#but distantly that sense of home is in our hearts. in the eyes of our abuelos - passed down

[seabirdtxt]

Hey, back at it with a request. I wanted to dump you with requests, but I also know that it takes you a bit to write, and I didn't want to overwhelm you ^^"""

Honestly though, with the requests I have in mind, I have a feeling they're going to become a spinoff series called "In which the Puppets learn the Creator is really, really bizarre."

With that said, this request will consist of some habits I have, and how our puppet boys would react to them! That being: reader is a night owl magpie who likes to collect a number of things. Whatever sparks their fancy, they hoard (It's why the Traveller has such a hoarding problem in the first place).

They collect some semi-formal things, like flowers and different plants, and like shiny rocks (Reader is familiar with the Language of Flowers, and I can fully see them and Kabukimono spending hours going over them. With Scara, Reader finds a piece of Rose Quartz in the shape of a heart and gives it to him, saying "You said you wanted a heart, right? Here you go! I know it isn't a real heart, but that's okay: because you already have a real one!")

But then they have the weird stuff they collect, like bones -and teeth -and scales - and bugs (Scara or Wanderer: "Why do you have this?" Reader, holding up the carcass of a beetle: "I just think they're neat!")

Or the worse part: literal trash. I'm talking broken pieces of glass and random metal parts, and like old candy wrappers that they've been keeping. (Again: Scara or Wanderer: "Get rid of this." Reader: "But it has sentimental value-!!!" S or W: "IT IS LITERALLY TRASH!!!")

But yes. Reader is a hoarder of many things.

i love this LOL i also hoard some pretty random things so like 🤝

(Might not have touched on all the same points as your ask bc i tried to keep it in-universe, but i tried to hit the major themes of each!)

WC. 1.5k

----- ⚘ -----

Flowers and Gems: Kabukimono

This collection is one of your gentler ones, and you take care to replenish it often with new blooms and interesting stones you pick up along your way. There is so much more novelty to collect here than back on earth, after all!

Kabukimono is fascinated by the variety of it, begging to be taken along with you the next time you venture out into the world to add more to your stash, and maybe take inspiration to start a collection of his own! It takes a bit of convincing, but you eventually relent and allow him to accompany you.

He follows you with wide eyes and an awed grin, asking you all about the various plants that the pair of you come across. You try to remember them as best as you can, reciting what you remember from the ingame tooltips.

“Wow! What’s this one?” Kabukimono asks, bounding up to a reddish pink bush. He delicately plucks one of the flowers, showing it to you proudly.

“That’s a silk flower!” You tell him, smiling as you take the flower from his hand. He only smiles and picks himself another one. “The people in Liyue can process them and make them into a very fine fabric!”

Kabukimono nods in understanding. “That makes sense! I know lots of kimono makers back home often talk about the quality of fabric from Liyue.”

“Fun fact,” you add, “back in my world, silk is such a sturdy material that it can resist piercing damage, to a certain extent! But it is very weak to slashing, or cutting damage.”

“That’s so interesting!” Kabukimono’s eyes go wider at the information. “I wonder if that's true of the silk from this world, too!”

“We probably shouldn’t, y’know… test it or anything,” you interrupt him before he lets his curiosity get the better of him. “We can probably ask a seamstress about it later.”

“Ohhh, good thinking.” Kabukimono agrees. He pockets his flower and looks around the area, scouting for the next object to collect. “Hey, do you have an electro crystal, yet? I heard you can only mine them using pyro!”

You let Kabukimono lead you to your next destination, already planning to press the new flower for your collection. Distantly, you wonder how the two of you are going to get an electro crystal, considering neither of you have pyro visions.

----- ⚘ -----

Beetles and Bones: Wanderer

“I went back to Springvale to ask if those hunters still had some of those ancient boar bones,” is what you say, offering a sheepish grin to Wanderer, who stares down at you with his arms crossed. In all honesty, you probably deserve the scrutiny for having somehow escaped his supervision for several hours.

“Did you at least get the, uh,,” Wanderer gestures at the cloth bag you’re holding in your arms. “Special bones you were looking for?”

“Yeah!” You exclaim, shaking the bag excitedly. It makes a rattling noise as you move. “Do you want to see them?”

You don’t wait to hear the answer, instead leading the way to your room, where part of your collection resides. You hear Wanderer step in and close the door behind you, waiting in curious silence as you carefully put your bag on your bed, pulling open the drawstring with reverence.

One by one, you bring out the intact bones the hunters were able to unearth from you. You brush off some of the remaining dust, then you begin laying them out on your bed in their approximate positions.

“That’s your special ancient boar?” Wanderer asks, sidling up to you and looking at the bones with you.

“Yes!” You finally place the jawless skull at the top of the unfinished skeleton, putting your hands on your hips with satisfaction. “I found it during a quest when I was still guiding the Traveler. I knew I had to have it in my collection when I got here!”

“Fair enough,” Wanderer nods. “Can I see the rest of your stuff?”

You are more than eager to show off the cool stuff you’ve been hoarding since your arrival in Teyvat, from smaller animal bones, to surprisingly intact shed lizard skins and molted duskbird feathers, and even some hollow onikabuto shells.

Wanderer picks up each one with care, mindful of your enthusiasm for your strange collection. He turns each object over slowly, inspecting them as you’re explaining the particularities of your collection.

“Hey, do you mind if I borrow some of these?” Wanderer eventually asks, as you’re nearing the end of your impromptu lecture. “I’ve got this Amurta elective that I haven’t started my project for, and some of these are interesting enough. I could probably write something about them.”

Your sudden silence is worrying, and he’s quick to backpedal in case he’d offended you in some way.

“Or, forget it, I mean-” he turns and pretends to scratch his nose to hide the dumb expression he knows he must be making. “I know this is all probably hard to get, so if you don’t want to risk it getting broken or stolen…”

“I would love to share it with you!!” Your sudden shout scares him out of his foul mood, and he looks at you in bemusement. Your eyes are wide and shiny, matching the stupid grin that settles on your face. Just as he’s about to reply, you leap up and scramble for one of the unopened drawers.

You proudly present a wooden box, and when you open it Wanderer can see the interior is padded and separated with thin wooden strips, creating protected compartments just big enough to fit some of the larger items in your collection.

“You’ve got to take extra good care of this stuff, okay?” You instruct him, and you help him pack the items he’d chosen into your carrying case. “I mean, I can probably find some of this stuff again, but the more delicate things are harder to come by. Promise you’ll be careful?”

He looks up at you, closing the lid of the box slowly and fastening it shut. “Yeah, I promise,” he says, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

----- ⚘ -----

Literal Garbage: Scaramouche

“You’re throwing this shit out, right?”

The noise you make, of absolute disgust and denial, is enough to make Scaramouche second guess his own words for a moment. He recovers faster than you’d give him credit for, picking up the broken clay jar and the dull shard of a broken sword. He holds up both in front of you, an accusing glare pinning you.

“Does this look like normal stuff to collect, to you?” he demands, tossing both back into the bin where he’d found them, retrieving a foil candy wrapper and a graphite pencil with no nib. Again, he discards both items with a noise of exasperation. “None of this stuff has any use! It’s all just garbage! Where do you even find this?!”

“Like,” you say, shuffling closer to your collection bin and putting the cover back on it slowly. “On the ground and stuff? I don’t know what you’re expecting.”

Scaramouche pinches the bridge of his nose with a loud sigh, but doesn’t make any move to reopen the bin. “You’re seriously testing my patience, here. Why are you collecting all this garbage? Can’t you collect something less… bizarre? Like seashells, or something.”

“I have some of those, too!”

“Not the point, here!”

You look down where your hands are pressing down on the lid of the bin, then back up at Scaramouche with a bit of a pout.

“Are you really making me throw it all out?” You ask, pitifully. He takes one look at you and grumbles with displeasure.

“That’s not what I said,” he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as he looks down his nose at you. “You want to waste your time picking up other people’s trash and pretending it has meaning to you? Fine, be my guest. But don’t come crying to me when you realize you’re stuck with a container full of useless junk that nobody wanted anymore.”

“Sometimes, even the things that people feel have no practical use can be worth a lot to someone else,” you tell him. “Things don’t have to be worth anything to be wanted.”

Scaramouche chews on your words for a moment, then shrugs. “Sure, whatever you say, I guess.”

He doesn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon, so you tentatively open the bin and reach inside, fishing around until your fingertips grasp what you’re looking for.

“Are you sure you don’t recognize this one?” You ask, holding up the candy wrapper so he can see it. He scrunches up his nose at the offending item.

“Am I supposed to?”

“It’s from that festival in Inazuma,” you smile, bringing the wrapper to yourself gently. “The one you guys took me to when you found out I hadn’t been to one before.”

Scaramouche looks at it closer, out of the corner of his eye. He lets his shoulders slump and shakes his head with a huff.

“Whatever,” he says. “The rest of it is garbage, though.”

You put the wrapper away with a cheeky grin.

#genshin sagau #sagau #self aware genshin #genshin isekai #genshin self aware au #genshin scaramouche #sagau scaramouche #genshin wanderer #sagau wanderer #genshin kabukimono #sagau kabukimono #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kabukimono x reader #genshin x reader #sagau x reader #seabird.inbox #seabird.txt #littlemistermedley

[samstree]

A Careless Omission

Jaskier reveals he has a type. Geralt behaves strangely. (Or, the "Jaskier likes a dilf" fic, 2.9k, on ao3)

Jaskier doesn’t try to hide his interest.

His face has been slowly heating up with a blush, his lips worried and bitten with nervousness. It nearly makes him feel like a blushing maiden at the sight of her first crush, stomach fluttering and all. Who can blame him? His eyes have been caught by the barkeep since he sat down at the table.

Distantly, he knows Geralt is able to tell, sitting in front of him across the table. A witcher’s senses are too sharp for Jaskier to hide his intentions for anyone they meet on the road, but there’s no room for self-consciousness. His attention is away, following the other man as he works.

The barkeep is tall and burly, with wide shoulders and long legs, hair slightly wet with sweat from working in the kitchens. A few strands of grey hair pepper his brown curls beautifully, as well as his well-groomed beard. The simple clothing cannot hide the taut muscles underneath. Every time he rolls up the sleeves to show the strong lines of his forearm, Jaskier lets out an audible gasp.

Meeting Jaskier’s eyes, he comes to their table and serves two cups of ale with a bright, warm smile.

A bright, warm smile, and a little girl trailing behind him.

“Aww,” Jaskier whispers to Geralt as the man walks away. “Look at him with his daughter.”

The barkeep has brought his daughter to work. The girl looks no older than six, demanding bedtime stories and tugging at his apron constantly. He has to gently coax her to let him finish work first, all the while leaning down to kiss her on the head.

Jaskier’s breath catches, the hammering of his heart so loud he can practically hear it in his ears.

“Hmm.”

Geralt only gives a noncommittal hum while sipping his ale.

“Here we go.” The barkeep returns to their table with two bowls of soup, his smile still bright despite the late hour and his daughter’s chirping. “How do you find our establishment, kind sirs? Hope you liked the ale?”

Before Jaskier can chat up the guy, Geralt cuts in quickly.

“A bit sour,” he says, seemingly grouchier than usual. “And the place is loud.”

It’s entirely too rude, but before Jaskier can apologize for his friend, the barkeep scratches his head shyly and does it first, which makes him all the lovelier.

“Apologies,” he says sincerely. “My Lucja can be a menace when she’s tired. It’s a shame her bedtime happens to be our rush hour. She’s not bothering you too much, is she?”

“No, no!” Jaskier answers, rather too eagerly. “She’s adorable! I hope she’s not making your job difficult, is all.”

Jaskier’s face becomes even hotter when he takes his bowl, their fingers brushing, lingering. Finally, the barkeep is looking at Jaskier properly. His smile grows, stretching almost to his ears.

They hold each other’s gaze, until Geralt sets down his cup suddenly, much louder than necessary, breaking the moment.

“It can get hard at times, but I don’t mind,” the barkeep answers, eyeing Geralt for a moment before turning his attention back to Jaskier. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, you see. I’d choose raising her on my own every time.”

“Oh? Where is her mother?” Jaskier frowns.

“I do not know where she is, sir, nor Lucja’s real father, for she was left at my doorstep as a babe. I meant to send her to the orphanage, but in the end, I just couldn’t see a little girl without a home. She is as much my daughter as she can be. We are a family, as destiny intended.”

What a sweet, sweet man.

Jaskier holds his chest as the fluttering inside intensifies. He’s nearly melting on the spot “Aww…” he sighs softly. “Such sadness, and such a happy ending. You truly are a kind man, sir…?”

“Andrej.”

“I’m Jaskier.” They shake hands, lingering some more.

“Still, it must get lonely for you, being on your own. Would you ever seek other forms of companionship, Andrej, when the long nights are difficult to pass?”

The hopeful hint hides so well under the concern in Jaskier’s voice. He’d like to think he’s rather smooth in his probing, after all these years.

“Well.” Andrej looks as flushed as Jaskier feels. His eyes lower, before lifting up again, looking at Jaskier from under his lashes. “I try to find company when I can, but none as fine as yourself, Jaskier.”

He drags out Jaskier’s name, patiently, sensually, making his bones hum.

The man leaves Jaskier with a suggestive look, and finds Lucja again. He lifts the girl easily, muttering about how he can finally tuck her in bed now. They disappear upstairs, with the girl draped over Andrej’s shoulder, her cheeks round with happiness.

Jaskier stares at them as they leave, eyes following the man until he cannot see them any longer, and then turns back with a dreamy sigh. He stirs his soup absently, occasionally letting out a goofy smile and a quiet giggle, ears still burning. Thoughts of Andrej fill the whole world, his eyes, his smile, his loving heart.

Jaskier knows he’s quickly, entirely, and head over heels, falling in love.

He lets out another giggle at the thought.

Their interaction replays over and over in Jaskier’s head, making him completely oblivious to his surroundings.

Out of nowhere, Geralt clears his throat.

“Oh, dear!” Jaskier startles, blinking. “Geralt, um… You are… still here.”

Huh, he seems to have completely forgotten about Geralt.

“My, my,” Geralt snorts. He looks like he’s trying very hard not to roll his eyes. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Jaskier has no intention of being mortified. He is no longer capable of that emotion when the stars align and hit him with a spell of love. Still, he gives some attention to his friend.

“Sorry, I was a little… beside myself,” he says, his spirit too high to be ruined by Geralt’s inexplicably bad mood. “You know,” Jaskier whispers, revealing the great secret. “It’s my weakness.”

“Weakness?” Geralt narrows his eyes.

“Yes, a man like Andrej.” Jaskier’s eyes brighten in fondness. “I happen to have no resistance around a good father like him.”

A pause of silence, and Geralt squints harder.

“A good… father,” he states, very, very slowly.

“Of course! Did you not notice? He was so good with his daughter earlier, so gentle and loving. I bet he tells the best bedtime stories, and little Lucja will want for nothing in her life. Oh, I cannot help myself, and I—” Jaskier sighs, once again. The amount of sighing today is a bit excessive, even for a poet. He’s well aware. “I think I’m falling in love.”

Geralt looks like he’s trying to suppress a growl, but ends up with an unpleasant grimace.

And Jaskier takes issue with that. He makes an unhappy noise.

“Oh, stop with that face. I know you want to mock me,” Jaskier admonishes, mouth forming a pout. “But I am not ashamed, I’ll have you know. I see being a good father as one of the most attractive qualities in a man, if not the most attractive! Though I admit, I have a soft spot, especially for him. Did you hear the story? To think Andrej took in an orphan girl under such tragic circumstances, just to give her a home… How can my heart not go out to him?”

Jaskier looks into the distance, lapsing into silence. The soup is no longer hot, and he digs into it slowly, mood still chirpy and stomach still full of warm fuzziness.

For some reason, Geralt keeps staring at Jaskier.

He seems offended, even.

“Hmm,” Geralt deadpans, stressing every word. “You are in love, because he is a good father?”

“Mm-hmm,” Jaskier hums absently.

Geralt stares for another moment, and another, his food and drink forgotten. It’s disconcerting. He simply slurps his soup loudly, filling the silence.

Tentatively, Geralt opens his mouth, and closes it, and then, he does it again a few times more.

Jaskier raises an eyebrow. Geralt does the same.

“What?” The bard is running out of patience.

“Nothing,” Geralt answers at the end, rather pointedly, looking directly at Jaskier. “So… Ciri.”

Jaskier blinks at the non sequitur. “Hmm?”

“You do remember her,” Geralt adds, “Ciri?”

Frowning, Jaskier is slightly concerned for Geralt’s sanity. Or his.

“Yes? I’ve not suffered a blow to the head, Geralt. I remember Ciri.”

“Just checking.”

The tiniest pout forms around Geralt’s mouth, a hint of dissatisfaction tugging at his lips like an overgrown child. His eyes are still boring into Jaskier’s face. He pauses for a beat, as if waiting for Jaskier to catch up on something.

Jaskier is even more confused about the weird mood of his witcher. He waits with bated breath for a moment longer, but Geralt is still looking at him expectantly.

Losing patience, Jaskier gestures for him to go on. “Well, what about Ciri?”

Geralt sighs, somehow sounding defeated.

“She wrote to me,” he says, finally dropping the grouchy tone when talking about Ciri. “I got the letter today.”

“Oh.” The mention of Ciri’s letter brings joy to Jaskier’s heart. The girl tends to write to them sporadically during her travels, and Geralt always discusses everything about her with Jaskier. It’s nice to hear from their little witcher-princess, who is actually not so little anymore. “That’s good, Geralt. What did she say?”

Taking a very deep breath, Geralt continues.

“She’s traveling, mostly. Took contracts here and there. Also—” Geralt says carefully, “said she missed me.”

“Yeah?” Jaskier smiles, proudly.

“Yeah, you know. She does… um, miss me, because I—um, you know, I’m her…” Geralt doesn’t finish the sentence, but leaves room for it to be finished. With what, Jaskier isn’t sure.

But Jaskier’s heart twists in sympathy. He misses Ciri dearly too, and it could explain Geralt’s strange behavior today, so he tries something else. “You know, we could visit her,” he suggests. “Write back, see if we can meet up and travel together for a while.”

Geralt’s eyebrows lift, ever so slightly, at those words.

“We can,” he agrees, voice lighter. “And… you remember how she has nightmares. If we travel together, I can stay with her at night until she falls asleep.” He thinks for a second. “Tell her a story or two, chase away the bad dreams, perhaps. It is my duty for her, as she is my… um, Ciri.”

The phrasing is perplexing. She is… all of their Ciri, of course. There’s no telling why Geralt said it like that.

“That’s a shame.” Still, Jaskier doesn’t like the idea of their little girl having nightmares, but then— “Wait, does she still let you tuck her in? She’s turning… twenty this summer, I believe? And now an independently working witcher. Isn’t she too old?”

It seems to dawn on Geralt too.

“Oh.” He blinks. “So she is,” Geralt splutters. “Never mind, then.”

Jaskier can’t blame him. Sometimes, they both forget how fast their little girl grows. She is now a proper grown woman, slaying monsters with better witchering skills and magical powers than anyone could have imagined.

He understands Geralt’s tendency for nostalgia, though. When you find a scared little girl and help her become this confident version of herself over the course of a decade, you’d want to linger in those memories, even though she can easily stand on her own feet now.

“Still, I believe it if you say so,” Jaskier muses. “She’s been through so much before, and past hurt fades slowly. Seeing you could be good for her too.”

Geralt looks down, suddenly stabbing the gooey soup with his spoon as if it’s a particularly difficult fiend. After a moment, he sighs. The excessive sighing seems to be catching on today.

For all of Geralt’s emotional constipation Jaskier has witnessed over the years, today’s grumpy episode is truly a bad one. And then, he thinks more about Geralt’s behavior all day, mentioning Ciri out of nowhere, insisting that she still needs care even though she’s grown. It’s nearly like Geralt is trying to make up for something, or drive a point home.

It’s just that Jaskier has been missing the point all along.

It clicks, all of a sudden.

Oh.

Of course.

How could he be so blind?

“Oh, I see.” He places a hand on Geralt’s arm, exhaling in relief. “Forgive me, Geralt dear, but I see it now.”

“You do?” Hope shines in Geralt’s eyes.

“I do!” Jaskier confirms. “It’s terrible I have not realized earlier. I have been incredibly neglectful of you.”

Eyes wide with hope, Geralt seems to have stopped breathing in anticipation. “Go on,” he prompts.

“It all makes sense. You have been acting weird since we sat down, and with me fussing over Andrej and his daughter…” Jaskier states gently, eyes bright. “Your guilt is acting up again! Am I correct?”

Geralt is frozen like a statue, incredulous.

He must want to deny it, but everything about him says he’s been caught off guard, which means Jaskier must be right on point. He pats himself on the back mentally, proud for having figured out his witcher’s internal struggles. After a few decades, he has become an expert in reading Geralt’s every mood.

Jaskier pulls the chair to the side of the table so they sit closer together, their knees touching. He wraps an arm around Geralt, hands running small circles on his back, a familiar soothing motion for when his witcher’s mind is being unkind to him.

“Um, Jask…”

“You don’t need to deny it, you know.” It’s silly that Geralt still has trouble accepting Jaskier’s help sometimes, so he remains patient. “It’s perfectly reasonable, with Ciri traveling alone, being away from your protection. You still feel responsible for her, as you should. The bond between the two of you is stronger than destiny itself.”

Geralt pinches between his eyes, looking torn. “You don’t need to tell me these things, Jask. That’s… really not what I’m thinking.”

This ridiculous, stubborn man. Jaskier shakes his head.

“Nonsense. You don’t need to hide it from me, Geralt. It’s only me.” Jaskier smiles encouragingly. “I’m always here when you have these doubts. Always. Ciri has to leave you—leave all of us—precisely because you’ve taught her well. You have prepared her in every way you can, and now the world will see what she can do.” He hugs Geralt tighter, knowing his touch is comforting for Geralt in these bouts of self-deprecation. “It’s okay to feel at a loss, but it’s not like she’ll never need you again. You are her father, and nothing will ever change that.”

The words settle quietly, genuinely, and Jaskier feels the tenseness in Geralt’s body fade. He takes pride in himself again, a grin stretching across his face, feeling incredibly achieved.

“Yes,” Geralt whispers, looking directly into Jaskier’s eyes. Their faces are only a hand’s breadth away, his tone intimate and sincere. “I am her father.”

“That’s the spirit,” Jaskier agrees happily. “You are the best father she could ever ask for.”

“Yeah?”

Geralt breathes in, his gaze lowering. They are leaning into each other’s space, with barely any distance in between. Jaskier’s hand is still wrapped around Geralt’s shoulder, and now Geralt has placed a hand on Jaskier’s knee.

For some reason, the fluttering in Jaskier’s stomach returns. The sensation is such a surprise that he nearly falls out of the chair.

“Geralt…”

“Jaskier, look,” Geralt breathes, lips parting, “I—”

Before he could finish a sentence, they are interrupted by someone coming down the stairs, their footsteps echoing loudly in the tavern. Jaskier snaps his attention away in an instant.

Oh, Andrej is back!

Jaskier lets out a delighted squeal, all thoughts replaced by the barkeep’s warm smile.

“Hold that thought, dear,” Jaskier says absently, patting Geralt on the back. “I should be… going.”

“But I—”

Geralt’s eyes are wide, darting between Andrej and Jaskier.

Jaskier stands up, checking on Geralt again. “Hmm? What is it? Do you still need me here?”

He would stay with Geralt, comforting him for the rest of the night if those old insecurities still plague his friend. A good night with a handsome and kind man will always come second when it comes to Geralt, but…

But, but, but…

Jaskier’s heart is already soaring away.

Luckily, the moment of panic in Geralt’s eyes fades into calm acceptance.

“Nothing,” Geralt says, resigned with a quiet smile. “I don’t need you here, Jaskier. You should go.”

His posture goes slack. It must be the relief after all of Jaskier’s words, all the doubt eased, judging from the way Geralt’s face morphs into an emotionless neutrality. Once again, Jaskier mentally pats himself on the back for having cracked the problem.

He beams at the thought, bending down to press a good night kiss on Geralt’s cheek, who lets out a little gasp, leaning into the chaste kiss.

“Don’t wait up!”

Jaskier winks before turning away, not looking back again. When he takes Andrej’s hand, there’s even a spring in his steps.

Oh, Jaskier should be allowed to feel a little smug, just a little bit. He has had the most wonderful night. On top of seeing right through Geralt’s emotional turmoil, he’s also landed himself a fine companion until morning.

The wonderful night can still get a lot better, he thinks.

#geraskier #geraskier fic #they are idiots your honor #but mostly jaskier #he should fundraise for a braincell

[raayllum]

When he was little, Callum had always thought Aunt Amaya and his mom were invincible. Strong, powerful, trading quips as well as blows whenever they sparred with each other. He’d clung harder to the idea after his father died, needing something to hold onto: the certainty that he wouldn’t lose another parent, because he couldn’t. Mom was too strong and even stronger when Aunt Amaya was with her, and everyone would come home from the trip into Xadia perfectly fine.

Two days after the funeral, Aunt Amaya had cut her hair and left to defend the Breach (“They may still be more prices to pay for our trespass,” she’d signed to King Harrow) without looking back.

His aunt is not invincible, and while Callum had worried about her during the Battle of the Storm Spire, eyes scanning the battlefield to keep her in his sight, his heart had been torn; half with Ezran on dragonback, and half with Rayla in the clouds, watching over another dragon who couldn’t defend himself.

Callum isn’t sure why he expected it to be any different now, as the creatures close in around them in the Great Bookery. He keeps one eye on the corrupted banthers, for lack of a better term, slippery rungs hanging from their snappsih maws as they advance, prowling.

Soon it’s chaos, Amaya’s shield wedged in one of the walls, and Rayla losing enough ground she has to abandon her newfound bow for her trusty blades. Callum has been doing okay — it seems the creatures are most vulnerable to magic, which makes sense given that they are magical, in a sense — but he can feel his strength and stamina waning. Amaya had said something of just having to wait till morning and the creatures will dissipate or retreat back to the wound they came from, but they won’t make it at this rate. Won’t last long enough.

His wrist bends painfully when he has to block a banther’s lunge by using his staff, tossing the creature off with an electric blast that sends it flying, but there are still two more, and—

Amaya lets out the rare yell and his head snaps to the sound, his aunt limping as she goes for her shield in the corner, her sunforge blade laying feet away on the floor. He starts towards her, lifting his staff, her pleading eyes catching his for just a second—

But then Rayla screams and he pivots without thinking, fury building in his veins. He gets just a glimpse of the banther charging toward her, helpless, hurting, and—He doesn’t even have to say say a trigger word before a fistful of lighting crashes into the banther’s face and knocks it off course.

He pants for a second, knuckles aching and head buzzed, before he rushes to her, frantically looking her over for injuries. He finds her sword lying side ways and pushes it into her hands, helps her stand.

Then there’s another yell behind him, and Rayla gives him a tiny push, her upper lip split and curving. “Go help your aunt,” she urges, and he sends a blast of wind that way before he goes to help Amaya, too.

Later, on Zubeia’s back, Callum helps bind the bandages around Amaya’s arm from where the banther sliced her open. He waits, curious and a little ashamed (and then a little angry at being ashamed), to see if she’ll comment on his choice.

She doesn’t, eyes settled with understanding as she reaches up to ruffle his hair.

“Just make up with her sooner rather than later,” Amaya signs, nodding to where Rayla sits with Stella by one of the further dragon spikes, eyes distantly on the horizon line.

Callum’s heart lodges in his throat.

Easier said than done... but so was punching a banther in the face. 

He gets up and sits next to her, watching softly while she fusses and patches up his hand. And so, so worth it.

insp by the dnd skit forever ago, in which callum abandons defending an innocent barkeep in order to protect rayla instead when she gets attacked

#the royal family of katolis #snake boi callum #rayllum #s5 #arc 2 #fic #ficlet #my fic #headcanons #s5 speculation #s5 spoilers #tdp #the dragon prince #tdp spoilers

[asnowfern]

Effervescence - Chapter 3

Summary: Not able to resist the call of the Night Circus, Elain sneaks in to the circus and chances upon the most beautiful man she has ever seen. Elucien. Night Circus Setting AU.

Read on AO3 Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Read on Tumblr Part One

Chapter 3/3: The Lighting

Elain

Elain spent most of the day in her room replaying the fight she had with Lucien with equal amounts of anger and grief. A soft knock drew her out of her daze. She opened the door to see Feyre hovering outside with a tray of tea and sweets. 

