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ragingbookdragon · 3 years

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I Won't Give Up On Us

Jason Todd x Reader Story!

Word Count: 12.5K Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Canonical Character Death, Angst

Author's Note: I wrote this a few years ago I believe, but hadn't posted it back. So I edited (mostly) and fixed it for y'all! Enjoy! -Thorne

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She sat on the water-tower and watched as they moved across the rooftops; they stopped in the middle and began discussing something. The tall one looked down at the smaller one and nodded to the street. “Stay along the rooftops and check the streets while I look for Selina.”

“Selina’s not around here Batman,” she called coyly.

The two of them whirled around, their eyes moving up until they found her. “Kit.”

She stood up from the water-tower and spread her arms. “In the flesh, Batman.”

The young boy beside him took a step forward. “Where’s Catwoman, Kit?”

Her eyes flitted to the bright colored boy, and she grinned. “Careful Robin…foxes eat birds.”

Scoffing, he crossed his arms over his suited chest. “You wouldn’t do a damn thing to me.”

She raised an eyebrow and hopped down, landing in front of them. “You aren’t the only one with skills, Robin. And we both know who’s the better fighter.” She walked by them, stopping at the ledge before turning to Batman. “Selina had business elsewhere.”

“Where is she?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Dunno. She might be my mentor, but she doesn’t tell me everything.” Gesturing to him, she quipped, “You’d have better luck using those detective skills of yours to find her.”

As she started to walk away, she paused and turned as if remembering something and looked at Robin. “Do you always keep your wallet on you? Or is it just right now?”

“What are you talking about, Kit?” he questioned, brows furrowing in confusion.

She flashed a grin and waved a black leather wallet, enjoying the way his eyes widened at the sight, then patted at his pants; her tone was heavy with challenge as she provoked, “Catch me if you can, little bird.” That was all she said before taking off down the wall, running along the streets.

Robin jerked forward, seemingly forgetting that Batman was beside him as he hauled after her. “GET BACK HERE, KIT!”

Batman sighed as he watched the two teens chase each other, one continually shouting the other giggling, then a voice called from behind him. “They’re almost like a miniature version of us, aren’t they, Bat?”

He tipped his head to the woman standing on the other rooftop. “Selina.”

She smirked and turned, walking away. “Let’s play a game of tag, shall we?” He grunted as he began running after her.

***

She could hear Robin’s feet slam against the pavement with each step he took, and she huffed a laugh. “You’re not supposed to let people hear you, Robin! I thought Batman taught you how to be quiet!”

“I’m gonna be quiet when I get my wallet back from you!”

“Is that before or after I take the money inside?”

“DON’T TOUCH MY MONEY, KIT!”

“So touchy, Robin.” Her hands gripped the ledge as she pulled herself up and onto the rooftop; her feet carried her to the edge of the building, and she peered over it, mumbling to herself, “That’s a little too big of a jump for me to make.”

She turned around and was met by his chest as he slammed into her; her eyes widened as everything moved in slow-motion as they fell over the edge. The wind whipped by them as they fell, and she couldn’t stop the blood-curdling scream that tore through her throat.

An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, then the click of the grapple-gun sounded in her ears, followed by his low and confident voice. “I’ve got us Kit, don’t worry.”

Her hands clenched in his suit as the grapple hooked into a building, and they swung down to the roof below. When their feet touched the ground, she pulled away and slung her fist into his stomach. He bent over, holding his stomach and she exploded. “Are you insane, Robin! We could’ve died! How about next time, you watch where the fuck you’re running!”

She turned away and stalked off when a hand curled in hers. “Wait a second, Kit.” She paused, glancing down at him, then he rose and rubbed the spot she’d punched. “Damn, you’ve got one hell of an arm.” She felt the corner of her mouth raise and he matched her grin. “See…you’re not that mad at me.”

Scoffing, she retorted, “Considering the fact that we almost became a giant splatter on the pavement? I’m a little mad.”

“I had us.”

She leaned forward and poked his chest. “And what would’ve happened if you hadn’t?”

He paused for a minute, then laced his fingers with hers. “Then we wouldn’t have been able to go to prom in a few weeks.” He went quiet, then looked at her. “You are still gonna go to prom with me, right, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah, Jason…I am.”

Grinning, he nodded to the diner just across the street. “Wanna get some food?”

“Sure.”

They began walking towards the diner, sliding down the fire-escape and to the street; they crossed the street and stepped into the joint. When the food was ready, they took it back to the roof, sitting down on the ledge, eating, while cracking jokes back and forth.

(Y/N) was sipping on her milkshake when Jason went quiet, and she eyed him. “What’s wrong, Jay?”

He glanced at her then shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s obviously something. You aren’t usually this quiet.”

Jason stayed silent for a moment. “…I’m going to Ethiopia soon.”

Her eyes widened, and she leaned close. “For what?”

His gaze seemed heavy when he looked at her. “I’m finding my mother.”

“I thought Catherine was your mom?”

Jason nodded. “She was…but she wasn’t my biological mother.”

“When are you leaving?”

“In a couple days.”

“You’re going to be back in time for prom, right?”

Jason snorted. “Yes, (Y/N). I won’t stand you up at prom.”

She grinned. “Good.” It was silent for a second, then she spoke softly. “Does Bruce know?” When he didn’t answer, she found her own, sighing, “Jason, it’s not a good idea to leave without letting Bruce know.”

He nodded. “I know…but Bruce isn’t who I need to tell right now.” He took her hand. “It’s you.” His other hand fumbled in his utility belt, and he pulled out a silver band that held a peridot in the middle; he held it out to her, and she took it, then stared at him.

“Jason…what’s this?”

“A ring.”

(Y/N) sighed and rolled her eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. Couldn’t figure that out myself.” She paused. “Why though?”

“It’s a promise ring.”

She felt the breath leave her lungs and her eyes went wide. “A promise ring?”

He nodded and squeezed her hand. “I know we’re too young to get married right now, (Y/N). But I love you, and at some point, in my life, I that to become ‘our life’.”

(Y/N) was speechless at his confession, and she pulled off her mask, questioning, “Are you being serious right now? Because if this is a joke, after I beat the shit out of you, I will break up with you, and never speak to you again.”

Jason snorted. “I’m being one-hundred percent serious, (Y/N). I want to marry you someday, and this ring serves as a testament to that.” He squeezed her hand again. “So, what do you say? Wanna make a promise?”

(Y/N) felt tears gather in her eyes, and she shifted, wrapping her arms around his neck; she nodded, and choked out, “Yes!” She pulled back, pressing her lips to his; she murmured against his mouth. “Yes, I do.”

Jason grinned, and pulled her close, and rested his forehead against hers. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Jason.”

***A Few Weeks Later***

She walked into the apartment, closing the door behind her; she kicked off the black heels and began fumbling with the dress zipper. Selina tipped her head around the wall. “What are you doing home so early, hon?” She glanced down at her wristwatch. “Prom wasn’t supposed to be over until eleven. It’s nine.”

(Y/N) glanced at her as she pulled the zipper down. “Jason wasn’t there.”

“He stood you up?”

She shrugged. “If he did, he’d better have a damn good reason for it.”

Selina observed her for a few seconds. “Are you okay, hon?”

“I’m beginning to worry about Jason.” She sighed.

“Why’s that?”

“Because ever since Jason left for Ethiopia, he hasn’t sent me a single message.” (Y/N) paused and looked at her. “Jason isn’t one to keep me in the dark. He would’ve called by now.”

Selina moved forward and placed her hands on (Y/N)’s shoulders. “He’s probably spending time with his mom.”

(Y/N) stared at her before sighing, nodding, “You’re probably right.” She pulled away from Selina’s grip and moved to her bedroom, stopping as she closed the door. “I’ll go see Bruce tomorrow and ask.”

“You might not be able to find Bruce.”

She cocked an eyebrow at her comment. “And why not?”

Selina’s gaze turned solemn. “Something’s wrong with Bruce he’s becoming…ruthless and careless.”

(Y/N) took in her words and nodded. “I’ll see if I can find him. That or I’ll just ask Alfred. He’ll know.”

Selina nodded. “Goodnight hon.”

“Night Selina.”

***The Next Day***

She stood in apprehension at the view of the manor; no matter how many times she’d been there, she was still shocked at the sheer size of it. She stepped up to the door and rang the doorbell, then turned and stared out at the long driveway, listening as the doorbell chimed.

The door opened and (Y/N) spun back around, expecting Alfred to be there. “Hey Alfred, is—Dick?” She stopped and stared at him. “Holy crap! Dick! I haven’t seen you in forever!” Dick smiled at her and opened his arms. (Y/N) leaned in and gave him a hug before pulling away. “What are you doing back in Gotham?”

Dick’s face dropped, and he stared at her. “Bruce needed my help.”

“Selina told me he’s been on edge for a while. It’s good that you’re here to keep him grounded.”

Dick nodded and motioned inside. “Want to come in?”

(Y/N) nodded and stepped by him. “This place gets even cooler every time I come over.”

He chuckled. “It does, doesn’t it?” They stepped into the kitchen and Dick went to the refrigerator. “Want something to drink?”

“Did Alfred make any fruit tea?”

“I think he made mango and peach tea.”

“I’ll take some of that.” He pulled out a pitcher and poured each of them a glass; he handed hers to her and she sipped it. “Alfred makes the best tea, I swear.”

Dick smiled and sat beside her, giving her a once over. “You look good, (Y/N).”

She was surprised at his comment and pointed to herself. “Me?”

“Yes (Y/N). You.” He snorted.

“Thank you, Dick.” She smiled. “Don’t ask me for a loan though, cause I ain’t givin’ you money.”

Dick laughed at her and shook his head. “I’m not going to ask you for a loan, (Y/N).”

“Good…‘cause I don’t have a lot of money.”

The two of them let out laughs, and Dick’s eyes caught the ring on her finger; he nodded at it. “Are you wearing a ring?”

(Y/N) glanced down at it, then back to him and nodded. “Jason gave it to me a few weeks ago.” She twirled it between her fingers, and she felt a smile form. “It’s a promise ring.” (Y/N) paused, then looked up at Dick. “Which brings me to the reason why I’m here…is Jason still in Ethiopia with his mom? He hasn’t messaged me yet, and I’m beginning to worry about him.”

Dick’s expression gave way from surprise to pure shock, and he leaned forward, his tone laced with disbelief. “…Have—have you not been told, (Y/N)?”

She blinked at him. “Told what?” Dick went silent, and (Y/N) cocked her head at him. “What haven’t I been told, Dick?”

He stared at her with a face that made her heart thump ominously and his voice held a tone of solemnity. “…Jason was killed in Ethiopia a few weeks ago.”

(Y/N) thought her heart stopped as she breathed out the only word she could manage. “…What?”

***Part Two***

Noise. Everything that came out of his mouth was pure noise. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as she rose from the bar seat. Dick looked at her concerned and rose to follow her. “(Y/N)? Where are you going?” She didn’t respond, her feet carrying her towards the study; she entered the room and slid to the wall, moving the clock from its position. (Y/N) skipped the steps, moving as fast as she could into the cave.

She came upon him, standing in front of the Batcomputer talking to Alfred; he turned to her, and she let out a withering whisper. “Is it true?” His eyebrows furrowed and he opened his, but she cut him off, this time, her voice a screech. “IS IT TRUE?!”

He shut his mouth for a few seconds, then murmured, “…Yes he’s…gone.”

(Y/N) saw red and she flew forward, her fists pounding into his chest. “HOW COULD YOU NOT TELL ME! HOW COULD YOU KEEP THIS FROM ME!” Bruce didn’t respond, didn’t even react to her punches; he just took each blow. After a few seconds of continual punches, he reached out and grabbed her arms; (Y/N) struggled, thrashing against him. “Let go of me!”

He didn’t, instead he brought her forward and circled his arms around her; she struggled for a few moments, but then the realization set in, and she felt her knees weaken. They caved and she let him lower her down as she cried.

Her hands clenched in his suit, and she stared up at him, wailing, “What happened?”

Bruce’s eyes shut and he whispered, “Joker killed him in Ethiopia.” (Y/N)’s eyes momentarily widened, before shutting and she buried her face in his shoulder as she sobbed.

***

She cried for hours, and he sat with her on the floor of the cave the entire time; Alfred and Dick had gone upstairs earlier to give them privacy. (Y/N) didn’t feel like moving, didn’t feel like talking, but she forced herself to; she shifted her eyes to Bruce’s and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me he di—why didn’t you tell me?”

He sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t know how to. I’ve been so occupied with Gotham that I didn’t have time.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” He looked down at her and she felt tears gather in her eyes again. “I deserved to know. I should’ve been the first person you told.”

Bruce looked away but nodded. “I know…I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

“How’d…how’d he die?”

There was a pause, then Bruce’s voice came out no higher than a broken whisper. “It was my fault…I wasn’t fast enough.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Bruce.”

“Yes, it was. I told him to wait but I should’ve known he would’ve gone to save her.”

(Y/N) glanced up at him at the mention of ‘her’. “Her? Who’s her?”

“Sheila Haywood. Jason’s mother.”

“So, he found her? Did he save her?”

Bruce let out a cold laugh that unsettled her. “He tried to…only to be betrayed by her and given to the Joker.” (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and he continued. “He beat Jason to a bloody pulp…then blew up the warehouse they were in.”

“He…killed them both?”

“Yes.”

She sucked in a breath, closing her eyes as the tears ran down her cheeks. “I thought he was still there…still spending time with her…I never imagined this would’ve happened.”

A comforting hand caressed the side of her head and Bruce apologized again. “I’m sorry, (Y/N)…I’m so sorry.” She said nothing and leaned her head onto his shoulder again and let the tears come.

***

The weeks after that were unimaginable, and (Y/N) couldn’t bear to bring herself to his grave. Too afraid that seeing it, would make it real. Make it true. But after wrestling with herself and telling herself that she owed it to him to go, she finally made her way over. Each step was heavy, and she found it increasingly hard to breathe as she walked; she stopped, a hand holding the cold iron. I can’t do this…I can’t…I’m not ready.

(Y/N) moved to turn when a hand rested on her shoulder; she looked up to see Dick smiling sadly down at her. “What are you doing here?”

“I knew at some point you’d go see him…I’ve been waiting to go with you.”

She reared back and glared. “How do you know I need someone to go with me?”

“Because you can’t even open the gate, (Y/N).”

She looked back to her hand, seeing it begin to turn a shade lighter from clenching so tightly; (Y/N) let out a shaky breath. “I need help, Dick. I’m…scared to go alone.”

“I’ll go with you.” He said, his hand shifting from her shoulder to her hand, and his fingers curled around it.

She glanced at him through the tears in her eyes. “You will?” He nodded and she stepped back, letting him open the gate.

Their steps were quiet as the moved through the cemetery, and eventually, her eyes landed on his headstone. (Y/N) pulled away from Dick and stumbled to the stone, dropping to her knees in front of it; her fingers rose shakily, and she placed a hand to it.

It was freezing, and it made her throat close as she traced the letters of his name. “I didn’t…I didn’t even get to say goodbye. The plane was boarding, and he could only wave as he ran to catch it.”

Dick knelt beside her and rested a hand on her back. “None of us did (Y/N).”

“I thought he was still in Ethiopia with his mom…” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him; (Y/N) wrapped an arm under his and around his back, resting her head against his chest. “I don’t know what to do, Dick.” (Y/N) gazed at her hand to the silver band resting on her finger and choked out a sob. “What do I do now?” She stared up at him, hoping he had the answers, but all he did was close his eyes and shake his head.

“I…I don’t know, (Y/N).” he whispered.

Her eyes moved back to the stone, and she felt the tears run down her face. “This can’t be real…he can’t be gone.” (Y/N) sobbed, and the words poured from her mouth. “We were supposed to go to prom. We were supposed to graduate and go to college. Move in together and get…and get…” She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘married’, and she felt Dick’s arms tighten around her and his head dropped to her shoulder.

Soon, she felt the material of her jacket go damp and he whispered, “I wasn’t the brother I should’ve been for him. God, I was so angry at Bruce that I stayed away from Gotham, and I never got to know him well enough as I should’ve.”

(Y/N) pulled back to look at Dick, and she took one of his hands; he met her eyes and she murmured, “You were enough, Dick. He knew you cared for him.” He nodded, and (Y/N) rested her head back against his chest. After a few moments, she whispered, “I don’t know what to do anymore, Dick. I can’t even bring myself to leave my room most days let alone putting on my suit on anymore.”

“Why not?”

(Y/N) let her eyes trace his name and she confessed brokenly, “Because I can’t be Kit without my Robin.” She shut her eyes and brought a hand to her face and cried into it. Dick said nothing, he just held her as she broke down, and he let himself break down too.

***Five Years Later***

She gripped the handle of her whip and followed after Selina as she stepped into the jewelry store. Her eyes moved around the room, then went back to Selina who was busy cutting a hole in the glass case. “Selina…what are we doing?”

Selina snorted. “I believe we’re stealing this six-million-dollar diamond and ruby necklace, (Y/N).”

“No. I mean what are we doing, Selina.”

She stopped cutting and rose, arching an elegant brow at (Y/N). “Alright. You’ve been acting like this for a few weeks now. In fact, it’s been like this since you’ve put the suit back on.” She motioned to (Y/N). “What’s up with you?”

Taking a few breaths of courage, she removed her mask and stared at her mentor. “I’m not doing this anymore.”

“And what does that mean?”

(Y/N) loosened the whip at her side. “It means that you’re breaking the law, Selina. And it’s wrong.”

Selina huffed a laugh and turned back to the case, beginning to cut again. “You’re a little old to be playing Cops and Robbers, Kit.” The crack of her whip sounded, and she watched it curl around Selina’s wrist; her eyes turned back to (Y/N), gaping at her. “(Y/N)?”

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes. “I’m not letting you take this Selina. It’s wrong.” Selina huffed a cold laugh and gripped the whip in her hand, tugging it roughly; (Y/N) flew forward and she landed at her feet. She looked up and saw Selina picking up the necklace, then glance down at her.

“All these years I’ve taken care of you. All these years that I’ve trained you and this is how you give it back to me? By turning sides?” Selina scoffed. “You can get the hell out of my place and find your own.” (Y/N) scrambled to her feet beginning to give chase; she ran past the alarm and threw an arm out, slamming her hand down on the switch. Selina glanced over her shoulder. “You little bitch!”

“I’m going to be a bigger bitch when I take that necklace back from you Selina!” The two of them slammed through the doors on the roof, hands and feet flying.

They both fought and (Y/N) felt Selina’s claws dig into her shoulder. She let out a cry and slammed her palm up into Selina’s chin. The older woman fell backwards, and (Y/N) watched the necklace fly from her pouch. Their eyes met and each of them scrambled, trying to reach it first. (Y/N) gripped the bolas at her side and slung them as hard as she could. They caught Selina’s ankles, and she dropped; she slid to her feet and scooped up the necklace, and she didn’t look back as she ran, hopping ledges and rooftops, listening to Selina cuss at her the entire way.

(Y/N) ran for what seemed like hours, and once she made sure she was safe, she sat down on a rooftop and caught her breath. Her hand shifted to her pocket, and she looked at the necklace. I could sell this if I wanted to. (Y/N) shook her head and shoved the necklace back in her pocket. No. I made my choice. No more stealing. She sighed and turned back to go to Selina’s apartment when she remembered that she couldn’t go back there. So where to now? (Y/N) looked around when a building caught her eye. I can go to him…he’ll help me. She began running again, moving in the direction of the manor.

***

Bruce stood in front of the Batcomputer, moving through the cases when Tim walked up. “Bruce? Can I help you with anything?”

“No. Go see if Dick or Alfred need anything though.”

Tim nodded and began moving when a figure came into view. “Holy crap! Kit?!”

Immediately, everyone was facing the entrance of the cave and they watched as (Y/N) stepped closer; Bruce rose from his seat and moved in front of her, noticing she was out of her suit. “What are you doing here, (Y/N)?”

Her eyes moved from his to the Batcomputer and she nodded at it. “Selina got arrested then.”

“You knew?”

(Y/N) looked at him and stepped forward, moving her hand towards him to reveal the necklace. “I came to give this to you…to return it.”

Bruce took it, looking at her curiously and the others stepped towards her. “Why’d you turn on Selina?”

She took a deep breath and held out her suit, declaring, “I don’t want to be a criminal anymore. I’m tired of breaking the law and seeing other people get away with it.”

To say that they were surprised at her confession was an understatement; Dick tipped his head. “But…stealing is kind of your thing? Why don’t you want to do it anymore, (Y/N)?”

“Because it’s not what Jason would want me to keep doing.” (Y/N) looked at Bruce. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I’m ready to change but I don’t want to be a criminal. I want to be like you guys…” She swallowed thickly. “I want to be someone that would make Jason proud.”

They were silent for a moment, then Bruce took her suit from her and passed it to Alfred. “If you’re going to join us, you’ll need a new training regimen. We start at dawn.”

That was all he said before turning around, and (Y/N) called out to him. “By the way…Selina kicked me out. So…can I maybe stay here?” He waved a hand and (Y/N) let a smile grace her face.

“Welcome to the Batfamily (Y/N).”

(Y/N) glanced at Dick’s hand held outwards and she smiled, taking it firmly; he shifted and pulled her into a hug, listening as she giggled. “Thanks Dick.”

They pulled away and Bruce walked back over. “You need a new suit Kit. Yours is ripped.”

“Vixen.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Everyone has to grow up sometime. I’m not Kit anymore…I’m Vixen.”

Bruce eyed her before walking past her. “You prove to me that you can be like us, and you can be Vixen…until then you’re Kit.”

“Looks like you have a long road ahead of you (Y/N).” Dick remarked.

She nodded at him. “Right on.” She glanced over at Tim who was still wearing his suit. “Hey…Robin.” He turned to her, and his eyes flashed with fear as she stepped in front of him; (Y/N) pointed to the symbol. “Make sure you honor that uniform. Are we clear?” Tim nodded fervently and she reached up, ruffling his hair. “Good.” (Y/N) walked away and stopped at the stairs, glancing over her shoulder at him. “He’d be proud someone like you filled his shoes.”

“Are you okay with this, (Y/N)?”

Her eyes moved to Dick’s, and she nodded, her voice solemn. “Jason’s gone, Dick. I can’t change that.” (Y/N)’s hand rose to close around the ring on the chain at her neck. “But I can honor him by knowing that Tim’s doing a damn good job as Robin.” She began moving up the stairs and murmured, “And I know he’d be proud that I’m fighting crime instead of making it.”

***Part Three***

She hit the floor, listening as the sound echoed through the cave, and grunted, grabbing her side, the throbbing telling her she was going to see a black bruise soon. He shifted over and knelt beside her. “Are you alright?”

She nodded and clamored to her feet, assuming another defensive position. “Let’s go again.”

“This is the fifth time we’ve done this, (Y/N). Aren’t you tired yet?”

“Again.” She reiterated.

Bruce complied and entered an offensive stance. “Remember (Y/N), it’s not just about blocking each hit, it’s knowing what’s coming next.”

“Got it. Go.”

They circled each other for a few seconds, each of them wondering who was going to move first; Bruce shifted fast, and she readied herself for the coming blows. They came swiftly, and she reminded herself to focus on what he was going to do next. Who am I kidding? The man is unpredictable. (Y/N) kept up, and she saw him grin ever-so-slightly.

“Good. You’re keeping up well.” She blocked the palm he threw at her, returning it with a kick to his side, then backing up; he followed her. “Let’s see if you can go faster.”

“Wait don’t go faster! I’m barely keeping myself on track right now!” Bruce chuckled, but went faster anyway and (Y/N) found herself panicking as each fist came.

“Don’t panic, (Y/N). Focus.” She took a deep breath as she blocked his foot and he said, “When it comes down to a life-or-death fight, you need to be able to keep calm. If you let your enemy get the better of your fear and panic, it’s all over.”

“Is that how you felt when you fought Bane?”

He nodded. “I will admit, that was one of the most fearful moments of my entire life.”

“I imagine having your back broken is.” Bruce shifted again, and (Y/N) saw his foot fly. “Fuck.”

She saw it too late, and it hit her square in the chest; she dropped to the ground, the wind knocked from her lungs. (Y/N) put her hands to her chest and tried to breathe, but the air wouldn’t come in; her eyes widened in panic, and she looked up at Bruce who immediately moved to her side.

“(Y/N).” She motioned to her chest, and he placed his hands on her shoulders. “Just relax. The more you panic, the harder it will be for you to breathe.” She closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down, then she inhaled deeply, feeling the breath expand in her deprived lungs. She let out a shaky breath and he asked, “Are you alright now?”

(Y/N) opened her eyes, and she jerked, elbow meeting his chest; Bruce’s eyes widened, and she shifted again, taking advantage of the opening he’d given her. The arm she’d hit him with came back and gripped one of his arms and she swung herself around it, placing her legs over his chest, as she pulled it back. Bruce’s back bent on the mat as he tried to move, but she tightened her grip on his arm and her legs, keeping him locked in place.

“Tap out.” He grunted and tried to move but couldn’t and she said again, this time firmer, “Tap. Out.” After a few seconds, she heard his free hand tapping the mat and she let go, rolling off. (Y/N) rose to her feet and crossed her arms, smiling triumphantly. “I win.”

Bruce climbed to his feet and stood in front of her, a hard look in his eyes. At first, (Y/N) began to panic at the look, then the corner of his mouth turned up and he passed her murmuring, “Good job.”

She turned around and watched his back in disbelief as he walked to the shower room and then turned to Dick who was walking over, a towel in his hand. “Did…did that just happen? Did he just give me approval?”

Dick snorted as he passed her the towel. “Don’t get used to it, ‘cause it probably won’t happen again for a long time.”

Tim walked up beside her as she laughed. “Here (Y/N). I got your water.”

She smiled as she took it from him. “Thanks kiddo.” (Y/N) drank from the bottle then glanced at Dick. “I thought you were supposed to be in Blüdhaven. Why are you here?”

“Bruce said there’s some new player in Gotham and I figured he could use a hand.”

“Yeah, that Red Hood guy.” She replied.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “You know him?”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “Bruce hasn’t let Tim or me patrol since he’s come into town.”

“Is he that dangerous?” (Y/N) passed him and walked over to the Batcomputer, typing on it; a few seconds later, the image of eight decapitated heads appeared on the screen. “Holy shit.”

She nodded at his shock. “He’s effectively taken over the drug trade in Gotham City, and is waging a one-man-war on Black Mask.”

“Is he winning?”

“So far? It appears so.” She paused and clicked the mouse. “I can’t exactly condone his actions because he’s killing people, but he’s keeping the drugs away from children and schools, so I’m not overly angry with him.”

Dick hummed, glancing at Tim. “You doing good, Timmy?”

The young boy nodded with a smile. “(Y/N)’s been helping me a lot.”

“Shove off, Dick.” She muttered when she saw the look on his face.

He spluttered. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it.” She moved towards the steps, climbing them towards the door.

Dick followed her. “Going to see Jason?”

(Y/N) nodded as they stepped into the study. “Didn’t get to see him last week because of exams.”

“How’d those go?”

She flashed a grin over her shoulder. “Passed with flying colors.”

Dick reached over and patted her head. “Good job, (Y/N).”

She swatted his hand but smiled nevertheless at his congratulations. “Thanks Dick.” He smiled as he watched her climb the stairs and move towards her room.

(Y/N) walked inside her room and closed the door, immediately stripping from the sweaty work-out clothes; she dropped them into her hamper and moved into the bathroom, stepping into the shower. Once she was finished, she pulled on her underclothes, then put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Her eyes drifted to the zip-up hoodie in her closet; she pulled it off the hanger and slipped it on. Even after so long, it still fit her; she could faintly smell the scent of his cologne in it and she sighed, closing the closet, and moving to the door. (Y/N) walked down the steps and to the garage, grabbing her keys as she walked by.

***

The drive to the cemetery didn’t take long, and she stepped across the grass, still covered with dew. She pulled out the bottle of water from her bag, along with the old rag she’d grabbed; she poured the water on the rag then ran it over the surface of the stone, cleaning away the dirt.

“Sorry I wasn’t here last week, Jay. I had exams that week and I was too busy cramming. Honestly, it feels like a shit excuse on my part, but I know you’d understand.” (Y/N) grinned. “I remember how well you did in school. Right next to me, you were the best there was.” She pulled the rag away and wrung it out, putting it away, then she placed the vase of flowers at it, shifting it into place.

“I should mention that I passed my exams with A’s. (Y/N) (L/N) is one step closer to graduating. To be honest, school sucks. My nights are much more fun.” She snorted and pulled a photo album from her bag. “Tim helped me put this together a few days ago. He likes photography a lot.” (Y/N) opened it and reclined against the headstone. “You’d like Tim, Jason. He’s a good kid…smart, God he’s smart. Probably smarter than all of us…even Bruce.” She flipped the pages. “This is an old picture…the first gala you ever dragged me to.”

(Y/N) snorted. “I kept stepping on your shoes when we danced, but you just smiled at me…here’s you and I at the fairgrounds. I remember you threw up on the teacups because you ate too much. Ugh, that was so gross. Hilarious, but gross. Here’s that photo of you, Dick, Roy, and I at the pool. The chicken fight was fun and watching you and Dick pout because Roy and I beat you both was even more so.” Her fingers moved the pages, and she came across one of them; they froze on it. “…This was the last photo you and I took together. The Christmas party Bruce threw the year before you died.” A sad smile crossed her face, and she flipped the page again. “For now, that’s all we have.”

She closed the book and turned to the stone. “But I’ll make sure to take more photos so I can show you. Something tells me that the family is going to get a lot bigger in the future.” (Y/N) rose from the ground and collected her things, then stood in front of the stone. All at once, she felt someone’s eyes on her and immediately, she turned and eyes darting around, but saw nothing. Confused and unnerved, she faced the stone again. “I’ll see you later, Jason. I love you.”

(Y/N) quickly walked to her car and climbed in, pulling away from the sidewalk; she picked up her phone and pushed a button, listening to it ring.

Hello?

“Hey Bruce.”

What’s wrong?

“I think someone was around Jason’s grave.”

There was silence on the line, then his voice came over low and quiet. Why do you say that?

“Because it felt like someone was watching me.”

You sure it wasn’t someone else visiting?

(Y/N) huffed a mirthless laugh. “Bruce, I was the only person in the cemetery.”

I’ll see about putting up a camera in the quadrant that Jason’s grave is in.

“Alright. Hey…about patrol tonight. Can—”

We’ll talk about it tonight.

“Okay.” (Y/N) hung up and continued her drive towards Gotham University.

***

She stood in front of the Batcomputer, watching Bruce type away. “Have you found anything else about him?”

“Not yet. Dick’s going with me tonight, so we’ll see what it brings.”

“About tonight…Bruce, I think you should let me patrol again.”

“No.”

She sighed and leaned against the panel. “C’mon, Bruce. You can’t beat this guy on your own, not even with Dick’s help.” (Y/N) reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let me help you, Bruce. It’s what you’ve been training me to do.”

“She’s got a point Bruce.” They turned to see Dick walking towards them, already suited up. “(Y/N)’s been working her ass off to get back into the field. And after what we saw this morning, she’s damn sure earned it.”

(Y/N) turned back to Bruce who took in Dick’s words, then he rose from the chair and began walking off; she sighed and scratched the back of her head. “I swear it’s one step forwards and two steps back.”

“Don’t take it too personal (Y/N). He’s just worried about the new guy.”

Her response was cut off by Bruce who stepped up to her. He held out a black suit with silver streaks on it; she eyed it. “What’s this?”

“That’s your new suit…Vixen.”

(Y/N)’s eyes went wide, and she gaped at him. “Are you…are you serious right now?”

Bruce nodded. “Dick’s right. You’ve earned the name and right to start patrolling again.” He took in the joy on her face and thumped her forehead. “Go suit up. We leave in ten.”

She scrambled to the changing room and stripped her clothes, pulling on the new suit. It fit like a glove, and she admired the suit in the mirror. She pulled on the domino mask and walked back out to them.

Bruce handed her a grapple gun and motioned to a sleek-black bike. “New bike’s yours too.”

“Holy crap this is awesome!” she yelled, pulling him in for a hug.

“Are you done yet?” Bruce sighed, patting her head.

“Don’t be an ass, Bruce. Enjoy the moment.”

He let out a chuckle as she pulled away, then his tone dropped into a serious one. “Listen to me very carefully, I don’t want you engaging the Red Hood, understood?”

She tipped her head. “I get it, but why not?”

“He’s too dangerous and unpredictable. Leave him to Dick and me. You stick to South Gotham.”

(Y/N) nodded and made her way to her bike. “I’ll stay in contact. Good hunting boys.” She pulled off and drove down the ramps.

***

She stood along the ledge of the building, watching the city below her; the night hadn’t been busy, but it certainly stretched along. Her eyes followed the cars and pedestrians when a flash of red caught them. Holy shit! It’s him! He paused on a roof top, then kept moving; (Y/N) grabbed her gun and aimed it for the building he’d just left when she paused. Maybe I should call Bruce…I’ll just tail him for now and get Bruce information.

She nodded her head and fired, slinging to the other building. Her feet hit the top and she was thankful that her shoes muffled noise as she began running after him. Tailing him wasn’t so hard as he didn’t turn around; he obviously wasn’t expecting someone to follow him. (Y/N) followed him, then, she lost sight of him.

Dropping down into the alley she’d seen him drop into, she let out a ‘huh’ and looked around, whispering, “I don’t understand…he was just here?”

“You’re good, but you aren’t the best.” She spun around to see him standing in front of her; (Y/N) reacted, throwing a fist. He caught it, and she brought her knee up to his stomach; he must’ve been expecting it too because he blocked it with his palm. “Relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Too bad pal. I’m on the job right now.” (Y/N) jerked her fist from his grasp and threw her other one.

He dodged each punch and kick she sent, and he sighed. “I’m not going to fight you.”

That made her pause and she stopped with her hands raised defensively. “And why not?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you, Kit.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “Look you’re obviously new in town, so I’ll give you this one for free. My name isn’t Kit anymore. It’s Vixen.”

He leaned against the wall, his arms crossing over his chest; he tipped his head back and flirted, “Vixen, huh? That referring to you growing out of Kit…or becoming a rather alluring seductress?”

(Y/N) uncurled the whip from her side. “Depends on who’s asking.” Whatever response he had was cut off as she cracked it towards him.

Quick as flash, and obviously well trained, Red Hood grabbed the whip and curled his arm around it, jerking it roughly. (Y/N) flew forward and he shifted, grabbing her wrists; he turned them around and her back hit the wall as he shoved her arms above her head. She thrashed until he murmured, “Stop moving.”

She yanked at his grip, then looked at his helmet; she spit at it. “Let me go you fucker.”

He chuckled at her. “Man, you’ve certainly grown a mouth.” He observed her. “Those were nice flowers you left.”

(Y/N) stilled at that and she stared wide-eyed at him. “…What?”

“A nice mix you had going. Forget-Me-Nots, that’s self-explanatory. Primroses for eternal love, Red Tulips for undying love, Rainflowers for atonement, and Sword Lilies for an August birthday.” (Y/N) felt the breath leave her lungs, and all she could do was stare, too stunned to speak. “You’re still holding onto him, aren’t you?”

Her eyes narrowed and she felt tears swim in her vision as she tugged at her arms. “You sonovabitch. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve visited his grave every week for the past five years, always bringing the same blend of flowers, and the same rag to clean with.”

“So, you’ve been watching me?”

“For a while…I wanted to know if you cared.”

“…Why?” His hands shifted, taking both her wrists in one, and the other went behind his head and pushed the button. She watched the helmet unlock and he pulled it off, dropping it do their feet, then he pulled the domino mask from his eyes and gazed at her. (Y/N)’s jaw went slack, and she could barely breathe.

“Because I still care.”

She could barely get his name out. “…J-Jason?”

His free hand came up and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. “Hey (Y/N)…been a long time.”

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, and everything began to spin; the last thing she remembered was Jason calling out to her as she fell into darkness.

***Part Four***

Her eyelids peeled open, and she looked up at the ceiling blearily. Upon seeing that it wasn’t the ceiling in her room at Wayne Manor, shock registered in her brain, and she shifted to sit up.

A hand rested on her shoulder and gently pushed her back down as a low voice followed. “Don’t sit up too fast. You’ll make yourself sick.” She looked over to see him sitting there on the edge of the bed; his hand moved from her shoulder to the nightstand beside her. He passed her a warm cup, which she took lightly. “Here. You’re recovering from shock, something warm will help.”

She brought the cup to her lips, and the scent of freshly crushed peppermint leaves wafted up her nose. “Peppermint?”

“Peppermint reduces anxiety and makes you calm.” He nodded to it. “Drink.”

“Don’t be bossy…I’m doing it.” She took a few sips then handed it back to him; he took it from her and set it on the nightstand, then looked at his hands. There was silence around them, then she sat up, scooting closer to him. “It’s really you, isn’t it?” The silence he gave her made her heart wrench, and she reached out, curling her hand in his. “Jason?”

He finally looked at her, and she took in the sight of how clouded his teal eyes were. She rested a hand on his cheek, her thumb caressing under his eye. She stared at him, then whispered, “I don’t understand…how are you alive?”

Jason closed his eyes and shook his head murmuring, “I don’t know (Y/N). I remember everything coming back in the Lazarus Pit…but that’s about it.” She tightened her grip on his hand, feeling his thumb run across the back of hers. “I’ve been waiting for the chance to talk to you…but I didn’t know when to.”

“You could’ve talked to me at the cemetery.”

