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slothgiirl · 4 years

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Nothing’s gonna take you from my side (mc x noah fic)

15k. in which mc deals with the fallout of redfield/jane all while reconnecting with the boy they thought they’d lost forever. should be gender neutral but @ me if i made a mistake.

warning for mental illness.

happy spooky month. (i basically started playing choices again and that made me miss my boy noah marshall and here we are 48 hours later. pls dont let this flop

before.

You can't sleep with that tree outside your window. Still, out of the corner of your eye as you get ready to lie in bed awake until morning, you can still see Cody's dead body in the branches. And every single time it's a rush for the bathroom as bile rises in your throat.

It's five in the morning when you finally snap, grabbing the axe from your garage and sinking the blade into the tree trunk with a satisfying wack. You can't sleep. You're a newly minted adult but ever shadow in the night, in the dark, makes you jump.

You swing the axe again, with a closed mouth scream of animal desperation.

The precious few hours you are able to sleep are hardly enough: especially when shut eye equals nightmares for you. It's a mixture of Jane and the monster who turned out to be Jane in a goddamn tragedy and all the really fucked up things that didn't happen (everyone dying). You dream of the girl who was Jane. You dream of being stuck in the same way that Jane was, as you scream and scream and no one ever comes to help you and it's easy to see why your friend ended up as twisted, a poor version of herself, after being left alone to rot all those years.

And that makes you think of him.

You swing the axe even as the tears sting your eyes because it wasn't what everyone thought. Maybe. . .you can never find it in you to blame him for his actions, not when you understood-understand him so well. It was Jane. And in the end.

You leave the blade stuck in the tree trunk, not even halfway cut, as you cover your mouth with your hands and let out a grueling cry. It's an accumulation of living in fear for months: of the terror that seems to live in your mind even in the aftermath, even when the woods have been peaceful for months. Slumping into the ground, you hug your knees to your chest, still in pajamas, and let yourself cry. Again.

Sometimes it feels like crying is all you're capable of. It seems strange to keep on living when-it should've been you. He deserved to live, to be happy, to be more. . .

“Aw kid,” Cid says, walking up to you, cup of coffee in hand. “Let's get you inside.”

You nod shakily, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, before getting up, brushing the dirt off your legs.

Cid wraps an arm around you, giving you more care and attention then your parents have in years. No wonder you understood him so well. You should’ve reached out sooner. You should’ve never pulled away after Jane. . .

“Jesus kid, you’re freezing. How long have you been out here for?”

Shrugging, you utter, “I-I couldn’t sleep. . .the tree.” And fuck, even to your own ears you sound like a complete disaster. Where did the fire that had you charging into the woods for Andy go? You look at your reflection in the glass planes of the back door and see a teenager who looks more like a ghost then a real living person.

There’s dark shadows under your eyes that no amount of concealer could hide. You lips a harsh line across your mouth. And there was a haunted quality in your eyes that matched the photos of refugees fleeing war. It was PTSD as Lucas would say back when none of your friends could sleep through the night.

“I’ll call someone to get rid of the tree,” Cid offers, as he gently guides you up the stairs, “just try and get some sleep. How else are you gonna enjoy your last summer before college?”

You nod listlessly.

Before you can curl up in the guest bedroom, you stare out into the woods behind your house. But there’s no shadows congregating into a shadowy person. There’s no red eyes glowing from the treeline and you have to wonder if Ava’s right; if Noah really is. . .dead.

“Relax Lucas,” Stacy grins, “no one’s gonna know,” she says, taking her hand off the steering wheel to slap his arm.

Lucas rolls his eyes. “I didn’t even say anything.”

You’re sitting smushed in the back with Lily and Ava and Dan. Andy had physical therapy today, otherwise there would be even less space in the back seat. Though Stacey’s mom van is roomy enough.

“Then why do you look constipated,” Ava laughs, not looking up from her latest book on witchcraft.

“Ava!” Lily giggles besides you.

“Have you figured out what to do with Pritch’s house,” Lucas asks instead.

“Not really,” Ava admits, “it's a dope house but. ..” everyone sombers up, “I-I don’t really want to live that close to the woods, y’know.”

It’s lily that jolts you all out of the awkward mood. “Maybe you should’ve gone to a college out of state then,” she prods, “Didn’t you get into Washington University?”

Ava shrugs, “community college is way more fucking cheap though. We can’t all get a full ride to Berkeley.”

Lily blushes, but smiles proudly all the same.

You stare out the window as the woods thin out, as you drive further and further down the interstate and a bolt of panic enters your chest as you realize you’re leaving the woods behind. You wrap the jean jacket that isn’t yours more tightly around your chest. It’s summer. But there’s a chill in your bones that never seems to relent.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stacey teases, “Berkeley’s alright, but it’s no NYU.”

“Are you a big city girl now,” Ava teases her, finally shutting her book, “going to go meet your Mr. Big?”

“Since when do you watch sex in the city?”

“It’s Sex and the city actually,” Lucas corrects with a grin.

“We binged a couple of seasons at Andy’s house the other day. That Miranda lesbian episode was fucking gross though,” Ava adds.

“We’ve always lived in a small town,” Stacey explains, “and New York seems like a dream.”

“Pizza rat though,” Lily counters.

“Okay, you’ve got a point,” Stacey admits, “but it’ll be nice not being known as former Major Green’s daughter.”

“I thought you guys were working on it,” you speak up, slumped against the backseat.

“We are,” Stacey nods happily, “it’s not really my parents. It’s me too I guess. I hate when people act like that’s all I am. And I think it’ll be a great experience. I loved the campus when I visited.”

“I’m happy for you Stace,” Lucas says softly.

“Plus I’ll get to heckle Lucas around town!” Stacey says once again, taking her hand off the steering wheel to slap Lucas’ shoulder.

Lucas rolls his eyes. “You’re buying me McDonalds.”

“McDonalds sounds good,” Lily adds, “I could go for some nuggies before we hit up Ikea.”

“Nuggies,” Ava snorts as Stacey pulls up to the Mcdonalds across the street from Ikea.

“Do you not want nuggies,” Lily says arching a brow.

“Oh I want nuggies,” she replies shamelessly.

“What about you hon,” Stacey asks. There’s only one other car before you have to order but you’re not hungry. Your appetite seems to have vanished along with your sleep. Even getting rid of the tree hadn’t helped much. Currently you had taken to sleeping in the living room, but sleep was still hard to come by.

“I’m okay,” you answer, “maybe just a small coffee.”

Stacey glances over at Lucas, before fixing her concerned gaze on you. “You sure? We haven’t had anything to eat since we left.”

You wanted to say you hadn’t even had breakfast, but you don’t want her to get any more concerned then she already was. It had been six months and you were still fucked up. Meanwhile your friends had recovered. Maybe they weren’t at one hundred percent, but none of them were calling you crying at three in the morning. . .anymore. It was just you that couldn’t get over it.

And there was no one you could talk to.

They hadn’t been there at the end with him the way you had. They couldn’t understand. When you told them it was Jane and not Redfield, when you told them what Noah had sacrificed in the end, they couldn’t wrap their head around it. And they didn’t want to. They just wanted to move on.

But you couldn’t.

Some essential part of you was forever in the ruins, as if you’d never left that night at all.

And the only other person who could understand was there too.

Right?

He had to be.

The same way Jane had been.

It was a selfish wish, knowing how being tethered to the power could twist a person, but you couldn’t help it. It was Noah. If you were a better person, you’d wish he’d moved on like Jane, and maybe he had. Maybe that's why nothing had happened in the months since that night.

Dan slips his hand in yours, and squeezes.

You smile gently and try to focus on enjoying the day with your friends.

The woods seem strange without a monster lurking in the shadows.

You're not even that close: hadn't even stepped one foot in the woods since that night. When you'd emerged hysterically crying and covered in dirt, all banged up from Jane, uttering his name like a prayer for which no words exist and quickly been taken to the hospital, you were sure you'd never step foot in the woods again.

Andy told you days later that no one had been able to find the ruins after your friends. No one had recovered his body.

You swallow thickly, hands pressed into a fist at your sides. There might be nothing out there. But if there's any chance that he is-that he's alice in whatever shape or form, you can't live with yourself if you abandon him the same way you'd abandoned his sister.

Sure, you were kids. You hadn't known better with Jane. But you're 18 now. You won't repeat the same mistake twice.

“Noah,” you whisper, taking a step closer to the tree line on one of the roads into town. You couldn't be at home right now, not with the open house going on.

Nothing.

Not even the crack of leaves or a bird singing. Just eerie silence as though the power and woods were one and the same and without the monster lurking in the dark, the woods were less haunting: less magical.

“Noah,” you repeat, taking a step forward until your hand touches the bark of the nearest tree, still safely held in the daylight, “Noah, it's me. Are you out there?”

You sniffle as tears well up in your eyes because you don't know what to do if he's really gone. You barely knew what to do with him when he was alive, all the complicated feelings of love and loss between you made it too hard for you to think clearly when it came to him. You only knew you couldn't let him go. Not again.

Too bad.

He'd still. . .that night. . .

“I meant it,” you utter louder, “I'm not leaving you again Noah.” If he even remembered who he was. Jane hadn't always remembered. “Noah, please let me know you're still out there.” Your gaze flits about as you look around the woods hoping to see any sign of shadows pooling together or those burning red eyes.

But there's nothing.

You wrap your arms around your chest, lips pinched tightly because fuck maybe he really was gone and you should be happy he isn't a monster but it's Noah and you're selfish because you should hate him after what he'd done to Andy and the others and you but you can't and you just want him back but things are never going back to the way they were and maybe that's a good thing because before you hadn't spoken to Dan in years and you wouldn't have know where everyone was going to college but at least Noah was alive if not happy and-and-

-you're gasping for breath.

A panic attack.

The first time this happened, you hadn't known what to do. It had felt like dying, stuck in that chair unable to help your friends all over again. It had felt like a blow to the chest as Noah came to the cold hard realization that there wasn't much left of Jane in the monster.

It had been Dan who'd talked you through it. And you take deep breaths and try to calm down because you were going into the woods again.

Just not today.

Tires screech to a halt behind you as you try to compose yourself in the midst of tears, short choked breathes that leave you gasping, and you're always so fucking cold even in mid July. Your flannel and jean jacket do little to keep you warm.

“Hon,” Stacey calls out, running up next to you, before saying carefully, “what are you doing out here?”

“She's clearly not okay,” Connor sighs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, taking your other side. “Shit you're freezing.”

“I'm fine,” you reply tightly, voice cracking.

Stacey smiles sadly, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug, the kind of hug you've always wanted from your parents when they tell you everything's going to be alright and you actually believe them. “You're okay. They can't hurt you now.”

Connor looks back at his truck, emergency lights flashing, “we were going to get pizza, wanna come with us? It's family night.”

You hug Stacey right back, arms around her waist, chin on her shoulder, gazing out into the seemingly normal woods. “You guys do family night now?”

“We were going to make pizza,” Stacey mummers by your ear, “but we killed the yeast and the dough never rose.”

“So we're buying pizza now,” Connor adds with a laugh.

You nod, “if you think that's alright.”

“Of course it's alright,” Stacey responds right away, “you're always welcome at my house.”

Her words make you want to cry all over again. It's enough to tease the smallest of smiles out of your lips. “Sounds good.”

Her grip on you eases to match her brothers, one arm around your shoulder. You're flanked by the Green siblings: safe and sound.

They lead you back to Connor’s truck, gossiping about how Staceys moms still wondering if it's not too late for Stacey to major in economics and how leaving politics has actually made their family much better, but that might just be the family therapy they're all going to. “Mom also wanted to roadtrip to New York to drop Stacey off,” Connor grins, “s’ gonna be so embarrassing for you. Have your parents walk you to your first class.”

“Oh shut it you,” Stacey retorts, clicking her seat belt.

You glance back one last time at the woods and-

there, behind a dead tree, it's rotting husk is a bounty for all the decomposers and bugs that live in the woods, a pair of glowing blue eyes looking right at you. Your heart skips a beat as you place your hand on the window, whispering so softly, “Noah,” as Connor drives into town.

Neither sibling hears you.

“Are you sure you want to live here,” Andy says skeptically as Dan and Ava help you carry the boxes of things you'd decided to keep when you sold your old house. It had too many bad memories for you to sleep there. “It's-,”

Bound by the woods on three sides, the backyard merging with the woods of the small cottage from the 1930s, before the cookie cutter houses of the suburbs were built.

“It's got character,” Ava grins, tossing a box down in the hall. “Still can't believe your parents let you sell the house.”

“They really like Alaska,” you shrug. You weren't sure what part their research base was in. Were they even still in Alaska?

“I wish my parents let me move out already,” she rolls her eyes, “but no. If I'm staying for community college then I have to live with them.”

Andy sits on the couch, crutches resting on the wall next to him. “I still can't believe I have to repeat senior year.”

“At least we’re together,” Dan says shyly, taking care to put down the box he'd carried inside down and out of the way so no one will trip.

“And we don't have to worry about Redfield this time,” Ava adds.

Dan elbows her.

“What! I'm just saying!”

Andy rolls his eyes. “So you're back to being the scariest witch in town then?”

“Damn right I am,” Ava grins. “Check this out.” She sticks her hand out and even gets you to wander over to her. Ave glances at you all, making sure you're paying attention, before snapping her fingers.

Nothing happens.

“Um,” Andy's about to start.

Ava rolls her eyes, snapping her fingers once more.

This time, smoke wafts up from the space between her thumb and middle finger.

“Shit Ava,” Andy's eyes go wide. “Should we even be messing around with that again.”

“It's just magic,” Ava huffs.

You say nothing, wondering if Noah would show up now that you were closer to the woods. Closer to him.

He hadn't appeared since that day.

It was enough to make you wonder if you really were seeing things.

“Well whatever it was that,” Dan, swallows, “that power Pritch told you about. . .its still out there even if it's not. . .” he trails off as unsettled as Andy who had rapidly lost all color.

“No-no. It's gone,” Andy said, “right?”

“Ask them,” Ava nudges you with her arm, “you're the one that spends all your time staring at the woods.”

“I-ugh,” you stutter wondering what happened to leave you this much of a mess. You look in the mirror and wonder where the person who told off Cody and Britney for bullying your friends went.

“Ava,” Dan snaps. “leave them alone. Let's just-”

“Not talk about this,” Andy finishes.

“No one ever want to talk about it but it's right there,” Ava yells, pointing her hand out the window.

“I think it's gone dormant again,” you lie. “like before we found that place.”

“I hope so,” Andy mutters.

“I'll be fine here,” you reassure them. “I don't want to be afraid of the woods for the rest of my life.”

“Right,” Ava says with a pained smile. “Let's finish getting these boxes in so we can start watching what we do in the shadows.”

“Again,” Andy complains, “what's wrong with-”

“We're not watching spider-man again!” Dan groans.

“Spider-man is a trans icon,” Andy replies.

“The only acceptable spider-man is the 1st and 2nd movie with Tobey Mcguire,” Ava adds.

You giggle softly, “why can't we just watch both. It's not like we have school tomorrow.”

“Finally someone with a brain,” Dan smiles.

Noah tosses rocks into a lake, little pebbles he can't make skip.

You laugh, teasing him easily. “What a loser!” From your spot sitting on the lake edge.

He turns back towards you with a scowl that carries no real heat, “I’d like to see you do better.”

“You think I can't,” you retort easily, getting up and dusting the dirt and grass from your butt. You never did know when to back down from a challenge.

“I know you can't,” he grins.

“Asshole,” you bite back as he drops a few pebbles into your outstretched hand, warm from his touch, and doesn't that make your insides turn to mush.

“Takes one to know one.”

You take a pebble into your hand and flick your wrist.

It sinks right where it lands.

“Motherfucker,” you curse as Noah breaks out into laughter, his wide brown eyes dancing with glee as you pout.

“Don’t be a sore loser.”

“I didn’t say anything,” you wave off, “best two out of three.”

“No,” Noah snips back, “you lost.”

You roll your eyes, shoving him playfully. “Alright alright but I don’t even know how to swim so it’s not really my fault.” You look around at the lake. It’s a beautiful sight, the woods on the other side of the shore like something right out of a painting.

“You don’t know how to swim,” Noah says without missing a beat, ready to keep on teasing you.

You shrug, “it’s not like I had a pool in my backyard.”

His expression falls, “yeah well,” he fiddles with his beanie, “mom filled it up not long after. . .”

“I’m sorry,” you tell him, closing the distance between the two of you, and wrapping your arms around him in an easy hug because you knew that Noah could be weird about this sort of sudden affection.

“It’s fine.”

“Still.”

He brings his hand up to cup your cheek.

The gesture sends your heart beating like a hummingbird in your chest, the base of your throat burning with anticipation for something you’ve never let yourself think about because when had it ever been the right time for this. When had you ever had the time to think about the possibility you dared no name.

Noah’s brows furrow, “where are we?”

You frown, looking around without moving away from him. The feel of his hand against the skin of your cheek felt like the only thing anchoring you to this world. It made you feel real in a way that you’d stopped feeling like a part of the world ever since the terrors of your senior year had started. The shoreline looks beautiful as you gaze out at the lake and behind you there’s a small quaint town and you know this has something to do with Tom and Andy but you can’t remember what right now even as you bite your lip in thought.

Your gaze goes back to Noah, words dying on your parted lips when you meet his eyes. Gone are the warm brown irises that had given him the perfect puppy dog eyes as a child, able to slip out of trouble easily. Instead his eyes burn an electric blue because it’s not Noah anymore but the shadow monster and you flinch in fear, pulling away so fast you stumble, tripping over grass and then you’re falling into the lake.

You can’t swim.

You scream, arms flailing out trying desperately to catch yourself.

Noah-the monster-the monster that might be Noah, reaches out one shadowy limp, and then you’re underwater.

Plunged suddenly into ice water, you take a deep breath from the shock that fills your lungs with water and you kick your legs but they are stuck in something and the sunlights never seemed so far away.

You don’t want to drown.

You don’t want to die here.

“Noah,” you scream in the water. Because if it is Noah he’ll help you. He won’t let you die. He died to save you once after all and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about that day. You hadn’t wanted to die but you hadn’t wanted him to die either. You had just wanted him.

You had just wanted the nightmare to end.

Gasping, drenching in sweat, you jolt up from the desk you’d fallen asleep on. Everyone’s packing up their things and leaving. The class is over and you’re shaking, looking around wildly as if you can conjure Noah up by sheer force of will.

He’d been in your dream.

Just like Andy a year ago.

It was real.

Noah was still out there and you had to find him before he lost his mind alone in the awful forest that you still hated. The leaves rustling outside your windows at night was enough to keep you from leaving your bed. The way the trees cast shadows meant you threw the trash away in the morning.

Noah was still out there and he needed you.

You don’t realize you’re crying until your English 101 Professor walks up to you, still sitting even as the next set of students start filling in.

“Do you think you can stand up,” he asks, peering down through his glasses. He’s an older man, beard gone white, short, with a bit of a belly like most middle aged people. Clad in corduroy, a white shirt, and a wool vest, he’s the very picture of what you imagine a professor to look like. Nothing like your biology professor who’d walked into class with sandals and a big tie dye piece of fabric that almost worked as a dress.

You nod, grabbing your notebook and hastily shoving it into your backpack, ignoring the searching stares of other students.

You follow your professor out the door, still shaking, shoving the hair that was sticking to your forehead, damp with sweat, out of your face. Your eyes flit around, searching for a boy you know isn’t there but if Jane sensed your distress with Cody then maybe Noah will sense yours.

“Sorry,” your professor says bashfully, “I still haven’t learned names, but are you alright? You look really shaken.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak, all bundled up in a flannel, sweater, and jacket combo that helped ease the a/c that blasted the lecture room into arctic temperatures. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just had a nightmare.”

“Hope I wasn’t that bad,” the man chuckles, “it was only the first lecture.”

“No,” you try, “no, it’s not you. I’ve-I have a lot of nightmares. And I don’t get much sleep.”

“Because of the nightmares,” the man asks, and you wonder what you’re doing spilling your guts out to this stranger when you keep telling Andy that you’re good. You keep telling Dan that you’re getting enough sleep and no mom you were eating a big heart breakfast even though it was usually only cereal that turned to mush before you could finish it.

“Yeah,” you sigh, clutching onto the strap of your backpack. “I’ve just sort of been a mess. And,” your voice cracks, “it’s just me. For a while it was all of my friends but they got better and I feel like shit because I can’t move on and it’s been almost a year.” And there was the word vomit.

“I know it’s not much but,” your professor tries, “everyone heals at different lengths of time.”

“I think I’m late for class,” you suddenly realize, because you’d scheduled art history right after english so you wouldn’t have nothing to do on campus for over an hour.

“It’s just the first day,” he repeats.

“I should get going,” you tell him.

“Of course.”

“I’ll try not to fall asleep in your class.”

“How about you first try to get some sleep at home.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks, “yeah. No promises though.”

You’re painstakingly trying to make dinner that isn’t kraft mac and cheese or a frozen entree from trader joes. But you quickly learn that you don’t have a lot of the pantry staples. Like pepper, or bay leaves, and kraft mac and cheese was looking likelier by the minute. Who knew making pasta was so complicated.

At least you have salt for the pasta water, from the salt packets you’d collected over the course of the last month of take out. It was economical despite what Stacey had chastised you about the last time you’d facetimed. One takeout box worked as lunch and dinner.

Maybe Dan had a point.

You probably weren’t eating enough. All your jeans were a little loose now, but at least you were finally using the belt Ava had given you for your birthday so that you too could be “a bad bitch like me,” according to her.

At least the pasta sauce was easty, being from a can, all you had to do was heat it up.

There was enough daylight left, even as fall crept into the world, that you left the curtains open. It wasn’t like you were completely abandoned out here. You lived at the old house at the end of a street. And yeah, the woods surrounded your humble abode one three sides, but if you screamed, the neighbors would definitely hear.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be Cid running over to check on you anymore.

You finally finish making pasta, only to find you didn’t leave the pasta boiling for long enough. The noodles are still chewy but you power through it in the name of self care.

It’s not that bad. Really, for the first attempt. You’ll have to go grocery shopping for more than chips and lunchables though if you plan on cooking more in the future and fuck why does everything connect back to Noah.

Like a great student in the cast of the Lucas, you’ve already finished your assignments due tomorrow but only because yeah, Andy had sort of been right, living this close to the woods freaked you out at night but every single night, like tonight, you bundled yourself in an oversized sweater you might or might not have begged off Noah’s mom, and step into your backyard with a heavy duty flashlight because you know you saw him. He’s out there, and maybe Lucas and Lily had been right to leave far far away, but you couldn’t when Noah was stuck here forever.

He didn’t deserve that. He was just a messed up kid the same way you all were after having gone messing around in those ruins as kids.

You step into the chilly air in dollar tree flip flops that you’d bought when you’d all gone to drop Tom off at his new job by his university, the local one that Tom had sort of always wanted to go to because unlike you, he’d thought about college since junior year instead of waiting for the last quarter of high school to panic. Your feet still get dirt on them, but not as much as if you went out barefoot.

“Noah,” you utter as loud as you dare in the quiet of the evening.

You didn't fancy becoming the local neighborhood crazy lady though you were on your way there.

Maybe it could be you and Ava as the village witches.

Holding the flashlight loosely, the same one Noah had taken into the woods when you’d both gone to save Dan, you cry out, feeling more sure of yourself by the minute, “Noah, are you out there? I think I saw you but considering how many police officers thought I must've seen things back in-well that night, I could have just imagined you. But I didn't, did I?” You sigh, peering out into the dark. “Do you remember me Noah? I'm your friend and-I just want to know you're there. I miss you Noah.”

Nothing peers back at you.

Last year, you'd feared seeing something looking back at you from the trees. Now, you wish there was a monster lurking about. Your monster.

Your life had officially gone from an Ari Aster horror movie to a Guillermo Del Toro movie. But given the last months, you weren't surprised.

You bite your lip, taking one last look around the yard before turning back to go to bed. “Goodnight Noah.”

Even Ava would be concerned if she knew you were purposely trying to get the shadow monster creature that Noah now was to come. She was firmly on the Noah is a SOB club. Which you might have been in if you hadn't seen Noah in the last moments of his life.

If he hadn't ultimately saved both you and Jane. In the end.

If if if. Your entire life now centered around what ifs.

You kick the kitchen counters in frustration. “Fuck,” you yell, wishing you could fix things: feeling helpless and alone and this would probably be another night tossing and turning until sunrise.

The pan of pasta you'd made earlier clatter to the floor, tomato sauce spilling like blood on the tile floor.

You scream, the ice in your veins thawing for the first time in months only to give way to the familiar terror of knowing something was in here with you. Something was in your kitchen.

You turn, bracing yourself for disappointment.

A figure coalesces from the shadows in the middle of your kitchen--you'd walked right by it without out noticing--it's eerie blue eyes glittering like fireflies in the encroaching darkness of the twilight hours. It casts its shadow across the entire house, blotting out the lamplight from the hallway, from the patio lights.

Noah.

You don't think twice, because it's Noah. Doesn't matter what shape or form he takes, you'd know this boy anywhere. Maybe it was Jane or running into the woods alone together that had bonded you until you couldn't even accept the idea he might be gone when every fiber of your being knew he wasn't, but you know it's him.

You reach out towards the shadows, taking a step forward, “Noah,” you whisper gently, awed by the fact he was finally here. “I've missed you. I-I was scared I wouldn't see you again. That you didn't want to see me.”

The creature that is and isn't Noah tilts its head, and you wonder if he remembers you at all.

You take another step forward, full in the shadows reach, “Do you remember me Noah? I'm your. . .” Friends wasn't enough to cover the ocean currents of emotions that swept through you when it came to Noah. “You're Noah. And I promised I wouldn't leave you again and I mean to keep my promise.”

Your outstretched hand hovers between you, putting the ball firmly in his court. You're close enough where you could just touch him, but you wait.

Finally, after holding your breath and listening to blood rush in your ears, Noah reaches out with his own hand-like shadow brushing like a cool breeze against your hand.

“Sss s-stay.”

You nod quickly, a smile forming in your lips, tears of joy in your eyes forming rivers down your cheeks. “I will. You don't have to be alone anymore Noah. Not ever.”

during.

Your painstakingly cut out all the different groceries on the flyers as well as adding in all the index cards of additional groceries that weren't on the flyers instead of finishing your calculus homework. You couldn't wait until you were done with math for life.

It was nice to sit on the floor if a little awkward as Noah hovered about. Sometimes it was a lot like talking to yourself.

“-So my english teacher, professor I mean, put me in touch with a company to do their social media since I'm good at english or whatever. You know, the one I told you saw me wake up from a nightmare. Which is nice since I could use a big girl job. I sent my very sparse resume this morning so I'm just waiting to hear back from them.” You start spreading out each card on the floor before curling up on the sofa.

“Okay Noah,” you gesture with a laugh because really what was your life that you were letting Noah who didn't even have a body decide your grocery list for the week. “Remember we want a pile.” You'd dubbed this monster motor skills practice much to Noah's annoyance.

His eyes flicker red and you can guess the look he's giving you.

“Oh shut up,” you laugh easily, “I have to have my fun somehow. We don't all get to knock food off the counter when you don't like it.” He didn't even eat and yet somehow your cooking skills were still offensive to him.

He laughs in an approximation of leaves rustling in the wind: leaves crunching under boots as you walked through the woods. Then, Noah finally starts grasping at the bits of paper in creative ways. Sometimes he conjures up a gust of wind which has vastly improved from blowing everything to just getting the right bit of paper onto the couch by your side. Occasionally he'll grasp at the paper which is a toss up if it'll actually work. Then there the good old vanishing and reappearing which is the most taxing but fun to watch.

“I see you think we have that adult money,” you grown as he goes for the wagyu beef. “I'm going to have to stop letting you watch worth it when I'm in class.”

Noah grumbles, before sending a pillow your way.

Another headshot.

“Don't be a dick.”

“Sss o rry,” Noah says, not meaning it even a tiny bit.

You dissolve into laughter because honestly what was your life that this was how you spent your days. With Noah. With your monster.

It takes another hour but you finally have your list. “I'm not making lasagna. Baked ziti is easier.”

Noah sends a burst of wind your way.

“Shut up I’m not lazy. Cooking is just so long! You have to cut all these things and lasagna means boiling so many noodles without tearing them and I always feel like I'm wasting salt by seasoning the water.” You ramble on as you copy down the homework answers for your math work from Slader.

“Las yyya.”

“Ziti,” you counter, refusing to budge. “Maybe art history could be my major but I think I like the writing part of english the most, but I wouldn't want to be an english teacher.”

“Lasss a ya.”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes, “I won't change the subject but the answer’s still ziti.”

If he could, you imagine Noah would roll his eyes as he settles down on the couch in front of you. You sitting criss cross applesauce on the couch with your laptop and notebook.

Noah reaches his hand out and you no longer flinch at the cool touch of shadow that obscure everything. Like a black void, not cold or warm. His touch is the closest thing to warmth you've felt since that night and maybe something inside of you was permanently broken if you couldn't get warm.

His hand against yours, hovering in the air because he wasn't corporal enough to hold your hand and fuck your heart aches at the thought that this is as good as it gets. That your growing pile of research into folklore and the occult that you hid from Ava wouldn't fix this. That you couldn't bring Noah back to. . .back to himself.

Someone knocks on the door.

It must be Dan.

Noah rises like the moon in the night sky, smothering out the light pouring in from the windows, eyes flashing red.

You roll your eyes. Men. “It's just Dan. He's a friend. Your friend too. Remember I told you about our friends?”

Noah tilts his head. “fr iendssss?”

“Yeah. Friends,” you concur, tucking your hair behind your ears as you close your computer. “Now go. I'll be back tonight.”

“Noah ahhh lone.”

You shake your head having gone through this a hundred times before. “Don't be so melodramatic Noah. I'm going to the grocery store and mooching off Dan's car, ‘s not like I'm going to the moon.”

Within the span of a blink, he's gone.

You open the door to Dan’s cheery face. “So High school still sucks. I should've done online homeschool.”

“Well don't tell Ava that. She'll never let you live it down,” you comment.

Dan shrugs. “It's nice having Andy though. And you two.”

“Ah yes, us,” you tease, “the village weirdos.”

“It's good to see you laughing again,” Dan comments without judgement. “You looked rough all summer.”

You bite your lip, thinking his words over. “Yeah. It’s. . .Its nice to feel like a real living person again.”

“Did you go to therapy like Stacey said,” Dan asks.

You shake your head. “I stopped looking back.” Which was almost the whole truth. You'd stopped looking back because Noah was here with you now.

Deciding to change the subject because you hated lying to your friend, you ask, “did Ava say what our halloween plans are this year?”

Dan nods, letting it go, “Rocky Horror Picture Show plus lots of booze. Her words, not mine.”

“Andy shot down the cemetery idea?”

“Tom was the winning argument,” Dan confesses. “Called getting drunk at the cemetery too pedestrian.”

You laugh so hard your shoulders shake. “Fucking Tom, man. Yeah I wasn't looking forward to sneaking into a cemetery either.” You hated the idea of Noah having a gravestone when he was still alive and kicking. Your major annoyance of a roommate.

“Thank god for theater then,” Dan says with a smile as you pull into town.

It's springtime in your dream. The flowers are brighter and more fragrant than any wildflower bloom you'd seen with your real walking eyes. Even as the rain pours gently in a scene that would never exist in the same perfection in real life.

You're in the same opening in the woods that you'd found Dan in. A place you hadn't ventured since.

Noah sits, back against a tree truck, as close to flesh and blood as he could get nowadays.

Without hesitation, you run to him, “Noah,” you cry out in joy.

His disarmingly warm brown eyes meet yours, brimming with the same joy you feel bubbling up from the tips of your toes all the way to your lips where you're smiling so hard it hurts. “Sup.”

You giggle, sitting down next to him, “I see you finally learned to talk.”

He rolls his eyes, before he wraps his arms around you and hugs you against his chest. “Is this real? Or just a dream.”

“Funny,” you whisper back softly, “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

You're missing him the moment he lets you go, pulling back. His shoulder still resting against yours as if you're two trees leaning against each other for support, too intertwined to separate now.

Noah studies you carefully, without any shame, with his own features for once. He looks at you with a kind of heart wrenching earnestness that you can't bear to see for this long without reaching for him but you don't dare.

You look away, the hollow of your mouth filling with emotion. You don't know what to do with it.

You hug your knees to your chest, lapsing into silence.

He brings his hand up to your cheek, causing you to wordlessly lean into his touch, a bone deep need that would send you into his arms even knowing that he'd led you and all your friends into a trap. Even then, you'd still follow him down to the ruins.

“I'm sorry,” he finally manages, his hand cool against your skin like his shadow form. And for once, in this dream, you're not shivering with cold.

“If you had told me,” you utter gently, “about Jane, I would've helped you.”

“Well I know that now,” Noah states bitterly, his thumb caressing your hallowed cheek. It seemed like months of barely eating had taken their toll on you after all. And while you were now making the effort to eat, you still weren't at your natural weight.

You smile tightly, wishing like you knew he was, that things had gone different somewhere along the line: that you had more than just dreams and a shadow. You wish you had the boy you missed even if he was a dick sometimes. You wish you could act on the feelings that had only grown even with Noah in his current state.

“Where did your chipmunk cheeks go,” he suddenly teases, steering the conversation away from becoming a sob fest on your end. Maybe his too. You weren't sure.

You scowl, but don't pull out of his hold, feelings incredibly relaxed with him. “Don't-”

He smiles a shit eating grin, mischief twinkling in his chestnut eyes, “is it because you can't cook?”

“You're such a dick,” you utter with a disbelieving laugh, even as you shove his shoulder roughly, breaking whatever heavy tension had weld up between the two of you.

“Oh and you're a fucking angel now are you,” he retorts.

“Well excuse me for forgetting which jar of white stuff was the sugar and which was the salt! I was just trying to be cute!”

Noah doesn't relent, “and which was the jar of coke.”

You roll your eyes. “You've got to ratatouille me if we're ever going to get anywhere in the kitchen.”

“God I love that movie,” Noah says with a fond smile on his face that softens his entire features up. When he smiles like that, he's heartbreakingly handsome that you can't look away, caught in his gravitational pull and fuck you don't stand a chance.

“Me too.” You agree. “We should watch it tomorrow.”

“Deal,” Noah says, puffing up his chest and sitting up straight as he holds his hand out.

You shake on it, before you both burst out laughing.

For the first time in months, you have to force yourself to wake up.

You're making pancakes for lunch. Nothing fancy, a box mix much too Noah's annoyance. You were in the mood for them and you had a mix so it was a total no brainer.

Noah's in the woods somewhere. He's yet to drag you in too deep, having quickly realized that you were still fucked up about venturing into the woods even with the biggest baddest monster around as your best friend. You can sense him out there even from your downsized house which was homier than your actual house ever was.

It's been over a year.

You think you're making a lot of progress.

You sleep through the night. You turn the lights off. And you don't flinch at the sound of random large noises.

Lucas even talked about visiting for the summer.

Progress.

It's a saturday morning and you only have an hour or two of work to get through, mostly email correspondence. Working from home was unexpected, but it saved you from dealing with customers. You got enough horror stories from your friends. You've got most of the day to spend with Noah and you're starting to feel like you should take him up on a walk through the woods.

Someone knocks on your door.

You aren't expecting anyone.

You swallow, reminding yourself that nothing was haunting you now. There was no monster waiting to kill you anymore. And monsters don't knock.

They knock again.

You brace yourself, before peering though the peephole.

It was just Tom and someone you'd never met before. Just Tom.

You open the door. “Hey Tom,” you say friendly enough, remembering to smile and act like a real human being instead of the heavily traumatized teenager you still were.

His own face is a grim mirror image of yours only a few months ago. All dead eyes and hallowed out. “I,” he looks at the friend he's brought along, “We have a problem. Like the one that happened here.”

Your stomach drops and you can only think Noah, as the ice in your veins ratchets up and you feel frozen in place.

Tom continues on, caught up in his own terror, “I already texted the others. I-I didn't know who else to ask.”

You feel yourself nod in some strange out of body experience which finds you sitting on your sofa.

“I smell something burning,” Tom's friend asks, clearing wondering if you're going to get up, but that seems like an impossible task as you think and think yourself into a black hole of misery.