"Nesta is half an impulse away from storming the circus, demanding retribution." Feyre announced, walking into the room. "Just say the word." 

Elain scoffed, "Completely unnecessary." 

Feyre plucked two scones off the tray, dropping one in Elain's hand while taking a bite off the other. "I think we shall be the judge of that."

"I can fight my own battles." she retorted, "Not that one is required. He's leaving with the circus and we will never see each other again. End of story." 

Elain gathered by the way Feyre's eyes softened that her sister was not convinced and continued, "It was fun. Something that I can look back on one day fondly. That was all it was meant to be." 

"But you want it to be more." 

Elain bristled, the words to deny and placate poised at the tip of her tongue. Yet, she was tired. Tired of pretending that she did not want more. Tired and angry that Lucien did not want more, that he gave no indication that what they had was worth fighting for So she stayed silent and let the silence damned her. 

She moved to lay her head on Feyre's lap. Eyes falling shut when Feyre began to idly massage her scalp. After a long while, Elain distantly heard her sister say through the haze of Morpheus's hold, "You are worth fighting for."

Wake up. You need to wake up. Now .

Elain shot up, chest heaving, her heart pounding in her ear. Her eyes frantically surveyed her surroundings. She was alone. 

Right? 

She drifted to the window to observe the surroundings. All clear too. She clutched her chest tightly, willing her racing heart to settle. She spotted the small bottle from the tent sitting on her desk and picked it up, opening it to sniff it. She sighed, letting the familiar scent soothe her when-

Behind you! 

She turned around and ducked, narrowly missing the kidnapper's grasp. 

"Sharp senses."

Elain's head snapped to the source of voice, it was the blonde from the circus who was typically supervising Aris at the counter. Her face was pointed with a haunting beauty but her azure eyes shone with a cruel glint. Next to her were three burly men - the strongmen from the circus. 

Her mind raced. She was surrounded. Could she take the chance of screaming and hope that someone would hear? Making up her mind, she swept the contents off her desk at her assailants and opened her mouth to scream. 

A towel was tightly clasped over her nose and mouth before the scream left her throat. A sickeningly sweet scent filled her senses and darkness took over her senses.

***

Her head pounded. 

Elain suppressed a groan as she took in the distant sounds of a man and woman arguing. The haze in her mind cleared and she recalled the events that transpired. She was kidnapped. She quickly closed her eyes to feint unconsciousness.

"This was not what I agreed to, Ianthe." a familiar authoritative male stated in apparent displeasure. 

"That was just for Lucien's benefit, I'm sure." the woman, her kidnapper, surmised. 

"You cannot abduct humans from their home and assume it wouldn't go unnoticed. This is not Prythia!" He reprimanded.

"It's just a human." she sniffed.

"A human who is awake and listening in on our conversation." 

Elain froze. Seeing no reason to keep up the pretense, she sat up and turned to face them. It was the same woman from before, Ianthe, and the ringmaster, Tamlin. They looked different now. More than human - taller, pointed ears, almost feral. Yet undeniably beautiful. 

"Hello, Elain." The ringmaster, Tamlin, said in what had to be his gentle and reassuring tone. He turned to Ianthe and ordered, "Leave us." 

For a moment, Ianthe looked like she was about to argue but then decided against it. She shot Elain a final look of disdain before leaving the room.

"I'm truly sorry about this. It was not my intention to have you taken like this." A cheap attempt to mollify her. Instead, Elain felt the fear gave way to indignation.

"Why have I been taken?" Elain pressed on, "If this is about Lucien then you have nothing to worry about." 

"Lucien?" Tamlin asked, bewildered before frowning. "No, no. It is not about him." 

"Then what is it?"

"It's the impact your presence has made. The hole in our fence." 

Elain shot him a skeptical look, "You brought me here to fix the hole? It was there before I arrived!"

"No." Tamlin corrected, "The hole appeared because of you." 

Elain paused. Her mind whirled at his words, trying to connect the dots at their strange appearance and the sudden very apparent supernatural nature of the circus, "What do you mean? What are you people?" 

"We are Faeries or Fae. Bounded to this traveling circus after a great war had wrecked our world. Our fence represents a border between your world and ours. A hole like the one you found was a sign - a sign of a vulnerability in the magic keeping us alive."

"Faeries?" Elain whispered. They were not human. Somehow, everything suddenly made sense, like it was a fact as obvious as acknowledging that the sky was blue or the grass was green. "And Lucien?" 

He nodded, "Fae, just like us." 

A pit dropped in her stomach. Hands wrapped around her mouth, she asked in aghast, "So if the magic fails, he dies too?" 

"We don't know," he grimaced. "That's why this is worrying. We don't know anything other than how your presence had agitated the Cauldron."

"The Cauldron?" she echoed. 

"A very powerful artifact. One so powerful it has a level of sentience." he explained, "Would you like to see it?" 

He led her down the corridor and into a room where a large dark cauldron sat bubbling. Elain felt torn at its presence, equally repulsed and attracted. She stared at it, resisting the urge to flinch backwards when it spoke to her.

You came.

"If I go in, will it save the circus?" she asked quietly. 

"The circus runs on my magic, not the Cauldron." he clarified, "But there is something interfering." 

Elain considered his words carefully and made her choice. She made her way to it and lowered herself in. The last voice she heard before being submerged was Lucien yelling.

***

In the beginning

And in the end

There was darkness

And nothing more

Then along came war

Forged by lords and kings and queens

A world destroyed

A world remade

The world was on fire. Towers, palaces, houses and trees alight with silver flames which burned cold. In the middle of the inferno stood a lady. She seemed human.

"This was Prythia." 

The fires receded at her words to reveal beautiful sandy beaches, snow-covered towns, lively cities, sparkling night skies and sunrises streaked with purple and pink light. 

"A world destroyed, a world remade." Elain muttered under her breath. 

The lady nodded, "When the world was remade from the ashes, the seven courts of Prythia was split. Hidden within enclaves in the human world, all except for the Spring Court, which was ravaged so terribly that nothing could be saved. Its people turned nomadic, eventually becoming what you know today as-"

"The Night Circus." Elain finished. " But why are you telling me this? Why am I here?"

The lady answered, "You're here because you heard its call. You're here because more importantly, you answered the call. You can bring change to Spring. Give them the chance to have a home base again." 

"How?" she asked.

"Are you accepting?" she asked in return.

"I'm asking how." she clarified. 

"By accepting change yourself. By transforming yourself into something that can bring about the change."

Elain's mind flashed back to Lucien's expression when he spoke about the loss of his home. At the thought, their surroundings transformed to rolling green hills and beautiful lakes. Sparkling sky and singing trees. 

She turned to the female and dipped her head, "Okay."

Elain screamed as a sharp pain ripped through her. Visions assaulted her brain, too fast for her to process. Then there was nothing but whiteness.

***

Lucien

Lucien felt like he got sucker punched the moment Elain went into the Cauldron, her warm brown eyes shining brightly. He continued to stare at the Cauldron but accused, "You agreed to monitor. That there was no need to sacrifice her to the Cauldron."

"Ianthe acted on her own accord to bring her here. Elain chose to go into the Cauldron." Tamlin huffed.

"Don't you mean kidnapped her here?!" He snapped. 

Tamlin shrugged his shoulders with such indifference that made Lucien want to smash the High Lord's head to the ground, consequences be damned. But then a small gasp sounded from the Cauldron and with it, Elain's scent of jasmine and honey. 

Lucien hurried to help her out of the Cauldron, gently hauling her up and out. He dimly registered the pointed ears poking out of her golden brown hair and the subtle shift in her scent, one of Fae. Yet, everything is overshadowed by the insistent tugging in his chest. 

Mate. Mate. Mate. 

He crushed her to him, arms wound tightly around her back. "You're my mate." he said in the slightest of whispers. 

When Elain pried herself out of his grip, it was not to look at him but at Tamlin. She asked with effort, "If you could re-establish Spring, would you?" 

"It's not possible." he muttered in denial, waving his hands. 

"But would you?" She pressed fiercely. 

"Yes. Gods, yes." 

At Elain's instruction, they gathered in front of the Cauldron after throwing in a few mementos from Spring. She then began to chant in a foreign tongue, one Lucien was sure was an ancient Fae, and the artifact started to tremble.

"A flame" she ordered quietly to him before tilting her head to Tamlin, "And a kernel of your magic." 

The tremble grew into a quake as the final ingredients of the spell were added, Elain took both of their hands and shouted over the commotion, "Now, wish for it harder than you have ever wished for in your life. Envisage how it looked, how it smelt, how it felt!" 

Following her words, Lucien snapped his eyes shut and let the memories of Spring resurface. The energies surged through the three of them as he focused on the thoughts single-mindedly. Seconds bled into minutes before the energies dissipated and Lucien felt Elain's grip gradually loosened. Panicked, he opened his eyes just in time to catch her as she fell into unconsciousness.

***

Lucien took a deep breath as he stared down the greenhouse - the innocuous looking building which currently housed his mate. He inhaled sharply as he entered.

Elain was elbows deep in soil. He watched as she transferred a plume of daffodils from the pot into the ground, lovingly patting the soil. Lucien felt his breath caught up as she looked up at him. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail and her face was smeared with dirt. Lucien thought she never looked lovelier. 

His eyes narrowed on the cuts on her hands and instantly crossed over the stretch of greenery to her side. Elain stared at him with questioning wide doe eyes when he took her hands, face softening when he began to silently heal the cuts. 

"You've been avoiding me." he said quietly as he healed the last cut, instantly missing the warmth when Elain withdrew her hands from his.

Elain said nothing. Her hands reached for a pair of shears to snip off yellowing leaves of a nearby plant. She eventually admitted, "I needed time to process everything that happened."

"About us?" he pressed.

She stiffened, the words tumbling out of her, "There is no us." 

A chill ran down his spine, his mind spurned as he echoed, "No us?" 

"You left me." she said, body trembling slightly before she straightened her back as if firming her resolve, "You chose not to fight for us. This." She gestured around them, around her pointed ears, "Changes nothing."

"This" he gestured wildly, "changes everything!" 

"No!" she cried out, "Andras told me about the mating bond. What it means to be Fae and mates. You didn't choose us." 

She turned away, continuing in a soft devastated tone that twisted his heart, "You didn't choose me ." 

"What was I supposed to do? Tell you I am an immortal being trapped in an eternal existence of a nomadic circus performer? Trap you into that life with me? You deserve the world, Elain." his voice cracked, "You deserve more than me."

She shook her head sadly and placed one hand on his cheek, "You're still not choosing me." 

A panic overtook Lucien as he saw Elain walk away from him for a second time. He blurted out, "Give me the chance to deserve you."

She stopped, her back still facing him. He rushed in front of her, "But in the meantime, let me love you everyday of my life." 

Her face whipped to his in disbelief, wide eyes beseeching. He pressed on, "Let me spend the rest of my forever bettering myself so I'm good enough for you." 

She gave a teary smile, asked in surprise, "Are you proposing?"

"I don't have a ring but" He reached for his pocket to take out a slightly squashed cup, "Will you accept the promise of daily cups of chocolate covered, cinnamon coated churros?"

She choked out a laugh and took one piece out, biting a chunk off, "Yes, you silly male. All I ever wanted was you." 

Lucien felt his heart lighten as joy blossomed in his chest. He captured her lips in a searing kiss. "My wife." He breathed as Elain made quick work unbuttoning his shirt and shrugged them off his shoulders. His pants quickly followed suit. 

"My mate." Her dress drops into a puddle on the ground. 

"My love." He carefully laid her on a bed of discarded clothing to worship her with his mouth, his hands. Savouring every moan and sigh he elicited from her, his lips humming between her thighs as she writhed and shattered underneath his tongue.

"Say the words." he murmured, trailing wet kisses down her chest as he lined himself at her entrance. 

"You're mine." she sighed, gasping as he pushed himself in an inch, pausing to let her accommodate him. 

"And I'm yours." she continued, panting as he fully seated himself in her.  

The greenhouse glowed as their magics surged to meet another, glimmering vines threaded through the air and winded around the both of them.

"I love you." Lucien said afterwards as they laid sated in each other arms.

Elain's answering smile could have sent him to the heavens with no regrets. "I love you too."

***

Elain

Elain popped the Amsterdam postcard for her sisters into the mailbox and walked over to a quiet street corner where Lucien was waiting with a cup of hot coffee. 

"Done." she announced as she leaned forward to take the coffee from him, giving him a quick peck on the cheek in thanks.

"Let's go." she threaded her arm with his and let him winnow the both of them to their campsite next to the tulip farms. 

"It's beautiful." she sighed, sipping her coffee as she took in the fields. 

"Not as beautiful as you." he quipped. 

"Cheesy." she teased. 

"For you? Always." 

End

A/N: I have to admit, this fic got away with me. I started out only wanting to write a tribute to The Night Circus - literally nothing more than a love letter to the novel. Didn't expect it to end up with a Spring-centric story. But it had a really nice parallel to the novel's storyline which came as a happy surprise! I am also intentionally leaving the female Elain met in the Cauldron a mystery (although I did have someone in mind when I wrote it!) so I would love to hear any guesses or who it might be to you. I really enjoyed myself writing this and I hope you enjoyed reading it too!

#elucien #elucien fanfic #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar fic #acotar #the night circus #night circus AU

[monako-jinn-stories]

Echo X Fem!Reader FanFic

A Returning Echo ~ After the Citadel

Main Master List

Story Master List

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Three

When you arrive back on Coruscant, you watch as trooper after trooper is taken to the med center. With every passing stretcher, a string in your heart tears. Your men lost so much, and so many weren’t able to come home. Inside, you feel like you’re falling apart. The Council had failed you all, and let you rush towards your deaths. A million emotions swirl inside you, battling for control. It’s all so overwhelming that you feel like you need to just scream, but before you can get the chance, you see the one stretcher you’d been both anxious and scared to see.

Tie.

You hadn’t gone to the medbay to check on him, you’d been too scared to see the extent of his injuries. But now, as Aid is rushing him by, you get a sense of just how bad it is. Instead of following Aid, the rest of Jawa Squad walks over to you. Hex and Steele look distressed, and Sans looks concerned. 

“Y/n,” Sans says gently when he reaches you. Perhaps he can see some deeper emotion in your eyes that you aren’t able to register, because when your gazes meet, his expression changes to sympathy. In a second, his arms are around you and you’re crying in them. You distantly are aware of your nails trying to dig into his armor as your cries turn into sobs. If Sans hadn’t been holding you, you would have fallen to your knees. His hold on you tightens and you can hear him trying to quietly calm you, but it’s no use. You feel as though this is only the beginning of all the loss you will experience. First Echo, now half your men. What’s next? Codo? Jawa Squad? Kwol or Ahni? Your baby?

Those thoughts spurred another round of sobs, and you feel Hex and Steele join in on the hug. You’re grateful for their support, but it’s not enough now. Not when you’re the one who led their brother into the battle where he was nearly killed, and might have sustained fatal injuries. 

