I didn’t say those things you think I did! You didn’t listen to the whole thing! Brady was teasing me about me saying I don’t have a problem talking to people I like and I don’t normally but you’re the exception! I needed a break from you because everytime I see you, my heart starts beating faster and my hands get sweaty and I don’t know how to act! And the guys said that sounds like I’m in love with you-- and I am! I am! But when I finally started to do something about it, you ran away from me! I didn’t know what to do. Besides, if I fell in love with you...it could mess with our jobs. Because if for any reason, something happens, they’d fire you before they’d ever trade me. And you’ve worked too hard to have an opportunity like this be taken away from you because of me. So... I didn’t know what to do. And then you just kept ignoring me and saying those things about how you’re just a nerdy analyst…. It felt like we weren’t on the same page anymore and I didn’t know where it came from or what to do either so I tried to give you space. But then you shut me out. And you said we shouldn’t be friends. So I thought that meant.... you wanted to be more than friends? And the boys were saying that you being mean to me was just you having a hard time having feelings for me but then you… uh, yelled at me so I left you alone. But that doesn’t mean I stopped thinking about you.” He placed one of his hands on top of your tentatively, giving you the option to shoo his hand away. When you didn’t, he rubbed the skin on top of your hand. “It never meant I stopped caring about you.”

He sighed. “I guess I see now that I should not have given you space. I should’ve been better for you because that’s what you deserve.”

“I could’ve been better too, this isn’t all your fault. I said some mean things.”

“I promise you, that when we’re together I’m not a NHL player. I’m just me… just Tim from Germany who likes hockey. You have always seen me for who I am, and that’s...that’s something I love about you.”

Your breath got caught in your throat. Love… was a big word. Love was for confident people. Love was for those who didn’t understand the weight of that four letter word. Love wasn’t a word you threw around. Love was scary. It asked you to place your bandaged heart in someone else’s hands and hope they didn’t drop it, shattering the pieces into smithereens. Love meant letting down those walls that time and time again had proved that needed to stay up. To protect you. To avoid the heartache of broken trust.

And here he was, throwing that word around as if the implications didn’t matter. As if he didn’t leave. As if he didn’t call you a problem. As if he didn’t know the months you spent trying to forget him and the fragments he left behind.

As if he still wasn’t understanding.

“I… I can’t do this.” You go to open the car door only for it to lock. You gasp, and you whip your head around, your eyes sharp. “This is my car, you can’t do that!” His eyes went wide and you tried again, only for it to be locked again. You gritted your teeth and he spoke before you could reprimand him again.

“Don’t shut me out again! You say you can’t do this, okay, but tell me why. We’re supposed to-to talk to each other! We would’ve had no mess if you had just talked to me after you heard what I said! So.. talk to me,” You met his soft eyes, your resolve breaking with just one look. “Please, schatz.”

You slowly pulled your hand off the handle, letting it fall into your lap. You picked at your fingernails while trying to compose your thoughts, Tim’s concerned eyes never leaving you. He murmured your name and you took a deep breath, steadying yourself.

“I’m sorry I just- I don’t know if I can jump back into where we were. I know that… it’s different than I thought but I can’t-” you cut yourself off before you said something you regret and a cold chill ran through you. “It still hurts. I can’t just unhear those things you said. Especially when they came from you. So, I’m going to need time to process everything.”

He placed one of his hands over your fidgeting fingers and you lifted your head to meet his soft eyes. “I’ll give you some space. Just let me know when you know, yeah?” Before you could nod your head, he had opened his door and got out of your vehicle. You quickly got out to question him.

“What are you doing?” He turns around at the sound of your voice.

“I’m… I’m giving you space?”

“How are you planning to get home? Uber?” He shrugged before nodding, with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Uh, no. No. Get in.” He raised his eyebrows and you sighed. “It’s almost 11pm, we’re in a dark forestry area, and you are the least threatening person I know. I’m not going to let you get stabbed by some murder psycho; you still mean something to me, you know.”

At that he came over to the car, and the two of you got settled back into your seats. After you buckled up and started the engine, Tim broke his silence.

“Did you mean that? That I still mean something to you?”

You swallowed slowly and took a while to answer his question, your hand resting on the gear shift. You put the car in reverse, and looked over at him. “You’re always going to mean something to me. Just what exactly you are changes.” You backed out of the parking lot and started the drive to his place. He was quiet for a few minutes, pondering your answer, but when he spoke his voice had the quiet confidence he always carried around with him.

“Can I ask what I am right now?” Streetlights illuminated his face and out of the corner of your eye you see him slightly turned towards you, his face unsure.

“No. I’ll keep you updated?”

“Good enough.”

The rest of the drive back to his house was quiet, aside from the lo-fi beats you had playing in the background. Despite the tension, the drive felt comfortable. When you parked in front of his house, he cleared his throat.

“Um, thank you for the ride. I’ll see you around I guess,” He unbuckled his seat belt and placed his hand on the handle.

“Goodnight Tim.” Despite your smile, Tim really hoped your goodnight didn’t also mean goodbye. He got out of your car, walked up the steps to his door, unlocked it and gave you a small wave before he went inside.

Tim was true to his word. He gave you space. He didn’t go back to the lookout spot or the war memorial, knowing those were your sanctuaries before they were his. He didn’t ask for updates, he didn’t stop by your office, he didn’t ask Josh how you were doing.

And you appreciated it. The time and space left you alone with your thoughts and you often visited the lookout spot or the war memorial, trying to find some peace, but those spots were now shared with Tim. So, for the first time in a long time, you spent time in your apartment.

When you moved in, you hadn’t done anything to the place. Spaces were temporary in your experience. It was more hassle than it was worth to try to make the space your own if, in a year everything was a clean slate. But Dani was right. It had been close to six years now since you moved in. Six years. You had a stable job, you had friends here, it was time to accept that maybe this was more than temporary.

You started by unpacking the last few boxes that were stacked in the hallway. You replaced the command hooks hanging your picture frames with nails. You got new paint to liven up the living room from the basic beige it was before. You put the work into making your apartment really yours. You had to stop living behind walls and this was a first step.

The next step was to really open up.

***

You were waiting outside the dressing room for Tim to get out. You came down as soon as practice finished so you knew you wouldn’t miss him. You leaned against the cool concrete, trying to control your bouncing leg. He was one of the last out of the dressing room and you shyly smiled at the other players who left. When he came out, you popped off from the wall and stood in front of him.

“Do you still want to know why I picked hockey?” You could tell your question caught him off guard but he nodded nonetheless. “You had asked and I brushed it off...because it hurt to think about. Because it was my dad...He loved hockey. Everywhere we went, there was a team he could cheer for, but he always wished that his hometown team would win, no matter how bad they were. He took me to a game once. I had asked why he liked it so much, it was cold and loud and people were drunk and I’m pretty sure our team was losing. We were down in the crowd and he said to me, ‘Hockey is this great sport. It connects people. It creates families right before your eyes. Enemies can become teammates. This...this sport can be a family for you, anywhere you go. I hope one day you can find something that does the same thing for you.’ Two weeks later, he had a heart attack. So, I held onto the one thing that he found belonging in. I liked my math, it made sense, and I’m good at it. But when it came to doing something with my life, I just- I wanted something to make my dad proud of me, you know? I wanted to feel connected to him.”

Tim was silent but he pulled you into a hug, your head going into the crook of his neck. His arms went around your waist and he held you for a minute. “Your dad would be proud of you. I know he would. Why’d you tell me now though?”

“Well, friends share personal stuff, right?” You pulled away from the hug just enough to catch his eyes. You looked up at him hopefully, and he smiled.

“Yeah, they do.” He broke the hug, but kept an arm slung over your shoulder. “C’mon, friends also eat brussel sprouts for each other.” You laughed at his distaste for them and the two of you walked out the parking lot together, his arm still slung around your shoulders.

***

You looked up at the ceiling, your bedsheets twisted beside you. It had been about two weeks since you told Tim about your dad, and since then, the two of you had been exchanging texts daily. It felt familiar, even though both of you knew it was different. Not a bad different, just… different. You’d been over to his place a couple times and he came over for your place for a ‘welcome back’ dinner.

You were nervous to show him your apartment, but you knew you had grown into the space. It was no longer generic beige walls and command strips. The living room had an accent wall and you put nails in the wall to hang your family photos in the hallway. Tim took his time looking around your space, spending extra time in the hallway. He stopped in front of the picture of your family, all four of you, and smiled.

“My parents are coming into town when we play the Caps in December, if you want to meet them?” He had said when you sat down to eat. You sputtered your drink a little and set down the glass.

“Only if...you meet Dani when we go to Seattle in January?” His face broke into a grin and he nodded.

“I’d love that.” The rest of the dinner had no issues, just two friends catching up and getting familiar with each other again.

But he wanted you to meet his parents. He wanted you to meet the people who raised him, his family. And you didn’t have any hesitations. You wanted to meet the people who made Tim who he is.

This past week solidified that you knew what you wanted. You wanted to meet Tim’s family, you wanted to show him around Seattle, you wanted to be with him. If he still wanted to be with you.

If.

He had been pretty clear where he stood on his feelings, but the voice in the back of your mind taunted you with that one tiny two letter word. He might have seen how you reacted, how unstable you were, and how you weren’t ready to jump into things as a sign you didn’t want this. He could’ve taken your steps to being friends again as being just friends again. He could’ve-

You weren’t going to wait around to let what-if’s and might of’s and could’ve’s waft around in your head. You needed to talk to him, needed to see him. So in your pajama pants and a hoodie, you braved the Canadian night and drive to his house. You parked the car, rather haphazardly, but it could wait. You skipped a step walking up to his door and quickly phoned him.

You paced back and forth on the small porch as the phone rang three times before he picked up.

“Hallo?” His accent was thicker in his native language, the harsh constants sounding so soft from his lips.

“Can you come open the door?”

“What?”

“I’m outside. Can you open the door?”

“What? It’s like...early,”

A sigh escapes you. “Tim. I know. I know now.”

“Well if you looked at a clock before you left your place, you would’ve known earlier. That would’ve-”

“Tim.” You gulped and your voice trembled slightly. “I’m ready. I know what I want.” The tone of your voice dropped its lightheartedness and that alone was enough to shake the sleep from his mind. But your words? More than enough to get him out of bed and racing (as quietly as he could in the dark) towards you.

He opened the front door in his sleep joggers to see you pacing and shaking your arms. You hadn’t noticed him yet, so he took the opportunity to admire you. The way your hair fell, your Senator pajama pants that Brady gave you as a gag gift, the way you bit your lip between your teeth.

“Hey.” His voice broke you out of your trance, your head whipping around to see him standing in the doorframe.

“Hi.” Your voice was quiet, the nerves getting the best of you. You stood there for a while, just looking at each other. His hair was a mess and he was wearing the grey hoodie you knew for a fact was his favourite. “Oh, right, I have to go first. Um...Are- are you still sure about your feelings for me?” He nodded. “And-and they’re for sure, good feelings?”

“… They’re such good feelings.” You nodded and gave your body another shake through, as if to dissipate the nerves racing throughout your veins.

“I know it’s taken me a while to kinda sort everything out but… I like you too. That’s why hearing those things hurt so much. That’s why I had to take some time. I've been alone for most of my life and it was scary to let someone in so easily, unknowingly. You just waltzed in and made yourself at home in my heart and it felt like you belonged so I… I didn’t even realize you could hurt me. And when I heard those things, it hurt more. It just solidified that I should’ve stayed alone. You can’t get hurt if there’s no one to hurt you right? But every talk, every late night drive, everything we had...it was worth all the hurt. So I’m ready. I want to do this with you, even if it hurts. I don’t know if I can do life without you.” He pushed himself off of the doorframe and came to stand in front of you, his hand cupping your cheeks, soothing the skin under your eyes.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you and I don’t plan on doing it ever again, Y/n, you have to know that.” You nodded against his hands and you could feel some of his tension fade from his body. “Does this mean… we could be more than friends?”

“I want to be much more than friends with you, Tim.” You bit your lip to try to stop your smile from growing so wide, but it broke through when you saw how wide his smile was and how his eyes crinkled with joy.

“Does this mean I can kiss you now?” He asked softly, already leaning in. He left space between the two of you so you could decide but you easily leaned into him, your lips meeting. It was gentle but it was loving. You moved in sync, Tim’s hand moving to the back of your head to push you closer to him. Eventually, you pulled away for air.

“Schatz…” He breathed and you laughed lightly.

“You know, I don't think you've told me what that really means,” You said with a cheeky smile.

“Would you like me to say it in English, sweetheart?” He brushed his nose with yours.

“Hmm, German is fine,” You tilted your head upwards, almost brushing your lips with his. With your teasing, he let out a groan, bringing you in for another kiss. This time he broke for air, his eyes still slightly closed.

“You know, you cured my homesickness. I never felt like I missed home because I found home in you,” He whispered. Your heart melted and you brought your lips together with a passion he hadn’t seen from you before. Your hands tangled in his hair and he chased your lips as if it was a breakaway. When you broke for air, the two of you were breathless.

“As much as I want to keep doing that, it’s also very early and I am tired. Can we go back to bed please?” His arms were still around your waist, but he leaned back enough that you could see his face, puppy dog eyes and all. You nodded to his request with a soft smile, and went to remove yourself from his arms and go back to your car, but he tightened his grip.

“I got you now, so I’m not letting you go.” You buried your head in the crook of his neck and slowly the two of you made your way into the warm house. He led you through the dark hallways to his bedroom, giggling and sneaking kisses where you could.

You fell asleep so easily, the quickest you have the entire time you had lived in Ottawa. And it wasn’t only Tim’s warmth, or the way his sheets smell like hockey tape and his peppermint shampoo. You had finally opened yourself up. You had found that belonging your dad always wanted you to. And you found that in Tim; whether he knew it or not, he was home.

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firerose · 3 years

Text

Dark Leo -Dark seven au part2

@reading0mens Hope you enjoy it, I put a bit under read more because it’s kinda long XD

Leo‘s world is shattered after Jason‘s death

He knows it was a storm or fire

He knows that his cheating death caused the fates to take Jason away

At Jason‘s funereal he cries into Piper‘s shoulder

The boy that told him he was important, that made him believe he was worth something was gone

His sorrow makes him burst into flames and as Piper lets go he sinks over his friends grave

Things only got worse from there

He can‘t look at Calypso anymore

She was the reason he cheated death after all

He thinks about how she always complains about him, never truly helped him as Jason did

He goes back to Camp half-blood not caring that there is a battle coming for the Romans

He couldn‘t help them anyway

He locks himself in Bunker 9 building machines to distract himself from the cruel reality

Jason Grace was dead and he was alive

Calypso tries to get through to him but he yells at her that he regrets having saved her

He doesn‘t mean because of her of course but it is still her that he cheated death for

Calypso leaves in tears

Leo continues building and as his hands work on inventions his mind goes to Hera

Why didn‘t she save Jason?

He was her hero, wasn‘t he?

The bridge between greeks and Romans

So what kept her from saving him?

Anger begins to rage in him

Maybe Jason was just a tool for her

A weapon she could use and then forget

A scream breaks out of him and flames start floating over everything

He begins to despise the queen of Olympus just like he once hated Gea

At least Gea never acted like she wanted to protect them

He feels a desire to make Hera pay, to play with her just like she did with him

He knows that he can't take revenge on Hera all by himself Isn't there an emperor in new york

A plan starts to form in his head

Nyssa brings him the news

Camp Jupiter beat Caligula and Commodus now only Nero is left

The only change for Leo to take revenge on Hera

He leaves in the early morning

He is not nervous only strangely excited

Finding the emperor was not hard he could oversee the whole city on his metal dragon

„What do you want demigod?“, Nero asks coldly sitting on his throne arrogant as always

Leo only smiles darkly „I want to treat Hera just like she treated me and my friends.“

Nero has picked up many demigods from the streets but this one is special

He has an almost feral look in his eyes like he would be ready to burn the world

„And how exactly do plan to do that? Nero asks his voice full of curiosity

After hearing the plan Nero allows Leo to stay

He has a big room full of machines, engines automatons

Leo loves it

He builds robots small ones at first but his anger makes his talents grow

Somehow he manages to equip them with laser eyes ten arms that shoot fire canons, their fingers made of blades

He makes other inventions to ones that he prays to one day use on a certain goddess

A part of him is terrified of his work but another screams justice for Jason so he continues

Two weeks later Leo gives Hazel and Frank a surprise visit

They are happy to see him, they are his friends after all

Leo laughs with them, jokes as if everything was normal

One night he and Frank even mourn Jason together

When he feels real tears form in his eyes he is grateful for Franks hug

He can tell that Frank wants him to feel loved just like Jason once did

He is thankful and when Frank leaves his firewood feels heavy in Leo‘s hand

The next day horns are blowing, demigods scream in terror

A huge robot army is threatening to enter new Rome

The Legion is horrified but they swore to protect the city so they get ready for battle

None of them is showing their fear when they stand between the robots and their city

Reyna and Frank stand before their cohorts but Frank is not too worried

Those robots are made of metal and he sees in Hazel‘s smile that she knows this too

The daughter of Pluto raises her hand to save those she loves

But then a voice close to her speaks up coldly

„Hazel stop “, She almost did not recognize it

Leo stands a few feet away eyes gleaming darkly, Franks stick lays in his hand

Franks feels a cold dread in his stomach

„Leo…...what are you doing? Frank asks unable to hide his fear

Leo lets out a pained humourless laugh, I‘m destroying the god's ego by crashing their glorious temples.“ he explains and Hazel feels her heartbreak at his words

How is this the same boy who made her smile with his jokes

Reyna curses“ How dare you betray us? After Jason-“

Leo interrupts her with a mad shout

„That's exactly my point! Jason died because Hera for some reason refused to save him. We are all just puppets for the gods don‘t you see that!“I'm trying to save us from them but if you don‘t surrender now I will be forced to let you suffer for the god's crimes.“, Leo explains his tone almost hysteric

There is silence for a moment

The robots stand like dead status, new Rome's citizens glance towards them from behind the barrier, the roman soldiers are glaring at Leo

„Romans don‘t surrender.“, Frank finally responds his voice brave, his eyes full of pain

Leo smirks like he expected that answer

His whole body bursts into flame

Frank falls to the ground as his stick is swallowed by fire

Pain ignites in his heart, he hears Hazel‘s scream

He looks at his girlfriend a hand stretched towards her as if to hold her one last time

She stretches her hand towards him as well, her mouth moving as she sobs

A weak scream leaves his lips when a Robots blade impales her neck the blade coming out bloody at her throat

Her hand sinks, her body collapses into a puddle of her blood and Frank‘s world goes black

Leo stares at their unmoving bodies

The stick in his hands is now only ashes

He knows he should feel something

He should feel remorse

Instead, he just feels empty

The gods could have saved them but they didn‘t

If the gods would just be better he would not have done this

The gods are to blame not him

So he joins the massager

The demigods are fighting bravely but nothing prepared them to fight eight feet high machines

Blades are piercing through their bodies, the fire burns their flesh, dozens get trampled

Leo is in the middle of it all shooting fireballs burning everyone who gets too close

A fireball hits Reyna‘s hair and the Praetor is doomed to a firey cruel death

Soon the city falls, Terminus barrier is not strong enough to hold the metal beasts off

New Romes citizens are slaughtered in their streets, their buildings, temples destroyed

Their screams ring in Leo‘s ears but he continues to fight

This is for Jason. This is for Jason

He keeps using this excuse even though a part of him tells him that Jason wouldn‘t have wanted this

When Leo the last screams finally have died new Rome is in ruins

On Olympus, the gods are raging

Their pride has never been attacked like this

Hera looks at Leo wandering through the dead city with worry

He was her hero once just like Jason but now he seems …..changed

Maybe somehow she could convince him to come back to her

She is his grandmother after all

So she goes down to him in the form of his old babysitter

Leo growls when he sees he sees her

„Now you decide to show up? After I slaughtered thousands of People? Wow you are a horrible patron goddess!“, He snarls

Hera looks at him in pity

„Leo I know you are angry but this is madness. Jasons death was in the hand of the fates and I couldn‘t do anything sometimes even we gods are powerless. Don‘t go down this road my hero it will only bring you to suffering.“ Hera warns but that only makes Leo more furious.

They are standing in the smouldering ruins of her city and yet all she can do is makeup excuses

„You ……..you are so arrogant Hera! First, you act like my protector, my babysitter for years and then you don‘t even save my mother, then you give me fake memories about my best friend and then when I‘m finally growing closer to him you watch him die too. I bet if I hadn‘t killed Frank today you would have done it! Jason Frank and I were just pawns whose lives you controlled and that you now don‘t need anymore!“, Leo yells his hands balled into fists.

