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"Eternal whispers of you"

marcus acacius x f!reader

Summary: In a time of ancient empires, the forbidden love between a powerful general, Marcus Acacius, and the emperor's sister was met with tragedy. Their affair was discovered, and the emperor cursed his sister to live an eternal life, forced to witness Marcus die in every lifetime without the chance to love him fully again. After a thousand lives, would they meet again?

w.c: 13k (this was supposed to be 8k.)

warnings: angst, power imbalance, loss, separation, mentions of curse, some historical mistakes, the story also takes place in the modern day (I'm telling you) not proofreading. paragraphs in cursive indicate flashbacks.

a/n: This idea was better in my head, but the last Gladiator 2 trailer made me feel things and inspired me to write this. You will also notice inspiration from "The Age of Adeline" in this story. I hope you like it cuz it took me three days to write it. You will notice some inaccurate facts but it was for the sake of the story and my imagination, don't judge me, please. Happy reading and PLEASE share your thoughts with me. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. 💌

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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You were cursed to a life without an ending. Lonely and loveless, every day of your life or any love you could find wouldn't reciprocate and you were going to be condemned to see them grow old and die, and you would continue to live a life in an endless cycle of tragedy.

You were condemned to just tell stories about the man of your life, the one who had been murdered and punished to die without honor for your brother's poisoned mouth.

You became a traitor for the empire. But not cries out of shame or the dirty words of people hurt as much as the day you hold Marcus’s hand for the last time as his eyes closed in a forever eternity that you were going to live without him.

Not even death could put you both together in the same path. You were cursed to remember his love, and you were cursed to never see him again and to live a never-ending life without the love who made your life a field of dreams.

The night after your love affair with Marcus was discovered. The emperor, your brother, furious with your betrayal, condemned both of you. You were summoned to the imperial court, where your brother delivered the punishment. His words sting like venom, cursing Marcus to die dishonorably in front of your eyes.

That night still haunted you.

The imperial court was dimly lit by the flickering flames of torches, casting shadows across the towering marble columns. You stood at the center, your heart pounding like war drums in your chest. Your brother, sat upon his gilded throne, his eyes dark with fury. You could barely hear the words that escaped his lips, but their venom poisoned the air between you.

“Traitor,” he spat, his voice echoing through the chamber. “You have betrayed not only your empire but your blood.”

Your eyes flicked to Marcus, kneeling beside you, bound and bruised. The strong, unyielding general was barely recognizable under the weight of chains and despair. His gaze, however, remained fixed on you, calm, resolute, and filled with love that no curse could shatter.

Your brother’s face twisted with rage as he stood, his robes sweeping the floor like the wings of a vulture. “You,” he snarled, his finger pointing at Marcus, “will die with dishonor, like a common criminal for taking advantage of my sister. And you,” he turned to you, his eyes burning with hatred, “You will be cursed to an eternal life, loveless and alone. You will remember this betrayal every waking moment for the rest of your existence, and you will never know peace again.”

Tears pricked your eyes, but you did not flinch. The emperor’s voice rose like a storm. “You will watch him die, over and over, in your memory. And with every death you witness, you will be reminded that this is your doing. You will live forever, but you will die inside every day.”

With a gesture of his hand, the guards dragged Marcus away. His eyes never left yours, filled with an unspoken promise of love that neither time nor curse could take from you. You reached for him, your fingers grazing his as they pulled him further from you, his touch slipping away like sand between your fingers.

You screamed his name, but your voice was swallowed by the cold, empty hall. The weight of your brother’s words crashed down on you like a wave, and you fell to your knees. The curse had already begun.

The day of Marcus’s execution came far too soon.

They paraded him through the streets like a criminal, his once-glorious armor stripped from him, replaced with the rags of the condemned. The crowd jeered and spat, but you saw none of it. All you saw was Marcus, broken, yet still impossibly strong.

You stood at the front of the crowd, the place of honor reserved for the emperor’s family, forced to witness the final blow. As they prepared to end his life, your heart pounded in your chest, each beat screaming for you to do something, to save him.

But you were powerless.

Marcus turned his head toward you one last time, his eyes soft, filled with a love that had transcended the horror of the moment. His lips moved, forming words meant only for you.

“I will find you again.”

With that, the sword fell.

The world shattered around you. You dropped to your knees as the crowd roared with approval, but the noise was drowned out by the sound of your heart breaking. You clutched your chest, feeling the jagged pieces of your soul tearing at you, but the pain wasn’t enough to free you from the curse. You couldn’t escape. The curse wouldn’t let you.

You watched as Marcus’s body was dragged away, knowing you would never hold him again.

After Marcus’ death, you begin to experience your immortality firsthand. You don’t age, but the world around you does. At first, the pain is too great, and you isolate yourself, haunted by the memory of his final moments. You visit his grave every day, talking to him as if he were still alive.

There’s a sense of numbness, a hollow ache where his presence used to be. You realize the gravity of your curse the first time you notice gray hairs on the friends and people around you, but none on yourself. While others grow old and die, you remain the same, a constant in a world of change.

You slowly started to see the empire fall, and with it the death caught your family, one by one. Geta was the first, the middle of a family you now considered cursed. The, your mother and father met the same fate, and finally, Caracalla met death too, murdered by a soldier. He died without honor and he would be remembered as the cruelest imperator, you would make sure of it.

You were the only left from the fallen family, you could have saved the empire from breaking into pieces, but you weren’t going to sacrifice any second from your eternal life on it, so you erased yourself from Rome and from the history of it.

You left Rome behind, watching the city fall to ruin, its power crumbling with each passing year. The empire you had once known, that had been ruled by your family, was now a memory, a fading echo in the vastness of time. You no longer belonged there, and you had no desire to preserve what had been lost. The weight of your curse consumed you, drowning out any loyalty you might have once felt.

Instead, you wandered, drifting across continents and centuries. At first, you tried to hide, retreating to the furthest corners of the earth, away from people, away from the pain of watching those around you wither and die. Each new connection, each fleeting friendship, was a reminder of the man you could never forget, of Marcus's warm touch and his promise to find you again, unfulfilled.

But the world was relentless, and no matter how much you tried to isolate yourself, it continued to grow, to change. Civilizations rose and fell, each one leaving its mark on history, yet you remained untouched by time. You began to realize the truth of your brother’s curse, not just the eternity of your life, but the eternal loneliness that accompanied it.

The worst part wasn’t just the loss of your family or Marcus’s death; it was the fact that no matter where you went or how much time passed, you could never escape the memory of him. The grief was always there, lingering just beneath the surface, a shadow following you wherever you went. You carried the weight of his death, not just as a memory, but as an unending, crushing reality that haunted your dreams and your waking moments.

In the centuries that followed, you watched as kingdoms rose from the ashes of the Roman Empire. You saw the birth of new religions, new governments, new ways of thinking, but you remained on the outside, forever watching, forever unchanged. While others lived their lives, you were a ghost, slipping through the cracks of history, unnoticed and unseen.

But you could never forget Marcus. No matter how hard you tried to distance yourself from the pain, he was always there in your thoughts. His memory became your only companion, the one thing that time could never take from you. You told stories of him, of his strength, his courage, his love, but never revealed the truth. They were just tales to those who listened, history that no one could verify, but for you, they were the only way to keep his memory alive.

You returned to his grave as often as you could, though as the centuries passed, even that became more difficult. The world changed around you, the landscapes shifted, cities were built and destroyed, and the places you had once known became unfamiliar. His grave, once a sacred place for you, was lost to time. It was one of the last connections you had to him, and when it was gone, it felt as though a piece of you had been taken too.

There were moments when you tried to end your existence, hoping to find Marcus in the afterlife. You throw yourself into battles, attempt poison, even seek out dark magic, but nothing works. The curse prevented any harm from lasting.

The curse ensures that you never forget Marcus, his face, his touch, the sound of his voice. You find yourself returning to places that remind you of him, like the old battlefield where you first met, or the quiet corners of the palace where you shared stolen moments.

You often found yourself returning to places that held memories of Marcus. The battlefield where you first met, where he had caught your eye in the midst of the chaos, remained sacred to you. You would stand there, recalling the way your heart raced when he first spoke to you. The palace too, though long gone, remained vivid in your mind. You could still hear the echo of your laughter as you shared secret moments in the quiet corners, moments stolen from the prying eyes of the court.

But none of these memories could fill the void that had been left behind. You were a shell of who you had once been, and your existence was now defined by the absence of Marcus.

You became a witness, watching people fall in love, create families, grow old, and die. It was a cycle you had been denied, and it filled you with both longing and bitterness. The worst part of your immortality wasn't the endless life itself, it was the endless isolation, the inability to ever truly connect with anyone again.

In the present day, the weight of centuries finally began to take its toll. You had lived through empires, witnessed the birth of new nations, and seen countless lives come and go. Yet, no matter where you went or how much time passed, you remained haunted by Marcus’s memory. He was always there, a specter in your mind, the only constant in your immortal existence.

After wandering aimlessly for decades, you found yourself drawn to history once again, not just as a passive observer, but with a deep desire to preserve the past.

You were in a quiet bookstore, surrounded by shelves of dusty books. Your hands ran over the spines of history texts as you stopped at a volume about Ancient Rome. The familiar symbols, the names, even the dates of battles were etched in your mind like scars. You paused on a chapter dedicated to General Marcus Acacius, your Marcus. He was remembered as a hero, a man of honor, but the truth of his death, the betrayal, has been lost to history. You smiled at the thought that even Caracalla’s venom words, didn’t tinted Marcus’s name on history.

The memories fled back in an instant, the first time you saw Marcus commanding his troops, his fierce yet kind eyes, the way he smiled when no one else was looking. It was a painful nostalgia, one that made your chest tighten. You’ve avoided facing the truth about the Roman Empire for so long, unable to face the weight of those memories. But you realized now that telling Marcus’ story was the only way to keep him alive.

You left the bookstore, a decision already made in your heart. You would become a history teacher, and through your lessons, you would keep Marcus alive in a way that no curse could take from you.

At the first day in the classroom. The desks were arranged neatly, sunlight streaming through the windows, and your students were filing in. You stood at the front of the room; your hands rested on the chalkboard. It was strange, being back on an important role where you were meant to pass on knowledge. But for you, this was more than just education, it was a form of remembrance.

You felt a mixture of nerves. This was a chance to talk about Marcus again, to give him the honor he was stripped of in life. You weren’t sure if you were becoming crazy through this endless circle, and you didn’t know if you still were twisting the knife of endless memories you had of him, but you know that this was the closest you had been to him. As you students settled in, you introduce yourself, with a new of the thousand names you had had during your long life. You dove into your lecture about the Roman Empire. When you mentioned Marcus, your voice faltered just slightly, but you pressed on, determined to honor him in the only way left to you.

As you stood before your students, your mind wandered back to the times when you were with Marcus, the memories flooding in, unbidden but unstoppable. The classroom around you faded, and the vivid images of the Roman Empire took over. You were no longer in the present, but back in the heart of ancient Rome, standing beside him, your love, your general.

It was a warm summer evening in Rome. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky awash in shades of deep orange and purple. You and Marcus were hidden away in a secluded corner of the palace, stealing a moment of peace amid the constant threat of discovery. His armor had been discarded, instead he was wearing his cloak as if it could erase the responsibility off his shoulders. In that moment, he was not a general, he was just Marcus, yours, the man you loved.

His hand brushed against yours, sending a shiver up your spine. You had to be careful, even here. The walls had ears, and the court was always watching. But with him, you found yourself willing to take the risk. The world outside your bubble of stolen moments didn't matter. Not the empire, not your brother, not the looming consequences. Just Marcus.

"You should go," he whispered, his voice low and rough. "It's too dangerous."

But you shook your head, stepping closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. "I don't care," you whispered back, your heart racing. "Let them find out. Let the whole world know. I love you, Marcus."

He looked down at you, his dark eyes softening as they always did when he gazed at you. He placed a gentle hand on your cheek, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. "I love you too," he said, his voice filled with the same intensity you had come to depend on, but laced with sorrow. "But your family will not be kind to us.”

You knew he was right. You both did. The affair was treason, a betrayal to the honor of your family, to your brother. But the pull between you was too strong, too undeniable. It had started innocently enough, during the long strategy meetings Marcus held with your brother. You had caught glimpses of him, and over time, those stolen glances had become longer, lingering. Before you knew it, you were sneaking away from the palace, meeting him in secret, hiding your love from the watchful eyes of Rome.

In that moment, though, none of it mattered. He leaned down and kissed you, softly at first, as if testing the boundaries of your defiance, then more passionately, as if the whole world could burn for all he cared. You melted into his embrace, letting yourself get lost in the heat of the moment, your mind clouded by desire and the need to be close to him.

You snapped back to the present, your heart still racing as if you had just been pulled from Marcus’s arms. The students stared at you, waiting. You realized you had paused in the middle of your lecture, lost in the memory. Quickly, you cleared your throat, steadying your voice before continuing.

"General Marcus Acacius was one of the finest commanders Rome ever produced. He led with strength and honor, but..." you hesitated, a lump forming in your throat. "But history doesn’t always remember those who deserve it most. He died in dishonor, stripped of his title and his legacy.”

Your students watched you, unaware of the deep, personal meaning those words held for you. They were listening to a lesson, but you were recounting the loss of your greatest love.

And that’s how week after week, your lectures became more detailed. The students were captivated by your knowledge of the Roman Empire, unaware that you were telling them stories of your own life. When you spoke of the campaigns Marcus led, your tone softened, and the students sense the reverence in your words. They asked questions about him, and you answer with more care than you do for any other figure in Roman history.

Speaking about Marcus became a bittersweet ritual. You felt the same pain as you did centuries ago, but there was a strange comfort in saying his name aloud. With every story you tell, you feel like you were giving him a second life, bringing him back into the world if only for a moment. The students didn’t know it, but they were learning about a man who shaped you in ways that any book could never explain.

After class, you often sat alone in your office, a single lamp casting a dim glow. Old books of the Roman Empire were spread out before you, but your mind drifted away. You thought about the moments you shared with Marcus, the way he used to hold you after long days of battle, the whispered promises of a future that was stolen from you both.

The loneliness that had followed you for centuries still lingered, but teaching about him helped ease it, if only slightly. It was as though every time you speak his name, you were defying the curse, keeping his memory alive despite the gods’ punishment. But there were nights when the pain was too much, and you felt the weight of eternity pressing down on you. You wonder if Marcus could hear you, if somewhere, in some distant place, he knows you were still fighting to keep his honor intact.

It was late, the room lit only by the flicker of a single oil lamp. You were lying beside Marcus, the cool night seeping through the cracks of the window shutters. The war outside had raged on for weeks, but in this quiet moment, there was only the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence.

His arm was draped across your waist, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over the back of your hand. His touch was gentle, a contrast to the hardened general the world saw. Here, with you, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. You shifted slightly, laying your head on his chest, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you.

"You know we can't keep this up forever," he whispered, his voice thick with weariness and something more. Fear, perhaps. Or resignation.

You didn’t reply right away. You knew the truth of his words there was always the looming threat of discovery, of punishment. But in this moment, you wanted to pretend, just for a little longer, that the world outside didn’t exist. That this wasn’t forbidden. That you weren’t living on borrowed time.

He caressed your hand, the roughness of his calloused fingers a stark reminder of the battles he fought, the sacrifices he made. "I would give it all up, you know," he continued, his voice soft, barely audible. "The empire, the glory, everything. Just to stay here with you."

Your heart twisted painfully at his words. You knew he meant them, and you wanted to believe in a future where such sacrifices could lead to a peaceful life together. But you both knew better. The weight of duty and the ever-watchful eyes of the emperor, your brother, were never far from your thoughts.

"You don't have to give up anything, Marcus," you whispered, bringing your hand to his cheek, guiding his gaze to yours. "I love you as you are. And for as long as we have, that will be enough for me."

But even as you said the words, a sinking feeling settled in your chest. You had always known that the empire was a ruthless machine, and it would not allow your love to exist without a price. Still, you closed your eyes, pressing your lips to his, letting the kiss linger as though you could keep time at bay, as though you could stop the inevitable.

When you pulled away, Marcus smiled faintly, his thumb brushing your lower lip. "If only we could stay like this forever," he murmured.

You leaned back in your chair, the weight of eternity pressing down once again. Could Marcus hear you now? Could he feel your longing across the vast time? You didn’t know. But you hoped, no, you believed that somehow, somewhere, he still held you in his heart, just as you held him in yours.

One day, a student stayed behind after class, intrigued by the depth of your knowledge about Marcus Acacius. “It’s like you knew him,” she said, half-joking. “How do you know so much about his life? There’s not much written about him in the sources we have.”

For a moment, you’re taken aback. You’ve been careful to keep your personal connection to Marcus hidden, but the student’s words strike a chord. You felt the urge to tell her the truth, that you did know him, that you loved him, that you were cursed to live on without him. But instead, you smile softly and say, “I’ve studied him for a very long time. Some stories just stay with you.”

The student nodded, satisfied with your answer, but as she left, you felt a pang of longing. You wished, just once, you could tell someone the truth. But you know the world wasn’t ready for your story. It’s a secret you’ll carry alone.

As the years passed, teaching became your refuge. You taught more than just facts and dates, you taught the human side of history, the emotions and relationships that shaped the past. Through your stories, Marcus lived on in the minds of your students, and that gave you a small sense of peace.

The curse still lingered, and the pain of losing Marcus never would fade completely. But through your lectures, you’ve found a way to keep his memory alive. You couldn’t bring him back, but you could ensure that he was remembered, not as the man who was unjustly killed, but as the honorable general who loved you. In that way, you fought against the curse, turning your suffering into something meaningful.

One afternoon, as your students filled out of the classroom, you noticed one student lingering behind, gathering his things slowly. You've been watching him for a few weeks now, and it hasn’t escaped your attention that he always sat alone, quiet and withdrawn. His name was David, and though he never caused any disruptions, he seemed distant from the rest of the class, lost in thought, barely engaging with the lessons.

You decide it was time to reach out.

After the classroom emptied, you approached David as he slanged his backpack over one shoulder. His eyes remained downcast, and you sensed a heaviness about him, something familiar in the way he seemed to carry the world on his shoulders.

“David,” you said gently, “can I speak to you for a moment?”

He glanced up, surprised, but nodded. You gestured toward the front of the room, and he hesitantly followed you. The two of you sat across from each other, the quietness of the empty classroom made the moment more intimate.

You saw something familiar on him, soft brown eyes

You looked at David and felt a strange sense of recognition. His soft brown eyes held a weight that was all too familiar, reminding you of someone you had long ago lost. The resemblance was subtle, but it struck a chord deep within you, like an echo from a past you had tried to forget.

"Is everything alright?" you asked gently, hoping to break through the wall he had built around himself.

David shrugged, staring down at the desk in front of him. “I’m fine,” he mumbled, but you could tell from his tone that he wasn’t.

You leaned forward, trying to catch his gaze. “It’s okay if you're not. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He glanced up briefly, then away again, the silence between you heavy with unspoken thoughts. There was something more than just teenage angst weighing on him. Something deeper.

“Do you live with your parents?” you asked, thinking you could reach out to them, perhaps offer a meeting to better understand what was troubling him.

David shook his head slowly. “No, it’s just me and my dad.”

His words were like a key, unlocking a door that had remained sealed for centuries. The moment he mentioned his father, a strange chill ran down your spine. You couldn’t explain it, but something inside you shifted, as if the ground beneath your feet had suddenly become unstable.

Before you could ask another question, David continued. “He…he works a lot, doesn’t talk much about stuff. But he cares. I know he does.”

You nodded, sensing a familiar loneliness in his words, one that mirrored your own. “I’d like to meet him,” you said, though the idea stirred something unsettling within you. “Maybe we could have a talk, see if we can help you feel more connected here.”

David shrugged again but didn’t resist. “I guess. I’ll let him know.”

A few days later, you arranged for a meeting with David’s father. As the time approached, you couldn’t shake the unease that had settled into your bones since the conversation with David. There was something about him, about his eyes, his manners, that reminded you of Marcus in a way that felt impossible. But centuries had taught you that the impossible often had a way of finding you.

The classroom door creaked open, and you looked up from your desk. David walked in first, looking a bit anxious, followed by his father. The moment you saw him, your breath caught in your throat.

It was Marcus.

He stood there, lingering by the door, his eyes locking with yours. Though time had passed, and he appeared as someone entirely new, the essence of him, his presence, his soul, was unmistakable. He looked at you with a furrowed brow, as if trying to place you, the same soft brown eyes that had haunted your dreams staring back at you in the flesh.

He stepped in slowly, a tall man with broad shoulders, dark eyes, and a calm yet commanding presence. He looked almost exactly the same as he did all those centuries ago, his hair was streaked with gray, and there was a tiredness around his eyes, but the face, the face was unmistakable.

It was Marcus.

Your heart pounded violently in your chest, and for a split second, you felt dizzy, as if the ground had shifted beneath your feet. Memories fled back, so overwhelming it was as if you were living them all over again: his voice, his touch, the way he smiled at you in those quiet moments when no one else was around. Your throat tightened, your hands trembled, and you could barely breathe. You waited for centuries, living in the shadow of his absence, knowing he would never return to you. And yet, here he is.

You’re stared at a man who didn’t remember the life you shared. A man who looked like Marcus but had no idea of the love, the pain, the eternity you’ve endured without him.

He didn’t recognize you, of course. How could he? You’ve lived for centuries, unchanged, while he, he’d been given a new life, one free from the curse that bound you. He cleared his throat, clearly waiting for you to speak, and it was only then that you realize you’d been standing there, staring.

“Uh… I’m David’s father,” he says, extending a hand. His voice was deeper now, worn by time, but the tone. It was Marcus. It was him.

You forced yourself to take his hand, and the moment your fingers touched, the air in the room seemed to thin. The connection was immediate, electric, and your mind spun with the impossibility of what’s happening. You shook his hand, trying to steady yourself, trying to keep from falling apart.

“I’m… I’m David’s teacher,” you managed to say, your voice shaky. You gave him your name, though you were almost certain the sound of it, the familiarity of it, would spark something in him. But nothing. He was just a man, living an ordinary life, unaware of the past you shared.

He sat down across from you, unaware that this is the most surreal moment of your long, cursed life.

“David’s mentioned he’s been struggling,” he began, looking down at his son, and there was concern in his voice. “I’ve been worried about him. I thought maybe it had to do with his schoolwork.”

You forced yourself to focus, trying to push down the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you. How could Marcus be here, sitting in front of you, unchanged yet completely different? He didn’t recognize you, he couldn’t. He had lived and died, while you had remained frozen in time. This man, David’s father, had no knowledge of the centuries of pain you had carried or the love you had lost.

“Yes, David has been a little distant,” you managed to say, your voice barely steady. You glanced at David, who sat quietly next to his father, unaware of the storm brewing inside you. “He’s a bright student, but I’ve noticed he’s been… struggling to engage.”

Marcus—no, not Marcus, David’s father—nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, we’ve had a rough few months,” he admitted, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “I’ve been working a lot, and it’s been just the two of us since his mother left. I think it’s been harder on him than I realized.”

The way he spoke, the cadence of his words, the soft concern in his voice, it was Marcus. Your heart ached with the familiarity of it, but the reality crashed down on you just as quickly. He didn’t know who you were. He didn’t remember anything about the life you had shared, about the love you had lost. To him, you were just another teacher, another stranger.

“I understand,” you replied, trying to keep your voice level. “Maybe we can work together to help him feel more connected. Sometimes, just having a consistent presence can make all the difference.”

As you spoke, your eyes couldn’t help but drift back to him, trying to reconcile the man sitting in front of you with the one who had held you centuries ago. He was so close and yet so impossibly far away. He had no memory of you, no recollection of the love that had once bound you together. It was both a blessing and a curse—he was free from the torment that had plagued you for centuries, but you were left alone in your knowledge of what you had once shared.

“I’ll do whatever I can,” he said, glancing at David with a softness that made your chest tighten. “I want to make sure he’s okay. It’s been tough on both of us.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. This was your Marcus, but not your Marcus. He was a father now, concerned about his son, living a life you had never been a part of.

The meeting wrapped up quickly after that. You offered some advice, discussed possible ways to help David, but all the while, your thoughts were consumed by the impossibility of the situation. As they both left the room, Marcus lingered for a moment by the door, his eyes meeting yours once again.

“I appreciate you taking the time,” he said quietly. “I know it’s not easy, but… it means a lot.”

You nodded, unable to trust your voice. “Of course.”

He gave you a small, almost hesitant smile before he turned and left, his footsteps echoing in the hallway. And then you were alone, the weight of your endless existence pressing down on you once more.

As you sat there, staring at the door through which he had just walked, you realized the cruel twist of fate you now faced. Marcus had been given another chance at life—a chance to live without the burden of the past, without the curse that had chained you to eternity. But you, you remained the same, trapped in an endless cycle of love and loss.

As you sat there in the quiet, the memories of Marcus flooded your mind—his voice, his touch, the way he looked at you all those centuries ago. You were lost in the whirlwind of it when you suddenly heard footsteps approaching. Your heart quickened, and before you could even turn, you knew who it was.

David’s father-Marcus- stood in the doorway again, hesitating for a moment. His brow furrowed in thought, as though something was tugging at the edges of his consciousness, something familiar that he couldn’t quite place. He cleared his throat, and when you finally met his eyes, your heart nearly stopped.

“I know this might sound strange,” he begins, his voice softer now, uncertain. “But… have we met before?”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. For centuries, you had dreamed of hearing those words, of him somehow remembering you, but now that it was happening, you didn’t know how to respond. How could you explain what was beyond comprehension? That you had loved him deeply, that you had lived lifetimes while he had been reborn, oblivious to the pain you still carried?

You forced a smile, trying to hide the turmoil inside you. “I… I don’t think so,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly.

He looked at you closely, his eyes searching your face, as if trying to pull a long-forgotten memory to the surface. For a fleeting moment, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—the curse wasn’t as strong as you thought. Maybe some part of him did remember.

“There’s just something familiar about you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, a gesture you remembered all too well. “It’s strange… like I’ve seen you before. Or… I don’t know.” He gave a sheepish laugh. “Maybe I’m just overthinking it.”

You felt your breath catch. It would be so easy to tell him the truth, to give in to the temptation of finally revealing who you really were. But what good would that do? He was living a new life, and you had no place in it.

“Maybe we’ve crossed paths somewhere before,” you replied, your voice steadying even as your heart ached. “The world can be small like that.”

He nodded, but you could see the doubt lingering in his eyes. “Yeah, maybe.” He looked down at the ground for a moment, then back up at you. “Thanks again for everything. I really appreciate it.”

You nodded, offering him a smile that felt like a lie. “Of course. Take care.”

With that, he gave you one last look—one that made your chest tighten—and turned to leave. As his footsteps echoed down the hallway, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made the right choice in keeping the truth hidden.

For the first time in centuries, you weren’t sure what your future held. All you knew was that Marcus was out there again, living a life you could never be a part of. And once again, you were left with the memories, the only thing that time and the curse had not been able to take from you.

Alone in your office, the weight of eternity pressed down on you more heavily than ever before.

A few days passed, but the encounter with David’s father lingered in your mind like a ghost. You went through your routine, teaching classes, grading papers, keeping up the mask you had worn for centuries. But beneath the surface, the storm raged on. You could still feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken recognition that had passed between you. He didn’t know the truth, but something inside him remembered.

Meanwhile, across the city, Marcus found himself wrestling with a strange, unshakable feeling. It had been there ever since he met you at the school, a persistent pull that gnawed at him in quiet moments. He tried to push it aside, rationalize it as nothing more than stress, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

At first, it was just small flashes—your face as you had looked at him, the way your voice had trembled ever so slightly when you spoke. There was something familiar about you, something that stirred a sense of déjà vu he couldn’t explain. And then, the dreams began.

They started out hazy at first, fragments of images that disappeared as soon as he woke. A battlefield, the clash of swords, and always…you. Standing there in the distance, watching him. He couldn’t make sense of it, and every morning he woke with the same unsettled feeling gnawing at him.

It got worse with each passing day. He found himself driving by the school on his way to work, glancing at the building as if he might see you standing there. He caught himself wondering what you were doing, if you remembered him in some strange way too. It didn’t make sense, but the pull was real, undeniable.

One night, after tossing and turning in bed, Marcus sat up, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The dreams had returned again, this time more vivid than ever. In them, you had been lying beside him, your fingers intertwined with his as he whispered something he couldn’t quite remember. The sensation was so real, so intense, that he had woken with his heart racing, the image of your face burned into his mind.

He couldn’t keep ignoring it.

The next day, after dropping David off at school, Marcus found himself walking back to the classroom where he had first met you. He didn’t have a clear plan, only a need to see you again, to understand why this strange connection existed between the two of you.

When he arrived, he stood outside the door, hesitating for a moment. What would he even say? He didn’t know if he was ready for whatever this was, or if you would even feel the same pull. But the need to know, to see you, overpowered the doubts.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked softly on the door and waited.

Inside the classroom, you had been in the middle of organizing papers when the knock startled you. You weren’t expecting anyone, and your heart leapt in your chest at the possibility that it could be him. You took a deep breath before opening the door, bracing yourself for whatever was to come.

When you saw Marcus standing there, his familiar brown eyes looking at you with that same confusion and intensity, you knew this moment had been coming. His presence was overwhelming, and for a brief moment, it was as if centuries fell away and you were back in that palace with him, before the curse, before the loss.

“I’m sorry for dropping by like this,” he said, his voice softer than you remembered, though the same cadence was there. “I just… I’ve been thinking about our meeting the other day. I can’t shake this feeling that there’s something—”

He trailed off, searching for the right words, clearly struggling to articulate the pull he was feeling.

You stood there, your heart pounding, knowing that this conversation was teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something you couldn’t fully control.