Jason snorted and glanced at her. “And send you into cardiac arrest where I was buried? No thanks.” (Y/N) felt the corners of her mouth rise and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead to his; they stared at each other for a few moments, then Jason reached forward and pulled her into his lap, burying his face in her shoulder. Her arms came up and wound around him, threading a hand in his hair.

“I’ve missed you, (Y/N).” he whispered, tightening his grip on her waist.

She nodded, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you too, Jason. Everyday you’ve been gone.”

They stayed that way for a while, simply holding each other, remembering what they had. (Y/N) pulled away after some time and took his face in her hands, observing him. She could tell how much he’d changed since they last saw each other those five years ago; he’d grown, and not just in his body and facial features. (Y/N) had seen the videos of him fighting; he’d become more skillful at fighting, deadlier too. Whoever trained him after Bruce had honed his senses to a razor-sharp edge. But what stunned her the most were his eyes. When they were younger, his eyes were always bright and full of mirth, always willing to spark some type of trouble…but now? His eyes were dark and cloudy, haunted by his past, a stark contrast from what she remembered.

(Y/N) reached up and twirled a finger in the tuft of white hair at his head. “That’s new.”

He smiled and nodded. “Was like that when I woke up.”

“Jason…what are you doing?”

His eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

(Y/N) shifted, pulling herself from his grip and rising to stand in front of him. “You know exactly what I mean.” She gestured to his suit. “This Red Hood business? Fighting Bruce? The war on drugs against Black Mask?” she shook her head like she couldn’t understand any of it—and for the most part, she didn’t. “What are you doing?”

Jason stood from the bed and wandered over to a table, his back to her. “I’m doing what Bruce won’t.”

“And that is?”

His hands shifted to the guns on the table, and he picked up a rag, beginning to clean one. “Controlling crime.”

“You’re not controlling crime, Jason. You’re acting like a mob boss.”

He snorted and glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe, but it’s getting the job done.”

(Y/N) thought her head was going to explode, and she crossed the room to him, grabbing his arm and spinning him around to face her; she glowered at him. “You’re not ‘doing the job’, Jason! You’re killing people!”

He jerked his arm from her grip and leaned in, his voice harsh. “Bad people! I’m putting down dogs that deserve it!”

“It doesn’t matter what they deserve, Jason! It’s murder! We aren’t executioners!”

Jason stood back up to his full height, and she watched his eyes turn to slits as he murmured, “I thought you of all people would understand why I’m doing this.”

(Y/N) thought he’d slapped her with how disappointed he sounded, and her voice turned incredulous. “Are you shitting me right now?” She reached out, her pointer finger jamming into his chest. “Don’t you dare turn this on me.” (Y/N) shook her head. “I left Selina and joined Bruce because I didn’t want to be a criminal anymore. I wanted to be a better person in your memory.” She stared into his eyes and spit, “You know damn well I’d never condone this…not even for you.”

“So, you’re choosing him over me?”

“Oh, don’t even go there, Jason. It’s not like that and you know it. Bruce helped me turn over a new leaf. He’s helped me become who I am.” (Y/N) reached out and took his arm. “Come home, Jason. Bruce and I can help you.”

This time, he gripped the hand that held his arm and he yanked her off. “I don’t need his help. Not when he did this to me.”

“Are you…are you blaming Bruce for this?”

“Of course I am! He left me to die!” The sound of a palm against skin echoed in the room and Jason reached up, holding his throbbing cheek.

(Y/N) glared as she whispered frostily, “He didn’t leave you to die, Jason! He told you to wait until he got back! I will admit that he wasn’t fast enough to save you, but he didn’t do this!” She tugged her hand away from his grip. “You’ve done this all on your own.”

His Adam’s apple bobbe4d as he swallowed, and he huffed a mirthless laugh. “You’ve changed, (Y/N).” He passed by her, muttering as he did. “You act so high and mighty, but you forget that you used to be a criminal too.”

She looked at him through the mirror beside her and she murmured, “I think it’s you who’s changed.” He turned and met her eyes and she added, “My Jason knew the difference between right and wrong.”

Jason flashed her a smile that made her stomach curl and he declared, “I don’t know if you know this, (Y/N)? But your Jason died.”

(Y/N) swallowed thickly and turned around, meeting his gaze. They stared at each other, and she affirmed, “Yes…he has.” Her hand reached up tugged at the silver chain around her neck; she walked past him to the door but stopped beside him. (Y/N) took his hand and placed the necklace in his palm; he looked down at it, then back at her, his eyes widening, and she hissed, “You can take this back. I’d rather die than marry what you’ve become.”

Jason’s hand curled around the ring, and he narrowed his eyes in amusement. “Don’t know if you know this, doll…but dying isn’t all that hard to do.”

(Y/N) glared as she passed him to the door, slamming it on her way out.

***

She wondered aimlessly through the streets, not caring where she was headed. After a few hours, a beeping sounded from her wrist; she raised her wrist and pushed a button on it. “Hello?”

Bruce’s worried voice came over the comm. (Y/N)? Where are you?

She looked around, taking in the view of the bay. “At the docks.”

Stay there. I’m coming to get you.

The call ended and she collapsed onto the bench, staring out at the water. Her hand reached up to hold the ring that hung at her neck but clenched around nothing. (Y/N) glanced down, then remembered where it went; tears filled her eyes and she reached up, covering her eyes as she sobbed.

A few moments later, the sound of the Batmobile pulling up came behind her, and then, a hand rested on her shoulder. She looked up, blinking through the tears to see Bruce frowning at her. “Let’s get back to the cave (Y/N).” She nodded and he helped her stand, walking her to the passenger side; she slid in and buckled the seat belt, staring out the windshield as he climbed in the driver’s seat.

The city passed them in a blur, and soon, they were back in the cave; Bruce turned off the Batmobile and they sat in silence until she whispered, “I know who he is.”

Bruce was quiet a few moments, then he murmured, “…I know as well.”

(Y/N) turned to him. “Ra’s brought him back.”

“It was actually Talia. Ra’s apparently called him a curse set upon the world.”

She huffed a laugh, but it was anything but humorous. “Right about now, I’m not sure whether I should agree with Ra’s or not…I’m inclined to agree with him.”

“How did you find out?”

“I saw him from the ledge I was on. I tailed him to an alley, and when he showed his face, I passed out from the shock.” (Y/N) looked at him. “Woke up and we got into it about what he’s doing…I left.” She paused. “How’d you find out?”

He sighed and reclined against the headrest. “We fought after I found Onyx, he revealed himself and...”

“And?”

“And after testing the coffin and the blood samples he left…it’s him.”

(Y/N) snorted and shook her head. “I could’ve told you that.”

They lapsed into silence, then Bruce murmured, “You aren’t wearing the necklace.” (Y/N) rested a hand along the base of her throat then shifted, climbing out of the Batmobile; Bruce followed her.

They walked a few feet, stopping in front of Jason’s old suit; (Y/N) stared at it, then turned to Bruce. “We made that promise when we were young and naïve…but now?” She turned around and began walking away. “I don’t think there’s a place for him and I in this world anymore. Not like this there isn’t.”

***Part Five***

“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?”

His hands halted at her question but continued a second later. “You being there will only make a distraction.”

“Maybe, but it might also make him give in easier.”

He clicked the utility belt around his waist and looked up at her. “He had his chance to surrender when you two were together, (Y/N). Now I’m putting my foot down.”

She watched him move past her towards the Batmobile, and she reached out, griping his bicep; his eyes met hers and she said, “Call me if it gets bad.”

“It won’t.”

“It will.” (Y/N) squeezed his arm firmly. “And when it happens, you’ll need me to talk to him. We both know I’m the only one who can even begin to reason with him.” He said nothing, and she let go, watching him climb into the Batmobile and speed off.

After a few moments, she walked over to the Batcomputer and sat down, hitting a few keys until the monitor displayed Bruce’s cowl camera; she watched the scenes play in front of her, the mess with Black Mask, up until Bruce leaving to go find Jason.

Footsteps sounded beside her, and she glanced up to see Alfred looking at the screen. “So Master Bruce is going after Master Jason?”

(Y/N) looked back at the screen and nodded. “Yes.”

“Hmm. And you stayed behind?”

She bit her lip, eying the screen. “…It’s not my place to get between them.”

“It’s not?” he almost sounded shocked at her admission.

“No. This is Bruce and Jason’s fight now. It’s dragged on long enough.”

Alfred watched her for a few moments before humming again. “Hmm. And here I thought Master Jason still held privilege in your heart Miss (Y/N). I must admit it is hard to see that you have moved on so soon.” It was all he said as he turned on his heel and crossed the cave floor, leaving (Y/N) with her thoughts.

She stared at the screen for a few seconds, taking in Alfred’s words before mumbling, “Ah fuck it.” She rose from the chair and made her way to the case where her suit was, reaching out and pulling it from its holds; she slipped it on and tightened the straps and belts, moving to her bike.

Alfred stood beside her, holding out her whip. “I do believe this is yours, Miss (Y/N).”

“Make sure to keep in radio contact with us…we might need you Alfie.” He nodded and saw her off.

***

(Y/N) arrived in the nick of time, seeing Jason and Bruce moving into fighting stances. She pulled out her grapple and swung up to the fire-escape, standing between them; they were shocked to see her there. “(Y/N)?”

She eyed Jason and squared her shoulders, her back to Bruce. “Enough Jason.”

He stood up straight and glowered at her. “Move (Y/N).”

“No.” she retorted; she wasn’t afraid of him. This was still her Jason. A little worn and little darker, and a lot more damaged, but still him. Still good.

“This doesn’t concern you. This is between me and him.”

(Y/N) shook her head and pointed between them. “This concerns me just as much as it concerns you, Jason.”

His response was cut off by Bruce who gripped her arm firmly. “You need to leave (Y/N).”

“I’m not going anywhere Bruce.” She looked between them. “I’m stopping this before it goes too far. Let this end so we can talk.”

Bruce squeezed her arm, his voice hardening. “Your place isn’t here right now, (Y/N).”

She gazed at him for a few moments, before jerking her arm back, this time turning her back to Jason, as if protecting him. “This is my place, Bruce. Right here. Between you,” She paused and glanced over her shoulder, catching Jason’s eyes. “And Jason.” His eyes widened ever-so-slightly, and she turned back to Bruce. “Fighting isn’t going to solve our problems. We’re all suffering from what happened in the past and what’s happening now. Stop this so we can help each other.”

Bruce went silent at her mini-speech, and she thought he was going to agree until he shook his head. “Jason plans on killing Joker…I’m stopping him tonight.”

Jason barked a laugh. “You can try and stop me.” The two of them shifted but stopped when the sound of a devastating explosion rocked the city, and an angry green light covered them; they all turned to the sight and Jason murmured, “That’s Blüdhaven.”

(Y/N) and Bruce’s eyes widened, and they both breathed in disbelief. “Dick?”

Jason chuckled at them. “My God…is Nightwing there? Imagine that. One son returns from the grave as another one enters it…what a fitting ending this has become.” Neither Bruce nor (Y/N) could form words as they watched in horror as the sister-city disintegrated before their eyes. “Good God, the ironies around. Here we are and you have to run to the site of an explosion to dig through the wreckage and find the body of your ‘Boy Sidekick.’ If he’s there, Bruce…you’re too late. Again.” Bruce shifted, starting towards Blüdhaven when a blast knocked him sideways. “No! You’re not leaving! Not now! Not this time!”

Bruce looked back at Jason, his voice and gaze pleading. “Jason. Please. I—”

Jason cut him off, his voice angry. “What! You ‘have to be sure?!’ Getting out of that alive would be one neat trick. It’d take a hell of a lot more than batarangs and a few escrima sticks to survive.” He paused, a smile playing at his lips. “If Ol’ Dickie is there. He’s dead. And if you leave…someone else dies tonight.”

(Y/N) shook herself out of her stupor and put a finger to her ear. “Alfred! Can you read me?”

“Yes Miss (Y/N). What’s wrong?”

“A nuclear bomb was just set off in Blüdhaven.”

“My God…Master Dick—”

“Send the Batplane to my location.”

She felt an arm curl around her bicep, and she glanced up at Bruce. “(Y/N) the Batplane wasn’t made to withstand such high levels of radiation. You’ll die if you’re exposed too much.”

Pulling her arm from his grasp, she began walking towards the ledge. “Alfred send the Batplane. Now.” She heard Alfred give her confirmation that it was on its way, and she turned to Bruce. “I’ll go find Dick…you end this here. Tonight.” Her eyes passed over Jason who wore a dark expression and the sound of the Batplane echoed in the sky.

She climbed in and spared them one last look before turning the Batplane away and flying towards Blüdhaven. She pushed buttons on the screen and talked to Alfred. “Alfred, scan for the tracker in Dick’s suit.”

“At once Miss (Y/N).” There was silence for a few moments then he came back over the comm. “I’ve got a location Miss (Y/N). But it isn’t the exact. Too much radiation interfering with the radar.”

“I’ll find him Alfred. Just upload his suit vitals into the system.” The sound of tapping came over and then a blinking line shot across the screen. “Alfred, how insulated is my suit to radiation?”

“As best as it can, be Miss (Y/N). Though with the lower half of your face exposed, you’re risking high exposure to the radiation, you’d be overcome with radiation sickness within the hour.”

“Does Bruce have any type of mask I can wear?”

“Check the bin beside you. There might be one.”

(Y/N) pressed a button, halting the Batplane and reached over, searching the bin; she pulled out a mask and fit it around her face, pushing the button on the side that sealed it. “Alright. I’m good.”

“Master Dick is in the outskirts of the city. Hurry Miss (Y/N)…too much exposure will kill him.”

(Y/N) disengaged the lock and began scanning the perimeter of the city for him. It took her about thirty minutes to find him, and when she did, she saw the radiation already beginning to affect him; she lowered the Batplane to the ground and ran out, crossing the street laden with debris until she got to him.

“Dick!” He turned in the direction of her voice, but she could tell he was disoriented; he staggered towards her, falling to his knees just as she reached him. (Y/N) caught his upper body before he fell over and she wrapped an arm under his and across his back, heaving him to his feet. “It’s alright, Dick. I’ve got you.”

He moaned trying to find his feet, and she began pulling him towards the Batplane. “Need…to check…for survivors.”

(Y/N) shook her head at him, heaving him closer. “We can’t do anything right now, Dick. We need to get out of here.”

“But…the survivors—”

“Dick. We can’t save them. I have to get you out of here before the radiation makes you sicker.” He relented his fight and allowed her to carry him to the plane; (Y/N) got him into a seat and strapped in, handing him a bag. “You’ll probably be sick for a while, so try to throw up in the bag.” He nodded weakly and she sat in the seat, then the Batplane rose and made its way back to Gotham. “Alfred, I’ve got Dick. Get some KI ready for him to take when we get back to the cave.”

“Shall I update Master Bruce?”

“Just tell him I got Dick and that he’s okay.”

“I will. Hurry back.”

“Will do.” The comm went silent and she glanced over her shoulder at Dick. “Dickie? You good?”

He was moaning lowly, but moved a few fingers, telling her he was. “…Where’s…Bruce?”

She felt her heart tighten, but she pushed it aside. “Fighting Red Hood.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

“You…should’ve….stayed.”

“Stop talking Dick.”

“…M’kay.”

***

The rest of the ride was silent, and when she returned to the cave, Alfred was waiting for her with a gurney. They got Dick on it and wheeled him to the med-room in the cave; they rolled him onto the bed and (Y/N) gripped the zipper at his neck, pulling it down. Alfred helped her pull his suit off, and soon, Dick was asleep in the bed, the two of them resting in the chairs beside him.

“How did you find Master Dick?”

(Y/N) watched Dick’s chest rise and fall with each breath and she murmured, “Dick’s always put the safety of others above himself.” She glanced at Alfred. “I knew he’d try to help survivors in the area.” She rose from the seat and rested a hand on Alfred’s shoulder. “I need to go find Bruce. You look after Dick.”

He nodded and she left the cave, climbing back into the Batplane and taking off.

***

She scoured the city until she caught Bruce’s signal; she tapped a few buttons, connecting into the comm. “Bruce?”

(Y/N). Is Dick—

“He’s fine, Bruce. I got him back to the cave.”

There was a pause, then Bruce’s voice came over relived. Good.

“Where are you?”

Delivering Joker to the Asylum.

“And Jason?”

Gone.

She paused, inhaling shakily before murmuring, “I’ll find him…you go back to the cave and see Dick.”

Are you sure?

“I need to do this Bruce. Let me.”

Be careful, (Y/N).

“Jason would never hurt me, Bruce. You don’t have to worry about me.”

…I always worry about you all.

The corners of her mouth rose, and she quipped, “Yeah, we know.” The comm went dead and she turned the Batplane in the direction of Jason’s apartment. She landed on the opposite roof and swung over, lifting a window, and slipping in.

(Y/N) crept across the floor, taking in the view of the small blood puddles on the ground. She followed them into the bedroom and saw him resting on the bed, a blood-soaked towel held to his neck; he was sweating and letting out low groans. (Y/N) walked towards him and reached out, her hand covering the one that held the towel.

His eyes snapped open at the touch and his other hand came up defensively; she caught it and his eyes widened at the sight of her. “…(Y/N)?”

She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over, pressing the towel harder to him. “Where’s your first-aid kit?”

He nodded towards the bathroom. “Under…the sink.”

(Y/N) nodded and rose, moving into the bathroom; she returned a few minutes later holding the kit and a bottle of alcohol. She took her seat back on the bed and moved his hand, pulling the towel from its position; she worked quickly, running the alcohol over it, and murmuring a soft “sorry” as he hissed in pain. (Y/N) dabbed the wound before pulling a needle and thread, suturing his wound.

After a few minutes, she pulled the knot and clipped the leftover string, running a pad of alcohol over it once more. She put everything away and found some washcloths, dampening one; then, she moved back to him and wiped away the sweat from his upper body before running the dry one over him, collecting the moisture.

(Y/N) could feel his gaze on her the entire time, but she refused to make eye-contact, instead murmuring, “Feel any better?”

He was silent a few moments, then he mumbled, “…Yeah.”

(Y/N) wiped her hands on the towel and rested them on the nightstand; she cleared her throat and moved to stand. “Then since you’re fine, I’ll leave.” She got to her feet when a hand curled around her fingers, and she looked down at him.

His eyes no longer held the fury they’d held earlier, instead, they begged for help. “Stay with me, (Y/N).”

She swallowed and shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to stay here, Jason.” She started to pull away, but the hand tightened.

“Please don’t leave me, (Y/N).” he plead, and she met his eyes, shocked to see tears forming in them. “Please don’t leave me alone again.”

“Jason, I—”

“I need you…please.”

She stared at him for a few moments before nodding. “…Okay…I’ll stay.” (Y/N) moved, climbing onto the bed beside him; she rested her head on his chest, feeling his arm curl around her waist. “…You know he loves you…don’t you?” Jason didn’t say anything, she knew he wasn’t going to immediately, so she did. “There isn’t a day that goes by that he doesn’t think about you…that he doesn’t think about how he failed you…that he was responsible for you.” She paused. “You claim he loved you like a son and left you…”

(Y/N) inhaled and lifted her head, locking eyes with him and she declared, “But you were—you are his son, Jason. And he loves you more than life itself.”

He swallowed thickly, and she watched him raise his hand to his eyes; his face morphed in agony and (Y/N) listened as he sobbed. She shifted, crawling up the bed and pulling him to her; his face buried in her chest and his arms wound around her waist, holding her. She raised a hand and gently ran her fingers through his hair, comforting him.

***

After an hour or so, they were still lying in the bed, Jason resting his weight on (Y/N) as she sat against the headboard. Her fingers still ran through his hair, sometimes lightly scratching his scalp, like she remembered he loved, and her other hand rested on his shoulder, gently massaging. They said nothing, just entranced in each other, until Jason broke it, whispering, “…I’m sorry, (Y/N).”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “I am too, Jason.”

He tilted his head up, giving her a stunned look. “For what?”

“I turned my back on you…when I should’ve been there to help you.” She paused, looking at him. “I was wrong to damn you without trying to understand what you were doing, and why.”

He swallowed, nodding his head to her words; his gaze drifted to her eyes, and he mumbled, “I never meant to disappoint you.”

(Y/N) stared into his teal eyes, and raised a hand, gently brushing the hair away from the tips of his cheekbones, setting it behind his ear. “Neither did I.”

Jason swallowed and raised his weight on his forearms, crawling up her body. “I never wanted to be at odds with you...I wanted to explain everything to you…but I was scared of your reaction.” His face was in front of hers now.

She sighed, nodding, “I know.”

He went quiet for a moment, then reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing along it. “I still love you…and I want you beside me.” (Y/N) met his eyes, watching as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. “Will you come with me?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere. Everywhere. Somewhere far away from Gotham.” He paused, a hopeful look in his eyes. “Come with me, (Y/N)…we can go anywhere we want.” Her hands came up and rested along his shoulders, gently pushing him away. His face twisted and he sat back, watching her rise too.

(Y/N) took his hands, brushing her thumbs along the backs of them; she met his gaze and she spoke firmly. “I’ll go with you.” His eyes widened and his face began to turn joyful until she said, “But you have to do something for me.”

“What?”

“A lot of the unnecessary killing has to stop.” His eyebrows furrowed and she squeezed his hands. “If you want me to come with you? To stay with you and to be with you? You’ve got to try.” (Y/N) pulled her hands back and sat up straight. “Jason, I know you do what you do because you think it’s right. And while I understand that there are some people who don’t deserve to breathe? They’re still human beings. Rapists and murderers, I can get behind your guns. But the petty drug dealers and small-time criminals? Jason, they aren’t worth the bullets you’d spend.”

He observed her for a few moments before reaching past her, opening the nightstand, and pulling something out; his hand was clenched and he spoke quietly, “When I first gave this to you, we were fifteen…we had our whole lives ahead of us. And when I was gone, you never stopped holding on.” He looked at her and said, “That kind of love isn’t something that just dies, (Y/N).”

His hand uncurled and the saw the familiar ring in his open palm. “When you gave this back to me…I was devastated. But…I think it started to open my eyes about us. And I think as long as you’re with me, I can get through anything.” He held out his palm again. “If I ask you again, will you accept?”

“Will try to honor my side of the arrangement?”

“I’ll…try to...I can’t make a promise to it though.”

(Y/N) nodded. “The fact that you’ll try is good enough for me.”

He took her hand and held the ring. “(Y/N) (L/N)…will you marry me?” Tears welled up in her eyes and she nodded silently, too choked up to make words; Jason slid the ring on her finger and held her hand, his thumb rubbing the back of it. (Y/N) leaned forward and Jason pulled her into his lap, holding her to him. “I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Jason.” she whispered against his shoulder.

After a few minutes, she mumbled against his shoulder; Jason chuckled. “(Y/N), I can’t hear you clearly.”

She pulled back, giving him a smile. “I want to get married in Switzerland.”

“Why Switzerland?”

“So, I can shove you into the snow after you kiss me.” The two of them laughed and Jason shifted, wrapping an arm around her waist; her arms wound around his neck, and he gently lowered her back against the bed. They stared at each other until (Y/N)’s eyes darted to the side. “So…are you going to kiss me? Or are you gonna keep staring at me like a weirdo?”

He snorted at her question and shifted a hand, tracing her cheek. “Just thinking about how pretty you are, doll.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “When did you start calling people doll?”

“Kinda just caught on.” He shrugged.

“Mhm.”

The two of them laughed again, then Jason admitted, “I don’t know if I can be the man you deserve, (Y/N).”

She shook her head, threading her fingers in his hair as she said, “You are already more than enough for me, Jason…if anything, I’m not sure if I’m the one who’s deserving of you.”

“Will you stay with me?”

(Y/N) leaned up, pressing a kiss to his lips, and whispered, “Now and forever.”

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mikrowrites · 3 years

Text

cottages of constellations

c!wilbur x f!reader

warnings: angst, fluffy flashbacks, arson, character death

summary: there’s a place only known by two people, full of sweet memories and domesticity. but the world isn’t sweet anymore, and sometimes violence is the only universal language. rather, Sophie visits the cottage she and Wilbur shared before the war, and is met by an unlikely guest.

might make a part two w doomsday and revivebur, we shall see...

Y/n sighed, sitting upon her horse as the wind blew across the grassy field. Smoke still rose behind her from fires still not put out long after the destruction, the girl shaking her head to try and absolve the memory from her head.

She gripped the reins, goading the horse to move, Y/n riding across the field. She knew where she needed to go, she knew the coordinates by heart.

No one else knew about the cottage, just two people, and one of them... well, he’s dead. There’s no sugar coating that. It resided far from the server, a little place just for the two of them.

After a few hours, with the sun rising behind, Y/n rode into the woods. She kept going forwards until she reached the river, stopping the horse. She looked forwards, pursing her lips.

The cottage.

“This is the perfect place!”

Wilbur jumped off his horse, pointing to the small clearing along the river.

“You think so?” Y/n asked, walking up beside him to stare at the landscape.

“Of course.” He emphasized. “But of course perfect is wherever you are.”

Y/n scoffed. “Jesus, that was cheesy.”

Wilbur laughed, running down the landscape towards the small clearing. He turned back, smiling.

“Hey, are you coming?”

Y/n tied her horse to a lead, patting it in thanks before moving forwards, approaching the cottage.

It looked frozen in time, from when Y/n had left it to help fight for L’manburg. The flowers still looked kept, the farm out back unharvested. She smiled as she approached the cottage, taking in the blooming flowers.

“It’s a surprise, so no looking.”

“Okay, okay!” Y/n allowed Wilbur to lead her over outside the cottage.

Wilbur stopped. “Okay, you can look.”

Y/n opened her eyes, walking over to peer at several brightly colored flowers planted around the cottage’s exterior. The hues painted the landscape, causing her jaw to drop at the beauty.

“Do you like it?” Wilbur nervously asked, Y/n whipping her head around to cast him a bright smile.

“I love it, Wilbur.”

Y/n pushed the oak door open, the hinges creaking. She let out a few coughs as dust invaded her senses, stepping into the cottage. the lanterns were flickered out, pots of plants and flowers left withered and dead.

She walked past a set of bookshelves, running her fingers across the spines of the books.

Wilbur and Y/n sat together, books in each of their hands as they read and relish each other’s company. A kettle of water was being heated in the kitchen, the sun filtering through the windows.

Y/n flipped a page, not noticing as Wilbur’s eyes lifted from the pages to her face, studying every bit of her. A soft smile crossed his face as he studied her soft green eyes, the bridge of her nose, her eyebrows that were furrowed in concentration.

Suddenly her eyes flicked up, Wilbur’s face going red. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing! Nothing, no, not at all, no, uh—“Wilbur smiled sheepishly. “You’re... you’re just so ethereal right now.”

It was Y/n’s turn to blush as she tried to hide her cheeks behind the book, the boy laughing.

Y/n grasped a rung of the ladder in her hand, sighing for a moment before pulling herself up. Each step up the ladder her heart quickened, her lips trembled.

She climbed into the loft area, her breath catching in her throat.

The bed was still perfectly made from the day she left it. The sunset reflected perfectly into the room from the large glass window, casting the room into a beautiful orange hue. Y/n turned and saw the chest in the corner, the sight bringing her to her knees.

The letters.

“I’ll write you so many letters, Y/n/n!” Wilbur insisted, grasping her hands. “Every day! Until you can join me, we can send those letters.”

Y/n nodded eagerly. “I’ll miss you, Wil.”

The boy pulled her into an embrace, the girl burying her face in his shirt. He smiled, tracing circles into her back comfortingly. “A letter a day for you, until we see each other again.”

And a letter a day she received.

The letters came daily, some recalling the events of the day, some poems, some love letters. Y/n read each letter enthusiastically, hearing of Wilbur’s adventures and the people he encountered. The nation he was creating, L’manburg.

Then, after receiving a letter detailing the start of the war for L’manburg, Y/n packed her bag, took her horse, and left for the server. She fought alongside Wilbur and the others, resisting for independence.

Y/n’s hands trembled as she sifted through and read each letter, the open pieces of parchment cast about the floor in front of her. Her heart ached as she read the words of a man whom she had lost so long ago, so long before his death. The Wilbur that had wrote Y/n songs and poems declaring his love and admiration had died in that war, leaving a man she could hardly recognize.

The orange glow of the sun was fading from the room, darkening the inside of the cottage. Y/n felt tears gather in her eyes as she finished reading the last letter, two teardrops pattering on the wood floor. The letter fluttered from her hand onto the ground with the rest, the girl wiping the tears from her cheeks.

She stood, looking out the window and noting how night was fast approaching. Y/n frowned, reaching into her pocket to produce a box of matches, walking over the the bedside lantern to light it. She struck the match, the flame igniting, lighting the lantern.

Y/n went to shake out the match before freezing, her eyes fixed upon the yellow light of the small flickering flame.

The fire crackled softly as melodic guitar chords filled the night with sweet music. The river rushed by near them, as well as the sounds of the rustling leaves in the wind, creating an orchestra of soothing sounds.

Y/n smiled, closing her eyes and resting her head against Wilbur’s shoulder as he strummed the guitar. They sat on a blanket in front of the fire, one of Wilbur’s coats draped over the girl’s shoulders.

Peace. Both felt total and complete peace.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” Y/n mused, staring up at the stars.

“Maybe, someday, we will. We’ll just lay and chart constellations.” Wilbur responded confidently.

Y/n smiled, closing her eyes and letting the sounds of Wilbur’s guitar and the campfire lull her to sleep.

“I’d like that.”

The lit match felt heavy between Y/n’s fingers, the girl sitting amongst the countless letters once more. Night had fallen, the stars dotting the sky. Y/n stared out at the stars, catching sight of constellations and clouds and the moon.

She reached for a letter, parting her lips.

“You lied to me.”

Y/n stood once more and let the letter meet the match, the paper going up in flames. She dropped it, the flaming parchment falling to the floor and igniting the rest of the precious letters that could have redeemed Wilbur.

She stepped back, watching as flames set to the wood of the room, the bed, the carpet. The girl spared the room one last look before climbing down the ladder, throwing the match onto the bookshelf, and walking out of the cottage. Y/n walked backwards, watching as surely the cottage was caught in a fury of flames.

Y/n finally let herself breathe, exhaling deeply as if a weight had lifted off her chest. She watched her old home burn, finally feeling a sense of finality.

“You sure did a number on that house.”

Her eyes widened, spinning and quickly unsheathing her sword and raising it to the person behind her’s neck. Y/n’s eyes hardened, glaring at the unwanted visitor.

“What the fuck are you doing here.” She spat.

She could almost see Dream’s smile from under his mask. “Wilbur sure did love his secrets. Was will to impart a few to me in exchange for some TNT. I figured you might be here.”

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows. “He... he told you about the cottage?”

“Y/n... he told me everything.” Dream responded. She slowly lowered her sword, stepping away from Dream. “I understand everything now. Your blind devotion to him, the loyalty. The server that drove him to betray that trust.”

“You did.” Y/n insisted. “You drove him to his death. You caused all of this.”

“Wilbur made his own decisions.” Dream shrugged. “And as I can see now, so can you.”

Y/n turned to look back at the fire. “So, you’re here to kill me then, yeah?”

“No, I’m not.” Dream quickly replied, Y/n looking back at him. “I’m here to make you an offer.”

“An offer? What the hell does that mean?” She scoffed.

Dream approached her. “They’re rebuilding L’Manburg as we speak. They never learn, they never understand. They call Wilbur insane, yet maybe he was the most sane of us all. He saw and understood the truth, and that scared them. So here’s what I offer you, Y/n. Help me take them down. I’ll pay you a good price.”

“What could you pay me that’s worth my time?” Y/n raised her eyebrows, crossing her arms.

Dream reached into his pocket, throwing a few netherite ingots and several diamonds onto the grass in front of her. Y/n’s eyes widened slightly, looking up at him. “There’s so much more where this came from. And better yet,” Dream tilted his head slightly as he held a bundle of fabric to her, the brown shades and patches so very familiar; Wilbur’s coat. “you can finish what Wilbur started.”

Y/n stared wordlessly at the piece of clothing held out in front of her, before closing her eyes.

“Wil?” Y/n wandered over to where Wilbur sat in the darkness of Pogtopia, the girl kneeling down next to him.

“Hey, Y/n/n.” He smiled tightly, sitting forwards. “What’s up?”

The girl smiled sadly. “I don’t know. I just... everything’s all wrong. I don’t know how to fix it.”

The man pondered her words, considering how the events of the next few days would play out. The heartache and betrayal.

It was no secret Wilbur and Y/n had been drifting apart. The lingering trauma of her torturous life in Manburg and the loss of her first two canon lives, him grieving the loss of his country. They were both hanging on by a thread, and comfort was hard to be sought between the two of them.

Wilbur knew he would die soon. He knew that the end of his story was approaching, but maybe, he could have one more sweet memory with the girl he had fallen helplessly in love with.

“Let’s go look at the stars.”

Y/n perked up, her featured contorted in surprise. “What?”

“Like we used to, by the river. Let’s go stargazing.” Wilbur stood, holding out his hand to help her up. The girl took it, the boy pulling her up to standing and intertwining his fingers in hers, pulling her through the ravine.

They trudged up the stone stairs and through the hidden doorway, out into the open air. Wilbur led Y/n into a clearing, where he shrugged off his jacket, laying it on the ground. He beckoned her over, the two laying on top of the fabric and staring up.

The sky was exceptionally clear that night, the stars glittering beautifully against a dark sky. Wilbur turned to watch Y/n stare up at the stars, noting her lips twitch softly as she began to list constellations under her breath. He took her hand once more, looking up at the stars.

That was the last moment they shared together before he died.

Y/n opened her eyes, looking up at Dream, who held out a hand to shake. She sheathed her sword, nodding slightly before taking the jacket and reaching her hand out, clasping his palm in a firm shake.

The man chuckled from behind his mask, stepping backwards. “You’ll be hearing from me. Goodbye, Y/n.” With that he left, the girl left standing alone on the riverbank. She stood still for a beat before bending down, moving the items to her inventory, shrugging on the trench coat, and turning back to the cottage.

It was nearly burnt to the ground at this rate, the flowers outside catching. Y/n swore for a moment she could see a glimpse of a tall boy in a yellow sweater in the flames, but brushed it off. She made the trek over to her horse, climbing onto the saddle.

She cast one more look at the remains of the cottage before cracking the reins, riding away.

It was time to finish what Wilbur had started.

a/n: i wrote this before the philza lore where wilbur fabricated history in the letters, so just assume that wilbur was truthful in these letters and y/n arrived directly before the duel and the betrayal.

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #c!wilbur x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot imagines #c!wilbur soot x reader #c!wilbur soot imagine #wilbur imagine #dsmp x reader #dsmp imagine #dsmp imagines #dream smp x reader #dream smp imagine #dream smp imagines

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years

Text

@sicktember Prompt # 28: Missing Out

Title: Unforgettable

Fandom: N/A

Based on this post as well as an ask box prompt. The prompt: “I’m currently dying for something set in a big house (any period) and the young master of the house has a party to attend but he feels awful and is trying to hide it and be a good host but keeps having to sneak off to cough/sneeze. Until maybe one guest notices and that’s how he meets his future wife.”

A young heir attends a Christmas party with his childhood friend as his date. They find themselves in an interesting position when he falls ill.

CW: Vomiting.

(Author's note: Never written this time period before, but I would like to again in the future! I really enjoyed this prompt. And yes these two are definitely in love and will be married someday.)

The year is 1927, and two young men are seated in the back corner of a jazz club in New England, talking little as they sit, enjoying the music. As the band finishes their opening set and prepares to take a break, the older of the two men takes a deep drag from his cigarette, then glances at his companion.

"All ready for your parents' big Christmas shindig next weekend, Jesse?"

Jesse rolled his eyes and scoffed, tapping a cigarette of his own out of the pack. "Sure John, of course. It's such a thrill to be a captive audience as they get smoked and strut around peacocking for their friends. Highlight of my whole year, that. Masquerade Ball, my ass. What drivel."

John chuckled, reclining back in his chair and taking another drag. "You're expected to bring a dame too, yeah?"

"Naturally. It'd be too bad for the heir of the Hamilton fortune to attend without a looker, wouldn't it? Shame all the women in this town are abhorrent."

John shook his head with another chuckle. "That attitude is why you're a perpetual bachelor, hombre. But I have some news that may interest you. Did you know Miss Greenwood is back in town?"

Jesse's interest was piqued in spite of himself. "Lillian Greenwood is back?"

"The very same. Home from university for the holidays."

Jesse leaned back in his chair, trying to look unbothered. "So what if she is. What's it to me?"

"Well I dunno, only that you might like to invite her to the Masq’. If memory serves, you never found her particularly abhorrent."

"We were kids!"

"You were damn near inseparable. You don't *have* to do anything, Jess. But as your oldest friend, I'm asking you to think on it. You'd enjoy the party more if you had company, and I'm sure she'd like to see her old stomping grounds again. Just something to consider is all."

Jesse made no reply as the band resumed the stage just then, but he did indeed think on it very hard.

***

John's information was proven true only a day later. Jesse was just exiting a drugstore he frequented with a fresh carton of cigarettes when he caught the eye of Lillian Greenwood, who was just about to enter the same store, and looking very fetching in a blue fitted coat and hat. Both their eyes widened in surprise upon seeing each other, and for a moment they were speechless.

"Jesse?" Lillian finally said, a slow grin spreading over her face, so familiar to him. "It's been at least an age!" She seized his hands in hers, reaching up on tiptoes to peck him on the cheek. "How are you? I've missed you!"

"Lil!" He wrapped her in a hug. "I've missed you too! What are you doing back in this dump, accomplished University woman that you are now? I'm surprised you didn't run in the opposite direction from here a long time ago."