What now.

Someone must've turned off the pancakes at some point you think as your friends still in town fill your house even as you sit on your sofa, a little ball of self amplifying panic that fills your chest and you're so so cold. It's summer again. A hot 89 degrees Fahrenheit and you're wearing a hoodie that's long lost Noah's scent.

You pull the sleeves down over your hands as Dan takes a seat next to you.

Ava has a thick three inch black binder of occult lore ready to go even as Andy jokes about Ava having finally achieved her lifelong dream.

It doesn't take long for the smiles to fade as Tom’s friend goes over their situation and yeah. . .it sounds like a monster. Like Jane. Like Noah.

A monster in a lake.

It made sense.

What was a forest without something lurking among the trees. What was a lake without something hidden in its depths.

“I can't swim,” you utter the same words you'd told Noah months ago. It hadn't been a dream then anymore than your usual nights were. The only time that you and Noah saw each other as close to normal as possible.

You'd missed the quirk of his mouth as he laughed, the corners of his eyes all scrunched up.

Tom forces a smile for your benefit. “When we get rid of this thing you guys should come over for a swim.”

“Hell yeah,” Andy chimes in, patting your knee, “I can teach you to swim.”

You shake your head. “That's not what I meant. I-,” you glance at all the faces staring at you, waiting. You take a deep breath, your heartbeat slowing down as you sense Noah draw near. You hug your arms to your chest, always cold. “I had a dream about a lake, a couple months ago. I drowned. . .something drowned me.”

Dan inhales sharply, staring intently at his shoes.

“You think it's got something to do with the power,” Andy asks out loud.

“It has to be connected dude,” Tom says with a nod. “If they're sensing it from here.”

“It is only on the other side of the woods,” Ava points out, looking over at you with a frown.

Noah's inpatient. You can sense him pacing around the tree line behind your house. Your anxiety must’ve worried him.

You make the tough call. “Guys,” you stand up, moving towards the back door. “I have something to show you.”

They follow you out without a thought, everyone reeling from their own trauma as Ava and Tom bounce ideas off each other. Toms friend. . .you hadn't caught a name, looks just as shaken as you used to feel every day.

You force yourself to look at the trees. “Noah,” you reach a hand out, “it's okay. They're friends. You can come out.”

Ava's face immediately tenses, shooting you a dark look that means you are definitely having amping talk with her later. Right, she was part of club Noah was a rat faced liar.

Tree branches rustle and you smile as you spot a cluster of shadows in the split second before they form a humanoid body.

“Oh jeez,” Andy says painfully, wincing as Noah emerges into your backyard, eyes a sparkling blue of a lightning bolt.

You draw your hand back to your chest, imagine the way he'd held it in the dream, and that he couldn't in life.

“Friend ss!”

Dan jumps back a good two feet. Tom's gaze flits between you and Noah, before deciding to focus on Noah.

His friend utters, “is-are we safe?”

“Yeah Noah,” you reply ignoring her, “they're friends. They have their own not so friendly scooby doo monster they need help with. Remember Tom.”

Noah nods, “bass ket ball….Andy!”

“I'm sorry,” Ava cuts in sharply, glaring at you. “How long has this been going on for exactly?”

Noah looks at you, and you don't know if it's sheepish or if it's, you want me to get rid of them, so you cut in. “It doesn't matter. This,” you say, waving at Noah, “is help isn't it?”

“She has a point,” Tom utters with a shrug.

“Sssss orry Ava,” Noah utters loud enough to scare off the birds that had been standing on the utility pole.

Ava blinks, clearly thrown for a loop. And then decides to let it go for now, “Fine, fine but don't blame me when the shadow monster kills us all.”

“Which shadow monster,” Dan points out because now there were two. But one was Noah and he'd never hurt anyone. You knew that for a fact the same way you knew that Noah would capitulate to playing fear factor tea party even though he found worms disgusting as a kid.

“We have the worst luck,” Andy groans.

Tom's friend shrugs, “I'll take all the help I can get.”

You look back over at Noah, who's at least trying, by shrinking himself down to almost human sized. “Behave.” You say teasingly, wagging a finger and everything.

Noah's eyes flash red which sends them all a step back. “Yessss mom,” he croaks back in the most teenage angst tone of voice that has you thinking you might just lift the my chemical romance ban for the week.

“You're such a dick,” you snip back with a laugh. You catch Andy's gaze, his expression funny as he looks at you, but says nothing.

Ava rounds on you as soon as Noah and the others are gone. You can sense him getting further and further away and your gut turns because what if he never comes back. “When the hell were you going to tell us about that thing!”

“It's Noah,” you protest with a whine.

Andy scowls angrily, “that's not Noah. And even if it was he tried to kill us, or don't you remember?”

You flinch because yeah. There wasn't exactly much you could say on that front.

“He was trying to help Jane,” you speak up, trying anyway.

“Ugh,” Ava groans, punching her nose bridge, “that was never Jane and it's not Noah. It's a monster. Get that through your head.”

You curl up into yourself.

“Guys,” Dan tries to speak up, but Ava is on a roll.

“It could have killed you,” she shouts, voice breaking.

“Noah wouldn't-” you protest, trying to get them to understand, but your limbs are heavy. Your cold and all you want to do is curl up in bed until he gets back.

“Noah tried to kill us,” Andy reiterates.

Which has you back to square one, “because he was trying to save Jane! He didn't know she was going to kill us and it doesn't matter because he died for me in the end,” you snap back just as pissed off.

“It wasn't Jane,” Ava says waving her arms aggressively.

“How else would she have known about the whistle?”

“Because Noah told Redfield!”

You shake your head. “You were there. You saw her cross out Redfield,” you tell the three of them. “And I was there at the end. Noah chose to die so Jane could finally be free. He died so I got to leave that place.” A violent shiver runs down your spine.

Andy draws back. You hadn't said a word of what transpired after you were left alone with the Marshall twins, it had seemed to be a private and intimate matter.

“So yeah,” you finish, “maybe he did lure us down there, but he also died to keep any of us from dying. You don't have to forgive him but he's lord fucking voldemort or sauron.”

Dan looks at you with pity.

You all sit down in an angry cloud of silence that buzzes and pricks at your thoughts. This was exactly why you hadn't told them.

“At least you finally found your spunk again,” Ava offers after a few minutes.

You ignore her.

She rolls her eyes, looking through her supernatural research.

“How long,” Dan ventures to ask.

The others are listening. They don't look at you but they straighten up on the couch.

For once you're glad not everyone is here. Stacey was relentless and Lucas never would never stop going at it even when he'd made his point. Lily might understand, but she'd still be hurt.

“Since last fall,” you admit.

Dan nods as though he had guessed as much, “when you started getting better.”

You nod. “Noah doesn't let me eat frozen meals or takeout all week.”

“Oh fuck,” Ava swears, “it really is Noah.”

You pull the fleece blanket that's usually somewhere in the living room over your shoulders to try and warm up, a useless exercise, you knew that by now but it didn't stop you. Not when your joints hurt from the cold. You couldn't wait until Noah got back.

“You know it's 93 degrees out right,” Andy says lightly.

“Yeah,” you shrug shamelessly, “I'm freezing though.”

Ava tilts her head in thought.

“Yeah, I'll say,” Andy replies, “you're not even sweating in this heat.”

“He's-he's never hurt you, not even by accident,” Dan asks gently.

“No-god no,” you answer honestly. “He's-well he's got okay control now. He did ruin a couple light bulbs but he's. . .he’s never forgotten he's Noah so no he wouldn't hurt me.”

“I hope for your sake you're right,” Andy mutters darkly. “You're the one playing house with a shadow monster.”

You slump into the couch as your cheeks burn. You can't make yourself look at any of them because Andy's words hit closer to home then you would like.

This was probably as good as it was going to get for you and Noah. There was no first kiss, no holding hands or. . .there was just the hours you slept in bed and your own monster who kept you cool if not warm.

And even with that realization, you'd still choose him.

Wasn't that what love is?

after.

“I can't believe you went on a dumb ghost adventure without me and unlocked a whole new skill,” you complain while sipping on your match latte that you'd bought that little electric thing for specifically.

Noah does jazz hands with a deadpan expression on his face that makes the action even more surreal, now semi transparent and glowing a ghostly blue but at least looking like himself.

You'd both been binge watching danny phantom for ideas.

You were coming up on the second year of community college and it was time to think about transferring. . .to the nearest university because Noah was pretty much bound to these woods. And there was no way in hell you were leaving him. So there was one choice.

This morning you really only had to select your next fall semester classes. But first, spotify. You needed some jams to get you through the morning.

“At least there’s something to be said for being a ghost monster thing,” Noah shrugs, sitting down on the floor, attempting to turn the page on a book you’d left open last night, too exhausted to clean up. His hand passes right through the pages.

“Noah,” you complain weakly because boy oh boy did this boy say the saddest things sometimes and it sucked you couldn’t actually hug him because you had the feeling that your words didn’t always stick. It was clear that Noah didn’t always believe you when you said your plethora of comforting words in place of hugging him until he realized just how much he meant to you.

He looks up at you from the floor with an easy smile. “Yeah?”

And you roll your eyes. Joking about it was good. Your therapist had said it wouldn’t always be as bad as it had been that first week when you’d been practically catatonic in the hospital. “How does tame impala sound,” you ask him because manners. It’s not like he could change the music, and you never wanted him to feel left out just because he wasn’t solid enough to affect the material world.

“I’m not listening to elephant for two hours.”

“Hey,” you yelp, “sometimes I listen to let it happen.”

He sneers, “still not listening to the same two songs on replay.”

“Who listens to an entire album all the way through,” you complain. “Fine, what do you want to listen to? And it can’t be angsty. I want to have a nice morning.”

“Oh come one,” Noah laughs, “Evanescence is unmatched.”

You scrunch your mouth in thought even as you bob your head in agreement. “It does have to be good to be meme worthy. But also, like what emo preteen didn’t have a big fat crush on Amy Lee.”

“I remember you being obsessed with daredevil,” Noah reminisces.

“Hey,” you point out, looking up from the list of classes, “I was obsessed with elektra. Get your facts straight.”

Noah laughs, floating up to sit by you on the couch because he might look like he used too but he was still more ghost than living breathing person, “like that makes it better.”

You smile nostalgically, your knees bouncing with delight as you abandoned the pretense of school to talk with Noah: an easy choice. “You remember when me and Jane would pretend to be elektra and catwoman?”

He snorts, shaking his head with amusement, hands resting on his knees even as he leans in closer to you, “I remember you two would chase me around the house with a stick.”

“It was a knife man,” you say between laughs, “you’ve got to use,” you raise your hands to mimic spongebob, creating a rainbow shape, “you’re imagination.”

He brushes strands of auburn hair from his eyes, and the action strikes a chord in your heart that makes you wish more than anything you could reach out and touch him.

But he’s intangible.

You shove that thought down, focusing instead of enjoying this moment with him. “How about Florence and the Machine?”

“Why are you always shooting down my ideas,” Noah huffs, smiling too softly as he gazes at you to truly be hurt or annoyed.

“You made us listen to Nickelback last time!”

He shrugs shamelessly, “Nickelback is unmatched performance art. And I stand by that statement.”

You shake your head, wracked with laughter until you feel pinpricks of tears in your eyes because this boy! It always came back to Noah and how easily he was able to tease a lightness out of you that you thought you’d lost forever after the night of the school dance.

“Gorillaz?”

He hums in thought, “Demon days.”

You scroll through spotify easily enough. That album was among your top played.

You keep the volume low because you are a certified adult and it's morning and you don’t want a racket this early in the morning. Well, noon, but that was early for you. Okay, so you were only sort of an adult, but you could make pasta without burning anything so baby steps.

“Hey,” Noah asks gently.

You look up, only to find him having shifted closer to you. If Noah could breathe, you’d no doubt be able to feel the warmth of his breath, but you’ll settle for his soothing presence that takes the sting from your perpetual chill. He’s leaning forward and his hand hovers above the skin of your cheek and you don’t dare to lean into his touch no matter how much you yearn to feel the touch of his skin that you know you won’t get because he’s not tangible.

So you lock eyes with him, holding your breath, gut clenching in anticipation.

Noah parts his lips as if to speak, but utters nothing. He closes his mouth again, letting the silence press on.

It might all be in your head, but you swear you can feel the warmth of his hand against your skin. His thumb rubs circles you can’t feel against your cheek.

He leans forward, his forehead resting against yours. Your eyes flutter shut, a sigh escaping your lips at the close contact. There’s a deep well of longing for more than can ever be possible between you and Noah at the base of your throat.

It’s easy to forget, but Noah’s dead.

He died and he’s here but not in the same way you’re part of this world.

A breeze passes over the swell of your mouth, and you slowly open your eyes, heart lodged in your throat.

Noah’s shifted his hold down to your jaw, sitting up on his knees as he leans towards you like a sunflower grows towards the sun, his thumb brushing over your mouth. And you wish more than anything that you could kiss him.

It’s always strange to look into his eyes, expecting a soft hazelnut hue, and seeing an inhuman vibrant blue of an electrical shortage.

“I’m glad it's you,” Noah whispers softly, his voice as gentle as a summer breeze.

It’s enough to break your heart all over again. “I’m just happy you’re here,” you say, painfully aware of the tears forming in your eyes. He was the choice you made over and over again because you’d take whatever Noah had to offer.

“If-,” he utters carefully, “if I could, I would kiss you right now.”

“I’d let you.”

His eyes reflect the same heart wrenching pain of knowing that anything more between you two just wasn’t in the cards.

You summoned the courage to lift your hand to cup his jaw, mindful to hover just over the space where his body should be, guided by the spectral blue outline. There’s nothing but air under your fingers.

Noah, forever out of your reach.

There’s a reason you try not to think about this situation too hard.

There’s no happy ending to be found here.

One second, Noah’s intertwined with you.

Within the span of a blink, he’s gone.

Disappeared.

Right, he’s a ghost, he can do that.

You walk through a trail behind your house. The suns still high in the sky and the anxiety is manageable with Noah goofing off along with you as you complain about having to take biology as a english major and the fact no one in your group for political science did any work but you and this international student from Malaysia which you couldn’t point to if someone held a gun to your head. The dumb american sterotype held true for you when it came to geography.

The woods don’t seem as menacing anymore.

“Malaysia’s in southeast asia,” Noah offers.

“How do you know that?”

Noah shrugs, “I wanted to travel. Go anywhere but Westchester.”

You frown. He’d never get to leave now. “Really? I just wanted to go to disney world,” you reply because it was true and you knew it would make him laugh.

He snorts, shaking his head, “you’re so basic.”

“Shut up!” You cry out, smiling easily. “My parents had a conference in disneyworld one year. And after that Disney would send us vacation information and videos back when VHS and DVDs were a thing. It just seemed. . .I know it's a tourist trap but everyone seemed really happy and I’d wanted the videos a lot on the weekends.” You admit, looking down at your sneakers. It seems silly when Noah knows what your family is like, what your perpetually absent parents are like, but you still feel a sense of shame at admitting that your parents never prioritized you.

They were more than happy to have you spend the night with Noah and Jane if that meant not having to take care of you, back when they still flew back to Westchester.

“Disney in Japan’s better,” Noah quips, “and you don’t even have to step foot in florida to go there.”

“Yeah,” you giggle, “because we live somewhere better than florida.”

“Much better,” he teases, “we don't have humidity.”

You snort, shaking your head as you continue down the well worn trail.

“Did-can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” you tell him, looking back, and waiting for him to catch up.

Noah floats in front of you, only an inch or two of the ground but it’s fine because no one really goes into the woods here as if there’s some subconscious warning ringing in the prey part of the townspeople’s minds, keeping them away from here. “Did your parents come to your graduation?”

You purse your lips. “No.” And then proceed to make the age old excuses for them. Parent-teacher conference week with your current nanny had been fun. “They were doing research up in Alaska I think. It was the only time of the year for some fish species. . .And Now I don’t really need them.” You think they’re in Antarctica, but you can never be sure. They're very hands off and don’t call except for christmas trusting that if you need anything, you’d call them.

Noah’s eyes flash red, and for a second, he loses control over his appearance. He’s an angry storm of shadows.

It speaks to the fact that for over a year now, he’s been your main companion that you don’t even flinch, just wait for him to calm down.

“It’s whatever,” you shrug, used to being on your own, “I had our whole group and Ava invited me along to her graduation potluck.”

“It’s not whatever,” Noah snarls, having regained his spectral blue form complete with his signature beanie. “They’re your parents.” His outburst sends the birds flying out of the trees, far away from him.

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “we don’t exactly have great parents.” Noah’s had been okay if tense before the accident with Jane.

Noah frowns deeply, still seething. When he got into a mood, he could spend days mulling it over, working himself into a whole downward spiral of dark thoughts.

You leave him to his brooding as you make your way back to your house, hands in your jacket pocket: your old leather jacket for once. You knew what to expect from your parents and that was an allowance and a phone call at christmas. Not even almost dying had caused them to fly home and check on you.

The backdoor is open.

You know you'd closed it when you left. Having your own personal ghost hadn't made you sloppy.

You share a glance with Noah before calling out. “Hello?” It could just be Ava pulling a mean prank on you, but she had blatantly refused to come to your house as long as Noah was lingering around. It was a pointless stance when Noah could really wander freely around Westchester and often did. You sensed him around town sometimes when you were in class even if you couldn't see him.

“Oh you're finally back,” Lily says, calling out from your kitchen.

Wait, Lily! Wasn't she supposed to be in California?

“I told you we should've let them know,” Stacey cries out from inside, shrill voice carrying.

Oh! Were they all here.

You step inside excitedly, Noah following suit, still scowling.

He'd eventually get over the thing with your parents. You had.

“What are you all doing here,” you ask, taking in the sight of your friends spread out in your house. It was a tighter fit than your childhood home, but it felt more like a home than that house ever had. Even Toms here on the couch exchanging notes with Ava.

“Friendsgiving,” Lily offers.

You'd forgotten that's why you had the week off from school. It had slipped your mind after years of not doing anything for this holiday. “I thought we were against Thanksgiving?” You feel touched and surprised and happy.

“Oh we are. It's all a bunch of government propaganda,” Lucas says pushing his glasses up, “but we're all in town for the week so. . .”

You smile.

And then Stacey spots Noah lingering by the backdoor.

“You,” she yells, her entire face flushing red.

Noah, who's dick-ish tendencies you're well aware of, proceeds to smirk which only pisses Stacey off more and has Lucas rising to his feet, fueled by the same anger as Stacey. “Me,” he smirks.

Stacey lobs the nearest thing she can find, a plate you'd bought at Ikea a year ago, at him.

Ava looks really pleased with herself.

Noah dodges even though it would've gone right through him.

The plate shatters against the doorframe.

He totally could've caught that. He could've saved your plate.

“Missed Stace,” Noah cackles.

Your friend turns even redder, before grabbing the vase on the table and aiming for Noah once again.

Ava smothers a laugh on the couch.

Lucas is starting to look like he wants in on the action.

Lily looks uncomfortable in the middle of the action. Like she's rather not deal with it which has been your friends m.o. for the last few months. They don't ask about Noah's and you don't bring him up. It'll save Andy an ulcer in the long run.

The vase shatters as it hits the wall, Noah having stepped out of the way in time.

Stacey eyes your favorite black mug emblazoned the sanderson sisters museum, and you know you have to step in.

She's hoisting the mug trying to get a clean shot, not caring that she just spilled half a mug full of water on your floor, when you step in between her and Noah. “Stacey, you're never going to hit him!”

“I don't care,” she snarls furiously. “He tried to kill us!”

“He didn't know,” you defend Noah. Because saying it's been two years wouldn't work. You can't force anyone to forgive him.

“You can't be serious,” Lucas says shaking his head. “After what he did.”

“He was just trying to help Jane. It's not his fault that the power corrupted his sister to the point she would try to kill us!” In the late sleepless nights, you'd thought about Jane and finally gotten that ghost to rest. What else had there been to think about alone and sobbing in the dead of the night, curled up like a bear hibernating for winter.

“I can't believe you're defending him!” Stacey yells.

You cross your arms over your chest, staring her down.

Lily tilts her head, glancing behind you at Noah, “I didn't know you could look like. . .you.”

“Yeah,” he deadpans, raising his arms to do jazz hands. “Ta-da.”

“It's a new development,” you offer through clenched teeth, still busy staring down Lucas and Stacey, who still has your mug in her hand.

“He learned it from our lake monster,” Tom adds, looking through your vinyls. “Man you've got to get some older stuff and not just what urban outfitter’s selling.”

You frown. “What's wrong with Lana Del Rey?”

“You just need more variety,” Tom councils.

“I told you,” Noah says with an annoyingly charming smirk. He pats your shoulder with his hand even though it goes right through the layers of clothes that you're bundled up in.

You roll your eyes.

“No,” Lucas says, head in his hands, “we’re not doing this. We’re not acting like everything's fine,” he manages through a clenched jaw.

You raise a brow at your friends. Stacey’s still visibly pissed. Ava has her own arms crossed over her chest, but resigned since she's had more time to process. Andy's sneaking a slice of pumpkin pie as the drama unfolds.

Lily won't meet your gaze.

Dan looks like he wants to speak up, but he doesn't and you understand because it's a lot to forgive let alone forget for long enough to sit down to a friendsgiving when Noah can't even eat food anymore and instead goes around pestering you to make meals from scratch.

“It's fine,” Noah says quietly. “I can just go.”

“You do that,” Stacey replies bitingly.

“Noah you-,” you turn to protest. But he's gone.

You swallow your words, looking at your friends. “So are we making or just reheating,” because you love your friends as much as you love Noah. It's why it feels like your heart’s being torn in half.

“A bit of both,” Tom says, “nothing complex.”

“Britney said she's on her way now,” Lily adds. “hope you don't mind. She's bringing Jocelyn since Jocelyn's friends with Tom.”

Your eye twitches. It's unfair that they can have you the two girls who bullied you all for years to the point you got bruises and Lily would skip class to cry in the bathroom but you can't have Noah here when he only tried to kill you all once on accident.

“We might have to use my desk chair and the couch but I think we can make it work,” you say instead of picking a fight.

Lily smiles happily and tells you about these cute turkey plates she got from the 99 cent store at the beginning of the month.

Britney's making you all watch Legally Blonde which no one is really mad about.

You've gotten a thick wool blanket because you're starting to shiver with cold and it's not even 11 at night but you're ready to kick them out so Noah'll come back. You're squished in between Tom and Ava which means they spend the entire time talking your ear off about the power and Ava's current witchcraft project which involves lots of dirt, salt, and herbal oils. They lose you and you're not sure what the spell’s supposed to do but Ava does conjure an actual flame from her fingertip.

Dans laughing easily, sitting on the ground by your feet, with Andy and Jocelyn, who's still bitchy but in a more affable way that gets a laugh out of you.

It's a nice night, one of the best you've had in a while with all your friends and now their friends too and you think that it would be easy to be friends for life. It's been two years since that school dance night. You've all kept touch.

But it's just not the same without Noah.

You're probably the only one who thinks that.

The dream is easy to get lost in. You and Noah throwing popcorn at each other instead of paying attention in the dream movie theater. Every time you look up at the screens there's a different movie playing.

At least here Noah is tangible, the popcorn he throws getting tangled in your hair even as you slump in your seat to try and dodge the attacks.

Noah grins mischievously and you don't have time to move before he's dumping the entire bucket of popcorn on your head.

“You're such a dick,” you laugh, beginning the long work of getting popcorn out of your hair. They don't stick in Noah's brown locks.

“It's a dream,” Noah notes, “just imagine them away.”

“Okay,” you try, shutting your eyes and imagining your hair a lavender purple shade.

You open your eyes and sure enough the popcorns gone. “Kind of digging how dreams work.”

“There's some nice things about them,” Noah agrees.

“Oh yeah like what?”

“Like this,” Noah grins smugly before leaning in and-

“Get up,” Ava snaps gleefully, as she pounces on you in bed.

“Wha-”

“Hurry up,” she repeats as you blink, trying to get your bearings.

“How did you get in here?” You ask, shoving her off you.

“Door,” she shrugs, “I found a spell to unlock locks. Where's your boyfriend?”

“My what!” You feel heat rise to your cheeks as you rush to change into a pair of jeans. Maybe a cleaner sweater too.

Ava rolls her eyes. “Your boyfriend. Noah? You're not shivering so he can't be far.”

She grabs your hand as soon as you pull your sweater over your head and drags you out of your room. Tom, Andy, and Dan are loitering around the living room.

After graduating, Andy and Dan have both decided to go to the local university. You knew it had to do with Tom and his whole research into the power even as Ava was planning a semester abroad because she firmly believed that there was more supernatural occurrences in the world.

You close your eyes focusing on Noah. “He's on his way,” you confirm, sending him in the woods near your house. When you both entered the dreamworld, Noah more often than not ended up in the ruins.

You took his word for it.

You didn't plan on ever stepping foot in those ruins again.

“I mean,” Ava laughs humorlessly, “I always thought I was the winona ryder of our group but you're an actual monster fucker so you've got me beat by a mile.”

You can only look at her with alarm, aware your mouth was just hanging open in surprise.

“Please don't say that shit,” Andy groans. “It's bad enough knowing that asshole’s doing fine and dandy not facing punishment.” He says as if Noah didn't die.

“I'm-what, what's going on here?” You look around at your friends.

They exchange glances as Noah appears, back resting against the wall looking too cool for school in his usual disaffected way, hands in his pockets.

Andy sighs, before speaking up, “Tom, I think you should-”

“No,” Ava shakes her head, “I can explain it.”

Tom raises a brow.

She nods. “I'm chill.”

“You've never been chill in your life but go on,” Andy teases.

Ava's expression softens, the guarded rage that simmered in the lines around her frown disappear as she looks at you and Noah. “I think I know how to bring Noah back.”

You swallow, “How-how is that even possible,” because you and Noah have never mentioned the fact that he's dead but he is. You watched him die.

“Ava,” Noah says, long having resigned himself to this partial existence, “even the power can't bring the dead back to life. Just look at the zombie animals. They're not really alive.”

Dan does a little, continue on, hand motion directed at her.

“Well, that's the thing,” she says, locking eyes with Noah, “I don't think you're dead.”

Noah’s expression is stone cold as he outstretches his arms out wide. Which like right, he was literally a ghost right now.

“Yeah,” Ava nods, “I can see that. But, it fits. I first started working on this theory when they mentioned they could sense you, and then there's the fact,” she looks at you now, “you're always cold. And not just you need a jacket cold but cold in the summer heat even with three layers, as if your body was-”

“Dying,” Noah utters aloud.

She nods, looking over at Tom.

He clears his throat, “when people get absorbed into the power, their memories don't last but you remember things pretty well.”

The corners of Noah's mouth lift up, a small smile on his lips. “Well I can't take the credit for that,” he says meeting your eyes.

“Somehow,” Ava says carefully to Noah, “down in the ruins, you two tied your lives together. That’s why you're still yourself and why they're always freezing cold. Because your body is still down in the ruins and I'm willing to bet it's frozen in the same state since that night.”

“Speak for yourself,” Andy scowls, “I'm not stepping foot in the ruins.”

“Redfield isn't there anymore,” Noah frowns.

“Yeah well,” Andy bites back, “I don't trust you.”

That shuts Noah up.

“And how. . .,” you start to ask as hope fills your chest even as you try to be careful because you saw Noah die and now Ava was bringing you a shot in the dark. “How would that work exactly?”

Ava shrugs. “First we have to go to the ruins. See if I'm right and then-”

“She doesn't know,” Noah states. “But I think it's worth a shot.”

“I'm going to wait with Andy out here,” Dan states, fingers wrapped tightly around the baseball bat with wire you'd kept since that school year.

“Yeah, sure,” you nod, wrapping him in a quick hug because he probably had the worst time of you all here and yet he'd still come along.

He hugs you back before you make your way to Tom and Ava are both bickering over some obscure text that might or might not be true: Noah sits on the crumbling step that marks the entrance to the ruins, deceivingly calm. It's the first time you've been here since that night.

You remind yourself there's nothing to fear. Just Noah and you're not scared of him.

“Well then,” Tom motions you first.

Noah rolls his eyes, “if I wanted to kill you I could do it without luring you down there.”

Ava twists her mouth, expression furious.

You go to smack his shoulder, your hand passing right through him and hitting the stone wall. “Shit,” you grumble, rubbing your knuckles.

Noah sniggers, not the slightest bit apologetic.

Ava gives you a look that can be best summed up as him?

You shrug. It's not like you planned on being helplessly in love with Noah Marshall, you just were.

Noah goes down first, his form glowing brightly for your benefit, as you follow closely behind him.

Tom and Ava wait a second before following you down. So they were using you as a test.

The ruins are just as dark and awful as you remember. Rocks slick with water that drips down from the roof. You pay close attention where you step, not wanting to break a leg down here, as you enter the chamber where the creature-that-had-been-Jane forced you to play are you scared.

The chairs are still tossed around the room that maybe was a basement once, or maybe it just reminded you of the idea of a basement, but it's the body lying in the floor that takes your breath away. Noah, exactly the way you'd last send him, covered in dirt and grime, absolutely no color in his skin. There was no rise and fall in his chest, and his lips were tinged blue.

Tom shines his light over Noah's prone body. “Well he's definitely preserved, there's no rotting smell.”

“Try not to talk about me like I'm a piece of meat,” Noah says, lingering next to you, his shoulder brushing against yours (or coming close to the feeling).

You look up at him, trying to gauge his reaction, but his expression is carefully blank. You turn to Ava, “what do you need me to do?”

Ava looks from you to Noah, “I'm not sure. There's not exactly an instruction manual but, you should be able to draw him out from the power.”

“Bet that goes both ways,” Noah utters grimly.

Tom nods.

“So I could just as easily get caught up down here?”

Ava nods sternly, “but that's not going to happen.”

Noah looks at you, shaking his head, “we shouldn't risk it.”

“What! No,” you shake your head, feeling warmth in your fingers for the first time in years. You reach for him, not caring that your fingers pass right through. It's the thought that counts and you've had millions of thoughts centered around Noah.

“What if you end up like me,” Noah says, voice cracking.

You swallow thickly, “you can't think like that.”

“It is a lot to risk,” Tom points out gently.

You bite your lip, eyes tearing up, “I know.”

“Well I'm not,” Noah counters, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes glowing an infernal red as he makes his point. “It's my body after all.”

“Noah-,” you start.

“I'm not risking you.”

Ava fake gags, making you turn towards her, crouched over Noah's body with Tom all while taking down notes. When she knows she has the attention of you both, she smirks, “monster. fucker.”

Noah snorts.

“Don't worry Ava,” you joke, “you're still that very witch.”

“Damn right I am,” she grins.

“Should we. . .,” Tom says, scratching his chin in thought. “They're movies but still. . .”

“Maybe it has to just be them two,” Ava posits at Tom, “like it was last time.”

“Maybe. . .”

“So we’re doing this then?”

Ava's about to say something when she catches the death glare Noah's sending her. “How about you two decide that before we start trying anything.” She drags Tom up the stairs.

“Forget it,” Noah huffs, “I refuse to risk you.”

“I want to!” You cry out, “I want to help you and now I have the chance to.”

“Trust me. You don't want to be a monster.”

“You're not a monster,” you counter, squaring up against Noah.

He scowls before shifting into a mass of shadows, eyes a blazing wildfire burning though acres of bush land. He always had to have the last word.

“You're not a monster,” you repeat, still right by him, whether he was shadows or a specter he was Noah and that was all that mattered to you. “You've never been a monster. You've never hurt anyone. You helped out with the lake ghost. You've kept me company. It doesn't matter what form you take, to me, your Noah Marshall and that's all I really care about.” The tears fall down your cheeks freely now, even as you sniffle, soft smile on your lips as Noah calms down.

Fading from red to white to blue, until he's once more wearing the stupid beanie that you teased him about. Even death couldn't make him give up the beanie.

“You really would, wouldn't you,” he says in awe, “stay. Even if this doesn't work.” As if he couldn't wrap his head around the idea that he was that precious to anyone.

You nod. Not trusting your voice.

There's a tenderness in his expression that fills your chest with warmth as he closes the distance between you, careful, as he presses his insubstantial lips against yours and you've never felt this crazy about anyone before: never felt sure about anything like you know that if someone cracked your chest open, his name would be written on your heart.

You're not scared as darkness blots out the light of the chamber.

Darkness descends until you can't see a thing.

Noah holds your hand as you walk through the cemetery. His thumb rubbing circles into the back of your hand as you lead the way to where his tombstone is.

“Your so dumb,” you mutter for the thousandth time. Stacy's mom had graciously helped with spinning the whole Noah's actually alive story, but his mom was long gone leaving behind a tombstone for her two kids.

“It's hilarious,” he says nonchalantly even though you know he fidgeted the whole car drive here.

“Tom said to keep your nose down.”

“Tom has a stick up his ass.”

You smack his shoulder lightly, “be nice. I like Tom.”

“I never said I didn't like Tom,” he frowns, and if you didn't know him as well as you do, you'd believe the serious expression in his furrowed brow.

“You're such a dick,” you shake your head with a laugh.

Noah snorts, “I'm perfectly nice.”

“Who told you that lie!”

He pulls you in close, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around your waist, “Lily thinks so.”

“please,” you counter, “if someone asked Lily to help them find their missing puppy she'd help them.”

Noah wags his finger, “now who's being a dick.”

You burst out laughing, still in amazement that Noah was here in the flesh and blood and you were never going to tire of simple things like holding his hand or having his arm around you as you walk.

Neither of you nor Noah were hopeless romantics or sappy people, but having been put through the ringer to so much as kiss, holding hands had become an unspoken agreement when you went grocery shopping or drove over to visit Tom as you finally took him up on the offer to learn how to swim.

You halt in front of his grave.

Noah Marshall.

1999-2018

It's simple. It's impersonal.

You hate it.

Noah doesn't waste a second, opening up the camera app on his phone. and taking a selfy in front of his own tombstone. “Get in the picture!”

You shake your head with a giggle, “okay, okay, just one,” and you snuggle up to him, pulling a funny face as he gets the inscription in the selfy.

“Guess this is goodbye to Westchester then,” he says out loud.

“I guess so,” you nod, peering out into the surrounding woods.

Noah leans in, kissing your cheek, “can't say I'll miss it. Not when I'm taking the best thing in this town with me.”

Your cheeks burn red. But the way the words melt your heart doesn't make you pull a punch. “You're such a nerd beanie boy.”

“Oh shut up,” Noah laughs, pink dusting his cheekbones.

There was no doubt about it. This was love.

#it lives in the woods #noah marshall #ilitw noah #noah x mc #nothings going to take you from my side #mine #ava figures it out #dan realizes mc is in love with noah before noah realizes hes in love w mc #earn your happy ending #and #domestic monster fluff i guess

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sareyen · 4 years

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Das Haus am See: The Lake House Cherik AU (Part 3/3)

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A Lake House Cherik AU: Charles and Erik both lived in the lake house, Charles in 2017, and Erik in 2019. By magic or fate, the two find out that the house’s letter box is able to send letters through time - and, in doing so, the two fall in love despite living in two different years. They vow to meet in the future, but fate is fickle, and time waits for no one.

Chapter 3

Charles stared at the screen of his computer, page blank. There was a half-drained bottle of scotch resting beside him, and pages of crumpled and torn note paper was strewn across his desk and oak floors – papers covered with desperate apologies that Charles had only just stopped sending to Erik through the letter box.

A week had passed, and the letter box was full to bursting with the numerous letters Charles left there, hoping that Erik would read them – any of them. Each day, Charles wrote handfuls of apologies, pleas and wishes, praying that he could hear the familiar phantom scrape of the letter box’s red flag and see the letters disappear two years into the future.

But Erik had been true to his word – he hadn’t come back to the lake house again.

When Charles saw the pile of forgotten letters through the haze of his hopeless gaze, he felt his blue eyes grow wet again, slamming down the screen of his computer before dropping his face into his hands. He pressed hard against his eyes with the palms of his hands, trying to will the tears to stop, as if he were applying pressure over a stab wound.

Erik’s final letter had felt like a stab wound, in the end, and had left Charles bleeding.

Charles had spent the majority of the week drinking his sorrows away and berating a version of himself that didn’t even exist yet. Charles had laughed bitterly, never hating himself more than he had in that moment. Charles hated the him living two years in the future, a version of himself that was as much a stranger to him as the nameless people he passed on the street.

