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littlekatleaf · 1 year

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To love what is lovely, and will not last

I come, after a long absence, with Sandman fic. Not exactly what I'd planned, but I've been fiddling with it for so long and everything else has been blocked behind it.... It's almost 3am and I'm calling it done.

To stop time when something wonderful has touched us as with a match which is lit, and bright, but does not hurt in the common way, but delightfully ~ Mary Oliver, “Snow Geese”

Hob’s alarm beeps insistently, dragging him from the ocean of sleep and washing him onto the shore of waking - blinking, bleary. He grabs for the phone to silence it. Not even out of bed when his thoughts turn to the day’s tasks - marking long overdue, final edits of a journal article and likely several desperate calls from students wanting to earn extra credit. At least he has the solstice party after, as a treat.

Beside him, Morpheus shifts. “Time is it,” he mumbles into the pillow, voice rough, sleep-worn.

“Half six,” Hob says, tugging a shirt over his head. “Gotta get to work.”

“Are you mad? It’s only been three hours.”

As though the words remind his body, Hob yawns, then coughs into his sleeve. “Two hours too long. I’ve got at least three days’ work to pack in before the party.”

Morpheus peers at him. Frowns. “You’re still recovering from your illness. Come back to bed.”

“Don’t fuss; I’m much improved. Nowhere near my death.” Hob pokes him in the ribs, gently. Morpheus obliges with a sound that bears passing resemblance to a chuckle. “Besides the Dean’ll have my job, tenure or no, if I don’t get marks in today.” Hob forces himself to stand before the softness of the sheets and the warmth of Morpheus’s body pull him back. He more than half expects Morpheus to reach for him, attempt to draw him down.

Instead, Morpheus stares rather blankly for a long minute then abruptly turns his back, burrowing deeper into the quilts. Hob sighs. Deeply. He wishes he could say fuck it all and join him, but the fresher flu set him back significantly. No matter what he’d rather, procrastination is right out. Blasted responsibilities.

He consumes an entire pot of coffee which somehow manages to make him edgy without ridding him of tiredness. Cheek propped on fist, he works his way through the stack of final essays and take-home exams and doesn’t allow himself to move from his desk until midday. As he wanders into the kitchen, still trying to decide whether the last student really makes the argument he’s attempting, Hob catches a trailing melody from Morpheus’s studio, the echo of a beat. Something electronic - Paul Van Dyk, maybe? - better for a rave than a Saturday noon, but it’s what Morpheus prefers when he’s painting. Hob smiles; at least one of them is having fun. He pictures Morpheus in his usual pose - scowling at the canvas like it’s personally insulted him, one paintbrush in his hand, another tucked behind his ear, hair wild and paint spattered.

Hob goes to put his mug into the dishwasher, but finds it still full of clean dishes. Sighing, he adds it to a pile of dirty plates, glasses, and another mug that’s sticky with honey and redolent of mint and chamomile. He frowns. Unusual - Morpheus drinking tea, but Hob supposes the flat is chilly. Luckily the stack doesn’t overbalance and he promises himself he’ll take care of it after the party. Stomach rumbling, he opens the refrigerator to see what leftovers might still be edible and discovers, miracle of all miracles, a sandwich so freshly made the lettuce hasn’t yet wilted. It’s his favorite - brie and green apple - and he instantly forgives Morpheus ignoring the washing up as he takes a huge bite. With fortification, he might just make it to the end of the day.

Finally the third frantic student call is patiently attended to, the last of the marks are uploaded to the university system, the email to his editor is sent into the ether, and Hob feels distinctly lighter. He clatters down stairs to find final party preparations in full swing. Gabriel’s directing Morpheus in proper placement of furniture and decorations, Mako’s checking the sound system for Geordie’s band, and Jamie’s setting up the bar. After two decades of parties, none of them need his instruction, and even his practiced eye can’t find anything out of place. He expects no less, and yet the pride in what they’ve built brings a warmth to his chest. Nothing like mulled wine, holiday songs, good food and friends to pass the longest night and welcome the sun’s return at dawn.

Hob watches as Morpheus, balancing rather precariously on the edge of a chair across the room, attempts to drape a pine garland over the doorway. As he stretches to get the angle just right, his shirt slides up, exposing a pale strip of skin, stark against the black of his jeans. Hob imagines brushing his fingertips over that expanse, making Morpheus shiver under his touch. Suddenly Morpheus flinches, sharp. The chair tips, but he manages to catch himself at the last moment, dropping lightly to the floor.

“All right?” Hob asks, surprised at the unusual lapse of grace.

Morpheus nods as he passes, heading for the stairs. He doesn’t meet Hob’s gaze.

Hob turns to follow, but his phone rings. Jilly’s car’s broken down, can someone give her a ride? Never one to look askance at a fortunate turn of events, he gives her Geordie’s number. There’s plenty of room in the band’s van, they’re coming from the same end of town - and if Geordie has been looking for an excuse to talk to her for weeks, well that’s just a lucky coincidence.

“Meddling, are we?” Jamie laughs at Hob’s guilty startle.

He pulls an affronted expression. “I’d never. Nudge, maybe. Hint. A bit. Never meddle.”

Jamie raises an eyebrow.

Mako tosses a towel at him. “Get back to work and quit giving him shit. After all, worked with us, didn’t it?”

“Maybe.” But the hint of a smile curls Jamie’s lips and he follows Mako’s orders. “Better get yourself presentable, boss. You know Lena and Emily are gonna be here any minute.”

Hob looks down, realizing he hasn’t yet changed out of his ancient sweatshirt, then over at the clock above the bar. “Bollocks. Is it possible to be late to your own party?” “For you? Absolutely.”

“Remind me again why I hired you?”

“Because I make the filthiest martinis.” Jamie grins wolfishly as he tips gin and vermouth into a shaker.

Mako rolls his eyes. “Filthy something anyway.”

“Pot, kettle.”

Their good-natured bickering follows Hob upstairs where he finds Morpheus in his favorite spot, curled on the window seat. Party or no, he’s wearing his usual grey t-shirt and black jeans. In defiance of the season, his feet are bare.

“It is beginning to snow,” Morpheus says, not looking away from the gathering dusk where fat flakes of snow are, indeed, swirling down and dusting the grass and trees.

Hob considers whether suggesting Morpheus put on something warmer would make him sound like a nagging mum. Probably would do. “It’s said to bring luck, if the first snowfall of the year happens on the solstice,” he says instead, forcing himself to pay attention to the puzzle of his own attire. He needs something appropriate to the party, but comfortable.

“Might the weather keep your friends from attending the festivities?” Morpheus’s expression is unreadable in the blurry reflection of the window, but the wistfulness of his tone is clear and it takes Hob aback. While Morpheus hasn’t whinged about the annual solstice gathering, and has, point of fact, encouraged Hob to continue the tradition, he has also tended to be solitary since he … retired. Hob hadn’t imagined he would be looking forward to a gathering, no matter the occasion.

“Not likely. The heavy snow isn’t supposed to come until later tomorrow, and it takes more than a few centimeters to make Lena miss a party. There’ll be plenty of time for people to sober up in the morning and make their way home before the storm really hits.” He doesn’t acknowledge that Morpheus has named them Hob’s friends, as though they are not Morpheus’s as well, but he notes the fact.

“Good. I-I’ve never-” Morpheus’s voice catches on a hitching breath and he curls into himself, pinching a set of sneezes into silence. It takes him a second to recover. “Bless you. Never…?” Hob prompts, when he seems to be lost in thought.

Morpheus blinks back to himself. “N-never -” He sniffles, presses a curled finger under his nose, rubs gently. “- been to a party.” He manages to finish in a rush, then crumples again. “Httnxxt! N’xxt! Hih-N’xxtch!” He shivers, gooseflesh rising along his arms.

“Bless you. All right?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just. A passing chill.”

Unable to resist, Hob pulls a flannel shirt from his wardrobe and holds it out. “I know, I know. It’s got long sleeves and color and everything. But as you may have heard, the weather outside is frightful and this will keep you warm.”

Morpheus heaves a long suffering sigh, then slides the shirt on anyway. The blue is almost exactly the same shade as his eyes, rich and deep as the Aegean Sea.

“I find it extremely hard to believe that the King of All Night’s Dreaming has never gone to a party,” Hob says. He finally decides on his most ridiculous ugly Christmas jumper - bright red, covered with black cats in Santa hats - a gift from an American student years ago.

Morpheus glares at him through watery eyes. “Not one I wished to attend.”

“Not even in the Fey realms?”

“You will not tempt me to speak a word against the Fey,” Morpheus says archly, then sniffles again, marring the hauteur.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Morpheus nods, but his focus has shifted. “I am…” He’s interrupted by a sneeze, then a second and third tumble after, harsh even muffled in his sleeve. “Ht’Isshuh! Hih-Issshh-isshue!” He takes the tissue Hob offers. “I am, perhaps, coming down with something,” he admits ruefully.

“Perhaps,” Hob echoes, teasing. “A foregone conclusion, considering my state these last days.” He digs through the bottom of the wardrobe. He’s sure there’s a belt in there somewhere. And at least one matching pair of socks.

“I’m sorry. I had been. Hoping. To attend a party simply as a guest. And to better acquaint myself with those who are important to you.” Morpheus clears his throat, then coughs.

Hob pauses and looks up from his search, startled. “You’re sorry,” he asks, the apology the first thing his brain latches on to. Rare, even now, for Morpheus to apologize for a small matter.

Morpheus shrugs, gaze turned out the window again. “I’ve been telling myself I am not ill, but I can no longer deny it. Promise you’ll tell me stories of the night come morning?”

“Are you feeling that badly? To miss it?” Though Hob had spent a day in bed himself, that was mostly at Morpheus’s insistence. He’d barely had a fever and was fine to muddle through. But Morpheus had badgered him into resting after the intensity of the semester, playing into his own procrastination tendencies too well.

He brushes a hand over Morpheus’s forehead, then his cheeks. He’s still cool to the touch, though now that Hob’s slowed down enough to pay attention, he notices the shadows pooled under blue eyes, the slight pinch between brows that indicates headache, visible even in the window reflection, remembers the tea mug, the morning distance. Morpheus must have realized he was getting sick even then and hoped to stave it off.

“I don’t wish anyone else to catch this.”

“Just don’t snog other people and they won’t.”

Morpheus finally turns to face him and glowers. “I would never.”

“I know you wouldn’t. Come on, duck.” Hob shifts, leaning Dream against his side and carding gentle fingers through his ever-messy hair. “Everyone else has already had the crud. Even Jamie, and he never gets sick.”

“Truly?” Morpheus sighs, hope warring with suspicion in his voice.

Hob does his best impression of innocence. “Would I lie to you?” “Without a doubt, if it gets you what you want.”

“What I want is you. It really is okay.” He leans down, presses a kiss to Morpheus’s temple. “And Mei isn’t coming, thank all that’s holy. She’s the only one who might be bothered.” “You dislike her.” Morpheus says slowly, as though he’s piecing together a puzzle. “It cannot be simply her subject.” Hob shakes his head. “I could forgive her teaching Shakespeare. I could even forgive her enjoying it. But she was unkind to you.” More than once, he doesn’t add.

“A minor incident,” Morpheus argues, but a faint flush colors his cheeks and when they join the party, he stays close to Hob’s side far longer than usual before retreating to a chair in an out of the way corner, beside the hearth.

With ease born of long practice, Hob threads his way through the pub, greeting the guests and chatting easily with each, while keeping a sliver of his focus on Morpheus. At first he sits alone, an island in the flow of the crowd. To the untrained eye, he seems distant, uninterested, his face impassive, body carefully rigid. Behind the mask, Hob knows, Morpheus is following the currents of conversations surrounding him. Technically no longer Prince of Stories, they still seem to nourish him.

Hob is all the way across the pub when he catches sight of Lena and Emily pulling chairs up to join Morpheus. Lena’s got a look in her eye that bodes ill for Hob - she knows too many embarrassing stories and never hesitates to share. Before he can intercept them, he’s pulled into a heated debate over whether Irish whiskey or Scotch is superior. By the time he manages to extricate himself, it’s clear that they’ve made themselves comfortable. Not surprising, but what does surprise him is that Morpheus actually seems to be equally comfortable with them. For the first time his body is at ease as he listens intently to something Lena’s saying.

“And that’s why he isn’t allowed to… Oh, oops,” she interrupts herself as Hob comes in earshot, but she doesn’t look even the slightest bit embarrassed.

“Hello Hob.” A hint of mirth quirks Morpheus’s lips.

Hob directs an exaggerated frown at Lena. “You’d better not be telling him about the pub in Dublin.”

“She wasn’t, but now she must,” Morpheus says, his voice little more than a rasp. His breath catches. Stutters. “Ex-excuse me,” he manages to say, turning away hastily. “Hih…ht’Issh! Issh! Hih-Isssh!”

Lena and Emily chorus blessings and Hob bites his tongue on the urge to ask how he’s feeling; he’d just brush off Hob’s concern, say it’s nothing. An oily feeling of disquiet curls into Hob’s belly anyway. He tells himself firmly to ignore it. “Dammit, Lena, that means I’ll have to tell him about what got us banished from Trinity’s library and I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”

“The night is young,” Lena says. ”Go get yourself another drink. It’s time for your boyfriend to get to know the real you.”

Morpheus catches his gaze. “I could use a drink as well.”

Hob tosses up his hands in defeat. “All right, all right. Just leave me with a scrap of reputation, yeah?”

“I make no promises,” Lena says and her grin is wicked. Even as he walks away, Hob is certain he hears Morpheus chuckling under his breath.

“Good turnout,” Jamie says when Hob joins him behind the bar. He’s right - somewhere above fifty people, professors and students mingling with a few of the pub’s regulars. Someone’s pushed tables aside and a few brave (and inebriated) souls are dancing. Others play cards or darts, and he’s pretty sure he can make out a couple snogging in a darker corner. There’s plenty of food, the plates and cutlery seem well stocked, the music isn’t loud enough to keep people from talking. Everything is in order. Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. But maybe he should make another circuit of the pub, just to be certain…

“Gabriel’s got it under control, boss. And if anyone starts anything, Mako will handle it. Take the night off for once.”

Hob winces. “Am I that obvious?”

“Let’s just say best you avoid the poker table. Or, actually, fancy a game?”

“Sod off; you’re on duty,” Hob says, laughing.

“And so’s Gabe. Enjoy the party. The company.” He looks meaningfully toward the little group by the hearth.

“I will. I am.” It’s true, he realizes. Emily leans forward, gesturing emphatically, managing to interrupt Lena and take the story over herself. Not upset in the least, Lena’s expression is a little proud of her girlfriend’s audacity, and more than a little fond. Morpheus presses a hand over his mouth as he laughs, but even muffled, the abrupt wounded goose honk of it startles both Lena and Emily into giggles as well. His eyes shine, simply reflected firelight. No longer magic and yet… still his Stranger. Once lost, now found. His Friend, who has known him over so many long years, and who he is finally getting to know as well.

Morpheus straightens, moves slightly away from the others. Hob wonders if he’s offended - or hurt - by their reaction. But then he grabs a napkin from the table and his laughter disintegrates into coughing.

“Poor bloke’s been sick a lot this winter. Better take one of these for him,” Jamie says, handing Hob two steaming mugs of mulled wine. “Tell him feel better soon, yeah?”

“Thanks. I’ll tell him.” Hob forces himself to smile, but the uncomfortable disquiet has returned. He hadn’t paid close attention, but now that Jamie’s pointed it out, he can’t ignore it. Morpheus has been ill on and off since the beginning of the school year. There are a thousand reasons for it - everyone gets sick with new germs and uni is a veritable petri dish; Morpheus hasn’t even had a body for that long, of course it would be vulnerable. But what if it’s worse? He blinks and in the darkness a flash of a body laid out on marble, covered with a sheer cloth and yet he knows who it was… he knows.

“There’s mulled wine? And you didn’t bring us any? Rude,” Lena says.

“Sorry, only two hands,” Hob hands one to Morpheus, then takes a deep drink of his own.

“Oh, I love this song - dance?” Emily asks as Geordie and the band begin a reel. To Hob’s relief Lena agrees. She takes Emily’s arm and they whirl into the knot of dancers. Morpheus watches them go, still smiling - but the light of the fire casts the angles of his face into strange, deep shadows and Hob drinks again.

“Robert.” Though it’s still rough, Morpheus’s voice is somewhat stronger. There’s a question in it that Hob doesn’t want to answer.

He keeps his eyes on his mug. “Jamie says he hopes you feel better soon.”

