#also: last song gif set was about the devil. and this one is about the deep blue sea. (it’s only partially intentional)

[too-many-rooks]

Pearl Diver - Mitski

Pearl diver, dive, dive deeper,

Pearl diver, dive dive, down.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hey darling.

I love your writing! I have an idea in my head that I was hoping you could write up.

Hangman fic based on the song Cowboy Casanova by Carrie Underwood. I heard the song recently and immediately thought of Jake❤️

A/N: Aww thank you so much, anon! I have to say that I hadn't heard this song before but I'm now obsessed with it, so thank you for that XD And I agree, it's absolutely perfect for him, isn't it? Hope you like it!

Devil in Disguise

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: You try to discourage your friend from getting involved with the infamous Jake Seresin, but your counsel is pointless because this cowboy has other plans anyway.

CW: mild angst, drinking, swearing

WC: 1200+

Masterlist

“Don’t even think about it,” you mutter, slurping on your strawberry daiquiri while you eye the smirking man from across the bar.

Your friend blinks at you innocently. “What are you talking about?” she says.

“Trust me,” you warn. “You don’t want to go there.”

Your friend licks her lips and glances back at the man leaning on the jukebox, riffling through the various options. For as long as you’ve known him, Jake Seresin has always been riffling through options, musical and otherwise.

“He’s going to rip your heart out,” you caution, lifting the straw out of your drink and chugging the rest of it right from the glass.

“He’s so beautiful.” Your friend pouts.

“Yes, he is,” you agree, setting your empty glass down while the pub starts to spin around you as if your bar stool is mounted atop a carousel. “He’s also the devil.”

Your friend laughs and you try to focus on her face with a stern expression. “You sound like you speak from experience,” she comments.

You grimace. “Unfortunately.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, rising from her seat. “I know what I’m getting myself into.”

You grab her hand. “No, you don’t. You think you’re just going to have a fun night, no strings attached. You think you’re going to be in control of the situation.” Your tone is almost pleading now as you wiggle your friend’s wrist. “He’ll have other plans, babe. He’s going to make you fall for him. You’re going to fall so hard.”

Your friend takes you by the shoulders, stabilizing you. “Y/N,” she says. “Are you in love with him?”

You cringe, suddenly extremely nauseated. “God, no!”

“Then he’s fair game, right?”

You wince. “You don’t want to do this,” you say, but your words come out a little bit slurred and you’re not so sure that your message has been received. Because your friend nods at you and starts for the damn cowboy in khakis with his sunglasses hanging off the collar of his uniform. You groan and promptly turn away, not at all eager to see your friend hit it off with the man who has made the last six months of your life a living hell. You wave down the bartender and request your fifth drink of the night, but who’s keeping count? Certainly not you.

You’re almost finished your beverage when your friend returns with a giant grin on her face. “I’m taking off,” she says excitedly.

“No!” you moan.

“Relax, not with Cowboy Casanova,” she replies. “His friend, though!” She winks at you. You glance over your shoulder to see one of the other aviators smiling sheepishly at your friend as she gives you a quick hug. “You’ll get home okay?” she asks in a hurry.

You nod. “Don’t worry, I’ll grab an Uber.”

“By the way,” she murmurs in your ear before taking off. “Pretty boy can’t keep his eyes off you.”

But she’s gone before you can respond with an assortment of your favorite profanities. You down the remainder of your drink in silence and then stand to pull your phone out of your pocket so you could call for a ride. You’ve already got the app open when he strolls into your periphery and starts drumming obnoxiously on the counter with the tips of his fingers. You lift your eyes grimly and watch as he flags down the bartender while completely ignoring your existence. You try not to let your body react the way it always does in his presence, but you’re already feeling your palms begin to sweat.

Then, he looks over at you, smirking when he sees that you’ve already spotted him. Your heart does a somersault which adds to your vertigo and amplifies your perspiration. “I hear you’ve been talking about me,” he says.

You give him a dirty look. “Just a little PSA. I feel it is my civic duty.”

He chuckles slightly. “I’ve left an impression, then?”

You do your best to not roll your eyes like a schoolgirl. Licking your lips with contempt, you grace him with a deadpan expression. “More like a sour taste in my mouth.”

He turns to face you, leaning lazily into the bar. “Look at that, you’re all out of alcohol.” He nods at your empty glass.

“Look at that,” you reply with a tight smile. “It’s time for me to go.” You turn to leave, concentrating all your efforts on walking in a straight line despite the spinning of the room. You blink as the tables around you drift from side to side as though they were floating on water.

Before you can make it to the door however, Jake fuckboy Seresin catches up to you, casually stepping into your path with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You seem upset,” he says with a knowing squint.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you respond flatly.

“You know,” Jake says, leaning back into the door to open it for you. “You wasted your time warning her off.”

You glare at him as you walk out. “If I could save just one friend the heartache, it’s not a waste.”

Jake meets your gaze with a subtle smirk, stepping into the dusk after you. “I don’t want her.”

You stare at him as he follows you outside, the insinuation of his statement making you slightly queasy.

He takes a slow but very deliberate step toward you. “There’s only one person I want,” he says in a low voice.

You scoff while simultaneously gulping in apprehension. “You mean one thing,” you manage to say.

Jake Seresin is no longer smiling; he knows the game, and the current play calls for sincerity or, at the very least, a decent simulation of it. “It’s you,” he says simply.

And despite knowing that every word that comes out of his mouth is a big, fat lie, you feel an irrational desire to just believe. You take several fevered breaths as his face nears yours before replying, “Fuck off.” But you don’t resist when his hand snakes around your waist.

His eyes rake over your face, his gaze lingering on your lips for several torturous seconds before he looks back up. “I want you,” he says, all serious as if he hadn’t already promised you forever once upon a time.

“You can’t have me,” you say, forcing an element of defiance into your voice as his face gets close enough for you to smell his aftershave.

You feel his thumb stroke your ribcage, his touch featherlight. “I know,” he mutters, pushing his forehead into yours insistently.

You close your eyes as his breath sweeps over your face. “It’s too late, Jake,” you whisper.

He nods, his other hand closing around your arm as his nose brushes against yours. “I know,” he repeats.

You feel yourself melting underneath his searing touch but somehow you find the strength to keep talking. “I don’t trust you.”

Jake’s hold on your arm tightens slightly while his other hand drops down to your hip. He tugs you forward. “You shouldn’t,” he says quietly; the first honest words he’s ever spoken – at least to you.

His bottom lip skims your cheek, just shy of your mouth. Not a kiss but rather a loitering pause along your skin. You exhale with a shudder when you feel his lips brush the corner of your mouth. Your lips part; not kissing, just waiting. “I’m leaving,” you murmur against his mouth.

You feel his lips spreading into a grin. “Good idea,” he responds.

Then, he kisses you.

Hangman Tag List:

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@atarmychick007

@wandering-wah

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@letskeepthislo-ki

[writing-for-life]

Sandman Predictions

So we’ve been speculating wildly what the remainder of The Sandman might look like on here and in our community (join us!) for a while.

And I thought it would be fun to put my predictions to paper (so to speak) so I can be embarrassed about them later and laugh at how wrong they were 🙈

Taking all the casting announcements and BTS in consideration I’ve collected like a magpie (check out my #sandman S2 tag), I will have a stab at it…

Only 12 Episodes or Aiming for Renewal?

Both is possible, but I am more and more leaning we’ll get the whole thing in twelve episodes in two batches of five each with two wraparound episodes (one will be AGoY/THCoL in the middle, one the last three issues of The Wake).