Hours passed until Charles opened his laptop again, steeling himself as he tried to write – to finish Max and Wesley’s story.

Charles Wesley clung to the letters from Erik Max like they were his tether to everything that was real – because, to Wesley, there was nothing more real to him than Max. Max’s mind was a beacon, a light house saving Wesley from crashing onto the rocks. Before Max, Wesley had been floating aimlessly, adrift and lost.

It was when Wesley met the man beyond time that everything seemed to make sense, that Wesley began to find his purpose. With Max, Wesley finally felt like he wasn’t alone.

But, Max was not a man who believed in love so easily. Unlike Wesley, who was optimistic and filled to the brim with unadulterated hope, Max was a pragmatist, a realist and cynical in nature. Max was not one to easily believe that Wesley’s affections were strong enough to stand against time, even if Wesley himself knew the true magnitude of his longing, his pining – of his love.

Wesley did not know how to make Max hear his voice. With the seemingly insurmountable wall of two years between them, Wesley could scream and scream, but Max could not hear him, his head and his heart blocked by barriers of impenetrable steel.

How could Charles get Erik to hear him?

Charles looked at the clock on his desk, and it was well past midnight now. The lake outside was still and quiet, so silent it was almost eerie. The sound of cicadas punctuated the silence outside, alongside the occasional creak of the rafters as wind tugged at the walls of the lake house.

Getting up from his desk, his laptop left open to his novel without an ending, Charles walked outside with the bottle of scotch and planted himself by the edge of the lake. The night was crisp, but Charles warmed himself up with the burning slide of liquid amber down his throat.

Charles wondered if Erik ever sat by the lakeside like this, looking out over the expanse of water from the same vantage point as Charles did now. Have they ever appreciated the same view? If they have, Charles could begin to pretend that Erik was sitting beside him, looking in the same direction.

“Why did I abandon you?” Charles whispered to no one, his question responded to by cicadas and the wind. “I don’t understand… I would never abandon you, Erik.”

Charles drained the rest of the scotch, feeling light headed and heavy at the same time, and let himself fall back onto the plush grass. As Charles stared up at the stars, they stared right back at him, judging and questioning.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Charles grumbled at Cassiopeia, the constellation seeming to roll her eyes back at him. “I’m not lying. I’d never leave Erik like that. Never.”

Soon, Charles’s vision began to swim, the alcohol and his fatigue overtaking him.

‘Yes, I’d never leave you like that, Erik.’

‘I’ll find you.’

***

“You don’t look too good, Sugar.”

Erik didn’t even bother to lift his head from where he was staring into his now-cold coffee in the break room, sensing Emma slide into her usual seat across the table from him, white tailored suit filling Erik’s periphery.

“Not in the mood, Emma,” Erik grunted, finally taking a sip of his coffee.

“No, you’re definitely not. Your mood is terrible, it’s making all the new interns consider dropping out because you terrifying them,” Emma said, Erik looking up at her with weary eyes rimmed with dark circles. Emma just raised a brow as her cool eyes flicked up and down her co-worker, before letting out an irritating, all-knowing hum as if she could read Erik like a book.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Erik said, Emma smiling.

“Of course you don’t. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. Come on, Erik. Sometimes it helps to get things off your chest, instead of bottling in all of those feelings you so abhor,” Emma pushed, Erik glaring at her. Emma was undeterred, leaning forwards a little in her seat. “Erik, we’re friends – at least, I consider us friends. Talk to me, I’m worried. Frankly, you haven’t been like this since… you know.”

Emma waved her hands around vaguely, but her insinuations were more than vague, the unspoken word divorce lingering in the air.

“I really don’t want to talk about him, Emma,” Erik said, Emma snapping her finger.

“Ah, so it’s about a him? I see.”

“Emma.”

“Erik,” Emma countered, rolling her eyes and tugging up her white sleeves. “I’ve seen you. You were always a workaholic, and I’m going to be blunt, but that’s part of what made things fall apart with Magda. Of course, there were other things, but let’s not pretend that your work wasn’t a part of it. But lately, over the past month, you’ve always been leaving the office on time on Fridays, and that Wednesday the other week. You never leave work early, and especially not when Shaw has given you so much to do. It’s obvious that you met someone, and I was honestly glad for you. You’ve seemed… happier, as of late, Sugar. And we both know you haven’t been happy in a long time.”

Erik stared at his co-worker – his friend – who was just giving him a look which told Erik that it was pointless to argue. Emma, as always, was right – and far too observant for Erik’s liking.

“If you know so much already, Emma, then you know better than to ask me anything else,” Erik responded with a grimace, sinking into his chair. Emma just sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I wouldn’t ask anything else if you didn’t look so depressed, Erik. Ever since last weekend, you’ve looked like a kicked puppy. Did things fall through with your new guy?”

What could fall through, when nothing ever started?

“There was nothing there to begin with,” Erik grumbled, shrugging. “We… We had only met once.” And I didn’t even remember it.

Emma blinked.

“Sugar, you met this guy once and he’s got you moping around like this? Damn, I want to meet this guy who managed to do this to the great Erik Lehnsherr.”

“It’s… complicated,” Erik said, biting his lip. “We… we talked. Through letters. We wrote letters to each other, and met once – a coincidence, really. At least, I think it was, on my part at least.”

“When did you meet him? Is that why you look like a kicked puppy now? The real thing didn’t match up to the person in the letters? And… letters? Really, Erik? How antiquated.”

“The letters were… I’m not even going to bother explaining it to you. And no, he-” didn’t show up. He abandoned me. “No, we met two years ago, right before Magda and I… I didn’t really remember, but we started talking through letters about a month ago and… Ugh. Anyway, it’s complicated, and long story short, we made plans and he didn’t show up. So that’s that,” Erik said, Emma sighing.

“Ah, so you got stood up. That must hurt, Sugar,” Emma said, before pausing. “But wait, so you met two years ago, but only now started talking again? You said you forgot him – he must have remembered you, though? To start talking to you again?”

Erik snorted at that – of course Charles remembered, he had just lived it, while it was two years in the past for the lawyer. Charles was still in 2017, and as much as he promised Erik he would weather time for him, he hadn’t.

“It’s too complicated to explain, but it’s over now. I ended it, and… and it’s for the better. He has his life, I have mine,” Erik said, Emma tilting her head to the side, scrutinising him before getting up from her chair to pat Erik’s shoulder once. The action reminded Erik of the balcony and Charles, how the once-stranger had comforted Erik in a similar manner.

Erik’s heart ached.

“Love is complicated, Sugar,” Emma said, giving Erik a small smile. “But, does this letter-writing ex-man of yours have a name?”

“Why do you want to know?” Erik asked, eyes narrowed. Emma just smiled, laughing a little.

“I did say that we were friends, did I not? I’d like to know the name of the person who stood you up in case I ever run into him. With my car,” Emma said, Erik letting out a snort at her ridiculous notion, but giving her a grateful look for her (potentially ill-directed) support.

“I don’t want him to be hurt, Emma. He… Charles had his reasons,” Erik said, Emma humming.

“Charles. Sounds like a pretentious prick,” Emma said, Erik barking out a laugh at that.

“I thought so too, at first. I mean, ‘Charles Xavier’ – I really shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that he has a posh English accent,” Erik said, Emma freezing.

“What did you say, Erik?” Emma asked, voice still.

“What?”

“Xavier? You said his name is Charles Xavier?”

“Yeah?” Erik said, frowning now, confused by Emma’s odd reaction. The woman rarely looked thrown, but right now she was gazing at Erik with a foreign look. “What is it, Emma?”

“No, it’s probably just a very scary coincidence. I mean, Charles is a common enough name, and I could have heard wrong, and it wouldn’t be surprising if there was more than one Charles Xavier in New York…” Emma said, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

“Emma, I don’t get what you’re trying to say,” Erik said, standing from his seat now to level himself with Emma.

“No, it’s just that, you know the case Shaw is working right now?”

“The Francis Graymalkin one, of course I know. Shaw hasn’t shut up about it for the past few weeks,” Erik responded, Emma nodding.

“Yes, well Francis Graymalkin was just the man’s pen name, a pseudonym,” Emma said, and Erik let out a grunt of knowing.

“I know. The man’s sister is the one who hired Shaw, right? Because their step-father and brother are trying to weasel their way into Francis Graymalkin’s inheritance. Her name was something Darkholme, so I figured Francis Graymalkin was a pseudonym – he’s probably called Francis Darkholme, or something of the like,” Erik said, Emma shaking her head.

“See, that’s the thing. Erik, Francis Graymalkin’s real name is Charles Xavier.”

***

Charles woke up the day after with a headache and a chill in his bones – falling asleep on the grass outside had made Charles awaken with a scratch in his throat and lungs that felt two sizes too big for his chest.

Still, Charles remembered the dream he had that night – of driving to NYC, of banging on Erik’s door, his pregnant wife be damned. In his dream, Charles had been selfish, pulling Erik into a molten kiss that sent his heart into spasms, his toes curling in his shoes. In his dreams, Erik hadn’t tasted of cigarettes but of scotch, heady and warm.

The Erik in his dreams had murmured a sigh against Charles’s lips, saying “Gott, Charles. What took you so long?” before tilting his head to slot his lips closer to Charles, devouring him in body and spirit.

People were always bolder in dreams; maybe it was a subconscious understanding that dreams couldn’t hurt you, and that they weren’t real. Dreams weren’t real, but they reflected Charles’s innermost desires. He wanted Erik, and he knew he wanted him, more than he has wanted anything before in his life.

Erik had said in his final letter that, since Charles hadn’t shown up to any of their planned meetings, that he clearly didn’t want Erik. That Charles couldn’t wait two years. Charles hadn’t believed him, but Erik knew the future better than Charles.

So, if it was true, and for some reason Charles couldn’t wait, why did he have to?

Erik said that he had to live his life, and maybe Charles should do the same. He should find Erik, talk to him like he did at the wedding. Yes, Erik had a wife that was with child, but Charles knew how that would turn out. Charles abhorred his own selfish and distasteful thoughts, but he couldn’t help them – Charles never wished such tragedy and misfortune upon any one, least of all Erik, but he couldn’t help but want a man who was taken.

At least, in 2017.

But oh, Erik. Erik. Charles couldn’t give up on Erik like that. Not Erik, who inspired Charles, who made him feel and live and want to live.

Charles rallied his determination, and peeled himself off the grass. Charles showered and shaved, and tamed his slightly over-grown mop of chestnut hair as much as he could. He brushed his teeth and ironed his clothes, pulling on his most comforting cardigan that he wore like armour.

Then, Charles picked up the keys to his rust-bucket car and gingerly tucked Erik’s The Once and Future King under his arm, thumb rubbing against the worn paperback.

As he walked to his car, Charles checked the letter box like he did every day, and found that it was still empty.

‘I’ll find you, Erik. Here and now,’ Charles vowed silently, getting into his car with Erik’s book in the passenger seat.

‘I’ll return your book to you, in person. I vow to you that I won’t break this promise, unlike the me of the future, which broke them all.’

***

‘Francis Graymalkin’s real name is Charles Xavier.’

The words echoed around the empty darkness in Erik’s head.

Coincidence?

Fate?

“But, since the man has been dead for two years, it’s obviously just a scary coincidence that he shares the same name as your pen pal,” Emma said, Erik barely registering her words over the repeated chant in his head of ‘Francis Graymalkin’s real name is Charles Xavier’.

Logically, it had to be a coincidence. But, there was nothing logical about any of this – about Charles, about the letter box, about everything.

Erik didn’t say a word as he pushed past Emma and out of the break room, his numb legs taking him straight to Shaw’s office. Bursting in, Erik was glad to see that the man was not there.

Erik wasted no time, not hesitating for a moment, striding over to the files splayed out on Shaw’s desk. Francis Graymalkin’s – Charles Xavier’s – poorly-written will was on top. Legal documents from some people surnamed Marko, notes regarding Charles Xavier’s properties and financials were scattered across the mahogany tabletop.

Properties.

Erik sifted through the papers, seeing some documents of ownership for a house in England, a holiday home in Cuba and a sprawling estate just outside of New York. Among them was a document of ownership for an idyllic lake house made of red-brick and a roof topped with blue tiles.

Erik felt like his heart was in his throat as he picked up the document, eyes flitting down towards the signature at the bottom – an elegant scribble with wide, confident loops sat under a printed name, in hand-writing that Erik had seen time and time before.

Charles Xavier.

The name had the same swooping ‘C’, the same looped ‘l’, and the same curled ‘r’. Charles Xavier was written in the exact same way that Erik’s Charles signed his letters, letters that Erik had unwittingly engraved in his memory and heart. Erik would never mistake that handwriting.

Erik’s Charles was Charles Xavier, and Charles Xavier was Francis Graymalkin.

And Francis Graymalkin was dead.

Erik felt bile begin to rise up his throat.

Francis Graymalkin died two years ago.

That meant that Charles, Erik’s Charles, died two years ago too.

“Oh, Gott,” Erik choked out, hands dropping the stack of property papers in his hand as his heart plummeted, everything going blank.

Erik now knew why Charles hadn’t picked up the phone that day. Why Charles hadn’t surprised him in Central Park in person. Why Charles didn’t show up for dinner at Genosha last weekend.

How could he, when he was already dead?

Erik remembered everything – Charles had been so sure that he would never break his promise to Erik. He had been adamant that he could wait, that he was a patient and faithful man. Charles, who knew who Erik was on the balcony but didn’t give in to his own selfish notions, because Erik had a pregnant wife. Charles, who begged and pleaded for Erik to give him another chance. Charles, who loved Erik. The man never said it aloud in words, but screamed it between every line in each of his letters. Erik knew that Charles loved him, that he loved him enough to be willing to wait for two years.

The plaque on Erik’s bench in Central Park had asked Erik to wait for Charles to catch up.

But, Charles had always been the one waiting for Erik. Charles, who loved a man that hadn’t yet known that he existed, that hadn’t had the chance to fall in love with him just yet, because Erik hadn’t lived at the lake house until later, because he hadn’t received that first letter until after Charles was already buried beneath the ground.

And what had Erik said to him, in his last letter? He said that he couldn’t wait for Charles, that Charles didn’t feel as much as Erik did. That Charles couldn’t keep his promise, to meet Erik two years in the future.

While Charles had always whispered his love between the lines, Erik had accused him of abandoning him in the same spaces.

But Charles hadn’t abandoned him – hadn’t even been given a chance to choose to abandon Erik. No, Erik had abandoned Charles, and Charles had died.

Charles died thinking that Erik hated him. That Erik didn’t love him.

Erik never told Charles that he loved him.

Oh, Gott. Fuck. CharlesCharlesCharles. No.

Suddenly, the door to Shaw’s office opened, revealing the man and a slightly familiar woman with long blonde hair and blue eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Shaw asked, voice snapping. Erik didn’t even care that his boss was staring him down, absolutely livid once he noticed the messy papers on his desk that Erik had obviously rifled through. Erik was too busy staring at the blonde woman, who was just looking at Erik curiously, a large book bag hanging from her slender shoulders.

“Did you know Charles?” Erik asked the young woman dumbly, voice cracking. The girl frowned, but nodded.

“Yeah, he was my brother,” she said slowly, Erik’s heart cracking.

Was.

Erik suddenly lost all words, as well as his breath. The woman – Raven Darkholme – stared at Erik questioningly.

“Did you know my brot-”

“Erik, I said, what are you doing in my office?” Shaw said, cutting the woman off. Raven’s large eyes flashed with something akin to recognition.

“Erik? Your name is Erik?” Raven asked, stepping past Shaw towards the man of that name.

“Yeah,” Erik coughed out, Raven biting her lower lip. “Yeah, I’m… I’m Erik. And I know… knew… shit. I knew your brother. Charles. How did you… Did he tell you? About me?”

“He only mentioned you once, on the day he…” Raven said, suddenly swallowing, like she had a boulder in her throat. Coughing a little, the young woman continued.

“What happened?” Erik whispered, Raven blinking to get rid of the tears. It had been two years, but Charles’s death still hurt her – he was her only family, even if not by blood.

“He told me about you, how he had… met someone. He said he – you – were a lawyer, who lived in New York. And… And that he was going to see you, and said that he had to, even if you didn’t want to see him or even know him – I never understood that part – but then there was a car accident. It was raining, and Charles… Charles was tired and sick, feverish, and… and… a truck… The paramedics, they said that he was calling out ‘Erik’ when he…”

Charles was going to see Erik.

Charles died because he was going to see Erik.

Erik swayed on his feet a little, but did not collapse, even if it felt like his head was ringing.

“When?” Erik asked, voice stretched thin, simmering with panic. “When did Charles… die?”

“Wednesday, March 15, 2017, at 7:39pm. Two years ago today,” Raven said quickly, like she was reading from a book.

Francis Graymalkin died two years ago, on Wednesday the 15th of March, 2017.

That meant that Charles, Erik’s Charles, died that day too.

Today was Friday the 15th of March, 2019.

That meant that two years ago, Charles would die today.

“No,” Erik breathed out, rushing out of Shaw’s office. Shaw yelled at his retreating figure, Raven stared at him in confusion, and Emma’s eyes followed Erik’s form with disguised concern.

Erik was barely registering what his body was doing, and soon he found himself in his car and driving down the highway out of the city.

Like his body was being controlled by an outside presence, Erik drove to the lake house, where he had to tell Charles not to find him. To tell Charles that he would die if he did, to tell Charles that he should wait a little longer.

Wait for Erik a little longer, because Erik loved him.

Erik had to tell Charles that he loved him.

***

Charles’s cold took a turn for the worst about five hours into the drive. He pulled over for a short break, refuelling his car, using the restroom and buying himself a coffee to warm his throat and shivering body. It didn’t take long for Charles to get back on the road, headache building and throat churning out harsh, shoulder-wracking coughs.

Charles smiled sourly to himself – of course, the day he chooses to see Erik, he had to have a cold. Even if he had showered and blow-dried his hair and picked out clean and crisp clothes, his effort went out the window the moment he got sick – his cheeks were feverishly flushed and dark eye bags prominent. His nose was dribbling and his lips chapped, and he was hardly attractive in such a ragged state.

Still, Charles wasn’t banking on anything happening – it was 2017, and Erik was still married, and his wife still pregnant. Charles wasn’t going to push anything, not now. But, Charles could be there for the man, get to know him in person. They could become friends, and maybe, two years in the future, when Erik was no longer married and knew who Charles was, the author could tell him that he loved him, and Erik could, maybe, say it back.

It was a nice dream, a dream that was shattered when a large freight truck slammed into the side of Charles’s car without warning, sending his rust bucket rolling across the highway. Charles couldn’t even scream, because he didn’t even know what was going on – one moment, he was fiddling with the radio that kept dropping out, and the next he was hanging upside down by his seatbelt, glass falling like snow over his face and something wet and warm dribbling down his forehead.

Strangely, Charles didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t move his legs. In fact, he couldn’t really move anything at all.

Images flashed before his blue eyes, which were slipping in and out of lucidity. Charles heard voices, so many voices, but he couldn’t understand a thing. Soon, there were flashing lights in pretty shades of red and blue, and then Charles was finally moving, even if he couldn’t really feel it.

Paramedics kept asking Charles questions, but the man couldn’t answer – his chest gurgled with blood, and he heard the paramedics curse, which made him try to laugh. God, why did laughing hurt?

Laughing should never hurt.

Things drifted in and out for Charles, but strangely, Erik was there; when Charles was awake, he saw Erik resting beside him, wearing the suit he had at Angel’s wedding, with his copy of The Once and Future King in his large hands.

‘Oh, I must have returned it to you,’ Charles thought, the Erik sitting in the ambulance with him smiling with all of his teeth.

When Charles fell unconscious briefly, Erik was still there – this time, Charles saw him sitting in front of a familiar letter box, small smile on his face as he read a letter covered with Charles’s cursive scrawl.

When Charles woke up again, Erik had disappeared, but a paramedic was hovering over him and yelling for him to stay awake.

“Erik…” Charles gurgled out, the paramedic leaning in to try and hear him over the sounds of his lungs collapsing.

“Erik? Is your name Erik?” the paramedic asked, trying to keep Charles’s focus on him. “Come on, stay awake for me!”

Charles tried to speak again, but everything was red, so he just thought instead.

‘I’m coming, Erik,’ Charles thought into the screaming silence, the ambulance pulling up to the emergency wing of the hospital.

The paramedics wheeled Charles out of the chair, blue eyes beginning to lose their lustre.

‘Erik, wait for me.’

“He’s crashing!” a doctor yelled out, wheels rolling across the concrete leading up to the hospital, rain beginning to drizzle down.

‘Erik, where are you?’

“We’re losing him!”

Charles’s blue eyes flittered here and there, losing their hold on everything real.

Well, everything except for the man standing outside of the hospital, brown-copper hair a little damp with rain, glowing embers of a cigarette dangling from his fingers. When Charles was wheeled past the man, time seemed to slow, if only for a moment.

The man’s face looked distraught, which was understandable considering he was at the hospital because his wife had miscarried for the third time and he had come outside to try and clear his head. When the man looked up into the sky, he wondered how much longer it would take for him to stop feeling so lost.

In a final flash of clarity, Charles recognised the man as the person he has been looking for this whole time.

Erik.

‘Oh, there you are, Erik. See?’ Charles thought, blood-splattered mouth curling upwards with eerie tranquillity.

‘I found you. I didn’t abandon you.’

***

Erik was sure that he would get a speeding fine, but he didn’t care. All he could think about as he drove like a madman, the route to get to the lake house second nature by now, was that Charles is going to die.

Erik’s car clock said that it was just past ten in the morning and Erik had been driving for an hour already, having bolted from work barely an hour in. Erik had always been good at numbers, and if it took Erik six hours to get to the lake house, he would get there around 3pm.

Charles died at 7:39pm, but he had been on the road at the time.

How long had Charles been driving for? Was this the stretch of road Charles died on?

‘Please, please let Charles still be at the lake house. Please, don’t let him leave, not before I tell him that I love him, not before I beg him not to look for me.’

When Erik reached the unfixed bottle neck that Charles had found frustrating two years ago, Erik screamed in the suffocating confines of his car – Erik willed the cars around him to move, because he had to get to Charles, and he was already two years too late.

When Erik finally pulled up to the front of the lake house, parking haphazardly on the lawn, he didn’t even bother to turn the engine off before fumbling to find some paper and a pen from the glovebox of his car. Erik ran to the letter box, scribbling frantically and wildly, breath lodged in his throat and heart threatening to burst open at its stitched seams.

Charles, I know why you didn’t answer your phone, why you weren’t at the park, why you didn’t show up for dinner. It wasn’t your fault, Charles. You didn’t abandon me.

I know who you are now, I know that you’re Francis Graymalkin. You were trying to find me that day – today. Charles, you died that day, trying to find me.

So please, don’t go.

Just wait, please.

Don’t look for me, don’t try to find me. I need you to live, Charles.

I love you.

It’s taken me all this time to say it, but ich liebe dich, Charles.

I told you in my last letter that I couldn’t wait for you, but I was wrong. I’ll wait for you forever. Professor X waited for Magneto for decades. For you, I’d wait centuries, because I want a life with you, Charles. I want you by my side.

We want the same thing.

So please, wait for me once again. Wait with me.

Just wait.

Wait.

Wait two years, Charles.

Then come to the lake house. Come home.

I’m here.

Erik’s hands were shaking as he shoved the letter into the mail box, slamming the flag down. Erik took a hasty step back, like giving the letter box space for it to work its magic would help.

Erik’s breaths were thin and shaky, steel-grey eyes staring at the unmoving letter box without blinking.

‘Please, please, please, Charles. Check the letter box. Please, don’t let me be too late. Please, I love you, bitte. Gott, please, not Charles. Please, please.’

A sob clawed its way out from Erik’s throat when the letter box didn’t move, sending Erik crumpling to his knees. Erik crawled forwards to grip the letter box, shaking it before dropping his forehead against its still surface.

For the first time in a long time, Erik cried.

“Please, Charles, bitte,” Erik whispered, shaking. The letter box remained still, stagnant. “Gott, please. Not now, not after all this. Please.”

Erik held on to the letter box like he wanted to hold onto Charles, to tether him to this world, to keep him by his side, but it remained unmoving, and all Erik could think was:

‘Oh Gott, it’s too late. I’m toolatetoolatetoola-”

Thunk.

Erik’s tremors ceased at the sound, the familiar scrape and clunk of the metal flag tickling his ears.

‘Wait for me.’

Slowly, Erik looked up through wet eyes, a sprig of hope emerging from beneath the cold.

Then, the letter box shook, the flag leaping.

Erik let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, opening the letter box with careful hands.

Inside was a single red carnation atop a small folded piece of paper, a single sentence written upon it.

Turn around, Erik.

Erik pulled himself to his feet, shuffling around like he was compelled to follow the written words. As he did, he saw a slightly beat-up car begin rattling across the street before stilling by the curb of the lake house. Erik’s breath caught, his feet beginning to walk, one step at a time, across the lawn.

The driver stepped out of the car, wrapped up in a light lilac sweater and grey tweed coat. Full head of dark brown hair, flushed red cheeks and even redder lips, bright blue eyes that were so alive.

Erik’s mouth parted slightly in awe, relief and hope as he walked towards the man – Charles – who began moving towards Erik as well.

The two met, almost toe-to-toe, in the middle of the lawn in front of the lake house. Erik held the three-word note and carnation, while in Charles’s hands was a very worn letter – the one that had been in Erik’s hands only moments ago. The one that told Charles that Erik loved him.

Erik stared into Charles’s eyes, and Erik into his, like they couldn’t quite believe what was happening. They both seemed to be waiting, waiting like they always did, so Erik had to speak.

“You waited,” Erik breathed out, and that was all it took for Charles to immediately surge into Erik’s space. Charles cupped Erik’s cheeks desperately, fingers careful but firm, and kissed Erik with two years’ worth of longing. Erik almost whimpered into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Charles’s frame and pulling him close, crushing him against his chest and deepening the kiss, wanting to feel Charles, to confirm that yes, he’s alive, he’s here, he’s with me, he waited.

The two pulled back for a brief moment, only when they remembered that they needed to breathe.

“Sorry for the wait, darling,” Charles murmured, kissing Erik’s mouth again, and again, and again.

“What took you so long?” Erik asked teasingly, nipping at Charles’s mouth, which curled up in a wide smile that made his eyes crinkle in the corners, a small peal of laughter lighting a fire in Erik’s heart.

“Mm, sorry. Traffic was horrendous. You’d think they’d have fixed that blasted bottle neck by now,” Charles said, shooting Erik a small smile before leaning in close to bury his face into Erik’s neck, breathing him in. Erik held him tightly, deciding that he’d never let go again.

“Let’s go home,” Erik murmured against Charles’s hair, the shorter man humming in agreement, Erik taking his hand as they walked towards the lake house that had been the beginning of everything.

When Charles and Erik stepped through the threshold of the lake house, the red brick and blue-roofed house seemed to sigh – it had been waiting for this moment too.

***

Erik’s hands traced abstract patterns atop the map of freckles on Charles’s back, the author letting out a blissful sigh. It was late at night, and the two men lay in bed, tangled in each other’s limbs.

“Your sister owns this house now?” Erik asked, Charles nodding from where he rested his head on Erik’s chest.

“Mm. I gave it to her two years ago. I… knew I couldn’t live there, not when you were supposed to move in. You changed the future – my future – Erik. This… This wasn’t the plan, and I thought that if I tried to force it to change, to meet you prematurely like I tried to before…”

Erik knew what Charles was skirting around – the last time Charles had tried to upend Erik’s past, he had paid the price with his life. The two men didn’t understand the fabric of time travel, they didn’t know of the rules that fate and lady time had laid down. All they knew was that they were meant to meet, but only at a certain time. Charles had tried too early the first time, and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

He hadn’t made the same mistake again.

“I don’t think we were meant to meet until now,” Charles then whispered, pressing a kiss to Erik’s collarbone.

“We met at Angel’s wedding,” Erik reminded Charles, as if it were yesterday. Charles chuckled, a little wistful.

“Yes, but I didn’t try to change anything when I met you then. Meeting me didn’t change the course of your life between 2017 and now. I mean, Erik, you didn’t even remember me,” Charles said, chuckling in jest as he kissed away the frown building on Erik’s face. “But, the day I… died, I wanted to… well. Let’s just say that the world didn’t want me to change your past.”

“But it let you change my future?” Erik mused, Charles propping himself up to look at Erik, reaching out to smooth some of Erik’s sex-mussed hair from his eyes, gaze fond.

“I don’t know how this works, Erik, but, I wrote a theory about it, in my novel.”

“Your incomplete one?” Erik asked, raising a brow. Charles grinned.

“Well, considering I didn’t die, I had two years to finish writing it, darling. My theory is that the past can’t be unwritten. I couldn’t change your past, as in, anything that would have a lasting impact on your life before 2019. And you couldn’t have changed what would be considered my past, either,” Charles said, Erik’s mind whirling.

“But, I did change your past. I… You died before, Charles. But now you’re here, and…” Erik felt his tumultuous emotions begin to surface again, and before he completely lost it there and then in their bed, Erik kissed Charles. Charles indulged him, sighing into the lawyer’s touch, before pulling back with a serene smile on his face.

“Yes, I’m here, darling. And I don’t plan on leaving. But, like I was saying, you can’t change my past. Erik, I was living in 2017, so even though everything that happened that year for me was the past for you, it was still my future. You simply changed my future, Erik.”

“But still, what about all the other effects? The ripples that change caused. I still remember everything that would have happened – your step family contesting your will, your sister hiring Shaw. None of that would’ve happened if you died…”

“Ah, yes, well, that’s what has me in a bit of a rut. You seem to remember the events of your past timeline, but what I remember is different. It’s a funny thing, really – I ended up re-writing my will when I was… reminded of my mortality. There are no more loopholes, and my step father and brother lay no claim to anything I own. As for my sister, she still ended up hiring Shaw, just not about my will. Something about a secret trust fund that was hidden from her, courtesy of our lovely step-father,” Charles said, rolling his eyes. “So, in the end, not a whole lot changed – I’d wager that these minor ripples didn’t bother fate herself too much.”

“And you’re saying that you escaping death was only a ‘minor ripple’ as well?” Erik said, scoffing.

“Well, in my book I do say that fate had made an error in her original time line and sought to correct it,” Charles said, eyes softening. “You see, I’m inclined to think that we were destined to meet earlier.”

Erik’s mouth twitched at Charles’s words, instinctively drawing the man closer.

“Go on,” Erik said, bumping his forehead against Charles’s. “Tell me about this theory of yours.”

“Mm, demanding. But yes, I believe that we were supposed to meet sooner, but fate and time cocked up and we missed each other – so, they had to try and fix their mistake without undoing all of their other work. That’s why they linked us through the letter box, so we could meet and… well. The rest is history, isn’t it?”

“You really are a fiction writer, aren’t you, Francis?” Erik said, Charles laughing and swatting his lover’s chest.

“Oh, please! I know you’re a fan of my work, you’ve told me before. I have the letters to prove it!” Charles said, before suddenly sitting up like he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. Or an epiphany.

Erik was surprised when Charles suddenly wrenched the blankets off their naked bodies and jumped off the bed, tugging Erik’s arm. “Come on.”

“Charles, what are you doing?” Erik huffed, wanting nothing more than to have Charles’s weight pressed against him in bed, his thoughts apparently written all over his face when Charles laughed, kissing Erik’s lips briefly.

“I promise we’ll go back to bed soon. Just… humour me, for a moment, I almost forgot,” Charles said, squeezing Erik’s hand. Erik wasn’t going to protest, not now. Charles could probably ask him to do anything, and he wouldn’t think twice about doing it.

The two men didn’t bother putting their clothes back on, just wrapping some blankets around their shoulders as Charles nudged Erik down the upstairs hallway and to the drop-down ladder leading to the attic.

“The attic?” Erik asked, Charles nodding.

“Yes. Remember your first letter to me? The one you addressed to the new tenant?”

Erik did, Charles having brought Erik all of the letters he had saved, the two of them reading them together curled up by the fireplace.

“You mentioned the burn in the kitchen, courtesy of my poor cooking skills,” Charles said, giggling at his self-deprecating remark, which Erik found endlessly endearing. “But, you also mentioned the box in the attic. You obviously didn’t think too much of it back then.”

“No, I only glanced inside when I moved in, but it was just… full of stuff,” Erik said, Charles laughing.

“Full of my stuff,” Charles corrected, climbing up and tugging a dusty, slightly humidity-damp box, sneezing as a flurry of dust swirled in the air. Opening it up, Charles rummaged through the random knick-knacks that Erik had disregarded when he had moved in, before procuring something hidden beneath all of the irrelevant bits and pieces.

“What’s that?” Erik asked, Charles giving Erik a small smile, pressing it into Erik’s hand. And oh, Erik knew what this was.

“I believe I promised you that I’d return this to you, in person,” Charles said, leaning forward to lay his hand atop Erik’s, which caressed the book in his hand.

‘The Once and Future King.’

It had been here all along, simply waiting for Charles and Erik to unearth it, together.

“I love you,” Erik said, the words not quite able to convey just how deep Erik’s love ran. But, Charles seemed to understand, like he could hear it pouring directly from Erik’s heart.

“I love you too, Erik. Let me show you just how much,” Charles said, Erik letting out a breathless laugh as Charles kissed him.

Charles did show him. In the span of a kiss, Charles showed Erik two years’ worth of love.

And they both thought, for a moment, that yes, the wait was worth it.

Every single second.

#cherik #Charles Xavier #Erik Lehnsherr #X-men #x-men fic #xmen #the lake house #ao3 #AO3 fanfic #james mcavoy #Michael Fassbender

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wickedsrest-rp-archive · 4 years

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Name: Sofia Delgado Species: Human (Medium) Occupation: Bookmaker at The Stacked Deck Age: 33 Years Old Played By: Beck Face Claim: Úrsula Corberó

“Some monsters have voices in their head, urging them to kill; mine are begging me to stop.”

Sofia was pushed out of her mamá’s car at the age of ten with only a vague, finger-point indication of where she would spend the rest of her days. “White Crest, niña mala,” her mamá spat, “find your tita and let her handle you.” Sofia wore no shoes - she’d refused, ever since learning to walk - and carried only a small bag on her back. Inside, a spare pair of underwear, her childhood doll, and a switchblade she’d stolen from her tío’s garage.

The walk to town was as alarming as it was awakening; strange faces leering at her from behind tinted glass, the thick stench of life and loss oozing from conspicuous shopfronts. It was just a normal town, moderately abuzz with afternoon trade, but Sofia’s head felt heavy with a strange force tapping at her skull. As always, yet now more than ever, she hungered.

After questioning enough strangers, Sofia found her tita’s home and, inside, her tita. Cold, white and rigid on the kitchen floor. There was no blood; the kitchen was sterile and the scene, with the sun setting through netted curtains, soft. It wasn’t the first time Sofia had witnessed death, often peeking over the sofa to watch the news late at night, but it was the first time she’d been in the same room as it. Despite the deep-set look of horror carved into her tita’s features, there were no tears or screams, just an overwhelming sense of comfort. Peace.

Sofia poked her tita’s corpse with the tip of her switchblade. When nothing happened, she shrugged, placed the blade back in her pocket, and went to the fridge to make herself a jam sandwich. The body remained on that same floor for three days, a curious ornament and silent guardian. It was only when the front door rattled with a concerned neighbour that Sofia recognised the urgency of the situation. With great difficulty, she attempted to drag her tita towards the pantry and stuff her between rusted tins and bags of rice, but her young arms were too weak and the neighbour – a middle aged man with small eyes and a drooping chin – had already battered down the backdoor.

“What have you done?” he hollered, rushing forward. Sofia’s answer of “nothing” was true, so she felt no fear in vocalising it. The accusations continued to flow, each more bizarre than the next. A monster, a demon, a sea witch. He cornered her against the kitchen cabinets and demanded she show him her true face; she obliged. Just a smile. A twitch of the lips, a dilation of the pupils. Her face was that of Sofia Delgado, human, female, barely a decade old. She pulled her blade from the pocket of her pinafore and stabbed him twelve times in the neck without uttering a word. Her chest blossomed with pride, the buzz in her head fading, the thirst in her throat sated.

