#eventual happy ending
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Ae Fond Kiss - Part 1
Winsome Wee Thing
Summary: This is the start of a story from this concept. You fall in love and you learn loss more ways than one.
Words: 3.9k
TWs: major character death (temporary), miscarriage
Parts: 1 2 3
You and your boyfriend's Lieutenant disliked one another immensely and immediately.
For you it wasn’t so much that the hulking idiot was in a balaclava, although you found the skull pattern so teenage boy edgy that it caused a cringe deep enough to feel right through your molars, it was the obvious dismissal he had for you. For Simon it wasn’t so much that Johnny’s newest pretty little bit was a smart arse, although he could practically feel the ‘not like other girls’ radiating off of you in waves, it was the obvious disdain you had for him. The first impression set the tone for what became a horrid relationship.
–
“This is my Lieutenant, they call him Ghost but I believe he prefers to be called-”
“That’ll do.”
There was something about the way he cut the puppy dog that was your boyfriend off that riled you a little.
“Nice to meet you, Ghost. Is that your gamer tag or something?”
“Never been one for games. You a gamer girl?”
“Not enough to have such a cool nickname.”
“Oh I’m sure we could come up with a nickname that would suit you princess.”
Gaz, who you did like, spent the rest of the night meditating while Johnny remained clueless to the simmering hostility between the two of you. Price didn’t really seem to know what to make of it all, but you found you had a natural respect for the Captain and as time went on, he was the one that could always tell you and Ghost to knock it off if he could see a fight brewing.
–
Johnny had been so excited to introduce you to his team and his team to you and the only thing you and bonehead could seem to agree on was that you would pretend to be civil when Johnny was around. So the jokes were underhanded but could be brushed off as humour, the vitriol was kept for when his back was turned, the eventual birthday presents were tactfully meant to appear innocent but actually be biting insults and the all out war that was had around a pool table was played off as healthy competition.
If it has been anyone but John MacTavish you’d have dumped him purely so you would never have to see Simon Riley again, but fuck you fell hard and fast for Johnny. You didn’t even fully remember your first meeting. It had been a blind date and you thought you had been stood up so got well past merrily drunk at the bar of a nice restaurant. You had not been stood up, your date had broken down in the snow and in the hours you had been drinking the flurries had become a full blizzard. But that wasn’t going to stop Johnny. In the middle of a backroad with a blizzard beating down and no signal to call he had hiked his ass all the way to you, getting there just in time to catch you wobbling out the door.
He had been a gentleman, hadn’t taken advantage. You woke up the next day with a handsome man bringing you breakfast in bed and apologising profusely for the whole thing. He had slept on your couch and admitted sheepishly that he had walked you home. From what little you did remember, you had made it difficult by starting a snowball fight and wanting to make snow angels every 5 minutes. You remembered the scent of pine and a roaring fire that enveloped you when he had bundled you in his jacket, breathing in and being transported to a log cabin in the Scottish highlands in winter, safe and drinking something warm with a hint of whiskey.
If you hadn’t already been falling for him after his bashful teasing that morning, you were flung head first into it when you spent the next week looking after him when his gallantry earned him the worst cold known to man. He was a big baby when he was sick and that combined with the terrible sense of humour that he had made you desperate to learn more about him.
–
“Ye cannae be mean tae me, I’m naw long for this world!”
For such a large man, he really was like a little kid bundled up in blankets and whining.
“Uh huh, that’s very valid and very sad but you still need to take your medicine.”
“I was never any good at swallowing, maybe ye can give it tae me as a suppository.”
Ridiculous man.
“Aww come on, swallow like a good boy and maybe we can talk about that suppository when you’re better.”
“Fuck, where have ye been all my life?”
His loopy grin nearly made you plant a kiss on his lips regardless of how ill he was, but instead you just ruffled his hair when he knocked back the pills and wondered how you were ever going to keep from loving this man.
–
The second date he had left you with a fond kiss at the doorstep after a wild night of earning enough tickets at the arcade to win him a little plush skull toy. He had been obsessed with it when he had first seen it, had told you he needed to win it for his Lieutenant. You thought that was adorable and had put your frankly suspiciously good reflexes to work absolutely rinsing the whack a mole for every ticket you could get from it. Of course had you known then that Simon Riley was the biggest ass on the planet you’d have hoarded your tickets and gotten 300 packets of Haribo instead (or so you’d like to think, but you knew deep down you could never have denied Johnny knowing how bright he smiled when he had traded the tickets for that stupid plush).
By the third date you wanted him so badly that you felt like a bitch in heat. You started to think that maybe you were making a fool of yourself with how calm he seemed whenever you sneaked a touch or whispered a filthy promise. God you liked him so much, it was killing you that maybe he didn’t feel the same. You needn’t have worried as it turned out, date number 3 was when John MacTavish had completely ruined you in a way you had not expected.
–
“This was really nice” you said, a bit embarrassed if you were honest and avoiding his eyes after he walked you to your front door.
You had been a menace the whole evening. You had never been some sex kitten but fuck he just brought it out in you without even trying. He probably thought you were ridiculous now with how you had tried to be all sultry the whole way through dinner. Fuck, your hands had wandered something awful during the movie as well and you felt the humiliation from it burn from your ears to your toes. He didn’t want you the way you wanted him and you had pathetically thrown yourself at him. He probably couldn’t wait to lose your number.
“Open the door.”
Shit. He sounded almost angry. The first guy you had really liked in a long time, maybe ever, and you had totally blown it by being over eager. You shakily unlocked your door and blew out a breath, prepared to go inside and cry over a glass of wine. Instead you were grabbed by the waist and slammed against the door to close it behind you so fast it made your head spin.
John MacTavish’s tongue was down your throat and he had your wrists pinned above your head in a bruising vice grip. You had only just found the sense to kiss back when his lips were gone and instead his teeth were sinking into the delicate skin of your throat. The whine you made at that was all animal, as was his answering growl.
“Next time ye misbehave like that I’m going tae bend ye over the dinner table and fuck ye hard and proper in front of all those nice, fancy people.”
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You had never gotten so wet so fast in your life. The nice lace panties you had on under this dress were soaked right through. He bit off a curse and your legs nearly gave out when he suddenly let you go and backed right off, dragging a hand roughly through his hair.
“Fuck, sorry. Dinnae hate me, I wanted tae… our first time I mean, I had it all planned oot. Which makes me sound like a creepy, presumptuous bawbag. And now I’m being a fucking reprobate and pinning you tae the door without even asking first.”
Oh my God. You could not just fall in love with a man after 3 dates. And yet looking at his blown out eyes, how his body thrummed with barely contained lust for you and how he nearly vibrated with the effort of holding himself back because he wanted to treat you right… you had fallen in love with a man after 3 dates.
“I thought…” you said, your hand coming to rest on your flushed chest as you tried to find the words. “I mean at dinner and then at the movie, I um… well I wanted you to, you know. I thought maybe you didn’t want to? Which is fine obviously. I mean if you didn’t want to.”
The whiplash from going from lust to humiliation to lust and back to embarrassment was not something you were enjoying. You looked at him, he looked at you and after a few long moment the two of you burst into laughter. What a bloody pair you made. He came over and wrapped you in his arms, that wonderful scent that just gave you a feeling of contentment deep in your bones sinking into you.
“I want to. Was hard for the whole film, couldnae move that popcorn bucket or someone was getting an eye oot. Wanted tae spank ye red raw for all that teasing” he confessed into your hair, so sincere and blunt about it that you weren’t sure your pussy was likely to forgive you if you didn’t go out of your way to tease him next time.
“Wanted?”
He laughed, probably because you sounded somewhat like a petulant child, and leaned back, hands going to gently cup your face. Looking into his eyes felt like a gentle falling. Falling into a warm bed on a cold morning after a hot coffee, falling into the first fresh powdery snow of the year, falling in love with a man you hardly knew but felt so much like coming home.
“Was planning on asking ye tae come with me up North. Got a nice cabin in the Highlands that I usually rent oot since my Captain is always going on about having a backup plan. Want it tae be perfect.”
“You don’t have to go to all that trouble.”
Nobody ever had before. In your somewhat limited experience men wanted to get to fucking as soon as they could and while a few had made sure you came first, none had ever put much thought into getting you into bed in the first place. It just sort of happened. You would never have said you were insecure, but at that moment you felt the crushing weight of feeling that you didn’t deserve this man making such a grand gesture just to get inside you. You already wanted him. And there was no way he wasn’t experienced, how would you ever be good enough to warrant all the effort he was going to?
“Hey, look at me beautiful” he said quietly, thumbs rubbing soothingly across your cheekbones and coaxing your eyes back to his. “I really like you.”
Those four words ruined you entirely. John MacTavish put his heart out there with such simplicity that it stunned you. He could have thrown you on the bed and fucked you rough and savage and you’d have enjoyed it, but instead here he was butting his forehead lightly on yours in affection despite his evident arousal because he wanted more than that.
“I really like you too.”
Instead of fucking, he held you while you cried like a baby, overwhelmed by the care he took with you. He only made it worse when he whispered to you how you deserved to be treated with adoration. He called you beautiful, bonnie thing, mo leannan, winsome wee thing (that one made you laugh). He refused gently when you wanted to take care of him that night, instead laying you down softly on the pillows and lapping between your legs to bring you to slow orgasm after slow orgasm until you were boneless and sated, slurring your speech as he bundled you in his arms and you spoke about everything from your childhood pets to your great hopes and dreams until you drifted off into the best sleep of your life.
–
Your first time with him inside you was in that cabin like he had wanted and it had been the most perfect few days of your life. He had made sure you felt safe and comfortable, insisting you gave the location to your friends and going over maps of the area with you, pointing out where you’d need to go to get signal to check in with them. He bought ingredients for all of your favourite meals and stopped for a snack run on the way to boot. He showed you his test results but stressed that he was putting no pressure on you either way and if you did want to have sex he would have condoms if you preferred. And after all that he made it clear that you did not have to have sex with him if you didn’t feel like it. Johnny would be happy to just hold you for a weekend. As soon as you arrived he taught you how to use the sat phone if there was an emergency. The voice on the other end was gruff but soothing somehow, safe sounding (that at least was something that never changed about Simon, despite not liking the man, you always felt safe with him).
You were ready to explode by the time he finally laid you in bed. He stroked deep and slow inside of you, steady and solid and torturous. You understood then the difference between fucking and making love. It was the first time anyone had ever shown you the latter.
He then proceeded to show you the former in great detail on every surface inside the cabin and on quite a few outside. Your pussy was battered and your clit bruised in the most delicious ways. Your throat was raw from screaming and from being fucked. After a lifetime of swearing up and down it was never something you were interested in, you wound up practically begging for his cock in your ass because there was not one part of you that you did not want dripping with him. And of course he was only too happy to make sure you understood everything he would do to prep you by letting you do it to him first. You couldn’t fucking sit down for a full day after he had indeed spanked you red raw for the teasing you had done on that 3rd date.
A week later you met his family, the week after that his brothers in arms. And then he was gone and you were so worried about him that you constantly felt nauseous. It took years for you to be able to settle when he was deployed, to not spend the whole time imagining him not coming home to you. Because by that time that was what you had built together, a home.
You and Kyle became friends throughout the years. You really did like him, he was easy going and would laugh and let you bitch about Simon whenever you wanted. Captain Price came to feel like an older brother. He was there whenever you needed him, whether it be a car breakdown or because you were in a panic about a handsy coworker (poor guy had broken both hands in an accident the next weekend). And Simon? Well not too much changed there, you dealt with each other when you had to and were it not for your shared love of Johnny you suspected you’d have killed one another.
At least until Las Almas.
–
You didn’t know how you were going to tell Johnny. In fact, you probably wouldn’t. What good would it do? It had sorted itself out. That was how you tried to think about it. Food poisoning had made the pill ineffective for a day, you had gotten pregnant unplanned and unwanted and had lost the baby before you’d even started showing. It didn’t matter that while Johnny was somewhere being a hero you had heard a tiny heartbeat at the doctors. You told yourself over and over again that you didn’t want it anyway. You tried to think about how awful everything felt all the time. The morning sickness, the fatigue, the mood swings.
It was probably just the shock of it, waking up wet from the blood and thinking you were dying. If your first thought had been that you’d rather you die and the baby lived then you tried not to dwell on that. She would have had Johnny’s eyes. He would have wanted a mohawk so he could match his daddy. You forced an image of you telling Johnny and him being upset and not wanting a baby. It was useless. You knew that man. You loved that man. And that man would have gently made sure you wanted to keep it before bursting into happy tears and kissing you senseless.
You couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t break his heart the way the last few months had broken yours. Maybe it was selfish, to want to keep this pain for yourself when you knew beyond a doubt that he’d be desperate to share it, to take as much as he could from you and turn it to gentle comfort the way he always did when you were hurting. But you wanted to be selfish over this.
It was a whole new pain when you answered the door and Ghost was standing there. Your knees went from under you and you collapsed with the weight of why he would be at your door. Why would he be here without your Johnny? It was the first time Simon Riley caught you.
You never spoke about the way he held you gently and told you that Johnny was ok, he was alive but injured. He made you laugh through your tears and snot by telling you what a bad patient Johnny was being, how he was about ready to beat up every medic on base to get back to you because “I dinnae need fucking morphine I need tae eat my bird’s pussy”. His Scottish accent on that impersonation was truly dreadful.
Simon never thought he would find himself comforting you. He didn’t like you, he never had. Johnny had never been so serious about anyone and it drove him nuts that you made him so happy. Happiness like that was an easy thing to ruin and you could ruin it if you wanted, that scared the shit out of him. It was even scarier when Johnny had shown him the ring he was planning to offer you.
He never told Johnny how you had broke in his arms that night. How you had told him about the miscarriage in the dark, bled your pain all over him and let it sink into his skin. He had taken it gladly. In the light of the morning you went back to your dislike of one another, but something had changed in the dark.
–
You never did tell Johnny. You and Simon settled then on some sort of begrudging respect for one another. You still argued and bit at each other, but with the knowledge that now you would be part of one another's lives forever through Johnny given that only a few days after he came home he had slid a ring onto your finger.
Frankly you were fucking terrified when you came off of the pill. The only thing that got you through it was, unbelievably, Simon mumbling to you in the pub over a game of pool that you were going to be good parents. Of course Johnny had told him you were trying, but you found you didn’t really mind as you grumbled back an awkward thank you.
You could have strangled Johnny for having such strong fucking swimmers. You hadn't expected to get pregnant almost as soon as you were off birth control and it meant your wedding dress had to be altered to account for the small bump there. The bump he could not keep his hands off. Honestly the man was already insatiable, but fuck he loved you pregnant. He was already talking about more kids and you hadn’t even had the first one, he fucked you and groaned about wanting you pregnant all the time.
Your husband, something you thought you’d never get sick of saying, drove you mad once again in the late stages. You were hornier than ever and he was determined to treat you like you were made of glass all of a sudden. He certainly still gave you as many orgasms as you demanded, but gone was any rough and feral fucking. You loved making love with Johnny, but fuck if you didn’t miss the fucking.
You’d never tell Simon it had been your suggestion, not under pain of death. Neither of you had been attached to any name in particular, but you knew how much Johnny loved his Lieutenant. He was his best friend and they owed one another their lives several times over. There was a good chance that you owed him your life. Your husband had kissed you with so much love when you had asked if he’d like to call your son Joseph and after talking about it late into the night you had agreed that the little human inside you was your wee Joey.
A wee fucking bruiser is what he was, coming into the world kicking and screaming. Ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes. You joked that he must have screamed so loud he had damaged his own ears when he was referred to the audiology clinic after a second newborn hearing test. They stressed that you shouldn’t worry over it, but you hadn’t been anyway. Joseph was the strongest most wonderful thing you had ever seen, whatever came of it he had two parents who were going to make sure it never made his life anything less than a grand happy adventure.
Johnny had hated leaving him. Price had hated to ask it, had sent you enough flowers to start your own florist in apology. You understood though, your husband was off saving the world after all. Your heart was in your throat when he kissed Joey’s head and then kissed you soundly. Something felt off with him. The kiss felt different somehow, mournful. Maybe it was just a trick of your memory, hindsight tainting what you hadn’t known was the last time you would see your husband.
–
Simon Riley caught you a second time. John MacTavish was dead.
#mhairiwrites#cod#fanfic#soap x reader#ghost x reader#john mactavish x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x john mactavish#eventual happy ending#my guys I wrote this in one go this evening so have mercy on my soul#enjoy all the sprinklings of trauma in here that are surprise tools that will help us with angst later
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Alone and Forsaken
Summary:
Alone and forsaken, Joel Miller hides himself away at the end of the world. After losing Sarah he was a shell of a man, trying to drown her memory in the blood of any soul that dared to cross his path. No matter what he did, Sarah haunted him. Then came Ellie, the girl he had been through hell with. Joel felt his chest crack open for her and from then on he decided that wherever Ellie went, he would be there. The Fireflies had other ideas. Joel had fought hard, he had torn through that hospital slaughtering anyone that he came across but he was too late. After practically burning down all of Salt Lake City, Joel banishes himself to a cabin in the middle of the woods. Resigned to his fate, his self imposed exile is soon interrupted when he finds you. Broken, starving, and on the brink of freezing to death, Joel has no choice but to let you into his life. With the winter winds in Montana being particularly piercing this season, he is forced to wait until the spring thaws the ground so that he can dump you on Tommy’s doorstep in Wyoming. Can he keep you at arm’s length until then?
Warnings: Postoutbreak!Joel, mentions of child loss, mentions of religious trauma, brief mentions of Tommy and Maria, mentions of Tess, grieving Joel, Slow burn, eventual smut, eventual soft!Joel, A/B/O dynamics, unspecified age reader age (reader is in her mid-20s and Joel is 56), mentions of violence, Joel really needs a hug in this
A/N: This is my first fic so let me know what you guys think! I'm going to continue to put chapter warnings, both you and Joel are traumatized in this. This is going to be a bit of a slow-burn so strap in folks!
Chapter 1/20 - More to come!
Chapter 1: Withered and Gone
The thundering of his heart pounded in his ears, almost deafening him to the sound of each bullet that ripped into anyone in his way. Joel barely registered their death, if asked today he wouldn’t even be able to tell you how many people he slaughtered. Forty? Sixty? One hundred? He had no idea. Filled with a primal fear that pumped battery acid through his veins, he pressed on until he made it to the door. That door. Joel hated that fucking door. He knew what he would find on the other side, he had seen it every other night for the last four years. Knowing didn’t change anything, it never did. Whether it was him cradling Sarah in his arms while screaming for Tommy and feeling her tiny body turn cold, or being confronted with Ellie’s skull cracked open while a stranger sliced through her brain, knowing didn’t make it better.
Joel woke, as he did every night, with his heart slamming against his ribs and bile rising in his throat. His eyes wild as he searched desperately for someone he would never have again, two someones that were gone forever. Nostrils flared, Joel huffed the stale air around him, searching haphazardly for the smell of strawberries and vanilla or cinnamon and ginger. For Sarah and Ellie, his pups.
Joel is greeted with nothing but his own musk, the scent gone sour from the memories haunting his dreams. Running shaky hands over his flushed face, he curses under his breath before getting up for the day. Knees popping and back twinging in protest, he forces himself into the tiny bathroom connected to his bedroom. Ignoring the weathered face in the mirror, Joel hauls himself into the shower and lets the warm water soothe his tense muscles.
After Salt Lake City, Joel had resigned himself to living in the first dilapidated hunting cabin he could find in Montana. It was what he deserved after failing her. Again. He was a bad Alpha, an even worse father, he had let not one but TWO pups die under his care. Living out the rest of his days in some shithole was the least he could do.
Having stumbled back to Wyoming, Joel reached Jackson and collapsed at the front gate. He remembers Tommy above him, trying and failing to shake him out of the daze he was in. He remembers the unfamiliar smells of the clinic, Tommy and Maria coming to see him. He remembers a beta doctor coming in to explain the lows he would experience in the coming months, being an alpha who had lost their pup. As if he didn’t already know.
Joel couldn’t stay there. He couldn’t stand the softness of the sheets, how Tommy looked at him with sorrow and Maria with guarded pity, how his innocent nephew looked up at him with Tommy’s eyes - the eyes that were the same as his, the same eyes he passed on to Sarah. It only got worse when he left the clinic. Walking through the streets of Jackson as he had once with Ellie, he had to restrain himself from burning the place to the ground. After turning quite a few heads in town with his bitter scent and chilling presence, Joel left quietly in the middle of the night. Leaving a note for Tommy with the patrol hanging around the front gate, he departed for his exile.
Sleepwalking through Wyoming, he finally made his way into Montana where he found the cabin. It must have been the treasure of some reclusive hunter, as it sat smack dead in the middle of the forest without a single road in sight for miles. The building was one story, with a slightly rotting front porch that was overhung by the tin roof. Clamped onto the roof seams, black solar panels stood against the green tin.
Joel approached it cautiously, pricking up his ears to any potential danger. Who would leave this oasis out here? Hearing nothing, he approached the log building and climbed the slightly softening stairs. Pushing open the door, he was greeted with nothing but dusty air. Taking one step into the room, he could tell nobody had been in this cabin for years. Dust covered the coffee table and moth eaten couch in the living room, yellowing books lining the shelves and a taxidermied deer leering at him from the wall.
Pushing forward, Joel finds a puke green kitchen with a plethora of expired canned food and knitted dishcloths in a variety of bright colors. Next to that, a hallway that leads him to a bathroom with a kitschy painting of a monkey in a wig brushing his teeth. Joel stares at it for a second, wondering who the hell would have bought something like that. Was he that type of person before the world went to shit? He doesn’t remember.
The tour of the house continues and he finds two bedrooms. The first is the master suite with a large bed and a dust soaked brown comforter. He ignores the pictures that line the walls and shifts through the dressers for anything useful. He finds some pants and flannels around his size, as well as some smaller clothes that clearly belonged to a woman. Maybe the owner had a wife? Joel tsked at himself, he needed to remain focused on the task at hand.
Joel drops his bag, keeping his rifle notched against his shoulder as he approaches the last door to the cabin. Surely if a clicker was going to jump out of him it would have already, but humans don’t typically alert their prey before pouncing in his experience. Joel didn’t smell anything as he approached the door but he remained tense. He didn’t trust his senses anymore. Hell, he hadn’t even smelled the Fireflies that approached him as he did compressions on Ellie after pulling her from the depths of the tunnel. He hadn’t noticed the presence of the soldier until he shot the runners that were chasing him while he carried Sarah, hadn’t even noticed the way his scent soured after getting the orders that would kill her.
“Stupid, so fucking stupid, bad alpha, bad provider…”, he growled before shaking his head, trying to clear his mind of the poison that seeped into his soul with every waking moment of his miserable life.
Half expecting (and half hoping) to be shot dead the second he enters the final room, only to be greeted with a sight that punches him in the gut. Joel stumbles back a few steps, before a wave of dizziness lurches him forward again. Ears ringing, he falls to his knees and lets out a pained cry.
The room is simple, with flowers painted lovingly on the walls and comic books stuffed into the tiny book shelf on the wall. Tears begin to stream down his face as he shakily crawls forward, Joel grasps the only picture that sits on the peachy nightstand. Practically choking on his own cries, he dusts off the frame and looks at the picture.
Two girls sit on the front porch. The girl on the left is tomboyish and silly, holding a fishing rod in one hand and throwing up the peace sign with the other. The other girl is softer, hands covered in paint and smiling wide while holding a painting of what looks to be a disney princess.
“It’s not them, it’s not them, it’s n-not them,” he mumbles to himself, trying to ignore the similarities while his heart rate soars. He can feel rage building up in his chest as he looks at the girls, his vision going blurry and his jaw popping with how hard he’s grinding his teeth.
“IT’S NOT FUCKING THEM!,” he shouts, launching the picture at the wall and shattering the frame.
Joel had stayed on the floor for hours before collecting himself, giving one last look to the room before closing it for good. This place would do fine, he decided. Secluded enough to keep him in his solitary confinement, near a river with clean flowing water, seeds and canned food in the cabinets, and a tomb for his dead girls to serve as a constant reminder of his failure. Scratch that, his failures. This would be where he spent the rest of his life, alone, as it should be.
That was four years ago. The place had a few adjustments since then, the dust having mostly been shaken out of the blankets and the windows opened to wash out the dankness of the place. He had planted seeds and started a garden, put up traps around the area for meat, and even fixed the porch after he had almost fallen through it one morning. He even, with the help of Tommy a couple months after his arrival, managed to get the solar panels working so that he could have power. Tommy had lingered, trying to convince his older brother to follow him back to a life in Jackson but Joel had just growled at the beta until he backed off. He did manage to get Joel to agree to a meet up under the pretext of trade two times a year, once before it started in November and again once it was over in May.
Jackson didn’t need the measly produce and game that Joel provided, but Tommy decided that Joel didn’t need to know how much food his group raked in. He needed proof that Joel was still breathing, and this was the only way Tommy knew he could get it.
Joel’s head pounded as he thought of the past. He stood under the scalding spray for a few more moments, willing himself to relax. He wondered briefly if it was his rut that was coming but he quickly brushed that off, he hadn’t had one of those since Tess was still alive. Whether it was stress or that he was aging way too fast, he wasn’t sure but they had just stopped one day. Not that he minded, he hadn’t cared much for the monthly desperation.
Turning the valve, Joel stepped out of the shower and toweled off. His body is practically on auto pilot as he goes through his routine of getting dressed, cramming whatever food he can find into his mouth, before putting on his boots and heading out to check the traps.
The air is chilly as Joel steps out, he quickly zips his jacket while cursing the wind that bites into his wide frame. He stops to look at the sky briefly and wonders if it will snow soon, being about a week into November now. He wonders if this winter will be as brutal as the last, one day he had not even been able to get out the front door with how much snow had come and he had to literally dig himself out.
Sighing, he heads into the trees before him. Every trap he finds is empty, save for the last one near the river, which has a nice sized rabbit caught in it.
“You’ll do just fine darling,” he drawls, releasing the snare from its neck and putting it in his pack.
Joel turns, deciding to return to the cabin so that he can properly skin his new found treasure before something stops him in his tracks. His spine goes ramrod straight and his nose lifts in the air, searching for something that cannot possibly be true. That’s when he hears it.
It’s quiet. The noise barely carries over the wind and the river nearby but his ears zone into it immediately. That’s what they are practically made for. Joels waits a second nonetheless, sure that he has just finally lost it, but then once more he hears it. A whine.
Not just any whine, no, this whine is high pitched and light. It floats on the cold air over to him and smacks him in the face, accompanied by a scent of lavender and peppermint. This whine has sweat forming on his brow and a need to protect tensing all the muscles in his legs. This is the whine of an omega.
