#a brother and sister can barely find a way to reach across the divide they had n console each other

[sotc]

In the past I was expressing doubts I'd be able attach to my Hawke as much as I did my Warden. While this still remains true (blows kiss to Milana) I've come to appreciate Hawke a lot more as a protagonist, especially where familial dynamics are concerned. And with this being my second time playing the game after a decade. The Hawke family dynamic is just so, so crunchy from the get-go and compelling throughout the rest of the game. I'm gonna be real the mage/templar storyline and the Qunari stuff just does NOT do it for me as much as Hawke's interpersonal relationships does. HAWKE'S LIFE AND THEIR FAMILY IS A FUCKING TRAGEDY MAN.

[tired-biscuit]

step bro kiba…jealous step bro…😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫im gnawing on my enclosure

18+ MDNI, fem!reader // cw: stepcest, alcohol

divider credit: @/benkeibear

the most entertaining thing is that if you haven’t done anything before, he can’t even really show that he’s jealous without outing his attraction to his little sister?

but it’s kiba we’re talking about here, so of course he’s going to exhibit envy one way or another, even if it might come across as a little bit childish sometimes. so it’s all “do it yourself” and “why don’t you ask naruto to help ya out since he’s so perfect” and shoving you out of the way and out of his room and whatever the fuck, because the fact that you’re texting and possibly going out with his friend bothers him that much.

you try to go the rational route and take it that he’s upset because you’ve stolen his friend from him and are slowly forcing yourself even further into his life; even further into his friend group. and while that would be a completely plausible reason, it’s so far from the truth.

he shows you that when he comes back home completely wasted one late night. you’re awake because you’ve secretly been waiting for him to return; sitting on the couch in the living room and not really paying much attention to the TV show that’s been playing for the last hour or so.

you rush to greet him as soon as the door clicks shut like a good little sister, but rather than saying hello, you instead have to crouch down and help him untie his shoes — he’s so shit-faced that when he bends over to do so himself, he stumbles a bit and almost tips over once or twice.

you’re taken aback by the sight. it’s very, very, very rare to see kiba be this level of drunk — the last time it happened was on the day that hana, his actual sister, had gotten married. he’s a big man after all, he handles his liquor extremely well; always holding his posture straight and his movements fairly precise no matter the amount of drinks he’s consumed. but now he’s over here absolutely wasted, barely standing upright unless you help him out.

and you do help him out, of course you do, even if he doesn’t ask you to! there’s this crooked, almost infuriating half-grin sitting on his face the entire time you kneel before him and take care of his shoes for him, and he’s — much to your surprise — feeling awfully chatty all of a sudden, despite the fact that he still refused to talk to you before leaving the house just mere hours ago.

so you help him up the stairs, letting him rest most of his weight on you by draping his arm over your shoulders and by leaning into you even if you feel severely out of breath by the time you finally reach his bedroom and stumble through the door with him.

leaving the door wide open behind you, you’re thankful that your parents are out of town for the weekend because with the way he keeps on snickering and speaking in a tone of normal volume instead of a whisper, you’re sure he’d wake them up instantly.

his grin grows slightly bigger as you keep him standing and proceed to take his shirt off because you know that he sleeps without one — it’s knowledge that makes you feel kind of funny inside, being his stepsister and all that. by the time the shirt hits the floor and your fingers reach lower to unbuckle his belt so that you can help him out of his pants, he’s outright beaming with nothing short of arrogant delight as he straightens to his full height again.

truth be told, you don’t know why you continue to act so nice towards him when he’s been nothing but mean to you ever since you told him about the possibility of going out with his friend. he’s made it quite clear that he doesn’t approve of it and that he finds you responsible for the entire thing even if naruto had been the one to slide into your DMs first, not you. what’s even worse is that he simply refuses to change his mind about it and doesn’t even want to give you a chance.

and yet despite all of that, you keep being a sweetheart to your big brother because, well, he’s exactly that — your big brother. it’s the reason why you’ve somewhat expected him not to take the news all that well and for him to start acting overprotective over you and judgy over naruto. after all, it’s what a big brother does. right…?

what a big brother doesn’t do, however, is get all up into your personal space while tugging on the hem of your shirt, saying that it’s ‘your turn’ to take it off now. what he doesn’t do is smirk and laugh this quiet, rude snicker as you place your hands on his chest to lightly push him onto the bed when he gets too close for comfort. what he doesn’t do is grab you by the wrist and drag you into bed with him when you try to leave after tucking him in.

his skin is so hot that it makes you feel like you’re burning under the covers as he holds you close, too close. you’re chest to chest, his broad palm is on your back, fisting your t-shirt, and his legs are entangled with yours. he’s dressed in nothing else but his underwear and he keeps on talking nonsense; slurring on his words about something along the lines of how you shouldn’t leave him for ‘that stupid fuckin’ loser’ who wouldn’t even know how to properly take care of you, that you have everything you need right here — can’t you see that?

you don’t expect him to kiss you while he’s in the middle of telling you off, but it happens anyway. maybe it’s because you’re nose to nose, and the room is dark and the hour is late, and you’re looking at him with that innocently sweet look in your eyes that he’s always found so fucking hard to resist, but either way; it happens so out of the blue, the kiss.

does it, though…? no, not really, you suppose. you’ve both been acting quite improperly around each other for quite some time now, leaving little hints here and there and looking at each other for too long as you grow older, so it was bound to happen at one point or another. you’re just glad that it happened while the house was empty.

it’s why you let him continue… as well as for other reasons.

his lips are soft and warm against your own, just like they’ve always been whenever he’d kissed you on the cheek in the past. he pushes his tongue inside your mouth the second you let out a little gasp of surprise and you can immediately taste the liquor that laces his spit — it’s what’s to blame for why he’s kissing you in the first place.

eventually, you start to writhe against each other as things grow hotter and instinct takes over. he touches you all over and your heart is beating so fast the entire time that you feel like it’ll explode inside your chest at any given moment.

it practically starts to rattle behind your teeth by the time his hand slides into your panties. he’s so drunk that his movements are clumsy and sloppy as hell as he spreads your pussy lips apart slightly and smears your arousal all over, but you’re so thrilled by all the risk and by having his cock in your own hand, that you hardly even notice.

minutes pass, more clothes come off. before you know it, he’s somehow managed to get on top of you and is sucking on your tits and stuffing you full with his thick fingers. you’re so wet that he can barely hide his smile as his tongue circles your nipple and his teeth nip at your skin. his digits keep on sliding back in so fucking easy, causing your hole to flutter around them, and you’re whimpering and whining in response, voicing these cute little sounds that make his cock twitch.

you’re both so horny for one another that you feel like you’re going to drop dead. all these feelings that you’ve been repressing for each other are rushing to the surface now and neither of you knows how to tame them.

“see?” he keeps on saying, the drawl in his voice as prominent as ever because of the booze that’s still coursing in his system. “told ya i could handle you better, sis… doesn’t this feel so fuckin’ nice, mm?”

the jealousy makes him want to prove a point so bad — it licks his skin with white-hot fire. god, as he looks at you, breathing so hard and mewling for him like a little kitty, he wants to beat the crap out of anyone who’d try to steal you away from him. it’s just the guard dog in him. he’s as possessive as they get.

so he supports himself above you with the help of one arm so that he can look at you, and you don’t miss the way the muscle flexes with the action as his fingers dig into the pillow. don’t miss the way your big brother’s pretty brown eyes are so full of longing for you that it makes his pupils grow triple the size.

he’s looking at you like you’re his dream girl, not his sister. it’s the reason why he says,

“i can fuck you better too, if you’ll let me… c’mooon, don’t pretend like you don’t wanna sit on your big brother’s cock. it’ll be so much fun, i promise.”

[earnestly-endlessly]

*flies in like magneto* can i get some exes to lovers™?

Do I have some exes to lovers fics for you? Yes I certainly do. It seems that the cherik fandom loves some exes to lovers cherik and I don't blame anyone because this ship really calls for all the angst. I hope you enjoy this list.

Exes to Lovers AU

Bound – FuryRed

Summary: Is there anything worse than someone else’s wedding? Well, perhaps your sister’s wedding- where the groom just has to invite his boss and that man just happens to be your ex-boyfriend; a person you had an extremely passionate and tumultuous relationship with that ended badly.

Charles hadn’t seen Erik for a year by the time Raven had told him about the wedding. He wasn’t looking forward to the occasion, particularly when Raven explained that they would be celebrating the event with a two-week extravaganza at a luxury hotel, meaning that Charles would be forced to spend a whole fortnight with the man who he’d given everything to; the man who had ultimately broken his heart…

Preheat to 350 (just for you remix) – ikeracity

Summary: Charles realizes he's in love with Erik. But there's one tiny little problem: he just broke up with Erik.

Thread Through a Needle – Black_Betty

Summary: Erik and Charles are broken up. Neither of them want to be.

Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) – kianspo

Summary: While working as a model for Raven and Emma's clothing line, Erik experiences a strong attraction to his shoot partner. These things happen, except Erik has a boyfriend, who does not take this at all well.

Linger like a tattoo kiss – ikeracity

Summary: Six months apart gives Erik a lot of time to think about what he really wants.

(Erik's POV from Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) by kianspo)

Symphysis – ikeracity

Summary: After Charles and Erik broke up four months ago, Charles convinced himself he'd never see Erik again. But life has a funny way of bringing people back together.

Call/Response – phalangine

Summary: Charles and Erik have a real conversation for the first time since breaking up. Charles is looking to avoid confrontation. Erik is not.

Regression Therapy – Fantine_Black

Summary: O, God, he’d made a terrible mistake. Whatever he’d expected to find here, Erik was still Erik, a man he’d moved continents to avoid. In retrospect, that felt like a rather good idea…

Four years after Charles walked away from Professor Lehnsherr, the two meet again for a drink.

Because things are better the second time round, aren't they?

Forever is Only a Drunk Dial Away – bettysofia

Summary: Charles is sad and drunk and stalking Erik's Instagram.

Shop Space – Caradee

Summary: Charles and Erik break up but still meet at their favorite coffee shop and manage a completely friendly relationship. The kids who work the coffee shop don't understand it, Charles' overprotective twin brother doesn't understand it, and even Charles doesn't understand it. Then, Erik shows up with a new date, someone who seems to be everything that Charles is not.

How will the Professor handle the surprising heartbreak that comes seeing Erik with someone else?

Mutant House at Dead Kings College – mabyn

Summary: When it comes to romance, Charles has terrible timing.

Can You Feel My Heart – FuryRed

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr hates Charles Xavier.

It’s as true as the words written on the wall in the bathroom at the university that Erik attends. Erik sees them one day- accompanied by a crude drawing of Erik and Charles glaring at each other- and recognises the truth of the sentence, and smiles.

He hates Charles.

Probably…

Believe (One More Time) – luninosity

Summary: For the prompt, Charles and Erik dated during college and had a bitter break-up right before graduation. It's five years later and they both meet again at their class's reunion for a weekend. Someone was even stupid enough to have them room with each other for the weekend...

Old Flame Burning – TurtleTotem

Summary: It's ridiculous for Charles to dread meeting the best man at his sister's wedding, just because he shares a name with Charles's ex. It's not as though it could possibly be the same Erik.

Don’t speak to the bartender – Wild_Imagination

Summary: Logan is a bartender, it's a gloomy evening, and in his bar there's someone with a broken heart. But this is not a movie.

Right?

Somewhere I’m Going & Have Never Been Before – Yahtzee

Summary: In late December 1984, Charles falls victim to the terrible pandemic sweeping across the globe. He's sick, probably dying, and utterly alone in an isolated cabin...until he's not.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland – TurtleTotem

Summary: Charles hasn't seen Erik since their devastating breakup ten years ago. He's certainly the last person he expects to run into at a Christmas lights display.

Lean On Me – SpiritsFlame

Summary: Ten years ago, Charles and Erik split up, dividing their six kids between them. None of them expect them to meet at summer camp. And no one could have predicted the results.

It was a yellow umbrella spring – ikeracity

Summary: Three years after Charles left for Oxford, Erik discovers that Charles is coming back to New York.

Second chances are wonderful things.

My heart above my head – annejumps

Summary: Emma thinks her coworker Erik and her friend and fellow telepath Charles should get together. No one expects things to get so intense so quickly.

The Edge of What Doesn’t End – populuxe

Summary: When a mysterious object appears on the moon, Moira MacTaggert calls in two experts with very specific mutations to investigate.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, after years of breaking up and getting back together again, those two experts have finally broken up for good—and they’re the last people in the world who should be stuck together on a spaceship.

Exit Wounds – LemonadeGarden

Summary: It's been eight months since Charles and Erik had a fight that broke apart their marriage. When a mutant rights protest goes awry and Charles begins to get sick, past memories and present obstacles begin to blur the lines of their ideological differences.

Alternatively: Charles and Erik learn how to fall in love again in troubled times.

Note: Unfinished

11 Days, 8 Hours and 12 Minutes (or Bruises, Stupidity and Anger Management) – ximeria

Summary: For six months, Erik and Charles have been the disgustingly happy couple of the school. Considering their pigheadedness and general communication skills (or lack thereof), things are bound to go boom at some point.

Moon Song – ikeracity

Summary: Werewolf AU. When Charles is captured by hunters, Erik and his pack go after him. It turns out there might be some room for redemption left for both of them after all.

I will Never Stop Loving You – swoopswoop

Summary: Erik and Charles split up three years ago but Erik never really got over it and then one day when the man who walked out of his life three years ago is walking down the street towards him, Erik sees an opportunity to mend fences.

Please leave your message after the tone – ikeracity

Summary: Spending his evening getting shitfaced and pining over Erik seems like a totally productive use of Charles's time. Luckily, it turns out to be a better idea than it sounds.

When the Spell Breaks – kianspo

Summary: Erik, a high-profile lawyer with a successful career, meets a 21-year-old grad student in a bar, and within a few short months marries him. He and Charles are blissfully happy, until Erik's boss runs a background check on Charles and discovers he's been cheating on Erik. Charles denies everything, as there was no affair, but Erik doesn't believe him and throws him out. As Charles tries to figure out how to survive and stay at school that he can no longer afford and makes a lot of bad if not plain dangerous choices, Erik has to fight his own battle of discovering the truth and winning Charles back.

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven (the things you love don’t last remix) – hllfire

Summary: Charles hands Erik the signed divorce papers, but Erik has changed his mind. Too late, it seems. All he can do is go forward with the divorce.

A year later, Charles comes back, and Erik can't help but wanting to see him. The only problem is things don't go like Erik had planned.

Suddenly There’ll Be a Blizzard (Let it Snow Remix) – kianspo

Summary: Charles was never at his best while jetlagged, but locking himself out in a snowstorm while barely dressed might be a new low. The last thing he expected was to be rescued by his high school nemesis, the man he hadn't seen in over ten years, who might have broken his heart for good once upon a time.

Write this number down (you can call it anytime) – pocky_slash

Summary: When Erik upsets his children, they have a habit of running away from home--and straight to Charles' school for cookies and consolation. Charles doesn't mind the visitors, but as they appear more and more frequently, he realizes that sooner or later, he and Erik are going to have to talk about what happened on the beach and what it means for their future and the future of Erik's children.

All we do is break up (and make up) – Stuckyl0v3r

Summary: "So instead of making the most out of this next months, because you don't know where either of you is going to end up, you decided to stay away from each other to get used to the feeling?" Hank summed up, stopping in front of the class. Charles nodded his head confidently and beamed at him, but somehow his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Yes, something like that."

Well, that was the most idiotic plan Hank's ever heard.

Three wheels of cheese and a Great White – ximeria

Summary: Charles and Erik were friends with benefits in college.

They went their separate ways and 18 years later, they run into each other in New York.

The sex was never a problem back in college - and sex was all it had been. But now Erik is a divorced father and Charles has admitted to himself he needs more than just sex in a relationship. So in their usual round-about way they try to navigate becoming friends after so many years. The whole quest is aided by Raven, Edie, Wanda and Pietro (and a large number of shark jokes).

[thegreatestofheck]

Just Come Home +OBX+

anonymous requested:  Hi! Can you do. John B younger sister imagine where when he finds out their dad is lost at sea, he’s alone, and she’s at work so when she comes back from work(the wreck) she’s all like where’s dad, And he simply says dads not coming back. And it’s just a heavy weight in them, and the rest is up to you!!

word count - 1.2k warnings - mentions of death a/n - This was requested so long ago, I am so sorry I never got around to it. I’m trying to update more often, but school is keeping me busy! I know those aren’t excuses, but please be patient with me. This is so short and I’m so srry for that. I love you all so much! Stay safe, stay healthy, stay groovy, folks!

John B sat on the front porch with his head in his hands. His heart felt like stone in his chest. Barely any air passed into his lungs. Tears refused to form in his eyes, even though he felt like crying. His legs were stiff from sitting in that one chair for so long. 

He didn’t know what he was going to say to you. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how to tell you what had happened. So deep in his thoughts, John  didn’t even hear you ride up to the house. 

You saw him from a distance as you hopped off your bike. Your day had been a good one, your shift at the Wreck smooth as a sailboat and you were walking home with 50 extra dollars in your pocket. But seeing your older brother so motionless made your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. 

You didn’t even think to lean your bike up against the house, letting it fall to the ground instead, as you walked up to the porch, a scowl on your face. 

“Johnny, what’s wrong?” 

You took the stairs two at a time, dropping to your knees in front of him. John refused to look at you, keeping his head in his hands. Worry started to form in your stomach. Reaching up, you put a hand on the crook of his elbow, trying to get him to even glance in your direction. 

Still, he didn’t. 

“You’re scaring me.” 

He finally let his hands drop, but still kept his eyes downcast. He slid onto the ground in front of you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you into a tight hug. 

You had always been close with your brother. He practically raised you. But he wasn’t often physical. He liked to keep his distance in that regard, maybe to save some of his vibrato, you didn’t know. It didn’t bother you too much. 

So as his arms tightened around you, the fear that had started to pound against your ribcage only grew louder. You could barely hug him back, your eyes wide and flicking around as if searching for an answer on the porch. 

A thought hit you suddenly as your eyes landed on two empty beer bottles by the chair John had been sitting in. Your heart almost stopped in your chest. 

“Johnny, where’s dad?” 

Finally, John let out a sound. Although muffled by his hair and your sweater, you could have thought it was a sob. 

“Where’s dad?” 

John curled his fingers around your sweater. 

“I...I don’t think dad’s coming home.” 

You pulled away from him, confusion drawing lines across your forehead. His eyes were glassy, his eyelashes wet. He just looked at you and you just stared at him, lips parted ever so slightly. 