“Hob.”

“Do you want to dance, too? I’m not great, but once I finish this drink…” he takes another, longer swallow. “Enough,” Morpheus says, the command no less forceful for coming through a human throat.

Hob finally looks down to find Morpheus gazing up at him with eyes that no longer swirl with endless constellations, but are still deeper than Hob can fathom. He releases the mug and Morpheus takes his hand, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the inside of Hob’s wrist.

“What has disturbed you?”

“I… The longest night is not long enough.”

“No?”

Hob shakes his head. He always wants more time.

Morpheus draws him down, puts an arm around him, rests his head on Hob’s shoulder. “I believe it is true - the first snowfall on Yule is indeed fortunate.”

“Why,” Hob asks into his hair.

“Because I have good drink. Good music. Good friends. And you. It is enough.” He presses his lips to Hob’s wrist and warmth flows through the contact, through Hob’s whole body until it feels like he glows bright as the flames.

“I suppose it is.”

#snezfic #constitutionally incapable of writing shortfic #D/reamling

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mi4012minadigajaweera · 1 year

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Narrative Development Draft 2 - Breakdown and Explanation

I did quite a few adjustments to my second narrative after my initial idea ; a girl painting the blue sky in the set. I built my narrative upon that, adding the fact that she's being filmed by a handheld camera by another crew member so that its like a behind the scenes clip without the viewer really knowing that. Also adding the sun rays on the sky and on her as she paints, implies the presence of the artificial sun that's one of the main symbolisms in the movie.

I decided to work with a zoomed closeup part of the sky and a few stairs in the scene so it wouldn't giveaway too much of the fact that it's a set. I'm not going to be showing the entire flight of stairs since that's for Truman's main revelation but also using like a few stairs in the set so that I utilize that space without exposing too much since the viewers won't realize any importance from a few stairs shown since I'm also not showing the door.

(Edit: after receiving feedback from my lecturer, I completely excluded the stairs in my narrative since she said it might still giveaway the fact that its a set, so I used a ladder stand instead - implying that my narrative takes place when the staircase wasn't built on set yet)

Showing a pan of the perfect blue sky and clouds in the beginning adds up to the whole "Perfect World" Heterotopia that Truman lives in and gives a serene and peaceful opening scene. It's like the picturesque sky that people would gaze at. And as the camera pans, it shows us one figure/crew member, as if she's looking at the sky, but then we actually see that she's painting it, and the whole thing is a painting. It gives the impression to the viewer that this could be any work of art mural or so but only when the sky is revealed in the end it gives us like a flashback to the opening scene so like "ah, so THIS was what she was painting and this was that sky"

(Edit again after receiving feedback, I changed it up a bit to initially show the calm perfect blue sky and clouds but as the girl appears, she starts painting on an empty wall - one side of the wall is done and that's the part that realistically shows the sky but this whole sequence includes her painting the other half of the wall in blue shades and not clouds and such yet to show that its a sky - so basically it could be anything blue and the viewer won't really know at once that the sky from the beginning was painted too)

The branding "Artist's Pal" on the paint palette is a reference to the branding "Chef's Pal" used in the movie where Truman's wife Meryl, demonstrates the convenience of modern living and shows a kitchen gadget. These kind of fictional brands are cleverly put into the movie's narrative, serving as a means to emphasize the manipulation of Truman's reality and the insidious role of consumer culture and consumerism in this world. I wanted to include that in my narrative as well as a subtle hint from the opening scene itself.

Water/Sea/Storms are like the main powerful symbols throughout the movie to represent freedom, truth and Truman's desire to break free from the constraints of a manufactured reality. Developing a fear of water in Truman with bad experiences is evident throughout the movie despite him longing to sail across the sea which also acts as a metaphor for him longing for freedom and adventure beyond the controlled Seahaven Island. I didn't want to reveal too much of the climatic ending scene by showing the entire sea and the sky or boat since that's literally the key ending scene of the film, I chose to include a water splash in my narrative that still implies there's water somewhere to the viewer without giving away much. It also transitions to the screen blackout signaling the end of the behind the scene clip but the sound of the splash still echoes. Then there's a two second camera cut of a full blown storm in the ocean - one of the recurring symbolisms throughout the movie and this is what Truman was actually dreaming about and wakes up startled from the lightning sound from the storm that echoes.

I wanted to intentionally transition it that way so that the viewer could dismiss all of it as Truman's dream from the beginning when its actually not (only the storm part was his dream and the rest was like a behind the scenes clip when they were painting this set but acts as a method of foreshadowing to Truman's final escape in this same set and the ending scene in the movie when he finds it out without initially revealing it all.

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wunderlass · 2 years

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I posted 181 times in 2022

My Top Posts in 2022:

January reading round-up

I'm going to try to do this on a monthly basis to keep me on track. I'm trying to read more books this year instead of endlessly scrolling through social media.

In January I read:

Vampire Academy (first in the series, as part of a group re-read)

Perfect Past Tenses in Italian (nf)

Spinning Silver

The Copper Promise

The Girl at Rosewood Hall

The Ancient Guide to Modern Life (nf)

The Rough Guide to Green Living (nf)

Customer Persuasion (nf)

Still Waters

Go Make a Difference (nf)

3 notes - Posted February 7, 2022

Hi! Haven't actually posted about Maneskin before beyond reblogging a few gif sets, but I'm having thoughts and want to write them down.

Mostly this post boils down to me being whelmed by Supermodel. Not over, not under, just whelmed. It's catchy enough.

Firstly - Damiano's vocals do seem like a step forward, and I wonder if this was him pushing himself or new producers doing it. A+ there, really showcases what he can do.

Beyond that - well...

Did it really take eight people to write this song?

It feels like a regression for the band, back to some of the poppier roots from IBDV, which is fine, except it's weaker than those songs. This was was a really basic track that seemed to end before it got going. Verse, chorus, little guitar break, repeat - oh wait we're done? It's over? It wouldn't have hurt to add a proper middle eight that REALLY explodes and then come back to the chorus. You can even do a radio edit to cut that out if you're fishing for radio play.

Also, nearly the first minute is just Damiano's voice and the guitar with the barest hint of the rhythm section. So that's nearly half the song feeling like an introduction. It feels unbalanced for something so short.

Also also, where is Vic's bass? One of the key features of the band's sound is how prominent the bass is, often carrying the melody as much as the guitar does. It's completely MIA here, buried in the mix.

Finally - I hope the song pops more live. Otherwise it's going to seem especially pallid next to Zitti e Buoni when they perform it tomorrow.

P.S. I'm going to Circo Massimo alone in July so if anybody wants to adopt an English woman in her mid 30s for the day...I can pay in gelato

6 notes - Posted May 13, 2022

Coda

I hate how it ended for Echo. Here's how I fixed it without them having to spend any more time on the final scene. Thanks, as always, to @maxortecho for the beta work.

The desert air is cold and sharp on Liz’s cheeks, adding to the sting of tears clinging to her skin. She hates how they cloud her vision as she takes in what will be her last sight of Max for nobody knows how long. It could be weeks. Months. Forever.

Dallas is already on the other side of the portal, surrounded by unearthly structures in gleaming crystal. Waiting patiently for Max to join him, for their work to begin.

Max is framed by the stone archway of the portal, dark hair lit by the glow of the strange light filtering through from Oasis. She ought to be fascinated by what’s on the other side of it, but she can’t bear to tear her attention away from Max. He’s stoic, but she sees the sorrow in his eyes. It feels like he can’t look away from her either.

“Guess we have to wait a little bit longer for that road trip,” she whispers, the words hoarse and stricken around the knot in her throat.

He nods, his mouth tight in that way she knows signals that he’s trying to keep his emotions inside. He’s trying to be strong for her sake. “When I get back. We’ll go to the ocean then,” he promises.

The console hums behind them, a warning that its fuel will soon run out. And yet Liz can’t bear to let go of the moment. Of Max. Not yet.

“Do you think there are oceans on Oasis?” she asks, as if her words will slow time and keep Max here with her. “If you’ll get to see those.”

“I guess I’ll find out,” he whispers, and there’s no enthusiasm to it. She understands why. He’s not going to Oasis to explore, to discover what the planet has to offer, the way she would. He can’t do that without her by his side, because he has to come back to her as soon as he can. If Liz was there, they could take their time. They could stand on the shoreline and marvel at pink or yellow or silver water.

Her breath hitches. She’s momentarily stunned by her own cluelessness. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?

“I could come with you.” The words are out before she has chance to fully think them through. “I could find out with you.”

It’s as if a light has switched on behind his eyes, and his own response is breathless. “Are you sure?”

It doesn’t take a moment to think about it. Beyond that simple idea, the simple resolution of still being able to be with Max, of not being separated by galaxies and light years – there’s all the discovery to be made. A new planet, uncharted by humans. Unvisited and unseen. With him.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she says, then adds on, as if Max might need persuading. “I could help. I wouldn’t just be tagging along.”

But Max needs no persuading, his face splitting in a broad smile. “This could be our road trip,” he says, reaching out for her.

She reaches back without thinking, clasping hands. A moment ago they’d been saying their goodbyes, but now both their gazes turn to the portal. It doesn’t need any further discussion. Nothing has ever felt more right to her, except perhaps the moment she’d kissed Max for the first time.

“Ready?” she asks him anyway, taking her first step towards the portal. His mouth lifts in a giddy grin, and she wipes away the remnant of her tears with her free hand.

“Ready,” he agrees. There’s a beat, a silent rhythm between them, then they take that step together, crossing the threshold into another world.

See this is how you make a super quick tweak to the ending and make it happy, if you aren't a complete hack.

39 notes - Posted September 7, 2022

Why is the concept of sick leave so difficult for this fandom to understand?

If you aren't capable of working, then your employer has to deal with that and figure out how to cope without you until you're well enough to return to work.

That is what they did with s4 of RNM for Tyler Blackburn. He has said as much. They were actually a good employer in giving him the time off he needed to get well.

What do people want? Him to be forced to film and exacerbate his injuries? I know sick leave on the whole is treated weirdly in the US but even actors get to take it.

The show had to write around Tyler's unexpected absence, at short notice. He has said as much. Why the fuck are you all treating it like it's some sort of mystery or conspiracy that his character is absent when he wasn't available to film?

47 notes - Posted August 16, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

The CW owes an apology to Jeanine Mason, because apparently giving her the lead role in Roswell New Mexico was just catfishing us all so they could make yet another show focus on white men.

61 notes - Posted September 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #I remain correct

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sparktober · 3 years

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Sparktober Bingo 2021!

Back for a new generation: Sparktober Bingo!

Instead of coming up with an Atlantis-specific list of prompts, I compiled a bunch of 2021 -tober prompt lists into one google doc here. (Links to original prompt lists are on the google doc.) Add in a list of Atlantis episodes and...

How to play:

Choose a “flavor” from the prompt sets below the cut, then paste it into this fandom bingo card generator.

Adjust your browser size til it looks right and take a screenshot, or use the html script if you’re familiar with using html on tumblr. Tag @sparktober if you want us to reblog it so everyone knows you’re playing!

Sparktober Bingo Rules:

Complete a row/column, corners, or a blackout of your card by November 1, or not! Update as you go.

All fan-works are allowed: art, edits, fic, meta... bonus points to anyone who picks the “sprinkles” flavor and goes full mid-aughts by filling their bingo cards with 100x100 pixel icons.

You are allowed to pull multiple cards until you get one that inspires you, and you can also go through the prompt list of your choice in advance to pull out squicks or things you absolutely won’t write. I recommend not googling unfamiliar words from your work computer.

Use the prompts liberally! Episode titles can be treated as the episode or as generic prompts (e.g. “Epiphany” can be for an episode-related fic or a prompt for an epiphany of your choice).

Flavor descriptions:

VANILLA: Gen prompt lists from Fictober, Inktober, Trektober Gen, and Trektober Trek.

CHOCOLATE: Zesty prompt lists from Trektober NSFW, Kinktober, and Whumptober. The multiple-prompts-per-day from Kinktober and Whumptober have been broken into individual prompts.

CANDY CORN: Fall / holiday themed prompts from TUA-tober.

SPRINKLES: Atlantis episode list (in order, in case you only want to copy certain seasons), along with characters and a few Atlantis-specific prompts.

TWIST: All of the above! (You can also manually mix and match different flavors, of course.)

Text blocks to copy into the bingo card generator are below the cut. Enjoy!!

VANILLA

CHOCOLATE

A/B/O; Soft; Anonymous Sex; Penetration with Object/s; Sleeping; Intercrural Sex; Restraints; In/Under Water; Group Sex; First Time; Possessive Behavior; Dry Humping / Grinding; Overstimulation; Roleplay; Rimming; Stretching / Fisting; Power Imbalance; Food Play; Fingering; Body Worship; Sex Work; Voyeurism / Exhibitionism; Safewords; Technology; Oral Sex; Omorashi / Wetting; Crying; Underwear / Lingerie; Friends with Benefits; Pain Kink; Dirty Talk; Trick or Treat; All trussed up and nowhere to go; Talking is overrated; Sticks and stones may break my bones...; Trust fall; I've got red in my ledger; Touch and go; My spidey-sense is tingling; Coughing up a lung; Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated; Oops, I did it again; Just keep swimming; It'll be fun, they said; That's gonna leave a mark; Under pressure; Feed a cold, starve a fever; On a need-to-know basis; Field care 101; The doctor is in; Just a scratch; Lost & found; That's where the blood's supposed to be; They made me do it; You break it, you buy it; One down, two to go; Hide & Seek; You will go down with this ship; “I'm fine, I prom...”; It's (not) just in your head; All work and no play; Digging your grave; Hurt & Comfort; “You have to let go.”; Garotte; Taunting; “Do you trust me?”; Betrayal; Bruises; Helplessness; Pneumothorax; Presumed Dead; Hospital; Adrift; Torture; “This is gonna suck.”; Crush injuries; Delirium; Recovery; “Please don't move.”; “Now smile for the camera.”; Bitten; Trunk; Bleeding through bandages; Cursed; Auction; Self-induced injuries to escape; Escape; Fallen; Passing out; “Good, you're finally awake.”; “You're still not dead?”; Major character death; Disaster zone; Barbed Wire; Choking; Insults; Taken Hostage; Misunderstanding; Touch Starved; Numbness; Exotic Illness; (Blind) Rage; Flare-Up; Drowning; Made To Watch; Burns; Beaten; Fever Dreams; Scars; Hemorrhage; Doctor Visit; Bleeding; Trapped Under Water; Pressure; Demon; Ransom; Flashback; Flight; Waterfall; Vertigo; Nightmares; Too Weak To Move; Left For Dead; Trauma; Bound; Gagged; “Who Did This To You?”; Pushed; Broken Nose; Hunger; Blindness; “Definitely Just A Cold”; Tears; Ice Chips; Dehydration; Begging; Cauterization; Force; Bees; Aftermath; Dread; Cpr; Stabbing; Solitary Confinement; Blood-Matted Hair; Obsession; Pursuit; Revenge; Hiding; Trap Door; Collapse; Panic; Overworked; Ghosts; Prisoner; Losing Control; Threats; Caning; Mercy; Forgotten; Head Injury; Screaming; Comfort; Self-Sacrifice; Trapped; Near-Death Experience; Regret; Tragedy; Battlefield; Anxiety; Gore; Petplay; Bimbofication; Panties & Lingerie; Bondage; Double Penetration in 2 Holes; Breeding; Humiliation; NTR; Incest; Emeto; Omorashi; Free Use; Crossdressing; Public; Three (or more) some; Daddy & Mommy; Double Penetration in 1 Hole; Distention & Cockbulge; Xenophilia; Shotgunning; Watersports; Pregnancy; Lactation; Waxplay; Grooming; Human Furniture; Feet; Prostituion; MacroMicro; Spanking; Cockwarming; Glory Hole; Somnophilia; Body Modification; Temperature Play; Leather; Size Difference; Sounding; Stockings; Tentacles; Medical Play; Stripping; Orgasm Denial; Master & slave; Scissoring; Titfucking; Frottage; Knifeplay; Formal Wear; Breathplay; Fisting; Pegging; Scat; Beastiality; Fucking Machine; Tickling; Boot Worship; Bukkake; Collaring; Foodplay; Non or dubcon; Feederism; Sensory Deprivation; Oviposition; Clone & Selfcest; Exhibitionism & Voyeurism; Impact Play; Sadomasochism; Bloodplay; Praise Kink; Body Swap; Sweat; Branding; Massage; Role Reversal; Armpit; Masturbation; Inflation; Sex Toys; Burnplay; Menophilia; Stuck in Wall; Deepthroating & Facesitting; Dacryphilia; Hate Sex

