#and people all across the continent were suddenly put off by everything that reminded them

[canisalbus]

you say machete has to be closeted then why's he always wearing them little heels

Maybe he thinks he's a tiny bit nicer looking in them.

[serenexdreams]

ETHEREAL | ROYALTY AU | VARIOUS! GENSHIN X READER

GROWING UP AS THE PRODUCT OF A FORBIDDEN ROMANCE between the king and a maidservant of the royal Aurelian family, you, the illegitimate fourth princess of the kingdom have always been left on your own. But things take a sudden turn when the tiny kingdom becomes engulfed in a deadly battle for succession between your older brothers and sisters.

In fear of you being caught up in the fray, your seemingly-distant father sends you off to live with oversea crown relatives--living on the continent of Teyvat. Suddenly, you're whisked away into the opulent and luxurious world of the true aristocracy.

Yet, not everything is as it seems...and thanks to your dreamy, starry-eyed nature, nobody suspects.

Your aunt and uncle seem to cherish you deeply; after bearing the grief of losing their own daughter, you seem to remind them of her...and you comfort them over their loss, winning their favour. When the time comes for the Annual Spring Ball--held at Celestia Palace, in the centre of the seven nations, they excitedly bring you along; marking this ball as not just a celebration of the coming of the aristocrat's social season, but also your debutante.

Your long, wispy lavender gown twirls enchantingly beneath the crystal chandelier's dim glow; a soft, alluring smile spread across your face, as you waltz with handsome strangers. Your H'/C hair flows freely down to your shoulders; framing your soft features.

Your aunt and uncle watch from the balcony with fondness. You've matured into a gentle person; unaware of the gazes you attract...

As the night descends into a full-swing party that would put even the celebrations the gods hold to shame, you slip away into the night; exhausted from all the dancing. The ball now feels suffocating to you, as you must put up a demure act for the approval of your aunt and uncle...and a successful debutante...

But you too, are also human. Your skin is flushed with weariness, as your gaze flits through the various escape routes you can take...

--

ROUTE I: DEVOTION

YOU MAKE A BEELINE FOR THE BACK DOOR, MAKING A DASH for the exit as you lift the hem of your heavy dress; letting out a sigh, while you remove the heels you wear. Your bare feet make contact with the cool, marbled floors of Celestia Palace, while your gaze drifts to the moon. Its white rays shine through the glass pane windows, bathing you in its embrace, as you finally shed your act with a short sigh.

Face dropping into a mischievous smirk, your eyes glint with excitement as you eagerly dart through the halls of the palace; looking for a place to leave from. Surely there's a balcony you can jump off or a little door that servants use to-

You see, you had a rebellious streak. A very long one, too...and one that only one person seemed familiar with. But he wasn't here tonight to stop you, much to your delight. You were left to your own devices; as your relatives busied themselves with their own networking, you were able to roam like a free bird.

Suddenly, with a startled squeak, your forehead bumped against the sturdy chest of another figure, as you scowl; looking up to see a familiar face. It's the chaperone/babysitter your aunt had insisted you bring...your guardian knight, Xiao.

His touseled, dark green locks frame his sharp, cat-like features; as he looks down at you, chest heaving up and down, typically-pristine black guard uniform crinkled. The silver sword strapped to his hip clanked against his leg, as he reached forward; slamming a hand into the wall behind you, as he cornered you. Oh boy--he was mad. You innocently smile back, internally trying to calm down as you slowly back away. You're one of the few people shorter than him--and he always seems to be taking advantage of that. "Oh, hey, fancy seeing you here-"

"....Where are you going?" His voice is harsh and thick with panic, as he wraps a gloved hand around your wrist, pulling you close. His golden, cat-like eyes bore into your soul before he narrows them and glares at you accusingly. "...Were you about to leave? You know it's dangerous for you to wander off on your own, regardless of the circumstances."

You huff, trying to escape from his tight grip, while you pout pleadingly up at the strict knight who's been assigned to you since your early days of royal life back in the kingdom of Aurelian. You look up at him with round, puppy dog eyes. "I was just feeling...suffocated. I just wanted to look around." You smoothly lie, without an ounce of guilt. "...You know how I feel about this whole arrangement. Just this once, Xiao? I promise I'll be back...before the ball ends--maybe. Or not. It depends-you see, I was planning on going to the festival the villagers were hosting outside the palace; I was even going to invite you--"

Xiao interrupts, his eyebrows furrowing, as he sternly draws you closer and flicks you on the forehead. "It's dangerous. The world is much bigger and darker than you think, Y/N. Lying is bad--you think I don't your tricks by now." He deadpans at you, as he lifts you into the air, much to your surprise as you let out a startled yelp. "...What? Your feet are tired, aren't they? I saw how many suitors requested a dance. I'll hold your shoes."

You can feel his toned arms wrap effortlessly around your waist, lifting you to rest in his grasp; with his other hand, he picks up your heels, letting them dangle off of the tips of his calloused fingers in a practised motion. As if he's used to your antics by now. Just like the silent, responsible knight, he is.

You glance down at him in surprise, warmth blooming on your cheeks as you finally relax in his grip, a sheepish and dorky smile spreading across your lips. "Heh, you could say I'm too beautiful--am I right?"

"..." Xiao doesn't respond. But you smirk, as you notice a faint blush spread across his indifferent expression. After all, you had him figured out by now. He had been your knight since your days confined in the royal Aurelian palace; guarding your precious existence. Memories of late-night conversations from your window, little adventures gone wrong, and joyrides on his prized stallion flashed through your mind, as you rested your head on his broad shoulders, eyes swimming in veiled affection.

Despite his overprotective nature, you close your eyes; bathing in his attention. "...my knight. Always so loyal, and by my side, blocking me from trouble." You chuckle, beaming with amusement as you playfully tease him, watching his ears flush pink. This was how most of your conversations with him went, but you paused, nostalgia washing over your typically-carefree E/C irises. "...Though, I should probably stop my behaviour soon."

The memory of your aunt and uncle's excited, hushed whispers as they spoke of the countless men vying for your hand rings through your head. Your free days of soaring through the sky were numbered. And you knew it. Your life was a blissful cycle of dreams, but they wouldn't last forever.

You had duties. And soon you would need to return; back home, back to that suffocating palace across the sea; loved by none, and back to being a powerless princess trapped under the thumb of a new king.

It was either that, or remain under your false alias for the rest of your days; as Y/N Valian. There was no place for your starry heart amongst the sea of perfect constellations in the sky.

"...We can go." He softly mumbles, golden eyes slanting sideways to soak in the image in front of him. Did you really think he--your devoted guardian knight, was going to let you be auctioned off to the highest bidder? Oh, no, you were horribly wrong. He had a plan. But...for now, he'd let you enjoy your time. As long as he was by your side, he was content...no matter what.

Your lovely rose-pink dress now crinkled and folded, hair loose and tangled. Your breathless voice echoed into his ears. He prided himself on knowing everything about you; from what you liked eating, to what your favourite shade of blue was. He liked knowing that he knew all of your secrets; about the time you had launched yourself out the second-floor window and into his arms, to ride away to visit the Liyuean kingdom shores. About the days you had spent, weaving together vines to make a rope and escape the confines of the royale Aurelian palace--even if it was just for a moment. About the night you had returned home from a festival; hair touselled and lips swollen, in a drunken daze, as you pressed your soft lips onto the diamond-shaped, third-eye mark on his forehead.

Xiao was bad with words. And he knew it. But you seemed...to be able to look past those useless flaws of his, and embrace his timid yet stoic nature.

You tilted your head in confusion.

"...Go where?" You whisper back, heart pounding slightly as Xiao turns to face you. The handsome, chiselled smile you love so much is curved across his delicate lips, as he looks at you.

Xiao loved the way you made him feel. At first, you were nothing more than a naive rascal, looking for any opportunity to escape your duties. He disapproved of your lack of effort into proving yourself as the Fourth Princess, dismissing it as mere laziness. A refusal to accept who you truly were; someone destined for glory.

Until he saw the warmth and playfulness of your soul. The wistful, dreamy look in your eyes reflected the purity of this world; like a delicate flower, trying to brave out a storm ripping through its garden of fantasies. And he became your knight--the one willing to tear the storm down and shield the flower, nurturing it with care. You weren't suited for the rough political landscape of succession--despite your capabilities. It was from then on, he swore to protect you; at all costs.

But little birds were destined to fly freely, no? Xiao was content, as long as he could chase after the trail of wind left by your little wings.

"To the spring festival down at the village. I'll go anywhere with you."

--

ROUTE II: DARKNESS

AS YOU TWIRLED TO THE RHYTHM OF THE CHARMING classical music, you felt a soft hand tap at your shoulder. You looked over, realizing it was your aunt--who wore an overdelighted expression. "...Is something the matter?" "Y/N, I'd like for you to meet this young gentleman--a business partner of your uncle and I's. This is Lord Tartaglia; he hails from Snezhnaya, and runs a commercial business under the Tsaritsa." Her gloved fingers dug into your soft skin, as she pulled you closer, and your misty, E/C eyes drifted to the man standing in front of you.

He looked like a prince charming.

A luxurious, white fur coat with a black collar was slung over one of his shoulders; embossed with a gold marking of the Tsaritsa--ruler of Snezhnaya. A symbol of devotion. Beneath the coat, he wore a white dress shirt with gold embroidery and a crimson sash, decorated with more amber chains. Curls of ginger hair had been pulled back to reveal his chiselled, boyish features.

But his fancy, striking appearance wasn't what caught your eye; it was his sharp, calculating eyes. A faded, slate-blue colour that seemed to bore into your soul; trying to decipher your every move. Despite his seemingly cryptic yet friendly smile, you were suspicious; something felt wrong. After all, you knew how to detect an actor--you were one, yourself.

"...It is my honour to greet you, Lord Tartaglia. I am Lady Y/N, of the house of Valian." A fake surname. You had long abandoned the royal last name of 'Aurelian,' instead opting to disguise yourself with your aunt and uncle's noble house. A mere white lie.

Your aunt warmly smiled, subtly pushing you towards the handsome man. Ah. It was obvious what she was hoping for. A match between you both--beneficial for the house and your uncle's sphere of influence. But you preferred your men sweet, not poisonous.

You had heard faint whispers from your little trips outside of the little Valian Manor in the countryside. About the alluring and attractive--yet ruthless man who cut down his enemies with no remorse. About how when his bloodthirst became too much to resist, he'd go haywire. About how he hid behind a mask of deceit, standing before the deep-pocketed nobles of the seven nations, charming them into revealing their secrets.

But you were no fool. The silver dagger sitting under the bodice of your dress, pressed against your waist; reassuring you of your safety. You were safe. You had the weapon--not him.

Lord 'Tartaglia,' smiled back, confidence evident on his face, as he pressed a faint kiss to the back of your hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N. May I request a dance?" His carefully crafted image of a dashing prince had practically wrapped all the partygoers around his finger, as they scowled at you with envy.

You twitched, barely able to contain your emotions as a chill went down your spine, and your stomach churned uneasily. "....You may."

With that, you both descended to the dance floor, hand in hand. Black gloves covered his hands, which you presumed to be battle-scarred. Infamous rumours of his shady dealings in the shadows caused your eyes to warily analyze his every move. His movements were practised and poised; as he easily manoeuvred around the ballroom, taking the lead as you idly chatted with him, out of politeness. "Lord Tartaglia, I assume you are business partners with my uncle. He speaks highly of you."

"Ah, is that so? I'm flattered, honestly." His sheepish reply surprises you, as you try to keep calm; heart thundering with adrenaline as he draws you closer. "The house of Valian has jurisdiction of a small seaside port that my subordinates regularly frequent." His reply was smooth and without a hint of hesitation, as the waltz music quickened and he lifted you into the air, twirling you. Your eyes widened in surprise, as you panicked beneath your serene facade of grace. "Well, now that I've answered one of your questions...shouldn't you answer one of mine, now?"

His voice was playful and cheeky but held ulterior motives. You hesitated for a moment. Sensing this, he continued to push forward. "An eye for an eye, no? Let's drop the formalities.--please, just call me Childe."

"...I suppose you are right." You agreed, averting your gaze from the ginger, whose face remained placid; though you noticed a small, victorious smirk spread across his face. "Though, I don't see what a powerful advisor in Snezhnaya like yourself would want to know about me. My past is quite plain." You remarked as Childe steered you around the dance floor, amidst the envious glares shot your way.

He smirked, eyes glittering with arrogance as he puffed out his chest. It seemed that Childe took this as a challenge.

"Really? Comrade, you must be joking." He chuckled. "How do I even start...Lady Y/N, supposedly a distant relative of the Valian House--yet the head has no children. An unstained yet abstract reputation and an unknown figure to the public...this is your debutante, yet you don't seem nervous. Amongst the few who have seen and conversed with you, they describe you as a demure and soothing presence with an ethereal, soft appearance--which I must say, seems quite accurate."

"But everyone, has secrets, no? Princess of Aurelian..." His lips ghosted against the shell of your ear, as your eyes widened before he gave you an unreadable smile. "Though, naive little girls should stay home...and keep their noses out of my business."

His words, in contrast to his princely image, were crude and uncensored; as you saw him shed his snakeskin.

"...Alright, you've won this time." You frowned, anger bubbling up from your stomach...but you maintained a gracious and elegant attitude. This man was not to be messed with, so it was best you kept your distance--but arrogance was distasteful.

"But I can say the same for you, Lord Childe...or should I say, Ajax?" You boldy leaned forward, voice lined with ice as you softly snarled into his ear. Childe's arms stiffened at once. "Rumoured to be one of the underworld's leaders, and a contributor to the black market. Word is on the street that you're one of the Tsaritsa's top dogs, despite that mask of smiles that you wear to every soiree at Celestia Palace. Said to be an open-minded and earnest individual...yet, many think otherwise. You ought to watch it."

You both were silent for a moment, as the waltz ended and you curtsied, uneasily. Did you go too far?

Suddenly, booming laughter rang out from behind you as you turned around, seeing Childe doubled over, chuckles uncontrollably spilling from his mouth, as he wiped a tear from his eye. "...Pardon me. It seems I severely underestimated you. Care for another dance?"

You narrowed your eyes, but complied--left with no choice, beneath the dozens of eyes staring at your backs. "...Of course. How can I dare refuse?" You flatly replied, allowing him to reach for your hand, as the next song started.

Childe drew you closer, eyes fixed on your face. "I apologize for my rudeness, Lady Y/N. Shall we call it even?" He gently eased you closer, unbeknownst to you.

You scowled. "After you wipe off that blood stain on your glove, Lord Childe. It's been bothering me for a while." You no longer bothered to act ladylike; instead, you lashed out at the Childe. His eyes widened before he hastily ripped off his glove; shoving it into his suit jacket; before looking at you, intrigued.

You were interesting. Amongst the sea of giggling ladies and ambitious noblemen, you had been the only one to refuse to back down...and Childe liked amusement. Whether this was temporary or not--he didn't know. But he knew for a fact that he would be keeping you around for a while. His lips curled into a cunning grin, as he placed a hand on your chin; examining your features. "I didn't expect for a person like you to speak with such crudeness, to a gentleman such as I, Lady Y/N."

Despite your mellow and warm appearance, just like a rose--it appeared that you had your own thorns too. He could feel the faint outline of the dagger stashed beneath your corset, in your dress. You were perfect for him.

"Gentleman? Who? I see none." You replied, unamused. You scowled, cheeks blooming with a furious scarlet red, as a result of your unbridled anger. Childe merely stared down at you, amused.

"Shall we take a trip to the terrace?" He gestured, arm wrapped snugly around your waist, eyes glued to your face. "...So, what's the princess of the Aurelian empire doing so far from home?--ah, you must be cold. Here."

You suddenly felt hands on your shoulders, while he draped his fur coat over your back; shielding you from the night's cold bite. "...Don't act as if you don't already know."

You bitterly replied. It was a touchy subject. "...Family issues. My dearest father, who treasures me oh-so-much decided the best way for me to avoid it was to ship me overseas like a cargo container." Childe snorted, as he stood next to you. "I was fine on my own."

"So I've heard...do you not have anybody you care for?" Childe questioned, eyes glimmering with curiosity as he watched your expression fall, as you mutely shook your head. "Oh come on, comrade, don't lie."

"An eye for an eye." You shot back, leaning on the terrace railing; eyes misty with emotion. It was as if a storm had passed; knocking down your barriers and all you had ever known--leaving an impenetrable, foggy sea mist that couldn't seem to clear out of your mind. "...But yes, I do. There were the servant kids, who used to visit my living quarters with rations and flowers, in exchange for a story."

Childe's eyes softened, as his own mind began to wander. "...Children are lovely. I have extended family back at Snezhnaya, too." He pulled out a photo from his suit jacket. It was a little boy; almost an exact, younger, carbon copy of him, cheerfully waving at the camera. "His name is Teucer."

As you both continued to quietly converse beneath the stars, Childe felt a soothing tranquillity lapse over his battle-hungry soul. An omen of disaster.

Despite the thorns you bared and the hostile attitude, you were a pleasant person...non-judgemental and rational, from what he could tell. After all, you hadn't once tried to pull out that dagger hidden inside your dress. Childe hadn't felt at ease like this in ages.

Perhaps it was because he sympathised with you--being far from home. With nobody but yourself to rely on. Life was cruel, and the burdens it forced humans to bear only increased with time. But around your starry, distant eyes, reality faded away and healed the bruises left on Childe's dark heart.

"..Childe? Lord Childe?" You raised an eyebrow, waving your hand in front of the peculiar man's face, while blinking in confusion. "Childe? Are you-"

"Ajax. Just call me Ajax." His voice cut through your concerned questioning, as his gaze lifted to meet yours.

At once, you realized it. You had made a deadly mistake...and you could only numbly stare, as he reached forward, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and drawing you closer. His eyes swam a variety of emotions; bewilderment, delight, amusement...but most importantly, interest. Sharp interest. In his eyes, you were no longer a meagre extra in the background; now, you were the apple of his eye.

A dangerous smile slowly spread across his face. At first glance, Childe seemed warm; friendly, almost like a familiar friend. But once you had caused his facade to fall and his act to crumble, you were no longer just a disposable pawn.

You were the protagonist in his tale.

"Care for another dance?"

--

ROUTE III: DEFENDER

THE SOFT, WISPY FABRIC OF YOUR DRESS FELT HEAVY--clinging onto your waist and dragging it down, as the cool night wind howled around you; splaying out strands of your H/C hair across your back. You stepped out of the room--weaving your way through the crowd and walking through the golden palace--you hated to admit it, but all the sparkles and luxury were starting to hurt your eyes. You eventually found yourself standing before a grand, twisting, stone staircase; leading to the palace gardens.

Tall, flowering shrubs sheltered your rather short figure from view, as you wandered the lush gardens. The heavy floral scent of roses surrounded a delicate stone fountain, depicting the heavens and the seven nations. Crystallized shards of glittering gemstones were embedded into the statues, as you sat down at the fountain's edge; letting out an irritated sigh. You slowly put down your guard; cheeks puffing, while you removed the silver pins drilling into your scalp.

Finally, you could relax.

You slid down the edge of the fountain--uncaring of the fact that the pink dress was slowly being rubbed against the ground, as you leaned over; trying to pull out the last bobby pin in your hair--wincing as you did so.

Suddenly, you heard it. Footsteps. But before you could react and cover your unladylike posture, you heard a smooth, baritone voice behind you.

"..Ah. My apologies. I didn't realize there was someone already here."

Your head whips around, E/C eyes meeting gold.

Enigmatic, aureate irises drilled deep into your soul; filled with =endless archives of wisdom. The handsome stranger's posture was distinguished and poised; long, smooth locks of ebony hair danced down his shoulders and were pinned together with a single amber stone. He is covered from neck down in a long, umber suit with gold and silver accesories; accentuating his toned, tall figure. Out of all the suitors you've encountered at this ball, he is by far, the most striking you've seen.

"...I-It's fine. You can stay." You turn away, cheeks flushing a rosy pink as you stutter in surprise, quickly trying to fiddle with the bobby pin clamping down tightly onto your scalp.

You feel his gloved hands gently graze your shoulder. "If I may? You seem to be struggling."

Flushing a bright red, you silently drop your arms, letting the stranger work his long, gentle fingers through your head; searching for bobby pins. An awkward silence filters into the garden.

"So, what brings you here?" You question, as you close your eyes; feeling his hands pause, before slowly continuing.

"...I was taken aback by the party atmosphere. It has been a while since I've made any appearances to the public, and I have become unaccustomed to the current trends." The stranger's tone of voice continues to send shivers down your back, as you silently pray for more bobby pins to weave themselves back into your head. "What about you?"

"I...was just tired." You confessed. "Of everything."

You felt your shell crack, as you gazed down at your perfectly manicured hands. "It wasn't too long ago when I was happily living in silence. But life had other ideas for me. My family suggested I attend this ball as my debutante, but I didn't expect it to be so tiring."

"Time waits for no one, but life is about balance. There will be obstacles and events that will throw themselves at the scale of perfection, and attempt to tip the odds in their favour. As mortals, we must push forward and refuse to give in. That is how humanity was formed." His insightful and philosophical response, rather than boring you, comforts you--much to the stranger's astonishment, as he watches you genuinely ponder over his response.

"...'and how the stars came to be.' Is that a saying from the latest book the former emperor, Morax of Liyue released?" Your eyes round with excitement as you lean back against the fountain, gaze cast to the stars.

MORAX. After just two years of a prosperous reign as the stand in for the young crown princess of the Liyue Empire, the young emperor stepped down; handing the role to another, citing it as too taxing; before taking up a disciple.

Namely, the Conqueror of Demons, Xiao--one of the strongest warriors of the kingdom you hailed from. He was a legend amongst the soldiers of the battlefield; for his just and unfaltering moral code.

Trained by the one and only. His public appearances were rare and numbered. But who were you to judge? If you had the option to, you were sure you'd do the same; do nothing but laze around in luxury all day.

The sky is a deep, lazuli colour; reflecting the eternal slumber of the heavens. You feel like a speck of dust in an overbearing colony of dust bunnies, while you watch the perfect formation of constellations shift throughout.

The scent of your nanny's cooking. Your little room; tucked away at the edge of the palace's extended annexe. Cramped but providing you with all that you needed, despite the sharp and scornful gazes tossed your way. The blooming field of untamed wildflowers, rapidly sprawled throughout the annexe's garden.

You missed it all. But you had to push. For the sake of your own life. "...Your advice was insightful. What's your name?"

"...Its Zhongli. May I inquire for yours?" Zhongli questions, golden eyes swimming in a matured pool of perception, while he takes a seat on the fountain rail.

You smile. "It's Y/N."

The conversation you have with the captivating man is deep and thoughtful; as you navigate through various subjects--all of which he has profound knowledge in. Stories about old Liyuean folklore, the best methods to cook bamboo shoots, and how to make a fortune selling glaze lilies in the city if you ever went bankrupt. He knew it all.

You both chat for hours; even as the sun begins to rise, peering over the slumbering and drunk palace, chasing away the darkness of the night. Its golden, amber hues of pink and orange churn with the eternal darkness; producing a brilliant sunset.

Was love, at first sight, a real thing?

You didn't know. But you knew if you did believe it, it would be with him.

Zhongli's patient and calming voice speak of a friend. Long forgotten and buried six feet under; a victim of a vicious assassination attempt which caused her body to crumble. Guizhong, was her name; another word that rolled off your tongue in an odd manner.

"...Her music warmed the very tips of my heart. I was foolish. Had gone minutes earlier..."

His eyes close for a brief moment, amber eyes filled with raw sorrow, as you frown; hesitating for a moment. "...Human life is not endless. The cycle must continue; lost time cannot be found again, but these memories can be stored in the archive of one's heart."

You gently place a hand on Zhongli's heart; feeling his heartbeat. It's serene yet rapid, thumping softly as he gazes into your eyes. .

Zhongli didn't know why he felt like this.

Like a newborn child, gazing up with wonder at the radiant sun. Your eyes seemed to exude genuine empathy. Your E/C irises shimmered beneath the sunrise's stare; twinkling with fresh fruits of intellect. They drooped, half-lidded as you let out a yawn; and Zhongli scooped you into his arms, cradling you securely. You blinked, in a sleepy haze.

"...I feel like we've met before. You..." It suddenly clicked. "You're a year older than me. Didn't you teach my knight, Xiao, swordsmanship?"

Zhongli pauses, slowly replying. Ah. It all clicked now. "Yes. I didn't recognize you...Lady Y/N."

It faintly clicked in your mind, as you did a double take; staring at him. Ah. It all made sense now. His perfect and dignified appearance. His sympathy. The way he had managed to effortlessly take your breath away.

He was the young boy who you had watched raise Xiao from the second he learned to grip a sword. And not just him either--he had taught you to appreciate literature, paint, and more. How to ride a steed, act around the rest of the royal family, and most importantly; how to love.

Zhongli seemed to be deep in thought as well; as he studied your face.

A downcast, timid stare. Your fingers, shyly reaching out to tug at his sleeve. The image of the flames engulfing your quarters back at the Aurelian Kingdom, the last time he had visited...

And he held you, tightly, eyes glowing with relief. You had changed and matured, during the time he was away. Your eyes were as clear as glass, reflecting the desire to fly. To be free. To love.