It wasn’t hard to get away with murder. It took over an hour to heave the man’s lifeless body towards the overgrown weeds beyond her tita’s fence and, once settled, she left him to rot. Then she ran to the WC Police Department in tears. “Please,” she’d wailed, “I was dropped at my tita’s this morning, but she won’t wake up. Please!” The authorities confirmed her grandmother had died of natural causes and placed Sofia into care.

By the time the man’s body was found – a lonely conspiracy theorist who most mocked for his declarations of the supernatural – Sofia’s alibi, age and pleasant demeanour had secured her innocence. One being, however, would not let her rest. As she was left to settle in the tiny dormitory of the foster home, just outside of town, the buzz in Sofia’s mind began to harden, white noise becoming words: I know what you did, devil child, it said, Monster! Demon! Witch!

Sofia twisted around and was met with the melting face of her first kill. He followed her everywhere, oft screaming condemnations, sometimes pointing out others in the community whose existence aggravated him beyond death. Frank, the ghost, was tethered to the Earth – and to Sofia – through pure intent to rid White Crest of the supernatural.

Sofia remained in the foster home until she was sixteen, with families perturbed by her empty eyes, knowing smile and outward twitching when Frank’s would yell late into the night. The older she became, the more she understood the need for discretion. Though a pretty face and faux naivety could grant her some margin, she no longer had the defence of childhood.

Sofia didn’t kill again until she was approved to live alone, choosing a derelict bungalow dumped between The Bend and Gallows Grove. It was another middle-aged man, one who’d ogled at her legs as if he owned her. His spirit, worthless and weak, didn’t have the strength to haunt her. Better still, he was from out of town.

To this day, that’s how Sofia selects her victims. Taking a job at The Stacked Deck, she can pick out the immoral and insignificant, those without the souls to shame her in the afterlife. It doesn’t always work; she’s still shrouded with the screams of spirits – both victims of hers, and those who cling to her untrained aura. But the bloodshed calms the noise for just a moment, and the kill – only every couple of years, annually at most – keeps her sane.

Rarely do White Crest’s inhabitants suspect the pretty little human female, which remains both a security blanket and a cause of annoyance for Sofia. Why must she be assumed the better sex, pious and polite; why must she be the better species, in control of her whims? The world is washed from state to state by tides of blood, the laws of the land designed by lesser men who are too cowardly to taste chaos at their own hands. Though Sofia doesn’t howl at the moon, she sees something in the beauty in an intrinsic desire to kill.

Character Facts:

Personality: Aloof, deceptive, intimidating, impersonal, suave, self-reliant, composed, calculated, flirtatious

Sofia lives in a ramshackle bungalow on an off-street of Burns Road. She’s never had the money or the inclination to buy a car, so townsfolk will often see her walking home, barefoot, through precarious streets at a leisurely pace, humming to keep the ghosts at bay. The rubble and glass that graze her toes are a reminder of the solid ground beneath her feet, the pain proof that she’s in control of her body, the journey enough to exhaust the senses. With tired legs, a glass of whiskey and a strong spliff, she can pass out in seconds with their threats of damnation only whispers lulling her to sleep.

She has her own corner in The Stacked Deck, not an official table, rather a booth that regulars know not to occupy. There, she takes and delivers bets ranging from next week’s hockey game to more sinister odds, profiting off the misdeeds of others. Occasionally, she’ll be asked to cover the bar. Both are perfect places to mark and monitor her next victim, paying close attention to the scum of the streets with little tethering them to home. Her role sometimes means significant interaction with White Crest’s supernatural community, and she is no longer shocked by their existence.

Though her home is dilapidated and her work less than honest, she presents herself as stylish and suave. Sharp bangs, cute chokers and easy movements. She’s a single-salt whiskey, red-wine and nicotine kinda girl, the sort that suggests trouble but only the fun kind. In her line of work, and with her particular interests in mind, it’s safer to suggest trouble than claim purity.

Sofia prefers to use knives and will always bring her victims home, where it’s easier to hide the evidence. Whilst her kills are easy enough to hide – buried in Gallows Grove at the height of darkness – they’re not necessarily neat.

Not having a car means that she can privately request a chaperone for the walk home, though she’ll never accept a ride. When asked, she’ll explain that she has a fear of cars, a hang-up from her abandonment as a child. In truth, the parked car of a dead person outside her home would spark unwanted suspicion.

Sofia is an untrained medium with no guidance but experience. As her ability to see and hear spirits were provoked as a child, she has had time to adapt to their never-ending noise but cannot control their volume and presence beyond drinking and smoking to numb her senses. When accosted by a spirit of a victim, they’re physical, often bleeding and reminiscent of the moment she killed them. On the other hand, spirits with little connection to Sofia remain just voices in her mind, occasionally a wisp or shadow.

Despite being somewhat reserved and off-putting, Sofia can socialise well. Her pleasant yet monotone voice, dark eyes and cool conduct promote mystery rather than murder. She will only say what she needs to dissuade suspicion and increase her standing upon Stacked Deck patrons. Gothic and aloof, there are some will be put-off by her presence in their town, whilst others will think her just another oddity.

She’s bisexual with a preference towards women, though does not date. Sofia enjoys sex as both a tool to her trade and a distraction from the ghosts that haunt her, though honest exploits (those safe from her claws), will always be kept away from her own bedroom.

#retired

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thecandywrites · 4 years

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Of Heaven and Fire Part 18

The REDEMPTION

@imherefortheforthefanart @probablyclever @funmadnessandbadassvikings

Of Heaven and Fire

Part 18

It was like he finally woke up from a coma or he had kicked out a demon from possessing him and he finally got full control of himself again and he sat up and gasped for air before it all came back in a rush and all he could feel was absolute shame and mortification for his behavior since his rebirth.

“Oh Gods, what did I do?! What have I done?!” Brock sobbed as he held his head which hurt like it had been bashed with a club as his body hurt all over as if he had just been beaten by a mob. So much so that he puked and cried out in anguish and sobbed and looked at all of the betrothal gifts as if he was seeing them for the first time and the depths of his hurt and shame at refusing such perfection, much less finding fault with them- were immeasurable as his abdomen hurt like he had gotten kicked in the gut by a draft horse.

How had you not strangled him? How had anyone not hunted him down and put his head on a spike for such barbaric and disrespectful behavior?

He wanted to throw himself off a cliff! His stomach lurched and his lower abdomen felt like it was shuddering and he felt like he was about to shit himself before he realized- he was feeling phantom labor pains. One of the spells the Shaman had cast is that you would feel what the other felt to a degree. If he felt labor pains, that meant...

“Oh fuck! Fuck! Yana!” Brock yelled and quickly took all your gifts off the walls and he put them all on and it was like he could feel all the emotions you were feeling as you had these made for him or when you made them yourself, all the worry yet all the care and love and adoration and respect and even though the clothing and the armor was hanging off of him because he had shrunk lately and it was particularly heavy because his strength had been depleting ever since he left the clan- he knew he had to fly to you, immediately. He didn’t have any time to lose. He rushed out of the house as he looked up into the sky as a huge storm gathered around him. But he was undeterred if anything, his courage and determination rose to the occasion.

He transformed into a mighty eagle, all his weapons and armor turning into armored feathers as his talons were particularly sharp and he flew as fast and as hard as he could and it was somehow a snow thunderstorm with freezing rain, hail and snow coming from the direction of Suchi and he dodged lighting bolts and the super heavy precipitation that beat him up even with special armor but he flew like his life depended on it and in record time despite the storm, he flew all over Suchi in an effort to find your house which he could not remember what it looked like. And in the colony, everything looked alike and he finally found your parent’s house, having remembered where that was at least but it was empty and so he went into the streets and banged on every door he could find until one finally opened up to him.

“Where’s Benyana Auksa’s house? I need to get to her as fast as possible.” Brock pleaded desperately as his gut continued to shudder and constrict in time with what he intuitively felt were your contractions, he panted for air before he got directions to your house and he flew straight to it and when he saw it, it was like he’s finally remembered all the memories he had of of it came back to him and his tears blurred his vision but now it felt like his heart and soul were leading him to you because even if he went blind in this instant, he would still find his way to you and he came to your doorstep and banged on the door before his father answered the door, Drad and his family only arriving moments before he did.

“You finally came!” Drad cheered in relief as he let him in and hugged his son so tight his back cracked as the two were already crying at being reunited.

“Oh fuck no! He’s not getting anywhere near Yana, especially not now! Not ever!” Rhen thundered himself as he charged Brock and went to hack off Brock’s head but Brock blocked the attack with all his strength.

“It’s me! It’s really me! The Brock before the rebirth in fire, I need to see Yana, I need to apologize to her. Look, I know I was the worst asshole the world had ever seen for the last six months and it was like I was possessed by a demon or something but I’m cured! One of Yana’s gifts to me cured me! It was an orb she got from the water dragons. When I took her out to sea back in the spring back when she was tethered to me which is a sin that will never be repeated for all time and one that I can never be forgiven for and I know I’m the last person in the world who has any right to be here and I will spend every waking moment for the rest of my life making it up to Yana and everyone else.” Brock pleaded as all he did was block your dad’s attacks and did his best to evade them but made no attacking motions himself even when his strength was waning to its last as his gut shuddered again as Brock heard the unmistakable sound that you were in labor and he heard midwives and your mother and his mother coaching you through it and he dropped his weapons on the floor and fled, flying through the house trying to find where you were as Rhen was pursuing him through the house before he found the room and broke the damn door getting in and he saw you in a birthing tub surrounded by his mom, your mom, Matae and the midwives and he flew to your side.

“Brock?” You asked, barely recognizing him.

“Yana!” Brock called out as he rushed over to you.

“Matae, that’s my spot, out of my way.” Brock tried to push him out of the way which made Matae start giggling after he waived his hand over the top of Brock’s head before he withdrew with a proud and relieved smile as everyone gasped at Brock’s appearance as he got on his knees next to the tub.

“Yana Baby, I’m so so so so sorry for everything I put you through, I’m so sorry I’m an asshole and an idiot and the worst person ever. I had no right to treat you the way I did and I swear it’s like I’ve been possessed by a demon for like, the last 6 months, ever since my rebirth in the ashes, like something reached out and attached itself to me when that happened. Like I had a choice to learn to love you all over again or reject you the first time you hugged me when I came back and when I rejected you because it felt weird- not that it felt wrong, but that it felt too right, I know that sounds crazy and insane but it’s the truth, it was like the worst parts of myself took over and I couldn’t stop myself and I was in constant pain and agony the closer to you I got and the more I fought it, the worse it got- so much so that I tried to drown it all out with alcohol because none of the doctors and healers could explain why I was in pain, even the Shaman couldn’t figure it out and couldn’t cure it which made no sense and every memory and every piece of feeling I had for you tried to come through anyway but I kept misunderstanding it all and I mistook the feelings of love and adoration and respect and awe for hatred and it only built from there and you were absolutely right, everyone was right, it was like you symbolized slavery to my soul somehow and usually my honor would have pushed me to accept you anyway but I just...couldn’t. It was like my whole soul revolted at the very idea and it was all my fault.” Brock spewed out as quickly as he could as the biggest benar anyone had ever seen flowed from his eyes at yours as he grabbed and held your hand in both of his as he got as close as he could without actually getting in the tub with you.

“And you gave me every chance to come to peace with it and you were so unbelievably patient, thank you, you were more patient with me than I ever was with you and the gods themselves can testify that you worked so hard. You tried so hard to be the perfect warchieftess and you succeeded Baby, you did, I was so proud of you but my own pride and jealousy and pettiness wouldn’t let me admit that to anyone especially myself. And I swear on my life that I will spend every waking moment from this moment on making it up to you.” Brock vowed as you just stared at him, barely breathing because you didn’t know if this was a trick or what.

“Remember when you first started to get the nightmares about what was to come when we went to Suchi together for the first time? And you woke up screaming your head off and sobbing and you were inconsolable and I just held you and pet your beautiful hair and rubbed your back and your arms and I swore to you by every god we both believed in- combined- that even if the council put me to death and even if I had to be reincarnated or reborn that I would find you, no matter what. No matter what form I would take, be it a raven or a dove or a horse or a mule or even a stray dog, I would come for you and that nothing would separate me from you and if anything or anyone did- the worst curses known to the living kinds would befall them or if I rejected you that the worst curses would befall myself and the clan? That if I came back and rejected you that my family should reject me, my clan should reject me and the very land should reject me and that monsters would hatch and eat up all the fish in the estuary and that I would forever wander and be lost forever. That I would be so alone that not even an animal would be my friend and that Stormbreaker would only be known as a place of whores before it would be no more? That my manhood would never work with anyone else but you and that my old weapons would shatter and my old armor would fall apart and that my clothes would even fall apart at the seams off my body so that I would roam naked and afraid and that no birth would ever happen in Stormbreaker until the day our child would come back and reclaim the land as their natural and proper birthright and then the curse would reverse and turn back into the blessing only it would double for their sake and my name would never be said again but their name would be known for times indefinite no matter what?” Brock prompted and all you could do is cry in relief and nod your head yes.

“And it made you laugh your tears away because of how silly and preposterous it was but I made you swear that you were never to tell anyone this vow, especially me because even if I didn’t remember you, I would remember this vow because the gods would never let me ever forget? And what happened? Everything!” Brock started to laugh through his own tears as his mother hit him over the head angrily for cursing the clan like that.

“Next time leave the clan out of it!” Rhos chastised.

“Sorry, yeah, I deserved that and so much more.” Brock admitted but wouldn’t take his eyes off of you as he kissed your hand as he held your hand tightly as you squeezed back just as tightly.

“Everything I vowed, came true. Monstrous eels were born under the crater that our house left behind, a house that we built together out of clouds that was supposed to be the perfect place to birth a great nation under our child’s name. And that when we had children, our first born son would be named Brive, and our first born daughter would be named Brelani. Remember?” He recalled as you started sobbing happy tears because you had not mentioned those names and wouldn’t say those names until the baby was born but he was back. He had told you that in the greatest of privacy and there had been no other witnesses to that as you hugged him as he hugged you as tight as he could.

“What brought your memory back?” You asked when he pulled back to kiss every inch of you he could reach and repeat the words ‘l love you’ with every one as you returned his kisses emphatically. So happy and relieved he came to his senses and came back to you.

“The orb! The orb that the water dragons gave you that you gave me as a parting gift, my mom invited me to watch the house while they were away here and I got so drunk off of the ale they left and Binga was waiting on me and she kicked my ass, which may the gods bless her for that, and I was in such a rage when she left that I took that orb and I threw it as hard as I could against the wall and what came out of it was this shining shimmering thing and it attacked me and I swear to the 9 heavens that it acted like a mob beating me up in every sense before it just unlocked everything and sobered me up and when I came too, it was like the “demon” was kicked out and I had full control over myself and my mind and my actions again and everything came back in a rush and I came to my senses and all I could do is throw up and cry and wallow in regret, embarrassment, shame and remorse and it was all I had to put everything on and fly as fast as I could here and the elements I swear were against me every step of the way and I got absolutely pelted by the storm’s hail but none of it hurt bad enough for me to stop and I knew I couldn’t stop until I was here.” Brock insisted.

“Well, that’s because all the heavenly moura who have been after her were throwing the hail at you from the clouds themselves.” Matae finally piped up sheepishly before everyone looked at him which got yourself to giggle in amusement as Brock wiped the tears from your eyes as you did the same to him and so happy when he leaned into your touch.

“Really?” Brock asked as he frowned which got everyone else to snicker in amusement.

“Well I mean, I totally deserved it.” Brock admitted with a nod as Matae nodded in agreement as did everyone else.

“And the elves totally drove away all the fawna.” Matae admitted. “Because the elves were upset that you rejected her.” Matae admitted.

“And the council did totally curse you with a demon right before I got the chance to kill them myself and that the demon would torment you forever but I was powerless to do anything about it or tell anyone about it until either it pushed you to kill yourself to escape the pain and agony and agitation, or drove you to act in such a way that others would kill you. It was revenge for the council who themselves were powerless to harm you before your rebirth but in your rebirth process it was possible for the demon to attach itself to you since as their final revenge against you and your family and your clan, using your own vow against you and against Benyana especially for exposing them. And of course all the gods that you vowed to were obviously listening.” Matae revealed as everyone seemed to nod in understanding.

“But you should be grateful to Yana for protecting you, she even sent for me to deliver some game, being squirrels and trash pandas since that’s all I could carry as a raven as all the forest berries and mushrooms magically vanished whenever you were near, again, thanks to the elves, in particular Siressa who’s now the queen of the elves.” Matae explained since your sister Siressa married Railitor.

“I thought that was weird.” Brock realized. “Wait that raven was you?” Brock asked as he remembered seeing it as Matae nodded in confirmation.

“Who was the dove?” Brock asked.

“More or less me, I was able to see you through the dove’s eyes since I physically couldn’t change into a bird form. Matae helped me. I started to fear that you weren’t completely yourself when your behavior didn’t match up perfectly to the way you were before the new year and while Matae couldn’t tell me about it, he couldn’t deny it either and I spent over a week playing the guessing game with him to come to that conclusion. That’s why I begged the gods to let you keep fighting no matter what, because the way I saw it, if you were fighting, then you would be alive and give me time to figure out a way to break it and kick the demon’s ass after I give birth to Brive since I couldn’t do so while pregnant, it was too risky. When surprise surprise, I already had the solution from Yingshen, long before there was ever a problem. But even I couldn’t know what was in that sphere.” You confessed.

“It was a Kydri, think of it as genie but a spirit of light who’s sworn enemies are demons and harmful and malicious curses. It attacked the demon in you and killed it. which- as bonded to you as that demon was because it was reborn with you, you felt the pain of it in your physical being. The particular kind of demon that it was- was particularly crafty, it liked to hide in plain sight as a person’s greatest faults so that when any healer or any other magic practicing person tried to examine you, it was like it wasn’t there at all and the only ways to get rid of it was either by a Kydri or other spirit of light, which are few and far between, how Yingshen had one, is a mystery to me.” Matae explained before another contraction hit you and you braced yourself in the waters and whimpered in pain as Brock did the same as you widened your eyes.

“We still have our connection I see. Sharing the burden huh?” You teased breathlessly.

“Aways, alright, I gotta get closer, I’ve spent the entire pregnancy either not knowing you were pregnant or possessed by a demon who kept me away from you. I’m back baby, so unless you yourself send me away, I’m getting as close as possible.” Brock insisted as he stood and started stripping down to his underwear as your mother laughed as she shielded her eyes as Rhos laughed and helped take his clothes and put them to the side as he got in the birthing tub and hugged you and kissed you the best he could before he got behind you and had you sit on his lap and legs so there was room between his legs for the baby to come through as he wrapped his arms around you and held you tight and kissed your neck and your shoulder and buried his face into the crux of your neck and shoulder and inhaled your heavenly scent, so happy to be reunited with you and happily felt every kick he could while Brive was still in your womb so that at least he didn’t get to miss out on the experience entirely as Brive suddenly became really active in hearing his father’s voice as the labor evened out.

“My mom said you almost lost Brive several times, what happened?” Brock murmured quietly after you settled in.

“Once we left, he stopped moving, except to roll in his sleep. No kicks, nothing. Only when your dad came and visited since his voice was closest to yours would he kick.” You explained.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t imagine the burden of worry that put on you.” Brock murmured sorrowfully.

“It’s not a burden anymore, now that you’re back and you’re here, that’s all that matters to me now.” You reassured him.

“But if you threw up and just flew here, you need to get some strength and keep it up. Mom, could you see if anyone could make Brock a preflight meal?” You requested.

“Of course.” Your mother nodded before she and Rhos left to cook up a storm as they revealed the truth of the matter to everyone else.

Brock spent all night holding you and comforting you and massaging you and doing everything in his power to ease you through labor all night, even as exhausted as he was, but he knew you were even worse off than he was and he dug deep for the strength to persevere which helped with the food everyone else was making for him and you as his moura light marks lit up and intertwined with yours and your son’s as you laid back against him, so happy and relieved to have him fully back with you as the storm raged on outside but it all felt so far off now that he was near and he would be with you and supporting you for the birth.

It was when you puked for the second time that the midwives knew you were in the final stage of labor as you braced yourself on Brock’s arms as you sat forward, trying to let gravity help you as Brock silently prayed to every god you both believed in to help you through this and to give you the strength and stamina to give birth and survive the birth and for Brive to make it through too. Brock had never prayed so hard or so fervently in his life.

Just before sunrise as the storm died down to a simple rain shower, did you finally give birth to Brive.

He was, by far- the cutest most handsome baby boy any of you have ever seen in your lives and even your family had to admit that he was perfect and his light mint green skin with blonde hair and the brightest blue eyes and his gold moura mark was gorgeous and Brock waited until the umbilical cord stopped pulsing to cut it and after you expelled the afterbirth, Brock picked you up as you held your son, once he had been cleaned off and bathed and carried you to bed that had been prepared for you and your son nursed like a piranha. You were just glowing, literally, because you were healing yourself before Brock started to glow too and with help from the midwives and your own mother was able to help heal you from the birthing process and while it would still take time to fully heal, it would cut down the normal healing time by two thirds.

It was Brock’s first act to heal another as a moura and it was incredibly fitting that it was you and he did great- he was a natural and once everyone saw themselves out, you both finally got the chance to rest together for the first time in months, with you sleeping on your back with Brive in the natural cradle of your chest and Brock on his side spooning you and letting you use his legs to prop up your own as his arm was your pillow and his other arm wrapped around you possessively. Both of you slept so soundly and waking every couple of hours so you could nurse Brive who had a very healthy appetite and it warmed your heart to see Brock be oh so careful and gentle in changing his son’s diapers but keep Brive otherwise naked to maximize the skin to skin contact not only with you but with him as he cradled Brive to his chest like Brive was his greatest treasure and you both cooed at the baby and at each other and of course both of your families continued to cook up a storm together to celebrate everything and brought you all the meals in bed so that you could rest in peace and didn’t have to do much of anything other than get up to go to the bathroom and even then Brock was all too eager to help and if he wasn’t holding Brive he was holding you while you held Brive.

News traveled quickly and as soon as you were able to get dressed and be seen by more people other than your family, you had many visitors from both Stormbreaker and Hurricane Breaker who all brought gifts and blessings and they all wanted to hear the tale of star crossed lovers, defying curses and spells and even a demon possession to be together and instantly great and fantastic legends were born.

When it was time, it was Brock’s family’s turn to show him how to move houses made in clouds and fly it back home with you and Brive safely inside.

Once he settled the house back into where it had been before, the gush of water into the estuary flooded all the silt out into the ocean to restore the beautiful rocks and sand again before you brought Brive out of the house as you and Brock got his feet out of his blankets.

“Welcome to your rightful home and birthright my son.” Brock said as you both crouched down so you could put Brive’s bare little feet to the ground before you watched as a ripple effect traveled like waves of water over the land. Suddenly the vegetation returned full force. All the crops returning to the land and at the perfect ripeness for harvest as everyone from Stormbreaker left Drauch to immediately harvest all the abundance as quickly as possible as you quickly rewrapped Brive’s legs into the blankets you had him swaddled in and went back inside to rest as Brock then helped his clan gather as much grains and produce as possible before any of it could be lost to frost as one by one then group by group all his former captians and commanders and generals returned to him. Grateful to have their future warchief back.

#Of Heaven and Fire #Of Heaven and Fire part 18 #orc love story #orc #moura #fae #orc husband #monster boyfriend #orc reader insert #male monster female reader #exophilia #exo #monster reader insert

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myaekingheart · 4 years

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104. Seijo Seika

Anata wo ikebana ni shite shimaimaseu Itsumo soba ni ite itadakemasu yo ni Anata wo ikebana ni shite shimaimaseu Soto no kaze ni taorarete shimawanu yo -Seijo Seika, Kazuhiko Inoue

So this was it: twenty six. Rei furrowed her brows as sunlight poured through the windows, feeling around for her fiancé. She swallowed back the lump in her throat as the realization hit her: he was already gone. Of course. With a groan, Rei buried her head beneath her pillow and cocooned herself even further into the blankets. As if she hadn’t already been tempted enough to isolate for the day. There was no point in celebrating without Kakashi.

A part of her cursed Tsunade for even assigning him to a mission on her birthday but Rei knew it really couldn’t be helped. One cannot will the ninja world to stop turning whenever they feel like it. Besides, it wasn’t like she care to make a big spectacle of her birthday anyway. What part of getting old was even worth celebrating? It’s just another year closer to death. Rei’s fingers involuntarily twitched against the pale scars lining her forearm. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and willed herself back to sleep.

Within a matter of seconds, however, Toshio shook the mattress as he jolted toward the bedroom door. Rei watched as he scratched at the carpet and barked incessantly. Clanking and banging echoed from the kitchen. Perfect. Just how she wanted to start her day: with a home invasion. Who the hell even broke into someone’s house at 8am? Rei didn’t have time to wonder. In a flash, she grabbed the kunai from her nightstand and ripped the blankets back. The knob slowly turned. The door creaked open. Rei was suddenly highly aware of the fact that she was wearing no pants. With a battle cry, she launched her kunai straight for her opponent’s head.

Kakashi’s eyes widened as he ducked just in time. The knife just barely missed his head, whizzing past his ear to stick in the living room wall. Plates and silverware clanked as he attempted to steady the tray of food in his hands. “I thought you did your killing after breakfast!” he exclaimed with a hint of exasperation. Toshio happily gobbled up a stray piece of fruit that had rolled onto the floor, his previous defense vanishing.

Rei stammered as she tried to form the proper questions. Why are you here? What happened to your mission? Is something wrong? Did you get fired? The confusion on her face was almost tangible.

“My assignment got cancelled at the last minute” Kakashi explained, sitting on the edge of the bed. He placed the tray before her with a soft smile. He had really outdone himself: fluffy tomagoyaki, fresh fruit glistening with juice, toast dripping in silky butter and honey, and her favorite pastries, flaky and fruity and drizzled with glaze. Steam wafted lazily up from a cup of green tea, the warmth of which was perfect for a March morning such as this. “So it looks like I can spend your birthday with you after all” he added happily.

Rei could hardly contain her joy. She leapt forward, wrapping her arms around him with a laugh. Kakashi abruptly reached out to steady the tray, the mattress rocking with her movement. That was twice now that he nearly lost all of his hard work. “You better eat before a meteor crashes into your breakfast” he jested. He glanced to Toshio begging at the side of the bed before adding, “Third time’s a charm.”

Rei could hardly keep the smile off her face as she leaned back and started on her eggs. Perhaps her birthday wasn’t going to be so dreadful after all. She watched as Kakashi carefully shifted so as to sit cross-legged before her. God, he was so cute. “I hope you didn’t leave the house looking like you do” she joked, sipping her tea. “Forgetting the mask is like the equivalent of walking around naked for you.”

Kakashi chuckled and shook his head. “Are you trying to tell me something?” he smirked. “Because I can take my pants off if you want.”

“Ooh, breakfast and a show?” Rei replied. She poked at his thigh with her chopstick and giggled.

“Well, it is your day” Kakashi replied. “You’re in charge.”

“That’s dangerous” Rei laughed, taking another bite of her food.

“Why? What did you have in mind?” Kakashi asked. “Tightrope walking on telephone poles? Hunting down rogue shinobi?”

Rei shook her head. “Not even close.”

“So what do you want to do for your birthday, then?”

Sucking in a deep breath, a small smile crept onto Rei’s lips as she looked him dead in the eyes and replied, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

Kakashi gave a single, definitive nod then as he affirmed, “Alright, then. Nothing it is.” He grinned wide as she leaned over the tray to kiss him. They both knew that nothing really meant anything. That nothing was a simple promise of possibility, a liberation from obligation. The ability to do whatever you damn well pleased when you pleased to do it. That was the kind of birthday Rei had always preferred—to not be tethered by the dullness of parties and people but rather to live unhindered for once in her life. No rules, no responsibilities. Just pure, absolute freedom.

As she finished her food, Kakashi cuddled up beside her and pulled the book from her nightstand. The pages were yellowed, the edges jagged, and the cover was nearly falling off of the shoddy spine. Rei watched suspiciously as he flipped through it, wondering if he was judging her for her literary tastes. As if he was one to talk. Before she could question him on it, however, he flipped to where her bookmark was and began reading aloud. At first she thought he was mocking her—the way he read had so much personality, so much depth of voice—but it was clear in his facial expressions and body language that his intent was quite the opposite. He wrapped his free arm around her as she snuggled against his chest, picking apart the pastry as she listened to his narration. Toshio had since reclaimed his spot at the foot of the bed, resting his heavy head on Rei’s calves. She reached down to scratch behind his ear and he sighed contentedly. In a moment like this, suddenly that bright sunlight that awoke her wasn’t so unwelcome anymore. Instead it bathed everything in a warm and cozy hue, every edge highlighted with an angelic glow. It took all of her strength to not fall back asleep. This must be what heaven is like, she thought to herself.

Once she was finished eating, Kakashi set the book aside and carried the tray of empty plates back to the kitchen. Rei watched him through the doorway, catching the faint notes of a song that felt familiar but she couldn’t quite name. Anata wa ikebana ni shite shimaima seu, itsuma sobe ni ite itadakemasu yo ni, anata wo ikebana ni shite shimaimaseu, soto no kaze ni taorarete shimawanu yo…

His calming voice yet again nearly put her to sleep. Her eyelids grew heavy and she felt her head slowly fall back onto her pillow, only for her to snap herself awake. After three close calls, she peeled the covers back and slithered into the bathroom. The sound of water rushing from the showerhead nearly drowned out Kakashi’s voice completely and for a moment, Rei genuinely regretted it. But then the door creaked open and there he was, leaning against the doorway. “Need some help?” he asked. Rei’s cheeks burned. She could never say no.

He drew her oversized t-shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor, then hooked a finger into the waist of her underwear. He paused a moment there, smiling down at the cartoon dogs on the fabric. To think: an elite ninja like her, with a high kill count to boot, wearing such cute—and, dare he say, childish—panties. He chuckled before sliding them down her thighs and watching her kick them into the corner. He undressed himself as she stepped into the shower, testing the water temperature with her foot and then curving herself around the stream so as to adjust the knob accordingly.

“You know” she said, watching him tug the curtain closed as he joined her, “Didn’t you already get a shower this morning?”

Kakashi simply shrugged and replied, “There was never any harm in being clean.” Then, with a slight smile, he added, “Besides, it’s nicer when it’s with you.” He rested his hands on her hips and rubbed her sides, then brushed her hair back as she tilted her head under the showerhead. He lathered shampoo into her hair and kissed her shoulders as he soaped her body up. His fingers traced her scars and caressed her cheek. And when she wasn’t looking, he’d open his mouth beneath the showerhead so as to squirt her in the face when she turned back around. She would blow soap bubbles at him in retaliation only to be captured by his strong embrace seconds afterward, both of them hunching over in uproarious laughter.

As they dried off and got dressed, Kakashi approached the window and surveyed the village below. It was truly a beautiful day with the clearest of skies and cherry blossoms like cotton candy lining the streets. “We should take advantage of the cherry blossoms before they disappear” he said wistfully.

“You think so?” Rei asked, shaking her hair dry like a dog. She considered the idea for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I think that would be nice. I’m sure Toshio would appreciate a long walk anyways.”

The minute the word walk fell from her lips, Toshio’s ears perked up. They made eye contact for a split second before he leapt to his feet and began circling her excitedly, barking and jumping. Kakashi watched as she tried to simultaneously calm him and slip into her sweater, but her head got stuck in a sleeve and Toshio was only growing more excited by the minute.

“You might want to choose your words more carefully next time” he joked, attempting to redirect Toshio into the living room. The dog immediately went to the front door, stamping his feet and whimpering impatiently. Rei wiggled and writhed before her head popped out of the appropriate hole, her hair frizzy and face flushed. She stuck her tongue out at Kakashi playfully before rushing to slip on her sandals. The moment Kakashi opened the door, Toshio booked it down the hallway, spotted tongue flapping out of the side of his mouth as he went. Rei and Kakashi locked eyes and laughed before chasing after him.

Konoha felt so peaceful and warm. Children raced and laughed in the streets as cherry blossoms floated leisurely on the breeze. Rei intertwined her fingers with Kakashi’s as they walked along, Toshio strolling ahead of them to sniff every tree trunk and bark at every passerby. The sweet smell of spring hung in the air.

“So now that we’re out” Kakashi started, “Is there anything special you want to do?”

Rei shook her head. “Not particularly” she replied. “Why? Is there anything special that you want to do?”

Kakashi chuckled and replied, “Like I said earlier, it’s your day so you call the shots.”

Cocking her brow, Rei gazed back at him suspiciously. “But…?” she asked.

Of course she could see right through him. Sighing, he replied, “But there is one thing I think we should do while we’re here.” Rei had been so enthralled with the ambiance of the village that she had scarcely realized what direction they were walking in. The two of them stopped outside of a row of shops, the largest of which had a green awning and displays of new publications outside.

“Oh no, absolutely not” Rei said, shaking her head and recoiling. The last thing she needed was to see her parents today. They were always so weird on her birthday—so passive aggressive and sentimental. Another year where you haven’t been killed. An excuse to convince her to quit her job.

Kakashi frowned and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m sure they would be really disappointed if you didn’t at least stop in to say hello” he replied. “After all, they did give you life.”

“Yeah, and they’ve spent every waking moment of it trying to tell me what to do” Rei fired back. “I just want one day where their bullshit doesn’t hang over my head. Is that too much to ask?”

“I suppose not” Kakashi sighed. He toed the ground before turning to walk in the opposite direction, muttering in sing-song, “Though I’m sure Grandma Teiko will be really sad you didn’t stop by.”

Rei pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes as he glanced at her over his shoulder. He knew her weaknesses all too well. After a moment’s stalemate, Rei threw her head back with a groan, grabbed Kakashi by the wrist, and stomped inside Kaminoki. “Just know I’m only doing this for Grandma Teiko” she muttered under her breath. And really, that was all Kakashi needed.

Hana was checking out a customer when Rei and Kakashi slipped inside, the bell above the door signalling their arrival. A wide grin spread across her face as she hurried the young man out of the store and then rushed to her daughter with arms open wide. “I’m so glad you stopped by!” Hana cooed, hugging her daughter close. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thanks, mom” Rei muttered. She could feel her mother’s cheeks grow hot and her chest rising and falling unevenly to alert of impending tears.

Hana sniffled and leaned back, brushing the long bangs out of Rei’s face. You shouldn’t hide your pretty face, she always said. A bittersweet smile touched Hana’s lips. “I can’t believe you’re already twenty six” she croaked. “It feels like just yesterday I was pushing you out of my—”

“Okay, mom! That’s enough!” Rei interrupted, her face turning bright red. Kakashi couldn’t help but chuckle, earning him a sharp glare from his fiancée. The faster they got this over with, the better. “So, uh, where’s Dad and Grandma Teiko?” Rei asked.

Hana and Kakashi locked eyes for a moment, the Copy Ninja giving a single nod. “Your father” Hana started, skirting around the checkout counter, “is upstairs doing what he always does.” She knelt down and began rummaging around in the counter drawers. Toshio leapt up onto his hind legs to sniff around the countertop, hoping for treats.

“What a surprise” Rei rolled her eyes. She reached out to take Kakashi’s hand in hers, a silent plea for support, before abruptly adding, “Well if you guys are busy, I certainly don’t want to hold you up!” She patted her thigh for Toshio to come.

“No, really! It’s fine!” Hana exclaimed. She reached across the counter to take Rei’s free hand in hers, a pelading smile touching her lips. “Please, you only just got here. At least go upstairs and say hello.”

Rei blinked, instantly suspicious. She began fearing balloons and banners and birthday cake awaiting her. “O-okay…” she stammered quietly.

Hana glanced to Kakashi before motioning toward the back door. “I’ll be up in a minute!”

Rei squeezed Kakashi’s hand as he urged her to go first. The staircase was so rickety and narrow, they could really only go single file. Toshio followed close behind, close enough for Rei to keep her hand atop his head as they ascended. A lump rose in her throat and her hands felt shaky and numb. The further they went, the more compelled she felt to rush back downstairs and bolt out the front door or jump out of the nearest window.

Quiet muttering echoed from behind the door as Rei reached the top of the stairs. Her hand hesitated on the knob, shaky and unsure. Toshio nudged the back of her leg in encouragement before Rei sucked in a deep breath and stepped inside.

