#i think i would rather relive the last two decades than i would the last month

[daniigrimm-blog]

Yeah Boy & Doll Face, this is Bulletproof Love so Throw a Match into Water cos Today I Saw The Whole World and it's The Jaws of Life

Pierce the Veil did the walk of shame out of a tour with All Time Low in 2017 and that same year announced that drummer Mike Fuentes would be leaving the band; they cited that they wanted a safe feeling environment for their younger fanbase and honestly in the six or so years that the two girls that came forward with receipts and allegations really nothing has been done and that is a shame. A couple to a few years ago (not sure on exact date) they did a quarantine video featuring the drummer however and they have yet to remove his image from their Epic Win playlist but I do digress, it does seem the band has been trying to turn over a new leaf and move on sans Mike Fuentes.

That being said, let's do a deep delve into what exactly has been up with Pierce the Veil--active members are now Victor Fuentes (guitar), Tony Perry (Lead Guitar), and Jaime Preciado (Bass).

So what have these guys been up to the last decade?! Well it seems they were busy growing and having families. That's right ladies, sorry to say--these three starling studs are currently off the market. Sad, I know, but that's not why we're fucking here. We are here for the music. I did think that it was very sweet that Vic, Jaime, AND Tony settled down with seemingly the loves of their lives and that Danielle, Vic's wife, recently gave birth to their first baby Violet Valentine Fuentes! I'm excited for them and their newest adventure together as new parents. As a parent myself I wish nothing but the very best for them and as someone who can no longer make these cute little babies, I am certainly excited for whatever pics they have to share.

Now let's talk music.

Where were you on February 10th, 2023 when The Jaws of Life dropped? i was in my room, I know rather anticlimactic but, I am always in my room. Introversion aside, I remember putting on my headphones and gearing up to rock out to PTV's newest jams and my god was I not disappointed.

In an interview for Blabbermouth.net Fuentes says: "This album has truly brought us closer than we've ever been. It was extremely difficult for us to be off the road and apart for so long. We've never missed anything more than playing music together and never had such an strong appreciation for recording, touring, and simply being in the same room together than we do now. 'The Jaws Of Life' is about how life can sink its teeth into you and try to devour you. The negativity in the world and within your mind can be a vicious thing. We're extremely grateful for this record, our fans, and the opportunity to play live music again."

The first single release from the new album, was Pass the Nirvana--let's start here. Clowncore visuals aside (I am deathly afraid of clowns!) I'd say the music video takes me right back to a 90s grunge era when I was a stinky teenager watching TRL on my couch. Flash warning, for the sensitive.

“‘Pass the Nirvana’ is about the many horrible traumas that the youth of America have endured over the past few years. COVID, no proms, no graduations, an insurrection, school shootings. The list goes on. Their lives have been tossed around like clothes in a dryer, as the tensions within our country have infiltrated our own homes, friends, and families. To me, the song represents a euphoric detachment from all of that anxiety and stress and about finding some form of peace or nirvana.”

That tracks. The grungy guitar riffs and metaphorical lyrics really tie this track together in a pretty plaid bow. There were a lot of things this year that made me question what year it was, but I'd relive the 90s again as adult this time--why not? could be fun, some of the trends were neat.

The second single on the album is throwing the same vibes; albeit the song is different in many ways as the first single. For instance, both are desperate situations with meaningful lyrics. Both have underlying 90s grunge rock vibes. But Emergency Contact is essentially about a pair of lovers; one is ready to move their relationship further and is frustrated with the other who is still unsure if they should. Vic Fuentes tells you the meaning in his own words here. It's a lovely melody that I think is comparable to their collide with the sky style. Which was also very nice to hear again.

Now that brings me to their third single off their Fifth album (Fearless Records) , The Jaws of Life, Even When I'm Not With You. This is my FAVORITE out of the three singles so far, but I am as HUGE sucker for a good rock ballad.

“This song was inspired by a text my manager sent me while I was going through a rough time. I thanked her for being there for me, and she said, ‘Even when I’m not with you, I’m still with you.’ That phrase touched my heart and inspired me to write a love song dedicated to my wife about no matter how far away I am on tour, I’m still devoted to her, and we will always be connected through our love.”

The lyrics are sweet, the looping riff is melodic and wonderful and I 100% love this track. Favorite track on the album? No, sorry--but definitely my favorite listed of the three singles. If you hate Gold Medal Ribbon or the vibes thrown on Misadventures then I don't want to hear anything you have to say. Your opinion is sadly invalid here on my blog, move along.

How many tracks are on The Jaws of Life? 12.

So we've already been over tracks 2-4, no need to readdress those. Let's go back to the Death Of An Executioner.

“The visual of this song, to me, is a car that’s following you—like the video for ‘Karma Police’ by Radiohead. It’s got its headlights on your back, and it’s just kind of slowly creeping on you. To me, it represents social media and people expecting perfection out of you and always waiting for you to make a mistake so they can run you down and destroy you. I like the title ‘Death of an Executioner’ because it describes killing the person who’s trying to kill you.”

Hello Alt Rock/Rock Electronica Radiohead influences! YES, I am HERE for it 100%. The harmonizing laid over vocals just work. And the filter effect over Fuentes' voice is mesmerizing. Kinda partial to the repeating of "blood red moonlight" as a good scene setter too--just GREAT imagery here. Plus, have you listened to it yet? You should--the song goes really hard.

Flawless Execution. It's the fifth track. on the fifth album.

“This one’s kind of hard to describe. I feel like it’s about people blurring the lines between love and sex and vice versa. It’s almost about when you’re OK with being used because you want to be close to the person so badly. You want love so badly that you’re actually OK with being used or abused, kind of like the Bill Withers song ‘Use Me.’ So, it’s about those extremes that we go to just to be validated. If you’re always desiring someone’s approval, it can go to some toxic places.”

"I'll scar you with my flawless execution every time." This. is actually one song that really caught my ear the first time I heard it. Man what a smooth earworm it really is! And that chorus really hooks you. Not sure what that says about me, now knowing the meaning of the song (fuck it I already kinda knew what it implied), nah--it really doesn't change my mind. This song slaps. It's definitely one to put on and really enjoy.

So far, I really think that consistently this band has grown with each album release and that really says something. Personally, their Dance Gavin Dance/Myspace screamcore on A Flair for the Dramatic wasn't my favorite (I know Ill get hate for that) but they were still growing as people and as a band. After doing infinite amount of touring and getting to know other musicians/bands they did some dabbling and grew into Selfish Machines--Besitos really hooked me. And it just got better from there my dudes! Hold the freaking phone! When Collide With The Sky and new doors and opportunities were opening for them--that was it for me. I was a fan. Misadventures , which won album of the year in 2017 circulated so many times on my playlist that I lost count. And then--radio silence. Man, when the allegations dropped I was heartbroken.

For a long time I did not support a band that I loved because of one person doing a misdeed and that was not fair. Not fair to the people who weren't involved, and not fair to me personally because of what their art does for me. When they finally addressed things and booted that rootie tootie from the band, I almost threw confetti into the air! They did the right thing, for those girls, for the fandom, and for the band. Now, they could begin to grow--and GROW THEY DID.

It took just short of a decade but we finally got NEW Pierce the Veil, and man am I just so happy with what they have given us. That finally brings me to the title track, The Jaws of Life.

“It’s about trying to get released from life’s grip and finding your way. There’s a line in it where I say I’m having the time of my life rotting in the sun, inside the jaws of life. It’s trying to be OK with where you are and starting to feel happy again—I’m making my way, and I know that I can see some light. There’s a lot of ’90s influence in this song musically, which I’m super stoked on. The verse feels like Tripping Daisy or Superdrag—I was thinking about their song ‘Sucked Out’ a lot when I was writing this one.”

That is super befitting because so far I can hear all the 90s undertones and influences from track 1 to the title track. Superdrag, Tripping Daisy, Smashing Pumpkins, Radiohead, Bush, Soundgarden, and a little Nirvana. These are great fucking influences to have and man, I love that they are just spinning them into their own modern grunge pop and I am here for it. As a fan of many different types of rock and pop I have to say this is taken and done--and it is done well. Kudos to production and underlying bts workers/musicians that put their time and effort into this. This album is fully flushed out, very well produced, and thematic from track one to track twelve. Just pure perfection.

This is what went into the Production of PTV's fifth studio album.

The seventh track on the album is quite possibly my favorite. It's consistently stuck in my head no matter what I do to get it out but I'm not even really trying at this point--it's too good. It can take up rent free space in my head for as long as it possibly desires to--because jesus fuck it is glorious! It's called Damn The Man, Save The Empire.

“I’ve been trying to use this title for years, but it’s never felt right until now. It’s a quote from one of my favorite movies, Empire Records. Lyrically, it’s about how no one can really know who you are until they’ve really spent some time with you. I feel that way sometimes when people follow our band on social media and think they have me pegged, but you’re seeing what I want you to see, not who I fully am. So, it’s just reminding people about that superficial experience.”

Instrumentally this combines grungey hard guitars with dreamy vocals that portray that same kind of dreamy vibe that social media gives you with a filter on it. "No one like us anyway..." is another relatable vibe but im starting to get that not everyone is built to be an extrovert and you only live one life--so why spend it trying to please people that don't like you when they don't matter? Great song. Even better message.

Track 8 is called Resilience.

“With this song, I had this vision of that classic scene in the movies when the hand pops out of the dirt after they’ve been buried alive, and the person starts pulling their body up to the surface. It’s like when you’re digging your way out of this hole, and your eyes finally see the sun and they adjust. Also, one of my most proud moments on this record is that we got to use a quote from Dazed and Confused to start the song. We actually had to have the actors approve that. It was such a win for the album.”

It starts off with a familiar scene from a movie most of us grew up with. I don't know about the children today, but I don't really care. It's a cult classic and Idgaf what the kids younger than me have to say about it really. The acoustic guitar is melodic and almost waltz like, and vic's crooning swoony voice wraps this song up nicely. "It's odd that I-keep runnin into spiderwebs, runnin into spiderwebs at night." was a really neat lyric I picked up on in that song. Very neat visuals.

Track 9 is called Irrational Fears . It's a 20 second interlude of an air flight assistant talking over an intercom. I don't really have much to say about this.

Vic said this:

“This is an interlude that sets up the next song. It was inspired by that first scene in the movie Garden State, with Zach Braff, where he’s on a plane that’s going down and everyone is freaking out around him, but he’s perfectly calm. We wanted to set the scene with this British flight attendant being all chipper but saying really dark things. Jaime made the music, and then my friend who’s a voice actor recorded the voiceover in London. It was a fun challenge, and I’m really proud of how it came out.”

Track 10 is called Shared Trauma and it's vapidly becoming one of my favorite PTV tracks. I guess personally, it touches very close to home. My family hasn't had the easiest life up until now, we have a lot of shared trauma but it's made us closer because of it--and it's certainly helped us grow knowing that.

“The title kind of speaks for itself. I’ve always felt that shared trauma and going through a traumatic experience with somebody can be one of the strongest bonds in human existence. Knowing that you’ve both been through something together will always connect you in such a powerful way. I think that’s beautiful—it’s the good that can come out of the bad. Musically, it was very much a collaborative band effort that came out of this loopy analog beat that Jaime sent me. It was really fun to write.”

So Far, So Fake starts off with couple of slow arpeggios that set the mood for the song which is cut into like a knife by Vic's sharp vocals to form a smooth even climb through the rest of the melody. The chorus is catchy, man, and does it stick if you let it. It's a hit. 100%. If they were to make another music video off this album, I would get in line to watch this one (but who are we kidding? I would get in line to watch any videos they decided to make as long as Mike isn't in them.)

“This song was written in 2017, so we’ve had it for a long time. It was one of the only ones that made it from some of the first writing sessions we did before the pandemic. It’s about if you’ve ever been betrayed by somebody you felt was a friend, and the wound never really mended—where even an apology doesn’t feel like it’s enough. It feels like it can never really be resolved. So, it’s a bit angry, a bit sour, a bit difficult to think about. But I always want to write about things that are affecting my life.”

I do recall a time where Vic had mentioned he was cheated on by someone who wasn't exactly exclusive with him? I don't remember the interview exactly but I do remember hearing it. Maybe that applies here. Maybe and I'm not saying this to start anything--it hits even closer to home and it's about Mike and what he did. They are family, and the band did lose out on a member. I imagine that would affect everyone very deeply and there would be wound that needed healing. I'm glad though, whatever the case, that Vic was able to get this out--it seemed he needed to. Music can be very therapeutic. Not just to us but to the artists who create it especially.

The final track on the album is called 12 Fractures and it is a lovely duet between Victor and an artist named Chloe Moriondo. She/They have never come up on my radar before but some how are an active member on the emo scene. She's/They've hung out with everyone from the likes of All Time Low, and Simple Plan, and now to Pierce the Veil and I love her/them for it. And can I just say that Her/Their voice is just wonderful. It's safe to say, I love this song.

Shout out to all the legal smokers of medicinal 420. I cannot wait til they federally legalize. We just need to move forward as a society but I digress, "Oh thank god for THC" is one lyric grab I loved from this song but it's just one. And it makes it all that more relatable.

“The song was called ‘12 Fractures’ before it became the 12th song on the album. We didn’t plan it like that. I’m glad it worked out that way, but it also makes things confusing. I’m actually looking at our vinyl right now to make sure it doesn’t just say ‘Fractures.’ But this one came from a deeply personal story about a friend of mine who went through a divorce. I watched two of my favorite people in the world just fall apart. When friends break apart like that, it’s like losing a family member. It’s super difficult, even as a bystander. It was cool to get Chloe on the song to bring the story to life. I’m a big fan of hers, and I think she did an amazing job.”

Now that I heard her/them on this song I will certainly be looking into her music because to be quite frank I just hadn't heard of her. I do love getting new music on my radar all the time though and this is usually how I find it. Artist collabs are SO so good for expanding the playlist repertoire-just trust me.

Did this convince you to go get The Jaws of Life and give it a listen? I sure hope so. It's fucking amazing on many levels. They did grow, they did change, and what they created is something I'll be blasting on my playlists for the next few years--but hey, let's maybe not make us wait another decade for new tunes next time guys? Pretty please?

Thanks.

D. Grimm

Sources:

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Some may not be linked because of space in the post my apologies, they can be found with a simple google search.

[jmagnabo92]

It’s a Twin Thing - Ch 1

A few weeks after Hetty’s almost banishment, Trevor’s in for a surprise when his twin brother comes by for a visit.

AO3

***

Trevor sighs, contentedly, as Hetty cuddles into him.  Despite it being earlier than usual for the aftermath of the rendezvous, Hetty doesn’t immediately leave.  After nearly being sent to the woods for a year, they’ve both been rather clingy … not that either of them would admit it.

Instead, they just cuddle together sometimes quietly – they’ve fallen asleep on more than one occasion – and sometimes they’ll chat quietly about random things.  They usually take turns talking about what’s on their minds and sharing stories of their pasts.

Lately, he can’t stop thinking about his brother.  Although everyone knows that he has a brother now, Hetty’s the only one that he had mentioned Jeremy being his twin brother to (although Flower had guessed ages ago).  Their rendezvouses in the last month or so since the heir nonsense happened usually led to cuddling and Trevor talking about some story where he and Jeremy had attempted to pretend to be each other until they failed at it.  It was always a competition between the brothers to see who could last longer pretending to be the other – Trevor always claimed the crown unless it involved someone asking him to draw something.

He loved those moments.  He loved those stories.  He wishes that he could relive those days, those times.  He misses Jeremy something terrible and he wishes more than anything that he could see him, again.  Talk to him, tell him that he feels like a part of his soul is missing and that he wishes that he’d come to the memorial, but he appreciated that he sent Tara Reid (even if that had been a disaster).  It showed him that he knows what Trevor would want even decades later, even decades without him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Hetty questions as she looks up at him, lifting her head from his chest.  Their clothes hadn’t returned yet, so he knew that she hadn’t fallen asleep despite how quiet she was being.  

Trevor hums.  It’s his turn to tell a story.  “Just thinking about Jeremy, again.”

“Are you going to tell me another story about the two of you switching places?” Hetty questions, somehow looking excited.

Trevor grins.  “That depends.  Would you like to hear one?”

Hetty hums in agreement.  “I would as I am waiting on a particular story.”

Trevor laughs.  “Oh yeah?  What story would that be?”

Hetty grins.  “I have decided that you two switched so often that you are secretly Jeremy.”

Trevor can’t help bursting out laughing.  “You really think that Jeremy and I switched the day I died and I’m not Trevor, but I’ve been pretending to be him for over twenty years?”

“Well, no one would have any idea, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“Thus, theoretically, you could have decided to be Trevor while actually being Jeremy for your entire afterlife.”

“I love J-dog and it’s undoubtedly fun fooling everyone, except our parents, but I can’t imagine doing that for twenty years – it’d feel wrong.  I love him, but that was a game we played together – we never did it without permission from the other,” Trevor states.  Not after the one-time that got them both in major trouble.  “Besides, I like being T-money instead of J-dog.”

“It is hard to take you seriously with those ridiculous monikers,” Hetty states, somewhat teasingly.  

Trevor laughs.  “Oh, please.  I know you love it.”

“I do no such thing,” Hetty states, but the smile on her lips says otherwise.  

He gives her a quick kiss and says, “Uh-huh, I totally believe you.”

“You should as I am being sincere.”

“Sure, you are.”

“It is impolite to suggest a lady such as myself would lie.”

“It’s impolite for a lady such as yourself to lie to her lover about something as silly as liking my T-Money moniker,” Trevor teases.  “And continuing to lie just means you’ll have to suffer the consequences.”

He shifts so that he can move his hand down Hetty’s side since she’s ticklish there.  

Hetty clearly knows what he’s thinking of doing and tries to wiggle away.  “Don’t you dare, Trevor!”  

“I won’t if you admit you like it,” Trevor teases.  

“Never!”

Laughing Trevor begins to tickle her, and it takes no time at all to get Hetty all giggly and begging for mercy, even as she shifts on top of him and pins him down.

“I win,” Hetty says, gleefully.

Trevor smiles.  “I’m right where I want to be – so I think I win.  Now, admit it.  You like my T-Money thing.”

Hetty leans down as if she’s going to kiss him but stops just out of reach.  “You are correct, Trevor, but do not let that go to your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Trevor teases, just before she closes the distance for the kiss.  

“Good.”

***

He knows that it might not be a good idea to come here.  Probably a terrible one, but he figured he had to – he had to know – had to see him – had to deal with these things he’s been avoiding.  It was ridiculous that he couldn’t summon the courage to visit during the memorial, but he hadn’t been expecting his parents to throw one and he wasn’t – wasn’t ready to face the reality of losing his twin.  

While it’s true that he had known – especially with his ability to suddenly see ghosts around the time that his brother had obviously died and those dreams of this very familiar mansion – but there had still been a part of him that ached for it not to be true.  He had had such a hard time with the loss, with not knowing where he was, and worse knowing that he was likely a ghost somewhere.  The dreams he had were not helpful as he wasn’t sure if they were real or not – and some, he certainly hoped not.  His – their – parents had tried to reassure him.  Tell him that Trevor was not stuck on as a ghost, but he knew – he could feel it.  

They hadn’t really accepted the possibility until the weekend where they discovered exactly where Trevor had died – everything that had happened, the woman owner of the house acting so strange by encouraging the memorial for one, and the final moment where she said, ‘what if he was here – what would you tell him?’.  They had believed then that not only was he there, but the woman could see him like Jeremy could see him (and other ghosts).

Despite this, they didn’t think it would be a good idea for Jeremy to visit until and unless he was ready, but how do you ever get ready for that?  He had nearly made this trip a dozen times in the last few months, and every time he turned around.  

Every time he found himself afraid and overwhelmed.  He thought about what Trevor would say, if he’d be angry that he hadn’t come sooner, if he’d blame Jeremy for being the reason he’s stuck.  If he resented Jeremy for being the cautious and careful twin, rather than Trevor as the reckless and risky twin.

It was illogical, he knew, but it was how he felt.  

And he couldn’t stand the thought of Trevor hating him.  Blaming him.

Because he blamed himself.  

He should’ve been there – done something, somehow.  

Stopped him from falling into the lake or whatever.  They had no idea what actually happened, his bones – waterlogged as they were – told them nothing.  And Trevor’s so-called bros had been less than helpful.  

Jeremy was always sure they knew something – gut instinct and what not, but that didn’t mean squat to the authorities who had nothing to go on.  And after twenty-two and a half years, there wasn’t any evidence of anything other than an accident.  

Still, if he’d been a better brother – maybe he would have been there or helped him find better friends.  What if he had somehow gotten in good with Trevor’s friends and been able to stop him from doing reckless and risky things all of the time?  What if he had convinced him that he didn’t need to do risky and stupid things to be the life of the party?  What if he had spent more time in the city with Trevor rather than hide out in the country where he’s more comfortable?  What if he convinced him that he was better off leaving Lehman Brothers and branching out away from those douchey bros to be with his actual bro?

There were so many things he could have done, so many words left unsaid, so many what ifs.  

Maybe he would finally get answers here.  

He could feel Trevor’s presence as soon as he pulls up, but it takes a minute and several deep breaths before he gets out of the car before he can convince himself to drive back home and not face his brother.  

The front door was open, probably due to the nice weather and to encourage random drop-ins for the business. Given that he hadn’t exactly planned a visit (if only because he had attempted and failed to make this trip a dozen times), this is probably a good thing.  

Still, it’s as nice and homey as his parents told him (they had attempted to reassure him that if Trevor was there at least it was homey – the fact that his drawings and paintings matched a house that he had never set foot in helped assure him that Trevor was definitely there).  He can’t help looking around, and hoping to just spot Trevor rather than have to talk to the owners and explain what exactly he was doing here, but despite noting two obvious ghosts – a captain and a  Lieutenant colonel from opposite sides of the revolutionary war in the library kissing, interesting, he only sees two other ghosts in the living room – a hippie and a Native American, who have appeared to have noticed him.  

No Trevor.  

There’s plenty of land, obviously, so Trevor doesn’t necessarily have to be in the house at the moment, but he’d somehow been hoping that Trevor would be the first person that he would see.  That he wouldn’t have to go searching.

Although, it was entirely possible that his brother had ascended, and he would never know it – would he lose this ability if his brother ascends?  Did the fact that he has this ability even mean that his brother was ghost?  How did it work?  

He had no idea.  Yet, due to the memorial and drawings, he was convinced that Trevor was here – at least, he has been for twenty years.  He could be gone by now.  What if the memorial got him to ascend?  Maybe he’d been hyping himself up to do this all for naught?

What would he do, then?

“SAM!  There’s someone here!” the Native American yells from the living room.  

He doesn’t react.  If his brother isn’t here, then he doesn’t want to give away his ability.  The last thing he wants to do is talk to more ghosts who are less than helpful to his plight of seeing dead people and trying to play at normal.

He’s sure the other living that can clearly see ghosts – Sam – probably wishes the ghosts here would let her play being a bit more normal.  Of course, neither of them were.  Not with this ability most people don’t have.  

He hears footsteps on the stairs, as the hippie woman says, “He looks awfully familiar.”

“He does, doesn’t he?” her companion offers.  

Ignoring them, he looks up at the woman on the stairs, who stops on the landing with two other ghosts behind her – one that’s clearly a Viking and the other who is wearing a scout uniform and an arrow through the neck – ouch.  He’s seen some brutal deaths – that’s a rough way to die for sure.  

It’s at that point that it occurs him that maybe he should’ve gone by the lake, maybe if Trevor died drowning – he’d hang out there?  Before he could leave the house awkwardly – like he’s prone to do, the blonde, clearly alive woman, says, “Trevor?”

“How did you know?” he asks, without thinking.  It had been common practice for he and Trevor to just answer to the other’s name.  They switched so often when they were younger that half the time, he forgot that his name wasn’t Trevor.  

Of course, these days, the name causes an ache his chest.  

He can see the ghosts all reacting confused and excited.  They had clearly put together that he was Trevor’s brother and that he probably came seeking closure about his brother the way his parents had.  

They chatter about seeing him and someone realizes that they should go get Trevor because he should be here for this – both the hippie and arrow man immediately mention that they hadn’t seen him all morning – midafternoon, but that they’d split up and look for him in his usual haunts.  

Several minutes pass before Sam says, “Uh, lucky guess.  You sort of remind me of someone.”

“I get that a lot – were you thinking about them just now?” he asks, giving her an out for awkward silence since he knows what it’s like to be overwhelmed by ghosts that don’t understand what it looks like for her to be silent and trying not to react (and failing) to their commentary.  

A couple of the ghosts mention that it was interesting that he had offered her an out when Sam nods.  “Oh, yes.  He was – uh – a good friend that – uh – recently passed.  My apologies, I’m probably seeming all sorts of weird to you.”

“Weird should be my middle name – I’m quite weird myself,” he offers.  He’s waiting for her to mention anything about his brother or something, while the ghosts continue commenting.

But luckily as the arrow man and the hippy return with yet another ghost with news that they had not found Trevor, he hears, “Jeremy?” from his left.  

He turns to see Trevor standing there in a half suit – interesting and unfortunate death outfit – with a Victorian woman with red-hair.  Those dreams were definitely real.

He doesn’t hesitate (and neither does Trevor) to move forward to hug him.  He could hear surprised voices behind him and the one beside them, but he doesn’t care as he envelopes his brother in a hug for the first time in over twenty-two years.  He puts one arm around his back, while the other goes to his hair to ruffle it, like always.  Trevor mimics him, and to be honest, he finally feels completed for the first time in years – like a piece of himself that had been missing was finally locking into place.  

[voiceless-terror]

I mean, I don’t believe in the predictive power of dreams, obviously, but still, it’s a deeply unsettling thing to find. I had Tim look into it, as I don’t entirely trust the others not to have written it as a practical joke and slipped it into the archives. - Episode 11, Dreamer

Jon stares down at the paper in his hands.

