#rather than dying at an older age and being remembered as having done nothing of worth in his lifetime.

[forchuuya]

GONE WITH THE WINDS

— soukoku fanfiction, NOT CROSS POSTED ON ANY OTHER SITE

— WARNINGS: mature themes, drug use, grief, mentions of dying, eating disorders and mental illnesses

⋆｡° 1.1k words

[CHAPTER 2]

Cold November night. No one to be seen on the streets of Yokohama. Chuuya walked into his apartment around 2AM. He can't remember what he did just a couple of hours ago. His head is dizzy with his last drink. Hirotsu sent him home.

The apartment was spacious, although only he lived there. Oftentimes, he felt like it was a ghost town. He unbuttoned the vest that hugged around his waist all day long and put it off to his couch. One benefit of living alone is that no one can complain about the messes you make.

He stunk of alcohol. Most nights, he wasn't like this. Everybody knows that. But tonight, he felt bad. He doesn't pity himself, but sometimes he wishes he had done things differently. Would things end up differently if he did? Would they be better now or worse?

Whatever.

Broken wine glasses on his porcelain kitchen tiles could speak volumes on his mental state. November night. Warmer than the one 3 years ago. He tries not to think about it. The apartment is dead silent. He hates it. It makes him anxious in a way that nobody can understand. The loneliness he feels can't be described in a few sentences. Rather, novels could be written about it. The feeling makes him sick, his stomach turning whenever he's forced to remember this cruel fact. This feeling of never being full had caused him to binge more nights than he could recount. It's not that he is hungry. It's the pit in his stomach that he hopes is hunger. He eats and eats until he throws up, but the pit is never filled. By eating, he can hope to avoid what is really causing the pain. Yet he never succeeds. It always comes back. A brief moment of bliss is worth nothing next to the crushing sensation he's trying so hard to get rid of. His life stops for a minute, the world carries on. The birds still sing every morning. All 1094 days, they have sung their song. He's almost mad at them for not acknowledging what he's going thru. They're mocking him. That must be it.

Gin grew quite a lot in those 1094 days. Hirotsu grew older. He finally came to peace with ageing and just dyed his hair grey to cover the few strands of differently coloured hair. Tachihara went thru 1094 bandaids and learned how to sew from Gin. But Chuuya feels stuck. He's in the water, he forgot how to swim, they're all looking down on him and yet no one is helping him. No one even tries. On better days, he's above the water level. He can still breathe. On worse days, he's desperately trying to latch onto the edge to lift himself above the water and breathe in for one last time. Today, however, he's dead. Long gone, together with the fallen leaves.

He'd love to say he doesn't care and just move on with his life. Sometimes, he tries to pretend it's that way. The first few months, he was really good at this too, but his mask fell off and broke apart a while ago. Chuuya was never the type to wallow in his sadness. Life has thrown enough of it his way. He knows how to handle it... or at least he knew how to deal with sadness. On sleepless nights, he wonders if it's even sadness he's feeling. Thoughts he can't shake off, feelings he can't get rid of.

The emptied wine bottle in his sight is getting blurry. The clock strikes 3AM. He knows he can't continue going on. Hirotsu will tell Mori what happened. He always does when this happens, and Mori has always been understanding. Mori certainly does not have a soft spot for Chuuya, but he can understand what's going on. It's one of the rare times Mori seems like a good and selfless person.

The world goes on, but Chuuya is stuck like a deer caught in the headlights. He's never been the type to rely on people. That's just something you learn after some time of living on the streets. Even before he joined the mafia, he'd been self-reliant. Sometimes, just sometimes, he wishes there was somebody to pick him up or tell him they'll wait for him to come back to life. Now, more than ever, he craves security in the arms of another person. But no one's coming. No one has ever been coming to his rescue.

Sitting on the cold tiles next to his fridge, he can only try and look away from the mess he's made. Broken wine glasses on the floor, his clothes scattered all around his apartment. He can tell himself and say he'll clean it all up in the morning, but he knows that's a lie. Last weeks dishes still wait for him to rinse them and put them into a dishwasher. Trash from gods knows how long ago begs to be taken out. He'll do it tomorrow. He says that often, but tomorrow never really comes.

1094 days, 1095 nights. Thoughts about how long it has been begin to swirl his head again. His eyelids are beginning to get heavy, but he does not want to go to sleep. 1095 nights, most of which he spent awake. Those he didn't were plagued with endless nightmares. Sometimes, the nightmares were about his parents he had long forgotten. Sometimes, they were about his first few months in the Port Mafia. Other nights, he has nightmares about corruption, and the pressure in his head wakes him up in cold sweat. Most often, he has nightmares about him. Him who he swore up and down he hated. His conciseness eats away at him. Occasionally, he'll wake up from one of those nightmares from hearing someone scream only to realise it was him screaming all along.

He hates himself for that, and he hates the way those nightmares make him feel. When those nightmares plague his nights, he wakes up with knots in his stomach, sometimes shaking uncontrollably, and sometimes he's bathing in a pool of his own sweat.

He tries not to think about the younger male too often. It distracts him when he does. It occupies his thoughts for days to come, and he hates the anxiety and the overwhelming sadness that comes hand in hand with those thoughts. Chuuyas apartment is still filled with the things the other one used in day to day life. The main bathroom still holds a fresh change of bandages Chuuya had bought for him 1095 days ago.

Breaking thru his hated thoughts, he hears a ringing of his doorbell. "At this time?" he thinks to himself. It's almost 4AM at this point. Who would even think of bothering another human at this time of the night. He stumbles up and across his kitchen, into his living room, and to his entrance doors to check the camera outside. His breath hitched, he's left speechless. No. There's no way this is real. Outside of his door, waving to the camera, it's him. Without a word, Chuuya let's him inside.

"You must be freezing" he's trying to sound like he's not freaking out.

"Hirotsu said you were searching for me that day" the younger male spoke. Entering the apartment he's basically lived in for years once again and sitting on the sofa in the living room. Completely disregarding Chuuyas worries, he lights a cigarette.

© ᴄʜᴜᴜʏᴀʀʀᴀ 2023. ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ᴇᴅɪᴛ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴀʀᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

#soukoku #bsd chuuya #bsd skk #bsd #bsd dazai #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #bungou stray dogs #bsd fanfic #dazai x chuuya #chuuya x dazai

[juniorgman187]

Be Forever Young (Reid Fluff Fic)

Summary: After Penelope’s resignation from the BAU, she attempts to set up her tech protégé, Reader, with Reader’s intellectual match yet much older counterpart - Dr. Spencer Reid. 

A/N: The POV switches between Reader and Spencer, just use context clues to detect who the narrator is.  Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: 21 year age gap, headcannon proposal Playlist: Cloud 9 by Beach Bunny Word Count: 6.1k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Prologue

Events like these weren’t exceedingly rare. They weren’t anything like Halley’s Comet, by any means, where it only happens once in your lifetime - if you’re lucky. But they weren’t exactly sunrises - something that you can count on occurring every day without fail. 

The best celestial phenomenon I could compare it to are blue moons. Rare enough to still have an element of surprise when they came, but not so rare that I should never expect them. 

These ‘blue moons’ are actually the events in which I meet an intellectual match. 

It’s not too often that I find a mind quite like mine, so you’ll forgive me for the reaction it elicits to watch them transcend the physical level and connect with me on the psychological one. There’s only been a handful of people who’ve ever had the exact standard of aptitude to be permissible into this metaphysical world with me, but now - there’s a handful and one. 

The newest addition to the list is her. 

_ _ _

Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia is nearly impossible. Getting a word in edgewise when it comes to a conversation with Penelope Garcia about Dr. Spencer Reid is impossible. 

I couldn’t tell you when the first time she brought him up was, but I could probably tell you just how many times since then she’s mentioned him. 

A trillion. At least. 

For months on end, he was the only thing she would talk to me about. Morning, noon, and night. Every single day she’d gush about him with the same unrelenting zeal as she had the day before and the day before that. It was both scary and impressive how she never seemed to run out of good things to say about him. 

“You would just die for his apartment. It’s got this super chic dark academia thingy going on. You’d be really into that,” she would say. Or something to that effect. I was never really listening. 

Not that I wasn’t interested in learning about Dr. Reid - I was very interested in him.

As a superior. 

I first learned of him when he taught my Psych 101 class. Freshman year me was simply enthralled with him as a speaker, probably due to the charm of his awkward humor. I found it eerily relatable and touching, in a way. That was probably my favorite class, minus the assholes who made it less than enjoyable at times. (That’s a story for later).

The next interaction I had with him happened not even a year later when he came back after temporarily teaching to sit in on a philosophy class. Even though he was only auditing the lecture, whereas I was enrolled in the course, he ended up sitting in the seat right beside me. Had he not been gifted with an eidetic memory - a fact I found out during one of my obsessive research sessions - I doubt he would’ve even remembered sitting next to me.

Our shared field of work helped to bring us back together repeatedly throughout college. I would run into him at seminars, workshops, once even at a library where we were both looking for the same book. 

But for the most part, our relationship was parasocial. It largely consisted of me learning from him at a distance. I would use his brilliant research to support my own assignments, read the books he recommended, audit the classes he would teach. 

Rather than accurately interpreting my very limited, very professional connection to Dr. Reid, Penelope was deliberately using it as ammunition for her arsenal of reasons why I should consider dating him. 

“You guys are basically already friends, and nothing is cuter than the friends-to-lovers trope!” Now that she actually did say, and the only reason I remember it verbatim was it was so outrageous I couldn’t not remember it. 

And probably because she just said it to me right now. 

“We’re not friends! We’re ... acquaintances. Colleagues, if you will.” My attempts to gain distance from Penelope and this topic of conversation were crashing and burning. The more I tried to walk away from her, the faster she would chase me. It was inconceivable how she managed to do that and continue to pelt me with her perky persistence. 

“Even better! You know I’m no stranger to workplace romances.”

That I did. One Derek Morgan or one Luke Alvez ring a bell?

“Dr. Reid and I don’t work together,” I reminded her, if only to burst her bubble of insanity. 

“Exactly my point! If you two don’t work together, then there’s nothing keeping you apart.” 

I was stopped dead in my tracks, almost causing Penelope to trip since she was right on my heels. 

“Nothing? Really? Try 21 years.” 

That surely kept us apart. 

Our age gap was one of those glaring disparities Penelope couldn’t wave away with her magic wand. Frankly, it wasn’t an age gap so much as it was an age Grand Canyon. He was a whole person of legal drinking age older than me!

Hell - our age gap itself was older than me!

Maybe there weren’t any contracts or agreements or supervisors to keep us apart, but there was still one significant thing doing that. 

Time. Arguably the most important thing you needed to get right for a relationship to work. 

If there were any chance that he and I were good together, that was squandered by our divergence in age. 

Right person, wrong time ... but wrong time by more than two decades.

I could see the smallest fragment of hope wither away in Garcia’s eyes, and it actually hurt to have known that I caused that. Her voice was more solemn when she said, “You don’t have to date him, I just want you to go on a date. Get to know each other better. Who knows? You might finally graduate from colleagues to BFF’s.” 

Not that I was seriously considering the possibility of growing closer to Dr. Reid, but there was one question lingering in my mind.

“Does he even want to go on this date? Have you asked him how he feels about it?” 

Part of why I was wondering was on the off chance that she’d tell me he had the same objections towards this that I did, which would be good news for me since it would mark my reluctance as a sound judgment. If there was anyone whose opinion was worth something, it was his, right? After all, he was the provable genius in the same compromising position as me. 

“Trust me, he’s been dying to do this.” In spite of her preface to trust her, I didn’t. I couldn’t be sure if she was suggesting that he’d been dying to go on a date with me or if he’d been dying to go on a date in general.

No offense to him, but I guessed it was the latter, and if that was the case, he was only being a team player because she hadn’t told him it was me she was setting him up with. Already suspecting that I’d probe further to navigate through her vagueness, she cut in with one last Hail Mary. “One date! That’s all!”

Whether you believe me or not, 100% the only reason why I said what I said next was to put an end to this madness. “Fine. I’ll go.”

Maybe 99.99%.

_ _ _

I never knew how I could lose so much time. Sure, if anyone asked, I could probably account for everything I’d done in my day, second by second. But still, there was this cloudiness, a fog, inhabiting my brain, casting this haze on whatever else dwelled in my mind, too. 

I couldn’t focus on anything for more than 4 seconds at a time, and while that wasn’t incredibly concerning for the average human, it was disconcerting for me. 

What was going on? 

What is going on?

“What’s going on?” 

Suddenly, a hand began to wave in front of my face. “Yoo-hoo? Anybody in there?” JJ wondered aloud, causing me to realize it was her voice that asked the question from before. 

“Yeah, sorry,” I shook my head to regain some clarity, but that did me no good. My foggy brain still remained. It goes without saying my words were worth nothing as well. JJ saw right through me in a way that never failed to scare me shitless. I could never conjure up a lie good enough to follow that look she’d give me. So I settled for the truth. The question that cast the haziness in my brain to begin with. 

“What do you think about me dating again?” 

If I thought that first look was bad, then the one she was giving me now was something of a nightmare. At least with the first, I knew what she was thinking. With this one, I hadn’t a clue. 

To relieve us from some of the insufferable silence, I found myself speaking again in my defense. “Garcia mentioned something earlier about setting me up with someone and it got me thinking.”

Thinking about Max that is. 

Being my most recent girlfriend, it made sense why she was freshest in my mind. That being said, we’ve been broken up for 14 months, which in any other context would seem like more than enough time to start dating again, but therein lies the catch. 

We didn’t just break up. She said “no” when I asked her to marry me, which, if you ask me, is one hell of a way to break up.

So from that perspective, it obviously begs the question: is 14 months too fast to move on from something like that? 

JJ sharply inhaled. “Well, are you ready to start dating again?”

I still didn’t have an answer for that myself. “I don’t know. There isn’t exactly a rulebook on how long you have to wait until it’s socially acceptable-”

“Lemme stop you right there, Spence,” She placed her hand on top of mine. “You can’t just do whatever statistics or studies or science say is right all the time. You not only need to be more in tune with your own needs but accepting of them, too. Screw what anyone else has to say about you dating again - including Socrates, including Einstein, including Aristotle ... including me. Do whatever you think is acceptable by your standards - not society’s. Do what you wanna do and I’ll support that.”

There was something special about having JJ’s approval. It was like getting permission to be excited, something I didn’t know I needed or wanted. 

“I’m ready.”

Born ready, as Penelope herself would say.

_ _ _

I was starting to get suspicious that maybe I had an invisible string attached to me and on the other end of that string was Penelope. It was the only explanation as to how she managed to trail behind me at an isochronal pace. Perfectly equidistant, perfectly equal intervals of time. Must’ve been some form of magic that she was able to synchronize that connection for as long as she did as we pranced around the office, basically chasing me.

“Okay, I know the date isn’t until Saturday, but I really think we need to amp up your wardrobe choices ... like stat.”

Hearing that I was seeing my superior still didn’t settle well with me. I don’t think I could ever get used to the thought. 

I should’ve been offended at her suggestion to change my clothing taste as it implied my stylistic choices weren’t up to par, but a part of me, a very small part of me, knew she was right. And just because I wasn’t keen on the idea of going on a date with Spencer didn’t mean I didn’t want to look nice for him for it.

“I’m assuming you’ve got some ideas in mind,” I said in a teasing voice, knowing that’s precisely why she brought it up.

“See! You are a genius! Exactly why you and Spencer are meant to be together!” Her exclamation was just as loud as it was outlandish. 

“Alright, calm down sparky,” I shot a warning look. “It’s just one date - we’re not soulmates.” 

Then, talking in the quietest voice I didn’t think Penelope was capable of speaking with, she said, “Not yet.” 

I knew the minute I showed even the littlest bit of interest in Penelope’s fashion guidance, I’d end up draped in ruffles, sequins, glitter, tulle, rhinestones, or all of the above. Nothing again Penelope’s personal style - it’s just not mine. 

I was scared to ask, but I had to know. “So what were you thinking?” 

Before my very eyes, Penelope’s constantly-there smile transformed, something akin to the mischievous grin of the Cheshire Cat. “I was thinking …” 

In a Mary Poppins-esque fashion, Penelope produced a dress that in no feasible reality should have been able to fit within that little Hello Kitty side bag. 

I suppose it must’ve been absolutely backbreaking for Penelope to refrain from choosing a multicolor or at least pattern-riddled dress, so as compensation for the fact that it was only one singular color throughout, it had to be a bold one. 

Red. 

“Not too shabby, right?” Her eyebrows jumped on her forehead, knowing she’d made a good choice. 

And a part of me actually died saying this, but it was pretty perfect. 

_ _ _ 

My life didn’t flash before my eyes, per se, the moment I finally arrived at the delicatessen. It was more like a very specific, singular memory had flashed before my eyes. 

That story for later? This is the one. 

Psych 101 was my best class in Freshman year ... by a long shot. Come rain, wind, or snow, I was always excited to go. It was a standout course on its own, but not because it was terribly spectacular or the most fascinating subject in the world, but more so because of how it changed my own person. It challenged me, like all worthwhile things do. 

There were more judgmental meatheads - boys, if you will - than not, who would jump down my throat for being a smart ass or a teacher’s pet if I so much as answered one of Dr. Reid’s questions. Par for the course, really. 

As a result, I had a proclivity to avoid raising my hand. It wasn’t that I was hyper-fixated on managing my reputation, just that participating wasn’t worth the eventual harassment from my dimwitted classmates. 

Nonetheless, one day, I felt compelled to answer Dr. Reid when he asked what our thoughts were about the sampled, pretense manifesto.

No one else was jumping at the chance to speak, perhaps they were just as cowardly as I was, and it was clear that he was going to stand there waiting until someone finally would. The silence was painfully awkward for everyone and so I felt obligated, as a student who was actually enrolled in the class for credit and not just to audit like 90% of the other girls here, to break it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, my hand hesitantly inched up into the air until it floated just high enough above the student in front of me’s head. As soon as I knew he saw it, I let it plunge straight back down. 

“Yes, Ms. (y/l/n)?”

I could already feel the dirty looks and snide comments coming before I even said a word. 

“I know we’re all collectively referring to this unsub as a man, and while that might just be a general assumption or Freudian slip perhaps ... I think the language is steeped in betrayal and contempt. And it would be ignorant not to notice how it reads more like the wrath of a woman scorned than your typical jilted male lover.” 

“Lover?” Someone two rows back snickered quietly, clearly to mock my choice of words. I didn’t even have to look to know it was Brad who had said that. Nevertheless, Dr. Reid was impressed with my answer. His lips curved into the faintest smile as he nodded his head. If he had heard the commentary of one Brad Sterling, he made no visceral reaction to it.

With an extended hand, palm facing up, he gestured for me to, “Please. Stand up.”

I fumbled my way up and out of my seat to possibly delay the shit I’d get for this mere action.

“That, ladies and gentleman, is what it looks like to have courage,” He underlined his words with a grand flourish of his hand in my direction. “Putting yourself on the line even in the event you’ll be mocked and ridiculed or deemed wrong. That’s something you’ll need if you are seriously considering being part of the BAU, or the FBI at any capacity.”

My face was flushed from the acclaim he was showering me with. Suddenly, I was glad I volunteered. 

Taking me completely by surprise, Dr. Reid wasn’t done yet.

“So, Mr. Sterling,” He began, directly calling out the boy in the back who without a doubt made the remark. I wouldn’t have had any reason to believe he heard it since his attention never diverted away from me long enough to catch the comment, much less the culprit. I wonder if he’d heard all the times Brad made jokes at my expense. Was he finally at his wits end with the sarcasm? “Make fun all you want, but might I suggest that if you like a girl, you do the opposite of that.” 

His sickly sweet drawl was followed by a short wink at me as if to say ‘I have your back’, and I was lucky to have already been in the process of sitting back down because my knees would’ve given out underneath me from the sheer exhilaration of his praise. 

The thought never once crossed my mind that Brad was so fixated on me because he had a crush, but it all made sense once it did. And if I didn’t know any better, Dr. Reid only humiliated him and brought it up because the realization dawned on him, too.

Was it possible that Dr. Reid was ... jealous?

In the spirit of complete transparency, that suspicion may have lit the tiniest wildfire imaginable in my chest. A wildfire that, even now, has yet to extinguish. Perhaps that little flame is the 0.01% of the reason I said yes. I could only imagine what kind of omnipotence it would soon gain if this date went well. 

If he could light such an enduring kindle with simple praise, think about what would happen if he smiled at me. If he laughed at my jokes. If he held my hand. 

If he kissed me.  

Dr. Reid’s validation would be something I actively sought from all walks of life, I knew that much. What I didn’t know was how far that desire would take me.

I would have never guessed it would lead me here. 

Standing in front of a fancy restaurant in a pretty red dress with the tenuous hope that the professor inside might just like it so much that he’ll end up liking the girl wearing it, too.

_ _ _ 

No matter how many times I adjusted the bouquet of poppies, they sat perpetually crooked on the table. Much like the dark gray tie around my neck that tightened around my throat with every passing second. I had to keep messing with it to loosen the noose-like grip it had on me. Who knew if it actually was becoming more restricting or it was the flourishing bundle of nerves in my stomach that made it harder to breathe. 

I was never very good at lying in wait patiently. Especially if I was expecting something. Now that I was expecting someone? I could say with perfect clarity - I was not good at waiting. 

I don’t wanna seem the way I do 

Every time the door opened, my eyes flashed to it instantaneously. And every time it wasn’t her, a little part of me was disappointed. It was still too early to say for certain that she was standing me up, but my mind was doing what it did best. It wandered. There was nothing else to do after all. 

Except maybe adjust those blood orange poppies one more time.

I’d picked them out specifically because Penelope slipped in a not-so-subtle comment about her dress being “a perfect match to the color of papaverales” - her words exactly. I thought if she went through that much trouble to find a color coordinated plant and say the scientific name for me to decode, it was worth picking up a bouquet of them on the way. 

It was only the most ironic occurrence in the world that when I went to rearrange them one last time, I devoted my full attention to the action, missing the very moment I was on the lookout for the past hour and a half. 

I didn’t even see her until the red poppies camouflaged into the identically colored setting of her dress. 

Then there she was.

All the disappointment in the world was worth that first time I saw her with fresh eyes. 

I was dumbstruck for a moment, long enough that it warranted an apology for not standing up sooner. 

“(Y/n)! Hi!” I accidentally squealed. I couldn’t control myself, let alone control the pitch of my voice apparently. 

I could see, in her, youthful naivete where, in others, I saw their age. She paradoxically had not aged a minute, and yet a new womanhood was piercing through her ultimately adolescent appearance. 

“Hi, Dr. Reid,” She said through a laugh and a smile, shaking my hand politely and professionally. She was greeting me like I was still her professor and she’d just happen to run into me on an errand. Next, she’d be attempting small-talk for as long as it took for me to let her go. 

Unfortunately for her, I had no plans for that. 

But I’m confident when I’m with you 

“Please, it’s just Spencer,” I reminded her, hoping to break down that governing image of me she surely maintained. 

“Spencer,” She tried again; doing it more to be obedient to my instruction than to satisfy her own desire. It sounded so unnatural to her, just as it did to me. I found it adorable, actually. It seemed like she was breaking this unspoken, and very much illusionary rule to say my first name. “It’s nice to see you again,” She added after I pulled out her chair for her.

“Is it?” I asked when I rounded the table to get to my seat. “I get the feeling you’re a little disappointed.” The only reason I pointed it out was that it was true, not just that I’d observed the notion grow more poignant in her face for the past minute.

“Not at all,” She shook her head, which luckily for me, drew a line of congruence between her body language and verbal language. At least, she was being truthful. “It’s just that I’m sort of embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed?” I repeated in astonishment, unable to cultivate a list of reasons that would justify her feeling that way. I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done to provoke that emotion, and it nearly broke me to consider her internal being substantiating it. 

“Embarrassed isn’t the right word, but I can’t find a more accurate one for what I’m feeling,” She shied away from my eyes when she lowered her head as she spoke. 

“You could try to explain it to me?” I offered gently. It took an overwhelming amount of self-restraint to not offer my hand with it. It would’ve been so easy to slide my hand across the threshold to enter her territory of the table, but who knows if doing so would just make her that much more uncomfortable. 

“Well for one thing, I don't really go on dates,” From this alone, I could already relate to her enough to laugh at the fact. “Don’t laugh at me! You know how dangerous first dates can be,” She swatted her hand in my direction to chastise me. 

“I do! I do! I think it’s really good that you’re protecting yourself to the point of avoiding dates,” I was teasing the implication that she wasn’t asked to go on very many, which was thankfully delivered well enough to make her laugh again. 

“Hey! Many people have wanted to go on dates with me, thank you very much. You included.” 

“Me included.” I nodded in approval. We sat in a short period of silence while we exchanged one soulful glance, borne from the insinuation of what I just said. 

“And for another ... I respect you too much as a figure of authority to see you in that way.” 

_ _ _ 

“In what way?” 

Rather than tossing me a lifeline, he was feeding me to the sharks. Forcing me to dive into the deep end. He wanted to see me struggle to stay afloat in the sea of his sticky toffee eyes. He knew I'd get suspended in them when he gave me that look. How much I’d be willing to get lost in them just so I could wander in the depths of his honeyed orbs for a little bit longer. 

That look ...

“You don’t find it weird?” This was the most honesty I could’ve demonstrated. 

“Find what weird?” For someone with such a high IQ, you’d think he’d be quicker on his feet. 

“This! You - me. On a date!” I gestured to the space between us. “You’re ... well frankly, Spencer, you’re old enough to be my father.” 

“Does that make you uncomfortable?” He genuinely cared about the answer.

“Only in theory. Not in actual life,” was the most precise response I could give.

“So what is making you uncomfortable?” Again, I could tell my answer mattered to him. 

“You were my professor once, and now I’m just supposed to go on a date with you and see you as my equal when I’ve spent the entire time I’ve known you, putting you on a pedestal? Do you know how much pressure that puts on me? To be perfect?”

“Who says you have to be perfect? Who says you’re aren’t already?” 

That one caught me off guard. I had to gulp down the lump of shock. 

“You think I’m perfect?” 

“That, or you’re pretty close to it.” 

Lately all I feel is bad and bruised

I could’ve smiled, I could’ve thanked him, I could’ve fallen at his feet and thrown my dignity down there along with it, but I just laughed. I laughed. 

“That’s ridiculous! You barely know me.” 

“You’re wrong,” He simply replied with a firm shake of his head and a cavalier sip at his drink. It showed just how confident he was in his answer. How cocky he was. 

“How am I wrong?” 

He cleared his throat as though he were preparing to deliver the world’s greatest speech. Then, he leaned forward, motioning with his fingers for me to do the same. 

“If I’m remembering correctly, which you know I am, you were the student who had the gall to raise your hand and correct me on my gender identification of the unsub, right?” 

The second the sentimental thought, ‘aww he remembered’, came into my head, it was soon followed by, of course, he did, idiot. Eidetic memory, remember?

Tired of tripping on my shoes

“What does that have to do with me being perfect? Or so you claim?”

He was piercing deep into my eyes now, his gaze overwhelming my senses and sending shockwaves akin to the feeling of butterflies everywhere … and I mean everywhere.

“Bravery is the audacity to be unhindered by failures, and to walk with freedom, strength, and hope, in the face of things unknown.” 

I recognized the quote as one of Morgan Harper Nichols, but the words went right to my chest like they were his own. 

That damn wildfire just got a whole lot bigger. 

“I’ve always thought about how if I could be unfazed by failure or even just the prospect of it, if I could just be strong enough or have enough hope to face what I couldn’t predict, I’d be set. I’d be golden,” He paused. “I’d be perfect ... but you? You, little one, have already got that figured out. So whether that means you’re perfect on your own because of your bravery or you're a perfect match for someone fainthearted like me, is up for you to decide. Whichever interpretation of being perfect you choose would be correct, but you should know - I meant both either way.”

But when he loves me I feel like I’m floating

When he calls me pretty, I feel like somebody

Even when we fade eventually to nothing

You will always be my favorite form of loving

“Do you want to get out of here?” He asked when he finally refound his voice. 

“Since the minute I walked in.” I replied after refinding mine. 

_ _ _ 

“You always take girls to your apartment on the first date, Doctor?” Asking this in the name of taking a jab at him was the most clever way I could think to conceal my underlying motive of trying to gauge how giddy I could let myself feel about the fact that he’d taken me to his ‘super chic dark academia’ themed residence - Penelope’s words, remember?

“Well, in my abundant dating history,” He sarcastically began, “I can’t say I ever have, no. You’d be the first.”

That shot another quick bolt of lightning to the wildfire in my heart that I’m ashamed to admit made the heat reinvigorate. The flame must’ve been too much for my chest to contain so it had to relocate to my face, where my cheeks were left to burn under his gaze and thanks to his admission. 

