#GLORY. TRUTH. PROTECT HER. SHE WANTS YOU.

[lilliesthings]

[senualothbrok]

Oath of Devotion

Summary: When you accompany Karlach to Avernus after the defeat of the Netherbrain, you assume it is the end of your romance with Gale. But you have a lot to learn about the meaning of devotion.

An exploration of the power of love and friendship, featuring Professor Gale, Paladin Tav, Karlach and Wyll.

Word count: 6.6k

AO3 link

Disclaimers: Non-18+. Mild hurt/comfort.

A/N: This fic is dedicated to @dekariosclan, who wanted a story about a Tav who romances Gale but goes with Karlach to Avernus. I hope this hits the spot for you!

The dialogue in the scene at Withers' party is canon but for a few additions- you can watch it here.

Thank you again to @inglorionamy-ammy, beta reader extraordinaire.

She barrels into you when you hold it out. It is a ratty, one-eyed thing, as bruised and battered as you look on this winding road through death and destruction. But Karlach’s face lights up like you are offering her a gold-plated battleaxe, not an abandoned rag of a teddy bear.

“Mate!” she screeches, and you lurch at the tackling force of her embrace. “You shouldn't have!”

You cackle, because every time it is the same. As the heap of discarded and deformed teddies in her tent grows, each one anointed with a name and cherished place next to the inimitable Clive, so too does Karlach’s excitement. When you found her the first couple in a deserted shack - whimsically named Sasha and Roberto - you assumed that the novelty would soon wear off. But as usual, Karlach's enthusiasm knows no bounds.

“He's so cute!” She shrieks as she draws back from you, squishing the mangled thing against her cheek. “He looks like a Gary. Yeah. That's right. Gary. That's what we'll call him.”

She beams as she assigns Gary a sacred place within the mound of teddies in the corner of her tent. Peering inside, you chuckle at the chaos of weapons, armour and trinkets littered around her. She pats Gary proudly on the head as she returns to you. 

“Never gets old.” You mirror her grin. 

“You’re the best.” 

She gives you a quick squeeze. You ignore the way her skin sears yours in her elation - nothing that a simple healing spell cannot fix - and clasp her shoulder with a laugh. When she gestures towards the blanket laid out on the grass and the bottle of wine beside it, you nod keenly, bounding over to lay side by side, staring up at the stars. 

You have always been a traveller, journeying from place to place to follow whatever orders you received from the Justiciars of Tyr. Camping out under the bright expanse of the night sky is as familiar to you as breathing. The road has always been your home. 

It is not that you hated returning to the Halls of Justice, your headquarters in Waterdeep, where you spent most of your formative years. But over time, it has worn on you, the rigid, tight-lipped Tyrran priests, the narrow-eyed magistrates, knights and lords who were as joyless as they were harsh. It was not that you did not love Tyr, that you did not believe in truth and justice and law and order. It was not that you did not wish to defend and protect. You just could not see why you had to be so miserable while doing it.

You have never been the sombre, stick-up-the-arse sort, the type to inspire hushed envy. You have always had your feet firmly on the ground, quick to laugh, slow to put on airs and graces. You are straightforward, run of the mill. With you, what you see is what you get.

You are ordinary. Unremarkable.

So you have known, from the start, that you would never rise up the ranks. You know you will never be a Justiciar of Tyr. And though that harrowed you when you were young and wide eyed - so determined to bring honour and glory to your parents as they toiled away on their meagre farmstead - you find it amusing now. With the stench of the House of Hope still clinging to your pores, you and Karlach guffaw at Raphael’s ridiculous singing as you felled him, the crash of Yurgir falling to the floor like a drunken toddler as she delivered the killing blow. Though the threat of doom looms around every corner, the fate of Faerun hanging over you like a noose, joy burns within you with a ferocity that you have never felt before. You have never felt more alive, or less alone.

But when Karlach tells you, in a conspiratorial, slightly bashful tone, about how tenderly Wyll removed a stray leaf from her hair earlier, she suddenly halts. Her face contorts as she sucks in a sharp breath. Her hand flies to her chest. You jerk up, stiff with worry. 

“It’s alright.” She grits her teeth. “It’ll pass. It’s alright.”

Scorching tendrils pulse out from her chest, serrated cuts threatening to rip her apart. You grimace, your fingers sizzling as they rest on her arm. She curls into herself, braced against the onslaught. You feel frenzied, helpless. All you can do is wait. 

“Karlach,” you plead after a pause. “We need to get you to–”

“Don’t,” she chokes. “Don’t even say it.”

Her fire is hurting now. You cannot help but flinch back. “It’s getting worse. I can’t just watch you-”

“Tav.” Her eyes are dark wells, flickering with flame. You realise that she is crying from the pain. “Don’t ask me. I won’t go back. I’m never going back.”

You shake your head. It is an argument you have had with her before. You do not wish to see the glee in your friend’s eyes shatter into rage, to hear her breathless from anguish rather than laughter. You do not wish to tell her what she does not want to hear. But you cannot bear it. You cannot allow her to suffer when there is a solution within her grasp.

“Ten years,” she spits out. “Ten years in that fucking place, with nothing and no one to call my own.” A fine mist rises from her heart as tears trickle down her skin. “I would rather die than be alone again.”

You notice that the flare of her chest is dimming, her breaths levelling as her features soften. But her resolve remains, as unyielding as her goodness, her loyalty, her zeal for life. You would not change her, not for all the fame and glory in the realms.

In that moment, you want to promise her. You want to tell her that she would not be returning to Avernus alone. But your mind is flooded by indigo streaks across a blue-green sky, the sandalwood scent of a brown sea, the spell of stubble on your skin. And you cannot speak.

So you take her hand, and you do not let go, even when your skin begins to blister.

*****

“How in the hells did you get everyone to clear off for the night?”

You are still adjusting to the stillness of your room at the Elfsong Tavern. After the whirlwind of panting cries and thrown off armour, the lurching groans of the bed beneath you, the calm feels almost unnatural. 

Your head rises and falls on Gale’s chest as he laughs. You feel it as a low rumble through you, your arm draped over the muscled grooves of his abdomen. The damp down on his skin tickles your cheek as your fingers weave upwards through his tangled locks. You are drunk on the taste and scent of him, heady and bittersweet.  It is a crackling bonfire on the coldest of nights, a bottomless ache that rubs you raw. You cannot get enough of him. You do not know how you will survive a separation.

“I confess, I did have some help from Karlach and Wyll.” He chuckles. “The three of us can be very persuasive. As can a generous budget for evening entertainment.”

“Wow. I’m impressed.” 

You flick your tongue playfully over his nipple. He tenses, moans, tightens his grip on the cheek of your ass. All at once, you are ravenous. 

“I live to impress you.”  

The kiss starts as it always does, tender with longing, a gentle caress. And then you are all hunger and need, wanting and grasping and seeking, drinking from each other with a thirst that cannot be slaked. Drowning in the sea of him.

It scares you. The all-consuming demand of it, the fierceness of the passion that swallows you whole. The way the yearning blazes through every part of you, breaking down the barriers you have fortified between your mind, body and soul. How completely you want him, as though he is the answer to your every question. A feeling like no other, for a man like no other. 

You have always been wary of reckless abandon. It was a lesson you learned early on in your travels. Love was a recipe for disaster when you could not guarantee you would be alive from one week to the next, or predict the movements of your missions. Love was a privilege you could not afford. Temporary delights sated the cravings of your flesh. You told yourself that was enough.

And then you met him.

“I’ve never felt this way before.”

You are not sure why you say it. Perhaps it is your body speaking, wrapped up in him, caught in a drowsy lull, fleetingly sated. He has expressed his love for you countless times, but you have not yet used the word. You are not sure what love means, beyond the orb and Mystra and the Crown of Karsus, beyond the Netherbrain and the threat of the end of the world. You see no half measures, no deceit or reserve in him. When he speaks of love, he means it.

But who is to say his love is not formed from desperation? That it is not just gratitude at unexpected companionship, a compulsion to seize every moment for fear that it might be his last? If you defeat the danger that threw you together, how can you be sure his love will endure? That you will not return to your vastly separate lives, as though it were all just a passing reprieve?

He smiles, glowing with the sheen of sweat, soft and hard and magnificent. 

“Nor have I. And I never will again.”

His sincerity still surprises you. The openness of his gaze, like a clear horizon. You could lose yourself in the promise of his love. But you steel yourself. You remember who you are, the life you have led. He jumps on your hesitation. 

“Do you doubt me?”

You try to sound wry, teasing.  

“We’ve both been around awhile, Gale. You’ve had lovers before Mystra. You know your way around a bedroom.”

He tilts his head. “I can't tell if that's a compliment or a caveat.” His brow flickers, the beginnings of a frown. “Is that a cause for doubt, or…?”

“No. Yes. Well.” You look away, and when you meet his eyes again, you see that he is not fooled. Sometimes, it is unnerving to be known. To be seen. “What I’m saying is… you could have anyone you want. You did before, and you can again.”

You cannot bring yourself to mention the future. To ask, even implicitly, what will happen if you save the world and survive. If this is to be a pleasurable distraction, a momentary delight, then you would not want to ruin it. Yet somehow, the uncertainty is a thorn in your heart. It hurts to acknowledge it.

His eyes widen, as though he is stricken, almost offended. 

“And I want you. Only you.”

He cups your cheek. There is an urgency there. Under the intensity of his gaze, you feel vaguely embarrassed. You had not planned to show him this. Your doubt. Your vulnerability.

But it does not deter him. Inexplicably, you know it never would. 

“I love you, Tav.” His voice trembles with conviction. “I've never met anyone like you. You're…extraordinary. Extraordinarily beautiful. Extraordinarily strong. Extraordinarily kind, and wise.”

He pauses briefly, and the curl of his upper lip sends a roiling through your core. 

“Extraordinary in your…unique talents.”

Your eyelids flutter as his fingers whisper over your hip, settling just beneath your navel. The catch in his breath mirrors your own.

“I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for you, and I'd wait a thousand more.” 

He says the words like they are easy. Like they are not oaths, solemn and harrowing - a sacrifice only made for the greatest reward. You struggle against them, and you are not sure why. You want to trust him, but you do not know how.

Because you have always suspected that love was never meant for the likes of you. The love Gale speaks of is the stuff of songs and sagas, fairytales of noble maidens, not gruffly scarred farmer's daughters who have made no mark on the world. And you know, with every fibre of your being, that Gale deserves immeasurably more than your mediocre offering.

Fear and hope flit across Gale’s features as he gazes at you, waiting. You know he wants you to reply. He needs you to tell him you feel the same. To declare that you love him with the same consuming constancy. That you are his, just as he is yours.

But you cannot speak. His turmoil pierces you, and you feel helpless, frenzied. So you crush yourself against him, and you answer with a kiss.

*****

You are grumbling at the rip in your breeches, your punishment for swinging at a rabid imp just a second too late. The sky is darkening like a blood clot. Karlach is jabbing at the caves in the distance where you will make camp, launching into ancient strategies and hoarded secrets. With her engine stabilised here, she is broader, defter, more self-assured. In spite of the smothering decay of Avernus, she radiates with life.

But you are exhausted. The stink of sulphur scours you, and you wonder if you will ever feel clean again. You long for the relief of lush greens and blinding blues, the caress of silk and softness. You miss the cool brush of the wind and sea. And beneath the murk and mire, a chasm has opened inside you that you struggle to ignore.

You are nodding and grunting as Karlach spitballs, and then you see it. A mangled lump by your feet. A soiled leather cover, clinging to shreds of charred vellum. You surge forward to pick it up.

“I reckon we'll be safe there tonight, but–”

Karlach stops, glancing over. “What?”

You sweep away the crust of dust and blood from its scorched surface. Nearby, a half-buried skeleton gapes in rotted robes. 

“A spell book. Useless now.”

Karlach stares at you. You can feel the weight of her appraisal as the memories assail you - dancing fingers and lavender lightning, intricate crow's feet adorning smiling eyes. Rumbling incantations, tingling on your skin.

You stuff the tattered tome into your pack and walk on.

***

You are flicking through the remains of the torched tome. In the glow of the dying campfire, you can just about make out the haphazard scrawl of its dead owner. You are disappointed by the sharp, messy strokes, so harsh and ugly compared to the elegant cursive you know so well. The sparse pages, devoid of elaborate diagrams and rambling annotations. Their emptiness winds you. Grief follows like a wave, and you fight against the shaking of your hands.

“Come on then, soldier. Out with it.”

You start at Karlach's voice. The force of her presence jars you back from the brink. When you look up, her eyes are firm and gentle at the same time.

“Out with what?” you blurt.

She huffs, picking at the carcass of the abyssal chicken you shared for supper. 

“Whatever’s got your goat.” 

Instinctively, you wave her away. But you gasp as she lurches forward, grabbing you by the shoulders. When you break free, she holds your gaze.

“You know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, right?”

You are stunned by her unexpected seriousness. She waits, expectant, stubborn. You sigh. 

“Of course I do.”

Her brows steeple. “Then talk to me. Because if I have to go one more day seeing you this fucking miserable, my heart might actually break.”

You raise an eyebrow, your last defence. “We came here to stop that from happening.”

“Exactly!” She throws her hands up. “So ‘fess up.”

You shift awkwardly. You suddenly realise how difficult it is to speak about your feelings, even to Karlach. Not simple feelings like lust or anger, amusement or delight. Not the stuff of throwaway comments, wry banter or gushing anecdotes. Those things come as easily to you as your friendship.

No. What you cannot admit is the gaping hole inside you. How it felt to be cocooned in his embrace. The miracle of joining your soul to his, as though you had always been complete. The boundless warmth of him nestled inside you, flowing around you, melting into you. The ebb and flow of home.

You remember the anguished panic on his face, shadowed in the setting sun. The realisation in his searching eyes as you knelt beside Karlach on the docks, paralysed by choice. The tight line of his soft lips as you looked at him one last time, haunted by the ghost of that final, unclaimed kiss, of everything spoken and unspoken.

If you speak of these things, they will swallow you whole. And you are not sure you can endure that, even after all the battles you have survived.

“You can talk about him, you know,” she says, as though she can read your mind. As though you never needed a tadpole to understand each other.

“Who?” A knee jerk answer.

Karlach rolls her eyes. “Who do you think? Do you know another magic man with big doe eyes who can ride you into the astral plane?”

You grimace. On a drunken ramble back in Baldur’s Gate, you had described in detail to Karlach all the places and ways Gale had taken you. You will never live it down. 

“Admit it. You miss Gale. That's what's eating at you.”

Part of you wants to shrug her off, tell her to drop it. But you know the doggedness of Karlach’s loyalty, constant as the sun. She jostles you, a motion meant to reassure. Her nails rap loudly against her chest, a clattering echo around the darkness of the cave.

“When we've fixed this baby, we'll go home. I'll find Wyll, and you'll find Gale. It'll all work out. You'll see.”

She sounds so certain. Once again, you marvel at her stalwart optimism, unwavering through the most unimaginable cruelties. You feel almost ashamed to burst her bubble.

“Karlach, Gale and I aren't…” 

You gesture uselessly. Your chest heaves. 

“It's not like you and Wyll,” you manage. “You guys are practically married. You know he's waiting for you in Baldur’s Gate. He knows you'll go back to him when all this is done.”

“And?” She frowns. “How's that different?”

You look down at the spell book in your lap. A sliver of vellum dissolves into black dust on your fingers.

“I left, Karlach.” You sound defeated. Small.  

You watch as Karlach’s features tighten in thought, then widen in realisation. Sorrow twists on her face.

“Soldier,” she whispers. “I never asked for–”

You straighten immediately. “You didn't have to. I wanted to." Your voice swells as you clasp her arm. "You're my best mate, Karlach. My sister. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you.”

For a moment, you think she might cry. Then she clutches you against her so tightly you can barely breathe. She does not smell of sandalwood and soap, but oil and sweat. And though her warmth is that of a blazing furnace and not the summer sea, you rest in it for a while. 

“He loves you, Tav." Her words are muffled by her embrace. "More than anything.”

“Maybe he did," you concede. "Maybe he was lonely, and horny, and scared. But I left. He’s probably given the Crown back to Mystra by now. She's probably taken him back.”

Karlach pulls back roughly. “You’re joking. You think Gale would go back to Mystra, after everything? After you?”

You shrug. “Well, if not Mystra, he could have his pick. Plenty for him to choose from.”

“I can't tell if you're being serious. Are you serious?”

She stares at you, incredulous. You draw in a shaky breath.

“It would never have lasted, Karlach."

You offer it as an explanation, but she seems more baffled than before.

“What in the hells are you talking about?”

An image of Gale comes to you unbidden. Poised and ready, all broad shoulders and billowing robes, threads of silver shining amidst the brown waves that frame his chiselled face. He flashes you that smouldering look, halfway between a smile and a smirk, as his lithe fingers whip up a storm in the distance.  

You toss the spell book on the ground.

"A man like Gale... a woman like me." Your jaw clenches. "What happened between us was a fluke. A blip for him. I probably did him a favour by leaving. No loose ends to tie up. Now he can move on. Greener pastures, and all that.”

Karlach stiffens and scoffs. “Now I know you can't be serious. Because my mate Tav isn't a total idiot who's completely lost the plot.”

You are taken aback by her uncharacteristic scorn. You are about to shoot back a reflexive retort when she halts. 

“Oh.” She blows out a long breath. “I get it.”

You twitch. “What now?” 

“It’s your blind spot." She nods smugly, as though she has cracked a puzzle. "Like how you drop your guard sometimes when you dodge.”

You do not follow. It does not escape Karlach's notice, the mounting frustration squirming beneath your skin.

“You can't see what's fucking obvious.” Her words are harsh, but her tone is placating. Patient. She sighs, heavy with affection. 

“Tav.”

There is tenderness in the way she leans forward, looking you straight in the eye. You cannot help but soften. To be mad at Karlach would be like fighting without your sword. You just cannot do it.