CANDY CORN

Birthday; Sick Day; Autumn; Candles; Plaid / Flannel; Leaf Piles; Sweaters; Baking; Cinnamon; Pumpkin Spice Latte; Carnival; Movie Night; Candy; Graveyard; Black Cats; Goosebumps; Pumpkin; Party; Monster; Ghosts; Witch; Vampire; Traditions; Magic; Mask; Haunted House; Trick; Treat; Costume; Monster Mash; Halloween

SPRINKLES

Rising Part 1; Rising Part 2; Hide and Seek; Thirty-Eight Minutes; Suspicion; Childhood's End; Poisoning the Well; Underground; Home; The Storm; The Eye; The Defiant One; Hot Zone; Sanctuary; Before I Sleep; The Brotherhood; Letters from Pegasus; The Gift; The Siege Part 1; The Siege Part 2; The Siege Part 3; The Intruder; Runner; Duet; Condemned; Trinity; Instinct; Conversion; Aurora; The Lost Boys; The Hive; Epiphany; Critical Mass; Grace Under Pressure; The Tower; The Long Goodbye; Coup d'Etat; Michael; Inferno; Allies; No Man's Land; Misbegotten; Irresistible; Sateda; Progeny; The Real World; Common Ground; McKay and Mrs. Miller; Phantoms; The Return Part 1; The Return Part 2; Echoes; Irresponsible; Tao of Rodney; The Game; The Ark; Sunday; Submersion; Vengeance; First Strike; Adrift; Lifeline; Reunion; Doppelganger; Travelers; Tabula Rasa; Missing; The Seer; Miller's Crossing; This Mortal Coil; Be All My Sins Remember'd; Spoils of War; Quarantine; Harmony; Outcast; Trio; Midway; The Kindred Part 1; The Kindred Part 2; The Last Man; Search and Rescue; The Seed; Broken Ties; The Daedalus Variations; Ghost in the Machine; The Shrine; Whispers; The Queen; Tracker; First Contact; The Lost Tribe; Outsiders; Inquisition; The Prodigal; Remnants; Brain Storm; Infection; Identity; Vegas; Enemy at the Gate; Ronon Dex; Teyla Emmagan; John Sheppard; Carson Beckett; Elizabeth Weir; Rodney McKay; Jennifer Keller; Samantha Carter; Aiden Ford; Radek Zelenka; Kate Heightmeyer; Evan Lorne; Laura Cadman; Kolya; Chuck; Peter Grodin; Steven Caldwell; Lantea; Ocean; Ancient(s); Richard Woolsey; Athosians; Daedalus; Wraith; Nanites; Asurans; Genii; DHD; SGC; Stargate; Earth; Antarctica; Ascension

TWIST

“I need you.”; “You have no proof.”; “I’ve waited for this.”; “Fine, I give up.”; “I’m not saying I told you so…”; “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”; “That could have gone better.”; “This is it, isn’t it?”; “There’s no right side to this.”; “It’s so quiet.”; “I swear, it’s not always like this.”; “You keep me safe.”; “The things you make me do…”; “Your information was wrong.”; “I like that in you.”; “Not this again.”; “I’m with you, you know that.”; “This was not part of the plan.”; “I feel strange.”; “That’s what I’m known for.”; “What did I say?”; “No promises.”; “This time, do what I say.”; “Is this supposed to impress me?”; “Do you know what time it is?”; “I’m sure this has never worked, ever.”; “You could have died!”; “I don’t have to explain myself.”; “Why are we whispering?”; “Don’t ruin this.”; “Take me with you.”; Crystal; Suit; Vessel; Knot; Raven; Spirit; Fan; Watch; Pressure; Pick; Sour; Stuck; Roof; Tick; Helmet; Compass; Collide; Moon; Loop; Sprout; Fuzzy; Open; Leak; Extinct; Splat; Connect; Spark; Crispy; Patch; Slither; Risk; Meet-Cute; Amnesia; Age Difference; Pining; Sick Fic; Fake Relationship; Accidental Meeting; Epistolary; Secret Identity; Historical AU; Nightmares; Monster Hunter; A/B/O; Reunion; Soulmates; At Pride; Angst; Seasons; Fix-It; Coffee Shop; Movie Plot AU; Kid Fic; Actor's Other Crossover Work; OT+; Getting Together; Only One Bed; Pirates; Making Up; Forbidden Relationship; Tattoos; Halloween; Prime Directive; Lower Decks / Background Characters; Away Mission; Ship's Bar; Aliens Made Them Do It; Observation Deck; Crew with Family; Holodeck; Science Crew; Character Survives; Headcanons; Diplomacy; Decontamination; Trek Crossover; Replicator; Worldbuilding; Redshirts; Sex / Love Potion; Medical Crew; Transporters; Medbay; Interspecies Relationship; Mirrorverse; Uniforms; Mutiny; Stranded on a Planet; Rec Room; Academy Era; Second Contact; Command Crew; Off-Duty; Soft; Anonymous Sex; Penetration with Object/s; Sleeping; Intercrural Sex; Restraints; In/Under Water; Group Sex; First Time; Possessive Behavior; Dry Humping / Grinding; Overstimulation; Roleplay; Rimming; Stretching / Fisting; Power Imbalance; Food Play; Fingering; Body Worship; Sex Work; Voyeurism / Exhibitionism; Safewords; Technology; Oral Sex; Omorashi / Wetting; Crying; Underwear / Lingerie; Friends with Benefits; Pain Kink; Dirty Talk; Trick or Treat; All trussed up and nowhere to go; Talking is overrated; Sticks and stones may break my bones...; Trust fall; I've got red in my ledger; Touch and go; My spidey-sense is tingling; Coughing up a lung; Rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated; Oops, I did it again; Just keep swimming; It'll be fun, they said; That's gonna leave a mark; Under pressure; Feed a cold, starve a fever; On a need-to-know basis; Field care 101; The doctor is in; Just a scratch; Lost & found; That's where the blood's supposed to be; They made me do it; You break it, you buy it; One down, two to go; You will go down with this ship; “I'm fine, I prom...”; It's (not) just in your head; All work and no play; Digging your grave; Hurt & Comfort; “You have to let go.”; Garotte; Taunting; “Do you trust me?”; Betrayal; Bruises; Helplessness; Pneumothorax; Presumed Dead; Hospital; Adrift; Torture; “This is gonna suck.”; Crush injuries; Delirium; Recovery; “Please don't move.”; “Now smile for the camera.”; Bitten; Trunk; Bleeding through bandages; Cursed; Auction; Self-induced injuries to escape; Escape; Fallen; Passing out; “Good, you're finally awake.”; “You're still not dead?”; Major character death; Disaster zone; Barbed Wire; Choking; Insults; Taken Hostage; Misunderstanding; Touch Starved; Numbness; Exotic Illness; (Blind) Rage; Flare-Up; Drowning; Made To Watch; Burns; Beaten; Fever Dreams; Scars; Hemorrhage; Doctor Visit; Bleeding; Trapped Under Water; Demon; Ransom; Flashback; Flight; Waterfall; Vertigo; Too Weak To Move; Left For Dead; Trauma; Bound; Gagged; “Who Did This To You?”; Pushed; Broken Nose; Hunger; Blindness; “Definitely Just A Cold”; Tears; Ice Chips; Dehydration; Begging; Cauterization; Force; Bees; Aftermath; Dread; Cpr; Stabbing; Solitary Confinement; Blood-Matted Hair; Obsession; Pursuit; Revenge; Hiding; Trap Door; Collapse; Panic; Overworked; Ghosts; Prisoner; Losing Control; Threats; Caning; Mercy; Forgotten; Head Injury; Screaming; Comfort; Self-Sacrifice; Trapped; Near-Death Experience; Regret; Tragedy; Battlefield; Anxiety; Gore; Petplay; Bimbofication; Panties & Lingerie; Bondage; Double Penetration in 2 Holes; Breeding; Humiliation; NTR; Incest; Emeto; Omorashi; Free Use; Crossdressing; Public; Three (or more) some; Daddy & Mommy; Double Penetration in 1 Hole; Distention & Cockbulge; Xenophilia; Shotgunning; Watersports; Pregnancy; Lactation; Waxplay; Grooming; Human Furniture; Feet; Prostituion; MacroMicro; Spanking; Cockwarming; Glory Hole; Somnophilia; Body Modification; Temperature Play; Leather; Size Difference; Sounding; Stockings; Tentacles; Medical Play; Stripping; Orgasm Denial; Master & slave; Scissoring; Titfucking; Frottage; Knifeplay; Formal Wear; Breathplay; Fisting; Pegging; Scat; Beastiality; Fucking Machine; Tickling; Boot Worship; Bukkake; Collaring; Foodplay; Non or dubcon; Feederism; Sensory Deprivation; Oviposition; Clone & Selfcest; Exhibitionism & Voyeurism; Impact Play; Sadomasochism; Bloodplay; Praise Kink; Body Swap; Sweat; Branding; Massage; Role Reversal; Armpit; Masturbation; Inflation; Sex Toys; Burnplay; Menophilia; Stuck in Wall; Deepthroating & Facesitting; Dacryphilia; Hate Sex; Birthday; Sick Day; Autumn; Candles; Plaid / Flannel; Leaf Piles; Sweaters; Baking; Cinnamon; Pumpkin Spice Latte; Carnival; Movie Night; Candy; Graveyard; Black Cats; Goosebumps; Pumpkin; Party; Monster; Witch; Vampire; Traditions; Magic; Mask; Haunted House; Trick; Treat; Costume; Monster Mash; Rising Part 1; Rising Part 2; Hide and Seek; Thirty-Eight Minutes; Suspicion; Childhood's End; Poisoning the Well; Underground; Home; The Storm; The Eye; The Defiant One; Hot Zone; Sanctuary; Before I Sleep; The Brotherhood; Letters from Pegasus; The Gift; The Siege Part 1; The Siege Part 2; The Siege Part 3; The Intruder; Runner; Duet; Condemned; Trinity; Instinct; Conversion; Aurora; The Lost Boys; The Hive; Epiphany; Critical Mass; Grace Under Pressure; The Tower; The Long Goodbye; Coup d'Etat; Michael; Inferno; Allies; No Man's Land; Misbegotten; Irresistible; Sateda; Progeny; The Real World; Common Ground; McKay and Mrs. Miller; Phantoms; The Return Part 1; The Return Part 2; Echoes; Irresponsible; Tao of Rodney; The Game; The Ark; Sunday; Submersion; Vengeance; First Strike; Lifeline; Doppelganger; Travelers; Tabula Rasa; Missing; The Seer; Miller's Crossing; This Mortal Coil; Be All My Sins Remember'd; Spoils of War; Quarantine; Harmony; Outcast; Trio; Midway; The Kindred Part 1; The Kindred Part 2; The Last Man; Search and Rescue; The Seed; Broken Ties; The Daedalus Variations; Ghost in the Machine; The Shrine; Whispers; The Queen; Tracker; First Contact; The Lost Tribe; Outsiders; Inquisition; The Prodigal; Remnants; Brain Storm; Infection; Identity; Vegas; Enemy at the Gate; Ronon Dex; Teyla Emmagan; John Sheppard; Carson Beckett; Elizabeth Weir; Rodney McKay; Jennifer Keller; Samantha Carter; Aiden Ford; Radek Zelenka; Kate Heightmeyer; Evan Lorne; Laura Cadman; Kolya; Chuck; Peter Grodin; Steven Caldwell; Lantea; Ocean; Ancient(s); Richard Woolsey; Athosians; Daedalus; Wraith; Nanites; Asurans; Genii; DHD; SGC; Stargate; Earth; Antarctica; Ascension

#sparktober is coming #sparktober #sparktober bingo

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s11e17 · 3 years

Note

for the fic prompt maybe smthn set in s4? dean and cas s4 weird trust that they had to just confess stuff to each other is so interesting to me

tumblr user @grocerystoredean you are a genius, i hope u enjoy :) more under the cut i (once again) wrote way too much / edit: i posted this on ao3 bc people seemed to like it !! wehh thank uuu :)

Well, fuck. Dean exhales into the soupy air, watches the sand dunes shiver light years away. Nothing like the desert Dean knows — his old friend the New Mexico desert, wide and empty, not a soul to see him for miles in any direction except the satellites above. Once — he’d been twenty-three, maybe, a year after Sam leaving him and eleven months from Dad — he got out of his car in a stretch of land where even the highway markers had died off, and he crawled on his hands and knees in the sun and tore his clothes off and just howled at the sky for the joy and the fear of it, fear of that aloneness.

This isn’t that desert. This is the kind of desert they show in movies. This is Lawrence of Arabia desert, Iraq War propaganda desert, Iron Man opening sequence desert. Hell, maybe Dean does know this desert as well as the other. He looks up at the sky and thinks it should be yellower.

When the hue of the sky tilts — or, maybe it’s already been that color, always been that color — he figures it out. “This is a—”

“A dream, yes,” Castiel says from behind him. Dean turns around. He sees him in the poor bastard he’s wearing, but when he looks at him a little sideways, or when the heat covers him, he thinks— Cas has gotta be miles away for the way the sun makes him liquid, the way Dean can see shifting wings like floating lakes behind Cas’s eyes.

Dean shoves his hands in his pockets, ‘cause what else is there to do. “Nice, uh. Nice place.”

“Three men were tested here,” Cas says, which isn’t a reply. He nods at something over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean turns to look, and he sees— or, they’ve been inside of a furnace this whole time. It isn’t hot, though, or at least, not hotter than the desert was. Is. Than the desert-furnace has been.

In that gravel-rough voice of his, Cas quotes: “Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednago, who hath sent his angel, and delivered his servants that trusted in him, and have changed the king’s word, and yielded their bodies, that they might not serve nor worship any god, except their own God.”

“Throwin’ it back to the Old Testament, huh.” Dean knocks on the inside of the furnace. It’s like a kiln, the kind they ran into at that high school on Samhain. “Thought we were at the end of the book.”

“Linearity is not our… strong suit,” Cas says. It ain’t really a joke, hell, it barely counts as an idiom, but Dean laughs anyway, ‘cause the guy’s trying. And Cas looks half-pleased by Dean’s reaction, too. With that subtle curve in his mouth, the one Dean might be imagining, Cas continues, “I knew even then what this would come to.”

“This?” Dean studies Cas’s face, since he’s the only thing changing, moving in here. The only thing worth lookin’ at. “You mean me?” God, he looks so— he looks so human, somehow. Dean can see flames pouring out of his palms, great wings arcing up like lightning, cleaving the sky— but still. When Dean looks at him head-on, when he smiles, Dean almost feels like he might be— he might— anyway.

“You, Sam, it’s—” Cas shakes his head, or his head shakes him, or— what happens is, Cas corrects himself. “I mean to say that I have already known what this would come to. I know it now. Or what I mean is, I am in this furnace and Nebuchadnezzar is sentencing three men into a furnace and the apocalypse has already begun.”

Sheesh. “You, uh. You angels sure don’t make it easy for us to follow, man.”

“I am not a man.” Dean’s breath catches as Cas— as the furnace becomes, is, has always been the ocean, as Dean swallows saltwater while he swims to the mountain which is Castiel. His feet touch sand and the beach gives way to desert and Castiel puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder, where he touched him before, the first time, and Dean—

“Yeah,” Dean croaks out, and Castiel’s hand tightens and Dean falls to his knees, just like that, splayed out on the hot sand the way he’d crawled out of that car on that desperate hot afternoon when he was twenty-three. “I know. I know, Cas.”

“I have always known about this,” Cas says from above him, hand trailing up to Dean’s collarbone, the side of his neck, his— his jaw, his cheekbone, his hair. Cas puts his hand on the crown of Dean’s head like he’s healing him and Dean shudders. “About you. And yet.”

Dean waits. Cas stands there, wearing his goddamn slacks over his curling lion’s tail, silent.

Dean pushes Cas’s hand off him, stumbles to his feet. Cas doesn’t stop him. “And yet what, Cas?” he asks, hoarsely.

“I don’t know how this ends,” Cas says quietly. He says it like it’s an admission. Like he shouldn’t have said it. He steps back. “I shouldn’t have—”

“This— the apocalypse?” Dean catches Cas’s shoulder, and Cas lets himself be moved. “Look at me. Hey. Look at me.”