Like a glaze lily in full bloom. No wonder you had been able to so easily touch his heart and make it flutter. Zhongli had always hated it when the past came back to creep in and chip away at his sanity. The smell of overbearing smoke, clogged his nostrils as he ferociously tore through the battlefield; reaching your homeland, only to watch as more bloodshed occurred. As more soldiers clashed against each other in the battle for succession, burning down the extended castle annexe.

He made a silent contract with you, as you both entered the palace again.

"...This time, the fates will not separate our bond."

[superhero--imagines]

Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here!

A/N: not superhero themed. I just read midnight sun and had this idea and I don’t feel like making another blog so.... hope you like twilight lol

There will be a part two, and just a reminder, I’m still looking for beta readers so DM if you’re interested!

* It probably starts with you reading midnight sun, you remember reading the books/watching the movies when you were younger.

* Man, you really forgot how bad this book was. The writing itself is good, but the plot...

* It’s like everything revolves around Bella, everything is created for her.

* You almost feel bad for the other characters

* Well, whatever, you’ll finish the rest of the book tomorrow and never think about that awful franchise again.

* When you wake up you feel an ache in your head. But you didn’t drink last night, maybe you’re dehydrated

* You shift, noting the smooth silk of the covers. Now you’re alarmed.

* You don’t have silk sheets

* You see a mirror in the corner of the room, and rush over

* The face that looks back at you is different then yours

* It’s the same in some ways, but different all the same

* The curve of your nose is slightly off, your lips are thinner, eyes a little closer together.

* The memories begin to flood in, in this world you were on a graduation trip with your parents, you got an all inclusive package. Three days of sightseeing in Volterra.

* You got sick on the last day, when you were signed for a tour of the castle, your parents went without you

* That was the last you saw of them

* You dumbly followed, asking question where you shouldn’t. And ended up at the volturi’s door

* Aro had grasped your hand to see how much you knew, only too see nothing. Likewise Jane’s powers did not work as well

* They were astounded by this, it appears this was several years before Bella was introduced to the story

* And so, you became a prisoner of the tower

* Your soul must have been in this body for quite some time, but you’ve only remembered now, that’s the only explanation for why their powers didn’t work on you. Your consciousness is not of this world.

* There’s a short knock on your door

* “Are you decent?”

* You call back and Alec pops his head in.

* “Ready to go to the library?”

* He looks so kind. The boyish grin that stretched across his face as you shook your head.

* It was in direct contrast to the sadistic personality you had become accustomed to in the books

* “I need a few more minutes”

* You half expect him to lash out at you for being slow. By he only nods, closing the door and waiting outside for you to finish.

* He was you friend. You realized

* He IS your friend

* You think back as you turn on the faucet. He didn’t like you at first, being assigned to guard a human was insulting

* But he started to warm up to you once he heard you play the piano

* This body was quite used to the ivory keys. And so you charmed him as best you could, half for your survival, because the happier you kept him the less likely he was to kill you.

* And half because- you were so lonely, the Loneliness echoed in this body like an ache. Suddenly an orphan, in a continent where you knew no one. All you had was this boy.

* How long have you been here? You kept a talley at one point, but abandoned it after the thirtieth day. What was the point? You would either die or become one of them

* A shiver erupts through at the thought, in your past life you were a vegetarian, you didn’t relish in the idea of killing something alive and moving.

* You pull on a sweatshirt, ripping of the chanel tag. They bought you the nicest things money could buy, the most lavish food you could have.

* They did the same thing with the tourists they lured, keeping them happy and well fed, the same way the cows that became wagyu beef might be cared for. That way when it came time to slaughter, the meal was that much more delicious.

* You suspected this was similar, that should you be an unnecessary addition, you would make a meal suitable for their palette

* Alec basically talks your ear off the entire way to the Volturi library, mostly about literature

* “What are your thoughts on Anna Kerenina?”

* “That the patriarchy needs to be burned to the ground.”

* “That is.... valid”

* He even talks when you’re at the library, much to the annoyance of a few of the other patrons

* “Which book are you looking for now?”

* You stop mid motion on the ladder and turn to look at him. His ruby eyes glowing, he looks bloated. Like he’s fed too much.

* “Alec, why are we friends?”

* You really should keep your mouth shut. Alec was the only real ally you had, you shouldn’t say anything that might put him off

* And yet, it unnerved you, because the Alec in front of you was a very different character then the one you had come to see.

* He looks at you like you hung the moon,

* “Because you’re the most interesting human in the world”

* You burst out laughing, earning several glares.

* “I-I’m sorry Alec, but I’m not, I’m just the most interesting human you KNOW, there’s way more people who are more interesting than me.”

* You expect to see him offended, and he does, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes

* “I’m not so sure about that”

* The days creep by, reading books, eating snacks, it’s nice

* You learn, that Alec hasn’t talked to a human in a very long time. Outside of the screams he heard after devouring one.

* He hasn’t been outside the castle walls in many years, possibly a century.

* “What’s the best part of the human world?” He asked you once

* It’s the 90’s, so smartphones haven’t been invented yet.

* “One tree hill and friends”

* “Well you have a friend right here”

* “No friends the show”

* “The what?”

* And that’s how you got Alec hooked onto cable television

* Who knew the cure to vampire- sadism was a healthy dose of Jennifer Aniston fumbling about on screen

* “Is this what life is like?”

* You shrug, it was what college had been like for you in your past life.

* “It’s kinda what schools like, but i never got to be on my own”

* This body was only 18 after all.

* Alec doesn’t say anything, but his expression falters

* Alec’s only now starting to understand the life you will be denied once Aro decides when to turn you

* Jane joins later

* One day when you and Alec are lazing around the library when she appears, she says nothing, just sits down next to Alec and reads a book

* You’re sure they hear the uneven thumping of your heart as you turn back to your book. Her power doesn’t work on you, you remind yourself

* Not that she even needs it, she could snap you apart like a Kit Kat bar

* And if it came down to it, you’re sure Alec would let her, he might like you but his loyalty’s always remained with his sister

* “So... you watch human television together?” Her bright red eyes flickered from Alec to you.

* You nodded, never sure what exactly it was that would set Jane off

* You had seen enough in the books to know her moods were compatible at best.

* “I would...like to join” she awkwardly looking away, and you were sure if she could, she would be blushing.

* Honestly it’s kind of cute.

* “Sure, the more the merrier”

* And that’s how you basically adopted the sadist twins

* It’s a little harder to get Jane to open up, but once you make a comment about how Phoebe was the best character in friends, she starts to open up

* “Humans are cruel, even when they’re kind it’s only because they want something from you.”

* “Is that what you think about me? That I’m only nice to you because I want something?” she meets your eyes for a few minutes before turning away

* “I’m not sure”

* You understand very gradually why they’re so twisted

* They’d been treated terribly during their human life, in every kind act lingered a dark shadow, in even minor misunderstanding the image of a monster

* Their centuries in the Volturi didn’t help. Under Aro’s ruthless tutelage, and Caius’s sadistic tendencies, They had no one they could trust but each other.

* They were only surviving just as you were

* “Sometimes I wonder how much of my loyalty is real, and how much of it is Chelsea.” She whispers one day, so quietly you barley hear it

* You rest your hand on hers, it’s the only comfort you could think to offer

* When Jane grasps your hand in hers, she breaks every bone in your hand

* She doesn’t understand the pained screams or your mangled hand fit a second, and then she realizes what she did

* Alarmed she carries you halfway around the castle screeching for someone to help

* You pass out from the pain, when you come to you’re in your bed, a very cold hand holding your own

* “How are you feeling?” You don’t recognize this vampire, but you don’t really know anyone outside of Alec and Jane.

* You feel light headed, a warm feeling washing over you, you must be on some strong drugs

* “My body’s still grieving, but my mind is sharp.”

* It’s incoherent at best, but there’s truth to it, your body is still grieving for your parents and the life you’ve lost, but your otherworldly mind is ten steps ahead, cross referencing every action.

* The man offers a short chuckle

* “You really did a number on your hand. I’ve done what I can but...”

* You look down to your hand, half surprised by the bright yellow cast encasing it

* You had figured you would wake up to be a vampire, it just made sense, these were unfamiliar human aches to them after all and vampirism was a simple and effective cure

* They must want something from you, if they’re keeping you human

* You suspect it’s something along the lines of how they waited until Jane and Alec were burning at the stake to save them, so their power would be that much more potent

* Maybe they’re doing the opposite with you, trying to make you as happy as possible to see what effect it has on your ability

* It’s too bad you don’t have one

* “Thank you for your hard work.” You mumble, being human for a little bit longer is well worth the pain.

* “How did you break your hand?”

* “I held Janes’ hand”

* Your doctor let’s out a short laugh

* “That sounds about right”

* You smile, it does sound right, of course you would break your hand that way

* The conversation flows naturally after that, you talk about all sorts of things

* “You think vampires have souls?” He quirks an eyebrow

* “I’m of the opinion that a soul is something you create through hardship and struggle, being able to live longer means that you have more opportunities to have the experiences that result in a soul”

* “That’s an intriguing notion, I wish I had brought my son with me.”

* You’re about to ask about his son, when you’re interrupted by the door swimming open

* “I heard you were awake, are you alright?” Alec rushes in, his eyes frantic

* “Yeah these drugs are top notch” you press the button that releases the pain killers and let out a giggle

* “Is that alright? Humans are awfully sensitive.” Jane pipes up from behind Alec, you hadn’t noticed her in your haze.

* Your doctor chuckles

* “I’m aware,” he’s smiling but it’s strained

* “What’s wrong?” You ask, he was so calm until a second ago, he doesn’t answer you

* “I’ll give you three a moment.”

* You only register he’s gone when you hear the door close

* The twins rush over to you, Jane is kneeled by your side, while Alec hovers over you

* “I-I’m sorry I hurt you, I forgot-I didn’t remember.” You we’re sure Jane would be crying if she could

* “It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.” You raise your cast encased hand and give her a gentle pat on the head. “From now on, physical signs of affection will just be one sided.” You joke, which makes Jane grin

* “I’ll practice with some animals before I try touching you again”

* The three of you chat for a bit, they’re both surprised by your cast and ask several questions about its “primary function”

* “I didn’t know there was a doctor here” you murmur, feeling drowsy

* “Carlisle’s not with the Volturi, he’s from another coven in the new world.”

* Your drowsiness flies away in a second

* “That was Carlisle?”

* Jane looks somewhat confused but nods.

* A flutter of hope erupts in your chest, it’s so strong even your grief stricken body feels it

* You might have a chance. It’s slim, Carlisle has a family he loves and needs to protect. But still, they were strangers once too. No different than you.

* It’s a way out of here

* The next few days follow in a drugged haze, Alec and Jane visit every so often, and Carlisle engages you in occasional conversation while checking progress on your hand

* “Why are your eyes gold?” You know, but well, you need him to believe the lie

* “It’s a bit of a long story” he says with a wary smile.

* “I’m not going anywhere”

* He sighs, a genuine smile encompassing his face as he recounts the tale.

* Even though you’ve already heard it all before, it still makes you cry

* Even in the haze, you know something’s.... off

* There’s something about the way Alec won’t meet your eyes when he talks to you, and the uneasy weight that lingers in the air whenever someone else is in the room

* On the third day, it’s Aro who visits you, Alec and Carlisle in tow behind him.

* “Oh my, all that internal bleeding, how awful”

* Even you can feel the insincerity, but it’s the first you heard about internal bleeding

* So that explains it, the drugs and the aches all along your body, it wasn’t just your hand, you were dying

* “Don’t worry, we’ll save you” Aro’s smile is cruel “won’t we Alec?”

* Alec looks afraid, almost pained, but he nods

* Ah, so this was punishment for Alec too. Until that moment, when Jane broke your hand, Aro must have been ignorant to how close the three of you had gotten.

* You close your eyes, you knew this would happen eventually. There were only two ending to this story, and it seemed one had finally been picked

* You feel a pinch on your neck, right above your collar bone, no worse than a flue shot.

* You wait for the pain, the vivid screams you remember from the books and movies, but it never comes.

* Instead it’s just a warm numbness that spreads across your neck and left shoulder.

* “It doesn’t hurt” you murmur, you feel a cold hand rest against your forehead, Alex’s hand.

* It’s so gentle, he must have practiced on some animals first, you think.

* “No the pain comes later.”

* And so you drift into inky black unconsciousness, the last sleep of your human life in this world.

* You dream that you’re sitting at the bottom of a tree, a fig tree, like the one Sylvia Plath wrote about

* Each fig a different path, half of them have already fallen off, dark, as they rot at your feet

* “How do you do it?”

* You look to your side and find the person who’s face you see in the mirror, they’re hugging their knees to their chest, dark circles under their eyes

* “How do I do what?” You ask, they bite their lip

* “How can you be so strong when you’ve just lost everything?”

* You see their eyes brim with tears, and you look away, to the tree that looks over you both

* “I don’t know” It’s the truth, you have an unfair advantage in this world, because you know all the secrets each person carries, while yours remain shrouded in darkness. And yet... it’s not why you persevere

* “All I do know, is that I want to give them hell”

* Your counterpart grins at that, and to your surprise, you feel a smile stretch out across your face

* Yeah, it’s not about power, you just want raise some hell in this backwards misogynistic world.

* “I guess that’s the one you’re picking then huh?” Your counterpart points to a fig, it’s on the tallest branch of the tree, so far out of reach it almost seems unobtainable

* But you only nod

* “Yeah, I think that’s the way I’m going to go”

* They look at you and smile.

* “If you ever get the chance, I hope you punch that jerk Aro right in the face”

* You laugh.

* When you finally awake, you’re still laughing. A smile etched onto your face.

* Everyone’s there, all looking at you with concerned glances.

* Yeah, you’re going to have a lot of fun in this world.

[shintorikhazumi]

(Diakko week) There’s no way she- (5) ““There’s no way she would ever lose her again.””

A/N: I’m late because. I’m dying in school. Thank you. Dw, I’ll finish the story regardless.

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

Day 5: Afterlife/Reincarnation

“There’s no way she would ever lose her again.”

[“I will be with you in our next life, and into forever... Diana.”]

“-ness. Your highness, please wake up.”

Akko stirred from her slumber, feeling the silken sheets slip from her shoulders as she was aided into a sitting position.

Yesterday’s meeting must have really worn her out if her body felt this heavy the following morning.

“Ugh- Thank you, Anna. May I have a glass of water?” She requested, holding a hand out in waiting while the other cradled her throbbing head.

“Of course, your excellency.”

Having been handed the drink, Akko took large gulps until she cleared the cup of its contents, handing it back to her attendant. “Thank you.”

“I am glad to be of service.”

Akko continued to massage her throbbing temples, trying to think of all she had to attend to today. It was proving difficult however as she felt strange emotions swirl deep within her. Somehow, she felt as though she had dreamt of something important last night. However, she could not- for the life of her- seem to remember.

“Could you call Finnelan for me?” She moaned through the steadily intensifying pain.

“Right away.”

Akko nodded her gratefulness to Anna who quickly went to fetch the person she needed to see. Not a minute later, Akko’s court adviser had walked into the room, some papers in hand.

“You rang, Empress?”

Kagari Atsuko, empress of the continent of Solis, raised her head to greet her subject, trying her best to put on a presentable face.

“Yes. I apologize for my current state, but I’m feeling a little unwell. I’d like to ask if I had anything important that I needed to accomplish today? Anything that needs immediate regard?”

Finnelan gave her a sympathetic smile, leafing through the papers she had brought with her. “Not that I know of, Empress. You are fairly ahead of schedule for most of your work, and anything scheduled for today can be moved to at least three days later with nothing affecting any ongoing or future work.”

Akko sighed in relief, allowing herself to fall back into her covers. “Thank goodness. Would it be alright if I take the day off? I’m feeling a little unwell.”

Finellan laughed at the question. The young empress sure could be considerate.

“You literally own the entire empire, your Majesty. People’s time revolves around you. I mean this in a positive way. You are allowed to take breaks. No one could ever tell you no.”

Akko laughed along lightly with her, glad that she could take a much deserved rest.

“I will take up the opportunity then.”

“Please do. We can’t have our Empress functioning at any capacity less than her best.”

“Understood~” Akko lazily saluted as her subjects shook their heads in fondness.

“We shall be taking our leave then.” Finnelan said for both of them, taking a bow as she did.

“If you need anything, your majesty, feel free to call for me.” Anna reminded before they both finally left the empress to her own devices.

At the sound of the door clicking shut, Akko sighed, draping her arm across her eyes as she thought of what she should do with her free time now. Clearly, resting was at the top of her priority list, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to just keep still and laze around all day.

She decided she’d nap and grab a bite to eat before doing some exploring- something she hadn’t been able to do lately. The forests to the south of the palace sounded like the ideal place to adventure in today.

With her plan in mind, she laid herself to sleep and succumbed to the temptations of her sheets.

//

Akko felt significantly better once mid-afternoon came around. She had satisfyingly filled her stomach and had acquired her much needed rest. Refreshed, she decided to go for a ride into the southern woods, as planned.

Akko walked through the palace halls, first searching for Anna to let her know she was heading out. With the castle staff aware of her whereabouts, she made her way out the back doors and hiked far enough that she’d be hidden from anyone’s immediate sight.

She scanned her surroundings for any presence or unwanted eyes. Finding none, she sighed in relief, reaching into the pocket of her coat and pulling out a small locket- an oddly shaped one. One that looked uncannily like...

A briefcase.

This odd artifact had been with her since the day she was born, apparently. Her parents hadn’t given it to her, that’s for sure. They just said that one moment she was born, and the next they’d seen her, she already had the necklace laid next to her in her crib. She had never parted with it since then.

It wasn’t something they could explain. Maybe a cleric or a mysterious nurse had gifted it to her, who knew. All Akko knew was that one day, she suddenly had many creatures to call family, and somehow, she knew each one by heart.

Whispering a few words against the locket, and planting a gentle kiss on it, the case grew and she was able to open it.

Biting her lip, she weighed a few options in her mind. Who should she call today...

Ah, of course. If she wanted to brave the woods and look for adventure, who better to call on than-

“Florence.”

Immediately, a gentle glow of light filled her area, and a regal-looking creature emerged, basking in the light for a few moments before nuzzling Akko’s side.

The empress giggled, petting her creature before returning the briefcase to its former state and hanging it around her neck.

“Hello, my friend.”

Without her having to say another word, Florence took her up on his own back before quickly ascending to the heavens and flying quickly across the vast lands, giving Akko a gorgeous bird’s eye view of the landscape.

As they sword above the heights of trees, Akko spotted an open area. She was sure that if she had walked the woods, she’d never spot this peculiar looking shack as it seemed cloaked in some sort of... magic.

Carefully, she had Florence glide about the air before silently landing nearby, but not quite in the area. Her intuition had proved right as she struggled for a few minutes to see what she had found from above. Using her general instinct and memory of where she vaguely assumed that place to be, she eventually stumbled through an odd-feeling magical barrier that allowed her to stumble upon a cottage that looked nothing like what she had seen mid-air.

It looked cozy, quite homely.

Akko looked around, hoping to see any signs of a person as clearly someone resided here- what with the well-kept grass and the lively waving by the window.

She followed the dotted stony path leading to the door, reading the sign left there.

[Apothecary Cavendish is closed. Return tomorrow.]

Akko frowned slightly for two reasons. One beint that that odd name caused her head to throb once more. Was she getting sick again? Maybe not. The other reason Akko felt disheartened was due to the fact that she wouldn’t exactly be having a tomorrow to check this place out as she would have to get back to work. She wasn’t quite sure if she’d have any time this week either. Or this month. Or... ever.

She weighed her options.

She could sneak out of the castle at some point in the future. Or maybe she could quench her curious thirst right now and try opening the door- have a little peek, that’s all. She could say that it was an inspection since she was sure this place wasn’t on the empire’s map, nor was it registered in any city or town hall.

She was simply investigating, yes. Investigating. For the safety of her country and men.

Akko nodded, knowing she hadn’t really convinced herself of anything. Reaching for the knob, she felt her hands sweat and tremble, throat drying. She really was justifying her actions that could very well be a crime. Empress or not, this was really wrong. But... She just had to know... She just had to reach and turn the knob and take one small look and all would be fine. She’d leave without a trace, and no one would kno-

“Who are you.”

Akko felt her body go rigid in fright, slowly turning around to spot a woman with basket of what seemed to be herbs. Had she just returned from collecting them-

“Ugh-”

“Hey! Are you okay?”

Again. It was back again. The pain in her head.

Akko crouched down, cradling her head in her hands with her eyes squeezed shut as the world spun round and round until she hit the ground. She barely heard the panicked yelling of her companion as all went to black.

//

“You’re awake.”

Akko blinked once, twice. Her visage was filled with soft light and wooden framing across a tall roof. Turning to her side she watched the woman she’d met only moments ago squeezing a towel over a basin before gently laying it over her forehead.

“A high fever, and you had the gall to go exploring in these dangerous woods.” She scolded Akko who couldn’t help but stare, not processing anything she’d just said.

Akko didn’t know why, but something spoke familiarity in just about everything this woman had been showing her. Her manner of speech, of action, the way she was currently scolding Akko with a stern and frank voice that still held a gentle warmth to it- everything about her told Akko that couldn’t possibly be the first time they’d met.

At least... not in this lifetime...?

Akko did a double-take at her thought process. This lifetime? What did that mean? Had she ever been one to believe in something like reincarnation and multiple lives? Well, she didn’t necessarily doubt it either. She simply never thought of it until now.

So… what did she think of it now?

“Um, pardon me? Are you alright? Are you still with me?”

Akko realized her mind had wandered so far that she forgot her manners.

“Ah, my apologies. I just...just…” She had looked up to meet the eyes of her savior to show her sincerity, but so quickly got lost in them. Sparkling blue gems that were framed with long lashes above the gentle slope of a tall nose and healthy pink lips distracted her.

Holy shit. This lady was-

“Absolutely stunning.”

Miss Stunning blinked. As did Akko.

“Thank...you…?”

It was only then that Akko came to her senses, immediately rising from the bed, only to smack her head straight into her companion’s nose.

“CR- CRUMPETS AND SHIITAKE MUSHROOMS-… WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” She groaned, nursing her nose and checking for any possible signs of bleeding.

Fortunately for her, their were none. Unfortunately for Akko she was now rather cross.

Akko reached out to assist her, but the woman promptly created distance between them, not trusting Akko anymore in case of any more surprise attacks.

“Miss, I-”

“Just-! If you’re feeling better, please leave. Please. I beg you.”

Akko really, truly felt terrible for causing her so much trouble that she silently complied. With a bow, she gathered her coat that had been hanging off a dining room chair, wore it and said her farewells.

“I’m sorry to have bothered you. And trespassed.” She apologized, head hung low. “I-if it’s alright…” Still, something deep within her told her she still needed to come back. She needed to know of this woman and the strong pull she seemed to have over her. “May I come back?”

Akko could see the woman’s hesitance in her eyes. She watched her deliberate over the decision, before sighing and agreeing, much too Akko’s surprise.

“Fine. I guess I do need a few more customers. Wouldn’t mind that.” She reluctantly gave Akko a smile… and a piece of paper with a few things written on it.

Akko cocked her head to the side, scrutinizing the item. “What’s this?” She inquired, confused.

She watched the other woman crack a grin, finding it somehow incredibly endearing. “The bill.” She stated factually. “For the services I’ve provided you, good miss.”

Akko’s jaw dropped at the words. She couldn’t even tell if she was being teased or-

“I’m dead serious.” She was told. “My ingredients don’t really grow on tre-… okay, some do. But this forest doesn’t exactly grow me any money. Only resources.”

That drew a fit of laughs from Akko who was incredibly amused by this stranger’s straightforwardness.

“Alright, alright.” She was never really short on money anyway. “I’ll come back with your compensation. That, I promise.”

And she swore she died a little at the smile she received just then. Her brain ceased to function and her feet would no longer move.

“Miss?”

“O-Oh! Sorry, just… uh. Got lost in the moment there. Um…” Awkwardly scratching the back of her head, she bid her farewells. “Well, I’ll see you around um…” Oh. She didn’t quite know the woman’s name.

“Hmm?” Akko was given a questioning look before the apothecary caught on. “Oh, right. We forgot to introduce ourselves to one another. Hello there.”

“H-hello.”

“I go by Cavendish…

Diana Cavendish.”

And at those words it felt like puzzles of a piece Akko didn’t know she was solving, suddenly fit. Sparks connected, and her mind ran miles and miles per hour over memories, thoughts, emotions, and a past Akko now fully remembered.

A past where she had love. A past where she had… Diana Cavendish.

She hadn’t even realized when it was she started crying, but Diana had reacted faster than she did, dabbing Akko’s face with a handkerchief while awkwardly consoling her.

“May I… embrace you?” Akko suddenly blurted out.

Diana, already surprised from Akko’s sudden crying, became all the more shocked. Her being a little weirded out by what Akko had requested was also not something she particularly hid from showing on her face.

“May I... Could I possibly embrace you?” Akko repeated to her, well aware of how odd it was to ask that of someone who clearly thought her to be a stranger.