Hera listens to her face showing guilty embarrassment

She is too lost in thought, that is why she sees the net that Leo throws over her too late

The strings are made of celestial bronze but when she tries to escape the net only grows tighter cutting into her skin

Leo smiles at her in amusement.

„I hope you enjoy your new home your high majesty., He mocks

Hera realized that this was all part of his plan

Destroying new Rome to get her attention, louring her here so he could capture her

„Let me go immediately demigod or my wrath-“. She is cut off when Leo gags her

He has enough to listen of listening to her

He just wants to visit Jason's grave one last time

Leo returns to Nero with his army and with Hera

She is carried by one of the Robots trapped in metal strings

Nero welcome Leo with open arms

This child is a blessing even better than Meg Mc Caffrey

He tells Leo that he wants to wait with his attack on the greeks

He wants the news about camp Jupiter to reach them first

Leo agrees and grins at Hera

The goddess tries to change from even her real one but the strings only golden

„They drain your godly essence. The emperors are no strangers to dark magic Hera. You won‘t get out of here unless I allow it.“, Leo mocks once he has taken her to his room

The image of Her lying helpless and restrained on the ground gives him chills of joy

He picks out a knife from his toolbelt, Heras's eyes widen

„Now let's see how you like being hurt without someone there to help.“ Leo muses and drives the blade into the goddess's arm.

He smiles at the golden blood and Heras agonized groan

He is going to have so much fun with her

Leo almost feels disappointed when Nero tells him that it‘s time for the attack

By now all demigods know what happened

Chiron evacuated Camp half-blood taking the younger Campers to safety

Nero knows it‘s only a matter of time until the rest disappears to

So Leo and the emperor fly to Long island alone with Festus who hold Hera in his claws

The robots are deactivated until Leo's command, Nero wants to give his enemies hope of winning

A handful of Campers is already waiting for them at the top of Half-blood hill

Leo winces when he sees Percy and Nico

He had forgotten the people close to Frank and Hazel

„Surrender or face the same end as your roman friends!“, Nero demands

Percy spits to the ground

Nico gets out his sword his eyes piercing into Leo soul

„Do you think Jason still loves you after what you did Leo?“, Nico asks coldly

Leo‘s heart feels like it‘s torn apart

Nico‘s words are the truth in the back of his mind. The truth that his lust for revenge drowned out

Jason, sweet kind Jason would never love someone who killed his friends

Leo feels panic, he has to move forward he has to distract himself from his thoughts

„Let that be my concern.“, Leo spats and drops Hera to the ground

Her body is covered in deep cuts, golden blood covers the strings

The attack begins

Leo decides to take out Percy first

He shoots fire but Percy uses the lake to his advantage

Water and fire clash together in the air squishing as they meet

Leo gets more furious

He creates big flames that lit the threes next to Percy on fire, tiny flames to grasp Percy‘s hair

Percy seems to be prepared for everything

He protects himself with shields of water and creates tentacles in an attempt to drag Leo to the ground

Their fight is hard, full of hatred and so none of them notices Nico‘s fight against Nero

Until the emperor screams while he's being sucked into the earth

Neros household, all young brainwashed demigods panic and run

Leo yells in frustration

Why did he choose such bad allies?

Nico collapses from the uses of his underworld powers, the grass around him black

Leo wants to take his chance and flames flicker from his hand#

But then a big hand of water grabs him and lifts him off his dragon

Leo is taken by surprise but soon blind rage follows

„Now!“, He hears Percx yell and when he turns his head he sees Annabeth cutting Heras net with Nico‘s stygian sword

Desperation and fear will Leo

„No please!“, He Beggs but Percy drops him on the ground without mercy

Hera although wounded immediately grows to full size her eyes blazing with fury

„I WARNED YOU MY HERO NOW FACE THE CONSEQUENCES OF YOUR ACTIONS.“Hera yells her form glowing

„No wait!“, Percy says his eyes widened in shock

Leo knows what is coming, he has seen it once before

Tears of sorrow, of fear, of anger stream down his cheeks

He wonders if Hades will let him see Jason again after he murdered his daughter

In a last attempt to turn his fate he reaches for his toolbelt

But then he stops

How can he destroy the greeks after they took him in after they tried to make him belong somewhere?

His thoughts wander to Piper and his heart is split by deep guilt

Leo Valdez opens his eyes and stares right into the godly flames that even he can‘t survive

His last thought is a prayer of forgiveness to all he has killed in his path for revenge

Leo is buried at Camp half-blood

There are a lot of discussions about it but no one can think of a better place

Hera assures the Campers that in a few years there will be new roman demigods

This does not help the losses though

Percy and Annabeth spend many nights crying with each other about their lost friends, their lost future

Will has to hold Nico for countless nights too, Has to remind him that he always will be there for him

Apollo becomes a god again

And in California Piper Mclean cries out her prayers to the gods

She prays for them to free her out of these new fake mist reality

She prays for them to let her wake up in a world where her best friends are still alive

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Honestly I wished Hoo went more into the fact that frank Jasons and Leos lives were all controlled by Hera! That would have been such an interesting dynamic!

#percy jackson #heroes of olympus #dark!leo #dark seven #valgrace #leo valdez #jason grace #piper mclean #annabeth chase #hazel levesque #frank zhang #trials of apollo #the burning maze

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seriouslyblacklikemysoul · 4 years

Text

Like her - Bucky Barnes

Hello!! I did a thing... I big oops... I have no idea where this is going but honestly... gosh, Bucky is finally given the spotlight! Yes, I am talking about that trailer. So, I guess bear with me? From what I feel, this is going to be ... quite the journey. Spoilers, if I accidentally am on to something? MASTERLIST Word Count~ 2k. If you want to be tagged or you have an idea about this, please let me know! Love you all!

Nothing made sense anymore. The world seemed to be upside down and he couldn’t find an anchor to hold on to. A thousand thoughts on his mind, past and future blurred into a chaotic present. He had found a still moment in the universe, after his best friend retired and that was the only way he could cope with the ever-changing situation.

He had believed that a new beginning was all that he needed; but before he could begin, he had to be free of his past and that he simply could not do. Working with Wilson was not his cup of tea, either. He was searching for meaning but maybe fulfillment wasn’t about what he had already done, maybe it was about the things he hadn’t and that was worse. It was simple mission; keep an eye on a questionable individual. Well, at least, that was what the files told him. Girl, early twenties, not a very interesting life – to him, at least, he thought. She might have loved studying and serving coffee to people she didn’t know just so she could earn her living. And a clue that linked her to an old enemy – Zemo. No one knew what their relationship was, or even if there was any. They had been able to pick up a single message sent from her phone to an unknown number that it was later identified as Zemo’s. He was standing outside the coffee shop she was working, not knowing if he would be able to identify her; they only had a blurry picture of her – another clue that she was onto something as she was avoiding to be seen. Not that he could blame her for that. If she was working with the man that put him trough all of that a couple of years ago, he didn’t know if he would hand her over or… He walked inside, trying to appear as relaxed and nonchalant as possible, knowing that he would be awkward anyway. Sam could have done this, he thought, rolling his eyes at that. It was quite busy, actually, and the atmosphere was cozier than what he had expected. And so, he found the table that furthest away but had a good angle-view to keep an eye on the personnel and sat down. He scanned the place but there was no trace of the girl from the picture. He was pretending to read the menu so no one would come soon to take his order. He was about to stand up and leave, having spent almost half an hour being a jerk and not ordering a thing, when a soft tornado rushed through the front door. He was left gawking at her for a moment and then quickly shook it off. She murmured an apology to her colleagues but they just smiled at her, as if they knew why she was late. He was able to distinct two words: application, problems. He cleared his throat and not a moment later, there she was. “Hello! What can I get you?” she politely asked him, ready to take his order, not exactly looking at him. Whatever she was previously doing, affected her still. He was caught by surprise, because he actually never looked at the menu. “An americano and um, what do you suggest?” he had to act normal, he thought again. Maybe channel his inner long-lost self. She finally looked at him, with a questioning smile on her face. The picture they had was old and did not do her any justice. “Our sour lemon bars are amazing” she informed him after a second of brainstorming. Sour, huh? He noticed her body language – she truly didn’t know who he was. Then again, without his long hair and a visible metal arm, not many people could recognize him. He nodded in agreement and she left. She was in a pretty bad mood. The application she had sent to the university was still not accepted, her computer broke down, she was barely making it by and she was tired having had zero sleep the night before, tormented by nightmares. She handed the order to Jackie and sat down, behind the bar. While Jackie was preparing everything, she was making herself a cup of coffee. “He is cute” she heard – and so did he, thanks to his enhanced senses. He was not used to being called cute or anything like that. Maybe an older version of him was pretty good with women – this one, not so much. He wasn’t bad, unlike Steve, but … something wasn’t there anymore. She looked at him, for a split second before gulping her coffee down. “Better you than me” she whispered. The other girl was shocked. “What happened?” she asked her, a ton of concern laced her voice and that captured his attention. “I don’t know what to do” she said, almost desperate. As his lemon bars were being transferred to a beautiful plate, Jackie asked the one-million-dollar question. “What about that guy? Helmut?”. That was all Bucky needed to add her to his suspect list – well, to cross off everyone else but her, really. “Hasn’t delivered and I am running out of time” she murmured in fear of being heard. She was right to be afraid of that, he did eavesdrop. Bucky hoped that she would be the one to bring his coffee but unfortunately, another waiter came. For the better part of an hour, he tried to catch anything of importance, having already informed Sam. But there was nothing. She just did her job. Deciding that it was better to leave in order not to attract any kind of unwanted attention, he left the money on the table and walked out of the place, faster than he would have liked. Who was she?

It had been pretty hard for her, lately. That roughly translated into more than ten years. She was used to being treated badly by life but she was standing right on the edge and she had nothing to grab onto to stop her fall. As long as she could remember, she was alone. The first person she had met was a grim old lady, telling her to stop crying otherwise the Sinnerman was going to eat her. Once she was at an age, she could understand what was happening, she was made aware she had no family – that wanted her, anyway – and that was why she had ended up there. It more of a torture-place than an orphanage. By the age of fifteen, she had achieved an early high school graduation, and her caretakers saw that she didn’t have the potentials to become the next prodigy, no matter the hard work. Being fifteen and on the streets was something she wished on nobody. She was smart, though – she got a job and soon was able to afford her own place. It was small but it was all she needed. A roof over her head, a bed and a shower. Lately, things were just not easy. She hadn’t been paid for at least four months and she had no cushion of money to fall onto. Her landlord would kick her out any minute now, and she had no backup plan. Her study application hadn’t panned out yet and when a stranger reached her, promising her a ton of cash and a name, she didn’t think twice. When she agreed to hack into a couple of databases, she had no idea who that person was. Only that he knew her parents and was willing to pay. That was all she needed, really. Little did she know, she was helping a criminal to get out of a life-long sentence. She tried to back away, but a single threat was more than enough to persuade her. She wasn’t used to knives being that close to her neck. She had done her part, even though she regretted it, but he had still to deliver and she had no other option. She would stay awake, thinking why her? Out of all the hackers in the world, why her? “Don’t worry! They’ll choose you, they would be stupid not to” Jackie told her, as she was ready to leave. She laughed at that. “I am not gonna pay them, I am the one asking them for a fund. They would be stupid if they did choose me!” she explained again, waving her goodbye. She was closing up the place today. She didn’t mind. The later she got back to her place, the smaller the chances to meet her landlord. She liked working alone, being alone. That was why she had it easier than the other girls back in the day. They struggled keeping up with the classes, the training, the killing. She did her job, and got on with her life. Well, at least until she was kicked out. Placing the last cups back on their self, she heard the door opening and closing – footsteps were approaching her. “I’m sorry, we’re closed” she chimed, as she turned around. That guy again. Yeah, alright, he was cute but her mind was warning her. He smiled – but it was forced and she saw it. Something wasn’t right. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see any sign” he said and it was true, she hadn’t put on the closed sign. He knew that she knew – but instead of making a run for it, she played along. Sam was waiting outside, car ready. “Oh, yeah, that’s my bad” she calmly informed him, letting her towel down and picking up the sing to hang, moving slowly through the space. He recognized her moves but it couldn’t be. Her moves were familiar but not fully known. He was closing in. After a rather long eye-contact, she threw the metal sign at him, aiming his exposed neck, almost cutting him. She was strong. All it took was two steps and they were engaged in a full-blown combat. He threw up his forearms like an offensive lineman blocking a defensive back, but she slipped to the side, pushed his elbow down and away, caught his head, and rolled him into the floor. Not even a second later, Bucky threw her off of him and was on his feet, watching her rush toward him in slow motion. He reached under his shirt even as he pushed past the tables. She did not try to stop the gun; she rolled his hand under his wrist, drove his arm over and back, and pulled him backward and down. She had the gun before he slammed into the floor, and was pointing it at him. She wasn’t afraid to use it, and he was almost scared by the look on her face. He had seen that look before. He tackled her, grabbed her wrist with his right hand and held the gun hand against her chest, while he placed his left arm tightly around her neck. She headbutted him but neither flinched. Before she could do anything, Sam placed a cloth on her mouth and nose and knocked her out. “Took you long enough” he mused at an annoyed Bucky. He rolled his eyes at him, still very much confused as to why she knew those moves. “I think she was trained for the Black Widow program” he let on, as he picked her up while Sam made everything to look as if nothing had happened. He even closed up the place. Bucky placed her on the backseat of the car. She wasn’t a Black Widow, yet her fighting style… “Who is she?” Sam asked as they were driving away.

#marvel imagine #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes imagine #Steve Rogers #sam wilson imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier #avengers imagine #the avengers #captain america #Winter Soldier #winter soldier imagine

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

Video

youtube

‘today’s silm vocaloid song: clear sky engine (クリヤスカイ機関) by nyanyannya and hara ft. rin kagamine and zunko tohoku

this one’s about elrond, maglor, and the sudden non-ending of the world. you know that thing where you build an elaborate fandom video in your head for a completely unrelated song, but you don’t have the most basic art skills you’d need to make it a reality? yeah, i square that circle by writing them out. here, have an extremely long songfic/filk/commentary/thing

It was just another day, beneath a black sky

The bustle of camp churned on around me

I wasn’t paying attention to what my hands were doing

Dreaming of a shining star-lit sky

we open on elrond, living in a world about to die. the fëanorians were forced to abandon amon ereb years ago, and now the last of the host ekes out a precarious nomadic existence, raiding deserted villages for food and losing more people they can’t replace with each battle. they’re still doing better than everyone else on the mainland, though. their blades, at least, remain sharp

(the smoke from the fires of angband has risen to cover the whole continent in dark clouds. some of the sun’s warmth still gets through, and on good nights the star of high hope is still faintly visible, but the light-filled skies of old are little more than memory. all the survivors know that the end is near. it’s only a matter of time)

He’d broken a promise he’d made to us

So I was a little more annoyed at him than usual

He chatted with me while I worked to make up for it

And I made all my usual complaints

elrond and elros are at this point... i’d say very early teens? not that they had much of a childhood; the fëanorians are so short-staffed the twins have been doing odd jobs around camp pretty much since it became clear they weren’t going to run away. today elrond is taking stock of the medical supplies, less because he has any interest in the healing arts than because it’s a job that needs doing and everyone else is busy

maglor is hovering within talking distance, doing elrond-doesn’t-care-what. the twins’ relationship with maglor is extremely complicated to say the least, their mercurial hellbeast protector who scares the shit out of everyone else they’ve ever met and who has stood between them and the darkness for as long as they can remember. recently, he promised to stay with the twins while they did something difficult, but he failed to do so for a whole host of reasons, including getting into a two-hour shrieking match with maedhros at the last possible moment. elros shrugged it off, like elros shrugs everything off, but elrond is a simmering cauldron of adolescent rage at the best of times

which is why maglor’s checking on him, giving him an outlet for his anger before it can turn into despair. because what would be the point, in the end? they’re all going to die anyway. one of the reasons maglor’s resisted sending the kids to balar so hard is that no matter where they are, eventually morgoth will sweep down and destroy them all. there’s nowhere safe left, nothing they can do to protect them. none of this is even new, it’s a shadow that’s hung over them all since the twins grew old enough to understand this

so maglor and elrond chat, or rather elrond grumbles incessantly and maglor snarks as upliftingly as he can remember to. it’s a day like any other, nothing about it to distinguish it from the hundreds that came before or however many will come after. that is, until one of the lesser minions comes over, yelling, ‘boss! boss! you have to see this!’

elrond turns around. for the first time ever, he sees true hope on her face

“Have you finally grown tired of us?” I hissed

But in that moment excitement ran round the campsite

And someone cried out with joy

“The hour we thought would never be, the return of the light, has finally come to pass!”

far, far away, the hosts of the valar are landing on the shores of beleriand. disembarking from their luminous ships, clad in radiant armour and carrying blessed weapons, their brilliance pierces the dark fog that has settled over beleriand for so long. shining like the stars come to earth, the hallowed army of valinor begins its long march towards the gates of angband. far above, ships riding jets of light slice open the smog

this news - this unexpected, unbelievable, impossible miracle bestowed unto doomed beleriand, this chance that their enemy might actually fall - is the greatest thing anyone in camp’s heard all century. maybe in more prosperous times the host would have groused about the valar finally seeing fit to get off their asses, but in this world turned to ash any chance at victory is to be celebrated. the minions throw a massive impromptu party, of the kind they haven’t since before sirion. elros is right there with them, singing off-key and laughing as loud as anyone else. even maedhros cracks a tiny relieved smile

maglor watches the festivities from the outside, more genuinely optimistic than he thought he was still capable of. elrond joins him, brow furrowed as he tries to comprehend it all. they talk

“It feels like a dream I’ll never wake up from”

“What are you blabbering about now?”

elrond is voiced by zunko, maglor by rin. the song’s more of a dialogue than a duet, so i’ll be bolding maglor’s lines

The sheet of paper I held in my hands read

“The hosts of the West have come! Our world is saved!”

the letter’s from gil-galad, or at least his administrative apparatus. it’s not even that hostile; apparently the armies of the gods showing up out of nowhere to save them all from certain doom has him in a magnanimous mood. there’s some drivel about surrendering and eärendil and all wrongs being forgiven, but neither maglor nor elrond is paying attention to it

“Hey, do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Love and justice and valour and hope”

“I remember the sea of blood you drowned everything in for them”

elrond didn’t really have any formal schooling - nobody had the time - but he has managed to pick up a lot of stuff from the stories the people around them tell. that the fëanorians came to middle-earth for high noble ideals, and that it was trying to fulfil those ideals that led them into darkness, is something maglor told him once, when he was in a darkly honest mood

“Haha, that’s just details, everybody makes that kind of mistake when they’re young”

“Why are you like this?”

a mood maglor’s obviously not in at the moment, if he’s laughing off the kinslayings like this; elrond knows this isn’t how he actually feels about them. normally elrond would just roll his eyes and move on with his life, but things are different today

The camp was full of laughter, as if everyone had lost their minds

elrond’s not used to happiness. not full, unironic happiness, untainted by the shadow of their inevitable death, not from the fëanorians. the sheer jubliation suffusing camp is fundamentally alien to him, a child of a world about to end. he doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that maybe they won’t all get eaten by dragons. he doesn’t know what to do with the hope in everyone’s eyes

so instead, when maglor wanders away from the party, elrond catches him with a song

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! For certain”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the fears I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine songs I can give to you”

maglor’s been teaching elrond how to do this, how to snatch someone into a world of music and throw your voice at them until one of you can’t take it any more. maglor wins this one, as usual; even if his song is incapable of anything but violence he’s got centuries of experience on elrond, enough to turn the sharp edges of his voice into blades in elrond’s hands. and that is what he’s doing, clumsy and harsh as he is; he’s trying to give elrond a reason to hope

elrond is the one who breaks the spell, dropping the melody, letting the music dissolve into the air. maglor flashes him a grin and walks off, humming merrily. elrond just stands there, still unable to understand

I’ve heard it before, it’s all anyone can talk about, even if I try to avoid it it stabs into my ears

cut past a decade or so, to well into the war of wrath. elrond and elros are in their mid-teens now. they’re still with the fëanorians, but these days the fëanorian warband is effectively an auxiliary unit to the amanyar army, skirting around the edges of that much larger force. for the first time in a long while, elrond and elros have regular-ish contact with people outside the fëanorian sphere of influence, mostly peripheral edain and the sindar who run messages between the camps. it’s different, talking to new people

(the sky is still covered with smog, but it’s gloomy grey, not oppressive black. the sun is faintly visible through it, most of the time. the rain is much less poisonous than it used to be, and on good nights you can almost see the moon. the closer they get to angband, the darker the clouds grow)

“It is as the gods have decreed, soon the darkness will be swept away and the Enemy will be cast down

And after the war in the purified world, we will all live happily together

Building new homes in a land unmarred by evil”

the people outside the host are much more optimistic about the future, for one. the fëanorian minions are happy morgoth is getting trounced but they don’t really talk about what comes after that, like they can’t imagine a world without war. the sindar, and especially the edain, on the other hand, have all these plans about the cities they’ll build, the arts they’ll perfect, the children they’ll raise in a world without danger. elros is super into this; he barely spends time with the fëanorians any more, he’s so busy going between different edain camps, making friends, planning for the future. elrond, though...