“What do you mean?” 

John pushed himself back into the chair and brushed his hair out of his face before resting his elbows against his knees. 

“Dad went out on his boat looking for the Merchant,” John B said. 

“I know. He left a week and a half ago. Didn’t say when he’d be back.” 

“He told me when he was supposed to come back.” 

The way your brother spoke, it was almost as if he was telling you a secret he knew you didn’t want to hear. On instinct, you straightened your back, moving farther away from him. If you didn’t hear what he would say next, there was no reason for you to believe it. 

“And when was that?” 

“Few days ago.” 

You turned your face away from him completely, breath catching in your throat as it swelled. You shut your eyes, willing your suddenly teary eyes to stay dry. Placing a hand on your chest, you tried to pretend that didn’t mean what you thought it meant. What John thought it meant. 

“They’ve been searching for him for three days. There’s no evidence even of his boat.” 

You stood up suddenly, shaking hands hovering over your ears. 

“y/n-” 

“Don’t,” you said, your voice starting to tremble almost as badly as your body. You weren’t even sure how long you could stand before your knees gave out underneath you. “Don’t say what I think you’re about to say.” 

You looked at him, finally letting him see the tears in your eyes. You tightened your jaw, pursed your lips. He would never lie to you. He never had before. But this time, you were begging him to. 

Just lie, John. Just lie to give me hope. 

“Dad’s not coming back.” 

You let out a strangled sob and your knees caved in. John caught you before you hit the ground. You clamped a hand over your mouth, hoping that if you could stop the sobbing before it began, you could keep yourself under control.

John tried to hold you, but you pushed him away. It wasn’t his fault, you knew that, but you needed space. You just needed to breathe. You sat on the porch couch and he returned to his seat. 

Neither of you shed a tear as a heaviness clouded around you. You tried to swallow, but your throat was raw. Even your lips ran dry. John watched you carefully as you stared at the rotting wood floor beneath you. 

A part of knew you had lost your dad to the Royal Merchant long ago, but knowing that he had given his life for it was somehow even worse. You couldn’t remember the last conversation you had with him that wasn’t about that damned ship. Maybe you should have tried harder. 

You moved your head to cover your eyes with your hand, afraid that John might finally see the tears that started to roll off your lashes. 

“What are we going to do?” you asked, your voice breaking as you let your hands fall away from your face. 

John was quiet for a moment and he let out a sigh.  

“I don’t know,” he said, barely above a whisper. You knew that if he spoke any louder, he would start crying. Slowly, he lifted an arm and draped it over your shoulders and you let him. “y/n, I don’t know.”

Your jaw was tight but with your brother’s arm around you, you finally felt the tenseness in your muscles relax. You leaned into his hug and dropped your head against his shoulder. 

“He’s really gone?” you whispered. 

“Yeah, I think so.”

You didn’t really feel like crying. You weren’t sure what you felt like doing. But you also weren’t sure it mattered. You had lost your dad a long time ago, but you always had your brother. Even when you had nothing, you had John. 

“We’re going to be okay,” he whispered to you and you nodded your head. 

You turned toward him, wrapping your arms around his waist. As tense as your relationship with your father had been, your relationship with John had never really been much better. 

Before today, you couldn’t remember the last time he had given you a proper hug. It was always ‘Don’t do that, y/n’ and ‘Stay away from JJ, y/n’ and ‘Keep out of trouble, y/n.’. With your father being out more and more often, the divide between you and John widened. He was trying to take over as father and mother and so often he was forgetting that you sometimes just needed a big brother. You didn’t expect anything else from him. 

“We’re going to be okay,” you repeated back to him. He pressed and kiss against your forehead. 

And you just sat. And it was okay. 

Everything was going to be okay. 

[rainydaymiddleearthimagines]

The Arrangement pt4

“I think we’re lost.”  “We’re not lost..” “If you give me ‘we’re misguided ‘ as a response one more time, I’m going to ‘misguide’ my foot up your arse.” You said. Aragorn pondered for a moment, debating on if he wanted to mess with you and tell you that again. “...Alright, fine, We’re lost.” He said. “Great. Give me a moment to get us back on track then.” you said, sitting down. 

Your ability to “hear and listen” to nature was stronger now. Arwen pointed that out to Aragorn the last time he found himself in Rivendell. When asked “What do you mean by stronger?” Arwen explained that when elves “listen” to nature, it is quiet and barely audible, usually requiring some form of silence to really hear. Most elves hear whispers. You, for some reason as of late, were hearing full voices. Something was making your connection to nature stronger, amplifying it. Aragorn had no idea what it was though, and that alone confused him. 

The answer was being kept from him. Two years had gone by now, since the two started traveling. One year had gone by since you came to the realization that you were in love with the man. You made a choice, one that would probably worry Aragorn if he knew. You gave up your immortality. Why this was amplifying your ability to speak to nature and listen, was odd. When elves die, they can be reborn, it’s what makes them immortal. However since you made the decision to sever such a connection, if you died, you would rejoin the earth, thus making your connection to the earth stronger. Elrond and Arwen both heavily discouraged you from your decision to do this but there was no stopping you. 

“We need to go east.” you said, getting up and walking. “Alright.” He nodded, waiting for you to take the lead. You guided him and you to the roads, finally making your way to Bree. You walked through the woods, closing your eyes and just listening. Aragorn noticed you seemed at peace, the sun shining on your beautiful skin. You were more quiet as of late. It was odd to have this sudden lack of silence during your travels. When it first started occurring, Aragorn thought he did something to make you upset. When he asked why you were so quiet, you simply told him “I have a lot on my mind. Listening to nature helps with the overthinking.” And just continued in silence. You seemed to get lost in thought more and more lately. 

It didn’t take long to make it to the Prancing Pony, a place where both of you had been so many times that the inn keeper kept a room with two beds on standby. You walked in, Barliman looking up. “Elfie!” He said excitedly. A nickname given to you by the inn keeper. At first it annoyed you, now it’s more of a endearing nickname. “Evening, Barli.” you said with a smile. Aragorn smiled at you. “The room’s already prepared.” He said to Aragorn. “Thank you.” He nodded. You handed Barliman two rabbits that you had caught and he nodded as a thank you, handing you shillings. You handed them to Aragorn seeing as you didn't find use of them, who took them with a small smile 

Aragorn and you walked into your room, you sitting by the window and fiddling with your necklace, the silver emblem having that glow. It was the only sign on you that you were royalty seeing as you never wore your circlet outside of Rivendell. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” Aragorn asked, sitting across from you. You looked at him and then out the window. “Something is going on.” you said. “What do you mean?” He asked. “I keep hearing... Orcs. The trees keep talking of Orcs.” You said looking at him. “Orcs are never a good sign.” Aragorn said. “Something is happening. I don’t know what it is but there is something happening.” You said. Aragorn noticed your worried eyes. “Y/n... Do you wish to return home now? We could make it back in the morning if we leave now.” Aragorn asked. You shook your head. “No... You need your rest, I’m sure I’m just overthinking this.” you said softly. He noticed the hidden anxieties behind your eyes but nodded slowly. “Alright.” He said.

You weren’t over thinking this. It was around two in the morning when the trees kicked into full swing of trying to alert you. 

Attack. Brothers. Danger. Rivendell.

You shifted in your sleep, immediately waking Aragorn. You were so still when you slept, the room was usually silent. This was unusual for you to be moving, even slightly. He watched you, seeing your sleeping figure, still after a little bit. 

Brothers. Danger. Attack. Rivendell.

Again, those words, but a different order. What did it mean? Nature was trying to alert you, but you didn't know why. The message became clearer as you listened.

Your brothers are in danger. Attack near Rivendell. 

You bolted up with a gasp, Aragorn leaning up. “Y/n, what’s wrong?” He asked. “The orcs are on a route to Rivendell-- my brothers are in danger.” you said, a panicked look falling over you. He got up, sliding his boots on. “We will make it.” He assured. You nodded, grabbing your pack. You ran down the stairs, Aragorn running with you as you sprinted to your horses. 

You were terrified as you rode, not saying a word outside of prayer, praying to any divine being that your family was safe. You rode through the woods, listening to the trees for context.

Sister.

Arwen was trying to communicate. “Nimeár- mime seler ni'm símen. “ You whispered, your voice traveling through the leaves as you rode. Aragorn rode next to you, watching your eyes. You would close them, clearly communing with nature as you rode. You rode quickly, trying to find one of your brothers on the outskirts of Rivendell. “ Which otorno? Where na- so?” You whispered. The direction of the breeze changed and you immediately got off your horse, sprinting in the direction. Aragorn followed, you finding no sign of your brothers. “Fucking hell-- where are they?” you said, panic rising in your voice. “HALT!” A voice yelled. “Who are-- Aragorn?” Elladan stopped. You let out a relieved sigh. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Orcs are coming, where is Elrohir?” You asked. “Here!” Elrohir said, making you turn. “We made it.” you said relieved. “We need to alert father of a potential attack.” Elrohir said. “I’m not letting you go on your own.” you said. “We can’t leave the outside unguarded, what do you suggest we do?” Elladan asked. “Aragorn stay with Elladan--" "Aragorn?" Elladan asked, recognition of the name and face suddenly hitting both of your brothers. "I’ll go with Elrohir.” You said, disregarding their amazement to the man. “Y/n--” You looked at Aragorn with a pleading look. “Stay safe.” He said. 

You ran through the woods, sprinting next to your brother. “Have a good time on your trip?” Elrohir asked as you ran. “I always do.” you muttered. You looked behind you and frowned. “They’re here!” you said. An arrow whizzed past your head. “They’re dividing and conquering.”  Elrohir noticed as small groups seemed to split up. You ran through the gates, booking it to the library. “We’re under attack.” You said. Elrond put his book down and Arwen looked up. “What?” He asked. 

He will fall.

Your head turned. “Get the soldiers. NOW!” you said before running. Elrohir rallied the soldiers as they all charged, you running as fast as you could back to Elladan and Aragorn. You fought your way through orcs to see Aragorn and Elladan fighting off the creatures. Aragorn looked over, you cutting someone down next to him. “The soldiers are doing their jobs, we should try to make it back to the city.” Elladan yelled as he cut down a orc. You nodded, trying to guide the group to safety.

An arrow whizzed through the air, hitting Aragorn in the chest, along with another hitting his leg. sound drowning out. “ARAGORN!” you screamed with a terrified look. You ran to him, blocking any attacks as he fell. You removed the arrows, looking him in the eyes. He seemed to struggle to even form words in the moment. "I-I--" he coughed. "I-I'm sorry." He muttered, his vision getting hazy. He seemed almost delirious in his words. “We need to get him home Y/n, there’s nothing we can do here!” Elladan said, you whistling loudly and Elrohir rode over. “What happened?” He asked, Elladan lifting Aragorn slightly. “It- it was-- it was an arrow, it hit him-- It’s bad Elrohir.” you said. Elrohir dismounted the horse. “Take him, we will fight here.” Elrohir said. “But--” “Go!” He said. You pulled Aragorn up, him leaning against you. 

His consciousness was fading too quickly, you riding at full speed. You rode through the  square, Aragorn muttering incoherently “Stay with me Aragorn...” you whispered as you reached the medical wing. Medics rushed and Arwen ran over. “What happened?” she asked. You seemed to be in a state of shock, shaking as the medics took him, running with him on a transportable cot. She frowned, looking at the blood on your cloak and then watching medics run all over the place. “The-the men need me-- I-I should--” “Y/n, they will be fine without you.” She said softly, putting a soothing hand on your shoulder. “His face... I can’t stop thinking of his face when he was shot.” you whispered. “Y/n...” “He looked like he had seen death.” you said softly. Arwen sat you down on a bench, kneeling in front of you. “I can’t lose him Arwen-- not when he doesn’t know..” You whimpered. “Know what dear?” she asked. “That I...” you put your face in your hands and Arwen wrapped her arms around you. "What-what I've done... What I've sacrificed..." You muttered in your hands, tears falling. "What I feel." You whimpered. Arwen pulled you to her, resting her head on yours as you sobbed.

Hours went by as the soldiers returned. There was a clear victor as your brothers both found you asleep on the bench, your cloak as a blanket with your head resting on Arwen’s lap. “How is he?” Elladan asked. “It doesn’t look good.” She whispered. “He’s been unconscious for a while, they’re not sure he’ll make it through the night.” She explained. Elrohir caressed your head, closing his eyes. “She will kill herself thinking about this...” He muttered. Arwen knew that those words could be more literal now that you gave up your immortality. She and Elrond were the only ones who knew. You were exhausted when you came with Aragorn which was already a horrible sign. Elves do not feel exhaustion. If we’re being honest, they don’t need sleep and usually use it as a tool for foresight. It was most likely that your brothers assumed you were seeking answers through sleep. Arwen knew better though. You were already hurting from a broken heart.

“How are the soldiers?” Elrond asked, walking over. “They’re fine. A few injured, none dead thanks to her warning...” Elrohir assured. “And Aragorn?” He asked Arwen. She looked at you and then Elrond. “It... Does not look good.” she said. “How long has she been like this?” Elrond asked. “Two hours.” she admitted. Elrond hated seeing you in this pain, seeing you heartbroken. “...Fenrald!” He called. An elven man ran over. “Yes sire?” He asked. “Send for Legolas.” Elrond said. The man nodded, running off. “Why Legolas?” Elladan asked. “She needs her friend.” Elrond said softly, looking at your tear stained sleeping face.

More hours passed, Legolas arriving. He found you still asleep on the bench. Arwen had left you there, knowing damn well you wouldn’t move from the closest available location to Aragorn. Legolas kneeled, tapping you gently. Your eyes slowly opened and you leaned up. “Legolas?” You asked. “Your father said you needed me.” He said. You hugged his neck and something just... It broke you. Legolas held you close, rubbing your back in a soothing manner. “I-I failed him Legolas-- If he dies I--” “Y/n, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Legolas said. “I-If I hadn’t been so persistent to-to come back, he would be fine” You whimpered. “and how many soldiers would’ve died had you not come back to warn them?” He asked. You nodded sadly, understanding he was right. “I still failed him.” you said. “No, you didn’t--” “My one job when I am with him is to keep him safe, I failed him.” You said. Legolas knew there was no fighting you on this.

“Have you eaten?” He asked. You shook your head. “Drank anything?” He asked. Again, you shook your head. “How much of a struggle are you going to put up if I move you?” Legolas asked. “A very large one.” you replied, wiping your eyes. Legolas sighed but nodded. “I’ll get us some food.” He said, walking away. You got up, noticing the open door. You walked through, seeing him. He was unconscious, his face so peaceful, his breaths barely audible. You pulled up a chair next to his bed, holding his hand. It was calloused, very rough but you didn’t mind. In fact you found comfort with it. 

“ Please Aragorn. Termáre- as me, termáre- coile. (Please Aragorn... Stay with me, stay alive)” You whispered. “ Ni pole-'t lose tye. Vamme sí.(I cannot lost you. Not now.)” You sobbed. 

Please. Stay with me.

Please.

[theaspers]

you feel like home | satan x reader

a/n: i’m too lazy to finish this but i got lazy towards the end so here, you can have it. college au so everyone’s human here but u will find i rarely ever write satan’s name and that’s only bc it’s so weird to write it and think about how in this au a set of parents thought naming their child satan is ok lol. this will be the only time u see me use a post divider bc it’s that messy.

here is how it usually is:

satan wakes up with a start. his breathing is heavy, every gasp sounding terribly like it might be his last, and his eyes are wild. this isn’t fear because he is not afraid. he is never afraid. rather, it is anger. anger at himself, at his brothers, at anyone and everyone who has ever wronged him before. fiery red and burnt orange, anger in all possible forms and shapes and sizes, rolling off of him in waves.

there is not many places in which he finds respite from the barrage of emotions he constantly feels. but when you wake up, bleary-eyed and groggy, and say nothing, waiting with the utmost patience for him to return. when you wrap an arm around his shoulders, careful and cautious. when you tug him down and hum a little tune under your breath that lulls him back to sleep. it’s as close to one as he’ll ever get, he thinks.

for a fleeting second, he thinks about telling you of his feelings. vomit it all out so he doesn’t have to sit any longer with the uncomfortable feelings that’s been bubbling at the pit of his stomach for far too long. but your fingers are too gentle as they press against his still-pounding heart, and your eyes are too tender as they meet his own. there’s an unusually bright beam of moonlight spilling across your features from the gap between the curtains and it makes you look as dazzling as ever. it wouldn’t be right to ruin such a beautiful moment, he thinks, to ruin such a beautiful person with all of whatever he is. so he doesn’t.

repeat and recycle.

you are kind. with him, you’ve managed to practice this weird balance of confident indifference and empathy that just works for him. it’s never been like that before. not when he’d lost his parents but had felt relieved instead of the expected grief. not when his sister had died and had taken along with her a good portion of everyone’s soul. not when he’d finally just upped and left because the tension in the house was getting too much for him to bear.

he has no parents, he told you once, a long time ago. a green haze of disgust had curled around him and eyes steaming, rolling and boiling. the grip he had on the stack of papers he’d been flicking through caused ripples across the filled pages. you know this fact, clever enough to have gathered as much from how much he soured whenever parents were mentioned, but he had never outright admitted it.

“you’re ruining my notes,” you’d said to him instead of the pity he is all too familiar with. there had been a deep furrow between your eyebrows, displeasure in your frown, “i worked extremely hard on that.”

it had been relief, looking back now, that had filled him up to the brim. his heart had felt full, but not in the bad way - always in the good way with you - and he’d felt unburdened for once. he looked at you then, eyebrows raised. where he thought there would be anger, there was only amusement. he’d only known you for a handful of months but somehow he’d expected as much from you. and it’s comfortable.

“the world’s full of awful, terrible people who shouldn’t be parents,” you’d pointed at him with an opened highlighter pen, waving the neon tip in his direction, “doesn’t mean you’re awful or terrible too.”

huh.

“and it certainly doesn’t mean i want to spend my whole afternoon talking about them,” your frown turned into a scowl as you reached over the tabletop filled with textbooks and worn notebooks and loose papers, “give those here if you’re not gonna treat them right.”

light laughter spilled out of his lips as he pulled the notes away. you were kind. too kind. looking back, that must have been the start of it all.

you’re curled up in a hoodie, crumpled up on the sofa in a way he’s sure is not good at all for your posture but he’s long given up trying to chastise you over it. face smooshed against the arm of the chair, a textbook draped open over your chest in a way that makes him wince, you looked positively ridiculous. ignoring the pang of fondness, he nudges you with his knee.