After a while, the boys are able to lead you to your quarters, where Hex prepares a meal while Steele and Sans keep trying to comfort you. They stay with you all night, taking turns holding you as your body convulses with each sob. You can’t get the sight of the battlefield out of your mind, or the number of stretchers that were fully covered to hide the bodies of the troopers who died of injuries. And then the image of Echo’s helmet came to mind, and another feeling of grief washes over you. Your hand rests on your stomach, and you reach through your tears towards your growing baby. They’re the only one who can comfort you right now, but it’s enough to stop the tears. After a while, you finally fall asleep, but it’s a restless one. If Jedi could dream, you’re sure you would have dreamt of the battle, and the loss you experienced today.

~~~

“Y/n?” Codo’s voice floats to you from a distant realm, one outside of your meditation. At first, you want to ignore it, but he’s persistent in gaining your attention. “You know, this was the spot that your father’s former master would often meditate.”

“You can say Count Dooku, Codo,” you respond, opening your eyes to look at him. “We’ve had our meeting, though I can’t say it was pleasant.”

“He was a good man, before,” Codo sighs, sitting next to you. “And despite what he said to you during your encounter, he loved your father like a son. It was when Qui-Gon was slain that Dooku’s fate was secured. After his death, Master Dooku was gone, and he was replaced by the Sith that possesses him now.”

“I wish I could have known them both,” you say. “Qui-Gon and Dooku.”

“In a perfect and fair galaxy, you would have,” Codo says, “but not in this one.”

“Did you come here to tell me something?”

“The Council would like to meet with you to discuss some things.” 

You let out a huff of annoyance. It’s been a few weeks since your devastating mission, and you still can’t shake the feelings of failure and betrayal. If the Council had done their duty correctly, then half of your battalion wouldn’t have been lost. And if you had been smarter, you would have realized the mission was suicide.

“I believe they are going to offer an apology.”

“Well they can shove their apology up the Maker’s asshole, because I’ll never accept it. The only way to mend things is to bring back the lives that were lost for nothing, and we all know that can’t be done.”

“Just hear them out, my child. If not to forgive them, then to just listen.”

“Alright,” you sigh, standing and stretching. “You owe me dinner for this.”

“I can pick up Dexter’s for dinner if you would like,” he offers, and a grin immediately covers your features.

“You know me, I’d never turn down Dexter’s,” you laugh. “Better start heading over now if you don’t want to make me wait too long, old man.”

Codo huffs, shaking his head before chuckling. “I am not old.”

“You’re older than me, and you’re also closer to Plo’s age than Kit’s age, so therefore, you are old,” you respond, giving him a sassy look before giggling and heading inside to meet with the Council.

When you arrive at the Council chambers, you meet Plo’s curious eyes, and you watch them flit down to your stomach. Instinctively, you pull your robes around you more, trying to hide the beginnings of your bump. 

“Master Jinn,” Mace says, gaining your attention, “thank you for coming.”

“It wasn’t really a decision I made, more Codo pressured me into it,” you say, shrugging as you respond.

“Well, no matter, thank you for coming.”

“We want to offer an apology,” Obi Wan says, and you look at him with a blank expression. “We recognize that we are at fault for what happened on your last mission, and we are sincerely sorry.”

“Your men made a valiant sacrifice for our cause,” Saesee adds, and you clench your jaw at the comment.

“As of tomorrow, your battalion will be full once more. We have new troopers arriving today from Kamino, and the ones assigned to your battalion will be assimilated quickly.”

So, they think that replacing the men I lost will make things better? They think this is an apology? you think to yourself, and more anger boils inside you.

“We were hoping that, since we allowed you a three week break, that you would be ready to go to battle again,” Obi Wan says, and that’s your breaking point.

“You allowed me a three week break?” you say incredulously, “I don’t know who told you that you allowed me to take this break, but they were lying to you. I didn’t ask for it, no one told me to take it, I just did out of my own free will. And replacing the men that I lost is not even close to an apology. So many of my battalion lost their lives for nothing, and others lost their brothers for nothing. Some were young, some had been with me from the beginning. I will not be returning to battle tomorrow, I will be heading to Dohbar with Jawa Squad. When we return to Coruscant, we will decide when and where to fight.”

“Disobeying the Council will have consequences, Master Jinn,” Ki Adi Mundi says, and you turn him to speak, but before you can, Mace speaks up.

“I believe we should let Master Jinn do as she wishes. We are, after all, fully to blame for what happened to her battalion on their last mission. We were foolish and acted irresponsibly. When the 17th battalion is ready to return to the war, they will return, and no sooner.”

“I agree with Master Windu,” Plo says, and you feel grateful for the both of them speaking on your behalf. 

“Go to Dohbar, you may. Decide when to return, you will,” Yoda says, and you nod your thanks. You turn to leave then, and as you step into the elevator, Mace and Plo approach you.

“Thank you for sticking up for me,” you tell them, and they both nod to you.

“I would actually like to speak to you privately, Master Jinn,” Mace says, and you agree. He leads you to an empty meditation room, and motions for you to sit. “How are you doing?”

“Not well,” you admit, hand resting against your growing baby bump. “It’s hard going through this, especially with Echo being gone. Jawa squad, Codo, Kwol, and Ahni are helpful, but it’s not the same.”

“I understand, and I want you to know that I will provide any help that I can, and I feel confident to speak on Plo and Kit’s behalves as well.”

“Thank you, Mace,” you respond, smiling softly at him. He returns the look before letting out a sigh.

“Your father would have been so happy for you,” he says, a distant look coming to his eyes. “He always loved being around the younglings. I could always sense how much it hurt him to not be able to be the father he wanted to be to you. He would have done anything to be a wonderful grandfather to your child.”

“I don’t really know what to say to that. Of course, I believe you, but it’s just hard to know what to say when I only met him once.”

“Actually, he visited you quite often when you were a baby,” Mace says, and you look at him in confusion. “When you were first born, after your mother died in childbirth, he took responsibility of finding you your home. He entrusted the royals on Dohbar, partly because of the safety of the planet, and partly because he felt like with you there, he’d be able to see you grow. However, his plan didn’t work out in the end. The royals ended up banning him from the system, telling him that you were a royal, and not a Jedi. They never wanted you to know who you came from, because they didn’t want the taint on your image.”

You scoff in response, shaking your head. It didn’t surprise you that the royals did this, but it still hurt to know how much of your life you had hidden from you by them. “Every time someone tells me something about the former king and queen, I’m never surprised with how horrible they’re made out to be.”

“They were good at being royals, but they were not good people,” Mace agrees. “I’m glad you turned out more like your father, even if you do tend to have quite a bit of his wild and defiant nature.” 

“I guess us Jinn’s are just made that way,” you joke, and he chuckles with you. 

“I almost wonder what your little one will be like. With your defiant nature mixed with Echo’s by the books nature, they should be at least very interesting.”

“I’ll need all the help I can get with them,” you agree. “I just can’t wait to know if it’s a little girl or boy.” When you say this, curiosity flashes in Mace’s eyes before slight confusion takes over.

“Has no one offered to reach out for you and feel their life force?”

“No, I didn’t even know that was possible,” you reply.

“Ah, well, only those very strong in the force can do it, so you’d need to ask someone like Codo, Plo, or Yoda.”

“What about you?” you ask, and Mace looks at you in surprise.

“Me?”

“Why not? You’re one of the only ones who is being supportive of me and actually trying to help. And I know we haven’t always been the best of friends, but I know your intentions are always good and that you truly care and want the best for people.”

“I would be honored, y/n,” Mace says, a smile coming to his face. He moves to sit next to you, and holds his hand out to your bump. After about a minute of concentration, a smile slowly comes to his lips again. “Would you like me to tell you?”

“Yes,” you say without hesitation.

“You have a fiery little princess on the way,” he says, and a smile bursts onto your lips.

“Little Echoa,” you say, and Mace nods. “Echoa Jinn.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful little girl you will have.”

“Thank you, Mace,” you say. “Not just for this, but for everything today.”

“It is my honor to help you in any way possible, y/n Jinn.” You stand and hug him, something that catches him by surprise, but he quickly snaps out of it and returns the gesture. You feel a new connection with him, almost a familial one. Not quite like a father, but something similar. When you let go, he nods to you again and says his goodbye, leaving you in the room alone. You smile down at your stomach, feeling your little girl’s life force growing.

“Echoa,” you say, “my little Echoa.”

When you leave the meditation room, you head straight to Codo’s quarters. Your excitement at the news of your new discovery puts a skip into your step, and you feel like you’re glowing with joy. People watch you curiously as you walk by, but you pay them no attention. As you approach his door, you hear familiar bantering from inside, and smile as you roll your eyes. Opening the door, you see Sans, Hex, Steele, Aid, and Tie all sitting around Codo’s dinner table.

“Hey y/n!” they all say, turning to wave at you with mouths full of Dexter’s Kowakian crumb cake.

“Isn’t dessert supposed to be eaten after your meal?” you joke, and they all scoff at you.

“Any true fine diner knows that the dessert should be the appetizer, main course, and dessert item,” Steele says, waving his fork at you.

“So you’re saying that the only thing you should eat is the dessert?”

“Precisely.”

“Well, I guess that just means more Shawda sandwiches for me,” you say, grabbing one and taking a bite. 

“How did the meeting with the Council go?” Codo asks, and you let out a sigh. 

“Well, I argued with Obi Wan again.”

“Not surprising.”

“But Mace and Plo stood up for me. They said that I should be allowed to take as long of a break as needed, and go to Dohbar for as long as I want. With Jawa squad,” you add. 

“Yes!” Sans says, crumbs falling from his mouth. “I can’t wait to go swimming again.”

“Who says you won’t be busy working?” you question, and he snorts in response.

“Please, I’m a soldier of the Republic, not Dohbar. Kwol can try to order me around as much as he likes, but I won’t lift a pinky unless I want to.”

“That’s for sure,” Hex says, earning a glare from Sans.

“No rough housing in my quarters, young men,” Codo says. “If you want to roll around the floor wrestling each other, go into the hall.”

“Yes, Codo,” they all respond, and you giggle to yourself when they do. 

“Any other exciting news?” Aid asks, and you smile as you nod your head.

“Mace asked me if I’d found out the gender of my baby yet, and I told him I hadn’t. I asked him if he’d be willing to tell me, and he said yes.”

“Wait, does that mean we get to know if we’re gonna be aunts or uncles?” Steele asks, and Tie knocks him on the head.

“You di’kut, we all identify as men, so we’re gonna be uncles. It's the baby that will be our niece or nephew.”

“I knew that, di’kut. I was just making a joke.”

“Sure you were,” Aid says, and Steele stands up and leans over the table at him, but Codo clears his throat and gives him a warning look. Huffing, Steele sits back down and mouths something to Aid, most likely a threat, because he narrows his eyes and angrily mouths something back.

“Alright, calm down, everyone,” you say, waving a hand over them and spreading calm energy through the force. The tension leaves them all and they turn to you, now with excitement and curiosity in their eyes.

“So?” Tie says, “we gonna have a little girl or boy joinin’ the family?”

You smile wide, resting your hand on your growing bump, and say the name you’d chosen. “There will be a new little princess.”

“It’s a girl!” Sans cheers, “I won the bet!”

“You bet on my baby’s- you know what, I’m not even surprised,” you say, shaking your head. 

“I’m very happy for you, y/n,” Codo says, resting a hand on your shoulder and smiling. 

“You’re going to be an amazing grandfather, Codo,” you reply, and his smile widens.

“I will do my best to honor your father in this position.”

“I can take on your husbandly duties if you’d like,” Sans says, flashing you a smirk. 

“I think I’ll pass on that offer,” you say, earning a sigh from the man.

“I guess I’ll have to try again later.”

“Or just give up,” Aid mumbles, earning a guffaw from Sans.

“Me? Give up on my Queen? Never.”

“I guess you’ll be waiting until your final breath, then,” you tease, and he shoots you a grin.

“So you’ll kiss me goodbye?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You said I’ll be waiting until my final breath.”

“Yes, but I didn’t say I would give into your request.”

“You wouldn’t let a dying man fulfill his final wish?” he questions, and you just shake your head before responding. 

“Enough, Commander. Just keep eating your crumb cake.”

“Yes, General,” he mocks, earning a light smack to the top of his head from you. 

“So, how long are we going to be on Dohbar for?” Hex questions, and you shrug your shoulders.

“Honestly, I have no idea. I only really said that because I want to get away from Coruscant and battling.”

“Well, take however long you need,” Codo says, “the 17th won’t be going anywhere without you, and as much as the Council may think they need you, your life and baby are more important.”

“I know,” you respond, putting your plate in the sink before heading to sit on the couch. The boys follow you, and squeeze onto the couch with you.

“So, are we watching a holovideo and playing some games tonight?” Steele asks, and the others start debating over what to do. You feel yourself getting tired as they talk, and eventually your eyes start to feel heavy. Aid, who is sitting on your right, shifts so that your body is now resting against him. You turn your head and look at him briefly, and you both smile at each other. He mouths, “get some rest, y/n. You’ve earned it.” You just nod and let your eyes close, sinking into him as you let sleep take over.

It’s the middle of the night when you wake up, and you’re not quite sure why it happened, but you sense some kind of disturbance in the force. You briefly take note of your situation. You’re resting against Aid, with Tie laying his head in your lap. Hex is sitting in a chair with his feet up, head back while he snores. Steele is squeezed in the chair with him, but his feet hang over one side as he lays across his brother. Sans is lying on the floor in front of the couch, curled up under a blanket that looks a little too small for the trooper.

As much as you want to stay and enjoy this moment and fall back asleep with Jawa squad, another feeling of disturbance hits you. Reluctantly, you slide out of your position and step over Sans, giving the warmth of Codo’s room one last gaze before heading out the door. 

The cool air of the hall sends a chill through you, and you pull your Jedi robe tighter around you as you follow the feeling you’re sensing. It’s almost familiar to you, like someone you know is reaching out or in distress. It’s a young signature, and your mind jumps to the twins. Could one of them be in need? The thought makes you quicken your steps and worry floods through you. 

Soon enough, you reach the door to where they sleep. The feeling in the force is strong, and you know you’d been right to check on them. When you step in, a bunch of tiny youngling’s heads turn to look at you in surprise. Candles are lit all around the room, and it seems that they were up to no good.

“What are you all doing?” you ask, and they all look away as their faces heat in embarrassment for getting caught.

“It was Tayah’s idea,” one of them says, and you look over and find Tayah with an angry face. 

“Tayah, is that true?”

“No!” You look at the other youngling again, and his mouth is gaping in disbelief. You fold your arms and look at them all individually before sighing.

“Everyone, blow your candles out and get back into your beds.”

“But-”

“No,” you say, cutting off another youngling. “It is past time for you all to be asleep. And candles are not permitted in your dormitories. I will be telling Master Yoda about this.”

“No! Please no!” a bunch of them cry, and you hold up your hand for them to be quiet.

“You are Jedi younglings, correct?” After a second, they nod, and you continue. “Jedi do not lie, Jedi do not deceive, and Jedi do not break the rules. Jedi follow the Order and listen to what their Masters and Council have to say. Disobeying can lead to many punishments. You will all receive the fair punishments you have earned for your actions.” They all groan, and you look over to see Tayah wiping away tears. Your expression softens and you walk over to her, sitting on the edge of her bed when you reach her. She turns away from you, hiding her face. You smile softly and gently grab her hand.

“Tayah,” you say quietly, “would you like to stay in my quarters with me for the rest of the night?”

“I’m not in trouble?” she asks, and you purse your lips before responding.

“Well, yes, you are, but I have a feeling there’s a reason for you to be acting out. Come with me, okay? We can talk on the way to my room.”

“Okay,” she says, sliding off her bed and putting a pair of boots on. You wave goodnight to Ringo and take Tayah from the room. “How is your training going?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mumbles, frowning at the ground.

“Is it not good?”

“It’s so hard, and everyone is so mean to me!” she says, a bit too loudly for the quiet of the night. You look at her curiously before pausing in your steps to bend down and be at eye level with her. You gently turn her cheek to you and she has tears in her eyes again. You pull her into a hug and lift her up, setting her on your hip as you carry her down the hall.

“Are the others bullying you?”

“Yes!”

“Have you told any of the Masters?”

“I’ve tried, but they just tell me I need to ignore them and not let the emotions cloud my judgment,” she replies, waving her hands mockingly as she finishes.

“Well, they’re right, but they’re also wrong,” you say, looking down the hall. “You can’t react to your emotions or use them to react, you have to control them and let them pass. You have to be rational. If someone angers you, you cannot kick them. You have to understand where they may be coming from and help them change. If that doesn’t work, then ignoring them might.”

“Everyone just always says how I can’t do anything and I’ll never be a Jedi,” she says, burying her face into your neck. You rub a hand around her back, trying to comfort her the best you could.

“You can be anything you want, Tayah,” you say, “I believe in you, Codo believes in you, Ringo, your mom, and your dad believe in you. You just have to believe in yourself and prove everyone else wrong.”

“But it’s so hard.”

“I know, and unfortunately it doesn’t always get easier. But you just have to keep fighting.”

“I’m tired, though,” she mumbles.

“Then let’s make sure you get a good night’s rest tonight, okay?”

“Are you still going to tell Master Yoda?” You sigh, thinking it over in your mind. Sure, it was dangerous for them to have the candles in their dorm but they’re also just younglings. But then again, bad behavior shouldn’t be ignored.

“Yes, but I will make sure he isn’t mean with his punishment.”

“Okay…” she replies, and you turn your head to plant a kiss on her cheek. She smiles at that, and snuggles closer in your arms.

“I’m heading back home tomorrow,” you say as you enter your quarters. Tayah whips her head up, and wonder fills her eyes.

“Are you going to see my mom and dad?”

“Yes, and I’m going to try and bring you and Ringo back some gifts from them.”

“Yay!” Tayah cheers, and you set her down on the floor. She runs to your bedroom and jumps onto your bed, and you giggle to yourself as she does. “What’s this thing?” she asks, and you walk in to see her holding Marvin. A pang of hurt hits you, and tears start to well in your own eyes. You quickly compose yourself, though, and walk over to sit by her side.

“That’s Marvin. Me and Echo won him at an arcade on our first date.”

“Marvin? What kind of name is that?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh, remembering the naming process. “But it fits him.”

“I guess,” she replies, her voice sounding unconvinced. “When can we see Echo again?” Another pang of hurt shoots through you, and you look away to blink back your tears as you respond.

“Well, I’m not sure. Master Skywalker…he sent him on a very long mission…I don’t even know when he’ll be back.”

“Can we holocall him?”

You shake your head, swallowing and clearing your throat before speaking. “No, I’m afraid he’s not able to talk. He’s…he’s deep undercover. Not even An-I mean Master Skywalker can talk to him.”

“Oh,” she says sadly, and you look back at her. She’s cuddling Marvin as she lays on your bed, her eyes studying you. “Y/n?”

“Yes, Tayah?”

“Is he going to come back?” The words cut through you, and you’re unable to keep the tears from falling. You try to smile, but it quivers on your lips. You close your eyes and slowly shake your head, and after a moment you feel Tayah shift to hug you. “It’s okay, you still have a part of him with you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, sniffing before looking at her curiously.

“Your daughter,” she says, resting a hand on your belly as she looks up at you. You feel your eyes widen slightly, and you try to move past your confusion.

“How do you know about her?”

“I can sense her,” she says, looking down at your belly. “She’s a lot like you, but she’s also a lot like Echo. She’s going to have your strong will, and his smarts.”

“Are you calling me dumb?” you ask jokingly, and she giggles while shaking her head. “Alright, Tayah. Now that we’ve both cried, I think it’s time for bed.”

“Okay,” she says, scooting back to her spot. You lay down next to her, and she snuggles closer to you. You hold her close, basking in the love you have for each other. She may not be your daughter, but she was the closest thing to a niece you have, and you’d do anything to protect her. Something felt off, though. Especially when she was talking about training. Despite being strong in the force, you wonder if she really is meant to be a Jedi or not. You push the thought away, instead thinking of your little girl. Less than half of your pregnancy is left, and internally you can’t wait for it to be over. You want to hold your little Echoa, and watch her grow into the daughter her father would have loved.

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#star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars the clone wars #the clone wars #starwars fanfic #a returning echo #pregnancy #arc trooper echo #echo #clone trooper echo #echo x you #echo x female reader #echo x reader #Jawa squad

[knockyasocksoff2022]

More Than You Know \\ soukoku

Chapter I: Nakahara VS Mori

POV: Chuuya

(2,552 words)

(A/N: For this context, Dazai's surname is Mori so Chuuya calls him Mori and calls Ougai, Mori-san.)

I'm the only one here and the courtyard is still quiet, the only sounds are the birds chirping, the creaking of the gate, and the swishing of the trees that hide Kafka Academy from the gritty rest of Yokohama.

I like it this way, here I can actually study, which I suppose is the point of my enrollment here, at any rate, it's better than home. I know Kuoyou tries her best but ever since our parents died in a lab accident, and my brother ran off to France, it's been hard. 

Kuoyou is in university and works as a secretary at Yokohama Port Corporation, and I studied my ass off for this scholarship.

My head flicks up from my maths textbook when I hear the gate opening. It piques my interest until I recognise the car. I curse myself for letting myself get distracted on this particularly difficult problem. Still, I can't look away. The car is a limousine, pretty standard for the types of kids here, but this car has the Mori family crest on the grill. 

Mori Ougai is the CEO of Yokohama Port Corporation, his son Mori Osamu goes here and we have all our classes together. Unfortunately for me, he's an annoying little shit. But, fortunately for me, he's usually only here just before the bell rings.

He steps out of the car, says something to the driver, and then to my horror starts marching right up to me, swinging his hips like some kind of model. Rich, spoilt brat!

When he reaches me he glances down at my textbook and then says "The answer to that one is 3,459."

I should be used to it by now but I'm not, "What!"

"You were close though."

His words snap me out of my shock, how dare he patronise me? "Don't tell me the answer, then I won't learn!" It feels stupid after I've said it.

"I'm just telling you the answer, not telling you how to get to it. Besides, even if I did, it's not like the teacher checks the textbooks anyway." he looks genuinely confused at why I would actually want to do more work and it makes me want to punch him.

"Well, some of us actually care if people think we're lazy and spoilt. You know, some of us aren't born arrogant geniuses, and I actually want to learn. Go flirt with the garbage bin, or whatever it is that makes you late every day."

I expect him to tease me back but instead, he sits down beside me and stares at the maths book. "Yes, you're a very passionate dedicated student, and person in general, so willing to try everything and do it with all of your heart, it's what makes you so admirable."

I can tell he's talking to me but his words don't make a shred of sense, "What the hell!? Stop that, are you high?"

He only laughs, "No, I'm flirting with garbage, just like you told me to."

I can feel the heat rising in my chest and my blood pulsing in my ears, my capabilities of rational thought disappearing as the anger takes over "Oh, really? Ya' know what? . . ."

The punch lands squarely on his left eye and he falls to the ground, not dramatically, he just falls with an empty-sounding thud, I expect him to spring up but he just stays there, after a few seconds he's still motionless.

As I walk away I realise it's the first time I've really hit him like that, with all of my power, and intention to hurt. I mean I've hit him loads of times before but this feels different, for one thing, he didn't hit back, even if just to play the victim. Shit! I wonder if he'll tell. I've always been so careful with my temper, of course, this bastard is the one who made me mess up. I could get kicked out and lose my scholarship for this.

I look around, but nobody's there yet, except the driver. I wonder distantly why he didn't leave, but more importantly, if he'll report this to Mori-san.

Pushing down all of my pride in favour of saving my reputation, I plaster the best sad expression on my face that I possibly can and walk back towards the boy on the ground.

He's still on the ground and completely still, should I say something? I hate that I'm actually worried about this when I should be worried about the beating Kuoyou's gonna give me for this. But what if I actually hurt him, I'll definitely lose my scholarship for this.

Panic starts to rise in my chest, and I fight to maintain my usual teasing tone, "Come on you lazy bastard, get up."

He makes no move, I nudge him with my foot, and try to bait him into getting back up and arguing with me, "Did I knock you down that easily? Wow, so it was really this easy huh? I should've done this a long time ago."

Finally, he stirs. I expect him to make some big announcement about how hearing my annoying voice brought him back from the dead but instead, he just mumbles something into the quiet morning air. 

Because I know the driver is watching I extend my hand, and to my surprise he actually takes it. I bring him to his feet and he lets go of me immediately, probably disgusted to be touching someone who doesn't live in the fanciest part of the city.

He walks away, not towards the school, but back to the car. Is he ditching? Just because I punched him? Whatever, what do I care?

I watch nervously as the driver says something to him, looking at me like I'm a bomb that could go off at any second. I would make a crack about how I didn't know rich people spoke to their help but I can't afford to make this any worse. Mori answers the driver and gets back into the car. 

It pulls out of the gate the same way as it came in, and then he's gone.

After he's gone the worry settles in my chest. Of course, he left, he's probably going to tell his dad that I 'mortally wounded' him, and then they'll sue the hell out of us. 

I try to go back to my maths to distract myself but I can't focus so I just stare off into space.

—

Eventually a hand waves in front of my face, for a second I think it's one of the Mori family's goons come to arrest me but then I realise that the hand is covered in bandages.

"Wha-"

It's Mori. He must have scraped his hand when he fell, but I didn't see any scrapes so he's probably faking for attention. "Hey, Chibi! Did you finally figure it out?"

"Figure what out?" it comes out in the aggressive tone I usually use with him but I try to soften it on the slim chance he's still making up his mind and hasn't told on me yet. His fringe is over his face, particularly his left eye, my punch definitely left a bruise.

"The maths problem, of course. I'd offer to help you, but you seem to be in a handsy mood this morning and I'm afraid I'm not really looking for that right now." The way he phrases it makes it sound like I did something . . . sexual.

"It wasn't fucking "handsy" I fucking punched you, you perv!" So much for being gentle, "And I don't need your fucking help!"

"Suit yourself." He shrugs in the way he does that says 'Whatever, I'm so superior anyways.' and walks back toward the school.

The bell rings and I grab my maths book and head to my locker.

-

When I arrive in the English classroom Mori is already there, in the seat next to mine. Well, we don't have assigned seats but I always sit there, and he knows it.

"What d-" I remember I'm supposed to be sucking up, for the sake of my scholarship. My tongue burns with all the words I want to throw at him right now but instead, I say, "Do you need something?" with as little aggression as I can possibly manage.

He looks at me for a long moment and then blinks, "You may speak normally, Nakahara-san." The sudden formality is clearly him mocking me but it sounds right on him, fitting, like this is how someone like him should talk, not throwing kid-ish insults every chance he gets. I've never heard him talk like this before, almost like he's pulling rank on me, but not like he usually does, shoving me and calling me a dog. At the same time, the elegance sounds weird coming from him, despite his aristocratic status, the words are like a suit that doesn't quite fit. I'm used to him teasing me like a child, and it makes me realise how stiff it must sound coming from me. That was probably his intention.

It's true it would seem hella suspicious if I all of a sudden started being sweet to him, I'll have to try to find a balance. "Well, what do you want?"

"Nothing, I'm just sitting here, we still have free seating you know."

I take a breath not trusting myself to forcefully relocate him to another seat by throwing him across the room. "Yeah well, just don't bother me okay?"

He gasps dramatically, throwing a hand over his chest, "Of course not!"

The relief is immediate, to be honest it was actually kinda creepy hearing him talk like some fancy businessman.

-

English goes well, and true to his word Osamu doesn't bother me once, not even to correct the mistakes I'm sure I must be making. It's relaxing.

But, as soon as I step out of the classroom door, he's beside me. "You didn't make nearly as many mistakes as usual, Nakahara-san, have you been studying more?"

I can tell he's still teasing me about being stiff earlier. "No, It's because you weren't bothering me the entire class. If you keep this up I'll kick your ass out of that top spot!" I almost regret saying that, god forbid I give him more incentive to pester me. As if anyone could ever touch his ranking.

"As if, Chibi can't even reach that high." he echoes my thoughts and I can't help but laugh just because it's so true that I can even forgive the height jab. I shake my head and head to my locker.

The next class is maths, just before I enter the room someone catches my shoulder. I turn. It's a tall blond boy with glasses, he holds a green notebook with the word "Ideals" written neatly on the cover in fancy script. I think his name is Kumiya or something like that.

He looks concerned and whispers as he speaks, "What did you say to Mori-san in the corridor, he looked like he'd just seen a ghost?"

"Huh, what'd ya mean?"

"I have English with you and right after you walked away he looked like he might faint."

The boy's words confuse me, and I have seriously no idea what I could've said to shock him so much. "He must have realised he forgot to turn his oven off or something."

Shaking off the strange encounter I head into the class

In maths, we do have assignment seats, and Mori's is right next to mine. It's hell. He's always holding his stupid IQ over my head.

When the professor releases us to do work he does his work with ease, finishing before me and the rest of the class. But that's not enough, no, then he turns to me and scans my paper.

He frowns, "You're still doing it wrong. I can help you if you like."

"No, I don't need your help."

"But, you clearly don't know how to do it?"

"You think I don't know that you smug asshole!"

"Well, if you know you're not doing it correctly then, why–"

The argument goes on until the work timer goes off, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me and making me fall out of my seat. I mutter a curse. And gather my worksheets, releasing rather belatedly that most of them are less than half done.

To my horror the teacher is walking down rows, he isn't collecting the paper but I see that he's checking it, I take out my maths book and pretend to be consulting the text. I glance over and see that Mori has his book out too and is dutifully "checking his work". Of course, he's done nothing wrong.

Professor Tsushimura approaches us and looks disapprovingly down at my mostly blank papers.

"Is there a reason, Nakahara-san, that your work has gone undone?"

I look over at Mori, the smug bastard. 

"Yes sir actually, Mori-san wouldn't stop bothering me. He repeatedly took my materials and refused to return them."

At this accusation, Mori looks up but directs his gaze back down before the professor notices.

"Ah, I see. Well, seeing as you're such a hard worker Nakahara-san I'll let you off with a warning, and I'll be moving your seat, come see me when you get to class tomorrow for your new seating assignment. And Mori-san," the boy looks up looking innocent, "while I did not witness your transgressions myself I'm sure you will be fine with another person next to you and cleaning the blackboard and desks during your free period today."

"Of course, professor." Mori just nods making no effort to deny my mostly false claims. I'll admit I expected him to come after me and the fact that he didn't startles me and leaves an almost uneasy feeling in my stomach. He must be planning his revenge. I hope that maybe he just wanted to suck up, but I know that isn't true.

The professor nods, pats me on the and heads back to his desk, dismissing the class just as the bell rings.