Even my twin knows what future to reach out for...

elrond doesn’t know what to do with any of this. the very concept that someday the war will end and the sky will clear and he’ll have a bright future is still something he doesn’t fully understand. even more, he’s defined himself for so long as not-a-fëanorian, now he’s regularly interacting with people who doubtlessly aren’t he’s having trouble figuring out what else he is. he’s stuck between people who are lowkey hoping they’ll die gloriously in battle and people who have been dreaming about what they’d do in a world without darkness all their lives, and he doesn’t know what he even wants, not really, not yet

so he keeps on living, just like he always has. he’s been promoted to sick tent dogsbody and is learning how to heal with song from the last minion who can kind of still do it. he acts as a proxy between the fëanorians and the more timid outsiders they keep running into. when he goes (or elros drags him) exploring in other camps, he keeps track of every new detail he comes across, in case it’s somehow useful later

and he keeps talking to maglor, with anger and spite and sarcasm and whatever other emotion he’s covering his uncertainties with today. maglor always listens, usually offers to help, and sometimes elrond even lets him. the fëanorian camp settles into a rhythm of buildup-fight-recovery-buildup-fight-recovery, so regular it lulls elrond into complacency. he takes the future he still doesn’t quite believe in one day at a time, until suddenly the ground crumbles beneath his feet

You say it’s to ‘fulfill our ideals’ but what you mean by that is ‘to sate our bloodlust’, I know

With their blades and teeth sharpened for battle, the kinslayers broke away from the light and disappeared into the shadows

there’s a whole mountain of reasons why, as they draw near to angband, the dregs of the fëanorian host abruptly peel off from the valinorean army and vanish into the night. they know they're more effective as a stealthy shock ambush unit, they’re somewhat concerned the amanyar will turn on them the second morgoth is no longer a problem, they're making one last desperate rush for the silmarils, all that and more. it’s not the first time they’ve suddenly packed up and left before their enemies can react, probably not even the first time they’ve done it to the hosts of valinor. there’s just one little difference

Leaving us behind? Leaving you behind

they’re not taking the twins. said twins only find out about this, like, the day before they decamp. maedhros’ justification is something about them not being able to support noncombatants on the march, but the twins believe that about as much as they believe that the fëanorians are doing this for any kind of hope. elros, of course, was half-planning on leaving anyway, going off to chase his own ambitions with his new edain posse. he copes with it pretty well, relatively

but elrond’s mind goes blank. once he thought the day they let them go would be the best day of his life, but now it’s come it feels so wrong, and this horrible coldness is seeping into him. in a flash of what feels like foresight, he suddenly knows the people who raised him will never come back. how dare - why - he can’t -

with a sharp desperate burst of sound that’s a surprise to even himself, elrond lashes out a song to catch maglor

“For ten more minutes, one more week, half a year, please, let me stay with you!”

“In a year’s time, ten years’ time, a hundred years’ time, we’ll see the starlit sky together”

“What if one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight times I begged you not to go?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine of your other wishes I’ll hear”

and elrond just stops. he lets the song trail off, staring at maglor. he’s in an incredibly weird mood, with something that could almost be compassion in his eyes

there’s only one way he can find out what’s happening, elrond realises

“In that case - !”

maglor was never really demonstratively affectionate with the twins. it would never have come off as real on his part, and they wouldn’t have believed it in any case. still, he supported them. he let them trail behind them, all but cling to the backs of his legs, in those first horrible weeks when they were terrified of absolutely everything. he taught them to ride and he taught them to read, how to reinforce a blade with nothing but song and close a wound with needle and thread. on the darkest nights, when all the world was filled by the howling beasts of morgoth and the wailing of the unhallowed dead, he held them tight and flared his own fires high, a warm smoky bonfire between them and the void. he answered their questions, and told them stories

and sometimes, he tried to be kind

“Sing me a lullaby like the flat of a blade”

“Which one would you like?”

“I want to see a flower that will still bloom”

“I know just the one”

“I don’t care what kind of monster you are! Just please stay with me, for even one more tomorrow...”

“...I’m sorry”

“What do you mean?”

“You were given your name because your parents wanted you to see the stars someday”

it was easy for maglor to justify keeping the twins when they didn’t have a future. the shadow of death blotted out the sky, so why not hold them close for whatever little time they had left? no matter where they were, the void would soon claim them all

except it didn’t. in the end they were not forsaken. the sacred light came out of the west to burn away the darkness and finish the war he once thought they could never win. the hosts of the valar have gotten farther in decades than the noldor did in centuries, and soon enough they’ll cast the enemy down and release the world from his terrible maw. and then the future the free peoples dreamed of will stretch out before them, full of possibilities beyond measure

and that’s why maglor has to let them go. the magnificent people that elrond and elros are already becoming will only wither among hopeless kinslayers who have nothing left but the sword. to flourish into their full glorious selves, they need to be with people who dream, who can travel towards the future alongside the twins with light hearts and songs on their lips. maglor refuses to let his own darkness drown the last people in the world he does not hate. elrond deserves so, so much better than maglor is capable of giving him. he deserves to see the stars

hearing all that, there’s only one thing elrond can say

“You can’t even keep one miserable promise! Don’t pretend like you’re my father, kinslayer!”

and that’s the last elrond sees of maglor. the fëanorians vanish in the middle of the night, leaving elrond and elros (and about half a dozen minions who are taking their last possible chance to get out) behind. elros takes up with his edain buddies and starts making contacts and forging alliances. elrond winds up in gil-galad’s orbit, surrounded by people who are very understanding about how awful his childhood was, which just pisses him off more. he doesn’t throw tantrums or refuse to work, those aren’t luxuries he was raised with, but he spends a fair bit of time spurning every bit of sympathy and aid he’s offered and trying not to cry himself to sleep

with time, though, he finds a place. it starts with círdan, the first person who believes elrond about what his time with the fëanorians was like. then he befriends erestor, and then gil-galad starts actually respecting the way elrond feels, and then he gets officially taken on as an apprentice healer. he starts learning about his own ancestors and their peoples, and reaching out for stories he never knew could be his. as the final battle of the iron hells begins, elrond is doing... better

and soon, the hope that no one in beleriand once dreamed would be fulfilled becomes a reality

And then, as if it had never held power, the darkness was cast down...

they win the war. the armies of angband are crushed. the peaks of thangorodrim are torn down. the prisoners of the deepest pits of the iron hells are freed. the forces of evil are scattered to the four winds. morgoth, the fallen vala himself, is defeated and captured and bound with great chains, unable to ever hurt anyone again. the precious remnants of the light of the trees, the remaining two silmarils, are recovered. the dark clouds evaporate, and for the first time elrond can remember, the sky is perfectly clear. the war of the jewels is finally over

elrond has grown so much since the day he first heard that the hosts of the west had come. he still can’t quite believe it

They held a great celebration beneath a star-speckled sky I’d never seen before

“The world is saved and we are freed! Evil has been vanquished forevermore”

The triumphant voices of the generals poured out over the victory feast while the stars shone true above the happy ending

the soldiers of valinor and the people of beleriand (what’s left of them) throw a truly massive party. it’s still tinged with their grief over everything they’ve lost, but the atmosphere is primarily one of ecstatic relief. they’re alive, and they’ve come out the other side. dwarvish tailors dance with high maiar, humans who don’t remember the moon get drunk with elves who remember cuiviénen. even after the official festivities die down and people start hashing out what they want to do next, the general mood remains buoyant and cheerful. at long last, they live in a world without danger

none of it feels real to elrond. gil-galad’s talking about building a kingdom on the other side of the blue mountains, elros and his grand edain alliance are trying to bully the maiar into letting them set up on tol eressëa, and elrond feels so disconnected from it all, like he’s watching someone else’s life. he’s happy the enemy has been overcome, of course he is, but he’s not feeling the overwhelming joy everyone else is. he can’t let his guard down yet, something is still wrong -

Except he hasn’t come back, they haven’t come back, where did they go, what have they done?

The word raced around as fast as the wind, giving me an answer I never wanted to hear -

where is maglor? the fëanorians broke off to fight the war their own way, but the war is over now, where are they? they were so happy to hear that the amanyar had arrived, he can’t imagine them not thrilled to see the enemy they hated more than anything else fall. in the warm afterglow of victory, it feels like even their sins might be forgiven, and they could finally go home. they have nothing else left; why wouldn’t they take that outstretched hand?

but nobody’s so much as glimpsed their flag since some time before the final battle. elrond quietly assumes, perhaps even hopes, that they all died fighting, and yet he can’t shake the cold dread crawling up his spine

elrond has mixed feelings about the silmarils, and doesn’t particularly care to be near them. by the time the news of their theft reaches him, maedhros and maglor have already fled into the night

Still driven on by their oath, they turned their blades on their kin one last time

“And stole away the hallowed light”

Yes, that light which sank all of our lands beneath a deep dark layer of corpses and ash

all elrond sees is the aftermath, the blood sinking into the ground. it’s far from the first time he’s seen people killed, but somehow now it’s all hitting him, all at once. he sees the bodies and it knocks the breath out of him. all he can see is the dead, from finwë on down, the rotting carcasses of every last person who was slaughtered for these gems, a whole continent bleached with death. they call the silmarils the most beautiful things in the world, jewels shining with the very light of creation, but elrond can’t see it for the blood they’re dripping with

that’s the immediate thing that has his hands shaking and his breath running cold. by morning it’s had a chance to sink in a little, and -

He lied he lied he lied he lied

maglor regretted the kinslayings! elrond knows he did! it was never even something he actually said, it was obvious from the way he talked about them. every single one was a complete disaster, nothing the fëanorians ever got out of them was worth what they lost in the process, and afterwards things always got worse in ways they never expected. and maglor hated the person the kinslayings had turned him into, elrond spent enough time around him to pick up on that much! surely he’d do anything to not have to commit another one?

apparently not! apparently all that regret, all that loss, the arguments and the nightmares and the coldly determined efforts to stop them following his path, it all meant nothing! he still gave in to despair or maedhros or whatever, killed yet more people, stole from the army whose return he said was like a dream come to life, spat in the face of his last chance to go home, and vanished! gil-galad’s people were right! he really is nothing more than a monster!

the shock of it all makes something snap in elrond, whatever fragile optimism he absorbed from the people around him draining away until he feels completely hollow. hundreds of years of suffering and death, and for what?

Smeared with the blood of untold hundreds, untold thousands, untold millions of people

Did they buy us peace for even half a year, even a week, even ten minutes?

Noooooooo!

Even the very land we lived on crumbled and drowned

What was the point?! What was the point?! What was the point?!

I feel like I’m going insaaaaaaane

morgoth may have fallen, but beleriand is dead! nothing remains, not the lush green lands of the stories, or even the dessicated forests of his childhood, just desolate earth and the devouring sea. almost everywhere he’s ever known, almost everyone who lived and fought and dreamed there, are lost forever. nothing was saved, everything was destroyed, what good is a clear blue sky when there’s nothing beneath it?! how can they call this a happy ending?!

elrond can’t see any light here, all the great battles and heroic deeds seem absolutely pointless in the face of everyone and everything immolated in the endless grasping for these gems. the hosts of valinor leave the continent they shattered, the remnants of gil-galad’s people escape the raging forces of nature, and the survivors bicker and fight over resources just like the fëanorian minions elrond grew up around. the world is never going to get better, he realises. the dream of a paradise will never come true

and then one night, running a message down the craggy still-turbulent coastline, he hears a snatch of a distant, familiar voice

I can hear a voice whittled away to a weapon singing what could almost be a lullaby -

elrond leaps off the ridge and onto the rocky beach, scrambling over the uneven ground. he’s heard the rumours about where maedhros and/or maglor went - all of them, there’s dozens of them, he didn’t pay any particular heed to the ones where maglor wandered the coast, but if they were right, if he’s here -

his own voice has grown strong over the years, solid and forceful and mature. elrond screams his song into the emptiness, hoping against hope it will be heard

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! Isn’t that so?!”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the griefs I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine days for you to live!”

“That must be it...”

the impression of a hand touching his cheek, the ghost of a smile. for a moment someone else’s voice slips into the ebb and flow of his song, a shadow reaches out to wipe the tears off his face. live, it whispers. you who i held dearest last, live

elrond’s breath catches in his throat, and the song, and the shadow, vanish. it’s just him on a forsaken beach, the only sounds the waves crashing and the gulls calling. the sky is completely overcast, the clouds dull and grey. he watches them drift along for a while, as his pulse slows down and his airways clear up. live, the word echoes in his mind

he waits until his breathing is back to normal and the churning emotions inside him have settled into a form he can handle. then he wipes his face and clambers back onto the ridge

(life. it’s not much, but it’s enough. it has to be. his home is destroyed, but he is alive; his family is broken, but he is alive. he is alive, and they want him to live, as much as he can while he still has a chance. the world he lives in will never be perfect, but he knows how to work with that)

(and besides - elros, círdan, gil-galad, erestor, the other healers, the small knot of elves of all stripes who seem determined to follow his banner. he hasn’t lost everything, not yet, and he won’t let the world take away what he has left. he’ll never abandon those he loves)

the clouds are lightening. soon the stars will be out. elrond takes a deep breath, and starts running towards his future and the person he’s going to be -

thousands of years later, a memory resurfaces

“Two million, two hundred and forty-one thousand, five hundred and thirty-nine days... Ah, yes. I know I forgot to say it earlier, but you did a very good job”

a smattering of notes are lifted by the ocean breeze. they travel inland, across the worn-down mountains, around the weathered hills, above the tangled forests, up the untamed rivers, and finally into the hidden valley

in the gardens of imladris, lord elrond hears a voice he hasn’t for millennia. a watering can slips out of his hands, and suddenly he can’t breathe

It was just another day, beneath a dark sky

The ocean and the wind roared on all around me

I wasn’t paying attention to how my tears were falling

Trying to remember a clear star-lit sky

that youthful dream of a world free from evil never came true. the shadow came back, and it kept coming back, taking his people, his friends, his family, his wife. everything they built after the defeat of morgoth has been reduced to dust by the weight of time, and every year more of it slips through his fingers. elrond doesn’t know how much more of it he can endure. he doesn’t know how much more he can lose

he chases that scrap of music all the way to the seashore

I ran down the path between the rocks and the spray following that voice I never knew why I loved

But in the end I could only stand weeping

elrond searches up and down the coast, scouring the shoreline for clues, asking the locals, listening. sometimes he hears whispers of song, long wailing lamentations that make his heart ache all the more now that he understands how that despair feels. occasionally it’s loud or consistent enough he can track it, trying to pinpoint the singer’s location in the intense storms of bitterness and grief

but he never finds anything

“You fool, he’s already gone. Like he was never there at all...”

all that’s left is a voice on the wind

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southslates · 3 years

Text

leave our lovers / ao3 / 2209 words / one-shot / post-canon / kanej / rated T / tw major character death & suicide attempt

He had been waiting at the docks.

He always was. The routine was that she’d pull up and he’d wait on the docks and then she would try to sneak up on him, but he’d see her and pull away. And then they’d hold hands, or hug, or kiss on the cheek. Depending on the year.

It’d been six years. Kaz thought he might be able to manage the lips today. He’d practiced, thought through the moment, the motions. He would do it—he would kiss the love of his life as she returned today, and he’d feel peace. Her last letter had come a week ago and she’d told him that she wasn’t sure how many journeys she had left at sea. She’d done her work cleaning the oceans out of slavers and set up a network of ships that were doing the job as well. Perhaps just another year or two, she’d written, and then I will spend my time with my family and in Kerch, of course.

It had been an opening. That was what Inej had written; what she had meant was commitment. She had told him I am going to stay with you and not leave you. She had told him I am never yours but I will keep coming back. She had listed out plans about what she would do with the children she collected on her travels, the schools and orphanages she wanted to run under the Dregs’ protections. She’d not even questioned his support.

Kaz and Inej were partners, after all. Sometimes he felt as though he’d left the beating part of his cold heart out on the ocean with her. When she came back he felt as though he was reunited with his soul.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to see the fluttering of red in her cheeks, he wanted to hear that magical laugh as she pulled back from him; she’d ask really Kaz, you’re doing this here, or perhaps, I love you.

He’d never said the words but he wanted to. He wasn’t a seventeen-year-old kid anymore—he wanted a future. He was pulling the Dregs into a legitimate business, he was ruling the Slat and half the Financial District. He was in good books with the Fjerdan and Ravkan governments. This country was his. He wanted to be hers.

Her ship rounded the horizon and his breath caught.

It was minutes later that Kaz realized something was wrong. There was a somber look about the crew on deck. Inej normally wasn’t on top, but quite a few of her hands were, and none were. He ran scenarios through his mind and tried to wonder what could have occurred—perhaps the ship was slightly wrecked? The Wraith looked fine to him, but he was no sailor. He hated the sea.

The boat docked. He held his cane carefully out and turned a cold-eye to Specht. “What’s occurred?”

“Sir . . .” Specht choked. He looked right into Kaz’s eyes—nobody ever did that. “Sir . . .”

Something terrible, dark, indescribable—something like Jordie—fell into the pits of Kaz’s stomach. “Specht?” he croaked in his rasp.

Inej had usually attempted to sneak up on him by this time. He could see her. Ever since that first night at the Menagerie he’d always been able to feel her, thrumming around him, comforting. He couldn’t feel her.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Specht choked. “I’m so, so sorry.”

On the ship’s deck, two of the burly hands pulled a body—clothed in cotton, wrapped in sheets—out from below deck.

Kaz could make out a braid.

Kaz turned and walked away.

When was the last time Kaz Brekker had cried?

Perhaps about Jordie, all those years ago. All those fucking years ago. And now the Reaper’s Barge was streaming down his face. He went back to the Slat and dragged himself up all of the stairs—his newest office was Per Haskell’s, on the bottom floor, but he still kept the one in the attic. It was their room. He picked the door open and then opened it and slid against it and looked at the window.

He could see her there, feeding the crows. Laughing, smiling, facing him. Come on, Kaz. I know they’ll love you. Living things hate me. I don’t hate you. Thank you, darling. She’d been magic. He’d felt it all drain from him—money, vengeance, Jordie’s voice. He’d been surrounded by nothing but her.

Kaz sat against his door and he didn’t move. He cried. He’d made his bed in this room for her last night. The cabinet at the side had some of her clothes. He had her toothbrush. They hadn’t made it that far but they’d been able to sleep in a bed across from each other, holding hands, waking up to see each other.

He'd never kissed her.

He’d never told her he loved her.

And now she was—

Kaz got up. He walked to his desk and took out a pen and a piece of paper and he wrote to Nina. He didn’t know what he was asking for. Can you come? Can you give me one more chance? Can I—

He threw it into the trash. He swallowed. He knew Nina couldn’t bring back the dead. He needed to tell Inej that he loved her. What if she hadn’t known? Why hadn’t he told her before? You are so weak, Kaz Brekker. What kind of man couldn’t tell his girl what she meant to him? And now she was gone.

Now everything was gone. Something knocked at his door. Someone called for him. Jesper or Wylan. Kaz could only see hazily. His locks would hold them. He reached for his safe and pulled out a stack of letters. I think the Slat gets cold, she’d written, wouldn’t your leg fare better in another part of town? She’d written: do you think we could stay in another district, Kaz? Do you think we could ever be more than Dirtyhands and his Wraith?

“Yes,” he said aloud. He had never spoken to Jordie’s ghost, nor his father’s or mother’s. This felt the same and different. He wondered if she was here with him. Would she be with him?

Jesper was pounding at his door. “Kaz!”

He read the letter. He read the letter a thousand times. He soaked up everything. I think I’ve grown a fondness for paintings from Shu Han. They have such an interesting quality to them. He’d stolen one from a mercher’s house two days ago. It was rolled up under his bed. The opposite of Heleen, if you will. There’s so much terrible in the world. I haven’t kept in much contact with Zoya. Let me know how she is when you get back, of course. I miss your terrible stew. Do you think we could visit Ravka next summer? I think if all goes well I’ll have three months at home.

She’d signed off: Yours, Inej.

Kaz read the letter a thousand times, a million. He read it until those words were imprinted in his mind. Then he threw it out his window and watched it fall. Then he fell.

“You need to tell her parents,” Wylan said gently. Kaz sat still. He felt glassy. He hadn’t moved in hours. “We can push off the ceremony till they come. She said she wanted to be cremated and then placed into Fifth Harbor."

