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somehow-progressing · 3 years

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WTNV 182 / 132 Connection

So this isn't the first time Cecil's mother and trees have been connected.

In 132, exactly fifty episodes previously, her bedtime story was about a boy who turned into a tree.

I reviewed this episode to look for connections and..

Oh, boy.

So, first off, the boy's interest in science obviously reminded me of Carlos, right? But then the similarities stop there.

And start leading towards Cecil.

(The rest under the cut)

We now know that there was a time where Cecil's father was in the picture, although it may have been when Cecil was very, very young. The family dynamic in 132's story matches his exactly: a mother, a father, a sister, the youngest son.

My first thought was, "Well, this can't be a parallel to Cecil's family. They're far too loving, which doesn't match up with what we know of Cecil's mother at all." But then I looked closer.

The boy's parents are verbally insistent that they love him, to the point where it comes off as "I'm your parent so I have to love you, it's my job to do everything for you." Putting pressure, and a sense of guilt, on the child while never actually living up to their word.

"He knew he would never need his father to give his life for him. He just wanted his father to show concern for his health. He knew he would never need his mother to give away all of her belongings for him. He just wanted his mother to show interest in his curiosity." - 132, Bedtime Story

His parent's love is very idealistic, while not being one that they actually show or.. Possibly, feel. They don't show concern for his health, or value his interests. He's their son, but he's not anything more.

"My mom seems really proud of me too! She hid from me for three days! Like, the longest ever! And she’s covered all the mirrors in my house. I’m not sure why, but I think it must be because of pride. Being proud does all sorts of things… to a… um… to a person." - 33, Cassettes

Cecil's own experiences parallel this. He interprets her love through ideals, to fill the void of it in actuality. When you're a child, you think that a parent is supposed to be loving. They're supposed to care. When they don't, or they leave you alone in your house, or they ignore you, or they tell you not to cry after you've been injured because "you don't even exist," your brain doesn't know how to process it. Like he did with his memory loss in 182, Cecil tries to rationalize it. Mother abandoned me because she's proud, because she cares about me- because she's my mother and she has to.

The boy's relationship with his sister parallels Cecil's as well.

"His sister would tell him, “I hate you, brother.” But their parents would instruct her to be nice and so she would say sarcastically, “I love you, brother. I would climb the tallest mountain for you." - 132, Bedtime Story

"He knew his sister really loved him. He knew he would never need his sister to climb a mountain for him. He just wanted his sister to believe him that mountains were real." - 132, Bedtime Story

As mentioned in Ghost Stories, Cecil has had a very difficult relationship with his sister.

"See, my mother disappeared when I was only 14. Abby had just started school, but she had to drop out to return home and raise me, and I thought that Mom would be back at any moment, like maybe she was away on business. Our out for a walk. Or just hiding.

But Mom did not come back, not for my entire childhood. And I was petulant and subversive, and Abby was reserved and controlling and she blamed me for having dropped out of school and I blamed her for just… not being Mom.

But in our adulthood, my mother did return home, sick and sorry to two children who barely spoke to each other in the morning." - Ghost Stories

Which would match up with the sister's animosity with him.

The difference here is that, out of the entire family, the boy knows that his sister actually loves him. And in Cecil's life, his sister is the only one he has made amends with. No matter how she treated him in the past, they are part of the same family once again. (As of 182, at least.)

Here, a direct parallel to Cecil is established. This boy's life mirrors his own.

Now, here's where it gets interesting.

Just as Cecil enters the tree, the boy is transformed into one

"He spent a lot of time in those next several months watching his family, their grief at his loss. His parents’ happiness at his sister’s education." - 132, Bedtime Story

There has been a lot of theorizing that Cecil's mother may have been covering the mirrors and leaving flowers because she was mourning Cecil, and not just his father.

"What was it your mother said before she left home when you were a teenager? Did she tell you she was an oracle?" - 171, Go to The Mirror?

It's entirely possible that Cecil's mother knew what would happen after she left, or had enough of an idea to subconsciously work it into a bedtime story.

It's possible that this is a glimpse of a timeline where Cecil really didn't survive entering the tree. His parents mourn, and his sister is allowed to pursue the education she wanted. (Which, in all honesty, a pretty cruel burden to place on Cecil's shoulders. It's not his fault that their mother disappeared, leaving Abby to take care of him.)

Next, we watch the boy slowly lose his humanity as his awareness widens outside of himself.

"Time slowed for him, and his knowledge grew so vast and so expansive, human triumphs and pains became only a small sliver of his interest. There were much larger systems to comprehend than humanity." - 132, Bedtime Story

Cecil is canonically one of the people in Night Vale that time slowed down for. Like Earl, he has been stuck at a certain age for a long, long time.

"He had forgotten what he used to be." - 132, Bedtime Story

Cecil has canonically lost large parts of his past. He no longer remembers them.

"Later that spring, the woman and the man and the child brought a picnic and some games, and the tree was happy, but could not comprehend why. Nor did the tree intend to. The tree was simply happy, and this was a feeling that existed. Years later, the family wore black again and cried. And the tree felt sad, but it did not connect this feeling to any kind of narrative. It was simply sad, and this was a feeling that existed." - 132, Bedtime Story

The boy tree is becoming incredibly distanced from his family. (A woman, man, and child, just like Abby, Steve, and Janice.)

"You know, Cecil and I first met at one of these things. Seems like we should have met earlier than that. I had dated his sister for a while. But Cecil’s busy, he- he serves his community. He really gives himself to his community. Who do you live for, you know? Who do you give yourself to? Those are questions we should all be asking ourselves." - Steve in 100, Toast

Steve confirmed that Cecil was distant from his family and the people around him before Carlos came along, burying himself in his job.

And then an angel cuts down the tree.

"Over a few days, the tree and the fruits and the separated stump died. But the tree retained everything. As its body was planted into boards, as its twigs were ground into mulch, the tree felt the knowledge of each seed it had planted across the valley, each creature it had nourished with its fruits, and each piece of lumber built into a home for generations of humans to come.

The tree felt its branches burned in a fireplace, and it rose up as smoke and dissipated into carbon across the sky, coming down in trillions of molecules to build more soil, more trees, more creatures. The boy could truly learn everything now, cell by cell." - 132, Bedtime Story

Cecil has given himself to his community. This boy, this tree, has been divided and used up as a resource, to serve the community in which he lived. Not to mention the fact that Cassettes Cecil died before becoming the Voice, like this boy/tree was cut down before he could serve/understand his community.

"Cecil, sweet Cecil. Whose life lies directly on the fault lines of this broken reality." - Huntokar in 109, Huntokar

Patching together:

- this quote from Huntokar that gives off the impression of Cecil as the glue keeping the fractures together, and

- the way that Leonard Burton, a deceased Voice, is brought back the moment that Cecil left town, filling the vacant spot, and

- the way that Night Vale fell apart when its citizens rejected their reality, and began to be patched back together along with the narration of their Voice

It all leads to:

The Voice of Night Vale is a significant, needed position.

It’s possible that he holds the fractured town together, in a way, his words reminding the citizens to keep their will and hold onto what is in front of them. (In the case that the cold light is the Smiling God, this gives it a motive. If it takes out Cecil, the town is left vulnerable for it to devour.)

Just like the tree, Cecil is used by his town.

His mother knew that he would become the Voice one day- it was prophesized. That’s the reason he was given the tape recorder, that’s the reason she told this story.

We still don’t know what was in the book in the table.

Then, this very interesting quote from 182:

“I’ve been in this job for a long time. Probably longer than I’ve been alive. I mean: you’ve been alive.”

He says the truth for a moment, then backs up because that doesn’t make sense to him. Coupled the way his mother’s story parallels Cecil’s, with boy becoming the tree, becoming a resource that serves the town and seeing all of it (similar to how Cecil knows what’s happening in the town and what its citizens are thinking without leaving his studio. See: every traffic report and episodes likes A Story About Them.) and Cecil mentioning the odd nature of his job in 182..

I think we’re about to learn exactly what it means to be the Voice.

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rocorambles · 3 years

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Finding Home

Pairing: Terushima x Reader

Prompt: Mythology

Genre: SFW, Fluff, Slight Angst, Greek Mythology AU, Dionysus!Terushima, Human!Reader

Summary: Terushima has never liked winter, the land too barren to produce his prized grapes, the weather too harsh for the merrymaking he’s known for. But maybe, just maybe, a certain mortal can help change his perspective.

Author’s Note: This is my contribution for my HQ Discord Server’s SFW collaboration. There are so many talented writers on the server and I highly encourage you to check out the collaboration masterlist here to see how everyone decided to run with this prompt. (Masterlist goes live Friday, March 12th!)

Terushima has never really belonged here and even after centuries and lifetimes, he doesn’t feel any more a part of Olympus than when he first joined the ranks of the gods and goddesses above as Dionysus, protector of misfits.

He scoffs at the title. How fitting when he himself is a misfit among the beings of Olympus, the son of a mortal mother, a “human-lover” (a title he’s actually quite fond of despite the disdain and judgement tainting it when spoken by those around him). Ironic when he dares say most of his fellow divine beings have had more than their fair shares of “loving humans”. It’s how he was created himself after all and he scowls at the thought of the handsome brunette who he unfortunately is forced to call father.

One would think that with all the affairs Zeus, or Shittykawa as he prefers to refer to him as, nickname courtesy of Poseidon, is off and about having, the king of the gods wouldn’t be so stringent and watchful over his kingdom above. But as free with his affection as he is, Oikawa is a stickler for tradition and Terushima sighs as he enters the gates of Olympus, plastering his trademark cocky grin on his face as he greets his family.

It’s ironic really how Oikawa insists on these family reunions considering how they hardly really consider each other family. But no one dares to disobey and they all force themselves through the polite small talk, extravagant meals, and elegant parties, everything so detailed and beautiful yet cold, much like their organizer, and Terushima skin practically crawls at how different this is from his much more impassioned festivities, never used to how restrained the manners of Olympus are despite how many of these he has attended.

But it’s not all so terrible and this time he doesn’t fake his wide toothy grin when two beings burst into his quarters late at night.

He’s not foolish enough to believe Apollo and Ares are the strapping gods they’re portrayed to be, knowing too well just how monstrous and terrifying the two can be, knowing the atrocious acts they’ve committed. But as brothers? As fellow gods? They make Olympus bearable and that’s more than can be said for anyone else. So he sets aside their differences temporarily, humming along to the sound of Apollo’s music, laughingly joking that his talent for songs is the only reason women and goddesses look past the rooster-like mess on top of his head. He drinks goblet after goblet of mead with Ares in an attempt to see who can outdrink the other this time around, not stopping until his vision is so blurred that he can hardly tell if it really is Ares in front of him or a large owl with vaguely human features.

But as soon as sunlight begins filtering in marking a new day and the end of his forced return, he’s quick to bid farewell, nose diving back down to Earth and immediately feeling more at peace as he lands in a flourishing rice field, slowly making his way to the quaint home just ahead.

It’s an admittedly strange camaraderie, the friendship between the God of Chaos and a demi-god son of Demeter, but Terushima’s heart swells with fondness when he sees Kita sifting through the grains of his latest harvest, chuckling at the slightly quirked lips on the other’s usually impassive face when he sees the blonde making his way towards him.

He knows the other Olympus immortals find it strange how he prefers to spend most of his time on Earth, whispering and spreading rumors about the strange god who so easily casts aside the splendor of Olympus for the humble life and home of a farmer, who prefers to idle his days away with humans and a demi-god rather than his own much more powerful and esteemed family up above. And he knows even Kita has his doubts and disagreements with the wild debauchery and havoc he wreaks upon the mortal world, preferring his mother’s more wholesome ways of providing and caring for humans.

But both of them are tied by their kindness and benevolence towards mankind, frowning upon the hostility, cruelty, and selfishness the other gods and goddesses subject humans to. And Kita never says a word against Terushima, knowing that even if they aren’t methods he understands or condones, Terushima’s rituals and revelries bring joy, provide an escape, take away the suffering of mortals, even if only temporarily.

Besides, the demi-god is far too busy with helping Demeter prepare for the harvest to really pay much mind to Terushima’s antics, flitting here and there as he helps ensure the earth is fertile, making sure grains and seeds are plentiful, working seamlessly alongside Terushima as the god of wine cheerfully goes about making sure there’s more than an adequate amount of ripe grapes and fruits for wine making and merriment.

As far as Terushima is concerned, Olympus can keep its cold splendor. Here is where he was meant to be, thriving in the heat and brilliant light of the sun, sighing in content as he pops grape after grape in his mouth, the sweet juices coating his mouth as he watches the humans in amusement as they excitedly crush the small fruits, making the beverage he had shown their ancestors long ago how to create.

And then the harvest is officially upon them and Terushima joyfully cheers as his followers indulge in the delicious nectar of their hard work, wine sloshing from cups as music blares, the earth resounding with raucous ecstatic celebrations and the stomping of feet as mankind wildly dances and jumps around.

It’s a wild frenzy and Kita slightly winces at the chaos that has overtaken the world, but it’s hard not to look on in affection and amusement as the humans and his dear friend enjoy themselves, finding temporary freedom and escape from the restraints of society. So he lets them be, spending time with his mother as she also enjoys the festivities of her followers (albeit much more demure), glad to see both Terushima and her in high spirits, knowing the hardest part of the year for both of them is just around the corner.

A practical person might scoff at Demeter’s extreme reaction every time Hades comes to retrieve her daughter, but there’s nothing rational about a mother’s love and the world turns dead and cold as the goddess grieves and mourns the loss of her daughter, even though she knows it’s only temporary.

Terushima sighs at the cold white snow and ice that blankets the barren grounds, feeling his own vitality drain from him when the majority of the revelries come to an end as the humans prepare for the harsh winter months ahead. He hates the mortal world when it’s like this, finding the cold quiet far too similar to Olympus and he sulks, retreating and staying put inside his shared abode with Kita, impatiently waiting for Persephone to return to her mother so that the world can defrost and resume.

Kita is patient at first, alternating between checking in on his mother and Terushima, ensuring both great gods of the Earth are alive and well. Although “well” is a relative term and the demi-god sighs at how both their depression and grief permeate throughout the world, adding an icier edge to the already brutal atmosphere. However even his patience has a limit and though he doesn’t dare disrespect his mother, he shoves at least the god of the vine out the door, shooing him towards the nearest town and telling him not to return until he’s in a better mood.

The blonde listens, albeit reluctantly and with a few muttered grumblings, but it’s a nice distraction, wandering around and masquerading as a human. And although he’s not in the mood to join in, he appreciates how advanced civilizations and technology have become, allowing those brave enough to face the harsh frigid weather to frolic at bars, even if it means being bundled in layers and layers of winter clothing. It isn’t anything near as rambunctious and lively as the harvest season, but he feels his mood lighten as the streets are roused by drunken and rowdy crowds, laughter and cheer filling the cold air.

Feeling more himself after a few hours of amusedly observing from afar, a steaming mug of mulled wine in his hands, he begins to turn around and make his way back home only to be interrupted as someone crashes into him and instincts have him catching you as you tipsily stumble and giggle in his arms. He can smell the sweet scent of wine rolling off of you in waves and he fights back the urge to laugh as you sloppily smile, clinging onto him for dear life as you try and steady yourself on wobbly legs while you simultaneously thank your hero for saving you.

Humans really are the most adorable things sometimes.

He’s a bit apprehensive about just leaving you when you’re in such a state, but he relaxes when your friends rush to your aid, profusely apologizing to him as he carefully hands you over to them and he just waves them off, telling them to have fun as he makes to walk away again. But he’s stopped by your hands still holding tight to him.

“Come party with us!”

This time he does laugh as one of your friends angrily admonishes you for your behavior and he gently tries to loosen your grip on him, telling you empty promises of “maybe next time”. But he freezes when one of your hands he’s managed to unhook from him softly rests on his cheek and he chokes at the genuine concern in your eyes despite the drunken haze in them.

“You look so sad...Please stay? Maybe it’ll make you feel better.”

The words are childish and slurred, yet Terushima is moved by the pure intentions he can sense in the syllables, drawn in by the heart and love he can feel pouring from you. All his life he has cared for others, cared for the world. But when was the last time someone had cared for him? When was the last time he had allowed someone to care for him?

So in a moment of weakness he allows himself to let go of his responsibilities, his duties, his own walls and rules he had created to maintain a distance from the mortals he oversees in an effort to avoid dragging them into the messes caused by diving beings, to make sure no one else is subjected to what his own mortal mother suffered through because of Oikawa’s selfish desires.

It’s ironic how little a god known as the liberator allows himself to be free, usually preferring to watch from afar and not partake in the frenzied chaos of his followers. But tonight he joins in, entangling himself among the throngs of bodies moving to the vibrating pulses of echoing music and beats, submitting to the wild energy around him, pretending just for a moment that he’s finally found where he belongs.

You make it easy for him to believe he’s found a new home, a place he’s accepted, and even amidst the blinding lights and smoky haze, you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever met, your liveliness, energy, and humanity far outshining any of the gods or goddesses he knows. There’s nothing reserved or distant about you, no feeling of someone keeping up pretences or a front. You’re just...you and he knows even without the help of liquid courage you’ve generously doused yourself with tonight, that you wouldn’t be all that different.

Maybe a little less handsy and definitely quieter (he subtly winces when you practically shout in his ear asking if he wants another drink). But the genuine warmth and kindness he can feel radiating from you? Your easy and uninhibited acceptance of him? That’s just who you are and he allows himself to find temporary comfort in this new sense of belonging you make him feel.

Despite how he’s sworn to never rope a human into the twisted world of immortals, for the first time in his life, he feels the temptation to break the promise he had made to himself all those centuries ago.

But it’s a pipe dream and as dawn’s light begins to peek through the night sky and clubs and bars close shop, reality comes crashing down on him. He remains steadfast in his beliefs, promising himself that he’ll leave and forget all about you as soon as he’s made sure you’re safely tucked in bed despite the desperate pleas and cries of his heart. And he grits his teeth as he fights to ignore his desires.

He’s stronger than this. He’s better than this. Above the immoral lust his family is infamous for. Above the preying ways of Oikawa.

Or so he’d like to believe.

But he can’t help himself from sitting at your bedside, gazing down at your peaceful face, finding comfort in your deep even breaths as sleep overcomes you, telling himself that he’ll be just another minute, over and over again, until he’s forced to his feet hours later as you begin to rise. And as he makes his escape before you can awaken and see him, he knows that he’ll never be able to fully forget you.

Sometimes Kita is far too observant for his own good and Terushima groans when he’s immediately pinned down by curious knowing eyes as soon as he walks through the front doors. But he’s never been good at keeping his thoughts to himself and he rambles, spilling every little detail (probably too many details) to the demi-god who patiently listens and brews a pot of soothing hot tea that Terushima greedily grabs and indulges in as he recounts the night.

Kita holds his own cup to his lips, hiding the smile playing on his face as the god talks about you, sharp eyes noting the unusual softness in Terushima’s eyes and quietness of his voice as he speaks about you, describing you so perfectly Kita can almost imagine exactly what you look like from his words alone.

But his smile turns into a thoughtful flat line at the sadness in the usually exuberant voice as the blonde tries to lightly wave it off and convince himself that it’s all in the past now, just another mortal he’s happened to interact with in his long life before breaking off into an awkward silence.

“Terushima, not all relationships between gods and mortals are doomed and cursed.”

Kita rolls his eyes as the other begins to squawk and flail his arms as he recounts some of the most tragic relationships in Olympus history to prove him wrong, quickly cutting him off after another languid sip of his hot beverage.

“So do you think the union between my parents was also a mistake?”

The demi-god smirks as Terushima squirms in his seat, floundering for words, weakly clarifying that he meant the majority, not all.

“Exactly. Not all relationships between gods and mortals are destined for failure and we all know you’re certainly not like most gods. So if anyone were to beat those odds, I’d say it would have to be you.”

Kita Shinsuke does not mince words. He does not care to flatter even the most supreme beings with unwarranted and undeserved pleasantries. He only calmly speaks his truth. So despite how casually the words are thrown, as if the demi-god was just mentioning the weather or how his day was, Terushima gapes at his long-time friend, letting the true weight of their meaning sink in.

Not like most gods.

Terushima has been called an outsider by both gods and humans alike his entire life, but for once, the title feels like something to be proud of, to hold his head up high and triumphantly proclaim, and he blinks back the tears threatening to slip from the corner of his eyes as he shakily returns the warm smile on Kita’s face, choking out a laugh between his sniffles at the demi-god’s next words.

“You’re not your father, Terushima. Don’t let Zeus- What does Poseidon call him these days? Ah yes, don’t give Shittykawa the satisfaction of ruining your chance at love and happiness.”

It’s startling, absurd really, to hear the foul nickname from Kita’s usually polite and mannerly mouth, but it drives home his point that much more and almond eyes glint with steely resolve.

If Kita notices how Terushima rarely spends the night in their shared home anymore despite how he’d practically hibernated in his room during past winters, he doesn’t say anything.

If he notices how much more energetic and boisterous the god is despite the barren lands and frigid weather that would normally have dampened his spirits, he doesn’t comment on it.

And if he just happens to accidentally meander around town and see a familiar blonde figure whose hand is interlaced with a mortal woman’s hand, he chalks it up to pure coincidence and certainly not because his curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Kita Shinsuke is not nosy, even if the pictures he secretly takes of the couple and proudly develops, frames, and gifts to the god of wine during the holidays that year say otherwise.

It’s Terushima’s favorite and only gift he’s ever received during the human holiday season (although that quickly changes after he makes things official with you) and the first thing he hangs up on the walls of your shared bedroom years down the line when you move in together.

And as he holds you in his arms and fondly smiles at the photos on the wall, reminiscing on the beginning of this joint journey with you, he thinks that winters aren’t so bad after all, affectionately kissing the top of your head as you snuggle and squirm closer to his body heat, slightly jostled by him adjusting and retucking both of you back in your warm and cozy blanket cocoon protecting you from the chilly air.

He waits for you to settle back into a restful slumber before letting his own eyes drift shut once again, melting into the bedsheets and embrace of a place and person he can finally call home.

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #terushima x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu x reader #terushima #terushima yuuji #terushima yuji x reader

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vanderlindemorgans · 3 years

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Cross My Heart (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 7.7k

Chapter-specific Warnings: Descriptions of blood from a gunshot wound, alcohol consumption, talk of drug addiction, more death talk, mentions of entitled kid + parent, everyone being in denial and uh I think that’s about it

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

The strangest thing about dreams were how quickly they disappeared: you could be passed out in bed, a million miles away from the waking world before the rays of sun started to shine over the horizon to rouse you from your slumber, and just like that - whatever world you were in would vanish, being replaced by an often disappointing reality in front of you. For Jack, vivid dreams weren’t too often of an occurrence for him, not that he really remembered anyway. Nightmares were even more rare, though at one point in time they’d plagued him for months on end. That was how he’d spent the first few months after his wife’s passing: waking up in a cold sweat, heart racing in panic from the lingering remnants of dream clung to the back of his mind, horrifying scenes of loss and tragedy playing out to torture him in his most vulnerable state. Usually the nightmares involved him being forced to watch Lily’s death with his own eyes and being powerless to stop it, the illusion always shattering just as her body hit the ground. Other times he’d be confronted by her, blood cascading from the bullet wound in her head and onto her skin while she stared at him with harsh eyes. He’d try to reach out for her, only to feel her hands had gone cold. And then the blame would start. The words that were repeated over and over by her until he felt his brain was going to break.You couldn’t protect me. Those ones were always the worst, and thankfully, the most rare.