Her eyes immediately landed on Grandma Teiko. Crouched down in the kitchen, she hummed a familiar tune as she pulled a small cake from the oven. A single strand of wrinkled crepe paper hung wistfully across the doorway and there was a small stack of presents in the corner. “Well, if that’s not perfect timing” Teiko chuckled, turning her gaze to her granddaughter.

Rei shook her head and laughed in disbelief. This was exactly what she had feared and yet, because it was Grandma Teiko, she couldn’t even be mad about it.

“Your mother wanted to do more but I told her ‘now listen, Rei doesn’t like anything fancy so you better dial it back’” Teiko explained. Rei watched as she skirted around the counter and began setting out small ceramic plates and colorful napkins. “Now if I was in charge of all of this, I wouldn’t have done anything more than a single pastry with one candle and no decorations but you know how your mother is.” There was a twinkle in her eyes, a shared understanding between the two of them. At least someone was sane. Rei had never been more grateful for Grandma Teiko.

As they chatted, Kakashi slipped inside quietly. Rei glanced at him over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of something hidden behind his back. Hana followed close behind. “You really didn’t need to do all of this” Rei commented, looking to her mother.

Hana smiled softly and shook her head. “Yes I did” she commented. “What kind of mother would I be if I didn’t celebrate the day that made me one? I’m just grateful you’re happy and healthy and can celebrate your birthday to begin with.” Rei winced at the sentiment. Though vague and slightly underhanded, she knew exactly what her mother meant: another year you haven’t gotten yourself killed. Before anything more could be said, Grandma Teiko hobbled into the office to retrieve Rei’s father.

Rei huffed her bangs out of her face and sunk down onto the living room couch. “So I guess we’re doing the whole nine yards here? Offkey singing and shiny wrapping paper included?” she asked.

Kakashi settled beside her and rested a hand on her knee. “We’ll sing extra loud so the nieghbors can hear” he jested. Rei grimaced and playfully punched him in the arm, eliciting nothing but laughter from her fiancé. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, but this only emphasized the fact that he was still hiding something behind his back. As she leaned nearer, she peered around to try to sneak a peek but it was no use. Kakashi blocked her attempt with a cheeky grin, the kind that silently whispered not so fast. Rei frowned and leaned back in defeat with arms crossed. She was so cute when she was pouty, Kakashi couldn’t help himself from kissing the tip of her nose through his mask. He loved how deeply she blushed from the surprise affection, especially in front of her parents.

Yuruganai trudged into the room just in time, gagging at the sight of such public displays. “Save it for the bedroom” he grumbled, sinking down into his favorite armchair. Hana cupped her hand over her mouth, her face bright red, as she tried to avoid the thought of her daughter’s relationship being anything other than puritanical.

“Let the kids have their fun!” Grandma Teiko exclaimed. She turned off all the lights as Hana finished icing the cake and set it upon the coffee table. She lit the candles and then guided everyone in singing Happy Birthday.

Of all the traditions Rei had to suffer through, the singing was probably the one she hated the most. Everything about it was hell: the volume, the melodic dissonance, being the center of attention. She clenched her jaw a little too tightly when she smiled, tightening her grip on Kakashi’s hand. Toshio howled along imperfectly.

The cake was phenomenal, per usual. It was Hana’s secret recipe, the one she used for everyone’s birthdays. Her cooking always delivered even if Rei could’ve done without the globs of icing. Toshio licked a dollop from Rei’s finger as she asked, “So what kinds of presents does twenty six get me? Crippling debt? Crotch goblins? Angina?”

Grandma Teiko snorted. “That’s not until twenty nine” she corrected. She reached into the pile of presents and handed over a small box wrapped in red foil. Rei took it gratefully and carefully unwrapped it to find a small handpainted flowerpot. “For the chakra plants” Teiko elaborated.

From her mother, she received a packet of wildflower seeds—“To match the flowerpot” she said—and a new cardigan she had found at the boutique around the corner. Her father gifted her a paperweight that was just as dull and unsuspecting as one would imagine. And then it was Kakashi’s turn.

Rei cocked an eyebrow and said in fake suspicion, “Now what else could you have possibly gotten me?” She held up her left ring finger to emphasize her point. And really, what more could she ask for when he had already pledged his commitment to her?

“Oh” Kakashi said in quiet, mock disappointment. “Then I guess you don’t want this after all.” Here, he finally revealed the package he had been hiding behind his back. “Such a shame. I really thought you were going to like it, too.”

“Well, seeing as you went to all that trouble…” Rei replied sheepishly, before quickly turning and reaching her hands out, demanding “Gimme!”

Kakashi handed the present over mercifully, watching with a careful eye as she set it in her lap. Wrapped in unassuming parchment, Rei knew immediately that it was a book. She was careful not to tear too violently through the paper as if it was a precious treasure that must be handled as such. Her breath hitched in her throat as the cover began to reveal itself.

“Kakashi, you didn’t” she gasped, looking at him in questionable disbelief. It was a leatherbound first edition of her favorite book, the very same one he had read aloud to her earlier, in mint condition. “This must have cost you a fortune.”

“We all pitched in” Hana chimed.

“I’ve been in contact with a seller in Amegakure who claimed he had one” Yuruganai replied. “Traded him for ten shipments of the newest Icha Icha crap. Apparently it’s super popular over there.” Yuruganai scrunched his face up in disgust at the thought.

Rei traced the embossing on the cover, admiring the detailed tree branches and frolicking fantasy creatures. “You guys really outdid yourselves” she whispered, smiling. “Thank you for this.”

Grandma Teiko hobbled over and pulled Rei into a tight hug with her free arm. “It was really no trouble” she said. “But I will say I should get some credit for coming up with the idea.”

“You would understand the trouble if you had to correspond with Amegakure” Yuruganai muttered. His tone seeped with underlying disdain for the Rain Village’s politics.

Kakashi took Rei’s hand in his and added, “This doesn’t mean you have to get rid of the old copy, by the way.” He brushed the bangs out of her face and smiled. “I know how sentimental your original is for you.”

“I didn’t get that impression at all—that this was supposed to be a replacement” Rei assured. “If anything, I’m happy to have two! A sentimental one and a fancy one.” For a split second, the thought of settling down to read from the new copy with her future children flickered in the back of her mind and Rei grew suddenly woozy. She rested a hand upon Toshio’s head, who was vying for more icing, in an attempt to steady her thoughts.

“So, do you two have plans tonight?” Hana asked over her shoulder, carrying the dirty dishes to the sink. “If you’re not doing anything, you should stay for dinner.”

Rei, still slightly unhinged, glanced to Kakashi and it was clear the sirens were sounding in her head. “Actually” Kakashi stepped in, “we already made dinner plans with some friends.”

��Oh” Hana said, slightly dejected. “Okay then. I hope you both have fun. Perhaps if it’s not too late, you can stop by for tea and dessert instead?”

“We’ll, uh, we’ll think about it, Mom” Rei replied. “But thank you.” Despite the formality, her and Hana were both well aware that if she was meeting up with Sekkachi, Rei was going to be shit-faced drunk by the end of the night. Another matter Hana did not want to think about.

“Let Rei enjoy her birthday” Teiko shouted into the kitchen. “After all, you’re only young once!”

“Yes, but you also only have one family” Hana added, slightly peeved.

Grandma Teiko chuckled. “Not if you get a jump on procreation” she replied, winking at her granddaughter. Rei’s face turned bright red, forcing a polite smile as she swallowed back her anxiety.

Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck nervously, adding, “Let’s take one thing at a time.” He panned the room to find Yuruganai shaking his head and rising to his feet, evidently done with the whole conversation. The mood was fizzling out. That was their cue.

By the time they left, it was nearly sunset. Rei burst out into the street and keeled over with hands on her knees, gasping for breath. “Thank god that’s over with” she sighed.

“That suffocating, huh?” Kakashi chuckled. Deep down, he hated to admit that he felt it, too. Rei’s parents may have given him their blessing for the engagement but he knew full well the reservations they still held toward him. Feelings like that are, unfortunately, not so easily shaken.

Rei puffed out her cheeks and nodded with wide eyes, hands firmly on her hips. Toshio nudged her hand, licking whatever sugary residue still clung to her fingertips. “Let’s go” she said after catching her breath, motioning for them to follow. “I need to try and salvage whatever’s left of the day before I lose my goddamn mind.”

Kakashi trotted to catch up with her, readjusting the canvas bag of her gifts on his shoulder. “So what else would you like to do then?” he asked. They walked along the winding pathway through the park. Old men sat at the lake’s shore fishing and reminiscing, parents carried sleepy toddlers in their arms. A family of ducks travelled downstream, their quacks echoing off the water’s surface.

“I don’t know” Rei sighed. It was clear she was steadily growing overwhelmed with her own thoughts. “Something distracting, I guess. What was that thing you said about dinner plans with friends? Is that actually a thing or did you just pull that excuse out of your ass?”

Kakashi shrugged. “Guy had suggested we get together tonight, and I did mention that takeout place you like” he replied. The thought of her favorite greasy fast food immediately put Rei in a brighter mood.

“I would love that” she abruptly replied.

Smiling, Kakashi gave Rei’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “Alright then, takeout it is.” Despite the promise of such simplicity, it was clear to Kakashi that there was still something bothering her. When Rei smiled back at him, he could tell she was tense and preoccupied. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

“What? Yeah! Of course!” Rei lied. Kakashi narrowed his eyes in suspicion. It took all of ten seconds for Rei to crack. “I mean, I don’t know, seeing my parents just kinda kicked my ass” she admitted.

“Was there something that I missed?” he asked. “What did they say? Or do?”

Sighing, Rei shook her head. She was too scared to bring up all the overbearing thoughts in her head. If she could even formulate them into words in the first place, that is. “It’s really nothing” she insisted. “The whole thing just gave me a lot to think about.”

“Like what?” Kakashi asked. “If something is bothering you, you need to tell me what’s going on. Please.”

“Okay…” Rei said slowly, cautiously. She raked her bangs back and tried to prepare herself. “I mean, I guess part of it just has to do with how I’m still trying to adjust to the fact that we’re engaged, you know? And our future, I mean—”

Before she could finish her sentence, a loud splash interrupted the conversation. The couple whipped around to find none other than Toshio paddling toward the center of the lake.

“Toshio, what the hell are you doing?!” Rei shouted after him, but it was useless. If he could hear her, it was clear he had chosen to ignore her. Rei watched as he swam nearer to the family of ducks, correctly predicting exactly what was to happen next. Sighing, she rubbed her temples as the birds squawked and scattered.

Kakashi couldn’t resist laughing. He should’ve expected as much. “Well, they don’t call him a retriever for nothing” he jested.

“Very funny” Rei sighed.

Once Toshio returned, he dropped the duck at Rei’s feet and grinned happily, spotted tongue lopping out of the side of his mouth. Rei lifted the duck up by the neck with her index and thumb, cringing. The bird hung lifelessly in her grasp.

“At least he thought to get you a present” Kakashi laughed. “Happy birthday, here’s a dead duck!”

“Well, I guess we have a backup plan for dinner tonight” Rei replied. Then, smirking to her fiancé, she asked, “Do you know how to make duck a l’orange?” Toshio, apparently pleased with the idea, barked joyfully and spun in circles so quickly his tail whacked him in the face. Kakashi and Rei smiled at each other before they both erupted into fits of hysterical laughter.

Tubes of various colored lipstick and palettes of eyeshadow littered the bathroom counter. Rei stared intently at her reflection, her features a jigsaw puzzle disassembled and strange. The harsh vanity lights highlighted every imperfection: the freckles dotting her shoulders, the depth of the scar across the bridge of her nose, the thickness of her eyebrows and her uneven smile and her frizzy copper hair. For a moment, she didn’t even recognize herself. She gripped the edge of the bathroom counter and sucked in a deep breath. If she wasn’t careful, she was certain she was going to be sick. Perhaps going out wasn’t such a good idea after all. The weight of her own intrusive thoughts would surely prevent her from enjoying herself. Her eyes skated down to the ring on her finger, the way the pearl caught the light, and she shuddered. The future was so big and blinding and intimidating.

“Rei? Are you okay in there?” Kakashi called from the other side of the door. Rei jolted, his voice snapping her from her silent breakdown.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine!” she shouted back. It was clear to Kakashi, however, that she was not, in fact, fine.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

“Um, I mean…w-why?” she asked back.

Kakashi chuckled uneasily under his breath. “Because we only have one bathroom” he replied. Rei, suddenly feeling very stupid, creaked the door open. He slipped past her, casually unzipping his pants so he could go to the bathroom. She tried to ignore his presence and make herself look busy, shuffling through her five different tubes of lipstick in an effort to look busy. Anything to avoid suspicion. Not that Kakashi wasn’t suspicious already, because he was. “You’re taking a while to get ready” he commented.

“Yeah, and what about it?” Rei snapped, whipping around to shoot him a sharp glare. Kakashi blinked as his trickle slowed to a halt, zipping his pants up. It took her all of two seconds to realize she had made a terrible mistake. Rei’s face turned bright red and she dropped her eyes to the floor, muttering “Oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Rei” Kakashi said, voice firm. For a moment, she was certain he was angry with her. He approached and placed his hands on her shoulders, willed her to look up at him. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Rei chewed her bottom lip and nodded hesitantly. “Y-yeah, I’m just…I guess I’m just kind of tense and stressed or something.” She knew she didn’t sound convincing. She couldn’t bring herself to try any harder. Her energy for such things was rapidly depleting.

Kakashi dropped his hands and approached the sink, turning on the water and pumping soap onto his palm. “You’ve been kind of off ever since we visited your parents. Did something happen that I don’t know about?” he asked. She watched him lather the soap on his hands, the way the bubbles caught the light and filled the sink. They popped and crackled as Kakashi rinsed his hands and then reached for the towel. “I know how stressful seeing them always is for you. I’m sorry if you’re upset that I insisted we drop in in the first place.”

“N-no, it’s not that at all!” she assured him. “I could never be mad at you for that.” She knew how important family was to him. It was so easy to cherish what you no longer have. Sighing, Rei sank down onto the edge of the tub. “I just wish my family didn’t make me think about things I don’t have the guts to face yet.”

“Like what?” Kakashi asked. He crouched down in front of her and brushed the hair back out of her face. Rei couldn’t bring herself to look at him and in her silence, he connected the dots on his own. “Is this about what they said about having kids?” he asked.

Rei’s face paled and she coughed on her own saliva. “Well—I just—I mean…” she stammered. When she couldn’t bring herself to produce any more words, she groaned and drew her knees up to her chest, nearly falling into the tub in the process. Kakashi reached out and caught her, stifling a laugh as he pulled her close. “Kakashi…” Rei sighed. She buried her face in his sleeve. “I’m just scared. I don’t know what it is. It just feels like there’s all this pressure, like there’s so much ahead of us and it’s…it’s daunting. I don’t know what to do.”

“I know” Kakashi whispered. He cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead. “I feel like birthdays always bring out the sentimentalist in people. It’s so easy to get caught up in these ideas about family and the future, and about what you should accomplish by what age.” Taking her left hand in his, he toyed with the ring on her finger as he added, “Being engaged only makes those expectations feel that much heavier.”

Rei gazed at him empathetically. She hated how comforting it was knowing he was feeling the pressure, too. “I just want to numb it all out. Do things on our own terms. It’s only been two weeks” she replied. And really, how were they supposed to have the entire rest of their lives planned out in only fifteen days? None of it made any sense. If only everyone else could be so empathetic.

“We will” Kakashi assured her. “We don’t have to follow anyone else’s rules but our own.” He smiled down at her and caressed her cheek. Whatever imperfections she saw in herself were, to him, a masterpiece. Her cheeks were so soft and warm and when she smiled, she lit up the whole room. His heart swelled. “For now, I don’t want you to think about it anymore” he continued. “This is your night and I want you to enjoy every second of it.” A small smile touched her lips as she nodded and drew his hand up to kiss his knuckles. At least if she had to be here, face to face with her own future, she could take solace in knowing he was right by her side, hands and hearts intertwined until their dying breath.

Chukaryori Inn was an unsuspecting little place around the corner from Ichiraku. It was not necessarily known for it’s food or it’s atmosphere and therefore was always nearly empty. Rei wasn’t sure why she liked the place so much—perhaps the liminality of it made her feel concealed and therefore safe. The ominous flicker of the neon sign through evening rain instantly calmed her as they ducked inside.

Despite being a takeout place, the lobby of the restaurant housed a handful of mismatched tables and chairs where patrons could eat if they chose to. Guy and Sekkachi had already settled into a spot backed up against the potted bamboo sagging in the corner. Directly above them was a speaker fixed to the mirrored wall through which fuzzy shakuhachi music played.

The moment the little bell above the door jingled to signify their arrival, Rei locked eyes with Might Guy and suddenly knew what it must feel like to be a small animal spotted by prey in the wild. Without a moment of hesitation, Guy triumphantly leapt up onto the table. “There’s the birthday girl!” he shouted, pointing directly at her. The table wobbled beneath him.

Sekkachi looked up at him sharply, tugging on his legwarmer and muttering “Get the fuck down before you break a leg.” Whether she meant one of Guy’s legs or a table leg wasn’t important. The waitress behind the counter eyed them suspiciously before slowly ducking into the back.

“Oh god, please, no” Rei muttered under her breath, her cheeks burning. Kakashi placed his hand on the small of her back as he guided her toward the table. She shielded her face from her own reflection as Kakashi pulled her chair out for her. She sank down graciously.

With legs already propped up on the table, Sekkachi smirked and tooted a dorky little paper horn. “Congratulations: you’re one year closer to death!” she exclaimed.

Rei narrowed her eyes but her lips pursed into a smile. “You’re one to talk” she quipped. “Aren’t you turning thirty in a few weeks?”

Sekkachi swatted at the air as she took a swig of her drink. “Let’s not talk about that” she dismissed. “Tonight is all about Y-O-U.”

“Unfortunately” Rei chuckled, self-deprecating.

Kakashi rested a hand on her back, leaning down so that they were almost at eye level. “I’ll go order our food, just let me know what you want” he smiled. Then, turning to the others, “Have you ordered yet?”

Guy nodded emphatically. “I’ve never eaten here before but everything looked so good, I couldn’t help but try a bit of everything!” he replied excitedly. Whipping out the paper menu at their table, he pointed to the picture of his dish and exclaimed, “The perfect meal: a pupu platter!”

Sekkachi rolled her eyes, muttering, “And with all the grease in this shit, you’re gonna be having pupu all week.”

Rei smirked, asking, “And what did you order?”

“The same thing she always orders!” Guy exclaimed. He shoved the menu haphazardly back into it’s plastic container. “White rice and ice water. You know, Sekkachi, I really think you ought to expand your horizons! Indulge! Experience the power of food!”

“Mm, yeah, no thanks” Sekkachi replied. “I experience the power of food every time it hits my guts. I’ll just stick with the usual.”

Shaking his head, Kakashi then turned to Rei and asked, “Do you want your usual?” Rei smiled and nodded. She loved that he knew her well enough to know exactly what she wanted. It wasn’t like they had even been regulars here for very long. Rei had only really just discovered Chukaryori a few months ago on Mikazuki’s recommendation. And yet there was something so comforting and casual about the food, she fell in love at first bite.

Rei shook the rainwater from her hair as Kakashi approached the counter. “I have a feeling that storm outside is going to get a lot worse before it gets better” she commented.

“Well, you know what they say” Sekkachi replied, leaning back in her seat. “April showers bring May flowers.”

Rei stared back at her dumbly, blinking. “Sekkachi, it’s March.”

“Eh, fuck it, close enough” Sekkachi swatted at the air.

Guy grinned at the two of them before asking, “So, Rei, how has your birthday been so far? Have you done anything special?”

Shaking her head, Rei replied, “Not really. We just kinda hung out. Stopped in to see my family for a little bit.”

“Hana made cake, didn’t she?” Sekkachi chuckled. She knew Rei’s mother all too well. She remembered how desperately Hana Natsuki had tried to get her to eat during childhood sleepovers, the softly offended glares at nearly-full plates of food. Whenever Sekkachi felt especially bad about this, she always ended up having to trudge home at 2am with a stomachache. It wasn’t worth it. Sekkachi could handle disappointing her if it meant saving her digestive system.

Rei nodded, sucking in a deep breath. “Of course she did” she replied. “With all the nauseating icing you can imagine.” The way she said this, the telling wink, was a clear indicator that icing was merely a metaphor. Luckily, Sekkachi had known her long enough to know exactly what icing meant: well-meaning but overbearing comments that only emphasized how hopeless you were.

Sekkachi shuddered. “Heaven have mercy on your soul.”

Because it was predominantly a takeout restaurant, Chukaryori didn’t bother with plates. Their food was served in lidded aluminum pans and paper pagoda boxes dripping with grease. Guy’s order was so large, it required three containers. Crispy egg rolls, spare ribs, juicy chicken, beef teriyaki, wontons, crab rangoons, and fried shrimp towered before him, threatening a night of indigestion. He snapped his chopsticks apart, murmured a mouth-watering itadakimasu, and dove right in.

Kakashi watched in concerned awe, cocking an eyebrow and pursing his lips. “Guy, that’s a lot of food” he commented warily.

“Yeah, are you sure you can eat all of that?” Rei asked.

Guy grinned as he stuffed his face. “My body needs all the delicious energy it can get!” he exclaimed. “And if I can’t eat it all, then Sekkachi will help me!”

Sekkachi paused, mouth full of bland white rice. “Not on your life” she muffled, swallowing hard and chugging her ice water.

Laughing, Guy’s eyes then skated to Kakashi’s plate. The copy ninja squeezed a complimentary lemon wedge over his kara-age, perfectly crispy. “Hey, Kakashi” Guy commented, cocking a brow, “I thought you didn’t like fried food.”

Kakashi shrugged. “I like kara-age sometimes” he said. “We don’t really come here often enough for me to get sick of it, but for what it’s worth, everything on the menu here is fried. At least this comes with salad.” He reached for a bottle of ginger dressing on the table and drizzled it across a bowl of leafy lettuce, crisp cucumbers, and shredded carrot.

As Rei dug into her own food, she felt a surge of welcome happiness within the pit of her chest. Rain pattered on the roof and the fluorescent lights overhead hummed and flickered but their collective laughter drowned everything else out. While she never grew up eating subuta, each bite filled her with a warmth usually reserved only for nostalgic comforts. Her pork was sweet and tangy and the vegetables retained their crunch. The way the cook cut her carrots into the shape of flowers reminded Rei of her mother. That night, like every other night they ate from Chukaryori, Rei did not have any leftovers.

Guy, on the other hand, started confidently but was bested by his own hubris. Sekkachi shrugged, capping her container of rice. She’d eat the other half later, perhaps as a midnight snack. “At least you tried a little bit of everything” she commented.

“Wow” Rei replied, eyes wide and mouth agape, “I’m surprised by your optimism.” Sekkachi rolled her eyes, a silent threat to reach across the table and slap Rei on the shoulder.

Guy snapped the lids onto his containers in defeat, his stomach bloated and his face pale. “You know what this means?” he said. His comrades gazed back at him in anticipation. “I just need to train harder! One day, I’ll defeat you, you formidable pupu platter!” Rei clapped her hands over her mouth, stifling her hysterical laughter.

Though the rain had picked up by the time they all parted ways, Rei and Kakashi took the long route home. The streets were empty and the sky overhead was littered with stars. Rei spread her arms out wide as she strolled, tilting her head back so as to catch raindrops on her tongue. The moon was full and the air was cool. Kakashi couldn’t fight the grin on his masked face as he watched her inhibitions disappear. It was like they were young children again, carefree and candid. Nothing could hurt them.

Kakashi’s ardor grew the nearer they came to their apartment. He watched with a tender gaze as she kicked her shoes off at the front door, shook the rainwater from her hair, and the great care she took in stepping over Toshio asleep on the floor. It was when she approached the bookshelf, eyes focused as she considered the best place to put her new book, that Kakashi’s love became completely uncontainable. Without a moment of hesitation, he crept up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She gasped but fell into his embrace almost immediately. He rubbed her sides, lifting her shirt up slightly in the process.

“Kakashi, are you trying to tell me something?” she smiled. Her laughter was like paradise as he tugged his mask down, planted kisses along her jawline and down her neck.

“Not particularly” Kakashi lied. His fingers toyed at the hem of her pants, caressing the indent of her hipbone. A jolt of excitement coursed through his veins. She was right here in front of him, real as could be, and yet in moments like this he couldn’t even fathom how he had gotten so lucky. This was his future, snuggled up right in his arms. He couldn’t imagine devoting his life to anyone else. “Is it so wrong to want to give my future wife a little affection on her birthday?” he then asked, his lips curling into a smile.

Future wife. Those words were like a shot of morphine straight to her veins. “I like the sound of that” she whispered. Her hand skated down to rest atop his pressed against her stomach, melting into his embrace. Kakashi kissed her cheek as he toyed with the ring on her finger, turning it this way and that as if to confirm it still existed. His touch brought her a sense of peace unlike anything else. All of the anxiety that had built up within her throughout the day began to evaporate and in it’s place came a certain confidence, a solidification of thought. “Kakashi…” she sighed.

“Hmm?” he gently turned her face toward his. There was a tender sweetness in his eyes that only further confirmed her plan.

A soft, almost apprehensive laugh broke past her lips. “At the risk of sounding greedy,” she whispered, “I…I need to ask you for one gift for my birthday.”

“Oh?” Kakashi asked, cocking a brow. “The book wasn’t enough?” She could tell he was joking but that didn’t stop her anxiety from mounting.

Averting her eyes, she shook her head and muttered, “Actually, nevermind. Forget I said anything.” She broke away from his grasp and slipped into the bedroom. Perhaps it was better that she kept her mouth shut anyway. This was a bad idea.

“Rei, wait, no” he called after her, reaching for her wrist. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s fine” she shook her head. She couldn’t stand to look at him. She hadn’t even posed her question and yet she was far too embarrassed she had ever thought of it in the first place.

Kakashi’s gaze softened as he brushed the hair out of her face. “I’m sorry. What is it? Please tell me.” She had only enough strength to glance at him but his apologetic smile was enough to break down her weak walls.

“I just…” she started, voice cracking. She could feel his anticipation rising. Sucking in a deep breath then, she finally said it. “Kakashi, I want you to cum inside me.”

Kakashi drew back slightly, blinking. They had never done that before. Of all the years they had been together, he had always been so devoted to pulling out—perhaps a little too devoted. And yet here she was now, asking him to empty himself inside of her. To give her every ounce of himself. “R-Rei, but what if you--?” he started, but she quickly cut him off.

“I know” she said. “We’ll be fine. I don’t care. Just…please. I-I want to feel you.” Her cheeks were burning at the proposition, and she suddenly felt so stupid and shy.

A shiver ran down Kakashi’s spine as he swallowed hard. His mind raced as he considered this unexpected request, a part of him wondering what brought her to want this in the first place. Earlier she had been so panicked, so overwhelmed. The abrupt turn of thought was so jarring. Did she truly want this? Or did she just feel pressured? The look on her face, however, told him she was genuine. He tilte her head up and pressed his forehead against hers, closing his eyes in the hope that he could somehow silently transmit to her a sense of peace and clarity. She was ready. She was willing. She no longer feared the risk. Kakashi caressed her cheek, considered the ring on her finger. They were in this together now, whatever the future brought them. And if it unexpectedly brought them a child, then so be it. They could handle it. Perhaps that realization was what changed her heart’s direction, too. A small smile touched his lips as he drew her hips against his to emphasize his growing erection. “Okay” he whispered. “I’m all yours.”

Rei’s heart leapt into her throat, searching his face for any sign that he may be leading her on. She felt so guilty for wanting this, so hypocritical even, yet she found no hint of malice in his gaze. He pressed his lips to hers sweetly, tenderly, as they both migrated toward the bed. They broke their kiss for only a moment as Kakashi slid Rei’s shirt up over her head.

He straddled her hips as she fell back against the mattress, his gentle touch tracing the curvature of her breasts, her toned stomach, her plush hips. A small smirk touched his lips as he toyed with the hem of her underpants. “You’re wearing one of your nice pairs” he commented. Rather than the usual rips and tears, these were soft and pink and floral with teasing lace trim. “Are they new?”

“New enough” Rei whispered, running her hands through Kakashi’s hair. Her breath hitched as his lips traveled down her chest to her pelvis. He removed her underwear slowly and tossed them aside, then locked eyes with her as he spread her legs further apart. She loved the way he was looking at her, the hunger in his eyes, the slight smirk of his lips. She closed her eyes as he eased his way into her, hooking his arms beneath her legs so he could perfectly hit that spot she liked.

His pace began slow and steady but Rei could tell there was something about him that was different this time—every motion more powerful, more meaningful. She bit her lower lip as he thrust harder and faster, tightening his grip on her thighs.

“Rei...” he whispered, his voice breathless. “I-I’m close. Are you sure…you still…mm, want to do this?”

Rei dug her nails into his back as she considered his question for a moment. There was still time to back out. There was so much risk, and yet…

“Yes” she said definitively. “Yes, Kakashi. D-do it.”

With a single nod, Kakashi replied, “Okay.” His voice was so low, almost even a growl. He held her close as he picked up the pace, thrusting deep and fast inside her. His breath grew shaky and he prayed he could hold out, that he could withstand the instinct to pull out at the very last minute. She planted a few small kisses along his collarbone before gasping and burying her face in the crook of his neck. It was then that he knew she would make this so easy for him. How could he deny her when she was so vulnerable like this? When her body was racked by every buck and swerve of his hips?

Rei’s heart pounded as her body electrified and somehow it felt like the first time all over again. All she could think about was him: him on top of her, him inside of her, him holding her and fucking her and filling her. And then she felt his dick pulse inside her and his shaky breath against her neck and her entire body quivered. “K-Kakashi…” she whispered, her back arching against the mattress. He groaned and tangled his fingers in her hair, the ejaculation bringing on equal parts rapture and relief. And god, it was so much better this way. For a moment, he didn’t even care or consider the potential consequences. All he knew was the sweet, raw bliss of that perfect union, of a smooth finish, uninterrupted and real.

He stayed there, towering over her, for a long moment afterward before he could finally catch his breath. And then slowly he maneuvered himself out of her, sitting upright before her. He ruffled his hair with a breathy laugh, sweat beading on his brow. “How do you feel?”

Rei’s chest rose and fell quickly as she stared up at the ceiling, her face flushed and damp with sweat. How did she feel? It took her a moment to figure out the answer. “Good” she finally replied. “I feel…good.” She propped her hand behind her head and smiled softly back at him and he was immediately weak. He lunged toward her to press his lips hard against hers, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close.

“I’m glad” he whispered as she settled against his chest. He stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and in that moment, she was at peace—more than she had expected to be. Rei’s eyes quickly grew heavy as Kakashi snuggled her close and then once again he began to sing. Anata wo ikebana ni shite shimaimaseu, itsumo soba ni ite itaadkemasu yo ni…

“Mm, Kakashi…” Rei moaned sleepily. “Why does that song sound so familiar…? I feel like I’ve been hearing it…all day…”

A small smile touched Kakashi’s lips as he brushed the hair back out of her face. “Don’t you remember?” he asked. “My mother used to sing it to me when I was little. It’s one of the only things I remember about her.” His heart skipped a beat as he remembered their childhood, the way he, in turn, would occasionally sing that very song to Rei when she was young and scared or wouldn’t stop crying or fall asleep. It had been so long since he had sang to her, so long since he had uttered those sweet lyrics at all. He wasn’t sure what made him remember them so abruptly—perhaps it was how peaceful she looked when he returned home that morning, riding the high of a last-minute day off. If only every day could be spent just like this, doing whatever they pleased, always together. Come morning, everything would be back to normal. He would go on missions again, leaving her behind, as she would to him. The world would start turning yet again and their careers would bring them to the brink of death, challenging that promise he had made to her so many years ago. But he didn’t want to think about that right now. For the time being, all that mattered—all that existed—was him and her and the little life they had built within this tiny apartment. Kakashi kissed the tip of Rei’s nose and cupped her cheek in his hand, then asked quietly, “So did you have a good birthday?”

Though exhausted and nearly unconscious, Rei forced her eyes open ever so slightly to look up at him, sleep drunk and sweet. “The best birthday” she murmured, smiling. “How could it be anything less when I got to spend it with you? My first birthday as your fiancée. Knowing I’m going to be your wife…that’s the best present I could’ve ever asked for.”

Kakashi’s heart swelled; he was so overwhelmed with love for her. He swallowed back the faintest threat of tears as he took her left hand in his, turning the engagement ring back and forth on her finger. If he was honest, he still couldn’t believe she had said yes. He still couldn’t believe that after all those years of distance and defiance, that she still promised to spend the rest of her life with him. He would forever be indebted to her boundless grace—he truly did not deserve her forgiveness. And yet her undying love for him was proof that perhaps he was never as irredeemable as he feared he was. That he still had hope and a purpose. That he still had a promise to her to uphold: to protect her until his dying breath, and in doing so forge a life with her that they could be proud of. He truly couldn’t ask for anything more. Kakashi drew her hand up so as to kiss her fingertips, his heart overflowing as she interlaced her fingers with his. He held their hands against his chest, the steady beat of his heart lulling her to sleep. Just before she slipped into complete slumber, she heard his voice whisper in her ear, soft and sweet.

I love you more than anything, Rei.

#LET THE CAVITIES COMMENCE #also warning of incoming smut lmfao #kakashi hatake #rei natsuki #the scarecrow and the bell #naruto #naruto oc #fanfiction

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no6secretsanta · 4 years

Text

if not for all time

TO: @bucket-of-nope

FROM: @crowmunculus

Happy holidays! I hope you enjoy this fic and that 2020 treats you well!

Nezumi can leave at any time. It’s not just an empty platitude he tells himself to calm the claustrophobic panic that wells up whenever he catches himself relaxing within the confines of these four walls, here in an apartment in the wicked heart of No. 6. Shion still leaves the bedroom window cracked at night, the front door deadbolt unlocked during the day. He has to know it drives Nezumi crazy - he’s not the only criminal who can pick locks or scale two stories to climb onto a balcony - but five years on and Shion is as stubborn as he ever was, and he’s proving a point.

Nezumi can leave at any time, and he has left, storming out in the middle of a fight, leaving with the intent to leave for good when Shion is at work and not there to watch with sad eyes, in the early hours between midnight and dawn when he slips out the window and paces the neighborhood enraged at his own cowardice. Shion is never angry at him when he returns. He only smiles, kisses Nezumi’s cheek, and continues wherever they left off.

Something always pulls Nezumi back. There has always been something tethering him to Shion, since that first night when they were children. He couldn’t break it, so he tried to run from it; he couldn’t outrun it, so all that was left to him was to face it. If he fulfilled his promise of reunion, ensured Shion and the city had not strayed from their path, then he could leave, then he would be free. So the theory went.

Shion is a lighter sleeper now than he had been as a teenager. Nezumi is as delicate as he knows how to be as he escapes the secure hold of Shion’s arms and leaves their bed, but as he’s lacing his boots he hears “Let me come with you.”

“You can’t,” Nezumi says, irritated - mostly at himself. “I’m going out the window and I don’t trust that His Majesty can climb down the castle walls without breaking his royal neck.” He finishes dressing with a warm coat over his sleep shirt and doesn’t mean to look back at Shion before he leaves but he does, and Shion is smiling at him.

“You’re stealing my coat?” Shion asks, all innocence save for the mischievous curl of his smile. Nezumi grabs at a sleeve and realizes, mortified, that it’s Shion’s coat, it’s the old threadbare coat he’d worn in the West Block, well-loved and still used years later. No wonder it’s so tight around his shoulders.

“It’s warm,” he mutters, and can say nothing to protest when Shion puts on Nezumi’s winter coat in turn.

They leave out the front door, locked behind them. Nezumi can see the slight gap between their open bedroom window and the sill from the street even in the low pre-dawn light. Shion walks close beside him, matching his long strides with ease now that they are nearly the same height. Their hands brush as they walk until Nezumi jerks his away. Shion’s hand closes into a fist.

“Talk to me,” Shion says. He doesn’t sound angry, only hurt, which is worse.