“come on,” he says, closing the textbook and putting it aside, “let’s get you to bed.”

you groan but are otherwise easily coaxed into bed, curling into his side as he lead you to your room. the fondness magnifies immensely. that you’d spent the better half of yesterday revisiting old topics and making notes which is why you’re so tired right now is somehow endearing to him. he brushes his lips against your forehead as he watches you settle into bed. if he spends a bit more time lingering at the door, no one would know.

he doesn’t want to say it’s because of you but you did play a big part in it. he talks more to his brothers now and it’s, well, good. it’s the distance and the fresh air too, maybe.

he doesn’t have parents but he does have 6 brothers, he’d admitted one quiet night. the two of you had been lying on your backs, the clear night sky spread out over your figures, gorgeous swirls of different shades of blacks and dark blues with specks of bright diamond jewels. 6 brothers and a sister who had passed and had taken a piece of all of them with her.

“oh.” you’d said but you already knew about his brothers because he’d told you. not so much in stories, of course, but through bits and pieces he’d mentioned here and there. beel likes that snack, he would tell you and so you’d tell him to send some to him. asmo’s been talking to him about a brand new make up collection that’ll be released soon and so you’d tell him that you’ll keep an eye out. but the thing about his sister - that’s new.

the hurt is still there even though it’s been a long time now. raw pain as if his chest is dangerously exposed and someone’s gone ahead and ripped his still-beating heart out of him. he has yet to find that heart, it seems. it still hurts but ever since he’d left, he’s been able to breathe a bit better. see past the green and grey cloud that hovered over him and his brothers when he’d been at home.

“that one’s orion,” you’d murmured, and he knows it’s just you trying to digest his words, trying to figure out a good response, “people use that one to find other stars too, did you know that?”

he did, in fact. but still, he’d watched, quiet as you pointed out a few others. your eyes are wonder-filled, the twinkle brighter than anything else in the sky, and it had left him breathless. the tightness around his throat had loosened. southeastward and there is sirius, you’d said, in awe and in love. from rigel to betelgeuse, there is gemini - the stars castor and pollux.

“it must be stuffy to be immortalised like that, huh?” you’d turned him then, meeting his eyes, smile gentle, “always expected to be same. unchanging. must be suffocating.”

a stray chuckle leaves him, weak.

“just let it happen,” you told him afterwards and he’d wanted to laugh even more because it shouldn’t be that easy to absolve him of everything he’s been feeling but it had been. “all i’m saying is that you don’t need to feel guilty anymore.”

“talk to them,” you suggested, no hesitation, letting him lean against you, “they lost a sister too, you know?”

there’s a lecture that he has to attend in about an hour but you’re still snoring away on your side of his bed and it’s so tempting to join you in sweet slumber. you don’t have classes until later on so you’re good but he’ll be late if he dallies for any longer.

but he can’t seem to pull himself away from you. so he takes this in, the absolute mess in the morning. listens to your steady breathing. savours the moment and keeps it close. a beautiful solace that he’ll allow himself for when he needs the reprieve.

“ha,” there’s a smug curl to your lips, eyelids fluttering open as if knowing that he’d been starting, “nerd. go to class.”

he rolls his eyes. he could always count on you to ruin a tender moment.

“you should get one for lucifer,” the words barely leave your mouth before you’re laughing, from a tiny little snicker to full blown laughter, “for- for cerberus.”

the hand that’s holding out your phone for him to see the page full of ugly little suit for dogs shakes wildly. he scowls at the mention of his eldest brother and you laugh even more, setting down your utensils in favour of rubbing the tears that have sprung up in the corner of your eyes from laughing too hard.

“are you going back for the break?” you ask once you’ve calmed down, reaching over to pull his plate of pie closer to yourself. you pick up your fork once more, digging into the soft pastry.

he curls his nose at the prospect of going back home, “unfortunately.”

“unfortunately,” you parrot playfully, rolling your eyes. “yeah, okay.” 

“it’s been a long time coming anyways,” you grin around the mouthful of pie, “they miss you, i think. and don’t tell me you don’t miss them too.”

he sighs, shakes his head as he tugs his plate back over to his side. he knew he shouldn’t have given asmo your phone number. he would never attest to the happiness that blooms in chest. no one would be able to prove it, anyways.

here’s how it is now:

he reels you into a hug as he’s about to leave for back home. he feels as light as a feather, and he has to admit, he’s a bit...excited. when the two of you break apart, he says thank you and gives you an earnest smile. he has to suppress his laughter when feels the way you shudder in his arms.

something’s changing. and change is, well, good. in most cases. and this is one of those cases. it’s good. he’s not afraid, he tells you, he’s never afraid. there is no fear. no anger. just adoration and fondness. for you.

and so he decides in that moment - when he gets back, he’ll let you know.

[fangirlshrewt97]

The Old Guard Fanfic - 5,472,730,538 Possibilities

Author(s): Fangirlshrewt97

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)

Pairing: Joe/Nicky, Nicky & Nile

Characters: Nile Freeman, Nicolo di Genova, Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Andromache of Scythia 

Rating: General 

Warnings: None 

Additional Tags:  Team as Family, Family Bonding, Brother-Sister Relationships, Fluff, Basically Nile is missing home, And Nicky is a cinnamon roll who finds a way to lessen the ache, and they find a new thing to bond over that does not involve blood, Sudoku

Summary: 

He reached for his pocket and pulled out a pen, tossing it to Nile. “Why not do it now?” “It doesn’t- It’s not the same.” Nile argued, biting her lip. “But you want to do it no? So do it.” Nicky said, gesturing to the paper. Was it really so easy? She put the pen to the paper but stopped. “Yeah no, it feels weird to do it alone.” Nicky hummed, sitting back up in his chair, leaning on his elbows in the table. “I’ll do it with you then.”

Basically, Nile comes across something that makes her think of home, Nicky sees this, and tries his best to help her not feel as lonely. And is also a little bit of a shit about it.

Link to A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25553461

                                                     ///

They were in Malaysia, having finished an easy takedown of a small ring of human traffickers. They were due to fly out that night, so Nicky and Nile had been charged with buying the necessary supplies while Joe handled clean up at the scene, and Andy ensured the children would find good homes.

They had stopped at a bakery inside of a mall, Nicky insisting that they had some choice sweets that Andy loved. So Nile had been waiting outside the store while Nicky went to make his purchases when the small bookstore window display across the bakery caught her eye. Biting her lip, she peered to see Nicky was still busy perusing the wares, so she hefted her bags and made her way into the bookstore.

It was a small shop, barely large enough for four people at a time. There was a small kid looking at some comics and a bored cashier scrolling through his phone. Setting her bags down, Nile reached to grab what had caught her eye.

“What is that?” Nicky asked suddenly, startling Nile into dropping the book.

“Shit. Sorry.” Nile mumbled in the direction of the annoyed looking cashier. When she turned, she saw Nicky holding the book.

“101 Sudoku puzzles?” Nicky asked, brows furrowed.

Nile was thankful her skin color meant he couldn’t notice the embarrassed flush overtaking her.

“It is stupid!” Nile said as she snatched the book and put it back on the display, wincing as she realized it would have been more believable if she hadn’t acted like she had something to hide. Nicky had a raised eyebrow, clearly not buying her lie.

Nile sighed. “Seriously, Nicky. It is nothing, can we go? Are you done looking at the bread?”

Nicky gave her a once over, but thankfully let it go, holding up a bag that honestly smelled incredible. Feeling her stomach clench in hunger, she nodded.

“Cool. Let’s go!” Nile said, leading them out of the bookshop into the sweltering Malaysian sun. She definitely did not run. She just… walked fast.

She forgot the incident soon after, Copley sent them on another mission hours after they reached their next safe house, sending them all the way to Brazil, where they had to take down a drug ring and free a brothel filled with women who were being forced to pay back their debts with their bodies.

She was reminded of the incident when something was placed next to her head where it was currently resting on a table’s edge at their São Paulo safe house. It was a small apartment, two bedroom and bathrooms, but it fit their needs. Andy was currently on the phone with Copley, and Joe had gone into the kitchen to make dinner.

When she looked up, she saw a newspaper, and Nicky’s hand covering part of the page. At her questioning look, he just smiled and moved his hand.

Sitting back slowly, she looked at the Sudoku in the newspaper. She raised her own eyebrows at Nicky. The man just smiled wider and sat down. “This is what you were looking at in the bookshop. In Malaysia. A book about these.”

“Um… yeah.” Nile said, surprised the man had remembered. But then again, Nicky seemed to remember everything when it came to stuff that caused his family to have any kind of reaction.

“What about it?” Nicky asked.

“What?”

“Your eyes, they became a little sad when you saw it. What about them makes you sad?” Nicky prodded gently. And Nile couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed at this man who was trying to hard.

She sighed. “It’s nothing.”

“If it was nothing, it wouldn’t make you sigh.”

And that was the thing wasn’t it. “It’s just. Jamal, my brother? We used to play with these.”

Nicky’s brows furrowed in confusion. For a 1000-year old man, he was remarkably expressive at times. “Play these?”

Nile hummed. She picked up the paper, and ran her fingers lightly on the puzzle. “After school, we would take the paper, copy out the puzzle into a notebook and then we would start the clock, seeing who could solve it faster.”

Nile felt a smile start to form on her own face at the thought. She had missed doing these, missed doing them with her brother. Her smile faded when she realized she’d never get to do their Sudoku races together again. Nile placed the paper back down.

When she looked up, Nicky was looking at her intensely. “What?”

Giving a big exhale, he leaned back in his own chair. He reached for his pocket and pulled out a pen, tossing it to Nile. “Why not do it now?”

“It doesn’t- It’s not the same.” Nile argued, biting her lip.

“But you want to do it no? So do it.” Nicky said, gesturing to the paper.

Was it really so easy? She put the pen to the paper but stopped. “Yeah no, it feels weird to do it alone.”

Nicky hummed, sitting back up in his chair, leaning on his elbows in the table. “I’ll do it with you then.”

Nile blinked, but twisted her mouth into a wry grin. “Sure. Ok, here is how you do it. You see how this divided into 9 boxes? The objective of the game is to fill all the boxes in such a way that each box, row, and column has 1 through 9 written on them, with no repeating in them. Like here for example,” she showed one box, “see these four 3’s? That means a 3 can only come here, because it is the only box where it won’t overlap. Got it?”

Nicky hummed concomitantly, his eyes amused. “Yes.”

“Alright, let’s do it then.” Nile said. She shifted her chair so she was next to Nicky, and the pair of them leaned over the puzzle to do it together, Nicky pointing out a few numbers as Nile finished it.

“That was fun.” Nicky said when they completed it. “We should do this again.”

And to Nile’s surprise, she found herself in agreement. She felt a pang of sadness at not doing it with Nicky, but it was still fun. “Yes we should.”

They got another job the next day and were whizzing off again, this time to South Africa. Their safe house in Cape Town was a beach front apartment, bought by Andy back in the 80’s. It was an old building, quiet and creaking, but served its purpose.

Andy was on cooking duty this time, and Nile was given first turn with the shower, when Joe and Nicky returned from their shopping trip for new clothes. Nile did not think she had ever bought this many clothes so quickly in her life, but honestly, she had also not had a habit of constantly getting shot and covering them in blood and bullet holes.

By the time Nile came out, Joe was sitting in front of the TV, flipping channels, probably trying to find a soccer match. Andy had a plate of food and was sitting beside him, more focused on her dinner than the match. When Nicky spotted Nile, he made a happy noise and gestured for her to join him at the dining table.

“I saw these on our way back, and thought that if you did not mind, we could continue that tradition you told me about?” he asked, eyes betraying his excitement, even as his voice remained steady.

“Tradition?” Nile asked.

Nicky nodded and reached for a small brown bag she hadn’t noticed. He pulled out two identical books and a packet of pens, and slid one of each to Nile. Nile bit her lip at the time. 400 Sudoku Puzzles.

“Nicky…” Nile whispered, even as she clutched the book in a white-knuckled grip.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to Nile.” Nicky assured her when he saw her tear up, worry coloring his expression.

And oh, Nile could not stand to see that concern when all this man had tried to do was give her a piece of home back to her.

“No. Thank you. I had fun last time.” she said, giving him a watery smile. He responded in kind. “Are you sure about races though?”

His eyes took on a wicked glint. “Absolutely. It is tradition no?”

Nile chuckled. “Yes.”

“Joe!” Nicky called out, and Joe turned to see him, getting up to come to them when Nicky beckoned. He pressed a quick kiss to Nicky’s hair when he was within reach. “I need you to time us.”

“Time you?”

“Nicky and I are going to complete Sudoku’s and we are going to see who can finish faster.”

For some reason that made Joe bark a laugh. “You and Nicky?”

Nile frowned. “Yes? Why, you have a problem?”

“No, no, dearest Nile, I would be honored to keep time.” he said as he continued to wear a wide grin, pulling up his phone.

Nile squinted at him before turning to Nicky. “Should we just do the first puzzle?”

“Seems logical.” Nicky said as he flipped to the appropriate page.

Both of them uncapped their pens and got ready before glancing at Joe. Andy had turned around in the sofa, watching the two of them instead of the TV.

“Are you ready?” Joe asked, and their nods, “1, 2, 3, GO!”

Nile focused on the puzzle, going by each square methodically, crossing off the possibilities mentally in her head. It was an easy puzzle, so she did not have to write down all the potential numbers. And yet, she was startled when Nicky slammed his book down with a “Done!” when she was only halfway through hers

“Wait what?” Nile asked, reaching to grab the older man’s book while Joe leaned back in his chair, laughing.

“1 minute 15 seconds Nicky! Good job!”

Nile gaped as she looked at the puzzled solved perfectly. She placed the book down and glared at the Italian man, who now at least had the wherewithal to look sheepish. “Explain.”

It wasn’t quite a growl but close enough.

Nicky blushed, and Joe answered for him. “Nile, uhkt sageera, Nicky and I have lived for a thousand years now. Not to mention that Nicky has been doing the New York Times crossword puzzle since it was first published, in what? 1940? 1945? He tended to do the other puzzles too. I believe the first Sudoku puzzle was in the UK? I remember him being excited about it.”

Nile stared at him, jaw open while Andy started to cackle in the background. She spun in her seat, half furious, half indignant. “You cheater!”

Nicky put up both hands in surrender. “I didn’t exactly cheat Nile!”

“I thought you had never done Sudokus before! I thought you were humoring me!”

“Well-”

“Oh my god, I explained how to solve a Sudoku to you in São Paulo, why didn’t you say anything?”

“You seemed very passionate…”

“Nicky…” she growled only to sit back heavily in her chair, definitely not pouting, no matter how fond Joe looked at her.

Nicky’s own sheepish look was slowly transforming into a playful grin and she rolled her eyes in exasperation before laughing. “Alright, fine, this was on me.”

“I had a lot of fun Nile. I would enjoy doing this again.”

Nile groaned, tilting her head back and covering her face, exaggerating the dramatics because it drew more laughs from her family, and she was coming to treasure these laughs as much as those of her mother and brother.

She sat back when the laughter died down, taking the Sudoku book in hand. “I would like that too Nicky. Guess there is another aspect of the tradition we are going to be repeating too now though.”

When Nicky looked at her confused, her wry look transformed into a fond grin. “I am fated to always lose at Sudoku races to my big brother apparently.”

“Nile…” Nicky breathed her voice as though it was something delicate. Precious. And then he got up and came around the table to pull her into a hug she returned with all her strength. “Non riesco a immaginare un onore più grande dell'essere tuo fratello, sorellina.”

Even if she didn’t understand the words, she understood the meaning, and a small part of the hole created by her family was filled in.

“I love you too, Nicky.”

And she did, this man who was willing to die for her, to kill to protect her.

Even if it meant an eternity losing Sudoku races to him.

[cuculine-nelipot]

Wish We Could

Chapter One: Loved You First

{ Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Summary: After the Battle of Howgarts, Hermione and Ron start dating; their slow-burn friends to lovers arc complete. He’s nice, and she’s comfortable, and everyone is happy for them. Everyone but Fred, who can’t stop thinking that he loved her first, and Hermione, who begins to wonder if they really are as over as she thought they were. }

2nd May 1998, The Battle at Hogwarts

Hermione Jean Granger was far from perfect. No one knew that better than she did. But she was careful, and she didn’t break things she couldn’t fix, or at least she didn’t used to. So you can imagine the devastation she felt when she kissed Ron, when he kissed her back, and the years of bickering, and flirting with flirting ended in that one, cataclysmic moment. She saw Fred watching, she saw the break; the life she then realised she wanted more than anything broke to pieces right there in his startlingly green eyes. She heard Harry yell something at them, Ron peeled away, laughing, and Fred was gone. The show went on, as it had to, as it must, because  if there is one thing Hermione had learnt in her life, it’s that there is no such thing as a person, only players, and there is no free will, only the cruel pen of fate, and Hermione was its unwitting almost-heroine.

22nd August 1998, Morning

So maybe things aren’t so bad. Ron is sweet, or he is trying to be. Ron calls precisely when he says he will. Ron comes to dinner with her parents. Ron tries his hardest to at least look like he is following their dentist-talk. Ron’s kisses are soft, though they tend to be more mushy than gentle. Ron smells like strawberry shampoo. Ron is learning everything he can about cricket, and Chelsea F.C, and Ron is memorising her favourites of everything. Ron is a practiced mummy’s boy, and hers simply adores him. And Ron is her friend, has been since First Year. Together they have fought trolls and rode dragons. They almost died together more times than she cares to count. Theirs is the story you couldn’t write, a romance blown to epic proportions, this love is sweeter than fiction, — right? So why is she so nervous?

Ron arrives at 0930 sharp, dressed in respectable dark grey trousers and a blood red jumper. He kisses Hermione on the cheek, hugs Mrs. Granger, and shares a firm handshake with Mr. Granger. He hands Hermione a bouquet of garden roses because, she supposes, they look enough like peonies. On observing that his white shirt collar is crumpled and half tucked in, she compulsively reaches out and straightens it. He blushes, and from the corner of her eye she sees her mother purse her lips as though trying not to smile, a gleam in her eye as she witnesses this small act of intimacy. Hermione drops her hand, wishing she could take it back.