“Something familiar?” you finished for him, your voice almost a whisper.

His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded. “Yeah. Exactly that.” He ran a hand through his hair, looking almost embarrassed. “I know it sounds crazy, but since I met you, it’s like I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. I keep having these…dreams, and it doesn’t make any sense, but it feels like I’ve known you before.”

Your heart pounded at his words, the weight of centuries crashing down on you all at once. His admission felt like a thread connecting the past to the present, something fragile and dangerous. You had never expected this—Marcus remembering, even if only in fragmented dreams. You could see the struggle in his eyes, the confusion he was trying so hard to make sense of.

You tried to steady your breath, knowing you couldn’t tell him the truth, not yet. It would unravel everything. But his presence, the way he looked at you as if he had known you for lifetimes, made it impossible to keep your emotions in check.

“I’m sure it’s just… coincidence,” you said softly, your voice betraying the turmoil inside you. “People get those feelings sometimes, don’t they? Like they’ve met someone before.”

He studied you for a moment, his brow furrowing. “Maybe.” But he didn’t sound convinced. He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s not just that. It’s something more. And I don’t understand why, but I feel like… I should know you. Like I’m supposed to know you.”

Your pulse quickened. It was dangerous, this line you were walking. If he kept pushing, if he kept searching for answers, the curse could be exposed. Yet, the way his eyes searched yours made your resolve falter. It was Marcus standing before you, but not the Marcus you had known. This was a man who had been granted a new life, free from the past that had chained you both.

“I’m just a teacher,” you said, forcing a small smile. “We only met a few days ago.”

He nodded, but the crease between his brows deepened, as if he was debating with himself, wrestling with whether to leave things be or push further. He took another breath, as though on the verge of saying something else, but then stopped himself, shaking his head slightly.

“I don’t usually do this,” he said, almost to himself, his voice low, hesitant. “But… would you like to get coffee sometime? I mean, not as David’s teacher, but just as… us.”

The question hung in the air between you, and you felt the ground shift beneath your feet. You had lived through countless lives, avoided countless connections, and yet here was Marcus, in this new form, asking you to start something again. It was as if fate was daring you to test the boundaries of the curse.

You hesitated, your heart torn between the longing you had carried for centuries and the knowledge that this was a path filled with danger. If he remembered more, if the past began to bleed into the present, what would that mean for him—for both of you?

“I…” You swallowed, unsure of what to say. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

His face fell slightly, disappointment flickering in his eyes. But then he smiled, trying to mask it. “I get it. I just—there’s something about you…”

Your chest tightened at his words. He was offering you an out, a way to walk away from this, to keep the curse at bay. But deep down, the thought of letting him go again, of walking away from the man you had loved for centuries, felt unbearable.

“I’ll think about it,” you whispered, almost afraid of your own answer.

He nodded, offering you a small, understanding smile. “Take your time.” His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, searching for something he couldn’t quite find. “I’ll see you around.”

And then, he turned to leave, the weight of his unspoken questions hanging in the air like a ghost. You watched him go, your heart aching with the knowledge that fate was once again drawing you both into its web.

The door closed behind him, and you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. This was only the beginning, and you knew it. The past had a way of finding you, no matter how much time had passed.

A few days later, the school hosted a parent-teacher meeting. The hallways buzzed with the low hum of voices, the shuffle of papers, and the occasional sound of children darting between classrooms. You had prepared for a busy evening, but the thought of seeing Marcus again lingered in the back of your mind, an undercurrent to everything else.

You were speaking with another parent when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of him. He was standing near the entrance, casually scanning the room. For a moment, he looked lost in thought, his brow furrowed in that familiar way that tugged at your heart. And then, as if sensing your gaze, his eyes met yours.

The world seemed to pause.

The warmth of his smile was immediate, softening his features in a way that was both disarming and comforting. It was as though, in that brief moment, everything else in the room faded away. The connection between you, the pull that had been simmering beneath the surface since that first meeting, was undeniable. His eyes lingered on you, full of recognition that he couldn’t quite place, yet something deep inside of him understood.

As the conversation with the other parent wrapped up, you felt Marcus slowly making his way toward you, weaving through the crowded room. Your heart raced, knowing that whatever happened next, you wouldn’t be able to pretend that the past didn’t exist—not for much longer.

“Hi,” he greeted you, his voice warm and easy as he stopped in front of you.

“Hi,” you replied, your voice barely steady as you met his gaze.

He glanced around briefly before looking back at you. “Busy night?”

You nodded, the weight of the moment making it hard to find words. “Yeah. A lot of parents to talk to.”

Marcus gave a small chuckle. “I guess I’m one of them.” But the tone of his voice suggested he had more in mind than just the usual parent-teacher talk. His eyes searched yours again, that same sense of familiarity clouding his expression.

“You’ve been on my mind,” he admitted softly, leaning in just enough so that his words wouldn’t be overheard by anyone else. “I know it’s probably crazy, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the other day. And… about you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your chest tightening at his words. He was so close now, and you could feel the intensity radiating off him, the same intensity that had bound you together in another life.

“I…” You hesitated, knowing the danger in getting too close, in letting yourself fall into the old patterns. But something in the way he looked at you, the softness in his expression, made it impossible to resist. “I’ve been thinking about it too.”

His smile grew, a flicker of relief crossing his face. “I’m glad it’s not just me.”

You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the same battle he was fighting inside himself—the inexplicable connection, the way the past seemed to bleed into the present even though he couldn’t understand why.

“I know we’re at a parent-teacher meeting,” he said, his voice a bit lower now, “but maybe after this, we could grab that coffee? Well, we could make it, a dinner. I’m still trying to make sense of this, of what I’m feeling, and I’d really like to talk to you… if you’re open to it.”

Your heart ached at the question, knowing that whatever happened, this was Marcus reaching out to you again, even if he didn’t remember the lives you had shared. You felt the weight of the curse pressing down on you, but for the first time in centuries, the idea of keeping your distance felt unbearable.

“I’d like that,” you said, surprising yourself with how easily the words came out.

His eyes lit up at your response, and he smiled again, this time a bit more confidently. “Great. I’ll wait for you after the meeting.”

And with that, he gave you a nod before moving off to join the other parents, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding with anticipation, fear, and hope all at once. You knew this meeting would be the beginning of something far more complicated than either of you could imagine.

The rest of the parent-teacher meeting passed in a blur. You were aware of the conversations happening around you, but your mind was somewhere else—focused on what was to come. Marcus had invited you for dinner, a simple gesture that felt monumental in the context of your tangled past. Every minute felt heavier with anticipation, knowing that after so many lifetimes of loss, this was your chance to be near him again, even if he didn’t remember.

When the meeting finally ended, you gathered your things and made your way toward the entrance. You spotted Marcus waiting by the doors, hands in his pockets, eyes searching the crowd. As soon as he saw you, that familiar warmth spread across his face, and for a moment, it was like stepping back in time.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of something deeper.

You nodded, offering him a soft smile. “Yeah, ready.”

Together, you made your way out to the parking lot. David was waiting by their car, playing with a small toy in his hands. When he saw you walking with his father, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Dad?” David asked, looking between the two of you. “Why’s my teacher coming with us?”

Marcus glanced down at his son, his smile never wavering as he reached over and tousled David’s hair. “She’s joining us for dinner tonight,” he explained lightly. “I wanted to say thank you for helping out with everything.”

David’s eyes widened, and he looked at you with a mix of curiosity and surprise. “Oh… okay,” he said slowly, clearly trying to process this new development. “So, like, you’re friends with my dad?”

You exchanged a quick glance with Marcus, both of you sharing a silent understanding of how complicated the truth really was.

“Something like that,” you answered with a gentle smile. “We’re just going to have dinner and talk about how to help you in school.”

David seemed to accept this explanation for now, though his gaze lingered on you a little longer before he climbed into the car. As you slid into the passenger seat, your thoughts were swirling. You were entering Marcus’s home, a place that was both familiar and foreign to him—a life he had built without any memory of you.

The drive to their house was quiet, but the tension between you and Marcus was palpable. Every now and then, you caught him glancing at you, as if he were trying to piece something together, to understand why he felt this pull toward you.

When you arrived at their home, Marcus led you inside. It was cozy, filled with the warmth of a lived-in space—family photos, toys scattered across the living room floor, the faint smell of something cooking. It was so different from the life you had known with him centuries ago, yet the sense of care and love was the same.

“Make yourself at home,” Marcus said, gesturing to the living room. “I’ll get dinner started. David, why don’t you help me set the table?”

David nodded and followed his father into the kitchen, but not before giving you one more curious glance. You settled onto the couch, feeling out of place and yet strangely at ease. This was Marcus’s life now, a life you had never been a part of, but somehow it still felt like home.

As they busied themselves in the kitchen, you couldn’t help but think about the enormity of what was happening. You were here, in his home, sharing a moment that felt so normal and yet carried the weight of centuries. It was a bittersweet reminder of everything you had lost and everything you still longed for.

After a few minutes, Marcus emerged from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. “Dinner’s almost ready,” he said, his voice soft. “Thanks for… well, for coming. I know it’s kind of last minute.”

You shook your head, offering him a small smile. “It’s fine. I’m happy to be here.”

He sat down across from you, leaning forward slightly, his expression thoughtful. “I meant what I said earlier. There’s something about you… something I can’t explain.” His voice was quieter now, as though he was sharing a secret. “It’s like I’ve known you forever, but I don’t know how or why.”

Your heart ached at his words, the familiar pain of your curse tugging at you. He was so close, yet so far from remembering the life you had shared. But in this moment, it was enough just to be here, to feel his presence again.

Dinner passed in a warm haze, filled with laughter and the comforting sounds of family. You enjoyed every bite, trying to savor the moment as Marcus shared stories about David's antics at school, his love for art, and the curious questions he had been asking lately. You felt a genuine connection growing, like the threads of your past weaving together with the present.

Once dinner was finished, David excused himself, yawning as he dragged his feet toward the living room. "I'm too tired to finish my project," he declared, and Marcus smiled, understanding that he was ready for bed.

“Okay, buddy, let’s get you settled,” Marcus said, ruffling his son’s hair as David headed up the stairs. After a few moments, you heard the soft sound of David’s door closing, followed by the gentle hum of a lullaby drifting down the hall.

With David tucked in, Marcus returned to the living room, a comfortable silence settling between you. He sank into the armchair across from you, and you both took a moment to collect your thoughts.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said, his eyes locking onto yours. “I didn’t expect to enjoy it so much.”

“I’m glad you did,” you replied, feeling your heart race under his gaze. “I had a great time.”

Marcus leaned back in his chair, a contemplative look crossing his face. “David has been talking about your lessons a lot lately. He’s become really obsessed with the Roman Empire.”

You couldn’t help but smile at that. “Really? That’s amazing to hear! What does he say?”

“Well,” Marcus chuckled softly, “he keeps mentioning this General Acacius as his hero. Apparently, he thinks it’s so cool that he’s a general and a fighter at the same time. I think he thinks he’s going to become a gladiator or something,” he said, rolling his eyes playfully.

Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of the name. “Marcus Acacius? He’s a fascinating figure in history. He had a complex life—fighting for honor and trying to navigate the politics of his time.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You really know your stuff, don’t you? It sounds like you’ve done quite a bit of research for your lessons.”

“I’ve always been passionate about history,” you admitted, feeling a warmth spread in your chest as you talked about your favorite subject. “Especially the stories of strong figures like him. I believe there’s so much we can learn from the past.”

“Do you think David sees himself in Acacius?” Marcus asked, leaning forward slightly, genuinely interested in your opinion.

“Perhaps,” you replied thoughtfully. “Or maybe he sees a bit of him in you” you said.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, surprise etched across his face. “In me?”

“Absolutely,” you continued, feeling the words flow more easily now. “You’re a dedicated father, and you fight for what’s best for your son, just like Acacius fought for his people. The way you support David, always encouraging his interests and nurturing his passions—that's heroic in its own right.”

He chuckled softly, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his features. “I’ve never thought of it that way. I just try to do my best for him.”

“Exactly,” you said, leaning in a little closer. “Being a hero isn’t just about great battles or glory; it’s also about the everyday moments—the sacrifices we make for the ones we love. That’s what really matters.”

Marcus’s gaze softened as he listened, and you could see him processing your words. “I guess I can see that. I want David to grow up feeling strong and capable, like he can achieve anything he sets his mind to.”

“And you’re doing just that,” you replied, your heart swelling with admiration for him. “He looks up to you, Marcus. Your presence in his life is already making a huge difference.”

The weight of his vulnerability hung in the air, and for a moment, it felt as if the world outside faded away. “You know, I never realized how much I needed this conversation until now,” he said, a genuine smile gracing his lips. “It’s refreshing to talk to someone who understands what it means to teach and inspire.”

“I’m glad,” you replied, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest.

Marcus nodded; his expression thoughtful. “Speaking of which, I actually bought a book for David the other day. It’s about Marcus Acacius—the general. I thought he might enjoy reading about a real-life hero.”

Your heart raced at the mention of the name, the connection striking a chord deep within you. “Really? I’d love to see it,” you said, your curiosity piqued.

With a spark of excitement, Marcus stood and walked toward a nearby bookshelf, scanning the titles. He pulled out a well-worn book, its cover faded but the spine intact. As he handed it to you, he said, “I thought it would be a great way to inspire him. The stories of bravery and leadership are so important, especially now.”

You opened the book and began flipping through the pages, the illustrations of ancient battles and heroic deeds instantly drawing you in. “This is wonderful, Marcus,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “David will love this.”

“I hope so,” he replied, his gaze fixed on you, watching your reaction with a mix of anticipation and pride.

As you admired the illustrations, Marcus leaned closer to look at the page you were on, his shoulder brushing against yours. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, and for a brief moment, it felt like you were back in another life, lost in a world where everything was simpler.

“This page really captures the spirit of what it means to be a hero,” you began, your voice soft yet earnest. “You know, once upon a time, a hero like Marcus Acacius fought not just for glory but for the love of those he held dear. It reminds me of the bond they shared—how love can be as powerful as any sword or shield.”

Your words hung in the air, the weight of history resonating in the silence between you. You continued, feeling emboldened by the moment. “In many ways, that love is what drove him, just as it drove someone else in a different time—someone who used to call her, mi dulce Cara’”

You glanced over at Marcus, watching as his expression shifted from curiosity to surprise. His eyes widened slightly, and he turned to face you fully. “What? How do you know that?”

The question echoed in the quiet room, and your heart raced at the realization of what you had just revealed. It was a nickname that only he had used, a term of endearment from a time long past, one that had been buried under centuries of memories and pain.

“I—” you hesitated, your mind racing as you tried to find the right words. “I guess I’ve always felt a connection to that name. It… it just came to me.”

Marcus studied you intensely, searching your eyes for answers. “But that have never been mentioned that to anyone. How could you know?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you realized how the truth was slipping through your fingers, how deeply you yearned for him to remember. “Sometimes, memories linger in the air, even when we think they’re lost,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “It’s like a whisper from the past.”

He looked at you, a mixture of confusion and intrigue swirling in his gaze. “A whisper?”

“Something like that,” you replied softly, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you. “Maybe it’s just… a feeling, or a part of a dream I once had. I can’t explain it, Marcus.”

The two of you sat there in silence, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering emotions. You could sense the gravity of the moment, the delicate thread that connected your past with the present, and you couldn’t help but hope that perhaps, just perhaps, this was the beginning of something that could bridge the gap between who you had been and who you were now.

Marcus leaned closer, his gaze intense and searching. “Dulce cara mia,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I spent years looking out for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as the familiar phrase hung in the air, a sweet reminder of the bond you once shared. It felt as if the walls between your past and present were beginning to crumble, allowing the sunlight of long-buried emotions to seep through.

“Wait… you remember that?” you asked, your voice barely a breath.

His words were a balm to your soul, igniting a flame of hope that you had thought long extinguished. “How could I forget about you, my love?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I've lived a thousand lives trying to find you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the weight of his confession settled over you like a comforting blanket. “You really mean that?” you asked, unable to hide the tremor in your voice.

“Every word,” he replied, his thumb gently brushing against your knuckles. “Even in this life, it felt as if something was missing. A part of me always knew you were out there, waiting for me.”

You felt a rush of warmth at his admission, the love that had been lost in the ages flooding back to you. “I thought I would never find you again,” you whispered, your heart aching with the bittersweet pain of your shared history. “I thought the curse would keep us apart forever.”

Marcus shook his head, his expression fierce. “No curse can hold us back. It may take a thousand lifetimes, but we always find each other. Always.”

His gaze bore into yours, filled with a fierce intensity that made your heart race. The air around you felt charged with emotion, and you could feel the weight of the moment pressing down like the world had paused just for you two.

“Every word,” he reiterated softly, nodding as he leaned in closer. The distance between you evaporated, and your breath caught in your throat as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingertips lingering against your skin. “I’ve missed you, cara,” he murmured, using that endearing name that sent shivers down your spine.

As he inched closer, the warmth radiating from him enveloped you like a comforting embrace. “I’ve spent so long searching for you,” he whispered, his lips hovering just inches from yours. “And now that I’ve found you again… I never want to let you go.”

Your heart swelled with emotion, and the tension in the air seemed to pulse with life. It felt as though everything around you faded into the background—the world, the past, the curse—all that mattered was this moment, this connection.

“Marcus,” you breathed, your voice barely audible as you leaned in, craving the touch of his lips against yours.

But then, just before your lips met, he pulled back slightly, searching your eyes with a mixture of longing and caution. “I won’t rush this. I want to savor every moment we have, to make it count.”

You nodded, your heart pounding as you took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the reality of this second chance. “I want that too,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you.

++++++

You were standing in the dimly lit corridors of the palace; the cold stone walls a stark contrast to the warmth you felt whenever Marcus was nearby. The sounds of soldiers and servants echoed faintly in the distance, but here, in this hidden alcove, the world felt small and intimate. Marcus had pulled you into the shadows, his hand firm but gentle on your arm, his eyes filled with the same intensity they held now.

“We must be careful,” you had whispered, your breath catching as he leaned in close, the smell of leather and sandalwood surrounding you. “If anyone sees us…”

But Marcus had silenced your worries with a soft kiss, his lips pressing against yours in a way that made your heart skip. “I would fight the whole empire if it meant being with you.” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous.

His words had sent a thrill through you, but you both knew the risks. You were not just any woman; you were the emperor’s sister, and Marcus was the empire’s fiercest general. Your love, while passionate and real, was forbidden—an act of treason in the eyes of those who held power over you.

Yet, none of that mattered when you were in his arms.

“I can’t stay away from you,” Marcus had whispered against your skin, his lips brushing the curve of your neck as he held you close. “Every moment I’m not with you feels like torture.”

You had smiled then, your hands tangling in his dark curls, pulling him closer, as if you could keep him with you forever. “We will find a way,” you had promised, though neither of you knew how. “We’ll be together, one day.”

For now, stolen kisses and secret embraces were all you had, and in those moments, it felt like enough. The weight of your circumstances melted away, leaving only the raw, unshakable truth of your love.

As Marcus kissed you again, more urgently this time, the world outside your alcove seemed to disappear. His hands traced the familiar lines of your body, and you clung to him, desperate to make the moment last, knowing it would be hours—maybe days—before you could find each other again.

“I love you,” he had breathed into your ear, his voice filled with the kind of vulnerability only you ever saw. “In this life and every life to come, Cara Mia.”

++++++

As the memory faded, you were pulled back into the present, Marcus still inches away, his intense gaze fixed on you. The warmth of that ancient kiss lingered between you, and the weight of the moment felt just as powerful now as it had back then.

His hand, still gently resting on your cheek, was real, solid, warm, and the centuries that had separated you seemed to dissolve in the space between your shared breath. The flicker of recognition deepened in his eyes, and you saw it, the understanding, the knowing.

“Cara,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been searching for you in every life. And now, here you are, right in front of me.”

You could hardly breathe, the intensity of his presence overwhelming. “Marcus,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “All this time… it’s been you. I knew it, I felt it.”

He nodded, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “I never forgot. Even when the memories were blurry, even when I didn’t understand… something inside me always knew.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I met many women during my life, but it was always you. I was always looking for you.”

the years of searching, of waiting, finally melting away. You could feel his love, not just from this life, but from the countless lifetimes before. He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath mingling with your own.

“I won’t lose you again,” he whispered, his voice filled with the determination of a man who had lived a thousand lives in search of one thing, one person.

You closed your eyes, a rush of emotion flooding through you, knowing that, this time, neither of you would have to live without the other.

the reality of your curse loomed at the back of your mind, like a shadow waiting to resurface. You opened your eyes slowly, pulling back just enough to look into Marcus’s eyes. The intensity was still there, but now, mixed with something else—worry, doubt.

“But what about the curse?” you asked softly, your voice trembling with the weight of the question. “We’ve found each other again, but… what if it’s not enough? What if we’re torn apart, just like all the other times?”

“I Will break it” he said, sealing a promise.

Marcus’s words hung in the air, a declaration so filled with determination that it made your heart ache with both hope and fear. His hand tightened around yours, grounding you in the moment as he repeated, “I will break it.”

You stared at him, searching his eyes for any hint of uncertainty, but all you saw was a fierce resolve—a promise he intended to keep, no matter the cost. The weight of his vow pressed down on you, the enormity of the task, the centuries of separation, all coming to the forefront of your mind. “How?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “How can you break something that has kept us apart for so long?”

“I don’t know,” Marcus admitted, his voice unwavering. “But I do know that I’m not the same man I was before. None of those lifetimes matter without you by my side, and I will tear down the heavens if I have to, to keep you with me.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the intensity of his love for you overwhelming. You could feel the fear still lurking beneath the surface, the fear that no matter how much you wanted this, how hard you fought, the curse would come between you once again. But something in the way Marcus looked at you, the absolute certainty in his gaze, made you want to believe him.

“And if we fail?” you asked, your voice barely more than a breath, the question slipping out despite yourself. “What if we can’t break it?”

Marcus shook his head, gently cupping your face in his hands. “We won’t fail,” he said softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Because this time, I’m not letting you go. I’m not letting anything stand between us. I’ll break the curse or die trying.”

Tears welled in your eyes as his words sank in, the promise of his love wrapping around you like a shield. For the first time in centuries, you allowed yourself to hope. Maybe, just maybe, this time could be different.

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, breaking the heavy tension that had settled between you. “People will talk again,” you said, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “That hasn’t changed.”

Marcus’s eyes lit up, a playful glint dancing behind the intensity of his gaze. “Let them talk,” he said with a shrug, his voice full of warmth and mischief. “They’ve been talking about us for centuries. Let them have something real to talk about this time.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound breaking through the lingering shadows of fear and doubt. It was a familiar feeling, this lightness that always seemed to come when you were with him, no matter how dire the circumstances. In a world that constantly threatened to tear you apart, these moments of shared joy felt like a rebellion, a testament to the strength of your bond.

“They’re going to say I’ve bewitched you,” you teased, leaning in a little closer, savoring the warmth of his presence. “Or that you’ve gone mad.”

Marcus grinned, his thumb still gently caressing your cheek. “Maybe I have,” he said, his voice low and full of affection. “Mad with love for you.”

You rested your forehead against his once more, your breath mingling with his as you whispered, “Let them talk, then. As long as we have this, as long as we have each other, none of it matters.”

Marcus’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. “Forever,” he whispered back, sealing the promise between you with a tender kiss.

You kissed him as though every single one of the lifetimes you had lived without him was pouring into this one moment. The touch of his lips against yours ignited something deep within you—a longing, a love, that had spanned centuries. All the heartache, all the searching, all the endless years of waiting melted away as you gave yourself fully to the kiss.

Marcus held you like he had done a thousand times before, but this time, it was different. This time, the kiss was filled with the knowledge that you had found each other again, that no matter what came next, you were together now. His hands traced the curve of your back, pulling you closer as if he were afraid you might disappear again.

You could feel the weight of all those years, all the love that had been lost and found again, in every movement, in every breath. His kiss was not just a promise but a reminder—a reminder of all the times he had loved you, all the moments you had shared in different lives, and all the moments you had missed. And now, here, you were living them all again.

When you finally pulled back, your breath coming in shallow gasps, you stared into his eyes, searching for the same fire you knew was burning inside you. It was there—strong, unwavering, eternal. “I’ve waited lifetimes for you,” you whispered, your forehead resting against his. “And I’d wait a thousand more if it meant I could be with you like this.”

Marcus’s gaze softened, and his fingers brushed tenderly against your jawline. “You won’t have to wait anymore,” he said, his voice steady and filled with love.

After the kiss, you found yourself in front of a mirror, your fingers lightly brushing over your lips, still tingling from the touch of his. The room was quiet now, the world beyond the two of you seemed distant, as though the very air had stilled to give you space for this moment. As you gazed at your reflection, a glimmer caught your eye.

There, among the strands of your hair, was a single grey hair. You reached up, gently twisting it between your fingers, a realization dawning on you with a surge of emotion. The curse. All those lifetimes, the endless cycle of living and dying, never aging, never truly being free… It was broken.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you had changed. The grey hair was proof—proof that time, real time, had touched you. Proof that you were no longer trapped in the endless loop of waiting, searching, and losing Marcus again and again.

Your heart swelled with emotion as you stared at the grey hair, a smile tugging at your lips. It wasn’t a sign of loss or fear, but of life—of the future you could now build together. The weight of your immortality, the curse that had kept you apart, had lifted.

Marcus’s reflection appeared behind you in the mirror, his eyes soft but filled with a quiet intensity. He gently placed his hands on your shoulders, his warmth grounding you in this new reality. “You see it too, don’t you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, unable to stop the tears from welling up. “It’s broken, Marcus. We’re free.”

His arms slid around you, pulling you close to his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, the sound of it a reminder that you were no longer bound by the past. “I told you,” he whispered against your hair. “No curse can keep us apart.”

#marcus acacias x reader #marcus acacius fanfiction #marcus acacius x f!reader #marcus acacius x you #marcus acacius x reader #general marcus acacius #marcus acacius fic #marcus acacius #gladiator 2 fic #gladiator 2 #gladiator 2 fanfiction #pedro pascal

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ninetailedfoxmanchi · 11 hours

Text

The Northern Winds (pt. 3)

PART 1 & PART 2

Summary: Lady Y/N is pregnant again after suffering a miscarriage. Winter is coming and with it spring and the news of Prince Jacaerys coming to Winterfell.

Warnings: pregnancy and its symptoms, childbirth, mention of postnatal depression, mention of rape, mature NSFW content (18+), SPOILERS FOR HOUSE OF THE DRAGON/FIRE AND BLOOD (both what has happened and what will happen in the end!!!)

A/N: Let me just say that I cried writing the ending of this story

Taglist: @nixtape-foryou @accountforreading123 @melsunshine @lovemesomevesey @goldenxshine @beebeechaos @mckennah123

@blonde-scandinav1an @letaliabane @answer-the-sirens @lilyed777 @travelingmypassion

***

Before long the Lady of Winterfell was high into her pregnancy and with it arrived a white raven from the archmaesters of the Citadel announcing the winter was upon them. If anyone knew of winter, it was the Northerners. A third of the crops of every harvest had been stored for winter ever since the first white raven arrived sending word of the summer’s end. The winter town beneath the walls of Winterfell filled eagerly once more, its houses, markets, and taverns bustling with life. Fire burned ceaselessly in every hearth making the view from the towers of Winterfell seem like the night sky with stars not of silver but of gold.

The Lady of Winterfell stood atop of one of Winterfell’s watchtowers, observing the smallfolk rushing among the houses and the passageways, taking care of the final errands before the day’s light would be consumed by darkness. Even as the night set in, Lady Y/N could still see them hurrying about because of their torches and lanterns to light the way.

Lady Y/N pulled her heavy cloak closer, supporting her great belly beneath it. If everything was as it was supposed to be, childbirth was not far away. The thought of it filled Y/N with equal measures of joy as well as worry.

The first few moons with child were not easy. Lady Y/N was abed for most of it, sick with nausea and barely keeping anything down. She did not care for food other than salt beef and rusk bread. Even oranges that were once her favourite she could no longer stand. And simply the smell of ale would make Lady Y/N sick immediately. Although it was Cregan’s preferred drink, he ordered it not be served at feasts any longer if the Lady Stark was strong enough to attend. As for him, he would drink wine instead or hippocras when the winter truly set in and the cold was strong enough to bite off your fingers.

Maester Bennard too was with Lady Stark most every day, brewing remedies for her nausea but with very little effect. Yet as the babe grew stronger, the sickness disappeared almost overnight. Lady Y/N regained her strength and her love for oranges and resumed her duties as the Lady of Winterfell with much eagerness although always beneath the watchful eye of Lord Stark. His hard, grey eyes would not leave his wife during council meetings, lingering either on her or her slowly growing belly. As someone who always wielded power, even as a child for Cregan was his father’s heir, Lord Stark came to know complete powerlessness for the first time in his life when his wife fell with child. Whilst he could command his men and wield his great longsword, Cregan could do little when it came to his yet unborn child. Whilst Lady Y/N was abed with sickness, Lord Stark would often leave the leading of the council meetings to his maester and his other trusted advisors. If anything were to go wrong again and Cregan would not be there for his wife, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Lady Y/N too was worried, especially during the first half of her being with child. She could not sleep for fear of waking coated in blood. She had nightmares and was sometimes so tired, not only from sickness but from fear, that she could only leave the bed to use the privy. Yet this time, Cregan was there by her side, watching over her and making sure that his wife had everything she could want and need. When Lady Ellyn was away to get some rest as she tended to Lady Stark at all times, the Lord of Winterfell would stay by his wife’s side, keeping a watchful eye even when Lady Y/N slept. But as the pregnancy neared the end, both the Lord and the Lady of Winterfell quickly forgot about the worries of the past and had no choice but focus on the present.