“What do you want me to say?” What is he supposed to say, how is he supposed to explain when he can’t even explain it to himself? He’d thought revenge would bring him peace, but it only left him filled with directionless rage. And then he’d thought leaving would bring him peace, but the entire time he was gone he’d missed Shion so fiercely that his absence was a physical ache. And now that he was with Shion again, and they were happy, all of his instincts screamed at him to leave.

“Are you happy here?” Shion says, and Nezumi hears Are you happy with me?

“It’s not a question of happiness,” Nezumi says. Even when he’s happy the anger is still there roiling below the surface, an ever-present poison threatening to spill over.

Shion reaches for his hand again and this time Nezumi lets him.

Mist hangs low in the street, gray-on-gray in the early dregs of sunrise that make it through the thick layer of clouds. Their breaths come out as mist, too, their breathing the only sound in the morning stillness. No one else is outside, no one else is awake, and Nezumi thinks that maybe he could live here if this city was always like this.

They pass by Mr. Watanabe’s house on the corner of their block. He’ll be on the porch soon, faithful as clockwork, drinking coffee as he does every morning when the first infant rays of daylight break the horizon. His wife used to join him but she’d died two years ago. He keeps two chairs on the porch still and always waves at Nezumi when he walks past, smiling at him whether or not Nezumi waves back.

He knows the names and faces of every neighbor on this stupid street because Shion knows them and Shion ensured that he did too. Shion’s love for this city is palpable. It was easier not knowing. Nezumi can’t forget, now that he knows.

“I don’t want to hold you back,” Shion says with a stiff, rehearsed quality to his voice that Nezumi hates.

“You never have. It isn’t you.” It is Shion, but not the way that Shion thinks. Shion’s done nothing wrong, it’s Nezumi who can’t get it right no matter what he tries. When he was traveling alone between the cities the angry static in his body stretched to fill the open spaces and made him feel small, helpless, exposed. With space for it to go everywhere, there was still nowhere for the anger to go. In the city he has to cage it inside himself and still he is too small to hold all of it.

The rhythm of boots on concrete is soothing in its familiarity. Nezumi can’t count how many times he’s walked this circuit in the weeks since his return. It’s strange, Shion being there with him. His hand held in Nezumi’s is cold and Nezumi is uncomfortably reminded of all the warm air in their bedroom escaping out the open window at that moment.

“I know it’s not me,” Shion says at length. “Not entirely, at least. It’s something I thought about a lot when you were gone, if there was anything I could have done differently, if I’d been braver or more honest…could I have made you stay?” He grins, adds, “As if I can make you do anything. I can’t even get you to put your dirty clothes in the hamper instead of all over the floor.”

“Nothing you could have done or said would have stopped me,” Nezumi says, “I was always going to leave once No. 6 was destroyed.” I wasn’t going to come back, he doesn’t say.

He’d planned it for years: if he won, if he watched the city burn, he would leave and travel freely with no attachments, no burdens, no grief. If he failed, he’d die young. Either way he would die alone.

“That’s the conclusion I came to,” Shion says. “It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d done anything differently if you were going to leave anyway. I had to accept that I couldn’t control you, and even if I could, I wouldn’t want to. I only want you here if you want to be here.”

Nezumi doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t have the same capacity for goodwill towards the city that Shion somehow manages, despite everything and everyone it took from them. Shion’s ability to forgive and move on still amazes him. He doesn’t want to stay in No. 6 longer than he has to, but -

Nothing and no one is like Shion, nowhere else, the whole world over. He’s never slept as well as he does in Shion’s bed, in Shion’s arms. Their little apartment is cluttered with books and soft blankets and a kitchen always well-stocked with fresh baked bread and pastries from Shion’s mama. In such a short time Shion has fit Nezumi into his life so thoroughly, with such great care, that if he left it would shred through the foundation like fire through dry underbrush, like bullets through a crowd. Like when he left five years before.

Shion stops walking, Nezumi so distracted he almost runs Shion over before he realizes they’ve circled around the block all the way back home, where his feet always lead him.

Once they’re back inside Shion heads directly for the coffee maker. Nezumi also gives up on getting back to sleep, if Shion won’t be in bed with him, and follows him to the kitchen. There’s two mismatched chairs at the table that have both been there longer than Nezumi has been back in the city - how many mornings has Shion sat there alone?

“I thought you’d be angrier at me,” Nezumi blurts. He would be, if he’d been the one left behind. He had been, screaming and raging and cursing the unfairness of whatever cruel gift of fate had spared his life in the fire but left him alone.

“I was angry,” Shion says, back to Nezumi as he carefully measures out enough ground coffee for two. “It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t bring you back and it didn’t bring Safu back. All it did was make me miserable. And I - “ His shoulders tense, “I didn’t want to be angry at you when you came back because for however long I get to have you here, I want us to be happy. I love you. I can’t stop you from leaving, if that’s what you choose, but I’d rather spend my time with you loving you than being angry about things I can’t change.”

If Nezumi was braver, he’d tell Shion now: I love you too. He always has. Why else would he come back? But Shion has always outclassed him in courage, so instead he closes Shion into a hug, the transparent pain in his expression hidden against Shion’s hair. Shion tenses more, at first, then slowly relaxes, slowly exhales. His hands move to cover Nezumi’s where they rest over his heart.

Outside the sun has risen. The rest of the city is waking up. They take their coffee with them to bed and sit there together in the watery sunlight. Shion falls back asleep with his head in Nezumi’s lap and Nezumi lets himself relax, for once, into the feeling of loving and being loved.

The window is still open. Nezumi can leave at any time.

And he can always come back.

#crowmunculus #bucket-of-nope #no6 #no 6 #no.6 #no. 6 #submission

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miso-vicious · 4 years

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RWBY Volume 7 Chapter 1 (Spoilers)

Welcome back, everyone. It’s been too long, and yet at the same time, it feels like only yesterday season 6 had ended. Now that season 7 has premiered, it has opened up a whole new world of excitement and problems for our favorite heroes. So let’s try and break down what has happened and what possibly lies in our future.

It should go without saying, but there are SPOILERS AHEAD.

Welcome To Atlas

After a whole season worth of traveling, our heroes have finally reached Atlas. While we did spend season 4 here, we only ever saw the Schnee manor. This is the first time we’ve seen Atlas in all of its glory. Only, it seems as though Atlas military has taken over the skies and grounds. Most likely due to James Ironwood’s increasing paranoia of Salem. Beacon has fallen, Haven almost fell, it stands to reason that Atlas is next on Salem’s list. Especially since Qrow forewarned him of their impending arrival. And bad luck follows this group like a dark shadow.

And it’s abundantly clear that if you aren’t lucky enough to be born into wealth, you are immediately put at the bottom of the food chain. More specifically, you live on the ground, at risk of crime and Grimm attacks. While the wealthy get to live on the tethered city in the clouds, free from land Grimm, but riddled with corruption.

This is a basic rough draft of the possible hierarchy of power in Atlas, but our information is limited. So don’t take this as fact. As you can see, Military is at the top of this pyramid. Below is Arms Makers and Scientists. This is an all encompassing of what makes Atlas one of the most powerful Kingdoms in the world due its technological and military innovations. Leaving the noble families, first and foremost the Schnee family, at bottom of this pyramid. Because while they bring in at least half of this Kingdom’s income with their Dust Company, the Ironwood had no problem cutting of trade going in and out of the Kingdom, thus cutting off the Kingdom’s and the Schnee Family’s income. But if I can say anything about that bastard Jacques Schnee, is that he isn’t going to let a military ban stop him from making his millions.

Next comes the white collar works, the blue collar workers, and finally, the bottom of the pyramid. It consists of the Dust Miners, Criminals, the Homeless, and the Faunus. Caroline Cordovin’s cold reception of Blake Belladonna in Argus is indication that Atlas is the worst place for a Faunus to be. But since most of the world is prejudice against Faunus, Atlas is a place for desperate Faunus to get work in the Dust Mines belonging to the Schnee Dust Company. Which we all know is dangerous, even life threatening, work, but no one seems to care as long as they keep getting their Dust for their war.

There Is No War In Atlas

In the opening sequence, we see a group of angry civilians yelling at one of Ironwoods propaganda messages. And when one of them throws a rock at the hologram, it glitches and reveals Jacques Schnee. This could imply that Ironwood’s paranoia has been spurred on by Jacques. If Salem were to kick down their door tomorrow, who would be the first to go? Everyone who is on the ground. Most of the military seems to be focused on protecting the main capital, where the Relic is most likely hidden. But there’s no protection for those less fortunate, and I’m sure Jacques wants it to stay that way. I guess it will be Qrow’s job to convince Ironwood that his hologram messages can’t protect these people from Salem’s flying monkeys. And now with two Relics and possibly the Winter Maiden all in the same Kingdom, Atlas is now the most dangerous place to be. With Cinder being unable to fully tap into her Fall Maiden powers (as well as her disappearance), and with Vacuo being a wasteland of sand and death, Ironwood knows that Salem’s next move will be towards Atlas.

And let’s not forget that Winter Schnee has also been drinking the kool-aid. So now the team feels less secure in calling Ironwood and Winter for aid.

And part of his paranoia, Ironwood has drones roaming the streets. They seemed to be keen on Yang’s prosthetic arm, and even took her picture. They’re most likely there to record and document any suspicious activity, people of interest, or dangerous weapons. This is a clear violation of civil liberties and right to privacy, all in the name of “protecting” the people. How would you feel if a drone took your picture because you looked “suspicious”?

And our team has a quick run in with what seems to be drunk upper crust Atlas employees, who are upset because everyone views them as the enemy. And they try to pick a fight with Blake due to her being a Faunus.

Follow The Green Light

Maria Calavera points their destination towards her Doctor’s office, the one she originally intended to visit to fix her eyes. Dr. Pietro is apparently an Atlisian scientist who spends his spare time on the ground in his personal pharmacy, volunteering his time to help those in need. He even works along side Ironwood.

He points out the core of Ironwood’s paranoia: someone hacked into their security system, reprogrammed their military drone forces, took down their flag ships, and many people died due to this. Atlas has some of the best technological achievements, has the greatest developments in robotic based soldiers. And all of it meant nothing. Whomever hacked into their system was either a technological genius, or it was an inside job. Little do they know, it was one in the same.

It has already been established that Arthur Watts is a disgraced Atlisian scientist, as well as a doctor, and we’ve only seen glimpses into his technological feats. While the infiltration into Beacon was lead by Cinder, it’s become clear that Watts was most likely the brains behind the virus that brought down the Atlas military and the CCT tower. He also designed a new stinger for Tyrian Callow after his original one was cut off by Ruby Rose. He even created armor plating for the rest of his tail. It’s not clear what Watts’ angle is, aside from taking down the government that turned their back on him. It could be possible that Dr. Pietro might have had some run ins with Watts in the past. Some have theorized that Watts is Dr. Pietro’s son. But that might be stretching it. While season 5 focused on Cinder, Hazel, and Raven as the main villains, it seems that Watts and Tyrian will be taking the helm this time.

What’s more surprising is that he recognizes Yang’s prosthetic arm, and notes how she painted it yellow. And once Ruby stepped forward, he recognized the girls as Team RWBY.

Cut to a fight between our team and a bunch of tundra themed Grimm. Even after the grueling battle they experienced earlier that same day, they come out on top.

My Fancy Way Of Saying Hello

And we even get a beautiful reunion with our favorite Cybernetic Ginger and Ruby Rose.

We then learn that Dr. Pietro is Penny Polendina’s creator/father. He was able to retrieve her core from the wreckage of Amity Arena, and he rebuilt her. And she’s got a few new updates, including but not limited to a new hair cut, rocket legs, and laser beams. Perhaps he removed her metal cords/swords since it lead to her untimely death. It’s unclear if she is still the same Penny we remember, nor is it clear if she remembers exactly how she died. But this is the first time we’ve had one of our dead characters come back to life, so let’s try and enjoy it.

Here We Are Safe, Here We Are Free

And of course, the reunion is short lived. Penny makes a quick exit at the sound of alarms, leaving our team behind. They are arrested by A.C.E. OPs; most likely Ironwood’s personal secret police. Apparently their efforts to protect the city were illegal, since most of them aren’t actually licensed Huntsmen.

They confiscate our teams weapons, take the Relic from Ruby, and are being driven to places unknown.

Mirror Mirror, Who Can I Trust?

Now that concludes what happened in the episode, lets go into what may happen in the future. Namely, the future for the Schnee Family. Now that Weiss Schnee is back in her home Kingdom, she is bound to have a run in with her father and brother. The last she saw of them both was when her father revoked her place as heir to the Schnee Dust Company, right after hitting her. And Whitely Schnee, who played the part of her loving brother, revealed that this was the outcome he wanted all along. With Winter rejecting her place as the heir, and Weiss being removed, Whitely is now the sole heir of Schnee Dust Company. Weiss believes his betrayal is because he’s jealous of her and Winter, because he does not have the trademark Schnee semblance. Even though he claims it to be barbaric, it has to take a toll on him that Winter and Weiss are everything a Schnee should be (smart, powerful, elegant), and he is just... there. It takes more than just a head of snow white hair to make a Schnee, no matter how often Jacques must dye his own.

Even if Winter is pro military, she’s the only Schnee Weiss can trust right now. And it will be interesting to see how Jacques and Whitely have taken to Weiss disowning herself and becoming confident enough to stand up to both of them. Perhaps Whitely will finally see that fame, money, and their company mean nothing to Weiss, she would rather spend her time trying to save the world than kiss their father’s boots. Whitely coudln’t survive one day in the real world. And if he gets a real look at what Weiss has been fighting, maybe it will be all three of the Schnee children against Jacques. Some people believe that that Winter is the current Winter Maiden, hence her name. Which would explain why Ironwood keeps her at his side, since only a Maiden can access the Relics, and her powerful abilities. But I feel like it would be too obvious if it were her.

Atlas Operatives: ACE

It’s unclear if these ACE OPs will be a thorn in our team’s side throughout this season, or if they will be the support system they need. While RWBY, JNR, and Oscar try their best and have come a long way since the beginning, Qrow is the only trained Huntsmen on the team. It will be SO helpful if they had some actual Huntsmen on the team. But knowing our luck, at least one of them will either die or betray us.

Spa Day and Upgrades

RWBY and JNR are getting more than just haircuts and a new wardrobe. They’re also getting weapon upgrades. We probably won’t see them for a couple of episodes, but we got our first glimpse at Jaune’s upgrade in the opening sequence.

He’s like Steven Universe. Jaune’s first instinct isn’t to attack, it’s to deflect, assess his opponent, and protect the one’s he loves. So of course he shield got a big upgrade. Now he has what looks like the shield wall that protects Argus coming out of his own shield. Since all Jaune had to do in this fight sequence was deflect the Cyber Tooth Tiger Grimm with his new shield it for it to disintegrate, it's more than just a shield now. It will certainly give him a new edge when he combines his sword and shield in battle.

Protect Mantle

Who is she? We don’t know. We see her face plastered on posters all over the city that say “Protect Mantle”.

For those who don’t know, Mantle was once the capital of Solitas. The first large settlement made in this northern continent, due to the harsh conditions and the Grimm, it was a hard place to live. Until Atlas came to be, merging their military, governemnt, and school together, they took Mantle’s greatest minds and made one of them most powerful Kingdoms. And everyone in Mantle was left behind. “Mantle was old news- and the Kingdom of Atlas was born. A golden age of prosperity, they called it- but those left behind in Mantle would probably tell you it was the coldest winter they ever knew.” No one in Atlas cares about Mantle. Whoever this woman is, she seems to be the poster child for an uprising in Mantle.

We do see her fighting Tyrian along side Qrow, wielding a crossbow like weapon.

Due to a possible scarcity of Dust down in Mantle, she has to rely on actual bolts instead of Dust to load her weapon. And based on her fighting skills, she may have been a high Atlesian solider, maybe part of Ironwood’s inner circle, but when Ironwood turned his back on those in Mantle, she left to protect them.

On The First Day, The God of Light Created...

Finally, we have what they’re all here for. Through the power of photoshop, I’ve created an image of the Winter Maiden’s Relic: The Relic of Creation.

Of course, they would put Monty Oum’s credit in front of this Relic, since he is the creator of RWBY. And it makes sense that this would be the Relic that would be in Atlas. Atlas is known for it’s amazing innovations/creations. Perhaps, this Relic had certain influences over the Kingdom, giving them the power create things beyond imagination. Since the Relic of Knowledge isn’t a weapon at all, but a host to a being of infinite knowledge, we can only guess what lies in this Relic. Maybe if there’s another being resting in this Relic, they can help our team stop Salem. And since all that remains is Vale and Vacuo, I’ve theorized that the Relic of Choice is in Beacon (the most liberated Kingdom, who is accepting of all its citizens), and the Relic of Destruction is in Shade (the setting of the end of the Great War, and a dangerous tundra of sand).

Look Towards The Future

Here, we have our main team this season. This is the biggest group we’ve ever had. I’m looking forward to where this season will take us. If you made it to the end of my horrible rambling, I commend you. And if you have any additional information or theories to add, please tell me. I’m always interested in all things RWBY. See ya’ll next Saturday!!!

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actuallylorelaigilmore · 4 years

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Lost In The Forest Of This Heart, Chapter 11: Time To Live, Time to Love

Lizzington, The Blacklist. Cross-posted on AO3. Important notes can also be found there.

Summary: Decisions, understanding, truth. She knows Red will fight her every step of the way, if those steps take her closer to him and further from some fantasy he has in his head about the life she should have. But this is worth the fight. Whether he realizes it or not, he is worth fighting for.

This is it, everybody. I finished my second-ever-on-AO3 fanfic, which I started FIVE YEARS AGO--because sometimes life hits you hard. And canon breaks your heart. And you need ADHD meds. It’s over 40,000 words long in the end, and I’m pretty proud of how it turned out. I like to think I’m a better writer now, which probably means you can watch my style evolve over the years if you read the whole thing. A short sequel will be up next, concluding my imagined series. Here’s to finishing the things we start. ⭐

They don’t speak again while Red drives toward the Wisconsin sunset. As they reach Appleton, the night sky flashes with lightning. Thunder covers any sound of their arrival; the sleeping neighborhood is unaware of them passing through the suburban streets. Liz feels like a ghost--tethered to nothing, mourning the past and the future at the same time.

Their silence is heavy and frustrated when they arrive at the safe house. It’s raining hard, sheets of water drenching them before Red opens the front door and ushers her in.

Liz stands dripping on a woven rug, taking in their new temporary home while he locks up. It’s full of dark wood and expensive art. She wants to get a closer look at the nearest painting--is that a Degas?--but stays put, afraid to track water over the polished floors.

“I’ll get you a towel,” Red says. His footsteps squeak as he strides away.

She doesn’t respond to his words, and he has no idea if she wants a towel, but Red needs to put some distance between them. Just a chance to breathe.

Last night, he was grateful she agreed to go along with the plan, even if he was also smart enough to be wary. But her behavior in the car--the arguing, the pushing, the demands--it was like she used to be. Like they used to be. He had hoped they were past that, after Lizzie got the answers she wanted.

Maybe she will always find more questions to ask. All the more reason to send her on her way.

But how is that supposed to work if she insists on staying? Digging her heels in, the more he tries to move things along? He doesn’t know how to lie to her, and he’s not sure she will accept anything less than the truth if he tries.

“Thanks,” she says when he comes back several minutes later. It couldn’t have taken him that long to find a towel, and she wonders what he was doing. Bracing for the next storm?

It’s not as though she likes being a hurricane. And Liz is prepared to do whatever he asks her to do, in the name of safety. She owes him that much, when all of this running is for her.

But whatever is happening tonight isn’t about safety. Not from the Cabal or the Task Force, that much is clear.

Reddington towels off his head and neck, removing his fogged glasses to dry them as well, while she watches. As soon as he put them back on, she smiles. She can’t help it--with the wire frames perched on his nose, he turns so easily from America’s Most Wanted into Someone’s Retired Accountant.

“What?” He’s blinking at her, all the more confused because she was glowering at him a moment ago.

“Nothing.” Liz shakes her head and lets the moment pass.

These are the pictures she’s holding on to, saving up, tucking away in her mind to make a sort of scrapbook out of. The man she loves: domestic and adorable and sweet. She has collected others too, times when he was surgically violent and stubborn and passionate. They all make up the portrait that Red has carved into her heart by accident.

She is his now, and as he stares at her, it occurs to Liz that he doesn’t know it.

Before he insists on sending them off in different directions, shouldn’t she tell him?

“Do you have things you need to do?” she asks. “Before Dembe arrives?”

“We have some time before he will,” he admitted. “He won’t even head in our direction until I alert him that we’re here.”

“You haven’t?”

“No, not yet. Just an extra precaution.”

Liz reaches out to grab his arm. “Don’t. Don’t tell him to come yet. Please.”

He frowns. “We can only stay tonight, Lizzie. This isn’t secure long-term, and Dembe is more than ready to--”

“I’m not saying I want to live here, Red. Just, wait an hour. For me.”

He’s watching her silently, waiting for her request to make sense, but it doesn’t seem like clarity will be forthcoming. Lizzie’s eyes are shining in the dim light of the hall, her fingers digging into his sleeve and his skin beneath it, and he has no idea why.

He can give her the hour. Maybe it’ll help.

“Of course. Why don’t you dry off and I’ll get us something to drink?”

After taking a second to compose herself, Liz follows him into the kitchen, her dark hair sticking up in the back. “Does this place have wine? Wine would be great.”

Red turns toward her, already uncorking a bottle, and grins. “Great minds, Lizzie. Just a moment.” His smile doesn’t meet his eyes, but Liz allows him to play the amiable host as though she can’t see that.

The soft pop precedes Red pouring a healthy amount into a glass for her, then for himself. He swirls the red wine and sniffs it. She raises her eyebrows at the display and gulps hers down like it’s water.

Tonight feels like a crossroads. Her last chance, for something--she isn’t sure what yet, but she is certain she needs courage.

“Let’s go sit down,” she says, once he has refilled her glass and topped off his own. If it concerns him, Red says nothing about her need for libation. He just nods and follows her out.

“We need to talk,” she tells him seriously, as soon as they’re seated. He chose one end of the couch, expecting her to take the other, but instead Liz sits in a chair at his side, their knees brushing while she speaks.

Red sighs. “Do we, really.” It’s always the same conversation at this point, going in circles. They’re calling it by different names and getting nowhere.

“Yes,” Liz says firmly. She shifts so that her knee is pressed into his, rather than just near it. That gets his attention.

“You agreed we could be partners, Red. That we’re in this together now.”

His back goes up, knowing her well enough to sense a trap. “I did. And we are. We’re equally at risk, both on the run, working together from different angles.”

“That!” Lizzie points a finger at him as he watches, bewildered. She isn’t drunk on half a glass of wine, but she seems less...poised than he is used to. “That right there. I don’t think it’s possible, okay? I don’t.”

“What, working together?”

“Doing it when we’re not together. That’s illogical. It’s ridiculous.”

Red takes offense at that. Maybe she is drunk.

“Whether you think it’s logical or not, Lizzie, it’s the plan.”

“And why is that? Why, Red? Just tell me.”

“I already told you--”

“You’ve told me nothing. Your words, they don’t add up. We’re in danger, except not really. We’ll be safer apart, except we’ll be reuniting frequently. You’ll be using yourself as a decoy, to distract no one from a path that isn’t being chased.”

She stands, tugging on her damp hair like it will center her somehow. “God, it doesn’t make sense--nothing about this does. I’ve tried to understand, but it’s like the puzzle is made up of two sets of pieces from different pictures. No matter what I do, I can make sense out of my half, but I can’t connect to yours.”

“Perhaps that’s for the best.”

“What about any of this is better?”

She is nearly shouting now, not out of anger but out of panic. He’s retreating, she can feel it, and she refuses to lose him. Over her dead body, Liz thinks desperately, walking away to take a deep breath.

“Do you just want me to go away? Is that it?”

She asks the question without turning back, afraid to be looking at him if he says yes. She doesn’t need to see the pity she can imagine coming with that admission, the guilt she so often inspires in him.

“Lizzie…’ Red understands that there is more than one way to end their new intimacy. This is not the way he wants it to go. He doesn’t wish to hurt her. He ruined her life, isn’t that enough?

“Sweetheart, no. Of course not. I thoroughly enjoy your company. I thought that was evident.”

When she turns back, she has her emotions under control--no small feat. She doesn’t cry. “Then why?”

“The most important thing to me has always been keeping you safe. Protecting you. That’s all I am trying to do. I don’t know how else to explain it,” he tells her, his shadowed eyes begging her not to press him further. “This is the best way that I know how to protect you.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“While you’re busy protecting me, what about you? If we’re partners, if we’re in this together, then let me ask you this: splitting up, you traveling alone while I go with Dembe...who will be protecting you?”

“I’ll have a driver, of course, just like you will. And we’ll both be armed. I’m not sure what your point is.”

He is starting to feel cornered, sitting there while she stares him down, that profiler mind of hers at work. Red leaves the couch and paces a few steps away.

“But is this plan the best way for you to stay safe? Is it a good idea for both of us?”

“What’s your point, Elizabeth?”

She takes a deep breath, and a big leap. She knows Red will fight her every step of the way, if those steps take her closer to him and further from some fantasy he has in his head about the life she should have. But this is worth the fight. Whether he realizes it or not, he is worth fighting for.

“My point is that I’m not going anywhere. We can protect each other. Look at me, Red.”

Her voice has that brisk, professional tone that she used to use on him in the beginning. He’s certain that it worked wonders on her peers at Quantico, but for some reason it reminds him of a kindergarten teacher--as though Lizzie is used to dealing with delicate male egos, and knows that managing them requires as much finesse as firmness.

It always makes him want to assure her that he already respects her. He doesn’t need to be charmed into it.

When Red’s eyes meet hers, she asks the million dollar question. “Is there any mission-related reason why you and I need to leave here in separate cars, living apart until our first meeting with the Cabal?”

Red slowly shakes his head no. He has to swallow before he adds the words, her gaze never leaving him. Giving him no relief.

“No, Lizzie. When you put it that way, there is not.”

Her eyes flicker, but a weight has been lifted, and her posture shows it. “Alright, then. I want to stay with you.”

Red begins preparing arguments before she’s done speaking--looking for the right words, building up extra barriers, sandbagging for a hurricane.

Lizzie meets his conflicted eyes with her own, determination and faith shining in the brilliant blue, and it’s all washed away even as he’s trying to cling to it. It’s just...gone. All there is, is her.

“You were right, that first week, Red. We do make a great team.”

Liz takes two steps toward him, while he remains rooted in place. Terrified to move forward, unwilling to move back. She is his siren song. Who is worth drowning for, if not her?

“Don’t we?” She doesn’t move any closer. She leaves the choice to him, the way he always has for her. Say the word, and I’ll go.

Red’s nod, his acquiescence–his surrender–is almost imperceptible. Such a tiny action, to change everything.

“Yeah,” he admits, his voice hoarse. “We do.”

****

Liz relaxes in the wake of the first battle she feels like she’s ever fairly won with him. She exhales. “Okay. So. Let’s be a team.”

Unable to find words, Red nods in agreement, watching her a bit like a deer in headlights. Giving up even that much control leaves him feeling unmoored. Where is he supposed to go from here? If he can’t control the course of the future, how can he expect to keep them alive?

It’s all connected, his feelings for her and his need to throw himself in front of any threat to her life and his ability to strategize to make sure that’s never a necessity. Unravel one thread, one grip he has on the situation, and it all unravels. It all falls apart--and he can’t fall apart.

With everything they’ve been through together, everything he’s done and she’s seen...that’s still something he’s proud to say he’s avoided. He’s come close to death but he’s never fallen to pieces in front of her.

It’s not much, but it’s something.

Liz interrupts his thoughts. "Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For being honest with me. I’m trying to do that, too.”

“How so?”

“Wanting to keep you safe is only part of why I don’t want us to split up,” she confesses, and his face goes blank.

Red doesn’t ask the follow up question. He looks too ashen for Liz to expect any response at all, so she forges on.

“I like this. Us. Our routine. I know there’s a future you want me to have, that you’re trying to give me, but I don’t know how to explain that I don’t...want it. I don’t want to pretend I can have my old life back, Red. I’d rather be happy with this one.”

Red shakes his head, in denial of her words and their implications. “You can’t be suggesting that the life you have now is satisfactory. All of this is temporary, Lizzie, a means to an end. After the Cabal--”

“After the Cabal, there will be other options. I understand that! But that means we’ll have more choices, not less. If you want me to have the freedom to choose my future, then I’m sorry if this is hard for you to accept...but you have to let me have that freedom even if you don’t approve of my decisions.”

“I never meant to imply otherwise.”

His insulted formality makes her lips twitch. Even so, Liz can see him looking for an escape from the feelings she’s trying to lay bare. She keeps her face as blank as she can, her tone matter of fact.

“I know what I want, Red. I’ve known for a while. And if it’s not possible, I can accept that. We’re not the same people we were two years ago...even two months ago. But there’s a difference between a desire that’s impossible, and one that’s within reach that scares you.”

Now he is not just pale. He’s frozen. He looks young--and so scared, just like Liz said, that her heart breaks for him.

Never do it again. She remembers red and blue lights flashing; a man who refused to be cared about and the girl who ached to love him.

Her instincts weren’t wrong then. They’re not wrong now. He’s afraid of her, of letting her in. She doesn’t want to hurt him.

She doesn’t want to keep secrets anymore, either.

Liz moves toward him, reaches for his hand. He’s about to reach back out of sheer reflex, until she speaks.

“Raymond.”

It stops him in place. It feels like it stops his heart.

“Why…why are you calling me that?” His given name is used by old friends and older enemies. By his family. Hearing it from her lips is incomprehensible.

“It’s your name.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Well, you call me by my name, always have. Whether I wanted you to or not.” She smiles at him, remembering his jarring familiarity back then.

“Yes, but you’ve always called me Red, or Reddington. There’s no reason to change that now.” He can’t explain the panic that grips him.

Lizzie watches him with her brow furrowed. She doesn’t understand. That’s fine, he doesn’t either.

“Red is a persona,” she replies. “Raymond Reddington is a man. You’re more than your criminal past to me.” Now.

Liz sees the pain cross his face but doesn’t understand the sorrow that clearly weighs on him in response to her words.

“Sometimes,” he replies, his voice as low as she’s ever heard it, “the man becomes the persona, and the persona becomes the man. Eventually, it’s no longer so easy to tell them apart.”

He takes a step back. Defining the space between them, broadening the distance. She can see Red removing himself from the situation, from her, even as he prepares to speak again.

It’s like a curtain coming down over the part of him that most tugs at her: the human side he shows to almost no one. Liz has grown deeply attached to that part. She doesn’t want to let it go.

“Damn it, Red, don’t do that. Don’t try to deflect me with that wise advisor act. We’re both fugitives now. We’re both murderers. I’m trying to relate to you as a person. If you don’t want that, just tell me.”

Everything about him stills so perfectly that she isn’t sure he continues to breathe. For a long moment, silence fills the room.

“I don’t want that.”

He expects her tears, the frustrated ones that Liz is prone to when he isn’t who she wants him to be. Instead, she crosses the floor between them, pushes into his personal space. There is no disappointment in the way she looks at him, only banked fury.

“I thought you would never lie to me.”

She leaves the room, before he can. He stands alone with his confusion and guilt.

****

Red finds her in the solarium, staring up at the stars. He gave himself several minutes to think up a plan before going to find her.

His finely-honed skills are failing him tonight, because he has no plan but still felt compelled to seek her out. He can’t leave things between them on such a terrible note. He loves her too much to end it like this.

“I’m going to send for Dembe,” he tells Lizzie’s back when she doesn’t turn his way. “It shouldn’t take him long to reach us. A few hours.”

She spins around, eyes blazing. “You said you wouldn’t do that.”

“I said I would wait an hour,” he corrects her. “I thought…”

Red sags. “Well, it’s time, isn’t it?”

He takes a seat on a stone bench. Frowning, Liz crosses the room, examining his downcast face in the weak moonlight.

“Time for what, exactly? Red, I thought we were in agreement now that we wouldn’t split up.”

“That was before.”

“Before…” Liz lets out a noise halfway between a groan and a sigh. “You are the most frustrating--we had a conversation. An honest one. We talked. And now you think something’s changed? Well, guess what. You’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’m not going away just because I find you irritating.”

The problem, though he refuses to admit it out loud, is that he can’t figure out why she wants to stay.

“Frankly, Elizabeth,” he admits after a pause, “sometimes I find you irritating as well.”

That gets a grin out of her, even more baffling than her sincerity thus far. “Well, on that much we agree, I guess.”

“Hm.”

“By all means,” she adds with more cheer, “call Dembe. We could have him over for dinner.”

Red raises his eyebrows at that.

“But I’m not going anywhere with him unless you are, too.”

He taps the bench seat thoughtfully. “You really want to stay together?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” Liz stares at him. “After everything, is it that strange that I would want to be with you?”

Red flinches. She sees it this time, sees it fully and thinks that for once, maybe she understands. Maybe she has enough of the pieces to put the puzzle together.

Finally.

She closes the remaining distance between them and sits, able now to stare into his deep, conflicted eyes. “I want to stay with you. That is what I want. And the only reason we’re here right now is because when you were given the choice of being with me or looking out for yourself, you wanted to stay with me too.

“So if you think it’s time to move on--for you, not me--I'll be okay. But I’m done letting anyone else make my choices, Red. You kept me safe all these years so I could have my life back. I’m ready.”

He thinks he understands, and it’s a painful, glorious thing he sees in her eyes. A gift he can never accept, but one precious for even being offered.

“We will face the Cabal together, Lizzie,” he agrees, nodding over the thick feeling in his throat. “We’ll clear the way for your future. And then you’ll have it.”

His emphasis on the singular is unavoidable. She shakes her head.

“So will you, Red.” Break my heart now if you’re going to, she dares him with her eyes. Say the words. Tell me no. “I love you.”

Liz watches the way his mouth twists. He’s turning her declaration around like a problem to be worked out, a puzzle to be solved--but it’s his eyes that give away his feelings.

Shock. Hope. Terror. Devotion. She can finally read him, and the war within Red rages with no white flag in sight.

“You deserve better,” he manages to say, looking anywhere but at her.

“I deserve to be happy! And I’m happy with you. Don’t you get it?” She wants to grab hold of his shoulders and shake him.

It’s not as though Liz expects him to say it back--she doesn’t need him to. Since the day she first walked into the Post Office, all of Red’s actions have been one long love letter. Infuriating and misguided, but loving nonetheless.

She needs him to accept that it’s real for her, though. Despite all his damage, he has to be able to understand that, or he’ll keep trying to push her away.

“You’re happy now because everything is in flux,” Red argues. “It won’t be like this forever, Lizzie, I promise you that. And when you have a chance to settle, to process things...you’ll see that I’m just doing my best to protect you.”

“From who?” She snaps. And then, softer. The clean slice of a knife, right to the heart of it all. “From you?”

“Loving me is the most dangerous choice you could make.”

His tone is blunt. So often Red’s words feel chosen deliberately, with caution, but Liz knows this is different. He calls himself toxic the way he calls her lovable; as though both are simple truth. The sky is blue. He is hideous.

“First of all, that’s just inaccurate,” Liz replies. “I’ve made a lot of dangerous choices in my life. Shooting Connolly was much more dangerous than this, clearly, because we haven’t been able to stop running since. I mean, Red, loving Tom was more dangerous--he tried to kill me!”

That point makes him uncomfortable, but she keeps going, unwilling to cede any ground.

“Second of all, even if I agreed with you--which I don’t--it wouldn’t matter. This isn’t a choice I made. It’s just what is. Everything I’ve learned since we went on the run only reinforced how I feel, so you’re not going to succeed in talking me out of loving you. Red...all of the worst things that I used to believe about you aren’t true. All of the best things still are.”

“You don’t realize what you’re saying,” Red says. “You don’t know.”

His self-perception is so skewed. Liz is pretty sure she knows him better now than he knows himself sometimes.

He’s been paying penance for thirty years because an attempt to help a friend one night imploded in ways that were outside his control. As though losing his family and his whole life wasn’t punishment enough.

He’s only as much a villain as the world has required him to be–and since her parents died, he’s also been her own personal hero.

“I know you,” she says quietly. With utter certainty. “I know you, Red.”