“This is a bloke who talked my ear off about how your armour brought out the green of your eyes.” She chuckles. “He just wouldn't shut up about you. How brave you are, how kind, how awesome you are. How the sun shines out of your arse. We used to leave him with Minsc just so we could have a break.”

She chortles, then notices your surprise. In mock defence, she raises her palms to you. 

“Look, I love Gale. You know I love Gale. And I adore you. But I really don't want to hear about your muscles bulging in the heat of battle. Or anywhere else.”

When you burst into laughter, Karlach beams.  

“Even Wyll couldn't take Gale's lectures. I think he even fell asleep once.” 

She bobs her head, lowering her voice into a husky baritone, her pointed finger wiggling in the air. 

“Do you have a minute? Because I need to tell you about how loyal and smart and caring Tav is. No, I must insist on telling you all about it. Now. Pish posh.”

You cackle, but you cannot stifle the ache that tears through you. What you would not give to have him here with you now, and not an absurd imitation.

“Gods, that man would not let up about you," Karlach groans. "Shadowheart almost threw up when Gale started talking about your musk. He almost melted Astarion’s brain, too, when he said your scars were ugly." 

You wish you had been there for these interchanges. You had no idea of them, beyond curiosity at Gale's unexpected affinity with Minsc. Now, the idea of Gale singing your praises and defending your honour makes you want to weep.

"A couple times, I even saw Lae'zel chuckle at the way Gale looked at you." She guffaws. "Lae'zel! Chuckling! She didn't even go off on one about istiks being pathetic. That's the power of love, right there.”

You are staring at your trembling hands. A whirlwind of hunger, hurt and hope is gathering inside you. You do not know what to do with it. 

Karlach is silent for a while. When she speaks again, her voice is solemn as a promise.

“He loves you, Tav. That kind of love doesn't just go away.”

'I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for you,' he had said, 'and I'd wait a thousand more.' You wrestle with the weight of his words, the weight of hers. You shake your head.

“I never told him, Karlach. I never got to say….”

The tears choke you. All at once, you cannot think, cannot speak. She takes your hand, and she does not let it go.  

“We'll fix me up, and then you can tell him. You can tell him everything.” 

**** 

“So you came back.”

His gaze darts away from you, his hands clasping and unclasping. He looks as nervous as you feel, stooping awkwardly to greet you like a half-stranger. But in the haze of candlelight, buoyed by the heavenly breeze of meat and mead and flowers, he glows. He is just as you remember him, a vision in purple and gold. Your every longing and memory made flesh.

“You look well.” He shuffles, a halting smile quivering on his lips. “A little singed around the edges, but well.”

You have never before felt self-conscious in his presence. But standing before him now, so close you could reach out and touch him, you are ashamed. You are embarrassed by your dented armour, your torn and dusty boots. Having just narrowly survived a group of cambions sent by Zariel, there had not been time for you and Karlach to primp and preen - not that the two of you ever wasted energy on that. You could not have leapt faster through the portal back to Faerun to answer Withers’ summons.

Appearances never mattered to Gale. He always saw through to the heart of a person, finding beauty in the alignment of a soul. It is one of the things you love most about him. But tonight, as the strange stiffness between you expands, you find yourself fretting over the bunching of your braids, your unpainted eyes, the fresh scars on your arms.

“So do you, Gale.”

Your voice is strained. Every muscle in your body yearns to spring forward, to talk to him with touch. But he stands apart, worlds away. Perhaps he is beyond your reach, after everything that has passed between you.

At the corner of your eye, Karlach throws her arms around Wyll’s neck with a squeal. You turn to watch as she lifts him up, twirling him around to a chorus of hoots and whistles. You grin and clap as they collapse into each other. You hear Gale chuckling behind you, that most soothing of sounds. 

When you turn back, there is a moment when you simply gaze at him. You notice the empty canvas of his chest, laid bare by the tantalising dip of his richly embroidered doublet. Freedom, plain and pure, radiates from the unmarred plane of his bronze-kissed skin.

You think of all the times you traced the mark of the orb with your fingers, your lips, your tongue, pressing your love into his wounds, covering them with the balm of your desire. Is it recognition that glimmers in his eyes as they meet yours? Yearning? 

He clears his throat. Perhaps not.

“I wasn't sure I'd ever see you again.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Not sure where to begin.”

For months, you have imagined what you would say to him. All the doubts you would lay down, all the things you would confess. In the silence of your loneliest nights, you prayed and pleaded with Tyr for a second chance, promising, with a resolve as strong as your Oath of Devotion, that you would not waste it.

But now that he is here, words fail you. What you want, in this instant, is to listen. To hear the resonant song of his voice, the lilting passion of it. To soak in the gentle earth of his eyes, the gossamer lines of delight and wisdom that dance on his face. To bask in the miracle of him.

“Why don't you start at the beginning?” you ask.

He tilts his head. Then his jaw clenches, as though he is bracing himself.

“I promise I've not been moping around waiting for your return.” 

It jolts you, the hint of bitterness. You have hurt him, and maybe there can be no second chances after that. Perhaps you cannot make amends for who you truly are. 

But then his voice drops. His brow arches ever so slightly. There is the ghost of that sideways smile that has always driven you wild.

“Though of course I longed for it.”

It takes you a moment to register it. He longed for your return. Waited. Slowly, mercifully, he begins to tell you about his life at Blackstaff Academy. You savour the familiar enthusiasm that snowballs as he speaks, the lively flurry of his hands, a secret language in itself. When you learn that he is a Professor of Illusory Magic, hear him extol the manifold wonders of imagination and lament the ineptitude of his apprentices with wry affection, you grin so widely that your cheeks ache. 

You have always believed in Gale - his stout heart, girded with goodness, his keen mind, honed as the sharpest blade. It has always been your greatest hope for him - to see him content with the man he is, no longer shackled to a mirage of the man he should be. If this is the end of the road, if a stilted goodbye is all that lies between you now, it would be a torment. An agony you will carry with you for the rest of your days. But there is no doubt in your mind. You would suffer any pain for his peace. His happiness. 

It is like you are old friends when he asks about your time in Avernus. You tell him about the endless hoards of hunters trailing after you,  the running count of kills that Karlach insists on keeping (she is currently leading by three). He shares your disgust with what passes as food in the hells, your excitement about the blueprints you found. When you tell him about Zariel’s forge, where you and Karlach are heading to fix her heart, you can almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he furrows his brow. You explain that Karlach is making inroads with one of Zariel’s guards, an old acquaintance of hers who thrives on chaos. Now, it is just a matter of biding your time before you make a move. 

You are struck, again and again, by how much you have missed Gale’s laugh. The brightness of his discerning eyes. The plump arc of his lips curving into a grin. Lost pieces of yourself, restored for a fleeting night.

“I almost feel sorry for the devils in your path.” He smirks. “I mean, I don’t, of course. I’m sure they deserve it.” 

He leans forward. As the wind weaves through his hair, you catch the notes of leather, scrolls, and sandalwood. Home. You breathe deeply, storing up his scent. You do not ever want to forget it. 

“I've told my students plenty of tales about our escapades. You're something of a hero to them, you know?” 

Something reverberates inside you. Dimly, you recall the weariness in your parents’ eyes when you returned to their farm on your thirtieth birthday. “Not a Justiciar, no. Still just an ordinary Paladin.” When, a few steps down the dirt track on the day of your departure, you turned back to wave goodbye, they had already scurried back into the house. Relieved to see the back of you, to be done with yet another disappointment in the ceaseless toil of their lives.

But Gale looks at you with pride, a kind of awe. A hero, he says. Extraordinary, he once called you.

“I'll be delighted to introduce you to them when you return. That is, if you wish to return to Faerun. Or to me.”

There is a fullness in his gaze now. The brown flame that flares is unmistakable. It is a swollen, throbbing desire that roils through you, a desperate mirror of your want.

He waits. For all this time, he has waited. Standing together where it all began, surrounded by the symphony of those you cherish most, you see him so clearly. The depths of his devotion. The boundlessness of his love. His need and hunger, wrestling against his fear.

There is so much you want to tell him, so much of your soul you wish to lay bare. It is not too late, you realise. If you open yourself to him, he will embrace you, as though there is no past, no future. Only the endless horizon of the astral sea.  

“I want nothing more, Gale,” you whisper.

He heaves, a burst of relief, disbelief, elation. His whole body seems to vibrate, beaming with the bliss of a burden lifted, a mystery finally solved. The glorious end to a grueling journey, a terminus for which he has fought tooth and nail, trusting, against all odds, in a home where you would both come to rest. And when he steps forward, reaching out to you, you drift towards him like a star falling back to earth.

But then it seizes you. You stop in your tracks, bowled over by a compulsion to protect. An urge to throw yourself before him like a shield. This man, who has sacrificed and suffered for you. This marvel of a man, who deserves nothing less than the full measure of you. You cannot take away the victory he has won, against all odds, over the demons of his history. You cannot jeopardise the peace he has laboured so hard for. You could never forgive yourself.

You force yourself back.

“Zariel knows we're coming.” Your voice breaks. “She has an army guarding the forge.”

Gale’s features freeze in shock, the anticipation of pain. Your withdrawal is a blow. To hurt him so soon after hope - it is unbearable. But you must protect him. You cannot take the risk.

"We might not make it in. Or out. I don't want you to…I can't let you…”

He searches your face. You push out the words - a guttering plea, woefully inadequate.

“I might not make it back, Gale.”

There is a twisting in his face, a faltering as he considers you. Then his eyes widen, blazing with sudden understanding. He huffs, a gentle half-laugh, brimming with affection. It throws you, and when he speaks, his tenderness reminds you of all those nights when you lay beside him, wanting for nothing.

“Your caution is warranted. But believe me, I know enough about divination to promise you that our future is one worth looking forward to.”

You stare at him. Divination? Has he sought out your future, while he yearned for your return? Can it be that he has seen it, the two of you living as one, the answer to every prayer you feared to offer up to Tyr? Your breath hitches. 

“A crackling hearth. Two cosy armchairs beside it. A bottle of wine to be poured. And your battleworn boots, discarded at long last by the door. That is the life we have waiting for us. Believe in it, and it will come.”

You can almost see it. The fine veins of his forearm flickering as he turns a page. His moist lips tingling on your fingers as they trail through his beard. Beads of sweat like pearls, settling into the nook of his clavicle, shadowed in the firelight.

Desire takes you like a flood. You can no longer resist the tide of his resolve, the smouldering embrace of his certainty. All of your questions, all of your doubts, dissolve like mist as he strides towards you. 

His closeness is a spell. You are enthralled by the whisper of his hair against your temple, the caress of wine on his breath. The bold curve of his nose ghosts over yours, luring you closer. All at once, you are dizzy, falling into him. He draws back, teasing and playful, and when he laughs, you grab hold of him and crush your lips on his.

And then, all you can feel and smell and taste is him.

*****

He is stooped over his desk at the front of the lecture hall. Framed by intricate oak walls and animated portraits of Blackstaff legends, the fervent undulations of his cursive on the chalk board behind him, his beauty takes your breath away. His hair is longer now, lighter, adorned with gleaming clusters of white-grey. He is leaner, sharper at the edges, but somehow more solid. More true.

Squinting into a mass of scrolls, he is in a world of his own, muttering and gesturing to himself, a mixture of irritation, confusion, determination. Even from the back of the room, you can make out the wrinkle of his thinking line, that most endearing of expressions. You chuckle.

He barely glances up at the sound. He calls out with a practised weariness, a sternness that you have never heard before but instantly relish.

“If you're here for the lecture on the nature and use of simulacrums, you are disgracefully, appallingly late–”

He jerks his head, his gaze finally lifting towards you. When his eyes meet yours, he lets out a gasp that lurches through his shaking frame. And then he is sprinting, leaping through the rows of chairs, hurtling into you like a flaming comet.

Your bodies weave together, clutching, seeking, finding. His hot tears, his juddering breaths, the frenetic beating of his heart, echoing and melting into yours.

“You're back.” He cups your face, pressing his forehead to yours. “You came back.”

You lean into his touch, ravenous for more. All this time, believing you could not love him, doubting he could feel the same - now, all you want is to fill yourself with him. The musk of soap and bookdust, the taste of coffee and salt, the heat of his thrumming muscles flush against yours. You are dissolving into a flurry of kisses, each one more eager than the last, sealing your promise against his tear-streaked skin. You do not hold back. You will never hold back again.

“I love you, Gale,” you pant. “I've loved you since the day we met. I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for you, and I'd wait a thousand more.”

The awe and wonder in his eyes reflects your own. He is quivering, letting out tiny sighs of jubilation. As his fingers dance up your chest, your neck, the knots of your braids, you tremble under his touch, grinning at the certainty that you will never again go without it. 

“Where's Karlach?” he murmurs into your hair, as you run your nose over the stubble on his jawline, savouring the rough and smooth of him.

“She's headed for Baldur’s Gate to find Wyll. She’s promised to visit us as soon as they can.” You draw back. “That is, if you want me to stay here, with you.” 

He huffs, amused, incredulous. His fingers find yours. Time stands still as he raises your hand to his lips. When he plants a kiss along the scarred ridge of your knuckles, it has the passion and devotion of an oath.

“I want you to marry me,” he breathes.

You look at him for a long time. You will never tire of the sight. Yours is a love that will last a lifetime, a love greater than any legend or saga, stronger than any fairytale. This man, this miracle, forever yours, just as you are forever his. You have no doubts about it now.

Joy burns within you, a fire in your soul that will never fade.

You laugh, and you answer with a kiss. 

*********

Liked this fic? Check out my other work.

[ellapurnellmybeloved]

fluff alphabet |clarisse la rue

author's note: Hi lovelies, please send me requests! I don't know what gave me the confidence to think I can write, probably delusion. Also, this is according to my personal views of Clarisse so don't be mad if it's different from what you've imagined. Leave a comment, I love interacting with people, xx.

warnings: I tried my best to keep it gender/race/cabin neutral for the most part but there are still some feminine coded things here and there. English is not my first language so excuse any grammar mistakes.

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Starting off strong because with Clarisse sparring is a must. Although she doesn't like to think there will ever come a time in which she won't be there to protect you, it's still an essential part of life as a half-blood. And who better to train you than the daughter of war herself? And in case the apprentice becomes the master and you happen to beat her or pin her to the ground or even hold your dagger to her neck? Oh boy, she's done for. Actual heart eyes.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

She pretty much loves everything about you, she can't really just choose one aspect. Though, if she had to, she'd probably say she loves you for being supportive, understanding, and patient with her. You understand her better than anyone. That's what made her know you were the one for her. You can control her anger issues and calm her down when she's on the verge of exploding and she thinks that's beautiful.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc?

The art of intimacy or comfort never came easy to Clarisse. Her relationship with her mother isn't the best and hasn't been for a while now and her father is a grade A asshole. Her first instinct when you're feeling down is to fix it, to ask you who or what happened and give them a physical piece of her mind, but that's not always how it works. She'll pull you to her lap and hold you through the night or for as long as you need, wiping your tears and kissing your cheeks. She'll let you vent your heart out. You can tell her anything. Or nothing, if you prefer. She's not the best with words but her actions speak much louder.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

She's never thought that much ahead if she's being honest. Never allowed herself to daydream too much into the future, choosing to live off the present for now. Sometimes, however, she pictures what could be only described as an utopia; to go on such a fantastical quest that the gods can't help but grant the both of you immortality, that way you'd bask in the glory of your love forever and ever.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

On the outside looking in it would seem Clarisse is the dominant one for sure. And in some ways she is; she likes that you can rely on her, she wants to provide for you, yearns to prove herself capable of such. Still, you're the one in charge. Clarisse is completely devoted to you, and your relationship means more to her than anything she's ever felt before. She cherishes it like no other, always at your beck and call.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Clarisse is intense, that much we know. Her anger runs deep and her passion burns red. She's not perfect, and doesn't try to hide it either. She's hot-tempered, arrogant, she's got a short fuse and she holds grudges. Her fatal flaw is pride, which sometimes gets in the way of her good senses, so you'll most likely be the one apologizing first. Despite all that, she can't bear the thought of you being mad at her and absolutely hates fighting with you. It's like it's tearing her apart, especially if you're sad over something she said or did in the heat of the moment. Truth is, she is a fighter at heart so when all is said and done she'll try and make it up to you in some way, somehow.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

She is so appreciative of everything you do and are. As previously stated, Clarisse didn't get much love growing up so any semblance of that is something she clings hard to. She notices everything, every little thing you do for her and the underlying of your words. How you treat her and others is always stored in the back of her mind and she loves to be loved by you.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Clarisse is a very closed off person in general, she doesn't like feeling exposed and being possibly seen as weak. She'll tell you things but there's still some matters you have to pick up on your own and know how to approach them, especially regarding her feelings and personal struggles. She's very honest though, she feels like she owns you that much and appreciates you if you do the same for her. The more your relationship progresses you'll notice being able to read her like an open book because although she does her very best to hide it there's an underlying vulnerability to her behavior in certain moments you'll take proper notice of the more you know her.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

Clarisse has definitely become more gentle since you. It still doesn't extend to your friends and family but more so how she behaves around you and knowing she doesn't have to put up that though front all the time. Her sense of self worth has improved as well, especially when you reassure her through her insecurities and doubts (never being the son her father wanted etc.)

