#Havana au fanfic

[cuwalli]

Havana Noir: Chapter 9

WE’RE BACK, BABEY!!!!

AND it’s an *Eva* chapter!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35285521/chapters/112056058

I hope you enjoy. :3 I can’t wait for you all to get to read the rest of it.

#Grim Fandango #fanfic #Havana Noir AU #Havana Noir #Evaluna #Eva Luna #Manny Calavera #18+ fanfic

[melis-writes]

You're Still My Brother [Godfather Part II AU].

Read on AO3. | Fanfic Masterlist | Fic and Prompt Requests Info.

18+, explicit oneshot.

Death is clipping at Fredo Corleone's heels and there's only one way out of Havana tonight. With chaos ensuing from the rebels and the kiss of death sealing Fredo's fate from Michael, Fredo's heart gives in. Helpless, desperate and terrified of his brother, Michael manipulates his Fredo's good nature into trusting him and leaving Cuba together. Hyman Roth and Johnny Ola are dead, or so Michael has Fredo believe in but Michael has no intention of letting Fredo leave Cuba alive.

[WARNINGS]: Heavy angst / Character death / Strangulation / Fratricide / Hurt with no comfort.

[AUTHOR'S NOTE]: From one of my favourite, angsty scenes from The Godfather Part II, here comes an AU oneshot I came up with in one sitting tonight with Fredo actually leaving Havana with Michael…💔 I had always wondered what would have happened in Fredo got into that car with Michael, how he would be convinced, what Michael would say and what would come next. 🥺 Playing on emotionally manipulative strings and lies in this AU, I've made Michael seal Fredo's fate differently. This is my first Godfather oneshot/fic that isn't X Reader, romance or smut related!! 🤭💕 I definitely plan to write more as they come amidst updating my multi-chapter fics! Heavy, HEAVY angst in this oneshot with all tags/warnings applying, just a heads up!! 👀🫡

Panic. Mass confusion. Violence answers the questions of the innocent, the confused, and the helpless. Michael’s amongst them, but not one of them.

Aside from the rebels leaving nothing but destruction and the ensuing chaos in their wake around the vicinity, Michael remains to be among the very scattered few who neither fear nor react to the violence surrounding them.

Seemingly coordinated enough on New Year’s Eve, Michael’s more than well aware of the threat the rebels have been posing at all times.

It was enough to see rebels give their own lives in order to take one of the police officers in front of Michael’s eyes to convince him the rebels would take any opportunity to spill blood and fight back even if cornered regardless of the consequences.

Despite the ongoing panic, Michael knows he is in no true danger nor is he a target of the rebels just as he knows the party is over and he has outstayed his welcome as have all the guests at the president’s party.

Michael slipped through the packs of crowds rushing out onto the street and did so without attracting unnecessary attention, but the same couldn’t be said for his brother.

Fredo pushed through anyone and everyone who got in front of him the moment before the onset of the violence began.

Fredo was already running for his life with fear swelling in his heart because of Michael; the truth of his betrayal was never as clever as any lie Fredo could tell Michael or any way Fredo could pretend he didn’t cause an attempted assassination on Michael’s life.

The darkness in Michael’s heart confirmed the death wish he bestowed upon his brother by sealing the kiss of death over Fredo.

Now, no explanation, no apology, and no justification can exist in this world where Michael may exercise mercy or forgiveness over his own brother.

As death itself follows at Fredo’s heels, his only escape is to flee Havana but hiding elsewhere in Cuba will spare his life longer so as long as Fredo doesn’t return to where Michael has eyes and ears in the United States.

With tears stinging his eyes and whimpers of fear escaping his trembling lips, Fredo’s breath quivers as he sprints out of the presidential palace; taking as many twists and turns as he can.

But it’s only a matter of mere moments before the planned attack takes place at the same time; its sole benefit helping Fredo blend in with the rest of the outpouring crowd seconds later.

Michael’s chauffeur never strayed far from the presidential palace; parked just a few meters away from the side of the building with intentions to take Michael and Fredo to the airport to catch their private jet later on this evening.

Standing by the vehicle now, Michael keeps the passenger door open with one hand over its rim as he looks out for any signs of his brother amidst the terrified crowds.

Fredo has no choice but to slow down the steps of the presidential palace when he spots the rioting rebels, seeing no prying eyes over him.

Among dozens of other black and white suits, Fredo is almost impossible to spot—mirroring the same body language as other rushing guests.

The vehicles of the rebels arrived in a circle around the presidential palace, honking incessantly and powering the noise and hollering of its drivers and the other rebels.

Rebels armed with bats and clubs swing at the pillars of the presidential palace and the windows of nearby guest vehicles, only causing further alarm.

Swallowing hard, Fredo stumbles down one of the steps and frantically looks around him to find some route of escape—seeing some guests have already gotten into taxis and nearby vehicles.

 “Argh—” Fredo grunts out in surprise as a couple accidentally bumps into him—ramming their shoulders into his back.

Fredo almost trips down the next set of stairs before him, catching his balance before Michael’s eyes land on his brother just across from him in his line of sight now.

“Fredo!” Michael calls out from afar, shrouded in the darkness where he stands away from streetlights or any direction crowds run toward.

Fredo freezes in his tracks, feeling his muscles instantly tense up from nothing but utter horror at the sight of his brother; pure fear triggering Fredo’s fight or flight response.

Fredo’s fear of his own brother has intensified and tripled in a matter of moments back in the presidential palace to the point where Fredo trembles in Michael’s presence and practically feels nauseous being under his brother’s gaze.

Fredo’s eyes widen as his mouth runs dry, eyeing his brother’s body language for immediate resentment and hostility.

“Come on!” Michael gestures out with his hand towards him; only appearing as a concerned brother insistent on helping his brother and escaping together.

Nothing over Michael’s expression or tone of voice resembles the putrid hatred that promised death to Fredo minutes back at the presidential palace.

Refusing, Fredo begins to slowly turn around but keeps his eyes on his brother as his body screams for Fredo to move away.

“It’s the only way out of here tonight,” Michael hollers back, noticing Fredo beginning to pull away. “Roth is dead!”

Naturally, the fate Michael planned and anticipated for Hyman Roth has failed unbeknownst to him but with Fredo’s betrayal stemming from Hyman Roth and Johnny Ola, it appears to be very convincing and tempting.

Still, the fear Fredo feels towards his own brother is all the more overpowering and there’s not a shred of trust nor hope left in Fredo to believe in Michael’s words.

Michael extends out his hand, seeing his words having no effect on his brother. “FREDO!”

Fredo forces himself to keep moving—staggering through the remaining crowd down the steps but with his head still turned towards Michael as if Fredo expects him to follow or lunge after him.

“Fredo, come with me!” Michael raises his voice above the noise of the crowds; seeing his brother is about to run off entirely. “You’re still my brother!”

Fredo’s just begun to rush off again into the crowd but stops at Michael’s words—the most convincing above all, promising they’re still family.

“Fredo!” Michael takes a step further, beginning to move in Fredo’s direction and away from the vehicle. “FREDO!”

Sensing no harm or ill intention from Michael amongst danger and chaos, Fredo’s good nature does not lie to him but coaxes his heart to trust in Michael and escape out of Havana with his brother.

In Michael now, Fredo wants to see his brother’s emotional vulnerability; despite everything, family ties and bonds never break, despite everything, Michael would want no harm to come to Fredo and certainly not here.

“You’re still my brother!”

Fredo turns back around to Michael and swears to himself he can see a pleading look in Michael’s eyes, past the shadows that keep him almost completely concealed.

Tears spring from Fredo’s eyes as he runs toward his brother, unaware he’s accepting his damned fate but giving his trust, love, and belief in safety to Michael.

Michael steps aside to let Fredo into the passenger seat, moving to the other side of the vehicle to get in for himself.

Fredo scurries inside and slams the car door behind him; a pitiful state of worry and exhaustion over him compared to Michael who still remains composed and calm.

Michael does the same, needing to give no signal or word to his chauffeur who immediately begins to drive off in the opposite direction of the presidential palace.

For a moment as Michael’s preoccupied with looking towards the chauffeur and windshield to see what’s ahead of him, neither he nor Fredo say a word to each other nor make eye contact.

