#which is the attempt to impose it into canon

[gffa]

I've been a little slow on getting out new STAR WARS fic recs out, but in my defense it's because I've been reading a bunch of longer fics lately. In the spirit of "there's a special feeling to those fics that consume you and make you stay up until 3am because you can't put them down", here's a list of some of the ones I've loved or am in the middle of reading and they are haunting my thoughts and I need to inflict that on everyone else. Whether you're looking at a long upcoming trip and need some good reading material or avoiding your feelings by sinking into fic or just because you like reading, I hope you'll find something here! Including a bonus underrunning theme of throwing in a bunch of Jedi-loving fic to continue my agenda of making Jedi-centric fandom a more fun place to be. 30k+ is the minimum and this isn't all of my favorites, but it's a great list of "I have a week off to kill and I want to be in a fic coma by the end of it".

STAR WARS FIC FOR WHEN YOU NEED TO KILL ABOUT TEN HOURS WORTH OF TIME AND WANT TO HAVE FEELINGS ABOUT FICTIONAL PSYCHIC SPACE WIZARDS WHILE YOU'RE AT IT:

✦ Out with Lanterns by SkyeBean, mace & ahsoka & plo & shaak & cast, 312.5k     In another universe, Jedi Masters Plo Koon and Depa Billaba decide a Padawan could do Mace some good. It takes a while, but he eventually agrees. When he takes Ahsoka Tano as his Padawan, Mace knows that he's broken through a Shatterpoint and changed the course of a life. How, he doesn't know. ✦ Reprise by Elfpen, obi-wan & qui-gon & mace & yoda & anakin & cast, time travel, 558.9k wip     Ben Kenobi dies aboard the Death Star in the year 0 BBY. He wakes up shortly thereafter in the Jedi temple in the year 41 BBY. Haunted by memories and regret, Ben must forge a new path for himself in the Jedi Order of his youth while navigating the murky waters of time travel. Crafting a better future from bitter experience is hard, but learning to heal is even harder. ✦ Take it from the top and try again by mauvera, obi-wan & qui-gon & anakin & padme & mace & shmi & dooku & cast, time travel, 112k wip     Five years into his self imposed exile on Tattooine, Obi-Wan Kenobi is gifted the chance to go back and bring hope back to the galaxy. With hindsight on his side, he fully intends to save his master, save his padawan, make some new and old friends again, prepare the Jedi for a war they’ll hopefully never see and begin to pull apart all the many tangled threads of the Sith Lord’s plans. Should be relatively easy. Right? ✦ Post Order 66 Exile AU by Livsy, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 46k     Alternatively: after a failed order 66, in which many Jedi still died but the Sith were defeated, an exiled warrior and a boy wander a distant planet and attempt to get along. ✦ Remedial Jedi Theology by MarbleGlove, obi-wan & anakin & jedi & cast, 51.3k     Let us consider the fact that the Jedi Order is a monastic religious organization based out of a temple, with five basic tenets of faith. ✦ Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi by stonefreeak, obi-wan & anakin & padme & yoda & palpatine & bail & dooku & mace & quinlan & vokara & ahsoka & cast, 124.5k wip     By an old Republic law, all members of the Jedi High Council are senators in the Galactic Senate, and can thus be voted in as chancellor. A Senator from a less prominent planet has had enough of Chancellor Palpatine's incompetence and calls for a Vote of No-Confidence and the installation of Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi as Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. This one action becomes the catalyst that changes the direction of the galaxy. ✦ What We've Become by Vinyarie, vader & ahsoka & cast, 82k     Darth Vader and Ahsoka’s fight on Malachor takes a different path, and Ahsoka actually is able to save her master. Or rather, she’s able to convince him to save himself. Diverges from canon in the last few minutes of Twilight of the Apprentice and goes increasingly AU from there.

✦ time to change the road you're on by wreckageofstars, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & luke & leia & han & ghost crew & cast, time travel, 93.6k wip     The end of the Clone War is near - the fall of the Republic even nearer. Anakin Skywalker, caught up in the events that lead to the rise of the Empire and the loss of everything he holds dear, finds himself sent nearly two decades into the future. Ahsoka Tano, still coming to painful terms with the true fate of her former master, is - not exactly happy to see him. But the Force works in mysterious ways - and the future is not nearly as set in stone as they've been lead to believe. Multi-chapter AU, Rise of the Empire/Rebels-era. ✦ narrower than a razor's edge by bereft_of_frogs, obi-wan & dooku & qui-gon & anakin & sidious & cast, 30.2k     Dooku tips his hand ten years earlier because he can't stand the thought of his former apprentice's murder, and that might just be enough to save everyone...if it doesn't get them all killed first. ✦ soften every edge by gigglesandfreckles, obi-wan & ahsoka (& anakin), major character death, 48.1k     "Rejoice!" the galaxy says, in the wake of war and the dawning of peace. "How?" Obi-Wan asks. "No," Ahsoka says. (or: Obi-Wan & Ahsoka learn to live on.) ✦ hunting toward heartstill by blackkat, mace/cody & plo & fives & shaak & obi-wan & anakin & rex & cast, 207.2k     Plo has an idea. Mace agrees, and everything snowballs right into hell from there. (Or: Mace and Cody get married in order to give the clones citizen status. Before they can focus on that, though, they're going to have to deal with ancient Sith artifacts, evil prophets, plots to overthrow the Supreme Chancellor, lost planets, monsters warped by Sith alchemy, inconvenient , and Darth Sidious turning his eye on a potential new apprentice. Just...not in that order.) ✦ Cataclasm by dendral, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & waxer & cast, 63.1k wip     For reasons unknown to all but himself, Obi-Wan Kenobi has left the Jedi Order in the midst of the Clone Wars, taking with him a single clone. Anakin Skywalker has been unofficially tasked by the Order to find Obi-Wan and bring him home. Unfortunately for Anakin, it seems his former master is always ten steps ahead of him. ✦ Unexpected Awakening (The Rewrite) by Rhiw, obi-wan & qui-gon & anakin & feemor & bruck & jango & cast, time travel, 135.1k wip     The life of General Kenobi is cut short at the hands of his Padawan, but the sight that greets his eyes upon awakening is not that of blinding light of the Force, but the Jedi Temple he knew when he was still a youth. As he struggles to understand the path laid out before him, Obi-Wan unwittingly captures the attention of a singularly unusual Temple Guard, and that of a reluctant Qui-Gon Jinn.

✦ Knightrise by deviantaccumulation, obi-wan & ahsoka & satine & yoda & cast, 89.4k wip     There is no battle on Mustafar or in Coruscant's senate building. Instead, a small but still alive Jedi Order rises from its ashes on Mandalore. ✦ Fire and Ice by Yesac, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 111.9k     Anakin wins the duel on Mustafar, but doesn't kill Obi-Wan. Along with Padme, Obi-Wan finds himself living in a chaotic world where the man he thought he knew has become the thing he swore to destroy. Can Anakin be turned back? If so, what then? ✦ Better That a Millstone by Icarus_is_flying, obi-wan & luke & anakin & leia & cast, 86.7k     Vader discovers Luke and Obi-Wan on Tatooine when Luke is one year old and attempts to reclaim the family he threw away. Obi-Wan is less than pleased, and Luke and Leia? They have their own ideas about how their future should play out. ✦ Bloodlines by KCKenobi, obi-wan & anakin & dooku, 35.8k     When an explosion traps them in the same doomed escape pod, Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Dooku are stranded together on Tatooine. The goal is simple: cooperate long enough to survive, and not a second longer. But a shared past has a way of connecting the people we think we know—and bloodlines run deep. [or: your classic family road trip across a desert planet, except your grandpa is, you know, a Sith Lord. And now he's sort of starting to bond with your Jedi dad. And that might be an issue.] ✦ When Darkness Seems to Hide This Place by IllyanaA, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & rex & cast, 136k wip     After killing three of the Jedi Order's best and brightest, Palpatine's fight with Jedi Master Mace Windu goes shorter than expected. Afraid he's lost his chance at recruiting a new apprentice, Sidious unleashes Order 66 across the galaxy, but, per their programming, the Clone Army is not to harm Anakin Skywalker. After witnessing the most painful loss he's ever experienced and injured at the hands of his captors, Anakin is ready to die like the rest of the Jedi, though not before getting his vengeance. ✦ Precipice by shadowsong26, obi-wan & anakin & padme & luke & leia & bail & ahsoka & rex & cast, 253.6k     An AU in which Anakin Skywalker does not follow Mace Windu and the others to Palpatine’s office after they leave to arrest the Chancellor. As a result, he doesn’t get that final push over the edge, and doesn’t Fall. ✦ Averting Galactic Destruction by kj_feybarn, obi-wan & anakin & quinlan & rex & cody & fives & dogma & wolffe & plo & shaak & dooku & sidious, time travel, 44.3k     AKA The Time the Force Sent Obi-Wan Back in Time and Quinlan Vos kept him from Going Kamikaze because let’s be Honest, Being Forced to Come Back in Time Would Suck.

✦ Into the Archives by skygawker, obi-wan & anakin/padme & palpatine & cast, 104.9k wip     After hearing the legend of Darth Plagueis the Wise from Palpatine, Anakin decides that his best chance to save Padme is to break into the restricted Holocron Vault of the Temple Archives to search for information about Plagueis. Predictably, all does not go according to plan. Revenge of the Sith AU. ✦ Live To Fight Another Day by raemanzu, spica_tea, cody & rex & jesse & kix & obi-wan & anakin & fox & cast, 396.9k wip     Clones have their place in the universe, beyond the schemes of Palpatine. Events conspire to place Rex on the path of a new fate, one which will affect the future in ways not even the Jedi could foresee. Loyal to source material and characterizations. Canon-divergent. Starts between seasons 5 and 6 of TCW and explores Rex’s reaction to Fives’ dying words and subsequent events building toward Order 66. Variety of canon characters. No ships. Very Ace and Aro. Strong focus on certain friendships (Rex and Cody, Jesse and Kix, etc) with those friendships playing major roles. Thematically about how the clones navigate loss, trauma, the concept of their enslavement, their identities, etc amongst the larger active plot threads. Content warnings for war-related PTSD, trauma, combat injuries, and all around war-related angst etc in later chapters. ✦ Life and What Comes After by Ibelin, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & padme & cast, 177.2k wip     Obi-Wan dies on Jabiim. Anakin blames himself, doesn't know how to go on and yet - he does. Maybe the Force rewards that kind of thing, or maybe he just gets lucky, but when a mission lands Anakin on a vaguely familiar planet, he gets a second chance to do what he knows he should have done in the first place: save his master. (And maybe a chance to save the galaxy, too.) ✦ Knight-Errant by zinjadu, anakin & ahsoka & obi-wan & padme & rex & jedi & clones, 315.8k     AU - The Jedi Who Knew Too Much. Rex decides to stay "in pursuit" of his Commander; he jumps. Now, with backup, Ahsoka navigates the lower levels and deals with Ventress. Meanwhile, Anakin takes the Order to task, finds a little more support, and things turn out a little differently for everyone. And this is just the beginning. ✦ the massive machinery of hope by Killbothtwins, obi-wan & qui-gon & anakin & shmi & jedi, time travel, 150.1k     After the end of the war with the Empire, Obi-Wan wakes up in his twelve-year old body. Now all he needs to do is convince everyone he's psychic, trick his Master into taking him on before he's sent to Bandomeer, redeem a few bad guys, and try not to have a nervous breakdown. Pretty easy. It's not like the Sith are lurking on the horizon, waiting to devour the Jedi Order.

✦ The Exchange by MissLearn, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & ahsoka & padme & cast, time travel/body swap, 120k     The Daughter has a bad day and it irrevocably changes the fate of the galaxy, twice over. Or; ROTS Obi-Wan and Anakin are swapped with their younger, TPM, selves. It changes things, in both parallels. ✦ In All The World by Kjellarnen, obi-wan & anakin & cast, 144.8k wip     The story of how Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi tamed each other, from Naboo to Anakin's early days at the Temple. ✦ In Another Life by KCKenobi, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & padme, time travel, 52.3k     Eleven years after the rise of the Empire, a favor to a friend sends Obi-Wan traveling through the multiverse. He encounters different versions of the galaxy and of himself—including one in which Anakin never turned to the dark side. Obi-Wan and this Light Anakin are forced to work together to stop the creation of a disastrous Empire weapon. But as they move through different versions of reality, the timelines become more and more twisted—and the harder it is to distinguish who they are from who they might have been. And—to find their way home. ✦ The Intruder by Hollyoakhill, obi-wan & original clone characters, 82.5k     When a vicious attack from a strange, indestructible monster traps them on a derelict star destroyer, a young clone trooper fresh from Kamino join forces with Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi to find a way to escape. ✦ Conceal Me What I Am by Himboskywalker, obi-wan/anakin & padme & yoda & mace & palpatine & quinlan & cast, omegaverse, NSFW, 108.3k     Separatist Propaganda is turning the Republic against the Jedi Order and the Senate sees no choice but to join in a political alliance to fight dissent on a unified front.An alliance is proposed through an arranged marriage,between a Jedi Knight and Republic Senator. Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi are chosen as representatives of the political union by Darth Sidious, meant to bring ruin to the marriage and the public's support of the Jedi,for Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the Beta he claims. But even Sidious does not know of the secret Anakin Skywalker keeps, that he is not the Alpha the galaxy believes him to be. ✦ Equinox by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 95.9k     During the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan and Anakin crash on a remote planet and take shelter in the ruins of a grand estate only to find they are not alone.

✦ Invictus by Himboskywalker, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, 40.3k     "He is the balance, the other half, the completion to Skywalker’s soul, a perfect dyad in the force. But while Kenobi is a simple answer, the force also sees the difficulty of the pair coming together in balance. The foundations of the galaxy they exist in pull at them, threatening to intervene in their unity. But this is also a simple problem, for the force is far greater than the foundations of a single galaxy, for it is the foundation of all. So the force enacts its will, to bridge the pair over a span of moments, of years, of eternities, and Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi will fall in love, have fallen in love, and are falling in love." ✦ Neutron star collision by thedunesea, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, 121.2k wip     In the aftermath of Order 66, Anakin Skywalker's miraculous survival after his confrontation with the new Sith Apprentice Darth Vader ignites a sparkle of hope in the remaining Jedi, in the fledgling rebellion and, above all, in his former Master, who thought he had lost everything to darkness. But darkness is generous, and it is patient. ✦ Lex Talionis by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & dooku & rex & cast, NSFW, 187.1k     The ancient Galactic Republic is dying slowly—an ugly death of corruption, sprawl, and decay—with the sin of slavery hanging over its every triumph. The beleaguered Jedi Knights are too few to adequately patrol and police the entire Republic, and are faced with complacency and greed at every turn. Born into a crumbling and stagnant galaxy, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker are faced with the greatest challenge of all: themselves. Obi-Wan likes rules and control. When the galaxy around him stops playing by the rules, what is a Jedi to do? Anakin needs rules and restraint. When the galaxy around him conspires to set him loose, what is his Master to do? Falling slowly or falling fast, falling through lust or falling through wrath—it all leads to delusion and moral decay. What can be born from the ashes? ✦ Atlas of Our Ruin by Ripki, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, time travel, 230.8k     Both the past and the future casts long shadows. Obi-Wan and Anakin learn that the hard way, when a mysterious holocron flings them backwards and forwards in time, forcing them to confront painful truths. But the time-travel is only the beginning… ✦ Seed by bell (belldreams), obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 44k     When Anakin falls prey to a lethal poison, Obi-Wan has no choice but use all his resources to heal him-- no matter how reluctant he is in administering the antidote.

✦ wicked thing by imaginarykat, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & cast, nsfw, sith!obi-wan, 124.2k wip     There are rumours of yet another Sith Lord hiding among the Separatists. The Council sends Anakin to investigate. Anakin has a bad feeling about this. or, the story of how Anakin exists in a perpetual state of intense embarrassment, Obi-Wan is enjoying it a little too much, and everything is, generally speaking, a gigantic mess. ✦ Rulebreaker/Wildheart by chapstickaddict, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & luke & leia & barriss & cast, NSFW, 230k     Darth Vader, the strong arm of the Sith, held loyal to his Order since they took he and his mother from slavery in the deserts of Tatooine. Until he became convinced they killed his wife. He abandoned his Order and disappeared in the chaos of the Clone Wars, presumed dead by all sides. That young Skywalker is known around town as a widower and homesteader; a Nabooian who emigrated to avoid the trade blockade; a father of overly-energetic twins and warding a Togruta war orphan; a decent mechanic if your farm equipment or maintenance droid is acting up. Anakin is a paranoid, over-protective hot mess doing his best to raise his weird pack the way Padmé would have wanted. How the hell is he supposed to do that when his kids and not-apprentice make him haul a half-dead Jedi Master home like a lost pet? ✦ more than a candle by jenmishe, obi-wan/anakin/padme, NSFW, 50.3k     "The dark is generous and it is patient and it always wins – but in the heart of its strength lies its weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back. Love is more than a candle. Love can ignite the stars." Or, a few thousands of words of how Anakin, Obi Wan, and Padmé realize many things, which include, most notably, how they feel about each other and how to handle said feelings. Oh, and in the meantime, they deal with a megalomaniac Sith Lord. ✦ Anamorphosis by avocadomoon, obi-wan/padme & anakin & mace & corde & qui-gon & cast, 33.5k     noun, plural an·a·mor·pho·ses [an-uh-mawr-fuh-seez, -mawr-foh-seez]. A distorted or monstrous projection or representation of an image on a plane or curved surface, which, when viewed from a certain point, or as reflected from a curved mirror or through a polyhedron, appears regular and in proportion; a deformation of an image.

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Aro Week 2024: Let's Talk About the Limits of Representation

A lot of the discussion around writing marginalized identities comes down to one thing: representation. Representation in the books versus the authors, what the representation looks like, the variety of representation, what representation is present and allowed, what diversity is there and what isn’t.

For aro week, I want to talk about how limited that is for aro (and ace) people. Because the thing about representation is that to be exist beyond Word of God, it’s got to be discussed in the text. And that means romance (or sex, for ace people, but while I’m ace, and most of this is going to cross-apply, this post is for aro week so this is just a global note) has to be discussed in the text.

But a lot of time what I want as an aro person is to just not have to think about it. I think in general I’ve seen similar sentiments expressed across marginalized groups: we always have to think about our differences, and it’s a mental load and burden that other people don’t have to deal with. And as an aro writer and reader, a lot of the time what I want, and what most allows me to lay down that burden is to just not have romance in the damn thing. It’s hard to figure out how to write sometimes, it’s something I have to mentally keep in mind while I read.

While I go through life in general, I often just…forget it’s a thing. I forget when Valentine’s Day is often. I forget that people are normally dating. I forget people want to discuss with their romantic partners when making plans with friends. I forget they want to go everywhere as a group. I forget things look like dates. My life is one in which romance is rarely a factor unless imposed on it by outside forces. It’s not relevant.

But if I write that for characters, or for readers, a place where romance is not just imposed on their mind, the characters aren’t actually…aro. A story in which romance, romantic attraction, or interest in such things never comes up is one in which no character is canonically disinterested in or not in possession of such thing. It’s one which has no moments of obvious recognition of the aro experience or joyous bursts.

It’s a story in which, “Eh, they could or couldn’t be attracted. It never came up, so anything is valid because nothing is canon.”

The definition of being aro might lie in not experiencing romantic attraction. And sure, the character might not. But this is fiction. Not reality. And in reality, aro people’s experiences are more than the dictionary. People have relationships to romance and attraction and interactions with the concept are often recognizable and definitional. No real person can live without interacting with romance and attraction, and those relationships to it are as definitional and important to being aro or being gay or being straight or bi or whatever as the dictionary definition is.

Characters don’t have to interact with it. I’ve said romance isn’t relevant to my life as an aro person much of the time. If romance isn’t relevant to a character’s story—well, lots of things aren’t relevant to stories we assume are happening, like…most bathroom trips, or meals, or menstruation. A character isn’t representing an eating disorder because they’re never shown eating: it’s more complicated than that.

Being aro is more complicated than that.

A story in which character relationships wholly rely on and depend on something other than romance, a story where character relationships are undefinable and not attempted to be defined but only described and developed, a story in which characters and societies and people exist outside the omnipresent framework of romance inherently comes from a place of aroness and the aro experience. It speaks most to that place.

Most people who experience romantic attraction are often thinking about it. A story without such things is one which is lacking something they’re looking for and expecting, not a story where everything proceeds as usual without being interrupted by Oh, Yeah, That.

So, then, if alloromantic people will notice something is Different and aro people might seek it out, this way of writing around romance because it’s not relevant to the story the way it is not relevant to my life needs to be framed in the metatext so people, aro and alloro alike, know what to expect and what they’re getting into.

But when all talk about marginalized stories comes down to “What Types of Characters Are Here?” and “What Culture Is This World Based On?” there’s this empty space to explain stories like mine.

There’s so many things to the aro experience that don’t revolve around rejecting romance. But if you ever look for an aro story about something else, how can you even find it? It’s so difficult to talk about an aro story that isn’t Representative and exists in a way you don’t even have to think about it and there are no smooth bumps to remind you of yourself so you can immerse into it that…I think people forget stories like that can even exist.

[svsss-fanon-exposed]

Exposing SVSSS Fanon: 19/∞

XUAN SU IS A LARGE, BROAD, IMPOSING-LOOKING SWORD

Rating: FANON - CONFLICTING

The common depiction of Yue Qingyuan's sword Xuan Su is of a very large weapon with a broad blade. However, this design conflicts with the actual text of the novel, which states that Xuan Su is a rather plain-looking longsword.

Upon the white stone platform, a black hem was evenly laid, a plain and rustic longsword held firmly beneath it. Several empty, upended medicine bottles lay scattered about. (7 Seas, Ch. 24)

The "longsword" here is 长剑，which is a specific type of sword with a straight, double-edged blade around 1-1.5m (3-4ft) long, 3cm (1 inch) wide. Therefore, the width of the blade would not be the way it is often portrayed, which appears to be closer to hand-width.

Furthermore, longswords in SVSSS can be worn on the back or at the waist. Typically, in terms of sword-combat, longer swords are worn on the back and shorter swords on the waist.

Shen Qingqiu looked at Xuan Su at his waist. (7 Seas, Ch. 21)

Because Yue Qingyuan wears his sword at his waist, it can be inferred that Xuan Su is not abnormally long for a longsword-- and it can even be seen that the swords pictured in artwork wouldn't be able to be comfortably worn at the waist.

"Plain and Rustic" in the above description is translated from 古朴，which implies an old-fashioned, primitive simplicity. Xuan Su appears to be an old, basic-looking sword-- an image which contrasts the strength of its power.

The only other description we have for Xuan Su's design：

The all-black longsword at his waist abruptly sprang an inch from its sheath, revealing a blindingly snow-white blade. (7 Seas, Ch. 6)

From this, it can be said that the hilt and sheath are black and the blade glows white. Whether the metal itself is white or it only shines that way, it is unknown.

The depiction of Xuan Su as a large, claymore-type weapon appears both in the EN official art as well as the promotional art for the donghua:

However, this is not the first such depiction-- it has long been common in fanworks to give Xuan Su this distinctive, wide-bladed design.

Particularly, Xuan Su was also drawn somewhat large and broad by 老历茅台, a CN fanartist whose unofficial designs were very popular in early fandom, albeit this design was not so extreme as the later official versions, and seems to still fall under the specifications of a "longsword:"

For visual design standards, it certainly makes sense to draw attention to Xuan Su by giving it such a distinctive appearance. The size of the sword denotes its importance and power instantly to the viewer, and since the novel itself never attempts to conceal the fact that Xuan Su is a powerful sword, it would make sense to reveal this to viewers in visual mediums, which would not have the benefit of Shen Yuan's internal dialogue to bring this information.