“I don’t even know who you are, sorry.” Diana eventually admitted, the words breaking Akko’s heart just a bit.

Akko couldn’t remember the last time words had hurt her this much, but Diana not remembering the things they’d been through and Akko knowing the things she knew… it was just a bit much.

Maybe… this wasn’t something that was meant to be. Akko decided to plaster on a smile. Maybe she could try again tomorrow? Would Diana be able to remember her as well? Should Akko just tell her? Would she even believe her?

Akko didn’t have much time to think about it any longer as the sun began to set. It was time for her to leave.

“My apologies.” Akko sighed, giving Diana a respectful bow. “That was rather rude of me, wasn’t it?”

Diana gave her a small, suspicious nod.

“I must be on my way, but… um…” Akko felt her palms sweat and she quickly wiped it off on her garments before holding a hand out. “Let us start over again.” She smiled. She could do this much at least. Right?

Diana took her hand incredibly slowly and carefully. Akko kept up her smile despite all the salt continuously being added to a fresh wound.

“Hello, Miss Diana.” She greeted. “I am a simple noblewoman in this country and I go by the name..,” Maybe if she said her name, Diana would remember just as she had.

Or maybe not and Akko would continue to wallow in sadness for a few days more.

Only one way to find out.

“Kagari Atsuko”

Nothing.

There was nothing.

Diana neither flinched, nor blinked, nor spoke a word.

Akko could now actually hear her heart start to crack, ready to shatter. The universe sure could be cruel sometime-

The sunset sky sure looked lovely from where Akko was laying on the ground, tackled by a Diana who now sobbed heavily into her robe.

“B-by gods, Akko… Akko. Akko.” Diana chanted, over and over and over again. “Akko. Akko. Akko. Atsuko. Kagari Atsuko. My Akko.” She cried into the crook of Akko’s neck, placing kisses along that curve and up to her cheek,

Adjusting herself so that she was comfortably atop Akko, she cupped both the brunette’s cheeks, looking into her eyes as if she were confirming this to not be a dream.

Akko felt her eyes water again, the shock of the sudden attack fading away as it all begun to sink.

That Diana remembered.

That they both did.

As though she had found it, Diana’s face lit up into the biggest smile as she leaned down to plant a kiss on Akko’s lips for as long as she could, like she was afraid Akko would disappear again at any minute.

They both laughed through the tears and the kisses, Akko carefully sitting them up with Diana situated on her lap.

Having run out of air, they parted, Akko immediately grabbing both of Diana’s hands and planted kissed on them,

Diana felt her stomach flutter at the familiar gesture, bringing her hands up to brush the sides of Akko’s face, her bangs and hair, and play with her eats that were warm at the tips.

“I’ve missed you.” Diana whispered.

The floodgates opened once more and Akko cried the most she had in this lifetime.

Cradling Diana close to her chest. Showering her lover with her own affections and completely forgetting about her home, Akko just reveled in the miracle that they had acquired, happy beyong measure.

“I’ve finally found you again.” She told Diana, tightening her arms around her as she felt Diana do the same.

Akko smiled even wider-if it was possible as she continued her statement.

“I love you.” She whispered with Diana whispering it back. “And this time, I’ll never lose you. Ever again.” Akko promised, and Diana nodded, wrapped in euphoria and Akko’s arms.

“Never again.”

A/N: I rushed this already, I’m sorry. ;-;. See you last 2 chaps!

~Shintori Khazumi

[deanwanddamons]

All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You - Part 2

Summary: You were driving alone after getting into a huge fight with your now ex-boyfriend. You had spotted a guy standing on the side of the road in the rain, hitching a ride, so you gave him a lift. That guy happened to be Dean Winchester and you had an unforgettable one night stand with him. Part 2 continues the story and there’s a surprise in store for both you and Dean.

Find part one here: All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, You, Sophie (OC)

Pairing: Dean x You (kinda)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warning: Pregnancy, mentions of suicide, angst

Song inspiration - https://youtu.be/OAfxs0IDeMs

Heart - All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You

A/N: So, this started as a one shot, but lots of you have asked for a second part so here it is! I found this one a challenge as I have never written angst before. I hope you like it! Once again I have had so much help with this and can’t thank you all enough for your advice, love, support and for being my beta’s @mummybear @negans-lucille-tblr @winchest09 @princessmisery666 @deans-baby-momma love you girls ❤️

Three Months Later

“Shit, shit, shit,” you groan, tears filling your eyes as you stare down at the positive pregnancy test in your hand.

How could this have happened? Nothing had gone right for a few weeks. You’d had to change your job to avoid your ex, office romances weren’t ever a good idea. You had to move home since said ex boyfriend had moved the woman he had an affair with into the home you’d once shared and now this.

Maybe it had been a mistake to pick up a hitchhiker and screw him in a motel room. But you’d needed the comfort, the small escape. Besides, Dean had been the best sex of your life. One night stands were supposed to be forgotten, but any girl would have trouble forgetting Dean.

Everything about the night was as vivid as reality, even the look of shock on his face when you’d bolted from the room, guilt and shame not allowing you to stick around.

Shaking your head, you refuse to believe that the first test was right. They were not always accurate so you had bought two, just in case. Looking to the side of you, you focus on the second test inside the box. You rip the plastic open and sit on the toilet. Maybe you should have drank some more water.

You had expected to hear from Paul, your scumbag ex. Maybe a text or phone call. Especially when he would’ve returned home to find all your belongings gone. But you’d heard nothing. Your best friend had offered you her spare room but you hadn’t wanted to be a burden so a few weeks later you found a small apartment to rent in town. Thank god she wasn’t here now because she’d have been the first to tell you how much of a mess you are in.

The second test would need a couple of minutes to develop so you place it on the countertop and wash your hands. As if landing the only job in town as a maid for the motel you’d spent the incredible night with Dean in hadn’t made it hard enough to forget him, the two little blue lines have now made it impossible.

“Fuck!” you yell into the mirror.

It had been a stressful couple of months, it was understandable you’d miss a period. You’d thought nothing of it, brushed it off as stress and the shitty diet you’d been keeping of late.  

Then you missed a second period and the second test has confirmed what you’d wanted it to deny.

Pregnant.

It’s Dean’s. The timing fits perfectly and you hadn’t slept with your ex for months before the split. Dean had worn a condom, but it had obviously failed.

“Fuck!” you scream again, punching the countertop, bringing your hand to your mouth when you notice a trickle of blood on your knuckles. Panic and fear are washing over your body like a tidal wave.

Sitting heavily back down on the toilet, you bury your head in your hands, and start to cry.

A Year Later

Working at the motel still reminds you of Dean, but thankfully the room your tryst had taken place in isn’t on your rota. But you’d have traded that to not have to clean room 237. Approaching the door you take a deep breath and enter your card key into the reader. Green Light.

Opening the door slowly, you enter. As usual, you feel the noticeable temperature difference from the corridor. Looking around you shiver. This room always gives you the creeps, the sense of foreboding heavy and thick. As the rumour goes, a young maid - having an affair with the motel Manager, Tony - had committed suicide after he ended the relationship. She chose to slit her wrists in the bathtub of room 237, where they used to meet. Three months later, Tony had done the exact same thing.

Pulling your cart through the door, you move quickly to the bed to change the sheets. A scratching sound from the bathroom takes you by surprise. Even though your heart rate quickens, you decide to ignore it. Gathering up the dirty linen, you dump them in the cart. There it is again. What the hell is it? There’s no one else in or near the room. The atmosphere is getting heavier, the pressure getting stronger. The need to flee is becoming overwhelming.

Again; louder now. Walking towards the bathroom, palms sweating, hands shaking, you reach for the handle and pull the door open.

It’s empty. Pulling back the shower curtain, you scream as the image of a figure materialises in the tub.

Bolting from the room, heart almost bursting out of your chest, you fall to your knees, sobbing. The need to be with your daughter, to hold her, to smell her is the only thought in your confused mind.

Grace was born on a bright, cold fall day in October. It had been a fairly easy pregnancy, but a difficult birth, so you were in the hospital for a week.

Luckily, she’s a pleasant and placid child, with the most intense green eyes, a smattering of freckles across her nose and her lips were plump and full. Every time you look at her you can see her father, which makes your heart ache, but you know you have to keep on going for her sake.

She is your world, your everything and you love her more than words could explain.

Your friend had not approved of you keeping the baby at first, as she had said it would ‘ruin your life’ but you knew there was no way you could get rid of it. Plenty of people managed to bring a child up alone, and you knew, with hard work and perseverance, you could do it too. Eventually, your friend came around to your way of thinking, even offering to babysit when you had shifts at the motel. As you didn’t get paid maternity you had to go back to work almost straight away.

The motel - you hate the place.

After the encounter in the bathroom, which had haunted you since it happened, you had done some research online, and discovered this was not the first time this had happened. Twenty years ago, the same scenario took place in the exact same room.

When the new manager started, you asked why the room was still being used. The answer was simply, “Money, honey,” so you never mentioned it again. Either the public were unaware of the history, or didn’t care, as it was almost always occupied.

Your day starts out the same as any other. Leaving Grace with your friend you drive the short distance to the motel.

Entering the reception area, you are surprised to find it empty. Sophie is usually behind the counter, but she is nowhere to be seen.

“Sophie?” you call out as you walk behind the desk to collect the key to the supply cupboard.

“Hey Y/N,” you hear from the back office, “come in here a second?”

Putting your bag on the floor, you open the door to the office to find she is not alone.

A very handsome man, with floppy brown hair wearing a smart suit is sitting at the desk. As he rises to shake your hand, you are amazed at how tall he is. He must be well over 6ft 4.

“Y/N, this is Agent Taylor from the FBI,” she introduces him as he shows you his badge.

“Hi Y/N,” he smiles, shaking your hand. “My partner, Agent May and I are here to discuss the death of Tony Phelps. He’s just getting a glass of water. He will be with us shortly. Please, take a seat.”

There are two doors in the office. One, which you just came through, leads from the reception. The other leads into a small kitchen area. You sit, with your back to the door to the kitchen.

“Why are the FBI investigating a suicide?” you politely ask Agent Taylor.

“We are not sure it was suicide,” he responds, “so we are talking to all the staff to find out if they saw or heard anything strange or unusual the night he died. Anything out of the ordinary. ”

As he is speaking, you hear the door behind you open, so turn in your seat. You realise who has just walked through the door. The man you hadn't forgotten since that night. How could you forget him?

Dean.

Your heart stops as the room suddenly loses all its oxygen. Your lungs cease to take in air, a weight on your chest pressing down on you like a vice.

Staring at him, eyes wide and glassy, a lump forms in your throat, and for a brief moment you lose the ability to form words.

What is he doing here?

He stares back at you, an expression of realisation slowly changing his features. He goes to speak, but you briefly shake your head and force your gaze from his, looking back to Sophie.

Agent Taylor clears his throat, so you turn your attention back to him.

“This is my partner, Agent May,” he explains.

Dean is frozen to the spot, hand still on the door, glass of water in the other.

“Yes..um…” he begins as he moves further into the room placing the glass on the desk. He fumbles with the inside pocket of his jacket, removing his badge, which he shows you. It’s upside down. Smirking, he flips it over. “Agent May,” he croaks. You notice his hands are shaking slightly.

“Hello,” you nod at him, glancing at him briefly, then turning away. Attempting to take in a full breath, you count to 10 silently, hoping this will slow down your increasing heart rate. That smirk has brought all the memories of your night together crashing back. The way his hands touched you, the way those lips kissed you, the way he made love to you.

“So Y/N,” Agent Taylor continues as Dean sits down next to him. He gives him a confused, side eyed glance, “were you here the night Mr Phelps took his own life?” he questions.

“No, I was not on shift,” you respond, trying hard not to look at Dean who is fidgeting in his seat. He has a pen in his hand, and he keeps clicking the top.

Click, click, click.

Snatching it out of his hand and placing it on the table, Agent Taylor scowls at him. Dean's eyes meet yours with a questioning look. He shrugs his shoulders.

Holding his gaze for a second too long, you swallow. A wave of nausea washes over you, the gnawing in your stomach getting stronger.

“Can I just get a glass of water?” you hear yourself say as you rise from your seat. With shaking legs you drop back down as beads of sweat form on the back of your neck and your vision blurs.

Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you hear Sophie ask, “are you ok Y/N?”

As your vision clears, you see that Dean has also risen from his seat.

“Yes, yes,” you responded quietly, “I just need some air.”

“I’ll help you outside,” Dean says as he walks around the desk.

“No it’s fine,” you protest, but he is already by your side, taking your arm. His touch sends a bolt of lighting across your skin. Gently helping you up, he slips his arm around your waist, and leads you through the door into reception.

The silence between you is palpable as you head to the courtyard out front.

Inhaling deeply, you breathe in the cold spring air as Dean turns you to face him.

“What was that about in there Y/N?,” Dean asks “why didn’t you want anyone to know we have met before?”

“Hi Dean,” you respond sarcastically. You don’t know why you are feeling so hostile towards him as you were the one who walked away after you had slept together, not the other way around, but a feeling of anger rises inexplicably in your throat.  

“What are you doing here Dean or should I say Agent May? You’re not from the FBI.”

“Never mind that, I’ll explain later. I want to know why you left so suddenly that night?”

“It was a long time ago, Dean. I didn’t expect to see you again, so just leave it,” you say as you turn to walk away.

“No Y/N, I want to know what I did wrong? I thought we had a good time, and then you just upped and left with no explanation. Were you married or something?” he protests.

“No. Everything I told you about my ex was the truth. We did have a good time, but it should never have happened,” you admit. “I was in a bad place, and not acting like myself.”

“Okay,” he agrees, “But an explanation would have been nice.”

“Oh, so you have never slept with someone then left them hanging have you?” you snap.

He stares at you with an indignant scowl.

Your cell rings. Pulling it out of your pocket you look at the display and see it’s your friend who is with your daughter. She only calls while you're at work when there is something wrong with Grace.

“I’ve got to take this,” you tell him, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Y/N, sorry to bother you but Grace is running a temperature,” she says, “she’s really cranky and I’m not sure what to do.”

Shit. Perfect timing.

“Okay, F/N. I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you tell her as you hang up the phone.

“I have to go Dean. My daughter isn’t very well and the sitter just rang.”

“Your daughter?” he asks, surprised, “How old is she?”

“Six months,” you tell him quickly, not thinking as your focus is now on getting back to your daughter as quickly as possible.

“S-six months?!” Dean stammers. Your eyes go wide as you realise your mistake, the panic rising in your stomach when you look up at the green eyed Winchester. You could see the cogs whirring in his brain, working it all out. You should have lied about her age.

“I need to go,” you say quickly, turning around to begin to walk away from him and this situation.

“Is she mine?” His question made you slow down slightly but your mouth was unable to form the answer. You swallowed hard but before you could make your next move, Dean was behind you, grabbing your arm as he whirls you around to face him.

“Let go of me, Dean!” you demand, attempting to pull away but he keeps a firm grip on you.

“Y/N, is she mine?! I have a right to know,” he pleaded. With a bone dry mouth, your heart almost beating out of your chest, you look up at him as his green eyes search yours for his answer. This was it, you couldn’t hide it from him so you slowly begin to nod your head.

“Yes.”

Part 3

Tags - @sherlock44 @adoptdontshoppets  @for-a-brothers-love @ilovetoread44 @supraveng @jawritter @sandlee44 @prettydeaneyes @moonlessnight126 @maddiepants @in-deans-arms @magssteenkamp @zpandaqueen @thevelvetseries @sonofabringmesomepie​ @fandom-princess-forevermore @cleighwrites ​ @linki-locks11​ @dancingalone21​ @chocolateheart​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @shademered​ @jensensjaredsandmishaslover​ @onethirstyunicorn​

[theladyofdeath]

Rags & Riches {15}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: totally cried while writing this chapter, and i have no idea why. so, take that as you wish..

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

They had been on the ship sailing to the continent, for Hybern, for four days. Nearing the port, Rhysand was near death.

“Who would have known that the Lord of Velaris had such seasickness?”

Rhysand groaned, opening his eyes to find Cassian, humor dancing in his hazel eyes.

“I hate you,” Rhysand murmured. “And your ability to be on the water without vomiting every five minutes.” 

Cassian chuckled. “Well, we should be there within the hour, they say.”

Rhysand rolled over on his cot. “I do not think that makes me feel any better.” 

Cassian nodded, fully in agreement. 

The journey had been tense, except for when the ale came out. When the ale came out, everything became better, if only for a little while.

“Training begins tomorrow at dawn,” Cassian continued. “They say they expect the first attack to happen soon after. So, tonight is our last night of freedom. For some time, at least.”

“I don’t care what happens,” Rhysand mumbled. “As long as I get off this fucking ship and back onto dry land.” 

Trying not to laugh at the miserable bastard in the cot next to his, Cassian took a clay pipe out of his sack and packed it with tobacco. “Have a smoke. You’ll feel better.”

“Every time you say that I do it,” Rhysand mumbled. “And every time I do it, I do not feel better whatsoever.”

“Not even a bit?” Cassian asked, igniting a match. A moment later, their end of the cabin was clouded with smoke. 

“Well,” Rhysand began, opening his eyes. “Perhaps a bit.”

Cassian passed his pipe across the way before leaning back against the wooden wall of the cabin. “One day I’ll be able to afford cigars.” 

“Yeah?” Rhysand asked, passing it back. “After the war, you think you’ll give the business a shot?”

Cassian shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to lose. I’ll send some of my soldier’s pay back home to my mum and sister, but, I’ll be able to save some. Not a lot, of course, but enough.”

Rhysand nodded, resting on his hands intertwined behind his head. “And what of Lady Nesta?”

Cassian remained silent for a minute, bonding with his tobacco. “I will keep my promise. Of course, we will see if she still wants me. We do not know how long this will last. What if years go by and I return then? She will most likely be already married. To a Lord. I am fully aware, no matter how I feel, that I am far outside her social class.”

“But you love her?” Rhysand asked, staring at the ceiling.

“Yes,” Cassian said. “I told her as much.”

“Did she say the same to you?”

Cassian snorted. “I do not think that Nesta has ever told anyone that she has loved them. But, she made me promise to come back to her. I like to think, in Nesta’s own way, that was her telling me that she loved me, too.” 

Rhysand nodded, taking the pipe from Cassian’s outstretched arm and breathing it in, before handing it back. “Feyre tells me Nesta is a difficult woman.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“You like that about her?” Rhysand grinned. “That she’s difficult?”

“Apparently,” Cassian laughed, keeping the pipe close to his lips. “She never bores me, that’s certain. She is wild, and passionate, behind a cold mask. But when we are alone...she is fierce.”

“Are we talking about in bed?” Rhysand asked. “Because I could see that.”

Cassian opened his mouth to say no, but then he reconsidered. Rhysand, seeing his hesitation, laughed. 

“Ah,” the violet-eyed Lord continued. “I suddenly see Lady Nesta in a whole new light.”

Cassian rummaged through his sack, pulling out a novel that was snuck into his bag the night before he left. 

The works of William’s Wordsworth. 

It was a beautiful book, pristine condition. She had placed it next to his old, beat-up copy of Keats.

He ran his fingers over the cover, taking another puff from his pipe. 

“When we make love, she takes the mask off,” Cassian said. “The only time she takes off her mask, completely. Her eyes grow soft. She unclenches her jaw. Her shoulders are no longer rigid. She lets herself feel when we fuck. She never lets herself feel anything, but she lets herself when we make love. Before I left, she was starting to take the mask off when we weren’t fucking, too. When we were together, no matter what we were doing...the mask came off.”

Rhysand watched him, having rolled onto his side. He nodded. “Feyre told me that she feels too much, much more than most people, so she pretends she feels nothing and cares for no one.”

“She is very good at pretending,” Cassian said, a smile growing. “But she does not pretend with me.” 

Cassian had told Rhysand of he and Nesta once they left days before, after Nesta had kissed him goodbye. Rhysand had not asked much about it then, surely not wanting to pry.

“We will come back from this,” Rhysand said. “You will keep your promise to her.”

Cassian nodded, leaning his head back as he blew smoke into the air above. He cleared his throat. “What of Feyre?”

Rhysand chuckled. “Are we back to talking about in bed? She is mad, but I am sure you assumed as much.”

Cassian laughed, finding the eyes of his friend. “I do not assume anything of your wife in bed.”

“She’s very dominant,” Rhysand purred. “She likes to be on top.”

Cassian swore. “I’m sure you love that.”

“What’s not to love?” Rhysand said, sighing affectionately. “I just lay back and relax. She does all the work. Very sharp nails, though, my chest still looks as if I was attacked by a wild animal.”

Cassian laughed, so loudly that a few others looked from their cots to the back corner where the two sat. “She is a good woman, Feyre.”

Rhysand’s eyes softened. He nodded. “She is. Perfect. I had to leave her too soon, my wife. We fucked all through the night, after the wedding guests left. No protection.”

Cassian looked sideways at his friend, passing his pipe along the small gap between them. Rhysand took it as Cassian said, “Trying for a child?”

Rhsyand blew smoke as he passed the pipe back. He shrugged. “I know we keep saying that we will come back from this, but if we do not….I know she has my estate, everything I have is hers, now. But...if she is with child, although I know that it is not a certain thing….I know it often takes time to get pregnant.” Rhysand cleared her throat, eyes shining in the dimmed light of the cabin. “We wanted to try, in case I do not come back. If I do not make it out of this, she may have a child to look at, and love, and think of me.” 

Cassian listened with a heavy heart. There were no words to say, none that would make a difference. They could laugh and joke and drink and smoke all they wanted, but they both knew what they were forced to leave behind. 

Cassian opened the golden-bound book of Wordsworth to a poem that had been bookmarked. She had underlined the first half, eight lines, from I Travelled Among Unknown Men.

Cassian put his pipe down as he read:

“I travelled among unknown men,

In lands beyond the sea;

Nor, England! did I know till then

What love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!

Nor will I quit thy shore

A second time; for still I seem

To love thee more and more.”

He unfolded the note, the note he had read countless times since finding the book within his bag. The note she had used as a bookmark. 

Dear Cassian,

I hope you find this soon. I know you only have Keats to read, and I thought you would like something else to help you pass the time. Wordsworth is one of my favorites. I think you will enjoy him.

Do not worry about me while you are away. I will be fine, I have Feyre to keep me company, as she also has to send away someone she cares for. But I will be worrying about you, every minute of every day. I fear for you, for what you will have to endure, for what you will have to see. 

But when you find yourself in despair, remember that I am thinking of you. Remember that I am at home, waiting for you to return. As Wordsworth reminds us in this poem, sometimes we do not realize how much we care for someone until they are taken from us. I have always known that I care for you, Cassian, but now, on the eve before you leave, my heart aches. The thought of you leaving me leaves a hollowness inside of me that I have never known.

(Even though you are snoring obnoxiously behind me. Try to control that. Surely the other men in your camp will poke fun at you for it.)

I assume you will wake again soon, and we will make love once more. When you are lonely, remember what it feels like to have my hands on your skin, to have my mouth against your own. I know that is what I will be thinking of when the loneliness consumes me. Of how it feels when you are inside of me, holding onto me as if I am far more precious than I am. 

I pushed you away. And because of that, we did not have enough time. So you must promise me, Cassian, every day, that you will come back to me.

Write to me.

Promise me.

Come back to me.

Nesta

Cassian folded up the note, and put it back in the book to mark the page. He had just put the book back into his bag as Rhysand grabbed a bucket from under his cot, and wretched. 

Cassian reached across the way and patted his friend on the back. “We’ll be there soon, Rhys. Almost there.”

He just didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

~~~~~

Feyre found Nesta in the library. She sat on the bench by the window, a book open on her lap, but her eyes were far away. As Feyre sat next to her, she realized her sister was staring out at the stables.

“Hey,” she said, quietly.

Nesta met her eyes but said nothing.

“We got a letter from Elain,” Feyre continued, and smiled. “She has news.”

She handed the letter to her sister, who read over it quickly. Her eyes were wide as she neared the end. She looked to Feyre, and laughed. “She’s with child?”

Feyre nodded, excitedly. “She’s with child.”

Nesta’s laughter faded and her eyes welled up with tears. She quickly looked away, back out the window.

Feyre leaned back against the glass, her hand resting on top of her eldest sister’s. She had given Nesta plenty of space, she knew how she operated. She had not said a word about Nesta’s goodbye to Cassian days before. They had eaten their meals together, but in silence. Otherwise, they had kept to themselves.

“Azriel had to go,” Nesta said, quietly. “Elain is now alone and with child.”

“She is strong,” Feyre said. “Stronger and far more brave than we ever gave her credit for.”

Nesta nodded her agreement. “It just is not fair, that is all.”

“I know,” Feyre agreed. “My husband left the day after we wed.”

Nesta nodded, eyes distant beyond the glass. “I am truly sorry.” 

“It is alright,” Feyre said, although she did not truly feel that way. Nesta knew it, too. “And what of you?”

“What of me?” Nesta breathed.

“Is it alright?”

Nesta met her sister’s gaze. They shared the same eyes, the eyes of their mother. “I have yet to decide.”

“Are you in love with him?” Feyre asked.

“He said he was in love with me,” Nesta whispered. 

“That does not answer my question,” Feyre said.

Nesta shook her head. “I could not say it back.”

“Because it is not true?”

“Because once you say it,” Nesta began, voice breaking, “it’s out there. And there is no taking it back. If I said it, and he dies in this bloody war….I could not say it.”

Feyre nodded. “I understand that.”

Nesta snorted. “How so? You married Rhysand the day before he left!”

Feyre sighed, not phased by Nesta’s rise in anger, by the emotion shining in her eyes. “Yes, I did. Because I wanted to be his wife. Even if he does not return, I will still be his wife. I will always be his wife. But, that does not mean that it does not scare me, Nesta. I gave my heart away, and he took it with him to the continent. The thought of my heart never coming back is terrifying.”

Nesta shook her head. 

“They will come back,” Feyre said. “Both of them.”

Nesta nodded, staring at their hands.

“Until then, I am here,” Feyre promised. “I will not go anywhere.”

“Nor will I,” Nesta said, jaw clenched. 

Feyre smiled, a comforting gesture that Nesta did not return. 

But she did not move her hand. Neither of them did.