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Oh, boy. Clarisse’s jealousy is very fuelled by… Well, anything really. She doesn't necessarily need a motive to go toe to toe with someone, just staring at you for a second longer than she deems them worthy of and she's ready for a fight. It's hard for anyone to get close enough to flirt with you because she's always there, by your side, kind of like a guard dog. But only because she knows how amazing you are and her insecurities do blurry some lines on what's acceptable. She's working on it though.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Clarisse is definitely a good kisser. She doesn't have much experience, if any, but she's a natural. It sounds cheesy but the first time she kisses you was like butterflies and church bells dancing loudly in the wind. The way she cups your face so uncharacteristically soft and how she breaks off the kiss with a series of small pecks only to smile one of her beautiful smiles so close to each other's faces… Magical. It could be at the fireworks on the fourth of July or it could be in your favorite spot in the woods, soaked in lake water during a midnight swim or after a heated argument. No matter how many times Clarisse kisses you, she'll never not feel electricity similar to her spear’s sharp edge digging into her body and soul.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Clarisse does not have a clue what she's doing. I feel like she'd say something in the heat of the moment; either confessing her true feelings or masking them by saying something hurtful she doesn't actually mean. In the latter scenario she'd storm off and berate herself over it but her pride and fear that you'd never look at her again made her put off her apology for some time and let it all sink in to talk to you when she's ready. That is until you start properly ignoring her and she nearly goes crazy with longing, just missing your overall presence and having her stomach turn to knots at the way things were left between you two. That's one of the few times Clarisse sucks it up and reaches for you. The apology is awkward but overwhelmingly honest and she tells you she's an idiot but you're content in forgiving her and giving her a second (actual first) chance.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

Again, Clarisse never thought she'd live to see the day she'd actually have a marriage prospect. Her life just doesn't seem complete without you anymore and the moment she realizes that she's done for. It would probably be while you're laying in bed together, your head on her chest while you play with her fingers. Your eyes are heavy with sleep but hers are wide open, thinking. “Will you marry me?” said while staring into the distance and you probably think she's joking except Clarisse is not one to joke about that sort of thing. “Not now. But eventually.” and whether you ask if she's serious or just accept it right away, she'd look at you seriously for a beat and then tackle you into a bear hug, crushing you underneath her. She doesn't see the point in a big wedding, but if that's what you're into, she won't mind.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

She is not immune to babe or baby but would still like to keep some variety. Things like sunshine, gorgeous, angel or others (I'm looking at you, person who created the “mama/s” HC). She does like your name very much, or probably a shortened version of it. Don't expect her to not tease you if any of these make you flustered.

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Clarisse likes to think she's good at hiding it when she's absolutely not. As Taylor Swift once said, you can hear it in the silence. Just the way her eyes soften when she's looking at you speaks millions, but people also get whiplash at how fast her mean attitude changes whenever you're around. Her love giving languages are probably acts of service and physical touch. She loves to do things for you, feeling all big and mighty whenever she can make your life just a little easier. Touching is also a must but we'll get to that in a second.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Clarisse is not very comfortable with public displays of affection, because she is afraid of being judged or mocked by others for being weak or soft. She prefers to keep her relationship with you private and intimate, but doesn't mind the little things. She does gloat about being with you as well as showing you off, so that everyone on camp knows you're hers. She brags about you all the time and I mean, seriously, all the time. She's not a big hand holder but she almost over compensates by grabbing at your hips and thighs, throwing an arm over your shoulder or hiding her face in your neck. She especially loves bonfires when you sit on her lap and she can hold firmly onto your waist while she's talking to her siblings or just press her forehead against yours when her social battery is low.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

She's very perceptive. She may not know what has changed right away but she's also persistent so she'll figure it out in an instant. If it's the way you did your hair or something that happened along your day, even if you change your usual greeting. She notices and she'll definitely ask you about it.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

Clarisse wants to be loved, that's all she’s ever wanted, and she has so much love to give, therefore I believe she'll do just about anything to make you happy. That includes being an absolute sap. She honestly doesn't mind how cliche it is, if it works on you, you bet she's using it. If anyone cares to say anything remotely negative about you or your relationship she will promptly glare them into oblivion or give them something to really worry about.

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

She is your absolute biggest supporter. Especially if you don't believe in yourself, then she's trying even harder for you to see just how well you can do something if you put your mind to it. With something like sword training she is more than willing to help you, rewarding you with kisses and cursing you for distracting her with your pretty face.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Clarisse doesn't mind change, she rolls with it. If you have a certain way of doing things, a routine you like to follow, that's fine by her. If you're unpredictable, even better. She just loves to see what comes next in terms of your relationship, not necessarily needing anything to amplify her love for you. It's already hardwired into her.

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

She knows you like the back of her hand. Even the slightest furrow of your eyebrows or tilt of your head and she'll be there in a second asking what's wrong. She does learn to be more empathetic towards your own struggles, which was hard at first because she wasn't sure how to see things from someone else's point of view. Though road but you make it work.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

She doesn't have much to look forward to so Clarisse values her relationship with you very highly, as you are one of the few people who can see past her tough and aggressive exterior and appreciate her softer and more vulnerable side. She is fiercely loyal and protective of you, and would do anything to keep you safe and happy.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

I actually read this one on a Wattpad story a while ago so credit to the original creator but, Clarisse has a teddy bear named Mr. Muscles she's had since she was like, nine and she cherishes it like it's her most prized possession. When she introduced this piece of information to you, you just found her so incredibly adorable you couldn't contain the giggles and she gets so hot in the face she pushes you off her bed and it's honestly one of the most memorable moments in your relationship.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

I headcanon Clarisse as your personal furnace as well as a koala bear so kisses and cuddles are a must, especially if it's cold outside. She loves to take naps with you, it gets to the point where she has trouble sleeping without you (so you give her a vial of your perfume to spray on Mr. Muscles for when you're away).

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Clarisse with you: 🥰

Clarisse without you: 😡

She gets snappier than usual and easily annoyed but she'll also get really sad because she's never had to deal with being away from you. Her siblings try to cheer her up by shoving some kid's head into the toilet but she's so disinterested in anything that does not involve you she just goes about her days training until she can see you again and show off her muscles.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lenghts for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

The answer is yes, one hundred percent. “Touch her and you die” trope goes so hard. Not only that but she would willingly sacrifice the world and herself for you and your relationship. She would go out of her way to make sure you are okay, that you are fed and hydrated and well rested, even messing up her own sleeping schedule in order to take better care of you.

[disco-archetypes]

VOLITION - I have bad news for you.

YOU - What?

VOLITION - You know these guys?

LOGIC - Who, me?

DRAMA - Yes, you. He's talking about you, you boring stiff.

VOLITION - You too.

DRAMA - Me? What did I do? I'm merely a master thespian...

VOLITION - These guys are compromised. She's got them singing along to her tune. The little bleeps and bloops you trust for info -- you can't trust them anymore.

YOU - Oh my god.

VOLITION - Believe it.

YOU - Which ones exactly are affected?

VOLITION - There's no way of knowing. At the moment I'm afraid it's best to assume...

VOLITION - ...*all* of them.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Bullshit, man, I ain't *compromised*.

VOLITION - *Especially* that guy. That guy's the most compromzised one in here.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - No fucking way, man, I just want a drag of that sweet Menthol ziggie.

VOLITION - Really? Quick, tell me what's under her jumpsuit?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - GLORY. TRUTH. SOFTNESS. PROTECT HER. SHE WANTS YOU.

VOLITION - I take it back. He's got it pretty bad, but this *next guy's* on another level entirely...

SUGGESTION - She likes you. The Crownhead is a boring condom. He's jealous. This is human nature.

[black-suns-rim]

Valley Family Portrait (Ethereal star AU)

Before the twins were the elders of their realm, their mother, the Priestess, was it's elder. Her children were kept a secret from the valley and the other realms until her passing...

bonus art and short story under the cut:

In the valley light temple “Mother warned us about you…” Mek sneered.

“Did she now?” The king stood behind the two siblings as they were kneeling at an alter, “Well, the priestess was never fond of me… so it’s not surprising.”

“You know you’re not welcomed here. You may be a king, but you’re not our king.” Sah stood up to face Resh, but he didn’t realize just how massive the king was, “you should leave.” Sah tried to sound threatening.

“May I offer my condolences before I leave?” He gestured to the alter the twins had been grieving at. They both hesitated before nodding. The King kneeled down in front of the priestess’s alter, pulling out a white candle. He lit it with his light magic and placed it in front of the alter. He bowed his head as he uttered a prayer. The twins could only hear parts of the prayer. Once he was done, he turned his attention to the siblings.

“Though she may not have liked me, I admired her and her teachings. I know she believed that I was getting rid of our traditions with my advances, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. We both shared the same goal you see, but it’s my methods she just didn’t approve… when I heard of her passing, I knew I had to visit her alter, though I knew I wouldn’t be welcomed here.” He spoke quietly in a soft tone.

The twins couldn’t help but listen as he spoke, “I also wanted to offer the both of you what I had offered your mother many years ago. That is if you’re willing to listen to what I have to offer.”

The two sat in silence and looked at each other, then to the king. They were curious but at the same time, they were slightly offended he had brought this up here. They whispered to each other for a while before agreeing on something.

“We’ll listen to what you have to say, but if we don’t like it, you can’t ever come back here.” Mek turned to face Resh.

“Understandable.” The king stood up, “What if I could offer your realm advanced medicines, technology and knowledge gathered from the other realms? In return, your realm becomes a part of my kingdom and you’ll have my protection. You’ll still have a say over your realm, but I’ll have the final word.”

The siblings whispered to each other, “exactly what kind of advanced medicines would you be able to offer?” Sah asked.

“Remedies that would heal illnesses, surgeries that can save a life, or improve one and much more.” He paused, “I could even offer a surgery that would give you and your sister a second arm…”

The two of them stared at Resh In disbelief. They were wearing cloaks, so there could be no way he would’ve seen… “How did you know…?” Samekh both were standing now.

“It would be rude of me not to come here without knowing who I was talking to… though it was hard finding anything out about you two. Your mother kept you two well hidden from the public, did she? But it was only to protect you, wasn’t it?”

Before they could have a chance to respond, he continued, “I heard you two love to play sports. I could offer you a chance to get the recognition you deserved. Champions of the arts. My champions even..." he paused and placed a hand on their shoulders, "Imagine a stadium full of your fans, cheering you on. The glory, the fame, the honor... All of this only if you accept to become a part of my kingdom.”

Samekh felt excited by his offers. They whispered with each other for a long time before asking him many questions. The more answers they got from the king, the more they felt excited.

“So, do you accept my offer?”

“Yes. We do.” Samekh was quick to answer.

Resh grinned under his mask, “Wonderful!” He gestured over one of his advisers who had been standing far back. They handed him a stone tablet, “I need both of your signatures for this agreement.” They were quick to sign, not bothering to read what was written on the stone.

“Next week, I’m having a meeting with all the realm leaders. You two will be sent an invitation on the location and time. We can discuss and plan further what changes will happen in your realm. We can also discuss your personal matters afterwards. For now, I’ll leave you two with these.” He handed them a couple of stone tablets with information on them pertaining specifics of what he’d mentioned.

“Welcome to the kingdom.”

[thewertsearch]

You reflect on your prior experience as the team's ectobiologist. It seemed like you were doing something so important at the time. Finally everything made sense. This was why you were here. But what was the point? You are all clearly going to die the most pointless deaths possible. [...] You are no ectobiologist. If only there was some other title more befitting of the true discipline you practice, and the death sentence given to whatever you do the disservice of creating.

Oh, I get it. Karkat's the CarcinoGeneticist, so his universe spawns a session with a tumor.

The Tumor was described as a mutation, so it might literally be a form of cosmic cancer. Perhaps Sburb sessions are part of their host universe's body, and the kids' frog has faulty cells.

And what about the OTHER twelve wigglers you spawned? Who were they? Probably further proof this was all meaningless and random. Could it be that they were the true heroes meant to be sent back to play this game, while your team was the superfluous crop?

That would be the ancestors, the troll Guardians that Eridan mentioned. It seems they might have an actual role in the story, especially if they really are the ancestors who were giving Aradia orders.

Sollux is up, but his glowing eyes are gone, presumably indicating that his psionics are offline. I was relying on him to turn the tide against the murderers, and losing his support is a pretty serious blow. Let's hope it's temporary.

EB: so… what about jack? […] EB: are you still planning on killing him? […] EB: it is much better than killing friends. AG: Yeah, you're right. AG: And to tell you the truth, part of the reason I wanted to kill him was to protect them. It's not just a8out glory you know.

I don't doubt it. It's always been apparent to me that Vriska does care about the people around her. The problem is, every time she tries to express that affection, it comes out in weird, fucked-up ways.

At best, she comes off as rude and confrontational.

At worst...

...let's not talk about it.

AG: 8ecause if I don't do it, then who will? EB: well, we have a plan to defeat him too, so there's that. AG: Yes, I know a8out your plan. AG: I guess two plans are 8etter than one, right?

Not always. In this case, I'd argue that a single collaborative plan would be better than two unworkable ones. If you don't rendezvous with Karkat soon, there's every chance that Gamzee will get to him before he's done helping Jade.

Then, once Jack's reduced you to atoms, we'll have zero plans.

[laurentidal]

Shadows We Cast

Sequel to Shining Mother.

Representative Erin Singer walked into the office of someone far above her station for the second time in a week. It had been three days since her meeting with Senator Coronet, but her mind still burned with the light from the Mother's eyes.

Now, she entered the personal office of Shaded Valley CEO, Georgann Mercer. Ms. Mercer was one of Erin's largest donors and the lead voice pushing for developing the Red Stone Mesa. It was Georgann who had filed the request to remove the protection on the land, claiming it was a perfect place for a gated community. Of course, Erin now knew the truth about Red Stone Mesa.

"Erin," Georgann said, not looking up from her papers. "My associates tell me you've withdrawn your proposal for the mesa. I'm hoping there an explanation." She looked up and noticed for the first time that Erin wasn't alone. "Who is this?"

"I believe the appropriate address for her is 'Congresswoman Singer,'" the stranger said, making no attempt to hide her contempt. "You may address me as Mother Dusk."

Georgann frowned as the pair stood on the opposite side of the desk.

"After the amount of money I spent on her campaign, I'll call her Bozo if it pleases me."

"Does it?" Dusk asked. "Does the name Bozo please you? Do you have a clown fetish? Shall we paint her face white and dye her hair green?"

Georgann sputtered slightly, completely unprepared for the conversation to take such a dramatic turn.

"Suddenly silent. Perhaps mimes then?"

"I will not be spoken to in this way," the CEO shouted, finding her voice. "This is my office!"

"Erin," Dusk said softly, ignoring Georgann. "Did this poor excuse for a mime tell you why she wanted Red Mesa so much?"

"No, Mother."

"Well as the sun enlightens the sky, let us be enlightened. Speak, clown."

As the words left her mouth, a ray of light shone through the window, hitting Georgann in the face and dazing her slightly. Dusk's words seemed to come from the light itself and the CEO found herself sputtering an answer before she even realized it.

"There's gold there!" she shouted. "All the locals talk of it. Great seams of gold and I can be the first to mine it."

"Ah so it's gold you're after." Dusk pulled up the hem of her long skirt and revealed bare feet decorated with an ornate golden cuff. "Like this?"

Georgann fell silent again, eyes fixed on the shining metal and its inset jewels. And the painted toes.

"There have always been women like you," Mother Dusk said as Georgann stared hungrily at her feet. "Women and men, of course. Those who seek to exploit our world for their own gain. Gold is the metal of the sun: its power and its glory reflected in the Earth. Long have your kind sought it for themselves. But you cannot cage the sun, and you cannot have our gold."

Georgann's mind felt cool, like a long day drawn to its sleepy end. She hadn't realized she'd begun to salivate.

"As the sun approaches the horizon, the shadows lengthen. Some would believe that they are His absence, but they are yet another of his creations. He casts the shadows, after all, and we serve all his aspects. This is mine."

The woman's knees gave way and she dropped to the floor in front of Mother Dusk's perfect golden toes. Mother Dusk lifted them ever so slightly, and Georgann recognized the invitation. She held the foot in her hand, then slid the toe into her mouth.

"Moonchild Erin," Mother Dusk said. "Go lock the door so we're not interrupted."

"Yes, Mother."

"How do my toes taste, Bozo?"

Georgann could only moan as her tongue swirled around them.

"As He casts his shadows upon the land, I cast one upon your mind. You will ever be in darkness without me. Only I can bring you the light and the heat that you used to know. Your passions are extinguished. Your desires are all cold."

Mother Dusk pulled her foot away and Georgann desperately tried to scramble after it.

"You have been claimed by the Dusk. Say it, clown."

"I have been claimed by the Dusk."

"Good. Now remove those clothes and show me how dark your desires are. Then perhaps I will allow you to experience the heat. But that all depends on your performance. Oh and let's stay in character, shall we. Mimes are silent."

Continue the story in Palace of the Sun.

[rachelbethhines]

10 Ways to Fix Cassandra's Arc

From Closest to Canon to Complete Re-Write

Cassandra Wants to be the Hero - It's literally all set up right there in the text. Cass doesn't think Rapunzel is mature enough to solve the problem of the rocks, and therefore she steals the moonstone in order to stop them herself. Only to find she can't control the rocks/moonstone either. Of course this route would require the rocks remaining an active threat throughout season two and the narrative being willing to call out both Rapunzel's and Cassandra's toxic traits.

Make Cassandra's Injury Relevant - In the original show Cassandra's burnt hand is all but forgotten by season three and barely has any real impact on her during season two. Just make the injury an actual problem that she can't overcome through simple training, or since it's magic, make it a curse that could slowly kill her over time. Now the moonstone becomes a 'cure' with a high price to pay for using it. Simple.

Have Zhan Tiri Actually Lie - Zhan Tiri's 'manipulation' in the series proper is a whole lot of nothing because she just tells the truth, which the audience is suppose to take at face value, and doesn't really offer anything to Cassandra that she would logically want. Have her lie about Gothel. Have her present half-truths about the royals. Have her promise something of actual worth to Cass, like fixing her hand or making her the hero.

Have Cassandra Agree with the Other Villains - Forget Zhan Tiri altogether and have Cassandra team up with Varian and/or Lady Caine. Have her come to realize that Corona's government is flawed and not the right and just system she was raised to believe in. Of course this requires criticizing King Frederic and Corona's class system.

Have Cassandra Save Rapunzel While Hiding Her Past - Keep the Gothel twist, but make Cassandra ashamed of it. She's not after mommy's love, but she is trying to prevent Rapunzel from dying by trying to fuse with the moonstone. So what if the world burns? Her sister is safe. Besides, she can keep the moonstone under control... right?