By making Xuan Su appear imposing and larger than the others' swords, it sets it apart at a glance, while also demonstrating Yue Qingyuan's strength and power even though we do not often see him fighting.

However, in the text of the novel itself, Xuan Su is not described this way, so these visual depictions still run contrary to the canonical description of the sword.

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; zestial

requested by ; anonymous (13/02/24)

fandom(s) ; hazbin hotel

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; zestial

outline ; “can you do general relationship headcanons for Zestial?”

note ; characterisation is likely very shaky as we haven’t seen much of him so far in the series

warning(s) ; some canon typical references to violence, but mostly fluff!

though he may be a terribly imposing demon and an overlord with a reputation and presence that demands respect and fear, when it comes to your relationship zestial is nothing short of a complete and utter gentleman

he’s very traditional in his displays of affection, as one might expect, which means you’ll be on the receiving end of many of the following gestures (amongst many, many others along the same lines): him draping his outercoat over your shoulders if you complain about feeling cold or are wearing something that’s drawing a bit too much attention for his liking, him walking you home from every date just so you feel safe (and because he enjoys your company, of course), him bringing your hand up to his lips to chastely kiss your knuckles or the back of your hand in greeting, him memorising how you enjoy your drinks and either making them for you himself when you visit his home or sending for his servants to do so on his behalf, him walking with you whilst either placing a guiding hand on the small of your back or interlocking your arms just to make sure that all of hell knows that you’re taken, and so on…

he tends to lean towards more traditional pet names and would prefer if you did the same when addressing him — think along the lines of ‘my dear’, ‘my darling’, ‘my heart’, or ‘my love’ (emphasis on ‘my’ as that’s one of the many casual ways that he proclaims his ownership over your heart and being through your partnership)

his dating style is, again, very traditional and gentlemanly with him preferring to take things slow to enjoy the process of courting and wooing you in its entirety — so expect things like: lots of chaste shows of affection leading up to that eventual kiss that happens after a long time of anticipating it, semi frequent dates that involve more walking and pleasant conversation than anything else, the frequent exchanging of letters and gifts that would feel incredibly out of place for anyone but him, and compliments given in earnest that are very sparsely heard from such an intimidating overlord

carmilla is the first person to find out about your relationship and deals with the brunt of zestial’s pining for you whilst also being the only person he goes to for advice on the rare occasion where he feels like he needs it — of course he’s plenty confident in himself but if you happen to be from a more modern time period there are times where he’ll turn to carmilla’s expertise and experience in order to properly meet your needs and expectations for your relationship

usually this means an afternoon spent in her office discussing gift ideas (between his own thoughts, carmilla’s suggestions, and your personal tastes it’s safe to say that you’re never left wanting for anything so long as you’re together) or with her briefing him on modern day dating etiquette, which he rarely ever makes use of unless it’s to make you laugh (truly he believes that his technique and approach is much more romantic but he can see the humour in the attempts at courtship made by younger generations… sometimes, anyway)

whenever there’s an extermination due, he insists on you staying at his home with him so you can ride out the slaughter together — the mood is always surprisingly light and almost tender as you take the time to enjoy each others company, eat good food, and try to forget about what’s going on just outside of your field of view

despite how much of an effort he makes to keep you and your relationship separate to his work as an overlord, it’s only a matter of time before you get to see firsthand exactly why the denizens of hell would sooner set themselves ablaze or take their own lives before risking drawing his attention to them for even a second — and even though his anger and violence is never directed at you (he wouldn’t dream of raising a hand to his partner) it’s still incredibly frightening to witness and it would take some time to reconcile those two versions of him in your mind

but once you know how ruthless he can be, he becomes much more willing to wield that reputation in order to protect you and your relationship — of course he’s already publicly claimed you in every way he could think of, but it doesn’t hurt to drive the message home by making some examples out of a few unfortunate sinners or hellborns that dared to flirt with or threaten you (or even that just happened to look at you for too long or at the wrong time; he’s not that picky about his victims)

it’s his duty as your lover to protect your honour and well-being after all… and it never hurts to drive home how far he’s willing to go to maintain his status and relationship just in case anyone gets any ideas about using you against him

now despite his public claiming of you as his significant other, zestial is still a pretty private person and doesn’t advertise much of your personal life to the world beyond the fact that you belong to each other and you’re content in that fact — he’ll answer questions from old friends and acquaintances (like carmilla or alastor) when asked but he enjoys keeping you to yourself and being able to have a part of his life that is mostly separate to his role as an overlord

[roomba-mangga]

thoughts on thistle and yaad's dynamic that i vomited in the tags of another post but will now try to articulate here: they're not actually family, or at least they shouldn't be. not in a conventional sense anyway. framing them as uncle and nephew (even in a non-literal, silly fantasy world way) rides more on technicality than anything concrete.

what i mean by this is yaad calls thistle by name and says he and delgal were raised "like" brothers. he talks about thistle like he's an outsider imposing himself into the melinis' space, and it's clear that thistle was never legitimized as a member of the family. for thistle's part, though we don't know how he would treat yaad pre-demon brainrot, it's safe to assume based on the way he punishes him—turning him into a doll—and how little is shown in the way of any sort of relationship between them that thistle only cares* about yaad as an extension of delgal (otherwise i'd expect something like kabru and milsiril, because it's not like another complicated interspecies family dynamic would be out of place, yet there's next to nothing on them even in bonus content, just their scant interactions in the main story).

in essence, they're strangers to one another. thistle's desperation to preserve the illusion of a family, a model where he doesn't even fit, was the snare they were caught in for the past thousand years of stasis. yaad-as-nephew is a prop to uphold that illusion, and thistle is playing a role he's unfit to play. in the context of post-canon interactions, attempting to reconstruct that facade would only be a reenactment of trauma for them both (in a deeply compelling way i'd love to watch unfold, tbh), as that "uncle and nephew" framing places thistle in an implicit position of power over someone he's already traumatized through misuse of authority in the past, a role which also perpetuates his adultification and yaad's infantilization in turn. it'd mostly be an obstacle to any real connection.

best to burn the melini family bridge, i think, and if there's still anything salvageable left in the rubble, let something different supplant it.

[saintsenara]

THE AUDIENCE CLAMOURS FOR YOUR VOLMIONE TAKE!!!!!!!!! In all seriousness the curiously is piqued tenfold by the fact that you go hard to bat for the other two voldemort/golden trio ships

i've definitely been putting this one off, anon, but it's hermione's birthday, and since the requests have kept coming...

maybe i have to grit my teeth and get through it.

i am, like my good pal @yorickofyore, broadly a tomione/volmione disliker - which is a spoiler for what follows. there are - obviously - huge numbers of people who are not, and they may sit happily in their ecosystem while i flop around photosynthesising in mine.

and the reason why i don't like tomione/volmione is right there in the last three screenshots: it relies - like several other hermione pairings, snamione and sirimione chief among them - on a portrayal of hermione's intellectual expression which bears absolutely no relation to how this is written in canon.

across all seven books in the series, hermione's intellect primarily manifests itself in a sincerely impressive ability to retain and repeat information [very usually verbatim from the source she got it from]. she is able to use this ability to retain information to understand the theoretical components of magic in a way neither harry nor ron ever manage, and she is then able to apply this retention - that is, to repeat the information she has acquired - of knowledge to the performance of magic which is [often considerably] ahead of her expected level both in terms of the hogwarts curriculum and in terms of what would be seen as the median ability of an adult witch or wizard.

but hermione is never shown - at any point in canon - to be a particularly radical, creative, or experimental thinker.

she places an enormous amount of intellectual trust in disciplinary authority - not only in the respect she has for following textbooks and teachers to the letter [hence why she won't attempt any of the modifications in the half-blood prince's textbook, she thinks it's offensive that they contradict the "official" peer-reviewed and sanctioned instructions] but also in her agreement with the gatekeeping imposed by the state and/or its authorities on academic inquiry.

[hence her disliking the invented spells in the half-blood prince's textbook because they're not ministry approved, or her easing her discomfort at having read the books from which voldemort learned to make a horcrux by insisting - undoubtedly correctly - that dumbledore wanted her to do it and she therefore has the permission of an intellectual authority].

she's immediately mistrustful of anything she can't find [something she regards as] an empirical source for - which is why harry's mental connection with voldemort frightens her so much, or why she thinks that harry's lost his mind when he begins to insist the deathly hallows are real and important, or, most famously, why she thinks divination is bullshit.

she's never shown to be able to synthesise her knowledge [she never answers questions in class in her own words, she always goes massively over word limits], or to use it in ways which are considerably removed from its typical application.

[the protean charm on the da coins, for example - the magic she's using is sophisticated, and is being applied in a way which wouldn't necessarily be classroom-sanctioned, since she's using it to defy umbridge, but the evidence of canon is that it's not magic which is being used in a way which is removed from the spell's original purpose. terry boot is impressed because he's looking at a flawless execution of newt-level magic by a sixteen-year-old, rather than because hermione is using that magic in an unusual way. the same is true of the polyjuice potion - it's impressive because she brews it flawlessly aged thirteen.]

this is a very logical, rational, and scientific approach to learning - and one which the series, which tends to take a dim view of anything which deviates too far from the status quo, views extremely positively - and it is intelligence. i know some people think that when i say this about hermione i'm saying that she isn't clever - or that i'm saying she's less clever than the characters [all of whom are male] that the series permits to be "brilliant" - but that's not the case. hermione is clearly extremely clever - and her logical, empirical, careful approach comes in clutch for the trio throughout the series, right from philosopher's stone. her intellectual expression just isn't the only way intelligence can manifest itself - and it isn't an intellectual expression which will automatically mesh with another very clever person's approach.

which is to say... lord voldemort, both as a teen and an adult, is - intellectually - the complete opposite of hermione.

he is someone - as he tells us - who thinks of magic as a creative force he has every right to shape as he sees fit, something whose boundaries he has the inherent right to smash through. he rejects disciplinary authority [his loathing of dumbledore - as an adult, at least - is because he thinks that dumbledore is a petty-minded gatekeeper who attempts to repress the dark arts - magic, snape tells us, which is inherently ever-changing, unfixed, mutating - because he's afraid of them and their refusal to be neatly contained in disciplinary boxes; his appeal to slughorn's authority is purely a manipulation technique]. he is an adaptor and inventor, and he uses magic in ways which radically deviate from its intended purpose.

and so the common "teen tom riddle and hermione are at school together" trope that they'd both get off on being academic rivals is, in my view, impossible to justify while keeping either of them remotely canon-coherent. she's going to think he's a cunt. he's going to think she's irrelevant.

indeed, i genuinely think the most likely scenario if the two are at school together is that the teen voldemort wouldn't be able to pick hermione out of a line-up - not least because she has very little to offer him when it comes to his plans for world domination.

when it comes to those he's "nice" to, the teenage tom riddle targets the socially prominent, rich, and influential, whom he can use parasitically to his own ends.

he's happy, undoubtedly, to have minions who are less useful to him from a social-advancement perspective, but who come in handy as pawns in his schemes - as dumbledore puts it, "the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who could show them more refined forms of cruelty" - but this is the only thing he sees them as. hermione has a capacity for cruelty he would undoubtedly see potential in [even if he would probably be wary of her "run and tell teacher" vibe], but as someone who does his bidding only, rather than anyone for whom he's willing to fake [or, indeed, to actually feel] any degree of mutual affection.

and i do think this - in and of itself - is interesting. hermione is someone - as i've said elsewhere - who has a tendency towards blind loyalty, which often causes her to accept people she likes and/or respects treating her cruelly [something we see in canon particularly in how she reacts to snape's behaviour towards her]. she's also someone who is incredibly deferential to authority, fairly naive, convinced she's always right, convinced she's not irrational, superstitious, or emotionally-driven, and capable of pretty egregious cruelty in pursuit of being rational and correct.

or, in other words, she's very easy for a flesh-and-blood voldemort to manipulate.

[she's not at risk from a horcrux because she's possessed of the empirical fact that they can't hurt you if you don't let them get emotionally close to you, which impacts how she behaves around the locket.]

on the rare occasions when i've enjoyed fics with this pairing, then, they've tended to be ones which actually acknowledge this - and which have hermione completely destroyed by a voldemort [usually in adult form] who has never cared one iota about her, all because she was convinced she'd be far too clever to fall for his tricks.

[my rec: enigma by devdevlin.]

and this is the main way my view of tomione/volmione deviates from my view of tomarrymort or ronmort - i don't think there's any circumstance where it can ever work as something mutual, whereas the entire point of tomarrymort is that the relationship is something voldemort perceives as equal, and ronmort sees the dark lord running headfirst into ron's ability to disarm and confuse him by possessing a crumb of emotional intelligence. i don't think voldemort would hate hermione - or even be particularly irritated by her - but nor do i think he'd find anything about her interesting enough to make him want to keep her around for any longer than she was useful.

but - like so many hermione pairings - the default in tomione/volmione tends to be "omg, hermione is so hot, brilliant, and fascinating that [insert man here] becomes completely obsessed with her". whether the story leads to voldemort becoming a better person or hermione going over to the dark side, the way the pairing is written always assumes that hermione is someone voldemort would consider [often very quickly] important to him [even in circumstances where she is a prisoner]. only very rarely do fics ever explore the much more canon-justifiable - and, in my view, much more interesting - idea that voldemort is somebody hermione could and would consider important, while he wouldn't give a single fuck about her.

[neither of them give a shit about dead rabbits though. it's the only thing they have in common.]

[thesiltverses]

I don’t know who types up the ask answers on this blog but to whoever’s reading this: how do you all feel about being alive and sentient? What keeps you going, what purpose propels you through this chaotic void? What do you think (or hope) waits for you after your inevitable end? What do you think constitutes a life well lived?

I'm going to answer this in the most wayward and stupidly overlong manner possible, because the previous ask had me thinking about puppets, and I was already mid-way through writing up a book recommendation that's semi-relevant to your questions.

Everyone (but especially people who've enjoyed The Silt Verses and all the folks on Tumblr who loved Piranesi by Susanna Clarke) ought to seek out Riddley Walker by Russell Hoban.

Riddley Walker is a wild and woolly story set in post-apocalyptic Kent, where human society has (d)evolved into a Bronze Age collective of hunter-gatherer settlements. Dogs, apparently blaming us for our crimes against the world, have become our predators, hunting us through the trees. Labourers kill themselves unearthing ancient machinery that they cannot possibly understand.

A travelling crowd of thugs led by a Pry Mincer collect taxes and attempt to impose themselves upon those around them with a puppet-show - the closest possible approximation of a TV show - that tells a mangled story of the world's destruction, featuring a Prometheus-esque hero called Eusa who is tempted by the Clevver One into creating the atomic bomb.

Riddley himself, a twelve-year-old folk hero in-the-making surrounded by strange portents, ends up sowing the seeds of rebellion and change by becoming a conduit for the anti-tutelary anarchic madness (one apparently buried in our collective unconscious) of Punch 'n' Judy.

It's a book in love with twisted reinterpretation, the subjectivity of interpretation, buried or forbidden truths coming back to light (the opening quote is a curious allegory about reinvention and cyclical change from the extra-canonical Gospel of Thomas, which is a good joke and mission statement on a couple levels at once) and human beings somehow stumbling into forms of wisdom or insight through clumsy and nonsensical attempts to make sense of a world that is simply beyond them.

It rocks.

The book starts like this:

On my naming day when I come 12 I gone front spear and kilt a wyld boar he parbly the las wyld pig on the Bundel Downs any how there hadnt ben none for a long time befor him nor I aint looking to see none agen. He dint make the groun shake nor nothing like that when he come on to my spear he wernt all that big plus he lookit poorly. He done the reqwyrt he ternt and stood and clattert his teef and made his rush and there we wer then. Him on 1 end of the spear kicking his life out and me on the other end watching him dy. I said, 'Your tern now my tern later.'

Riddley's devolved language - a trick which has been nicked/homaged by many other works, most notably Cloud Atlas and Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome - is a masterwork choice which may seem offputting or overwhelming at first, but which has its own brutal poetry and cadence to it, and ultimately which makes us slow down as readers and unpick the wit, puns, double-meanings and playful themes buried in line after line.

(Even those first five sentences get us thinking about cyclical change, ritual and myth in opposition to the dissatisfactions of reality, and 'tern' to paradoxically indicate a rebellious change in direction but also an obedient acceptance of inevitable death.)

In one of my favourite passages in literature and a statement of thought that means a lot to me, Riddley has been smoking post-coital weed with Lorna, a 'tel-woman', who unexpectedly declares her belief in a kind of irrational, monstrous Logos that lives in us, wears us like clothes, and drives us onwards for its own purpose:

'You know Riddley theres some thing in us it dont have no name.' I said, 'What thing is that?' She said, 'Its some kynd of thing it aint us but yet its in us. Its lookin out thru our eye hoals...it aint you nor it dont even know your name. Its in us lorn and loan and shelterin how it can.' 'Tremmering it is and feart. It puts us on like we put on our cloes. Some times we dont fit. Some times it cant fynd the arm hoals and it tears us a part. I dont think I took all that much noatis of it when I ben yung. Now Im old I noatise it mor. It dont realy like to put me on no mor. Every morning I can feal how its tiret of me and readying to throw me a way. Iwl tel you some thing Riddley and keap this in memberment. What ever it is we dont come naturel to it.' I said, 'Lorna I dont know what you mean.' She said, 'We aint a naturel part of it. We dint begin when it begun we dint begin where it begun. It ben here befor us nor I dont know what we are to it. May be weare jus only sickness and a feaver to it or boyls on the arse of it I dont know. Now lissen what Im going to tel you Riddley. It thinks us but it dont think like us. It dont think the way we think. Plus like I said befor its afeart.' I said, 'Whats it afeart of?' She said, 'Its afeart of being beartht.'

While Hoban is, I think, deeply humanistic to his bones and even something of a wayward optimist, the notion of human beings as helpless and ignorant vessels, individual carriers - puppets, if you like - for an unknowable and awful inhuman power-in-potentia and life-drive that lacks a true shape or intent beyond its own continued survival (even when that means destroying us or visiting us with agonising atrophy in the process) conjures up the pessimism of Thomas Ligotti, another big influence on our work and a dude who was really into his marionettes-as-metaphor.

Let's go to him now for his opinion on the thing that lives beneath our skin. Thomas?

Through the prophylactic of self-deception, we keep hidden what we do not want to let into our heads, as if we will betray to ourselves a secret too terrible to know… …(that the universe is) a play with no plot and no players that were anything more than portions of a master drive of purposeless self-mutilation. Everything tears away at everything else forever. Nothing knows of its embroilment in a festival of massacres… Nothing can know what is going on.

Curiously, both Ligotti and Riddley Walker have appeared in the music of dark folk band Current 93, whose track In The Heart Of The Wood And What I Found There directly homages the novel and ends with the repeated words,

"All shall be well," she said But not for me

These words, in turn, hearken back to Kafka's* famous reported conversation with Max Brod:

'We are,' he said, 'nihilistic thoughts, suicidal thoughts that rise in God's head.' This reminded me of the worldview of the gnostic: God as an evil demiurge, the world as his original sin. 'Oh no', he said, 'our world is only a bad, fretful whim of God, a bad day.' 'So was there - outside of this world that we know - hope?' He smiled: 'Oh, hope - there is plenty. Infinite hope, just not for us."

So, we walk on.

We carry this thing that's riding on our backs, endlessly bonded to it, feeling its weight more and more with every passing day, unable to turn to look at it. Buried truths come briefly to life, and are hidden from us again. Perhaps they weren't truths at all. We couldn't stand to look the truth directly in the eyes in any case.

If there is hope, it's for the thing that looks out from our eyeholes, which thinks us but cannot think like us. We'll never get to where we're going, and the thing will never be born. There's no hope for it. Perhaps we don't want it to win anyway. It's nothing, and the key to everything.

The Jesus from the Gospel of Thomas says:

'When you see your own likeness, you rejoice. But when you see the visions that formed you and existed before you, which do not perish and which do not become visible - how much then will you be able to bear?'

Kafka, writing to his father, begins by expressing the inexpressibility of his own divine terror:

You asked me why I am afraid of you. I did not know how to answer - partly because of my fear, partly because an explanation would require more than I could make coherent in speech…even in writing, the magnitude of the causes exceeds my memory and my understanding.

Kafka concludes that while he cannot ever truly explain himself, and that the accusations in his letter are neat subjectivities that fail to account for the messiness of reality, perhaps 'something that in my opinion so closely resembles the truth…might comfort us both a little and make it easier for us to live and die.'**

It doesn't bring comfort to Kafka, whose diarised remarks both before and after the 1919 letter make it clear that he views his relationship with the things (people) that birthed him as an endless entrapment that prevents him from attaining any kind of self-actualisation or even comfort, since he cannot escape their influence or remember a time before them:

I was defeated by Father as a small boy and have been prevented since by pride from leaving the battleground, despite enduring defeat over and over again.

It's as if I wasn't fully born yet...as if I was dissolubly bound to these repulsive things (my parents).*** The bond is still attached to my feet, preventing them from walking, from escaping the original formless mush. That's how it is sometimes.

Samuel Beckett returns again and again (aptly) to this pursuit of a state of true humanity and final understanding that is at once fled and unrecoverable, yet to be born, never to be born, never-existed, endlessly to be pursued, pointless to pursue. From the astonishing end sequence of The Unnameable:

alone alone, the others are gone, they have been stilled, their voices stilled, their listening stilled, one by one, at each new-com- ing, another will come, I won’t be the last. I’ll be with the others. I’ll be as gone, in the silence, it won’t be I, it’s not I, I’m not there yet. I’ll go there now. I’ll try and go there now, no use trying, I wait for my turn, my turn to go there, my turn to talk there, my turn to listen there, my turn to wait there for my turn to go, to be as gone, it’s unending, it will be unending, gone where,where do you go from there, you must go somewhere else, wait somewhere else, for your turn to go again

I’m not the first, I won’t be the first, it will best me in the end, it has bested better than me, it will tell me what to do, in order to rise, move, act like a body endowed with despair, that’s how I reason, that’s how I hear myself reasoning, all lies, it’s not me they’re calling, not me they’re talking about, it’s not yet my turn, it’s someone else’s turn, that’s why I can’t stir, that’s why I don’t feel a body on me, I’m not suffering enough yet, it’s not yet my turn, not suffering enough to be able to stir, to have a body, complete with head, to be able to understand, to have eyes to light the way

From Thomas' Jesus:

When you make the two one, and you make the inside as the outside and the outside as the inside and the above as the below, and if male and female become a single unity which lacks 'masculine' and 'feminine' action, when you grow eyes where eyes should be and hands where hands should be and feet where feet should stand and the true image in its proper place, then shall you enter heaven.

Tom's Jesus makes a particularly Gnostic habit of both insisting that the hidden will be revealed and demonstrating the impossibility of attaining a state where the hidden ever can be revealed. Contrary to C.S. Lewis, we will never have faces with which to gaze upon the lost divine and the mysteries that shaped us, and crucially, as Christ puts it, we would not be able to bear the sight of ourselves if we did.

We will never become the thing that's riding on our backs.

Jesus again:

The disciples ask Jesus, 'Tell us how our end shall be.' Jesus says, 'Have you found the beginning yet, you who ask after the end? For at the place where the beginning is, there shall be the end.'