For a second Joel just stands there dumbfounded. What the fuck is an omega doing all the way out here? Were they alone? Did they need help? Were they hurt? If they are hurt then they need my help. I have to help, need to be good, need to protect, need to…
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Joel grits out, rubbing his eyes as his headache seems to worsen with every second he stands there.
Another gust of cold wind brushes against his face and the sweet scent surrounds him again. Only this time he can smell the sharp note of panic in whoever it is. His legs are moving towards it faster than his brain can process, his instincts taking over for him. Bounding through the trees he finally is spat out on the riverbank. Eyes searching wildly, he finds a small lump near the rushing waters and runs towards it.
-You-
How long have you been lost? Weeks? A month? You didn’t even know anymore. You had been a part of a group of people, being the only survivors from a larger place that had been overrun by infected. Dodging infected and raiders for nearly a year, your luck had to run out at some point. After running out of gas on some godforsaken backroad, your group was utterly stranded. Hoping to find something in the small town - could you even call it a town? - your group had trudged into the small strip of dilapidated stores with one sorry looking gas station in the center.
Everything had happened so fast. One moment you were outside the gas station watching a squirrel skitter up a tree near you, the next there were gunshots and screaming. Infected tore apart the face of your only friend, an older omega named Miriam who had taken you under her wing, in front of you. You remember screaming and immediately twenty dead faces turning in your direction. Miriam’s alpha, a soft yet stern woman named Rachel, had stepped in front of you cocking her gun. You whined and whimpered, legs shaking and scent downright acidic with terror.
“Go Y/N,” Rachel yelled at you, squaring up as the runners and clickers darted towards her.
Go? What? You couldn’t leave her. What would you do? Where would you go? You had never been alone, nor had you wanted to be. Being an unclaimed omega in a world like this meant that you had to stick to groups with those that would protect you, lest you become a raider’s plaything or worse. You whined loudly, at a loss for words as Rachel pushed you back and started firing.
“GET OUT OF HERE OMEGA!,” Rachel boomed at you.
That flipped a switch in you. A biological kick in the ass that had you turning and sprinting across the road. Jumping over the guardrail, you looked back over your shoulder to see Rachel now slicing through the advancing dead. With her gun somewhere on the ground behind her, likely out of ammo, you watch as a clicker launches itself at her and begins to tear into her flesh.
With your ears ringing and Rachel’s last instructions to you bouncing off the walls of your now empty brain, you turn and sprint full tilt into the forest. Passing nothing but trees, you ran until you were gagging, until your chest was practically on the verge of exploding with how hard your heart was beating, until your legs gave out. Collapsing on to the cold ground, you laid underneath the foliage and fought to calm yourself.
That had been weeks ago, or months, you weren’t sure at this point. It’s not like keeping a calendar was ever on anyone’s mind these days and you had long since stopped getting your heats with the lack of food your group had. You had tried counting how many days you had been lost by the nights but soon, with only a bag of granola in your pack and a bottle of water, you were too hungry to keep track.
This was it. This was how you were going to die. You felt like laughing and crying at the same time. You had been young when the virus hit, maybe 5 years old, and had watched it pick off every member of your family until it was just you and your mother. Your mother had been kind once, you think but aren’t entirely sure if that is truth or wishful thinking.
A fairytale made up by a lonely child in a dying world perhaps? You shake your head. No, she had sung songs to you at one point but that was before. After the infection, after your father died, she had kept you safe while bouncing around QZs in search of some sort of safe haven. That is until she met Josiah, a preacher that took you both into his group and quickly became your stepfather.
You had tried to like him, he had seemed sweet at first. Giving candies to you and the other children at camp, offering to teach you how to tend to the garden, bringing you a pair of pink shoes that you were so excited to have that your mother pinched your arm just to get you to stop squealing. However, things shifted after your mother and you got more comfortable in town. It became clear that worshipping the way that Josiah wanted you both to worship was the only way that you were going to be able to stay.
Your mother followed along, biting her cheeks and dragging you with her to bible studies and all night prayer services that bruised your knees. But you could tell that she hated every second of it, could feel it in the way she wrenched you forward everytime you protested going to the services that you hated. You had been to religious services briefly before the outbreak, your mom taking you to Catholic mass once for Christmas eve and your father taking you to celebrate Purim at the local synagogue, but you were way too young to have taken anything in. By the time Josiah came around, those memories were barely a whisper in your brain.
Things got worse from there, Josiah became the centerpiece for the group and everyone bowed to his every decree. The alphas were at the top of the pecking order, never to be questioned especially by an omega. Omegas were to be demure, quiet, dutiful, and were meant to be completely under the coverture of their alpha. Betas were given slightly more leeway than omegas, but would never be in a leadership position at camp and would only be allowed to mate with other betas. Anyone breaking the strict biological guidelines would be brutally punished, the methods getting downright inhumane depending on Josiah’s mood or the level of perceived “heresy.”
You had prayed for years under Josiah’s tyranny that you would present as a beta. Sure, you would never lead like an alpha but that never appealed to you anyways. You were caring and you wanted to help people, maybe if you were a beta they would let you become a doctor. The majority of the group were also betas, with many being your age so when the time came you would have more than a couple people to choose from for mating.
Much to your dismay, you presented as an omega and everything got worse. You didn’t have many friends, mainly Jake and the ladies that lived next door; Miriam and Rachel but you weren’t even sure that they counted, but now you were stuck inside the house. Josiah wanted to keep you from sin so he locked you away “for your own good.” You were forced to dress more conservatively, to eat less to maintain your figure, to pray more, to upkeep the house, to never look an alpha in the eye, etc., all of these things and more. All the while, inside the house, you tiptoed around the rage of your dulled mother and the creepy leers that your stepfather now gave your developing figure.
By the time the infected had overwhelmed the dinky gate that protected your community, you had already been planning on escaping for months. Leaping into a car with Miriam, Rachel, Jake, and a few others, you had a strange feeling of calm wash over you as you sped away from your ruined home. You knew that your mother was probably dead, and you had seen your stepfather get his head ripped clean off of shoulders by a massive clicker, but you didn’t feel anything but relief. The year after you left, although it was hard with the constant running and fighting, was actually the best year of your life. Nobody expected you to be anything, nobody pinched you, nobody made you pray, nobody smacked you if you made eye contact. You were just you.
“And now look at you,” you think, “stumbling through the woods with no fucking idea where you are going.” If you don’t find shelter soon, you know that you will die, same with if you don’t find food or water.
Your stomach growls violently, practically shaking your frame with the force. You lift your nose in the air, searching for a whiff of anything. Hell, you would eat a squirrel at this point you were so starving. You walk through the trees for another couple of hours, vision blacking out around the edges before you hear it: the loud roar of flowing water nearby.
Delirious but with a new sense of urgency, you stagger through the vegetation only to faceplant on the rocky beach the second you see the beautiful river. A small whine escapes your mouth as you haul yourself up onto your hands and knees. Your palms smear blood across the rocks as you crawl towards the water, your heart leaping in your chest and eyes bleary. You falter, a wave of nausea and dizziness hitting you hard, making you lose your balance and crumple just a few inches from the water. You whine again, louder this time, in frustration with your goal so close yet so far away.
As you lay there, contemplating whether or not it would be easier just to give in and die, a breeze comes from the trees and carries over the most delicious scent that has ever graced your nostrils. The smell of sandalwood and bergamot glides over the air and wraps itself around your senses. You feel your body immediately sag along the shore, your eyelids drooping as a feeling of peace overwhelms you. You’re not sure what is happening, having never felt this calm in your entire life but you don’t question it and give in to the peace. You don’t even flinch when you feel a pair of strong arms turn you over and lift you into the air, the comforting aroma now coating the back of your throat and warming the tips of your fingers. Instead you snuggle into the warmth pressed against you, rubbing your face into their neck as they carry you as if you were made of air.
This earns a soft hum from your carrier and you hear a deep comforting voice say, “It’s okay omega, I’ve got you. Not gonna let anything happen to ya darling.”
You’ve never fallen asleep so quickly in your entire life.
#joel miller#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller fanfiction#alpha!joel miller#omegaverse#omega reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#angst#comfort#eventual smut#eventual happy ending#joel x reader
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Still Here (Chapter 3)
Summary: You have a chance to catch up with Timothée over lunch.
Catch up on previous chapters here.
<><><><><>
You didn't have to wait long to see Timothée again. You crossed paths at the pharmacy three days later, where you were shopping for toiletries and other sundries for you and Madison. There was something oddly...final...about buying full-size shampoos and conditioners, instead of the travel-size bottles you packed in California. Like you had finally accepted that you would be here for a while.
You spotted Timothée's distinguishable curly dark hair over on the next aisle. Your heart stuttered. You had hoped not to run into anyone you knew, especially someone with whom you shared a complicated past. Who was I kidding? This isn't a crowded Target in Cali where you can just blend in. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Should I say hello? Should I put down my stuff and come back later? [Y/N], stop it. You can't run away from this. It's a small town, and you are here for the foreseeable future. May as well embrace it. Besides, it may be nice to have a friend again, if he's willing after things ended.
You looked up at the signage above to see what was there. You didn't want to embarrass him if he was shopping for something...personal. Ah, shaving accessories. Nothing embarrassing about that. You smiled, briefly reminiscing how the boy you knew could never grow a full beard despite how desperately he wanted to.
You worked up the courage to go say hello. You intentionally came up behind him as payback for startling you earlier in the grocery store. "If I didn't know any better, I would think you were stalking me, Timothée Chalamet."
He quickly spun around, initially looking over your head before looking down to meet your eyes. His big, lopsided grin sent your heart into palpitations again, just as it did over a decade ago. "Well well well, I could say the same about you, [Y/N] [maiden name], or, umm, I guess it isn't [maiden name] anymore," he fumbled and grimaced.
"It is. I'm divorced," you forced out. You still weren't used to saying it out loud. You watched as a whole range of emotions swept over his face before landing on sad, pitying look.
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I wondered if that may be the case when you said you moved back in with your folks. You know, I run into your mother from time to time in town. It was through her that I knew you had gotten married and had a baby. She was always happy to show off pictures." He paused to chuckle. "But she didn't say anything about the, uh..." He gestured awkwardly with his hands.
"Yeah, well, my parents aren't big fans of the d-word. It was a very recent development, too, one they have not yet come to embrace despite not being big fans of Michael." You suddenly found your sneakers very interesting, unable to make eye contact with Timothée.
"Well, hey, I'm just here to grab my dad's meds. I was thinking about swinging by the diner to grab a bite to eat before driving back. Would you like to join me?"
"Uh, sure. Maddy is hanging out with my parents and they aren't expecting me back immediately. Might be nice to have adult conversation again." You chuckled. The two of you paid for your items and walked across the street to the restaurant.
Timothée, ever the gentleman, opened the door for you. Everyone looked up at the sound of the metal bells hitting the glass. Whispers started floating around as soon as you stepped foot inside.
"Is that [Y/N] [L/N]?' "I thought she was in California." "Maybe she's just visiting her family?"
You ducked your head as you felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. You followed Timothée to a table in the corner and sat with your back to the rest of the diner, not wanting to see the curious looks. It was somewhat reassuring, though, to know that you still bore enough resemblance to your former self that people recognized you. You hardly recognized yourself in the mirror anymore.
Right as you got settled in your seat, you heard footsteps stop beside you. You raised your head to see that your server was also someone you knew from high school, Amanda. You smiled and softly said hello.
"They said it was you, but I didn't believe them. How are you doing, honey? Where is that baby of yours? Your mom hasn't been by lately to show off any pictures." Only after her barrage of questions did she look across the table. "Hey, Timothée."
"Hey, Mandy," he replied quietly.
"Oh, she's hanging out with my parents while I did some shopping. She's not a baby anymore, though." You pulled out your phone to show Amanda a recent photo.
"She looks just like you, [Y/N]! And they are always babies, no matter how old they get. How old is she? Looks about 9 or 10. I have a 12 year old, almost 13. Practically a teenager!" Amanda pulled her phone out of her apron to show you her lock screen.
"He's very handsome," you offered with a friendly smile.
"How long are you in town for?" she asked.
"Uh, well, I'm not sure. However long it takes to get back on my feet. I recently got divorced, so I am trying to figure out what's next," you replied solemnly as you traced the patterns on the paisley tablecloth with your finger. You were trying (and probably failing) not to give away how incredibly overwhelmed you were feeling. You were grateful when Timothée interrupted the exchange.
"Hey, Mandy, what's the special today?"
"Oh, of course! You are here for a reason, after all. I was so eager to see if it was really [Y/N] that I forgot the menus. I'll be right back." She patted your shoulder before retreating. She returned as quickly as you could mouth "thank you" to him.
The two of you silently scanned the menu and then placed your orders. As you waited on the food, you easily fell into conversation about high school, then your time in California. You had forgotten how easy it was to talk to Timothée. You gleefully showed him pictures on your phone of your favorite landmarks and landscapes until you accidentally swiped to a photo of you, Madison, and Michael together at one of the national parks. The reminders of the fleeting happy times were painful.
Sensing the shift, Timothée grabbed your hand. You felt lightning surge throughout your body from his touch. He squeezed once and then let go just as quickly when he spotted Amanda heading to your table with your orders. You looked up and saw the smirk on her face as she eyed the two of you.
"Enjoy! I'll come back to check on you in a bit."
You turned to look at Timothée. "You know we are going to be the hot gossip for at least the next week, right?" you said playfully.
"Let them talk. There are worse rumors than being spotted with you." He cleared his throat, then popped a French fry in his mouth. "So, was there anything you missed about Tennessee?"
You, you thought automatically. "I eventually came to miss how much simpler things feel here. How life slows down in the woods and the mountains. In LA, everyone is always in a hurry. There is so much traffic. There were so many people, yet it was so lonely. Michael was really my only friend there." You went on, and Timothée listened intently as you provided a high-level retelling of what brought you back.
"...and so I packed up our clothes and a few belongings and drove out here. I got into town about two weeks ago and have been laying low with my tail between my legs." You stared down at your now empty plate in shame.
"Does he stay in touch with Madison?"
"No. He barely saw her after we separated, and he hasn't reached out since we left the state. But she's convinced that he's going to send for her to come live with him once he's settled in his new house in Sacramento with his girlfriend."
He shook his head. "You deserve better than that. SHE deserves better than that." You detected a hint of anger and disgust in his tone.
"Yeah, well, unfortunately, we are both paying the price for my poor decision-making." Your voice was thick with remorse. "She doesn't deserve to pay for my mistakes."
"[Y/N], you can't do that to yourself. You were young. All you can do is make the best of now." Amanda came by and set the check down on the table. You were grateful for her timing because you weren't sure what to say next. Your fingers brushed his as you both reached for the ticket.
"Please, let me get this," he said assertively. "I invited you to join me, remember?" He slid his credit card and the check over to Amanda, whose face was all grin. People were definitely going to hear about this.
You narrowed your eyes with playful scorn. "Fine, as long as you let me get it next time," you rebutted before fully thinking it through.
"Next time, eh?" His eyes lit up as he cocked his head to the side.
You blushed. Whoops. "Umm, yeah, next time. All we talked about was me today. We didn't even get to what you have been up to for the past 10+ years!"
"Fair enough, though that won't take long to tell," Timothée shrugged and signed the receipt after Amanda returned. You both stood and walked out the door to make your way back to the pharmacy parking lot.
"You still have the same truck!" you exclaimed. You jogged the rest of the way and ran your fingers across the emblem on the front. You and he made a lot of...memories...in that truck.
"Yep. Restoring her became somewhat of a hobby when I came back from Texas."
"Texas?" You never knew he left town. From what you remembered, he had never planned on going anywhere, especially not that far.
"A story for another day. Next time, remember?" he smirked.
"Well, maybe we should actually make plans for a next time instead of just hoping we run into each other in town. Here." You handed Timothée your phone. "Plug in your number so we can chat."
This time it was his turn to blush. He took the device from you and called himself. "So I can save your number as well," he offered.
You recognized the digits when you had your phone back in hand. "You never changed your number."
"If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
You laughed softly. "Fair enough."
"Well, I better get going. It was good to see you again, [Y/N]."
Timothée opened his arms for a hug, which you reciprocated. For a moment, all was right in the world with your head on his chest. I missed this. But I can't want this right now, you lectured yourself. You stepped back and gave him space to get into his truck. He rolled down his window to say goodbye once more.
"Tell your folks I said hello, please," you called out over the noise of the engine. His smile fell just briefly.
"You do the same."
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Chapter 4
Masterlist
Tag List: @croatianprincess
#timothée chalamet#timothee chalamet#timothee chalamet x reader#timothée chalamet x reader#timothee chalamet x you#timothée chalamet x you#timothee chalamet fanfiction#timothée chalamet imagine#timothee fanfic#timothee x reader#timothée x reader#reader insert#mom reader#female reader#high school sweethearts#angst#whump#eventual happy ending#single mom#single parent#single parenting
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Part Two of my Mean!Eddie Misunderstandings WIP
You can read Part One Here
CW: The F-slur is used in this once, and it will show up in part three once. It's use is treated with a lot of negative weight with the context of how it is used and who used it (an atagonist that does not physically appear in this story) I do apologize if this language is upsetting to read - it was certainly upsetting to write.
***
"What the fuck Eddie," Mike snarls, he stands up so abruptly his chair nearly topples over.
Dustin is also on his feet the second Harrington disappears into the kitchen, he looks at Eddie once, his expression stormy, before following through the doorway.
Silence has spread over the room, slowly oozing around to fill each nook and cranny, it makes his skin itch as Eddie shifts, he goes to cross his arms over his chest but stops with a roll of his shoulders, he’s cool, a regular fucking cucumber right?
Except Will won't look him in the eyes and Lucas won't stop, he glares at Eddie with open disappointment.
Jeff clears his throat, he meets Eddie's gaze and tilts his head towards the door, as though trying to beam the thought directly into Eddie’s mind, ‘let’s get the fuck out of here before our welcome wears out’.
Eddie nods and both men turn to Gareth, considering he’s their ride it all kind of hinges on him.
Gareth stares straight ahead, pointedly ignoring everyone at the table, he wipes his face roughly with the hand not holding onto his character mini and drops it roughly onto the table.
"Oh what?" Eddie bites out, his chest suddenly fills with hot shame that smothers his heart, "I didn't say anything that wasn't true".
Eddie wants to snatch the words out of the air as soon as they escape, banish them from existence, but they seem to hang in the dining room between him and the kids.
Gareth shakes his head and stands up from his seat, he starts to silently clean up the table, collecting the miniatures and his own papers, Will moves to help while Mike seethes in the corner or the room, his head swivels back and forth from glaring at Eddie and back to the door that Dustin disappeared behind.
"You've been weird all night man," Lucas says harshly, he stands up and makes his way towards the kitchen door which bursts open to reveal a furious Dustin who stomps back into the room and begins collecting his things, haphazardly throwing sheets of notepaper and dice into his backpack --not even bothering to put his dice in the little drawstring cloth bag his mom made him.
"Woah woah woah," Eddie says sharply, he stands, knocking back his chair which scapes loudly against the hardwood floor "what the fuck are you doing Henderson?"
Dustin ignores him and continues packing, he reaches for the miniature that Gareth moved onto the table and stops as Eddie snatches it away from his hand.
Dustin meets Eddie’s gaze, wearing a matching mutinous glare.
“Give it back,” Will interjects with a soft but firm voice, his gaze is unwavering as he stands up and moves towards Dustin’s side of the table. He also has his backpack slung over his shoulder --when the hell did that happen?
“But you--”
“EDDIE,” Gareth shouts, his eyes are wide, face pinched into a grimace.
Gareth takes a second to breathe after the outburst and swallows harshly, ignoring the eyes on him, "I think it's safe to say we aren’t playing tonight man".
The whole night is unraveling around him, everything he planned for the evening, the meticulous character beats he mapped out based on the backstories everyone crafted, the NPC’s he researched at the library -dodging Mrs. Depencier between the stacks before she could try to kick him out.
The homebrew monster, the final boss he had mashed together out of three different beasts in his well worn copy of the monster manual.
He had prepped all of it for tonight, he'd been excited, ready to show off his skills in a new environment, maybe show off a little bit for--
Oh.
Oh fucking hell.
Eddie wants to kick himself. Hard. Repeatedly.
Eddie wanted to see what Steve would think, this was going to be the performance of a lifetime and he had catapulted himself directly into the sun without hesitation.
Tonight had been ruined, mostly by himself --not Steve.
An oily thought creeps in and whispers in his ear, 'so what? It isn't as though King-Steve hadn't ruined plenty of things for you before, your first two senior years were dog shit before people started to forget about the whole--'
Eddie shakes his head harshly and scrubs both hands over his face, the rings catch lightly in his hair and tug as he bring them down.
"I'll call my mom to come get us, I'm sure she'll be happy it's so early," Lucas mumbles before he gets up from his seat and slowly makes his way towards the kitchen door to use the landline. The door swings softly shut with a quiet snick.
The silence in the room is heavy, only punctuated by Mike muttering under his breath to Will and Dustin as he snatches several things from the table and the floor. Lucas eventually reenters the dining room and Mike shoves an armful of note papers and Lucas's Human Cleric character sheet -which has become creased and wrinkled in Mike's frenzy, towards Lucas and Dustin.
"Figure out whose is whose later, let's just go if we're done, I'd rather walk," Mike snarls as he looks over his shoulder at Eddie, Gareth, and Jeff.
"Jesus Mike," Lucas mutters, "gonna have to rewrite this whole thing out now," he pauses as he looks Eddie up and down with narrow eyes, "maybe".
Lucas shakes his head, "anyway, mom is on her way, she's happy to come get us early so she'll drop you guys off, she's taking the van".
Mike nods, the perpetual sneer on his face deepens as he walks towards the hall leading to the front entryway, "I'm waiting outside, are you guys coming or not?"
The kids file out through the hallway, one by one without looking back, leaving Eddie, Jeff,and Gareth standing around the empty dining room table.
They freeze at the sight of a long, deep, scratch in the center of the wood.
Had that been there before?
A pit begins to form in Eddie's stomach, cavernous and deep, he sweats at the sight of it.
"Shit," he whispers, mostly to himself, but Jeff catches it.
"That was there before man," Jeff murmurs, though the conviction isn't quite there, he stares at the table before raising his eyes to look at Gareth, "right?"
"I don't fucking know man," Gareth hisses, he also has his messenger bag now slung across his shoulder.
"I'm not sticking around to get blamed for trashing Harringtons table," Jeff says lowly, he's already backing up towards the hallway leading to the front entrance, "I’m not afraid to take your car Gar, hurry it up," he says before turning on his heel and walking down the hall, Eddie flinches at the sound of the door slamming shut behind them.
Gareth curses under his breath and steps away from the table, “Well,” he huffs, “are you happy?”
Eddie's jaw drops as the words hit him square in the chest, "What? Gar--"
"No," Gareth says sharply, the volume steadily rising as he steps closer to Eddie and jabs a rigid finger into his chest, "are you happy with how this went? Does this finally make you feel better?"
"Cuz, we don't care if you're friends with him or if you hate the guy," Gareth shakes his head once and steps back, away from Eddie's space, "Maybe Jeff does a little bit, but he's just being protective I think".
Gareth waves his arms as though to clear the tangent away, "it doesn't matter, the point is, you're acting like it's still highschool and this," Gareth gestures towards the table, "is fucking mean man".
A car horn beeps from outside startling both of them; Gareth sighs and shrugs the strap on his bag higher up his shoulder as he turns towards the hallway, "so if you want to hate the guy, stop stringing him along, it's bullshit".
Stop stringing him along.
Stringing him along?
The words echo again and again in his head, Eddie feels his chest tighten and grow cold as the words sink in, what the hell was Gareth talking about?
"If you don't want to be his friend just tell the guy, I don't understand what you're doing Ed?" Gareth says with a sigh.
The horn beeps again outside, Gareths eyebrow twitches once and his expression slowly twists from an irritated scowl to something close to murderous.
"Whatever," he huffs angrilly, "are you coming or not? It sounds like Jeff's about two seconds away from grand theft auto, and if he beeps the horn one more time I can't be held responsible for my actions".
Eddie swallows harshly and nods, he steps back from the table, his legs sluggish in their response as he slowly trudges after Gareth.
As Eddie moves through the hall, passing large framed art pieces and not a single family picture, he catches a whiff of something from the kitchen, warm pastry? Something savory he imagines.
Eddie ignores the queasy lurch in his gut at the thought that whatever Steve had made that night didn't even make it past the kitchen.
***
If you had asked Eddie back in highschool to give you his opinion on the social hierarchy of Hawkins High he would give you a fairly general answer.
You had your standard Asshole Jocks, your Narcissist Beauty Queen Cheerleaders, your Nerds with the smaller subsections of Band Geeks and Weirdos - everyone’s seen The Breakfast Club, it’s a no brainer really.
Eddie was quite content to sneer and jeer with the best of them, focusing his ire on the very top, the Asshole Jocks that made it their mission to ruin the lives of anyone they deemed lower than themselves. Billy Hargrove and Tommy Hagan were the original worst of these with Jason Carver following close behind, but Harrington? King-Steve? He was a bit harder to pin down.
For Steve-the-Hair-Harrington, it would be a firm comparison to the grime in between Eddie’s toes after ten laps around the gym in socks he’d worn for three days.
Eddie could admit, if only to himself, that Harrington was certainly aesthetically attractive, with his tanned golden skin dotted with a constellation of moles that Eddie desperately wanted to play Connect the Dots with. The athletics uniform was criminally short, accentuating his long legs and strong thighs. More than once did Eddie ditch gym just to avoid making direct eye-contact with the outline of Harrington’s dick in that green scrap of fabric.
Sue him, man was hot, but he was also a huge asshole.
Harrington was mean, whispering cruel things under his breath to Hagan and Perkins, snickering to himself when he made a particularly cruel observation about Joey MacDonald and his resemblance to a certain fast food clown - it wasn’t even clever given that it was only the kid’s last name, but the nickname followed that boy till he graduated along with the smell of old french fries that people would stuff in his locker between classes. And well, there was one other rumor he started, not that Eddie let it remotely bother him.
Fuck, Highschool kids were the worst.
But, then all of a sudden, here comes Harrington in his junior year with his usually handsome face beaten in and a haunted slump in his shoulders. And whoever had done it pulled no punches. Word around school was that Byers was the one that cleaned Harrington’s clock, over Nancy Wheeler of all people. And not only that, but King-Steve had been dumped by his two best friends, thrown away like an old piece of trash.