~~~~~

Elain sat in an old armchair she had purchased from an elderly woman across the hall who no longer had any need for it, a black cat sitting on her lap.

She had found it, a stray, searching for scraps in town. Elain had immediately picked the underweight cat up, and taken him home. 

“Well, Knight,” she said, “we now have an armchair and a bed.”

She looked to the thin, rickety bed she had gotten after selling her jewels. Big enough for two, if they liked to cuddle. 

Which she and Azriel surely did.

Until his return, Knight would be curling up with her every night. For how many nights, she was not certain. 

She had written to her sisters, telling them she was with child. She knew they would be overjoyed. 

“Well, Knight, how shall we spend our evening?” she asked.

The cat meowed, softly.

“A lovely thought,” Elain agreed. “Perhaps we should read for a while, or go downstairs to the shop and talk to Miryam downstairs. She should be closing up soon.”

Miryam’s aunt owned the candy shop down below, but her aunt had grown ill so Miryam was running it for her. Elain and her had become quick friends. 

Knight did not respond. When Elain looked at her lap, his eyes were closed and he was breathing softly. 

With a laugh, Elain put her palm against her stomach. “Well, I suppose we will just stay in, then. The three of us.”

Elain closed her eyes and prayed to whoever was listening that Azriel arrived on the Continent safely. 

And she hoped that he knew that she was thinking about him, and that she loved him fiercely. 