I was the first. 

He must’ve seen the glint localizing on my countenance and decided to speak on it. “Why does that amuse you?”

“I don’t know,” I dumbly but truthfully replied. He didn’t need any more information to get his answer, though. Because even if I didn’t know what amused me about being his first, I never denied that it did, and that was more than enough confirmation for him. 

“You promise to be here when I come back?” He wagged a cautionary finger at me like it might persuade me to stay and hold me accountable if I didn’t. 

Spencer needed to go into his room to collect an item that ‘shall not be named’ but was apparently essential for our super secret plans tonight (secret to even me) and he was leaving me in the living room while he did so. I guess being the initial girl he took home on a first date was okay, but being the initial girl he took into his bedroom on a first date was crossing a line. 

That was alright with me, though. I was in this for the long haul.

“I promise I pose no flight risk, Your Honor,” I taunted with a coy tone. “But I can’t promise I won’t snoop around some.” Hey, at least I was telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. 

“Snoop around all you want,” He laughed ruefully, demonstrating an openness I quite envied and admired. “You’ll probably learn a lot about me that way. And you won’t even have to talk to me to do that!” I knew he was only saying that out of self-deprecating tendencies he harbored, but I couldn’t help feeling that a small part of him actually believed that I wasn’t interested in talking to him.

“Spencer, you know I do like talking to you right?” I caught him just before he ran into his room. Already halfway in the door, I could still catch the megawatt smile on his face. 

“So stay then,” His smile grew impossibly bigger. “We can talk all you want when I get back.” 

The door closed, and then suddenly reopened to let just his face through, a face that said, ‘Don’t go anywhere.’

After a few minutes of loudly sorting through his room, I heard the sanctimonious cry of victory. “Found it!” 

I could hear the little pad of his feet and he happily trotted out of the room. “Ta-da! My stargazing kit.” He said it as though he were introducing the basket he was holding to me, and me to it. Like it was a real person he wanted me to know. I almost felt obliged to say, ‘Hi stargazing kit! It’s so nice to meet you. I’m (y/n)!’

“Let���s go,” He smiled, reaching for my hand. 

I unabashedly took it, because although it meant that I was truly leaving his apartment, I had a very strong feeling that I would be back here again one day. 

_ _ _ 

We were lying there on this big quilted comforter that was stashed away in that stargazing kit of his, staring up at the sky, drunk on the sound of our occasional fits of laughter. 

“It’s Earth Day, you know that?” I wondered aloud in a state of complete euphoria.

“I actually did,” He said through a sheepish laugh, almost as if he was admitting the knowledge of it against his own will to protect my fragility. 

From out of nowhere, there was a small tug on the skirt of my dress. I looked down to find Spencer’s hand there, playing with the fabric until it lay perfectly on my leg. 

I coughed to possibly relieve the tension brewing in my loins. “So then you know the Lyrid meteor shower is tonight,” I moved the tiniest bit closer to lean into his touch.

“At exactly 4:33 a.m,” He moved too.

“Is that why you brought me here? To watch the shooting stars? To make a wish?” I thought for a second that I would appear exceedingly childish - more so than I already did being 21 years his junior. But he didn’t judge me at all for the kid-like notion of making a wish on a shooting star or the implication that I still believed in those things. 

In fact, I piqued his curiosity, telling by the way he moved only his head to the side to watch my reaction. “Say I did. What would you wish for?” 

In the throws of dreamy elation, I softly murmured the only honest answer. “To be older. But not the unfulfilling 9 to 5, loveless marriage, ‘I do my taxes for fun’ older. I want to be old in the ways that the stars and the sky are old. I want to be infinite.” 

“...To be infinite.” He whispered my wish back, sounding sort of in awe of me. 

Just then, the overhead horizon grew larger. With no buildings or people to block the view, it was just us, the stars, and the sky. I could actually feel that I was lying on a planet. It was so wide. So infinite. 

“Can I hold your hand?” I asked softly, in a manner so vulnerable it scared me.

Without any words or hesitation, he put my hand in his.

“The universe seems so big right now. I just needed something to hold onto.” I explained quietly, practically with the hopes that he wouldn’t hear me. But he heard.

“I’m here.”

We didn’t know what was ahead of us then. We were just two people, looking up at the sky on a cold February night. We weren’t divided by power, or age, or space. We were ourselves and no one else. 

My eyes fluttered shut again and a smile stretched across my face. “Stargazing was a good idea.”

The world and the sky and the stars and I - we were all infinite. I couldn’t have felt bigger in my own body. In the best way possible, I was taking up so much space. I was occupying the earth. I was made up of matter. I mattered. 

Just as I began to open my eyes, I caught a glimpse of a fading shooting star. Though I had wished to be older, I still felt like a child. Then it hit me. I didn’t feel older because I wasn’t older.

I was infinite. 

Yes, I was a child, but not in the pinch your cheeks, bottles and pacifiers, babyish way. I was a child in the ‘you have a life full of possibilities ahead of you’ way.

You are young. He tells me with his eyes. And that is a good thing. Be forever young. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #juniorgman187 #be forever young

[mythiccheroacademia]

The whole time traveling children has me feelin some type of way tbh. Imagine Mirio, Kaminari, and Tamaki walking into their respective rooms and there are just small children vibing. Mirio with his daughter, Kaminari with a daughter and Tamaki with a son. 😭

as i said, parent!bnha is SUPERIOR

A/N: So, instead of making these separate asks, I’m just going to make it one giant post. I thought it would be easier that way. Probably the only post that’ll have more than three characters lol

Warnings: none

Kaminari Denki:

when kaminari walked into his room, he didn't expect to see two children on his bed fighting like wild animals

the younger girl was totally beating the boy’s ass tho

kinda embarrassing bc she’s gotta be like, seven, at most

as if it’s not the weirdest thing he’s seen (bc it’s not) he rushes in to break them apart

he manages to separate them with his arms 

the boy with yellow hair snaps his jaws at his sister’s fingers

“hey! bad! no biting!” he scolds

the little girl blows a raspberry and taunts “yeah! papa says no biting!”

the older sibling just rolls his eyes “rat”

meanwhile, denki is literally malfunctioning

papa?

PAPA? HUH???

the only person’s pants (and heart) he’s been trying to get in to for the past three months was y/n’s and he sure as hell would remember if he did

he didn't have kids

especially one that was his age

“sorry! you two are cute, but i’m not your pops”

thus, they begin to tell denki about how they mayhaps followed him and their mother into a dangerous mission and got hit with a time travel quirk

denki just nods his head

tbh, he’s not that weirded out

weirder things have happened

but, he does have one question

“who’s the lucky woman?”

coincidentally, you bust into his dorm room, wet from a recent prank and head steaming with anger

“Kaminari Denki!”

his son juts a thumb over to you

“the woman that’s about to murder you”

“oh say less”

his life literally couldn't get any better

before you get the chance to throttle him, the little girl jumps in your arms and your anger is immediately quelled 

“hey mommy! i just wanna let you know that it was [son’s name]’s fault that we followed you when you told us not to”

“WHAT!?”

you’re to busy trying to get them from killing each other to comprehend anything that’s going on

kaminari is in a love-struck gaze bc hot damn, he won the jackpot, huh?

if he wasn't in love with you before, he’s in love with you now

you and your feral children

it was nice being God’s favorite

Kirishima Eijirou: 

funny thing was

kirishima woke up from his afternoon nap with his mini-me in his arms!

at first, he was really confused as to why there was an 8 yr old boy with spiky teeth and (your hair texture) black hair on his bed

he thought he was dreaming

then the little boy bit his nose and grinned like he had done the funniest thing in the world 

“WAKE UP DADDY! WE GOTTA GET SWOL TODAY”

did he get hit with some duplication quirk?

and what was that he said...daddy?

as in, father?

kirishima is wide awake now, but before he can ask the kid what’s going on, the boy is up and making use of his punching bag

he decides it wouldn't hurt to get a morning work out in, so he decides to humor the kid

after a mini workout, kirishima is in near tears as the boy tries to flex the little muscles he has 

eventually, he gets the kid to tell him what happened and finds out he was hit with a time travel quirk of some sort

instead of being weirded out, kirishima is ESCTATIC 

he has a family in the future 

he’s so excited and proud that he just has to show his son off to his friends!

the first thing he does is go and bother bakusquad in the common room

he’s bragging like shit to them and his ego swells as they all swoon over how cute and handsome the kid is 

you and bakugo come out of the kitchen to see what all the commotion is about and the little boy excitedly runs to you and jumps into your arms 

“momma! you’re here! you’re so pretty! why’d you marry daddy when he looks so unswol?”

it’s silent before bakugo fucking dies of laughter 

“y-you finally let shitty hair hit it? and got knocked up?? LMAO”

everyone’s dying and kirishima wants to die

he can’t believe this was how his long-term crush on you was getting outted

by an 8 yr old boy

so not manly

you look confused before you put the pieces together

the kid did look like you and kirishima

you want to console kirishima about the crush that you lowkey knew he had on you, but your son was one step ahead of you

with a gracious smile, he hits bakugo’s head

hard

“what the fuck kid!?”

“don’t make fun of daddy, uncle bakugo! at least daddy didn’t faint at his wedding″

Bakugo’s contemplating murder and everyone’s rolling on the floor

“WE BEEN KNEW YOU WERE THE BIGGEST SIMP”

even ten years later, bakugo still holds a grudge against your son

Togata Mirio:

i’m about to kill y’all w this one

since year one, mirio has been feigning over you 

but 1) you were too dumb to notice 2) you both were really busy with, y’know, school and 3) he lowkey gave up bc he thought you deserved better

so imagine his surprise when he sees this four year old girl on his bed

and she looks like you with his features

mirio might not be the brightest crayon in the crayon box

but he’s got eyes

and it wasn't like he’s memorized your features to the T

the tiny girl is swinging her legs absent-mindedly before exploding with happiness when he sees him

she runs to mirio and he catches her with open arms 

“daddy! daddy! i got hit with the coolest quirk at school today!”

proceeds to tell him about her best friend discovered her quirk and it was a teleportation quirk 

mirio can’t help but giggle along with her even tho he knew it was a scary situation for the parents

speaking of which...

he innocently asks her who’s the mom

“mommy is the prettiest mommy in the world! she has e/c eyes, hair like me, and the most beautiful s/c skin! her name is togata y/n!”

if he wasn't geeking before, he’s geeking now

not only did he manage to marry you, but you let him be your baby daddy?

him?

big bet

mirio doesn't even care at this point

he’s parading around UA with the fattest smile as he introduces his daughter to damn near everyone 

everyone’s freaking out bc wtf when did mirio get someone pregnant??

maybe he should've explained himself, but he sees you at your locker and makes a b-line for you

“good morning, y/n!”

he doesn't notice that you slam your locker close and hide the confession letter you wrote to him behind your back

you’re a stuttering mess and he’s too busy basking in the fact that he’s holding y’alls child 

y’all look like a mess

but he’s ready to lay it on thick when the little girl kisses your nose and cheers,

“mommy, i missed you”

he explains the situation 

you cant help but smile, “you know this could potentially ruin the timeline?”

and you feel like melting as he gives you the softest smile 

“there’s no way I’m letting that happen. not when i end up with the woman i’m in love with. we’ll just have to twist fate together”

and twist it you did

Tamaki Amajiki:

tamaki wasn't the bravest person ever 

and he knew his crippling anxiety got in the way of a lot

but he had never been more proud of himself for managing to invite you to his room

it was supposed to be a study date

despite how bold you normally were, he took comfort in how nervous you seemed 

now, you two were leaning in, about to kiss

and then a voice from behind interrupts 

“uh, am i interrupting something?”

you two let out the ugliest squeal and jump 50 feet away from each other 

you’re all over the place, trying to explain the situation

tamaki’s heart is barely beating at this point

it takes the kid, who looks about 16, about thirty minutes to calm you down and revive tamaki

explains that he’s from the future and a descendant of tamaki’s family

decides to leave out that you two are his parents so he doesn't risk possibly erasing himself from the space continuum 

that would be bad

despite how surprised you two were, you two take it rather well 

you three spend the day together bc you and tamaki feel this weird sense of responsibility for the guy even though he’s only two years younger

the boy is trying his hardest not to expose himself, but it’s so hard

you two are asking him everything from his favorite food to if he has any siblings

he’s good at pretending that he’s cool, calm, and collected, but he wants nothing more than to jump into his parents’ arms and cry about how scared he is of messing up

but he won’t 

bc he’s a strong boy

but he slips up

“how far are you down the future?” tamaki asks

“uh, about like 100 years or so--”

“you’re lying”

the kid nearly chokes on his food as his father blinks at him

you try and scold tamaki but he continues

“i don’t mean to be mean, but your nose twitches when you lie. y/n does the same thing”

that’s when the jazz record stops and everyone is staring at one another

“....wait”

this time, you nearly pass out

y’all had a kid together???

THE HELL??

the boy, coincidentally, starts fading and he thinks he fucked up

now he’s full out sobbing into the both of your chests, scared that he’s disappearing

despite the news, you and tamaki calm down, look at each other, and hold your son

“don’t you worry, baby” you coo, kissing his fading hair

“i have a feeling we’ll see you quite soon” tamaki comforts, closing his eyes

Bakugo Katsuki:

bakugo finally understood when his mom said

“the meaner you are to your parents, the nastier your kids will be to you”

he regretted being such a demon bc his kid was literally the spawn of satan

katsuki didn’t need an explanation to know that that...thing was his kid

he looked damn near identical to him with features that he couldn't quite place

but anyways, that wasn't the focus rn

rn, he was trying to figure out a way to keep that animal caged

as soon as katsuki took his eyes off him, the six yr old ran out the door as fast as his little legs could carry him

“catch me if you can, you old bastard!”

yup, it was his kid

“GET BACK HERE YOU LITTLE FUCKER”

his son is blasting his way through the halls, skillfully evading Katsuki’s grabbing hands 

he’s wildly laughing as he flips and turns through the doors, watching with glee as his father falls on his face

multiple times

the small boy latches on to a cupboard and smirks

“no wonder mom always beats your ass! you weak!”

katsuki nearly looks like the devil, eyes white, and face red with fury

his pride suffering by the second

he’s about to cuss the kids to hell when you come out of the kitchen, confused

you were about to ask why katsuki looked like a rat with rabies before you caught sight of a basket of fruit teetering on the edge of the cabinet, above the little boy’s head

“look out--”

the basket falls on the kid’s head and he’s on the floor, reeling from the hit

katsuki would've normally laughed his ass off, but he felt kind of...concerned?

he watches you run towards the child who’s trying his hardest not to cry

the boy holds his head, fat tears in his eyes as you pick him up and coddle over him 

“i’m sorry, baby. I'm sorry i didnt get there in time” 

cue the waterworks 

the boy is full-on sobbing into your chest about how his head hurts

you bounce him and kiss his forehead as katsuki checks over the red bump 

“you’ll be okay, brat” he comforts, voice softer than usual

in that moment, katsuki can’t help but notice how much a family y’all look like rn

then the dots start connecting and he goes 

oh shit 

so, maybe, he’s had a tiny crush on you

and it didn’t help that you two were friends with benefits bc yall were horny teenagers

but who knew he’d get the balls to ask you out on a proper date one day

he was such a simp for you gosh it was ugly

“you have to be more careful from now on,”  you say to the boy 

the brat suddenly looks innocent and katsuki wants to throw him

“sorry, mommy. i’ll be gooder”

the look on your face is priceless 

bakugo uses it as a chance to kiss you 

“huh?”

“i guess now’s a good time to tell you that i want to be your dick on demand but with feelings and shit, dumbass”

#bnha #mha #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #kaminari x reader #tamaki x reader #mirio x reader #bakugo katsuki #Kirishima Eijirou #mirio togata #tamaki amakiji #kaminari denki #parent!bnha boys #parent bnha #mha x black reader #mha x poc!reader #mha children #mha domestic

[arcadejohn127-9]

Just

Just think about Luke seeing Mc as an older sibling figure, and then think about how he'd have to see em die from old age or an illness

H u r t

You know what? I'm going to hurt your feelings right back

You did this, this is your fault. I'm crying so now you gotta cry with me!

I'm making it hurt EXTRA

I'm not done with this angst wagon! I have so much angst stored up in me rn and you're all going to have to deal with it ���� let us cry together

Warning: death, angst, sad Luke

"(Y/N)! Im back! Your guardian angel has arrived!"

You smiled, turning from the window as you heard the gentle footsteps come further into your little home.

"oh..? I thought the celestial realm called you back."

"I was able to get time off my duties to come see you, I do have a duty to protect you after all."

Luke smiled brightly at you, a bag in hand as he walked into your room. His face faltered for a moment seeing you were out of bed but kept his smile, placing the bag down on the table.

"awww, you're still such a sweet young boy."

You reached out to him, your wrinkled hands shaking slightly. He huffed at your cooing but none the less, bowed down so you could pinch his cheeks. You smiled wider; happy there was still some baby fat on him.

"I'm not a boy! I'm a grown man."

He was pouting childishly; some habits never dying. But sadly, he was right. By now he has finally grown up. He wasn't exactly an adult but he was close. He was no longer the small boy you use to know in the Devildom, he was now a tall gentle man. He reminded you alot of Simeon but definitely didn't go after his sense of fashion.

He was grown. And you've grown....grown to become old and Sickly. He still had such a youthful face despite being thousands years older. It was truly unfair but you would rather he looked as young as he did than look like you. Saggy and wrinkled. Death on your lips, it made them dry. It tasted bland and sour.

"what did you bring me this time? I hope it's a new recipe."

"I actually visited the Devildom before coming here, I made your favourite with Barbatos."

He unpacked the bag, revealing the sweet treat. It was going to be far too sweet for your taste buds now but you couldn't refuse. He frowned slightly, placing his hands on your shoulders.

"you should be in bed, the doctors said you need to rest."

"I'm not doing anything, those doctors shouldn't think of me to be so fragile! I spent years in hell." You grumbled, grinding your drenchers.

You missed the demons; it's been awhile since they've visited. It was unusual....for years outside or in hell you were surrounded by them. Always pestering you and wanting your attention. Endless plans that always ended with Lucifer fixing it. You missed them.....so so much..... you just wished your magic didn't grow so weak.

"yeah.... you're unbeatable so being in bed won't be anything."

He had you there. But it was growing tiresome of just sitting in bed. You were wasting away in it; the doctors weren't sure what was going to take you out first. Old age or illness. All Anyone could hope for that it's peaceful and in your sleep.

Luke helped you back in bed, smiling as he tucked you in. He placed the desserts holder on your lap before whisking himself away to the kitchen. He made you both some tea and picked up cutlery on the way back. You thanked him when he handed you the cup, humming happily at the warmth. The world felt so cold now.

"Have the brothers visited lately? Barbatos seemed.... solemn - did something happen?"

"No, it's been mostly you or Simeon seeing me but I don't blame them, it must be hard to see me - I know Simeon tried to stop you aswell, Saying it'll be too hard on your heart."

"nothing is going to stop me not even Simeon! you're family, and those demons-! They should be seeing you!"

He didn't even realize he stomped his foot, pouting and puffing out his cheeks. No matter how much he wanted to be called a man, he was still young. You hoped you'll get to see him fully mature into a powerful angel he was destined to be. You knew he'd be a great help to the celestial realm and make people just as happy as he's made you.

You always saw yourself as just an older sibling and he seemed to feel the same but now you felt more like a parent. Watching your child grow up and be better than you ever were. He made you so proud.

"ah~ theres the young boy I know, always pouting and complaining about demons, it was so nice to see you freely enjoy yourself the third term, you looked so much happier."

"he can see all sorts, perhaps something bad is going to happen soon but it could always be, he saw a rat in the castle - oh the way he could loose all composure-!"

"if it wasn't due to a recent visit then- why was barbatos so glum? Do you think he's okay?"

You both bursted out laughing, imagining the usually stoic butler frantically smacking the floor with a broom whilst ontop of a counter. Your laughed grew louder and louder until you choked on it; coughing harshly into your shaky palm as your chest tightened.

Luke quickly helped you sit up properly, rubbing your back as your coughing slowly died out. He told you to keep it easy but noticed how quickly your mood soured. He patted your lap and held up the forks; forcing a small smile on his face.

"let's eat, shall we?"

you both dug in, he kept his bites small as it was for you after all. You didn't even realize you teared up; the flavour was the exact same if not better than you remember. Barbatos always knew how to make it perfect for you; even now as your sugar fondness has simmered it still tasted just as good.

He really was amazing....

Luke wiped your stray tears as you stared at the treat, a distant look in your eyes. The angel was starting to panic; no matter his efforts you were becoming unhappy. Was it him? Was it talking about the Devildom? But he knew if he tried to never talk about it you'd just insist on knowing. He didn't want to keep making you upset.

"I'm sorry, just - I've been so nostalgic lately, I really appreciate what you've done, don't be upset with yourself, Luke, just ignore this old human."

"I can talk about the celestial realm, would that make you feel better? Or-or- new Cake ideas-!"

"I'd like that very much, has the celestial realm change much?"

"it's been really busy, I'm actually getting my own apprentice soon! She's been a late bloomer with her wings but she's been amazing with prophecies - I've ranked up actually! I'm almost to my goal....soon- I'm going to be just like Michael and I can help humans across the globe!"

He was beaming, his hands becoming more animated as he talked. You hummed softly to yourself, nodding as your eyes drifted to the wall. His voice soothing you.

"And- and the demon angel partnership has been a huge success! Theres been more pairs ups this year than any other! Things are really improving in the other realms- you know it's all thanks to you, right? You did this."

He waited for your response, but you didn't say anything. You just stared at the wall behind him. Luke's head tilted to the side, dread creeping up his spine.

"(Y/N)-?" He gently shook your hand, trying not to startle you incase you were just zoning out again.

But that's when it hit him. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, there was nothing. No pulse.

"(Y/N)?!"

The young angel screamed as tears flooded down his cheeks, shaking your body. He kept calling out your name but you never responded. He tried everything he could; giving CPR, using his magic - he even consider using the life trees leaves from the celestial realm.

He just - you couldn't be- he wouldn't let you! He's your guardian angel! Yours not supposed to be -! Not yet!!!

NOT YET!!

Your soul spilled out of your chest, he sobbed as it formed into an orb. He hugged it close to his chest as he cried, Begging it to return to your body.

"please.... please-! I'm asking nicely- why won't you go back?! It isn't time! Please!"

No matter how hard he pressed your soul back to your chest it refused to enter your body.

You were gone.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #gamingclubpresident #aracadejohn217 9 #obey me mc #obey me luke #obey me imagine #obey me angst #angst #tw: death

[helpistolethesecharacters]

Death Does Not Discriminate Between The Sinners And The Saints

It Takes And It Takes And It Takes

Part 2

Tony Stark x Male Demon Reader

Word Count: 3609

@charliedakotariley I hope this is all you wanted in your original request. Sorry I took so long to get to the actual stuff you put in your request. I hope you enjoy this!

-----------

Y/n didn't know what was going on. One moment he had been fighting Thanos's forces in Wakanda, the next, everything was getting weird. Enemies were turning to dust all around him. Worse than that, so were some of his allies.

It was bad enough that he had been separated from Tony, but now he wasn't sure if he would ever see him again. Who ever had done this was going to regret it if Tony was dead.

Y/n took a step, but before his foot even connected with the ground he was gone.

The next thing he knew he was waking up in the fields outside the city, alongside all the others. Everyone was pretty much in panic mode until a man with a deep red cloak started floating and took control.

Apparently they had been gone for five years, but more than that, there was an even bigger battle ahead of them than the one that they had just been in.

The floating guy did some odd form of magic that opened up a portal into another place. Y/n knew that then was not the time, but he felt himself go all giddy at the thought of real magic! Maybe after all this he could learn some!

The floating guy had introduced himself at some point, Y/n was sure, but he hadn't caught it and now didn't really seem like the time, so he just mentally dubbed him 'Floating Man' and moved on.

Then they were all rushing into battle, and Floating Man was not wrong. It was brutal, but Y/n couldn't help but feel he was in the wrong place. There was somewhere he needed to be, a tug inside that was pulling almost to the point of pain.

Y/n growled and dropped his perception filter, it was just draining him and he had more important things to worry about. He used the pause in onslaught to do a spin that sent a large swathe of enemies flying. Thank God for his tail, he had missed being able to give his all in battle.

In the space he had just given himself, he spun slower, looking for where it was he needed to go.

Y/n knew immediately exactly where he was meant to be. Tony was about to tackle Thanos.

Y/n smashed his tail as hard as he could into the ground and using the momentum of the shockwave caused by it, he leapt over the battlefield.

His eyes widened in horror as he watched Tony sass the mad titan. He had those damned infinity stones just about in place on his Iron Man glove. He would die if he tried to use them!

Y/n slammed into Tony at full force and wrapped himself around the stupid self-sacrificing genius just as he snapped his fingers. The energy coursed through the two beings and Y/n could feel it trying to overcome them. He knew there was a price for holding such power, but he wasn't about to let Tony pay it on his own.

He held on tighter and let out a roar, forcing himself to hold on and not be torn apart by the power of the stones.

"Don't you dare give up on me Tony! We'll go out of this world together or not at all, do you understand me?"

And then it was over. Thanos's armies were defeated, turned to dust, as was the mad titan himself.

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

It had been five years since the Avengers had managed to bring everyone back and Y/n still couldn't believe how lucky he had been. If he had been even just a second later in getting to Tony, he might not have made it.

As it was his heart had taken some serious damage, and Y/n hadn't come out of it scot-free either. He had aged noticeably.

Where he had looked near his mid twenties for centuries, he now looked to be closer to forty than thirty, but he would never consider the alternative. What were a few hundred years to him when he would get to wake up in Tony's arms because of his actions.

But he could no longer ignore the thing that had been bothering him for the last ten or so years. Tony was getting older. And, ignoring magical space stones and stupid ideas, Y/n was not.

Every morning Y/n could see more differences. Tony was aging, and normally that wouldn't be a bad thing, after all, it means that he's alive to have the chance to age, but it was becoming more apparent as the days passed, and Y/n couldn't help but realise that one day in the not so distant future he was going to be without Tony once again. Forever this time.

Everyday as he noticed the changes in Tony, Y/n became a little quieter, a little more withdrawn. He didn't want to waste the time he had left with Tony, but the spectre of death was looming ever nearer, and this time there was no other realm to break into to solve the problem.

Y/n had felt a momentary surge of hope when he remembered the gift the Queen of Asgard had promised him, but that was extinguished when he remembered what had happened to Asgard.

The sinking in his chest was getting worse. There was a pain that was consistent, a deep thrum inside that wouldn't go away. Whenever he thought about the future, or Tony dying it came back. He could sometimes forget about what was coming, but he would inevitably be reminded and the pain would resurface.

Y/n thought fleetingly of his more carefree days, when all he wanted was to cause as much chaos as he could, and he could just swan away from it without a backward glance. Tony had made him so much more than that, without even trying. He had made him feel things and there wasn't a day that went by when Y/n could bring himself to regret meeting Tony.

But that sweet joy and love was now soured by the passage of time, and Y/n wasn't sure how much more he could take.

How could the mix of love and time bring so much pain and joy. Why could he not just have the joy, why did the pain have to come with it?

Y/n was standing in their kitchen when it happened. He was hit with a wave of pain so deep he buckled at the feeling. He had just taken another message from Tony's doctor about not putting too much strain on his heart, and he couldn't help the hopeless feeling washing over him.

He could feel time slipping through his fingers, and there was nothing he could do to slow it down.

His heart gave a particularly hard thump as his emotions got the better of him.

Y/n felt a searing pain starting in his chest that was physical rather than the almost unbearable emotional pain he had been dealing with. He gasped as tears dripped down his face. He only noticed when a hissing noise came from the ground by his feet, that the tears weren't the normal salty water, but actual lava.

It clicked suddenly, what was happening to him, but Y/n couldn't think through the fugue of his feelings. He had heard of it in stories but never seen it in person. Demons don't normally fall in love, so they aren't affected by things like the deep depression of watching someone you love die when there isn't anything you can do.

The thing is, demon's hearts are literally made of super heated volcanic rock. Demons were never made to deal with such strong emotions, so when a demons heart breaks, it happens literally. Lava erupts from anywhere it can force it's way out, then it starts to break down the rest of the body. As far as the stories are concerned, there might be a way to save them before they have broken down entirely, but no-one had managed it yet.

The stories hadn't prepared Y/n for the pain, but after so long only feeling hopelessness and despair, Y/n welcomed this new pain. Finally, something had come to save him from the eternity that was a future without Tony.

He could feel the lava in the burnt out husk that used to be his heart flare brighter as another wave of heat seared through him. The lava was actually burning away the blood that had been running through his veins.

Y/n had to get out of there. He couldn't do anything about the trails of melted stone that his tears were leaving behind, but he couldn't let Tony see this.