We know the episode names for six episodes that are directed by Jamie Childs. That doesn’t mean they were in order, or that there won’t be other directors involved. It wouldn’t surprise me if they at least went for female writers/directors for AGoY/THCoL, and if that’ll be the episode that separates (or rather connects) SoM and Brief Lives. So here comes my totally unhinged prediction for 12 episodes, including the titles we know (mind you, they might also be working titles). The chapters from the comics are to be seen as fluid and not absolute, because there are a lot of scenes that are not linear in chronological terms and will probably be shuffled around a bit:

Batch One

“More Devils Than Vast Hell Can Hold” (that title is a direct quote from AMND): A Midsummer Night’s Dream, SoM Prologue & Tales in the Sand flashback

“Season of Mists”: SoM ch. 1-3, ch. 4 is getting dropped

“The Ruler of Hell”: SoM ch. 5 through Epilogue

TBA: AGoY & THCoL “Brief Lives”: Thermidor and Brief Lives ch. 1-3

“Brief Lives”: Brief Lives ch. 1-5 “The Song of Orpheus”: Brief Lives ch. 4-6 and The Song of Orpheus segueing into

“The Song of Orpheus”: Brief Lives ch. 6. Bast is an excellent cut to SoO. Thermidor will also be in there. “Family Blood”: Brief Lives ch. 7-9

Batch Two

“Family Blood”: Brief Lives ch. 7-9 TBA: TKO ch. 1-4

TBA: TKO ch. 1-4 TBA: TKO ch. 5-7

TBA: TKO ch. 5-8 TBA: TKO ch. 8-10

TBA: TKO ch. 11-13

TBA: The Wake (all of it apart from…)

TBA: Sunday Mourning/Exiles/The Tempest

Edit 19/09:

[strikeouts in text done on same day]

So I’ve read The High Cost of Living again over the past few days because it didn’t want to leave me alone, and I’ve now convinced myself we’ll get it as a side-plot to Brief Lives in episodes 4-6, and that we’ll get tiny bits of AGoY, (mostly to set up Wanda/Ruby for Brief Lives and Hazel/Foxglove for THCoL) as a side plot to SoM in episodes 1-3. Spoilers ahead, so skip if that’s not your thing:

Both Sexton and Orpheus have a death wish. I don’t want to drag this out too much because the post is long enough as it is, but suffice it to say, Sexton rethinks after spending a day with Didi/Death, while Orpheus is granted his wish. And this is what ultimately sets Morpheus on his own path. The meaning of “So live” would be beautifully contrasted that way because it has different meaning to different people, depending on their own experience. Add to that Death spending a “brief life” for one day herself, and I can somewhat see the vision.

Failing this, THCoL could also be a special in episode 13 that hasn’t been announced yet (I’d rather have Overture though if I’m honest).

In more detail:

A Midsummer Night’s Dream and The Tempest will be bookends, one before SoM, one after The Wake (they don’t necessarily have to be full episodes, they could be half each and make up roughly an hour combined. It really depends on overall runtime).

We’ll kick off batch one with Season of Mists (maybe the prologue and will also be in episode 1–there are several points in AMND that would make good cuts into SoM), and Tales in the Sand won’t be a full episode but incorporated as flashbacks (maybe around the family dinner). After we conclude SoM, we’ll get one episode of AGoY will be a side-plot to SoM, as per above (if it happens at all), and leads into THCoL as a side-plot to Brief Lives as per my edit above, because there’s a through-line in there for Fox and Hazel, plus we can set up Wanda/Ruby for Brief Lives.

Bonus 1:

Johanna will be somehow involved in SoM (she’s the Hellblazer after all), and we’ll get her to hook up with Murphy. No need for a longwinded introduction of Thessaly. Or, failing that, we just cut out the love interest completely, Morpheus does his moping session because Nada rebuffs him again, but Jo will still take Thessaly’s place as the crone.

We’ll move into roughly three episodes of Song of Orpheus/Thermidor and Brief Lives from there. Wanda will die in Brief Lives like Ruby, not in AGoY.

We finish the first batch with Morpheus alone on his chair after you-know-what 😩

Second batch: TKO and The Wake. Little bits of World’s End will be woven in where it fits, maybe already in the first batch as well. Same goes for little bits of standalone issues from Fables and Reflections.

Jo will take Thessaly’s place and protect Lyta because she’d just believe it’s the right thing to do (she also sympathises because she lost Astra). Whether she also holds a deeper grudge depends on if they set them up as having an affair or not.

My guess is four episodes TKO and one for the Wake. Sunday Mourning and Exiles will be done in one episode. The movie concept art that Jill Thompson did ages ago showed Daniel in the distance on the beach with the other three, and I think that’s a good tie-in point to lead into Exiles. Even the Tempest might fit in there if they make the last episode more feature-length. And you’ve got your two Shakespeare bookends.

Bonus 2:

Hob will be reinstalled to his narrative purpose because at least half the fandom will drop him like a hot potato and ship Morpheus x Cluracan instead. Because:

If you think 12 episodes are tight: Yes, if you want to see every detail and issue of the comics. But not everything you see in a graphic novel translates well to screen, plus you don’t perceive time the same way. What takes ages to read can be something like 30 seconds in a film. Add to this that the movie that never happened was conceptualised as a trilogy if I’m not mistaken, so probably 6-8 hours planned runtime in total. So they always had a definite idea how to streamline it, and they were planning for it before. 12 episodes with 45 to 60min each give us more to play with than a movie-trilogy (plus we can already take the time off that we spent on S1). I think it’s doable, but of course it means tightening arcs and dropping stuff.

However, I’ll be honest with you: With all that’s been going on, and having seen that they filmed right through until the end, I’d rather have them wrap up now. Because I honestly can’t see a S3 happening after all that’s already been cancelled and put on hold because of you-know-what (I’m thinking of Disney shelving The Graveyard Book and Amazon putting GO on hold and sitting on the Audible despite it being finished).

But also: These decisions have likely been made long before these considerations even became an issue: Renewal was on a knife’s edge, and choices were made back then we can only guess at. Scripts aren’t written over night, neither are sets changed around wildly on a whim (plus actors aren’t just tied to one project and can’t just willy-nilly change their schedules). And some sets for TKO were already confirmed and booked in May. So they were always going to do what we’ve seen in BTS shots. It’s not a sudden development.

In any case: If they aimed for more seasons than two, I think this prediction could still hold in general, we’ll just get it more fleshed out. In that case, I’d say 10 episodes of SoM and Brief Lives (5 each), and A Midsummer Night’s Dream and THCoL as standalones with the rest as side-plots woven in (that includes AGoY). Then S3 comprising TKO and The Wake with more space for standalone episodes and World’s End. Maybe even Overture as a special. I very much doubt they would go for more than three seasons in total though.

So these are my predictions, now I’d love to hear yours…

[5h-epilogue]

“ . . . and as you’ve grown up, I continued with running my companies, starring in movies, making music, and I produced my play. Everyone else eventually found happiness in one way or another, thank goodness.”

Nia had wondered how her parents were so rich, how she was able to enjoy such comfortable seating out on the patio she glanced around at now that overlooked an enormous pool — the big, outdoor flower and vegetable garden to the right of it — and the patio also had two flat-screen televisions, a gourmet outdoor cooking area with a grill, and, appropriately, ceiling fans and a fire pit.

“Wow, mom. That’s . . . wow.” The young girl was in a bit of shock. She understood why a filmmaker wanted to make a movie about you. A countless amount of questions ran through her mind about you, her mother, who was considered to be a living legend.