Fredo peeks out the window to see hoards of people pushing into the US Embassy and pleading with the guards by the gate for safety; everyone fending for themselves in desperate hopelessness.

Fredo even spots a private jet beginning to take off as others help their family onto nearby boats and ships eager to get off the dock.

As the vehicle continues to move and navigate around the rebels and crowds with ease, Fredo flinches at the sight of the rebels setting nearby garbage cans on fire and rushing into the presidential palace itself.

With all of this occurring in mere seconds as the violence worsens and fires spread to smashed-in vehicles and broken goods from inside the presidential palace, Michael’s eyes land on his brother inside the car once again.

Fredo catches Michael’s gaze, looking as pale as a ghost with worry crossing his eyes as the vehicle now begins to slow through crowds clamoring at every angle.

Michael’s chauffeur keeps his composure, honking again and again as he continues to drive.

Michael knits his brows, gazing out both windows and somewhat concerned himself not about the damage the rebels continue to do, but what can come from the panicking and desperate mobs of people surrounding the car.

“O-Oh my God,” Fredo shudders as the vehicle finally begins to pick up its speed and separate from the crowds.

In a split second, Michael makes eye contact with the chauffeur through the rearview mirror, signaling a change in the destination; one out of sight with no one to hear anyone’s helpless screams.

Fredo doesn’t notice, nervously sitting next to Michael and looking down to see his fingers trembling uncontrollably in his lap just from Michael’s presence.

“We’re almost out,” Michael finally speaks; his voice calm and soothing enough for Fredo to believe it.

Fredo keeps his eyes on the road, refusing to relax and snap out of his alarmed state until the car drives much further down the road and Fredo’s unable to hear the rebellion behind him.

“The plane—” Fredo stammers, swallowing. “Are we getting out of here?”

“We are,” Michael reaffirms as the chauffeur takes a different turn to drive upon the side of the road where Fredo’s door faces the ocean. “Fredo—” Michael looks at his brother, “it’s fine. It’s over now.”

Fredo gives a glum nod, attempting to relax in his seat. “I don’t know what to say, Mikey. I…”

Fredo’s voice trails off as the car comes to a slow halt by the ocean; the chauffeur avoids looking towards the rearview mirror or making eye contact with either Michael or Fredo.

“I d-don’t…” Fredo’s voice cracks as he attempts to speak again, looking helplessly at his brother.

Michael faces Fredo whose almost too emotional to even realize the car has stopped on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

“Mikey,” Fredo breathes out—his throat tightening as hot tears stream down his cheeks. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“Fredo,” Michael turns his body towards his brother, watching Fredo weep softly and break down in front of him.

“You have to u-understand, Mikey,” Fredo pleads—emotion straining in his voice, “I w-was caught in the middle. I didn’t agree—I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t know it would end up like this—I didn’t know it was gonna be a hit or anything.”

As Michael stares into his brother’s eyes, his grow colder and Fredo’s words ring out to him with no meaning, no justification nor anything worth believing for the man in front of Michael is no longer his brother but a betrayer, a traitor and a stranger bearing the same last name.

Michael gives a small nod to Fredo as if he’s understanding of it all and figured as much for himself, but the chauffeur hits a small button over his door which immediately causes all of the doors to lock.

“Michael—” Fredo croaks, flinching from fear and looking towards his passenger door in alarm.

“Fredo, look at me. Look at me.” Michael detracts Fredo’s attention from reaching out to attempt to open his passenger door—facing his brother directly again. “Listen to me.”

“I d-don’t want anything to happen to you, Mikey,” Fredo blubbers, sobbing.

“Look at me,” Michael cups his brother’s face with both hands, feeling Fredo’s warm tears against his palm. “I know. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Never, ever,” Fredo gives his head a little shake, clutching onto the fabric of Michael’s trousers with a shaky hand. “Y-you’re my brother, my brother—”

“I know,” Michael repeats again, eerily calm compared to Fredo’s distraught state on the verge of a complete mental breakdown.

“I c-could never live it down,” Fredo hiccups, his knuckles turning white from how hard he grips Michael’s trousers.

“And you don’t have to,” Michael replies, wiping a stray tear away from Fredo’s cheek.

“I’m s-scared, Mikey, when you look at me like that—”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Fredo,” Michael lies, “you know that. Wouldn’t I leave you to your fate there if that’s what I wanted?”

“Y-yeah, I guess—” Fredo smiles weakly at Michael, comforted by his brother’s lies. “I love you, Mikey. I j-just want you to know that.”

Shallow, empty words with no meaning that register nothing to Michael. He chooses to ignore them, unshaken by what’s to come next.

“I know,” Michael kisses Fredo’s forehead, slowly moving his hands down to Fredo’s neck.

Fredo’s eyes snap open in terror as Michael wraps his hands around his throat firmly just moments after. “Mikey—"

“Goodbye, Fredo,” Michael immediately begins to exhort force over Fredo’s throat—crushing his esophagus.

Fredo wheezes and whimpers, but can get barely anything other than a whine out. He attempts to thrash out at Michael with his hands but Michael tilts his body back while pinning Fredo onto the car seat to avoid his grip.

Kicking at Michael in the twisted position his body is in doesn’t help nor does kicking at the chauffeur’s car seat who gazes out the window to watch the waves of the sea; completely ignoring the murder ongoing in the back seat.

Fredo’s lungs burn, begging for air as Michael squeezes and applies as much pressure and might as he can with his hands to Fredo’s throat—watching Fredo’s helpless movements slowly coming to a stop.

Wide-eyed and terrified as the life and strength choke out of him, Fredo stares at Michael who remains to be much more physically strong and fit than his brother.

The cold, lifeless expression on Michael’s face doesn’t change throughout as the color drains out of Fredo’s face as Michael continues to strangle him; his grip far too overbearing and tight to squirm out of.

Just a few moments in of helplessly trying to pry Michael’s fingers off his throat, Fredo feels his life slipping away and falls unconscious seconds after.

Michael doesn’t stop there. To ensure his brother’s death once and for all in front of his own eyes, he clutches Fredo’s head in his hands and with one sharp swerve of his hands and arms, snaps his brother's neck.

A sickening crack can be heard out before Michael lets go of Fredo’s lifeless body plopping back down onto the car seat.

Michael breathes in deeply, staring at the corpse of his brother next to him with no reaction; only the relief he’s felt and continues to feel upon having his enemies assassinated.

Not a shred of remorse, guilt, or regret clouds Michael’s judgment or chokes his thoughts.

Michael reaches towards Fredo’s passenger door as the chauffeur unlocks it without looking back; nothing goes through Michael’s mind as he pushes open the door to kick his brother’s corpse out.

Fredo’s body tumbles out of the vehicle and off the ledge leading straight into the ocean on this side of the road.

From the sound of loud traffic afar and waves crashing upon the shore, Michael doesn’t hear Fredo’s body drop into the water nor does he bother to watch it sink.

Instead, Michael sits back in the vehicle and shuts the door as his chauffeur begins driving again, pretending as if nothing happened.

In the chauffeur’s best interest, nothing did happen and he only picked up Michael from the presidential palace. The chauffeur never saw Fredo or even heard that name; the chauffeur isn’t even aware Mr. Corleone had a brother.

“To the airport, Mr. Corleone?” The chauffeur spoke for the first time since Michael got into the vehicle.

“Yes,” Michael confirms, “I have a private flight to catch to Lake Tahoe.”

#the godfather #the godfather part ii #godfather fanfic #michael corleone #michael corleone fanfic #fredo corleone #melis-writes #godfather fanfiction #godfather au

[field-s-of-flowers]

Havana, chapter 7

Midnight was so different in Atlanta. Clearer, somehow, and brighter than the city lights Hélène was so used to. She vaguely recalled why: a phenomenon known as light pollution, in which a street lamp or a lit apartment window could upstage the stars. It was pretty fascinating, really. Out of sight, they were, and so out of mind.

That had to be a metaphor for something, right? There were people who thought of themselves as stars. Her brother, for one. Anatole could go on and on for hours to Hélène about whatever new thing he last discovered. Sometimes, it could even be kind of beautiful. But there’s only one poet in any family. And stars didn’t apply to Hélène, anyway. They hadn’t for a while.