“If you are trying to freeze to death, there are easier ways than standing atop of a tower,” said the Lord of Winterfell as he joined his wife. Lady Y/N turned around, meeting her husband’s warm smile with her one of her own.

“The cold air does me good,” said Lady Y/N as Cregan wrapped his arms around her, his nose buried in the fragrant skin of her neck.

“Of course,” murmured Cregan, “You are carrying a northern child.” He kissed the part of Y/N’s neck not shielded by the red fox fur of her blue cloak. Goosebumps rose of Lady Y/N’s arms as she placed her hands on his that were supporting her belly. The babe kicked and although the sensation was uncomfortable for Y/N, it always filled her heart with warmth at the proof of new life.

Lord Stark could not help but smile when he felt his child move beneath his touch. But then his excitement faded some. “Does it hurt you when he does that?” asked Cregan his wife. Lady Y/N was surprised by his question, yet she should not have been for Cregan’s curiosity never ceased and his questions never remained only in his thoughts.

“It is uncomfortable but not painful,” said Lady Y/N before she could actually comprehend what Cregan said.

“He?” asked Lady Y/N, a grin growing on her lips. She turned around to look at Cregan. If it were not for the darkness of the coming night, Y/N would be able to see the heat creep into her husband’s cheeks.

“Or she,” said Cregan quickly, his eyes shifting between his wife and their unborn child. “Either one will do,” said the Lord of Winterfell as he knelt before his wife and kissed her great belly, leaning his forehead gently against it. Lady Y/N ran her gloved fingers through Lord Stark’s hair, secretly wishing their child, be it a boy or a girl, to have their father’s eyes.

Lady Stark placed her hand on Cregan’s cheek when he got up, her thumb smoothing across his wind-lashed skin.

“I too think it is a boy,” confessed Lady Y/N in a gentle voice. Cregan’s grey eyes had never before seemed so big and childlike to her as in that moment when his lips were parted but his mouth at a loss for words.

Lady Y/N stepped on the tips of her toes before Cregan cupped her cheeks and guided her closer. He kissed her ardently again and again, unable to detach himself from her love.

***

A snowstorm raged outside that morrow when the Lord and Lady of Winterfell broke their fast on fried eggs and boiled ham before they would attend the council meeting. Yet as Lady Y/N climbed the stairs of Rodrick’s Tower, a terrible pain spread from her back to her abdomen. A loud gasp escaped her lungs as Lord Stark turned around hastily, Lady Y/N’s hand grabbing onto his arm.

“What is it?” hurried Lord Stark.

Y/N gasped again at another wave of pain, followed by a strange sensation and a small gush of fluid trickling down her leg. A striking pain shot through her abdomen alone this time. Lady Y/N cried out in pain and would have fallen to her knees if not for Cregan holding her.

“The babe … It’s coming,” breathed Lady Y/N, her nails digging into her husband’s forearm.

Cregan did not hesitate and wrapped his arms around his wife, picking her up with easily yet with great care. “Hold onto me,” said Lord Stark and carried Lady Y/N to the birthing chambers. He shouted to the servants to get the maester and the midwife as his wife cried out in pain. Her breathing grew even faster when Cregan laid her into their bed. Y/N caught his hand, begging him with her eyes not to leave her side. Tears gathered in her vision as all of her fears and worries returned to her. She was not much afraid of the pain but for the babe. She would not be able to bear losing it.

“You will be alright, my love,” said Cregan and kissed Y/N’s brow. He brushed away the hair that stuck to her forehead before loosening the strings on her dress. A small sob escaped Lady Y/N’s lips as she paced her breathing whilst they waited for the maester and the midwife.

“I’m not going anywhere,” assured Cregan, holding his wife’s palm with one hand and caressing her cheek with the other. “I promise, my love.”

Lady Y/N nodded just as Maester Bennard, midwife Othella and her ladies-in-waiting arrived.

The maester asked Lord Stark to leave as was customary but Cregan would not be moved from his wife’s side. It was unheard of and yet not a soul dared to say a word of protest.

Lady Y/N remembered her mother’s letters of her own time with child and how Lord Jonos was never remotely interested in the babe until it was born. Lady Whytefort was supposed to visit before Lady Y/N went into labour but the snowstorm must have kept her in a lesser lord’s castle somewhere. Y/N had hoped her mother would be there when the babe would arrive yet she was grateful Cregan was there at least.

Lady Othella, the midwife who assisted the Lady of Winterfell in childbed, was no highborn lady at all but the smallfolk and the noble alike addressed her as lady for the many children she helped deliver and save when the labour was difficult. Lady Othella was a short woman of petite stature yet her hands possessed the strength that could wield a sword. She wore her hair in a coif of deep blue but her tawny locks more oft than not slipped onto her pale, heart-shaped face.

“Breathe, my lady,” instructed Lady Othella as the servants made the bed more comfortable for Lady Y/N. They placed pillows behind her head and beneath her hips, relieving some of the soreness in her back.

Lady Y/N nodded and paced her breathing. Her pains were still very far apart yet no less painful.

The labour lasted through the day and well into the night although there was no telling the time as the snowstorm raged on outside the windows of Winterfell. Near the hour of the ghosts, Lady Stark’s labour pains grew stronger and more frequent, now only moments apart.

Lady Othella announced it was time under the careful supervision of Maester Bennard.

Y/N let go of Cregan’s hand as she was sure she was going to crush all the bones in his hand. She gripped onto the linens instead but the Lord of Winterfell made her take his hand once again.

Lady Y/N pushed and pushed and prayed that the baby would come and come healthy.

“You are almost there, my lady,” encouraged Lady Othella, giving Lady Stark the last bit of strength she needed to push her baby into the world.

A sense of relief came over Y/N as the pressure was gone and the babe’s crying filled the room. Lady Y/N’s loud and fast breathing was scattered with the crying of happiness as Maester Bennard cut the navel string and the babe got wrapped up in clean linens.

“My congratulations, my lord, my lady,” said Lady Othella, a warm smile spreading across her lips. “You have a son.”

Lady Y/N fell the breath get knocked out of her for a moment, her big, pensive eyes wide with wonder as she stared at her son in the midwife’s hands. Lady Othella gave her the babe as Lady Y/N reached out with her hands and Lord Stark finally let go of his wife’s hand. Y/N pressed the babe to her chest instinctively, her mouth full of sobs as the babe’s crying eased. She looked at her husband whose grey eyes flickered between the child no larger than his two hands put together and his beautiful wife, his beautiful wife who just gave him a son.

Cregan’s vision became blurred. He could not remember the last time he cried for it was when he was still a child himself. Yet as Lord Stark saw his wife holding their son, his heart filled with joy indescribable to anyone and at the same time with fear so great he thought it would break him.

Lord Stark got up and kissed Y/N’s forehead, his hand barely touching the babe for fear of hurting him. The baby nuzzled into his mother’s chest, recognizing the warmth and the comfort of her body.

“We have a son,” Lady Y/N cried from happiness as she looked up at her husband.

“We do,” said the Lord of Winterfell in a quiet voice. “Rickon?” asked Cregan as he looked at his wife, his eyes were big and pure as a child’s.

“Rickon,” agreed Y/N and smiled at her babe.

***

After the long and tiresome labour, Lady Stark had time enough to rest and recover but would not let a wetnurse feed her son, not when she could do it herself. Maester Bennard advised against it and encouraged Lady Y/N to focus on recovering and to leave the babe to the wetnurse. Lady Othella did not share his opinion entirely, which was the cause of many quarrels between the maester and the midwife already during Lady Stark’s pregnancy.

Maester Bennard looked to Lord Stark for support, speaking of how the late Lady Gilliane Stark, Cregan’s mother, always entrusted her children into the care of a wetnurse as did the wife of Cregan’s uncle, who had three healthy sons.

Lord Stark stood by the small window of the birthing chamber, seeing how the terrible snowstorm was beginning to cease. The wind whistled and howled violently all the while as the Lady of Winterfell was in childbed.

Lord Stark turned to Maester Bennard when he felt his scholarly gaze on his back.

“You will do as my wife says, Maester Bennard,” said Lord Stark, his arms crossed pensively over his broad chest. His voice was as even and cold as steel.

“You are a maester of the Citadel and are highly valued in my household, Bennard – not only as a learned man but as a friend,” continued Lord Stark. “You are a maester of Oldtown yet you are neither a woman nor a mother and that is no fault of yours, so you will do as Lady Stark commands even if she chooses not to heed your advice.”

Maester Bennard lowered his gaze and bowed, “As my lord commands.”

The newborn babe suckled happily on his mother’s breast, who in equal measure could not be happier herself. Lady Y/N was not opposed to a wetnurse yet she wanted to care for her babe as much as she could on her own, particularly now when the babe had hardly been born.

Once Lady Othella and Maester Bennard retired, assuring Lady Stark was in as good health as she could be, Cregan allowed himself so sit beside his wife and his newborn son. Lady Y/N held the baby with one hand but reached for her husband’s palm with the other. She brought it to her lips and kissed it, her eyes closed as she did so.

“Thank you,” spoke Y/N gently, leaning her head tiredly against the pillow as she watched her husband.

“Whatever for?” asked Cregan, his sharp brows in their usual frown. He had done absolutely nothing whilst his wife did everything.

“Everything,” said Y/N nevertheless, gently holding onto Cregan’s hand. “Did I break all of your bones?” she smiled, brushing her thumb across the top of his palm.

“I think I still have a few of them left,” grinned Cregan as he looked down at his wife’s small hand in his. His heart weighed heavy in his chest but he did not know why. Perhaps he was so happy that some of his happiness had to turn into sadness or he would burst with joy.

“What is it?” frowned Y/N when she saw the melancholy in Cregan’s features.

I’m afraid, Cregan wanted to say. I’m afraid to lose you and I’m afraid to lose our son. Strange how new life so quickly reminds one of death.

“Cregan?” asked Y/N softly when he did not speak. Cregan only sat closer and kissed his lady wife, kissed her again and again, first on her lips then her nose and her cheeks and finally her brow. Cregan leaned his forehead against Y/N’s, his eyes shut tight.

“I love you,” promised Lord Stark and sealed it with another kiss.

“I love you,” said Y/N and caressed her husband’s cheek. The baby cooed when it was done feeding, now happily nuzzling against his mother’s warm chest.

“Do you wish to hold him?” asked Y/N with a smile. Lord Stark froze in place, his eyes round and his lips parted.

“I don’t know,” said Cregan and watched how the happiness dimmed in Lady Y/N’s bright eyes. “My hands … What if they are too rough for him?” said Cregan warily. “What if I hurt him?”

Lady Y/N’s smiled once again. “You won’t, I promise,” said Y/N as she sat up with Rickon resting securely in her hands. Cregan mimicked the shape of his wife’s arms and waited patiently for her to place his tiny, delicate son into his hands. The babe missed the comfort of his mother’s body and let out a cry and then another, each startling Cregan more than the other. But as soon as the babe found the warmth of his father’s chest he stopped his crying and sighed contently. Cregan felt his body tremble as he held his son, seeing how he blinked his small, storm-grey eyes.

When Lord Stark looked up once again, he saw how his wife had fallen asleep, her hand outstretched towards him. Cregan sat close beside her and listened to her soft breathing. As he watched his son, the Lord of Winterfell vowed to himself to destroy anyone who would ever think of harming them.

Come morning, Lady Stark awoke with her husband was sleeping beside her, his arm entwined with hers. She sat up quickly thinking of her son only to see him sound asleep in his bassinet. Lady Y/N laid back down, coming to realize how sore her body was. Every muscle in her body felt uncomfortable. She turned on her back, unable to supress a groan that woke Lord Stark from his light sleep.

“Will you please ask for Maester Bennard?” asked Y/N as she tried to sit up. Her body was something she did not recognize. A mess of pain and discomfort and unpredictability.

Cregan jumped to his feet and called the servants, who fetched Maester Bennard. In the meantime, Lord Stark returned to his wife’s side.

“Are you in pain, my love?” asked Cregan as he knelt beside the bed.

“Everything hurts,” confessed Lady Y/N but it was only normal to feel this way. She had been in labour for near a full day before the babe was delivered. Y/N needed help to use the privy and when she returned Maester Bennard was there with his assistants. He gave her instructions of recovery and some remedies for the pain.

“I would have a bath,” asked Lady Y/N, looking at her maester for advice.

“I believe it would do you good, my lady,” agreed Maester Bennard as he gathered his potions in his ornate, wooden box. “I would also advise warm cloth for your belly and your chest.”

The servants prepared a nice, warm bath whilst Lady Ellyn and Lady Jocelyn helped Y/N out of her clothes. Lifting her legs only slightly proved a greater challenge than Lady Stark could have foreseen. The warm water helped remedy the soreness of her body, however. Y/N allowed Lady Ellyn to help her wash as she could barely find the strength to move her aching limbs.

“You did so well, my lady,” said Lady Ellyn gently as she sat beside the bath, her thumb drawing circles into her friend’s hand. “You have the most beautiful son, you ought to be proud.”

Lady Y/N managed a smile but could not help but feel an unusual melancholy creep in. Lady Whytefort wrote to her of her own mother’s sadness after she gave birth to her. Lady Cerwyn – then Ryswell of the Rills before she widowed and remarried – was said to have locked herself in her chambers and refused to care for her daughter for near a moon’s turn. But afterwards when Lady Y/N’s grandmother recovered everything was as if nothing had happened. Even Y/N herself had not known of this prior to her lady mother’s letter although she was close to her maternal grandmother and stayed at the Rills many a summer’s moon.

Lady Y/N shared this story with Lady Ellyn.

“I am sure you have nothing to fear, my lady,” Lady Ellyn tried to reassure her friend although she had heard of similar experiences happening to other women. “Even if such a thing should occur, you have your ladies and a host of wetnurses who would die to serve House Stark. You would recover and all would be well, I am sure of it,” tried Lady Ellyn. What her friend spoke was true Y/N knew and yet she could not help but feel like a failure at just the thought of not wanting to care for her son. However, as sore and tired as Lady Y/N felt, she could and would not judge any woman who would feel the way her grandmother did upon birthing her daughter. Y/N could not even imagine how difficult it must have been for her own mother especially with a man like Lord Jonos. Lady Y/N loved her father dearly in spite of it all, but she could not stand the way he treated her mother. Especially not now when Y/N saw herself there were different ways of leading married life, good and gentle ways.

Lord Stark returned to Lady Y/N’s chambers. He had washed and shaved and had a change of garments. He seemed tired, a pensive expression hiding in his features.

“I would have a moment with my wife,” said Lord Stark to Lady Ellyn. She got up and curtsied. “If you are able,” said Lord Stark, now turning to his wife.

“I will get dressed,” nodded Lady Y/N.

Lady Stark was helped into a comfortable gown of cerulean blue and white Myrish lace with pearl embroidery whilst she had the servants braid her hair. The warm bath helped Lady Y/N with her pains, allowing her to walk with the support of her lady-in-waiting.

Whilst the Lady of Winterfell had a change of garments, the servants had brought food and drink aplenty for Lord and Lady Stark to break their fast on. They prepared a hearty broth rich with venison and grains for Lady Y/N to recover her strength, offering congratulations left and right as she sat down. Lady Stark reserved a smile for each of them no matter how low- or highborn.

“Could you find any rest, my love?” asked Lady Y/N once the servants left the Lord and Lady of Winterfell to break their fast in peace. Y/N took Cregan’s hand, the warmth of his touch instantly reassuring her. Cregan had dark circles beneath his eyes and his skin appeared ashen. He had not left his wife’s side not for a moment since she went into labour and stayed awake for as long as he could even after Lady Y/N had already fallen asleep.

Lord Stark rose his pensive, grey eyes to Y/N. “How can you ask me that when you have just given birth to our son?” said Cregan gently as he squeezed his wife’s hand in his.

“I could not have done it if you had not been there by my side,” said Lady Y/N genuinely. She paused.

“Are you happy?” asked Y/N anxiously. Cregan’s brows furrowed into an incredulous frown.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Only … You seem distant,” said Lady Y/N, watching her husband’s eyes for any trace of doubt.

“Forgive me,” said Cregan heavily yet his voice quietened some as he looked towards the window.

“Tell me,” asked Lady Y/N, not ungently, and squeezed her husband’s hand reassuringly.

“I …” began Cregan. “I had a brother,” said Cregan, his grey eyes returning to his wife. Y/N stared at him, her mouth parted. “He died aged only two when I was ten-and-one.”

“You cannot remember him from your time here at Winterfell. You could not even if you stayed for a full moon and not a day. My mother did not like him leaving his chambers. He was sickly … He had been since he was born,” said Cregan. “I … I barely knew him …”

“I am so sorry,” said Y/N, not knowing what else to say. She reached out to him, enfolding his calloused palm between her hands. They had been wed for more than a year and yet Y/N had never heard Cregan nor anyone else for that matter mention Lord Stark having had a brother.

“What happened?” asked Y/N gently.

“Fever took him,” said Cregan, his gaze focused on his wife’s hands clasped around his own. “First it took my mother, then Benjen not even three nights after,” told Cregan, his voice deep and sombre. “He was named after my grandsire.”

“I am so sorry, my love,” spoke Y/N gently.

Lord Stark got up from the table and stood by the window, his gaze reaching out beyond the walls of his strong castle.

“At least my mother did not have to see him die,” said Cregan to himself more than to his wife. “At least the Gods spared her as much.”

Y/N stared at her husband’s back, coming to realize where Cregan’s melancholy and pensiveness came from. The birth of their son agitated old wounds and disturbed the present. Cregan did not so much feel the loss of his brother when he held his newborn son; rather, he came to understand his mother’s worry and fear at the prospect of having to bury her child.

Lady Y/N gathered what strength she could and got up from the table on her own. Lord Stark turned around but Y/N was already by his side. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, Cregan’s hands instinctively wrapping around Y/N’s waist as he buried his nose in the warmth of her neck. Cregan let out a breath he did not know he was holding.

*** 2 YEARS LATER ***

As the cold and heavy winter went by leaving nothing but darkness and snow, a hope of spring returned when a white raven flew in from Oldtown bearing news of the winter’s end. Although the snow was never quite gone north of The Gift, the blizzards and snowstorms grew scarcer and were replaced by days of warm sunshine at Winterfell.

Despite the winter and Lord Stark’s frequent visits to the Wall before the snow became too tall to travel, there was always some form of joy and merriment in the castle walls of Winterfell. As little Rickon Stark, the firstborn son of Lord Cregan and Lady Y/N Stark, grew older and bolder by the day, he kept his noble parents busy even when there were no lordly duties to attend to.

“Rickon tells me you are going to show him how to ride to-day,” spoke Cregan softly, his voice deep and husky in the hour of the nightingale. His fingers were tangled in his wife’s hair, their foreheads nearly touching as they savoured the last moments of peace before the castle would be bustling with errands and duties to attend to once again.

Y/N rose her big, sleepy eyes to her husband’s. “He will only sit ahorse,” said Lady Y/N quietly, tracing her fingers across the scars on Cregan’s chest. “Mayhaps I will let Ser Tybald lead him around the courtyard if Rickon will wish to,” considered Y/N aloud.

“Of course he will, he is your son,” laughed Cregan, secretly delighting in his wife’s soft touch.

“Is he not your son too?” said Y/N aghast as she grinned, leaning on her elbow. “I suppose you preferred learning the names and banners of Houses to spending time with swords and horses,” she teased.

Cregan smiled and pulled Y/N into a kiss, her arms resting on his strong chest. She moved even closer, deepening the kiss as she harboured a secret to tell her husband. But as his arms wrapped around Y/N’s hips eagerly, she forgot all about the news and straddled Cregan’s waist instead. He pulled off her nightgown, his hands reaching immediately for her soft breasts. Cregan sat up and kissed them as Y/N’s hands tangled in his dark hair. She moaned when he found her sweet spot, knowing her body better than sometimes she did.

“Mommy! Mommy!” called a small voice running around the hallways of Winterfell. Y/N gasped as her gaze darted towards the door.

“Gods,” muttered Y/N hastily and jumped off the bed where she picked up her nightgown and slipped it on just in time. Cregan laughed as he leaned against the bedframe, watching a deep blush flush his wife’s cheeks as Rickon burst into the room, wrapping his arms around her mother’s knees.

“Good morrow, little one,” said Y/N, her eyes locking with Cregan’s when she picked up her son and held him to her. “Should you not be abed?” Lady Stark asked of her son but made eyes at her all too amused husband.

“I wanted to see you,” said Rickon cheerfully although there was sleep in his eyes.

“Alright, little warrior,” said Cregan as he got up from the bed. “Your mother is right. Back to bed.” Cregan took his son from Y/N’s arms, the playful, teasing look in Cregan’s eyes making Y/N’s knees weak. A shivery breath escaped Y/N’s lips as she watched her husband’s bare back when he walked across their chambers.

Rickon’s wetnurse was already at the door of their rooms yet dared not come in.

“I’m so sorry, m’lord,” said the wetnurse as she took Rickon from Lord Stark’s arms.

“That’s alright,” said Lord Stark gently, running his hand through his son’s dark hair one last time before he returned to his private chambers.

Cregan slipped his arms beneath Y/N’s bum and lifted her up eagerly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to their bed. He sat down, his large hands squeezing his wife’s soft thighs. Cregan went for his breeches but Y/N stopped him.

“Let me do it,” she spoke softly, her voice laced with desire. She dropped to her knees and undid Cregan’s nightbreeches, pulling them off with haste. Cregan watched as his wife took him in her mouth, her tongue sliding skilfully along his length. Cregan threw his head back in pleasure, his fists balling around the linens of their bed to keep himself from climaxing immediately. As Cregan groaned in pleasure his eyes met Y/N’s. She stopped, teasing her husband.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” muttered Cregan and quickly pulled Y/N into his lap.

“Show me,” she breathed against his lips, her heart beating harshly against her chest.

Cregan took Y/N’s waist and turned her around, pulling off her loose nightgown yet again. His fingers found her breasts once more as he kissed her neck one last time before he took Y/N’s hips and entered her. Y/N moaned loudly as she clawed at the furs of their bed. Cregan’s thrusts were hard and even before he slowly escalated his pace. Y/N could not help but whimper in pleasure as her husband’s fingers tangled in her long hair, pulling on them gently. Cregan leaned down and kissed her from behind, his hips moving faster and then slower as he felt himself nearing his pleasure. He reached around Y/N’s waist with his hand, his fingers nestling between her thighs. Y/N winced in pleasure, leaned into his touch and only moments away from complete pleasure. Y/N whimpered halfway through a moan, climaxing sooner than she anticipated. She leaned her head against the bed as her eyes closed, Cregan’s fingers digging harshly into the soft curves of her hips. Cregan’s seed dripped down the inside of Y/N’s thigh before they both fell flat on the bed, their bodies tangled and exhausted from divine pleasure.

***

After breaking their fast in Benjen’s Hall, Lady Stark took her son Rickon to the stables as she promised. Ser Tybald provided a well-natured, chestnut pony with mane the colour of butter for Lord Stark’s firstborn son.

“Let him smell you,” said Lady Stark and lifted her son into her arms. “Like this,” she showed by placing her palm gently to the pony’s muzzle. Rickon reached out hesitantly but when the pony leaned her muzzle against his hand, he smiled with eyes as happy as ever.

“You have to name him now,” encouraged Lady Stark, “But you have to name him carefully for he will carry that name for many years.”

Rickon looked at her with big, round eyes, his mind whooshing with a thousand ideas. He looked at his horse again with his lips parted.

“Squire,” said Rickon determinedly.

Lady Y/N watched as her son reached for the pony’s muzzle once again, mesmerized by Rickon’s likeness to his father.

Y/N kissed her son’s temple and put him down, allowing the master-of-horse to show him how to properly saddle and ready a horse. She watched as he was sat into one of the saddles, first off horse and later on Squire. He beamed with joy when Ser Tybald asked him if he wanted to have a walk around the courtyard.

“Mother, may I?” called Rickon from atop of his butter-maned pony.

“You may,” allowed Lady Stark, her lips spreading into a smile at the sight of her boy content. “Only be careful and hold on tight.”

“I will,” promised Rickon, his little hands wrapping tightly around the horn of the saddle.

Lady Y/N pulled her cloak closer to her as a cold, spring breeze swept through the walls of Winterfell.

“What did he name the horse?” asked a voice behind Lady Stark. She turned around, her eyes finding those of her husband.

“Squire,” smiled Lady Y/N.

“Of course,” said Lord Stark, unable to disguise a grin off his lips.

Y/N wrapped her hand around Cregan’s elbow, pressing closer to him. “What did you name your first horse?” she wondered.

Cregan smiled, “Jester.”

Lady Y/N could not help but snort a laughter, finding the name so very fitting of Cregan as she imagined him as a young boy. He laughed with her, almost asking the same of Y/N but quickly remembered.

“Blackspur was my first,” said Lady Y/N all on her own, the smile on her lips turning into a melancholy one. Ser Tybald had to put her down soon after the beginning of the new year for she had grown sick. It was the kindest thing to do, knew Y/N, yet that acknowledgement made it hurt no less. Blackspur had a long and comfortable life, longer than many horses. Those were the only thoughts that could make Lady Stark’s grief less painful.

“I know,” spoke Cregan and kissed his wife’s temple.

Suddenly echoed an approaching sound of hooves against the cobblestones. Lady Stark stood up straight, detaching herself hesitantly from Cregan’s warm body to welcome unexpected guests. Yet only two riders crossed the Hunter’s Gate into the castle, leading a beautiful filly tied to one of their saddles. She had long muscular legs, her coat of raw umber brown. She shook her head, her mane alike in colour, as the horsemen dismounted and one of them took her into Winterfell’s stables.

“Wait for me,” asked Cregan of his lady wife before he met with the other horseman, who bowed their heads before the Lord of Winterfell. They spoke briefly and even shook hands. Lady Stark’s gaze drifted to her son across the yard when his pony neighed, her heart leaping out of her chest for a moment. Rickon laughed however, savouring every moment before he would have to listen to Maester Bennard’s lessons on Houses great and small.

“Come,” Lady Y/N heard her husband call. She turned her attention to him but saw the riders leave through the Hunger’s Gate. They were gone as quickly as they arrived.

“What is it? Is their horse injured?” asked Y/N once at her husband’s side. Knights and lords, especially of smaller Houses, often brought their mounts to Winterfell if the animal was ill or injured for Winterfell had one of the best stables in the North.

“She is in perfect health,” said Cregan as he led his wife into the stables. The ash brown filly paced restlessly, her elegant head turning towards the strangers coming to see her. She was young, only just old enough to saddle.

“Why did they bring her then?” asked Y/N, admiring the magnificent animal and wondering if per chance they wanted Ser Tybalt to break her in and have her ready for riding.

“She is yours if you want her,” said Lord Stark, his gaze shifting between his wife’s eyes and the filly he chose for her.

“What?” gasped Lady Y/N, looking up at her husband’s expecting eyes. She was at a loss for words.

“I know she cannot replace Blackspur but—”

“Thank you,” Y/N cut Cregan off before he could finish. She took his hand and stepped on the tips of her toes to kiss him. He leaned down for her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist. Y/N pulled away slowly, looking around to make sure they were alone. Ser Tybald was still leading Rickon on Squire and informing him all about caring for horses.

“I have to tell you something, husband,” said Lady Y/N, biting her lip as she could not help but smile. She looked down at her Cregan’s chest and the silver direwolf emblem resting between his collarbones.

“What is it?” asked Cregan, his brows quickly jumping into a gentle frown.

“I am with child again,” whispered Y/N as she looked up into her husband’s eyes. The emotions in the greyness of his irises swirled like a great summer storm.

“Say it again,” breathed Lord Stark incredulous.

“I am with child,” repeated Lady Y/N, her smile as bright as ever as she observed her lord husband’s reaction. Cregan pulled her into his arms eagerly, his hands cupping her cheeks as he kissed her deeply. Y/N’s palms rested against her husband’s chest as she could not help but smile into the kiss.

“Mommy!” called Rickon’s small voice as he came running into the stables. Ser Tybald followed him with Squire.

“Can I ride again in the after-noon?” begged Rickon, his eyes as big as stars. The boy knew the answer would be ‘no’ but with his mother at least he stood a chance.

“Ask your father,” smiled Lady Y/N, her hand creeping into her husband’s palm.

“Father, may I?” asked Rickon carefully, his arms locked behind his back as he swayed left and right ever so slightly, his eyes resting on his father’s boots. He knew the answer this time too.

“Tomorrow,” said Lord Stark. “Come, Maester Bennard must be waiting for you.”

Speaking of which, as soon as the Lord and Lady of Winterfell returned inside the castle they were met with Maester Bennard. He was out of breath, his normally pale cheeks flushed with fever.

“My lord,” Maester Bennard gasped for breath, “My lord, urgent news from Dragonstone.” He handed Lord Stark a scroll of parchment with a broken seal of a red, three-headed dragon.

Cregan placed Rickon into his wetnurse’s care before he unrolled the raven scroll. “It’s Prince Jacaerys,” told Lord Stark aloud as he turned to his wife. “He is coming to Winterfell.”

***

As they lay in bed that night and Cregan’s hand rested gently on the barely visible bump of Y/N’s belly, neither the Lord nor the Lady of Winterfell could fall asleep. The night was bright and the moon shone invasively through the windows of their private chambers.

“What do you think he wants?” whispered Y/N quietly in case Cregan managed to fall asleep. She need not have asked for she knew, she only did not want to accept it.

“I do not know,” spoke Cregan gravely. “But I do now my father swore an oath … I swore an oath.”