He’s had many an unkind thought towards Gertrude, his predecessor, the woman responsible for this mess and the current bane of his existence. She’s been the topic of most of his grumbling as he sorts through piles of nonsense and decaying cardboard boxes. He’s got no love lost for her, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy she’s dead. Or, specifically, to have a statement apparently predicting it through the medium of some prophetic dream. Ridiculous. He wants to feel detached, unaffected, but he can’t help the sickly sense of dread that creeps up his spine and lingers in his throat. 

It was your face and the expression upon it was far more fearful than any I had seen in eight years of wandering this twilight city.

Jon doesn’t know Antonio Blake and has no reason to believe him. But he’s known something’s wrong for a long time now.

He’s never admitted it aloud, never within his assistant’s hearing range, but he can feel it, as foolish as that sounds. This miasma of wrong, of being watched, of becoming...something else, that happens every time he records a statement. Despite the academic detachment he aspires to, he does attempt to empathize with each statement-giver and get into their mindset. But what he’s doing here...it’s different. He can visualize it so perfectly, the terror in their words sticking in his throat and setting his own heart pounding, as if he were the one experiencing it and not just regurgitating it to an ancient recorder. He’s always had an ‘overactive imagination,’ as his grandmother would say, but this is relentless in its manifestation. The fear is real, not imagined. Each statement draws him further and further away from the safety he used to cling to, where the only real cases were few and far between and the most sinister things lurking out there in the world were books and the monsters within them.

And as much as he wants to linger on the false accounts and take comfort in tearing them apart, his hands automatically seek the real ones, the right ones. It’s frightening, the ease with which he finds them nowadays. Perhaps he’s a better archivist than he thinks. 

She died and you’ll be next, something whispers to him. He’s being dramatic, as he’s wont to do, but it feels true. Every statement that doesn’t record correctly, every follow-up he has to qualify with an ‘I would dismiss this, but-’ is starting to add up. His nights have become restless. He often lies awake regretting that he ever took this job, that he left the relative safety of research for a position he’s not sure how to fill, his only reassurance Elias’s occasional emails that he’s ‘moving in the right direction,’ whatever that means.

Jon assumed he’d be more removed from the dangerous aspects of the job that research entailed- following up, going to locations, field work. And it’s true, he has assistants to do that for him now. Dependable, for the most part. And while he should feel safe in his tiny office with nothing but dust and paper and cobwebs (good lord, the cobwebs) he feels more unsettled and exposed than ever. He once joked he’d die of old age before getting the archives in order. But now a stroke sounds much more pleasant than whatever happened to Gertrude. If it’s true.

Perhaps it’s a joke, he thinks. Planted by one of the others, designed specifically to unsettle him. Well, it worked. 

It wouldn’t be surprising. He’s...not had the best start. The promotion was a surprise, but not wholly unexpected; he knew he’d been on Elias’s radar, though he wasn’t expecting it quite so soon. He’s young and unfortunately, it shows. The way he stutters through department meetings, talking about digitization while the others, all of whom have at least a decade on him, shoot pitying looks. He stays later and later, the desire to show some sort of progress even as he discovers more mess by the day. The permanent scowl that now graces his features becomes his armor as he walks the halls and feels himself becoming the uptight, unlikable curmudgeon everyone believes him to be. The one time I measure up to expectations, he can’t help thinking.

A joke. There’s a comfort in that. At least it’s familiar.

But it didn’t record to the laptop, his traitorous mind supplies. It's a bit sad he would prefer it to be a mundane attempt at bullying rather than a real expression of the supernatural, but he supposes it’s par for the course. There were many nights as a child he wished for the same thing, for that boy to go back to taking his lunch money and the occasional beating or two instead of…still, he dismisses it from his mind. You don’t know there’s a correlation. Follow up. Disprove it. 

He’s interrupted from his musings by a knock on the door and the vague outline of Martin through the frosted glass. “Come in,” he calls, attempting to inject some irritation in his voice to cover up the shakiness. “Did you need something?”

“Ah, I finished my write up for the Herbert case, was wondering if you had anything else for me?”

His hand hovers over the statement on his desk. He opens his mouth but then closes it, thinking better.

“Can you send Tim in, actually?”

______

“Sorry boss, I couldn’t find anything on this Antonio Blake fellow- well, at least with the details he provided, which were next to none. Proper spooky, though.”

Of his assistants, he trusts Tim the most with this sort of thing. 

On a surface level, it wouldn’t make sense to some. Tim can be loud and gregarious: the typical, charming extrovert. But he’s not unkind and he’s a hell of a researcher, especially when something grabs his interest. He digs into statements and doesn’t let go- not unlike Sasha, though he’s a bit better at empathizing and handling things...sensitively. Easily attuned to Jon’s moods, Tim’s always been willing to lend an ear whenever he gets too in his head about cases, helping him talk things through or on several memorable occasions, go down the rabbit hole with him. He’d taken the statement from his hands with an easy smile, though his face grew serious with the nervous look Jon shot him.

And if Tim couldn’t find anything, well. Maybe it was a prank after all.

He sort of wanted it to be true, frightening as the implications were. Because then it would mean this terrible, heavy feeling on his shoulders was real, and not just the byproduct of his own mediocrity. He doesn’t want to be scared, he doesn’t want to be in danger, but at least it would provide a real reason for panic, and not just his own inability to measure up.  He doesn’t want to prove them all right, collapsing under the stress of a job poorly done and so easily crumbling at a stupid, made-up statement, targeted as it may be. 

“A joke, then.” Jon says, rubbing a hand at his temples, trying not to let the hurt seep into his voice. Tim makes a commiserating noise.

“You know how people are, the institute isn’t exactly popular. You remember last Halloween, when-”

“Yes, I don’t need a reminder.” Jon sighs. He’d rather not relive that day, stressful as it was. “But that wasn’t quite what I was thinking.”

Tim stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending. Jon continues, attempting to make his hands busy as he pointlessly shuffles papers.

“It’s rather pointed, isn’t it? I doubt someone off the street would create such a detailed account of the death of an...archivist as opposed to the usual ghostly drivel.”

A look of pity flickers in Tim’s eyes and Jon has to turn away. “I don’t really think anyone here would-”

“Really? You don’t?” Jon lets out a mirthless laugh, rubbing a hand across his face as he stares down at his desk. “I’m not blind. Or deaf.” The derisive snorts if he goes off on ‘needless tangents,’ how Rosie pretends to be busy whenever he approaches Elias’s office, the way his name badge still reads ‘researcher’ after months of asking for a new one. He’s basically become a pariah.

“Jon, did someone say something to you?” The words are carefully chosen and he’s leaning forward now, making as if to stand up and god forbid, do something comforting. It’s not that Jon doesn’t want the comfort; he craves it more than anything. But he’s gone without for so long he doesn’t trust himself not to break at the gentlest of touches. Being on the receiving end of Tim’s protective streak is nothing new, but he shouldn’t need his assistant looking out for him like he’s some sort of helpless infant. 

He snorts derisively instead, covering up the insecurity and hurt with a sardonic, self-effacing smile. The kind he knows Tim hates. “They don’t need to. I’ve walked in on conversations, I’ve seen the way people go quiet, the looks they give me-”

“Hey,” Tim’s voice is low, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. Jon wonders how he looks, if Tim’s going this soft. “Don’t listen to them, alright? You inherited a mess, we all did- but we’re doing our best, yeah? Study and record, like Elias said.” Jon doesn’t dodge the hand that finally lands on shoulder, and he’ll deny to anyone that he leaned into it. 

“Study and record.” He repeats listlessly, slumping back down into his seat. He’s let himself get too worked up, acting like a child instead of a boss. He’s not sure when he started wearing his heart on his sleeve, but Tim’s always been good at reading him. Though he’d rather people think him an arrogant ass than the seething mess of insecurity he truly is. 

“Atta boy.” The pat to his shoulder is purposefully light, devoid of Tim’s usually friendly force that sends him stumbling forward. “Now get out of here at a normal time, alright? We can grab lunch tomorrow. Just the two of us, if you like.”

Jon makes a noncommittal grunt, though the thought is nice.  He entertains the idea for just a moment, remembering their occasional outings back in research. Tomorrow he’ll make his excuses. He hasn’t been much of a friend as of late, and he’s not sure he deserves the kindness of company.

“And if there’s anyone that needs a stern talking to from me, I-” Tim wags a finger and Jon rolls his eyes, ignoring the pang of warmth the words send through his chest.

“Don’t, please. It’s fine.” It isn’t. “But...thank you, Tim.”

“Course.” A wink and a sloppy salute to lighten the mood, and Jon feels the tension in his posture ease minutely as Tim shuts the door behind him. 

He lets out a breath and reaches for the tape recorder. He’s wasted too much time already.  

Be careful. There is something coming for you and I don’t know what it is, but it is so much worse than anything I can imagine. At the very least, you should look into appointing a successor.

Good luck.

He fights a shiver as the man’s voice leaves him and the last vestiges of that twilight world fade back to his dimly-lit office. In his follow up, he tries to play it off as a joke. A bit of hazing for the new boss. And yet the uneasiness still creeps into his voice, and he ends another tape on a stilted, half-believed note.

If this is genuine…

Jon prays that it isn’t. 

And like most of his prayers, it goes unheard and unanswered.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32165071

reblogs > likes

[abombihoney]

I think a fix it could would in the case of everyone jumping back to way before the events of the game, as in like before kabbu left for bugaria, vi was probably still in the hive, leif still stuck in snakemouth den. (jump back in this case meaning them being back in their younger selves' bodies, rather them being separate, ig.) either vi does some hefty legwork in reaching out to communicate w kabbu back in his home and frees leif by herself, then coordinate going into the wild grasslands at the same time kabbu's family is heading out to beat the Beast's ass, or kabbu just tries to be extra careful on the trek to bugaria (which might not actually work with a creature like the Beast... 😵). either way it'd also give vi a chance to leave the hive and go about the whole being talked down thing better (try.... she makes bets with EVERYONE in the hive that she'll be the top explorer within the year and makes BANK) and leif just gets to hang out. maybe reconnect with his family and parent vi until the time comes to form an exploration team with kabbu. and they just do everything IN game pretty much the same, but less surprised and maybe more prepared for the wasp king's fake outs

IVE BEEN THINKING SO MUCH ABOUT THIS SINCE YOU SENT IT HELLO????? HERE CONTENT!!!

bro i am such a slut for teen/grown character gets sent back to their childhood and tries to fix things but also they are like 6. like. that is my jam. all the memories and ptsd that a six year old who at this point has lived a reasonably nice life shouldnt have.

okay okay so vi is baby, just freshly pupated into having real legs and shit.

takes a look around and is like. why am i baby. and after a few days she realizes that she is in fact in the past and not in a weird dream.

So then she's like. Well, i refuse to relive my childhood i will die of boredom. but i cant just leave. except she totally does.

she steals a needle, which is way too big bc she just pupated like, last week. and a small bag to carry food. AND SHE JUST FUCKING TRUCKS IT TO SNAKEMOUTH

like, shes a lil roughed up, but the bandits haven't settled in defiant root. and she hasnt outgrown her wings yet, so she can actually fly for long periods of time, and flies over most of the enemies. really the greatest danger is an adult realizing shes all alone lol.

but she makes it! she sneaks through and gets to leif!

she quickly and well, mostly stealthily breaks leif out of the web.

Leif is understandably super fucking confused. But he catches on fairly quickly. He is very fucking surprised by how fucking minuscule vi is.

spuder also shows up but leif freezes him and they get the hell out of dodge.

Vi: Leif is like. where kabbu. and vi has to explain that she came here all by herself all the way from the hive and kabbu is likely still in the north. Vi is promptly grounded for reckless endangerment of herself.

Leif: how even old are you anyway ur so tiny.

Vi: five.

Leif: YOURE FIVE????? Oh god we're so old. ur five years old fuck.

Vi: Aren't you like, the same age as Kabbu?

Leif: Vi, We're 34 years old. We have an entire decade on Kabbu.

Vi: WHAT I THOUGHT U WERE BOTH OLD

Leif: YOU THOUGH KABBU WAS OLD?? HE'S BARELY OLDER THAN YOU??? Oh god kabbu is only like, thirteen oh god.

-

Anyway Leif gives Vi a bath in the fucking river bc shes super nasty from traveling on the road all by herself for weeks.

Leif: We are not going to be seen with a dirty bee that is way too young to be outside the hive. That just screams "kidnapping."

Vi: well they didnt send anyone to look for me when i ran away last time

Leif: One. thats super sad. Two. You are five years old. We think they'll be a little more concerned. We are going to be so mad if we get arrested for kidnapping.

-

Leif: So nice lisp you got there. How long is that going to last?

Vi: Two more molts. :(

Leif: OH good this is adorable. You are never going to live this down.

Vi: I'll stab you!

Leif: Do it. We won't carry you anymore.

Vi: You wouldn't! I'm too cute to walk!

Leif: Better behave or you'll be walking back on those teeny little legs.

Vi: I should have waited for Kabbu and then got you. Kabbu wouldn't treat me like this.

-

Anyway, they get back to the hive. And Leif explains that no he did not kidnap Vi but he brought her back. And Vi is like. This man is my dad/friend i'm keeping him so you either better let him into the hive or let me live with him.

And the hive is like. No? ur five u dont know what u want. But vi keeps escaping the hive. and going to find leif (who got a house in desert root.)

so they just fucking. let her spend her free time outside the hive. even though she shouldn be outside for another five years. shes supposed to sleep in the hive but she sleeps at Leif's a lot. She also becomes sisters with Jaune a lot earlier. (leif also lowkey adopts jaune lol.)

after about two or three years, guess who comes through desert root!!!

Vi does careen into Kabbu at the speed of light. they did that whole little thing where kabbu spins vi around in a circle while they hug

leif can't run as fast as vi can fly but dont worry he also got a hug.

and kabbu got to introduce his families to each other.

Kabbu: Master, Bit, this is Leif and Vi, the ones I've spoken with you about. Leif, Vi, this is, this is Master and Bit. We all made it. We all made it we're all here! :,)

[bloody-roses00]

Reunion

Yandere!Bakugo x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Trigger Warning: NSFW, Noncon, Somnophilia, Alcohol, Hints of Future Blackmail, Yandere

Propping himself up against the cool wall of the gymnasium, Bakugo mentally cursed himself for allowing himself to be roped into attending his high school reunion by his friends. When he first received the letter in the mail inviting him to attend the ten-year class reunion at U.A., he chucked it into the trash without so much of a second thought. He thought himself above attending some shitty party made up of washed-up heroes and extras desperate to relive their glory days. However, after enduring weeks of constant pestering by Kirishima and Kaminari, Bakugo finally gave in to their demands.

Throughout the evening, Bakugo tried his best to avoid chatting with former classmates while his friends mingled amongst the crowd. After grabbing a cup of punch, Bakugo resigned himself to wasting the night away at some pathetic function as his friends likely tried to get laid. As he mindlessly scrolled through his phone, he noticed a figure approaching him from the corner of his eye.

“Bakugo, is that you?” the woman’s voice called out to him. Furrowing his brows, Bakugo scowled as he reluctantly pulled his gaze away from his phone, looking up to the woman that stood in front of him.

“(Y/N)…” your name escaping his lips before he could even think, recognizing you immediately. You were a former classmate and friend who Bakugo had a crush on during your years together at U.A. Back then, Bakugo foolishly chose to ignore whatever feelings he had for you, far too focused on his goal of becoming the number one hero. 

It had been nearly a decade since he had last seen you, but as you stood in front of him, his feelings all came rushing back. To him, you still looked as beautiful as ever. Your body had matured, having grown into your curves, your tight black dress highlighting this. Your hair was styled differently, flattering your more defined facial features. But, the one change that caught Bakugo by surprise was the small diamond ring that sat on your left ring finger.

“So, how have you been, Bakugo?” your question pulls Bakugo out of his thoughts, his eyes leaving the ring on your finger to meet your eager gaze. The two of you begin to chat, discussing your lives. While you’re talking, the world around you disappears, Bakugo’s sole focus on you. He learns that shortly after graduation, you moved away from Musutafu, and your career as a pro-hero hadn't panned out the way you hoped it would. Instead, you now worked a dead-end job as a waitress at a diner. You've also been married for about five years to some man, whose name he can't be bothered to remember, who works some menial office job.

In the back of his mind, Bakugo can’t help but think that he could give you a better life, one that you deserve. He would be able to pamper you with gifts and allow you, as his wife, to stay at home. He’d be a perfect husband for you, he’s sure, better than your current one. You’d never want for anything as long as you would be a good little housewife for him.

Caught up in his thoughts, he only snaps out of his thoughts as he notices you’ve stopped speaking and are looking to Bakugo as if awaiting his response. “Sorry, what did you say?”

You laugh at his behavior before replying, "I said, it’s getting late, and most people have headed out by now, so I think it’s time for me to call it a night and head back to the hotel.” Oh, that’s right. He recalls you mentioning something about choosing to spend the night at a nearby hotel rather than driving home late into the night. Bakugo takes a glance towards the crowd, now considerably less dense as the hours went by. He scowled as he failed to locate Kirishima or Kaminari among them; the two likely left him to wander off to god knows where.

His attention turns back to you as you begin to say your goodbyes to him, but he stops you, deciding to take his chance, “Hey, what do you say we head back to my place?”

You try to decline Bakugo’s offer, always so thoughtful and reserved. Still, he continues, “We can spend time catching up over something a whole lot better than this crappy punch. Besides, I’d hate for you to have to walk alone through the city this late.” And it’s true, Bakugo has seen first-hand the dangers that lie in wait in the darkness of Musutafu.

After thoughtful consideration, you agree to accompany Bakugo back to his home, a much more appealing offer than the seedy hotel you were currently staying at. Bakugo’s lips tightened to a wolfish grin as the two of you began to walk back to his apartment, thankful that you were so obedient and trusting.

Arriving at his apartment, he’s quick to supply you with a generous glass of wine. The two of you reminisce about old times and talk of your current lives for what feels like hours, slowly becoming drunk after a few too many glasses of wine. Bakugo learns you’re a lightweight, noticing the way your eyes start to grow heavy and how your words begin to slur.

Bakugo watches silently as you rub your eyes, yawning as you stretch your arms. When you lean a bit too far, falling from your chair in a drunken stupor, Bakugo’s there to catch you. Deciding to get you to bed, Bakugo hoists you into his arms and carries you into his bedroom as you mumble incoherently. Setting you on the bed, he stands over you, eyeing your form with a lustful gaze.

Watching your breathing slow to a peaceful, Bakugo’s hands begin to shake and grow clammy as he begins to have second thoughts. No, he couldn’t afford to let you slip from his fingers again. Shaking his head, he waits a few minutes before slowly nudging your shoulder while whispering your name. When you fail to rouse from your slumber, Bakugo lets out a sigh of relief.

Through patience and determination, he manages to unzip your dress, tossing the clothing on the ground beside him. Taking a moment to appreciate the lovely view in front of him, he licks his lips as he eyes your perky breasts. His hands slowly pull down your bra to grope your breasts without the pesky garment interfering. Cupping your mounds, he massages them, eliciting a soft moan from your lips. Freezing, Bakugo waits a few moments before continuing his actions once more. Leaning closer to your bare breasts, he begins to nip and suckle on your nipples as they harden in response. 

Moving his attention downwards, he leaves a trail of wet, fervent kisses down to your navel. Pulling away from you, his fingers trace down your covered slit. Feeling the pooling wetness, Bakugo pulls your panties to the side. Settling his face in between your thighs, he teasingly licked at your entrance before burying his tongue in your warm cunt. As his tongue works wonders inside the crevices of your hole, his thumb rubs and squeezes at your bud. Despite being in a deep sleep, your body still reacted to Bakugo’s perverted acts, your toes curling as you came around his tongue.

Satisfied with his work, Bakugo hastily undresses, leaving on only his boxers. Freeing his hardened cock, Bakugo gives his shaft a quick few pumps as he lines the tip up with your aroused sex. Placing his hands around your hips, Bakugo gradually sinks into your heat. Finally burying himself fully within you, he releases a breathy moan.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” he hisses, pushing your legs close to your chest to allow him better access. Allowing you a moment to adjust, Bakugo begins to shallowly thrust. Leaning his weight on top of you, his lips meet yours as he passionately kisses you, his tongue swirling around your own. Pulling back, a string of saliva  connects the two of you as he moves onto your throat, sucking and kissing at the vulnerable skin there.

With his pace quickening, his thrusts become more sloppy, his hands tightening around your hips, likely leaving bruises. As he’s pummeling your tight hole, his eyes catch the golden wedding band on your finger. Smirking to himself in selfish delight, Bakugo can’t help but feel victorious. Sure, your husband might have held your affections, but he’s not the one fucking your sweet little cunt right now, is he? Besides, Bakugo’s sure that you’ll clearly see how much better of a man and partner he is compared to your pitiful husband. 

Growing closer to his climax, Bakugo intertwines his hands in your own, taking a sick sense of pride as he feels the metal against his fingers. Feeling himself approaching his breaking point, he exclaims, “Fuck, fuck, I love you!” Capturing your lips once more, he roughly pounds into your warmth, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix until he floods your womb with his cum.

Spent, his dick slowly softens, and he pulls out of you, watching as his cum oozes out of you. Tucking himself back into his boxers, he retrieves his phone, taking countless photos of you with his cum seeping out of your abused hole. He knows these will come in handy soon; he’ll make sure of it. Collapsing onto the bed beside you, he pulls you into a loving embrace. Placing soft kisses against the shell of your ear, his fingers brush through your hair. You’re his, you might not know that yet, but he’s more than willing to prove that to you.

[boognish-worshipper]

Blue Monday

(this should be sorta short, at least shorter than the last one i posted hopefully 👀 also wow this is my second completed piece, 2 in 1 day babyyy)

inspired by a dream i had lolz

How does it feel

To treat me like you do?

When you've laid your hands upon me

And told me who you are?

Trevor never really liked the 1980s. It wasn’t until the near end of the decade that he began shifting his view on things around him. One thing he knew though was that he never really liked the generic pop music that was churned out constantly. Hearing hits on the radio didn’t do much for him, except maybe a headache from the earworm-like tunes. People like him didn’t exactly flock to the discotheque. When he met Michael though, he had been forced to listen to all types of 80s music. He was rather fond early 80s pop rock (aka that shit labeled “new wave” or whatever the fuck) whereas Trevor liked late 70s hardcore punk. They had discussed their taste in music a long while ago, so Michael almost fainted from shock upon learning Trevor’s dislike for the 80s, music and all. The two had been listening to some random station in Trevor’s truck when the topic was brought up.

“What?! The 80s’re golden, man! Ain’t nothin’ like it!”

Trevor merely scoffed at his flustered demeanor.

“Yeah, well for me it’s been shit. At least up until now, I guess.”

“Dude, I gotta give you some song recs-“

“Ehh you don’t gotta do that-“

“No, I do! Tell you what. I’ll make you a mixtape with some of the best songs I know that I think you’ll like.”

“Ugh.. fine.”

Trevor kicked up his feet as another song played on the radio, some Queen song Michael was really into. He told Trevor that Queen was one of his favorite bands, relaying to him about the first time he saw them in concert. He gave him a soft smile in return, watching how passionate Michael was about his interests.

“Listen, next time I see ya I’ll have the tape ready. You said you were into punk or something right?”

Trevor felt his heart flutter faintly. He didn’t think Michael would remember that.

“Uh.. yeah. You didn’t forget?”

“Of course not man, I ain’t some jerk who don’t listen to what you gotta say.”

He felt heat creeping onto his cheeks, choosing to look straight ahead so he wouldn’t have to look into Michael’s eyes.

“Cool, cool. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

The two sat and chatted for a little while longer, with Michael talking to him about his favorite movies or whatever song that came on that he knew by heart. Trevor felt warm around him, especially whenever Michael carried himself in conversation with all the confidence a person could have.

The next time they met, he handed Trevor the cassette. He placed it in his palm with both hands, eyes glimmering at him with a childlike sort of glee.

“I really hope you like it, T.”

The contact made him feel warm again, but it was slowly approaching an uncomfortable heat. He pulled his hand back, looking over the cassette. On a piece of masking tape, relatively neat handwriting read “Songs 4 T” with a small smiley face on the side. He looked back up at Michael, who was bashfully glancing to the side and scratching the back of his head.

“I uh… I wasn’t sure what to label it but it’s yours so.. yeah.”

Trevor grinned lopsidedly at him, and he thought it was sort of cute how meek he became.

“I appreciate this Mikey. Thanks.”

“Yeah, yeah. You don’t gotta thank me though, I just figure you need some taste in your life for once.”

“Hey, fuck you. Punk rock happens to be very uplifting.”

“Oh I’m sure it is T, with all the screaming and whatnot.”

The two of them chuckled and parted ways. Shortly after leaving, Trevor suddenly realized he didn’t have a walkman or anything like that to play it on. He’d have to either buy one, or shake some random civilian down and steal it. He shrugged, thinking to himself that the latter could wait for another day. He had enough money to buy one.

When he heard the unfamiliar beat start on the cassette tape, he was immediately hooked. He wasn’t expecting Michael to be into that true new wave synth pop music. He thought that he just stuck to his regular pop rock like Queen and other artists like them. The steady beat and wonky noises that filled his ears caused him to be enamored with the sound. The post-punk vibe resonated with him, feeling himself basically melt into the music. Michael remembered.

I thought I was mistaken

I thought I heard your words

Tell me how do I feel?

Tell me now, how do I feel?

The rest of the tape was satisfactory, with Trevor underestimating how superb Michael’s taste in music was. He didn’t expect to like a single song, plotting a lie in advance if Michael asked him what he thought of the tape. His favorite song was definitely the first one that played. He knew he’d have to ask Michael what song it was the next time they hung out.

“Blue Monday. New Order. Used to be Joy Division before one of the members passed?”

Trevor had liked Joy Division. He didn’t know that they had rebranded themselves for a different type of sound under a new name.