The Unnameable:

I’ll recognise it, in the end I’ll recognise it, the story of the silence that he never left, that I should never have left, that I may never find again, that I may find again, then it will be he, it will be I, it will be the place, the silence, the end, the beginning, the beginning again, how can I say it, that’s all words, they’re all I have, and not many of them, the words fail, the voice fails, so be it

The final passage of The Unnameable, which often is hilariously shorn and misinterpreted as an inspirational quote about how if you don't succeed, try again:

all words, there’s nothing else, you must go on, that’s all I know, they’re going to stop, I know that well, I can feel it, they’re going to abandon me, it will be the silence, for a moment, a good few moments, or it will be mine, the lasting one, that didn’t last, that still lasts, it will be I, you must go on, I can't go on, you must go on. I’ll go on, you must say words, as long as there are any, until they find me, until they say me, strange pain, strange sin, you must go on, perhaps it’s done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don’t know. I’ll never know, in the silence you don’t know, you must go on, I can’t go on. I’ll go on. †

We bear this thing that's riding on our backs. We'll never get to where we're going, and the thing will never be born. If it was born, it'd be too terrible for us to bear. There's nothing riding on our backs.

It will never speak us into being.

We keep on calling out into the silence, we keep trying to explain or understand the thing that's riding on our backs, searching for a way to birth it before we die. Our words about the thing are crucial, and they're meaningless, and they're all we have, and they're nothing at all. We cannot name it and we cannot express it, but we cannot stop trying, and we will keep turning back to our words about the thing, obsessing over them, tearing them to pieces, putting them back together.

I'm fumbling at something I can't think or say, but fumbling is all we're capable of. There could be beauty and meaning and comfort in the fumbling, but it's also vain, and foolish, and pointless, and we're lying to ourselves about the beauty and the meaning and the comfort, and we're indulging ourselves pointlessly by going on and on about the pointlessness of it. Nothing can know what's going on. We will never get close enough to understand without being destroyed.

Thomas' Jesus again, warning those who seek to reveal what's hidden:

He who is near me is near the fire.

Riddley Walker, reflecting on the Punch puppet's inexplicable desire to cook and eat his own child:

Whyis Punch crookit? Why wil he al ways kill the baby if he can? Parbly I wont ever know its jus on me to think on it.

If you got to the end of this, congratulations: but the above is honestly the most appropriate patchwork of what I believe, what propels me, what I feel.

As for what comes after life, I think it's fairly straightforwardly a nothingness we are tragically incapable of fully knowing or accepting - it's Beckett's unimaginable and unattainable silence, a silence that his characters' voices keep on shattering even as they cry out for it.

-Jon‡

*I can't remember if Kafka makes prominent reference to Czech puppets in his work, which is interesting in its own right given the thematic relevance (the protagonist in The Hunger Artist is perhaps a kind of self-directing puppet show?).

However, Gustav Meyrink - who some unsourced Google quotes suggest was pals with Czech puppeteer Richard Teschner - did write a strange little story, The Man On The Bottle, about an audience watching a 'marionette show' who are too wrapped up in performances and masks to interpret the reality that they're actually watching a human being suffocate to death.

**Thomas Ligotti: "Something had happened. They did not know what it was, but they did know it as that which should not be.

Something would have to be done if they were to live with that which should not be.

This would not (be enough); it would only be the best they could do."

***Beckett's Malone Dies actually kicks off with a related sentiment:" I am in my mother’s room. It’s I who live there now. I don’t know how I got there...In any case I have her room. I sleep in her bed. I piss and shit in her pot. I have taken her place. I must resemble her more and more."

† I don't necessarily align myself in humour with Ligotti on a lot of this stuff but I imagine he would recognise both Beckett's writing and Kafka's frustrations re explaining the causes of his hatred for his father as sublimation: finding artistic and philosophical ways of sketching the inexpressible horror and uncertainty of our existence in order to reckon with it at a remove without destroying ourselves. A higher form of self-deception, but self-deception nevertheless.

‡Muna's more of an anarcho-nihilist, I think.

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, ch5

chapter five: surrender

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 5, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-4, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: the usual fare (canon-typical violence, gore, murder), death (of children and adults)

Several Years Later… 

Jack Crawford and you stand over the table in his office, which is nearly buried under newspapers and physical materials. Two photographs lie in stark contrast to the black and white newspapers, bursts of horribly vivid color amidst the monotony. You look at the first one: a photo of the crime scene at the Leeds’ residence. You shake your head, thinking back to your investigation of the eerily silent home. 

There had been too much to look at. Too many bloodstains. Too much dust. Not nearly enough substantial evidence. You gleaned far too much about the daily lives of the Leedses as you investigated that house. The simplest mundanities were demonstrative of their ordinary lives before their deaths. A normal family with no enemies. (As it usually happens). Death doesn’t discriminate between good and evil, deserving and undeserving. You have to come to terms with that lesson every time you approach a crime scene. 

The pendulum swings before your eyes once more—a familiar greeting. You blink and you’re standing in the Leeds’ residence, sneaking through the dark hall until you reach the master bedroom. Mr. and Mrs. Leeds slumber peacefully, with no indication of the horrors they will soon experience. You hover at the end of their bed, listening to their measured breaths. In, out. Your gloved hand is steady on your gun and you round the side of the bed, towering over Mr. Leeds. He exhales slowly. You fire and a bullet carves its way through his temple. Mrs. Leeds rouses at the noise, her face paling in the near darkness as she sees her husband’s blood spilling down his face and coloring the pristine white sheets. The woman tries to get up and you shoot her in the abdomen, before making your way out of the master bedroom and walking down the hall to the children’s bedroom. 

Their boys are awake now, too. They sit upright in bed, staring at you with wide eyes and thinly-veiled fear. You raise your gun and shoot the first in the temple. The other boy scampers away, falling to the ground and attempting to crawl under the bed. It doesn’t take you long to break the distance between you and grab at his ankle, yanking him back out and flipping him onto his back. A swift shot to the head drains the light from his eyes. You turn your back on the children, your attention captured by the master bedroom. You think you hear ragged breathing. Perfect. 

You take a deep breath and push the pendulum away, looking down at the photograph as you try to make a coherent timeline of events. The husband was killed first. The wife went next—was shot with a bullet through the abdomen. The two boys were shot and killed too. Then, the smashing of the mirrors. And… the strangulation of Mrs. Leeds, which proved to be the true cause of death. 

The two boys and the husband were positioned to observe Mrs. Leeds, to watch as the killer drained the life from her eyes, imprinted his teeth onto her skin, snapped his bloodied maw, guts and gore slipping onto his tongue and down his throat- 

“They found a film,” Jack says, breaking you out of your self-imposed trance. He grabs the tape and pushes it into the television in the corner of the room. “Mr. Leeds had purchased it three weeks prior to his death.”

The two of you move your chairs to sit in front of the television. For an awful and tense moment, the screen stutters in static. Time is an utter drag, mocking you for your unfounded patience. Will this film really be of any significance?

You don’t think so, and your suspicions are soon proven correct. The film is a recording of a few simple moments in the family’s ordinary life—relaxing on a beach with shimmering water, laughing around a dinner table. 

When the film is finished, Jack retrieves it from the television and returns to his seat. “What do you see?” He asks. You’re not sure you want to answer. And, really, what do you see?

“A happy family,” you remark. There’s something idling in your mind—a key component not yet realized. There is significance in the discrepancies between Mrs. Leeds and the rest of the family’s deaths; there is significance in the attention paid to the matriarch and the matriarch alone. You ruminate on the film you just watched, trying to connect the seemingly unrelated pieces. Something must’ve drawn the killer to this family. 

“Do you think Mrs. Leeds was beautiful?” You hear yourself asking. You remember the shimmering blond hair flowing down her back, the charming smile she aimed at the camera. You think of the way the killer defiled her corpse, the intimate way he killed her and only her. 

“Sure,” Jack remarks, clearly unsure where you’re going with the conversation. You’re not sure you know where you’re going, either. You just know that you can’t seem to move past Mrs. Leeds.

“He thought she was, too,” you say. “He paid her special attention. The cause of death was strangulation, remember. The killer was somewhat fixated with Mrs. Jacobi in a similar manner—he bit her, too.”

You frown. “What do we know about the killer, at this point?” You have to ask. There have been so many conversations, so many discussions laden with the smallest and most insignificant of revelations. It is an arduous task to connect this killer to a person. 

Indeed, Jack takes a deep breath. “He’s right-handed and has blond hair,” your boss recalls, crossing one leg over his knee. His eyebrows furrow as he evidently searches through his memory. “Size eleven shoes.” 

“He’s strong, evidently,” you add with a frown. Although, how strong, you can’t be sure. After all, he didn’t seem willing to take the chance of confronting Mr. Leeds, instead disposing of him before he could resist. Strangling Mrs. Leeds, on the other hand… That required both an immense urge to touch her—even with gloved hands, as the lack of fingerprints showed—and a fervent strength. Yes, this killer is strong. “Anything else?” You don’t expect much. 

“Semen and saliva show his blood type is AB positive,” Jack finishes. Your stomach turns with disgust, a white-hot rage flaming down your spine for the briefest of moments. This job never gets easier, you think to yourself. You just slowly become numb to the world’s horrors. 

“Let’s review the timing of these again,” you suggest, eager to continue with the conversation. You cross one leg over the other and stare at the dark television screen in front of you. “The Jacobis were killed on the full moon last month. The Leeds were killed almost a month later, a day before the full moon. That was… a few days ago, now.”

“The Jacobis were killed in their home in Birmingham; the Leeds were killed in their home in Atlanta… Both white, middle-class families. Nuclear families.” You recount. 

Jack nods. “They’re calling him the Tooth Fairy,” he says, getting to his feet and walking over to the table once more. He grabs a newspaper and studies it with disinterest. It’s clear Jack isn’t fond of the childish nickname, and you don’t think you are, either. 

“From the biting,” you sigh. “Clever.” You scoff, standing up and returning to your spot at the table. The two of you regard the haphazard pile of papers and photographs. You’re starting to feel a bit frustrated—this conversation is yielding no new information, and neither are the ongoing investigations in the homes of the victims. 

Jack stares down at one of the newspapers, his lips pulled in a thin line. “No clear motive,” he frowns. “Random selection.” 

“Every killer has a motive,” you remind him. “And there has to be something that connects these two families.” There needs to be, otherwise you’ll be exploring more houses laden with dust and picking apart more corpses. Jack nods in agreement. He knows as well as you do: there is nothing truly random about this killer’s behavior. It seems random now, because there have only been two instances. If there were more, you could deduce a pattern more easily… but you don’t want to manifest more death. 

“No witnesses,” you remember. Jack nods, a grimace on his face. The killer slipped in and slipped out with frightening ease, managing not to alert even a single neighbor to his presence. You went around and did some door duty back when you visited the crime scene, but you hadn’t had much luck with any of the neighbors. “Has Alana taken a look at this?” Jack confirms your suspicions with a nod. “And?”

Jack just shakes his head. You’re sure Alana provided some valuable insight, but there’s little that hasn’t already been thoroughly examined. There are only so many times the same people can scrutinize the same set of information. “We’ve spoken to all the typical suspects.” By ‘the typical suspects,’ you assume Jack means Alana, Beverly, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller, and the local police department (although, you’re not sure they were able to provide you any helpful information; your relationship typically works the other way around, with the FBI providing the local jurisdiction with more information).  

“We don’t have much time,” you say. The words cling to the air with vigor. If the killer continues to follow his pattern, he will kill another family on the full moon of the next month. That leaves you… not even four weeks to track him down. Not to mention, there’s an utter lack of meaningful evidence. All you have right now are shadows—traces of the killer’s movements,  a smattering of physical traits that millions of people could possess. You fear that, in three weeks, you will still be at the same roadblock you’re at right now. Perhaps that fear is what motivates you to continue speaking. 

“Maybe we need to reevaluate our approach,” you say, the words traitorously crawling from your lips. The remark casts a tense silence across the air. You both know it’s true; if there’s anything you know about Jack Crawford, it’s that he is one to rely on the tried and true methods. Thinking “outside the box” is not an idea that Jack typically embraces. But you fear you don’t have any other options. 

“What do you suggest?” Your boss asks. His agreeableness is demonstrative of how little information you have, and how desperate you are to get a lead on this guy. You take a deep breath and try to organize your thoughts. 

The BAU has thoroughly evaluated all the available evidence. Perhaps, in order to make new connections, you need to speak to new professionals. You need more eyes on this case. Thinking about the killer, you realize that you need a more tangible psychological profile in order to contextualize his behavior and get closer to discovering his identity. 

“We need information on a killer,” you start. You pause, questioning your own judgment. There’s a solution staring you straight in the face, but… It’s far from your brightest or safest idea. Then again, you’re desperate—and you know Jack is, too. You take a deep breath, ignoring the whispers haunting the back of your mind. “Who better to consult… than another killer?” 

“Another killer,” Jack repeats, staring at you as if you’ve gone crazy. Hell, maybe you have gone crazy. But, sometimes, you need crazy ideas to catch crazy people. That’s what you like to tell yourself, anyway. The truth of the situation may be a combination of honest desperation and something more… unsettling.

Because, truthfully, this other killer’s voice has never left your mind. This other killer is just as brutal as the Tooth Fairy, if not moreso. 

“You don’t mean-” Jack cuts himself off, a brief disturbed expression flickering across his face before it morphs into indifference. “Dr. Lecter. Of course.”

Both of you are rather uncomfortable with the notion. But, if Hannibal could provide you with new answers—or, hell, new questions… “He would know,” you admit. “After all, this killer and the Ripper are rather similar. They both left behind little evidence—practically untraceable.”

Jack is quiet for several moments. You can see the gears whirring behind his eyes, as he weighs the potential benefits against the numerous risks. Eventually, he seems to come to an impasse, and he shakes his head. Jack then looks at you. “You would speak with him?”

To your knowledge, Alana is the only one who has actually spoken to Hannibal in the years since he was imprisoned—and from what she told you, their conversation was unhelpful. You would be the best person to speak with him now, realistically speaking. An entire minute passes before you can find it in yourself to respond. “...Yes.”

“Do you realize how dangerous this is?” Jack asks, searching your expression for something. You try your best to maintain your composure. 

“High risk, high reward,” you say. “He could know something. And even if he doesn’t, he’ll probably have a good educated guess.” 

Jack studies you for another minute, before exhaling and murmuring something along the lines of “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”  You don’t blame him—you’re also surprised he agreed. Perhaps more surprising is the fact that you were the one to suggest visiting Hannibal in the first place, after everything he’s done to you. A part of you is terrified that your history with him… has only just begun. 

You summon some courage and head for the door. “Agent,” Jack interjects, before you can leave. You turn back around to face him. 

“Yes?” You ask. 

“Be careful,” Jack says. “He’ll try to get in your head.” 

You nod, knowing words will betray you. Really, what the hell are you doing? Why did you sign up for this? Is there a part of you, however small, that hopes to see him again? These thoughts haunt you for the rest of the day and well into the night, until the point when you’re snoozing your alarm and blinking blearily as you realize that you didn’t get a single minute of sleep. 

The drive passes in the blink of an eye. The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane hasn’t changed much in the years since your last visit; the building is still somewhat of an eyesore, with dirtied brick and grimy windows. You haven’t walked down these halls for years. The last time you traversed this path was to speak to Abel Gideon. Hannibal Lecter was there too—that time, on the other side of the bars. Things look almost exactly the same, and you nearly feel as if you’ve been displaced in time. You turn around the corner and step into Chilton’s office. He’s preoccupied with staring at something on his laptop screen. You wait patiently in the doorway for a minute, but nothing happens. 

“Dr. Chilton,” you decide to greet him, finally pulling his attention towards you. You immediately wish you could un-notice the way his eyes sparkle when he looks at you, the mad glint in his eye as he practically pulls you apart in front of him. Chilton is far from your favorite person on the planet, but he isn’t evil, you remind yourself. Misguided, yes. But not evil. 

“Hello,” Chilton greets you in response, closing his laptop and regarding you with his full attention. “It’s been a while. A few years, at least?”

You breathe slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. “Yes, it has been a while,” you say with a smile that only feels a little forced. “I saw you published a book.” Hannibal the Cannibal, you recall. Not the cleverest of titles. 

“Ah, yes,” Chilton responds. Amazingly, he doesn’t take the gifted opportunity to talk about it. It seems that the man has changed a little, in the years that you’ve seen him. How much he’s changed, still remains to be seen, however. 

While the small talk is a nice distraction, you know you need to get down to business. “I need to see Hannibal Lecter,” you say, handing Chilton the forms that Jack signed for you. You’re not making that mistake again. Looking at those signed forms catapults you back in time once more, to a tense first encounter between Frederick Chilton and Hannibal Lecter, to an even more tense discussion with Abel Gideon.

“Have fun,” Chilton remarks wryly, after checking over your papers. He pulls one of his desk drawers open and files the paperwork away, before returning his attention to you. “Lecter has been… disagreeable. Nearly silent.”

That’s interesting. You ask Chilton to elaborate, not realizing your error until you see his eyes light up as he begins to speak. Around the two-minute mark, you have to cut him off. “Okay, thank you,” you interject, before he can go on for any longer. There were a few morsels of helpful information buried in that giant monologue, but it’s not nearly enough to make you feel adequately prepared for talking to Hannibal for the first time in years. 

Chilton seems to sense your unease, because he gets up from his desk to guide you towards his cell. When you stand up too, he claps a hand on your shoulder. A shiver travels down your spine, but you try your best to ignore it. Chilton is the least of your concerns at the present moment. 

“What have you been up to?” Chilton asks as he leads you through the maximum security level of the prison. He seems entirely unbothered by the jeers and taunts the prisoners are directing at both of you. Meanwhile, you have to resist the urge to clap your hands over your ears. All the noise distracts you from his question, and you don’t remember to provide an answer until Chilton is politely coughing to get your attention. 

“Oh, right,” you remark. “Well, the usual, I guess… I’m back in the field. I’m teaching the new recruits, too. Sometimes I visit Abigail.” You fiddle with the tape recorder concealed in your jacket pocket. You have no doubt that Hannibal will notice it immediately, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You suspect you won’t have enough time to take notes—instead too busy trying to stay afloat amidst the verbal traps Hannibal lays for you.

“Oh, Abigail Hobbs,” Chilton says, his eyes alight with recognition, “How is she doing?”

“She’s doing well,” you answer, thinking back to your past few interactions. She’s happier than she used to be, but you fear she’ll never be quite the same. Not that you blame her—if you were in her position, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. “About as well as a person can do, in her situation.” 

“That’s understandable,” Chilton hums, frowning in sympathy. For once, you think the expression on his face may actually be genuine. Although, once you remember that Chilton had tried to get Abigail confined to these dark halls, you have to second guess that notion. 

Hannibal is rather far down the hall, you realize as you continue walking. At some point, you come across a door leading to yet another hallway. Chilton comes to a stop before the door, turning to regard you with an unreadable expression. 

“What exactly are you hoping to get from Lecter?” He asks. There it is—the question you’d been waiting for him to ask. It was only a matter of time before Chilton’s curiosity got the best of him. Honestly, you’re somewhat impressed that he kept his lips sealed this long. 

“Have you heard of the Tooth Fairy?” You ask. 

“The folktale?” Chilton asks with furrowed brows. “The fairy that puts teeth under children’s pillows when they lose them?” You blink at him once, then twice. 

“I- not that Tooth Fairy,” you choke out, feeling a laugh bubbling out of you. Leave it to Frederick Chilton to assume that the FBI is investigating an imaginary creature. You take a deep breath and manifest more patience. “The man who killed the Jacobis and the Leedses—the killer who bites his victims.”

“Oh, yes,” Chilton nods. 

“He’s been eluding us,” you explain, “Leaving behind little to no evidence. It’s been a while since someone has commanded the FBI’s attention so masterfully.” You raise your eyebrows pointedly, and understanding flashes in Chilton’s eyes. You don’t have to expand on that statement—the remainder of the remark floats in the air, unspoken but omnipresent. It’s been a while… since we’ve seen someone as perplexing as Hannibal Lecter. 

“Ah, I see,” Chilton sighs, pulling his identification card from his pocket. “Very well.” He holds his badge up to the badge reader near the door, before covering the pin pad with one hand and typing in a passcode with the other. A green light flashes on the pin pad and the door creaks open ominously. 

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, truly,” Chilton continues, as the two of you stroll down the hallway. Your heart is roaring in your ears, making it a bit more difficult to comprehend what the man’s saying. “I can’t promise that Lecter will be any help, though. As I said earlier, he’s been… uncharacteristically quiet since he first arrived.” 

“Thanks for the warning,” you answer. “I’ll see what I can do.” Somehow, you get the feeling Hannibal will be a bit more talkative with you. At the very least, you’re not Chilton. Besides, wasn’t a motivating factor behind his imprisonment the fact that you would be forced to know where he was? You wouldn’t be surprised if Hannibal has been lying in wait, anticipating the moment you’d need to interact with him. 

“The visitation limit is fifty minutes,” Chilton reminds you. That must’ve changed since the last time you visited—you remember it being an hour in the past. Ten minutes doesn’t seem like it will make much of a difference, but if it’s a matter of life and death… You sigh. It shouldn’t get to that. “He’s at the end of the hall, on the left.”

You nod and thank him. Chilton regards you for one last moment, before retreating back down the hall and into the shadows. You’re left lurking awkwardly in the middle of the hall. One of the prisoners jeers at you, saying something about you looking better with your eyeballs gouged out. You ignore the remark and continue walking. 

You’re nearing the end of the hall. Ten steps. Your breaths sound ragged. Nine steps. There’s someone rattling the bars of their cell next to you. Eight steps. Your shoes make small clicking sounds against the floors, alerting everyone to your presence. Seven, six, five, four steps. You’re biting the inside of your cheek so hard you can taste blood. Three steps. Your cuticle stings. You pick at the skin, welcoming the pain. Two steps. His cell, his cage, falls into view. There’s a sweeping glass wall covering the entirety of the space, with small holes carving through the glass at rhythmic intervals. There are elegant white bookshelves stacked to the brim with tomes of all shapes and sizes. A break in the glass reveals a metal slot, likely for food and mail. In the corner of the room sits a desk, near a dining table and chair. A domed window sits on the ceiling, ushering in the afternoon sunlight.

The privilege of it all… It makes you sick. Most prisoners aren’t nearly so lucky. Minor offenders get treated far, far worse than this—with grimy, shared showers and cement walls in lieu of windows. Most prisoners get a single, paper-thin mattress and nothing else. 

But Hannibal Lecter is not the same as most prisoners. He is a serial killer with a distinguished mask, crafted with swooping elegant lines and laced with pretense. The Chesapeake Ripper remains prominent in the eyes of the public. There have been countless documentaries and articles about him. Everyone wants to get inside his head; everyone wants to determine how someone with exquisite table manners and a penchant for elaborate dinner parties—someone in the upper echelons of society—can fall so far into criminality. 

One more step. 

You’re frozen. You don’t want to cross the threshold, don’t want to surrender your camouflage. You’ve spent years trying to get this man out of your head, and you know that the moment you take that last step forward, he’ll be roaming the halls of your mind palace once more. 

Then you think of the Jacobis and the Leedses, and remember why you’re here. The Tooth Fairy has escaped the FBI for far too long, leaving little in the way of evidence save for crumpled corpses and mutilated bodies. The man needs to be caught. You think of all the victims you failed to save, of all the times you were confined to the aftermath of gruesome murders.

Selfishly speaking, you don’t want to move. Hell, you’ve had your moments of selfishness—moments when you’ve prioritized self-preservation. It’s a skill you’re often told you need to embrace more. Jack said as much to you all those years ago, didn’t he?