Cas locks eyes with him. That fire. You were Mount Vesuvius, Dean thinks out of the blue. You were ash covering the sky; an ice age. I can see you, covering Europe in snow. I see you making famine.

“I’ve never been conscious of it before,” Cas says carefully. “There has always been an empty space. The ending has never been foretold. But I never—”

He inhales sharply, and pulls away from Dean’s grasp. “You ruined me. Time— I must have always been conscious like this, but this is a change, but that doesn’t— I am not in— I am not like you.”

“Jesus, Cas, let’s— chill out for a sec—”

“I should not be inside time the way you are,” Cas bites out, violently. And then he pauses, and looks at Dean.

Thoughtfully, he adds, “And yet. Here we are.”

“Yeah, okay, I don’t—” Dean rolls his left shoulder back. All he knows is that Cas said you ruined me, and Dean can understand that much. Maybe he can fix it. He asks, “That’s a good thing, right? That you don’t know? That means we can change it. We get to pick how our story ends.”

“You shouldn’t be able to see me like this,” Cas says abruptly. Under his skin, a hawk cries, echoing. “In this in between form.”

He looks restless. Dean tries, “S’okay, Cas, you’re not puttin' me off or anything.”

“We shouldn’t have had this conversation.” Cas blinks, and the earth slides, and Dean is in the driver’s seat of the Impala. He feels the bass of Cas’s voice under his thighs as he says, “Sleep well, Dean.”

The dream lingers. Dean senses glimpses of it: sand, the steering wheel, Pompeii. He has the sneaking suspicion that Cas might’ve been involved, but he has no evidence, no reminder to check on Sam’s location, no ripped up sheet of paper in his pocket.

He rolls over to check the time. An old Gideons sits under his phone, propped open to Daniel, of all things. Dean thought they were at the end of the book. But there is a God in heaven that revealeth secrets, and maketh known to the king Nebuchadnezzar what shall be in the latter days. Thy dream, and the visions of thy head upon thy bed, are these.

“Bullshit,” Dean snorts, tossing the Bible back into the drawer. He thinks about praying to Cas. Hey Cas, he’d say, you up there? Got kind of a wacky feeling about all this. Wackier than our usual, even.

Ridiculous. He throws his coat on, and kicks Sam outta bed, mostly just thankful the kid’s where he’s supposed to be. He waits for him in the car, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. It’s quiet, but he doesn’t really wanna put on any music. As if there’s something else he should be listening for.

“Well,” he says to himself when he can’t remember it. Sam comes out of the room with their bags, and he turns the key in the ignition. The engine’s rumble is familiar under his thighs. “It’ll come to me.”

#agoodsoldier fic #grocerystoredean #:)#dean #castiel

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fandom-monium · 4 years

Text

For the Holidays - Part 4

Summary: In which Spencer doesn’t want to go to his high school reunion, but you tagging along changes things. “You know, I don’t remember you being able to run this fast back at the academy.”

WC: 2.4k

Tags/Warnings: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader, fake-dating trope, pining (so much pining), fluff, defensive Spencer, more angst but not from unnecessary trauma, more emotional-support Reader, reunion arc, song fic, emotional/physical intimacy (to the max)

Don't think we fit in at this party Everyone's got so much to say, oh yeah, yeah When we walked in, I said I'm sorry, mmm But now I think that we should stay

Not a lot of things shake Spencer. It’s a very short list; his knowledge is expansive, he reads studies and scientific journals for fun, knows the most random statistics and facts just for the slightest possibility of it being useful. There're the rare occasions where unsubs catch him off guard, but at this point he's hardly phased. Nothing surprises him.

Although, this⎼this has made it to the top of that list.

“You’re sorry?” Spencer repeats, not sure if he heard correctly. His body cements in place and he holds his breath, waiting for the punchline. Waiting for one of them to jump him, for someone to say, ‘LOL jk’ like Garcia does when he doesn’t get the joke.

Because he doesn’t like this joke. It wasn’t funny back then, it’s not funny now.

But they don’t. Seconds pass and his tormentors, like him, are just as frozen, just as breathless, just waiting for his reaction.

They’re serious?

Spencer’s lips curl as his nose wrinkles. “You’re sorry? You think saying sorry is going to make up for everything?”

“God no, of course not. But over time, we’ve come to realize,” Alexa’s voice trembles, like she’s holding back tears. She exchanges glances with Harper and the football team before taking a tentative step towards him. “You deserve a real apology at least.”

Spencer recoils, the words jostling his brain. Alexa, Harper, and the few members of the football team all nod in agreement, as if they discussed this beforehand.

She adds, “We don’t expect you to forgive us now or ever. But we hope to try and⎼”

She’s preaching, something about regret and forgiveness and bridging gaps, but Spencer barely registers her voice⎼the words drowned out by the thrumming Christmas music. It becomes more garbled and muffled. Like he’s under water and he’s sinking.

He struggles to catch his breath. His brain reels until the only thing he can focus on is…

Anger. Familiar and hot and so loud that it rings in his ears. Against the storm, it’s a buoy in a rumbling ocean, the clearest, safest, most tangible thing he finds as he’s caught in the undertow.

Just like that he breaks the water’s surface.

And he latches on.

“You’re not sorry,” Spencer lets out a dry chuckle. Alexa and Harper open their mouths to protest but he continues, “You want to know how I know this? Because I have several degrees, one of them being in psychology.”

They shake their heads. “We are⎼”

He cuts them off, his tone rising above Santa Tell Me as it bellows overhead. “No, you're not. You don’t feel remorse. You don’t blame yourselves. You feel guilty, and your attempt at apologizing for what you did tells me that you can’t live with that guilt. That’s why you’re apologizing. You want a clear conscience. You want me to⎼to just act like what you did was okay, to act like nothing happened. But it did and I⎼” Spencer’s vision blurs and his eyes burn. He squeezes them shut.

He will not cry. He will not cry. He’s wasted enough tears on these people.

Spencer meets their gaze, and he knows they have to strain their ears when he rasps, “⎼It wasn't okay.”

“Reid,” Harper’s calls, her voice wobbling. For a second he sees it; Alexa, Harper, the football team backing them up as gold and white spotlights roam over them. Their eyes glisten with worry, and he sees the pain, the honesty, all the signs of truth and genuine regret with a profiler’s accuracy.

A small part of him hopes maybe they are. Maybe they do regret it the pain they caused him.

The concept is jarring. And Spencer doesn’t have the capacity to process it. Not now.

So he turns away, clearing his throat. “Excuse me.” Without thinking, he slips his hand out of yours, startling you, and pushes through the throng of people.

“Um,” You hesitate as your gaze switches between watching Spencer and his (ex?) bullies. Then his back disappears in the crowd and you start after him, “I’ll be right back?”

Not the smoothest exit, but it’ll have to do.

You quickly weave between party-goers, rushing towards the exit. By the time you burst through the doors, Spencer is gone.

You’ve lost him.

⎼

Okay, you didn’t lose him.

You’re not even surprised, catching your breath at the gaping doors. Light spills from the hall, casting a long shadow as you scan the room, your footfalls muffled by the old carpet. It takes a little browsing until you realize you’re in the fiction area.

You find Spencer in the deepest corner of the library. He sits on the floor, slumped against the shelves of the classic literature section. You bite back a smile; his legs are too long for the small aisle between the bookcases, so his knees are bent and his hands rest in his lap.

He barely notices as you carefully pad over to him. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Spencer mumbles, staring vacantly at the rows of worn books. They’re dusty, mostly 3rd and 4th editions. He’s fairly certain they’re the same ones he read when he attended⎼damn, the American education system is underfunded⎼and despite the comforting presence of you and his old friends, he can’t bring himself to look at you, ashamed of his outburst.

“You know, I don’t remember you being able to run this fast back at the academy,” You let out an exaggerated wheeze, an attempt to lighten his mood.

It sort of works. Spencer huffs out a laugh, but he sobers quickly. “Sorry for running out on you like that.”

You squeeze yourself into the small gap, mirroring him against the adjacent bookcase, legs tangling with his. “I told you, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Maybe but it’s still not fair to you,” Spencer swallows the lump in his throat. He hears you snort and he looks up, seeing the wry smile on your lips. “What?”

You roll your eyes. “Of course you still manage to think of me, even though this whole thing is for you. Reid, if I wasn’t so concerned, I’d feel touched.”

He flushes, and while it's too dark to see each other clearly, Spencer still ducks his head.

You smile shyly as you nudge the toe of your shoe against his. A question.

A second later, he nudges you back. An answer.

Satisfied, you don't say another word as you both find comfort in the silence and in the musty scent of used books. If you strain your ears, you can hear Snowman faintly echo down the empty hallways. It's hauntingly peaceful.

Then Spencer breaks the silence.

It starts with a sniff and you shrug it off. Probably dust, allergies. But there's another and another until all you hear is his breathes, unsteady and wet and⎼fuck.

Spencer is crying.

He bites his lip as he clasps his hands tightly in his lap, trying to pull himself together. Scrape together whatever semblance of pride he’s got left. He's been humiliated enough today; he doesn't need to fall apart in front of you too.

Tears well in his eyes. A whimper escapes him, and because you’re alone⎼no music, no loud guests to cover him⎼you feel the brunt of it, rattling your bones.

Your willpower snaps.

Touch is a powerful thing. There are people who simply don’t care for it but others, they’re uncomfortable with the intimacy behind the sensation. Many underestimate the tremendous courage it takes to let others into your personal bubble. And for you⎼

Touch is... personal. It’s giving a spare key to your place. It’s confessing your sins before you face Death.

It’s sharing your sweaters with Spencer because he thinks they look cool. It’s cooking and cleaning the failed trials afterwards, standing at the sink and flinging soap bubbles at each other. It’s sharing the blanket when heading home after an exhausting case.

Touch is comfort. So that’s what you give him.

Spencer's breath hitches as you crawl over to him. On your knees, you settle between his legs and he freezes, terrified if he moves you will leave. Or disappear. He’s not sure. But you’re so close that his breath puffs against your chin. He tries to hold them in. It makes him hiccup.

To his surprise, you pull out a handkerchief.

Though his body trembles, he doesn’t protest as your hands gently push back his hair. He follows the movement, his head falling back against the bookcase as he watches your dark silhouette hover over him, softly outlined by the streetlight seeping through the windows. He lets you take the tears and the hurt, dabbing them away from his tear-stained cheeks.

Every teardrop is a knife. Every droplet you don’t catch, it's a cut.

Spencer wonders if he's dreaming. Maybe he tripped and knocked himself out? Or did the football team clock him so hard it put him in a coma? Or maybe he fainted?

Because if the universe is rewarding him after all the bullshit he's been through, all the work he’s done, he hopes this is it. This is the closest you've ever been⎼you’ve hugged and comforted each other before but this is so much more intimate than any other moment you’ve shared. And given the chance, he knows he would spend the rest of his days like this. His face in your hands as you wipe away the misery and despair.

The thought sends him into a new wave of tears. If you mind, you say nothing.

Spencer shuts his eyes, leaning into every touch, every caress. It’s too dark to see, so he tries to memorize what his eyes can’t. Your hands are cool against his skin and your soap smells good (or maybe that’s just you?). And as much as he appreciates your mindfulness to his germaphobic tendencies, he wishes you'd come closer. To keep touching him.

But it’s odd, Spencer thinks as you smooth back his hair. You offer no words of encouragement. No words of wisdom. No motivational speech that’ll prompt him to bounce right back. You simply wait, brushing away his tears as he hiccups and sobs.

It just… doesn’t seem real. Attending the reunion like Morgan suggested (and the fact you're kneeling between his legs, but he's trying not to think too hard about it). The idea sounded so simple and terrifying at the same time. He planned to show off⎼peacock, if you will⎼and you even helped him practice. Spencer was prepared to bring them to their knees (okay, not really but he was willing to try).

And now years later, they decide to apologize?

The audacity.

They didn’t spend years pushing past the pain. They didn’t hope the memories would erode with time. They didn’t have to pretend everything was okay, like nothing happened, like they didn’t do anything wrong.

So excuse him if a little ‘sorry’ doesn’t make him feel any better.

Is it⎼is he weak for feeling like this? It’s been too long. They shouldn’t have this sort of effect on him.

“I don’t think that matters.”

Spencer frowns at you. After his tears dry up and his hiccups subside, you settle beside him, your handkerchief, moist with his tears, fisted in his hands now. He tries to ignore the way your shoulders and thighs brush against each other.

“I-I’m not invalidating you. But I don't think this is about being weak or sensitive. What they did to you… cut you deep and you never got closure and-and you’re still hurting. Even if it’s just a little,” You speak low, gazing at the bookshelves across from you as you stumble for the right words. He sees you angle your head towards him. Feels you shift next to him. “It's been years, but time and space doesn’t make your feelings any less valid. So no, I don't think this is about strength. It was a prank gone wrong, and you were just a kid.”

That’s putting it lightly. Spencer bites his tongue.

You don’t need to know that.

He folds the handkerchief in his hands as he murmurs, “Easy for you to say.”

He feels you stiffen, and he considers the possibility that he said something wrong.

“What do you mean?” You ask.

“It’s not bad or anything,” Spencer sits up, hands waving about as he rushes to assure you. “You’re always so composed. Even during the worst cases, you hardly lose it. In terms of stoicism, you’re basically on par with Hotch.”

Spencer cringes, the words out of his mouth before he realizes.

For a second you don’t respond, but his heart stalls as he practically feels you pull away from him, even though physically you’re still there. You turn away, pulling your knees to your chest.

“Is that what you think of me?” Fuck, you sound betrayed by his assumptions.

“I⎼well… ” Spencer wrings his hands together. He’s at a loss for words, afraid he’ll say something wrong again. He wishes he had night vision; your body language is closed off, protective, and he knows your expression is pained.

Oh god, he did that. It hurts knowing he did that.

“Believe it or not, Reid, I’m not exactly the poster child for calm and collected," You unfold as you look back at him, voice laced with vulnerability. "I've got cracks of my own."

"... Eh,” Like you, Spencer attempts to brighten your mood, elbowing you, “I need to conduct an observational study to back that up."

He knows you're smiling as you huff, “Is that your roundabout way of saying I can go to you? When I need a shoulder to cry on?”

I'd literally drop everything if you came to me for no reason but okay.

Spencer shrugs, grinning as you push him so hard he topples over. And as you laugh and shove at each other like teenagers, Spencer concurs. You both have your cracks. You're cracked and chipped and if you take the time to look there's damage in places hidden away from the naked eye.

You're cracked but it makes you all the more perfect.

AN: 4/5 whoops

yall don’t kink shame me but i’m a slut for emotional and physical intimacy 😳 and not to be toxic but Reids hot when he mad 😳

what kind of student were/are you in school, middle/high/college?

i think i got the hang of the angst now im quite proud of my writing here :) i bummed myself out writing these scenes you dont even know

small background with Mysterious!Reader and Reid yes they were in the FBI academy together :)

fun fact: when i was writing part 3 and 4 i had to go back and watch the elephants memory episode after realizing i forgot the names of Reids bullies. i was already halfway done before i noticed i wrote Harry instead of Harper gdm

when i started FtH, i cackled at the idea of Reid confronting his bullies. just seemed funny to me to have him be pissed and ready to shank his enemies with words and just lose that chance bc his bullies are human too and realize their mistake so they want to make up for it lmaooo now here he is angry and he can’t really express it the way he thought he would

(also if you noticed the lines ref to @idmakeitbehave’s fic cracked perfection, just a little thingy bc they inspire me and i love their everything <333)

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #mgg x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg x y/n #mgg fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #mgg fic #mgg imagine #criminal minds x oc

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: Crown For Two {3}

Henry Cavill AU x OFC Xari Thornton AU

Warning: Plot, Mild Cursing, Cheesy Christmas Themes, Slow Burn, Tease, PLENTY OF WORDS

Words: 7.2k

Summary: Xari Thornton is a travel photographer with a blog and social media that garners some heavy-duty traffic. People tune in to see where she is and what she’s doing there, all in hopes of either living vicariously through her or to plan their next vacation.

Her slogan; “Traveling the path to the most off-beaten places, so you don’t have to.”

Her next stop on her four destination travel itinerary of “Places You May Never Have Heard Of” is Sandvell, a small European country. When her plane makes an impromptu stop due to bad weather, she has no idea where she is. It feels like she’s stepped inside of a snow globe and back in time in a modern way. It leaves her fascinated.