He would be with him again in their next life.

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

Tony was starting to worry. He had been sticking a bit closer to Y/n lately because he had noticed the other man acting strangely. He seemed more and more sad as the days went by. This was something that Tony had needed to keep an eye on. He didn't want to lose Y/n to something that he could help to fix.

He hadn't thought much of it when the other man had rushed out of the room to grab the phone when it rang that morning, but it had been a while since then and Y/n hadn't come back yet.

He heaved himself off of the couch and groaned at the distance.

"God, it's a long way up these days."

He had only taken half a step in the direction his wayward husband had gone when Friday alerted him to a news broadcast of unusual activity on one of the islands off the coast closest to where they were at the moment.

He watched in disbelief as the news caster reported a seeming impossibility. The island was apparently home to a volcano, which was erupting. It was pure luck that it was an uninhabited island, but there would be far reaching results of the eruption.

Tony turned up the volume with a flick of his wrist.

"This is particularly baffling for scientists everywhere as this island has never been on anyone's radar for volcanic activity. Apparently this is just another case of nature getting the better of our understanding of science, which will have our scientists scratching their heads for decades. We have managed to get some footage of the eruption from a distance, and it is a truly harrowing sight."

Tony was transfixed. It really was awe inspiring to see something like that right in front of him. He couldn't help but feel a sinking sensation. There was no way that it was a coincidence that his literal demon husband was missing right as this was happening, right?

"Y/n?"

Tony made his way into the kitchen, calling out for this husband at the same time. He was getting really worried now, but was trying to calm himself. Everything was probably fine.

Tony tripped over something and landed sprawled on the ground. He looked around to find the offending item, but was met with the sight of their kitchen floor melted in a trail that led right out of the room.

Tony followed it with mounting fear. It led out their front door. After that the trail got further apart the further away from the house it got.

Tony swore as he summoned his suit. He hated being right.

---------

Tony was starting to think that fate hated him. Okay, to be fair he couldn't fault fate for sending him Y/n, but the demon could be the biggest drama king. Yes, Tony was aware that that was kind of like the pot calling the kettle black, but that didn't change the fact that it was true.

He was circling the island now, because of course the trail of fire and melted ground had led him there.

Tony let out another string of expletives as he flew close enough to land.

The island looked like what Tony though hell would look like. There were puddles of lava everywhere, and anything that wasn't a melted pile of rock was on fire or long ago burnt to ash. Tony was sweating in his suit, but he also knew that taking it off, even just the head piece, would be a death sentence.

"Y/N!"

He yelled as loud as he could, which, with the suit already amplifying his voice, was pretty loud.

There was movement from something off to his left.

Tony shifted to face it and was confronted with a sight that broke his heart. His sweet husband, always so concerned for Tony, was clearly breaking apart.

He had burn tracks down his cheeks where his skin hadn't been strong enough to withstand the lava. Y/n looked every bit the demon he had been when he first showed Tony what he was. He must have dropped the perception field once again, because Tony could see all of his demonic features. The horns which had once been shiny and sharp enough to gore even super soldiers, were now dull and flaking, just as broken as the man they were attached to.

Tony could see Y/n's chest glowing with the reds and oranges of fresh lava from where he stood.

Tony was frozen. He didn't know what he could do to fix this. But there had to be hope still, Y/n had recognised his voice even if he might not have understood the word.

"Stay there! I'll be right back. We're going to fix this, don't give up on me yet Y/n!"

After some quick thinking, Tony managed to concoct a plan that was only semi-crazy.

He flew as fast as he could in a tight circle just close enough to the ocean to encourage some of the water to form into a whirlwind of water and air. Once he had enough (he hoped), he sent it flying in the direction of his husband and the island.

He stood back and watched, sick fear pooling in his stomach as he saw the water hit. There was intense hissing and a fog filled the air in response to the water coming into contact with such a hot substance.

Tony couldn't wait any longer, so he landed as close as he could get to the place Y/n had been standing.

He found him laying in a puddle of water staring up into the fog. Tony removed the suit's head piece and both gauntlets, discarding them without a second thought.

He reached out to Y/n with shaking hands.

"What were you doing? What happened?"

Y/n turned deadened eyes on Tony.

"Time is a cruel Master who we must all answer to."

Tony had no idea what to do with that, but he really didn't like the look in Y/n's eyes.

"Yeah, but not today. You see that bastard, you kick his ass, you hear me?"

That got a tiny spark of life back into Y/n's eyes.

"Tony? How?"

Tony could have sobbed in relief. Y/n was coming back to him.

"Hey babe, I should be asking you that."

Tony pulled Y/n up into his arms. It was awkward with him still mostly in his suit but he wasn't about to take the time to remove it. He had a husband to bring back from the brink of something he still didn't understand.

"You gonna be alright?"

Y/n just burrowed into the side of Tony's neck.

"You scared the crap outta me, Y/n/n. What was that?"

Tony let Y/n pull back just enough to be able to see him. He wasn't letting the other man out of his arms for a long time after this.

"You can't deny it Tony, time is passing. I just couldn't bear the thought that you will pass so long before I will."

Tony felt his brow crease in confusion, but he waited for his love to continue.

"As a demon I have a much longer life span as you know. When you die I will be all alone. You'll be gone, forever. How am I supposed to live without you now that I know what it's like to live with you?"

Tony felt his heart breaking for Y/n. He could understand where he was coming from, but that still didn't explain this situation. He opened his mouth to question him when Y/n continued.

"Demons don't normally feel emotions as strong as love, and the loss that comes with it. We aren't built for it. Our hearts can overload. When that happens, they literally melt inside us. I'd been told the stories, but to be honest I didn't realise there was any truth in them."

He took a shuddering breath.

"When I realised what was happening, all I could think was that I couldn't take you with me when I died from it. So I left."

Tony let out a long breath.

"Okay, there's a lot to unpack there, but a steaming crater in the middle of nowhere isn't the place to do it. Let's get you home."

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

True to his word, Tony had barely let Y/n go since they got back home. He had whisked him through the kitchen with barely enough time for him to take in the ruined floor before he found himself on the couch wrapped in a blanket with Tony wrapped around that.

"Next time, tell me. Next time something is bothering you like this, let me in. There might be something I can do to help, but even if there isn't, we would still shoulder that problem together. There's nothing I would rather do, than try to help lighten the load."

Y/n vaguely registered the words. They sounded familiar to some distant corner of his mind, but he was still feeling pretty numb.

"Together, or not at all," Y/n echoed his words from that long ago battle.

He was rewarded by a soft squeeze from his husband.

"Exactly. Now, before you get all mopey again, there's a message from someone in New Asgard on the machine."

Y/n's head snapped up. There was no way it could be related to this.

He turned to Tony, feeling hope well up in his heart.

----------

In the years since Valkyrie had become ruler of New Asgard, the kingdom had flourished. Perhaps their greatest feat had been the resurgence of magic in their peoples. Battle prowess had been the sought after trait for centuries on Asgard, but now they were on a planet that wasn't capable of inter-realm travel. There was nowhere to go and fight monsters to prove their worth.

Once they realised that their new ruler was trying to bring them back to their former glory instead of just making sure that they survived, they began to take charge of their own lives. They dusted off old tomes of magic that had somehow found their way into the belongings people had managed to bring with them, and soon the vast majority of them were once again using magic.

The reason this had been their saving grace, was because a young woman, a descendant of Idunn, had been playing around with her magic and followed a strange magical signature.

What she had found had brought the people of New Asgard hope. Hope that they could once again be great. She had found a single golden apple, buried in the wreckage of the Avengers compound. It had been protected by a spell strong enough to save it from the battle of Thanos, as well as the passage of time.

A note had been rolled up and stuffed into the box with it.

"Man of Iron,

The Queen of Asgard has bequeathed the enclosed item to you upon the occasion of her death. You are receiving it now, due only to the petty revenge it is to give such a boon to a human. Be grateful it is more pleasing to me to disobey the All-Father than to seek revenge on you for your part in my imprisonment on Asgard.

Loki, Ruler of Asgard."

The young woman had immediately taken the box, note and all, to Valkyrie. The decision would ultimately be up to her of what to do with it.

Valkyrie had decided that the needs of her people could be served at the same time as fulfilling the late Queens last wishes. It would just take a little longer to get it to Stark.

They had used the seeds to re-grow Idunn's orchard of golden apples. The Aesir would be able to retain their long life after all. Now that they had an entire orchard, they had enough for their people as well as fulfilling Queen Frigga's last wish that Tony Stark be granted the long life of an Aesir.

----------

When Y/n and Tony arrived in New Asgard they were amazed at the transformation the previously small fishing village had gone through. Y/n smiled at the area. It would never be the same as what they had lost, but they had the opportunity to build themselves a new future and they had taken it with both hands.

Y/n stood in the orchard, tears running down his face as he held out a single golden apple to his husband.

Tony had been unsure when Valkyrie had explained about the apples, how they were the source of the Aesir's long life and more sturdy bodies.

He hadn't known how he would feel about living a longer life than all the other people he knew, but as he stood in front of Y/n, looking at the life he was offering him, he realised he would never choose anything else. As long as he had Y/n he could survive anything.

He stepped forward and accepted the apple.

#Tony Stark x male reader #iron man x male reader #male reader #death does not discriminate between the sinners and the saints

[ragsweas]

Hobbit Fic Rec List!

MODERN AU!

Hello! I always wanted to share a gigantic list of awesome works in Hobbit fanfic, but realized they are too many. So let's start small. A few modern AU that everybody has to read!

.......*.......

How to fall in love in 100 days by Kytanna

As their lives intertwine, Thorin, Bilbo, and their nephews learn the meaning of finding a family, love and the hard path towards healing. All, over the course of a hundred days.

A lovely piece with all the cuteness and fluff.

Softer Strokes by autisticalistair

Thorin is a well-known artist living a secluded life in the Swiss Alps. Bilbo is a former history professor living in a trauma rehabilitation centre after a devastating accident that took his parents lives. Through a mutual friend, Bilbo finds himself in Switzerland, and Thorin finds himself with company for the next few months, and neither of them are prepared for what that will bring.

I'll never say 'I love you' by JustReadingMaybeWriting

Bilbo is a veterinary student who one night saves the life a handsome but wounded man. Bilbo should have called an ambulance. If he had called an ambulance, he wouldn't be in this weird mess. He certainly wouldn't be falling in love with the man he saved, who can't seem to leave him alone.

This one's a bit dark, but I love it.

painted blind by nasri

The last time Bilbo stepped foot in Aberdeen it was with a broken heart and a bachelor’s degree. All things considered, this time isn’t so different.

Plan B by Drenagon

Plan B: an alternative strategy; a contingency plan, devised for an outcome other than the expected plan.

Or, sending an unqualified temp to act as Thorin Oakenshield's PA because no one qualified can put up with him.

(He'd say they can't meet his standards. Of course he would.)

Meet Bilbo Baggins. He just became Plan B.

One Modern!AU I always wanted to read and this is just it! It's amazing!! And the whole COmpany is there!!

A Land Far Away by Prollyaghost (Callmerin)

"If we were in a different time or place, this story may have begun with ‘once upon a time’, or even ‘In a hole in the ground, there lived…’ But as it so happens, we are in this time and place, in the outskirts of London, where there are no ‘once upon a times’ and the only holes in grounds lead to sewage tunnels. There does happen to be, however, a man who has dedicated a great deal of his life studying these ‘once upon a time’s. He is an English teacher, enjoys afternoon teas with homemade raisin scones, and he most certainly does not believe in fairy-tales.

His name is Bilbo Baggins, and that last bit about him is about to change."

Bilbo Baggins, an English teacher who has never been outside of England, suddenly finds himself thrust into an adventure when a strange man named Thorin Oakenshield requires his help to fulfil his father’s dying wish. Turns out studying the niche topic of the ancient, fictional society of dwarves was more useful than his parents could have imagined. Plunged into a forgotten land, Thorin and Bilbo must find the mythical Arkenstone, before the legends of the past come back to haunt modern society.

Okay, this one's a WIP, but damn the premise is super interesting and honestly can't wait for the next update!

Nothing Gold Can Stay by perkynurples

Bilbo Baggins led a rather peaceful life, thank you very much, until an old acquaintance decided to turn it upside down, and he found himself agreeing to take a job that’s… let’s say not exactly up his alley, and might eventually cost him a little more than his treasured cozy lifestyle. Who would have thought tutoring a slightly menacing monarch’s more than slightly overbearing nephew could prove to be such an adventure?

This is one of the fics that does not need an introduction. No matter how many times you read this, it isn't enough. And we all love Fili and Kili here.

What to do When Your Cat is an Asshole by lily_winterwood

“You have a cat?” asks the face on the screen. “Yes. His name’s Smaug, he’s orange, and he’s an asshole. Aren’t you, Smaug?” Surly Food Provider glowers at me, which, of course, I am immune to. “Aren’t you a little asshole?” I don’t see why he needs to call me that. My butthole is perfectly licked, and it smells wonderful.

The AU where Smaug is Thorin's asshole cat. Written for the Bagginshield Unexpected Anniversary.

This one's small, and hilarious and even better if you imagine Benedryl Cucumbersnatch narrating the whole thing

No Ordinary Love by badskippy

Bilbo and Ori have been best friends since they were ten years old and tragedy brought them together. Now, a new job, a sudden rainstorm, a chance meeting and budding romance with a burly, handsome stranger will not only alter their lives, but set in motion events that will change everyone around them, and reveal how lies, deceit and assumptions can leave deeper scars than the ones that can be seen.

WIP, unfinished, but damn was this an interesting tale. For anybody who loves angst, go give it a read!

Remember Me by thehistorygeek

Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield are destined to suffer. In every life they live, in every age, in every era, they meet, and this meeting brings back all the memories of the lives that have come before. But every meeting serves also as a death sentence, for once they have met, one of them is doomed to die soon after, usually tragically and prematurely. They remember nothing of their past lives until they meet, and once they have there is nothing that can be done to stop their fate.

For anyone obsessed with Reincarnation and/or History, this is it.

A Remover of Obstacles by MistakenMagic

"Dis often chided her older brother for being a misanthropist. She did it so often it had become a term of endearment. It was true that Thorin struggled with people; he struggled to form and maintain relationships. Dr. Grey had diagnosed him with this and Thorin hadn’t the heart to tell him this wasn’t a symptom of his PTSD, it was a symptom of his personality. He exercised a sense of apathy with almost everyone he met… But Bilbo was different. Thorin actually found himself wanting to know more about him."

Another fic that DOES NOT need an introduction. I have read it thrice and every time the emotions are still the same. Trigger Warnings, but damn this is all worth it.

An Unexpected Meeting by what_am_i_even_doing_tho

This is the chronicling of the modern day shenanigans of Bilbo Baggins, who is an absolute gay disaster, and Thorin Oakenshield, who is unashamedly enamored. Aka, the modern Bagginshield AU that no one ever asked for but they're getting anyway.

green and gilded by nasri

The next time he visits his parents there are flowers left in the grass, pressed back against the gravestone. They are yellow and white daffodils, plain and wilting.

“Who’s been to see you?” He asks, taking a single photo of the flowers with their drooping stems and curled petals and the wet winter grass that surrounds them. His mother would call it kind, his father might say it's curious, and Bilbo takes another petal to tuck into his pocket.

You know those stories that you read once and then they never leave your head? And somehow your whole life begins to revolve around that one story? Yeah, this is it. Spoilers in tag and I would suggest you read before advancing cause many people do not like it, but even if you are not in that group, just give it a read. This story deserves all the reads.

Bran' New Suit by pibroch (littleblackdog)

Andrew's description had been sufficient to recognize him— a riot of honey brown curls, short in stature, a well-favoured face with expressive features— but it hadn't quite been enough to prepare Tom for the sharp, almost painful tug in his gut at the sight of the man. They had never met before, to the best of Tom's recollection, but there was something eerily and inexplicably familiar about him all the same.

One of the first Modern AU I read and dauym...you won't get it until the end but then...it's fun.

Under New Management by frostyjack

Fili's life is pretty good -- he's doing well at university, he gets on well with his uncle and guardian Thorin, and he's never likely to know what it's like to be poor or unwanted. Then Thorin takes in a foster child -- Kili Oakenshield, a long-lost relative whose past is a total mystery. Suddenly, Fili's life gets a whole lot more complicated. But maybe it gets better, too.

Lots of trigger warning for this one, but when the end comes, you'll know it's all been worth it.

One-Sided Conversations by northerntrash

"Thank you for listening," Thorin said, getting to his feet. "I hope to be able to return the favour, one day."

The man on the bed didn't respond, but since he'd been in a coma for longer than Thorin had known him, that wasn't entirely surprising.

(Not Quite) Prince Charming by manic_intent

The problem, Bilbo would later tell Gandalf in aggrieved irritation, was not so much the unannounced visitors, oh no, but the fact that due to the lateness of the hour and sheer merciless fate, it came to be that at the respectable age of forty, Bilbo was being introduced to a real, live king while wearing striped pyjamas and fluffy slippers.

The Making of a Story by northerntrash

When Bilbo finds a case of old family photographs, he becomes determined to find the original owners: what he does not expect is to become quite so involved in their lives, or that those photographs should prove quite so important.

Misunderstandings and other obstacles for love by ylc

This series dammit! It's amazing, and the dynamics you would ask from a Modern AU.

Candle Glow and Mistletoe by euseevius

Bilbo and Thorin have been married for six months now. The thing is, Thorin’s family doesn’t know this. And because pretending to be just friends for the three weeks you’re going to spend at the family cabin is so much easier than telling the truth, that is what they will do.

(Of course Bilbo has his own ideas of how believable it is for a grown man to bring a friend to spend Christmas with his family. That’s why they make a bet out of it.)

For days you need to just laugh at these two idiots.

The Lost Kingdom of Erebor by Twisted_Barbie

AU. The Lost Kingdom of Erebor is shrouded in myth, likened to the heavens and compared to Atlantis. Until an archaeological discovery unearths that which was lost and awakens the Mad King from his cursed eternal rest.

Not a happy ending, and mysterious and you need to give it a read. Just, do it. It will all be worth it.

Of Palaces and Ruins by livelongandgetiton

Slow burn. Bilbo Baggins is a half-baked archaeologist who has put his dreams of adventure on hold to teach secondary school. Thorin is the grandson of a politically powerful figure in the historically rich and deeply isolationist country of Erebor. When he flees conflict and corruption in Erebor to settle in London, he finds his hands full with two young boys. Gandalf meddles, and Bilbo signs on as a personal tutor for the boys in hopes of getting a foot in the door to archaeological work in Erebor. He soon discovers that Thorin is a tough nut to crack. As Bilbo takes care of the boys he and Thorin grow closer, and secrets about not just the brooding stranger, but the mysterious country and politics of Erebor begin to unravel. It turns out that Bilbo isn't leaving adventure behind, after all.

WIP, updating. JUST READ IT!!!

Write Me Down Easy by lucyraebrown

Bilbo Baggins, a simple man with a wish for something more than his life teaching high school English, is obsessed with a famous author by the pen-name Oakenshield. Although he knows the future is dim for his chances of finding out about the man behind his favorite book, it's reassuring to know someone has the same thoughts about the world.

WIP, updating. It's mostly fuff and happiness, so yesss...feed your inner Bagginshield!

Show Me My Silver Lining by BiSquared

Three years after the hostile takeover of his grandfather's record label by one DJ Smaug, lead singer Thorin Oakenshield is ready to give up on his dreams, even if his band isn't ready to give up on him. If Thorin can convince talent scout Bilbo Baggins to sign them, they might just have a fighting chance. Of course, this is the night when Thorin gets stage fright.

The music industry AU no one asked for.

Love-In-Idleness by perkynurples       

Taking Bilbo Baggins, a successful movie actor who is only just getting used to the perks and intricacies of becoming A Face People Want To See, and putting him together with Thorin Oakenshield, with his very traditional (read: slightly backwards) ideas about what constitutes Real Art and Real Talent, might very well be viewed as just some clothead’s idea of a joke. But there are jokes, and then there are carefully calculated risks the size of controversial reproductions of classic Shakespearean plays - for Bilbo, it is the chance of a lifetime to prove himself to all those who have ever deemed him too one-dimensional to even attempt stage, while Thorin has the opportunity to get out of the rut that’s been hindering his career for so long now, and shine in a role worthy of his talent once again. That is if the two learn how to share the same space for more than ten minutes without wanting to tear each other’s hair out. The course of true love never did run smooth, after all…

Did I read this in one go? Yes I did. Did I fall in love with Bagginshiled all over again? Yes I did.

.......*.......

And that's the list folks! I hope you guys have fun reading all of these nice fics! (And all the bagginshield angst/fuff)

#the hobbit #hobbit #fanfiction #fanfic #thilbo #thorins company #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #modern #fanfic recommendation #hope you all have fun!

[whump-town]

Maybe Time Running Out Is A Gift

Very much so inspired by "If We Were Vampires" by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

Hotchniss— just domestic bliss and no catch

There’s something about these nights, the summer nights that sit thick with humidity that seems to draw him that much closer to her. They have mingled enough that it wouldn’t be the first time he got his sweat all over her-- he is but a dorky man at the end of the day and deprives a twisted joy out of coming into their home wet with the sweat from working outside and wrapping her up in his arms so she has to feel it. He’d done it just today after seeing her poking about the house in jean overalls and an old sports bra. Had known the rush of mischief he’d felt when she groaned and tried to get away when he grabbed her. She’d thought they were far too old for these antics, it’s clear he doesn’t agree. Which is a rich thought coming from someone who waited until he was pinned under the sink to tickle his sides so he couldn’t escape.

The air conditioner hums away as it tries to overpower the Virginia heat and the windows Aaron insisted they leave open for the slight draft. She’s not sure why she caved to his argument because now he’s the one swaddled in his blankets, tucked up against her, and she’s sweating her ass off. It’s in moments like these that she’s reminded of that fury she harbored upon their first meeting. Of the stubborn as all hell man whose desk she’d stretched across to shake his hand only for him to meet her eyes and purposely get her college wrong. He’d admitted this years ago, a shameful blush creeping up his neck as he retold his thought process. Of the joy, he’d gotten out of her annoyance and she’d whacked him with the closest magazine she could find being reminded of just how easily he has always managed to get into her head.

That man that day has been many things over the course of their lives. Her enemy, the man she was hired to take down. For a while, she’d thought about it. He was a hateful man and she a spiteful woman-- the perfect mix of misery to see that in one another and exacerbate it exponentially. Then a mystery, an enigma she looked at like the most fascinating puzzle and, despite her best attempts, had begun to like. Somehow they stumbled into acquaintances until it was him she wanted to tell her shitty jokes to and him she wanted to wait for to go get drinks. To sitting beside his unconscious body in the ICU, listening to his labored breathing and wondering if this would end if for him. How much will he give before it becomes too much?

Now he’s the man drooling on her shoulder, whose arm over her hips is comforting and familiar. She wants to shake her head at him, to complain about how clingy he is, but she knows she’s lucky. The men of her past are horrible and they make a little drool seem like nothing at all. Her father was emotionally manipulative, never raised a hand but sometimes he threw words like the crack of a belt. She could feel their sting on her cheek. There was John, just a little older than her, but enrapturing with his cigarettes and free will. He’d used her and abandoned her when their actions had created a life neither would survive. How many between then and Ian? She can’t even remember them all. The other girls used to call her a whore but she had no concept of her own body. Just that she liked the attention of men and the only way to keep that attention was sex. It worked with every man she ever met.

Except for Aaron.

She can remember the flood of embarrassment she’d felt the first time she tried to stick her hand down his pants. The way their casual kissing had gotten a little heated and he’d stopped her, gently rubbing her hand as he pulled it away from his belt. “Slow,” he’d reminded her and she’d blushed but he’d soothed that too. Reminded her he just has to be sure if not for their jobs then for Jack because he’s not exactly given set a great standard for dating. He’d kissed her again, cupping her cheek, and turned his attention back to the movie. She still remembers the shock of that. Of him. The way he kissed and touched her like every single second she allowed him close was something he cherished. She doesn’t think anyone’s really touched her like that. As if they meant it.

Now she’s stuck with him.

Despite the grown man laying all over her and the heat of the room, she manages to fall asleep. Somewhere between his soft snoring and thinking about the garden and the flowers he’s left on their porch still in their containers.

When she wakes he’s not in bed. The early morning has not brought on the wrath of mid-day’s heat, leaving the air conditioner to power on and her to shiver under the blankets without him there to wrap himself around her. She lays there for a few more moments before her left hip starts to ache from the position and she realizes that she has to get up to stretch and pee. In motion, there’s no point in crawling back into bed. Not unless she can convince Aaron to come back for a nap later.

She pulls on an old pair of his sweatpants before venturing out to him. He’s full of all the same old habits so she knows exactly where he is. “Good morning,” she greets, stepping out on the porch. He’s surrounded by children, sparring her only a glance as he looks up from his apple cutting. This is an everyday sort of thing. Every morning at seven he greets the neighbor’s children on their porch, bringing with him three apples or oranges to divide between himself and the children as they wait for the bus. She’s wordlessly passed an apple slice.

“So,” she asks, taking a seat on the porch swing and smiling as one of the kids climbs up after her. “How are we doing this morning? Ready for school?” Most of the kids are elementary schoolers so they cheer with big gap-toothed grins around the slices of apple Aaron’s supplied them. They have only one high schooler, a seventeen-year-old who simply winces around his apple. She doesn’t miss it. “Have you gotten any of those college applications in back yet?”

Aaron looks up, hand stilling to wait for an answer.

Arthur, the boy in question, averts their gaze to swallow thickly and admit, “I-- I don’t know.” He bites into his apple, kicking at the concrete corner of the edge of the porch. Anything to avoid them, to pull the attention back away from him. “Don’t want to look.”

She should have known, he’s placed the whole porch between them and him. She hums, “why can’t you check them?” She knows he’s got other things to tend to which is probably how he’s been able to put off checking the applications as long as he has. Melancholy hits her a little hard as she recalls the last time she and Aaron had to help an anxious to the point of anger teenager through the thorns and thickets of college application papers. Jack hadn’t been very happy about all the paperwork either. Smart as a whip but dissolving to the point of tears by the pure amount of information he needed to fill in until he’d give up with an angry wipe of his face and the soft admission “I don’t understand it”. It had all been worth the tears of joy and Aaron’s near heart attack at his son’s sudden shout when he’d gotten them back. He’d taken his laptop back to his room, needed to be alone just in case they came back bad.

Of course, they hadn’t.

Arthur glances at Aaron before swallowing and shrugging. “Dunno,” he mumbles.

The bus is his saving grace and he wastes no time throwing his bookbag over his shoulder and offering a quick wave before tearing off for it. The other children bounce about as Aaron splits the rest of the apple in his hand between them. “Arthur!” he shouts, watching between the knife in his hand and the teen now coming to a staggering halt. “Just check the applications, huh? I’m sure you got into all of them. They’d be fools not to take you.” Aaron’s already looking back down, mumbling something with a smile to the others before sending them off. Never sees the way Arthur looks back at him, stunned in silence until one of his sisters smacks into him and jolts him back to Earth.

Emily observes Aaron for a moment, watches him pop the last sliver of apple in his mouth before wiping the blade of his pocket knife off on his jeans. Observing the blade for a moment before shaking his head and muttering, “damn things dull again.” He meets her gaze, oblivious to her thoughts, and shows her. “I think I need a new one.”

She could care less about his stupid pocket knife-- especially when she knows he’s had that one for longer than she’s known him and he won’t get a new one. She’s lost thinking about how old they are. How the two of them have surpassed every joke they made in their pasts about dying too soon, too young. They’ve raised Jack and have somehow made it to the age where she realizes, that they’re at the grandparenting age. Something she hadn’t even thought about until seeing Aaron just now. His baggy old sweater and the ease he has with being around children that would be the perfect age to look as if they were his own grandchildren and suddenly she yearns to see him with them. To see Jack become a father and to be able to see that light in Aaron’s eyes.

And, well, maybe she’d like a son or daughter-in-law out of Jack too and grandkids. A woman can dream… when was the last time she even got to hold a baby?

“Coffee?” Aaron asks, standing from his rocking chair and offering her hand. She nods and takes it, wincing at the chill of his skin. It reminds her that Thursday he has two doctor’s appointments both of which he’ll hate, not that he likes any of them, but he really hates the meeting with the orthopedics who push at his sore hips and want to check every square inch of his body. All for the same old thing. A higher dosage of the medication he takes for his shitty vascular system and the threat that if he doesn’t start taking care of his right hip better with the exercises they advise he’ll be hobbling about with a cane by the end of the year.

But they always say that. He’d rather just take the cane and call it a day.

Meanwhile, she gets by with her obscene amounts of coffee. Her hip is always hurting but she never does anything about it and her doctors praise her for excellent health and great blood pressure and just everything. It drives him crazy.