"Well I haven't graduated yet, silly. And I couldn't miss another Christmas at home. I missed everyone here so much. Oh Jesse, it's so good to see you!" She hugged him fiercely again. "You must tell me everything you've been up to! Come inside while I shop before we freeze."

He willingly followed her back in, looking fondly at the soft brown hair brushing across her shoulders. He was so sick of the horrid bobs all the girls were wearing, and he loved that Lillian was still wearing hers longer.

He trailed her through the whole store, gamely answering the barrage of questions she directed at him, but mostly content to enjoy her familiar presence. Eventually she stopped short, turning to face him.

"Are you all right? You're very quiet. You've hardly said anything."

"I'm sorry. Just worn out I guess. Been working extra before the holidays."

"You are looking a bit peaky. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jabber your ear off."

"No it's fine, honest. I'm just happy to see you."

"Likewise." She gave his hand a little squeeze, accompanied by a warm smile. Knowing he wasn't going to get a better opportunity, he took a deep breath.

"Lilli, do you remember that big bash my parents host every year for Christmas?"

"Oh yes!" she said, her eyes lighting up in pleasure. "It was my favorite part of the holidays!"

"No kidding? Well anyway, they still throw it. The last few years they changed it to a Masquerade Ball, but otherwise it's still just like it was. It's a week from Saturday. I know you just got into town and all, and maybe you already have plans… but what do you think about going with me as my date?"

Lillian's grin was immediate, and she clasped her hands together joyfully. "Oh Jess, I'd love that! Just like old times."

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck, attempting to smile. "Yeah, I guess. Same old dumb party. Like I said, if you're busy, don't worry about it. But you're welcome to come… if you want and all."

She looked confused and a little hurt at his abrupt backtracking. "Of course I want to come. I'll be there."

"Great. I better get going though. I'll call you in a few days to give you the details. It was great to see you, Lil." He pecked her on the cheek. "I'll see you around, kid."

He strode out of the store with hardly a backwards glance, leaving her shocked face in his wake. He hated himself for behaving that way, and he wasn't even sure why he did it. Perhaps it was because the "old times" she was referring to included the present he was stuck in, while she had clearly moved on. Perhaps it was the realization that he had resorted to asking his childhood best friend on a date rather than finding a real date to avoid the embarrassment of attending his parents' party unaccompanied. But whatever the reason, speaking to her had made him equal parts thrilled and miserable. Surprisingly, when he called her a few days later as promised, she again agreed to accompany him, despite his rude behavior in the drug store, and continued to insist she was excited for the party, despite his constant negativity towards it.

***

The Saturday before Christmas dawned bright and snowy, and the Hamilton estate was in an uproar all day with last-minute preparations. Every surface was bedecked for the holidays with ribbons and garlands and tinsel and wreaths and holly and candles. A Christmas tree stood in every room, making the whole house aromatic, each twinkling and topped with a star. When evening rolled in, so too did the guests, all as twinkling and bedecked as the house, filling every room in no time. The Masquerade Ball had begun.

Lillian arrived promptly. Jesse met her in the foyer. Even wearing a mask, she was easily recognizable. She looked stunning in a sparkling gown that accented her figure perfectly. Her eyes were a color that would be easier called unique than pretty, her nose a touch irregular, and her teeth a touch crooked, but Jesse had always found her beautiful. Yet he was in a foul temper, and had been the whole day, and seeing her gave him little pleasure. He noted she had pinned up her hair so it appeared “bobbed” like everyone else's, and even such a simple thing soured his mood further. Upon seeing her initially, he took her hand and kissed it, then gave a sarcastic bow.

“Welcom, Lillian dear. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil

She curtsied daintily, smiling warmly. “The pleasure is all mine. You look very dashing and alluring in that mask.”

He chucked coldly. “You’re looking spiffy yourself, kid. Well, shall we get on with it?” He offered her his arm, which she took, almost hesitantly.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You seem… not yourself.”

“Fine and dandy. Ready to cut a rug and show a girl a good time. Let’s not keep the evening waiting.” He didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of his tone, but continued to tug her toward the dining room, albeit gently. She reluctantly followed, casting him worried glances.

The young Master Hamilton performed his part admirably through the whole evening, however, donning the persona of the host as easily as he did his mask. He chatted and danced and flirted with the appropriate people, giving Lilli adequate attention as required as well. His mother must have been pleased, for the night was a smashing success, from the dinner to the dancing to the decor. Everyone was raving the whole evening about what a splendid party it was. The best one yet, everyone said, just as they said every year.

Jesse, however, was utterly miserable. The bodies packing every room made him too warm, the lights were too bright, the music and din of talking made his head throb, the food smells turned his stomach, and the aroma of pine everywhere left him feeling on the verge of a sneeze all night, especially since his nose had been on the verge of dripping since he awoke. He could only nibble the rich supper. He was barely able to swallow even small sips of Christmas punch without feeling the urge to gag.

In order to keep his sanity, whenever Lillian was occupied talking to someone and he wasn't otherwise engaged, he would duck into one of the unused side parlors. In this sanctuary, away from the lights and sounds and smells, he removed his mask and composed himself. He would first allow himself to sneeze unhindered, finally able to stop his incessant stifling and sniffling, each time surprising himself at how wet and messy and ill they sounded. Then, if he hadn't been gone too long, he would rest his face against the icy window pane, breathing slowly and deeply as a halo of condensation spread out from his hot forehead. Inevitably though, the time would come when he was forced to replace his mask and reenter the ball before he was missed. He counted down the hours desperately, willing himself to last until the end of the party.

The evening began to wind down, and Jesse found himself ducking away more and more frequently. His stomach was in knots and his nausea was gradually rising, so composure was getting harder to maintain. He always checked to ensure Lilli was involved in a conversation before he did so, however. Imagine his surprise then, when moments after he snuck into his sanctuary yet again, he heard the door open after him and Lillian appeared just as he had given over to a violent sneezing jag:

Hiihhh'GEHSSSH'ieeew! ESSSHH'yuuh! Hrrr'USH'IIEWW! Kuhh-hhiiih-ISSSHYUUH!"

"Bless you, Jesse! Heavens, that was a fit! Are you alright?" she asked, approaching him and removing her own mask. "Have you been sneezing like that all night? You keep disappearing."

He flashed the most winning smile he could muster even as he wiped the mess from his face. "I'm just ducky," he said, swallowing thickly as his stomach also decided to give a nasty lurch. "All the pine in the air gets me sneezing. Must be a bit allergic. Sorry for worrying you. Let's go back out before we're missed. I think I owe you a dance or two."

She ignored his rambling and came to stand directly in front of him with a searching look. She lifted a hand and brought the back of it to his sweaty forehead. She clucked softly.

"You're sick, aren't you? You're not feeling well at all."

The thin facade that was holding him together finally crumbled. He limply leaned against the wall, nodding mutely.

"Why didn't you say something? You should be in bed. You look awful."

"I didn't want to spoil the evening," he mumbled.

"Well we need to get you out of here. You look like you're about to collapse."

"I am about to collapse," he said ruefully.

"Come on then. No one will miss us anyway. Let's go up the servants' steps over here so we're not seen."

"I don't want you to miss out on the ball. You looked like you were having fun."

She caressed his cheek fondly. "I came here tonight to spend time with you. I'm not missing out on anything."

They shared a smile, his first genuine one of the night. Then she took him by the hand and led him expertly along the least conspicuous route to his bedroom. The pair of them had spent hours exploring every inch of this house from top to bottom as children, every cupboard, cranny, and corner. He hadn't forgotten those times, and clearly she hadn't either.

It was strange bringing her back to his room. They had spent hours together here too during their growing-up years. He couldn't help but imagine it through her eyes--what was different, what was the same. He realized bitterly that the only thing that was really different was the lack of toys and games everywhere. His room was a reflection of his life--boring and stagnant.

If she was thinking along those lines, she gave no indication. Instead she led him to his bed with a hand at the small of his back, guiding him into a sitting position and helping him remove his jacket and tie. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, and heat rolled off of him in waves. The drier air up here made him begin to cough as soon as he sat, the sound hoarse and desperate. She made a sympathetic sound as she carded her fingers through his damp hair, then dug through his dresser, pulling out a set of his pajamas and tossing them over.

"Make yourself more comfortable, and I'll do the same." She headed to his en suite bathroom. "I'll be right back. Try to relax, Jess." She gave him a little smile, which he attempted to return, a hand going to his sore stomach even as he did.

Once the bathroom door was closed behind her, he slowly changed into his pajama bottoms and managed to strip down to his undershirt. All at once, his stomach had had enough, and he knew he was going to vomit. With the bathroom occupied, the next available option was the balcony off of his room. He dashed outside to the railing, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground below, heaving until he had nothing left. As the spasms slowed, his vision began to go gray and wobbly. He sank to his knees weakly, unable to do anything else, clinging to the railing in the freezing cold, which at first felt pleasant on his fevered skin.

He wasn't sure how long he knelt there, and it would have been even longer had Lillian not come out to find him. By the time she did, he was shivering so violently that his teeth rattled in his head. She was speaking to him, but he couldn't register what she was saying. Finally she pulled him bodily to his feet and helped him inside, her arm wrapped around his waist as she supported most of his weight. She again led him to his bed, making him lie down this time and bundling blankets over his icy cold skin while she sat at his side. His consciousness solidified and the world stopped spinning, and eventually he noticed that while she was still wearing her party dress, she had removed her makeup and unpinned her hair, looking more like her old self. The thought made him marginally warmer.

"Let me go fetch some tea for you, and some medicine," she murmured, stroking his hair. She stood and tried to pull away, but he quickly grabbed her wrist, his grasp surprisingly strong.

"Don't go," he rasped, choking back a cough. "I don't want tea or medicine. It'll only make me vomit again. Just stay."

"Stay…" she repeated. "Right. I suppose I could stay."

She went to pull a chair to his bedside, but he stopped her.

"No, come lie here with me."

"Jesse…" she began. "That's not--"

"Why shouldn't you? You were my date. It's what everyone is expecting anyway," he said, a glint of humor in his eye.

She laughed in spite of herself. "I suppose there is that." Against her better judgement, she crossed to the other side of his bed and slipped under the blankets, trying to be mindful of her dress as she got comfortable. He immediately rolled over and nestled against her, and she wrapped an arm around him and began to rub his back soothingly.

They passed the night exactly like that. He was exhausted and very ill, and was clearly miserable the whole night through. However, he refused to let her leave the bed to fetch him anything and only wanted to lie against her all night as he slipped in and out of sleep. She vaguely recalled him being the same way when they were young, but she certainly hadn't expected such behavior tonight. Then again, she hadn't expected to be sharing his bed either.

He slept fitfully, his symptoms keeping him from true rest despite his weariness. Away from the pine trees his sneezing was less, but the congestion and coughing was worse. He was achy and nauseous and too hot or too cold. He also wanted to be touching her at all times, so she slept even less, for between his tossing and groaning and his sweltering fever heat, she could not get comfortable. Yet she knew he needed her this way tonight, and was glad to be able to help her oldest friend.

The morning dawned gray and cold. Lillian lay awake still, while Jesse was at last sleeping beside her, his face tucked into her side. She was trying to decide how best to convince him to let her go home and change when an opportunity for escape presented itself in the form of his mother.

Lillian heard her well before she saw her, for her best shoes clattered loudly on the stairs, and her inebriated giggling and whispering was impossible to miss. It was almost certain she hadn't gone to bed after the party. Lillian quickly slipped out from under Jesse's arm and slid to the floor, ducking under the bed. Just because Jesse seemed to think she was expected to spend the night with him did not mean she wanted to be caught in it, especially by Mrs. Hamilton, regardless of what did or did not happen.

Mrs. Hamilton attempted to be stealthy as she peeked into her son's room, but only his fever-induced slumber prevented him from waking. However, even while intoxicated, what they say about a mother's sense is true, for she apparently noted something amiss and crept closer to her son's bed. Lillian could only see her feet and legs, but she assumed she Mrs. Hamilton reached out to feel her son's forehead, for the elder woman made a little sound of dismay and began to shake him awake.

"Jesse, you're burning up! Oh my, what happened? Are you sick? Did it start at the ball? How long have you not felt well? Oh you're so pale! And you're shivering! My poor baby! What can I do?..." It seemed she had no end of exclamations and questions. Lillian couldn't help but roll her eyes.

Meanwhile Jesse made sounds of waking, sounding very irritated and confused at first. He didn't realize what was happening initially, and Lillian heard him say her name more than once. Thankfully his mother did not notice over the sound of her own constant flow of verbalized concern. Eventually Jesse realized who was speaking to him and began to give appropriate answers, leaving Lillian out of most of it, which the young woman appreciated.

Mrs. Hamilton didn't stop speaking the entire time she was in the room. Eventually though it became clear she intended to fetch a doctor, tea, medicine, and one hundred other things for her son's illness. Jesse spoke only as much as he had to, his voice weak and hoarse and congested. He did not argue with her about any of it, knowing it was futile. Finally the well-meaning woman left, still talking even as she shut the door behind herself.

Lillian gingerly rolled out from under the bed, startling Jesse when she appeared beside him out of nowhere. However a grin split his face when their eyes met.

"I thought you left me without saying goodbye," he rasped.

"Well now you see I haven't. I do need to leave now though, before your mother returns with an army of doctors and finds me here. I would also like to change my clothes at some point and freshen up. Perhaps take a bit of a nap."

He looked devastated at this, but perked up as she continued:

"I'll come back soon though, as a proper visitor. I don't fancy ducking under the bed whenever anyone comes up the stairs."

"All right," he sighed. "I'll be waiting for you, then."

She approached him, pressing her lips to his hair as he hugged her fiercely.

"Be well, Jess. I'll see you soon." She moved to the doorway, her eyes twinkling in a smile. "And thanks for a great night. That was a date I'll never forget."

#sickfic #everyone is hotter with a fever #sicktember2021 #prompt 28

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your3fundamentaltruths · 3 years

Note

Polin + N (the colour green).

Had some inspiration finally and it got quite long!

Canon-era, guest starring Kate and the heroes from another JQ series, the Lyndon Sisters series: Robert Kemble, Earl of Macclesfield (who is mentioned in The Duke and I as a friend of Colin’s and also appears briefly in Romancing Mister Bridgerton), from Everything and the Moon and Charles Wycombe, Earl of Billington, from Brighter than the Sun. I recommend the series very much! They are still bachelors at this time, although there are hints at Robert’s love story :)

You can also find it here at AO3.

—

“If anyone asks – well, if Portia Featherington asks,” his sister-in-law says through a too-bright smile, “you told me Penelope looked very lovely tonight.”

Colin frowns, eyes casting about the ballroom for the familiar sight of Pen’s bright red hair and yellow gown, nearly missing her because she is wearing green. Green. It suits her. And now he understands Kate’s odd request.

“It seems two viscountesses’ opinions and even a viscount’s and an artist’s are not enough to sway her that the choice was a good one and ought to be repeated and often, seeing as we are women and they are married men, but an eligible gentleman? She seemed far more receptive to the idea after that.” Kate’s eyes gleam. “And,” she continues, “Even better were it more than one. I know you have several eligible gentlemen friends here tonight. Might you put a hint in Lord Macclesfield’s ear to ask her to dance?”

His friend is a notorious rake he would previously have hesitated to draw into close proximity to a lady like Penelope, but he knows that nowadays Macclesfield is hopelessly besotted with some mystery woman he refuses to say much about other than that she is leading him a merry chase. So, there’d be no harm in it and it would certainly make an impression on Lady Featherington to have a future marquess who so rarely bestows his attentions on eligible young ladies single out her daughter so markedly.

And Penelope looks so free and easy tonight, as she should always look, even more than before – He shakes his head. It doesn’t do to think on it. “Yes, of course, Kate,” he acquiesces, making a beeline for his old friend.

“Will you do me a favor, Macclesfield?” Colin says without preamble, having already greeted him earlier in the evening.

“What sort of favor?” Macclesfield demands suspiciously, knowing him too well to agree without question.

“Dance with a friend of mine.”

“What friend?”

“Miss Featherington.”

“Prudence Featherington?” Macclesfield shudders.

“Good God, of course not Prudence Featherington! I wouldn’t ask my worst enemy to dance with her, if I had one,” he mutters. “I should’ve been more specific. Penelope. The redhead in the green dress,” he says, discreetly tilting his head in her general direction until Macclesfield’s eyes land on Pen. “She’s a capital girl, but her mother insists on dressing her in colors that don’t flatter her –”

“There’s nothing wrong with the green,” Macclesfield says, brow wrinkling. “Rather nice, actually. It’s a good color for a red –”

“That’s the thing,” he interrupts impatiently. “Her mama normally forces her into yellows.”

Macclesfield shudders. “Oh, good God,” he mutters. “Poor girl.”

“My sister-in-law believes that if a few eligible gentlemen such showed her marked attention tonight it will convince her mother to allow her to wear more favorable colors more often,” Colin explains. “And that –”

“Is where I come in,” his friend finishes good-naturedly. “Lead the way.”

—

“I am honored to make your acquaintance, my lord,” Penelope says, curtseying after Colin makes the introduction.

“I assure you the pleasure is all mine, Miss Featherington. Bridgerton here spoke so highly of you.”

Penelope smiles sunnily at Macclesfield, with none of her characteristic shyness with strangers. “If I am not mistaken, I have heard good things about you as well, my lord.”

Macclesfield looks amused. “From whom?”

“Mrs. Brightbill is your aunt, I believe?”

“Unfortunately,” Macclesfield says with an affectionate smile that belies his dramatic sigh. “Are you acquainted?”

“Only very recently. We met at the modiste. As a matter of fact, she persuaded my mama that she should allow me to purchase this gown.”

“Then Aunt Brightbill has better taste than I knew. It suits you.”

Penelope blushes faintly. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Ah, and here is our friend Billington,” Macclesfield says, beckoning him over. “Billington, have you met Miss Featherington?”

“I have not had the pleasure.”

There is nothing strictly improper in the way Billington bows over Penelope’s gloved hand or the kiss he bestows upon it, but there is a gleam in his eyes Colin does not like in the slightest.

“I’m afraid you will only have a few moments of Miss Featherington’s time, as we are to dance the next set,” Macclesfield informs their friend. “And you, Billington?” he continues meaningfully. “I believe you’ve yet to make your way to the floor.”

Billington looks a bit panicked but he covers it with a smooth smile. He knows he’s prey in a setting like this.

“And Miss Featherington is a capital young lady. More sense than most of the party put together, so if you are to dance, I believe you could find no better partner.”

That is to say, she’s not of the scheming vulture variety of debutante.

At that, Billington relaxes, instantly apprehending Macclesfield’s meaning.

Colin finds himself scowling. Macclesfield is one thing, but Billington is a more dan –

“Are you engaged for the waltz, Miss Featherington?”

The waltz????

“I am n –”

“Miss Featherington’s waltz is mine, I’m afraid,” he interrupts smoothly.

Penelope frowns. “Your name is not on my dance card, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Well, it should be. Now that you have informed me of the oversight, I shall remedy it at once.” He holds out his hand, but much to his surprise, she hands it to Billington instead.

His scowl only deepens at his friends’ amused looks. Bloody bastards.

—

“Did Billington even ask your mama if you had permission for the waltz?” Colin, now standing alone at the edge of the ballroom, demands as soon as she and Lord Macclesfield are done with their dance and Lord Macclesfield has ambled off, leaving them alone.

“You didn’t ask when you tried to wrest my dance card from him.”

“I didn’t – that’s not the point. I have known you forever and know you have permission. He, on the other hand –”

Penelope shakes her head. “It would have been pointless. Mama would never say no to an earl. And I daresay she’d have boxed my ears as soon as we got in the carriage if I considered granting you my waltz instead.”

Colin looks very put out at that.

“Oh, don’t look like that. It is merely the usual mercenary machinations of the marriage mart. Lord Billington, as an eligible gentleman of title, is in need of an heir. He must marry someone someday. You, on the other hand, seem quite firm in your resolve not to marry as a general matter and have put a rather fine point on your resolve not to marry me specifically –” Not that her mama knows that.

“Pen –”

She waves a hand and shrugs. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought it up. But she thinks that the only way to get through the embarrassment of that day – after spending ages dodging what she assumes are his attempts to make apologies that would only have embarrassed her further and having time to lick her wounds – is to joke about it as though it was some amusing incident or they will never be easy with one another again. And the fact remains that, for all that Colin broke her heart, she still, very pathetically, misses their old comfortable friendship. She would much rather have him in her life that way than not at all or only as nodding acquaintances.

“Not to mention, even were you inclined to marry, you are very far down the line for the family title. And even were you born to Anthony’s place instead . . . well, what would a viscount be to an earl?”

“Billington is a rake,” Colin says through gritted teeth.

“Good heavens, Colin,” she laughs, “if you speak so critically of your friends, I should hate to hear what you say of your enemies –”

“I have no enemies,” he grumbles.

“How nice for you,” she says airily. “Still,” she continues, voice turning sly, “I do think it unfair of you to speak so of your friend. Even, dare I say it, hypocritical.” Oh, it hurts to think of it, but she must. “How does the saying go? One should not throw stones if one lives in a glass house?”

“Penelope,” he sputters, clearly not expecting she would turn her barbed wit on him. And on such a subject!

She’s rather proud of herself. “I am innocent, not oblivious.”

He’s very red in the face now, tugging uncomfortably at his cravat.

And just then, Lord Billington returns to claim his waltz.

“Impeccable timing, my lord,” she murmurs. “I do believe Mr. Bridgerton was about to leave me to my own company, as he seems rather desperately in need of refreshment.”

He casts a still red-faced Colin an amused look and nods at him before leading her to the dance floor.

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pikemoreno · 4 years

Text

and then i’d kiss you

pairing: marcus pike x f!reader

summary: when going undercover requires you be fake married to your longtime work crush... because of course that’s how life is going right now.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: mentions of guns, excessive pining

a/n: an idea sparked by discussions with @hdlynn and @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa about undercover!fake married!marcus. shoutout to them for the inspiration and being my think tank.

(also i hate trying to name things)

***

You slid into the conference room right at the end of the briefing, coffee in hand. Marcus stood at the front of the room, presenting the case you’d been building with the rest of the team. You’d been doing so much planning and research for the sting that you had almost forgotten about the meeting for it, so you inconspicuously took a seat at the back, pretending that you’d been there the whole time, and listened as Marcus closed.

“The gala is tomorrow evening at The National Gallery. Very fancy, very exclusive. Our targets are, as I’m sure you guessed, Mitch Pimpkin and Harriet Smith.” Their images appeared on the monitor in the conference room and every member of the team groaned. These two had been a thorn in your team’s side for months. They were particularly good at what they did. They were dangerous, not afraid of casualties, and they always covered their tracks. Agent Pike continued, “They are confirmed to be attending the gala. They are supposed to be meeting with three clients at the event. The clients are already in custody, but Mitch and Harriet don’t know that. So that’s our in.” Suddenly he called you up to explain the rest of the plan and you just about had a spit take with your coffee, looking at him wide-eyed. The look on his face told you he caught you coming in late and putting you on the spot was now the revenge. You glared at him, but the shit-eating grin remained on his face.

“Yeah, so, “ you stumbled, trying to find your bearings as you joined him at the front of the room, “According to the information we got out of the clients, Mitch and Harriet have never actually seen them, so we’ll be sending in three agents undercover. They will pretend to be the clients and catch them red-handed,” you nodded to Marcus and he put the pictures of the three apprehended clients along with their basic information up on the monitors. “First is a single buyer meeting with Harriet, name is Natalie Reyes. A real femme fatale type. Should be fun. Anyone feeling particularly strongly about acting as Ms. Reyes? Maria, interested?” You looked to the agent sitting directly in front of you.

“Yeah, I’m down,” she grinned. She was going to enjoy this way too much.

“Now the other two that are meeting with Mitch are a married couple. Allison and Shane Morgan. They’re attached at the hip, extremely into each other.” You rolled your eyes, experiences with them in the interrogation room painting your memories. “Gotta be a pretty convincing couple or Mitch will catch on. As we all know, he is extremely intuitive. He’ll run at the first sight of a lie. Anyone with any secret relationships wanting to make-out on the job?” Everyone laughed, but no one volunteered.

You missed the way one of your fellow agents, Logan, looked at Marcus. And you certainly missed the way Marcus looked back at him.

Don’t you dare.

Logan spoke up. “Well, if no one wants to volunteer, maybe it should be you two.” You gaped; Marcus pinched the bridge of his nose. “After all, it’s your plan and you are the only ones to have met the couple.”

“Plus, you two go on assignments like this all the time. You’re closer than anyone else in this room. You would probably be the most convincing,” Maria chimed in.

The look you gave her was murderous. She wouldn’t dare. She knew all about the little crush you had. You’d trusted her with that information-- actually she’d figured it out, but that was beside the point-- and now she was about to ruin everything. The most frustrating part, though, was that you couldn’t argue with any of that logic. She was completely right.

And that is how you ended up at Pike’s front door in a form-fitting black cocktail dress that flared out just enough to hide the thigh-holster and concealed gun. That was paired with strappy heels that were probably going to leave your feet numb within the hour. The duality of the job. You played nervously with the golden necklace that weighed heavy on your neck while you stood there, preparing yourself to knock. It was all starting once you made your presence known. Tonight, you were going to have everything you wanted in all the wrong ways. It was going to be so easy to pretend, because it wouldn’t be pretend. You would be feeling every word you uttered. But it wouldn’t matter after you took these heels off tonight. Lord, did it hurt thinking of how it was going to be on his end. It was all pretend to him: every touch of his hand to your back, every interlacing of fingers, every whispered compliment to make you blush, every-- God forbid-- kiss that was to come tonight was untruthful. It was all part of the gig and you resented it.

You didn’t know Marcus was sitting on the other side of the door, waiting for the minute you knocked, thinking shockingly similar things. You had no way of knowing that. You had no way of ever guessing that he was both anticipating and dreading the way your hand would brush his, how you would look at him like he’d hung the stars, how you would maybe even dare to kiss him. It was all for show and it made his stomach turn to think about it.

He blamed himself. If he had come clean months ago, he would’ve never been put in this situation, no matter what your response was. You would either be really kissing him tonight or else no one would’ve dared suggest that you be a fake couple due to “your history.” Either of those scenarios would be preferable to pretending that he wasn’t shaking right now, waiting for the best and worst night he’d had in DC so far.

You finally knocked.

He jumped up to answer the door.

Time stopped with two people looking at each other like it was the first time all over again.

He looked more handsome than you’d ever seen him before. He wore suits almost every day, but this was different. He looked nothing short of elegant in a black suit and bowtie, accents of a dark burgundy through the ensemble. His actual appearance was much the same, but elevated somehow. The facial hair was a newer addition to his look in general, but it looked its best tonight, accentuating his jaw line, making it sharper and more defined. His deep brown eyes took on a new color tonight with the way they sparkled and brightened in the early twilight’s light.

Damn, your fake husband was fine. And it killed you.

Of course you were no better with your perfectly fitting dress and the beautiful jewelry that made you look like one of the art pieces you were protecting tonight and the heels that looked like they couldn’t be comfortable to him, but oh did they draw attention to your legs in the best way. You were beautiful every day in his eyes, but the way you’d so elegantly done your hair and make-up served to accentuate that. The smile that slowly spread across your face was what really did him in, though. It was the smile he saw every day, but tonight it seemed extra special.

He’d have to be swatting others away left and right to keep them away from his fake wife tonight. But there was nothing actually tying you to him. Someone else could sweep you off your feet tonight and you’d have nothing to keep you around. And it hurt.

There was a beat of silence as all of these thoughts arose and swirled around each other.

“Uh- ready to go?” he initiated finally.

“Yep- yep let’s go. Can’t keep our convicts waiting, can we?”

“Oh, before I forget,” he patted his pockets, searching, before pulling out a ring.

Of course. You hadn’t even considered wearing a fake ring. That would’ve been a dead giveaway. He was so good at all of this.

“May I?” he asked, just above a whisper. You nodded and he slid the piece on your ring finger, gently holding your left hand in his. Your stomach flipped, swallowing hard at the lump that formed in your throat. There was nervous laughter from both sides as you looked at it now settled on your finger. He slid his own on and shook his head.

“Feels weird to be wearing this again,” he curled and flexed his fingers around the piece.

“Were these--” you started, but found yourself unable to finish.

“They were,” he smiled sadly, “Not sure why I kept them. But at least we’ve found a use for them, hmm?”

“Yeah, great thinking, by the way. I would’ve never clocked that, but Mitch definitely would’ve. And might I say,” you studied the simple, stunning ring in the fading light, “You have excellent taste, fake husband.” The warmth went straight to his cheeks.

You can have it someday, if you want.

Is what he almost said, but this was just two kids playing dress up (and anyway, he would’ve bought you a new ring if it came to that).

“Shall we, fake wife?” he put out his arm for you to take. You did with a plastered on smile. You tried to miss the warmth of his other hand as it came to rest on yours.

***

The National Gallery was already beautiful in its own right, but the coordinators of the gala really went all out with ornate chandeliers and furniture being brought in just for the event. Even the food tables were gold and sparkly, filled with all kinds of food you didn’t recognize and were frankly scared to eat. You inconspicuously rendezvoused with Maria, giving her a quick hug and pretending to introduce her to Marcus.

“Spot them yet?” you mumbled to her, thankfully covered by the echoing sounds of the other attendees and the music that was accompanying the dancing in the center of the ballroom.

“Just arrived. 6 o’clock and 10 o’clock. She’s upstairs at the railing, he’s downstairs.” You clocked them both.

“You start with Harriet first. We’ll stall for a few minutes so we’re available for back-up. I’ll be expecting a ‘cuffed’ text in 15 minutes. If I don’t get one, we’ll come check on you unless you tell us otherwise. Copy?”

“Copy.” You exchanged more plastic smiles and parted ways, though you didn’t miss the wink she directed at you, eyeing you and Marcus standing there together. His arm came around your shoulder as you walked off. You played with his fingers there in true rich-fake-wife fashion.

“Now how will we stall for time, sweetheart?” You fought with the tightness in your chest. The dichotomy between words meant only for you to hear and the term of endearment that came with the act confused you. There was no use for such words with all the noise, so why use them?

“Shall we join them, my love?” you nodded towards the people dancing.

You wouldn't have known but his stomach flipped so violently at the name that he thought he might be sick.

He nodded and grinned, leading you by the hand. His hands found your waist as you joined the others in their swaying and dancing to the classical music. Your hands looped around to the back of his neck and you absentmindedly played with the short hairs there. It was as soft and thick as you had thought it would be.

Not that you’d made a habit of imagining it, of course.

“Maria is on the move with Harriet. They look like they’re having a nice talk,” Marcus laughed, looking over your shoulder.

“That’s a good sign,” you sighed, pretending to scan the room, but purposefully finding Mitch chatting with another guest. You looked back to Marcus, focusing your full senses on the music and how you were moving with it, the pressure you felt on your waist, and how his eyes were somehow even deeper this close.

You almost missed Mitch leaving your vision, heading up stairs.

“Mitch is on the move,” you hissed, a little disappointed over the loss of Marcus’s hands on your waist as you left the dancers to trail the target. Though you took the steps maybe little too quickly to be just a normal couple, your hands swung, connected between you, hoping to still pass as a couple just looking for a quiet place to get away from the bustling party.

You stopped in a small, sparse exhibition room, hearing Mitch’s voice on the phone around the corner. The broken words you heard sounded like he was talking about a different deal entirely. You breathed a little easier. He wasn’t suspicious of you and wasn’t calling back-up.

But he would be if you didn’t think quickly.

You heard him say his goodbyes to the associate and you knew what came next. There was only one way out of the room and it was behind you. You were too close to him to try to get back out unnoticed. So you did the only thing you could think of. You could only hope that Marcus wouldn’t be totally appalled.

“Marcus, kiss me,” you whispered, noticing you were still holding his hand, you gripped it tighter.

“What?” he whispered back, not… Appalled exactly, but surprised. You couldn’t blame that, you guessed.

“He’s coming back this way. Kiss me.” You saw it in his eyes as the plan suddenly clicked for him.

Mitch’s footsteps began clicking against tile and your back was all at once pressed against the wall closest to you, hands meeting either side of your face.

“Sorry about this.”

He was hardly sorry.

You weren’t either.

And, damn, did he kiss you. It started hesitant, barely there, but it didn’t stay that way. Once you heard Mitch round the corner, you deepened the kiss- that’s the only reason you did right? Because he was coming?-- letting your lips part, fingers weaving through Marcus’s hair.

He caught on, responding, taking the space your lips allowed. One hand came down to your ass, your leg hitched up around his waist. Just to really sell it-- that’s the only reason he did it right? To sell it?

You can just barely hear Mitch let out an annoyed huff at the sight over your heartbeat in your ears.

But then came the hitch: Mitch gets another call, presumably an urgent one, because he doesn’t keep moving.

Which meant you had to keep kissing Marcus.

You couldn’t say you hated that part, but you were really wishing it wasn’t a matter of life of death.

“A fake? Where are you? ... Stay there. I’m on my way,” he clicked off, running out of the room. You and Marcus broke apart finally, gasping for breath. But still the separation came too quickly, the lack of him everywhere such a stark contrast to the cool air spreading against your now too-warm skin.

“Maria,” you whispered to him, eyes wide. “He’s going after Maria.” He pulled his gun and you followed, at some point ditching your heels in favor of speed as you took off after the thief. You made a call to the rest of the team outside as you ran. “Plan aborted. Maria caught. Come inside to make the arrest.”

You caught up just as Mitch pulled a gun on Maria who had hers already pointed at an unarmed Harriet, her hands in the air, phone smashed on the ground. You moved out to flank him while Marcus moved directly behind him.

“FBI. Drop your weapon,” Marcus announced. You watched Mitch wince, looking behind him and then over to where you stood. Then he smirked. You didn’t like that one bit.

“I see you two were having some fun on the job. Might have to bring that up in my interrogation. Doesn’t sound like FBI policy to me to--”

“Watch it, jackass,” you sneered. He chuckled and you hated that you let him get a rise out of you.

Back-up slammed in through the emergency exit to your left and it was game over. They cuffed Mitch and Harriet, taking them back outside with them while Maria went to get her injuries checked by medical. That left you and Marcus in the room alone, catching your breath on a garish, velvet covered bench. The silence was awkward until Marcus finally broke it.

“That was… Good thinking… Back there.” You laughed.

“That’s what you’re going with? ‘Good thinking’?”

“Well, what do you want me to say?” he asked, a little frustrated

“I don’t know just--” you groaned, “Forget it. Nevermind.” You stood to face away from him, crossing your arms, and willing yourself not to get upset.

Of course you already guessed it hadn’t meant anything, but now hearing it out loud made it too real.

“Are you wanting me to say that I liked it?” Your stomach turned in the worst way. You would’ve never expected this kind of cruelty from him, but his voice wasn’t accusatory. It was… hopeful? “Because I did.” You spun around to face him.

“You-- Marcus, don’t be funny about this.” He stood now, stepping in front of you.

“I’m not. I’ve wanted to do that for… Longer than I’d like to admit,” he confessed, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, “Something about the way you’re acting right now tells me you might be thinking the same thing.” You smiled bashfully, thankful he was braver than you were.

“Yeah,” you brought a hand to rest on his cheek, “I loved this night with you-- other than all the life or death stuff.” He grinned, leaning into your hand. HIs bright eyes seemed to bore right through you, hanging on every word. “I was just wishing it was… Real. I guess it kind of was after all.”

“Oh, not even close.” You tilted your head in confusion, dropping your hand from where it was gently laid against his cheek. “I would’ve done it all very differently,” his voice dropped to a whisper, too close to need anything more.

“How so?”

“Well,” his eyes darted to your lips and then back to meet your gaze, “May I?” You nodded vigorously.

“Please.”

This kiss held nothing back. It wasn’t quite so vigorous as before, but was a slow and steady presence. No longer afraid to be truthful, it was free to be deep and passionate and real. So real.

“Soooo, is this what Mitch was talking about earlier?” Maria’s voice interjected. You and Marcus scrambled away from each other to find her, arm bandaged, leaning against the doorframe of the emergency exit. “Don’t stop on my account, just be back to the bureau in an hour to debrief.” You both nodded sheepishly.

“We’ll be there,” you told her, finally finding your voice. She shook her head, smiling.

“Oh, everyone is going to love this.”

“Please don’t say anything, Maria.”

“I have to,” she grinned. “We all had bets placed. I said you’d get together tonight, but Logan said it wouldn’t be until tomorrow. Looks like I won. Bye, you two.”

“We’re never gonna hear the end of this,” Marcus murmured, kissing your forehead as you watched Maria leave again.

“Never,” you agreed as you started walking hand-in-hand back to the car. “Hey, what else would you have done differently tonight? Just for… Curiosity's sake.”

“Sure, that’s all it is,” he mused. “Well, I would’ve taken you on a proper date first, somewhere you didn’t have to wear those shoes that look like they’re--”

“Shit.” No shoes. You both looked down to find your bare feet and started laughing far too loud for the middle of this pristine gala. Everyone stared. You couldn’t care less now. There was no act. You shrugged, “Good riddance. Keep going, keep going. What else?”

“On that proper date I would’ve told you that I’ve been wanting to ask you out since the first assignment we had together. I thought you were beautiful, of course, but it was really the way you worked. You were so on top of everything-- saved my ass more than once. You had such an incredible work ethic, but you made it all so fun. Like now, we’re laughing about you walking through The National Gallery with no shoes after facing multiple instances of life and death. Who else could I do that with? I would tell you that I want that every day. And then would I have kissed you.” You stepped outside into the cool, quiet autumn air.