Kaz’s voice did not creak. “She said?”

Wylan nodded. Then he handed Kaz a piece of paper, something limp, a page broken off a map. “Specht said this was for you. They didn’t open it.”

Kaz took it and kept staring forward. Wylan took in a deep breath. “I’d ask if you’re okay.”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I can only imagine. What do you need?”

“Merchlings to leave me alone.”

Wylan left the study and turned to look at him with a sad frown. “Don’t do anything stupid, Kaz. It’s not what she would have wanted.”

Kaz Brekker always had a reason. It was how he’d built the Slat from nothing.

Kaz Rietveld no longer had a reason.

I coddle my grudges, Kaz thought. He was in his room. He stared into the mirror and then at his hands. They were ungloved, pale and clean and dirty. I treat them with respect and let them have minds of their own. I let justice right itself.

He could almost see a face in the mirror, behind him, cloaked. He wanted to turn to her, to see Inej. She wasn’t coming back. Why did you leave me here? a part of him thought. I’m alone. What do I do now?

He had nobody left. Not that he wanted anybody. He looked into the mirror and saw something else behind him. He was not alone.

Death serves no man, Jordie had said. Kaz had proved him wrong, or thought he had.

“I won,” he said into the mirror, at the ghost behind him who wasn’t there. “Greed bows to me, and death will too. I won. There has to be a way. If I won then, I can find a way now. You’re with me. Let her be with me.”

“I am not her. That wasn’t the fight. You know it.”

Some part of Kaz had always known that he would come out of his youth unscathed. He could say that in retrospect, but he genuinely felt it—luck, risks, the cards were on his side of the game. He didn’t believe in gods, but perhaps something—someone—had been watching over him. Or perhaps he’d truly mastered the art of thinking ten steps before everyone else, of trading in information. Perhaps he was human and it was all his mind. But Dirtyhands could not bring back the dead.

“Yes it was,” he said. The shade behind him laughed. Jordie was always so cruel to him.

“Oh, no,” it crooned. “You have not won. You will be alone always and then you will die. Death serves no man, Kaz Rietveld.”

Inej’s parents came. Kaz didn’t talk to them. He had no words to say. He watched her cremation from a roof.

He had the paper in his pocket. He hadn’t read it. If he was to open it, it would be the end. There would be no coming back.

He opened it. It had four words. He closed it and tucked it into his shirt’s pocket. His breath caught for a final time. He jumped off the roof and his knee buckled. He had been next to this same building when he’d heard Inej’s cries and gone to pick her up six years ago. He’d called her an investment. He choked. He saw Inej’s parents release her into the ocean. He went back to the Slat.

Kaz Rietveld no longer had a reason. He ignored Anika and Pim. He went to his room and sat at his window. He reached under his bed and threw the Shu painting out of the window. He made sure Inej’s side of the bed was neat. He opened his cabinet’s left drawer and took out two loaves of bread. He tossed those outside of the window too.

Do you believe in magic, Kaz? It’s all just tricks. You know that, I know that. I don’t think it’s all tricks. You’re not normal, Kaz. The way you do it—it isn’t normal. Don’t tell me you think that I’ve got magic hands? Kaz! Inej. Come here. That night he’d unbraided her hair. He’d laid her down to sleep. She’d kissed his cheek.

Six months and I’ll be seeing you again. Tell me you’ll miss me. I’ll miss you. Oh, progress? There’s no reason to hide truths. No games, Inej. I’ll miss you too. Once a week? Once a week. Write in more detail, too. I know more happens to you than you say. Jesper writes to me too, you know. Get some sleep, Wraith. Wake me up before you go.

She hadn’t. He’d slept to her hand in his. He looked to his bed now. If he closed his eyes he could see her. He looked at the crows. He thought about magic.

He unlocked his desk and took out a pistol. She’d had it made for him in Novyi Zem. There were crows embedded onto it. He’d never used it.

Kaz Rietveld no longer had a reason. He closed his eyes and pressed the pistol to one side of his head.

I think I’d like to live somewhere else. Wouldn’t it be nice? To escape the city and spend my old age in the countryside? I think I’ll die young. And I think you’ll cheat death. Living is what’s hard, Kaz. Remember that.

Do you believe in magic? I think you’re magic. I think we’re magic.

“I love you,” he whispered. When he opened his eyes she wasn’t there. “I’ll be there for you.”

He almost pressed the trigger. He didn’t press the trigger. He went to his desk and sat down. He pulled out four words from his pocket.

Kaz. Live for me.

He put the pistol away. He swallowed. He held Sankt Petyr to his chest and prayed to whatever god would grant her good fortune.

#kanej #getting back to tumblr so i needed to archive some stuff sagfkasjf #six of crows #crooked kingdom #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #tw character death #tw suicide mention #tw suicide #shadow and bone #dee drabbles #dee writes #kanej fic

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Ever in Your Favor, Chapter Two (Rosnali) - Athena2

Summary: Rosé and Denali must say goodbye to their friends and family while dealing with their emotions about going back into the arena.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the amazing comments on chapter 1! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and leave some more feedback if you'd like! Thank you so much to Writ for beta-ing!

Read on AO3.

Surprising as it is, the biggest shock of Rosé’s life wasn’t when Jan’s name got called at the reaping. It was a shock, sure, that her little sister’s name was chosen when it was only one out of thousands, but the shock never had time to sink in before Rosé was running to the stage. She couldn’t send Jan into the arena. She was just a kid, a kid who tried to bring home every stray animal she found. Even if she somehow managed to win, that kindness would be beaten out of her. Rosé stopped the shock before it could overtake her, like plunging into ice water all at once, and made her decision, bringing it into her control. Volunteering wasn’t something she had consciously planned, because she didn’t want to think of either of her sisters getting picked in the first place, but when the moment came, when the blow hit, she knew what she had to do, and what she had to do didn’t come as a shock to her.

The biggest shock was five years after that moment, when she was sitting on stage with clenched fists, praying her sisters weren’t called because surely their family couldn’t get lucky enough to have two children win the Games. But the tribute was Denali Foxx, and for the first time, Rosé had to watch someone she knew take the stage.

It was horrible to watch any tribute get chosen, knowing how slim the odds of their survival were. But they were strangers, and Rosé could keep a distance from them. But when Denali took the stage, face cut with steel rather than the dimpled smiles of her youth, Rosé couldn’t keep that distance, couldn’t stop the way her heart clenched. In her mind, Denali was unchanged, still the goofy kid who was Jan’s best friend. She knew from Jan that Denali was trying to keep herself and her mother alive without her father, and it had made her older, wearier, so much like what Rosé had become that it hurt to watch Denali take her place at Manila’s side, clenching her fists and biting her lip to mask her fear. There was a resignation in her eyes, too, like she was just waiting for another blow like this to hit her. Another child who had to grow up too fast, and Rosé just wanted to protect her the way she would protect her sisters, to let Denali dream and be a kid just a little longer. It was proof that the world didn’t stop, that things would never stay the same, that the world she knew—a world of laughs and jokes on walks home from school—was truly gone. As much as Rosé tried to separate herself from it all, as much as she tried to shield her sisters from the darkness of the world, that darkness would slither in all the same, and now it would take someone she knew, just like it had taken her.

It was the moment Rosé realized she would never be able to escape from the Games, and that was the biggest shock of her life.

Until this morning, at least.

She has to consciously remind herself to breathe, forcing in every bit of air through her tight chest as the crowd cheers for her and Denali, the only two tributes to ever come back to their district. Maybe one of them can do it again.

But Lord knows it can only be one of them.

The shock gives way to a cool, detached sort of thinking, her brain calmly registering each step that comes after being chosen while avoiding the emotions that come with it. It’s like she’s moving through a dream, like she’s in her body but not really feeling it, everything hazy around her. Now they’re exiting the stage, and now they’re walking in the Justice Building, and now--

And now they’ll say goodbye.

Jan comes in to see her first, cheeks soaked with tears, and Rosé swears she’s twelve again--

This is the goodbye Rosé’s been dreading the most. Saying goodbye to her parents had been bad enough, the calm facade they tried to put on for her sake dissolving into tears.

Her sisters are so young, too young to mask their tidal wave of emotions. They’re sitting on dark gray chairs, and Jan’s feet don’t even touch the ground. She’s only twelve, and Lagoona is thirteen. They’re meant for jumping rope at recess and playing with friends. Rosé’s not much older at fifteen, but she feels like she’s aged ten years since her name got called. Her sisters might as well be babies.

They throw themselves at her, and Rosé wraps an arm around each of them like she always did, Jan’s head nestled into her right shoulder, Lagoona at her left. It gives her a few seconds to cry without them seeing. What if this is it? The last time she hugs them, last time she ever sees them? If she lets herself think that, she’s already lost. She knows from all the Games she’s watched that there’s no room for self-doubt; the second you doubt yourself or lose the will to fight is the second you get killed.

They pull out of the hug and Rosé quickly wipes her eyes, though she knows she’ll never fool them.

“You have to come back, Rosie,” Lagoona says thickly. “You have to.”

“I will,” Rosé says. “I bet I’ll be back in time to see you win the spelling bee.” She doesn’t want them to see her fear. They know the Games, they know her odds, they know what she’s up against. But she wants them to believe, because she’s the oldest sister and that’s what she’s always done.

Jan’s still crying, her hands shaking as she offers something to Rosé. It’s a golden pin in the shape of a lion. Rosé had saved up to buy it for Jan as a sixth birthday gift, and Jan has worn it every day since.

“Jan, I can’t take this from you.”

“Technically you bought it for her in the first place,” Lagoona mumbles to relieve the tension, because she’s the middle sister and that’s what she’s always done.

Jan looks up at Rosé sweetly, because she’s the youngest sister and that’s what she’s always done, but her eyes quickly turn fierce. “Then you’ll just have to bring it back, won’t you?”

“Rosie, this isn’t fair, it’s--”

“I know,” Rosé says softly, pulling Jan to her shoulder once more. Her muffled protests continue, but eventually she stops and leans into her. Lagoona settles herself at the other shoulder, and Rosé holds on as tight as she can, breathing them in, feeling their weight against her, telling herself this isn’t the last time. She survived the Games once; maybe she can do it again. But every tribute this year has survived once, and they’re probably all thinking the same thing.

“This is my fault,” Jan mumbles. “I should’ve just gone when I got called, you wouldn’t have to do this again--”

“It’s not your fault. I would volunteer for you all over again, Jan. I would for either of you,” Rosé says firmly. And she would. Even knowing that her choice to volunteer would one day send her to the Games all over again, she would still do it.

Lagoona pulls herself away. “Rosie’s right, Jan. And besides, she won already. She can do it again.”

Jan nods, letting out a sniffle. She reaches into her pocket and motions for Rosé to hold out her hand. A familiar weight hits her skin, and when Jan pulls her hand away, the lion pin rests in Rosé’s palm. It’s a little worse for wear, part of its mane chipped, but at least the blood didn’t stain. It’s equal parts past and present, memory and promise. The reminder of home, and the promise to return to it, just like last time.

Rosé swallows the lump in her throat. “Jan…”

“You brought it back once, Rosie. Do it again.”

---

Denali watches the door, wondering if anyone will come see her. She’s pretty sure this is the same room she said her goodbyes in last time, but maybe all the Justice Department rooms are the same, with dull gray walls and matching furniture. The tiny room was packed eleven years ago, with her mother and Jan and Kahmora and Kandy all waiting their turn to hug her and tell her to win.

Denali knows for sure her mother isn’t coming. She’d died months after Denali returned from her Victory Tour, though Denali knows her mother really died when her father did, when Denali was fourteen. She’d done everything she could to keep them both alive, hunting every morning and bringing her mother tea each night, but it wasn’t enough to save her in the end. She’s been on her own ever since, so long that she doesn’t know if she likes being alone or has just become too familiar with it to protest. All Denali has left of her mother is the silver necklace with a forget-me-not charm, cool at the base of her throat like a ghostly kiss.

Kandy and Kahmora might come, though she's not as close with them as she was, and how can Denali honestly expect Jan to show up when she’s competing against her sister?

Denali really doesn’t want to do this. Why, of all people, did it have to be Rosé? Denali’s first thoughts go to the logical odds of it. Rosé is three years older and an inch or so taller, with a slightly bigger build. And she’s one hell of a fighter. In her Games, the final three had been led to a field by poisonous wasps, who then circled around and kept them trapped, forcing a fight to the death. The Gamemakers wanted a bloody, exciting finish after three weeks of competition, and they got it. The girl from District 2 went for Rosé, but she dodged the attack and pushed the girl into the boy from District 1’s axe. He then turned to Rosé, thinking a District 12 girl half his size was an easy kill. But she fought him blow for blow, her sword against his axe, blood everywhere, until she finally won. She won’t be easy for Denali to beat in a fight, especially at close range.

But then again, Rosé’s not quite who she once was. She never leaves the house, and her sisters go there almost every day just to check on her. Denali might be able to beat her, if it came down to it. A second later she burns with shame and horror. Is this what she’s become now? Someone who automatically analyzes the threat people pose to her and how easily she can kill them? She doesn’t want this, doesn’t want to be used to the Games. It’s barely an hour since she got picked and she’s already under their control.

She doesn’t want to do this. And she doesn’t want to kill Rosé.

Part of Denali will always see her as a friend, even if now they’re more like acquaintances with a past. It was lonely as an only child, and when Rosé let Jan and Lagoona tag along with her, Denali was always included, and Rosé made her feel like one of them. That carefree, smiling Rosé is gone now, but she’s still in Denali’s memories, and she doesn’t want to lose her. Last time, Denali’s fellow tribute was a boy she didn’t know, and that was easier than losing someone she knew. She wishes she had that luxury here, that she didn’t know Rosé is probably hugging a sister with each arm in her goodbye room, or that she likes honey on the rolls from her family’s bakery. Maybe they don’t have to be opponents. Maybe they can form an alliance in the arena, be stronger together. Then again, that could bite them in the ass later on--

“This is bullshit!” The door flies open and Kandy marches inside. “How can they make you do this again? It’s not even fair!”

Kahmora hushes her gently, not wanting any Peacekeepers or officials to overhear. But part of Denali is glad to see someone else so outraged at this, proof that it really is horrible.

“I know,” Denali says. “It sucks.” There’s a lot more she wants to say, but that about sums it up.

“It’s really happening,” Kahmora says quietly, eyes on her feet. “When Manila announced it, I thought--I thought maybe it was a joke.”

“I wish it was,” Denali says. She can feel her resolve crumbling, a rock coming loose and triggering an avalanche. Everything is rising to the surface now, and her mind is flooded with images of all the tributes she might be up against, of the cliff where she almost died in her Games, of coming home to find her mother--

“Oh, honey, come here.”

She’s pulled into Kandy’s arms, and Denali knows she’s fully fallen apart. The tears don’t stop, even if it’s been years since she’s cried, and she knows they’re soaking Kandy’s shirt but she doesn’t care. Kahmora rubs her back in gentle circles, whispering for her to breathe. Denali wants to stay in this moment, to not have to leave and face what she knows is waiting in the arena.

She’s more scared now than she was as a kid, the fear so bad it’s making her shake. Back then, her fear was of the unknown. Now her fear is of the known, and it’s even worse.

“It’ll be okay. You beat everyone once, right? Just do it again,” Kandy says, her voice so unwavering that it really does seem that simple.

“You’re amazing with your bow, everyone said it last time,” Kahmora adds.

Denali forces a smile. “You’re right.”

She clings to them for another few frantic heartbeats, grateful that she kept her friendship with them, even if it's not as strong as it used to be. If she wins, she’ll work harder to make things like they were, to take her coffee mugs out more than once a year.

They leave with the promise to take care of her dog, and then it’s just Denali in the room, trying not to think. She jumps when the door opens again, expecting Manila or some official.

“Jan?” Denali can’t hide her surprise.

Jan looks mostly the same, with long brown hair and big brown eyes, even though Denali hasn’t seen her childhood best friend in a while. Denali was taken away from her in the middle of the summer, and by the time she got back from her Victory Tour she didn’t really know how to be Denali, Jan’s friend, anymore. Not when she was Denali, Hunger Games Victor. They talk from time to time, whenever they run into each other in town, and sometimes Jan will wave and exchange small talk when she leaves Rosé’s. Nothing serious. But Denali can tell this is serious, just like she can tell from Jan’s bloodshot eyes that she’s already said goodbye to Rosé. It hits Denali then this is the fourth time Jan has had to say goodbye to someone she cares about in one of these rooms, and that’s just too many times for someone that kind.

“I just--I just wanted to say good luck,” Jan says quietly. “I know you’re going against my sister and everything, but I wanted to say it anyway.”

“Thank you,” Denali says sincerely.

“I wish you could both win somehow,” Jan says suddenly, eyes burning with intensity. “Hell, maybe you can find a loophole or something. If anyone could, it’s you two.” She gives a little smile, wiping away her tears. “I’m gonna go now. I just wanted--”

“Thank you.” Denali crushes her in a hug, the motion so familiar it aches. There was a time when she and Jan were joined at the hip, so close that strangers often mistook them for sisters. Denali secretly loved it, because she always wished she had a house full of sisters, even though Jan said they argued sometimes. Denali especially wished it after her dad died and her mother barely talked. Even arguing would have been better than silence. But she pushes that away now and lets herself hug Jan, letting go with a sigh.

Jan leaves, and then Denali is led to the train.

Eleven years ago, she remembers being excited at the prospect of her first ever train ride, even through her fear. Her fear is a little harder to shake this time, but she still does love the train, even if she takes it every year with the tributes. She loves the plush seats and the big windows and the steady zooming along the tracks. The first time she boarded this train from the Justice Building, she’d been seventeen and terrified, with her fellow tribute and a twenty-year-old Rosé at her side, less a mentor and more an exhausted older sibling with only three years between them. Still, Rosé had done her best, telling Denali that it would be okay, that she could make it through the Games. And she was right.

No other victors means no other mentors, and she and Rosé have done it every year since then, growing older and even more exhausted, sitting in separate compartments and only talking about Games stuff when they had to.

“I hate this fucking train.” Like a vision from the past, Rosé appears by her side. Her cheeks are red and blotchy, and Denali can’t imagine how hard her goodbyes were. Probably even rougher than Denali’s.

They wordlessly slip into a compartment, and Denali is grateful when Rosé sits across from her. She’s not ready to be alone with her thoughts right now. Not ready to be alone at all. Just having Rosé here is enough to take the edge off, give her the comfort of someone else feeling just as stressed and angry and terrified as her.

They busy themselves in the train dining menu, talking about all the food they’ll eat in the Capitol and putting in a huge donut order. The fact that so many food options just appear, when Denali had to hunt every day for years just to keep herself and her mom alive, is something she’ll never get used to. There are more choices for desserts than people back home have for regular meals. Talking about the menu is probably a waste of time when every second should be devoted to planning, but no matter how much Denali loves planning, she can’t bring herself to disturb the paper-thin peace in this compartment. They’re just whistling in the dark, filling the silence on the way to a loud and terrible violence, but Denali pulls a rare smile from Rosé after she gets strawberry jam on her chin and knows there’s no one else she’d rather fill the silence with.

#rpdr fanfiction #denali foxx #rosé #kandy muse #kahmora hall #jan sport #lagoona bloo #rosnali #s13 #lesbian au #hunger games au #ever in your favor #athena2 #tw violence #concrit welcome #submission

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daymansbingerecapsandrankings · 3 years

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(Originally written on October 8, 2020)

🎵Bang, Bang Bangedy Bang

I said a Bang Bang Bangedy Bang🎵

My How I Met Your Mother Thoughts

I just spent the last nine seasons in New York with the gang that spends all their time in MacLaren’s Pub. SELF FIVE! I have to say, this binge of How I Met Your Mother brought me so much happiness. I started watching this show for the first time back in high school, and I ended up watching the last six seasons as they aired. I remember loving this group of characters, and now I am reminded why. There’s so much chemistry between the five, and it makes for one of my favorite Comedies/Sitcoms of all time. If you’ve read any of my previous Show Thoughts, then you know I’ve been watching several over the course of this lovely Pandemic That Will Just Keep Going. After this rewatch, I’ve decided HIMYM is my third favorite Comedy/Sitcom, right after Boy Meets World and Scrubs.

Now, I know that the Finale is infamous. It’s in the Mount Rushmore of Terrible Endings, and people end up getting a sour taste in their mouth when they bring up the show. Well, it’s been some years. There’s been time to reflect and look back. And, while I’m not in favor of the Finale, I also don’t hate it anymore with the passion of a thousand suns. I just loved watching and growing with the gang, seeing them experience their highs and their lows, their triumphs and their failures. It just hits harder as an adult, like most of these shows assuredly do, and I cherish so many of these episodes and moments.

And now, my rankings for the seasons!