So why did it feel like the stars were watching her tonight?

“Are you going to bed anytime soon?”

Two weeks had passed since Hélène arrived. Right from the moment she stepped off the ferry, she’d felt a sense of different-ness. A sense of being at home, not at all what she’d had with Pierre. Comfortable, like she didn’t need to constantly put on a show for Natasha or Sonya or Marya.

Oh, Marya.

“Sit with me,” Hélène murmured in way of an answer. “Just for a little while.”

Marya cocked her head, but sat down all the same.

“It’s funny,” she said. “Before I met you, I had a picture in my mind of how you looked. Pierre talked about you so much back at home that I felt like I knew you already.”

“What was it?”

“Mm?”

“What did I look like?”

“Oh, I don’t know. You were older, I think, than you are. And you were always wearing black.”

Marya laughed. “That is funny. I always pictured you in white.”

Oh, that laugh. It was rare, and never failed to make Hélène blush. A small glimmer decorated ice-blue eyes, and a small dimple grew on her cheek. One more new thing I’m learning about you.

“White,” she repeated, “just like the moon right now.”

The moon was a crescent tonight, surrounded by glittering stars and inky clouds. When the moon waned, as Hélène heard once, the stars always looked just a little brighter, a little starker against the sky. The metaphor wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

#Soph’s fics #havana au fic #havana au #great comet #great comet fic #great comet fanfiction #great comet fanfic #natasha pierre and the great comet of 1812 #Great comet Havana au #Havana au fanfic #Havana au fanfiction #Maryalene #Marlene #maryalene Havana au #Marlene Havana au #Marlene fic #Maryalene fic #Maryalene fanfic #Maryalene fanfiction #Marlene fanfic #Marlene fanfiction #helene bezukhova #helene kuragina #marya d #marya dmitryevna akhrosimova #sorry this took so long lol. #Only 3 chapters left!

[pumpkinflower]

Vila Lorenzo

Continuei tomando o champanhe direto da garrafa e parecia ser a coisa mais deliciosa que eu já coloquei na boca. Levemente amargo, suave e extremamente gelado, uma delícia. Eu só bebia em situações importantes como o meu aniversário, aniversário de algum amigo, datas comemorativas, aniversário do gato da minha amiga, dia do macarrão e comemorações em geral. E naquele champanhe eu percebi o tanto de tempo que eu não colocava uma gota de álcool na língua pela falta de folga que todo o ano de 2017 me proporcionou. Finalmente minha cabeça estava livre, sem trabalhos, sem pratos para lavar no restaurante dos meus pais, sem velhos bêbados para atender, seja para entregar comida no David’s ou as moças de nariz em pé na loja de roupas que me prendia do meio do dia até tarde da noite. E essas comemorações... Sempre fui uma garota muito festeira, meus ex-namorados costumavam dizer que eu tinha um carregador natural de bateria para esse tipo de coisa, pois costumava dançar a noite inteira, e agora tudo se intensificava, porque não era uma diversão comum, era a passagem do ano novo! Minha vila sempre foi um local aconchegante que adolescentes passavam na frente para tirar fotos hipster na parede carmesim e colocavam em seus Instagram. Mas agora estava completamente maravilhosa com a quantidade de luzes e bandeirinhas picotadas que decoravam todo o ambiente, a lua parecia fazer parte da nossa vila combinando seu encantamento com milhares de estrelas no céu que estavam ansiosas para a queima de fogos assim como eu. Ok, geralmente eu não era uma pessoa muito animada, mas eu gostava muito de beber champanhe e poder dançar loucamente ao redor da minha família e dos vizinhos, por mais chatos que eles fossem. Desci da cadeira que estava rebolando com uma das minhas priminhas e corri para a mesa no meio do pátio. Tinham apenas alguns petiscos, e a comida principal viria somente meia-noite e um em ponto. Era tudo muito, muito simples, mas era feito com amor. Avistei Kai com meu primo Wallace e dei um tchauzinho em sua direção. Ele era apenas mais uma prova que, mesmo você sendo um filhinho de papai com cinco dígitos na sua conta sem precisar trabalhar, você ainda preferia passar seu ano novo em meio as pessoas reais dentro de uma vila mexicana no canto de L.A.

Trechinho retirado da fanfic Atlas, um pouco sobre a amada Vila Lorenzo, local em que Sky, imigrante, iniciou a sua vida em Los Angeles aos sete anos ao lado dos outros Sanchez-Vega.

#atlas #fanficobsession #ffobs #havana #mexican #village #fanfic #história #au

[textmessage-scenarios]

Text AU! where you troll Yoongi with song lyrics - Havana edition

I hope you liked Pt. 3 :)

If you have requests, send them! :)

#bts #bangtan #fake text #bts au #fanfiction #text message #bts text #yoongi #havana #fake message #text au #bts fanfic

[tomcriuse]

Idk if you read fanfic but I'm in desperate need of some Diego luna/charcters he has played fanfic. Like it's a drought

cant believe ur making me out myself for reading so much fic emily do NOT even READ this post dont say SHIT alright just DONT

ok ngl i think cassian andor is the only character of his that has like substantial fic (or at least that ive seen) 

*** is....u know........

***the sun on both sides by @no-droids is literally the first one that came to mind it literally haunts my every waking moment im just. constantly thinking abt it bruh like before i wasnt too into star wars but then i read this and realized i was a fool yeah so anyways all this to say that im in love w no-droids

***between everything and nothing by @jangofctts is also. incredible i just like dont know what more 2 say

***you are the reason by @poeticandors is iconic incredible showstopping lovely superb terrific gorgeous fantastic

yours by @my-imagines-moonlight53 bruh this one is just. sweet....like i had to lock my phone to compose myself

anon asked: imagine you and cassian’s child.... by poe-andor-blog its sad tho beware

anon asked: if you ever generate cassian content i will implode by @whirlybirbs ngl there was like a month where all i did was read their rdr2 fic so...yeah anyways i love them and their writing

dissimulato by @hansoulo bruh like i dont even know what to say here......like rogue one but also dirty dancing havana nights NEED i say more

stories and sunsets by @dindjarindiaries yeah this was so cute LMFAO i...yeah so im switching my major to pre-med

don’t leave by @certifiedskywalker bruh i. want a boyfriend so bad no one talk to me about this

nonsense by @rise-my-angel its a SOULMATE au are you KIDDING ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i thought i lost you by @poeticandors wait ngl maybe they are the king of cassian fic........hmmm much 2 think about

i need to be there with you ALSO by @poeticandors yeah true op great point

hurt by @poeticandors ok no one say anything abt this ok

#anon #answered

[mandolovian]

fanfic writer appreciation

hello!!! due a highly unfortunate combination of both 1. i didn’t know it was fanfic writers’ appreciation day and 2. i had an exam today and so i wasn’t online over the weekend, i missed out on friday’s / saturday’s LOVELY posts and mentions :((

i think im really damn lucky that i stumbled on all you writers / artists / creators, i genuinely don’t think i’ve been this happy to be writing in ages, and you’re all so fucking amazing and talented and a little bit of my heart stays with you all

i thought i’d make a little list of some of my absolute fave writers and fic, since you deserve ALL the praise bc i personally know the absolute effort it takes to write fics of any length - this is not an exhaustive list by any means (see here for more!) but maybe i’ll update this somewhat regularly!