Your beloved chef came outdoors and served you and your daughter a bowl of strawberry chicken salad, your favorite summer meal, which she now knew reminded you of your old, deceased lover, Armin Arlert.

“Thank you,” you said to the chef. “Would you mind bringing me my photo album?”

The photo album.

You mentioned it in your story.

Several minutes later, your chef returned with a brown, hardcover book that Nia had seen a countless amount of times in a reserved spot in the library, but never had she touched it. She couldn’t anyway, as it was on a pedestal display underneath protective glass.

Opening the pages, you showed her several photographs of your younger self.

“These were taken by Levi Ackerman,” you said softly.

“You look really pretty,” Nia mumbled, taking the photo album from you, as you were flipping through it too fast for her liking.

She glanced down at a selfie of you and a dark-haired man at the beach, the decades-old date catching her attention.

“Is that Levi?” She asked.

“Yes,” you replied.

Then, she saw the letter Levi had written to you. She only skimmed across it, having already known its contents from your story, and then, she explored the other pages: where Levi told you to continue filling the photo album with pictures from your past, present, and future.

There was a picture of you with a kind-looking, blonde-haired man, standing side by side in a bakery, hands covered in flour.

There was another picture of that same man in a selfie with her father, who seemed so young.

It was clearly Armin. Not only could she gather that from the details your story provided, but he was one of three people in every photo she stared at who she hadn’t seen in her entire life.

There was a photo of you and Jean in a studio together, you writing something down on a notepad as he studiously adjusted something on the soundboard mixer.

“Wait, was this CS Records or Arlert Records?”

You leaned over, looking at the photo.

“CS Records. See the date? Jean and I were more than likely working on my first few songs during the Eldian Devils tour. I can’t remember who took the picture, though.”

Nia hummed in response.

Next, there was a picture of you and Eren getting married for the first time as young artists in Las Vegas. Underneath it, there was a picture of you and Eren getting remarried in Europe.

The other photos consisted of you, Reiner, and his family the night he proposed, you and Mikasa having lunch near a bridge, a group of friends playing cards around a table, a few pictures of you on stage, on film sets, and at awards shows, Eren’s family, and other pictures of you and your friends who she lovingly recognized.

It was odd to know that, as she looked at all of the photographs of people who she had just seen last week, there were two people in some pictures who would never, ever age. The photos of Levi and Armin existed as a permanent reminder of how they will always be known.

Towards the back of the photo album, there was a picture of you with another man she didn’t recognize, but it wasn’t Levi. It wasn’t Armin.

“Is that Connie Springer?” Your daughter leaned over to show you a photograph of you and Connie dressed in suits and gowns for some sort of event.

“Yes,” you said. “That was my album release party. It was the first night Connie let me out of my bedroom after locking me away.”

“Uh,” Nia frowned. “That’s really-”

Nia interrupted her own sentence, distracted by the very last photo in the photo album.

It was a picture that was much older than the other ones. Not only did the date give it away, but the horrible camera quality as well.

It was a photo that couldn’t be found online. A photograph that was worth more than diamonds and gold.

Four young teenagers, standing in front of beautiful trees and bushes, smiling brightly, were photographed by her grandmother, Carla Yeager.

Nia read the little description below the childhood photo of Eren, Jean, Connie, and Marco: The original Eldian Devils. So long & farewell.

Below that, there was a photo of two young children trying to catch fireflies in a patch of high grass underneath a streetlight, photographed by her other grandmother, whom she had never known.

The little description below that childhood photo read: First loves. So long & farewell.

Nia closed the photo album.

“I think I’m gonna cry, Mom,” Nia started to bury her head in her hands. But then, she suddenly perked up and pushed herself out of her seat. “I gotta go see Dad!”

The young girl speed-walked through the enormous home. At this hour, she was certain where to find him.

Opening the door to the family room, there he was, strumming his guitar.

“Hi angel,” Eren smiled, soft wrinkles by his emerald eyes appeared as he greeted his beloved daughter with her favorite nickname, but upon seeing her eyes glistening with sadness, he immediately put down his guitar. “What’s wrong?”

He motioned the girl over, who quickly ran to him and sat down, wrapping her arms around him.

While he didn’t know why she was so upset, he had years of experience soothing her cries.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here,” he repeated.

Nia was a touch more sensitive and incredibly empathetic compared to the average person, that much was true, and right now, she could only think about all the pain her father experienced. The abuse. Almost dying. Losing friends.

And it hurt terribly, especially because she had only known him as the kind-hearted man who was a phenomenal father.

“I’m glad mom picked you,” Nia mumbled. “Thank you for always watching The Parent Trap with me . . . showing up to all of my shows and stuff . . . reading my papers . . . and just . . . you’re a great dad. I love you.”

“Aw, I love you too.” Eren hugged his girl even tighter. “Of course, sweetheart. Always.”

When you stepped into the room, smiling softly, Eren gave you a confused look that silently asked: What’s going on?

You held up the photo album, and he immediately understood.

Eren then motioned you over. Once you sat beside him, he kissed your forehead and wrapped his arm around you as well, holding on to the two people he cherished more than anyone or anything else in the world.

“I love you, mom. You’re so strong, and pretty amazing, too.” Nia reached out, touching your arm. “I hope I can be like you when I’m your age. Older you. Not younger you. You used to be a mess.”

For a while, the three of you sat there, hugging one another, experiencing nothing but pure love and joy.

—

A few months later, it was Thanksgiving.

The heartwarming event was hosted at your house, as it was every year, and familiar faces were gathered around the enormous dining room table covered with warm plates of food.

This year, Nia approached everyone and asked them more specific questions about their lives, wanting more details about the story she heard.

Aunt Hange was more than happy to answer just about everything after having too much wine.

Everyone was lovingly questioned by the teenager, and she shared what you had told her with their children as well.

After having dinner, Jean and his wife were sitting in the living room, playing cards with Erwin and Hange.

Reiner and his wife, who had flown in from Tennessee, were socializing with Annie, her girlfriend, and Sasha — who brought her husband, Niccolo, and their son.

Nia hung out in the recreation room with Reiner’s three children, who both had hair as blonde as his and were slightly younger than she was.

Mikasa, who had settled down in Washington after seeing the world, wanting to be closer to her friends and family, was telling you and Eren about one Thanksgiving year that she had spent lost in the middle of a forest.

A little while afterward, once dinner, laughter, and board games came to an end, Eren found you outside on the patio, staring at the glowing fireplace.

“Hi, baby. Everyone’s gone,” Eren sat down beside you. “Nia’s asleep, or she’s pretending to be, I’m not sure.”

“She’s probably tired, so I’m guessing she's actually asleep,” you said with a grin. “Today was fun. I miss everyone already.”

“Me too,” Eren smiled softly. “I’m glad everyone’s doing well. I hope it stays that way.”

“It will,” you suddenly yawned.

“Come on,” Eren stood up and reached his hand out, and you took it. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

“Someone’s excited to cuddle, huh?” You teased, expecting him to deny it, but proudly, he grinned wider and said, “Of course I am, so hurry up.”

After having a shower together, you and Eren both cuddled up in bed, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

That night, you dreamt of your past — making cinnamon rolls in a bakery and staring at stars from a rooftop.

It was a dream that you often had, but not out of regret. Not out of pain. But out of reflection of just how much you healed. How much your life had changed.

There were some people you wished you could bring back — Armin and Levi.

Some questions went unanswered — who your stalker was all those years ago, and whether it was a stranger or a lover.