They sit hip to hip, almost–but not quite–touching. He can feel her warmth stretch across the fraction of space between them. He tries desperately not to feel it, not to acknowledge it.

Not to bask in it, a cat finding a beam of sunlight in the afternoon.

When she takes his hand, he lets her. Red is braced for the feeling of her skin on his, the way the world will contract to just those points where his pulse leaps against hers through fingertips and wrists.

It has always been this way. He has learned to handle it.

Of course, Lizzie…his Lizzie…can never be handled. He tries to calm her and she takes a pen to his neck; he tries to protect her and she shoots a man for threatening him.

He should not be surprised when she lifts their entwined hands and kisses the back of his, but he is. He is stunned by the small intimacy, the casual affection.

Nothing between them is small or casual. It all holds meaning, secret codes in ordinary actions, and he lacks the keystone for this.

His control has been fraying since she learned the truth about her father; there isn’t much of it left. When her lips meet his skin, Red jerks just a little, tugging her hand with his. But she doesn’t react, doesn’t back away. She lowers their hands, still joined, and gives him no easy way to slip away.

She holds his slightly trembling hand, while his world continues to revolve. Around her.

She keeps him.

#the blacklist #lizzington #tbl #lizzington fic #lizzington fanfic #tbl fic #tbl fanfic #the blacklist fic #the blacklist fanfic #my fic #lost in the forest of this heart

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dogbearinggifts · 5 years

Text

Beauty in the Mundane, Chapter One: To the Wolves

Umbrella Academy

Author’s Note: This is chapter one of an AU answering this petition from @scotty-the-t-rex calling for Hazel and Agnes to go back in time and adopt the Hargreeves kids. If this is the first time you’re seeing it on your dash, you can read the prologue here.

The whole fic is also available on AO3.

Oh, and if you’re interested, the song I took the chapter title from is by Anberlin. I don’t know if I’ll use song titles and/or lyrics for every chapter, but I liked it for this one.

**********

Day four of surveillance wore on toward a conclusion without a single broken law on Sir Reginald’s part.

This was to be expected, Agnes had told him. Reginald wasn’t quite a hermit, but only an actual hermit would dare call him social. Hazel was still a bit fuzzy on which laws applied where and when and to what extent, but he figured any evidence gathered whilst spying through the windows of that mansion would come down on his head, rather than Reginald’s. An act witnessed in a public area, though—that was fair game.

He only needed Reginald to cooperate.

Hazel took a bite of coffeecake. It wasn’t near as good as Agnes’ donuts, but neither dared approach Griddy’s—Hazel because he had been a stranger to Agnes when they met, Agnes because crossing paths with your younger self had to create one hell of a paradox. “Think I’ve probably crossed my own timeline before,” he’d explained, “but the Commission always sent me someplace I wouldn’t run into myself.”

He’d been on a few stakeouts, though with the Commission’s emphasis on finishing a job before most folks could finish tying their shoes, he was still a bit vague on proper procedures for operations that lasted more than a few hours. Moving their base from one side of the Academy to the other hadn’t been a bit of strategic brilliance so much as an act of necessity; when a building took up an entire city block, it was impossible to tell when your target might slip out through the back door.

“I’ve got some beef jerky in the back, if you want that next.”

Hazel smiled. He still wasn’t certain if bringing Agnes along was a good idea, tactically speaking, but her pleasant company kept his more unwelcome thoughts at bay. “I’m good, thanks.”

She settled back in her seat, though she quickly sat forward again. “Oh!”

He followed her gaze down an alley between the Academy and a neighboring business, caught the same flash of movement she did. His hand rested on the ignition.

No adults lived in that household, not yet. According to what Agnes had read, a robot mother and a monkey butler resided on the premises; but given Sir Reginald’s fondness for privacy, the only grown man who could be stepping out of a side door was the billionaire himself.

A balaclava covered his hair, and a grey overcoat covered him down to his knees. Dress slacks ended in polished loafers. He didn’t bow his head as he exited, didn’t glance over his shoulder or hesitate before sliding behind the wheel and pulling the door closed. The knot in Hazel’s stomach tightened.

“Looks like he’s not expecting a tail,” Hazel said. “You remember the plan?”

Agnes nodded, retrieving a small notepad and pen from the glove compartment. A quick glance showed him a few mock interview questions. Posing as reporters would likely earn more bluster than answers, but if they were caught, the lie would do. “Which one should I ask first—the one about the mustache-sclupting contest, or the one about Colonel Sanders?”

Hazel watched as Sir Reginald’s car chugged to the end of the alleyway, paused, and turned right without signaling. This might not be their chance, but it was a big enough oddity to merit further investigation.

“Whichever one you think’ll make him madder.”

He eased the car down the alley and turned right.

********

Following a target through city traffic was always easier than following one through the countryside, for obvious reasons, but that was no guarantee of secrecy. For every three targets who drove on entirely oblivious, there was one whose continual glances in the mirror revealed more than they were meant to see.

Reginald kept to the speed limit, sometimes dipping a mile or two below. He took no side streets, made no U-turns and slowed the second a light turned yellow. Aside from an apparent allergy to using his blinker, his turns were neither sudden nor sharp. Were this an ordinary job, Hazel might have found the target’s obliviousness heartening, even amusing, but as Reginald turned off the main road and down a side street, Hazel only felt sick.

He might not do anything worth calling the police over. Hazel knew that. He probably paid someone else to buy his groceries and it was too late in the day to try and renew his driver’s license, but there were other errands that could have lured him from his home. Reginald might be on his way to do any number of perfectly legal things, and then Hazel and Agnes could leave to plot their next move.

City traffic thinned as high-rises and glass-walled office buildings gave way to townhouses and fourplexes scattered among the sort of crackerbox homes that had been popular six or seven decades prior. Reginald slowed, and when he turned left at a stop sign, Hazel crept through the intersection at a speed that might have made Cha-Cha slap him upside the head and ask if he’d forgotten where to find the gas pedal.

“He went past the last stop sign,” Agnes said, craning her neck to see out his window. Hazel had seen it happen, but still welcomed her confirmation. “And the—oh no, he’s going right.”

“You know what’s up there?”

She frowned in thought, a frown that deepened after a second or two. “I—I think it’s a cemetery.”

“Can I get to it from here, or do I have to take the same street he did?”

“Keep going straight until the next sign, then turn left. Should take you right to it.”

He increased his speed. Inside of a minute, a green hill sprouting grey and black slabs of stone filled his vision, but he was more interested in Reginald’s car, parked along the curb mere feet from the entrance. A flash of movement signaled the man himself striding through the wrought-iron gates, quickly taken out of sight by the winding road.

Hazel pulled into a spot on the opposite side of the cemetery, one shielded from view by hills and a few overgrown trees, stepped into the evening chill without a word. Agnes closed her door quietly, and they both noted the payphone outside a gas station catty-corner from where they stood.

Agnes caught his gaze, and he held it a moment.

If all went according to plan, they were about to change the timeline.

He’d known it from the beginning, been cognizant of that fact since he turned her heartbreak into a suggestion. But all those hours watching the Academy, all that time waiting for the man to show his face and charting a strategy—it all had kept the true scope of what he was planning to do at bay. Now there was nothing between it and him. Nothing to keep the thought from crashing down on him like an entire wall of crumbling brick. Only Agnes, slipping her hand in his, kept him from ducking back into the car and heading to the opposite side of town.

Part of him said to pull away, leave both hands free for whatever confrontation might ensue if Reginald turned out to be more observant than he let on. Another part said it would add to the illusion. Just a couple strolling through a graveyard on a cold autumn evening, on their way to visit family or a friend, keeping to the grass because the grass was more pleasant. Nothing unusual, nothing to worry about.

Reginald’s figure came into view, and Agnes dropped his hand. She might as well have dropped the rope tethering his life preserver to the boat.

A monument stood by, one of those melodramatic statues depicting an angel in grief with names and dates and a host of other information engraved below. It wasn’t the best concealment Hazel had ever used, and it was less than he would have liked, but he didn’t see anything better.

Reginald’s footsteps fell silent as he stepped off the path and brushed through the grass, stopping at the sort of mausoleum Hazel imagined a guy like him might insist upon as the site of his own burial. A key opened the door, but he didn’t step inside, choosing instead to speak inaudibly into the darkness. Hazel watched a second, then cocked a brow.

“He usually yell at dead guys like that?”

“No.” Her voice carried the same confusion he felt. “I mean, not that I know of—he could. He does have a son who—”

Her words ended in a gasp, cut short by a hand to her mouth.

“Oh my god. I—he—oh my god.”

Hazel remained standing as she sank to the grass. He’d known the guy was twisted; Agnes had relayed a few accounts from Vanya’s book, stressing that the girl was excluded from much of what went on and likely didn’t know the half of what her siblings had gone through. What she had seen, what she had known, was more than enough to convince him getting those kids out from under his thumb might be enough to avert the apocalypse after all. Locking a kid who could see ghosts in a mausoleum seemed right up his alley.

It still didn’t explain why.

Klaus—the older Klaus, the junkie—he wasn’t the only one to break in the dark. Not everyone could hold it together through beatings and stranglings, but leave them alone with their thoughts, alone to wonder what was next, alone to recall the pain and terror and families they might never see again? There wasn’t a kink in the world that could save you from that.

But that was the realm of torture, and torture was a tool. Find somebody with information locked up in their head, attack their defenses long enough, and those defenses would crumble. An eight-year-old boy couldn’t possibly hold secrets so valuable his own parent would lock him away.

Whatever speech Reginald had planned was not a long one. He turned away, locked the door, and retraced his steps. Hazel watched, waiting for him to look his way, waiting for some signal that he ought to duck further out of sight, but Reginald didn’t so much as slow his pace.

Hazel pushed questions aside. The why wasn’t near as important as the what.

He fished a quarter from one pocket and crouched in the grass beside Agnes. “Go to the payphone and call the police. I’ll wait here and make sure Reggie doesn’t come back.”

Her fingers wrapped around the quarter, but she didn’t pluck it from his grasp. “You’re not going to let him out?”

Her tone and the look in her eyes were enough to give him pause. “The police’ll do that.”

“And what’ll he do? Just wait in there with the ghosts?”

He’s lasted this long sprang to mind, but Hazel didn’t dare voice that thought. “Look, if I mess with their crime scene—”

“It’s not a crime scene, Hazel, they know who did it. Or they will.”

“I didn’t bring my tools with me.”

“It’s a mausoleum, not a bank.”

There were more counterpoints, more arguments, but the guilt coiling in his middle was nowhere near welcome. He sighed. “I’ll pick the lock.”

She took the quarter and got to her feet. He stood with her, watching as she retreated toward the gas station. After a few yards, she halted, saw him still beside the monument, and pressed her lips together, waving her hand in a shooing motion.

The lock was nothing fancy, nothing too complex. A simple pick and a little finesse would get him through in a matter of seconds. Hazel could see the process laid out in his mind as though in a how-to guide, or that handbook he hadn’t touched since training. Everything else, everything that came after, was as clear as a mud puddle subjected to a thousand splashing feet.

Hazel reached into his pocket, brushed aside the coins he’d collected on his travels, and found the lock picks. They weren’t anything fancy, just a set of picks gathered in a case similar to a Swiss Army knife, but they did the job when the job didn’t have to look too professional.

Light faded from the sky as twilight became evening, but Hazel could have found the necessary pick even in the dark. Once he had it, he set to work.

The lock clicked open. Once it did, once Hazel’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, he couldn’t have spoken had he wanted to.

Klaus Hargreeves was a far cry from the junkie who’d stolen his briefcase. He was small at this age, with a slight build and curly hair. A blazer covered a starched white shirt and argyle sweater vest, but knee-legnth shorts, similar to those Five had worn, were his only shield against the cold floor.

He should have been the one to call the police. Agnes. Agnes would’ve been better suited to this, would’ve had the kid calm inside of a minute and ushered him out with no trace of tears. One of those police officers allegedly on their way would have known what to do. Grab any bystander off the street and chances were ten to one that they would know what to do better than he could ever guess. Chances were ninety-nine to one that they would improve the situation, rather than making it ten times worse.

But Agnes was gone, the police weren’t yet en route, and Hazel was alone.

“Hi.” That seemed as good a place to start as any. “Whatcha doing in here?”

Klaus drew a shaking breath, but only a few choked sounds came out. He’d folded himself up against the wall, as if making himself smaller might fool whatever terrors lurked, and he made no attempt to move—though he did shrink back as Hazel took a few steps forward.

It should’ve been a paramedic walking toward this kid. A paramedic or some minimum-wage employee manning the gas station across the street. Someone who didn’t have a small army of ghosts trailing behind and no idea how to fix a person instead of breaking them.

He couldn’t do anything about the ghosts, but perhaps he could make himself a little less intimidating. Hazel knelt, suppressing a wince as pain shot through his knees. A name. Maybe a name would help. “I’m Hazel. What’s your name?”

There was another long gasp that shuddered like a dying engine before Klaus spoke. “Klaus.”

“All right, Klaus.” Hazel shifted, and the scant light illuminated fresh tears on Klaus’ cheeks. “What do you say we get you outta here?”

Klaus didn’t move. His gaze flitted from Hazel to the air beyond. As far as Hazel knew, ghosts couldn’t open doors; and he’d never seen one, but surely there had to be some indicator separating them from the living. But as Hazel watched, Klaus’ eyes didn’t flit back and forth the way they might have from one ghost to another. His gaze remained steady on the door, as if trying to determine whether it had opened at all or if that hint of rescue was simply a figment of imagination.

Jesus, how long had he been in there?

Hazel bent his fingers slightly, as if inviting him to move closer. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of here.”

Klaus shifted. Both arms remained wrapped around his knees, but one loosened.

“S’okay. We’re gonna get you out.”

One arm let go and then the other. He shifted onto hands and knees, reached out to meet Hazel’s outstretched hand.

Klaus’ cold hand brushed Hazel’s for only a second before clinging to it and, before Hazel could fully process what was happening, Klaus had his arms wrapped around Hazel’s neck, so all he could do was pull himself upright as Klaus buried his face in Hazel’s shoulder.

Hazel got to his feet, balancing Klaus’ weight as best he could. His wrist screamed in protest, but he couldn’t set the kid down. Not now, and it was only a few steps to the door.

Those few steps weren’t over quick enough. Hazel’s vision of setting Klaus down gently and sinking onto the grass died when Klaus kept hanging on, so he sank awkwardly to his knees. Once Klaus’ feet touched the ground, he slackened his grip. Cold air chilled the tears on his suit jacket almost instantly.

Hazel expected the relief, but not the mingling guilt that came with it.

“You okay?”

It was a stupid question, but Klaus nodded despite another shuddering breath heralding more tears. Not knowing what else to do, Hazel put a hand on his shoulder.

Maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised that Klaus leaned in, or when he threw his arms around Hazel’s shoulders. The torment he’d escaped hadn’t been the most brutal in the world, but given what he could see, it wasn’t something Hazel would’ve wished on anybody, either. Of course he’d be a little fragile after. Of course he’d cling to whoever was near.

It still took a few seconds to return the embrace as Klaus sobbed into his shoulder.

********

By the time red and blue lights split the darkening sky, Klaus had polished off most of the sandwich Agnes had purchased and was working on emptying the water bottle. In defiance of Hazel’s prediction, he sat closer to him than to Agnes. Unsure of what else to do, Hazel wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Sorry if I messed up your crime scene,” Hazel told the first officer to come within earshot. “Wasn’t sure how long the kid had been in there.”

“I would’ve done the same thing.” The officer crouched down, and a tag bearing the name S. GUTIERREZ came into view. He gave Klaus a gentle smile. “Glad you made it outta there.”

Klaus looked down at the water bottle in his hands.

“What were you doing in that mausoleum, anyway?” The officer’s tone wasn’t quite jocular, but it was lighter than Hazel expected. “Those things aren’t safe for kids.”

Klaus swallowed.

“It’s okay,” Gutierrez said. “You’re not in trouble.”

It was a minute before Klaus spoke, and when he did, his voice was only a decibel or two above a whisper. “My dad.”

“Your dad put you there?”

Klaus nodded.

“Why’d he do that?”

Seconds turned to minutes, and Klaus did not answer. He swiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

“It’s okay,” Gutierrez said again. Another few seconds passed. “What’s your name?”

“Klaus.”

“What’s your last name?”

“Ha—Hargreeves.”

“Who’s your dad?”

Agnes put an arm around Klaus and pulled him close, letting the tears come. It was a few minutes before they ebbed.

Gutierrez’s smile faltered. It had never been joyful, never been full of true mirth, but it was a good deal sadder now. “We’ll save the other questions for later. How ‘bout we get you over to the paramedics, make sure you’re not hurt?”

Klaus should have looked up at Agnes, or even Gutierrez; but when he raised his head, his silent plea was turned only on Hazel. “Can…can they come with me?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Hazel tried to catch Agnes’ eye long enough to give a tilt of the head back toward the car, but she’d already gotten to her feet, giving Klaus a hand up. Great.

He cast a glance toward the flashing lights, squinted past in search of any people armed with cameras, tape recorders, and questions ready to fire, but saw no one. Just squad cars and an ambulance. No sign of Reginald’s car, either. No reason he could see to leave in a hurry, but that could change at any moment. The number of corrections agents exposed by reporters wasn’t high, and those stories had never gone anywhere of note, but it had happened to them. It could happen to him. The chances of it happening went up exponentially with each minute he stayed at Klaus’ side.

Cold fingers wrapped around his. Hazel knew, before he even looked down, that Klaus had taken his hand. He looked anyway.

Fear was still all over his face, but not the sort Hazel had seen again and again. Not the desperation of a target with no more options, confronted with an end that had come too soon. There was some relief in that look, Hazel could tell, but something else, something he’d killed all too often.

Hope.

There were reasons for it, reasons Hazel couldn’t yet name. Not through the guilt and trepidation choking off thought or the unknowns peering at him from behind that mausoleum door. There was a plan—there had to be a plan—but it refused to surface through the questions crowding his mind, and the sheer scope of what he didn’t know left him breathless. He didn’t know what he’d do if a flock of reporters descended on the cemetery or the police asked for a fingerprint or Reginald’s car came around the corner.

He only knew he couldn’t leave.

************

Author’s Note: I do suspect Reginald locked Klaus in the mausoleum a) more than once and b) when he was a lot younger than 13. I will explain my theory as to why Klaus specified that he was 13 when it happened for one corn chip.

Prologue

Chapter Two

43 notes · View notes

damnfinecupocoffee · 5 years

Text

The Sun Will Not Rise

(So, I wrote a thing. It’s been too long since I did and I hope I did this some kind of justice, it being my first ever Les Mis thing. 1,675 words of ExR canon era angst, grantaire POV, canon death, no happy ending because We Suffer Like Men here. Read it below the cut or on AO3, tags below.)

Enjolras.

The heavy footsteps of a dozen men moving around the Musain rattle the walls, the floors, dragging him from his slumbering stupor. Distant screams pierce through the air and all Grantaire can smell is blood and death. He has never been upon a battlefield but he knows now how it feels.

Enjolras.

He knows where he wants to be - longs to be - even as the cold colours of familiar walls around him blur together in his tired haze, all his senses overwhelmed with it, the tang of alcohol soured on his tongue, muted gunfire and death rallies echoing around him. His fingers brush against the worn surface of the billiard table as he stumbles to his feet, the absent and pointless thought crossing his mind as to how old the thing is, wondering whether it had ever seen gunfire before.

Enjolras.

He’s there, right there across the room, like a beacon in his red and gold waistcoat, blonde curls loose about his face and eyes wild; a cornered animal not willing to lay down and die without a fight. His predators surround him and yet his teeth are bared and his expression curbed in such a way that if he feels a single drop of fear, it doesn’t show. Except he’s not fighting, he’s not fighting, and that look upon his face speaks volumes greater than any Grantaire has ever read. It sees the bloodshed and the terror and the war outside in the streets and calls them victory. It sees the death and calls it history. He’s lost - Grantaire knows now that they have lost - but Enjolras knows too that they have won, because his death will mean something. He always knew it was coming, and that it would.

Grantaire’s heart stops in his chest with the revelation. He swears it never beats again.

Absently he wonders if any of their friends have escaped the gunman. They are his only sunlight, his happiness dependent on their presence, their warmth and their laughter. He has known so much despair and yet so little of it in their company, and the thought of them departing permanently from his life brings him an exquisite pain. He has lived years in their orbit now; Combeferre, surely the smartest man he’s ever know. Surely more patience for him than anyone has held in the span of his entire twenty-nine years. Courfeyrac, with all his wit and exuberance and passion. Prouvaire, whose pure and passionate existence alone he knows is enough to keep each of them fighting their battles, and even Pontmercy, with whom he’d shared the pains and promises of the rapture of love. Feuilly, Bahorel, Joly, Bousset… no, if Enjolras is here, he knows it to be over. Their fearless leader is surely the final stand.

But he is still standing.

“Take aim!”

Grantaire can’t tell which of the guards speaks, which is the sergeant, but a dozen rifles raise in unison, their butts held firm against uniformed shoulders.

They haven’t seen him. They’re fixed on Enjolras now; a promise of death. And Enjolras is fixed upon them too. The staircase is mere metres to his left and Grantaire could easily pass behind the billiard table and escape down them, slip away unnoticed.

“Vive la Republique!” The words have left his mouth in a powerful cry before he knows it. “Count me in.”

There are eyes on him now, but he notices only the fierce gaze of Enjolras as he strides forwards towards the firing squad, away from the staircase. In a million lifetimes, he would not take it down. His eyes stay fixed on his Orestes as he passes through the enemies lines. More words exit his lips with equal ferocity, but Grantaire himself does not hear them as he falls in line beside Enjolras in front of the muskets.

You’ll see, say the echoes of his memory.

“Will you permit it?” He asks instead. He’s asking with every unspoken feeling he has ever spared for the man beside him, with a swollen heart. The pain of the loss of their friends is harrowing, even excruciating, but a life without the sunlight would be the death of its worshipper. He had been a blind man for so long, but it was fully realised in that moment: he needed Enjolras as violently as his lungs needed air. He loved him. He would rather die here.

Their eyes remain locked, turned away from the guards. Enjolras reaches blindly for his hand and grasps it in his own, something new in his expression as their fingers entwine, a smile upon his lips both resolute in its anticipation of what followed and fulfilled all at once. Grantaire thought himself stood across from a saint in that moment, or perhaps a god, a heavenly glow expressed from behind his Apollo’s golden curls.

If this was to be it, then so it would be. This was all he needed.

He hears the gunshots fire and feels Enjolras’ fingers tighten even further around his own. The pain is searing like fire within his very soul, his knees giving out beneath him, his head finding the floor of the Musain in moments, and then its over.

Until it isn’t.

Grantaire can’t say how much time has passed when he comes too, only that his once barraged senses are shaken instantaneously by the silence.

No footsteps. No screams.

No gunfire.

His arm aches where it hangs limply above his frame, supported by something he’s gripping so tightly like it's the only thing keeping him hanging on to life.

There’s no way he should be.

Enjolras.

Feebly he squeezes the hand clasped so tightly in his own, acutely aware of its limpness in response. Grantaire gasps like he’s taking his first breath as he shifts from the floor onto his elbows. His body is trembling and the pain in his chest is no less severe than it had been the moment the bullets tore through him. The dust has settled around him, coated him, and his gasping turns to choking as he reaches his knees. Blood has soaked his shirt, right through his waistcoat; three puckered holes in the fabric mock every breath he takes. He must be dead, he thinks, because there is nothing logical that explains otherwise.

But if death is feeling the pain of dying forever more, he wishes he had known. He would have tried harder to live.

He keeps his hand in Enjolras’ as he stands up, rasps his name. Squeezes again, once more to no response. In the back of his mind he already knows what this means, but it doesn’t bare thinking about.

The tears streak his dirty face as their fingers finally part, only for his to find Enjolras’ shoulders, trying to gently wake him from his slumber. He’s stood almost perfectly where he had been, a marble statue but for his head tilted down. His chest is littered with holes that match Grantaire's own.

He does not move.

Knowing he would find it makes it no less painful to bear. Grantaire grits his teeth against a desperate scream of pain and devastation. He takes Enjolras’ face in both palms, trembling as his fingers brush away those heavenly curls in a way he’d never have been permitted, and raises it to meet his eyes once more.

They are open still, but the light has gone out. The sun has gone out, Grantaire realises all at once.

The silent tears on his face turn into a sob that racks through his whole body. The motion shakes him like an earthquake, swaying Enjolras from his crucifixion against the wall and his limp body falls forwards into Grantaire’s arms. He sinks to his knees, sinks both of them down until he’s cradling Enjolras in his arms and staving off the panic rising in his chest by clutching his hands so tightly into Enjolras’ clothes that all the men in the world would not be able to rip him from him.

No logic can make sense of why and how he’s still alive, but he wishes it weren’t so, wishes their roles could be reversed so that the sun could shine on in endless day and he would sweep away the darkness as his own memory sunk into obscurity.

Even now, he knows in his heart Enjolras would never let that happen. Even for him. No death in the face of adversity deserved to go unrecognised and no lost life should go uncelebrated. Every person alive or dead was owed more than that - Grantaire feels the tethers of his earthly doubts start to loosen as he clutches that cold body to his own, as if his own warmth could revive it. He stays there for as long as there is silence in the Musain, cursing existence, cursing love, and cursing that in death, Enjolras had made Grantaire see at last. Made him believe.

Only when he finally hears movement in the streets does he move again. He makes to stand, but can’t bear to part from the body in his arms, not yet.

Sitting Enjolras back against the wall where he had been pinned, right beside the window, Grantaire holds his face one more time. Brushes perfect curls back from his delicate features, mapping small details to memory that he’d never been able to perfect in all his paintings over the years. It feels treacherous to complete the task now, but someone has to turn Enjolras into history. He cannot die merely a man.

He closes his eyes, once he’s sure he can bear too. It’s easier to look at him with them closed, if he avoids looking at his blood soaked chest; it’s almost as if he’s sleeping peacefully.

Finally, Grantaire leans forward. He’s on his knees on the floor beside him, face still held delicately and helplessly in his hands, and he closes the space between them to press one chaste, anguished kiss to Enjolras’ lips.

After a moment’s deliberation, he carefully removes Enjolras’ waistcoat and takes it with him.

#exr #enjolras #grantaire #les mis #les amis #les mis fanfic #angst #no happy ending #cw for canon deaths I guess?#mine

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leggiamo · 6 years

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Undone, Chapter XIII

I had to take some time for myself to be by myself. My apartment looked completely untouched even though I had been in and out of here more often than usual lately. Mail still piled up on the table beside the door, and dust collected on top of unused surfaces. Even still, I was glad I listened to my gut and didn’t give it up to live with Cris. This used to be my favorite place to rest in solitary, but now I felt guilty for slipping away to have alone time.

Alone time is something that is allowed in a relationship, is it not? Wasn’t I afforded moments on my own to be left in silence with my thoughts?

In the grand scheme of things, a year wasn’t that long. Sure, a lot can happen in a year, which was something that I was all too aware of. A year felt like a lifetime to me, a lifetime with him; it felt like a lifetime of feeling a kind of love for him, a unique love, that I was unfamiliar with.

A lifetime had since passed from the moment I decided to stop pushing him away, and here I was again, trying to push him away once more to deny myself what I knew I wanted all because I was afraid now that I realized I could be falling in love.

If I knew this, why couldn’t I just tell him how I felt and put his mind at ease? He claimed he could tell, but I knew all that he wanted was to finally hear me admit my feelings and tell him that I loved him in the same way that he loved me. There was nothing more that I wanted than to break the barrier that was keeping me from saying the only three words that would keep him from leaving. Even though I knew my feelings were reciprocated, some unfounded fear maintained my silence.

I trudged to my bedroom and walked up to the window to push the curtains aside, illuminating the room with the final remaining rays of sunlight. I opened the window, ignoring the slight chill of the winter air, and reached into the drawer of my bedside table.

My gut told me not to, but I wrapped my fingers around that little polka-dotted cigarette case and pulled it out. I found one lone cigarette, the only one that survived my purge, under the clip. I removed it and pinched it between my lips. After another search in the drawer, I found my old lighter.

“Come on,” I muttered as I struggled to get it to spark. “Let me have this.”

I sighed frustratedly and stormed off toward my kitchen.

The front burner on my stove clicked on and I dipped the tip of the cigarette into the flame. Holding the cigarette between to fingers, I waved it in the air to extinguish the flame on the tip as I turned off the burner. I anxiously brought the cigarette to my lips, expanding my lungs as I inhaled the smoke, initiating the release of dopamine as the nicotine entered my system.

Suddenly, I felt like the old me, the me that didn’t date because she didn’t want to be tethered down out of fear of losing herself.

The cigarette burned slowly as I walked back to my room. Each drag and exhale out of the window managed to calm the chaos raging inside of my head.

I looked down at the street below as I leaned on the window sill—I chose this place because there wasn’t a lot of street traffic. It felt a little skeevy at night from time-to-time but nothing ever happened. Here, there were no cameras and no Cristiano. No one paid me any mind and I went on my way. Here, my life still felt like the old version of normal that I previously knew.

Ashes got lost in the wind as I tapped the tube with my finger. It just felt good to be in this moment and pretend that I hadn’t moved to a new city and found what I had been trying to escape from in the first place. It was nice to pretend that I hadn’t found a man that I needed to teach me how to love. I didn’t want the moment to last forever, but I was still allowing myself to enjoy it. We were spending so much time together that I was beginning to lose myself in him, as I always feared I would.

I looked at my phone disinterestedly as it began to ring from on top of my bed.

After that night at the hotel when he said he would wait for me, something changed.

He still told me how he felt and he wasn’t cornering me to return an “I love you”. He still held me, still kissed me, and still spoke to me the same. That tender look still entered his eyes when we spoke, and I still felt the tickle of those flapping wings in the pit of my stomach when I’d catch him staring at me as if I was his whole world.

As often as he verbally and physically reassured me that he loved me, I’ve started to see something else lurking in the background. I know he cares and it comforts me, at least until he slips up and fails to hide the suspicions he keeps tucked away from me. When those come out, that’s when it hurts me. It hurts to see that some part of him doesn’t trust me and doesn’t trust that when I tell him that I only want him, I mean it.

Above all, his mistrust scares me. I know it only exists because I balk at saying the words he’s waiting to hear. But what if I finally say them but he thinks I’m only saying them to appease him, or worse, out of guilt? He says he can already tell how I feel, but if he can, why does he look like he’s trying to catch me in a lie each time I answer the phone around him? Why does he so keenly observe how I interact with not only Sergio but with other men as well?

I might be new to this, but I’m not the person he’s becoming suspicious that I might be. When I tried to explain this to him, it turned into another serious argument. That was how I found myself back here, alone as I smoked the only cigarette I held onto as I tried to hold on to the parts of me that were here before I met him.

I let my phone continue ringing as I finished my cigarette. He could wait while I gave myself this moment.

I remembered the look on his face as I threw my hands up and walked I away. I was non-confrontational by nature, and to sit there and argue with him, someone I was invested in, was too much for me. Even as he called out my name after me, I kept on walking away.

I couldn’t let the argument continue when it was about nothing at all; too many senseless arguments had the potential to ruin relationships. Everything that he was saying was just him beating around the bush and finding ways to bring up my relationship with Sergio without actually bringing it up. He said he didn’t care about my past with Sergio, but he kept finding every excuse he could to allude to it.

I put out the end of my cigarette and dropped the butt in the ashtray on the nightstand. My heart felt heavy and I wanted to hear Cristiano’s voice, but I didn’t want to call him; I would just have to wait for him to give in and call back.

I flopped onto my bed and held my phone to my chest. Why did it have to be Sergio and not Cris who had gotten to me first? Had he stepped up, I wouldn’t have to worry that he was jealous, or that he was distrusting because of a past that he assured me he didn’t care about. I’d still be in his bed, my ear pressed to his chest as I listened to the strong, steady rhythm of his heartbeat if I had been able to hit it off with him before anyone else.

I waited for his call for as long as I could manage to keep my eyes open. Without bothering to get up to close the window, I allowed myself to doze.

I saw him in my dreams, albeit briefly.

We were back at my parents’ house, watching snow fall through the doors of the balcony as he held me, his heart beating against my back. His embrace made me feel warm and secure. It was in that moment that I was still running off of the energy and myriad emotions brought on by the wedding. Admitting to him that there was something very real about what I felt, even if I couldn’t name it, relieved me as much as it frightened and thrilled me. Despite any fears, I knew that I longed to be in his arms for as long as possible.

The ringtone and vibration of my phone startled me awake. Out the corner of my eye, I saw my curtains flutter in a cold breeze that made me shiver. The picture of me sleeping on his chest as he smiled smugly into the camera that he set to his contact flashed in front of my eyes. I hesitated to answer.

After a deep breath, I finally allowed his call.

“Cris.”

“Isla—” I closed my eyes and cradled my phone as I kept it pressed against my face. The low, almost melancholy tone of his voice made me long to be back with him where I could happily sleep in his arms. “—where are you? Come back to me.”

The ache I felt in my chest worried me. “I can’t do that, Cris. Not right now.”

“Why not?” The gentleness of his question further agitated that ache that I felt for him.

I reached out to grab a pillow so I could hug it close to my chest. Another breeze snuck in through the open window, causing my skin to prickle with goosebumps even as I turned away.

“What do you want from me?”

“What?” he laughed.

“What do you want from me?” I repeated slowly. “I don’t understand anymore.”

“Isla, you know—” He paused to take a breath, to think just a little more carefully about what he wanted to say. He could take all the time in the world and I’d still wait for him. “I want to be with you for as long as I can, and I want to love you with all that I have. What I want from you is for you to want the same. I want us to be on the same page.”

“I thought we already were.”

“Are we really?” he asked quietly.

I let out a sigh of frustration. “This is why I’m here right now and not there with you. Every time you do this, play this act like you don’t already know how I feel, it hurts me. You know it hurts me and yet you keep doing it.”

“What am I supposed to think when you’ve been so distant lately? You say one thing, but you barely want to be here and you barely ever want to talk to me beyond one or two words. If we’re on the same page, why are you pushing me away like this?”

“Did you even listen to anything that I said? Every single time that we talk, you say something that hurts me! It’s like you don’t even care.”

“I do care—of course I care,” he said quickly.

“Then why do you treat me like you don’t?”

The wind outside started to pick up as the sky released droplets of rain, one by one. My heart began to race as I awaited his response. The inside of my mouth started to dry out the longer I waited. Part of me was glad that we were doing this over the phone and not face-to-face because I didn’t want to see what look he had in his eyes now.

“Is that what you think? Is that… is that how you feel?” He sounded troubled, as if my words were finally beginning to sink in.

I grimaced. “You have this lack of trust in me, and I can’t understand where it’s coming from. I don’t need you to come out and say it, but I know some part of you, for whatever insane reason, thinks I’m somehow going to decide to cheat on you with Sergio no less.”

“Isla—”

“No, Cris, I don’t want to hear you try and deny it again. I know that’s what it is and the fact that you think that I could do something like that is what hurts me. If you really had an issue with me keeping a close relationship with Sergio, why would you lie about it—”

“I wasn’t lying back then.”

“So what changed now?” I demanded. “Why are you suddenly so obsessed with the idea that I would even think of being unfaithful to you? After I told you that all that we talk about is my commitment to you and how I can deal with my feelings for you, you still seem to think that I would… that’s what hurts me. That’s what makes me think that you’re doing this on purpose in order to hurt me.”

“You know that’s not my intention.”

“No, I don’t!” I sat up and moved to close the window as the rain began to pick up. I rested my forehead against the windowpane and shook it slowly. “You do it so often that I can’t believe that it’s not on purpose anymore.”

It was his turn to let out a deep sigh. “I love you and I would never go out of my way to hurt you. I just worry so much about why you can only talk to him and not me. Why is he the one that you think of when you wake up in the middle of the night when you can easily roll over and talk to me about what’s on your mind?

“I don’t mind that you’re friends, but I can’t process the idea that you’re only talking to him about your feelings when you’re whispering over the phone at 3 in the morning. I understand that this is something new to you, but any man would feel uncomfortable with the woman he loved rolling out of bed to talk to another man so late at night instead of coming to him with her problems. It’s not normal.”