paz viszla | saviin’ika -- @stubbychaos : i don’t think i can properly articulate how much this fic means to me - has some absolute stunning prose and portrayal of pain, but such comforting and loving tenderness too. i’m thoroughly and absolutely invested in their story and lives together

paz viszla | you hurt, i hurt -- @datmando​ : i feel like i’ve felt every single emotion under the sun while reading this, it’s absolutely gorgeous and the way that paz is written is so tender and loving, and i love seeing their journey and lives just evolve with each chapter

paz viszla | something sweet -- @hdlynnslibrary​ : i love coffee shop aus and i loved this too! the little internal conflict that paz has about referring to the waitress as ‘his’ and something about imagining paz using a straw makes me very very happy

agent whiskey | my love is a dagger -- @goldafterglow​ : some of the most beautiful poetic language and sheer pining i’ve ever read. absolutely stunningly visceral characterisation too, and my heart just kept breaking for poor jack

agent whiskey | first time (soft) sleeping together -- @littleferal​ : amazingly comforting and empowering but still very loving piece. the line ‘you lead the dance’ - i’ve thought about that daily since i’ve read this

cassian andor | dissimulato -- @hansoulo​ : this was! the first fic i had read in like six years! absolutely 100% responsible for getting me hooked back into the starwars fandom and it was stunning fic too - to combination of dirty dancing and rogue one was amazing, and i spent actual money in renting havana nights after reading this

javier peña | sure of you -- @ergotautology​ : im absolutely biased because i requested this, but i cannot properly emphasise how whole this made me feel, and how much it just made my heart ache. also, this has amazing figurative prose and it feels like (and i know that) every word was chosen so deliberately, and i would sincerely love to live inside this fic

rex | of sleepless nights -- @chaotic-noceur​ : sleepy and tired and very very soft. one of the gentlest angst / comforts fics i’ve read and i love it so much. i may or may not read this almost nightly because of how loved it makes me feel

din djarin | the lovely moons -- @vercopaanir​ : genuinely this may have been the fic to tip me over from just lurking on here to actually writing my own fics too. i love it so much! the pacing and twists and the character development in this fic - honestly i could write a dissertation and still not cover how much i love it

din djarin | rough day -- @no-droids​ : im barely lying when i say my mouth is always a little bit open and a little bit dry while reading any part of this fic. stunning, showstopping, fucking delicious. that part about the reader doing a minihunt while sleep deprived was genius

gustavo gaviria | numinous descenso -- @gustavos​ : i read this because i was mildly interested at seeing a gustavo fic, then absolutely became hooked. im still not exactly sure how you made the character in such a way that my heart just breaks anytime anything happens to her. absolutely amazing prose, genuinely an amazing fic

#i love you all #with ALL my heart #all ventricles and atria #maybe the vessels too #fic rec

[captainwithpinkhair]

Hey guys....i’m a “new” Riverdale and Bughead fan...i started watching this winter and i fell in love both with the show and especially with Bughead❤️.....So i just finished watching Dirty Dancing 2 : Havana Nights....and the leading couple reminded me sooo much of Betty and Jughead...their characters and their looks....am i the only one?? i already made a fanfic in my head..😝But unfortunately my English isn’t very good and i’m really not good at writing so that i can write what i’m thinking 🙈 Is there any fic who has the Bughead AU Dirty Dancing??Or is anyone who saw the movie and share the same thoughts with me thinking to write a one???😍😍I mean,if you haven’t seen the movie and you like Bughead,you really need to watch it...(Plus Diego Luna is in it..👌🏻)

I mean am i the only one who see a potential of a great fanfic there??👀😍

#bughead #bughead fanfiction #jughead jones #betty cooper #betty x jughead #riverdale #Dirty Dancing 2: Havana nights

[greetthedawn]

AN:

Hey all!

Thank you for your (continued) patience with me while I battle the college monster. I'm on summer break now, and my goal for the next three months is to finally finish this story. We're in the home stretch now, and I envision maybe three or four shortish chapters more. Following that, I have a an AU one-shot planned for AC4 and perhaps a Mary story, told in shorter chapters than CWMN has been. Part of my struggle with this story has been the length I felt each entry needed to have to do each facet of the story justice, since it's so near and dear to my heart.

That said, enjoy chapter 8!

I will give the secrets you request

And you will be the one to sacrifice

So lay your olive arms upon my breast

And sing the poems, free the butterflies

Edward sat by the window at the back of his cabin gazing at the water that moved beneath the ship and the light rays bouncing off the waves as the sun set. His view was muddled by the grime on the glass. He held his bone necklace in his hands and absently thumbed at the black beads framing either end. Mary’s beads.

             The past two days had been… odd. They hadn’t spoken about what happened between them after Havana, a brief culmination of the whirl of mixed emotions that had been stirring in him for years and, he suspected – no, hoped – in her as well. They’d gone about business as usual since then. Kenway couldn’t tell which of them was reluctant to broach the subject, but neither of them had brought it up. He believed, though, that despite being the original instigator, it was he that had been avoiding confrontation.

             It wasn’t rejection he feared, no. If that night had been nothing but a frustrated lapse in judgement for Mary, though she wasn’t prone to those, he doubted it would have any impact on their bond. It would hardly be the greatest thing they’d overcome in order to stay together. And they would stay together. He knew that neither of them was want to lose the other, not one more time. Of that, he was certain. No, what he feared most was that she might return the feelings he was avoiding putting a name to.

             Caroline. His darling wife Caroline. He’d been a dreadful husband to her, he saw that now. For nearly a decade, he had waved her name like the flag on his ship as the reason for all he did. In truth, she’d been the lie he was telling himself to justify taking and doing what he pleased. She’d deserved better. She’d deserved more than just his love, but to be loved, actively, in the truest sense. She deserved to be honored.

             The man he’d been before wouldn’t have been what she deserved, wouldn’t have tried, but he was no longer that man. He was changing. Mary had changed him, and he would honor the faith that she had placed in him. He would be the noble man hiding behind the scoundrel that the rest of the world accepted at face value. He couldn’t honor Mary without Caroline. He was going to fix his marriage… for Mary.

             It was the most fucked up thought he believed he’d ever had, among many years of many fucked up thoughts.

             He wondered often if Caroline would even want his devotion if it weren’t solely for her sake. Was that even honest? Because the thing was, he’d hardly been faithful. More women had been in and out of his bed than he cared to count since the day he’d taken his vows at the age of eighteen, yet he had never come close to loving any of them. In that sense, he had remained loyal. However, as he sat there eleven years later, examining his life, he knew that he could only be honest with himself if he could admit that that fact had finally changed.

             But he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say the words that he was sure of in his heart, not out loud, not even to himself. If he did, he knew it would be the end for him. It would seal his fate. He thought of the letter he’d sent back home to Bristol and he knew he had to try for Caroline… for Mary.

             It was so fucked up.

             He heard a key turn in the door and Mary entered with a huff. The look on her face was worn.

             “Is there a problem on deck?” he asked, retying his string of bead and bone around his neck.

             She leaned against a beam, arms crossed. “You’d know if you were up there. You’ve been hiding away all day, mate.”

             Edward cocked his head. “Aye. But it’s hardly noon.”

             Mary shook her head. “Past that. You slept late. Have you eaten yet?” Edward frowned. She had her answer. With a sigh she stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder, urging him up. “You’ve got to stay sharp, Kenway. We’ve Spaniards to kill.”

             He hung his head. She was right. He wasn’t being a captain, or an Assassin, or even a productive pirate. He was locked in his cabin worrying about women like nervous little boy. And if he wasn’t ready when they caught up with Torres… Well, there was a lot more at stake than just the wellbeing of those he loved. When he looked back up, she was giving him the patient ‘I’m ready whenever you’re done with your bullshit’ look that had been picking away at his conscience since the advent of their friendship.

             With a heavy sigh, he stood. “When will you finally be satisfied with being right?” He marveled sometimes at how whole conversations could pass between them with just a few sentences and an expression or two these days.

             She tossed him an affectionate smirk. “When you stop being wrong. Get to the helm. You’re the only one who knows quiet where we’re going.”

Pray your gods that ask you for your blood

For they are strong and angry jealous ones

Or lay upon my altar now your love

I fear my time is short

There are armies moving close

Be quick, my love

             The sun’s rays were giving way to dusk when they slid into the mouth of Long Bay. Torres’ ship sat seemingly abandoned along the shoreline. Mary gave the signal for the Jackdaw to slow to halt and find what cover they could in the creeping fog, taking no chances. She and Edward stood at starboard, scanning the beach with their heightened senses.

             “It’s too quiet, Edward,” Mary murmured. “No one thing stands out, but then…”

             Kenway nodded. “But then, it all does. It’s as though the jungle itself has turned hostile.” He looked over at her and her eyes were waiting to meet his.

             “Is your head on straight?” she asked. He’d been erratic since they’d kissed, there was no denying that. But that day of all days, he would prove her right for those years of thankless faith she’d placed in him.

             As his answer, he pulled the crystal skull out of his coat and held it out between them. After a thoughtful pause he responded. “Torres is out there right now, hunting for this. The violence he’d cause with this thing… It would be subtle, but heavy. Deadly, yet leaving no mark. He won’t get his hands on it.”