This bad weather forces her to stay at an Inn, The Beaux, for the night. Rather than letting the hours tick by in her room, she explores and meets the friendly locals. While taking photographs, one local in particular captures her lens with eyes as blue as the ocean and a jaw that was chiseled from stone. They strike up conversation during their time drinking at one of the local bars, Ickles. Once they separate, she gets herself into a harrowing situation.

As soon as she awakens, she realizes she’s not in some fever dream, but a palace and the owner of the palace is none other than the local she met before with the piercing blue eyes, His Royal Highness Henry Wellington Leopold Danglishton, First of his name, Crown Prince of Brexendor.

Note: All right, all right people, the ride continues. I really, really hope you enjoy this. As a reminder, it’s going to be fast-paced a bit, and I am gonna overload you with pictures because why the hell not, it’s a Christmas Fic. 😁 Feel free to come by and tell me what you guys think.

As always, thank you all for reading, I appreciate each and every one of you.

If you enjoyed this, please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Previous Chapters: {1} | {2} |

Chapter Three

-Y/N-

When you opened your eyes again, your head felt a lot different. It wasn’t spinning. It didn’t feel congested, heavy, or muddled. You saw everything with clear eyes, alert eyes. Glancing around the room, you took in your surroundings like it was your first time, though you were sure it wasn’t. Closing your eyes, you tried to remember everything that had happened. You remembered walking through the streets, taking pictures, and even watching the locals go about their business. You also remembered going into a bar and drinking that god awful drink.

When you remembered seeing Henry’s face, you couldn’t help but smile. Your conversation played over and over in your head and how easy it was to talk to one another. Even his smile and goofy laugh had you snuggling deeper into the plush bedding. He was definitely attractive. All of a sudden, the accident flashed into mind. You’d been struggling with the wind and the snow and couldn’t see not even two inches in front of you. The pain of being hit was absent. It was like it happened so fast that you were out cold before your pain receptors could adequately translate it.

You bolted up as the words “prince” and “your highness” echoed in your head.

“Shit, he’s a prince.”

You rubbed your forehead, then pinched the bridge of your nose. Of course he is, you thought. Why would you meet some normal person in this clear fairytale country? Leaning against the headboard, you chewed your bottom lip, beginning to wonder about several other things. One of them was your exchange in the bar. He clearly knew who he was. You were not naïve when it came to the attention of men. There was evident flirting going on.

“Was he trying to charm me into being some royal conquest?”

Before you could think on the topic any further, there was a knock at the door. You sat up straighter while trying to figure out the right way to sit. You lied back casually but decided that was too casual. You then straightened your back and took note of how your breasts were accentuated thanks to the proper posture.

“Too much,” you whispered, slouching again.

The knock came again.

“Ma’am?”

Shaking your head, you sighed and said, forget it. You had no idea how to answer, so you said the first thing to come to mind.

“You may enter.” You didn’t know why you decided to add an uppity British accent. Slapping your hand to your head, you shook it, already tired of your own shenanigans.

When you looked, it was the doctor you’d seen the night before.

“Good morning, ma’am.”

You gave him a polite smile as he approached with his black doctor’s bag.

“How are you feeling today. Better, I hope.”

“Much, thank you.”

He nodded, then placed his bag on the bedside table.

“How did you sleep? Any pain?”

“No—well, not severe pain. I’m just mainly sore.”

Dr. Alfonsi. nodded. “You can take aspirin for those aches. They should subside in another few days, as will the bruises.”

You nodded again.

“May I begin my examination?”

Giving him a demure smile as permission, he approached and began doing all the things a doctor would at the beginning of any appointment. He took your blood pressure, checked your reflexes and your temperature. He examined your eyes, listened to your heart, followed along with your pulse and respiration, all the while taking diligent notes on his phone that he held in the breast pocket of his white coat.

Ten or so minutes later, he closed his bag and then brought over one of the chairs in the room. Once he sat, he softly clapped his hands together.

“And that is that. I am pleased your vitals are appearing better and better. Are you feeling the return of your strength?”

“Not really,” you confessed.

“As I explained yesterday, I had concerns from the results of a few blood tests I did. Did you know that you have several vitamin deficiencies?”

Your eyebrows quirked. “Uh—n—no. I didn’t. What do you mean?”

“Well, in an effort to provide a most comprehensive recovery plan for you, as I do with every patient I see in the royal family and elsewhere. I ran a full panel of tests and came back with several alarming finds. You have a deficiency of vitamin B12, Vitamins D, and E, you’re severely low in Iron and Folate. Have you ever been diagnosed with Anemia?”

Your head swarmed with all the words and letters he’d just flung at you.

“Uh—no. I don’t think so.”

“I am diagnosing it now.”

You watched his mouth move as he explained the dangers of the deficiencies and listed the symptoms one would expect, which all coincided with what you’d felt on and off for some time. The explanation seemed to go on and on. With every word Dr. Alfonsi. spoke, your breathing sped more and more. He must have seen the terror on your face because he reached out and took your hand.

“It’s all right, dear. Though it is not as soon as I would have liked, we caught it. we now know that there is a serious problem.”

“I—I didn’t know. I mean, I guess I’ve been busy these last few months and on the go, but—I never--,” you trailed off.

“Calm down. It’s easy to fall behind on our health, but it is important we catch up. In order to do that, you’re going to have to make some changes.”

“What kind of changes?”

“Lifestyle and occupational. You’re going to need to change your diet, incorporate the therapies and medicines I will be prescribing, as well as taking it significantly easier than I suspect you have in the past,” Dr. Alfonsi explained.

“Taking it easy? What exactly does that mean?”

“Well, I mild cases I’ve seen in my years, I’ve recommended a month of strict relaxation along with what I’ve said before. That meant decreased hours at work, perhaps a sabbatical, bed rest until the patient begins to regain strength to prevent chances of falling and bone breakage.”

“Bed rest?”

“Yes, and that’s just for mild cases. Your case, I’m afraid, is a lot more serious. While I recommended it for others, for you, I would have to insist.”

You sat up, giving him a look that said he was crazy.

“I can’t go on bed rest. That’s not just decreased hours; that is complete incapacitation,” you protested.

“I can understand your alarm, but that is how serious your situation is, ma’am.”

“God, please stop calling me ma’am. My name is Xari.”

“Ms. Xari,” he corrected.

Several moments passed in silence. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Yeah, you hadn’t gone to the doctor in almost two years and didn’t take multivitamins and oftentimes forgot to eat, but you worked out, ate your greens—sometimes, and experienced plenty of holistic activities throughout the world. You had no idea you were in this bad shape.

“Do you understand what I am saying, Ms. Xari? If you do not make drastic changes for the foreseeable future, you may not see the blooming of spring flowers.”

Your jaw dropped. He was laying on pretty thick, but it was working. You were alarmed. Sighing, you rubbed your forehead.

“What exactly do you suggest then?”

“What you’re doing now, bed rest. I will communicate with the staff your dietary needs for the coming weeks as well as instructions for your medication--.”

“Wait, hold up. What? You don’t mean for me to stay here, do you?”

Dr. Alfonsi looked at you as if you were missing a few screws.

“Yes.”

You flung your hands out. “Nope. Absolutely not. I can’t stay here.”

“Why not? I am more than sure the prince would allow you to remain here until you are fully recovered, especially seeing it was his highness’ royal car that hit you for us to discover your ailments.”

“No. I can’t stay here. I don’t—I’m a stranger to these people. I am—there’s no way. I can’t ask him or anyone here to wait on me.”

Dr. Alfonsi smiled. “I understand your apprehension, believe me, I do, but it is unnecessary. I have known the prince since he was a child. He is a kind man and would never dare turn someone who is in need and sick away. You will be safe here.”

Hearing how highly he spoke of his prince piqued your curiosity. It could have been one of those things where one’s subjects loved them so dearly they had not one bad word to say about them, or one’s subjects fears them so much that they didn’t dare utter one negative thing about them. You wondered which was the real story. Perhaps a little in the middle, you thought.

Sighing, you leaned your head on the headboard, still adamant you didn’t want to stay here.

“I have a life to get back to. I’ve already been here for two days too long.”

“Two days?”

The question in his voice had your head snapping to him. You cautiously opened your mouth to speak. “Yes,” you squeaked.

“No. I’m afraid it’s been more than two days. It’s been a week since you’ve been here, Ms. Xari.”

Your eyes bugged, and you instantly began searching for your phone.

“What are you looking for?”

“My things. Where are my things? My phone?”

Dr. Alfonsi looked around the room then walked to a large wardrobe before he came back with your purse. You unintentionally snatched it from him, digging through it for the desired object. Once you had it, you discovered it was dead.

“Fuck.”

You began trying to get off the bed, but as soon as you stood, you dropped back to the bed, your legs unable to hold you.

“I would caution against doing too much too soon. I’m impressed you were able to attempt an escape once. I doubt you’d be successful a second time.”

“I need my charger. Where are my things? I’ve been off the grid for a week. I have family, people who will worry. I need—need--.”