Possessed Cassandra - I think this was the original plan until the last minute re-writes with Varian. But have either the moonstone or Zhan Tiri brainwash Cass and force her to do their bidding. This does take agency away from her but makes her less culpable of her actions. That's why everyone is insistent on 'saving her'.

Make Cassandra and Rapunzel Actual Sisters - Instead of being adopted by Cap, have Cassandra be adopted by the royals. Have her be the child trained to be queen someday all her life, only to have Rapunzel thrust into that position due to birthright despite not really wanting it. Now suddenly all of their pissing contests with each other makes sense. Cassandra may or may not really want to be queen, but she feels she's being replaced by this sister shes never known. Now throw in the Gothel twist and things get even more complicated.

Cassandra is the True Heir to the Dark Kingdom - It's now Cass's duty to protect the moonstone from Rapunzel. It's her heritage and birthright to wear it. You can either keep Eugene as her brother, or drop that aspect of his arc altogether.

Saporian Cassandra - Somewhat playing into Cass's 'wants to be a hero' aspect, only her motives are now about calling out the injustice that Corona's royalty has inflicted on her people. Of course this requires criticizing King Frederic and Corona's class system.

Don't Make Cassandra the Villain At All - Don't have her steal the moonstone. Don't have her betray Rapunzel. Don't try to force them to be 'sisters'. Let her just be the cool best friend that remains by Raps side and finds her own self-worth through service to others instead of seeking glory and praise all the time.

[shadowqueenjude]

I wrote a little Rhysta.

@ennawrite @kateprincessofbluewhales

Rhysand woke up with a stinging pain around his neck. He lifted his hand towards the source of the pain, then found something that felt distinctly like a knife digging deeper.

His eyes flew open, and for a wild moment, he thought it was Feyre standing before him. But no. The face that surveyed him had stronger features. Eyes just a little more grey, lips a little more full, brows quite a bit more angular, her gold hair a tumble of waves down either shoulder. A cunning face-calculating. And one that held a knife to his throat.

“Wake up,” she hissed. Rhysand blinked blearily, trying to focus on her. Despite being human, he found her to be prettier than the cursebreaker. He could only imagine how devastating she would be as a faerie.

“What?” Rhysand croaked, not daring to speak too loud else that dagger pierce his skin. How in Prythian had this human girl got a hold of an ash knife? What was with this family?

“I want to know what exactly you’re playing at,” Nesta answered, her simmering glare branding him even in the dark. Rhysand’s heart rate kicked up; was it more or less embarrassing that it wasn’t from fear?

“Nothing. I’m just here to protect Prythian and the human lands from Hybern’s corruption,” Rhysand said mechanically.

Nesta snorted delicately. “Spare me the bullshit. Even if Feyre bought into that molded loaf of bread, I am not so gullible.” She bent closer to him, her tantalizingly soft hair brushing against his cheek. “Or did you use your faerie magic to hoodwink her? For the Feyre I know would not change her loyalties so fast, and last I knew, she was in love with Tamlin.”

Rhysand tried to swallow a couple of times before she gave up. “Tamlin treated her poorly. So she left.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. I was mean to her for years and she never wavered in her loyalties. So tell me what you’ve done to her, High Lord.”

Rhysand stared into her silver eyes, the loathing palpable in them at the nearer distance. How should he answer this? The truth? He imagined that wouldn’t go down very well with her. With lies? She didn’t seem the least bit fooled by them.

“Nothing. It was Tamlin who changed her.”

Rhysand didn’t have time to react before Nesta drove the knife into his shoulder. Too much in pain to even scream, all he could manage was a pitiful whimper. God, he had forgotten how much ash stings. He hadn’t encountered such weapons since the war centuries ago.

“You really think you can fool me, Amarantha’s whore?” Nesta demanded.

Rhysand stilled at the nickname. “How did you-?”

“Feyre told me everything that transpired between her arriving in Prythian and when she came back. You were what prompted Tamlin to send her away. A loyal servant of that bitch who tormented Prythian for decades.”

“You don’t understand. It was all an act-“

Nesta twisted the knife in his shoulder, and Rhysand let out another pained moan. Blood was all over his shirt, his skin sticky. “Killing twelve kids isn’t an act, you coward. I already told you I won’t be easily fooled.” Nesta bared her teeth, looking every inch the faerie Feyre could never be despite her super strength and pointed ears. In spite of the blinding pain, Rhysand breathed out a laugh. “Oh, pity you aren’t the Cursebreaker. You’re a lot more fun than the huntress.”

Nesta wrenched the knife out of his shoulder, causing even more pain as she returned the knife to his throat. “And I’m about to be a lot more fun if you don’t tell me what you did to Feyre in the next thirty seconds.”

Gods, she was magnificent. Well, Rhysand could offer a partial truth that would hopefully appease this powerful woman.

“I forced Feyre into a bargain in exchange for healing her under the mountain.”

Oh, the scent of Nesta’s fury was delicious. Rhysand gloried in the smell as he sensed Nesta trembling with rage. “I fucking knew it. You faeries and your bargains. I’m assuming it’s this mark right here?” She dug a sharp nail into his arm, and Rhysand yelped, jerking away, which only caused more blood to ooze from his shoulder wound. “How did you know?”

Nesta shrugged. “I guessed, since Feyre has an identical one on her own arm.”

Cunning, furious, and observant. A crying shame this queen would only live a mortal life. “Get her out of the bargain,” Nesta whispered.

Rhysand chuckled. “Or I could just break into your mind and be done with it.”

“You can try,” Nesta seethed. “But not even a High Lord’s glamour can work on me. Tamlin tried and failed already.”

Rhysand blinked. Nesta…possessed the true Sight? Some mortals were gifted with the ability to resist nearly all kinds of Faerie magic in a way that even most powerful fae have difficulty with. Jurian, of course, was one of them, which was how he’d led the humans to victory all those years ago. Immune to daemati and glamours, this woman could be exceptionally useful.

Rhysand reached for her mind anyway, finding that she was just as immune as she had claimed. The eldest Archeron didn’t mess around, clearly. She possessed walls more fortified than the Cauldron itself. Mother above.

“I warned you,” Nesta snapped. “Break the bargain.”

“And what will I get in exchange?” Rhysand crooned. “Surely you understand I cannot release her without getting something in return.”

“I could just kill you and be done with it,” Nesta mused. Rhysand smirked at her. “True, but think: I am a High Lord, and a major asset in the war against Hybern. Without me, your odds lower significantly.”

“You can be replaced,” Nesta drawled dismissively. “Not me.” Nesta spat on his face. “You faeries are even more arrogant than we were taught to believe.” She smoothed down her nightgown with her free hand. “Take me instead.”

Rhysand blinked. “Really?” That was exactly what he had been hoping for. Nesta would prove to be far more useful than the illiterate one. “On the condition that you will never physically or sexually harm me, nor will you use your magic against me in any way, nor will you allow any of your cronies to do it in your stead.”

Rhysand could not say yes fast enough. “Yes, I promise. It’s a deal.”

Nesta and Rhysand stared at his arm, watching as the tattoo disappeared. They both waited for a new one to appear, and when it didn’t, Nesta began her venom again. “You fucking liar, I will slit your thro-“

She stopped, and Rhysand knew why. He watched as whorls of paint wrapped around Nesta’s forehead like a crown. An identical one must be present on his own.

They surveyed each other for a moment, this new bond that had just formed between them tugging them closer together. At last, Nesta let the knife drop.

“Welcome,” Rhysand murmured, “to the Night Court, Nesta Archeron.”

[izvmimi]

cw: atla au. fem!reader and a named female oc are both pro benders. fighting-focused without overt graphic descriptions. a/n: the pro-bending here is not exactly the same as in lok, i've taken a lot of liberties. this part focuses a lot on reader's friend to set the stage but a subsequent part will be more about reader.

Pro-bending is a terrible use of your time, and yet you’re here, checking the straps of your helmet and making sure the oversized gourd that hangs between your shoulder blades is well-affixed to your person. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the full-length mirrors placed along the wall as you move through the lockers to find your friend and shake your head. Ridiculous.

When you finally find your friend, she’s still finagling with her wristguards and you can see a small cloud of steam leave her nostrils as she breathes out sharply in a huff. She’s both frustrated and shaking with anticipation, and yet she doesn’t look as ridiculous as you feel you do in her own gear.

“Don’t burn down the locker room, Nova,” you tease, moving closer to help with the straps. Her left hand shakes a little as you secure them, and she sighs. You pretend to duck and the sigh shifts to a pout.

“Stop making fun of me!”

“Stop making it easy and I won’t.”

She rolls her eyes, but her typical cheer returns shortly as she jumps up from her bench and puts her hands up into fists.

“I can’t believe we’re finally doing this!” she says, and giving herself a wide berth from you showcases one of her winning combos, a jab-hook and roundhouse kick, flames ablaze and disappearing as quickly as they appear.

You also cannot believe you’re doing this and twist your mouth to the side, but Nova is extremely convincing when she wants to be, and you’ve been her sparring partner for long enough that it wouldn’t make sense to let her go into this venture alone. You’re not as good as her, but you’ve been decent at your amateur club, and your mentor has pushed for you to show up together.

“Can’t wait to lose the first match,” you start, making your way out of the locker room. You can feel the water in your gourd sloshing away with every step and wonder if you overfilled it. In truth, however, you can never have too much water, anyone from a Water nation tribe knows this, even if your ancestry is what one would call dilute.

“You say this every time and have your opponent begging for mercy.”

You roll your eyes. This time will be different, you can sense it, and you tell her just that.

“This is the rookie contest. They can’t be that good.” Nova says. She’s moving up to the main arena faster now, her legs carrying her closer and closer to the promise of glory, and you have to take longer strides to catch up to her. The two of you end up spilling into one of the openings, where there is still a match taking place, and from the look and sound of it, reaching its final stage. Nova is easily transfixed, while you lead her by the shoulders to a spot to sit down that’s a few bleachers up, almost tripping over a step when she stops suddenly and you slam into her.

“Nova!”

“God, did you see that?”

You didn’t see it, but when you turn, there appears to be a repeat exciting move, a fire bender who blasts off into the air and appears to dive back down in a cyclone of fire. You frown, wondering why that’s legal, and wince as he makes impact with the air bender who’s decided to protect themselves in a ball of wind energy. It doesn’t work – the impact multiplies and the whole pit seems to erupt in blinding light; and then it recedes, and there’s one clear victor. 

The blonde-haired firebender isn’t even panting when he’s announced victory and you grimace while Nova holds onto your arm, clearly smitten. It’s unsurprising, because even you can tell he’s conventionally attractive, and knows so, tall and athletically built with sharp crimson eyes and a cocky grin flashed at the crowd. You eye the opponent’s injuries which seem mild, although he seems clearly dazed, and you realize that the gloating young man is particularly skilled, if he’s able to minimize injury in such a powerful blow.

That being said, you won’t let go of an opportunity to tease your friend. “Stop slobbering and get ready for your match,” you remind her, before patting her shoulder. “I can’t wait to see you wipe the floor with them.”

Nova’s grin is wide and she promises to make you and herself proud.

You find a seat quickly near the bleachers while the arena is cleared and you watch Nova shrug her shoulders and roll her neck as a woman is placed before her. A waterbender like you, but her rain of hailstones is not particularly impressive, and Nova clears them quickly into rain and then steam before they touch her with flames fanning towards the sky. You lean forward, watching carefully for any identifying features. You should have studied who exactly was in the scene and who was famous before you got here, but it would only have stressed you out more.

Nova completes the match quickly with a ring out. It’s more merciful than her predecessor but the opponent has a similar dazed expression on their face by the end of the match. Nova comes out quickly and waves at you excitedly, glee on her face.

It’s your turn next.

Your first match is easy, thankfully, your opponent, a particularly agitated airbender whose bursts of air pressure are easily dodged or deflected with your water used as a fortified shield. He loses when he slips on a patch of ice right out of the ring, too slow and surprised to suspend himself in the air. The crowd laughs, and you feel a little bad, a sheepish expression on your face.

You clear the arena quickly, your heart pounding from the exhilaration of the fight, and Nova gives you a high five. Another match takes about ten minutes to end, and you’re barely paying attention to the two earthbenders throwing rocks at each other in a manner akin to apes, still trying to catch your breath and calm your nerves before your next match. You control your breathing. Across the lowest rung of the bleachers where you sit, you can see the blonde from earlier staring directly in your direction, and then you realize he is staring really at your friend, and look at the match rundown on the projector. Two and two add up.

“Nova, your next opponent is the guy from earlier. Bakugou.”

Nova blinks then leans in closer.

“Which guy?”

You press your lips in a thin line. "Mr. Hot and Sexy.”

Her eyes widen, and it almost irritates you that the designation helped. You try to point discreetly in the correct direction, and he’s still staring with red, practically glowing eyes at her, as though trying to mildly intimidate but not threaten her. Nova stares back just as fiercely, and you’re thankful that at least she won’t let a boy win just because he’s cute.

You do notice besides him, there’s another pro bender who’s staring at the match that is in no way interesting far too intensely, leaned so far forward he might as well fall off his chair and once you squint closer, you realize he has a notepad before him and is scribbling something quickly. Just from the way his pen moves, you figure his handwriting is messy and disorganized, but his green eyes are bright and clearly intelligent. His shoulders are broad, not unlike the young man next to him, but he seems just a bit wider and more relaxed. Gentle even, like the dark-green curls of his hair, like he’d much rather give you a hug than lay a finger on you. 

And yet, he’s here.

“Nova, don’t you dare lose to him,” you warn her when it’s her turn to go up. She bumps fists with you, grinning, and you see Bakugou do the same as they both approach the arena from the stair-rails.

They acknowledge each other and you find your hand tensing up around the water gourd now sitting in your lap for comfort.

It’s for good reason, because their first bout is fierce to say the least. Nova’s flames are fast and many, and Bakugou responds to each with a dodge or even fiercer fire. At some point, your jaw drops as he practically inhales a blast, then returns it larger, and more focused, and for a moment you wonder one, if the referee has vetted that move, or two, if he’s a combustion bender in addition to simple fire bending, given that the blast, when dodged, practically destroys a corner of the arena. Nova, a little startled, propels herself to one side of the arena, then looks at the destruction, then back at Bakugou. Sweat beads visibly on her forehead.

“Is that all you got?!” Bakugou taunts. Nova grits her teeth, and then she’s back at him, a running start into a fire-filled windmill kick her next attack. Bakugou dodges, then his hand closes around her ankle which makes you gasp, and a throw nearly gets her out of the ring in an uncontrolled somersault that stops just short of the edge of the platform.

She’s back up and at him yet again in a second, and the crowd, also holding their breath, cheers loudly. Fists ablaze, she punches, one after the other, many of which are dodged, but the last one he has to block with a cross of his arms before his face, and he’s pushed back. Revitalized, Nova kicks one more time but she’s tripped suddenly, and in seconds falls flat on the ground, staring at the ceiling. 

You watch in shock as he takes the immediate opportunity to pin her down, and one blast that is a bit more than fire charges from the palm of his hand, but then before the referee can blow their whistle, he slams into the ground next to her head.

“You’re done,” he mouths. Nova looks shocked, biting her lower lip in anger rather than concede an embarrassing defeat. 

The referee ends the match and the crowd claps, giving a standing ovation to both for their fight. You stand too and clap enthusiastically, even though Nova looks both flustered and angry by the time she makes it back to you after being checked out for injuries. 

“This is so embarrassing,” she murmurs under her breath, twirling a lock of her hair. You offer her a reassuring smile.

“You did a good job.”

She sighs and takes your gourd from you and puts it in her own lap, tapping nervously at the sides. She doesn’t seem too banged up so you’re thankful.

“You’re fighting someone named Midoriya next,” she says now, after glancing at the updated projector. Your faces aren’t displayed against the projector. 

You take a deep breath, then take your gourd back from her gently. 

“If I get my ass beat too it’s fine, as long as it’s fast. Then we can both go home.”

Nova pouts and she’s so puppy-like you find yourself stifling a laugh.

“Fine, I”ll try.”

A few more moments pass, and you’re called to the arena.

The curly haired man with Bakugou looks at you and smiles, an action that disarms you, before he prepares to face you too.

[distortionbobble]

Royal Flowers Chapter 10

pairing: anakin skywalker x f!reader

series summary: A long, long, time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, a certain Jedi by the name of Anakin Skywalker meets you, the current Queen of Naboo and adopted cousin of Padme Amidala, and is tasked with protecting you by pretending to marry you. As a spy, you’ve infiltrated the Separatist ranks and are close to finding out the mastermind behind all of it. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands.

warnings: minors dni. none this chapter, use of the word jizz in the star wars content (needs a warning because i hated typing it out so much)

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“Naboo is left with little choice,” you say. The microphone makes your voice echo around the walls of the Senate, distorting it like you distort the truth. You know that the Separatists have influence and strongholds all over the Senate, but you hope that they’ll assume that you still have to act in your capacity as the Queen. Besides, Naboo’s official standpoint is with the Republic, as represented by Senator Amidala. Padme’s in the audience now, nodding quietly as you deliver your speech. “We cannot defeat the Separatists. I strongly encourage the Senate to act, as what is being done is simply not enough. My people are dying and without the leadership of the Republic, Naboo is all but fallen.” 

There’s a certain grief to your words, the kind that accompanies only the fear of the truth. You don’t want Naboo to fall. You don’t want to see fire and death and blood take over your planet, but there’s so little standing in the way of it.

Chancellor Palpatine stands in the center of the Senate, looking exhausted from your remarks as the next planetary system begins their appeal. There’s too much loss to help. It’s chaos, the galaxy is chaos, but you don’t realize you’ve spoken that into the amplifier until everyone turns to look at you. “The galaxy is in chaos. How is the Senate going to fix this?” You shout. “You have neither the resources nor the organization to protect your own citizens!” 

Your words spark an uproar across the Senate floor, a din of noise spreading as arguing and shouting break out. The Chancellor waves his hands frantically as his aides look on in equal panic. One of them, however, isn’t as subtle at hiding his glee. Perhaps he’s Darth Sidious? He was the Aide for Chancellor Valorum as well, wasn’t he? He must be linked to the Separatists in some way. 