             Mary placed her hand on the artifact, and the conviction in her eyes mirrored what he felt in his heart. “We’ll be sure to let him know we have it, just before he dies.” The corners of her mouth pulled up with mischief.

             He smirked. He knew in his heart that the Spaniard felt just assured in his notions as the Assassins did. The old cockrobin must believe his path was for the good of the many. And the knowledge that his enemies had won would put a look on his face that Edward wanted so desperately to see before ridding the seas of his menace. His ideology was based on subjugation and greed; two things that had taken Edward half a lifetime to escape, two things that the Assassin’s Creed had liberated him from.

             He passed the skull to Mary. This woman had given him everything he was, and he would give her this. The day’s victory belonged to her. She had lost far more to Torres than anyone. Revenge was her right.

             She smiled and tucked the artifact in her coat. “Ready?”

             He patted her shoulder. “Let’s finish this.” He led the way to the prow of the ship and leaped onto the hand railing, perched to dive.

             Mary sprang to his side. “So will you go ashore, or will I swim you there myself?” she quipped before pushing off the ship and cutting headfirst into the still water.

             Edward sprang after her, and the cold water slapped him in the face like having a row with an old friend. He pushed his way toward the trees, scanning the beach once more when his feet touched sand. Nothing moved in the Light of Life.

             Mary shook out her coat. “Perhaps it’s just my waterlogged clothes, but there’s a chill in the air I don’t like. And a stillness. Torres couldn’t spare any men to guard the bay?”

             “They’ll all be deep in the jungle,” he responded. “When you see what I’ve seen here, you’ll know he’s likely undermanned. Come on. We may already be too late to stop whatever he’s planning.”

             The pair ran along the cliff face until they found the path into the trees. It wound around boulders for a few hundred meters until it opened up into a clearing with a river running through. Recognizing the way forward, Edward leaned into his sprint, but Mary grabbed his arm and stopped him short.

             “Soldiers,” she hissed under her breath. “Just there.”

             They paused on a rocky overhang and he saw that she was right. They’d found Torres’ men. A gunshot rang out and a body slumped over at the patrol’s feet. Edward recognized it as one of the native folk he’d encountered on his first visit.

             At his side, he felt Mary tense with anger. Without warning, she leaped forward into the trees and swung her way across the branches until she was crashing down into the troops like a spirit of vengeance. Kenway lurched forward, down into the ravine, and arrived at her side and she was cutting the last of her enemies’ throats. As she stood, her furious posture relaxed into one of tender mourning. She moved to the fallen native’s side and closed his wide, glassy eyes to the world.

             “A great shame it came to this,” she murmured. “They were only protecting their heritage.”

             Edward approached cautiously. “You seem to know something about these men that I do not. What heritage? I’d assumed they were simple inhabitants of the island.”

             Mary spoke without facing him. Her voice was somber, carrying the weight of centuries of Assassin lore. “I know only stories. They live in these jungles, and they don’t fancy us stomping about here. They’re said to be the guardians of the Observatory. Their tribe has been watching over it as long as it’s been here. Longer than the memory of man. It’s a task set to them by the Precursors themselves. I wasn’t sure if they were real or just part of the legend, but their presence has protected secrets beyond the Assassins’ control for an age… Until Torres wipes them out.”

             Edward put a hand on her shoulder. “He won’t have the chance.”

             Mary sighed heavily and stood, renewed purpose in her eyes. “There’ll be more of them as we get closer to the Observatory, and with the threat the Spaniards brought, they won’t welcome us. Avoid them if you can. And save the ones that need saving.”

             He nodded, and they continued down the path. They passed more signs of struggle, bodies belonging to both sides. One Spanish soldier was pinned to a tree, his corpse limp and still seeping blood.

             “Jaysus, would you look at all this?” Mary muttered.

             “They brought every ounce of menace they had…” The scene bewildered Edward. He had seen more than his share of carnage, but this desperate grappling for something bigger than each life lost was beyond the scope of anything he’d witnessed before.

             They trudged forward, trying to ignore the scene around them and stay focused. More shots rang out in the still of the night, echoing off the stone walls around them. They passed a waterfall, and beneath it a guardian lay rolling in agony next to a soldier’s dead body. Edward crouched by him, and his eyes were pleading. But not for help. His heart heavy, Kenway obligingly slit the dying man’s throat. Peace settled in his eyes as he choked on his own blood before going silent.

             They moved on, into another clearing littered with bodies. They stepped over more than one as they moved between platforms scaffolded into the canopy. In the swamp below, the crocodiles were fighting their own war over their territory. They watched one soldier get snatched from the riverbanks, and sections of the water were running a morbid shade of pink from other meals they’d captured.

             As they left the jungle and headed back toward another beach, the air started to get thicker and the sky started to glow. Mary looked at Edward with wild eyes. “Fire,” she mouthed. She pulled the bandana from her hair and tied it over her airways before taking off across the beach. Her boots tore up sand in her wake. Edward followed, trying not to cough on the smoke. The cloud was thick, but he could just see his partner sneaking across a small inlet. On the other side, a raised hut was spitting flames and pouring a black cloud into the sky. The air radiated in red.

Mary crouched at the edge of the water and pulled out her blow pipe before deftly sinking a dart into the neck of a soldier. The rifleman wavered on his feet before collapsing, alarming his patrol mates. Edward tore past Mary and into their midst, taking advantage of their surprise to make quick work of their demise. The two of them rushed to the captives, who watched the whole scene with frightened, skeptical gazes. They flinched backward when Mary engaged her blades, but she held out a hand in a cautious, unthreatening gesture as she reached for their bonds with the other. She cut them loose, and they gave each other tentative glances before nodding their thanks and running off across the beach.

Edward gestured to Mary that they should head back toward the jungle while he coughed against the heat and smoke. She pulled off her bandana and handed it to him, leading him by the hand back along the inlet between two cliff faces while he drew a clean breath and cleared his lungs. They paused there in the pool for a moment, out of the fire’s reach, coughing and regaining their bearings.

Mary’s senses picked something up then. “Shh,” she hissed, covering his mouth as he wheezed. “There’s Spaniards up ahead.”

They climbed the small slope adjacent to the pool and found themselves standing in a sort of cave. The body of a guardian was splayed at the ledge, and when they stopped to inspect it they noticed two soldiers passing beneath, guarding a pair of natives. Mary gave the signal and they dropped on them together, taking them out quietly. They cut loose the captives, who fled back into the woodwork of the jungle much like the first pair.

Continuing down along the cave, they clawed their way up a support beam back to the ledges where they’d have a better vantage point. The guardians were clearly as agile as the Assassins were known to be, as much of the way around the cave required crossing narrow beams or swinging between poles extending from the walls. As such, Edward wasn’t expecting the guard he almost mowed down as he turned a corner. Recovering from his startle before the soldier did, he dispatched his foe and knocked the body down into the cave before he could raise the alarm. Kenway and Mary ducked quickly into some bushes, where they could see two riflemen standing at the end of a small tunnel, guns aimed at more guardians. Two more guards were roaming the area. They pulled the first into the bushes with them when he got too close, and Mary ran down the second while Edward snuck up behind the riflemen and dug his blades into the spines of each simultaneously. They freed the three prisoners before returning to the bodies to loot for ammo.

“That could be the last of them,” Edward called to Mary as he finished patting down his victims. “If memory serves, our prize is just past the next clearing.” He nodded to the path out of the cave.

She got an apprehensive look in her eye. “Good. I’m ready to find out what’s caused all the fuss of the past seven years.”

The two of them rose from their kills and set off again through the tight corridor. They pushed through the ferns and stepped over more guardian corpses. Soon they came to the exit of the cave, which overlooked a small swamp. In the middle, a cluster of unnaturally square stone surfaces marked the first hints of Precursor influence on the jungle.

“This way,” he bade her down the slope to their left.

It was only when their boots hit the water that the stones started to move.

The Assassins ground back on their heels hard, coming to a quick and startled stop. Mary looked at Edward with wide eyes. “Were you expecting that?” she asked. She so rarely had to look to him for guidance, but she was off her footing in this environment. No number of years of stories could prepare someone for the Observatory’s secrets.