Seasons Rankings

1. Season One

2. Season Four

3. Season Two

4. Season Six

5. Season Eight

6. Season Five

7. Season Three

8. Season Seven

9. Season Nine

My rankings for the girlfriends, purely on how much I like them as a character

The Girlfriends Rankings

1. Robin

2. Tracy

3. Victoria

4. Zoey

5. Stella

6. Jeannette

And now, a ranking of my favorite episodes. From 1-50, these are the ones that stand out above the rest. I consider every single one of these enjoyable.

Favorite Episodes

1. Slap Bet (S2E9)

2. Come On (S1E22)

3. The Limo (S1E11)

4. The Best Burger in New York (S4E2)

5. Ten Sessions (S3E13)

6. The Pineapple Incident (S1E10)

7. Bachelor Party (S2E19)

8. Game Night (S1E15)

9. Oh, Honey (S6E15)

10. Glitter (S6E9)

11. The Duel (S1E8)

12. The Pilot (S1E1)

13. Arriverdverci, Fierro (S2E17)

14. The Over-Correction (S8E10)

15. How Your Mother Met Me (S916)

16. Intervention (S4E4)

17. The Magician’s Code, Part II (S7E24)

18. The Autumn of Break-Ups (S8E5)

19. The Ducky Tie (S7E3)

20. The Best Man (S7E1)

21. The Leap (S4E24)

22. Blitzgiving (S6E10)

23. Three Days of Snow (S4E13)

24. The Scorpion & The Toad (S2E2)

25. Bass Player Wanted (S9E13)

26. The Final Page, Part 2 (S8E12)

27. Duel Citizenship (S5E5)

28. Happily Ever After (S4E6)

29. Farhampton (S8E1)

30. Bro Mitzvah (S8E22)

31. Robin 101 (S5E3)

32. The Magician’s Code, Part I (S7E23)

33. Last Words (S6E14)

34. The Playbook (S5E8)

35. The Time Travelers (S8E20)

36. Splitsville (S8E6)

37. Subway Wars (S6E4)

38. Showdown (S2E20)

39. Drumroll, Please (S1E13)

40. Front Porch (S4E17)

41. Twin Bed (S5E21)

42. Who Wants to be a Godparent? (S8E4)

43. Girls vs. Suits (S5E12)

44. Something Borrowed (S2E21)

45. As Fast As She Can (S4E23)

46. The Wedding Bride (S5E23)

47. The Bracket (S3E14)

48. The Sexless Innkeeper (S5E4)

49. Third Wheel (S3E3)

50. Spoiler Alert (S3E8)

And now, just some thoughts on the show and on the gang!

Ted - I know people don’t like Ted. I don’t actually like Ted all that much. And yet, I found myself rooting for Ted just like I did the first go around. He’s not the worst person in the world, and I would be scared to see half of the decisions we’ve made in the dating game stringed together into a TV show. I know people wouldn’t like me very much for those decisions. Then again, I also don’t get super crazy about details about buildings, I don’t pronounce encyclopedia that way, and he tends to stick his foot in his mouth with this White Man confidence that I just don’t have. With all that being said, I still find Ted being a great friend, a man who is just trying to find the love of his life, and someone who really drives this story with great tales and narration (Bob Saget is the Sixth Man of the Show for just always bringing it). I think Ted does stupid things and he pretty much admits it after the fact. He learns, sometimes, and also doesn’t much like most of us. When he finally found the Mother, when he finally found Tracy, I cared. I cared so much, and I still do. Even though they just shit on her character and don’t give us enough time with her, I almost wonder if that’s a metaphor for the fact that you won’t always have enough time with your loved ones.

Robin - Let’s go to the mall! Yeah! Robin Sparkles is a Canadian Treasure, and so is Robin Scherbatsky. She is one of the best things about this show, and I love her so. Played by Cobie Smulders who I need to see in more stuff, Robin is who we all wanted Ted to maybe be with first. Then we go through all the loops of the HIMYM roller coaster, and a lot of us still wanted them to be together. I was one of them. Yet, she was more than just a romantic plot line for Ted. She was a part of the group who we got to see join it and evolve into a member of their family organically. Robin is fun, loud, full of fun quirks that we get to learn over the course of the series. I was heartbroken when we found out she can’t have children. I was loving the back and forth between her and Barney (the first time), and kind of mad at Barney about being such a crazy ass prankster the second time. Robin shows us just how amazing some gun loving, hockey obsessed Canadian news anchor can be, and how much she cares for her friends.

Lily - Justice Aldrin ends up being one of my favorite characters, even if that gets some curious looks. Yeah, she left Marshall for a summer. Yeah, she had some hesitancy with the marriage and everything. That happens. Lily was also always there for her friends, even if she ends up going a little overboard. She wants Ted to find happiness, and does whatever she can to help. She is there to listen to Robin at all times, and her and Marshall are easily one of the best relationships in TV I’ve ever witnessed. Then we have Lily and Barney which is honestly super underrated. Barney trusts Lily, even though she can’t keep a secret, with all of his emotional problems. Lily is who thought Barney could change before anyone else, and I love seeing their friendship grow from eye rolls to eye tears.

Barney - Oh, Barney. He honestly brings so much annoyance and fun to the show. He’s the friend of the gang who everyone tolerates. He’s the one in the gang who everyone ends up loving just as much as everyone else. Barney shows such a terrible face to the world, sleeping with over 250 women and lying to most of them. He has all these rules that aren’t very ethical. He gives us most of the Misogynism in this show, which is definitely prevalent and makes the show not as strong as it was in the first watch. Still, we get to see Barney grow into someone who wants real love and a happy life. Sure, they show us that his marriage to Robin only lasts three years, but at least they tried. Barney just couldn’t make it work, and that’s honestly who Barney really is. A person who just enjoys sleeping with different people. I was very warmed to see the baby reveal and that Barney becoming a dad was what would change him more than anything. Barney is an underrated friend, and his importance to the gang is legendary.

Marshall - I. Love. Big Fudge. He’s just so fun, caring, goofy, loyal, and everything that I aspire to be in life. For some reason, when watching the show the first time, I related to Ted the most. I was definitely a bit more selfish then. But now, I see that I am a Marshall. He wants to do good in the world, and it drives him so much. He only loves Lily, and his loyalty to their relationship is just Goals. He is also the most fun to watch having a crisis. He gets the big eyes and covers his mouth and just gets obviously super uncomfortable. Some of my favorite moments of the show are also Marshall’s talks with Ted about his feelings for Robin. Any one-on-ones with Marshall and someone else are probably my favorite moments. And yes, I will always root for him over those damn machines!

Last Thoughts:

Sure, the writing wasn’t as sharp or as witty in the later seasons, but I loved the story lines and seeing the gang just live.

Tracy was an amazing character as The Mother, and I truly wonder what could have been if they had given us two full seasons of story with her instead of any episodes of Jeannette.

I really can’t believe Ted told his kids all those stories. A fun premise for a show, but really, not very realistic telling them all that jazz.

Ranjit and Carl are such fun recurring characters that I always enjoyed seeing every time they popped up.

Out of all the recurring jokes and gags, which there are many (y’all said Community has so many, but HIMYM really swings for it), I love the Major/General salute joke. Idk if I just didn’t care for it the first time around or forgot about it, but I just love how silly it is and how they kept it through to the very last episode.

Watching the gang sit at their table in MacLaren’s just hanging out will always make me smile.

#how i met your mother #himym #himym finale #ted mosby #marshall eriksen #lily aldrin #himym barney #himym robin #reviews #recaps #br&r

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bonbonbun-luna · 5 years

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Cool! Can you do a crossover/AU where Marinette a Youtuber, by secret, like just a hobby/second job. But know one knows it hurt since she never show her face since she wears a mask and such. Became friends with many Youtubers, even Markiplier and Game Grumps even argues about adopting her. Then get worried about their “little bug” and learned about some not happy things with about the school, a video of Chat being well not cool and the lies of this liar...Team Miraculous YouTubers!

I hope you gonna like it! This is non-magical AU and I don’t really watch the american youtube(Maybe only Pewds), but if you like it, I’ll write the second part where Marinette will interact with them! Send me more requests guys (ฅ･ิω･ิฅ)

Marinette sighed in disappointment, looking at the trending tab.

The video «Ladybug and I are soulmates» has gained over ten million views and an incredible amount of likes over the past six hours. Reading the comments in which the loyal fans of Chat Noir called her a blind idiot, Mari could hardly hold back her tears.

This has been going on for two years already.

She started making videos three years ago, hiding her true identity with a mask, lenses and a nickname. This should never have become a big deal, but a month after the first video, which somehow magically gained 400,000 views(Mari was sure that her uncle Jagged Stone was involved in this), Netty decided to make another one, finally buying new equipment and completely hiding her room so that no one could recognize it.

Parents watched her with interest, quietly supporting and sincerely rejoicing in their daughter's new ineres.

Sabina couldn't stop smiling, thinking that this year was the best for her baby girl. Her precious daughter finally made friends, scared off her bully, met many celebrities, fell in love and even found a new hobby. Tom cautiously touched all the equipment Marinette bought, being afraid to break something with his big hands.

Blunette ran excitedly, trying to cover the bright pink walls with a peach-colored material. The installation of the camera was difficult for the girl, but she managed, from time to time hissing viciously at interested parents scurrying around her room. When everything was ready, the Netty started the video in dismay, awkwardly waving her hand.

In her hands bluenette held a recently sewn dress, nervously touching the voluminous petticoat. Each time the light hit the skirt, viewers could notice a pattern in the form of birds surrounded by flowers.

Trying to smile boldly, Mari introduced herself as Ladybug and told that she was holding a costume for Clara Nightingale last performance. Gradually, Marinette became more confident, because she finally could talk about what she likes, forgetting about her worries. Smiling proudly, Netty brought the camera closer to the pattern, talking about how she had spent weeks embroidering it. Giggling, she showed fingers injured by a needle and admitted that she was sincerely proud of what she got in result. At the end of the video, she put on a dress on a mannequin and showed every detail, describing the work on it. Standing behind the camera, Netty wished everyone a good evening and shouted «Bugout!», finishing the video.

With the help of her clients, who actively talked about their favorite designer, and Clara Nightingale, who admitted that she wanted to give Marinette the main role in her clip, the video instantly gained a million views, causing the whole school to buzz with delight, and asking her fans(God, she had fans!!!) to make a new video.

It was stupid, but Marinette squealed almost a few hours in a row, excitedly jumping around the room. Sabina and Tom, selling pastries below, actively distracted frightened customers. Awareness of how happy their daughter was, warmed the hearts of loving parents and they couldn't stop smiling.

The realization that she was a celebrity came to Mari only when her best friend Alya started a blog about her, trying to reveal her true identity. After an attempt to credibly rejoice over Cesaire, the embarrassed but determined Netty set about writing the script and release dates for the commercials. It took her almost two weeks, but it was worth it, because at the end she had a normalized schedule and she finally clearly knew what she was going to talk about.

The third Marinette's video, in which she showed and described in detail the work on the cover of the album of Jagedd Stone, attracted the attention of the famous youtuber Chat Noir. The playfully grinning blond admitted in one of his videos that he was beginning to hate his popularity and it was the inspirational speeches of the little seamstress that made him stay. In the end, he winked flirtingly, asking the girl for an autograph. A few hours after the release of his video several thousand grateful fans signed up on her channel, and all the comments yelled that she was their savior. Smiling like an idiot, she tried to answer everyone, quietly rejoicing that she was able to help someone. The number of her subscribers rapidly increased to 800,000 and she couldn't stop excitedly rushing to the phone with every notification.

At one such happy moment instead of another comment she saw a message from Chat Noir. Blushing and goosebumps, she read about how he would like to work with her, and girl couldn't stop giggling. Trying to hold the phone with trembling hands, she quickly agreed, screeching into the pillow from shock. If she only knew back then what exactly would bring this to her...

Two weeks later they first met each other. The guy smiled playfully when he saw Ladybug, and instead of shaking hands he kissed her hand. Instinctively, the girl pushed him away and shook her head.

«Borders, kitty, borders».

Chat Noir laughed and invited her inside his studio. During the video recording, the young man actively flirted and involuntarily Marinette freed herself and began to respond to flirt. The blonde seemed to her as a long-drawn-out friend and she felt absolutely free with him. Needless to say, the video has become damn popular, forcing fans to wonder if they was dating.

The bluenette immediately began to deny everything, saying that this was their first meeting and they were just acquaintances, to which she received a promise from Chat Noir that he would soon become her boyfriend. Back then Marinette ignored this comment, dismissing it as a silly joke, but now she could not help but regret it.

The girl rubbed her eyes tiredly, looking displeased at the time. The clock showed that there were four hours left before school and Netty couldn't help but regret that she had not gone to bed earlier. She was sure that at school she would face another batch of charges, and therefore sighed wearily.

Eight months ago Lila Rossi came to school. She was an obsessive liar, actively manipulating everyone she met. On the very first day, she began to claim that she was Ladybug's best friend, confidentially reporting that she had introduced the youtuber to Jagged Stone. Smiling brazenly, she said that half of the costume ideas belonged to her. Boiling with anger, Marinette tried to tell everyone about her lies, but her classmates was instantly turned on, calling her a bully.

Now, when the school was a clan by the board of this cunning fox, who took control of even the principal Mr. Damocles, it was almost impossible for a bluenette to study. Every day was like a bad drama when she was accused of every crime that could be.

Sometimes, when Marinette was tired, she began to talk about her problems with her friends from youtube.

«It's almost impossible, 'ya know. When I go to school I am among idiots with one brain cell, and when I record a video, I endure the harassment of this moron Noir. Who am I now, a Wonder Woman?»

She never noticed the worried glances that threw at her, so she had no idea that soon there was a surprise waiting for her.

In the afternoon, trying to endure the ridicule of her classmates, she consoled herself with the fact that the weekend would begin very soon.

«Wow, you sigh so tiredly. Being such a bully is probably so hard», a sarcastic voice sounded nearby.

Turning her head, she noticed a gloomy Alya, who put her hands on her hips. Behind Cessarie stood scared and embarrassed Nino, and Adrian's head could be seen behind his shoulder. Seeing Mari’s resolve, Agreste shook his head in condemnation. Can't Marinette just calm down? All she needs is to become friends with Lila and then all the problems will end.

«What do you need, Alya? I'm tired and want to relax», the bluenette snorted, rolling her eyes and looking calmly at her ex-friends.

Alya angrily clapped her hands on the table, her eyes burned with a fire of justice.

«What do I need? What do YOU need from Lila? Stop bullying her! She never did to you anything bad, and you continue to cling to a good person because of your jealousy!»

Marinette grimaced, squeezing the bridge of her nose with two fingers.

«I have no idea what you're talking about, Alya! I haven’t talked with Rossi for more than three months!»

Lila, sitting at the first desk, sobbed, innocently opening her tear-stained eyes.

«Marinette, how can you lie like that! Yesterday you deleted all my contacts! How do I get in touch with my bestie, Ladybug? She recently moved to New York!»

Alya looked sadly at her friend, wanting to console her, and then turned to Netty, her eyes flashing viciously.

«I can't believe you, Dupain-Cheng! You are even worse than Chloe! How can you-», the girl’s fiery speech was interrupted by the shocked Miss Bustier, who flew into the classroom.

The woman looked around the class worryingly, and after she found out someone, who she was looking fir, her a thin, frightened voice attracted the class attention.

«Marinette, I... He... Um... There is someone at school who wants to meet you».

Immediately after the words was said, the happy Jagged Stone ran into the class. A tired Penny was trailing behind him, who noticing Mari, waved her hand.

«Netty! My beloved niece! I'm so glad to see you, dear», the man sang, jumping to the end of the class in an instant.

A pale Lila stood next to him, trying to hide, but she was stopped by Alya, who grabbed the girl by the hand. Frightened, Rossi swallowed a lump in her throat.

«Jagged Stone? Excuse me, aren't you recognize Lila? She saved your kitten, remember?».

The rock star made the most astonished grimace that he was capable of, forcing Marinette to hide her face in her hands, expecting something not that good.

«She did what? The last time I saw any cats was in my grandmother's house, at least twenty years back.» The man grinned maliciously, and then, ignoring the dumbfounded faces of the children around, he again turned to the embarrassed bluenette.

«My dear designer, there are several people who would like to talk with you! They need your knowledge and talent.»

«Uncle G, I can’t, I have a school!»

Mrs. Bustier spoke again, awkwardly clearing throat.

«Actually, we got a note from your parents, Marinette. It seems you really can go»

Jagged giggled like a small kid and excitedly handed Mari into Penny's arms, who led the girl out of class, quietly apologizing and explaining the whole situation. Jagged smiled sweetly, and then looked predatoryly at the class teacher.

«By the way, haven't I mentioned that there are a few people who want to meet some more from your class?»

Kids whispered excitedly, hoping that they would be lucky one. The man smirked viciously, laying documents on the tables in front of Mrs. Bustier, Lila, Alya and Adrian. The teacher immediately picked up the sheets in her hands, reading what was written on them, and then fell into a chair, unable to stand on staggering legs. It seemed that a little more and she would faint from shock.

«What is it?», Adrian asked frowningly, frowning.

«This is a lawsuit, Mr. Agreste. For you personally, this is a lawsuit about harassment and a restraining order».

«But I did nothing wrong!», the blond guy screamed indignantly, frowning displeasedly.

«Really? But it seemed to me that when you put on a mask and start calling yourself a Chat Noir, you stop respecting woman's rights and understanding the word 'no'»

Smiling coldly at the frightened schoolchildren, Jagged left the classroom, leaving chaos and drama behind. The man didn't care, he hurried to his wife Penny and his beloved niece, Marinette.

Today will be a wonderful day.

#ml #ml au #ml crossover #mlb #miraculous ladybug #ladybug au #ladybug youtuber #marinette #marinette dupain cheng #marinette defense squad #marinette youtuber #ml salt #alya salt #alya cesaire #class salt #adrien salt

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hookedonapirate · 4 years

Text

Beyond a Reasonable Doubt

Summary: Detective Killian Jones took an indefinite leave of absence from SBPD after his brother was murdered in the Line of Duty. Bitter and broken, he resides in a cottage on the beach when his brother's former partner, David Nolan brings him a case he knows the vengeful detective won’t be able to resist. A case involving Liam's killer.

Dr. Emma Swan makes all of her decisions like she operates on her patients—with care, competence and compassion. But when her colleague, Graham Humbert, is murdered in cold blood by the man who was freed because of a decision she made as a juror, she starts second-guessing herself. To make matters worse, her squeaky clean reputation is being questioned when she becomes a suspect for Graham’s murder.

There is one detective who believes she’s innocent, and he has a plan to protect Emma and find his brother's killer at the same time. When Killian finds himself caught between his duties to the SBPD and his need for vengeance, matters are only complicated by the feelings he develops for the woman he's supposed to protect.

He's impulsive and hot-tempered, and she's methodical and cool under pressure. Despite their differences, can they work together to bring the murderer to justice, or will the murderer get to them first?

A/N: Many thanks go to @ultraluckycatnd for her wonderful beta-ing skills and @onceuponaprincessworld as always for her encouragement and letting me bounce ideas off of her.

Rated: Explicit due to mature language, character death, violence, murder and smut. The scenes won’t be too graphic, but I’d rather overrate than underrate it.

Catch up: Pro I Ch 1

Chapter 2

Five days later...

Her eyes sting painfully as she stares at the folded scrub cap printed with green shamrocks one last time before she places it on the metal casket that holds her colleague. She sets a red rose on top of the cap and steps back, wiping the tears from her cheeks with her hand before someone hands her a tissue.

She turns to her head and smiles at an elderly lady who had earlier told her she’d been one of his patients. “Thank you.”

Emma had retrieved the scrub cap when she’d gathered the strength to clean out his locker yesterday. She got it for him a few years ago as a gag gift at the hospital’s annual Christmas party. Knowing Graham's sense of humor fairly well, she had strategically chosen the one with green shamrocks because she knew he would get a kick out of it, rather than take offense. She was right, and not only did he get a good laugh, but he also claimed it as his lucky scrub cap.

Cleaning out his locker was one of the most difficult things she’s ever had to do, and that’s saying something since she'd performed many surgeries and occasionally has to deliver grievous news to the family of her patients.

Wiping her tears with the tissue, she catches a glimpse of the bootlace she’d unlaced from one of his boots and tied around her wrist. While most of the surgeons at the hospital wore clogs, he preferred boots because he said the operating room was a battlefield so he wanted to be prepared for the guts and gore that sometimes escaped during surgery.

Emma still can’t believe he’s gone. No more friendly sparring, no more friendly bickering about who’s the better surgeon, no more trying to mock his accent, but miserably failing. No more Graham Humbert.