Your chest pounded so fast you could barely catch your breath. As you struggled to get a full breath, you began to panic. Dr. Alfonsi was to you on the other side of the bed in seconds, checking your pulse and instructing you to breathe slowly and deeply. You would if you could and wished you could shout that to him. Before you knew it, darkness was all you saw.

~~~~~~~~

When you opened your eyes, you were again tucked in the bed, but you were now hooked up to an IV. You took a deep breath and noted the heaviness that resided in your chest. Groaning, you slowly sat up. Once rested against the headboard, you remembered your mission. Your phone. Kicking off the covers, you used the rolling IV rod as if it were a cane and stood on wobbly legs. After a full minute, you began moving though every step you took felt like you’d fall to the floor.

What should have taken you seconds took minutes. The steps proved to be more challenging to maneuver with the IV stand. You searched the room, but you didn’t see your luggage. That was when you saw your phone plugged into a charger on the nightstand to the left of the bed. You wobbled toward it then quickly unlocked it. Feeling yourself shake even more, you used the wall as your brace as you scrolled through. You saw the bounty of missed calls, unanswered messages, and emails of alarm. As expected, everyone was worried to death about you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You found your sister’s number and dialed it. It didn’t ring; instead, it went to voicemail. Your frustration was evident as you knocked over the small glass figurine on the bedside table. You ignored the shattered pieces and grabbed the IV pole, ready to walk out of the room in search of your things. Once you opened the door, your jaw dropped, seeing another luxurious room similar to the bedroom but decked in different colors.

You took one then two steps, and your knees gave out. Before you tumbled to the floor, you heard a shriek and your name being shouted; then you were in someone’s arms. You looked up into blue eyes that were framed by long lashes and thick eyebrows.

“Are you all right?”

You snorted. “We have got to stop meeting like this,” you teased with a soft smile. It was a smile Henry returned.

“I cannot make any promises.”

Henry then lifted you into his strong arms and carried you where you’d just come from. As he held you, you couldn’t help but glance over the side of his face that was perfectly in view. If you thought his jaw was chiseled to perfection before, now—you were certain there was not even one flaw about it. When he placed you back in the bed, he hovered over you for a few seconds. They were seconds that felt like minutes, especially with the intensity you saw in his eyes.

“Xari.”

Tearing your eyes from his, you glanced to your left to see Anika, your sister.

“Nika!”

She leaped onto the bed and scurried across to you, then threw her arms around you.

“Oh my god. What’re you doing here!? How’d you get here?”

“I’ve been so worried! I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Relief filled you, and you found yourself relaxing a little more.

“I don’t get it. How are you?”

Anika pulled back with a wide smile on her face. She looked up, bringing your eyes to the man who still stood beside the bed. His arms were crossed across his chest, and a soft smile decorated his lips.

“Him. He’s how I’m here.”

You were still confused, and you knew your expression showed it.

“I couldn’t reach you. I called and called and no answer. A few days ago, I got a call back, and it was the prince,” Anika began giving you a wide-eyed look when she said, “prince.”

“Henry, please, I insist.”

Anika smiled and actually giggled before she continued. “Henry. He explained everything and kept me in the loop with your condition. Because of that damn storm, I couldn’t get here. He ended up sending the royal jet for me once the storm passed enough to bring me here, so you’d have someone with you.”

Wow, you thought, letting all she’d said register. He’d done a lot. You slipped your eyes to him and found them on you.

“He’s been very kind, Ri,” Anika added.

You were speechless. What were you supposed to say? Clearing your throat, you said the first thing you thought of.

“Thank you.”

Henry nodded and held your gaze. “It was done for you alone and with you in mind.”

Well, shit, you thought, unable to take your eyes off of his. After a few moments, you heard Anika clear her throat, and it was Henry who looked away first.

“Right. I was bringing your sister here for you to see. Now that you have her, I will give the staff instructions to see whatever the two of you will need for your stay.”

“Uh—about that. It won’t be necessary,” you piped up.

“Excuse me?”

His intimidating aura increased, making you feel like a disobedient little whose daddy was about to punish her. At that comparison, you had a quick thought about whether or not he was a vanilla prince or one with plenty of shades of grey. Straightening your back, you held your head higher.

“While I appreciate all you’ve done for me thus far, it won’t be necessary for you or your staff to fuss over my sister or me any longer. We’ll be leaving.”

Henry cocked his head to the right, then tightly clenched his jaw.

“Is that right?”

“Why are we leaving?”

Ignoring Anika’s question, you decided not to look away from Henry feeling a challenge in how he looked at you.

“According to Dr. Alfonsi, you’re in no shape to be going anywhere.” He nodded to your IV pole for emphasis.

“I will stay at the inn that is in town or a hotel.”

“Nonsense. It was my fault you were hurt, and my responsibility to rectify the damage and harm I have caused.”

“He’s right, Xari. It’s his fault, and you should let him accrue the expenses,” Anika voiced.

“Nika!”

“What! He’s a prince, Ri. He got it,” she replied a little under her breath but still loud enough for him to hear.

“I must agree with Lady Anika.”

Anika snorted and laughed. “I’m definitely not a lady.”

Henry smirked at her then quickly looked back to you. “I must insist you remain here. At least until Dr. Alfonsi has given you the seal of good health. I am afraid if you were to go anywhere, something would happen to you, and I would not be able to forgive myself.”

You studied him for a few moments, taking in the expression on his face as well as the tight clench of his jaws. Your eyes moved down to his still folded arms and the muscles that bulged because of his stance. He was definitely overwhelming like this, and though you hated to feel like a bother, you suspected that here was the best place for now. Glancing to Anika, she gave you a stern eye that said, “just give in already.”

Rolling your eyes, you nodded. “Fine, but only until I’m well enough.”

“If that is your wish, just know you are welcomed here for however long you wish.”

“My goodness, such a gentleman. They sure breed them differently here, huh sis.”

Henry smiled, then glanced at Anika. “Everything is different here in Brexendor.”

“I bet,” Anika finished.

“Since it is settled, I will proceed to advise the staff. Dr. Alfonsi has already given several strict dietary orders as well as health orders. If there is anything you require do not hesitate to speak it. Lady Anika, I have already instructed a bedroom be prepared for you, but I will instruct it be as close to your sister as possible.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, then looked back at you. “I sincerely hope you feel better soon.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I am afraid I have quite a lot to do today. By all means, though, feel free to go where you please. My home is yours, ladies.”

With that, he curtly bowed his head then walked toward the door. Before he walked out, he stopped.

“Oh, Xari, try not to escape again. I cannot guarantee I will always be there to catch you.”

You saw the hint of a smile on his lips and instantly knew he was teasing you.

“Somehow, your highness, I suspect you will magically appear at the mere hint of a faint.”

He chuckled to himself then walked out, closing the doors behind him. Once alone, Anika wasted no time.

“Holy fucking shit, he is hot as fuck!”

You snorted and laughed as you relaxed into the bed.

“Wonderful censor you have there, Nika.”

“Fuck censor.”

“Well, that last time I said fuck here, I was looked at like I was the most uncouth Neanderthal. I suggest you keep your fucks to a minimum.”

Anika bounced you. “Will you be able to keep your fucks to a minimum?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Anika rolled her eyes. “Whatever! The air hasn’t even gotten a chance to come back down from the sweltering levels your guys’ flirting raised it to.”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me! There was no flirting.”

“Yes, there was, and it was not on your side alone. He was flirting with you too. What in the world is going on? I need the whole story without even the smallest detail left out.”

You sighed then proceeded to tell her the whole sordid tale. As instructed, you didn’t leave anything out. You even told her about that exchange between you and Henry before you walked out of the bar. At the end of story time, Anika had a huge grin on her face.

“What are you grinning at?”

“You. Leave it to you to get whisked away by a prince and have him fall; for you in record time.”

“No, no, no. Falling? Nika, you’re imagining things. He hasn’t fallen for anyone. He’s a prince, for crying out loud. They don’t fall for anyone, let alone some commoner. Have you never watched The Crown?”

Anika snorted and dropped to the bed at your feet.

“First of all, The Crown is whack. Second of all, this is not England. This place is fantastic. It’s like some Hallmark country where everything is beautiful, quaint, and perfect. You smiled and bit your bottom lip, agreeing fully.

“Third, I was sitting right here, listening to your banter. I think he could totally fall for you if he hasn’t already.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring everything she was saying. Anika loved to play matchmaker, though you hated every time she did it.

“You’re practically in his bed. We just have to get you there.”

You rolled your eyes again, shocked at how quickly she’d gotten there. “Okay, down, girl. According to this doctor, I’m falling apart, Nika. Any bed I’ll be in for a while is this one.”

“Well, now you have me here to encourage you to lap up the luxury and hospitality of his highness the prince of Brexendor. Get the fuck outta here!”

The two of you laughed loudly. This situation you’d found yourself into was the most ridiculous one either of you could have ever begun to imagine.

A few hours later, you found yourself alone while Anika settled in her room. Another knock sounded at your door. Being unable to open it yourself, you instructed them to come in. Once the doors opened in walked a beautiful girl about your age with long black hair and features similar to Henry’s. In your head, you suspected she was a family member. She smiled sweetly as she approached you. When she was by your bedside, she dropped onto the mattress.

“Hi.”

You returned her warm smile. “Hi.”

“My god, you are beautiful.”

You snorted, then pinched your lips together, trying to suppress your laugh. She was insane. You looked the worst you’d ever looked.

“You’re being kind. I haven’t showered in a week and only today got to comb my hair. You’re being very, very kind.”

She giggled but still looked genuine.

“I’m Jemma,” she said, holding her hand out to you. Once you took it, and instantly noted how soft they were.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“I have been trying to get here to introduce myself, but Henry told me to stay away so you could acclimate. Otherwise, I would have been here much sooner.”

You smiled and assured her it was fine.

“How are you doing?”

You shrugged. “I guess I’m okay.”

She didn’t look convinced and took you in for a few moments. “I’m sure my brother has brought all the best doctors for your care and has thought of everything that would ensure your comfort. With that treatment, I expect you to make a full recovery in no time.”

“Brother.”

“Yes. Please tell me you did not think I was his girlfriend or something of the sort.”

She looked disgusted, which made you laugh.

“No. I suspected a family member. So you’re a princess.”

Jemma rolled her eyes as she sighed out as if she was already tired of the conversation.

“Yes, but I promise it is not nearly as glamourous as you’re thinking. The only nice thing about it is the diamonds, everything else, eh.”

You smiled, already liking her. she gave off an air that said she didn’t take herself seriously and even liked to have a bit of fun more times than not.

“The staff is all abuzz with news that you will be residing with us for the next few weeks. Henry has told them to cater to your every whim, and because it came from him, everyone is in a tizzy over it, prepping to ensure you are at your most comfortable,” Jemma explained.

“What. No, that’s not what I want at all. They don’t have to go all out.”

“It’s okay.”

“No. then everyone will think I’m some prissy thing who likes to be waited on when that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

Jemma took you for a little while, then took your hand and squeezed it gently.

“Not to worry, Xari. I assure you no one will think that.”

You sighed then tried to forget it because it was too late to change whether or not they thought it. You were sure everyone was already whispering about you and Anika, the two Americans who’d somehow found their way into the palace.

“Also, we are not as gossip centered as other monarchies. I promise,” Jemma added, raising her hand as if to swear it.

When she sensed you relaxed, she proceeded to ask a plethora of questions about you, ranging from where you were from to what you did and the all-important if you were single. You felt like you were on a modern-day “Who Wants to be Friends With a Princess” tv show. With every fact, you revealed she revealed a similar one and so on. After an hour, you found that you had plenty in common, something that was shocking for you.

When Anika came back, the party really stated. Your laughter picked up, as did the stories that Jemma revealed about royal life. Those stories prompted Anika to tell stories of life as a commoner in America as she called it. The only thing was her stories we mainly all about partying, dating, and men. With each story, Jemma’s eyes widened, and you felt like slowly Anika would end up corrupting her.

“Nika, stop. You’re going to have her on an episode of Princesses Gone Wild,” you joked, which had both of them in stitches on your bed.

“I will have you know that I am not some innocent wallflower. I know things,” Jemma countered.

You couldn’t help but laugh loudly. Just the way she said that told you she didn’t know very many things. That was when Jemma proceeded to list the names of the men she’d dated, a list of three men. Anika was the one to ask the nature of these relationships, to which Jemma said she knew in great detail the kind of underwear each man wore. You lost it right then and there, dropping onto the bed in a fit of laughter.

Exhaustion caught you off guard, dampening the mood of the night. Jemma assured you that she’d keep Anika company and show her around to give you time to take a nap. After thanking her, the two women walked out of your room, leaving you to silence. Once the door closed, it opened again. this time it was the woman named Audrina.

“Good evening, ma’am. Is there anything I can bring you?”

“No. I’m all right.”

She nodded, then closed the door leaving you again. You quickly drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~

-Henry-

He’d never met anyone quite as beautiful as you. he remembered when you’d walked into the bar and sat down beside him like you were right where you were supposed to be. You had no idea that the bar was empty because it was closed for him to be there, had no idea that he was not some ordinary citizen. He liked being a no one, especially if it meant he could sit there with you all night. He remembered wanting just that. If his phone hadn’t run, if he’d had more time, he probably would have tried to hold your hand. If he’d had more time, he would have gotten himself into an even bigger predicament than he was now—attracted to a woman he knew better than to touch.

Slowly he looked over the features of your face and took in each detail. He pressed the elements of your face to his memory so he could call on them when he was alone, buried in work. A sigh escaped him as a lite feeling filled him. It was an unfamiliar one. He wanted to touch you. It was an urge that was so strong he almost couldn’t overpower it—almost. He balled his fist and sat back in the settee beside your bed, trying to ignore the feelings that washed over him.

“Remember yourself,” he whispered before he looked back to the work he’d brought with him when he’d decided to pay you a quick visit.

This quick visit was an hour ago. When he found you asleep, he should have turned around and left, but he couldn’t. He intended to sit here for a few minutes, ten tops, but he still had yet to tear himself away. He mustered what was left of his control and focused on the screen before him and tried to write his speech for the new world bank’s upcoming opening.

This was one of his father’s pet projects, and he was filled with pride to see it to fruition, but also it made him miss the man more. Sighing, he closed his eyes and began rubbing his temples. Every time he thought of his father in the last few months, it brought him added stress. It was this stress that prevented him from sleeping longer than four hours a night.

“Christ,” he whispered.

“Are you all right?”

Jerking his head up, he saw you awake with your head still atop the pillow. You looked like a dream, or perhaps his best nightmare.

“I am sorry. Was I too loud?”

“No. I um—just happened to open my eyes.”

You slowly sat up, allowing the blanket to fall from your chest to your lap. As you adjusted yourself, he moved his laptop to the other side of the settee.

“You didn’t answer me, though. Are you all right?”

A smile tugged at his lips, but he fought it. “Me? Should it not be me be asking you that?”

“Can’t we ask each other?”

He studied you for a few moments, then nodded. “I am fine.”

“Liar.”

His jaw dropped, half shocked you would go there. There weren’t many people in his life that would dare.

“I take it no one calls his highness a liar,” you teased.

“You take it right. Maybe Jemma or my mother on occasion and a few of my friends but not many.”

You smiled, then shrugged. “I call em’ like I see em.’”

He crossed his arms and leaned back. “Pray tell, what gave me away to make you insult me so?”

Your smile widened before you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth, bringing his eyes right there. He adjusted in the seat he sat and waited for you to continue.

“Your eyes are red, under your eyes puffy, and one doesn’t just say Christ to say Christ.”

You had him there. He pushed his fist under his chin and continued to watch you.

“So you are implying I look bad.”

You smirked then, and he picked up the change in the air.

“I mean, I’m sure I look the same as you. So take comfort in that.”

A chuckle escaped him. “So that is a yes; I do look bad.”

You looked at him but didn’t answer.

“I will take that as a yes on my part. however, regarding you, you look far from bad.”

You snorted then laughed, and it was the most shockingly endearing sound. It wasn’t a laugh he would hear from others in his company. Their laughs would be all dignified, but yours was genuine. It was also downright terrifying, but he preferred it.

“Now I know you’re a liar. I look absolutely disgusting. I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this, but I haven't showered in a week.”

He pinched his lips, hiding his smile. You looked so uncomfortable admitting that.

“Oh my.” He placed his hand over his mouth as if the fact mortified him.

You pinched your lips.

“Please tell me you have at least brushed your teeth.”

“Today was the first day in just as much time.”

Again he put his hand over his mouth and widened his eyes for emphasis. “Appalling.”

You snorted again, and the delightful laugh came back. This time the laugh looked to encompass your entire being, and you glowed. When your laughter subsided, you dabbed at your eyes as you tried to catch your breath. He held out his handkerchief to you. When you took it, you used it to replace your fingers.

“Thank you.”

When you finished, you inspected the fabric, then looked at him.

“You must like your women disgusting to still be here.”

He shrugged.

“How are you feeling?”

“After that nap, I’m feeling well.”

That made him happy.

“Are you feeling well enough for some dinner?”

“Uh—I was told I’m to stay in bed.”

“Yes, Dr. Alfonsi has informed me and the staff as well. That is why--,” he began before walking across the room to the door.

Once he opened it, the staff rolled in three carts filled with platters, trays, and bowls of plenty. Once the carts were parked, he thanked the staff and let them see themselves out.

“Dinner is served.”

The look on your face said you didn’t know what to say, so he uncovered the treys finding the menu items he’d chosen for the meal.

“I was not sure what you liked, so I had them bring all of it.”

He took up a plate and brought it to you. It took a few moments for you to take it, but you did. That was when he went back for his to sit back on the settee.

“Also, do not feel as if you have to eat ladylike for me,” he began.

You took up your fork and shoved an overflowing fork full of mashed potatoes into your mouth, letting a small glob rest at the side of your mouth.

“What was that, your highness?”

That was all it took for his attraction to turn to yearning.

The two of you ate in silence for the most part. He asked you questions to get to know you better, and every new piece of information he found out only made him like you more and more. When you spoke about your career, he heard the passion in your voice, and it spoke to something in him. It had been a long time since he’d been around anyone who was genuinely passionate about the things they enjoyed. It stirred something in him, something he wasn’t quite ready to uncover.

“I am sorry that I did not tell you once we met who I was.”

You paused with your fork in your mouth.

“It’s okay. To be real, why would you reveal to a stranger your secret identity. That’s like Clark Kent walking around in his incognito glasses with an S on his chest. It defeats the purpose.”