Of all the First Civilization magic he had seen, this was far from the wildest, but it was still surprising. He shook his head and responded, his tone terse, “Torres must have awoken something. Don’t get distracted. We’ll ponder when all this is finished.”

The pair plugged on, skirting the magic pillars rising from and receding into the ground. They climbed out of the swamp and up the ravine on the other side. One last stint through a jungle corridor, over a few mossy logs, through the pool at the bottom of a waterfall, and they finally came to the too-perfect, too-large, black stone steps that Edward recognized as the signal of their arrival. They were both hesitant to climb them, lest any begin moving like the ones in the swamp. But when they did…

“Bloody hell…” Mary whispered, her breath taken from her in an isolated moment of awe amongst the pressure of their mission. “So this is what you’ve been on about since Havana.”

“Aye,” he confirmed, solemn in his remembrance of the wreckage he’d caused since that week.

Their eyes rested on the door at the same time. Though they’d predicted it, they were both dismayed to find it already gaping open. They darted forward, dodging more moving pillars.

The entry tunnel was empty, but a low, menacing humming emanated from deep within.

Edward turned to face his partner. “I suppose there’s no point in asking you to stand watch?”

Mary gave a half-hearted laugh, though he could sense the foreboding it masked. “Funny, Kenway. I was going to ask you the same.”

She led the way into the corridor. Edward could never quite shake the smell of this place. It smelled musky, as all old places did, but there was something… almost metallic behind it that reminded him of only one other thing: blood.

And perhaps, this time, he was smelling blood. They hadn’t gone more than ten meters when they heard the screaming. Indiscernible cries in Spanish made them double their pace, rounding two corners before they saw a man, running back toward them. Before they could call out to him, a bright curtain of what Edward could only describe as light erupted from the walls. The solder was engulfed in flames, and when Kenway blinked, he was gone.

The Assassins were frozen. Never mind that the walls were glowing with strange lines and runes. Never mind that, beyond their corridor, giant pillars were moving through a chasm of their own volition. A man had just been obliterated in a heartbeat, by the Observatory itself.

They were jarred from their shock a moment later when blocks began to rise up out of the chasm in front of the hallway. “Move!” Mary shouted, sprinting forward and flinging herself on top of one as it creeped upward. Edward followed closely, saying a tiny prayer of thanks that the walls didn’t disintegrate them on the same spot as the Spaniard.

The blocks formed almost a staircase the let them onto a large, long stone that was oscillating left and right across the cavernous room. Two templar soldiers were already on top, crouched over a third that Edward understood as screaming about his legs. Their presence didn’t go unnoticed. The two able bodied soldiers drew their weapons and attacked, their eyes wild with fear. One got a knife to the belly and the other was thrown into the abyss. Their friend cowered as Edward and Mary finished their kills, scooting back toward the edge of the stone and begging frantically for his life. But his legs, clearly, were doing him only harm. Edward felt a twinge of sympathy for this one, but as he dug his blade into the man’s heart he knew it was a mercy killing.

The stone shifted harshly underneath him back in the other direction, almost throwing him off the edge. Mary caught his arm and stabilized him.

“Now what?” he asked, gesturing at the doorway on the far side of the room, a direction that their stone was clearly not moving.

“You always forget to look up,” Mary scolded, her pointing hand leading his eyes toward the sky. Way up near the ceiling, broken beams hung it what could almost be called rafters.

But if they wanted to get up there, they had to move fast. “This way!” he called, leaping from the stone just as it reached the apex of its rightward motion. He gripped a cutout ledge in one of the stone slabs on the wall, and Mary joined him just as he got his bearings. The slabs were oscillating independently from one another, and they managed to jump between them to climb up into a platform near the top of the leftmost one. As it rose again, it came to the height of the rafters. He jumped first, and waited for her to join him on the next oscillation. From there he took the lead, leaping between the broken beams. The beams were precariously narrow, and he eagerly took the last jump to the relative safety of the wide platform hanging high above the doorway.

“Edward, no!” Mary screamed when his first foot had already left the beam. He saw what she saw just when it was too late: cracks running across the base of the platform.

He gripped the edge, determined not to fall, but the force of his impact was too much for the stonework and the entire platform began to swing down on its crumbling axis. Panicked, Mary jumped after him, grabbing onto his legs as she fell. He felt a sharp jerk as she hit him and his grip slipped just before the platform collided with the wall. They fell, far and hard. The landing left them in a heap on the floor, both too pained and dazed to move for a moment. Eventually, Edward regained the wherewithal to roll over – groaning in agony as he did – to make sure he hadn’t landed on Mary. He sat up to see her still on her stomach, but pushed up onto her elbows. She winced hard when she brought her fingers to touch the bleeding gash on her forehead where he could only assume she’d been stuck by his boot.

He wheezed, struggling to get back the air that had been knocked out of him. His arm stung and he could feel hot blood running from a where he must have been cut by a sharp rock. “Are you all right?” he choked out.

She nodded wordlessly as she pulled herself into a kneeling position. Her bandana had been knocked almost out of her hair when he kicked her. She took a moment to right it, pressing it tight over her wound, and then stood. She offered him a hand and pulled him to his feet, and they continued through the towering doorway, both moving quickly to work out the burgeoning limps that threatened to hamper them.

The ground beneath them began to rumble violently as they neared the observation room. Whatever Torres had awoken, now he had angered it too.

When they reached the main chamber, they could see what was creating the disturbance. Three rays of light were shooting up from the floor, radiating out in a circle. Soldiers stood, terrified, in each of the three safe zones, none going near the light for fear of disintegrating. Beyond them, Torres stood at the armillary sphere on a platform receding away from the rest of the room. They would have to find a way to get to him, but first they would have to get past the small army he had brought with him.

Fortunately, the troops were all so distracted by the Observatory’s defenses that Mary and Edward had taken out the two closest to them before anyone else noticed they were there. Unfortunately, they all noticed at the same time that the light barriers came down.

Mary gave the signal to split up. She dove into the patrol to their right while he took the left. Almost immediately, the barriers shot back up around Mary’s sector, cutting her off from him. A guard straddling the line went up in flames just as fast and vanished. Edward realized that, dangerous as these defenses were, they could maybe use them to their advantage. He parried his present opponent, sending the energy of their attack off to the side so that he could grab the man’s collar and follow that momentum through, hurtling him into the barrier. It worked. His opponent fell through the light, but no part of him made it to the other side. All his other enemies took a step back, worried by the pirate’s new revelation. He could only marvel at this for a moment though before the barriers came down again and he saw that Mary was outnumbered. He jumped to her side, minding the pulsing lines in the ground, and pulled the soldier closest to him off her, running his sword through the man’s spine. Mary took the chance to knock the other off his balance and swept his legs out from under him. He fell on the lines just as the barriers re-engaged. The light tore him right down the middle and both halves lit up and were gone before he could let out a scream.

The remaining two soldiers were in the sector blocked off by the light, and all they could do was wait for the barrier to come back down. When it did, the Assassins charged. Edward and his opponent crashed into each other, swords grating on one another, blow after blow. The duel was over quickly, though, as Edward managed to get a fatal cut in with his wristblade when their parrying came too close to the man’s neck. When the Templar fell, Kenway looked up to see Mary leaning over the precipice. She’d plowed her opponent straight over the side into the abyss.

He patted her on the back as he ran for the rapidly shifting stones leading toward the far side of the chamber. “Let’s end this!”

He jumped across the platforms, with her close on his tail. Ahead of them, a fleeing soldier fell on a long stone on the wall. It gave out under him and he fell, screaming, into the chasm. Edward glanced at Mary, hesitant remembering the rafters in the last room, but it was their only way forward. They leaped together, and the stone fell again under their weight. For a moment, he was sure that they had come all this way only to fall to their deaths, but the stone stopped abruptly short of coming off the wall altogether. They climbed on top of it and assessed their path. The underside of Torres’ platform was lined with pipes they could use. Edward swung across first, hitting the last bar as hard as he could. The outside edge snapped under his weight, swinging against the other wall and making a way across for them. Edward climbed onto the glowing panels while Mary swung across and joined him. He scooted along the side until he could find a hand hold to climb up. He jumped for it, and then the next one, and then the wall erupted in light.