“The tape didn’t suck to be honest. Liked the sound.”

Michael beamed at him. Trevor felt the same warmth again.

“Good. I was ah.. hoping you would.”

Trevor would go on to cherish the tape, listening to “Blue Monday” over and over. He eventually went out and got some New Order cassettes to have for his walkman, and courtesy of Michael, got a few more mixtapes with artists ranging from Bruce Springsteen to Prince. He would always love the one labeled “Songs 4 T”, making sure to never lose it.

//20 something years later…

Trevor had been driving around in his now-beat up truck when he heard it. He had left on Michael’s favorite radio station, forgetting to change it.

“Coming up next, New Order’s Blue Monday-“

He wondered why the name sounded so familiar, until he heard the opening beat play. He sat in shock at the sound, memories flooding back to him. It was like he was launched into the late 80s, to when him and Michael were just getting to know each other. He cranked the volume as high as it could go, turning a couple heads in the process. He sped up, flying through a red light at a relatively empty intersection. He had several cars honk at him, and a few profanities thrown his way but he didn’t care. He felt like he was floating, the words coming back to him twice as hard.

I see a ship in the harbour

I can and shall obey

But, if it wasn't for your misfortune

I'd be a heavenly person today

He wondered a lot about who he’d be today if Michael never faked his death. He thought about it again hearing the words pour out of his blown out speakers. It only made him press harder on the pedal, coasting down the Grand Senora Freeway. He shut his eyes briefly, trying to relive the first time he heard the song. It reminded him of what he thought was a better time, taking him back to when he first recognized those feelings he had for his partner. The familiar warmth flowing through him.

I thought I told you to leave me

While I walked down to the beach

Tell me how does it feel

When your heart grows cold?

[gabenathreversebang]

GabeNath Reverse Bang 2020 Masterpost

Lady in Blue

When Gabriel akumatizes Audrey again, it goes awry and backfires on him. When he, Ladybug and Chat Noir are compromised, Nathalie decides it’s time for her to take matters into her own hands.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Changing Hearts and Changing Tides

The Agreste boys and their plus one, Nathalie, have decided to spend the week in a cabin by the coast. While Gabriel tries to mend his fractured relationship with Adrien, Nathalie is more or less there to keep the peace, but she soon finds herself out of her depth. With emotions shifting as frequently as the tide can the trio band together and take strides towards the future, or will they be swept out to sea and left hanging?

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Your Sword and Shield

The last time the Graham de Vanilys showed up to the Agreste mansion, they proved they are not to be trusted. Nathalie should have known Amelie would go to treacherous lengths to get under her skin. After a tense confrontation and the shocking reveal of a new villain, Nathalie must step into a new role to protect the one she loves.

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A Moment of Reflection

After a particularly upsetting defeat, Gabriel is feeling like it might be time to throw in the butterfly brooch and move on. Nathalie tries to encourage him to continue but even she has some reservations about the idea. The two have a heart to heart over some brandy and learn things about each other.

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well, of course i’ve tried lavender

K O E L N @archekoeln you think, i didn’t know mayura was the type to resort to something like this? but you’re wrong, because now you’re being carried like a sack of potatoes above paris and, 3/11

K O E L N @archekoeln well, the view’s nice and all but you’re also in the arms of a villain??? 4/11

K O E L N @archekoeln you also think, how is she so strong??? because you know you aren’t as light as a feather (haha i’m funny) and her arms are skinny af, but you know, magic i guess 5/11

or

An online thread about Mayura sparks something in Gabriel. And as her boss (and friend, and villainous partner, and her something), isn’t it his job to… to do what exactly? Well, even he doesn’t know.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Not All Heroes Wear Capes

Superheroes, in daily life, usually remained hidden. Men and women, bestowed with god-like powers, living among those whose only powers remained in their knowledge and talents. One of these heroes was Mayura, a peacock-themed superheroine with the power to create new life. As more laborers were going on strike, Mayura’s efforts to keep the economy from deflating were more crucial than ever. Because of her, livelihoods were kept intact for the destitute. For the corporate overlords, however, she was the bane of their luxurious existence. But what does this mean to Gabriel Agreste?

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Broken Arrow

Ordinary innkeeper Nathalie is plagued with visions of a captive Gabriel, begging for help. She sets out to recruit his son Adrien, the Demigod of Love, to aid her in freeing Gabriel from Emilie, the goddess of beauty. But Nathalie doesn’t know the secret that Adrien keeps from her that may tear them all apart.

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Gabriel’s Inferno

Nothing seemed to predict how it all would end, and yet it had to have been obvious. It had been weeks since Mayura’s last appearance and he didn’t even let her go out to fight in person, but a broken miraculous doesn’t get carried away by precautions once it’s activated. With Nathalie balancing between life and death, Gabriel will have the opportunity to fix things or lose himself forever in a hellish battle that will overcome all nightmares.

Fanfic (English), archived Fanfic (Spanish), archived Art, archived

If I Could Turn Back Time

Gabriel and Nathalie obtain the rabbit miraculous and travel into the paths of time as Velveteen and Mayura, with the goal of preventing the chain of events that would lead to Emilie’s death. But on their way to Tibet, they encounter surprising visions of possible futures that leave them questioning what is possible and what they really want.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

This is Hallowe’en

With All Hallow’s Eve hanging over their heads, the Agreste household gets wrapped into celebrating Samhain. With Gabriel and Adrien following Nathalie’s knowledgeable path, they can not fail, probably. This moderately functional family will honor Emilie Agreste in the best ways they can.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Malleable Fates

A red thread starts materializing around Gabriel’s finger nearly two decades after he’s already found his soulmate. As he and Nathalie devise a faultless plan to finally win Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculous and bring back his wife, Gabriel fights the onslaught of confusing feelings brought about the mysterious reappearance of his soulmate string - including the sneaking suspicion that his soulmate maybe isn’t who she used to be.

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The Splintered Soul Staring Back At Me

In the aftermath of the battle and a brief hospital stay, Nathalie is safe at home. Her recovery has been a bit stagnant, but she’s been granted leave from work and the miraculous is finally fixed. Things can only go up from here, right?

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With the Flap of a Butterfly’s Wing

It only took one little thing, the barest of moments, for Duusu to feel their love, and decide that they had to do something about it. Which was how Duusu ended up roping Nooroo into trying everything under the sun to match up their two stubborn holders.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

The Orders He Defies

After her husband’s death, Nathalie Sancoeur fell into deep despair. Determined to bring him back, she set her goal on obtaining the Black Cat and Ladybug miraculous, using the power of her own one. All her attempts for the last year, however, were futile. Should she remain careful? Or should she let it all burn, as her assistant Gabriel suggests she should? And is the goal even worth its price?

Fanfic (English), archived Fanfic (Ukranian), archived Art, archived

Royal Pain

Nathalie liked to think that she would make a pretty good king. If she had been born as the opposite sex, anyways. But as the facts were, Princess Nathalie Sancoeur had a duty thrust upon her that she would rather have not, all things considered: to be married to a foreign prince, in order to bring good fortune to her family and kingdom, and bolster their strength should the rapidly-cooling relations with one of the neighboring countries turn into a full-blown war. It was enough to make her gag every time she thought of it.

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Dancing on Broken Glass

It was Lila that almost reduced Paris to rubble.It was that conflict that caused an irreversible change to two miraculous holders.It was that change that brought them together.

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Anagnorisis

«Define Hubris»

Gabriel never considered how much a Deus Ex Machina would cost.

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Worth

It’s been seventeen years since Nathalie and Gabriel sat in the cramped studio working hard to get the brand off the ground, and now he can’t help but reflect on those long-forgotten years.

Before Emilie. Before Adrien. Before the money and fame.

As he looks at her across his desk… he wonders if it was all worth it.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

A Witch’s Desire

Gabriel Agreste was a peculiar man, who was known around town both as a famous fashion designer and a powerful witch who was able to read and control minds, though he never used that second power unless there was a real emergency. Heck, he barely even used the first. But after losing his wife, Gabriel becomes desperate to do anything he can to bring her back, even that means using his powers for evil, or tracking down a mysterious powerful witch who had disappeared many years ago, with the power to bring the dead back to life.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Not a Minute of Peace

Even though the akuma wants to shackle them, the Collector and Catalyst have more freedom than Gabriel and Nathalie ever had. They may be criminals turned into prey, but they enjoy the hunt. There is only one thing they are running from.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Revision

Nathalie made the wish.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

The Woman With The Golden Feathers

The annual Bourgeois masquerade comes at the right time for Gabriel. In a moment of personal uncertainty after his discreet divorce, he will find the possible answer in a mysterious lady with golden feathers.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Time and Time Again

The stress of being a young designer trying to make it in the fashion industry is taking its toll, and Gabriel’s and Nathalie’s marriage is slowly unraveling.

They’ve stood the tests of life since their first year of university, but when everything comes crashing down, Gabriel finds himself stuck reliving the day it happened. Failing and falling, time and time again with every passing ‘day’. Why is he here? How can he stop it? The answer lies in a choice as to what matters more: his career or the woman who has stood by him through it all.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

Clarity

A year after Hawkmoth’s surrender, Gabriel asks Nathalie to join him to gaze at the stars. While she waits for him, she contemplates the empty space left by the removal of the portrait from the foyer hall. Growth ensues for them both as they learn to just be by each other’s side.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

C’est la Vie; C’est le Ballet

After the death of his wife, upstart choreographer Gabriel Agreste is looking for a new star for his ballet, Miraculous. Hard to please and willing to do whatever it takes for the sake of the show, none of the auditionees fit his artistic vision…

…except Nathalie, a former prima ballerina turned ballet instructor. She’s stoic and very dedicated to her craft, but there’s a reason she stopped performing four years ago and it has dangerous potential.

Through the trials and triumphs and betrayals that run hand in hand with the world of ballet, Gabriel and Nathalie begin to find something more in each other’s company, and perhaps the seeds of new beginnings.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

I’m Praying (There’s Saving)

It was to be Gabriel’s first party on Olympus, but little did he know it would also be the last. Not only for him, but for everyone. In the blink of an eye everything changed, sending the god of nature and his newborn son to take refuge with the Queen of the Dead. They thought they were safe, but even the depths of the underworld couldn’t escape the King’s wrath forever.

Fanfic, archived Art, archived

[bondsmagii]

This is definitely one of the… wilder stories here, but as always, I suppose people will believe what they will. 

This will unfortunately require some backstory, but I guess you could say the long and the short of it is that I played at being God, and it. Well. Kind of sucked, actually.

So, the backstory. I’ll try to keep it brief. I grew up in a small country village about forty-five minutes away from Belfast, Ireland. There wasn’t much going on there, as you could imagine – just a standard rural Irish town, where the most exciting thing that might happen in a week was old Farmer Joe getting a new tractor or something. Anyway, I’m not sure how many of you know about Ireland’s rather troubled past, but for the most part I missed all that. I was born around the time things were finally settling down, and while my earlier memories are filled with bomb scares and low-flying helicopters and gunshots in the night, the distant sound of shouting and the acrid smell of smoke burning a little too close for comfort, by the time I hit my teenage years most of it had wrapped up. Of course, there was the occasional scare here and there, and I’m not saying my friends and I didn’t go out looking for trouble once we were old enough, but it wasn’t the same. I’m not saying that out of a sense of, I don’t know, regret or annoyance or anything. Now I’m older, I’m not so enamoured by the idea of that much violence. I’m just saying it wasn’t really a patch on the kind of violence that used to happened there – the kind of violence that fascinated my friends and I so much. It sounds bad, but really we were just kids being kids. Little boys everywhere play at war games. It just so happened that the war we were playing had happened in our own country. It’s difficult not to be obsessed, when you see the reflection of history on the faces of every generation around you. Even slightly older siblings would know all about it – it wasn’t something you asked your grandfather, distant war stories over some vague European country that you’ve only seen on a map in your Geography classroom. This was our street corners, our high streets, the road outside the house. Here the grass verge at the side of the road where the bodies were dumped; there the lay-by where over a dozen people were blown to pieces. It was awful, but we were children. We were enamoured.

Anyway. The only violence we got really involved in was the summer rioting that happened yearly, like clockwork. It sounds like a joke, but that’s how it goes. You don’t need to know the details, but suffice to say in mid-July every year, the city would light up like we were back in the 1970s. Localised, of course, and still nowhere near as drastic as it used to be, but enough to get a taste. Petrol bombs. Police lines. Armoured cars. Water cannons. Unrestrained summer fun, you could say. But that’s for a bit later.

I’m a writer. I have been since I was four years old. Generally speaking I’m a horror writer, but I’ve branched into historical fiction a fair bit over the years. Living in Ireland, growing up how I did, it was inevitable that I would develop a fascination for Irish history. I was always a very curious child, my head in books, chasing up stories that would keep me awake at night. I never knew any boundaries. I would go after answers with military precision, asking questions, going places I shouldn’t. Dangerous for anyone, of course, but in a country like mine, where crossing the road could quite literally lead to your murder? It was reckless. I was reckless. But that’s the thing about being that age. You think you’re invincible. You think you can do anything.

I was about fourteen or fifteen, at the height of this obsession. I believe I was fifteen when I wrote this particular story, but it’s difficult to say. It was part of a series, and I was going back and forth on it and other projects for many years. Here we finally get to the point of the whole story: I had developed an obsession with Irish history, as I said, and specifically the more “modern” history – from 1916 onwards, the Easter Rising, the War of Independence, all that. I was fascinated by the Irish struggle for freedom, and while age and hindsight has lessened my… enthusiasm for the violence, I do maintain a strong opinion towards the whole thing, which is not the point here so I won’t get into it. What I’m trying to say is that my stories reflected this enthusiasm, and were undoubtedly glorifying in nature, and also at that age I was more concerned with living the fantasy than doing the research, so it was all very self-indulgent. I’m sure anyone who wrote at that age knows what I mean.

My main character… well. I’m sure you know what to expect. He was—well. Me, really. In the way of all main characters at that age, and perhaps a little even as we get older, there’s a piece of us inside all our main characters. Sometimes a little piece, other times just a cooler and more badass version of yourself. Michael was that for me. I suppose that must is obvious; I wasn’t even trying to be subtle. My name is of course Miceál, which for those of you keeping track is the Irish form of Michael. I’m just grateful that I didn’t go as far as to give him my last name, too, but everything else was there. He looked like me, he held the same views and beliefs as me, he acted like me – or at least, he acted in the ways I liked to think I’d act, or how I imagined acting later that night in the shower, reliving the scenario again. He was the best kind of self-insert character, indulgent and fun and a good friend to me. I poured a lot of myself into him. I poured everything into him. He was a constant companion, something that became ever more important to me as my real life—well, went to shit. To put it mildly. I would sit in my room writing my stories, and Michael would go out there and fight the good fight, killing and bombing for good old Ireland, and then I’d shut my computer down and go to sleep feeling just a little better than otherwise.

I’m not afraid to say that I can be obsessive. I like to get into the heads of my characters; I like to know them as well as I know everything. Yes, Michael was me, but he was also a version of me who had done things I have never done. Sometimes I would try to imagine myself as him; wonder what it was like to see through his eyes. Wonder what a me who had done that would look like. Wonder what he would do in a situation. I asked myself that a few times; a lot of times. What would Michael do? I could have put that shit on a wristband. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I’ve always been a bit of a method writer like that. It was normal, until it wasn’t.

I first saw Michael on a hot July day, in Belfast. What we call the rioting season had come around; my friends and I were there to take advantage. Just at the sidelines, mind you – nobody wants to get a face full of water cannon, even on the hottest of days. Michael was in the thick of it though. Of course he was. I’d written him to be that way.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. At first I thought I must be seeing things, but the more I looked the more I realised he looked exactly like me. Only he was a little taller, a little fitter, and his hair looked different. His clothing was different, too; perhaps a couple of decades out of date, but looking at him I saw his clothing didn’t remain consistent. The changes were subtle – material, tone – but I noticed. Looking back, I assume it’s because I never did give a specific date for his story to occur in. Well, wherever he was from he was there now, throwing rocks with the best of them, skipping from stone to stone and hurling them at police lines with an easy swing that could only come from years of practise. When we had all finally cleaned out the area – soldiers coming, a helicopter, the kind of trouble you don’t want to toy with – I managed to catch up with him. He was talking to my friends. They noticed we were both there, but didn’t seem to realise we were two different people. The whole time we were all talking, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Michael. I tried, because I knew how obvious I was being, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t work him out. I couldn’t even trust that’s what I was seeing. And the whole time, Michael watched me back. I knew the look in his eyes. It was his smug little, I know something you don’t know look. Of course I knew it. I had made him like that. I had given him that look.

I didn’t see him for some time after that. Believe it or not, I put it out of my head. I mean, come on. It was probably some other guy that my friends knew. We were in Belfast enough, and Michael isn’t exactly an uncommon name. I put it out of my mind, but I was sure that sometimes, I saw him. I was sure I’d see him in Belfast, ducking down side streets or leaning in close conversation with someone I couldn’t make out. He was always watching me. Sometimes I’d feel eyes on me and know it was him, but when I looked around I wouldn’t spot him. On some occasions – and these were always the worst – I would feel his eyes behind my own. Like he was on the inside looking out, moving independently in there, a set of eyes swivelling around over my own. It happened most often when I was trying to write his story. As you can imagine, I was nervous to do so. The more I thought I saw him, the less I wanted to write, but I didn’t think that was a good idea either. I didn’t know what to do.

It was a sunny weekend just before school started back after summer that I finally resolved to do something about it. I didn’t even feel stupid as I booted up my old Windows 95 desktop and opened Word. Michael’s story was there, in 12-point font as I always wrote then, plenty of enthusiasm but a lot less technical skill. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, and then I typed.

Hello?

Nothing, of course. I deleted the word, wondering what I had expected. Feeling a little stupid now, I tried to think about where to go with the story. It was difficult to write now I had some kind of real person to assign to it all – what were the ethics here? How could I—

I won’t get into that. It would be a philosophical essay all of its own. I sat for a while wondering what to write, and then it hit me that the story had changed. The words Michael had spoken, in the paragraph that I had left off – they were no longer the words I had written. I forget what the original words were now, but they were something relatively simple; some response to another character, and I remember that another name was mentioned in it – the name of Michael’s in-universe best friend, Eamon. Now that name was gone, and the rest of the text had changed, too. Now the writing read something different entirely.

I thought you wanted to know?

I lied earlier. I said that age and experience and perhaps some more emotional maturity had led me to turn away from the kind of violence that fascinated me so much then, and I have no doubt that under normal circumstances it would have done. I had somewhat of a speed run, however; I turned my back on it because

I’m getting ahead of myself.

I had often wondered what it would be like to do what Michael did, of course. To kill and risk death for a cause, to face down prison, torture, exile. I had wondered what it would be like to commit those acts; how easy or difficult it would be to pull a trigger or push a detonator. I liked to think, in my foolish, idealistic teenage mind, that if it came down to it I could. Of course, I was in the very privileged position to not have to actually answer that question.

Michael, on the other hand, knew. And Michael was, if not me, than a product of me. Could it be possible that he could show me?

I ignored the message for several days. I didn’t know what to think. Truth be told I thought I was going mad. School started again and I got so busy that I almost, almost forgot about it – and then I opened the document by mistake one day, got into reading it over, laughing at my brilliant comebacks, you know how it is. And there it was again.

I thought you wanted to know?

Yes, I remember thinking. It stunned me – I remember that. I didn’t want to mess with this kind of stuff – I’ve always been a huge believer in the paranormal, always been cautious when it comes to fucking with that kind of stuff. I believe that magic like this, it requires intent. It needs you to be sure. It knows how you feel, true in your heart. So even when I ignored it again, even when I deleted the words and re-wrote whatever the original had been, even as I didn’t reply… I knew in my heart that my question had been heard by something. I could feel Michael’s eyes on me again, though now I wondered if it was Michael’s eyes, or something else entirely. It felt like a weight. Have you ever been in an old, old place, where you can practically feel the people who lived and died there; reach out and touch them? It felt like that. Like the weight of history was pressing down on me. I didn’t fall asleep easily that night, but when I did sleep was dark and endless.

I don’t know how long I spent in that state. In reality it was only seven hours; I woke up with my alarm. In that time period, wherever I was – because I was not living – I seemed to witness a hundred different lives. Over the course of Michael’s story I had him do all kinds of things; live all kinds of situations. I deleted things, changed others, added things in. I wrote what would now be called alternate universes. In that night I experienced them all. I know how it feels now. I know how it feels to pull a trigger; to watch the spray of someone’s life splatter a wall or a windscreen or the screaming backseat passengers of a car. I know how it feels to push the button, the one that sends a charge surging down a wire or flickering out over my head in an invisible wave of death, notifying the bomb, detonating the explosives. I know how it feels to sit in a hotel bar across a border, listening to the news, sipping a drink and feeling my heart beat in my chest as I add more numbers to the tally, more blood to my hands. I know how it feels to be shot, to be beaten, to watch a friend die, to kill someone who used to be – who still is, despite everything – a friend. I know how it feels to cough blood into my hands, onto the ground; to grip a wound that won’t stop bleeding; the blinding flash of an explosive detonating too soon and how the whole world seems to roar and how there’s a difference between the thud and slap of wet mud hitting the ground and the warmer, denser rain of something that used to be human. For days, weeks, years – I walked in Michael’s shoes, I lived his life, I committed every act.

I felt his pain. His fear. This hellish world that he lived in, created to kill and die and lose and fear, over and over. To meet his God and to finally, finally ask – why?

And what could I say? Because I wanted to know?

Well. Now I do.

[ohmightydevviepuu]

for tonight you’re only here to know / part three

(artwork used with permission from carpedzem) part one | part two | part three AO3

A/N:   no beta on this one. we die like real small creatures from alpha centauri.

--

Sometimes on the rarest nights Comes the vision calm and clear Gleaming with unearthly lights On our path of doubt and fear Winds from that far land are blown Whispering with secret breath Hope that plays a tune alone Love that conquers pain and death

We shall never find that lovely land of might-have-been I can never be your king, nor you can be my queen Days may pass and years may pass and seas may lie between We shall never find that lovely land of might-have-been

Ivor Novello

There is applause and it is thunderous as it echoes off the rafters and the walls and sneaks into the crevices between the bookshelves where every manner of humanity is squeezed in, side-by-side; he feels as if he can hear them all breathing, or trying to, hung on his every word even as he is reliving it. Every second.

There is a voice next to him, poking at the edges of his consciousness, and he remembers.

Who he is.

Where he is.

Here, and now.

He shifts in his chair and glances with only the barest hesitation at the device on the table in front of him that records his voice and transmits it even farther, to those who are not physically present. He directs his question at the woman seated next to him, pert eyes and short hair and a beaming smile.

“Apologies, love,” he says. “Can you repeat that last bit?”

“How does it end? Do the princess and the pirate--?”

“Oh, aye. They get their happily-ever-after. It’s a thrilling tale, to be sure.” He suits his tone to match his words but the truth, of course, was rather more gruesome. He shuts his eyes, an attempt to stave off the flood of memories that threatens to overtake him, replacing the brightness of the bookshop’s event stage with the bleakness and the blackness of the dungeon and how it felt to fall, to catch his breath--his breath, he was breathing. His view of her was magnificent, her hand outstretched in defiance, the purple glow of the squid ink he’d given her--pressed into her hand in a moment of desperation and trust and love--enveloping the Evil Queen and binding her, immobilizing her on the spot. Emma twirled--dancing--spun on sure feet the three steps between herself and the Queen and caught his heart in her hands before it hit the stone floor.

“Killian!” It was a scream and sometimes he hears it, still, in his nightmares.

 He coughs, swallowing bile.

There is--as if by magic--a bottle of water being pushed at him and he braces it against his left wrist, bringing into view the black glove he wears on his left hand as he twists off the cap and sips greedily, wishing it was possible to wash away the taste of a memory. The Dark One’s laughter as he smiled, as his teeth glittered and he straightened, pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket and blowing gently across the page as the words disappeared and re-formed in the air and settled on the bars, causing them to vanish. As if the bars were nothing more than an illusion, a trick, a plan. The creature lifted a single finger--in warning, in disappointment--pointed it at the Queen as he spoke. “You should have come to me for help when the Curse failed,” he whispered. It was conversational and chilling and the Queen her mouth to speak but said nothing, moved not a single muscle as she was bundled into the Dark One’s cell and the bars replaced, as solid as they ever had been. “You should have listened when I taught you the proper casting of it. And what have you to show for it, Your Majesty, after all of these years? Nothing.” The creature sighed. “Whereas I have a deal to conclude with this lovely young woman. Emma.”

The way he said the name was a caress and it was Emma’s turn to shiver, blinking as her palm turned up--the hand not holding Hook’s heart--and her knife pointed at the Dark One.

“Put that away, dearie,” the creature said. “I have other weapons I prefer. And you have something I need. And as soon as we are done--”

 The plastic crinkles in the tightening grip of his fingers; sometimes the sound it makes still surprises him, soft and loud at the same time.

The water spills and the woman jumps.

“I’m quite all right,” he assures her, and she does not know enough to know he is lying.

She giggles, gives a grin that flashes the whitest and most perfect set of teeth he’s ever seen.

“So the princess, does she give Hook his heart back?”

He pulls at the chains around his neck as if it is a reflex, and maybe it is--maybe every time he feels the weight on it he thinks of nothing but her fingers and the way she smiled when she tangled her hand in the chains and pulled him upright, golden hair and glittering eyes as she smiled at him, the rush of success and victory coursing through her though he could not feel it.

“That would be telling,” he says, raising a single eyebrow and plastering on another smile as a wave of laughter rumbles through the audience.

(Her sad smile and the nervous way she said, “I’ve never done this before.”)

(“Held my heart in your hands?” Hook’s hand on her wrist, the warmth and the energy there. (“You’ve had it for longer than you realize, love. It is--and always will be--yours.”)

“We’ll just have to read and find out,” she laughs, gesturing at the bound book stood up for display on the flimsy table.