All of this being said, Jack hadn’t dreamt of Lily in a long time. As the sting of her passing began to fade with time, leading into hate and anger towards the world for taking her away, the dreams slowly stopped. He still mourned for her every day, feeling frozen in time no matter how many years passed, no matter how fine he seemed on the outside, but the worst of it had left him. Or, so he thought.

Jolting out of bed with a fierce start, he could feel the rough material of the duvet in his hands, his hands grasped around it with an iron grip. He felt compelled to scream, though no sound was able to escape his mouth, and as he took note of his surroundings he started to feel less afraid when he realised where he was. He didn’t know what the time was, if he had to guess it was probably after midnight. Hesitantly, he placed the back of his hand to his temple, feeling the stray beads of sweat running underneath. It’d been a long time since something had managed to scare him to that degree, much less a nightmare. He probably should have felt relaxed once he realised that none of what he just went through was real, but he still felt spooked by the entire experience. Jack couldn’t even remember most of what happened - it all blended together in a frightening blur. The only moment he could still make out in his mind from the dream were its final moments: his wife was standing in front of him, in the middle of the convenience store where she died, with a man holding a gun to the back of her head. He remembered screaming out, pleading for her to be spared. It was too late - the sound of a gunshot rang out and her body fell limp to the floor, a pool of blood forming underneath her head. That wasn’t even the worst of it, as when he looked down upon her corpse he realised that it wasn’t Lily’s body lying dead on the ground anymore. It was yours.

“God fuckin’ damn it” he cursed, placing his head in his hands. On top of everything else that had already happened, he now had to deal with the return of old haunting nightmares that somehow were even worse than the ones he had years ago, because now you were involved. He sat up abruptly, grabbing onto a discarded shirt that he’d thrown over the foot of the bed and pulling it over his head, using nothing but the moonlight pouring through the curtains to guide himself out of the room and into the darkened hall. He stole a glance towards where your room was, a droplet of fear etching itself into his mind. Before he entirely knew what he was doing, he was opening the door to your room, being careful not to make any sound lest you were awakened. His fears subsided when he saw you curled up beneath the covers, sound asleep and none the wiser to his presence. Exhaling gently, he untensed his shoulders and looked over at your sleeping form with a small but sweet smile on lips. Of course she would be fine. You’re being paranoid.

Pulling the door behind him softly, he turned his attention to the end of the hall where the stairs were, the vague recollections of the nightmare rattling in the back of his mind. If he didn’t do something soon, he would keep himself up all night mulling over the implications of it all, and he wasn’t keen to spend the early hours of Sunday morning losing sleep because of his fucked head. He supposed it wasn’t that out of nowhere to dream about his wife, as he had been talking about her with you just last night. What scared him more so was that you were there, taking the bullet and ending up exactly as she had: dead. He couldn’t begin to fathom its meaning. Did it have to have meaning? Was it nothing more than a nightmare?

Scooping up a glass, he poured himself a generous amount of whiskey to sip on, returning the bottle back to the corners of your liquor cabinet. He probably should have asked before helping himself but it wasn’t like you were awake to answer to him, and he had a feeling you wouldn’t notice anyway, considering he’d found the aforementioned bottle pushed to the furthest reaches of the cabinet. When he noticed the label on the bottle, he couldn’t keep himself from smirking at the irony of it - of course you’d keep the Jack Daniels whiskey towards the back. Reclining into the couch with the glass in his hands, he took an absentminded sip while his mind further delved into the worrying implications of such a dream.

The only part of it all that made sense was that the dream had been about his deceased wife - with the discussion that happened between the two of you last night about her it was only logical that his subconscious had lingered on some parts of it. After you’d turned in for the night Jack had stayed up for a little while longer, seated out on that veranda with a pensive look and the bottle of bourbon you’d neglected to bring back inside. Your words made rings around his mind, sparking a debate of sorts with himself as he considered your criticisms towards him. The emotional part of him wanted to blindly hate, and to keep on doing exactly what he’d always been doing. But when he realised that blind hate had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place, he’d allowed himself to listen more carefully to your words, and to examine them on a deeper level. Upon knowing your own past with loss and pain at the hands of another, it made him take a step back and actually look at everything that had transpired in Cambodia, all the little things that led him to working against an organisation that he once devoted himself to. Whereas you’d taken steps to try and live in a world without your parents, he’d remained angry and hurt, stuck in a world that had long moved on from the tragedy and still feeling every raw cut of emotion that losing her dealt. Sure, he wasn’t exactly inconsolable over it constantly - he had been able to live for sixteen years without Lily. If he went to a psychiatrist, he knew exactly what they’d say to all that: “You’ve externalised your hate onto someone easier to blame, in this instance addicts, when really the only person you feel should be to blame is yourself for not being there to save her”, or something like that. He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the ludicracy of it all. Never in a million years did he think he’d be one for deep introspection. What in the goddamn has this world come to?

Even so, your words wouldn’t leave his mind. Did you have a point? Was it wrong to blame every addict on the planet for the actions of a few? In a rational sense, he could see what you were saying. His actions hadn’t been based on rationality though, it was all emotion. His instincts wanted him to reject the notion of him being ideologically wrong in this, a notion he in turn fought to reject from himself. One thing in particular that Eggsy had said to him during their final confrontation had stuck out to him at that moment: “You’re working for the president?”. He’d denied it at the time, and there was truth to his denial: as he put it himself, he didn’t want any kind of association with that asshole. At the same time, his feelings on the matter did happen to crossover with the president's own agenda, and some part of that in general hadn’t sat right with him.

Would it even matter by this stage if he’d accounted for his errors? He’d already single -handedly destroyed all that he had by then, the only thing that could properly atone him in his own opinion would probably be death, and he’d be damned if he was gonna let himself die any time soon. The realisation that he might have to spend the rest of his days with the guilt of the incident in Cambodia eating away at him wasn’t too kind on his psyche, but he was ready to accept it in lieu of the alternative. And damn it, if there wasn’t something about that judgemental way you’d looked at him that gave him enough of a kick in the teeth to want to do better. You’d said it yourself that you didn’t believe him to be a bad man. Maybe somehow he could redeem himself enough to even be half of what you’d described of him.

Drumming a lone finger along the fine seam of the couch cushion, his thoughts circled back around to the disturbing dream and everything it entailed, including the part that had shaken him the most. Why you? Why were you of all people appearing in his nightmares? And not only that, why did you take the place of his long dead wife at the end? His mind was ticking into overdrive to decipher every little detail. There was only one other time in his life he remembered seeing you in his dream, and that was when you two were dating. He could chalk up your sudden appearance in his subconscious to the conversation the both of you were having the night before - it would explain the return of his nightmares about Lily too, although his mind swayed towards ruminating on a much more confronting possibility.

What if it means I’ve fallen back in love with her?

As soon as the concept crossed his mind, Jack frantically sought to purge it from his mind altogether. What a foolish idea, he reasoned to himself, taking a larger sip of whiskey out of the glass. There wasn’t anymore to this, and he shouldn’t be throwing out such wild theories based on a nightmare of all things. He went and thought back to the small moments you two had shared throughout the weeks together, times where one lingering touch almost seemed to convey something more. He realised just how many times he’d caught himself staring at you the last few weeks, or the times his touch lingered on yours a second longer than it should have, things he hadn’t noticed until he began to pick apart his own behaviour and examine it underneath a microscope. Old habits die hard, I guess. He may have teased you about making him coffee by “accident” a couple of weeks back, but there wasn’t meant to be any insinuation behind it. It was just that - a harmless tease, a simple reflex of his infamous flirtatious charm. None of this necessarily meant there were any reignited feelings, and furthermore, if by some insane stroke of dumb luck that did happen to be the case, then they were only small at best, fleeting in nature. He couldn’t fall for you again. He couldn’t. Not after putting you through so much pain.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was nothing, even he wasn’t buying it tonight. If he was falling for you again, how would you take it? Not well he guessed, as you still felt hurt by his actions. Why wouldn’t you? He was the one that hurt you then came back into your life without warning because he had to go screw up the one good thing he still had. It was painful to be reminded of how little still had left by that time: his status as an agent stripped from him, everyone he ever loved being dead and buried, and not able to return back home as he was still on the run. Him being at your ranch at all was putting you in enough danger, a fact that made him uncomfortable in of itself. Falling for you would make things more complicated than they already were.

She doesn’t have to find out. Keep it to yourself, and she’ll never know.

That’s it. That’s what he’ll do. He won’t ever mention these returning feelings of affection towards you, and in doing that, hopefully they will run their course and die out. Jack would still be courteous towards you, it went without saying since you were implicating yourself in all of this by hiding a fugitive. He could do that, right? Ignore it all, and avoid anything more than general amicable gestures. A part of him hurt to think of that, especially when those thoughts he had when you two were on the veranda together last night pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind. The way your hair had looked splayed out over your shoulders under the dim porch light, the burn in your eyes that gleamed as you’d admonished him for every mistake he ever made that shouldn’t have made him so entranced. He chastised himself for thinking so lewdly of you in that moment, hating how the very image of you in such a light darted straight to his groin. Finishing off the last dredges of whiskey, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and let out a heavy sigh.

Forget about it. Leave her be. You’ve hurt her enough.

_______________

At long last, there was finally a lull in the day, giving you some off time to relax and decompress a bit. There was still an hour to go before the ranch closed for the night, though nobody else had any riding lessons booked and it was unlikely that anybody was going to show up unannounced at five in the evening. To say the day had been busy would be selling the whole experience short - downright exhausting would have been a more accurate way to put it. There was a function going on for a good chunk of it, a birthday party for the son of some big-shot oil tycoon. You’d been worried your injury would slow down your progress with getting tasks done but to your pleasant surprise you were able to manage just fine, though having your other employees and Jack around had also been a huge help. It’d been four weeks since you’d gotten injured, and according to the doctor during your semi-regular checkups the recovery process was coming along nicely, which had been more than evident to you with the lessening pain. Sadly, you wouldn’t be able to get the cast off for a while, despite your protests. You didn’t see why it all had to take so long: you hadn’t been in any excruciating pain for a good while so it was clearly healing. As well as the cast being a nuisance when bathing and the like, it was also annoyingly itchy, leading you to talking yourself out of shoving a coat hanger down the side of it in an attempt to stop it several times. If only you didn’t have a ranch to run, then you could take an antihistamine pill and be done with it.

Dragging yourself back into the house, you headed straight for the stairs, eager to lie down and doze a little - normally a long day like that would call for a bottle of scotch. This time round, however, you decided to forego the alcohol in favour of a more straightforward way to relax. Once you’d come to the door to the guest bedroom upstairs you felt compelled to stop, your mind wandering to where Jack was at that very moment. Last you’d seen him that day he’d been bringing the horses in. The two of you had stopped to chat for awhile, your usual bitter-edged banter being exchanged, things playing out just as they should when suddenly that same familiar feeling started to make itself known, the same thing you’d felt when he’d handed you the painkillers, or when you two had been out on the veranda a little while back. That spark, so to speak, the frightening feeling of something burning in you, something that shouldn’t be there in the first place. You’d instinctively ended the conversation soon after, making up some excuse about needing to take care of some accounting and hurrying off. Thinking about it now you couldn’t stop yourself from going a tad pink in the cheeks at your behaviour, thoroughly embarrassed for daring to act like you were inflicted with something as trivial as a schoolgirl crush.

Don’t be soft on him. Don’t do this. You’re better than this, those words you repeated to yourself like a mantra started to wear thin during those weeks, especially after the conversation you two had shared where you’d divulged some of the pain closest to your heart. You never thought that you’d tell anybody what you felt after your parents had died, not in a million years, so to have you in a position where you were comfortable enough to reveal such details was nothing short of astounding, particularly when one took into account the exact person you’d told it all to. You could justify these choices with the flimsy excuse of being drunk, but even you knew that in order to run your mouth about something that personal, even while intoxicated, meant you had to feel a certain amount of trust to the other person. Did you trust Jack? Was that what was happening here? To that, you couldn’t fully answer, as you didn’t really know.

Glancing from the doorknob to the stairs and back, you twisted the handle and allowed yourself into the spare bedroom, letting your feet move you towards the closet at the back of the room. Like a woman possessed, you didn’t stop yourself from doing any of this, the feeling of your heartbeat ricocheting through your chest. It had been years since you permitted yourself to look at any of this stuff, let alone giving any of it a second thought. Out of sight, out of mind, you’d thought to yourself when you’d originally boxed it all away, not being able to bear throwing any of it out. Sliding the doors open, you took note of the fact that everything was left in its precise location indicating that true to his word, Jack hadn’t meddled in any of it. A small sigh of relief escaped your lips while you sunk to your knees, poking your head through the rows of old coats that you kept neglecting to donate or sell to the very back of the closet where your eyes locked onto what you’d been originally seeking: a plain velvet blue shoebox shoved underneath an ugly knitted blanket that you plainly despised.

For as much of a hardline no-nonsense woman others perceived you as, a huge part of you was deeply sentimental towards both people and things, or more specifically, things people had given you, hence the choice to simply box up every gift and memento he’d ever given you rather than setting fire to it in some overly dramatic yet cinematic manner. When Jack and you had broken up, you’d gathered up everything that reminded you of him, thrown it in a box and then tossed it into the back of the closet of your apartment to be forgotten forever. When you’d taken over the family ranch from your parents, the box had ended up in the guest room closet instead due to you not wanting an object holding that many sorrowful memories anywhere near where you slept. Taking the box out and setting it down in front of you, you stared at it frostily for a minute, considering throwing it back into the closet and forgetting that you ever wanted to open it. Ultimately you caved, lifting the lid off and opening up the treasure trove of mementos, symbols of a love that used to be that became tarnished with time.

A lot of the items in question were photographs, a couple of polaroid shots of the two of you out at some bar in New York thrown in with the myriad of photos depicting you on various other dates with him. One in particular that caught your eye was a polaroid that had a heart drawn in red permanent marker on the white margins - you were wearing Jack’s Stetson and had one arm thrown around his neck, looking as if you hadn’t a care in the world while he looked up at you with those heart-meltingly gorgeous brown eyes of his, as if nobody else in the world existed except for you. You could still recall the smell of the cigarette smoke from that day, how the loud music reverberated through your ears the entire night you’d spent there with your head rested against his shoulder, ignoring all your other friends in favour of him. You caught yourself grinning at the memory as if you were some kind of lovesick fool. Back then you might’ve been. Not anymore though. Not now.

That’s what you continued to tell yourself while you sorted through the box’s contents, pulling out items ranging from small bits of jewelry to a small cat plushie that he’d won for you at the county fair. Your gaze zeroed in on a small silver chain necklace with a little horseshoe charm dangling on the end, earning yet another foolish smirk from you. Jack had bought that for you as a Christmas present, although you had insisted to him that he didn’t have to go all out on a gift for you. He’d even gotten the underside engraved with your name, which you traced over with the pad of your finger at that very moment.

Looking through all these gifts and the significance they once held to you, your mind started to wander back to the possibility you’d considered during your last proper talk with Jack, questioning once more if he deserved such harsh hostility being thrown towards him. You didn’t want to let yourself be hurt again, so it only seemed logical to make yourself guarded and keep him at an arm's length. With that said, time and time again he’d managed to surprise you - he hadn’t been pestering you as much you thought he would. Sure, he did jokingly insinuate that one time you made him coffee that you were growing fond of him but other than that he’d kept the charm to a minimum, or at least, less than you were used to in the past. It all made sense to you after you’d learned what happened to him that brought him back to you, his magnificent fall from grace so to speak. You meant what you said to him that night - you didn’t think he was a bad person, rather just someone who’s done bad things out of hurt and anger. With everything he told you about his wife’s death, you couldn’t help feeling a sense of powerful empathy towards him, a feeling that scared you a little to tell you the truth. It’d been easy for years to write him off as a liar and a player, but in reality, Jack was far more complicated than that. How ironic: the advice you gave him ended up being a hundred percent relevant to yourself at the same time, you huffed with an absence of amusement.

If you had to be completely honest with yourself, without any kind of lies or facade to keep up, you didn’t know what you felt about Jack anymore. You couldn’t say you hated him, no, hate was far too strong of a word. Actually, you couldn’t really say you even disliked him that much anymore. But you didn’t really like him either. Or did you? Once again, the thoughts of how his touch had made you feel over those last few weeks invaded your mind, things that by all means shouldn’t make you feel some type of way but did. Hell, even how you continued to make his coffee exactly how he liked it every morning, not bothering to question it anymore than necessary for the sake of your own sanity.

Shaking your head, you let out a heavy sigh as you glowered down at the box witheringly. Great, now you’d made yourself confused on your own emotions, all because you felt the need to reminisce on the past. You’re being ridiculous about this. You don’t feel that way about Jack, and if you did, you can’t have him. He’s on the run, he’s a criminal now, and more to the point he broke your heart once. Who’s to say he won’t do it twice? Do yourself a favour for once. Ignore those feelings. Ignore it, and they’ll go away.

You quickly boxed up everything soon after that, pushing it to the back of the closet as if you’d never been there at all. Lifting yourself to your feet, you neglected to look back when you maneuvered yourself out the door and back into the hall, pulling your mind back towards any kind of ranch duties you could muster up out of thin air that you had to attend to, anything that could distract you from the small pink tinge that had crept across your cheeks that refused to leave, or the racing of your heart with every step you took.

__________

After a day that felt like it dragged on forever, you’d been looking forward to turning in for the night. For whatever reason, everything that could have gone wrong that day decided to go wrong - one of the horses had done a runner during one of the riding lessons and you’d had to go out and try to catch the bastard. It took forever to rope the damn horse back into the property. Jack, you and another one of the instructors managed to catch him in the end but it ended up setting your schedule behind for the rest of the day. Later on in the day, some entitled kid had come down and decided he didn’t like the horse he’d been assigned to ride, waltzing right into the stables and picking out one that he deemed more suited for him. The horse, one of the older boys, was understandably annoyed by this random loud kid appearing out of nowhere and being rough with him, leading to said entitled brat getting chomped on the arm. The rest of the day had to be spent dealing with the screaming kid and his mother, who was every bit as entitled as her son was. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Despite your damndest to put on a smile and placate the woman who was screaming threats of a lawsuit, she still wasn’t letting up so you’d metaphorically thrown your hands up in frustration and told her straight to shut up. She’d left soon after that, huffing and threatening to get your entire business shut down. You weren’t scared in the least of her empty threats: you’d dealt with hundreds of other people just like her in your stint running the ranch and nine times out of ten nothing ever came from their tantrums. It was still supremely exhausting to deal with, draining your energy and putting you in a foul mood for the rest of the day.

You’d been angling to end the day as soon as the first instance of idiocy started, so when it was finally late enough in the night and you’d grown tired of the bottle of merlot that you’d been speeding your way through, you’d taken yourself upstairs, thrown on a random t-shirt and sweatpants, and sunk right into bed ready to forget it all and start over.

However, you weren’t so lucky. From the moment you’d first entered your room that night, something had felt off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it at first, so you’d tried to ignore it, writing it off as feeling slightly on edge from the rough day. The weird feeling wouldn’t go away though - everytime you closed your eyes, you felt like someone else was there, like there was another presence nearby. Five minutes passed before you’d flicked the lamp next to your bed on and looked around the room. You knew Jack had already gone to bed before you, and you couldn’t hear any sort of noise from downstairs that would indicate someone else being there. Nevertheless, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else was there, maybe not in the house precisely but somewhere on the property, as if there were a pair of foreign eyes staring at you from afar. Your eyes darted towards the window, the curtains open to reveal the glimmering starry sky outside, your breath becoming shallow as you were finally able to place the exact feeling that was making you tense up in fear:

You felt like you were being watched.

Diving out of bed, you scrambled towards the window and scanned the vast expanse of countryside surrounding your property, searching to see if there was anything out there that was unfamiliar to you. Nothing - all you could see were the stretches of field that lay beyond your ranch, with a lone few collection of trees situated off the edge of your property, exactly as it always looked. That alone should have eased your nerves a bit but for whatever reason that feeling of being watched wouldn’t go away. You glanced back at your bed, trying to talk yourself into downplaying it all as you being paranoid. There isn’t anyone out there.You’ve had a rough day, and about three glasses of wine so you’re a little bit tipsy too, you told yourself as you trudged back to bed and pulled the covers over your head, a useless action that did nothing to quell the anxiety festering in you. For the next twenty minutes or so, you did everything you could to push your unease away in favour of sleep to no avail. The entire time you’d been lying there you felt like there were a pair of eyes burning into your back, directly across from where the window was, yet every time you sat yourself up to check there was nobody there.

Fantastic, guess I’m not sleeping tonight then. Clearly, that creepy feeling wasn’t going to leave and you didn’t feel comfortable in that room anymore. Briefly you contemplated going down to sleep on the couch but that idea was dismissed almost as quickly as it came to you - if you felt like someone was watching the house, then moving sleeping locations wasn’t gonna solve anything. A part of you wanted to go grab a firearm and go on a patrol around the property to be safe, though once remembering that you were a little bit tipsy you didn’t feel it would be the best course of action to go hold a gun right then. Throwing a single glance towards your bedroom door, another idea popped into your head, and before you could try and talk yourself out of it you were already out the door and down the hall to where the spare bedroom was.

Opening the door as quietly as you possibly could, you poked your head inside and peered over to where Jack was laying in bed, covers tangled up around him and facing away from you, appearing to be fast asleep. “Jack? Are...are you awake?” you called out hesitantly.

It took a minute for him to respond, by that time you’d come close to convincing yourself that you were being a baby about all of this and that you should go back to bed. “Darlin’? Is there somethin’ wrong?” he replied, his thick southern drawl sounding groggy, matching his dazed expression he wore while he fought to keep his eyes open.

“Sort of...maybe, I don’t know...I can’t sleep” you admitted.

“Having nightmares or somethin’?” he asked, sitting himself up in bed to properly face you. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down his torso ever so briefly - it wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen a million times before but damn, he did look good. Shaking your head fervently, you attempted to ignore that fleeting thought and focused back on what you’d come there to say, proceeding to reply. “No, no, nothing like that. I just...ok, this might sound a little bit crazy but I can’t help feeling like I’m being watched in there, and it’s freaking me out”.