He makes the coffee while she’s puttering about the house, two cups made the exact same way. The way she likes because he already knows he’ll get halfway through this cup, like he always does, before leaving it to entertain some random thought he’s had. Which means he’s leaving it for her to finish and he also really likes the ratio of creamer that she prefers and it’s a good reason to indulge in all the silly little fancy additions he can make to it.

She takes the mug he offers with a smile, sipping the too-hot liquid before it cooled enough and sucking in a breath through her teeth with a wince. The same mistake every day, she never learns. “Will you get those flowers off my porch?” she asks. She pulls the sliding glass door to their backyard open, stepping out and knowing he’s right on her heels. “They’re going to die if you don’t get them into the ground.”

Last week or maybe Monday they’d gone out to Lowe’s to get her lumber for a bookshelf. He’d wandered off while she found what wood she wanted and what stain she thought would go best. She was not surprised when he came back grinning and told her about the flowers he’d loaded into the cart. She’d only half-listened as the Lowe’s guys put the wood in the back of the truck but the point is there will be lots of yellows and purples and, she can only remember one of the names because he’d particularly excited about these, orange black-eyed susan vines. Which are all sitting on the front porch waiting for him.

He grunts.

“And make sure you put sunblock on your neck,” she adds, sneaking a smirk his way. The last time he’d been gardening he’d taken off his hat and burnt the hell out of the back of his neck. Was miserable for days because of it and, naturally, all his groaning became her problem.

He squints his eyes at her but says nothing. He’ll remember the sunblock this time.

They separate off into their tasks for the day.

She leaves him on the back porch with a kiss to the temple and rustle of his hair, off to find her copy of the “The Illustrated Man” wherever she left it last. She’ll take it out to the hammock between the trees in their backyard so she can watch him as she takes breaks from reading. He’s already brought his flowers around when she gets back out, standing there looking all kinds of confused as he scratches his head absently as he thinks. Eyes darting around the dirt as he comes up with how he wants to plant the flowers.

“We can get mulch Thursday after your doctor’s appointment,” she says as she passes, patting his butt as does so. He’s lost the sweater stripped down to his worn jeans and a thin white t-shirt. He grunts at her suggestion both as a yes and a wordless complaint at being reminded of his doctor’s appointment.

It doesn’t take him long to figure out where he wants things and she watches him get to it. She’s certainly had her fun picking at him for filling his retirement with something so typically feminine as planting flowers but she thinks it’s terribly sweet. She loves just how proud he is of his little garden and every year he talks about planting vegetables too. The man’s got a hell of a green thumb, he could do it.

With a hum, she stretches out in the hammock and makes a mental note to ask Morgan if he knows anything about vegetable gardens. If they can get him over here to pull the ground up she’s certain Aaron would have something down in the dirt as soon as he could. Wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t already have the seeds ready.

The kids would love that. She smirks into her book, satisfied with herself. It’s settled then, she decides. She’ll call Morgan and get Reid to help them find vegetables that are in season. They’ll love that.

It’s the perfect beginning to her day and with any luck, it’ll stay that way.

#hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[bananaink]

I’m alive! :D With some imprint AU stuff :D

And I even wrote something for it you can read under the cut!  If you don’t want to read it, here is the gist of it: After Izuku and Shigaraki fought and left both hurt, Kurogiri brought Izuku to AFO, where he gifted Izuku with his healing quirk. Also, I tried writing from AFOs perspective, which is so horribly hard and weird but very intriguing...

So, be warned if you read it! It’s not happy and has a description of an injury!

This was... unexpected. Not entirely a surprise but still... unexpected.

Keeping his hand over the small, bloody chest, All For One listens to the rattling breath in those ruined lungs. The boy couldn’t be much older than... when had he picked him up again? He can’t remember his age. Or where he had plucked him from. Just remembered the soft call of a quirk, interesting and promising enough to pique his interest, sitting in a vessel as young and mendable as he had needed it.

A gurgle, a spluttered cough and that small raw chest twitches under his palm. All For One gently lifts the boy in his arms, tipping his head back. Blood trickles out of his mouth and just a second later the body tries desperately to suck in another breath.

With his other hand not feeling for the heartbeat, All For One lets his fingertips wander over the raw flesh on his cheek, prods at the jaw bone peeking through and listens to the sounds coming from that throat. The boy isn’t conscious, of course not. Tomura has done a number on him this time and when Kurogiri had carried the dying child over, pristine suit covered in blood and voice stiffly hiding how regretful he was over it, the boy had just lost the last hold on his awareness.

All For One may had no more eyes to see with, but he didn’t need to when Kurogiri had gently handed Izuku over, one hand lingering a second too long on the curls for it to be anything but unsettled and ever so humbly informed him about the fight. He didn’t need to see how Kurogiri cared for the two boys and why he had brought Izuku to All For One instead of just disposing him somewhere. Kurogiri never neglected Tomura, followed his duties as the caregiver to a T so the chosen one could be groomed into the final chess piece - but he also never truly hid how much he’d rather have Izuku as his only ward. Until now it had never posed as a problem and Kurogiri wasn’t so dumb as to let his own feelings override his Senseis wishes. But All For One still has Izuku in his arms, not his pupil sulking somewhere.

Tomura had refused to go to his Sensei and explain himself as to why he had mortally wounded his little brother he had proclaimed to love so dearly. So Kurogiri had assumed that position, jumped at the chance to get the barely alive body to him. He informed All For One about the skill and ingenuity it had taken for Izuku to survive and almost even win the fight. How he had turned the tables for the first time, how he had learned from his observations, tried to apply and utilize them. A first try, a first real counterpunch, strong enough to force Tomura into almost killing his dear, little brother.

All For One had gotten the feeling Kurogiri had tried to upsell the child, slowly succumbing to his wounds and entirely inflicted because of his own decisions. In all these short years, Izuku had been nothing but invisible. A good distraction for the impatient Tomura, a useful little tool for the doctor, an asset for Kurogiri and his net of rumors. And when he had tripped All For Ones senses, tickling his focus for a second with one of his stupid stunts, he had made sure to duck and cover immediately. Izuku had been a quiet child until now, unassuming and harmless, the perfect antipole to a boiling Tomura, full of rage and possibility under his skin.  

But to hear that a mere little prank had escalated into this...

All For One is surprised to feel a little bit of remorse about Izukus inevitable death. He never actually thought to get attached to the boy. He was supposed to be a plaything for Tomura, distract him while he himself slowly set his plans in motion. But now he finds himself looking down on the child, breath slowly losing strength and each heartbeat coming later than the one before.

He twitches when the small hand, limply resting on his own touches his exposed wrist and is surprised to feel a small, wild quirk reaching out to him. He can feel his oldest, his strongest and most guarded quirk peeking around the mass of other ones he had layered over it. The child reaches and reaches and All For One – ever the curious one – lets him touch his quirk. It's warm and inviting before it quickly turns into a vice, desperately gripping and clawing at All For One.

It’s as if a connection opened up between them, a small freeway directly into his softest part.

A call for help, fear flooding him and pain striking his insides, agitating old wounds...

It’s the first time in years he can feel his skin break out in goosebumps.

He gently pries the foreign quirk away from his own and is surprised again when it latches on to another one on the way, rousing All For Ones echolocation awake and dousing him in information. It takes longer to get the quirk away from that one and he finds himself swatting the reaching quirk away. Watches how another breath doesn’t get enough air into the frail body and the quirk flutters, losing its grip.

He remembers why he had been fascinated with this quirk in the first place. Not only had it felt so so similar to his original one, on its own useless and pointless but born to be a complementary piece... Only to be disappointed when it wasn’t even strong enough to be used in a Nomu. Maybe he had just used it wrong? Thought about it like glue, like a puzzle piece with endless connecting possibilities like his own. But maybe it was more of a... starter. Even as he is thinking that, the quirk snags the one for levitation and he feels himself floating for a second before shutting it off. It is fascinating how agile and fast the quirk jumps around in his body, touching and clawing at quirks that long lost their individuality and almost disrupts his own carefully crafted unity.  

Despite its owner dying - a body with a heartbeat more dead than alive - All For One can still feel the quirk pawing at him, weakly prying at All For Ones defenses and flickering out like a struggling ember in a frozen fire.

So, All For One decides.

Reaching inside of him, he tugs forward a quirk, he had found and needed almost over a decade ago. It had once been strong, unpredictably wayward and hard to control, but after years of constant activity and the inevitable replacements piling over it, adding to its purpose and slowly suffocating it, it had lost its unmanageable streak.

He had meant to throw it away anyway, so what harm could it do to gift it to a body on the verge of death. Maybe even see if the healing was still as strong as it once was.

To activate All For One, tugging the quirk out and forcing it out of his fingertips resting on the bloody chest is something so natural to him that he doesn’t even think about it. Instead he feels the little flickering quirk latch onto him, almost ripping the new quirk out of his body and stuffing it inside Izuku without any assistance from All For One. The healing quirk immediately settles in the center of his chest and pours over the heart and lungs, scratches over bones and muscles. All For One tilts his head, listens and feels for it, how it buzzes like a little furnace with too much heat.

The boy spasms with a strong, sudden heartbeat and a gasp follows before the kid lays still again. All For One cradles the boy to his chest, immersed in the way the gifted quirk seems to rampage through the new body, eager to work on its own after years of being a link in a chain. He can feel the heat under his palm, the little shudders running up and down the flesh. And when he is very, very quiet, he can even hear the tissue repairing itself.

It takes a while for Izuku to reach a point where he has a steady heartbeat without a hitch, can breathe without a wet cough and stops bleeding outside of his body. And when he does, All For One can feel Izukus little fluttery quirk reaching out out out again, prodding at All For Ones barricades, trying to squeeze through the gaps and snag another quirk. Touch it. Activate it. Feel it.

He grasps it with his own and doesn’t let it go further. It wiggles in his hold, fearless.

A greedy little thing and he feels like a parent snagging hands away from the cookie jar when he squeezes it warningly, pulling, until it almost leaves its owner.

The kids eyes flutter and he chokes on nothing, pain lazing his features, body arching like a bowstring - and All For One lets it go. It retreats, scolded and intimidated and falls in place right beside the new quirk as if they had shared one body since the beginning. Izuku sags against him, major injuries taken care of but exhausted after such a deep change, breathing hard and sweat glazing his skin. Still unconscious.

Raking his hand through that wild hair, All For One leans back and checks his own body and if those little grabby hands had disrupted his carefully constructed quirk-creation. Then he reassesses his own healing capabilities and finds them satisfyingly sufficient. No immediate drawbacks and another healing quirk perfectly replaced the submitted one. Every other one falling perfectly into place. Machines around and inside of him keep on whirring, keeping him alive and he has lost not one piece of his own comfort. Oh, how far he has left death behind aready...

The boy stirs in his arms but doesn’t wake up. All For One lets his fingertips wander over the new scar on the boy's face, feels its texture and form. Can’t stop himself from laying his own hand over the shape and, again, notes how small the child is, how young, how frail...

Involuntary whines, high pitched and terrified, climb out of Izukus throat and an unexpected urge to sooth the child surprises the century old being. A faded wish for company, a dusty memory of a family and All For One hugs the child to his chest. He doesn’t rock him, doesn’t try to scare the nightmare away or ease the fear. Because the world is cruel and cold and a nightmare. All the phrases that come to mind of how everything is fine, you’re fine, nothing can hurt you, are lies. And All For One may be a monster, a killer, a curse to some and an abomination to others. But he is not a liar.

So, he does nothing when the boy wakes up in a fit of panic. He does nothing when he asks where he is, what happened, am I dead, did I die? He does nothing when the confusion and desperation turns into fear. And tears, into hyperventilation. He can feel the child slowly spiraling into a panic attack and does nothing but hold him.

But he listens. To the painful sobs and cries leaking out of him, the garbled nonsense his lips form that not even a death-scare can take away. Until they fade into terrified whimpers. Into painful sounding heaving. To exhausted hollowness.

All For One listens to all of it until Kurogiri comes and takes the child away.

#bnha au #imprint au #AFO #izuku midoriya #description of injury #origin from Izukus second quirk #healing quirk #izuku has a quirk #and he got it from AFO #which is not a surprise if you know my au #but I always wanted to write it #so I gave it my all #for one #ha im hilarious #okay so still unsure about the pic #color is just not my strong suit if I try to like color a scnene #but I gave it my best! :D #my au #My writing #should I post this on AO3?

[robininthelabyrinth]

Would you continue the prompt with the Nie brothers going back in time?

sequel to this

Nie Mingjue started his first week back in time with training.

All those years as a spirit, unable to transcend to reincarnation, had taught him some little amount of patience – he had so much to do, so many things to accomplish, but no matter how much he itched to get started on all of them, it would all go to waste if he didn’t first acclimate himself to this time period, if he didn’t figure out how to pretend that he wasn’t decades older than his current self; if he slipped up, his father would think he was possessed.

Baxia continued to be unusually cooperative, almost as if she, too, knew that they needed to keep up a proper façade – she fought with him, of course, straining in his hands to go destroy things, but it’s playful, a game of tug-of-war rather than a serious attempt to go slaughter the wicked. He smiled at her as he went through the endless motions of saber control while the family elders studied his every action closely to make sure he wasn’t inadvertently heading down the wrong path.

Not his father, luckily; he was preoccupied with Sect matters during this time, and they usually only ever saw each other very briefly over breakfast – it wasn’t that Nie Mingjue wasn’t glad to see his father alive and well, he was, desperately. It was only that he didn’t actually remember what the man had been like at this time, all the good memories he had of him overshadowed by the horrible six months between his saber breaking and his actual death. 

He didn’t remember what it was like, having a father, and that made things awkward in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

The only problem Nie Mingjue had foreseen with his plan was that he would invariably be reluctant to leave Nie Huaisang’s side for too long, but that ended up not being an issue - Nie Huaisang often came to play by the side of the training field. He was too small to train in anything but the most basic arm motions, small weights wrapped around his wrists to slowly strengthen his shoulders as he ran around and mimicked Nie Mingjue’s actions with a stick, but there, always there, and it was an unspeakable relief.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t sure he remembered Nie Huaisang being quite so consistent with his presence, but he assumed the issue was with his memory – it had been so many years, after all.

It was good that it was this way, though. Nie Mingjue hadn’t been sure how else he’d explain why he wanted to keep so close a watch over his brother.

It was only a few days in when he was finally allowed to do more than the basic movements. In a fit of wicked amusement, he did a move that was more advanced than he really should be capable of at this age, prodigy or not,  throwing Baxia out in that most familiar motion that had been burned into him by the war, sending her piercing through the training dummy before summoning her back with a flick of his wrist.

He grinned unreservedly when Baxia returned to him, feeling finally a bit more like himself, and for some reason that was when Nie Huaisang started crying.

Nie Mingjue immediately turned and ran over to him, the decade he’d spent being both mother and father to him kicking in at once to override any other instincts he might have. But there wasn’t anything wrong with him that he could see: Nie Huaisang was fine.

Just – crying. Sobbing unreservedly, as if his heart had broken.

“Shh, Huaisang, it’s all right,” Nie Mingjue said, trying to coax him. Four-year-olds were so difficult! “Don’t worry, da-ge’s here – do you want to hold Baxia?”

Nie Huaisang shook his head and clung onto his clothing, burying his face with a nose full of snot right onto Nie Mingjue’s shoulder. Nie Mingjue sighed a little: if he’d actually still been twelve, he would be extremely uncomfortable right now, a little repulsed, a little helpless.

Twelve, in other words.

It didn’t bother him now. It was amazing what sort of gross bodily functions became boring and ordinary after you’d had the experience of being brutally dismembered, your soul forcefully broken into pieces and sealed so you couldn’t escape.

He ignored the disapproving gazes of his elders – interrupting saber practice for a little boy’s tears was not approved conduct, and he’d probably have to report to the punishment hall later for breach of discipline – and picked Nie Huaisang up in his arms, enjoying that they were both still young enough that the action would not be seen as odd. 

He carried him inside.

“You’re not hurt?” he checked again, and Nie Huaisang shook his head once more. “Hungry?” Another no. “Too hot?” Averted eyes, so maybe. “Do you want to play something else?”

A hesitant nod.

Nie Mingjue still wasn’t sure what had set Nie Huaisang off, but based on the way he’d grown up, he thought he might have a good idea about what he’d like.

He took him up to their mother’s old bedroom – technically Nie Mingjue’s mother, since Nie Huaisang’s sadly short-lived mother had been a concubine – and searched in her things, finally pulling out one of the fans he was pretty sure he’d seen Nie Huaisang gawking over as a child and then treasuring as an adult.

“Here,” he said, smiling as he offered it up, “this is something to play with and keep cool – no, no, Huaisang, didi! Why are you crying now?”

Nie Huaisang clutched the fan and wailed, throwing himself at Nie Mingjue, mumbling something about da-ge being the best da-ge and possibly also something about ‘never knew it was you’ which – what?

Maybe Nie Huaisang had dozed off in the heat while watching Nie Mingjue train and had a nightmare.

Feeling more than a little helpless, Nie Mingjue just gave up understanding the inexplicable and just went about the rest of his day with a small child on one arm, which seemed to work well enough in convincing Nie Huaisang not to cry any more. When he visited the punishment hall to report on his broken training, the elder there – while approving of his principles – couldn’t resist asking him about it, and Nie Mingjue had shrugged and said something about lifting weights.

Nie Huaisang giggled. “I’m the best weight!”

“See?” Nie Mingjue said to the elder, who was fighting a smile. “He’s the best weight. I get stronger supporting him, and he’s never a burden.”

For some reason, that made Nie Huaisang go quiet, burying his face in Nie Mingjue’s shoulder as if he’d once again gone shy, and it wasn’t until they were outside – in view of voluntarily accepting the consequences of his actions, Nie Mingjue was only required to spend some time kneeling in reflection – that he spoke again.

“I won’t be a burden to you, da-ge,” he said, very seriously. He really had surprisingly good diction for a child of his age, which Nie Mingjue hadn’t noticed in his first life. But then, who would have ever noticed a scholarly genius in the Unclean Realm? “I promise. I won’t ever drag you down or – or embarrass you.”

Nie Mingjue thought of the future – years and years of Nie Huaisang, amateur good-for-nothing eventually ascending into the level of professional, followed by years of using that very uselessness as a mask to hide the oriole as it slowly stalked the mantis – and couldn’t resist chuckling. 

“What embarrassment?” he asked, teasing. “Do I look like someone who can’t handle losing a bit of face? Do as you like, as long as you’re happy. Walk whatever path you like; no matter what you choose, your da-ge will hold up the world for you.”

This time around, he promised himself that he’d keep that vow. He might be doomed to die an early death in this life, Baxia conquering his spirit until he entered qi deviation even if there was no poisoned Song of Clarity pouring into his ears, but at least this time he knew it: he could lay the proper foundation to make sure Nie Huaisang would be properly taken care of, this time, put loyal retainers at his side to do the dirty work he’d sullied his own hands with in a previous future life.

“…thank you, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang said, and he was rubbing his eyes again, all red, but at least he hadn’t descended into sobbing again.

Children were so hard to understand.

“You still need to work hard to form your golden core,” Nie Mingjue told him, a little worried – he knew himself, knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist spoiling Nie Huaisang even more in this life than in the last, knew that it had been painfully hard for Nie Huaisang to get his core formed the last time around. He didn’t have a talent for it, plain and simple, but it still had to be done. “It’s important, okay, Huaisang? Even if you don’t really like playing with sabers or training, you still have to do that much. Without a golden core, you’re just a regular person, with a short life and no way to protect yourself…you don’t want to make your da-ge have to bury you, do you?”

That would kill him more assuredly than any qi deviation.

Nie Huaisang quivered all over and shook his head furiously. “I’ll work hard, da-ge! I promise!”

A simple conversation wasn’t going to be enough to mitigate a little of Nie Huaisang’s inevitable laziness, but that was fine; they had time left. Nie Mingjue wasn’t planning on dying so young that he wouldn’t live to see Nie Huaisang properly set down the path of their family’s road to cultivation, even if he knew already that he’d only abandon it later.

-

A couple of days after that, just as he was considering his options in terms of how to convince their father to send someone to search for Meng Yao, who he at least had a general idea of where he was located, Nie Huaisang toddled down to the main room with a piece of paper crushed in his grubby little fist.

“Mail!” he exclaimed happily. “Baba, mail!”

“A-die, Huaisang,” their father said, fond but a little long-suffering already. “Not baba. Your da-ge calls me a-die; you should…Huaisang. Did you wash your hands before you went to get the mail?”

Nie Huaisang blinked up at him, so obviously innocent that he was clearly pretending not to understand the question as if it could erase the misdeed, and Nie Mingjue coughed very hard into his fist in a vain effort to keep from laughing.

His father gave him a stern look that wasn’t stern at all – the twitching lips not entirely hidden behind his trimmed beard rather destroyed the effect – and shook his head at Nie Huaisang, who definitely knew better.

“What sort of dirt were you even playing with this early?” he asked, plucking the crushed letter out of Nie Huaisang’s hands; he sounded as helpless as Nie Mingjue always felt. It was good to know that parenting Nie Huaisang was a challenge no matter who was doing it. “How did you even..? Look at this, Huaisang; the entire thing is almost illegible. It looks like a dog ate it.”

“And then threw it back up,” Nie Mingjue added, aware that he was not being helpful and enjoying it to its fullest. “What is it, anyway?”

“Doesn’t seem like anything much, a request for aid from – uh – Yingchuan…? Mingjue, see if you can read this.”

Nie Mingjue accepted it, suddenly excited: if he recalled correctly, Yingchuan – technically a region that ought to be asking for help from Qishan Wen, not Qinghe Nie, but everyone knew who was more likely to show up without demanding unreasonable things in exchange – was where Wei Wuxian had spent some years as a child, very likely the years without his parents. It had come up in conversation once, Wei Wuxian having been greatly ashamed to discover that certain parts of his speech shared  intonations with Wen Chao’s whore, who also came from that region.

“It must be from the Yingchuan Wang sect,” he agreed, squinting at the truly ghastly calligraphy. It looked as though it had been written by a small child – a very careful one that knew all the right letters, but definitely as though the brush had been clutched in a fist rather than held correctly. “Seeking assistance with…something. It’s just an ink splotch now. A-die, can I go?”

His father blinked, clearly surprised by the request. “You? Why? We don’t need to curry favor Yingchuan Wang, of all people, by sending the heir; I was planning on sending a few outer disciples.”

“If some outer sect disciples can do it, so can I,” Nie Mingjue pointed out, quite reasonably in his mind. “And while we might not need Yingchuan Wang, you know they’ll be unbearably smug about having been so honored – they’ll tell everyone and their neighbor about it, and that’ll make Wen Ruohan waste time wondering what it is that they have that we want.”

“Sect Leader Wen,” his father reminded him, and, oh, right, they hadn’t reached the point of totally breaking ties with them yet – that had only happened after his father’s death. The mildness of the rebuke and the lack of any punishment, though, suggested that things were already quite tense between them. “And I’m not sure it’s a good idea for you to go so soon after you’ve started properly training your spiritual weapon.”

“Training is only training,” Nie Mingjue reminded his father in turn. Nie Huaisang’s head was turning between the two of them like a window swinging in a strong wind. “I won’t be able to actually call her mine until I’ve bloodied her in combat.”

He’d taken Baxia’s first blood himself, of course, cutting his hand on the blade to give her the first taste of blood so that she’d know her master; he’d replicated the action after he’d come back in time, a reminder of the bond between them, and his hand still had a bandage, the palm still a little tender as the scar settled into place – a terrible place for a cut, really, but that was the point. Accepting something as dangerous as a saber should hurt.

But the saber spirits were cultivated through battle with evil, doing battle with resentful energy – if Nie Mingjue truly wanted to become stronger, and he did, desperately, he needed to go night-hunting. Twelve was a bit young to go out solo, most cultivators waiting until fourteen or fifteen so that they could make a good showing, but Qinghe Nie had always been a bit fast on that front.

In the end, fame was only secondary; before anything else, they had to uphold justice and suppress evil.

“Give me your saber,” his father ordered, and Nie Mingjue hesitated for a moment – old memories, bad ones, ones that hurt – but then he forced away his uneasiness and unhooked Baxia from his back to offer it over to his father, saber balanced between his two palms.

His father put his hand over Baxia, his brow furrowing with concentration as he examined the saber, and eventually he frowned.

“She’s very strong,” he said, and from his tone Nie Mingjue knew it wasn’t entirely a good thing; a powerful saber at such a young age meant Nie Mingjue’s talent for cultivation was prodigious – Baxia had always been exceptional, even in his first life, and especially in comparison later on with Aituan, Nie Huaisang’s lazy plonk of a saber – but it would make things harder for him later. “Yes, perhaps you should go. The sooner your saber learns to hate evil, the better.”

Nie Mingjue smiled.

“Da-ge…” Nie Huaisang said, clearly looking worried and also oddly dissatisfied, a twist of his lips as if something hadn’t gone according to plan, but Nie Mingjue leaned over and ruffled his hair until he squeaked. “Da-ge!”

“Don’t worry, Huaisang. I’ll take some disciples with me. It’ll be fine.”

-

The Yingchuan Wang sect was even more annoying than Nie Mingjue had previously remembered them being – they acted as though they’d never written any sort of letter, strutting around as if they were proud (proud!) that there was such a large disaster in their territory that sect cultivators and rogue cultivators alike were making their way over to find the creature that had murdered so many, villagers and traveling passer-by alike.

Nie Mingjue had racked his memory to try to see if he could figure out what type of beast there was here, but he couldn’t remember – it hadn’t made much of an impact in his last life, when he’d been at home focusing on taming Baxia, and no one had ever mentioned exactly what it was later on.

Still, it didn’t make much of a difference. They hadn’t been out in the deeply forested valley for more than half a shichen when Nie Mingjue stepped on the right piece of disturbed soil and immediately knew that there was a mass grave here.

He’d seen too many battles not to recognize the signs.

A mass grave, a sign of many deaths all at once, and yet this was an era of peace with no reported battles anywhere nearby –

“Shit,” he said shortly, and the Nie cultivators with him – all older than him and nominally more experienced – turned to look at him. “There was a plague here. Probably covered up by the local people, the corpses buried without any ritual or purification…and that’s assuming they were all dead when they went into the earth. Best case scenario, we’ll have an entire group of mid-level fierce corpses, possibly high-level; worst case scenario, all that, but with a demon and maybe some guai to join in – dead or sick dogs are often thrown into these sorts of pits as well.”

“Pits?” one of the cultivators asked. “Nie-gongzi, what pit –”

“Look at the earth!” Nie Mingjue snapped. “You can see that all of it has been disturbed, with no plants growing but the ill-omened ones. Smell the air! Blood mixing in with soil, a hint of decay, of sickness in the surrounding trees...you can sense the resentful energy that hangs over this place – it’s a mass grave, recently interred, and without any battles in the area, that means plague. And Yingchuan Wang didn’t say a damn word about it!”

No wonder Wei Wuxian’s parents had died. Nie Mingjue had known he was going to go up against something fierce and brought more help than he would have normally bothered with – his father had agreed on the basis that Nie Mingjue was, well, twelve – and even he wasn’t sure they’d be able to tackle something of this magnitude: a pair of rogue cultivators, no matter how naturally talented, couldn’t fail to be overwhelmed.

“You three, go scout out the full size of the grave,” he ordered, falling easily and immediately into giving orders. This was not a good situation, but he’d met with worse during the war; as long as swift and decisive action could be taken, it could still be resolved in their favor. “You and you, start setting up a five-point suppression array on the parts of it we can see – here, and over by the large oaks there. If we get the array up in time, we’ll be able to keep more corpses from rising and hitting us from behind as we take the ones already risen. We remaining three will each go separately into the forest to begin hunting; take flares with you in the event you encounter something you can’t handle, and if you see any rogue cultivators, bring them back here at once.”

“Rogue cultivators?” Nie Zonghui, one of the ones he’d tasked with hunting, asked, looking dumb, and all of them were staring blankly at him as if they hadn’t understood a single word he’d said. “Why –”

“Are you disciples of my Nie sect or not?” Nie Mingjue roared, ignoring how much less impressive it was when his voice was still young and tender. “I gave you orders, and you’re still here gawking! Get moving!”

They scattered immediately, sect discipline kicking in almost before he finished shouting.

“Rogue cultivators are typically weak; they will only be a burden, and taking the time to rescue them will divert our attention from the main target,” Nie Zonghui said, still lingering a little. “Nie-gongzi, are you sure –”

“No matter how weak they are, they can still form a shield line,” Nie Mingjue said firmly. Nie Zonghui was a cousin and a good soldier; Nie Mingjue could take the time to answer his question, even if he was going to insist that the man submit to punishment later for questioning his commander during battle. He understood, of course – the commander in question was twelve, and the post was meant to be nominal, more a sop to a child’s ego than an actual hierarchy – but that didn’t change the fact of it. “Suppressing evil before it can spread is the priority, but I won’t spend lives cheaply, either ours or theirs. Think of it practically: rogue cultivators don’t have access to the same soul-calming rituals as the major sects, so if they die or are injured, they might become possessed, and the number of our enemies will grow. Now go.”