The again restored powder blue Ford Anglia idles in the driveway. Mr. Granger makes a remark about car batteries, and Ron agrees, saying nothing of the vehicle’s extra-ordinary traits. He holds the door open for Mrs Granger and Hermione. You look beautiful today, he says as the latter slides past him. This is the first time her parents are visiting The Burrow, so she thought they would be more comfortable undertaking the journey the muggle way. Her parents, quite understandably, have become just the slightest bit skittish around magic since learning of their daughter’s escapades, starting from aged 12 to seven months ago, including the fact that she had erased their memories and sent them to Australia for the better part of a year. This had the unforeseen and rather unfortunate side-effect of inspiring in them a strong desire to become more involved in the social aspects of her ‘other life’, as they had come to think of it. When Ron showed up one day, shortly after she gave them back their memories, and re-introduced himself as her boyfriend, this day became inevitable. And so, they are on their way Ottery St. Catchpole to visit the Weasleys.

The conversation flows well enough, Ron proves surprisingly adept at keeping the usually rather withdrawn Mr. and Mrs. Granger talking about their work, and sports. Her parents, eager to make up for lost time, and to know everything about their daughter’s apparent suitor, ask him lots of questions about the upcoming school year, and the adventures of their past, though there is a significant portion they skirt around (the time she was petrified for instance). Ron knows when to listen and when to ask the right questions. Ron knows which stories to tell. Ron keeps them laughing enough that they don’t notice the ride to Devon is going much faster than the laws of physics allowed. And Hermione looks out the window, and says nothing. It is a scenic drive to the West Country. All rolling fields and blue skies. The sun, a pale gold, trips lightly through a barely there mist, and everything shimmers.

“Is everything okay?” Her mother asks, nudging her with her elbow. Hermione half turns to look at her and nods, saying nothing of the cold dampness rolling through her stomach.

19th  June 1996

It didn’t come out of nowhere, their first kiss, though it would have looked that way to anyone watching. Maybe it wasn’t the best timing — okay it was terrible timing — but time suddenly seemed to be in short supply. After all, she had just almost died again — Hermione, and everyone else who had been at the Department of Mysteries the night before. It must have been afternoon but it was impossible to tell with the curtains drawn, shading the ward an artificial dusk. Everyone was sound asleep except her, and Sirius, who was in another room going mad from his glimpse beyond the veil. Hermione was reading a book. She could always find one.

Fred walked in alone. She remembered thinking that was weird, but when he pressed his lips to hers, it became apparent why. “What are you doing here?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Well in case you missed it, my brother, my sister, and my friends all just almost died. I got here is soon as I could.” He skips over the words with characteristic lightness, but there’s a gravity in his aspect she had never seen before.

“Well in that case you’re late,” she teases, her tired face jerking in the vague likeness of a smile.

“It’s just gone past seven in the morning,” he frowns, and brushes the hair from her cheek, “what time did you think it was?”

“Afternoon,” she sighed, leaning back into the pillows. “So I only slept for a few minutes then.”

“I’ll ask a nurse to get you more Sleeping Draught.” He turned to go but she grabbed his wrist to stop him. It seemed too intimate, but she liked it, and judging the grin that flitted across his face, so did he.

“Don’t. They’re busy.”

“You need to sleep. You’re a patient too.” He leaned down, gently kissed her on the forehead, and swept her hair back. “I’ll be right back.”

22nd August 1998, Afternoon

Hermione had hoped that she would have to act as mediator between her parents and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and that she would therefore be much too preoccupied to worry about how uniquely uncomfortable the circumstances are. But she had no such luck. Not only was Fred everywhere, but her parents and the Weasleys got along famously. Ron had apparently  well-advised his father on the appropriate number of muggle-specific questions to ask in an hour (one), and their mothers shared a passion for gardening. Already there was talk of exchanging various herb seedlings. She should be relieved, happy even, and it occurs to her that under different circumstances she would have been.

The rest of the gang had peeled away shortly after lunch in search of something more entertaining, leaving her and Ron alone with the parents. Hermione politely excuses herself from the table.

“And where do you think you’re sneaking off to Granger?” This particular red-haired boy  that she almost slams into is missing an ear.

“George!” The smile that creeps across her face is nothing short of ebullient. Perhaps even more so than his twin, George Weasley could put near anyone in a good humour. “I wasn’t sneaking off anywhere. I just… needed to use the loo.”

“Pity. We were just about to throw the Quaffle around. Could do with a sixth. I was meant to get Percy but I’m sure everyone would much prefer you.”

“Everyone?” She asks skeptically. George was, of course, the only one who knew about the car crash that had been hers and Fred’s… whatever it was.

“Everyone,” he insists.

It’s cold for August, the sky is clear and the sun is still shining in that enchanted way.  If there was a such a thing as perfect Quidditch weather, even Hermione would have had to admit that this was it. Harry has his arms wrapped around Ginny, saying something in her ear that makes them both laugh. Fred and Charlie talk a few feet away, watching them with equally perplexed and somewhat revolted expressions.

“If I saw Ron doing that I might just puke,” she hears Fred say. She could have heard him say anything and smile, but that particular remark makes something spark in her heart that she fights hard to stifle. “Oh, Hermione!” His pond-weed green eyes widen comically when he catches sight of her, the skin of his cheekbones turning pink. “Hi Hermione, hey!” He shifts his weight uncomfortably and looks away.

“Fred,” she says, cool as ever. “Hey Charlie!”

“I’m sorry, Hermione was it?” He asks with a teasing glance at Fred. “It’s good to see you again,” he adds, and gives her a brawny hug. She hadn’t actually managed to properly say hi to anyone earlier, there was so much excitement about Ron and Hermione, and The Meeting of the Parents. Harry and Ginny tear themselves apart and come over, and more hugs are shared. The divide themselves into teams of three, and for the first time in a while everything feels almost normal.

While she is by far the weakest player between the six of them, one simply could not spend years around Quidditch buffs without picking up a few things and Hermione, a true perfectionist, was now more than capable of sort of holding her own. And besides, Ginny was the only one present who actually played as a Chaser; George and Fred are more suited to whacking than passing, and Charlie and Harry, like most Seekers, are terrible at paying attention to other people. After a far too lengthy debate it was decided that the most balanced configuration was Hermione, George, and Harry against Ginny, Charlie, and Fred. Things get off to a slow start; it was nearly impossible to get Harry and Ginny to stop flirting and actually play the damned game. But once George slips past Charlie and scores an easy goal, it’s game on. He and Harry score five more between them in quick succession. Ginny, not one to take losing lightly, especially not to her Seeker boyfriend, ‘accidentally’ sends the Quaffle flying at Harry’s head, causing it to ricochet straight into Fred’s hands, and he makes fast work of scoring. They equalise soon after.

The game quickly degenerates into anarchy. Ginny bites George’s arm to keep him from scoring. Hermione flies up behind Harry and covers his eyes as he tries to make a pass. At some point, Charlie takes a shot and both George and Hermione dive to save it, ramming into each other head first. Hermione, much smaller, and the weaker flyer, falls off and George lunges to grab her arm but misses, so she’s free falling. Everyone swoops in to catch her but Fred gets there first. She slams into his outstretched arms, and his broom jerks down, threatening to send them both tumbling to the ground but he manages a semi-controlled landing and they both stumble onto the grass, winded and half in shock, but otherwise okay. Bending over with their hands on their knees, they catch their breaths while the others land one by one. Their eyes meet, and they experience a fleeting, shinning moment of absolute clarity.

“Well I suppose it’s been a good few months since someone’s almost died,” Ginny quips. All faces turn to her, stunned, speechless. She shrugs and makes a face as if to say am I wrong? And just like that the tension dissolves into hysterics, and they’re laughing — side-stitch, red-face, on the floor laughing harder than any of them have in longer than they can remember.

“Sorry,” George manages between gasps for air. “I’m really sorry.”

“You better be careful Georgie,” Fred says with a pointed, peevish sideways glance in Hermione’s direction, “wouldn’t want to incur the wrath of ickle Ronnikins now would we?” In that moment she swears she could deck him, and she’s sure he only said it because he knows she can’t.

“What’s going on here?” The voice cuts through the hilarity like an ice pick.

“Nothing dad!” Hermione trills defensively “We were just messing around.”

“Well no one invited me,” Ron groans at what he thinks is a discrete volume, but earns their party a withering look from Mrs. Weasley anyway.

“Sorry Ron,” Charlie offers diplomatically, “but we had an even six and if you joined then we would have had to ask Percy to play too —”

“— I heard that!” Comes the disembodied screech from inside.

“— which we of course would have thoroughly enjoyed but he’s just so hard at work helping to rebuild the wizarding world in these trying times.” Charlie works very hard at keeping a straight face while the rest of them burst into laughter again. He may have been laying it on a bit thick, but it works well enough to put an end to the subject, and they all go inside for tea. Fred shoots Hermione another peevish grin, and this time it’s undeniable; she wants to kiss him as much as she wants to absolutely eviscerate him.

Evening

No, Fred Weasley does not know what he’s doing. He just know it’s a bad idea, and that he can’t stop himself. He can’t stop his heart working double-time whenever he catches sight of Hermione. He can’t stop watching his younger brother talking to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, and thinking that it should be him. He couldn’t stop the rush he felt when he had Hermione in his arms, and he can’t stop wishing that he hadn’t had to let go. He couldn’t stop the hope that sparked in his chest when they landed and she looked at him that way, and he can’t stop it happening again every time he replays the moment in his head. He also cannot stop replying the moment in his head.

He can’t stop looking at her. He couldn’t stop himself from sitting across from her at dinner. He can’t stop himself brushing her fingers when she passes him the butter, and the salt, and the pepper and the peas. He can’t stop looking at how her skin glows bronze, and her dark hair flecks golden red in the warm, floating-candle light. He can’t stop thinking how he loved her first. He can’t stop any of it.

“You’re playing a dangerous game here,” Charlie says low into his ear, after the third time he asks Hermione to please pass the plate of Yorkshire puddings.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“She’s dating our brother.”

“I know that.”

“So what are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything” he snaps, struggling to keep an even keel. Charlie leans back with a satisfied smirk and says no more on the subject for the rest of dinner, but he does yelp when Fred spills hot soup onto his lap.

20th June 1996

Already Hogwarts felt like something from another age. Was it just months ago George and Fred turned the fifth floor corridor into a swamp and flew off into the sunset, hanging up their blue and and bronze ties with so much flair and theatricality? It didn’t seem possible. Held up in the early morning’s grey light, against the dense mist rolling over the glassy, black lake, that moment seems somewhat lurid now. So Voldermort was back. They already knew that, and now everyone else did too.

“Are we going to talk about yesterday?” Hermione asks, her voice splintering the thin silence. The question catches him entirely by surprise. First because he wasn’t sure how she knew it was him coming up behind her. Second because she had seemed to be ignoring him since the hospital.

“Do you want to talk about yesterday?”

“Why did you kiss me?” She tried to sound cold, but a slight whine in her voice made it obvious that she had been fretting over the question.

“Because I wanted too, and because I almost didn’t get the chance.

After some consideration, during which she was completely still and he shifted anxiously on his feet, she turned to him and said, “I think I’d like to do it again. Just to see.”

He kissed her without hesitation, tilting her head back with his hands on either side of her face. It was brief and it was sweet. “Was that okay?”

“That was perfect. Thank you.” She turned back to face the lake, agonisingly unreadable. After a moment, she reached out and silently took his hand.

 22nd August 1998, Night

There is nothing Hermione wants more than to dive into bed and stay there until it’s time to go to King’s Cross. Or better, to simply wake up on the 2nd of September and find herself in History of Magic, or Transfiguration. Maybe if she was lucky, Professor McGonagall would teach her how to turn herself into a teapot. At least that way she will always be full of tea and she’ll never have to think about boys again. But no, there had to be showers, and hot chocolate, and going over the evening with her parents in agonising detail. When she at last manages to escape, she is already halfway up the stairs when her mother calls out.

“The twin with both ears — Fred — was he the young man that used to call all the time?”

“Yes,” Hermione replies curtly, a prickle of heat rising up her neck.

“What happened between the two of you?”

“Nothing,” she shrugs, trying her best to look nonchalant. Too much. Not enough.

She tries to go to sleep but fails. She reads but can’t concentrate, as is wont to happen on the rare occasions books seem to yield no answers or insight. Eventually she takes to laying upside down on her bed, staring at the pinprick lights criss-crossing her ceiling. There’s a tap at her window, and turning her head reveals a familiar old bird. A really old bird. At the sight of Errol she scrambles, perhaps a little too excitedly, to slide the window open. He offers her his leg, and the attached scrap of parchment. She scratches his head and offers him the small bowl of birdseed she keeps nearby for such occasions. He flies away. She unfurls the note, and sees the familiar, elegant script that he uses when he’s up to something:

Mademoiselle Granger,

I would like to request the joy of your company at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour this coming Monday, the twenty-fourth of August, at ten o’clock ante meridiem.  

Sincerely, F. Weasley

chapter one | chapter two

[helpinghanikan]

It, and everything, is gone

Obi-wan x Reader 

Sum: Your entire world has been burned and you can still smell the bodies. With precious cargo and a fellow survivor taking the same ship into the future. This is your last chance to take a breath.

AN: After watching the end of Clone Wars (like getting hit with a nostalgia brick) and the prequels I was reminded how much I crushed on Obi-Wan and how much I like angst.

Warnings: Badly written smut, mention of deaths, the Jedi genocide, and the prequel trilogy. 

It’d be nice to say that Luke looked like Padme. Or that you could see the potential and spirit in him. He, and his sister, came from a senator and Jedi after all. In reality he wasn’t even three days old. He looks like every other infant at that age.

Master Kenobi had yet to say anything after the ship broke the atmosphere. Luke kept the silence from settling by crying periodically. His little face was bright red when the nanny-bot floated towards the little crib. He was still going at it when you stepped into the small latrine.

“Hush, little one…” The nanny-bot whispers to the baby. You can hardly hear it’s voice through the wall and the crying. The background music to your reflection in the mirror.

The center of your robes and it’s attached sleeves are stained red. The red is fainter than one would assume, like wine had been spilt on them. There’s a small part of your brain screaming to keep the robes on. What if you take them off but the red has burned through and was staining your skin?

Maybe it’s what you deserved. Hiding under the corpses of your fellow knights in a library that’s probably burning by now. You didn’t even know the young man dragged over your body. You didn’t have a name to remember and honor him by, just a description: A dark haired humanoid who was arguably too young to be out of his apprenticeship. You only saw his eyes, brown, when the widened in surprise and panic at being filled with blasts from behind.

It’s the crying, and that it stopped, that you brought you back. Having only made it half-way through undressing that you disappeared into the memories. It was like being shouted at to hurry up. Stripping away your stained Jedi robes in exchange for whatever was onboard. A brown tank top (two sizes too big, of course) and a belt to tie it together. Leaving your black pants but taking off the boots. Those you would keep, as there seemed to be nothing else in your size on board.

Without Luke’s screaming there was a low hum taking over the ship. Master Kenobi sat at the far front, his back to everything and facing the passing stars. With the location logged in the ship was able to fly itself, sometimes a little alarm or light will turn on. Letting the “pilot” know that some changes might have to be made to avoid crashing into anything.

“Tatooine, that’s where Luke’s family is? Have you met them?” You ask.

There really was no need for an answer. Your talking was nothing more than a distraction for what you had to do. Dropping your Jedi robes into the garbage incinerator. Burning up what little was left of the young man you had used as a shield. What were they going to do with the bodies? Probably be burned in a massive pyre where everyone can see what happens to Rebels. At least he and his blood could become one again in flames.

“I met his grand-mother, but that was a long time ago.” Master Kenobi says, not looking at you while answering. It’s only after you take the seat next to him that he continues. “He still has an aunt and uncle; I haven’t met them but that’s the furthest and the best option.”

It’s as if Luke can tell he’s being talked about. His little lungs starting up again. The nanny-bot moving back over to the crib.

“Hush little one…” It said before you hit the divider. A mock wall slid in the little doorway to the pilot’s section.

“What will happen after? We’ll be hunted, we’re probably being hunted now.” You’re back in the chair. Turning it just enough to be facing him.

“That’s why I will stay. Watch and protect the family from a distance. No one will search for them; I will make sure of it.” He says, leaning back from the hunched over position he was in. Finally looking over to you, waiting for the expected next question.

He was tired; blinking slow and mouth in an unintentional frown. Both of you could feel the lingering death in the force; little stabs through your entire being every time a brother or sister was struck down. It’s a shared feeling of grief, fear, and anger that pressed against the back of your eyes. Those that are still living are screaming, begging for answers and even revenge. The genocide wasn’t just killing, it was destroying everything that was Jedi.

“And me? Where will I go?” You ask, as if you were a child.

His movements are slow but direct. Reaching across the gap to take hold of your hand. Looking where your fingers were touching instead of your face.

The entire day both of you spent thinking of others. Being so empathetic that you could practically feel the burn and shots ripping through your entire being. After the pain stopped the fear and grief would salt the wounds and burn your eyes. It’s only now, with his hand in yours, that you’re allowing yourself to be selfish. To feel the fear of what comes next.

“You’ll take the ship,” Master Kenobi says to your hands. “And disappear. Don’t reach out for survivors the Sith will hear you, they will come for you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Your attention is just as focused on your joined hands. “The council, the Jedi, the order, we’re all gone.” The entire conversation was just spouting out thoughts to eachother. No different than talking to yourself, but your response comes in a different voice.  There was no joined thoughts but his silence and squeezing hand agreed.

He lifted your hand as he said “Sorry,” again. Holding your hand against his lips, not kissing, but keeping contact as he closed his eyes.

It only takes a second to move forward. Breaking down the title of “master” with a hand to his face. Cupping and running nails through the reddish beard. He only looked into your eyes for a split second before you broke the distance. Kissing him with a groan that pressed him back into his chair.

“Please,” He says between the quick little pecks. You knee pressing between his legs, resting on the chair seat as a support. Letting your entire weight be take by the chair to hold his face while his hands found your body.

There was nothing that specifically said Jedi had to be celibate. Just against attachments of strong emotional tied: Marriage, children, supposedly even close friends. But that rule was just a fantasy that everyone denied breaking. Even if there was one against sex, you hadn’t know a single master or knight who had followed that rule.

Obi-wan, before the Master status, was one of those rule breakers. Back when you both had a braid behind your ear and only came across eachother once or twice a month at the temple. It’s a deeply buried joke that this is why the robes are the way they are. The cloth took a second to completely remove but the right bits could be exposed with little pulls.

That was the extent of your relationship back then. Slipping into each other’s sleeping quarters and slipping away just enough cloth. His kisses are the same now as they were back then; soft and ready but wanting you to take control.