You could see Jack’s brow furrow through the darkness, a look of concern creeping over his face while he thought on what you’d just said. “Watched? Like how?”.

“I don’t really know how to explain it, if I’m gonna be totally honest. All I know is that everytime I close my eyes I feel like there’s somebody outside. Whenever I go to look out the window though, I don’t see anyone” you explained, and at almost the very second you finished your sentence you could see Jack’s eyes widen, the last remnants of sleep falling away and being replaced by an alert and alarmed expression. Before you could say anything about it, he was already throwing the covers off him and sliding out of bed, hustling over to where you were standing by the door. “Stay right here. I’ll go take a look for myself” he instructed sternly, pushing himself past you and making a beeline straight for your bedroom. Instinctively, and in all honesty against both his wishes and your own better judgement, you followed in behind him, seeing him linger close to the wall just enough so that he was out of direct sight of the window. Slowly, he advanced forward to a position where he could properly take a look out, his eyes steely as they examined the landscape, the tensity of his demeanour feeding into your own feelings of concern.

“Jack, what’s going on?” you asked in a small voice, something that was uncharacteristically meek of you. In all fairness, something like this had never happened before. You’d hoped that Jack would come in, take a quick look, confirm there was nobody on the property and give you a little bit of peace of mind but the way he was acting made the possibility of someone actually being out there all the more real to you.

“Darlin’, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna need you to be quiet for a second” he orders, not tearing his eyes away from the window for a single second. You didn’t know how long you two stood there for - it was probably no more than a minute or two at most, even so it felt like an eternity to you, until at long last you saw some of the tension in Jack’s shoulders dissipate and he finally slunk away from the window. “Give me a second, I just gotta go check something” he mumbled, dashing back out of your room and still looking vaguely distressed at the entire predicament. This time around, you did as he said, not wanting to leave the house on the off chance there really was something to worry about. You heard him run back into his own room briefly before darting off downstairs, hearing the unmistakable click of the front door lock opening. You had no idea what to make of any of this - why was he acting so weird? Was there something you should know? Was there really something to your weird feeling and should you be genuinely scared?

The sound of gravel crunching from the ground below alerted you, leading for you to wander over to the window for what felt like the millionth time that night to see for yourself what was going on. Your eyes first landed on Jack, who was pacing the gravel and looking off into the distance, searching for something. You could see he was holding something in his hand but couldn’t quite get a proper look at it as he was angled away from you. He disappeared from your view and a moment later he was back upstairs with you, appearing to be infinitely more relieved than he was before. Now you could properly see what he’d gone to fetch from his room once he’d left: his gun from his days as an agent, the moonlight streaming in through the window glimmering off the silver barrels and onto the floor.

“Nothin’ out there, thank fucking christ” he sighed, giving you a smile that was meant to be comforting. His gesture did nothing to ease your worries, despite the confirmation that there wasn’t anything out there like you’d originally hoped. Along with still feeling uneasy being in that room, there was also the matter of what you’d witnessed in Jack before, the plain and unconcealable look of suspicion and worry that had been showing on him.

“Are you alright? You...seemed worried. The way you were looking out that window, it was...like you were searching for something in particular...”.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Don’t worry your pretty little head off about it” he dismissed, obviously wanting to put this whole incident behind the two of you. You were having none of it, so you pressed further, taking a single step closer to where he was standing in the door. “You sure about that? ‘Cause you kinda got your gun out” you pointed out, your eyes flickering down to the weapon resting in his hands knowingly. “Did you think it was Statesman or something?”.

Jack looked surprised that you’d dared to be that direct in your line of questioning. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected any less from you, following your eyes down to where he was holding his gun. “Well, if I’m gonna be honest, yeah. For a moment there, I was worried they’d found me somehow. But there isn’t anybody out there - besides, if they were doin’ surveillance on the house they woulda had me led away in cuffs already. You’re safe as pie, sugar” he confessed.

Exactly as you thought. You’d wondered if Statesman would ever make an appearance, suddenly becoming hot on Jack’s tail. So far nothing had happened, thankfully, and seeing as your strange feeling tonight turned out to be nothing, you permitted yourself to relax a little, despite the still present feeling of discomfort from being in that room. “Alright...thank you for checking. Sorry I woke you up for something stupid”.

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I haven’t been sleeping great this last week anyway so I wasn’t even fully asleep when you came in. You make sure to get plenty of rest, ok?” he nodded towards you, turning to leave the room, the comfort of his presence slipping away from you and leaving you to feel the same odd and uncomfortable unrest that plagued you all night.

Glancing back over towards your bed, you dreaded the thought of trying to go back to sleep in that thing tonight. It sounded so childish and silly for you to say, or rather think, but you really didn’t want to be in that room tonight. If you stay in here you aren’t gonna get a wink of sleep.

What you did next was something you never thought you’d do in a million years. In your defense, it’d been a long day, you’d had some alcohol earlier, and you just had to deal with the intense unnerve of being watched only to discover that your feeling was nothing more than a spate of paranoia. With all that taken into account, it was only logical that you asked what you did next. “Jack, wait” you called out before you could stop yourself, freezing once you saw him stop in the hallway and turn back towards you with those sweet eyes of his. “Look, I know this is an odd request but...can I sleep in your room? Only for tonight. I don’t know, I still feel a little on edge and it’s dumb but I’d rather be around someone else right now” you mumbled, simultaneously hating yourself for asking in the first place and feeling utterly embarrassed at your own audacity.

Some part of you wanted him to laugh in your face. Laugh at you and make some stupid little quip about you being a “big girl” who could handle herself. It would be easier to hate him still that way. Of course, he didn’t do that at all. What he did instead was give you the sweetest damn smile you’d ever seen from him, different from those charming smirks you were used to and harkened closer to those rare moments from when you two were together that he would lay down the bravado and be vulnerable. “Sugar, you don’t need to feel bad for askin’ at all. I understand completely where you’re comin’ from” he reassured, holding his hand out and beckoning for you to come forward. And come forward you did, following him out into the hall and into his own room, the anxiety from before fading into nothing and being replaced by relief.

“Thank you. I know we’re not...like that anymore but…” you stumbled dumbly as you glided over towards the bed, fatigue overcoming your brain and making you more impatient to be in bed and asleep as fast as possible. It had to be extremely late by then and you wanted to get a decent amount of sleep before having to get up and go about with business as usual the next day.

Jack, meanwhile, was on the other side of the room throwing his gun back into a chest of drawers. “Say no more, honeybee. If you want, I can sleep on the floor if it makes you more comfortable” he posited, to which you promptly snapped your head back up and stared at him as if he were crazy. “You don’t have to do that, Jack, I’m not about to be kicking you out of your bed”.

“Technically it’s your bed, not mine”.

Rolling your eyes at him, you flopped down on the pillow and sighed. “Doesn’t matter, just...stay here. I’d rather have someone close right now, ok?”. If you weren’t already tired beyond all reason, your brain might have been fretting over the oh so horrific implications of staying in the same bed as him, though if you were really being honest you couldn’t care less right then. It’s not like sleeping in the same bed meant anything, plenty of people did that all the time. So what if you wanted someone near after feeling scared? Wouldn’t someone else do the same thing in your position?

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart. I’ll keep to the other side of the bed if you’d like” Jack assured you, sliding into the other side, doing exactly as he said and keeping a safe enough distance from you. It might’ve been silly for you to care so much, but you had to admit it was nice having someone else be there, and at the least it calmed your anxiety enough for you to feel fine sleeping. Stealing one last brief glance over at him, you wished him goodnight and let yourself relax truly for the first time in hours, letting the world fall away and fade into nothing as you closed your eyes and passed out in mere minutes of being there.

___________

When you awoke the next morning, it was to the strands of sunlight streaming through the parted breaks in the curtain, shining right over your face and rousing you from your slumber. Through bleary eyes, you became aware of the room around you, memories of the night before flooding back to you instantaneously. You noticed you felt warmer, becoming aware of the heavy feeling on your body, which caused your eyes to snap open fully. Looking back over your shoulder, you saw Jack, still sleeping and curled into your back, his arm lazily stung around you. You knew you two hadn’t fallen asleep like that, reasoning that he must have reached out to you during the night, leading to the position you were in now. You could feel the light tickle of his breath against the nape of your neck, something so small managing to light an unexpected spark in your heart. You should have pushed him off. You should have woken him up. You should have done a million other things in that moment instead of the one thing you did.

When instead of flinging him off you and darting out of bed like a skittish cat you curled yourself further into his light embrace, the mortifying realisation hitting you right then with a full force - Jack Daniels, the man who’d broken your heart, was caressing you in his sleep.

And you didn’t mind it, not one single bit.

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amarimaryllis · 3 years

Text

The Sun’s Incarnation (Ushijima x Reader)

Pairing: Ushijima/Reader

Prompt/Summary: The love between the two of you was not meant for this lifetime. Alternatively, Ushijima is a demon slayer, and you’re the unlucky demon that fell in love with him.

Tags: Angst, Demon Slayer AU, Reincarnation AU

Note: I used she/her pronouns for the reader

Warnings: Angst, Death, Mild Violence

The shop was always empty in the dead hours of the night. You couldn’t blame the people for being absent during those hours. The cold air bites at the skin of those who dare walk out, and the moon barely gives any guiding light for those who dare stumble out in the dark. It was better for you that way. Having no customers to serve meant that you could just sit in one spot, and you’d still get paid. It also meant the hunger that swirled in your stomach would not tempt you to sink your teeth into the flesh of the unlucky soul that dared to cross the path of a starving demon.

It gets monotonous with the lack of life in the restaurant, but monotony is a grim reality that came with being immortal. You’ve grown accustomed to the emptiness that settles itself in the confines of your chest, and you’ve tried all that you can to fill that void, but nothing ever really worked. Maybe this was the price of power, but even then, no power on earth could rival the dreadful feeling of loneliness.

You’re disturbed from your thoughts when the door slides open, a tall figure appearing from the freezing darkness that hugged around the restaurant’s warm light. A gust of cold wind comes from the open door, and if you were human, you might’ve shivered from the autumn wind.

“Welcome to Sakanoshita.” You greet with a smile as you try to hide your annoyance. You guess that there were still humans out there who did not value their life, and this man was solid evidence of that. What kind of idiot would walk around in the cold in a town rumored to be infested with evil spirits?

Your question is answered when the door closes and the man turns to look at you,

“I seek shelter from the cold,” He states with an air of confidence that didn’t match his fatigued figure,” And a warm bowl of noodles, if it’s not too much to ask.”

You would’ve rolled your eyes and told him that restaurants usually were meant to serve food so asking for a bowl of noodles is not too much to ask as long as you pay, but the fear that clawed at your mind stopped you from doing so. His clothes were a dead giveaway of what he was. His maroon haori, his dark uniform, and the blade perched at his hip were enough to make you feel threatened. Only a demon slayer could awaken the instinctive fear that lies within you.“Would any noodle do?”

“As long as it’s warm.” The tall man replies as he sits on one of the tables, the one closest to your booth.

“It’ll probably take some time.” You warn even if you know that you could easily whip up some noodles in a short time. You were doing all that you can to rid yourself of the demon slayer’s presence.

“Take as much time as you need.” The man waves off your fraudulent worries before he relaxes into the chair that seems to be too small for his large frame. “I am in no rush.”

“I’ll go ahead then.” You smile tightly before going to the back to prepare some noodles.

You could feel your fear grow with each step you took away from the man’s presence. You had no qualms about having to defend yourself from him, should he attack, but there’s always that part of you that worries. It was also unnerving how he barely gave you a glance. The tired man seemed to be too absorbed in his fatigue to second-guess your true nature. Perhaps he knew what you were, and he was just toying with you, lulling you into a false state of comfort before he slashes his blade through your neck in one clean swipe.

He did not.

Once the man got his noodles that took you almost an eternity to prepare, he ate it up like it was his first meal in a long time before he stood up, paid for more than what the noodles cost, and disappeared into the shadows of the unforgiving night.

You pray it was the last time you encounter the mysterious slayer. Funny how faithless creatures call on the power of the very gods that have forsaken them when placed in danger’s way. You would think the power that coursed through your veins would set you in a high free of worries, unyielding and arrogant in facing any creature that dared breathe in your direction. However, you should’ve known that anyone who dares defy the power of the heavens will soon meet their match.

The gods reject your prayer, or maybe it never even reached them. The prayers of sinners remain flightless and bound to earth, whispered into the sky only for darkness and oblivion to consume it. Whichever it was, it didn’t matter because a week passed, and the mysterious slayer reappears.

You set a bowl of soup in front of the man and he thanks you. You acknowledge him with a nod before you walk back to your booth. This was the part you hated most: sitting on a chair and wondering if the man was going to figure out what you were. He seemed pretty dense for a man meant to kill such elusive creatures.

“Why do you only work at night?” The mysterious man asks before he takes a sip of water.

You could feel the fear in you growing stronger. Had he figured it out? “How are you so sure I only work at night?”

“I drop by here in the mornings.” The man looks at you, his gaze not giving away any of his thoughts. “I never see you.”

“Why? Are you looking for me?” You attempt to fluster the man, maybe that would shut him up and veer his thoughts away from suspecting you. “After all, you won’t really notice my absence if you don’t seek out my presence.”

“I am.” The man admits, and your attempts on flustering him seem to backfire because now you’re the one who’s flustered, but at the same time afraid, as strange as it sounds. “You still haven’t answered my question.”

You give him the same answer you give to those who get the opportunity to ask. “Working at night pays more, and I have to do less because of the lack of customers.”

You motion to the empty seats surrounding the two of you. “You’re the only one who dares to walk through the dark streets of a town rumored to be infested with evil spirits.”

“I am armed.” The man pats the sword on his hip. “And I’m sure it’s not the spirits that will harm people like you and me.”

“Oh?” At this point, you were playing with fire. However, the monotony of immortality is slowly eating away at the rational part of your brain. The desire to feel something more than just emptiness was leading you to dangerous roads that most likely ended in blood and death. “Then what exactly will harm people like you and me?”

“Demons.” The man replies without a pause, his once dull eyes seeming to glow with a raging inferno of hatred and bloodlust. “Foul creatures that prey on vulnerable humans like you.”

“You speak as if you are not human.” You reply with a stable voice, but it’s taking all of your efforts not to run away.

“I am human, but I am not as weak as one.” The man’s unwavering confidence seeps into his words, and you’re almost tempted to rip him into shreds just to extinguish that flame in his eyes. However, you could tell that he meant every word, and he could easily prove himself if you attack. “However, you are. You shouldn’t be working this late at night. It’s dangerous for a woman, especially one unarmed.”

“So what if I am a woman?” You scoff. “I can still put up a fight.”

“I am not questioning your abilities.” The man replies. “I’m sure you can put up a fight, but you shouldn’t have to if you just put yourself out of danger.”

“Why are you so concerned?” You can’t help but scoff at the man. You just wanted to get this shift over with.

“There are demons lurking in this town.” The man replies, stoic and unyielding. “And I’d like to keep the deaths as low as possible.”

“How brave of you.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Demons are but a tale to keep children in line.”

“I beg to differ.” The man replies. “Should a demon come your way, you’ll know just how horrible they are.”

You can feel your anger grow at his words.

“However, I’ll make sure I kill that demon before it lays a hand on any of the people in this town.”

“Do what you please.” You shrug. “By the way, I never got your name.”

“Why do you need my name?” The man questions, a brow raised questioningly.

“I’m going to gossip with a few ladies here and there about a man who goes to restaurants at the dead of the night and believes in demons.” You reply, sarcasm dripping off of every word.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi.” For the first time, you see the man smile.

Over the course of a few days, Ushijima’s late night visits become more frequent which led to you becoming more and more comfortable in his presence. His presence had breathed a fire into the cold emptiness that lay within your body, and you found yourself seeking his presence out more and more with each day that passes. Your relationship with the slayer was a friendship of sorts, a few conversations tossed around here and there before Ushijima departed into the night. However, that relationship took a turn during your weakest night.

The emptiness in your chest was not part of the promises that the demon offered you in your wintry deathbed. You should’ve known from the start that the price of rising from the ashes meant that nothing in this world could make you feel that burn again. The demon’s promises were as cold as the snow stained with your blood, if not colder, but you had deluded yourself into thinking that the promise of being reborn would breathe a new fire into you. Being placed at the brink of death had a funny way of clouding a person’s judgement.

It was at the moment, in the outskirts of the dark forest near the town, that Ushijima found you, mourning the death of your humanity and reminiscing the moments that led to it. The feelings had been bottled up for too long, and now the fragile glass that held you together was shattering violently. You were a shaking mess, tears staining your cheeks, blood coating your knuckles as you punched at the ground to feel something other than the void that was once your soul. Even then, the pain that throbbed through your knuckles wasn’t enough.

Ushijima pries you away from the ground and he pulls you to his chest. He doesn’t ask you to speak. He doesn’t ask you to do anything. He just lets you sob into his chest, cradling you in his arms as he runs his fingers through your hair in an attempt to comfort you. He wishes he could calm the storm within you, swipe a hand to alleviate the raging winds of sadness that stirs within you, raise a finger to silence the deafening thunder of regret that crashes within your soul, but could not. The gods despised creatures like you, and Ushijima realizes this as he watches the wounds on your knuckles heal at a speed foreign to the body of a mortal. Ushijima pretends to not see it as he removes his haori and drapes it across your trembling figure.

Ushijima brings you home, your meek voice guiding him as he carries you through the town. You did not have it within you to fight. You did not have it in you to think twice about the offer of being brought back home to the comfort of your bed that you did not even need. When you get there, Ushijima sets you down gently on your futon before sitting across from you, an arm’s distance away.

“I’m sorry for the trouble.” You whisper as you lean against the wall and hug your legs to your chest in an attempt to feel safer. You grip at Ushijima’s haori, pulling it tighter around you. A small voice in your head tells you to wonder about how many of your kind have stained the fabric with their blood, but you push it away because in this moment, nothing made you feel safer than the very thing that was meant to be a danger to your existence.

“Don’t apologize.” Ushijima is as straightforward as ever, and you’re not sure if the tears in your eyes are altering your vision, but you swear there’s a tenderness in his eyes that makes the unbeating muscle in your chest flutter. “Do you… Want to talk about it?”

You shake your head. You knew that if you spoke now, you’d let it all out. Something about Ushijima made you want to tell the truth, whether it was trust or foolishness, you did not want to find out. It almost makes you feel bad as you’re reminded of what Ushijima does as you look at the sheathed blade by his side, but you knew that you would feel worse if you had to die at his hands. You didn’t want to see the disgust that would take over his face if he found out that you were one of the very creatures that he swore to destroy. “Can you… stay?”

“If it’s alright with you.” Ushijima replies coolly, but the light blush dusting his cheeks gave away his feelings towards your proposition.

Silence hangs between the two of you like the wisteria that grows on the mountain. Its presence was overwhelming, and it displeased you greatly. You glance at Ushijima for a brief second before you just give it all up. Courtesy be damned, you were lonely and fate was dangling an opportunity not to be right in front of you.

“Ushi—“ Your attempt to call out for Ushijima dies in your throat halfway through. It was pathetic. You thought you were done mourning what has been long dead, but for some reason, without a trigger, without a warning, you’re back suffering through the same feelings again. It wasn’t fair.

Ushijima immediately scoots over to you before he guides you to lie down on the futon. He holds you close to his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as you sob into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “Sleep, it’ll help.”

You didn’t know which deity had gazed upon you and thought you deserved a semblance of mercy, but that night, sleep washes over your body as you surrender yourself completely in the demon slayer’s arms.

Ushijima awakens before you do. The sun was still out of sight, and you were still fast asleep. As much as he wanted to stay with you, he had a mission to fulfill in the other town. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he shuts your curtains tight to make sure that neither sunlight nor moonlight will filter through your windows. He knew it was wrong, whatever it was he felt about you. Fondness? Sympathy? Affection? Love? Whatever it was, he knew that he couldn’t feel that way towards you. He had sworn to kill your kind after all. However, for some reason, he can’t seem to do it with you. His hand remains far away from his blade, and the usual urge that Ushijima had to swipe a demon’s head clean off their neck was absent.

What the hell made you any different?

Ushijima shakes his head, hoping that the thoughts in his head would loosen its grip on his consciousness and fall out into the air and fade into the dark. It doesn’t work, but it doesn’t stop Ushijima from trying as he walks out of your house and into the blanket of the cold morning.

The next time you see Ushijima, he is draped in casual fabrics. His demon slayer uniform is out of sight and the sword perched at his hip is nowhere to be seen. In his hands, however, was a bouquet of gardenias.

“There’s a festival later.” Ushijima says with a hint of uncertainty in his voice, and you’re almost tempted to tease him for the blush dusting his skin and for the lack of his usual air of unwavering confidence. “I would like to go there with you.”

It’s your turn to be flustered, an unfamiliar heat creeping through your cheeks as Ushijima stretches out the bouquet of flowers to you.

“Gardenias?” You gently grab the flowers from Ushijima’s grip before you give him a teasing smile. “Not my favorite, but they’re pretty.”

Ushijima smiles at your teasing. He has been around you enough to know your little quirks. “The woman at the shop told me they were fitting.”

You don’t understand what Ushijima means, but you don’t bother questioning it. “So, shall we?”

Ushijima smiles as he holds out an arm for you to take.

The music from the band rings all the way to the quiet part of town. Each note thrums in the air and you can almost feel your heart beating in time with the faint boom of the drums. The night is filled with life, and for the first time in your immortal lifetime, you are reminded of the long-forgotten beauty of the things that live under the sun. Ushijima, whether he knew or not, had given you a piece of the life that you have long turned your back on, and in that moment, as you sit beside Ushijima in the grassy landscape, you almost wish you could stay until the sun rises on you again.

“What are we, Ushijima-san?” You whisper out, not wanting to disturb the serenity of the night. You fear that if you spoke louder than a whisper, the shadows would awaken and devour the life that floated through the midnight sky.

“I seek out your company even when I am with others.” Ushijima replies as you both continue to observe the town from a distance, the slowly dwindling orange lights made it look like the embers of a dying fire. “And I can only hope you feel the same.”

Monotony can make even the most simple things feel like a momentous event. Simple words spoken by a simple man, nonetheless, they succeed in making your insides flutter with a felicity unknown to your immortal personage. “And if I do?”

“Then perhaps I would ask if I could kiss you.” Ushijima turns to look at you with an unfamiliar glint in his eyes, swirling like liquid pools of gold under the glimmer of the moonlight.

You attempt to swallow your nerves as you turn to gaze at Ushijima who sits beside you. Your voice still comes out soft and unstable, however, there’s an undeniable certainty in the words that leave your lips. “And if I allow you to?”

Ushijima brings his face closer to yours until your noses are a hair’s breadth away, his warm breath dancing on your lips as he moves to engulf your cheeks in his large calloused hands. “Then I would be the happiest man alive.”