News of trouble and strife in House Targaryen had long been flying north to Winterfell. The ravens more oft than not came from outside the walls of the Red Keep, coming from the Riverlands and the Vale and even from the Reach. The matter of succession seemed to be settled when King Viserys the Peaceful declared his daughter as his heir and future queen. Yet upon his death, appeared to have formed two camps that the smallfolk and the great alike called the Greens and the Blacks. The first supported Prince Aegon’s claim to the throne as he was King Viserys’ eldest son and the latter the claim of Princess Rhaenyra. If the North was to get involved in the war within House Targaryen, Winterfell would declare for Princess Rhaenyra as it did when King Viserys was still alive.

Y/N’s heart grew heavy in her chest. She placed her hand atop Cregan’s that was resting on her belly and squeezed it tightly. A shaky breath escaped her lips as she stared at the ceiling, knowing full well she will not find any sleep tonight.

“Hey,” whispered Cregan and leaned on his elbow. He caressed Y/N’s cheeks, making her look at him. “We will not know until he is here,” Cregan tried to reassure her some. He could not tell if it was the moonlight glistening in Y/N’s eyes or whether they were tears he saw, but Y/N nodded nevertheless if only to give her husband some peace.

The following eve came word from New Castle. Prince Jacaerys spent the night in White Harbor with his dragon Vermax and would fly for Winterfell in the morn.

The castle was up in preparation for the welcoming of the royal prince. Lady Stark ordered the kitchens to prepare the finest dishes of roast boar and pheasant in a sauce of almonds. The best casks of ale and wine were to be brought from the cellars of Winterfell and the Great Hall arranged appropriately. Only the highest and noblest of councillors were to attend the feast upon Prince Jacaerys’ arrival alongside Lord Stark and Lady Y/N.

After only just bearing through the winter, neither the Lord nor the Lady of Winterfell were too pleased to prepare a dozen sheep and goats for the prince’s dragon to feast on yet they had little choice in the matter.

Lady Stark chose a gown of ash green and pale white in the colours of Winterfell with a belt of white gold with the emblem of two direwolves’ heads baring their fangs at one another in its centre. She wore a necklace and earrings of emerald stones encrusted with diamonds that Cregan had gifted her upon the birth of their son.

The Lady of Winterfell paced around the Great Hall, making sure everything was perfect for the feast. Although she had put tremendous effort into the evening, both she and Cregan decided to keep the spirit of things much alike they would for any other highborn lord or lady coming to visit. Even though House Stark bent the knee to House Targaryen many years ago, the sense in the North was still that of House Stark’s rule.

Lady Y/N did not truly consider the prince’s dragon until she heard it screeching and roaring above the castle walls. Her heart sank as her eyes grew big coming face to face with her husband.

“Come,” said Cregan, holding out his hand. “He is here.”

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell gathered outside, greeted by the early spring snows. Lady Stark wore a heavy cloak of cloth-of-silver and wool, with fur of the grey wolf. She held her hands locked together before her, her breath coming out in clouds. It was nightfall already as she gazed into the sky. Her mouth went dry at the sight of an enormous, bat-like figure dancing in the sky. The beast screeched, irate with the cold and the snow.

The prince descended into the courtyard of Winterfell’s castle, the force of the dragon’s leathery wings sending snowflakes back into the sky. Prince Jacaerys dismounted and spoke to his beast in High Valeryan before meeting the Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

Lord Stark bowed his head and Lady Y/N curtsied gracefully before the crown prince.

“My prince,” said Lord Stark first, his words echoed by his wife.

“Lord Stark,” greeted Prince Jacaerys. “My lady,” he said, kissing the top of Lady Stark’s gloved hand. She offered a small smile but could not help but notice the prince’s youth although there were not many years of difference between them nor between him and Cregan for that matter. It was true what they said, however. The crown prince looked little like a Targaryen ought to with his head of brown locks and eyes of green. In truth, Prince Jacaerys looked much more like her own brother, thought Lady Stark, save for the prince’s fox face and slender frame true of House Targaryen.

“Welcome to Winterfell,” said Cregan as he accepted the prince’s hand in his. Lord Stark towered over the prince although he towered over most any man and Prince Jacaerys was no different.

The Lord and Lady of Winterfell welcomed the prince into the Great Hall where the noble councillors of Winterfell awaited, bowing and showing their respects to Princess Rhaenyra’s heir and messenger as he would name himself.

Prince Jacaerys was seated to the right of Lord Stark whilst Lady Y/N sat to his left. She nodded to the servants to bring the food and serve the drink whilst the singers sang and played their music. There was no talk of succession nor war or politics until the feast had ended. Although the Lord of Winterfell offered the prince to rest for the night before they talk, both Prince Jacaerys as well as Lord Stark were of a mind to speak now.

They walked the walls of Winterfell to ensure privacy, accompanied only by the cold and the snow. Prince Jacaerys looked toward the winter town, seeing but a few of the lights that warmed its houses during the past two years.

“I see winter is still true in the North although they say elsewise at the Citadel,” spoke the crown prince.

Lord Stark smiled although he wished to laugh. “These are only the spring snows, my prince. During winter, all that you see was covered in snow and all memory of warmth was neigh forgotten.”

Prince Jacaerys turned to his mother’s sworn vassal. Cregan Stark was a man hardened by cold and winter, a man seasoned in battle and in swordplay, whose reputation as one of the best swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms preceded him. Lord Stark was only a few years his senior and yet he had seen and lived the life of a man.

Prince Jacaerys looked at Lord Stark with both envy as well as admiration. He was a royal prince and yet he had not lived or done as half as Lord Stark.

“I confess I wished to see the Wall,” said Prince Jacaerys, stirring his thoughts in another direction. “It would have pleased me to meet with you in the place where our ancestors treated.”

“Indeed,” said the Lord of Winterfell, the fur on his heavy coat ruffled by the cold winds. “At least you have the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon.” Lord Stark’s words cut a uncomfortable silence between the two young men.

“Surely the great Torren Stark would have sooner died than bent the knee. Unless he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You are right in that,” agreed Lord Stark as they walked along the walls of his castle.

“That unity is now threatened,” urged Prince Jacaerys. “The realm will soon tear itself apart if the men do not remember their oath sworn to King Viserys. And to his rightful heir.”

Lord Stark stopped. “Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince,” said Cregan sombrely. “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between north and south. In the winter, my duty to the North and to the Wall is even more dire than what I owe to King’s Landing,” spoke the Lord of Winterfell as they continued walking. “I need my men here.”

This time, Prince Jacaerys held his step. He frowned at his mother’s vassal, his temper as quick as any Targaryen’s. “Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne.”

Lord Stark did not heed the haste of Prince Jacaerys’ words and climbed into the northmost watchtower.

“If my mother is to defend her claim, to hold the realm united,” said Prince Jacaerys, following him into the nest, “She needs an army. War is coming – to the whole of the realm, my lord. We cannot wager without the support of the North …” spoke the prince, his words losing breath as the vastness of the North opened before his eyes. An endless sea of white spread before him, disturbed only by shadows of trees and moving clouds of snow.

“My father brought King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne to see the Wall. His grace watched as their dragons, the greatest power in the world, refused to cross it,” told Lord Stark as the prince found his breath.

“Do you think my ancestors built a seven-hundred-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?” said Cregan, looking the crown prince dead in the eye.

The young prince stared at him pensively. “What does it keep out?” he asked.

Lord Stark eyes darkened. “Death.”

The Lord of Winterfell walked Prince Jacaerys inside the castle. He felt the weight of his father’s oath, the oath that was his own.

“I have thousands of greybeards who have already seen too many winters,” said Lord Stark. “They are … well-honed.”

“So they are old?” asked Prince Jacaerys, his brows raising slightly. They had reached the chambers prepared for him.

Lord Stark nodded solemnly but the North needed its best men to remain.

“I can ready them to march at once,” promised the Lord of Winterfell.

Prince Jacaerys smiled, grateful for Lord Stark’s dislike of pretence.

“If your greybeards can fight, the Queen will have them,” agreed Prince Jacaerys.

A smirk crept into the line of Cregan’s mouth. “They will fight hard, like Northerners.”

***

Y/N could not even find it in her to sit down, much less fall asleep until Cregan returned to their chambers. The hour was late yet Y/N was as awake as it were mid-day. She stared at her husband expectantly when he returned, a great tiredness set in his features.

“He wants our men to fight for his mother’s claim,” confirmed Lord Stark.

And what of you? Does he want you? Y/N wanted to ask but could not make herself speak.

“I told him my men need to stay in the North. The Wall must needs be protected,” said Cregan. Y/N’s chest dropped with an exhale of relief yet only for a moment.

“I offered him my greybeards,” spoke Cregan before he walked over to one of the chests with his belongings. “I will go south as soon as they are ready to march.”

Cregan’s words knocked the wind out of Y/N as her heart dropped to her stomach. She grew sick with nausea.

“I thought to save this for another occasion,” said Cregan as he took a large package wrapped in cloth of silk from one of the painted chests.

Y/N stared at him astounded but took the parcel that he offered. She laid it carefully on the bed, pulling apart the silken wrapping. A coat as white as snow lay underneath, trimmed in fur without a single hair of colour. Y/N’s lips parted as her fingers glided through the fur as soft as butter. She frowned for she knew it came from a beast as rare as any. No wolf or mink could ever produce such a soft and white coat.

“Winter fox?” Y/N thought out loud, her big round eyes rising to her husband’s.

“To keep you warm if I do not return before the next winter,” said Cregan with a small smile although he could not hide the guilt and melancholy in his grey eyes.

Y/N looked at him thunderstruck. She did not care for the coat no matter how magnificent; all she wanted was her husband.

“Before the next winter?” gasped Y/N. “But … That could be years. That will be years.”

“I swore an oath, Y/N,” said Cregan with a heavy heart. “I cannot send my men south with no one to lead them.”

You swore an oath to me too, Y/N wanted to say but was glad she did not; the last thing she wanted was to argue. She understood that the realm was more important even if she herself would have let it burn to the ground if it meant her husband would remain by her side.

Y/N looked down at Cregan’s chest as her eyes welled with tears so hot they felt as cold as ice.

Cregan did not have the words to comfort her. He only pulled her into his arms, holding her head to his chest as she wept quietly.

*** ANOTHER 2 YEARS GONE BY ***

Many moons went by, then a year and then another during which Cregan’s letters maintained Lady Stark’s sanity. If not for her children and her ever faithful friend Lady Ellyn, Y/N would be sure to lose her mind. However, with one child running around and another at her hip - a daughter born in the late spring that she named Sarra - time went by quickly for the Lady of Winterfell after the first few moons without Cregan.

The council held news of the progress of the Targaryen war in the south. It received reports of the little prince Jaehaerys’ assassination, the death of Princess Rhaenys and her dragon Meleys at Rook’s Rest, King’s Landing changing rulers faster than the wind changes in the North, and even news of Prince Aemond’s death met at the hands of Prince Daemon at God’s Eye, where the lake swallowed both Targaryen princes as well as their mighty beasts.

All the while the news of war arrived from the capital and its surrounding Houses, the Lady of Winterfell prayed in the Godswood for her husband’s safety, that neither he nor his army be met with dragonfire, and that he returns safely to her, to Winterfell, to see his son grow and meet his daughter.

Lady Stark taught her children the ways of the Old Gods and spoke often of their father. Sarra was but a near a babe still yet Rickon had known and loved his father well. He cried many a night after Lord Stark marched south, and Lady Stark cried too. However, as time passed by, Cregan’s absence became easier to bear and life forced everyone to continue living. Seed needed to be planted for the first crops and people were beginning to leave the winter town abandoned to return to their farms and fields. The castle needed mending after the harsh winter as did the Wall, and lords from all over North came to House Stark for help.

In the meanwhile, Lady Y/N grew great with child and her lady mother came to stay until the babe was born. Lady Y/N had it easier with Sarra than she had with Rickon both in terms of early sickness as well as her time in childbed. Her daughter was born in the early hours of the morning, the labour lasting only a few hours. Sarra was a small, fragile babe but quickly grew stronger as the spring turned brighter and warmer. Although Rickon looked much like his father when he was born, he had grown more and more into the character of both his mother and father. He loved climbing and riding and pestered Ser Harwyn every waking moment to train him at swordplay. Sarra, however, was silent and calm. She looked like her mother with eyes that were exactly like those of Lady Stark.

The summer neared when a raven arrived bearing Lord Stark’s grey direwolf. Lady Y/N sat with the letter in her husband’s solar and read.

Beloved wife,

I encountered no war to speak of when my greybeards entered the red city. King’s Landing has long yielded to the many deaths of its kings and queens. I held court for six days to seek punishment for those who ended the life of King Aegon II, for no king should die of poison but on the battlefield with honour. I sought punishment for those too who conspired against the rightful heir. Many decided to take the black and join the Night’s Watch than to die at the blade of my sword. Those are the ones who will return north with me whilst many of my greybeards decide to remain in the south and in the Riverlands to attend the Widow Fairs.

I was offered a place in the king’s service that I could not accept. I long to return to you and our children, to see the towers of Winterfell rising before my eyes. When they place the crown on the boy king Aegon’s head, I will gather my men and we will march home.

Cregan

Lady Y/N reread the letter over and over again until it was engraved in her memory. Her heart beat harshly against her throat as her eyes watered yet she did not weep. She folded the letter and held it to her chest, closing her eyes as she leaned back in her husband’s chair. A ride from Winterfell to King’s Landing took a moon’s turn at the least, more with an army marching with you. Yet it did not matter. He was coming back. Cregan was returning home.

***

Lady Stark took to the Wolfswood with Ser Harwyn and an escort of knights following not far behind. She rode her mare neigh every day, the ash brown filly her husband gifted her after the passing of her beloved Blackspur. Lady Y/N named the beast Tempest for her temper and the ashen colour of her coat. Although Blackspurt had been wary of strangers but warmed up to them eventually, Tempest did not care for them. If she disliked any of them, she would show it by stomping her hooves or kicking, her teeth snapping at many a stableboy’s hand. But she was different with Lady Stark. There was a bond between the temperamental mare and the Lady of Winterfell no one could quite understand. Even in her pregnancy, Tempest sensed the change in her mistress, and whilst the horse did not care for her caretakers, she never lashed at children.

One evening Rickon resented his mother for not being to tell him when his father would return from the march. It has been close to two years since Lord Stark left for the south with his greybeards. The boy disappeared from his rooms in the night with no one being able to find him.

Lady Y/N’s first instinct was to check the stables and Squire but the boy was not there and the pony was in his stall. Whilst the castle was up in the search of Winterfell’s heir, young Rickon was hiding right where they first searched for him – in the stables. He meant to go to Squire, his beloved pony, yet as he stepped into he stable, the noise aroused Tempest.

Rickon tread carefully towards her, knowing of her temper but could not help himself. His curiosity was too great. He looked at the ashen brown mare in her stall, her breath coming out in clouds in the cold night. Rickon approached the iron bars of her door, carefully raising his hand to her muzzle. Tempest snorted, frightening little Rickon so much he fell to his butt. He did not understand why but he picked himself up and tried again. He brought his hand up to Tempest’s muzzle once again and let her smell him. Her muzzle was warm and wet against his touch, causing a smile to spread across Rickon’s lips. He carefully pushed open the door to her stall and met her, standing twice his size. His heart was thumping in his chest with excitement but he was not afraid.

They found the boy in the morning when one of the stableboys brought Tempest her grain and came to clean her stall. The mare was lying in the hay, staring warily at the stableboy whilst little Rickon slept against her belly.

Cold northern winds whooshed through the forest, rocking the tall trees of Wolfswood. Lady Stark’s gaze rose to their swaying crowns as she took in the fresh air after being cooped up in council meetings and hearing of the issues of the smallfolk. She had to condemn two thieves and a rapist – the thieves lost the same amount of fingers as the chickens they stole whilst the rapist chose death over taking the black and Lady Stark was glad for it.

Every time the Lady of Winterfell had to condemn a rapist she remembered the bandits who attacked her many years ago right there in the Wolfswood. She could not forgive herself for not taking an escort that time. If she had, the knights would have cut down the delinquents and they would never have had the chance to despoil that peasant girl. Lady Stark often rode past her father’s farm to see how they were living. When the girl wed last year, Lady Y/N then found a way to pass by her husband’s carpentry shop, making sure the girl and her family had everything they needed. It pained Lady Y/N to see the girl bow her head to her and curtsy clumsily when Y/N passed by on Tempest when she was the one who wanted to drop to her knees and beg the girl forgiveness.

“Have there been any more news from King’s Landing?” asked Ser Harwyn, the master-of-arms at Winterfell, waking Lady Stark from her thoughts.

“Not since Rhaenyra’s boy was crowned,” said Lady Y/N, leading her mare up a gentle slope.

It has been more than two moon's since the youngest son of Queen Rhaenyra was crowned Aegon III Targaryen although the smallfolk had already named him Aegon the Unlucky.

“Mayhaps Lord Stark took rest at Riverrun,” suggested Ser Harwyn, following his lady up the slope on his tall red gelding.

Lady Stark did not say anything. She would not allow herself to think of Cregan’s return for she found it consumed her thoughts and she could not find the will to do any of her duties if she did so. When Cregan left to fight the wildlings shortly after they were wed, Y/N felt almost as if she were greeting a stranger when he returned; and they have been parted for only four moons. It has been more than two years since they last saw each other now. Y/N could not bear to think of her husband finding company in another woman’s arms, of his love for her blowing away like the leaves off a dying tree.

“I would return to the castle though Stone Creek,” said Lady Stark to keep her thoughts from drifting.

“Past the girl Alys’s house?” asked Ser Harwyn although he already knew the answer. He as well as any who were there that day when the bandits were tried and condemned by Lord Cregan Stark knew the wroth of the Lord of Winterfell and the justice of his lady wife.

It was Ser Harwyn too who found the girl for Lady Stark and told her of her name and where she lived. Alys wed a carpenter, a boy her age with yellow hair and eyes the colour of the sky.

As Lady Stark commanded, they passed though Stone Creek on the way back to the castle. It was a small village of some half a dozen farms and their respective fields. The smallfolk stopped their work when the Lady of Winterfell passed on her tall mare and bowed their heads with respect. The Lady Stark wore a gown of pale poppy red with hems and bodice embroidered in the string-of-gold. It has been more than five years since Lady Y/N of Whytefort became their Lady of Winterfell yet none of her beauty faded in that time. She only grew further into her womanhood although ruling Winterfell made Lady Y/N harder. It strengthened her back in her saddle and firmed her slender yet womanly body with authority.

Lady Stark passed by the girl Alys’s house. She saw her in her garden surrounded by blooming herbs as she fed the chickens, her newborn baby crying softly in its woven bassinet. It has been a while since Y/N passed through Stone Creek for the last time she saw Alys was when the girl was still great with child.

Lady Stark smiled to herself and spurred Tempest on. The escort of knights followed as their hooves thumped through the small village. Winterfell already rose in the distance when the sky turned grey, its menacing clouds foretelling rain.

The company spurred their mounts to a leisurely gallop as they crossed the fields and meadows back to the safety of the castle. A drop of rain fell here and there but Lady Stark hoped to reach Winterfell before the downpour. The air was thick with humidity in the face of the summer. Y/N thought she heard thunder in the distance yet her eyes fell upon a darkness beneath the walls of Winterfell.

Lady Stark reined Tempest to an abrupt halt at the sight of the massive host of warriors beneath her castle. Ser Harwyn and the knights pulled up their mounts to a sudden stop as well, their horses neighing and pacing anxiously.

The sound of Y/N’s heart echoed through her mind as hot fever crept up her neck. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Gods,” gasped Lady Stark soundlessly as more raindrops began to fall but her gaze was set on the horizon.

Y/N's heels nudged Tempest’s belly as she urged her on with haste. They fell into a gallop so swift that Lady Stark’s hair escaped her pearl-embroidered net and floated freely in the wind. The castle approached quickly yet not nearly quickly enough. Tempest’s long muscular legs outran the other mounts who carried knights clad in heavy armour. Lady Y/N passed through the winter town, nearly knocking down a man and his flour cart in her haste. The sound of Tempest’s horseshoes against the cobblestones of the castle echoed in Y/N’s ears along with the wild beating of her own heart.

Lady Stark reached the innermost courtyard as thick raindrops began to fall in the thousands. As Y/N reined Tempest in, the young mare nearly rose to her hind legs. Tempest paced restlessly and snorted loudly as her breathless mistress sat frozen in her saddle. Y/N’s eyes found her husband standing beneath the stone canopy of the castle’s entrance, his formidable grey eyes awaiting the sight of the approaching rider.

Y/N’s breathing was loud and laboured as heavy rain fell down her face. Thunder echoed through the sky as Lord Stark came out to her. A stableboy rushed in and took the reins of Lady Stark’s mount. Cregan’s arms went to his wife’s waist as he lifted her from her saddle and helped her down. Y/N’s hands gripped onto Cregan’s arms, holding him tightly. To her, he looked the same as the day he left her. Her eyes welled with hot tears as heavy rain poured on the both of them.

“Is it really you?” asked Y/N, tears falling down her cheeks. Her body trembled. “Are you … Are you really back?”

Cregan watched her beautiful eyes, deep like pools with hope and longing. “It’s me,” he spoke as his large sword-calloused hand caressed her cheek, the tip of his thumb brushing across her lips. Cregan leaned in and kissed her desperately, having dreamed of this moment for what seemed to him a hundred years. His arms locked around Y/N’s waist, her feet no longer touching the floor. Even as they reached for air, their lips returned to one another’s, not being able to let go of each other’s bodies.

“Father,” said a small, breathless voice yet it was the only voice that could make the Lord and Lady of Winterfell tear away from each other.

Rickon stood beneath the stone canopy, not being able to believe his eyes either.

“Father!” called Rickon and ran out into the summer rain, his arms wrapping around his father’s neck. Cregan picked up his son and held the boy close to him, his heart aching with the time he had missed fighting for a crown he did not care for.

“Did you look after your mother, son?” asked Cregan against his son’s hair. Rickon pulled away, his big grey eyes meeting his father’s as he smiled.

“I did,” said Rickon proudly, “And I looked after Sarra too.”

Cregan turned to Y/N with Rickon securely in his arms. His grey eyes were drenched with guilt and love so profound he did not know how he was able to contain it in his chest.

“I would meet her,” asked Cregan, his voice soft as he stole another kiss from his wife. She took his hand and nodded as they got away from the rain.

Sarra was down for an afternoon sleep when Y/N showed Cregan to her nursery. The wetnurse stood up and bowed, startled as she saw the Lord of Winterfell had returned.

"Leave us please," Lady Stark gave her a small smile. The wetnurse bowed again and left the Lord and Lady of Winterfell with their daughter.

Cregan knelt beside Sarra’s small bed, his heart ripping into a thousand small pieces. A shaky breath escaped his lungs as he caressed his daughter’s soft hair from her face.

“She is so beautiful,” whispered Cregan, unable to take his eyes off Sarra. “She looks just like you.”

Y/N ran her hand across Cregan’s broad shoulders as she stood beside him, her heart filled with so much happiness it brought tears to her eyes. The Gods listened to her prayers.

Cregan took Y/N’s palm and kissed it as rain dripped off her long hair. He looked up at her. She looked even more beautiful than he remembered.

“I missed you, my love,” said Cregan as he stood up, his hands cupping Y/N’s cheeks. “I always dreamed of you.” He caressed Y/N's face gently with his thumbs, his gaze memorizing her beautiful eyes. Cregan kissed his wife tenderly.

#house of the dragon #game of thrones #hotd #house of the dragon fanfic #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #hotd cregan #cregan stark x y/n #winterfell #house stark #the wolf of the north #cregan fanfiction

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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 3 days

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"floral blessings" ; a braindump from yours truly because this card is absofuckinglutely my most favorite xavier card on the face of the planet and i am. going. to talk about it <3

like with all my 5* card "analyses" (but also more like a wordvomit really 😭) this will contain spoilers for: (a) this card itself, (b) the lightseeker myth, (c) the lumiere myth, (d) anecdotes, main story, and world underneath !

[ this is also very long............ you have been warned 🤲 ]

first of all...... MY GOD...... FHSNNFBSJFJSJFK YELLING SCREAMING THROWING UP IM NEVER GETTING OVER THE KINDLED CARD FOR THIS BECAUSE. BECAUSE HELLOOOO??? HELLOOOO???

anyway..................

timeline-wise, the card pretty much implies a very solid relationship between the two, so while i don't know where i'd place it between 21 days and no restraint, it's definitely still after 21 days! but with that said, rather than more focus on their individual development like in no restraint, this one seems to focus more on their relationship as a whole, i think?

overall this braindump won't be as organized as what i wrote for no restraint (i think...) because my brain is still so completely absolutely mush over this card, but i needed to write SOMETHING or i'd explode to smithereens 😭 so nevertheless...!!!! i'll section off a couple scenes so if you want an outline, it'd be something like:

[1] general setup (an overview of parallels); [2] "reunion" (parallels and relationship development); [3] xavier's forwardness (the courtyard meetings, lessons, giving of the mask); [4] day of the festival; [5] the wish

but bear with me;;; there is SO MUCH that goes on here, and i really wish i had the patience and coherency to point out every little thing because holy shit 😭

firstly though, and i just found this really cool, but apparently the flower goddess festival is (was) an actual thing!

from what i've found (and correct me in i'm wrong) it's apparently a very ancient festival that's not widely celebrated these days, so it's not super popular or well-known, but it has many names such as: "Flower Goddess Festival (花神节 huāshén jié)" "Hundred Flowers’ Birthday (百花生日 bǎihuā shēngrì)" and "Flower Goddess’ Birthday (花神生日 huāshén shēngrì)" !!! i couldn't find much information about it though, but it seems that what was in the card such as the flower cakes and the dance really were actually part of the festival~ and i've also seen people say that xavier and mc's outfits feel to be from the tang dynasty, which a lot of people speculate is the time period that this festival originated!

BUT, MOVING ON...

i. general setup — an overview of parallels

i think honestly what's most interesting to me here is how much the overall card mirrors xavier's lightseeker myth so incredibly well. with all of xavier's cards, and how he's grown as a person and how their relationship has developed overall... so much of all of that ties to who he was as a lightseeker, to who he was as the prince of philos. in fact, it goes without saying that lumiere's myth story itself is so bound to the lightseeker myth. because, and i've said this so often and repeat myself a lot with it, lumiere is a direct reflection of the princely persona xavier has grown up with. that the reason he's always been so averse to who he becomes as lumiere is because he essentially channels prince xavier, someone who he's never thought to be truly him, someone who he's been wanting to push aside and no longer be. (i talk about it in my lumiere myth braindumps and touch on it in my no restraint braindump!)

and there's something about that reflection that transfers here, too, because there are two things that all three situations have in common: (1) a position of importance, and (2) a duty to do or fulfil something.

of the prince of philos and heir to the throne, of lumiere as the strongest hunter expected to protect the citizens, of the young master—usually the son of a wealthy family, however, in this case xavier claims he was "adopted" due to his calligraphy skills—with the task of seeing the festival through and teaching the flower goddesses calligraphy.

yet, at the same time, there's something different about the way xavier assumes this role of the "young master":

he's able to say no.

the role is lighter, likely because it's not a true role and, like mc as a flower goddess, he knows that it's temporary—but the way that their first meeting in the courtyard can remind you so much of prince xavier is almost jarring.

it's reminiscent of the very first time mc sees him with his bodyguards, in our most favorite anecdote "when shooting stars fall":

"They aren't clad in all black as one would expect, and they keep a respectable distance away from Xavier. Still, these people exude an air of oppression. Xavier, with his bag, is at the center of their group. It seems he's used to being stared at. The only difference is that rather than being his usual expressionless self, he appears slightly upset."

lt's reminiscent of that time they staged a spar, only for the royal messenger and his guards to interrupt it:

"The royal decree he brought today was related to the future of Philos ... Xavier was taken away by the Royal Messenger. Our duel ended with no clear winner, and the crowd quickly left."

and you can see how his progression grows, from prince xavier, to lumiere, to this role he plays as the young master—if as the prince of philos he had no choice but to follow the path laid out for him until he had enough of it, as lumiere he was more free to choose who he saved and when he saved them. now, as the young master, he's able to say no, sir, something urgent came up. he's able to say right now, i have something that i want to do first.

which, also interestingly, but in the more 'passive' role he played as part of the special task force, he wasn't quite one to say "no" either—though he kept a low and nonchalant profile, he's never outright refuted anyone, even if he might disagree, such as the party gathering or whatnot.

(also, slight segue, but it's notable that he's likely grown into a habit of a little selfishness due to what appears to be some kind of aversion to "serving the people". i do talk a little bit about that here—but it's the fact that (a) all he really cares about is mc, and (b) he likely still doesn't want to fall back into his patterns as prince xavier where he felt chained to think of the people more than the woman he loves. it does bring a little bit of question to his morality, but we know that mc has very much been something like his moral compass throughout.)

but, more than just the ability to say what he thinks and say no to certain things he doesn't put as a priority... he also feels light enough to goof around a little. dozing off/doodling during class, cheekily vying for mc's attention without concern about showing "favor"... something about xavier in this little persona he's taken on is an air of confidence. this was a kind of confidence you didn't see from him as the prince, as lumiere, even as the task force member. and it's not the confidence in his abilities, which has always been there—

it's the confidence in himself.

it takes a certain level of sureness to be able to do things on your own terms, or to be able to voice the fact that you want to.

i believe that throughout the parallels strewn throughout this card with how the setup is, it's this confidence that shines through and really makes things different.

because this time, xavier is different.

he's growing as a person.

ii. the "reunion"

this part of the card had me gasping out loud, i kid you not 😭😭😭 because the parallels really the fuck parallel in here 😭

"The Chen residence is far away. And I can't exactly leave as I'm one of the Flower Goddesses. So, I had to let Xavier investigate himself."