But, even so, after having five husbands, and after every beautiful experience and painful memory, you could finally say that you had found contentment, and your one true love was the happiness you experienced as you grew old with your friends and family by your side.

— ONE MONTH LATER —

Five years.

That’s how long Eren had been trying his hardest to visit Connie in prison.

And a month after having Thanksgiving dinner with his family and friends, Connie allowed him to come.

What a stubborn man Connie was, but Eren’s persistence had won.

Eren couldn’t lie. He was nervous. The last time he laid eyes on the CS Records owner, he was testifying against him in court, both of them as young men. Both of them wishing that the other person would simply fall over and die.

But now, as the man in his forties sat in an uncomfortable chair in a private room, waiting for Connie to arrive on the other side of the thick glass, he couldn’t help but wonder what made Connie finally allow him to visit.

But he wouldn’t have to wonder much longer.

His leg, which shook with anticipation, halted its movement when a door opened and a prisoner was escorted out in chains, two correctional officers standing at his side.

It was him. Connie Springer.

Eren’s brows unintentionally furrowed, his face twitching as he fought the urge to both smile and frown.

It was Connie — the same man that tried to take his life. A murderer. Torturer. And yet, it was Connie, his old childhood friend who had aged just as he did, and despite being behind bars, he looked rather well.

If Connie was as shocked to see Eren after years upon years, Eren couldn’t tell, as the prisoner simply blinked at him as he was escorted to his seat on the other side of the glass, his face expressionless. Intimidating.

And he just stared at Eren.

The former musician was the first one to pick up the phone hanging on the wall to communicate. Connie did so as well a few moments later.

Pressing the phone to his ear, Eren’s emotional, shiny eyes darted away from Connie’s, down at the new tattoo on Connie’s left arm, and back up at him.

“Hey,” Eren spoke first.

Connie didn’t respond.

He just stared at Eren.

“I’m here because I wanted to see how you were doing,” Eren spoke yet again.

Connie’s chains rattled as he shifted in his seat.

He just stared at Eren.

With a frown, Eren questioned, “Why did you let me come visit you if you weren’t going to talk to me?”

“You didn’t give me a choice. I thought you’d give up . . . after five fucking years.”

Finally.

Eren couldn’t help but smile a bit. Hearing his voice again after forgetting what it sounded like was rather startling.

“You only said yes so I’d leave you alone?” Eren asked.

“Yeah.”

“Alright. I’ll take what I can get,” Eren softly sighed. “I never thought that I’d ever want to see you again, but here I am.”

“You really did all this to check on me?” Connie’s question was fired rather abruptly, nearly cutting off Eren’s sentence. “I put a bullet through your chest. I’m the reason you only have eight fingers left. I killed your friends, and I could keep naming shit I’ve done. Why are you here?”

Eren glanced away, adjusting the dark green phone in his hand.

“Time heals all wounds.”

“That something your therapist came up with?”

“Yeah.”

The corner of Connie’s mouth twitched as, this time, he was the one fighting the urge to smile.

“What I’m trying to say is that I can’t forgive you for what you did to Armin and Levi, and it’s not my place to or not to. But I forgive you for what you did to me.” Eren’s eyes glistened with subtle sadness. “I guess I’m just hoping that after all this time . . . after all we’ve been through . . . I can talk to my friend again. Not CS Records owner, Connie Springer, but my friend. I haven’t spoken to him since I was fifteen, and I woke up with two new gray hairs today.”

It was a soft noise, one that was very brief and vanished as soon as it had arrived, but Connie chuckled.

“You’re saying some corny stuff, man.”

Eren’s smile brightened. “That’s what happens when you have a kid. All I do now is think of dad jokes, and try to-”

“You have a kid?”

Eren’s face faltered in utter confusion, but as he stared at Connie’s slightly shocked face, he could tell that the man wasn’t messing around.

Nia’s birth was worldwide news. It was a steady hot topic for an entire year — one would have thought that a new member of the royal family had been born.

But then, Eren realized that for the most part, behind bars, the outside world ceased to exist. Especially in maximum security facilities.

“Yeah,” Eren said. “I have a daughter. She turned fourteen a month ago.”

“Is her mom around? Who’s she?”

“Her mom is Y/N. And, yeah, she’s around. We’ve been married for years.”

“Seriously?” Connie couldn’t hide the shock and surprise. A look of amusement appeared upon his face as he raised his eyebrows. “Well, uh . . . congratulations. How’s Y/N?”

Eren couldn’t help but smile as he thought about you, his beautiful wife. “She’s good. She’s great. Her companies are still going strong, and she’s finally happy.”

“Didn’t wanna come see me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Connie nodded.

Then, his face fell into a small frown, hazel eyes darting down to the corner of the glass, staring at nothing in particular.

“How’s Jean doing?”

“Jean’s fine. He’s retired from music. He married a pianist.” Eren paused. “Everyone else is doing fine too. Reiner has kids and a wife, and they all have Southern accents — it’s funny to hear. Mikasa finally . . .”

For a while, Connie listened to Eren ramble on about the progressive lives of the people he once knew.

As his old friend spoke, he couldn’t help but wonder how his life would have turned out if he had made different choices.

Sadness pricked at his heart, sending a small ache throughout his body.

If only he wasn’t such an idiot back then.

No. He was worse than an idiot.

He was a monster.

“What about you, Connie? I know you’re locked up, but how are they treating you here? Knowing you, you probably run this place, huh?”

Truth be told, Connie was rather surprised to know Eren cared. It was just as touching as it was shocking.

“Damn right,” Connie said.

And it was true, but not in the way one would imagine.

He intimated who he needed to. Ruined lives when he needed to. But, over the nearly two decades he had been behind bars, he had done it solely to stick up for the defenseless prisoners, both young and old, who didn’t deserve to be treated as he once was when he was locked up the first time.

It wasn’t some change of heart that had occurred over the last several years, either.

From the very first day he entered as a younger man, he was both starting fights and finishing them to protect others.

He couldn’t explain why he did such things. It was no secret that he didn’t mind letting other people get hurt, considering he excelled at harming others, but this was different.

Somehow, it just was.

“Can I ask you something? And be honest with me,” Eren paused, carefully thinking over his words before he dared to utter them. “Do you regret it? Any of it?”

Connie ran his hand down his lower face.

It was a difficult question, and not because he didn’t know the answer, because he did, but rather, he wasn’t sure if the truth was an acceptable response.

Telling the truth meant showing weakness. Losing power.

Letting go of that mentality was rather difficult, especially behind bars where weakness was preyed on.

But he didn’t care about those former beliefs anymore. He was getting too old for such stupidity.

“Telling you I regret it will give you closure, right?”

“Surely you want closure too.”

“I regret everything.” The prisoner looked into his old friend’s eyes as he spoke. “I wish I . . .” He clenched his jaw. He couldn’t speak anymore — but there were, perhaps, no words in the English language that could properly express what he felt in his heart.

“Well, uh, how about this,” The other man sniffled softly as spoke. “You’ll have to be under constant supervision, but, in a few years, how about we work on getting you out of here . . . letting you see the sun again? What do you say?”

Fighting the urge to cry was an incredibly difficult battle. The prisoner nodded, his teary eyes shining with guilt and hope, and the other man nodded along with him.

“Okay, well,” the former musician smiled sadly, “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

The visit ended with goodbyes and promises that they both intended to keep. Your dear husband couldn’t be certain what the future held, but as he did the day he first met you all those years ago, approaching you backstage with great curiosity, he’d trust his gut.