This was different situation then the younger years, though. Back then you were looking down at a young man with a stupid grin everyone young and attracted to women get when seeing breasts. Now, you’re looking to a man who can’t make eye contact for a whole other reason. Instead focusing on finding the gap between your shirt and pants.

His hands have always been warm, almost hot. So there was no real shock to both his hands pressing against your back. Pulling you in when he breaks through the barrier, his bare hands using strength usually ignored to press you both together. A tight hug, your faces buried in each other’s hair

It was the same kind of need for distraction and relief that teenagers face. But without the thrill of risk attached.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Obi-wan says this somewhere, at some point. It wasn’t verbal, as his mouth was against yours, but it was louder than a scream. Permission that confirmed there was no one to look down on you for this, there was no one to care. There was only the two of you.

He slides forward just enough on the chair for you to take over his lap. With the ‘borrowed’ tank-top pushed up past your breasts they held Obi-Wan’s entire focus. His hands, like fire, held and massaged your breasts. Staying on this side of rough, refusing to let his anger out completely, but letting it make a slight appearance. Your own emotions were directed towards his hair; scratching and rubbing through hair you liked better in this short style. When you got his head to tilt upward you kissed him, scratching through his beard and mapping out his beard.

You didn’t have to tell him to sit up a little. Sitting up for your core’s to meet to slide his pants down past his backside.

Just like before, just like when you were teenagers, there was no penetration. Using spit covered fingers and hard-pressed hands to get eachother off. Back then it was just as spur of the moment as now; asking if he would meditate with you if he had the time in the later hours at the temple.

Gasping and groaning into his mouth. Reddish blonde hair was going to be ripped out of his head by the end of this. While chasing his fingers you gripped his hair as a support with one hand. Your other hand trying it’s hardest to create the same reaction on him. Based on the pulling, equal ripping, on your hair you were succeeding.

For the briefest moment nothing was wrong; the screams in the force shut up and the pain holding the universe together was cut. This was why sex wasn’t directly forbidden, no one would be cruel enough to take away that brief moment of actual peace.

When the universe came back, and the controls started beeping, you were still pressed together. You would have to move, get going and keep going, but for now it was like before. Not exactly, but it was close enough.

[theunmappedstar]

I dare you to give some random badboy au headcanons

so, i’m sorry, but “random headcanons” turned into “here’s the beginning of highschool badboy au plot that i have stuck in my head”... so... enjoy.

Sophie meets them because she joins Foxfire’s photography class as an elective. She has a group assignment that she has to complete, which requires her to take some photography scavenger hunt. She’s given a piece of paper with a list of different prompts she has to use to take pictures. (She’s mostly intrigued by the “street photography” bullet point).

Sophie gets paired up with Biana. They make quick friends and decide to divvy up the work - but this is also how Sophie learns about the boys.

She’d heard a little about them prior, but Sophie tended to only dip her toe into the gossip sparingly, so she doesn’t know exactly what’s up with these dudes

Sophie finds out that Biana is related to Fitz. Biana’s actually a real chatterbox when it comes to her family, so over the next week Sophie’s filled in on the majority of the timeline. (Also, the fact that everyone seemed to know of it, but her made Sophie feel really out of the loop and unpopular, but.)

The Vackers are a very wealthy and influential family. Biana’s parents naturally expected the most of their kids. Unfortunately, that only ended up dividing them. The three siblings weren’t very close when they were younger, but at least they talked - they barely interact normally anymore, according to Biana, focusing solely on their own lives and work. Alvar’s long since graduated, but Fitz and Biana are still held to their parent’s high expectations; they feel pressured to somehow reach above Alvar’s already-tremendous feats. Biana says even though it was rough, she never really saw it as a competition like her two brothers did. But that doesn’t mean she liked it, either.

Anyway, Fitz got so fed up with it and after a blowout, he managed to fall into what the Vacker parents love to call the “wrong crowd.”

The “wrong crowd” happens to be two kids - one from Foxfire Academy and one from a neighboring not-so-pristine school called Exillium.

Sophie’s interested as to who the two kids are, naturally, so she asks.

She almost immediately regrets that decision because as it would turn out, she knows those two kids.

Or, at least, she used to.

The first, Keefe Sencen, was surrounded by a lot of talk in her grade because of how he’d managed to skip a year when he was younger - and now Sophie finds that he’s apparently close to having to retake a year, since his grades have started to slip. She’d only seen him a couple times in elementary and had been paired with him for projects a staggering record of two times, but that didn’t mean he was one she would forget. (Those two group projects had been hell for her. He’d messed around with her so much and made her so frustrated and flustered and urg she hadn’t known how to act around a boy so obnoxious-but-cute).

Sophie doesn’t know if she’s surprised or not to find out that he managed to flip into the resident bad boy

The second one, Tam Song, happened to be a childhood friend (or she assumed that was the same Tam Song. There couldn’t be that many Tam Songs in the world, right?). She’d had a couple playdates with him before his parents had moved him and his twin sister away. She found out years later from her parents that the Songs had been having financial troubles and could no longer afford to be in the neighborhood/attend the academy

Sophie is baffled that the three managed to get together and start a reputation for themselves, no less

Sophie’s also baffled that they’re so well-known and yet she hadn’t really heard a thing about them; seriously, how unpopular was she?

When she relays the info to Dex and Marella at lunch, they tease Sophie that they’ve been waiting for it to hit her for years.

“...Why do you think we sit alone?” Dex asks.

Honestly, Sophie never really bothered to think about it. “I don’t know.”

Marella just snort-giggles. “Listen, you’re really smart, Sophie: you could build an entire AI system if you put your mind to it. But sometimes you lack a little thing called common sense.”

She doesn’t know whether to be offended or flattered.

She chooses to be flattered.

In the following days, Biana and Sophie get to checking off the to-do list for the assignment. Sophie’s first one requires her to take pictures of the interior of the school. She knows full well she could use her press pass to take pictures of the empty hallways during school, but that would require setting a time up with teachers, which would mean talking to teachers, which required basic social interaction... which.... was not very appealing and definitely not on Sophie’s list of Things I Want To Do.

She instead decides to stay after school for half an hour and take pictures.

She’s meandering around, snapping pictures here and there, trying to find out which angles would make the pictures less boring when she’s startled by a voice.

Sophie nearly drops the camera and whirls to find a boy sprawled across the bench outside the principle’s office. It takes her a moment to recognize him, but it eventually floods her brain.

Surprise, surprise - it’s Keefe Sencen.

He’s changed a lot since she last saw him. Granted, she last saw him when they were, like, six, but she lets herself be shocked.

Keefe’s got the whole getup. Ripped jeans, black tee, jet-black leather jacket... And he wears curiously, Sophie notices, an abundance of chains. Specifically, those rapper chains that dangle around your neck.

Sophie doesn’t realize that he’s called for her until he does it again. He’s asking what she’s up to, walking around with a camera like that after school.

She doesn’t know why, but “Yearbook” stumbles out.

She is not in Yearbook. She’s in Photography - close, but not quite it.

Keefe seems to feed off of her being flustered. It looks like he seriously enjoys it. he goes on to ask her what she’s got to take pictures of

She can’t really speak when he stands, hands shoved in his pockets, looking like that, so she just... hands the list over to him.

He quirks a brow and muses about the student/faculty box that has yet to be checked and he asks why she’s saved that one, since she’s been at school all day.

“Well, I... don’t really know how to casually approach someone and ask for a picture.”

It’s true. Everyone’s moving so fast and about their day during school hours and it’s especially hard to catch anybody after school.

Keefe just shrugs. “Then, you don’t have to.”

It takes her a second to realize what he means. He’s offering to let her take a picture of two of him.

It seems like a good idea. He’s right there and she can get it done and over with, but something about lifting the camera and snapping some shots of Keefe Sencen... Having to go home and know that she has access to pictures of him that she herself got to take...

He seems untouchable, is the thing. It seems like this is something that shouldn’t be happening - like he should have shooed her off like she was some human scum. It seems like they’re on two different levels. She’s the weird kid nobody really strives to talk to and he’s the boy that everyone’s terrified and annoyed (but secretly impressed) of.

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

Keefe interrupts her to assure her he doesn’t mind. He does ask if it sounds a little too self-centered, though, the way he just offered himself up for grabs.

Sophie’s not really listening because she’s too mesmerized by him combing his hands through his hair.

She kinda just blinks and mumbles some incoherent reply while trying to set the camera up. Her hands are super shaky and Keefe notices. Sophie stiffens when he outstretches a hand and asks if he can see the camera

“Um,” she starts, forcing herself to look at him, “I don’t think I should. I don’t own this and if it gets damaged-”

“Relax,” he murmurs. He retracts his hand instantly. “I was just asking. I took photography - I’m interested what camera they’ve given you. It looks different from the one I used; which seriously sucked, by the way.”

He pauses for a second to look her up and down. It makes her squirm, feeling on fire.

“And the pictures don’t have to be of me, right? They can be of students, if I’m remembering the guidelines correctly.” He waves the paper in his hands before reaching out to give it back to her. “And you, Miss...”

When Sophie recognizes he’s asking for her name, she blushes. “Sophie.” She plucks the paper from his hand.

He gives a swirling hand gesture, like he’s prodding for more.

“Foster,” she contends.

He nods, satisfied once he has her last name. “Foster,” he repeats, then continues, “Well, you’re a student, if I do say so myself. So, that means...” He lifts up his hands, pretending like he’s holding an imaginary camera. He pretends to adjust the lens and focus on her, finger hovering over the imaginary button that would take the imaginary picture.

He smirks. “Need a smile there, Foster,” he beckons.

She’s pretty sure she can’t get any redder. “I’m not really photogenic,” she argues, reaching forward to beckon his fake camera down.

He relents and let’s his hands drop, but his smirk remains. “Sure.”

She doesn’t really know what to say after that, so she hands him the camera with a mumble. Keefe eagerly takes it in his hands (which makes her notice the rings he has littered on his fingers) and he starts flipping and fiddling.

He says some random model name to her which she doesn’t really pay attention to. She only snaps up when his meddling ends and he asks, “Hey, by the way, how’ve the group projects been going?”

His smile seems more tender. More reminiscent. There’s a teasing lilt to his voice, which makes Sophie realize he remembers her. And, in turn, he remembers those god-awful projects they were forced to endure together.

She’s pretty sure she turns redder than her rosy skirt. “You remember that?” she mumbles.

Keefe chuckles. “Remember? Can’t really forget.” He taps his temple. “Also, anything that involves a cute girl is immediately filed to the front of my brain.”

Sophie’s so struck by the compliment that she nearly grazes over his first fact. How had she managed to forget he had a photographic memory just like her?

She doesn’t quite know how to respond, but she manages to pull a smile and mumble something about needing to get to work if she wants to finish the project. Surprisingly, Keefe just smiles back and offers her the camera. She makes sure not to graze too much of his skin as she takes the camera from his hands, shaking. She thanks him and turns to bolt away as fast as her legs can carry her (because she knows she’s on fire and she knows he can see it and oh god-) when his voice slows her down.

“I’m serious about that picture thing, Foster. If you need any help, I’ve got time.”

She stops in the hallway to look at him. Sophie raises a slow eyebrow and gestures to the office. Her hand is unsteady, but she’s proud when her voice doesn’t shake. “You seem pretty busy to me.”

Keefe laughs. “Nah, this is normal. But I can find a way to make some time for you.”

Sophie’s sure he says something more along the line of, “All you need to do is ask,” but she’s pretty sure the entire world has become a blur. in a flash she’s said her goodbye and she’s speed walking out to Dex’s car (he offered to drive her home after school, that day. He does it whenever he has time, actually. They live in the same neighborhood, which is pretty convenient, given they’re best friends and adoptive cousins).

Dex can see she’s off her game, but he doesn’t delve into it. The car ride home is pretty quiet.

Also when Biana and Sophie see each other in class the following day, it’s pretty hard for Sophie to come up with an excuse as to why she doesn’t have that many photos. She promises that she’ll stay after school again to try and make them up.

She does.

And that’s when she meets Fitz.

Sophie doesn’t really know how it happened. She avoided the area she’d seen Keefe in at all costs, snapping pictures literally anywhere else she could find, but somehow she wound up outside on the curb. And somehow she ended up wandering through the mostly-empty parking lot, snapping pictures of the parking spaces that the seniors had decorated (every year the graduating class got to customize their parking spot with spray paint). And wandering through the parking lot taking pictures led to her spotting a few sleek bikes.

In hindsight, Sophie thinks she finally understands what Marella meant by “you’re smart but you have no common sense,” because she walks up to the bikes. They’re against the curbside parking spaces, so Sophie steps up on the sidewalk and begins observing the shiny vehicles.

She’s never really been keen on motorcycles (the idea of getting one kind of terrifies her) but she has to admit that they look good.

And Sophie, lacking that beautiful common sense, snaps a picture.

She barely holds back the squeak when someone behind her asks what she’s up to. Sophie turns around to meet two boys in leather jackets. They’ve both got dark heads of hair, but one is noticeably lighter. And the darkest sported silver-dyed bangs.

She’s pretty sure her insides shrivel. It’s them, there’s no denying. Her photographic memory compares Tam’s aged features with the ones from his youth, seeing how his soft face had turned to hard-and-handsome lines. And she can see the resemblance to Biana in Fitz’s equally-charming face.

(Also, the more that she thought about it, she’d actually been put against Fitz during one of the stupid elementary spelling bees. She severely prayed he didn’t remember her as spelling bee girl.)

“Sorry,” she apologizes sheepishly. She lifts the camera. “Photography. I can delete it.”

She should have asked before doing that. She seriously should have asked. She feels like she’s been caught and she’s considering turning tail and running when they shrug and tell her it’s fine. She’s pretty sure she’s dreaming when she gets asked if she at least liked the bikes or if it was just for the assignment.

She says it was for the assignment, but she does like them.

Fitz smiles at her for the first time and Sophie’s legs become jello. 

Shit, how can someone look that nice while smiling?

But it doesn’t last too long because Tam asks who she is and where he’s seen her before. His head is tilted at her, dangly earrings twirling with the motion. Sophie can tell he does recognize her, at least a bit. All eyes are on her, so she feels a bit squirmy mentioning how she knows Tam, but once she does, his eyes light up and his eyebrows launch.

“Oh, Sophie. Shit.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Shit.”

Years later, it looks impossible to imagine that they’d ever been friends. They were so... different from each other, now.

They all start making semi-awkward conversation, discussing the school year and Sophie’s photography anything random they can come up with when Keefe rolls out of the school.

“Foster?”

She waves. “Oh, um. Hey.”

Keefe reaches his friends and his eyebrows crunch. He asks if they know her. Tam shrugs and says they knew each other when they were little, but they haven’t seen one another in years. Fitz admits Biana’s mentioned a Foster girl, but he doesn’t know her (Sophie’s pretty sure she’s dead. She didn’t know Biana talked about her at the house, even if it was something like measly dinner small talk.)

Keefe turns and grins at her, seeing the camera in her hand. “Yearbook again?”

She flushes. “Photography, actually.” Seeing his confusion, she continues, “I don’t know why I said Yearbook, yesterday. I’m in Photography, not Yearbook.”

Shockingly, Keefe just snorts. He muses that she’s something else before waltzing over and outstretching his hand. Sophie hands him the paper chock-full of guidelines again. Keefe starts muttering that she has a lot more crossed off than yesterday.

“You’ve still got a bit to go,” he points out.

Sophie just kinda nods. She’s mostly focusing on not letting her knees buckle in front of all of them. Her hands on the camera are sweating. It’s weird, how she’s managed to get caught in this situation. Everyone steers clear of these three, she knows, but now she’s somehow stuck in normal conversation with them. About photography, no less.

Keefe spots the street photography point and hums. He points to it, showing her the paper. “That seems interesting.” He meets her eyes. “Gonna take me up on my offer, yet, Foster?”

She swallows. “Oh, uh, street photography isn’t here, it’s-”

“On the street,” Keefe agrees, handing her back the paper. He shares one glance with his friends before meandering to his bike, slinging his leg over the seat.

Tam huffs a short laugh, grinning like he understands before he goes to hop on his own ride. Fitz is the last one behind, hands shoved in his pockets, just standing and smiling in amusement.

“You’re free, aren’t you?” Keefe implores. “We can make it quick. Drop you off back here - or wherever.”

Sophie chews on her lip. It is a tempting offer. She doesn’t really have a ride into the city planned, so it seems like the perfect opportunity. One quick ride, a few pictures, and she can leave. But that also means getting on a motorcycle. Which. . . kind of terrifies her.

“One ride, Foster,” Keefe promises, seeing the way she’s staring at the bike. “Does fifteen minutes sound good?”

Fifteen minutes is definitely enough time for her to get in a crash. Fifteen minutes is also definitely enough time for them to murder someone, but Sophie tries hard not to think about that.

Especially not when Keefe shrugs off his jacket and tosses it to her. Sophie catches it with a gasp, thankful that she doesn’t drop the camera. “Um,” she starts.

She cuts herself off when Fitz goes to his bike and pops open a back storage compartment. He snatches out a spare helmet, then waltzes back up onto the sidewalk next to her, reaching out his to trade the camera for the helmet.

Sophie swallows.

Seeing how nervous she is, he smiles, making a short nudge with his chin in the direction of the bike. “It’s up to you,” he promises.

“You won’t get hurt,” Keefe also assures. “You’ve got jeans on. And you wear that jacket and the helmet, you’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t like the fact that she has to take those precautionary measures in the first place. But, she guesses it’s just what one has to do. It’s like wearing a seatbelt in a car. This is the motorcycle’s seatbelt.

Sophie hands Fitz the camera and takes the helmet. She slips on the jacket, ignoring the heat that runs through her body at how nice it feels - and how Keefe looks at her.

Sophie clears her throat and puts the helmet on. Her fingers fumble horribly with the straps around her chin and no matter how much she tugs, she can’t get it right. Fitz has to come back over and help her, laughing gently. He narrates to her how to do it as he cinches it up for her with diligent fingers, smiling.

Sophie, however, is anything but smiling when he pulls away. There’s only one step left - to get on that bike with him, hold on tight to his waist, and pray that they don’t take her to some secondary location.

Sophie makes sure to look him in the eyes to know she’s serious. “You kill me, I kill you.”

Fitz chuckles. “Noted.”