“But first,” you interjected, “I would have to tell you that I’ve been infatuated by you since that first assignment. You were the new guy and I was a little skeptical at first, but you proved me wrong so quickly. You were so cool under pressure and it calmed me down too. I would’ve told you that you’re still a calming presence in my life; that everything’s easier around you. I would’ve told you I couldn’t understand how anyone could let you go, and it made me angry, honestly. How could they get a chance with you and waste it when I couldn’t even get one?” His thumb rubbed across the back of your hand comfortingly. “I’d tell you that you’re the most beautiful soul I’ve ever met-- and that this look tonight almost killed me.”

“And then I’d kiss you.”

“And then you’d kiss me.”

And he did.

#marcus pike x reader #agent pike x reader #bri writes

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maybe-theres-hope · 3 years

Text

Of Will and Wildflowers, Part 1

Tarlos | period drama/grudging acquaintances to lovers | Part 1/3

Read on ao3

Thank you to @oquinn53 and @resiotcage for cheerleading and reading ahead of time. You both give me the motivation to keep going.

Title by @oquinn53 :)

By law, TK Strand cannot inherit his father’s railroad empire until he marries. He has absolutely no intention of finding a husband on their trip down to Texas, but he finds himself blindsided by Mr. Carlos Reyes, only son of Doña Marialena Reyes. The problem is that Mr. Reyes resents the Strands coming to buy up parcels of his family’s cattle estate to build a rail line on. TK is perfectly happy to leave him to stew in his anger, as he has no use to see the man after the end of the week. However, TK will find that the heart wants what it wants, and there’s rarely anything one can do about it.

Set in 1885

Below is an excerpt, full part 1 from the beginning is under the cut!

TK was astonished at his father’s ability to forgive anyone almost anything, but this was almost too far. Mr. Reyes had barely said a word at dinner, and that was only after he’d been forcibly pulled into conversation by Christina. Even then he’d talked of nothing but the weather and cattle movements, and he’d offered a mild chuckle at Elena’s story of her first time riding a horse. He’d spent the rest of the evening simultaneously staring at and avoiding TK.

TK knew this because he’d been doing the same, though he would sooner saw off his own hand than admit to it.

“He insulted us and called us names. He besmirched our honor. He wears brocade to ride in! What on earth makes him a good man?” TK huffed out a breath. He turned to see his father just smiling at him.

“He’s a good judge of a room, anyway. He seldom looked away from you,” Owen ribbed. TK could now see where this was heading. His own father was just as bad as the Doña trying to play matchmaker.

“Parents are far too successful in matching their children up economically, but when it comes to romance, parents are no better off than if they hadn’t known another eligible soul in the world,” TK recited.

“Oh, come now son, I’m not that insensitive! He’s handsome isn’t he?” his father returned, finally dropping the ruse and showing his true colors.

“Handsomeness does not a happy home make,” TK recited again.

“You’ve been reading too many Dame Juliette columns.”

“And you’ve been trying to plot my marriage since we were on the train, and the minute you saw a handsome son on this estate you’ve sealed my fate, have you?” TK groused.

At this, Owen softened his face. “I am sorry for being a bit pushy, but Mr. Reyes is the first man you’ve so much as made eye contact with of late. Is it so odd to wonder what about him brought you out of your self-imposed melancholy?”

“Who said I was out of my melancholy?”

“Your eyes whenever they met his.” Owen’s face was serious, no longer teasing.

“He makes me angry, is all. Anger is an emotion.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” And with that, Owen turned to climb into his own bed, the conversation abruptly halted and TK left wondering what his father thought he’d concluded from their exchange.

Lying on his own mattress across the hall, TK wondered at emotion. Sure, anger was an emotion. A useful one. But so was love, and he was determined to hold out for it.

Part 1

“Ms. Mercer’s proposal looks promising,” Owen says, mostly to himself but loud enough to include TK in the conversation, should he wish to participate. “And Mr. and Mr. Felton-Lowman have quite a sprawl, though it does look to contain more elevation than I was hoping. I thought all of Texas was supposed to be flat?” Owen muses as he tosses the papers back onto his makeshift desk.

TK is only half listening, choosing instead to stare morosely out the window at the passing countryside of the American South, eyes at intervals tracking livestock in the fields and lingering drips from this morning’s light storm rolling down the glass window of the lavish Pullman they’ve commandeered as their vessel for this journey. His father, bless his soul, had tried to get TK to care more about the business as of late, and truth be told, TK was very interested in the workings of his father’s company and he did take great pride in being able to inherit it someday and make his father proud. It was just that recently, he’d had his heart thoroughly crushed by an absolute rake of a man and he’d rather wallow in self pity than think about geological surveys and boundaries for livestock movements.

TK heard his father sigh, a sure sign that a lecture was coming soon. TK took a breath and held it.

“I wish you’d forget about that awful boy, Tyler. You wouldn’t have wanted a life with him anyway. His family was barely polite at best, and scandalous at their worst. Honestly, you got out on the good side of things.” TK wanted to say that he didn’t care about things like status and scandal, he cared about love and commitment.

Turns out all Alexander had been able to commit to was his harem of stable boys and footmen that TK had known nothing about until it was too late.

TK blew out his breath. He knew his father meant well. Owen Strand was not overbearing as some other fathers were, especially with an only child upon whom everything rested. He wished his son to be happy and settled, is all. TK knew this, and still he couldn’t help his sullen reply.

“Yes, father, I shall just forget. Forget every sweet nothing and every second and third dance. Forget every promise and every earnest declaration. Forget that it was all a lie. Yes, my mind shall be rid of Alexander’s presence by sundown. Then we shall celebrate. How simple.” He knew he was being unreasonable, but he wanted to be angry for a while. He’d only found Alexander with Mrs. Howell’s second footman three days earlier. It still stung.

As the train rattled on, closer to a place that TK was of a mind to understand was so far from proper civilization as to be considered exotic, he felt his father’s disappointment cling to him. That hurt worse than what he’d seen Alexander and the footman doing--which was something for which he was sure a name had not been invented yet.

“I’m sorry, father. It’s just that you’ve set this deadline for me with no explanation as to why, and I don’t want to let you down but I’m afraid I’ll never find the right man for me. I had thought it would be Mr. Thompson, but I was mistaken. Sorely mistaken.”

At this, TK looked up to catch his father’s soft look of commiseration. “I know you’re feeling overwhelmed, but you are getting on in age. Most boys are married off by three and twenty, and you’ve gone nearly four years past that. I’m not going to be around forever, you know. You need to secure a match that makes you happy, but you’ll need to do it sooner rather than later.”

“Why, father? Why must I rush such a momentous decision? You are in perfect health! I have another five or ten at least!” At this, he caught a very minute shift in his father’s countenance, something like pain, but it was gone in an instant. His father was the most stoic man TK had ever had occasion to meet; if he was in pain at all, no one would ever know. It must have been a trick of the flickering pre-dusk light coming through the windows of the train car. Owen took on a playful tone.

“Five or ten? What respectable young lad would want to marry a man of thirty-five? You’d practically be spinster by then,” he joked fondly.

“You’re a good deal past thirty-five and I’ve still seen twenty year old Miss Brinkman making eyes at you across the dancefloor of an evening. If I’ve inherited your genes I’ve nothing to fear,” TK shot back with a barely there smirk.

“Thank heaven for us all, but you’ve got your mother’s beauty. I couldn’t have asked for better,” Owen said quietly. TK’s mother had been gone these past ten years. A bout with pneumonia that the doctors could not cure had taken her from them. “But you do have my charm, I’ll allow you that. You should put it to use down south. Perhaps a cattle baron might catch your eye?”

“Oh by God, no. I couldn’t imagine whiling away my days on a smelly farm trying to read reports by moonlight and taking my sullen and fatigued husband to bed only for him to fall asleep minutes after his head hits the pillow. No romance in hard labor, that’s for sure.” TK shuddered a bit to think of life on an actual farm, constantly smelling of hay and manure like some streetsweeper back in Manhattan.

“I do believe successful cattle barons can afford more than a few tawdry tallows, Tyler,” Owen quipped with a smirk before turning his attention back to the maps and surveys scattered in front of him. The conversation that, just moments ago, had been fraught with uncertainty and earnestness seemed to flutter into the wind. TK and his father were like that most times: they’d lay things out on the table between them, and if it clearly couldn’t be resolved in a single good-natured quarrel, they both gave themselves time to regroup to resume the discussion at a later date.

For this particular subject, TK was coming to think of that ‘later date’ as a cuff slowly tightening around his wrist, the chain binding him to his destiny getting shorter and shorter.

He looked down at his hands, privileged hands that hadn’t had to do much manual labor in his life, save for the few times his father took him to the yards to show him how things were run. Owen, on the other hand, was an entirely self-made man, who saved and invested his earnings working for Vanderbilt and made enough to purchase his first railcar at just twenty. He contracted it with the Erie and charged passengers thirty-five cents for passage between New York and Boston. From there it only grew, to what was now a very respectable business, looking to lay lines of their own. Perhaps not the largest--that was still Vanderbilt’s claim--but certainly a player on the board.

And it would all be TK’s if he could just hurry up and fall in love already.

_______

The carriage from the station drove them twenty miles through gorgeous hill country. The cattle and horses grazed on rolling plains that swelled gently as they approached the horizon. It was warm, but not unbearable, which TK attributed to the absence of industry steaming and smoking and saturating the very air in one’s lungs as it did in Manhattan. Furthermore, despite the over-abundance of livestock surrounding them, the smell was far more pleasant than he was used to. TK could not help but conclude upon this observation that maybe it was not the horses that stunk, but the people. After all, fresh air was a luxury very few could afford, and they usually had to go thousands of miles to get it, such as he and his father were doing now.

Still, he held to his earlier affirmation that he could not see himself making a life in a place such as this. Despite the fact that he’d concluded they apparently smelled horrid, TK loved being around people. He supposed that was to be attributed to being an only child, and having no siblings underfoot to raise ruckus and otherwise pierce the silence that hung heavy over their home of late. Even though he’d not experienced that kind of life, he’d always hoped to make a large family of his own, his husband and he adopting ten or more children to raise and fawn over. TK had never considered for a moment that he wouldn’t be a father, regardless of his proclivity for finding only men attractive in any way. Some of that persuasion chose to remain as partners only, bequeathing their fortunes, such as they were, to their universities or other charitable pursuits. But TK had always wanted a house full of mouths to feed and hearts to warm.

He dreamed about the day when he could look over at his husband, gray-haired and body-bent, and smile at what they’d created.

Except it did not seem as though he would be acquiring a husband any time soon, and that thought vexed him more than he let on to his father. Yes, he agreed that he was getting on in years as far as marriageable age for young bachelors was concerned, but his one universal truth was that he would not settle for someone who was not the love of his life. That conviction, though others called it foolish, was the great constant that ran through every interaction TK had with any handsome man he happened upon.

He was determined to uphold that promise to himself, no matter how many years passed. If the right one came along, he’d know it. No matter for the moment, anyway, as he was doubly sure he’d not meet the love of his life in the middle of cattle country.

As the carriage rounded another gentle swell, a rather large bright structure came into view. TK put his hand up to shield his eyes for a moment, as it seemed the very sun shone out of the building. As they drew closer to the drive—lined with giant oak trees on each side like twenty such sentries—it became apparent that the house was not radiating light, but reflecting it. Every upright surface was covered with glittering textured limestone, something TK had seen here and there on their travels through the southern states. Also something they had encountered before was a grievously oversized stoop—which these people called porches—that spanned the entire width of the house, and it was evident that it wrapped around to the sides as well. It was dotted here and there with rocking chairs and benches, each with a wool blanket or cushion thrown haphazardly onto the seat to aid the sitter’s comfort on the otherwise hard wood surface.

They reached the house after a long drive up, and the carriage deposited them at the bottom of the steps up to the grand estate. TK had seen mansions in Manhattan and beyond, but this house was like a full government building. It was massive. He wondered how many people lived here.

As their driver helped them from the carriage and began to let down their luggage, a shriek of delight could be heard just inside the door. TK jumped for a moment, not expecting such a sound in such a peaceful place, before he was bombarded with the view of three bright young ladies in finely detailed seersucker and bustled skirts.

“Oh, you’ve arrived at last!” the one who looked to be the eldest exclaimed. She was tall, at least half a foot taller than the other two, with ink black hair tied up in neat chignon. Her sleeves accented delicate wrists and her waist was nipped down modestly. She smiled like TK and his father arriving was akin to a grand parade, when really they resembled world-weary travelers who could barely un-stoop their backs from so long inside the carriage. The other two young ladies—girls really—giggled behind their hands. They bore a strong resemblance to the elder; certainly they were all sisters.

Ever the gentleman, TK removed his hat to gesture to the ladies, who gave curtsies in answer. Owen did the same, and received curtsies that went just a bit deeper. “Good afternoon, ladies,” Owen called with a smile. “I was told I could meet directly with Doña Marialena upon our arrival.” He quirked his eyebrow up in question, even though it was perfectly plain that none of these girls was old enough to be the proprietor of this estate, unless they had been sorely deceived. TK thought he might admire someone capable of extending that sort of ruse for as long as they’d been corresponding with the Doña. But alas, a moment later, a much older woman who resembled quite strikingly all three ladies gathered on the porch emerged from the wide open front door.

The Doña was an intimidating woman on her own, but the height afforded her by their current positions made it seem even more so. TK tucked his hat into his elbow and bowed low, following his father’s action. The older woman bent her knees a bit, and TK noticed she did not descend the steps to meet them, but instead kept her position above, behind her daughters.

“Welcome to La Hacienda Reyes, gentlemen,” she intoned in a very slightly accented, gravelly voice. It should have sounded harsh, but it just sounded well-used, as though she’d employed it many times to shout at her daughters for their impropriety at scurrying out to meet guests on the lawn without their bonnets, as she looked apt to do right this very second. TK did not mind their state of dress so much, as rules were getting a little more lax for the younger set these days, especially in the city. Though, now that he thought about it, these country folk might be a mite more traditional, but he let the thought fade into obscurity as the Doña smiled softly down at him a moment later, as if sharing a secret.

He and Owen approached the steps as the Doña descended to meet them. Owen made their introductions as TK took her hand in his, giving a small bow as was customary. He let his father lead the conversation as he made his way over to the daughters assembled on the lawn. He kissed each of their hands in turn, learning that their names were Christina, Elena, and Raquel, from eldest to youngest. He was also informed that Christina was not the eldest in the household; her sister Rosa was ten years her senior and married, and she and her wife were summering on the East Coast.

As Christina regaled TK with how wonderful and filled with revelry their visit was to be, a lone figure appeared at the edge of his vision, galloping up quite swiftly on horseback. The animal was beautiful, sleek and black and moving with its rider as though they were one. As they drew closer, Christina also lit on to the approaching figure.

“Oh, there’s my brother. Mamà will have his head for not meeting you directly, as the man of the house should. Even though he won’t inherit, she still insists he accompany her when seeing to the business of the estate, especially when Rosa is away.”

“I’m sure he had urgent business to attend,” TK offered, however he did not know what kind of business a man in fine brocade—as he could now see the golden threads shining in the Texas sun—would have out in the fields. “We did arrive earlier than expected, I believe. Our apologies.”

“Oh, no. He wished to stay away. I’m of right mind to assume he thought we’d already be inside by now and that’s why he’s made his appearance, and he’ll be sorely thwarted to see us still about.” She fought to hide a smirk, and TK was intrigued. However, he didn’t have time to contemplate on the apparent lack of manners of the man of the house before the man in question was upon them.

He was invariably handsome, that much was clear on his approach. He had tanned skin that shone in the rays of the afternoon sun, and curls atop his beautiful head that caught that same light and transformed into blacks and browns and golds as he moved. He was fit and tall, as TK could tell even from his seat on the horse, and he commanded an air about him that sang with regality. As he disembarked from the saddle, TK was struck dumb at the fluidity of his movements. It was as if he was still galloping along with the horse, moving slowly and rapidly at the same time, body deliberately placing itself where it needed to be rather than flinging his limbs about as some proud men were wont to do when they felt the urge to assert their authority.

As he turned to face the gathered group and at last revealed his face from a close angle, TK was struck dumb. This man was gorgeous. Exquisite. A dream made flesh. TK could all of a sudden imagine what this man looked like when he smiled, when he was upset, when he was elated, when he cried. He could picture a thousand candlelit dinners at the Fifth Avenue Hotel across from this man, surreptitiously dragging their toes against one another under the table, faces and hearts alight with the impropriety of doing such a thing in public, but being too enamored of each other to care.

He could picture all of this so clearly and crisply that he could almost smell the gardenia adorning the little vase upon the table. That was, until the man opened his mouth.

“Gentlemen,” he spit, as though the word were a curse upon their persons. He turned to the Doña and intoned in a volume that was surely meant to be overheard but made as if to seem secretive, “Mother, I thought you said only one was coming. We must entertain two greedy industrialist blackguards for the whole of the week when we’ve not even fully migrated the herd?”

At this, Doña Marialena did not even flinch. She simply leaned in closer to her son and spit out a quick succession of words no doubt meant to silence his gaucherie, but which only served to wind his already pinched countenance into a tighter knot. When their short exchange had ceased, he looked mildly chastised but still as though he would rather be anywhere than here, meeting TK and his father on the front lawn. However, after receiving that nearly silent dressing down from his mother in front of their guests, he screwed his face into a more acceptable visage, and approached Owen, who was holding out his hand.

Doña Marialena made their introductions, “Carlos, this is Owen Strand and his son, TK. Mr. Strand, this is my son Carlos. Please excuse his horrendous manners.”

Carlos took Owen’s hand. “Welcome to our Hacienda, sirs. You are from New York, is that correct?”

“We are. Nearly a fortnight’s journey to get here, but it was beautiful country to pass through,” Owen answered in a friendly tone, unfettered by the exchange of impropriety that had just taken place and determined to move into more friendly territory.

“Ah, well. Let us hope your trip was not in vain,” Carlos answered with a barely there sneer. He turned to TK and offered his hand as Owen and the women turned to shuffle inside the house.

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Reyes. I hope we can find some mutual agreement that is beneficial to all in this endeavor,” TK said solemnly while shaking the man’s hand. He’d abruptly become determined to dispense with all amorous thoughts of this abhorrent man. He and his father were here to do business, attend a party or two, and leave with contract in hand, and nothing more.

“There is nothing beneficial to my family about breaking off pieces of our home to sell to ardent capitalists,” Carlos hissed in a volume meant only for TK. “My grandfather’s blood is boiling in his grave as we speak.”

“Well then I suppose it is advantageous for us that you are not the one making decisions about the estate. Your mother seems quite keen to receive the compensation of ‘ardent capitalists’, as you say. Perhaps there are some issues with the household which require assistance which you, as third born, were not made privy to, sir.” TK could not help himself, and shot back the jab without thinking it through. It was ill-bred talk of money in the open, and much more so to bring it up in a first meeting, but Mr. Reyes was the one who’d alluded to finances first, so TK felt little remorse upon seeing the other man’s face flash with indignation.

Mr. Reyes looked as though he wished to lob one last verbal volley at TK, but seemed to think better of it which was a surprise given his utter lack of tact until that moment. He turned away from TK with a last look of barely tempered rage in his brown eyes and made his way up the steps and into the house.

TK followed, determined not to ponder on why that look had given him gooseflesh in a way that did not suggest fear for one’s life, but rather intrigue at what other thinly veiled emotions his own words could make those eyes flash with.

_______

Dinner was a modestly lavish affair. The table was adorned with yellow roses, to symbolize friendship and cooperation, which TK thought was a nice touch from the staff yet ultimately ineffective.

Well, possibly not entirely ineffective, as his father was currently wooing and entertaining the four women at the table with his usual easy charm, and they all seemed to be devouring his anecdotes and quips with good spirts.

It was Mr. Reyes that seemed out of sorts with the rest of the party. Even TK himself was beginning to forget their fraught exchange on the lawn and give in to the revelry of the evening. Truth be told he was glad to be at table with someone other than his father, who tended to give him pitiful looks and well-meaning advice about his recently broken heart. TK also had to admit that along with the laughing women, even Carlos himself was a nice change. His presence gave TK something to focus on other than thinking of his failed chance at happiness.

As it was, TK had already forgotten that he’d vowed he would not focus on Mr. Reyes at all.

“Your father tells me you are six-and-twenty and still a bachelor? How ever have you managed that?” The Doña asked across the table. Given his current preoccupation, TK didn’t even take the slightest bit of offense from the statement. It was helped along by the kind look in her eyes.

He gave a bashful chuckle. “Hard work and perseverance, ma’am,” he joked, and the table laughed along with him, save for one. “I’ve simply not encountered the right match, I’m afraid.”

“If he was married to the work, I’d be less anxious, but alas…” Owen trailed off with a good natured smile. Even with all his father’s nagging, TK knew in his heart that his father wanted his son to be happy and unhurried in choosing a husband.

“I’m holding out for my perfect compliment. Is that so naive?”

“Maybe not for a man in such good standing as you. I’m sure you have suitors left and right vying for your attention, Mr. Strand,” Elena said from across the table.

“I’m afraid at the moment I am quite unadorned with neither suitors nor passing interest,” he answered her.

“I, too, am similarly afflicted,” Elena mourned with a sigh. TK thought she couldn’t have been more than seven-and-ten, quite young to be so concerned. Then again he thought perhaps the country was different than the city. The Doña was mature to be sure, but she looked much younger than he’d thought a woman with a child of more than thirty years—as had been hinted about the absent Rosa—would look. She must have been wed around Elena’s age after all.

“Oh hush, sister. Your situation is not nearly as dire as mine,” Christina said. She placed the back of her hand to her forehead in an affected swoon. “Whenever shall I leave the nest?”

“When someone who possesses such a lack of wits that it precludes them from knowing better comes to sweep you off your feet,” said Raquel. Her sister gave her a scathing look before smirking and presumably kicking her lightly under the table. The younger sister just giggled and went back to her meal.

As TK watched the family interact, lightly teasing each other good-naturedly but never outright insulting each other, he could sense the love and connection among them. Oh, how he longed for a large family such as this someday. Surrounded by his children and their love for each other that ran so deep as to assure each and every one of them that no matter what was said in jest, they were always seeded first in the minds of the rest.

Even with all the lighthearted conversation going on at table, the sole Reyes son was still silent. TK thought it odd that such a stoic, contemptible man could be born into a family of such vibrant women; he was surrounded by their vivacity every day and still he was unmoved to even smile into his potatoes at their revelry. The rest of them also seemed to sense that Mr. Reyes did not wish to partake in the lively conversation, as none of them moved to include him. The Doña glanced to her son every now and then, and TK couldn’t have said her expression looked reproachful (as he would have agreeably afforded her) but it did not look content either.

Perhaps this was not usual behavior for Mr. Reyes. If that was so, then it really was the Strands’ arrival that had put him out of sorts and TK had no recourse to remedy that at present. He and his father were here for business that must be conducted, and Mr. Reyes would just have to live with that.

The Doña had apparently noticed TK going quiet among the ruckus and subsequently had noticed his earlier gaze flickering around the family accompanied by a soft smile. It seemed as though she’d misinterpreted his attentions, however.

“Perhaps the perfect compliment is sooner encountered than you think.” She gave a very slight incline of her head, seemingly meant to indicate Christina, who was sitting to her right and had proceeded to blush so profusely TK was momentarily concerned for her health. He endeavored to be diplomatic but firm against the Doña’s clear initiative, which was impossible for anyone at the table to miss.

“Ah, your family is lovely, Doña, but I fear your son and I would need to converse at length before we could find views on which we do not differ at the moment.” It was part lighthearted joke, part barely concealed jab at Carlos, and part signal of his preferences, so as not to invite any more ideas about betrothing him to one of the daughters.

Alas, he did not miss the Doña’s sharp eye turn to her son before landing back on himself in quick succession. Given their greeting, the Doña should not rightly expect there to be any amorous feeling available between them. Her face relaxed after a moment, and she returned her gaze to the rest of the table. TK did not feel cowed, per se, but the weight of her scrutiny could still be felt upon his cheeks. He was immediately given to wonder what could be contained behind those steady brown eyes, so like her son’s.

As the conversation resumed—Christina was finally ribbing her brother for his lack of mirth this evening—yet again TK found himself studying Carlos Reyes, handsome specimen that he was. But the cut of a man’s jaw and the shine of his eyes did not a welcome companion make, in TK’s view. Sure, he’d lost himself for a moment in the man’s fluidity of movement, the low timbre of his voice, the fire in his expression. But the measure of a man is in his actions, not his appearance. A man can appear any way he wants to; it is his behavior that epitomizes his character. Carlos Reyes had shown himself to be headstrong, closed-off, and prejudiced. TK had no use for such a personality. Carlos could while and wallow away his days alone for all TK cared. He would leave here with no attachments and that would not be a hardship.

Just at that moment, the man in question met his eyes. They stared for a moment, caught in some trap of unconscious strain, seemingly bound to the attempt to find the measure of each other in a single look. When TK looked away first, he felt as if he’d lost some contest.

When he chanced a glance toward the man again, he found his gaze hadn’t wavered but was now more open than it had been since they’d met, which admittedly was not to say much.

Later that night, when Christina had shown them to their guest rooms, Owen made an observation as they dressed for bed.

“The girls are quite well-bred,” he stated, apropos of nothing. The caliber of the family had no bearing on the land, therefore it was of little interest to them in coming into this negotiation. At least, that is what TK believed. His father, it was apparent, thought differently. “And Doña Marialena is a fine head of the household. She has taught her children well.”

At this, TK scoffed.

“And her son is quite adept, don’t you agree?” Owen continued as he hung his dinner jacket away. “A good man who knows the value of family and home.”

TK could not let this statement slide. “A good man? He’s an absolute cad!”

“Oh? He was perfectly cordial during dinner. There was that snafu when we arrived, but that was cleared up quickly. I say, he’s a fine man.” TK was astonished at his father’s ability to forgive anyone almost anything, but this was almost too far. Mr. Reyes had barely said a word at dinner, and that was only after he’d been forcibly pulled into conversation by Christina. Even then he’d talked of nothing but the weather and cattle movements, and he’d offered a mild chuckle at Elena’s story of her first time riding a horse. He’d spent the rest of the evening simultaneously staring at and avoiding TK.

TK knew this because he’d been doing the same, though he would sooner saw off his own hand than admit to it.

“Oh, come now son, I’m not that insensitive! He’s handsome isn’t he?” his father returned, finally dropping the ruse and showing his true colors.

“Handsomeness does not a happy home make,” TK recited again.

“You’ve been reading too many Dame Juliette columns.”

“And you’ve been trying to plot my marriage since we were on the train, and the minute you saw a handsome son on this estate you’ve sealed my fate, have you?” TK groused.

“Who said I was out of my melancholy?”

“Your eyes whenever they met his.” Owen’s face was serious, no longer teasing.

“He makes me angry, is all. Anger is an emotion.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” And with that, Owen turned to climb into his own bed, the conversation abruptly halted and TK left wondering what his father thought he’d concluded from their exchange.

Lying on his own mattress across the hall, TK wondered at emotion. Sure, anger was an emotion. A useful one. But so was love, and he was determined to hold out for it.

_______

The morning after their first night in La Hacienda Reyes, TK woke with renewed energy to be devoted to forgetting Carlos Reyes even existed.

This endeavor proved extremely difficult when upon descending the stairs to the foyer, the man in question was seemingly awaiting him, pacing across the marble floor with agitated clicks of his boots. The sight brought TK up short, and he consequently forgot that his father was just behind him, causing Owen to collide into his back and sending TK tripping down the last two steps—

Straight into Mr. Reyes’ arms. They were pressed together so tightly for a moment that TK swore he could feel the other man’s exhales as they left his nostrils, softly caressing TK’s cheek as they went. One of his hands was gripped tightly on TK’s shoulder while the other had instantly wound its way around his waist to steady him.

It took TK an inordinate amount of time to catch his breath, all the while feeling that very firm body against his. As his senses returned, he felt himself blaze with the most furious blush at the proximity, and hurried to right himself. He nearly butted his head into the other man’s nose in the process, but proceeded to stand upright without further incident. He set about straightening his waistcoat before looking up and catching Mr. Reyes’ eye almost by mistake.

The other man seemed just as red in the face as he. They held each other’s gaze for a split second longer before TK was violently reminded that the incident had not happened in private, but that the whole of the ghastly encounter was overseen by his own father.

Owen asked, much too late in TK’s opinion, “Are you alright son? I apologize for being so clumsy there,” he added in address to Mr. Reyes.

The man of the house was the first of the pair at the bottom of the stairs to regain use of his tongue. “It’s quite alright, sir. No harm done.”

“That’s true, as you were here to prevent it. Lucky, that.”

TK thought to himself that he would like to disappear from this mortal plane rather than be party to his father’s smug innuendos, especially after their conversation last night and TK’s renewed vows of thoroughly avoiding the man of this house.

Mr Reyes, however, seemed unattuned to Mr. Strand’s jabs, and simply addressed them both again cordially.

“Good morning to you both, I hope you slept well.” They replied that they had, as was proper, despite TK’s own thoughts. He wasn’t about to share that . “I’ve actually come to offer you a tour of the grounds at my mother’s behest, and also in apology for my unmitigated rudeness upon your arrival.”

TK was inclined to believe the apology was also at the Doña’s behest, if not absolutely forced. She seemed a formidable enough woman to demand decorum from her adult son.

“I understand your company is pursuing the land in the northwest quadrant of the estate. It would be my pleasure to take you there so that you can survey at your leisure.”

“So early?” Owen asked. They had not yet broke fast.

“Yes sir, in order to avoid the humidity of midday, I thought we’d ride out closer to dawn. Our cook has packed some provisions in lieu of the breakfast meal.” At this, he gestured to a medium sized basket atop a side table by the door, apparently from which the scent of bacon—as TK had just caught on the air—was emanating.

To be quite honest with himself—which he would admit much, much later was not very honest at all—TK was not at all looking forward to spending the morning with Mr. Reyes and his ridiculously dashing seat on a horse. His father being there would temper his mood, but he’d rather spend the day walking about on his own, soaking in the fresh air and solitude of the country. Or even alongside his father and the Doña, negotiating the sale of her land, as Owen had expressed his desire that TK begin immersing himself in the business and he saw no better time than now, in avoidance of any extra time spent in Mr. Reyes’ presence.

The man made him hot around the collar and jittery, and the real problem was that TK was even more angry that neither of those emotions were particularly loathsome at the moment and he could not explain to himself why.

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Mr. Reyes. Unfortunately, I really must sit down with your mother and ask her about some specifics regarding the provenances, so I must decline your kind offer.” At this, he turned to TK, who was already giving him wide eyes of panic before he even opened his mouth. “TK, would you be so kind as to accompany Mr. Reyes around the property? You know the general gist of what we are looking for, and you can report back to me with what you find. I’d really appreciate your help on this, TK.”

The man was practically grinning like a fool. TK thought he might keel over right there on the marble tiles of the Reyes’ foyer.

Mr. Reyes’ face was unreadable at the moment, but TK could imagine the line of his thoughts. The two of them no more wanted to spend time with each other alone than either would want a hole in the head.

Mr. Reyes, however, was the first to recover from the abrupt change in plan, with a direct capitulation that TK could have punched him for, had he been a less tactful man. “That…would be agreeable,” he said haltingly. He turned to look at TK, who schooled his countenance into something less vile than he felt this turn of events warranted. “Would that please you, Mr. Strand?”

Would it please him? Absolutely not.

“Of course, Mr. Reyes,” he said tightly, resigned to his fate. “I look forward to seeing your lovely estate and hearing its history.”

Mr. Reyes looked almost surprised at his cordiality, and TK congratulated himself on his capability of social falsehood.

_______

Their journey was to take them from the back of the house out and around the northwest corner of the ranchland where they would stop to breakfast at a small manmade lake and then south to the orchards, through which they would find themselves back at the west side of the house. All told, Carlos informed him, the trip would take them for six miles. TK resigned himself to a morning of misery, and judging by his would-be companion’s face, he was not alone in that regard.

Their basket of provisions securely fastened to Mr. Reyes’ saddle, and both saddles securely fastened to their mares, the pair set off in silence other than Owen’s shout of farewell from the porch.

They strolled along at a leisurely pace—too slow for TK’s regard—for quite a while before either spoke. Mr. Reyes looked over to TK with a judgemental eye before saying, “Watch for snakes in the grass. Flor will not spook at them, but she will spook if you do.”

“I’m not afraid of snakes,” TK snapped, although he couldn’t rightly say he’d ever seen one up close. “Furthermore, I am high on this horse, why would I worry about something as low as a snake?”

“Rattlers can jump. They’ll have your boot off and will have half devoured your leg before you can think to turn the horse.”

TK whirled to look at him, consequently causing Flor to twist toward Mr. Reyes and Jimena, putting them much closer than TK would like after their bout that morning. He knew his face was a mask of barely concealed horror, the image Mr. Reyes’ words had conjured up no less than tremendously frightening to a city gentleman.

Mr. Reyes’ face, however, was all mirth; his cheeks were reddening in the effort of holding back his obvious laughter, which he gave up the moment TK noticed his ruse.

“That was a bold-faced lie and you are a scoundrel for it,” TK muttered, feeling teased.

“I’ll take that judgement just to see the terror on your face again,” Mr. Reyes laughed. TK was determined not to acknowledge that the man had a nice laugh, a full bodied, soft-edged one that sent warmth down to the tips of TK’s toes. TK was also determined to keep the scowl upon his face for the whole of this journey, never mind the wrinkles he was likely to develop. Curse this loathsome cowboy and his ill intentions and his shining curls and his full lips. They lapsed into silence again for another half mile.

In his endeavor to ignore his companion, TK failed to notice how he was being closely regarded by said companion. He should have been able to feel the gaze upon the side of his face like sunlight as heavy and warm as it was, but alas he remained ignorant of it in favor of the beautiful countryside.

TK began to notice little strains of wildflowers growing on the gentle swells of hills here and there, their elevations no more than four or five feet. It was like looking at someone’s floral bedding that had been disturbed in sleep and not righted in the morning; soft, loved, and lived in, a safe place to come back to at the end of the day, a warm comfort to calm the tumultuous stresses one was apt to battle in the waking hours.

“The red and orange ones that reach toward the sky are called Indian Paintbrush,” Mr. Reyes intoned softly causing TK to turn his gaze away from the flowers in a startle. It had been so quiet he’d almost forgotten his company. “There,” Mr. Reyes pointed, urging TK to return his focus to the flowers. “That line there is all paintbrush. And the purple spiked ones are Horsemint.”

“Why are they so named? Do they taste of mint?” TK wondered aloud.

“I’m…not sure. I’ve never had occasion or urge to eat one. Perhaps the name means only horses would taste the mint, but Flor and Jimena do not seem so inclined either.” His chuckle was tacked on at the end, but it didn’t feel accusatory this time. It sounded as if TK had honestly stumped him with his question and he was considering the answer in earnest, but had ultimately come up short of a correct guess.

TK focused again on the sweeping little hills as they continued to trot along. “And the pink ones? What are they called?”

“Ah, I believe those are Evening Primrose. Those are the most prominent of the wildflowers here, as I’m sure you can tell. Quite boring to look at compared to the others, but a constant nonetheless.” His tone gave TK the impression that he, too, found the fields of flowers calming. It would make sense, seeing as this was his homeland. Or…was it?

“Have you always lived here? Or did your family come into the property recently?”

“My great-grandfather purchased the land at a pretty steep discount in twenty-six, just a couple of years after the Colonization Law took effect. He came far enough north that he wouldn’t be too crowded in with the rest of his countrymen, and settled the bit to the south of us, where the house is located. He did build it, but it was not as large as it is now. It’s been expanded with both generations since, I believe.”

“Your great-grandfather came from Mexico to settle?”

“Technically, this was Mexico still when he came, since the war for Independence was not won until thirty-six. But yes, he came from Guadalajara. He thought less over cultivated land would suit better for cattle ranching, and it turns out he was right. We now have three hundred head.” His voice was proud as he recounted the story, and TK was drawn in by the clear reverence he had for his family history. He wanted to hear more, so he asked after how the estate came to be so large.

“My grandfather negotiated the rest of the land from the tribes settled here at the time, which admittedly were so few in number that the endeavor was swift. He offered them fifty head and a handsome cash sum as well, and the deal was struck in accord. The tribe moved north to the central territories and are still there today I believe. We’ve had a few high ranking members as visitors in my youth, and they were always amiable and welcome.”

Mr. Reyes’ soft smile had drawn TK’s attention again and this time he let himself look. The man practically glowed as he talked of his heritage, his family, and it was rather intoxicating. TK wanted to ask after more, but it seemed they’d reach the aforementioned lake that they were to stop and break their fast beside. He allowed Flor to carry them to a stop at a suitable spot and dismounted, again allowing himself to watch as Mr. Reyes did the same. He was taken in by the same fluidity and grace as he had been the day previous, before their awful actual meeting.

TK was finding it hard to remember Mr. Reyes being crass yesterday, no matter how hard he tried.

In tandem, they spread out an extra saddle blanket in the grass, still slightly damp from the morning dew. Their provisions were divvied up and tea was poured into metal cups, and TK was just about to take his first sip when Mr. Reyes spoke, and his tone bade TK listen carefully.

“Mr. Strand—“

Without rightfully thinking about it, TK interrupted him with, “Please, you should call me TK. Well, my name is Tyler, but only my father calls me that. Friends call me TK.”