Nie Zonghui nodded sharply. “Understood, Nie-gongzi.”

It was very strange being called Nie-gongzi again after so many years of being called Sect Leader Nie, Nie Mingjue reflected as he flew into the deeper parts of the forest, letting an eager Baxia guide him towards the thickest concentration of resentful energy. He’d have to learn to adjust, especially if he hoped to keep his father alive this time around…

“Are you insane?” he blurted out, throwing himself down into the ongoing battle that he found there. 

There was a demon, it appeared, the twisted remains of what had been a living man, plague-ridden and thrown into a pit to be buried alive among the bodies of the dead; the resentment had overcome the man before death had taken him, and he rose from his too-early grave. If he had limited himself to those that had wronged him, Nie Mingjue might have understood – the Nie sect wasn’t as inflexible as the Lan sect when it came to allowing the dead to find purification through revenge – but this one had clearly gone well beyond that.

A pair of rogue cultivators, a man and a woman, had apparently encountered the demon by chance and decided to take it on by themselves in what Nie Mingjue could only assume was a combination of sheer bullheaded stupidity and a lack of other options, and it was going about was well as one might expect – the woman was about to be pierced through the neck from behind, having given up her defensive position to shove her husband out of harm’s way.

Nie Mingjue came down at that moment, using gravity to help bring Baxia down on the demon’s outstretched hand with full force; the hand snapped under the strain and the demon roared, furious, and Nie Mingjue engaged it at once to give the other two time to regroup.

“Thank you, daozhang,” the man gasped, grabbing his wife and pulling her back towards him – they both had swords, although she also had a horsetail whisk shoved into her belt – and then he presumably had enough time to actually get a look at who had saved him. “You’re a child!”

Nie Mingjue ignored him; it was true, for the moment, and at least the man hadn’t picked the word for a child under the age of ten. Another thing he’d have to adjust to, he supposed: being treated by the rest of the world as a child. Not everyone had proper sect discipline that he could rely on, after all…

“Whatever his age may be, he saved my neck and your ass,” the woman says, and pulls out her whisk. “Daozhang, there are three of us now, we can suppress it –”

It was a good suggestion, and Nie Mingjue nodded. “North facing mountain array?” he suggested. While not the most efficient, it was the most common three-point array; most rogue cultivators would know it.

“Do you know the budding lotus pattern?” the man asked, and Nie Mingjue took half a moment to realize that he’d apparently just run into Wei Wuxian’s unfortunate parents.

“Yes. Yunmeng style?” he asked, and the man nodded. “I’ll take the center.”

“Are you sure you can handle the strain –?” the man began, and his wife kicked him.

“He’ll be fine, you mother hen,” she said fondly. “He’s neither injured nor tired, unlike us, and that saber of his will keep him stabilized. Move!”

-

A three point array, especially one centered by a twelve-year-old, wasn’t enough to actually suppress a full fledged demon, but the woman used her whisk to good effect and between the three of them they were able to slowly harry it back towards the mass grave.

Nie Zonghui and Lin Tianfeng had found their own targets as well, using their sabers to drive the corpses back into the larger array where they would be trapped; they’d also found some rogue cultivators, who were standing guard around the Nie cultivators focused on maintaining the array. All had rather relieved expressions on their faces.

Nie Zonghui glanced over when Nie Mingjue and his group emerged, a momentary flash of relief at seeing Nie Mingjue unharmed that quickly turned into horror when he realized Nie Mingjue had managed to run into the demon; he shouted for Lin Tianfeng to cover his group of corpses and ran over.

Normally, Nie Mingjue would scold him at once for leaving his appointed position, but at the moment he was breathing too hard to speak, so Nie Zonghui’s actions could be probably be excused as a reasonable concern for the condition of his commander. 

He gestured with his head towards Rogue Cultivator Wei, the weakest of their triangle, and Nie Zonghui changed his direction at once. To his credit, Rogue Cultivator Wei didn’t protest and swapped out immediately, though he stayed close by, sword at the ready.

Once the demon was in the five-point array, Nie Mingjue pulled back and took a moment to breathe – he hadn’t been this tired in years, being twelve was awful, he needed to get back his cultivation as soon as possible – and then shook his head to clear it. “Exterminate them,” he ordered.

“Shouldn’t we try to purify them first?” Nie Zonghui asked.

“No need. I performed Empathy on one of them earlier: they’ve already wiped out the villagers that did this to them and didn’t stop,” Cangse Sanren said crisply. “There’s nothing left to liberate here, and demons that have grown hungry for blood and souls are not easily suppressed. You should listen to your young master’s instincts.”

Nie Zonghui flushed at the rebuke and hurried off to guide the other cultivators in eliminating the target. Nie Mingjue examined his own cultivation and decided against going to help; if they needed his participation, he could, but it would be a strain.

Rogue Cultivator Wei sat down on the ground with a sigh, clearly thinking the same; his wife came over to him and he learned his head against her waist, her hand in his hair. They murmured sweet things to each other for a bit – Nie Mingjue politely pretended to have gone temporarily deaf – and then they both turned to him.

“Thank you, Nie-gongzi,” Rogue Cultivator Wei said. “My name is Wei Changze –”

So that’s what his name was; Nie Mingjue had utterly forgotten it.

“– and this is my wife, Cangse Sanren, a pupil of Baoshan Sanren.”

“Nie Mingjue,” Nie Mingjue said, and tiredly raised his hands to properly salute them. “Well met.”

“It’s a bit more than merely well,” Cangse Sanren said, smiling; there was a great deal of Wei Wuxian in her eyes and the way she smiled, though her tiny button of a nose would have looked very odd on the handsome young man her son would later become. “You saved our lives. Is there anything we can do for you in return?”

Nie Mingjue was tired; his cultivation exhausted, his arms hurting from the strain of supporting both saber and array, and Baxia was complaining that she’d barely gotten a few stabs in the demon and why wasn’t he over there helping everyone out when all he wanted was to close his eyes. 

Those were the only excuses he could give for his thoughtlessly rude response.

“Just don’t leave your son alone when you night-hunt in the future,” he said, churlish with the mental image of Wei Wuxian merging with Nie Huaisang at the same age. “When the food you left for him and the landlord’s patience run out, what do you think will become of him? Do you want to see him fighting wild dogs on the streets for something to eat?!”

They both looked dumbfounded by that response and Nie Mingjue winced; he hadn’t meant to be so blunt about it. His reputation as an excessively straightforward man had always been justified by reality, but he usually managed to remember to keep to the rules of etiquette – being twelve was making him unduly impulsive.

“Forgive me,” he said hastily. “It’s not my business, I know; only it’s been a long day –”

“No, you’re right,” Cangse Sanren said, her eyes wide. “If you hadn’t come in time, we would have both perished, and then A-Ying…”

“Jiang-ge would have come to find him,” Wei Changze said, although he looked disturbed as well. “He would have –”

“How long would it have taken?” she demanded. “We’ve fallen out of the habit of writing letters; the last one we posted was from Tanzhou – it would be months before he realized something was wrong, and even then he would have gone the wrong way entirely!”

“A-Ying could have…no, he’s too young to remember Yunmeng, he wouldn’t have known –”

Nie Mingjue, who had been forgotten, coughed to get their attention. He didn’t quite feel up to walking away, which meant he had to stop this argument or else be stuck listening to it.

“Surely there’s some sect you can house in until your child is old enough,” he said, meaning the Jiang sect but unable to say it so bluntly. “That way he’ll won’t waste time kicking his heels while you’re away on night hunts.”

“I don’t want him to start training this early,” Cangse Sanren objected. “Children so young should be playing.”

Nie Mingjue huffed a laugh. “My younger brother would agree with you,” he said, though in fairness Nie Huaisang hadn’t actually yet reached the age where he’d start complaining non-stop about having to do lessons or training or – well, anything. It wasn’t as though they’d know. “He’s very firm about getting in at least three hours of cloud-watching every day. Says it’s good for his health.”

“You have a younger brother?” Wei Changze asked, smiling. “How old?”

“Close enough to step on your son’s robes,” Nie Mingjue said, then remembered he hadn’t ever asked the age of their son. “I’d guess, anyway. He’s less than half my age.”

Wei Chagnze looked at his wife and she looked back at him, that wordless communication that married couples that liked each other tended to have – Nie MIngjue had once said to Lan Xichen that if they could bottle that they’d never have another information leak ever again, making his friend laugh to tears, and oh, Lan Xichen, he’d be around now, wouldn’t he, but he’d be so small, they hadn’t even met yet – and then he said, “Can we come with you?”

Which – what?

He blinked at them. “Don’t you want to return to the Lotus Pier?”

He’d just assumed that they would: Wei Wuxian had grown up in the Jiang sect in the end, after all.

The two of them looked at each other again and then both smiled wryly, and suddenly Nie Mingjue remembered all those awkward rumors about Sect Leader Jiang having a thing for either one or the other or both of them and then having shortly thereafter married Yu Ziyuan while notoriously still pining; he felt his cheeks grow hot and cursed his twelve-year-old body once again.

“Uh, right. I mean – sure?” he hazarded. “My Nie sect is always happy to host guest cultivators of talent.”

“You saved our lives, and maybe even our son’s,” Cangse Sanren said firmly. “We owe you a life debt, and that cannot be so easily repaid. The least we can do is give your sect any merits that we earn.”

Nie Mingjue wasn’t sure that was how life debts worked – it mostly seemed like his saving their life now meant he had to find a place to house them – but whatever, he’d known that changing the past would cause some other things to change.

He hadn’t expected that it would be his sect that got stuck with the future Yiling Patriarch.

Still, that wasn’t all bad: Nie Huaisang had greatly enjoyed Wei Wuxian’s company while at the Cloud Recesses, and he’d gone to no little effort to eventually resurrect the man – they could be friends from an earlier time, this life. Maybe Wei Wuxian would end up not becoming the Yiling Patriarch at all, or maybe Yiling Wei would end up under his father or mother instead, or – who knows?

Certainly not Nie Mingjue.

“That seems fine,” he said, and stood with a stretch: the array had been successfully converted from suppression to eradication, and the demon and all the corpses were just about gone. That meant it was time to go home, since the Nie sect obviously wasn’t going to go claim any rewards and the rogue cultivators would spread all the rumors he might wish. “Go pick up Wei Wuxian and make your way to the Unclean Realm in Qinghe; you’ll be welcome there.”

“Wuxian?” Wei Changze said thoughtfully. “Wei Wuxian – I like the sound of that.”

“An excellent courtesy name,” Cangse Sanren agreed, smiling. “Thank you for your suggestion, Nie-gongzi. We’ve been arguing for months over what it should be.”

Nie Mingjue, who had entirely forgotten that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t have received his courtesy name yet, flushed red, babbled something polite to make his farewells, and went back with the others.

-

His father was waiting for him inside. “How did it go?” he asked, the question obviously aimed as much at Nie Zonghui as at Nie Mingjue himself.

“It went well,” Nie Mingjue replied. “Yingchuan Wang didn’t give us any useful information, but we were able to find the problem and eradicate it; no serious issues came up.”

“Good.”

“Sect Leader Nie,” Nie Zonghui said, his face and voice both a bit odd. “Might I have a word..?”

Nie Mingjue didn’t have time to think about that: Nie Huaisang had run over and started tugging at his clothing, demanding to hear about the trip, what he’d done, whether he’d met anyone interesting…

“I met a very nice couple, rogue cultivators, with a son your age,” Nie Mingjue told him, taking him off to the side so Nie  Zonghui could speak to his father with some privacy. “They’ll be coming here before the season turns.”

“Coming here? Why here?”

“Adult stuff,” Nie Mingjue said, shrugging helplessly – how to explain the complicated web of affection between people? But Nie Huaisang, with the usual impatience of children, merely went ‘oh’ as if everything was explained. “You can be friends with him, if you like, Huaisang. Wouldn’t you like another brother?”

Nie Huaisang wrinkled his nose. “Well, maybe. Not if he’s not going to stick around.”

That was fair. Rogue cultivators weren’t exactly known for staying put, and the issue they’d faced this time around would only persist until Wei Wuxian was old enough to care for himself – not long at all.

“Mingjue!” his father called, and now he had a strange expression; Nie Mingjue took Nie Huaisang by the hand and walked back over. “You confronted a plague demon on your own?”

Nie Mingjue frowned. “No, of course not,” he said. “There were two rogue cultivators –”

“A demon and nearly two dozen high-level fierce corpses,” his father said. “Arising from a hidden plague pit which you were able to identify before anyone else, and then you took command, ordering the array to be set up, assigning tasks, the entire thing resulting in a successful hunt with no casualties – all of this on your first real night-hunt. And your only report to me was it went well?!”

Nie Mingjue had no idea what his father wanted him to say here. “It did go well, though?”

His father laughed and ruffled his hair, making Nie Mingjue scowl. “It was indeed very well done,” he said, and he looked proud; Nie Mingjue felt an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. “Anything else you want to add to Nie Zonghui’s description?”

Nie Mingjue cast a slightly guilty glance at his cousin, who had apparently been very complimentary, but well, rules were rules for a reason. “While understandable given my age, Fourth Uncle questioned my judgment instead of following orders,” he said. “It wasn’t an issue and I’m sure he wouldn’t have done it if the battle conditions were more imminent, but I would still recommend an evening reflecting on sect discipline.”

Nie Zonghui bowed in acknowledgment; he was grinning for some reason, and his good humor didn’t seem even remotely dented by the prospect. “Of course.”

“Anything else?” his father asked. He looked extremely amused: had he and Nie Zonghui shared some sort of joke? “Zonghui said you had no issues with flying on Baxia, and that you wielded it well; also that you took the center for a three-point array with the two rogue cultivators to drive the demon back towards the large suppression array.”

Nie Mingjue nodded; he’d expected that Nie Zonghui’s report would have included that, so he hadn’t bothered to mention it. Though now that he thought of it, there was something he should share with his father. 

“I invited the two rogue cultivators to become guest disciples here, along with their son,” he said. “Daozhang Wei Changze, formerly of Yunmeng Jiang, and his wife Cangse Sanren, disciple of Baoshan Sanren –”

“They want to be guest disciples here? Not Yunmeng Jiang?”

“I didn’t press for details,” Nie MIngjue said, feeling his face flush red again; seeing it, both his father and Nie Zonghui burst out laughing. “Anyway, I said they’d be welcome. I hope I didn’t overstep.”

“Of course they’re welcome,” his father said, wiping his eyes. “They’re very well regarded, even if Sect Leader Jiang will probably find a way to poison my tea at the next discussion conference…you did well, Mingjue. You may have the remainder of the day to your leisure.”

Nie Mingjue nodded and took Nie Huaisang back to his room, which was about as messy as one would expect from a four year old. His little brother was pouting, so he squeezed his hand. “What’s got that look on your face?”

“You did so well, and all you get is half a day off?” Nie Huaisang said, a cute little scowl on his face. “He should’ve said something more.”

Nie Mingjue laughed. “We’ll probably have my favorite dishes for dinner sometime this week,” he predicted. “I don’t need more recognition than that. Now: what do you want to play?”

Nie Huaisang blinked up at him. “But baba said you had the second half of the day to do whatever you like.”

“And what I’d like to do is play with my didi,” Nie Mingjue said firmly: he’d regretted not spending enough time on Nie Huaisang in his past life, too busy with sect matters and his own issues, and he intended to remedy that this time around. He lifted Nie Huaisang and put him on the bed. “Come on, you pick something while I clean up a bit here so we’ll have space to sit.”

Nie Huaisang beamed, chattering at breakneck speed as to the various options of what they could do, while Nie Mingjue picked up the various toys and books lying around.

One of them was even a book of maps, which was far too valuable to be given to a child as young as Nie Huaisang; he tucked that one up high and reminded himself to take it back to the library when they were done playing, no matter if Nie Huaisang protested – if he wanted to look at pretty pictures, he could pick something else.

It wasn’t as if Nie Huaisang had any need to look up cities in Yunmeng, after all.

Though – now that he thought about it, maybe Nie Mingjue should take a look at that book before he returned it. If he remembered correctly, the page it had been open to had shown an image of Yunping City, where he might be able to find Meng Yao…

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #wei changze #cangse sanren #my fic #my fics #time travel nie bros #oneiriad

[jeffwittekcuts]

Reckless Desires (J.W)

Or where Sebastian is with Yn but in a turn of events Jeff and Yn give into their reckless desires and get caught.

Here’s Part Two of The Butterfly effect series, if you haven’t  go check out Part One right here.

It had been a long time since he last dreamt about her, but it had been a couple of hours since he had thought about her, God he wished he could dream about her again, only then could he tell her how much she meant to him, that she should be with him, that his body ached for her, but for now his hand and imagination would do the trick.

Sebastian slowly caressed y/n’s face, he thought she had the most angel-like face when she slept, even though she strongly disagreed with him , he still liked to wake up and think he was in heaven laying next to an angel.They had just barely started dating but he felt like he knew her from a thousand past lives, he was so infatuated with her, he had slipped and “I love you” to her which he cooly played off, but he was dying for the day he would actually tell her.

Y/n had awakened from Sebastian’s small chuckles, seeing he liked to pretend she was an angel and he had woken up in heaven next to her.When he first told her about it she could feel her heart melting, no man had ever made her feel that, not even Jeff, who from time to time she thought about, there was something about him that a small piece of her could not get enough of.

Friday came along quite quickly, since when she least expected it Zane was already asking what club they'd be going that night. Y/n was thrilled about the idea of going out, because although they pretty much go out every week, she'd spend most of her time with Sebastian, and there was really nothing wrong with that, she just missed getting shit faced with Natalie and Zane and not feel guilty about it. See now that Sebastian was in the picture she had limited herself to a few drinks , that way he would not have to worry about her. Seb was out visiting some college friends so she knew she'd make the most out of it.

Y/n had opted on wearing a red top, a black skirt with slits and some platforms that made her feel real tall.She was pretty much done with her glam and then she remembered she had nobody to look after her, immediately Jeff came to mind, she felt kind of awkward asking him, it's not like they didn't talk, but ever since she got with Sebastian things had been different.She debated herself for a few minutes and then she decide to text him

“Hey, could you keep an eye on me tonight?” she wanted to be straight forward rather than doing the whole fake “Hey how's it going” scenario, quickly Jeff replied

“No Seb?” he asked to which se briefly replied

“Out of town, you in?” 

“Yeah, for sure, count on it”  Jeff could feel his heart start to pound faster, he was very nervous, this was his chance and he was going to take it

The night had started Y/n, Natalie and Zane had pregamed more than usual, but they were sure as hell feeling themselves. The clock had just hit 12 when Jeff made his way into the club, he would have gotten there sooner if he wasn't as nervous and had to drive slower than normal. Zane and Y/n were mid dance when she spotted Jeff talking to David, her heart started to race, she couldn't understand why she felt this way, but it is nothing she'd ever felt before with anyone. What happened next shocked her even more, it was as if an electric feel took over her body and had made her run towards Jeff in excitement, like a golden retriever seeing its owner.

Jeff was just asking David if he knew where Y/n was, when he saw her running towards him and in a matter of seconds she had thrown herself onto him and wrapped herself like a monkey, giving him probably the best embrace he'd ever experienced in his whole life.She hugged Jeff fro what felt like a lifetime, still wrapped around him , she stared deep into his eyes and hugged him one more time. Jeff started right back, her eyes were so intoxicating, she looked so beautiful he didn't want to stop looking at her, but she quickly hugged him one last time before letting go.

“Jeff, I missed you so much, God it really has been forever!” There it was again that electric feel she couldn't explain. “How’s it been?” she asked very ecstatically

 “Everything’s good, glad we could see each other, I missed you too, kid.” God he had sounded like an old man calling her kid, but his mind had crashed and he could not get his words right, her beauty had him under some spell making him forget everything.

“Kid? Jeez you're just a couple of years older than me” Now he really felt embarrassed. “Come on old timer let’s dance, just don't break a hip on me ” she said jokingly, making him laugh in response.

Dancing with Y/n felt great, just like when they were friends with benefits. Watching her drink was fascinating, how such a little lady like her could hold so much liquor, she was most likely going to puke it all in a matter of hours and yet he was happy he was going to be there for her. Remember that matter of hours? Make it minutes he could tell she had started to feel sick, he rushed her to the bathroom ignoring her complaints of her being fine. Making their way into the toilets he spotted one at the very end as empty and once aging rushed.

“Jeff, really I'm fineeee, I just got a little dizzy, that's all, don't even worry about it babe” as soon as that word left her mouth she tried to play it cool, God! Why did she say that? And why did it not feel wrong but so right to call him that, Sebastian! For fucks sake, that's her babe not Jeff, that ship had sailed a long time ago, right? “Let get you washed up then” he quickly said as he got off his trance and helped her off the bathroom floor, babe, she'd never called him that, but God had it felt right, his heart once again could not stop beating fast specially after she called him that.Quickly making their way to the sink, like most girls, Y/n decided to sit in the sink after cleaning up, and rest for a second. “Why do girls always do that?” Jeff asked out of sheer curiosity “I don't really know but it's really cool and feels good you know? She answered, why did she get up there? Another question she would never know its answer like why she had called Jeff babe.”Hey your mascara is kinda running down, let me help you real quick” Jeff said as y/n looked in the mirror she had just been laying on,“Shit, I look like a raccoon” as soon as the words left her mouth she could have sworn she heard Jeff said “Yeah a cute one”. Shit! Jeff cursed to himself and hoped she didn't catch that, he hurried and got her some toilet paper, not without getting a few looks from girls, but quickly dismissing them and getting back to Y/n.

Jeff got back with the toilet paper and quickly wet it and started cleaning up her residual mascara.Y/n did not realize how close they were until she could feel his and her breath crashing, and when she least expected it she started to stare at his face almost like she was analyzing him. He could feel y/n staring, he really didn't mind, it felt good, like everything else did with her that night. He wanted to kiss her so badly, his whole body was aching for that kiss and he knew if he didn't take his chance he'd never have one again. Getting as humanly close as possible to y/n’s face he stayed there, he felt her rest her forehead on his, nervously in a whisper he asked “ can i kiss you?” everything went quiet for a second before she weakly let put a “y-yes” and without wasting time he kissed her.

Adrenaline was rushing through their bodies, making sure no one saw them Jeff picked y/n up and took her to a stall, wasting no time he only took her panties off and thrusted into her causing y/n to moan in pleasure. Sweat dripping, heating bodies and the sound of their moans filled the room, they fucked as if the world was ending, it had been a while and finally they both climaxed. Quickly dressing up, Y/n and Jeff looked at each other giggling like teenagers. 

As they got out of the stall, there was Sebastian standing in front of them, tears streaming down his face, Y/n felt herself frozen, her pulse dropped as well, like an epiphany she realized what she had done.Then it all happened so quickly, Seb throwing himself at Jeff, punching each other aggressively like in the Rocky movies. Security and the squad rushing in the bathroom, both men being dragged out as they yelled profanities at each other, everyone staring as the whole shit show went down, y/n rushing behind the whole thing in an attempt to explain herself, but feeling herself sick and before collapsing the faint, hurt whisper of Sebastian saying “ How could you?”.

Thank you guys for being so patient, I hope you guys enjoy reading as much as I did writing it :)

#jeffwittekcuts #jeff wittek #jeff wittek imagines #vlogsquad

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 18

Chapters: 18/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17]

They cook, they feed him, they chat away about inane things. Their presence soothes Martin and their voices fill him with the warmth sucked away by his unexpected encounter.

Gerry helps him make tea after dinner, and they all sit at the table together, even the cats sleeping nearby, cuddled up into one big, grey and black fluff ball.

"I think," Martin begins, voice croaky, "That I would like to tell you now."

"We're ready to listen if you're ready to tell us." Jon offers softly. Gerry reaches over to take one of his hands, turning it over to kiss the palm sweetly.

Martin talks, voice quiet and even.

"In the beginning, it was just a normal relationship. Except for the fact that he was almost twenty years older than me, and about a million times richer. I didn't know that at first, of course. He was just a middle-aged man I met in a gay bar, who didn't seem to mind that I was trans. I felt secure in our relationship, if not exactly nurtured or adored. I had never felt very secure before, and it seemed like enough, you know?

"He took me out, brought me a few things in the beginning. He was very dominant, sexually, but I was a lot less sure of my own preferences back then and I thought it was fine. He never even blinked at my trashy flat or cheap clothes, and I didn't even realise just how much money he had for a long time. Maybe I just can't really comprehend that much money, even now.

"When I was twenty-two, my mother died, and…" He huffs out a shaky, emotional laugh. "Well, I was a real mess. I lost my job, and almost my flat. Peter started paying for things, my rent, clothes, meals. He said that I needed somewhere to live and had to eat and look presentable, and it was his pleasure to provide those things for me. It made me feel a bit gross, but I struggled to find another job, and so I accepted it."

Martin hesitates here, before continuing. "The problem started when I wasn't interested in sex one night."

"He forced you?" Gerry interrupts to ask dangerously, threat explicit in his quiet words. His eyes seem to glow faintly in the growing dark of the room, as the sun sets. He wishes, more than ever, that he had helped Jon kick the shit out of Peter Lukas, instead of stopping him.

Martin sighs, eyes pressed tight closed for a second. "Not exactly. He simply pointed out that he paid for me to exist. So I made myself interested."

Gerry's hands tighten into fists and he moves them under the table where Martin can't see them anymore. Jon suddenly looks very pale. They share a look, neither able to see much difference between 'forcing' and what sounds a lot like financial abuse to them.

Martin pulls his legs up to his chest, curling around them as he goes on. "Our relationship became a lot more transactional after that night. I disengaged whatever feelings I had left for him and simply drew all my emotions down deep into myself. I wasn't ashamed to be getting paid for sex, but I felt like I had lost my own consent in the matter. Peter honestly seemed like he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Money was nothing to him, and he had someone to take out on his arm or shag whenever he wanted, without the work of a real relationship, or the complications of unfortunate attachments.

"So, if I needed something, I told him. He set a date, took me out, fucked me. He gave me however much I needed."

Martin shrugs, looking down at his hands. "I honestly hated it. Not because of the prostitution itself, sex has always been very nurturing for me, and I sometimes caught the idea that it was only another way to care for people, and being paid for that is perfectly fine, if you're doing it for the right reasons. The real issue was Peter himself. He had this way of making me feel… bereft and hollow, even before the money came into it."

A few tears track down his face, although his face remains rather blank, in a numb way. It's only as he admits the next words that his voice breaks and the heartbreak works its way out again.

"I was very foolish. Looking back, I can see that I was still a child in a lot of ways. I put myself into a situation that damaged me, but I accept the consequences of those actions, both then and now. I- I-"

"Martin," Jon whispers, warm love clear in his voice. It's nothing but an offer of support, one that he desperately needs right now.

He presses his eyes shut, forcing away the stutter and the lump of tears. "I knew I wasn't going to be able to get out of it, even if I got a crap, minimum wage job that I was qualified for. So I started applying for any work that was available. I made every application exactly what they wanted, and I hoped for the best. When Elias offered me the job at Magnus, I took it happily. Since then I found out that Peter knows him, and probably arranged the job for me, but at the time I had no idea. Looking back, I know that it's a miracle that I got out of it at all. Peter could have chosen to make my life a living hell. Instead, he accepted the several firm rejections I offered him.

"He promised me that we weren't done, that I would be back, but he left me alone. I was done. I moved on with my life, even if I had to lie to do it." Martin sighs, shakes out his shoulders, the most difficult part over now.

"I had always planned to be open about it with my next relationships, but they were so fleeting that it never even came up. By the time I fell for Jon, it had become a secret, one I was loathed to dig up for a relationship I was convinced wouldn't last. I thought to myself, 'Why ruin something that makes me happy?' I assumed it would fall apart anyway, and it was easier to allow it to be in the past.

"But I am sorry. I'm sorry that I never told you. I'm sorry you had to find out from him. I'm sorry that we've been together for more than a year and we basically live together, and I've put you in this position. I love you both, very very much."

"When did you eventually decide that our relationship was going to last?" Jon queries, genuine curiosity in his voice.

There's a beat of hazy silence at the abrupt change in tone and topic.

"Oh, ah-" Martin stumbles over his words, unsure how blatantly honest to be. He chooses the real truth, no matter how unfortunate. "The day that I got Luna was the first time I really accepted that you both loved me."

Jon simply raises an eyebrow, completely unconcerned. "What about you, Gerry?"