[filmmakersvision]

Top 5 Hindi Film Scenes of 2019

January 1, 2019

by Inakshi Chandra-Mohanty

1. The Sky is Pink - Ishaan at the Train Station

Ishaan Chaudhary gets a call from his sister, Aisha, when she is at her most helpless. Not much older than her, Ishaan is at a young age where his understanding of death may not be as mature as that of his parents. Till now, we have not seen how he is dealing with his younger sister’s illness and imminent death. In this scene, when Aisha calls up in tears, Ishaan’s first instinct as an elder brother is to be supportive. To reassure her, he tells that in their next life, through reincarnation they will all be reunited once again. He wants to be there for her, but inside, he is falling apart. As soon as she hangs up, he breaks down. All the pain, anger, sadness bursts out in the moment as he smashes his bag on the ground. In front of his parents and sister, he has to project himself as a strong individual. But in reality he is suffering as much as they are. The frustration builds inside him as he maintains composure in front of his family. And finally, in this scene, he lets it all out. The love between two siblings is rarely explored in films. This scene is so fresh and unique that it ultimately becomes the most emotional scene in the film. And without Rohit Saraf’s brilliant acting as the loving brother, this scene would have not been as passionate and impactful as it became.

2. Gully Boy - Doori Poem

While Gully Boy is at its core a film about a rapper’s rise to fame, it is also a commentary on the politics of modern society. The scene in which the Doori poem is recited in the background as Murad drives the car is the most socially relevant scene in the film. It brings out the brutal class divide omnipresent in Indian society. Murad and his passenger are both around the same age, in the same car, with a physical distance of a few feet, yet they are distant from each other. Her tears moved Murad, but his position as a driver prevented him from providing her with any comfort. He doesn’t have the aukaat (status) to help her and thus he continues to drive in silence. This strikes a chord with audience, some who are either of Murad’s status, or those who identify with the young woman. As passengers, people barely take notice of those in the driver’s seat, because there is an unspeakable divide that is difficult to bridge. And that’s what Murad uses as inspiration for the lyrics of his next song. The lines of the poem resonate well with the context. Kahne ko hum paas hai par, kitni doori hai, yeh bhi kaisi majboori hai….main yeh behte aasun pochun, itni meri aukaat nahin hai. They are close, yet they are far. And the barrier between them renders them helpless.

3. Soni - Conversation about Soni’s Misconduct

Soni is a film about women empowerment. But it isn’t just about women going up against men who knowingly discriminate against them. It is also about women facing small instances of prejudice even from somewhat progressive men. In this scene, Kalpana is having dinner with her family, as her husband and brother-in-law discuss Soni’s misconduct. It is clear from their casual tone that they find her aggressive behavior hilarious. According to them, women who behave in this manner come from violent homes. To them, it’s just a simple case of a woman who has faced violence at home leading to her relieving her frustrations at work. These two new-age men, sitting at a table with a female police officer, talk about women in such a stereotypical, mildly sexist manner. Even though Kalpana believes Soni’s actions crossed the line, she also attempts to understand the frustration that leads her to behave in a certain manner, which is why she remains silent at the table, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her husband and brother-in-law. This scene shows the inherent sexism that seeps into modern families as well. There is blatant sexism everywhere, and that is easily recognizable. But, this hypocrisy and subtle patriarchy, exists in many homes, and is much more difficult to notice. And this scene makes us aware of it.

4. Section 375 - Food as a Metaphor for Justice

In this scene from Section 375, lawyer Tarun Saluja uses food as an analogy for the legal system, while explaining the intricacies of law to his former student, now opposing lawyer, Hiral Gandhi. This film, which deals with the twisted ways of the law, is summed up in this one scene. Tarun equates the different parts of the legal system, with different food items on the table. The dal is the prosecutor, trying to win in order to gain a promotion or a pay hike. The rice is the defense, trying to win for the fame, leading to a rise in fees. The next container is the judge, trying to win to reach a higher position in the court system, and get the opportunity to present landmark judgments. And the dahi is justice, which is forgotten in everyone else’s race for victory. The message that he attempts to convey is that everyone is in it for his/her own personal benefit. The courtroom is a battlefield for ambition, where the ideal is left far behind. That is core theme of the film. The absolute law, and ambitious professionals in the field, can lead to justice being left behind.

5. Article 15 - Asking about Caste

Ayan, a police officer from the city, is appalled by the caste discrimination in the small town where he is posted. He doesn’t have much knowledge of the intricacies of the caste system, as he has been living in an environment where caste barely has any bearing. In this scene, he is finally fed up of the constant references to caste by other members of the force working under him. His incredulity becomes apparent when he gathers all his subordinates, asking them about each of their castes and how they are related to the case on hand. It is quite a humorous scene as it is clear that he doesn’t actually have any interest in the caste system. He just wants to see to what extent these people will go to defend this discrimination, ultimately losing his cool at the end of it. The setup is meant to be hilarious, especially for those in the audience who are in the same boat as Ayan. But the comedic nature of the scene is just a means to show the grim reality. In many places across India, caste discrimination is such a common way of life, that even supposedly sensible people don’t protest against it. To Ayan, it is ridiculous. But for many others, it is their life, and that is the reality of society today.

[justauthoring]

Corruption of Innocence (3/?)

Prompt: The Capital was cruel. The people there even more so. If this arrangement truly was meant to follow through, Jaime knew you would be corrupted by Kings Landing. But staring at you now, with bright doe eyes and a soft smile on your lips as you engaged in a conversation with your brother, hushed so as not to be disrespectful, Jaime knew he would put all his focus and strength into making sure that never happened.

A/N: Once again, I was absolutely blown away by the response I received. Continue to comment and reblog like that and I will post the next part hopefully by the end of the week! Thank you all very much!

Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. As usual, I hope you all enjoyed!

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Please don’t plagiarize my work - I spend a lot of my time writing, copying and pasting destroys that. If you want to repost my work. please ask first - but even then I might say no.

Pairing: Jaime x Stark!Reader

Based off of: Game of Thrones 01x04, 01x05 and 01x06

A month later and you were peaceful, if not a little lonely. 

Jaime, despite no longer on the Kings Guard, still very often wore his armour and paraded around Kings Landing adorned in the gold metal. You never questioned it nor did you say anything, and you didn’t really see your husband until the evenings and even then your conversations were bland.

There was an understanding between the two of you, a sense of respect for one another, but there was no true love between you. He was your husband, but you harboured no deeper feelings then that for him. You’d ask him of his day and he would reply fine, then ask you the same and you’d reply the same as well. It never went further then that.

Your marriage had not been born out of love, so it was naive of you to ever think that it could blossom into that either. Yet, you were not unaware of your luck. Although your distaste for the woman, you were not oblivious to the Queen’s clear hatred of her husband and the lack of love in their own marriage. The two barely spoke to one another, and when they did, their conversations were cold and full of hatred for one another. For a marriage you’d all been forced into, you were lucky. Jaime was not cruel or dismissive of you, and in the privacy of your own room, Jaime was kind, sweet and dare you even say, loving.

There were moments where the two of you would have a conversation that was more than just pleasantry’s. You’d smile and mean it and he would look down at you with this soft look in his eyes and it would just fill you with warmth. These conversations were rare and random but they were the best. Your marriage was purely built on them.

Still, you rarely saw your husband. You rarely saw anyone. Most of the time you were contained to around your chambers, the Lannister guards keeping a close eye on you. It had progressively grown worse as time went on, and deep down inside of you, you knew something was wrong, but you didn’t question it. You kept your mouth shut and went day by day, smiling. Sometimes, the brightness of it was feigned, but never the smile itself. You were... content.

However, you rarely got to see your sisters or father. Being under guard so often, it was hard to be able to speak to your family without feeling as if your conversation was being heavily watched and listened to. And that was hardest thing of all. You missed them. All of them.

You missed your mother and the way she would smile down at you with such pride in her eyes. You missed Bran and Rickon and the way they used to look up at you with such admiration in their eyes. You missed Jon and the long, wise talks you two used to have. But most of all, you missed Robb. This was the longest and farthest you’ve ever been from your twin, and it was definitely impacting you heavily. There was not a day that went by that you did not miss him.

When you were not confined to your room, you often took strolls through the gardens with Cersei. These were your least favourite times, ones that would leave you with an uncomfortable feeling with the rest of the day. The woman was cold, no love in her bone for a Stark-turned-Lannister. And you were not oblivious to the calculated glares she sent your way. She seemed to hate you more than anyone else, at least in your eyes, and your time spent with her scared you. There was no denying that.

But still, true to your word, you were content. The month or so you’d been in Kings Landing and married to Jaime Lannister, hadn’t been all bad. Things were calm.

Until they weren’t.

When word had reached your ears that Jaime had attacked your father, you couldn’t believe it. You were not oblivious to the clear divide between the Lannister’s and Stark’s, and it was impossible not to be given that gossip that had flooded the streets since your wedding to Jaime. But, you had placed your trust in Jaime and no matter the situation, you knew your father was in the right. In your eyes, he could do no wrong and to hear that Jaime had all but attacked him... It had almost felt like your heart had been ripped to shreds when you’d been told.

Your father had sustained serious injuries to his body, specifically his leg, it seemed, and by the time you’d found out about everything, he was already back and sustained to his chamber for rest. Within seconds you were grabbing your cloak off of your chair and moving to leave your chambers, damned what the guards and Cersei thought.

But, before you could, Jaime came waltzing through the door in all his shining gold armour. Instantly, your step had halted and your hands fell by your side as you met his gaze. He only held your own for a moment before continuing forward, working on his armour as he pulled it piece by piece off. There was a moment of silence as as you watched his movements, just waiting for him to say something.

And then he did. “How was your day?”

You just couldn’t believe your ears. Your lips part in indignation, and within seconds you were crossing the room towards him. Jaime turned towards you the moment you stopped in front of him, not prepared for the slap across his cheek the second he had. “Do you take me for a fool?” You hiss at him as his hand falls to his cheek, holding the offended spot. Eyes narrowed, you meet his gaze, furious. “Don’t you dare walk in here nonchalant after you’ve done what you have.”

Jaime quirks a brow and smirks, hand falling by his side. “And what is it you think I’ve done?”

“Attack my father,” you spit at him, taking a step back from him with disgust. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out? The handmaidens speak, husband. I--”

“You were not there,” Jaime interrupts, brushing you off with a shrug. “You do not know the circumstances of which I acted under.” You scoff at his explanation, causing Jaime to shake his head. “Your father is butting into business that is not his own. Your father has my brother captive for reasons unknown. I simply acted any way a brother would.”

You pause a moment, staring back at him in disbelief. Does he truly believe that that is enough of an explanation to attack your father as he had? One man against his own? But when he simply stares back at you in silence, you realize, yes, he does. With a roll of your eyes, you scoff once more, moving to walk away. However, before you can, his hand catches your wrist, causing you to gasp out in surprise. His grip is tight and as your gaze turns back to him, you stare at him in shock.

“You are a Lannister,” he spits, voice cold, colder the it ever has been with you. “No longer are you a Stark. And I am your husband. You will respect me as such.”

You jerk back at his words, them being all but spat in your face. You blink in surprise. Jaime has never forced upon his title as your husband on your shoulders before. Never treated you as an object that is his like he has now. You’re stunned with disbelief. Then, the shock fades and your eyes narrow into slits. “I thought you said you wouldn’t touch me.”

-

It’s only for a second, but Jaime’s face falls at your words. He’s never moved quicker then he does in that moment, even in battle, instantly letting go of your wrist and taking a step back.

But the moment is gone just as quick as it comes. Jaime’s facial expression hardens, placing on the facade he must as he stares down at you, watching your movements closely.

His eyes never leave the slight red mark left by his hand on your wrist as you rub at it softly, your anger slowly fading as you blink up at him. Jaime is not oblivious to the hint of fear behind the irises of your eyes and a sense of dread floods him, hating himself for being the one to place that fear there. He did not regret what had happened with him and Lord Stark, no, of course not. But he does regret how it’s affected you and your relationship with him. Jaime had acted without thinking and in the moment, angered by the fact that his brother was missing and then found out held captive by Lord Stark, he hadn’t thought of the consequences that would follow his actions.

The one thing he hadn’t wanted to do was destroy what little bit of trust that had developed between the two of you. And he fears he might have.

Jaime is pulled out of his thoughts when you turn to leave, the action immediately catching his attention. He lips part to say something, hesitating a moment as you quickly gather yourself before making your way over to the door he’d entered not more than five minutes ago.

And then, as your hand falls on the door knob, Jaime can’t help himself. “Where are you going?”

You don’t turn to face him, keeping your back at him as you explain, with a cold voice; “going to see my father.” Jaime doesn’t argue or say anything as you simply open the door after your explanation, slamming it shut behind you a moment later, leaving Jaime to himself.

For a moment, he stares at the door, half expecting you to come walking back in. But you never do.

So, he turns, moving to take off his armour once more until he’s left in nothing more then his tunic and some trousers. He was feeling agitated, stressed and at a lost on what to do. Normally, when Jaime had felt like this before, he’d seek out the company of his sister. But, in that moment, he felt no want or need to see her. Rather, he wanted to see you, though thought better of it after what had just happened.

Taking a seat on your shared bed, Jaime’s eyes fall to his hand, frowning.

-

“I am fine, Y/N.”

“You do not look fine, father.”

“You worry too much.”

“Of course i’m worried. Look at your leg, father.”

Father doesn’t respond this time. Instead, despite the situation, a faint smile falls on his lips as he watches you fret over him. It’s been too long since he’s last seen you and he feels guilty not having putting the effort into visiting, but he’s happy to have you by his side even for a short while.

You notice his stare a moment later, flickering your gaze up to his own, words dying on your tongue as you catch his expression. Your brows furrow, frowning as you tilt your head to the side. “What?”

Blinking, father shakes his head. “Nothing,” he laughs lightly, shifting slightly with a groan to place his hand on your cheek, cupping it. You instantly into his touch having missed your father’s warm as he smiles proudly at you. “You just remind me so much of your mother.”

A smile falls on your lips as well, placing your hand over his own. “I heard Bran woke up.”

Father nods, still smiling, “yes, he has.”

Gaze lowering, you glance down at your lap as your hands return to yourselves, sighing. “I miss them,” you whisper, biting your lip, hesitantly flickering your gaze back up to your father’s as he smiles sadly back at you.

“Me too.”

“Do you think we will see them again soon?”

Father doesn’t respond right away. He falls silent for a moment, shoulders falling as his gaze turns different, serious. It confuses you, a sense of panic flooding you as you watch him find the right and appropriate words. Only more worry floods you when his hand falls over your own, squeezing tightly. “One day we will,” he whispers, nodding his head.

But you don’t buy it. You know your father better then that. “Is something wrong, father?”

“Everything’s fine,” father nods, pressing a kiss to your hand as he smiles at you. But it doesn’t completely meet his eyes and your lips curve downwards in bafflement, licking your lips slowly as he tries to play it off as nothing. After a moment of silence, father’s hand leaves your own and he pats your leg lightly. “Now, get on,” he urges causing your lips to part in opposition. “You heard me. You’ve got more important things to do then sit here and keep your old, injured father company. I’ll be up and about before you know it.”

“Father--”

“Y/N,” father cuts off, meeting your gaze steadily. “I’ll be fine.”

You hesitate, glancing back at your father with uncertainty. But, the look in his eyes tells you you can’t argue, so, reluctantly and hesitantly, you push yourself up to your feet, straightening out the skirt of your dress afterwards. And as you turn to leave, you glance back down at your father in a mixture of concern and hope; “i’ll see you soon?”

Father nods with a soft smile.

And then you’re turning, walking out of his room with only one more glance back at him. You don’t know at the time that that’s the last time you’ll see your father, let alone talk to him.

-

Part 4?

Let me know what you thought?

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[ehyeh-joshua]

Senate Hall of the United Planets, Larak'Ki'Tar, 2082 AD

“As is well known to those in this assembly, the Kongelim Republic is facing it's final years. The illness that has ravaged our people for the last two centuries has almost finished it's wretched work among us.

None of this is new of course; there are those who have always been jealous of us, watching like vultures. Or those who tried to help, and faced no better fortune than we did.

Two centuries ago, we noticed the illness coming, and we realised that there would be no more Kongelim except those who were already. A century ago we were all imaged for the archives here on Larak'Ki'Tar, so that there would always be a record of us.

Today, we number so few that our ancient Republic has dissolved; a system of constant referendums to all remaining Kongelim is as effective as our great Republic was, that stood for thousands upon thousands of years across a dozen worlds.

Our once proud race lays low, driven to dust. Fear, terrible loneliness, and pointlessness have been the experience of us last Kongelim all our lives as our race dies one by one.

But in these dying days of the Republic, we are not alone.

Twenty years ago, the honoured member of this assembly Elanor Vallone of Mars came to our world; the Humans then were barely able to travel faster than light, and they had journeyed a long time to reach us. And she arrived as First Officer, on one of Humanity's first interstellar vessels.

And we were perturbed.

We all know of our esteemed colleague Insurrection's report on the Humans from little over a hundred years ago, how in his view they would rival even the Cygnar in battle. A divided race, committed to war, but also showing great promise.

I asked her then why they had come. 'to help, as best we can.' she replied. Waves of sorrow flowed over me at that time, reliving the past when we had tried to face the dreaded curse. I told her the sad tale of our woe then, and then asked her one word; why?

And her answer was simple, and heartfelt. 'We must try'.

They had traveled far and long; the best scientists and doctors they had. And like many before, they did try. And as with us all, they failed.

But they did not give up. Instead, more of them came; they came, and kept us company as best they could. They attended to us. They studied from us, they taught their children our songs, they learnt to live our ways. And for a few years, we were spared the curse; only my generation remained.

When my brother died, they stayed by him long after we could not bear the stress. He was the first Kongelim not to die alone in almost fifty years.

They tried to save him. Damn they tried. But they couldn't – so they stayed by his side, until he was gone.

The next morning, they greeted us with plans for a building; a pyramid of stone. And we were confused.

We have not buried our dead in many decades; our homes have become our tombs. Like much activity of life, a dying species does not concern itself with such things; after all, the vultures longing to pick our corpses won't hesitate to rob graves.

And they told us they wanted to build it to remember him.

So we were suspicious. I asked Insurrection if this was some kind of joke, and to my surprise, my learned friend quieted me instantly. 'Ask them about the pyramids, ask them about Harlicarnassus, or the Taj Mahal.'

So I did ask. And they showed me photographs and videos of these structures, and many more besides. Structures that date back as far as they have recorded history that have the sole purpose of remembering the departed. Structures that they still look after, still consider wonders of the world, lifetime upon lifetime since those buildings were made. 

And as I was looking at these images, I suddenly understood. They wanted to commemorate my brother like they commemorated their own people.