Elain sat in the armchair in their quiet, little apartment, until she drifted into a deep sleep. 

~~~~~

It had taken Azriel a moment to steady his legs once stepping off the ship. He was not sure what time it was, but the sun was beginning to sink. He looked around. The continent did not look much different than home. 

Three ships had docked, and untrained soldiers were unloading. 

Azriel hadn’t gotten far when he heard his name being called. He quickly scanned the crowd until he saw Cassian and Rhysand, hurrying toward him, the latter pale and stumbling.

“I am glad to see you both,” Azriel said. He had just spent days alone in the middle of the ocean. “How was your journey?”

“Not bad,” Cassian said, as Rhysand doubled over and puked among the grass. “For me, at least. Rhys here gets seasick very easily, apparently.”

Rhysand stood up and wiped his mouth with his shirtsleeve. “Fuck.”

Azriel nodded, trying to rein in his smile. “Well, at least we are on land now.”

Rhysand groaned.

“We are meant to gather at the foot of the hill,” Cassian said, gesturing behind Azriel. “We will begin setting up camp, hopefully by the time it gets dark.”

Azriel sighed, hiking the strap of his bag up higher on his shoulder. “Shall we, then?”

Cassian clapped Rhysand on the back, who nearly fell over from the impact. “Do we have a choice?”

“Afraid not,” Azriel grumbled.

“I’m going to die before I even reach camp,” Rhysand mumbled.

Cassian met Azriel’s gaze with a grin. “I have also learned that Lord Rhysand is quite overdramatic.”

“Fuck you,” Rhysand crooned.

“Only if I get lonely enough, then I suppose you’ll do,” Cassian promised with a wink. Rhysand laughed and shook his head, pushing his hair back. “Until then, soldiers, we walk.”

Azriel nodded, keeping next to the others as they joined the line of men.

It had begun. 

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red@littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty  @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth @queenofillea1 @mynewdreamwasyou @levivlio @hellolenas @burritowithfeels @that-other-pineapple @girl-who-reads-the-books @raghad-50725@musicmaam @rowaelinforeverworld @negativenesta  @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit@sannelovesreading @nerdperson524 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nerdperson524 @mariamuses @gorl-power @booklover242 @rowaelinforeverworld @regular-nessian-trash @izou1204 @aelin-rowan-whitehorn @opheliatheemerald @eversincebeirut @musicmaam @ladybookwrm​ @santas-dwynwen​ @starryandbooks​ @candid-confetti​ 

[grumpyhedgehogs]

something old, something new

Summary:  Cody meets Luke. It stirs up mixed emotions. Cody also gets a mission; it's not any more straightforward. AO3. Part 4 of the “scraps” series. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5.

Warnings: Grief/mourning, anger, canonical character death.

Cody meets Obi-Wan’s last padawan on a rebel base after he’s just signed up for a covert mission onto the Death Star.

His limbs shake. His spine tingles; heat and chills flash alternately over his skin. Cody feels sick bubble up his throat but swallows it as best he can. His vision is blurry around the edges. He can’t quite believe what he’s agreed to. He’s been running from the Empire for months, picking off Imps at a distance for months, avoiding the void in space that is the Death Star for months. But the rebel commanders are right; Cody is the best person to go back in. He’s the best undercover operative they have on hand. He’s already familiar with trooper regs, and he’s used to filling out the armor. His face, while recognizable as Jango Fett’s copy, is not uncommon among Imps. Cody is the best choice. It still turns his stomach.

He wonders if this is how Obi-Wan felt before the Hardeen incident. General Windu had told Ponds offhandedly that Kenobi had asked to veto the mission but was overruled by the need to save Chancellor Palpatine, and Ponds had let Cody know too. Cody wishes they’d just let him die.

He’ll have to leave behind his armor. His own logo has spread, first to Rex's chest piece, then Ahsoka had carved it into her vambraces, then any clone the rebels rescued seem to have the lightsaber and 212th insignias overlapping on their armor somewhere. It makes it a little easier to strip off his own armor, knowing the symbol will still be upheld when Cody isn’t wearing it. It still feels like a betrayal.

“I’m sorry,” Cody whispers to any Jedi spirits who might still be listening. “I’m sorry. I keep failing you.”

“Who are you talking to?”

Cody doesn’t jump, but his hand is on his blaster when he turns. A man not much older than boyhood stands at the entrance to Cody’s bunk; it’s not odd to see strangers on the base, everyone moves in and out as needed, but most people don’t stop to chat. Especially not with Cody. He thinks they might not be used to seeing someone so old fighting with them.

“You ever knock?”

The kid’s face, round and tanned and youthful, falls a little. “There’s no door,” he mutters, petulant. Cody is reminded absurdly of General Skywalker at the beginning of the wars. He shakes it off.

“What’d you need?” He has to get to packing. Cody bends down and picks up the repurposed trooper armor he’d been given for the assignment. The stark, empty whiteness mocks him. He longs for his own armor; his own trooper stuff or his 212th outfit, it doesn’t matter. At least they’re his . This costume he must don belongs to a dead man.

“I just heard you talking and wanted to know if you needed to talk to someone.”

“You go looking for conversations with strangers often, kid?”

The kid shakes his head, blond hair flopping in his face as he does. There’s a strange, familiar little smile on his face as he says, “Sometimes I just get these feelings about things.”

The smile is what does it, it's so like Obi-Wan's. It hits Cody like a blaster bolt between the eyes. He wobbles on his feet and the kid takes a surprised step forward, ready to assist, but Cody holds up his hand and regains his balance. He still feels shaky, and he ends up lowering himself onto his bunk. It’s reminiscent of all those months ago when he made the decision to desert; reflexively, he reaches over and tugs the robe from where he’d folded it after removing it from his armor. Cody pulls it into his lap and tries not to look directly at the young man. “You--Kenobi saved you from the Death Star. You and the Alderaanian princess.”

“Wh--yes,” the kid says. “How did you know that?”

“I was there.”

Blue eyes dart to his discarded armor, to his weathered face, to the new stormtrooper armor he’ll have to wear. He can see the gears turning before the kid blurts out, “You deserted?”

That's one way to look at the chip deactivating. Cody nods. The blond grins widely. “That’s great! Gosh, I knew not all of the Empire could be evil.”

“Enough of it is.”

He seems to shrug this off as he steps further into the room. He sticks his hand out to Cody. “I’m glad to meet you. My name’s Luke Skywalker.”

It takes everything in Cody not to crush his hand in surprise. He lets go hastily. “Where’d you get a name like that?”

“Tatooine. I’m named after my father, but I never met him. If you--you knew Kenobi?” Cody nods, numb. “He was from Tatooine too. He trained me in the ways of the Jedi before we got to the Death Star.”

No he’s not , Cody wants to say. He’s from Coruscant. He’s Stewjoni but he doesn’t remember any of that place and he grew up in the Temple on Coruscant. His padawan was Anakin Skywalker. Who are you?

But it’s all clicking in his head the minute he thinks of these questions. Skywalker, the former slave. He used to avoid sand like the plague. He never talked about his home planet. Amidala had been pregnant. Obi-Wan disappeared, presumed dead by most of the Empire, for years.

What was the one place Skywalker would never return to on pain of death?

“Clever,” Cody mutters. He waves off Luke’s confused expression. Cody focuses, evaluating, and Luke shifts on his feet, ducks his head. He’s wearing the orange flight suit of the rebel pilots, but he’s too skinny and it’s baggy on him. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s going to follow in his father’s footsteps to the Dark side. “I knew Obi-Wan in the wars, before the Empire. He was my general and I was his commander.”

“Really? That's so wizard! Can you tell me more about him?” Luke asks eagerly. His intensity is a little overwhelming. Cody picks up the new armor and starts strapping it to his legs over his blacks. He can’t stand to put on the new chest piece before he has to.

“I’ve got a mission.” He cuts Luke off shortly. His head pounds, his heart pounds. Obi-Wan would say he’s being rude. He is being rude. “Sorry.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s okay.” Cody doesn’t look up. Luke sounds like the shinies used to, all nervous and fearful of rejection. The sound clamps tight around his lungs. “It’s just that he knew my father but he didn't talk a lot about him. I was hoping…”

Cody looks up then, and rage blazes through him. He remembers Vader’s saber slicing through someone beloved, he remembers the black cloud of misery and death sweeping away, he remembers those loathed hands curling around the hilt of a trusted weapon. He looks up and Cody is ready to scream, to fight, to sink his teeth in and hold on.

He meets guileless blue eyes and a slight, kind smile. It’s a smile he’s used to seeing on a dead face. Cody’s mouth shuts with a click.

(This child doesn’t know his father. This child barely knew Obi-Wan. Cody trusts Obi-Wan still, at least enough not to break this child’s trusting idealism. There’s a reason for everything Obi-Wan did.)

“I didn’t know Skywalker personally.” He mutters, looking away. When he catches Luke sagging out of the corner of his eye, guilt gnaws at Cody. He amends, “I only met him during missions. He was a good fighter. Obi-Wan cared a lot about him. They were--people called them The Team, they were so good together.”

“Wow,” Luke breathes. There’s a ruckus outside, a group of fellow pilots and soldiers rushing past, but he doesn’t waver from his study of Cody’s tight expression. “Thank you.”

“Obi-Wan raised you, then?” Any topic is better than Skywalker. He wishes Rex were here, but he and Ahsoka have to deal with some mess the rebels had made for them on the other side of the universe.

“Oh, no,” Luke laughs. He scrubs a hand across the back of his neck and Cody’s heart twists. “No, but he was around the whole time. I think maybe he was watching out for me, in memory of my father, you know.”

“Sounds like something Obi-Wan would do.”

A taller man in a vest swings into the open doorway and crosses his arms over his chest when he sees Luke. Squinting, Cody thinks maybe he remembers this man from the Death Star too. Small galaxy. “Luke. It’s time to go.”

“Sure thing, Han!” Luke waits until Han has left with a grumble before turning around and holding his hand out to Cody again. Cody rises and shakes it; his skin doesn’t burst into flames from touching a Skywalker a second time. “Thank you for your time. If you--if you ever want to talk some more about Obi-Wan…?”

“You know where to find me.” Cody offers and hopes the words don’t sound too wooden. Then, moving as if he is deep underwater, he pauses and turns back to his bunk. The edges of the robe are even more frayed now, and there's one corner with a hole in it. Cody begins to lift the scrap of cloth up, because he loves Obi-Wan, he does, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Obi-Wan would want a Skywalker taken care of. His whole being rejects the notion, grief and heartache and longing screaming at him to stop, yet Cody offers it anyway, words dry on his tongue. But Luke's eyes are wide, and he shakes his head mutely. Relief floods through him. When Cody drops the cloth back to the cot, Luke carries on like nothing has happened.

“You’re going undercover on the Death Star, right? That’s you?”

Cody nudges the new trooper bucket near his foot and grunts. “Scarif helped us get schematics of the place, but the command wants to make sure we’re not leaving anybody--or anything useful--behind. So they’re sending me in to make sure, minimize collateral damage.”

“That sounds like a dangerous job.”

“I’m used to it.”

Luke pauses for a long moment. He doesn’t look directly at Cody, his eyes far away. Suddenly the kid turns back, continence even brighter than it's been for the entire conversation. “Keep your own armor on,” he advises. Then, with a sly glace to the cloth bundle on Cody's cot, he adds, “And the poncho. I think it might help you soon. It certainly couldn't hurt, right?”

Cody nods, a little uncertain. Luke smiles again and wanders out. Pensive, Cody turns back to his bunk and spreads his fingers over the fabric of Obi-Wan’s robe, trails them over the insignia on his armor. “Another Skywalker, huh? You sure know how to pick ‘em, Obi-Wan.”

[dhwty-writes]

Chapter 2 - Facades, Family and Forgery

Chapter 2 already, wow! We are now 10k words in and there is no fucking way this story will be told in under 10 chapters. I guess more fun for you readers? This chapter is mostly me figuring out the different plot threads out. And to do the Jaskier has ADHD tag justice. The executive dysfunction is strong in that one. Also, I am still looking for a beta reader for this fic, if you’re interested.

Summary: Jaskier wakes up with two new additions to his household. Time to get the plan on tracks. 

part 1 | part 2 | part 4

Read on AO3

When Jaskier woke up the next morning he couldn't quite force himself to get out of bed. There were days like that, he knew. When the world outside of his pillows and blankets just wasn't interesting enough to lure him out of his heavy cocoon of warmth and bliss. Not that the world inside was any more interesting, but at least he didn't have to move to get there.

It wasn't as if there weren't enough things to do. Melitele have mercy, there was a whole fucking lot to do. There had been some complaints about taxes lately what with the war and a cow had died on the far end of Lettenhove and then there was the matter with Cirilla and Geralt and- ughhh.

He flopped over on his stomach. "It's too much," he complained into his pillow.

He supposed he really should get up, though. The matter of the lost princess half the continent was looking for in his house was somewhat time sensitive, after all.

Ah, there was the other problem. Not only had he woken up already bored, he had also woken up feeling guilty. He wasn't a cruel man; he didn't want anyone to suffer. Anyone but Geralt, and even him just a little bit. He was just angry and he didn't think he'd be able to trust him again for a long time and- great, his mind was getting side-tracked again.

What had he been thinking about before? He groaned again, trying to force his body to get up while he attempted to sort his thoughts that were hidden behind some mysterious fog in his mind. Not a muscle moved. He hated the fog days. He much preferred the days when his mind moved too fast for anyone to follow instead. Well, anyone but Geralt, that was. He had always been rather good at that and now that he was back it could be like that again, maybe. 'No!' he told himself determinately. 'I am still cross with him. I can't allow him to get under my skin that easily again.'

He started tapping out a rapid rhythm on his blanket. 'Oh good,' he thought. 'So, I can move. You know what would be great now? Getting out of bed.' He continued tapping his rhythm, the rest of his body still not moving.

Jaskier sighed heavily. What had he been thinking about? Cirilla, right. Truth be told he was glad, that she was here now. And that she was with Geralt. He didn't want any harm to come to her and there were... approximately two people and a dead horse on the entire continent he would trust her life with.

'Pity that Roach died before making it here,' he caught himself thinking. 'I think she would have liked it. Maybe I should get him a replacement? And the princess, too, they can't very well ride double all the time and I won't allow Geralt to make the poor girl walk the whole way. I know what that's like, I had to suffer through it long enough. I wonder if she likes flowers? She deserves a nice saddle. And nice clothes, too! Oh, maybe I can call a tailor. That would be a great opportunity to get Geralt into something resembling fashion, too. Maybe even a bit of colour? Oh, bad memories, that went totally sideways the last time we tried-'

"Fuck!" he cursed quietly. One moment he had been thinking about Roach and the next about Pavetta's betrothal - how had he even gotten there? And what had he been thinking about before that?

Right, two people and a dead horse. One of them had nearly died on Sodden Hill according to his intelligence and the other one was somewhere in Lettenhove Hall - preferably in his room next to Cirilla (of course he hadn't separated them, he was no complete monster). He should probably go talk to her soon. Welcome her, apologise for his harsh treatment of the day before, that sort of thing.

Ah, yes, like that he could put the cranky villagers off for a while. Slowly, he sat up. 'Finally.'

He still needed a plan. Jaskier groaned and dropped back down.

"Why did I do this?" he whined into the empty room. "It's always easier when I'm already sitting."

Well, now he wasn't sitting anymore. Great. And the idea of meeting the princess was not enticing enough to move him again. Great.

"I really need to get better at this..." He just laid there for a while, staring at the canopy above, following the same colourful threads with his eyes he had stared at a thousand times, bored out of his mind. Yet, every time he tried to pull a thought close it either vanished or actively tried to get away, to be replaced with the insufferable chorus of The Fishmonger's Daughter. 'Why on earth did I write such a despicable song?' he asked himself not for the first time.

His salvation came in form of a firm knock. "My lord?" the voice of Jakub, his manservant sounded muffled through the wood. "Are you up yet?"

"Almost!" Suddenly, it was very easy to jump out of bed and scurry over to the clothes laid out for him. "You, Jakub" he exclaimed excitedly when he entered with a tray of food, "are god-sent. You see, I just couldn't bring myself to get up and go about my day and the you appeared and now it is all very easy- Oh, are those raspberry tarts? I love those-"

"They are, my lord," he answered calmly and moved to lace up Jaskier's shirt, while the latter shoved little raspberry cakes into his mouth.

He could see his exasperation plain on his face when that didn't keep him from talking: "I couldn't even think right, I was thinking about Roach and the witcher and do you think the girl would like an embroidered saddle? I was thinking buttercups, though, no, that would be better for my next one. Can saddles be embroidered posthumously? No, that's not the right word, I seem to have forgotten it- Jakub, you are very silent today, is everything alright?"

"Quite, my lord. You are very talkative today. I wouldn't want to interrupt you."

"Right," his mind seemed to slow for just a moment. "I am sorry about that. It seems I am having one of those days."

The servant shook out the doublet and held it for him to slip into the sleeves. "Shall I inform the staff, my lord?"

"I think that would be reasonable. How are my dear sisters?"

"Very vocal about their displeasure to share a roof with a witcher, my lord." He buttoned up the last of Jaskier's doublet.

Jaskier frowned and popped the last two buttons open again. "Only Janina, I hope?"

"Indeed, my lord. She has also pronounced her plans to leave for Goldfurt immediately. They are already packing. Lady Józefa, on the other hand, appears quite smitten with... both of your guests."

He wrinkled his nose and ate the last of the raspberry tarts. "As I have feared. Stop the packing at once, no one is to leave Lettenhove unless I tell them to. Until further notice. Make time in my schedule for both of them." He halted and sat down to let Jakub put on his boots. "Actually, clear my whole schedule for the day." He sucked the last of the sour berry juice from his fingers. "But be sure to put the names of my sisters and my two guests on it. And think of solutions."

"Think of solutions, my lord?"

He shot him a confused look. "Did I say something else?"

"Not at all, my lord," Jaskier admired him for keeping a straight face. "I just wanted to make sure."

"Good." He looked around. It was obviously light in his rooms, so it couldn't be that early anymore. He only hoped he hadn't wasted half of his day. Again. "What time is it?"

"The sun has risen an hour ago and your witcher with it. He is stalking the halls in the guest wing and frightening the servants."

Jaskier frowned. "Send someone to tell him to stop. I won't have that."

"If I may be so frank, my lord?"

He waved his hand as a sign for him to continue.

"I fear you may be pressed to find some kind of occupation for him lest you want this to be a frequent occurrence. As long as he is meant to be in your service, I mean."

"I know. I am already thinking about it." He flashed him a bright smile. "That is exactly why you will put 'think of solutions' on the schedule. If he gets too restless before I find one, send him to the stables. He's good with horses."

"Shall I write down the issues you need to find them for, too?"

He smiled even brighter. "See? That is why you are in my service. You are very clever."

For a moment he thought, Jakub smiled, too. "Thank you, my lord." He surely had to be mistaken.

"Just do not put the names of my guests on it, if you please. Such a document would be very dangerous indeed."

He blinked. "I do not know the names of the witcher and the girl yet, my lord."

"Even better." He leaned back and folded his hands across his stomach. "Now go. I believe you've got a witcher to chastise."

Jakub looked very uneasy all of a sudden. "And the girl, my lord?"

Jaskier stood and straightened his doublet. "And the girl, indeed, Jakub. And the girl, indeed."

He made his way towards the door and was only stopped when Jakub said: "Your sword, my lord."

"Right!" He whirled around and took the offered weapon, tightening the belt. "I'm bad with new things, I'm sorry..."

"Always the same routine, Lord Julian," he said quietly and Jaskier half suspected that he wasn't supposed to hear that.

"Right," he answered cheerfully, "and I always forget." He was already out the door when he peeked his head back inside. "Don't forget the schedule," he reminded his manservant with a quick smile. "And the pacing witcher."

For the first time in a long while there was an odd little spring in his step when Jaskier walked. He even smiled at some of the servants, startling poor Marta that she dropped the pitcher of water she was carrying. When he apologised and bent to pick up the shards, she dropped the mop, too.

It was just his luck that that was the moment Józefa rushed along. "My darling sister," he jumped into her way, "how are you this morning?"

"I'm fine, Julek," she kissed him on the cheek lightly. "It seems you are, too."

"It seems, doesn't it?" He smiled at her. "Where are you going?"

She rolled her eyes. "What do you want?"

Jaskier gasped and clutched at his chest in mock hurt. "Why, can't a man not crave a simple conversation with his sister to wish her a good morning?"

"A different man, most certainly. You are not that kind of man. So?"

He smirked and batted his eyelashes at her. "Will you do me a favour?"

"Depends," she crossed her arms. "What's in it for me?"

"You get to spend more time with our lovely young guest, uh-"

"Fiona?" she supplied.

"Fiona! That's good! Show her around the castle, will you? The stables, the gardens, the library. Find out what she likes."

"I will. Will you tell me who she is in turn?"

Jaskier laughed. "Most certainly. A hundred different stories. Will you spread them for me?"

"I have already written Nadia and Irena about it; the word will be out in no time. You know they cannot keep their mouths shut. Will any of these stories be true?"

"Perhaps. Not a word about who she arrived with, I trust?"

She frowned. "What are you talking about? She arrived alone. The witcher isn't due to arrive until tomorrow."

"I do love you, Józia." He smiled and kissed her on the cheek, too. "Why have you never come to Oxenfurt? I am sure Dijkstra would be delighted to have you in his faculty."

"I would have. Alas, I think one runaway is enough for the family." She winked. "Off you go, brother, I'm sure you have a lot of things to do."

He groaned loudly. "Don't remind me..." Still he walked away, quickly bending out of the way of a servant. "See you at dinner," he called after her, "and keep Janina out of my hair for a few hours, will you?"

She laughed loudly. "I'll do my worst. Good day, my lord." And with that she had twirled around a corner and vanished.

Jaskier took his time to check upon the kitchens and the stables and his new horse, Pegasus. He was still small, hardly large enough to be ridden yet, but in a year or two he would make a very fine steed, he hoped. Not that he knew anything about horses but he trusted that he would be in good hands with his stablemaster Wiktor. He also informed the man that he could expect a very grumpy witcher to join him in the course of the day who he was advised to treat kindly.

"Why?" Wiktor asked distrustful. "Is he dangerous?"

Jaskier smiled brightly at that. "Not in the slightest. It is I who do not take kindly to insults made about my guests."

The old equerry shrugged. "As long as he's kind to the horses he won't find any trouble here."

"Good." He turned to leave. "Should there be trouble regardless, call for me if you will."

He grunted in reply. 'The two of them will get along very well,' he thought. He passed Cirilla and Józefa on his way inside and smiled and waved at them. When his sister signalled for him that Janina was nearby, he slipped away quickly.

When he shouldered the door to his study open, laden with an array of heavy tomes there was his schedule on his desk already. "Good man, Jakub," he muttered and began sorting through the books and sheets of parchments. Once satisfied he plopped down on his seat.

"Now, father," he murmured and pulled open the drawer of the desk, closely examining the writing utensils, "let's see what kind of semi-legal activities you were prepared for."

A fully developed plan had settled in his mind during the course of the morning. All that was needed now, was a tiny bit of forgery and they would be on their merry way. It should be done in no more than four hours - with some kind of allowance, he was a bit rusty after all.

He was just correcting the last few strokes on the fake latter he had written, when there were furious steps in the corridor. "Julian Alfred Pankratz!" The door flew open with a bang and nearly knocked an unspeakably ugly vase off its pedestal.

"Not the vase," Jaskier said emotionless, "Father loved it oh so much."

Janina ignored him completely as she stormed inside with swirling skirts. "What," she demanded and slammed her hands on his desk with just enough time for him to save his handiwork, "were you thinking?"

"Good day to you, too, dear sister," he said and blew the ink dry. "What has gotten into you?"

"You can't just order me to stay!"

He tapped the tip of his quill against his lip as if he were contemplating the issue. "In fact, I can." He pointed her quill at her. "I already have."

"I will not tolerate this! I refuse to live under the same roof as a mutant-"

He rolled his eyes as he tried to secure as many breakable objects on his desk as possible. "Here we go..."

"- who steals and eats children!" She grabbed a bar of seal wax and chucked it across the room. "I knew you were eccentric; I knew you travelled with one of them for two decades though I cannot fathom why, but bringing on here? Forcing me to share my home with him? A home you haven't even deigned to visit in the last quarter century? You are going too far, Julian!"

"Are you finished?"

"Finished?" she shouted. "I haven't even started yet!" Jaskier sighed and leaned his chin on his palm. That could take a while. He suffered through her tirade dispassionately, trying to flesh out the last details of his plan while she raged on and on and on. He had long learned to stop listening to her rants. Until- "And the child!"

He sighed. "What about her?"

"Who is she even-"

"None of your business."

"-one of your bastards? Did you bed a monster to need a witcher to bring her here?"

He stood abruptly. "Janina, you go too far."

"No, Julian, you went too far! Twenty years ago, when you just vanished! And then you just show up again and get the title."

"I didn't want it!" he shouted back. "I still don't want it! It was what father wanted, not me. Do not confuse your anger at him with your anger at me!"

"You still took it!"

"Take it back once I am a dead, for all I care. But as long as I am breathing, I am the Lord of Lettenhove, whether we like it or not. When I tell you, you do not leave, you do not leave. Get it together, Janina. I will not have you insult my guests any longer."

She narrowed her eyes to slits and leaned in close. "I hate you," she hissed in his ear. Then, she whirled around and stalked from the room.

"Well, you're not my favourite sister at the moment either!" he called after her, though his voice was drowned out by the bang the door shut with.

With a sigh he sat back down and pulled his letters out again. It was not his best work, he had to admit, though anything he forged these days could hardly compare to what he had done during his time in Oxenfurt. He had memorised the handwriting of all of his classmates perfectly and of quite a few professors and nobles, too. That had been one of the reasons why Dijkstra had recruited him in the first place. Well, that and that there were not many people who were as reliable as him when it came to spreading as well as listening to rumours.

He was just dispassionately drawing a scrawly sketch by young 'Fiona' - always a nice touch - when the door flew open again. "You frighten Ciri with your shouting," Geralt growled.

Jaskier was very glad that an angry witcher had long lost its effect on him. "You frighten my people with your pacing," he shot back.

Geralt snarled. "I have stopped."

"Good," he answered and turned back to his sketch, purposefully smudging the lines. No child ever drew without smudging the lines. When the witcher was still in the door a few moments later he looked up again. "I have stopped shouting, too."

"Just... don't do it again!"

"I'm sorry," he said slowly and put his pencil down. "What did you just say?"

That gave him the opportunity to see something truly marvellous happen: for a moment he saw a witcher - oh no, not just any witcher, but Geralt of Rivia - pale. "Nothing."

"Interesting sounds you make when you say nothing."

"I'm sorry. Is that what you want to hear?" Geralt's eyes darted around like a doe's before being shot. "Fuck, Jaskier, I can't read you anymore."

He allowed himself the tiniest of smiles. 'Good.' "I want another tone, witcher. You're forgetting who you're talking to. And I want you to never utter that name within these walls again."

"Jaskier?" He sounded confused. 'Poor man.' "It's your name, what else should I call you?"

"Oh? I thought I'd told you already. You may call me "my lord", here."

Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Jaskier could see how he was fighting with himself. "Forgive me, my lord," he said finally, "I did not mean to." He didn't clarify what he hadn't meant to but for the moment that was enough for Jaskier. "Is there anything else?"

"Come sit with me, witcher," Jaskier said and pointed to the chair opposite to him. "Time to tell you why you are here."

Begrudgingly he pushed away from the door and sat down across him. If he didn't know it any better, Jaskier could have sworn he was limping. "Why am I here then, my lord?"

He sighed and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach. "First things first: The girl you didn't arrive with is one my cousins."

"Cousin," Geralt deadpanned.

He waved his hand around. "Distant relative, I have a lot of them. You see, she normally lives with her family down in Verden but has recently been orphaned. And because I have such a soft heart, I have decided to take her in. I have visited my dear cousin Daniela not three years past and have become acquainted with the girl then. We have been in contact ever since I got here. Look, not three months ago Daniela even sent me a sketch Fiona had made!"

He held up the drawing he was working on and let Geralt scowl at it. "It's hideous."

He very nearly pouted. "Don't be mean, witcher. Cousin Fiona drew this!"

He sighed. "Fine. That's a good story but what if they discover you don't actually have a cousin named Fiona?"

"What do you mean? I actually do have a cousin Daniela in Verden! Well, did, she died in the cradle but that's the least of my problems." He turned the big tome he had been working on around. "Good thing Lettenhove uses the good parchment for the family records, eh? So easy to scratch one date off, replace it by another and add a new name. It's clear as day, witcher. The girl staying at my home is Fiona Nowak and no-one can doubt it. And we are all thrilled to have her here."

Geralt stared at the family tree and the letters in disbelief. "How did you..."

"I didn't attend Oxenfurt Academy for nothing, keep it up, witcher. Anyways, where was I?"

"You wanted to tell me what I am doing here."

"Why, you're just an old friend of mine, arriving tomorrow, by the way, enjoying my company and drowning your grief about your dead child surprise you never knew in my wine cellar while I comfort you with my ballads."

"Really?"

His expression grew serious once more. "No, witcher. My wine cellar is off limits. As are my ballads."

He nodded, looking over the letters again. "That is more than I hoped for, actually," Geralt confessed. "You do not have to keep us here. My lord."

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully. "I assume you had a destination with Cousin Fiona?"

He grunted.

"Words, witcher."

"Kaedwen."

He sighed. "And I assume it is not exactly near Montecalvo? Or Mirt? Or anywhere within a reasonable distance of here?"

"No, my lord."

"I didn't think so. So, your plan was to cross one mountain range travel through probably half of Kaedwen in what? One month before your wherever-you're-going becomes inaccessible due to the snow? The leaves start falling already. Normally you were nowhere to be seen by now."

Geralt blinked stupidly as if he was realising only now just how ridiculous that sounded.

"No, witcher, I think it is better for you to stay here for the winter and start out again come spring. So, you are not only staying a week. Which is why I need a good cover story to explain how my household has gained two new members."

He didn't reply to that for a while, just sat there and ducked his head. Then, very quietly: "Thank you, my lord."

"Do not thank me yet. Thank me once we have weathered this winter without being disturbed. I am a bit concerned about... some of the loyalties in my hose."

He snorted. "I noticed. It seems not all of your family are as inclined to my kind as you are."

"You'd do best to keep your ears to yourself here, witcher." Jaskier frowned. Of course, he should have thought of that before starting a screaming match with Janina. Well, he would have to remember for the future.

"I will. Though if you ever needed someone to talk to, my lord-"

"I will certainly not call upon you." That hurt. He could see it in Geralt's eyes. 'Not as much as the mountain, I bet.'

The witcher wrinkled his nose in disgust, grossed his arms and leaned back in his seat.

Jaskier did his best to turn back to the letters, he still had to age them after all, but his skin prickled under the intense stare of his former friend. "What?" he snapped after a short while.

Geralt raised an eyebrow in answer.

"There's something bothering you, I can sense it. Out with it. Now."

He sighed and leaned forward. "Where are all the people, my lord?"

"What people?" He scoffed. "I'm just a viscount, witcher. And although I might be famous for my life before returning to my rightful place, we do not entertain big courts. The biggest thing that happens here is the annual fair. Then people from my other two villages and a few in the area come here to get drunk and leave again a week later."

"You're still rich, though. I expected-"

"What?"