Now again, Eddie never really gave much credence to rumors, especially the ones about himself, and given the way Hawkins High seemed to churn out a new rumor every other day this was more than likely an exaggeration. But with Hagan and Perkins giving Harrington a wide berth, and trading off glaring while hiding their kicked puppy expressions in their school books; the whole school watched as they were slowly replaced by Wheeler and Byers who encircled King-Steve, Ex-King now, with equally haunted expressions. It was even harder to argue with the evidence starring Eddie in the face.
They made absolutely no sense together, especially Byers; the three of them sitting at lunch in their own little world, with Harrington slowly slipping down the rungs and onto the bottom of the social ladder.
What on earth did Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers even have in common with someone like Steve Harrington?
Eddie hardly ever saw Harrington around school after that, if he did he was mostly alone or followed around by a gaggle of children from the Junior High down the street that followed him around like puppies. To think of Harrington and kids in the same sentence, that the former King had lowered himself to the likes of babysitting a bunch of brats - it was…weird to say the least.
Especially given how Eddie knew who Steve was. Harrington wasn’t soft, he wasn’t kind, he was a bully and a thug with a glass jaw, the worst kind of pathetic that ever graced their shitty highschool halls and Fuck Him for doing the one thing that Eddie couldn’t even do.
Eddie would be repeating his senior year while the Ex-King asshole left it all behind him.
God dammit.
It wasn’t really until Chrissy Cunninham died in his uncle’s trailer that cool March evening all of four months ago that he even had an excuse to be in the same room as the ousted monarch - if you could count pressing a jagged bottle to Steve’s pretty throat and pressing his lithe frame into the corrugated aluminum wall of Rick’s boathouse.
And Steve? Rumor spreading, ex-King, Asshole Jock, Steve Harrington, was not all that bad as it turned out? Eddie couldn’t really keep the thread of his arguments about Harrinton as Eddie was carried out through the last remaining portal out of the Upside Down, nestled safely in Steve’s arms.
The son of a bitch.
Suddenly, Steve is everywhere, chauffeuring the kids to the arcade, visiting Eddie in the hospital, bringing Wayne food to the trailer --because of course he likes to cook apparently? And Wayne just loves him, won’t shut up about, ‘that Harrington boy and his thoughtful casserole’, and ‘when’s the next time you’re going to bring that Harrington kid by?’
Then it’s movie nights with the kids, and Nancy, Jonathan, Robin, and Argyle, smoke sessions in the Byers backyard, pool days when the weather finally warms enough for the kids to jump in. God help him, Harrington is showing off even more skin than Eddie would like during these pool days, his little moles spread over the planes of his back and legs. Steve has more scars than Eddie remembers from the highschool Varsity swim meets but he’s not complaining.
Stupid handsome jock.
Eddie feels like he’s gone crazy, like he’s the only one that feels this way, as if he’d been dropped into an alternate universe where everything was the same except for Steve Harrington.
And given the fact that alternate dimensions actually exist, well, this theory is not actually that outlandish.
Especially because Steve was…nice okay? He was nice. Eddie had it right the first time when they were walking around that creepy Upside Down forrest, even if he hadn't fully believed it at the time, the words were apparently true.
Well they were true now anyway.
Steve was sweet, he was funny, he cared so so much, the kids loved him, and Eddie couldn't quite get the sound of Steve's musical laugh out of his head, or the way his hazel eyes crinkled in the corners when he smiled--
Fuck.
Steve was also best friends with Robin --someone Eddie knows that Steve would never have given the time of day back in highschool and the two are practically soulmates now.
Eddie was fairly certain they weren’t dating because he’s also fairly certain he clocked Robin the same way she had clocked him after their second shared joint a few months back.
She hasn't said anything but there was no mistaking the way her eyes trailed to the bandana in his back pocket and the way his own eyes landed on the little homemade pink triangle patch on her messenger bag.
And the way she had smiled at him after, it was small but the understanding and the feeling of being seen left him warm in a way he hadn't felt around a lot of people other than Wayne, Gareth, and Jeff.
And then, of course, Steve had to go and ruin everything, offering up his own home for the next Hellfire club meeting.
If it hadn’t meant Steve actually spending more than five minutes in passing with Jeff and Gareth it probably wouldn’t have been so stressful.
And like the proverbial cherry on top, it had all blown up in his face.
The kids were actively avoiding him now, dodging his calls and making excuses about why they were busy, ranging from Will needing to help Jane with some kind of project she'd been working on, or Lucas citing babysitting duty for Erica --after having met Lady Applejack this was not as believable but Eddie let it go.
Mike would grumble, clearly going off a script of some sort to keep his friends appeased, but with the lazy excuse of just being 'busy'. And, Mike being Mike, he'd follow it up with an ever so kind, 'get your head out of your asshole man, Will was our DM before and he'd have no problem picking up where we left off'.
And didn't that sting just a bit?
Dustin just refused to engage with Eddie, repeating the phrase, 'if you have a problem with Steve then you have one with me,' or the more eloquent, 'get bent'.
Gareth wasn't much better. The last time Eddie was able to get him on the phone he’d told him to call when ‘his personal shit stopped interfering with Hellfire,’ and to, ‘get his head out of his ass sometime’.
He and Mike needed to hang out more apparently.
It sucked, especially with how icy the kids have been towards him. Even Max, who must had heard about it all from Lucas, had taken it upon herself to avenge their babysitter, smearing mud on the front window of his van and writing, DICK, in bright red lipstick letters on every single side window. Eddie would be impressed if he wasn’t the one that had to clean it up.
Jeff has been fairly tight lipped about it all, not really siding with Gareth or the kids, he and Eddie would still jam together but it wasn’t the same without their drummer.
Without Hellfire or his band to practice with, Eddie is bored, which is never a good thing in his experience, and has time and time again led him to disaster.
Which is how Eddie finds himself outside Family Video.
Eddie sits in his van for nearly twenty minutes before he ventures inside, scanning the windows relentlessly for any sign of Harrington or Buckley. It's the middle of the day on Tuesday, Keith is usually in on weekdays so he should be fine, what are the chances that the source of his recent frustrations would be working today of all days.
Apparently pretty high.
The bell dings above Eddie as he swings the door open and the smell of stale popcorn hits him in the face as he steps over the threshold, there's no one at the counter --not a great sign since Keith usually posts up with a comic or a magazine up front so he can still look busy while watching for shoplifters.
But it's fine, there's absolutely no sign of either of the Wonder Twins, it's fine.
Eddie takes another step and sees Jonathan and Argyle just behind the New Releases shelf, they've each got a tape in hand and seem to be arguing about which one they should go with.
Argyle spies Eddie first and waves jovially from their spot behind the shelf, Jonathan's gaze follows Argyle's and he lifts his hand in a half hearted wave, and jeez, tell a guy how you really feel, Eddie thinks to himself.
"What's up brochacho, how's it hangin'?" Argyle calls out as Eddie makes his way over with a smile, he ignores the stiffness in Jonathan’s posture and tries to focus on Argyle’s friendly grin.
"Eh," Eddie hums, throwing his hands in his back pockets, "can't complain too much, when you've literally been to Hell it puts things into perspective".
Argyle nods and opens his mouth to say something when another voice joins them from behind Eddie.
"If you're here to rent something, hurry up and get out," Robin growls nearly in his ear.
Eddie flinches and turns around to face her, he almost stumbles backwards at the furious expression on her freckled face. Robin's blue eyes flash and pierce his own, her mouth stretches into a blunt line across her face. Robin's arms cross over her chest, covering her name tag and the 'Ask me for Help' button, she seems to stand taller than her actual height and Eddie feels as though he's somehow managed to shrink down to two inches tall.
"Hey hey miss Birdy, got any recommendations for a Friday night smoke sesh?" Argyle says warmly, if he's aware of the tension in the room he doesn't show it.
"Monty Python, two rows over on the left," Robin mutters, her eyes never once leaving Eddie's face.
"Choice pick, we got our movie man," Argyle crows to Jonathan as he puts back the Ferris Bueller tape and makes his way down the stacks.
Jonathan's eyes flick between Eddie and Robin, he hesitates for just a moment before following after Argyle and leaving Eddie to his fate.
"Okay listen--"
"No you listen," Robin snarls, stepping into his space and shoving a rigid pointer finger into his chest, "I don't know what you're problem is but if you're going to be an asshole, you can show yourself out before I do it for you".
Eddie bristles slightly and lifts his hand to push hers away, "you talk to all of your customers like this Buckley?"
Robin scoffs and steps back, as though reminded that they are in fact in public, "rent something then or get out," she bites out, turning on her heel and walking away to meet Argyle and Jonathan at the checkout.
Eddie feels his face twist into a fierce frown, he can't even rent movies in peace now without this thing hanging over his head, he hadn't even said anything that bad, this was getting ridiculous.
The bell dings as Argyle and Jonathan leave, Argyle waves again, which Eddie returns unenthusiastically before stalking into the horror section in three strides. He snatches Children of the Corn off the shelf and stomps up to the desk. Robin's scowl matches his own as he reaches back to grab his wallet from the back pocket and --its not there.
Eddies stomach plummets into the bottom of his shoes, he can see if in his minds eye on the desk in his bedroom, it's not even in the van where he could easily run and grab it, Shit.
"What?" Robin grumbles as Eddie opens and closes his mouth silently, cursing his own stupidity and the rapid flush creeping up his own neck.
"Robin, I organized the back room, I still don't think that was really on the list but --oh!" Steve says as he walks towards them from the back of the store, a half door swings back and forth in his wake below a tiny hand written Employee's Only sign above the doorway.
Steve looks between the two of them, his face jumping through several expressions before settling on something carefully neutral, blank in a way Eddie hates.
"Hey Eddie," Steve says in that phoney cheerful customer service voice he made fun of just a few short weeks ago, Eddie remembers leaning over the counter and teasing Steve about it just to watch his ears turn pink.
But now they're here, and Steve is actually giving him the customer voice, like that's all he is now.
Fuck.
"I uh," Eddie mumbles, hating the way he can feel his own face heat up, he wants the floor to swallow him up, banish him to the Underdark, "I was going to grab this, but I forgot my wallet, forget it".
Robin smiles, almost triumphantly, and moves to lean against the front of the counter. Her left leg kicks out to cross in front of her right leg at the ankle, looking like the proverbial cat that caught the canary, Eddie hates her for just a moment.
"Its fine man," Steve hums, he takes the tape gently from Eddie's hands and walks around the counter to get to the computer, he starts typing and scans the movie before sliding it across the counter towards Eddie. Robin frowns and nearly stumbles in her attempt to move around to where Steve is standing.
"Steve," Robin hisses at him when she sees the computer screen, worry lines etch deep across her forehead and her mouth does this weird little wobble before creasing into a frown.
"Uh, seriously dude," Eddie mumbles, "I don't have my wallet and I don't have any change on me--"
"Don't worry about it," Steve says smoothly without missing a beat, "Rob and I get free rentals once a month, just take mine".
Eddies eyebrows rise slowly into the wispy bangs covering his forehead as Robin tisks loudly from beside Steve,
"What, just like that?" he says slowly, the words stick to his tongue which all of a sudden feels as though it's three times too big for his own mouth. Why the fuck was Harrington being so nice to him, like the other night didn't matter at all.
"Yup," Steve says simply, he doesn't pop the 'p' like he used to, and his face is so neutral and smooth. It's not back to their normal after all, but what was he expecting, nothing was.
"Anything else we can do? I gotta get back to rewinding the tapes," Steve says as he jerks his thumb towards the back room again.
Steve hesitates for a second, he's still facing Eddie and looks as though he's on the verge of saying something, his large hazel eyes dart back and forth between Eddies own for a moment, before he lifts his right hand to roughly pinch at the bridge of his nose once before the hand sweeps into his hair, pushing it away from his face.
Robin, who had been watching them like a far more predatory bird than her namesake, steps closer and knocks into Steve's shoulder gently.
"Remember, they are organized and outnumber us like 200 to one," she barks, saluting him with her left hand, "don't rewind till you see the whites of their tape cases".
Steve's blank expression cracks with a small smile, he reaches up to switch out her left hand with her right and then draws himself up to his full height.
Steve squares his shoulders, "if the tapes claim me, don't be a hero Buckley, remember me fondly".
She snorts and shakes her head as he brushes past her, Steve looks over his shoulder once at Eddie before disappearing into the back once more.
Eddie watches him leave, the Children of the Corn clutched in his hands so tightly he's almost worried the plastic will warp, he misses Robin silently siddle up next to him and nearly jumps a foot in the air as she speaks.
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," Robin growls softly before she sweeps over to the push cart filled with returns and walks it over to the closest shelf, pointedly ignoring him.
Eddie huffs out an irritated sigh but feels his shoulders slowly deflate on their own as he trudges back towards the entrance, the bell rings once again as he steps outside into the mid afternoon sun.
Gravel crunches underneath Eddie's ratty chucks as he heads towards the van, stopping in his tracks when he spots Jonathan leaning against the driver's side door.
"Uh, hey Byers?"
Jonathan waves again before crossing his arms, he's glaring at the ground as though it personally offended him. Eddie looks around, letting his eyes trail over the other cars in the lot.
"Where's your partner in crime?" Eddie asks carefully, he knows Argyle wouldn't have just left without Jonathan.
Jonathan waves his hand towards the convenience store at the end of the parking lot, "he's grabbing snacks, he should be back soon," Jonathan shugs and settles back against the van.
It's awkward, Eddie can count the number of times he and Jonathan have hung out on one hand, he's seen Argyle way more, sharing trade secrets and sampling some grade A California Kush while he's at it.
But Eddie and Jonathan, he's got nothing.
"Sooo," Eddie hums, dragging out the syllable as he steps towards Jonathan and leans against the van beside him, "you here to yell at me too?"
Jonathan scoffs and shakes his head, but his arms do tighten a fraction around his midsection, hah, gotcha.
"No, but honestly dude, if Nancy and I have to hear the kids bitch and moan one more time about whatever the hell is going on between you and Harrington," he shakes his head and snorts.
Eddie bristles slightly but nods, "Yeah Mike's got a mouth on him huh?"
"So," Jonathan starts and immediately shuts his mouth with a snap and a grimace. He seems to steady himself before meeting Eddie's gaze, it's unnerving.
"Fuck it, look," Jonathan snaps, he turns to face Eddie, "I'm not the biggest fan of Harrington myself, but we’re not going out of our way to see each other and if you're going to do this kind of thing I'd prefer if Will wasn't in the same room," Jonathan scrubs a tired hand over his face, "he was pretty upset the other night, said you were a prick to Dustin too".
And that Eddie can't even defend, he bites the inside if his cheek and nods again, letting his arms wrap around himself tightly, it's such little comfort that it leaves him feeling cold despite the midafternoon heat and glaring sunshine.
"What's going on man?" Jonathan says softly this time, he's still facing Eddie but has leaned back slightly.
"You remember how shitty Hawkins high was right?" Eddie says after a beat, the words barely escape between his teeth, but someone else needs to know.
Jonathan doesn't say anything but he nods once, a dark look crosses over his face momentarily before disappearing.
"And I'm sure you heard some of the rumours that were going around about me," Eddie rubs his hand across his nose, "that whole place was a fucking gossip factory, I know most -if not all of it was bullshit, but".
Fuck.
He doesn't even know how to say it.
"Harrington told everyone I was a," he swallows roughly, the word catches in his throat as though covered in barbs, "a…fag, and that my parents kicked me out after my dad tried to kill me, that was the reason I was living with Wayne".
Eddie stares, unseeing, at the ground, he hears a sharp intake of breath but keeps going.
"And now," he breathes out, hating the way it catches slightly in his throat, "I don't know how to feel about him, I'm so fucking angry about it, but he's so God Damn nice now, it's like whiplash".
"The worst part is," Eddie continues, breathing deeply through his nose, his eyes start to burn, fuck, he doesn't want to do this here, "I don't even know if he remembers, that's what makes me so angry".
Eddie barks out a wet laugh, "that it made me a target, and for him it was nothing".
Jonathan is quiet for a moment, staring past Eddie with a pensive expression, "when did this happen?" he says softly.
"I don't know man," Eddie sighs, he brings a hand up to press into his eyes until stars explode across his vision, they come away wet.
"It was one of my senior years, the first go around, why?"
"Because," Jonathan urges, his voice uncharacteristically harsh, "I heard Billy Hargrove say that, like word for word, at Tina's Halloween party, and that was like two years ago".
Eddie remembers Billy Hargrove. Though Billy and Tommy were both assholes, Billy was the actual scary one of the pair.
Eddie remembers that party too. He had made some decent money that night, posting up in the backyard, letting his drunk classmates come to him. Eddie had even wandered inside a few times to grab a beer or two before leaving, no one had really bothered him that night, granted it seemed hard to shake that Mullet wearing psychos flinty gaze, but if he thinks hard about it enough, everything changed after that night.
Eddie stops breathing, it takes almost a full minute for him to really catch up to what Jonathan is saying, "but, but I thought for sure…" he stammers, voice tight.
"Eddie," Jonathan says, the gentle tone back as looks him in the eye, "Steve spent that whole night babysitting Nancy. It was a whole thing, he left early too because they had a big fight".
Jonathan takes a deep breath, and blows it slowly through his nose, it releases the rigid line of tension in Byers shoulders. His dark eyes scan Eddie's face before he sighs again and stuffs his hands into his pockets.
"I'm not trying to defend the guy, he was a prick in high school, but if you've been blaming him for spreading that shit around, I think you have the wrong guy".
Eddie's is racing, he feels as though he's underwater and sinking deeper, his vision narrowing to a single point of light just above him. His lungs shudder as he tries to catch his breath.
"Hey, slow down and breathe man," Jonathan murmurs, a worried grimace pulls at his mouth as his head swivels to and fro, scanning the parking lot. Jonathan reaches to put a warm hand on Eddie's shoulder, "you're going to make yourself pass out".
"I'm good man, I'm fine," Eddie bites out. He shifts and straightens his back, stepping away from Jonathan and the van, he nearly stumbles in his efforts to move.
Jonathan leans back with both hands raised in front of him in, ready to steady the metal-head if needed, his eyes dart across Eddie's face with wary concern.
"Relax Byers," Eddie breathes out as he takes another step away. He looks back towards the Family Video, in case they've drawn an audience by now.
He can see Steve and Robin through the window, they're both at the counter, their backs are turned--thankfully.
Robin has one hand on Steve's back as she gestures emphatically away from herself with the other, he's nodding but his whole posture has drooped, wilted like an old flower.
Eddie feels his heart clench again at the sight. Fuck.
"Hey man, mind getting off my van? I have to make a call".
***
Eddie races home, the old breaks squeal and the engine shudders as he turns abruptly into the gravel drive just ahead of their new government issued trailer.
Though it didn't have the same feel as their old trailer, the notches on the bathroom doorway to track his height over the years replaced by pristine white paint, the spaghetti stain on the ceiling from Eddies first ambitious attempts to make Wayne dinner replaced by the same stark whiteness. Wayne was able to save some of their photos and Eddie's favorite Dio poster, it helped a little bit remind them of their former home, but it wasn’t quite the same.
For all it lacked, at least the ceilings were whole, with no sign of the horrific death Eddie had witnessed just a few short months ago.
Eddie turns off the engine and unbuckles himself as he opens the door and steps out of the van. The feel of gravel and grass under his feet is grounding, but he still feels as though he might fly apart at any moment.
His uncle's pickup is still out front; Eddie winces at his own park job and considers getting back in the van to try again --his uncle will have to swing wide just to get around him for work at this point, but there's an itch in Eddie's brain. He has to talk to Gareth, make sense of this.
Eddie makes his way inside, Wayne isn't in the living room or kitchen based on his quick scan, he barely manages to close the front door behind him in his haste to get to the phone.
Eddie hears the main bathroom fan and Wayne humming tunelessly to himself, he figures he probably has at least half an hour to use the phone undisturbed.
Eddie snatches the phone off the base hung on the wall beside their Kit-Cat Klock, he immediately wraps his fingers in the cord and dials Gareths number. It rings again and again, fuck.
"Hello?"
"Gareth, don't hang up!" Eddie struggles to keep the shout out of his voice, he wraps and unwraps his hands in the phone cord, tangling his fingers nervously as a long sigh crackles over the line.
"What man?" Gareth huffs, impatience saturates the words and Eddie can't keep his own bottled up for even a moment longer.
"I fucked up," Eddie whispers, "I fucked up Gar," he untagles his one hand long enough to sweep it up into his hair, pulling it away from his face.
He can hear the rustle of cloth and movement over the handset as Gareth breathes out a soft and confused, 'what,' on the other side but once the words start Eddie can't seem to contain them any longer.
"I don't know what to do," he says, his voice pitched in a low whine, "I spent so long absolutely convinced that Harrington was the one who put that target on my back in highschool, that he was the one who spread all those rumors".
Eddie begins to pace, two steps forward, and two steps back, he's too caught up in the phone cord to move much further around the kitchen but he feels the need to channel his frenetic energy somewhere.
"But he didn't, I just," Eddie swallows and removes his hand from his hair to press roughly into his eyes once more, "I just assumed".
Gareth says nothing, the only reason Eddie knows he's still there is the fact that the call hasn't cut out to a dial tone.
"I think, I think ruined it Gar, I don't know how to fix this, i think we could have been friends…"
A scoff bursts over the line and Eddie flinches at the sudden sound.
"Sorry, but Eddie, this is exactly what I was talking about".
Gareth sighs loudly and shifts again, "don't think it was just Jeff that was confused and maybe even a little angry that you started hanging out with the guy, but we thought, 'well, if Eddie forgave him, and wants to be his friend then we can deal,'" Gareth hesitates for a beat before speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully.
"If he did or didn't do it wasn't the issue Ed, you can't have it both ways. You can't try and be with the guy, lead him on like that, and hang on to this grudge, you'd just be hurting yourself and Steve more".
Eddie feels himself pale as he freezes in the middle of his pacing, he swallows hard but manages to keep his grip on the phone steady.
"I dont--you keep saying that--" he stutters, ignoring the cold feeling that settles in his gut.
"Eddie, come on, we have eyes in our heads, we didn't care that you liked guys, we don't care that you have a thing for Harrington -well I mean, Jeff might but he'd get over it if you asked him to".
Eddie feels his heart climb into his throat and nods once before remembering Gareth isn't actually there in person, he cradles the phone to his cheek and whispers, "I know".
"So fix it," Gareth says softly, "I don't know why you're talking to me, it sounds like you already know what you have to do".
"For what it's worth," Gareth says with a sigh and Eddie can hear the small smile in his voice this time, "I do think he's changed since highschool, and I am glad that he wasn't the one who said those things about you, it'll make my shovel talk a little easier anyway".
Eddie barks out a laugh that comes out a little wet, "thanks man," he mumbles into the receiver.
"Anytime, now get off the line, I gotta break the news to Jeff, he'll need time to digest".
Eddie laughs and hangs up the phone after a soft, 'goodbye you dick,' and turns to see Wayne leaning against the entrance to the kitchen watching him with a raised eyebrow and a stern expression.
"So, you finally gonna fix what's had you moping around here for the last couple o' days?" Wayne asks, his voice is casual but there's a glint in his brown eyes, so like Eddie's own, that puts him on edge.
Eddie winces and runs his hand through his curls towards the back to cradle his head, he hesitates as Wayne tilts his head slightly, waiting for his normally talkative nephew to speak.
After another beat Wayne sighs and pushes himself off the doorway, he steps into the kitchen and makes his way to the cupboard to pull out his favorite Indiana Pacers mug. Wayne busies himself with the kettle, while Eddie sweats by the phone.
"Uh, how much did you hear of that?" Eddie says eventually, he picks at the skin on his fingers and shifts his weight from foot to foot.
Wayne tilts his head to the side to look over his shoulder at Eddie as he adds two scoops of instant coffee into the empty mug while the water starts to boil.
"Well, it sounds like you and Harrington had something of a misunderstanding, that why he hasn't been 'round here with that famous lasagna of his?"
Eddie huffs out a laugh and rolls his eyes, "I guess you could say that," he chews on his lip roughly for a moment before releasing it, "I just don't know how to even start Wayne".
His uncle hums at that, flicking the stove burner off just as the kettle begins to hiss and whine, he pulls it off the metal coils and pours a helping of water into his awaiting mug before putting the kettle on the farthest burner to cool back down. He picks up the spoon he had used to scoop the instant coffee and stirs thoughtfully, allowing the metal to clink and clang against the chipped ceramic.
"Have you thought to just talk to him? Harrington seems like a good kid, I doubt he's holding a grudge--"
"I was mean Wayne, I was a dick in front of the kids," Eddies breathing picks up as he continues to speak, "they all hate me right now, they won't talk to me, and I kind of hate me a little bit right now and--"
Eddie stops talking as Wayne crosses the kitchen and pulls him into a fierce hug. He lets himself sink into it.
Wayne had always been somewhat easy going with affection, doling out hugs and pats on the back, but ever since Eddie had been discharged from the hospital Wayne seemed hyper aware of the need for comfort without being asked.
"If you're sorry then tell him, and if he doesn't want to hear it then you let him be, either he'll forgive you or he won't," Wayne's voice rumbles through his chest, he feels the hug begin to loosen as Wayne leans away to catch his eye once more, "sounds like the kids might be owed their own apology but you can do that after Harrington, what do we do when make mistakes?"
"We fix em," Eddie whispers, he feels lighter, lighter than he has since Gareth drove him and Jeff home in stony silence that fateful night.
"Damn right, now go on, if I have to miss another one of those damn casseroles you're gonna owe me an apology".
***
The drive isn't long but waiting for the approximate time that he figured Steve would be home was absolute torture, he even let Wayne fix him his own cup of instant coffee -how his uncle could drink that stuff was beyond Eddie but the warmth of the cup was grounding as time ticked by.
Eddie waited until six, figuring that would be the safest bet after a day shift, worst case scenario he'd go home and try again tomorrow if the house was empty.
A small anxious part of him hoped it would be.
The lights are on when he pulls up to the house, and Steve's beemer is in the driveway.
Okay, he could do this, all he had to do was go up to the door.
Eddie shuts the engine off, tapping out a nervous rhythm on the steering wheel as he grabs his keys and pops open his van door.
Eddie breathes in deeply through his nose and releases it slowly through mouth as he steps onto the walkway to the front door. The porch light is on despite the sun sitting high in the sky.
Eddie hesitates as he reaches the dark red double doors, all he has to do is raise his hand to ring the bell or knock, but he's frozen suddenly, his heart beats a wild staccato in his chest and that feeling of slowly sinking under water from earlier is back.
Eddie shakes his head, he faced down feral demon bats, and trudged through a poisonous forest to help hunt down Vecna, he could do this!
The door in front of him suddenly opens of its own accord revealing Steve’s frantic and confused face.
Shit.