"He said he'd be back after four days. Why isn't he here ... Worried, I sit on the grass and gaze at the night sky. I'm barely in the mood to appreciate the fragrant blooms above."

first of all, the setting very much feels like the meteor shower scenario in "when shooting stars fall", but also...

"Xavier would always leave me like this. At times he joined the expedition team. Other times he was returning to the palace with the Royal Messenger. I'd always ask when he could return. He always returned within the timeframe given to me.Before the Prince entered the Forest, everyone was praying for his safety. At that time, Xavier whispered into my ear... 'Seven days.'"

"He's always lied, again and again and again and again. He said hope would follow when spring arrived. He said he'd take me to the new planet he discovered.He said he didn't want to be King but also refused to let me stand by another's side. He said he'd return when I miss him. He said when I become the Queen of Philos, he'd be my knight. The song he made up is now a reality. Yet as thousands cheer my name, he abandons me... At that moment, a spaceship soars across the sky like a shooting star, disappearing into the night. My footsteps echo in this empty room. No one will be by my side. My star has left me. And this time... he will not return home."

everyone's favorite scene from the lightseeker myth.

while at the same time...

"For some reason, seeing Xavier quietly admiring the nebula, I suddenly feel a wave of panic and instinctively reach out to grab his hand."

^ that's from "shining traces", but only one out of the many examples wherein mc feels as it xavier is someone she could lose at any second—not particularly because she doesn't trust him, but because there's a nagging feeling in her chest that they could be separated for longer than either of them would have hoped to be. after all, it's happened before already, she just doesn't know it. but whatever it was that happened in her previous lives, i've no doubt that the anxiety from back then had likely transferred over anyway.

and this is what this reunion feels like.

a sense of discomfort around his absence, that nagging "what if" he doesn't come back.

but it doesn't stop there—

because xavier does return, albeit very tired-looking (again i'd call this reminiscent of That Moment in "when shooting stars fall" where he brings her the protocore in hopes to keep her from dying).

and more than that, he explains. again, like what happened in the no restraint card, he explains. he doesn't keep things vague on purpose, or makes it seem like he's hiding something from her. he explains, and he takes the initiative to, if only to soothe her worries.

to soothe her worries.

that's an important point.

(and also on a side note:)

HDJJAJDJSJ I HAD TO AND THIS IS A DIRECT PARALLEL TO "No matter how many times it takes, no matter where you are... I will find you." BY THE WAY

anyway......!!!!!!!!! again, it doesn't stop there.

because this scene and this conversation also directly talk about home.

and this conversation means a lot more to xavier than, i think, generally one would realize. mostly because—and i remember kay making a really good point about it here—xavier has gone through a lot to get to where we see him now, and so much of change that he's had to get used to... time traveling so far only to get stuck? the different lifetimes he and the backtrackers would have had to witness this whole entire time?

like i mentioned, our brain's natural instinct is to strive for stability—you can even see it in what we know from our high school biology lessons a la homeostasis. yet, what xavier went through, what the backtrackers went through, is one hell of a shock of a change. it's the kind of change that needs processing, but isn't easy to process, and especially not quickly. and xavier had little to no one to lean on for support, to lean on to guide him through it. the result of which being that, as established even in his earlier cards... change isn't something he likes.

and as also established in world underneath, we know he just simply wants a neat little mundane life with mc.

keyword: with mc.

he doesn't really know what home is, because he has a distorted perception of it—the xavier now, in this moment, still recalls his home planet, the life he has ties to, back in philos. but as he is now, his home is in linkon. and then it comes to the conclusion that the answer is, really truly, neither.

his home is with her.

he says it, this time, explicitly.

it's his declaration that it's okay if things change, as long as he has her—as long as she remains the constant. then change is something he can deal with.

yet, even as he reveals all this to her, the conversation starts with him asking her. the conversation starts about her. and it's she who's able to give the opening back to him, by touching on things like change and belongingness.

"Even in a place this strange, you'll feel like you don't belong. No matter how long you stay ... Am I wrong? l'm sure many people feel safer in a place they're familiar with."

mc isn't a stranger to change, either—she's had a lot of it in her life, specifically the life she lives now as a hunter. the chronorift catastrophe, her family... it's not as if she doesn't know how jarring change can be, and she expresses that here—having to "start again" in a place she's unfamiliar with... it's not easy, and it's easy to feel out of place.

humans are social creatures. we were made to be social, we were made to interact with others. but from that need and that inherent desire (because no matter how small, it's always going to be there) stems the need to belong. a human emotional need to affiliate with and be accepted by members of a group.

this is something that is so prominent in mc that it is a place of solace for her to feel like she belongs somewhere. but this sense of belongingness is something that xavier has NOT experienced for a long, long time. it's only something he's been learning to experience again with her, and the people that surround them in this life that want nothing but the best for them both.

it goes back:

his home is wherever she is.

and i think that it's beautiful that, after hearing xavier's side, mc then chooses to agree with it:

"Maybe... the sense of belonging I have is like yours."

if his home is wherever she is, then her home is with him.

ALSO— while we're talking about this scene... the little banter they have with the flower cake?????? AND THE FACT THAT HE KISSES HER?!!?!?!?! JUST LIKE THAT!!!???!?!?!?!?!! (if you can't tell, i yelled about it)

AND THIS SCENE;?!

—"His eyes are a little red, maybe because of how exhausted he's been lately. Even his blinking has slowed down ... 'I'm a little tired. Can I lie down for a bit?'"

—"Before I can answer, Xavier rests his head on my lap."

DIRECTLY plays out the mutual reliance they have on one another for comfort and rest, because it parallels that line in lightseeking ovsession that we're all familiar with:

"You rest, I’ll be by your side. Always. If you have nowhere to go, nowhere to rest your weary self… you can stay with me."

i think that as much as they have been growing in to their own persons, they're both so closely intertwined, and so much of their love for each other really just pours out all the time.

iii. xavier's forwardness

granted, one thing that's interesting in this is that they do start out pretty tame. there's a little bit of a vague area concerning their relationship at the start of the card, especially since mc seems back into her old habits of starting something and not following through—or otherwise, unintentionally starting something, and then shying away afterwards. she does get noticeably flustered, but she pushes the fluster away... almost as if old habits die hard.

...but xavier, on the other hand, is more consistently bold with whatever he's doing.

there's no hesitation on his part at all, even.

in fact, xavier is the one who initiates most of these things, and doesn't shy away from it. his cheekiness really shines through—he's the one who kisses her suddenly (and for all the other kisses he initiates in the card); he's the one who fixes her clothes, her hair; he's the one playing around while teaching her calligraphy; he's the one who's so eager and unbothered about showing off their relationship:

—"Did we need to hide? Or can the Young Master not chat with a Flower Goddess?"

—"It was going to be awkward... And I heard one of the hosts of this ceremony is the mansion's owner. Since you're an organizer and the Young Master, it wouldn't look good if I was biased, right?"

—He touches the small of my back, which makes me stand up straight. "But you always have special place in my heart."

and:

"Well, I guess everyone knows now. Does this mean I can officially play favorites?"

like he's actually being SUCH a menace i had to pause and take a deep breath

but he's very consistently bold, and it, again, goes back to the confidence that he's gained in himself. he seems a little less of the uncertain, almost shy ish xavier who didn't quite know how to make proper advances... this time, he knows mc is comfortable with his advances, and he gets to play around with that. they're comfortable around each other, to this point that he can be a little more free with his words and his actions.

and eventually, we see mc beginning to reciprocate that again—especially during the festival itself, and in the kindled moments.

which brings me to...

iv. the festival day

i'd specifically talk about, here, the moment before the dance and during the dance.

because it's alao the exact moment that we see mc begin to actually reciprocate and throw back her own advancements—it's the exact moment we have a confirmation that she loves him, that she adores him, that he means so so so so much to her.

and on the day of the festival, we go back to what i highlighted earlier:

he soothes her worries.

the first instance we see this is their little "reunion" that we talked about—it's his very presence, and his added explanation, that calms her down in that moment.

and now is not so different:

—"The most important part of the ceremony, the Flower Goddess Dance, is about to begin. I glance again at the crowd. 'Where will you be during the dance?'"

—"Xavier gently takes my hand that's holding the petal. 'That flower from the roadside will wilt if you keep touching it.'"

—"'I'm just a little nervous.'"

—"'Scared of dancing, hunter? Actually, I got you a gift ... It was meant to be a surprise. But since you're feeling nervous, I figured I should tell you."

—"'That works. Now, my focus has shifted to the excitement about your gift.'"

(which, another side note, but "Scared of dancing, hunter?" had me GASPING because???? the way he teases her in this?! it's so unabashedly him without holding anything back, no coyness about it but he's being a cheeky little shit 😭 i adore him...)

a few things to note here is that out of context, it does feel like a little bit of an awkward way to be comforting someone—yet, it works extremely well. what xavier does here is not provide reassuring sugarcoated words like "it's going to be okay", he distracts her from the problem instead by giving her something to look forward to. which, in this case, is the gift.

interestingly, in a way the 'distracting' is also reminiscent of something he does when he tries to hide something from her—cutting the conversation short when she asks about lumiere, in the lumiere myth asking her to go check on the 'wanderer' so as not to let her see what he had to inject from the ship...

in his lightseeker myth, they talk briefly about his fight with the king, and the possibility of him no longer taking the throne. this conversation proves vague and a little bit one-sided, and in the end he pushes forward the idea of eloping to uluru almost as if to avoid further discussion about the fight itself.

but this time, that's not particularly where he stops: he addresses her question as well, just to find a fallback, an extra little bit of reassurance.

—"'See that tree over there? I'll be standing under it.'"

—"I follow Xavier's gaze. Nearby is a tree covered in red silk ribbons and wooden plaques by the bridge. 'So if I mess up the dance, you'll see everything, huh?'"

—"'I promise I'll forget about them after a good sleep.' His gaze remains on my face, appearing indifferent. Yet I sense a passion about to overflow. 'The only thing l'll remember today is your beauty.'"

FIRST OF ALL. "The only thing I'll remember today is your beauty." A BEAUTIFUL FUCKING LINE, BY THE WAY. IT GAVE ME LITERAL BUTTERFLIES I HAD TO PAUSE FOR A MOMENT. (1) more proof that in the end she's really all he cares about, (2) he's being unabashedly bold with his words again—no filter moment, but zero hesitation, (3) "i sense a passion about to overflow"? he's not being coy about this either, he's saying what he truly feels. he's opening up and expressing himself more, expressing his love for her more, and being genuine about it!

but also, in terms of additional comfort, it's a widely known tactic in states of panic to ground yourself by using your senses to register something familiar: you see something familiar to you, hear something familiar to you, touch something familiar to you, smell something familiar to you. such as, the ground beneath your feet. the air around you, the vague sound of chattering around you, maybe even the touch of your bag, or the fabric of your clothing, the window you know has always been there, etc. panic brings about a sense of derealization, and grounding yourself is usually the first step to calming down.

what xavier is doing now is offering the knowledge to her that he will be there. that she knows exactly where to look for him if she needs to during the dance. she has the opportunity to ground herself with his presence whenever she needs to.

(and again, it's a direct reflection of that line: "You rest, I’ll be by your side. Always. If you have nowhere to go, nowhere to rest your weary self… you can stay with me.")

and it's exactly what she does.

though she ends up enjoying the dance and the crowd does block her direct view of the tree during the dance itself, she takes comfort in the fact that she knows he's there.

she trusts him; she doesn't need to see him to know that he'd there.

and then she thinks something beautiful:

"Engrossed in the dance's rhythm, my mind is strangely at peace. After all, I know there's someone in the crowd whose eyes are only on me."

once again, it goes back—his presence offers her comfort.

the first thing she does once she's received all the flowers is run to him, and he waits for her gladly. like he's always waited for her, like he always will wait for her.

"A lot of people wanted to give you flowers. I couldn't get past them, so I decided to wait for you here. Seems they're quite fond of you, just like me."

a note: the peach blossom

i figured this deserved a section on its own actually, particularly because the whole theme is this whole "flower goddess" thing... and in the beginning, we see mentions of the "goddess of daffodils" and the "goddess of peonies".

yet, we never really truly find out what mc's potentially assigned flower was—

the only mention of a flower that we do see, directly related to her, is when the little kid compliments her hair and places a peach blossom into her basket.

and while i wouldn't know if this means it's her flower or not, but the specific mention of the peach blossom is adorable, because in chinese floriography, the peach blossom represents love.

it's used in a lot of chinese literature and often associated with the arrival of spring—which, "according to the rites of zhou, the middle of spring is a period when men and women fall in love freely." therefore, a lot of chinese literature and poems also allude peach blossoms to romance, being that spring does as well. but, it's also associated with beauty: "after the wei and jin dynasties, beauties were portrayed in a more detailed way with words like taohua mian (peach-blossom-like face) or tao sai (peach-blossom-like cheek)." and there are other things it represents too, like prosperity, growth, and longevity.

when xavier gives mc the hairpin at the end, mc describes it as "pretty and adorned with pink flowers as if they are on a branch", and while not explicitly stated, i do believe that they are also peach blossoms.

whether or not that's the case, and whether or not the peach blossom was mc's flower (or maybe that it's just generally part of the festival), i think it's a really cute detail! i think it perfectly represents their growing relationship, and essentially the beauty with which xavier always sees her~

BUT, MOVING ON.....

v. the wish

the final stretch boils down to this.

"A gentle breeze stirs the wooden plaques hanging from the branches. A faint, melodic sound dances in the air. 'They say a Flower Goddess can bless people's wishes. And if the person making the wish is someone she favors, it's more likely to come true.'"

it's where the kindled moment falls, as xavier proposes for them to make a wish together.

and, mind you, this whole entire scene is ADORABLE AND LIVES RENT FREE IN MY HEAD ... the playfulness between their words, the "if i tell you my wish, it won't come true", the way xavier CARRIES HER??? AND THE WAY HE CATCHES HER WHEN SHE FALLS AND PINS HER AGAINST THE TREE AND AND AND AND.

everytime i think of it i end up keysmashing in my head IT'S JUST SO CUTE i could burn it into my head 😭😭😭😭

but, AHEM, he also says...

"Throughout history, humanity has always made the same wishes. Perhaps it's because those feelings we have... are timeless."

i think it's a really pretty line, but more than how pretty it is, i think it represents xavier perfectly.

xavier has lived long enough, and he's likely also made similar wishes along the way. for mc to be safe, for mc to be happy... things along those lines. and for him to describe that as "timeless" also represents his love for her—because it is timeless. he loves her more than anything else in the world. it transcends space, and time, and anything else; to him, she is love. she is timeless.

it's worth noting that everytime xavier and mc get scenes where they wish together, xavier never really says what his wishes are.

in "when shooting stars fall", mc wishes for many things. for xavier's freedom and happiness, for her to be healthy, for time to stop in their moment together... for xavier's freedom, xavier's happiness, and, in her final moments—"i wish to meet you in my next life." but he's never said explicitly what he wished for at all.

in "warm wishes", mc also mentions a lot of wishes:

"I wished I could pass all my tests with flying colors and go to a good university. I wished for Grandma to be healthy. I wished for my neighbor's cat to come home..."

and her actual wish that night was:

"l wish.... everyone can have snowflakes fall on their shoulders when they're lonely, and see the stars when they're lost."

yet that night, xavier didn't make a wish. he explicitly stated:

"l didn't make a wish. I want to save my wish for when I need it the most. Plus, everything I want right now has come true."

...but this time is different.

he did make a wish.

and, this time around, he specified what it is.

"I wish I can be your sanctuary until the end of time, in your eyes."

this is a wish that's important to him. he chooses to make this wish, and he chooses to tell her about it.

there's a lot to dissect in just one statement alone, because it's so imbued into the xavier that's loved her for thousands of years.... the xavier that has grown and developed into who he is in this moment.

a sanctuary is a place of refuge and protection; a place of safety. a place of comfort. a place of rest.

and multiple times throughout this card, it highlights how xavier has been able to offer mc a certain sense of comfort. even right when the results are announced, one look at him calms her down—this part really got me.

"I glance nervously at Xavier. He makes eye contact with me, and his gaze conveys a steadfast reassurance."

it's a recurring theme in the card—comfort. peace. the peace that you can find in someone. the safety that you can find in someone. in this case, mc with xavier, and vice versa.

...and i've always associated xavier with comfort, but peace and safety have been attributes i've been hesitant to associate with him, because it's different. for you to feel safe with someone, for you to feel at peace with someone, they need to communicate, as well, a certain sense of steadfast reassurance. xavier has always been soft and comfortable, but he hasn't always exuded that steadfast type of aura.

i think that this is something that he himself realizes.

i've mentioned it before, but his wish is also a direct parallel to That Line from lightseeking obsession.

"You rest, I’ll be by your side. Always. If you have nowhere to go, nowhere to rest your weary self… you can stay with me."

yet there's also a striking difference.

what is different?

the person that he's developed into.

prince xavier, lightseeker xavier—as i mentioned earlier, there's a certain kind of confidence in himself that isn't present, and it shows. i would argue that he was at his most vulnerable that time, likely more vulnerable than when they first landed on earth, because he didn't know how to treat his relationships at all. he was too bound by the confines of what everyone, and i mean everyone, including mc at the time, wanted him to be. there was never clear communication with anyone, and it mostly seems as if he's been going through the motions—as opposed to more freedom that he's been granted on earth.

and it shows, because, that line in lightseeking obsession—does not exude confidence.

it's a comforting statement, sure...

but it's not even something that mc herself believes.

"you always lie."

it's as if xavier, as much as he's trying to comfort mc, is trying to reassure himself, too—he tries too hard to make himself appear reassuring to her that it falls short, all this on top of the times that she feels she's been let down by him.

it's ironic, almost. he says such a bold declaration despite knowing that there's a chance he wouldn't be able to keep it.

but this is different.

this time, xavier has grown to he sure of who he is and who he wants.

he said it in 21 days—"every version of me belongs to you, and only you."

yet despite the confidence that he now has in himself, notice how different this is to lightseeker's line—

he's wishing.

and he specifies that he wants it to be true in her eyes.

it's as if he's saying, i'm not sure if this is what you think about me, but i do know that i want it to be what you think about me.

he's not reassuring her; he's not making a bold declaration. he's not saying, you will think of me as a sanctuary. neither is he saying, i will be your sanctuary.

he's saying, i want to be your sanctuary.

the final decision falls to her.

the confidence lies in stating what he wants, and there's no fear in it—there's no hesitation, nothing that implies that he's scared to say it. he's confident in what he says, and either confident that she'll accept it, or confident that no matter what her choice is in the matter it's okay.

that's why this wish is so strong.

and it's mc who then says, at the end;

"I wanted to tell you that your wishes will always come true."

because she reciprocates.

and this whole moment, everything that happens from hereon—the results, the hairpin...

—"'If you meet a Flower Goddess you like, give her fresh flowers. It's a local custom here. But there are many people who admire you, and all of them have given you flowers. My flower wouldn't be special enough. So, I made a flower hairpin. This is the first time I made one, though. Don't judge it too harshly.'"

—"Xavier's hand is warm. Like petals being carried on the wind, his smile descends and touches my heart. 'What makes you say that? It's amazing. Besides, even if you just gave me flowers, they'd be the most special ones l've ever received.'"

it's worth noting that the scene where xavier gives the hairpin is also very much the same way he makes the wish. he does admit that he doesn't know if she'd appreciate flowers—but he takes it a step forward. he knows he wants to be extra special, he knows he wants her to have something she'll remember, so he does something different. he makes, and gives her, a flower hairpin. of his own accord.

it doesn't stop at his insecurities, which he still has—he takes those insecurities and spins them into something he can be sure of himself.

and there it is again.

the steadfast reassurance.

and it's what makes the moment so much more memorable to mc, so much more meaningful.

and it's why, then, he can say things like this:

"No matter what happens, I'm always blessed to have someone by my side, who makes my gaze never feel alone."

"Forever is but a collection of moments strung together. With every minute comes another, second after second. When I open my eyes again, I want you to still be by my side."

it's in a way wherein xavier is able to take some lead in their relationship, because he's more sure of himself this time. and it progresses their relationship in a way that it wouldn't have if he never learned—he's learning. he's growing. and he's really truly turning out to be someone that can love with his whole heart, without holding back.

i think this card showcases that the most, and maybe that's why i love it so much <3

ALSO, P.S., ONE MORE PARALLEL—

xavier says that the flowers are blooming beautifully this season—"it smells like spring". in his lightseeker myth, he says: "With spring's arrival, hope is soon to follow."

and its just a neat lil thing, i think <3 spring is always so closely associated with xavier, and the card really does end on such a light and hopeful note.

#GOOD ALMOST-AFTERNOON #to me and my love for this card #love and deepspace #love & deepspace #lnda #lads #l&ds #xavier #love and deepspace xavier #love & deepspace xavier #lnds xavier #lads xavier #l&ds xavier #ʚɞ*.ﾟ. lnds #*ੈ♡. rose talks #☄︎*.ﾟ. lndthonk

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amoscontorta · 9 hours

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Sylus's guide to hiring, or or Wine time with Sylus: his POV | ao3

I think at this point this story may be hard to understand as a standalone and can be considered part of a series. Links to the previous installments can be found here.

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, Sylus's POV, second person POV

Synopsis: Sylus mulls over all the data he has managed to collect regarding his sweet little hunter so far, and spends some time considering mistakes he's made and his plans for the future. He also hires a new employee and is required to teach the twins to mind their manners in front of guests he's trying to intimidate.

This story contains: Sylus being a worshipful simp for mc and harboring definitively NSFW thoughts, the apprehension of a thief, an interrogation, an indecent proposal, a job offer, and one HR manager who gets goosebumps from being able to sense a disturbance in the social safety of Onychinus's workforce while not even being in the same building as the HR disaster waiting to happen.

Additional context: I've seen some theories floating around the fandom about Sylus and mc being children together in the lab where mc received the aether core, which i think would be amazing to explore and also would explain why Sylus has memories of mc when they first meet. However, I also got the sense from his little villain speech about "From your past to your future and all the crimes you have yet to commit," that Sylus knows mc from more than just memories as kids experimented on in the lab. So I've been writing him like he has memories of his own and mc's past or future lives. Hence his little rumination at the beginning of this story. It's maybe lazy romance writing but I hope it's enjoyable anyway.

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Sylus may rarely have good luck, but he would much rather have consistent bad luck than a skill issue.

He may not be able to control the luck that fate has given him, but the same cannot be said about the skills he has spent his entire life honing in order to render luck and fate irrelevant. As a result, it has been quite a long time since one of his skillfully laid plans has ended up with such a ridiculous outcome instead of unadulterated success.

But he’s learning that he shouldn’t be surprised by how often he is surprised when it comes to you. In fact, he’s irritated with himself that he didn’t learn that lesson after just the first three days he had you at his mercy when you first dangled yourself as bait for him and came plunging back into his life.

He recalls your fury, clenched teeth and clenched fists, as he crushed your hand in his, over and over. You couldn’t have possibly known, the way you were looking at him like a mere, terrifying stranger, how the faint, pitiful resonance between you flayed open his chest, exposing a heart he had long thought invincible, if only for the fact that he had thought it long dead. And along with the pain, came the fury. The dead should stay dead, and enjoy the only gift of the dead—freedom from the kind of despair he felt as you closed your eyes and refused him, again and again, the hate and terror clear in them when you would open them again. Yes, he recalls how you closed your eyes and refused to let your tears of terror fall, how you spit insults and sneered in his face despite that terror. He recalls how you took every sliver of opportunity to make a run for it each time he let go of you and dropped you back onto your knees—even though you knew it was doomed, but trying anyway, only to be dragged back by his evol every single time.

Your determination in the face of fear, your spite and defiance. None of these things surprised him, because these were all parts of the you he knew and remembered, parts carved under his skin with the same permanence and cruelty you used to carve your knives into anyone who stood against you.

He vividly remembers your rage, your cold ruthlessness, your indomitable will—the determination to survive anything, and if you somehow, inconceivably failed, despite all of your strength and intricate plans, you’d drag everyone in your reach down with you out of pure spite. Despite, and because of your razor edges, during your ‘first’ meeting—as you were kneeling at his feet, as he was relishing in the fury of your misplaced hatred towards him as he drew out your darkest wishes from the deepest parts of you—he was prepared to love you again, in all of your cruel, malicious glory.

However, he should have known that this version of you is not exactly the same as those he has been carrying with him long before you learned his name in this life. He should have learned it from that very first day that he finally had you under his watchful eyes again. When you tried to run from him, instead of trying to kill him. And there is no doubt, you did want to kill him—he saw that clearly with his aether core, and in every furious line of your beautiful body. But you resisted that urge, despite everything in you whispering through your being to devour him, to consume him, to feed yourself with the satisfaction of revenge and with all the strength he has to offer, and then discard his carcass.

But no. You had only tried to escape.

He should have learned it after the third day, when you refused to pull the trigger, and he had to do it for you.

He should have learned it when the twins woke you up, and they walked away unscathed. You hadn’t even tried to punish them for being accomplices to your long days of suffering and fear at Sylus’s hands. He had ordered them to use whatever force was necessary in order to protect themselves against any retribution from you, short of actually killing you. But you didn’t try to hurt them at all—you simply, and cleverly, he thinks with pride, arranged to be released from the room in which you were being held with no confrontation at all.

He lifts you in his mind’s eye and, like the consummate judge of fine jewellery that he is, examines all the facets that he has managed to collect about you, in an attempt to truly see the whole of your magnificence, in this life—this version of you, without the layers of his expectations and memories that you don’t share obscuring the make and quality of the diamond that comprises the you in this life.

Yes, he sees the overlap between the other versions of you and the you of here and now, but there are such significant changes that learning you all over again could take another lifetime—one he’s already eager to dedicate to learning you, because from all the other previous versions of you through to the one who woke up in his arms the other morning, he can already tell that the core of you remains the same. Yes, he loves you not only because you are you and Sylus is Sylus, and he refuses to conceive of a world with one but not the other. But he loves you because of who are you, in every lifetime. Strong. Stubborn. Smart. A survivor. And soft, so deliciously soft, but only for him. And he’s going to make sure that you stay that way, despite all of the experiences of this life that have dented your armor and seem to have made you turn your innate razor edge inward, instead of against those actually responsible for the suffering you’ve been forced to undergo for so long, alone.

He had spent those many weeks purging his organization and cleaning up the shitshow that Sherman had left behind collecting the reports that Mephisto and the twins would bring him regarding the reckless way you would launch yourself into battle, often outmatched, and only just manage to emerge in one piece. All to protect, what—he snorts—clueless tourists? He has never seen a version of you that is so… selfless. Through hacked security footage and Mephisto’s eyes, he has since watched you suppress the reflexive urge to inflict pain on others when you’re in pain yourself. He’s watched you come to the aid of not only the elderly and children—those who society has deemed should be treated with the utmost care—but also ordinary people, idiots and criminals, ungrateful citizens who take it for granted that people like you risk their lives every day to protect people like them. And you help them with such patience that if it were anyone other than you, Sylus would probably feel a little nauseated and be convinced that it was just a show, some elaborate long-con. No one can be that consistently, disgustingly kind despite their worst urges.

But you are.

However, he has noticed that your selflessness goes beyond simply kindness towards others. He has watched you refuse to get medical aid when you clearly, desperately need it. He has watched you keep people at arms’ length, refusing to talk about what is happening to you emotionally. He has watched you go without sleep, and food, and breaks, through fight after fight. And he has watched you try to slap yourself, when you think that you’re having a stupid thought. He has watched you make a fist and hit yourself, hard, when you thought that he hadn’t actually been aching to wake up with you in his arms, lips along your skin, ever since he found you again.

It appears to Sylus like you’re still wielding the sharp blade of your will from all of his memories of you, but the difference now is that you’re holding it to your own neck instead of to the world’s.

He can accept that in this life, you are kind. And altruistic—although he gags a little thinking it. Everyone has flaws, and yours just happen to be of the sunshine and rainbows variety this time around. He will love you, not despite, but because these traits are all still you. His belligerent, funny, charming equal, in all things. But he will not accept that you continue to hurt yourself, instead of the people and institutions who don’t even deserve the honor of your blade, but have it coming to them anyway.

You may be holding your knife to your own throat instead of the world’s, but Sylus would destroy planets for you, and he has no qualms about doing everything absolutely necessary to destroy your impulse to hurt his favorite thing in this world, and any other.

However, he recognizes that such a challenge will require long-term, careful effort. He will need to spend more time plotting how to accomplish that goal. Currently, he has a more urgent matter that needs his attention.

Your inability to believe that he wants you. All of you. How can he help you overcome your cruelty to yourself if you’re convinced that he harbors a similar cruelty toward you? He is already certain that you want him, at least physically. He’d have to be blind not see how your eyes follow the movement of his hands, or remain fixated on his chest. As they should, considering how much effort he puts into maintaining his physical fitness, he sniffs. He has watched with pleasure as you swallow, and turn your head, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at him when he catches your gaze lingering on his body. In any other circumstances he’d rest assured that he could keep your eyes on him with less effort—although why would he not put every effort possible into providing you with maximal viewing pleasure?—Except for some reason the universe has deemed it necessary to fill your life with uncommonly good-looking people in this life. Sylus’s face may serve as an invitation to most venues, but your primary care physician's, professional partner's, and even that strange dandy artist friend's faces are … conceivably handsome enough to possibly draw your attention away from where it should be. Which is on Sylus.

He sees now that how he went about giving you what you needed when he first met you may have had… unaccounted for, lasting consequences. He was thrilled with how quickly you seemed to come around from hating his guts and wanting to murder him, to allowing him into your space, into your home, into your bed, even. Every single one of his ruses, no matter how transparent, have been successful thus far in both allowing him to get close to you, and to force you to take care of yourself a little better, even if it’s only while he’s with you.