"- a bard, maybe?"

"Why would I be in need of a bard?"

"Some friends from Oxenfurt, then?"

"I appear to have lost them when I took to the Path for a quarter century."

"You have two other sisters-"

"Married."

"Nieces and nephews-"

"Too young."

"Cousins-!"

"Stop it!"

"You're evading my questions, bard."

"And you're overstepping your boundaries," he hissed. "I am no bard anymore. Back off, witcher!"

Something changed in Geralt's expression. A tiny part that had been soft, hardened once more. "Right..." he said quietly. "In that case, my lord, forgive me."

"Leave," Jaskier ordered icily.

"Jas- my lord-" Geralt started but he didn't even let him finish: "I don't care, I tell you to leave, you leave."

He got up with a quiet sigh. "Sure. Whatever my lord commands." The door still shut behind him with a bang.

“If all of you,” he shouted after him, “could stop abusing my poor doorframes, it would be greatly appreciated!”

The door opened again and Jakub peered inside. “Is something the matter, my lord?”

“No,” he huffed as he collected the letters. “Everything is going just peachy. Why wouldn’t it be with my witcher-hating sister – who also hates me by the way – a witcher, his- charge and everyone else in my household who dislikes me for some reason or another!”

He blinked, obviously overwhelmed with the burst of words of his lord. “My lord?”

He sighed and rubbed his temples. “Just forget it. Find out if the witcher's injured. Once you have an answer, come to me at once."

He bowed quickly. “Of course, my lord.”

And with that he brushed past him out of the study, armed with letters and family tree alike, looking for his sisters. The viscount had news to deliver.

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only For A Moment Epilogue

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin​

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: On a peaceful afternoon you reflect on the past couple of years while Bucky naps in your lap. 

Warnings: None

A/N: Wow. Weird. Somehow more weird than posting the last chapter... Endings are strange things y’all. Only For A Moment is over, like really really over. 

These two had an intense journey together throughout “Part One” and I’m really glad so many of you went on that ride with me. Now before we head into a new side of this story (and likely a new title) I thought it would be good to kind of post a little wrap up and something that can live with Part Two for those who maybe don’t want to read all of Part One and the drabbles.

As always, you’re all wonderful. 

(P.S. If you’re seeing this and want to read Only For A Moment, the Master lives both on my profile and linked in the admin profile above.)

TAGS ARE OPEN 

“Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he does the beauties of nature.”

The line from Frankenstein makes a lump rise in your throat. It feels like a lifetime ago that Mr. Goldstein quoted it to you in his cozy little bookshop in Bucharest. At the time it made you think of Bucky, the man whose depths you’d only skimmed. Now, a continent and a few years separated you both from the people you’d been as you stood in that shop. 

You hadn’t read Frankenstein since your time in Romania but when you saw a copy in a bookshop in Wakanda you knew you had to have it. As you devoured the words you could almost smell the shop, hear the gentle cadence of Mr. Goldstein’s voice, feel the soft fur of the shop cat Victor. 

It seemed wrong to feel homesick for Romania. Bucharest was supposed to be a stopgap, a place to lay low while you attempted to figure out what it meant to keep living your life after what Hydra had done.

There had been times there where you’d considered ending it, so tired of fighting and so unsure of what it was you were even fighting for. Your family - small and chosen and so precious to you - had been erased, any semblance of home destroyed. They’d even made you feel like a stranger in your own body, this body they honed to be their weapon. Hell, you could disassociate for days, just a ghost trapped in a shell she didn’t understand and didn’t want. It wasn’t like you were living so why go on? 

But you did. Some part of you unwilling to let them win, hearing your brother Nix’s voice in your head reminding you that giving up meant letting the bastards win. 

Then Bucky happened. A smile tugs at the edges of your mouth as you look away from the book pages to the lake sparkling in the later afternoon sun, remembering those early days. 

He’d recognized you from your time in Hydra, though he hadn’t remembered the details until you talked about your first encounter - he’d tried to save you, and he did get you out of the facility, though you’d been caught days later. When he sought you out you hadn’t trusted him but it took mear hours for you to see your own reflection in him. 

You were both broken, but in a way that only the other could truly understand. Bucky saw you, all sharp edges and shattered pieces, and didn’t flinch once.

It had been rough at times, each of you so terrified of what may come, of who may come, even of the people in the mirror. Still - despite nights punctuated with night terrors, days peppered with flashbacks, and moments of deep dissociation - you held tight to one another, weathering the storms as they came. It made you both stronger, together. 

So, without meaning to you built something of a life in Bucharest. Days spent training for unknown battles to come or helping in the bookshop nights together watching old movies and learning bit by bit how to be human beings again. 

For a time it had felt like enough. 

Losing Mr. Goldstein had been the beginning of the end of your time there though. You’d both been in one place for too long and without the old man’s grounding warmth… well, there was nothing left to tie you down. Together you laid out a plan to start again in Vienna, fresh identities, a clean slate, still on the run but this time together. You never got there though - Helmut Zemo made sure of that. 

A chill passes up your spine as you remember seeing Bucky’s face on the staticky TV at the laundromat, the terror that grabbed you as you watched SWAT descent on the home you’d shared. It had felt like the sky was falling.   

Even now you struggled to comprehend how everything that followed had only taken a little more than a week. You’d chased them across Europe to get to Bucky only to watch in horror as his worse nightmare came true - being brought back under someone’s control, being The Soldier again - and been unable to stop it. From there you’d fought the goddamn Avengers, had your chest clawed open by someone who was now your friend, been arrested, tortured, rescued. It was one hell of a week. 

The months that followed had hurt almost as much. You didn’t know where Bucky was, if he was truly safe, or what he was going to put himself through to make sure he wasn’t a threat to your safety ever again. Sometimes you thought you wanted to throttle him for leaving and others you knew you’d forgive him anything as long as you had him back. 

There had been a few silver linings to your time apart because, well, nothing made close friends like being international fugitives. 

After Steve, Natasha, and Hill sprung those who were interested from The Raft, yourself included, you’d laid low with what was left of The Avengers. They became your friends and, in Steve’s case, family. You trusted each of them, even Nick Fury, with your life and knew you’d give anything to protect them. 

Leaving them behind had been hard. Even though it meant being with Bucky, even though it meant safety, the temptation to say no to T’Challa’s offer to shelter in Wakanda was stronger than you’d ever admit to anyone other than Steve. 

At least Steve was able to visit here and there bringing updates and even letters from your wayward friends. 

Sam bitched about Steve’s antics, how he had to cook everything with you gone, and always asked after your wellbeing. Natasha entertained you with explicit tales of her international exploits, proving that few could say no to her - in another life you certainly wouldn’t have been able to. Wanda’s letters were filled with questions you knew she didn’t ask anyone else - about love and loss and being different from those around you, sometimes it was easy to forget she was still so young. 

A soft snore brings you back to the present. Bucky’s head rests on your thigh, sound asleep. The soft lapping of the lake, the humming of cicadas, the goats romping about - one munching on the remnants of your picnic - it was all so peaceful, this life you were building here. Gratitude didn’t even begin to cover how you felt. 

You missed Sam, Wanda, Nat, Steve, even Hill, and Fury deeply but you’d forged strong bonds here in Wakanda too. 

When you decided to stay you couldn’t have foreseen the sisterhood you shared with all of the Dora Milaje but especially Okoye. Without hesitation, she’d brought you into the fold, unfazed and, honestly, unimpressed with your ability. She trained you just as hard, if not harder than the rest of her soldiers - you had catching up to do after all - and made sure your training was varied so you were honing your power and your body at the same time. You’d come to not only respect her as a leader but to trust her deeply as a friend. 

Much to Bucky’s chagrin you and T’Challa loved to poke fun at the fact that you’d basically all tried to kill one another when you first met. He found it far less amusing than the two of you did, but if you didn’t laugh about it what else could you do. T’Challa was a strong king, though you’d argue he was an even better man. You were often in awe at his level of compassion and wisdom. 

Shuri, was honestly the most amazing human you’d ever encountered. You had to often remind yourself she was half your age, which wasn’t too hard when she brought up some new trend or artist you were completely unaware of - maybe you were getting old. Even if she tried to write it off, she’d given you Bucky back by doing what seemed impossible in removing the effects of decades of torture and conditioning. Then she went even further to help you understand your own inner workings in regards to your telekinetic abilities and the enhancements Hydra had forced on you. 

There were so many others too. Nakia, though often out in the field, had become a fast friend. T’Challa and Shuri’s mother Ramonda, with her gentle welcoming spirit - she and Bucky had actually formed quite a bond. Even, M’Baku most days, was someone you’d welcome to your dinner table - only when it was a meatless night that was. 

A grin makes your cheeks ache. 

You’d been trying to convince T’Challa to allow Steve and the others to visit for the last few weeks. Just imagining Okoye, Natasha, and Nakia together was enough to make you giddy with excitement. And while the world may not survive it, the thought of Sam and M’Baku bantering was enough to make a little laugh bubble from your chest. 

Bucky shifts in your lap a bit at the noise. Tenderly you pull a lock of this thick dark hair away from his face. Suddenly you’re overwhelmed by just how much you love this man with his gentle heart and easy smile. 

You’d endured a fraction of what he had and it was almost enough to destroy you. But James Barnes was made of far stronger stuff than most. Nothing they did had truly broken him, you suspected there was nothing in this world that could. 

Tears sting your eyes. 

“Doll?” Bucky’s soft voice almost startles you. Looking down into his grey-blue eyes, you force yourself to swallow more tears. “Sweetheart, what is it?” His fingers, calloused but so very gentle, wipe a tear from your cheek. 

“Just happy,” you say with a shaky voice. 

It was more than that. This was the happiest you had ever been in your life. For the first time, you looked toward the future with hope and excitement without the looming shadows of fear and uncertainty threatening. 

Maybe you’d grow old on this little farm, Bucky caring for the goats and helping out others in the area, you working with the Dora Milaje maybe finding some new passion to pursue. Or maybe you’d move into the city, convince Bucky to take classes, maybe in literature or creative writing. Maybe a little of both. 

Maybe you could figure out a way for Steve and the others to be granted refuge in Wakanda as well. The idea makes you dream of Friendsgiving meals, potluck Sundays, and movie nights. 

“I’m glad, baby,” he says with a sweet smile. 

[fromkaermorhentolettenhove]

The Eternity of Bliss - Chapter 2

Previous - Next

Chapter Summary: Happenstances and the process of becoming flatmates

Chapter Rating: G

Words: 2124

-

AO3

or

A few days passed with seldom a word from Headquarters. 

All Geralt and Jaskier could do was wait, but Jaskier was quickly getting bored. On occasion, he’d pull back the curtains and Trace the area, hoping for some magical trails to appear but either there was nothing to be seen or Geralt snapped the curtains shut in his face. 

“The curtains are part of our protection,” he reminded Jaskier. “Keep them open too long and anything could detect us.”

Jaskier glared at him, the blue flames from his eyes flaring momentarily. Geralt only grunted in return, casting another sigil on the curtain before he went back to his paperwork. Knowing better than to fight his host, Jaskier went to his bedroom, once again scanning the bookshelf for anything enjoyable to read. 

It seemed that the room Geralt had given to Jaskier was more storage than a place to sleep. Jaskier had climbed over dozens of boxes to get to his bed the first night, greeted by a cloud of dust when he sat down on the mattress. With a few waves of his hand, Jaskier had made the room liveable again and he did his best to not invade Geralt’s privacy, despite his curiosity to dig through everything.

Grabbing a bestiary and a collection of fairy tales from the bookshelf, Jaskier went back to the living room, settling on the couch. 

The shuffling of papers and the occasional scratching of Geralt’s fountain pen relaxed Jaskier as he opened up one of the books, noting the worn pages, the small notes scribbled in the margins. Geralt was as studious as he was skilled with his weapons and Jaskier found himself admiring the man, the little things he noticed about the creatures of their world, the biology that fascinated him. Jaskier was soon lost in the pages, somehow learning something new each time despite seeing these creatures all his life. 

Time didn’t exist as the two men adjusted in the shared space, the silence that had started out awkward now having turned into something comfortable. Once in a while, Jaskier would look up at Geralt only to find the man already looking at him and the two would immediately turn their attention back to their studies. Jaskier smiled to himself, if only because it was rather amusing. The stoic Geralt unable to look him in the eye. 

It was then that there was the sound of crackling and Jaskier whipped his head up, rushing to find his notebook. Geralt dug into his coat pockets as well, urgency and excitement filling the room. There was a message from Triss, a hastily written Meeting at noon on the page. 

The two men looked up at each other and then pulled out their pocket watches, noting the time. 

“I’ll portal us there,” Geralt said as he put his watch away. 

Jaskier nodded his understanding before grabbing his and Geralt’s coats and hats from the stand. Once the two were bundled up, Geralt led them out of the flat and down the street before he cast a portal spell. 

Once again, Jaskier was overcome by nausea and he grasped onto the alley wall for balance as Geralt used his magic on the familiar broken door. 

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Jaskier was feeling much better despite the people that crowded the way to the stairs. All kinds had been called in from elves to druids and Jaskier could barely keep track of Geralt as he led them to the meeting hall. 

The circular room they entered had benches ascending from the center where a podium sat, a stained glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Each level of benches was higher than the one before it, the last set nearly touching the trim that lined where the walls met the top of the room. Jaskier followed Geralt to a spot right in the middle, the two of them some of the first to be seated.

Eventually, others began to trickle in, some Jaskier recognized, a few unfamiliar faces only looking in his direction to give a nod to Geralt. Jaskier figured he’d have to ask Geralt about his relations later, more in awe over how many people he had never come across in his time of being a Tracer. Every seat was filled, indiscernible chatter filling the space around them as they waited for the meeting to start. Jaskier thought to small talk with Geralt but with the stern stare on Geralt’s face, Jaskier stayed quiet. 

Yennefer of Vengerberg entered the room then and silence was immediate. Jaskier held his breath, anticipation rising as she observed everyone with a sharp stare. Her gaze stayed on him and Geralt a beat too long, but Jaskier didn’t dare look at Geralt and risk breaking the stillness. 

Yennefer took her spot in the center of the room, Triss trailing in shortly after, and cleared her throat to get the attention that was already on her. 

“Something from our realm is releasing creatures into the non-magical world,” her voice echoed. “Perhaps as a distraction, perhaps something beyond all of us. All we can do now is take care of the creatures and hope we find out who or what is doing this.”

The room was filled with low murmurs. Jaskier spared a glance towards Geralt, whose face was unreadable as ever. 

“If you have a partner already you will stay with them and we will assign you sectors,” Triss spoke up then. “Otherwise, please come to us if you are by yourself once the meeting is through.”

A cacophonous mixture overtook the room then and it took Yennefer casting a spell on herself before booming, “NEXT ORDER OF BUSINESS,” to quiet everyone down. 

Jaskier had somehow kept his composure through all of this, forcing down the smile that wanted so desperately to spread on his face. Despite the imminent threat, Jaskier was happy to still be assigned with Geralt. He barely listened to what Yennefer said next, just usual updates, complaints, and the like. 

When at last the meeting was over, many rushed out of the room, but Geralt didn’t and so then, neither did Jaskier. Instead, he watched as Geralt and Yennefer stared at each other, as if communicating telepathically. Jaskier shifted, wanting to know what the two were up to, as well as curious to just how much history Geralt and Yennefer had. While he was one to gossip, he never heard about Geralt’s relationships. Maybe he had just ignored it because of his admiration for the man or he was lucky to avoid such drama. Whatever it was, Jaskier was stuck in his own thoughts until Geralt suddenly got to his feet. 

Scrambling after him, Jaskier spared a look back at the center of the room to see Yennefer give him a singular nod. Any reasonable response was gone from Jaskier’s mind and he caught up with Geralt until they were out of the building and back into the dirty alley. 

“You know Yennefer well?” Jaskier asked, his curiosity getting the best of him.

Geralt nodded. “Triss too. I had been with them at one time or another.”

“Oh...with them as in…?”

The look on Geralt’s face said it all and Jaskier knew not to press any further. He tucked his hands in his pockets, glancing at Geralt every so often as they walked to an unknown destination. 

“We’re not going home?” 

“Thought we could get some food,” Geralt said off-handedly. “Since we may be stuck inside for some time.”

Jaskier hadn’t even thought of that. He continued to follow Geralt into a small market and helped the man pick out vegetables and fruits. 

“Could we get some strawberries?” Jaskier came to a halt, beckoned by the ruby red of the fruits.

“Get what you want, I don’t mind.”

With a delighted grin, Jaskier was soon indulging himself in anything that caught his eye. Of course, he made sure to check with Geralt, to make sure he wasn’t overspending, but Geralt didn’t seem to mind. He paid for the items without question and soon the two were portaling back to Geralt’s safehouse. 

Once they were in the flat, Geralt’s magic was quick to put the food away, graciously taking coats and hats as well before Jaskier flopped down on the couch. 

“What do you think about this whole mess?”

“Not sure yet,” Geralt admitted. “I want to say we can handle it, but something tells me it won’t be so easy.”

“What was the worst you had to deal with on the continent?”

Jaskier knew the stories of Geralt by heart, but now that he had the man here in front of him, he could find out the overlooked details.

“Depends on what you consider the worst,” Geralt shrugged. “A dragon is no easy feat but then, I’d rather not have to deal with a dozen drowners all at once again.”

Jaskier winced at this. He had his fair run-in with creatures of all sorts, but his assigned Hunter took care of them. Once he was no longer needed, Jaskier was allowed to leave, to get out of harm’s way. He wasn’t sure what use he’d be if he were to switch places with Geralt. 

“What about you?” Geralt shook Jaskier from his thoughts. “What kinds of things do you do back home?”

“Oh, uh,” Jaskier blushed a little. “Nothing grandiose like you. I study academics, play music. I’m just nothing more than a humble bard.”

“No shame in that. The world would be dull without the arts.”

Jaskier hadn’t expected such a compliment from Geralt. It repeated itself at the back of his mind until a giddy smile spread on Jaskier’s face.

“That’s true. If only others thought the same as you. Perhaps I would’ve been happy without becoming a Tracer.”

“Were you forced into it?” Geralt frowned.

“Oh, heavens no. I do like our work, but there are days when I just want to sit in a meadow, doing nothing but writing songs, playing my lute.”

Geralt nodded, a small smile gracing his face. “Back home, I have a horse. Roach is her name. We traveled all around the continent together. I promised her that once my days of working are over, we could retire on a small farm.”

“Geralt of Rivia on a farm?” Jaskier couldn’t help tease. “Now there’s a song. I shall have to write that down.”

There was a small laugh then before Geralt disappeared into the kitchen. While Jaskier was quite relaxed on the couch, he couldn’t help but want to follow Geralt and so he did, sitting down at the small table and watching Geralt conjure up different spells in the kitchen. 

“What age did your color show?” Jaskier watched the golden wisps scatter throughout the cupboards. 

“Hm. I think I was six.”

“That young?” Jaskier gaped. “Goodness, I feel silly now. Mine didn’t show up until I was thirteen.”

“They pushed magic on me from an early age,” Geralt leaned against the counter and faced Jaskier. “If I hadn’t gotten my color then, I don’t think I ever would have.”

Jaskier rolled this thought around his head, wondering how rough Geralt’s childhood must have been. He himself had been lucky. While magic was important in his family, he had been given time to work his spells. With a flick of his hand, a small blue butterfly appeared on Jaskier’s hand and he sent it over to Geralt with a small puff. 

Geralt caught it in his hands, cradling the magic as he created a golden flower for it to sit on. 

“Oh, glad that worked! Most people just wave it away until it becomes dust.”

Jaskier blushed at his sudden honesty. For some reason, it was easy to be himself around Geralt, to open up like he never had before. 

“They don’t know what they’re missing then.”

Glancing up, Jaskier watched as Geralt created a small magical bush on the counter for the butterfly to nest in. While the magic would fade in a few hours, it was a picture to behold and Jaskier couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

The conversation then remained light as Geralt prepared dinner for them both, a simple meal of vegetables and meat, but delicious all the same. It reminded Jaskier of a meal he once had while traveling back home and he relished in the warm memory. 

Again, he and Geralt fell into comfortable silence and Jaskier found himself not minding in the slightest. It was good to have companionship such as this and after the meal, Jaskeir was reluctant to go to his bedroom. He wanted to spend more time with Geralt but eventually exhaustion took over and Jaskier finally crawled into bed.

[docholligay]

False Reality

This is a really old fic, that Rachelle commissioned. It’s silly and goofy and fun, and I think everyone would love that right now! 2,500 words. 

Want to support my releases? Thank you! Patreon –  Ko-fi

Michiru sighed heavily and folded the map. “Rei, I don’t believe you have the slightest idea where you are going.”

Rei knit her eyebrows in annoyance. That Michiru was entirely right was beside the point--Rei did not appreciate the show of bad faith.

“How is there no cell service?” Rei looked at her phone, as if staring at it one last time would somehow magically make a cell tower appear.

This hadn’t been Rei’s idea, she would remind Michiru, once they’d had a chance to settle in at the hotel. Michiru’s family was the one with the membership to the ski resort, a place Rei had never even heard of, which made sense, seeing as it was on another continent and the memberships were invitation only, and tens of thousands of dollars a year besides. And Michiru was the one who had said they could simply drive, when the private airports nearby had been full.

Yes, this was certainly Michiru’s fault, and not Rei’s, no matter how many turns she had taken down side dirt roads into nowhere.

“I imagine there is no service due to a lack of cell towers.” Michiru looked out the window at the snowy plain, falling away into the distance as the car climbed. “Haruka will be worried.”

“Oh, who cares about Haruka, we’re going to freeze to death.” Rei kept driving, stubbornly, as if driving deeper into the dark would make something appear.

“A more peaceful end than I ever believed might have been possible for us.” Michiru looked at her watch.

And then, the miracle appeared. Rei rounded yet another corner, and there was a light. It was small, a yellow haze against the darkness, at the corner where a road led off the main path. The road was barely illuminated, but one barely squinted,

“See?” Rei gestured proudly, as if she had called it into being. “We’ll ask these people. It’s late, they'll probably let us stay the night.”

Michiru looked at the humming light, unimpressed. “Rei, you’ve just promised me I was going to freeze to death, if you swap it out for an axe murder I shan’t be pleased.”

“I don’t know why I try to talk to you when you’re always so morbid.” Rei rolled her eyes and jerked the steering wheel to the side, venturing down the dark road.

___

It was the sort of place that Michiru generally avoided, for a constellation of reasons particular to herself, but namely her aversion to being murdered in a common way. Rei ignored these protestations, however, and so she chose to simply stop offering them, as Rei trudged up the snowy stairs to the door.

She rapped hard, the response of the wood echoing into the cold night sky, and Michiru could not help but have her attention drawn upwards, following the curl of her breath on the air, staring into the jewelry-store case above her, fates twinkling with each facet of an individual life.

The door swung open, and there was a small redhead in a delicate pink dress, a glass of whiskey in her hand. A TV show boomed from the living room, pressing out into the night.

She looked in her glass, and then back at Michiru and Rei, and then back into her glass, and then back up at the girls once more.

A deep, loud woman’s voice came from the living room. “What the hell, Holligay?”

“I need to stop drinking.” The redhead turned called back into the living room. “Did you dose me with something?”

Michiru stepped forward and extended a hand. “My name is Michiru--”

“Kaioh.” She finished Michiru’s sentence. “I know.”

Michiru and Rei exchanged glances--Michiru’s family was very well known, so it wasn’t as if these things never happened, but out here, in the middle of the wild, it seemed odd. Another redhead, clad in a t-shirt with a bright yellow chicken on it, walked into the entryway.

The four of them all stared at each other for a moment.

She broke the silence, her eyes whirling like the chicken on her chest. “What.”

“Oh good,” the smaller redhead put her hand on her hip and took a swig from her glass, “we’re both hallucinating.” She extended a hand. “Doc.”

Michiru shook her hand firmly. “We seem to find ourselves lost, and in need of a place to bed down for the night. It would appear you’re some sort of...inn, I suppose?”

“Yeah, it’s a tax dodge.” Doc tucked her hair behind her ear, “But we’ve got rooms.”

Rei grabbed Michiru by the shoulder and hissed into her ear. “Why is that one staring at me?”

The woman stood there, hands clasped together, whimpering softly, eyes wide with reverence and wonder.

“Oh don’t mind her,” Doc waved and took a quilt out of the closet. “That’s Jet.” Doc turned to face them and sighed. “So...upstairs we have rooms, I guess. For you to sleep in. Since you’re definitely not hallucinations.”

Jet suddenly found her capacity for speech, and it was in scolding Doc. “Holligay, don't be rude.” She picked up pillows. “You can totally stay here. Why don’t you have a seat at, uh, the table?”

Doc nodded. “Yeah, sure, good as any place.” She ran up the stairs in her normal fashion, without pause or consideration, blankets in hand.

Michiru regarded Jet carefully, and then, perhaps against her own better judgement, took a seat at the table, Rei following her, though she was careful always to keep her eyes at every entrance and exit.

“Sooooo,” Jet drummed her fingers against the table, “How did you...get here?”

“We drove.” Rei looked at her skeptically. “What else are we supposed to do?”

“I mean…”

Doc skipped back down the stairs and landed on the hardwood floor with a satisfying thump, still staring at the women at the opposite end of the table.

Michiru cocked her head, studying them. “Is it truly so incredibly odd that someone might lose their way in this part of the country? I can’t imagine we have been the first, nor that we shall be the last.”

Jet and Doc looked at each other uneasily, and Doc raised her eyebrows at Jet, shrugging at her aggressively. Jet looked back over at the two girls in front of her, so much more fully realized than she ever thought they could be.

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Jet shifted in her chair, “But I think we’re… I mean you can't…”

Doc took another slug of whiskey, “You’re not real.”

“Holligay.” Jet looked over at her, scolding.

“What? They aren’t.”  

“Oh, well then, more fool me, sitting here on this realm of existence.” Michiru put a hand to her cheek, feigning boredom.

“Well, I mean, if you want to be that way about it.” Doc walked over to a lawyer’s bookcase and lifted the lid, pulling out a DVD and setting it between them. “Behold! You’re gonna need a drink.” She walked into the kitchen, leaving them sitting with a Jet, who had been, briefly, wondering how to bring this up with tact, forgetting that the word itself had little meaning with regards to Doc’s general demeanor. Tact, she con

Michiru studied the DVD case carefully, trying to make sense of the information in front of her. Rei simply grabbed the case out of her hands and scowled.

“I don’t look like that.” She snapped at the case.

Michiru took it back from her. “Rei Hino, Sailor Mars, you’re correct Rei, this couldn’t possibly be you.”

“WELL IT’S NOT!” Rei crossed her arms and slumped back in the chair grumpily.

Michiru sat back in her chair, eyes drifting thoughtfully about the room, never quite landing on anything “Let us say,” she rubbed her finger and thumb together, “That I believe you--”

“Michiru.” Rei looked over at her incredulously.

“I’m simply entertaining an idea, Rei. We are princesses of somehow the both the past and future, tasked with an impossible mission and elemental powers, the time for my mind to live only in the common and explicable is long past,” she looked over to Jet, “ Let us say that. What sort of,” she waved her hand thoughtfully, “enlightenment might you be able to offer?”

“I mean, you die, so.” Doc came back into the room and set the glass of wine in from of Michiru.

“We die??” Rei was enraged at the mere suggestion that she might do anything but win the day, effortlessly.

Jet tried to rush in with a reassurance about Doc leaving out the very important fact of Rei Hino’s resurrection, which was a very Holligay thing to do, and rude besides, but Michiru stepped in before she could begin.

“Why, of course we do,” Michiru took a sip of Doc’s wine, and then looked at the glass, judgment in her eyes, and set it down on the table firmly. “The folly is more yours for imagining that we are meant to do anything else, Rei.”

“Okay, but Usagi--”

“Anything worth having must be paid for in blood.” She said simply, folding her hands in her lap.

Doc’s eyes were wide and sparkling. “I love you.”

Rei crossed her arms and grumbled. “Well maybe YOU die.”

The awkwardness sat between them all as Rei continued to glare at the DVD case, as if she were trying to set it on fire with her mind and might succeed.

“Michiru, judge Holligay’s food next!” Jet practically leapt across the table with excitement. She noticed Doc scowling at her. “What? It’s cooking. You like cooking. I’m HELPING.”

“‘Helping’,” Doc said pointedly. “You're as useless as tits on a boar hog.”

“You’re welcome!” Jet gave her a grin and Doc sighed, pushing herself away from the table. “Fine enough, I spose.” Her mind raced as she tried to imagine what she could possibly have in the freezer and pantry that might fit the bill.

She was drawing up a quick pastry crust when Jet walked into the kitchen, and leaned against the counter. “So how do we--”

“We don’t. This may shock you,” She put a floured covered hand on her hip and looked over at Jet, “But I don’t precisely have any kinda life experience to draw on, for this. You know everything I know.” She looked back to her pastry crust. “For once.” She fluted in the edge and moved back to the stove, pouring milk into a roux.

“What’s that?” She looked into the pan over Doc’s shoulder.

“It’ll be chicken pot pie. Or,” she looked up, trying to draw something classy out of the air, “poulet en croute, avec les carottes et du brocoli.  Or something.” She cracked some pepper into the pot.

“Okay enough with the French!”

“This is the first time I’ve used it.”

“Too many times, Holligay.”

“Will you go be entertaining!” She scolded Jet. “To our...weird hallucinatory guests.”

Jet walked out of the kitchen, huffing, and grabbed a bottle of rum as she went. She poured a tipple into a glass of coke, and looked up at Rei.

“Sooooo, why don’t you tell me about your friends?” She sat down across and offered the bottle of Bacardi silver.

Michiru raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Rei, on the other hand, leaned forward explosively. “Why do you want to know? Are you a member of the Dark Kingdom? Well, I won’t tell you anything, Usagi may be a big crybaby but I--WE, HAVE TO PROTECT HER.”

“Stealth at its most satisfying.” Michiru glanced over at the offending wine once more.

“Yes tell me all about Usagi and how you have to protect Usagi I want to know everything do not leave ANYTHING out.” She folded her hands underneath her chin and grinned.

Rei opened her mouth, and Doc called from the kitchen. “In a technical sense, we already know, so!”

There is a certain quality of awkwardness that takes over a room when it is a assured that ne party has the upper hand. In normal times, one would assume it was the reincarnated beings of incredible power, but in this particular case, it seemed to be two women with a DVD.

Over a meal Michiru kindly described as ‘rustic,’ a difficult situation began to unfold in the two’s minds. When you dream of someone being real, you never consider the fullness of them, and you especially never imagine that what they actually think might be different from what you imagined. Jet found herself wanting to correct Rei in things she said and ways she moved, because that couldn’t possibly be right.

She looked over at Doc, who seemed to be having the same thought, that people are never as you imagine them to be, and the longer you had considered it, it seemed, the more you had created them entirely in your own mind, in all the small ways that it is to be human.