The Land of Might-Have-Been.

By Killian Jones.

 “So, Killian.” Her eyes flutter. “Tell us more about your main character. Hook. Where did you get your inspiration?”

He smiles, his hand rubs at the back of his neck before he leans forward, anchoring his elbow on the table and settling his hand under his chin. “In some ways I think of him as the man I used to be,” he says. “The man I would have been, if I had not found my way to a change.”

He put his life on the line for two things: Love and revenge.

Captain Hook had been forged in the fires of the former.

Killian Jones had been set free by another kind of flame.

“I had a brother once. And a first love.” He rubs unconsciously at his right wrist, though the thick fabric of his shirt more than covers the tattoo there--more than covers all of them, the details of his life inked into his arm like a sleeve, that told the story as easily as the book did and in fewer words. “I was hurting, and chasing after anything that might help me to overcome that pain, to regain control.” The octopus curling around his shoulder and down the side of his torso; the roped sailor’s knots; the tangled thorns of the vines digging into his bicep, dripping black venom. “I realized that I could be a better man. That I wanted to be, and what I needed was to try something new.”

 The Dark One’s voice was silk and oil, smooth and greasy. “--as soon as we are done, Regina, you are going to give me Belle. You are going to tell me what you’ve done with her. I will flay you while you speak, perhaps, or--”

“Rumplestiltskin.” It was the first time Hook had spoken the man’s name in decades.

Names had Power.

Such as the power of distraction; Hook struck as the creature turned, blocking Emma’s whitening face from his view as he stepped in between them and grasped the creature’s wrist with his hook, wrapping his hand around the other. Wrapping his hand and the object he concealed there--for while Hook may have been fatally unprepared for his first encounter with the Dark One, he’d vowed never to be without recourse again.

The creature screamed as the cuff closed around his wrist and Hook said, “Surely you did not think I only traveled to Neverland in my quest for your demise? Cora sends her regards, crocodile.”

The Queen’s gasp was audible--as well it might be, for she had banished her mother to Wonderland almost thirty years ago--and Emma’s face was blank, a cipher, as the creature whirled back to face her, clutching his wrist as if his hand had been sliced off, and pleaded. “Missy. Missy…”

Hook stepped in between them, blocking the princess from the Dark One’s sight. “You want to make a deal, Dark One? Then you’re going to deal with me. That cuff will block your ability to access your magic unless or until I decide to remove it, and not a minute sooner.” He turned to Emma. “Promise me, Swan, that you will see to it that Ariel truly got away safely, back to her prince and to her home. And perhaps you can do for Graham what you have done for me.”

“Killian.” Power. Magic. Fire. “What are you going to do?”

Lunacy.

 The room around him is fully silent and even the interviewer is holding her breath when Killian says, “I thought about what it would be like for him--for Hook--if he had a chance to be a part of something. Because I know a little something about that, about not being able to forget your first love, to believe that you can’t move on. But all it took was meeting the right person--”

And on his left shoulder blade, just above his heart, a swan.

 “It’s like he said. The Curse failed, love,” Hook said. “None of this was meant to happen--none of this is what he foresaw, or what she planned. Isn’t that right, crocodile?”

The Evil Queen moved as if to strike, as if she had--or would ever have again--that freedom of movement, but the Dark One merely smiled.

“It wasn’t just your parents that were meant to be swept away by the Queen’s curse,” Hook said. “It was all of us. This entire realm sent someplace else, into a Land Without Magic. That’s where Baelfire went when he left his father.” Hook paused before continuing. “When he left me. He believed it was the only place he would be safe.”

“What’s your point, pirate?” The Dark One snapped.

“My point is that all magic comes with a price. My point is that when the spell failed, something went wrong. And now is your chance, crocodile--to tell us. The truth. And in return--” he held up his hand, pointed it at the Dark One in attempt to forestall the protest that was surely imminent “--I will tell you where the maid is, your precious Belle. Where Regina has kept her all of these years. Perhaps I will even remove that cuff and allow you to do something about it.”

It took all of his strength not to mention the other thing, the object that consumed his days and his nights and his nightmares for the better part of three decades. The object that could kill the Dark One--his crocodile, Milah’s murderer. But Hook had made his choice.

He just wished he could feel it--feel her--the fire--the magic--because now he had a name for it, the way he felt about her--all of the things she made him feel and want and believe.

“Tell us, and I will use the portal to bring back the King and the Queen; I will leave, so long as you leave Emma out of this. Emma and her family will be free of you and all of your schemes, hereafter.”

The creature cocked his head and tasted the air with his tongue, considering, until--

“No.” Emma was definitive.

The creature giggled as Emma moved, deliberately switching places with Hook to place herself between him and the crocodile, so she could force him to look at her and her green eyes. “I don’t need saving,” she said.

Hook smiled and said, “That’s good. Because I’m not a hero.”

“I can handle it. I’m not a damsel in distress.” She was lying; there was distress written all over her face, but this--this was something he could do for her, something he wanted to do. Something with purpose, with meaning, something new.

“Emma, think of yourself. Of your family. Of your kingdom. You can’t leave--and even if you could--there would be nothing left for me here. Not even the pursuit of my revenge. I cannot be that man any more. Darkness and hatred have left my life empty.” He cupped his hand over her cheek and stroked the tear forming there, brushing it aside. “I do not want to end up like Regina. Please.”

It was then and not a moment sooner that the world he’d so carefully constructed over the long years shattered, finally--completely--to pieces. As he stepped forward and pulled her against him, a drowning man grasping for a rope. As he pressed his lips to hers and she kissed him as if he were dying and she alone had oxygen.

 “So, one last question, then, Killian. We’ll take it from the audience this time.”

In the crowd, someone rises--there is a flash of blonde and blue and Killian cannot--he cannot--

The woman’s eyes sparkle with amusement as she speaks. “Killian,” she says, “do you believe in True Love?”

Killian smiles. He forces himself to. He exhales a laugh.

He exhales a laugh to cover up the fact that all of his breath seems, suddenly, to leave his body.

Again.

On account of a kiss.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, slow degrees of feeling welling up inside him, coming from someplace deep and unfamiliar except for the heat and the magic that seemed to guide it; he had no defense for it, no protection against it, and it built into a wave so powerful that to feel it crest over him, exploding in sparkes of rainbow light, was nothing so much as a relief. He staggered back under its impact and braced himself against the bars of Regina’s cell and watched as a door formed before his--before their--eyes. His heart, so recently returned to him, pounding so hard that everything around him seemed to vibrate--his mind a thick haze of fire and light and magic. The torches in the dungeon ablaze and every kiss before this one merely a prelude, flint to light the kindling.

The door was three times the height of a man, taller than the dungeon as it seemed to pierce the ceiling. When it opened there was a lonely stretch of forest bisected by a strangely-paved path and a sign.

“Welcome to Storybrooke.”

At the sign--or more properly at the edge of it, just where it met the road--was a vessel unlike any Hook had ever seen before, heaving and steaming as a man kicked at it, swearing under his breath as if his invective would serve as fuel.

“Father,” Emma whispered.

And--from inside the vessel--a woman’s voice; “Mother.” There was the sound of something opening and closing as a piece of the thing swung open--a door--and a boy slid out.

No. Not a boy.

A young man.

The Evil Queen growled.

The Dark One hissed.

And Emma said, “Oh. Oh, shit.”

 The lights are dim and the crowd dispersed as he leaves, waving a hand behind him and walking away from the storefront branded Housing Works Bookstore. It’s dry--a rarity in this city, he has found--dry and cool and clear, and if he angles his head just so between the so-called ‘skyscrapers’ there is a faint glimmer of the stars that are very nearly the same here as they were there. He still remembers them, the way they shone in her eyes as the truth of what they were watching through the portal struck her.

“I have a brother,” she said, and her voice seemed to carry across the portal, across time and space, because a petite, dark-haired woman nearly fell out of the vessel as she looked up, looked around.

“Emma?”

It was a sound of disbelief and doubt and hope but it, too, carried; the man straightened, the vessel forgotten as he started walking unerringly toward the portal that surely he could not see.

Emma swore again and turned to her grandmother, to the Evil Queen, and said, “They remember?” Out of all the possible questions, of course she chose the least expected. How--why--what--none of them was as salient as the simple fact. They remembered.

The Queen raised in eyebrow in pure hauteur and Emma grabbed his hook and pulled him toward the door. “I must go to them,” she said, and he followed.

He would follow her to the end of the world and beyond; with a cry and a lunge she hurled herself at them, at her parents, at her brother.

Hook watched as Queen Snow took her daughter’s head in her hands and kissed the forehead, delicately--as King David pulled his daughter into his arms and cupped the back of her head, gently--as Leo introduced himself.

“Please don’t call me Leopold,” he said, and Emma laughed through her tears.

“This is Killian,” she said. “Captain Killian Jones.”

David’s eyes narrowed as he took in the silver prosthetic where Hook’s left hand used to be. “Captain Hook?”

But Snow said, “Now is not the time, David,” and her green eyes shone almost as brightly as her daughter’s as she looked at him, up and down from his boots to his eyes that were lowered, respectfully--as she stepped forward and took his face in her hands the same way she had taken Emma’s. “Thank you,” she said.

Hook blushed. “I--milady--gratitude is hardly necessary,” he said. His voice was low and gravelly and, for the first time in a long time, uncertain. He was uncertain and his hand reached, unthinkingly, for Emma’s, for the warmth and the comfort he found there.

“You found us,” Snow insisted.

“Emma found you,” Hook said.

“And I never doubted she would,” Snow said. “But I know what you did for her, why she is able to be here right now.”

“What--” Hook swallowed. “What did I do?”

Queen Snow looked at him, and looked at her daughter, at their hands clasped together and said, “True Love’s Kiss. It’s the only magic strong enough to break any curse.”

“Oh,” Hook said. Oh.

He dropped Emma’s hand and stepped back.

The King grumbled. “Let’s discuss this at home. We have a kingdom to take back.” Then, under his breath: “Again.”

The word hung in the air. Home.

Hook took another step back--turned away--opened his mouth--all he knew, with certainty, was that he could not go back there. He could not go back to that place and that person who carried around all of that darkness and anger and hate. He wanted to stay. He was a pirate, a Lost Boy; it would not be the first time in his life that he found himself in a new place with nothing but his wits and his hook and the things he carried.

But Swan--

Emma.

Princess Emma.

She--

He would follow her. Of course he would. He could just as soon live without air as he could live without her.

(He’s known that since the first morning he’d woken up to find her gone; he’s known that every night he’s dreamed of her and every morning since.)

“Oh,” Snow said. “Oh.” Mother and daughter watched each other, identical eyes matched in understanding. “Emma’s not coming home,” Snow said.

  It is very nearly midnight when Killian returns home, unlocking his front door with practiced ease and slipping the keys into the pocket of his leather blazer.

What he is not prepared for, or expecting, is her.

Waiting for him.

(Truth be known, he might never be.)

Emma Swan, his True Love, is waiting for him, her green eyes twinkling in the streetlights that are shining through the windows of their flat and still--always--nothing prepares him for the sight of her. Her golden hair is lighter now, streaked with very fine strands of silver; the blue leather of her jacket is bright and adorned with zippers instead of gemstones. She wears no jewelry, in this place--they sold most of it a long time ago. Her only adornment is a silver chain around her neck and the ring he gave her--his brother’s ring--between her breasts.

“You beat me home,” he says.

“You had your adoring fans to contend with,” she says, and laughs. Killian shuts the door behind him and inhales, slowly, savoring it the way he always does--sweet and spicy--and she watches him.

“Your eyes,” she says. “I love the way you look at me. Still.”

“Always.”

And it’s not a dream, but sometimes it still feels like one, when she grabs him and says his name and--somehow--he can feel the Power in it. She grabs him and he forgets where they are and when they are and he remembers the day she decided to stay here. With him.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” she said, looking at her mother and her father and her younger brother, the heir-presumptive once the King and the Queen were back on their rightful thrones. Killian had no doubts that they would see to Regina, and to the Dark One. Snow would give Graham back his heart and make certain that Belle was safe and cared for.

For the moment, there were more important matters to attend to.

Snow White ran her fingers through her daughter’s hair. Her voice was somehow strong and brittle at the same time--understanding twinged with sadness. “No,” she murmured. “You didn’t.”

Emma didn’t cry when she said, “I want something free of all of this. Free of the past and all its scars. Something I’ve chosen. Away from--”

“Us,” King David--the man once known across realms as Prince Charming--said.

“No,” Emma said. “But--yes. I’m sorry.”

That’s when David took her in his arms. “You have nothing to apologize for. Not to us. Not ever. We love you. All that matters is that you know that, and are happy.”

And they were.

They are.

Together; they still make a good team.

“You didn’t answer my question,” she whispers. “Do you believe in True Love, Killian?” She stands on her toes and kisses him and it’s full of sweetness and love and he can feel it--the warmth and comfort and the magic that they were both told couldn’t exist in this place but which they kindled with the light they made for each other. The past, here, is nothing more than a bad dream from which he’s awakened, finding himself in her arms until the nightmares are banished and there is nothing but the two of them.

Killian lifts his mouth from hers and takes her hands and kisses them, the backs, each knuckle, before he settles them over his heart. It beats, hard but steady--so steady--as he holds her hands there. “Aye, love,” he says. “You are my happy ending.”

She pulls her hands away, pulls his hands in hers as she says, “That’s not what this is.” He feels it through the layers of her clothing as his hand rests over her abdomen--the flutter there--and he laughs, as she smiles a real smile, that same smile, from the night they met. “It’s a happy beginning.”

And that, surely, is nothing short of magic.

-30-

@profdanglaisstuff​ @katie-dub​ @thisonesatellite​ @carpedzem @captain-emmajones @kmomof4 @optomisticgirl @spartanguard @karl0ta @mariakov81 @tiganasummertree @stahlop @scientificapricot

[elylandon]

Part 1 - Chapter 16.1: Camping and Scars

Summary: You’re running for your life when you cross paths with an ex-bounty hunter and his small, green companion. You never thought you’d find someone throughout the whole galaxy who was as lost as you.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Word Count: 6,085

Rating/Warnings: M for mature content. Swearing, smut, unbelievable softness.

Chapter 16 | Chapter 16.2

Note: (Slight AU) And we’re back!! I hope you all enjoyed the start of the new season! I can’t wait to start Part 2 of this story, but I figured while I wait a few weeks to outline my plans with the events of season 2, I’ll drop a couple epilogue chapters to get us caught up with what Din and Reader have been up to! I really hope you guys enjoy this addition, and thanks for still supporting this story! 💜🤍

---

Three months. It had been a little over three months since Nevarro. And in that time, Din quickly realized that he had no idea how to take a proper vacation. When he’d suggested taking a break, you said that you would follow him. But in the end, he wound up following you.

Every place the three of you visited in that time had been a suggestion on your part. Suggestions of things you’d wanted to do on Earth growing up, while Din interpreted those things and found what he knew to be similar. Grand waterfalls, deep canyons, towering cities, sporting events, pod races, museums, libraries, menageries- the works. It was as if you saw the many wonders of the galaxy on a platter and you wanted to sample all of them.

But as the two of you agreed, this break would have to come to an end soon. Your birthday happened to be two weeks away, so you had a couple more ideas as a sort of celebration before getting back to reality, and finally setting out on Din’s quest with the child, and your quest to find Zekir.

Your first idea was recreational camping.

“Camping for… fun?” Din had asked, bemused. The way he was raised with the Mandalorians, camping was for survival, and nothing more. He tried to imagine the drills he’d been put through to survive several days on his own, only using the resources around him, as fun.

“Yes! It was something my parents liked to do every summer. We’d go to the same campsite every time, a forest on a mountain, and set up our camp next to a river. My dad would fish while my mom and I would hunt for crawdads and trap chipmunks. We’d cook our meals over a campfire and find constellations at night. It was probably one of my favorite things we did as a family.”

Din didn’t think he could say no to you after hearing that, even if he wanted to. There was a light in your eyes as you told him about it. Excitement, and longing for something you’d cherished in your past. He could understand that, the desire to relive something from a time when you were so happy, so carefree about the dangers of the galaxy. 

So he agreed, and the two of you made plans. First, preparation.

Din escorted you to his usual trading spot and set you loose. It was like that first time the two of you had been there, all those months ago, where you followed him to each stall as he knew exactly where to go and who to talk to in order to pawn off all the things you’d looted from Thasar’s ships. This time, though, it was him following after you, watching you haggle for things he’d never seen a necessity for, but were apparently crucial to recreational camping.

You were a fast learner. He’d been teaching you other popular languages spoken throughout the galaxy, and you were using a lot of those new skills now, speaking as if you had been fluent in these languages your whole life. With each passing day, it made more and more sense how you’d learned so quickly under Zekir’s teachings and Thasar’s tutors. Despite that, though, it also became painfully apparent the absolute waste of your potential over the last decade while you were isolated to Thasar’s whims. Din could tell you regretted that lost time, that lost education. But you didn’t waste it now.

You were almost as much of an expert on the Razor Crest as he was. You were well versed in his armor too, in case you ever found yourself in a situation where he was incapacitated and you could benefit from having access to something like the Whistling Birds. You’d improved on your marksmanship and your close combat fighting, with and without weaponry. You’d also become partial to using an ornate dagger you’d spotted on your travels, sheathing in your boot, just in case you lost the use of your blaster holstered against your thigh.

All of this was to say that, taking a break for Din meant helping you grow, watching you take advantage of your freedom, and enjoying your whims, because he didn’t really have any. Of course, you also encouraged him to enjoy things that he might have missed out on at certain points in his life, just as you were doing. However, he wasn’t really sure what he’d missed, until he was doing it with you.

Once you were done shopping, you finished prepping by packing the newly acquired camping equipment into bins down in the hull. While you did that, Din took on the task of finding a place to camp. He remembered how you had explained your camping trips from your childhood. A river in a forest on a mountain. A place that made you think of home, of Earth.

He knew the perfect place.

Before long, Din was dropping into the atmosphere of a lush, green planet. Feeling the descent, you came up to join him in the cockpit and looked around, eyes glowing, mesmerized.

“It looks… just like I remember it. I mean, I know it’s not Earth, but it looks the same.”

“I had a job here once. This planet has a large caving system. I had to walk in circles down there for three days before I finally found the guy. Once I got topside again, I thought I wouldn’t mind coming back to a place like this. If I had to walk away from the Creed, or got too old and slow for the job, this was the kind of place I’d want to retire to.”

“You’re a cabin in the woods kind of guy, huh?” you teased. He only shrugged.

Din quickly found a small clearing to land in, and you eagerly waited at the back ramp as it slowly lowered. As soon as it touched the ground, you took off into the trees, the child happily bouncing against your hip in his satchel. You followed the sound of streaming water. After a hundred or so yards, you came up to a slow moving river. Just before the bank was a small circle of clear forest floor, big enough for both a campfire and a tent. And off to the right of that was a large outcropping of rock, forming a short cliff and overhang, below it a small pool branching off of the river.

You turned as Din came up behind you, having found your trail and followed you through the trees. You beamed up at him.

“This is the perfect spot.”

You proceed to set up camp. Din moved the camping bins from the Crest to the campsite while you and the child started pitching the tent. Once that was done, you went around gathering rocks, creating a circle away from the tent to form a firepit. Then you collected firewood. Din eventually joined you, unwittingly volunteering to be the firewood carrier as you and the child slowly added to the load in his arms.

You let the child play in the empty tent while you unloaded the equipment from the bins. One was stuffed with blankets and pillows, and you used them to create a huge nest in the tent. You followed that by tossing your pack to one side and Din’s to the other, then tucked a lantern into one of the corners closer to the opening, and finished prepping the tent for basic hibernation.

Once the camp was put together, the three of you spent the rest of the day doing the activities you remembered doing with your parents. Din fished, but with a handmade spear instead of a fishing pole like you remembered your dad using. He stationed himself in the river, only out far enough for the water to run around his calves. He’d rolled his pants up, and stashed his armor away in the tent. The only thing remaining of the “Mandalorian” was his helmet. But even while he was now more flesh than beskar, he still had a way of keeping himself absolutely still as he waited for his quarry to be daring enough to swim within his reach. 

As he did that, you and the child played in the pool. Or rather, you collected some more rocks and formed a small circle in the most shallow part of the pool, just a few feet off the bank, and he splashed around in that while you swam. At one point, he’d used his powers to push the water, splashing at you. You gasped in mock betrayal and swore vengeance. Several minutes later, Din came over, a basket of fish in hand, only to find you two soaking wet and a mess of giggles. 

As it started to cool down in the late afternoon, you and child migrated away from the river and into the trees. You set up small traps for rodents on the forest floor, laying out a few tiny boxes, and propping one of their sides up with sticks. You both hunkered down behind some brush and waited, watching for little critters to come and snatch the bait you’d left under each box. After cleaning the fish for dinner, Din joined you, shaking his head as you and the child took turns using your power to knock out the sticks from under the boxes, so that they would fall over your unsuspecting prey. Of course, you’d let them go as soon as you caught them, and the poor rodents would dash away as soon as they were free. But they kept returning, as if the circumstances of their potential capture had changed. Needless to say, it created a couple hours of harmless entertainment.

As night fell, the three of you roasted Din’s catch over a roaring fire and feasted. Afterwards, bellies full, you all laid out beside the fire, relaxed and content after the busy day. Din pointed out several constellations as the stars started popping up in the night sky, remembering what you had told him about your parents doing the same. And it wasn’t long after that the child fell asleep against your chest to the sound of Din’s low, modulated voice. 

As much as you loved this kid, there were times when you were eager for him to fall asleep, and hopefully a deep sleep at that. Between the child, the armor, and the exact parameters required for such an occasion, intimate moments with Din were hard to come by. You loved spending time where the three of you were together, but you also relished the moments you could spend alone with Din. 

Said man went to grab some more firewood while you made your way up the short hill to the Razor Crest. Over the last few months, you’d managed to jury-rig a connection between the Crest’s intercom system and a long range coms device. Voila! Instant baby monitor. You snatched it up from it’s charging port on the supply shelf and tucked the child in on Din’s cot. He’d be a lot warmer on the ship, and if he woke in the night, you’d hear him. 

When you made it back to the fire you found Din kneeling in front of it, stoking the wood to keep it burning. You dropped down beside him, savoring the toasty warmth of the flames with a sigh. You criss-crossed your legs, your knee brushing against Din’s calf, and glanced around the camp. 

At first, your eyes went to the tent, and you contemplated how many more seconds you would last before you started dragging Din into it behind you. A wry smile played at your lips, but then your brain threw up another idea. 

Slowly, your gaze swung towards the pool you and the child were playing in earlier that day. 

“Now what are you scheming,” Din asked, noticing the look on your face. 

You tossed him a mischievous smile.

“I think I want to go skinny-dipping.”

Din was still and silent for a full thirty seconds as he assessed you. Then he shifted in an almost resigned fashion. 

“What is that?” he asked, tone suggesting that he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know. 

Your grin became devilish and you stood. As you turned away from him, you tugged the hem of your shirt-- his shirt, the one he had given you the first day you’d met him-- out of your trousers, then over your head. You were already a few steps away, tossing your shirt aside when Din processed your actions enough to jump up and follow after you.

“Y/N,” he called, a question in his voice, confused. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling, then shed the band covering your chest. 

The closer you got to the pool, the more clothing you lost, leaving a trail for Din to follow. He was still puzzled by your actions, the sound of your name becoming more and more clipped as that legendary patience of his frayed. You glanced back at him once, and saw that he was picking up after you, your clothes and boots a bundle in his arms. Grinning so much that your cheeks hurt, you finally reached the bank of the river and the edge of the rocky cliff face that formed an overlook above the pool. 

While you were swimming with the child earlier, you’d checked the depth of the water, wondering if it would be safe for cliff jumping. The cliff itself wasn’t too high. In fact, you could compare it to jumping off the high dive at a public pool back home. And the pool was deep. Not deep enough for diving, but jumping in would be fine. 

You started to climb, and that sharpened Din’s tone. 

“Y/N, what the hell are you-”

You ignored him, scrambling up to the top of the cliff rather quickly. Yes, it was exactly like the high dive. Looking up at it from down below, it didn’t seem like such a big deal. But being up there, knowing what you were about to do…

Don’t think, just do it. 

You stripped off the last piece of your clothing, tossing your panties down for Din to add to the pile of your clothing. You knew his gaze was incredulous and reproachful as you met it, but you winked at him anyway, then shot forward, and jumped. 

As much as this reckless decision was to mess with Din-- give him a little strip tease and then a heart attack as you jumped off a cliff-- it was about you too. Earlier that day, you’d looked at the rocks and thought that it would be crazy, and adventurous, and fun to jump from them, naked, into a wild pool at night. You wanted to do it. You could do it. 

So you did. 

That quick fall, the feeling of your heart dropping into your stomach, a gleeful shout bubbling up from your throat- this was freedom. No shitty foster family. No Thasar. No Zekir. Just you, and the freedom to do whatever the hell you wanted, even something as crazy as this. 

You hit the water, and that feeling propelled you forward, swimming out a few more feet just to feel nothing but calm, silent water around you. No pressure. No anxiety. Just serenity, and lightheartedness. 

When you broke the surface, you were laughing. Laughing so hard, so unreserved that you almost took in a mouthful of water. Through your peels of laughter you shouted, “Fuck! It’s freezing!” as the cold finally started to penetrate your bliss. 

You pushed your hair from your face, treading the water, and turned back to the shore. Din was standing there, arms full of your clothes, body language suggesting he was so done with your antics. Not in a serious way, but in a I-can’t-believe-you-just-did-that-and-yet-I’m-not-even-surprised kind of way. 

“You’re a madwoman,” he muttered, then louder he said, “Get out of there before you freeze to death.”

“No way,” you called over, shaking your head. “Now it’s your turn.”

Again, Din was comically still for half a minute.

“No.” 

You snorted a laugh at his very Din-like answer. So deadpan. So serious. 