But he may have miscalculated in not considering every possible consequence of the cruelty with which he first treated you. He did not foresee that because he played your villain so well, you would be unable to overcome your distrust of his intentions in approaching you despite him essentially wearing a sign that could light up even the N109 zone's gloom that says “I want to make you mine in every sense of the word.” Sylus has always been a firm believer that talk is cheap, and he is not a cheap man. Actions speak far louder than words, and he is determined to show you through his actions that he will always put his money where his mouth is when it comes to you. And now that he’s thinking about his mouth…

He does have things he wants to do with you, besides caring for you and simply basking in the pleasure of being with you. Badly. But he was sloppy, by staying the night last time. All of his carefully laid plans require the height of self-control, but no matter his steel grip on himself when he’s awake, even he can’t control his deepest impulses when he’s asleep. In his dream, you had your arms around him, holding him tight, your lithe, strong body wrapped around him like a second skin, your warm, mouth-watering scent filling his lungs. He needed to taste you, devour you, swallow you whole. But he can tell that you do not trust him yet, and he hadn’t been planning to give in to his feral lust for you like he did that morning until he is assured that you will believe him when he says he not only wants your body, but every other piece of you.

He knows why he had the dream. How could he not have dreamt of you, after enduring the entire evening with his self control fraying like a poor quality garrote as he resisted the urge to put not just his hands but his mouth all over you?

If he’s honest with himself, and he always is, staying the night was not the only miscalculation he made the other night. First, bringing you his clothes. He had fully expected you to thank him in confusion for the bag of clothes and then toss them into your closet to eventually be forgotten under the pile of laundry that inevitably stacks up during the weeks you’re working so hard. He had not anticipated that you would obediently take the bag of clothes and immediately change into them. Looking up to finding you standing in front of him, his sweater engulfing your gorgeous frame, the little sleep shorts that he imagined hugging your delicious ass hidden under the sweater’s hem, your powerful legs and cute fucking feet bare for him—and his scent combined with yours wafting toward him from across the kitchen island. He barely controlled the urge to sweep every single fucking thing off the counter and drag you onto it, to make a meal of you instead of the charcuterie board he had been carefully arranging for your pleasure.

And the way you ate the food from said board… watching you eat has risen in the ranks of his favorite things about you, on par with seeing the look on your face when you’re mad at him and about to say something mean and the soft way you nuzzle into him when you’re fast asleep.

In all his life, through all the fine things he has been able to experience due to his ever-growing wealth, all of the world’s pleasures at his fingertips if he so much as snapped them, he never would have imagined that he’d ever find himself desperately wishing to be someone’s finger. Or a puff pastry. Or that fucking strawberry between your teeth, its juices sliding over your plush lip and down your chin. Lick him, eat him, chew him with your sharp teeth and swallow him, for fuck’s sake he wanted to fill your mouth and crawl inside your skin and never leave. He may pride himself on having the willpower of protocore reinforced steel but it was probably the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, standing there motionless, as you moaned your pleasure from the pastry, as your pink tongue ran along your skillful, honey-sticky fingers. Your wholehearted, singularly focused, carnal enjoyment of something so simple as a savory tart was hotter than anything he’s ever seen his life. He wanted to record it and set a projector on a running loop aimed at an altar in his bedroom for his own personal worship. But Sylus is greedy. He will not settle for the pale replication of a recorded memory of the other night. He wants to feed you every single meal you require to keep living, with his own hands, so he can watch your face as you savor its flavors, as what he provides you nourishes your gorgeous body. No, Sylus is a greedy man. Instead of a projector as a permanent fixture in his bedroom, he intends to install you instead.

He shifts on his seat, these memories affecting him in a way that threaten to make his trousers uncomfortable. He needs to refocus, now. He needs to solve the problem at hand, and not let himself get distracted with the future if he wants to make his vision of the future a reality.

Your selflessness, and frankly, lack of self-esteem—despite all evidence pointing to the fact that you’re effortlessly and wildly desirable to most people who meet you—is proving to be the biggest cock-blocker he could have conceived of at the outset of his campaign to make you his in every way.

He has successfully gotten you used to him touching you, and being in your home. You let him caress you, hold you while you sleep. But again, he’s a greedy man, and that’s not nearly enough for him. He runs his thumb along his chin, mind racing.

Now it’s time to take this game to the next level: how to take you on a date, without it causing you to slam down your defenses, or worse, having it backfire like the wine tasting? Ah yes, the wine tasting. He had been curious: would you drop your guard, if you were tipsy? What kind of drunk are you? Would he be able to tease truths out of you that you still keep hidden, despite his convoluted ploys to draw them out of you? In this respect, his plan was a success. He now knows that you don’t drop your guard even with wine coursing through you, and are prone to being even more skittish than when you’re sober. A possibility he hadn't considered, however, was that as you sipped from the wine glass with your soft, soft lips, filling your mouth with wine, he had to restrain himself from knocking it from your hand so that he could tongue his own mouthful directly between your lips, his hand on your throat, feeling you swallow everything he gave you. He had wanted to take and fill your mouth, drag you to him from your stool to his lap, run his hands down your sides, slip his fingers under his sweater on your body, dip them under the band of those silk shorts—

He has to stop thinking about this. He puts his head in his hands. He's going to lose his mind if he keeps thinking about this, and now is not the time or place.

Instead, he forces himself to recall the discovery that the look on your face is hilarious when you’re accused of being an unsophisticated heathen when it comes to the finer things in life. Granted, he had wanted to ensure that he wouldn’t have to worry about you blowing your cover if you ever have to go undercover and are expected to be a wine connoisseur, but he knew that you only served him wine in a mug that read CUNT just to be petty and spiteful, and not because you weren’t aware that wine glasses exist.

He laughs softly at the thought. You’re so fucking cute when you’re mean to him. Shit, he's going to have the same trouser problem again if he keeps thinking about you being mean to him.

He hadn’t meant to stay the full night. He was a busy man, after all, and the night was his time to conduct business. But you were so warm against him, so lovely with your soft hair brushing across his skin, frowning a little as if you were having a bad dream. And he had also had some of that excellent wine, so although he wasn’t anywhere near tipsy, he was so relaxed and comfortable that the idea of leaving you alone in your bed was more excruciating than usual. And so he just… let himself drift off after confirming that this particular chain of casinos are indeed the one he will be purchasing next.

Only to have the best dream he can remember having in a long while, and waking up with his teeth in your sexy as fuck body. Just one taste was not enough, and you had the gall to ask him if he was satisfied. He knows that Xavier is your partner and your friend, and he knows that you need people like that in your life. But Sylus feels like he is entitled to a big fucking reward for suppressing his urge to eviscerate that little sleepy shit for interrupting the conversation Sylus clearly needed to have with you to clear up any ridiculous thought that you might have that Sylus would want to sink his teeth into anyone else but you, in any lifetime.

He clenches his fist and tries to reassert control over the frustration building at the thought of this ongoing misunderstanding.

“Uh, boss?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you ... okay?”

Sylus comes back from the racing thoughts that he realizes he’s been having over the past few minutes, completely distracted from the current situation he finds himself in.

He’s lounging on a black leather booth, a low black-lacquered table stretching before him, an expansive one-way mirror stretching behind him. Kieran and Luke are both lounging on similar booths on either side of the closed black door, set in the crimson walls of one of the VIP lounges of one of the clubs Sylus owns. Amnesia. He snorts. If only he had been on the joke when he bought the place. But that’s neither here nor there. Suspended in front of him is a young woman. Hardly more than a girl, really, despite her best attempts to age herself through the skillful use of impeccable makeup.

She’s currently glaring at him, despite being wrapped in Sylus’s evol, which puts most other people into a state of catatonic terror. He likes her grit.

But it’s a testament to how distracted you’ve been making him lately that he has let his mind wander, even now, when he has business to attend to.

“Boss?” Kieran repeats, snapping his fingers.

“Is there a dog in here?” Sylus asks, examining his fingernails. He has been fastidious about keeping them trimmed short and smooth, ever since you nose-dived back into his life. Sylus is nothing if not prepared.

“Uh,” the twins look at each other, after looking around the room. “No?”

“No, there is not. Do I look like a dog to you, then?” Sylus asks, enjoying watching his henchmen start to shift uncomfortably when they finally catch on to this line of questioning.

“No, boss. Of course not!” they chorus in unison, as if Luke had also made the mistake at snapping his fingers at Sylus like an owner getting his pet’s attention.

“There will be consequences for displaying that level of disrespect to me in front of … our guest,” Sylus warns, and both young men’s shoulders slump. Sylus turns his attention back to the aforementioned guest.

She had been dragged in by the twins, kicking and shouting about suing them for assault and battery, abduction, and unlawful imprisonment. Her mascara had smudged a bit in the struggle, but her carefully braided hair and expensive looking, business professional pantsuit were still neat, and she looked beautifully put together. But she had fallen silent and her eyes had widened comically after the twins had dropped her into the middle of the room when she noticed Sylus sprawled across the couch at the back of the dimly lit space. She had immediately dropped to her knees.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For whatever I did, just, please don’t hurt me,” she had begged, her tear-filled voice filling the room.

Sylus stood and approached her.

“I’ll do anything, just let me go. Tell me what I did, I’ll never do it again,” she sniffled. “I have children, please think of my children!”

“Look at me.”

When she did, he realized just how young she was. Younger than Kieran and Luke, probably. Practically a baby. He let the aether core in his eye flare to life, the pain streaking through him, the pressure in his head growing, as always, but he could see.

After a timeless moment, he was done and she sagged a little. She dared to timidly peek up at him. He twitched a finger and she was immediately lifted into the air by the tendrils of his evol. He plopped back down on the couch. And then, seeing the person before him suspended by the dark force of his evol, he had gotten distracted, thinking about you the other night, held aloft by the same tendrils. How you had been prepared to hurt yourself trying to break down your door to get away from the perceived threat. About how you had thought that he would take advantage of your vulnerability and drink his fill of your bare body, once you realized the threat was actually him. He scowls—he has no interest in savoring the naked lines of your perfect body until you eagerly strip for his pleasure, of your own volition.

Damn it, he's getting distracted again.

“Hey! Put me the fuck down! How dare you treat a woman like this?” The girl demands, all pretense of pathetic fear evaporating.

“I’m a feminist,” he responds. “You get the same treatment as anyone else who steals my motorcycle and then plans to stab me with that syringe in your pocket once you've lured me within reach with this... little innocent act.” He considers her for a moment. “Really convincing acting though. Apart from the bit about kids. I doubt you’ve barely graduated high school.”

“Don’t be a dick, I could be a teen mom,” she scowls. “And that is a freaky fucking power, dude.”

“Freaky, but useful.” Sylus flicks his gaze to Kieran and Luke. “How’d she do it?”

“Quick hands, electrical skills, and some really slick hacking. It took us so long to catch her because her driving is almost as good as yours.”

Sylus looks back to the girl. “How old are you?”

A calculating look crosses her face, but disappears so quickly that if Sylus wasn’t so attuned to micro expressions to keep himself and his people alive, he would have missed it. “Old enough for you, big man. I’m legal,” she purrs. “I can show you just how illegal I can be though, if you let me go. You caught me, you can play with me—you have your bike back, no harm, no foul. We then go our separate ways.” She looks at him steadily, her tongue flicking out over her deep red lipstick.

There is a long moment of silence so deep in the room that Luke and Kieran’s raucous laughter lands in it like a whale being dropped into a pond from a great height.

“Oh man,” Luke gasps, holding onto Kieran’s shoulder for support as they’re both bent over from laughing so hard.

“You’re wildly mistaken if you think this is a deal boss would make,” Kieran tries to wipe his eye while maintaining the position of his mask, which makes Luke giggle louder.

“Totally barking up the wrong tree,” Luke manages.

“Unfortunately, we must inform you that our boss is currently taken,” Kieran finally gives up, and the tears just continue streaming down his neck into his collar.

“I mean, not that being taken would prevent a slimeball from accepting your offer, but he’s not a slimeball, and he’s also taken.” Luke pauses, still trying to catch his breath. “Well, he’s not actually taken, yet. Doesn’t that require like, an offer, and acceptance? I don’t think he’s even managed to offer yet, right?” Luke tilts his head, considering.

“Oh, that’s a good point, Luke. Our boss is currently nourishing a one-sided obsession.”

“Oooh, obsession, that’s a good word. I would have said a crush, but you’re totally right, ‘crush’ doesn’t really cover this whole…” Luke continues, waving a hand at Sylus, as if to highlight the whole sad mess the man finds himself in regarding his love interest.

“Have you even opened the thesaurus I got you a couple weeks ago?” Kieran asks, putting his hands on his hips. "How can you properly compete with me in Scrabble if you don't work on expanding your vocabulary?"

“We’ve been really busy!” Luke protests, managing to radiate a pout through his mask.

“True. We’ve been quite occupied with stalking a certain hunter…” Kieran mumbles, glancing back to Sylus, who has been pinching the bridge of his formidable nose during this entire exchange. He learned long ago that he should just let Luke and Kieran do their bits, or he’ll never hear the end of their whining about him interrupting their comedic genius.

“What the fuck is this circus?” the girl finally asks, a look of disgust on her face as she glances between Sylus and his henchmen.

“I believe my subordinates are trying to thank you for the kind offer, but are emphasizing that I’m more interested in your vehicle theft and driving skills than… anything else, you might be willing to offer in exchange for me not harvesting your organs for re-sale and dumping your weighted corpse off the docks for stealing my motorcycle tonight, and thereby complicating my plans with my partner.”

The girl's eyes widen, just a little.

"Now, don't make me repeat myself again: how old are you?"

She stares at him for a second, and then mumbles, "Twenty."

"Excellent. You're hired." Sylus leans back in his seat, checking his watch and pulling out his phone. He expected you here by now. "On a few conditions."

“So she passed the test?” Luke asks, straightening on the couch.

“What test?” the girl asks.

Kieran gestures to his the mask where his eye would be under it. “The freaky test. To see if you’re trustworthy or not. Despite all evidence clearly pointing to a definitive ‘no.’” His voice sounds uncertain as he turns to look at Sylus.

The girl scowls, trying to turn and glare at Kieran. “I’m so trustworthy,” she promises, trying her best to look earnest and not like the compulsive little liar Sylus knows her to be after looking deep into her soul.

Sylus lets her squirm for a few beats because it’s kind of fun to see the mercurial expressions flit across her calculating face. Not anywhere near as fun as watching your face, but still entertaining. “I know,” he finally says, satisfied that she’s marinated long enough in uncertain fear to not forget that feeling anytime soon.

“So you’re not gonna kill me?” She perks up. Sylus just sighs and shakes his head. “And you don’t wanna fuck me?”

“Ugh, no,” Sylus grimaces like he just bit into something foul. “Please never say anything remotely like that again.”

“Deal!” She grins. “You’re not my type anyway. I mean, you're old, and like, it's bad enough that I have to endure Yaoi hands in manga." She grimaces. "I like roleplay, and things that come in pairs a lot, lot more.” Somehow, she manages to twist while still in the evol’s hold and leers at the twins, who both freeze, both masks turned towards her somehow radiating fear.

Sylus glances down at his hands. You seem to like them well enough, so he's not worried about her opinion, even if he were the type to suffer from insecurity. They're just proportional to the rest of him. He tries to control his smirk, but the thought of the noise you made when he bit you, and how you squirmed against him as he was waking up, makes it really hard to control his face. He shakes his head. Business. “If I’m going to employ you, I need to be able to trust that you will follow two rules.” Sylus intones, interrupting whatever predator-prey themed nature documentary is currently playing out in front of him.

The girl turns back to him, looking wary again.

“Are you listening?” he asks.

She nods, and suddenly looks her age. A little afraid. A little curious.

“Rule number one. Do not sexually harass your colleagues,” he gives her a stern look.

“Aww,” she sulks, but at his Look, she nods. “And rule number two?”

“I have someone very important to me that I may need to ask you to help. By being available as a driver, anytime, anywhere. The kind of driver that may need to steal conveniently parked vehicles, and to outrun my competitors who will have dangerous intentions. Or worse: law enforcement. And you are not allowed to reveal this person’s existence to anyone, or the importance of this person to me. No matter what you learn in the course of your duties, either about this person, or me, you will. Keep. Your. Mouth. Shut. Do you think you can accept these rules?”

She looks at Sylus thoughtfully. “What are you going to punish your men with for snapping their fingers at you like you were a dog?” she finally asks.

He gazes steadily back at her. “I’m going to tell our chef that there will be no cheese on the menu for a week.”

The girl smiles radiantly as Kieran and Luke squawk their protests: “That is a horrendously unjust punishment!” (Kieran) “What the fuck boss?! Not cool!” (Luke).

“Okay, I can do that. But that’s three.”

“Excuse me?” Sylus can hardly think over the noise the twins are making.

“That’s three rules, not two. I can’t hit on the cosplay twins, I have to drive your unrequited crush whenever, and I can’t talk about what you two do.. or don’t have going on.” She shrugs. “Three rules.”

Sylus sighs, letting his evol set her back on her sensible heels. Why does he seem to attract the most unruly of employees in the entirety of both Linkon City and the N109 zone?

She strides over to him and pumps his hand vigorously. “Name’s Noah. What’s the salary for this gig, anyway?”

Sylus accepts her handshake, his own engulfing her tiny one. He intends to make great use of her skilled hands when he isn’t available to make sure you have a getaway car when you’re in danger, or to simply chauffeur you around Linkon City on errands that he thinks are too far for you to walk. And finally, to bring you to him, in the N109 zone, on the nights you’re too tired for it to be safe to drive yourself.

You just don’t know it yet.

“You assume I’m paying you, when I have already generously let you walk out of here with all of the organs with which you entered?”

“Well, speaking of organs, a girl's got to eat. Do I get to come to your chef’s dinners? If they don’t get any cheese, can I still have some?” Noah asks, flicking her braids over her shoulder and jerking a thumb at the twins. They shine silkily under the soft lights of the room.

“Boss, no,” Kieran and Luke beg.

“Yes I’m paying you, no you’re not coming to the base for meals unless your job requires you to be there around normal dining hours.” Noah pouts a little at this. “Kieran, Luke, stick around with Noah for a little while downstairs." Noah perks up, but then deflates when he continues, "But do not let her drink. When I've collected my kitten, you can take her to get set up with Linda. For now, send in Aidan, and the wine distributor who is probably getting impatient waiting for our meeting.” Sylus checks his watch again. He expected you here at eleven, and it’s already a quarter past already.

“Who’s Linda?” Noah asks, trailing Kieran and Luke out of the room.

“Our Human Resources manager,” Kieran answers.

Noah makes an impressed sound. “You guys have an HR manager?”

“Yeah, for like the employment agreement and insurance and benefits and stuff,” Luke answers.

“What kind of shady criminal outfit has fucking benefits?”

“Not those kind of benefits!” Kieran gasps, scandalized.

"Not fucking benefits, Kieran, but like... expletive, and then the noun," Luke tries to correct his brother's misunderstanding.

"Ooh," Kieran says. "Hey, I didn't know you knew the word 'expletive.'"

"Yeah, so, maybe next time think twice before accusing me of not even opening your gift," Luke grumbles.

Noah looks assessingly between the two of them. "You guys are actually pretty sweet." Luke and Kieran look at each other, and then look back at her.

"May I ask you a question?" Kieran asks, after an awkward silence.

"Sure," she shrugs.

"Why are you dressed like a real estate agent in her forties?" Luke asks.

"Uh," Noah glances between them again. "Is this a party trick? Like, you act like one person all the time in front of other people?"

"Act?" Kieran asks. Luke just stares at her.

"Okay, whatever. Keep your secrets, you little weirdos," she says affectionately, as if she hasn't just met them. "And I dress like this because who are you more likely to finger in a lineup for grand theft auto? Karen from accounting or the ripped-leather goth-bitch from the wrong side of the Linkon City-N109 zone border?"

"Aah," both twins nod sagely, and the door closes on their chatter with a soft whoosh of air.

Sylus unlocks his phone, and prepares to text you. Not knowing where you are is making him uncomfortable. He decides that he's going to put Mephisto on permanent kitten duty, starting tomorrow.

Time to move to the next state of play: discovering how long it takes to convince a certain hunter that Sylus is sincerely all in, and not just hunting you for sport. Let the wooing games begin.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #lads #l&ds #lnds #lads sylus #my fanfic #i initially posted this to the wrong fucking blog #poor mass effect fans like wtf is this nonsense #anyway #hope this over the top offering is enjoyable for those still interested #i have the next part pretty much finished and the following planned #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #love and deepspace fanfiction #currently figuring out how to stuff as many ridiculous tropes into one story as possible

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pretzel-box · 14 hours

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Please read.

This is a general post about a small thing that came up two or three times in the past.

It's not that dramatic but I would like to adress it anyways since it's something that's stressing me out when people mention it.

"You take too long to post."

"You didn't wrote my request."

I admit that the pace I started with has dropped and I took more time to actually come up with stuff, despite my writing schedule.

This now is not a try to justify myself or to nag at the people that request but I like to let you know why I haven't posted that much by sharing a glimpse into my personal life:

1. I am german and dyslexic, I take a lot of time to edit my stories, and I write them carefully. I do not have beta readers or anything else that checks my works for spelling errors, wrong grammar, or logic errors. Most of the time, I write a rough draft in german and translate it by myself into english, adding more key elements. I do not use any translation websites or any other tools to help me with that because it mostly changes how I want the sentences to sound.

2. I actually am a human with a private life.

I had to take a break from school due my mental health and dropped out for the year. Now I work a small side job as waitress. I work overtime to make ends meet. Writing is something like a hobby and I do it mostly on trains, busses or waiting in a parking lot when I come up with a draft. Only in the evenings or nights I find the time to sit on my laptop to form it into an actual 1k minimum story.

On top of that, I had a recent breakup and some stress among the family. I don't try to let my personal life affect the way I am on tumblr. But I have to admit that what I write is deeply connected with how I feel. Sunkissed for example was highly inspired by my past relationship. As Above So Below is a story where I deal with my own anxieties. What I write has a small part of me and it's what makes it so special. And I can't be writing all the time because there are more than enough situations where I can't even bring myself to eat three meals a day or do some chores.

3. My laptop and my Ipad are broken. My laptop is currently in repair, all my personal data including saved drafts, stories, ideas, the layout for AASB and personal pictures are GONE. My laptop will return in roughly 2-3 weeks. All I have left is my phone and let me tell you how gruesome it is to write stories on your phone. Especially when it's not a one day issue.

As stated above all my works have a minimum of 1k words. Most stories even reach inbetween 2-4k words and AASB has a minimum of 5k. Usually I write around 11k words a week minimum without requests counting.

4. Yes, I gave myself so much work. I decided to have so many on going projects myself and I work on it. But right now I just don't have the tools or the time to make everyone satisfied.

Thank you all for reading this. I just had to let this out of my head and I apologise for everyone that is unhappy, disappointed or angry at me. It's not something I can change right now and I can only ask you to have patience.

#pretzelthoughts

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mythalism · 1 day

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still just verbally processing my own feelings about this but i think the crux of it for me is less the decision itself and once again the way it is being sold to us. if you want a blank slate - fine. do it then. set the game 100 years in the future when all of the characters are already dead. dont put varric and harding in. maybe we meet an old, gray kieran with mythal's soul, idk it doesnt matter but anyway you can have the exact same story with solas and rook and all of the companions and have the "blank slate" you so desire. market it as such; not a direct sequel, but a solas-centric spinoff. i would have loved that game and enjoyed it immensely. but they didnt do that. the foundation of the marketing since 2018 has been solas and varric- returning characters from past games. the devs have said over and over and OVER AND OVER that the inquisitor is integral to the story. that its the "inquisitor's story too". that it was always going to have to involve solas and the inquisitor. but........ also that nothing the inquisitor did was relevant? what? its literally the writes wanting to have their cake and eat it too. you cannot make a disconnected blank-slate game about a new cast of characters when literally 1/3 of your cast is RETURNING CHARACTERS. you have been using those returning characters as the face of your marketing campaign for over 5 years. you have emphasized how much it serves as a direct sequel to inquisition's DLC. you have been banking on our attachment to these characters and our emotional investment in this world to win our attention, and eventually, our purchase. and now... a month before release, you pull out the rug from under everyone and say... actually we wanted a blank slate :). its duplicitous. i will still undoubtedly play and enjoy this game. i love solas and i have no doubt i am going to love learning more about him, a game that explores his history like this is pretty much my dream. but they should have sold me this game as THAT from the start. it is a drastic deviation from one of the core components of the dragon age franchise, and whether you believe that is for the better or for the worse, to only reveal the extent of that deviation 36 days before release is unfair at best and unethical at worst.

#veilguard spoilers #damn when am i gonna run out of things to say about this.... never probably LMFAO #im honestly over it bc i have been grieving for days now already but the way they spoke about it in the article really rubbed me the wrong #way

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marvelsmylife · 2 days

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Say something

Pairing: Brennan Sorrengail x reader

Plot: you start to ignore Brennan after he scoffs at your suggestion in front of the entire assembly, only for him to agree with the same suggestion when another member agrees with it.

A/n I promise one day I’ll write a happy Brennan story (today is not the day)

Masterlist

Request

Brennan was at a loss for words. You were actively avoiding him for the past few months and he was trying to figure out why. Every time he tried to be alone with you, you would make an excuse to leave. You even stopped sleeping in the same room with him and that’s when he knew he had to corner you and confront you on what’s going on.

It was a cool spring night when Brennan managed to corner you in the room you moved into a few weeks ago. He was growing frustrated because you kept telling him everything was fine. “No, everything is not fine,” Brennan snapped “We haven’t spent time together in months. Fuck, you even moved out of our room a few weeks ago. Tell me what I did to make you avoid me.”

You let out a shaky breath as you finally replied, “You ignored my ideas during the assembly meetings.”

“That’s what you’re mad about?” Brennan regretted saying that immediately.

Your eyes grew cold as you glared at Brennan, “Yes ! ! !” you shouted, “Do you know how embarrassing it is to have your significant other shut down your idea, only to have someone else copy what they said word for word but because they were the ones that said it, you suddenly agreed to it.”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I did that,” Brennan stuttered as he recalled that day in his mind. His eyes shuttered close as remembered the distraught look on your face when he agreed to the same plan being suggested by a man above your rank. The same plan he quickly shut down without letting you explain the reasoning behind it.

Staring at you now, he noticed the exhausted look on your face. The sparkle that was once in your eyes was gone, replaced with an indifferent stare. “Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix us,” Brennan begged, desperately trying to find a solution to the problem he created.

You took a deep breath as you braced yourself before saying the thing that would probably destroy you both, “Give me space. Being around you all the time and having you undermined me is making me resent you.”

Brennan felt his throat dry up at your words. He already knew he messed up, but he didn’t know he messed up so badly to the point you were resenting him. “Ok. I’ll give you space, but please promise me something. Promise you won’t end things between us. I know I fucked up but I love you and want to work this out.”

“Ok,” you replied.

He knew he shouldn’t, but Brennan walked up to you and placed a lingering kiss on your lips. Not knowing if that was going to be the last kiss you ever shared. “I love you, and I’m so sorry things between us have gotten so bad. I promise I’ll make things right,” Brennan whispered against your lip.

“I hope so,” you whispered before opening the door and ushering for Brennan to leave.

#brennan sorrengail imagines #brennan sorrengail imagine #brennan sorrengail x reader #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader

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sitp-recs · 3 days

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Between the Power Lines by @tackytigerfic (M, 3k)

For Harry Potter, all roads eventually lead to Draco Malfoy. Or: this is not an AU! It's just Harry and Draco meeting by chance in an imported food shop in Connecticut and going on a road trip together. Featuring motels, cacti, Americana, and a hefty dose of pining.

In New Orleans, they got drunk on Bourbon Street, and Malfoy danced on his own (arms bare, laughing; Harry could have watched him all night) and later on, so late it was almost morning, they let themselves into the St Louis Cemetery—Malfoy unpicking the lock so sweetly—and walked around until the sky was pink-edged with the promise of another day’s heat. Then they sat on the steps of a crypt, watched over by sightless eyes of the statue of an angel. She looked exhausted rather than sad, Harry thought, and that made a lot of sense when he thought about his own longstanding, dull-edged grief.

It’s been ages (or 2 years) since I last wrote a rec for Tacky (I usually write for other readers, except when I’m reccing friends - then I write for them) and their birthday was the perfect excuse to put my reccing muscles back to work. I almost bailed out because I know this is one of T’s own faves and “what if I don’t do it justice?” but that tired angel banner has been sitting in my drafts for 3 long years and it deserves a proper rec!

Where to even begin? Anyone who knows Tacky is aware of their superb prose - rich and nuanced, compassionate, effortlessly funny, with a strong sense of place and a soft spot for suds scenes and filthy m-rated sex I mean devastating romance. Their writing breathes heart and personality, very much like Tacky themself. So knowing that this fic came out exactly as they intended it to should be enough to make you go read this right now, but in case you need further incentive, see below all the reasons why this oneshot is so special to me:

1. The *vibes*: if you thought that 3k is nowhere near enough to build the sexiest, most intriguing Americana atmosphere you’ve seen, think again. The aesthetics are impeccable here, decorating the beautiful and strange landscape - cacti and cheap motels included - into something peaceful and desolate, an overarching melancholy making it even more compelling. The dialogue is brilliant but the silences are just as loud and meaningful, with a quiet intimacy and a dreamlike quality that make you feel as if you're intruding a memory.