“Clark Kent. Superman.”

“Yes, one of my favorite superheroes.”

A soft smile spread across his face before he nodded.

“What’s yours? Wonder Woman?”

He scoffed, then shook his head as he stood and approached the carts, ready for dessert. It wasn’t the Strawberry Cheesecake he truly desired, but it would have to do. When he returned to his seat, he placed your plate in front of you and sat.

“It’s Wonder Woman, huh, or maybe Poison Ivy, ooh, Catwoman.”

He sat there patiently, letting you list them off. He couldn’t help but wonder why those were chosen.

“Before I answer, can I ask why you chose them?”

He saw the mischievous glint twinkle in your eye as your lips quirked up into a smirk.

“Oh, this, I must hear.”

“No reason. They’re just seen as the most desirable by fanboy standards,” you responded while rolling with your eyes.

He suppressed a chuckle to put a piece of the cheesecake into his mouth.

“So?”

“None of those.”

“Oh, please do enlighten me,” you quipped.

Resting the fork on the side of the dish, he responded. “Nubia and Storm.”

He sat there and thoroughly enjoyed watching the emotions wash over your face. Shock was the first, then disbelief, and finally awe. Now you sat there assessing him as if you thought he was pranking you. He was not. You opened your mouth to say something, and he stopped you before you did.

“I suggest you do not repeat it. I assure you I am not.”

Your eyes darkened right at the moment you sucked your bottom lip back into your mouth. Losing his train of thought and head for control, he put another piece of the cake into his mouth, licking the back of the fork. Your eyes lowered to his mouth and your teeth sunk into that delectable bottom lip. If he were a weaker man, he would have tossed the plate he held to the side and been on you in under five seconds, but he was not a weak man. As future King, weakness had no place in the monarchy.

Weakness was not an option until he saw you put the fork in your mouth to mirror his actions, only your tongue swirled around the teeth of the fork in a way that made his pants instantly too tight. Christ, help him.

He cleared his throat and changed his position on the couch to one that would hide your effect.

“Interesting. I didn’t expect those,” you stuttered.

“What did—what did you expect?”

You shrugged and toyed with the fork against your lips. “Something else, but I’m pleasantly surprised.”

Your eyes met again, and the temptation he felt was somehow more than he’d ever felt. He wanted you. He’d wanted you since you cursed about how disgusting the drink was at the bar. The only thing was, this want had shifted.

“I am happy it is pleasantly.”

Again your eyes lingered, and he wanted nothing more than to give in to the heavy cloud of temptation that filled the room.

“What’re you working on?”

He cleared his throat again and straightened himself. “Uh—a speech. One of my father’s projects premiers in a few days, the first since his um—” he cleared his throat again. “Since his passing, and I am going to be the one to cut the ribbon on it.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Keeping his eyes turned downward, he nodded. The sincerity in your voice touched him. “Thank you.”

The silence between you stretched for a few seconds before you spoke again.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The speech, um—I do not know. It just does not feel right.”

“Want me to take a look?”

“Do you have an aptness for speeches?”

You placed your place to the side and adjusted your posture.

“Not speeches in general. I do have a knack for words. I’ve spent the last few years writing about the places I’ve gone in such a way that makes people want to go there themselves. I might know a little something, something.”

He smiled, put the plate beside him, and leaned forward to hand you his laptop. He watched as you read through the few paragraphs he’d already written and wondered what you thought of it. Every lift of your brow or nibble of your lip had him more and more curious as to the thoughts in your head. After a few minutes, you nodded.

“This isn’t bad. You sound like you’re on a good roll.”

“No critique?”

“How about you leave me with it for a day or two, and I’ll have some notes. Or, you could give it to your royal speechwriter.”

He chuckled. “What makes you think I have one of those?”

You rolled your eyes and smiled. “Hello, this is a monarchy. I am sure the monarchy employs people to make sure their dear prince is always PC.”

You were right.

“I think I would rather leave it with you,” he replied, making you smile in the process.

“Okay. I’ll knock your socks off then.”

“You already have,” he said, standing to take your plate.

He tried to arrange the empty plates, dishes, and classes on the carts in a way that wouldn’t have them falling once they were moved.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?”

He turned in time to see you wobbling toward him, clutching the IV pole with one hand and a plate with the other. He saw your knees buckle and wrapped you in his arms, taking you to the bed in the process. With you underneath him, he couldn't deny how right this felt. Your breathing was heavy, your eyes bright and chest heaving. The way you were looking at him made his next move the only possible one.

He brought his lips toward yours but right before he claimed them, he hesitated. The tiny sliver of space between your lips made it easy to feel the literal electricity that sparked between you. He was so close, but so far, and he wanted to get closer. The fact that you didn’t look as if you objected to this made his blood bubble with desire even more than it had hours ago when he first walked in.

“I apologize,” he whispered before he pulled away from you with whatever ounce of strength he had remaining. He stood before you then held his hands out to you.

“Let me help you.”

You placed your hands in his letting him hoist you up. He wrapped his arm around your waist and helped you back to the side of the bed you’d been this entire time. When he eased you down, he spread the blanket over you and assured you were comfortable. Being sure to keep his eyes away from yours, he turned to his things and gathered them.

“I will let you get some rest. If Dr. Alfonsi found out I were here preventing that, he would give me a stern talk.”

“Thank you for this,” you said.

He took his laptop from your bed and nodded. “I will email it to you.”

“You have my email?”

“I am head of this country; I have multiple resources at my disposal,” he replied, smirking at you. Your smile said you fully understood his meaning and knew he was teasing. You understood him. Yet another thing to like about you, he thought. He quickly averted his eyes then gave you a slight head bow.

“Good night, Xari.”

“Good night, your highness.”

He walked toward the door and poked his head out to instruct the waiting staff to remove the carts. The walk back to his room was filled with several stops as he thought to go back, but when he realized he couldn’t, he carried on his way. He’d never been filled with so many conflicting wants and thoughts before, and he suspected as the coming weeks stretched, this would be just the tip of the iceberg.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged/untagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!***

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#crown for two fic #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x you #henry cavill x black reader #henry cavill x black ofc #black fanfiction #royalty au #henry cavill au #christmas fic #cheesy christmas fic

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hintsofhoney · 3 years

Text

Oasis

Pairing(s): Dean Winchester x Castiel

Summary: They both knew, deep down.

Square(s) Filled: Drink Away the Pain for @anyfandomangstbingo

Tags: 16+, drinking, angst, fluff

Word Count: 701

A/N: Um, this came out of me at like 2am last night? Guess I was deep in my feelings? Also would like to add, this is not usually my writing style and I'm like... very insecure about it but I was told I should post it so here I am doing that. Be nice to me, I'm not a poet. GIFs used in the edit are mine, the edit is also mine. Enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DESTIEL MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Underneath it all, he knew. He would never be able to love another being the way he loved him. But every time he let the words begin to crawl up his throat, he swallowed them back down, the tickle they left behind so uncomfortable that he’d be five beers and three glasses of whiskey in before he could numb it. Because it never really went away.

One look into those eyes; those oceans of pain and love and sadness and joy — one look was all it ever took to do him in. And he’d go back to the beer and the whiskey to numb the thoughts he was having — all the things he couldn’t say.

“Dean,” his voice echoed through the room like thunder; like a peaceful storm. It filled every inch of space around him; like being caught in the rain. “Are you alright?” he asked, taking a step closer. Dean flinched. Was he alright? He could never be alright.

“Fine, Cas,” was the response. He was sick of lying; he wanted to scream. He wanted to say it, but that would make him sick, too.

“No, you’re not,” he replied, taking a seat next to the man he fell for and the man he fell for.

Dean looked up and he was at the beach; the waves were crashing onto the shore, the water the deepest of blues. Cas was nearby, picking up shells. Dean looked down and he was barefoot, the tide coming up to kiss his toes. And then Cas came up and kissed his lips, and he was happy, and the tickle in his throat was gone.

Meanwhile, Cas was in the forest; the trees were tall and green, the air was fresh and crisp. Dean was falling behind, a bag of peanut M&Ms in hand as he walked, his head turning in every direction. Cas turned and watched, smiling and calling him slow. Dean wasn’t slow to kiss him up against the nearest tree. Cas liked the taste of peanut M&Ms.

And for a moment, neither of them felt like they had to say anything at all. They found their oasis looking into each other’s eyes.

“You’re drinking again,” Cas stated, his cold voice breaking the silence. Dean wasn’t at the beach anymore. Cas had left the forest. Now they were here, together, alone.

“Again? I never stopped.”

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice soft and gentle and good. Something Dean could never have. Softness and gentleness and goodness. “Dean,” Cas repeated when he refused to look at him. Cas reached for the whiskey in Dean’s hand, their fingertips brushing as it was pulled from Dean’s grasp.

“Don’t make me say it, Cas,” Dean gulped, the tickle in his throat rising again, the words he wanted to spit out were running to his tongue. Were they going to make it this time?

“You don’t have to.”

The words stopped dead in their tracks, but they didn’t recede back to the hole in Dean’s heart where they had made their home. They just sat there, halfway up his throat, waiting for Cas to explain.

“I know, Dean. I — deep down, I think I always knew. And I think the same. I think the same of — of you.”

“You didn’t say anything. You never said anything.”

“I didn’t want to scare you. I didn’t want to scare you away.”

Dean chuckled silently. As if he could ever be scared away. He’s seen the sharks in the ocean. He’s seen the storms on the beaches; how violent the waves can get, how tumultuous the water can be. He never stopped watching.

“But why — why keep it to yourself? Why do you do all of this?” Cas questioned, motioning to the empty beer bottles and half-drank whiskey glass.

“I didn’t think you felt… that way.”

Cas nodded, understanding but not. How could he not feel that way? He’s seen trees fall in the forest; he’s seen the fire burn it down. He’s seen it grow again — greener, taller, fuller of life. He never looked away.

“What now?” Dean asked.

And then the forest met the ocean, and the tide kissed the trees.

#anyfandomangstbingo #destiel #dean winchester x cas #destiel fanfiction

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gagosiangallery · 3 years

Text

Damien Hirst at Gagosian Rome

June 17, 2021

DAMIEN HIRST Forgiving and Forgetting

July 6–October 23, 2021 Via Francesco Crispi 16, Rome __________ It’s all about what you want to believe. —Damien Hirst Gagosian is pleased to present Forgiving and Forgetting, an exhibition of sculptures and new paintings by Damien Hirst. The presentation coincides with Archaeology Now, on view from June 8 to November 7, 2021, which intersperses more than eighty paintings and sculptures by Hirst among the historical collections of the Galleria Borghese in Rome. Forgiving and Forgetting includes works from Hirst’s Treasures from the Wreck of the Unbelievable, a project that presented sculptural relics from a fictional shipwreck off the coast of East Africa, playing fast and loose with linear time, cultural origin, and perceptions of relative status and value. Foregrounding these sculptures against an intricately woven tale of seafaring exploits, marine excavation, and laborious research, Hirst aimed to invoke feelings of wonder at their meticulous physical and conceptual fabrication. The series debuted in 2017 with a suite of Treasures—ranging from pastiches of ancient and classical busts, masks, and statues to representations of iconic Disney cartoon characters—rendered in an extraordinary array of materials, many encrusted with colorful blooms of skillfully painted barnacles, as if salvaged from the ocean floor. Forgiving and Forgetting marks an ambitious phase in Hirst’s body of work; these sculptures are carved out of pink Portuguese marble and white Carrara marble, immortalizing each figure in one of the most storied materials in Western art history.

Each subject in its monochrome marble assumes the same gravitas; the playful wave of a coral-laden Minnie Mouse is echoed elsewhere in the gallery by the outstretched hand of the female centaur Hylonome, whose statuesque form conjures both Baroque corporeality and the stately symmetry of French Neoclassical sculpture. Sparking unexpected interactions between ancient and modern, Hirst’s Treasures exemplify the idea of mythmaking that lies at the core of culture, both high and low. Hirst will also reveal his latest series, the Reverence Paintings. Originally seeking to reimagine the vibrant Cherry Blossoms in allover white, he began to overlay shifting dabs of color and flecks of gold leaf across the otherwise monochrome canvases, allowing them to take on a vivid and shimmering dynamism. Covered with bright impasto dots that add both perspectival grounding and visual haze to each composition, the Reverence Paintings underscore Hirst’s acute sense of color, expanding upon the expressionistic and pointillist impulses that have inspired his recent bodies of work. Damien Hirst was born in 1965 in Bristol, England, and lives and works in London and Devon, England. Collections include the Museo d’Arte Contemporanea Donnaregina, Naples, Italy; Museum Brandhorst, Munich; Museum für Moderne Kunst, Frankfurt am Main, Germany; Stedelijk Museum, Amsterdam; Centro de Arte Dos de Mayo, Madrid; Tate, London; Israel Museum, Jerusalem; Astrup Fearnley Museet, Oslo; Gallery of Modern Art, Glasgow, Scotland; National Centre for Contemporary Arts, Moscow; Museum of Modern Art, New York; Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden, Washington, DC; Art Institute of Chicago; The Broad, Los Angeles; Museo Jumex, Mexico City; and 21st Century Museum of Contemporary Art, Kanazawa, Japan. Exhibitions include Cornucopia, Oceanographic Museum of Monaco (2010); Tate Modern, London (2012); Relics, Qatar Museums Authority, Al Riwaq (2013); Signification (Hope, Immortality and Death in Paris, Now and Then), Deyrolle, Paris (2014); Astrup Fearnley Museet, Oslo (2015); The Last Supper, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC (2016); Treasures from the Wreck of the Unbelievable, Palazzo Grassi and Punta della Dogana, Venice (2017); Damien Hirst at Houghton Hall: Colour Space Paintings and Outdoor Sculptures, Houghton Hall, Norfolk, England (2019); and Mental Escapology, St. Moritz, Switzerland (2021). Hirst received the Turner Prize in 1995. _____ Damien Hirst, Minnie, 2020, pink marble, 39 5/8 × 22 7/8 × 22 7/8 inches (100.5 × 58 × 58 cm), edition of 3 + 2 AP © Damien Hirst and Science Ltd. All rights reserved, DACS 2021. Photo: Prudence Cuming Associates Ltd

#Damien Hirst #Gagosian

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omgrachwrites · 4 years

Text

All I Ask of You - Prince Caspian

Pairing: Prince Caspian x Reader

Summary: On the day before your wedding to a Duke your childhood friend has a proposition for you.

Warnings: lil bit of fluff, angst!!

Words: 1429

Disclaimer: This gif doesn’t belong to me!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this angsty little number! I forgot how much I love writing angst! Also I can't add a read more because it won't let me edit posts on my desktop! Please let me know what you think, I love you all very much! xxx

It was a beautiful spring morning as you gazed out of the window of the ballroom, watching the sun’s ray’s ripple over the perfect blue water. You had been living at court with your mother for about ten years now, ever since your father died. Lord Miraz had invited you and your mother to stay at his court, your mother had thought he had been very kind but you knew better. You knew it was only an effort to control you; Lord Miraz wanted to control all his guests that he entertained at his court.

Despite living in such a beautiful land, court wasn’t always so beautiful. However, there was one thing that made your time at court less dark but on the morrow you were going to lose everything. You were going to be married the following morning; you were going to be the Duchess of a far off land. Your mother had kindly let you choose your husband, but you knew that you couldn’t choose the man you really wanted. But, there was no use in wishing for him, it wouldn’t change anything.

You heard the doors open and close seconds before you heard a warm chuckle echo in the magnificent room. The sound set your soul on fire and sent a pleasant tingle down your spine; you turned to see the Prince stalking towards you with a smirk on his face. Looking at Caspian was like staring into the sun, he was so beautiful that you could barely hold his gaze for more than a few seconds.

“I’ve been looking for you, Y/N,” he started and you bit your lip, staring at your feet to get away from his smouldering gaze, “you weren’t at breakfast this morning and it’s not like you to miss it. Tell me truly, are you quite alright?” he asked politely as he touched your chin with warm fingers and you looked up to meet his eyes.

Those deep brown eyes were so warm and beautiful that they captivated you completely, you nodded as you wrapped your arms around yourself, “I’m fine, I suppose that I’m just worried about tomorrow,” you admitted, “and my dancing is a little rusty, your Uncle doesn’t hold many royal ball,” you laughed.

Caspian’s eyes flickered with an emotion that you couldn’t quite decipher before he smiled and smoothed a hand through his long hair, “well, I won’t be much help with the first one but I can help with the second,” he offered his hand to you.

You laughed at him, raising an eyebrow, your heart did somersaults in your chest when you realised that he wasn’t joking, “but we don’t have music, we don’t have an orchestra playing for us.”

Caspian rolled his eyes playfully, “I don’t need music,” he laughed and pulled you close and you couldn’t deny that you liked being so close to him.

It was almost as if you were in a trance as you took Caspian’s hand in your own and rested the other on his shoulder. You nodded at him in defeat, “show me then.”

Caspian was such a beautiful dancer and you took full advantage of being in his arms, just this once. Soon enough, all those simple dance steps that you had learnt as a child all came back to you and you felt a bit more prepared for your wedding feast. Even though it was clear, through your dancing, that you were ready, Caspian didn’t let you go. If anything he held you even tighter.

There was a streak of worry across his beautiful face, “what is it Caspian?” you whispered and he sighed, the look he gave you almost broke your heart.

“Do you remember what you said to me beneath the apple tree when we were just fifteen; you had only been at court for a couple of years.”

You remembered, of course you did, and you remembered the cheerful song of the birds and the smell of the ocean. Neither of you had spoken about it and you couldn’t understand why he was bringing this up now, “I told you that I loved you.”

Caspian nodded, “and I told you that I loved you in return, don’t marry another. Please Y/N, stay with me.”

Your eyes teared up as you held onto him tightly, afraid that he would disappear if you let him go for even a second, “I have to get married, I made a promise and I signed a marriage contract. I can’t refuse at the last minute.”

“I still love you,” he said desperately, cupping your cheeks, “marry me Y/N, marry me and make me the happiest man in the whole of Narnia.”

You wanted to say yes because you still loved him too, oh God, how you wanted to say yes to the beautiful man who was proclaiming his love for you, “Caspian, you need to marry a Princess, you the heir to the Throne, you’ll be King one day. Even if we could marry, your Uncle would never give his consent for us to marry and he would kill us both if we married without asking.”

Caspian sighed and led you out onto the balcony so you could both bask in the warm morning air, “run away with me, I would give up the Throne if it meant that I could be with you. I’d give it all up to be with you Y/N. Just think about it, that’s all I ask of you.”

In that moment he looked so passionate that you found yourself nodding, “I promise Caspian, I promise that I will think about it.”

Caspian smiled as he cupped your neck, “if you decide that you want me then meet me beneath that apple tree just before nightfall. If you don’t come then I’ll have my answer and you’ll never have to see me again,” he laid a lingering kiss against your lips and you almost sobbed, clutching his hair as you kissed him back. You couldn’t ignore the painful stab in your chest at the thought of never seeing him again.