His lips, his hands, his body, everything about Ushijima Wakatoshi is warm. The way his mouth moves against yours feels like the fire you have long forgotten when you decided to rise like a phoenix from the ashes. It dances through your interlocked lips, like a mortal breathing in the sun as he offers a graceful dance to the god of fire. It burns you, his touch, but it makes you feel alive. As Ushijima wraps his arms around your waist, and as he pulls you into his sturdy chest, you forget.

You forget that the fire he breathes into the empty shell of your body is the very same fire that is meant to snuff out whatever light is left within you.

The last time you see Ushijima Wakatoshi, it’s in the forest of the other town.

A brother in need had sent a letter to your domicile, seeking your presence in the mountains that he dwelled in. Oikawa Tooru was the one who showed you how to live after you were reborn. Your creator could not, and so the brunette was the one to fill that spot in. You owed Oikawa your life, and although it was life you used to regret living, it was a life that had brought you to Ushijima

Oikawa had been told that a group of demon slayers were sent to his mountain, and he sought your help. Apparently, the Sun Breather was one of the slayers they had sent. It was alarming to any demon, powerful or not, because every single one of you feared the sun, and to face the man who breathes its rays is even more horrifying. No one knew what he looked like. No demon ever crossed his path and lived to tell the tale.

Oikawa was afraid, and he sought your company.

This leads to your current situation, lingering in the trees with Oikawa across from you as you listened to the growing sound of footfalls against the snow. The moon is nowhere to be seen, and you can only hope that the shadows are enough to conceal you.

“Come out demon, you have nowhere to run.” The familiar voice makes you freeze in your position up in the trees. “There’s no use hiding when I’m going to kill you anyway--”

Oikawa dodges in time, and he hops to the next tree. Another slayer had attempted to kill him from the back.

You, however, are not as lucky as Oikawa is.

A slayer comes up from behind you and manages to slash through your arm. You fall onto the ground, bleeding profusely out into the cold snow, and it almost feels like you’re back at your deathbed.

You don’t lift your head, you didn’t want to see the look on Ushijima’s face when he confirms that it is actually you. You’ve tried so hard to conceal who you are in order to lengthen whatever time you had with the man, and you were not ready to lose him just yet.

“So you’re the Sun Breather.” Oikawa stands protectively over you. “I should have known.”

“Oikawa.” Ushijima nods in acknowledgement as the other slayers appear behind him, including the one who had slashed through your arm. “I never thought you would end up becoming one of them. You were a promising slayer after all.”

Oikawa laughs as he nudges at you with his foot, a silent plea for you to start running. “You brought quite a lot of slayers, I’m flattered.”

“And it seems you’ve brought a friend as well.” Ushijima turns to look at you, taking your figure in properly before he freezes. It couldn’t be, right? The owner of Sakanoshita said you were visiting a friend in another town. Ushijima clears his thoughts, and he hopes he is wrong. However, no matter how much he pretends not to see, he can’t deny the familiar figure. He had been around you enough to know you by the lingering traces of your presence.

“I’m giving you the chance to walk away, Sun Breather.” Oikawa hisses as he pulls you to stand up.

You cover your face with your hair, ignoring the world around you as you focused on mending the wound left by the slayer’s blade.

“Unfortunately, I cannot do the same for you.” Ushijima draws out his blade.

And with that, you and Oikawa break out into a run.

The snow is cold against your feet, you don’t feel it, but you remember the feeling very well. If there’s one thing from your past that you remember, it’s the feeling of the unforgiving cold that nips at your skin, eating away at your warmth until there’s nothing left in you but the raging winds of winter.

You can hear the footsteps, the crunch of the snow under the weight of the slayers that are sprinting to catch up with the two of you. There’s an undeniable fear clawing at your chest, devouring all rational thought and cultivating the demonic instincts that you wished you could destroy.

But alas, the consequence of power is beginning to catch up, and the gods have grown tired of your defiance. Death would not let you escape this time around. You have defied the heavens once, and those proud creatures would not let you disobey them again.

Oikawa stumbles as a slayer cuts him down, and he screams. He shouts at you to continue running, to not look back, and to save yourself from the fate that he knew he was about to suffer.

You can hear the sickly sound of the blade meeting skin, and you run. You run as fast as you can, as far as you can from the snowy mountain stained with the blood of the man you once called brother. Fear courses through your veins and you can only hope that none of them catch up to you.

And if ever they do, you pray that it wasn’t Ushijima to do so.

You are brutally reminded that the gods have no need for your prayers. They did not need the worship of a faithless creature. You trip over a branch concealed in the snow, and you’re sent rolling down a steep incline. The rocks dig into your body as you crash down into a snowy part of the mountain that overlooks the town. Crimson bleeds through the fabric that hugs your figure, and your blood stains the pristine snow.

You hear footstep as you lie defeated on the ground, and you shut your eyes as you surrender your fate to whichever slayer has found you. Redemption does not exist for beings like you. Only death can forgive you for defying it. There is no atonement for a sinner who does not accept their fate.

“Why are you giving up?”

You breathe out a chuckle. The gods really were cruel, of all that they could send to kill you, they sent the one that made you feel alive.

It was poetic, in a way. The man who breathed life into you would be the one to take it.

“It is my fate to die either way.” You mumble out as you trace the skies with your eyes, surrendering to its vastness. “Running away will only prolong my agony.”

“If someone else found you,” Ushijima kneels beside you, hand far away from the hilt of his blade. “Would you have given up this quick?”

“If someone else had found me,” You can feel a tear escape your eye. “I would’ve been long dead.”

“So you’re just going to die,” Ushijima lies down beside you, and you wonder if he can feel just how cold it was. You doubted that though, the man was practically an incarnation of the sun. Even the winter in your body died when brought close to his warmth. “Do you not care about what would happen to me?”

“You would not care.” You mumble out, your throat tightening and your head throbbing with the urge to sob. “I would’ve been just another demon dead.”

“But I would.” Ushijima sits up and brings you with him, gripping your arms as he looks into your eyes. This was the first time you’ve looked at him since the start of the chaos in this mountain. “I’ve always known. Ever since that time at the mountain, I knew.”

“Then why did you stay?” You could feel the tears flowing freely. You gripped at his haori, clenching your fingers tightly as your chest did. “Why didn’t you kill me? Why did you have to make me long for a life I cannot have? Why did you give me a taste of the sun when you knew it would kill me?”

Ushijima doesn’t speak as he wraps his arms around your sobbing form.

“Pathetic, don’t you think?” The laugh that escapes you is laced with bitterness. “I’m a fool for falling in love with someone I’m meant to resent.”

A chuckle rumbles through Ushijima’s chest and you wonder if he has gone mad. His grip tightens around you as he presses a kiss at the crown of your head. “Then I guess we are both fools.”

Hours pass and you are both silent, no one speaks, just having the other is enough. You listen to the beating of Ushijima’s heart, the sound lulling you into a state of calm that you haven’t felt in a while. For a moment, you both lose your identity. He is not the man who breathes the sun, and you are not the demon that brings death upon mankind. There was nothing in that moment that grounded you to the harsh reality of the world you lived in.

“Wakatoshi,” His name feels like a prayer as it falls from your lips. “I want to see the sun with you.”

You can feel Ushijima shaking. His breathing speeds up, and his heart starts beating faster. You can hear the sobs forming at his throat. “But… That would mean…”

You pull away from Ushijima’s chest and you move to cup his cheeks. “It’s okay.”

“I don’t want to lose you.” There are tears flowing down Ushijima’s cheeks as he leans into your touch. His heart mourns a death that hasn’t happened, and for a moment, you’re almost tempted to stay.

“They’ll kill you if you don’t kill me.” The smile on your face has an underlying tragedy underneath it. “And I don’t think you can raise your blade far enough.”

Ushijima’s eyes widen. “I could never raise--”

“I know.” You wipe the tears away with your thumbs. “So let me see the sun, okay? I’ve forgotten what it looks like.”

“Please,” Ushijima grips at your wrists. “Not like this.”

“One day, Wakatoshi.” You smile sadly. “A time will come where we can gaze upon the sun with no worries.”

“Please don’t do this.” Ushijima pleads with you, desperation evident in his words as he seeks to change the inevitable.

“There will be a lifetime for us, my love.” You run your fingers through his hair, you trace the features on his face, and you embed every inch of his face into your memory. “Maybe not today, but someday.”

You ease the wrinkles in between Ushijima’s furrowed brows. “Promise me you’ll find me?”

There is resignation in Ushijima’s eyes as he presses his forehead against yours. It is inevitable. The two of you can only make the most of what you are given, and you were not given much. “I would happily die a hundred deaths to reach the lifetime meant for you and I.”

You smile sadly. “Can I kiss you?”

“What if I say yes?” Ushijima thinks back to the festival as he gazes into your eyes.

You can feel a tear roll down your cheek. “Then I’d be the happiest woman alive.”

And as you kiss Ushijima, the skies begin to shift, the sun slowly rising in the horizon as dawn breaks in the distance. You never see the sun before you fade into the ashes you once escaped, but you didn’t have to. The only sun you needed held you in its arms, whispering confessions of love and promises of devotion.

Ushijima can only look at the rising sun with contempt. He hated how the very thing that gave him strength was what took away yours. He hated how you had to suffer. He hated how he had to fall in love with you in a world that would never accept it, but he relents.

The sun brings with it a hope so strong that it pulls Ushijima from his thoughts.

One day, he thinks to himself, the sun will shine on us again.

The sun is bright.

You were starting to think that hiking up a mountain during the summer was a bad idea. It’s not like you were the one who willingly brought yourself here. Oikawa was back from Argentina, and for some reason, the first thing he wanted to do was hike up a damned mountain. You don’t know where your brown-haired companion was, but you could care less. The view you got from this part of the mountain was a sight to behold.

The mountain overlooked the town. The skyscrapers looked like dots in the distance, and the city’s noise was unable to disturb the peace protected by the towering trees. As you breathe in the air and feel the sun kiss your skin, there’s an overwhelming sense of peace and recollection that floods through you.

Something about standing in that spot felt so familiar.

“Excuse me?”

You nearly trip off the edge at the sound of someone’s voice.

You turn to look at the culprit, ready to chew them out for almost sending you to your death. However, when you turn to look at the stranger, the words die at your throat.

You knew who he was, Ushijima Wakatoshi. One of the players in the Schweiden Adlers team. Someone Oikawa has always talked about with distaste.

However, you feel like you knew him more than just that. For some reason, as you look into his olive eyes, you feel like you’ve known him your entire life. And he probably felt the same because the next thing you know, the same words escape your mouths.

”Do I know you?”

A/N: Bringing back an old piece. I made this to explore a more poetic (?) writing style, and this was one of my practice fics before I wrote “All The World Drops Dead”. It’s also pretty angsty, and there’s barely any closure, but rest assured that I’ll probably be giving out fluffy fics soon cause angst is tiring HAHAGSGRHFHDJHSKS Also, I’ve posted this before (in my old acc) and I’m bringing it back cause this fic is dear to me. Anyway, I hope you guys liked this and thank you for reading 💖

#ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #genre.angst #tw death #tw mild violence

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princessfbi · 3 years

Note

Ok I have got to know what happened with Oliver's character on that one show that makes you rage so hard every time you see him.

WELL NONNIE I'LL TELL YOU!

This is a warning for spoilers if anyone wants to watch this show because my rage cannot be contained.

OK SO...

This show is called Into the Badlands and Oliver's character is named Ryder. Basically the premise of this world is that it's kind of post apocalyptic/alternative universe where humanity got so caught up in trying to one up each other that it sort of imploded and now you have this society where either you're super wealthy (the Barrons), super poor (Cogs and Nomads), or somehow a ninja (The Clippers and whatever the hell MK was supposed to be). ANYWAYS....

Ryder is the son of Barron Quinn. Now the surviving land is either divided into like factions run by Barrons (who control a majority of major trade) or there's these lawless lands that are run dredges of society. You either become a Barron by killing another Barron (which is what Quinn did) or you are an heir apparent. Ryder is more an heir presumptive because Quinn won't outright name him his heir even though everyone just assumes it.

This is because Quinn is batshit crazy and thinks he can just live forever through sheer stubbornness and will alone. This is especially hard to do because he has a massive brain tumor that's dwindling down what little bit of sanity he has leading him to make questionable choices such as killing the only doctor they have in the lands who would've been useful pretty much for the rest of the series but go off Quinn. Ryder has a lot of resentment towards his father, which I will get into in a minute, and at the same time has gone out of his way to prove to Quinn that he's a worthy heir. Except Quinn keeps comparing Ryder to his second and regent, Sunny, and he's just all around a shitty person in general.

NOW HERE'S THE AMAZING BACKSTORY WITH RYDER:

So, when Ryder was a child, he was kidnapped by these nomads who were trying to blackmail Quinn. Ryder's mother begged Quinn to pay the ransom and save Ryder. Quinn... refused. So the nomads tortured Ryder and (Gross warning) like cut off part of his toes and disfigured his foot in the hopes of crippling him and scaring Quinn into giving to their demands.

Quinn, again, refused.

Eventually Quinn's regent at the time, Waldo, defies Quinn's orders and goes to rescue Ryder from these nomads. Waldo defying Quinn is a big deal because he's a clipper which is basically a soldier (often brought in from the slave faction called Cogs) and they take their oaths to their Barrons very seriously. Barrons trust no one but their regents because again you can become a Barron by killing them. But Waldo always had a soft spot for Ryder.

SO Ryder is saved and eventually nursed back to health but he always has a bit of a tragedy cloud hanging around him because from what we were told Ryder was a very sweet, bright child before he was kidnapped and was brought back as "a broken bird" and he's been doing everything he can to get rid of the broken bird image ever since.

Quinn resented Ryder for making him look weak and Ryder resented Quinn for... Well being a heartless dick.

But here's the crazy part... They both, in their own way, still kind of loved each other.

Now I won't bore you with my rant about how the best antagonists are often the tragic figures who have fallen from grace (Peter Hale, Draco Malfoy, Loki to name a few) BUT I will say Ryder had the PERFECT foundation of showing that fall. He was an asshole and hard and spoiled and super privilege but also soft and still a little broken. There's a whole other narrative involved too with his childhood love and how his dad planned on marrying her but we won't get into that.

ANYWAYS Ryder still had this desperate need to prove to his dad that he was a worthy heir but in his attempts to prove himself (and his dad's fall into madness) his dad started seeing him as competition. Competition and another objects (like Quinn saw with most other characters but especially Sunny). But Quinn has this weird kind of pride when it comes to things that he considers his and an attack on his property is an attack on him. There's a character named the Widow who lured Ryder out and tried to kill him slowly and personally as well as Sunny as an attack on Quinn and he went bananas (sorta).

Ryder was fine eventually but he realized that trying to prove himself to his dad was never going to work so he decides to try the other option: which is killing his dad. Partially because if he doesn't, Ryder is smart enough to know that Quinn's going to get him killed, but also because Quinn's descent into madness is spiraling faster and faster and Ryder wants to protect the legacy. Nothing to inherit if his dad burns the whole thing to the ground!

Long story short, Sunny turns on Quinn and stabs him and everyone thinks Quinn is dead and Ryder takes credit for it therefore succeeding his dad by becoming not only Barron of his father's lands but some other Barron that got murdered by another subplot that was pointless.

Now Ryder is determined to bring peace to the lands (not out of some noble obligation but because he just wants people to chill the fuck out). And for the most part... he's doing okay.

BUT THEN PLOT TWIST HIS DAD IS ALIVE AND CRAZIER THAN EVER.

Basically his dad storms Ryder's house, chases him down in the garden, and they fight. But Ryder's foot that was crippled when he was a child trips him up and the fight gets even messier. Ryder's sword breaks and Quinn points the sword to his own chest and tells Ryder to finish him.

Ryder hesitates and so Quinn takes the sword and stabs Ryder. You know like a rational father would do.

Quinn then asks Ryder why he hesitated and Ryder whispers "because you're my father" before he dies in Quinn's arms. Quinn is... horrified because he realizes that with the death of Ryder is the death of the last parts of his own humanity. He mourns Ryder but also like... takes no responsibility for killing him but neither did Ryder so he can't process it. Later on he's haunted by Ryder but again the man has a giant grapefruit sized tumor in his brain so it's all very reverse Hamlet if you will.

SO LOOK AT ALL THIS POTENTIAL!

THE REASON I RAGE:

Is because Ryder was set up to fail from the beginning. Which is great!....... If that had actually happened. The show worked so hard to tell us that Ryder was a failure and a coward but if you look at it from a story perspective... Ryder was the opposite of a failure. Every time someone told him he couldn't do something, he proved them wrong. Again and again and again. But that was never good enough for anyone. So that vicious cycle would've been amazing to see!

But instead of exploring any of that, we had to watch a storyline that was frankly ridiculous from the beginning that took up way more time than it should. There's a character named MK, who was supposed to be inspired by the myth The Monkey King, but if you don't know that story then you never would've figured that out. Hell, I knew the story and didn't figure it out until I had to google his name because I kept forgetting it. In comparison to everything else happening in the show, this magical mythical storyline just didn't fit and I'm not kidding when I say I watched a season and a half of this show and forgot about MK every time.

Now if you noticed my icon is Buck in a Box. That's an inside joke I have with a friend about this fucking show. The first scene starts off with Sunny stumbling onto a group of Nomads who go absolutely feral about this massive box they don't want him to look inside. Turns out MK was in this box for reasons that were too weak for me to even remember but again MK was entirely forgettable. My friend and I kept talking about how it would've been better if Ryder had been in the box because the Ryder and Sunny rivalry had so much unexplored potential that would've been incredible if we started from the very beginning instead of just being told over and over again that Ryder hates being compared to Sunny.

Sunny is the main character and Quinn, unlike with Ryder, was incredibly proud to have Sunny "in his possession" and Ryder hated him for it.

But did we get to explore that? NO! Did we get to explore the parallels of Sunny and Ryder chafing at being considered possessions by Quinn? NO! Did we get to explore the trauma Ryder was working so hard to shake off? NO!

Instead the show spent so much energy victim blaming Ryder essentially for being the son of a Villain and his Nonsensical Ambitious Mother who had the misfortune of being kidnapped by bandits as a child while telling the audience that Ryder was never going to succeed. That Ryder had no honor and was a coward and weak.

They spent way more time trying to tell us that we should hate Ryder and that he was a bad guy but didn't do ANY of the work to show the fall from grace to prove that. Ryder remained a tragic figure that didn't fall from grace but was rather pushed off by lazy writing because they wanted to focus again on this magical ninja boy with a penchant for getting in the way and ruining everything.

I rage because Antagonist and Villain are not the same thing. Ryder had the potential of becoming a villain and his death by the hands of his father would've cycled him back into the role of a tragic figure. But instead... it was just wasted.

THAT is why I rage. You had the material right there and yet you spent so long telling us that we, the audience, don't like Ryder instead of showing us anything that would make us not like him (besides the whiny white boy thing).

Instead I found myself rooting for Ryder. Like could you imagine if Ryder and Sunny went against Quinn together instead of having the weakest rivalry known to man? Could you imagine Ryder's fall from grace of wanting peace in the lands as it turned to greed? Could you imagine Sunny becoming actual competition for Ryder instead of being manipulated to do so?

WE GOT NONE OF IT.

THIS is why I rage.

#I'm so sorry nonnie #I ranted #But you asked for it #So here it is #Oliver Stark #Ryder into the badlands #Into the badlands #anon #ask #answered

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florencwrites · 3 years

Text

prisoner 〚dreamwastaken〛

in which [reader] will always wait for him, in which dream is no longer dream

(!) blood, torture, emotional trauma (!)

If there's one thing that Dream had taught me; it was that persistence is key. "Stubbornness gets you places." He had always told me, laying in the grass against that same scratchy birch tree several times a week. He'd lay his head in my lap and hum songs while I played with his hair. He'd often pluck the grass and drop it on my knees, or draw little smiley faces on my skin.

He'd never meant for this to happen, for it all to happen. All along, all he had wanted was to be one big happy family, to give all his friends that exact feeling he had never gotten. He'd go out of his way to make people smile. Make them live in harmony, helping with crops and mining, even going as far as spending hours trying to find traces of ancient debris; all to make his friends content. He never wavered in his goals, always trying to convince people to see the best in everyone. Hoping that if he just kept smiling, one day, everyone would be smiling right back at him.

However, lately, his smile had rarely been genuine, really, the only time I ever saw the true glint of faith in his pupils was when we laid against that tree, humming songs and basking in the sun. He was having trouble keeping up his positive outlook, everywhere he looked there were pets dying and friendships breaking up. Houses being destroyed and families torn apart because of stupid things. Items that held no worth, that could never hold any worth as important as family or friends did.

"Stubbornness gets you places." He'd always say when I scolded him for acting like a brat. Unfortunately, the only place it had gotten him so far was in prison. I was reminded of this fact daily, returning to the impenetrable walls every minute I wasn't spending eating, at all hours of the day and night. My sobs echoed through the obsidian, mimicking the wails of the many ghasts that had tried to pass through generations of the dark purple stone. The block seemed to have created itself a connection to grief, mourning even. I pounded on the wall, to no avail I'd realized quite quickly on, until both my knuckles and palms were bloody and bruised, and I did it every single fucking day. I'd do everything to have him back in my arms, anything.

On the lonely nights, the residing heat in the obsidian often brought me warmth. The bubbles in the stone leaving marks on my shoulders. Often the warmth reminded me of him, of his chest pressing against my back. I could feel the ghost of his fingertips scour my arms, the glow of the obsidian on my neck making it almost appear as if he really was right there behind me, softly breathing into my skin. The lonely nights were good.

Because the nights where I wasn't alone, were nights I spent listening to his agonizing screams from deep within the fortress. Nights where the obsidian worked his torturous wonders and elated itself on the reminders of the excruciating pain that was put onto him. The nights where I couldn't physically bring myself to leave until his squeals had subsided, where I choked on my own tears until I could finally hear him sob again. Sobbing was good, sobbing meant that they had left him to be on his own at last, because sobbing meant that he was weak enough to them, and finally; sobbing meant no more torture.

Sam's shoes had been loud against the obsidian tiling, almost loud enough to distract me from the muffled growls that came from underneath them. Bubbling snarls that indicated that no man would be left alive, not when they breach these walls and definitely not when their body touches the water that surrounds it. He had caved, at last. He'd hastily ushered me inside late at night in the hopes of no person seeing the enormous gates open for the first time in weeks. I had clung to his waist, my knees failing me when he told me I was allowed one visit. No talking about it ever, or I'd see the same fate as my 'little boyfriend'.