2. The romance: at this point everyone and their dog know that pining!Harry is Tacky's jam - they luxuriate in making us all suffer with him until the realization that Draco has been loving him back all along slaps us in the face. Harry is so stupid and desperate and wanton, I love it. And the way Tacky reinvents this delicious trope to make it work in new angsty ways blows my mind. Imo the slow burn is particularly effective here, a feat in any 3k story, because the narrative gives us so much character insight. We learn all the little things that make these two lonely boys tick as we watch their ever-changing perception of each other evolve from a tentative truce to reluctant confidants to a comfortable, easy love that comes naturally and earned. We often get those bits of information from imagery and emotions alone, no dialogue needed, and a road trip is the best way to explore those dynamics in a smooth, unhurried pace.

3. The journey: this is truly an immersive journey, not only physical as we keep jumping from one destination to the next, but also emotional, as we learn more about their vulnerabilities and desires the more they gravitate towards each other. This story shows that being far away from home can be both freeing and grounding, when you’re stuck with your hot enemy someone who knows about your darkest hour. It gives you the chance to heal and visualize a different future without forgetting your past or letting go of that which has shaped who you are. I love their chance encounter and how this poignant 30k love story is told in such impressive economy of words.

TL;DR: if you’re a short form fan and prone to melancholy like me believe me when I say it doesn’t get any better than this. The whole road trip shebang mixing grief, romance and nostalgia wrapped in Tacky’s lush writing is a gift to any reader and an elegant work of art. Enjoy!!!

#drarry fic rec #phew it only took me 3 years #didn’t have the chance to revise so apologies for any typos #hbd pal!! ily

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nyx-thedragon · 2 days

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Newsies thoughts part 3

so I just finished watching Newsies 1992 for the fourth time, and noted down a bunch of things I noticed or thoughts I had. I didn't do this the third time I watched bc that one was with my brother and I wanted to focus on the movie and talking and joking with him lol.

anyway, I noted down a lot of things, so prepare for a long post. (these are in order of when I thought of them, and I'm typing them from my notes app so enjoy my train of thought/how my brain thinks)

1- shoutout to Mr Kloppman for taking care of the boys

2- what's the story behind the lady that comes in singing about her son in "Carrying the Banner"? she fucking slays, but I'm very confused about it

3- they're literally just a bunch of teenage boys who've been dealt an awful hand in life but try their best to keep everyone's morale up and stay positive (me realizing how sad the reality of the newsboys is)

4- all the older newsies taking care of and helping the little ones I love them so bad

5- you can tell how close the newsies are with each other I love it. family for real

6- why does Les carry a wooden sword almost the whole movie?

7- "this is my brother David. he's older" "oh, no kiddin'"

8- love love love how all the newsies just adopt David and Les into the group immediately

9- Pulitzer needs a magnifying glass to read the big-ass headline lmao

10- Seitz lowkey seems to kinda be on the newsies' side

11- why does the crowd boo when the old guy is holding up the "round 58" sign? (during the scene where there's a boxing match going on)

12- Les and Davey immediately follow Jack in running from Snyder even though they've never been in trouble with the law

13- Davey stops Les from putting his head in the horse mask thing (?) (when they're in Medda's theatre)

14- Jack just staring at Davey while Medda coos over Les

15- genuinely Jack did not need to pull Davey by his tie. he could've grabbed his shoulder, but no. had to pick the gayest option

16- Davey inviting Jack to his house after just meeting him literally like not even 12 hours ago. and then inviting him to stay the night?? down bad behavior for real. and he seems so nervous to introduce him to his parents too ??

17- Sarah Jacobs please give me a chance please please please

18- ngl the scenes with Jack and Sarah are a little bit like,,,cringe?? idk they just don't feel right idk if they have enough chemistry for Sarah to realistically be Jack's love interest

19- bro just casually steals a horse and no one goes after him ??? (during Santa Fe)

20- the stupid fucking calculation thing Pulitzer does with his arms omg it's so funny for no reason

21- Kid Blink either doesn't see or just doesn't care that one of the Delanceys is mocking him

22- Jack puts his hand like right next to Davey's face and then slowly moves it away lol (when Jack is asking Davey what he should say to the other newsies when first planning the strike)

23- Davey staring longingly at Jack while he's up writing "strike" on the board

24- "i need some of those...what do you call 'em?" "whatever you want!" (from a random newsie in the crowd, love whoever that was)

25- Spot Conlon hears Davey say one sentence and is like 'yeah this guy never shuts up once you get him going, i can tell' (hence "walking mouth")

26- who is the newsie that just appears behind Jack while they're in Brooklyn talking to Spot??

27- Mush and Davey friendship i love you so

28- where does Race get a harmonica from for "Seize The Day"?

29- love all the littles standing on the statue pedestal during "Seize The Day"

30- Jack and Davey jump up on the statue pedestal and start kicking each other. playing footsie, boys?

oh dear lord i did not realize i noted down this much holy shit

31- Davey immediately looking for Les when the cops show up

32- the Refuge needs better security at the gate cuz how did newsies sneak in TWICE

33- they had time to choreograph a whole dance routine bro (the little seize the day reprise thing)

34- "everyone remain calm" "let's soak 'em for Crutchie!"

35- Davey gets pulled away by someone in the crowd while trying to help Jack (during the big scene when they get ambushed by the police at the distribution place)

36- why are half of the Brooklyn guys grown ass men?? and they're intimidated enough by Spot Conlon to let him be the leader? man i love Spot Conlon he's so cool

37- Spot and Kid Blink lowkey friendship love it

38- Dutchy being horizontal for the picture

39- the workers at the restaurant just watching the chaos of "King of New York"

40- i hate Snyder's face. it makes me uncomfy

41- Sarah Jacobs, how is your hair perfect right after waking up tell me your secrets

42- if they wanted the Jack and Sarah love interest story to actually work better, they should've fit more scenes of them talking

43- nah cuz actually wdym Jack's "real" name is Francis?? he doesn't look like a Francis at all (this is just me being baffled that he could be named Francis, of all things)

44- who is letting Kid Blink hang off the fucking balcony bro he is nawt gonna land on his feet

45- Race and Blink being Medda's #1 hype men <3

oh my fucking god i'm so sorry this is so long i apologize profusely. if you've made it this far, go get a little treat for yourself

46- Jack and Davey are so grabby with each other when Davey is warning Jack about Snyder

47- Medda i love you !!! (tried to fight off the police to defend Race. "he's just a child")

48- how are the newsies losing the fight against the police? there's like a thousand of them and not as many of the police (or at least it seems there's a lot less police)

49- Denton trying to get to Jack when he's captured by the police

50- Race trying to gamble with the judge, he's so unserious

51- the look Jack gives Davey when Snyder starts telling the truth about Jack (his real name, his dad not being out West)

52- i keep accidentally mixing up Specs and Dutchy lol. probably cuz they both wear glasses (i feel so bad for this omg i'm so sorry Specs and Dutchy)

53- no yeah, security at the gate of the Refuge is awful. 6 boys snuck in at once !!

54- why did Pulitzer tell Jack to shut up and listen THREE TIMES when he wasn't even talking ???

55- Davey was just standing in the courtyard outside Pulitzer's, how did no one see him?? he wasn't even hiding, dude

56- Mush shows up to get the "Newsies Banner" papers twice - once by himself and again with Kid Blink

57- "can you read? read that" (Race making sure the kids will be able to read the paper love him for that)

58- Race and Les's little friendship moment is cute ("when the distribution bell starts ringin', will we hear it?" "nah")

59- Race's reaction to Roosevelt is funny. "Roosevelt!?" (bro is shocked)

60- Denton hanging out with Les while Davey gets his papes

61- Race cheering when Jack kisses Sarah. "Jackie boy!"

whew oh dear lord I am so so so sorry for this being so fucking long. I didn't even realize I had noted down so many things I feel bad for making folks have to read this whole thing if they want to see all my thoughts. maybe I should split this in half and have two posts instead of this long one?? idk let me know what you think. also, if I got the names wrong for any newsies, please let me know I'm still learning lol.

uh yeah, this post is over now. stay hydrated, get some rest, and stay cool

#newsies #newsies 1992 #92sies #1992sies #1992 newsies #so many thoughts #i am so sorry #this is way too long #i will not ramble in the tags this time #i am going to sleep now #goodnight

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gah-who-are-you · 4 hours

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She who made his heart beat again...

Just Toji story ideas where it's your story when you meet, what happens, etc... What can I say, he has me on a chokehold at this point. (Toji x Fem!Reader) (SFW)

(This story is based off if Toji had returned with Megumi after a few months of leaving him. Which ends up in the forming of a family. (Megumi is still a child as well as Tsumiki) Either this is gonna be good or just me rambling about how a relationship with him would be like and the way he feels... ANYWAYS! Enjoy my attempt at writing. (っ◔◡◔)っ ❤

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Toji who after a long day of "missions" comes home to see you. You're laying there in your shared bed, reading a book that you've been looking forward to. Megumi laid there with you, resting his head against your arm as he read along with you, meanwhile Tsumiki was fast asleep in your arms. You were so immersed you didn't hear the door click as it opened. Didn't hear his heavy footsteps along the hallways. You hadn't even registered how Megumi had lifted his head to look at his dad as he stood there in the door frame gazing at the three of you. Toji's voice had broken you out of your trance. "How can I expect my children to be safe if you're so caught up with that thing, huh ma?" He asked with a smirk, a sense of lightheartedness in his tone.

You lifted your head and jumped slightly at the fact that he was right there before you. You raised a brow but smiled at the sight of him. You knew he was playing. "Well to be fair you used to put yourself in situations where you could get enemies. So technically you're putting us in danger not me." You say and shrug your shoulders, a small smile gracing your features. Toji can only shake his head and smile lightly. He approaches the bed and lays down. He rests his head on your stomach, his arms wrapping around your waist, and around Tsumiki, one of his hand reach out to lazily ruffle Megumi's hair slightly. Causing the spikey haired child to groan in despair. Megumi then pushes his hand aside and moves closer to you, clinging to you. You could only chuckle slightly in response. Toji letting out a grumble and pulled Megumi down to be able to hug him. Megumi giving up and laying next to him. A small frown on his face. You chuckled and ruffled Megumi's hair slightly. Megumi's small hand coming to rest on yours, his small hand meeting the cold feeling of your wedding ring.

You see you know Megumi and Toji aren't really on good terms. Hell, Megumi sometimes doesn't even acknowledge his father, and much rather ignore him as if he doesn't exist. For Toji to up and leave Megumi and Tsumiki, it didn't really leave a good impression on him.

For him to appear again a few months later with another partner, you. It kind hit him hard. But Megumi knew you were just another person, you didn't know his issues, and didn't know of him at first.

And it was true.

Toji first saw you in a small shopping district. You were standing there in front of one of the stalls deciding whether to buy some fruits or not. Once Toji's eyes landed on you a smile graced his features. Something about you caught his eye. Maybe it was your eyes, your hair, your face? Just my type. He thought to himself with a grin. He then approached you and attempted to flirt with you, having in mind maybe a one night stand. Yet you rejected his attempts and completely ignored him.

Which left him completely stunned, after all women would usually be oggling him or by now be with him in his bed. Yet you politely declined and left him there standing. The vendor looking at Toji awkwardly and letting out a low. "tsssssssssss", rubbing salt to the wound. Toji turning to the vendor and glared at him. Toji threw the fruit back in the pile and left.

He tried shrugging it off at first. Not really bothered by it but then a week later he saw you standing there again looking upon the vegetable and fruits. He looked at you for sometime. Scanning you up and down. Looking upon your face and the way your hands moved to pick the fruit up.

You looked so peaceful, so calm, so beautiful to him. The sun shining perfectly on your face, leaving him breathless. A small grin forming on his face. He shook his head quickly getting rid of the thoughts and slapped his face sharply. No. He thought to himself as he repeatedly slapped his face.

Now you see technically you actually had just left work, tired, disheveled. Your hair in a slight disarray from how you tugged at it due to the stress of the office. Your eyes with dark circles under. But man, he liked it, like a lot. He grumbled as he walked up next to you, picking up the fruit he had decided to get. Trying to get rid of his thoughts. Maybe being next to you for a moment will get this need of you off of him.

You were reaching over to get a (fruit of choice) and he reached out to grab it as well. Your hand coming to rest on top of his. You both looked up at the same time and stared at each other for a bit. "I thought you weren't interested." He said with a hum, a grin crossing his face, cutting through the silence. He sure hoped you remembered how he hit on you last time, or this could turn awkward real fact. "Excuse me?" You asked, wide eyed a slight scowl forming on your face as you recognized the man before you.

Bingo! You did remember! You quickly tried to retract your hand but he grabbed onto it. "What are you-?" You asked but are cut off as he places a kiss to your hand. That was needless to say unexpected but not unwelcomed. Even he found it unexpected. Why'd I do that? He asked himself as he lowered your hand. You raised a brow at his gesture and quickly retracted your hand. "May I have the fruit back?" You asked with a tired sigh.

He then picked up the fruit and looked at it for sometime. A grin forming on his face. "I'll give it to you, in exchange I'll take your number." He said and inched the fruit closer to you. You sighed and grabbed another fruit from the fruit pile from the vendors stall. Toji looked at you slightly dumbfounded.

He might've, by chance, maybe, might’ve forgotten about the pile of fruit right next to the two of you. After all you were right in front of the fruit stall. "You didn't think this through did you" You say and smile in amusement. To be honest this was entertaining for you. After having spent the entire day in a crammed office this interaction somehow snapped you back socially. Reminding you that the stress of work isn't the only thing in life. Though you can't deny you hadn't expected him to approach you a second time. And even less considering the way you look. You then turn to the vendor and pay for your fruit. "I’ll see you around then.” You say with a small smile and turn your back to him, walking away.

That’s when it clicked for him. You were serious yet amusing, warm, smart, and apart from that you're one hell of a good looking woman. A grin spread across his face as he saw you leave.

From then on it was his mission to make sure your designated place is next to him. He wouldn’t dare call you his. After all you’re not a object. But damn once you two started dating he would say that you owned him. Without hesitation.

Well to himself he says it. He also wouldn’t dare tell you. Who knows what you’d do with that power. When the two of you did get together. After a lot of bantering, issues, and support for Toji's situation. After all he was a man far from perfect. And he still is, but he's owning up to his issues now. Learning and trying with all his might to be a different person.

So here he lays with you and his kids. Megumi eventually drifting into a sleep as he rests next to his father. Toji resting on your lower body, his head resting on your stomach. Meanwhile Tsumiki is snuggled up next to you.

How peaceful. You thought to yourself, a smile forming on you face. You resting your hand on toji's back and soothed him into a sleep. You then remembered how he used to act in the beginning of your relationship.

In the beginning of your relationship he had quite the issues. He'd get jealous easily, overprotective, and really touchy. Usually scaring away people from you due to his menacing form and imposing figure. You'd scold him, eventually leading to little fights here and there. Yet soon you got to the point of the issue.

The two of you had been walking together in the park, the place was quiet and it was just the two of you. It was a late night stroll. The kids were in the care of a baby sitter and the two of you decided to relax.

"You know Megumi's beginning to trust you." You said with a small smile. As you adjust your coat.

"You think so, huh?" Toji asked while he rested a hand on your waist, holding you close.

"Sure do, he is talking to you now, even if it's something like asking you to pass him the salt. He used to ignore you completely." A small chuckle leaving you.

Toji letting out a exasperated sigh. "Hope so." He says a bit of a solemn expression covering his face.

You reached out and patted his face gently. "Hey, it'll be fine. Little by little he'll get used to you." You say and smile at him gently.

"Easy for you, he accepted you pretty fast." He says and frown slightly and then pokes your cheek in a playful way.

"He'll get around." You say softly and reach your hand back, patting his sculpted back gently.

"You're a good one, ma" He said and looked at you with a soft smile. "Always know what to tell them, what to say, what to do. " He said and looked off in the distance, the last part barely audible. Almost as if looking back into his thoughts.

There had been moments in your relationship you had seen Toji space off.

One of them being when he was holding a sleeping Megumi in his arms. Carrying him to his room. He had set Megumi down, tucked him in and stood there. Looking at his son. His hand coming to rest on Megumi's spiky hair. Looking specifically at his hair.

You look at him, your eyes searching his face, to be able to dive deep into his soul. To be able to catch what he was so lost in.

"Tell me about her." You say softly, breaking Toji out of his trance. His head whips back to face you. His body tensing slightly.

"Tell you what?" He asked, a sense of small hostility in his voice.

"Tell me about Megumi's mom, his real mom." You rub his back gently, soothing his tense body. "I don't mind, I won't be hurt with you talking about her. Tell me. I’m curious of the woman who brought Megumi into this world.” You say softly, a reassuring smile gracing your features.

Toji hesitated, but his eyes soon met yours. He didn't see judgment. But rather love. You knew he had a wife before hand. Knew he had changed his last name to hers and it didn't bother you. In fact you admired it. You found it so beautiful the devotion he had to her. You'd always wished for something like the love he has for his wife. Now you had him and he had you. Two people that have come to trust one another, enough to talk about their past lives, experiences, and truths.

Maybe this is what he really liked about you. You didn't judge him with his issues, but also didn't agree with him. You had your own thoughts but also respected the thoughts of others. But most of all you didn't criticize him. Didn't scrunch your nose when you saw him. Didn't look at him with pity or disrespect. But empathy, love, and warmth. One that eased into his stone heart.

Toji then sighed and looked off into the distance. "You remind me of her at times." He said as he rubbed the back on his neck nervously. "With how kind you are. With the way you act at times. Maybe that's why I approached you at first. Yet she was her own person."

"She was a stubborn woman at times." He said with a hint of a solemn smile. "Strong willed, gentle, and beautiful." He said, his voice lowering slightly as he spoke, almost as if he's running back to his thoughts.

You rested your hand on his shoulder gently. "She sounds like a beautiful person." You say gently a small smile on your face.

Toji then looked back at you, a solemn smile on his face. "She is, she still is." He said softly as his eyes met yours. "You know I don't date you because you remind me of her at times. You're quite the person" He said as his hand came to rest on your head, his fingers combing through your hair.

"You're quite amusing, ma." He said with a grin as he ruffled your hair.

You groaned slightly and was about to push him away when he pulled away and walked ahead of you.

You looked at him a bit dumbfounded but shook your head. Something tells me that's all I might ever hear about her. You stood there thinking to yourself.

He's not ready to tell me all. You thought. But...I'm glad he trusted me to tell me even just the slightest details. She really must've been very important to him. You thought to yourself a small smile forming on your face. That's a beautiful type of love. I wonder if he'll come to love me as much as he loves her.

You're then snapped out of your thoughts as Toji calls you from far away. "Yo! What's got you so spaced out?" He asked, a brow raised and a small frown on his face.

You looked up at him, a warm smile covering your face, a small hum escaping your lips. You laced your fingers with his and kissed his cheek gently. "C'mon let's get home, the babysitter is gonna end up calling soon." You say with a hum and walk ahead of him.

You then heard a small chuckle behind you. His foot steps getting louder as he approaches you, wrapping his arms around your neck, resting the back of your head on his chest. "You know I love you right?" He said softly as he kissed the back of your head gently. You then craned your head back and looked up at Toji. "I don't know do I?" You ask with a playful tone.

Toji rolled his eyes, he then looked down at you, his face hovering over yours as he leaned in to fill in the small space. His lips meeting yours. He then pulled away slightly but wrapped his arms around your waist. "How about now, ma?" He asked a grin on his face. You chuckled lightly and nodded your head. "Yeah yeah romantic, now lets go." You said and rolled your eyes, a smile forming on your face. “Don’t wanna be left behind do you?” You ask with a teasing smile.

He stayed still for a bit staring at you. You looked at him slightly confused a brow raised. He then walked up to you his hands resting on your hips. “I ain’t letting you go, ma. Not now not ever. Don’t wanna lose this.” He says as he leans in and kisses you. " I already lost someone precious, I ain't losing anything precious every again." He says as he swoops you off your feet bridal style.

You cry out in surprise but nonetheless wrap your arms around his neck and rest your head on his chest. "Soooooo, is this why you get jealous easily, and protective?" You ask with a grin that eventually forms into a warm smile.

Toji looking down at you his eyes widening as he hears your sentence. He then turns his head away from you averting his gaze. Thinking about something. "Damn right it is" he says with a hum as he turns back to face you, his lips meeting yours.

That day the two of you arrived home, swooped the kids in your arms and put them to rest. Megumi's tired body resting in your arms. Meanwhile Tsumiki was fast asleep in her father's arms. You hadn't noticed as Toji's eyes softened as he saw you hold a sleepy Megumi in your arms.

You really were you own person. You had your own ways of talking, acting, and being. Different from her. Yet he liked it. He liked you so much that he couldn't bare losing you. He couldn't deny the relief he felt that day.

Now days pass, months, years. And his eyes soften each time he sees you. His heart swells when he sees the way you take care of his kids. His heart quickens when he see your body. His lips come to meet yours as he loves you. He wouldn't change it for anything. His home is that were you are. Where you are with the kids, ensuring they're healthy, ensuring they're taken care of, ensured they're loved. Home is where he finds love.

Toji stirs slightly as he wakes up, Megumi still resting in his arms. Meanwhile Tsumiki is asleep, resting on a few pillows. He lazily looks around and doesn't notice you. He slowly gets up, moving Megumi into a more comfortable position. Laying him down to Tsumiki.

He then walks out the door, hearing the sound of water running and dishes clinking. He sees you there, washing dishes. Humming a song of your liking. It was such a warm view to him. That of domestic tranquility.

A smile graced Toji's face. He walked up to you. Wrapped his arms around you waist as he rested his face in the crook of you neck. You were used to this at some point of your relationship. "You sleep well?" You ask gently as you continued washing the dishes, the warm water running over your hands. Toji just grunts in response as his grasp around your waist tightens. "Toji-?" You ask confused about to turn around until you feel a drop of water fall onto your neck.

A tear. A tear left Toji's eye. His face buried in your neck. His arms wrapped around you, not letting you go. His emotions taking over. There'd be times you were unaware of how Toji looked at you, felt about you, of how he was so very grateful you came into his life. Helped him, saved him, and healed him. Maybe seeing you there. a ring now on your finger, in a calm domestic setting. It tugged at his strings, made him really realize what he has now and what he knows he'll never let go. Now that he has what he always wanted. What he had come to yearn for so much. A family. A love. Someone to understand him. Oh how grateful this man is of you. Promising the vows you made on your wedding day that he'll stay faithful to them.

Your wet hand comes to rest on his. Easing him. His grip on your loosening. A reassuring smile on your face, as you hear Toji cry, as you feel his tears fall on you. Till you both grow sick and old. Till you let your last breathe. May this love exist as long as you two live.

--------------------------------------------------------Author's note-------

I'll be completely honest, I don't know where I was going with this. But it was fun writing it and this is the way I see Toji Fushiguro. A kind man when it comes to the person he loves, but completely ruthless to anything else. Oh well. :) -Also don't be afraid to make requests on characters^^ I write other fanfics as well so don't worry-

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the-fic-forestry · 2 days

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Hiii! Could you possibly write something for Older!Dipper with a s/o who's a vampire and has parents that aren't too fond of humans?

Like they've been sheltered from human society as much as possible for alot of their life and just started sneaking away to the town and figured out 'huh, they aren't that bad..' sooner or later meeting/getting together with Dip

But once the relationship gets a little more serious they get worried about how to go about introducing him, because they love their parents and want them to meet the guy that makes them happy..

Oh, I love this idea! Decided on go with College!Dipper on this one!

Even years after Weirdmaggedon, the locals of Gravity Falls still remained relatively unobservant of the strange things in their surrounding woods. How no one had ever stumbled upon your family’s grand dark wood lodge, or you yourself when out on your nature walks, you have no idea but the matter stands.

When you were younger, it was a blessing, you got to explore the forest you loved so much without fear of the human monsters lurking out in civilization, your family always mentioned with a sneer.

Your family had never gone fully into detail with you about their relationship with humans, what past events led them to avoid the creatures like the plague, but the tone they used always indicated that whatever it was, it had been bad. It scared you as a kid, but as you grew taller and your fangs got longer, you started to think for yourself. Consequences of getting older. What could possibly be so bad about creatures without any innate magical ability at all? All supernatural beings were different, why couldn’t humans be the same? You decided one day to test this theory.

It was early summer, so you had to be careful. Direct sunlight wouldn’t kill you, like your parents told you human stories said. It equated more to an intense allergy or sensitivity to sunlight. You would burn fast and hard, so on a normal sunny day you would stick to the woods, where the canopy shadows were long, wide and thick. Safe.

When the day finally came for your first little foray into the human world, you decided to go as the sun was beginning to set. It would be less intense for you if you were caught without the safety of shadows and there would be plenty of them around.

You started with the library. It seemed like a safe place to start. You loved it. It was quiet, peaceful, and everyone inside seemed very nice. Humans in a library, you discovered, were more often than not, respectful of each other, each other’s space and other people’s things. Additionally, everyone you briefly interacted with seemed passionate. They had a reason for being there. Returning something so someone else could have it, researching something important to them, or simply for the love of reading and engaging with stories. Nowhere even in the ballpark of what your family told you.

You became a fixture in the library for a time and once June hit, you began to see an identical duo poking around. They were never at the library long, pulling books from the natural history shelves every so often for some sort of confirmation before tearing out of the place. They were loud, but in an endearing way. They seemed to know everyone so when you asked someone who they were, you got a fond shake of the head.

“Those are the Pines Twins. They show up to visit every summer. I remember them when they were just little things!”

It had never really occurred to you that humans would find comfort in certain places other than where they lived. Your family had only ever moved out of fear and protection. Wanderlust and adventure appealed to you.

It wasn’t long before you started branching out. The people of Gravity Falls seemed to like you. If they noticed your fangs, they didn’t say anything. In your time exploring you had come to understand that the people of this particular town did not seem to mind creatures like you if you didn’t cause any trouble. It felt nice to be welcomed somewhere other than the dusty old house you and your family occupied.

The only place you’d never been was the movie theater. You had wanted to go since realizing humans liked to make moving, filmed stories too, but you didn’t have the money to buy a ticket with. You were walking down the street one evening when you saw those Pines Twins in the alley beside the movie theater. They were surrounded by the group of young adults affectionate nicknamed Corduroy’s Friends. Wendy Corduroy and her friends were all back from college and were currently, with the soon-to-be-college-freshmen Pines duo, sneaking into a movie.

The girl, whom you’ve come to learn was named Mabel, waved at you and called you over. ‘The more the merrier’ as she said. The boy, Dipper, shrugged and smiled at you, seemingly inviting you as well.

“Join us or don’t, the sheriff’s are coming down the street and we gotta go!” Wendy called over her shoulder as she stepped inside.

You slipped inside with the twins and Dipper asked you what your name was. It was history from there.

You hung out with the twins all the time, sometimes Mabel was present, other times she wasn’t. Both versions were enjoyable, though she wouldn’t stop giggling looking between you and Dipper.

Speaking of which, Dipper figured you out almost immediately the second time you hung out with him. He swears up and down that he would have done so before had it not been so dark when you two first met. To be fair to you though, it wasn’t like you were hiding it. There isn’t much you can do about fangs to hide them besides not talking which wasn’t going to happen. Dipper was too entertaining to just not talk to.

He had asked you about a million questions, some only slightly offensive, but that wasn’t his fault. He would’ve had no idea. You felt at times like a butterfly pinned to a board with how much he wanted to learn about you and your kind, but he was adorable so you allowed yourself to be a research subject.

Once you two finally got together, about a summer and a half later, Mabel teased you endlessly for that last comment. That was fine, she never meant any harm by it.

After being by yourself, with only your sequestered family to keep you company, for so long, it felt amazing to be part of a large, loving human family.

Soos and Melody loved you. Wendy enjoyed having you around. There was the matter of Dipper’s uncle’s though. Dipper had tried to keep you away from his Great Uncle Stan for the longest time and eventually you understood why. Every embarrassing story that had ever occurred while he was present, the man had told you. You placated Dipper though, once again calling him adorable and reminding him that it wasn’t anything you couldn’t have already guessed. He’d always been a dork, but he was your dork and you were very happy with him, thank you very much.

His Great Uncle Ford was wary of you at first, reminding you a bit of your own family members in terms of general mistrust. He had come around once he was certain you posed no danger to his family but it reminded you of a subject you had been dreading thinking about.

“Hey,” Dipper asked one night as the two of you sat on the roof, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing.”

“No, it isn’t,” he then pointed out your tell for lying, something his uncle had taught him to look for, “Just tell me. We can figure it out together.”

“I want to introduce you to my family, like you did with yours.”

“Okay,” Dipper said, “There’s a but though, right?”

You sighed, “They don’t like humans.”

Dipper nodded, sticking a finger to his chin.

“Well,” he finally said, “Don’t they want you to be happy?”

“Yes, but their focus has always been more on safety first, happiness after and only if it falls within ‘safe’ parameters.”

His face shifted into that determined, mystery solving face you loved so much, a look of intellectual pride. The triumph in having just completed a puzzle.

He reached over, running his thumb over your cheek. “Has there ever been a time where I haven’t kept you safe on one of our adventures?”

“I’ll have you remember that I’ve kept you safe on a fair number of them!”

Dipper chuckled, “Okay, okay. But I’ve never put you in danger, have I?”

“No.”

“Tried to stake you?”

“No.”

“Thrown garlic in your face?”

“I thought I told you that doesn’t work.”

Dipper laughed, then is face softened, almost afraid of what answer might come out of your mouth when he asked, “And I do make you happy, right?”

Your mouth twitched into a soft smile as you leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Very.”

Dipper face melted into a dopey look for a moment before he straightened it back up again. “Then what could they possibly say against it?”

“You would really walk into a house full of human hating vampires, just for me?”

“That and more,” he answered, “Besides, compared to my first summer here, that’s nothing!”

You chuckled with him, tension of the conversation successfully eased, “You’ve still never told me about that.”

“We’ll meet your parents first, then I’ll relive those memories.”