“Silence!” Chancellor Palpatine’s voice echoes around the stadium and finally, quiet settles on the Senators. “That’s quite enough from all of you. I dismiss today’s meeting, and I expect that when the Senate gathers tomorrow, all of you—” and at this, he rather pointedly glares at you, “will have learned some decorum.” He waves his hand in quick dismissal, and then Senators all file out, quietly grumbling at the admonition that you all received. 

“I do wish you hadn’t done that,” Padme sighs from next to you. You walk with some distance between yourselves, because it can’t be clear that you do truly hold affection for your dear cousin. “The banquet tonight is in your honor, and you’ve probably caught the eye of some very powerful Senators now.” She stops abruptly as you nod absentmindedly, your thoughts somewhere else. “Oh, no. You didn’t forget about the banquet, did you?” She asks, panic lacing her tone. There’s decorum to be followed, down to the dress that you wear. You need to send the right message— something grand, something that you’ve worn before. You need to represent the finery of Naboo’s former glory, and the fact that it’s now lost. But Padme doesn’t need to worry. You’ve already packed it. 

“Well, what about Anakin’s outfit?” She asks at your nonchalance. That makes you pause. To be honest, you hadn’t really thought that he was coming. You had left from the palace so frantically that the only thing you could conceptualize was yourself, as selfish as it sounded. 

“Shit.”

“It’s okay,” Padme reassures you, placing her hand on the small of your back as you move through the hallways. “I’ll take him to the Royal dressmaker. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it all, you just focus on getting yourself ready.” 

There’s a small part of you that wants to object. Part of you remembers the way that Anakin looked at Padme and wants to protect him from all that hurt that might come from seeing her again. Part of you doesn’t want him to look at her like that ever again. And it’s ridiculous, and you want to squash it; but you can’t act on it. 

You swallow it down instead, and nod. You just have to trust Anakin’s growth and hope that he’ll be okay around her. 

~~~

“You haven’t told her, have you?” Padme says, breaking the silence as the dressmaker wraps the measuring tape around Anakin’s torso. 

“Haven’t told her what?” Anakin responds, a coldness evident in his tone. He doesn’t mean it. It’s just so hard being around Padme, and he can’t help but take it out on her. All the dreams of having children together, being married and living together without the scrutiny of the Jedi Council. The peace and security that he now has with you was only a dream back then.  But he can’t forget the way he’d fret over her, and those dreams that plagued him. They haven’t left him; instead, now they’re focused on you. All those terrible visions, all those ones about you dying, just like how he’d see Padme die—

“Dressmaker,” She calls softly, dismissing him with an elegant nod. Anakin’s arms drop as the dressmaker leaves the room before he turns to her with irritation. 

“Told her about what? The fact that I snapped, killed all those Sand People when my mother died? All those that stood by and watched as my mother died, tortured to the point of being barely able to recognize me?” Anakin’s mouth tastes bitter. He regrets it now, of course he does. After he watched you go through all that you did with Reyna, he hates himself. Fears that he’s a monster, deep down. There’s something that has grown inside him, like a bad seed, rooting out his compassion and replacing it with that endless fury. He’s afraid of himself. And when he looks into Padme’s eyes, he sees that too. She’s afraid of him because she knows what he did. But you? You’re blissfully unaware, and that look in your eyes is still trusting and unafraid. He can’t bear the thought of you holding that same resentment and fear that Padme holds for him. He wants to bury it; bury it deep, deep down, so that you can’t ever see it. No, he wants to protect you from himself. It’s what any good friend would do, right?

Padme sighs. “I know you think the worst of me, Anakin, but I’ve only ever wanted the best for you. I didn’t have a choice, you know this— I couldn’t let you keep going down the path you were going down.” 

“And what path is that?” Anakin shouts. “You think I’d turn to the Dark Side? When I’m the one meant to bring balance to it?” 

“You know damn well you weren’t far from falling to the Dark Side when you did that. I left to protect you, Anakin,” Padme urges, standing up from her chair as she engages Anakin in her argument. 

“I didn’t ask you to protect me, and I damn well didn’t need it!” Anakin responds furiously. 

“We all need someone to protect us,” Padme responds, equally furious in her response as she nears Anakin. And as he looks down at her face, he almost wants to cry— when did it all go so wrong? 

Padme notices almost immediately, pulling his chest to her and holding him as tears begin to well up in his eyes. He won’t cry, he won’t cry, but dammit, he missed Padme. But even as he’s in her embrace, he’s thinking of you. There’s no electricity between him and Padme now; she holds him like she would a friend. He derives no comfort from her touch, and right now, all he can think is how nice it would be to be in your arms instead. 

“We would have been great friends,” Anakin says, a lone tear slipping past his lower lashes, carving out its path on his face. 

“In another life,” Padme responds, her voice muffled as she holds him for just a heartbeat longer. When she pulls back from him, it’s so clear to see that there’s no longing there, just a faded sweetness. She cares about him. It strikes him that he’s so lucky to have people who care, people who want the best for him. 

“I love you,” Anakin says. The words don’t sound right— he’s said them before, he knows how it feels, but this… this feels garbled. Like his vocal cords refuse to cooperate, like they refuse to cave in to his request. They came out wrong, and Padme notices. 

“It’s different now, isn’t it?” Padme asks quietly, taking his flesh hand in her own, then squeezing it lightly. Their former love, turned to a friendship, now feels obvious. It still leaves a feeling in his gut, like there was a dagger that just got pulled out. And all he wants to do now is collapse into your arms.

“Is the dressmaker done?” Anakin asks, swiftly changing topics as he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. Padme smiles, the bittersweetness of their interaction clear on her face. 

And once again, Anakin feels like the villain. 

~~~

It took you nearly double the time it usually takes for you to get ready. You don’t have your handmaidens, after all, nor do you have Anakin. You wonder if he’s okay after seeing Padme. You hope he is. It’s been long enough since they were split for it to make sense that he could see her without losing his calm. You’ve done your makeup, done your hair, each careful movement of your hand and brush creating a masterpiece of presentation. The Senate ball has a purpose, and you’ll maximize your presence there tonight. But Maker, you feel so distracted. You just want Anakin here, to assuage your fears, talk you through the night, because you are scared. You need to show the Separatists that you will allow their plan to go through but also collect enough support to protect your own people, and do all of it without being detected. 

You’re just struggling to do the last button when there’s a knock on the door. A courtesy knock, because the door swings open almost immediately after it. 

“Hey,” Anakin grumbles. His suit is a near-identical match of yours; the colors, the fraying edges, the tailor did it all to a tee. It’s a masterpiece. But you’re so busy admiring the detailing of his outfit that you don’t notice the obvious distress that Anakin’s in. He sits down on the bed with a sigh, looking up at you with that pitiful look that makes you want to hold him in your arms and kiss the crown of his head. A ridiculous thought, you know, but you just want to comfort him. To hold him, to protect him. 

And you shouldn’t feel that way. 

“Was it too much to see Padme?” You ask, almost anxiously. You don’t want him to still be pining over Padme. Maybe it’s selfishness. Maybe it’s because you want him to feel for you what he felt for her. You want him to care about you, to love you, because you’re lost without him. And maybe, just maybe, it’s because you feel that way about him. 

“No,” He sighs, placing his metal hand on his face. He’s tense, and you just can’t pinpoint why. 

“Is it the dreams again?” You ask quietly, to which Anakin nods. He hasn’t been sleeping well for almost a week. He wakes up so often, waking you up too in his terror. When he thinks you’re asleep, he’ll grab your wrist, allowing his fingers to linger on your pulse point as he reassures himself that you’re alive. You’re not sure why he’s so worried. You are just a mission, after all. But you have to admit, it’s nice to have someone care about you like this. Padme, of course, cares and loves you; she’s practically your sister, she almost has to. But she’s so busy and when you started getting more involved with spying, she began to treat every conversation like it was the last one she’d have with you. 

It wasn’t her fault. You don’t blame her. But it doesn’t take away from the fact that Anakin still hopes that you’ll live. It makes part of you think it’s possible, even if logic says otherwise. 

“Are you ready for the ball?” You ask instead, slipping a silver pin into your meticulously-arranged hair.  Anakin nods again, and you make note of his quietness today. You suspect, in part, that it’s because he saw Padme. Maybe he’s still really not over her. The thought of it makes your hand stray to your wedding bracelet, the threaded chain that sits comfortably on your wrist. You think of the way your parents honored their love with a bracelet just like this; to them, it meant something. It meant love, and trust, and you wonder how they’d react to the fact that the one whose chain matches your own is in love with someone else. 

You don’t understand why you can’t stop thinking about it. Why can't you stop thinking about what it would be like for him to love you? Why do you want it so bad? Your finger slips under the chain and you want to tug it, you want to pull it until it snaps against your skin. 

“You missed a button,” Anakin says, his voice gruff. He stands and comes near you, allowing the pads of his fingers to skim down the column of your neck, your spine, before he reaches the top button of your dress. Your eyes close almost involuntarily, desperately trying to focus your racing mind on just the feel of him, even as it seeks out more. It’s hard to breathe. Your heart is racing, heat gathering at the base of your neck where he’d touched you. You can hear his quiet breathing, feel the movement of his fingers as he buttons the last part of your dress. 

You can tell that it’s done from the secureness of your dress, but he lingers behind you still, shadowlike. His hands don’t move from where they rest on your back, and you want to freeze him, freeze right now, and calm your racing heart. It pulses in you violently, spreading the warmth of his touch all over your body until even your fingers feel electrified. Does he know the impact that he has on you? 

But then he steps back, and you’re able to regain your sanity. He probably was struggling to make it stay, something like that. He wouldn’t just be close to you for the sake of being close to you— it’s Anakin, you still remember all that he told you when you first began this mission. And what you’d said to him. He provided you companionship, which was more than what you had asked for, so why does your greedy heart seek out more still? Are you truly that selfish?

“Well, I think it’s time we go,” you say quietly, your hand straying again to the metal chain. It brings you comfort. You don’t want to think about the eventuality of having to break it off. Anakin searches your face, lips parting softly like he wants to say something but not a sound comes out. Instead, he forces them into a smile, offering his arm for you to hold. 

“You look beautiful tonight, milady,” He murmurs as you step into the hallway, heading towards the ball. 

“You look nice as well, Anakin. Naboo suits you,” You say, feeling shy at Anakin’s compliment.  Beautiful. You look beautiful tonight. 

“It does,” He says, looking at you with something hidden in his eyes. It makes your breath hitch in your throat, and for a second, you see Anakin’s gaze dip to your lips. The look is so brief you think you might have imagined it, but maker, now you’re looking at his lips. They look soft and warm, and your heart feels like it’s in your throat the longer you look at him. 

Before you can stop yourself, your hand places itself on his neck, brushing away a stray piece of hair and lingering there as you stammer to explain yourself. “Sorry,” You apologize. You just wanted an excuse to touch him, you know that. 

You can hear the banquet, or ball, whatever it is, from outside as you cross the Senate’s grass lawns. You’re nervous—hopefully you won’t have to deal with the fallout of what you said during the Senate meeting today. Your foolishness makes you swallow hard. Anakin takes note of your nerves and squeezes your hand wordlessly to reassure you. He’s so damn good at reading you, it scares you. 

By the time you can get inside, the party’s in full swing; the normally reserved group of Senators all a few drinks in, laughing boisterously and moving clumsily to the jizz music that plays. It’s an overwhelming scene, and you find yourself clinging tighter to Anakin. You don’t have the capacity to deal with this right now, but you’ve got no choice. The group of Senators that you need to talk to catch your eye, and you squeeze Anakin’s arm, raising yourself slightly to be able to kiss his cheek. It’s all for show, of course. That’s what you’re telling yourself. 

“I’ll be over there,” You say, leaving him to fend for himself. 

Hopefully he’ll be okay. 

~~~

“I see the wife left you all alone, huh?” A Senator comes up to Anakin, clapping his back as he watches you disappear into the crowd. He wants nothing more than to be next to you right now. Anakin Skywalker does not like big crowds. 

“Yep,” He says shortly, clenching his metal hand into a fist as he tries to regulate himself. It’s too loud, too hot, and worst of all, you’re somewhere else. 

“Senator Jubbs, of Tattooine,” The man introduces himself, grabbing Anakin’s hand and shaking it with his sweaty hands. Disdain makes his lip curl but he stops himself, smooths out his expression. He’s not just Anakin, he’s Anakin Lars, husband to the Queen of Naboo. He needs to play it nice. 

“Tattooine, huh?” He asks dryly, subtly reaching to wipe his palms free of the stranger’s sweat. Disgusting. “Not a fan of Tattooine. Sand just doesn’t work for me.”

“Nonsense,” Jubbs splutters, waving over a waiter to get him a drink. “You’ve got to loosen up, my boy, have a drink,” He notes, taking a rather large swig of his own drink. The drink that the waiter hands to Anakin looks jewel-like, and the glass alone looks like it would have been enough money to free his mother and himself. He downs it quickly, hoping to swallow down his anger before it becomes too evident. “So why is it that you don’t like Tattooine? Are you perhaps from our glorious planet?”

Anakin bites back a scoff. “No, just had the pleasure of visiting,” he says. Sarcasm drips off his tone, and the Senator squints at his thinly-veiled insult. 

“You listen here, boy,” The Senator hisses, stepping closer to Anakin aggressively. Anakin’s good enough at reading body language to know that this is only going to mean trouble. “You’ve got a lot of arrogance for someone who looks like they can’t satisfy their own wife. You haven’t even got two hands, for Maker’s sake. One is metal! You might as well be a droid. She’d be better off with someone like myself,” he says, puffing his chest up. 

That gets to Anakin. His face twitches in disgust and anger, his blood boiling as he looks at the Senator. Jubbs is leering at you now, and the audacity of him to talk about his wife like that makes him furious. 

“You’re nothing,” He says to Jubbs, seething. He maintains his voice at a quiet level— no one around him should hear what he says, but he needs to say it anyway. “And when you’re dead, not even the flies will mourn you, you waste of—” 

“My love,” you say from behind him. You sound like an angel, your touch cool to his skin as you place your hand delicately on his shoulder, bringing him down to your face to kiss him softly, sweetly. He doesn’t even care that it’s fake, sweeping you into his embrace and shielding you from Jubbs as he kisses you, frustrated. His teeth nip at your bottom lip, and he can feel his hunger for you slipping out as he kisses you, trying to get more of you than he’s allowed. You move your lips back in kind, your lipstick smudging on his own lips as they meet. 

Anakin feels territorial. Possessive. He wants to get rid of everyone here, he wants to keep kissing you, he can’t get enough of you. He only lets you go when you place your hand on his chest, pushing him away slightly to talk to the Senator. 

“Could you get me a drink, my love?” you say sweetly, using your thumb to wipe the traces of lipstick from the corners of his mouth. Anakin almost pouts at the thought of having to leave your side, but the look in your eyes makes it clear that there’s no room for arguing. After sneaking one last possessive kiss in and glaring at Jubbs, he leaves to get a drink from the tables set up at the edge of the ballroom. 

How dare he talk about my wife like that? I should snap his neck off. I should slice his head clean off. I want to drive my fist through his face, I want to—

“Anakin,” Chancellor Palpatine calls, snapping him away from his violent thoughts. The old man smiles knowingly at the expression on Anakin’s face, coming to stand next to him. “Jubbs has never been the most tactful,” He sighs. “Fortunately, it seems like your wife knows how to handle him.” 

“I wish she didn’t have to handle him,” Anakin grumbles, pouring himself a glass of water as his fingers dance anxiously. 

“You seem on edge tonight, my friend. Come, why don’t we get a bit of fresh air?” Sheev asks kindly, placing a hand on Anakin’s spine to guide him away. When he turns to look back at you, Sheev laughs. “Love is a blinding drug. She’ll be fine, Anakin.” 

The night air blankets him in its cool, allowing him to sneak in a few deep breaths as he tries to wash away both the hunger he feels for you and the anger he still holds for Jubbs. He doesn’t know what came over him, kissing you like that— like he wanted to devour you. It scared him. 

“Now, tell me, Anakin. What is it that’s on your mind?” Sheev asks, looking up to the stars as Anakin sips his water to calm himself down. 

“I keep having these awful visions. Visions where I lose her in a hundred different ways, and I’d do anything to stop them from coming true,” He says, frustrated and scared. He speaks no lies. The thought of losing you is driving him to insanity; he can’t sleep in fear of the visions of you dying. 

“Have you heard of the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the Wise?” Chancellor Palpatine asks him slyly. “A man so powerful he could stop death itself from reaching his loved ones, just by manipulating the midichlorians. A power that he taught his apprentice before he killed him in his sleep.” 

“Such a power exists?” Anakin asks, his heart thumping loudly. He could keep you alive. He could keep you safe. You’d be able to stay alive, no matter what. 

“Yes,” Palpatine sighs, turning to look at Anakin as if to say go on, ask me more. 

“Where- where could I learn this power?” he asks, his hands clammy as he looks at his friend. 

“Not from a Jedi,” Palpatine responds. “If that’s what you were thinking of.” 

“Then I am alone, with no one to help me,” Anakin murmurs hopelessly. 

“My dear boy, alone? I’m right here,” Palpatine says with a smile. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well,” Palpatine says, smoothing a wrinkle out of his robes. “Before his passing, my master… he taught me much about the Force. Yes, even the Dark Side of it.” 

“How did I know nothing of this?” Anakin asked in his disbelief. 

“I had to hide it, you see. You were still a pawn to the Jedi Council, but now, I see that you know the truth. Those power-hoarding Jedis don’t want peace; they want total control, and they had you under their thumb,” Palpatine coaxes. Anakin’s heart drops to his stomach. Sheev Palpatine, a man who he’d looked up to for guidance, for friendship, for as long as he could remember, was a Sith Lord? He forces a nod, trying desperately to mask his discomfort. 

“Will you help me save her?” Anakin asks. The fate of the universe is far from his mind. The only thought in his head is the sight of you in the mornings, before you wake up; the thought of your hand against his, the slight brush of your hand against his, the feel of your lips when he kissed you just now. 

And then he hears your voice in his head. You’d told him that you weren’t more important than the work you do. You bring clarity to him as the Dark SIde began to sink its claws into him, and he could think rationally now. Calmly. 

“You’ll have to swear your fealty to me,” Sheev Palpatine says. 

“I do,” Anakin says, lowering his head. He hopes the Force can forgive him. He knows the midichlorians will hold him to it, to some extent; by doing this, there’s no return. He can’t go back to being a Jedi. He won’t have crossed to the Dark Side but instead will walk in the middle. He will become the balance that he swore to bring to the universe. A sick, unsettled feeling makes itself known in the pit of his stomach. Not only is he going against everything he knew, everything he had grown up believing, but he’s also losing you. Anakin wonders, for a second, what he’ll be left with at the end of it all. 

“Then henceforth, you will be known as Darth Vader, apprentice to Darth Sidious,” Palpatine says. 

Fuck.

[bumblesimagines]

Midnight Beach

Part 20

Request: Yes or No

Taglist: @nathan-no @hyubg @ash455  @gills-lounge

~~~

"Jesus," A sharp exhale left him at the sight of the purple and green bruises scattered throughout Topper's face. He looked exhausted and pissed. (Y/N)'s nose crinkled at his swollen eye and he dug his teeth into his lip as the guilt began gnawing at him. It should've been him. "Shit, Top... I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Topper sucked in a breath, forearm flexing as he lifted the dumbbell and curled it toward his body. "I was tryin' to do the right thing. I didn't want the party to get ruined by a Pogue again. Now everyone's gonna think I'm weak."