“Well then I’m just gonna hang out here.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m not leaving until you join me.”

“You’re going to freeze.”

“I guess you’ll just have to live with the consequences of your actions.”

“My actions-” Din cut himself off, realizing that you were poking at him and he was biting. He turned away, like he was going to start walking back to camp. 

“I’m s-starting to turn as b-blue as a Mythrol out here,” you stammered as your teeth started chattering. He just shook his head, so you sighed and tried a more serious tone.  

“Din, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. But trust me, all you have to do is let go. Let it all go and just… be free. Just for this moment.”

Another pause, and then Din sighed. Not his heavy, impatient sigh. Just a slightly resigned one. Then, he dropped your clothes on the bank, and reached down to tug off his boots. You continued to tread in the water, elated at the thought that he was about to jump into the pool with you, but also pleased to take advantage of your own little strip show. 

Din pulled his thick shirt over his helmeted head. While it was still dark as hell out here, the moon gave you just enough light to see more of Din than you ever had before. You never would have imagined how beautiful his skin was. For a warrior, you pictured… well you weren't at all sure what you pictured. All you knew was the feel of him. Seeing him now, it was no wonder why he always felt so warm, despite appearing cold in all that armor. 

His skin was a tawny color, his chest smooth, inviting. The armor made him appear bigger, but there was nothing lacking in his toned arms, broad shoulders, and thick neck. You were too far away, and it was too dark to see them, but you knew there were scars peppering his skin too, like yours. You’d felt a few of them before, while exploring his skin. But considering how you felt about your own scars, you never asked him about his. 

As Din reached for the waistband of his pants, he glanced up and noticed you watching. He cocked his head to the side, disapproving. 

“You’ll still have to turn around, Y/N.”

“Oh, I know. But you’ve only ever expressed that your Creed forbids you from showing your face. You’ve never said anything about the rest of you. I think I’d like to enjoy the show as long as I can.”

As if just to spite you, Din reached for his helmet first, not his pants. 

You scoffed, turning around. “Spoil sport.”

You heard the rustling of him removing the rest of his clothes, and setting them in a pile on the ground, most likely next to your own. You stared up at the sky, listening to Din’s slight, unmodulated grunting as he pulled himself up onto the rock. After a few more seconds, you wondered if he’d need some more coaxing, but as you opened your mouth, a raucous splashing erupted behind you. The waves he created rippled around you, and you sighed in slight disappointment. You didn’t often find yourself wishing you could see more of Din than usual. But in that moment, you kind of did. You would have liked to watch him make the jump. 

Alas, you kept your back to him as he surfaced, laughing some more as he released his own string of curses about the chill of the water. 

“Amazing right?” you called back to him. He muttered under his breath as he moved closer to you, stubbornly avoiding agreeing with you about how incredible it felt to jump off the cliff. 

You glanced over towards the adjacent river. “Maybe now we should try floating the river. It doesn’t look too fast.”

“No. No- Y/N!” Din caught up your bicep as you teasingly floated in that direction, pulling you back to the shore. You laughed again, just as carefree as before. 

“Kidding! I was totally kidding.”

“Alright. You’ve had your fun. You even got me in the water. Time to get back to land and warm up.”

“I know a few ways you can warm me up without getting out of the water.”

Ew, did I really just say that? You’d always hated it when men said slimy things like that to you in the past. 

“I know a few things you can do with that mouth.”

You shuddered, and opened your mouth to backpedal that statement. But what came out insead was a small yelp as Din yanked you back, spinning you as he did so. You squeezed your eyes shut, as he must have known you would have to keep from seeing him, and then-

And then his lips were on yours. Cold, but soft, unwavering. You sighed, immediately wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling yourself closer, seeking his warmth. 

It was totally a ploy. You could tell that as he tried to discreetly move you back towards the bank, kissing you as a distraction. But you were both very naked, and you had a few distractions of your own. 

Din liked to be touched. Correction. Din liked to be touched by you. You slid one hand up along the back of his neck, fingers threading through his curls. Your other hand traced over his shoulder and down his arm. Those arms were wrapped around you, his hands splayed against your lower back, never going any higher than that. As you moved against him, your breasts brushing against his chest, his fingers flexed, and he drew your hips closer, almost involuntarily, like he momentarily lost focus. 

He hummed softly against your lips.

I know what you’re doing, he seemed to say.

Your retort was the tightening of your fingers in his hair. Is it working?

The brush of sand and smooth rocks against your toes said not quite. He was determined to get you out of the water, and had managed to push you back enough to be swallowed up by the cliff's shadow, solid ground teasing you, just an inch or so out of reach. 

Alright, time for some more drastic measures. 

Your next kiss came a little harder, tongue flicking out to tease his, to taste him. Your fingers against his arm crept down along his side, then ghosted over his stomach, lower, and lower, until-

Din’s teeth caught your bottom lip, nipping you sharply as he flinched back, hissing. You stroked the length of him once again and he seemed to hold his breath in response, anticipating, already growing hard despite the frigid temperature. When you wrapped your fingers around him completely, he breathed out a soft curse, the word not one of the basic language. 

Mando’a, you’d come to find out over the last few months. When he swore or muttered under his breath in a different language, he was speaking Mando’a. He’d taught you a few words, but he’d also been teaching you many other languages, so sometimes you had to pick through the different files in your brain to decipher what he was saying. 

Back to the matter at hand-- so to speak-- you brushed your lips against his strained neck as he tried and failed to regain his focus, and slowly, oh-so-painfully slow, you slid your grip over him. Long, steady strokes that made his fingers dig deeper into the skin at your waist, restraining with all his might from bucking his hips against your hand. 

The thing about Din was that he was such a deliberate, controlled man. Every move he made was calculated, every reaction thought out. He didn’t rush things, or at least didn’t like to. When he lost control of a situation, he’d try to think five steps ahead, and if he couldn’t, he would at least execute his next step as efficiently as possible and move from there. It was how he overcame fighters or adversaries that were better than him, and how he kept a level head in tense situations. 

So attempting to undo this man was a battle. One you’d been winning more and more over the last few months. And when you did win, when Din finally snapped and let go of all that control-- like jumping off a cliff with you-- that victory was so delicious, so intoxicating-

Just thinking about it sent a burning jolt of desire through you, and you squeezed him, just a little bit tighter, the rhythm of your strokes wavering, just slightly, and that did it. That unraveled him.  

He growled, and his fingers dug so hard into your hips that you gasped. His superior height must have given him the extra length needed for steady footing on the sandy floor, for he straightened, hoisting you up without more than a slight grunt of effort. You wrapped your legs around him in response. No teetering or sinking, except he did move forward. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been to the cliff face until your back was brushing against it, rough, but not enough to cause any real pain. Din supported you with a hand gripping the back of your thigh, and the other positioned on the rock behind you. 

He kissed you again, hard, lips bruising. You returned it in kind, thighs squeezing his sides, hands on either side of his face, sighing, and gasping- and then moaning as he pushed into you. You were taken aback by how rough it was, the water tricking you into thinking it would have been smoother, easier. But it was the opposite, and you threw your head back, crying out as he thrust into you again. 

Oh gods!

Din groaned, dropping his forehead against your collar bone as he moved against you. Water sloshed with each thrust, but it was no longer cold. Nothing was cold. This- this was wildfire, and hard, and blinding. Din wasn’t even sure he remembered where he was, just that he was with you, and that every inch of his skin that was touching yours was coursing with electricity, his senses in overdrive. 

You brushed your fingers against his cheek, and he lifted his face to meet your lips once again. In that kiss he felt the desire to be closer, push deeper. He slid his hand over your thigh, tracing the skin down to your knee, then hooked his arm under your leg, giving him a slightly different angle, allowing him to drive further into you. You whimpered into his mouth, your fingers digging into his shoulders, clinging to him as if he was your lifeline. It wasn’t long before you were trembling beneath him, your walls constricting around him so tightly that he saw stars. Your climax came on a broken gasp, and Din helped you ride that as long as possible. And then all it took for him was your hand, laid tenderly against his cheek, your forehead against his, your noses brushing as you breathed his name, the sound so quiet, it was almost carried away by the river. 

The two of you hung there, as if suspended in a brief pause of time as the euphoria faded into something softer. Din kissed you again, his movements slow and tender. You tried to smoothly extricate yourself from him, and when he didn’t have to support you anymore, his hands moved up to cup either side of your face, savoring the sweetly lethargic kiss. 

Seemingly every time, why was it the sound of his name one your lips that did it, that pushed him over the edge? You somehow always managed to put so much in just that one syllable, it was maddening. You said his name like it meant something, like you cherished it, like a prayer, and that would forever be his undoing. 

And then the cold started to seep in.

“Will you get out of the water now?” Din asked. 

You scoffed. 

“You did not just do that to get me out of the water.” 

When he merely shrugged, you swatted his arm and turned towards the bank, eyes opening now to navigate your way. 

“If that was the play, all you had to say was that we’d do it in the tent.”

“Who’s saying that we won’t still?”

You quickly scrambled out of the pool and Din laughed. You closed your eyes and turned, waiting for him and smiling at the sound.

“Here,” Din said as he caught up to you. Your clothes found their way into your arms, and you were sure Din was grabbing his own as he said, “Lead, so you can see where you’re going. I’ll follow.”

You did as you were told. You turning your back to him, as you had done earlier while stripping and making your way to the pool, was a testament to how far the two of you had come together. Six months ago, you would have argued, falling back to be the follower. For one thing, you hadn’t trusted him yet, and for another, you used to go out of your way to hide your scars from him.

However, as the two of you grew closer, you slowly got used to it; letting him see that part of you, just as he was getting used to being around you without his armor. Din saw those scars now, your back a maze of them. They criss-crossed over each other in a mess of ruined flesh. Lashings. He knew they’d come from lashings. He’d almost witnessed new ones about to be made the day you’d finally killed your tormentor. Having initially seen your scars that day as Meck and Gurn ripped your shirt open, watching Rhet prepare to add to them, hearing the words Thasar used to crush you, and seeing the absolute emptiness in your eyes, he’d been only a breath away from vaporizing every last one of them.

Din tucked his clothes under one arm, then caught you around the middle with the other. He bent down, and kissed one of the bigger scars, starting just at the base of your neck. You jumped, gasping in surprise, more from the gesture than the touch of his lips on your back. But you didn’t tense. Another landmark, to show just how far you’d come. 

“Sorry,” Din murmured, stepping back. “Couldn’t resist.”

You hovered there for a moment, dazed, unable to put to words what that had just felt like. When Din gave your hip a gentle push, you scampered forward, back towards the camp. 

Still slightly disoriented, you muttered the only thing that your brain could register, and that was, “Cold, cold, cold, cold, cold.” You quickly stepped up to the fire that was barely smoldering now and said, “Fire?”

“Tent.”

“R-right. Tent.”

You unzipped the flap and clambered inside the nearly pitch black tent. Din followed as you scuttled over to your pack, dropping your clothes and digging through it to find a towel. Din did the same on his side, turning on the lamp as he did so. 

“Careful,” he said, referring to the light in case you happened to turn in his direction. You hummed an affirmation and quickly dried yourself, shivering as the cold sank into your skin. After a moment, another towel landed on your head, covering your eyes. 

“Come here,” Din sighed, though his tone hinted at a smile on his lips. You turned towards him, repressing shudders as he worked the towel through your hair. You couldn’t quite manage to silence your chattering teeth, though.

“That’s what you get for jumping into a river at night.”

“It was so worth it,” you countered, smirking. You could just imagine him shaking his head, but really, his eyes were skimming over your still naked form as he thought, Okay, it was a little worth it. 

When Din finished drying your hair as best he could, he reached for the lamp, extinguishing it. You were both still so cold, so you quickly burrowed into the nest of blankets. You blindly searched until you found Din’s hand, and he pulled you close, tucking your head under his chin as you buried your cold nose against his neck. He shuddered, arms wrapping around you, legs tangling with yours. 

You grew drowsy as you started to warm up, and you were just starting to doze when you felt Din’s thumb slowly glide up and down your right arm, tracing the scar there. The one Xi’an had given you. As if he could sense your attention on it, he stopped.

“Is this alright?” he asked, relaying an unspoken question. You understood his sudden hesitation and nodded. 

“It’s fine. It’s not as bad as the other ones.”

You thought back to before, though, when he’d kissed one of those other scars, and you hadn’t arched away from his touch. You wondered why he’d done that, and why you sort of wished he’d do it again. 

“Xi’an got me too, one time,” Din said quietly. 

“What?” you blanched, almost jumping up to look at him. 

His fingers trailed back up your arm, running along the scar, before reaching your hand, cupping the back of it in his. Slowly, he dragged your right hand over to the skin between his shoulder and collar, and your fingers ghosted over a small section of puckered skin. 

“One of her knives found this spot here, right where my chestplate ends.”

You were silent, letting him tell you the story of his scar. Though, the thought of Xi’an and one of her knives being that close to his heart sent your insides roiling, that familiar rage bubbling up. Sensing the change in you, Din pushed on, this time guiding your hand up to his chin. 

“This was pre-helmet. Took a pretty bad hit during training and landed on my face. Split my chin open and broke my nose.”

You’d guessed that his nose had been broken at one point in his life. Considering this, while you’d always respected his Creed, you found that you were actually feeling grateful for his ever present helmet now, especially considering how many hits you’ve seen him take in the last six months alone.

Din continued to guide your hand, taking you on a tour of his scars, and there was something just so intimate about it. So vulnerable. 

I know your scars make you feel exposed, a physical reminder of the pain they had all caused you, inside and out. So let me show you mine.

There were a few on his arms, one on his collar bone, and a couple from narrow misses around his abdomen. When he slid your hand over one on his left side, your fingers grazing over what must have once been a large gash just under his pectoral, you sucked in a breath with a strange mixture of excitement and trepidation. 

“I have one there too.” This time, you took his hand, and led him to your left side, letting him feel the raised skin just below your breast. He carefully traced the length of it, finding that it wrapped around your side, blending into the scars on your back. 

When Din paused, not wanting to push you, you whispered, “It’s okay.”

However, he didn’t continue along your back, but simply brought his thumb back along the scar on your side. After a measured pause, he gently pushed you back into the nest of blankets, then lowered his head, and pressed his lips against the scar. 

Your heart skipped and your exhale was a shuddering sigh as you watched, unable to see more than the outline of Din’s curly hair. He kissed it again, this time brushing his knuckles along the side of your breast. You didn’t dare speak as he finished, his lips trailing upward along the hill of sensitive skin before catching your taut nipple between his teeth. 

This time, it was your turn to snap. You shoved against him, rolling. Din chuckled as you crawled on top of him, but the sound died away as you leaned down and kissed him. And then, you took your time kissing his scars.

---

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[the-hopeless-haze]

Someone to Need You Too Much (Being Alive Chapter 4)

(not my gif)

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CONTENT WARNING: This chapter mentions past sexual abuse. It is par for the course in what you’d expect in an SVU episode but I am mentioning it here because it concerns the reader.

This is when Rafael usually starts checking out.

But you weren't how women normally acted at this stage, hell, the two of you hadn't even made it official yet or told the squad.

You needed him, though, in ways he wasn't used to being needed, having been single for so long. You'd call him if you hadn’t seen him over at the precinct, ask him how his day went and talk about yours, and you'd get him out of the office to go to dinner at least once a week.

But you never said this, you never verbalized that you needed him there, you never nagged, never made him feel bad if his work got in the way and he had to reschedule. Maybe it's because you were busy too, or maybe you were just that understanding. Either way, he’s surprised the two of you haven’t gotten into a fight more serious than work-related spats.

Rafael had been right, as this was fun at least for now, and maybe if all you needed him for was weekend dinners and the occasional Broadway show, that’d be fine. Your sense of humor matches his, you drink scotch, you smell lovely... but you had been pulling away recently; in fact, you hadn’t called him since you went out to dinner last weekend. He tries to chalk it up to you being busy with work, but he can’t fight the anxiety that the end is already here. Why the hell did he even give this a half-assed shot? Of course you weren’t genuinely interested. Of course you’d be another tally mark, another notch in his belt- and it’s not like he was truly upset, because he had figured it would end at some point the second he agreed to take you to dinner, and thankfully, the squad didn’t know yet. Still, though, this soon? It’d barely been two months.

Or maybe your withdrawal was due to that time you were making out with him on the couch - and you’d suddenly pushed him off, went to the bathroom, and didn’t kiss him the rest of the night. He broke out an expensive bottle of wine, then, and tried his best to genuinely apologize, because he did feel awful - but you’d told him he’d done nothing wrong, and that you just needed time. But maybe you’d lied to make him feel better; maybe he had pushed you too far, which truly wasn’t his intention. Rafael may be a dick, but working sex crimes gave him a much better respect for the responsibility of a man to make sure his partner was comfortable with what was happening in the bedroom (or on the couch, or wherever). But Jesus, he’d barely touched you, and he made a point to be more careful with you than anyone he’d ever been with, not just because of your age, but because he figured that your irreparable damage had been of a sexual nature, whether it was a bad boyfriend who didn’t take your needs into consideration or something more serious due to your conversation with Olivia months prior.

With that in mind, Rafael decides it’s more probable that it is work that was causing you to distance yourself rather than anything he may have done. The cases with children were always difficult, for anyone, really, but especially you. And this man? He targeted disabled children specifically, and you weren't doing well. He wonders how he could go about asking to take you off it without you finding out and without Olivia interrogating him as to why he cared so much. It's not like you're not putting in the work; in fact, it's the opposite, if anything, you're drowning yourself in it. Every time he stops by the precinct, you barely say a hello to him, and you're buried in a case file or researching something on your laptop, biting your nails down to the quick. You were always invested in your work, but not like this, and Rafael was a workaholic if there ever was one, but even you were stressing him out right now. He has half a mind to search your purse for a new pack of cigarettes, but he doesn't think you'd take too kindly to that.

When he gets to the precinct later this morning, you’re not there, though, and he asks Carisi why reluctantly. He frowns, looking genuinely upset. “She’s not taking this too well, Barba. I know she wants to be here, but it hits home for whatever reason, and Searge made her take the rest of the day off and probably tomorrow. She was crying when she left, but she wouldn’t talk to me. I mean, whatever it is, I don’t think she should be questioning the suspect, but she’s good with the kids, you know?”

Rafael would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little worried, but he figured you’d turn up of your own accord if you needed to talk.

And later on, early in the afternoon, you do.

"Are you busy?" you ask, standing in his office doorway awkwardly.

"Always,” he says, but he takes his feet off the desk and puts down his legal pad. “What brings you out here? Carisi told me Liv sent you home.”

"I...I need to talk. I don’t want to be alone right now,” you say anxiously.

"Okay. Sit down," he says.

You oblige, sitting in the seat across from his desk, but you’re still trembling. "My brother is disabled."

It all makes sense now, why this case, in particular, was hurting you so much. God, if this case turned his stomach, what did it do to you?

“He... he was raped, too. It was my dad’s best friend... basically his brother. We used to call him uncle. He was a teacher, and he’d pick us up after school a lot and bring us back home to watch us. I...I’m older than my brother by two years, and I joined the soccer team in middle school and that man would be alone with him. I just... I... my brother couldn’t voice it, not the way you and I can. Most nine-year-olds can’t anyway, you know, but because of the disability... he had no idea. He didn’t know the words to explain what happened to him, but he would start saying he didn’t want to go home with this man. My parents both worked long hours, and they were on the outs anyway, so they just thought he missed them and didn’t look into it. They trusted that man... and I did too. Until... one day a game was canceled because of rain, and I walked in, and...”

You stop talking, silent tears falling from your eyes. Rafael gets up, coming round to the edge of the desk to stand closer to you.

“Hey. Take your time,” he whispers, leaning over and putting a hand on your shoulder. “I know this is hard.”

You nod, looking up at him. “I barely knew what sex was at that time. I didn’t really know what to call it, but I knew my brother was getting hurt, that the man was taking advantage of him, and maybe I should’ve called my mother or my father or the police, but I didn’t. I froze for a few moments and then I did the only thing that came to me and I tried to pull him off my brother. It worked, I scared him enough to make him stop but he grabbed me and...he did the same to me. I just remember it hurt so bad... like he was tearing me in half.”

Rafael shudders, but even still he’s in awe of your brazenness even at 11 years old. Just going right in and apprehending the perpetrator. You were born a detective, in a way.

You’re sobbing, now, and really, he can’t blame you. Suddenly, you get up, throwing your arms around him, and if you were ever in need of a hug, he supposes after recounting this story would be the prime time.

“Hey, hey, shhh. No one’s gonna hurt you now, (y/n),” he murmurs, running his hand over your hair. “Lo siento. Shhh. Shh.”

He calms you down a little bit, whispering condolences in Spanish and kissing the top of your head. Rafael doesn’t know exactly what to do as he’s never been good at comforting anyone. It’s something his exes would yell at him for time and time again, assuming his awkwardness meant that he didn’t care they were upset. It’s just something he wishes he could avoid, that everyone could sort out their issues alone as he did. But that was a joke, wasn’t it? Like he’d sorted anything out in these four decades of being alive. He repressed them, sure, but healed from them? No. And maybe it wasn’t fair to expect everyone to live that way.

And again, he can’t really blame you for needing someone right now, even though he sort of wished it wasn’t him (and he does feel guilty for thinking that, but it’s still true). What you’d gone through, well, it was unthinkable, and he imagines you relive it through the eyes of your brother every time you talk to one of these victims. What solace could Rafael give you right now besides, “Oh, honey, it gets better”?

Fuck that. Maybe it did get better, or you got better yourself, but none of that was going to come from Rafael trying to manifest it with his meaningless words. Rafael presumes another reason you came here besides your (ongoing?) fling was because he wasn’t an SVU detective and wasn’t going to revictimize you. So, instead, he asks what a lawyer would ask. “Did he get convicted?”

“Yeah. He did get put away,” you continue, as you pull away from him a little, still holding onto his arms. “It took me a while to come to terms with it, but I couldn’t let him continue to do that to my brother. I told my parents within the week.”

“Did your father believe you?” he asks, unsure if that was insensitive to ask.

“My father definitely didn’t want to believe it at first, but he always believed me for everything. We were always close, still are. My mother... I think she felt she failed as a mom for not noticing it, so she was in denial for a while. The detectives that dealt with it... they didn’t even look into the school, they just tried him for our case. And I always hated them for that, when I was old enough to realize.”

“Is this why you became a detective?” he asks quietly.

“Well, sort of. I wouldn’t have if I didn’t know about SVU; that’s why I have all those psychology credits too. I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to do. I always wanted to come to New York, though, and you know, I thought I’d be able to help children who went through the same thing my brother and I did. I just didn’t think it’d be this hard,” you say, looking up at him.

“Of course it’s hard. SVU is hard for me, too, and I haven’t experienced anything like that,” he says, swallowing thickly. But that was a lie, in a sense, as he'd been beaten before by the hands of his own father and watched his mother suffer as well. There was a reason he was distant during domestic violence cases. He hopes you don't notice this omission, and he looks at you sympathetically instead.

“I thought I could handle it, though, and not act like a basket case,” you say, turning away from his gaze. “How am I supposed to help anyone if I get sent home?”

“Why did Liv send you home?” he asks, again wondering if he was asking the questions you needed to answer. A good part of his job was figuring out the right questions to ask, but this was overwhelming. “Not that I don’t agree, but I’m just wondering what she said."

You roll your eyes, sniffle a little. “She said it wasn’t good for my mental health to be around the suspect and that I was going to stress out the parents. No one on that squad knows what it’s like to live with and love someone with a disability, Rafael, and I just... I want to be there. I could help, if she’d let me.”

“Now isn’t the time to beat yourself up. I think the time off will be helpful to you," he says, squeezing your shoulder again. Wasn't that the catch-22? You join these professions to help people like yourself, but you hurt yourself in the process and become of no use. He thinks back to the first domestic violence case he was put on, a family not unlike his own, and it nearly broke him down, nearly made him quit and throw away those seven years of education. But he didn't. And you wouldn't walk away either.

“How is your brother doing now?”

“Ben - his name is Ben - he’s doing better. He's very shy, and he can get anxious and have panic attacks. He has fragile X syndrome, and that’s what caused his autism... I used to try and take him out everywhere with me once I got a car, to help him get used to talking to people. It doesn’t help, you know, the way people are when they see someone disabled, and sometimes it’d be hard, but... I just want him to live as normal a life as possible. He still lives with my mom, now. I just think the assault made him so much worse. I mean, I don’t know if he’ll ever get a job, now, or... it’s just hard to think about sometimes.”

“I can only imagine,” he says softly, because he really has no idea.

“Well, I’m just gonna...I’m just gonna go home,” you say. “Thank you for listening. I needed someone to. I know it’s a lot. But I don’t want to take you away from this case either. We’re already one person down since Liv kicked me out, and if I needed you to win the last case... I absolutely need you to win this one, Rafael. I didn’t get to question that man but I was on this case before and I know he raped them, that fucking bastard—“

“Hey, hey, calm down,” he says gently. “Okay. I know. I watched Liv interrogate him earlier. I believe you, and you know I’m going to do everything I can. I'm going to charge him, and we're going to get him.” Jesus, he needs to stop promising you guilty verdicts. But how the hell could he say no when this clearly meant the world to you? This was all too much. What the hell did you need?

“Okay. I know I’m asking for a lot but I need... I need this. And I can help you however you need. Liv can’t stop me from helping you prep witnesses or—“

“Slow down, (y/n). You still need the time off. You know that, right? You’re going to keep getting kicked off cases if you keep trying to push it. I know how Olivia is when it comes to this.”

“But, Rafael—“

“No. We’re done talking about the case, now, okay? You need to think about something else and get your mind off it for a while. Did you want to go get coffee?”

Fucking coffee. Why did Rafael think that equaled comfort? Maybe because the harsh acidity of stale coffee was his only friend some days, and he’d learned that a good cup could be a great mood improvement. Fuck, that was sad, wasn’t it?