I cram the worksheets hurriedly into my bag and head off to the library to complete them.

By the end of the free hour, the concept starts to make sense. I think I'll be able to finish them at home.

The next class is Science.

I sit next to Mori in this class too, it's because we have M and N surnames and the seating chart is alphabetised. When I sit down Mori looks away. 

He doesn't look at me for the rest of science.

I ignore his eerie silence as best as I can and focus on my worksheet. The work is easy because we have a substitute teacher (Some old guy with a monocle) so I finish quickly. I want to work on my maths a bit more but when I finish I find myself turning to look at Mori. He's on his phone, playing one of those mindless candy-crush-type games. 

Soon my maths is abandoned as I watch him engrossed in something on his phone, he almost looks like a normal kid.

Before I know it the bell is ringing and I curse myself once again allowing Mori to distract me.

-

In History the same thing happens, it's kind of creeping me out and I know whatever he must have planned is going to make my life hell.

But by Physical Education, our last class of the day nothing has happened.

Maybe he just decided to stop wasting his time on a peasant or something but either way, I'll keep my guard up.

#More Than You Know // soukoku #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #soukoku #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #soukoku angst #soukoku fanfiction #soukoku fic

[luminousrider]

(Our muses going apple picking together.) The silence between them stretched on minutes - Finn praying on that it would perhaps tumble into something amicable and comfortable. While the orchard was lively and full, he could not get his heart into the Iull of things. Walking continued, and Finn distantly admired the full succulency of the fruit - its color, brightness, how it had taken all season to take on form. So to had Altena taken all these years to grow up. From those far-off years when he once knew her to today, where the distance between them could not be greater. She truly was a remarkable lady. And, of course, he did not simply say that because she was Altena. But Finn cursed his uselessness, hands grasping at air. As if she wanted to hear that now. A young woman in her prime with likely a lost sense of identity. There was so much he yearned to tell her but no space to say it. Lady Altena, I have always wanted to tell you....... And so he resorted to walking among the rows of apple trees, behind her, viewing the freshly grown fruit and watching them shine in the sunlight. Their luster was much like hers, he thought. It took a keen eye to appreciate. "Anywhere else you'd like to go, Lady Altena?" he asked, all other thoughts bereft from his lips. "Shall I take some apples for you? For back to the monastery?"

Altena is genuinely in awe as she walks silently through the trees of the apple orchard. It had been opened up for the monastery's students and staff to pick their fill. Where the others are happily filling their baskets and chatting together, she simply walks on silently. She's never seen so many fruit bearing trees so filled with fruit. At least, not that she can remember.

It's shocking just how big and red they are. She hadn't even thought fruit could grow to be that perfect looking. It didn't in Thracia. And anything they were able to import was never this nice. Not that she'd have ever complained. Fruit was fruit and she was always just happy to have it.

She doesn't notice Finn trailing behind her, umber eyes too wide and full of wonder and delight, too busy taking in the sights of the orchard. When he speaks, she startles but stops and turns to face him.

"For me?" She hadn't even considered bringing any of the apples back with her. It didn't feel right. Sure, they were each given a basket and a promise that they could take anything that would fit inside but she's just never had this kind of unlimited access to produce before. Shouldn't it be saved for someone who needs it? It feels too frivolous but it does make her mouth water to think about what it might be like to bite into one. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt to take just a couple. These are nearly twice the size of anything we ever get back home..."

#leonsterslance #finn :softsmile:

[tiptoeing-upsidedown87]

They rape the skull so we can't think.

-And are held down by noise.

They rape the outer vagina so we can't breathe on our own.

-And have to sit with their man at the time of choice while being held down.

They torture the heart so we can't see clear.

-So they can dominate their realms and living dreams of life.

They rape the ass with men.

-So we don't respect them at all.

They rape the eyes with souls of dead nasty tattooed girls.

-Because they conquer their money and withdrawal symptoms.

You know how I know it's wrong? You know how I know they're wrong? I was bisexual. I would admire women so distantly from myself. Clear in my body to make physical decisions. To love a man and slowly learn love for a woman... Shower is to be expressed with women. We find a sense of bitter quietness and alone time. Something we'd only ever share with other women like us, like something far from a locker room? When are they gonna make up their minds and do something worth meaning something. Something not to be shared with men? The way the soap would hold my body and the way it holds the body of another. The way the water talks from God and establishes a sense of security in being watched blindly. You know how I learned I was leaning hard into bisexuality? When men started sharing. When they started seeing eachother. When they would place a woman or women in the middle of their conversations. When my only sense of safeness in my body was in the arms of a woman. When the only way I could express myself was in the heart of a doctor. It hardens my heart to feel like men and women will bully my idea of security. When women and men scold me and tell me to share my supposed to be silent sexuality. Like I'll never be bisexual again. I'll never experience true sex again? 😪 I'm tired. Exhausted. My means are exhausted. This is to be the body. And this is to be the flesh. I'm a child now for my beliefs. I am just insecure. I'm frightened by the sex of others because it is not the sex of myself. At 28 you shouldn't be having to prove your bisexual vagina. Your straight vagina. If you are feeling extra lesbian today why would you share that with a complete stranger? A stranger at all? It's hypocritical. To feel offended in the way these people envision life. Why would I get comfortable here? Why would I force myself security that isn't mine? To retrain myself over and over. Hey over here, our CLASS IS FULL were walking vaginas. Tomorrow our kids are gonna be learning to hang from jungle gyms from their skull. How neat. 🤔

child sex. Adult child sex. Almost 30 and my only classification till I get my teeth handled or fixed is adult child? I'm cryinScreamin... my ex is 40 somethin. Like we don't share a home together? I'm supposed to climb up the mountain time and time again to my child and his house. 👋 hey I'm still here. Bitching about personal freedom.

Adult Kids these days are off chains in their back yards dreaming about any possible thing that comes to mind. A fence is a fence. A bike is a bike. A tree is a tree. They really just have such peculiar things to envision about what lies in front of them. They're allowed to use it for an hour. In our time thats 3 days. After they get a new water bowl it's onto punishment for the 45 seconds they thought of jumping off their dog house. 62 seconds about how they jumped up for a ball that almost hit the sky. 45 minutes about the food trashed in the yard. Another 45 minutes for the sex with the neighborhood Colly... 'They were just talking about last week when they strolled the block with their plastic machetes and fake cigars. 😒 like it wasn't sex at all...... 2 seconds for an eye glare from a fuzzy in their eye. Now onto the plushed pillow in the house. Scattered with invisible feathers from the cat on the line. But still these parents insist its the adult dogs fault. Why are those peddles all over my tub? Did you do this? Like cmon no one else was in the house. Why did you peddle my tub? Because I had a sense of security. I was envisioning smoother skin. Someone told me do it. Lol. This life.

[chudleycanonficfest]

Day 28, Post #1 by @floreatcastellumposts

Title: The Argument Author/Artist: FloreatCastellum Pairing: Gen Prompt: “Siblings: The only enemy you can’t live without” -Anonymous Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Mild language

When he was a child, Ron had sometimes sat secretly on the stairs, feet in slippers too big for him, teddy tucked under his arm, listening to the goings on in the kitchen. Often his sister or a brother or two would be with him. This was especially the case when there was an argument, because they were a nosy bunch of kids, and they would grin gleefully at one another as they heard their mother roar over some issue, like when Bill came home with his first tattoo, or Charlie had done something dangerous like climb on the roof, or the many, many, many things that Fred and George had done. They would gather on the stairs and snigger and delight in their siblings being in trouble - that it wasn't them, and usually it was over something hilarious too. 

Today was quite different. The stairs were narrow, so Ginny was pressed right up against him, but she was gripping hold of his arm too. Behind them, Fred and George sat in grim, stony silence, their knees occasionally knocking the back of Ron's head, but, remarkably, none of them were squabbling.

'Is it so hard to just be happy for me?' Percy was bellowing, and that in itself was unusual, because it was never Percy in trouble. 

'It's not about that,' Dad was bellowing back, 'are you so naive? Are you really so foolish-?' This was unusual too, because it wasn't usually Dad bellowing. 

'Percy... Percy, we're just worried, we're just concerned...' Mum was sobbing. This was unusual, because she usually had a bit more fight in her, not this desperate pleading. 

'You're so cynical, the pair of you-'

'We're realistic! You've been promoted well above your grade before the dust has settled on the inquiry-'

'STOP BRINGING UP THE INQUIRY!' Percy sounded quite deranged; the ferocity of his voice made Ginny jump slightly, and grip Ron's arm harder. 'That - wasn't - my - fault! That was the point of it! That PROVED I wasn't to blame, I was acquitted-'

'Yes, and we were delighted,' said Dad, and to Ron's astonishment, his words sounded bitingly sarcastic, 'but even so, you have to see that mass scandal is not usually a precursor to promotion!'

'He SAW something in me!' 

'Yes, he did! He saw a potential spy! On our family - on Dumbledore-'

Percy let out a maniacal laugh, forced and sneering and sanctimonious, it made Ron wince as he heard it. 'And you say I'm arrogant?' 

'We've never said you were arrogant-' Mum tried to chip in desperately, but Percy continued talking over her. 

'You think you're important enough to warrant the Minister for Magic spying on you? You think he considers you in the same circle as Dumbledore? More to the point, you think Dumbledore truly respects the likes of you?'  

'Fudge has been going round making it more than clear that anyone who supports Dumbledore can clear out their desks-'

'Utter rot-'

'-He knows I'm friendly with him, he knows I have advised the school on muggleborn inte-'

'No one cares!' Percy screamed. 'No one cares about that stuff! You're ludicrous!'

'Ludicrous?' Dad echoed, with an uncharacteristic scoff to his voice. 

'Ludicrous! Not everything is a conspiracy, not everything has an anti-muggle agenda - I know what this is really about, you're embarrassed that your own son is rising above you, is succeeding where you haven't-'

'Percy!' Mum's gasp was so clear that Ron could easily imagine her hand leaping to her chest. 

'I've had to struggle against your lousy reputation ever since I started! Do you know how embarrassing it is? Do you know what it's like having people ask if I'm related to the muggle-mad Weasley on Level Two-' 

'That's enough,' said Dad coldly. 

'I lie to them, d'you know that? I tell them we're only distantly related.' 

'What the fuck?' Ron heard one of the twins whisper behind them. 'Is he serious?' 

'I never imagined I had raised you to be so small-minded-' Dad was spitting back.

'It's baffling that you raised me at all! You, who has no ambition, no sense, no idea of how ridiculous you come across with your obsession with muggles - is it any wonder you've always been passed over for promotion-'

'-Because of bigotry!'

'-Any wonder you've left your children to grow up in poverty? To be humiliated by the failures of their father?' 

'Stop it! Percy, stop it!' Mum was wailing, and whether it was Fred or George directly behind him Ron didn't know, but their knee was trembling against the back of his head. 

'It's not failure, it's a matter of principle and integrity!' Dad roared back. 'There are more important things than gold, that's what we've always-'

'You are deluded! You are so blinded by your persecution complex, by your victimhood, that you cannot be happy for your son!' Percy’s voice was hoarse and raw, whether from tears or overexertion, Ron wasn’t sure. 'You can't bear to see him succeed where you failed! To see him make something of himself!'

'Why would I be happy watching my son be manipulated and used? Make no mistake, Percy - this is no achievement, this is Fudge playing you as a puppet - if you're ashamed of your background, that's your prerogative, but there's no denying this family is known to be close to Dumbledore and Harry, and Fudge is waging a vendetta against-'

‘You’re an idiot to run around with Dumbledore!’ snapped Percy. ‘He’s heading for trouble - gone completely power mad the last few years - you know full well his glory days are over. You’ll end up going down with him-’

‘Fudge is fighting a campaign against Dumbledore when he should be-’

‘I know where my loyalties lie, and it is not with my old teacher! It is with my employer, the leader of my government, with people who look at the facts!’

‘The facts are that Harry-’

'Yes - Harry - here we go,' snapped Percy. 'You rank the word of a child above the expert testimonies and mountains of evidence brought up by the inquiry, above your own boss - no wonder he thinks you're cracked. You’re determined to see conspiracy everywhere-’ 

‘How can you say that? You saw the aftermath of what happened, you saw him-’

‘I saw the actual dead boy, I saw Diggory!’ snapped Percy. ‘Think what his family is going through, their child’s death being used as a political quaffle-’

‘That is Fudge’s doing! That is his choice! He has chosen to make a mockery of Diggory, to disregard Harry-'

‘To question the story of a teenager,’ corrected Percy. His tone was cold and quiet, the kind of sanctimonious "I'm being the grown up here, actually" patience that Ron found unbearably aggravating. ‘The only evidence is his word, it’s not unreasonable to question a witness. In fact, it’s a perfectly standard part of due process.’

Ron’s growing anger was now twisted with a kind of lurching dread. The snide little comments in the Daily Prophet, which they had all blustered and raged and gasped in revolted disdain at over breakfasts for the past week, suddenly felt sinister. As he thought about it, Percy had never joined in… had always been silent… 

‘Percy…’ said Mum, so faintly that, as one, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George all leaned forward to listen. ‘Percy, surely you… surely you believe him? Surely you can’t believe he deserves what they’re saying about him? He’s just a child - it’s like the whole world’s forgotten that he’s just a child.’ 

'Yes, he's just a child - so why should he be the centre of everything?' Percy demanded. 'Why should he shape our family? Impact our careers?' 

'Percy… if you had seen him in the hospital wing, if you had looked into his eyes…' 

'Mr Fudge was not convinced,' said Percy, as though that settled the matter.

‘Has he asked you about Harry?’ Dad asked abruptly. Beside Ron, Ginny was shaking. ‘Casually?’ 

‘I - no more than is to be expected when you have someone famous living under your roof-’

‘What did he ask? What did you say?’ 

They heard a brief, thick silence, and a sharp exhale of air. ‘He… he’s not relevant to this discussion. This is beyond - this isn’t the issue - the only evidence is his word, as I said-’ 

‘You don’t believe him.’ Dad’s voice was blank, stunned, quiet. ‘You… you know that boy, Percy.’  

‘You don’t believe in me,’ said Percy, and Ron could hear his tears now, the slight thickness to his voice, the sniffs between words. ‘You’d rather believe in some ludicrous conspiracy theory from a teenager who thinks he sees You-Know-Who around every corner than believe that your own son might have worked hard, might be talented, might deserve his career. You’d really think so little of me.’ 

‘That’s not it. That’s not it at all,’ Dad said quietly, and Mum was crying loudly. ‘We just-’

‘I don’t care!’ said Percy harshly. ‘I don’t care what you think! Not any more! Years I’ve put up with it, years! I’m going - I’m gone - I don’t want to see either of you again - you’ve made it clear that you don’t have my interests at heart, this was your choice-’

‘What do you mean?’ Mum shrieked, and they could hear the scraping of chairs being moved aside, thundering footsteps, Mum begging-

The door was thrust open, and Percy stood for a moment in the hallway, looking up at the four of them sitting on the stairs. His expression was unreadable. Tear tracks shone from beneath his horn-rimmed glasses, and his mouth was a thin, grim line. 

‘Move,’ he told them. 

‘You’re being a right bellend,’ said Fred at once. 

‘MOVE!’ 

They did not, and Mum had come running after Percy, hanging desperately onto his arm though he tried to shake her off. ‘Come on, Perce,’ she pleaded. ‘Come and sit down, let’s all cool off and talk about this-’

‘Get out of my way,’ Percy told his siblings once more, and now Ron stood. 

‘Harry’s part of our family,’ he blurted out furiously. 

 ‘He’s not, Ron,’ Percy growled. ‘He’s your friend, that doesn’t mean everything he says is right - move out my way.’ 

‘How can you say that!’ Ginny demanded. ‘What’s wrong with you? How can you say all these horrible things?’ 

Percy started climbing the stairs, pushing Ron aside and stepping over Ginny, furiously struggling past Fred and George who immediately made their bodies as big and awkward and gangling as they could imagine, shouting colourful insults at him as he pushed past and thundered up to his room. 

‘He just needs to calm down,’ Mum was squeaking. ‘Go - go to your rooms, let me and Dad talk to him-’ 

‘No chance!’ 

‘I haven’t said my piece yet!’ 

He returned just a few moments later, carrying a bulging bag with a jumper sleeve trailing out, a little line of abandoned socks and a pair of underwear left on the stairs. ‘I’m going to stay with friends,’ he said. 

‘You haven't got any,’ goaded George. 

‘Be quiet, George!’ Mum wailed. ‘Percy-’

‘Then I’m getting my own place, I’m not staying here anymore - I’m not letting you all drag me down with you. If you’re all going to be traitors to the Ministry I’m going to make sure everyone’s well aware that I don’t belong to this family any more-’

‘You do, Percy, you do - you’ll always be my son-’ Mum’s words were barely audible beneath her crying. Percy pushed past her, and stormed towards the door. 

‘Percy!’ Ron shouted, and to his surprise, Percy turned and looked at him. 

Ron could not find the words for his contempt, could not find an insult strong enough, could not decide what to do with the rage that was coursing through him. All he could hope was that Percy could feel it in his cold, hard stare. ‘How could you?’ 

Percy said nothing, simply looked back for a moment, and then turned his back and strode swiftly to the door. Mum was running after him, and though they heard the ear-splitting crack of disapparation, she stood in the doorway shouting his name. 

Dad had not followed, and with a creak, Ginny rose beside Ron and descended the last few stairs. She peered through the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Dad?’ 

Ron heard a splutter, and then dry, heaving sobs. Ginny vanished into the kitchen. Behind him, Fred and George were muttering mutinously, swearing and cursing. 

‘What’s he playing at?’ 

‘He’s an idiot. A big-headed, pompous, ridiculous idiot, we’ve always said it, we were right.’ 

‘Who does he think he is? Does he really think that promotion is normal? Does he honestly think he’s that extraordinary?’  

‘Moron…’ 

Ron’s jaw was aching from gritting his teeth so hard, his heart was trying to break through his ribcage and go after Percy to beat him. 

‘Do you really think he meant that stuff he said to Dad?’ George said. ‘It’s just…’  

‘I bet he does, the git,’ said Fred. ‘I bet he really does pretend he’s not part of the family. He’s ashamed of us. Slimy, brown-nosing prick…’ 

‘All that stuff about poverty? So uncalled for.’

‘That’s it, really, isn’t it? He’s a greedy arsehole.’ 

‘Well, he’s certainly written himself out of the will now, hasn’t he?’ 

‘He won’t care, nothing for him to inherit anyway, apparently.’ 

That prickling, heated anger was back - his very ears were hot with it, he wouldn’t be surprised if steam had been bursting out of them. The memory of Harry, pale and shaken in the hospital wing, his hands gripping Mum’s robes as she hugged him, was lingering in his mind. ‘Did you hear all that crap about Harry? Did you hear what he was saying about him? Harry!’

‘Yeah,’ muttered George. ‘Pillock.’ 

‘Why would he say that? What the bloody hell is going on with him? He’s gone bonkers. When did he turn into such a - a -’ He still could not quite find a word strong enough.  

‘Berk?’ suggested George. 

‘Something along those lines…’  

‘Easier than admitting he’s horrible, selfish, idiot snob, I suppose,’ said Fred. 

‘Money’s always been an issue, but blaming Dad like that is just…’ 

‘Nasty,’ said Ron, simply. 

‘You can make money without completely selling out and betraying your family,’ said Fred seriously. ‘You can do it and keep your integrity.’ 

‘He’s acting like we weren’t fed enough,’ said George spitefully. ‘Percy didn’t even get that many hand-me-downs, really - Mum and Dad were doing all right before they were hit with twins, and we all know Ginny was probably unexpected.’ 

‘Was she?’ said Ron distractedly.

‘Are you joking, you were only about eight months old, who picks then to decide to have another baby?’  

‘Mum.’ 

‘Fair.’ 

‘Anyway,’ said Fred, ‘Percy’s not exactly been hard done by, not really. He’s just always been ashamed we’re not as well-heeled as his smarmy new colleagues at the Ministry.’ 

‘It’s childish,�� said Ron, who was feeling another lurch of guilt as he thought back on the previous year. ‘It’s really petty…’ 

‘We’ve all wished the family was better off now and then,’ said George fairly. ‘Who wouldn’t? But that was a seriously low blow. God, poor Dad,' he added, his voice lowering further. 'I'm glad Ginny's gone in to comfort him, I don't even know where to begin.'

‘Do you think he’s really gone for good?’ asked Ron.

‘Hope so,’ said Fred viciously. ‘Hey - one less mouth to feed now, maybe the family’ll be better off.’ 

'You know what else,' Ron said sharply, his brain whirring, 'did you hear him dodging Dad's question about what he's said about Harry? Good thing he's buggered off before we go to the Order Headquarters, isn't it? Who knows what he would have blabbered about?' 

Fred was looking at him as though in a new light. 'You know what, Ronniekins, that is a really excellent and disturbing point. You're a bit of a bright spark at times, aren't you?' 

'Brighter than Percy,' Ron muttered.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #submission #tw: mild language

[lady-pei]

somewhere else

In which I write the fluffiest 1000+ words of fix-it fic I can muster. Inspired by @emperiocism’s absolutely gorgeous art. Takes place directly after MAG200 ends. Also on AO3 under the title “this tender tide.” We made it folks xx

The first sound Martin hears after the piercing static is the hush of a tide. 

He doesn’t open his eyes, tightening his grip on the body in his arms. Perhaps if there were anything left in the jagged fissure of his heart, he would’ve felt fear. He recognizes, as if from afar, the soft murmur of a heaving sea, the deceptive susurrus of the calm and quiet. Perhaps the Lonely was here to claim him after all, one last desperate feed before it was dragged out of their world and into another. 

Fine. The thought was no more than a flicker, the shiver of a dying moth’s wing. His body was wrung and hollowed. Whatever will or tether he’d had left vanished the second he’d plunged the knife into Jon’s chest. Cut one and you cut them both. If the fog came, he’d let it wash over them without resistance. But no force left on this ruined earth would move him from where he was curled around Jon’s still and silent body. 

Please, he would have begged, if his throat could still make sound. Don’t take him from me. He feels his arms tighten further, clinging to the memory of Jon’s lips, the soft press of his trembling mouth. The way his name had made a home on his tongue. 

Something touches his cheek, as light as the brush of a sunbeam. 

With difficulty, Martin opens his eyes. At first, he can’t make sense of the glow emanating from around them. The ground shimmers and ripples like liquid glass, so bright it’s like his vision is obscured by gauze. 

But even blurred, his gaze immediately converges on Jon’s face, pulled like a helpless magnet. He’s looking back. Eyes open, lucid, shining. He is smiling. 

“Martin,” he breathes, and the hand that had touched his cheek now drifts to his chin. His thumb, soft and scarred and dry, grazes the corner of his mouth. 

“Jon,” Martin feels himself say, the name tugged from his throat. “You’re…we’re…” 

Jon’s laugh is more of a sigh. He is sheathed in formless white, a fabric like shifting seafoam. The skin above his heart is bare and unblemished. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. 

“Are you…” Martin can’t tear his eyes away. He doesn’t dare move, as though even the slightest nudge would cause Jon to vanish like a soap bubble. “What happened? Where are we?” 

“I don’t know,” Jon says, tongue darting out to wet his lip. His gaze is steady and sure. “This is certainly not ah…not what I expected.”

He huffs another laugh, and he’s so close Martin can feel the puff of warm air on his cheek. When he drops his hand to his side, there’s a light splash. The space between Jon’s eyes creases, and he wriggles in the cradle of Martin’s arms, as if to look. 

Without meaning to, Martin feels his arms constrict, sudden panic sliding down his spine like ice. Jon’s gaze darts back to Martin’s face, softer than wool. He relaxes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Mutely, Martin shakes his head. “Don’t,” he forces out. The back of his eyes burn, but he refuses to close them. Who knows how much longer he has in this peaceful in-between, this liminal space where Jon is still warm and alive and smiling? He remembers, too vividly, the blunt push of the knife into Jon’s sternum, and his arm twitches with the phantom ache. Where is the wound? You killed him, the thought pulses in his brain. His vision blurs, and he sucks in a raw gasp. You killed him, you killed him— 

“Martin, hey. Hey. Look at me.” Through the haze of tears, Martin sees Jon’s eyes widen, feels him grab his shaking wrist with both hands and bring it to his chest. Martin sobs as his fingers make contact with warm, dry skin. “I’m okay,” Jon soothes. “Truly, I—” 

He pushes up and starts laying gentle kisses on every part of Martin’s face he can reach: his damp cheek, his chin, his crumpled brow. Slowly, Martin feels his panicked breaths wane. “You died,” Martin hears himself say. “You died, and I killed you, and everything was burning and falling around us…”

Jon is murmuring before Martin can finish, a soft litany of noes. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again. His breath catches. “I’m so sorry, Martin, I shouldn’t have—I just couldn’t lose you, and I—”

This time, it’s Martin’s turn to interrupt as he can no longer bear the scant inches between them. He curls forward and kisses the rest of Jon’s words out of his plush, trembling mouth. It’s both soft and desperate and more familiar than any other feeling in the world.

When they finally part, Martin realizes he can feel a dampness seeping through his trousers. Reluctantly, he releases Jon, though they stay kneeling close enough to share breath. Now that he’s looking, he sees he is in fact surrounded by water, knees digging into the smooth sand bed below. The water is shallow and warm. As he lifts his head, a placid, salt-laced breeze ruffles his hair. In all directions, the sky is tinged a creamy gold.

“Where are we?” he asks again. “Are we…dead?”

“I’m not sure,” Jon says. He’s looking around too, and the breeze turns his dark hair into fluttering ribbons. “I certainly feel alive. Cognizant, at least.”

Martin swallows. “Do you…Know that?” he asks. “See where we are?”

Jon shakes his head. “No,” he breathes. “I…” His eyes are dark and shine like pearls. “I only see you, Martin.”

Another sob bubbles out of Martin’s throat. “I’m so confused,” he says, half hysterical, and finds he doesn’t actually care.

“Me too,” Jon admits. His brow scrunches in the way that means he’s thinking hard, and Martin wants to kiss him again. “Maybe…maybe we got pulled along, with the Fears. Maybe we’re between worlds, or,” he pauses to laugh, a feeble, incredulous thing. “Maybe this is all just in our heads. An eternal second of respite, at the end of all things.” He closes his eyes, sucks in a shuddering breath. "God only knows we've been owed it."

“Dream logic again?” Martin offers weakly.

The wrinkle disappears. Slowly, Jon tucks his face in the curve of Martin’s neck. “A dream,” he whispers. Around them, the sunlit water ebbs and flows. Distantly, Martin thinks again of the Lonely, thinks of the moment lifetimes ago when he saw Jon’s face crystallize in the fog like the moon parting the clouds.

Only this time, there is no fog or shroud. Just them, knee-deep in a gentle sea, together always and together still.

“A dream,” Jon says again, like he's savoring the taste of it on his tongue. Where he rests against Martin’s neck, his breath is warm and steady and feels so very real. “In that case, I hope I don’t ever wake up.”

#jonmartin #tma spoilers #tma #the magnus archives #pei listens to tma #GUESS IT TOOK FOR TMA ENDING FOR ME TO FINALLY WRITE FIC HUH #sometimes i write

[teddy06writes]

With Ghastly Consequences

Part Two of A Dangerous Game

{I wasn’t going to do this till later but ThE IdEaS were flowing}

Requested by this anon: “I don’t mean to be a bother but if you could possible make a part 2 for the “a dangerous game” fic that you made? It was amazing!!”

and this one: “ Dude I need more poly Dream team with SBI family reader what if reader came back as a ghost but it’s like Ghostbur so she doesn’t remember everything?”

Sooo....

Dream x George x Sapnap x Reader + sleepy boys x sibling!reader

trigger warnings: yelling, swearing, mentioned character death (its you, you died in the last one)

premise: after your death, everything was hazy; this is an account of the events sparked by your ghostly return

(y/n/n)- your nickname

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

You’d drifted, for a while, in a greyish abyss for a while, knowing that there was a choice to make. 

The void, though being of course, a void of nothingness, was peaceful, and gave you time to come to terms with what had happened, and come to the solution to the question. 

And as soon as that happened-

You were gone again. 

~~

“Philza!” 

The man froze over the brewing stand, the bottles in his hands beginning to tremble, “(y/n)?” 

“Dad!” You grinned as he turned around, looking dumbfounded, “I didn’t know you were coming here- when did you get in? Oh I can’t believe you finally came!” 

“D- Do you not remember?” His voice was low, shaking almost as much as his hands. 

“Course I remember- well I remember some stuff. Like you and Tommy and Techno and Home and- and Pogtopia- and Dream and George and Ni- Sapnap- oh- wait-” your voice dropped to a whisper, “You know how they were- y’know, my partners?”

Your father nodded. 

“Don’t tell Wil,” You said quickly, “He’ll get mad.” 

He nodded blankly again, still staring at you. 

“Well what's with you? Why’re you looking at me like that?” 

“Y- It’s just- your back. I- I was devastated- more than- when WIlbur- er- when you died. But n- but your back.” There was quiet relief in his voice. 

You nodded, “Course I’m back. Like you could get rid of me that easy.” 

Phil dropped the bottles onto the crafting bench, rushing forward in an attempt to embrace you. 

You shuddered as he passed through your spectral form, sadly mumbling, “Uh, yeah. I kinda pass through things now.” 

Phil smiled sadly, “Still, your back, come on, come on, lets go find Techno, he should still be around here.” 

You nodded, following him down that ladder, “That's what I wanted to ask, where is here? Why are you out in the arctic?” 

“Oh, uh, just to get away from everything, you know who Tech hates his governments.” Phil attempted a joke. 

“Oh, yeah- I wouldn’t want to be there with Shlatt either. Strange he didn’t just go back to pogtopia though.” 

Technoblade looked up from where he was sharpening his axe, at first his face reading confused, then guilty, the carefully blank, “Things have changed (y/n). People, change.”

“Like Wil? I rember Wil being mad about something- do you think- no it wouldn’t be that, I was careful.” 

Techno winced, glancing Phil’s direction, “Uhh, we- we don’t talk to Wilbur any more. Not- not since he- er- not since you died.” 

“That man is no son of mine.” Phil spat.

You looked at him confused, “What happened? Did you get in a fight?”

“It’s- not our place to tell you.” Techno said finally. 

“hmmm, okay! So what have you guys been up too?” 

~~

You hummed a tune, drifting down the prime path, headed towards L’manburg, toward home

Phil and Techno had warned you that things had changed since your death, but that didn’t deter you from going back.

Coming over the hill, you looked over your beautiful country, the walls, which you knew were gone, seemed to be partially rebuilt, and distantly you could see Fundy over seeing construction.

At first glance everything seemed fine, but as you got closer the atmosphere seemed to change, a sort of anxiety hanging in the air over the city. 

Slowly you floated up to the platform your nephew was standing on, “Fundy! You’re rebuilding the walls!”

The fox jumped, “(y/n)?” 

“When Techno said things had changed I didn’t think he meant Shlatt was putting the walls back!” 

“(y/n)- your- your back?” 

“Course I’m back,” You chuckled, “You miss me fur ball?” 

“I- you- your back?” He repeated.

“Yeah, what’s going on round here? Why’d Shlatt have a change of heart- wait- did we win? Did I die and miss us winning? Is Wilbur putting the walls back-” 

“Wilbur isn’t here any more.” Fundy interrupted bitterly. 

Your brow furrowed, “Why is everyone mad at him?” 

“Come on, lets get you too Ranboo, Tommy and Tubbo, they’ll-” He sighed motioning for Jack Manifold to take his place, “Well they should tell you at least part of it.” 

He led you down off the platform, toward the podium that still stood in the center of L’manburg, at your look of confusion explaining, “Ranboo’s a new comer. Uh- he’s- different, half enderman, we think, eye contact isn’t his thing, so be aware of that.” 

You nodded as he pushed open the door, “Hey- guy’s drop what your doing, this is important-” there was a small thud, “No not literally Ranboo- it’s a figure of speech.” 

You drifted past him into the room, smiling at the flustered looking enderboy, your brother, and his best friend, “Hello!” 

Tommy’s breath hitched, his lip beginning to tremble, “(y/n/n)?” 

“Hi Tommy! Hi Tubbo! Hi person I’m assuming is Ranboo!” 

The tall boy waved awkwardly, “Hi?” 

Fundy cleared his throat awkwardly, “Uh, I have t’get back to work. They’re- confused. I-” He gave Tubbo a ‘this is your problem now’ look before quickly turning and leaving. 