He turned another corner as I cursed myself for not remembering the path we took, nor the redstone mechanisms he used to get me through the many disappearing doors. "There'll be a change of guards in 30 minutes, I need you outside in 20, got it?" His face was tense, eyes set sternly onto mine. I nodded, my head felt woozy from all the emotions swirling around it during these past few months, along with the lack of sleep, dehydration, and now adding to the list; the thought of finally seeing him again.

The umpteenth contraption boomed from beneath our feet, an almost rhythmic banging from right beneath our feet, slowly making it towards the wall in front of us. Slowly but surely the barricade was lifted, an immediate cry escaping from my lips as I saw the state of him. He was surrounded by iron bars in a cage in the immediate center of the room, the walls surrounding it bearing enough obsidian to guarantee his permanent stay.

My heart ached physically at the sight of him, my body moving itself to press against the bars hard enough to leave bruises on my ribs, dropping to my knees instantly. I reached my arms through the gaps of the confinement, barely not being able to reach where he laid curled up on the floor. He was facing me, however, his arms were shielding his features from me entirely. Tears upon tears flooded from my face as I screamed for him to look at me. He shot up, his pupils wearing nothing but complete and utter terror. He let out a loud shout, telling me to 'please, don't, please'. I wrapped one hand around the iron bars, steadying myself as I softened my voice, "Dream, it's me, baby, it's me."

He was on one knee, leaning his entire body against the barrier on the other side of the room he had fled to on instinct. His head rested on the metal for a second before instantly shooting up to look at where the voice came from. "Don't do this again, please." He pleaded, his voice was desperate, hopeless. "Anyone's voice but hers."

"Dream?" My voice was as gentle and soft as I could possibly make it while also sounding urgent enough for him to realize I wasn't fake, I wasn't some recording they played to demoralize him. "Dream, please."

His body froze at the sound once again, however, this time he turned his body into the bars. His back.

Oh, god, his back. The white tee he had been wearing the day they took him away was barely existing on his back at this point. The fabric was torn all over, showing the dozens of deep gashes beneath. His skin was practically rotting away from the outside, however, some were new. I had heard him, yesterday, I had heard his agonizing cries for release, which is exactly why I was so adamant about staying by the walls all day today. I had heard them do this to him, and there hadn't been a single thing I did or could've done about it. A sudden, almost traumatizingly powerful scream entered the small room we were in, the obsidian jumping at the opportunity of echoing; anything to prolong our agony. "PLEASE, I'M BEGGING, LET IT STOP."

My body choked up at his words, entirely shaking as his misery took its place again in my heart. I sat down, leaning my head against the metal bars as I let myself sob with him. I glanced up at where he sat on the other side of the cell, his hands pressing against his ears hard enough he could pop an eardrum, his body trembling with utter horror, slowly swaying from side to side. His back was on full display as he sat hunched over, some of the gashes tearing open again at the tension of his skin. Trails of blood soaked whatever was left of his shirt, and I couldn't help but wail out again, my heart physically feeling like it was imploding. "What are they doing to you, baby."

His movements stilled, a good few seconds passed. His arms slowly rose to get a grip on the barricade. As soon as he established the anchor, he pulled himself from the floor, slowly turning to look into my dark corner again. "Dream, it's me, please, c'mere." I pleaded, hope filling my eyes that even after three entire months of mental and physical torture, he would trust me. I reached my arms through the gaps, reaching for him as he came into grasping distance. He stood an inch from my extending fingers, almost gazing down at them tauntingly. He hadn't looked me in the eye yet, keeping his focus completely trained on my hands.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes from my begging hands and looked up at me. "It's you."

"Yes! Yes! It's me, baby!" I almost cheered, my face pressing painfully hard against the bars, my entire body bruising at the constant impact.

His face was completely frozen, utter shock coursing through his features as he tried to figure out what was happening. "They did this to me."

"I know baby, I know." I nodded, confirming his words for him. Rationalizing that he was okay to not trust me, knowing his friends had betrayed him ultimately. "Please, let me touch you, I need to touch you."

He fell to his knees, ushering his arms through the barms to hug me through them. he held my body tightly as his body silently shook with sobs. "They did this to me." I hummed into his ear in response, knowing how lonely he must've felt, how worthless and discouraged. I felt my hands get coated in his blood as I clung to him tightly, crying together in utter misery. "I just wanted to keep it all safe."

I spoke carefully, my voice barely over a whisper, "What do you mean, Dream?" I rested my forehead against the same cross he did, the gaps between the bars barely not big enough to fit my entire head through. They were just there for decoration, really, the thousands of blocks of obsidian and the torture was what really kept him in place.

I watched him sniffle softly, his eyes squeezed closed almost painfully so, the raspy sounds that left his torn throat were a mere ghost of his normally smooth and silky voice. "I just wanted to keep it all safe," A shuddered breath interrupted him. I was clinging to his words, desperately wanting to hear what no one else had dared explain to me; why he was here. "I just wanted to make them happy, keep them safe." He gripped my shirt as he pulled me closer into his body, the warmth I radiated probably being the first source of heat he'd felt in months, besides from the occasional glow of obsidian. "The things they cared about, keep them safe."

A shaky sob left my lips as I let his words sink into my brain, only now realizing what he had done. His trembling voice made the hairs on my neck stand up, goosebumps appearing on my arms.

"All I wanted was to keep them safe and happy," He paused as a sob left his lips again. "One big happy family."

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zer0pm · 4 years

Text

Imagine if Alucard‘s heart beats loudly only for you.

A/N: WARNING!! This be long!!

Alright, I think it’s safe to say that we all agree that Alucard effin’ deserved better in S3, dammit. I don’t know what the writers were thinking, but if they aimed to place him on his dad’s path, there were better ways to do it. Just saying. Here’s some fluff to give our boy the love he needs.

Alucard has been awake for some time now, his golden eyes gaze upon the serene look on your face as you slept. He wore a look of longing and adoration as his fingers brush gently across your skin, caressing your back in long strokes. The sensation of his touch stirred you pleasantly in your sleep and you released a familiar and satisfied sigh. The sound made the dhampir’s heart swell along with his ego. Gently, he pulls you further into his embrace with the intent to feel your soothing heartbeat against his chest and allow your warmth to envelop him.

As if out of instinct, you wrap your arms around his slender waist and angle your head to slightly face him. Your ear presses against his chest and he watches you smile at the sound of his heart. Beating only for you.

In that moment, Alucard was in awe. There were very few moments where he had ever felt his own heart pulse within. Although he is half-vampire and therefore possesses a biology that functions differently from humans, that mortal side of him kept his beat faint, even almost non-existent. His father, an age-defining genius, argued that a beating heart has no function within an immortal. His mother, on the other hand, claims that it was his body’s way of telling him that it yearns still for a warmth that only human life can give. Of course, there was a scientific explanation for it; however, his mother, a doctor, an individual of medicine and science, suggests that the secret behind her son’s heartbeats stems from a hidden desire for something...romantic. One that defies rational reason. After nearly choking on his wine listening to her outlandish implication, Alucard outwardly denied such a theory to which she chuckled off humorously along with his father. Despite how the he felt, the idea was firmly planted within Alucard’s mind. It certainly puzzled him, but in time he did not care to waste any further thoughts to understand it then. Until he met you.

After his parents were gone from this world, you stumbled into his life. Or rather, you had picked a fight right outside his castle. He was mourning for both his mother and father, missing the company of his friends Trevor and Sypha, and was slowly slipping into the madness of loneliness and depression until his acute hearing picked up the clashing of swords at his front door. He wasted no time in checking out the commotion, wary that his domain may be under attack and saw you fighting what appears to be two foreign warriors. You seemed to hold your own rather well, but Alucard did not dwell on this and instead shouted at you three to cease your battle.

He demanded an explanation with teeth bared, clearly angered to have his peace disturbed. You were the first to speak up, claimed the two you cross blades with were vampire hunters trying to pass themselves off as hapless travelers in search for training and guidance. You added that, in reality, they take advantage of the hosts who accommodate them and kill them for their own gain. The foreigners denied the accusations and called you a petty highwayman, trying to kill them and take their belongings, fabricating stories with a silver tongue to sway favor.

Alucard looked back and forth between the two parties. He didn’t know who to trust. If it was in his nature, he would have killed you all and get back to wallowing. But he is not that kind of man. The foreigners appeared sincere, a brother-sister pair wandering the world with wide-eyes in pursuit of a greater purpose. Meanwhile, there was you. You, he honestly could not place. But there was something about you that drew him in, and while your story compared to the foreigners seemed incredibly outlandish, he could not find it within himself to immediately conclude that you were lying. You were a curious thing to him.

Alucard somehow felt responsible for the ordeal and thus the burden of resolving it fell on him. He offered the ultimatum, leave or die. It was such a simple plan that could easily unravel the true intentions you and the two foreigners held. And like a fish on a hook, the bait was taken. The foreigners apparently thought they no longer needed to uphold their charade and moved to strike down both you and him with bow and sword raised.

A stupid mistake. And as quickly as they moved, Alucard was faster. With a single thought, his blade answered the unspoken call. A swing, and two bodies fell to the ground with their throats slit. He did not even bother to watch the two foreigners bleed out as he noticed you collapse to your knees. Without showing any reservation, and on pure instinct, he lifts you into his arms and carried you inside his castle towards his mother and father’s laboratory.

He placed you atop one of the cushioned seats and analyzed your injuries. Several cuts and gashes here and there, but nothing severe and you were visibly exhausted. Apparently you were fighting for an extended period of time. Even though Alucard defeated them with ease, you did not have the same combative advantages. He noted first a particularly nasty gash atop your forehead to which he then swiftly proceeded to clean and apply salve on much to your protest.

“It is not as bad as it looks,” you said with a wince.

He ignored you, “When you stop bleeding, I’ll take your word for it.”

You released an indignant huff, but otherwise allowed him to do his work. He felt you watch him from the corner of your eye and wondered then what you were thinking. After a moment of silence, you relaxed before letting out a meek “thank you.”

“It is nothing,” shrugged the dhampir. There was another shortlived pause before curiosity got the best of him. “How did you know of their true nature?” He already had an idea, but wanted to ask regardless if not to have a better understanding of you.

With a deep breath, you regaled your tale. Apparently, the foreigners were taken in by your kin, admitting that they seemed a good, friendly pair of lost travelers just trying to find a place to belong. But one day under the cover of night, they hid away into your kin’s sleeping quarters, seduced them, and slew them before taking off with their valuables. The next day, you returned from the market in time for one of your loved ones to reveal all of this to you before dying in your arms. When you had finished, Alucard could see that tears threatened to spill from your eyes but you managed to restrain through sheer will. He knew you did not want him to see your pain, it was a sentiment he was all too familiar with.

The dhampir spoke before he could stop himself, “Forgive me.”

You shook your head. “It is not your fault, nor was it your burden to bear. I did not want other poor souls to suffer the same fate. Which is why I had to find them and punish them for their crimes before they had the chance to strike again.”

“It seems I am lucky, then. You have my utmost gratitude for coming to my aid.”

“Ha,” you huffed lightly. “You looked like you could have handled them yourself, see past their deception.”

“How do you know I am not simply that naive?”

“Are you?”

Alucard responds, “I confess, I do not know. At the moment, my situation is delicate. I probably would have welcomed any friendly face to my company should they present themselves.”

You seemed surprised by his honesty, even he did not know why he would confess such a thing, but at the moment, he felt that he could trust you. You offered an amicable smile. “In that case, you, sir, owe me. Big.” There was an unmissable, playful glint in your eyes when you said this.

The dhampir laughs, a rumble deep within his chest that resonated in his voice. He has not laughed like that since his adventure with his speaker and hunter. And even then it felt like such a long time ago. “Undoubtedly,” he added with a smirk.

There was a comfortable moment between you two before you casted a glance to one of the open windows that led to the outside. The day was still young. “I should get going, then. Pay my final respects to my kin at home before leaving Wallachia.”

“Leave Wallachia?”, his brow raises. “Where will you go?”

“I’m not sure, really. Anywhere that will allow me to...heal my wounds, I suppose.”

It was in that moment that Alucard was assured of this blooming and unspoken kinship between you and he. He already admitted to himself that he rather liked you and would like to get to know you better, perhaps even allow you to help him combat his loneliness. For this reason, his next words flowed effortlessly.

“You shall stay here.”

You were shocked, clearly taken aback by this unexpected offer and was stumbling with your words of protest, “I-I can’t possibly- You don’t know me, sir.”

“I know that you are selfless, possess a strong moral compass, and went out of your way from God-knows-where to spare me, a stranger, from the machinations of ingrates. You did not need to do so, let alone warn me, yet you did so, anyways.” Alucard closes his eyes for a brief moment in pensive thought before continuing, “I understand what it means to mourn for those you loved deeply. Please. This is the least I can offer, allow me to thank you and give you the space and time to mend your wounds. All of them.”

For a moment, he thought you would refuse and you did not immediately answer. Your brows furrow in deep thought, your lips in a thin line. He was about to apologize for speaking out of turn when you spoke first.

“Very well, then...”, you conceded with a grateful and almost saddened smile. Your eyes met his with sincere intent. “And perhaps you will not have to mend yours alone, as well.”

Ba-dump.

That was the first time Alucard had ever felt his heart do that. It was such a surprising feeling that, in his shock, he thought he was dying. But he was surely fine and became curious to learn what caused it, eyeing you from his peripheral vision. He was certain you did something.

Suddenly, your eyes widened and your body stiffened so fast that Alucard thought you would jump out of the chair. “I’m so sorry, I was so caught up with what happened earlier that I never asked for your name.”

Again, he steals another moment of careful consideration, his golden eyes bore deeply into your gaze before answering, “My friends call me Adrian.”

And thus how your agreement came to be. Some time has passed and during that time, you two have grown closer. Alucard found himself enjoying your company immensely and expressed genuine interest in learning everything about you and you to him. You never seemed bored in his company which pleased him greatly as once he overheard someone describe him as a “cold spot in the room.” He was certain that the person didn’t mean to harm him with these words, but it affected him, nonetheless and Alucard feared that he would be subjected to an eternal life alone. But your presence changed that thought, your kindness and genuity showed him that he did not need to face his depression on his own. He cannot remember a time when he has smiled so much and has you to thank for that. Even as your wounds healed and you had plenty of opportunity to leave, you stayed by his side and continued to be his light. And he did not question you one bit.

Ba-dump.

That alien sensation began to feel familiar to him the longer he is with you. His heart remained still in the beginning yet now every once in awhile, it would pound for a single pulse in your presence, growing in rhythm and intensity as time with you went on until he was certain he could dance to the beat. When you would look his way, it skipped. When you would look away when he caught you, it quickened. It was such a tortuous, wonderous sensation.

His heart stopped completely when you declared that you loved him and it began to pound instantly when he felt the sweet press of your lips against his. Never in his life did he felt the need to breathe until he tasted you. It became too much, too blissfully suffocating that he feared that he could drown within you forever and never rise up again. As if sensing the intensity of his growing addiction to you, you pulled from him and placed your head atop his chest, your ear above his pounding heart.

“I can hear your heartbeat. Is this the human side of you?”

“It is a side only you know.”

It went on like this for some time. As your affection for one another grew intensely, your innocent intimacy turned into a needy hunger. He felt like a starved man each time you two touched each other desperately but had no idea how to sate the burning inside until you gave him his answer by lifting his nightshirt and-

“Adrian?”

The drowsy sound of your voice pulled him from his wonderful reminiscing and his golden eyes met you.

“Did I wake you?”

“No, but...did you sleep at all?” you asked, rubbing the sleep from your eyes with a hint of worry in your voice

He replied reassuringly, “A little bit.”

“Was it that bad?”

He raises his brow at the subtle teasing under your tone. “Actually, I’ve been waiting for you to wake for another round.”

You laughed and would have continued to laugh before your voice was choked by a yawn. Your eyes were beginning to droop again. “I’m sorry, Adrian. As tempting as that sounds-”

He silences you with a chaste kiss upon your lips.

“Shh. I only slightly jest,” he smiles. “Go back to sleep.”

“Only slightly jest,” you teased again.

Alucard lifts you effortlessly to place your body atop his. “It will be a long morning when you wake.”

You looked at him with a mischievous glint in your eyes and a sly curve to your lips. “Promise?” challenged you.

Badump.

When Alucard finally regains himself, he grins at you with a lecherous flash of his fangs and squeezes your bottom generously before pressing you against his hips. The dhampir now has a newfound restlessness and was making you aware of you of it. His smirk curved with pride at your blush from the feel of him.

“Sleep, you idiot,” he commands lowly before placing a final and firm kiss upon your lips then tucking the top of your head beneath his chin. Although you huffed in slight frustration yourself, you listened to your love and fell back to sleep with a content and impatient sigh.

It was moments like these before the break of dawn when nothing else in the world mattered but the two of you lying together in complete peace, your hearts beating in blissful harmony- did he find happiness renewed.

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stillbandofbrothersthirsty · 3 years

Text

As Far As Friends Go

This was kind of a transition chapter so cred’s to the show for the dialogue I used. But buckle up, shits really gonna go down next chapter.

Chapter 14 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13)

Nixon - June 1944

The drop into Normandy was perilous. Just as Nixon had feared, nothing seemed to go as planned. It was as if the Germans were waiting for them to arrive based off of how much fire they experienced. Nixon, like most of the men, missed his drop zone but he was lucky enough to quickly link up with Battalion headquarters. It was a chaotic couple of first days in France as the airborne got situated in relation to the troops on the beach. Early into their arrival, Winters and the available Easy Company men took down some German guns. This not only saved a number of lives on the beaches but produced a map detailing German artillery positions. Looking at it, Nixon realized how important it could be. It couldn’t wait, so he decided to run to Utah beach to hand the map over to the higher ups who could do something with it. The run to Utah was only three miles, no worse than he had experienced during training. He was grateful though that Command decided to send the first two tanks that landed in to aid the 101st, thus providing Nixon with a ride.

He greeted Winters with a cheeky smile when he returned to the assembly area. “Going my way?”

Winters tossed his gun up for Nixon to catch, “sure.”

The men bunkered down for the night, scrounging for what food and beds they could find. The Battalion was on the move by June 8th on their way to take Carentan. As according to plan, the 101st forced passage into Carentan on June 10th and 11th. The days were hot and muggy, barely cooling down at night for the men dressed in heavy uniforms and equipment. Bugs were everywhere and exhaustion was setting in. Finally, they encountered the Germans. On June 12th the German’s were forced to withdraw and it seemed like victory was theirs. But Nixon was suspicious. Surely the Germans wouldn’t give up such an important position so easily; and he was right. On June 13th the 17th SS PzG Division counter-attacked. Thankfully, the U.S. 2nd Armored Division came in for support.

When Nixon returned to Battalion headquarters with news of their victory he found that Emily had finally arrived.

“Emily!” he wanted nothing more than to hug her in that moment. The last week had been exhausting. It was such a comfort to see her.

“Miss me?” she grinned up at him. Her smile was like a shot of morphine, he immediately felt his muscles relax. “You look a mess,” she shook her head.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, we’ve only been taking Carentan.”

“Congratulations,” she said, “did you like the tanks I sent you?”

Nixon looked at her flabbergasted. Then slowly, through the haze of his fatigue, he realized she was messing with him. “Ha ha. It would’ve been impressive if you had.”

“Yeah I wish, unfortunately I’m not that powerful yet.”

Nixon slung his arm around her neck, “no but I bet you know where to find me some food.”

Despite his exhaustion, Nixon didn’t sleep well those final weeks in Normandy. Instead, his alcohol intake increased. He had to re-fill his flask every day, sometimes topping it off throughout the day. He would need to replenish his stores soon. But no one anticipated how long they would actually be fighting in Normandy. In fact, the 101st had expected to be relieved much sooner. Strayer kept asking for patrols as the allies attempted to inch their way closer and closer to Germany.

Twenty-five days after D-Day Nixon was sent out on a patrol with Harry Welsh. It was a reconnaissance mission so Nixon was required to go. What they were looking for he wasn’t sure. The regiment had exhausted their knowledge of the German’s position in the area so any new piece of information could serve as an advantage.

Nixon peered through a pair of binoculars from where he and Welsh sat in the brush approximately 100 yards from a run down building. “We need to know what’s in there,” Nixon said.

“I don’t know who the hell to send,” Welsh said.

 “Ask for volunteers.”

“I hate asking for volunteers.”

Nixon gave Welsh a pointed look, “then pick them.”

Blithe, Martin, and Dukeman moved in towards the abandoned manor. The rest of the paratroopers sat hidden in the grass behind Nixon. As they waited for Blithe and the others to get into position Nixon spotted something poking out of Welsh’s backpack.

 “Harry, what exactly are you doing with your reserve chute? You been hauling that thing around since we jumped?”

Welsh sucked his teeth, slightly embarrassed he said, “gonna send it to Kitty when we get back to England. Silk, figure it’ll make a good wedding dress, ya know, what with the rationing and all.”

Nixon broke view of where the trio was moving in towards the manor to laugh at Welsh, “jeez Harry, I never would’ve guessed.”

“What? That I’m so sentimental?”

“No, that you think we’re going to make it back to England.” Nixon peered through his binoculars again. His mind flashed to Emily as he watched the men crouch down behind an upturned cart. Bad news, he thought. He had suspected for a while now that Emily may have feelings for Welsh, a man who clearly was intending on marrying his betrothed. No matter how much he flirted, Welsh wouldn’t have bothered lugging that extra chute around if he wasn’t serious about Kitty. Bad news for Emily. Suddenly, a shot rang out.

“Covering fire! Covering fire!” Welsh shouted. Martin and Dukeman pulled a downed Blithe back behind the line. They passed Nixon who saw the blood gushing from the young man’s throat before Doc Roe got to him.

“Cease fire! Cease fire!” Welsh commanded.

Winters moved up from behind, “what happened?”

“Sniper,” Nixon said coming up to him.

Winters couldn’t take his eyes off the bleeding Blithe, “they’re pulling us off the front line.”

“Now?” Nixon demanded.

Winters turned to him, “to a field camp north of Utah beach. Hot food, and showers.”

With a last mournful look at Blithe, Nixon turned away to head back. Great fucking timing, he raged to himself.

Emily was at the camp surrounded by intelligence staff and nurses, who were busy at work tending the masses of wounded men.

 “Nix?” her voice was gentle when he entered the intelligence tent.

“Couldn’t have let us know a little bit sooner? Sent the runner just a few minutes earlier?” he demanded.  

“What are you talking about?”

“We were on a patrol and some kid is probably gonna lose his life because that information came a few minutes too late! I sent them in there, I told them to check it out but turns out we didn’t need to!” Nixon pounded his fist on one of the tables.

“Lewis I didn’t know, that information didn’t come from me.”

“You’re intelligence staff! You’re meant to know!”

“I’m not intelligence staff like you are! I’m no S-2,” Emily shouted back, “no one tells me anything!”