His death was not only shocking but came way too soon. He was too young. Way too young. He was only thirty-eight. And on top of that, he was murdered in cold blood. Someone showed up to Storybrooke General, snuck past the security and drove a blade into Graham’s heart.

The last time she saw him was the night he was murdered, when they were standing outside the bar, when he kissed her cheek. She had no idea when she said goodbye to him that night, she was saying goodbye to him for the last time.

She returns to the hospital for her post-op patients after the funeral, relieved to replace her high heels for crocs, but unfortunately doesn’t have time to change out of her dress. She hates dressing up, and even though she wore a skirt every day in the courtroom, she couldn’t justify throwing on something casual, and instead wanted to put some effort into her attire for her friend, so she wore a dress to the funeral.

Emma is still reeling from his death, as is everyone who knew him. There was a large turnout at his funeral. He was well-liked and highly respected. And he was good at what he did. He wouldn't have been appointed Chief of Surgery if he weren't. After checking on her post-op patients, she briefs three others for their surgeries tomorrow morning.

The sky is pitch black when she finally leaves the hospital and strides across the parking lot to her car. She continuously peeks over her shoulder with an eerie feeling in the pit of her stomach. She glances over at the guard on duty, but it doesn't make her feel any more at ease considering a murder took place five days ago even though a different guard had been keeping a vigilant eye out. She’d heard he took some time off after he found Graham dead in the parking lot. The reminder of that horrible tragedy fills Emma with dread.

After safely making it inside her car, she releases a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding. She has crossed this parking lot hundreds, probably thousands of times and never once has she ever looked over her shoulder… until she found out Graham was murdered in this same parking lot.

By the time she pulls into her garage that night, she’s bone-tired after a long, emotionally draining day. She’d performed her morning rounds and two surgeries before the funeral that thankfully went smoothly. She’s so glad she didn’t have to break any bad news to anyone today because that would’ve made the funeral much more difficult to handle. In hindsight, she probably should’ve moved each surgery to a future date, but she’d already rescheduled them once before because of the ten days she served as a juror and didn’t want to further inconvenience her patients. She knew Graham would have understood.

Emma trudges through the kitchen door from the garage, scanning the mail she’d retrieved from her mailbox before she’d pulled into her driveway. She’s ready to crawl into bed after a long, dreary day—no, after the long, dreary few weeks she’s had—but first, she needs to wind down. She could definitely use a hot cup of cocoa. So as soon as she deposits her bag and mail on the table, she makes a cup of hot cocoa, but not from the powdered stuff.

She boils fresh ingredients on the stove and adds some milk to the pot before removing it from the heat and adding vanilla extract. She whisks the mixture until it’s frothy and pours the beverage into a mug, but she purposely doesn’t choose her World’s Best Surgeon mug she received from Graham on her thirty-eighth birthday. It’s her favorite mug, but it’s too soon. Maybe after the shock of his death wanes, she’ll be able to use it again without breaking down into tears, but right now she just can’t. She turns the mug around so the words are facing the back of the cabinet, and she grabs a mug with kittens printed on it instead.

After adding cinnamon and whipped cream, she grabs her phone from her purse, sipping her delicious beverage as she checks her notifications, one being a reminder for Anna and Kristoff’s wedding. It’s next Saturday evening, which is doable, but having to dress up is just one of the many reasons why she doesn’t enjoy going to weddings.

Everyone’s always ragging on her about never accepting invitations to social gatherings though, especially her cousins, Anna and Elsa. Despite living with the sisters for five years, she became estranged from them after she went off to college. Now she barely sees them at all because she’s always working. She’s missed so many Thanksgivings and Christmases, it would be odd to show up to one of their family gatherings now. But they’re right. She should get out more.

Hard work and no play, topped with the trial and her colleague’s death has pretty much drained all the life out of her, and she could use an escape. Actually, what she could use is some time on her ranch with her horses. Her home away from home is an hour outside of Storybrooke where Kristoff owns a neighboring ranch, and he and his fiance take care of Emma's horses when she’s in Storybrooke. That’s about the only interaction she has with Anna these days—when she calls to ask about her horses and the ranch. She hasn’t even told her cousins about the trial she was a juror on.

Emma grumbles under her breath when she listens to a voice message from Detective Nolan who’d questioned her and everyone Graham worked with attending the celebration at the bar the night he was murdered. The detective got her number from the hospital, which she is not happy about. Now he wants to meet with her to discuss Graham’s murder, even after she told him everything she knows, so it’s a complete waste of his time. And hers.

After finding no urgent messages or calls, she goes to her living room and looks up from her phone screen. Her heart leaps out of her chest and the air leaves her lungs so quickly, the mug falls from her hands, and the ceramic breaks into pieces when it crashes to the hardwood floor. She clutches the phone to her chest after almost dropping it as well. Normally she'd be quick to clean up the mess; she’d hate the idea of leaving her floor sticky for the housekeeper to clean up and have her shoes stained from hot chocolate as the dark brown liquid pools around her feet, but she’s too focused on what's on her coffee table to peel her eyes away.

An enormous bouquet of long-stemmed red roses in a crystal glass vase.

“What the fuck?”

She’s frozen in place, her face draining of color. Not only is it a very rare occurrence for her to receive roses or romantic gifts of any kind, but someone has broken into her home to give them to her. Her heart is pounding as she scans the room. Nothing else in the living room is amiss, but the thought of someone breaking into her home makes her skin crawl.

She stares at the fifty roses for a long time, her mind reeling with how or why someone broke into her home to deliver the flowers. It’s not her birthday, and even if it were, no one else has a key to her home, except for her housekeeper. Perhaps Johanna was here when the roses were delivered and brought them in. Yes, that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation of how the roses ended up on her coffee table.

Except her housekeeper would have mentioned it to her or sent a text or something so Emma would not be freaked out like she is right now. And it still doesn’t explain the reason for the roses in the first place. The roses look expensive; the vase looks expensive. Someone went all out just to gain her attention, but who? And why? She’s currently single, very single , and hasn’t had so much as a one-night stand or a dalliance in a very long time.

Perhaps the roses are from a grateful patient? But no one except family and a few friends know her home address. If this were five days prior, she would've suspected Graham after he'd kissed her cheek. He's one of the few people who knew her address. But he never would've broken into her home to give them to her.

After recovering from the initial shock, she’s able to move again, willing her feet to step forward and warily make the trek around her couch to the coffee table. There’s a silk red ribbon wrapped around the top of the vase, tied into a large, perfect bow. The sight of a blank, white envelope tucked into the foliage behind the bow catches her eye.

Hoping there’s a reasonable explanation for the roses and possible break-in, she reaches for the envelope, and with trembling hands—hands that have worked miracles and saved lives, hands that are normally steady under intense pressure—she removes a card from the envelope and reads the fancy calligraphy used on six typed words.

I’ve got a crush on you.

Goosebumps cover her skin and she shivers, almost dropping the card.

Who the hell would be sending her flowers and an anonymous note, declaring their affection for her?

She calls Johanna, desperately hoping the roses were delivered and that her housekeeper is the one who brought them into her home and not some psycho who broke in.

“Hi, Johanna, sorry to call so late,” Emma mumbles through the phone, her voice shaking slightly. She’s normally cool under pressure, but the roses and card have certainly gotten under her skin, which she’s guessing was the intention behind the gifts.

“It’s no problem. I haven’t made it to bed yet. What can I do for you?”

“Did I receive a delivery while you were here today?”

“No, ma’am. Were you expecting something?”

Fuck.

Then who the hell broke into her house?

“Um… yes,” she lies, not wanting to concern her housekeeper. “I was on the lookout for a small package I ordered a couple weeks ago.”

“Did you track the package?”

“Yes, it's due to arrive soon.”

“Well, if it arrives while I’m here, I’ll be sure to bring it in and leave it on the kitchen table so you’ll see it when you come home.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“No problem. How are you doing? The funeral was today, wasn’t it?”

Emma closes her eyes, breathing slowly, her heart cracking at the mention of Graham’s funeral. “Yes, it was. I’m doing okay, I suppose. It was all just very shocking.”

“I can imagine. You shouldn’t stay at home alone after losing a friend, you know? You should stay with someone, at least for a few days.”

Emma smiles faintly at her housekeeper’s concern. “I’ll be okay. Just need some sleep is all.”

“Make sure you eat something first. You shouldn’t go to bed on an empty stomach. But I don’t have to tell you that, you’re the doctor,” she teases.

“You know me too well, Johanna,” Emma remarks with a small laugh.

“I’ve known you to miss a meal or two,” Johanna points out in a motherly tone. She’s not wrong. Working as much as she does, Emma tends to forget to eat.

“I’m actually about to make myself a grilled cheese sandwich,” she lies again. Though toasted bread and gooey cheese in the middle does sound appealing, her stomach’s all twisted in knots. She’s too freaked out to even shove anything into her mouth right now.

“Good, I’ll let you get to it then. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Emma.”

“Thanks, you too.”

Emma ends the call and stares at the note again for a good five minutes. Then she searches her house for any more unwanted gifts but finds nothing. She examines her front and back door and all the windows for any signs of forcible entry, but there are none. She even checks the closets, under her bed and in her bathtub to see if whoever broke in is still there; but even after she finds no one, she still has an uneasy feeling in her gut. Whoever broke in could very well do it again.

She briefly wonders if she should call the police, but what would she even tell them—someone broke into my house just to give me flowers and leave a note to tell me they have a crush on me? It sounds too ridiculous, they’d probably laugh in her face. Though the gifts and the fact that this person found out where she lives are probably grounds for having a stalker, it could also be a practical joke. But the only person she can think of who would pull such an awful prank on her is… well, he’s dead.

She disposes of the roses in the trash, but stores the vase in the cupboard and places the card in her nightstand drawer in case she needs to present the items as evidence for having a stalker on her hands. But she's not sure how helpful the items would be considering the words were typed and the card was unsigned with no name or any other indication of whom the flowers or card came from.

Still on edge, Emma cleans the mess she'd made. Then she takes a shower, changes into her nightgown and slips into bed. But she highly doubts she’s getting any sleep tonight.

~*~

“On the night Dr. Humbert was murdered, you were at the Rabbit Hole with him, correct?”

“Along with several other people there that night, yes,” Emma replies in a narked tone. She came here to the police station after her morning surgeries because Detective Nolan insisted on interviewing her even though he'd already questioned her after Graham's death.

“Have you questioned them to this extent?” her lawyer, Mr. Hopper chimes in.

“I’ve questioned them, yes,” Detective Nolan answers without confirming exactly who he questioned and to what extent. “Did you go to the Rabbit Hole alone?”

Emma nods. “That’s right.”

“I understand there was a celebration at the bar that night. What was the reason for the celebration?”

“We were celebrating Graham’s promotion to chief of surgery.”

“And how did you feel about his promotion?”

“I was happy for him,” Emma replies sincerely, though it's delivered in a flat, emotionless tone due to her lack of patience and because she's not happy about the insinuations of the question.

“Mhmm,” Detective Nolan hums before taking a sip of his coffee. “You were also under consideration for that position, weren’t you, Dr. Swan?”

“I was. And I deserved to get it.”

Mr. Nolan's brows climb his forehead, his eyes flashing with intrigue. “More than Dr. Humbert did?”

“In my opinion, yes,” she replies calmly. “He deserved the position as well, but I deserved it more.”

Mr. Hopper raises a cautionary hand to stop her from continuing. “Dr. Swan, I highly—”

“I’m only telling the truth,” she states, cutting him off as she crosses her arms over her chest and glares at the detective. “But I’m sure you regard being denied a job promotion as a motive for murder, don’t you Detective Nolan?”

He looks her dead in the eye. “I don’t believe you killed anyone, Dr. Swan.”

“Then why did you request this interview?”

“Because you failed to mention the promotion when I first questioned you.”

“It was irrelevant.”

“Maybe so, but it doesn't hurt to go over anything I might have missed the first time around. You also failed to tell me you left with Dr. Humbert that night. Is that true?”

“I didn’t leave with him,” she states defensively. “He walked me to my car and then went back inside.”

“And that was it? He only walked you to your car? Were there any words exchanged?”

“I congratulated him and we hugged,” Emma tells him. She doesn’t deem it necessary to mention the kiss on the cheek, but in case someone had witnessed the kiss, she doesn’t want the detective to think she’s withholding any other information. “He also kissed me on the cheek and we said goodnight. Then I got in my car, watched him walk into the bar and drove away.”

“Was there anything romantic going on between you and Dr. Humbert, casual or otherwise?”

She shakes her head. “No, there was not. We were friends who’ve known each other since we were residents, that was it.”

He nods, seeming to accept her answer and moves on to the next question. “Did you go home immediately after you left?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anyone to corroborate that?”

“No.”

“Did you go anywhere else that evening?”

“No, I had to work the next morning, so I went straight to bed. And no, no one can corroborate that either.”

The detective throws her a few more questions before bringing up the trial she served as a juror on, which infuriates her because the trial had nothing to do with Graham’s murder.

“Yes, I served on the jury that acquitted Mr. Gold.”

“And were you or were you not the forewoman?”

“I was,” she replies with a tight smile. “But you already knew that. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have asked.”

He nods. “That’s correct. I’ve already interviewed the other eleven jurors.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe Dr. Humbert’s killer was hired. He wasn’t robbed, and he has no known adversaries… other than you, Dr. Swan.”

His remark rattles her, not only because the detective is accusing her of being Graham’s adversary or because of the implications his statement carries, but because he believes someone was hired to murder Graham.

She explains she made a decision after exploring every facet of the case. The evidence was entirely circumstantial, the defendant could not be placed at the scene of the crime and he had an alibi. She also has to elucidate to Detective Nolan she doesn’t believe the defendant was innocent, only that she was not convinced he was guilty. And yes, she had persuaded the other eleven jurors to vote for the acquittal, but after two days of deliberation, each juror voted according to his or her own conscience.

After everyone in the interrogation room agrees there is nothing further to ask, Emma heads back to the hospital, still reeling from what David had said about Graham’s murder being a contract kill.

Her mind drifts to the roses and the card she’d received the night prior. She thinks about how the defendant—an accused contract killer—kept staring at her in the courtroom. It was creepy, disturbing, just as breaking into her home to leave roses and a note that says, I’ve got a crush on you was creepy and disturbing.

Could Neal Gold be the one who broke in and left the roses and card?

The thought makes Emma physically ill.

Once Emma returns to the hospital, she trades in her red blazer for a white lab coat and checks on her post-op patients. Tired of wearing skirts and dresses, she put on her red, two-piece suit of amour for her interview that morning.

She's called on to perform three emergency procedures, which include treating an intestinal obstruction, a strangulated hernia and a perforated ulcer. Immediately following each procedure, she speaks with the patient’s loved ones to report on the condition of the patient and to explain the procedure she’d done. She makes notations in the charts of her post-op patients.

When she’s done, she returns the charts to Tamara, the nurse on duty. “Please page me if any of these patients take a downward turn.”

“Certainly, Dr. Swan,” she says with a smile. “So, has the board made you Chief yet?”

The question takes Emma off guard. The last thing on her mind is a promotion. “Um… no, but even if they offered me the position, I couldn’t possibly take it. It would just feel wrong to benefit from Dr. Humbert’s death.”

Tamara nods. “That’s very noble of you. But even so, I hope you get it, Dr. Swan. You deserve it.”

Emma is stunned by Tamara’s words. She had no idea the nurse had thought so highly of her. “Thank you,” she says with a tired smile. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

Emma turns around and heads for the elevator. As she leaves the building, the buzz from her phone breaks through the ominous silence of the night. She grabs the device from her purse, seeing it’s from a restricted number. Reluctantly she answers the phone, bringing it to her ear with furrowed brows. “Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end as Emma makes her way across the parking lot, but then she can hear someone breathing heavily into the phone.

“Hi, Emma.”

She halts in her tracks, wild-eyed at the whispered voice on the other line. “Who is this?”

“Oh, come now, Ems, don't you recognize my voice?” he says, as though they’re best friends. “We spent almost two weeks in the same room together.”

Emma sucks in a sharp breath and frantically searches the parking lot for any signs of him, heart pounding in her ear. Spotting her car several feet ahead, she bolts for it while trying not to draw too much attention from the guard. When she gets in her car and locks the doors, she manages a faint whisper. “Gold?”

He chuckles. “So, you do remember me? I knew you would.”

Of course she does. She’d recognized his voice immediately but was desperately hoping it wasn’t true. The way his dark eyes connected with hers in court made her skin crawl. How could anyone forget him?

“And baby doll, please, call me Neal.”

Emma cringes and her stomach turns. “How did you get my number?”

“Let’s just say I have connections. Did you like the roses?”

Her heart skips several beats, then restarts, pounding double-time. Now that she knows the roses were from him, she wants to pretend she doesn't know what he's talking about, but since he had placed them inside her house, there’s no way she hadn’t seen them. “How the hell did you get into my house?”

Gold laughs, this time more loudly, more sinister-like. “Please, Ems, getting into your house was child’s play to me.”

“And why’s that?” she challenges, even knowing he won’t take the bait. He’s incredibly clever and resourceful, otherwise he couldn’t have escaped prosecution for all his misdeeds, including the most recent murder he’d been tried for.

“I thought you’d like red roses, baby doll, since you wore red lipstick every day of the trial,” he comments, completely evading her question. “I like your red suit by the way, the color compliments your complexion.”

Emma clenches her jaw, and her fingers grip around the steering wheel so tightly, her knuckles turn white. She scans the parking lot from her car. Not only did he break into her house but he's following her too? What the actual fuck. “Stop calling me baby doll. Or Ems. In fact, stop calling me at all. I’m hanging up now, Mr. Gold.”

“Wait, please don’t. I only wanted to thank you,” he says in a gentle voice, bordering on sweet, but she won’t go so far to admit that.

“Thank me? For what?” she demands, growing agitated. No, she’s beyond agitated. Ever since this fucker showed up in her life, her world has been in complete disarray, from the trial to Graham's murder to the unwanted gifts to the scrutiny from the police department and now this.

“I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”

“I didn’t save your life,” Emma snaps.

“Oh, you did, baby doll. If it weren’t for you, I’d be on death row.”

“I did nothing. A jury of twelve made the verdict,” she clarifies. It feels like she’s had to clarify that a lot lately.

“Maybe so, but one of your fellow jurors said you led the campaign for my acquittal. She said you argued for my side and that your arguments were inspired and… passionate,” he says as though he’s speaking to a lover. “You have no idea how badly I want to touch you… thank you properly.”

Emma’s pretty sure she’s going to vomit all over her front seats. “In your dreams, you creep. Now fuck off.” She ends the call and throws her phone into the passenger seat like it had burned her.

She squirms and flails her arms as though large, disgusting rats are crawling all over her, and she gags. She wants to go home as quickly as possible so she can strip off her clothes and burn them. She feels sick, beads of sweat dotting her forehead, heart pounding erratically as she starts her car and takes a deep breath like she’s preparing for an intricate, life-threatening surgery.

Now she’s glad she didn’t report the break-in to the police because if they find out Neal is her secret admirer, it might raise red flags; it might be just another reason for the detectives to point a finger at her for the involvement of Graham’s murder.

Oh god.

Something occurs to her, hitting her like a brick. Gold said one of the jurors told him how passionately Emma argued his side. Which means she probably told Nolan the same thing when he interviewed her.

Even though Archie had tried to assure her the detective’s insinuations and persistence were standard police tactics, there are two questions that have been gnawing at her since the interview, other than whether or not it was Gold who broke into her house. Questions that make her skin crawl.

Does Detective Nolan actually consider her a suspect? And does he think she hired Gold to murder Graham Humbert?

A/N: For those of you who are wondering when Killian will appear, he's introduced in the next chapter, so sit tight. I will be posting chapter 3 next week. Thanks for reading!

Take a peek at the next chapter: Chapter 3 Sneak Peek

Tagging some people who have shown interest so far. If you would like to be tagged or untagged, please let me know.

@itsfabianadocarmo @snowbellewells @ilovemesomekillianjones @nikkiemms @teamhook @xhookswenchx @nikkiemms @xsajx @julesep3026 @hookedmom @biefaless @cluttermind @yasbio2015 @kmomof4 @lfh1226-linda @harshini01 @noensnaringnet @xarandomdreamx @onceuponaprincessworld @annastasiarinaldiva @royalswan @brustudyblog @officerrogers @gingerchangeling @melly326 @singersdd @mzbossyboots @unworried-corsair @iamemmaswanjones @authorarsinoe @kingofmyheart14 @nightskylover @jamif @resident-of-storybrooke @iam2307 @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @chinawoodfan @mormonkryptonite @ultraluckycatnd @captainswan-shipper88 @killianswanjones @bethdacattfm @andiirivera

#cs ff #captain swan #character death #beyond a reasonable doubt #my fic

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aboveallarescuer · 4 years

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How Dany assesses the counsel she receives and makes her own choices - The way from the Red Waste to Vaes Tolorro

This will be a series of posts meant to show that Dany is open to receiving advice and criticism, but that she doesn’t act solely based on what other people tell her to do. On the opposite, GRRM makes great effort to write a Dany who most often merges different viewpoints and/or finds her own solutions to the problems she’s facing. I won’t include every single decision she ever made (e.g. her decisions at court are often made without counsel and her execution of the ritual to hatch the dragon eggs was already exhaustively and deftly analyzed by other people), but there will be plenty of instances in this series that will prove my point nonetheless. The metas will always have four items: in which chapters the events mentioned take place; what advice she receives and from whom; what were her actions; the verdict (whether she followed other people’s advice, ignored/rejected them or did both at the same time).