"With you," Gerry responds easily, "at the hospital in Morden, when I was so panicked that I couldn't decide if I wanted to kill you or handcuff us together for the rest of our lives. With Martin-"

He breaks off with a laugh, colouring slightly. "It was the day we dyed my hair purple."

"The first time we had sex?" Martin asks, surprised at such a hedonistic answer.

He laughs again, more confidently this time. "No, actually, although that was spectacular. It was afterwards, when you braided my hair for the first time. That was the first time anyone had ever braided my hair. It made me feel so… So honoured. Like I was the most precious thing to you."

"Gerry, you are the most precious thing to me. You both are." Martin whispers, tears creeping back into his voice.

"Good, because the feeling is mutual, and we desperately need you around to keep us in line," Jon tells him, voice unusually firm and confident.

"What about you?" Martin remembers to ask him, at risk of floating away in his post confession haze. "When did you know?"

"With Gerry, it was when we were teenagers. I kissed him for the first time, and he laughed at me. I just knew he was my soulmate." Jon rolls his eyes at this, but his voice is full of blatant affection. "With you, Martin, it was- Well, to be quite honest with you, there was no one special moment. It was a million tiny moments, all of them special and perfect to me. Every cup of tea, every frown while you were writing poetry, glasses pushed haphazardly up into your lovely hair. The easy, glorious look on your face the day you met Gerry for the first time, as if you weren't even capable of not falling in love with him, just as I hadn't been. It was especially the days that I would come out of the library and find you waiting for me after work. This weight of total surety would fill my chest and leave me gasping, needing you."

Jon sighs, his own eyes a little bright. "I suppose it was really the night you kissed me in the rain, and every soft moment since then has only affirmed the way I knew you were it for me."

Jon smiles at Martin so beatifically that he forgets to breathe for a moment.

"We love you too, Martin," Gerry tells him, reaching out to grasp a hand. Jon takes the other. "And we wouldn't want you any other way."

***

The next morning, Martin wakes to find Jon eyeing his phone intently. Gerry is asleep on his other side, and he feels warmly cocooned between them. Gentle cloudy light fills the space, encouraging the comfortable cozy atmosphere of their bed.

"What's wrong, love?" Martin asks sleepily, snuggling into his side.

"I got-" Jon pauses, utterly flummoxed. "I got paid a bonus."

"What?" Equally perplexed, Martin takes his phone, squinting as he tries to read the screen.

The banking app is open, and there is indeed a deposit there, Jon's normal salary amount, but on completely the wrong date.

In the purpose box, it simply reads 'Entertainment Value'.

"You don't think," Jon starts, hesitant, "that Elias paid me…"

"For hitting Peter Lukas?" Martin finishes, "His own husband."

They blink at each other, bewildered.

"Does that seem… slightly cursed, to you?" Jon whispers as if Elias might hear him. Even worse if Elias could hear them, and would probably enjoy being accused of having a cursed relationship.

"Yes, completely cursed. What is up with those two?" Martin looks as if he's smelled something bad.

"We absolutely cannot spend this money, right?" Jon asks. "Lest we are cursed with their relationship dysfunction."

"Correct," Martin responds firmly, shuddering. "Can we donate it to the animal shelter?"

"I think that's a wonderful idea." Jon's relief at this resolution is palpable.

He does it straight away, as if even having the money in his bank account might ruin their lives.

They let out a simultaneous sigh as the transfer goes through.

"That is wild," Martin mutters as he snuggles back down.

Jon tosses his phone away, no longer interested in it. Instead, he wraps his arms around Martin, burying his nose in his lover's hair. It smells of bergamot and tea leaves and the ocean in winter, just like Martin himself, and Jon luxuriates in the moment.

"I love you, Martin K. Blackwood." He whispers into the soft air.

"Even if I don't actually have a middle name?" Martin whispers back.

"Especially because of that." Jon chuckles.

They lay together, the gentle moments of the morning flowing around them. Later, they get up and shower together. They drink tea in front of the big windows in the living space. Martin reads a book from Gerry's shelves, his own books still packed, and Jon wanders off to play his piano where it is randomly set up, right in the middle of Gerry's typical painting area.

Gerry himself appears downstairs, still sleepy and bleary-eyed. He curls up with his head in Martin's lap, listening to Jon fill the flat with gentle music.

It's the soft sort of moment that each of them had been wishing for all their lives, full of love, and family, and a home of their very own.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

[whenwordsmakesense]

Day 6: Realisation | Day 5: Cake

@pridewrite2021 

Here’s my masterlist for this event if you want to check this out <3

Spoiled

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Ships: Peter Hale × Chris Argent | Derek Hale × Stiles Stilinski

Words: 2k

Summary: Chris is a hunter. An Argent. His sister burned down his entire family—Peter shouldn't care for him.

And he doesn't.

He doesn't care for the hunter with sharp, calculating eyes, the ex-husband of another hunter and a father to a hunter-in-training, never mind mind that two of them are pack-adjacent.

He cares for the young boy with the soft, clear blue eyes, mind filled with all the ways to ensure peace between hunters and the supernaturals, conscience free of guilt he shouldn't have but does.

Peter is still in love with his best friend from his childhood—the Chris that'd been nothing but another boy in his class, someone who knew the truth about who he was and had matched and mended and marched into Peter's soul, his heart.

Can be read on AO3 or here. 

Warnings: Swearing, innuendos. 

>> Starts from here. 

The wound on Chris' side is glaringly purple, mocking him, and it's taking every ounce of control in Peter to not crowd the human against the counter of the Argent's kitchen and just do the goddamn dressing himself. Is it really that hard to dress wounds? Peter doesn't know, because he's a healthy, alive werewolf who heals in seconds, unlike Chris, who is human and still decided to jump in front of him to prevent Peter getting shot—and it wasn't even wolfsbane.

Peter could smell. Rather, he couldn't. Which was really naive of the hunters—kids, really—and now he has to suffer through this.

“You can go.” Peter snaps his eyes up, and into Chris' mess of a hair. It's worse than Scott's shaggy hair that he had last year.

“But I am enjoying the show,” Peter says easily. It's not a complete lie. Chris is fine. A total DILF if there ever was one. But right now both his wolf and his hea—mind are more focused on not losing control. He hates that the human got hurt, and now he can't even tease his nephew about the same. That's a shame. And Stiles bruises so easily, too. That boy should really just spell himself to be not clumsy, it would give Derek another ten or twenty years before he gets grey hairs.

“You can enjoy it with Melissa. I don't need a babysitter, Peter.”

The sudden anger that's emanating from Chris finally pulls his thin mockery of control away, letting his unsheathed claws be exposed to the keen eyes of the veteran hunter, who straightens immediately at the sight.

Chris is a hunter. An Argent. His sister burned down his entire family—Peter shouldn't care for him.

And he doesn't.

He doesn't care for the hunter with sharp, calculating eyes, the ex-husband of another hunter and a father to a hunter-in-training, never mind mind that two of them are pack-adjacent.

He cares for the young boy with the soft, clear blue eyes, mind filled with all the ways to ensure peace between hunters and the supernaturals, conscience free of guilt he shouldn't have but does.

Peter is still in love with his best friend from his childhood—the Chris that'd been nothing but another boy in his class, someone who knew the truth about who he was and had matched and mended and marched into Peter's soul, his heart—and that...

He can't be here.

“Maybe I'll go and bother Melissa, then.” He says sharply, and Chris nods, sharp and precise.

Peter hates seeing Chris hurt. Especially for him. But Chris has hurt much, much deeper than that bullet could have ever done and yet... He loves him.

***

“I love you,” Chris says, and Peter stops breathing. He chances a glance at the other boy, who looks so earnest and just a little nervous, the basketball in his hand twirling without any real effort.

“Like—like a friend?” He asks, because he isn't supposed to have good things. He might have realised he's in love with his best friend weeks ago, but his life isn't a fairy-tale. The two of them can never be together. It will only end in blood and death.

And Peter would rather have Chris alive and hating him than dead.

He can't see Chris dead. That would be a fate worse than death.

***

The meeting—that's supposed to be a pack meeting about progress on the unhinged witch—ends up being a movie night. Stiles corrals everyone into staying, even if the Sheriff and Melissa leave halfway through because of their demanding jobs. Chris itches to leave, too, and it's more than just not being the only other adult—as much as Derek is the Alpha, he's still a kid—than Peter, who has been inconspicuously absent from his house since that day two weeks ago, when he'd told the 'wolf to leave in anger.

Anger he didn't know he could still feel. He'd believed he was long past that. But apparently not.

And he now has a bullet hole on his side to remind him.

As Chris watches Allison slink closer and closer to Scott, he sees his excuse.

“Stiles, I know pack bonding is important, but I'd rather be home than watch my daughter and her not-boyfriend being all snuggly.”

Scott, who'd been sipping on his glass of coke, chokes, and Allison blushes furiously. Chris feels pride in the fact that his daughter can easily take down people twice her size whenever she wants, and still be the same adorable little girl she's been since birth.

“Uh,” Stiles, and the others, seem to be half-mortified and half-amused at his jab at Scott and Allison's relationship, which is worse than Ross and Rachel's arc on friends, and just as that thought pops in his head, he searches out Peter in the crowd of a now laughing teens. The moment he does, he can see the mirth in those blue eyes he'd once spent ages trying to dive into.

It feels like the old days when they share the small smile, remember the study sessions turned F.R.I.E.N.D.S. binge, and just like that, the moment is broken.

Peter isn't the same anymore.

He isn't the same anymore.

His sister—she killed Peter's family. And Peter had played dolls with her, more than once.

He feels tears threating his eyes, and because this is a pack of wolves, they immediately catch on to the change in atmosphere. Even the non-wolves pick up on it fast.

“I—I need to go.” He says, voice broken.

He's remembering the last time he and Peter had been together, in their room, his basketball in hand and arguing over theories of how the show could complicate Ross and Rachel's lives more.

He leaves without a second glance.

Derek follows him down to his car, where he's only just reached the handle, and says, “He still loves you, you know.”

Chris shakes his head. “He never did,”

Derek's frown deepens, like he's thinking of how to explain some fundamental thing to a child. Like Peter being in love with Chris is just a fact that he's known all his life, and it's a fact that's as permanent as the Earth revolving around the Sun.

Chris doesn't know how to feel about that.

“When was the last time you saw me lose control?”

He sighs, but he knows he won't get out of this without answering. The Hales have always been stubborn, and Derek is no less.

“When Stiles got hurt.” Because of the lacrosse game. It wasn't even life-threatening, for a change, but Derek had, like every single other time Stiles has been hurt, gone ballistic. Chris is just glad Isaac, Boyd, Jackson and Scott all had been there to stop the poor kid—Greenburg might have been his name—from being killed.

“Peter couldn't control his beta shift two weeks ago.” Derek says, and then he's gone.

Chris frowns after him, remembers seeing the claws that day when Peter had followed him home, and remembers feeling as if Peter lost control because of him.

Like he used to think when they were young. When he thought that Peter was falling for him just like he was falling for Peter.

Maybe he wasn't wrong about that.

Just maybe, Peter did fall for him.

***

Stiles finds Derek in his bedroom, just like he has for the past six months. Ever since Peter and Chris got together—after being in love for decades, and hadn't that been a shock for everyone—the loft is apparently “bad for my nose and my brain,” according to Derek.

They settle in their casual rhythm of banters and snark and sass as he completes his homework and Derek reads the latest book that has caught his interest, and it's hours before either of them moves.

From the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Derek perk up, the way all the 'wolves do when they smell someone coming. Stiles finds it adorable on everyone, and whenever he catches Derek doing it his heart just triples its beat at the cuteness of it all.

He's falling for the older man and he doesn't know what to do. Especially when everyone in the pack—including his dad and Melissa who have each other—have found someone to be with. They've literally all coupled up, even Isaac—Cora literally... No, that's Peter... Cora metaphorically came back to life just to couple up with Isaac—which, by default, leaves him with Derek.

It's not all bad, he gets to be with Derek more times than not, and he enjoys their time together, but it's also... Hard. Being so close yet so far.

He can't believe Peter and Chris lasted so many years without dying of heartbreak.

“Peter and Chris.” Derek informs him.

“I thought they were having—”

“Don't!” Derek puts his hands on top his ears, and it's just. So. Adorable. Stiles can't help but laugh, even though he knows he's just digging himself a bigger grave.

And then five minutes later, Peter, Chris, him and Derek are sitting on the dining table looking at two cake boxes.

Stiles is confused. So is Derek.

“What?” He asks, because what?

Peter grins, one hand pushing the white box towards Derek, while the other rests on Chris' shoulders.

Chris pushes the other box towards him.

“Just open it.” Chris instructs. Stiles shares a look with Derek.

“It's cake,” he says, and then opens his black box.

And freezes.

Peter looks at his cake. “Oh, this one is for Derek.” Before Stiles can make his hands grab the box, Derek is peering down at it, too.

Stiles wishes to be killed by the damn gnomes. Where are the supernatural problems when you need them? Fuck his life.

“Uh...” is all Derek says as he reads what's written on the cake.

It says, “Stiles loves you, nephew.”

Stiles buries his head in his hands.

Chris pushes supposedly Stiles' cake towards him. “Open it,” he urges, softly.

Stiles chuckles hollowly. “That one has my real name?” He wouldn't put it past Peter. Especially since last week he'd pranked the 'wolf with the old shaving cream trick.

Dude looked funny with the white beard. Also, it's really easy to get a jump on post-sexy times sleeping Peter Hale.

Chris just pries open his fingers from his eyes and shoves the open box in his face.

This cake says, “Derek loves you, little Red.”

“Uh...” is Stiles' response to that.

“Now, we'll be off. Do us a favor and get rid of the UST.”

Peter saunters off, Chris in tow, who is giggling softly.

“Noah has a double-shift,” the hunter adds, and Stiles' immediate reaction is to shout at Peter.

“You've spoiled him!”

Derek thinks this is his chance to strike, because he comes in Stiles' field of vision with a small, shy smile. His shoulders look far more relaxed than he's ever seen them, like a big weight just got lifted from them.

“If you want, you can be spoiled too.” He says seriously. Stiles loses it.

“Oh, buddy, if you think that... You need to be taught a couple things, honeybuns. I'm the Alpha in this relationship.” It's true, too. Everyone has called them out on it. And that's when they're just friends.  

Derek sighs, resigned. “Don't call me that,”

Stiles just grins and hugs Derek tight.

Who knew the realizations of two middle-aged men and their craptastic schemes with cakes would give him a truly, completely happy Derek Hale, laughing the most freely that Stiles has heard from the Alpha in the two years that he's known him?

Not Stiles, that's for sure.

#pridewrite2021 #petopher #sterek #day 5: cake #day 6: realisation #my fic #whenwordsmakesense #peter hale #chris argent #stiles stilinski #derek hale #alternate universe - canon divergence

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #25: Break Free

Words: ca. 6,600 Setting: canon AU Lemon: no CW: Imprisonment, Torture, Injuries (but no graphic detail), Abuse, Mentioned Kristanna, Mentioned Character Death, actual character death, violence (choking). Mentions of slavery

 xXx

“Anna… Anna…”

The redhead’s eyes slowly opened at the sound of a familiar voice, as she was brought out of another horrific nightmare.

“Are you awake?” A voice spoke.

Weakly, Anna nodded. “I take it, that’s you there, Elsa?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

Anna groaned, getting out of bed. For the past year, she had been a prisoner in the Southern Isles, kept as a trophy by King Hans. Everything had been taken from her, her friends, family, even her kingdom.

The cell was dark and filthy, with only one bed. The floor was stone, cold on Anna’s bare feet. The dungeons were on the lowest level of the castle, Anna’s cell having a window overlooking the ocean, the sound of the waves crashing against the rockface often keeping her up at night.

Lamenting her situation, Anna hoped she wouldn’t spend the rest of her life here. She was a Queen and a warrior, she didn’t deserve to die in a dungeon-like this. She should have died defending Arendelle with honour… but Hans had denied her that.

As Anna got up, she sighed, rubbing her eyes. She missed the days when she actually had a good nights sleep. As she climbed off her bed, she saw the door to her cell open, the familiar sight of a blonde-haired woman in uniform walking into the cell. It was indeed Elsa, Hans’s second in command, the woman who had led the attack on Arendelle… and if Anna was honest, her only real friend.

"Nightmare again?” Elsa wondered.

“The same one I’ve had for the last year,” Anna remarked.

Elsa sighed. “I’m so sorry.” Then she cleared her throat. “Prince Hans has requested your presence at breakfast, your majesty,” one of the guards said. “You are to come with me.” “He should give up,” Anna replied. “I’m not going to give in to his demands.” “Even so, you have to eat something,” Elsa insisted. Knowing Elsa was right, Anna got up. She needed to keep her strength up, what little of she still had. “Fine,” Anna agreed reluctantly. Walking out of the cell, she let Elsa lead her down the corridor, her weakened legs barely keeping her standing straight. She looked at the sorceress, confused about how she felt.

Elsa had been responsible for so much pain in her life, and yet, she had also visited her cell pretty much every single day. Anna didn’t know why, but perhaps she was just as lonely as she was. It was clear no one really talked to Elsa, aside from Hans.

But Anna still felt a sense of unease around her. She had watched her kill so many people in her dreams and yet, the real Elsa wasn’t as cold as she imagined.

The real Elsa actually had a kind heart to her, and it was clear that she did care about Anna. But Anna would never forget what Elsa had done, despite the fact they were friends.

She remembered the day Arendelle fell like it was yesterday, reliving the images of the invasion every night, seeing friends and loved ones slaughtered every time she closed her eyes. Every night in her dreams, the images would be warped and distorted, portraying Elsa as some kind of inhuman monster, who had brutally murdered her husband. But Anna had a feeling her dreams were just exaggerations, brought on by her trauma.

For much of her life, Anna hadn’t really been given much of a childhood. When she was a baby, enemy spies had kidnapped her older sister, forcing her parents to keep her locked in the castle for much of her young life.

As Anna grew up, her mother and father put her through all sorts of training to protect herself, to ensure what happened to her older sibling would never repeat itself. By the time Anna was eighteen, she had already served a couple of years in the kingdom’s royal guard. By age twenty-two, she had attained the rank of officer. But that was not the last title that she would be known by.

Her parents tragically died at sea a year later and as such, Anna assumed the throne as Queen. Most assumed it was just a really bad storm. Anna hadn’t taken the news well and it was only afterwards, she knew the truth about her lost sibling.

But even though she deeply mourned her parents, she carried on, later taking a husband. Kristoff was a kind man, he had a large heart and it was his love that made Anna feel so alive and helped her to love life again.

But just as tragically, this bliss was not to last. The Southern Isles, who had been expanding their territories, had wanted to Anna to surrender her kingdom to them. Despite knowing they had a secret weapon that had allegedly wiped out entire kingdoms, she wanted Arendelle to go down fighting.

So much for that, since her forces were completely wiped out, but she’d heard rumours that many of the civilians had managed to survive as refugees elsewhere.

“I take it you didn’t sleep well,” Elsa assumed, bringing Anna out of her thoughts.

“Is that sarcasm?” Anna responded. “I didn’t think you had a sense of humour.”

“I take no amusement from your treatment, Anna,” Elsa stated. “But… you did bring this on yourself. Hans gave you a guest room to stay in when you arrived, a rather luxurious abode I might add.”

“It was still a cell,” Anna replied. “I’m still a prisoner in this castle, regardless of how I’d be treated.”

“But it would have been preferable compared to what you’re going through down here,” Elsa expressed.

Soon, Elsa brought Anna to the royal dining hall, where Anna could see a great banquet of food laid out for her. She felt her stomach growl at the sight of it.

Hans himself was sat at the end of the table facing her, her father’s crown upon his head and a smug look on his face. Glancing at him enraged Anna, the sight of her oppressor reminding her of her suffering.

“Ah, your majesty,” Hans greeted her, as Elsa took a seat on the edge of the table next to him “You must be famished.”

Anna sat down, taking a bite of a slice of beef that had been placed on a plate for her. As much as she hated submitting to Hans this way, she was starving and Hans knew this. But she wasn’t going to let him take advantage of her.

Hans just smirked knowingly, as if he was mocking her. “Tell me, my dear, how have you been doing?”

Anna glared at him, just eating her food.

“I said… how have you been doing, Anna?” Hans asked again.

In response, Anna just muffled something while she was eating.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s rather rude,” Hans snarked

Anna swallowed. “I have nothing to say to you.”

“Oh come now, Anna. You’ve been our guest for a year, I would think you were a tad more sociable by now.” Hans forked a piece of sausage into his mouth. “I hope you’ve once again reconsidered my decision.”

“I am not going to become your wife, Hans,” Anna said defiantly. “I’m not some property for you to own.”

“Come now, if you agree to marry me, you’ll be given riches beyond your wildest dreams and be adored by the people,” Hans offered. “Plus, you won’t need to suffer in those dreadful dungeons any longer.” Anna looked over at Elsa, seeing the blonde staring at her with concern. It was clear at this point that Elsa wanted Anna to fake her own surrender, as Elsa couldn’t bear to see Anna this way. But Anna wouldn’t do that. It would go against everything she stood for.

“I already had people who loved me… your soldiers took care of them,” Anna remarked. “And why would you care? I’m sure Elsa here would make a much better Queen than me.”

Hans chuckled. "I care about Elsa a great deal and I would not want the burden of Queen to be placed on her. Besides, she prefers women and I would not wish to make her… uncomfortable.” Anna noticed how saddened Elsa seemed to be from that subtle insult. Despite the abuse, she still followed Hans loyally without question. In a way… Anna felt sorry for her, that Elsa was as much of a prisoner as she was.

Putting down her cutlery, Anna glared at Hans.  "And what about me, Hans? If you care about me so much, why am I whipped, beaten and starved so much?”

“You refuse to behave,” Hans growled. “I’m honestly reconsidering why I even let Elsa take you in alive when I easily could have let you die with the rest of your pathetic kingdom.“

Enraged, Anna snarled, grabbing a knife and lunging at Hans. She knocked him to the ground, trying to jab the knife into his eye. But being starved so much meant that Anna’s strength was nowhere near how it used to be and as such, Hans got the advantage.

Anna tried to stab the knife, but Hans managed to dodge it, the knife merely grazing his cheek. He snarled, punching Anna in the face. Anna stumbled back to her feet, dazed, before Hans got up and slapped her, knocking her to the ground.

Elsa got up, watching as Anna writhed on the floor, groaning in pain.

"Even after all this time, you’re still a disobedient little harlot,” Hans murmured. “Elsa, take her down to the dungeons for punishment.”

"Yes, my lord,” Elsa responded, going to Anna’s side.

As Hans left the room, Anna glared at the man, cursing herself for not being strong enough. She was clearly not the great warrior she once was.

xXx

The punishment was a whipping, as usual. Anna was chained to the wall and whipped by one of Hans’s guards, yet another tactic used by him to try and break her mentally. To be honest, sometimes Anna wondered if Hans had succeeded and she hadn’t realised it, but some part of her would still keep fighting on.

Elsa was there every time, watching the punishment take place, watching Anna as was made to suffer in agony. But eventually, the pain was over, Anna shaking as she ached in chains.

It amazed Anna that she even had enough strength to try and tackle Hans in the dining hall, but she hated herself for not being able to finish the job. Still, she wouldn’t succumb to this agony, no matter how painful it was. Even with her dying breath, she’d deny Hans that satisfaction.

Knowing that Anna had been through enough, Elsa looked at the guard, nodding. “That’s enough, soldier. You can go now.”

The guard left them, Elsa going up to Anna and undoing the chains around her arms and legs. Anna collapsed to the floor, quivering as Elsa walked over to her.

“It’s over now,” Elsa spoke, handing Anna a waterskin.

Shivering, Anna gently held the pouch in her hand, gulping the water down. She gulped down the water as fast as she could, before panting, as sweat beaded down her body.

“You… You’re gonna get in trouble for helping me like this,” Anna said shakily, her throat dry.

Elsa looked away. “What Hans doesn’t know won’t hurt him. To be honest, I’ve been wondering why you’re even still here. It’s clear that no matter what, you’re not going to break.”

“I won’t break,” Anna insisted.

“That’s a rather arrogant way to look at things,” Elsa noted. “You’ve been pushed beyond your limits. I’m surprised you haven’t died yet.” She then bent down and helped the struggling Anna to her feet. “Let me help you. I’ll take you back to your cell.”

Anna merely nodded as Elsa helped her. She was surprised the sorceress was so kind to her at times, as if the person who had helped destroy Arendelle and the person helping her now were two completely different people.

“I admire your strength,” Elsa spoke. “Most people would have either gone mad or died from the torment you’ve been put through.”

“My parents raised a strong daughter,” Anna replied.

Eventually, the two of them arrived at Anna’s cell, Elsa unlocking the door.

“We’re here,” she said. “You should rest.”

Anna hobbled inside, eventually making it to the bed and collapsing upon it. Much of her body now was covered in scars from the torture Hans put her through constantly. As she laid on the bed, she saw that Elsa was still standing there.

“What are you doing?”

“I… I don’t know,” Elsa expressed. “I wish I could do more to help you.”

“You could have told Hans not to whip the piss out of me,” Anna remarked, trying to use humour to disguise her pain.

Elsa shook her head. “No, I can’t disobey Hans. If it wasn’t for him I…” The blonde stopped herself. “But maybe there is something I might be able to now to help you relieve that pain.”

Anna sat up, looking away. “Why do you care about me so much? I’m just a prisoner to you.”

“Perhaps… perhaps you’ve helped me to discover my humanity,” Elsa admitted. “You’re a rather… fascinating woman, Anna of Arendelle.”

“I’m surprised you have some,” Anna argued. “I still see you killing Kristoff in my dreams every night, leading the assault on Arendelle. In my dreams, you’re a cold, unfeeling monster.”

“And is that what I really am?”

“I… I don’t know,” Anna admitted. “You give me mixed messages. Some days I think you’re a friend and others, I’m reminded you’re a monster.”

Elsa walked into the room, sitting down on the bunk opposite Anna. “He attacked me from behind. I… I actually tried not to kill everyone. But Kristoff, he came at me with that spear and… ” She looked away. “I regret that.”

“What?” Anna wondered. “What are you talking about?”

“I wanted to win that battle with minimal casualties,” Elsa stated. “But everything went wrong. I regret what I did to you, and to your kingdom.” She looked into Anna’s eyes. “I even let most of the civilians go when I found them in the forests outside your kingdom. They didn’t deserve to die… no one did.”

"Is that… true?” Anna asked. “You’re not lying?”

“No, I haven’t lied to you,” Elsa expressed. “I’ve been good to you this past year to try and make up for the fact I destroyed your kingdom. I hoped… I hoped that perhaps if I befriended you, that life here would be better for you. It was obvious you and Hans wouldn’t get along but perhaps if you had me…”

Anna thought for a moment. She had a gut feeling that Elsa was indeed telling the truth.  Anna had misjudged Elsa slightly. Hans was clearly using her as merely a weapon, not truly caring about her as a person. After all, in war, soldiers often were forced to fight, not given a choice to leave.

And in Anna’s eyes… Elsa had shown she was a kind person. A complicated one, but her actions of mercy and care for her had shown her humanity. And yet, her visage still haunted her dreams.

“I… I think I can forgive you,” Anna accepted. “But… part of me will always be angry towards you for what you’ve done. But it’s clear that perhaps you’re on the path of change.”

“That means a lot to me,” Elsa admitted. “ I don’t blame you for still partly being angry over what I did to your husband. You don’t have to completely absolve me of this.”

“I am not,” Anna said honestly. “But perhaps I can move on. Even if the image of you slaughtering so many with your magic is etched into my mind… it’s clear that’s not you anymore.”

“Then… allow me to assure you that I have changed,” Elsa spoke after a moment, slowly taking off her gloves. “If you’ll let me?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Just lay on your stomach and I’ll do the rest,” Elsa said softly. “Do you trust me?”

For a moment, Anna almost said no, but Elsa had clearly opened her heart to her and been honest to her. She was genuine and wanted to help Anna and if Anna was to try and move on with all of this, trust between her and Elsa was important. She nodded, laying down on her back.

Elsa then reached over to Anna, pressing her hands on Anna’s back, her cold icy magic soothing Anna’s skin.

“Uhhh…. what are you…”

“Using a bit of my magic to relieve your pain,” Elsa said. “It’ll allow you to rest better.”

Sighing in content, Anna felt relaxed as Elsa applied pressure to her aching back and legs. It was almost enough to make her forget where she was, but no matter how much Anna wanted it, she was still a prisoner in this dungeon.

After massaging Anna for a while, Elsa looked over at her. “You okay now?”

“Mm, much better,” Anna purred. “Have I ever told you that you have hands like a surgeon?”

Elsa chuckled, to Anna’s surprise.

“You… you laughed!” she exclaimed.

Her friend stopped, a little embarrassed. “Sorry… I can’t remember the last time I found anything funny.”