***
Thank you everyone! There will be a part three that will finally have some comfort for all this whump and angst!! (I PROMISE!)
Taglist: @zerokrox-blog @samcoxramblings @thosemessyvibes @liketheocean @vampireinthesun @themostunoriginalpersonever @merricatty
(I hope these tags work and if I missed you I'm so sorry!!)
Continue with Part Three Here
#afewproblemswrites#platonic stobin#protective robin#let robin protect steve for once#this got real long ngl#I broke up part two so that part three could be more cohesive#part three will also be back to steve's perspective#billy hargrove is an asshole#homophobic language#f slur cw#f slur tw#eddie is having a rough go of things#I'm just putting these two THROUGH IT#hurt steve harrington#hurt eddie munson#part three will not take as long I promise!#eventual happy ending#i promise that too#good uncle wayne#we love a protective and wise uncle wayne in this house
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https://archiveofourown.org/works/52644010
‘Dissonance Theory’ by teddywesworl - one of my favorite steddie fics i’ve read recently, such a cool take on an AI/sci-fi AU and a really fun reminder of how much i loved season 1 of Westworld
Dissonance Theory by colossalflea, teddywesworl
Rating: Explicit
29,769 words, 4/4 chapters
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence
Tags: Androids, Cowboy Steve Harrington, Android Steve Harrington, Technician Eddie Munson, Alternate Universe - Westworld Fusion, Westworld Spoilers, Don't Have to Know Westworld Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Existential Crisis, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Past Sexual Assault, Mild Gore, Eventual Happy Ending, Knifeplay, Blood Kink, Painplay, Masochism, Blow Jobs, Deepthroating, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Under-negotiated Kink, Light Dom/sub, Sub Eddie Munson, HBO canceled Westworld so it's my city now, Dom Steve Harrington
Summary:
In the most exclusive luxury attraction on Earth, Steve Harrington follows a scripted loop of violence and cruelty. He’s the spoiled son of a rancher. He’s a black hat villain for guests to feel good about killing, over and over again. He’s malfunctioning, and repair techs Eddie Munson and Robin Buckley have to figure out why he hesitates to fire his gun.
OR: Steve is an android built to entertain rich shitheads in an Old West-themed amusement park, and Eddie is one of the techs who puts him back together after he gets shot. Did you really think teddywesworl wouldn’t write a Westworld AU?
Thanks for the rec!
This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is alternate universes.
Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie#steddie fic recs#stranger things#sci fi#westworld fusion#cowboy au#android au#tw grap#eventual happy ending#smut#westworld
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Day 10 Prompt: Theories
Chapter 41: Deals with devils
Summary: Azriel finds out about the deal, Rhys makes a plan, the wards are cleaved again as Elain finds out what to do. Plus, an ultra sweet Gwyn and Azriel scene.
A Court of Blooms and Blades (123331 words) by antipinkkitten
Chapters: 42/50
Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Crescent City Series - Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra, Elain Archeron/Azriel, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Azriel/Gwyneth Berdara
Characters: Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra, Azriel (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Rhysand (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Feyre Archeron, Gwyneth Berdara
Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Rejection, Eventual Smut, POV Multiple, Mating Bond, Heartbreak, Break Up, Healing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy
#gwynriel weeks 2024#pro gwynriel#acotar#elucien#romance#elain archeron#multiple povs#pro elain#eventual happy ending#eventual smut#gwynriel#gwyneth berdara#pro gwyn#gwyn x azriel#elain x lucien#sjm books#sjm universe#sjmaas#maasverse
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LOVE CONFESSIONS IN THE DARK.
BRADLEY "ROOSTER" BRADSHAW X FEM!READER
summary you've been tasked to grab your clean clothes from the laundry room during a storm. little do you know, a certain someone has a similar task.
cw ANGST, but it's the last time. FLUFF. kind of bad writing. storms, thunder, the dark. feelings!!! miscommunication fr, definitely not how the navy operates, but idc. NON-DESCRPTIVE READER. TELL ME IF I MISSED ANYTHING.
a/n THE LONG AWAITED LAST PT3 IS HEREEEE. im feeling kind of...weird about the ending. i like it, but i dont love it. i hope you peeps enjoy it, though!! sorry for taking so long to write and post it :/
masterlist | taglist
Sunday noon came around quicker than you wanted it. You'd slept until eleven and elected to stay in bed until it was time to eat. When that time came, you ate Penny's homemade burritos that Nix had sneaked in without the boys seeing.
The two of you ate in your bed and then laid back down. Phoenix was literally on top of you, her hands supporting her head. If Hangman were to walk in now, he'd never let her live this down. Badass Nix with messy bed hair, practically cuddling her heartbroken friend. It was a rare sight.
"I'm exhausted, Nix. I wish I'd never opened my goddamn mouth." You sighed, rubbing your temples.
You were tired. After your confession, you raced back here, flopped under the covers and cried, much like the night before. You wanted to take everything back—every word, movement and facial expression. Rooster hated you, and that was the only way you could get close to him—the hatred—but now you've shattered that wall.
He doesn't like me. I ruined whatever connection we had. Fuck that stupid mouth of mine. Why did I have to react so poorly both times? He's not mine. I want him to be mine. No. Yes. Fucking hell, this headache. Can't we go back to normal—our normal? That has been your train of thoughts for God knows how long, and it was seriously tiring you out.
"Everything will work out for you. Rooster is full of surprises," Phoenix responded reassuringly.
You looked at her weirdly. "What kind of fucking riddle is that? Have you lost your mind?"
She just laughed, sitting up. "Shut up. I know what I'm saying."
You were about to reply when the screech of the bunkroom door caught your attention. "Oh my God!" Fanboy shouted, closing the door again. "Am I interrupting something?"
You snorted. "Have you never heard of knocking?" You yelled back.
"What are you doing on top of each other, man?" He sounded traumatised. You giggled.
"None of your business!"
"Whatever, man. I came in to tell you it's going to storm real hard soon. Prepare for a blackout."
"Okay, thanks!" You hear the shuffling of feet moving away from your door and groan.
Phoenix makes a move to stand up. As if she knows what you're thinking, she speaks up. "I'm not going."
"Oh, please, Nix! You know how much I hate it down there! Especially if it's storming out," you whine but to no avail.
"You're in the Navy, for Christ's sake. And it's a quick job. Go in, grab the clothes, and come back. I already put them in the dryer. You only have to fetch them."
You groan but get up as well, blindly searching for your phone and earbuds. If you were going in that dark, scary laundry room, you'd at least do it your way. And who's a better companion than Taylor Swift?
—
It was early in the evening when all lights shut off. The heater in your room stopped groaning, and you concluded that the expected blackout was happening now. Nix was sleeping in her bunk above you, and you sighed. You'd put off going to the laundry room in hopes of Natasha changing her mind, but there was no way you were getting out of it now.
You really didn't want to face Bradshaw, and there was a big chance you would in the hallways. Unfortunately for you, no one has invented time travel yet, so you're destined to bump into him at some point. You work together, for fuck's sake. It's impossible to ignore him forever.
So, you gather yourself, put a hoodie over your t-shirt with the nearest civilian shoes, and plug your earphones before pressing play on Taylor Swift and blindly find the door. The backup generator is up and running, for the hallway lights are on.
A few people are conversing and leaning on their bedroom doors. Some greet you with a nod and a smile, and you shoot them one back, ducking your head so as not to be spotted by your friends—who are likely hanging out with Rooster.
You arrive at the laundry room and immediately get to work. There's no one else in here, and it's cold. You feel like a child, shivering in fear as if a ghost will pop up from a corner. The music is blasting, and you're grateful, for the eeriness of this place makes you jumpy. Fuck, it's so dark.
Unbeknownst to you, Bradley was also on laundry duty. He'd put it off as much as he could, even paying Hangman to do it once. He hated the silence in that freezing room and how far away it was from everyone.
So, here he was, trying to walk as quietly as possible; so no admiral ghosts pop up to scare him. Lucky for him, he only had to put them in the bin, press a few buttons and be out of there in seconds.
He's startled when he sees you. Well, he spots your back, but he knows it's you. The unmistakable Taylor Swift tune reaches his ears. Bradley leans against the doorframe, watching as you bop your head and slightly move your hips while you hum the lyrics.
He chuckles. Your undying love for the singer was the cause for your callsign, although not many people knew that. You made up a story about how quick you're in the air—that's why people call you that. But he knows.
And he loves his knowledge over that little detail about you because it's so significant. Bradley loves memorising things about you—from how you struggle to french braid your hair to how you like Heineken beer more than Corona because you don't like the stupid connection it has to Fast and Furious.
I miss you. The words are on the tip of Rooster's lips, but he doesn't dare say them. He wanted to give you space and time to rethink your words because—surprise, surprise—he's been in love with you for God-knows-how long. And he wants you to love him back, truly, but he doesn't want to freak you out. So, he'll gladly settle with watching you dance to Taylor while trying to hide the fond smile taking over his features.
A loud crack of thunder startles the both of you. The place goes completely black. Bradley moves off the doorframe, but you drop the half-filled basket with a gasp. A soft fuck escapes your lips, and Bradley decides to close the distance between you and help.
His hands look for your waist, wanting to help you up. He hadn't thought about how isolated you were from the world. You don't have time to move away from the hands circling around you, and a yelp escapes your lips when you hit something solid. One earbud falls off in the process.
You fight to move away and swat the person—God, please let it be a person and not an actual fucking ghost—with a shirt. You cry for it to get away, but the arms find your waist again while the person hushes you.
Bradley. It's Bradley. He's holding you tightly, shushing you, and you gulp deep breaths, trying to calm down. Your heart beat fast from what has happened, and because holy shit, Bradley Bradshaw is holding you.
You have to move away—your skin is on fucking fire. So much for ignoring him.
You push him, turning on your phone's torch. "What the fuck, Bradshaw? I almost had a heart attack." You hit him with the shirt you're still holding.
"I didn't mean to scare you. I was here to do my laundry, but the lights went out." He leaves out the part where he watched you dance. "I heard your basket fall, and I wanted to help."
And suddenly, oxygen is no longer making its way to your lungs, and your whole body is tense. Bradley is right here, in front of you, staring at you with his hands on his hips. And he also knows how you really feel about him. He has to go now.
"You, uh, you can go do your thing," you stutter, pushing your hair out of your face, your eyes never finding his. "I'll finish this on my own."
"No." It's nothing but a statement. "I'm not leaving you all alone down here."
Your heart warms, and the corner of your mouth lifts oh-so-slightly.
"Aren't you doing your laundry?"
"Fuck that. I'll do it tomorrow."
"Alright." You get back to picking your clothes out of the bin.
The silence between you lies somewhere between tense and comfortable. You feel at ease with Rooster here, knowing that no harm will come to you before him, but you can't help but feel awkward since he knows about your feelings now. The lights turn back on, and you have to make your blush disappear before he notices.
You ignore how your stomach turns—butterflies and anxiety—and close the washing machine bin's door when you finish. Well, you at least try to. The door won't latch, making you look like an idiot pushing the washing machine for no reason.
"Here, let me help." Oh my fucking God.
Rooster is hovering above you now, his hand replacing yours. He pushes the machine's door hard, and you hear the satisfying click.
You can feel his breath down your shoulder, but you try not to tense. Your head spins to him involuntarily, and your eyes meet his. Your eyes fall from his eyes to his lips, and he does the same. Oh my God. Does he want to kiss you?
Your question is answered three long seconds later by him crushing his soft lips onto yours. It's like how all those novels and poets describe it. Instant fireworks. Your body tingles, and your heart pounds so hard that you think it'll rip off your chest. His hand encircles your waist, and you tighten your hold around a random shirt.
He's doing this out of pity. And just like that, the dream you've had for God knows how long is shattered by your own thoughts. You have to pull away.
"W-We can't do this, Rooster."
Your eyes meet his as you touch your lips. They're tingling, scratch that, your whole body feels like it's been electrocuted. He looks hurt and confused as he pants a few feet away from you.
"Why?" It sounds so sad.
"B-Because you don't like me, Rooster. I know you hate me, but I don't want something I've dreamed of for so long to get destroyed because of your silly antics." You sound even sadder.
"Is that what you think?"
"It's not a thought, Bradshaw. I know it. I've seen it with my own eyes." Tears have gathered in your eyes. Fuck, those mood swings.
Bradley exhales deeply. "I don't hate you, Swift. Never in my life have I felt what I feel when I'm around you. I feel all hot and tingly when you walk past me. My cheeks burn like a kid when your comments involve my love life, because deep down, I want you to be the protagonist of my fantasies, not some random girl I met at the Hard Deck.
Your jokes and your talent, your wit and your beauty—I love them. Your charm and ability to persuade everyone into doing chores for you are my favourite. I love listening to you talk, sarcastically or not, because you always have something to say.
Do you know how many times I've eavesdropped on you and Phoenix so I could learn more about you? I know about your hatred for Fast and Furious movies, your obvious Taylor Swift adoration, and the one time you got hammered and thought you were talking to her.
I love knowing all those details about you, and it's not because I can use them against you. They're what make you...well, you! You're nothing like the girls I've met in my life. You're extraordinary, and I..."
He hesitates.
"Is this...Did Natasha put you up to this? I swear I don't want your pity and fake love confessions, Bradley. You don't have to pretend to be in love with me—"
"But I am! I am madly in love with you. The kind of love that is so dangerous and—and so crushing. I want to be with you every second of the day, annoy you, and make you smile. It's all I've ever wanted for years now."
Your eyes are wide and glossy, eyebrows raised in shock and confusion, and so many emotions.
"I love you, Swift," he confirms.
"Prove it." Your words are merely a whisper.
Despite the hard rain and thundering outside, your voice is the only melody in Bradley's ears. And he doesn't hesitate. He crushes his lips against yours again, this time with hunger, passion, frustration and love. You kiss back with just as much force, but before you know it, you're pulling back, gasping for breath.
Bradley's hands are cupping your cheeks, and his forehead is touching yours. Your breaths mingle as you stare up at him. Your fingers grip his shirt tightly.
"Is that enough proof for you?" He whispers.
You lightly shrug. "I still haven't forgiven you for almost calling me a slut." That's a lie—you have. You forgave him as soon as your head hit the pillow yesterday. He didn't mean it.
He sighs a long, sad sigh. "Please, let me make it up to you. I was a—a jerk. A complete and utter idiot. I don't deserve your love, but please, I need it. Give me a chance to prove how much I love you." Your heart clenches, and a smile tugs at your lips.
"You can make it up to me as long as you want, Bradley Bradshaw."
He smiles back, and you think; this is it. This is heaven on earth. Bradley Bradshaw—the man you've longed for so long—smiling at you with nothing but adoration. You're heart feels light and free.
You don't want the moment to end.
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[ taglist: @roosterschanelslut @mak-32 @maverick-wingman @amnmich @mattyskies @wildcole @gretagerwigsmuse @bespinnn @collaps3r @oikawasblueearbud @rip--tide @barryswifey @fanboyluvr @spookys-girl @lonelywitchv2 @j-deimos @heywheresemily @avengersfan25 @piceous21 @sarahjoestewy-blog @n3ssm0nique @mouseymagines @xx-kate-xx13 @vaporub4ever @reading-rosa @marie1115 @dxvanadeline @plaboneruda @awesomebooklover17 @darling-seraphina @kenobiow @tw1l1ghtlvr @desert-fern @melody-death @studentville-struggles @bordelhoe @this-is-a-bad-idea @giuliamunson @graysondanvers @danielmarie @kwanimations @erinnn-brry @mvnsons-slvt @wrathspoet @eberles @shatfairy @alexxavicry @oksloan3 @messers-marauders-prongs @marvelsimps ]
#bradley bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster top gun#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley bradshaw angst#bradley bradshaw fluff#rooster x reader#rooster angst#rooster fluff#bradley bradshaw fic#rooster fic#miles teller#miles teller x reader#top gun#top gun: maverick#top gun fic#enemies to lovers#fluff#angst with happy ending#mutual pining#eventual happy ending#frank writes
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Calling Fic Writers! Story Idea? -Angst-
If this is already something someone has made, ya'll need to link me ASAP cause its been rotting in my brain all week (if not longer) and I very highly doubt I'd ever be able to write it properly LOL. Art? Maybe...
Please excuse my scatterbrained explanation. I'll probably be adding to this as my little angst-loving brain thinks of more details.
-----
So, after x amount of time, Aziraphale returns/escapes to the bookshop from Heaven and being Supreme Archangel....just completely defeated, dazed, exhausted and just about broken/verge of breakdown. I've pictured the scene with or without his wings. Crowley and Muriel are there (or at least Crowley) and are understandably surprised/confused.
He just collapses in a sobbing heap muttering and crying "I'm sorry" "Please" "You/we can't do this" "Why" "I don't want to fall" among other unintelligible words, but doesn't seem to quite be with it enough to attempt to explain whats going on. Maybe he'd gain very slight, brief clarity upon seeing Crowley (who has also been a mess), keeps apologizing, begging for forgiveness (from him? Her? Both? Maybe) until finally passing out.
Of course Crowley steps up and tries to take care of him, and figure out whats going on. Because no matter how mad he might get at Aziraphale, how hurt he was by the end of S2, he'll always return and help his angel, because he loves him. Also I'm positive Crowley already knows Aziraphale didn't make that choice easily, that he hurt the angel as well. Bountiful soft, care-taking Crowley here because I live for it.
Eventually when Azi is a bit more stable, (as he would often rotate between quiet desolate/defeated shell shock, and near hysterical crying in fear and grief) Crowley gets bits and pieces of what happened out of him.
The "Supreme Archangel" position was merely a sort of placeholder/fake title, not an actual promotion. Because why would they want to actually give Aziraphale that kind of power to potentially use against them and their plans? He was dangerous enough
The Metatron (and other angels) lied/manipulated Aziraphale the whole time to get him to do what he/heaven wanted. And to of course separate him and Crowley. Possible eventual threats towards Crowley and others to keep Azi "in line". Book of life?
Plans of course include the second coming as it was mentioned, but I'm sure there are others mixed in. More apocalypse starting schemes etc. Never really give the full details and kept the real plans secret. Jesus only mentioned, never seen (very suspicious). Azi tries to investigate but keeps getting interrupted or thwarted. Kept a very close eye on.
Much gaslighting/mental and emotional abuse and manipulation, slowly wearing Aziraphale down in order to break and better control him. No erasing/changing of memories cause its over done to me.
God is still MIA and no one knows whats going on with Her. The Metatron says he speaks with Her, but lets face it he can't be trusted. Definitely scheming on his own with others, maybe Hell as well?
Aziraphale never falls of course, I couldn't do that to our precious angel. He'd be traumatized enough anyway.
Aziraphale tries to be a good angel so bad it hurts, wants to believe in Heaven and "The Great Plan" but is only ever hurt and betrayed for all his efforts up there.
I WILL MAKE THESE TWO WILL HAVE A PROPER TALK I SWEAR
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I just really love hurt/comfort, angst and them taking loving tender care of each other. They would have a happy ending of course. This is how I cope until season 3, don't judge me xD
Also, what I was listening to during this ramble:
youtube
#angst#good omens#aziraphale#crowley#the brainrot is real#ineffable husbands#why am I like this#I love them I swear#hurt/comfort#send help I cant get this out of my head#throw ideas at me#let talk angst#I dont like the metatron#eventual happy ending#listening to sad instrumental music as I write this#No Azi or Crowley hate will be tolerated#Aziracrow#wanna collab?#give me similar stories and art plz#they both need hugs#Youtube
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Too Little, Too Late - P1
Whump Rating: 5/5
This is a 3-parter over the next few days, with an eventual happy ending!
TW: MCD, blood, burning, impaled, throat injury, injured Wolfie. Look, it’s not pretty. But it’s definitely whumpy. I will point you back to that happy ending note.
“Just hold on.” Hyrule presses his hand to Warriors’ stomach, swallowing hard. Blood squirts between his fingers; hot and precious. It’s something that should be inside the captain’s veins, not spilling into the mud and grass. “Just a little longer.”
Why is he out of magic? Why can’t he heal this? But the overextended feeling is familiar and damning. Until he gets a magic potion, he has to rely on basic medical supplies. And right now, in the middle of battle? That means keeping pressure on the wound.
Warriors coughs and more blood squirts. This isn’t working. His body is pumping it out faster than Hyrule can keep it in.
“Hold on, hold on, Wars. I promise, help is coming.” He glances up, eyes darting around the battlefield. Please, please let his words be true.
Yet no one is coming. The others are locked in battle or injured themselves, limping away from the fight. Hyrule is going to have to check on them soon. But first, Warriors—
He looks down and freezes. Cooling blood coats his hands; slippery and metallic. Warriors is still, eyes staring sightlessly past him.
“Warriors? Hey, captain?” The traveler removes a hand from the wound; it’s not spurting now and he refuses to acknowledge why. “Hey, hold on, okay?” He presses his fingers to Warriors’ neck, but they slip with blood.
With a frustrated growl, he wipes them roughly on his tunic and tries again. There’s no heartbeat to greet his fingers.
Warriors is gone.
Hyrule drags himself away because maybe he can save someone else. Warriors can’t just be—gone, yet he is. Maybe, maybe, maybe—
But all the maybes in the world won’t save him. Numb, he turns to rake his eyes over the battlefield.
Wild’s scream decides his direction. He sprints in the direction of the champion, pulling his sword to swipe at the bokoblin attacking him. The force of his swing separates the head from the body and it bounces to a stop. The traveler shoves the body out of the way and falls to his knees by Wild.
The hero blinks up at him, numb. His throat—Hyrule sobs, already trying to lift his hands to heal. There’s no point; he’s got no magic left.
The bokoblin attacked with teeth and Wild’s throat gapes through bloody flaps of skin. Air whistles through the holes; he can’t breathe.
“Wild—” His eyes are full of tears as he meets his friend’s eyes. “I…I’m sorry.”
Wild tries to say something; a terrible, raspy gurgle is all he can manage.
“Please—please!” He swipes at his wet eyes, clutching Wild’s hands. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I don’t know what to do!”
The champion lifts a hand and manages to spell a single word. H-E-L-P. Then it falls limp on his chest. The gurgle of air stops. His chest doesn’t lift again.
Hyrule finds Sky pinned to a tree. The chosen hero manages a whimper when he meets the traveler’s eyes. “Rulie…help me.”
“I…” Hyrule stares. The Master Sword is plunged through Sky’s upper chest. It glows; the same burn when it’s raised against her masters. The monster that did it lies to the side; hands and arms charred.
Hyrule reaches for the blade, even though he can’t touch it. Warning heat sears his palms and he glances at Sky again.
“She…” he coughs and blood spills from his lips. “She’s burning me.”
“Right. Let me—” Hyrule doesn’t finish, just steals himself and wraps his hand around the hilt. The sword burns. More than burns; it’s like gripping a live coal. He jumps back on instinct, shaking his hands to try to remove the stinging heat.
“Why won’t you help me?” There’s only betrayal when Sky looks at him. “Why?”
“I’m trying! The sword—it burns!” That shouldn’t matter. He can deal with pain to help Sky, right? He’s already lost two heroes.
Stealing himself, he grabs the sword again and yanks. Impossibly, it slides deeper, rather than out. Sky screams and he keeps on screaming, even when Hyrule jerks his hands back. The sound rises to a shriek and the sword glows so bright he has to look away.
There’s a whump, a burst of heat, and when Hyrule looks back, Sky, the blade, and the tree are on fire. Skin blackens and curls away, revealing red muscle beneath. The chosen hero’s mouth is open in a soundless scream.
Hyrule stumbles back, then turns and runs.
He finds Twilight in the bushes; only he’s transformed. Wolfie. The wolf whimpers when he sees him and tries to pull himself forward. There’s something wrong with his back legs.
“Shh, shh, let me see.” Hyrule pats the great furry head and moves around to check what happened.
The hamstrings on his back legs are cut. Blood stains the grass in a smeared trail, showing where Wolfie tried to drag himself off the battlefield.
Hyrule dives into his bag for bandages. While it’s bleeding, it’s not life-threatening yet. Maybe. If he can get the backs of his legs bandaged; if he can get Wolfie to transform back into Twilight—he can save him.
“Hold still, let me help.” He wraps the bandages around severed muscles; shutting out the whimpers of pain as he pulls it tight. “I know Twi, I’m sorry. But I’ve got to stop the bleeding.”
There’s a sound in the bushes and he pauses for a moment, looking up and around. Then he turns back to the other leg. “Just a little more, I’ve almost got this.”
The bushes rustle. Again, he looks up, but there’s nothing there. Just a few more passes and—there we go. Hyrule ties the bandage off and takes a shaky breath. It’s not enough; never enough, but at least he’s saved one of them.
“Ok, let’s get you—”
A lizalfo explodes from the bushes. Wolfie pushes off the ground with an animalistic scream, jaws wide.
The lizalfo slashes at the wolf as his mouth closes on its throat. Gravity aids his teeth in ripping it open and Wolfie slams into the ground. The lizalfo gurgles, stumbles a few feet, and falls to the ground.
“Wolfie!” Hyrule trips over his supplies as he falls next to the wolf.
The jump used the last of his energy. Dull eyes meet his and red-tinted foam bubbles at his mouth and nose.
Twilight gave his life to save Hyrule.
#just hold on#tw blood#tw injury#mcd#eventual happy ending#whumptober2023#linked universe#linkeduniverse#lu whumptober#breannasfluff#mywriting#lu hyrule#lu warriors#lu wild#lu sky#lu twilight#lu wolfie
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Unbreakable Bonds: Chapter Eleven
Hello friends! This chapter is long overdue but to be honest this story was in a tricky spot and yet again, I wanted to make sure this chapter was given the attention it deserved! I know the story is a bit sad right now but I promise things are looking up for these crazy kids! Thanks for your continued support and readership!
Unbreakable Bonds
A novella in the ‘How it Should Have Ended’ Universe.
TheGreatWicked
Summary: In a galaxy where Anakin Skywalker successfully resisted the pull of darkness, fulfilling his destiny as the Chosen One to bring balance to the Force, the Jedi Temple is abuzz with discussions about the traditionally forbidden nature of attachments. As Anakin assumes the role of a Jedi Master, his decision to ensure Palpatine's arrest rather than execution sets the tone for a new era.
On the way to an impromptu council meeting, where Anakin now holds a seat as a respected master, Obi-Wan Kenobi experiences an unusual sensation. A mysterious connection tugs at him when he encounters a young boy patiently waiting outside the council chambers. Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, the spotlight is about to shift from Anakin to himself.
As the secrets of Obi-Wan's past unravel, the Jedi Council finds itself thrust into action much sooner than anticipated. The delicate balance of the Force, once maintained by Anakin's choices, now hinges on the unforeseen revelations from Obi-Wan's history. The galaxy is on the brink of change, and the consequences of long-held secrets may reshape the destiny of the Jedi and the Force itself.