He froze. Mary screamed.

Edward’s chest clenched in terror. He looked down to see Mary hanging by one hand, clutching the other to her chest. Through the glow of the barrier, he could see her face contorted with pain, eyes clenched, and teeth barred. “Mary!” he shouted.

She pursed her lips, breathing heavy. “My hand, Edward! I can’t climb!”

She opened her eyes to meet his, and their color was distorted by the yellow glow between her and him. But he understood their message. They were out of time. He needed to go on without her.

Everything inside him screamed to get her to safety. Everything except the voice in the back of his head that had been nagging him for nearly a decade. Her voice.

“I’ll come back for you!” he shouted, fervor lacing the promise like none he’d made before in his life.

“Just go!” she called back as he turned to pull himself along the top of the wall. The barriers shut off again, allowing him to continue to the end where he hauled himself onto a platform. Thoughts of worry and guilt bore down on his mind, intruding on his focus. The barrier came on again, and he shut them all completely from his mind. He couldn’t risk this mission. They were too close. They were out of time. He needed to go on without her.

He jumped to a steady stone, and then the rising one beyond that. When that stone rose to its peak, he could just barely reach a handhold on a pillar jutting down from the ceiling. He jumped for it.

“We could have worked together, Edward.” He heard Torres’ voice above the din of the Observatory’s anger. “We could have taken power for ourselves, and brought these miserable empires to their knees!”

He clawed his way around the pillar, and finally onto a beam that spanned the air above Torres’ platform. The pillar shifted backward, away from the Spaniard, and Edward nearly lost his footing. “There is so much potential in you,” Torres continued. “So much you have not yet accomplished! I could show you things. Mysteries beyond any that you could imagine!” But Edward wasn’t listening. He was planning his attack. A curtain of light protected Torres for now, but the pillars were moving closer again, and the barriers only lasted so long. He cast a glace at the wall to check on Mary.

She wasn’t there. She wasn’t where he’d left her.

Panic rose within him. He couldn’t see her. Could she have moved? Had she fallen? Had he lost her? No, he couldn’t lose her. She promised. He promised.

The barriers vanished then. Emotional, angry, Edward jumped.

He crashed into Torres ungracefully. His blow landed in the old man’s shoulder, off mark. They both fell to the ground.

Torres groaned, mouth agape, as he clutched the jagged wound above his collarbone. “Captain Kenway,” he grunted with a rough laugh as they both lay on their backs. “Ever a splinter in my side. You think my murder would fulfill you?” The Grand Master rolled upright and pinned Kenway with a knee and his free hand.

Edward tensed, frantically thinking through a second attack. “I’m only seeing a job done, Torres. As you’d have done with me.”

Torres smirked, a look on his face like a taunting peacock. “As we have done, I think,” he countered. “You have no family any more. No friends, no future. Your losses are far greater than ours.”

Just as that thought settled over Edward, and he began to think he might agree, an angel of death appeared.

Mary was perched on the beam by the ceiling, Venganza’s ruby hilt glittering in the light. Her hair was cast around her face, and the set of her mouth was grim and determined. She was waiting for the barrier to dissipate. Waiting for her chance. Waiting for her kill. She saw him see her and made a gesture to her left.

“That’s where you’re wrong, mate,” Edward spit back at the Grand Master. “Because you missed one.”

The barrier vanished and Edward pushed with all his strength, throwing Torres to his left. Mary flew down from the heavens, driving Venganza deep into the Templar’s abdomen. The knife had finally lived up to its name.

They stood over Torres, together, and faced down the end of their trials.

Torres stared back at them with bewilderment and resignation.

“Aye, we’ve lost much at the hands of the Templars,” Mary started.

“But your death rights a far greater wrong than ever I did,” Edward finish.

Torres nodded thoughtfully. “You honestly believe that?”

Edward felt a familiar fire in his veins. For most of his life it had signaled a passion for the sea, victory, and gold. But these days it meant something more: a passion for his Creed, for his way of life, and those he shared it with. “You would see all of mankind corralled into a neatly furnished prison, safe and sober, yet dulled beyond reason and sapped of all spirit. So, aye… with everything I’ve seen and learned in these last years, I do believe it.”

Torres listened to his speech with a quietness of mind and voice. With the last of his strength he turned to Mary. “I don’t know where your child is, but you’ll find the man who does in Havana. I know you believe great evils of me, but I bear no ill will against innocent children.” His eyes shifted back to Edward, and there was a look there that the pirate hadn’t believed possible. Respect. “You wear your convictions well. They suit you.”

With a final breath, Torres’ head rolled back. The last of the Templars’ power in the West Indies died with him.

Mary pulled the skull from her coat and passed it to Edward. The fingers of her right hand were wrapped in her bandana, which left streaks of blood on its crystal surface. He grasped her hand gently and unwrapped it to assess the damage. Half of her pinky finger and the top third of her ring finger were missing. He looked her in the eye, incredulous. “And yet, you found a way.”

“I had this terrible feeling you’d end up needing me,” she smirked.

More than you’ll ever know. He pulled her close and pressed his lips to her blood-caked forehead. “Let’s put this mess to bed.” He turned to the armillary sphere. For all the years he’d spent searching for the skull, the feeling of returning it was far more gratifying than any treasure.

The earth stopped shaking. Light rays stopped radiating from the cracks in the structure. The sphere’s platform returned to its original position in the center of the room where Ah Tabai and Adéwalé stood in wait. The Observatory was appeased.

“Torres awakened something fierce,” Edward called to their mentor. “Are we safe?”

Ah Tabai nodded. “With the device returned, I believe so.”

Mary descended the steps to greet their brothers. “Adé, remind me what you call this place.”

Adéwalé laughed. “Captain Kenway’s Folly!” he called back.

Edward shrugged with a sly smile. Folly, indeed. But oh, how he missed his old friend.

Ah Tabai approached the skull and rested his hand on it, speaking some words in Mayan that Edward did not understand. “We will seal this place, and discard the key,” the Mentor announced. “Until another Sage appears, this door will remain locked.”

“There were vials when I came here last,” Edward remembered. “Filled with the blood of ancient men, Roberts said. But they’re gone now.”

Ah Tabai nodded, understanding. “Then it’s up to us to recover them, before the Templars catch wind of this. You could join us in that cause.”

The invitation was not unexpected to Edward, for he knew he had regained his honor in the eyes of the Assassins. But he had yet to join them in full, and the idea of getting that chance excited him. “I will. But…” He cast a glace at Mary and remembered why he had not already. Remembered why he had not done a great many things he would like to do. “Only after I fix what I mangled back home.”

Ah Tabai shared a glance with Adé, and then pulled a letter from his satchel. “It arrived last week.”

Edward felt his heart sink when his fingers touched the parchment, with what emotion he knew not. He folded and pocketed it. He wanted to be alone when he read it. Or rather, he didn’t want Mary reading his face while he read it.

With a somber but resolved last look at Captain Kenway’s Folly, the four Assassins turned and left, sealing the door behind them.

I feel my body weakened by the years

As people turn to gods of cruel design

Is it that they fear the pain of death?

Or could it be they fear the joy of life?

AN:

And with that, we've finished the game. My goal for this story was to tell AC4 as I'd hoped it would happen, or as I would have written it, had Mary survived. That said, I'll be taking some small personal liberties in the next few chapters that may not be as true to the game as the rest of the story has been, since I was following the script for the most part with those.

Please review! You feedback is always inspiring and helpful to me, and I love hearing from others who are as in love with these characters as I am.

You should be hearing from me again very soon! Follow GreetTheDawn on tumblr for updates on my progress. Happy Summer from the USA!

Song: Pray Your Gods - Toad The Wet Sprocket

#fanfiction #Come With Me Now #CWMN Full Chapters #Assassin's Creed #Black Flag #AC4 Black Flag #Edward Kenway #Mary Read #James Kidd #Kiddway

[field-s-of-flowers]

Havana 6

If Marya’s house was big, the Bolkonsky’s was a mansion. Sonya wasn’t quite sure what did and didn’t count as a mansion, but if there was one in Atlanta, this was it.