With determination like that, it was hard to see how Dipper Pines would let anything get between the two of you. After all, he’d convinced you to let him try, what couldn’t he do?

#dipper pines x reader #dipper x reader #gravity falls x reader #vampire!reader #gravity falls #dipper pines #request #fics

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awkward-imaginations · 2 days

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| Reunions and Rivalries |

tetsuro kuroo x f!reader

The first time Kuroo saw you was when he noticed you sitting with Kenma, happily playing video games together. He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t surprised when Kenma mentioned he had made a friend on the first day of the new school year. He didn’t share much about you, but Kuroo knew you had just transferred to Nekoma High and somehow you had piqued his interest.

warnings/notes: highschool romance, fluff, slight angst, I do NOT write fanfictions or storys normally, this is a first, so I am generally sorry for everything. CRINGE. def will be cringe in some parts. I'm a big sucker for Kuroo, him and Kenma may be ooc but I don't care this is my silly story and I just need to get it out of my head so I can finally write my Master's Thesis in peace. Also, english is not my first language. This has been "proofread" by my friends (who are also non-native speakers, enjoy).

word count: 2659

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The familiar sound of Karasuno players shouting to each other filled the air as the Tokyo team approached. You walked next to Yaku, chatting casually, when suddenly two familiar figures came sprinting toward you.

“Y/N!” Nishinoya shouted at the top of his lungs, while Sugawara waved enthusiastically from behind him. Before you could even react, Noya wrapped you in a tight hug, nearly knocking poor Yaku off his feet in the process.

“Noya! Suga-Chaaaan~!” you grinned, pulling Sugawara into the hug as well. Noya, now gripping your arm dramatically, suddenly shifted his expression to one of exaggerated misery.

“Y/N!” he whined, pushing you away just enough to meet your eyes, still holding onto your arm. “You have no idea how terrible school is without you. It’s been torture!”

You laughed, playfully pushing at Noya’s shoulder. "Oh, come on, Noya. It can't be that bad."

"It is that bad!" he insisted, throwing his head back in exaggerated despair. "Ever since you transferred, it's like the life has been sucked out of our classroom. I can't even focus on anything anymore!"

Sugawara chuckled, shaking his head at Noya's antics. "I think you just miss having someone to cheat off of during tests."

Noya pouted, clutching his heart as if he’d been gravely wounded. "How could you say that?! I would never cheat! I just… I mean, maybe I miss having Y/N to help me out once in a while, but that's totally different!"

You smirked, crossing your arms. "Uh-huh, totally."

Nishinoya groaned, burying his face in his hands. "You don’t understand! It’s like no one else gets me. The energy in class is so dull now, Y/N! I'm completely doomed."

You rolled your eyes affectionately, patting Noya on the head. "You’re being a bit dramatic, don’t you think?"

"Not dramatic enough!" Noya cried, throwing his arms wide for emphasis. "It's been painful without you. Seriously, how do you survive at that new school? Do they at least let you sleep through class?"

You chuckled. "It’s not so bad, actually. I’ve made some new friends, and I still get plenty of sleep."

Noya looked betrayed, his eyes wide. "New friends? What, and you didn’t miss us at all?"

"Of course I missed you guys!" You reassured, smiling. "But you know, life moves on. Besides, we still get to play Guild Wars together."

„Yeah, nice raid yesterday,” Nishinoya exclaimed, fist bumping you.

Kuroo, watching the scene from a few steps away, furrowed his brow slightly. “So, she's close with the volleyball team at her old school too?” he asked casually, glancing over at Kenma.

“Hm?” Kenma blinked, only half-listening. “Obviously,” he said with a shrug. “Why? You jealous or something?”

Kuroo scoffed, his expression tightening for a moment. “What? No,” he replied, though his gaze drifted back to you, now laughing a bit too hard—at least from his perspective—at something Sugawara said. His jaw clenched involuntarily.

“You sure?” Kenma muttered, still not looking up. “Because it kind of seems like you are.”

“I’m not,” Kuroo grumbled, crossing his arms defensively. “Why would I be—”

His words trailed off as Daichi approached you, a calm but warm smile on his face. He greeted you with a firm hug, his arms wrapping around you in a way that spoke of years of friendship. “It’s been too long, Y/N,” Daichi said, his voice soft. “It’s a nice surprise you’re here.”

You smiled, your face lighting up. “It feels like ages.”

Kuroo watched the exchange, feeling his heart sink just a bit. Daichi’s hug wasn’t overly affectionate, but there was a sense of familiarity between you two that stirred envy in him. He tried to brush it off, forcing a smile, though it felt stiff on his face.

“The third years used to be in the same class as her brother since Kindergarten,” Kenma said quietly, as if reading Kuroo’s thoughts. “They’ve known each other for a long time.”

Kuroo exhaled, rolling his eyes, though the slight tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “Great. Old friends,” he muttered, his smile feeling more and more strained.

Kenma smirked. “You’re terrible at hiding your feelings.”

"Wait… she has a brother?" Kuroo asked, his tone sharper than he intended.

Kenma gave him a surprised look. "You didn’t know? Yeah, L/N Ryouta—he goes to Nekoma too."

Kuroo’s mind raced. "L/N Ryouta? I don’t think I’ve met him."

Kenma shook his head. "Probably not. You’re in the university prep class, and he’s in regular courses. Still, kind of strange she didn’t mention him during one of your study dates."

Kuroo’s lips tugged into a slight frown. "We’re studying, not chatting." The fact that you had a brother he didn’t know about made him feel a little out of the loop. He didn’t like it.

Kenma shrugged. "It makes sense she'd be close with them. They’ve been hanging out since she was little."

Kuroo watched you laugh with Daichi and Sugawara, Noya had left you to help Tanaka “protect” Shimizu. You clearly had a lot of history with these guys. The way they greeted you, how easily you fit into their circle—it was obvious you were used to attention from boys. It bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Just as he was about to look away, you caught his eye and waved, your smile brightening. For a split second, you seemed to hesitate, a faint blush coloring your cheeks as if you hadn’t expected him to be watching. Kuroo smirked, feeling a little more at ease now.

Daichi, noticing your reaction, raised an eyebrow. "Who's that?" he asked, his tone casual but curious.

You turned back to Daichi, still smiling. "Oh, that’s Kuroo, Nekoma’s captain. You should probably go introduce yourself."

Daichi nodded, though his expression became a little more guarded. "Right. I’ll go say hi."

As Daichi walked over, Kuroo straightened up, masking his emotions behind his usual confident grin. Daichi extended his hand, his smile polite but strained. "Daichi Sawamura, captain of Karasuno."

Kuroo grasped Daichi’s hand, matching his too-firm grip with one of his own. "Tetsurou Kuroo. Captain of Nekoma."

Both captains forced smiles, but in the back of their minds, they had the same thought: I don’t like this guy.

“So… you’re not their manager?” Sugawara asked, giving you a playful nudge as he leaned against the wall next to you in the gym, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Nope,” you chuckled. "I’m just here for moral support.”

Sugawara laughed. “Then I can support you supporting. We've got a cracking new setter, so I'll probably be on the bench the whole time.”

There was an ease between you and Sugawara that came with familiarity. You caught up on everything—school, mutual friends, and volleyball, of course. Time slipped away as the two of you talked, oblivious to anything else happening on the court.

Except someone was paying attention.

From across the gym, Kuroo’s gaze flickered toward you more than once. He tried to brush it off, but the more you laughed with Sugawara, the harder it was to ignore the twist in his chest.

“Oi, Kuro,” Kenma muttered, not even looking at him as he noticed the subtle tension radiating off his captain. “What’s up with you?”

Kuroo blinked, dragging his gaze back to the court just in time to see one of Karasuno's players miss a spike. “What do you mean? Nothing's up.”

Kenma sighed. “You’ve been staring over there for the last ten minutes. You’re distracted.”

“Distracted?” Kuroo scoffed, though his eyes flicked once again in your direction—watching as Sugawara leaned in to say something that made you laugh. Why does he get to make you laugh like that? Kuroo felt his jaw tighten. “I’m not distracted. Just… keeping an eye on the competition. You know, strategy.”

Kenma raised an eyebrow. “Sugawara isn’t even playing.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes, “You mean Suga-Chaaan~,” he mocked your greeting only to feign indifference afterwards. “I’m not watching him. Why would I care about some third year who isn’t even in starting lineup?”

Kenma looked at him blankly for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know. Why would you care?”

“I don’t,” Kuroo huffed. “As I already said, it’s not like I’m jealous or anything.”

Kenma eyes flicked toward Sugawara, then back to Kuroo. “I didn’t say you were.”

“I’m not,” Kuroo added, a little too quickly. “I mean—”

“Kuro,” Kenma interrupted, his deadpan expression growing sharper.

“I—" Kuroo hesitated, suddenly aware of how ridiculous he sounded. “I’m just looking out for her.”

Kenma’s lips twitched into the slightest hint of a smirk. “Sure.”

Across the court, Sugawara was finishing a story, his eyes twinkling as he spoke. You laughed, leaning in a little closer. Kuroo’s eye twitched.

“It’s not like they’re flirting,” Kuroo mumbled under his breath, though his voice lacked conviction.

“What was that?” Kenma asked, not bothering to look away from the ball on their side.

“Nothing!” Kuroo snapped, a little too loud, drawing some curious glances from nearby players.

You and Sugawara, still chatting, were blissfully unaware of Kuroo’s growing frustration. Every time Sugawara made you laugh, it felt like a small jab, not because he disliked Sugawara, but because… well, he wasn’t entirely sure why. Or at least, he wasn’t willing to admit it yet.

The match was in full swing, as Shimizu joined you and Sugawara at the side, observing as the teams went back and forth on the court. You’d fallen into an easy rhythm with Sugawara, catching up and making jokes, but now that Shimizu had joined you, the conversation was a bit more reserved.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Shimizu turned toward you. “You’re not their manager, yet you’re wearing their jersey,” she remarked softly, her eyes following the ball.

“Yeah, it actually belongs to Kenma, we're about the same size, thought it would boost the team spirit” you replied, smiling fondly.

Shimizu nodded thoughtfully, glancing between you and Kenma on the court. “He seems to enjoy your company.”

You blinked, catching the subtle implication in her tone. “Wait, do you mean…?” You hesitated, feeling a slight blush creep up your neck. “You think I like Kenma?”

Sugawara, who had been listening in with a bemused expression, chuckled under his breath. “Oh no, Shimizu,” he said, shaking his head, “you’re way off.”

Shimizu tilted her head slightly, giving Sugawara a questioning look. “Really? I thought—”

Sugawara waved her off with a smile, clearly amused. “Trust me, I’ve known Y/N for a long time. She doesn’t go for the quiet, brooding type.”

You narrowed your eyes at Sugawara, half-embarrassed. “Hey, I can like quiet guys,” you defended, though it came out more as a weak protest than anything else.

Sugawara gave you a teasing smirk. “Maybe, but not that quiet.” He leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Kenma’s great and all, but your type’s always been more… I don’t know, bad boy. The kind of guy who’s a little rough around the edges, gets under your skin.”

Shimizu blinked, her curiosity piqued. “Bad boy…?” she repeated thoughtfully, then her gaze drifted toward the court where Coach Ukai stood, arms crossed, observing the match with his intense focus. She nodded in his direction. “Ah. You mean someone like Ukai?”

You nearly choked, waving your hands in protest. “What? No way! He’s… hot, sure, but he’s way too old!”

Sugawara burst out laughing, and even Shimizu’s usually calm expression cracked into a smile.

“Nah, I wasn’t talking about Ukai,” Sugawara chuckled, nudging you playfully. “I had someone more… age-appropriate in mind.” He pointed subtly across the court to where Kuroo was setting up for a block, his sharp gaze focused on the game, his usual smug grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was thinking more along the lines of that bad boy.”

You froze, suddenly feeling like all the air had been knocked out of your lungs. “Kuroo?” You hadn’t even realized it, but the moment Sugawara mentioned it, something clicked inside you—like a light had been switched on.

Sugawara’s grin widened as he saw the realization dawning on your face. “There it is,” he said, his voice smug but not unkind. “Ryouta told me you just can’t shut up about him.”

You could feel the blush deepening, the heat spreading up to your cheeks. “I… I don’t…” you stammered, not quite sure how to deny it now that it was out in the open.

Shimizu watched you carefully, her quiet gaze perceptive. “So, it is Kuroo?” she asked softly, her voice neutral as ever, though there was a trace of curiosity.

You glanced at her, feeling a little trapped but knowing you couldn’t lie, especially not with Sugawara there, reading you like an open book. You sighed, defeated, and ran a hand through your hair. “Okay, fine,” you muttered, embarrassed but kind of relieved to admit it. “Yeah… I think I like Kuroo.”

Sugawara looked like he’d just won a game. “I knew it,” he said triumphantly. “I could tell from the beginning.”

Shimizu gave a small nod, her expression thoughtful. “He does seem like someone you’d get along with,” she said quietly.

“Well…” you began slowly, a shy smile creeping onto your face, “he is pretty great. He’s been really nice to me, even when he’s annoying.”

Shimizu gave you a small, knowing smile.

Sugawara’s grin softened a bit, turning more genuine. “Sounds like you’re smitten.”

You shot him a playful glare. “Don’t make it sound so cheesy.”

He chuckled. “Hey, no judgment here. I’m just glad you finally realized it.”

You groaned, half embarrassed but secretly hopeful. “Great, now I’m going to be overanalyzing everything he says to me.”

Sugawara laughed, clapping you on the shoulder. “That’s part of the fun. Just keep me updated.”

Later that night, the team piled into the bus, the soft hum of the engine filling the silence as the Nekoma players settled into their seats. You slid into a spot next to Kenma, Kuroo sitting in the row just ahead, his head tilted back against the seat.

As the bus started to roll down the road, you pulled out some flyers Sugawara had given you earlier and turned to Kenma and Kuroo. "Hey, by the way, Sugawara invited me to a festival nearby. His and my brother’s band, Secondhand Youth, is opening." You held out the flyer so they could see. "You guys listen to pop-punk, right?"

Kenma glanced up from his DS, raising an eyebrow, but before he could say anything, Kuroo replied a little too quickly, "Sure!" His voice was overly enthusiastic, and his eyes darted to you for a reaction.

Kenma blinked, clearly unimpressed. He gave Kuroo a sideways look, stifling a smirk as he mimicked, "Sure." His tone was flat, dripping with sarcasm.

You snorted, trying to hide a laugh, but Kuroo shot Kenma a mock glare. “What? It’s not like I don’t listen to it.”

Kenma couldn’t resist. “Name one band.” He leaned his chin on his hand, watching Kuroo with a blank stare, knowing full well his friend didn’t have a clue.

Kuroo paused, clearly stumped, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for a band name. “Well, Secondhand Youth, obviously.” You couldn’t help but giggle, and Kuroo turned to you, his expression a mix of mild panic and frustration.

"Okay, fine, maybe I’m not a huge fan," Kuroo admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "but I’d still go. For the experience, you know?"

Kenma rolled his eyes but kept a small smile on his lips. “Yeah, the experience of pretending to like music you’ve never heard of.”

You nudged Kuroo’s seat playfully from behind, your smile softening. "You don’t have to, Kuroo. But… you’re welcome to come, if you want."

Kuroo’s eyes met yours, his expression softening as well. “Nah, I wanna go,” he said, his voice sincere this time. “Could be fun.”

Kenma returned to his game, though he couldn’t hide the amusement in his eyes as he watched you and Kuroo interact.

#haikyu fluff #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyū!!#haikyuu kuroo #hq #hq fluff #hq kuroo #hq x reader #kuroo tetsuro fluff #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #fanfic #haikyu x you #kuroo tetsuro x you

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polkadotpenguin16 · 2 days

Text

The Five Stages of Grief: Acceptance

A/N: That’s it! We’ve done it!! If you had told me a year ago that I was going to write a whole-ass story, I wouldn’t have believed you. But here we are – life’s funny, isn’t it? Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who’s been following along with my story. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought I was capable of writing something anyone would enjoy reading. All the likes, reblogs, and comments have really added a sparkle to my life I didn’t know I needed. Also, extra huge thank you to the lovelies who reviewed, edited, and let me ramble on about my idea. This could not have been done without you and I am forever grateful <3

Pairing: Sonny Carisi x female reader

Word count: 2,985

Previous parts: Prologue | Denial | Anger | Bargaining | Depression

Also posted on AO3.

You didn’t need to tell Sonny where to meet you in Prospect Park. He knew the exact spot. On your fourth date, you took a walk through the park. Out of nowhere, it started pouring down rain, so you took cover under a gazebo. That was where you shared your first kiss, and that memory would forever be engrained in his head.

Even though you were fifteen minutes early, Sonny was already waiting for you in that gazebo. You shouldn’t have been surprised at this point. He sat hunched over on the bench with his arms on his knees. He looked up when he heard you but didn’t say anything. He didn’t look like your Sonny. The sparkle was drained from his eyes. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days. You knew the feeling. You sat beside him on the bench, leaving an uncomfortable amount of distance between you. The tension from when you last met still lingered in the air, but the mood felt less defensive and more cautious.

“Thank you for meeting me,” you said to break the ice. Your heart was in your throat. Your anxiety wasn’t as high as last time, but you were nonetheless still nervous. Your hands were clammy, and your leg was restlessly bouncing, making the bench squeak beneath you. But you needed to be here, to make things right.

Sonny nodded in response. He was no longer despondent or resentful but still felt very guarded. He was prepared to accept the outcome of your conversation, whether that meant moving forward or moving on.

“Well, I have a lot of apologizing to do.” You rummaged through your bag to find your phone. “So I made a list to make sure I didn’t forget anything.”

Sonny didn’t come here today expecting an apology. He was the one who messed up, in his mind. But writing an apology as an itemized list was such a “you” thing to do. He was always fond of how meticulous you were.

You took a deep breath to calm your nerves before you began. “Let’s start with number one: I’m sorry for leaving that night. Packing up without a word was wrong, and I should’ve stayed and talked with you. Number two: I’m sorry for avoiding you. You reached out to apologize and reconcile, and I was unwilling to communicate. It was childish and unproductive of me to ignore you.”

You paused briefly to glance up at Sonny’s face. His expression was neutral, but you could tell by how his eyes were fixed onto you that he was listening intently. Sonny was so surprised by your words that he wasn’t entirely sure what he was feeling. He’d spent more time worrying about your feelings than examining his own. This apology was like a salve to a deep cut he hadn’t noticed. Closure he didn’t know he needed.

You looked back at your phone and continued down your list. “Um, number three: I’m sorry for the unforgivable things I said to you when we fought. I didn’t mean them, but I know that’s no excuse, nor does it take anything back. Number four: I’m sorry for being jealous of your relationship with Amanda. You assured me she was just your friend, and I should’ve never doubted you. You’re the best friend anyone could ask for, and I should not have made you feel bad for being just that.”

Sonny broke his gaze away from you. He felt ashamed that he’d missed what others had seen. And that you felt the need to apologize for his actions. That guilt-fueled churning in his stomach he’d become so familiar with made a return.

Still concentrating on your list, you resumed. “And number five: I’m sorry for not being honest about how I was feeling. I pretended I was okay with how things were and that was unfair to you. I should’ve been upfront when I started feeling neglected so that you could’ve had the chance to respond. I’m not apologizing here today with the expectation that I’ll be forgiven.” You wiped away the stray tears that managed to escape your eyes. “I know I’ve caused damage that I may not be able to repair. I want to be with you Sonny, if you’ll have me. I promise to be more open, understanding, and to communicate better. I love you, and I’m willing to put in the work to fix us.”

You put your phone away and gave him a look that you hoped conveyed all the remorse you felt. “If there’s anything else I’ve missed that I still need to apologize for, feel free to tell me. I’m ready to take responsibility for my mistakes.”

Sonny sat in silence for a beat, a solemn, unreadable expression on his face. You’d said your piece, and now you’ll have to live with the consequences. You held your breath and braced yourself for whatever he had to say next.

“…My hairbrush,” he said flatly. Unsure if you’d heard him correctly, you couldn’t help but give a confused look. “You took my hairbrush with you that night. My hair’s looked like crap ever since.”

You immediately burst out laughing, folding in half in your seat. He just wanted to hear you laugh again. It’d been so long since he’d heard your laugh. It was the most magical sound he’d ever heard.

“Well, I’m sorry for that, too,” you wheezed out as you tried to catch your breath. “I didn’t take it on purpose. That was cruel and unusual punishment.”

Now it was Sonny’s turn to laugh. He chuckled so hard his sides began to hurt. Any tension between you had disappeared. For the past week, you felt like strangers. After all the heartbreak and turmoil, you could finally recognize each other again.

“Thank you, doll, for that very thoughtful apology,” he said once he composed himself. “I forgive you, and I wanna work on fixing us together. But first, it’s my turn to apologize.”

“No, you don’t, Sonny. You’ve already—”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted. “I don’t have a fancy list like you did, but I’ll try my best.”

You smirked and shook your head. He aways poked fun at your lists, and your lists for your lists. You sat back and gave him the floor.

“I’m so sorry I forgot our date. But more than that, I’m sorry for all the canceled dates before that. I know my job’s insane and keeps me away a lot, and you’ve been a saint to put up with me as long as you have. You’re my priority, and from now on, I’m gonna treat you as such.”

You felt a warm glow in your heart. Just a few words, and all the sadness from so many lonely nights seemed to fade away. You could’ve stopped him there, completely content with his apology. But you let him continue letting his feelings out.

“Also, I haven’t been the best at communicating either. I should not have lost my temper the way I did, or confronted you at work. I was angry and afraid, but I should’ve found a better way to express that. I’m gonna work on that.”

With each word he spoke, he could feel his soul getting lighter. Freeing himself of the guilt that had dominated him. And the gentle smile on your face told him that he was saying the right things.

“And with Rollins…you don’t have to worry about that anymore.” You opened your mouth to interject, but he held his hand up to stop you. “I understand where the jealousy came from. I just wish you’d told me sooner. But you were right. There’s only so much I can do, and I’m gonna take a step back. I know we can’t just go back to how things were, but I’d like to start fresh and take things slow. I thought I’d lost you—” his voice cracked as he held back his tears.

You reached out your hand from across the bench. What was only a foot or two felt like miles. Like a bridge across stormy waters, bringing you back together. Deeply touched, he took your hand, comforted by the familiar fit in his. “You’re the best part of my life and I’ve been taking you for granted. Can you forgive me?”

You looked at him with adoration beaming from your eyes. “I already have.”

He squeezed your hand and gently rubbed his thumb over your knuckles. “Y’know, if you still wanna walk away, now’s your last chance.” He wiped the last remaining tears from your face. “’Cause if you stay, I’m not letting you get away again. Ever.”

You turned your head to kiss his palm that was still lingering on your cheek. “No, Sonny, I’m not going anywhere.” You smiled and shook your head, sure in your decision. “There’s no one I’d rather be stuck with.”

Sonny’s smile was so bright, it could’ve lit up Time Square itself. He pulled you close and wrapped you in an impossibly tight hug. You’d almost forgotten how it felt to be held by him. How warm and safe his arms felt.

“I love you, sunshine,” you murmured against his chest.

“Love you more, doll.” He took your face into his hands and gave you a gentle kiss. You threaded your arms around his neck and kissed him deeper. Everything and everyone else at the park that day completely faded away – there was just you and him. Goosebumps shot across your body as you got lost in the taste of each other. A kiss that felt as if it were months in the making.

The tender moment was rudely interrupted by your stomach growling, causing you both to giggle. You hadn’t had much of an appetite for the past week, and it seemed like your anxious tummy ache had abruptly disappeared. Sonny sat back so he could see you better. “How’s about we get something to eat? I believe I owe you dinner at a fancy restaurant.”

“Maybe another day,” you replied. “I’d rather go home together and have you cook us something. Is that okay?” Hearing you say that made Sonny teary. You said home. With him.

Together.

He grabbed your hand and kissed it with an enormous grin growing across his face. “That’s more than okay, doll.” With that, you got up and began your stroll through the park back to your apartment.

Back home.

When you arrived, you decided to jump in the shower while Sonny started dinner. He hadn’t been to the store for a couple of days, so it was slim pickings. He found half a carton of eggs and a small cut of pancetta in the back of the fridge. Carbonara it is, then.

He just finished frying the pancetta when you returned to the kitchen. When he turned around at the sound of your footsteps, he was stunned by what he saw. It was you wearing his ratty, gray Fordham hoodie. It was such a normal, everyday thing for you to be wearing. But in that moment, after all you’ve been through, the gesture meant the world to Sonny. He started to feel the cracks of his heart begin to heal.

“Everything okay?” You asked, a bit concerned by his dazed look.

“Yeah, everything’s perfect.”

Sonny plated the pasta, and you sat down for dinner at your tiny table. It felt like ages since you’d gotten to talk to each other. You explained how you wanted to start therapy to work on your self-esteem and conflict avoidance. You wanted to be the best version of yourself for both you and Sonny. He was very encouraging and proud of you for being willing to take that step.

Sonny talked about how he was seriously considering changing his career. “It just feels like the right time, y’know? I’m just worried I’d be letting everyone down. I mean, what if I suck as a lawyer?”

“Listen to me,” you sat your fork down and grabbed his hand. “You’re not letting anyone down. You’re following your dream. Anyone who loves you knows that and will support you. Whether you’re a cop, a lawyer, or whatever, I’m gonna be here for you. And I’ll love you through it all. Even if you are a sucky lawyer.”

Sonny’s cheeks turned an adorable shade of red, and he tried to turn his head to disguise the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes. You reached for his chin and gently turned his face back to give him a sweet kiss. “Through it all,” you reiterated. Your gaze briefly shifted from his face to the living room behind him, something seeming awry. “Did you move the bookcase?”

Sonny wasn’t sure what you were talking about until he remembered the hole in the wall the bookcase was now hiding. “Um…how ‘bout we talk about that tomorrow? I think we’ve had enough excitement for today.”

Well, now your interest was definitely piqued. But he was right. There was no need to solve everything in one day.

Once dishes were put away, you decided to turn in early. To say you were both exhausted was an understatement. Sonny crawled into bed behind you and curled his whole body around you. Arms, legs, and all completely cocooning you.

“Sunshine, I can’t breathe,” you eked out from between his arms.

“Well, I told you I wasn’t letting you get away again,” he nonchalantly replied, tightening his grasp around you. “This is your life, doll. Just accept it.”

You belly laughed so hard you would’ve fallen out of bed if Sonny hadn’t been holding you so tightly. “Oh, I have!” You get out in between your giggles. “I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to worry about that.”

And he believed you.

“I love you, doll,” he whispered as he kissed your cheek. “More than anything.”

“I love you more,” you quietly answered back.

“Not possible.”

Sonny nuzzled his head into the back of your neck, completely enveloped in the familiar, comforting scent of your hair. He could feel the rise and fall of your chest. The sound of your breathing lulled him to sleep—the best sleep he’d had in months.

You woke up to the sun creeping in through the curtains. You glanced over at your alarm clock to check the time. 9:45. You’d gotten a much-needed good night’s rest. Sonny, too. He was still knocked out beside you, lying on his stomach with his arms sprawled out in every which way. You couldn’t help but stare. His face was so serene. You could almost make out the faintest hint of a smile. It was such a rare sight to see him so peaceful.

Beginning to stir, Sonny rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. “Enjoying the view, doll?” He called you out for staring. “Take a picture, it lasts longer.”

Your cheeks turned bright red, and you scooched closer to bury your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head.

“I think it’s Sunday.” Sonny’s voice was still gravely from sleep. “We’ve got the whole day to ourselves. Whatcha wanna do, sweetheart?”

“Hmmm…” you briefly considered your options. “Well, staying in bed is tempting.”

“I could be convinced of that. That couch sure made me miss this old bed.”

You looked up at him confused. “The couch?”

“Yeah…” He gave you an embarrassed smile. “I’ve been sleeping on the couch the past couple nights.”

“Why would you do that? That couch is at least a foot too short you.”

“Wasn’t the same in here without you,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re my home, doll.”

You’d never felt so in love with him as you did in that moment. “And you’re mine.” You brushed back the hair stuck to his forehead and leaned up to kiss him. He tangled one of his hands in your hair as he caressed your back with the other. Home was the best way to describe how you felt.

You were both startled by Sonny’s work phone ringing. Groaning, you rolled away from him. So much for a Sunday in bed. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, getting up to make some coffee for him to take. But he grabbed your arm to stop you. He quickly checked his phone, then dismissed the call and turned it off.

“Don’t you need to answer that?” Sonny always answered his work phone. Night or day, whether he was on the clock or not.

He shrugged and shook his head. “Not my weekend on call. They can figure it out.”

“Sonny, I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Pfft, they’re already short-staffed. What’re they gonna do? Fire me?” He poked your side, making you giggle. “Besides, I’ve got much more important things to worry about.”

“Such as?”

“Making sure my girlfriend is suitably cuddled.” He pulled you back onto his chest and wrapped his arms around your waist. It felt so comfortable. You were fighting to stay awake, but the rhythm of his heartbeat was so calming, it was lulling you back to sleep.

“Just close your eyes, doll,” he said as he ran his hand up and down your spine.

“But I haven’t seen you in forever.” You let out a huge yawn. “I feel like if I close my eyes, you’ll disappear.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Just go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

After a few more beats, you did indeed fall back asleep. Sonny studied your face, memorizing each detail. Every wrinkle, every freckle committed to memory. He couldn’t help but think about how lucky he was to get a second chance with you. Completely content with his life, he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep, assured he’d have plenty of tomorrows to spend with you.

#oh god she writes now #sonny carisi #sonny carisi x reader #sonny carisi x you #sonny carisi imagine #dominick carisi #law and order special victims unit #law and order svu #svu #masterlist #anti rollisi

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