Nixon paced the room trying to calm down, “okay, okay,” he leveled his hands on the desk, “I’m sorry. I just -,”

“It’s fine, I’m sorry too,” Emily stood across the table from him, looking small in the dim light of the tent. “I do know one thing,” she said. He looked up, waiting for her to continue, “we’re going back to England.”

“Right, great.” And he stormed out of the tent onto the beach.

His insomnia didn’t improve even knowing that they were going back to a relatively safe zone. It was impossible to sleep with the sounds of men crying out all around and bodies held together by gauze and tape only paces away. Naturally, the night before they were meant to leave, Nixon couldn’t sleep. He grabbed his flask and made his way towards the dunes on the far side of the camp.

He plopped down on a ridge into a bed of marsh grass, the coarse tendrils tickling his wrists and neck. Nixon closed his eyes and inhaled. The whiskey he had guzzled earlier that night had seeped pleasingly through his veins. The summer air blew across the salty water cooling the sweat where it pooled around his collarbone and lower back. It was so peaceful. If it weren’t for the peppering of tents barely visible against the night sky, Nixon could have pretended he was there on holiday and not for a war.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a lean figure making its way up the dune towards him. Nixon braced himself for the quiet wisdom of Winters. However, the figure failed to grow as it approached him, only reaching a height of about 5′5″. The silhouette revealed itself to be Emily, dressed in another pair of slightly oversized O.D.s.

“What?” Nixon barked at her.

“I saw you pass by,” Emily dropped down beside him, bumping his arm on her way down. Disgruntled, Nixon scooted over slightly.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“Why aren’t you?” Emily retorted.

“Couldn’t.”

  “Same here.”

Quiet fell between them, a comfortable quiet but Nixon could sense Emily wanted to say more. Finally, her lips parted and she said, “it’s not something you can get over.”

“What?”  

“Seeing the men like that.” Emily searched his face in the dark for any reaction. Nixon stared straight ahead. “It’s disturbing and not something anyone should ever have to witness.”

Nixon licked his lips to speak, but all that came out was, “yeah.”

Emily paused, then reached for his flask. She pulled it from his grasp and took a swig, “It’s over for now. We have to find comfort in that.”

“Right, some comfort in that,” he took the flask back for another drink. They sat there side by side listening to the waves crash against the shoreline. As the night waned on, Emily began to doze off. Her head fell to rest on his shoulder. Nixon considered waking her to walk her back to her tent but then decided against it. He didn’t want to disturb her. If she woke up now who knew if she would be able to fall asleep again. Besides, he enjoyed sharing a little sliver of the world with her in that moment. A sliver that was simple and not perverted by violence.

When the sun rose, she stirred and they both made their way back to their tents for a desperate last few hours of sleep before they were to ship off. As Nixon was boarding the ship he saw Emily standing on the Mulberry harbor hugging a dark, thin woman dressed in a nurses uniform. The woman brushed wild hairs away from Emily’s forehead then pressed something into her hand. Nixon couldn’t help but wonder what that exchange had been about. Out of curiosity, he met Emily at the gangway.   “Who was that?” he asked.

“Hm?” Emily pulled a paper wrapped candy out of her pocket.

“Who was that woman you were talking to? A nurse?”

“Oh yeah, that’s my friend Marwa.”

“I didn’t know you had female friends.”

Emily rolled her eyes and popped the candy into her mouth.

“What was that?” Nixon pointed to her mouth.

“Ginger candy, you want one?” Emily offered him a candy and Nixon accepted, beginning to feel like his old self again standing next to her.

#band of brothers #fanfiction #original character #as far as friends go #lewis nixon x oc #emily rooney #lewis nixon #harry welsh #dick winters #female cartographers #females in ww2

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ffangirlingsince2001 · 3 years

Text

End of the Tunnel: VIII

Description: It’s almost been a year since Freed Weasley was lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, and for George Weasley it might as well be an eternity. He is lost in the dark, no color to be found. Until suddenly there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: ANGST, self deprecation, language

A/N: Hey, if you enjoy this series, please be a doll and vote on what you want my next series to be here. Descriptions of the five options available are there and I want to write what the people want to read. Thank you for all your support!

MASTERLIST

***

George though that making it through May 2nd meant he was home free. He thought he was better, he thought that with Hannah by his side he was unstoppable. He had come to terms with being what you might call friends with Draco fucking Malfoy. He was on top of the world, and he was sure nothing could pull him down.

He was so fucking sure, until the anniversary of Fred’s funeral.

He woke up to an empty bed, Hannah had gone to work early, leaving a draft in her place. The one morning when he was sure he needed her more than anything else, she was gone. He shouldn’t blame her; she didn’t know the day. They had both been so sure that the storm had passed after May 2nd.

With a great effort he rolled over and groaned. He told himself he should get up and go to work, but he couldn’t bear it. His body ached and his heart was heavy. He could imagine the funeral, the number of people that patted him on the shoulder and the pity they had all offered him. He hadn’t wanted any of their pity, he had just wanted his brother back. While he hadn’t shed any tears that day, when they lowered him into the ground his whole world had shattered.

The world was ending all over again.

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t talked to Fred’s painting at the event. He knew it wouldn’t be the same, and he had been a bit distracted by other matters at hand, but that was the problem wasn’t it. He was distracted from his own brother, his best friend, and the one person who had really understood him.

When Ron had first attacked him, he had been indignant, sure that being friends with Malfoy was important to overcoming the prejudices that had been formed long before he was born, but now he wasn’t so sure.

What would Fred think? Would he agree or would he be just as angry as Ron had been? The pit in his stomach sunk lower. Not only that but he was dating a girl, who Malfoy would have wanted to kill little over a year ago. Was Ron, right? Had George pinned the execution notice to her door and led her to the guillotine. He might as well pull the rope too, clap with the crowd while her blood stained the sidewalk.

NO! He would never, he wasn’t, he couldn’t. She had been friends with him first, and she had been fine long before he showed up, amazing even. They had lived together, she had helped him, and he had helped her. If Malfoy had wanted to kill her, he would have done it long before George came along. She was safe, he would protect her before he would ever hurt her.

George allowed himself to relax a little through the sadness, but then sorrow turned to rage as an evil thought wriggled its way into his mind.

Had she loved him? Malfoy said he loved Sloane, but had she just been an accident along the way of a different tragic love story? Malfoy had killed for her, would he do that for someone he didn’t love in return? Had they ever drifted around each other while cleaning up late at night, fingers ghosted as they washed and dried the mugs? Had their eyes met and then had she let him kiss her? His mind drifted further and before he could put a stop to it, he could picture them in bed, rolling around beneath sheets while she made noises that he had once felt lucky enough to hold privately within his memory.

She would have told him.

He sat up, slamming his fist into the wall as he stalked towards the bathroom. He had reinstalled the mirror a few weeks ago, but now it seemed like a foolish idea. Fred was staring back at him, so disappointed George threw up in the sink. Wiping his lips, he returned his gaze to the exhausted looking face in the mirror. If he imagined an ear where the was none and put on a big smile it would have been the same picture they used at the funeral.

“What am I doing?” he muttered but no response came. “Fred, what the fuck am I doing?” he screamed but no response came. He yelled again, slamming his hands against the porcelain of the sink, knuckles turning white as he held it for support. With a sudden thrash of his body he punched the mirror. It shattered and his hand was bleeding, not that he could feel any of the wounds. It was so difficult to notice trivial things like pain when anger was so overpowering.

It felt wrong to be so angry, so lonely and numb when everywhere he turned there was love. He was loved by so many, but when only silence mixed with his heavy breathing, he had never felt more alone. Pain grabbed his heart and squeezed until he found himself sitting on the cold floor of the bathroom, drowning in thoughts that would have seemed impossible the night before. The disappointment Fred would feel, the sound of Malfoy and Hannah interlocked in something he couldn’t understand, and the overwhelming loneliness that seemed to be sitting on his chest.

And that’s where he remained until later that evening when Hannah opened the door. By the time she returned he had rehearsed, and rewritten, and scrapped everything he wanted to say. Fear had accused, but love had sacked the idea. Now all he was left with was anger, about both things that he couldn’t control and things that he was not sure had even happened.

“George?” she called, and he stalked out of the bathroom, fists clenched by his side. She hadn’t seen him yet, her head in the fridge as she put away the few groceries she had picked up after work. He tried to collect his thoughts, to decide what to say before she noticed him, but he wasn’t fast enough. “Oh George, you look awful are you alright? Did something happen at work?”

“Did you ever shag Malfoy?” She flinched away as if he had slapped her, eyes wide at the accusation. He can’t believe those were the words that had managed to push through everything he was feeling. A fleeting thought hours ago, and that’s what he greeted her with.

“Excuse me?” He was going to apologize, but that’s not what he ended up saying.

“You heard me. Did you ever shag Draco fucking Malfoy?”

“No, I never shagged Draco. And I never will shag Draco. Where is this coming from?” she approached him but he jerked away. That seemed to hurt her more than the accusation. “Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not fucking okay.”

“Come here, let me help you,” she pleaded, hand outstretched in front of her. He pushed it away, turning to stare at the wall. “George, please.” She rested her hand against his back, words soft and comforting, and rational George wanted to fall into her arms. Rational George was begging to cry and let her lead him to bed. Rational George fought tooth and nail against what happened next, but angry George easily tossed him to the side as he turned around, malice in his eyes.

“Stop trying to be him,” he yelled but she only looked confused.

“Who?”

“Fred.”

“I’m not trying to be,” she replied, and she wasn’t but that didn’t stop him from laughing maliciously as he advanced, fists by his side.

“You’ll never be as good as him.”

“I’m not trying to be,” she screamed in response, tears streaming down her face.

“You’re just someone to make me feel loved, but you can’t even manage that can you?”

“How can you say that?” she cried, vigorously wiping away tears as she tried to remain strong.

“Because it’s true. You’re never here when I need you, for all I know you’re out with Malfoy, wishing you were Sloane while I’m stuck at home waiting for you.” It was all bullshit, he didn’t believe a word that came out of his mouth, but that didn’t stop him from continuing. “And I’m sick of waiting.”

“What are you saying?” she managed through the tears. Rational George screamed one more time, begging him to apologize but the wrong words were already out of his mouth.

“I’m telling you to get out.” The world stopped, and while it had felt like it was ending earlier that morning, it seemed that was only a ruse. She burst into tears, falling to her knees in front of him. Rational George begged him to hold her, but he only watched stoically. He was so angry at the world that he couldn’t bring himself to fight for her, especially when he was the enemy he was trying to defend her from.

“George-.”

“I said, get out,” he growled and with heavy steps she dragged herself away like a kicked puppy. She glanced over her shoulder one more time as she pulled open the door. A final plea rested on her tongue, but she couldn’t bring herself to beg when he was staring at her so coldly. He had never been so cold, always warmth, but it was hard to remember she had ever felt heat from him when he was staring at her like that. So, instead of begging, instead of crying, instead of refusing to leave she took the dreaded step into the hallway.

“You know where to find me.” And then the door clicked shut. He stared at him, heavy breathing the only thing that filled the room as her sobs slowly disappeared from earshot. Then, the room turned into a rampage.

He flipped the table, allowing the remaining groceries to fly across the room and crumble into small heaps against the wall. Rational George and angry George worked as one as they mourned their loss. He flipped chairs, their legs burying into the drywall before falling to the ground with a clatter.

He swiped dishes from the counter and to the floor, not even bothering to wait for the satisfaction of hearing them shatter against the floor. He ripped a cabinet from the wall and hurled it away. He marched towards the bathroom and ripped the shelf from the wall. Products fell to the floor, shattering upon impact. The nails left holes in the wall, but they paled in comparison to the one his fist left as he screamed.

He marched towards the door. He was going to go after her. He was going to pull her into his arms and beg for forgiveness. He was going to, no force on the earth could stop him, except the wave of self-hatred that washed over him the moment he touched the doorknob.

Why would she want him back?

He had thrown her out without an ounce of remorse, accused her of sleeping with a friend without proof, and told her she would never be enough. No one in their right mind would take him back. If he was her he would never want to see him again.

His hand fell from the door and he fell to his bed, eyes squeezed shut. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes as he lay there, half in bed, half out. He was no better than he had been that morning, sad and wishing that the love of his life was laying beside him.

#george weasley #george weasley angst #george weasley fluff #george weasley smut #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfic #george weasley imagines #george weasley x reader #george weasley x reader smut #george weasley x reader angst #george weasley x reader fluff #george weasley x reader imagine #george weasley x reader imagines #george weasley x reader fanfiction #george weasley x reader fanfic #end of the tunnel

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avversiera-writes · 4 years

Text

you never said goodbye (2/2) // tobirama senju x reader

Summary: in which Tobirama never makes it from his last mission.

Part One

///

You wake up at dawn, and find Tobirama’s eyes on you again, vigilant.

This time, you don’t even question him. You press your body against him and you lean forward to kiss him on the lips. He does not stiffen this time, and instead, he pushes against you until you are lying flat on your back. You meet his intense red eyes, and you feel yourself shiver from anticipation.

He places himself in between your legs, and he leans forward, catching your lips passionately.

This is your favorite Tobirama.

You take his hands and place them over your breasts, and he gives them a firm squeeze.

You are desperate to feel him, to have him before he gives it his all to his village, before he goes on this mission. You two are never keen on goodbyes, having the faith that you will make it back home. This is how you tell him goodbye, because you hated the finality of that word. If it was up to him, he would have said goodbye firmly, and that was that. You told him before that you never want to hear it.

He slides in and out of you, making sure to grind against your walls slowly. Your whimpers become moans, and you hear his quiet grunts–he was always so silent when making love. You glimpse his face, and you find him pleased as you moan in pleasure, driving into you relentlessly until you are writhing beneath him and you let go of everything.

You pant as you come down from your high, then Tobirama throws his sleeping clothes at you.

“Let’s eat,” he orders, as if he is already on the field.

You throw him a smile as you quickly get dressed, and then follow him out of your shared bedroom.

You finish early to prepare him his food rations and a light lunch, then you head to the bathroom to prepare his bath. Usually, the servants in the house would help out, but Tobirama is picky and loves his privacy. He does not want anyone wandering into your spaces.

You wait for him to freshen up by lying on the bed and reading a book. A few moments later, he pads into the bedroom to dress.

You set down your book to watch him dress. “I polished your armor and repaired the kinks that were bothering you.”

Tobirama pauses, his hands stopping to reach for the armor in midair. “Thank you,” he utters gravely.

He places his hand on the surface of his armor.

Back then, he wouldn’t have let you touch a thing of his. Now, it’s become a routine of yours whenever he is about to go on a mission. You reckon it’s probably because he feels bad that he had inevitably forced you out of service.

“I’ll help you put it on,” you say, getting out of your bed, still in his clothes.

He watches you, and then averts his eyes when you get closer. “Alright,” he quietly says.

After getting him all geared up, the two of you walk the streets of the village, heading to the gates where he and his team planned to rendezvous. You grab his hand, but he flinches and pulls away.

You scoff. “Tobi, it’s early as hell. No one’s going to see you get mushy with your wife.”

Tobirama sighs and he takes your hand, but he presses closer to you so that it is hidden from view. You roll your eyes, but instead of saying anything else, you decide to bask in the proximity.

His team arrives right on time, and Tobirama has put a chaste distance between you. You chat with his team for a bit, asking Uchiha Kagami about his new wife, teasing Sarutobi Hiruzen and Shimura Danzo, trading gossip with Koharu. Then, when it is time to say goodbye, you watch them walk away.

You and Tobirama did not need to trade words. His eyes linger on your face, then he nods his goodbye. You watch him go with pride swelling in your chest. You understand him and his stoic ways, but that is who he is.

///

As the Nidaime Hokage’s wife, you try your best to help out your husband. In his absences due to long missions, you are the one who facilitates meetings, organizes what needs to get approval, write notes and dates on what Tobirama needs to attend to when he returns, and even arrange piles of contracts and drafts of treaties. You would do it in a way he would do it himself, because you knew that he would be on your case if it isn’t to his liking.

He usually prefers doing everything on his own, but you had vowed to make him a great Hokage, and with every great Hokage there is a wife who is like their backbone in the job. He grudgingly lets you do so, since there is nothing else you can busy yourself with, and although he would not admit it, your support has made a difference and he is coming home earlier and short of total exhaustion.

You meet with the clan heads’ wives, either in your own home or in their households. This is how you siphon information from each clan to get to your husband without prying. You learn of who is born and who is about to get married, who is about to have a new child, or who is about to go into the Academy. You make mental notes about their slips about their husbands, and lend your advice should they ask it of you.

You also attend a few events where you are invited. Normally, you and Tobirama should be the ones attending, but he is never one to go to a social event unless it is directly connected to his work, so you’re the one who handles this part of his job.

You visit a few establishments that are being built, and you meet with the workers and the shinobis. They make a few requests that you will run through with Tobirama later, and wish them luck on their work.

In the evenings, you go to Hashirama and Mito’s household, either to eat dinner or to gossip with Mito. You meet with Tobirama’s toddler grand-niece, Tsunade, who runs around the compound like she rules the world.

You and Mito drink tea and eat the prepared snacks, exchanging quips about your husbands.

“He told me not to mourn him,” you relay what Tobirama said a few nights ago. “He’s so silly sometimes.”

“He just doesn’t want you to be sad,” Mito chuckles.

“I know,” you say. “But like, can’t he say it in another way? It’s like he’s commanding his troops or something. I’m his wife–not a subordinate. That’s why I stopped running missions.”

Mito laughs and she tells you about Hashirama’s gambling and how Tsunade is picking up on his bad habits. You look at her untouched snack and you realize how hungry you are. You ask for her food, even though you normally would not eat other people’s plates. You have been hungry a lot for the past several weeks.

The next day, you are in his office and you stare at the empty desk where the Hokage should be the one occupying. Tobirama’s desk is quickly piling up with documents, and some of it is delegated to the floor.

When you come home, the smell of cooking meat in the streets makes you nauseous, and when you pause to stare longingly at Tobirama’s face on the mountain, you throw up in the nearest trash can, much to your chagrin. You are exhausted like you have been running for miles, but you push through it. You couldn’t keep anything down and whatever food comes your way makes you want to throw up, so you opt for a bland porridge.

///

You snap awake from your sleep, feeling something in your own body break in half. You are not sure what it is, but it does not let you go back to sleep. You end up pacing around in the house like a ghost, and you had started shaking from the feeling.

Something is wrong. You are absolutely sure and the feeling frightens you.

You did not want to wake up a servant so you make yourself tea to calm yourself down, but you give up as you almost scalded yourself from inattentiveness.

You hate being like this.

The nervous energy in your body makes you throw up, and when dawn arrives, you are wary. You try to keep down the food that the servants had given you to munch on, but there is only so much you can tolerate.

A few hours later, Sarutobi Hiruzen arrives, alone and rugged, like he hasn’t slept for days and has just come home.

One look on his face, and you knew what he would say before he even gave voice to it.

You fall to your knees, and Hiruzen comes forward to catch you.

“Where is his body?” You whisper hoarsely.

Hiruzen presses his lips together, his eyes dark. “My lady, I don’t think you should see his body at the moment.”

“Please. He’s my husband,” you croak out. Tears prickle your eyes, and your vision becomes blurred.

You try not to break down crying

“H-how did he die?”

Hiruzen looks stricken. “He…sacrificed himself, made himself a decoy. He fought well.”

“That…self-sacrificing bastard,” you murmur. You knew something like this would happen, that he will put his life on the line for the village and its people, and it is something you love him for, but it still hurts.

“I am sorry, my lady.”

“You’re his successor, yes?” You’ve had these talks for a while, that should this even happen, he is planning to make Hiruzen the Sandaime.

Hiruzen clears his throat, not expecting this question. “Yes.”

Do not mourn me.

“What of the rest of his team?”

“We are alive, thanks to him. We were surrounded by enemy shinobi from Kumo.”

You try to smile but it comes out as a grimace. Such is a life for a shinobi. To die in the battlefield is an honor.

“My lady,” Hiruzen starts, hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“He told me to tell you that he is both thankful and sorry.”

You smile ruefully, despite the grief overtaking your heart.

Do not mourn me, Tobirama had said, but when you were flitting between consciousness and the land of your dreams, he had whispered the most important words that he couldn’t say to you.

You had already known.

END.

#tobirama x reader #tobirama x you #naruto #naruto shippuden #angst #mild n/s/f/w #tobirama senju #my works #my stuff #angelica writes

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bangtancentricsblog · 3 years

Text

jhs/qw: 1

↳ with a war on the horizon, there is only one person who could take the throne when it all came to an end

❒ pairing: jung hoseok x reader

❒ genre: Angst(?) tbh idk

❒ alternative universe: historical, mythology,

❒ rating: PG 15

❒ word count: 3.3k+

warnings/disclosures: rebellions, it’s really more MC x bts than Hoseok but it has the potential to lead to mc x hoseok, greek gods because that is my thing, nothing bad, just some talks of death, nothing graphic i swear

main ml • AO3

The streets are dimly lit, shadows obscuring the tracks that the small group of armed soldiers have left. The air is damp, no doubt the scent of the oncoming rain, but the quiet of the night isn't all that's off putting as one would usually assume when it came to the Kingdom of Dionysia. There are no terrifying screams or wailing moans of the sick and injured, rumors of the rebellion grow louder the longer the royal family does nothing. Though this little band of men know that the rumors are not rumors at all, for they have done much work under the cover of shadows. The group turns a sharp corner leading them to an unmarked door, one that towers over the rest, an information guild, or at least an illegal one according to their sources. They knock their fist against the aged wood, a code to let them know they are friends looking for information or merely a place to rest for the night.

The door swings open slowly an eerie creak accompanies it, on the inside stands a burly man, tough looking but young. His features are pinched as his gaze rakes over the group, even the sole hooded figure among them, especially them for they have hidden their face from his sight. He grunts shooting a look to the side and no sooner is a new man standing before them. His build is different, he’s taller, leaner perhaps, packed with much less muscles but still looks just as strong, not as rugged but strong nonetheless. His gaze is trained on the hooded figure, eyes squinted in the little light provided by the candles. He can make out no features only knows that they are of much smaller build than any of the others in their party.

“The rest of you can come in, but they can’t.” he says with a furrow to his brow.

“They are one of us, we can vouch for them.”

“I don't know them, how can I trust your word.”

“You just can, their identity isn't important right now.”

“Reveal yourself, or leave.” He mutters narrowing his gaze on the hooded figure. The group seem unwilling to leave but it is out of their hands on whether they should reveal the identity of their companion. The man in the door gasps at the sight, beautiful ringlets of hair cascade down their back as the hood comes off, their eyes twinkling in the candlelight. He’s quick to bow his head, in shame or in fear he’s not sure because before him stands the crown princess.

“There’s no need to bow your head, I understand your hesitance, but don’t worry I am not your enemy.”

“I should be punished for my insolence, your highness should not be in a place like this.” He says head still bowed.