“No, it’s fine,” you say, your face falling. “You need to work. I’m just going to go back home, then.”

You turn to leave, grabbing your purse with shaky hands, but he stops you.

“Are you sure you should be alone right now?”

“You’re working, Rafael—“

“Yes, I know, but you’re welcome to stay here.”

You force a smile, shaking your head. “No. It’s okay. I appreciate it. Are you free later though? I know we haven’t gone out in a while, and I could use the company.”

So you didn’t want to end things. Rafael is simultaneously relieved that you wanted to stick around and terrified for the very same reason.

“You know what?” he says, feeling a brazenness he’s unsure of the origin of. “Do you want just a night in? I can give you my apartment key. If you want to go there now, you can. I’ll meet you there later. I’ll try to get out around 7.”

“You want me to just hang out in your apartment?

“Yes,” he says, kissing the top of your head and giving you the key. “I have good scotch, and I guarantee I have a better shower head installed than your apartment. Just go. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Yeah, just say my apartment's a piece of shit, Rafael," you scoff.

He smirks. "That's not what I said. It's not bad for a single woman on a detective's salary. I can tell you saved for it. But it's nowhere near the lap of luxury."

"Oh, but your place is?" you counter, hands on your hips. You're still stressed, he can tell, but maybe you needed the banter. He hopes he's not pushing it too far.

"No, I wouldn't go that far. But tell me, where would you rather spend the night?"

You roll your eyes at him, and he knows you've conceded.

"Do you have anything in your fridge?" you ask. "I could at least cook."

“Probably not. But don’t worry about it. I can pick something up on my way home.”

“No, you don’t get it, I like to cook. Sonny gave me new recipes. You have a bigger kitchen than I do..."

“Is that what would make you happy?”

“Yeah. I need to put my mind on something else right now; like you said.”

“Then... have at it. Don’t burn my place down, though.”

You roll your eyes, kiss his cheek, and leave.

He’s not used to having to take care of anyone. It's been so long since he let anyone get this close, that they felt he would take care of them. Maybe that wasn’t what you were looking for. He wasn’t your father; maybe you just wanted support from an equal. Maybe he wanted to give it. It’s foreign, the feeling of walls he’d spent so long trying to build cracking at the foundations. But hell, if anyone could... couldn’t it be you?

It’s not like Rafael was opposed to long-term, except, well, he was. He’d say there was never an opportunity, he’d tell his mother there was just no one out there. But it’s not like he tried, either.

With you, it’s not much like trying. It all just happened effortlessly, on his part, at least. You made the first move, and most of the successive ones after that. And you’d said you didn’t know what you wanted - yet it’s becoming clearer to Rafael that what you were the kind of person who needed a partner, a lover, possibly a husband. That makes him beyond uneasy. He’d grown to care about you more than he would have liked these past couple of months, but that didn’t mean he was ready for that kind of commitment, if he ever would be.

And this, now, this requires more effort on his part; it requires more of himself to be used to try and help you feel better.

When he comes home that night, the kitchen is a complete mess, with flour in every crevice, dirty pans in the sink, and grocery bags left on the table. It damn near gives him a heart attack, and maybe he would’ve yelled at you, but he swallows his anger down bitterly. You need gentleness, kindness, softness right now, and that’s a tall order for Rafael, especially when you destroy his apartment... but he couldn’t forgive himself if he hurt you when you were already down. Kitchens could be cleaned. Trust couldn’t be repaired.

It might all be worth it, though. And, as it turns out, maybe Carisi was good for something, or you were an amazing chef (perhaps both) because it might have been the best pasta he’d ever had in his life.

“So you made this? These little things?” He stabs into a couple more pillows of pasta, enjoying the fresh, springy taste.

You laugh, clear and bright. You’re a little tipsy; you’d taken full advantage of his scotch collection, but you needed to take the edge off. “They’re called gnocchi, Rafael. And yes. I made them from scratch.”

“I just might have to keep you around,” he says, smiling at you, and you giggle, kissing his open mouth.

“You better,” you say, moving to sit on his lap. He wraps his arms around your waist. “Anyone else I’ve tried to get close to... it scares them. Or they don’t comprehend how big of a deal it was. It broke me, Rafael. It broke my whole family. You might be the only man I’ve been with who’s understood the consequences that has on a person and still not look at me like it’s all that I am.”

“I know. It’s not who you are. It’s something that happened to you,” he murmurs in your ear, kissing your cheek chastely. “I would never change my opinion on you based on that.”

If anything, all your story does is cause him to have greater respect for you, not because you survived, because what other option did you have? No, it’s how selfless you are, putting your brother before yourself, choosing this career path over a million others that would have been much easier on you. Judging people based on what they had gone through is ridiculous. That tells you nothing about a person. It’s what they do in the aftermath of the things that happen to them that shows you who they are.

What was Rafael then, in the aftermath of the pain he had been caused?

He doesn’t want to think about that. Ugly things like that were better left unsaid. But eventually, he knows, you’d go there. You’d unravel the real reason why he was single, why he never asked anyone to marry him, why he was so scared to get close... but not yet. Tonight was about you.

“I need to get back out there, Rafael. I need to help those kids,” you say, your voice shaking.

“You will. You’re going to. But you need to know when to step back, (y/n). You’re going to burn out if you don’t,” he says softly.

Rafael still doesn’t feel like he’s doing enough; he feels like you need more than he’ll ever be able to give. And you’ve had to have been hurt in relationships in the past, Rafael knows how teenage boys are having been one himself. God, if he could smack his younger self in the face, he would, one thousand times over.

“I...I do agree that it wouldn’t be good for me to talk with the suspect. I’ll gladly leave that to the rest of the squad. But those kids? The parents? You know that no one is better suited for prepping them for court than me. Let me help you, then.”

“Okay,” he concedes. “But... I have conditions.”

“Naturally.”

He smirks a little, pecking your lips softly. “You’re right. No contact with the defendant. And you need to talk to Olivia first.”

“Rafael—“

“Don’t you want to get paid for this?” he says, smiling wryly. “It is work, you know.”

“You just want to make sure I’m cleared so it doesn’t come to bite you in the ass somehow.”

“Well, yes, of course. Olivia would find out that you helped. Also... you need to back away if it gets too much. I’ll send you home, too, if necessary.”

You sigh, nodding. “Fine. Agreed.”

“Okay. Now we’re done talking about it for the rest of the night.”

“Thank you, Rafael,” you say, looping your arms around his neck. “You’re a hard ass most of the time, but you really helped me today. You just see things so clearly.”

He helped you? He hoped so, that something he did got through, but he didn’t really believe anything could. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t emotionally drained, though, as he definitely wasn’t used his emotional support being needed this much.

“Listen...I’m not trying to rush anything either, but I just want you to know I’m glad I have you around,” you say softly.

“Me too,” he says, honestly, and it all feels so strange, letting someone use him to feel better. It felt good, though, to see you in a better mood, even though he doesn’t feel like he’s entirely the cause of that. Scotch certainly helps. Good food does, too. Solitary comforts, which Rafael knows too well. “Thank you for cooking.”

“You’re welcome. I should cook more often, really. Your blood pressure must be through the roof with all the takeout you eat.”

He squeezes your waist tighter, ignoring your comment, ignoring the fact that he might possibly need you too. You run your fingers through his hair, your nails scratching his scalp lightly, and you kiss him gently.

“Well, I got to clean the kitchen I destroyed,” you say.

“I’ll help,” he says, and you kiss him again. It’s gentle, too soft yet too much, and there’s something in your eyes when you pull away, something real, there, something he doesn’t quite recognize or understand at first. It aches, it pulls at heartstrings that maybe have never been touched before. It scares him, a little. What happened to you saying you didn't want to rush things?

For once, words fail him. All he can do is lean up, place his hand on the back of your neck, and kiss you again. He’s careful not to push too far, not to scare you off. You need someone willing to take his time; someone willing to give you his all. Was Rafael really that man? Was he really up for the job?

Maybe, he concedes, that was for you to decide, not himself.

You get off his lap and smile at him before starting to work on the floury mess caking his counter island.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad being needed, even if he hated the aching feeling in his chest he got when he saw you cry, hated how you still seemed like you were too much, too good for him. Part of him still hates you, what with your constantly flickering emotions and your snippy remarks that remind all too much of...himself.

But you needed him there. Who was he to refuse to oblige, even if it scared the shit out of him?

———

Rafael wins the case again. Maybe he should keep promising you guilty verdicts if every time he does it turns out that way. Or, more likely, promising you causes him to work ten times harder just so he doesn’t disappoint you. You did help him a lot this time, per Olivia’s gracious acceptance of your proposal to work more closely with Rafael on this case. She’d said it would be good for you, and it was. You’re not as elated as he hoped you’d be, but you’re probably sick to your stomach thinking about how those kids were going to live their lives now or if they’d get the support your own brother got. But it's certainly better than the alternative. At least that man won't see the light of day for a long while, if ever.

It’s just all very bittersweet.

The squad goes out for drinks, but they’re not rowdy like they can be. Instead, the atmosphere is sullen. This case hurt everyone differently, and everyone is wearing their pain to the bar in an attempt to drink it away. Everyone is especially generous to you - Nick and Sonny fight over covering your drinks and Olivia buys you dinner. Normally, he thinks, you would protest, but you need this right now, and you don't argue with them.

Eventually, though, being around them seems too much, and you head to sit at the bar by yourself. Amanda looks at Rafael pointedly after fifteen minutes of your absence passes. "Are you going to check on her, Barba?
"

"What?"

"You heard me. Can you, please?"

The atmosphere is too tense to banter, so he just nods and makes his way over to you. "How are you doing?"

"Amanda's still trying to play matchmaker?" you say, smiling, but it doesn't quite meet your eyes.

"Evidently. But, I really do want to know how you're feeling."

You shrug your shoulders, turning to face him better. "I've been better. I'm just glad it's over. I’m actually going home for a bit,” you tell him. “I have a couple of vacation days to use, so I won’t be around.”

“Okay,” he says. “I hope your brother is doing well.”

“Yeah. Me too. And you know... I’ll make it up to you. I’m sorry for the distance I put between us, you know, earlier this week? I didn’t mean to, but this case—“

“You don’t need to apologize, (y/n),” he says, giving you a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh. I mean, I did feel bad, leaving you hanging like that. I just know when I get stressed like that I’m not good company.”

“You’re always good company, cariño,” he says quietly, and you reach under the table to squeeze his hand. Rafael doesn’t quite know what you need, and this may be too much, it may draw the attention of the squad - but they aren’t paying attention. Or, fuck it, if they were. He intertwines his fingers wtih yours, squeezing back gingerly.

“Charmer,” you tease, smiling sweetly, sneaking a glance at your hands. “But... Rafi, we are dating, right?”

“Is that what you need from me?”

“I mean, I’d like that. It’s been a couple of months, and we don’t hate each other... why not? We don’t have to tell the squad yet, but I think I might mention to my parents I’m seeing someone when I go up there. Is that okay?”

“That’s...fine, (y/n),” he says cautiously, feeling slightly guilty he never broached the subject with his mother. And god, he wasn’t ready to. Wasn’t this all too much too soon? What was he going to tell you, though? No?

“You might not think so, and I know you try to hide it by being an asshole sometimes, but you are a good man, Rafael.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“Yeah, you say that, but I saw you up there, saw you fight for these kids... there’s a way to be a lawyer and not care about the people you represent. But you do care. And it's admirable."

"I wouldn't be able to do my job as well if I didn't care, (y/n). I'm not a saint. Don't make me out that way. This is how I make a living. I want to succeed at it."

"Oh, honey, won't you let me just give you a compliment?" you say, and you loosen your grip on his hand to rub his shoulder gently. "Nothing good ever comes from trying to deny your humanity. And there are far easier career paths you could've chosen if that's what you wanted to do. But you're not like that."

"How would you know?" Rafael says, harsher than he meant to.

"Okay," you murmur, wincing a little. "Why are you so intent on proving me wrong? You know what? Either...stop talking or leave."

"I'm sorry," he says, and he genuinely is. The last thing he wanted to do this week was kick you when you were already down - and here he is, doing exactly that. You deserve so much better.

You smile humorlessly, shaking your head. "I thought I made myself clear. Be quiet, Rafael."

Rafael nods awkwardly and takes a long sip from his scotch. And you surprise him after a few moments, by leaning against his shoulder. "I thought you were mad--"

"Shh, Rafi. Can you please just hold me?"

"Okay," he murmurs, and he presses a chaste kiss to your temple before putting his arm around your shoulders. Under normal circumstances, he never would have agreed, but he did just snap at you and the rest of the squad was stewing in their own feelings, hopefully too busy to notice what was happening between the two of you. And even if it did draw attention - it was easily explained away as nothing more than a friend leaning on a friend. He knows eventually you'll need to tell the squad, but for now, this was already too much.

But it was what you needed. So even though Rafael is beyond unsure - he's willing to oblige for now and see where this leads.

NEXT CHAPTER

Want to be tagged in future chapters? Let me know!

[pressedinthepages]

Chapter 20: Epilogue

Summary: So many unanswered questions, with a few answers.

Series Masterlist

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Warnings: language, smut, fluff

A/N: Oh my god y’all, it’s here! This is the final chapter! I literally started this back in May, and it’s now basically October? Holy shitballs. A huge thank you to those who were with me from day one and to those who joined me throughout the journey. While this is the last part, I do still have little ideas running around my head. I hope that you all have enjoyed this as much as I have, and I am looking forward to exploring new works too!

    A shiver runs down your spine as you watch the fog slowly creep up the mountain path. Your fingers itch to grab for your silver sword, bracing yourself for an attack of foglets. It’s only a split second thought though, a reflex from more than half a century of hunting monsters. Then you remember that foglets don’t come this far north, and you don’t have your swords. They have been left just inside of the doorway twenty paces behind you, and have been collecting dust for the better part of a year. 

    You watch as the sun rises past the craggled summits of the mountains around you, bathing the lower valley in light. The fog rises and dissipates, revealing the lush green pasture dotted with sprigs of lavender and thyme. After almost an entire decade more of following the Path, you had given in to the occasional yearning that grew more and more constant to finally make a life of your own, by your own choosing. Your ears pick up movement to your left and you turn, smiling when you see a veritable herd of animals approaching in your direction, led by the man who claims to be the source of your sanity. 

    Eskel leads the pack with Lil’ Bleater bounding at his side, albeit a bit slower in her advancing age. He fulfilled his promise, finding a friend for her named Bellegarde. She had kids earlier in the spring, the three little bundles of energy just as taken by Eskel as their mother. Scorpion and Lady follow just behind, the latter butting her head into Scorpion’s flank as he walks. The two of them have grown closer as well, having had a foal between them. She has the same stoic air as her father, with the gentle regality of her mother. 

    You had balked when Eskel had walked through the door with a wolf pup in his arms, but he quickly provided a (still somewhat insane) reason for having brought him into the home.

    “I found him laying among a bunch of dead wolves, probably had been his pack. I couldn’t just leave him there, he’d die…” Eskel looked up at you with the biggest, saddest eyes he could muster, knowing that you’ve grown quite soft when it comes to him. 

    You sighed, turning back to the pot over the fire to give it a stir. “He’ll be your responsibility…”

    But that had not stopped the little thing from taking to you immediately. You often couldn’t walk more than two steps without him being under your feet, following your every move. You had named him Argos, after a story you had heard of a great warrior with a faithful dog that followed in his shadow. 

    Now, Argos bounds to your side, letting you run your fingers through his ever-thickening coat. Summer has passed into a chilly autumn, the trees once again turning the colors of fire before shedding their leaves. Eskel comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling into your neck and kissing lightly. You close your eyes and lean into his touch. Your mind settles with peace, but it is soon broken by the distant sound of approaching steps from the treeline, and the plucking of a lute. Your eyes shoot open, freezing on the spot as you stare at the place that the sound is coming from. 

    Silver hair shines in the sunlight as Geralt steps out of the cover of the trees. He looks strong, healthy, well-fed. Roach looks the same, though she always looks at least a little more well-cared for than Geralt himself. His face, twisted in his perpetual scowl, softens a bit when he spots the two of you. Eskel’s arm slips from around your waist as he walks to meet Geralt halfway, the two men wordlessly falling in a tight embrace. You move to greet him as well, but your feet still as the source of the music steps from the woods at Geralt’s back.

    He looks just as he did a decade ago, wavy chestnut hair framing a handsome face, blue eyes just on this side of too-bright. He is dressed in bright colors, a stark contrast at Geralt’s side. The lute slides into place across his back as he gestures widely in a greeting to Eskel, full of flowery words and vague insinuations. Jaskier places his hand lightly on Geralt’s shoulder as he speaks, and you can see the way that Geralt softens even further with the touch. As Jaskier turns to face him however, Geralt’s face switches back into his stern expression.

    Time freezes for everyone except you, Lil’ Bleater having been suspended in mid-air as she lept to greet her new guests. You huff, turning to see Jaskier at your side. You glance between the two identical men, wishing for the life of you that you had your swords on your back. 

    “He doesn’t know.” The Jaskier at your side speaks with a timeless tone, one that speaks of wisdom of countless years. He sighs with a smile, “Back then, I thought I was just as human as anyone else.”

    You blink, settling a bit in your boots. “So, I shouldn’t say anything to him?”

    “Unless you want to uproot this whole beautiful life that you have created with Eskel, no.”

    You nod, taking in your surroundings. A home, with a fire and a table and a bed that Eskel warms at your side every night. Countless animals, providing love and companionship. A garden in the back, spilling over with any and every plant that the two of you could think of. Your armor, tucked away under the bed. 

    “Thank you, Jaskier, for what you did all those years ago.” You don’t know what to do with your hands, flexing uncomfortably at your side. 

    Jaskier hums, stepping right up next to the frozen version of himself. You can see, even from where you stand behind Eskel, the way that Jaskier is gazing at Geralt, a twinkle in his eyes that could rival that of a star shooting across the sky.

    “You love him.” Your words are not accusatory, more so just stating a fact. Jaskier flushes a bit, biting his lip as he turns back to you. 

    “Could you…” Jaskier steps to stand at your side once more, “Could you not say anything about that either?”

    You smirk, nodding a bit before responding, “That’s not in your destiny, then?”

    Jaskier puts his hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly. “No, my dear. Unfortunately, it is not.”

    The breeze picks back up as the Jaskier at your side disappears, leaving you to join the group in front of you. This Jaskier shines like a new coin, young and naive. Introductions are made as you escort everyone into the house, Argos weaving through the vines of new legs, nipping playfully at Jaskier’s fingers.

    ***

    A few days pass before Geralt and Jaskier take their leave, headed even further north towards Kaer Morhen. You had invited them to stay at your home, but Geralt had gently refused. 

    “I uh...I need to see Vesemir. I need his help.”

    Your eyebrows crinkled as Geralt explained the mess that he had created around himself, having claimed a Child of Surprise, a princess no less. As he spoke Eskel had gotten up from the table and walked out of the door, silently reliving his own tragedy around the subject. 

    Later, Geralt and Eskel had spoken. Eskel’s own past with his Child Surprise was still a rather tender subject, but Geralt was experiencing all of that anew. The two of you vowed to be of support to Geralt as he may need, and agreed that if there were any reason to break out the armor and strap the swords back on, it would be for him. Jaskier had agreed, though Geralt seemed unsure of what exactly he could do in this situation.

    “You may be surprised Geralt,” you said, probably one too many ales in, “I bet Jaskier’s got a whole lot of power.”

    You realized what you said as soon as the words fell from your lips. “I uh- I mean, his songs! He could wield a whole lot of power over the people with the stories he tells, right?”

    Jaskier brightened, launching into a whole new tangent about the songs that he will write about his journey this winter, the two witchers sequestered away in their cabin, and the ones who spend the season in a castle high in the wilderness. You tuned him out, quickly finishing your ale before retiring to bed. 

    Now, Eskel rolls over to face you on the bed, having seen the two of them off earlier in the day. “It was nice to see Geralt again...Jaskier’s an odd bird though.” His voice is teasing, light in the sanctuary of your home.

    You chuckle, thinking the same. Though, you choose to keep your mouth shut, hesitant to spill any more information about the mysterious bard. 

    “I am glad they’ve left though…” Eskel’s voice turns husky as he tucks his nose into your neck. “Couldn’t very well fool around with them in the next room.”

    Eskel’s hand finds your core atop your underthings, just barely teasing you through the fabric. You sigh into him, pressing into his touch. You lift your hips as he hooks his fingers into the waist of your shorts, pulling them down and tossing them elsewhere in the room. Eskel has already divested himself of his own smallclothes, so when you reach, you find him hard and wanting in your hand. 

    “How would you like me tonight, love?” you whisper as you turn to better face him. He kisses you sweetly, taking your lip between his teeth as he pulls back. Eskel grabs you around the waist and shifts his hips, pulling you over him so you straddle him. 

    “Like this,” he growls, leaning up to take the peak of one of your breasts between his lips. You thread your fingers through his hair, reveling in just how soft it is now that you have all of the time in the world for trivial things like special soaps to keep hair silky.

    You sink yourself down onto the length of his cock, your eyes fluttering closed with the fullness. This feeling never grows old, something familiar but oh so exhilarating with every moment that passes. As your hips meet a bolt of ecstasy shoots through your skin, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders. You moan as Eskel holds your waist, his own hips beginning to thrust a languid pace. 

    Eskel’s eyes bore deep into your own as he rubs his fingertips in little circles over the bundle of nerves at the peak of your center, fresh waves of arousal soaring through you with every beat of your heart. Eskel can (and has) keep you for hours like this, perched on the precipice of a glorious climax, never letting you fall. Tonight though, he is impatient, his hips soon snapping in a fast rhythm. 

    Your muscles tense as you keen with your fast approaching pleasure, every nerve feeling like it is on fire. Eskel wraps himself completely around your form as he fucks even harder into you, notching his teeth against the soft skin on your neck. You shatter under his hands, your entire body singing with the all-encompassing euphoria that comes with your climax. You feel Eskel follow soon after, his grip tightening ever so slightly before spilling deep in your core. 

    Eskel kisses you deeply as he turns, pressing you into the cushion of the bed as he pulls out of your heat. You hum contentedly as he grabs a damp cloth, cleaning you off before doing the same to himself. You know that the both of you could go for several more rounds, but the appeal of rest is so much greater at the moment. You feel Eskel settle behind you, wrapping himself around you and pressing his mouth against the back of your neck.

    “I love you so much, my dove.”

    Your eyes well a little bit, smiling into the pillow with just how tender your life has become. This is the easiest thing you have ever done, and you can only hope that it lasts until the end of your days. The easiest words come next, just as they do every moment that they appear in your mind.

    “I love you, Eskel.”

[thefreakishmuffin]

Hetalia is coming back, and I have some thoughts...

Alrighty everyone, here we go! As if 2020 couldn’t get more insane...

(This is a longer post, so I’ll add fun gifs to separate the walls of text so it isn’t so exhausting to read).

So, if you’ve been on the internet since the early 2010′s, you’ve most likely seen, or at least heard, of an odd show called Hetalia. This anime, with the manga originally created by Hidekaz Himaruya, was later adapted into an anime. For those who are either new to the internet or have been living under a rock for the last decade, Hetalia, first going under the name Hetalia: Axis Powers, is a show about different events in world history and world politics, all being portrayed by people who represent different countries. Each country - or character, you could say - is essentially the embodiment of all their respective country’s stereotypes. 

For example, Germany is extremely strict, loud, militaristic, and often angry or stubborn. Italy is an absolute coward who is obsessed with pasta and beautiful women. And America is an over-the-top, loud, bombastic, arrogant dork who is constantly downing fast food and calling himself a “hero.” The list goes on and on, but you get the idea. 

Hetalia was, and still is, an extremely weird show. And with season seven on the horizon, coming to us in Spring 2021, I feel like I ought to talk about it. And why am I taking the time to talk about it?

Because I am a veteran Hetalian. 

(Me laughing but slowly dying inside)

You read that right. Throughout all of middle school and the first few months of high school (almost four years), I was an absolute obsessive Hetalia fangirl. Outside of the internet, I was the biggest fan I knew, along with the guy who was my best friend at the time. We’d binge watch the show, read and write fanfiction, bring others into the cult fandom, talk about it almost constantly, draw fanart, watch the funny mmd video compilations on YouTube, delve really deep into world history, quote and reenact all of our favorite scenes - we even cosplayed England and Prussia one year for Halloween! This was the show that made me the HUGE history nerd I am today! I even got a book on the complete history of Prussia one year for Christmas.

Yep. We were those kind of fans. (Not gonna lie, as a now twenty-year-old woman, I still kinda cringe looking back at my middle school years. But I was having fun, so who cares?)

So when I heard we were getting another season after a five year hiatus, you’d think I’d be super stoked that a show I was once madly in love with was coming back from the dead, right? 

(The part of me that is thrilled about Hetalia returning)

Well... It’s a little complicated. I won’t lie that I am really excited for this new season, and I’m of course gonna watch the entire series over again in preparation for it. But I have some hopes, worries, and mixed emotions about everything happening, and everything that may or may not go down when the season eventually airs, including the time leading up to it. I even have a particular topic I want to get to, but you’ll see that later in the post.

To address my worries, we first have to go way back to the early days of the fandom. For the most part, the Hetalia fandom was just really weird, fun, nerdy, and quirky. Nothing wrong with that. I feel like the fandom already had an odd reputation, but at least it wasn’t a bad one. That is until we had some... How should I say... Toxic behaviors and incidents start to take place. 

Allow me to explain. How I see it, every fandom has some kind of toxicity level. The toxicity level is from the fans who are, well, toxic. We all know who they are, and you’ve likely met at least a few here and there. And the toxicity levels vary from fandom to fandom. In some it’s very low, and in others it’s very high. I wouldn’t say the Hetalia fandom’s toxicity level was super high, but it wasn’t incredibly low either. We had the usual problems, like some intense shipping wars and people debating on different ideas and headcanons, but the Hetalia fandom had something a bit different going on.