It was raining. That was okay. Sonya liked the rain, especially if it was a hot May day like today. There was something so oppressive and lonely about a dry heat, and Sonya wasn’t lonely often. She liked being alone, too. Lonely rainy days like this were perfect.

Of course, the reason she was knocking at the door of Mary’s house was that she’d rather not be alone at this particular moment.

There was a shining black car in the driveway. That was new. Sonya didn’t think Mary‘s father would be the type to drive, nor to let his daughter do so. It wasn’t quite like it mattered to her, since Mary’s face would appear in the doorway in three, two-

“Come in! Now, it’s very important!”

The door shut, what seemed like an inch behind Sonya’s back. Was it just her, or was the Bolkonsky house quieter, more somber than usual? Some of the lights were dimmer, she realized, and Mary’s old things were no longer scattered across bureaus and tables. What had Petya said about that? “The cleaner a house is, the more it looks like a funeral.” That might’ve been it. Sonya smiled to herself. Petya was always saying-

“What?”

Mary’s voice was hushed, her face even more anxious than usual.

“Oh, nothing, I-”

“C’mon. Let’s go in my bedroom, we can talk there.”

“Why can’t we talk out here? No one can-”

“Mary?”

A man entered from the hallway, a pained grimace on his face. He was shorter, with intensely dark eyes and a look about him that just made him seem a bit taller than he actually was. The young man’s furrowed brow betrayed that he didn’t actually know who Sonya was, but she knew him well: Andrey Bolkonsky, back from the war. His leg was wrapped in a bandage, and Sonya wondered how he’d got down the stairs.

“Mashka, who’s this? I heard noises, and-”

“Oh, don’t mind that! Andrey, you remember Sonya, don’t you? Now you should go back upstairs, which is where we- come on-”

And before Sonya even knew what was happening, they were in her plain white room. And by plain, she meant plain. The whirlwind of information and activity that had led up to this moment stood in a startling contrast to the complete stillness that surrounded the girls now, accompanied only by the soft sounds of… crying?

“I’m sorry,” Mary sniffed from her bed. “I just don’t know what to do, and well, you saw him! And father’s not going to help, so I’ve got to do it on my own and it gets so lonely, but I shouldn’t have asked you to come, I-”

“I know,” Sonya said, taking her girlfriend into her arms. If she knew anything about anything, it was comforting people, whether it be her cousin or Mary. “I know. It’s okay that you called me. I want to be here for you.”

Mary sniffed again, looking up at Sonya. “You do?”

In way of an answer, she gave Mary a small kiss on the forehead. It happened pretty often, but it was so sweet every time it lasted longer than it needed to.

“I love you, Kotenok. I really do.”

And Mary, still in Sonya’s arms, muttered a quite I love you too into her chest, which seemed like it would burst from that soft and simple happiness.

#Soph’s fics #Havana au #Havana au fic #Havana au fanfiction #Havana au fanfic #Great comet fic #Great comet fanfic #Great comet fanfiction #Great comet Havana au #War and peace #great comet #Sonya rostova #mary bolkonskaya #Sonyamary fic #Sonyamary fanfic #Sonyamary fanfiction #FINALLY DONE #SO CUTE AS WELL #you know all that Sonyamary hurt/comfort I’ve been writing? #That was practice for THIS

[field-s-of-flowers]

Havana 5

“So what do you have in the way of drinks here?”

Marya’s kitchen was huge. The floor was checkered black and white, little flowers grew in the window, and it smelled like sugar. There had to be something, somewhere. Hélène was parched after the long walk she took with Natasha.

“You don’t mean alcohol, do you? Because I don’t keep that in the house.”

“Not what I meant, although it’d be nice,” she said, eyes meeting Marya’s in a little smirk.

“Well, you can throw away those hopes and dreams. All I have is leftover tea.”

Hélène’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. Tea was okay, but it wasn’t fun. It wasn’t fizzy, it wasn’t minty, it didn’t particularly taste like anything. Walking with Natasha had made her expect something... a little more exciting. And Hélène didn’t know why, but she really wanted to do something exciting with Marya in particular.

“Tea is fine,” she said, attempting indifference.

“Good. Meet me out on the patio, I’ll ice some up.” There was no smile on her lips, but Marya’s eyes seemed to glint with some kind of anticipation, though Hélène couldn’t say for the life of her what it was. They’d barely spent two days together, but she could already sense a kindred spirit, an Alma Gemela, who knew all too well the game that they had to play, and who was sick of games. But tea and serious talk didn’t seem so bad on the patio.

Sunset was falling. The sky was hazy, blurring a tangerine glow that Hélène had seen so clearly the night before. Dragonflies flitted near the little bluebells that Sonya had planted that spring. Was every night in Atlanta this uniquely romantic, this sweet and orange-tinted and warm? The cloying heat Hélène was so used to was nowhere to be found.

Marya’s face appeared in the doorway. Apparently Hélène had taken more time than she had thought.

“Here, have a sip,” Marya said, sitting down in the chair right next to her. Two icy-cold glasses sat on the table, a slice of lemon in each one. “It didn’t take too long to make. I hope you like it.”

One sip was enough for Hélène’s tastebuds to explode in a burst of unexpected sweetness. A little sugar in tea was expected, but this was something else entirely. Before she knew it, Marya’s face and dress were covered in cold tea.

“I am so sorry-”

Hélène’s shocked pause only gave way for her to see Marya’s bemused smile.

“Not used to sweet tea, are we? Natasha introduced me to it, and there was a bit of that shock, but you’ll like it just as I did...”

“Did you... trick me? Into drinking tea?”

The dimple on Marya’s cheek grew as she smiled even wider. How long had that been there? It served only to make her look even more beautiful.

“And what if I did?”

“Well, I would say,” said Hélène with a laugh, “That you are some kind of lady, Mrs. Marya Akhrosimov.”

#Soph’s fics #Havana au #Great comet Havana au #War and peace Havana au #Great comet #great comet fic #Great comet fanfic #Great comet fanfiction #Havana au fic #Havana au fanfic #Havana au fanfiction #Marlene #maryalene #Marlene fic #Marlene fanfic #Marlene fanfiction #Maryalene fanfic #Maryalene fic #Maryalene fanfiction #DONE AND ADORABLE

[cuwalli]

Havana Noir AU

Hola, compadres! Chapter 3 is out now!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35285521/chapters/88444882

I haven’t really done an introduction, so I’d just like to say hi! My name is Cuwalli/San. I’m working on a big, new, multi-fandom fanfic that’s really hard to describe. lol So I made a blog for it, since a nice post about my first two chapters made it in the tags and got me suuuuper hype! It’s nice to know I’m not the only one interested in a speculative story like this lol

I’ve never done promo for one of my fics before, so this is kinda new to me, though I’m an avid writer and a fandom old-timer. So thanks to everyone for their interest and any time spent reading it! This project was really a “target audience: me” kinda thing, so I’m just happy to know anyone else is enjoying it.

From my fic summary, for anyone interested:

“In a world where a calamitous clash between warring deities has caused an apocalyptic ‘reset’ in the reincarnation cycle, a now-living Manny Calavera is haunted by memories of a past life and death which no one else shares, and a powerful, secret supernatural ‘Touch’ which threatens to drag his new life--and everyone else in it--into ruin. The consequences of an impulsive decision have invited tragedy and danger to Manny's doorstep, and now a debonair international spy investigating his involvement in the mystery is the only person that stands between Manny and the precipice of disaster.”

This is a Hard Noir/Reincarnation AU with Horror and Erotica elements, first and foremost, and is something my partner and I are tandem writing for our own catharsis. It’s A Lot, I know, but we’re kinda fond of it. 80k words fond of it, in fact. So more is on the way! I’ve got a little page + FAQ about it on my blog here and will be adding more to that eventually, too, if I gain any momentum.

Here’s the link to the full work, in case you’d like to start at the beginning:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35285521?view_full_work=true

Muchas gracias for your time, folks! Happy reading!

#Grim Fandango #Monkey Island #Havana Noir #Havana Noir AU #Fanfiction #Manny Calavera #fanfic #writing #my writing

[cuwalli]

Hhhhh...

Gonna be posting the next 20k words of Havana Noir all at once because I kinda... need to???

I promise it’ll be worth the wait.

#Havana Noir #Havana Noir AU #my writing #fanfic