Chapter (s):

ACOK Daenerys I

The advice Dany receives:

Jorah and Rakharo advise Dany to avoid any route that any other khal took.

Jorah says that, while it's uncertain that they will survive by moving forward through the Red Waste, it's certain that they will die if they try to go back.

Jhiqui and Irri advise Dany to not enter the city because of the evil ghosts that inhabit it.

Dany's actions:

As I said in my meta about the relationship between Dany and the prophecies, Dany thinks it's best to follow the comet both because it's her only viable alternative and because there would only be despair left if she didn't believe that it meant something. As she lays out, all the other paths would compromise her small group:

She dare not turn north onto the vast ocean of grass they called the Dothraki sea. The first khalasar they met would swallow up her ragged band, slaying the warriors and slaving the rest. The lands of the Lamb Men south of the river were likewise closed to them. They were too few to defend themselves even against that unwarlike folk, and the Lhazareen had small reason to love them. (ACOK Daenerys I)

By the way, it's noteworthy that Dany was able to assess her situation and think of all these implications on her own. And I do believe she did it on her own, considering that the author explicitly recognizes when the ideas come from other people:

She might have struck downriver for the ports at Meereen and Yunkai and Astapor, but Rakharo warned her that Pono’s khalasar had ridden that way, driving thousands of captives before them to sell in the flesh marts that festered like open sores on the shores of Slaver’s Bay.

“Why should I fear Pono?” Dany objected. “He was Drogo’s ko, and always spoke me gently.”

“Ko Pono spoke you gently,” Ser Jorah Mormont said. “Khal Pono will kill you.[”] (ACOK Daenerys I)

And this leads us to an interesting exchange between Dany and Jorah. As I said before, there are lots of instances to infer that she says things she does not necessarily believe in to obtain his respect, and this is one of them. First, he says that she and her hundred warriors won't stand a chance against Pono's ten thousand warriors. In her mind, Dany is quite conscious of her vulnerabilities, for she knows she doesn't even have a hundred warriors:

No, Dany thought. I have four. The rest are women, old sick men and boys whose hair has never been braided.

But instead of revealing these insecurities, Dany declares:

“I have the dragons,” she pointed out.

Which then leads Jorah to reply that they won't help her that much, since they are still hatchlings; in fact, they may be liabilities at this point since everyone will want to possess them. Dany fiercely says that they are hers and no one will take them from her while she lives. She is putting on a facade here, and admirably so. As the last Targaryen, khaleesi and now Mother of Dragons (as they started to call her), she is their leader and the one who must organize them to work towards a single purpose. To be in that position means being firm and reliable when no one else could be:

“We follow the comet,” Dany told her khalasar. Once it was said, no word was raised against it. They had been Drogo’s people, but they were hers now. The Unburnt, they called her, and Mother of Dragons. Her word was their law.

They are not strong, she told herself, so I must be their strength. I must show no fear, no weakness, no doubt. However frightened my heart, when they look upon my face they must see only Drogo’s queen. She felt older than her fourteen years. If ever she had truly been a girl, that time was done.

Dany kissed him lightly on the cheek. It heartened her to see him smile. I must be strong for him as well, she thought grimly. A knight he may be, but I am the blood of the dragon.

Like I said before, while Viserys used the expression "the blood of the dragon" to be ostentatious and coerce others into doing whatever he wanted, Dany reclaims it to restrain her emotions so she can be the kind of leader who "belongs to her people, not herself". The use of that phrase is also reminiscent of her duty not being only towards the living, but also the dead, whom she doesn't fail to mention:

Her father had been slain before she was born, and her splendid brother Rhaegar as well. Her mother had died bringing her into the world while the storm screamed outside. Gentle Ser Willem Darry, who must have loved her after a fashion, had been taken by a wasting sickness when she was very young. Her brother Viserys, Khal Drogo who was her sun-and-stars, even her unborn son, the gods had claimed them all. They will not have my dragons, Dany vowed. They will not. (ACOK Daenerys II)

Dany is being very protective of her dragons for two reasons:

She loves them as she would love her human children and considers them family.

They are also the means for her to successfully claim her father's throne. Only then she will honor all of these people that the gods claimed. That is also why she won't admit defeat in Qarth when all hope seems lost - she has the dragons and a shot at doing justice for her ancestors and carrying out their legacy, so she will not look back and be lost.

Because Dany's leadership style is rooted in empathy and accountability, she never takes advantage of her position:

Dany hungered and thirsted with the rest of them. The milk in her breasts dried up, her nipples cracked and bled, and the flesh fell away from her day by day until she was lean and hard as a stick[.]

Another leader might have taken most of the food or water for themselves, but that's not what Dany chooses to do. She "must know the sufferings of her people", after all, even more so when she is unable to help them the way she wished she could. The trauma of seeing so many of her people perish will later inform her attempts to bring peace (untenable as it was) as quickly as possible to Meereen in ASOS and ADWD.

Wine gave out first, and soon thereafter the clotted mare’s milk the horselords loved better than mead. Then their stores of flatbread and dried meat were exhausted as well. Their hunters found no game, and only the flesh of their dead horses filled their bellies. Death followed death. Weak children, wrinkled old women, the sick and the stupid and the heedless, the cruel land claimed them all. Doreah grew gaunt and hollow-eyed, and her soft golden hair turned brittle as straw.

[H]er khalasar withered and died. Around them the land turned ever more desolate. Even devilgrass grew scant; horses dropped in their tracks, leaving so few that some of her people must trudge along on foot.

Dany looked at the horizon with despair. They had lost a third of their number, and still the waste stretched before them, bleak and red and endless.

Even here, Dany does the best she can to alleviate their pain. She respects and follows their customs:

Three days into the march, the first man died. A toothless oldster with cloudy blue eyes, he fell exhausted from his saddle and could not rise again. An hour later he was done. [...] Dany bid them kill the weakest of their dying horses, so the dead man might go mounted into the night lands.

Two nights later, it was an infant girl who perished. Her mother’s anguished wailing lasted all day, but there was nothing to be done. The child had been too young to ride, poor thing. Not for her the endless black grasses of the night lands; she must be born again.

She also feels a lot of gratitude for Doreah and strives to make her death a little less agonizing:

Doreah took a fever and grew worse with every league they crossed. Her lips and hands broke with blood blisters, her hair came out in clumps, and one evenfall she lacked the strength to mount her horse. Jhogo said they must leave her or bind her to her saddle, but Dany remembered a night on the Dothraki sea, when the Lysene girl had taught her secrets so that Drogo might love her more. She gave Doreah water from her own skin, cooled her brow with a damp cloth, and held her hand until she died, shivering. Only then would she permit the khalasar to press on.

Later in ADWD, during a feast where people start bringing up the names of the combatants in the upcoming duels at Daznak's Pit, Dany feels complicit in their imminent deaths. She remembers Doreah as an example of someone who died under her protection. More than that: in Dany's mind, Doreah is proof that "[n]o queen has clean hands" because that's how guilty Dany feels about what happened:

Much of the talk about the table was of the matches to be fought upon the morrow. Barsena Blackhair was going to face a boar, his tusks against her dagger. Khrazz was fighting, as was the Spotted Cat. And in the day's final pairing, Goghor the Giant would go against Belaquo Bonebreaker. One would be dead before the sun went down. No queen has clean hands, Dany told herself. She thought of Doreah, of Quaro, of Eroeh … of a little girl she had never met, whose name had been Hazzea. (ADWD Daenerys VIII)

I want to cry.

Also, even if in vain, Dany's proactive (though failed) efforts to find resources in the Red Waste should not be overlooked, for it's still admirable that she took them without anyone even suggesting:

Dany sent outriders ranging ahead of the column, but they found neither wells nor springs, only bitter pools, shallow and stagnant, shrinking in the hot sun.

And neither should Dany's discovery of how to feed the dragons. While Viserys gave her the knowledge, she was the one who retained it in her memory, guessed that it might work and applied it:

Such little things, she thought as she fed them by hand, or rather, tried to feed them, for the dragons would not eat. They would hiss and spit at each bloody morsel of horsemeat, steam rising from their nostrils, yet they would not take the food ... until Dany recalled something Viserys had told her when they were children.

Only dragons and men eat cooked meat, he had said.

When she had her handmaids char the horsemeat black, the dragons ripped at it eagerly, their heads striking like snakes.

Eventually, Dany and her khalasar arrive at the abandoned city that would later be named Vaes Tolorro. She is the one who takes precautions at first:

They made camp before the remnants of a gutted palace, on a windswept plaza where devilgrass grew between the paving stones. Dany sent out men to search the ruins. Some went reluctantly, yet they went ...

But then, after finding out that the place has figs, fruit trees, vines and water, she decides to enter it, stay, rest and be practical rather than leave it because of superstitions:

... and one scarred old man returned a brief time later, hopping and grinning, his hands overflowing with figs. Other searchers returned with tales of other fruit trees, hidden behind closed doors in secret gardens. Aggo showed her a courtyard overgrown with twisting vines and tiny green grapes, and Jhogo discovered a well where the water was pure and cold. Yet they found bones too, the skulls of the unburied dead, bleached and broken. “Ghosts,” Irri muttered. “Terrible ghosts. We must not stay here, Khaleesi, this is their place.”

“I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts.” And figs are more important.

She takes note of the resources available to her ("food and water here to sustain them, and enough grass for the horses to regain their strength") and gets her people to work on the different tasks she finds for them:

Dany gave him charge of a dozen of her strongest men, and set them to pulling up the plaza to get to the earth beneath. If devilgrass could grow between the paving stones, other grasses would grow when the stones were gone. They had wells enough, no lack of water. Given seed, they could make the plaza bloom.

Dany thanked him and told him to see to the repair of the gates. If enemies had crossed the waste to destroy these cities in ancient days, they might well come again. “If so, we must be ready,” she declared.

In these two cases, we have explicit cases of Dany concocting ideas to improve Vaes Tolorro's facility, namely by improving its lawn and fortifying it. Not only that, but we also find out that, under Dany's leadership, her whole khalasar is now taking action and making the place better in the ways they can help:

Women harvested fruit from the gardens of the dead. Men groomed their mounts and mended saddles, stirrups, and shoes. Children wandered the twisty alleys and found old bronze coins and bits of purple glass and stone flagons with handles carved like snakes. One woman was stung by a red scorpion, but hers was the only death. The horses began to put on some flesh. Dany tended Ser Jorah’s wound herself, and it began to heal.

This is all great setup for when Dany becomes Queen of Meereen and handles large-scale projects to improve the city's economy and infrastructure.

However, even though Dany thinks it "pleasant" to stay in Vaes Tolorro, she's aware that she must eventually leave, and she doesn't want to do so without being fairly sure of where she's going. With that in mind, she makes the clever decision to send her bloodriders in different directions so that, hopefully, one might find a path that's not as arduous as the one they had to face:

The next morn, she summoned her bloodriders. “Blood of my blood,” she told the three of them, “I have need of you. Each of you is to choose three horses, the hardiest and healthiest that remain to us. Load as much water and food as your mounts can bear, and ride forth for me. Aggo shall strike southwest, Rakharo due south. Jhogo, you are to follow shierak qiya on southeast.”

“What shall we seek, Khaleesi?” asked Jhogo.

“Whatever there is,” Dany answered. “Seek for other cities, living and dead. Seek for caravans and people. Seek for rivers and lakes and the great salt sea. Find how far this waste extends before us, and what lies on the other side. When I leave this place, I do not mean to strike out blind again. I will know where I am bound, and how best to get there.”

And this decision pays off when Jhogo returns with the three strangers who will guide Dany to Qarth.

Aside from the beginning when Dany ponders which direction to take, neither Ser Jorah nor her bloodriders are ever mentioned as part of Dany's decisionmaking. Instead, GRRM takes pain to make Dany's reasoning and actions her own, while also showcasing her selfless nature. ACOK Daenerys I is a chapter that highlights the authorial intent to portray Daenerys Targaryen as an intelligent, capable and principled leader.

Verdict:

From the Red Waste to Vaes Tolorro, Jorah and Rakharo advise Dany about where not to go (though it must be said that she had already made most of the assessment on her own). Besides that, every single action that Dany takes is of her own volition and without the influence of anyone's help. She:

Exhibits emotional intelligence by acting as a leader who drives her group.

Tries to find resources in the Red Waste.

Attempts to ease the khalasar's pain by taking part in their customs and giving Doreah a less painful death.

Decides to remain in Vaes Tolorro despite superstitions.

Takes note of the resources that she has in her disposal.

Gives her people several different tasks to improve the city; thanks to her guidance, some possibly started to do different activities on their own.

Sends her bloodriders in different directions to find one that isn't as taxing as the previous one.

#daenerys targaryen #asoiaf meta #a clash of kings #valyrianscrolls #dany and her choices

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ofhelens · 4 years

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HELEN WORTHINGTON: AUDITIONING FOR THE ROLE OF LADY MACBETH

oh boy. okay, so without rambling too much..........originally, i wasn’t going to have helen audition for anyone. why would she? with the possible exception of lady macduff, macbeth is full of characters who are totally unlike helen & anyone she’s played up-to-date. plus, the subject of the play is just a little too on the nose for her - and given her self denial at the moment, that isn’t a can of worms she’s looking to open. however, as i was writing this, it became clearer and clearer to me that helen playing lady macbeth would go really well alongside her general trajectory in the roleplay (downhill, like a damn roller coaster) and i could definitely see the “out damn spot” monologue playing well alongside some juicy orson reveal stuff :) also poetically...seeing “the ingenue” go from basically being the embodiment of an angel to playing one of shakespeare’s darkest heroines is...chefs kiss.

it’s strange to say that my character surprised me...(because im writing them?!) but yeah...helen surprised me!! she’s absolutely terrified by the idea of playing someone who is a little darker, a little stranger - but that’s exactly why she should do it!! i also genuinely think it’ll help her grow as an actor, which is something i really want to see happen. helen is pretty mediocre - but she doesn’t have to be!!! the only way we can grow as individuals is by challenging ourselves - something i’m keen to see heidi make happen.

having said that, i am not ride-or-die for lady macbeth and do not expect her to be cast as her at all!! if orson was casting, helen would be lady macduff without a question (we stan a self aware queen!) - and now that she’s made that point explicit to heidi, i feel like the latter will be way more inclined to cast her as anyone-but-that. if not lady macbeth, i could definitely see her playing one of the witches. essentially, i just need helen to play someone with a little more meat, someone who is darker; meaning that as she tries to nail their characterisation, she’s forced to confront some ugly things about herself and almost deal with the darkness in a therapeutic way.

“Helen Worthington.” She had expected stepping out onto the stage to feel more poetic. There was supposed to be sorrow in finality, grief in endings. And this was it. This was the final time she would audition for a play as an Alderidge student - perhaps her final audition all together. Whilst her peers clamoured for the limelight, she would have been perfectly comfortable making this her swan song. A moment passed. “I’ll be auditioning with Cleopatra, Act 5, Scene 2.” She could still hear Zahra’s words of encouragement in the back of her mind, quelling any doubts.

A brief look of surprise crossed Heidi’s face, she glanced down at her paper, as if trying to match the person she saw before her with words on a page. Then, slowly, she nodded. “Alright...am I to assume you’ll be auditioning for Lady MacBeth then?”

It took a moment for Helen’s mind to make the connection. She shook her head firmly. “No - no...no. I could never play Lady MacBeth...she’s...” Too monstrous. Too big a part. Too much like everything I never want to be. Settling on diplomacy, Helen sighed. “I could never do her justice.”

This seemed to interest Heidi. “Why not? Looking at your previous roles - “ She shuffled the papers in her hand “- you seem to have done a standout job with Celia. Lady MacBeth isn’t such a jump. Lines wise, at least.”

Helen shook her head, adamant that Heidi see what she did. “Playing Celia isn’t hard. She’s soft. Dreamy. And a character in a comedy.”

Heidi frowned. “So it’s Shakespeare’s tragedies you’re opposed to? Or being challenged?”

She was so unlike Orson that Helen had to blink twice, just to be sure her senses weren’t tricking her. “No. I don’t like tragedies. Everyone dies. I love theatre because it’s an escape - because it’s a chance to live out someone else’s stories. But why would I want to live like...like Lady MacBeth? She’s a terrible person. She’s a monster. I’d hate to even feel an inch of who she is.” Because what if I’m good at it? What if it’s easy to become her? What does that say about me? About what I’ve done?

“And being challenged?” A dog with a bone, Heidi continued to tug at the remaining loose thread. “Is it a fear of letting people down? Are you afraid that you’re not talented enough?”

Back against the wall, Helen was forced to confront some uncomfortable truths. The purest of which was this: she never had been challenged. Any malevolent thoughts were packed in dusty boxes at the back of her mind, never to be opened. She was practically adored by her peers. Orson had never dragged her out of her comfort zone. She had no idea what being challenged was like. All she knew was that she didn’t want it. “I don’t know.” She conceded, sighing. “I’ve only ever played Celias.”

“And you want things to stay that way?”

Helen closed her eyes. Her mind was awash with a thousand memories - hanging out with Chandler in between As You Like It auditions, kissing Jonah backstage, laughing with Harry, cooking with Julian...she didn’t want things to ever change. That was why she poisoned Orson, wasn’t it? So that they could stay in a glorious summer, where no one ever got hurt. “Yes. Why fix what isn’t broken?”

Heidi shot her a thoughtful glance and opened her mouth as if she was about to ask another question, before shutting it abruptly. “Alright Helen -” She said slowly, nodding. “The stage is yours.”

Now nervous about her audition piece, about what it said about her and about whether she’d be able to deliver; Helen closed her eyes. She had never been to Egypt, never even left the country - but conjured the sensation of balmy evenings, a heart full of love and a crown weighing you down. “Give me my robe, put on my crown; I have immortal longings in me - “ Perhaps she and Cleopatra weren’t so different. She understood what it was to long for immortality of another kind. You could have even said she was desire itself. It was those parts of Cleopatra Helen chose to emphasise.

Pretending to shuffle on a robe, Helen stared out into the audience. Cleopatra saw a kingdom.

“now no more the juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip: Yare, yare, good Iras; quick. Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act; I hear him mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath: husband, I come: now to that name my courage prove my title!” The love between Antony and Cleopatra, Helen had decided, was ugly. It was brutal. It should not be celebrated. But she also thought she understood it - the sensation of being bound to someone, of loving them so intensely you would do unspeakable, regrettable, things in their name. If someone dared lay a finger on Antony, would Cleopatra burn them to the ground? Helen was sure she would. As she came to understand Shakespeare’s heroine, she began to lose herself in Cleopatra’s skin in a way she never had before.

Opposite her, but unseen by Helen, Heidi sat up a little straighter.

“I am fire and air; my other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done? Come then, and take the last warmth of my lips. Farewell, kind Charmian; Iras, long farewell.” Her kiss brings death. It was a terrifying kind of beautiful. Against her better judgement, Helen’s mind began to wonder...to remember. A wine glass. A toast. Poison. A deceitful smile concealing burning hatred. Who was she to judge Shakespeare’s characters...when she had wrought such destruction...

Lips trembling, Helen paused - momentarily unable to continue with her performance. See, this was why she hated Shakespeare’s dark and decrepit creatures. They drew something carnal out of her...they overwhelmed her, threatening to seize her voice and take it as their own. To be on stage was to be exposed...and this was one reflection she refused to peer into.

Why did Zahra encourage her to use this piece? Did she know something? Or did she just want to see her falter?

Ten seconds later, she regained her composure. Her break did not go unnoticed by Heidi.

Kneeling on the floor, Helen took Iras’ imaginary body into her arms, cradling him as he took his last breaths. Childish and impulsive she may be, but Cleopatra had heart. She wasn’t wholly wicked. Maybe in her performance, Helen could find her a kind of redemption; a thousand years too late.

“Have I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall? If thou and nature can so gently part, the stroke of death is as a lover's pinch, which hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still? If thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world. It is not worth leave-taking.” Was Cleopatra brave to watch Iras take his last breaths? Was she a coward for letting Orson die alone? Panic’s familiar sensation threatened to take a hold of her. Breath quickening, her last sentence was slightly slurred as she raced towards the end, to the moment she could be done with Cleopatra, toss her aside and never wear her face again.