“You can leave this behind,” Crawford had said to you after your first assignment, his lips set in a thin line. “Get another job. Have a normal life.” He had pushed himself up to stand over you. You still remember the look on his face in that moment: how his eyes gleamed with firm resolve. “Or you can walk out of this door with me, back to headquarters.” It hadn’t taken you long to come to a decision. After a few seconds, you got to your feet and followed after him.   

You surrendered desire, forfeited comfort long ago. Preference bends to the whims of necessity. You never really had a choice. You take a step forward, the fluorescent lighting above seeping into your skin. There’s a figure sitting at the ornate writer’s desk in the corner of the room, clad in a white jumpsuit. You take another step forward, despite your apprehension, and the noise draws his attention. The Chesapeake Ripper turns around, his eyes gleaming with life when his gaze falls on your form. 

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” you remark.

It is far too late to go back.

next chapter

endnotes

Hannibal is backkk!!! idk why the mf took so long to appear 🙄

as always, thank you for reading! feel free to reblog or drop a comment if you're enjoying this story so far. :3

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[randomfoggytiger]

All IVF Roads Lead Away from The Unnatural and to Millennium

After spending too much time batting back and forth various IVF theories (post here for the hall-of-fame-ers), I'd settled on early Season Six because of the factored-in procedure requirements.

And then a discussion with @welsharcher and @agent-troi made me reevaluate everything... and I realized, with dawning horror, that the facts concluded upon not only upended what I believed about Per Manum's time crunch but also pushed back Mulder and Scully's dating timeline from The Unnatural to Millennium.

What Canon Presents as Facts

Per Manum was a patch-on episode; and there are a few restrictions it imposes on the flashbacks with Mulder and Scully.

The IVF arc must take place after the episode Emily because that is when Scully learns her infertility was caused by medical experiments robbing her of her ova.

In Per Manum, Scully is awkward about asking Mulder for her request.

When the IVF fails, both are not stingy with their hugs-- never have been-- but Scully stops herself from fully kissing Mulder, instead placing it tentatively on his cheek.

The greater implications of points #2 and #3

Point 2: Scully's awkwardness in these flashbacks is absent from her behavior all through S7, especially after Millennium. From then on out, she flirts and pulls Mulder's tie (Rush), makes cracks about going home and making all things right with the world (The Goldberg Variation), shares a personal, traumatic story from her childhood and is unfazed that Mulder collects her and her things to go (Orison), takes it for granted that Mulder would want her to spend the night and advocate for him (Sein und Zeit), is openly jealous of his attention (Rush, First Person Shooter), keeps him guessing (Theef), denies CSM's pop psychology but not his claims about her love (En Ami), and pouts openly while calling Mulder (Chimera.) (See post here for flirty gifs (collected from @settle-down-frohike.)

Point 3: Scully's miss-kiss is how we know this precedes Amor Fati: then, she passionately and unhesitatingly gives Mulder's bandaged head a kiss after his dream recitation; but in Per Manum, though both are tender and grieving, there is still a hesitancy in her behavior. That hesitancy is born from Scully's insecurity in Mulder's life post The Beginning, after her hallway forehead blessing was replaced by his frustration at her refusal to believe. She and Mulder were in sync in S6, and she knew he loved her... but where was she in the order of importance? Still under the Truth? (It's a question she is still asking in S8's Essence.) Amor Fati was the turning point in their relationship: Mulder finally showed his partner that any better life, any better ending paled in comparison to the chaotic and brutal and beautiful one they shared together.

The Requirements for IVF (specifically the FET Timeline)

There would have had to have been a lot of downtime for Mulder and Scully to attempt IVF and continue a pregnancy.

Flying while pregnant, in the 90s and now, is not unsafe; but frequent flyers are heavily discouraged from taking as many trips because of possible health concerns (blood pressure, early risks, radiation, etc.) with mother and fetus-- particularly in the first and third trimester-- and even more so if the mother has a preexisting condition or previously challenging medical concern. Not only that, but the demands required for the IVF process would have put a further strain on travel.

Scully's ova were collected and stored (and recovered) frozen, meaning she would have had to use the FET method for her IVF cycles. Frozen Embryo Transfer takes up to 32 days from start to finish (starting the count from Day 3 of a woman's period up to the day she takes a pregnancy test); and Scully would likely have had to use the medicated FET method rather than the natural one, which is not a difference in timeline so much as convenience. Not only does the medicated FET method require additional supplementation, but the changes from estrogen and progesterone to embryo transfer-- in other words, forward progress-- hinge on how successfully the lining of the uterus thickens: if it's slow, the process drags on longer; if it's unsuccessful, the process starts from scratch. And despite all these measures, the "success rate of an untested frozen embryo transfer can go as low as 20-30%, decreasing with increasing maternal age." Hence, its failure.

The only times The X-Files had enough downtime to meet these stringent requirements were twice, and both in S6: the grounding under Kersh's disciplinary thumb and the unaccounted-for months between The Unnatural (April) and Biogenesis (September.)

The Clincher: A Purposefully Placed Family Planning Book

While the mind melding events of Biogenesis-Amor Fati are unfolding, Scully scours the office before jet-setting off to Africa. In the background is a clear glimpse of a blue family planning book amidst Mulder's various piles that he uses to feather the nest (grabbed from @dreamingofscully's post here~.)

Chris Carter, Frank Spotnitz, the writing team, and the actors knew David Duchovny was leaving the show after the finale of S7; and they planned for the miracle baby early on in the season. (For any lingering doubts about William's paternity, see here for Frank's own words on the subject.) Because of that, the gang split up and left some clues: not just the family planning book mentioned above, but also David and Gillian's decision to act as if Mulder and Scully were dating off-screen post Millennium and the writers request to incorporate William's conception into All Things. Because of those decisions, fertile (heh) ground was sown for anyone willing to look back and fill in the gaps... which they did in Per Manum; and which I do now.

The family planning book serves as the definitive timeline marker for Scully and Mulder's IVF journey. If they had attempted IVF early S6, then the book would have shown up with Mulder's things when he "feathered the nest" post One Son. If he and Scully had attempted IVF after Millennium or any time S7, it would have made an appearance then. But it doesn't: it only appears on the end of season six after Mulder and Scully have grown closer, when an IVF success or failure makes him clarify that it won't "come between us." When there is more that is between them but not technically enough for them to do this journey as a couple (yet.)

It also bookends the conclusion of the IVF arc: by joining Mulder's stash, the book has become another totem of his life in the vein of Samantha's picture, the cloth hearts, and Karin Berquist's "I Want to Believe" poster (and even Queequeg's collar and Scully's keychain.) It'll be packed away out of sight once he gets the cleaning bug or Scully asks him to; but, until then, it haunts the basement with the ghost of its lost potential.

Why IVF, Why Now, Why The Unnatural?

As mentioned above, there is a pocket of downtime post The Unnatural's April and Biogenesis-Amor Fati's September (thank you to @dreamingofscully for pointing that out in this post), with only one legitimate case in-between.

(With that in mind, The Lone Gunmen's ask of Scully is doubly stupid since they asked her to fly out to Las Vegas in Mulder's name sometime during her IVF process and triply stupid because Scully-- who likely went against medical precautions-- was drugged.)

But why did Scully seek a second opinion after The Unnatural?

Because Mulder's baseball date and uplifted banter reawakened that dream in her: "What you may find as you're concentrating on hitting that little ball, the rest of the world just fades away. All your nagging concerns, the ticking of your biological clock, how you probably couldn't afford that nice new coat on a g-woman's salary, how you threw away a promising career in medicine to hunt aliens with a... crackpot, albeit brilliant, partner." Because Mulder signaled that he was noticing her, her new suede coat, her ticking biological clock... and that those were important to him.

So, Scully went in for another checkup, to seek hope for both of them.

The Timeline: A Culmination

The Unnatural-- Mulder, for the first time in their partnership, turns away from the heart of the mystery to gaze at the mystery of his heart; and Scully is giggly and hopeful (having pressed hints about "a normal life" over and over since early S6.) For the first time he mentions something between them that is personal beyond near kisses and love confessions: he brings up her habits, her coats, and her fertility, showing her that he sees her. And after that night, Scully gets another checkup with her doctor and kicks off Per Manum.

Per Manum, the elevator-- Scully runs into Mulder after her appointment, depressed and down with more negative results. Seeing how devastated this fresh reminder is (despite the episode's very clunky reiteration of her infertility-- which both she and Mulder already know about and know each other knows about), he admits to having her ova on ice. Scully is both hurt he'd kept this information from her for over two years and desperately hopeful-- again-- that there is another last chance.

Per Manum, the clinic-- Doctor Parenti tells Scully there is a "good chance" that she can get pregnant if they get started right away. She's barreling onward, not thinking two steps ahead of her (noted here in some deleted lines-- thanks to @dunhamhairograpy) except for the fact that she has to ask Mulder for his participation.

Per Manum, "The answer is yes"-- "I don't want this to come between us" is pivotal. Yes, it could refer to their recent peace over Mulder's noncommunication; but that seems to have been swept aside by both of them in their heady anticipation. So, it has to refer to their personal relationship, one which just blossomed beyond loving partners into partners focused more on each other than the Truth. Mulder can't let go completely until his Closure; but he'll explore living a variation of normal with Scully post The Unnatural's moral lesson and Amor Fati's revelation and Millennium's permanent shift.

Three of a Kind-- Scully hops on the rare plane to join "Mulder" in Las Vegas, being pulled into The Lone Gunmen shenanigans and ending up getting drugged, flirting up a storm, and planning her revenge. Luckily, it seems Scully isn't too worried about what happened, meaning she was either between rounds or hadn't begun her first (or only?) cycle yet.

Field Trip-- A more personal episode for Mulder and Scully: he is unusually hurt and angered by her normal level of skepticism, which hurts her in turn as he's devalued herself as well as her abilities for the work. The two of them dance around these feelings until they fall right into hallucinogenic mushrooms. (An interesting note: @iconicscullyoutfits noticed here that Scully does not drink at Mulder's wake, slotting in perfectly both with her denial of this reality and her on-going carefulness with the IVF tries.)

Per Manum, "It was my last chance"-- Regardless if it's their first and only or last of many tries, Scully is unflinchingly scooped up by Mulder, though diffidently shy about crossing too many lines herself in grief (shying away from her impulsive smooch to instead hesitatingly place a kiss on her partner's cheek.) "Never give up on a miracle", Mulder intones; and holds onto the family planning book for a while more.

Biogenesis-- Mulder may have the book in his office; but Scully has lost hope, asking him "Look, after all you've done, after all you've uncovered... I mean, you've won. What more could you possibly hope to do or to find?" Her question is more in-character with another fruitless endeavor behind them, a wish to see this journey, too, to its end; and this informs her arc in this three parter: rebuilding herself and her identity in Africa, at the military base, in her apartment, and outside his.

Amor Fati-- Mulder dreams "another life, another world" where Scully can live safer and freer from him while he gets a built-in idyllic life, wife, and children: "Don't give up on a miracle" echoing around in his head. (An interesting note: @cecilysass's post here about the meaning behind Mulder's Temptation is amazing.)

But that miracle is a false illusion; and Scully saves him from himself ("You were my constant, my touchstone") just as he saves her from her self-distrust ("And you are mine.") It's now that Scully brands Mulder's forehead as her own just as she had in Fight the Future: diffidence gone, courage and confirmation found.

From Brain Surgery to New Years Celebrations

Mulder would have been too weak for much while recovering from invasive brain surgery, as evidenced by his and Scully's (mostly) hands-off approach in the next episode Hungry.

However, Mulder joined Scully in California for Christmas-- on a case, of course-- and got himself from one mess to another. They avoided death, saved the world from the Apocalypse, and, most importantly, patched a family back together. There might never be a child to welcome them home from a dangerous case; but they have each other.

And Mulder seals that realization as the ball drops.

And that concludes the IVF arc~!

Thank you for reading~

Enjoy!

[tobias-hankel]

❤️2023 Quan-Tea-Co Fics Recs🖤

The wonderful members of our discord server, Quan-Tea-Co, have written a lot of fanfics this year - this is the rec list!

🖤 SFW No Ship Fics

the friendship we have is a rare find by cherubcurls, Gen, In and out. “I've got this.” she affirmed to herself breathily, looking down at her hands that held two cups of coffee rather than one, still steaming, still fresh. Her heart swelled with affection. She grinned, “We've got this.” OR; Penelope and Spencer agree to meet up to have a study session before finals. A couple of things change and they end up not studying at all.

and i saw my life in photographs of faded memories by whateverislovely, Gen, Morgan reminds him just a little too much of the football players who bullied him relentlessly all through high school and even college. He’s big and imposing, with bulging muscles and a look on his face that says, Are you kidding me? when Hotch informs him that Spencer is the newest member of the BAU team. Five times Spencer misinterprets Morgan's intentions, and one time he's finally able to straighten things out.

where do we begin to get clean again by whateverislovely, Teen, Spencer often participates in toasts with the group using water or tea or potato chips instead of alcohol. This fic explores the events that may have led him to stop drinking.

silence like a cancer grows by whateverislovely, Teen, Diana doesn’t forgive Spencer for having her institutionalized… at least, not right away.

❤️Mature No Ship Fics

Surrender by @starzzyeyed, Mature, He doesn't want this, not really. He never wanted it. But he's in too deep now, and getting out seems less and less possible as the days trickle on, like sand through an hourglass. Or: An in depth look at Reid's addiction, and what it might have been like for him.

what’s this, the consequences of my actions? by cherubcurls, Mature, Because Spencer wasn’t used to safe. He needed adrenaline to pump through his veins and soften the blow for him to have a good day. His family never really liked how violent he was. OR; Spencer comes back home from a particularly horrible fight and his Dad is less than amused.

Solved Game by Boots17, Mature, Solved game: a game whose outcome can be correctly predicted from any position, assuming that the game is played perfectly. A season 12 canon divergence in which Mr. Scratch dies a little too early, Reid accepts the plea deal, and Cat Adams plays a very long game. Years later, the two finally get their rematch.

Ships are under the cut

🖤SFW Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid

A Gentle Touch Hurts So Much by ProfessorWorm, Gen, Spencer has unaddressed childhood fears dredged up by Aaron’s attempt to help him recover from his knee injury.

Day 4 - FFC - Second Love by a1_kitkat, Teen, Spencer never much cared for anniversaries, neither does Aaron… this time there’s an exception.

There Are Secrets That We Still Have Left To Find by @starzzyeyed, Not Rated, Spencer Reid is seven years old the first time he comes out to anyone. Three times Spencer comes out, across three different points in his life, all with three very different outcomes.

❤️NSFW/Mature Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid

Subscribed by AestheticTek and @goobzoop, Explicit, After stressful cases, Hotch finds that camming in lingerie helps him to decompress, while Reid happens to stumble upon the most attractive man that greatly resembles his biggest crush, his boss.

The Absence of Sound by BluePenguinLightning, Mature, The sudden onslaught of sounds startled Spencer Reid awake, not that he ever slept well anyway. He hadn’t slept well in two hundred and seventy-four days. In all honesty, he wasn’t even sure how he managed to make it that far. In which Reid somehow manages to survive a sadistic psychopath but that's only the beginning.

kill your indulgences by cherubcurls, Explicit, Hotch was his; his to keep, his to possess, his to feed on. “No,” he tried to mumble. As best as he could with his canines still firmly lodged onto his throat. “Mine.” OR; Hotch lets Spencer feed on him.

The Boy by house_of_lantis, Explicit, Lord Aaron Hotchner is one of the most ruthless rulers of the City. But despite his fearsome reputation, Lord Hotchner is respected by his people and beloved by those closest to him. He strives to bring order and justice to the City and to protect it from anyone who dared threaten it. Spencer is the newest addition to Aaron’s private harem, stolen from his previous master. Affectionately nicknamed the Boy, he is the exclusive body slave to Lord Hotchner and he learns to navigate the politics of the harem.

Hide and Seek by Highway58, Explicit, An Unsub fixates on the BAU Team, determined to make them his passion project. Spencer Reid is his ultimate target but in order to get to him, he has to go through the people he holds most dear in his life.

Heathen by Highway58, Explicit, The dreams would not stop. Ever since the unexpected case in Las Vegas when he forced himself to confront his painful past, Spencer Reid had not been able to sleep. The visions haunted him relentlessly... he couldn't resist the need to forget it all. Something was happening to him. Something he'd been suppressing for most of his life, ever since that one moment in his childhood he couldn't--wouldn't--face. Soon, very soon... he wouldn't be able to resist his own biology. Even though he had no idea it was even part of him. He was just a Beta... right? Spencer Reid approaches a crossroads he never imagined he could face.

Ain't Always Gold by Highway58, Explicit, Omega Spencer gets knocked up by his Mate Aaron Hotchner in the wake of Emily's death and he doesn't know it until it's about to kill him.

Call Me Daddy by goobzoop, Explicit, Aaron teaches Spencer how to date, but it’s not women he’s making him better for. It’s himself.

Let Me Be Your Only Choice by TobiasHankel, Explicit, After Spencer is kidnapped by Hankel, the team expects to find the omega scared and possibly beaten. They didn’t expect to find Spencer next to a dead Alpha and dying from bond rejection. With limited options and a dying Spencer, Hotch is forced to make a decision that Spencer can’t even consent to in order to save his life.

Every Version of You by goobzoop, Explicit, Hotch's whole world comes crashing down the moment he witnesses his husband get injured right in front of him. Spencer makes it through, but the road to recovery is more difficult than he could have ever imagined. Or, amnesia fic!

A Fool There Was by reasonablerodents, Explicit, Hotch is using Spencer to take out his frustrations regarding his failing marriage. Spencer is so desperately in love with him that he’ll put up with anything- just as long as he can be close to Hotch.

Touch The Leather by reasonablerodents, Explicit, “Well, the problem with shoes is- um, they’re dirty, there’s a staggering amount of bacteria even on the cleanest ones, I don’t want…” He trails off again, swallowing hard. Or: Hotch wants Spencer to prove how much he loves him.

Room on the Third Floor by Matthew1972, Explicit, One minute Aaron Hotchner is walking free, contemplating a forever with Spencer… the next he gets snatched away. Locked up in a cage to the whims of an unsub unlike any other he's ever faced. A hunter and wildcat shifter trafficker. But then, his inner panther and human self alike refuse to be tamed and collared to live out his days as the wildcat alone. To be another victim sold. Will his defiance become his downfall? Or does Aaron get to return home to Spencer and see through on his proposal?

🖤SFW Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid

Maybe Someday Soon by @justjasper, Teen, "Derek talks about you." The Morgan women know that he's in love with Reid. They also know that he is absolutely clueless about it.

Washed Away by TobiasHankel, Teen, It had been over a year since Spencer Reid went missing after he was kidnapped by Tobias Hankel. He was presumed to be dead, but Morgan refused to believe it and move on. After a case takes the team back to the same state Spencer went missing in, Morgan might just get the answers he has been looking for.

❤️ NSFW/Mature Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid

Spun Hearts by JustJasper, Explicit, After a harrowing case Morgan needs control, and Reid needs a fix, and they wind up in bed. Reid sees this as a potential evolution of their relationship, but Morgan is adament that he's not gay. The path towards what they both want isn't a simple one, and a recurring case brings some painful things to bare as they both try to navigate what they are to each other.

When We're Together, Our Bodies They Start Fires by JustJasper, Explicit, 2x06, "The Boogey Man", Reid sits in a police station practicing trying to lockpick a pair of handcuffs with a paperclip. Some short time later, he misses a hangout with Morgan, who goes to check on him.

🖤 Other Ships

Home by KatrioneSpecterRossi, Explicit, Emily Prentiss/David Rossi, Usually when there's a disturbance in the middle of the night, it involves Emily waking up from a PTSD-induced nightmare with her gun pointing at her bed partner's head. This time when she wakes up, it's for a very different reason...that turns out being a great deal more fun.

Level Pegging by Starzzy, Explicit, Elle Greenaway/Spencer Reid, “I don’t need, or frankly have the time to have sex,” he manages at last, somehow forcing his feet to move and take him forwards to the coffee maker. He almost forgoes the sugar entirely, wanting the bitter taste to wake him up from this walking nightmare he seems to be living in right now. “All I’m saying is, you wouldn’t be my first,” Elle says as she comes up to stand next to him.

❤️ Crossovers

I Used to Dread the Thought of Falling Quickly by Chaotic_Librarian, Explicit, Supernatural, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Spencer Reid/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Spencer Reid/Dean Winchester, Spencer Reid/Sam Winchester, Spencer Reid knows how to stumble into odd situations. But being kidnapped and then promptly flirted with? Seduced? by two of the FBI's Most Wanted? That has to take the cake. That, however, won't stop him from falling in love.

Entertained by Chaotic_Librarian, Explicit, Supernatural, Spencer Reid/Sam Winchester, Sam's sitting on his bar stool on the miniature stage again, his guitar in his lap.  Another stool serving as his table with a half-drunk glass of whiskey, he looks out across the mediocre crowd.  Typical Wednesday. That's his preferred crowd, anyway.  Joanne managing the bar, Pauline working the floor, and him on the stage as cheap entertainment.  Strumming his guitar and singing country songs he learned by heart years ago.  Sometimes he'll do requests.  But not often.  Not a lot of Kansans approach the stage when he's playing.  They just let him do his thing.

I Must Admit that I was Reeling by Chaotic_Librarian, Explicit, Supernatural, Spencer Reid/Sam Winchester, Aaron Hotchner/Dean Winchester, Spencer goes way too far to get closure on his fling with Sam Winchester. Because it was just a fling, right? It's not like they're meant to be, right?

To Love And To Be Loved In Return by reasonablerodents and Starzzy, Mature, Grease (1978), Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia/Derek Morgan, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Emily Prentiss, Aaron Hotchner accepted a long time ago that he was never going to be able to be his true self. Not only was it illegal, it was highly unlikely that he’d ever find someone willing to be in hiding with him for the rest of their lives, unless America got a whole lot more open and accepting. That all changes when Spencer Reid transfers to Oakdale to finish his senior year.

Thank you everyone for making such great works this last year! The Quan-Tea-Co server is open to new members as long as you are over 18 years old. Invite Link.

[ruinofchimera]

I would like to analyze this comment in depth, so it is more convenient for me to do so in a separate post.

Actually, this is a very interesting attempt to challenge my point, because you answer your own questions with your examples. I understand that it’s hard for you to draw parallels between the Iliad and Harry Potter because the Iliad doesn’t possess an overgrown modern fandom, but you were the one who brought it up, so I just oblige. The Song of Achilles is indeed an original piece of work, and that only proves my point. You see, it’s a separate piece of work (although based on something else), thus it has its own fandom. Fans can claim that the events of the Song of Achilles and the personalities of the characters are absolutely canonical only as long as they discuss this particular book. But they can’t cross the line of their fandom and say that something originally written only in The Song of Achilles is true for the Iliad. For the Iliad, it would never be canon, only a violation.

As I said in my post, I don’t care that modern Marauders fans created their shallow playground of headcanons, but I do care that they try to impose it on Harry Potter fans as canon. If you only take out the names of the characters and some bits of the plot, then mutilate the very essence of these characters to the point of unrecognizability (greetings to the sassy biker boy Sirius, who was turned into a hysterical femboy), it's no longer Harry Potter fandom. Congratulations, you've created your own fandom; play in it as much as you want, but leave Harry Potter fans alone.

There is no need to organize massive bullying of Harry Potter content, which follows the book canon, not your self-proclaimed canon. And even more so, you have no right to impose your canon on content within the original fandom. The only one who can make canonical changes is the author, and in Harry Potter case, that’s J.K. Rowling. I really don't care who the author of your handmade fandom is, just as I don't care about your newly formed fandom in general.