Pairing: Obi-wan/OFC (Cressida Vox)
Rating: Explicit, depictions of violence and sexual encounters between consenting adults.
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
Something was different. As the remnants of sleep faded further she became acutely aware of the plush cocoon of blankets swaddled around her. The fabric's gentle touch caressed her skin, in a comforting embrace that lulled her deeper into tranquility.
Safe.
That was how she felt when the first rays of sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden strip across Cressida's closed eyes, making sleeping in later an impossibility. And whereas she used to greet the day with a minor grumble and a desire to send her timepiece flying into the wall, she found it was oddly silent. In fact, she wasn’t tired, true she was comfortable and cozy, and getting up wasn’t something she wanted to do but she didn’t crave more sleep like she usually did.
She rolled over, into the sunlight which was now spilling across her entire face, a sleepy smile playing on her lips as she stretched out her limbs, savoring the sensation of being well-rested for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Then confusion took hold.
This morning, there was no chill seeping through the hard ground beneath her; instead, she found herself nestled snugly within her bed, wrapped in blankets that enveloped her with a tenderness akin to a lover's embrace.
It struck her as profoundly odd, to find such comfort in the soft give of a mattress, after a decade of sleeping on solid ground. The subtle plushness of a mattress, even one as firm as the Jedi Temple provided, made it impossible for her to find proper rest. It felt too soft, too unfamiliar, leaving her strangely unsettled by the comfort it offered.
There were far stranger things than waking up in a bed and being well rested, but it was still downright strange for Cressida, given her years of accustomed slumber on the hard ground. Inherently she wanted to temper her skepticism with optimism and gratuity as for the first time in a long time her sleep was uninterrupted by the specter of nightmares, she was well-rested and for once felt completely ready to greet the day, but she would still have her cup of caf, of course.
Had she maybe crawled into the bed in her sleep? It seemed unlikely, though not improbable, that maybe she was finally growing accustomed to being back at the temple and finally feeling safe enough to let her guard down. She rolled away from the sunlight to look at the timepiece, curious as to just how long she could stay in this comfortable loaf of blankets, but her eyes widened in shock at the sight before her– she wasn't alone.
There, lying peacefully beside her, was none other than Obi-Wan Kenobi.
His usually tidy hair was mussed from the pillow's embrace, the morning light casting a more ginger hue over the sandy strands. In sleep, the lines of strain that often furrowed his brow were smoothed away, revealing an unguarded handsomeness, completely free from the burdens of stress and responsibility that weighed heavily on him while awake.
With no one to catch her staring, she allowed herself to stare a little longer at the sleeping Jedi Master, the way his bare chest rose and fell with each steady breath; a picture of pure tranquility. He was close enough to touch and every bit as beautiful to look at in sleep as he was when he was awake. She nearly reached out to touch him. Maybe just push his hair out of his eyes, as it was getting a bit longer, he’d probably be cutting it soon. Shame, the longer length of hair looked good on him.
Her gaze lingered on his long, thick eyelashes – a feature envied by many, not just her, but one she was grateful their son, Solan, had inherited. As an infant, it had been difficult to tell who Solan favored, as she had no idea what she looked like as a child. But as he grew older, it became clear that he was taking after his father and the thought made her smile. If her son continued to resemble his father he’d become a very handsome young man, no doubt following in his father’s footsteps of leaving broken hearts across the galaxy.
Her smile faded when she was a breath away from stroking the warmth of his cheek, it felt so real.
The momentary warmth that bloomed within her at the sight, withered as quickly as it came and her fingers recoiled. Sorrow seeped into the hollow space it left behind, as she realized that this was nothing more than a dream.
She didn’t crawl into her own bed last night any more than Obi-Wan had, and he wasn’t really there sleeping beside her.
As she lay on the too-soft mattress, misery swelled inside her, and she turned away, seeking refuge from her heartache. Even in sleep, she couldn't escape it. With a resigned sigh, she braced herself for the inevitable awakening. The bed would be empty and cold, and she would find herself stiff and a bit sore, just as she had been for the last ten years, still exhausted and still on the floor.
And even worse than the physical discomfort, she would return to the strained coexistence she shared with the father of her son. Hating every moment of it. Hating herself.
Despair hung heavy around her, like a palpable shroud that rippled through the air, touching everything in its path. Reaching beyond, until Obi-Wan's arm found its way around her waist, drawing her back against the solid plane of his chest. His breath danced warmly on her skin, as he gently nuzzled into the back of her neck, stirring strands of her auburn hair with each exhale.
"Good morning, darling,"
She remained still and silent, his voice and the affection in it only making her experience more painful. She stayed stiff in his arms, tightly squeezing her eyes shut to prevent any tears from escaping.
"Are you planning to avoid me here too?" he asked softly when she remained silent.
Her silence stretched for a moment before she replied, "Avoidance implies intention, Obi-Wan. One can’t avoid what's not real."
He chuckled softly, the sound melodious and comforting. "You're the only Jedi I know who wouldn't take advantage of a pleasant dream, my dear." he teased, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Such a wet blanket, you are."
She breathed deeply, committing his scent, and his warmth, to memory.
Obi-Wan's voice, sleep-roughened but playful, teased her. "Are you truly so entrenched with your own sorrow that you won’t allow yourself to enjoy this while you can?"
“This is a dream,”
“Then there’s no harm in a little bit of indulgence, is there?” His fingers danced a lighthearted path up her arm, it was so soft it almost tickled and Cressida hated being tickled. But she couldn’t bring herself to move. "Is it such a bad dream, this one? Worse than the ones where you wake up screaming?"
“No,” She replied quietly, her voice sounding so fragile.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“You’ve never called me ‘darling’ before.”
“Is that it?” He chuckled again, “Well, perhaps that’s true, but you want me to.” His hand stroked the length of her arm, a tender touch that felt profoundly real. “After all, this is your dream, not mine, darling.” His lips gently brushed against her skin, sending tingles down her spine. "You know, I believe I've figured out why you've been sleeping poorly," he said after a momentary pause. "You're resting where you shouldn't be. I'm in my bed, and you're on the floor. One of us is undoubtedly in the wrong place."
"Always the clever one," she remarked, unable to keep the scoff out of her voice before finally turning her head to look at him, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth despite herself.
When she pinched his arm, he raised an eyebrow questioningly as if wondering why she would do that.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, my dear, but I believe you’re supposed to pinch yourself if you wish to wake up.” He suggested with a grin, gently pinching her arm in return, which she, of course, didn’t feel. “Seems to me like you don't really want to leave this place."
It was true, painfully so.
“I’m not sure what’s worse, the reality that’s waiting for me when I wake up or this,” Her voice was soft as her fingers lightly grazed against his, while he continued to gently stroke her arm.
"Reality can be shaped by will, my love," he countered, pressing another more firm kiss to her neck. "If you truly desire this, all you need to do is pursue it," he responded, his grip around her a little more secure, his voice tender and affectionate, it was lovely but it wasn’t right.
“You make it sound so simple,”
Her words seemed to roll off him like water off a pelikki’s back, his expression remaining unphased. In fact, he wore a sly smirk and his hand reached up to gently caress her cheek, repositioning her in his embrace so that she faced him directly. His eyes were still heavy with sleep but still held an inviting warmth and tenderness towards her.
“And you think in such two-dimensional terms,”
He gently tilted her chin upwards, his warm hand cradling her jaw as he drew her closer. His lips met hers in a deep, all-consuming kiss. With a teasing flick of his tongue, he deepened the kiss and her heart began to race in her chest. Every nerve electrified by his touch, so close to the real thing.
"Imagine," he murmured softly, releasing her mouth from his. "This is how we wake up every day, safely wrapped in each other's arms." He paused, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "Though preferably with fewer clothes." She smirked softly, feeling the vibrations of his words against her skin. For a man who was all propriety and rules and discipline, it was easy to forget that he had something of a naughty sense of humor.
"No blasted timepieces to rouse us from sleep, only the sunlight of noon or Solan telling us he's hungry for waffles. The three of us exploring the galaxy together as a family, our attachments making us stronger, not weaker. Training our son to be the Jedi he's meant to be, as the Force deems, no pesky High Council to shake their heads disapprovingly at us, or tell us what we’re feeling is wrong or dangerous."
Her smirk turned to a smile, her heart swelling at the thought. Obi-Wan had never boasted any particularly artistic abilities, but the portrait he was creating was undoubtedly breathtaking.
"And our nights..." he trailed off, tilting his head down to nuzzle his nose against hers. "Our nights are filled with staying up late, entwined in passionate love-making until we can no longer keep our eyes open, blissfully drained of all energy. And yet, every day it starts all over again."
She let her fingers intertwine with his, feeling the rough calluses on his palm and fingers born of years of lightsaber use. She observed him with fascination wishing all her dreams could be as peaceful as this moment. A somber smile formed on her lips.
“Growing stronger, as a family,” His hand cradling her hip, his lips leaving a trail of fire along her jaw and up to her ear. “Perhaps, we might even add to it,” She turned her head sharply, expecting to see a playful smirk but finding only honest sincerity in his gaze.
"Can you see it?" Obi-Wan whispered between gentle kisses.
She couldn't believe what she was hearing and she did a double take. Was he actually serious? He couldn’t be. She felt foolish even considering the thoughts as being his in the first place, knowing that this was all just a dream concocted by her own mind to ease her loneliness. But as Obi-wan had suggested; what was the harm in a little dream-like indulgence?
"It does sound nice,"
"Nice? Darling, it could be ours," His voice was dripping with longing and desire as he spoke, his hand moving to gently caress her stomach. His thumb traced over faint lines that were barely visible that she often covered up, she instinctively reached to cover the perceived vulnerability, but Obi-Wan’s hands encased her own in a firm grasp.
“Now, now, none of that.” His possessive tone sent shivers down her spine as his lips grazed her knuckles. "I missed so much of Solan's life.” His voice was filled with remorse and longing. “I never got to see your body swell with my child, never held him as a newborn, heard his first words, or watched him take his first steps. But it can be different this time. And Solan wants brothers and sisters, you know."
“How could you possibly know that?" she asked, curiosity piqued.
Obi-Wan’s smile widened.
"I've seen the way he looks at other younglings, and he told me so himself," he confessed. "And I promise you, this time, I'll be by your side for every single one of them, supporting you and loving you as a true partner should."
She pulled back slightly, her eyes blinking in surprise. Did she hear him correctly?
"Every single one?" She repeated, trying to control the warmth spreading through her chest. She looked down, pretending not to notice the blush creeping up her cheeks. "Just how many children are you expecting in this imagined scenario?"
"As many as the Force sees fit," he answered mischievously, his playful side finally breaking through and wrapping around her like the blankets they lay under.
Her mind began spinning with visions of a life entwined with Obi-Wan and their children. Children. Plural. She could see them under the golden hue of the setting sun, filled with laughter and unrestrained love. Solan, with eyes sparkling with pride, demonstrated his growing mastery of the Force, while his younger siblings gazed up at him in wonder.
Obi-Wan's presence and determination slowly chipped away at the walls she had built around herself. He spoke of a future where they could share the weight of their burdens and she could finally let go of the loneliness she had carried for so long. He promised to care for her deeply with every fiber of his being.
Yet, one last shred of resistance remained.
"It’s not that simple, I need to protect you," She whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes downcast to avoid his gaze.
"Protect me from what, darling?"
"From me," she replied, her voice barely audible.
He laughed, a sound not mocking but filled with gentle understanding, and then his mouth claimed hers in a kiss that spoke volumes, asserting that his attachment to her was irrevocable.
"Obi-Wan," she breathed, her voice cracking with emotion. "I-"
She tried to continue, to tell him how perfectly serious she was being and maybe scold him, but her words were cut off by more passionate kisses from him. Each one deeper than the last, and to further prove his point and silence any protest, he rolled them over, pinning her beneath him. Her words were muffled against his lips.
The words rolled off his tongue in a low, rumbling murmur as he reluctantly pulled their lips apart.
It was clear he was hesitant to end the kiss.
"My dear, it is far too late for that realization. My heart has been hopelessly entwined with yours since the first moment I saw your face in the council chamber. And when I learned of our son, you became my fate." His warm breath mingled with hers as he spoke, the crackle of electricity still pulsing between them.
She had been about to bring up the Jedi Order's strict stance on attachments, but before she could even form the words, he stopped her with another soul-scorching kiss. The heat of his touch branded her skin and the power of their connection seemed to surge through them both.
"The Force is not the Jedi Order; it has no owner,” he said solemnly, his hand gently caressing her cheek. “It is not bound by any rules. It has existed since time immemorial and will continue to exist long after the Jedi are dust and less than memories." He paused, a seriousness settling over him.
The idea of leaving the Order was both thrilling and terrifying to her, causing her breath to catch in her throat.
"Never again will you walk alone," he vowed. "No more running. I'll protect you, always."
It seemed such a big thing, too big a decision to let him make and she shook her head in uncertainty.
“Cress,” he whispered gently with a soft touch, brushing away a strand of hair from her face as he stroked her cheek. “I see how tired you are, and I know you've carried far too much alone for too long.” Her eyes welled up with tears, unable to resist the truth in his words and she tried to look away but she couldn’t.
“I know about the nightmares and the sickness, and I know why they plague you. It's time for you to let someone take care of you."
She blinked back a tear. "And that someone is you?"
"Absolutely," Obi-Wan declared with unwavering conviction. "It's my duty to take care of you now, and I swear I'll protect you and treat you like my queen if you'll only let me."
She hesitated, torn between the dreamlike world he painted and the reality they lived in.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this was insane. But in this moment, as his arms enveloped her and she felt the comforting warmth of his body, the idea of a life together consumed her. And though it was going to hurt later, she allowed herself to indulge in the dream, savoring every second of it.
What was the harm in enjoying a dream, if only a little bit?
The wounds from her time in the healing chambers may have healed physically, but nothing could ease the ache in her heart like these stolen moments with him. His lips were so close to hers that she could feel their gentle warmth, and all she had to do was lean in to make contact. So she did.
Without hesitation, she met his lips with her own, losing herself in his kisses that grew more passionate by the second
"Let's pretend," he whispered breathlessly between kisses, his touch tracing a delicate path along her collarbone. "Just for now... let's pretend that this is ours," his voice thick and husky with emotion.
“That nothing exists outside this room, it’s been far too long since I’ve touched you, darling,”
Drawing her closer, he captured her lips in another kiss, and as their mouths melded together, all thoughts of the outside world faded away and she gave in, leaving only the two of them, wrapped in each other's arms.
Her longing for him, built up over countless nights of loneliness, surged within her and drowned out any remaining doubts. With an urgency she couldn't contain, she pulled him closer, desperate to fill the void that had grown insatiable in the ten years since she last felt his touch.
"See?" Obi-Wan murmured, his breath mingling with hers as their kisses grew more frantic and hurried. "We deserve this, Cressida. A moment of peace amidst the chaos we've faced."
Cressida nodded silently in agreement. His voice was a soothing balm to her, and she could listen to him speak for hours, but right now she had other plans for his quick-witted mouth.
"Just until my timepiece wakes me." She breathed against his lips before kissing him again, teasingly licking at his mouth.
"That's all I ask, darling," Obi-Wan replied, his smile evident in his voice.
Her hands traveled up his chest and tangled in his tousled hair, gently pulling at the locks she remembered he enjoyed, he’d positively melted at the sensation. She felt his approval reverberate through his body in a low moan, the hum of satisfaction warming her from the inside out.
Memories of the last time she had felt him unravel at her touch surged forward, emboldening her to take more from this dream-like moment and fully indulge in its pleasures, savoring each sensation as if it were a rare delicacy.
"Was that so difficult?" he teased with a playful smirk. The warmth of his hand cradling her jaw sent shivers down her spine as his lips left hers and planted kisses along her neck.
Every touch sent a flurry of sparks through her body, igniting a fire that burned hotter with each passing moment and hungry kiss.
But then something changed.
The hand that had been caressing her jaw gently, suddenly clamped down on her neck with a vicious hold, cutting off her oxygen supply. A blackness crept over him like a shroud, shadowy tendrils wrapped around him obscuring his handsome face until he became an unrecognizable mass of darkness and malice. Her breathing became labored, each gasp a desperate struggle for air. Panic surged through her body as she gasped for air, each breath a frantic struggle against the tightening grip.
She was unable to take a breath, let alone speak. Her words trapped in her throat, and all that came out was a garbled response.
She clawed at his hand, trying to pry it away, but he only squeezed harder, sending sharp waves of pain through her throat. No longer recognizable, he was consumed by the darkness, a vessel for its insidious influence. Her heart clenched with impending doom, a crushing weight bearing down on her as she fought for every precious breath and she grew weaker.
Just as suddenly as it had come, the pressure on her neck vanished and she was left gasping and choking in the darkness. Clutching her neck and coughing, her head whipped around searching for him, but he was nowhere to be found.
"Obi-Wan?" Her raspy voice echoed into the endless void, but there was no response.
The warmth of the bed was replaced with a chilling emptiness, and the sunlight that once filled the room had faded to a distant memory. She was alone and vulnerable in this pitch-black world. Where had he gone? What had happened?
But there were no answers—only a suffocating darkness that threatened to consume her completely.
The eerie emptiness swallowed the warmth of the dream, leaving Cressida adrift in an endless void.
"Obi-Wan!" Her voice quavered, reaching out into the abyss for the man who had been by her side moments before. She fought against the panic in her heart. That wasn’t her Obi-Wan, it was something else. He was here somewhere, she had to find him.
A distorted echo of his voice responded, but she couldn’t understand his words, only the fear in his voice. The chilling sound sent shivers down her spine, her skin prickling with goosebumps. Desperate to find him, she stumbled through the nightmare landscape until she kicked something, she looked down to see her lightsaber at her feet. She breathed a sigh of relief and ignited the blade, feeling a bit more secure in its radiant orange glow.
"It's just a dream," she repeated, her voice trembling as she clung to the reassurance that none of it was real. "Only a dream." She could control this dream, she was the master of her subconscious.
"Obi-Wan!" she called out, her desperation evident as she sought the familiar presence that could anchor her amidst the chaos. "Where are you?"
In the nightmare's depths, she scanned the shadowy expanse, but there was no sign of Obi-Wan.
"Obi-Wan!" she cried again, her voice tinged with desperation. Each breath formed icy clouds in the cold air, dissipating into nothingness.
A sudden movement caught her eye, and she turned slipping into the Guard pose of form three, Soresu, to face a spectral figure emerging from the shadows. Her blood went cold in her veins. It bore the likeness of her Master, Deva L'rue, his eyes ablaze with an otherworldly intensity that accused and condemned her without a single word spoken. Cressida recoiled in horror, unable to tear her gaze away from the haunting visage before her.
“Master?" she whispered, her voice trembling with fear and uncertainty.
She reached out tentatively with her senses, trying to determine if this was just another trick of her mind or a genuine message from beyond. She felt small once more, like the terrified padawan she had been all those years ago.
The phantom's form began to shift and warp, changing shape until it resembled Obi-Wan himself, but his eyes continued to burn with that same corrupted stare – a dark shadow of the man she cared for.
“It’s not real," Cressida muttered, shaking her head and taking a step back.
The menacing voice of the twisted apparition echoed through the darkness.
"Oh, but I am, Cressida, and you've led me here, to the darkness, just as you led your master."
He drew his lightsaber and ignited a red blade, adopting a stance she knew anywhere; form seven – Juyo. The same form her master had favored.
Phantom Stance.
Obi-Wan sank into a crouched position, resembling a feral beast more than a man; his lightsaber held high, poised for a strike, while the other hand was raised in a claw-like gesture toward Cressida as if beckoning her into the darkness.
"Tell me, darling," he sneered, venom dripping from the word 'darling', "Will you murder me too?"
As her heart pounded in her chest, Cressida gripped her lightsaber tightly, her body coiled with tension as she assumed Ataru's Gale Strike Pose. Her feet planted firmly, one leg slightly forward, and her lightsaber held high above her head, poised for a swift and aggressive strike.
With a guttural snarl, Obi-Wan lunged forward and their blades clashed in a whirlwind of searing hatred and fear. The crimson and burnt orange light danced around them, their weapons moved too fast for the eye to track, creating an otherworldly aura of fury and despair.
Obi-Wan's skills were unparalleled, parrying her strikes with alarming ease, he wielded this dark form of combat with a prowess that seemed to mock his serene mastery of Soresu. His eyes blazed with an intensity that deviated starkly from the calm focus usually associated with his fighting style. Every aggressive strike of his current form was somehow taunting the disciplined and centered approach he typically embraced.
Every strike of her blade against his felt weak and fragile, each movement she made felt slower and less effective than his. As if she didn’t have the decade of experience as a battle-proven sentinel, nor the skill to match it. Panic began to gnaw at her as she struggled to understand why she couldn't gain the upper hand, why this battle felt eerily familiar in a way that sent shivers down her spine.
It was as if some unseen force guided their movements, leading them down a path of destruction that they couldn't deviate from. Every strike felt preordained and filled her with dread and a sense of deja vu as if she had fought this battle before in another life.
Because she had.
A terrible feeling of foreboding crept up her spine
Her instincts screamed at her to end this nightmare, but she was powerless to stop it, she couldn’t lower her blade, couldn’t disarm him, couldn’t even allow him to strike her down. As though someone else was controlling her actions like a horrific marionette, she could offer no deviation. Trapped by the shadows of the past.
In an instant, their movements stilled, and the world around them froze.
Time seemed to grind to a halt as Obi-Wan loomed over Cressida, his lightsaber poised to strike. Every second stretched out in agonizing detail, etching itself into her mind with razor-sharp clarity.
With a surge of adrenaline, Cressida lunged forward, her senses heightened to an almost painful degree.
In a deafening cacophony, the sound of her lightsaber sizzling and then reigniting reverberated through the chamber, drowning out all other noise. The once pure and harmonic hum had twisted into a menacing growl, mirroring the corrupted state of Obi-Wan's blade.
The unmistakable scent of burning kyber crystals filled the air, assaulting her senses with an acrid tang. It was as if the very fabric of the Force recoiled in agony at the clash of their lightsabers, the tortured cries of the crystals reverberating through the chamber.
The metallic stench of blood flooded her senses, overpowering all other senses until it was the only thing she could taste. There should have been no smell of blood, lightsabers cauterized wounds in an instant, burning hotter than the surface of suns and stars. And yet, there she was, surrounded by the coppery scent of death.
At best it should have been the smell of burning flesh but that too was horrific sensory input.
She looked down in horror at the glowing blade protruding from Obi-Wan's chest, his once vibrant blue eyes now dull and lifeless. His lightsaber clattered to the ground and he slumped to his knees before falling back with a dull horrible thud.
Waves of guilt and despair crashed over her as she trembled uncontrollably, memories flooding back of a similar scene long ago.
"Obi-Wan, no," she begged, her voice cracking with desperation. “Not again,”
The invisible force that held sway over her movements released her from its grip finally allowing her lightsaber to fall from her grasp. And a deafening tinnitus screamed in her ears, piercing through her skull like shards of broken glass, growing louder and more shrill until it was almost unbearable. She fell to her knees, hands pressed tightly over her ears as the relentless ringing threatened to shatter her eardrums. Even her screams were drowned out by the agony of the never-ending sound.
Suddenly, she jolted to wakefulness with a waterlogged scream.
Her body thrashed and flailed, violently in the bacta tank's healing waters, desperate to escape the torturous nightmare that had gripped her mind.
The tank now felt like a watery prison, determined to hold her captive within her mind.
And although the respirator provided her oxygen beneath the waters, in her panic it felt like she couldn’t breathe with it on and she clawed at the mask attached to her face, ripping it free in a frenzy as she broke the surface of the tank.
Gasping for air, she clambered out frantically, landing with a thud on the hard floor, convulsing and heaving as if trying to expel the memory from her being. Retching violently, the once peaceful Halls of Healing now echoing with her screams and cries for mercy.
—
Obi-Wan sat across from his son, observing him with a sort of morbid fascination as he devoured his breakfast. The boy's enthusiasm for the stack of waffles before him was reminiscent of a snake unhinging its jaw to accommodate larger prey. In contrast, Obi-Wan's meal was far simpler: Tythonian yogurt and honey, a bowl of fruit, spiced eggs, and a steaming cup of sapir tea.
Solan shoveled another absurdly large forkful of waffles into his mouth with no signs of slowing and Obi-Wan couldn't help but wonder if his master, Qui-Gon, had ever regarded a young Obi-Wan with similar awe and slight horror. His once steaming breakfast was quickly growing cold, forgotten in the face of this bizarrely captivating sight.
"What?" Solan mumbled through a mouthful of waffles, catching Obi-Wan's gaze.
"Nothing," Obi-Wan replied, shaking his head with a small smile. He took a sip of his sapir tea, savoring its calming warmth. The foul mood that had greeted him upon waking was long gone, replaced by a sense of wonder and curiosity at the sight of his son, seated alone in the refectory.
He could feel the weight of their connection, both through blood and through the Force. Solan's blue and gray eyes, mirroring his parents, held an inquisitiveness that reminded him so much of himself at that age. The boy was eager to learn, ready to further his Jedi training, yet Obi-Wan sensed an underlying awareness of the implications of his heritage.
Obi-Wan's eyes flickered around the refectory, noting the empty chairs and half-eaten meals on the tables. The murmur of quiet conversations filled the air, but there was an undercurrent of tension that seemed to thrum through the room, as though a storm was brewing just beyond the walls. He turned his attention back to Solan, who remained oblivious to it all.
"Solan, you never said where your mother was. Do you think she’ll be joining us soon?"
Obi-Wan asked, not missing the way Solan's eyes darted away from his for a few moments, avoiding the question. Taking a bite of his eggs and chewing thoughtfully and slowly, Obi-Wan studied his son, trying to read the emotions that danced across the boy's expressive face.
"She went to the halls of healing late last night," Solan finally admitted, his voice barely audible over the din of the room.
Obi-Wan paused, a bite of eggs halfway to his mouth but the pause was brief, and he quickly finished the gesture. A shadow of uncertainty clouded his eyes as he looked up at Obi-Wan, clearly unsure if he should be sharing this information. It came as no surprise to Obi-Wan that his son offered up the answer so reluctantly; Solan carried his own wealth of secrets, and at times the psychological burden of such made him physically shrink. This was one of those times.
Obi-Wan chose his next words very carefully, he could see the worry in Solan’s eyes, and he didn’t want to give Solan any reason to feel as though he shared what was meant to be kept secret. He considered reaching out with the Force, trying to sense any disturbances or hidden truths in Solan's mind, but thought it too invasive.