Her story was not Cleopatra’s. She and Jonah were not Antony and Cleopatra. She was just a role. It was all make believe.

“See -” Helen began, gentle, but sad. “There’s a reason I don’t get cast as the Lady MacBeth’s of the world.”

Wearing an expression equal parts confusion and sympathy, Heidi returned her smile. “It’s not your fault you’ve never had an opportunity to dig deeper with your characters. Now that isn’t to say that his comedic characters don’t have depth - but it’s like the other side of a coin. If you want to excel as an actor, it’s important you learn how to play both kinds. Life can’t always be sunshine and rainbows.”

Why not? Knowing better than to vocalise her disagreement, Helen swallowed her words. Idealism never...carried well with people. They thought she was a child, head in the clouds, living in a world of fantasy. Had she been a crueller person, she would have asked them why they were so adamant to continue living in a world of grey. So instead, she nodded politely. “Thank you for letting me audition.”

"Thank you for coming in Helen. And props for choosing something we wouldn’t expect.” Glancing down at her sheet, she tapped her nails against the paper. “You still haven’t told me who you’re auditioning for.”

Her first instinct was to steadfastly refuse to audition for any of them - and let the chips fall where they may. Or even to ask to be moved down a year, to the third year’s comedy. “Orson would probably cast me as Lady MacDuff.” It was the only character she ever could have volunteered herself for. Domestic bliss, it was something she embodied easily.

“Well - “ Heidi said, inclining her head, “I’m not Orson.”

No, Helen thought, you’re not. May that be a blessing, and not my curse.

“Would you toss your hat into the ring for Lady MacBeth?”

No, Helen thought. Not a chance in hell. But then, betrayed by her mouth, she nodded. “I’d consider it.”

As she exited the stage, Helen couldn’t help but wonder what the hell she’d gotten herself into.

#this is literally the first thing i have ever...designed myself #em did all the thinking on the main graphics #ensembletask

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thedevourers · 5 years

Text

THE DEVOURERS - Chapter 1

The Commonwealth sits on the edge of annihilation. War presses down from the north, monsters bleed up from the southern seas, madness creeps out from the forests to the west, and at the center of the realm the capital shakes as the cracks of the world begin to widen.

A council of mages watches over the growing chaos, opening its doors to five new souls who might mean the difference between destruction and survival. Five new hearts to break or bind together. You are one of these mages raised up from a life of poverty and hardship. Before, you were nothing but a criminal, just another mouse in the labyrinth. Now, you hold power over your own fate, and it’s heady, but the higher you climb the great Spire of Cheredeme, the more you see the truth--that this apocalypse is darker than even the doomsayers of your old life could possibly imagine.

The Cincelion Council hides many secrets and snakes, none more dangerous than the mage now tied to your instruction and your fellow peers, each one of whom hides their own motivations and desires.

Who do you trust? How do you rule? And how far do you follow the unraveling threads of a realm built on lies?

The Devourers is a communal “choose your own story” serial web novel.

Introductory post.

[translations at bottom]

Over the years you’ve thought a lot about how you would die.

Jumping off a roof in a heart-pounding chase, misjudging the distance and tumbling to the ground where your brains join the rest of the filth washing into the sewers.

Beaten bloody by one of your rivals, maybe Jeweley’s thugs or the bootlickers from Madame’s Ward in Lower City.

Maybe you’d go out fighting a squad of Gazarti, taking down dozens before one finally got lucky, passing over secure in the knowledge that your name will be remembered for years, whispered in breaking, terrified voices, eulogized in warnings and stories that scare the uniformed fuckers for decades to come.

You hoped it’d be marvelous. The kind of story that sticks around like the rats who run this city—eternal, relentless, bloody fucking magnificent.

For some reason, you never thought it would begin with you getting caught with both hands ass-deep in the Magistrate’s financial records, waiting for a warning that you realized in a sick twist of nausea would never come. You never thought you’d be betrayed. After ten years’ painful careful rise to the upper echelons of the gangs that rule the underbelly of the Commonwealth’s Crown City, you thought you’d made a name for yourself as someone to trust, someone serious enough not to fuck around with. Someone no one would think about crossing.

But if fulfilled hopes were coin you’d be just as fucking broke as you’ve always been.

Marching, or more accurately being marched, up to the Last Confessional, a quaint name for the guillotine sitting right in the middle of Aurilaco’s Merchant Plaza where the lawmakers of the Freebright Chambers can watch and pat each other on their powdered backs as they celebrate their justice from a safe distance, you hope Emmanuelle Caine is watching. You hope she’s sitting in her office watching as they decapitate the first thief to ever breach her private quarters. You hope she remembers your face for the rest of her sorry life.

You’re waiting at the back of the platform, two Gazarti holding your arms behind your back so tightly you’d worry they might pull something if you weren’t about to be decapitated. As it is, it’s just annoying. The metal cuffs dig into your wrists and every time you shift your chains clank against the cobblestones. You’ve gone over the options dozens of times but you still can’t work your way out of this mess. The locks aren’t quick picks and the chains won’t let you run and even if you knocked out both Gazarti, there are more lining the plaza. They took your knives, your iron knuckles, your hair pin, your hidden razors. They took the lock picks you made yourself and perfected over the years until they were another appendage on your hand. You had eleven fingers once. Now you only have eight and two which could not even generously be considered fingers anymore, not after the warden got tired of your ‘sass’ and decided to introduce his baton to both your thumbs. They took everything. If you’ve been in a worse spot, you can’t remember it, not as the sick slice and thud of the guillotine marks another criminal sacrificed to the crowd.

You used to watch these blood baths. You never liked them, but you thought if someone was stupid enough to get caught they deserved this public renunciation. It was cathartic, after a long night, to rest easy in the certainty that you were too good for this. You were better than all these poor, pathetic louts. They would never catch you.

You’re starting to wonder if you aren’t a bit of a fool.

Cheers and laughter and roaring encouragement fill the air and for the first time since getting caught three days ago, you realize that no one’s coming for you. You’re on your own again, right back where you started as a scared kid in the gutters of Lower City, running from smiling strangers with wandering hands and hunger in their eyes.

The truth settles softly into your gut. You weren’t fast enough to outrun your fate.

No, fate just decided to lean in and fuck you. Fate didn’t want you hanging around because you kept beating the odds. You’re the best fucking thief in this realm, and you’re going to die because you were too good to let live.

How in all the Nine Hells is that fair?

“Next!”

The chains jerk and you’re pulled into motion, bare feet scrambling as you try to get your footing. One of the Gazarti behind you laughs. She’s a brute of a woman and you would have hated her anyway for the tattoo on her face—the mark of the new fanatics making noise and scaring kids in the Shantytowns north of the city—but her breath also reeks and you can’t get over the fact that this is the last person you’ll ever touch. This…fucking…dog.

The crier stands on the dais in ornate blue robes. Rings and jewels glitter on his hand and he wears the expression of someone who thinks they’re above all this messy business. “For crimes too numerous to list,” he calls out over the settling crowd, hundreds and hundreds of faces all eager and bloodthirsty, “Prisoner 965 shall face the guillotine. May your soul—”

Prisoner 965. Thirty four people between you and a thousand. That might have helped. Being the thousandth criminal to be publicly executed would have softened the blow to your ego. Prisoner 965 is just crushed at the bottom of a bloody mound of rotting corpses. No one remembers the 965th anything.

They never even bothered to ask your fucking name.

That’s when you spot it right there in the front of the crowd. The face of your partner, the bitch who was supposed to be watching your ass while you did the hard work of cracking open the damn Magistrate’s Manse. She’s pale and looks like she’s going to be sick, and this pushes you right over the edge. You’re angry now. This little snake is the reason all your waiting and scheming and struggling just so you could stay alive has gone to shit. This child is the reason you’ll be forgotten.

Saints, but you want to rip her throat open.

You grin when she sees you staring and her eyes go wide in terror. She tries to back away, but the crowd is too thick and it’s not budging for anything.

The crier is still reading your final benediction and the bells of the Palais overhead chime the midday hour. The suns are absent behind the heavy cloud cover and all you can see is red.

“—if the confessor wishes to speak—”

“I see you, Delphine,” you cry out, your voice cracking like a whip across the square. “You coward!”

The girl cringes and keeps trying to flee, but the people around her won’t move. They’re like a wall, seething and writhing and they taste blood just as much as you do.

“You think this is over? I’ll wait for you on the other side, bitch!” The crier gives you a wearily disapproving stare but you ignore him. “You and I aren’t finished—”

“Yes, yes,” the crier says as if chastising an overwrought child, “you’ve said your peace and now to your Saints we send—”

“RINIEMNIC*,” you shout, and the plaza reels. Knowing the Old Tongue has only ever brought you more trouble than its worth, but every now and then you thank whoever decided to teach you before you were thrown onto the streets with no money and no one to go to, with no memory of who you were before you were alone. It’s effective when you’re trying to make a point. It also scares the shit out of most people.

The crier is the first to recover, face purpling in outrage. “How dare—”

“MOURMOE SIN BREAB,” you scream, eyes fixed on Delphine where she’s frozen, horrified, “eblita sidre.**”

The plaza swells with tension, like water rising against a levy, creaking, buckling. Your voice echoes along with the bells. The last note hangs in the air, suspended.

You don’t know what it is—if your words conjured some thread of light, if your rage was enough to catch something else’s attention—but there’s a quiet rush of air past your face. It’s cold and fresh like the first brush of autumn at the end of summer.

You go quiet. The world shakes around you.

Later, you’ll wonder if all of this wasn’t imagined, if you didn’t see what you wanted to see because the sheer scale of destruction was too much for even you to comprehend. You’re not a monster, you’re a thief, and if intention is the way this works, you struggle to think how this came out of you.

You wonder if it wasn’t you at all, but something else. Something looking for a door, an open lock.

You’ve always been good at opening locks.

Kneeling on the dais in the center of the Merchant Plaza in chains, you don’t see the tendrils of grey light that shoot into the crowd and steal life from their lips. You don’t see the stone crack and the guillotine fall. You don’t see the clouds part and the light of both suns burn away your chains.

All you know before you pass out is bliss. For the first time ever, you don’t feel anything.

—

It takes you three days to wake up.

That’s what they tell you, anyway, the people in white robes who refuse to explain what the bloody fuck is going on. They just look at you, or you think they do, they wear veils over their eyes so it’s somewhat difficult to see what they’re actually doing but it feels like they’re staring at you. The only reason you haven’t done something about it is because you haven’t been able to manage walking just yet.

Since the…event—you still don’t know if it was real or imagined, and no one will answer you when you ask—you’ve had trouble remembering how to move your own limbs. Sometimes you think this body was switched with a different one while you were sleeping, but that’s not exactly helpful, especially since it looks like your body. You’ve got the scar on your stomach from being stabbed by the first person you ever stole from. There’s the long burn on your calf that still stings sometimes when the hard, smooth skin pulls. And your thumbs are still broken. So it must be you.

Even if you’re having a hard time believing it was ever, actually, you.

It’s another three days until you manage to drink from a glass on your own, and then two more until the damn white robed monsters don’t have to carry you to the bath. You’re on your own for the first time since waking up in this nondescript hole in the ground and the water is too hot and you feel like something is moving under your skin, but you’re alone.

You’re alone, and you’re crying—something you haven’t allowed yourself to do in years.

Piece by piece you slowly pull yourself back together. You lose track of the days after twelve because you’re tired and going a bit mad and you still feel like your bones have grown too large for your body.

The dreams don’t help. In fact, they make everything ten times worse, because in your dreams you can’t lie to yourself.

You’re known there, in that twilit space between falling asleep and waking up. You’ve always had weird dreams and you learned a long time ago that some dreams aren’t meant to be shared or remembered. Dreams where blood covers your hands and darkness snakes vines up your legs, where you see the faces of all the people you’ve killed to stay alive.

Before the day of your execution you knew every face.

You don’t now. You couldn’t even begin.

But you know other things. Like the sound of a heartbeat under the white robes of your minders. You can hear it if you listen carefully, and then you begin to hear it all the time, even if they aren’t in the room with you. You run your hands over the wall and feel wood beneath your finger tips. It’s painted white, but you know it’s wood because you can see the tree it once was. You know the wood is from more than one tree. You spend two days counting how many, running your fingers over every inch of the walls. You build yourself a small forest to block out the noise. You know when, one day, your minders unwittingly bring in an insect with your midday meal. It hums so loud you can’t ignore it. You catch it and in a surge of anger, crush it.

Yellow liquid seeps out from its cracked red shell and you stare because you felt the moment it died. There was humming, and then there wasn’t. You’re alone again in your prison of trees.

You don’t finish the rest of your meal.

You don’t let yourself realize what you must now be.

After days and days of isolation, of mapping the new landscape of your mind and body, the truth finds you.

A knock startles you from your examination of the floor—it’s covered in motes of gold and bronze dust and you’re not sure what they’re meant to be.

You surge upright, heart racing. Your minders don’t knock.

Before you can open your mouth, the door bursts open on a gust of smoke. Waves of it sweep into the room and you feel terror you’ve never felt before, not when you were about to die, not in all the years of dancing on the knife’s edge of life, not even in the endless stretch of days since you were brought here when you let yourself wonder if maybe your memory wasn’t an embellishment at all.

Under the fear, though, you hear something strange. It’s the beating of a heart but it’s echoing. It’s almost melodic in its sound, as if it were wind brushing through the tops of trees and rustling leaves.

You blink, and the smoke is gone. The door is closed. A person stands in front of it, waiting.

And where your anger was there’s nothing but calm. It isn’t until this moment that you realize you haven’t been calm since the day you killed all those people.

“Accepted it yet?”

The voice is high and rough like a crow’s. Their shoulder-length black hair sways slightly as if stirred by wind. Their body is long and lithe, cut sharply in a military-style jacket and trousers, their boots fine leather that probably cost more money than you’ve ever seen. You meet their eyes—pearl-white and unblinking.

This isn’t a person at all.

The figure makes a small click with their tongue. “Rude.”

You stand in alarm, in anger. “You—”

“Yes.” They cock their head, the movement quick and unsettling. “You think very loudly, little sonneusera***. It’s hardly my fault if I skim something off the top.”

Everything about them screams other and the word for what they are brands itself to the front of your mind.

One of their dark brows arches.

It’s real. You know it’s real. It has to be—

“Which one are you?”

Their mouth slides into an amused smile. “Well done. I thought it might take you longer to dive in.”

Something about this smarts. “Good thing I had weeks and weeks to think about it then. Which one?”

You know you’re pushing the boundaries of sanity at this point because you’re clearly standing in front of a Brightspire who could probably end your life in less time than it would take you to scream. A Brightspire who can read your mind, just like all the worst nightmares you’ve heard over the years, thinking they were bullshit and even if they weren’t it wasn’t as if you were ever going to meet one.

All the fucking Saints, but this is mad.

They watch you for what feels like an hour before they straighten from the door and walk slowly toward you. Their every movement is precise and sharp and you begrudgingly admire it for a moment before you shut the thought down. It got through, though, if the continued smile on their face is any indication.

They stop closer to you than you’d like. You try not to let your discomfort show, but again—

“You’re really going to need to work on that,” they say quietly. “Fortunately for you, I can help.”

This close their eyes are rather beautiful. Like moonstones. There’s no sign of an iris or pupil. You wonder if they’re blind.

They don’t say anything to this. They just watch you.

“You still haven’t told me your name,” you say just as quietly.

Their mouth twitches but you can’t tell if it’s because they’re still amused or growing annoyed.

“You’d know if it was the second.”

“Stop,” you say before you can help yourself. “Fucking—stop.” You exhale slowly, trying to gather your composure again. It’s like you can feel them in your mind, picking you apart, and you hate it.

Their lashes lower and they turn away, walking toward the wall on the other side of your bed.

Without their gaze you can breathe, even while you’re left strangely bereft without their attention.

“You’ll need to cultivate some patience, sonneusera.” They throw you a smirk before examining the wall again. “I don’t mind, obviously, but there are others on the Council who will not be so lenient.”

Your chest catches fire at the patronizing tone “You don’t—mind?”

“I wouldn’t have chosen you if I did. You reek of insolence and the poor breeding of a life spent without structure. Your tongue is unschooled, you look a mess, and anyone with a basic understanding of magic would be able to hear you because you’re practically shouting.”

Heat flares along your neck and you’re about to do something very, very stupid, when they spear you with their uncanny gaze.

“I can make your new life very difficult. I might find your fledgling anger amusing but even my indulgence has a limit.”

They’re still staring at the wall, their voice calm and measured and—oddly affected, you realize for the first time. There’s a trace of the North in their accent. You’ve heard it in the slums on the tongues of refugees who choke the Shantytowns, the ones who carry nothing on their backs but stories of war and smoke and blood.

A chill seeps down your spine.

They cock their head once more. You recognize the gesture as a raptor considering its prey. The veil around them drops and you glimpse just a piece of them fully for the first time.

You used to wonder why people worshipped Brightspires as gods.

You don’t anymore.

In their eyes you see centuries of war and fear. Their face is unlined and it might have once been beautiful, but there is too much in that face for beauty now. It is ageless. Eternal.

You are nothing. How did you never realize how little you hold?

They are the Bloodweaver of the North. The monster who wages war against the undead so the Commonwealth might live on. One of the First Five. The nightmare who walks amongst dreams and wears them like a crown.

“Cesarne,” you whisper, feeling young and small and so very foolish. You taste ash on your tongue and hear the distant sound of bells, ringing, ringing.

The Brightspire of War regards you for a moment more. They lift their hand, fingers twitching. The air around you shifts and you stand on one of those fields. Bodies lay piled around you. Smoke curls tender tendrils into the blackened sky. There’s a knife in your hand that drips blood onto your bare feet.

You lick dry, broken lips. “And you call me reaper?”

The vision fades and you stand again in the white prison. Except it isn’t a prison, not anymore. A window looks out over Aurilaco—higher up than you’ve ever been before. You’ve walked and ran those streets your whole life, you know them better than anyone, yet you’ve never seen them like this before. The city spills out from the cliffs which bind it, the great river flowing through into the black seas. It looks both bigger and smaller than you ever knew when you thought you were one of them.

Trapped in a maze.

“Are you beginning to understand now?”

You swallow down your heart, eyes fixed on what you thought was your whole world. “I’m not sure I ever will.”

Cold fingers catch your chin. You don’t jerk back, but you can’t help the gooseflesh running down your arms and back. Cesarne pulls your face until you’re looking up into theirs. You see the imprint of feathers in their hair now, a mantle of darker black along their brow. You feel their scrutiny deep into your very soul. Their nails cut into your cheek and neck and you wonder if this is how you die, drowning in a pearl-white sea while blood runs down your throat.

“There is hunger in you, sonneusera,” they murmur. Their breath smells of cold autumn winds. “It will eat you alive if you let it.”

Their grip softens and you pull your face back. Before you can move, they do. You’re left standing alone at the window, staring out across the city you once thought to master.

“Perhaps you need more time to settle your thoughts,” Cesarne says almost gently, their boots striking a beat as they make for the door. “Perhaps I expected too much.”

You turn, anger flashing.

They’re waiting at the door, watching you closely.

Conflict swells up inside you and you don’t know if you want to scream or sob.

“We need not be enemies, you and I,” they murmur. “I didn’t choose you to break, but I will if you make me.”

“Why did you choose me, then?”

A slow smile tugs at their lips. Even now, though, you can hear the drums of war. The Bloodweaver does not ask and entreat. They do not speak softly and smile.

“You have so much to learn.”

You don’t know if it’s a reason or a response to your thoughts, but it pricks you right where they meant it to—you thought you were standing on the top of your tower, and now…

Cesarne waits. You stare.

You aren’t leaving this room without them, that much is clear. And you want to learn. You need to. You don’t know how but you’re here. You’re special. You mean something. And if anyone could teach you how to win, it’s the fucking Brightspire of War.

But you thought you could trust before, and where did it get you? You were nearly killed for putting your fate in the hands of someone else, you know better now, don’t you?

The world is waiting.

The question is how much you’re willing to give in order to get it.

1. Do you trust Cesarne and accept their help willingly?

2. Or are you ready to play the pupil but never to trust Cesarne?

Reply to this post to cast your vote for option 1 or 2. Voting ends on Sunday 8th at Midnight! Don’t forget you can also vote on my patreon if you’d like an extra vote <3

* rinienmic -- lit. soul traitor, one of the worst things you can call someone in the Old Tongue ** Mourmoe sin breab eblita sidre. -- "Die in shadow, forgotten and cold." *** sonneusera -- reaper

#web novel #authors on tumblr #writers on tumblr #serial novel #eldritch horror #dark romance

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