Mr. Reyes looked taken aback for a moment, possibly at the implication of friends , but TK kept his face impassive. He’d not have them making a mountain out of a grain of sand such as a name. They were to be business acquaintances anyway, and they should address each other as such. All of Owen’s partners called him by his first name, so TK took a page from his book by extending the offer. It would help keep his mind firmly on their business relationship.

It absolutely was not so he could hear his name, both sharp consonants of it, softened in Mr. Reyes’ steady timbre.

“TK,” he corrected, and the named man swallowed a sigh at being proven right about the sound of it coming off those lips. “I would like to—that is, I am committed to—well, what I would like to say is—“ he halted, frowning down at an apple clutched in his own hand. He set the apple aside, and turned to TK directly.

“TK, I mean to sincerely apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was rude and judgmental without cause, and I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me that transgression, as I do hope we are able to work together seamlessly in this partnership.”

It seemed sincere, TK thought. The man’s eyes were fervent and his face was open in a way it hadn’t been since the Strands had arrived. For a moment, TK was lost in those eyes that reflected the climbing sunrise off the water of the small lake like Mr. Reyes was radiating the warmth of goodwill through his very irises. His eyes were soft, inviting, shining with their earnestness. It was a long moment before he spoke, which Mr. Reyes seemed to take as reservation but was in fact TK pure preoccupation with studying the man’s face at the most inappropriate of times.

“I do hope I haven’t ruined things between my family and yours,” Mr. Reyes went on. “It’s just that I—well I’m quite attached to my home here and my pride is tied up in what my forefathers accomplished.”

“To see it broken up and sold off is to admit defeat that this generation could not hold the line,” TK finished for him, and his eyes grew wide.

“Yes, precisely.”

“I have misgivings about that kind of thing also. My father built such a tremendous enterprise—nothing like the Vanderbilts of course, but sprawling in reach nonetheless. I…find myself at times overwhelmed with the prospect of taking it on alone.” It must have been the country air, the absence of all human life for a few miles, and the still burgeoning sunrise combined that made his tongue so loose with such intimate thoughts. Surely he was losing control of his faculties if he was given to sharing his heart in this way, TK mused.

Even so, Mr. Reyes’ face had not closed off yet; it remained open and inviting to those thoughts and perhaps welling up with some of his own to share, now that the barrier had lost a few bricks and they could see each other over their respective sides of the wall they’d built over the previous day and evening.

“But, you won’t do it alone, will you? You cannot inherit until you marry, by law,” Mr. Reyes reminded him. Those deep brown eyes were on him again, somehow more liquid than before. TK must be imagining things now. He blinked the line of thought away.

“Yes, that’s true. But who’s to say I’ll marry a man who wants to be involved in the railroad business? My true love may be a man of the arts, constantly shut away in his studio creating pieces to adorn our home and teaching our children to appreciate the craft of them. Or he may be a man strongly devoted to politics and spend months away from home campaigning for the betterment of the American people. Or he may prefer the country life to the city, and I must remain in the city for the business for the bulk of the year. So you see, I may yet end up running the business alone, even if my life will not be spent in solitude. If I marry for love, I’ll be glad of that connection regardless if I get help with the business. Help is not what I’ll be marrying; it will be companionship outside of worldly endeavors that will make it worthwhile.” The picture he’d painted for himself inside his head was content, and he noticed he’d closed his eyes for a moment while he’d intimated the details to Mr. Reyes.

When he opened his eyes and refocused on his company, he saw Mr. Reyes duck his head slightly, a faint blush high on his tanned cheekbones. TK wondered if the other man was embarrassed of the intimate turn their conversation had taken, and hurried to move them to more casual topics.

“I do apologize, Mr. Reyes, I did not mean to be overly familiar with you. God above, it must be the early hour that has me as yet unable to master all my faculties.”

“No, please, do not apologize. I simply—that is—I do…admire your candor and conviction. Marrying for love is not rare, but it is not the standard. To be so assured of your path in life is enviable. I admit I haven’t given much thought to it myself.”

“You don’t think of who you’ll marry?” TK asked. He’d thought of nothing else since he was a boy.

At this, Mr. Reyes’ eyes turned down for a moment, a cloud of something passing over his features before the sun shone through his expression again. “Not in the sense you’ve described, no. I supposed I always knew I would marry, because I knew I would not inherit the estate—though I do envy Rosa a bit—but I’ve never imagined what kind of man I would spend my life with. I always assumed I’d know who he was when he came along.”

Their eyes met and for a moment not even the crickets or birds or any other constantly buzzing creature could be heard. TK was the first to break it, albeit in a slightly hushed tone.

“And he hasn’t come along yet?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Mr. Reyes answered. He looked disinclined to elaborate. They gazed at each other a moment longer before Mr. Reyes broke the contact and gestured to their spread. “We should partake of Mrs. Smith’s generous meal. It seems she packed for much more than three this morning,” he laughed, and it only sounded a little forced. “I assure you, the fresh bacon cooked in rosemary will change your perspective on life the moment it hits your tongue.”

TK took the change in subject gracefully, also keen to step back from the precipice they’d found themselves on much too early in their acquaintance, truth be told. They’d forgotten themselves but no harm had been done, and they could go on as intended—as short-term business collaborators only.

_______

They rode the rest of the way around the western perimeter as the sun reached higher in the sky, Mr. Reyes pointing out landmarks here and there. Ostensibly this outing was for TK to survey the land for it’s viability for their project, and he was doing so, but he was also enamored with Mr. Reyes’ ability to guide them along with enthusiasm and grace. It was very clear the man loved his home and was deeply proud of it, and TK was entranced when he talked.

By the time they reached the apple orchard, TK had stopped deluding himself that he wasn’t fond of Mr. Reyes. He’d had his misgivings from the beginning, and for good reason, but there was a good man underneath the initial prickliness. Mr. Reyes could be likened to a cat protecting its young. Docile for the most part until his family was threatened, and TK could see where he’d felt that way initially. Mr. Reyes had come around quickly though and TK was not sure how much of that was due to his mother’s insistence and how much was just their conversation on this journey around the property in the early morning light.

“It smells so heavenly here,” TK mused aloud as the horses picked their way between the lines of trees. To be able to be abreast of each other to properly hold a conversation, the horses were so close that occasionally TK’s knee or thigh brushed against Mr. Reyes’. It startled him each time, even though he’d come to expect it. He supposed it startled his body but not his mind, which was a disconcerting feeling indeed, but not altogether unpleasant.

“They are called Gala apples. They thrive quite well here in the moderate rain. Would you like to try one?” Mr. Reyes asked. TK nodded with a small smile, and watched as Mr. Reyes dismounted Jimena and left her untethered. He turned back to TK and held out his hand. “Come along, it tastes better if you fetch it from the tree yourself,” he teased.

TK stared at the outstretched hand before taking it and dismounting gracefully, coming familiarly close to Mr. Reyes for the second time that day. This time, only their hands were touching as opposed to their whole bodies—as they had been on the stairs that morning—but it felt almost more intimate. TK noticed that they’d paused to regard one another again as they had multiple times on this journey. However, as they had done each time, they broke their gazes and their contact and went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. The only problem was that each time it happened—and this incident more than all he rest—set his heart aflutter in such a way as to distract from all else in the moment. It took him increasingly longer to come back to himself each time.

He watched as Mr. Reyes took a wooden-runged ladder from a pile on the ground and set it against the trunk of the nearest tree. Deftly, he climbed a few feet, reached up, and plucked a ripe bit of fruit from one of the lower branches before coming down off the ladder assuredly, his steps practiced as if he’d done this a thousand times before. Perhaps he had.

TK held his hand out for the fruit, but Mr. Reyes pulled it back and away. “Ah, ah. This one is mine. I told you, it tastes better if you fetch it yourself. I set your example, now it’s your turn,” he said, spitefully taking bite out of his prize, then using it to gesture to the ladder.

Unfettered by Mr. Reyes’ teasing, TK was determined to show that he could keep up with his companion’s prowess. He approached the ladder, assessing it for any weak points before tentatively stepping onto the first rung. It bowed gently under his weight, and he paused a moment to gather himself.

He felt a hand upon his hip and froze for a moment, feeling distinctly untethered. Looking down, TK saw Mr. Reyes’ earnest eyes on him, one hand steadying TK on the ladder and the other still casually consuming his fruit. He gave TK a reassuring smile and nodded in the direction of the tree, encouraging.

The climb to the correct height took TK a bit longer than it had the cowboy who was used to such endeavors, but he managed. He plucked a juicy-looking specimen from a close branch before carefully climbing down, deliberately placing each footfall for optimum support from the wooden rungs below him. It was slow and arduous, but he accomplished it.

Once landed on the ground, he held up his spoil triumphantly. Mr. Reyes smiled.

“And now, Mr. City Gentleman, you have farmed apples!” He declared.

TK bit his lip for a half-second before being unable to hold back his mirthful laughter. His eyes crinkled and his cheeks ached with it, and it felt so good that he didn’t notice his companion was gazing at him once more, admiration and awe in his expression. When his laughter came down to a more manageable level a few seconds later, they were caught in each other once again, as they had been many times that day. TK’s smile was still spread across his face and he looked up through his lashes at Mr. Reyes to see a serenity over his countenance that had yet to be shown since they’d known each other.

It was beautiful.

Just as quickly as the moment had began, it passed, with Mr. Reyes fingering his collar away from his neck in what seemed like a nervous gesture. “The heat is beginning to get oppressive,” he offered in explanation, though said heat was not yet unbearable in the slightest. “We should retreat to the safety of the house.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I wonder if our parents have concluded their negotiations for the day. I’d like to convene with my father to let him know what I’ve seen.”

“Of course, well. Shall we?” Mr. Reyes gestured down the path between the trees, Jimena’s reins held loosely in his hand as he led her on foot. TK grabbed Flor’s lead and followed in quiet contemplation. He realized his manners had slipped.

“Thank you, Mr. Reyes, for this tour. It was enlightening, as well as a pleasant diversion.”

“You are most welcome. And please, call me Carlos. After all, we are to be friends, as you put it.” His smile was radiant.

“Carlos,” TK tried out the name on his tongue with a nod. It tasted like the smoothest brandy, and TK felt like he was already drunk off of one sip.

“I wanted to reiterate my apology, to make sure it is clear. I judged you and your father before I allowed you to state your intentions. Your plans for the land, so far as you’ve told me, will not impact our operation negatively and I get the distinct feeling it is your mission to keep things that way as you work your way across the country. So I thank you for your discretion, and I once again humbly ask you to forgive my behavior yesterday.”

“It is already forgiven!” TK tells him, wanting to put any and all ill will behind them after such a glorious morning. “Do not worry over it any longer. Let us be friends from this day forth.”

Carlos smiled so wide it momentarily arrested TK’s heart.

They reached the house in due course to find Elena on the porch frantically waving a piece of paper in her delicate hands. They tethered the horses to the post off the side of the house and approached. The girl looked as if she could barely form words through her excitement.

“Carlos!” She cried as they ascended the steps and removed their hats. “Guess who’s coming to the ball tomorrow night!”

“I’m sure you will tell me without me having to guess,” her brother teased good-naturedly, sharing a conspiratorial smile with TK as they passed into the foyer.

“Mr. de Castillo,” Elena said, giving the name a weight that surely meant something, but which TK could not discern. He’d never heard the name before, but then again he did not know the upper class set of this region well enough to know their names and statuses that might warrant such excitement.

When TK turned to face Carlos, he wondered what Elena could find so appealing that her brother seemed to find mildly horrifying, judging by his expression. His eyes cut to TK and they almost looked…guilty.

Elena went on, oblivious to her brother’s distress. “His letter is posted from Santa Fe nearly two weeks ago, and he says he should arrive just in time to dress and attend. Isn’t that marvelous news, Carlos? He hasn’t come east since the fall. Oh how we’ve all missed him.” She put emphasis on certain parts of her sentence that didn’t entirely make sense to TK, but he could feel a growing lump in the pit of his stomach as he watched Carlos’ face drain of color slightly.

“He sounds like a character who’s good to know, if his presence at a dance excites you this much,” he offered to Elena to try and ease the focus off of Carlos, for he seemed unable to speak at that moment.

“Oh, it’s not me he excites,” Elena said, cutting her eyes to TK’s right, smirking but saying nothing more. TK did not turn to look at Carlos again, because that lump in his stomach was getting heavier the more Elena talked and he was not rightfully sure he could put a name to it just yet. Looking at Carlos’ guilty face was surely to spell it out quicker than he’d like. He halted his train of thought and plowed on.

“Well, I look forward to meeting this esteemed Mr. de Castillo. You said he’s not come east—do you mean to say he is from the west coast?”

“Yes, San Fransisco! His father rushed there in forty-nine and made quite the coup. They’re able to give the Rockefellers a run for their money, I’d wager,” she said. “And he’s so handsome as well.”

That bit tacked on at the end was again delivered with a weighted look at Carlos which TK again ignored.

He was saved from replying to Elena’s last comment by his father and the Doña appearing in the foyer.

“What’s got everyone in a fuss?” Owen asked.

“Mr. Fernando de Castillo is coming to the ball tomorrow night!” Elena exclaimed, elated to share her momentous news with anyone who would listen.

“De Castillo…” Owen pondered, “Is that Isador de Castillo’s boy? Of San Fransisco?”

“Yes, the very same. Mr. de Castillo the younger visits us quite often, as he’s got business back east with his company and likes to stop for a week or so on his way through. We’ve all grown quite fond of him, especially Car—“

“That’s quite enough, Elena. The Mr.’s Strand are not interested in country gossip. Run along and find Constance to start your lessons. Your sisters are already studying while you’ve been flitting about.” The Doña’s voice was firm and clearly dismissive. She glanced at her son and TK in turn, before turning her attention back to Owen. “Mr. Strand, might we all go into the drawing room for tea? Our sons can regale us of their journey around the property.”

Owen’s smile was wide and eager as he looked to the two young men. “Of course, I cannot wait to hear your thoughts on the land, TK. The Doña and I will also impart to you what we’ve agreed upon thus far, though there are still the finer details to work out.”

Carlos immediately followed Owen into the room off the left side of the foyer, barely sparing TK a glance in contrast to all their lingering looks throughout the morning. That, combined with Elena’s cryptic words regarding their future guest, unsettled TK more than he would have liked. Still, he was determined to soldier on in his mission to become good friends and business partners with Carlos and the rest of the Reyes’, and he’d not let a silly thing like a matter of the heart—which may not even exist—get in his way.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #911ls #tk strand #carlos reyes #brooke writes

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yehet-me-up · 3 years

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Content Tag Game

Tagged by EXO sister-wife Kat @yeoldontknow <3 1. what fandoms have you written for (but do not currently)?

2. what fandoms are you currently writing for?

3. how long have you been writing? on this blog?

uhhh I definitely wrote half of several harry potter and lotr fanfics in HS but that was ‘the dark times’ many moons ago. so as an adult this is my only fandom! just stumbled into kpop and stumbled onto fanfics in the most backwards way possible (was sent a meme of a 1D ‘imagine’ and was like hey I wonder if they have these for kpop and then I found them and they were not a meme, but were fucking incredible AND NOW 4 YEARS LATER (started August-ish 2017???) here we are hahaha)

4. on which platforms do you post your stories?

oh dear god i just remembered I have an AO3 account..... WHOOPS, shit 😅 might need to, y’know, update that at some point. jfc adhd object permanence is something else.

5. what is your favorite genre to write?

Personally it’s sci fi/fantasy, but here in the fanfic space I’d say..... uhh slice of life, romance, angst but make it a happy ending?? fanfic is a way for me to share all the sort romantic hopeful feelings I have about love and life and friendship and purpose 💕

6. are you a pantser or a planner?

Used to be a pantser when I started this (and when fics used to be like ?? 3k-5k) now that fics in general are longer for one-shots and series my good lord I need an outline. Especially for exo mall which is *insert meme of crazy guy with the bulletin board* a lot for my brain haha

7. one shot or multi-chapter?

8. what is the perfect chapter length in your opinion?

I’d say mine are usually 5k or so?? some series were shorter per chapter, depending on subject matter. I tend to write like... interconnected long as frick oneshots, so i don’t count those as chapters ☠️

9. what is your longest published story? is it complete?

uhhhhh good question haha. my book was 95k and I think exo mall is like *dammit math* 140k or something that has significantly gotten out of hand. I have two more fics so it will probably be like 180ish when it’s done?? not including the drabbles to come haha

10. which story did you enjoy working on the most?

I loved No Quarter and torturing Kat with her husband, also staying up all night to finish Chanyeol’s exo mall knowing kat had NO idea it was coming was a BLAST. Kyungsoo’s exo mall was one of the most ‘in the flow’ writing experiences i’ve ever had. I wrote this Baek oneshot at like 3am when i couldn’t sleep once and tbh it felt like I wrote it in a dream. ja;slkfjasd I love so many of these this is like a trip down memory lane, so I’m going to be a wh*re and say two more haha. This is the most honest and close to ‘real life’ thing I think I’ve written on here (and also one of the only sex scenes I didn’t lose my goddamned mind trying to write a;sldkfja;sdf). And lastly Ablaze, which was the longest thing I’d written (I think) and let me know that hey? maybe I could write a book someday <3

11. favorite request you’ve have written and why (if any?)

This request for Exo Mall Baek was such a joy to write! And for some reason this Taeyong drabble makes me wish I had the time/energy to write it into a full story, it gripped me so much when I wrote it, like a movie had fully downloaded into my brain out of nowhere.

12. are there reoccurring themes in your stories?

For sure! I’d say found family is a big one. Trusting that you’ll find your place even if things don’t make sense or you feel unsure. Believing that love is worth the risk and fear of trusting someone ;laksjdfal;sd. That love can be big gestures and super intense, but that after that fades away it’s the small daily moments that matter most - the people who stay and listen when you’re sad, holding hands and forehead kisses, taking care of people when they’re sick or scared or just need company, showing up to try again or to communicate even when things are hard.

Someone commented on a fic of mine ages ago that I helped them see that real love (of that small, daily, consistent kind) is possible and MAYHAPS I cried because underneath it all, that’s what I’d want people to take away - that love of all kinds is scary, but it’s always worth it in the end <3

13. current number of wips?

Surprisingly just ... 3? wow how time has changed hahaha. I have Jun + Baek for exo mall (plus some drabbles but that will be something people write in about, so I wouldn’t consider them wips) and then I maaaaay continute on here with the Jun + Min regency baes series. We shall see :)

14. three things you have noticed about your own writing?

1. I can’t NOT write Baekhyun as the biggest cheesy dork in the entire world 2. That I’ll always have endless fantasy world to live in. I have to try actively to not start new WIPs because it’s so damn easy to be inspired. If I’m ever bored I know that I can jump into some story and let myself be carried away for a while 3. that who and how i am in real life is not usually the same person that i am when it comes to the vibe of my writing, and that that’s totally okay <3

15. a quote you like from a published story.

“I wish it had been with someone like you, though,” you say, squeezing his hand.

“Someone like me?” he says, raising his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.

You look down at the floor, trying to figure out how to put how he makes you feel into words. “Yeah, someone strong, and steady. And safe.”

He lets out a laugh. “Safe? That sounds awfully similar to boring.”

“No, no. You don’t understand,” you say emphatically, coming to stand fully in front of him, grabbing his other hand as well. “You never ask me to be anything but who I am. You’re patient, kind, caring. For the longest time I thought that falling in love would be stifling. That it would… I don’t know, take my independence. Take my spirit. Make me into someone I don’t recognize.”

You step closer, holding his face in your hands. “But I can’t think of anything I want more than to be with you. You make me the best version of who I am. I don’t know how it is for you, being with me. But when I’m with you, it just feels like… home,” you finish gently.

- from Kyungsoo’s exo mall because THIS is how I feel about falling in love now, and this story was me working out what I believed about the process (like a goddamned emo bish haha)

16. a quote from an unpublished story.

For a moment you allow yourself this weakness. It won't destroy you to admire the strong lines of his body, the intensity and focus in the set of his brows, the deep, warm color brown of his eyes as they - oh lord, he's looking directly at you. As he notices you watching him his lips press into a small smile, inclining his head towards you.

'Oh no,' you say, mortified. In a breath you've blinked and drawn your arm through Maggie's, weaving your way through the crowd and dragging her with you.

'What's wrong?' she hisses in your ear, slightly off-kilter from the drink and revelry. 'You're going to tear my arm off.’.

'Sorry, he -' With a hand you push through the front doors, gulping in the cool night air and breathing deeply to steady the erratic pace of your heartbeat. 'Maggie, what's happening to me? He looked at me and I felt so... naked. I can't explain it.'

She realizes you aren't in actual distress and laughs. 'Good. About time you fell in love. I'm delighted.'

- From perhaps a future chapter of Jun and Min regency baes series....

17. space for you to say something to your readers.

Thank you so much. Truly, from the bottom of my heart. This fandom brought writing back into my life after such a long time away and I had no idea I would love it so much. The friends it’s brought me and the kind words that made me cry or cheered me up on a shitty day or made me laugh out loud and the watching other writers grow on their journeys. Getting to hear how something I made could help you feel less alone or less sad on a shitty day is all I’ve ever wanted from sharing all this. Thank you for being here and thank you for sharing parts of yourself with me <3

Tagging anyone who sees this who would like to do it, even if you don’t consider yourself a “real writer” yet (yes you are, stop doubting yourself!!!!) 😘

#taggity tag

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xxxdragonfucker69xxx · 3 years

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@lyhoradka tagged me in that post about five bits of text from written media that are burned into your brain and, kindly, gave me a theme of places. i am going to annotate this because i am a bitch

1. holy places are dark places. the wisdom that we get in them is not thin and clear like water but thick and dark like blood. - cs lewis, till we have faces

im almost certain ive misremembered this one but its better this way. clive what the devil fuck were you trying to say with till we have faces. burn it down and start over with this. i have a sidenote about hope faith and love but thats beyond the scope of this discussion

2. night falls. the workers put down their tools and point to the sky. “there is the blueprint,” they say. invisible cities, italo calvino

again idr if its sky or stars. this is the description of thecla from invisible cities, kindly appointed to me by my good friend venus. this is not the strongest one but it is a strong one and its for Me and i remember it. inna thought i was going to make this whole post about haunted houses and this one is completely the opposite; i’ll consider it aspirational

3. walk to the east till you can walk no more. swim east until you pass the sunrise; swim east until you pass the stars; swim east until you come to the edge of the sky. there you will find yourself on the shores of a different land. even in that place, they shall know your name, and mine. - adel, kc danine/unlikely flowerings, jenna moran

sorry i cheated on this one bc i looked up the attribution and found my memory was wrong. but i cut it up to match what i thought. this one is actually a combo with

3a. the sea will be the color night behind glass. then, slowly, it becomes green: first rain-wet slate, then darkest jade. green as fresh emeralds. green as remembered rivers - the sun beneath the sea, sunless seas

again ive hashed the first part of that but green as remembered rivers lives in my head rent free. these two live under the heading “an exile in the uttermost east”

4. THIS IS NOT A PLACE OF HONOR. NO HIGHLY VALUED DEED IS REMEMBERED HERE. NOTHING OF VALUE IS STORED HERE.

the warning continues of course but the basis is here. the idea that we cannot produce something so horrifying and terrifying that it does not also fascinate us, as you might guess, fascinates me. nightmare and obsession are such close brothers

5. a woman drew her hair out tight/and fiddled in the violet light/and upside down in air were towers/tolling reminiscent bells that kept the hours/and voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted wells.

in my head sean bean reads these lines in his civ vi voice. why did so much weird fiction pattern weird bits of worldbuilding after this bit. not that i am immune. voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhauuusted wells

BONUS CONTENT

so many things i wanted to add that werent written or that i didnt have memorized perfectly enough

1i. the, like, entire first half of to tundra by los camp, which i will reproduce below

meet me at st nicholas among the oaks behind the church that sway like pigtailed girls as summer wind whistles around your bare-shin knees and the forsythia leaves in the shade lay with me tickled by the feather reeds thats where the trees grow old under the ivys hold as you in my two arms equally safe from harm and in a hazy daydream our bodies married the stream and we broke down into pebbles and silt the water ran from the fields until the oceans we filled and found the seabed the comfiest quilt

there was more life in the weeds than in the few hundred seats that rose from transept to chancel to nave [...]

2i. prim leaves her father’s house. i won’t reproduce the whole story here but there’s a girl prim and her father is the god hansa and they live in a house of iron nails and one day her dad is killed and she has to go bury him and takes nothing but his corpse and a single iron nail. and she traipses all across creation and the void looking for somewhere to bury him but every time she tries his corpse shouts at her for being shit at it. and eventually she collapses, and drops the nail and it springs right up into the same exact house, and she imagines crawling in there with her fathers corpse to die next to him and freaks out and then

A pale face came before her and she was abruptly struck from her despair as though by a great hammer. A beautiful stranger had appeared, mild and tall, of milky flesh, spare in figure, but radiant in voice and visage. "I know you," said the stranger in a small voice, "you are Prim."

"I was Hansa's orphan, the slave, Prim," croaked Prim in response, "and now I am nobody, just a small dirty thing in great emptiness and here I will die."

"No," said the stranger, and the clarity and firmness of her voice and smile send a shock through Prim, "you are Prim, and Prim only, and Prim you shall be." And Prim there realized her tears had made a great pool and she was greeting her own reflection. And she fell into that murky pool and straight away it turned clear as crystal and Prim vomited forth a great black knot from very deep within her, and her body was scoured and lashed by the icy waters of that pool, and great draughts of poisonous filth and despondency were drawn in rushing gasps from her wounds, and her skin was sealed and her soiled trappings were purged and the caked illness and death was ripped away and she rose from that pool fresh and humming. Her back straightened and she scarcely thought on her father's corpse or the faintest echo of that iron house. That is how Prim left her father's house.

so basically abaddon scooped all of tsiy and every other haunted house writer in like five thousand words

3i. berenike

From my words you will have reached the conclusion that the real Berenice is a temporal succession of different cities, alternately just and unjust. But what I wanted to warn you about is something else: all the future Berenices are already present in this instant, wrapped one within the other, confined, crammed, inextricable.

4i. a ghost does not come to stand in the dark doorway of your room because it is an 18th century orphan girl named annie. a ghost comes to stand in the doorway of your room because the doorway is where things come to stand. - i am in eskew, david ward

the formats all fucked up now huh. this has influenced my thoughts on both psychogeo and necromancy. what a fucking guy. theres also the pope lick bridge one but

5i. i hope you will forgive me for including a bit from tsiy

I opened my eyes. I was kneeling at the base of a tree, at the top of a grassy hill, under starry night. Dad was standing a little ways back, head craned back to look at the tree. "What is this place to you?" he asked, looking around. The island came to an abrupt stop at the edges; it wasn't a floating island in space or anything, there just.....wasn't anything beyond the edge of it. Like looking past the edge of your own eyesight -- not the blackness of eyelids, but the colorless place beyond.

"I'll die here someday," I said, and meant it.

i really need to work on getting places and haunted places into the new draft. im slacking. but im also not allowed to go back and change anything rn or ill just never get anywhere

#visible cities #also sprach #christ this took a million years

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five-miles-over · 4 years

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What I Did For Love (Emperor Commodus x Reader)

(Hi, everyone! I’m back with another song imagine - this time, it’s “What I Did For Love” from the musical A Chorus Line. I highly recommend the Glee version of this song, simply because Lea Michele absolutely kills it.

This fic is somewhat of a continuation from ‘Till I Hear You Sing’, so I’ve pasted the link below. Like always, please feel free to leave constructive criticism and any thoughts you might have. Without any further ado, let’s get on with the show.)

Read Part 1 Here: https://winterjasmine007.tumblr.com/post/618127031391125504/till-i-hear-you-sing-emperor-commodus-x-reader

Summary: A few weeks after encountering the Emperor himself, Prince Lucius delivers some shocking news to the reader.

Warning: Some angst and a happy ending

Kiss today goodbye

The sweetness and the sorrow

Wish me luck, the same to you

“Come in, Y/N.” Lucius called to you from his bed. Obediently, you entered the prince’s bedroom. You were dressed differently for tonight - apparently one of the guards had instructed you to wear something a bit more elegant as opposed to your usual white frills. So here you were, kneeling by Prince Lucius, wearing a flowing gown of jade with a v-neck and a golden girdle. It was certainly nothing compared to the royal fare of Empress Lucilla, let alone compared to the Emperor’s mistresses, but it was perfect for you.

“You look nice tonight, Y/N.” The prince spoke as you approached him. “Thank you, Highness.” Lucius cocked his head sideways at your reply. “Why won’t you call me by name, Nightingale? You’ve sung me to sleep for years - ever since I was a baby.” You chuckled, unaware of how ethereal you looked in the candlelight. “Very well then…I shall call you Lucius, if you will tell me why you call me Nightingale.”

“Mama says you sound like one when you sing. Actually, everyone in the palace thinks you do.” “Everyone?” You queried, much to his pleasant surprise. The boy nodded with a sad smile. “Yes. But Uncle has told me you can’t sing for me anymore, Nightingale.”

After a moment of blinking, you took a deep breath and straightened yourself. “Then I suppose this is our last night together, Lucius.” He peered into your mixed expression. “Aren’t you going to ask why?” You shook your head, swallowing the urge to show any emotion. “I am sure the Emperor has his reasons, Lucius.” Stroking his light brown hair, you began a lullaby - tonight’s melody was a familiar one, about a white flower that bloomed every morning and brought joy.

But I can't regret

What I did for love, what I did for love

The news had come as quite a shock to you. This had been your main profession for almost eight years, and during those years you had actually come to find the prince endearing. The bond the two of you shared was almost more wholesome than the bond he shared with his mother. She had become increasingly withdrawn during the past few weeks - every night she would be nowhere to be found in the palace, much to the Emperor’s irk. Naturally, the prince turned to you as a confidante.

You couldn’t help but wonder if you had done something wrong that fateful night Commodus came to you. The Emperor had fired you…and worse, he made his nephew tell you. Not that you expected His Majesty to deliver the news himself - you were a palace servant after all. Then again, it would’ve given you one more chance to see his face.

Ever since that night he came to you, the emperor never seemed to leave your thoughts. He was captivating and commanding to most, hardly ever seen without a full set of armor, a sword in his arm, and a new maiden on his knee. Yet it was that vulnerability and sweetness he had with you that night, that made you wish to see him again and again.

It couldn’t be called love, you told yourself several times. Even if it were, what good would it do? The Emperor hardly ever saw you - most nights when you entered the palace, he could be heard…actually the screams of his concubines could be heard from his bedroom and bathing areas. And most nights, you called yourself a fool for thinking an attraction to someone so powerful could ever be reciprocated.

Look, my eyes are dry

The gift was ours to borrow

It's as if we always knew

In that moment, it took all of your strength not to burst into a fit of sobs while you sang. Lucius peacefully drifted off while holding your hand. Simply realizing that the baby you had sang to was now a little man made you realize that the Emperor didn’t want you to sing anymore because he had grown up. Now, he was expected to start behaving more closer to his age - no more toys, no more bedtime stories, and no more lullabies.

The song came to an end and you kissed the boy’s forehead, pulling the blanket to his chin.

And I won't forget what I did for love

What I did for love

Emperor Commodus watched everything from his usual hiding place. As he watched Lucius talk to you earlier, his heartstrings tugged at how affectionately you kneeled by his side and entertained his questions. Over the years, Commodus felt his feelings for you rise like an obelisk, brick by brick. Never once had he regretted the first night he’d heard your voice.

It all started with a simple wish to hear you sing, but it slowly spiraled into an urge for your closeness. Even more fantasies haunted him for weeks after the night you found him. Gods, what wouldn’t he give to run his fingers through your lustrous hair to soothe himself, or to merely turn and find your lovely eyes gazing back at his? And if he could make you laugh the way you made his nephew and your palace friends do, he would consider his existence as heaven on Earth.

Gone, Love is never gone

As we travel on

Love's what we'll remember

When the last candle of the prince’s room had been blown, you closed his door and wiped away a tear. Not only had you come to adore the boy, but he had come to love you and trust you. You were going to miss him no matter what. If fate permitted, you would have been happy to put him to sleep until he’d become a man. Silently, you chided yourself for getting so attached to someone you knew would leave your life someday. It was time to do away with useless emotions, and think of your next occupation…but not tonight.

Taking advantage of the palace’s emptiness, you unpinned your hair, leaned against a marble pillar, and wept profusely. Unbeknownst to you, someone was also against that same pillar, witnessing his heart break with every tear you shed. “Y/N?” He called.

Kiss today goodbye

And point me toward tomorrow

You turned to find the Emperor himself facing you. Red-eyed and teardrop-stained, you rushed to smoothen yourself in hopes you did not look unpresentable before him. “G-good evening, Highness.”

Highness, he thought, Of course she has forgotten you - you bared your soul for a maiden, and this is what you get. How could you be so silly? She doesn’t want you - she would never. Maybe I shouldn’t even ask her. “Are you alright, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you replied with your most poised manner. “I am, Highness…I shall be going to the infirmary tomorrow to serve as a midwife.” The Emperor seemed genuinely shocked, asking why you would no longer be coming to the palace. You recounted every word the prince told you, and Commodus listened intently. He was surprised at how easily you trusted his decision, not even bothering to know why you were to be dismissed from serving his nephew’s bedside.

“Y/N, I dismissed you because I wanted you to be transferred to another area of service…one more suitable for you.” He informed. “May I know the service you are speaking of, Highness?” You asked, silently hoping it would be away from the kitchens or the sewers. Perhaps the royal family was expecting another child.

We did what we had to do

Won't forget, can't regret

What I did for love

“I want you as my nighttime personal aide.” Commodus clarified, cautiously approaching you as he explained your duties: taking the Emperor’s messages, making sure his bedsheets were perfectly cleaned by the laundry staff, sending away a lingering concubine, checking his schedule for the next day, as well as having his breakfast ready for him in the morning. “And…” He gently placed his lips on yours in a soft kiss. “I would like one of those every night.”

You felt a slight smile across your blushing face at the list of responsibilities. With a delighted smirk, the Emperor extended his hand towards you. “Take my offer, Y/N. I only give it once.” His tone may have been a gentle order, but his eyes pleaded for your acceptance. “I accept, Your Highness.” You kissed his ring before allowing him to lead you to the imperial chambers. “Did I tell you that green is my favorite color?” He asked nonchalantly, pointing to your dress. “They are the color of your eyes, Highness.” Commodus interlaced his arm with yours as you walked, pleased with your response. That night, he had a new wish for the gods: to make you love him the same way he loved you, and to keep you by his side for a while - if not for the rest of his life.

#commodus x reader #gladiator 2000 #commodus imagines #commodus

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ryqoshay · 3 years

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Happy Life: How to Walk a Familiar

Primary Pairing: YohaRiko Words: ~2k Rating: G AU: Angelic? Time Frame: Sometime during their college years Story Arc: Stand Alone

Author’s Note: Someday I’ll get back to the other YohaRiko scenes I’ve started, including the one that this one was supposed to be...

“Ne, Yocchan!” Riko called as she left her room on her way to the living room, her pug in tow.

“What’s up, Riri?” Yoshiko responded as she paused her game.

“I’m going to take Prelude for a walk. Want to come with us?”

“Definitely!” The blue-haired girl made to jump up from the couch before realizing there was a purring furball in her lap. “Uhm… one moment… Sorry, Phobetor.” She nudged the cat gently in an attempt to have him leave of his own volition.

For his part, Phobetor took his time getting to his feet and stretching with a sizable yawn before stepping down onto the cushion beside Yoshiko. He glanced among the other three occupants of the apartment as though trying to determine the purpose of his nap being interrupted.

“We’ll be back in a little bit.” Yoshiko assured, patting the kitten’s head before moving toward the entryway.

“Merow!” Phobetor uttered, rubbing up against Yoshiko’s leg as she knelt to tie her shoe.

“Be a good boy while we’re out.” Yoshiko responded, petting her cat. She frowned, however, when the meowing continued as she stood. “We’ll be back before you know it.” She assured.

Phobetor switched tactics and moved toward Prelude, bunting against her while his vocalizations became more pleading.

“C’mon, Prelude.” Riko started to open the door and was about to step out when she felt resistance at the other end of the leash. “Prelude?” She turned to find her puppy sitting squarely in place. “Do you think we should let him come with us, Yocchan?” Riko inquired of her girlfriend.

“I’d like to bring him.” Yoshiko admitted. “But I don’t know how we would do that. I haven’t even bought a collar for him as I wasn’t expecting to take him anywhere other than the vet on occasion. I should probably get one…”

“Hrm…” Riko considered, watching the protesting pets for a moment. “I wonder if…” She trailed off as she closed the front door and opened the closet instead. “Ah, here we go.” She said after a minute or two of searching. “I wonder if Prelude’s old collar will fit?”

“Maybe? It looks a little big.” Yoshiko took the collar and knelt. Phobetor immediately stopped yowling and moved to sit in front of her. “Usually owners use harnesses on cats because they’re harder to get out of and there is less risk of the cat choking. Huh, just barely. Still pretty loose...” She commented as she used the last hole in the leather to secure the collar.

“Perhaps we can add a stop at the pet store to our route.” Riko said, holding out a spare leash. “Maybe Ryoushi-kun will be there and can meet him?” She mentioned the name of their favorite associate.

“Sounds good.” Yoshiko agreed as she attached the leash to her cat’s collar. “You’ll be a good boy and not pull out of this, right? We just need to make it to the store and we’ll get you one that fits better and a proper harness. Oh, and a nametag too!” She knocked her knuckles atop her head. “I don’t know why I didn’t think to get one earlier.”