“Uhh... (y/n). You’re- back?” Tubbo laughed as if he couldn’t believe it. 

Tommy was still staring at you in shock, “(y/n)?” 

You drifted across the floor to be near him, “Tommy what’s wrong?” 

Your brother burst into angry tears, “I thought you were gone! I thought that he took you away from me! He- he fucking thought- that bitch thought he could take away my sibling! Just- just because of some- of some fucking-” He fell off into hiccups, tears still falling down his face.

“That bastard! He- he fucking killed- he- and for what? Cuase he didn’t fucking like who you were seeing?” Tommy muttered, moving back past Ranboo to sink into a chair.

“Who? Who didn’t like it?” You asked. 

Tommy let out a bitter laugh as Tubbo looked at you sadly, “It’s- nothing.”

“Hmmm, well, what’s going on here then? Did we win the war?” 

Tubbo nodded, “Wilbur- isn’t here anymore, he- he- sort of betrayed us, and we chased him out. So we’re rebuilding the walls, so he doesn’t do anything else, and me and Tommy are co presidents.” 

You nodded, but were still confused, “What did Wil do? Is it why Phil said he wasn’t his son any more?”

Ranboo gulped awkwardly, “Uh- from what- er I- uh heard, yes.” 

“hmmmm, I hope it wasn’t anything too bad.” You sighed. 

You stayed with them for another hour, talking about L’manburg, and the presidency, until Niki arrived, breathless, having heard you were back, “(y/n/)!” 

“Niki!” You looked over her, something seemed off, less bright, less Niki.

She glanced around the room, “How about we go for a walk, to catch up?” 

There was something desperate in her voice, and you weren’t stupid enough to ignore it, “Of course.” 

She gave you a strained smile, motioning to the door, “Let’s go then.” 

Soon you were out wandering through the city, many of the crowds were gone, though you could see signs of life in open windows, and small restaurants, “Niki what’s going on here? Something isn’t right.” 

“Nothing is right, not since we got rid of Wilbur.”

You looked up at the walls, now seeming to loom twice as tall as they once did, “Tommy and Tubbo- they’re anxious about something.” 

Niki nodded, “The whole country holds its breath. Tommy is angry, and Tubbo is paranoid. They think Wilbur will blow up the country, and that he’ll have help, the walls, the security checkpoints- none of this is what L’manburg was founded for.

“The people are terrified, everyone tells them something different, they’re waiting for the country to be driven into the ground.” 

You gulped (can ghosts gulp?), “Well that isn’t good. Maybe- Maybe- hmmmm, Maybe you should be in charge Niki! You- don’t tell the others- but I think you’d make a better president than any of them!” 

“If I could I would (y/n), but it’s not that simple,” She smiled sadly, looking around with a sigh, “Why don’t you go find your boyfriends? Have you gone to see them yet?” 

~~ “Georgie!” 

The King blinked, quickly pushing back the small sense of hope, he was just imagine things again, he thought to himself, he had to be. 

“George what’s wrong?” 

The voice was closer now, and it was the cold sensation at touched his shoulder that convinced him it was real enough to look, blinking in surprise again at your gray form, hovering next to his desk, “(y/n/n)! Oh my god! (y/n/n)!” 

You grinned, “George!” 

“Your back!” The goggles were quickly pushed off his face, dropped down onto the top of the desk, “Y- your really back!” 

You nodded eagerly, “I missed you! Well- I mean, it wasn’t that long that I was gone. At least I don’t think- anyway I missed you!” 

“I- (y/n) it’s- it’s been nearly a month.” 

You cocked your head, “Huh, that's weird.”

“George who are you talking...” Nick trailed off as he entered the study, “(y/n)?” 

You could see the tears in his eyes as you awkwardly waved, “Hi Nicky.” 

“Holy shit.” He muttered, “I- we thought you were gone- I mean- when- when Wilbur...” 

“When Wilbur what?” You asked with a chuckle, “Everyone keeps saying he’s done something, but no one’s told me what.” 

Both men froze, sharing a looking, “Don’t worry about it.” 

Nick quickly swiped away tears, “So your back?”

You nodded, “I’m back- hey, have you guys noticed how L’manburg’s being all weird now? Niki says Tommy and Tubbo are running the country into the ground.”

“Well- they’ve refused all foreign aid, we tried to offer them help- after the war, paying for damages and such after they sorted out there Wilbur problem,” George sighed, “And so far only Eret’s tried reaching out to talk to us, help with our Dream problem.” 

“Yeah, where is Dream? I miss him and I can’t ping him, cause ghosts don’t have com tablets.” 

“Even if yours hadn’t broken it wouldn’t help. He disappeared after Wilbur- did that thing,” Nick sounded all to broken for your liking, “He hasn’t answered any of our messages.” 

You frowned, “Well that's not like him. Maybe he just left his tablet somewhere- or maybe he just got busy doing something again, you know how he gets during manhunts.” 

“(y/n),” George tried gently, “He- smashed his com tablet, said something about going off the grid, undermining the server. He probably isn’t coming back.” 

You froze, hover in silence for a moment, “No. No that’s not true- he wouldn’t- he wouldn’t leave us! You’re lying to me! He loves us! He’d never leave! It’s not true! He wouldn’t do that! Your lying!”

Nick seemed shocked at the outburst, “(y/n)- we were just as upset but he left- gone insane-” 

“STOP LYING TO ME!” You exploded, “He wouldn’t do that! I know he wouldn’t! Your just lying!” 

They watched you sink to the floor, spectral tears flowing down your cheeks, mumbling, “You’re lying, you’ve gotta be lying, he- he wouldn’t he wouldn’t do that.” 

~~

“Wilbur!” 

Your brother flinched, he’d planned for this, he reminded himself, as soon as he heard the rumor's. 

“(y/n).” He stood up, turning to face you, ignoring how he’d begun to shake. 

He didn’t regret what he’d done. 

At least that was what he told himself. 

He knew what he had had to do, and he done it, and he had no regrets for his actions, because it was all in the plan.

“Wilbur what’re you doing outside L’manburg? I thought they said they chased you out.” 

“I missed it.” He said simply, forcing back the choked noise that had started in his throat upon seeing your grey floating form. 

“Did you miss me? George and Nick said I was gone for almost a month, that that was how long you and Dream were gone for.” 

“Don’t fucking talk about that man.” Wilbur spat. 

At your face of shock and horror at what you said Wilbur grinned, “Oh yeah, I know all about them (y/n). Them, and You, and everything before your death.” 

“Why do you hate them so much?! Can’t you see that they make me happy?! What did they ever do to you?!” 

“THEY TOOK AWAY MY SIBLING! MADE YOU TURN AGAINST ME! AGAINST L’MANBURG!” Wilbur yelled. 

Tears started to slip from your eyes again, “Wil, I never turned against you- your my brother, I love you. Why is it so hard for you to see I’d never turn on you? Who I love has nothing to do with it.” 

“Oh it has everything to do with it!” He laughed, finally managing to shut off the tiny part of his brain that screamed at him to stop, “You’re fucking dead because of it!” 

You blinked, “N- no! It’s not because of them! I died in the war! Dream was trying to protect me! I died so we could be free again!” 

“No (y/n)! You are so fucking stupid! Your dead because I killed you! I killed you because you were turning against me! Because it was the only way to get those fuckers to get there hands off you!” 

You let out a choked sob.

“And guess what? I don’t regret anything. I killed you so that they would suffer! Suffer from loosing you the way I had! And it worked and so none of the cost matters!” 

“No wonder everyone’s mad at you,” You sad shakily, “You’re a monster Wil.” 

“And I’m not the only one.” 

He sounded almost proud, gesturing his chin upward, at a patchwork of scaffolding as being stretched across the sky above L’manburg, distantly you could see someone in a neon green sweater running across the top. 

~~ “Dream, what are you doing?” 

The man only sighed at the serious voice, “Getting revenge. It’s what they would have wanted.” 

“Is it?” 

He finally turned away from the contraption, staring through the slits in his mask at the Spector that hovered in front of him, “So you really are back.” 

“Dream,” You could almost see the wall he had put up when you died, repeating, “What are you doing?” 

“I’m going to destroy L’manburg.” His voice was cold, steely, too close to that which you remembered from the day he and Tommy had their duel. 

“You think that’s going to make things right? You think that’s going to put me- my spirit to rest?” 

He faltered, “It has too. Wilbur killed you, and now he’s going to pay.” 

Slowly you moved closer to him, across the narrow walk way, “Clay why did you leave them? When did you break your com tablet? You knew they needed you.” 

“I- I had too.” The smile on his mask was all to haunting, a broken reminder of the past. 

“They needed you and you left them. You put them aside, for this? To be a villain?” 

“If I’m a villain then so be it.” 

Down below the people of L’manburg were beginning to raise alarms as you spoke, “They love you. I love you. You don’t- you don’t need to be the villain my love.” 

Slowly he reached up, slipping the mask off his face, “I know, I know but- but this is the only way.” 

Gingerly you reached out, hovering your hand right where it would rest to cup his cheek, “It isn’t the only way. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to cause this destruction.” 

“It’s the only thing I know how to do,” There was anguish seeping in to his voice, “I don’t know if I can do anything else.” 

You longed to embrace him as he fell to his knees, “You don’t have to do this Clay.”

“I don’t know how! I don’t know any other way to make Wilbur pay!” 

“Clay look at me, look at me, there is another way- you don’t have to do this, We love you- we miss you- Nick, George and Me, we can just, climb down and go and find them and then run away together, leave this all behind!” 

“Keep them safe.” He sniffed, wiping away angry tears. 

“Yeah- yeah- we can build a little cottage, and plant flowers in the window boxes- and forget all about this,” You were phasing back into the material world, nearly by Dream’s sheer willpower as he pulled you into his arms, “And we can forget all about this, but only if you don’t do this.”

“I don’t know if I can... (y/n) I don’t know if I’m strong enough.” He sobbed. 

“You are darling. You are. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do this Clay, we love you.” 

He sniffed, sitting up a little, one of his arms reaching away, both of your breathing unsteady as you looked up at him, desperation in your eyes...

And then the tnt hit the ground. 

The world exploded into fire, ripping away his words: 

“I love you too.” 

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagines #dreamwastaken x reader #georgenotfound x reader #sapnap x reader #dream x george x sapnap #dream x george x sapnap x reader #poly dream team x reader #sleepy boys x reader #teddy06 writes

[somewhatgreatexpectations]

Just the Two of Us (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello everyone! I am so excited for you to read this part. I hope you enjoy!

Songs used are "Open Arms" by Journey (1982) and "Just the Two of Us" by Bill Withers and Grover Washington Jr. (1980).

Summary: The situation in Westview is slowly beginning to unravel. Will Wanda be able to fix it before everything falls apart? With some surprise guests.

The family was all gathered in the living room as Billy demonstrated tricks he and Charlie had spent the afternoon teaching Sparky. The moment was perfect. Well… almost perfect. Even though Wanda was grateful that the twins were happy, she couldn’t help the longing that was burning in her chest. There was a limit to the happiness that she was capable of feeling when the most important piece was missing.

You.

Wanda could see that you were becoming skeptical and that skepticism was causing you turmoil. That was the last thing she wanted. Which is why she made the decision to send you to work as a distraction. As much as it wasn’t what she wanted, she could handle being separated from you temporarily if it meant that your skepticism wouldn’t grow into resentment.

Wanda knew that she had to smile through the hurt. Even if the smile didn’t match the way she felt inside. She was determined to protect the twins from seeing anything other than a happy image - she couldn’t bear the idea of hurting them as well.

“That was amazing, Billy!” Wanda praised excitedly as she leaned over and scratched between Sparky’s ears. “And you weren’t so bad either, Sparky.”

Charlie rushed over to her brother, nearly bouncing with excitement. “That was so cool! Where’s Momma? We have to go show Momma!”

The way the twins immediately wanted to include you in the moment tugged harshly at Wanda’s heartstrings. “Oh, she-she’s at work!” Wanda stuttered out nervously just as the twins were getting ready to run into the other room.

It was clear that her words puzzled the two when Wanda was met with matching looks of confusion. “It’s Saturday…” Billy said wearily.

“No, it’s not. It’s Monday.” Wanda countered quickly in hopes that they would drop the subject.

Charlie shared a look with her brother. “But, Mom, this morning it was Saturday.”

For a moment Wanda cursed herself for having such intuitive children. “There was an emergency at the office and your mother had to go in. End of story.” The twins exchanged worried looks. She sighed. Maybe it was time to try honesty. “Don’t worry, you two. She just… She needed a distraction.”

“From what?” Charlie questioned, her eyes beginning to shimmer with disappointment.

Billy looked at his sister for a moment before turning dejectedly to Wanda. “From us?”

For a moment Wanda was sure she could hear the sound of her heart breaking as she watched the way Billy and Charlie’s faces crumpled with hurt. She swiftly rushed over to gather the twins in her arms. “No! No way! She loves you both so much.” She reassured them as she rubbed their backs. “She needed a little break from me, not you. I promise.

Wanda gently led them over to the couch and took a seat between them. “Sometimes your mother and I aren’t on the same page, but that’s okay. I know it’s just temporary because at the end of the day we will always love each other. Love isn’t always perfect, but it’s always there through every up and down. It’s there even when we fight.”

Wanda wrapped around each of the twins. “Like you two may sometimes fight over toys, but you will always love each other because he is always going to be your brother.” She affectionately stroked Charlie’s hair before turning to Billy and doing the same. “And she is always going to be your sister… Because family is forever.”

Billy and Charlie leaned into Wanda’s side, seemingly content with her explanation. Wanda breathed a sigh of relief that she was able to ease their minds. “Do you and Momma have siblings?”

The question was unexpected and as much as she tried to control it, Wanda couldn’t help the lump that built in her throat. “We do. I have a brother and Momma has a little sister. They’re far away from here.” She closed her eyes for a moment to control the tears that welled in her eyes. “And that makes me sad sometimes. I know it makes Momma sad too.”

The somber moment was interrupted by the sound of Sparky barking at the front door which distracted the twins. Wanda took advantage of the distraction to collect herself. “Sparky, what’s up, boy?” Billy called after the dog.

“Something’s scaring him.” Charlie worriedly leaned over the back of the couch to watch Sparky and Billy replicated the action.

Wanda’s eyes widened slightly with a realization that she kept to herself. “Stay here.” She instructed the twins as she rushed to the door, accidentally letting Sparky out.

The twins rushed up when they noticed the dog run outside. “Sparky!” They called as they followed after Wanda who hadn’t realized that they had followed her out until it was too late.

When she noticed the drone hovering above her, Wanda stepped forward in hopes of keeping it away from Billy and Charlie. “Wanda, this is Captain Monica Rambeau. Can you hear me? I just want to talk. That’s it.”

All Wanda could think of in that moment was protecting her family. That need grew when she faintly heard a voice she loathed float distantly over the sound of the machine. “Disregard. Take the shot.”

______

Anger wasn’t an emotion Wanda felt often, but in that moment the anger circulated so intensely through her body that she was almost certain it would consume her. When threats were made against her she could live with them.

When the threats were made against you or the twins, there would be no forgiveness from her.

The anger only made it easier to open the wall of energy she had created as she marched forward determinedly, not even flinching when she realized there were various weapons aimed directly at her.

When Wanda was close enough she threw the mangled machine at the feet of the man she despised. “Is this yours?” A small sense of satisfaction filled her as she watched the man take an involuntary step back.

“The missile was just a precaution. You can hardly blame us, Wanda.” Hayward said calmly, though his eyes flickered with irritation.

Wanda flexed her hands slightly as she fought to maintain control of her emotions. “Oh, I think I can. This will be your only warning. Stay out of my home.” Came her steely reply as she stared unflinchingly at Hayward. “You don’t bother me, I won’t bother you.”

Hayward’s hands clenched at his sides. “It’s not that simple, Wanda. You’ve kidnapped Y/n Y/ln’s body and have been manipulating her to do your bidding. Y/n’s wishes were-”

Wanda’s jaw clenched. “Keep her name out of your mouth.”

“-to remain under our care. Y/n is a weapon and a danger under your manipulation. She needs to be back under our supervision. To pass away peacefully like she should have when you took her.” Hayward pushed on, his tone condescending. Hoping to push Wanda to the point of reaction.

Again, Wanda flexed her fingers, her willpower fading quickly. “Don’t talk about her like she’s an object. Don’t talk about her at all.” She gritted out. Her eyes gave away the fact that Hayward had gotten to her as they watered ever so slightly. Hayward smirked in satisfaction.

He held up his hands as he feigned innocence. This was only after seeing the way the other agents began to look at him. Hayward was supposed to be most worried about the citizens of Westview not you. “You’ve also taken an entire town hostage.”

“I’m not the one with the guns, director.” Wanda retorted sharply.

Monica stepping forward caught Wanda’s attention. “But you are the one in control.”

“You’re still here.” On reflex, red wisps began floating around Wanda’s fingers. Her patience hanging by a thread.

It was clear that Hayward was livid as Monica took control of the situation. “Wanda, I didn’t know those drones were armed, but you know that… Don’t you?” She continued forward cautiously. “A town full of civilians and you, a telepath, brought a S.W.O.R.D. agent into your home. You trusted me to help deliver your babies. You allowed me to create a bond with Y/n. On some level you know I am an ally. I want to help you.”

Wanda couldn’t help but falter slightly, though the red energy that danced under her fingertips flashed menacingly. “How? What could you possibly have to offer me?” Her voice was quieter, the accent even more pronounced than it was moments before.

Monica took another cautious step forward. “What do you want?”

The moment was broken the second the question was asked. She knew what she wanted. Nothing would replace that. “I have everything I want… And no one will ever take it from me again.” Wanda’s gaze shifted to Hayward, her stare unwavering. Challenging.

With a flick of her wrist all the weapons that were directed at her shifted to Hayward. Wanda walked away with contentment as she listened to Hayward’s panicked shouts to stand down.

The only thing that slowed her down was the sound of heavy footsteps rushing in her direction. “Wanda!” The surprise of hearing the familiar voice stopped her in her tracks.

As soon as she turned she met the eyes of Steve Rogers. He stood a few feet away from her, his hands raised slightly as though were approaching a wounded animal. “Wanda, you have to stop.” Wanda’s eyes glistened with contained emotion. “Let’s talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about? Y/n is safe here.” She tilted her head a small frown on her lips. “Don’t you want that for her?”

Steve’s eyes flashed with indecision. Wanda knew he understood the desire to protect you more than anyone. “Not like this.”

There was a subtle shift in her posture as she began shutting down once again. The willingness for conversation ending. “This is the only way.”

“There is always another way.” Steve said determinedly. “Let everyone go. Let her go.”

Wanda’s jaw clenched at Steve’s words. The conversation was over.

Wordlessly she raised her hands, so they hovered before the barrier. “I’ll never let her go. Not again.” Before Steve could utter another would she opened the barrier and stepped through. When he rushed forward to follow after her, he was forcefully thrown back.

As he was standing, Natasha ran over. “What the hell just happened?”

Steve winced as he held his aching side, his eyes never leaving the place Wanda just walked through. “She didn’t listen. When I tried to follow her, she stopped me.”

Natasha stared up at the flickering red wall before her. “Let’s hope we get another chance.”

_______________

The walk home felt longer than usual.

Not that I can even remember how long the walk was before today, you thought to yourself in frustration.

Even though your heart had stopped racing, your thoughts were a disaster. The terror that you saw in Ellie’s eyes kept looping in your mind, leaving behind a residual fear that coursed through your veins. Nothing you did could shake the image as you felt your chest begin tightening in a panic and your palms begin sweating.

In a bid of desperation, you began tugging at the collar of your shirt as it became increasingly more difficult to take in air.

The unexpected sight of the twins and their heartbroken expression quickly grounded you as you managed to take in a few deep breathes. Your worries didn’t matter if one of your loved ones was in distress. “Bring him back, Mom.” You heard Charlie beg Wanda who was kneeled in front of them with a troubled expression.

Your brows furrowed as you came to a stop beside them. “Bring who back?” The twins rushed forward and hugged you as soon as they saw you. Wanda stood up, taking a shaky breath.

The question was answered when you looked over at a teary-eyed Agnes and a small bundle wrapped in her arms. Your heart ached at the sight. You kneeled down and held the twins as you attempted to push back your own tears.

Glancing up briefly, you couldn’t help but noticed Wanda’s pained expression. Her eyes were conflicted. Almost as if she wasn’t sure if she could join in the embrace with her family. The fear that was still racing in your mind froze the words of comfort on your lips.

Instead you dropped your gaze to the floor and pulled the twins in closer.

______________

It wasn’t until hours later that you were finally able to get a moment alone with your wife. You found her organizing as you made your way into the kitchen. “How are the twins?” She asked worriedly.

You pushed a weary hand through your hair as you contemplated your answer. “Well, heartbroken. That’s to be expected since they lost Sparky in such a tragic way… but they’ll be okay.” A tired sigh fell from your lips. “If I’m being honest, I’m a bit shaken up about it too. We only had him for a day, Wanda. How does that even happen?”

Wanda stepped closer to you as her hand hovered over your shoulder, hating the tension that lingered in the air. Hating the fact that she even felt hesitant to comfort you. She dropped her hand to her side. “I- Are you okay, Y/n?”

You leaned back against the counter as you finally lifted your eyes to meet her gaze. You ignored the question. “Something happened with Ellie today.” You could feel pressure begin building in your temples. “Something happened with the computer and-and I saw her.”

Wanda turned and busied herself with organizing the basket of toys. “Well, I’d hope so. She is technically your boss.” She said in a joking tone. Nothing about her posture indicated there was anything light-hearted about how she was feeling.

“No, I saw her. In my mind, not in Westview.” You paused slightly, and you noticed Wanda falter as well.

When Wanda turned to face you, there was confusion clouding her eyes. “Wait, how did you see her if-”

Her words didn’t register as you continued on. “Her personality had completely changed, Wanda. She said someone is in her mind - she was in pain.... Please, tell me you’re not doing this.”

A forced chuckle fell from her lips. “Y/n...” She walked over to you and gingerly took your hand. “Listen, can we just-”

“Share a kiss and move on to the next day?” You interjected with a quirked eyebrow. The frown on your face caused Wanda’s own smile to falter as she turned away from you again and moved out of the kitchen. “Turn in for the night so you can reset our world again?” You pressed as you followed after her.

Wanda spun around to face you, her eyes wide with disbelief. You continued before she could utter a sound. “You can’t control me like you control them, Wanda.”

Her eyes remained locked on yours and you watched her eyes flash challengingly. “Can’t I?”

Just then the sound of music filled the room around you. Wanda began walking away and your head fell as the lyrics floated from the radio. You braced yourself for what you could only imagine was to come next.

“Now that you've come back, turned night into day, I need you to stay.”

The soft music playing in the background lulled you into a trance. The safety you had created in this moment on the roof of the compound prevented the outside world from existing. On this roof all your worries faded away. All that existed was the music and-

“If you could have been anything, what would you have chosen?”

It was a surprise to hear her speak. Most of the time Wanda would just sit next to you without saying a word - always keeping you at arms distance. “I don’t know. This? Saving the world is a pretty sweet gig.” You mumbled distractedly in a playful manner as you watched the clouds move through the sky above you.

Wanda pushed your shoulder lightly in annoyance. You struggled to ignore the way your skin burned under her touch. “I’m being serious, Y/n.”

You smirked, eyes still locked skyward. “So am I.”

From the corner of your eye you could see her frown slightly. Guilt overcame you when you realized she was finally trying and you were shutting her down. “A writer.”

“What?”

“If I was normal and could have lived a normal life, I would have been a writer.” You explained, sitting up and crossing your legs. Wanda mirrored your position. “It would have been interesting to be a novelist with an editor and dealing with signing with publishers, you know? Or a news writer who creates interesting articles.”

Wanda played with her fingers. “I didn’t know you were a writer.”

With a short shake of your head, you answered, “I wouldn’t say I am. Remember this is all hypothetical. The life I’d have if I was capable of living a normal life.” You finished with a light laugh.

While she didn’t laugh along with you, a small smile spread across Wanda’s features. The rare sight took your breath away. “It’s a shame we’re so far from normal.”

Your eyes stayed locked on hers as she tugged at her sleeves, her lips still quirked up faintly. You smiled at the sight. “I don’t know. It’s not too bad.”

“Stop, stop, STOP!” You shouted, the music abruptly shutting off and filling the room with static. “That’s- I don’t know what any of that is! It’s not mine!” You shouted, pressing your palms into your temples. Wanda’s eyes glimmered with an emotion you didn’t recognize

Another song began playing.

“Good things might come to those who wait, not for those who wait too late. We gotta go for all we know-”

“-just the two of-” Your singing was brought to an abrupt end when you saw flames coming from one of the pots on the stove. “No, no, no!”

A loud curse fell from your lips as the fire advanced even further from your attempts of salvaging the dish. “Y/n! What-” Hurried footsteps rushed into the kitchen of the compound. Wanda’s eyes widened when she took in the sight before her. Without a word she ran back out of the room.

“Thanks for all the help, babe!” You shouted sarcastically as you hurriedly began filling a bucket with water.

Before you could finish filling the bucket, Wanda ran back in with a fire extinguisher and doused the fire in seconds. “You were saying?” She turned to you with a quirked eyebrow and a smirk.

Sheepishly you rubbed the back of your neck. “Thanks.” You mumbled.

“When we get our own house, you’re not allowed to cook.” Wanda said with a laugh.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Our house?”

A deep pink hue spread across Wanda’s cheeks. “Well… yeah. Someday. If that’s what you want.”

Her words made your heart flutter. “I mean, we’ve only been dating half a year, but yeah... I see it too.” You smiled at her adoringly. “What else can you tell me about our future house?”

Wanda’s gaze bashfully fell to the floor, you found the action endearing. “It would be in a nice little neighborhood with friendly neighbors.”

The fact that she had thought of spending her future with you only made you fall all the more in love. “With plenty of space for our children to play.” You added.

Her cheeks flushed even more with your words and the smile that lit up her entire being was blinding.

You’d be glad if that was the last sight you ever saw.

“You picture having children with me?” She asked shyly. You nodded, and her smile grew even more. “How many do you imagine?”

“Two.” You replied easily. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of your future with Wanda as well.

She stepped forward and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. “That sounds perfect.”

“Enough!” You roared, pressing into your temples even more as you desperately took ragged breathes to calm yourself. The moments that were attached to these songs all flashing in your mind at once. You still didn’t recognize any of them.

The radio crumpled in on itself in your frustration.

Wanda’s eyes widened in surprise at your sudden outburst, it was clear that you were teetering dangerously on the edge of something she couldn’t control. “Y/n. I think you should get some rest. I’m going to go to bed. Come up when you’re ready.”

The racing of your mind worsened as you watched Wanda turn away. “No, Wanda, we’re not done here! What are all these things I’m seeing?”

Wanda’s brows furrowed in genuine confusion. “What things?”

You wearily approached your wife, feeling your palms begin sweating anxiously. You dug your nails into your palm to distract yourself from the fact. “I want to believe that this…” You gestured vaguely around the room. “Was all subconscious and you weren’t aware of what was happening.”

“Aware of what?” Wanda said in annoyance as she turned away.

Again, you followed after her. “What are all these moments? What does Ellie have to do with them? Ellie is a real person, Wanda, and she’s scared! Scared because you are controlling her!” Your chest tightened. “Why did I see her in my mind when I’ve never seen her before Westview?”

Wanda spun around to face you. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She shouted back, matching your tone. Her frustration boiling over.

“Stop lying to me!” You screamed as the tightening in your chest became almost unbearable. The floor beneath you began to splinter and your hands tensed slightly.

The familiar red wisps began flowing from Wanda’s hands. “Y/n. This, all of this, is for us. For you. So, please, let me handle it.” She gritted out through clenched teeth as the frustration became more and more evident on her features.

“What are they, Wanda? Why can’t I remember anything before Westview? What even exists outside of Westview?” You demanded as the floor began to splinter even more.

The quiver of Wanda’s lips was subtle, but you caught it. “You don’t want to know, I promise you.”

Your hands flexed in frustration. “You don’t get to make that choice for me, Wanda!”

Pain flooded Wanda’s eyes as she turned away from you. The fight in her fading. “You’ve never talked to me like this before.”

The breathes you were taking became more ragged. “Before what? I can’t remember my life outside of Westview! I don’t even know who I am!” You clutched desperately at your chest. In that moment you were sure that your heart was about to burst through your chest. “I’m scared, Wanda.”

Seeing the obvious distress you were in grounded Wanda as she cautiously made her way over to you, gently pulling your clenched hands away from your chest. “You are my wife. You are Billy and Charlie’s mother. Isn’t that enough?” She pleaded as she smoothed her thumbs over the back of your hands.

For a moment your heart rate slowed. You couldn’t tear your mind away from your troubled thoughts though. “If Ellie is under some trance does that mean others are as well?” You questioned in a more subdued tone.

Wanda tore her hands away from yours in disbelief as she stormed away from you. “Do you really think I am controlling everything?” Your brows furrowed as she pushed forward. “That I am somehow in charge of everybody in Westview? Walking their dogs? Taking out the trash? Getting them to work on time?”

An exasperated laugh fell from her lips as she pushed a hand through her hair. You worriedly watched the way tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t know how any of this started in the first place.” Wanda insisted, almost as though she was pleading with you to believe her.

All you wanted to do was comfort her when you realized the turmoil and anxiety that she also seemed to be feeling.

You hesitantly kneeled before Wanda and placed a gentle hand on her leg. “Wanda, what you’re doing here is wrong.” She buried her face in her hands and your heart ached at the sight. “It’s wrong, but we can make it right.”

Before she could answer the doorbell sounded. Your hands fell away from her. “I didn’t do that.” You set your lips in a line but didn’t respond. “You don’t believe me.”

A heavy sigh fell from your lips. “Wanda, I want to, but… the timing of the interruption seems a little too perfect. Just like everything else.”

The doorbell sounded again, and you were sure you felt your heart break when you saw her blink back tears.

Without a word, she stood to answer the door. When you saw Wanda was frozen at the door, you cautiously stood and began making your way over to her. “Wanda, who-” you stopped short when you saw an unfamiliar man in the doorway.

“Long lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin’ sis to death or what?” The unfamiliar man asked playfully.

Wanda stared at him as if she was seeing a ghost. “Pietro?” You watched apprehensively as the two shared a hug.

When Pietro pulled away, he lightly nudged Wanda. “You caught a babe, sis. I’m impressed.” Wanda seemed to still be in too much shock to react as he leaned out the door, “Hey, kid! Come out! I think there might be someone you want to see here.”

A moment later a young girl wandered into the entry way. “Y/nn.” The girl quietly whispered and while you couldn’t seem to remember anything outside of Westview you knew there was only one person who called you that.

“Anna…” You breathed out through a choked gasp. Suddenly it felt like your legs stopped working as you fell to one knee and then the other. Wanda rushed over to you.

.

.

.

A soft gasp filled the quiet room. “She re-cast Pietro and brought back Anna.” Darcy said in shock as she watched the scene unfold on the small screen before her. “What a twist.”

“That’s not Anna.” Steve said as crossed his arms. “Anna was only six when Hydra took her from Y/n. This girl is a teenager. I helped Y/n bury her sister. I don’t know who this is.”

Natasha shook her head. “It looks like everything just got a lot more complicated.”

With a cough, Darcy nodded overzealously. “Right. This is a terrible situation.” She turned away from the two Avengers slightly. “Even if it makes good TV.” She added under her breath.