To consider them, and to consider how they thought of the other people in their lives: Doc and Michiru discussing the nature of their romantic relationships, Jet and Rei discussing the exact nature of the Inner Senshi’s friendship, and how it worked, or didn’t at times.

As is often the case, they came away with a mix of happiness and disappointment.

“I suppose, then, we ought to be off to bed.” Michiru glanced toward the stairs. “It is late, after all, and I believe we have all had an odd enough evening to last us for some time.”

Rei grabbed the DVD case one more time, as if she could will it to be something, but tossed it back onto the table.

Doc and Jet just looked at each other, saying nothing. What could be said?

___

When she rose, the sun had been up for several hours, even in the dead of winter, and she thumped her way down the stairs, to where Doc sat on the couch, drinking a cup of coffee, reading a book as if nothing had ever happened unusually in her entire life.

“Mornin’ sunshine.”

Jet paid her no mind, shuffling off toward the kitchen where a kettle of hot water waited, that Doc would claim later was almost certainly for something else, and not for Jet’s tea. She poured the water into her cup and stirred thoughtfully, adding entirely too much sugar. It was, on the whole, unlikely that BOTH she and Doc were hallucinating, particularly since it wasn’t the time of year for her to forage unknown items out of the forest, with a simple ‘eat it’ as identification.

She walked back into the living room and stood in front of Doc. “So last night, then?”

“Is a pact we take to the grave.” She looked over at Jet, setting down her book.“Unless you want to explain to Mike how two people from a 90s anime showed up here, stayed the night, and no Mike, I don’t need it to be seen, really, it happened.”

“I took a picture!” She dug her phone out of her jeans, and it shifted just slightly, jumping out of her hands and into Doc’s coffee, fizzling as if in celebration of a final fuck-you to Jet.

“WELP.”

“Yeah no, this is between us, then.”  

[v-thinks-on]

The Final Problem

Part 7 of The Man Who Sold the World

First | Previous

“If she fancies herself Moriarty, she may be inclined to share his fate,” Holmes remarked without preamble.

Watson glanced up from the book he was reading. It took a moment for him to register what Holmes had said and another to realize what Holmes was suggesting. As the gears finally slid into place he said, “No.” Just in case Holmes had not heard it the first time, he repeated, “No. I never went back there and we’re not doing it now.”

When Holmes replied, he spoke cautiously, “I confess I wasn’t thinking about your feelings on the matter, and for my thoughtlessness I sincerely apologize. However, I fear it may be the only way to put an end to these crimes once and for all, or at least the best that I can think of. We can’t just sit by and wait as more people are killed until she chances to make some fatal mistake. You know as well as I that we have no further leads; Barker has said all he knows, and Ivy Douglas remains missing. And it’s nearly a sure bet. She has even given the name Moriarty; I cannot believe she expects it to end any other way.”

Watson interrupted, unable to contain himself any longer, “It’s too much of a risk.”

“I survived once, didn’t I?” Holmes attempted with a crooked smile. “If I could face Moriarty and come out on top, surely we can best this imitator.”

Watson shook his head. “I’m sorry Holmes, I can’t let you do it again. If anyone goes, it will be me alone.”

“No!” Holmes even seemed to surprise himself with the outburst. His expression softened. “It seems you’re not the only one who has been a little lonely these past hundred years. I can promise I won’t take a single step without you beside me.”

Watson hesitated, but at last he said, “No. There has to be another way.”

“Perhaps,” Holmes admitted. “You’re right that were our places reversed, it’s not a risk I’d care to take.”

Several days passed without a case or even a client knocking on their door.

“You’re certain it would work?” Watson asked, breaking the contemplative silence.

It was Holmes’s turn to glance up from the day’s paper, but it did not take long for him to gather his thoughts. “You have seen how closely she has kept to your accounts of my cases-”

“But not close enough to get caught,” Watson reminded him. “Somehow, her allies manage to disappear in time.”

“That’s why the risk is a necessary one. We already have enough evidence against her. With her taste for the dramatic, she couldn’t possibly resist the opportunity to bring us down once and for all in a final confrontation between the great detective, Sherlock Holmes, and the criminal mastermind, Professor Moriarty.” Holmes’s eyes shone with the thrill of the chase and Watson felt his heart begin to race in anticipation.

“But it isn’t the same,” Watson said, dragging them both back down to Earth.

Holmes stared at him for a moment before he finally relented, “No, you’re right, it isn’t.”

“We can’t repeat the past and I have no desire to.” Watson could not quite keep the edge of emotion out of his voice. “Even if you were to face Moriarty again, we don’t know if you would be so fortunate, and this isn’t Moriarty that we’re facing. We’re not the only ones with the benefit of hindsight, and we don’t know what she’ll do with it.”

“Now, now,” Holmes began with condescending dismay, but stopped himself short. “I mean to say that we do have some inkling of how she will behave - we have not gleaned nothing from all of the crimes she has orchestrated. She prefers to remain as close to the crime she is imitating as possible, even down to the language, as you have said, and only allows her subordinates to escape when the culprit could have done so. In the latest instance, she even allowed the crime to develop naturally when it would have been easier and more certain to murder her target and bring the body to the scene. With all that, I have little doubt that she will follow us to Reichenbach and bring a single sniper - Mrs. Ivy Douglas, if I’m not mistaken - who will not act unless absolutely necessary.”

“But say we do run to the continent and mirror our old steps,” Watson insisted, “it’ll be an obvious trap.”

“All it will tell her is that we are prepared for a confrontation, which we are. Her chance is as good as ours, and we all know it.”

Watson’s eyes narrowed in distaste. “I don’t like it. It is a good opportunity, but not with those odds. We’ll need backup and plenty of it.”

“Now, that will certainly make her suspicious,” Holmes protested.

“Do you believe we could truly make an arrest on that narrow precipice? Any struggle is more likely than not to throw us all into the spray. Just because it didn’t happen once doesn’t mean it will go your way again. And the officials are capable of subtlety from time to time.”

Holmes considered it. At last he answered a tad reluctantly, “Very well.”

“Then I will call Inspector Houghton,” Watson said, not entirely sure about it himself, but still, he stood and picked up the phone.

When every detail had been planned and all the pieces were in place, at last Holmes and Watson set their plan in motion.

The doctor walked up to the front desk of a quiet hotel. “Reservation for Holmes.”

The man behind the desk clicked around on his computer for a moment and gave him some papers to sign before finally handing over an electronic key that looked more like an ID or credit card. Watson thanked him and he and Holmes made their way up to their room. It was far from the nicest hotel in London, but it mattered little; they wouldn’t be there for very long.

It took a few tries, but between the two of them they finally got the door open. They stepped inside and immediately got to work.

Holmes opened his suitcase on the bed and handed Watson a bundle of clothes. “You might as well look the part,” he said with a wry smile.

Watson accepted them with a breath that could have passed for a sigh and set about unbuttoning his collar. “We’re actually going through with this” - it was almost a question, asking that it not be so.

“We’ve seen to every precaution. We will only fail if our Moriarty does not take the bait, and there is no doubt about that.”

Watson frowned. He wished he had Holmes’s confidence, but everything had been taken from him once, he could not bear to have it happen again. He was sorely tempted to call the whole mad thing off, or to run to the continent alone, leaving Holmes safely behind in London. But either would have been selfish. They had a plan, the best he could do was stick to it.

He took a long, steadying breath and tried to focus on one step at a time. Methodically, he changed out of his suit, into an even more antiquated priest’s frock. It didn’t quite fit right, but he presumed that was part of the disguise.

Once Watson was dressed, Holmes stepped back to admire his handiwork. “I’ve never seen a more pious gentleman. You would hardly look out of place at the Vatican. Now, just a few finishing touches.”

He seated Watson on the edge of the bed and took out his make-up case, full of powders and brushes. Watson craned over to get a better look.

“You must stay still,” Holmes admonished, but it didn’t hold any heat.

Watson reluctantly faced forward. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Holmes take out a broad brush.

He drew it across Watson’s cheek with surprising gentleness, the bristles tickled against his skin. Watson let his eyes fall shut as Holmes gradually painted lines onto his face. His chest was tight with nerves about the upcoming chase, but there was something soothing about the soft, repetitive caress, each motion no doubt purposeful and carefully planned. Holmes knew what he was doing and it was the least Watson could do to try and keep his nerves in check.

His makeup done, Holmes carefully pulled back Watson’s hair and slid a wig over it. His long, nimble fingers worked their way around Watson’s head, rustling through his hair as they adjusted the band here and there.

At last Holmes sat back and declared, “You look like a new man.”

Watson’s eyes blinked open in the suddenly bright electric light. It took a moment for him to register the face in the mirror. An old man, almost as old as Watson truly was, with deep wrinkles and sun-darkened skin, peered back at him.

“Why, I can hardly recognize myself,” he exclaimed, and as he spoke the face before him almost seemed to transform as familiar features made themselves known.

“Carry yourself a little stiffer,” Holmes suggested. “Do not forget your venerable years.”

Watson nodded, trying to make the gesture as halting as he could.

“Better,” Holmes said, though Watson could tell he still had a long way to go.

Then they both hesitated.

Their easy banter gave way to an awkward, uncomfortable silence, revealing the tension that had been lurking beneath the surface since before they left Baker Street.

“I best be going,” Holmes said at last, and got to his feet.

Watson followed suit. “Be careful.”

“And you. But I doubt Miss Moriarty knows our game yet. No, the chase will not truly begin until we alight on the continent. I wonder how long it will take for her to realize…” Holmes trailed off in thought, but he quickly found himself again - “No matter, she will follow, and she won’t risk it until Reichenbach.”

Watson tensed at the word.

“You remember your route?” Watson asked at last, more for something to say than for the answer.

“I am not so old as to be forgetting things.”

Watson gave him a look.

“Do not fear, my dear Watson, this business will all be over soon enough.”

“Don’t say that,” Watson snapped. He took in a deep, steadying breath and slowly let it out. “I’m sorry, Holmes,” he said, his voice still a little shaky. His hands were quivering. “I know it’s not the same, but still I find myself dreading the end.” His voice fell as he spoke.

Holmes reached out and clasped Watson by the shoulder. “I’m here and I will not leave you again,” Holmes said, his voice firm. “We have done everything in both our considerable power to ensure that we come out alive, so that is what will occur. There is hardly a chance of failure.”

Watson nodded and attempted a smile of his own.

Holmes was not entirely satisfied, but he withdrew his hand and bade Watson farewell, “I will see you at Victoria Station.”

“Yes.”

With that, Sherlock Holmes turned, stepped out the door, and made his way down the hall as though he had not a care in the world.

Watson waited maybe fifteen minutes before his nerves got the best of him. He straightened his frock and made for the door like a man on a mission. Only as he was about to swing it open and stride out into the hall did he remember to bow his back and tried as best he could to hobble out. He had little patience for the slow, halting gait of the old priest he was trying to impersonate, but somehow he made it down the stairs and out the door, into the bright morning.

He imagined Holmes racing across the city, darting from cab to cab, as he hailed his own and set off straight for the station. Holmes was thankfully easy to pick out of the crowd on the platform, tall and lean, making no effort to conceal himself. For all of Watson’s years of imitation, there was something strange about playing Holmes’s role so purposefully, especially with his old friend right there in front of them. And Watson had never taken up Holmes’s penchant for disguises.

Still, Watson felt a little more confident in his shuffle as he made his way over to where Holmes was standing. A young officer stationed by the turnstyle offered to help Watson with his bag and he tried to direct her in a muffled voice. He only belatedly remembered that his English was supposed to be limited besides, but at least that way he had an excuse to speak as little as possible.

He thanked her in what little Italian he knew and settled in to wait for the train. He tried to catch Holmes’s eye, but Holmes’s gaze seemed to slide right over him as he scanned the crowd, almost managing to look nervous as he waited for someone to meet him.

It wasn’t long before the train arrived and he asked for Holmes’s help with his luggage as clumsily as he could. Holmes distractedly obliged.

When Watson tried to take the seat next to him, Holmes protested in a voice that wasn’t quite his own, “I’m sorry, you must understand, I’m waiting for my friend.”

“I- I don’t understand,” Watson attempted.

“I’m saving this seat for my friend,” Holmes insisted, seemingly blind to Watson’s struggle.

He was relieved when the doors slid shut and Holmes looked away to scan the car once more, giving him the opportunity to remark with a little well-deserved impatience, “My dear Holmes, you have not even condescended to say good morning.”

Holmes jumped a little and exclaimed, “Good heavens! How you startled me!”

“Not too badly, I hope,” Watson said without much sympathy.

“No,” Holmes said with a chuckle, keeping his voice low. “My apologies, Watson, but an actor, you are not.”

Watson did not dignify him with an answer. Instead he remarked, “I wonder if Moriarty herself will make an appearance.”

“I doubt she’s aware of our plans just yet, but I expect it will not take long.”

Watson nodded. “She’s been keeping a close eye on us.” He recognized one woman in particular sitting on the other side of the train, whom he had often seen near Baker Street, often lingering in view of their door.

It was a short ride to Kings Cross, but they arrived barely in time for the next train for Paris. Fortunately, Holmes got them quickly through security and they made it onto the train without incident. Watson fell into his seat, grateful for the chance to breathe.

They weren’t on board for long. They got off at Ashford, abandoning their empty luggage on the train. It wasn’t quite Canterbury, but after much debate they had decided against the half-hour detour. So, from Ashford, they caught a series of trains along the coast. The ride was a largely peaceful one. They alternated between easy conversation and companionable silence. But, when silence did fall, Watson found it difficult not to ruminate upon their dangerous errand.  The woman had followed them from the underground, but thus far nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

They stopped for a late lunch in Lewes, and then went on to Newhaven to wait for the evening ferry. They brought dinner with them, and arrived in Dieppe, France close on midnight. There was no longer a night train to Brussels, so they stayed overnight in Dieppe and continued on to Brussels in the morning.

Miss Moriarty had missed her chance in London, so instead it was in Brussels that they found themselves dogged at every corner. First a van barely missed them as they crossed an avenue, then a brick crashed to the sidewalk beside them, and finally they were accosted by a rough looking man with a club who was thankfully scared off by the police before he bloodied Holmes’s knuckles. That night the hotel was evacuated on account of a fire that did more damage causing a nuisance than destroying anything. Of course, none of the perpetrators were caught.

Otherwise they spent a leisurely two days in Brussels before they went on to Strasbourg, and the day after that to Geneva. From there, they went from town to town, hiking where they could, and taking busses where they could not. It was as beautiful and foreboding as Watson remembered, with rocky peaks towering above and sloping valleys below. He did not let Holmes out of his sight. To his relief Holmes seemed to accept it and did not try to venture far.

The last assault came, as they expected, at the Gemmi pass, where a large rock fell from the peaks above, past where they had just been standing moments before, and down into the lake below with a tremendous splash. They never saw the perpetrator. Thankfully no one was hurt.

Finally, they stopped in Meiringen. They stayed in one of many hotels that had popped up in the area since they had been there last.

That night, both of them were reluctant to go to sleep. Neither had much to say, or rather neither was quite ready to put their churning thoughts to words, instead they sat in silence, too keyed up to go to bed. Holmes sat doubled over, his keen eyes fixed on the wall ahead as though he could read volumes in the wallpaper, or perhaps see straight through the wall. Watson was tired, but his racing heart had other plans. Not for the first time on their harrowing journey, he longed for a smoke.

Finally, Watson got up the courage to speak, “Holmes, please hear me out. Only one of us is needed to bait Miss Moriarty into our trap, and the case was mine from the start. Stay in the hotel tomorrow, let me go alone to the fall.”

Holmes snapped to attention. He answered a little too lightly, “We wouldn’t want to raise Miss Moriarty’s suspicions. She should be expecting two of us, after all. She may hesitate if she finds only one.”

“Then return with the messenger boy. You know she’ll send one.”

“I’m sorry, Watson, but you won’t be getting rid of me that easily. I know it’s selfish of me, but I want to see this through to the end, and I cannot bring myself to let you go alone. I let you follow the messenger the first time because I couldn’t bear to risk you at all.”

“And what if you die” - Watson could no longer hold back.

“And what about you?” Holmes met Watson’s eyes, his gaze steady, but it betrayed some of his heart. “Perhaps I’ve become too confident in my own immortality, but we’ve planned it well and besides, I know you wouldn’t allow any danger to come to me.” He hesitated. “I’m afraid you are in a graver danger than I.”

The next morning, both of them left the hotel early to hike to the falls. Watson faltered as the sight of the familiar treacherous peaks, but Holmes took his hand and helped him up the path. They walked in silence, neither quite ready for what was to come. All too soon, they came upon the fearsome fall, its roar louder than it was in any of Watson’s nightmares.

There, they waited. Watson wished he could have brought his revolver, but it would not go on the train. Miss Moriarty likely lacked the same scruples.

It was not long before the messenger boy reached them, asking for an English doctor to treat a dying Englishwoman at the hotel. Watson glanced at Holmes, hoping he would take the out that was offered, but he knew well what Holmes’s response would be. So, the boy returned down the path alone.

Soon after he disappeared out of sight, Watson spotted a woman coming around the bend. He shouted over the fall and Holmes leaped to his feet, ready for a fight. As she drew nearer, Watson easily recognized her features; this was the very same woman who had made a mockery of his late wife. He was not surprised, but the sight of her sent a jolt of anger through him.

He clenched his fists and yelled as soon as she was close enough to hear him, “Why? Why would you do such a thing?”

She grinned and seemed to laugh - he could not hear her over the roar of the fall.

“Who are you?” Watson demanded.

“Jamie Moriarty,” she answered proudly, striding toward them and the fearsome falls as though she had not a fear in the world, “the great granddaughter of Professor James Moriarty, here to finish the work he started.”

Even standing on the precipice, the roar of the falls echoing in their ears, still Holmes argued, “Professor Moriarty had no children.”

“So the public was led to believe, but his descendants have not forgotten him. I have reclaimed my family name and will bring it back to the notoriety it so deserves!”

If she was going to say more, they did not hear it, for at her triumphant conclusion they heard a shot go off and a plume of smoke burst out of a rock on the other side of the falls. They hardly had a chance to respond as a squad of officers came running up the trail and surrounded Miss Moriarty. Without her sniper, she was thoroughly out gunned and quickly subdued.

Holmes and Watson followed them all down the trail. For how smoothly it had gone, Watson was still a little weak with relief, while Holmes seemed to be bursting with all the energy he had not needed to expend.

He laughed and declared, clapping Watson on the back, “Well done, my dear fellow. I suppose I owe you an apology for underestimating your advice. It all went off charmingly. I even find myself wishing there had been a bit more of a scuffle.”

Watson gave Holmes a look.

“But it is all for the best,” Holmes hastily tacked on.

“Yes,” Watson answered at last, unable to keep a smile from stretching across his face, “It did go well, didn’t it? I’m sorry I wasted so much time worrying about it.”

“It had its worrying points,” Holmes acquiesced. “If not for all your worries, it may not have gone nearly so well.”

“You’re the one who suggested where to stake out to catch the sniper?” one of the officers walking near them spoke up.

Holmes waved it off. “I happen to be very familiar with the area.”

“Well, those were brilliant hiding spots, I don’t know how you found them, but I could’ve looked all day and wouldn’t have seen a thing. It all looks like sheer rock, who would’ve thought you could climb it.”

“Ava Smith, you are charged with the murder of Samuel Easton, John Rowe, Nelson Duvall, Thomas Johnson, and William Strout. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence,” Mrs. Houghton recited. “Do you understand?”

Miss Smith merely nodded. She sat in imperious silence on the opposite side of the interrogation table, as though daring them to question her.

The doctor could only repeat his question from the falls, “Why? Why attempt to reenact the past like this?”

To his surprise, she smiled. “Why do you do it? There’s only one reason, isn’t there?”

“What are you talking about?” the doctor demanded.

“Who would want to be Miss Smith or Jonathan Holmes, or even Doctor Watson, when you could be Sherlock Holmes or Professor Moriarty? Who doesn’t want the starring role?”

“I try to help people,” he protested.

She waved off the suggestion. “Of course, anyone would want to be the great detective, but you can’t have Sherlock Holmes without Professor Moriarty, and anyway my talents are better suited to the latter than the former,” she concluded with a dismissive shrug.

“That’s a poor way to honor Sherlock Holmes.”

“What does he care, at the bottom of Reichenbach Fall?”

Watson flinched. Holmes rested a reassuring hand on Watson’s elbow.

“No,” Watson said at last, “You’re right, Sherlock Holmes and Professor Moriarty both make a poor excuse for one’s actions.” He gave her a pointed look.

“I’ve been wondering,” she remarked, ignoring his comment all together, “Why you call yourself Jonathan Holmes while your friend here goes by the name Sherlock and calls you Watson.”

Watson struggled to find an answer.

Thankfully, Holmes replied easily enough, “That my name is Sherlock Holmes is little more than a coincidence. You could call it providence, if you like, that someone with such a name would take an interest in detection, or you could speculate that I was inspired by my namesake. Either way, it is not so unlikely that, finding myself the friend of a man named John, I might call him Watson.”

She turned on Watson, unconvinced. “And that your name is also Holmes is likewise a coincidence?”

Watson hesitated. “I thought it fitting.”

“Isn’t it, though? Better than John Smith, at the very least.”

“Is that it? All of this just for a name that you have no claim to?” Watson demanded.

She sat a little straighter in indignation. “I think I’ve lived up to it well enough.”

“Hardly,” Holmes put in. “Professor Moriarty’s organization was rather more than a band of actors and con artists.”

“This is only the beginning, an advertisement if you will for my and Sabrina’s business, but I suppose she hasn’t told you a word.”

“What kind of a business is that?” Watson asked.

“It’s about time I saw a lawyer, I do have the right to one, don’t I?”

Mrs. Houghton nodded and motioned for the guards to come in and take Miss Smith back to her cell. Once she was gone Mrs. Houghton concluded, “I can’t say much for her motivation, but otherwise I’d say the case is closed. Between your testimony and all of the material evidence, I would be surprised if she didn’t plead guilty.”

“Thank you for all of your assistance,” Watson said.

“Always happy to help.” Mrs. Houghton shook his hand and Holmes’s before getting back to work, while the two gentlemen returned to Baker Street.

10 Years Later:

Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson were seated at the table in their flat at 221B Baker Street for breakfast one morning. Holmes was busy on his phone while Watson had the paper open in front of him. However, Watson had made little progress in reading it; instead, he was preoccupied by his companion.

“Holmes,” Watson said at last, “I can hardly believe it, but do I see a touch of grey in your hair?”

Holmes looked up from his phone with a start and seemed to take a moment to realize what had been said. Finally, he replied, “Perhaps it is not my hair, but your keen vision that is beginning to fail you.”

Watson gave him a reproachful look, but he could not help but smile back. “You must have seen it in the mirror,” Watson insisted, “Unless it is your faculties that are failing. Mine are sharp enough to see the beginnings of wrinkles on my face.”

“No, I have seen them,” Holmes admitted, though he did not seem to mind, “And your wrinkles too; they accentuate your smile.”

“Then it’s true,” Watson marveled, “Age is beginning to catch up with us once more.”

Holmes nodded. “I would say so. And I, for one, am ready to do away with this false veneer of youth that I have worn for so long. What do you say?”

“I agree,” Watson answered. “I have lived a full life. And now, I can be grateful that I have lived long enough not to spend the rest of my time alone.”

Note: I’ve also written a short, romantic follow-up: Holmes and Watson Meet the 21st Century.

[the-mountainsflame]

Waiting

((Or: Sage has to consult with some hunters.))

===

Iron Sights was not particularly keen to be called on by herself to talk to an Ahtyn; thankfully, it had been easy to convince Long Shot to accompany her, though the huge Roegadyn woman was as silent as ever under her seemingly-endless layers as she settled heavily on the other side of the smaller campfire near the edge of camp, forming a triangle with herself, Sights, and Sage.

Not that Sage didn’t send Sights a bit of a look for the extra company. But before she could open her mouth, the Ahtyn seemed to double-guess herself on it and actually said nothing to dismiss Shot, speaking directly to Sights instead. “I take it you both have something to report.” A statement and not a question—and one that Sights quickly agreed to with a nod.

“You bet.” That and she was always amazingly jittery under Sage’s intense, unblinking focus, but she had the basic sense not to say that out loud. “Been scouting out the Ghimlyt Dark, like you asked us to, though she took the north half and I took the south half, and they are still keeping low over there, apparently...”

Sights glanced sideways at Shot, and Shot made a few signs with her heavily-gloved hands. Signs of agreement, thankfully, though there was a strange sharpness to the motions that betrayed Shot’s tension easily to someone who knew her as well as Sights did.

“So,” Sage replied with a frown, leaning her elbows on her crossed legs and in turn leaning her chin on her folded hands. “That’s...it?” She didn’t even sound convinced of that. “You had to have seen more than that.”

“Other than them killing each other when they run across another group of their own that they don’t like?” Sights paused. “...Were you expecting something more exciting, Ahtyn?”

A bold question, and judging by the raised eyebrow Sights got, that had probably been too cheekily phrased, even by her own standards.

“Sorry.”

“Hm.” Sage dismissed it with that single short noise. “I also want what your impressions of it are, too. Not just the facts of what you’ve been seeing.” Sights blinked rapidly and exchanged glances with Shot.

“I’m sure both of you have your own opinions on what’s happening or not happening,” Sage continued, her impassive face remaining impressively so as she stared into the flickering flames. “You’ve both been out there more than any of the other hunters here because of your skills—namely, the ability to kill things at a distance and get out of there if you have to.”

Admittedly, Sights couldn’t help but be a little put out by that remark! “Almost makes it sound like you’re calling us cowa—“

“Let me finish.” Sage just narrowed one eye at her until she finally looked away. “Anyway, my point is, you asked whether I expected something more a moment ago. And given what we know of Garleans? I was. Even with them suddenly trying to kill one another because their Emperor died and apparently all of their soldiery’s leaders can’t help but throw their men against one another in a whirlwind of gore in order to steal it for themselves...” Her tone made it exceedingly clear what she thought of that notion. “...I would have expected at least someone to try and make a name for themselves by catching us filthy savages off-guard. Especially while a number of warriors of light are off somewhere else. I refuse to believe that they haven’t noticed, especially with that one Legatus and his daughters seeming to be on the hunt for our war-leader and her friends. It’s the perfect shot to attack us, and they haven’t taken it. It is concerning.”

She looked between Sights, then Shot, then back again.

“If you’ve seen or even felt anything suspicious—anything, I’m keen to hear it from people who have been out there. As the only Ahtyn, our war-leader’s forbidden me to go out there myself, the arse,” she added in a hiss under her breath. “So I’m relying on you.”

“Well...” Sights had just thought she would be interrogated about what she had seen, not what she thought of it, and so she had to pause to think for a moment. “Well, yeah, we’ve both been out there a fair amount. Gotten fairly close to them, actually—“

“I did warn you not to do that.” But Sage’s irritation was tempered by her own curiosity. “If you get caught, we’re going to have to fight them to get you back, and that may very well remind them all of who their ‘real enemy’ is enough to snap them out of it.”

“I know, I know, but I’m better than that.” Sights, yet, remained undeterred, even sending an irrepressible smile at her silent compatriot. “At any rate, yes, we’ve heard a few mutterings about that Legatus; apparently they consider him and his kids a little nutty, and they keep wondering if he’s lost the weapon he supposedly has.”

“What kind of weapon?”

Sights shrugged. “Didn’t say. Then again, didn’t our war-leader fight a Weapon, you know, with a capital ‘W’ and everything? And Sorin and that screwed-up Miqo’te friend of his have one too, just a different one—“

“They what.”

...That was right, she hadn’t told Sage that yet, had she? “I ah, thought our war-leader would have said something, since she was there too...”

“She did not, no.” Sage’s voice grew tight with annoyance. “But continue.”

“She’s been...busy, I suppose. You know, I wonder if that may be the Weapon those Garleans were talking about—the one that Sorin and friends have, that is. Sorin did say that he liberated it from somewhere.”

“Hm.” That only drained the smallest hint of tension from her Ahtyn’s shoulders, though... “Anything else?”

“Just gossip about who’s attacking who. Changes every other bloody day, I swear.”

“Shot?”

Both of them were looking at Long Shot, now. And Long Shot in turn looked at both of them, pale gold eyes locking with Sage’s blue ones, and then Sights’ grey ones. And she signed; thankfully, the both of them were fairly well-versed in the hand-signing of the old tongue enough that neither needed to translate for the other.

||They are definitely planning something.||

Shot glanced between them once more.

||Why are we waiting, Ahtyn?||

Sage tilted her head to one side with a frown. “You’re awfully eager to charge into battle with them, aren’t you?”

Shot huffed. ||No. This is not a matter of revenge. Those that starved and then slaughtered and burned my village are long gone. I hold no hope of finding those who lit the torch and held the blades. I am no battle-mad animal.||

She stared pointedly at Sage, who was quick to speak up again.

“That wasn’t what I was saying...” But she shook her head, cutting off her own indignation in favor of a curt apology. “Sorry. I won’t say that again. Keep going.”

Shot gave her a long, long stare, but did eventually blink in acknowledgement and started moving her hands once more.

||But I do not wish to wait until they ambush us with something terrible. The Black Rose, the Weapons, their machina, as Sights keeps calling it—||

“It’s the proper term, damn it, that’s why I keep calling it that!”

||—the longer they have to hide behind their front line and prepare, the more likely it is that something truly terrible will be unleashed. I do not want any of that for us, or the other soldiers we fight alongside.|| Shot sighed, but kept signing. ||They will not stop, Ahtyn. Not unless they are stopped by others. Even with their numbers thinned by civil war, they are dangerous to us.||

Sage was quiet so long that Sights began to wonder if Shot’s extended ‘talk’ had lost her somewhere—Shot could indeed move fast, to the point that even someone skilled in it like Sights could lose the thread a little.

“...I see.” 

Sage spoke so suddenly that Sights jolted a little, and had to hurriedly smooth her dark hair back down in a little subconscious vanity.

“Sights?”

“Y-Yeah.” She left off playing with her hair and nodded. “I mean, I feel the same? It’s weird that they’ve gone quiet for so long. Makes one think that they’re about to do something either dreadful or stupid or both. Even if that Black Rose nonsense really was destroyed in full, they clearly have more than one Weapon, and I don’t doubt that the madmen probably have more hiding away somewhere—and ones that are probably not as secure behind their bureaucracy as they used to be, what with said bureaucracy currently trying to off each other for power.”

Sights looked up and pursed her lips a moment in thought. “I have a feeling that this nut’s been cracked open and there’s no putting it back together, or stuffing the insides back into it.”

“You think so, Sights? You’re not just agreeing with your friend?”