Given the current legislation on intellectual property rights, your fandom has very dubious grounds. However, Since all you have left of the Harry Potter characters are their names and some out-of-context biographical details, you have nothing to fear. It would probably not be difficult for you to change the names altogether, and then no one would ever guess who you are talking about. Your characters could even become original. There are so many ways to go, but you choose the most unethical one, namely, barbaric raids on people from the Harry Potter fandom itself. No matter how hard you try to gaslight the fans, your canon will never become canon in the original material of another author. The Song of Achilles will never become the canon of the Iliad. Your canon and the canon of The Song of Achilles have the right to exist only within your fandoms. That’s all. Make peace with it.

[marvelmusing]

In Another Life

Until I Found You

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x Alternate Universe!Reader

Summary: Aleksander isn’t expecting to find love in this lifetime, that is until you arrive. A.K.A: In Another Life (Aleksander’s Version).

A collection of scenes from In Another Life from Aleksander’s perspective, as well as a bonus scene.

Warnings: canon level violence and other canon themes, spoilers for the entirety of the In Another Life series, implicit injury and threat, vaguely implied sexual content.

Word Count: 11.1K

My Masterlist • Series Masterlist

The early morning sun is what wakes Aleksander. He blinks slowly, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment, admiring the pale ray of sunlight illuminating the decorative shapes carved into the wood above him. It’s only when a sound prickles at the edge of his awareness – the tiny movement of a page being turned in the War Room, that he remembers the events of the day before, and he remembers you.

Glancing over at the space beside him, Aleksander observes the rustled sheets and the carefully folded duvet.

He hadn’t heard you leave the bed this morning, by the state of the sheets you had experienced a restless night and didn’t want to disturb him with your departure.

It had been very early morning when Aleksander had returned, and you had seemed sound asleep then. He had dressed in his night clothes as silently as possible before lying down in the space beside you, placing a pillow to prevent either of you from imposing on one another’s space in your sleep.

A frown creases at his brows. When was the last time someone had shared his bed? Aleksander had certainly bedded people on occasion, but they never stayed the night. Once they left, his mind would fail to settle despite his sated body, meaning that would once again end up working late into the night.  

Pulling himself up, he stretches his arms out in front of him in an attempt to ease the twinge of protest from his tense shoulders. It takes a moment for him to locate his slippers but once he does he slides his feet into them and makes his way towards the door leading to the hallway outside.

The door opens smoothly, allowing him to lean his upper body out from behind the wood and speak with the oprichnik posted outside, requesting a servant to bring breakfast for the two of you.

 With that sorted, Aleksander shuts the door, moving through his bedroom towards the open doorway which leads into the War Room.

From your position seated at the central table, the sun casts a golden glow over your hair as you stare down at the map in front of you.

He stands on the threshold for a moment, watching you.

Aleksander has looked over the maps in this room hundreds of times. It’s refreshing to see someone take in the information with such rapt interest, though he can see the exhaustion weighing heavily on your eyes each time you blink.

“I believe you were told to rest.”

You don’t look up from the map, instead picking up another to compare the two before you provide him with an answer,

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Aleksander notices the way your gaze shifts quickly, eyes bouncing over the words in front of you as a means to escape your thoughts. He doesn’t need to ponder long before he suspects what had been troubling you.

The fact the one of his own Grisha had betrayed him, trying to kill you on the orders of his mother, upset Aleksander more than it angered him.

He won’t be able to forget the look on your face when he had entered the room during the attack, how frightened you had been, no doubt believing that he would take the side of his oprichnik. He also won’t be forgetting the way you had clung to him, relief fuelling your actions as you had pressed your face into his chest. You had held onto him like a lifeline, with all your remaining strength.

Aleksander couldn’t remember the last time someone have looked to him for such comfort. To everyone, he was a figure of fear and respect. But to you, he was safety. It had baffled him, giving him a moment of pause before he had responded, cradling the back of your head carefully.

A sigh falls from your lips, heaving at your shoulders as your fingers skim over the pages piled up to your right.

“How do you find anything in here?”

Aleksander observes the mild frustration on your face as he shrugs lightly.

“Everything has its correct place.”

Amusement warms in Aleksander’s chest at the sight of your brow lifting as you gesture incredulously towards the mountain of books, maps, and papers scattered over the table. Despite his amusement, he only allows a half smile to grace his features.

“What are you looking for?”

Something appears to have distracted you, because the sound of his question has you shaking yourself ever so slightly.

The two of you ease into conversation naturally. In this day and age, very few people would question Aleksander’s suggestions, aside from the First Army officers that have nothing to offer but criticism. It’s strange to have someone consider his ideas genuinely, and you offer you own concerns with a sensibility that impresses him. You’re quick witted and methodical, two attributes that keep the discussion flowing. Even when you aren’t speaking, Aleksander can see you thinking.

You appear to be surprised by his job offer – to stay by his side as his assistant. Whatever conflict weighs in your eyes disappears at the sound of a knock on the door.  

Aleksander unlocks the door, allowing the servant in to place the breakfast tray down on the table. Once the servant is gone, Aleksander encourages you to eat.

Your arrival yesterday had been just after luncheon and by the time the evening meal was being prepared in the dining hall you had been attacked, meaning that Aleksander doesn’t know the last time you had eaten anything. From the plentiful selection you’re gathering on your plate, it must have been quite some time since you had a proper meal.

He's in the middle of reading through a report, trying not to watch you as you sample the different foods with a delighted expression on your face.

It’s your voice that draws his attention back to you, as you ask tentatively,

“You aren’t eating anything?”

At this moment, as he holds your gaze, Aleksander realises how hungry he is. At times, he skips breakfast, opting to launch immediately into his work, of which he begins consumed by, meaning that his luncheon is taken late, and dinner is typically a half-forgotten occasion.

He picks up a fresh slice of bread, still warm from the oven, and butters it delicately before he scoops up an indulgent helping of strawberry jam.

The small smile on your face is even sweeter than the sugary jam as it melts on his tongue.

As you continue with your shared breakfast, the two of you talk over plans for the upcoming days and your trip to Kribirsk.

For the first time, there’s a lull in the conversation, no doubt brought about by the thoughts weighing on Aleksander’s mind.

He stands up, examining a map that you had been studying before your breakfast, though his mind is far from the markings detailed over the paper.

From the moment you revealed who you were, and what you knew, there had been one thing on Aleksander’s mind. Even as the General he is considered the possibility of you being a spy, or the centuries-old anxieties warned him not to trust you, the small boy inside him longed to know one thing.

“You know my name.”

His voice is soft but from the heavy swallow you take he knows you heard him. From his position standing up, you need to tilt your head back to look up at him.

“I do.”

“Why haven’t you addressed me by it yet?”

He watches you as you stare down at your empty plate, spinning the porcelain slightly over the table as you consider your answer.

“You haven’t given it to me.”

At that, he remembers his mother’s warning about his true name: you don’t give it to just anyone. Aleksander has guarded his name throughout the centuries, keeping it buried, tucked away, hidden from the world. It feels as though you have a piece of him and his stomach flips at the power you have over him.

His concern eases slightly with your next words,

“I know what your name means to you. I didn’t want to assume that you would want me to say it.”

Aleksander internally admits that you are right. The thought of you using his name casually without his permission unsettles him. Though now that he considers it, he wants to hear you say his name.

You know the very worst of what he’s done, yet you’re still here, willing to help him. You know the Black Heretic, and the Darkling, but he wants you to know Aleksander too.

“Will you?” He watches you frown, brows drawing together in confusion. “Will you say it?”

For a moment, Aleksander thinks you might deny him. An indecipherable emotion flickers in your eyes, but you’ve pushed it away before he can give it any further scrutiny.

When you finally do speak, it’s in a near whisper.

“Aleksander.”

His breath catches. He thought he was prepared to hear it. But from your lips his name takes on a whole new meaning. It sounds like a promise.

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

Aleksander doesn’t ask about your nightmares. Every night since you had arrived at the camp in Kribirsk you had awoken with a sudden jerk. If you wanted to share them with him, he knows you would. Instead, he offers an empty seat beside him as he works.

On the nights you seem too lost in your thoughts, to the point in which tears begin to fill your eyes, he distracts you with paperwork, giving you simple sorting tasks to occupy your mind.

He tells you about the meetings he had suffered through without you by his side. He tells you about General Zlatan’s predecessor, who in the last few years of his career would regularly fall asleep, sometimes midway through a long-winded speech. It’s a relief to hear your laugh in these moments.

Some nights your thoughts aren’t as vicious. At times such as those, all Aleksander does is offer his presence. The scratch of his pen against paper and the rain hitting the roof of the tent helps to remove the tension from your body. Aleksander pretends not to notice your sleepy eyes studying his face as he works, the candlelight being the only source of light to illuminate his features.

It's only once your eyes begin to flutter closed that Aleksander can look at you. There’s an uncomfortable twist in his chest at the sight of you looking so exhausted. He tells himself that it’s because he has a responsibility to look after you. That you’re an important part of his plan and you’ve shown him kindness and acceptance, and that is the only reason why he feels a duty of care towards you.

But when he raises a hand to extinguish the candles, plunging the room into darkness before he’s guiding you with his hands resting delicately on your shoulders, urging you into bed – his bed – he allows himself a moment to think otherwise.

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

He finds himself thinking about constantly. He discovers old books that he thinks you would enjoy. He wants to ask for your opinion on the latest campaign on the northern frontlines.

Even during training with Alina, he finds his mind wandering to you. Summoning is second nature to Aleksander, meaning that as he demonstrates his power to a bewildered Alina he’s thinking about you. Just the other day, you had told him that blue irises were Alina’s favourite flower – what were your favourite flowers?

Aleksander knows that he has been busy, but he can’t help but feel as though you’ve been avoiding him, He knows that you are busy as well, whenever he does see you there’s a bundle of papers in your arms, or a stack of books pressed against your chest. Despite this, he can’t shake the feeling that something is different.

Perhaps you had heard some frightening rumour about him, prompting you to change your mind about his intentions for Ravka. Perhaps you thought he no longer deserved your help, and one day he would wake up to find you gone.

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

There’s a knock at the door of his bedroom and Aleksander’s heart leaps. Whilst he hopes that you haven’t had a nightmare again, he’s grateful that he is the one you seek out when you’re distressed even with the growing distance between the two of you.

He shakes his head at himself for being so selfish. You still hadn’t shared the content of your nightmares with him, but the muffled sobs and the haunted look in your eyes afterwards made him ache terribly.  

Whatever had been blooming in his chest shatters when he opens the door, revealing a nervous looking Alina. She wrings her hands together and Aleksander forces his disappointment down, drawing on some concern as he speaks,

“Alina. Is everything alright?”

She shakes her head, the trace of tears glistening in her eyes which forces Aleksander to open the door wider, encouraging her to step into his bedroom as she admits quietly,

“It’s nothing. Just a nightmare.”

Seeing her look so shaken reminds Aleksander of you.

“Would you like to stay the night?”

“Can I? I don’t want to disturb you, I just… I don’t want to be alone.”

He shakes his head lightly.

“You are not alone, Alina.”

Conflict wars inside Aleksander. He can’t deny the pull he feels towards Alina, their powers are similar in a way no one else can understand. Like calls to like after all. But then why does he feel a deeper connection with you? Why does he feel like you are his equal – his partner?

He hadn’t told Alina his true name. That alone feels like the deciding factor for his affections. She saw him as the Black General, you saw him as Aleksander.

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

Aleksander thought he was beyond feeling trivial emotions like jealousy. After centuries of living through countless relationships – both platonic and romantic – he has learned that the right people will give you the attention you deserve without any need for competing against others.

Then he had seen the soft smile you had given that boy, Mal. Alina’s Mal. The tracker. He had returned from Fjerda, no doubt with news of the stag. With Aleksander occupied by Alina’s training, Mal had reported to you.

When was the last time you had smiled at Aleksander? There had been something forced in your smile this morning, when Alina had stayed for breakfast with him. You hadn’t stayed, and he hadn’t seen you for the rest of the day. Until now.

Alina and Mal reunite with an embrace, leaving you and Aleksander standing apart from them. He wonders if the boy had been able to make you laugh like Aleksander had. Mentally, he shakes himself. He’s hundreds of years old, there is no need to think about Mal in such a petty manner.

Instead, Aleksander uses the opportunity to look over at you. There’s a sad look on your face; Aleksander feels as though you’re slipping away. Then your eyes lift, meeting his and a shiver runs down his spine. When had eye contact ever provoked such a response from him?

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

He doesn’t understand you.

Staring hard at the book he has discarded on your bed, he tries to focus on the words he had read – the story from your world, where he was the villain. You hadn’t told him he was the villain, though he can understand why. Villains don’t get happy endings. They don’t achieve their goal or find true love.

Aleksander doesn’t care what he has to sacrifice for his people, he has suffered before for them and would do so again. But you care. For some unknown reason, you had read this book and saw him as someone worth helping. You didn’t see him as a villain. Whatever is in store for the Darkling in these books, you didn’t want it to happen to Aleksander.

Ever since he had found the book Shadow and Bone tucked away in one of your drawers, he had been avoiding both you and Alina. His feelings regarding you both were confusing enough without adding the inner thoughts of an Alina from another universe.

Practically, he can understand why you intervened before the story could begin. From the moment he met Alina his plans had unravelled before his very eyes with every turn of a page.

What he doesn’t fully understand is your motive. In books, Alina had seen him as a villain. Why didn’t you?

He hears footsteps in the corridor, and the handle turns before the door swings open. Lost in your thoughts, it takes you a moment to process Aleksander’s presence in your room. Shutting the door behind you, Aleksander watches as you reach to unwind your scarf from around your neck, your eyes on his face as you search his expression.

Then you remark,  

“This is unexpected.”

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

Seeing Baghra waiting in the hallway for his return makes Aleksander feel like a boy again, running home with scraped knees. He isn’t surprised to see you standing in the hallway, helping the wounded Grisha from his traveling party as they cross the threshold. There hadn’t been many serious casualties, but you look concerned all the same. Aleksander holds the door open, shielding the worst of his injury from view.

If anyone will notice his injury, it will be Baghra, though she had stopped being concerned by the sight of his blood long ago.

The only person who notices his injury, and mentions it, is you. He hates the frightened look in your eyes as you look at the blood staining the fabric of his tunic.

You insist on him seeing a healer, and whilst he wants to remove that scared expression from your face he doesn’t want to trouble the healers. With the casualties from the ambush, they will be busy enough. Not to mention that seeing their General wounded will damage whatever morale remained after such a gruelling week.

All Aleksander wanted to do was return to his rooms, see to his injury in peace, and lie down in bed with you by his side. For months now, you had been a constant in his life, and with the concern in your eyes he knows you won’t be leaving his side any time soon. Though he certainly wouldn’t complain of such a thing. He had missed you.

When Aleksander suggests that you could stitch him up, your eyes widen, and you look ill as you breathe in shakily.

He knows you aren’t ignorant of the hardships of war, but sometimes he forgets how new you are to this world. Stitching up wounds was once a common occurrence for him, but you look terrified at the thought of such a thing.

As he holds your gaze, the last of the adrenaline fuelling him fades away. He isn’t sure if it’s because he is finally home, or if he no longer has to watch out for his comrades, but the pain that had softened to a dull throbbing now sears through his side.

He suspects that his body simply doesn’t want to hide his pain from you.

At the sight of Aleksander’s nod, you step away. Once you’ve ensured that he can make it to his rooms safely, you head off towards the infirmary. No words are exchanged between you and Baghra as you breeze by her.

His mother’s face isn’t easy to read but he recognises the disapproval in her eyes.

“You’re getting attached, boy. To an otkazat’sya of all things.”

Aleksander bristles. You are more than just an otkazat’sya and deserve far better than being referred to as a mere thing by his mother.

He looks down at the smudges of blood on his fingertips before he straightens his kefta and raises his chin.

“As always, Mother, your concern is appreciated.”

She scoffs.

Aleksander watches as she tilts her head slightly, almost looking towards the direction in which you left.

“That assistant of yours is different from the others.”

A soft smiles traces over his mouth as he thinks about you.

“I know.”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“I didn’t say that was a good thing.”

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

Despite the rather adorable pout on your face, Aleksander hates seeing you cold. The way you wrap your arms tightly around yourself, your jaw clenched as you fight the chattering of your teeth.

But it provides him with an excuse to nestle his body beside yours in the makeshift cot in his tent during your journey into Fjerda in search of the stag. Sharing body heat – that was his reasoning.

Of course, the two of you had shared a bed before, countless times. But there had always been a respectful distance between you both when you went to bed. Granted, there were the occasional awkward morning encounters where Aleksander had wrapped his arms around your waist, or you had draped yourself over his chest.

But you had never fallen asleep purposely in each other’s arms.

With your consent, Aleksander relishes in the opportunity to run his hands over your body in an attempt to encourage warmth into you. The two of you are tucked under a thick woollen blanket as you try to gain enough warmth to fall asleep comfortably. Your skin flushes against his palms and he feels you shiver before you shift closer, into the centre of the cot, pressing your body against his side. He wants to tug you even closer, bury his face into the crook of your neck and press a kiss there. Instead, he says in a low voice,

“You can move a little closer. If you’d like?”

His face is a picture of innocence as you blink tiredly at him. Then you nod, nuzzling your face into his chest which pulls a small sound of pleasure from the back of your throat. Aleksander wraps an arm around you, feeling his own warmth begin to settle into your body.

Hopefully the tracker will be able to find the stag soon, not only so that your plans can advance, but because it means that you can return home.

Even as Aleksander reminds himself that your group is on enemy territory, he finds sleep sinking into his body, weighing heavily on his eyes as he feels your fingers curl around the fabric of his shirt.   

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

When Aleksander first caught sight of you, passing through the crowd in your Winter Fete outfit, the breath had left his lungs. Time stood still as he watched you. Your gaze unfocused, and there was no doubt you were thinking over the last-minute preparations, wondering if you had forgotten anything.

Nervously, you twisted the ring sitting on your finger. You were right – the Lanstov emerald was gaudy and ridiculous and wholly undeserving of a place on your hand, in Aleksander’s opinion.

Now, Aleksander appears at your side and your attention is immediately drawn back to the present. He watches you as your eyes drag over his figure, and a thrill runs through him. His own Winter Fete outfit was nothing special. His best kefta – which had been pressed this morning – was identical to every other kefta in his wardrobe. The only reason it was his best was because the others were all worn from travelling or battle.

Nevertheless, he hopes you like what you see when you look at him tonight, because he is certainly enjoying the sight of you dressed so elegantly.  

­•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

Once again, Aleksander is jealous.

This Sturmhond character is certainly charming, and the two of you have clearly established some sort of rapport after only a single meeting. Had you felt that at ease a day after meeting Aleksander?

He hopes you don’t notice how his shoulders tense as Sturmhond nudges you playfully. Aleksander can see the frown creasing at your brows as he speaks with the pirate, he knows that you’ve noticed the sharpness of his tone.

He can’t blame Sturmhond for liking you, but that doesn’t mean he has to be pleasant about it.

Despite your engagement to the Crown Prince, Aleksander had never viewed Vasily as a contender for your affections. But Sturmhond was a variable he hadn’t accounted for.

Enclosed on a ship together, would you and the pirate become close?

In his heart, Aleksander knows that you would never have a full life with him. He wouldn’t be able to grow old with you. He wouldn’t be able to give you everything you deserve. Perhaps you would be better off with an otkazat’sya, or some other Grisha. But romance appears to be the last thing on your mind, as when Aleksander mentions his observation regarding Sturmhond you seem confused.

Aleksander might regret hearing the answer, but nevertheless he asks you,

“Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“Sturmhond.”

“I met him yesterday.”

Dissatisfied with your response, Aleksander raises a brow at you, and your expression falters as you decide to give his question more thought.

“I don’t dislike him.” Aleksander watches you carefully as you speak. “I know we can trust him. That’s all I can say.”

He appreciates your honesty, but it doesn’t soothe the clawing sensation in his chest that longs to keep you for himself.

­•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

When Aleksander was thirteen he faced a life-threatening ordeal by himself. On cold nights, sometimes he still feels the ache in his leg from where his own Cut had sliced through his skin, right down to the bone.

After Aleksander recovered from his injuries, he and his mother had left the Grisha settlement they had been staying with, heading for Novyi Zem for the very first time.

Travelling over the True Sea had made Aleksander nervous, his nightmares of being trapped under water had yet to leave him be, and the thought of being at the mercy of a few wooden planks that made up the ship they were travelling in made him feel sick.

Baghra had told him it was silliness. The water hadn’t been what tried to kill him, it was people he should be wary of, not the waves.

This is what Aleksander is thinking of when Sturmhond informs him of an oncoming storm. He thinks logically, helping to prepare the crew and his Grisha for what is to come.

When the storm does hit, Aleksander thinks he copes rather well.

That is until the third night, when he gets into bed before you. The rocking of the ship has his stomach turning uncomfortably, keeping his sleep light as he tosses and turns. The sound of the waves roaring and the covers weighing down on him has Aleksander jerking into full consciousness.

“Aleksander.”

Your voice is soft, but you’re closer than he expected, which startles him. He casts his dark eyes over your face briefly as his heartbeat remains a constant in his head.

“Are you alright?”

It’s easier to lie, so he nods his head.

Lightning illuminates the room, driving the darkness away for a mere instance, but it’s enough for Aleksander to feel frighteningly out of control. He might not have always felt comfortable in the dark, but now it meant power and safety to him.

“Is it the storm?” Your voice remains soft, as you look down at where the sheets are scrunched between his fingers. Then you ask, “Can I join you?”

There’s nothing Aleksander wants more.

Shifting over to the other side of the bed, he makes room for you. He’s aware of his heart pounding and the weight of his lungs as he tries to breathe normally. The muscle in his jaw twitches as he clenches it tight, hoping that he can wrestle it under his control before you realise how shaken he is.

He feels your fingers slide over the bare skin of his chest, and the uncomfortable prickle of anxiety that had been thrumming through his body for days, since the storm began, goes still.

A deep inhale lifts his chest as your palm drifts up to rest at the nape of his neck, weaving the short locks of his hair through your fingers delicately. When you squeeze at the tense muscle there, he feels himself go lax under your hold.

There’s another flash of lightning, shattering his momentary safe haven, which forces him to close his eyes and bury himself closer into your body in an attempt at escaping the thunder that echoes above.

His arms tighten around your waist as he hides his face against your chest. The feeling of your hands in his hair, massaging over his neck and shoulders to encourage his body into relaxing, allows him some respite.

Aleksander is lost in the tender motion of your hands and the soothing murmurs, until he hears something in particular that catches his attention.  

He lifts his head up, meeting your eyes as he repeats what you had called him,

“Sasha?”

Embarrassment touches your features as you look down at the limited space between your bodies, before you stammer out an apology.

Aleksander laughs softly.

“I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?”

He doesn’t.

No one has known him as Aleksander for centuries, and now that he thinks about it, no one has ever known him as Sasha. The nickname had been used exclusively by his mother, only when he was a very small boy.

No lover, no friend, no confidant. No one.

But now there was you.

He doesn’t mind at all.

Aleksander wants to tell you all of this, what that name means to him, though he suspects you already know. Instead, he murmurs quietly,

“Baghra was the last person to call me Sasha. She hasn’t done so in a very long time.”

“And you want me to?”

He can hear the insecurity in your voice as you seek confirmation. Aleksander nods against the hollow of your throat.

“I do.”

His lips brush briefly against your skin as he speaks.

“Okay.” Aleksander holds his breath in anticipation, waiting for you to continue as you stroke your hand back through his hair. “Sasha.”

The smile he hides against your skin is wide.

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

“Absolutely not.”

“We can’t let him get the sea whip.”