“Well we haven’t really let him out…” Riko tried to reason.

“Yeah, but there was always a risk that he could have gotten out at some point.” Yoshiko lamented. “I don’t want anyone thinking he’s a stray anymore now that we’ve given him a good home.”

As if responding to her change in mood, Phobetor ran himself against her hand, earning a couple pets.

“Well, better late than never, right?” Riko offered. “Anyway, we should head out so we have enough time to get to the park and back in time for dinner. Let’s go get Phobetor a tag worthy of his status as Yohane’s familiar.”

That seemed the brighten the younger girl’s mood. “Indeed!” She jumped up. “A fallen angel’s familiar deserves nothing but the best!”

Riko smiled and opened the door again to lead everyone out.

“Ah, Riko-san, Yohane-sama.” A boy greeted the two girls as they moved down the store aisle. “Good to see you as always.” He knelt and produced a small treat as their dog hurried over to him. “Welcome back, Prelude-chan.” He smiled as he patted the pug before standing again.

“Hi, Ryoushi-kun.” Riko returned the greeting.

The young man’s attention turned to Yoshiko’s shoulder. “Pray tell, might this be the legendary familiar for which Yohane-sama hath sung many a praise?”

Yoshiko grinned. “Thou hath a keen eye, Choukyoushi!” She intoned. “Indeed, this day, Yohane hath summoned forth my most faithful of servants to honor you with his presence! Meet Phobetor!”

The cat reached out a paw and leaned forward as though to jump.

“He loves meeting new people.” Yoshiko explained as her voice returned to normal.

“Well it is indeed an honor to finally meet you in person, Phobetor-kun.” Ryoushi replied, taking the kitten into his arms. “Let’s see what I have for good little familiars.” He shifted the cat to cradle him in one arm so he could retrieve another treat from his apron. “Are you four here for normal restocking or for something specific?” He turned his attention back to the two humans.

“Phobetor wants to join us when we walk Prelude,” Riko spoke up “so we need a harness for him.”

“And since we’re here, I want to get a proper collar and tag for him.” Yoshiko added.

Ryoushi nodded. “I believe we can find ones that will suit him.” With that said, he turned and lead the way with Phobetor still purring in his arms.

“Yocchan, look” Riko said soon after the group had found the display “doesn’t that one look a little like the symbol you used during our time with Aqours?”

Yoshiko leaned in to inspect the tag in question. “It does!” She cried excitedly, pulling it from the rack. “Good find, Riri! Ne, Choukyoushi, can you etch a demon face on this?”

“Our machine does have a custom setting.” The store associate confirmed. “Let me show you how to use it.” He lead them to the device at the end of aisle where he pulled up an image representing the tag.

Yoshiko hummed happily to herself as she used the touch screen to draw eyes and a fanged mouth on the digital blank.

“Alright, now use this button to flip it over.” Ryoushi explained. “Then type his name in the upper box and your address in the lower one. Perfect. Now while this does its thing, go ahead and pick out a collar to put it on.”

“Back in a moment, Phobetor.” Yoshiko called to her cat before practically skipping away.

Riko and Prelude followed at a more normal pace. By the time they caught up, Yoshiko was already inspecting a collar in her hand.

“Is black really a good color?” Riko inquired. “Phobetor’s fur is black, so won’t the collar blend in too much?”

“Hrm…” Yoshiko pondered.

“Maybe this grey one will stand out better?” The redhead selected a different one. “Grey was your color as an idol after all.”

“Riri makes a good point. Alright. I’ll get this one.” The blue-haired girl took the offered collar. “Phobetor!” She called, moving back to the end of the aisle. “Look at what I got for you!”

Phobetor looked over from his position on Ryoushi’s shoulder and cocked his head to the side with curiosity. He seemed fine until Yoshiko reached toward him, at which point he turned his head away.

“Just let me get the old one…” Yoshiko said.

The cat eluded his master’s hands again before retreating to Ryoushi’s other shoulder.

“Phobetor.” Yoshiko chided.

Another attempt was made to remove the old collar but this time, Phobetor jumped down and scampered over to Prelude, pressing in against the larger dog as though using her as a shield.

Yoshiko handed the new collar to Ryoushi before kneeling down in front of the two animals. “Are you sure you want to keep that one? It might be a little heavy for a while and loose until you grow into it.” She asked, reaching a hand forward and smiling as her cat stepped forward cautiously but eventually rubbed against her palm. She looked up at her girlfriend. “Can he keep this one?”

Riko chuckled. “Of course. He seems to like it.”

Yoshiko grinned and stood. “We’ll put the tag on the collar he has now.” She announced to Ryoushi as though it wasn’t already obvious.

“Alright.” The associate replied, popping the small metal plate out of the etching device. “Here you go.” He handed over the tag as well as a pair of pliers.

“It came out perfect.” Yoshiko marveled at the design. “Here, Phobetor, will you at least let me put this on that collar? If you want to go out with us, you need some sort of identification.” She knelt again in front of the cat.

This time, Phobetor did not retreat, instead he lifted his chin to allow easier access.

“Good boy.” Yoshiko praised as she opened the jumper ring attached to the tag, secured it to the collar and bent it back into place. “There we g- oh, hey…” She caught her cat as he jumped up into her arms. Giggling, she scratched him behind his ears.

“Shall we look at harnesses next?” Riko inquired.

“Those are right here on the other side from the collars.” Ryoushi pointed out. “Let’s size one out for him.”

“I think Phobetor likes his new gear.” Riko commented as she watched their cat strut proudly beside their dog.

“Definitely.” Yoshiko agreed. “I’m so glad he can join us for our family walks like this.”

“As am I.” Riko agreed. Though not just for his sake, she thought to herself as she also took pleasure in seeing her girlfriend this happy.

“So, we’re headed to the park next?” Yoshiko inquired as the group came to a stop at a crosswalk.

Riko nodded. “I figured we could toss a ball a few times for Prelude and just enjoy the weather for a bit before we head back.”

“Alright. Oh, the light chang- eh?” Yoshiko paused with her foot a few centimeters off the ground as their cat suddenly jumped onto their dog’s leash. “Phobetor wha-?”

A box truck careened through the intersection against the red light, plowing through the crosswalk where the four of them would had been had they stepped forward. Yoshiko’s leg came down awkwardly and she overcorrected her balance backward, tipping herself over in the process. She landed roughly, but otherwise safely on the sidewalk.

“What jus… Riri, are you alright?!” Yoshiko looked up frantically to see her girlfriend frozen in shock.

“I’m… f-fine…” Riko’s movements were like a marionette with missing strings as she reached down to help the other girl back to her feet.

“Did Phobetor… just stop us from being isakai’d?” Yoshiko stared at the cat who was now playing with the leash that had been dropped.

Phobetor rolled onto his back held the braided nylon with is front paws while biting it and kicking at it with his back legs, seeming to be completely oblivious to the reactions of the two girls.

The chuckle that escaped Riko’s lips from her girlfriend’s bad joke felt odd, yet somehow still managed to ease some of her tension. She swallowed before asking. “Are you okay, Yocchan?”

“Well, either my familiar has a strange way of saving us, or the luck of my angel ascended did the trick.” Yoshiko knelt to retrieve Prelude’s leash. “But so long as Riri and her familiars are alright, so is Yohane.”

Of course, Yoshiko would be calmer about the situation, Riko realized, this was by no means her first close call. Heck, she fell off a balcony back in high school and was back to normal in moments, or at least as much as normal applied to her.

Something stirred in the back of Riko’s mind, but when she tried to focus on it, it was gone. Same as always.

“Shall we go?”

Yoshiko’s voice pulled Riko back to reality and she looked down to see the other girl holding out her dog’s leash.

“Right…” Riko replied, taking the handle as the four of them resumed their walk.

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

#YohaRiko #YoshiRiko #Sakurauchi Riko #Tsushima Yohane #Love Live Sunshine #Happy Life #fanfic #Tsushima Yoshiko

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pandawritesmanythings · 4 years

Text

(A Medieval!AU Loki x Stark!Reader Story)

Chapter Summary: Where you meet you future groom. He doesn't seem too happy about you, though.

Word Count: 2,503

Warnings: Allutions to misogyny, an old man being sexist (Not Odin), Loki being Loki.

Masterlist

A/N: I am so excited about this story! Thank you guys again for your support, and please be patient with me, I'm still not super confident in my own writing but I'll keep trying my best!

"Absolutely lovely..." You sighed as you admired the room that would be your quarters in Asgard.

"I'm happy it accommodates you, Princess. Please, allow me to help to ready you for bed." The blonde girl asked as she moved to help you get out of your tight dress.

"Thank you, Sigyn." You smiled and raised your arms so she and Wanda could get to work.

They helped you out of the dress and Sigyn handed you a flowy nightgown that she explained was a gift from the queen herself to you.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly..." You hesitated as you touched the soft material of the dress.

"Please. It is a gift from the Queen. It is considered quite rude for someone to reject a gift from the nobility." She explained.

You looked into her brown eyes and nodded, accepting the gift. It was the softest fabric that you had ever touched and it made you feel weightless as it softly flowed with the salty wind that came from the open window.

"It's gorgeous." You said as you softly smiled down at the gift. "Please tell the queen that I am truly grateful for her gifts."

Sigyn nodded and after finishing helping you get ready she shuffled out of the room, head hung low.

"Sweet girl, isn't she?" Wanda asked as she brushed your hair.

"Shy, but very nice." You agreed.

"It is a beautiful garment, the one you've been gifted."

"I agree. Queen Frigga has impeccable taste."

Wanda also finished up and went to a side door that had a bed for her, a small closet, and a bathroom for herself. She bid you goodnight and disappeared.

Sleep hadn't come easy for you for almost a year now. Tossing and turning were oftentimes how you spent most nights, nightmares waking you when sleep finally overtook you. But for the first time in a very long time, sleep came fast and no nightmares were present.

That of course meant that you were of very good humour when you presented yourself for breakfast that morning.

The king, Odin, was very pleasant if a little bit straightforward. But overall he did nothing to make you feel overly uncomfortable.

Frigga was a delight, words sweet as honeysuckle and ambrosia, smile kind, and open arms to receive you.

Thor was as friendly as the night before and greeted you amiably.

But the other brother... To say that he wasn't exactly excited to see you was an understatement.

"My son, Loki." Odin presented you to him with a gruff voice.

You curtsied. "My prince, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Loki didn't respond, he gave his father a lopsided look. "Really? Her?"

Oh, lord no.

Odin paid him no mind and turned to you. "I hope you can forgive my son's indiscretion, it's truly a pleasure to have you here. If you'll follow me."

He led you away from the dark prince while he stared at you like he was plotting how to exactly make you disappear. So you shot him a look that told him that you reciprocated his feelings.

You paid him no mind the rest of the morning. He was awfully quiet, adding nothing to the conversation and you began to doubt this was the clever strategist that your father had talked to you about.

Well, he had called him some particular names that you kept out of your vocabulary, and slowly you saw the reason to use them.

"We're truly happy that you've decided to go through this alliance, my dear," Frigga commented at some point during the meal.

"I'm grateful that you even considered siding with us your majesties. It is truly an honor to have Asgard's favor."

"Speaking of. We'll finish our treaty after breakfast if that's alright with you." There was no room for discussion in Odin's tone.

"Of course, your majesty."

"And afterward, we shall feast!" Thor raised a glass in excitement.

"I would like nothing more, my prince." You smiled politely at his open display of joy.

"I must object in this alliance, of course."

"Loki," Frigga warned with her tone.

"I'm sorry, mother, but as a pawn, at play, I must get a say." He said, sarcasm dripping from his mouth.

"Loki, please. Stop." Frigga warned him again.

"... No. I don't think I will." He said before pushing his chair and storming outside of the room.

It felt hard to breathe, it was definitely tense in the room, but Frigga tried to lighten it.

"Forgive him, please my dear. He hasn't taken the news very easily."

"I can see that." You looked after where he had left.

"He just needs some time to process it."

You smiled at her, calmly, trying to show her your understanding. "I believe you, your majesty. It's been something to assimilate for me too. So I don't fully fault him. I just hope that we can come past our differences someday."

This seemed to relax everyone in the room, even the servants who had tensed up when the prince left.

"Thank you, my dear."

The room was filled to the brim with unfamiliar faces. The only ones you recognized were Steve and Bucky who stood guard by your side, Odin who sat high on his throne, and his two sons who stood by their father.

Thor looked at you with a kind smile, Loki was basically sneering at you.

"We have gathered here today, to make an alliance with our brothers. An alliance with the people of Midgard. May their representative rise." Odin's voice boomed through the room and commanded everyone's attention.

You stood with your head held high, through your mind speeding all of your mother's lessons in etiquette and diplomacy.

"Great leaders of Asgard. I represent my people, so that we may yet achieve peace. We face a common enemy, and we know that together we may stand a chance if they ever were to strike upon any of us." You began your speech. "I recognize Asgardians' accomplishments. Your technology is without a doubt superior. Your armies are well prepared. And though it may seem unnecessary, something that Asgard lacks is something that Midgard thoroughly possesses.

"Our forefathers', those who rose from the ashes of the earth, gained something that the forefathers of Asgard lacked. You have never faced the enemy. We have managed to keep them at bay for a century. We understand how they think. What they do. Name something. Anything. I will be able to provide intel. And not only me. Ask two of my bravest soldiers and companions. Captain Steve Rogers and Lieutenant James Barnes." You pointed to the two men standing right behind you.

"They have faced the enemy ever since they were young." You looked around the crowd, trying to find a face that looked incredulous, or bored. You expected Loki to not be paying attention, but you actually saw him fully invested in your speech. Eyebrow raised at your defiant look around the room.

You finally found an old man towards the front who looked unimpressed.

"Pardon me, sir. May I ask for your name?" You politely requested.

"Lord Finnean Kendrick" He answered with a bored look on his face.

"Lord Kendrick. Would you like to ask any of us a question?" You offered.

Everyone turned their attention to the man, now put in the spotlight. "O-Of course! After all, if it is knowledge you claim to have, you must prove that is trustworthy knowledge!"

"Go ahead then."

He took a second and readjusted in his seat. "Lieutenant Barnes. At what age do Jotun's begin training their children?"

Bucky stared at the man, that was obviously common knowledge. "As soon as they begin to walk."

He hummed in approval. But that was too easy. "Captain Rogers. Are women often found on the battlefield, or do they stay and raise the young?"

"They are commonly found in battle. Children are raised as a warring community."

That last bit wasn't exactly common knowledge, which raised whispers around the room.

The man gritted his teeth and then looked you right in the eyes. "Alright woman. Your turn."

Oh, how calling him colorful names would help me calm down right now.

"If there was one thing you could say will destroy a Jotun, what would it be?"

You glared at him. You didn't care if the whole Asgardian court was watching you. You were actively and shamelessly glaring at the old man.

"Well, Lord Kendrick. Besides obvious fatal wounds that come from stab wounds, internal bleeding, and getting their faces smashed in by our warriors wielding maces. The most devastating thing to a Jotun is their honor and loyalty."

The room was silent expecting you to elaborate, but you didn't.

"And of course I would say more, but I only could under the assumption that this alliance is still taking place."

Whispers began circling the room once more, and although pensive, Odin had a shadow of a smirk pulling at his lips.

"Spoken like a diplomat, princess. Very well. We look forward to hearing more information from you and your generals." He conceded.

"Thank you, your majesty. I will send for all of our records on Jotuns as soon as the treaty has been signed." You nodded.

"Good." Odin stood and approached you, standing towards the center of the room. "Now, I suspect that you would like to discuss the other side of the alliance?"

You braced yourself, this was the part you weren't prepared for. Looking over at Loki, any spark of curiosity towards you had been snuffed out. In its place, a look of disdain was all that remained. You weren't sure if it was directed at you, but it didn't really matter.

"Of course."

"Tell me Sigyn," You called to the maid who was fetching your dress. "What might I expect from tonight's... festivities?"

She seemed to hesitate for a moment before speaking. "Well, first there will be a feast of traditional foods and drinks."

She passed the green layered dress over your head before continuing. "Then there will be dancing. That's why you can take layers off the dress." She pointed to a series of secret zippers. "Some dances are freestyle, so you can shed layers until you are comfortable."

You nodded quietly and allowed her to continue.

"Afterwards there will be more singing, dancing and drinking. The festivities are pretty loose since after a couple of pints everyone is too drunk to follow or establish any tradition." She lightly giggled.

You chuckled. "Are you sure that's all there will be?"

"I believe so." She tightened your corset. "But if there is anything I left out I'll make sure to let you know. But decorum is long forgotten in Asgard after the third and last waltz."

Looking at yourself in the mirror, you frowned. "Sigyn. Pardon my question but... Why green?"

She looked as if scandalized. "Well, you are engaged to Prince Loki, are you not?"

"Yes. But-" You looked back at your reflection at a loss for words.

"Then you must wear his colors to formal events. It is scandalous to wear another man's colors to any public event." She continued when your words couldn't come out.

"I see..."

"Is this not a tradition in Midgard?" She asked as she worked on your hair.

"Not really. We haven't found the time to establish many traditions when it comes to parties and formal events."

That was true, the few parties that you had ever partaken in everyone dress up however they wished (following the dress code, of course) and it mostly consisted of choreographed numbers and fine dining. You had yet to see what an Asgardian feast looked like, but by what Sigyn had described it wouldn't be incredibly similar to your feasts back home.

And Sigyn was, in fact, correct. After a hearty dinner, accompanied by not only the royal family but lords and dukes, you all followed to the dance ball where couples were pairing to dance in unison.

You didn't know the dance, the culture of each realm were well-kept secrets. They barely spread, only enough to be polite, but dances and literature never reached beyond frontiers, unless they were prohibited books.

But after the first waltz, you seemed to catch the drift. It was actually very similar to some of the Midgardian waltzes.

You were unsure if to ask anyone to dance with you. At this point, you were still so oblivious to Asgardian etiquette that you feared doing something that might upset the king. Even if the alliance had already been signed and Bucky had gone to deliver the news and to bring some of the sages and historians to begin the exchange of information.

But it wasn't necessary to worry much since as soon as the music of the second waltz was finalizing, you heard someone clear their throat beside you. Glancing to your right you found prince Loki, your betrothed, standing awkwardly by your side.

He didn't look at you, he just extended his hand for you to take, and when you did he pulled you softly towards the dancing floor.

Soft and careful weren't words you expected to use while describing your interactions with the dark prince. But life had a way of surprising you.

"I must admit that I don't know the Asgardian waltzes." You tried to ease into a conversation.

He seemed to smirk but he didn't meet your eyes. "Just follow my lead, princess."

He led you through the whole thing and didn't make a single teasing comment, which was nice.

"Thank you, my prince."

"What for?" He yet hadn't met your gaze.

"For giving me a chance."

"It's not like I have much of a choice. We both know it's in both of our nation's best interests." He reluctantly conceded.

"It is. And I know that this arrangement is probably not what you wanted, but if we are to spend our lives together, may I offer a truce to get to know each other?"

He was pensive as you glided through the ballroom. "I cannot offer you love."

"And I am not asking for it. I need an ally. And I think that as underestimated you are, you are the best choice in the room."

That cracked a smile on his face and finally made him look at you as if searching if you were being honest. "Better than the mighty Thor?"

"What are brawns without a brain to control them? Flesh can only get you so far." You grinned but kept your head raised in solemnity.

Loki searched in your eyes, yes there was a level of teasing, but he knew you weren't lying. It had been a while since anyone had been truthful to him.

The music ended and everyone applauded towards the musicians. The men and women with their instruments bowed, but instead of beginning to file out, they sat again and prepared.

"I hope you're ready for the next round princess," Loki whispered to you.

(TAG LIST OPEN)

#loki x reader #loki #writing #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki fanfic #medieval au #medieval!au #loki x sigyn #lady sigyn #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader

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romansleftshoulderpad · 5 years

Text

A Curse is a Dream Your Heart Makes

HUUUUGE Huge thank you to @max-is-tired for being my wonderful beta and also for them and @justcallmepancake for listening to my constant rambling about this!

Ships: Prinxiety, and just about every combination of Logan and Patton being fathers.

Tags: @fandermom @my-analogical-romance @patchworkofstars @jynxlovesluck @notveryglittery

Warnings: Swearing, curses, Deceit (character) both sympathetic and as a villain, Temporary major character death, caps lock. OP might have missed cleaning up a few of /these guys/

Word count: 19,226

----

Roman wasn’t exactly in his room when he woke up. In fact, he didn’t know if he was anywhere, exactly. He wasn’t even sure he woke up. The walls around him looked flat, but outside the window were plenty of layers and dimensions. He was surely dreaming, wasn’t he? He pinched his arm, slightly alarmed to actually feel pain. He looked down at his arm. It was smooth. Too smooth. Unrealistically smooth. Hold on...

If there was one thing Roman excelled at, it was being the resident Disney Trivia master. So if theoretically, he were to wake up inside of a Disney movie, he’d know. And he knew. The only question was: Why?

Okay ‘why’ didn’t matter. He was in a Disney movie, for heaven’s sake! He was going to have some fun with it. He explored his castle to find the nearest stable and set off the follow through with this adventure.

It was a bright and sunny day as Roman rode along. He could have spent hours just enjoying the views, but he had to be The Prince, and when he saw the familiar cobblestone of an old grey castle he knew he was searching in the right direction.

The echo of a soft voice singing to oneself confirmed that Roman was headed in the right direction. He drew closer to a cobblestone wall and leapt off of his high horse. There were enough cracks and gaps between the stone to be able to climb it. Oh, the voice he heard was so lovely and enchanting as it echoed from the old wishing well that Roman knew so well- he had seen this movie a thousand times after all.

He pulled himself to the top of the wall and nearly fell off when he saw the man singing into it. His old black pants were torn and dusty, with an old white blouse tucked into them. He was gorgeous, but that wasn’t the problem. Gorgeous with the voice of an angel, yes, but he was-

“Virgil?!” Roman yelled, promptly falling off of the fucking wall and landing on his chest like an aloof moron.

Virgil jumped away from the wishing well, frozen for a moment as Roman scrambled off of the ground. “How do you know my name?!” Virgil asked.

“Hmm?” Roman asked, totally blanking. Virgil didn’t recognize him? How could he not? Roman had checked the mirror before leaving, and he definitely still looked like himself. Maybe Virgil was just playing the part! That was likely! At least, Roman thought it was likely until he met the other boy’s eyes. Virgil was shaking, terrified even! He definitely had no idea who Roman was.

“Why you’re Prince Virgil, of course!” Roman said, trying to hold his bluff as best as he could. It was then that he realized that not everything was perfectly scripted, was it?

“Oh,” Virgil said, “right.” The silence hurt in a way that could rival any fight they’ve had in the past.

Assuming this was the same Virgil, at least.

“I suppose proper introductions are in order,” Roman said. He bowed dramatically, extending his hands so that his blue cape shook around him. The real Virgil always claimed to hate when he did this. “Prince Roman, at your service.”

Virgil hesitantly bowed in response. “Well, Prince Roman, I really must go. Chores and such.”

“Wait, Vir- Prince Virgil-!” he called out, but his attempts proved fruitless. Virgil was already rushing inside of the castle.

So what was a confused Roman to do to both follow the script and force the villain here to unveil themselves? Sing, of course. “One song,” he started softly. “I have but one song.”

He could see Virgil pause in front of a glass window. “One song, only for you.” Virgil disappeared again, presumably rushing off to the balcony with its iconic red curtains.

“One heart,” Roman projected, “tenderly beating! Ever entreating; constant and true.” His eyes shifted to where the evil queen should appear any second now. Virgil peaked through a curtain. Right. That’s what he was doing. “One love that has possessed me. One love thrilling me through.”

Virgil looked down from the balcony at the ridiculous prince in a ridiculously flowery cape with ridiculous boots that didn’t even look practical. This ridiculous prince that he couldn’t take his eyes off of, almost as if he were under a spell. “One song,” the prince continued, “my heart keeps singing of one love only for you.” Virgil smiled at the prince before disappearing back into the castle. His stepmother would never approve of him, but what she didn’t know couldn’t kill anyone.

Roman spent the next few hours making up for what he considered lost time. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs was an animated miracle in 1937, Roman could never give up the chance to explore everything he could. Besides, The Prince hardly played a role in this movie anyway, he’d have days to just unwind and explore.

It was when he saw Patton covered in blood that he decided to make a quick stop. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Patton looked to him, fear, terror, and regret filled his eyes. “The prince,” he mumbled. “The- the prince.”

“What about the prince?” Roman asked, looking down at Patton. He had never seen him this scared before, and the blood splashed across his dull, brown clothing was truly a horrific sight to behold.

“He- he- he,” Patton’s breath was shaky as he tried to stabilize it.

Roman dismounted from his horse yet again and put a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “You look like you need a drink, sir, would you care to join me for one?”

Patton looked around, his eyes darting all across the forest that seemed to be growing dimmer, deeper, and creepier by the second. “I’m not sure that anywhere would be safe.”

“Come to my castle,” Roman said, “we’ll both be safe there and you can tell me anything you must get off your chest. I won’t tell a soul.”

Patton sighed and nodded his head pleadingly, allowing the prince to lift him onto the horse. They both knew it’d be a long- but needed- conversation.

Upon arriving at the castle, Roman ordered a servant to fetch Patton some clean clothes as he poured two chalices of wine. Chalices? Okay maybe being stuck in a film had some benefits after all.

“Now, tell me what’s troubling you, Patton,” Roman said, pushing a cup towards the hunter.

“How do you know my name?” Patton asked. Roman really needed to fucking learn to stop saying people’s names when they didn’t have a clue who he was.

“Lucky guess,” Roman said, and apparently that was enough of an explanation for Patton. “What’s wrong?”

“The Queen,” he said softly, still rather paranoid that she might overhear, “gave me special orders to kill her stepson- Prince Virgil.”

“The prince is dead?”

“No,” Patton said, shaking his head, “but I had to kill something in his place to keep the queen satiated, at least for a little while.” The breath he realized was frail and shaky, as he concentrated on his bloodstained hands and the chalice that he held. “I fear what might become of me when the queen finds out.”

“You’ll be alright,” Roman said, reassuringly putting a hand on Patton’s arm. “I assure you, I swear on my life, I shall not let her harm you.”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to risk your life for me.”

“Your story will have a happy ending,” Roman said, “trust me.”

As days and nights passed, Roman would soon learn that being stuck in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs is rather boring for anyone who isn’t Snow White. Although, knowing Virgil, he was sure that being chased through the woods by a knife-wielding Patton wasn’t exactly a picnic either. Still, it’d be nice to know where the story was headed, and he had seen the movie enough times to know where the cottage was. Surely it couldn’t hurt to keep the timeline in order a little bit.

He approached the cottage slowly, peeking in through an old glass window (like a fucking stalker but go off I guess) and watched as a familiar scene came to life. Virgil, dressed now in bolder colors and cleaner clothes, dancing and laughing with seven dwarfs. Roman couldn’t even fathom a time that he had ever seen Virgil this carefree before. True, it wasn’t actually the Virgil that he knew, but it was nice to pretend that it was.

When he saw Dopey glance his way, the prince ducked below the window, hoping to not flip the script more than he already had. He stayed behind the window a bit longer, hoping to make an escape plan, but something held him back. Something, a deep, desperate longing to hear what comes next weighed in his chest until it was too heavy to remove himself from where he sat by the window.

A hushed conversation as the dwarfs’ music ended, but the familiar instrumental started up in Roman’s head as if he were imagining it. It was Virgil’s voice, soft and low, as he began to sing, “Someday my prince will come...”

Oh, he really did sing like an angel. Perhaps this was a dream, a very weird dream, after falling asleep during Snow White, but at this point, Roman didn’t want to wake up. He wanted to listen to the wondrous sound of Virgil’s voice as the sky grew darker and dimmer. His eyelids grew heavy until he fell sound asleep.

Falling asleep was a bad idea, especially when you have an impatient horse to take care of. Oh, it’s also a bad idea to fall asleep while offscreen in a film where your character spends quite a long time being unneeded to the plot as side effects may include being asleep for several days. Yes, this dumbass prince actually fell asleep outside against a house for two days.

He stretched out his sore back, glancing towards the window once more to find the cottage completely empty. “I’m sorry, Destiny,” he said, petting the horse gently, “let’s get you back home and I’ll feed you extra carrots, alright?” He mounted Destiny and began riding off towards the castle, but strangely, slowed down, headed towards a trail of fallen apples. Roman tried to steer the horse away, knowing damn well those apples were poisoned. “Let’s go, Destiny, we need to make a stop before heading back home.”

Destiny listened to Roman, trotting in a path that seemed almost pre-determined, slowing down towards a gathering of animals that stood still with their heads bowed. Roman dismounted from Destiny, spotting the dwarfs and the famous glass coffin.

He gestured at Destiny to stay still as he walked slowly to the glass coffin. “Do you mind if I say my own farewell?” he asked, the dwarfs looking up to him, some with faces of awe, others with sorrow.

“Go ahead,” one of them, presumably Doc, said.

Roman stood over Virgil’s still body. He was a breathtaking sight as he laid there peacefully. His black hair was pushed out of his face and every freckle and eyelash seemed to be perfectly placed and sun-kissed. Roman brushed a hand against Virgil’s cheek- it was ice cold- and tried not to flinch. He placed his lips gently on the other’s in hopes to wake him up.

He held his breath and stepped silently aside. “You have no problem with kissing sleeping princes I see,” Virgil’s voice teased. Roman’s head shot up, followed by each of the dwarfs and the forest animals around them. Virgil was sitting on the coffin with his legs crossed like a child. “You found me.”

Roman let out a sigh of relief. “I broke the spell,” he said with a smile.

“Spell?” Virgil asked.

“With true love’s kiss of course,” Roman said, smirking as he saw Virgil’s face go crimson. The fake Virgil’s face was crimson; the real Virgil would never have woken up to Roman, and if not for simply playing a part, Roman would never have been able to wake up the real Virgil.

“What a wonderful observation,” a voice coed from behind Roman and in seconds flat he was out like a light. He wasn’t sure how much time had past when he woke up in the foliage of a very different forest with a very different horse staring down at him.

He sat up, looking upon his own clothing and at the world order. The world far behind him was flat and two-dimensional, colored only with dull cool tones. His own clothes were black and brown and he bit back a smile.

Though, the smile wasn’t hard to fight when he came to the troubling realization of not knowing why he was here. Surely breaking the spell on “Snow White” should have brought him back, right? Perhaps he would have to “awaken” all of the other sides.

He followed the hum of a familiar tune, mostly expecting to find Patton, though he could see how Logan would also fit the narrative of young Briar Rose. He walked alongside his horse, following it deeper into the forest where his next prince awaited.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Roman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

There was a deep laugh from the trees behind him.

“I hope you’re happy with yourself, you wicked fiend.”

“Oh thank you for the compliment, Roman,” the Dragon Witch laughed. Roman turned around to face her in her human form. Her long black hair made her look ominous in the shadows. Her green eyes sparked with wickedness and- all in all- she kind of looked like Angelina Jolie.

“Care to explain what I’m doing here?” Roman asked. “And why is he here?”

“Oh, silly boy, don’t you remember?” the Dragon Witch cooed with a menacing laugh.

“I will cut out your spleen again,” Roman threatened, pointing his sword towards the witch.

“You’re no fun,” she pouted in response. “But worry not little prince, it’ll come back to you. In time...” Her words faded away as she sunk back into the shadows and seemed to vanish from existence, leaving Roman completely alone. He heard singing. Almost alone.

He peered behind the trees to see where Virgil was dancing, planning the exact moment when he could butt into the dance. He ran in while Virgil’s back was turned, pushing multiple birds out of the way and gently clasping his hands around the unknowing prince’s, following the dance he had secretly rehearsed with Patton time and time again back in the mindscape.

“You’ll love me at once,” Virgil sang in a quiet, muttered tone. His eyes were closed and he seemed totally separate from the world around him, but totally not connected all at once.

“The way you did once,” Roman continued, his voice deep and rich, “upon a dream.” Virgil pulled away from the dance with ease- something Roman accounted for with his loose grip- and stared at the stranger with shock and horror. “I’m awfully sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Oh, no, it’s just that- I really shouldn’t be- you’re-”

“A stranger?” Roman asked with a smirk. “Oh, but we’ve met before,” he continued. Even if Virgil didn’t remember the mindscape, surely he must remember being Snow White, right? Right?

“We- we have?” Virgil asked, his brow knitted and Roman couldn’t help but notice his lack of makeup.

“Why of course,” Roman flirted, taking Virgil’s hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You said it yourself; we met once upon a dream.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, taking his hands from Roman. “That was just a silly song.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Roman purred, a soft grin appearing on his face. He extended a hand for Virgil to take, feeling somewhat more hopeful and optimistic at the prospect of spending time with the other side than usual. Virgil hesitated for a moment before visibly relaxing and placing one hand in Roman’s and another on the prince’s shoulders. He was letting Roman lead. The two began to fall into a gentle rhythm as they circled around each other through a clearing in the woods. “My name is Roman.”

“Angel,” Virgil said. “My name is Angel Storm.”

“Angel?” Roman asked, his mind trying to think back to the last time he had seen this movie. The details were foggy and broken in his mind.

“It’s stupid, I know,” Virgil- Angel, said.

“No!” Roman spit out. “I think it’s... nice. Yeah, it’s nice.”

Angel’s face softened, blushing almost. “Well, thank you,” he said. “That really means something.”

Their dance slowed until they pulled apart by an old tree atop a cliff overlooking the nearby kingdoms. “Can you imagine what it would be like to rule?” he asked quietly; even he could not tell if he were merely reciting a line or expressing a deep thought.

“It’d be horrifying,” Angel said through a forced laugh. “I couldn’t imagine the stress that would put on someone. All those people judging you? Being unable to please everyone? That’s horrific, Roman.”

“I’m sure it couldn’t be all that bad,” he said quietly, slipping into the thought as he subconsciously brushed his hand against Angel’s. “If you had someone to rule with.”

“Yeah,” Angel sighed, taking Roman’s hand and falling against the prince’s side, “I suppose you’re right.”

They stayed against each other’s sides for what felt like hours as the sun began to set. A flood of pinks, oranged, and lilacs blanketed the buildings below. “I should get going,” Angel said. “It’s getting dark.”

“Will I get to see you again?”

“Swing by here tomorrow,” Angel said. “My uncles are throwing me a birthday party at our cottage just past where you found me. You should be there.”

Roman smiled, pressing kisses to each of Angel’s fingers. “Then there I shall be.” Angel blushed, smiling up at Roman, their breaths catching for a split second. They both parted their separate ways with a smile, blissfully unaware of the series of rather unfortunate events that would fall before them in the next couple of hours.

Roman mounted his horse, letting the animal take him home to his own kingdom, racing fast enough to feel the wind in his hair and the adrenaline in his system. Whenever he got to his own realm, he surely would like to enjoy more scenery and adventure. Hell, he’d even invite Logan to make sure everything was accurate.

“Speak of the devil,” Roman muttered with a small smile, the rush of the night still overtaking him.

“Roman!” Logan yelled; the prince pulled back on the reigns of his horse as he approached the other man. Logan looked different, older, creeping into his sixties but with the same strict posture he always had. “Roman, come down from there- you look absolutely preposterous.”

“Says who?” Roman teased, leaping from the saddle.

“Says anyone who can see you now,” Logan retorted. “You cannot meet your future spouse looking like- like- like some sort of stable boy!”

“Oh but I’ve already met him,” Roman said.

“You- You have?”

“Of course I have!” Roman announced. “Once upon a dream!” He grabbed Logan’s hands, twirling him around the castle grounds.

“Roman, stop this instant!” Logan demanded, pulling himself away from his son’s nonsense. “When did you meet Prince Virgil? Oh, we must be telling Patton-“

“I didn’t,” Roman said with a smirk.

“But you said-“

“I met the man I’m going to marry.” Even if his words were contradictory- and untrue towards the real Virgil- he couldn’t help but feel giddy as he said them. It was an iconic scene, truly, and he was just happy to take part.

“Roman, you must give up on this dream nonsense!” Logan snapped. “Wake up and face the facts, Roman. You are a prince you must marry someone royal!”

“You’re living in the past, Father! This is the 14th century! Nowadays-” Roman smirked to himself, biting down on his lip as he tried to fight back a giggle. He always wanted to say that.

“Nowadays, I am still king,” Logan said, “and I command you to be sensible!”

“Be sensible and marry the man I fell in love with!” Roman quickly mounted on his horse, starting away before Logan could run after him.

“Yes! Marry the- wait no! Damnit, Roman, get back here! Roman! ROMAAAAAN!”

Roman laughed as he rode, Logan’s yells being drowned out by distance and hooves galloping against a cobblestone road. He had that same feeling of wind in his hair as his cape flowed behind him and adrenaline coursed through his veins as he ventured deeper and deeper into the woods.

Roman, on his horse, trotted up to the familiar old cottage, finding it dark and empty in appearance. Maybe it was a surprise party and Angel hadn’t arrived yet. He dismounted his horse, knocking on the old wooden door. No answer. He turned the handle quietly, listening to the creak of the hinges as he entered the dark room. It was empty- and far too late for him to leave.

“Get him,” a cold voice ordered. Before he could properly adjust to the darkness, tens of hundreds of minions and monsters attacked him from all angles, constricting his limbs to his body with ropes tight like boa constrictors until he found himself completely tied up and hardly able to breathe.

“You are such a bitch,” he growled.

“I set a trap for a prince, and yet I catch a peasant,” the dragon witch said, sunlight seeming to fall towards her as she looked up at Roman with her lips parted in a sultry smirk.

“Can you tell me why I’m here now?”