You spent the rest of your day going over it in your head, weighing up all the pros and cons. If you went with him then it would be a lifetime of running but you knew that he would love you desperately and that was all you really wanted but you thought long and hard about it. By nightfall, you knew what you had to do.

When you approached him beneath the apple tree Caspian let out a sigh of relief as he grinned and he ran towards you, taking your hands in his, “you’re here! I was so afraid that you wouldn’t come. Where should we go? Where should we live? We can live wherever you want.”

He looked so hopeful that it broke your heart and your eyes filled up with tears, “Caspian, I came because you should know in person, you deserve to know. I can’t run away with you, I can‘t marry you. I want to, trust me I do because I love but I just can’t.”

His face almost immediately crumpled and it hurt so much more than you could have possibly imagined, “Y/N,” his voice broke as he choked back tears.

“I have to do my duty Caspian, I made a promise. I’m so sorry,” it was the last thing that you wanted to say but it had to be said. Fate was a cruel thing indeed, “I want you to be happy Caspian, without me, that’s all I ask of you.”

Caspian sniffled as the tears rolled down his cheeks, “don’t ask or expect me to stand by and watch while you marry someone else because I won’t do it. But, I’ll always love you even if I never see you again,” he pressed his forehead against yours and you could feel your heart break as you saw the tears caught in his long eyelashes, “farewell,” he murmured before he disappeared into the night. He left you silently sobbing beneath the apple tree where you first proclaimed your love.

Caspian was true to his word, at your wedding the following day, he was nowhere to be found. He was said to be on a hunting trip, your new husband smiled at you kindly and maybe you could grow to love him but it could never be the great love that you had experienced with Caspian. You wondered whether you would ever see him again, you didn’t want to live in a world where you never saw him again.

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

@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black

#caspian #prince caspian #prince caspian angst #prince caspian one shot #prince caspian imagine #prince caspian x reader #prince caspian x reader insert #prince caspian x you #prince caspian x y/n #you x prince caspian #caspian x reader #caspian x reader insert #caspian x you #caspian x y/n #you x caspian #angst

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ace-oreos · 4 years

Note

You must be so sick of alpha and Fordo asks but you’re latest fic has given me angst potential- maybe a one-shot with alpha working with the bad batch to find Fordo post order 66 an him just breaking at the seams when he finds his Vod because he thought he lost Frodo like he lost Sev. Tears and man hugs ensue

Oh I am NEVER sick of Alpha and Fordo asks - they’re such a fun chaotic duo to write for. :D Also, Alpha working with the Bad Batch is something I never knew I needed until I saw your ask and I would absolutely write something with all of them again. I cannot express how difficult it was to not go off on a tangent about Hunter.

In true Sev style, I chose Kashyyyk as the main location for this one. It’s just so useful for these kinds of things.

Also. Y’all. I did not realize until I was four pages into this that I forgot Echo. So uh... whoops? 😅 😂 With that in mind, let me warn you that this is WAY longer than the other fics. I have no idea what happened. I have no idea what I’m doing.

Also also, thank goodness for Wookiepedia lmao

Edit with tags: @dudewhynotthis @merspots @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @delta-the-mando (taglist is open!)

“Captain.” The sergeant keeps his distance even now, face inscrutable as he surveys Alpha.

“Alpha,” he corrects half-heartedly, more for the sergeant’s sake than his own.

“Alpha,” Hunter amends. “We’ll be entering the Mid Rim soon - maybe an hour, hour and a half tops.”

“Good to know.” Alpha knows he sounds despondent at best, but he’s hit enough dead ends by now to know all too well this will likely be a fruitless endeavor. There’s nowhere in the galaxy safe from him - not when his brother’s life is hanging in balance.

But it’s a big galaxy, with little regard for individual yearning or emotion. Alpha can vow to upend the galaxy as much as he likes, but the fact is they’ve only so much time, and only so many resources, and...

And maybe Hunter picks up on that, in that way of his as he observes Alpha without further comment. The sergeant is as much his vod as anyone else Alpha has encountered. Still beyond him sometimes, a little too other for Alpha to ever fully mesh with him or his brothers, but he’s a good soldier. A good man.

“We’ve always got room for another,” are Hunter’s parting words as he makes his way back to the cockpit.

If you find out your brother was dead all along.

Alpha doubts it was anything less than a genuine offer, but it isn’t the only route. Not until I’ve exhausted every other option. And even then....

It doesn’t do, to let himself become so intertwined with a brother until he isn’t entirely sure he knows who he is without the other. He’d tried, both for his brothers and for his own peace of mind, to put a stop to it before it went too far. And maybe that was Jango getting in his head more than Alpha ever should have allowed, but he’d thought it was the right thing to do.

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder...

________________________

“ - you know as well as I do we’ve been going in circles for weeks now - ”

“Yeah, you might’ve mentioned that once or twice…”

“You said it yourself - we’ll get ourselves killed if we aren’t careful.”

“So we’ll be careful.” Hunter’s voice holds a note of finality. “We can keep rehashing this conversation, or we can help a vod.”

Alpha doesn’t catch the muttered reply, but it’s hardly amenable, if Hunter’s sigh is anything to go by. He can’t blame them, really - Fordo isn’t their brother, and outside of combat they’ve little common ground. And it’s only natural for Crosshair to raise the questions none of them are yet ready to face. Alpha thinks he could learn to like the man, given time.

He reigns in his thoughts before entering the cockpit. The least he can do is put on a rational front. This whole thing isn’t at all rational, but the Bad Batch seem to understand better than others. It runs deeper than brotherhood here, whatever it is, and Alpha is irrepressibly reminded of Fordo, somehow -

(And osik, does that thought burn, dig under his skin to remind him once again that he failed, that should he redeem himself it will be not on his terms but likely an inconsequential whim of a galaxy that cares nothing for them or everything they’ve fought so hard to hold on to - )

“Y’know, I’m not sure we’ve ever been to Kashyyyk,” Wrecker muses. “That’s a first.” If he’s trying to divert Alpha’s attention from Crosshair, it’s a skillful effort that almost takes Alpha aback. “‘Course, I only remember the fun parts,” he adds as an impish afterthought.

“Anything with explosives, you mean?” Alpha asks drily.

Wrecker grins. “Something like that.”

You and Fordo would get along fine.

What leaves his mouth is, “I don’t suppose anyone has any relevant information about this place?”

Right on cue, Tech pipes up from his position alongside Crosshair. “Actually…”

Tech is just as much of an efficient distraction in his own right. It’s not exactly the height of strategy on Alpha’s part, but once again it redirects attention. He has no doubt Hunter sees right through it; still, the man has enough tact to refrain from commenting.

You understand, I think, Alpha decides, watching exasperation and amusement play across Hunter’s face in turns as his brothers’ bickering fills the cockpit. You would go to hell and back for them, wouldn’t you, Sergeant?

Hunter casts him a wary glance. Alpha holds his gaze.

There’s too much we can’t say. It’s okay, vod - I think I’m starting to understand too.

________________________

Kashyyyk is dishearteningly vast, all sprawling jungles and endless island chains set on a swath of ocean that dissects the planet’s hemispheres. Getting in was no easy task, what with the Imperial blockade cutting off the planet from others in its sector. But Tech’s adroit piloting had come through, and they’d slipped past the blockade with little disturbance.

“You really think your buddy is here?” Crosshair asks dubiously, surveying the area with a distinct air of displeasure.

“I’ve seen the records,” Alpha says, as much to reassure himself as the other man. “The Empire’s tighter with the book-keeping, I’ll give them that. Fordo’s unit lost contact not long before Order Sixty-six went down. If they made it out, it would be on record somewhere.”

“And if they didn’t?”

Alpha battles his temper into submission before replying. “Then they would be confirmed KIA. But they’re still listed as missing as of two weeks ago.”

“Sounds like you’re leaving an awful lot to chance,” Crosshair opines. There isn’t malice in his voice so much as an unmistakable note of disapproval. “What’s your plan if it turns out they were just waiting for reinforcements and pulled out days ago? That leaves us here in the heart of Imperial occupation.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Alpha says grimly. “But if they lost comms before the order came through, then there’s a chance they aren’t with the Empire. Their main focus would be survival, not falling in line nice and neat like Palpatine expects.”

It’s clear there are a number of objections rising to the forefront of Crosshair’s mind, but the man keeps them to himself. There’s a conflict brewing there, Alpha knows, but that’s a matter to address at another time.

“There’s an area south of here where all comm signals go dead,” Tech announces, tapping furiously at the device mounted on his vambrace. “According to intel, the Wookies call it the Black Forest.”

“Sounds inviting,” Hunter says. “What’s the deal with it?”

“A prison ship crashed there centuries ago,” Tech relays. “The Wookies believe it’s cursed, so they avoid it whenever possible. It’s possible Fordo and whoever was left were driven back by the Seps - or it was a desperate bid and he was banking on the droids not following somewhere they can’t maneuver well. But why cut himself off from allies…?”

“The forward operating base was set up in Kachirho,” Alpha muses aloud “There was another commando squad deployed here, but they were retasked shortly after Order Sixty-six. If Fordo’s here, I doubt he would hang around anywhere with high Imperial activity.”

If he were operating alone, the decision would be simple. But he has the welfare of four other men to consider now; one wrong move, and they’ll all end up on the business end of a blaster.

With that in mind, Alpha looks to Hunter. “Sergeant. What do you think?”

“It’s your call,” Hunter answers. “If you have reason to think your brother is hiding out here, then I think it’s worth taking a look. So long as we go careful, I don’t see why the Imperials should notice us.”

Wrecker’s chuckle fills the comms. “Famous last words.”

_________________________

For all that they have a reputation for being unorthodox - a reputation that is doubtless justly earned - the Bad Batch can pull off stealth pretty well, too. It comes as a bit of a surprise, if Alpha is being honest, but if nothing else the overarching threat of Hunter’s wrath is enough to keep them in line.

“Keep an eye out for slavers,” Tech warns. “The whole planet has been a hotspot for them ever since the CIS first let them in.”

It’d be just our luck to run into slavers, Alpha thinks wryly. Individually they’re not much of a threat, but a group of Trandoshans spells trouble for anyone. Even without the training to back it up, their brutality can overpower even an ARC trooper. ‘Course, it’d be just like you to get into a mess like that, Fordo…

“We’ll be a bigger target if we travel as a group,” Hunter says.

“If we split up we might as well ask for a death sentence,” Alpha cautions. Typically his first choice would be to operate alone, but between the slavers, the Imperials, and the remnants of the Separatist forces, he’s starting to think their strength might lie in numbers this time.

Alpha mulls it over. Greater numbers means slower going. If we split up, we’ll be able to cover more ground. It’ll be risky, but - payoff is worth it.

“We’ll move faster this way,” Hunter says, echoing Alpha’s thoughts. “Wrecker, Tech, you’re with me. Cross…” He fixes his brother with a stern stare. “Don’t do anything stupid. Alpha has my full permission to stop you by any means necessary.”

Alpha rewards the sergeant with a wolfish grin. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He can’t read Crosshair half as well as the others, but the sniper doesn’t appear altogether displeased. He merely shrugs when Alpha jerks his head towards the route they’ll be following, and trails after him without argument.

Silence lays thick over the jungle. There’s an odd rustle here and there, interspersed with faint growls from time to time, but progress is relatively smooth. Alpha takes pains to remain on guard; just because he can’t see a threat doesn’t mean they’re in the clear.

Before long the silence is disconcerting. Given the planet’s Wookie population, there should be regular movement around them, or some sign of existence. But this stretch of the jungle is oddly lacking.

“This doesn’t feel right,” Crosshair mutters.

“Guess no one’s home,” Alpha answers absently, scrutizining the terrain. “Look - there’s no sign of a fight. Maybe no one was here to begin with.”

“Kachirho isn’t too far from here,” Crosshair points out. “You don’t think it’s a little odd that this path hasn’t been used at all?”

“It is,” Alpha allows, “but look at it this way. We’re traveling the way we’ve been trained to in this kind of setting. The Wookies probably have their own methods for getting around.”

“It’s still weird,” Crosshair decides. “And if your brother really was here, we’d have found evidence of that, too.”

He isn’t wrong, but it nonetheless stings to hear the man voice the doubtful thoughts that have been creeping up on Alpha. Still, we’ve come this far. What have we got to lose?

(More than he’s willing to surrender. But Crosshair doesn’t need to know that.)

“Let’s keep moving,” Alpha says, sharper than he intends.

“Hang on,” Crosshair says suddenly. “Contact - ”

Alpha pivots in time to see a Trandoshan emerge from the surrounding foliage. The lizard is taller and more solid than he previously anticipated; instead of hitting it head-on like he initially planned, Alpha redirects in order to avoid being gutted on the lizard’s knife.

He hears the shot and the telltale thump of the lizard falling to the ground. As Alpha picks himself up, Crosshair scans the area through the scope of his rifle.

“Oh, shab,” the sniper hisses.

It doesn’t take long for Alpha to locate the cause of Crosshair’s disgruntlement. A group of Trandoshans lurches towards them. Alpha does a rapid assessment: each lizard is packing some sort of ranged weapon - including slugthrowers, he notes unenthusiastically - and most are carrying an assortment of knives.

“Ideas?” Crosshair asks tersely.

“They’ll just follow us if we run,” Alpha says. “It’ll save us trouble in the long run if we take them now.”

“I can see why Hunter likes you,” Crosshair says, oddly nonchalant considering the circumstances, and fires.

With Crosshair covering ranged attacks, Alpha elects the more up-close-and-personal option. The slavers have the advantage of size, but Trandoshans aren’t renowned for their intelligence. As long as he stays in motion the risk of having his throat slit is greatly reduced.

Alpha targets a straggler first. He hits low, knocking the lizard off balance and sending it staggering into another. The other makes a grab for him, but Alpha is already ramming his vibroblade into the first slaver’s exposed neck. Using the limp body as a buffer, Alpha pushes against the other lizard, trying to force it onto its back foot.

Just as he feels his opponent’s defense start to give, another three descend on him. Cursing, Alpha throws himself aside before they can hem him in. One of the slavers has enough presence of mind to bring his knife down on Alpha’s unprotected back; the force of the blow has him crashing to the ground.

Alpha scrambles for a foothold, but one of the lizards seizes his leg in a vicelike grip. He writhes instinctively, kicking out with his other foot. He feels the impact more than sees it and wrenches himself free.

Just as a third lizard fills the other’s place, there’s a crack from Crosshair’s rifle, and the lizard topples. Alpha springs to his feet to avoid being crushed by several hundred kilos of Trandoshan. The others are wary now, trying to divide their attention between him and Crosshair.

Alpha doesn’t give them time to choose. This time he uses his blaster to put a round through the closest target. It’s not quite enough to put the lizard out of commission entirely, so he follows up with a quick succession of bolts.

It’s not exactly an even match, but things aren’t going as badly as he first feared, Alpha thinks. No sooner does the thought cross his mind than his helmet flashes a warning. He turns to deflect the attack coming from behind, but he moves too late and steps directly into the strike.

The slaver’s curved knife skids off Alpha’s breastplate and sinks into his bodysuit in the gap between the cuirass and the shoulder bell. Alpha manages to pull away, but not before the knife catches the underside of his arm and slices a gash halfway down his bicep.

A line of pain sears through his arm. There’s no doubt the Trandoshan cut deep into the muscle. That arm is effectively useless now; Alpha grimly switches his knife to the other hand.

He doesn’t have eyes on Crosshair from his current position, but the rasping breaths and occasional curses over the comms suggest the sniper isn’t having an easy time of it either. Time to fall back and reassess.

“Let’s pull back. We might be able to lose them.” Alpha bites the inside of his cheek to suppress a hiss of pain when his wounded arm is jostled. “We can’t take them now, at any rate.”

“You might want to rethink that, alor’ad…”

Crosshair jerks his head to indicate the slavers pouring into the area. There’s a slim chance they’ll be able to slip by, but not without risking serious injury. Slowing down to accommodate a bad hit would mean certain death or capture.

Pinned down. Shabla brilliant.

Alpha makes an effort to keep his rapidly rising alarm in check. “We’ll have to hold them off, then.”

“There’s no way,” Crosshair objects. “We’re outnumbered eight to one.”

Alpha sends a slaver sprawling rather than answer. He can see it as plainly as Crosshair, but he’s not going to lay down and die, not when his brother is still out there somewhere, not when there’s still a chance they could pull this off -

He hasn’t been this close in weeks and it isn’t his place to gamble anyone else’s life but his own, but even now he can’t bring himself to give in and he understands in a sudden flash of clarity that this is where he will always fail - because he has a foothold, now, and even though all logic points to turning back for once he can’t give in -

An arm clamps around his neck. Alpha thrashes, trying to throw his attacker off, but now that he’s been caught off guard the lizard has an advantage. His vision begins to blur at the edges and he redoubles his efforts, fueled in no small part by panic at being unable to draw breath.

He doesn’t know where Crosshair is anymore. He can hardly see beyond his own hands, scrabbling desperately at the arm locked around his neck.

No sooner does his vision begin to fade than the crushing pressure on his neck abruptly loosens. Alpha hits the ground gracelessly, coughing violently as he tries to inhale. His breath rattles in his throat, but his vision gradually returns.

He lurches to his feet and assumes a defensive stance as best he can. He’s lost track of how many slavers are still standing - too many is his best estimate.

But the man standing before him isn’t an enemy. He’s -

“Vod,” Fordo says softly.

Alpha can only stare at his brother in stunned silence, momentarily deaf to the ongoing struggle around them. Fordo....

“Later,” his brother promises.

______________________

“So how’d you end up running with them?” Fordo asks with a nod towards the Bad Batch.

“It’s complicated,” Alpha says lightly. “Too much to unpack now, at any rate.”

Fordo laughs. He’s battered and weary, with something lurking in his gaze Alpha can’t quite decipher yet, but it’s Fordo, and that’s more than enough.

“It’s quiet here,” Fordo remarks. “I like that.”

“‘S nice,” Alpha agrees.

They’re still hovering just above the surface. Tentative. It’s not exactly what Alpha is accustomed to, but for Fordo’s sake he lets his brother take the lead.

“Everything’s gone sideways, hasn’t it,” Fordo says suddenly.

“It has,” Alpha admits. There’s no use pretending otherwise. “But we’ll find a way through.”

Fordo flashes a small smile. “You’re good at that.”

Alpha merely shrugs. There’s a thousand other things he wants to say, but he hasn’t the faintest clue where to begin. Finally he ventures carefully, “Y’know, for a while now I thought this mission did you in.”

Fordo lets out a long sigh. “I was starting to think it might, myself.”

“I…” Alpha breaks off, startled by the sudden pressure behind his eyes. It worsens when he tries to continue. “I don’t know what I would’ve - ”

He falters again. I care more than I should. I never should’ve let that happen, but even now I don’t know if I regret it.

“Alpha,” Fordo says softly, and pulls him into an embrace.

Alpha doesn’t know how much time passes before he finally disentangles himself from Fordo as gently as he can and scrubs at the hot trails on his face. He can’t quite bring himself to feel any shame over it. He’s never been given to such displays, but… Fordo is his vod.

“So what’s the plan, alor’ad?” Fordo asks with a familiar note of mischief in his voice.

Alpha smiles despite himself. “It’s a big galaxy.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Yeah,” Alpha laughs. “We have time.”

#alpha-17 #alpha 17 #captain fordo #the bad batch #bad batch #clone force 99 #the clone wars #star wars #fic prompt #thanks for the prompt!#this was really fun #and i would absolutely write for them again #hunter specifically but shhh #if you make it through this post good on you lmao #my askbox is open!

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