Aleksander’s fingers curl tight around your wrist as you almost fall into him. The deck of the ship tilts, casting your body away from him, but he doesn’t let you go far.

He knows your plan hadn’t accounted for being attacked by pirates. He knows if someone doesn’t act quickly, then all your hard work will be undone.

But he cannot let you go.

“Someone else.”

As always, your reasoning makes sense and how he wishes you weren’t right. He wishes that someone else would dive into the freezing water and solve this problem. But one look at your face and Aleksander knows that it has to be you.

Brave, brilliant you, who won’t stop at anything to succeed.

Aleksander feels as though a part of himself has been torn away, as he nods. Then he watches you leap over the side of the ship, plummeting down into the icy water below.

You reach the sea whip without incident and Aleksander keeps his eyes fixed on you. He doesn’t know what you plan to do.

Thinking practically, if you killed the sea whip then no one would be able to claim its power. But whilst you have never failed to do what is necessary, Aleksander can’t see you taking the sea whip’s life purpose.

When he sees you slicing through the ropes that bind the creature, he knows what you have decided.

His heart stops when he sees you freeze, and his blood runs cold at the sight of you clutching your chest as red spills from your nose. Sokolov has a heartrender.   

Aleksander’s voice is sharp as he attracts the attention of one of the nearest heartrenders.

“Fedoyr.”

The man clad in red doesn’t need to ask what his General needs, instead he layers his palms over one another to reach for your heart with his power.

There’s a sickening moment of helplessness, as he watches your heart fail. Anxiety soars through Aleksander’s veins as Fedoyr shakes his head.

“I can’t reach, the current is carrying them too far.”

Aleksander inhales shakily, tearing a hand through his hair wildly as he begins to pace along the deck.

The sounds of fighting that continue to rage around him fade into nothing, inconsequential to the ringing in his ears.

Then Ivan appears beside his husband, brows furrowed with concentration as he clasps his hands together. Aleksander’s eyes remain fixed on you, relief filling him at the sight of you no longer gasping for air.

But you’re still in danger.

Aleksander tears off his kefta, throwing to the deck as he strides over to the edge of the ship. Shouts of protest from his Grisha go ignored as he climbs over the railing.

The sea whip bursts free as Aleksander dives into the water.

Even as he swims towards where you had disappeared under the surface, Aleksander can’t shake the fear from his body.

Inhaling deeply, he plunges under the water to grasp at your flailing body as the current weighs you down. Aleksander wraps his arms around you, pulling the two of you to the surface. He feels you struggle weakly against him, forcing him to adjust his grip.

“You’re alright.” He assures you quickly, in an attempt at easing your distress. “It’s me.”

Widened eyes meet his, as you grasp tightly onto the fabric of his shirt as you choke out a startled gasp,

“Aleksander!”

As recognition dawns on you, the fight leaves your body, allowing you to slump against his chest as he wades you both back towards the ship.

“I have you.”

Now that he has you back, he isn’t letting go.

Even when you’re back on board the whaler, Aleksander’s grip on you remains tight, the fabric of your soaked shirt held tightly in his fist.

His heart still hasn’t settled. Aleksander sits down on the deck, shaking saltwater from his hair as he watches you breath heavily. Exhaustion weighs on your eyes, the cold water dripping onto the wooden planks beneath your body as you lie down. His voice is low as he states,

“You are never to do anything like that ever again.”

“I don’t plan on it.”

He almost bristles at your flippant response. Then you pull yourself up with a wince, dropping your head down to rest against his shoulder before you murmur softly,

“I’m sorry, Sasha.”

The fright in his chest softens into relief, now that he can feel your body next to his, finally back to safety. He settles his palm over the back of your neck, keeping your face pressed against his shoulder.

In this moment, he’s reminded of the first time he held you like this – when you had been attacked in the Little Palace.

Over the centuries, Aleksander has faced countless life-threatening altercations. But he hates the thought of you fearing for your life in such a manner. Which is why he doesn’t hesitate to hold you close against his chest when the sea whip sinks Sokolov’s ship.

He watches you closely as you step in front of the sea whip. Aleksander knows that you feel safe to approach the creature, he knows that you know what you’re doing. But he also knows that something is wrong, something you can’t see. Something that has him reaching towards you, before you even realise you’re about to pass out.

Aleksander holds you steady in his arms as you slump against his chest, unconscious.

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

A pain-filled whimper escapes your lips, and Aleksander’s heart twists in his chest.

Just before the healer arrived, you had a moment of lucidity but after that you had tossed and turned uncomfortably as you slept. There is nothing Aleksander can do, nothing except wait.

Nevertheless, he finds things to do. He presses a damp cloth over your forehead and down your neck. He props you up before ensuring that you drink some water.

When your fever peaks, he removes the blankets much to your distress. He cups your shaking hands in both of his, rubbing away the goosebumps that rise over your skin as you shiver.

Now that he knows what your nightmares are about, he wants to protect you from them more than ever. Which is why it is so hard to watch the sobs shaking your body as tears spill down your cheeks. He brushes them away with a careful swipe of his knuckles.

Once he finally manages to feed you the sleeping tonic, he holds you in his arms as your breathing deepens into a restful slumber. Aleksander presses his lips against your forehead, hoping that his affection might soothe you in some way.

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

Aleksander watches you carefully.

Zoya is by your side as you stare out over the waves, there’s no reason for Aleksander to be so concerned. But he is.

Over the past few days, you’ve regained your strength though you still look tired and pensive in a manner that only illness can make someone feel.

The necklace he had designed for you weighs heavily in Aleksander’s pocket.

Initially, the design had been merely practical. Something rare, not native to Ravka, so that a durast would be able to locate you if were wearing it. He had thought of the idea when you mentioned that Alina could have been kidnapped.

It was Genya who had inspired the design. She had asked him about Alina’s Winter Fete outfit, whether he wanted her to wear black and what sort of embellishments would he insist upon.

She had mentioned a necklace for Alina – his symbol.

Aleksander had told Genya it was Alina’s choice, whatever she wanted she could have. Meanwhile, he considered the design of your necklace. He didn’t want to be presumptuous about your relationship.

But you wore the Lanstov emerald on your finger. Aleksander wants to stake his own claim on you, even if he is the only one who knows it is there.

That is what makes him approach you now.

There’s a peculiar expression on your face, as though you had come to some sort of realisation. You reach a hand out for him, which he doesn’t hesitate to take.

“Is everything alright?”

Aleksander feels you nod as you press your face against his chest, and he wants to pull you closer. Then you murmur,

“Thank you for looking after me.”

I will always look after you. That’s what he wants to say. Instead, a nervous smile tugs at his lips as he steps back.

“I have something for you.”

A small frown creases at your brows and Aleksander’s smile softens as he retrieves the velvet pouch from his pocket.

His heartbeat is the only thing he can hear as you pull delicately on the ribbon, opening up the pouch to reveal the necklace nestled carefully inside.

Then you breathe out his name, and the world comes back into focus. The sound of the waves, the creak of wood beneath his feet, the whistling as it ruffles at his hair, it fills Aleksander’s senses. But all he can do is look at you as your eyes widen with what he hopes is wonder.

“Do you like it?”

Aleksander feels like a teenager, standing at the door of his first love with a bunch of wildflowers, hoping that you could love him.

“It’s beautiful. I love it.”

A bright smile spreads over his face, and when you ask him to help you attach the necklace he nods immediately. His fingers only shake momentarily, as he attempts to slot the clasp into place.

It might be selfish of him, to ask for your love when he will overlive you countless times over. But your reaction to the necklace has given him courage. If you want him as much as he wants you, he cannot deny you his love.

Once it is attached, Aleksander moves back to stand in front of you, revealing the luminous smile on your face.

He tells you about the design. That the metal is indestructible, a testament to his protection of you. The pearl is unique; something he had collected hundreds of years ago and kept for its simplistic beauty.

Emotion thickens in his throat as he sees tears well in your eyes, and he knows you understand the significance of his gift.

As he begins his confession, it becomes clear to him that you haven’t realised how important you are to him. Nevertheless, he continues, and Aleksander sees the moment you begin to understand what he is saying. Something like fear enters your eyes, and a tear traces its way down your cheek.

Aleksander struggles to breathe.

You mean too much to him, for his own feelings to drive you away. If you will be happier settled with an otkazat’sya, or even another Grisha, Aleksander will accept it. Not matter how much it will hurt him, he will accept it. He tells you this himself.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same, and I will bury this, and allow you to seek happiness wherever you may find it.”

He steps away, the anticipation of rejection already clawing at his heart.

“I can’t.” Aleksander’s stomach twists at the sound of those two words from your lips. He swallows hard, taking another step back. “I can’t tell you I don’t feel the same.”

He freezes.

Aleksander stares at you, watching as a smile curls lightly at the corner of your lips.

“Because you know when I’m lying.”

A small laugh jostles Aleksander’s shoulders, accompanied by a breath of relief.

You’re right.

If you had told him you didn’t feel the same, he would have accepted your word, even as a lie. He would have let you move on, deny your feelings for him until you found someone else. Someone you could grow old with.

But you hadn’t lied to him.

You feel the same and you want him as he is. An immortal Grisha with a dark power and the capability of becoming a villain. You know him better than any other person, and you still want him.

Aleksander tugs on each side of the cloak you’re wearing – one of his cloaks – his eyes falling down to look at your lips as he brushes his forehead against your own.

His voice is a mere whisper as he admits,

“I want to kiss you.”

As he watches you bite down on your lower lip, suppressing the smile that sparkles in your eyes, Aleksander’s restraint nearly collapses.

“I should probably remind you that I’m technically engaged.”

Aleksander tilts his head at you in exasperation at denying him for such a superficial reason. He knows you have no intention of marrying Vasily, and your loyalty has always been Aleksander’s.

“We both know you’re not going to marry that fool.”

As your gaze flickers to his, Aleksander thinks you might enjoy the protective edge in his voice, fuelled by possession. You belong with him.

He hooks a finger underneath your jaw, his expression softening as he asks,

“Would he make you happy?”

“Not like you do.”

A thrill runs through the entirety of his body, thrumming against his soul with every beat of his heart.

He kisses you.

Delicate at first.

Memories of the last few days linger at the forefront of Aleksander’s mind. You have only just recovered. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He relishes in the sweet sigh that falls from your lips, succumbing to the temptation of furthering the kiss as you grip tightly onto the front of his kefta.

As he tilts his head, working his lips against yours more purposefully, you drag a hand through his dark locks. Aleksander shivers as you tug on his hair before your nails scrape lightly at the nape of his neck. A startled sound of pleasure bubbles at the back of his throat, and Aleksander feels your smile against his lips.

His hands trail down, squeezing your waist as he urges you closer, and once your body is fully pressed against his, Aleksander cups your face to capture every sigh and hum of pleasure.

Once you break apart, you’re both breathless and the rush of sea air into his lungs makes Aleksander dizzy for a moment. Or perhaps he’s still reeling from your kiss.

He feels your hands untangle themselves from his hair, resting momentarily on his shoulders before you slide your palms over his chest.

How long had it been since someone desired him so authentically? Aleksander knows that all Grisha are drawn to him. Even the otkazat’sya stare at him, always a mixture of fear and attraction. But you weren’t like that.

Aleksander swallows hard as you wrap your arms around him. You don’t want the Black General, or the Darkling. You just want Aleksander.

For a moment, he can barely believe it, but then you nuzzle your nose against the hollow of his throat, pressing a gentle kiss there, simply because you want to.  

He knows Ivan is standing nearby, waiting to speak to him but he needs to show you his appreciation.

Cradling the back of your head, Aleksander tilts your face up towards his, allowing to drop another kiss down onto your lips. Then another. Another. One more. He can’t stop himself. Especially when his kisses bring such a beautiful smile to your face.

Then he straightens, amusement sparkling in his eyes when he sees you frown.

“Yes, Ivan?”

Aleksander can feel the skin at the back of your neck warming with embarrassment as you wonder how much of his affectionate display had been seen by the others.

As Ivan explains that Sturmhond wishes to speak with him, Aleksander nods, stroking his thumb back and forth over the nape of your neck, which pulls a shiver from you.

Turning back to you, Aleksander uses his other hand to hook under your chin, guiding your lips to his for an affectionate parting kiss.

His back is to Ivan and Zoya, meaning the soft smile on his face as he withdraws from your space is solely for you.

Aleksander keeps his eyes on yours until he physically can’t, turning away to join Ivan with the intention of meeting with Sturmhond.

He hears Zoya approach you, and the sound of excited murmurings between you both. Aleksander hears the shocked laughter fall from your lips as you smile widely, setting his heart aflutter as he moves down the steps towards the main deck, trying his hardest not to grin triumphantly.

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

Aleksander is in awe of the way you weave the world around you. He knows you believe your plans only work out because you know snippets of the future and things that no one else does about this world. He disagrees.

His own plans are a practiced art, a skill he has mastered over centuries of trial and error, taught by loss and experience. The skills he has learnt over these many years of existence come naturally to you, with such a wisdom, that Aleksander sometimes forgets that you aren’t the same age as him.

It's in your moments of doubt that Aleksander realises his age gives him something he can offer you. Reassurance. When Nikolai makes an offer of marriage to you, Aleksander doesn’t feel jealous. He knows your heart is his.

Despite this, you seem distressed when you tell Aleksander about it, and he discerns that you don’t want to love him in the dark. You don’t want him as your secret lover, robbing the chance to love one another freely from you both for the sake of your plans. But you’re as ambitious as Aleksander is, he knows you don’t want to discard this opportunity.

As you sit on the edge of Aleksander’s bed, he crouches in front of you, his arms settled on either side of you. He provides you with the encouragement needed to agree to Nikolai’s proposal, taking your face gently between his hands.

Aleksander presses his lips delicately against your forehead before he tilts his head down. His nose skims over the creased skin of your forehead, nuzzling away the small frown of concern there. He traces the tip of his nose down along the length of yours before he kisses you softly.

A small sound of pleasure hums in your throat and Aleksander smiles, leaning closer to press a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose which encourages a smile to linger on your lips.

“You wont have to marry anyone you don’t want to.”

His words are a promise, not only vowing to protect you from an unhappy marriage, but also whispering another assurance. I will be the only one to marry you, if you’ll have me.

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

Aleksander is awake when you first begin to turn over in your sleep. He doesn’t think much of it at first. You haven’t had a nightmare since your illness on board Sturmhond’s whaler. But the sound of a small whimper attracts his attention, and he props himself up against the headboard to watch over you.

A deep frown creases at your brows as your breathing picks up, distressed murmurs falling from your lips as you shake your head frantically.

Then you say something that has his stomach twisting.

“Aleksander no. Please, no.”

Gasping, you wake suddenly with a choked cry. The covers tangle around your limbs as your mind begins to process that you’re no longer wrestling with your nightmare.

Aleksander draws you carefully towards his chest, trying to settle your breathing without overwhelming you. Soft assurances fall easily from his lips in an attempt to calm you down. He takes your shaking hand in his own, guiding it to lie flat against his chest, allowing you to feel the steady motion of rising and falling with each even breath.

Once you begin to follow his lead, breathing becoming less frantic, he presses a kiss to your temple. I’m here for you.

He runs his fingers delicately over the bare skin of your shoulder, tracing invisible patterns to keep you grounded by the sensation.

Now that the majority of the panic has left you, exhaustion begins to creep into your body as you slump down against his chest heavily. Aleksander doesn’t mind being engulfed by you; it reassures him that you’re still with him.

“Do you think my nightmares have some sort of meaning?”

Your voice is a quiet murmur, half muffled by his shoulder, but he hears you in the silence of the night.

“Have they ever come true?”

“Not yet.”

“But you’re afraid this one will?”

He feels you nod.

The motion of his fingers over your skin halts as he breathes in slowly. Then he says,

“You said my name.”

He feels you stiffen slightly.

“Did I?”

“You were begging me not to do something.”

As always, you understand what he means. Lifting your head up from his chest, your eyes meet his as you cup his face with your hand. Aleksander wants to close his eyes and lean into your touch, but he needs to hear your response.

“You weren’t hurting me, Sasha. I’m not afraid of you.”

There’s pause or hesitation in your voice. Aleksander knows when you’re lying or using clever word choices to work your way around a question. You’re telling the truth. You aren’t afraid of him.

Then there is only one other thing your nightmare could have been about, and his heart aches at the thought of you being so afraid of losing him.

Leaning closer, you rest your forehead against his, breathing steadily. He can see the remaining tension begin to loosen from your body. Then you kiss him. Soft and sweet. A simple sign of appreciation for Aleksander and a reassurance for you.

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

With each day that passes, you entwine your way deeper into Aleksander’s life, until he can no longer think of the day when you will be parted.

The king dies.

Throughout the mourning period, you and Aleksander make your plans for removing the Fold and repairing Ravka. Events that Aleksander has waited centuries for.

The two of you journey to the far north in search of Aleksander’s sister. Whenever he looks for her, Ulla is never far from the islands she created.

He doesn’t expect you and Ulla to interact much. His sister is distrusting and uncaring of mortals, and you were an otkazat’sya. An extraordinary one, in his opinion, but mortals were all the same to Ulla. Or at least he thought so.

But when you reappear from her cavern of treasures with the heart of Sankt Feliks in your hands, Aleksander realises he has misjudged his sister.

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

With the Fold finally gone, Aleksander feels as though a weight has been lifted. Perhaps one day, many centuries in the future, the Black Heretic will be a mere footnote in Ravka’s history. Even with the removal of Aleksander’s main source of guilt, he cannot fully enjoy the celebrations.

There is too much to think about.

Countless new Grisha – sun summoners – had been created by the destruction of the Fold. Aleksander needed to organise a census to keep track of them all.

As current leader of both the First and Second Army, he was responsible not only for the continued campaigns on the frontlines, but the organisation of resource lines crossing the Unsea.

Despite all this, at the back of mind thoughts of you linger. He has barely seen you over the past few days, and he cannot help but think he is responsible for your absence.

As you were journeying into the Fold, Aleksander had mentioned that you might receive some of Alina’s power. At the time, it had made sense. You were otkazat’sya, just like every other person who was now a sun summoner.

But that hadn’t happened.

Aleksander could see that it upset you.

His thoughts linger on you now for the third time within the last few minutes. Sighing, he runs a hand over his face, discarding his pencil and pushing away the papers in front of him. His chair scrapes lightly over the floor as he pushes it back, deciding to search for you.

He hadn’t realised how late is was already.

Moonlight illuminates his path as he walks towards the doorway which leads to his bedroom. You’re not there. He crosses over towards the hallway, opening up the door opposite and stepping into your own room. The room you barely ever use.

The bed looks untouched. There are a few papers on your desk, but no candles burning.

Aleksander has one other theory for your whereabouts, and it is only once he has checked there will he allow himself to worry.

As he makes his way through the darkened corridors of the Grand Palace, the worry weighs on his chest. It’s only once he hears your laugh in the distance, that the worry loosens.

He rounds a corner, almost crashing into a rather intoxicated King Nikolai whose hand is held by your own as you wobble beside him.

Aleksander looks between the two of you, remarking drily,

“Good evening, Your Majesty.”

Nikolai turns to you with a bright smile.

“Found him.”

Warmth settles in Aleksander’s chest at the thought of you looking for him. He’s never seen you drunk. Tipsy perhaps, when he had offered you one of his favourite wines during a quiet evening together. But not like this.

Despite how unsteady you appear to be on your feet, you have enough thought to make Nikolai promise to be careful on the walk back to his rooms. Then you’re grasping hold of Aleksander and leaning against his chest.

Amusement has a soft smile lingering on Aleksander’s face as you mumble against the front of his kefta. You tell him that you can’t marry Nikolai, because you’re not in love with him. Because you’re in love with Aleksander. You also mention how pretty he is, which makes him chuckle.

Aleksander is sitting at his desk the next morning when you wake in his bed. A soft laugh falls from his lips when he sees the small scowl on your face as your eyes wince at the bright sunrise.

Casting a hand out, he calls forth the shadows to dim the light in an attempt at easing the throbbing that is no doubt a prominent feature in your temples. Once he’s finished, his fingers linger in the air before he gestures towards you, wanting you closer.

He wraps one of his arms around your waist, pulling your body flush against his side, and you rest your chin on the top of his head, sending a tingle down his spine.

When you apologise for disappearing he assures you it isn’t necessary. He continues to sign a number of reports, something in particular weighing at the back of his mind.

“I’m sorry too.” He sets his pen down, watching you frown which prompts him into continuing. “For being so occupied lately. I feel I’ve neglected you.”

You understand how important his position is. You don’t blame him for being busy, or for lifting your hopes about becoming Grisha.

Aleksander is quiet as you speak, explaining to him how over the last few months you haven’t accepted that you deserve him, too caught up by the fact that he will outlive you. You don’t want to love him for all your life; you want to love him for all of his life.

“But I’ve realised that by thinking like that, it means that I haven’t been appreciating that I have you right now.”

“You have me forever.” He cups your face in his hand, ensuring that you meet his gaze as he speaks, “There has never been any other like you, and there never will be. Not for me.”

Those words appear to have reached you, as he can see the emotion welling in your eyes as your lower lip wobbles slightly. A small tear falls down your cheek which he brushes away tenderly with his thumb, his expression softening at the sight of your tears.

“I love you, Aleksander.”

He kisses you softly.

“And I love you, my dearest.”  

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

It’s finally over.

The dark sand of the Unsea that had stained the centre of Ravka for centuries was now gone, removed by sealing the tear at the making at the heart of the world – and it was all down to you.

Aleksander hadn’t prayed to the saints in years but seeing you in such pain as the tear had sealed closed, ripping you away permanently from your own universe, he weakened his resolve. As he held you close, he had prayed for you to survive.

Maybe the saints answered him, maybe you had done it all on your own, he wouldn’t be surprised. But you had survived an unfathomable experience, and here you were hugging Zoya as the others stare in awe at the revived Tula Valley. A sight Aleksander hasn’t seen in centuries, and something no one else in living memory has ever seen.

Fedoyr checks your injuries and begins to heal whatever damage was done by the making. Aleksander sits beside you on the boulder, hand cradling the back of your head as you grip onto his kefta.

From experience, he knows that healing isn’t a comfortable sensation and from the motion of Fedoyr’s hands the vast majority of your body requires some sort of healing.

A sigh of relief heaves at your body once the heartrender has finished his work. He bows when you thank him, and Aleksander smiles. Even the Grisha will believe you a saint after this. In Aleksander’s eyes you’ve always been akin to a saint. All knowing protector that offers him love and forgiveness for all that he is, and all that he could be.

His voice is soft as he asks,

“Are you alright now?”

A smile spreads over your features.

“Ravka is on the brink of rebirth. I have an incredible power, and I’m going to live forever.” The smile on your face softens as you add quietly, “Not to mention I have you.”

Aleksander smiles widely, and you press a gentle kiss to his lips before reassuring him,

“I’ve never been better.”

He takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply, putting every ounce of love he has in him into the movement of his lips against yours. Even when he pulls away slightly, the two of you are enclosed in your own private little bubble.

Zoya’s voice is what shatters your moment.

“I don’t mean to interrupt a happy moment, but…”

Aleksander follows Zoya’s gaze, looking down at the boulder where you’re sitting. A carpet of luscious green has spread over the rocks surrounding you both, their small leaves accompanied by tiny white flowers that bloom under his very eyes.

A smile tugs at his lips, it appears your power is connected to your emotions, not unlike Aleksander’s. You must be quite powerful.

Your own smile is rather sheepish as you look down at the petals forming.

“I should probably learn how to control that.”  

He brushes his knuckle gently over your cheek in reassurance.

“I will help you.”