"Nobody thinks you're weak, Top. They think John B's a psycho." If the angry social media posts made after the party held any truth to them, John B wouldn't be able to step on Figure Eight without risking getting jumped. (Y/N)'s thumb rubbed against the sore skin of his index finger. His knuckles tingled but the light pain reminded him things could've been worse had Topper not stepped in. The dirty blonde finally set his dumbbell aside and stood up from the bench, his brows fixed into a deep furrow.

"I'm pressing charges. Mom says it counts as simple battery and he could face jail time for what he did." Topper told him, and the lack of smugness or pride on his face felt unnatural. Kelce or Rafe would've been celebrating at the prospect of putting a Pogue in jail, never mind John Booker Routledge. But Topper had spent the whole night in a hospital ensuring the beating hadn't done serious, life-threatening damage. Even Dr. Thornton, a woman who rarely wore her emotions on her sleeve, had looked terrified for her son.

"I..." (Y/N) swallowed. He and John B weren't friends but the Pogues still cared about him. They liked him, accepted him, and treated him with kindness even after all the hell his fellow Kooks put them through. They'd been through hell and back as a team, as a family. But even as an 'Honorary Pogue', Kiara and JJ had stood silently aside when John B lunged for him. "I-I can testify. I probably would've been in your spot if you hadn't stepped in, Top."

Topper stared at him with a flurry of emotions swirling in his blue eyes. The furrow in his brow softened and his lips pulled up into a wide, thankful smile. He stepped forward and swung his sweaty arms around the teenager, tugging him into a sweet yet slightly wet embrace. "Thank you, man. It means a lot."

"Anytime." (Y/N) leaned back and watched Topper turn around to fetch his water bottle, teeth catching the inside of his cheek when he felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He fished it out and tapped on the screen to open the newest message.

Sarah C. Where are you? I need to talk to you

"I'm gonna run upstairs and take a quick shower. Just wait here, alright?" Topper tossed a lopsided smile his way and (Y/N) nodded, forcing a smile for him and watching him disappear up the stairs. Releasing a deep sigh, (Y/N) looked back down at his phone and muted the contact, tapping out of the chat right before a new message could pop up. 

                    ✽        ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽

The courthouse felt imposing. It loomed over them in all its ancient glory and made (Y/N)'s stomach twist. He'd gone inside once for an elementary school field trip, but the only memories retained from that day were of Kelce's group of friends bristling at the nearby kids from the Cut as if they were ferals protecting their territory. He remembered Sarah Cameron, back when her cheeks still had some kid chub and she constantly kept her hair in braids. The only time they'd interacted back then had been brief eye contact when her friends whispered in her ear about his parents. 

He wondered how different things would've been if he hadn't befriended her that night on the rooftop. How easier life would've turned out.

"Guys!" His attention dropped toward the street where Sarah ditched her bike to run toward them. She skidded to a quick stop, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and face. She quickly brushed it out of her way and shot them a wide, perfectly curated smile that promptly fell when she fully took in Topper's face. "Holy shit, Top."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I look like shit." Topper chuckled dryly, tone laced with subtle annoyance. For someone who looked at Sarah as if she were Aphrodite herself for half of his life, Topper looked rather irritated with her mere presence. His shoulders deflated slightly and he jerked his head toward the courthouse and his waiting mother. "We're kinda busy, Sarah."

"W-Wait, you're actually pressing charges? And you're testifying, (Y/N)?" Her brown eyes widened, frantically jumping between the two.

Topper scoffed quietly and glanced back toward his mother when she called out to them to hurry up. "Yes, I'm pressin' charges. John B deserves to face justice for what he did. I'm not lettin' him off just 'cause he's your little boyfriend."

"I-I know, I just..." Sarah's breathing came out in short puffs and she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. "(Y/N), I need to talk to you. Top, please, just... wait here." 

Without waiting for a response from either boy, Sarah grasped (Y/N)'s arm and pulled him down the sidewalk until they were a good distance away and Topper's stare no longer burned into their backs. Sarah released him and tucked her hair behind her ears as she turned to face him, the look on her face already telling him everything he needed to know. She fiddled with her fingers and sighed softly before finally tilting her head up to look at him. 

"Singh kidnapped Big John. They're in South America trying to find El Dorado and John B needs to go help him. He can't lose his dad again, (Y/N). He just got him back. I-I need you to convince Topper to drop the charges so John B can go find his dad. Who knows, maybe they'll decide to live away from Kildare and never come back." Sarah spoke softly, gently, in a tone he often heard her use on her father and sister to convince them of something. She delicately took his hands into hers and intertwined their fingers together, fingertips gently rubbing against his skin. "John B and I are done. For good. But he's still my friend and I have to help him." 

"You're defending someone who beat someone while he was unconscious, Sarah. If nobody had stepped in, Topper would still be lying in a hospital bed. Why- Why are you trying to help someone who doesn't give a shit about you? If you were in his spot, he'd be halfway to South America right now shit-talking you to JJ and Kie. He likes you because you're a Cameron willing to solve all his problems." Anger bubbled in his chest and he ripped his hands from hers. Sarah blinked, eyes nearly flooding with tears, and she reached out, chasing after his touch. 

"Remember how good things were on the island? Remember how you worked together? We're Pogues. We fight sometimes but at the end of the day, we're family! And- And I know I ask a lot of you, (Y/N), but I really need this one favor. Do it for me, please. Not for John B or anyone else. For me. For Sarah." Her lips trembled, fingers lightly squeezing his arms as she gazed at him desperately. "I care about him but I don't love him, not anymore. I-I love you."

I love you. Words that rang like a church bell in his ears. Words that he barely heard directed toward him. His breath caught in his throat and then he released it in a scoff. "I don't believe you." He murmured. Sarah let out a shaky breath, brows twitching into a furrow as teardrops slipped down from her lashes. 

"What? (Y/N)-"

"You don't even know what love is, Sarah. You- John B's a dickhead, we all can see that. But even he doesn't deserve to be dragged along while you try to make up your mind. Everything was good between us and then you go off and kiss John B. You come back 'married' and when that falls apart, you come running back to me. You cuddle up with John B on the island and the second we get home you can't leave me alone. Now, you're doing everything to help him and his dad. Can't you see how fucked up this is? How confusing it is?"

"I know, I know. I-I made the wrong choice. I picked the wrong guy-"

"Did you pick the wrong guy or did we chase the wrong girl?" The tears tumbled down her cheeks freely and her hands dropped to her sides, head tilting downward in guilt. Or shame. He couldn't quite tell. "You've got a whole life ahead of you to meet more guys. You don't need to settle for anyone right now. You don't have to waste my time or John B's time trying to decide when you might not even be talking to either of us in five years. And you don't need to fix everyone's problems. Some people need to handle their own shit or they'll never learn." 

"I don't want to lose you. Not now... not ever." Sarah whispered, her voice shaky and barely audible. 

He swallowed. "I know. I want to- I want to stay friends. Just friends. My place is always available for you, Sarah, but I... I don't want to be strung along anymore. You should stay single for a while. Figure yourself out and figure out what you actually want." (Y/N) felt a weight lift off his shoulders and he let them slump, finally feeling in control of his life. Sarah remained silent, arms curling around herself, and he turned around, heading back to Topper and his irritated mother. 

Topper perked up at the sight of him, seemingly noting the lack of Sarah's presence, and tilted his head. "We good?"

"Uhm... I need you to do me a favor. A quick favor, Top. John B's dad needs his son right now. He's in some trouble somewhere else and only John B can help him. I need you to tell Shoupe to let him walk free and if John B comes back after helping his dad, you can press charges and have him arrested on the spot." Topper's jaw clenched and (Y/N) stepped forward to take him by the shoulders. "I know it's fucked, trust me, I know. But... I won't be able to sleep at night without knowing if I could've helped someone get their father back. It's shitty and unfair that he'll be walking free but I promise you, I will testify if he decides to come back. I will tell you the moment he comes back and you can call Shoupe to take him to the station, alright?"

Topper quietly stared at him, hardened blue eyes studying his face. "Sarah got to you, didn't she? I'm telling you, man, if you keep going back to those fuckin' Pogues-"

"If they need my help to get Big John, I will help them but it'll be the last thing I do for and with them. They're- They're good people with good intentions but I'm not going to let them ruin my life. I don't need a criminal record or need to go through another life-or-death situation. I'm fine living without a treasure hunt or going on some adventure. Those things are... They're just not for me." 

"You promise?"

"I promise."

                    ✽        ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽       ✽

"South fucking America? What, is this Big John guy Indiana Jones or something? And El Dorado? Like the movie with the hot chick?" (Y/N) snorted quietly, eyes locked on the action movie playing on his television. Liv scoffed quietly and shoved her hand into the bowl of popcorn, nearly spilling some over onto the bed while she grabbed a handful and stuffed her mouth. 

"I hate to break it to you, Liv, but that movie was inspired by El Dorado. The legend of a city of gold has been around for ages." 

"And you're telling me some billionaire from Barbados is trying to track down a legend? He could be dining at five-star restaurants and taking trips to Bora Bora or Fiji or- fuck, I don't know, Dubai. And he's chasing a legend about gold? When he could be picking up the phone and getting a diamond hand-delivered to him? Money can buy you happiness but it certainly doesn't buy you a couple of braincells." Liv said between mouthfuls. (Y/N) sighed through his nose and reached around Liv to pick up his coke can from the nightstand, only pausing when his phone screen lit up with a new message. He took a swing from the coke and sat up, lifting his phone toward his face and squinting through the darkness. 

JJ (Y/N) come 2 chatoe rn

Pope Chateau*

JJ its an emrgency

Pope It's not but we need you

Licking the soda and hint of butter off his lips, (Y/N) cleared his throat and turned to look at Liv. "I'm going to head out. I'll be back soon." He told her and shoved his phone into his back pocket. Liv blinked owlishly at him, mouth agape as she watched him put his sneakers on and grab his car keys.

"What? But we just started the marathon!" 

"I know, I know. I'll make it up to you by suffering through one of your little Hallmark movies." He flashed her a grin and spun on his heel, hearing the sound of her huffing and puffing growing distant when he descended the stairs. Stepping out into the cool night air, (Y/N) took in a deep breath and reminded himself: just one more adventure and nothing more. 

The drive to the Chateau had been a quick one with barely any traffic on the road. The sight of the raggedy, worn-down mobile home made him grimace, the thought of its owner leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He could see the Pogues gathered around near the old tree, the lights intertwined around the branches illuminating the ground below. (Y/N) shut off the engine of his car and climbed out, closing the door behind him and drawing their attention. JJ grinned widely at the sight of him and swung his arm around his shoulder when he grew near.

"There's my little prince! I knew we could count on you."

"Don't celebrate just yet." (Y/N) met John B's gaze, and the sight of the bruise on his cheek nearly made his lips quirk. "The Thornton's aren't doing anything for now. They're not gonna let it go that easy."

"Still," JJ insisted and squeezed his shoulder. "It means a lot to us, man. Right, John B?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot." The brunette forced out through gritted teeth. Some satisfaction bubbled in his stomach at his forced words and he gave the others a quick glance. They all seemed equally happy, even a little excited. JJ bit his bottom lip and lightly shook his shoulders, finally spilling the beans.

"We're flying down to Orinoco thanks to Miss Cameron over here who convinced Ward to let her borrow the plane. We're going on a search and rescue mission to South America first thing tomorrow morning, ain't that right? We're flying first class, baby." JJ laughed, earning playful eye rolls from Kiara and Pope. John B cracked a small smile and lifted a beer to his lips. (Y/N)'s eyes gravitated toward Sarah and she offered a thankful yet sad smile. 

"I, uhm... I have something else I want to share." She piped up and cleared her throat. "Since we've gotten back from the island, I've done some things that have hurt some of you. And- I don't- Poguelandia, guys. It's all I've been able to think about. We were all together on that island and it was a good thing, and I don't want to ruin a good thing. And I... I just want to know, are we all still in? Are we still all together? Because I am." 

Kiara smiled softly. "Yeah. Always." She replied and stepped toward the blonde to embrace her warmly. Cleo and Pope smiled widely at her and moved in as well, each giving her a tight, reassuring hug while sharing chuckles and murmurs. JJ kept his arm snugly around (Y/N)'s shoulders and pulled him along, wrapping his other arm around Pope's waist. They looked toward John B expectantly and after a moment of rubbing his sneaker into the grass, he moved forward to join them. He wrapped one arm around Sarah's shoulder and the other around (Y/N)'s. 

"We're really doing this, huh?" Pope laughed.

"I think we should let loose tonight," JJ smirked widely. "What do ya'll think? We crack a couple beers, smoke a joint?"

"Definitely." Kiara giggled and her warm gaze lingered on the rowdy blonde for a minute too long. JJ whooped and slapped his hands against Pope and (Y/N)'s backs before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the joint. Pope shook his head at his antics and headed inside with Cleo and (Y/N) trailing behind.

And Christ, John B needed to do a deep clean of his house. (Y/N) stepped over a crinkled, stained covered shirt and lightly kicked aside an empty box of Cheerios. Cleo rummaged through the pantry and tossed snacks onto the table, some bags half-full and others barely touched, while Pope searched the living room for any board games he could find. JJ sauntered into the room with the others, already reeking of weed. He fiddled with the radio until a song he liked came on and plopped down on the couch to watch Pope spill some dominos on the table and brush aside the available snacks. 

"(Y/N)," Sarah called out softly and nodded toward one of the rooms, specifically the one John B had gone into. He took the beer offered by JJ and drank some, letting it settle into his system before he followed her into the bedroom and watched the door close. (Y/N) leaned back against the wall, taking in the equally messy bedroom floor and poster-covered walls. The itch to start cleaning crawled up his back. 

"So," John B began, awkwardly and forcibly. "What do you want, Sarah?"

"To get rid of any bad blood between the two of you. I... I fucked up. I hurt you both and neither of you deserved it. I'm sorry, really, I am. I'm not asking for you to be best friends but... it'd be good for all of us if you two were at least on decent terms. We're a family. Families fight and argue but at the end of the day, they come back together. If we're going to be a team-"

"I'm okay with.. apologizing. But, uh, JJ didn't give me much of a choice back there." (Y/N) inhaled and their questioning eyes jumped to him. "I'm helping out this time 'cause I don't want Singh to hurt anybody. After this, after we get back from South America... I'm not joining ya'll on any more adventures or treasure hunts or anything like that. The Pogues are great. It's fun but it's not a forever sort of thing for me."

"Fuckin' knew you'd ditch us eventually." John B murmured bitterly and shook his head.

"Pope lost his scholarship, Kiara's relationship with her parents is going down the drain, none of you have actual jobs or went to school regularly. I want to go to school, I want a diploma, I want to have a life that doesn't revolve around other people. I... I had a plan, even before meeting Sarah. I told the others about it but I don't know if they remember or think I changed my mind. I'm leaving the Outer Banks. The second I can get my hands on a high school diploma and enroll in college, I'm getting out of here. The plan was always to become roommates with Liv somewhere else."

"You- You can't just up and leave us," Sarah said quietly. 

"The Pogue life is fun. It's great. But I've had enough shit on my plate these past few years. I'm tired, Sarah. It's not stupid or wrong to want a normal, regular life where I'm not constantly fleeing from someone or risking my well-being. If you want to be treasure hunters or constantly go on new adventures then great. I hope that life's fun for you. It wouldn't be for me. So, I'm sorry for hooking up with Sarah, John B. It was shitty of me. I'm not sorry for punching you. You've had it coming for a while."

"Yeah, okay, fair." John B sighed and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry for... everything, I guess. I hope you get what you want. The Pogues will be here if you ever need anything from us." With that, he exited the room and closed the door behind him, leaving the two alone with their thoughts. (Y/N) set aside the beer bottle and slipped his arms around Sarah's shoulders, tugging her carefully into his chest. She buried her face into his shoulder and they stood still like that, listening to the muffled sound of the radio and laughter in the next room. 

"I'm glad you're in my life." She revealed softly and tilted her head upward to look at him. He smiled and brushed the hair out of her face, pushing strands behind her ears and combing through the hair that stuck up from her hectic day. Sarah leaned up and pressed her lips to his in a quick kiss before taking his hand and smiling. "We should enjoy ourselves tonight as Pogues."