“Raise your head, I know you are still wary of my presence but if you will allow it, I shall prove to you that I come only to offer my help.” you smile placing a tentative hand on his shoulder watching as he rises to his full height, he towers over you almost like the titans of old. He says nothing more, instead meeting the gaze of your Major who stands too close for it to be proper.

“C’mon Johnny we have more pressing matters to attend to.” Yoongi says shoulder checking him not unkindly, more playful than anything in the way that men do. He steps aside following the older man further into the building as do the rest of your party. Johnny leads you all to a room in the back, one hidden with a small incantation that both shocks you and soothes you. He must be of elven descent you think following them through the door and finding a room filled with maps of the kingdom Dionysia, it’s split into four sections the North, East, South and West, red chalk has marked areas that have already joined the rebellion. Black chalk circles areas that have yet to be touched that much is obvious at least to you. In the center of it all is the largest map wooden figures sit in many places, most of them are located in the West and South. The East for the most part remains untouched by said wooden figures, a troubling idea for you and the rest of your party as you gather around the table.

“Our men have already taken the western and southern ports, just as you instructed Major Min. The merchants were eager to join our efforts to usurp the king. The North is proving to be the most difficult as the imperialist faction holds more influence in the area surrounding the capital.”

“And the East, what of their ports?” you ask, bringing the attention to you. You can feel the reluctance of the men who stand before you, truly you understand but there is one thing they have yet to understand.

“We have yet to send anyone.” a new man speaks up. His face betrays no emotion, but it’s one you recognize easily. A smirk tilts one side of your lips as you gaze back at him.

“Thank you Lieutenant Kim, it has been a long time has it not?”

“It certainly has, Commander, or would you rather I call you princess?” he says his own lips twitching up in a playful smile, one you relish in just the slightest. The room has gone quiet after your exchange, many of the unknown faces scream shock at the simple revelation. By now you have grown accustomed to such a reaction, for most men would liken you to a fragile bird who should be kept in it’s gilded cage only to be sold to the highest bidder.

“I think it’s about time I formally introduce myself.” you sigh, shooting Taehyung a glare before finally removing your cloak. They are surprised to see that you are not dressed in lace and silk, as one would assume a princess should be, no, you wear the colors of the rebellion. The knight uniform you wear is the same black trousers, and white shirt but the coat which once was black and red has now become white and a soft blue with gold embellishments.

“I am______, first princess of Dionysia, Commander and orchestrator of the rebellion, pleased to make your acquaintance.” you breathe bending at the waist in a bow. Surprisingly the rest of the meeting goes smoothly as you plan your next move.

The capital is in mourning some time after you visited the information guild. News of the princesses' untimely death has spread far and wide, the king has made it so that people believe it was the work of the rebellion. An attack on a royal carriage, one that took her life, the tale is well crafted you must say, on both parts. The rebels have played their part well, the king had taken the bait as you had said he would, and you were finally free of his reach, a pawn that no longer sat on his board. Now came the hardest part, the war really was looming on the horizon, your party has grown, and you have all taken refuge in the forest, setting up a camp far away from the capital. Your little group has grown vastly as there are more than 50 knights, healers and even priests helping to aid you in the fight for a new reign.

Currently you are in the main tent, the one used to talk strategy the one only higher ranked knights can enter and a few selected others. There aren’t many in the tent, only yourself, Major Min, Captain Park and a knight you have come to know as Yeonjun. Yeonjun is your shadow and apprentice, he’d once been a mercenary for hire but had joined the rebels when your small group passed through his hometown. His skills are more than ideal, in fact he is naturally gifted so much so you hardly have anything to teach him, yet he insists on learning from you. As it is your efforts in destroying the current ruling monarchy is going smoothly, you aren’t afraid of the imperialist faction, not by a long shot but there is something foreboding about their lack of movement in the last month.

“Yeonjun, take a small squad with you and travel to the capital, we need to know what the nobles are plotting.” you say as you stand over the map, something swirls in the pit of your stomach, something unpleasant. It seems that the time has finally come.

“As you wish, Commander.” he says with a bow exiting the tent, leaving you with Jimin and Yoongi.

“Major Min, I need you to travel to the East, take only the best men. I trust you to standby and await further instructions once you arrive.”

“If I may ask Commancer, what am I looking for?”

“There is someone in the east who you must protect, no matter the cost. Prepare for the ride, come here once you are ready to depart.” He bows leaving you alone with Jimin.

“Captain Park, send word to our men in the south and west, have them slowly cease all shipments of goods to the capital.”

“But Commander what about the commoners, they will starve.” he asks his tone filled with hesitation.

“Make sure all the commoners get their food rations, and carefully evacuate them to the hidden estate that resides in the north-west.”

“I shall do as you say Commander.” he says before turning to leave.

You take a seat after he’s gone, quickly scribbling down the name and location of the person Yoongi will be protecting. The unpleasant feeling from moments ago has yet to subside, it really is unsettling the longer it persists. It settles just the slightest, as Yoongi returns, the stoic look he usually carries is replaced with something softer.

“We are ready to depart, Commander.”

“I can see that, eager are we Major?” you tease playfully.

“Eager to carry out my task and quickly return to your side.” he says, and there’s this soft twinkle in his eyes. You recognize the emotion easily despite not having experienced it yourself, you know that he’s in love with you.

“I pray the goddess grants you safe travels.” your gaze is guarded, as if to keep him out.

“I will return to you safely Commander. I swear it, I will come back to you.” he takes a step forward, he’s standing too close but you don't mind. You cup his cheeks, smiling softly watching the slow blush color his cheeks. He looks almost bashful like this, it’s endearing.

“Save those feelings, for I am not worthy.” you whisper.

“You are.”

“No, keep them safe. Something so precious shouldn’t be wasted on me, one day you will find someone who will feel for you what you think you feel for me but it will be pure.” the words you speak sound cryptic to his ears but he will take them if that is what you wish. If you wish to push his confession away then so be it, but he will not find someone else like you.

“I will await your orders Commander, may the goddess bless you.” he says before leaving the tent. You offer a smile at his back, you know he will meet his one in the east, for the east holds many changes. Jimin announces his entrance, taking note of the way your skin has lost some of its color in the time he has been absent.

“Are you feeling well?” he asks, his concern evident in his tone the longer he stares watching your skin lose more of its color. You offer him a smile, one that doesn’t settle his being, you wave him off saying it’s fatigue and that you’ll be taking your leave. You ask him to call for Seokjin and direct him to your tent, you leave him in the tent alone hoping that he does as you asked.

Seokjin is bursting through your tent, gaze falling to your form easily as you stand near the desk in the back. You don’t look too good, your skin has lost much of its color, he can see the faint sheen of sweat that clings to your hairline. Something is wrong, so terribly wrong but he’s not sure what it could be.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks, he watches intently as you open your mouth only to spit up blood. Your knees wobble and you're soon hurtling towards the ground, luckily Seokjin is quick to break your fall. His gaze has grown wide watching as you continue to cough up blood, it stains your hands and your shirt. There’s a water bowl sitting on a table beside your bed as he sits you down dunking the cloth that sits beside it in the bowl and cleaning your face and hands. The shirt you wear is ruined, but he supposes he can get you a clean one. He waits till you’ve cleaned up and changed clothes to ask.

“Have you been taking your medicine? Your symptoms shouldn’t be this severe with the medicine i’ve given you.” he says taking your pulse.

“They hinder my abilities.”

“So what? Do you want to die?”

“I need to be able to use my abilities to their full capacity, especially if we expect to win the oncoming war.”

“And we will, we have neighboring kingdoms support. The knights are loyal and will follow you onto the battlefield. There is the small matter of the man you are hiding in the east. So please take your medicine, our efforts will be for naught if you leave us before your time.”

“My dear friend, it seems you have yet to understand. This vessel is deteriorating, and I’m afraid my end will come sooner than we’d like.”

“What do you mean by vessel, is your body not your own?”

“Do you know the story of how our kingdom came to be?” You ask and the way you speak has always confused Seokjin, it’s almost like a riddle, it’s something that has persisted throughout your life. A trait he cannot say he’s fond of.

“Of course, but that is more fairytale than history.” He answers.

“As the story goes, the goddess Hera allowed for the twin prince and princess to reign over this land if and only if they could conquer it together. Prince Ares, god of War and princess Eris, goddess of Strife were surely set up to fail as their mother did not want to part with them. So she watched over them in wonder as slowly but surely they conquered all, winning the wars that had plagued this land for far too long and so when the final war was won she had no choice but to allow them to rule over the kingdom they had forged and fought for themselves. Loyal followers were given titles of nobility, Ares became king and Eris queen regent until Ares finally took a wife. They ruled together for many years following their victory, until Ares finally married, and Eris just vanished, as if she had never been there at all.”

“That is how it has always been, which is why no one thinks it’s history.”

“But it wasn’t, there is more, in the palace there is a book that tells the full tale. Eris, happy for her brother, did not mind the lack of authority she would hold but Ares would not have it, for she had been the most crucial part in forging this great kingdom. So in return for her years of service gifted her a title of nobility on par with that of the king. She became the sole Arch Duchess of Dionysia, with a vast amount of land in the north west that would be her duchy.”

“We don’t have an Arch Dutchy, at least not one that I know of.”

“Not anymore, I removed all traces of the land and title. Eris became Arch Duchess, and while Ares sired an abundance of children, Eris fell in love with an oracle. She gave birth to a single child, one that gained the power of their father. For many years after, Eris' true descendants gained the power of the oracle, a power that was kept secret hidden from that of the Kings that came after Ares. Like Eris, the children of Ares’ line gained his power, a sign of their divine right to rule, another legend no one truly believes, but one that very much still exists.” you sigh heavily, the air wheezes out of your being and it troubles Seokjin. He’s never seen you look so fragile, not for years.

“Unfortunately, my mother couldn't avoid the gaze of the king. She wed him, knowing she possessed the power of the oracle, and the king remained none the wiser. He only thought he’d married himself a beautiful concubine. The power of Ares never manifested in the king, the same goes for the crown prince, neither of them showed any signs of being worthy to hold Ares’ power. The truth is the king isn’t my father.”

“That cannot be.” Jin gasps at the simple way you’ve uttered such a thing. He’d known of the rumors, the whole kingdom knew, idle gossip spread by the noble women. He never believed them, no one had since your mother had only spent her time in her home and in the palace.

“It is, my mother was already with child when she married the king. There was a man she had loved, one she’d left behind to keep her family safe. Unfortunately the king still destroyed her family, virtually erasing it’s once long and noble bloodline. The line of Eris will end with me, but not before I put the true king on the throne.”

“What are you saying?”

“I hold the power of the oracle, and Eris, but none of those are the reason for my deteriorating body. I may not be the daughter of the current royal bloodline, but the king’s brother, a man he would have me call uncle, was my father. The power of Ares did not manifest in the king and the crown prince because I already held that as well.” Your skin has warmed significantly. It's almost too warm, Jin is growing more and more worried the longer you go without being treated.

“We should treat you, we still need you commander.” he says, tightening his grip on your hands.

“I won’t leave you yet, the goddess awaits me once I cross the threshold, but not yet, my time hasn’t come we still need him.” you whisper slumping forward into his hold, the fever you run is too high he’s afraid that they’ll lose you. He’s begun to chant quietly over you in the hopes to help alleviate the pain if only for a bit. The war is yet to be over and he doesn't know what will come if they were to lose you so soon.

Yoongi arrived in the east four days after his departure, the village is small, smaller than even his own before he’d become a knight. He sees no sign of anyone matching the description you had given him, and for once he thinks you might’ve been wrong. It would be the first, though he’s not sure what to make of it if you are. Still he sends the other knights to search for this person, he clicks his tongue directing his horse towards the meadow he sees. He thinks of the description written in your pretty penmanship, golden skin kissed by the sun god Helios himself, dark hair gifted to him by Erebus, blessed with beauty by Aphrodite, strength like that of Hercules, he goes by the name of Hoseok.

In the field he came upon a man, one whose description matched that of the one you’d given and yet there was something that you’d left out. Something much more terrifying than anything he had encountered in all his life. For as Yoongi gazed upon the man named Hoseok only one word came to mind, one that had been buried deep in a fairytale but one he knew on a personal level, for he was just like you, this man was a “Demigod.”

tagging @boymeetsweevil because I’ve been teasing her with this since February 🤭 this one is for you bb🤪

#bangtanedu #heartsforbtsnet #bangtanarmynet #mine #emm writes #an emm writes production #jung hoseok x reader #emms hoseok content #mine writings #alternative universe: royalty #alternative universe: mythology #quick writes

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squishneedsahero · 3 years

Text

Growing Apart

Lost to Time | Part 2

Word Count: 2121

Summary:

The story of an original character, Allison Bennett. Growing up black in the short period between the world wars wasn't easy but Allison had friends who stuck with her no matter what. She was ambitious and had a million things she wanted to achieve in her lifetime and would try only to be told by the world that due to who she was it wasn't possible and she'd never live up to her dreams.

It had been 8 months since Allison had left from Brooklyn. She hadn't written or heard from her two friends back home. She was busy with her job being one of the few black nurses at the hospital camp she had been assigned too and many women despite it being a time of war wouldn't work with the black soldiers. At least that was what Allison told herself when she thought about the fact that she hadn't even tried to write her friends. She told herself that they must also be busy with stuff back in Brooklyn and that's why they hadn't written her.

Her not writing them didn't have anything to do with how she had left things with Bucky. How he had kissed her and she had run, scared of the feelings and how the world would see them. Them not writing her had nothing do do with that either she told herself. Bucky hadn't told Steve of her rejection and now the people she was closest to in the world didn't ever want to speak to her again.

Luckily Allison is busy through the day, keeping these thoughts from her mind as she worked. This unfortunately left them as one of the few things on her mind as she fell asleep, on the nights when she wasn't lucky and tired out so completely that she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

All too soon yet another day began and she arose to dress herself in her uniform before going to get breakfast. When she entered the cafeteria the other women were gathered in different groups, which was normal, but they all seemed to be talking more than usual. She stopped, once she had gotten the little bit of food she was rationed, and stood with a group of women about her age and joined their conversation.

The women pause for a moment before continuing on in their quiet conversation. According to them a few women had received their first letters in months the evening previous, alongside these letters came news papers from the states. There was a new hero raising hope among the Americans, a tall broad shouldered blond man named Captain America.

Allison caught a glimpse of a picture on the front page of one of the papers, it had a black and white photo of a man in a uniform. The uniform wasn't a typical one most soldiers would wear. A hood partially covered his face but from what Allison saw the man was handsome in every sense of the word. She didn't dwell on thoughts of the man for long, quickly moving on to her tasks for the day.

All too soon another year had passed and Allison still had yet to hear anything from her friends. At this point thoughts of them had stopped bothering her through the night, but as she helped the injured men each day she couldn't help but have fleeting thoughts of the two men she cared for very much.

At this point some of the craze around Captain America had settled but on the occasion their camp received a newspaper the women were all quick to look and find any pictures or stories of him. Just this last time they had received a paper they had learned that he had moved from touring the United States to actually helping the war effort by fighting the enemy with a group of other men.

The Howling Commandos, as Captain America's group had been named, had been making great progress in the war efforts. They were heading the fight against Hitler's lead science division, Hydra. They were keeping them from inventing any new weapons to use against the Allies which would turn the tide of the war.

More years passed and Allison was transferred many times around England to different encampments to aid the war effort. Sooner than later the war was over, the Allies had won the fight.

All too soon Allison finds herself back home in Brooklyn, moving back into her apartment and finding a job at a diner. There are a few letters waiting for her when she arrived home, the letters were more recent, which was why she hadn't received them in Europe.

After she set her things down she went and picked up the letters from the floor just inside her door. She looked at them and read the names of who had sent them. She only recognized one name, one of the letters being sent a month before by Steve.

The letter read: "Dear Allison, I hope everything is well with you. I know it has been a while since we last saw each other, but I wanted to let you know Bucky and I are doing well. Being Captain America and leading the howling commandos has been a lot of work but it's like a dream come true for me. I'm finally able to help people the way I always wanted too growing up. Having Bucky by my side has been amazing, he's as great as he has always been. I should get going, we are about to leave to catch a train but I wanted to write you. Hopefully this war will be over soon and the three of us will be back together in Brooklyn soon. Much love, Steve Rogers."

As she reached the second paragraph Allison had nearly dropped the paper. The entire war she had been reading stories of her friends without even realizing. They were heroes and she had spent four years thinking they had forgotten about her as soon as she left.

After she has taken some time to absorb this news Allison turns her attention to the other two letters in her hand. They had both been typed and as she saw that she felt a wrench in her gut. She had seen envelopes like these clutched in the hands of crying women many times.

She slowly gets herself to open the envelopes, dreading what was to come. As she reads the first lines she joins the millions of women who had shed tears at the words, "my condolences," as she learned of the death of Bucky and that Steve had gone down with a plane and was missing in action.

Just like that, in the space of less than an hour she had learned the two people she thought she had left were heroes and in fact hadn't forgotten her, being just as if not more busy than she had been. And she had also learned she'd lost her two best friends.

In the moment she doesn't find any solace in the words that made the two letters different, killed in action and missing in action. Allison finds herself mourning her two friends and cries herself to sleep that night. How could she have been so dumb as to have left things off the way she had with Bucky? Why did she let her confused feelings prevent her from reaching out to either of them for four years. Now they were both gone in an instant and she had no way to make amends.

After that she throws herself into her work, not taking any time for dating or herself. She would work as many hours as she could only to then wake the next day and do it again. It's weeks before her higher up notices how tired Allison is and sends her home early for the day. It was when she hadn't heard a customer call to her by name multiple times asking for a refill of his coffee that the older woman and had really noticed something to be wrong.

Allison found herself at home during the day with nothing to occupy her mind for the first time in years, possibly the first time in her life. The time she had missed by not mourning her father by focusing instead on leaving for England was catching up to her. All of her pain was hitting her all at once. She had lost everyone she had left in less than the space of 5 years and hadn't processed any of her grief properly.

It's as she sits on the edge of her bed that she notices the three letters still sitting where she had left them on her bedside table. She reaches over to pick them up, wanting to burn the two which had brought all this pain. As she holds them in her hands she rereads them for the first time since receiving them.

It's during this reread that she notices the difference in the wording. Her grief stricken mind latches onto that difference, the possibility that Steve was still out there somewhere just lost and waiting to be found. For the first time in years she gets out that old notebook she'd carried around as a child. She hadn't filled it, but she had kept it to remember how she had met her two friends. But now she had a reason to write in it more.

Allison carefully pasted the letter from Steve along with the two from the government into the book. Once she had done so she got up and left the house. She started walking not sure where her feet were taking her but willing to go. It wasn't long before she arrived in a library, she quickly found her way to the section with maps.

For the first time since the war had started in the US she found herself with her head buried in a book. She began searching maps, collecting news articles and finding any information she could about the whereabouts of her friend. If Steve was still out there she would find him.

As she read and researched she came across tons of information about Steve Rogers and his childhood friend James "Bucky" Barnes. There were stories upon stories of their childhood and the adventures the two had shared. But in these stories there wasn't a single mention of her. Sure there were mentions of an Allison here and there in the stories, but this girl wasn't her. The Allison portrayed in the stories was a blonde haired damsel, dumb and always causing drama for the two boys whenever she came up. As nothing more than a potential love interest this Allison had essentially wiped their real friend Allison from everyone's memories.

Despite being forgotten by the world Allison spent years of her life working to save money for a trip as she studied to figure out where exactly she wanted to travel too. Her research on Steve and his time in the military eventually lead to her needing to learn more about the super soldier serum. She needed to find out if there was even a possibility of him being alive after this long.

This research lead her back to her interest in the medical field. She'd always had a passion for that even before she had left to be a nurse. Eventually Allison began experiments with different solutions, trying to find out if her friend could still be out there just needing to be rescued.

This is all she does, she has her head stuck in a book and when it isn't it's when she is waitressing. She doesn't have a life outside of her research, spending all her time stuck on this single thread of hope she still had someone out there who cared for her.

One night as she is lying in her bed, attempting to get some sleep a new idea comes to her mind. An idea she hasn't tried. She remembers having the thought before but hadn't been desperate enough to pursue it as it seemed absurd. There was no way it could be the answer but she found herself out of bed again and in her night dress she began trying this thing that felt like the last hope she had left.

She does the math, puts the formulas together and figures out what she needs for this final experiment. She has the items at home already and knows that she won't be able to sleep until she tries. She gets the stuff together and begins mixing the different chemicals.

As she prepares to add the final ingredient she clutches her notebook in her hand. It's become a lucky charm for her at this point. She takes it to work with her, in case she need to write down a new idea, she doesn't go anywhere without it. She keeps it close to her as she adds the final ingredient to the mixture and the room is illuminated with a bright flash of light and Allison falls to the floor, her notebook still in her hands.

#tfaws #tfaws imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier #bucky barnes #steve x bucky #bucky barnes x oc #Bucky #bucky fluff #james buchanan barnes #sam wilson #sam x bucky #steve x sam #sam wilson x oc #captain america #john walker #catws #cacw #catfa #sebastian stan

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exhaustedfander · 4 years

Text

Drown Me If You Must

A word of warning: This one’s incredibly sad. There is major angst in this one, and the ending can be viewed as suicide, though it’s up for interpreation.

This oneshot is a rewrite of an original short story I wrote a while back. Originally, the married couple are lesbians and the ocean is personified as a man, but sense it’s moceit, that gets flipped around the ocean’s personified as a woman. This is sad, but I’d love to hear what you think.

Word Count: 1,916

a03 link

He stared out an open window, the setting sun casting a warm glow over the sea. He watched the water, the foamy waves lapping at the ankles of the last beachgoers of the day as seagulls scoured the beach for crumbs. It was a pleasant, picturesque view, one that most people would tend to enjoy.

Janus didn’t.

Years ago, the sea took something from him. Something irreplaceable. No, she didn’t take him, people told Janus. It was an accident. A tragedy that could’ve happened to anyone. But Janus knew better. The ocean, for whatever reason, had a burning desire to take away the man that he loved more than anything else in the world, carrying out irreversible cruelty.

Maybe, Janus thought to himself sometimes when he was alone and the house was too quiet, the sea saw how wonderful Patton was and selfishly wanted him for herself. Or maybe he was always hers. Janus had watched the capture, had seen from this very window the beast that she truly was open her gaping maw and swallow his lover whole.

Janus had warned Patton about a million times not to go out that night.

“It’s dangerous,” he’d cautioned nervously, “What if something was to happen? There wouldn’t be anyone to help you.” Janus was by no means a nervous person, but for Patton’s safety, he was always cautious.

“I’ll be extra careful,” Patton promised, “I always am.”

“Be that as it may,” Janus said, eternally weak to the gleam in his husband’s eyes, “I don’t think it’s a good idea. You could get hurt. It’s risky…” Patton grinned, wrapping his arms around Janus and pressed his lips to Janus’s ear in a caressing whisper.