Both Steve and Natasha gave Darcy a disbelieving look as the credits rolled on the small screen before them.

And we have concluded with the 80s! A lot happened here but I'm actually really happy with how it turned out since I feel like it's beginning to take it's own shape. Chaos has ensued!

Annnnyyway... I hope you all enjoyed this part and are seeing the little depths of reasoning behind a lot of what Wanda is doing. As always, thoughts and comments always welcome! Reading your responses is always the highlight of my day. :)

P.s. if anyone wants to be on the taglist for "As it Was" let me know!

Taglist:

@theofficialzivadavid @tquick99 @wandamaximoffpuppy

#wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #mcu fanfiction #mcu x reader #mcu x you #mcu wandavision #wandavision

[kashimos-hajime]

no regrets (8/8) | r.b.

summary: For the first time, he thinks of a future he could have, and someone who loves him, and there’s something bright in his heart. Or, Reiner finally understands what peace is.

WARNINGS: MANGA SPOILERS!!! angst, mentions of violence, we get our happy ending :) pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 6.7k

a/n: welcome to the last chapter!! thank you so much for being on this journey with me. there are a few callbacks to previous chapters so see if you can catch ‘em all heheh 

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

Few months ago ymir asked if I could let her write one last letter to krista, and I did let her. I stood over her shoulder the whole time, watching her pen down all this sappy shit and I kept thinking about you the whole time, behind those walls. What you were doing, what you were thinking. Maybe if you thought about me. I dont know.

I’m starting to see the appeal of wrting what youre not strong enough to say to a persons face. I never thought Id find myself on the other end of this stick. for some reason, I thought that I could stop myself, resist the temptation, or maybe that I didnt feel for you as strong as I thought I did once I was away from you. I was wrong.

What do I even say? I mean shit, I can barely see, my limbs are barely in tact, and all of it—shiganshina, it haunts me, even though I cant really remember it that well. Half of it goes black and then I remember hearing your voice, I remember Bertholdt, I remember you screaming.

You couldve walked away. why didnt you walk away? It doesn’t make sens. Why did you think to cut me out? Why did you try to save me? Im trying to make it make sense inmy head. It’s not working.

Fuck I dont know what I was thinking when I asked for a paper and pen. Why am I asking you questions? Its not like ill ever understand. At this point, I think it’s pity thats letting Zeke let me waste ink on trying to write straight. He doesn’t know what im doing, but thats better this way. Better than sleeping—better than eating. I just wanna talk to you and this is as close as I can get. Its my own damn fault, but I dont care. 

I completed my mission. After this, im done. ill give up the rest of my term. I dont want any of that glory anymore. I dont want to be a hero. Im just done.

Fuck, my head hurts so much. I dont really know if what im saying is making sense. Im hoping you never read this.

im sorry. I wish I could explain it to you some day, but chances are, ill be dead soon. Whether for treason or because they need to pass on the Titan, and I wont be able to see you again. Which means youll never know how sorry I am. How much I

Thats okay. I dont think youd believe me now even if I did say anything.

I remember your dream to live by the lake with a bunch of kids. You know I started to wonder if youd mind if they were our kids, not just some orphans who needed a home. I’d imagine one of them with blond hair. Imagine them swimming in the lake.

Never told you that was my dream too. Never knew i could have a dream of my own, something only I wanted and not just something to further marleys damn agenda, til I knew you. Sounds stupid but its true.

I think youd like Marley, if we weren’t sworn enemies. Just want you here with me right now. make me sleep easier knowing you’re there when I wake up. 

Dont want secrets either. Fuck I miss you so bad. I feel s o tired all the time. 

I rember when i first saw you all could think about was how you were the most prettiest girl id ever seen. I don know if you know thats why I tried to distance myself. Knew I couldn’t get distracted from my mison. happened anyway. Wish I could tell you that. 

wish I could tell you I love you. Wish I could see the look on yur face when you try lobster for the first time. Youd love it. Not sweet, but tons of desserts here too.

Shit. And the ring on your finger. ill put a ring on your finger. I promised. i swear ill go home and buy a ring for the moment I see you again. Might not be pretty but will do the best I can.

Olnly wnat only wnat only want to see you again and beg for your forgiveness. Let you know if I had a choice, I wouldnt have done it. Would take it all back, nd stay. i wanted to stay, stay with you and the others. I used to want to spend the rest of my life in those walls, now I think im sick and tired of them dividing people who arent even that differnet.

My eyes are beginning to burn. Worse because the skin is sitll growing back. Fucking hell god I miss you. miss your smile more.

I know i dont deserve your forigvneess forgiveness. I want you to be angry with me. I deserve as much, and I cant ask you to, but 

With love,

Rienr

You fold the letter, eyes closing as your fingers trace where the ink bled, the old tear stains wrinkling the paper beyond measure. Some are older than others, and you trace over his name again, your eyes burning, your throat tight enough to suffocate.

You’re leaning against the wall as everyone disembarks. They had taken Eren off first, Hange and the others getting ready to depart for the city while Connie and Jean lift a covered stretcher too white for the vivacious girl that lays dead beneath it.

They pass you silently, and you catch sight of a certain captain approaching, his pale eyes nearly swallowed by the shadows haunting his face.

“Captain,” you say, straightening. Placing the letter back into the tin, you slide it back into your pocket as he folds a green jacket over his shoulder. You give him a nod.

“You made it out alive,” Levi observes. He stops beside you, eyes more focused on what’s ahead. No doubt he’s not looking forward to having to take Zeke to wherever he needs to go—somewhere far, far away from Eren. You cross your arms. 

“It’s good to see you, too, Levi,” you intone. Sighing, you step in beside him and look out at the Walls you can’t see in the distance, your entire body wrought with a strange fatigue that’s only sewn into muscles by adrenaline leaving the body. “I think I’m going to stay.” He tilts his head to you, eyes flickering to your face, and you mirror the shift, your arms tightening. “I can’t leave this unfinished. Not after Liberio.”

“The farm will have to be abandoned,” he points out. “The kids, too.”

“I’ll make sure I move them where someone can take care of them. Somewhere north, far away from the brothers,” you assure, although still, your heart begins to sink and you close your eyes, exhaling deeply. “I have to hope they understand.”

Levi only nods, and you open your eyes as he wordlessly takes the jacket off his arm and offers it to you. Grasping it wearily, you open your mouth to ask questions but he only sets off, back towards the cabin where Zeke is still being held, and you snap your jaws shut, looking down at the jacket.

When you unfold it, you swallow the hard rock in your throat at the blue and white slipping beween the folds of olive green before there’s a sharp whistle. Looking up, you see the carriages already beginning to load up, and you glance back at the door where the captain has disappeared through before jogging down the ramp.

You slither your arms through the sleeves and shuffle the fabric along your frame as something thumps against your thigh, and you frown, reaching down into your pocket and coming into contact with something smooth and hard.

Withdrawing, your lips part at the green bolo tie gleaming in the lights of the port and you, without another thought, pull it over your head, letting it fall against your breastbone. 

“For your services to the Survey Corps.”

There’s no time to second-guess now. No time to debate.

“Good to have you back,” Hange murmurs as you walk towards the carriage taking Mikasa, Armin, and the others back to the city. You tug the lapels of the jacket tighter around yourself and flash them a weak smile. 

The Wings of Freedom on your arm feel like a brand, and it prickles your skin as you climb in after them.

.

Distantly, he remembers flashes. 

Eren reaching forward for Zeke, the exhaustion ripping him every which way, the sound of ODM gear whizzing in his ears as he tries to make sense of the punctured sensation in his armour.

How he had softened his nape, intending to die then. At least, let his death have some meaning, he had thought. Let him make one last effort to repent for everything he did to Paradis, and to his friends who’d been more family than his own mother.

He slips in an out of consciousness for the next few days. He doesn’t know what is up, what is down, but he does recognize his surroundings blearily, the way his head spinning somehow slowing when he presses his temple to the wooden floor.

How can he almost hear your voice in the echoes of the panels, countered by someone who almost sounds like Annie before he drifts off again.

When Reiner finally regains consciousness again, he wakes to someone crouched down in front of him. Jerking up, he lets out a sound before a palm slaps over his mouth and your face is shoved against his own.

“Shut it,” you whisper fiercely. “It’s just me.”

Your name muffled by your own hand, his eyes begin to burn and you lift your palm away as he sits up and you draw back. You’re dressed in clothes that look like they’ve seen better days but you’re relatively uninjured as you pull back. New lines adorn your face—one of the many prices of their damned war—and you only look exhausted. 

Sitting up, Reiner’s whole body groans as he leans against the wall, but he can’t tear his eyes away from you. Your hands are hovering around his body like you’re scared he’ll collapse and there’s a fracture in your mask.

Something gleams on your finger and his eyes flit to it, his heart lurching when he realizes what it is.

The ring. You’re wearing it. You…

For a moment, a glimmer of their teenage selves shine through and he wants to reach for it—touch it so he can remember what it’s like to be happy. He thinks it’s an awful like now; the swelling of his heart so big he can’t breathe; the way his lungs are static in his chest; how he can’t say anything because there are so many words that want to come out first.

“You’re here. You’re alive,” he finally settles on raspily. Your eyes glint with a youthful pain as you nod.

“So are you.” 

And he doesn’t know who moves first—you or him. Nothing is forgiven as their bodies crash in an embrace that lacks grace, but they cling onto another like the world is ending and they’re the only ones left standing. 

Maybe they are.

He buries his face in your neck, and your arms are so tight around him your fingers dig into his shoulders as your body melts against his and his skeleton sags in his own body.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, eyes fluttering shut. “I‘m sorry.” A hand against your neck and an arm around your waist, he wraps his legs around your own and traps you against him. You seem to only sink into him even more.

Is that enough? I don’t want you to hate me.

You suck in a breath, and then it comes out shuddering. “You can spend the rest of what life you have left repenting for making me fall in love with a man who was always supposed to die.”

Softly, in his mind, your voice cools the searing heat of hatred inside him. It’s enough. It has to be.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. It’s like they’re the only words he knows. He can’t remember ever meaning it this much. For him dying, for making you love him, for ever coming to Paradis. For loving you. For loving you. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know. I know.” Your face turns to press against his own. Your lips brush against his jaw and his eyes slide shut, tears rolling down his face. “I read every single one of your letters.” Drawing back, you cup his face in his hands and your fingers smear his tears all over his cheeks as his palm rests against your neck. Thumb stretching up to touch your chin, he feels sobs shuddering in his throat at seeing you again—looking at him almost like you used to. “I can’t begin to understand, but I know you are. And I know you love me.”

Choking, he gasps, “You should hate me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I should.” You’re crying, too, voice thick, tears stubborn on your cheeks as you give him a watery smile. “I should hate Marley, too. But it’s beautiful there. The water by the sea… I want to be there with you next time. We need to go together, before you leave me alone, okay?”

Reiner doesn’t quite hear you. He hears Marley, and beautiful, and he’s never noticed how beautiful you are when you cry, but right now, it’s the simplest truth he knows. 

“Okay.”

When you tilt his chin up and kiss him softly, something inside him explodes from the gentleness that makes him want to crack in the palm of your hands. It sears him from the inside out, makes him grab onto you like you’ll disappear—this is another dream, isn’t it? 

It has to be. 

You can’t be kissing him again after four years. He doesn’t deserve it. You’re an illusion, something his mind made up to deal with the pain. He’s finally cracked for good, just like Bertholdt said he would, and he’s the devil, not you.

But then you pull away just for a moment to smile, eyes barely open as you look at him with a sad tenderness that wraps him in an invisible embrace, and he is faced with the heart-wrenching reality. 

The sky is falling, you are holding him tightly again, and they’ve lost their years. But you’re here. With him. 

He knows that this isn’t a dream as he feels the coolness of the silver band on your finger and the heaviness in how he knows he hasn’t repented a damn thing. 

Why him?

As you run your hand through his hair, you press their foreheads together.

“And I do want a family with you, by the water if you’d like,” you murmur fleetingly against his mouth and his eyes widen, cheeks burning, entire face crumbling as he turns his face in to your shoulder, crushing you in another brace. Sobbing into your neck, his fingers dig into your shoulders, wrap tight around your waist, squeeze you so close he isn’t sure where you end and he begins and your lips brush the shell of his ear. “Reiner, say it.”

“Please,” he whispers thickly into your skin, and you cradle the back of his head with a hand. He’s nothing more than shambles. “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” you promise. His breath is hot against his own face as you pull his head back and cradle his face again, thumbs brushing away the tears from his red face. “Just a bit more. A bit more and then it’ll be all over, you know?”

And he understands, then, what you want from him. Struggling for breath, for his lungs to stop seizing in his aching chest, he cups your face that turns into his palm on instinct, your face wet with your own tears as, for a moment, they try to pretend this isn’t where they really are.

Like they’re still in that afternoon in Trost, a thousand years ago, with the kids flipping coins into the water fountain and a cream bun between them. Like they’re under the tree, apple juice on your wrist and his lips on yours.

Like it’s those trips to the city, the walks on the Walls. Honey is dripping down your chin and he’s pretending he doesn’t want to kiss you, or there’s grease smeared on his forehead, and you’re reaching up to wipe it off his skin.

Like a thousand moments all at once, and he nods to himself as you brush your hand over his temple. The world outside is startlingly quiet, as if the universe itself stopped everything itself to watch this moment, and Reiner takes a breath that bruises his sternum before he’s holding your left hand where that ring still sits.

And slowly, he pulls it off, whispering as firmly as he can. He’s sure he fails—he’s shaking all over from your presence alone.

“When this is over, I’ll put that ring back on your finger. I promise.”

The smile that splits your face is dazzling. It’s the smile he’s missed since the day he left it.

“We have a lot of things to work out, Reiner Braun.”

And your fingers barely brush his jaw before you’re leaning to press a sweet kiss against his mouth. It’s sugary on his tongue, like honey and apple slices.

.

Your back is warmer when you’re pressed up against Reiner’s. The ship is quiet, and their pinkies are just barely hooked on oen another’s as you stare blankly at the empty space between Connie’s boots. You don’t speak, and Reiner’s gaze is only on you. He can’t look at anything else now that you’re back by his side again.

There’s a cut on your cheek from the fight just half an hour ago, and there’s dried blood along your hands where your knuckles had split open, but everyone seems too exhausted to clean themselves up. 

Reiner himself has a blanket pulled over his shoulders, and he sighs, slouching in his own sack of flesh.

Your head tilts towards him, enough that your temple presses against his cheek. His eyes close and he leans into your touch. Not a word passes by, but their hold on each other’s hands tightens. And Reiner thinks. 

For the first time, he thinks of a future he could have, and someone who loves him, and there’s something bright in his heart. Something that hasn’t burned since he left Marley as a child.

Reiner thinks he doesn’t want to die anymore. He doesn’t want to miss you for another moment.

.

Raising from the steam, you groan, your hands searing from the inside out as you touch your face where you swore every inch of your skin had been stretched, but nothing seems out of sorts as you glance around. Everywhere, all your friends who had turned just as you had are in various states of disoriented. The air is still hissing, crackled with surprised screams and shouts of names as people look for one another across the field. 

It smells like cooked meat and burnt hair, a none-to-pleasant mixture that turns your stomach.

Getting to your feet, you wipe at your face, trying to ignore the weird feeling underneath your nails and the ache seizing your muscles. Trying to ignore the remnants of Eren lingering like a ghost that won’t really leave you alone. You shiver, and a strange cold sweat takes over your body.

He had taken you to the sea, except it wasn’t the shore you were familiar with. There was a cabin nearby, with blonde children running, chasing after one another and a man with golden hair standing on the porch, firewood in his arms as he calls out silently. Or maybe you had been standing too far to hear.

“Eren… where are we?”

“Wherever you think you are,” he had said. “I just brought you where you wanted to be.”

A voice, quiet as a memory, catches your attention. “Here let me help.” A soft wind blows throw the mist, cooling your scorching face as you feel a presence stand behind you.

“Oh, thank you.” You look over your shoulder to see a tall boy, and your heart stops. Mouth dropping open, you stare at his foggy image, but he only smiles fully, a smile so tender it reaches every corner of you as you stumble forward, fingers stretching for him. “Bertholdt!”

His smile grows only that much more, eyes squinting a bit and a flash of teeth before he’s looking at your hand that passes through his chest. All at once, all the hope built up in your chest crumbles, and your hand snaps back, trembling just before him. He lays a hand over your own and your eyes begin to burn, tears slipping down your cheeks.

And then, softly, you barely whisper, “I miss you.”

Bertholdt’s smile merely grows, as if to say everything he couldn’t say before. As if to show he’s at peace now—that your last memory together isn’t every part of him, and your lips press together, trying to stop yourself from shaking.

 Shadows form in the fog, and together, the two look as a freckled boy and another girl steps out of the mist a distance away, beaming like the sun. Connie and Jean stagger to their feet just behind you, and your heart lurches into your throat when you recognize them.

“Marco! Sasha!”

Someone calls your name and you turn around just as arms scoop you up and you let out a surprised noise before settling into Reiner’s arms. Looking over your shoulder to look at Bertholdt, your heart only sinks.

He smiles and Reiner lets out a sharp breath beside you, settling you down. “Bertholdt…” More shapes emerge. A shorter boy accompanied by another taller one, both alike in their features. You recognize one as the Jaw Titan holder before Falco, but the other—

“Marcel!” Reiner chokes out the name, hand stretching out to the fog, but the boy merely tilts his head and waves.

Closing your eyes, hot tears streak over your cooling flesh as you fling your arms around Reiner again and press your face into his neck. He cradles the back of your head, and he feels… somehow weaker, but still, there is that impassable strength in his core that wraps around you as he watches over your shoulder, still clinging on despite your clothes hot enough to burn.

I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive. It’s the only thought in your head. Your last clear memory had truly been the others taking flight, and the pain that had ripped apart your body before sewing it back together again in unjust proportions. Your limbs had been too big, your blood racing too warmly through your head as your legs pumped but your brain screamed to stop. 

Your fingers had sank into Reiner’s legs to pull him down and you had watched—watched Jean take a bite out of him—

You shiver and Reiner’s arms tighten around you instinctively, constricting enough to let you know that his attention isn’t on you quite yet.

Boots shifting on the ground tentatively, your knees feel gummy as you draw back long enough to look at him. He still looks over your shoulder, and you follow his gaze to watch the mist retreat. Bertholdt and the other two boys fall into a pool of fog, and your lips part in a farewell, but it’s already too late.

He’s gone.

A wind sweeps through the battlefield, tickling your sweating neck and cooling your boiling blood.

“Hey,” a soft voice croaks.

Their eyes meet in tandem. He regards you softly, like you are the reason the sun rises and the stars hang at the sky. Overwhelmed, you can only cup the back of his neck and pull him into a deep kiss. Your other hand along his jaw, it takes all you can not to pull him into a bone-crushing embrace that’ll send them both to the ground.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” you whisper hushedly against his mouth, throat swelling as he lets out a soft noise of surprise as you pull him into another tight hug. You don’t care that you’re crushing him, just that his heart is pounding against your own chest. “I couldn’t stop myself. I’m so sorry.” 

His eyes widening, he wraps his hands around your wrists and pulling you back just enough to kiss your fingers that crumple against his mouth. Clasping one of his hands in both of your own, you close your eyes and he uses his free fingers to brush the tears off your cheek before reaching into some dented tin you don’t recognize.

Eyebrows furrowing, you feel the heat leave your entire body, sapping your energy too, and your eyes snap to Reiner who steps back, cracking it open and presenting it to you. 

“You’re not the one who has to be sorry. I don’t think I’m the Armoured Titan anymore,” he whispers. “I don’t know if I get the rest of my life back, but either way, I want to spend the rest of it repenting to you in any way I can, if you’ll allow me to.” A weak smile. “Truth.”

Your throat closes up, and you stare down at the ring so protected, gleaming despite the destruction around them. It looks almost out of place amongst the grime smearing your skin, the sweat drenching their skin, the smell of blood and metal clinging to their clothes, but Reiner only watches you with a tenderness you can barely meet. It’s so overtly overflowing with devotion that your heart is resting on your tongue, seizing control of everything. 

You barely nod, chewing on your lip, trying not to cry even harder as his eyebrows rise in relief and he lets out a long sigh.

He lifts the ring out of the tin, snapping it closed before sliding the band back home onto your finger and all at once, everything floods you. The exhaustion, the pain, the hunger, thirst, grief wrapping around your bones and chaining you to the ground.

It’s over.

The minute he put the ring on your finger, it would mean it was over. No more blood, no more fighting.

Just like he promised.

You barely croak out his name before you fall to your knees. You trust him to catch you, and he does.

[THREE YEARS LATER]

Just after the Rumbling had stopped, you had gone back to Paradis alone and came back with three children to a man who was still uncertain in a world that was changing. 

Since then, you’ve learned so much about the world, about yourself, about Reiner. 

How he’s seized by night terrors even now, just like you, and how one thing that soothes it is going out for a walk while the sun still simmers below the horizon, the sky a dark navy blue spliced with orange rays. The intricate details like him making a point to tie his own tie because his father never taught him how or the way he has to chug his coffee so he has enough energy to get through the day.

And some days are horrible, haunting, but now, it is far outweighed by the good. He teaches Xav how to dress smart, takes the girls out shopping. Sometimes, he’s spotted around Liberio with a flame-haired boy riding his shoulders, you trailing behind hiding a smile behind some ice-cream.

Different nations, foods, cultures surround you now—citizens of countries coming to settle down roots, spread cuisine to Marley. The idea before, of humans so different than you but still similar at the root of it all, existing, still blows your mind. The technologies that you had never seen before, languages you’d never heard, sights you’d never seen, had all swarmed you as you stepped into a new world with him.

But there is always one thing you’ll come back to.

Leaning against the railing in the port city Reiner told you was the harbour he had left twelve years ago, and returned to seven years ago, you watch the clouds travel in slow drags across the pale blue canvas hung high above your head. The water spans for as far as you can see, glimmering under the sun and gorgeous enough to take your breath away. You pull at your coat across your chest absently, ignoring the tender growl of your stomach. 

Breathing in the salty wind, you feel your chest expand at the litle fishing boats a little ways out.

Reiner was right. You don’t get sick of the sea. You never will—not of this much water. You still remember the first time you had swam in it, the salt-water making your hair crisp, the cold sweat forming on your your sun-warmed skin.

You feel a hand on your shoulder. Looking up, you spot blonde hair and warm eyes and smile. Your heart flutters a bit. You shift on your feet.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Reiner leans down beside you, and you clasp your hands, letting the sea wind curl against your neck. Reaching to slip his hand in between yours, he sighs and you lean against his shoulder, glancing at their pile of interlaced fingers. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” you whisper, although even still, you can feel a numbing at your fingertips. You remember what it was like to be a Titan, even now. The sensations haunt you—flashes of your own mutated body, the grotesque meat of your hands sinking into the ankles of the man beside you, the bloodcurdling roar spilling out of your throat.

Glancing at their fingers, you watch the flashes of silver of the rings play in the sunlight, your band now having a matching counterpart on his own hand. You grasp his hands tightly, bringing them up to your lips and his own grip tightens when you dust a kiss gently along his scarred knuckles.

“No,” you finally say at length. “I’m not okay. Going back to Paradis makes me nervous as hell, but we’ll manage.” He nods slowly, and you let go of his hands to wrap your arms around his neck. His own encircle your waist, pulling you flush against him and your eyes close at the familiar warmth—a warmth you’ve woken up next to most days for the past three years. 

“Have you eaten yet?” he murmurs, and your fingers play with the soft edges teasing at your pads as his nose presses against your cheek. Your eyes flutter at the soft heat emanating from his skin, and you shake your head, melting against him. With one arm still around you, he slants his body away from just enough to pull a bag out of his pocket and it crinkles as he hands it to you. Taking it, you frown and look inside.

A cream bun. You can’t help the crumbling in your expression and Reiner holds your face in his hands carefully, kissing the corner of your mouth.

“Let’s stay positive,” he whispers. “We don’t know the situation until we get there and Historia briefs us.”

“I know,” you whisper and his entire expression eases at your words. His eyes gaze at you as if you’re the sole centre of his universe, and he cups your jaw more insistently, pulling you in for a gentle kiss, one you ease into, your eyes fluttering shut as his tongue traces the seam of your mouth. Laughing, you feel his little nose scrunch and your heart bounds up into your throat as he pulls back only to kiss you again, softer this time.

“Get a room!” A sharp female voice ruins their moment and you pull back just enough to see a red-headed boy running towards them and Reiner crouches down just in time to scoop Xavier up.

“When are you getting married?” he demands. “I was promised cake when you guys got married.”

“I dunno. When you move out of the house I guess,” you tease and Xavier pouts, rubbing at the side of his nose with the heel of his palm.

“Besides, you got cake for your seventh birthday, buddy,” Reiner groans as the boy twists in his arms. “You’re getting heavy. What are you feeding him?” he adds, smiling roguishly at you and you roll your eyes as Alina and Anya approach, sun hats protecting them from the glaring sun. Alina, grocery bags in hand, waves. Anya, who’d been the one to shout, tucks her coin purse back into her bag before flashing you a great big smile.

Only fifteen and seventeen. You can barely recall what it’s like being that young anymore, but you’re grateful they didn’t spend it the way you did. They get to know beauty, and no limits at all. The former comes naturally, the latter is partially because Reiner spoils them rotten.

Alina picks a flower with velvety purple petals from a bouquet she cradles in her arm, extending it to you.

“For good luck,” she says. “And protection.” Your heart melts at her words and you pause for a moment, looking from the gorgeous bloom to Reiner, occupied with the boy in his arms making silly faces at him. Then, without another moment, you sneak the flower behind his ear and he reaches up immediately to hold it against his head, turning to you in surprise. 

“To protect the both of us,” you explain.

“Thank you. I’ll be extra careful now.” He looks at the girls, setting his free hand on Alina’s head heavily and she flushes, smiling grandly. “You three behave while we’re gone, alright?”

You nod. “Listen to Levi.” 

“And listen to your sister,” Reiner adds to Alina and Xavier. The former rolls her eyes, the latter sticks out his tongue. “I’ll miss you.”

This is their home—their family that tumbles together into a huge hug, and you can’t help but stand back, watching how they all seem to merge into one unit, unaware of where one part of their reach ends and another begins.

As Reiner pulls you into the hug, your heart soars through your body, effortlessly pounding in your throat and in your fingers and everywhere at once. Liquid heat pools everywhere as Xavier screws up his face when you kiss his cheek, the same way Reiner does after he’s eaten something sour.

And maybe it’s a bit different, or a bit broken, the shards of their bloody history still poking at their heels whenever they think you’ve forgotten them, and it’s most definitely not perfect, but you would rather have it like this then anything else.

“Hey, guys!” Breaking apart, the family look over to see Armin, Annie, and Pieck walking over. Gabi and Falco meander a little bit behind, pushing Levi in his wheelchair, and Jean and Connie are running not far behind them, shouting at one another. You stifle a laugh and Xavier shimmies out of Reiner’s hold to run towards them. The girls follow after him, trying to hold back their runs but the closer they get, you can tell the more frantic they are to say goodbye.

So this is what they’ve made a peace. Something, you hope, is good.

Annie bypasses them quickly, making her way over to you and you survey her face as Reiner squeezes your shoulder, walking over to their friends. Her blue eyes are fixed on your face, and you feel your lips curving into a smile as she shoves her hands in her pockets. Her hair is swaying in the wind, gleaming flaxen, and you remind yourself, not for the first time, that Armin and Annie’s kids, if they ever decide they want them, will be gorgeous.

Hope for the future, and all that.

She stops in front of you, tucking a strand behind her ear.

“So,” she says at length, “we’re going back to Paradis. I’m surprised you decided to come with us. You don’t owe any of us anything.”

“I know. But… you’re my best friend. You do the talking, I fly the getaway plane, right?”

“Yeah. There used to be a time when it probably would’ve been the opposite.”

You nod, and they stand in silence for a moment, watching each other. Two women who should not have been friends, but were against all odds. You don’t think you would be here today if it weren’t for Annie.

Your heart lurches and you take a step forward just as she does, her mouth open to say something. You throw your arms around her and she lets out a noise in surprise as you close your eyes. Arms coming underneath yours, her hands dig into your shoulders and you smile against soft hair as she sighs, easing into your hug.

“Finally working together on an actual assignment,” you mumble and her head tilts as her small frame shifts, a hand patting you on the back as a sign for you to back up. “Just like we always said we would.” 

Bluntly: “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

“You, too.” Pulling back, the two look at one another for another soft moment before you remember the bag in your hand and you shift the bun up in the bag, extending it towards her. “Want some?” Her eyebrows rise in faint delight, before she’s reaching over, pinching and tearing a piece off. 

You grin and do the same and you gesture for her to come stand by the rails with you, stuffing the bag into your coat pocket. Leaning against the warm metal again, you hear a seagull call. The plane you’ll be flying to Paradis floats on the water, the technicians giving it the final check before you take off.

If anything goes wrong while you help prepare and oversee accommodations for the rest of the ambassador group, you’ll remember to fire the black signal flare, but you trust Historia. You trust your friends.

You glance over at them, all laughing, and you notice that the flower has gone from Reiner to Pieck, who’s taking it out of her dark hair to tuck it into Jean’s, and his cheeks redden as he brushes it more securely behind his ear.

Annie catches your attention again, pointing out idly that they’ll have to separate soon when they finish with the plane, and you tell her to just wait a couple minutes more as Reiner catches your gaze. Setting Xav, who has somehow wormed his way back into his arms, down, he walks back over to you, and his hand trails purposefully over your back before resting at the nape of your neck, a reassuring weight on your body.

“You guys okay?”

“We’re fine,” Annie replies. “You have a clingy boyfriend,” she tells you. 

“I think it’s charming.”

She rolls her eyes. Reiner smiles, and you pat the railing beside you—silent invitation. He leans in on your other side, clasping his hands and watching the fishermen pull themselves to shore, singing a tune to each other—one familiar to all three of them and one that you wish you could get out of your head. 