For it had led him to his one true love, and he’d listen to it — always.

Thanks for reading! What did you think? Please let me know by like, reblogging, and/or commenting on the last chapter, or in my inbox!

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 2: The Revelation

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: hella abandonment, angst, mention of deceased character, banter, fluff, self-doubt, lore-building, reference to enslavement, reference to life-threatening danger.

Summary: In the evening, as the four of you arrive at the shelter, Obi-Wan becomes curious about your past from this time of rest and conversation. While Anakin and Ahsoka conduct repairs the next morning, Obi-Wan decides to stay behind to find answers, his unclear intentions putting you on edge. What he discovers, however, will change his, Anakin's, and the Galaxy's future forever.

Song Inspo: Superwoman — Alicia Keys

Words: 7.2K (it's a big boi)

A/n: THANK YOUUU for the wonderful messages, likes, and reblogs. You’ve made my week! I'm planning on making a taglist so message me if you'd like to be on it. Was so excited to write this one for y’all. Keep your thoughts coming 🥹 Also, poor obi (we mess with him a lil’ in this one 😅)

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Series Masterlist

Sometimes a ‘mistake’ can end up being the best decision you’ve ever made — Mandy Hale

The journey to the shelter was tiring, but serene. Snow begun to fall a few hours into the trip, its accumulation gradually adding to the weight on your shoulders and boots. Yet you were distracted from the intensifying ache in every joint by the allure of nature’s frosty expanse. The beauty of each shimmering flake accented by the setting sun made you fall in love with Hoth all over again.

Oh, and that sunset. Its red and orange and yellow hues blended together in their final dance before dusk. A pleasant yet shocking contrast to the landscape’s muted whites and shaded grays.

Yes, it was challenging at times, and if you were truly honest with yourself, each moment felt like part of some long, never-ending trial. Everyday, the instant your skin met the chilly outdoors, you were perpetually on high alert. The wildlife was vicious and unpredictable, the terrain bare, the climate deadly.

But then, there were the majesties— the snowfall, the half-light shades, the way the light reflected off milky surfaces all around you. In moments like these, you felt deeply intertwined with the world, even though you’ve never really explored it. Yet despite your isolation, you’ve always found a way to make the most of it. You had a knack for manufacturing fun in the most bleak circumstances. But even that’s been hard to do in the last decade.

You missed him. You really did. And you wondered every second whether this would be the day he returned. Your friend, your mentor, your…

You couldn’t say it. Your heart ached boundlessly.

You’d tell him face-to-face once he returned. And you knew he’d return.

No matter how long he’d been away, sometimes months at a time, he would always bring you the most delectable treats from a place called Corellia. Sweet rolls, if you remember correctly. On the first day of visiting weeks, whether you were studying, training, or reading through old legends, the moment you heard the distant rumble of his shuttle’s engines, you took off sprinting. Up the ladder you’d go, holobooks thrown to the side in chaos, as you booked it to his favorite landing spot. You’d always forget your cloak, making your meeting with the freezing snow an unwelcome one. But you weren’t deterred, not even by the ship’s manufactured mini snow devils that swayed your stance and blinded your vision.

He was always quick to shut off the power before you reached him, opening the door to lightly reprimand you for getting too close to the ship when he was trying to land. But you had only one response.

“Did you bring the sweet rolls?”

And he would laugh, heartily. And reach into his robe to pull out the most mouthwatering fluffed sweet you’d ever seen. You’d grab it with a wide grin, biting your lip as you salivated before running back into the shelter. He’d smile gently at your retreating form. Not that you’ve ever seen it, but his fondness brimmed the air.

You’d wonder if he was reminiscing too, wherever he was. Maybe he was staring up at the same stars as you. Maybe he was on his way here at this very second.

“Y/n?”

Obi-Wan pulled you out of your fantasies with a gentle tap of the shoulder. You turned to him, continuing to walk alongside the man while Ahsoka and Anakin took their turn on Meetra. When you offered your spot to Obi-Wan an hour earlier, he declined, claiming he preferred to walk.

“Are we nearing the shelter? I don’t see any structures around us.” He questioned while observing his surroundings.

“Don’t worry,” you reassured. “It’s right up here.”

You took a few more steps, checking the distance for certain landmarks. The batch of ice caves to the Southeast stood about two kilometers from the small, folded ice mountains to the West. Yes, this looked right, you thought to yourself before kneeling to the ground.

The travelers watched you quizzically as you began to shovel away snow with your hands and arms, the sleet melting and soaking into your thick gloves. Anakin and Ahsoka demounted, inching closer to get a better look. After a few more labored scoops of hardened ice, a glimmer caught your eye. You cleared the sludge collecting around the metal panel, finding a handle, and pulling it up. The hatch fell open with a clang.

“I live beneath the surface.”

You pulled the sack off your back and dragged it in front of you, opening it slightly to grab a few tufts of lichen which you promptly tossed over to Meetra. She huffed contently, leaning over to enjoy her feast. After closing the bag and tossing it back over your shoulder, you shuffled to position yourself over the entryway ladder before beginning the climb down. One at a time, each traveler followed your descent.

—

Obi-Wan reached the bottom of the rickety ladder that swayed with each step before turning to take in the dimly lit shelter. He was amazed. The older Jedi soon realized that the entire structure was an old starship encased in thick ice and packed snow. There were stacks of holobooks, even some hard copy novels, scattered across the left wall around an old, tattered bunk. A built-in desk sat on the opposite side, a datapad lying neatly in the center. Most notably, colorful blankets with varying patterns, thickness, and textures were strewn throughout the cabin, some neatly folded and others stretched out like a Tooka cat. A large maroon curtain with reflective gold stitches and floral tones hung toward the far end, likely concealing a separate room. A table and two chairs stood in the nearby corner. Steel storage tins often used to store smaller items on starships were scattered against the walls, contents unknown.

“Your quarters are beautiful!” Ahsoka exclaimed as her feet met the floor.

She strolled right over to a particular forest green-based textile with honey-shaded swirls. The young Padawan lifted it, feeling the charming item between her fingers. “Where did you get all of these colorful fabrics?”

“I’m not sure. They were all gifts from a friend.”

Obi-Wan noticed your downcast expression as you turned away from the group, placing your bag on the desk.

Meanwhile, Anakin examined the shelter’s walls by the holobooks, similarly feeling the material with the pads of his fingers. He checked its thickness with a light knock.

“Huh,” he thought out loud, before turning toward the gracious host. “Is this a scouting vessel? It reminds me of something I’ve read about the old Duros vessels.”

Obi-Wan hid his astonishment, biting his tongue to hide a cheeky comment about Anakin’s reading escapades that seeped into his thoughts.

You turned back around, this time with a bright smile resting on your face. “Yes, it is! It’s been here long before I ever was.”

Anakin continued to pore over his surroundings, lightly crossing each arm.

“Do you know a lot about ancient vessels?” You inquired before opening the sack and pulling out a clump of… moss? You promptly examined it. “I’ve collected lots of information about them. It helps me understand this shelter better. You’ll probably find something about your ship in one of my holobooks, depending on its age.”

Obi-Wan watched as you finished your botanical observations, placing the moss on your desk.

“Thanks!” Anakin said, kneeling to inspect your collection. “Snips?” He motioned at Ahsoka who promptly joined him.

As the two searched for information about the shuttle from your extensive collection, Obi-Wan decided to try approaching you once more. He walked slowly, but confidently, warning you with his presence with a question.

“What is that?”

Your eyes grazed his briefly before returning your focus, pulling apart the mystery plant.