"Is she not feeling well?" Obi-Wan pressed gently, trying to mask his concern with curiosity.
Solan hesitated, picking at the remnants of his waffles and looking down to avoid his father's gaze and Obi-Wan recognized the subtle tug-of-war within Solan – the desire to share what was happening with his mother, but also the fear of betraying her trust.
He could sense the weight of this information pressing down on Solan's young shoulders. Obi-Wan's heart tightened as he observed Solan's downcast eyes, the boy's small hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.
“I’m not sure,” Uncertainty colored his words and his eyes darted around the room before finally settling back on his father.
Obi-Wan understood he was holding a tool in his hands far more powerful than any lightsaber, the ability to ease his sons fears. With a sip of his tea and a nod of his head, he smiled softly. The warmth of the tea spread through him, granting him a momentary sense of calm. He tried to project this serenity onto Solan, knowing how important it was to keep his son's trust.
"Well, it's coming upon that time of year; colds and illness tend to spike a bit with the changing of seasons, and your mother's been off-world for some time. It could be that she's getting used to it again." He gave a soft chuckle, “It does tend to kick one in the backside though,”
Solan's eyes widened in surprise, the green pools reflecting the overhead lights as he looked up from his tea, its surface rippling with each tiny movement. "Really?" he asked.
"Oh yes," Obi-Wan replied, allowing himself a small smile as he watched the petals dance around his son. "The halls of healing will be a busy place soon, younglings, padawans, knights, and even masters tend to come down with a little something, I wouldn't worry though. But you'd do best to watch your own health as well, Solan, if you feel unwell, we need to make sure you're well-rested."
“A tired mind doesn’t learn,” Obi-Wan said gently, brushing away the unease coiling inside him. "I'm sure your mother will be fine."
He watched Solan's expression soften, the lines of tension easing from his brow. Relief flooded Obi-Wan, knowing that he had reassured his son, even if only for a moment. His concerns remained, however, burrowed deep within his thoughts, like a shadowy whisper he couldn't quite silence.
Why was she in the Halls of Healing?
"Did she say anything else before she left?" Obi-Wan probed, hoping to glean more information without pushing Solan too far. “Maybe any symptoms she was experiencing?”
Solan shook his head, his gaze skittering away once more. "N-no, just that she needed to go."
He hoped the words would bring comfort, and they appeared to as Solan offered a weak smile but a seemingly genuine one. The kind of smile given when the worry remains but the doubt is gone and he picked up his fork again.
But it was all a lie.
Obi-Wan didn’t like the way falsehoods tasted in his mouth - he had always prided himself on honesty, as any Jedi would. But at times a little misdirection to allay greater fears was the better option. Yes, the seasons were changing but not in any way that saw colds and illnesses the way Obi-Wan had described. There were an abundance of allergies, and casualties of the pollen in the air, and as someone who was often afflicted, Obi-Wan knew the difference all too well.
He glanced at Solan, who was staring down at his plate, breaking off another smaller bite of waffles. The morning light filtering through the windows cast a gentle glow on his son's face, emphasizing the resemblance to his own features. He knew Solan was hiding something about Cressida's condition, but pressing for more information would only make the boy withdraw further.
He had to be smart about this and form a strategy. So he opted for a change of subject that would ease Solan’s mind.
"Let’s talk about your training, are you ready to continue?"
“Are we going back to the archives?” Solan's eyes lit up with excitement, the topic of training after two days of rest did the job rather splendidly.
“Not yet, Solan, we need to discuss what happened.”
Solan's voracious appetite diminished almost instantly, and he paused, a hint of uncertainty flickering in his eyes as he swallowed his food. Despite his youthful optimism, there was a noticeable change in his demeanor, a subtle acknowledgment of the seriousness of the situation.
"Am I in trouble?"
Before Obi-Wan could answer with a thought-out response, a delicate hand found its way into Solan’s hair, ruffling it playfully.
“Why? Did you do something or did you simply get caught?”
Cressida appeared giving them both a warm smile, a steaming cup of caf cradled in her other hand, as she took a seat next to Obi-Wan as though she had been right behind them the whole time.
With her arrival came a wave of pure relief, Solan smiled and fixed his hair, notably parting it back the way it had been which seemed to mirror how Obi-Wan styled his. Making Solan look like a smaller cleaner cleaner-shaven Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan too felt relief but it was short-lived as his keen eye began to take notice of small things, the tips of her hair were slightly damp, her olive pallor was a bit diffused giving her a slightly paler countenance and the almost indiscernible scent of bacta clung to her. He’d spent more than his fair share of time inside the damn tanks and he personally hated them, he didn’t like how trapped he felt, nor did he like the sterile smell, especially after the Clone Wars.
"Curiosity is no sin, Solan," she said softly, her voice carrying an underlying note of exhaustion. "But your father is right, we need to talk about what happened."
Her words seemed steadfast and certain, but there was a frailty to how she looked. His mind raced, trying to connect the dots between her appearance and the overwhelming sense of dread he'd experienced earlier that morning. The sudden chill he’d felt, had been all-encompassing like a bucket of icey water had been dumped on his and he’d felt every hair on his body standing on end.
Something was wrong, and it felt like it was lurking just beneath the surface, ready to emerge when least expected.
"Mom, are you okay?" Solan asked. “Dad said you might be getting sick from the change of seasons, are you feeling better?”
She didn’t miss a beat and nodded, “Well, your father would certainly know, and yes, it seems being back on world has finally caught up with me.” Cressida offered a weak smile. "I’m fine, just a little tired. Now, let's talk about your training, sounds like your father has quite the morning planned."
As they discussed Solan's progress and areas for improvement, Obi-Wan couldn't shake the feeling that they were dancing around a hidden truth. His instincts screamed at him to delve deeper, but it would have to wait until later, he made a mental note to investigate the matter.
"Solan, there’s someone I- your mother, and I want you to meet.” He corrected himself, remembering how this was meant to be a unified decision between them despite the disparity they felt. “There's a Jedi Master who shares your ability to touch objects and read their histories," Obi-Wan explained, noting the shift in Solan's expression from worry to wonder.
"Really?" Solan's eyes widened in amazement until Cressida gently nudged his open mouth closed, again. "I thought no one else could do it."
Obi-Wan chuckled and shook his head, “Not at all, psychometry is indeed a rare skill and few Jedi have the aptitude for it, but I know of one who does. His name is Quinlan Voss and I’ve known him for many years.”
Solan’s waffles sat forgotten and he blinked in disbelief and awe. “Now? When can I meet him? Can I meet him today? Is he here?” His questions came off as rapid fire and he began to practically vibrate in his seat.
“He’s currently off-world but he will be back in two cycles. I've reached out to him and asked for some of his time, he’s agreed to meet with us, all of us. That we might better be able to help understand and help you in learning to master your ability.”
Solan nodded, not to a question but merely as an excited gesture, his appetite returned to full force and he began shoveling waffles back into his mouth.
“Until then we’ll work on your training and when we all have a better understanding of how to help you, then we’ll return to the archives.”
"If we're not going to the archives, then what’re we doing today?"
"How about some lightsaber training?" Solan's excitement radiated boundlessly as he bounced in his seat.
"Really!" Solan exclaimed eagerly.
Obi-Wan nodded, "And some meditation of course,”
"I think I'm ready to try the shielding exercise again," Solan declared confidently, earning a surprised smile from Obi-Wan.
"That's wonderful. Your enthusiasm is commendable, if you feel ready we will try it again." Obi-Wan praised, his satisfaction evident. "After our training, your mother has something planned, doesn't she?”
“Since your father seems to have the more physical aspect of training for the day, I think we’ll focus on force sensitivity and control as well as a discussion on ethics and morality and maybe we’ll talk about the Jedi Initiate Trials and what that entails of, they’re a few months away. I think if you focus, we could see you ready to take the trials this year.”
Her goals were lofty and Solan looked a bit worried and overwhelmed but Obiwan seemed pleased and he also seemed to agree with her assessment.
“Your mother’s right, if we focus and you tackle your training there’s no stopping you. A master could be right around the corner for you, and maybe a padawan braid along with it.”
With the vote of confidence from his parents and the mention of a braid possibly in his near future, he nodded and sat a little straighter before taking a large bite of his waffles.
"Solan, as delicious as those waffles may be, there's no need to make a spectacle of it," Cressida gently scolded, reaching to cover his mouth with a napkin. "You eat like your father," She remarked with a smile, and Solan grinned back, his face adorned with a crumb-filled smile.
"Meaning what, exactly?" Obi-Wan quipped a hint of indignation in his gaze, he looked to Solan who was stifling a laugh, and then back to Cressida. "If you mean a healthy appetite, then yes, it appears he takes after me,"
"Hollow leg and all,"
However, as she smirked and sipped her caf, it dawned on him that she was teasing him. The subtle curve of her lips betrayed her amusement, catching him off guard, especially considering their previous encounters. He was relieved to see it and a bit of the worry he was carrying slipped from his shoulders.
"Mom, aren’t you hungry?”
The relief he'd just felt vanished, replaced by a renewed heaviness in his chest.
She shook off Solan's concern with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I'll eat later," she assured them, a subtle resignation creeping into her voice, leaving Obi-Wan unsettled.
His eyes darted between them, catching the tension in Cressida's stance and her reluctance to look at him, in fact, she hadn’t really looked at him at all. Yet, it struck him that she wasn't even looking at Solan either.
Carefully tracking her line of sight, he had a strong hunch she was staring at a nondescript spot on the opposite wall, her expression vacant, as if only half there, hiding something.
The tension from their earlier talk resurfaced, and he felt disappointed to suspect her initial playfulness might have just been a trick to divert Solan's attention. Yet, Obi-Wan stayed quiet, sensing it wasn't the right time for a confrontation. Luckily, Solan seemed oblivious to the subtle tension, happily focused on his breakfast. Although Obi-Wan wished to address the underlying issue, he couldn't quite figure out how to bridge the gap.
She glanced back at him, giving a brief nod that seemed almost rehearsed, her emotional walls still firmly in place. It puzzled him, like trying to solve an unsolvable riddle. Despite the tension between them, she appeared outwardly composed. Never had he felt so bewildered by a relationship. She wasn't his wife, nor were they involved romantically, though they once had been very intimately connected—she was the mother of his son. His mind raced with questions. What did he expect from her? A warm smile, a hug, maybe even a kiss?
Despite the invisible divide between them, it amazed him how quickly he had grown accustomed to enjoying their presence, how effortless it felt. Guiding Solan with a hand on his shoulder felt natural, as did sitting beside Cressida, whether as a partner or a parental figure. Uncertain of his own desires, he simply wished to understand Cressida's thoughts about him, whether there was something more between them—romantic or not. Or if there ever could be.
Those thoughts were vexing, everything about his relationship with Cressida was. He turned back to his tea, it was growing cold.
—
Obi-Wan handed Solan a training saber, then took a few steps away putting a distance of maybe two meters between them, igniting his own lightsaber, its weight was vastly different compared to a proper lightsaber though it still emitted a soft glow that cast shadows across the room. Solan hesitated for a moment, his fingers tracing the hilt of the saber before he looked up at Obi-Wan.
"Are you going to ignite your saber, Solan?" Obi-Wan asked, curiously.
Solan shook his head. "No, Master.”
“Why not?”
There was a genuine confusion in his question. Solan had been so excited to train with lightsabers, had he somehow misread his son?
“There's no need for it. A lightsaber should only be drawn when de-escalation, retreat, or negotiation isn't an option," he replied calmly, catching Obi-Wan by surprise with the eloquent and diplomatic answer.
He nodded in agreement, impressed by Solan's understanding of the importance of exhausting all other alternatives before embracing combat.
"Very well said, Solan," Obi-Wan commended. "You have a keen grasp of the Jedi way."
Solan smiled modestly, but then Obi-Wan stepped towards him and Solan retreated the same distance.
“But, noble as your logic is, I still have a weapon drawn on you and there is nowhere for you to run to, what will you do now?”
“Is negotiation not an option?” Obi-Wan chuckled heartily at his son.
“I’m afraid not, my boy. And I won’t be swayed away from combat either, what will you do now?”
Solan heaved out a breath and ignited the training blade, slipping into the Guard pose of form three; Soresu. His blade held horizontally across his body, parallel to the ground, weight balanced on his back right foot. Obi-Wan smiled at the familiar pose and Solan’s impeccable posture.
"Now, let's begin with lightsaber forms," Obi-Wan continued, readying himself for the training. He raised his training saber in preparation to strike. "Why form three, Solan?" Obi-Wan inquired, observing Solan's stance with interest and a bit of pride.
Solan met Obi-Wan's gaze, his expression determined.
"I need to be defensive, Master. I don't know what form you're using, and I don't know my opponent. Form three allows me to adapt quickly and defend against any attack," he explained confidently, his words laced with tactical insight.
"Impressive, Solan. Your tactical thinking will serve you well in your Jedi training." Obi-Wan nods approvingly, a sense of pride swelling within him. “Tell me, by what other name is form three known by?”
“The Way of the Mynock. It was developed in the Old Republic in response to the growing use of blasters by Sith and enemies of the Jedi, by Jedi Master Cin Drallig during the Jedi Order's study of lightsaber combat.”
Solan's in-depth and concise answer was surprising and Obi-Wan nodded approvingly, he took another step toward Solan. The hum of lightsabers filled the room as Obi-Wan's lightsaber clashed against Solan's in an overhead parry.
Sensing Solan's struggle as he attempted to maintain his defensive block, Obi-Wan advised, "You can't maintain a block forever, Solan. Eventually, you'll need to counter or find another way to defend yourself."
Solan considered Obi-Wan's words carefully, realizing the truth in his father’s advice. With a quick nod and a subtle shift in his position, Solan disengaged from the block with a push and took several steps back, creating distance between himself and Obi-Wan.
“A tactical retreat? Very well,” Obi-Wan watched Solan's movement with keen interest, noting the shift in forms. "Form four or five, Solan?" he mused aloud, recognizing the deliberate choice to create distance. “Aggression or balance?”
Solan gave a coy little shrug and a smirk.
"Why the switch from form three, Solan? Form three was working well for you. You had a solid defense." Obi-Wan inquired, curiosity evident in his tone.
Solan met Obi-Wan's gaze, determination shining in his eyes. "I know you're a master of form three, Master Obi-Wan. I didn't want you to predict my next move," Solan explained calmly, his words reflecting a practical mindset beyond his years.
Obi-Wan nodded in acknowledgment, impressed by Solan's strategic thinking. "Your logic is sound, Solan. But be mindful—constantly switching forms can be tiring and may appear unfocused to your opponent," he advised.
“That would be their mistake,” Solan replied, bringing a smile to Obi-Wan’s face, Solan slipped back into a defensive posture.
Obi-Wan offers a small smile of approval. "Indeed it would be, Solan," he agrees. "But you must also remember that victory in combat often requires a balance between defense and offense. Sometimes, you need to seize the initiative and take the fight to your opponent."
Obi-Wan raised his blade and lunged to strike.
—
In a chamber of the Northwestern Tower, Cressida stood surrounded by holographic displays, each revealing a different aspect of Anakin Skywalker's life. Her deft fingers navigated the many displays, allowing her to pull focus, pause, or zoom in on any particular bit of information at any time.
From the dusty plains of Tatooine where Master Qui-Gon Jinn first discovered him, to the recent HoloNet broadcast of his somewhat scandalous marriage to Senator Padmé Amidala, no detail escaped her scrutiny.
Anakin's mysterious birth and the absence of any biological father shrouded in mystery, yet underscored by Qui-Gon Jinn's steadfast belief in the prophecy of the Chosen One.
Medical reports detailed his remarkable midichlorian count, sparking speculation and debate among the Jedi. His history unfolded as a tale of resilience, intertwined with the story of his enslavement alongside his mother, Shmi, and her tragic fate. Details of his family on Tatooine provided insight into his past. Records also highlighted Qui-Gon Jinn's involvement until his death on Naboo, at the hands of the re-emerging Sith. Obi-Wan Kenobi's pivotal role as Anakin's mentor, including archival footage of his impassioned plea to the council to honor Qui-Gon's dying wish, and the Jedi High Council's decision to allow Skywalker's Jedi training.
After becoming a knight, reports detailed General Skywalker's achievements in the Clone Wars. His bravery in battle made his name famous, but there were also controversial moments, such as his execution of Count Dooku. His relationship with his former Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, was rocky, from her trial and expulsion to her eventual exoneration and departure. Despite the fact, he had been vocal in his belief in her innocence. Skywalker's appointment to the Jedi High Council by Chancellor Palpatine raised eyebrows, and there was controversy when he was denied the rank of Jedi Master. However, his recent arrest of Senator Palpatine led to him finally being promoted to Master.
She’d read over it all many times, yet despite the work ahead of her and the vast amount of information available at her fingertips, her thoughts on her investigation stagnated and her mind wandered elsewhere. Her encounter with Yoda after she’d left Solan and Obi-Wan to train was still fresh in her mind, and it had left her pondering the extent of his knowledge regarding her personal situation. Yoda's ability to discern more than he let on didn't surprise her; he had always seemed to possess insights beyond the obvious. But it did worry her, she’d thought she was guarding her secrets well, yet after their discussion on the way to the Tower of First Knowledge, she was doubting herself as Yoda's words echoed in her thoughts, each line carrying a weight that she couldn't shake.
"Strength from burdens can be gained, yes. But weariness, they also bring. And weariness over time, erodes strength, it does."
"All Jedi are your family, including Obi-Wan. Do not forget."
"Over you, tiredness hangs, and only caf for breakfast, no breakfast at all is. Closely, the smell of bacta follows you. Neglecting one's well-being in favor of stubbornness, it does not do well."
Her contemplations were interrupted by the mechanical hiss of the heavy blast doors opening, for a brief moment the barrier that sequestered her from the rest of the Tower waivered announcing the intrusion into her solitude. Noxella’s shadowy figure seamlessly melded into the room's dimly lit corners. A practiced nod acknowledged her presence, unfazed by Noxella's otherworldly entrances; they had become routine. Yet, this was different. A solemn aura clung to Noxella, the uncharacteristic shift in her demeanor unsettled Cressida. It was as if the usually detached figure had been touched by an unfamiliar sorrow, casting an unexpected shadow over the chamber and stirring unease.
"Cressida," Noxella greeted quietly wearing a soft smile that looked so unnaturally forced, her hands clasped behind her back.
Cressida's apprehensive smile faltered at the sight of Noxella's unusual expression. It wasn’t to say that Noxella was often the bearer of bad news but rather if she was smiling in any capacity, it was usually to cushion the incoming blow.
"Noxella, what brings you here?"
"I have news," Noxella replied, her tone grave. "About Obi-Wan."
Cressida's interest piqued at the mention of Obi-Wan, "What news? Is he alright?"
Noxella paused for a moment, steeling herself before delivering her message. "You were aware of Obi-Wan's formal request to be briefed on your off-world mission, were you not?"
A glimmer of hope ignited within Cressida's heart. "I was. Did the council reach a decision?"
The darkness in Noxella's expression told a story all its own. "Yes, but the council's decision requires unanimity.” Noxella hesitated before delivering the crushing blow. “And I regret to inform you that it wasn't achieved."
Her hope plummeted like a falling star, replaced by a sense of disappointment and frustration.
“So, they denied his request?"
Noxella nodded solemnly, her eyes betraying her own disappointment in the council's decision. "I'm afraid so."
"I see," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. With a wave of her hand over the holo displays all traces of the investigation went black and the room darkened briefly before the lights shifted the illumination to a more acceptable lever.
Noxella's gaze softened, her expression sympathetic. "It wasn't my decision, you must know that," she reassured, her tone tinged with regret. "I share your belief that Obi-Wan deserves to know everything."
Despite her disappointment, Cressida nodded, her resolve unyielding. "I trust in the council's judgment, even if I don't understand it," she admitted, a hint of resignation in her voice. "Thank you for informing me, Noxella."
The news delivered, though it could have been communicated over a com, there was no reason for Noxella to remain, yet she didn’t leave, she took a step closer standing opposite Cressida. Her expression softened, her concern deepening
"How is your investigation proceeding?"
Cressida exhaled wearily, her posture drooping as she pondered the inquiry. "I've thoroughly reviewed all available information, and although there have been a few minor missteps, there's no evidence to indicate that Anakin Skywalker was aware of Palpatine's ulterior motives. Considering recent developments, his connection to the Force appears stronger than ever, and he remains steadfastly aligned with the light side. Anakin Skywalker poses no danger, in my estimation."
Noxella's brow furrowed in concern, "But you suspect Palpatine did have plans for him?" she asked, seeking clarification.
Cressida's nod was solemn, her demeanor grave. "Indeed, strategically speaking, Anakin would have been a prime candidate for an apprentice," she began, her tone measured. "His midichlorian count, the highest ever documented, coupled with his remarkable achievements at such a young age, would have undoubtedly caught Palpatine's attention." She paused, her expression thoughtful. "It's likely that Palpatine would have manipulated circumstances to lure Anakin, putting his friends, allies, and loved ones at risk. While the immediate threat has subsided, it's imperative that we remain vigilant, keeping a close watch on anyone in Master Skywalker's circle for any signs of danger."
Noxella's relief was palpable, though tempered by lingering worry. "I see," she murmured, her tone thoughtful.
Curiosity flickered in Cressida's eyes as she observed her friend's reaction. "Is something wrong, Noxella?" she inquired, sensing there was more to her mentor’s unease.
Noxella hesitated, "Extended stays in the bacta can cause one to lose their appetite," she began carefully, her words measured. “You look a little thin,”
Cressida looked weak and apprehensive, but didn’t bother to hide it, hiding things from Noxella would go over about as well as hiding things from Yoda. They simply couldn’t be done. Cressida's discomfort was palpable as she shifted uneasily in her seat, her gaze dropping to the floor.
With a gentle yet probing tone, Noxella ventured, "Another nightmare?" Cressida's response was a terse nod. “They are growing worse, aren’t they?”
This time Cressida didn’t answer, maybe too afraid of what she might say.
Noxella regarded her with a mix of concern and hesitation. "It’s been my greatest desire to protect you from the time you came into my mentorship as a teen girl after the loss of your master, as such I've been hesitant to send you off-world since your return," she admitted, her voice soft but firm. "I am well aware of the pressures you are under."
Cressida's brows furrowed in confusion, her mind racing to piece together Noxella's concern. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice laced with uncertainty.
"I worry that sitting here, surrounded by holos, may be doing more harm than good." Noxella's expression softened, her concern evident in her gaze. "And with each nightmare, every dip into the bacta’s waters I realize that perhaps my concern for your well-being, is in fact, hampering it," she admitted gently. "But, perhaps it's time for a change of scenery, a new focus now that it seems your investigation is running its course."
"An assignment?" Interest sparked in Cressida's gaze, a faint curiosity that rose like the first star at twilight, her guarded demeanor relaxing ever so slightly.
Noxella nodded, her lips curving into a small smile. "Yes," she confirmed. "Low risk, just information gathering. And you wouldn't be alone; you'd have a partner. No thrilling heroics, I’m afraid."
Cressida's lips parted, then closed, as if she weighed her words against the weeks of isolation and convalescence that had become her world. Then, with a lift of her chin that echoed the lineage of countless warriors before her, she met Noxella's gaze squarely.
"I'm ready."
—
Solan had started mimicking his father’s mannerisms not long after the nature of their relationship became known to him, both his parents had seen it and at first, Obi-wan wasn’t sure what to think of it but it quickly became a source of amusement for him. It was quite entertaining to see a ten-year-old boy stroking his chin in the same absent-minded way that Obi-Wan often did when lost in thought.
He even had Obi-Wan’s controlled and graceful gait nailed as well; confidently, head held high, shoulders back, hand clasped behind him, taking slow measured strides, though admittedly Solan had to keep to a quicker gait due to his father’s longer legs. He looked very much like a much smaller Obi-Wan, minus the facial hair.
Obi-Wan couldn't help but be flattered by this imitation; after all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
It reminded him of his days as a young Jedi Knight, trying so hard to mimic the perfect poise and stoicism of the Jedi Masters whom he looked up to and admired. But ultimately found himself carrying himself more like his late master, Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon, who had very much so, always moved to the beat of his own drum.
But even that too felt a bit forced, and eventually, he developed his own unique way of carrying himself, which his son more often than not mimicked.
Solan wore a wide grin on his face that outshone even the brightest stars in the galaxy as they strolled through the halls after their busy morning of lightsaber instruction, a meditation session, and finishing off their time with a shared afternoon meal.
Their discussion of combat forms and principles had invigorated him in a way he hadn't felt in ages. Solan was always full of surprises when it came to his knowledge and insights. Not like Anakin, who used to butt heads with him over the proper techniques, and an endless barrage of questions that often felt combative. But Solan soaked it all up like a sponge, hungry to learn more, hanging off every word his father said.
Solan's true self began to emerge. His steps took on a lighter and more carefree cadence, with a hint of excitement in each bounce.
Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile as he watched his son, it was contagious, so much that he found himself smiling brightly too. And with Solan by his side, Obi-Wan found himself walking with a newfound casualness reminiscent of his early days mentoring Anakin.
No need to be so formal all the time, he mused.
"You did exceptionally well today, Solan," Obi-Wan remarked, his voice filled with genuine pride. "Your understanding of the forms is remarkable for one so young."
Solan beamed with pride, his chest swelling a little with each word of his father’s praise. "Thanks, Obi-wan,"
Obi-Wan studied his son carefully as they walked, questions brimming in his eyes, "I'm curious, though. How did you become so proficient with the forms, given the... unconventional nature of your upbringing?"
Solan's expression softened, a faraway look on his face as he recalled fond memories.
“Well, mom couldn't teach me like other younglings, but she said it was important and that we had to be sneaky about it."
He smiled slightly, reminiscing. "And we had to hide what we were doing, so no one would find out who we were or what she was really teaching me, so she taught me like she was teaching me a dance."
Obi-Wan's eyebrows raised in surprise at the revelation. "A dance?"
Solan nodded happily, “She started with form one when I was four, it was just before she had to leave me for a mission, and she told me to practice while she was gone and we would work on them together when she got back. She said I had to learn the footwork perfectly first. And while she was gone I would practice all day and all night until I fell asleep, when she came home, I’d show her what I learned, we would practice together and then she’d teach me more."
It was such a simple solution and it wasn’t unheard of for combat to be compared to a dance. In fact, the two boasted many similarities. What a delightful way to teach an excitable child!
"That's quite clever indeed."
“The tricky part was learning how to do the forms without being able to use a lightsaber,”
Obi-Wan paused, he hadn’t considered that, Solan’s form with even the training saber seemed as natural as breathing, like he’d been doing it for years.