We cautiously agreed to let them, and they brought in stone crafters who built a pyramid for him using traditional Human techniques, and they brought things from his home, asking us what these items meant to him. We answered as best we could, and they carved the answers into pedestals shaped for the items, as many as felt significant.

When my sister died, they raised one for her, next to his.

And now, my eyes too grow the red haze that we know is the beginning of the end; soon, the blood vessels in my eyes will collapse, and I will go blind, for whatever remains of my life.

I was a hatchling before they split the atom for the first time in their history. From that time until relatively recently, I lived in terror of what I face now; my death, the death of my species.

But I'm not afraid anymore. My pyramid has already been built, my speeches and writings displayed that all may learn from me. I do not face the journey alone, because these Humans have come alongside me. They will be my eyes when my natural eyes will burst, and they will stay with me until the end.

In this I find my solace; there may be no more Kongelim as we have been known since the week of Creation. But a new generation of Kongelim rises, as Human and Kongelim cultures merge.

So, it is fitting then, that I – the last leader of the Kongelim Republic – make this statement. Earlier this month, I spoke to all twenty two of the remaining Kongelim, about the declaration I am about to make.

The decision was unanimous.

We, the Kongelim, owe a debt of gratitude for all that they have done for us. Once there was fear; they brought hope. Once there was darkness; they brought life-giving light. Once, we were forgotten; now, we know they shall remember us.  

So, we, the Kongelim, bequeath to those who gave themselves and asked nothing in return, our world, and all that remains of the Kongelim Republic; they are our successors.”

Sarakh sat down, having delivered his final speech.

-----

A relatively quick write, based on a writing prompt I saw this morning; “Last contact”.

[taeyongtime]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹 thats 125 roses :3 ❤️❤️❤️❤️

i purposely saved this one for last because you, my friend, are big brain 👍125 sentences for 125 roses *slow claps*. in respect of such a big brain move, the following preview is for a hogwarts!au feat. hufflepuff!taeyong and slytherin!reader. i’ve actually already finished it, but it’s supposed to be a joint work with another writer, so i haven’t posted even though it’s basically completed. 

for every “🌹” received in my inbox i’ll post one random sentence of a random WIP i’m currently writing

◆

It is no surprise that the first thing you hear stepping into Hogwarts is a question asking if you were Kim Doyoung’s sister.

Soon after the Sorting Hat places you with the tables of emerald green robes, upperclassmen and students your year flock to your seat next to your brother, who simply offers a smug nod as he begins a spiel of how the family had expected nothing less (old-money purebloods such as yourselves were a shoo-in for the Slytherin House, no doubt about it). Chimes of agreement follow, an occasional joke on how your parents would have reacted if you had been sorted into Gryffindor or Hufflepuff garnering a gasp of shock from the crowd.

Imagining if you had been sorted into Hufflepuff brings about a budding headache and you politely ask for them to give you space to eat, your stomach famished from the long train ride and the sheer conviction to not let go of your purse strings to purchase snacks from the cart that rolled down the aisle every hour or so. Luckily they oblige, and your brother sighs as you dig in, piling your plate high with potatoes, meats, basically a little bit of everything you can reach within arm’s distance.

“You’re going to become a pig if you continue to eat at this rate.”

“Oh, shut up and eat your own food already.”

Doyoung scoffs and picks apart his bread, tossing bit by bit into his mouth. “I hope you won’t speak to any of the Professors here in that tone.”

“Please stop nagging me when I’m eating, it’s annoying.”

A dirty look sent your way, he adds a final word of putting some vegetables onto your plate before leaving to find a different seat where someone would listen rather than provide a rebuttal to his every sentence. Naturally, you ignore his nagging and reach for another portion of potatoes, gravy dribbling down like a volcano had just erupted all over your plate. More meat, more biscuits, you eat until your stomach is at its limit, threatening to implode at everything you had just ingested.

Pushing your chair out, you search the sea of heads for your brother but fail to spot the lanky second year who was all the rage for the Slytherin House. Not wanting to remain in front of all the food and certainly not having the energy to sample any of the decadent desserts, you ask your neighbor on the right for directions to the Slytherin common room, heading out to find the entrance yourself without waiting for everyone else.

“Where do you think you’re going, little lady?”

Turning around, you meet the eyes of the headmaster, his hands clasped together as he waits for your answer.

“I… I think I ate too much,” you begin slowly, calculating each word spoken. “I wanted to look for the way to the Hospital Wing.”

“The Hospital Wing will be to your right. Madam Pomfrey will have something ready for you by the time you get there.”

“T-Thank you… Sir.”

“Next time, find someone to accompany you,” he adds with a knowing smile, “Especially when you have yet to discover the way to the Slytherin Common Room.”

Spooked, you hurry towards the Hospital Wing and endure another bout of nagging from Doyoung when he comes running after hearing from an upperclassman that you had gone to see the school nurse after the feast.

---

Year One is over before you know it, and you find yourself back on campus grounds again once August ends, following your brother off the Hogwarts Express and into the Great Hall to be seated for the new year’s welcoming ceremony and accompanying feast. Once you find a spot along the green tables for Slytherin House, your brother slides in on your right and another quickly fills in the left, the dimpled smile offered your way a sight for sore eyes.

“How was your summer, Y/N?”

“Bo-ring,” you reply in kind, rolling your eyes as your legs kick underneath the table. “You should’ve brought me with you to France, Jaehyun.”

“Next time,” the second year says with a chuckle. “I don’t think you would appreciate the beauty that is Quidditch when you never showed up to any of my games last year.”

“It’s a pointless sport,” you refute. “Chasing a little golden ball in the air while risking getting your teeth knocked out by Beaters? No thanks.”

“You just haven’t seen a good game yet.”

“Shh!” Your brother’s sharp voice hisses in your ear. “The Sorting is about to begin!”

A hush falls over the table as the Sorting Ceremony begins. Just last year you were one of those children waiting in line to be sorted, the feeling of anxiety at your sorting still as palpable as ever as you watch each sortee be divided into one of the four Houses at Hogwarts. A few enter the ranks of emerald, but most make their way to the rich scarlet and gold of Gryffindor or warm honey of Hufflepuff, two of the most popular houses across the campus compared to your very own.

“Really, you’re so yappy whenever you’re with Jaehyun.”

“Okay, Doyoung, go find somewhere else to eat at if you find me annoying.”

“I never said that.” Against your protests, he scoops some peas onto your plate along with some carrots. “Eat some vegetables, you need it.”

You immediately push the vegetables onto Jaehyun’s plate once Doyoung turns his head the other way, reaching for two slices of corned beef and a breadstick in lieu of the empty space next to the mountain of potatoes and gravy. Jaehyun finishes before you and you split half of your breadstick, keeping the left half while handing over the right.

“Thanks.”

“Did you not eat anything on the train?” you ask incredulously, amazed at his second full plate when you barely made a dent in yours.

“I did earlier, but I’m starving now. Haven’t had a bite since they were sold out of chocolate frogs.”

“Pig.”

He oinks in return and you laugh, catching a glance from your brother and ignoring it once his attention is again captured by someone else calling his name. You were used to it by now, the wonder boy that is Doyoung being the pride of Slytherin House since he first set foot onto Hogwarts.

Going to bed early after dismissal from the Great Hall, the next morning you return to the routine of classes, meals, homework, studying for exams, more homework, and so forth, a never-ending cycling of academia that left little room for leisure time when there was so much to do. Not one to socialize much and not at all interested in going to see Jaehyun at his Quidditch games, you spend most of your time in the library when you didn’t need to be in class, the peace and quiet comforting when you wanted to be alone (which was all the time).

Today, you find yourself not in the mood for Potions on such a fine sunny Tuesday afternoon, thus you make your way to the library once you finish lunch, courteously greeting the librarian before scurrying off to your favorite spot by the windows. Madam Pince was stern to all students entering the library, but your frequent appearance last year and diligence in following library rules made you tolerable in her book, hence the blind eye cast when you show up when it was clearly not a time for a student your year to be in the library when there were classes going on. Spreading out your bag and other things to lay claim onto the table, you head over to the Care of Magical Creatures section and pull a few volumes off the shelves. Two hours easily fly by as people begin to trickle in, your eyes scanning the pages of information on fairies, elves, and other creatures of the like. Currently not enrolled in a Care of Magical Creatures class, you ponder on the thought of taking it as an elective next year as you return the books you had just finished reading in exchange for new ones.

After making sure everything was placed back in the correct alphabetical order, your fingertips graze along the spine of each book as you wander down the shelves, eyes locking in on a volume regarding dragons when another set of hands reaches for it at the same time. The physical contact catches both you and him by surprise, neither saying a word until you break the silence as you glare at the black-and-gold robed Hufflepuff who wanted the same book as you.

“Let go, I got it first.”

“I… Go ahead.” He gestures for you to take the book and you do so, letting out a huff of indignation at the audacity after. Mumbling an apology again, he reaches for a book on the upper shelf and you roll your eyes before turning tail to return to your table. Waiting until your Potions class was over, you pack up your things and head to the librarian’s desk, only to be stopped in the process of checking out the book on dragons you had just successfully taken off the shelf.

“The gentleman behind you had put in a request to reserve this book.”

Your eyes meet the Hufflepuff who you’d bumped heads against, a hesitant smile etched across his lips as he points at the book in your hands. “I wanted to tell Madam Pince I found it on the shelf, but then you took it, so…”

“Fine.” You hand over the book gruffly and overlook the glare in Madam Pince’s eyes for your ‘rough treatment’ of school property. “Take it.”

“Have you finished reading it? If not—”

“Take it already.”

You flinch at the feeling of his fingers against yours and quickly pull your hand away, running out of the library without speaking another word. Tossing the encounter with the Hufflepuff out the window, you make your way back to the Slythern Common Room, where a certain Jung Jaehyun bounces up from his seat on one of the leather sofas the moment he sees you enter.

“You missed Potions today, Y/N.”

“Can I see your notes later?”

He nods without skipping a beat, grabbing your hand and pulling you after him. “Only if you come with me to watch one of my Quidditch games.”

“What,” you exclaim, “No, I don’t—”

“One game. We’re going to play right now against Hufflepuff; that’s all I ask in exchange for my notes.”

“Ugh, fine!” Forgoing the resistance, you let him drag you out and towards the stadium, where the stands were already divided to parades of yellow and green respectively. Not sure where to go since Jaehyun was a Beater on the Slytherin team, you inch your way through the lines of already-filled seats until you see Haechan, one of the first years that you knew through Doyoung. Your best friend should have at least saved you a seat if he was going to drag you to watch his game, the nerve.

“Is this spot taken?”

He shakes his head and you sit, accepting the offered pair of binoculars as the game begins. You recognize your brother’s voice over the speakers narrating the events of the game as all you see are broomsticks flying left and right, up down and back again while balls of every shape wiz by, threatening to knock unsuspecting players off their brooms. Cheers and boos simultaneously sounding out across the stadium, the whole ordeal is chaotic and you roll your eyes at how people found this entertaining and worth the time.

“Here,” you begin, handing back Haechan’s binoculars. “I’m going to go back to—”

“The Snitch! Lee Taeyong has just spotted the Golden Snitch!”

A hush falls over the entire crowd and you snatch back the binoculars, intrigued by the sudden overcast of silence. Through the lenses, you spot a lean figure picking up speed while chasing what looked to be a small golden ball. Recognizing him as the Hufflepuff from the library, you watch him zoom around the Slytherin team, ducking just in time to avoid a Bludger to the head. He reaches his arm forward and seals the Golden Snitch in his grasp, spinning to a loop-de-loop and throwing a fist in the air triumphantly with the Snitch fluttering its wings in defeat.

“And that’s the end of the game! Hufflepuff wins, 150 to 40!”

“That’s it?” you exclaim. “End game after he catches that stupid ball?”

“Y/N, the Snitch is worth 150 points,” Haechan deadpans. “It’s the fastest and hardest ball to see and catch out of everything that goes flying around; if the game doesn’t end after someone catches it, we’d be here all day.”

“Okay, I get that, but he caught it in like… just 20 minutes. Aren’t games usually longer than that?”

“Taeyong’s the best Quidditch Seeker at Hogwarts in all of the teams! No one’s been able to take the Quidditch Cup from Hufflepuff since he joined his first year.”

Impressed by the statistics, you aim your binoculars down at the grounds where both teams had landed and were getting ready to change out of their robes. Spotting the Hufflepuff Seeker immediately, you feel your heart grow warm at seeing the wide grin on his face after he made the winning catch, his teammates huddled around him as they lift him up in the air to celebrate another win under their belt.

“Hey, can I get my binoculars back now?”

Snapped out of your trance, you hand over the lenses back to Haechan, admiration growing in your chest for the Hufflepuff who had just quite possibly stolen a piece of your heart after the stellar performance right before your very eyes.

---

The rest of the year spent buttering up to one of the upperclassmen on the Slytherin Quidditch team to learn more about your growing crush on a certain Hufflepuff Quidditch Seeker, you find yourself dismayed that he was a year older than your brother, meaning it would be hard to find a chance to talk to him when the chance to share classes wasn’t possible at all. Yuta had figured it out after two minutes of answering your questions about Taeyong, but promised to keep it a secret after you made a deal to buy him a pack of Chocolate Frogs each time you went to Honeydukes, which was growing to be your favorite place to go to in Hogsmeade after obtaining the needed signature on the permission slip given your third year at Hogwarts. Clearly not in your favor when you went to Honeydukes at least once every weekend, but the emptiness in your purse was worth it if it meant you got to know just a little bit more about Taeyong despite only speaking with him once.

You weren’t the only one who had fallen into the group of people who had “Taeyong Syndrome” (as labeled by your brother), but you certainly spoke nothing of it when most of his fans were from his own house, not wanting to be teased when you were in Slytherin of all houses.

“Professor Slughorn sent me an invitation to a get-together tonight,” Jaehyun says to you one morning at the breakfast table. “Want to come?”

“No thanks,” you grimace. “I’m not interested in your little Slug Club parties.”

“But Doyoung said—”

“Especially not if Doyoung’s going to be there.”

[searchingwardrobes]

Captain Swan is My Favorite Rom Com: Sleepless in Seattle 2/3

Rating: G for this story, but most of the stories in Captain Swan is My Favorite Rom-Com are rated T

Can also be read on Ao3

Tagging @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @kday426 @bethacaciakay @teamhook @shipsxahoy @shady-swan-jones @tiganasummertree @artistic-writer @cat-sophia @hollyethecurious @coliferoncer @thejacketandthehook @dassala @branlovestowrite @allofdafandoms-blog @flslp87 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @pocket-anon @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @onceuponaprincessworld

Emma’s tires screeched as she flew into the space in the overnight parking deck. She grabbed her purse, frantically checking to make sure they had everything: keys, tickets, cash, her driver’s license, Dramamine in case of turbulence.

“Okay, kid,” she told Henry as she jumped out of the car, “we’re going to be racing to the terminal like in Home Alone. You ready?”

“I guess,” Henry grumbled.

“Seriously?” Emma couldn’t help snapping as she yanked their suitcase from her trunk. “Walsh got you a trip to Disney World for Christmas, and you’re having an attitude?”

Henry crossed his arms in front of him petulantly. “My affections cannot be bought.”

Emma rolled her eyes as she shoved Henry’s suitcase into his hands. “Where in the world do you get your vocabulary?”

“I read, Mom.”

Emma ran for the parking deck elevator. “It’s the happiest place on earth. Can you at least try to enjoy it?”

“You think Walsh might get tied up at work and not be able to join us? Cause that would make me very happy!”

Emma rubbed her forehead wearily as she jabbed at the elevator button. God, she and Walsh weren’t even married yet, and Henry’s stepchild syndrome was already giving her a migraine.

***********************************************

The post-holiday crowd at the Boston airport jostled their way through the baggage claim area. That was probably why Alice’s father had a firm grip on her hand, though she felt she was far too old for such things. They had arrived yesterday to unpack the boxes that had been shipped to Uncle Liam and Aunt Elsa’s new apartment and to make sure the furniture had been delivered. It had been hard work but fun, with pizza and camping out on the living room floor.

Alice spotted her aunt and uncle through the crowd and took off at a run, squealing with joy. Her father called after her in a panic, but she paid him no mind as Uncle Liam scooped her up into a big bear hug. He set her down only for her to be enveloped by Aunt Elsa.

Killian stood by, a rare smile upon his lips as he watched the reunion. His brother turned to him with a welcome grin and enveloped him in a hearty embrace.

“It’s good to see you, little brother.”

“Younger,” Killian corrected with a chuckle, “and the feeling is mutual.”

Liam patted his shoulders as he took a step back. “Well, I managed to cross the ocean that divided us, now I just have to get things squared away so I cross the continent as well.”

“Liam,” Elsa groaned, her arms still around Alice, “let’s not talk about business right now. It’s Christmas.”

“It was Christmas,” Alice corrected with a frown, “why couldn’t you get here sooner?”

“Oh honey, we wanted to,” Elsa explained, patting her cheeks, “but this was our last Christmas with my sister and her family. Next year we’ll be traveling across an ocean to see them.”

Killian rubbed at his clenched jaw. “You know you didn’t have to do this -”

“Don’t start that,” Elsa cut him off, stepping forward to give him a hug of her own, “you need us.”

“What he needs is a wife,” Alice piped up.

Killian’s jaw clenched again as he suppressed a groan. Elsa arched a brow at him and then

glanced over at Alice. “What’s this all about?” she asked.

Killian turned to his daughter with a pointed expression. “Why don’t you tell them what you did,

Alice?

She shrunk into herself as all three adults looked at her with raised brows.

“Papa . . . “

Kilian circled his hand in the air. “No, seriously, tell them. About the radio show.”

Alice’s blush crept all the way up to her ears.

“Radio show?” asked Elsa.

“Aye,” Killian explained, “on Christmas Eve Alice called into a radio show and told them I needed a new wife for Christmas,”

Elsa’s face morphed into a tender expression as she pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh Alice,” she sighed, pulling her niece close. Alice’s shame melted away at the understanding look in her aunt’s eyes. “She just wants you to be happy, Killian, we all do.”

“It’s been over two years -” Liam began, but he was silenced by Killian’s raised palm.

“Don’t, just don’t.”

“It’s perfectly fine to start dating again,” Elsa added, “Milah wouldn’t want -”

“Like it’s so easy. I’ll just grow a new heart,” Killian snapped. He bent to hoist Elsa’s carry-on over his shoulder, clearly conveying that the conversation was over. “It only happens once.”