(My two personalities trying to coexist in peace)

You see, a lot of people didn’t like - or even hated - Hetalia, because they saw it as racist and offensive. If you admitted you liked Hetalia outside of the fandom, you ran a definite risk of getting either shunned or degraded for it. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you had a group of fans - a rather small group of fans, mind you - who did some pretty insensitive things that ended up landing the fandom in some serious hot water.

You’d have people in that small group of fans who’d openly do the Nazi salute while cosplaying Germany at conventions, and there was even the incident where you had fans cosplaying as Nazi Germany to the holocaust museum, where they decided to pose doing the Nazi salute. I even saw a cosplay of Germany and Prussia pointing guns at the Star of David, which is a well known symbol of the Jewish faith. Not to mention the fans who seemed to fetishize Nazi Germany and Prussia. Now, I may not know about everything these people did, as I was pretty good at staying on the light side of the fandom, but these were some pretty well known and disgraceful problems that everyone would find out about sooner or later.

Sadly enough, it was that small, tiny percentile of the fandom that did things that were so offensive, so wrong, that it was greatly magnified by others, thus giving the fandom its toxic, even cringey reputation. And I really hope we don’t have to relive that all over again.

(Me singing songs about punching Nazis and eating pasta)

So what I hope is that we are able to leave all of that behind us. Though I’ve already seen some Twitter users try to start drama all over again by reposting the offensive cosplays, and Tumblr users getting their panties in a wad because they apparently have nothing else better to do. But because a vast majority of the Hetalia fans are like me in that we’ve grown older and matured, I’m hoping we can help guide the younger, newer fans in the right direction.

And I won’t deny that I am very worried about the newer fans getting harassed and bullied on social media. I don’t have a lot of advice when it comes to the haters, other than the usual ‘ignore them and don’t respond’, tactic. But just know that if they don’t leave you alone, you can always block them.

And here’s another bit I want to touch upon. While I can completely understand why people see this show as racist and offensive, I honestly don’t think it is. If anything, I think it actually teaches us something. And no, I’m not talking about history right here. I’m talking about the stereotypes, and how they are portrayed. I think this show helps us to understand that all of these different stereotypes we have about different people and countries are all stupid and silly.

Do we actually know a German who is exactly like Hetalia’s Germany? No. Do any of us know an Englishman who is identical to Hetalia’s England in every way? Of course not. This series helps us to understand that the stereotypes so many of us hold onto today are nothing more than just stupid, silly old ideas that have been blown far out of proportion over the years. 

Many people try to claim that this show is overtly racist and tries to divide, but in my opinion, I think it ties us together.

(My last two braincells writing up this post at around midnight)

At the end of the day, I’m incredibly excited and eager to see the new season of Hetalia, and everything that it will have in store for us. And it’s fun too look back on all the nostalgic memories I have of this show. This is all I have to say for now, but I may or may not be coming back to this topic in the future. Might even make another blog for Hetalia while I’m coming back to the fandom. After all, this is known as the fandom you can’t escape from.

Now if you excuse me, I’m gonna go press play on Hetalia: Axis Powers episode one, and let myself spiral into insanity once again!

[flutteringphalanges]

                                         Caught in a Riptide

Summary: After the infamous Count Dracula is discovered and taken into custody by the Jonathan Harker Foundation, former nun and now guardian to her young niece, Zoe, Agatha Van Helsing is tasked with keeping tabs on the vampire after a mishap leads to his release into modern day society. Can Agatha remain levelheaded, or will fate turn her onto a new path?

Pairing: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rated: M

Read on FFN and AO3

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving! I am thankful for each and every one of you! Here’s a token of my gratitude! Feedback/reblogs/hearts are greatly loved and appreciated! Love you guys! -Jen

                                                    Chapter Nine

At first, Agatha found herself questioning if she had heard the vampire right. That maybe the fumes brought on by the combination of countless mixed drinks and body sprays had gotten to her head. But when she stared down at the Count's large, outstretched hand. At his long, pointed nails. The former nun's ears had been working correctly.

"Dance?" She repeated, the word tasting odd on her tongue. "You want to dance with me?"

"Well surely you know how." The man smiled widely, taking her hand before she could pull away. "Come now, it isn't so hard. I'll show Waltz only has six steps."

If her lack of ballroom dancing wasn't enough, Agatha felt several pairs of eyes fixed on them as they moved about the floor out of tune to the techno music. Dracula, who had taken to humming his own song, didn't seem fazed at all by their audience. Blood rushed to the woman's cheeks, the embarrassment making the room feel so many degree hotter.

"You're blushing." The vampire noted, tugging his partner back to reality. "Might I inquire what about?"

"Surely you're observant enough to realize we're being watched." Agatha hissed under her breath, nearly tripping over Dracula's shoes. "Just a touch out of place."

"Oh, Agatha, you really shouldn't worry yourself about the judgement of others." He chuckled, gracefully gliding across the ground. "Do you know any of them?"

"Well…" She began to stumble. "Well, no...but that…"

"Then I see no issue." Dracula finished, cutting her off. "Relax, Agatha. Enjoy the night while it's young. Though I haven't known you for long, I can tell you need it."

The former nun frowned, but said nothing as the vampire spun her about on the dance floor. Soon the other patrons became a forethought as her eyes locked on to Dracula's. She found it odd how a bloodthirsty killer could be so delicate. So graceful. And as he dipped her, brutality masked by this gentlemanly cover, she found herself delving into conversation.

"So how do you know how to dance so well?" Agatha asked, surprised by how she had yet to trip and fall. He was quite the teacher, she'd give him that. "And saying it's due to your age doesn't count."

"A fair enough question." Dracula agreed. "I simply desired to learn. Everyone has a hobby or two they enjoy. Or an interest they wish to pick up. Dancing happened to be one of my more...socially acceptable ones." He grinned, clearly amused by his choice of words. "What about you, Agatha? Surely you have a guilty pleasure locked away in that treasure chest of a mind of yours."

She thought for a moment. "I can knit...sort of." When his left eyebrow cocked in interest, she continued. "I'm not very good at it and have only managed to somewhat make oven mits. But between my job and caring for Zoe, I don't have a lot of time to myself."

"Perhaps you could knit me a pair that I may use next time you come over for dinner." Dracula suggested lightly. "For business reasons, of course."

Agatha felt her cheeks burning again, but from a different fire this time. She looked away, avoiding the vampire's gaze as her eyes fell on a clock mounted on a nearby wall. A distraction. Sucking in a breath, the former nun pulled away.

"We should get going." She said quietly. "It's getting, well, later and I need to be getting home. Dr. Bloxham left me some paperwork to fill out and I'd like to get that done. She's very...particular when it comes to turning things in on time." A poor excuse, but Agatha hoped it would work.

"Of course." Dracula bowed his head smiling. "I've kept you out long enough, haven't I?"

"It's been a night." Agatha agreed, somewhat struggling to find the right words. "I think it's at an appropriate end." She offered him a small, awkward, but genuine smile. "Your lead?"

Frank jumped in surprise, his phone falling into his lap at the sound of Dracula lightly rapping on the car window. Quickly, he unlocked the car doors as the two adults slid in without a word. Peering into the rearview mirror, glasses sliding down onto his nose, Frank feigned a smile.

"Today went well I hope?" He asked, starting the engine. "No complaints on either end?"

"Oh, I think it was rather splendid." Dracula replied, looking over at Agatha. "Wouldn't you agree, Agatha?"

"I suppose both busy ends were held up to the bargain." She replied, leaning back in her seat. "I don't have anything negative to report back to Dr. Bloxham if that is what you're asking."

"Excellent!" The lawyer beamed. "I knew it was possible for you two to work things out. This is good. Very much so. And I know Dr. Bloxham will be just as pleased as I am."

Agatha said nothing, just merely stared out the window watching the street lamps speed by. She knew Dracula was watching her closely as they pulled up outside of her house. And it was no surprise that he too got out of the car when she did. Of course he'd walk her to the door. How polite of him.

"Don't forget your Champagne." The vampire smirked, handing over the bottle. "I spent a pretty penny on that."

"Thank you." They were the first two words to come to her mind. A phrase that she hoped would send him away. "Tonight was decent...have a good evening, Count Dracula."

"You as well, Agatha Van Helsing." He replied, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. "I look forward to seeing you again. Perhaps you can work on those knitting skills of yours and make me a lovely pair of oven mittens. I'm quite partial to red."

Agatha gave him a half hearted smile and turned away. She felt some relief in knowing he wouldn't follow her inside. At least she hoped Zoe's invitation would've expired by now. Stepping into her home, she locked the door behind her. It wasn't until Agatha heard the sound of Frank's car rumbling off into the distance did she exhale, shoulders relaxing.

"Hey, you okay?"

Jack stepped out of the kitchen and Agatha couldn't help but note the flecks of glitter that sparkled on his shirt. He offered her a genuine smile as he scrubbed at his hands with a rag. Clearly the craft had proved to be messier than the doctor intended. But cleaning was the least of worries on the woman's mind.

"Long night." She sighed, running a hand through her hair. With the other that clutched the alcohol, Agatha held it out towards Jack. "Drink?"

"I'm fine." He shook his head to which Agatha merely shrugged and headed towards the kitchen. He followed suit. "Was it really that bad?"

"We went out for dinner and then to an arcade." The former nun stated, digging through the cabinets before producing a glass. "An arcade, Jack." Exhaling, she poured until the cup was full before downing it. "And don't get me started on the night club. I agreed to watch the beast, not partake in a dance number with him."

"Wait, you actually danced with Dracula?! The Count Dracula?!"

Agatha tried to ignore the look of astonishment on Jack's face as she downed her second glass of Champagne. So much for not drinking. Perhaps telling him how her evening had gone hadn't been the best idea. Especially since she'd have to relive it tomorrow when Bloxham asked for the nitty gritty details. After the last bit of beige liquid passed through her lips, she set the cup down on the counter with a rough clink. Though she wouldn't admit it allowed, it wasn't what they did that bothered it. It was, in fact, how she felt afterwards. Good.

"That's what I said. I was caught off guard." Agatha stated, trying to fend off the young doctor as he took away her bottle. "Clearly I was not in the right state of mind to think for myself. Perhaps I'm coming down with something..."

"Well, at least nothing bad happened right?" The young man interjected, trying to lighten the mood. "No one died?"

"Just my ancestors rolling around in their graves." She snorted, letting out a humorless laugh as she shook her head. "I unintentionally went on a date with Count Dracula, didn't I? Or rather, I might as well have." Jack's lack of a response was a good enough of an answer as any. "Shit..."

"Well it's over now, right?" The man assured her. "Best put it behind you. You won't do yourself any good stressing over it." He smiled, motioning to his sparkling shirt. "Anyway, what do you think of my outfit? Zoe may have gone a little overboard with the glitter. I did my best to clean up what I could. I'm sorry for whatever random particles you come across for the next decade."

"As long as you had fun and she behaved." Agatha smiled softly. "I don't mind the occasional sparkle. This place needs to lighten up anyway." Glancing around, she folded her arms over her chest. "You're welcome to stay the night. I can pull out a blanket and some pillows. The couch isn't so bad."

"Thanks, but I'll be fine." Jack promised her with a wave of his hand. "There's some work I have sitting on my counter that I need to bring in tomorrow. If I don't, Bloxham will have my head. You know how she can be."

"Right." His friend nodded, chuckling under her breath. "Well, thank you a million times over again, Jack. I don't know what I'd do without you in my corner."

"Well, if I'm ever set up on a date with a vampire, I'm sure you can return the favor in some way." The man joked. "Have a good night, Agatha. Give Zoe my best when she wakes up tomorrow. I'll see you in the morning."

"Same to you, Jack." Agatha smiled. "Bright and early."

                                                      XXX

Agatha tried not to think about the previous night's events until she came across Bloxham and her henchman of sorts, Commander Irving, the next day. Doing her best to ignore the rather intimidating man in the corner, she sat down in front of her boss who'd taken to calmly sipping what appeared to be a cup of tea.

"Mr. Renfield informed me earlier that last night was successful." The head of the Harker Foundation commented, swiveling in her chair. "Were you able to gain anything useful from your time together?"

"He can't go in the sun and hates crosses, just as much as we already know." Agatha said, trying to refrain from using a harsh tone. "A rather pointless excursion."

"Nothing is pointless when it comes to Count Dracula." Bloxham replied curtly, setting her drink down. "Him opening up to you, though slight as it may appear, is just as big a goal as any. I'm impressed, Agatha. I wasn't expecting much from you...even though it is only common knowledge."

"I'm not sure what else I can offer at this point." Agatha replied, folding her arms over her chest. "Can I go or is there something pressing you need me to fulfill for you?"

Bloxham glanced over her shoulder at Irving before looking back to Agatha. "I suppose…" She stated thoughtfully. "For now. But keep your schedule free as much as you can. I cannot say when your services will be required."

"Right." The former nun muttered. "I'll be cancelling my tickets for leaving the country then." A snide remark that went unmentioned by Bloxham. "Thanks."

Agatha made sure to accidentally slam the door a little harder than needed when she left the office. Fury bubbled in her chest as Bloxham's words replayed in her mind. A pawn in a game. A puppet in a show. The woman has basically slapped a figurative ankle monitor on her. At least the anger gave her something to focus on to make the time go by faster.

It was lunchtime when the former nun's phone vibrated in her pocket. Taking it out, she frowned deeply when she noted the caller ID. Count Dracula.

"Last night was fun. I wanted to inquire if you'd be interested in scheduling another meeting. My place or yours?" -Dracula

Deciding to ignore it, Agatha shoved her cell back into her pants. Dracula was the last person she wanted to see right now. Part of her expected Bloxham to immediately summon her to her office, believing the vampire to use Frank to his advantage. But when that didn't happen and time rolled on, that concern began to push into the back of her mind.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're ignoring me. Not fun, Agatha. Not fun at all." -Dracula

Agatha groaned, annoyed by the text that had awoken her from her deep sleep. It had been three nights since the vampire's last text. Though despite the messages, neither Frank nor Bloxham had seemed to become involved yet. For whatever reason, Dracula hadn't used that lifeline to his advantage. Turning her phone off, the former nun shoved it into her dresser drawer and closed her eyes. Sleep was a bliss worth taking.

"Agatha, I do hope you are alright. I'm beginning to worry. Do respond. Should I have a welfare check done on you? Perhaps Frank would be of service." -Dracula

"I'll put you out of service." Agatha muttered to herself as she shoved her phone into her purse.

It was late evening now and she was just about to head home. She was tired, hungry, and just about done dealing with the Lord of Darkness. It'd been a week now. A long, paperwork filled one, and all she wanted to do was rest. Getting into her car, Agatha drove home, the moon well into the sky by the time she pulled into the driveway.

"Mrs. Avery?" Agatha called out as she entered the house. "Sorry I'm late, I got caught up at the office."

The house was dark which sent a tingle up the former nun's spine. In the distance, she could see a light coming from the living room. The slight hum from the television meeting her ears. Cautiously, she made her way down to the room wondering if all was well. What she saw made her stop cold in her tracks.

Zoe lay curled up peacefully on the couch, a blanket draped over her frame as she slept. But instead of the short, elderly woman sitting at her side, a tall, loaming man grinned at Agatha from his spot. Count Dracula brought a long, pointed finger to his lips and quietly shushed the former nun.

"Welcome home, Agatha."

[captainscanadian]

Exception | Carter Baizen x Reader (Part 7)

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: You were his one exception. But he was your redemption.

Word Count: 6100+

Pairing: CEO!Carter Baizen x Lawyer!Reader, Nate Archibald x Caroline Baizen, Carter Eleanor Lydia Y/L/N-Baizen

Warnings: Swearing, Gossip Girl References, Drugs, Infidelity, Car Accident, Blood, Trauma, Hospital, Teenage Pregnancy

A/N: This is my entry for @baezen​​‘s writing challenge. Shout out to @franksufferbuddy​ and @propertyofpoeandbucky​ for motivating me to finish this part. I don’t do taglists. Gif’s not mine. Credits to the owner.

According to the neurosurgeon who had operated on Carter, he was apparently on the verge of slipping into a coma if he did not wake up by tomorrow.  As time was passing by, the chances of Carter waking up on his own were rather slim. But the doctor had explained to Caroline that his mind was very awake even though his body wasn’t. Her advice had been for his loved ones to sit by his bedside and talk to him in hopes that someone could get through to his mind and convince him to wake up.

After spending the early hours of the morning by her brother’s bedside, the younger Baizen had given up on her attempts to get him to regain his consciousness. She knew that if anyone could bring Carter back from this, it was you. After all, you were the reason why she got him back the first time around.

Even if her brother had not been honest about how much you meant to him, she knew by the look in his eyes the moment he saw you at her wedding that he loved you. She then understood what Carter meant when he said to her that he knew what it meant to be in love with someone. He was in love with you.

“I’m not going to hold it against you for keeping your child a secret from all of us, Y/N.” Caroline grabbed onto your hands and held them tight in hers, her eyes puffy and her cheeks strained with tears since she had been crying all night. “You had your reasons for doing what you did and I can’t blame it all on you. We were all young and stupid back then. Carter was stupid enough to cheat on you. He fucked up and you had every right to feel hurt. But I’ll have you know that he only lived to regret it. It might not be easy for you to believe that he still loves you or that he has changed. But he has... and he still loves you, very much. He might not admit it, but I know him.”

“No, Caroline... I... I was terrible to him. I was awful... I treated him so badly. I was so angry at him for what he did. I was holding onto this fifteen year old grudge that did not do me any good. What even is the point in staying bitter about the past when...?” You paused to shake your head. “I’m done being mad at him, I’m done being mad at... the past, at who we were back then. We’ve all had to learn our lessons the hard way and... I think I’ve learned mine now.” You admitted, choking back your tears. “I can finally forgive him for hurting me back then, because he’s the reason why I’m even alive right now.”

“When he came back home after working for the Buckley’s, he came home a better man. He promised me that he would do right by me after being away from my life for a decade, to do right by our parents and to do right by our family. Ever since we lost our parents so suddenly and so tragically, Carter has done nothing but try his best to redeem himself, whether it be taking over as CEO of Baizen Industries or being there to walk me down the aisle and I... I don’t want to lose him now.” She let go off your hands as she pulled you into an embrace. “Losing you was the start of his downfall, Y/N... nothing in his life had ever been right until you came back into his life and got him out of his debt. He needs you in his life more than ever right now, you know... he needs you and he needs his daughter. My brother has suffered alone for long enough and... Only you can bring him back. You always have. You’re the only reason why I got my big brother back in the first place and I’m begging you, Y/N please... please bring my brother back to me. Please... don’t let him die on me like this. He can’t die.”

You hugged her back tightly, a huge weight being lifted off your shoulders because she had not held it against you for what you had done. After all, you had taken away her own brother’s flesh and blood from her family. You had expected her to be pissed at you for taking away that right, but her forgiveness made you realize that you were on the way to get your redemption as you had hoped when you had first arrived here. “Oh sweetie... we’re not going to lose him. I’m not going to lose him. Carter’s not going to die not knowing that he has a daughter, he’s not going to die... until we all become one big happy family, all of us. He’s not going to die until he walks our little girl down the aisle, just like he walked you.” You told her as you rubbed her back gently, sighing as you looked over at Nate and have him a nod. “He’s not going to die.” You realized now that Carter not your apocalypse. It was you; you were your own apocalypse. But Carter... he was your redemption.

As per your request, Nate had left for the airport right away. Since your mother and your daughter were meant to arrive in New York within the next hour, you had entrusted your cousin to bring Carter Eleanor Lydia straight to the hospital once she landed in the city. While you waited for your daughter’s arrival, you found yourself walking into her father’s hospital room now that you had gathered the courage to face his unconscious self and the words you needed him to hear.

“Would you like to get in bed with him, Miss. Y/L/N?” The nurse who had been assigned to keep an eye on him asked you as you stepped into the room.

“Huh?” You looked over at her, you eyes welling up with tears. A part of you wanted to hold him in your arms again, but you were also terrified that you would hurt him. “I-I can do that?”

She nodded as she walked over to his bed, pulling away the blanket that Carter had been laying under and moving him gently to make room for you. “Yeah, of course... go on ahead.” A small smile on her lips as she let you climb into the bed, she stepped out of the room once you had made yourself comfortable.

Careful not to tangle any of the wires that were attached to him, you rested your head against his chest. The steady beats of his heart seemed to have calmed you down for a moment, reminding you that he was still alive. You just had to get him to wake up.

“H-Hey... Carter. Carter, wake up...” You bit back your tears as you took his hand in yours, clutching tight and never wanting to let go. “What... are you... scared that... are you scared that I’d walk away from you again once you woke up? Is that why you’re unconscious, baby?” You sobbed softly against his chest, your salty tears soaking through the thin fabric of his hospital gown. “Carter, I’ll never... I’ll never walk away from you again, I promise. I’ll never leave you, please... wake up, please. Baby, please... please, wake up, I get it now. I was the one who screwed us up, not you.” You admitted, finally coming to your senses. You had been the one to blame for everything that had happened to you, from your pregnancy to Carter’s accident. You had brought it all upon yourself because of your own selfish grudges.

You let your free hand gently stroke his stubbly cheek, careful not to run your finger over the bruise on his lips. A sigh escaped your lips as you recalled the first few months of your relationship that had been the happiest. Those were the moments you wanted to relive right now, but could never get them back after all that the two of you had been through. “I used to think that drinking underage, going to every single party together and being prom king and queen was... what it meant to be in love with someone. I thought it was... what? The popularity of being the ‘it couple’ at Constance and St. Jude’s and making people jealous of me? That was not love, Carter. That’s wasn’t love. When I disappeared for fifteen years with no explanation, when I left you hanging... so lost... so confused, so worried... I treated you like crap. I blamed you... for everything- for being my apocalypse, the one who ruined my life. But you... you didn’t even think twice before you jumped in front of that moving car to save my life and I... I get it now. That’s what love is... it’s not... it’s not what I thought it was. It’s what you did for me. I believe you now, Carter. I know that you love me and I know that I never deserved any of it... but I can’t live without you, Carter. I’ve spent fifteen years without you and I can’t spend another second without you, please... wake up... baby, please... please wake up, you can’t leave me now. I can’t live without you, our daughter... you can’t leave behind our daughter. She did nothing wrong to get my messed up self as a mother. Carter, she needs you... Our Carter needs you.”

As you wrapped your arm gently around him, you cried harder as you recalled the last time you had cuddled together like this. It had been the night before you left for Santorini, the same night you had begun suspecting that you might be pregnant.  Seventeen years old you had been that night, unaware that you had indeed been carrying Carter’s child at that very moment you had shared that conversation. That night, the thought of having Carter’s child was very hypothetical. But only a day later, did it become very real.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Chuck Bass’ middle name is Bartholomew? Really?” Carter laughed as he looked over at you, clearly amused by this information as he wrapped his arms around you. “What? Did his dad hate him so much that he felt the need to make that his middle name? Like, I get that he wanted his son to carry on his name and all. But if my name were Bartholomew, the last thing I would do is name my fucking kid after me.”

“Oh don’t you dare tell him that I said that. He’d fucking kill me.” You rolled your eyes at him before shaking your head. “But it’s just his middle name, so I don’t think it’s that much of a big deal. My Pop says that Bart wanted Chuck to take after him, like how he wants me to take after him. All of our parents want us to take after them, right? That’s a given. But I swear, some of the parents... the ones who name their kids after them, they can be so fucking narcissistic.”

“Now that I think of it, it would have been valid if his name were something other than Bartholomew.” He admitted, laughing. “But I should be honest though. If I ever ended up having kids, not that I ever will, I’d totally want my kid to be named Carter. But then again, my name is Carter and not Bartholomew so I don’t really have to worry about ruining my kid’s life with a horrible name.” He gave you a cheeky grin, his hands clutching onto yours as you cuddled together in his bed. “Carter Baizen Jr. The name sure does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

Looking up at him, you could not help but raise your eyebrow slightly. “I have two things to say to that. One, you’re a fucking narcissist so you wanting to name your kid after yourself really doesn’t surprise me all that much.” You rolled your eyes, laughing softly. “Two, what if you ended up having a girl?”

“Hey, who said that Carter can’t be a girl’s name? Whether I have a boy or a girl, I don’t really care. I’m naming my firstborn Carter and no one can stop me from doing so.”

You laughed as you shook your head. “Yeah, I’d like to know if you’d feel the same way when you’re older though.” You rolled your eyes as you rolled over in bed to face the ceiling. You looked away to avoid his eyes for a moment, your heart pattering against you chest as you finally asked him the question that you had been wanting to ask him all week. “But seriously, Carter, do you ever see yourself having kids?”

He furrowed his eyebrows at you for a moment, clearly not expecting to be asked that question by his one-and-off girlfriend. Not that he did not want to have any children with you, but he knew that the two of you were too young to be parents. You both had your own separate plans for the future, neither of them including children for the moment. “What are you asking, Y/N?”

You let out a sigh as you thought about it for a moment. You feared that if you ended up wording your response the response the wrong way, you would inevitably inform him of your suspicion. You wanted to tell him that you were pregnant when the time was right, but unbeknownst to you that time never came. “I don’t know. Ever since my parents got divorced, I’ve had a lot of questions about what it means to... to be married, to have children, to have a family. My parents told me that their decision to separate was not my fault and that with time they just happened to fall out of love. If they could fall out of love, then what does that make me? Is it really worth having children when there’s a possibility that you could fall out love with the person who you had children with? Should children be burdened to live with the knowledge that their parents didn’t love each other? If you had a kid of your own, would you ever put them in that position?”

“Y/N, come on... what’s gotten into you?” Carter’s lips curled into a frown as he rolled over to wrap his arms around you. “Babe, what’s wrong?”