“This, is lichen.” You answered. “It needs time and space to defrost.”

You glanced at Obi-Wan who was slightly taken aback by the intensity of your unnaturally shimmering silver eyes staring deep into his, but he didn’t dare show it.

“Eat it before it’s fully defrosted and your stomach will not be happy.”

The older Jedi raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Duly noted.” He paused, combing over your words once more. “Is this what you’ve survived on during your time here?”

“Only recently.” You shook some ice dollops off a particularly shaggy clump of lichen. “I used to get rations and the occasional batch of medicinal goods, but that was many years ago.”

Obi-Wan’s head tilted. “Oh? What changed? Did cargo ships stop coming to Hoth?”

“No. Cargo ships had no reason to be here. The occasional group of hunters, sure. But as long as I’ve been here, I’ve never seen any working civilization that requested supplies.”

“So, who aided you?” He asked.

“A friend.”

He hummed, pulling at a strand of hair and twisting it with his fingers. Obi-Wan was intrigued by your vagueness, hoping to further inquire into your story and learn the details you seemed to openly avoid sharing.

“Here,” you tossed him a large clump of lichen.

He barely caught it against his chest in surprise, surveying you in delighted curiosity.

“Get to work,” you teased.

He smiled, pausing to watch you carefully before copying your actions with the frigid, crystallized vegetation. The olive-tinted herb felt rough beneath his fingers, and as he pulled it apart, he thought to himself.

There seemed to be more to you. Obi-Wan believed this largely in view of his past exposure to secluded beings. These encounters granted the bearded Jedi broad experience with aloof, nefarious, and aggressive personalities from pirates to wartime saboteurs. Yet his superficial impressions of your disposition— outward confidence and affable charisma— did not align with these assumptions.

That ushered him toward a new rationalization— you may not be here by choice. It could potentially explain your obscurity, Obi-Wan thought. Especially if you were being held here against your will, and feared your detainer. If he wanted to at least see if he could help, Obi-Wan would need to gather more information. It was the least he could do given the warmth you’ve shown three stranded Jedi, or who you thought were lost travelers.

“Found it!” Ahsoka yelled from behind Obi-Wan.

He finished tearing his last moss clod, leaving it on the desk before turning around.

“Emissary-class shuttle owner’s workshop manual.” She sighed with relief with a victorious beam as she shook the holobook in the air to make her point.

Obi-Wan watched as Anakin squinted at the media before turning to you quizzically. “Why do you have a holobook dedicated to obscure ancient manuals?”

“There isn’t much else to do as the sole sentient being on an ice planet,” you deadpanned.

Obi-Wan internally chuckled at your infallible logic.

Anakin seemed equally unimpressed. “Touché.”

Obi-Wan was shocked by how effectively a stranger dealt with Anakin’s lip. No argument, no snide remark from his former Padawan. Just, acceptance.

He gazed at you, really stared, hoping to get a stronger sense of your force. To better understand you. But when he concentrated on your life energy, he couldn’t find it. Despite the Force’s link to everything in the galaxy, it seemed that didn’t include you.

Maybe you were, in fact, a criminal. Extremely adept at hiding the truth. Obi-Wan thought it quite possible that he missed key indications of illicitness, thanks to this strangely dormant force signature within you. In that case, he would need to stay on guard. It would be unfortunate if the group of Jedi had to defend against an attempted robbery in addition to crash landing on a deserted ice planet, even if it was three to one. But it would be even more serious if this whole meeting was instead a larger Separatist ploy to isolate and trap two powerful generals. But Obi-Wan wouldn’t let that theory hold much water for long. He knew war had made him somewhat paranoid. Either way, the older Jedi found it necessary to learn more about you during this accidental detour to Hoth.

You interrupted the silence before he could continue his analysis.

“There will be plenty of time to read the manual in the morning.” You advised. “I recommend you all sleep soon. The shelter keeps us warmer underground, but the temperature will still drop drastically soon. It’s best to sleep through it.”

Obi-Wan was warmed by your compassion. “Thank you for your concern.”

He turned to his former Padawan with a knowing look. It was doubtful that Anakin would follow your instructions, he thought. But it’s still better to be polite. At least Obi-Wan certainly knew from the pull of his eyelids and the discomfort in his knees that he would accept your guidance. Even if you were a criminal, it was nearly impossible to steal from a Jedi, even during sleep.

“We will take your advice.”

“Feel free to use the various linens. The bunk is also open to you. Good night.”

Obi-Wan watched as you turned on your heel and walked toward the curtains behind you, disappearing behind them.

He stared at the shimmering, dark red screen that separated the two of you. His conclusion was that you were an enigma, and Obi-Wan found that fascinating. His curiosity was always piqued by the unknown, which would drive his exploratory mind. There seemed to be so much more to you, but he could only scratch the surface. Your intelligence, kindness, and resourcefulness reminded him of great leaders’ and soldiers’ personalities. And yet, here you were, a solitudinarian on a distant planet in the Outer Rim, spending your days reading old holobooks or collecting moss. More and more, he doubted that you had any unlawful connections. But there was still surely more to your story.

He needed to learn who you were, how you got here, and the identity of this mysterious friend, hoping that these answers assured you were here by choice. As a Jedi, however, he was primarily obligated to discover why he failed to register your life force. He wished, no, he found it imperative to solve this mystery before departing from the planet. Though he also hoped to respect your privacy, not prod into your being and mind when you were winding down to rest. Obi-Wan hoped to avoid that altogether unless absolutely necessary. He was The Negotiator after all, and he knew well that gathering information through a conversation rather than prying at your mind would lead to more trust and a clearer picture in the long run.

Obi-Wan’s ears caught shuffling behind him. He twisted to watch Ahsoka collect a few fabrics across the floor while Anakin hunkered down around the holobooks with a few nearby blankets. Obi-Wan snapped a mental image of the scene. He doubted he would ever again have the rare privilege to glimpse at Anakin and a pile of holobooks so intimately collected with brows dipped in concentration. He was clearly desperate to leave this planet, a cold twin to Tatooine. The moment they landed, Obi-Wan was sure that in the back of Anakin’s mind, he was struggling with his memories as a slave boy. This detour was too much of a reminder. Manuals and shuttle specs seemed to serve as his distraction, but he knew it wasn’t enough.

The older Jedi too began to prepare for night, strolling over to the empty cot. He sat in the center, elbows digging into each knee as he rested his chin on the backs of his fingers. For the first time in weeks, Obi-Wan felt comfortable, safe even. There was no last-minute mission, no sleeping on a battlefield, no late-night reports. And it was quiet, peaceful. He scanned the shelter once more, thinking he might get the best sleep he’s had in months.

And he was right.

—

You woke slowly, gently granting your mind room to register its consciousness. Your limbs stirred, testing the width of your linens. In time, each eye relaxed open. Stretching both arms, you sat up, settling into reality as you observed your comfy surroundings in dull lighting. Your bed was soft beneath you with four layers of blankets weighing your form down in its warmth. All that fit in the pilot’s cabin was your bed with limited walking room, but you enjoyed the small space with its elevated concentration of heat and bare walls.

The exhaustion and excitement of yesterday’s trek slowed your morning routine. Your thighs ached from the hours traveling with Meetra, and the detour didn’t help. Glancing at your damp gear sprawled on the floor, you determined it would be at least another couple of hours until your boots, gloves, and fur cloak had dried. You fell back into the mattress with a sigh, bouncing slightly at the impact. You would have been happy to rest for a few more hours. But the moment your head hit the pillow, you knew there was too much to do to lie around. Primarily, addressing the three travelers in the main cabin.