“You’re Grisha now?”

Zoya smiles widely when you nod, and the word spreads quickly around your little traveling group. Soon, a small argument breaks out, as the different orders try to claim you as their own.

Sliding an arm your waist, Aleksander helps you to stand and the two of you begin to walk along the path leading back to your horses.

When Aleksander refers to the contention surrounding your Grisha order, you laugh softly.

“I wonder what kefta I will have.”

The idea of you considering any colour but his own almost offends Aleksander. He already has a few ideas for the design.

“It will be black of course.”

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

“Would you like to get married?”

There’s a sound of confusion at the back your throat, and you raise you head up from where it had been nestled over Aleksander’s folded arm.

The two of you are cuddled up on the sofa in the war room, and his words had clearly roused you from almost sleep as you stared at the fire crackling in the hearth.

“Married?” Aleksander hums in confirmation, nuzzling his nose against your cheek before he presses a kiss there which has you sighing softly as you settle comfortably underneath him. “When?”

“Whenever you’d like. We have time.”

“This weekend?”

A smile tugs at his lips at your enthusiasm as he traces a hand down your side.

“Of course, dearest.”

Aleksander kisses along your neck, his teeth scraping your earlobe lightly, and he feels you shiver.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.” His following suggestions are breathed out between kisses layered over your skin. “We could head to Os Kervo, somewhere by the sea. Or the Tula Valley, out in the fields. Maybe a small village somewhere?”

Breathless, your eyes flutter closed as you thread a hand through his hair.

“You pick, Sasha. As long as I’m with you I’ll be happy.”

His heart soars at your words. Aleksander isn’t certain whether it’s because you’re comfortable and sleepy or because of his carefully timed distractions, but your perfect wedding is slowly coming together with very little thought.

Aleksander continues his kisses, over your cheeks, nose, and forehead, his stubble scraping lightly over your skin.

“There’s a small village near the southern border, they have the most beautiful blossom trees. I think you’ll love it.”

You nod in agreement.

“No guests, no priest. Just the two of us.”

Aleksander mimics your nod.

“Just us, exchanging vows and rings together.”

Leaning down, Aleksander kisses your lips tenderly. The hand in his hair tightens its grip, and you urge him closer. He parts his lips, allowing you take him as your own.  

He’s breathless when he pulls away for air, whispering out the words against your lips.

“I love you.”

His stomach flips at the sight of your smile, so full of love, illuminated by the warm firelight. When you take his chin between your fingers he shivers, and your smile widens as you rub the pad of your thumb affectionately over his stubble.

“I love you too.”

Aleksander loses himself in your kiss as you grasp languidly at one another. He can’t wait to be your husband.

He can hardly believe that it was in this very room that he first laid his eyes on you. Every day since that moment he has thought of you, and he knows he will continue to do so for the rest of his eternal existence.

Brushing his nose gently against yours, he chuckles quietly as he observes your eyelids drooping heavily.

“Falling asleep on me, my love?”

You pout at his teasing remark.

“It’s your fault.” At that, he laughs. “You’ve worn me out.”

“My apologies.”

Eyes closed, you swipe blindly at his shoulder and his laugh brightens as you miss, which appears to shatter your façade of disgruntlement.

He kisses you again, pulling you close against his chest to encourage you into his arms as he sits up.

It’s a short walk from the war room into the bedroom you share together. Aleksander feels you card a hand through his hair as he carries you, and when you squeeze the nape of his neck affectionately he presses a kiss against your temple.

Once the two of you reach Aleksander’s side of the bed, you extend a hand out and pull back the covers.

He settles you down on the sheets and you take the opportunity to get comfortable, turning on your side with a pillow tucked against your face.

Then Aleksander slips under the covers beside you, tucking the two of you in.

With a natural ease, his arm drapes over your waist, his hand settling into the crook of your leg as you curl it up in front of you. His thumb traces a slow circle over the top of your bare knee, and you hum in contentment.

Aleksander flicks his hand upwards momentarily, his fingers brushing against your skin as he summons the shadows to extinguish the candlelight in both the war room and your bedroom.

He hears you sigh softly as the darkness closes in.

“G’night Sasha.”

He drops one last kiss onto your shoulder, letting his lips linger there for a moment.

“Good night, my love.”

•─────⋅☾ ✤ ☽⋅─────•

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[withlovewriting]

All I Ever Knew, Only You 14: Light 'Em Up

Chapter Fourteen.

So bright, the flames burned in our hearts, That we found each other in the dark, Black beast, out in the wilderness, We are fighting to survive and convalesce, But we're gonna live, we're gonna live, at last, Then I heard the church bells from afar, But we found each other in the dark

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 5,726

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of injuries, fluff, Protective!Hopper here for duty, the death of dart that i am still not over, attempted suicide in the absolute most minimal way i promise (you'll understand when you read it i promise, everyone is good everything is fine i just don't know how else to label it), i am now totally unsure which one is the bigger idiot.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, no use of y/n, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

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Chapter Fourteen: Light 'Em Up

The tires of the blue Camero groaned in discontent, screeching as the car finally came to a stop with half of Merrill’s pumpkin sign still attached to it.

Steve had progressively become more awake, and also more panicked during the ride, and despite the pain you’d be in any time you had to brace during Max’s overzealous drive, you couldn’t deny the fact that had any of the boys driven, you probably wouldn’t have made it out of the Byers’ driveway.

“Told you. Zoomer.” Max told them proudly before pushing open her door and allowing Mike to climb out, followed by Dustin as you and Steve were left to clamber — or in Steve’s case, fall — out of the too-small backseats.

You made your way around to the trunk, grabbing goggles as the kids tied their bandannas around their faces. You didn’t have much time to look for real supplies, and you just prayed that what you had would suffice.

Either way, it would have to do.

Steve groaned as he pulled himself up from the floor where he’d all but rolled to, his face beaten and swollen slightly as he stumbled for a moment whilst he tried to get his bearings.

“No… Guys. Hey, where do you think you’re going?” He questioned Mike as the younger boy strolled right past him, can of gasoline in hand, “What are you, deaf? Hello? We are not going down there right now. I made myself clear. There is no chance we’re going to the hole, all right?”

You passed Steve, too focused on the task at hand to bother yourself with his dramatics, and instead handed Mike a rope as the older boy continued to emphasize his argument. Walking back around to the trunk to grab your own gear, Steve’s hand shot out, the boy stumbling a little as he held on to you.

“This ends now!”

Shrugging his hand off, you sent him a sharp glare whilst Dustin finally responded, “Steve, you’re upset, I get it. But the bottom line is, a party member requires assistance, and it is our duty to provide that assistance.”

Dustin stormed off, making his way toward the group as they began to lower items into the hole whilst Steve stood — still a little dazed — and inhaled deeply. You could tell he was frustrated, but at least he wasn’t yelling about it anymore.

“He’s not wrong.”

“You too? I thought we were on the same side here.” Steve sighed, his tired eyes roaming over your face. The boy had perfected the kicked puppy dog look.

Biting your bottom lip, you moved closer to the boy and placed your hand on his arm that was leaning against the open car door, “We are on the same side, okay? Look, these kids are gonna go down there whether we go with them or not. If you need to stay up here, that’s fine. I get it. But I’m not letting them go down there alone, especially not with those things running around.”

Steve sighed, tightly squeezing his eyes closed, “We said we’d keep them safe…”

Your hand moved from Steve’s forearm, hovering over his bruised knuckles for just a second before gently squeezing his hand, causing the boy’s eyes to pop open almost comically, “So let's keep them safe. You got this, Steve. We got this.”

Your left hand grabbed a backpack from the trunk containing a bandanna, goggles and Steve’s trusty nailed bat. You held it out to him with bated breath, waiting for his decision. After the relentless attack from Billy, you wouldn’t blame him if he decided he needed a time-out. Your own head was throbbing, you couldn’t begin to imagine how his felt.

Nor could you ignore the relief that flooded your bones when he took the bag from you, a simple nod from the boy before you began to pull on your own gear.

In usual Steve fashion, the boy demanded he go first into the hole to check it out and make sure there wasn’t a pack of hungry Demo-dogs waiting underneath for you all to drop directly into their open mouths.

“Holy shit,” Steve gazed around the tunnel as the rest of you dropped down, Mike pulling out a map before setting off in the direction he believed would lead you all to the hive mind.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey. I don’t think so. Any of you little shits die down here, we’re getting the blame. Got it, dipshit?” Steve grumbled, pushing past Mike, “From here on out, I’m leading the way. Come on, let's go.”

You all began to follow him, no questions asked as Steve led the group and you brought up the rear. By the time you were deep enough into the tunnels, you were ready to throw your flashlight at him. A little hustle this, and c’mon, pick up the pace that.

You’d almost forgotten that he was captain of both the basketball team and the swim team and was more than comfortable ordering people around.

Vines wrapped their way along the long floors, keeping you conscious of where you were stepping, as if they might leap out at you any second and dangle you upside down, and the particles of something floating in the air made you cautious that maybe the bandannas you all wore were not enough to keep your respiratory system safe and working.

You felt like your head was turning every few seconds, paranoia from the Demo-dogs, as well as uncharted tunnels, making you feel on edge and Dustin’s sudden screaming really didn’t discourage that.

Rushing toward the boy as he fell to the ground, his shouts desperate enough to rattle your bones, you grabbed at him as he flinched away, unaware of your presence until you managed to get him to look at you, the boy calling for his friends as the group quickly returned.

Slipping from your grasp as he continued to flail about, the group surrounded him, “What happened?”

“It’s in my mouth! Some got in my mouth! Shit!”

He began to hack up a cough as you pulled down your bandanna, trying to catch Dustin’s attention as you called his name, pulling his face into your hands, all but forcing the boy to look up at you,

“Dustin, relax!”

Gulping in a large breath of air, the boy finally settled, his blue eyes peering into yours, “I’m okay…”

“You serious?”

“Very funny, man. Nice. Very nice.”

The group continued on, murmuring under their breath as you helped pick the boy back up, a possibly too-hard whack to the back of his cap to send him on his way after you pulled up your own bandanna once more.

This was going to be a long night.

“Alright, Wheeler,” Steve sighed, flashlight pointed at the crossroad of tunnels surrounding you, “I think we found your hub.”

“Let’s drench it.”

And so you got to work, covering the walls and surrounding tunnel entrances in gasoline. Turning toward Steve, who was busy pouring out his own canister, you pulled your bandanna down once more,

“Are you sure you won’t, like… light up like a Christmas tree?”

Steve’s brow cocked, the only hint that he was silently questioning you.

“You know, with all that hairspray, are you sure you’re not flammable?”

Despite not being able to see his facial features, you felt it in your soul when Steve was glaring at you, causing a smirk to pull one side of your mouth upward.

“Ha ha, very funny,” the boy’s monotonous tone only caused your smile to broaden as he moved closer toward you, the tips of his sneakers knocking your own slightly as he reached forward with his free hand, rubber glove gently gripping the bandanna that now loosely hung around your neck and pulling it back over your nose, “And stop pulling this down. We don’t know what’s floating around down here.”

Rolling your eyes, you secured the cloth a little tighter around your face and wondered how ridiculous you all looked.

“You guys ready?” Steve asked once you were all standing at the entrance to the tunnel you came from.

“Light her up,” Dustin confirmed as Steve pulled out his lighter.

You felt his dark eyes peering up at you from where he knelt on the floor, “We are in such deep shit.”

You placed a hand over Max’s shoulder, pushing the girl in front of you as the tunnels lit up, an unbearable and unforgiving heat beating across your face as you watched the vines along the floor begin to dance along the embers. Everything really was connected, and you could only hope this didn’t hurt Will more than it had to.

“C’mon, go!” Steve pulled you along by the wrist, only letting go once he was certain your feet would follow, as he pushed his way to lead the group once more, “This way!”

Unfortunately for you, you were running just behind Mike when he took a tumble — a thick vine wrapping around his ankle and slowly dragging him across the floor — causing you to trip right over him, your own ankle rolling under your weight as you failed to catch yourself on the sharp walls of the tunnel.

Mike’s screaming caught the attention of the group as you tried to drag yourself toward the thick vine, unable to untangle it as it fought against you, only tightening its grip on the boy. Despite struggling to pull off your backpack, you finally managed to pull the ax that you were yet to return to Mrs. Byers and hobbled to your feet, balancing on your one good foot as you swung at the vine, cursing as you lost your balance and tumbled toward the wall.

A shrill screech seemed to emit from the vines as they curled up, releasing the boy's ankle as Steve’s bat connected with it once, twice, three times.

Lucas and Dustin pulled Mike up, a tight grip on their friend as they checked him over whilst Steve turned to you, eyes wide even under his goggles as he looked from your face to your ankle, and back again, noting your flamingo-like posture,

“You good?”

Before you could respond, a growl from behind the group stopped you all in your tracks.

A Demo-dog stood on all fours, large mouth opening, and closing as it continued its inhuman noises. Dustin watched for a moment, head cocked slightly to the right.

“Dart.”

When the monster didn’t immediately attack, seemingly checking out the boy in front of him — friend or foe? Possibly even snack — Dustin stepped forward, despite everyone pleading for him to stay where he was.

“Shh, stop. Trust me, please.”

Dustin remained eerily calm as he slowly approached the dog, the monster taking a few cautionary steps closer too, meeting him near the middle of the tunnel.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s your friend, it’s Dustin,” the boy pulled down his bandanna before lifting his goggles in hopes the monster would recognize him, “It’s Dustin, all right? You remember me? Will you let us pass?”

The monster snarled at him, revealing far too many sharp teeth for your liking, but remained in place. If it wanted to, it easily could’ve ripped Dustin apart by now. You knew that as well as the boy did. But this… thing, something about this one was different. Maybe it really was Dart, and maybe, he and Dustin had formed some kind of weird, fucked up human/alternate-dimensional-creature bond in the few days it had taken Dart to sprout four legs and a mouth full of teeth.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about the storm cellar. That was a pretty douchey thing to do. You hungry? Yeah?” Dustin reached into his backpack, pulling out what looked like a Three Musketeers bar, “I’ve got our favorite, see? Nougat.”

As Dustin opened the wrapper, the creature slowly padded toward him, much like a family dog might’ve. Once Dart began to eat, Dustin shooed the rest of you through, Steve holding you up as you hobbled alongside him.

Once everyone had passed, Dustin stood, pulling down his goggles as he moved past to follow the group, turning around as Dart did the same, “Goodbye, buddy.”

As your group rushed back looking for where the rope to safety dangled, leading back up to the surface, the whole tunnel system seemed to shift, rumbling and sending you all in different directions.

“What was that?” Max asked, turning in the direction of… roaring?

“They’re coming. Run! Run!”

Steve lifted Max up first, the girl pulling herself up the rope with no problem, quickly followed by Lucas and then Mike. Dustin was halfway up the rope, clutching to his friend's hands when you saw the first shadow of a Demo-dog on the wall.

“Harrington,” you swallowed, heart pounding against your rib cage, eyes beginning to water as you realized your fate.

“I know, I know…” Steve panicked, gripping his bat in his hands as he shouldered Dustin a little further up, “Go, c’mon, get up-”

You both knew you didn’t have enough time for the two of you to get back out to safety and somehow, Steve had continuously surprised you in these life-and-death situations — especially when it was between his life and your death — constantly putting his safety on the line. Back last year with the Demogorgon, hell, even earlier that evening at the Junkyard.

This time… This time, it was your turn.

“We’re not gonna both make it up there in time. You need to go.”

His head swiveled around so quickly, you were sure he almost gave himself whiplash, but you didn’t give him enough time to disagree as you rearranged the ax in your grip, holding it high and standing your ground despite your shaking hands, “I’m not gonna get up there quickly, it’s pointless. Just go. Please.”

Ignoring the crack of your voice, and the shouting from the kids above you, Steve shook his head, eyes darting between yourself and the incoming monsters, their roaring getting closer and closer, “No, I-”

“Go, Steve!”

“Not without you.”

Snapping your own head toward the boy, you both stood silently as the few seconds that passed felt like hours, before finally accepting your fate.

The kids would be safe. But you were doing this. You and Steve would foolishly take on a pack of Demo-dogs.

Despite Steve’s eyes flicking back to the tunnel, yours remained on him as you tried to swallow down the fear that was crawling up your throat, clutching at your vocal cords and making it impossible to speak.

The first Demo-dog rushed around the corner, but you barely saw a flash of it as you were suddenly spinning around, Steve’s chest colliding with your back as he gripped you with one hand, turning your body behind his.

When the pained cries and shouting and screaming didn’t come, your eyes peeled open, watching as the dogs ran straight past you, entering a different tunnel and paying both you and Steve no mind.

Once the echoes of their rushed feet had disappeared, the tunnel remained silent, even the kids above were in shocked silence. Blood rushed in your ears, as your body shook, the ax falling from your grip and landing by your feet.

Steve’s labored breaths pushed his chest into your back repeatedly, and you weren’t quite sure if it was your heartbeat or his that you could feel.

His grip remained tight around your waist, rubber gloved fingers digging into your skin a little too tightly to be reassuring, yet you still leaned your weight against him, head bent backward at a mildly uncomfortably angle as you pulled down your bandanna and caught your breath, trying to work out if you were actually still alive.

It was only when he tilted his own head down, resting his chin on your shoulder that you flinched away — his panting a little too loud in your ear — the previous pain from earlier that evening finally ebbing its way back now that the adrenaline was finally dissipating from your veins.

“Eleven,” Mike shouted down, “She’s doing it, she’s closing the gate. Get out of there, now.”

Neither of you needed to be told twice, and once Steve had awkwardly lifted you halfway up the rope, allowing you to place your weight onto his shoulder as the other kids had helped you crawl out of the hole, he quickly followed after you just in time to watch the headlights beam on Billy’s car, momentarily blinding you all.

And, just as it had seemed last year…

It was over.

Steve had managed to drive to Hopper’s cabin thanks to your directions as the kids huddled in the backseat. Nobody uttered a word, and the car radio remained off the entire drive. The only words you spoke were a mumbled thank you as he assisted you out of the car, tucking your arm over his shoulders, his own hand wrapping back around your waist as he helped you slowly hobble toward the cabin.

You could only pray that whatever had its hold over Will was gone, leaving the boy unscathed and that Eleven and Hopper were alive and safe.

Thankfully, you’d spotted Hopper’s Chevvy hidden where he usually parked it between the trees and found yourself all but rushing toward the safety of the cabin.

The commotion from the kids must have alerted everyone to your appearance as the group, bar Will and Eleven, stepped out onto the porch, eyebrows pinched together, confused at your sudden appearance. The plan was for you to stay at the Byers and wait. It was clear to everyone that somehow, for some reason, that plan had changed.

You felt a whimper force its way out of your lips before you even recognized the sound as your own when you caught Hopper’s gaze, the man pushing through the small crowd outside the front door, his long legs reaching you quickly.

Steve released you from his grip as soon as the larger man approached, brows still furrowed on his face as he pulled you into a tight hug,

“What the hell happened to you guys?”

It took Steve a second to realize that Hopper’s attention was now directed toward him, his dark blue eyes taking in his bruised face.

“Uh, something came up. We… We couldn’t stay at the Byers. I know we said… I promised we’d look after the kids, but-”

“Can we talk about it later?” You sighed, hoping Hopper would take pity on your tired eyes and pained limp, “Eleven and Will… are they okay?”

Hopper helped you up the porch steps, a sweet smile sent Joyce’s way as she took your face between her warm palms and placed a kiss on your forehead, “They’re fine. Exhausted but… Alive. Safe.”

It felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest, the ability to finally inhale deeply causing your vision to blur a little. The plan had worked, and most of you had survived. Mike had already made his way into the cabin, grabbing at both Eleven and Will and pulling them into a tight hug, quickly followed by the rest of the kids, bar Max who hung back a little.

Joyce, however, moved her attention to the young girl, pulling her into a motherly hug, “Whatever you kids did tonight… Thank you.”

“Can we, uh… Clean up a little?” you turned toward Hopper, nodding toward the bathroom, knowing there was a first aid kit stashed in the medicine cabinet.

Hopper’s gaze switched between you and Steve before sending the latter a slight glare, despite his nod, “Head on through, do you want me to-”

“It’s fine, Hop. We won’t be long,” you sighed, trying to put as little weight onto your ankle as possible as you shuffled Steve into the too-small bathroom.

Once the folding door was shut, shutting out the quiet mumbles from the group, you let out a long, exasperated sigh, leaning on the door whilst Steve was already looking through the cabinet, pulling out the small box.

“Do you want to-”

“No, no… You sit down, I don’t think that ankle is gonna handle any more pressure on it tonight.” Steve interrupted, motioning for you to sit on the closed toilet as he nosed through the first aid supplies.

Finding some ointment for bruising and a clean cloth, Steve ran the tap until the water was warm, ringing out the excess water before standing in front of you, hesitating.

“Do you, uh-”

“I can’t exactly see the back of my head, Harrington.”

Nodding, Steve placed the cloth against the back of your head, a mumbled apology falling from his lips when you hissed in pain.

“Billy, he uh… He didn’t-”

“Billy didn’t touch me,” you sighed, “not really, anyway. Shoved me away from Lucas and I hit my head on the counter.”

An unintelligible grumble fell from Steve’s lips, his eyebrows almost connecting as he frowned, only deepening as you continued to speak, “I must say though, Harrington. I’m pleasantly surprised. You got in, what? At least three hits before-”

“Before he blindsided me by hitting me in the head with a plate?” Steve huffed, pulling away the cloth and rinsing it when he found only dried blood. He took a second to look over the wound, unsure as to what he was really even looking for.

“I mean, it’s Billy. Do you really expect him to play fair?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Steve groaned slightly as he bent down, resting on his knees as he lifted your ankle. After taking off your sneakers and socks, then rolling up your jeans a little, he turned your ankle cautiously as he inspected it. The skin had already begun to swell, and a deep red bruise was blossoming along the outer side of your heel,

“You really need to ice and rest this,” Steve placed the cold cloth against the skin and held it there, continuing to scrutinize your injury.

A small huff fell from your lips as you sent the top of his head a smirk, “Where did you get your Ph.D. from again?”

“I play sports,” Steve’s eyes met yours, an annoyed, but innocuous glare settling across his face as he peered up at you, “I’ve rolled my ankle enough times in Basketball to know how to deal with it.”

A high, mocking tune rumbled in your throat as you cocked a brow, “My bad, Harrington. Didn’t know you liked to play Doctors and Nurses in your spare time.”

“Why do you do that?” He interrupted thumb subconsciously grazing the part of your skin that the cloth didn’t reach.

Your face scrunched slightly, feeling a little too defensive already, “Do what?”

His shoulders slumped as a long sigh escaped his nose, but his eyes remained focused on you, “You know, I think tonight, when you were convincing me to follow those little assholes into the pits of Hell… I think that was the first time I’ve heard you actually call me by my name.”

“I call you it all the time-”

“No,” he interrupted once more, the line between his brows emerging once again as he tried to stress his point, “You call me Harrington all the time. Normally with a glare, but still…”

You remained silent for a moment, wondering if you did, indeed, do that, “Does it matter?”

“I mean, it makes you sound like you’re always mad at me-”

“I am normally mad at you,” you joked, but your smile slipped from your face just as quickly as it had appeared when his expression didn’t change, “I don’t know why I do it, alright? I do it to everyone, I guess…”

“I just…” Steve sighed, the hand that was holding the cloth to your ankle moved to push his hair back from his forehead before quickly reattaching itself to you, as if he needed to anchor himself to something to get his thoughts out, “I like it when you call me Steve. Makes me feel like we’re, you know… Friends.”

You watched as he shrugged, his throat bobbing as he tore his eyes away from you in what you could only assume was embarrassment.