“Impatient as always, Roman, you really must improve your temper.”

“Oh my GOSH, I will KILL YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS!" Roman yelled. “And this sword.”

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” The dragon witch shook her head disapprovingly. “When will you learn some manners, Roman? Why else do you think you’re here in the first place?”

“You foul heathen, what have you done?!”

The dragon witch rolled her eyes, flicking a nail against Roman’s forehead. The prince recoiled in pain against her sharp nail. “I cursed you, you absolute buffoon.”

“Ah.”

“All right, boys,” she said, gesturing to the minions. “Let’s take him away.”

Roman fell to his back, being hoisted into the air by small goblin-like dragon-ish... things. He sighed, this would be a long existence.

+++

Angel- no, Virgil?!- was absolutely distraught. It was a nightmare come true, being here. He had cried himself into absolute fatigue. Maybe the panic attacks were partially to blame for the tiredness as well. So, his uncles were not, in fact, his uncles, but three strange... fairies? They had adopted him and now they were supposed to just.. Give him back?

He sighed, looking towards his disastrous reflection in the mirror, dark tear tracks had stained his cheeks and his eyes were redder than he had ever seen them before. If only Roman could see him now...

Oh no.

Oh fuck.

Oh shit.

Roman would think he stood him up. Roman would think he did this on purpose. Virgil’s chest grew tight again as he tried to count his breaths and counteract the possibility of another panic attack. It was so unbearable overwhelming. He couldn’t deal with this. Not right now, not ever. Counting his breaths was nearly rendered pointless when a soft presence entered the room. It was a glowing green... thing. He relaxed into a trance, almost as if he had been put under a spell.

He stood up from his vanity, all of the fatigue falling from his body and being replaced by calming sleepiness. He walked towards the presence, following it as it crept up towards a staircase he hadn’t bothered to notice before. Almost as if it hadn’t previously existed.

It hadn’t taken long before Virgil’s uncles, Emile, Remy, and Toby, and arrived at the castle tower where Roman had been held as prisoner. They told him everything they had gone through in the past sixteen years and warned him of the Dragon Witch’s evil power. Ah, so that’s the fake reputation she’s given herself around here. Armed with the legendary Sword of Truth and Shield of Virtue, Roman and the three fairies began to escape. Said escape didn’t go long without being caught. Diablo, the old raven famously owned by Maleficent (and temporarily borrowed by the Dragon Witch), squaked and cawed upon seeing them, alerting hundreds of minions, goblins, and monsters of their presence.

“Worry not, Prince Roman, you can handle them,” Emile whispered in his ear, hardly any bigger than a butterfly. The other two fairies shot him a disapproving glare. “With our help of course,” he amended.

The four races their way out of the castle, cutting through hordes and blocking attacks with Roman’s sword. Emile used his wand to turn a flock of incoming arrows and spears into falling daisies and daffodils. He giggled to himself at the sight, getting grabbed by the wing by Remy who insisted on no distractions.

They kept running, Emile and Toby turning any weapons or hazards into lovely things like flowers and leaves. They kept running, Remy flying ahead of the group to free Roman’s horse from its chains. Roman jumped on the saddle, pressing his legs into the creature’s sides and running off as Diablo continued to caw overhead. Remy happily shut him up with a spell.

That was when they found her, the Dragon Witch, in all of her monstrous glory. A great black beast (with a tiny little witch hat) towered over them. “I’m sorry, Prince Roman, I don’t think our magic can assist with-“

“Fuck this,” Remy said, countering over Emile, “good fuckin’ luck, Babe.”

“Don’t worry,” Roman said to the fairies, “I got this. Just try to take care of those thorns further up the path.” The fairies all nodded, too eager to fly away from the battle to question Roman’s foresight.

“What a silly little prince,” the Dragon Witch cooed, her voice deeper and menacing. “Still can’t remember why you’re here can you?”

“Can we just fight and get this over with? I’m getting real sick of your mind games reeeeally quickly.”

“In a rush to deliver true love’s kiss, are we?” The Dragon Witch laughed, spitting fire towards Roman and knocking him off of his horse. The prince hid behind his shield, feeling the heat of the fire around him. “I knew you were oblivious but I didn’t know you were desperate.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The Dragon Witch rolled her eyes. “This, Roman, is why I fucking cursed you.”

Roman held his sword, ready to strike, catching himself in a sword fight against a single one of her claws. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.”

“Just admit that you’re in love with Virgil, holy shit,” she said. “Literally none of this would have happened if you did that in the first place, but nooo I have to teach Sir Sing-a-lot here a lesson.”

Roman dropped to the ground as she swung a claw close to him. “This is hardly the groundbreaking fight this universe promised me!” he yelled, jumping from where she spit down fire by his feet.

“Well life isn’t fair, is it?” she laughed and cackled.

“Sword of Truth,” he muttered under his breath, backing away from the monster, “fly swift and sure that evil die and good endure.” With careful precision, he drove the sword into the dragon’s heart, watching her fall to the side and shrivel to her human form with the last of her remaining energy.

She reached up, grabbing Roman’s shirt and pulling him down towards her. “Don’t break the script. You won’t get rid of me that easily,” she hissed as the color drained from her face and the light vanished from her eyes. She released her grip and fell to the ground. Dead.

Roman took a deep breath, pulling the sword from out of her chest. He regrouped with his horse and, eventually, the three fairies as they quickly rushed him to King Patton’s Castle.

Roman ran up the staircase to where Virgil was laying. Not as lifeless as he had been in that glass coffin, but eerily lost beyond hope. Though, perhaps, not entirely hopeless. Roman sheathed his sword, steadying his breaths as he watched Virgil’s chest- he had to be sure he was breathing. The rise and fall of his chest was slow and small, but a rise and fall nonetheless. Roman stood over the prince, brushing the hair away from his face. He cupped his hand around Virgil’s cheek, leaning in slowly and carefully. He had the eerie feeling something was about to go wrong- and perhaps it was.

He connected their lips softly and fearfully. He felt energy shoot through his chest, infecting his body with its own cure. The power of true love’s kiss. Why hadn’t this happened last time? It wasn’t like he was in love now. Roman shook off the feeling, assuming the energy as a side effect of the curse.

Virgil’s eyes fluttered open, his face falling to a relieved smile. Roman blinked back at him in shock, opening his mouth to say something when suddenly his vision left him. Not for long, only a moment or two, but when it returned, he was somewhere else entirely.

“Okay,” Roman said with a sigh through gritted teeth, only a little salty that he didn’t get to finish Sleeping Beauty. He had to go through Cinderella now. “Let’s get this over with.”

He went through the story, waiting for the ball, rolling his eyes at every woman who tried to court him until he saw Virgil in the ballroom. He got up from his throne, tracking down the carmel-haired boy in the blue suit. They danced until the clock struck midnight, following the script line by line, making everything absolutely perfect. Roman had to head the dragon witch’s warning.

The clock struck midnight, Virgil’s face completely paling. “I have to go,” he said quietly.

“Can’t you stay just a bit longer?” Roman asked, hating the feeling in his chest.

“I- I really can’t-“ Virgil said. “My stepmother- she would- well, she’d-“

“Then, just, one last thing before you leave?” Roman asked.

Virgil took a deep breath, his eyes far away from Roman and right at the ticking clock tower. Roman grabbed the collar of Virgil’s jacket and pulled him forward, locking their lips in a quick moment of impulse and passion. Roman wanted Virgil to kiss back- oh God he was desperate for it- but the moment never came.

“I have to go,” Virgil said as Roman pulled away. The prince released his grasp on the commoner and watched him flee the castle. Roman knee the story of Cinderella like he knew the back of his hand; Virgil was running to escape the possibility of being caught when the spell wore off, so why did Roman feel like he had scared him off?

When the ball had ended, Roman stayed out on the balcony, cold air sobering him up from the intoxication that Virgil had poisoned him with. “I broke the script,” he muttered quietly to himself. “I broke the script, oh goodness gracious, what have I done?”

The wind continued to howl through the kingdom, freezing Roman’s cheeks and ears. His breath was carried through clouds against the wind, dissipating just as quickly as they were created. Roman didn’t get any sleep that night.

They carried on through the story- they always did. Assemble a search party, spend too many hours going door to fucking door, find Virgil, try on the glass slipper, happy ending, voilà! If only it were that easy.

Roman took it upon himself to fit the shoe to everyone at the ball that night. He was knelt on the ground, looking up at Virgil as he held the shoe in his hand. He requested a moment alone, and everyone (including prying Stepsisters) were removed from the room.

“My... deepest apologies if I ever made you uncomfortable,” Roman said quietly. “You were in a rush. It was very un-princely of me to hold you back.”

“It’s all forgiven, your highness.”

Roman let out a deep sigh. “But it doesn’t have to be,” he muttered, “I don’t want you to forgive me only for my status.”

“Your highness, I-“

“Roman,” the prince said with a smile. “You can call me Roman.”

“Roman,” Virgil said with a smile, “I forgive you.”

Roman let out a sigh of relief, holding up the glass slipper to slide onto Virgil’s foot. A sudden crash from the next room over (followed by yelling from Virgil’s stepmother and stepsisters) scared Roman, causing him to fumble with the shoe and drop it, sending shards of glass across the floor. Roman’s eyes widened in horror, believing that he had ruined the script completely and that he’d be trapped here forever. (Not that being trapped with this Virgil would have been a bad thing.)

Virgil reached over to gently pet Roman’s hair, letting him know that he was here and that he could comfort him. “It’s okay,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his apron, “I have another.”

He handed the relived prince the shoe of glass and gave him reassurance as Roman slid the shoe into place. “Virgil,” Roman said, just before fully fitting the glass against skin, “it’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

With a flash of light, Virgil was gone, and all the remained was the sparkling ocean and salty sea air. The ship’s crew hummed and sang in their own quiet siren’s song. It was almost enough to make Roman forget about dragons, curses, and poisoned apples. Almost. “Such a lovely day, isn’t it?” Roman pondered aloud.

“Yes, the weather is quite satisfactory today,” the man standing beside him noted in response. Unlike the rest of the crew, he was dressed in pristine clothing and a perfectly ironed coat. He kept a pipe in his breast pocket and wore silver circular lenses.

“Of course you’d say that, Logan,” Roman muttered with a chuckle.

“I can only hope that your birthday celebration this evening will be rendered adequate,” the man continued.

Roman took another breath full of salty air and sunshine. “I’m sure it will be wonderful, Lo.”

Wonderful is a broad expectation, but one that many would agree that such a celebration did not meet. There was a storm. A horrible, loud, crashing storm, rocking the boat across hostile waves as sailors struggled to hold on and stay still. Men were already scrambling onto emergency boats when a strike of lightning hit the sail, quickly setting it aflame. Roman had to choose between the boats and his dog. He chose the dog.

“ROMAN! BE CAREFUL!” Logan yelled as he and the crew began to float away aimlessly.

“Just get everyone to safety!” Roman yelled back, dodging a fallen post. “I’ll be alright!”

Max’s barks grew louder and more frantic. The heat was growing closer and closer, hotter and hotter, towards Roman as sparks gave love bites to his arms and ankles. He ran up a set of old stairs that cracked with every step and completely shattered once he made his way to the top. Max looked frantically up at the prince who now held him in his arms. From the side of his eye, Roman could see where the flames were heading. He tossed Max into the water, making the drop as short as he possibly could. He let out a deep breath of relief as Max swam towards the crew until he was close enough for Logan to pull him into the boat. Perfect. Now Roman just had to find an escape route for himself before-

BOOM!

Ashes fell from the sky like deadly snowfall as waves carried the crew away and they were faced with the choice of finding their prince or saving their lives. They began to row, knowing there would be a lot to explain in the morning.

Roman was completely unconscious by the time he hit the water, and he wouldn’t wake up until hours later at dawn on an old beach shore. He felt a hand brushing against his cheek and playing with his hair as a voice hummed a quiet yet comforting tune. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know that it was Virgil who had saved him.

“What would I give to live where you are?” Virgil mumbled along to the melody he had been humming. “What would I pay to stay here beside you? What would I do to see you smiling at me?”

“Prince Roman!” A voice yelled. Roman shot up, opening his eyes quickly as a shiny purple tail disappeared into the water. “Oh, Roman, thank God that you’re alright. We should be getting you back to the castle.”

Roman kept his eyes on the water as he stood (with worried assistance from Logan) and began to walk towards the castle. With a sigh, he gave up on trying to spot Virgil one last time ignoring the way his heart sank with an old shipwreck. He’d see Virgil again, but waiting for that moment seemed daunting and impossible.

With a deep inhale of sea air, Roman pushed down his feelings. He didn’t need to deal with pesky, complicated emotions. He just needed to go on with the story. As well as ignore how much he was turning into Logan.

It was during one all too familiar scene that he swore he was going to crack. Crickets, frogs, and even the wind seemed to be harmonizing together in a tune that Roman would often sing at 3am much to the dismay of his fellow sides. He was just drifting along the lagoon sitting across from Virgil as lightning bugs and stars danced together in a beautiful waltz. Looking at him, Roman could have sworn that Virgil was getting prettier each time he went through this vicious cycle. It was maddening.

“So... you don’t talk much, huh?” Roman asked. Virgil shook his head with a shrug of his shoulders. Roman almost caught himself staring at how prominent Virgil’s exposed collarbones were with the flowy blouse he was wearing. Roman knew the real Virgil would have hated being exposed and holding his hair back with a fancy purple bow, but, he looked rather nice in it. Roman had to stay focused. He couldn’t let something as simple as shoulders distract him- What was he? A high school boy? Absolutely not! “Alright, maybe I can guess your name,” he said, fighting back a smirk.

“Hmm...Thomas? No. Patton? Logan?” Virgil shook his head so much Roman thought it might fall. “Angel? Hmmm... Virgin?”

Virgil shook his head with his face scrunched up in disapproval. Roman couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Definitely not then,” he said. “Virgil?” The boy in front of him nodded with a soft smile and Roman wondered if it would be easy to cut a few corners and get out of this story early.

Simply to break the curse. Not because he wanted to kiss Virgil. Definitely not. Not like it was rather unfair that their only kisses had been while Virgil was unconscious or in a hurry and therefore Roman had no idea what it felt like to properly kiss this boy. Definitely not.

He leaned in, shifting his entire body closer to Virgil, who subtly did the same. He laid a hand against Virgil’s cheek, feeling the softness of his skin beneath his own and feeling a tug at his chest that longed to feel Virgil’s lips against his own. He leaned in closer, his heart rate increasing more and more. The two bumped noses and broke into affectionate giggles, but never strayed from the moment ahead of them. Roman’s eyes began to close as the focused on Virgil’s slightly agape mouth. Virgil wanted this as badly as Roman did.

Virgil wanted this for different reasons, Roman had to remind himself. Virgil was breaking his own curse. This wasn’t the Virgil that Roman had always known nor was it any Virgil he had actually met before. This was a clone. A carbon copy. A creature of the sea simply trying to fulfill his own end of a poorly written contract.

Yet something within Roman didn’t care. Some stupid, minuscule, impulsive aspect of himself didn’t care about curses or contracts or plot lines. Some stupid, minuscule, impulsive aspect of Roman just wanted to kiss the mute boy in front of him and never do anything else ever again. His eyes stayed closed as he felt Virgil’s breath against his skin and felt his own breath hitch as his skin shivered in the best way possible. There was an infinitesimal amount of space between them but it felt like an infinite void. Just a little closer...

Roman’s heart jumped and his eyes snapped open as the boat suddenly fell sideways, dropping them both into the water. Roman couldn’t seem to swim upwards. He felt something tug at his shirt only to open his eyes and see a sea serpent- A merman? Definitely a merman- staring down at him with green scales across half of his face. “Don’t break the script,” he hissed before releasing Roman’s shirt and swimming away in nearly an instant. Roman quickly swam upwards as his lungs burned from the lack of oxygen.

“Are you okay?” he asked Virgil when he came up to the surface. The other nodded slowly. “Good. We should get back to the castle. It’s... better to get some rest.”

Roman didn’t sleep that night. He couldn’t. Every time he closed his eyes he was met with the same memories on loop. He saw himself almost kissing Virgil. He saw Deceit. He saw the Dragon Witch dying by his sword. He opened his eyes for a moment before closing them again. He saw himself almost kissing Virgil again. He tried not to focus on that. He opened his eyes once more. He saw the first time he kissed Virgil. And the second. And the third. He climbed out of bed, deciding that maybe it was just better not to try to sleep tonight. He was terrified of what he might see if he did.

So, he did the only thing he knew how. He snuck out of the castle and found himself a place to sit on a group of rocks by his window and began to fidget with the flute famously played by Prince Eric. He brought the cold metal to his lips with a deep inhale as he tried to let some sense of musicality take over him as he unleashed his thoughts into the wind. It wasn’t a tune he was very familiar with, and at first, it was hardly in tune, but it felt semi-natural to him.

Until his harmony had a melody to go with it. A man, walking along the beach, humming a tune that fits perfectly with Roman’s but yet... one he had never heard before. He stopped playing, slowly lowering the instrument from his mouth and holding it in his fist before following the man whose voice seemed so seductively calming. Roman’s memories grew fuzzier and fuzzier as he focused only on following the man in front of him; the closer he got, the worse his memory grew until even the present was nothing but a fuzzy blur in a fading stream of consciousness.

Everything from that moment on seemed to fast forward with Roman seeing to have little to no control over his actions but complete apathy towards doing so. It wasn’t until his own crashed wedding- Wedding?!- that his temporary curse was broken and that he was even aware that it had been cast. Needless to say, it wasn’t long before he was impaling the front end of a ship into the stomach of a massive sea-serpent Deceit.

He found himself in a familiar scene, shipwrecked on the shore as the sun shines down on his face. He pulled himself up and saw Virgil nervously waving at him as he rose from the water. As he walked out of the water. Roman stood watching as the water seemed to cling to and from around Virgil as he walked onto the shore in a sparkling blue dress. Roman couldn’t help but run to Virgil and pull him into a tight hug. “I thought I lost you,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Whatever I did while I was cursed- however I hurt you- I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Roman,” Virgil said with a smile.

Roman gasped, pulling away just enough to see Virgil’s face. “You can talk!” he said excitedly.

“I can talk,” Virgil repeated with a smile. He had his happy ending, and somehow that pulling feeling was back in Roman’s chest.

“Can I kiss you?” Roman asked, his voice as quiet as the tiniest of mice and spoken with the carefulness of dancing through broken glass.

“You may,” Virgil said, smiling and happily leaning in as Roman wrapped one hand around his waist and the other around his neck as he pulled him into the sweetest and deepest of kisses. For the first time it felt... real. Roman felt like he was acting with his heart and not a script. He felt warm and loved and he wanted Virgil to feel the same thing. He pulled him as close as he could and nothing else mattered. He was bound to a curse that made it easier and easier to fall in love and he feared that when he opened his eyes all of it would be gone. He’d wake up and never get to fall in love with Virgil again.

“I love you so much,” Roman mumbled as they pulled apart, his lips brushing against the other’s with every word and his eyes squeezed tightly shut to block out every bad thing in the world around them. “And I’m so scared of losing you.”

“You won’t lose me, Roman. I’ll always be here. Waiting to find you over and over and over again.”

Roman felt a single tear fall down his cheek as he traced his thumb along Virgil’s jaw. “And I’ll love you every single time.” With a deep breath, he opened his eyes. The feeling of Virgil’s warmth against his fingertips was the last to go as he found himself alone in an old castle.

It was cold there. He heard a knock on the door in front of him. It echoed through the long hallways of the castle. There was a second knock, harsher and more demanding; whoever was out there was growing impatient. Roman glanced over to a mirror hanging along the wall before reaching towards the door handle. He was 19 again, and, unfortunately, he knew exactly who he was.

He opened the door and saw more cloak than woman, but it was too painfully obvious who this “stranger” was. She was back from the dead and madder than ever. “A night of safety in exchange for a rose, your highness?”

“Of course,” Roman said. He was too tired to fight. He was too tired to keep going through with this.

“What?” The woman asked.

“You can come in,” Roman said. “Surely it’s freezing out there. And keep the rose, you need not to pay for your own health and safety.”

“Thank you, your majesty,” the woman said slowly. She followed the prince through the castle, casting a slow spell as she entered.

Roman invited her to sit in a plush chair in front of a lit fireplace. He ordered Emile to fetch a fresh pot of tea for their guest. He sat on the floor.

“Surely, Roman, you aren’t as stupid as you look,” the woman said from beneath her cloak. He didn’t need to see her face to see her confusion towards her behavior; it was written all over her body.

“Perhaps I’m not,” Roman said. “I really am sorry about, you know, stabbing you.”

“You’re not being mean. Why aren’t you being mean? You’re going to ruin this story,” the witch warned.

Roman shrugged. “Don’t feel like it, I suppose. It’s so easy to be mean, but so exhausting.” He looked to the roaring fire and felt the warmth on his skin as he tried to suppress the longing for the summer sun that had kissed his skin only moments ago. He tried to suppress his longing for the boy who had kissed his lips during those same moments. “I do have... a question, though.”

“Ask away.”

“Why do the staff get cursed? They are all innocent in every variation of this story. Innocent in every version of this movie. They’ve done nothing wrong. Why curse them?”

“Because life isn’t fair,” the witch seethed, subconsciously pressing a hand to the scar over her chest.

The prince looked up at her with a child’s pleading eyes. “But... why?”

“To teach the prince that his actions have consequences,” she said. Around them, the walls started the grow older and darker as bits and pieces began to crumble off. “Just like right now.”

Roman eyes shut right as he curled in on himself in pain. He groaned and yelled, feeling himself be torn apart and mutilated in unfathomable ways. “I’m sorry!” he shouted out to the witch. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” When he tilted his head towards the sky, the witch was long gone leaving a silver mirror and on ordinary rose in her place. Roman cringed at the sound of claws against metal as he tried to hold the mirror in his hands. The sight ahead of him was unrecognizable beyond belief save for the same pair of brown eyes.

He apologized to each of his staff members individually, holding onto the hope that Virgil would come and rescue him soon. ‘Soon’ was an underestimation. Days blended into weeks which fell into months until he was no longer Prince Roman. Neither appearance nor heart was the same as they had been five years ago. Six years ago. Seven years ago. He could hardly stand to see himself in the mirror. He had torn apart every picture of him that surrounded the castle halls.

His 27th birthday has come and gone but he had hardly cared. In fact, he doubted he would have even noticed if not for the tiny card he had received from Emile. It was crudely made and nearly illegible, but it was the best a clock could do.

He spent countless hours in the castle library. Deep down he supposed that, back home, Logan would have scoffed and teased at the idea of Roman studying so much literature. As he cracked open the spine of another old book, Logan vanished away into nothing more than a distant memory. He studied languages, history, science, and most importantly of all, he studied fairytales. Old fairytales and new fairytales; he had to cling on to the last bit of hope in his heart.

Another month and one more year passed. Still no sign of ever getting away from this curse. He was nearing 29 and the rose was starting to wilt. His patience was wearing thin. He had heard the whispers down the halls. Echoes of doubt from his staff and from his own subconscious. He was growing hopeless.

It was a cold winter night. There was a knock on the door. Roman didn’t answer. He decided that whoever was out there could freeze to death. He didn’t care. He wanted to be alone.

“Hello?” Logan called out as he knocked on the stone castle doors. It creaked open slowly, and he carefully stepped in. “I don’t wish to intrude!” His voice echoed down the endlessly empty hall, bouncing back at him tauntingly. “Hello?!”

He stepped completely into the hall jumping when the door slammed shut behind him. “Is anyone home? I- I really don’t want to be a bother but there’s a terrible storm! My- My horse ran off! Please, I just need somewhere to stay for the night.” He took a candelabra from a nearby table and used it as a torch to light his way down the endless hall.

“Perhaps we can be of some assistance,” a voice said with a chuckle.

Logan spun around, but couldn’t see a single living being in sight. “Hello? Who are you?” He felt something tap his shoulder but when he turned he saw only the candle in his hand.

“Right here, Monsieur!”

“G’ah!” Logan yelled, dropping the candelabra and falling backwards, cringing at the sound of metal hitting the ground.

“Ow,” the candle moaned picking himself up and dusting himself off.

“Now you’ve done it!” a clock yelled- wait WHAT?!- as it sauntered towards the candelabra. “You’ve scared the poor man half to death!”

“Dot, ma amie, look at him!” the candle said, gesturing to Logan’s greeting hair and wrinkled eyes. “He’s halfway there anyway!”

“Apollo! That’s rude!” the clock- Dot?- scolded.

“What kind of machinery is this?” Logan asked, sitting up and holding Dot in his hands. “Extraordinary! The level of fine detail in this thing- it’s practically alive!”

“Alive and has boundaries!” Dot yelled, wiggling her way out of Logan’s arms.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Logan apologized, gently placing Dot down on the ground.

“Oh you must be cold, Monsieur,” the candle said.

“Remy, no,” Emile said under his breath. “What about the master-“

“Follow me, Monsieur!” Remy said, hopping along the floor as Logan gently followed, mesmerized by such complex machinery. He was led to an old chair in front of an unlit fireplace; Remy quickly fixed that.

“Oh, Mr. Potts!” Remy called. “Won’t you please fetch some tea for our guest?”

“Keep your voice down!” Dot cried out.

“Oh, don’t worry so much, Dot.” On a rolling cart, a teapot appeared surrounded by a chipped teacup, a sugar bowl, and a dish full of cream with a twin full of honey. “Oh, you look so tired,” Emile commented with a soft sigh, “you must have had a troubling journey to get here. Do you like chamomile?”

“I do find it to be a rather satisfying beverage, thank you,” he said, mixing in a single lump of sugar to his cup of tea. “My horse ran off shortly before I got here. I’m afraid I won’t be able to get home before the night is over.”

“Oh, dear, you’ll be safe here with us,” Emile said. Logan began to relax as he sipped his tea from the sleeping cup. With a hush of wind, the objects grew deathly still. Sensing their tension, Logan carefully put the teacup next to Emile.

“Why are you here?!” a voice growled, echoing across the room. A shadow of a man leapt toward the ground, staring in between Logan and the fireplace as he towered over the aging man. “Have you come to gawk at the beast who lives in this castle?!”

“No! Never!” Logan said, his voice getting higher by the syllable.

“I think you ought to be taught how rude it is to intrude,” Roman growled, orange light lining his darkened silhouette. “Remy, I’ll deal with you later.”

“Master, he was just cold and-“

“Later!” Roman yelled.

“Y- Yes, Master,” Remy said, silently crossing himself in a silent prayer to save his life and his ass.

Roman took Logan by the arms taking him up to the dungeon and not even realizing what he had down until Logan was staring back at him with pleading eyes. His remorse was short lived. He could barely remember what it felt like the human anymore, let alone even fathom being a side. All remorse was gone as he retired for the night.

That night alone felt like a curse in and of itself. He was back home. Back to normal. Almost normal. Almost home. It all felt so real and lovely, yet too real and absolutely terrible. He was nothing more than a ghost.

“It’s been three days already,” Patton said, choking on his own tears as Logan rubbed circles on his back from where they sat in the living room. Virgil was sitting on the staircase, hiding behind the stairwell as he chewed desperately on his thumb.

“Is he just... gone?” Thomas asked from where he sat on the floor.

“What’s going on?” Roman asked. “What are you all upset about?” No one could hear him and that’s when the terrible realization had set in. He was gone. It had been three days and he had been gone for all of them.

“No, no, he can’t be gone,” Logan said.

“What if he... ducked out?” Virgil asked.

“The problem isn’t that he’s gone, it’s... he’s...” Logan was wiping away his own tears before anyone other than Roman could see. “He’ll be back.”

“How can you be so sure?” Virgil asked. For a moment he looked up and almost made eye contact with Roman. He went back to biting his thumb but the look in his eyes killed Roman. He woke up in a cold sweat with a horrid reminder of what- of who- he was. He didn’t go back to sleep.

So, the next day, when he heard voices echoing around prison cells, he didn’t remember loving kisses under warm sunshine. He remembered that terrible nightmare. He remembered nearly ten years of pain and agonizing loneliness.

“An intruder just like him,” Roman growled from the shadows.

Virgil looked up towards him, gripping at the metal bars. His soft brown hair and hazel eyes looked marvelous among the sunlight, but in them, Roman saw his own pain. “Let him go,” Virgil pleaded, his voice shaky and weak, nothing like the Virgil that Roman had known long ago. “Can’t you see that he’s sick? He’ll die here!”

Roman ignored the pain in his chest- a new pain, a guilty pain- and kept his gaze forward. “He should have thought about that before breaking and entering!”

“I’ll give you anything you want for his freedom!” Virgil yelled. “We don’t have much, but surely you have some compassion!”

“You wish to bargain for human life?” he scoffed.

“What about a trade?” Virgil asked, his shaking hands contrasting his stiff bravado. “Take me in his place. A life... for a life.”

“Virgil, no! Don’t do this!” Logan yelled, coughing as he did so. “You’re young! You have your life ahead of you!”

“I can’t let you die here,” Virgil said, tears welling in his eyes.

“If I let him go, you’ll... take his place?”

“Yes!” Virgil cried. “Just... please. Please let me save my father.”

“You’ll be here forever,” Roman warned.

Virgil pressed a hand against Logan’s cold arm. “Step into the light,” he said softly.

The monster stood like a giant as he towered over Virgil. He had sharp fangs and sharper claws. Curled horns protruded from his forehead and he was covered in thick brown fur. There was no sign of humanity left in him. Virgil gasped, scaring the monster back into the shadows.

“I’ll take his place,” Virgil said surely.

“I see,” Roman said. He held something in a clenched fist as he walked past Virgil and directly to the gate of Logan’s cell. He took the key from his paw and let the gate swing open. “I’ll give you a minute to say your goodbyes.” He made his way down the stairs leaving them completely alone, ignoring the confused glances that bounced between Remy, Emile, and Dot.

“He’s gone,” Logan said quietly. “Quick, we can both escape!”

“No, Papa,” Virgil said, holding Logan’s arms and keeping the older man up.

“Virgil, I- I can’t let you do this.”

“Yes you can, Papa,” Virgil said, smiling despite the tears falling from his eyes. “Let me do this for you.” He pulled Logan into a warm hug, rubbing his father’s arms to fight off any hypothermia he may have suffered. “I love you.”

“Virgil-“

Virgil stepped into the cell, closing it so harshly that the key fell to the ground. “I love you, Papa. Now go home, you’re sick.”

When Logan fell to his knees from coughing, he couldn’t fight back the servants leading him down the stairs. Virgil watched his father disappear from sight as he watched with a melancholic smile. He knew his father would be safe, even if he never saw him again.

Roman had sent out his finest carriage to take Logan as close to the village as was safe without getting caught. He climbed the stairs back up towards the old cell to put the key back on its holder. He blinked back in surprise seeing Virgil standing patiently by the window- already locked into the cell.

“You’re... still here?”

“I made a promise, didn’t I?” Virgil asked, turning to face his captor.

“I, uh,” Roman picked up the key off of the ground, “let me show you to your room.”

“My... room?”

Roman took a deep breath, feeling his heart nervously pounding in his chest. “Unless you’d rather stay here in the cold tower.” Virgil shook his head slowly as Roman unlocked the cell. The gate swung open with an ugly noise as Roman lead Virgil down the hall. “I reacted... poorly, earlier,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to spend your life here, I only suggest that you stay the night until the storm lets up.”

“I... I don’t understand.”

“You’re free as soon as the weather allows you to travel safely,” Roman explained.

Virgil looked past a window and saw the snow growing heavier and harder. It didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. He continued to follow.

“You may travel anywhere in the castle that you wish- except for the west wing.”

“What’s in the west wing?” Virgil asked, curiosity bypassing fear and getting the better of him.

Roman took a deep breath, not sure what to say. “It’s...it’s just off limits, okay? If there’s anything you need, my staff will be happy to attend to you.”

“I- well- Thank you,” Virgil said. Roman had left him alone at the open doorway of a guest bedroom that was nearly the size of Virgil’s house and looked as if it hadn’t been used in 30 years. Sentient brooms and dustpans quickly cleared from the room as they laid eyes on Virgil.

“Is it possible to have a change of heart overnight?” Remy asked.

“It’s certainly... unusual,” Dot agreed.

“Aww, don’t be so suspicious of him,” Emile pleaded.

Remy and Dot exchanged a glance. “We’re not gonna stop being suspicious of him.”

“Don’t you miss being human, Emile? Aren’t you a little bitter at him for taking that away from us?”

Emile sighed. “Do you think he isn’t? He felt- feels- terrible about all of this. About us. You think he wanted us to suffer?”

There was a moment of silence broken only by the crackle of the fire. From the hall, they could hear the sound of claws clicking against wood as Roman paced back and forth. Emile couldn’t help but wander into the hall, with Remy and Dot following behind.

“Master?” Emile asked quietly.

“I... I didn’t think this far ahead,” Roman said as he continued pacing.

“Didn’t think... for what, exactly?” Remy asked.

Roman continued pacing back and forth and back and forth; the three observers may have begun to think of him as growing mad. His mind was racing. It had been almost ten years since that day on the beach. It had been almost ten years since he had even /seen/ a movie! He couldn’t remember what to do next and he certainly wasn’t sure what would happen if he failed.

“Emile, could you please go keep our guest company? Remy, Dot, I’ll need you two to come with me. I have... an idea.”

With a small knock at the door, Emile and Kai slowly entered the guest bedroom and found Virgil curled up on the floor talking to Madame Armoire. His eyes were red but he was laughing and smiling. “I don’t mean to intrude, but I thought you might like a cup of tea after such a long night.”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Virgil said, picking up the teacup that had maneuvered itself in front of him.

“Wanna see a trick?” Kai asked ecstatically. He made a big show of inhaling and scrunched up his face as the tea bubbled up and spilled over.

“Kai!” Emile scolded.

“Sorry, Papa!” Kai giggled as Virgil carefully placed him on the ground.

A loud crash sounded from the hallway as many smaller crashes grew closer and closer to the guest room. The door swung open as Remy and Dot both fell to the ground.

“The master would like to invite you to-”

“GET READY FOR DINNER!” Remy yelled with a smile.

“A-HEM!” Dot stood up, brushing herself off, and shooting Remy a glare. “The master would like to formally invite you to a private feast in the dining hall.”

“What?”

“We’d like to ask you to be our guest,” Remy said with a grin and something mischievous behind his eyes.

It had taken a lot of preparation, yes, but Roman was happy with the end result as he watching the dining hall from behind a cracked door. He couldn’t see Virgil’s face, but a quick thumbs-up from Remy told him everything he needed to know.

“Now, Monsieur, is there anything else we can assist you with?” Remy asked.

“No, no, we really must be retiring for the night,” Dot scolded as Remy rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be such a buzzkill, ma amie. Surely there’s something that would interest the guest?”

“Well, I,” Virgil said, thinking carefully, “I wouldn’t mind a tour of the castle.”

Roman took a deep breath hearing those words. He’d keep his guard up in the west wing. He watched from the shadows as Virgil crept into the room slowly. Roman stayed still as Virgil pieced together an old torn painting that Roman had destroyed long ago. “Go!” Roman yelled. “Get out!”

Virgil ran from the castle as fast as his legs would carry him. He wasn’t a prisoner and he sure as hell wouldn’t be held like one.

Roman watched him run from the window. He knew exactly where Virgil was heading. He picked up the silver mirror gazing for a moment at the monster staring back at him. “Show me the boy,” he said. He saw Virgil running and, just out of the younger’s view, he saw wolves. Hungry wolves.

Roman quickly ran from the castle. When he found Virgil, he was being surrounded and attacked by wolves, beating at them with a rotted tree branch. Roman growled and roared at the beasts, drawing their attention away from Virgil. They ran after him, jumping on him, and biting his arms and legs. “Go!” he yelled at Virgil. “Get out! Save yourself!” He saw Virgil hesitating, still gripping onto the old branch. That was when his head hit the ice and he began to black out.

He woke up sitting in the old chair in front of a roaring fire. He was back at the castle. Back at home. He sucked in air through his teeth as he felt his arm burn and sting. “Hold still,” Virgil ordered. “This might sting a little.”

“No kidding,” Roman bit back. “You never should have run out there.”

Virgil pressed a hot rag against Roman’s wounds, causing the beast to roar and squirm. “I wouldn’t have run away if you hadn’t shouted at me!”

“I wouldn’t have shouted if you had learned not to trespass!”

“Well, you need to learn to control your temper!” Virgil yelled, taking the rag and angrily tossing it in the bucket of hot water. Droplets splashed against the floor as the two found themselves at a stalemate. Remy, Emile, Dot, And Kai all glanced to one another silently.

“Kai, I think you should be heading to bed,” Emile said softly.

“But, Papa!” Kai whined earning a warning glare from Emile.

“Kai.”

The teacup rolled his eyes and sighed. “Yes, Papa.”

Everything remained silent save for the roaring fire and defeated clinking of a teacup hopping away. Roman tore away his stare and mumbled towards the floor, “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

Virgil carefully rung out the cloth and held Roman’s hand tightly. “Hold still,” he said, gently placing the warm fabric on Roman’s wound. The beast winced but tried to keep himself still. The blood had finally stopped running; Virgil held out his hand as Dot gave him a roll of bandages. He began winding the gauze around Roman’s arm. “I should thank you,” he said quietly, “for saving my life.”

Roman saw the vulnerability in Virgil’s eyes and felt his heart race a little bit faster and a little bit more prominently. “It was my honor,” he said with a smile.

Virgil looked towards him and smiled back. Remy, Emile, and Dot all let out a sigh of relief, grinning with mischievous grins as if they knew something the others were blind to. And in some ways, they did.