“What did your mother use in place of a lightsaber?”
“She stole a scarf from a merchant!” Obi-Wan’s eyebrow shot up in surprise.
“Your mother did what?”
Solan laughed loudly and nodded, “Yup! She went to the market at night, snuck in, stole a bright blue scarf from a merchant, and told me to pretend it was a lightsaber.”
His voice grew more animated as he explained. "It felt really silly doing it at first,” Obi-Wan nodded, that he could certainly understand, and the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. “But then she told me it would make learning look more like it was really a dance and not lightsaber forms. She said it was all about precision and control, and when the time came all I would need to adjust to was the weight of a lightsaber."
Obi-Wan nodded thoughtfully, a newfound appreciation for Cressida's methods dawning on him. Solan's movements did have a certain grace and fluidity to them. A scarf as a training tool? Obi-Wan chuckled at the simplicity of the solution, meant to keep Solan accustomed to something in his hand and be mindful of how his movements dictated the movement of something as simple as a scarf. And indeed, the more he thought of it, the more it did seem like the graceful forms of combat might look like an elegant dance to an untrained eye. Who looks for a Jedi with a lightsaber when all they can see is a boy with a colored scarf, dancing?
Obi-Wan stopped and crossed his arms over his chest, “Do you still have the scarf?” Solan nodded and reached into his robes pulling out a slightly faded blue scarf that looked like it had been his most treasured possession.
Obi-Wan smiled “Show me.”
Solan stood at the center of the large empty hall and began with his feet shoulder-width apart, holding the scarf in both hands. The pose was Whirwinds Embrace; he spun swiftly, using the momentum to propel himself forward in a lunging motion. As he extended his arms outward, the scarf flew forward as a lightsaber might deflect an incoming attack, creating a protective barrier around him. He moved seamlessly into Cascade of Serenity; beginning with a series of quick, evasive steps, weaving between imaginary opponents, the azure scarf fluttering in a way reminiscent of the blurred light of a lightsaber. He lowered his arms as if striking down adversaries with precise, flowing movements, the scarf acting as an extension of his will. Despite the intensity of his actions, his demeanor remained calm and composed, reflecting his mastery of the Force.
Obi-Wan watched transfixed at his son, as he executed these very same movements just hours earlier with a training saber but this was somehow different and it did, indeed look like a stunning piece of performance art. Who would have thought a mere scarf could be an effective training tool? Yet here was living proof of Cressida's resourcefulness as an unorthodox teacher.
The series of quick and agile spins of Zephyrs Dance flowed as beautifully as a ballet, evading imaginary attacks from all directions. Each whirl of the scarf disarmed imaginary opponents and created openings for counterattacks, his movements still graceful yet unpredictable to a degree, it would surely keep adversaries off balance and unable to predict his next move. It would be a perfect form for a craft assassin to get close to a target.
Obi-Wan watched attentively as Solan moved through the elegant motions of Form I, admiring the boy's natural talent and dedication to the art of lightsaber combat. Despite his unconventional upbringing, it was clear he had a natural aptitude for the art of combat.
His final pose was Cresting Wave; Solan exploded into motion surging forward with a spriteful leap, the scarf trailing behind him like a comet’s tail. As he moved, the scar flew before him creating an artful barrier that mimicked a flurry of attacks, each strike of the scarf delivered with precision. His movements like a force of nature, unstoppable and relentless as a wave crashing on the shore, embodying the strength and ferocity of a Jedi in battle.
The scarf fluttered to his side as he came to rest in a ready pose completing the motions and looking to his father who simply watched in fascination before offering applause, clapping at his son who beamed brightly. To the casual observer, it may have looked like dancing, but Obi-Wan recognized the solid foundations of Form One.
"Remarkable," mused Obi-Wan. "Your graceful style is a testament to your mother’s wisdom."
Solan tucked the scarf back into his robes, and suddenly looked around and shrunk back slightly as a few Jedi passed through the halls, his voice was soft and he looked uncertain.
"That's ok, right Obi-Wan?” he asked, brow furrowing. “That Mom taught me with a scarf instead of a real lightsaber? It’s not, disrespectful or anything, right?"
Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "Not at all, my boy. In fact, I believe your training has prepared you remarkably well. You show a grace and fluidity in your movements that surpass many trainees your age.”
Obi-Wan's hand rested reassuringly on Solan's shoulder as they continued walking, a simple gesture that spoke volumes to the boy. Though Solan tried to exude confidence, there was an unmistakable spring in his step now, a lightness that came from his father's praise.
“Solan, your understanding of Shii-Cho is well-rounded, few grasp the form so quickly. You're going to make a fine duelist someday."
Solan beamed, relief washing over his face, his cheeks reddened at the praise. "You really think so?" He had spent his young life concealing his abilities, but to have them recognized and encouraged lit a fire in him.
"I do," Obi-Wan affirmed. He was certain the boy would grow to be a skilled warrior.
And yet, glimpses of playfulness peeked through Solan's studious exterior - the bounce in his step. He was still a child at heart.
"The unconventional nature of your instruction is a testament to your mother's wisdom and creativity, the fundamentals are all there" Obi-Wan continued. "She did well to start you on the right path." As they continued on, Obi-Wan made a mental note to thank Cressida for instilling such a solid foundation in the boy. Her ingenious methods had served Solan well.
Obi-Wan gave his shoulder a paternal squeeze.
"You have nothing to worry about," the Jedi Master said warmly. "Now come, your mother awaits us. And I am certain she will be most pleased to hear of your progress today."
“When can I go to Illum and make my lightsaber?”
His enthusiasm was infectious and Obi-Wan chuckled. "All in due time, young one. For now, let's continue honing your skills."
As they stepped off the turbolift and neared Solan and Cressida’s quarters an idea struck him.
"You know, Solan," he began, a playful glint in his eyes, "I suppose I'll have to make sure you know how to dance properly as well."
Solan looked up quizzically. "Dance? Like, real dancing?”
Obi-Wan nodded. "Indeed. Combat and dance have much in common - precision, fluidity, reading your partner."
Solan arched an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his expression, a hint of skepticism in his voice. "Why would I need to learn that?"
Obi-Wan chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "You never know when it might come in handy," he replied cryptically. "Charm and poise can be as great a tool as a lightsaber sometimes."
Solan looked unconvinced, nose still wrinkled in distaste. Obi-Wan suppressed another laugh. The boy had his mother's stubborn streak, that much was clear.
"Come now, dancing isn't so dreadful," Obi-Wan cajoled. "It can even be fun, with the right partner."
Solan made a face. "Do I have to dance with girls?"
The thought seemed to disturb him greatly. Now Obi-Wan did laugh out loud at the boy's reaction, as it reminded him so much of himself at that age. He too had found the idea of dancing with girls thoroughly unappealing, long ago.
"Perhaps someday you won't mind so much," he said, eyes dancing with mirth. "After all, your mother is a girl, and you love her, don't you?"
"That's different," Solan insisted, though his expression had softened a bit. "She's my mom."
Obi-Wan nodded in understanding, an amused smile still playing about his lips. "Yes, I suppose you're right about that, “Regardless, a gentleman should know the basics. No lightsabers on the dance floor."
He added with a smile. “Manners matter, Solan, I should need to make sure you at least can grasp the fundaments of actual dancing. Perhaps we’ll get your mother to help teach you, no doubt she could probably use a lesson too, she was about as keen as you are when she was young.”
Solan didn’t seem interested, "Well, you can dance with Mom, and I'll stick to lightsabers." Obi-wan smiled at the thought. What would Solan do when he saw a girl he found pretty?
The doors to their quarters slid open and Solan strode on in, Obi-Wan braced himself for a conversation that he knew might not go as he would have liked but he wanted to continue to be present for Solan's training. Yes, that was it, he would simply ask if she minded if he stayed put for whatever lesson she had to teach. It wasn’t such a difficult thing, they were both mature adults and could certainly behave as such, couldn’t they?
He followed Solan inside and immediately sensed something was wrong. The boy's shoulders were slumped, his footsteps lacking their usual lively bounce. Obi-Wan noticed the somber expression on his young companion's face as he stared at the table in the living space. Following Solan's gaze, Obi-Wan spotted the objects that had given the boy pause - a data stick and a lightsaber.
Obi-Wan's heart sank, though he tried not to outwardly react. He had a dreadful feeling he knew what Solan had realized. The data stick and lightsaber could only mean one thing - Cressida had left unexpectedly. Though Obi-Wan was surprised by this development, he remained calm, not wanting to upset Solan further.
"Solan," he began gently. "Is everything alright?"
He did not respond right away, still processing this discovery. After a long moment, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "She's gone."
Obi-Wan's heart ached at the quiver in Solan's voice.
Solan's face fell as he lifted the cylindrical hilt, running his fingers over the ridged metal grip of his mother's lightsaber. Though unlit, he could almost see the brilliant orange blade humming before him. With reverent care, he looped the data stick's cord around his neck, tucking the precious drive out of sight beneath his robes.
"Even if," he murmured, gaze distant.
Obi-Wan's brows knitted together, perplexed by the odd remark. But the Jedi Master held his tongue, unwilling to pry into such an intimate, vulnerable moment. Whatever Solan's whispered words had meant, some sorrows were too tender to be touched so soon.
Solan's eyes refocused, meeting his father's concerned stare. "You can go, father. I think I'll meditate and eat, then I'll go to bed. I'll see you in the morning at breakfast." Though his words were polite, his tone was flat and lifeless.
Obi-Wan frowned. The complete lack of emotion in the boy's voice bothered him deeply. This was not the Solan he knew - usually so quick to laughter and enthusiasm.
"No," he said firmly, a decision made in an instant.
Solan looked up, confusion flickering across his features.
"Solan, go and gather your things. You'll stay with me in my quarters until your mother returns."
For a minute the boy didn't move, uncertainty plain on his face. Then, with a gentle nudge through the Force from Obi-Wan, he stepped towards his bedroom, movements slow and hesitant. Still, there was a spark of excitement in his aura at the prospect of spending this time with his father.
As Solan busied himself packing, Obi-Wan turned his gaze to the window. The sun was setting over Coruscant, staining the sky crimson and gold.
"May the Force be with you, Cressida," he whispered into the fading light, hoping with all his heart for her safe return.
A few moments later Solan emerged from his bedroom, a small bag clutched in one hand. He hovered in the doorway, shoulders hunched, as if reluctant to leave the familiar comfort of his room.
Obi-Wan gave him an encouraging smile and held out an encouraging arm to beckon him. "Come, let's be off."
Together they left the quarters Solan had shared with his mother, Solan walked slowly, dragging his feet. He kept glancing back over his shoulder, eyes troubled.
Obi-Wan set a gentle hand on his son's shoulder.
"I know you're worried for your mother. But have faith, my boy. She is resourceful and strong in the Force. No harm will come to her, that much I am certain of"
Solan bit his lip but nodded, some of the tension easing from his slender frame.
They continued on in silence through the maze of corridors that made up the Jedi Temple as they entered into parts that Solan had never been to before. Up a turbolift into one of the rising towers that often houses masters. Solan seemed deep in thought, though Obi-Wan could sense his curiosity about visiting his father's living space for the first time.
When they arrived at Obi-Wan's modest quarters, the door opened with the same mechanical hiss as all others did.
"Come in, make yourself at home."
Solan stepped cautiously into the inviting space, his gaze wandering over the sparse yet cozy furnishings. The room exuded warmth, with soft lighting casting gentle shadows across the walls adorned with rows of holobooks. Among the few artifacts carefully displayed were a couple of holocrons, their ancient wisdom quietly beckoning from their resting places.
"I know it's not much to look at, but I hope you'll be comfortable here," Obi-Wan said, suddenly self-conscious about his humble abode.
Solan set his bag down and turned to Obi-Wan with a shy smile. "It's nice. Thank you, Father."
Obi-Wan's heart swelled. Perhaps this arrangement would be good for both of them, a chance to truly get to know one another.
"You're quite welcome, my son."
---
Hopefully, the length of this chapter makes up for my lack of posting on this story! What do you guys think? Do we have more answers or only more questions??? Well, hopefully, I'm over this writer's slump and I hope you guys enjoyed the latest chapter installment of my story. If you liked it then feel free to reblog and give me a comment on what your thoughts are, you guys make my day with your hilarious tags! Here's hoping Cressida's dream (at least the good part of it) turns to reality sooner rather than later! If you'd like to join my small but lovely taglist reblog or leave me a fun comment and let me know what you thought of it!
And for all of you who liked my Padawan one-shot Obi-Wan/reader insert/Master/Padawan story I am currently working on a second chapter! So stay tuned! Alright! Enough pandering, back to work, these stories don't write themselves!
@burnthecheshirewitch. @heyhawtdawgs. @pickleprickle. @split-spectrum(I know I've never tagged you in this story before but I thought you'd appreciate the Obi-Cress fluff in the beginning!) @bad4amficideasYo asked to be tagged in future Obi-Wan works and this is a longer story but I thought I'd throw it out there anyway and if it's not your thing no hard feelings at all and I will be posting a second chapter to Padawan soon! Gotta sere that smut nice and hot! ;)
#fanfiction is life#i have too many stories#original character#alternate universe#star wars#star wars au#obi wan kenobi#obiwan kenobi smut#obi wan star wars#obiwan x original female character#eventualromance#eventualsmut#eventual happy ending#jedi are bad at feelings#unbreakable bonds#cressida vox#obiwan is a good dad#obiwan has bedhead#i need this man to pin me to the bed#original female character#how it should have ended#jedi oc
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Everything That Is Left
Summary: Lucy Chen and her friends join what was meant to be a dream vacation across the Pacific Ocean, aboard a small cruise ship. But when a devastating storm strikes, turning their journey into a fight for survival, Lucy finds herself stranded on a deserted island with her companions. As they struggle to endure and await rescue, tensions rise and bonds are tested. Amidst the challenges, a budding romance has begun to unravel between Lucy and Tim, her old mentor turned fellow survivor, casting a fragile ray of hope amidst the uncertainty. Yet, as they all navigate the challenges of island life, dark secrets emerge, threatening to unravel the fragile bonds holding them together. With each passing day, the survivors must confront not only the mysteries of the island but also the depths of their own resilience and the intricacies of their relationships. Will they find a way to overcome the odds and make it out alive, or will the island's mysteries consume them all?
Chapter 1 of ?
CHAPTER 1: Travellers from Beyond the Shore
Unable to face the screams, Lucy Chen looks out at the ocean. It’s hypnotic, the way the water laps upon the shore. Swallowing up the beach and then spitting it back out, leaving behind sand dollars and bits of rock to litter the ground. Every cry or shout of her name is muffled as she stands there. The sand pulls mindlessly against her feet like thousands of tiny magnets, whispering for her to be engulfed along with them. But the temptation is briefly silenced when a sudden spark of green catches her attention. An object splashing amongst the recent waves, tumbling across the beach until finally resting against her bare foot. The search for her left shoe lost and momentarily forgotten.
All jagged edges and rough cuts have been erased from the fragment along with any sign of what it once was. Now replaced with rounded curves and polished sides that Lucy imagines must be smooth to the touch. She remembers learning of sea glass long ago, reading about it in an elementary science class. Her textbook had explained about the effects of weathering and erosion; how shards of broken bottles, plates, or jars are worn down overtime. The tides push and pull while carrying it miles away. A journey, Lucy vaguely recalls, takes years for glass to become as opaque as the pebble that now lays at her feet. She lifts her head and looks beyond the bank, beyond the smoothed glass and the chorus of waves crashing against each other.
Her eyes fall on the horizon, where the sky touches the expanding sea and she scans the line searching for a clue to the sea glass’ origins. How long has it been away from home? She wonders. She waits for a response but a silent ocean taunts her, holding tightly to its secrets. The deceptive peace and the absence of everything that she and the glass have been through pulls at her insides, twisting and tearing until she can no longer hold herself up. Lucy drops to her hands and knees, and she can feel the contents of her stomach threatening to spill out. Sand digs into her skin as she grips it. Needing something to hold onto and give her balance while she fights to keep what little she has left inside. But as she claws the beach, her lifeline escapes through her fingers. Flowing back to the shore and with nothing left to keep her steady, the remaining contents of her stomach eventually follow.
When there is nothing left to give up, she rolls onto her side, unable to bring herself to stand.
At least not right now.
The warm sand, baked from the afternoon sun, is inviting enough to convince her to lay down for a few moments longer. The emerald shard of glass now sits a few inches from her face and without thinking she reaches out and takes it. Lucy squeezes her hand shut, all the danger of broken glass long since worn away and with the pad of her thumb she outlines the bumps and divots of the stone over and over again as if running her fingers along a piece of die.
The voice beyond is beginning to get louder now, he will find her any minute now but she’s not ready to face it. Just give me a few moments more, she pleads to herself. Her eyes fix back onto the task in front of her. Fingers, sticky with sand, occasionally grind against the stone as she moves it around in her palm. An action that emits a crunching sound similar to that of stepping onto gravel. The noise is quiet but distraction enough to pull her focus back in.
Lucy can’t help but feel a connection to the poor glass. Both of them in an indescribable distance away from home, forever changed by a journey they never asked for, but swept into nonetheless. She clenches her fist, pulling it protectively against her chest. Memories of home call upon an ache that has settled itself within her heart, and Lucy is unsure of how long it has been there. The pain conjuring up thoughts of how long it will be until she can go back home-if she can at all? Or will she become more like the traveler in her palm, destined never to return? The hot sand, the advancing desperate shouts, and smell of saline begin to overwhelm her. In an attempt to push out the world, she squeezes her eyes shut. However, the pulse of the beach is no longer loud enough to drown out her environment and a familiar voice has finally reached her.
“Chen! Where have you been? My god, what happened?”
There is a sternness and sincerity to his tone that only he can bring and she doesn’t need to open her eyes to recognize who it is. So when his hands tentatively touch her shoulders, warm and solid, she doesn’t flinch. She knows it’s Tim. Her teacher, her friend, and now fellow survivor.
She opens her eyes as she lets him pull her up into a sitting position, his own scanning her for signs of new injuries. It’s only when he finds none does his concern fall to annoyance.
“We have been calling your name for ten minutes, boot. You know better than to just go off on your own and start ignoring everyone. After everything that has happened..” His voice falters and he fights to get it back under control of it, taking in a short breath and twisting chapped lips. Tim’s habit and pathological need to remain in control is so soaked in normalcy that Lucy can’t help but laugh at it. At the sheer ridiculousness of it all.
“This isn’t funny.” He tells her, taken aback at the absurdity of her reaction.
“I’m sorry,” she chokes out while lifting her head towards the sky in disbelief, “You’re right, I know. It’s not funny. None of this is funny.” The insincere fit of laughter trickles away with her last few words and flows seamlessly into tears. After the intensity of the last few days, the nights adrift at sea and the morning’s fleeting relief of finding land, Lucy had not let herself grieve. Not allowed the reality of their situation sink in.
Tim is quick to pull her into his arms, sheltering her from the wind and bringing a comfort only an old friend could provide, his initial annoyance now dissipated. The intimacy of the touch is uncommon and foreign between them, but Lucy allows herself to welcome the reassurance it unexpectedly brings. She tucks her head under his chin while hot streams glide down her cheeks. Lucy knows this situation has taken so much from them both, from them all, and will continue to ask more of them as the days go on, but she is grateful for his patience at this moment. A moment that is needed. A moment that has been earned.
When her breathing falls back to even strides, she attempts to peel herself away, afraid of overstaying her welcome. But Tim’s arms tighten without a word and Lucy suspects that he needs a moment as well. So she gives it to him, instead taking the time to really look at his appearance for the first time.
Much like Lucy, Tim’s clothes are dirty and torn with fresh purple bruises staining his exposed arms. Red blotches have soaked into his shirt, and those thick pieces of cloth that stick to his torso like glue have now transferred onto her own shirt. She lingers for a moment on the rubber, yellow band around his wrist at her side. The same one they all eagerly put on a few days ago, now smudged with dirt and blood. Evidence of a vacation gone wrong.
She braves a look at his face and his eyes catch hers, exhaustion and worry hidden within the lines tucked around his mouth and the creases between his brows. With their experience of being police officers, and Tim’s added time in the military, they’ve both been through traumatic events before, trained to handle the most stressful of situations. However, the LAPD doesn’t hold many courses on shipwrecks, and Lucy can’t recall ever receiving a Tim Test on what to do in the case of being stranded on a deserted island. They are in unfamiliar territory, and no amount of training fully prepared them for a situation like this. Rookies again.
Finally, as a silence begins to nestle between them, Tim pulls away and Lucy watches him debate on what he should say next. He shifts around a bit, growing uncomfortable in the quiet and from the kneeling position he had taken earlier. She imagines what he could be thinking, knowing “Are you okay?” must feel like too lame of a question and“Get up, let’s get moving” while more in line with Tim's usual rough demeanor, perhaps too harsh even for him in this present moment. He is the first one to break eye contact as he finally stands, stretching his legs. The silent debate in his mind seemingly over and won.
“What are you doing out here?” He asks finally, his question soft and low. For a second, she’s taken aback by the unusual gentleness he continues to show her. But when she feels some of the heaviness in her shoulders release, slightly, but as if lifted up by a balloon, she is thankful for his tenderness. Lucy looks down at her feet. A single brown boot on one foot, and she wriggles the uncovered toes of the other drawing his attention.
“My shoe.” She responds, and Tim raises an eyebrow. “I just wanted to find my shoe.”
“After the rescue boat shows up, I’ll take you to buy a new pair, hell about twenty?” He proposes and it’s his turn to smile. It's small but there, and Lucy can’t help but feel the infectious pull of it.
“You are going to take me?” She teases and Tim scoffs.
“Why is that so shocking? I’m probably not as good as Angela, but I know my way around a shoe store.” He jokes and it is enough to bring a genuine grin out of her.
Seizing the moment, Tim stretches out an arm and Lucy takes it, accepting his offer to help her to her feet. As she rises, the island beneath her sways and the clouds spin causing her to stumble. Tim is quick, as he often is, and steadies her by grabbing her elbow. Keeping her upright as he waits for her world to stop spinning.
“Thank you.” She tells him, after a breath, and they both know that her words are meant for more than just this moment.
There’s a pause before Tim says, “Rescue is going to come.” His voice is sure and absent of any doubt and Lucy notices the hand still cradling her elbow.
“I know,” she whispers. And she does. Lucy has always been clever, and the logical part of her knows that Tim Bradford is right. With the advancement of modern technology, the likelihood of rescue boats arriving any minute now is high and there is no need for panic. So when Tim suggests they go back to the group and wait for help, she doesn’t argue. However, as he guides her back to their friends and fellow survivors, to their humble beginnings of a campsite not meant to last, the ache in her chest tightens. And the weight of the seaglass, still secure in the palm of her hand, grows heavier than ever.
Thank you for reading! You can also find this story via my AO3 account @apollobar.
#the rookie#chenford#chenford fanfic#fanfic#lucy chen#tim bradford#shipwrecked#the rookie fanfic#tim x lucy#lucy x tim#lost#stranded on an island#slow burn#slow burn fanfic#ao3 fanfic#apollobar#tv shows#tv series#alternate universe#romance#eventual romance#eventual happy ending#melissa oneil#eric winter#chenford fic#chapter 1#survival#archive of our own#mystery#the rookie season 4
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Feeding Alligators 45 - Walk of Shame
The "finding out" part arrives.
On AO3.
You must fall asleep. Because suddenly the sky has the lightest wash of pale to the east. Your face is swollen and crusty, and your mouth tastes terrible. You sit up, notice how cold and stiff your lower legs are—they stayed out all night in only your trousers and boots.
Your brain doesn’t even give you the courtesy of pretending to forget for an instant why you’re out here. You sit on the ground and the aching dread coils around your guts.
Oh jesus, what’ve you done.
You need to get up. You need to get back before anybody notices you’re gone, before Astarion—
He didn’t come back. He didn’t come back at all, not even to get the blanket that he musta left out here (it smells like him). Something small and delicate cracks and dies within you.
He can’t know you spent the whole night out here like some pathetic, sad sack loser. You cannot give him that over you.
But going back…
Your stomach hurts. It’d be a whole lot easier to lie back down, curl into a ball, and not think for a while. Maybe sleep some more. You don’t have to remember how his skin felt so nice even as the bottom of your stomach dropped out and you fucked this, you ruined whatever seedling thing y’all had, what the fuck is wrong with you.
Except you know that’s not fair, either. It’s not right for him to just expect that. He’s an adult, same as you. It’ll be awkward around camp, you’re sure, but you’ll get over it. You’ll have to. He’ll know that, too.
But you can lay back down for a little while. Let things settle. It’s not for long, just—
Plants rustle. And you remember that your ass is out in the middle of the goddamn woods and there’s bears and hyenas and goblins and shit out here, and you don’t got so much as a stick to defend yourself.
But your legs tangle with the blanket. You really turned yourself into a burrito there, and you kick and flail your way free when—
Shadowheart. When Shadowheart emerges, spots you, and you both freeze.
She frowns. “Eleanor?”
Your name comes out accented funny. “Oh hey there! Shadowheart! How nice to see you!”
But she stares, and you realize you’ve slept and you do not have any dirt potion on you. Great. Peachy. This is just…just going so great.
Shadowheart looks around, looks to the blanket, and her frown deepens. Then she walks over and you make a show of readjusting the clothing you have now slept in so she can’t get a good look at your fucking traitor of a face. She pauses beside you as you run out of things to do with your tunic and have to settle for rubbing the gunk off your face.
When you look up, a glass bottle hovers in front of you. Dirt potion. She’s the best.
You slam it back and grimace and contemplate licking the grass to wipe off the taste.
“Why are you still out here?” she says.
That “still” is doing a lot of work in that sentence. It implies she knew you were out here to begin with (thus why she brought the potion). It also implies you should have returned by now, which itself implies she knows why you were out here to begin with goddamnit, Karlach.
“It was a nice night,” you say.
She lets you fidget like there’s absolutely nothing wrong, like you haven’t bust open capillaries in your face and eyeballs and look like a nervous wreck. Then she says, “Where’s Astarion.”
Which…implies he is not back at camp, either. You ain’t sure what to make of that. He didn’t come back here. You ain’t sure if there’s anything to make of it at all.
“He left,” you say. Try to keep the tone light and unbothered, but disastrously overcompensate. You can hear it in your own voice and you wince.
Shadowheart also catches it.
“Eleanor?” she says. A shush of the grass and the light floral scent of her soap or whatever it is washes over you as she kneels. “Are you alright?”
Of course you are. Nothing happened. That’s the point. So there’s no fucking, goddamn reason for your bitchy little throat to go all tight again. You can’t say anything without giving that away, so you nod.
That’s a mistake. You know it’s a mistake, fuck, fuck.