Your eyes glazed over as you let out a sigh. “Carter, I’m scared. I never wanted any of this. Yes, my parents’ divorce was hard on me but... I was happy for a while. I was hopeful that at least they were making the effort to both be a part of my life, you know? They decided to live in the same house even after their divorce for my sake and I hoped that they would fall back in love again. I was naive and completely dumb for getting my hopes up, I know... But now my father got my mother to jet off to England for a few months so that he can fuck Lily van der Woodsen without a care in the world as if my mother never even existed in his life. If he could just replace her that easily, what does that mean for me? I don’t like that he’s moved on and... the way he’s trying so hard to get her kids to like him... Good God, he bought Serena a car when she doesn’t even drive! It seems like only a matter of time before... Pop replaces me with her.”

“Babe, come on... he’s not going to replace you. I think you’re overreacting a little.” He sighed as he rested his chin against your shoulder, the palm of his hand resting gently against your belly. “I know it’s hard for you to see your dad with someone who’s not your mom. But you know he’s never going to replace you. You’re his daughter. He loves you so much, Y/N. And if you think that he’d ever replace you with Serena, then I’ll have you know you’ll still have me. I’ll never put anyone else before you. I love you.”

“Carter, no –“

“Shhh... it’s okay, babe. Don’t cry... we don’t want you getting a nose bleed now, do we? It’s okay, I got you.” He cut you off, moving his hand over to stroke your arm soothingly. “Babe, you’ve got me. Even if the entire world turned against you, I’ll always be by your side. I love you so fucking much and you’re my one exception. You hear me? I’ll never do you wrong, Y/N.”

“Carter, do you mean that?” You asked him as you wiped away your tears. “You’ll never let me go no matter what happens, right?”

“Y/N, I promise. I won’t ever let you go.” Carter leaned over to kiss the side of your neck. “Even if your father replaced you with Serena, I wouldn’t do such a thing. I love you so fucking much and I would always fight for you.” But a week later, you would come to realize that this was a promise that he could never keep. And even if he had vowed to fight for you, you had not done the same for him.

“Carter...” You whispered, wiping away the tears in your eyes. “Carter, I need you to know that... I forgive you. Even if you might not forgive me when you wake up and find out what I did to you, I forgive you for what you did to me. We were young, stupid and spoiled rotten. We had no idea what we were doing with our lives. But we both... grew up, didn’t we? We both learned some hard lessons in these fifteen years.” You reached your hand to stroke his cheek, a sigh escaping you lips as you felt your heart break. All you could do is hope that he could hear what you were saying to him.

You needed him to hear every word you said. “When I found out that you cheated on me with Serena, it fucking broke my heart. You promised me that you wouldn’t throw me away like... like my Pop almost did. But then you went ahead and did the one thing that you said you wouldn’t do and all the while, I was pregnant with our daughter. I was so terrified to bring her into a world where her parents couldn’t love each other, a world where we would have had to fight each other. I didn’t want her to be caught up in the middle of that, like I was caught up in my own parents’ mess back then. Perhaps, I was too harsh on you both to think that she was better off without a father, but I was right to some extent, Carter. I did what I thought was best for her and getting away from the Upper East Side was the start of that.” You admitted, chuckling softly. “The Upper East Side, although known for its luxury and status, its literal hell. All the money that we have and the never-ending need to maintain your reputation and the gossip... I was all toxic! The money couldn’t always buy us happiness and I wanted our kid to be happy, to be away from this hell.”

“I know that a lot of single mothers had it harder than I did. But I guess I was quite lucky to have my mother’s house. A roof over our heads was one less thing to worry about. I got my van der Bilt family trust fund when I turned 18 to keep me going until I finished school. I didn’t have it hard but... I did my best, you know? I had to give Carter the best life I could. And Carter... well, her full name... is Carter Eleanor Lydia Y/L/N.” A smile crept upon your lips as you said that, and you look over at him in hopes that he was hearing all of his.

“I was going to go with just Eleanor, but then I remembered you telling me that you would name your firstborn after yourself, so...” Laughing softly, you shook your head. “God, I hope you still do feel the same way about that. If you don’t then, I guess you should know that I like that name very much. But Carter... it just seemed like the right name for her when she was born. The moment I held her in my arms for the first time and she looked up at me with those bright blue eyes of hers... Oh my God, she has your eyes, Carter... and she has your mother’s hair. Carter Eleanor Lydia... it was just right.”

You shut your eyes for a moment, rubbing your temples with your free hand. All that crying had caused you to become quite dehydrated. But most importantly, the love that you had hid under the resentment was starting to pour out of you. “Carter, please... wake up. She’s on her way and I don’t know what I’m going to tell her when she gets here and asks for her dad. I need you to be awake and I need you to get better so... so that you could be a part of her life now, Carter. I fucked her over by having her grow up without a dad. She accepted it because she knew from a young age that I did what I needed to do in order to give her a good life. I did my best. I did all that I could do for her, except have her meet her father. I know that deep down she’s always wanted to get to know you but she didn’t force it. She didn’t hold it against me or blame me for her having grow up without a father. The truth is I didn’t want her to know the Carter Baizen who was irresponsible and didn’t care about his own family. I didn’t want her to know the Carter Baizen who was drinking underage and sleeping with literally every girl in the Upper East Side or... doing lines of cocaine and gambling away his father’s money. That’s not... If I’d ever stayed and raised her in New York, I don’t know if you would have been the best father she could have asked for. I didn’t know, Carter. I was terrified then... but now, God, now I want nothing more than for my little girl to meet her dad and... I swear, if you die not knowing that you had a daughter. Carter, I’ll never forgive myself. Please, wake up... wake up and see your daughter when she gets here.”

You leaned over to place a gentle kiss against Carter’s forehead, finally letting go of his hand that you had been holding onto for dear life. You rubbed your sweaty palms together as you let out another sigh, clearing your throat before climbing out of the bed.

As you turned around to look over at the father of your child, he still remained unconscious. While you had felt his chest rise and fall with every breath he took, that along with the beeping sound of the heart monitor let you know that he was still alive. Even after you had lain in bed with him and spoken to him as though he were awake, it seemed as though your words had no effect on him.

You had been on the verge of giving up when you heard the sliding door of the room open. You turned around to see a frowning Caroline enter the room in a hurry.

“Y/N, she’s here... and she’s beautiful.” She pulled you into a hug as she wiped away her tears. “She’s got your smile and my brother’s eyes. She really is the best of you and Carter.”

Your eyes glazed over as you felt your heart pounding against your chest. “Thank you. She’s got some good genes in her, at least on her dad’s side.” You admitted, chuckling nervously. “God, I don’t know how I’m going to explain myself. Now that she’s here, all I can do is hope that she doesn’t lose him as soon as she got him, you know? If he doesn’t wake up, I’d never forgive myself.”

Rubbing your back gently, she let out a sigh. “Maybe she can bring him back...”

Carter Eleanor Lydia found herself trembling as she clutched tightly onto her grandmother’s hand, her anxious heart pattering as she followed her Uncle Nate down the hallway in this unfamiliar American hospital. Having touched down across the pond just an hour ago, she had not expected her first time in the States to be such an emotional event. But she knew that her mother was somewhere in this building, along with the man she’d been longing to meet.

Her whole life she’d dreamt of being able to embrace her father, to let him hold her in his arms and tell her all about his life before she’d become a part of it – if she was even lucky enough to have that. Up until now, the only time she’d seen the face of Carter Baizen was in pictures. Aside from the multiple Forbes’ magazine covers and his interviews with CNN that she’d watched a thousand times now, this would be the first time she would see him in person, and it was certainly not the best time for a first meeting.

“Y/N, there she is...” Nate called out as he noticed you rushing towards him before motioning his niece.

As the fourteen year old looked across the hallway to see you, she felt a sense of relief mixed with fear. “Mom!” She ran as fast as her aching feet would take her, jumping into your arms in a hurry as she began sobbing. “Mom... is he okay? Is he awake? Can I see him? Does he know about me now?” The never-ending questions that flooded through her brain were not making this any easier for her. “Mom, please tell me he’s okay!”

“I got you, baby. I got you...” You sobbed softly as you held your daughter in your arms after weeks of being apart, filled with gratitude to this fucked up universe for at least keeping your daughter alive. “He’s... he’s out of surgery now. But the doctors said that... he hurt his head, so it might take him a while before he wakes up. I don’t know how long that’ll be but all we could do now is wait for him to wake up and then he’ll be okay.”

You pulled back from the hug to look down at you daughter. You had to put on a brave face for her sake. “Do you want to see him now? I know you’re probably tired because you just got off of the plane-”

“No, let me see him now.” She cut you off. “Mom, please...? I want to see him. Mom, may I please see him?”

You nodded your head before looking over at Nate and your mother, sighing softly. “Yeah, you’ve done enough waiting. It’s time for you to finally meet your dad, baby.”

As the two of you walked towards Carter’s hospital room, Caroline stepped out for a moment to give you some privacy. She stood outside the room with your mother and Nate, hoping that her brother would wake up just to meet his daughter.

Your hands were shaking as you held your daughter by her shoulders and led her up to her father’s bedside, your heart beating fast as you sat down on the edge of his bed. “Hey... Baizen, she’s here now. If you’re not going to wake up when Caroline asked you... or because I just poured my heart out to you, I hope you’ll wake up to finally meet your daughter. Fourteen years were too long, I know. But I don’t want the two of you to be apart for any longer and don’t do that to her. Please... wake up, Carter. You need to live to be a part of her life now.” Sighing to yourself, you turned over to your daughter and gave her a nod. “Go ahead, baby. Say hi to your dad.”  

Carter Eleanor let out a nervous sigh as she stepped towards her father, her hands shaking as she finally grabbed onto his. “H-Hey... D-Dad...” It almost came out in a whisper as she finally broke down in tears. The bandages around his head and the wires attached to his body made her realize how serious the accident really was. A part of her was terrified of losing him before she even got to know him. But she was grateful to be able to be in his presence, even though it was fourteen years too late. “Dad, please... wake up and look at me.”

The gentle touch of her tiny fingers against his rough ones was what he had felt at first. The beeping sound of the heart monitor was ringing through his ears. “

Carter could hear her sob, her soft hand clutching tightly onto his as she let a few drops of her tears land against his arm.

"Dad? Dad, please wake up. It's Carter... I-I'm your daughter and I’m here. I want you to know. Please... please, dad... wake up and talk to me."

There was a slight pain in his forehead that he chose to ignore, but he winced slightly. “Y/N...”

"Dad?!"

“Carter!” You gently reached over to stroke his cheek, turning towards the door. “Can one of you get the doctor in here?!”

Your mother gave you a nod before she skipped down the hallway.

He shook his head as he remembered what had happened before he had lost consciousness. "Y/N..." He said, softly. "Y/N, don't... don’t go!" As he struggled to open his eyes, the events of the dreadful accident replayed in his mind, bringing him back to the moment he had witnessed you almost get run over by a moving car, right before he jumped in front of it and pushed you out of the way.

"Carter?! Carter, I'm here..." You were quick to place your hand on top of your daughter's, holding onto his as you watched him slowly open your eyes. "Carter... hey..."

He squinted at the light for a moment, blinking away the blur. His mouth was dry but he could care less. All he could see was that you were sitting right there by his bedside, alive and well. “Y/N... y-you’re okay...”

“Carter, can you hear me?” You called out to him, feeling a huge weight lift from your chest. “Hey, Carter... talk to me. Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, I’m fine... head... hurts... fine. You’re okay.” He looked over at you, his lips curling into a weak smile at the sight of you. "Y-You bet... you thought you finally got rid of me... didn’t you?" He told you with a soft chuckle, wincing slightly at the pain in his chest. “But it’s not that easy, is it, Y/N?”

"Asshole. You're an asshole." You leaned over to hug him gently, careful not to mess with the wires that were attached to his body. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you shut your eyes for a moment, staying in his embrace a little longer before you pulled away. "And you're an idiot. You're such an idiot for jumping into a moving car that. What were you thinking?!"

"Well, you're not any better, are you?" He asked, laughing softly before he winced at the pain in his chest. “You didn’t watch where you were going... idiot.”

You chuckled softly as you leaned over to kiss the top of his head, wiping away your tears. "I'm glad you're okay, Baizen..."

"I think you still owe me a date... by the way."

"Okay... fine, we'll go in a proper date. But I do prefer staying at home, just me in my pajamas on my laptop."

"Why? Are you scared that I might end up almost dying on you again?" He joked.

You were quick to bring your hand up to his lips and shook your head. “Carter, shut up! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Carter chuckled as he took your hand with his other one. "Don't worry, I’m not going anywhere now." He said as he finally shifted his gaze towards the fourteen year old girl who stood next to you.

Carter Eleanor Lydia was a spitting image of her father, but she did have some of your physical traits as well. With her hair tied up into a braid, she looked exactly like you when you had attended Constance.

For a moment, the globetrotter wondered if his head injury had caused him to see a hallucination of the younger version of you, the one that he had lost fifteen years ago. But the moment he saw the bright blue eyes of this little girl he was reminded of his own reflection in the mirror every morning. She had his eyes.

"Y-You... you look a bit familiar. D-Do I... know you from somewhere?" He asked his daughter, his brows furrowing as he tried to recall where he had seen her before. She looked oddly familiar to him, yet he couldn’t recognize who she was.

"Carter..." You bit down on your bottom lip, not knowing how to break this to him. “She’s... your daughter. She’s yours.”

He gasped as he turned his gaze towards you, his eyes welling up with tears as he realized what you had been hiding from the last fifteen years. “Y/N... y-you had a baby?”

You nodded, smiling widely. “Yeah... yeah, I did. I had your baby. Carter Eleanor Lydia, named after... you and your mother.”

But the father of your child shook his head. "O-Oh God, I can't... I can’t believe it. I have a baby girl. I can't believe it... she’s really mine?” He smiled, weakly, as the tears continued to slip. “I-I’m her dad?”

You nodded. “Yeah, Carter. You’re her dad...”

“And you named her after me, really? I can’t believe it."

You burst into laughter at his reaction. "You wanted that, you jerk!"

"But I can't believe you still went through with it. Oh my God." He laughed softly before wincing in pain, turning over to look at his daughter as he finally let the tears slip. “You’re my daughter...”

She nodded. “Y-Yeah, I am...”

He reached over to gently stroke her cheek, realizing that she was the legacy that you had taken away from him, just like he had almost taken yours away from you. “Y-You look just like your mother... when she was... when she was younger and a lot less bitchy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Carter!”

Your daughter laughed before shaking her head, leaning over to stoke her father’s cheek. “But she says that I have your eyes.”

Nodding his head, he agreed. “Yeah, you do... because you’re mine. You’re my daughter.”

“Yeah, d-dad... I’m your daughter. I’m Carter Eleanor Lydia Y/L/N-Baizen.” She said before looking over at you. “Mom, I know it’s a long ass name but you’re going to let me legally change it, right? I hope you do. Uncle Nate says that I’m a Baizen and I do want to be a Baizen from now on, if you’d let me.”

You laughed softly before giving her a nod. “You just got here, baby. Let’s give your dad some time to get better and then we can negotiate.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure you would enjoy that. Negotiations are your mother’s strongest suit.” Carter joked, giving you a teasing look.

You shook your head, rolling your eyes once again. “Wow, it looks like someone’s retained his sense of humour even after waking up from brain surgery.” You laughed softly as you reached over to stroke his cheek. “You’re lucky I love you, Baizen.”

“Do you really?” He asked you with his brows raised slightly. “Are you sure you didn’t say that to every other guy you met in London?”

You shrugged your shoulders as you felt your cheeks heat up. “No, you’re my one exception.”

“Carter?” You heard Caroline enter the room, grinning through her tears as she walked up to her brother. “Oh Carter, thank God, you’re okay!”

“Hey, Carebear...” Carter smiled as he reached over to grab onto his sister’s hand. “I’ll be fine and... I’m sorry, I know you’re supposed to be on your honeymoon right now.”

“Bullshit, Carter.” Nate intervened as he walked over to stand behind you, his arms wrapped around you and your daughter’s shoulders. “The honeymoon can wait. But family’s a lot more important.”

“Yeah...” You agreed with a nod of your head. “Family’s a lot more important.”And your family, from now on, included Carter Baizen as well.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

From Chin To Yon Rah (Part 15)

When she wakes she isn’t truly so. She is mostly dazed. Dazed with pain and numbness. There is a physical emptiness to accompany it. She can’t feel the baby’s kick. She already knows that she won’t be feeling it again.

She could cry out for help. Could stumble her way out of the house, clutching her bleeding belly. But she doesn’t have a reason to. Instead she crawls over to Atsu and cradles him in her arms. He is so still. She can’t handle it. She carries him over to Hajime and lays him atop the man’s chest.

She still can’t find Caihong. She doesn’t think that she wants to. She nuzzles herself up against Hajime to the best of her ability with those loathsome boulders in the way. And she stays there. For a very long time she stays there. She stays there until an army from Chin comes to survey the wreckage, recover bodies, and rescue survivors.

They rescue her but she wouldn’t call herself a survivor. She thinks that most of her is dead. All of the parts that matter anyhow. Yet they lift her away from Hajime and Atsu anyways with a promise to help her give them a proper and honorable burial. She wants them to pitch her into the hole and bury her with them.

She is mostly delirious. She doesn’t quite remember much of the trip to Chin. She doesn’t think that there is anything to recollect she was too far away for it to have meant anything. And now she is tired. Tired and as alone as she has ever been. No one comes to hold her hand and make her sickbed more tolerable. No one is left to come for her.

She thinks of Min-Min, of her small medicine tent and she wonders if the woman has perished as well. She flexes her ankle. She didn’t think that she would be seeing Min-Min much after than but then Atsu had a fever. And then she...she… She holds her hand to her belly, freshly stitched and bathed. Freshly and suddenly vacated.

She screams. Anger. Terror. Rage. Mostly rage.

She had been okay. She had been better. She was fixing herself. She had plans; perhaps it was going to be years, decades maybe, after the birth of her baby, but she was going to go home. She was going to go home and resolve things left unfinished. She was going to be okay.

Why can’t she be okay? She thinks that maybe it is because she isn’t allowed. She has done too much wrong...killing the Avatar doesn’t make for good karma, even if he ended up living.

She can’t do it. She doesn’t want to. Her fingers graze the stitch work. It would only take one hard yank and...her screams have drawn attention. She feels a hand come around her wrist. “Don’t mess with that.” The woman says. “In fact we should get this bandaged, I don’t know why it hasn’t been already.”

The woman is kind to her. They are all kind and tentative. They tell her their names as they tend to her wounds and make promises that she will be fine in time. They tell her their names, yes, but she makes a point to not remember them. She doesn’t want to get attached. One way or another the things she gets attached to leave her.

The stress and the sorrow make her sick. Physically so, her head hurts constantly and her stomach is always upset. Though that can be the product of losing her baby. She isn’t sure. She doesn’t care. She is ready to be lost too.

On most nights Azula screams. She cries. She has fits until the doctors sedate her, she welcomes it, it is the only peace she can get. And it is a false serenity. A numb serenity. On most nights she relives it all again. On most nights she sees their faces. Hajime’s, Atsu’s, Caihong’s, and Seukhyun’s. Mostly she sees the face of the half-blind soldier and  the woman.

She will find them both. She will find them and pick them apart in ways that only the throes of grief-induced insanity can show her. She will kill the both of them and then she will show herself out--let Vaatu tangle her in his coil his dark, spirit tendrils around her and drag her off to his domain.

She grips her face in her hands, nails biting into her hairline. She can’t take it, truly she can handle no more. And just like the first time, there is no one to take her through it. No one to make it better.

And it is her own fault. They would still be alive if she had just kept wandering. She is a beacon for misfortune.

But she was born lucky, she remembers.

That day she learns...what’s the point in learning anything at all if all roads lead to the same dead end?

.oOo.

If she listens hard enough she can still hear them. Mostly they remind her that they love her. Sometimes they blame her. They ask her why she didn’t save them. Deep down, even on the surface, she is aware that they would never say anything of the sort. But sometimes she can’t help but agree with them anyhow.

Lately she can’t get them to stop and so she goes through most of her days quietly, hazily. Exhausted.

“Hi, Azula!” TyLee greets.

Azula goes tense, she isn’t in the mood or place to power through another awkward, stumbling conversation however well meant it is.

“Are you feeling any better?”

She isn’t at all. She starts to nod that she is, but she has hesitated for too long.

“What’s wrong.”

“You can read the journal when Zuko is done with it.” She replies simply. She doesn’t need TyLee to know that she still hears things. She doesn’t need any of them to know that.

“Mai and I were thinking of going to the hot springs today, do you want to come with?”

She supposes that it is better than lingering at home. Maybe she can drown the voices out. Let them rise away with the steam. “Alright.” TyLee grins and flounces off before she can change her mind. Agni, she hopes that no one will ask her about the scar. Maybe she should just bathe in her robe, it will save the serving girls the trouble of one more article in the laundry.

.oOo.

Azula leans back and exhales. The heat envelopes her body and the steam rolls off of her skin--that which is exposed anyhow. She splashes water over her face and tips her head back, back, back until only her face is on the surface. She pulls her head out of the water and lets it run in rivulets down her back.

“It feels nice, doesn’t it?”

“Refreshing, yes.” Azula agrees.

“Well I don’t see a better way of spending the afternoon.” Mai shrugs.

Azula can’t disagree, the churning and bubbling of the water is rather soothing and the kaleidoscope of soap aromas is charming enough. She relaxes back against the rocks. Her hair fans out and her robe billows.

“Why are you still wearing your robe?” Mai asks.

“It’s comfortable.” She isn’t particularly lying, the fabric drifting and shifting with the flow of the water, quite pleasantly brushes her skin. Watching it ebb and flow is almost mesmerizing. It is lulling, her weary exhaustion metamorphs into a more languid, comforting tiredness. And maybe she is due for a good nap. She supposes that one day away from her rigid firebending regime couldn’t hurt her. In fact it very well may help.

“It looks comfortable.” TyLee agrees.

Azula lifts her arm out of the water and her robe clings to it.

“It might not be as comfortable when you get out.” Mai points out.

Azula shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”

For a while she listens to Mai and TyLee talk amongst themselves. There is a sense of distant normalcy in hearing them chatter. She remembers days when they would make idle conversation as she poured over schemes and plans. She supposes that they always had a sort of chemistry that she was just on the outer fringes of.

“Are you okay, Azula?” TyLee asks.

“You seem distant.” Mai adds.

“Just thinking.” She does that a lot. She does that too much. At least this time her thoughts are over things that she has mostly processed and forgotten. Mostly accepted. She toys with the drifting fabric. She is certain that the two of them have grown much closer in her absence. She isn’t sure that she really fits into the picture anymore, she isn’t sure that she ever truly had. She was a leader nothing more, nothing less. There might have been a bond, at least a small one but she hadn’t known how to make anything of it. They have a bond that she can’t...

“Are you sure that you’re okay?” TyLee asks again.

She isn’t. “I’m alright.” Maybe she should tell them the truth. Tell them that she ought to just keep her distance.

“Sokka said that last night was rough.”

“Today isn’t last night. I am fine now.” Maybe she just needs to give it more time. Maybe she is seeing problems where there doesn’t have to be any. She misses Wu-Jing where things just happened naturally. Where they just fell into place.

“Would you even tell us if something was wrong?” Mai sighs.

Azula is quiet for a good while. “No. Not yet.”

Mai nods. She doesn’t like the look TyLee gives her. The concern and the hurt. Even if trust wasn’t a factor she isn’t sure that she’d be able to talk about it a second time. She has ruined a perfectly relaxed mood. She dunks her head under the water again. “I am going to dry off.”

“Okay.” TyLee smiles. “Maybe we can try this again when you’re feeling better.”

“That sounds nice.”

.oOo.

“How did it go with Mai and TyLee?” Sokka asks.

“Well enough, I suppose.” She draws her legs onto the sofa and sits upon them.

“You’re soaking wet.” He observes.

She ought to change her robes and ring her hair out. But she has already sat down. “We went to the springs.”

“And you left your robe on?” He quirks a brow.

“TyLee would ask.” She shrugs. “About the scar.” She rubs her thumb against it. “I don’t want to answer questions.”

“Okay, no questions.” He fixes her with a look, a strange one. Perhaps something mischievous. “Actually, one question. Do you like your pancakes with or without little smiley faces?”

“I like my pancakes served at breakfast time, not lunch time.”

“Okay, but let's just say that some dashing, hilarious, and very charming fellow has made some pancakes. Do you want it to have a smiley face made out of fruits.”

She rolls her eyes. “He can have full creative control.”

“Smiley face it is!” He declares.

She clears her throat. “While you do that, I am going to…” she gestures to her robe. He gives her a thumbs up and she makes her way to her bedroom. She discards her waterlogged robe and slips into a particularly oversized shirt and baggier pants. They are comfortable enough.

She fixes her pendant around her neck and tucks it under her shirt. She picks up the stone next and rubs her thumb over its surface. She thinks that she will have it sewn into the badgermole. She thinks that she will sew it into the badgermole. But she doesn’t know how to sew. She scoops the stone and the badgermole up and places them on her bed.

.oOo.

“This would taste much better if it were breakfast time.”

Sokka rolls his eyes. “It would taste just the same!”

She shakes her head, “my sense of taste is the strongest in the morning.”

“That’s not even possible?” But she says it with such a confidence that it might just be. “Did I do a good job?”

She looks down at the pancake. “This eye is lopsided. But it is fine. Also, this strawberry chunk isn’t in line with the rest of them.”

Sokka sighs and pushes that chunk slightly upwards. “Better?”

“Significantly.” She replies. He watches her pour a small helping of syrup over it. “Do you know how to sew, Sokka?”

“I know enough to patch up clothes if I have to. Why?”

“I have a project that I would like to work on. A patch will do just fine.”

“Finish your pancake and I can get working on it.”

She shakes her head. “I want to do it. You show me how.”

“Okay, I can do that.” He smiles. He hadn’t expected her to return the smile. She has a nice smile, a soft, pretty smile. He hopes that he can make it last.