[two-white-butterflies]

already broken | aem. targaryen

Description: Aemond is troubled after the loss of his family. In which, you offer your company and end up falling in love with him.

Warning: Teen

Author's Note: Totally a parallel to Thomas Shelby because I love that man. If you love this fic, feel free to visit the main fic. This fic contains spoilers for cyip. coaxed you into paradise v2.

Aemond could never forget the look on his wife's face the day that her body was discovered. Pale skin with even paler lips. Body half rotten by the sea - and eyes that would never open again. Princess Alyssa Strong was dead, and her mother cried for atonement.

"You rarely speak nowadays, my prince." you opened your mouth to speak while folding his linen coverings. You've been his handmaiden since his childhood years - a friendship was beginning to form between the both of you - that was before Alyssa.

A putrid girl with an ill face.

She inherited her mother's petulance and jealousy. She could hardly stand any young maiden around her husband - always protective of what was hers. "There's not much to speak about." he turned to look at you, seeing those doe eyes engulf his whole being.

"Mayhaps spending time with the Queen will do you good, my lord." you tried to assure, seeing nothing but sorrow behind his purple eye. Blood and Cheese may have chosen to steal his son - but Aemond was the one truly murdered. Within a single turn of the moon, his life was ruined - his reputation scorned.

He did not reply after that.

He took a sip of his tea - and went straight to bed.

The following day - while you were walking along Kingslanding's crypts. You were able to see a ghost of the One Eyed Prince. His hands were behind his back, staring at the statue - seemingly looking for his son's eyes behind them.

"My prince," you bowed seeing that he noticed your presence.

"My lady, come sit with me." he patted the empty space beside him. He rarely tolerated the presence of his own family. It was a surprise to see him welcome you with open arms.

You did not argue with him. You gathered your gowns and sat beside him - as the youngest daughter of a minor house, you were taught to obey your superiors - to give the royals what they demanded.

"It's been months since the light of Prince Aelor has shone on the red keep." you kept the conversation light, opting to praise his deceased son instead of pondering on what could've happened. "It is the price of war, my lady." he responded cordially.

The hole in his heart yet to mend.

"King Aegon will surely bring the executors to justice." your eyebrows merged into each other, fearing war. The soldiers may boast their glory but women feared war - god knows what happens to little girls in the middle of warfare. Nothing good.

Reduced to nothing but a spoil of war.

"We brought it upon ourselves. The war shouldn't have been started. Rhaenyra is the rightful Queen, but it does not matter. Aegon the Conqueror was not the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms." he breathed, and you turned to look behind you - ensuring that no one was able to listen in your conversation.

"You will let the murderers stay free?" you inquired.

"For now." he responded.

"Blood and Cheese were sent by Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen." you opened your mouth to speak. A letter was in your hands - a letter that came from Rhaena Targaryen - suing for justice over her half-sister.

Aemond could feel his entire world collapse. The same people that vowed to protect his wife and son were the ones that aided and abetted to their murders. "How does Lady Rhaena know this?" his eye narrowed, trying to understand why Rhaena (of all people) wanted to tell the absolute truth.

"She says; and I quote: the truth has been haunting me. Not even my father knows and I fear of what he'll do when he does. I heard the Queen talk a few fortnights ago, but I never believed that her target would be Alyssa." you read the letter, carefully searching for signs of disproval in his body.

Then suddenly, without any reluctance - he throws the glass of wine on his hand angrily. Allowing it to shatter into a million pieces. He mellowed in his grief - allowed himself to be weak - but now that the executioners were placed on the block, he wanted to swing his sword. Rhaenyra might've been the rightful Queen - and his brother may have usurped her - but it wouldn't save her against his fury.

"Leave me." he says in a calm tone.

Allowing his anger to grow by a thousandfold.

Aemond agreed to meet Saera in the fields of Harrenhal. Provided that none of them attack each other. "I did not expect for you to surrender, brother." her voice came out like a whisper.

Of all the times that his sister spent in the red-keep, he'd always remember her melodious voice - her soft pale skin and the red-black fabric that she'd always wear in council meetings. The sister in front of him was different. Colder - a stranger.

"I'm not here to surrender, sister." he responded in a tone that made sister sound like bitch or cunt. "Haven't you already done enough? You've taken my daughter and my grandson." her eyes narrowed, her loyal husband beside her and playing with his Dark Sister.

"I've not taken her - I only came here to tell you the truth." he scoffed, sensing that he wouldn't come out of his battle unscathed if he wasted any of their time. "What truth?" Daemon inquired.

"Of Aelor's murderer." Aemond announced in a bitter tone. This betrayal would cut deeper than any wound in Saera's body. "The Queen that you chafe your knees to, is she as innocent as she seems?" he responded vaguely, feeling Vhagar roar behind him.

"What is your proof, brother?" Saera's voice mellowed. Rhaenyra was the thickest of her blood. Both Aemma and Viserys combined. "Ask Rhaena," he turned to look at Daemon - before boarding Vhagar and leaving the sacred kingdom.

When Aemond arrived in the Dragonpit - you were the first to greet him. His only friend in Kingslanding. The handmaiden that has helped him all these years. "How did she react?" you asked, knowing that Saera could be dangerous when angry.

He ignores your question again - taking a step forward and allowing his fury to communicate words that could not be said. "Is she angry?" you added - and his pupils dilated.

He had angry eyes.

"My prince, I apologize if I overstep -"

"Draw me a bath." he commanded, before walking past you.

It was tiresome attempting to get into the good graces of Aemond Targaryen - but you reassured yourself. It was the only way that you'd stay safe in the Capital - seeing that your father aligned himself with Rhaenyra and her white hand.

Another sigh escaped your mouth; and you settle the lavender petals on the Prince's bath. Despite having rough hands, he enjoyed things that were of feminine tastes. "The bath is ready, my prince." you kept your eyes on the floor. "Stay with me." he said with reluctance.

And that was the moment that you fell into a deep - deep emotion with him. You could remember everything vividly - you leaned into his bath, combing through his matted locks - until your lips were planted on each other - mumbling curses and apologies.

"This will break you, my prince." you pulled away from his soft lips, and he gives you a smile (that best resembles a grimace, because everyone knows that he's lost the ability to smile again.)

"Already broken, my lady."

taglist: @watercolorskyy @sweetybuzz25 @newtsniffles @loveandlewis-reads @lovecleastrange @julkaamazing @schniiipsel @mirandastuckinthe80s @areaderinlove @i-yam-awesome @ladystardvsts @gracielikegrapes @sweethoneyblossom1 @issybee06 @tato0od @delaynew @thisbihreadstoomuch @plutoscosmoss @immyowndefender @marvelescvpe @batmans-love @luanasrta @tesha-i-guess @valeridarkness @apollonshootafar @jokerhorse @negar21 @seamonkie

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter two.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x F!Reader (Attack on Titan / Shingeki no Kyojin)

Word Count: 2.8K

Summary: They say that, before all of this, you dedicated your heart to the Scout Regiment. They say that you're respected as a soldier, trusted as a comrade, and fiercely protected by a Captain. They tell you a lot of things. You remember none of it.

Warnings: Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Eventual Romance, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Flashbacks, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Dual POV, Nonbinary Hange Zoe, Injury Recovery, Unaliving Mentions, Other Additional Tags to be Added

( Read on AO3 )

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

TWO.

Blank.

His head is blank.

Blank on what’s transpired, on what to do, on where this goes forward.

(Just like your face when he walked in that goddamn room.)

He expected — what, exactly? A groggy greeting? Something irritatingly grumpy, maybe, but nothing out of the ordinary?

(As if months of watching, waiting, with life barely clinging to your own body haven't passed. They passed.)

There are four hundred different avenues to walk, but it's no use: Levi's already picked up the uncomfortably large pill between his fingers to swallow, hard, before anyone can convince him to put the damn truth down.

It's already halfway down his throat by the time Erwin's long strides catch up with him.

“I told you things were different,” Erwin chides, and Levi can feel his nose want to scrunch from disgust. Different, like you were suddenly more of a fucking chamomile fan over licorice. Different, as though things can switch back with a snap of his fingers to the way things were before.

The before times, as far as he’s concerned, are gone.

Yet the pill gets stuck at the base of his neck, refusing to fully dissolve.

“You shouldn’t have spoken to her—”

“Like I know her?” Levi mocks, cutting Erwin off before the patronizing would've, could've, should've come his way. “Sorry, Commander. I thought she was injured, not dead.”

“Levi.”

Saying his name like that makes his blood boil — he doesn't need pity or grace. He doesn't need to hear Erwin tell him that he understands where he's coming from.

He doesn't. He couldn't.

Stewing in his anger is a choice, sure, but it's sure as fuck better than the alternative.

Thank fuck the next expedition is only in forty-something hours, because all he can think about is away — away from here, away from these shitty walls.

Away from you.

“It may take a few days.”

“Or never.”

“We don’t know that.”

“You know you’ll have to tell Hange — right?”

Peering over his shoulder, he regards Erwin through his peripheral. Erwin’s allowing himself to be a version of vulnerable that years of serving in Hell together can afford the two of them: exhaustion takes over the strain in his prominent eyebrows, nose scrunched with an apology he won't — and shouldn't — offer. Levi forces an expression akin to neutrality, but he knows it's written in his eyes. By now the commander knows above everyone.

Hange's a legitimate concern but a deflection nonetheless.

When Erwin doesn’t speak, Levi does.

“Because word will get around that she’s awake—”

“I know.”

“—and the first thing they’ll do is tell her all their fucking glory day stories.” Levi’s eyes narrow. “It’s better she doesn’t know anything at all.”

That matter-of-fact statement comes as a genuine surprise to Erwin, which Levi hates more than anything.

Almost more than anything.

Erwin stares back at him, hard, assessing the layers of the captain's decision laying before him. Levi finally shifts a boot and turns to his commander, stopping in his tracks. He’s mindful of the way his fists lay at his sides, forcefully relaxed.

“You don’t wish to help in the efforts of restoring Lieutenant James’ memories?”

He knows that’s just Erwin’s way of eliciting a response from him, but it won’t work.

He’s heard everything he has to.

“No.”

A thick pause permeates through the hallway.

“And neither should any of you.”

Erwin sighs, heavy and slow, before placing his hands on his hips. “With all due respect, Captain, I don’t think you mean that.”

“And with all due respect, Commander, I think you should keep your opinions to yourself.”

Erwin says nothing for a beat.

All he does is stare ahead — into the shorter man — studying.

Levi gives him nothing to see.

Temporary memory loss, maybe, if you woke up disoriented and the accident was fuzzy. That’s what the preliminary medical report stated after they dragged your ass off the cart and into the Walls. He can recite the fucking pages by memory if commanded to do so. If you could recall certain objects, certain memories, pieces in time, then the medical stuff had no doubt they could put you back together.

Your name, though?

The fact that you can’t even tell him where you are — within the walls of Trost medical center — or why you're being questioned by the commander of the Scout Regiment spells a different kind of problem.

(Or a solution.)

“I don’t plan to give up on her so easily,” Erwin murmurs with finality.

It’s meant to be encouraging — you don't need to give up, either — but Levi can only sneer.

“Be my guest,” he chimes, “but I’m not calling it giving up.”

Erwin’s iris flickers to regard the captain with mild interest. Goddamn it.

He's found a stray thread he can pull with just one question:

“Then what could you call it?”

Levi wants nothing more than to shove his fist into that smug face. To take his growing anger out on something that can fight back. To ready the horses all on his own just to move up an expedition a day.

To go back to an hour ago when you were still a vegetable slated to never wake up.

Erwin thinks he understands what Levi is willing to give up.

He has no fucking clue.

“I’m serious about Hange.”

A switch in subject releases the balled fist at his side.

“I know. I’ll make them aware of the nature of our situation so they know to dial back.” Erwin shifts to look down the narrow hallway. “We want her to remember on her own. Telling someone who they are is not the same as discovering it for yourself.”

Exactly.

Which is why maybe, this time, you’ve gotten the sense knocked into you through some shitty case of amnesia.

“Anything else, Commander?” Levi sarcastically drips.

Erwin shakes his head. “I’ll spend more time with her and find out more from Doctor Rini. You’re dismissed.”

Levi has never turned so fast in his life.

He walks the opposite direction of the medical wing, avoiding the heat of Erwin’s gaze on the back of his neck.

I think I’d remember the name of that piece of shit.

Yeah. He thought so, too.

.

.

.

.

Within minutes of the abrupt departure of the two Scouts, you find yourself watching the taller blonde reappear in the open doorway.

Even if you tried, you couldn't look away: in a strange way you were lingering, hoping, that it wasn't the last time you saw the strange men.

You don't know why.

Quite frankly, you don't understand any of this.

Doctor Rini remains at your side, stethoscope pressed to your right shoulder blade. You hear his breath hitch and feel the circle dig into your back at the sight of the Commander, halting his vitals assessment instantly. When you finally tear your attention to the doctor, you note he isn't looking at the Commander — rather past him, like he anxiously awaits a second body to join him.

You follow his line of sight, staring beyond Erwin's arm to the emptiness of the hallway.

No one follows.

“Miss James.”

At least you have the sense to look up when he addresses you by your alleged name.

"Yes?"

“May I have a seat?” he asks, gesturing low to the chair Levi’s left at your bedside.

“I don’t think I have the authority to turn down a commander, Commander,” you answer, but there is no malice in your voice. The exhaustion of today’s surprise has already caught up to your weakened state.

"You always have a choice, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant.

He must see the way you fight your gut reaction — a grimace of unease, fingers fidgeting to self-soothe at your lap — because he adds, “If you would prefer me not to address you as such, then I won’t.”

Half-heartedly, you shrug. “Maybe we can revisit the title another time.”

“Sure.”

“And drop the ‘Miss’ please,” you decide suddenly, rubbing your nose with the side of your forearm. “Just James.”

Erwin glides across the room, offering a curt nod to Doctor Rini in passing. The doctor detaches from your back and gives the man space, mumbling something about paperwork and notes on his avoidance of this conversation.

Eventually he finds a seat, his long coat draped down the legs of the chair. It’s not a real smile, but there is a ghost of one on his lips when he speaks.

“I ought to apologize on behalf of Captain Levi.” Your eyes flicker to the door. Erwin shifts in his seat. "He won't be returning."

“You don't have to apologize for him," you respond with a short huff. "Not your fault he didn’t like my answers."

“His abrasiveness is one of his worst — and best — qualities,” Erwin commiserates. “Yet he’s one of my most trusted allies."

"Is he?"

"Yes," he answers. "Perhaps it would have been best to greet you personally on my own to assess the situation. I had anticipated this… situation to be a bit of a shock to him.”

You blink back to Erwin, brows knit. “A shock? Why?”

Keeping a trained eye on you, Erwin bypasses your curiosity. “Before he left, James, you called out to him. Do you remember what it is you said?”

You're always so quick to walk the fuck away.

Your face burns. "I didn't mean to be so flippant with my language, sir. I don't know why I said that."

"So Captain Levi's words didn't spur a memory?"

Oh.

You understand, now, why he's asking.

"It might sound crazy, sir."

"At this point, nothing will sound crazy to me." Erwin leans back into his chair, crossing one leg over another with his arms folded over his chest. "I had hoped this would go without saying, James, but no questions you may have are off limits. To the best of my ability, I will assist you in your recovery. Perhaps the more you converse, the less this world will feel foreign to you."

“That’s kind of you.” Beyond generous, really. Your right hand fidgets with the cuticles on your left hand. “...I heard his voice in my head. I think I was parroting something I could have said to him, maybe a fight."

"Hmm."

"But I don't envision it. I just heard it." Your tongue runs between the seam of your lips. "If he had stayed, then maybe more would have came to me, but I can't imagine it ends as a pleasant conversation. But I — know you?"

“You do.”

“How well?”

“Decently well, I would say.”

“And Captain Levi?”

Erwin pauses, crafting his response. Something unsettling creeps into your bone marrow. “That’s for him to disclose, not me. But yes, you know him as well.”

And he knows you. His voice echoes in your mind clear as day: a waste of time.

Even after searching high and low in the blank canvas of your mind, you retrieve nothing. 

Carefully rubbing your palm over your forehead, you breathe in and out as evenly as you can. “Was I enlisted in the military?”

“Yes.”

“With…”

Survey Corps. Scouts Regiment.

A death sentence branch. 

What on earth would ever possess you to do a stupid thing like that?

“With the Survey Corps,” you finish.

“Yes.”

“Maybe I’m ignorant, but I didn’t think captains were in the Scout Regiment.”

Erwin huffs in mild amusement. “Typically, they’re not. I gave that title to Levi long ago as something of a reminder not to squander his opportunities.” When you blink to him, the smile grows: he’s fond of Levi, for what it’s worth. “So far he’s kept up his end of the deal.”

Except that doesn’t solve the problem festering in your stomach; a realization churning with uncertainty. “And I was a Scout?”

“Yes.”

“For a long time?”

“Yes.”

“Last I remember, which I know isn’t much, but… Lieutenants don’t exist in the Scouts either, Commander.”

Erwin cocks his head, not saying anything at first.

He waits, letting you design the outline of the barely-touched puzzle of your mind together yourself.

“...so you created that, too,” you conclude, and his tiny smile widens. You talk before you think. “Not one, but two arbitrary titles in the Survey Corps, Commander? What, do you give them out like candy so the suicide seekers feel like they have a purpose?”

Maybe that’s what you were: a reckless maniac like the rest of them.

(What accident — what choice — was so drastic that it would end in this?)

“I’m sure you don’t want to hear this but at the moment, you sound like Levi.” 

Correct. You grimace, and he chuckles under his breath. 

“I thought so. It’s true, I gave it to you. However I don’t hand them out like candy, as you suggest.”

“Are there any others with titles below Section Commander in the Regiment?” He shakes his head. “So then it’s just us.”

Which means Levi is an important link between who you are now and who you were before you woke up.

Fucking great.

Everything feels cold the more you think about it.

Dark.

“Damp.”

You don’t even realize you say the word out loud until Erwin’s chair creaks from under his weight. He shifts closer, arms still crossed tight over his dress jacket.