“Soon may the Wellerman come…”

A faint breeze tickling at your fingertips as a sharp call for embarkment splits the harbour, you simply sigh and look over at Reiner. “I just want these last few moments to last.” His eyes meet yours, and he leans forward to press a kiss between your eyes. Annie lets out a soft noise of disgust and you bump your hip against her as Reiner pulls back.

Closing your eyes and lifting your head to the wind, you can almost imagine the one person missing standing on the other side of Annie, dark hair like spun, stained bronze and eyes like warm chocolate. He’d smile and tell them not to worry in that sincere way of his that makes you believe every word he says—as long as they were careful, they wouldn’t walk into any traps.

Your chest aches, and your lips tug into a heart-wrenching smile as you begin to sing along. Reiner slips a hand in between yours, pressing his temple against your head and you loop your other arm through Annie’s.

She rests her head on your shoulder, listening to your voice, eyes on the sailors bringing in their haul below them. Reiner hums the shanty softly, distractedly, eyes cast across the sea.

You tilt your head up to the sky, at the stars you cannot see but will join one day, and smile.

#fic: homebound #reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #reiner braun x you #reiner braun imagine #reiner braun fic #reiner x reader #reiner x you #aot #aot x reader #aot x you #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #attack on titan fanfiction #snk #snk x reader #snk x you #shingeki no kyojin x reader #my writing

[knockyasocksoff2022]

More Than You Know || Soukoku

Chapter One: Nakahara VS Mori (2,553 words)

(A/N: For this context, Dazai’s surname is Mori so Chuuya calls him Mori and calls Ougai, Mr. Mori/Mori-san)

Chuuya's Perspective:

I’m the only one here and the courtyard is still quiet, the only sounds are the birds chirping, the creaking of the gate, and the swishing of the trees that hide Kafka Academy from the gritty rest of Yokohama.

I like it this way, here I can actually study, which I suppose is the point of my enrollment here, at any rate, it’s better than home. I know Kuoyou tries her best but ever since our parents died in a lab accident, and my brother ran off to France, it’s been hard. 

Kuoyou is in university and works as a secretary at Yokohama Port Corporation, and I studied my ass off for this scholarship.

My head flicks up from my maths textbook when I hear the gate opening. It piques my interest until I recognise the car. I curse myself for letting myself get distracted on this particularly difficult problem. Still, I can’t look away. The car is a limousine, pretty standard for the types of kids here, but this car has the Mori family crest on the grill. 

Mori Ougai is the CEO of Yokohama Port Corporation, his son Mori Osamu goes here and we have all our classes together. Unfortunately for me, he’s an annoying little shit. But, fortunately for me, he’s usually only here just before the bell rings.

He steps out of the car, says something to the driver, and then to my horror starts marching right up to me, swinging his hips like some kind of model. Rich, spoilt brat!

When he reaches me he glances down at my textbook and then says “The answer to that one is 3,459.”

I should be used to it by now but I’m not, “What!”

“You were close though.”

His words snap me out of my shock, how dare he patronise me? “Don’t tell me the answer, then I won’t learn!” It feels stupid after I’ve said it.

“I’m just telling you the answer, not telling you how to get to it. Besides, even if I did, it’s not like the teacher checks the textbooks anyway.” he looks genuinely confused at why I would actually want to do more work and it makes me want to punch him.

“Well, some of us actually care if people think we’re lazy and spoilt. You know, some of us aren’t born arrogant geniuses, and I actually want to learn. Go flirt with the garbage bin, or whatever it is that makes you late every day.”

I expect him to tease me back but instead, he sits down beside me and stares at the maths book. “Yes, you’re a very passionate dedicated student, and person in general, so willing to try everything and do it with all of your heart, it’s what makes you so admirable.”

I can tell he’s talking to me but his words don’t make a shred of sense, “What the hell!? Stop that, are you high?”

He only laughs, “No, I’m flirting with garbage, just like you told me to.”

I can feel the heat rising in my chest and my blood pulsing in my ears, my capabilities of rational thought disappearing as the anger takes over “Oh, really? Ya’ know what? . . .”

The punch lands squarely on his left eye and he falls to the ground, not dramatically, he just falls with an empty-sounding thud, I expect him to spring up but he just stays there, after a few seconds he’s still motionless.

As I walk away I realise it’s the first time I’ve really hit him like that, with all of my power, and intention to hurt. I mean I’ve hit him loads of times before but this feels different, for one thing, he didn’t hit back, even if just to play the victim. Shit! I wonder if he’ll tell. I’ve always been so careful with my temper, of course, this bastard is the one who made me mess up. I could get kicked out and lose my scholarship for this.

I look around, but nobody’s there yet, except the driver. I wonder distantly why he didn’t leave, but more importantly, if he’ll report this to Mori-san.

Pushing down all of my pride in favour of saving my reputation, I plaster the best sad expression on my face that I possibly can and walk back towards the boy on the ground.

He’s still on the ground and completely still, should I say something? I hate that I’m actually worried about this when I should be worried about the beating Kuoyou’s gonna give me for this. But what if I actually hurt him, I’ll definitely lose my scholarship for this.

Panic starts to rise in my chest, and I fight to maintain my usual teasing tone, “Come on you lazy bastard, get up.”

He makes no move, I nudge him with my foot, and try to bait him into getting back up and arguing with me, “Did I knock you down that easily? Wow, so it was really this easy huh? I should’ve done this a long time ago.”

Finally, he stirs. I expect him to make some big announcement about how hearing my annoying voice brought him back from the dead but instead, he just mumbles something into the quiet morning air. 

Because I know the driver is watching I extend my hand, and to my surprise he actually takes it. I bring him to his feet and he lets go of me immediately, probably disgusted to be touching someone who doesn’t live in the fanciest part of the city.

He walks away, not towards the school, but back to the car. Is he ditching? Just because I punched him? Whatever, what do I care?

I watch nervously as the driver says something to him, looking at me like I’m a bomb that could go off at any second. I would make a crack about how I didn’t know rich people spoke to their help but I can’t afford to make this any worse. Mori answers the driver and gets back into the car. 

It pulls out of the gate the same way as it came in, and then he’s gone.

After he’s gone the worry settles in my chest. Of course, he left, he’s probably going to tell his dad that I ‘mortally wounded’ him, and then they’ll sue the hell out of us. 

I try to go back to my maths to distract myself but I can’t focus so I just stare off into space.

—

Eventually a hand waves in front of my face, for a second I think it’s one of the Mori family’s goons come to arrest me but then I realise that the hand is covered in bandages.

“Wha-”

It’s Mori. He must have scraped his hand when he fell, but I didn’t see any scrapes so he’s probably faking for attention. “Hey, Chibi! Did you finally figure it out?”

“Figure what out?” it comes out in the aggressive tone I usually use with him but I try to soften it on the slim chance he’s still making up his mind and hasn’t told on me yet. His fringe is over his face, particularly his left eye, my punch definitely left a bruise.

“The maths problem, of course. I’d offer to help you, but you seem to be in a handsy mood this morning and I’m afraid I’m not really looking for that right now.” The way he phrases it makes it sound like I did something . . . sexual.

“It wasn’t fucking “handsy” I fucking punched you, you perv!” So much for being gentle, “And I don’t need your fucking help!”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs in the way he does that says ‘Whatever, I’m so superior anyways.’ and walks back toward the school.

The bell rings and I grab my maths book and head to my locker.

-

When I arrive in the English classroom Mori is already there, in the seat next to mine. Well, we don’t have assigned seats but I always sit there, and he knows it.

“What d-” I remember I’m supposed to be sucking up, for the sake of my scholarship. My tongue burns with all the words I want to throw at him right now but instead, I say, “Do you need something?” with as little aggression as I can possibly manage.

He looks at me for a long moment and then blinks, “You may speak normally, Nakahara-san.” The sudden formality is clearly him mocking me but it sounds right on him, fitting, like this is how someone like him should talk, not throwing kid-ish insults every chance he gets. I’ve never heard him talk like this before, almost like he’s pulling rank on me, but not like he usually does, shoving me and calling me a dog. At the same time, the elegance sounds weird coming from him, despite his aristocratic status, the words are like a suit that doesn’t quite fit. I’m used to him teasing me like a child, and it makes me realise how stiff it must sound coming from me. That was probably his intention.

It’s true it would seem hella suspicious if I all of a sudden started being sweet to him, I’ll have to try to find a balance. “Well, what do you want?”

“Nothing, I’m just sitting here, we still have free seating you know.”

I take a breath not trusting myself to forcefully relocate him to another seat by throwing him across the room. “Yeah well, just don’t bother me okay?”

He gasps dramatically, throwing a hand over his chest, “Of course not!”

The relief is immediate, to be honest it was actually kinda creepy hearing him talk like some fancy businessman.

-

English goes well, and true to his word Osamu doesn’t bother me once, not even to correct the mistakes I’m sure I must be making. It’s relaxing.

But, as soon as I step out of the classroom door, he’s beside me. “You didn’t make nearly as many mistakes as usual, Nakahara-san, have you been studying more?”

I can tell he’s still teasing me about being stiff earlier. “No, It’s because you weren’t bothering me the entire class. If you keep this up I’ll kick your ass out of that top spot!” I almost regret saying that, god forbid I give him more incentive to pester me. As if anyone could ever touch his ranking.

“As if, Chibi can’t even reach that high.” he echoes my thoughts and I can’t help but laugh just because it’s so true that I can even forgive the height jab. I shake my head and head to my locker.

The next class is maths, just before I enter the room someone catches my shoulder. I turn. It’s a tall blond boy with glasses, he holds a green notebook with the word “Ideals” written neatly on the cover in fancy script. I think his name is Kumiya or something like that.

He looks concerned and whispers as he speaks, “What did you say to Mori-san in the corridor, he looked like he’d just seen a ghost?”

“Huh, what’d ya mean?”

“I have English with you and right after you walked away he looked like he might faint.”

The boy’s words confuse me, and I have seriously no idea what I could’ve said to shock him so much. “He must have realised he forgot to turn his oven off or something.”

Shaking off the strange encounter I head into the class

In maths, we do have assignment seats, and Mori’s is right next to mine. It’s hell. He’s always holding his stupid IQ over my head.

When the professor releases us to do work he does his work with ease, finishing before me and the rest of the class. But that’s not enough, no, then he turns to me and scans my paper.

He frowns, “You’re still doing it wrong. I can help you if you like.”

“No, I don’t need your help.”

“But, you clearly don’t know how to do it?”

“You think I don’t know that you smug asshole!”

“Well, if you know you’re not doing it correctly then, why–”

The argument goes on until the work timer goes off, scaring the ever-loving shit out of me and making me fall out of my seat. I mutter a curse. And gather my worksheets, releasing rather belatedly that most of them are less than half done.

To my horror the teacher is walking down rows, he isn’t collecting the paper but I see that he’s checking it, I take out my maths book and pretend to be consulting the text. I glance over and see that Mori has his book out too and is dutifully “checking his work”. Of course, he’s done nothing wrong.

Professor Tsushimura approaches us and looks disapprovingly down at my mostly blank papers.

“Is there a reason, Nakahara-san, that your work has gone undone?”

I look over at Mori, the smug bastard. 

“Yes sir actually, Mori-san wouldn’t stop bothering me. He repeatedly took my materials and refused to return them.”

At this accusation, Mori looks up but directs his gaze back down before the professor notices.

“Ah, I see. Well, seeing as you’re such a hard worker Nakahara-san I’ll let you off with a warning, and I’ll be moving your seat, come see me when you get to class tomorrow for your new seating assignment. And Mori-san,” the boy looks up looking innocent, “while I did not witness your transgressions myself I’m sure you will be fine with another person next to you and cleaning the blackboard and desks during your free period today.”

“Of course, professor.” Mori just nods making no effort to deny my mostly false claims. I’ll admit I expected him to come after me and the fact that he didn’t startles me and leaves an almost uneasy feeling in my stomach. He must be planning his revenge. I hope that maybe he just wanted to suck up, but I know that isn’t true.

The professor nods, pats me on the and heads back to his desk, dismissing the class just as the bell rings.

I cram the worksheets hurriedly into my bag and head off to the library to complete them.

By the end of the free hour, the concept starts to make sense. I think I’ll be able to finish them at home.

The next class is Science.

I sit next to Mori in this class too, it’s because we have M and N surnames and the seating chart is alphabetised. When I sit down Mori looks away. 

He doesn’t look at me for the rest of science.

I ignore his eerie silence as best as I can and focus on my worksheet. The work is easy because we have a substitute teacher (Some old guy with a monocle) so I finish quickly. I want to work on my maths a bit more but when I finish I find myself turning to look at Mori. He’s on his phone, playing one of those mindless candy-crush-type games. 

Soon my maths is abandoned as I watch him engrossed in something on his phone, he almost looks like a normal kid.

Before I know it the bell is ringing and I curse myself once again allowing Mori to distract me.

-

In History the same thing happens, it’s kind of creeping me out and I know whatever he must have planned is going to make my life hell.

But by Physical Education, our last class of the day nothing has happened.

Maybe he just decided to stop wasting his time on a peasant or something but either way, I’ll keep my guard up.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #soukoku #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #chuuya nakahara #osamu dazai #More Than You Know || Soukoku #soukoku angst #soukoku fanfiction #soukoku fic #skk angst #skk fanfic #skk fananfiction #bsd dazai osamu #bsd dazai #bsd osamu dazai #bsd chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #bsd nakahara chuuya

[marjansmarwani]

taken by the tide of morning light

8.8k || ao3

A case of mistaken identity spells bad things for TK as Carlos races against the clock to find him, before it is too late. 

------

tortured for information square fill for @badthingshappenbingo

This prompt was requested by @morganaspendragonss so, so long ago, but it’s finally done. Holly asked for TK whump and while I didn’t do a ton of focus on the torture I do hope you think this was enough whump, my dear. Thank you for the prompt and I hope you enjoy! 

cw: mentions (and minor depictions) of torture. Beta’d by @silvarafael

----------

The last clear memory TK has is of Carlos’s soft smile right before he leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, a thank you for the coffee TK had brought him. He distantly recalls the wolf-whistles from Carlos’s co-workers and the exasperated eye roll from Mitchell, but it’s Carlos’s smile and the feel of his lips on his cheek that stay with TK. 

After that, all he knows for sure is a flash of pain; and then darkness. 

Even now he wasn’t fully sure where he was. His mind was a haze of pain, sounds, and sensations blurring together. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, to get a look at his surroundings. It felt as if he was restrained, somehow, and he thought that he could make out a figure hovering nearby. Turning his head to get a better look took considerable effort but when he managed he saw a man watching him. 

“You’re awake,” the man said, “good. Now we can get started.” 

“Started with what?” TK asked, making a conscious effort to keep his voice steady. Calm and steady was the best way to approach this — he knew that from both his time dealing with victims and from Carlos. Keep calm, keep them calm, and try to make a connection — that was what would get him through this, whatever it was.  

The man approached, studying TK as he grew closer. “You’re going to tell me what you know about the Goethe homicide.” 

TK wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. “The what?” 

“The Goethe homicide!” The man repeated, voice growing louder with his frustration “I need to know who did it!” 

“Why?” TK asked, hoping to deflect because he had no idea what the fuck the man was talking about, “Why do you need to know?” 

“Because it’s my wife they killed, and I need to kill them.” 

He said it so matter of factly, as if it were simply an item on his to-do list. TK swallowed, his mind racing as he tried to think of the best way to respond to that. He couldn’t tell the other man anything about the case because he didn’t know about the case. Honesty, he decided, was sometimes the best policy. 

“I can’t tell you anything,” he told the man carefully, “because I don’t know anything.” 

That just caused him to scoff, “Please. Even if you’re not working it you have to know something. A police station is just like any other office — people talk. You have to have heard something around the water cooler.” 

And suddenly it clicked in TK’s mind: this man thought he was a cop. 

“I don’t work for the police department,” he said carefully, making sure to keep his words clear and his tone even. “I’m a paramedic, I work at AFD Station 126. I am not a cop and I don’t know anything about the case you’re talking about.” 

“Then what were you doing at the precinct so early,” the other man scoffed, “don’t lie to me.” 

“I’m not lying,” TK repeated earnestly. “I just stopped to visit my fiancé before my shift. Our schedules haven’t lined up much over the past week and I wanted a chance to see him so I brought him coffee.” 

“You’re lying,” the man said again, voice full with just as much certainty as before. 

“I’m not,” TK repeated softly, but he was becoming increasingly aware it was fruitless. 

“You are!” his captor shouted and TK flinched as he stepped closer. The man came to a stop, now only a few inches from TK as he spoke again, “You’re lying and I need to know. I need to know who killed my wife. The fact that they are out there, still free and still living and she’s dead is…” he trailed off and when he spoke again his voice was heavy with grief: “It’s wrong.” 

TK studied the man more closely. What he saw before him was grief; a loss felt so deeply it had changed a man’s entire existence. Whoever he may have been before it was clear that all he lived for now was revenge and though TK didn’t agree on a moral level, he could understand. Maybe he and Carlos weren’t married yet but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if he lost Carlos he would lose everything. It was a fear that lurked in the back of his mind; it had been there for years now. Carlos was one half of his soul; he was intertwined with his very being. Life without him was unthinkable and his heart went out to the man before him who had so clearly lost the person he loved and was feeling the very thing TK feared. 

“I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now,” TK finally said. “I can’t imagine how much losing the person you love must hurt. I understand why you want to do this, but you have to know it’s not going to change anything. It’s not going to bring her back.” 

“No,” he agreed, “but it will make me feel better.” 

“Will it though?” TK asked. “Will taking someone else’s life really make you feel better?” 

“I can’t imagine I can feel any worse,” the man replied drily, “so I figure it’s worth a shot.” 

“What about your wife?” TK said instead. He knew he was taking a gamble but maybe, just maybe, he could help him see sense. “Would she want you to do this? Is this how she would want you honoring her memory? Would she want you to throw your life away?” 

There was quiet for a moment and TK thought that maybe he had broken through. But then the man shook his head and took another step forward, shaking his head. 

“I don’t have a life without her,” he said dully. “And thanks to whoever that manic was, I have no way of knowing what she would have wanted, do I?” TK and the man studied each other for a few moments and TK was sure that all the fear he was now feeling was showing clearly through his eyes. This was a desperate man before him and it was becoming increasingly clear that not only would he not listen to reason, he wasn’t about to let anything stand in his way either.

“That’s okay though,” he said after a drawn-out moment, leaning over to pick up something from the ground besides TK, “because you’re going to tell me who he is and where to find him.” 

TK’s eyes grew wider as he took in the bat now clutched in the man’s hands. “Wait,” he tried again, “I don’t—” 

But any further protestations were cut off by a gasp of pain and then another as the blows began to land and TK’s entire being was wrapped in nothing but pain. 

-------

This had seemed like the never-ending shift from hell, but it was finally coming to an end. Carlos breathed a sigh of relief as he glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that there were only 30 minutes left in their shift. Maybe if everything stayed calm…

But the sound of their radios crackling to life caused him to audibly groan. Of course they had one more call that would inevitably run over and keep them there late. He didn’t know why he was surprised; that was kind of how the night had been. He drained the last of the coffee TK had dropped off — the only good thing to happen in the past 12 hours — and stood, meeting Mitchell’s gaze to see a similar expression. 

“Cheer up,” his partner offered, “it’s an accident, you might get to see that fiancé of yours.” 

Despite everything that thought brought a smile to Carlos’s face, and caused his partner to roll her eyes. 

“I work with a lovesick teenager,” she muttered, but Carlos just grinned wider. 

“You’re just jealous Mitchell,” he teased, lightly jabbing her with his elbow as he passed her on the way to their squad car. 

“You keep telling yourself that, Reyes,” she called after him, but she was grinning. 

They kept up their stream of banter as they climbed into their squad car and headed towards the scene. When they arrived and climbed out of the car, Carlos couldn’t help from looking first towards the fire vehicles, trying to get a glimpse at the number on the side. 

He was saved the trouble when he heard a familiar voice and he looked over his shoulder to see Mateo doing his best to wave as he jogged by, arms laden with equipment. Mitchell rolled her eyes again beside him and he grinned at her. 

“Just don’t keep us here too long after we are done making heart eyes at your boy,” she requested with an air of exhaustion. “I want to go home.” 

Carlos shook his head at her before they parted, approaching different halves of the scene and taking statements. As predicted it took longer than the last 30 minutes of their shift and it was nearly an hour later that they finally returned to their squad car. He glanced over at where the ambulance was parked — there had been no injuries that required transportation to the hospital, thankfully — and his partner sighed. 

“Go,” she said wearily, “I can last a few more minutes I suppose. I’ll just be daydreaming about my bed while you’re gone.” 

Carlos gave her a grateful smile. He hadn’t seen TK at all while he was dealing with the witnesses and it just wouldn’t feel right to leave without at least saying hello. Especially because with their shifts being back to back it would be at least another 12 hours before he got another chance to see him. 

He made his way over to the ambulance, peeking around the open doors to find Nancy in the back, putting away their supplies. 

“Hey Nance,” he said in greeting, “where’s TK?” 

“Late,” Nancy said, snapping the drawer she had been filling shut. “He didn’t make it to the station on time; we had to leave before he got there.” 

Carlos frowned at her, “Did he call you at all?” 

“Nope,” Nancy declared with a shake of her head. “And he didn’t answer when I called, so I figured he just overslept. Which wouldn’t be that bad but the call for this accident came in just a few minutes after shift started. Chances are he’s waiting at the station now, dreading the amount of schlep work he’s going to have to do to make up for being late and missing a call.” 

Nancy was grinning mischievously but Carlos was experiencing the sensation of the world falling down around him. Something was wrong. 

“He didn’t oversleep,” he finally managed and his tone had Nancy straightening up and looking at him with a furrowed brow. “He stopped by the precinct this morning with coffee. He left with plenty of time to make it to the station, he should have been there on time. It’s only two miles.” 

Nancy’s expression shifted as he spoke and by the time he was done she was wearing a matching expression of concern. Tommy and Owen chose that moment to walk by, Tommy pausing as she registered the looks on each of their faces. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked, causing Owen to stop beside her. The two captains looked at them expectantly, and Carlos swallowed. 

“I think something happened to TK.” 

-------

Another blow landed and TK gasped as the impact jarred his solar plexus, knocking the breath out of him. He tried to gasp for air but none came and all he succeeded in doing was aggravating the pain in his damaged ribs — a few of which were cracked, at the very least. He reminded himself not to panic, that his breath would come back. 

The man lowered the bat and casually leaned on it, studying TK as he tried to steady his breathing. The desperate breaths sent pain ripping through his chest so he did his best to calm himself, to even out his breathing. All the while he leveled his gaze at the other man, who looked back at him. 

“You know,” he said as he stepped back, “if you just told me the truth this would be over.” 

“I have been telling you the truth,” TK gasped, still struggling to pull enough air into his lungs to speak. “I’m not who you think I am, just like I’ve been saying.” 

“No,” the man said again, voice more desperate, “you’re lying!” 

“I’m not,” TK said evenly, watching the man closely. He was teetering on the edge, all it would take was one wrong move or word to send him into complete hysteria and TK didn’t know what that move or word might be. Every single time he opened his mouth it felt like stepping off a landmine, waiting to see if it would explode. 

“You have to be!” his captor argued. “That was the plan, and my plan didn’t fail! It can’t fail, I need to know.” 

“Maybe if you let me call someone,” TK offered hesitantly, “we can get you the information you’re looking for. Because I don’t have it, and no amount of hurting me is going to change that.” 

The man was quiet for a few moments and TK allowed himself to grasp onto a little hope — maybe he had gotten through to him. Maybe it would be okay. 

But the next moment proved him wrong as his captor’s face contorted in rage and he lashed out. TK flinched away, closing his eyes as the man moved towards him. He was unsurprised when pain exploded, though it wasn’t the type of pain he had been expecting. He had grown accustomed to the pain of the blows from the bat, but the blinding white-hot pain now exploding from his leg was new. He opened a tentative eye to see the hilt of a knife sticking out of his leg and it took every ounce of his self-control to not react. The last thing he needed was to feed into this and get him more riled up. 

Especially because the knife seemed to be embedded alarmingly close to where his femoral artery should be located, the last thing he needed was it being ripped out by an angry kidnapper. If he was right once it was removed he would be dead in a matter of minutes. His best chance — his only chance — was the knife staying put until help arrived. 

Because help would arrive, he was sure of it. 

The man seemed to get his last burst of anger out with the knife because he stepped away after that, turning around and muttering to himself. TK watched him warily, doing his best to read his body language and gauge his mental state. He knew he wasn’t stable, but if he could just find an opening; a way to get him to listen to reason he might just live to see the end of this. 

But the frantic pacing and muttering he was doing didn’t instill a lot of hope. TK pulled his eyes away from him and looked longingly towards the door. Help was coming, he didn’t doubt that. He just hoped they made it before it was too late. 

--------

It was as if TK had just vanished. 

They knew he had left the precinct at 5:40 — Carlos, three of his coworkers, and the desk sergeant on duty could confirm that. None of them had noticed anything amiss. The last anyone knew he had waved at Sergeant Grover and stepped through the front doors into the early morning chill. 

Then, nothing. 

A quick (unofficial) search found his car still parked on the street in front of the precinct. It was maybe 50 feet of distance — so short in the grand scheme of things — and somehow TK Strand had disappeared within its space. 

Carlos had brought it to his superiors and while they were sympathetic they reminded him that it was too soon to list him as a missing person. He was an adult of sound mind and body: until foul play could be reasonably proven there would be no official investigation. 

So Carlos played his trump card; it’s the only thing he could do. 

He waited anxiously as the phone rang, pacing as he waited. 

Finally, the ringing stopped. 

“Carlitos,” his dad’s voice said, warm and cheerful, “we were just talking about you! Anderson was just saying that he thinks you and TK should skip the--” 

“Dad,” he interrupted, skipping past the pleasantries and whatever opinion Anderson had about their wedding plans and right into what mattered, “I think something happened to TK.” 

“What?” The change in his Dad’s voice was stark. “What do you mean?” 

“I know it’s too soon to label him as a missing person, but he didn’t show up at work and I saw him right before that and he was on his way and we can’t get a hold of him and....” 

“Tranquilo, Carlitos,” his dad urged softly over the phone, “take a breath and then tell me what happened, from the beginning. 

So he did. He took a breath and then told his dad how TK had stopped by the precinct with coffee this morning, how he had left 20 minutes before his shift started, how he had never made it to the station. How his car was still parked on the street by the precinct. 

He told him everything, and then waited. 

Though it felt like an eternity it was only a few moments later when Gabriel responded. “I’m coming to you,” he said, and Carlos could hear the rustlings of movements on the other end of the call. “We’ll figure this out mijo, whatever it is.” 

Carlos leaned against his car, almost sagging with relief. It wasn’t that he had expected his dad to not believe him, to not immediately offer to help; but knowing that he was on his way here and that he would have help gave him a little bit of hope. 

“Thank you,” he breathed, feeling just a bit of the panic that had been crushing him since Nancy had told him TK never showed up to work melt away. 

“Of course. Try not to worry, we’ll figure out what happened. Nothing can stop the combined powers of the Reyes men, after all.” 

He knew his dad was going for a joke, was trying to lighten the mood and Carlos appreciated it. 

“Right,” he agreed with a small, hollow laugh. With a last thanks, he ended the call. 

Left with nothing to do but wait, Carlos thought back to the talk he had had with his Captain and one of the detectives. He could read between the lines of the official answer — no one on the force was going to stop him from investigating, they just couldn’t do anything to help him, officially. Never before had he been so glad his dad worked in a different capacity. Though if he were being honest, Carlos knew that even if he had been ordered to stand down it wouldn’t have stopped him. Nothing would have stopped him from doing everything he could to find TK. 

He was running through all the awful possibilities for the third time when his dad arrived. Before he could say anything his dad pulled him into a hug. 

“We’ll find him, mijo,” he assured Carlos softly, “no te preocupes.” 

“Pretty sure that’s impossible,” he retorted wryly, and his dad shrugged. 

“Let’s just take it one step at a time, yeah?” Gabriel said instead. “Do we have any clues or signs of him after leaving the precinct?” 

Carlos shook his head, “No. The precinct cameras only cover the entrance so he’s on camera leaving, but that’s it. And there are no signs of a struggle or anything by his car. It’s as if he just up and vanished.” 

“You know as well as I that no one ever vanishes,” Gabriel replied, giving the area a critical glance. “They always go somewhere and they always leave a trace. Maybe we can try to see if any other place got him on camera? So we can reconstruct the time after he left the precinct?” 

Carlos nodded, having considered that in the time he spent waiting for his dad, “I think the deli across the street has cameras. I don’t know how much they see but…”

“But it’s worth a try,” his dad agreed. “Then let’s go ask nicely — it’s not an official investigation, after all.” 

“Why should I help you?” the owner asked with a shrug when they explained their request, “a man’s business is a man’s business and I’m not about to get involved in that.” 

“Please,” Carlos interjected, cutting off his dad’s likely professional reply, “he’s my fiancé, and disappearing on his way to work is definitely not like him. I just want to make sure he’s okay.” 

The owner studied him for a moment before shrugging, “Makes no difference to me, have at it. Monitor’s in the backroom — down that hall, first door on the left.” 

Carlos nodded his thanks and led the way to the indicated room, his dad on his heels. They found the room and got the footage running with no problem but the process of finding the right footage was tedious, to say the least. 

Despite his best efforts, Carlos was barely watching — his head too full of anxiety and fear to truly focus on something as mundane as the passage of day-to-day life that crossed across the camera’s view. It was a busy street in Downtown Austin; there was so much activity it was hard to follow. But Carlos has grown good at spotting TK in any crowd, and apparently on camera was no different. 

“Wait!” he exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in the chair to the right of the monitor. “Go back a few frames and let it run at regular speed.” 