Killian turned towards the airport doors and instantly collided with someone racing in. He instinctively reached out to steady the person with his hands at her shoulders, and found himself looking into a pair of jade eyes. The woman’s startled look softened and the hands that grasped the front of his shirt relaxed, her fingers grazing the exposed skin of his chest where his top buttons were undone. The featherlight brushes of her fingertips sent a jolt through his chest. Her cheeks were flushed, perhaps from the cold, and her golden hair was a riot of messy waves, most likely because she’d been in a rush. Killian blinked and gaped like a schoolboy. He hadn’t been so completely mesmerized by a woman’s beauty since . . .

“H-hello,” he stuttered.

“Hello,” she breathed out in return. Was she as affected as he was?

“Mom!”

The woman yanked her hands from his chest at the sound of the boy’s voice. The lad yanked on her arm.

“Mom, you said we were gonna miss our flight.”

The flush on her cheeks deepened as she turned quickly away from Killian.

“Papa, are you alright?” Alice’s words made him realize he was still staring at the woman’s retreating form.

Henry’s eyes fell on the little girl tugging on her father’s hand, and he gasped.

“Mom,” he cried as he was dragged down the concourse, “did you hear that? Their accents, and she called him Papa! I think it’s Alice and Killian. From the radio show Christmas Eve!”

“Henry, that’s ridiculous. This is Boston airport, that call came from Seattle.”

“But lots of people travel for the holidays,” Henry argued.

“And lots of people have British accents.”

“It’s them, Mom, I know it! I think it’s a sign.”

Emma sighed as she stopped at their gate and handed the tickets to the attendant. The man looked them over and told them to hurry on board, the plane was taking off soon. Henry picked up the conversation as they raced down the tunnel.

“What are the chances that we heard them on the radio and then two days later, we run into them?”

Emma ignored him as she found their seats and stowed their carry-ons. As she plopped into the seat next to him, she put her arm around him and smiled.

“Know what I think, kid? I do think this is a sign. A sign you’ve been spending way too much time with Mary Margaret.”

They both laughed, but Henry wasn’t giving up so easily. That magic Mary Margaret had talked about? He could feel it in the air.

******************************************************

When Henry got home from school, he passed his mom and her friend Ruby chatting in the kitchen. He gave his mom a quick hug then went to find a snack in the kitchen. He was standing in front of the pantry trying to decide between Oreos and Chips Ahoy when he heard it.

“Sleepless in Seattle?” Ruby asked.

Henry stilled, leaning towards the living room to hear better.

“That’s what she called him on the radio because he can’t sleep.” His mother paused, and he suddenly felt like she somehow had eyes in the kitchen. “Henry!” she called out. “What are you doing in there?”

“Getting Oreos!” he shouted back. He grabbed the package and shut the pantry door to emphasize his point.

“Use a bowl!”

“Ok!” He tossed a few cookies in a bowl, then grabbed the jug of milk from the fridge. He strained to hear the conversation, but his mother had lowered her voice. He quickly poured his milk, then walked back out into the living room. His mother clamped her mouth shut the minute she saw him. “Got homework,” he told her nonchalantly, forcing himself to barely glance her way.

His mother and Ruby stayed silent as he ascended the stairs. He went to his door, opened and shut it, then settled down on the top step. Sure enough, their conversation resumed once they thought he was out of earshot.

“Are you telling me you’re having fantasies about this man?” Ruby asked. He could hear his mother groan.

“I know,” she said, sounding like her voice was muffled. He could imagine his mom with a pillow smashed to her face. “I’m having fantasies about a man I’ve never met. I don’t even know what he looks like! He could be a chainsaw murderer, a cult leader, or someone really sick. Like . . . like . . . Neal.”

Henry grimaced. His mom had told him all about his dad. How he was older and took advantage of her, and how he was now in jail. Still, he sometimes wondered if it meant something was wrong with him too. No matter how many times his mom insisted he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, he still wondered if his dad’s DNA had tainted him somehow.

“So if you think it’s so crazy,” Ruby asked, “why can’t you stop thinking about him?”

“I don’t know . . . he just started talking about how much he loved his wife, and suddenly I was crying.”

“Whoa. Emma Swan does not cry. Especially about sappy stuff.”

“I know! It totally threw me, Rubes! What’s wrong with me?”

“And then there was the guy at the airport?” Ruby asked. “You think he’s the same guy.”

“No, Henry thinks he is. But it was so strange, Ruby. It was like we had met before . . . I just felt this . . . connection.”

Emma trailed off, and it was quiet for a while. Even though he couldn’t see them, Henry had a feeling his mother had her head in Ruby’s lap right now and the brunette was combing her fingers through her hair.

“I think,” Ruby finally said, “that this has more to do with Walsh than this mystery man.”

“Ugh, I feel awful. I’m engaged to Walsh, and I’m fantasizing about someone else. What kind of person does that make me?”

“It makes you a woman who wants more,” Ruby replied. “I think that’s why you can‘t get Sleepless in Seattle out of your head. You want the kind of love he had with his wife. And the guy at the airport? You want electricity! And let’s face it, honey, you don’t have either of those things with Walsh. That man may be loyal, but he’s boring as hell.”

“Walsh is a good man,” Emma protested. “He’s steady, he makes a good living, he’s responsible . . . and he adores me.”

Henry clutched his glass of milk so hard he was afraid it might shatter. This was his mom’s speech. Had Ruby heard it as many times as he had?

“You’ve said that, Emma. But do you love him?”

Henry held his breath, counting the beats of his heart waiting for his mother’s answer. When it didn’t readily come, he heard Ruby sigh.

“I think you should at least write to this guy in Seattle. Make sure Walsh is the one.”

“I never said Walsh wasn’t the one!” Emma argued. “And are you insane? I can’t write a letter to a man I’ve never met! Besides, I bet he’s being flooded with letters already. Do you know how many women were asking for his number on the air that night alone?”

“Well, if you won’t write him maybe I will,” Ruby teased. “You’ve made him sound like a dream.”

“Don’t you dare, Rubes!”

Henry heard his mother and Ruby squealing and laughing, and the sounds of pillows thudding against the sofa. He rose from the top stair and made his way to his room, opening and closing the door with agonizing slowness. He set his untouched snack down on his nightstand and went over to his desk. He pulled out a pen and a sheet of paper and began to write.

“Dear Sleepless in Seattle . . . “

[fernwehbookworm]

Knight of Kandor- Chapter 1

The known world of Cadmium was surrounded on three sides by water and the fourth side by mountains so great and treacherous that no man had made it over and returned alive. Every ship sent to sea out of sight of the coast was never seen again. As far as the people of this land were concerned, the borders of humanity began and ended with the waters and mountains. In the very beginning of their written history, a ruling monarch emerged. The people lived in peace under the crown of their king. The more fertile southern lands produced food easily with hardly a chill to kill the crops. The northern lands, especially near the mountains, produced much or the raw materials for building and forging. Very little crime appeared on the roads because the king was able to keep them guarded well without war in his land.

Several generations of peace were shattered though when one King died without an heir. He became known as the Heir-less King, his name lost to history. This meant that his younger brother would ascend the throne. However, his brother was only eight years old at the time of his death. Until the boy came of age, twenty by the laws of the land, the elder sister would rule. She was already twenty-two even though the laws dictated that the crown would pass to the male heir.

These were the last years of peace the people of Cadmium had known. The Queen ruled the lands so well that she became adored by many. Many also forgot about the boy still growing and learning to become King. The Queen ruled the country from the Winter castle nestled in the foothills of the northern mountains and by the Kings River that cut through the land. She left the boy to grow in the Summer Castle with his tutors and advisors. The Queen held court daily and knew her people well. When she was being asked to give up her crown to a King they had never met, the people rallied to her. Soon the lands were divided. With the northern lands ready access to weapons and the ore to make them the common people quickly took land enough for food. War broke out for the first time. A Queen who had ruled for years and a young King fighting for his birthright.

This was the beginning of the war that divided the peaceful land of Cadmium. The northern lands adopted the name Krypton after the beautiful rare jewels found deep in the mountains, a treacherous jewel that many who set out to find it died or were never seen from again. The lower lands kept the name of their history. Krypton adopted new laws, mainly the law that the crown was passed to the first-born female child. Most queens did marry for love but on occasion, a marriage was made to ensure the support of a house that lived on the borderland.

Briefly, a King might rule in the place of a Queen if a queen died suddenly. This happened most with childbirth. The King would rule until the daughter became of age. It was decided that it was best for queens to rule the people while the princes ruled the armies. The princes were actually happy with the arrangement, relieved of most duties except what came most naturally to them, fighting.

In the most recent history of Krypton, the Queen died without an heir so her brother rose to rule. His marriage was political in nature to ensure a strong ruler and the loyalty of a household with disputed lands. Lionel Luthor married Lillian. A child conceived soon after their wedding vows gave hope for a true queen on the throne but instead a boy was born. He was named Alexander. The Queen grew ill after the birth of her child and returned to her family estate to escape the pressures of court. The King would visit his queen several times a year but she did not return to court until ten years later. When she did she had a beautiful girl not much younger than the prince. It was speculated that the reason for her illness was having a second child so quickly after the first.

The people were overjoyed at the prospect of having a queen sit the throne once more. The joy was dampened by the sudden loss of the King. A hunting accident. A mountain lion had been stalking villages near the mountains so the King in his men set out to kill the beast. In one of the narrow passages of the mountain villages, the King was separated from his men. The lion fell on him from above and overpowered him. The hunting party arrived too late to save the King.

The power of rule was left to his queen. She took to it readily and easily. Her children grew strong and diligent. The prince exceeding most in sword and tactics, the princess learning to lead the people into a better future. When the princess turned twenty she was crowned as the queen in waiting. She would begin assuming responsibilities of all nature in preparation for her ascension to the throne when the Queen passed away or she reached the age of twenty-six, according to the traditional laws of the land.

Cadmium still strove to restore order to their land, for they still saw Krypton not as a kingdom by itself but as rebels who still refused the rule of their King. This constant burning hatred caused the war to rage for over a century, neither gaining the upper hand. So battles raged, turning more and more land between the two lands into wild country, occupied by only desperate people and those who deserted the armies on either side. Cadmium refused to treat with the rebels so a land that was once whole was divided by war with no hope of peace.

I stared into the dented plate of metal that served as a mirror. I picked up the sheers to begin the work on my hair. A monthly procedure that was habitual and necessary. A ritual that allowed my thoughts to wander to the memories that plagued me in most my waking hours.

The lush grass of the meadow cushions my feet as they pound after the steps of the fair-haired boy in front of me.

"Kal, wait!" I call out. He looks over his shoulder and grins.

"Kara, you know the rules. The last one to the river does all the chores this week." He calls back.

Kal was a year older and had the long legs to match. So naturally every time we played this game I lost. Our parents trailed behind with the picnic basket with our lunch.

Suddenly mud was squishing between my toes. I was at the river bed. I glance around in search of my brother when I am forced to duck as a mud ball sails over my head.

"Kal!" I squeal in protest.

I scoop up my own handful of mud to retaliate. Mud begins to fly as we bob and weave our way closer to the water. Kal grabs two handfuls of mud and hops on a rock that juts above the water surface. He throws one ball and it splatters on my summer dress. Then he jumps to the next rock, they lead like stepping stones across the lazy water. I can hear Mama and Papa's laughter in the meadow as they stroll hand and hand towards us.

Kal ducks a ball of mud from me and throws his own. Kal casts about in search of more projectiles. Two more rocks and he would be on the other shore. The next rock is further and higher than the others. Kal flashes me one last mischievous grin before he makes the leap. I watch him fly across the gap in what feels like a second that stretches into eternity.  Kal's mud-slicked toes slip from the edge of the river-smoothed boulder. A loud crack sounds across the water as Kal's head hits the hard surface then disappears into the water.

I blink and I am at home again, sitting on my mother's lap. Papa is on the other side of the dust-streaked window, shoulders hunched as he finishes patting down the small mound of dirt. Mama presses her cheek to my hair and a dampness seeps through to my head.

Crowds press in on all sides and Papa's hands grip my legs tightly as I am perched on his shoulders. The man on the platform holds a parchment that he reads from. I am too distracted by the men in shiny metal suits on either side of him to pay attention to the words. Papa quickly puts me down and pulls me through the crowd, away from the shiny men.

The splintered chair pricks my bottom and makes me squirm as Mama stands behind me. Tears fall down my cheeks as my hair falls off my shoulders to the floor. I do not understand what is happening other than Mama and Papa are arguing and crying and packing what little we own.

The small cart bounces along the open road as the old donkey pulls against Papa's reins. Mama's body fends off the chill of the night better than the thin blanket wrapped around us. Our hut shrinks in the distance, illuminated only by the pale moonlight.

The pants are hot as I work with Papa. I haul logs back and forth as he splits them with the ax.

"Papa, I am so tired. Please, can we stop? Kal used to help and it was easier." Pain explodes across my face and whips my head to the side. Papa gruffly grabs my shoulders with his scarred hands.

"Never say that. You are Kal. Kara died." he says just as harshly as the slap. tears well in my eyes.

"Kal," his voice softens. " It is the only way to keep us safe, to keep you safe. Now, we must make you a proper man."

I set the sheers down and look in the mirror. My blonde hair that used to flow in waves down my back as a child now stops at the nape of my neck. The freshly cut strands float in every direction, giving it a tousled look.  I pull the loose nightshirt over my head and grab the cloth strips and begin to wrap them around my chest and torso. I still remember the first time Mama did the same.

The dark hut was lit by the only two candles we could afford. my mother wrapped the cloth tightly around my chest and then my stomach. It flattened my newly budding breasts so when the loose tunic is pulled over my head I am as flat-chested and scrawny as all the other twelve-year-old boys in the village.

"Remember my beautiful child, no one must ever know. Otherwise, you will be taken from us." her whisper in my ear barely makes it past the lump I hear in her throat.

The light from the candle was dim. I had painstakingly earned the right to my own tent long ago. It had the luxuries of being completely enclosed, tall enough to stand straight up in, and have a small cot and writing desk. It was not yet dawn and soon the camp would be stirring.

The chain mail clinks softly as it slides over my under tunic. I methodically begin to strap on the plate armor. I can see light beginning to form outside the tent walls. I adjust the sword baldric over my shoulder and hear a knock on the wood post in the doorway. The knock that comes every morning at the same time.

"Come in, John," I say, my voice purposefully pitched downwards. I do it so much that it feels natural and sometimes I fear it may be permanent. Sometimes when I am alone I practice my reading out loud to hear my own voice.

"Sir, before we set out, the Prince has requested all the sector leaders to meet at command." I nod at the dark face of the boy poking through the tent flaps.

"Start your duties. Pack everything and saddle my horse. I will be back shortly."

I walk the narrow path between tents. Mud sucking at my feet with every step. The ground was turned and uneven from the thousands of men and animals that had passed over it the past couple of days. Men rolled from small tents only big enough to hold two prone bodies. I could see some women picking their way through the low tents back to the outskirts of the camp where most camp followers resided. I had to keep the sneer from my face at the implications of what their presence meant. Even though I was drafted at the age of fourteen, I was never able to become completely desensitized to the what went on among the men. Even the other officers were more than happy to sate their needs in such a way.

I was admitted to the command tent by the Prince's guard. They knew me on sight. Most men in the army knew me. I was the first to arrive, one of the upsides to training my body to only need three hours of sleep every night. All so I would be in bed after the men and up long before them. The prince looks up at me with his dark eyes. His dark hair had grown shaggy during the campaign. He gives me a nod then continues to read the parchment in front of him. The other officers begin to file in as they are roused and dressed by their own squires. Silence remains among us because we know the prince hates interruptions. He starts writing on a blank parchment, not even acknowledging the rest of the men who filed in.

"There will be some changes in command. One of my most successful and fast-rising officers has been called to court." The middle-aged men exchange looks and my heart beat picks up.

"There was an attempt on the Queen-in-Waiting's life. My sister's life." sharp intakes of breath are heard around the command tent.

"Our enemy in the south, Cadmium, abhor the idea of female rulers so much that they wish to eliminate the Queen-in-Waiting. With this latest attack in the heart of our beloved Krypton, the Queen Regent has called Sir Kal to court to protect her daughter, protect my sister, and protect the throne. In his departure, the troops under Sir Kal's command will be distributed..."

I am dumbfounded. I cannot hear Prince Alexander's words any longer. My place was not at court, it was heard in the field. The heat of battle had drawn me in ever since I picked up my first sword. Enlistment decrees had spread across Krypton, one healthy male from every family was to be taken into the army and trained for the ever-growing war with Cadmium. This was my second life-changing decree that the crown had made.

The first was the one that gave me the name of my dead brother. My parents drilled it into me so they wouldn't lose both children. Families with female children between the ages six and nine were to have those children taken and the families banished. No one knew the reason but speculation was the King had an affair after he was married and conceived a daughter. In Krypton the crown was passed to the oldest daughter, no matter the side of the sheet the child was born on. Many children and families were destroyed the following year. Dark times fell on Krypton and shadows of it can still be seen today. No such child was ever found according to the general knowledge of the population.

Even now occasionally a woman was found dead, all bearing the dark hair and eyes of the royal line. Love of the princess, now Queen-in-waiting, is what any man caught claimed. No one wanted a threat to the throne but I always hated the senselessness of it. A small kernel of hate formed in the pit of my stomach for a girl I never met because our rulers let such acts occur.

Because of the insane decree, my parents resurrected their dead son in me. Their daughter left for dead in the small dark hut with the first cut strands of hair. I picked up a sword after the second decree and never looked back at the lost little girl. Kal had protected our family so did my best to make him proud. He had always dreamed of being a knight, so when the war opened the door for me to become one, I stepped right through. I became the best, no one defeated me.

The Prince recognized that as officers told him of my accomplishments. I quickly rose through the ranks. Soon I knelt in front of him, in the carnage of a battle, as he dropped a sword on either shoulder. Then telling me to rise as a knight, all for saving his life.

My feet carry back through the camp without my permission after being dismissed from command. My troops divided among the greedy old men that served under the prince. Men were saddling their horses and tents were being packed away. Smoke from banked fires still hung lazily in the air.

John held the reins to both our horses and without a word I mount my white charger. His smaller working horse had a small cart behind it with our meager possessions. I turn my horse with the ease of long companionship and head the opposite direction of where the army would be moving.

"Sir?  Isn't the head of the army the other direction?"

"It is." I nod with the simple reply.

"Then where are we going?" he asks.

"Have you ever been to court?" I respond with my own question.

"No."

"Well, we are about to change that. I have been assigned to protect the Queen-in-waiting."

Chapter 2