You threw your legs off the bed’s side and pushed yourself off to stand, tossing on a thinner cloak that hung next to you before drawing back the curtains in a slight stumble. Perhaps you should have taken more time to wake.

“Good morning.”

You looked up at Obi-Wan who sat comfortably at your table, legs folded and Holobook in hand.

“Mornin’.” You replied with a smile.

With a stronger gate, you sauntered toward the pile of lichen that had defrosted overnight. A ravenous ache pulled at your stomach as you reached the desk to determine its digestibility. In that moment, you realized you’d forgotten to have supper, and now you were suffering the consequences. Nevertheless, A quick test of the lichen’s plasticity between your index finger and thumb brought out its slimy texture. Perfect. Breakfast was soon to be served.

You briefly glanced back at Obi-Wan. He seemed engrossed in the text before him. “I’m glad you’re enjoying my collection.”

“You have more holobooks of The Old Republic legends than I’ve ever known any one individual to own.” He exclaimed, eyes glued to the screen.

“They’re my favorite stories.”

You leaned over beside the desk to reach into a storage box, pulling out a pair of plates and a couple forks. While in the middle of placing them on the desk, you suddenly recalled exactly who those stories were about.

“Sleep well?” You quickly interjected. The slight pause turned your head. Obi-Wan looked as if he was about to sneeze right at you, but it was more likely that you’d interrupted him mid-thought with your change in topic.

Seemingly disappointed, he readjusted, rolling his shoulders and returning to his story.

“Yes, I did.”

You began to line the plates with lichen. “You and your companions are welcome to my facilities. There’s a trapdoor behind the curtain that will lead you there.”

His features lightened once more. “I’m quite alright.”

Obi-Wan rotated, this time fully facing you in his seat, uncrossing his legs with a hand loosely holding the holobook to the side. “Are you usually this kind to strange travelers?”

Having finished plating the lichen, you picked up both dishes, making your way over to Obi-Wan.

“Only the charming ones.” You winked as you placed breakfast on the table.

Obi-Wan chuckled at your whit, but couldn’t hide the light blush that grazed his cheeks. He quickly buried his face back into the holobook, but you wouldn’t make it that easy.

“Where did everyone go?” You asked.

You used your fork to stick then toss a clump of lichen in your mouth. Its musty tang perfumed your senses, leaving a bitter aftertaste as it slipped along your tongue.

He examined the food before him curiously, picking up a fork to test its consistency.

“They went to fix the shuttle. Anakin stayed up all night reading that manual of yours then departed early this morning with Ahsoka.” He lifted a small piece and took an experimental bite.

“Where does he find the energy?” You exclaimed as you observed him struggle to swallow politely. You tried to hide your faint giggle with a cough.

He shrugged. “Only the Maker knows.”

The cabin echoed with the light clinking of your fork and plate as you continued to eat. “So why are you here?”

Obi-Wan eyed you pointedly. “I enjoy your company far more.”

Despite his confident demeanor, you sensed his intentions reached far beyond his outward manner. It didn’t feel malicious at all. Just, different. As if courtesy and inquisitiveness were not his only motivations.

Your imagination must be getting the best of you, you thought, brushing off your concerns fairly quickly. The man didn’t look like he could hurt a Saccorian grain fly. It was easy to assume that strangers on Hoth had ulterior motives, largely due to your many dealings with pirates and hunters in the last few years. Yet you continued to help them when you crossed paths, even though you were often betrayed. Whether that meant a robbery attempt or something more nefarious. But no matter the threat, no stranger on Hoth has ever posed much danger to you. This wouldn’t be very different.

“Do you say that to all the singular planetary beings you meet?” You teased.

He relaxed into a gentle smirk, returning to the holobook confidently. “Only the kind-hearted ones.”

You beamed at his charm.

Yet, concern still tugged at the back of your mind. He still seemed to be hiding something.

“So how did you come to Hoth?” He inquired.

You struggled internally for a moment as you examined the man. There was no cloud covering that statement, no alternative meaning. It appeared he hoped to understand you better out of pure curiosity, and not for any personal gain.

But why? Why not aid his companions to hasten their escape from this icy trap? Because your company was so pleasant? No, something wasn’t adding up. You must have been reading him wrong. Best to keep it vague. To stay safe, and keep your promise.

“I was brought here when I was young. There are some dangerous people who aren’t my biggest fan.”

Obi-Wan’s eyebrow lifted as he watched you carefully. “Dangerous people? What did you do?”

You grinned, finding his overly troubled demeanor for the safety of a stranger endearing.

“Nothing yet. They just don’t like the idea of what I might do because of an old story.”

Obi-Wan nodded, unconvinced. “And I assume your friend brought you here.”

“Yes, he understood my background and brought me here to train.”

Obi-Wan perked up, raising his eyebrows. “To train you?” He questioned, staring intently.

His interest was beginning to concern you. It was time for you to be more cautious when formulating responses.

“To protect myself.”

“Ah,” he nodded, but a hair dissatisfied. “What is he like?” He leaned back again with the holobook, as if pretending to be less interested. “You friend.”

“Well,” you thought for a moment. “I suppose he’s more like a mentor.”

His eyes shot up, and you hesitated once more. Obi-Wan must have noticed as he conveyed an encouraging smile, motioning for you to continue while returning to his story.

You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, your lichen long forgotten as you tried to picture him. You endeavored to visualize your memories on the cold, rounded metal hull above.

“He’s wise, soft-spoken, the kindest man you’d ever meet.” You emphasized. “He always makes sure I’m focusing on the here and now.”

You paused.

“Sometimes I’d put the weight of the world on my shoulders and he would always knock me down a peg.” A laugh escaped you, head falling in mirth.

Obi-Wan’s warm eyes glistened as you calmed. You took a moment to ruminate further, returning your gaze upwards, nose wrinkling.

“I-“ you paused as a wave of sadness washed over you. “I miss him.”

You looked back down at Obi-Wan. A swirl of emotions played on his face. Sympathy, mostly, but an air of curiosity seemed to bubble underneath.

“He sounds lovely.”

His words felt authentic, but the battle within Obi-Wan that danced so clearly around him was hard to ignore. You were beginning to question your delicate trust in the man. The many questions with veiled intent suggested that he may know your true identity. And if he avoided asking you directly, it could point to dark motives, or a malicious plan.

His highly inquisitive behavior up to this point had subconsciously fueled your anxiety. Your suspicions could no longer be shunned. Despite hoping to steer clear of invading the privacy of these travelers, it seemed that you had no choice. You needed to know more. For your own sake, if not for your mentor’s. He told you to stay safe, and you weren’t going to break that promise. Avoiding scrutinizing this group’s true intentions was too much of a risk to that.

His eyes were still set on you, so you returned the favor. You stared deeply into his gaze, preparing to investigate the roots of his being, until you saw it. In the reflection of his eyes, something strange sparkled. You refocused your vision on his retinas, a crease forming on your forehead. And what you saw felt like lighting to your core.

You launched from your chair, knocking it over as you stumbled a few steps away from the stranger, mouth hung open and eyes wide.

“Who are you?” You asked firmly, making each vowel distinct.

You felt tricked, made a fool. You let your guard down a few times in these many years of caution, but this time would be terribly different. This wasn’t the average hunter or trader. This was an entirely different animal. And you were about to pay the price of this mistake with your life. Unless, you did something quick.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, seemed perplexed at your sudden change. He watched you with concern.