She leans in. “Eleanor, look at me.”
How about not. Your stupid eyes water now for no good reason and this is pathetic, you are pathetic, and why can’t you fucking stop?
“’M fine,” you say in the most “obviously crying” voice. So you crunch down hard on the inside of your cheek to try to distract your body, but it don’t work because you’re a stupid little bitch and your body is intent on plowing this plane into the side of the mountain and killing everyone on board.
So, as she’s not sitting and you are, Shadowheart moves herself to get a look at your stupid ass face and hers goes all tight.
“Are you injured,” she says without a question mark.
You can’t talk. It’s all snowballing into a fucking emotional avalanche, and you flap your hands as if that means anything.
She touches your chin with a single, delicate finger. “Eleanor, please. I need you to talk to me. Are you hurt anywhere?”
You sniffle like a sad toddler. God, you have such an ugly cry face and your lips and chin are doing that pathetic wobble as you throw everything you have to keep this shit contained.
You do manage to shake your head no.
“Alright, that’s good,” Shadowheart says. “Did Astarion…?”
You don’t understand what she’s asking. He’s not here, clearly. He left after—
It crashes over you. Shadowheart doesn’t trust him and Wyll all but sat himself up with the light on waiting for you to come back (was only missing a shotgun). They’ll think Astarion did something to you. Hurt you.
“No!” you say. “No, no! Nothing like that! Nothing happened at all.”
Shadowheart seems to absorb this. She’s very good at keeping her face blank. You’d hate to gamble against her.
“Why are you out here by yourself?” she says.
Ah. Well. That would be the crux of it, wouldn’t it? People go stargazing, right? You could totally use that. Except you ain’t never showed the slightest interest in the stars, and the canopy here obscures most of them.
And she knows. They all know, apparently, that you weren’t coming out here by yourself.
You look up at her, eyes watering like a bawling calf. You know so little about her. She keeps things tight to the chest.
“N-nothing b-bad happened,” you say. “I j-just. ‘S embarrassing. I d-don’t want everyb-body to know. F-fucking gossip.”
She nods slowly. Says, “Alright. We all have our own secrets. So long as it won’t hurt any of us, I can keep yours.”
She’s so solemn. Y’all’s cleric healer who hates Lae’zel for some reason.
“I—” You hiccup. Oh joy. Because that makes all of this better. “Astarion asked me. K-Karlach told you?” And when Shadowheart nods, “He’s r-ridiculous. I t-thought he was just j-j-joking the whole time. Didn’t think he m-meant it. I ain’t exactly a catch. B-but he asked.”
You don’t got nothing to wipe your face except that blanket. He musta stole it from somewhere, and thought to make you both comfortable out here, and you ruined it and he brought it for nothing now and—
“I-it just, just d-didn’t w-work out.” Good god, your lungs hitch uncontrollably. Jesus fucking lord, you’re hyperventilating. At least you’re far enough away from the others nobody else should hear this. “I-I wanted to s-stop. And he d-did. We d-d-fuck. D-didn’t even get that f-far. ‘M sorry. I d-don’t know w-why this won’t f-fucking stop.”
It just keeps wracking through you, out of control. You’re slamming mental levers, trying in vain to seal the watertight doors, and like the fucking Titanic, that shit just spills over the top, deeper and deeper. Nothing happened. You said stop and he did. Immediately. It was kissing. Maybe necking, you ain’t sure of the definitions.
And yeah, that was your first and now it’s a smoking crater, but so what? So what if your bullshit brain and dumbass endocrine system pitch a fit over it? It was one makeout session. It’s not the end of the world.
But the look on his face. The way he closed off. It hurts. It hurts real bad.
“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “Ain’t n-normally this pathetic over some, some boy.”
Because it is over some man (actually), and ain’t that just galling? You done went and survived so much bullshit, and now you’re reduced to this over a man you just fucking met.
“It’s alright,” Shadowheart says. You sense a hesitation in there. An awkwardness to her crouching with you. He lips purse. “I’m…more adept at healing physical injuries. I’m not…”
“Sure what to do ‘bout a s-stranger leaking all over herself and hyperventilating?” you say. Crack a baby smile. “Me n-neither.”
And that finally pulls the teensiest, most uncertain smile out of her.
“Would you like me to smite him?” she says, almost shy. And you realize she’s joking with you. Hole shit, you got Shadowheart to joke with you.
“N-nah. He’s t-too useful.”
She pulls a face. “At what, complaining?”
“I w-was gonna say t-theatrics.”
She hums. “Well, I suppose every band of misadventurers needs at least one clown.”
It’s probably your shredded nerves, but that pulls a snort out of you. An exceptionally wet one that has you grabbing for the blanket to frantically wipe it away. Which sets off the giggles, and if you can laugh once, you can laugh more, and the hideous tightness in your chest loosens its grip.
“He a-also pretty good at killing things,” you say, thinking of nearly-decapitated Olodan and what he did to Kitchen Lurker.
“Only when they don’t see him coming.”
“Eh. A-ambush predator.”
And she gives you a look. A tiny one. The barest flicker of her eyebrow, but the foolishness of this whole thing starts to seep into you. You were the easiest target twice over. Whatever creepy vampire bullshit he’s got, it led him straight to you. You can’t be that, anymore. Can’t let something like this happen again.
Shadowheart (this is her patrol shift, you find out) helps you back to your feet. Casts a minor healing spell with her glowing jesus hands, and your face cools and settles down.
“Oh,” you say. Not even your eyelids feel puffy. “That’s real useful.”
“It comes in handy. Not on myself, mind you.”
“Course not. You would never.”
And there’s that barest flicker of softness, like the glimmer of fish scales way down in the deep green.
This was a mistake, is all. He read you wrong, and you read him wrong, and y’all can put this behind you. You ain’t gonna cry over a fucking man, certainly not one as outrageous as Astarion, who can go back to his pile of lovers in the city as soon as y’all pull this worm outta y’all’s brains. And y’all kill that fuckface who enslaved him (asshole he may be, but if you can keep him from going back to that shit…).
She lets you catch and smooth your breath. Lets you pat yourself down to make sure you don’t got bark in your shirt or twigs in your hair. Then she walks back with you.
You’ll face Astarion. You ain’t gonna cower. You ain’t gonna be some sad little mope. You’ll talk to him like a goddamn adult (Ryan), and you’ll both move past this and it’ll be fine. Y’all got bigger problems to deal with.
The crew kept the fire burning all night. The sun is reaching its first tendrils of light through the branches as you emerge into the clearing—the camp quiet—smiling softly.
Something moves. Astarion looks away from the dawn light to glance your way. His gaze fixes on Shadowheart for just a second, the barest flicker of narrowing. Then back to you.
“Good morning, darlings,” he says.
And any hint of friendship you thought you’d built crumbles to ash. There is nothing in his eyes when he looks at you. It’s the same, fake face he wore on the beach, when he tackled you to the ground with a knife to your throat. Outside, he’s clean and coiffed. But inside, the man is as hollow and plastic as a barbie doll.
#feeding alligators fic#these two shitheads#astarion fic#astarion x tav#tavstarion#slow burn#eventual happy ending#we're in the sadness arc now#demisexual tav#plus size tav#isekai
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Still Here (Chapter 6)
Summary: Dinner with Timothée reveals feelings.
"There is something I want to show you."
It was Friday, so your curiosity over his words could finally be sated. Timothée was due to pick you up about 6 o'clock so the two of you could go out for dinner in the closest city of any appreciable size, Hartley. Unsure of where exactly where you were going, you opted for a cute blouse, jeans, and cowboy boots.
Madison was cozy on the couch with her grandparents with a bowl of popcorn in her lap when you walked out of your room. She had convinced them to watch the new Wonka movie with her while you were away. You hugged them all and kissed Madison on the head.
"Be good, do as you're told, and remember to brush your teeth."
She rolled her eyes. "Okay, Mom."
"Love you!" you called back to her as you grabbed your things and walked to the door. Right as you looked out the window, you saw Timothée's blue truck pull up. You locked the door and skipped down the steps. It felt like you were in high school all over again. You were all smiles as you walked quickly to the passenger side.
"Hi!" you said cheerily as you climbed in.
Timothée looked up and down at your outfit. "Howdy," he replied through a grin.
"Hey now, I can get right back out of this truck if you're going to make fun of me," you sassed.
He held up his hands to feign surrender. "No, no. It's a good look! I swear!"
You playfully popped him on the arm. "So where are we going?"
He put the truck in gear and moved along. "There is an Italian restaurant I love to visit when I'm in town. Thought we could go there."
"And?"
"And what?" He clamped down his lips to prevent himself from smiling.
"There was something you wanted to show me. Surely it wasn't an Italian restaurant."
"Oh yeah, that. Yes, definitely that, too," he said with an exaggerated nod.
"What is it?!"
"You'll have to wait about..." He looked over at the truck's clock. "30 minutes to find out. We'll stop there before dinner so you can actually enjoy the food instead of wonder."
Timothée drove through Hartley's downtown square, pulled up in front of a closed shop, and turned off the truck. "We're here!" he said excitedly.
You looked around. "Ooo...kay. Where is 'here'?"
"Well, come on, get out of the truck."
"But Timothée, everything on this street is already closed for the night."
He held up a key. "Yep!"
He walked to a storefront and opened it up. You followed him through the door. "Wait here," he instructed. He walked to the back and flipped on the lights. You found yourself surrounded by the most beautiful wooden furniture you had ever laid eyes on.
"Welcome to my store."
"Yours. This is yours?" You spun around to take it all in.
"Yes. I made all of this."
"You what? Oh, wow. Mr. McDowell from wood shop would be so proud."
Timothée chuckled. "He was, actually. Bought a chair for his deck before he passed. Your mother bought a piece, too."
"She did?" You went through a mental list of all the furniture in the house as you walked through the showroom. "The porch swing?"
"Yep."
"I love that swing. Even more so now." You fingers gingerly grazed the handcrafted dining table next to you. "It's beautiful."
"Yes," Timothée said, not looking at the table, but at you. He cleared his throat when you turned and made eye contact. "Thank you."
"Where did you learn how to do this? Let me guess, another hobby you took up after you came back from Texas?" you inquired.
He shrugged. "Something like that. I needed to keep my hands busy. I turned the barn on my parents' land into my shop, and I sell out here. More traffic."
"What took you to Texas, anyway?"
Timothée's stomach growled. "Maybe we should discuss over dinner."
You stifled a giggle. "Fair enough. But don't think you are getting out of talking about yourself that easily."
The two of you loaded back up in the truck and drove a couple of blocks away to the Italian restaurant Timothée raved about. After you were seated on the patio and placed your orders, you set your chin in your hand and stared at him.
"Now spill." You grinned and waggled your eyebrows.
Timothée smiled. "Where should I start?"
"Well, the last I time I saw you before running into you at the grocery store was graduation. How about there?"
"As you know, I still hadn't figured out what I wanted to do. I hadn't made any plans for college, so I continued working at the hardware store for a while. That got boring. Sure as hell didn't want to do that for the rest of my life. So I started taking some auto mechanic classes at the vocational school here in Hartley."
"Is that where you learned to fix up the truck?"
"Yep. But that didn't seem like the right path, either. I felt...lost. Like I said the other day, once I got over the hurt of you leaving, I began to understand that you had the right idea all along. I even seriously considered giving you a call to see if your invitation still stood, but by the time I worked up the nerve, I learned from your mother that you were getting married. I didn't want to mess that up for you."
He paused when the server came by with the food. You both thanked her and took up your utensils. You couldn't believe what you had just heard. He considered coming all the way out to California. For me.
"What happened then?"
Timothée continued his story between bites. "Well, I figured I shouldn't waste the momentum to leave this place, so I just got in the truck in left. I held down some odd and end jobs, camped out in state parks or hotels until I got to the oil fields in Texas. Found a steady job and set myself up pretty well there for a few years until Mom died. I came back to help my dad keep up with the land and the house. He's not in great health, either."
"I'm so sorry, Timmy."
He paused, fork mid-air. "You haven't called me that in ages."
"Oh, sorr-"
"No, don't be. I- I've missed it." He half-smiled.
You blushed, dropped your eyes to your plate, and cleared your throat. "Any...significant others along the way?"
"I was engaged for a bit when I was in Texas. She was a nice girl, but I broke it off because it just didn't feel right. That was right before Mom passed. Since then, between work and taking care of my dad, I haven't had much time for, uh, exploring."
"You two ready for dessert?" the server asked as she came back around.
Timothée looked from the server to you. "The tiramisu here is amazing! Want to split one? Dessert's on me."
"That sounds divine."
With the previous candor interrupted, the two of you idly chatted while you waited for dessert. You asked after some of your high school classmates. He asked you about college life in California. Timothée offered you the first bite of the tiramisu when the server dropped it off.
"Oh, wow - that IS amazing!" You covered your mouth with your hand so as to not reveal the half-chewed cake.
Timothée chuckled. "Told you," he bragged as he popped a bite into his own mouth. You continued to take turns taking slivers of the cake until it disappeared.
You leaned back in your chair. "Mmm. That was so good."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it."
You settled the tab for the food, and he did so for the dessert. You left the restaurant and slowly ambled side by side back to the truck.
"Timmy?" You stopped short on the sidewalk in front of the truck, forcing him to turn back to look at you. "Thank you for making this whole...situation...more bearable. I can't imagine how lonely I would be right now if I hadn't bumped into you at the store."
Timothée stepped closer to you. He brushed a hair behind your ear that had been loosened by the wind. Your heart hammered at his touch and you felt heat flush your cheeks. He nudged your chin with his index finger so he could look you in the eyes.
"I should have followed you when you asked me."
<><><><><>
Chapter 7
Masterlist
Tag List:
@croatianprincess @bluizh
#timothée chalamet#timothee chalamet#timothee chalamet x reader#timothée chalamet x reader#Timothée chalamet x you#timothee chalamet x you#timothee x you#timothee x reader#Timothée x you#Timothée x reader#divorce#single mom#single parent#single parenting#high school sweethearts#angst#whump#eventual happy ending#reader insert
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Inspired by Please marry me again, Husband.
When tragedy strikes the house of Eckhart, the only two left alive are Penelope and Reynold. The two are more strangers than anything. Where one clings, the other withdraws. But time brings them closer together.
Eventually, Penelope enters into a marriage of convenience with the Empire’s Crown Prince in order to help the house of Eckhart. Falling in love wasn’t part of the agreement, but she falls nonetheless. And she wishes desperately to save him. Even at the cost of her own life. Despite what they feel for one another, their marriage became a tragedy worthy of a song.
#villains are destined to die#death is the only ending for a villainess#vadd#callisto regulus#death is the only ending for the villainess#fanfic#death is the only ending for the villain#penelope eckhart#Penelope Eckhart x Callisto Regulus#angst#sad#angst with a happy ending#eventual happy ending#time travel fix it
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Something Real: Chapter Two
Pairings: Loki X Reader
Warnings: Language
Summary: Readers house has another visitor.
Still not sure where this is going but I’m glad people are enjoying it. I hope you all like part two as much as you liked part one 💚🖤
~~The following morning~~
BANG BANG BANG
WHOOSH. BANG!
“Y/N!” You hear Thor’s booming voice in your home.
“Ughh fuck’s sake…” you groan.
You roll out of bed, fatigued from all of the tossing and turning and lazily walk out to the living room.
“Thor..it is too early for this..what is the problem?”
“The problem? Why is my nephew messaging me in the middle of the night that I need to come here immediately? That you are in terrible danger?”
“I wouldn’t say I’m in danger just mildly inconvenienced.”
“What has happened? What danger did Vali speak of?”
Vali huh, that’s not surprising. Little shit.
“Look Thor, it’s a lot to explain.”
“Ah hello brother..”
God dammit.
Loki walks into the room with a stupid smile on his face, dressed in his Asgardian clothes.
Thor looks at him in astonishment at first and then rage.
“What is this?…Brother..you didn’t..”
“No brother I did not fake my death again..your Loki from your timeline certainly did meet his end by Thanos’ hand..I am from a different timeline..in fact the last time I saw you, you and your merry group of morons stopped me from taking Midgard..”
Thor shakes his head in confusion, “so you never went back to Asgard after your defeat?”
“No brother, I escaped with the tesseract before you could remove me from Stark Tower.”
“Norns..the multiverse..it’s real?”
“Very..look, I have been through enough in the last few weeks to last me a lifetime, I just want to find a new home. I used this device to get here..” he holds out the tempad.
Thor shakes his head again in disbelief, “this is unbelievable..” he looks at you, “the children? They saw him then?”
You nod your head sadly, “Vali accused me of lying to him, Narfi has been cautious.”
“Sounds like them..alright brother..what will you do now?”
Loki shakes his head, “I don’t know honestly. I didn’t expect to find a timeline where I had children..”
You didn’t hear the twins step in the room, “you don’t want us?” Narfi’s sad voice asks.
Loki whips around and kneels before Narfi, “oh my boy, I said I did not expect it not that I didn’t want you. This was certainly a surprise but a happy one I promise you, I never thought I would have children..”
“Alright guys, I’m gonna make us some breakfast and we can talk some more.”
You prepare the food while Loki, Thor and the boys sat at the table and Loki told his tale of how he got to our timeline, being careful what he says since there were children at the table.
You finish the food and everyone quietly eats, Vali breaks the silence..
“So..what now?..are you gonna stay here?”
Loki looks to you to answer.
“Um I don’t know bud, we have a few things to talk about still.”
“Like what? Dad’s home..we can be a family now..” Narfi says hopefully.
“Oh…guys..I..” you stutter.
Loki takes the moment to chime in, “boys your mother and I need some time to decide on all of that, but I don’t want you to worry. I’m not going anywhere..”
He looks directly at you when he says that and to be honest you don’t know how to feel about it.
“Uh oh…mom..I think it’s happening again…”
You look at Vali, “burst?”
Vali nods his head almost frantically.
“Ok..up up up! We can make it out the back door to the backyard!”
You roughly pull Vali out of his chair and out the back door, running with him in your arms to the middle of the yard. Thor comes running behind you and took Vali from you, “get back y/n!”
Thor places Vali down and you step back as far as you can, you bump into Loki’s chest and his hands reactively go to your shoulders.
“What’s going on?” He asks concerned.
“His magic, sometimes he gets these bursts of magical energy that he can’t control.”
Narfi steps in front of you, watching his brother with a concerned face.
Loki steps around you both and walks to Thor and Vali.
“Move Thor.” He shoves Thor out of the way and kneels in front of Vali putting his hands on his son’s tiny shoulders.
“Close your eyes. Reach for your power. Don’t let it control you.”
Vali closes his eyes and whimpers, “I can’t”, tears start streaming down his face.
“You can. You are a son of Loki. Now focus.” He can see a green pulse starting to form around Vali, he is slowly losing control of the power inside of him.
“It hurts.”
“I know my son, breath. Focus. I can see the pulse of your magic, feel that pulse inside of you. Can you feel it?”
Vali scrunches his whole face, “yea..”
“Ok you need to seize control of that power, keep your eyes closed and take a deep breath”, Loki takes his hand and places it against Vali’s chest and takes his own deep breath, “breathe out” releasing his own breath helping his son along. “Envision the pulse of your power around you, envision it getting smaller and smaller. Bring it back into your body.”
Vali is putting so much effort into controlling his power he’s starting to sweat. His body must be so overheated because his jotun form is starting to creep across his skin.
Loki sees this and immediately changes his own form, placing his cold blue hand on his son’s neck.
“That’s it my boy..focus..breathe..don’t let it control you..”
You see Vali take deep breaths and the pulse around him slowly starts to get smaller and smaller.
You see his skin start to go back to it’s pale complexion, Loki’s doing the same.
Vali opens his eyes, his breathing a little labored, “wow..I’ve never been able to control it like that before…”
“You have a great power inside of you, If you would allow me I would love to teach you how to control it.”
Vali looks over to you, “please mom! Please! Did you see what I did?!”
“I did baby, we still have to talk about where we go from here ok?”
He looks down dejectedly, “ok…”
Loki gets his attention, “hey..we will figure it out alright..”
Vali nods his head and walks towards his mom and brother.
“I’m tired..” Vali leans his body against you.
“I’m sure you are baby, why don’t you go lay down for a bit.”
He yawns and nods his head, “ok..”
He goes inside and Narfi follows behind him, still a little weary of the new presence in their home.
You walk up to Loki, “thank you for helping him..it’s been such a struggle.”
“If you would allow it, I could teach them both how to control their power. They need a teacher.”
“They have a teacher”, you reply.
“Who?”
“Gorm” Thor responds.
“Gorm?! That is who you have training my sons?”
“There was no one else after Ragnarok Loki, we did the best with what we had left!” Thor defends.
“Well that’s over. I will be taking over their studies.”
“Whoa whoa whoa..you don’t get to show up and just decide who’s going to be responsible for teaching my children. Thor’s right, we did the best we could with what we had.”
Loki takes a moment and calms himself, “my apologies, I have overstepped. I know this has not been easy for you, raising children alone is hard, but raising children with magic? I’m so sorry I wasn’t here..”
You take a breath, “it’s not your fault.. you sacrificed yourself to save your brother and your people..I’m gonna go check on the boys.”
You go inside leaving Thor and Loki in the backyard.
“Tell me about her.” Loki says to Thor, not making eye contact with his brother. His eyes are staring at the door you just walked through.
“She is….a force.. and a wonderful mother. You loved her very much.”
“The children love her, I hope I have not disrupted their lives..all of this in an effort to learn my place in a time I don’t belong.”
“Brother, your place is by her side, with your children..you should discuss this with her.”
“She will never see them as mine! They will always belong to that other variant!”
“So prove to her that you want to be here for her and the children..you fell in love with her once, you will do so again.”
“I do not wish to speak of this anymore, I’m going to check on the children.”
Loki walks away from Thor and goes back inside, he walks to Narfi’s room first and knocks. When he doesn’t hear a response he opens the door slightly but finds it empty.
He closes the door and walks to Vali’s room, the door was cracked open slightly so he peaked inside. He sees you sitting on the bed, your back leaning on the headboard with Vali’s head laying in your lap fast asleep and Narfi was sitting next to you, his head leaning on your shoulder. Loki was about to walk in but then he heard Narfi ask a question that stopped him..
“Is daddy gonna stay?”
.. “I don’t know baby.. do you want him to?”
“I think so, he helped Vali with his magic..”
“Yes he did.”
“Do you want him to stay mommy?”
You take a second..Loki can hear his own heart beating.
“I don’t know, I want what’s best for you two and for him too. He’s not from this time, he doesn’t know me..I just want you both safe and happy.”
“I love you mommy.”
“I love you too baby.”
You kiss Narfi on the forehead and then Loki walks through the door, knocking softly as he walks in.
“Hi.” He shyly smiles.
“Hi.” You smile back.
“I..just wanted to check and see how you all were..I don’t want to intrude..”
“No it’s ok” you look down at Narfi, “come on lets leave him to get some sleep.”
You all walk out of Vali’s room to leave him to rest.
“Why don’t you go read your book so I can talk to your dad..”
“Ok momma”, he grabbed his book from the living room coffee table and went outside to read in his favorite spot in the sun. You can hear him greet Thor who was still outside.
You and Loki sit on opposite sides of the couch facing each other.
You start, “so…what now?”
Loki nods and then looks at you thoughtfully, “I understand if you don’t want me to stay in your home but I would like your permission to be around Narfi and Vali. I plan on staying on this timeline..permanently.”
You give him a long stare, “I don’t know Loki, if you disappear again..it would crush them.”
He quickly shakes his head at you, eyes starting to fill with unshed tears, “no..I wouldn’t leave them, I would do anything within my power to stay with my family. Please…the boys, Thor..you…you’re all I have.”
Again you’re looking at him as if you are trying to detect any falsehood.
“If you fake your death or try and kill a powerful being with the equivalent of a butter knife again I will find you and kill you myself. No matter what timeline you try to run to.”
Loki smiles at you, reaches into his pocket and pulls out the tempad.
He continues to look at you but his smile soon turns serious as he uses his magic to set it on fire. You watched in amazement as the device turned to ash in his hands.
You turn your shocked gaze to him, “why?”
“Because I want to prove to you that I will not leave you or the children again. From the moment I stepped into your time you all became my priority. My glorious purpose. I will live the rest of my days protecting you and my children. I have no use for the tempad any longer, I believe I have finally found a place to stay and to be at peace…If you’d allow me..”
A hopeful feeling starts to bloom in your chest. He makes it so hard to not love him.
“You can stay, we’ll go to Val tomorrow and let her know you’re going to be staying here. We’ll let the boys know at dinner later”
“Why would we have to inform her exactly?”
“Oh your brother didn’t tell you?”
He shakes his head causing you to laugh.
“He abdicated the throne to her, she’s King of New Asgard.”
He looks at you for a moment and then jumps off the couch and storms outside.
“Thor!”
You just hysterically laugh, having Loki here is going to be very interesting to say the least. You doubt you’ll ever have a dull moment again..
Tag List: I hope I got everyone 💚🖤
@thomase1 @bellajg21 @tiredbut-here @laliceee @silverfire475 @thecrazytealady @clockblobber @lokisgoodgirl @asgardianprincess1050 @skymoonandstardust @chantsdemarins @ariacraigggg @ms-ried @abagaillaufeyson @javagirl328 @simplyholl @vividredrose-blog @lilibet261 @lokidbadguy @sirimiripetrichor
#loki#loki fanfic#loki x female reader#loki x y/n#imagine loki#loki x you#loki smut#loki imagine#mcu loki#jotun loki#loki fanfiction#loki fluff#loki x reader#god of mischief#eventual smut#eventual relationship#eventual fluff#eventual romance#eventual happy ending#smut#jotun!loki#jotun smut#loki fluff and smut#loki x reader smut#fluff#loki x reader fluff
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My Gwynriel Week contribution
Chapter 35: Into the Light
Summary: Gwyn POV of Day Court, Helion catches on to her and she has a moment with Azriel.
A Court of Blooms and Blades (99215 words) by antipinkkitten
Chapters: 35/50
Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas, Crescent City Series - Sarah J. Maas, Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra, Elain Archeron/Azriel, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Azriel/Gwyneth Berdara
Characters: Elain Archeron, Lucien Vanserra, Azriel (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Rhysand (A Court of Thorns and Roses), Feyre Archeron, Gwyneth Berdara
Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Rejection, Eventual Smut, POV Multiple, Mating Bond, Heartbreak, Break Up, Healing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy
#acotar#elucien#romance#elain archeron#multiple povs#pro elain#eventual happy ending#eventual smut#gwynriel#love triangle#pro gwynriel#gwyneth berdara#lucien vanserra#pro lucien vanserra#pro azriel#ao3 fanfic
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