His dad did as he asked and a few moments later they were rewarded by a familiar car pulling up to the curb and a face he would recognize anywhere climbing out. They watched as he reached back into the car for the tray of coffees and box of donuts he had brought into the precinct before he shut the car door behind him and stepped out of the frame. They both watched intently, watching for any chance he might step back into the camera's view. 

Carlos could play through what had happened when TK had entered the precinct verbatim in his head, and he did as they waited, trying to anticipate the moment his fiancé would step back outside into the early morning sun. 

Carlos was finishing up an incident report from an earlier call when Sergeant Grover called over to him, “Reyes!” he had shouted, “your man’s here — and he brought donuts!” 

The enthusiasm in the older man’s voice made Carlos chuckle, but the sight of one Tyler Kennedy Strand leaning against the front desk waiting for him made him feel something entirely else. 

“Hey,” he said fondly as he approached, reaching out to press a chaste kiss to the other man’s lips. 

“Hey yourself,” TK replied warmly before reaching behind him and producing a cup, “I brought you some coffee — figured you could use some.”

Carlos took it gratefully, inhaling the enticing scent of hazelnut as the cup came closer, “Have I mentioned lately that I love you?” 

“It may have come up,” TK quipped, “but I never get tired of hearing it.” 

“Well in that case,” Carlos said, stepping as close as he dared considering that he was still in uniform and they were still very much in his place of work, “I love you, mostly because you keep me caffeinated.” 

“Oh is that why?” TK asked with a raised eyebrow, “Because I thought it was the way I…” 

Sergeant Grover cleared his throat pointedly, reminding them both that he was still only a few feet away and Carlos felt his cheeks heat up, but TK only laughed brightly. 

“That’s why I brought you the apple turnovers you like Sergeant, to make up for this.” 

“Are you bribing an officer of the law, Strand?” The desk sergeant asked and TK shrugged. 

“I don’t know, is it working?” 

“You know it is, son,” the older man chuckled and pulled one of the promised turnovers out of the box with a grin. 

Carlos shook his head fondly and TK grinned at him unabashedly before Carlos nodded to the rest of the coffees in the carrier, “Are these more blatant efforts to butter up my coworkers?” 

“We are well past that babe, they already like me. These are just to make sure they keep liking me.” 

Carlos snorted because he knew all too well the chances of them not liking TK for any reason were extremely slim. He had been coming around the station fairly regularly over the entire course of their relationship — not to mention all the times they worked together in the field —  and had developed his own relationships with most of Carlos’s coworkers. So he just gestured for TK to lead the way and followed his fiancé back into the bullpen. 

Twenty minutes of coffee and chatting later TK glanced down at his watch and grimaced. “My shift starts at 6,” he explained, “so I better get going.” He slid off the desk he had been sitting on, chatting with Mitchell, before stepping into Carlos’s space. Carlos leaned forward to place a warm kiss on his cheek and TK squeezed his hand affectionately before he stepped away. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he had said with a soft, warm smile. 

And then he had left, disappeared into thin air. 

The video before him ran, each of those twenty glorious minutes he had gotten to spend with TK passing by at a snail’s pace, but he was too afraid to speed it up. He didn’t want to miss anything that might help. 

He could feel his father’s eyes on him and briefly pulled his own from the video feed to meet them. His gaze was worried and Carlos tried to give him a smile. His father simply shook his head and patted his knee gently, “We’ll find him, mijo. No one messes with our family on my watch.” 

Carlos swallowed and nodded, feeling a little bolstered by his father’s reassurance, despite everything. 

It’s a few minutes later when Carlos sat bolt upright, the sight of TK stepping back into the frame putting him on alert. He watched intently as TK pulled his keys from his pocket and stepped towards his car, eyes cast down as he sorted through the ring for the correct key. It was only because he was watching so closely that he noticed a dark sedan slow to a halt beside him, its driver climbing out and addressing TK. Whatever he said got TK to look up and pause, waiting as the man stepped closer. He was gesturing vaguely, his face plastered with a polite smile that TK matched. As they spoke he moved closer and though Carlos knew what was going to happen before it did, watching the moment the man struck out a TK wasn’t any easier with warning.

TK — caught completely off guard — crumbled at the blow, only for the other man to catch him before he fell and drag him towards the car. He opened the trunk and shoved TK in unceremoniously; taking furtive glances around the area as he did. Once the trunk was closed with TK inside the man dashed around to the driver’s seat and climbed into; speeding away down the deserted street. 

Carlos’s heart was racing when he pulled his eyes from the monitor to face his dad. 

“He was taken,” he said, voice low and horrified. 

Gabriel nodded, his expression dark and serious but when he spoke his tone was hopeful: “But he wasn’t very careful, we have a license plate. We’ll be able to track him down.” 

“Unless the car is stolen,” Carlos muttered, too deep in the fear and horror of what he had just seen to acknowledge a bright side. The man hadn’t even tried to cover his face, and Carlos didn’t want to think about what that could mean for TK. 

“We’ve done more with less,” his dad reminded him bracingly, “don’t lose hope.” 

Carlos nodded. While he appreciated his dad’s help and optimism, he couldn’t find it in himself to replicate it; not yet. Right now every possibility of what could be happening to TK, of what could go wrong was flying through his head. All he knew for sure is that they had to find TK, no matter what. 

He told his dad as much, and Gabriel nodded. “We will,” he assured Carlos, “and this helps. I’m going to call it in, see what they can find on that plate. Hopefully, we’ll have an answer soon and we can get TK back.” 

Carlos watched as his dad made his phone call, his eyes traveling back to the monitor in front of him before long. He stared at the frozen image of the car holding TK speeding away and hoped that wherever TK was, he knew that Carlos was coming for him. 

--------

Help was coming, TK knew that. 

He knew Carlos would find him and he knew that it was only a matter of time. He just hoped it was soon, because he wasn’t sure how much time he had left. He was doing his best to hold on but his body was about at its limit; ready to give in to the darkness coming ever closer as all of the pain and stress and the blood loss piled on. It’s all too much and he doesn’t need to be a paramedic to know he won’t survive much more. 

He blinked his heavy eyes as he tried to keep track of his kidnapper. He had told him time and time again that he is not a cop, that he can’t give him the information he wants because he doesn’t know what the hell he is talking about but it’s been no use. He doesn’t believe him and TK was starting to think that he is too far gone to listen to reason. The man is past the point of breaking, and TK never stood a chance. 

As time passed the blows became more and more erratic and TK had watched his captor become more and more unhinged with each passing moment. He had been doing his best to be hopeful, to stay optimistic; but now he was pretty sure he was going to die here. The thought  filled him with a cold certainty that is growing with each passing moment and drip of his blood onto the floor. 

He has had time to dwell on it now — it’s served as a distraction between moments of pain. The first thought that comes to mind is that he doesn’t have any regrets. If he had been faced with the same question not all that long ago he would have had many but he has made his peace with his mistakes and he is happy with where he is. The second thought is for his loved ones, for his parents and the family he had found here in Austin. He hates the idea of them enduring yet another loss in so little time and he is sorry that he will be the cause of their pain. 

But mostly he thinks about Carlos. He loved him so much. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with him and, while he was grateful to have had any time at all with him, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to marry Carlos and grow old with him. He didn’t want to leave him 6 months before their wedding with nothing more than fond memories and wishful thinking about what they could have had. He didn’t want to be the cause of his pain. 

He also knew that just because he didn’t have any regrets didn’t mean he’s ready to go. He had spent so long fighting for this life he had now — he wasn’t ready to give it up.

“I don’t know anything,” he tried again. “I’m not a cop, I’m a paramedic. I can’t give you the information you want.” 

Maybe, he thought, the 23rd time's the charm. 

“Stop lying to me!” the other man yells, fisting his hands into his hair as he turned away from TK. 

“I’m not,” TK told him again, softly this time. “I haven’t lied to you at all. Please,” he tried because what could it hurt, “I just want to go home. To see my family and my fiancé. I just want to survive this.” 

In all the time they had been in this situation (hours? Days? He had no idea anymore) TK had never voiced this desire but now he found he can’t keep it inside. The desperate need to survive overrode everything else and if begging was what it took he was willing to go there.

His captor faltered, turning back to him with something like a curious expression. 

“I’m not going to kill you,” he says, his tone laced with surprise and confusion. “If I kill you, you can't tell me what you know.”  

“Then I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” TK said once he recovered from the shock, “but unless you drive me to a hospital within the next hour, I don’t think you’ll have a choice. I’ve lost too much blood as it is; much more and I won’t survive it.” 

The man furrowed his brow as he considered TK’s words and TK let himself hope for a wild moment that maybe he had gotten through to him. But in the next the confusion was gone and he was shaking his head and striding forward again. 

“No,” he said matter of factly, “you’re going to tell me what I need to know.” 

He reached for the bat again and TK wanted to scream in frustration. He didn’t know anything, he never had. He was going to die here, for what?

He watched in grim acceptance as the man stepped forward, raising his bat to strike again but before he could complete the action there was an almighty crash from behind and TK got a glimpse of a swarm of police officers before his captor moved and blocked his field of vision. He dropped the bat and TK watched in horror as he reached forward and yanked the knife out of TK’s thigh. He was powerless to do anything but watch with dread as the heavy bleeding he knew would come erupted from the wound, gushing out at an alarming rate. He struggled against his bindings, pulling against the ropes in the hope that maybe he could break free and staunch the bleeding. But no matter how hard he tugged there was no give. He couldn’t believe that help was here but he was going to die anyway. 

There was commotion around him but his vision was starting to blur at the edges. The feeling of hands on his body and fresh pain exploding from his leg pulled him back to the present long enough to take note of a familiar figure crouched beside him applying pressure to the wound in an effort to stop the bleeding, yelling orders over his shoulder before turning back to TK with fear in his eyes and TK was suddenly not sure of what he was seeing at all. He had never seen fear like this in the eyes of his future father-in-law. 

“Stay with me son,” Gabriel said urgently, tone soft but somehow still commanding as he tightened his grip on the wound. “I do not intend to lose any family members today.” 

TK wanted to say something to that, wanted to make a quip to put the older man’s mind at ease. But it was taking all his energy to keep his eyes open, which probably had something to do with the blood seeping out from between the Ranger’s fingers. He somehow found it in him to ask the one question he had in his mind —  the one thing he wanted more than anything right now — and was beyond grateful it could be summed up in one word. 

“Carlos?” he asked, noting with a grimace how weak his voice was. 

“He’s just outside,” Gabriel informed him, “but if I know my son he’ll be here in a matter of seconds.” 

And suddenly he was — his familiar figure sinking to his knees besides TK, his beautiful brown eyes seeking TK’s own. He didn’t speak, instead choosing to reach a hand out to cup TK’s cheek, but his eyes said it all. They were filled with fear and unshed tears and so much love it almost hurt. TK leaned into the familiar touch, allowing it to ground him and using it as an anchor tying him to consciousness. 

“Hey you,” he managed after a few moments, needing the time even to muster those two syllables. 

“Hey yourself,” Carlos responded, never missing a beat as he placed his other hand on TK’s good knee. “Just hang in there Ty, paramedics are on their way in right now.”

“It’s not my team, is it?” TK tried to ask but he was sure the words were more slur than syllable. “They shouldn’t���” he wanted to say they shouldn’t have to see him like this, that they shouldn’t have to treat their team member but Carlos shook his head. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he told him. “All that matters is that you hang on. I know it hurts but you need to stay with us, TK. You need to stay with me.” 

TK nodded because he knew what Carlos was saying was true and he wanted to do that. He wanted that more than anything. He had been so afraid he was never going to see Carlos again and now he was here. TK wanted nothing more than to stay here with him. 

But his will was no match for the massive blood loss and he could feel himself slipping away. There was commotion everywhere: police taking the man into custody as he struggled, screaming about needing answers. Gabriel talking to him, urging him to stay awake and shouting for paramedics to help. It was all hectic and loud but it blurred into the background because the only thing that mattered to TK was Carlos and his calm, steady presence and tear-filled eyes. TK held those eyes with his own, latching into them like a lifeline. There was so much he wanted to say but he had no strength to say any of it. He hoped Carlos knew (he was pretty sure he did). 

Carlos’s eyes were the last thing he saw before his strength left him and everything faded to black, his voice shouting TK’s name following him into the darkness.

--------

Carlos spent the next few hours wearing a hole in the waiting room floor. 

If TK were here he would tease him, tell him that pacing enough to cause structural damage was his deal; not Carlos’s. 

But TK wasn’t here and the terror of watching his eyes close as he slipped somewhere Carlos couldn’t follow was still as fresh now as it had been in that moment. So he paced, for lack of anything better to do. He paced because if he sat he might think, and he couldn’t handle that right now. He couldn’t dwell on everything he stands to lose. He thought that maybe, if he kept moving, he could outrun his thoughts. 

The fact that he knew it was impossible wasn’t going to stop him from trying.

Others filter in and it’s all Carlos can do to even acknowledge their presence. He stops pacing when Owen arrives, pale and trembling because while Carlos knew his dad did his best to sound optimistic on the phone when he called the fire captain there is only so much of a positive spin you could put on this. He froze at the sight of the older man and opened his mouth, a hundred different apologies on the tip of his tongue; a thousand ways in which he should have been better, that he should have protected TK. 

But all of that is cut off when Owen pulls him into a hug, clutching him tightly and showing no sign of letting go. When they pull apart no words are spoken but Carlos could see the message clear in Owen’s eyes: this isn’t his fault. 

Carlos wished he could believe him, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. 

When his mother arrived there was fear and anguish in her eyes. She beelined straight for him and wrapped him in the hug only a mother can give. There was safety in it and for a moment Carlos allowed himself to sag against her smaller frame, to take the comfort he so desperately needed. Then, he pulled himself up. If he fell apart now he wouldn’t be able to keep going. He needed to keep himself together for a little longer, just until he knew that TK was okay. 

Because he had to be okay; no other answer was bearable.  

Carlos knew he was not the only one who felt that way because when the doctor entered the waiting room there was a room full of eyes on him and the crushing silence of an entire family holding their collective breath. But then the doctor smiled and suddenly Carlos could breathe again. 

There were a whole lot of words and medical terms but Carlos cuts it down to the crux of it: TK didn’t die, but he gave it his best shot. There was talk of massive blood loss and transfusions and trauma to the chest and soft tissue damage and it’s all so much but TK is alive and for now, that’s what Carlos was going to focus on. 

He followed the nurse to the recovery room a few minutes later and when he got his first glimpse at TK, the optimism fled from his mind. TK looked so wrong in that bed: so still, so hurt. The heart monitor next to him traced each beat of that heart he loved so well but even still Carlos had a hard time believing it. It all looked so wrong. 

He took a hesitant step closer, and then another. Eventually, his feet carried him to TK’s bedside and he sank into the chair next to the bed; reaching out to take TK’s hand in his but hesitating. He didn’t want to do anything without TK’s consent, given everything. 

He hadn’t been able to focus on much during the waiting but he hadn’t been able to help but notice the grim look on his father’s face when he had gotten off the phone. It had taken some doing but he had managed to get his father to tell him what the officer questioning TK’s captor had found out: TK had been tortured. 

It had been a revelation that had brought his pacing to a halt and he would have likely collapsed if his father hadn’t gently pushed him into a seat as every inch of his body trembled. Even now the thought filled him with both a cold fury and raging fear: TK had been tortured; hurt repeatedly for information he didn’t even have. Now he was here before Carlos and he could only hope that he was strong enough to see them both through this; that he would be strong enough to support TK. Because while the doctor had assured them that the physical wounds would heal with time, Carlos had a sinking feeling that the mental ones would take a lot longer. 

So he sits quietly, close but never touching as TK sleeps on. And when TK wakes an hour later and reaches for his hand he clutches at it like a lifeline, smiling through the tears as he gently leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead. They didn’t speak but they didn’t need to. Carlos knew that everything he was feeling was shared — the fear, the worry, the relief, the love. When he squeezed his hand and looked into his eyes Carlos knew that TK understood the promise left unsaid: whatever came next he wouldn’t face alone.

-------

TK’s not fine. 

He’s well aware of this fact, and he’s pretty sure Carlos is too. It’s hard to hide things from the person who knows you better than anyone and who also happens to sleep in the same bed as you, after all. 

Physically, he’s solid. The bruises have faded, his ribs have healed. His body has replenished all the blood that was left on the floor of that abandoned warehouse. He passed all his physical exams with flying colors and has been back at work for about a week now. 

But though the bruises have faded and the pain is gone, the memories are not. Some days are better than others and today...is not a good day. 

He wakes in a cold sweat and sits bolt upright, chest heaving as the remanents of the dream that had woken him cling to his mind. He knows it’s a dream. He knows it’s not real but his mind has so helpfully filled in all the blanks; bringing back the sounds and smells and sensations,  slotting them perfectly into place, and fuck if it doesn’t feel every bit as real each and every time. 

He reminds himself to breathe and looks around the room falling into the familiar pattern. 5 things he can see: the door, the clock on his nightstand, the throw blanket at the end of their bed, the glare of a streetlight through the window, Carlos laying beside him. 4 things he can touch: the soft gray duvet covering their bed, the soft material of the faded APD shirt he had fallen asleep in, the coolness of the sheets beneath him, the corner of Carlos’s pillow brushing against his arm. 

He goes through the rest of the list, using his senses to anchor him back to reality before he takes a deep shuddering breath and quietly slides out of bed. He glances at Carlos’s still sleeping form before he steps away, slipping out their bedroom door and down the stairs to the kitchen. He knew his fiancé would want him to wake him, would remind him time and time again that he wanted to be there for him; that TK wasn’t a burden. 

But he couldn’t help but feel like one. 

Carlos had been his rock this entire time. In the month since his abduction, Carlos had been by his side each and every day for both the good and the bad. He had held him as he cried, he had stepped away when being so near someone was too much. He had treaded carefully in his own home, he had learned to spot the signs of a panic attack and had coached TK through far too many of them. And he had done it all without complaint because that was who Carlos Reyes was and while TK appreciated it more than he could ever say, he hated it in equal measure. 

He was trying to be okay, but he wasn’t and he knew he wouldn’t be for a while. His therapist assured him he was making great strides and TK believed her and he knew it was going to be a process but that did nothing to quell his frustration. There was still a part of him — a traitorous part he hadn’t been able to shake despite everything and all the growth he had managed in the past few years — that wondered when Carlos would finally have enough. 

Which is why he slipped out into the dark kitchen, alone. He just needed to pull himself together and go back to bed. Then he could go back to sleep and Carlos would wake up in the morning, none the wiser. He didn’t have to know that even now, over a month later, TK still couldn’t get through a night. 

Or at least, that was the plan. 

The reality was footsteps on the stairs as TK pulled his head out of his hands to see Carlos standing at the edge of the kitchen, studying him with concerned eyes. 

“Hi,” TK says lamely as Carlos carefully steps into the kitchen. 

“Hi,” Carlos says in return. He didn’t say anything else, but he didn’t have to. They knew each other so well they could have entire conversations without saying a word and everything from the way he was carrying himself to the way he was rubbing his fingers together told TK that he was upset. 

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

Carlos merely sighed and stepped closer, gently placing a hand on top of TK’s, lightly enough that he could pull away if he wanted to. “That’s not what I’m upset about, Ty, and you know it.” 

Tk looked down at the counter then, examining the color variations in the granite as he avoided Carlos’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I just hate feeling like such a burden. You should be able to sleep through a night without your basket case of a fiancé waking you up with the same damn dream he’s been having for weeks. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” 

TK felt light fingers on his chin and allowed his head to be lifted so his eyes were faced with Carlos’s. They were just as warm and loving as always, but there was a sadness in them too. 

“You didn’t ask for this either,” Carlos reminded him, “and I wish more than anything you never had to go through that. But it happened and I am not going to leave you to deal with it alone. I care about you far too much for that.” 

TK could feel his shoulders loosening at Carlos’s words but he wasn’t ready to accept them just yet.

“Still…” he began, but Carlos shook his head. 

“Still nothing,” he told him firmly. “Don’t even try to tell me that if the roles were reversed you wouldn’t be standing right where I am, doing the exact same thing. You would never leave me to deal with anything like this on my own, why do you think you deserve to?” 

TK was quiet for a few moments before he finally spoke the words that had been hounding him. “I just hate being a burden,” he admitted so softly it was almost a whisper. “You deserve better than that.” 

Carlos shook his head. “I deserve to have the man I love be happy and safe,” he said instead. “And if that’s not possible I am going to do everything I can to make you feel as close to it as you can. We’re about to promise for better or worse in front of a room full of people we know, now is not the time to try and pull a solo act, TK. We’re in this together, just like always.”

TK blinked against the tears that had appeared in his eyes. He managed a small smile as he nodded, twisting his hand on the counter so he could grasp Carlos’s and squeeze it. Carlos returned his smile and leaned across the counter to press a light kiss to TK’s lips.

“Do you feel up to going back to bed?” he asked when he pulled away. “We can cuddle on the couch and put on a movie or something if you’re not. Whatever you need.”

For what was probably the hundredth time that day TK was floored by just how lucky he was to have Carlos in his life, to be loved by someone like him. He stepped around the counter, closing the distance between them as he pressed himself against Carlos’s chest. He smiled into the other man’s shirt when his arms instinctively wrapped around him.

“Let’s go to bed,” he said after a beat. “Just, promise me you won’t let go?”

“Never,” Carlos assured him as he pressed a kiss into his hair. “You’re stuck with me forever. For better or worse, remember?”

TK simply smiled in response and allowed himself to be led back up the stairs and to their bed. As they settled back underneath the blankets and Carlos settled against TK’s back and wrapped his familiar arms around him TK took a deep breath and closed his eyes with a smile on his lips.

Perhaps they had agreed upon for better or worse, but he had a feeling that maybe soon better would be on its way. 

#911 lone star #911 lone star fic #bthb #tarlos #tarlos fic #my writing #userkimmy #userjilly #userac #usermaximus #userbones #tuserpaige #tuserjamie #reyesstrand #jazzyjess #maizsnex #reyeslonestartag #hierophvnts #buckybarnesalways #noxsoulmate #laelipoo #and probably a bunch of other people I am forgetting I'm sorry

[percabethfeelsfandom]

Godly Parents

Godly Parents

I’ve seen a lot of people trying to figure out who their godly parents is/are purely based on the face value of how Percy sees them and what they’re known for. For example, people claiming they cannot possibly be a child of Athena because they’re not wise or not smart. That’s not how it works.

I have always said that I was a child of Athena, and I have the tests to back me up (even though I’m also very likely a child of Poseidon)

And I don’t say this because I’m trying to become Percy or because I related on such a deep level with Percy and Annabeth and their characters. But because Athena is the goddess of knowledge, I have never known a closer, more valuable friend than words on a page. Never been so at peace than I was in the quiet of the night, reading under the covers while I know distantly owls are just waking for the night. I know I’m a child of Athena because no other god values the history of our world, the literature of our world, and it’s importance. In Athena, and in Annabeth I saw grit, determination, and I saw how they valued words in a way that spoke to my soul. And I knew. Knew that I was looking into a mirror.

On the flip side. I can see my potential as a child of Poseidon. It’s not just my inner dream and goal to be a waterbender. But it’s the utter calm that washes over me when I’m at the beach, the water lapping at my feet. The breeze in my hair. The whisper of the waves telling me I’m home. It’s the freshness of stepping into a shower, and coming out of it feeling alive. The way my temper ebbs and eases with the tide, clouding over and storming when things don’t work out. The way it slows down, to barely a ripple when things do.

Children of Hades aren’t just emo children ‘going through a phase’, they are the shadows in the group, the constant presence, laughing in the background, always there when you need them, though it may not always be obvious. They are the constantly cold hands, even in the heat of the summer.  Soft voices that can command armies should they decide to. The temper that runs in their blood is different to their uncles (Zeus and Poseidon), their temper simmers, slowly growing over time, tending to it like a cold flame. These are the children of the night, burning the midnight oil, working on passion projects. You know you’re a child of the god of the dead, when you find comfort in silence, but still need that time with the people you love, because family is still family.  

Children of Zeus are the leaders struggling with the pressure of being leaders. They’re the ones people turn to when things go wrong, wanting to know what to do. But they’re just trying their best. And their best is enough. They are the smell just before it rains. They are charismatic personalities that turn heads in a room. Extroverted people who thrive in crowds and gain their own personal power in being around like-minded people. They’re strong and resilient, but flighty.

Children of Hermes, keep your eye on these kids. Because they’ll pass you if you blink. And I don’t necessarily mean just by their speed. Their minds are constantly working, running, sprinting. Rivalling even the genius children of Athena and Hephaestus, these children throw themselves into work, working on half a dozen passion projects, pouring their heart in soul into them. Master on none, but master of many, indeed, they are the future entrepreneurs, innovators and CEO’s of the world. Helping the world keep going round, with the cheeky smile of their father and the smart aleck comment to match. Quick hands that never stop fidgeting, and unfocused eyes which are already thinking of the next thing to learn. They have new hobbies each week, and never bore.

Artemis

There may not be any children of Artemis. But there are hunters. They are immortal beings with grace unattainable by mere mortals. They are liquid in physical bodies, moving with ease, notching an arrow, taking aim and watching it fly. Running across fields without a sound. Braids whipping in the wind, and hair coming loose to frame faces of women who are free. Like the children on Athena their time is the night, illuminated by the moon their patron goddess rules over. The hunters are queens and princesses in their own right with their regal movements and the knowledge they have from living for decades.

Apollo

Children of Apollo are the wheels that keep camp turning. They are constantly working in tandem with the Hermes kids, always lending a helping hand, catching you when you fall, healing you when you need it. They are melodic voices and harmonious laughter. The embodiment of light, reminding you, reminding us that this is why we have art, because art and music, and everything that Apollo represents is what makes life living. They are the ones that light up rooms, drawing eyes in a crowd. People pleasers, that thrive in crowds. Similar to children of zeus, which makes sense as they are family. They may not be leaders, but they do set trends. Like the hunters, Apollo’s children have immense skill with a bow and arrow, letting arrow after arrow fly with precision and ease.  

Dionysus

Children of Dionysus are the party animals. The ones with all the connections. They’re the friend that everyone references when they say ‘I know a guy’. They are the ones you can always count on to have a good time. They make you laugh so hard that you cry, they’re the ones you call when you’re upset and just want to forget about reality for a night. But they’re more than that, they work close with the children of Demeter, tending to the strawberry fields, their powers responding to the touch of their fingertips. Like their father they are stubborn, their thoughts set in and hard to break like the vines that grapes grow on. But be wary for, no matter how easy-going they may seem, they sometimes don’t know limits and can influence others to descent into the same madness that only they can control.

Demeter

Children of Demeter are the steady roots of camp. Unable to be uprooted if they don’t agree with plans. Stubborn but their feelings well intentioned. They’re always there to lend a hand. With faces tanned from time in the sun, and noses burnt, they have kind smiles and hands rough with callouses that come with working hard. They’re the one’s who seem to always know where to find the best snacks, and sneak them in to you when you need it. Like all Olympians children of Demeter are proud, tending to their plants with utmost care, always secretly thinking that theirs are the best. They are the quiet listeners of camp, taking in all of the information before speaking, acting mediator when they decide.

Aphrodite

Children of Aphrodite are the ones you turn to when all hope is lost. Because when nothing is left, there will still always be love. Beauty is subjective, but the children of Aphrodite are the pioneers for body positivity, constantly advocating for self love all around camp telling people that they are beautiful and reminding them of their self worth. They are the children you roll your eyes at, not realising the power they have in words. The true mediators of camp, calming fights between the hot heads and the stubborn blood. With hair that always seems to change colour the next time you see them, children of Aphrodite remind you that they are in fact children of a goddess, and they’re not about to let you forget.  

Ares

Children of Ares are warriors from the moment they are born, but they don’t have to be. In typical olympian fashion, they are stubborn, the most stubborn of the family. But they are also the ones you talk to when someone says something bad behind your back and you want to get back at them. They persevere, they always push back and they never give up. On the field they are the ones you look to for guidance, for they show no fear. They keep to themselves in camp, preferring to stay with their siblings to avoid the way that campers look at them. But you just need to approach them like you would a cat scared of new strangers. Because they do have a soft side, because all warriors need to rest sometimes.

Hephaestus

Children of Hephaestus are the faces behind the scenes. The welders of the weapons you wield. The people that shape the shields that protect you. They are the immovable force that remains steady no matter what. Their hands always fidget wanting- needing to be tinkering something. They tend to be warmer than most demigods, their bodies naturally also more fire resistant. Working in tandem with children of Athena, they are all about creating, because without them there is no camp. They look at a junkyard and see the greatest treasure known to humankind. Turning any trash into treasure. They are soft despite their exterior, meticulous with their creations, pouring all the love and care into them that their father never received from his family. There’s an awkward edge to them but despite that they remind kindhearted, and always happy to help.

#percy jackson #godly parents #heroes of olympus #rick riordan #percy jackon and the olympians #athena #poseidon #hades #apollo #zeus #dionysus #aphrodite #artemis #hephaestus #demeter #ares #hermes #annabeth chase #percabeth #jason grace #piper mclean #leo valdez #frank zhang #hazel levesque #trials of apollo