Anna sat up and looked into Elsa’s eyes. The two of them were but inches apart and at that moment, as Anna was relaxed, she gazed at Elsa. Her gorgeous blue eyes almost glowed in the sunlight, and her platinum blonde, nearly white hair looked as soft as silk.

In all this time, had Anna really not considered how beautiful Elsa was? At that moment, a strange new sensation started to form inside Anna’s chest. Not anger, not a desire to never give up, but… something else, some sensation of her wanting Elsa, wanting the two of them to try and make something of all this.

And then… Anna leaned in and kissed Elsa. It was a brief moment, Anna succumbing to whatever this sensation was inside of her, before quickly pulling away. “I’m sorry!”

Elsa stroked her lips. “I… It’s okay.”

“No… I didn’t mean to do that,” Anna argued.

Nodding, Elsa stood up. “I… I should go,” she said to break the tension. “You should rest, conserve your strength and whatnot.” She smiled at Anna. “I… I wouldn’t mind taking you out of this cell tomorrow. You need some exercise.”

“Would… would you be allowed to do that?”

“As I said before, what Hans doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Elsa said reassuringly.

Anna nodded. “I’d like that… getting out and all.” She laid down and sighed. “And Elsa?”

“Yes?” Elsa wondered.

“Thank you,” Anna said genuinely.

Elsa smiled, closing the cell door. “Rest well, Anna.”

xXx

Fresh air, sunlight. It had felt like an eternity since Anna had been outside, in the presence of nature. Elsa had brought to a clearing just outside of the Southern Isles capital, where they wouldn’t be disturbed. The clearing was surrounded by beautiful trees full of lush green leaves, while in front of Anna, she could see a small lake with clear water reflecting the morning sun. It reminded Anna of where Kristoff had proposed to her.

Anna almost turned, instantly expecting to see the man of her dreams next to her…. only to be met with the sight of Elsa, having just dismounted the ice horse she’d created to take Anna to this place. She felt… unsure. It was confusing to Anna, who now realised she’d been attracted to Elsa for quite some time. Part of her hated Elsa and Part of her loved her. She wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

The sorceress walked up to her and smiled at her. “Enjoying the view?”

“I guess,” Anna answered as best as she could. “Why did you bring me here exactly?”

“This is where I go to practice my magic,” Elsa replied. “No one else knows about this place other than you and me. It’s the perfect little spot where no one will ever find you.”

“Huh,” Anna remarked. “You know, I’d have figured for an ice witch, you’d be hiding out in some giant frozen castle on the side of a mountain.”

“You really think that?”

“It was in a bedtime story my mother read to me as a kid,” Anna explained, before sitting down by the lakeside. “Thank you for bringing me here. I remember I had a place like this in Arendelle. It was in the gardens and Kristoff and I used to spend so many afternoons here.” “You miss him terribly,” Elsa said. “And It’s all because of me.” “You explained that last night,” Anna replied. “I do blame you still partly for what happened to him… And I doubt he’d have approved of me being like this with you. But then again… he’s gone and I should let go of the pain and move on.” “And what do you think?” “i… I think you know how I think,” Anna replied.

“If… If this is about that kiss, you don’t have to apologise,” Elsa expressed. “I’ve heard of the concept where one falls in love with their captor out of desperation.”

“No, if that were the case, I’d have fallen in love with Hans,” Anna corrected her. “But you aren’t my captor. You’re just as much of a prisoner as I am. Just I’m in a cell and you… you aren’t.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “And I think… I think I’ve fallen in love with you.”

“I… I think I feel the same way,” Elsa admitted. “But it can’t work. I can’t go against Hans, as much as I’d like to. I can’t give you freedom or your kingdom back.”

“Why can’t you?!” Anna demanded. “Elsa,  if this is how you really feel, why the flying fuck have you allowed yourself to be Hans’s lapdog all these years?!" 

"Because I’d have nothing else!” Elsa shouted back.

“I saw how Hans treated you at breakfast yesterday, with that bigoted remark,” Anna reminded her. “And you’re supposed to be his equal for crying out loud? Doesn’t sound very equal to me.”

“You don’t understand!”

“You could have broken away from Hans anytime you wanted,” Anna argued. “You could have stopped yourself from becoming what you are, you could have prevented so much death and destruction!… and yet you didn’t. Why?”

A few more tears of regret shed from Elsa. “Because I was a fool. Hans was the first person who ever showed me kindness, who saw some use for me.” She looked away at the water, looking at her reflection. “I was taken from my parents when I was three years old by Hans’s father. My powers hadn’t developed by then and I was just meant to be some political hostage, meant to weaken one of the Southern Isle’s enemies. Hans took pity on me as I got older… I helped him kill his father. He gave me a life, a purpose. His enemies were my enemies and I gladly cut them down for him. But… after that, he was colder to me, especially after he found out I preferred women.”

“So… he made a pass at you,” Anna realised. “That explains it, and part of your mistreatment is because Hans couldn’t have you fully. And yet, he still needed you.”

“It’s kinda stupid isn’t it?” Elsa remarked. “And I’ve been too damned insecure to do anything about it. If I kill Hans, I’d have nowhere to go. I’m fairly sure my birth family is dead. . I’m most likely wanted in the surviving kingdoms that I didn’t destroy… I have nothing. Even if I did spare many of the civilians, my reputation among the other kingdoms is tainted.”

“That’s not true,” Anna argued. “I… I’d welcome you to stay in Arendelle if I could.”

“Would you really do that?” Elsa wondered. “In spite of all of my crimes.”

“At least you’ve tried to atone for yours by being my friend and taking care of me,” Anna replied. “That’s more than his royal douchebag ever did for me.” She took Elsa’s hands. “So yes, if Arendelle were still standing… I’d gladly invite you to stay and… I love you.”

Elsa was stunned, as Anna then kissed her again, but then, she gave in, wrapping her arms around Anna as she kissed her, caressing the other woman gently. Anna gave in to the moment, relishing the kiss, letting go of all that pain and anger. Would Kristoff have approved? Well, he’d have been glad that she’d found love again, but with the woman who had killed him? Well, that was certainly complicated, but love wasn’t a matter that was easy. At the end of the day, he’d have been happy if she was happy.

But as Anna held Elsa in the kiss, something clicked in her brain, something about Elsa’s story that seemed… familiar.  A young princess kidnapped at three years old, stolen away and never to be seen again. Could Elsa be… no, it was impossible. Anna panicked, pulling away from the kiss.

“What’s wrong?” Elsa asked, concerned. “Anna, are you okay?”

Anna looked in the water at hers and Elsa’s faces, she could see that there was indeed a resemblance between them. A similar face shape, their eyes being a similar shade of blue, Anna’s teal and Elsa’s ice.

She didn’t want to believe it… but couldn’t deny the facts before her.

“You… you don’t have nothing, Elsa,” Anna spoke.

“What?” Elsa wondered. “What are you talking about?”

“I wasn’t my family’s firstborn,” Anna explained. “I had an older sister who was abducted when I was just a baby. My parents never told me about her and I never even knew she had existed until they died at sea a few years back. But, if she was still alive….”

Elsa’s eyes widened. "You… You don’t mean.”

“I mean look at us!” Anna shouted. “Our faces, don’t they look kinda similar!”

“But… That’s impossible!” Elsa shouted. “I would have known I’d have had a sibling! Oh god… I kissed my sister!” “Oh god, I fell in love with my sister!” Anna reacted. “No… it can’t be right,” Elsa argued. “Hans would have told me that I had a sibling.”

"Would he?” Anna wondered. “Did Hans even tell you what Kingdom you were taken from?”

“No..” Elsa realised. “He did not… and if your story is true and then…” She shook her head. “But why wouldn’t he have told me… unless he wanted to further…” After passing through disbelief and confusion, Elsa finally ended up in anger.

At that moment, Elsa’s hands curled into fists and an angry scowl formed on her face. To Anna’s shock, a whirlwind of ice and snow surrounded Elsa as she let out a massive scream of rage, firing ice blasts left and right. One of the blasts was powerful enough to freeze the whole lake.

“Elsa! Calm down!”

“No!!!” Elsa shouted. “I’ve had enough! I’ve been lied to my whole life and I’m tired of it! Hans forced me to destroy my own home, and I didn’t even realise it! He deserves to pay for what he’s done!”

Anna walked over to Elsa, feeling a little nervous. Seeing Elsa this way reminded her of the visions of the sorceress that she saw in her dreams.

“I’m… I’m okay,” Elsa panted.

“You sure?”

Elsa nodded. “Yes… Damn it all to hell. How could I have been so blind all these years? I knew Hans was a piece of work, but if this is true… then he and his whole retched family deserve to rot in hell.” She started to sob, Anna going to her side and holding her.

“I’m here,” Anna whispered. “I’ve got you, Elsa.”

Accepting it all, Elsa looked at Anna, breathing deeply. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”

“And I’m sorry too,” Anna apologised as well. “I should have realised this sooner… I’ll just forget those kisses happened. I can’t believe you’re my sister… and I’m in love with you.”

“No Anna, don’t say that,” Elsa urged. “For all you know we might not be related after all… and even if we were, does it really matter? No one would know but us.”

“I… I don’t know,” Anna responded, unsure. “What… what are you going to do now?”

 "I’m going to look through the journals of Hans’s father. It likely confirms what you’ve been telling me. Then… I’m going to confront Hans about this myself.“

"Alone?”

“I won’t put you in danger,” Elsa insisted. “Sister or not, you’ve been through too much and I care about you.”

“But I was also raised as a warrior,” Anna replied. “If we’re going to do this… and we’re going to finally do what I think we’re going to do, I want to be there.”

Elsa nodded. “Okay… but I’ll take you back to your cell while I look through the journals.”

“Sounds good to me,” Anna replied.

xXx

It hadn’t taken Elsa long to find King Johann’s journal. Hans hadn’t exactly left his father’s old belongings hard to find in the castle attic. But actually reading the words to herself made Elsa sick to the stomach.

The entries in the journal confirmed what Anna had suspected, that Elsa was indeed the other Arendellian princess, abducted as a child. It had made Elsa angry that she had been denied such a life, a sister, two loving parents, the chance to be Queen herself…

But now, Elsa knew she had a chance to start over with Anna. She could bring Arendelle or the other kingdoms she destroyed back and try and do her damndest to make amends for all of her many many sins. And how was she going to do that? By finally killing the monster who had used her for all these years.

Storming through the halls of the castle to Anna’s cell, Elsa pondered what she was about to do. For one small moment, she was scared, scared that killing Hans would only make things worse for the Southern isles. But then she thought about the power she herself had, a power that if used right could do much more good than harm.

Eventually, Elsa made her way to Anna’s cell, opening the door and looking at Anna, who was lying on her bunk.

“Elsa?” Anna asked.

The sorceress walked over to Anna, reaching her hand out to her. “It’s time to get you out of here… my sister.”

“Wait, are we really?”

The blonde nodded. “Yes, you’re my sister, Anna.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe it,�� Anna expressed. She then jumped up and hugged Elsa tightly. Her long lost sister… finally they were reunited. For a moment, she thought about kissing her again, but knew it was best to push those thoughts to one side.

“So… are we going to do this?” Anna asked.

Elsa nodded. “Yes…. this is something I should have done the moment I let Hans get into my head.”

And so, the two sisters eventually made their way to the war room, where Hans and his generals were planning their next campaign of conquest. Elsa told Anna to wait outside, Anna hiding behind a nearby statue, while Elsa walked inside, firmly prepared for what she was about to do.

Hans and his generals were gathered around a table plotting their next conquest, Elsa seeing the usual smug look on Hans’s face. It enraged her now, more than it ever did, especially now that she knew the truth. But finally, this nightmare would be over, for both her and Anna.

“Hans?” Elsa asked.

“Elsa! Just the woman I wanted to see,” Hans responded. “My generals and I were going over the plans for our next campaign. I trust you will be of course leading the charge?”

Elsa then bowed in respect. “Of course. I live to serve you, my lord.” She knew she had to get Hans alone in order to do this. The fewer people around, the better. “I… I had something I wanted to speak to you about,” Elsa said.“Can we speak in private?”

“Of course!” Hans replied. “I was hoping to talk to you about some personal matters as well.” Hans looked at the generals. “Leave us, please. This hopefully won’t take long.”

As the generals and the guards that had been in the room left, Elsa stared at Hans, as the former went to pour himself a drink of whiskey from a nearby bottle. After taking a swig, he smirked at Elsa.

“I know you don’t hold your ale well, but would you care for a drink, Elsa?” Hans offered. “This is a rather good vintage.”

"No thank you,” Elsa responded.

“Hmmm pity,” Hans remarked. “I was having a drink in celebration.”

"Of what?” Elsa wondered. “Your next campaign?”

"Oh no, something a little closer to home,” Hans explained. “I’ve just arranged for the execution of your friend Queen Anna.”

Elsa’s eyes widened. "What?! Why?”

Hans shrugged. “I just wanted to clear up loose ends. After yesterday’s little incident, I realised she’s too much of a liability. It’s best to let the last remnant of Arendelle be finally snuffed out. Plus… She’s a rather bad influence on you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not stupid, Elsa!” Hans shouted. “I know you have feelings for her and how you feel pity for her. She’s made you soft.”

Her heart beating in her chest, Elsa flared with anger. She had to act now, Hans was going to kill Anna, the only family she truly had left and she wouldn’t allow him to take her away from her.

"No.”

Hans put his glass down. “No what?”

“No, I can’t allow you to do that, Hans,” Elsa argued. “I’ve been your slave for too long. I know everything now. I know I was stolen from Arendelle as a child and that Anna is my sibling.” She strode towards Hans. “Why did you lie to me, Hans?! Why use me?!”

Hans sighed. “Oh well… I suppose you were going to find out eventually.” Hans walked over to a nearby window, looking out on his kingdom. “You were too useful to me, and I couldn’t resist losing you or the power you would gain me. And I had to teach your birth kingdom a lesson. They were trying to take you from me.”

“What… What are you talking about?”

"A few years ago, not long after you helped me stage my coup, do you remember when I had you sink that enemy ship?”

"What does that have to do with this?” Elsa wondered. Then she stopped and thought. She remembered how the king and Queen of Arendelle had apparently died at sea. Her parents. “Oh…”

Hans laughed. “That was your own parents, Elsa, rushing to your rescue and you never even realised it. I bet Anna would just love to know that little factoid. She’ll never consider you a sister once she knows that.”

“What?!” A voice exclaimed.

Elsa turned around, seeing Anna walk into the room, her mouth wide in shock. Sweat beaded from her brow, knowing that Hans had deliberately withheld that information from her, for just such a moment like this. “Anna… I didn’t know, I swear!”

“You… you killed them….”

“It was Hans!” Elsa argued. “He forced me to sink that ship. I didn’t know our parents were onboard it! And it doesn’t matter, this is him trying to mess with our heads!”

Anna sighed. “You’re right… I can be angry about that another time.” She glared at Hans. “You’re an insane bastard, Hans!”

“Oh shut up, the pair of you,” Hans argued. “There’s nowhere for either of you to go now. So just run along back to your cell, Anna.”

“No, she’s staying with me,” Elsa said defiantly.

“And you’re going to stay with me!” Hans insisted. “And you would have been nothing if I hadn’t taken pity on you.f I hadn’t, you’d still be locked in a cell as one of my father’s little trophies. I made you what you are Elsa.”

“You’re wrong!” Elsa shouted. “You can’t control me anymore!”

“And what are you going to do about it?” Hans asked. “If you kill me, you’ll have nowhere to-”

And right there and then, Anna punched Hans square in the face with all her strength. The king was started for a moment, giving Elsa the chance to grab her hands around Hans’s neck.

Hans choked and grunted. “Elsa… What…” But Elsa’s hand squeezed tighter and tighter, Hans’s face turning redder as he tried to breathe. However, he felt a sudden chill as ice spread from Elsa’s hand to all over his body. Elsa quickly let go, but Hans struggled as the rest of his body started to turn to ice.

“It’s the end for you, Hans,” Anna said coldly.

“And you were so wrong about me,” added Elsa in an equally icy tone. “I have a sister, someone I love. That’s more precious than something you’ll ever have. And as for you… you’re about to lose everything.”

Hans gurgled audibly, trying to form words to spit out, but he couldn’t. His throat had been the first thing frozen solid by Elsa. He settled for glaring venomously at Elsa, full of fury.

With a powerful kick, Anna knocked Hans towards the window, smashing him through it. As she watched, she saw Hans fully become an ice statue before he finally hit the courtyard below, nothing left of him but bloody particles. Finally, it was over. Hans was no more.

Just then, Elsa and Anna heard the sound of the guards enter the room, having heard the window break. They drew their sabres at them, but Elsa just gave them a freezing glare. The soldiers surrendered in moments, bowing in respect for Elsa, completely at her mercy.

“What is your command, Elsa?” one of them asked.

“Leave us for a moment,” Elsa answered. “I’ll address you when I’m ready.”

As the guards left the room, Elsa looked over at Anna, who was looking at the window.

“I can’t believe it… it’s finally over,” Anna admitted. “I’m free.”

“Are you still angry?” Elsa asked her.

“No… No, you didn’t know about our parents,” Anna replied. “And to be honest… I bet they’d have been happy that we took out Hans together.” She turned around. “What are you going to do now?”

“I’ll assume the throne of the southern isles,” Elsa stated. “Put the kingdom’s resources towards repairing the damage I’ve done. I’ll make sure Arendelle is restored to its former glory… hopefully some of the people I let go are still out there.” She held Anna close. “Finally… it’s over.”

“Good riddance to Hans,” Anna admitted.

“Did you have to kick him through the window?” Elsa asked. “I mean, I was gonna shatter him to pieces anyway.”

“A warrior has a flair for the dramatic,” Anna replied.

Elsa knew this probably wasn’t the best time to ask about this, but she and Anna both knew that despite the revelation of them being sisters, they couldn’t simply ignore their romantic feelings. “Anna… about us being sisters…

"I made my decision already,” Anna interrupted her. “I want to be with you, Elsa. This whole sisters thing… as long as we keep it our little secret things will be fine.”

“You’re sure about this?” Elsa wondered.

“Well, how else am I going to make you my queen and not raise eyebrows?” Anna remarked.

“Wait… what?”

But Anna had then grabbed Elsa, dipping her down for a passionate kiss, celebrating the fact that freedom was theirs at last.

#elsanna #submission #April 2021 contest #prompt: break #cw: torture

[astraeagreengrass]

exile [the woods part 1]

When you wake up in the floor of your apartment, you have no idea of how much the world has changed

Word Count: 2.708

Warnings: angst, mentions of death and death-related themes, PTSD, brief allusion to a panic attack.

A/N: A month ago, Taylor Swift released her eight studio album folklore and, unsurprisingly, it took over my life. The stories Taylor beautifully narrates in her songs inspired me to write something of my own: the woods is a four-part, post-Endgame story, with some slight changes to the canon, featuring Steve Rogers. Updates will be every Friday. Thank you to @xbuchananbarnes for proof-reading this and @thegetawaywriter for encouraging me to write. The banner picture was found here. Dividers are from @writeyourmindaway. Here is exile. I hope you like it ♡

i think i've seen this film before and i didn't like the ending you're not my homeland anymore so what am i defending now? you were my town, now i'm in exile, seein' you out i think i've seen this film before so i'm leavin' out the side door

Being pieced back together was like a hangover.

Like drinking too much wine one evening and then waking up on a foreign bed, not knowing how you got there. It was a pounding headache, a churning stomach, a dry throat. The back of your teeth were sensitive and the sound of sirens rung too loudly on your ears.

In the aftermath of your intoxication, the city is deafening.

You groaned at the light - you must’ve been so wasted if you’d forgotten the blinds. Every breath took a toll of your lungs, stretching your muscles beyond their strength, creaking your joints as you exhaled.

Someone gasped, startling you.

The familiar floorboards of your apartment greeted you when your eyes opened. Timeworn almond timber, the New York staple. Craning your neck, you saw a foot. Shit. You weren't one to bring one night stands home, or actually have them in the first place. Little ol' you was a little too square, a little too cautious, struggling to keep her trust issues from spilling out of her hands. Definitely not the best candidate for loose-stringed affairs, but your grandma always told you there was a first time for everything.

The foot’s owner nudged you, and you groaned again.

“Miss?” they said. “Are you alive?”

I don’t know.

Your gaze focused and you noticed the person was a boy of eleven or twelve, with a beautiful dark mop of curls and soft brown eyes. What the...

“Who are you?” you managed to croak. There was an ashy taste in your mouth, as if you’d swallowed dust.

The boy looked up and across, and you noticed that, on your left side, his father was crouching beside your body. He looked just like the kid, except a couple of decades older, so you assumed he was the father.

“My name is Cal,” the man said, spacely, as if he’d might frighten you if he spoke normally. “This is my son Daniel. We’re not going to hurt you.”

"Nice to know the invaders won't hurt me," you tried to say, but it came out a jumbled, messy current of words, like a baby first learning to communicate.

"Invaders?" the boy exclaimed, insulted. "We live here!"

"Daniel!" his father chided. "Miss, what is the last thing you remember?"

You pressed a palm to the ground, trying to lay your weight on it so you could stand up. You weren't about to answer an unknown man's questions while laying face-down on your own apartment floor. You might be hungover, but you had more dignity than that. When your body crumpled like a twig under a boot, Cal held you up, helping you to a seating position facing the window.

Craning your neck to shield your eyes from the sun, you noticed it.

Golden brown leaves.

Golden brown leaves that shouldn't exist in May.

You clearly remember opening the windows yesterday to green, lively foliage. New York was many things - loud, chaotic, more often than not dangerous - but it’s seasons were consistent, enduring. Through the tempests and disturbances, nature persevered in her year-long cycle, living and dying and living again.

These particular leaves belonged to October, perhaps even early November, never May.

Something was terribly wrong.

“What day is it?” you whispered, wide eyes going from the window to the man aiding you.

Cal grimaced. His boy was suddenly very quiet.

When you were a child, you used to have nightmares: a ghost in the attic, a wolf haunting the woods outside your house, an IED blowing up your father's convoy in Iraq. They'd trap your consciousness, suffocating your mind with fear and panic, and no night light or teddy bear could stifle the onslaught of relentless screams that rattled the walls and hallways of your childhood home, until your frantic grandmother shook you awake. The reality that greeted you on the floor of your apartment was that Twilight Zone all over again.

“Please,” you pleaded, perhaps to the man, perhaps to yourself.

Cal sighed.

“Today is October 17th, 2023,” he said and you learned that the only thing scarier than a nightmare is life itself. “You’ve been dead for the past five years.”

“We could go to the house in the woods,” you mumbled to the warmth of Steve’s chest.

He tightened his hold around your body, pressing a feather-light kiss to the crown of your head.

“Whatever you want,” he said. “You’ve got me for the weekend.”

“The whole weekend?” you smiled at him, finding the reassurance you needed in his indigo gaze.

Steve kissed you again, a fierce press of lips this time. Mouths and tongues and teeth intertwined, your hand finding hip, his hand finding you thigh.

“The whole weekend,” he breathed in the shell of your ear, right before the two of you became nothing more than a mess of pillows and sheets, drowning in love and want and lust. “And then forever.”

When the world ended, several hospital units closed down due to lack of patients.

When the Avengers managed to reverse the effects of the Snap - no one knew how they did it, but everyone knew it was them because of course it was - the mayor of New York declared the interruption of all kinds of activities in the city in order to help those returning. It was in a campaign hospital in Bryant Park that Steve Rogers found you, sitting up cross-legged and wrapped up in a grey blanket, having your temperature checked by one of the volunteers.

Wearing dark clothes and a cap, Steve was nothing more than a shadow behind the woman's shoulder. A lesser-trained gaze would glide past his figure in a quarter of a second, but not you. Never you. You'd recognize him in a sea of people, as if the blood that sustained you and the bones that built you knew exactly where to find him.

Steve had the decency to wait until the woman was done to approach you. With slow, clearly measured steps, he came closer, taking a seat at the foot of your stretcher. If he reached out his arm, he'd touch you, but he refrained and you were glad he did. In your mind, you saw him days ago, but reality told you differently. The calendar at the nurse's station, the newspaper you got a hold on, the constant broadcast of news: all of them mocked you, tormented you. Five years had gone by - more time than you’d ever had with the man across from you. And if there was ever any lingering doubt in your mind that this was some elaborate trick to fool you, they faded when you noticed the modest signs of aging that nothing but time and grief could inflict on a Super Soldier.

Again, a lesser-trained gaze probably wouldn’t catch them, but that would never be you when it came to Steve Rogers.

The two of you stayed in silence for minutes, watching a CNN report of a family reuniting in Idaho. The mother snapped right after the birth of her daughter - now a little girl with ginger pigtails, hugging her legs and kissing her hands. Everyday since you woke up on the floor of your apartment, there'd been thousands of stories such as this: parents finding children, husbands finding wives. The fallen - that's what the press called people like you, the dead that weren't really dead - all had the same lost look in their eyes. You supposed that's what happened when your clock was five years too late.

“What happened?” you finally asked when the broadcast changed to twin brothers reconvening in Hawaii. “What went wrong?”

Steve didn’t look at you, instead he kept pulling at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt.

“He was too strong,” he sighed. “And I thought I could fight him without Tony, but…”

You nodded.

“One of the nurses said he was badly wounded in the battle upstate,” you mentioned.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “But he’ll recover. Banner is looking after him. He’s got a kid now, you know? Tony. Her name’s Morgan.”

“Wow,” you smiled genuinely. “That sounds unbelievable and incredible at the same time.

“She’s a good girl,” Steve said. “Keeps Tony on his toes.”

On the TV, the two brothers embraced with a beautiful sunset as background.

“What about Sam and Nat?” you wondered.

Steve's fidgety hands stilled. With the left one he rubbed his mouth and chin until his skin was reddish.

"Sam was like you," he muttered and the implicit words hurt more in his voice than anyone else's. "Natasha… She didn't make it."

She didn't make it.

Natasha Romanoff. Natalia. Your mentor, your friend. The strongest woman you'd ever met. She didn't make it.

"What?" you gasped. "What do you mean 'she didn't make it'? Didn't she come back?"

Like Sam and the mother in Idaho and the twins in Hawaii. Like you.

Steve shook his head.

"It wasn't like that," he said. "She survived the Snap. Spent years trying to find something, anything, even the smallest possibility of getting everyone back and when we finally did… She sacrificed herself so we could have the Soul Stone."

"Sacrificed herself? For a stone?" you were extremely agitated now, the grey blanked falling from your shoulders as you looked at Steve searching for any sign of emotion. "Steven, look at me!"

 His eyes were glazed, a big blue sea threatening to spill over in waves of sadness.

"It wasn't a simple stone, Y/N. I'd rather not explain to you here, people can't know about this," he whispered, looking over his shoulder for anyone that could be listening.

"You mean they can't know why they disappeared and were brought back together like broken toys?" you exclaimed. "Toys that the Avengers can grab and then toss aside however they please? I'm not your toy, Steve!"

You knew you could be cruel. Ruthless. A child yelling ferociously at the top of her lungs until she got what she wanted. An angry teenager. An intelligence officer with obscure morals. But even when he left you without a goodbye, you'd always kept your forked tongue away from Steve Rogers.

Until now.

"Please," Steve pleaded. "Let's go home. I'll explain everything to you when we get there."

"I have no home," you spat. "I had a home three days ago when you came in saying something bad would happen, only to leave me again. Now I have nothing!”

Your tears were hot when they streamed down your face.

“I don't even know myself anymore,” you admitted and somehow that was worse than knowing you were alone in a world you didn't recognize. "All I know is dust. My bones were dust and now they're not. My heart was dust and now it's not. Everyone keeps telling me that I'm safe and that 'it's all over', but what is?"

You gasped, trying to breathe in some tranquility and breathe out some of the agony twisting your insides, but all that came out was a distressing wheeze.

"How do I know that I will not disappear again?" you cried and there was no more Steve, just a curtain of water contorting his figure, like one of those paintings he loved and you never understood the meaning.

The stretcher creaked when Steve pulled you to him, rubbing your arms back as he whispered your name.

"Breathe, Y/N. Breathe."

But you were so scared of breathing. So scared that you'd taste ash again and your lungs would collapse in dust, leaving not a shred of the person you were for people to remember you by. So scared of losing a game you didn't even know you were playing.

"Steve..." You weeped, gripping his shirt tightly.

"I'm here, my love. Just breathe."

You weren't expecting him.

After two years, the hope that kept you up at night waiting for him grew tired, dwindling until it was mere utopia. So you shut the windows, changed the locks and turned off the bedside lamp. Perhaps that's what brought him to your door, you thought. Maybe, wherever he was in the world, he felt your devotion waning, so he returned to haunt you.

You had to admit, though, that of all the ways you imagined Steve Rogers coming back to you, him ringing your doorbell at midnight wasn't one of them.