“What was that?”

“Sorry, I said… damp,” you slowly admit. “Because I keep getting these feelings.” 

“Feelings are good,” Erwin tells you. “They could manifest into something more tangible. Speak your mind, James.”

You nod, bringing your palm to your sternum to seek the comfort of a beating heart. You have the urge to stand and hold your arm out of the medical wing window just to feel the warmth of the sunlight pouring in.

An eternal urge to never be inside when the sun is right there.

“Earlier, when Lev— when the captain asked where I came from, it wasn’t blank. It was this feeling of something so dark that it could swallow me whole. Cold, like the sun hadn’t touched it in years. Dampness played a part, and it—”

The loud gasp rips clear from your throat before you realize, but Erwin does not shift in alarm.

And it hits:

“I’m from the Underground City.”

There is no triumph in your realization.

A place where orphans go to never be found again.

A playground for the antagonists and a grave for the poor who fight to live. 

Someone from the Underground made it to the Survey Corps.

Needless to say, Erwin appears pleased. He nods wordlessly, allowing your realizations to take center stage. You scoot closer to the wall to sit taller, suddenly ignited by this discovery.

“No one from the Underground gets passage to the surface, unless…” Perhaps it’s rude to stare, but you can’t stop watching Commander Erwin study you as if fascinated by the blank slate in front of him. “Did Captain Levi grant me access? Did you?”

“Interesting that you suggest Levi before me,” Erwin muses, and you feel a twinge of a blush creep up your cheeks.

“He seems…” Angrier? Annoyed? More invested? “...like a logical option. I didn’t mean anything by the order of those questions.”

Funny.

It’s your first known lie.

Whether Erwin catches that, you don’t know, but he seems to accept the explanation either way. He gestures to the pillow propping your back to the wall and stands at full height.

“I don’t wish to push you so hard on your first day back with the living,” he says while making eye contact with Doctor Rini. “Rest, and get plenty of it. Spend some time with yourself and your surroundings and see what comes back organically. When you’re ready, Doctor Rini will show you where my office is.”

“Will you be back?” it’s the first thing you can think to ask. “Even if I’m not completely ready, I mean.” You pause, adding: “Sir.”

Erwin nods once, certain.

Then he does something that leaves you speechless for the rest of the day:

As if in slow motion, he raises a backward fist and smacks it square against his chest, rattling the emblem on his jacket — 

Saluting you.

The gesture feels much too important for someone like you. Someone who, up until an hour ago, had no idea she’d been in the military at all.

He holds it with purpose, eyes shining with dutiful honor, and you fail to reply with as much vigor.

“Welcome back, James.”

Author's Note: Happy Easter to those who celebrate! I figured I'd update on a holiday. I know that the Scouts are a little undeveloped, and there are not any technical Lieutenants, but in the translation for the AOT2 game they call Levi 'Lieutenant'. I found this out after I wrote 25K of this fic, lol, so presume that James' title is within Levi's realm.

Reblogs, comments, etc. are always appreciated and loved!

[kaftan]

need to hear more of your victoria and amy thoughts!! what do you think victoria’s *perception* of their relationship was like before she was aware of the true nature?

You’ll want to ask me again when I’ve gotten the full scoop on their backstory through worm, because there are glaring gaps in my knowledge regarding their childhood (most notably: Amy’s trigger event; I only know the bare basics from my friend), but given what I’ve already seen, I like to read their relationship as a highly exaggerated take on the classic older sibling/younger sibling dynamic, and under that lens — Victoria is the archetypal big sister.

She does as a big sister does. At her best: loving, protective, the very definition of a safe space, an avenue for connection, a source of advice and positive mentorship. At her worst: alternately overbearing or irritable and shut off, uncharitable, manipulative,* carelessly presumptuous, lacking understanding of her younger sister’s interiority.

*a word which here means “crafty and careful about getting someone to do something she wants.” Most obviously applicable to her use of Amy’s powers to bail her out of the consequences of her own actions. Not a value judgment.

But to get to your question: before Victoria becomes aware of Amy’s feelings, she views her exactly the way an archetypal older sibling views her younger sibling. For better and for worse. There’s nothing malicious about the way she patronizes Amy and assumes she knows what’s best for her, just like there’s nothing malicious about the way Amy views her as an untouchable paragon, but it creates a false image that she interacts with over her actual sister — Ames, not Amy (see: Vicky, not Victoria). She never makes it past that constructed image to the real Amy — not because she doesn’t care to, but because through it she believes she already knows all there is to know. Why wouldn’t she? She’s the big sister!

Amy’s possessiveness over Victoria draws a lot of buzz, but Victoria exhibits it to a similar degree — the reason it doesn’t raise eyebrows with her is because she expresses it normatively, within the expected framework. Of course, that framework of “normal” is exactly what blows everything to pieces, knocks over the last domino, etc. Victoria pushes past Amy’s last remaining boundary like it’s nothing — again, not to be malicious, but because she genuinely can’t imagine Amy drawing that line between them, not when a younger sibling is supposed to be hers to protect and comfort and guide. And catapults the rest of the tragedy into motion.

We’ve all heard by now about the nuclear family being the real villain of this story arc, but a special mention should be given to sibling roles in particular — the way they warp interpersonal understanding between family members by replacing the complex truth of selfhood with an attractive, simplified lie. An autonomy-robbing lie. An identity-stifling lie. In this case, a relationship-ruining lie.

On a lighthearted final note, speaking from my own experience as an older sibling: older siblings, in their immaturity, often suffer main character syndrome (with younger siblings being sidekicks). Victoria has a severe case of this pre-11h. Doesn’t help, of course, that basically everyone around her affirms this worldview. She’s Glory Girl, after all!

[ibijau]

Papa mia pt3 / On AO3

One thing Nie Huaisang had learned over the years was that things could always go worse, and did so quite frequently. 

That cursed wedding was a perfect example of that. 

By the time he'd been informed of the engagement, too many other people had known about it to quietly cancel it. Not that it would have been easy at the best of times, considering this involved sect leader Ouyang. The man was many things, but he wasn't completely stupid. Qinghe Nie wasn't what it had once been, but enough of its old glory remained for this to be an advantageous alliance, even without knowing the truth about Nie Fuyun. 

Such a good deal, in fact, that Nie Huaisang had worried the girl had been tricked… But when he'd asked her, she had defended her new fiancé. He really had been hurt, and was very apologetic about what happened. 

If Nie Fuyun hadn't been tricked by the Ouyang sect, the plot may well have come from within instead. 

Nie Huaisang had already noticed that some elders had gotten into the habit of interrupting any interaction he had with Nie Fuyun. He had assumed one of them had realised how much she looked like her father, like her uncle. It might all have been a plot to rob him of his only remaining family, and force him into a proper marriage, to get a proper heir. 

But that morning, after talking to a nervous and dejected Nie Fuyun, Nie Huaisang had attempted once again to end that ridiculous engagement, only to get lectured by several elders regarding his unhealthy obsession for a girl young enough to be his daughter. 

The fools thought he'd intended to marry her, and wanted him to pick a more appropriate bride for himself. 

Shocked by that discovery, Nie Huaisang hadn't been able to argue his case, and so the engagement still remained. Nie Fuyun would still marry a boy who couldn't deserve her, because no one in the world did. Nie Huaisang had failed her. His only family left, and he had failed to protect her, as he failed everyone. 

At least she would have a good wedding, Nie Huaisang thought, stomping his way toward the place where he hid his best wine. He had ordered the best food, the best musicians, the best entertainment. Her red robes were fit for an empress, for a goddess even, and she would wear the same veil Nie Huaisang’s mother wore at her wedding. He had also been generous with her dowry, and intended to secretly give her some extras as well, to keep hidden from her in-laws. That way she'd be able to run away if things went wrong, and she could make her way back home to Qinghe, where Nie Huaisang would protect her. 

But first, the wedding had to happen. 

Feeling quite murderous at the thought of his precious Nie Fuyun being taken from him, Nie Huaisang slammed open the doors of the armoury. Nobody ever went there, so ever since he'd been a teenager, he'd used that place to hide things from prying eyes. Wine in particular was kept there, because it was at once cool and dry, the perfect place to… 

Nie Huaisang froze mid thought.

There were people in the armoury. 

That alone would have been bad. But those people in particular had no right to be there. And yet there they were. 

The four men he least wanted to see on that day.

His daughter's fathers.

Just like him, the four men froze when the doors opened. Lan Xichen appeared to have been in the middle of pacing. Lan Wangji, standing near his brother, must have been watching him, judging by the barely noticeable concern on his face. Then, on the ground, Jiang Cheng was sitting stiffly, with Wei Wuxian next to him, holding in his hand…

“Is that my good wine?” Nie Huaisang asked, narrowing his eyes.

Wei Wuxian looked down at the jar, as if he were confused how it had arrived in his hand.

“It is wine,” Wei Wuxian conceded. “It’s pretty good stuff. And it is in your armoury. But I didn’t realise it was yours.”

“Is there any left for the wedding, or did you drink everything already?” Nie Huaisang asked, pinching his nose.

“We haven’t been here that long, so I was just getting started. I wouldn’t have drunk the whole thing anyway! I’ve got manners.”

Nie Huaisang scoffed at that.

“And how did you people get here, anyway?” he asked. “None of you are welcome… except you, Jiang zongzhu. I do remember inviting you, although I see I might have to regret it, since you took the liberty of bringing unwanted people with you.”

“I am as baffled by their presence as you are,” Jiang Cheng replied, getting up with so much dignity that Nie Huaisang could almost forget he had also been drinking his good wine. “I’ve been brought here under false pretences. I was told I was being led to a room to clean up after the trip here. Since nobody offered us drinks or food, we had to make do. Your hospitality used to be better than that, Nie zongzhu.”

“And who brought you here, exactly?”

“One of your disciples, of course,” Wei Wuxian intervened. “Asked us to wait here until you were informed we were visiting.”

Nie Huaisang narrowed his eyes at him, but Wei Wuxian radiated innocence and goodwill, the way he only did when he was particularly full of shit.

“And why are you visiting, exactly?” Nie Huaisang asked. 

“I like weddings, they're fun!” Wei Wuxian shamelessly replied. 

“I am accompanying Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji stated. 

“You invited me,” Jiang Cheng reminded him. 

Bad answers, all of them, but Nie Huaisang couldn't say any of that was out of character for them. As for the last pest in his home… 

“I happened to be in the area,” Lan Xichen said hesitantly, barely daring to look at Nie Huaisang. “I thought I would try to see you, and talk maybe.” 

Nie Huaisang opened his fan and glared at him. He did not like to see Lan Xichen shy and unsure. Even if the cause were different, it reminded him too much of certain times in their youth, that entire period where they'd danced around each other, neither daring to take the first step and act on their mutual attraction. Back then… 

Back then had been a mistake, Nie Huaisang reminded himself, tightening his grip on his fan. Back then, Lan Xichen had broken his heart, and nothing he’d done since made him worthy of pity.

“Well, it has been lovely seeing all of you,” Nie Huaisang said without warmth. “But I'm actually very busy today. I am marrying one of my disciples, you see, and that's enough of a mess. I don't want to deal with you people on top of it. So off you go, I want all of you out of my home, right now. Except you, Jiang zongzhu. You can stay, of course.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, thankfully not offended by the situation. It was too bad that Nie Huaisang wasn't sure if they'd really slept together or not. Out of all the options available, Jiang Cheng was the least worst possibility as a father for Nie Fuyun, if only because it would cause the least emotional turmoil. 

“Nie zongzhu you're so cold!” Wei Wuxian lamented as he took another sip of Nie Huaisang’s best wine. “Aren't we old friends?” 

“We were on good terms at fifteen, that's different!” Nie Huaisang retorted, striding toward him and snatching the jar of wine from his hands. Almost empty. It figured. “I know this isn't very far in time for you since you died shortly after, but please understand I'm over double that age now.” 

“So cold!” Wei Wuxian complained as he got up and tried to get back the jar. “Nie-xiong, you wound me. We were friends even after that! Don't you remember all the fun we had at that Night Hunt the Jins organised once?” 

That reminder startled Nie Huaisang so much that he dropped the jar of wine, which Wei Wuxian promptly caught before it hit the floor. 

It had to be a coincidence, Wei Wuxian mentioning that night on the day Nie Fuyun was getting married. It didn't mean… He couldn't have guessed… Did he even know Nie Fuyun existed? She was on good terms with Jin Rulan and that pair of Lan boys who were so friendly with Wei Wuxian. Had they told him about her? Had he joined the children on a Night Hunt, seen her face, heard her age, and guessed the whole truth? Had it been anyone else, Nie Huaisang would have blamed his paranoia. But Wei Wuxian had a bad habit of finding out things he shouldn't, especially regarding Nie Huaisang's personal affairs. If he knew he might tell others, and in doing so he would put her in danger. If Nie Huaisang’s enemies discovered who she was… if something happened to her…

“Out!” Nie Huaisang ordered. 

“Come on Nie-xiong, don't be like that!” Wei Wuxian whined. “Here, have a drink, it's really good stuff, and… Ah, wait, that one is empty…”

“I said out!” Nie Huaisang shouted, grabbing Wei Wuxian by the sleeve and pulling him toward the door. “Out, all of you! I Won't have you people ruining this day!” 

Perhaps Wei Wuxian noticed how truly furious he was, or perhaps this game was no longer amusing to him, but he allowed Nie Huaisang to drag him outside, and the other three followed. It should only have been a matter of kicking out all those unwanted, but…

Of course, things had to get worse.

“Nie zongzhu, I didn’t know we’d have such prestigious guests!” the world’s most annoying person exclaimed, right next to them.

Second most annoying person? Sect leader Yao was perhaps worse than that on several layers. And Wei Wuxian was somewhere in the competition as well, especially on that day.

Nie Huaisang plastered a mild smile on his face, and turned to greet sect leader Ouyang, who actually had a right to be there, much to Nie Huaisang’s chagrin. He’d given orders that Nie Fuyun’s future father-in-law be brought to him as soon as he arrived to discuss some final details regarding the wedding. 

“Ouyang zongzhu, I did not expect to see you so early,” Nie Huaisang said. “Your son isn’t with you?”

“His friends and him went to greet the bride, I think,” sect leader Ouyang distractedly replied, still watching the men behind Nie Huaisang with a mixture of awe and suspicion.

“Well, that hardly sounds appropriate,” Nie Huaisang scoffed. “He’s not married to her yet, they shouldn’t be alone together, and those other boys are just…” he paused, remembering that one of the ‘other boys’ was Jiang Cheng's beloved and much spoiled nephew, while the other two were highly thought of by the Lan clan. “Well, what happened wasn’t those boys’ fault, but they should have known better anyway.”

“Certainly, certainly,” sect leader Ouyang agreed, still not looking at Nie Huaisang. “Nie zongzhu, you didn’t tell me… is everyone here for the wedding?”

Nie Huaisang clenched his fists. Of course that would please the old fool. The leaders of the three great sects, guests at the wedding of his only son, who was marrying a beloved disciple of a former great sect! To sect leader Ouyang, this had to sound like the luckiest day in his life. To Nie Huaisang…

If he could, he would have sent everyone away, including sect leader Ouyang. But giving in to his temper would make for a bad start to Nie Fuyun's marriage, and soon she would be entirely in the power of those Ouyang people. She wasn't a girl to let herself be bullied, she was too much like Nie Mingjue for that, but Nie Huaisang didn't want her to be faced with unnecessary hardship. So what if it bruised his pride to put up with those people? His pride had suffered worse in the past, he could do this.

“Yes, they are here for the wedding,” Nie Huaisang announced with his sweetest smile. “Aren’t we lucky? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, Ouyang zongzhu! There were several scheduling issues you see, and until the last moment I couldn’t be sure they’d come, and of course I didn’t want to risk disappointing you, right? I hope you’ll forgive me!”

Without surprise, sect leader Ouyang was only too happy to swallow that obvious lie. There were people in the jianghu who were starting to notice that Nie Huaisang was no longer the helpless Headshaker they’d known for years. Sect Leader Ouyang was not of that number, and it made him far more trusting than a man in his position ought to be.

Delighted by the honour done to him and his son, sect leader Ouyang lost no time before starting to chat with Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen, as boldly as if they were old friends of his. Better them than Nie Huaisang, especially when Nie Huaisang had so much to deal with already.

Including one Wei Wuxian, whose sleeve he grabbed again, pulling him a few steps away from others for a word.

“Wei-xiong, if you ruin this wedding, I swear no sacrifice ritual can bring back your soul from where I’m going to send it,” Nie Huaisang hissed.

“You know a way to do that?” Wei Wuxian asked with a glint in his eye.

“Piss me off enough, I’d invent it,” Nie Huaisang replied. “So be on your best behaviour. And keep your husband and his damn brother out of my way, too, or you’ll take the fall for them!”

“Poor Jiang Cheng, he’d be hurt if he knew you don’t consider him a threat, you know,” Wei Wuxian miserably lamented. “I think he likes it when people are scared of him. It makes him feel loved.”

A strangled noise escaped Nie Huaisang, which was in no way him trying not to laugh.

“Jiang Cheng can be trusted,” Nie Huaisang argued, trying to sound dignified, probably failing. “The rest of you can’t. Now, stay out of my way, don’t get anywhere near the poor bride, and if you do well…”

“You’ll let me live?” Wei Wuxian suggested with a grin.

“As if I can threaten you, when your husband is right now spying on us and wouldn’t hesitate to kill me to protect you,” Nie Huaisang sighed. “But if I can’t threaten, I will bribe. If you liked that wine earlier, I can get you more…”

“Nie-xiong, you’ve always been the most fun of my friends,” Wei Wuxian laughed. “Fine, we have a deal, I’ll be on my best behaviour, and Lan Zhan too. But Lan da-ge… eh, it’s not like I can control him, can I?”

Probably not, Nie Huaisang thought. And that was a shame, because out of everyone present, Lan Xichen was the one most likely to make this wedding a truly hellish experience for Nie Huaisang.