“I don’t know how many different ways that I can tell you that you have nothing to worry about. He helps me to get closer to telling you everything that I still can’t tell you right now.”

“That’s still not very comforting,” he chuckled. “Why does it have to be in the middle of the night when that’s the time that I’m meant to have you in my arms all to myself? I don’t like that he’s taking you away from me, even if you’re the one doing the calling. It’s the fact that your first thought is to call another man while you’re in my bed that I can’t wrap my head around.”

“I don’t need you to understand. I just need you to stop treating me like I’m cheating on you when I’m not.”

“Well, when you’re as distant as you have been lately, what else am I supposed to think?”

The ache that I suddenly felt made me clutch my chest.

“You really did not listen to a word that I said, did you?” I spoke softly, trying to hide the shakiness of my voice. “Just… just give me some space, Cris.”

“What are you saying? Are you saying you want to take a break?”

“No. What I’m saying is, if you want me to be that person that would cheat on you, maybe I will.”

I ended the call before he could respond and set my phone down on the bedside table. He could call and call as many times as he wanted, but I refused to answer. I wasn’t going to continue to be treated as though I had been cheating on him all along.

As I watched the rain clear up as quickly as it had begun to fall, I decided that I wasn’t going to stay in and pity myself. I wasn’t sure if I was still in a relationship anymore, but I wasn’t going to just sit here and dwell on it. There was a bar not far from me where I knew I could easily find my comfort in the bottom of a glass or two.

I ignored my phone as it started to ring once again and started pulling clothes out of my drawers. If I was already letting the old me make a comeback, I might as well let her come back fully. I had my mind set on picking up another pack of cigarettes and hanging out in a crowd I didn’t belong in.

For once, I finally felt tired enough to fall asleep at a semi-reasonable time. All the lights were out, and I was just started to get settled in to go to bed when my phone started to vibrate on the table right beside my pillow. At this hour, I knew it could only be one person.

I sat up and grabbed my phone and looked beside me. Even in the dark, I could tell she was sleeping. I didn’t want to risk waking her so I grabbed my phone and got out of bed as gingerly as possible and stepped out into the hallway.

“Isla what is it?”

“I couldn’t do it. I was so angry at him but I just—I still couldn’t do it,” she sputtered into the phone. I could tell that she was drunk by the way she cried and slurred her words.

“Fuck,” I muttered to myself. I walked further away from the door and down the stairs so Pilar wouldn’t hear. “What’s going on? Why are you crying?”

“He just keeps—” She hiccupped and sniffled something incomprehensible in what I assumed was Dutch. “He hurts me. He… he knows that it hurts and he keeps doing it and doing it and I can’t take it, Sergio. I can’t do it. I just want—”

I kept walking away from my bedroom, down the stairs, and into my office. I reached over to turn on the lamp as I sat on the edge of my desk. She continued to rattle off incoherent sentences as I struggled to make sense of what was going on. The more hysterical she got, the more worried I grew. This was something that I had never experienced before, not from Isla.

“Slow down and take a deep breath, Isla, I can’t understand you. You’re not making any sense.”

“I-I went home with this guy and I-I couldn’t do it. I just can’t do it. I’m not that person, even if he thinks that I am. I can’t be that person,” she continued to ramble.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut. “Where are you? Do you know where you are?”

“No,” she sobbed into the phone, “I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. I’m sorry, Sergio. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry.”

I gently shushed her. “It’s okay, you don’t need to apologize to me. Just take a deep breath. Do you know this guy?”

There was shuffling, like something was brushing against the mouthpiece of her phone, and it worried me. She went silent for a while and didn’t respond to me calling out her name. I felt agitated as I scratched my chin and continued to call out her name more urgently.

More shuffling reached my ears before I heard her voice again.

“I’m sorry I dropped it. He’s so nice—he listened to me when I said I couldn’t and he’s letting me sleep in his bed and his dog is so cute—”

“Isla,” I said firmly, “focus. Pay attention, okay? Go ask him for his address. Give him your phone so he can send it to me. Can you do that? I’m going to come and get you.”

“Sergio—”

“Do it right now.”

“Don’t tell Cris—”

“I’m going to be there as fast as I can. I just need you to get me that address. I’m going to come and get you, just sit tight and don’t let whoever you’re with touch you, okay? Send me that address, Isla. You’re going to be fine.”

I had to drill into her head what I needed her to do just a few more times before I felt comfortable with hanging up. I didn’t want to end the call, but I needed to call Cristiano and let him know what was going on. I had no idea what had happened between them, but at this moment, it was the least of my concerns. My main priority was making sure Isla was safe; I couldn’t give a shit about their relationship.

It didn’t surprise me that he didn’t answer this phone at this hour. Still, I was annoyed to have reached his voicemail.

“Sorry to call you so late, hombre, but I’m going to go pick up Isla from God knows where. She called me just now sounding really out of it and I’d thought I’d let you know before I left. If you happen to be up, I’m going to bring her back to her apartment if you want to meet us there.”

I ended the call and turned the lamp off. I rushed back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When I reached the door to my bedroom, I noticed a faint light leaking out of the bottom of the door. I scratched my head and tried to feel less keyed up before I opened the door, but I was too afraid of what might happen to Isla to even consider what awaited me.

After a deep breath, I pushed the door open and looked straight at Pilar’s scowl before turning away and walking into the closet. She at least waited until I grabbed some sweats and a pair of sneakers before saying anything. I glanced up at her as I pulled the sweats up.

“Why does she always call you so late?” She almost snarled out the question as she emphasized the “she” with distaste.

“I’m not doing this right now,” I said as I slipped my feet into my sneakers.

“Doesn’t she have someone else—”

“Seriously, I’m not doing this. Not right now.”

“So, are you running to her? That’s what you’re doing now? Leaving me, your girlfriend, behind to go save some other woman? Are you her knight in shining armor now, Sergio?”

“I don’t like the way you refer to her with so much contempt.” I looked over my shoulder. “She’s a good friend of mine and she needs help. You might be my girlfriend but she entered my life first. Whatever problem you have with her, I need you to keep it to yourself right now because if something happens to her because I’m here arguing with you?” I threw my hands up and shook my head.

I walked back to my closet to grab a jacket to shrug on. Pilar seethed quietly from the bed we shared as she watched me walk back over to grab my phone. I felt just the slightest bit of relief when I saw that Isla managed to get the address to me.

As I was walking out of the room, I heard Pilar call after me: “You’re in a relationship with me and she’s in a relationship with Cristiano. Remember that Sergio!”

I tried to call Cristiano again on my way out, but I went straight to voicemail this time. Whether or not he got my messages didn’t matter much to me at this point. My main priority was reaching Isla and making sure she was okay.

The drive itself felt longer than it was considering how stressed I was. I tried calling Isla multiple times to let her know that I was on my way, but she didn’t answer either. The longer that I went without being able to reach her, the more worried I grew. That worry only died down slightly when I managed to get buzzed in by whatever clown she found tonight.

When I reached his apartment, I had to hold back from pounding on his door like the police. I wouldn’t be able to calm down until I had Isla with me safe and sound, but grabbing the attention of everyone on the floor wasn’t ideal. Luckily, I only had to ring his bell and he opened the door within a matter of seconds.

“I think you have something that belongs to me.”

His eyes widened with a sense of recognition that I was all too familiar with. “Oh, yeah, right. She just fell asleep.”

I followed him inside to where she had fallen asleep. She was holding tightly onto her phone and sleeping with her eyebrows knitted together. I wish I knew what was causing that pained look on her face.

Before I stepped into the room to wake her up, I turned to this stranger. “Look, thanks for taking care of her and not taking advantage. She’s kind of having a rough time right now and I’d appreciate if this could stay between us.”

Even though I thought I was quiet, the sound of my voice roused her out of her sleep. She sat up and rubbed her eyes as she squinted at me.

“Sergio,” she slurred, “What are you doing here?”

I walked into the room and crouched in front of her. This was my first time seeing her like this and I didn’t like it. She was unrecognizable to me; what I was looking at wasn’t the Isla that I had known for as long as I did. It hurt to see her in such a bad way.

“I’m taking you home, dumbass,” I teased softly. “Let’s go.”

“I can’t see Cris like this—”

I stroked her knuckled with my thumb. “I’m not taking you there. I’m taking you back to your place. Come on.”

She was shaky on her feet, but I managed to get her up and out of the bedroom. I thanked the guy once again and left the apartment altogether. Trying to get her into my car was a more difficult task, but once she was in, she fell asleep again. As I drove, I took a couple glances at her just to make sure she was ok. For the time being, she was, but I wasn’t sure how she would be in the long term. All I knew was that I needed her to be safe.

Isla was in an even deeper sleep when I parked in front of her building. I looked through her bag for her keys and shook my head at the new pack of cigarettes I saw. Whatever happened earlier today set her back on the completely wrong path.

I pressed her keys against my palm and got out of my car. I walked around to the passenger side and gently woke up her so that I could get her inside and into bed.

“Hey.” I gently shook her awake.

She blinked tiredly. “Sergio….”

“Shh, I got you.”

I heard a car door open and shut as I helped her out of the seat. Through my periphery, I saw a shadow move in a familiar way. Apparently, he got my messages after all.

Isla balanced on me as I shut the door once I had gotten her outside. She held on to me for assistance as I walked her to the front of her building where Cristiano was standing waiting for us. He looked between us as she clung to my shirt, mumbling about something neither of us could hear.

He nodded in my direction. “Hey.”

“She’s uh… well clearly she’s had too much to drink but she’s ok.” He was focused on her with his head cocked to the side. He looked troubled, but again, it wasn’t my business. It was the least of my concerns. “You got it from here?”

He accepted the keys from me. “Yeah.”

“No,” she whimpered. “Sergio don’t leave. I don’t want you to leave.”

“You’re fine, Isla. You know he’s going to take care of you.” I hugged her to me and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you later when you don’t stink or look like shit. I have to get back home but I’ll check up on you later.”

She reluctantly let go and all but fell into Cristiano’s arms. I almost laughed, but I felt too tired to even attempt it. She looked pitiful, but anyone with eyes could see that something painful had to bring her to this point. This wasn’t like her at all.

Before I could walk away, she called out to me, “I love you, stupid.”

I cringed and tried to ignore the look that I saw on Cristiano’s face. Drunk Isla was quickly becoming my least favorite Isla. Whatever was going on, I knew that I had no interest in getting caught up in the middle of it again. I said goodbye to the both of them and got in my car to drive home to a relationship issue of my own that had to be dealt with.

Cristiano silently let the both of us into my building and guided me up to my apartment. Once I was inside, I dropped my bag on the floor and paid no attention to Cris when he regarded me curiously as he picked up the pack of cigarettes that fell out. I stumbled away toward my bathroom and ignored the fact that the room was spinning as I turned on the shower.

I spent a long time under that stream of hot water, letting it wash away everything that I had been holding on to today. If I could cry, I had found the perfect place to do it. I was tired and sick of being drunk and angry with myself.

I was definitely still drunk when I stepped out of the shower and I had to close my eyes as I brushed my teeth to make the room stop spinning. Cris was sitting on my bed, flipping the pack of cigarettes in his hand, when I walked into my bedroom. I ignored him and pulled out the first set of pajamas I could find and put them on.

Even as time continued to pass, Cris said nothing to me. He waited until I crawled into bed and curled up to even move. I just continued to lie there as he stripped down to his underwear and joined me in my bed. This was something that was new; he had never been in my bed and I wasn’t even sure that he had been in my apartment before.

When he draped an arm over me to pull me closer, I rested my hand atop his and closed my eyes.

“I couldn’t—I didn’t do anything,” I said quietly. I was annoyed that my words were still slurred.

“I know. That’s not who you are. I’m sorry I made you do this,” he said into my hair. “I have to work on it. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You frighten me, Cristiano.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

I slipped my fingers in between his. “Because you do.”

He kissed the top of my head. “How?”

“I feel like I’m losing myself. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never been hurt before. I just… I don’t like the thought of being without you, but I don’t like the thought of being with you when you act like you can’t trust me. I don’t know how to process this.”

“Why are your feelings something that you’re afraid of?”

“I don’t know,” I murmured. “It feels like who I am, who I know I am, is disappearing.”

“Are you afraid of being in love?” He paused and I heard him swallow loudly. “Or are you just afraid of being in love with me?”

“I—” Even with my eyes closed, I could feel that sting of tears that threatened to fall. “I’m afraid that if I admit it, if I make what I feel real, that I’m going to lose you.”

“Why would you lose me?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t let those tears fall. “I don’t know.”

“You’re not going to,” he said as if he could tell the future.

“You don’t know that. You can’t lie in this bed with me and tell me for certain that we’ll never end up being apart. If you ever broke my heart by leaving me I don’t think I’d survive.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked.

“I don’t know!”

“I wouldn’t—that won’t happen.”

I swiped at my eyes with the butt of my palm. “What if I break yours?”

“You’ll only be able to break it if you don’t let me love you the way that I need to.”

I knew what he needed me to say, but I still couldn’t bring myself to say it, not even with the liquor in my system. I needed him to know the reason why I couldn’t sleep with another man, the reason why I could never feel any desire for Sergio again, but I just couldn’t get those three basic words to leave my lips. I knew that if I couldn’t say them soon, I would lose him, no matter how much he tried to insist otherwise.

#Undone #Cristiano Ronaldo #Sergio Ramos #football fanfic #football fanfiction

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fymeetrasurik · 6 years

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Star Wars: Catalyst-A Rogue One Novel-Review

I actually read this like, a long time ago XD. Like in the lead up before Rogue one came out. So.... Very late.It did have many things I wanted to touch on though, and honestly it’s been one of my favorite books in the new canon so better late than never!

Plot: In the final years of the clone wars, it is decided that a weapon must be constructed to end the conflict. Krennic, and ambitious social climber has his eyes set on the head of the table, and lucky for him, he happens to know the perfect scientist who can launch him into relevance. So begins a game of careful placation as work on the greatest weapon the galaxy has ever known is underway.

So I just figured out how the bullet system works, and I think it’s the best way for me to get out my points XD here we go!

Galen Erso-The book does such an amazing job at flushing out his character. Really it made him one of my favs. He’s very akin to the scientists who worked on the atomic bomb in our own world. He’s a pacifistic who did his best to free himself from either the republic or the separatists, and so the entire book is a blend of making sure he doesn’t know what he’s working on, or finding a way to convince even him that this is for the best. It’s a fascinating game of mental maneuvers. Beyond that even, his mild mannered and thoughtful personality was really endearing as you can tell how much is going on in his head, but yet he still takes time to be a loving husband and father. His state of being is written so well.

Lyra Erso-Boy howdy, if you read this book for nothing else, read it for Lyra. We got to know so little of her from the movie, but reading the book you can so see where Jyn got a lot of her fire from. Lyra is intense, and passionate, which creates a great contrast to Galen. She’s the one who begins to suspect the empire is up to no good, and then the story becomes this almost tug of war between her and Krennic over Galen. She knows the dangerous water they’re working in and is doing her best to keep Galen tethered while also raising Jyn. The quickest way I can describe her is that she’s a space hippie and I mean that with love. She has an interest in Geology which plays a important role in the story, and she just has a no nonsense kind of attitude that’s really easy to fall in love with. In many ways it’s her story more than Galen’s as she must walk a fine line in a dangerous new world.

Orson Krennic- Loved him in the movie, and honestly the book makes him even better. In a world of Vader’s and sith, I think Krennic is a really interesting villain, because he didn’t have to be. He’s dangerously ambitious, but at the same time he’s in over his head. He’s created a weapon of mass destructive as a way to climb the ladder. Like he cares more about getting a high status and recognition than he does about the death star itself. He’s a sociopath in the truest sense as he’s very charming and manipulative. Throughout the story, he’s never antagonistic to Galen, handling him with kid gloves and giving the Erso’s everything (in his mind) that they could ever want. Again the conflict he has with Lyra as both fight for Galen is some of the best parts of the book. He’s just a fascinating villain to me, he comes across very blue collar, like he’s worked his whole life, going from nothing to something and still it’s not enough. He won’t be satisfied until he’s adviser to the emperor himself.

Tarkin-Speaking of villains, oh my word Tarkin is perfect in this. I never knew how much I needed him to have a catty drama and rivalry with someone else in the empire until I read this book. His relationship with Krennic is just the best as they both spend the last half of the book trying to screw each other over while playing polite in conversation. It’s awesome. It’s like every workplace beef you’ve ever seen, on a galactic scale, it’s so petty it’s wonderful.

Has Obbit- A smuggler who is just, a hundred percent done with all this. Early on he is roped into Krennic’s scheme to win over Galen and he spends the rest of the book just under his thumb and he’s just like why has this happened. He’s so easy to relate to of just getting screwed over by powers bigger than him, and honestly I’d like to see him in more stuff!

End of the Clone Wars- So spoiler, but about a third of the way into the book we see the end of the war on a street level. The Erso’s are literally running from battle droids and are seconds from being killed when the droids shut down. I adored this moment. Firstly its interesting because we know what happened more than the characters do, Anakin just murdered all the sep leaders. What I love about this the most, is fate. Star wars always does such a good job of, if this didn’t happen this way at this time it would all have gone to hell. So many things had to lead up to their defeat, a million chances the force took. In a way, Vader saved the Erso’s lives, and without them, the death star could never have been destroyed and by extension, neither would the empire have ever fallen. Little details like that I just love.

State of the Galaxy-My FAVORITE, world buildy thing of the book. I am a huge fan of how canon star wars has dealt with the rise of the empire and how it was viewed by the people, and little details are sprinkled in this book that are some of my fav in all of star wars. Even after the war is over, Krennic explains about sep hold outs and terrorist groups still causing havoc in the outer rim.Eventually it’s how he convinces Galen about the death star as a matter of security. Given how awful the clone wars were, you can hardly blame people for wanting security and being afraid of Seps’ who just couldn’t let it go. Politically, I think this is brilliant, because it basically justifies the empire on a average person level. Wars have a hard time at ending, and that’s especially true on a galactic scale. Spinning this vague threat of Seps who never gave up the fight is a perfect boogeyman. Suddenly, your fighting terrorists rather than freedom fighters and those who joined the empire in those 19 years after the war? They might have seen that as ending the conflict their parents died to stop. Like this twists it so the rebellion isn’t something new, but rather the ghost of something thought to have been put down decades ago. It wasn’t a galactic civil war, it was clone wars round 2. Some of the canon doesn’t get this across very well, but the clone wars was not just clones and droids. It was one of the worst wars in history, leaving trillions dead. The horror of that is hard to imagine, and so can you not see someone signing up to the imperial academy with pride, knowing that whatever they do, it’s in the name of stopping something like that from happening ever again. Palpatine moves, were utter brilliance. Scaring the galaxy from opposing him as no matter how bad things get, at least they aren’t as bad as they were. It’s one of my favorite lore bits in all of star wars and makes everything feel so much more real.

Aliens- I love how all of the books get to play more with Alien characters. Has is one and it’s fun. The opening of the book is the Erso’s imprisoned on an alien world but kinda being welcomed into the culture at the same time and it’s fascinating. Detail is given to their architecture, customs, celebrations and so on and I am just a sucker for all of that. Galen has an old University friend whose a Mirialan whom I love. She’s a professor and Idk why but I just really liked her. More of this in star wars please, like for the love of god, some of the canon stuff is making me wonder why we even have aliens in this universe if they’re just gonna be set dressing.

Construction of a Battle Station- In a book about the death star you’d expect a lot to be told about how it was made and the book delivers. I for one loved the detail ha, as it’s gone into how it was built and by who. Design choices and setbacks which itself were my fav parts of this. The setbacks really humanize the story and play into the ruthlessness of the empire. Experimentation with a crystal destroys a city? Blame it on a reactor leak. A group of scientists have outlived their use? Use them as practice for the laser. In fact this becomes a detective part of the story. A brilliant detail to me was that there were several cells of scientists working on the death star, each with their own focus. Shielding, gravity, containment, the weapon itself. All were under different code names and all were working on the same thing and most didn’t know it. So as scientist friends of the Erso’s start disappearing and Lyra starts putting things together, it’s a really tense situation to follow.

Baby Jyn- Baby Jyn is super adorable. It’s weird because with this book and Jyn’s own Rebel Rising, we pretty much know her whole life from cradle to Scarif. Which is a little sad. Regardless, her addition helps to flesh her out and makes that ending gut punch hit harder.

Playground- There’s a star wars playground in this. Like with kids and everything. There’s something called a grav slide and they don’t explain it but I want it.

Saw- Saw is in this and it’s interesting to see his journey from clone wars to what we see him become in Rogue one.

Geology- Alright I’m a super nerd but there’s a part where Lyra and Jyn go off to survey a planet looking for crystals and idk I just found that super interesting.

Geonosians- Are used for construction of the death star and it was interesting to see how they switched sides. We also get some insight into their culture and methods. Like apparently when working on a project it’s totally normal for them to just start killing each other sometimes which is rad ha.

Jedi- It’s an interesting perspective this book gives because the Jedi are lost pretty quickly and so the outlook on them is negative in universe with everyone all “those traitors rargh!” with Lyra as the voice of that can’t be true. She has a reverence for the force I find super interesting and it plays into her hippieish. She’s very spiritual and used to spend time in the Jedi gardens which I didn’t even know was a thing. I love seeing how normies interact with the force and how it can still play a role in their lives.

That’s all I got at the moment! If it’s not clear, I really loved this book. It was written by James Luceno who wrote motherfucking Darth Plagueis from legends otherwise known as the best star wars book ever. He has such an amazing talent for linking the universe together in a way that makes it feel alive and there’s no better world builder in the game. I’m a sucker for that so I just had a wonderful time and read it pretty non stop. I’d place it fairly high in my list of canon books, so if all this sounds interesting, give it a read! It adds to Rogue One while also telling it’s own very compelling story with some amazing characters. That’s it from me ha! May the force of others be with you!

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zizygy · 7 years

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Mourning Frost, A Vax Fic

AO3 link [~3,000 words] Spoilers for Ep 103 I was having a lot of Trans Feels™ for Vax while watching episode 103, so here’s a fic about that. --

Vax had thought quite a lot about death.

He had to, because of his god, but even before that it had always been a consideration. Death was the end. Sure, there was an afterlife, he'd seen too much to believe otherwise, but what use was an afterlife if you were separated from the only people you cared about?

Vex had always thought they'd see their mother when they died. She'd lose something, of course, but one family for another wasn't so bad of a trade. Vax would be with her of course, that was never a question. Even if she died first (she wouldn't, he always told her so, he did everything in his power to prevent it) they would see each other again.

Vax was less optimistic. Life didn't grant miracles, so why would death be any different? Their mother would be long gone by the time he and his sister finally left this mortal coil. Death meant leaving the people you love, anything else was irrelevant detail.

So he wasn't surprised to find himself naked and alone in the dark nothingness of death.

There wasn't a lot of feeling in this place. It was nice in a way. As was so often the case with these things, Vax hadn't realized how much he felt until those feelings were gone. The feeling that they were doomed, that crushing certainty that glazed his eyes and bowed his back, it was all gone. There was no worry, no exhaustion, no creeping worry trying to eat through his insides or twitching fingers or feeling of wrongness not within him.

It was nice, that freedom from feeling. Empty, but hadn't he been searching for emptiness? All those nights alone, staring at the stars, at the streets, at the members of the Clasp darting from shadow to shadow? He had always felt too much, he was always looking for a way to not.

But he wasn't completely empty here. There was something tethering him to the ground, a heavy sort of heat in the middle of his chest, right where his heart was, that kept him from floating, or maybe it was sinking, into the cold darkness.

Vex.

His sister wasn't here.

That realization weighed him down, pulled on his soul until his feet were pointing down and he began to drop and as he dropped he began to feel. By the time the platform, the hand, the Raven Queen rose up to meet him, he was afraid again, more afraid than he had ever been before. Was this where it ended? Was this where he finally lost Vex?

He squashed down the panic he felt at that thought, forcing it out of his throat and chest, forcing it down through his body to weigh his feet to the Raven Queen's hand.

His god was inscrutable and infuriatingly still behind her ebony mask and Vax was suddenly very conscious of his nakedness. She didn't move as he shifted under her gaze, fighting the urge to curl up and hide as much of himself as possible. You had to be open with your god, but the Raven Queen knew that she did not command the same sort of awe for Vax that Serenrae did for Pike. Their relationship was based on respect, his for her and her for her champion.

Now she was showing him that the respect she gave was conditional, it had to be earned, but more than that it had to be maintained. Vax closed his eyes, shutting out her piercing gaze and giving himself the briefest of moments to collect himself. He focused on one of those ghostly feelings, not the fear, fear had only ever driven him to stupidity, not the discomfort, which was too broad to use as a focus even if he wanted to, but the hurt, that his god would separate him and his sister, that she would require him to prove himself in this way, after dying in front of a rising god, that was something he could use.

He rolled his shoulders back, lifted his chin and allowed himself the compromise of his arms crossed over his exposed chest. He was still uncomfortable, still defensive, but he could work with this. At least he knew how things stood.

He waited for his god to speak first, ready for the rebuke, the disappointment, the demand to know what had happened.

Instead, her voice was soft, it was warm and its words, a single word, nearly knocked him off of his feet.

"Vax'ildan."

The shock ran through Vax like a lightning bolt and for a few seconds, or maybe hours, or maybe years, all those feelings inside him jumbled up and the world shook before his eyes and he couldn't connect any thoughts together except that's my name, she said my name and then the Raven Queen removed her mask.

A vulnerability for a vulnerability.

An understanding for an understanding.

She called him champion when she asked him to explain what happened. She inquired about Vecna and he tried to convince her to care. He didn't have information for her, he didn't know Vecna's plans, but he tried to make her care. He tried to play a game that he was good at, a game that had only failed him once before, in that room in Emon, when he tried to outwit Silas Briarwood and almost lost himself in the process. He should have known that he couldn't outwit a god, that the Raven Queen had more important things to do than to listen to a scared and bitter half-elf try to explain why this creature that bested him could really destroy the world.

She questioned him of course, the Raven Queen was not one who liked to leave loose threads, but she offered nothing in return.

She asked why it matters so much, why he doesn't just rest now that he has the chance.

My sister died for this! he yelled, or he thought he did, her questions were as much within his mind as within this space and he's losing the difference between saying and feeling and thinking.

Your sister lives.

What? That couldn't be, he saw her die. He wasn't able to look away as she fell to the floor, the life already gone from her eyes.

Vax could once again feel the floor against his cheek, the Delilah's boot on his chest, the cold wind over his body

She was brought back after you fell. The Raven Queen assured him, gently directing him away from the memory. Her fingers rested on the nape of his neck, surprisingly warm against his clammy skin.

Your friends escaped. Your family is still there.

Nothing mattered after that. The meaningless platitudes, the impossible plans, the purrs of my champion. All that mattered was that Vax gets back, that Vax doesn't leave his friends in this mess he helped create, that he doesn't leave his family.

Do you want to join them? she asked.

Yes I'd do anything.

Then you will give everything. And when you are done, you will come back to me, my champion.

Her hand in his hair and her finger on his chin kept him anchored in his physical form, though he wasn't quite sure when they came to be there. The message was clear though, this was a gift, and every gift had a cost. If he went back it was for one purpose and one purpose only, to end Vecna. Everything else was secondary. For the first time in his life, his existence, Vex was secondary.

He nodded slowly, meeting the Raven Queen's dark eyes, holding onto his resolve so he didn't fall into their yawning depths.

If that's what it takes.

She nodded and her hands moved to cup his cheeks and she looked at him in that way Vex'ahlia did when she was worried about him. He tried to shy away but she held him firmly. She pulled his face toward her, expression once again unreadable, and spoke, her voice echoing through Vax's head.

"Wake up."

And Vax did.

He opened his eyes and he was surrounded by unfamiliar trees. Trees that swayed and spun and it took Vax at least minute to realize that _he_ was the one moving, not the trees. Dying, it turned out, was hell on your internal balance.

He let himself sag against one of the trees unsure where to proceed from here. He wasn't in Thar Ampala anymore, he was sure of that at least. But then where was he?

He almost thought that he was in the forest surrounding Syngorn, coming back to life in the place he reluctantly called his home seemed poetic and messed up enough that the Raven Queen might do that to him, but the trees here were too short and twisted to be from Syngorn.

"Not Snygorn" was an unhelpfully broad category and though Vax felt the need to find his sister like a heavy weight in his chest, he felt as if he was trying to move through molasses. His arm didn't respond until seconds after he told it to move and his legs felt clumsy and unused to his weight.

He stumbled forward, wincing as twigs and sticks snapped under his bare feet. He stopped, not trusting himself to move forward until he regained some sense of himself.

In the meantime he had a moment to think, a gift that he probably shouldn't take lightly.

His sister was alive. Vex had been brought back without him needing to pledge his life for her. For once, their deaths were entirely unconnected. And if Pike was able to bring back Vex, that meant she must be okay too. Probably along with the rest of Vox Machina.

They were alive, safe, or as safe as you can get when you're defying an almost god, and he was alive, or as alive as you could get when you're wandering naked through unfamiliar woods after having been brought back by the god of death.

He wished he had a cloak.

He wanted to step into the shadows and just disappear for a while, but he didn't trust himself to move without attracting even more attention so he settled for crossing his arms in front of his chest and hunching forward.

Except...

His chest was smooth. The raised scars he'd gotten so used to were completely gone and in their place was a flat chest. He ran his fingers over the muscles, sure that he must be missing something, that someone had cast seeming or an illusion or something but his fingers told him what his eyes could not, the scars were gone.

In their place was a raven, its wings spread out across his chest and over his ribs, leaving no doubt as to who had given him this.

He was interrupted by the sound of metal scraping against bark and he dropped his hands and looked up at the tree in front of him.

A small gnome, trying to be stealthy in armor that clanged and shone in the dim light clung to the boughs of the tree.

Vax felt his throat close up as he was suddenly overwhelmed with feeling, with gratitude, happiness, a sense of home, as he stared at Pike.

"Hi."

"Stringbean?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, his voice about to break. "Where are we?"

"The fey wild."

Vax looked around. It didn't look at all familiar, but he believed her. Did that mean he was really back? That the Raven Queen had really resurrected him?

Pike wondered the same. She asked where he'd come from, what happened, why he was here, now, naked in the middle of the forest.

He answered to the best of his ability but he only had the faintest grasp on what was going on himself. It was easier to just say he didn't know. He _didn't_ know.

"I died," he said. Unsure what else to say. It was important that he tell her... In case. "Did you know that?"

She nodded. He could see in her face that she knew. Vax had seen death, of course he had. He'd seen it on the streets, with his sister, and he'd seen it within Vox Machina, with Pike, with his sister and Grog and Percy, who of them hadn't crossed the thin line at one point or another? But they had always come back.

This were different now. As excited as he was about his new body, scarless though it was, Vax knew it hadn't been made to last. His death was different. He always had to be different.

They were trying to save him, but what was there left to save?

"Oh fuck." He didn't know what else to say. It was all fucked, wasn't it? They were supposed to be heroes. They were supposed to stand up and fight for everyone who couldn't do it themselves. That resolve had kept him tethered to this world. Had brought him back.

That resolve hardened when he saw his sister, alive, just appear in front of him. Logically he knew she'd come from the tree but he had thought she was dead, he'd seen her die, even though the Raven Queen assured him she'd be here he thought she was dead and when she backed away and told him he didn't really exist, he didn't know what to do but to run up to her and hold her in his arms. She was real, as solid as he was as he rocked her back and forth and they both babbled about how you can't be here, are you really here, I saw you die, this must be a trick.

If it was a trick, at least it brought him back to his sister.

He held her and she held him and they both made sure that the other was real.

They might have stood there all night, staring into each others' identical faces, identical thoughts crowding and filling their heads, had Pike not walked up and put a hand to Vax's chest, her fingers brushing right over one of the raven's wings.

Vax knelt down and noticed, at the same time that Vex put her cloak over him, that there was- that he had a dick. Vex must have noticed at the same time, but she just made some sort of crass comment, as unimpressed as if it had been there his entire life, and Pike completely ignored this new development in favor of listening to his chest.

He looked at Vex, unsure what emotion was showing on his face and to be fair, there was a bit too much going on for him to read her face either, but there was the smallest hint of a smile and Vax let a bit off that giddiness infect him too.

He had... he'd transitioned.

He'd thought about it before of course, ever since he was a little kid, though dealing with his breasts had always been a priority, but after that, once the tissue scarred and he could wear leather again, he fantasized about the day he'd have enough money to talk to a wizard or a cleric so that he could fix downstairs. He'd never had enough money before he met Vox Machina, and then as their family bonds grew stronger, so did their problems, by that point there wasn't time.

He never would have expected the Raven Queen to do it for him.

He never would have thought that dying would allow him to transition.

He was caught between elated and embarrassed, even as the fear and concern and bittersweet sadness raged in his head.

Especially when Vex asked why.

Especially when Percy was unsatisfied with how.

He followed Percy's instructions, the words ringing in his ears. This is what I would do to torture us.

He was right of course. Given the rollercoaster of emotion Vax had felt just from standing here? He couldn't imagine how his family must be feeling.

That wasn't true.

He could.

That was the problem.

Percy's fear that he was an apparition, and later that he was him but he was somehow being controlled, dug deep into his barely beating heart.

He'd been controlled before. He'd shoved his daggers into Percy's back. He walked away when everyone else was dissolving in acid. He yearned for the Briarwoods' approval when he thought his friends were dying.

Even as he submitted to their tests, as Pike raised her holy symbol to his face, he couldn't shake the feeling that Percy was right, that he'd brought nothing but more pain and heartbreak by coming back.

He found himself arguing. He had to argue because he believed him. If anyone could convince him that he was a monster, that he wasn't a monster it was Percy.

Did his new body mean he wasn't him? This was what how he had always imagined himself, but Percy didn't necessarily know that and even if he did, he was right. When did a miracle just happen? They didn't, miracles always had costs.

God he didn't want to be a cost.

He answered their questions. He wished Keyleth would come down and talk to him. He wished Vex would stop looking at him like that. He hoped Keyleth stayed in the tree.

He looked at his chest, at his body. He was himself, wasn't he?

He looked up when Keyleth walked toward him.

"Hi," he said, as she reached out. He clasped her hand in his.

"I thought I killed you," she said, her voice brimming with tears.

He almost dropped her hand, shocked. "You?" Did he miss something? Had Delilah controlled her? Did something happen after he and his sister died?

"I could have done more."

Oh.

Vax closed his eyes. Everyone could have done more. Or they could have done less. But if they hadn't attacked, the world would be in ruins, Vecna would be back, Vecna was back. How were they expected to take on a rising god?

"Nobody could have done more."

Keyleth looked at him for a long moment, trying to see the truth in his words, it was only truth, then moved on.

"You're cold," she said.

She looked at him, at his pale face, his smooth chest, his penis and balls and his bare feet, then put her ear to his chest as if none of that surprised her. She knew his plans, of course he'd told her his plans, but it meant more than he realized that she took the physical changes in stride, that she didn't seem to think he was any less Vax now with them, though she was rightfully concerned about his relative undeadness.

She thought he was going to die again.

He'd never even considered that.

He tried to explain, to tell her, to tell them all, what the Raven Queen told him, did for him, but the words didn't quite come and between the haze then and the fog now he wasn't sure what was real.

He tried to appeal to Pike, but she didn't understand either, she and Serenrae had a very different relationship. More loving, less buisinesslike.

And still Percy's words echoed, when have we ever been given a random miracle?

But it wasn't without its cost, was it?

It wasn't until Grog and Scanlan came down, made their own jokes to lighten the tension, showed him his own ashes, that he realized Percy was right.

Miracles weren't given.

But he had paid a price for this.

He would die again, when all this was over, when his family had a chance to live happy lives. He would have to leave them then, have to leave his sister.

He took a deep breath that he didn't need, exhaustion once again weighing down his shoulders.

It was a heavy price to pay, that was certain. He would never see Pike's smile again, hear Scanlan's songs, test his luck with Grog. He would not see Keyleth lead her people, or Percy coughing after a misfire or his sister-

It was a heavy price, but it was worth it.

He would pay for this miracle.

#critical role #cr spoilers #vax'ildan #trans vax #i really love vax a lot and i had this idea while i was watching the episode #and then i started writing immediately after #it got a bit longer than expected #you should talk to me about ur trans vax headcanons!#my writing

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