He looked handsome, with shaggy blonde hair curling at his ears and a beard, and it hurt like a punch to the stomach.

It's hard when the one that hurts the most you looks so unfazed, meanwhile you're just a shell of what you used to be.

"You've lost weight," was the first thing he said, as if he'd left to grab groceries instead of becoming an international criminal.

"What are you doing here?" you replied, ignoring his greeting. If that could even be a greeting.

He sighed, mentioning with his head to the hallway behind you.

“Can I come in?”

You stepped aside, letting him walk through. You didn’t bother turning the key because if anyone really wanted to get to him they wouldn’t be worried about leaving your door in one piece. Steve stood in the middle of the living room, his hands on his waist. An onlooker would never guess that he once belonged there.

“Did you hear about Tony?” He asked when you sat down at the armchair next to the window. The one you bought together in Ikea and Steve insisted he could assemble on his own.

“Yes,” you said. Tony Stark went missing after an alien ship appeared in Midtown. It was exactly the kind of disaster that would bring Steve Rogers to New York. “Have you found him?”

“No,” he replied. “But the same aliens that took Tony attacked Vision in Edinburgh. We managed to stop them from killing him, but he’s badly wounded. When he heard about Tony we flew to the Compound.”

You nodded. It was strange how you could feel so detached from these people- Vision, Wanda, even Tony in a way. They were once your friends, your colleagues. Now they just felt like characters in Steve’s tale - no longer part of your life, only his.

“And why are you here?” you asked.

Why did you come to the home we used to share? you meant to say. Did you miss it? Did you miss me?

He shrugged.

“I thought maybe you could’ve found something on Tony and…”

“If you went to the compound it means you saw Rhodey and Rhodey has most definitely told you that I quit my job when the Avengers split,” you interrupted him. “I have no tech, no machinery, no means whatsoever to find Tony here, nothing that Rhodey has at his disposal Upstate. So why are you really here?”

He was a stranger. Cold and detached, like the house that once trapped him. There was no tenderness in the blue of his eyes.

“Something bad is coming, Y/N,” he said. “I’m not sure what it is yet, but I… I wanted to see you. I wanted to know that you were safe.”

You thought Steve Rogers was done breaking your heart. You thought that when you stopped expecting his return you’d go back to who you were before him, even if you couldn’t find that girl amongst the mess he made of you. You thought you’d be safe from love, and trust and kind soldiers with blue eyes, but you’d never be safe from him - your fellow and your foe.

“Is that all you wanted to say?” you croaked, holding back the tears swimming in your throat with a cough.

Steve fisted his hands, and for a moment you swore that he was stopping himself from holding you. But he just hung his head, tearing his gaze from where you were sitting by the window.

“Just stay home, ok?” he stated. “Try not to leave the house until this situation is resolved.”

Then he turned around and left again.

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fan fiction #marvel fanfic series #my writing #corneliabarnes #the woods

[ofstarsandfireflies]

Been wanting to do this movie for a while but kept pushing it down the list.

Maleficent

The back story of one of the greatest Disney villains.

Stephen was far older than he appeared and far more powerful than anyone dared to dream.

He never liked Humans and tends to stay out of their wars and petty squabblings as they went about killing each other unless it was against his own kingdom.

That was when they got a real taste of just how destructive his power could really be and they would run away with their tails between their legs until they forgot about it some years later and tried again, only to be taught the same lesson.

But no matter how many times he tried to warn them to leave him alone it never seemed to stick.

Even though he was the last of his kind, the very last protector of this forest he and so many creatures both magical and not called home, he’d rather not spend his time fighting.

He had far more important things to do.

Like fly.

His wings were a deep red and what he prided himself on the most, spending the morning grooming the feathers until they shined, more beautiful than any bird, more magical than any fairy, his wings were the envy of anything with wings within their protected home.

They carried him over the magical kingdom he protected, through rocky passes, dipping into the crystal waters as he soared over the roarin warerfall and up into the clouds.

He had protected this place from the Humans for hundreds of years.

And he would continue to protect it for hundreds more to come.

Not one Human had ever set foot inside his domain and none ever shall.

That was the only rule.

And it broke the day a human man stumbled into his forest somehow, injured from battle and almost dying.

Stephen knows he shouldn’t get involved.

He knows he should kick the man out and let it die.

But he can’t help it.

This man needs help.

And technically, as the protector of the forest, he had a duty to help him.

So he takes care of the man.

Weeks and weeks go by and Stephen stays at his side through every fever, cleaning and redressing the infected wounds, aiding him to drink some fresh water before sliping back into unconsciousness.

Finally, the man wakes.

He’s not scared of Stephen as he thought he would be, he’s more interested than anything.

In why he helped him.

In who he is.

And especially in his wings.

Stephen hasn’t talked to many Humans and the ones he has never wanted to hold a conversation about anything but how the land Stephen lives on actually belongs to them.

So he starts talking to this one.

This one’s name is Howard, and he talks at length about how his wife is pregnant with their first child.

Stephen is intrigued by this man’s excitement about becoming a father, about all the things he wants to teach them as they grow and all the things he wants to give them so they have a better life growing up than he did, wanting for nothing and surrounded by love.

And Howard is just as intrigued by him.

By his magic and his wings, which he often tries to touch as much as he possibly can.

So, when a few more days pass and Howard becomes a little stronger, he is the one to lean in and kiss Stephen.

Stephen’s never been kissed before and unsure what to do, but Howard guides him.

And the kiss slowly evolves into something more that night.

And the next night.

And then Howard is calling it off, saying he needs to get back to his wife and child.

Stephen is upset after having experienced what Howard has shown him, but knows it’s for the best.

So he leads Howard to the edge of the magical forest and the human kisses him one last time before heading towards the nearest town.

Now they can get back on with their lives.

Howard with his family and Stephen with...nobody.

But the next day Howard is back.

Stephen is a little irritated by this but when Howard pulls him close and tells him he wants to stay with him, running his hands through the feathers of his wings that have become accustomed to his touch, Stephen can’t help but feel happy that he won’t be alone anymore.

It was just one human after all.

There was no harm in just one being here for a short time.

Howard had gone to the nearest town to purchase the most expensive thing he could with the money he had on him to thank Stephen for saving his life.

Turns out that thing was alcohol.

Stephen’s never had alcohol before and is drunk after his first glass, but Howard keeps refilling it and Stephen keeps drinking it until there’s barely any left and he passes out in Howard’s arms.

What he wakes to, the pain where his wings used to be, the betrayal from the one he had come to love and thought loved him in return, is absolutely nothing to the pure rage that fuels him to seek revenge.

It takes him a couple of days before he can move, the searing pain in his back keeping him on the ground where Howard had left him.

When he manages to get to his feet he’s a little unsteady without his wings to balance him, needing a walking stick to help him take a simple step.

After a week, he finally makes it to the first town closest to his kingdom’s border, hoping to find answers as to why Howard had done this to him.

Why didn’t he just killed him instead of leaving him in this agonising pain?

And what he finds there, before he’s even entered the bustling streets where Humans go about their daily lives, only deepens his abhorrence.

The selfish King, wanting Stephen’s forest, spread the word to every town within his reach that any man who coukd kill the last protector and bring back his wings as proof, would succeed him as King.

This is the reason Howard betrayed him?

All for the kingdom?!

Wasn’t Stephen’s enough?

He had given so many of his firsts to him and, for what, to remain as second best?

That’s right.

Howard had told him that he wanted his unborn child to have a good life.

He’d done this for that child.

So that is who Stephen will destroy first.

He will take everything from him starting with that child and then move on to the kingdom next and wipe it off all the maps, every good thing Howard had ever wanted, Stephen will ruin.

But first he’ll deal with that baby.

It was just one human after all.

And he was not going to make the same mistake of underestimating them ever again.

His power is no match for the castle guards when he finally gets to it, pushing the doors open and walking into the crowded room of silent people, smiling to himself as they parted to reveal King Howard.

And his wife.

And their baby.

Howard demands that he leaves, that no one will believe any lies he tries to tell the people and Stephen just scoffs.

He’s not here to ruin Howard’s conceited views on himself or his marriage which obviously meant nothing to him on those nights they shared.

He’s just here to ruin his life.

The life he fought so hard to protect.

His son.

His precious little prince whose status is built on Stephen’s pain.

So he invokes his curse, telling the room of scared onlookers that on the very hour their Prince reaches the age his father his now, as soon as that day comes, his heart will feel all the pain Howard caused him and kill him.

The mother pleads with him, throws herself on the floor and begs him not to hurt the child.

He’s innocent in all this.

Stephen just scoffs again.

No child of that man could ever be innocent.

They would grow up and be just as black hearted as every other human when they come across something different to them.

But he can’t help but be moved by her words and tears, especially since Howard doesn’t do any of those things.

Does he think if he shows he doesn’t care that Stephen will lose interest in his revenge?

That might have worked if Stephen didn’t already know that Howard did care.

So he decides in that moment not to harm the newborn prince.

The Queen is right... that would be far too easy.

Too quick.

He can do so much worse than that.

Howard deserves so much worse than that.

So his son won’t die, but he will instead fall into a death like sleep, like the very one he wished Howard had never woken from.

One that only the kiss of someone who truly loves him can ever wake him from.

And just like that, the curse is cast and Stephen turns around and walks out.

But he doesn’t go back to his home.

He stays and watches, hidden from view, waiting for the day when he can see Howard’s face as the curse takes his son from him.

And regrets it that night when the baby won’t stop crying.

No one wants to care for the child, fearing if they touch it they’ll be cursed too.

No one has held him save for his mother before he was torn from her arms tonsave her and no one has bothered to feed him all day.

At this rate the babe won’t live to see tomorrow, let alone the years Stephen needs him too, so he does what anyone else would do in this situation.

He conjures a warm bottle of milk and feeds him.

Stephen just wants some peace and quiet.

That’s why he does it.

And after the bottle is empty, the boy falls asleep.

And Stephen finally has his peace and quiet.

Over the next few months he finds himself entertaining the child, feeding him, taking care of him seeming how no one else will.

But then, one day as the child is learning to walk, he tries making his way to Stephen even though his mother is in the same room as him.

Then, just a month or so later while he is exploring the gardens, left on his own yet again, he comes right up to Stephen.

He’s not afraid of him.

He just wants to be lifted up.

So Stephen does so, holding the small human he could kill so easily.

Tony, he remembers.

This child of the man who scorned him, his name was Tony.

Tony seems rather interested in the stumps on Stephen’s shoulders and large horns growing out of his head, wrapping his little hand around one of them and pulling as if he thought they were a fancy hat.

When they don’t come off and Stephen makes a noise of discomfort, Tony apologises.

It’s just one word, one Stephen has heard him say over and over when his father yells at him for interrupting him.

So Stephen sets him down again and watches the boy waddle away.

He doesn’t stay as close as he used to after that day.

Tony is old enough to speak and walk and feed himself, he doesn’t need Stephen’s help anymore.

Knowing he’s not going to see his revenge through for some time, he leaves.

Allowing Tony to grow up without his presence.

Years come and go, and on the year Stephen will finally get what he wants, Tony stumbles into his domain.

Stephen has no idea how he got in and he has no desire to let him stay.

That is until Tony tells him he remembers Stephen watching over him, that he thought he was an imaginary friend he’d conjured in his mind when the loneliness became too much.

His brother had told him he was cursed.

That the curse was what killed his mother and what keeps everyone at arm’s length.

So, hoping to break this curse, Tony decided to leave and find someone powerful enough who could remove it so he can have some form of a normal life.

If not, at least he won’t be a burden to his father and brother anymore.

Stephen stays silent, watching how Tony looks away from him.

And then it hits him.

The curse won’t affect Howard how Stephen wanted it to.

The only one it will harm is Tony.

Howard will still have his other son and his kingdom and Tony is going to suffer on his behalf.

How the hell could he have been so stupid?

So, against his better judgement, he allows Tony to stay.

The creatures that live here with him bring out the most beautiful smile on this young man’s face.

The way he talks about and views the magical world around him, Stephen can’t believe this is Howard’s son.

So he begins to show him how to care for the magical plants.

He allows Tony to make friends with the curious creatures.

He shows him a special ring that can take him anywhere in the world so long as he’s been there once before.

And as the days pass, Stephen’s guilt grows.

Tony is amazing and loving and finds Stephen and his world fascinating.

Stephen hasn’t laughed this much in so long, he thought he would never be laugh again, but all it took was for this prince to show him he was wrong.

So when Stephen tries to lift the curse and it won’t after so many years, he refuses to give up trying.

He tries demanding it be lifted, begging, changing it in some way, but it’s no use.

Stephen doesn’t know how to break it.

Not with something that exists anyway.

Not unless Tony already loves someone.

If he did, maybe that could save him.

But when Stephen asks him, Tony is leaning in to kiss him.

And Stephen is pulling away.

Tony wants to know why, telling him that now he knows Stephen is real, he knows that his feelings for him are real too.

And Stephen knows this is just the words of a boy going trough his first crush, the Prince is barely out of his teenage years and already spouting on about love.

A love Stephen doesn’t deserve for what he did to this beautiful man who’s smile and laughter could very well be the reason why this earth has a sun in the first place.

And then Tony is apologising to him.

Always apologising, hoping that Stephen didn’t pull away because of the curse like so many others before him.

Being unable to take the guilt any longer, Stephen tells him the truth.

That he was the one who cursed him.

And Stephen has to watch this perfect human break before his very eyes.

Tony is in shock and his mind is reeling and Stephen is trying to tell him why he did it and how sorry he is, but Tony can only stare at him, eyes brimming with tears and not hearing a word he’s saying.

And just as Stephen takes a step toward him, the toll of the town bell rings around them, and Tony clutches his chest.

Stephen is paralysed as his curse begins to take affect, the sick pleasure he’d hoped to feel from Tony’s screams nothing more than a horrible twisting knife in his gut.

And finally, on the echo of the final toll, Tony drops to the ground.

Stephen gathers him in his arms, trying to wake him up, calling his name, but Tony is unresponsive.

Eyes closed as if in a peaceful sleep, chest rising and falling steadily, yet dead to the world of magic he’d found so much wonder and happiness in.

Stephen spends weeks and weeks pouring over every single book he owns, hoping to find something to bring Tony back to him as he rests day and night in a soft bed Stephen has made for him.

But it’s no use.

There’s nothing he can do.

He goes back to Tony’s side and runs his hands through his hair as he sits by his side.

He apologises, though he knows he can’t hear him.

He asks for his forgiveness, though he knows he doesn’t deserve it.

Then leans in and softly touches his lips to Tony’s.

And still when nothing happens, he can’t stop the tears from falling.

He’s not even aware that Howard has brought his army to the edge of his kingdom until he hears the King yelling out for him to come and face him.

Stephen promises Tony that he’ll protect him and leaves to defend his home, just as Tony opens his eyes.

Stephen stands alone before Howard and his army, hands already glowing.

Tony doesn’t deserve to rest in a castle that feared him, despised him and ignored him.

He deserves to be where he felt like he belonged and that’s here.

With Stephen.

Howard just blinks.

He wasn’t even aware that his son had been missing for the past few months.

He doesn’t care about Tony and the curse Stephen put on him, that’s not why he was here.

No, he’s here to take over this forest once and for all.

To accomplish what the Kings before him couldn’t do.

And he will kill Stephen to make that happen, like he should have all those years ago instead of ripping off his wings and letting him live.

Tony hears this and knows the wings his father is talking about.

Quickly looking around for the ring Stephen showed him, Tony makes a portal back to the castle to the very room where those wings he’s been fascinated with all his life hang, nailed to the wall.

Prying them off with his sword, the wings fly past him through the portal, reattaching to Stephen and pulling him up into the sky to safety.

It’s been too long since he’s flown, since he’s felt the rush and exhilaration of flying at speeds humans can only dare to dream of.

But flying will have to wait.

He still has his revenge to fulfill on the person he should have cursed in the first place.

Flying forward, he grabs Howard off his horse, taking him higher and higher until the earth below them is covered by clouds.

Howard doesn’t beg for his life like he thinks Stephen wants, instead he mocks him, berates him, and when Stephen refuses to engage, tries to catch Stephen off guard by attacking him with his dagger, causing Stephen to drop him and let him fall to his death.

When he lands on the soft grass once again, he’s stunned to see Tony waiting for him.

Tony doesn’t know how he woke up, but he knows Stephen had something to do with it.

Stephen asks if he’s going back to the castle and Tony says no, he never felt welcome there.

Stephen suggests he live with him.

Tony think that is a great idea.

And as Stephen holds him, his wings circle around Tony and keep him warm and safe and protected.

Quotes -

“The princess can be woken from her death sleep. But only by...True Love’s Kiss.”

For, to Stephen, there is no such thing.

“I will not ask your forgiveness because what I have done to you is unforgivable. I was so lost in hatred and revenge. Sweet Aurora, you stole what was left of my heart. And now I have lost you forever.

I swear, no harm will come to you as long as I live. And not a day shall pass that I don’t miss your smile.”

Stephen’s new promise

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam, and I know it’s true, that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I know you, I know what you’ll do. You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.”

A blessing and a curse.

Stephen is betrayed by the human he called his friend.

Lucky for him, Howard has a new born son.

It’s only years later when he meets the son fully grown that the guilt starts to settle in.

Missed a Day? Catch up here!

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5

Day 6 Day 7 Day 8 Day 9 Day 10

Day 11 Day 12

#ironstrange #OSAF’s Movie Night #strangeiron

[holyevents]

One becomes easily accustomed to the sense of peace. It spills through one’s being, like a slow-acting poison - numbing its host to all else but its sweet lull. Eventually, one forgets to live without it, sinking into a state of content lethargy, gorging themself on the belief that such serenity might extend into the horizon of forever. That is, perhaps, an apt way to describe the state into which many of the subjects of the Holy Land had fallen, the thought of discord a far-off notion in the mind. Until shock held them by the throat, discord grinned its wicked smile from the shadows, and death stole away the one figure that kept the horrors of the world at bay. 

May the fallen Star, Cador (who had, in one life, been known as Abraham), find harmony in all that he encounters. 

The moon was near-rising, and still the final third of the Tridium had yet to make his appearance. They were meant to gather, to deliberate and commiserate in equal measure, to further plough the path of grandeur and success for the kingdom that they so loved, and the city that they held so dear. AZAZEL and GABRIEL, the Moon and the Sun respectively, sat at opposite ends of the table - making the absence of their Star all the more noticeable. It was the first time that they had entered the room without being greeted by the older man; the first time that they have found themselves waiting on him, and the first time that they have felt an unease settle so pervasively between them. Yet neither of them cared to acknowledge it, not quite yet. One messenger had already been sent to his quarters, then another - and both of them had returned with no Cador in sight, only eerily distinct expressions of anxiety and discomfort. 

GABRIEL was the first to break the silence that had fallen over the two divine beings. “Perhaps we should send another messenger.”

“Perhaps we should admit to ourselves the truth,” AZAZEL countered, eyes meeting his. 

The archangel arched his brow. “And perhaps we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

A third messenger was never sent, for the Sun and the Moon went forth themselves, seeking the missing piece that made them the formidable Tridium. The sun was nowhere to be found and the moon was slowly waking, stars bespeckling the sky as though they, too, were curious as to where Cador hid himself. He was one of them, was he not? How could he ever be led astray? There was none that could snuff out the light of a burning star; their existence only ceased by means of implosion, and Cador was never one that would dare relinquish any notion of greatness and glory by being his own undoing. A highly revered man, he was regarded as such by both the wealthy and the impoverished, widely-beloved by many of the mortals within the Holy Land. He had their hearts. Cador had suffered - for what is the loss of a son but the definition of it? Cador had risen to greatness: for is not greatness created in the ruthless elevation of oneself, rising from destitution and growingstrong for it? 

And, with such greatness and glory, the perception of one’s limits becomes rather skewed. If he was loathed, which he certainly was by those who privately preferred more Heretical ideals, then he was meant to rise above it. If he was loved, then he knew that he held the people’s faith. He was untouchable. Death is nothing more than a far-off, tangential notion that is not a consequence of existence, but rather, an anomaly - to celestials and infernals… and, in truth, to Cador. 

That is what AZAZEL and GABRIEL garnered from the rigid raise of his brows and his widened, glassy eyes, at least. They stood over his body, looking down at a corpse frozen in shock the splintered door crumbling behind them -as dead as the cadaver it had so diligently locked away. GABRIEL brushed the splinters from his sleeve as AZAZEL leaned closer, investigating the marks that hinted at Cador’s demise. Blotchy skin, red eyes. The remnants of foam around his mouth. His face had grown blue and, even now, as she pressed against the cold skin, she could feel the food that had lodged in his throat as he took his final mouthful:a fruit that his son had been known to favor. She wiped her fingers against Cador’s shirt before pulling away. The two divine beings looked at one another before AZAZEL shook her head. Stars did not die this way. They faded slowly, beautifully before implosion; they did not rot away. 

The stench of artificial rot was in the air. Cador’s body was bloated with it. The stain of murder bespeckled his skin, was strewn about the room, and it felt heavy. The Star of the Tridium had been murdered, just as they were sinking into the honeyed lull of harmony. Should word get out, there could be war. The mortal faction would want reparations, if they ever knew the truth. 

It was a good thing, then, that the Sun and the Moon knew how to keep their secrets. 

They wore veils as they walked among the streets of the Holy Land, as they went from village to village harkening the passing of the great Star, Cador. It had been known that he was growing older, that his health was not that of a young man’s any longer. Though it came as a shock, Death was Death, a natural occurrence in a mortal’s life. The town criers wiped their tears beneath their veils, watching as the grief swept through the people’s faces as they listened to the great life that Cador had led; the good that he had done for his people, and the dying wish that he had made. A young boy with dirt smeared across his face took a heaving breath, rubbing his nose with a tattered, torn sleeve. An aged seamstress clutched at her chest, shaking her head as she rocked back and forth upon her chair, Cador’s name a wail upon her lips. A squire, fresh-faced and wide-eyed, let their sword clatter to the ground as they fell to their knees. 

Our Star, they lamented, whether it be upon their lips or in their weeping hearts. Our hope, our leader, and our salvation.

It was as though a silence swept, not only over the people, but over the entirety of the Holy Land. It seemed as though the very earth itself shuddered in trepidation at the onslaught of blood it would have to drink…

It was as though peace had been a curse cast over them, causing them to cease all machinations and to content themselves with idleness and petty games. The great Star of the Tridium had been the sacrifice that was needed to lift the curse from their shoulders, and renew them once more.  The Kingdom of Caelum began preparations for their travels to the Holy Land, the prestigious and glorified of the kingdom readying themselves and their companions for the journey. In the revelry of the Infernal Realm there was pause as news of the fallen Star made its way across the land - the infamous and dastardly figures in the kingdom began to ready themselves for the journey that would undoubtedly follow. 

Though no one said it aloud, they all knew. Every creature knew what possibilities loomed over them; what the Hundred-Eyed God likely saw with their never-ending sight. Some fates, they knew, were going to be bloodier than others. The seat of the Star was ripe for the taking. The only question was - who would be the figure standing behind its throne? 

THE FIRST WEEK OF THE NEW MOON: The movements of the wealthy are not kept secret for long. It is well known that only those who sit comfortably upon a mound of money are the only ones that are able to traverse between the kingdoms, and are the only ones expected to participate within the funeral rituals of the great Star, Cador. Where the fat of the calf is, vultures follow, and are not robbers all too content with being compared to such predatory animals? The robbers know it is fair easier to strike angels and demons when their defenses are thinned, spread out like a caravan, making them ripe for the plucking. 

The Tridium knows of this, though, and is aware of the dangers of such travel. They are determined to extend the courtesy of safety and protection to those who seek to remember the life of Cador, and so they have requested that volunteers within the Holy Land take up arms to defend their visitors. Among those who have volunteered to do so are:

GROUP I:

LUCA RICHE

CAPHRIEL

ORIAS

GROUP II:

ROMILDA ALTIER

SAMAEL

DMITRI

GROUP III:

ARIANNE ALTIER

RAUM

ZADKIEL

THE SECOND WEEK OF THE NEW MOON:  The preparations for Cador’s funeral have finally come to an end, and the celebrations and rituals begin. The rites span over six days, each day with a specific means for paying Cador’s legacy homage. 

The first day is known as the MEMORIAM OF DAWN, in which the community gathers together to build a pyre for the departed, rising at dawn to collect the necessary instruments and resources - wood, flowers, oils, and the like. While they gather and prepare, they sing of the departed’s childhood, and if none can be recounted then they sing of the first time the departed smiled at them, their first laugh, and so on. The second day is known as the MEMORIAM OF THE FIRST TWILIGHT and it is upon this day that the treasures of the departed are gathered together so that they might be redistributed to their loved ones and the community, depending on the wishes of the dead. This typically takes place at the Temple of the Saints and is often accompanied by acts of charity, such as alms-giving and distribution of goods in the name of the departed. The third day is known as the MEMORIAM OF SUNRISE and it is on this day that there is quiet and respite to be taken by the loved ones of the departed. Traditionally, they sequester themselves and allow themselves time to bask in the life that they had shared with the dead - oftentimes gathering together if only to drink, eat, and exchange memories.

The fourth day is known as the MEMORIAM OF SUNSET, during which what can only be described as festivities take place - the last three days of funeral rituals meant to be a joyous celebration of the life that had been lived. A bonfire takes place and those who wish to render the memory of the departed upon their skin, either in letter or through symbols. Laughter, singing, dancing often marks this and typically bleeds into the next. The fifth day is known as the MEMORIAM OF THE LAST TWILIGHT and it is on this day that the last vestiges of the departed are burned. Treasures that no one wishes to keep for themselves, letters that they had written, renderings and sketches - all are burned upon the pyre, along with the body that remains. The lighting of the pyre is rather ceremonious, with a loved one removing the shroud as frankincense curls in the air, placing one final kiss upon the departed’s brow before extending the torch and setting the pyre aflame. Libations, song, and dancing ensue once more and consequently bleed into the sixth and final day, known as the MEMORIAM OF DUSK. When dusk settles on this final day, the ashes from the pyre are collected and are taken care of at the discretion of the departed’s loved ones. Candles are lit throughout the community - placed upon windowsills, balconies, fountains, the old haunts and known places of refuge for the dead. With this closing ceremony, it is recognized that, though the ache still lingers - and perhaps it always will - there is hope that such love will be renewed again

The people of the land - and the visitors from the neighboring kingdoms - gather together to remember the great life that Cador had. Minstrels ready their instruments, children and adults alike gather the wood for the bonfire, and so the celebrations begin and the libations are shared among all. In their drunkenness, there are some who can’t help but notice how odd Cador seems to look on the pyre - it is as though there is a glamour that is placed on his visage. The hues of his skin seem skewed. The way the light shines in his hair gleams rather oddly.

But no matter, no matter… leave the dead to their peace… 

THIRD WEEK OF THE NEW MOON: It seems that the entirety of the world has been renewed, that fresh vigor runs deep within the soil. For this reason, it is said that the Daemonium are becoming agitated - for the only renewal they know is that of their insatiable hunger. It is on the outskirts of Sanctus Terra that many hear of it. The Tridium is aware, but they make the decision to stay their hand - they feel themselves becoming overwhelmed while being spread so thin. Those of the Round Table need to reserve their forces and maintain their focus on electing a new Star to represent them and their interests. But there are the restless few who cannot help but take a quick trip to relieve their own hunger - their hunger for glory.

THE FOURTH WEEK OF THE NEW MOON:  Due to the unprecedented events that occurred at the beginning of the New Moon, the celebration known as The Coming of Spring was delayed, and many instead chose to celebrate it during the fourth week of the New Moon. The allocated sites have been announced and the people of the Holy Land are able to let the last vestiges of grief go as the renewal of the spirit takes place. Perhaps some will wish that the new Star be as righteous and glorious as the one that had passed. Perhaps those who hunger for it will get the schism that they want so dearly to occur between the factions. 

FINAL NOTES: And with that, we have released our first event! Not to get sappy, but you all have no idea how grateful we are to have your interest and excitement. This has been a long time coming and we absolutely cannot wait to see all the interactions that will take place! 

The OPEN POSITIONS will always be on a first-come, first-serve basis, so drop an ask to the MAIN to let us know if you want your character to participate in this. It is meant to be a joint collaboration between those within the Holy Land and the neighboring kingdoms, so angels, demons, and mortals alike are welcome to volunteer themselves! If there is no space available, we will let you know as soon as we can. 

If you have any questions, please drop them in the discord channel and if you find yourself coming up empty for plots, don’t hesitate to contact us. We absolutely love collaborating and helping our members. You are free to thread out any of the events that have been outlined in the event or to have your characters go on their own adventures. Otherwise, we hope you all have fun and enjoy!

#thcevent #event i #rp #rpg #spn rp #fantasy rp #OUR OPENING EVENT WOW!!!