But Sights bristled a little, despite herself. “You do know I used to hunt their ships in the sea for a living once? Saw my fair share of that lot; even privateered alongside some of them, for that matter, even if they did their best to hide that for what I hope are obvious reasons.” It did her heart good to talk of the good old days, though, and she just kept running that thought on with pleasure. “Got friendly with some of those, and sure, a couple of them were stupid enough to think they could double-cross an entire pirate crew because of course they were, but a number of them were perfectly fine to turn tail on their country for one reason or another. And those ones talked—some of it just being petty family drama...er, petty in the scheme of what we’re talking about, anyway,” she added with a wince. 

“But some of them? Some of them used to be researchers. Scientists. Mechanics, even, and that last one loved to point out every weakness of every blessed thing they used to work on, especially when it was hauled back around to try and bring them back ‘home’. And not just in terms of the machines and the bizarre science experiments—they talked about their politics, too. The only thing keeping certain madmen from using utterly awful shite against their enemies was their own bureaucrats being a little hinky about the notion of messily wiping out an entire continent and poisoning it beyond repair or things of the sort.” She shook her head. “If that goes away, then things are most definitely going to take a tumble into the wrong hands, and I don’t think I need to tell either of you just how bad that could get. We’d be lucky if it was just Weapons or machina coming to pay us a visit.”

A silence stretched between the three of them. In fact, so extensively so that Shot started rather contemplatively whetting the point of the repurposed fishing gig she also used as a weapon—to deadly and messy effect, but Sights cut the thought off before it could turn into a spiral of anxious nonsense. Thankfully, Sage spoke before she could really lose her mind.

“I think the same.”

“Then...why are we just sitting here?” Sights ventured. 

“We’re on the back foot on everything right now, that’s why.” Sage stared back into the flames over her folded hands. “A chunk of us are off on a different world, you know full well that there’s a specific set of ridiculously powerful Garleans very intently trying to have a go at our war-leader and her friends and us by extension—all of those friends being our allies, might I add...”

Sights twitched. Oh, she did indeed know. It was very, very difficult to forget the armored bastards that had not just beaten her but had also taken a shot from a bloody powerful gun and not done more than reel back a moment.

“And as much as I dislike saying it, we also can’t necessarily just make a one-sided decision to drag the Alliance into it, and they will be dragged into it if we start shite.” Sage’s eyes narrowed slightly at the thought. “Even if we did use that Weapon thing you keep talking about to try and make it look like not us, there’s a fair chance that it may just spook them into unleashing whatever they have on-hand as well.”

As much as Sage could be a bit of a shite in Sights’ estimation, she certainly couldn’t fault her logic...for now, anyway. “Well, aye, you have that right, I guess.”

“And one more thing: where is the Prince?” Sage’s voice hardened. “We were told he was the one that started this entire thing, but he’s completely disappeared since then, and the last thing anyone needs to be doing is making a spectacle of themselves and, Halone take us all, making him interested in what’s going on. Things die when that happens.”

Shot stiffened at the mention of Zenos. Sights, admittedly, got a bit nervous about the thought, herself. She hadn’t seen him in person like some here had, but the man’s reputation vastly preceded him, and she had heard as much as anyone else in the Swarstral had that even their war-leader, blessed by Halone and wielding the power of a particularly powerful wild-spirit in Her name, had only fought him to a standstill, not beaten him. 

”...Point,” Sights noted shakily with a shudder. “That is the only rhyme or reason he has for jumping in the middle of things, isn’t it? And if our war-leader’s busy, too...or even if she’s not, it isn’t like bloody anyone succeeded in actually killing him even after he practically cut his own head off—“

“Enough, Sights. But yes. We can argue about specifics for entire moons if we wanted, but there are a few reasons specifically that we can’t ignore.” Sage closed her eyes a moment. “The Alliance one being first and foremost, to be frank, and the one about Zenos finding the absolute worst timing to stab everyone in the back being the other. We have to settle for being ready instead.”

“Well, if that’s that...” Sights stood, stretching widely with a yawn. She was almost immediately dwarfed by her much larger companion, and even Sage when the Ahtyn rose as well.

“That is that. Both of you go back to camp. I need to think a bit more.”

Sights quickly took her leave, as did her ever-silent friend, but her mind was still whirling. They had to ‘just’ be ready...but how long would that last?

[billygetup]

the shore

Requested: no

Pairings: Jon Snow x oc

Summary: Amarya arrives at Dragonstone alongside Daenerys and her followers. She is an advisor to her grace and also are the ruler of a few islands off the coast of Essos. She is sent to greet Jon and the northmen with Tyrion and Missandei.

Part 1/?

Warnings: absolutely none!

Word count: 2165

Pronouns etc are female for this one, I can either do ocs or x readers (male and female)

Please don't plagiarise my work!

Amarya always knew that she would stand beside Daenerys Targaryen. The Silver Queen with the fiery temperament. She never expected it to lead her to where she stood now.

Ever since she was eight years old, power had been thrust upon her shoulders, like a heavy cloak weighing her down. Still, Amarya had always loved her people. Would die for them. It was that sense of liability and loyalty that the people of the Perzys Isles always loved in the girl.

Stood on the shore of Dragonstone, there was a queen. Her light, low cut dress brushed against her thighs as her cerulean eyes locked onto the boat coming closer. Amarya could see men squirming on the boat like ants. It wasn't apparent which one was the King in the North.

The invasion was not foreseen. No one knew that they were coming. But when they did, the heavens cried. Countless men, women and children were lost to the storm of chaos the pirates wielded. A young princess was torn that night. But, a queen was born.

When the boat was finally pulled from the frothing sea, it was clear who was king. Jon Snow had rather dark features, and yet he still reminded Amarya of warmth. While the summer queen loitered in the back, Lord Tyrion went to greet the new visitor.

As a small girl cowered in the corner of a dimly lit room, beaten and bruised, chained and defiled, a shadow turned the corner. Flinching, the girl curled in on herself, waiting for another hit.

"The bastard of Winterfell."

"Hey, hey, hey. It's okay, little princess. I'll protect you. They can't hurt you anymore."

"The dwarf of Casterly Rock."

"Where's my daddy?"

There was a small silence between the two parties, which wasn't awkward, but brimmed with humour. After a moment, the two men stepped forward and shook hands like old friends.

"I'm so sorry, little princess, but he's gone for a bit now. Don't cry, I'll help you."

"I believe we last saw each other on top of the Wall." Tyrion remarked.

"Are you a pirate?"

"You were pissing off the edge if I remember right," the man joked, "You picked up some scars along the road."

"I am, sweetheart, but don't worry. I'm not like them. I won't hurt you."

Amarya thought that the first sentence sounded just like something her friend would do.

The man slowly reached a hand toward the little body in the corner of the room. She looked weary, but was so hopeless that she had nothing to lose.

Tyrion nodded. "It's been a long road. We're both still here." The two seemed spooked for a moment, before the smaller of them turned to the man beside Jon Snow. He was relatively grey, and his persona reeked of familiarity.

Keeping her eyes locked on his outstretched palm, she slowly reached forward and accepted his help. He was able to see her bruises, purple shapes on her tanned skin. The man felt a tear leave his eye.

"I'm Tyrion Lannister."

"My name's Amarya of the Perzys Isles, what's yours?"

"Davos Seaworth."

"My name is Davos, little one."

Amarya's eyes widened, and a shaky breath escaped her throat.

"Davos? That's a funny name."

"Davos? That's a funny name." Amarya managed to let the words leave her mouth quickly. The man looked over to her. Realisation dawned on him.

The man chuckled lightly. "I know it is, little Amarya. Believe me."

"I know it is, little Amarya. Believe me." His voice was broken, and emerged in little cracks.

The two met in the middle for a bone crushing hug. Davos lifted her off of her feet slightly, and cried for the girl he knew. "I thought you were dead, little queen."

"You can't get rid of me that easily. I took back my family's throne." When they separated, Amarya held her head high. They smiled each other, forgetting everyone who watched in the background.

"I still see you as the daughter I never got to have."

"Well, I've got you. You'll always be a father to me."

A throat was cleared. The two slowly returned to their parties. Davos looked at the young girl. "This is far from over."

Amarya giggled at his remark.

Tyrion decided to speak to the man. "Ah, the Onion Knight. We fought on opposite sides at the Battle of Blackwater Bay."

"Unluckily for me."

But Amarya just couldn't pay attention. Not while those dark eyes rested on her. She tried her hardest not to look to Jon Snow, despite his gaze. When she eventually gave in, he looked as though he was trying to understand one of the world's greatest mysteries. As though he was trying to reach her soul.

Tyrion noticed his look. "This is her grace, Queen Amarya of the Perzys Isles, Protector of the Narrow Sea, Defender of the Innocent, the Phoenix. She is here on behalf of the people who go unrecognised. Those who lay between the two great continents of Westeros and Essos."

Jon gave her a small, fleeting smile. "Pleasure."

She nodded her head in respect. "Missandei is Queen Daenerys' most trusted advisor." She gestured to her left.

Missandei sent her a beautifully kind smile, and stepped forward. "Welcome to Dragonstone. Our queen knows this is a long journey. She appreciates the effort you have made on her behalf. If you wouldn't mind handing over your weapons."

The Northern King was hesitant. He turned to Davos, and then his men. "Of course."

The Dothraki that accompanied the few took heavy strides toward the visitors. Amarya watched as Jon untied his sword and reluctantly gave us to one of the men. The Dothraki also picked up their boat, and began to carry it away.

"Please, this way."

Davos walked over to Amarya, and checked her over. "You've grown. You're not little anymore. I don't like it."

Amarya smirked. "You're grey. You're not young anymore. Come to think of it, you weren't then."

"Oi, less of the snark from you, little queen. Remember who raised you."

"Oh, of course, my lord."

He gave her a kiss on the side of her temple, and went to speak with Missandei. Amarya smiled at the memories she shared with Davos, tucking a piece of golden hair behind her ear.

"You're her, then?"

She looked up to be met with the eyes of Jon Snow. "I'm who, exactly?"

"The one he never shuts up about." He nodded at Davos, who was having a lively discussion about butterflies with Missandei. Amarya watched the two happily.

"I suppose I am."

"You know, you're not what I expected you to be."

Amarya looked at the man, eyes narrowed. "How so?"

"Well, when I heard about another queen, I thought you'd be as stuck up as the rest of them."

"Well, how do you know I'm not?"

"Simple. You have kind eyes."

The group were still scaling the steps toward the castle. Not long since, the dragons had terrified the northmen, which Amarya thought was highly amusing.

The rest of the group were engaging in some conversation, while Amarya walked alone in the back, relishing in the sea spray. Suddenly, the jagged clouds parted, and a flurry of amber and crimson dove from the skies, and toward the front of the company.

The solitary shape darted between the rays of sunlight with a graceful ease, and twists so quick that you'd thought it had two heads.

Amarya gasped lightly. "Milaros!" She pushed to the front. "What are you doing?" She lightly grazed her fingers over his amber feathers, and he purred in delight. The, seemingly, bird was covered in a thick plumage of iridescent feathers, and, from what he could see, eyes a lustrous shade of halcyon.

Davos stepped forward. "Ah, so he grew then."

Amarya turned around to be met by many blank faces, as they were unaware of what creature Milaros was. "Oh, this is Milaros, my phoenix."

Someone in the back shouted to the queen. "What's a phoenix?"

The blonde smiled a little, turning back to Milaros. "A phoenix is an immortal bird which is immune to death. His tears are able to bring a person back from the brink of death. He can disappear and reappear in a burst of flames, and is able to carry the weight of seven men."

"How'd you get him?"

"He was gifted to me as an egg, by Davos." She smiled at the man. "I must go, I have urgent business to attend to." With that, she quickly strode off to feed her phoenix.

As a queen, it was clear where her loyalties lie. The people were everything to her. So it was only natural that she would be watching them on the cliffside in her spare time. Amarya could feel the wind whipping at her gold dress, the loose fabric shifting slightly.

She was used to the sea air, and being on Dragonstone was not that much different from winter in the Perzys Isles. Come to think of it, Amarya missed home.

She missed riding on her black palfrey, Summer, across the greenery of her castle grounds, and she missed her friends. Yes, a queen can have friends. It might have been difficult to spend as much time as she'd be willing to with them, but she loved them all the same.

Then, a voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "I didn't even know they existed."

Amarya turned to look at Jon Snow approaching the edge of the cliff. "What, people?"

The man smiled, but it could've been missed if you didn't pay attention. "No, a phoenix. Only ever heard of them from stories."

"Well, where I come from, Westerosi stories are our reality." She looked back at the sea of families below.

Jon Snow could see how much this woman cared for those who had no say, which was different to some power-hungry monarchs. It wasn't very common to find someone who put the people above every single thing in their life. He admired it. He admired a great deal about her, actually. "Have you spoken with Davos?"

"Not yet, actually, but I plan to. I've missed him."

"How did you two meet?"

Amarya's brow furrowed slightly, trying not to relive the horrible memories from her days as a young child. But then, she smiled a little. "He saved me from monsters."

"What monsters?"

The queen looked at him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"No, no, it's quite alright. They were pirates who tried to take over the Isles. They killed my father, many of my people, and committed monstrosities against me." She didn't want to go into the gory details.

He got the message, though. "How old were you?"

"I was a girl of eight when they came."

He looked up to the sky quickly, and then back to the woman who stood before him. "I'm sorry to hear that. Must've been hard."

"It's okay, I've grown since then. Besides, I'd go through it all again if it meant the safety that my peopoe have now."

Jon thought that her sense of duty was admirable. "That's good of you."

"Yes, I suppose it is. And it was good of you to come here for the safety of your people."

"It needed to be done." Amarya could tell that a lot of the King's time was consumed by brooding. She felt curiosity overwhelm her.

"What are they like?"

Jon looked at her, confused.

"The Army of the Dead, what are they like?"

His eyes widened. "You believe me?"

"Please, you're talking to a girl who has a phoenix as a pet." Amarya rolled her eyes.

Jon chuckled slightly in disbelief. "Well, they're cold, and they're like death."

"Like death? Cold? There's plenty of things that are like that. What I mean is, how do they fight? How do they move? What do they want?"

Jon was surprised at how much she wanted to know about the White Walkers. "You can't possibly mean to fight them."

Amarya looked him in the eyes. "No, of course not. That's insane. I can't fight them," She looked away, and mumbled under her breath, "yet."

"I'd advise against it, they're quite strong."

Her head whipped around. "What, and I'm not? I pride myself on my strength. I've been in five battles already. And they weren't small, either. I didn't get names the Defender of the Innocent just for courtesy. I got it because I earned it. And I don't give up. I intend to die for those who would die today, or tomorrow, or any day. Those who need protecting are the ones who protect us the most. Now, I must speak with her grace."

Amarya walked away from Jon Snow, maintaining her calm nature. He went to say something, but the words would not form. He was intoxicated by her. She was new, colourful, and bold. How she stood up for herself showed her determination, which he looked for the most in anyone he met. Sadly, everyone was lacking. Apart from her. Perhaps being stuck on Dragonstone wouldn't be so bad, after all.

--------

Hey! So this is my first ever post, and I wanted to say that I will take requests for any fics you would like me to write regarding Game of Thrones, Stranger Things, Once Upon a Time, Friends and etc. I will publish a full list at some point, though! Also, I am willing to write smut ;)

[kentuckywrites]

You Hear It, Too

The weight of the world becomes too much to bear. Pongo escapes for a while, but is followed and comforted in his time of need.

The air around him was quiet, still. His feet were planted amongst the tall blades of grass, a tree with large roots, life coexisting with his inorganic form. Pongo’s eyes, distant, lifeless, peered up at the swirling blues and purples that defined the Miran night sky. Stars twinkled back, reminders of possibilities undiscovered, and ones he could never touch. The ground below him was his only home, and he was doomed to take root and never leave.

The levitaths were out tonight. Their feathered bodies, glistening like stained glass, became a stage for the stars to dance upon. They left behind traces of ether, the building blocks of life itself, and he felt it then, the surge of energy that came with it. To think that he was ether, too, a creation of the planet itself. To think that he was less human than the humans were - the humans who were, in fact, not entirely human themselves, but mere replicas.

It was terrible to think about. Pongo looked back down at his own feet, worn leather shoes that had walked the soil of five continents. His fingers brushed against the insides of his palms, unsure whether or not they wanted to become fists. His eyes closed, and darkness, true and complete, embraced him.

And then, the levitaths began to sing.

He knew their songs, what they meant. The humans believed them to be mating calls, or simple communications back and forth, friendly gestures. But they weren’t entirely right. Sure, some songs were joyous, used to call to friends.

But these ones were full of pain.

They were echoes of songs, tales of past and present woes, fears regarding their futures. Pongo’s eyes opened to watch them take to the skies, wails turning the night into a graveyard of sorrows. His lips parted, exhaling from his mouth - why did he want to sing along? He was happy. He had everything he could’ve ever needed. Friends, family, a stable and demanding job. He had love.

But...he was in pain, deep down.

He had pushed it aside. He didn’t want those memories to control him, no, not the people who died by his hands, not those who fought against every ideal he believed in, not those who blamed him for ruining their lives -

“Pongo.”

Pongo spun around. Yellow eyes stared back at him, unblinking.

“L’cirufe. What are you doing here?”

“We had a feeling you were in need of repair. And we wanted to...check you up.”

The incorrect phrase brought a small grin to Pongo’s face. “I...I appreciate it.”

L joined him, standing to his right. Mixed with the songs of the levitaths was the ever steady rush of the Noctilum waterfalls, pooling down into the ocean below. Anyone could survive the fall off the side, a result of durable bodies and forgiving gravity. Pongo recalled the first time he’d jumped off - the wind against his skin, begging him to stop, but breaking the bonds just then had made him feel so alive.

“If we might poke the sleeping dog...why are you out here?” L’s question broke the pause between them.

Pongo refused to meet his gaze, instead gazing out at the stars, the clouds of space dust, strokes of magenta and indigo across a midnight blue canvas. “...I needed to escape for a bit. The city was...it was too loud.”

“We understand! Humans can be containers full of conversation!”

“Not like that.”

Pongo stepped forward, entranced by two levitaths whose songs had begun to harmonize with each other. “Too many things keep happening, too many things have gone wrong. And I have been unable to stop these bad things from happening - unable to stop innocent people from dying.”

“Pongo, we reassure you that not every situation is due to your presence -”

“Nessa died.”

L stopped. Pongo turned to face him again suddenly, his shoulders tensing, his voice rising. “A year ago, today, she died. She sacrificed herself so I could keep living, and for what? Not only have I failed to keep everyone safe, but I was responsible for her death, for Lao, the innocent people killed by the explosive lobsters, the entirety of Team Corwin, all the scientists at the water purification plant - oh my gods, how many Ma-non, how many Nopon and Prone and Zaruboggans and Orpheans have died under my protection?! I have failed humanity, L’cirufe, Mira wanted me to be their guide and protect them, and I failed!!”

The songs faded, and Pongo’s eyes had released their own waterfalls - not raging, but full of rage. L was frozen solid, left as a statue in the midst of Pongo’s outburst. And that silence made Pongo crumple, his knees giving out, his fists hitting the grass below. He screamed so loud that the songs of the levitaths were shattered, and then screamed more. He felt everything and nothing, almost unaware that L had bent down, had put a gentle hand on his back.

“Pongo...please, look at…”

His breath caught in his throat, something that prompted Pongo to look up through glazed eyes. L bit his lip, words dancing silently on his lips, but when his voice returned, the words became a song of their own.

“Please listen to...to me.”

L stuttered on the pronoun, but he did his best to continue regardless. “Mira created you as its avatar, a messenger of peace...and you have performed above and beyond in that regard. But...but why don’t you realize that you are human too? If humanity is to be protected, then that means -”

“L’cirufe, I am not human -”

“Bullshit.”

The word was clear, and sent a shiver up Pongo’s spine. L’s hand continued to trail up and down, a faint rubbing gesture. “Humans are capable of a great many things: they are stubborn, brash, and love with hearts that are so large that they do not fit inside their bodies. They will fight until they give their last breath in order to protect what they believe in. Do you not believe in your ability to care for humans despite their many flaws? Do you not believe in your ability to love in a place where love cannot be found? Because w...I can tell you now, that I am human in this regard.”

Pongo raised an eyebrow, sniffling quietly. “L’cirufe, what are you getting at?”

“Have you been blinded, like your irises suggest? Pongo, w...I...I care about you a great deal. I would do anything for you, I want to protect you - arguably, an urge that is stronger than yours.”

Pongo let out a weak laugh. “Impossible.”

“Would you like me to test my own theory?”

When Pongo didn’t answer immediately, L wrapped his arms underneath Pongo’s and brought him in closer, careful not to scrape his horns on Pongo’s head. The embrace was familiar and welcoming, and Pongo’s head buried itself into L’s neck instinctively. Pongo could smell Mira, the soil and the faint scent of antorous rose, and the impossible longing of discovery.

L’s head shifted, and something soft - lips - kissed Pongo’s forehead. His eyes widened in realization.

“Humanity means the world to you, but you, Pongo...you mean the world to me.”

It was in that moment that the levitaths began to sing again. Their harmonies sounded far brighter and joyous than before.

[tlparadigm]

Stygian Paradigm

Stygian Paradigm

By tlparadigm, for Kindred Spirits it pertains to

-Prologue-

The end of the western world began Saturday, December 31st, 2011. Yellowstone Caldera last erupted 630,000 years ago. More recently, Mount St. Helens erupted March 20, 1980, and it killed 57 people. But in the final days of December 2011, Yellowstone became active and destructive once more, the governments of the world rushed to evacuate the citizens of North America and prepare themselves for the worst. An idea was born. A special type of geomagnetic device would be constructed to contain the blast like a vacuum, a bio-weapon. The device was supposed to compress the tonnes of ash bursting from the volcano; They failed.

December 2011 - South Dakota

Yellowstone Caldera exploded. The North American continent is in chaos, people are rushing to escape to the other side of the world, or accepting death and staying where they are. Thirty-three of us trekked east to Prince George, British Columbia to a large cave where we could hopefully survive for a few years. All vehicles had stopped working from the failure of the device so we would be walking all the way. We would arrive by early February, after a 2,430 km walk from South Dakota, where most of us had lived. What the governments did not expect, was that a backup geo-magnetic pulse from the device was so powerful that it caused ruptures in the ground which ultimately caused an eruption at Mount St. Helens as well. With ash coming from the volcanoes, chemically charged by the device, mutation soon followed in the animal kingdom and pure insane chaos in the modern world.

January 17th, 2012 - Medicine Hat, AB

After weeks, our group of 33 was whittled down to 17. We had all watched as packs of wolves and other beasts tore our comrades to shreds. We breathed ash as we walked through the streets of Medicine Hat. Our lungs slowly deteriorated. On one of the finals days a huge male cougar attacked our camp, it mangled 8 of our comrades. Their deaths were gruesome. 6 of us now remained, soon only 4 including myself. As I left my fallen comrades to nature’s merciless rage, I pondered the events of the past month, as soon as the new year hit everything had gone to hell. I was then reminded of the Mayan calendar myth, the calendar had gone for roughly 5,125 years but ended on December 21rst 2012, but it was only January. Why had both Volcanoes erupted, even though they were over 1,380 kilometers away from each other, could it have been a coincidence or some sort of accident? I doubted I’d ever find out the whole truth.

January 24th, 2012 - Jasper, AB

The four of us were anxious about going into Jasper National Park but so far the view was spectacular so we put up with the seemingly endless amount of walking. We occasionally passed trailers and cottages, if we were up to it we’d snoop around in and hope to find other survivors but everywhere we looked it was like we were in a ghost town, just without the town, only the highway which we traveled on and the forests around us, we would stay on the highway even when we passed various towns, since we no longer had the heart to search them. We had stopped just outside of Jasper, Alberta when we heard gunfire coming from the south where we’d soon be passing the town. The four of us grabbed our gear and started quickly moving towards the shots which were still sounding as we neared closer. Two of my three companions were a young couple named Ben and Samantha who had lost their house in the initial chaos of early January, they had nervous looks on their faces and I could tell that they were running through the possibilities of why someone was firing a weapon. The other was my good friend Daniel who I’d known since high school, we had survived in the wilderness before but that was for fun and we had more resources at our disposal but this was far different, this was life or death.

The man who had been firing the weapon seemed to be in his late 50s, with a messy grey-white beard and electric blue eyes with red lines around the edges which suggested lack of sleep or maybe some sort of drug use. He almost shot us as we approached but as the four of us looked around to figure out why he was firing we saw no obvious reasons. A creepy sparkle came to his eyes as he lowered his weapon, the woman of the couple asked the old man if he was ok but he seemed to ignore her question and instead exclaimed

“Welcome to Jasper! Now, where do fish keep their money, my friends?” We looked at each other confused and Sam slowly said “Uh hi, and is it the riverbank?” A wickedly crooked and chaotic smile came onto the man’s face and after a few seconds he finally said, “Ah you are a smart girl, the name is Lucien, this town is my town, I am its sole inhabitant.” A shocked look came to Daniel’s face, “It’s sole inhabitant? Jasper had around 5000 people living in it, they couldn't have all left!” he said, raising his tone a bit as he talked. “Take a look for yourself young man, but you’ll only find clues of the past.” We set up camp in Jasper and talked with the man, who seemed to be going senile which was surprising considering he only looked to be in his late 50s maybe early 60s. I didn't know why he had asked us that odd riddle but he was just weird. Ever since we had arrived in Jasper the man had been giving me a look, a sneer was always on his face when he looked my way, he gave me chills.

January 25th, 2012 - Jasper, AB

The next day, I found myself in an argument with Lucien, I’d caught him checking out our bags and holding our ammunition in his hands. He pleaded that he was innocent and he was only making sure we hadn't left our equipment somewhere that bears could access, but, I knew he was lying through his teeth. He was still arguing with me when suddenly stopped and went still, he started off at something behind us, we all looked but there was nothing, then there was a gunshot from beside us. Lucien had drawn a sidearm from beneath his long gray tattered trench coat and had fired at us but had missed very poorly even though we were only a couple of meters away from him. Reflexively Daniel grabbed his rifle from beside him and aimed at Lucien, seeing this, Lucien spat at Daniel for pointing a gun at an old man then he pointed an obscene hand gesture at him. So Daniel shot him in the right foot and returned the hand gesture. Swearing and screaming, Lucien limped off into town. Later that day we heard another gunshot coming from the part of town that Lucien hung around the most, we all went towards the noise to see what was going on. What we found we had not expected, but there, in a parking lot, in the western area of the town, lay the body of Lucien, a gunshot wound in the side of his head. I thought it to be an odd place and time to commit suicide. Especially when you have a whole town to yourself, but the man had been a psychopath, and it would be best not to question his final intentions.

January 26th, 2012 - Yellowhead Hwy, AB

Sam and Ben had stayed in Jasper so they could attempt to gather more materials and see if they could get a vehicle working again so they could meet Daniel and me later on. Later still, Daniel and I discovered that an aggressive, scruffy and scarred grizzly bear had been stalking us since we left Jasper. We were almost out of bullets and we were weak from days of walking. I watched as my close friend I’d known for 16 years was brought down by the 300 kg bear who had ambushed us that afternoon, I gazed at his face as his insides being torn open and as he drew his final breath, the bear looked at me. Its eyes glowed red, it growled, an unearthly growl. Then it charged at me but went off course and kept running past me further into the forest. In seconds, after horrible screaming and agony, Daniel, the guy I’d known for so long and became so close with, was gone and so was the bear; I was alone, and the nature of Jasper National Park was my only company.

January 29th, 2012 - Portal Lake, BC

I managed to find a rest area today, but also a final news report from earlier in the month which I’d never heard; the government's device and the double volcanoes had caused fractures in the earth's crust and were cracking the tectonic plates apart. More volcanoes were brewing just like here, earthquakes were destroying whole countries, hurricanes obliterated whole cities and the death toll was catastrophic. I came across a small aging wooden cabin in the woods, I found exactly what I needed, a better hunting rifle then what I’d taken from one of my comrades, along with ammunition and multiple food rations. Around 300 km until I reached safety, at least with this better gun I could avenge my fallen friends and comrades.

February 2012 - Moose Lake, BC

I was into British Columbia now, almost at Red Pass. I’d stopped to rest at the easternmost point of moose lake when I saw some sort of building across the Fraser River from where I sat on Yellowhead Hwy, I managed to half swim half trudge my way towards the building which I now saw used to be a lighthouse. The only thing was that the lighthouse had been destroyed somehow and only the bottom half was still standing, even in ruins. I stayed there for two days than in the night I was awoken by a spine-chilling howl. A wolf pack had arrived.

I could hear them outside, snarls and growling filled the gloomy night air. I didn't sleep again for the remainder of the night. Hours later, the howling had stopped. It was strange, they had me trapped but I could now see them retreating back into the surrounding forest. I slowly stepped out of the ruins to investigate, I had a bad feeling about this. Of course, the old bear eventually arrived to finish me off. With the rifle in my hands, I prepared for the worst. I had run out of rations, I was starving and that bear would be pretty dang good for cooking. I went to the top of the ruins to see if I could get a better shot but the stairway where the ruins ended were too narrow to get a good shot, so I went back down the winding stone stairs and crouched down at the door to ready myself. I waited for a while, then the massive bear charged towards my shelter. I fired two rounds at the beast, it didn't slow. I dove back into the ruins and the bear tore into the building. Moments later I was on the ground, punching at the bear’s mangled ugly face. I could feel sections of my torso being torn to shreds, I reached for my knife as the bear slashed at my blocking arm.

I drove the knife into its jaw, the creature roared in pain and trudged out of the broken lighthouse, but I knew it would soon be back. I was quickly losing blood, I crawled towards my backpack and the rifle which had been tossed beside it. I grasped for the painkillers even though I knew they wouldn't heal injuries of this magnitude, then I reached for the rifle and slowly stood up one last time to face the beast before me. There would be no survivors in this eternal fight between mankind and nature, and it seems, there weren’t, not really. Nature always wins, we can’t control nature forever. We just have to learn from our faults and remember our sins. I guess life as we knew it found a way to survive, and we didn't. Perhaps one-day mankind will go among the stars, and nature will lie in the soil, the air and the seas. But perhaps mankind won’t make it that far, maybe it will be nature taking back what’s rightfully it's own.

The End. “Welcome to the Quiet Apocalypse” - The Long Dark, Hinterland Games