The snowstorms were starting the letup, at least for a while. They only seemed to grow worse when either of them mentioned the possibility of Virgil going back home. Virgil didn’t seem to mind the storms.

Dot, Remy, and Emile couldn’t help but watch from the windows as the two fought a vicious snowball war which Virgil seemed to be winning. His face was red from the cold but the smile on his face made it apparent that he wouldn’t be giving up the snow anytime soon at all.

Roman was pacing in front of the fireplace that evening. He was deep in thought, but a small part of him was smiling nonetheless. “I... I want to do something special. For him.”

“Well, there’s the usuals,” Dot said, “flowers, chocolates, promises you don’t intend to keep.”

Roman rolled his eyes but laughed. “There’s the library,” he joked, but let his memory return to him. Any Virgil is still Virgil, right? A few days had passed before he unveiled the surprise. He had spent days planning, decorating, and making Remy, Dot, and Emile stall for time. Finally, at long last, it was time.

“No peeking,” he laughed, holding his paws over Virgil’s eyes.

“I’m not I swear!” Virgil said with a laugh.

“Okay, okay,” Roman said, slowly removing his paws, “keep them shut.” He opened the library door, leading Virgil into the large room letting the door fall mostly shut from behind them. He took a deep breath. “Okay, you can open them now.”

The library was painted purple and black with silk threads intricately knitted and hanging in corners. It was a gothic nightmare and Virgil instantly fell in love with it all. “This is... incredible! All of it!”

“You like it?” Roman asked with a smile.

“Like it?! This is incredible!”

“It’s yours,” Roman said.

“What? You couldn’t possibly mean that.”

“And why can’t I?”

“I- well,” Virgil swallowed the lump in his throat. “Thank you,” he said with a blush, “thank you very much.”

After a little time and a whole lot of courage, Roman was finally about to live through one of his favorite Disney dances. His heart was racing in his chest.

“A dress?” Virgil whispered as the two glided across the ballroom. “Really?”

Roman chuckled from his throat, feeling more human than he had in years. “I think it suits you.”

“A suit would suit me,” Virgil mumbled.

“Is that a pun?”

“...maybe.”

Roman laughed, feeling Virgil lay his head onto his chest. Roman had to restrain himself from mumbling a quick “I love you.” This was a different Virgil- who didn’t love him back. This Virgil wasn’t his Snow White, his Sleeping Beauty, his Cinderella, or his Little Mermaid. He couldn’t risk scaring him off. He had to charm this Virgil just enough to save his life.

He had to get back to the real Virgil. To the Real Patton and the Real Logan too. He took a deep breath, silently cursing that damn dragon witch for cursing him to fall more in more in love but to never be able to explain why.

“I need to show you something,” Roman said, thinking back to the magic mirror. This story needed an ending- even if it killed him.

He lead Virgil to the West Wing, watching the boy visibly tense. He didn’t know how to apologize. He pretended not to notice. “This,” he said, picking up the handle of a silver mirror, “is a magic mirror. Ask it anything you wish; it will show you your heart’s desire.”

“Anything?” Virgil asked. He took a deep breath and held the mirror with a shaking hand. “Show me, my father... please.”

Virgil watched his reflection melt away and the vision of Logan took his place. The old man was deathly pale and tired as he coughed up a lung. “He’s dying,” Virgil whispered, “my father is dying.”

“Then you must go to him,” Roman said. He pressed the mirror in Virgil's hands against his chest. “Take this with you,” he added, “and let it remind you of me.”

“Thank you,” Virgil said. “For everything.”

“Of course,” Roman said, “oh, but, Virgil?”

“Yes?”

“You might want to put on a pair of pants first,” he joked but felt his heart sank as Virgil ran off. He watched as Virgil ran far from the castle, flying quickly beyond his reach and taking Roman’s heart with him.

Roman hadn’t expected this to hurt so much. He always knew he’d have to watch Virgil leave him. He knew this story like the back of his hand, but, if there was one thing he’d learned from his past, it was that knowledge couldn’t prevent heartbreak.

He tried not to think about what would happen next...

The entire castle staff was horribly aware of the mob approaching the castle. Many of them said their final prayers, while others looked back on their every regret. They all stay still in the dark as the doors creak open. A stout man leading the group wrapped his sweaty fingers around Remy’s base. He stuck a match, lighting the candle, and moving him back and forth as the mob moved inwards. In a swift movement, Remy bent his arms downwards, burning the skin of the man holding him and causing the man to drop the candle towards the ground. “NOW!” Remy yelled, and everyone attacked.

Roman was sitting alone, watching as the invaders marched into the castle. He couldn’t imagine the fight going on downstairs. His deep pondering was interrupted by a crack at the door as Deceit entered the room with a drawn bow and arrow. With a sigh, Roman turned back towards the window.

In a quick second, he felt the arrow pierce his skin and he growled in agony. To add insult to injury, he felt Deceit push against him as he fell through the window. “Get up, Beast!” he yelled, pushing him down to the next part of the roof. “Or are you too ‘kind’ and ‘gentle’ to fight back?!” His words were harsh and he spit them out like venom. He broke off a hunk of cement from the side of the castle.

That’s when Virgil appeared. He and Logan on the horse had ridden up to the castle entrance. “Roman! Look out!” he cried out.

He was so worried and sincere and that’s when the memories poured in. They had danced together in a tale as old as time. Virgil was part of his world. They had found each other after the ball. They had danced once upon a dream and they were there at the old wishing well.

More importantly, this was Virgil. Virgil had been there since the beginning. They were both sides of Thomas. They fought and argued and bickered but deep down they both cared for each other. Roman cared for Virgil. He might even dare to say that he loved him.

He caught the stone club as it swung down towards him and picked himself up, watching the fear in Deceit’s eyes as he finally fought back. They both pushed and shoved, racing towards and against each other in the pouring rains and thunder. With one misstep, Deceit had started to fall, but he caught himself on the next ledge.

He brought his club down on the beast’s head, destroying it under his power. With a flash of lightning, he saw the rows of gargoyles and the chipped cement he had destroyed. “Stop hiding, Beast!” He yelled. “Did you really think,” Deceit asked, “that someone like him could love a monster like you?”

“No,” Roman answered and time seemed to stop. Deceit lowered his weapons noticeably but not completely. “I don’t. I don’t expect him to love me. Not now, not ever; not here nor anywhere else. I can’t expect that from him. I can hope and dream and pray that he’ll love me back but I can never expect that. To do so would be unfathomably cruel.”

Deceit rolled his eyes. “You think that you’re poetic, huh? Words can save you? Don’t be a coward, Beast!”

Roman reached out, grasping his claws against Deceit’s throat and watching him squirm as he held him in the open air out above the cliffs below. Deceit gasped for air, hands on Roman’s paw, trying to free himself. “Please,” he choked out, “don’t hurt me. I’ll- I’ll do anything! Please!”

Roman’s glare dropped when he saw genuine fear in the other’s eyes. He was still a side. No matter who, or what, he was, he was part of Thomas. Roman couldn’t bring himself to kill him, no matter what part he had to play.

He brought Deceit to the castle’s ledge and held him down to the ground. “Get out.”

“Roman!” Virgil yelled from the castle balcony.

“Virgil,” Roman said softly, climbing the old shingles up the balcony ledge. He took Virgil’s outstretched hand and laid a paw against Virgil’s face. “You came back.”

He smiled, happy to be reunited and happy knowing that the fighting would be over. He, unfortunately, couldn’t remember the next chain of events until he felt a cold blade pierce into his side and pull out just as quickly. He growled in pain, losing his grip on the balcony, and knocking into Deceit who stood close behind him. Virgil grabbed onto this cape and pulled him forward.

Deceit slipped from the roof, falling into the deep abyss below. He was gone and as good as dead. Roman seemed to be rather close to meeting the same fate. His breath was leaving him as his vision started to grow blurry and dim.

“I got here too late,” Virgil said, tears falling from his eyes. “I- This is all my fault.”

“Shhh,” Roman said. “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“But, I- I didn’t know they’d come after you, I-”

“You had to save your father. I know.” He brought his paw up to the side of Virgil’s face, the latter of the two holding it in place. “At least... I got to see you... one last time.”

“No,” Virgil said softly, tears falling from his eyes. “Don’t leave me. You- You can’t leave me.” Roman’s hand went limp as the light drained from his eyes. Virgil screamed out in agony, shaking the still air around him. His throat was sore and hot tears poured down his face as he buried himself against Roman’s chest. “I love you.”

There was nothing but still silence, but warmth seemed to travel through the cold air. Hope broke through the atmosphere of despair. Virgil felt something push against him as Roman rose from the ground. He fell backwards watching the prince as a golden halo surrounded him entirely. His hind legs transformed into human flesh and bone as the transformation spread throughout his body.

Roman woke up back on the cold ground. “Virgil?” His voice was hoarse but there was something loving behind it. He looked to his hands and smiled widely, bringing them to his face and head. His hair was a bit longer, laying just above his shoulders, and he was human again. “Virgil, it’s me!”

“Roman?”

Roman nodded and Virgil happily threw himself into the prince’s arms. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“I never thought I’d be happy to hear those familiar words.”

Virgil wrapped his arms around Roman’s neck and held himself as close to the other as he could. He was so happy and relieved and his heart was beating out of his chest. “I love you,” he murmured into the other’s neck.

“I know, mon amour. I love you too, Virgil, always and forever.”

The music swelled as they danced across the ballroom. Virgil was once again in the ballgown he claimed the hate, as friends, family, and (once again human) staff danced alongside them.

“I could dance with you forever,” Roman said with a smile. He wasn’t acting anymore. He wanted this to be his happy ending.

“That seems illogical,” Virgil said. “You’d have to get tired eventually.”

Roman laughed, he really was Logan’s son. He twirled Virgil, feeling the fabric of the ballgown drift against his legs. “With you? Never.”

“You’re such a sap,” Virgil teased, leaning teasingly but noticeably. He didn’t pull back.

“That may be true,” Roman agreed, feeling the soft skin of Virgil’s cheek under his own calloused fingertips. “But I’m only a sap for you.” He leaned in, smiling as he held the other in a sweet embrace and an even sweeter kiss.

He pulled back slightly when he heard the music fade away. He opened his eyes to find himself in the desert- with only Virgil left in his arms. He stared into his eyes and whispered, “I love you, so much,” before watching the ghost smile in return and fade away. He was left in rags and grasping onto memories as he prepared to fight one more time.

Okay, he wasn’t prepared to fight just yet. “Where are you, you coward?!” he yelled against the sands. He was completely alone out there. Alone entirely except for one parrot in the distance. “Making Deceit do your bidding?! Can’t handle me on your own, can you?”

The parrot stared at Roman as he kicked at the sand. “You win! Okay?! Is that enough for you?!” He let out a groan against the dark, uncaring night sky. “I love him.”

“Don’t give up now,” the Dragon Witch cooed. “It’s only getting interesting.”

“You are cruel and heartless.”

“Ugh, you’re being a buzzkill today, aren’t you?”

Roman let out a sigh, letting himself fall back into the sand. The parrot flew down to him, sitting on his chest. “Is... he cursed too?”

“I suppose that depends on who you’re asking about.”

“Deceit,” Roman said. “Does he... is he going to remember any of this?”

The Dragon Witch stayed silent.

“Please,” Roman said, tears welling in his eyes. “I don’t want to wake up from all of this and know that all I did was hurt someone for my own good. No matter who it is, I don’t want to hurt anyone real.”

“His fate is up for you to decide.” The Dragon Witch began to fly away but Roman was quick enough to catch her wing as he sat upwards. Even she couldn’t say ‘no’ to his sad, puppy dog eyes. “Face your fears, Roman, and no harm will come to those you love.”

The parrot flew away against the dark night sky as Roman fell back against the Arabian sands and fell asleep. He couldn’t tell if the dream he dreamt was a blessing or a curse.

He found himself in Anxiety’s room. Fitting, he decided, as the agony bubbled and rose in his gut. He looked up to find Virgil taking deep breaths as he adjusted his headphones and clicked play on his laptop. Roman couldn’t leave his corner of the room; an invisible wall held him captive, but he could turn his head just to see Virgil’s computer screen. A Whole New World began to play through his headphones as he slowly let go of his inhibitions.

The movements were clumsy and sloppy at first, but Virgil was gliding across the floor on his socks, dancing slowly to the music. He was doing some formless version of a waltz and twirling himself as silent words stay mumbled against his lips.

Roman was never a lip-reading genius, but he knew a princess song when he heard- or saw- it. He was murmuring Jasmine’s part to himself and fuck, Roman was so in love. Whenever this curse was finally over, Roman knew he wanted to take Virgil’s hands and dance with him for hours. Really, truly dance with him. No more carbon copies.

Maybe he’d throw in a real kiss for good measure too.

No, he had to tell himself softly, he couldn’t do that. This Virgil- the real Virgil didn’t love him back. He wouldn’t love him back. He couldn’t love him back.

Regardless, that would never stop Roman from loving him.

The empty feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as Virgil continued to dance- completely unfazed by Roman’s presence. “I want to go back,” Roman whispered before fading quickly out of Anxiety’s room.

“Hello?” Virgil asked quietly, pulling off his headphones and hitting pause on his computer. He looked to the corner of his room- Roman’s corner- and couldn’t help but feel a chill cascading down his skin. It was as if a ghost had past thorough him. Something was horribly, inexplicably wrong.

“LOGAN!” he yelled, dashing out of his room and out towards the commons.

Roman did what he had to. He found the cave of wonders, grabbed the lamp, and had all of it fucked up by a circus monkey. He took a deep breath and rubbed the lamp. There was a moment of silence, a beat of hesitation, and a lifetime’s worth of fear and worry.

Then, the lamp began to shake and tremble. Roman dropped it as it warmed more and more until the metal was red and burning to the touch. Smoke began to pour out more and more filling the cave until a blue mist began to follow suit. “GAAAAH!” a loud, thunderous voice yelled, that would have been terrifying if not so familiar. “Ten thousand years will give you such a crick in the neck! OH- Hello there!”

“Patton,” Roman said with a smile.

“Oh it is good to be out,” Patton announced. He summoned up a microphone and held it to Roman’s face. “What’cha name, Kiddo, where ya from?”

“Roman.”

“Roman! Welcome to the show! Should we call ya Ro or Man? Or maybe just Oma because Oma-gosh is it great to meet you!” Patton chuckled loudly at his own joke before adjusting his glasses and moving his head down to look at Roman. “You know, you’re a lot smaller than my old master.”

“Master?”

“Yep!” Patton said. “I’ll grant you anything your heart desires! Three wishes- but no wishing for more wishes. That’s a big no-no. So, what’ll it be, Master?”

A million thoughts ran through Roman’s head in only seconds. “Maybe, uh, maybe don’t call me that. Roman- Roman’s good. Anything is better than- uh- than that.”

“Gotcha, Ro!”

Roman let out a sigh of relief. “Well,” he said, “I’d like to get out of this cave.”

Patton smiled, placing himself, Roman, and the circus monkey onto a magic carpet. “Please keep your hands, arms, feet, and legs inside the carpet at all times.” He turned his hand into a cannon and blasted a hole through the top of three cave, dodging debris as he steered the carpet (and the passengers) to safety.

Now all Roman had to do was:

1) Become a prince

2) Storm into Agrabah

3) Win Virgil’s affections

4) Release the Genie

Easy, right? Easy until step three. Virgil was very persistent about “I’m not a prize to be won” which was, completely understandable, but at least let a guy try, right?

So here he was, standing on a magic carpet, holding onto the railing of Virgil’s balcony. “I hope you know how creepy you’re being right now,” the prince said with a glare, “I could easily have my guards arrest you.”

“I know, I know, but- I just wanted to talk to you. Get to know you. Actually know you.”

“I’ll cave,” Virgil said, still holding a bit of a glare. “What do you have in mind?”

With the tap of his foot as the cue, Roman rose higher towards the balcony, revealing the magic carpet. “Care for a ride?” He held his hand out, but Virgil was clearly hesitant to take it. “Do you trust me?”

Virgil smiled softly, taking Roman’s hand and settling into the carpet. Roman kept an arm tightly around Virgil’s waist, for safety reasons of course. He obviously had no other motivation to embrace the feeling of his hand against Virgil’s exposed skin while the other snuggled up close to him.

“I can show you the world,” Roman sang softly, “shining, shimmering, splendid. Tell me, Princess-“ He winked as Virgil rolled his eyes. “-when did you last let your heart decide?”

He subtly pulled Virgil closer and waited a moment to see if there other were to protest this. He never did. “I can open your eyes. Take you wonder by wonder. Over, sideways, and under on a magic carpet ride.”

They flew over the marketplace but Virgil’s gaze was caught on the stars as the cool wind blew his hair away from his face. Roman’s heart melted at how lovely he was. “A whole new world,” he sang, “a new fantastic point of view. No one to tell us ‘no’ or where to go, or say we’re only dreaming.”

“A whole new world,” Virgil started, his voice was small and nervous but melodious nonetheless. “A dazzling place I never knew.” He took a shaky breath and pulled Roman’s arm tighter around his waist, leaving a blush on the faux prince’s face. “But now that I’m way up here, it’s crystal clear, that now I’m in a whole new world with you.”

“Now I'm in a whole new world with you!”

“Unbelievable sights,” Virgil sang, smiling and looking so carefree as if the fear of falling hadn’t occurred to him at all. He looked so happy and genuine that Roman almost had to wonder if Virgil were cursed too. “Indescribable feelings.” The prince smiled back at Roman with a look with too much wonder and adoration to be real. “Soaring, tumbling, freewheeling, through an endless diamond sky.” If Virgil were truly cursed, he’d be a lot more terrified and way too confused about all of this to be singing.

Roman let out a deep breath and smiled at his fake love. A side could certainly dream, couldn't he?

“A whole new world.”

Roman reached out to grab Virgil’s hand. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

“A hundred thousand things to see.”

“Hold your breath it gets better.”

Virgil gripped onto Roman’s hands, holding eye contact with him as best he could. “I’m like a shooting star, I’ve come so far.” He leaned in closer, his voice getting quieter as he pressed his forehead against Roman’s. “I can’t go back to where I used to be.”

“A whole new world.”

“Every turn a surprise.”

“With new horizons to pursue.”

“Every moment; Red-letter.”

They held onto each other as if nothing else mattered, moving in closer and closer as they sang. “I’ll chase them anywhere; there’s time to spare.” They pressed their foreheads together, noses brushing, as Roman let his hand rest against Virgil’s neck. “Let me share this whole new world with you.”

“A whole new world,” Roman sang, his voice dying down to a spoken whisper.

“A whole new world,” Virgil echoed, exhaling the words against Roman’s skin as they grew closer and closer.

“That’s where we’ll be.”

“A thrilling chase.”

“A wondrous place.” They had flown back to the castle balcony already, letting time pass them by. Roman helped Virgil down onto the safe ground as he stayed floating on the magic carpet.

They stood on opposite sides of the railing- Virgil in his rich, wealthy castle; Roman hovering above the poor and the ruin- both so close and so far as Roman kept his hands against Virgil’s neck and both of their foreheads stay resting against the other’s. “For you and me.” Their lips brushed together as Roman moved in closer, and closer, just about to finalize the moment.

“Virgil! Virgil, are you out there?”

Virgil pulled away quickly, panic in his eyes. “My father,” he said with a gasp. “You need to leave!”

“I’ll see you soon, My Prince,” said Roman, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s hand. “I’ll see you soon.” With a wink and a smile, he was gone into the night.

Now for step 4: Release the Genie.

Yeah getting there proved to have a bunch of mini steps along the way. Maybe make freeing the Genie step 5.

Okay, okay, Roman’s Full To-Do List was:

1) Become a prince

2) Storm into Agrabah

3) Win Virgil’s affections

4) Get caught by goons

a) Almost drown at the bottom of the ocean.

b) Get saved by Patton

c) Have Patton stolen by “Jafar”

d) Get banished from Agrabah

e) Get back to Agrabah

f) Fight Jafar

5) Release the Genie

6) Happy Ending to get the hell out of Aladdin

Now just to get past step 4F.

Roman wouldn’t admit it in his moment of horror, but having Deceit turn into a giant cobra was actually pretty funny on the Dragon Witch’s part. He’d have to compliment her after ripping out her spleen. That was a problem for another day, he decided as he trapped Deceit in the lamp.

“Ten thousand years in the cave of wonders ought to chill him out,” Patton teased, listening to the yelling coming from the lamp. He pulled his arm back and pitched the lamp as far away as possible. If he never saw it again, it would be too soon.

Roman tightened his grip on Virgil’s hands as they watched the lamp fly by. “I’m sorry for lying to you about being a prince.”

“It’s okay,” Virgil said, “I know why you did it. If it weren’t for that stupid law-”

“Hate to intrude, Kiddos, but... you do still have one last wish left.”

“Patton, what about your freedom?”

The genie sighed, forcing on a semi-genuine smile. “It’s only an eternity of servitude, but this... this is love, Ro. You’re not gonna find another guy like him in a million years.” He leaned in towards Roman’s ear and whispered, “Believe me, I’ve looked.”

“But-”

“Just say the words and you can be a prince again.”

Roman moved closer to Virgil, cupping the side of his face and planting a kiss to his forehead. “Virgil, I do love you, but I have to stop pretending to be what... I’m not. I have to do this.” He took the lamp in both hands. “Patton, I wish for your freedom.”

“One prince coming right up-” Patton froze, his voice softening and his eyes falling on Roman. “What?”

It wasn’t grand or filled with fireworks, but magically the genie’s cuffs fell off and he was finally free from his own lamp. He was... human. “I’m free,” Patton said. “I’m free! I’m free! I’m gonna see the world! I’m gonna- Thank you, Roman,” Patton said, pulling him into a big, weepy hug. “You’ll always be a prince to me.”

“Well, I think that’s certainly evidence enough.” The group turned to face Logan who stood in clothing that had more value than Roman’s entire net worth. “The only thing in the way is that law, after all.”

“Father?”

“Am I the sultan or am I the sultan?” Logan wore a smirk on his face as his gaze drifted from Virgil to Roman and vice versa. “From this moment forward, the heir may marry whomever he deems worthy.”

“Him,” Virgil declared, taking a running start into Roman’s arms. “I chose him.”

Roman smiled, cupping Virgil’s face and pulling him in towards a kiss. Their lips were centimeters apart when Patton pulled them- and Logan- into his arms and yelled, “GROUP HUG!”

“Perhaps we should give them a moment of privacy,” Logan suggested as the breath was squeezed from his lungs.

“Oh! Right!” Patton let go of the hug, letting Logan lead him back into the castle, but glancing over his shoulder to give Roman one last thumbs up.

Roman traced his fingers along Virgil’s jaw one last time, admiring his tanned skin. “Now, where were we?” he asked, separating Virgil’s lips as he leaned in for a kiss.

He happily woke up to the sound of jazz in New Orleans. One quick look in the mirror, he saw his skin had turned darker than it had been in Agrabah and he let out a sigh of relief. Well, at least he and the Dragon Witch had the same view on animated diversity!

Speaking of the Dragon Witch, she offered him a hand when she found him sitting on a street corner- Logan not far behind. “Enchante,” she said, pulling him up, “a tip of the hat from Dr. Facilier.”

“Finally owning up to your villainous nature, my wicked fiend?”

She laughed from her chest and just before they went into the alley, Roman got the first good look at her new form. She had red hair that hung just past her shoulders in waves and her eyes were unmistakably violet, but she still kept the same sharp facial features and broad shoulders that she always had. She handed Roman a business card as she whispered in his ear in as menacing a tone as she could muster, “Are you ready?”

He was not ready whatsoever and spent about 93 minutes screaming internally. His only wish was that he could have seen the witch perish. Virgil would have gladly let him have the experience in his place.

“Please- I! I just need a little more time!” The woman yelled. Demons grabbed at her shadow and she fell completely to the ground. Voodoo dolls and demons chanted angrily and hit drums around them as the woman pleaded for her life upon deaf ears. As she got pulled in her skin turned to scales and then stone until her physical body melded with the gravestone she was being pulled into leaving a stone dragon behind.

After turning human again, and getting their happy ending, Roman had to prepare for the worst. The Dragon Witch has spent a lot of time planning without him in Tangled. He’d have to think fast.

“Flower, gleam, and glow,” young Virgil sang as his mother brushed through his golden hair, “let your power shine. Make the clock reverse.” The witch’s scaly skin reverted back into human flesh. She’d have to be stealthy to stay human now. One backfired curse against Roman had taken that choice away from her. One stolen baby would give that choice back. “Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine.”

“I could get used to a view like this,” Roman said, looking over the kingdom. Everything was 3D now, computer animated and way more realistic. He loved all of it. “All right. I’m used to it.” He whipped around dramatically to face his confidants- a set of twins named Apollo and Jericho. “Boys, I want a castle.”

“You can get your castle, after we get the crown,” Apollo said, his voice deep and threatening. Apollo pulled Roman back by the collar. All right, let’s do this one last time...

It didn’t take long to get to the tower once he had to outrun the twins, the guards, and the horse. Damn the horse. Inside of the tower, however, was something eerily familiar about it all. He definitely knew who built this place.

That’s when it hit him. Literally.

He woke up strapped to a chair, tied down with blond hair. Which was a slight shock, actually... this was Virgil, wasn’t it?

“I don’t know who you are, or how you found me, or what you want to do with my hair!” a voice- Virgil’s voice- yelled from the shadows. Roman suddenly understood how Virgil had felt back in that prisoner tower in France.

“Why don’t we make a deal?” Roman said. “You let me out of your... hair... and I help you with whatever adventure your little heart desires.”

“I-” Virgil stood frozen, caught off guard for a moment as he glanced at Pascal. “...Deal.”

This Virgil was odd, definitely, but more familiar than all of the others. Roman began to think himself mad until they found themselves in a boat, floating in the middle of the sea beneath a sky of floating lights.

“All at once, everything is different-” Roman cupped a hand against Virgil’s cheek, seeing all of the love and vulnerability in his eyes. It was a lovely sight. “-now that I see you.”

They were so close to kissing until he saw them. Apollo and Jericho on a nearby shore. He shouldn’t have looked. He should have just let himself kiss Virgil. He shouldn’t be pulling away right now. He inhaled with a sharp breath, loathing the feeling of his own free will being taken from him as he began to row towards the shore.

“Ro...man?” Virgil asked. “Is everything alright?”

Roman shook his head, pulling himself back into reality. Back into... fiction. This was all fiction, and he had to remember that. “Yeah, yeah I just... Yeah. I just need to deal with something for a moment. I’ll be quick.”

He pulled up to the shore, hoping to deal with things amicably, grabbed the satchel, and headed to where the twins were. “Ah! Good to see you two!” Roman lied, watching carefully as Apollo sharpened a makeshift knife.

“Hear you’ve been holding out on us, Sanders,” Jericho said.

“What?” Roman said. “No, the- the crown is right here!” he said, holding the satchel up. “You can have it!”

“What’s more valuable, Sanders?” Apollo asked, rising as he and Jericho began to corner the prince. “The crown? Or the boy with the magical hair?”

“How- How do you?” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see moonlight reflecting against familiar green scales. She was between phases, but why? Roman didn’t have time to question any of the problems before him when suddenly a force hit his head and everything went black.

The most horrific dream he had was this one. It was one thing to know that your friends are mourning for you. It’s another to see the body they’re mourning over.

He wasn’t dead, exactly, but the overall sight looked more like a coma than a nap. The room was completely empty except for the ghost of Roman... and her. “Why are you here?” Roman asked, his voice deep and almost at a growl. “Haven’t you given me enough pain showing me this?”

The Dragon Witch said nothing, only carefully touching the scales on her arms and watching them with confusion. She poked and prodded higher up her arm, wincing with pain as she did so but never acknowledging Roman.

“Answer me!” Roman yelled, tears welling up in his eyes.

The Witch’s head snapped up and she met the trembling Prince’s eyes. He looked as pained and confused as the first time she had cursed him. Funny, how nostalgia always hits at the most inconvenient times. “Roman, don’t you get it? I can’t change the curse once it’s cast,” she said. “I can only alter... minuscule details.”

Almost on cue, Deceit shuffled into the room, fidgeting with his gloves and keeping his eyes glued to Roman’s sleeping face. “It was just a dream,” he muttered to himself. “It was just a dream.”

“Will he be alright?” Roman asked.

The Dragon Witch flicked her wrist towards Deceit and instantly he fell into a tired trance. The Dragon Witch mumbled something to him in a language that Roman had never heard before. Wordlessly, Deceit turned around and walked away. He was almost robotic. “Of course he’ll be alright,” the witch said, “there’s no reason for him not to be.”

“He won’t remember any of it?”

“Not one second.”

Roman let out a deep breath and slowly nodded. “As for the others...?”

The Dragon Witch shook her head, walking out of the room and seeming to pull Roman along with her. He passed through Logan like air and watched the Logical Side freeze where he stood and began to look around cautiously. “They weren’t there. God, Roman, how vicious must you think me to be in order to curse all of Thomas?”

“I have no idea if anything you just said was even remotely grammatically correct.”

“Fuck grammar,” said the Dragon Witch.

“Fair enough.” Roman saw Virgil come down the stairs from his bedroom, quickly diving into the kitchen and then running away. He looked like he had been crying. Or having a panic attack. Roman swallowed the lump in his throat. It was probably both. “How has Thomas been without me?”

“At a bit of a creative block, at first,” the Dragon Witch told him, glancing towards the two traits still quietly talking to (and comforting) each other in the corner, “you aren’t gone, Roman, just napping. The others, though? Mr. Morality over here has been a wreck.” A small cackle left her lips as Roman’s attention fell on the tired Patton.

“Don’t insult him,” Roman snapped. “Hurt me, torture me, rip all of my happiness away from me, but never insult them or I swear by Odin’s eyepatch I will make sure your death is one you cannot revive from.”

“Pinched a nerve, huh?” she asked, completely apathetic to Roman’s glare. “Fine, geez, whatever.” She snapped her fingers and Roman woke up back in Corona.

“It’s him!” a guard yelled.

Roman’s vision was blurry but he could see that he had been tied to a sailboat with the crown in hand. Guards were climbing onto the boat, untying Roman but making sure he didn’t escape. He had to follow the script.

He had to follow the script.

He had to...

He picked his head up in a moment of realization and they untied his hands. He didn’t have to do jackshit. Roman cracked his neck and shoulders, nudging guards away from him as he drew his arm back, holding the crown. “You want it?” he yelled, throwing the crown onto the land. “Go get it!”

He punched one the guards, knocking him off of his horse, and rode away towards the forest as quickly as possible. Halfway into the woods, he turned on a separate course away from the tower and dismounted the horse. He hid behind a boulder and watched palace guards follow a riderless horse. The horseless rider then ran as fast as his legs would take him until his pulse was pounding against his head and his throat was burning as he tried to take in air. He found the tower and stopped for a moment, letting his breathing even out as adrenaline coursed through his veins. He began to scale the tower.

“Let him go!” Roman announced, letting himself in through the tower window.

“Ah, our guest is here early, isn’t that nice, Sunflower?” the Dragon Witch cooed. Scales were running up the side of her neck and across her arms. “You shouldn’t have broken character,” she hissed, running her blade into his side. She ripped the blade out as quickly as she had inserted it and let Roman fall to the ground in pain. “I warned you,” she hummed, dropping the knife and leaving him there as she grabbed the chain that Virgil had been tied up against and tried to actually him away.

“Hmmph!” Virgil struggled against the pull, managing to remove the cloth from around his mouth. “Let me heal him!” he yelled.

The witch glanced to Roman with a raised eyebrow. “He’s not worth it, Darling. Just leave him to the rats.”

“No!” Virgil yelled. “If you take me now, I will spend the rest of my life struggling and fighting, but... if you let me heal him, I’ll go willingly and never go against anything you ask of me.”

“No,” the witch seethed.

Roman’s head was pounding and his breath began to leave him. He didn’t have the energy to get up.

“Then,” Virgil said quietly, Roman could see him slowly untying his hands, “you leave me no choice.” He grabbed the bloody dagger that lay next to Roman and brought it against the witch’s thigh. The witch screamed out in pain but clicked her fingers, “sinking down” back into the imagination. Roman knew exactly why she left; this was the end. There was nowhere else to go after here, and he was about to die. Again. Motherfucker.

The blade fell to the ground and Virgil stared in shock. He glanced over towards Roman and quickly rushed to the dying man’s side, freeing himself from his chains as he did so. “Roman, I... I’m so sorry,” he said, tears welling up in his eyes. “You never should have come here.”

“I can’t believe you stabbed that bitch,” Roman said through weak breaths. “That was... kinda hot.”

“Roman, you’re dying.”

Roman took in a sharp inhale, his muscles tensing around his lungs. “Perhaps... I am, but... without you, there’s no life worth living.”

“Roman,” Virgil breathed out, gently pressing his hand against Roman’s face.

“Just kiss me, Virgil. Please.”

“Roman...”

“Virgil,” Roman said hoarsely, placing his hand on Virgil’s. “Please.”

When their lips met it wasn’t warm or loving. It was sad and melancholic. It was an ending, but who was to say if it were happy? Roman took some relief in knowing that any of his suffering would fade away along with the man in front of him.

“Virgil,” Roman mumbled one more time, but he wasn’t in the tower anymore. He sat up, several roses falling from his chest. His skin was no longer perfect but uneven in tone and with brown freckles across his arms and hands. He looked more human than art and, for the first time, he was happy to admit that.

“I see that you’re awake,” Logan said, looking up from his Nook. He held a disinterested facade, but there was a softness to his tone and a smile that he couldn’t hide.

“How long was I out?”

Logan set down his Nook and let out a deep sigh. “About two weeks,” he said quietly. “I- We... We were all very concerned.”

“Two weeks?” A beat settled throughout the room. “Oh.”

“Is that...” Patton stood in the doorway hesitating only for a moment before running towards the bed and throwing himself onto Roman in a tearful hug. “You’re okay! You’re... ALIVE!”

“That I am,” Roman said reciprocating the hug. “I most certainly am.”

“L, what’s all the com-” Virgil’s jaw dropped and his eyes were already filling with tears. “-motion.”

“Virgil!” Roman said. He slowly maneuvered his way over to the other. “I... I’m so happy to see you.”

“I...I...” Tears fell from Virgil’s eyes and suddenly the two of them were in a tight embrace. Logan would have told you that Virgil had initiated the hug; Patton would have informed you that Roman had been ready to take Virgil into his arms from the moment he had stood up.

“We have a lot to talk about,” Roman mumbled into Virgil’s neck.

“I don’t care,” Virgil said. “Not right now. I need to know that this is real first.”

Roman tried to listen for Virgil’s heartbeat but his own was beating in his ears even louder. “Me too,” Roman said, pulling Virgil closer and inhaling the scent of lavender on his jacket. “Me too.”

“Let’s give them some privacy,” Patton whispered quietly, taking Logan’s arm and leaving the two behind.

“What happened to you?”

“I highly doubt you’d believe me.”

Virgil moved away from Roman to stare into his eyes. He had to make sure this wasn’t just a dream. “Try me.”

Roman let out a deep breath. “I was cursed by a Dragon Witch.”

“That sounds ridiculous.”

“I know, but-“

“I believe you.” Virgil took a seat in the bed and patted next to him. “Tell me about it. How’d you wake up? It’s not like anyone kissed you.” He was teasing but Roman couldn’t help the blush that came to his face.

“She... said that I needed to confess my feelings to someone. And then... made me do that a lot.”

“Pretty sure I’d end up resenting that person if I had to face him that much,” Virgil teased.

“Yeah,” Roman said with a forced laugh, relaxing against the mattress. “But I don’t. I just... fell harder only for him to not recognize me again.” He watched Virgil’s face but his own face was burning, giving away his bravado. “I still need to make sure this is real.”

“Roman, what are you talking about?”

Roman held Virgil’s hands tightly in one of his own, letting the other brush against Virgil’s cheek. “I was... blind before. Virgil, you’re... my anchor. I always thought you held me back, but you held keep my stable, grounded. You’re wonderful.” He leaned infinitesimally closer but left the Grand Canyon between their lips. “But I need to make sure this isn’t just another one of her tricks.”

“What are you asking?” Virgil asked in so hushed a whisper it barely left his throat.

Roman’s eyes went from Virgil’s lips to his eyes. “Can I kiss you, Virgil?”

Virgil tried to swallow but found that his mouth was horrifically dry. He gave a small nod and soon felt Roman’s lips on his own.

It wasn’t like the kisses before. It wasn’t smooth or warm. Virgil’s lips were chapped and neither of them moved out of fear or maybe something else. It was only a couple of seconds before Roman pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “If you don’t feel the same, then I’d hope we can pretend this didn’t happen.” He stood from the bed and began to walk away but felt a tug at the fabric of his shirt at the last minute.

“Roman, wait,” Virgil said. He quickly stood but with his terrible posture, he was a few inches shorter than the prince. He pulled Roman down by the neck and kissed him. It was messy and rough but it was human and genuine as he kissed back Roman savored every single moment of it.

When they pulled apart they were at a loss for air with their foreheads pressed together. “I may not be cursed, but,” Roman spoke softly, not bothering to open his eyes for fear that it may all wash away, “this certainly feels like a dream.”

“You’re such a sap,” Virgil said pulling him into another kiss. And then another. And a future with more and more kisses after that. It wasn’t an ending, but it was certainly happy, and that’s all Roman could have ever asked for.

#prinxiety #prinxiety fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides prinxiety #Sanders Sides #Disney AU #ts Roman #Roman Sanders #Ts Virgil #Virgil Sanders

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