“I live for danger.”

This was a blatant lie, so much so, Janus couldn’t stop himself from laughing. Patton was by no means a daredevil. He didn’t enjoy the more dangerous activities life had to offer, instead enjoying tending to potted plants and baking an array of pastel frosted pastries. He worked as a kindergarten teacher who volunteered at the local Animal Shelter on the weekends. He apologized when he bumped into objects and insisted on petting every cat near to him, despite his allergy. Patton was about the least risk-seeking person Janus knew.

But he loved night swimming. Patton adored the ocean and everything about it, swimming in the evening a “wonderfully calming experience,” as he once explained it, but Janus couldn’t understand it. Why was Patton so compelled to put himself in such a situation, at the mercy of the current? What was calm relaxation for Patton petrified his husband.

Janus was terrified of the water and had been since he was young. Swimming in general, especially in the ocean, frightened him so much so that he struggled to stomach the thought of so much as attempting. It’s ironic to think that he moved to a house right by the sea, but he’d done it for Patton.

His husband made him deliriously happy, he had since the day they met. Janus was not a glass half full kind of person. He liked to think he looked at things as rationally as possible, always keen to look out for himself. He’d grown up in a family where it was every man for himself, being provided very little in the ways of affection. Janus had to be tough and watch his own back because as far as he was concerned, no one else was going to do so.

And then he’d met Patton. Bubbly, pun-loving, affectionate Patton, and all semblance of what he was convinced he was destined to be shattered into a million pieces. Janus didn’t think it was possible for him to fall for someone, to give into such intense, emotional feelings. It was dangerous to let his guard down, even a little bit, and yet Patton saw through his hardened exterior with ease. He saw the person Janus was inside, the person he hadn’t been allowed to be for so long, and for the first time in his life, Janus felt nothing but love.

So he moved there for him, so Patton could always be close to the sea.

“Oh you certainly live for danger,” Janus said sarcastically, finding it impossible to smother his smile, despite his nerves. “Do you promise you’ll be cautious?”

“Absealutely,” Patton said with a grin, earning a half-hearted groan from his husband, “I promise, Janny.”

“Okay,” Janus said with a sigh, trusting that things would work out, just as they always had. What a mistake that had been.

Of course, Janus had run down the beach, barefoot and screaming the name of the man who had stolen his heart as he watched him disappear under the waves. Of course, he had screamed for help, for someone, anyone who could rescue his husband. And of course, it was far too late. Patton was already gone, the sea stealing him away.

Maybe it was ignorant to continue living in that house, watching the very thing that had taken his love away day in and day out, but Janus couldn’t leave. He was bound to this place, no matter how sick with grief it made him. “What if Patton comes back? He won’t know where to find me.” The belief that somehow, in some form, Patton would be back with him someday had remained in his mind every day since the capture.

It had been five long years since that night. Janus cut ties with the few other people he’d been close with, unequipped to deal with their false sympathy any longer. Even Remus, someone who Janus had considered his closest friend had given up after a few years. Janus didn’t make any effort to maintain the relationship; what was the point?

Loneliness commanded his fragile heart most days, leaving Janus in an ever-present state of mourning. The house, after all this time, had remained relatively the same. Every photograph that was hung up was still there, all of Patton’s things still neat on the shelves. Janus hadn’t bothered to change any of the furniture around, either. The only thing that was strikingly different from that house that was once a home was the absence of Patton.

The breaking point came on a particularly cold, lonesome night. Janus hadn’t slept well in years; being awake late was nothing new. He tossed and turned sleeplessly, desperate for the rest he’d sought for out for too long.

It occurred to her suddenly, realization washing over him like the unrelenting crashing of waves. It didn’t matter how long time stretched on or how desperate he was to wipe Patton from his memory. The gaping hole in his chest where a heart once beat would remain empty without his husband by his side.

The epiphany set him into motion.

He rose slowly from the bed, pushing the blankets off and standing up uneasily. The wood floor groaned beneath his feet as he walked out of his bedroom, the house so dark he could barely see. He didn’t bother to turn on a light.

Janus wandered through the house, head thick with fog, and stopped just short of walking out the front door. Janus hesitated for the briefest moment, his hand grazing the door handle before he took a deep sure, deep breath and opened it, stepping out into the night.

The sand was cool under Janus’s bare feet, ivory moonbeams illuminating the waves. The smell of sea salt hung in his nostrils and suddenly, he’s back to that night, Patton’s echoed screams replaying again and again. Panic buzzed through Janus’s body, all instincts telling him to go back inside, crawl under the covers and pretend tomorrow would be better. He let a sigh roll past his lips, toes curling in the sand as he stared determinedly at the rolling waves.

No. He couldn’t turn back. Not now.

He plodded slowly down the beach until freezing foamy water was grazing over his feet. Janus felt his fear crippling him, weighing him down like a stone tossed into the water but he stood tall regardless, rebelling against the sinking feeling. He’d do this for his husband.

Janus stood still for a moment, feet soaking in the biting water before shouting in the loudest, most accusing voice he can muster: “You!”

The waves, as if paused by some god above, ceased their crashing the water stilled. All was quiet.

“You took something from me. Something irreplaceable!” He shouted despite the fear bubbling in the pit of his stomach and the shivers that racked his body. It didn’t matter that Janus was as terrified as he had been that night. He’d get his husband back one way or another, in this world or the next.

Janus swallowed down whatever remaining hesitations and continued, his voice quavering with grief.

“And now I want him back. I’m not afraid of you, not anymore.” Janus had always had a talent for deception. It wasn’t something he used against his husband, and he was calculated with his implementing of falsehoods, but it was a tool he found to be useful. The same was no less true now; terror coursing through his veins. Even so, he relieved the sentiment with such courage even the likes of the sea herself might believe him. Still, the water remained unmoved.

“I don’t care what you do to me.” Tears tumbled down Janus’s cheeks and there was a deep, haunting sorrow to the way he spoke, “You can kill me if you’d like. No one will believe it, regardless. It’ll be another ‘tragic accident’.” Janus slumped to his knees, teardrops dripping into the water as granules of sand stuck to his skin. This is how it was meant to go; Janus knew that now. “Drown me, if you must. I just want to see him again. I just want my husband back.”

The haunting quiet that had drifted through the last several minutes shattered as the tide was quickly sucked in from under Janus, sweeping him deeper into the water. Janus didn’t struggle, didn’t fight it, instead going limp.

He allowed the current to carry him far enough to a point he was no longer able to stand, beginning to flounder as the waves crest not far off. The sound was more peaceful than anything he’d ever heard and the impending sense of dread he’d expected never came. A final exasperated smile graced his face as a wave of considerable size and power swept him under, showing no mercy as she drove him down and Janus’s lungs filled with water.

The moon illuminated the otherwise black sea that Janus descended into. Years ago, a death such as this was Janus’s greatest fear, but now all it brought on was calm and peace. Finally, peace. Janus closed his eyes, letting go as he thought of finally seeing Patton again, a vision of his smile warming Janus’s frozen body as everything faded to black.

Maybe he was the one who the sea had claimed, the one destined to be taken, not Patton. Maybe it was both of them, two prisoners for the price of one. Or perhaps Janus was just a man so sick with the loss of his husband that he did what was necessary to finally see him again. Regardless, Janus found the peace he was searching for, a beauty that far outshined a sunset out an open window that captured a scene he was too tormented by to live with any longer.

=+=

Taglist:

@nadiestar, @unoriginalgayboyalex, @maryann-draws, @bella-in-a-bag, @igonnatalknothing, @elizabutgayer, @wishthefish916

Let me know if you wanna be added to my general taglist! I’d be happy to add folks.

#moceit #romantic moceit #human au #sanders sides #angst #heavy angst #major character death #fairly unhappy ending #can be looked at as a sooorta happier ending depending on how you look at it #I'm sorry y'all this one's sad #I feel like I'm committing a sin of some kind writing angst of these two #considering how much I love them #but whatcha gonna do #there's a liiitle bit of fluff tho #tiny bit #exhaustedfander writes #exhaustedfander

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justkindaoverhereobsessing · 4 years

Text

help me gather mine

Restless and worried in the wee hours of the morning, Tony leaves home to clear his head and finds himself in a synagogue for the second time this week. {missing scene from 10x12 "Shiva" shortly after the death of Ziva's father}

Friend drabble project, this one for my babe @benditlikepress, who is a fantastic supporter and a wonderful friend. <3

Can also be read on ff or AO3

____________________

“A fine glass vase goes from treasure to trash, the moment it is broken. Fortunately, something else happens to you and me. Pick up your pieces. Then, help me gather mine.”

— Vera Nazarian, The Perpetual Calendar of Inspiration

____________________

Tony closes the bedroom door behind him and returns to his makeshift bed on the floor outside the kitchen, tired and feeling heavy with borrowed grief. It comes as no surprise that Ziva dismissed him rather than choosing to talk about her feelings, but something about the way she looked before that, right when she woke up…

Well, it has Tony feeling unsettled.

He doesn’t go to sleep once he settles back onto the loaned inflatable mattress; his mind is too busy to relax, instead repeatedly mulling over possibilities and worries, stressing over solutions to problems that haven’t yet been made entirely clear.

He needs to empty his head, get some clarity.

He texts Abby after another fifteen minutes of tossing and turning, and despite the late hour, he gets a quick reply… clearly, Tony is not the only team member still awake and worrying, and Abby agrees to his request without question.

He rises from the blow-up mattress and pulls on a coat over the sweats he wore to bed, then tugs on his running shoes. By the time Abby arrives, Tony is sitting on the stoop outside his apartment waiting for her.

“Thanks for this,” he tells his friend, standing and clapping Abby’s shoulder fondly.

“Of course. Has she…?”

“She woke up with a nightmare, but as far as I know, she went back to sleep. Didn’t tell her I was leaving.”

“Hm. I’m guessing you didn’t tell her you called a babysitter, either, did you?”

“Nope, and I’m hoping she won’t wake up again to find out.”

“Alright. Well, I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Thanks, Abbs. I’m sure Ziva would be fine alone—I mean, she’s not even actually alone, Shmeil’s asleep on the couch—but Gibbs would have my head if I just abandoned my post.”

“You didn’t call me ‘cause Gibbs was worried, Tony.”

Tony doesn’t dignify that with a response. “I’ll be back in an hour, two tops,” he says instead.

“Be careful.”

“You, too.” Tony pauses, and then adds: “If anything happens, if anyone shows up, Ziva can obviously hold her own, but… just in case you need it, there’s a gun taped to the back of the toilet.”

They nod at each other—the heaviness of the week’s events keeps even smartass Tony from making any jokes—and Abby slips into the apartment while Tony heads out of the building.

His feet tread a familiar path as he automatically settles into following his jogging route; it’s a good thing, too, because he’s not very focused on where he’s going. Instead, he lets his chaotic thoughts start to whir again, nudged toward organization by the mild distraction of exercise.

The urgency of the team’s quiet investigation into Eli’s death has kept Tony from thinking too deeply about what’s really concerning him here: Ziva, and everything that she must be feeling. Oh, he knows they’ll get to the bottom of the shooting at the Vance house—they always do, in the end. And he’s certain that they’ll get whoever is responsible for it. But for Ziva… None of this will ever be neatly tied up and boxed away for her, no matter how the investigation ends.

Tony has known for a long time that his partner’s relationship with Eli is—was—complicated at best. Until tonight, however, he had been focusing on what she told him when he found her after pinging her phone: she wants revenge. Of course, Ziva hadn’t been lying then, and her words are undoubtedly still true—but her nightmare tells Tony that she’s also just grieving. She’s hurting deeply, even if she won’t admit it to anyone other than herself. Maybe she’s not admitting it to herself, either, though, and maybe that’s part of the problem.

Tony can feel her slipping away. Rage and mourning are slowly eating away at her rationality, leaving behind someone whose behavior he can’t predict. He’s afraid of what she’ll do next.

That concerning thought is interrupted when something unexpectedly catches Tony’s eye, drawing him back to where he is.

A few meters back from the sidewalk, tucked away in a large, darkened building, there’s a single brightened window. Light passes through thick, translucent panes to spill onto the ground below, leaving on the grass a thin column of luminescence broken by only one thing: the shadow of an unlit menorah resting just on the other side of the glass.

The familiar shape makes something clear: whether by fate, coincidence, or simple subconscious choice, Tony’s restless wandering has led him to a synagogue.

He’s not sure why, but something about the place draws him in—maybe it’s just a stronger-than-ever desire to understand Ziva. Whatever it is, though, it makes Tony leave the sidewalk, his feet passing noiselessly over a manicured lawn as he drifts closer to the window.

Inside, past the menorah, someone is visible. A man sits in profile, staring studiously down at an open book as he turns a page. Though it’s going on four in the morning and the rest of this particular sleepy neighborhood has been at rest for hours, something about this man seems… unhurried. Relaxed. Peaceful, even.

I could really use some peace right about now, Tony thinks.

Without letting himself consider all the reasons that he shouldn’t, Tony turns to his left and bounds up the steps leading to the synagogue’s entrance. Then he knocks on one of its large doors.

For a moment, nothing happens. Then a face appears in the lit window that Tony can still partially see from where he’s standing—it’s the man who had been reading, and he looks at Tony in confusion.

Tony waves awkwardly, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, and after a pause of clear deliberation, the man in the window gestures something along the lines of ‘hold on a second.’ He disappears from view, and shortly after, Tony can hear footsteps behind the door directly in front of him. Then there’s the sound of a lock sliding free.

The door opens just a little. “Good evening. Can I help you?”

Tony isn’t sure what to say without sounding insane, but he tries. “I, um, I was out walking, and…” He sighs. “Are you a rabbi?”

“I am, yes.”

“Any chance we could talk? Like, now?”

Tony can dimly see the other man evaluating him and considering, and he finds himself really second guessing his impulsive decision to knock. To his surprise, though, the rabbi only pauses temporarily before opening the door further to admit him.

Tony sticks his hands awkwardly into his pockets and walks in, glancing around. This is not the same synagogue he found Ziva at recently, but even in the low lighting, he can tell that this one has a similar setup.

The rabbi interrupts Tony’s musings by brushing past him after re-locking the thick door. “This way,” the man requests softly. Then he leads Tony down a hall and into a large, almost cavernous room where Tony thinks services must take place. After motioning Tony into a pew, the rabbi sits down himself and looks at the restless agent expectantly. “Okay, we can talk here. I’m Rabbi Aviyah Silverman—you can just call me Rabbi Avi. And you are?”

“Tony DiNozzo.”

The rabbi nods. “Alright, Tony… what’s on your mind?”

Tony shakes his head. “I don’t even know,” he says, feeling displaced and wrong-footed. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I’m not even Jewish.”

“I could tell that the moment I saw you.”

“How?”

Rabbi Avi smiles with a touch of humor at Tony’s expense. “For starters, you’re not wearing a kippah, but maybe more to the point, you look… very uncertain about being here.”

Tony laughs ruefully—he really can’t argue with that astute observation—and he finds that the other man’s straightforwardness relaxes him a little. “You’re not entirely off-base, I guess,” he admits. “Before this, I’ve set foot in a synagogue maybe a handful of times in total.”

The rabbi dips his head again, looking thoughtful. “Well, something led you here. What were you thinking about when you decided to knock?”

“A friend.”

“What about them?”

“She, ah…” Tony hesitates and then sighs. “She’s just going through something difficult. I’m worried about her, and I don’t know how to help.”

“Has she asked for your help?”

Tony snorts, trying to imagine that impossibility. “No. That’s not really in her nature.”

Rabbi Avi lets out a quiet half-laugh. “Without knowing exactly what’s going on, there’s a limit to how much advice I can give, but… let me say something general that I think you may need to hear.”

“Alright, shoot.”

“There are things in this life that a person must face for themselves—and by themselves. That isn’t to say you should abandon your friends, but some demons live inside the mind, and sometimes, they’re too personal to fight while someone else is watching.”

“So you think I should just... leave her to it?” Tony asks, trying to work out the implications of the metaphor. “Let her deal with it alone?”

“Not at all. What I’m suggesting is quite the opposite, actually.”

Tony frowns. “Then what—”

“Remind her that you’re there for her! Even the battles we fight by ourselves leave us drained, right? If you’re up pacing the streets of Washington in the middle of the night because you’re so concerned, you must care about your friend. Feeling supported might give her the strength she needs to do what she has to do without you… so, tell her that when she finishes with whatever that is, she has you to fall back on.”

“She knows.”

“Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t, but a reminder couldn’t hurt.”

Tony finds all of this to be surprisingly logical, and he nods in agreement, staring up at a large Magen David hanging in a place of honor on the far wall and thinking of the one Ziva wears around her neck. “Surprised you’re not telling me to pray about it or something,” he jokes softly, his gaze and his thoughts still far away.

Rabbi Avi chuckles. “Proselytizing isn’t a very Jewish thing to do. Besides, no one ever walks in here looking to be told to pray.”

Tony smiles a little. “I wouldn’t know how to, anyway. Ziva—my friend—would probably be able to teach me… She is Jewish.”

“I see why you ended up here, then.” Rabbi Avi reaches under his seat and pulls out a siddur, offering it to Tony. “If you decide you want to try your hand at praying, this is full of prayers and blessings to choose from. What I think you really need, though, is some time alone in a quiet place to think.” He rises from his seat, and Tony pulls his eyes away from the unfamiliar text in his hands to look up at the other man. “My office is down the hall on the right,” the rabbi continues. “I’ll be in there if you need me, but if you don’t, stay as long as you’d like.”

“Thanks, Rabbi.” Tony offers a hand to shake, and Rabbi Avi accepts it.

“Any time. You’re a good friend, Tony. Don’t let yourself worry so much that you forget that.”

Tony isn’t sure what to say to that, so he offers a small smile of appreciation. As the rabbi walks away and Tony glances back at the thick book in his hands, though, the sight of English text and Hebrew text lined up together offers sudden inspiration. “Hey, Rabbi Avi?”

“Yes?” The rabbi pauses just shy of the door they walked in through.

“How do you say ‘you are not alone’ in Hebrew?”

____________________

The sound of airplane engines fills Tony’s ears as he walks slowly toward the tarmac; somewhere under those bright fluorescent lights, one of those planes is waiting to carry Ziva away.

Ziva herself stands back toward the gate, something making her linger even as she sends Shmeil on, and Tony, catching the tail end of the conversation, wonders what it is. Maybe it’s just dread for the tasks ahead of her, something Tony can understand.

“Go with him, Shmeil,” Ziva is saying as Tony walks up behind her. “I will be there in a moment.”

Shmeil, kind and good-natured as ever, brushes that off. “Take your time. It’s a long flight. Besides,” he adds, making eye contact with a half-smiling Tony over Ziva’s shoulder, “I think someone’s come to see you off.”

As Ziva turns, following her elderly friend’s gaze, Shmeil departs. Tony only has eyes for Ziva, though, noticing that she’s entirely unsurprised to see that it’s him. “You did not have to come,” she tells him quietly.

“Well, you always forget your gum and magazines when you fly, so…” Tony’s weak joke gets no more than the distant hint of a smile in return, so he stops trying for levity. “They’ll find Bodnar, Ziva. Mossad’s looking, CIA, Navy Intel, Interpol... us.” He hopes that Ziva understands just how much support and care and promise is hidden in that last word.

Us.

Whether his intent is clear to her or not, though, Ziva doesn’t say anything back.

“Shmeil’s got your back,” Tony tries again—anything to engage her. He gives her a smile. “Shmeil, the man of steel.”

Still, Ziva doesn’t speak. Her expression, carefully neutral, doesn’t shift, either. That more than anything else worries Tony... Ziva hasn’t always been overly impressed by his often childish sense of humor over the years, but rarely has she failed to react at all. This time, she doesn’t laugh; she doesn’t huff; she doesn’t even roll her eyes. It’s almost like something is weighing on her so heavily now that the effort of rising to his bait is beyond her capabilities.

It’s like something inside her has broken under the heaviness of grief and of expectation.

Swallowing back a deep, bone-aching worry for his friend, Tony sighs, unable to stop himself. “Don’t do this,” he begs, his voice dropping to a whisper, and he finally gets a response out of Ziva.

“I am going to a funeral, Tony,” she informs him with a slight nod, as if he doesn’t already know. “I am delivering my father’s eulogy.”

That’s as clear an answer as any, and it’s probably all that Tony is going to get—she’s shutting him out again, and no matter how she felt about her father while he was alive, she will do what she must. It’s time to give it up, to stop fighting her or trying to help her.

It’s time to follow Rabbi Avi’s advice and just… be whatever Ziva needs him to be.

He can do that. “How’s this for a… an opening line: ‘He did it his way,’” he suggests wryly.

Ziva studies Tony’s face, and a small amount of the tension in her body seems to release. That’s enough to tell Tony that he’s doing the right thing. “My father was, um… not an easy man to understand, and yet…” Finally, she smiles a little.

“Complicated runs in the family,” Tony concludes.

Ziva hesitates, looking away for a few beats. “Tony, I…” She trails off rather than finishing, but she meets his eye again.

“What?”

He has rarely seen Ziva as vulnerable as she is then… Her lips twitch briefly, forming words that remain unspoken, and her eyes are a little too bright to be empty of tears; a smile emerges and then fades above her trembling chin as she fights for something intangible. In the end, though, her obvious struggle draws to a close when she reaches up to hug her partner tightly.

Tony’s arms raise automatically to hold her back; her face presses so securely against his neck that he can feel it in her cheek when she smiles. This embrace alone, secure and trusting and intimate, might be nearly enough to knock his breath out, but then an unanticipated thought pops into his head and threatens to steal his breath entirely…

He loves her.

The realization, though unexpected, doesn’t come as a shock. Of course he loves Ziva, even if he has never stopped to think about it. She’s his best friend and has been for a very long time.

Tony won’t do her the disservice of telling her now, though. She has enough on her plate without having to field any heartfelt confessions tonight.

Instead, Tony tells her something that means the same thing.

“At lo levad.”

You are not alone.

Ziva tightens her embrace for a fleeting moment before releasing Tony and stepping back. There’s a smile on her face and tears in her eyes, and when she answers in a whisper, Tony thinks she might understand what he meant by it.

“I know.”

Not waiting for Tony to say anything else, Ziva turns away, heading purposefully toward the plane carrying her father’s body; then she’s gone.

Still and quiet, Tony stares after her, worrying about her and missing her already.

He doesn’t turn back until her plane has disappeared into the dark sky, long out of sight.

#ncis fanfiction #ncis #tiva #tony dinozzo #ziva david #cynthia writes stuff too #it's not as long or as beautiful as what you've written for me jess #but soft and bittersweet tiva feels always make me think of you!#also i originally thought this was gonna be under 1k words #what a clown i am lmao #friend drabble project #love u jess <3

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