Because even after everything you went through together almost a year ago, even after he saved your life… you weren’t friends. But now?

“Seems like the universe is trying to tell us something.”

Steve’s eyes returned to yours, confusion etched on his face as you sighed and sat up straighter, your body a little closer to him, “We are friends. I mean, you saved my life twice in one year. It would be kinda rude not to be, right?”

A small puff of air forced itself from his chest as he sent you a small smile, “Third time’s the charm,”

“Oh my god, why would you even say that?” You laughed back, mouth agape in faux offense, “But, I suppose I could… try and reserve last names for when I’m actually mad-”

“It would save me a lot of confusion.”

You shared a small, almost silent laugh, his eyes boring into you, seeming much darker in Hopper's dodgy bathroom lightening, Steve’s thumb still subconsciously skimming over your ankle as you both reveled in the quiet, the voices in the lounge were low and muffled slightly, so when the folding door was swiftly yanked open, nearly sending the boy into your lap, you both jumped out of your skin, your wide eyes narrowing into a glower as you stared down the man on the other side of the door,

“You kids need some help in here? Been long enough I thought you’d got lost.”

Rolling your eyes, you settled back against the tank of the toilet with a sigh, “Waiting times in the ER are outrageous. I’ll tell my doctor to hurry it up.”

Steve cleared his throat, discomfort written on his face as he sent Hopper an almost pained smile, unable to keep eye contact for more than a few seconds, “Almost done. Promise.”

You watched Hopper as he watched Steve — the boy suddenly finding the bare wooden floorboards beneath him a little too fascinating — his eyes flitting to you for just a moment before settling back on the boy, “Yeah, well, speed it up, alright? I need to take a leak.”

“Hop,” you heard Joyce warn, pulling the man’s attention for just a moment. His tongue ran across his bottom lip as if he were deep in thought, before he finally conceded, pulling the door across once more, but not shutting it fully.

Steve quickly poured the Arnica ointment onto some toilet paper before gently dabbing it onto your ankle, brows furrowed in concentration “We really should speed things up.”

“Ignore him. He’s just… weird.”

Steve sent you a quirked brow, all too aware that you didn’t bother to lower your voice and that the possibility of Hopper hearing you was high.

“You’re pretty close, huh?”

“He, uh… He dated my Mom. Hung around for a while and never really left, even when they broke up.”

“That’s nice.”

Shrugging, you peered through the gap in the door, eyes finding the man across the room talking quietly with Joyce for a moment before disappearing from your obstructed view, “I guess so. I don’t really see eye to eye with my Mom. I mean, I know what people say about her, about my family, but Hopper, he just… He never cared about all that stuff. I, uh… I cried myself to sleep the night they broke up. I mean, I’d seen guys come and go for years, I was used to it, and I just kind of thought he’d disappear like everyone else. Cross the street when he saw me, duck his head when he saw me in the same aisle at Big Buy… But he just… didn’t, you know? It wouldn’t have ever lasted with my Mom, but he’s been there for me more than anyone. Especially my own dad. I owe him a lot.”

“I don’t think he sees it that way.”

Steve’s comment caught you off-guard slightly. You’d heard all the gross accusations that high schoolers had thrown your way. That Hopper had left your mother for you, that he was your real dad and everything in between. You had thought for so long that he had simply hung around because he felt guilty. Then, you’d heard that he had a daughter, Sara, who had passed away in New York, and you thought that maybe his protectiveness over you was down to grief. That he was trying to make you fit into a Sara-shaped hole.

But Hopper, despite all of his flaws — and he had plenty — was simply a good man.

Sending your sudden tension, Steve scrambled to continue, “I mean, I don’t think he thinks you owe him anything. He seems like a decent guy-”

“He is,” you cut Steve off. Your chest felt heavy and tight as if your body was desperate for the conversation to finish before you burst into tears and embarrassed the both of you.

“All done,” Steve smiled, placing the toilet paper into the sink to be flushed later. He placed your ankle gently on the floor after rolling back down your pant leg and pulling on your sock, “I wouldn’t even try the sneakers, but you do need to ice it.”

Holding out a hand, Steve pulled you up, your bodies a little too close in the cramped bathroom, “We should-”

“Sit your ass down, Steve,” you wanted to pat yourself on the back for remembering, “It’s your turn.”

Eventually, you and Steve emerged from the bathroom, one arm slung over his shoulder as he guided you back into the lounge, Hopper quickly moved from where he was leaning against the wall next to the bathroom and took over, walking you back to his armchair whilst Steve quietly argued — and lost — with Joyce as she tried to give up her own chair, eventually reassuring him that she was going to check on Will, who was resting on Hopper’s fold up bed across the room.

When the once cold can of beer pressed against your ankle had warmed to room temperature, and the box of ‘Eggo’s’ Steve had held against his bruised face had turned soggy, the boy finally pushed himself up, clearing his throat, “I, uh… I should get going.”

You’d explained most of your evening to the group, leaving out that Hargrove had been the cause of your own injuries, and Hopper had told Steve that Billy would find himself on the receiving end of a few extra speeding tickets since the former didn’t want to press charges, and by now, everyone was visibly exhausted. It had been a very long weekend.

“Can I catch a ride?” You asked, already pushing yourself up off the armchair to follow.

Steve nodded and extended the offer, eventually driving you, Max, Lucas, and Dustin out of there. He’d have to drop Billy’s car back before anyone became suspicious, but he’d just waved a hand at you when you’d offered to drive the Camero back after picking up his own car, telling you he would simply walk home and collect it from the woods where he’d left it with yourself and Dustin at the beginning of your hunt for Dart.

Despite Hopper offering to stay at his for the night, you declined. You just wanted to crawl into your own bed and not emerge for a couple of days, despite knowing it was the beginning of another school week. So, after Jim had made you promise to radio him if there was any issue, he begrudgingly sent you off into the night with Steve.

The excitement seemed all too much for the kids, each one falling asleep before Steve had even passed back by Merrill’s farm. His voice was gentle as he woke them up, bar when he gave Dustin a shove, the boy snoring obnoxiously loud as he spread out across the backseat, the last to be dropped home.

Once the boy was safely inside his house, Steve sighed and pulled away, ready to make his way to your house. He could've easily dropped you home first and left Max to last, but the both of you remained quiet as he drove past the long, winding road that would've led to your street. His eyes were red-rimmed and heavy, and he cursed each time his hand subconsciously rubbed at them after he'd pulled over outside of your home.

You hesitated for a moment — your hand ready to open the door — unsure of what to say. So instead, you let out a long sigh and turned in the boy’s direction, “Get home safe, okay?”

Steve nodded, “Want me to walk you to the door? You really shouldn’t be putting weight on that-”

“-After everything that’s happened tonight, if I get murdered between this car, and my front door, then so be it,” you joked, a small smile on your face as Steve tiredly returned it.

Steve’s mouth opened, ready to retort, but instead remained hanging wide as you shuffled across the seat, pulling him into an awkward but quick one-armed hug, “Thanks again, Steve. And I’m sorry for, you know… dragging you along to the tunnels.”

Clearing his throat, Steve sent you a firm nod, “No, it’s… I get it, you know? I mean, either way, we kept the kids safe, right?”

“Right…”

“We make a pretty good team,” a puff of laughter fell from Steve’s lips. The irony wasn’t lost on the boy. 12 months ago, Steve wouldn’t have given you the time of day. You both knew that. Hell, you were certain he wouldn’t be able to pick you out from a lineup full of new students that he’d never met, despite the fact Hawkins only had one high school.

“Yeah, I guess we do. Goodnight, Steve.”

You shuffled out of the car ungracefully, and Steve watched with a wince, forcing himself to remain seated as you hobbled your way up the creaky, decayed porch steps and eventually into your home.

Only once you were tucked away safely in your house, bedroom light flicking on a moment later, did Steve finally drive away.

[autisticrosewilson]

You have any Wilson family headcanons to spare? Especially on Rose & Grant?

DO I EVER!!! Gosh where do I even start

I mentioned to a friend of mine the other day that I think Slade was a leash kid, and I stand by that whole heartedly. He wanted to raise Grant as a leash kid too, simply because he thought you were supposed to, but Adeline threatened his life so it never happened. This was the first of many times he was confronted with the concept that maybe his home life wasn't great.

He would not even begin reflecting on this until almost a decade later. He still doesn't really consider himself a victim and honestly most of his shitty parenting comes from him just having no clue what he's doing. He's aware that he's bad at it, but instead of trying to improve he just tries to avoid his kids in hopes that they'll be better off without him.

Also he grew up in 1950's-60's Appalachia, I think he's more superstitious than he lets on. I imagine he grew up hearing about family curses and old wives tales, and while on some level he recognizes that Fran likely just used those stories to cope with the situation there's also a part of him that believes it for the same reasons she did. He's not a victim, he can't be, so it must not have been abuse. Which eventually turned into him just kind of accepting that he was always going to be a bad father, that there was never a chance for him to have a family and any attempt he makes will just end up worse than the last.

It makes it easier to maintain his self imposed isolation that way.

Adeline is a lot more interesting than people give her credit for. I like to think she was born and raised in a big city like New York or maybe Gotham if I wanted to be funny. She was definitely a wild child, and that was something that didn't change during her first marriage.

I truly do believe that Count whats-his-face (I don't care enough to look him up) tried exactly once to hit her and he ended up with three bullet wounds that all knicked arteries. It was his only warning and he was smart enough to know that.

Addie is loyal to the end, she's the kind of person that steadfastly refuses to let go of people she cares about. In basically ever version of her story she tries, she tries so hard to make things work. I once compared her to the Greek myth of Medea and I think about the comparison often.

I also think that Adeline was always her father's daughter, whether she liked it or not. I don't remember if it was canon that she was raised primarily by her dad but I only remember her dad being mentioned so I think she grew up in a single parent household and was mostly left to her own devices as a kid. She probably grew up really close with her cousin, most people probably thought they were sisters.

Mayflower fucking HATES Slade, she was advocating for the divorce before they were even married. I know in my heart she was Slade's biggest hater. Her and Slade talked mad shit about each other but they were also gossip buddies for the longest and it was the only thing that stopped her from beating his ass all the time.

SladeAddie is so toxic Bi4Bi coded. Really funny to me that Addie was probably older than Slade, do you know the kind of rizz you have to possess to bag a milf that could kill you in 20 different ways before you could blink? One who's already been divorced? What charm was this freshly 18 year old drop out exuding to be pulling like this?

When do you think he told her that he lied to the recruiter about his age and he wasn't actually 23 or whatever? Did he ever tell her? Did she figure it out herself? It was literally never addressed but I think about it all the time.

Slade is definitely still mildly in love with her and falls a little all over again every time she deals him grievous bodily harm. I don't know his thing for people who hate him is probably a self conscious way to punish himself for sucking all the time.

Billy and Alfred being friends is a headcanon that I literally never stop thinking about. Why wouldn't they be old friends or whatever? They have tea the 4th Tuesday of every other month. They complain about their respective morons and brag about the kids they have to take care of because their morons won't.

Billy is definitely a British rock fan and he fucking HATES country music. Slade starts playing it in the car and Billy threatens to crash the whole car just to make a point.

He's like maybe 5 years older than Slade if I'm being generous about it, he just looks older next to Slade because he's not hopped up on super serum.

He's the one Rose gives her father's day gifts to <3

SladeBilly is canon to me, no way Slade is capable of spending that much time with someone without sleeping with them at least once. It might be the healthiest relationship he's ever had with anyone and Billy barely tolerates him.

Lilian Worth my beloved,,,,,,they gave her such a white ass name. I choose to believe that she changed it later on for anonymity. Chea Nath is a name she hasn't used in a while, but it's still one she holds dear.

She seems like someone who was really into ballet, and probably someone who was really good at it too.

She's one of those characters that we don't really have any information on, which leaves a lot of wiggle room backstory wise. I probably write too much about characters with poor backgrounds (surprise your bitch grew up impoverished) so I guess I'll let Lili have this one.

Diplomats daughter, her and her mom were really close growing up, and she seems like she grew up with sisters. She's got that middle sister energy to her, growing up everyday was a fight and let's just say she didn't lose often.

If Adeline is Medea, Lili is definitely Circe. Versatile, powerful, a man hater, and she'll do anything to protect her girls.

Honors student, her grades never dropped below an A- and she has degrees in everything from fine art to communications. Rose went to college purely because her mom made it clear that not going was not an option.

Grant is one of my favorite characters. Ever. He's definitely an old school country enjoyer, much to Billy's chagrin and Slades secret delight.

He was the boy who climbed up the tallest trees to prove he could and then came home with a thousand little scrapes on him.

He has a bee allergy.

He's the least enhanced of his siblings but he still has a meta gene, I think the reason the H.I.V.E. serum didn't activate it like it should have is because his power was the mental kind and not the physical kind so his body couldn't hold up against it even while his psychic powers were getting stronger.

Painted his nails one(1) time, it was a dried up iridescent blue that Addie dug up and was going to throw away but Grant wanted to try it. He didn't know what nail polish remover was though so he scraped his teeth on his nails to get it all off but he couldn't get all of it and he almost cried so hard he threw up at dinner that night because he was scared of Slade noticing (Slade didn't notice and wouldn't have cared if he did).

Thought he was SO stealthy when he snuck out but literally everyone knew because he always came home smelling like weed, hungover, and he went to school in the same clothes he wore to go out. Most of the time Addie didn't care (See above: "former wild child") but Slade "Biggest loser in his hometown" Wilson always had an issue with it.

Officially his tomb is located in the Kane family plot but he's actually buried in Slades hometown next to his grandmother. (Adeline is not aware of this)

Joey was actually the one who pulled most of the pranks when they were kids, but Grant always took the fall. Mostly because literally no one would believe it even if Joey said he did it. Which he tried to do, many times.

Grant taught Joey to make flower crowns but he never admitted it because he thought it made him look weak. He still keeps the few that Joey made for him though, they're basically turning to dust in the drawer he hid them in to this day. They're one of the few things that weren't torn down and shoved in the attic after his death.

Joey still celebrates Grant's birthday every year, him and mom play The Last Man by Clint Mansell on the piano because it was his favorite piece to play before he stopped because it wasn't "cool".

Grant tried to get Joey to come with him when he ran away but Joey didn't want to leave Addie. Joey ended up moving into Grant's old apartment, he often thinks of what life would be like if he'd taken up the offer.

Grant is THE ass hole big brother from the late 90's/early 2000's. Down to the mullet and the shirt with the sleeves cut off. He used to steal Addie's eyeliner and she would get so mad because that stuff is EXPENSIVE and he's just smearing however. She teaches him how to do it properly but he says it makes him look "too girly".

Grant's picture is the only one in Slades wallet because he doesn't have to worry about putting him in danger anymore.

DON'T let Joey's "natural" pretty boy look fool you he has a 20 step skin routine and a 15 step hair routine and he wakes up at the ass crack of dawn to start on his makeup.

He used to get the worst acne as a pre-teen and he has physically burned all the evidence except for one picture of him and Slade on a fishing trip when he was like thirteen, he doesn't know it exists and it's the only picture Slade consistently travels with.

He doesn't want to be the favorite but he would get mad if someone else was the favorite because what work were YOU even putting in for it.

He has 12 year old boy humor I fear. Giggles at dick jokes and has used his name to make "Joe Mama" jokes on various occasions.

Number one Mama's boy of all time, there's not a single time they've gone out in public together where they haven't had coordinated outfits. Him and Addie call biweekly to shit talk people and exchange recipes and the like.

Joey is THE biggest gossiper. He'll talk shit about people right in front of them if he's sure they don't know ASL and whoever is around just has to try not to laugh while they "translate" him.

He's so good at convincing people to do things for him just by looking at them with his big ol' eyes. And he's a theater kid so his expressions are really exaggerated.

Rose, my muse. I know canonically she's a smoker but I'm changing that to her being a vaper. I don't know she just looks like she'd beat the shit out of you for a cherry lemon cancer stick.

Energy drinks don't work on her in normal amounts so to rectify that she constantly walks around with horrific concoctions in a water bottle the size of her head.

She street races as R4V4G3R and she's pretty good at it. She learned a lot about cars doing it which is how Slade justified being an anonymous benefactor for her.

The few weeks Slade had her she ran that shit like the navy. Up at 6 AM on the dot, tight ass ponytail swaying as she got ready for school. She was out that door by 7:25 everyday and she would MAKE Slade violate traffic laws to get to school by 7:35.

Has bitten people before and will do it again.

Had the BIGGEST crush on Donna Troy when she was on the Teen Titans. She didn't know it then but she did. Her taste in women really hasn't changed at all.

Only has her grunge thing going on when she's planning on meeting people, average day outfit is all pastels and florals that her mom used to pick out for her.

Got pretty much all of Lili's stuff, her main apartment is always Immaculately decorated. She also lives in L.A. because literally fuck New York. She's trying to get her engineering degree in PEACE.

She looks up to Grant a lot, she really only has Joey's account of things and he only tells her the good stuff. How he was brave, and strong, and funny. When she was younger she really wanted to be like him, but that was the last thing Slade wanted. So obviously she named herself Ravager out of spite.

Rose is the shortest one in the family but she's buff as hell, my girl is built like a fridge and she knows it. Joey tried to rest his arm on her head one and she stabbed him. It didn't go through his armor obviously but it did leave a mildly annoying bruise that he pouted about for a week.

She low-key really likes Addie but she tends to stay away because of the whole "child of infidelity" thing. She HAS threatened to call Addie on Slade multiple times.

Grew up with a bunch of other kids so she never really wanted siblings, but she would kill for Joey. She'd like a sister though. Really misses her cousins and aunts from the brothel but doesn't want to put them in danger by talking to them.

She's fond of kids but wouldn't want her own because she doesn't want to bring a kid into the kinda life she has, or their family in general.

Routinely takes jobs from Slade because she knows full well he won't do shit. And she's right every time he makes it into a team up that usually ends with them fighting but sometimes, every once in a while, they do something nice together and it makes her remember why she wanted to find him so bad when she was 13.

I don't like her carving her eye out for Slade I thought the whole concept of her idolizing Slade was fucking stupid. She tolerates him at best. So I like to attribute it to her visions, I think the blind prophet symbolism is really fun. Especially because then we can have a Prometheus type situation where her eye patch keeps switching sides/sometimes she's not blind because she keeps carving them out in fits of Seer Madness™️ but they keep regenerating.

SHE HAS BROWN EYES HER EYES ARE BROWN I KNOW HER PERSONALLY PLEASE LET HER KEEP EVEN ONE OF HER ETHNIC FEATURES I BEG!!!

[avelera]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤

Ooh, thank you for this! As for tagging onward, I'm terrible at picking people and I hate to impose, so if you see this and want to fill it out just say I sent you ^^;;;

Giving Sanctuary: The Sandman, Dream/Hob, Canon Divergence AU. Basically, "What if Dream and Hob got together in 1689 when Hob was at his lowest and they bonded over the fact both of them have lost their sons?" Probably one of my most emotionally mature works, I poured a lot of my own meditations on life and grief into it, and it has some of the best dialogue I think I've written to date. I'm also quite proud that it's complete, lol, a running theme in this list.

The Only Way Out is Down: Pacific Rim, Newt/Hermann, post-Uprising but in an attempt to make sense of Uprising and add some depth and poetry to the years Newt and Hermann spent apart. Newt is trapped in a coma after the Precursors are destroyed and Hermann Drifts with him to try to wake him up. In the meantime, they pass through a mindscape inspired by Dante's Inferno, in which each of the 9 years they spent apart take on an aspect inspired by the Circles of Hell that they have to disrupt in order to move on to the next one. Basically a Newt Recovery fic that flips the script and explores how gut-wrenching and traumatizing those years would have been for both of them, but with a lot of humor and healing, this is not meant to be an angsty slog and some of my best comedy is in it too I think. Quite proud of how I interwove Dante's "Inferno" into the structure of the story, quite proud of the fact it's finished and novel-length, and I think I grew at writing character voices and sustaining them throughout a massively long fic with this one. I still jump to read any comments I get for this one because I'm so proud of it, you would not believe how much work went into it.

Prayers to Broken Stone: The Hobbit, Thorin/Bilbo, BotFA fixit in a way but we take the long way 'round. Dragon Sickness literally turns Thorin into a dragon and he and Bilbo need to survive being locked up alone inside Erebor long enough to find a cure for him, or else. The story is much more psychological than it may sound, it's much more about exploring Thorin's trauma through the lens of him turning into the creature he fears and loathes most in the world. Very proud of this fic since it's the first long fic I ever finished, it's the one that made me actually attend some highly competitive writing workshops since I finally felt like I had become a competent enough writer to be able to actually complete a novel. Also quite proud of the characterization, voices, and mythology created for this one.

Shanghaied: Pacific Rim, Newt/Hermann, post-Uprising again. Post-recovery fic, Newt returns to Shanghai where he was held captive by the Precursors for ten years and slowly spirals mentally when forced to confront the physical location of his torment once more, all while trying to put on a brave face for Hermann that only grows more manic as the night goes on. Still perhaps one of my most emotionally... sincere? works? It's the most based on personal experience during a bad time in my life but translated into a flavor of angst I don't see as much of in fic, it's probably one of my more literary pieces in that respect? Anyway, I'm very proud of the maturity of emotion in this one so I always race to see any comments that get left on it.

5. Come live with me and be my love: The Sandman, Dream/Hob, alternate 1789 hookup. Dream loses a bet to Desire and must live for one year as a normal human, in this specific case, one year as the husband or wife of a human of his choosing, without almost any of his powers, in order to better understand how humans live. Dream chooses Hob as his spouse, naturally, since Hob is the least unbearable of humans and not mortal and therefore not in danger from him. Hob is only too glad to oblige but unfortunately, this means Dream has to pretend to be a woman in order for them to blend in, so shenanigans ensue. While this is still a WIP I do intend to return to it and I am massively proud of it. I think it's one of the works I've done the most worldbuilding for from scratch, in the sense that I had to quickly familiarize myself to a reasonable degree with early 1800s England, a period I'm not actually all that fond of in history (I'm not really an Austen or Bridgerton fan, to say the least). I think it has some of my most ambitious writing in terms of scope and scale and some of the more clever writing in terms of building tension and crafting original characters who lend realism to the setting without overwhelming the central, more important characters of Dream/Hob and their story.

[deathlonging]

the issue is of course when you play dh1 you root for corvo. unscrupulously. it doesn't matter if the goal is to instate a child empress on the throne and have her heretic father control the empire because by story rules the goal is getting closure and closing the revenge loop. and you can say this is what the devs intended bc they did confirm low chaos is the path corvo canonically ends up taking. so to have emily be spoiled, selfish, a little complacent due to this mythical golden age--that tracks. it's angela carter's snow child it's srb's gretel it operates by and relies on the conventions of the gothic and fairytale genres

but dh2 violently breaks you out of the magical realism imposed on genre convention in the name of being more politically aware and ironically hence fails at any effective commentary abt the dhworld. the attempt at being didactic is useless bc the very premise of the gameplay rests on dramatized versions of familiar fairytale archetypes which you cannot reconcile w the realism of a self-conscious ruler without making your main character the villain (which emily already is; only, unacknowledged by the narrative) and the ending of your story falls flat, neither achieving tragedy's catharsis nor victory's comfort due to its cognitive dissonance. there are plenty of stories about evil ppl that approaches them on their playing field the dlcs themselves are one. and yet by 1. making emily the mc and meagan merely her captain 2. trying to be more didactic 3. changing the story from a fairytale tragedy to a fantasy dh2 fails to understand what made the simple story of s1 so arresting (lol) and loses all claims to subversion