“Are you alright?” He acted carefully. “Did I say something wrong?”

But this time, you refused to believe his seemingly empty words. “No more games.”

He slowly stood with his hands up as if surrendering while your backward creep accelerated.

“Who are you?! How did you find me?!” Your patience was wearing thin.

Obi-Wan took a wary step forward, hands remaining lifted. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Another step.

“Could you explain?”

You felt the curtain brush against the pads of your fingers as you finally reached it. His continued steady approach had you feeling cornered. It was time to act now. You slipped your right hand behind the divide, feeling the wall for your hanging weapon while keeping your sight trained on Obi-Wan.

Finally, you felt the cold metal hilt. You wrapped your fingers around it and held it tight, keeping it trained behind the curtain.

“I’m warning you…”

He took another step forward.

There was no longer a choice. You activated and thrust your lightsaber in front of you, its gray hue created a pocket of hot light in the shelter between the two of you. Its tip hung inches from his chest.

“Not. Another. Step.” You warned rigidly.

—

Obi-Wan’s mind was racing. New thoughts and questions stumbled over each other in an endless stampede of disorientation.

Hours ago, he advised Anakin and Ahsoka to attempt shuttle repairs without him for the chance to discover your truth. He was convinced now that you were no thief. The older Jedi checked his pockets and lightsaber to ensure everything was in place when he awoke at daybreak. It would have been the best opportunity to strike, and yet, you didn’t take it.

Obi-Wan’s priorities centered. He needed to understand why your life force was unreadable, why your presence on this planet was shrouded in mystery, and why a person who seemed so dedicated to others chose to live in isolation, assuming you had any say in the matter.

When he explored your collections this morning, Obi-Wan was intrigued by the sheer number of Old Republic Jedi tales included. He found it especially telling when you claimed they were your favorite, but lost the opportunity to probe that declaration further.

Regardless of this small success, Obi-Wan’s efforts to connect with your signal proved fruitless. As the breakfast conversation continued, he tried to explore the space around and within you. But still, he felt, nothing. No matter how deeply he engrained himself into the Force, he could not glean one iota of life from you. It obfuscated his mind with theories as he struggled to rationalize this anomaly, but not one postulation had real merit.

So, he switched tactics, relying on his talents as a master negotiator. Yet even then, he perceived little progress. Obi-Wan did gain ground when he learned why you’ve spent so many years alone on Hoth. He was interested, yet bothered, by the possible threat to your life, wondering how a being so harmless could attract such dangers. Such conclusions opened the door to more inquiries.

But then, he learned about your ‘friend.’ How he taught you self-defense and emanated qualities of insight, thoughtfulness, and tranquility— all characteristics that were highly familiar to the Jedi. He reasoned, no, hoped that his suspicions were correct. That he knew this unidentified man. But just when he was about to pose that quintessential query, something went exceptionally wrong.

Now he stood very cautiously, hoping to de-escalate this rapidly spiraling situation.

At least one question had been answered. He finally felt a strong force signature within you, like water through a collapsed dam. And if all was calm, he may have even asked you how you were able to so completely conceal your energy readings.

But now, there were many, far more pressing inquiries that mandated answers, he thought, as he stared down the blade of a Gray Jedi.

“Y/n.” Obi-Wan soothed, dropping his arms beside him. “I promise I will not harm you. And I will respond to any questions you may have about who we are. But I must ask you something very important first.” He watched you closely for any change, but all he could feel was frustrated suspicion radiating off your figure.

“First, you tell me who you really are.” You demanded.

“I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, a Jedi. We are tasked with preserving peace in the galaxy.” He explained, clasping his hands behind him.

“You’re a Jedi?” You questioned, the lightsaber’s point faltering slightly.

“Yes,” he continued in a calm, clear tone. “Y/n, I must know the name of your friend.”

You hesitated, causing his eyes to soften. Whatever he did to scare you profoundly triggered deep regret within him. He hoped to regain the trust of a possibly abandoned Jedi, especially if his speculations proved true.

“Please.” He breathed.

You loosened ever so slightly. “His name is Qui-Gon Jinn.”

Even though he somewhat surmised this truth, Obi-Wan was still taken aback. He took a step away, turning from you as he tried to wipe off the shock pooling around his parted lips. He sensed you further lower your lightsaber in confusion, now aiming it at the ground.

Obi-Wan breathed deeply as he reminisced about his former master. He remembers the many times throughout the years in which Qui-Gon disappeared without informing him or The Council of his travels. He always thought it was just his Master’s nature. His independence and desire to make his own path shine through. Little did Obi-Wan know, Qui-Gon Jinn was raising and training a new Padawan in secret. Yet still, some young piece of Obi-Wan was not surprised. This certainly seemed like something his old Master would do.

He turned back to you, a wistful expression poking through his racing thoughts. “Qui-Gon Jinn was my master.”

He watched as you deactivated your saber, letting your arm fall to the side at this revelation. Your lips slightly parted, eyes searching the older Jedi for any possible mistake before reluctantly settling into the truth. “Was?”

Obi-Wan sighed. “He died ten years ago fighting the Sith on Naboo.”

Horror invaded your features. Waves of sadness and despair poured out of your being as you gently staggered to a nearby wall, steadying against it with your head hanging between your arms. Obi-Wan’s heart dropped, knowing all too well how you felt. He swiftly moved behind you, gently squeezing your shoulder.

“I’m so very sorry,” he whispered into your ear.

Obi-Wan felt your shoulder rise and fall as long, shaky breaths filled the air. He couldn’t imagine not only losing your Master, but likely the only other being you’ve truly known. The blue-eyed Jedi realized your world was crashing down before you.

But somehow, after only a few moments, your breathing stabilized. Slowly, you stood up straight, removing your hands from the wall to turn to him. Deep roots of sorrow controlled your features, your face loosely stained with a few stray tears. Removing his hand from your shoulder, he watched you with anticipation.

“I think he told me about you.” Your eyes tethered to the ground.

Obi-Wan felt a morsel of hope tug at his chest as he watched you sympathetically. The possibility of learning something new about his former Master was tantalizing. After so many meditation sessions in which he failed to connect with Qui-Gon’s spirit, this could be his chance to feel tethered to his Master one last time.

“He told me that you worried too much.” A reminiscing smile graced your lips.

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him, relaxing shoulders he didn’t realize were tense. “That sounds like Master Jinn.”

Your sparkling, silver eyes met his intensely. "It's not how it sounds. It was his way of building my confidence."

Your sudden beam at the memory left Obi-Wan in awe of your strength. Your gaze trailed to your holobook collection.

“I read all these stories of amazingly powerful Jedi who seemed invincible in the face of the most dire odds.” He watched you motion to the piles of knowledge. “I never felt like I could quite live up to their memory, but Qui-Gon was always sure to remind me that like all great Jedi.” You paused to send him a lighthearted smirk through dejected eyes. “Including his Padawan, I had no need to worry. The Force would help me grow into the Jedi I’m meant to be.” Sincerity seeped from your words.

Obi-Wan felt as if the hole in his heart punctured at Naboo ten years ago just experienced its first stitch. To find another piece of Qui-Gon, another connection to him, was a dream made reality. Not just by words he never heard him say, but through you, his secret Padawan.

Although there was still much for him to learn, he already found you to be one of the more idyllic Jedi he’s met. Not only in your strong connection to the Force, but from your person. The fortitude, compassion, and honesty you’ve shown in only a day is an example often demonstrated to initiates. That thought brought him back to a question he needed answered.

“But why?” Obi-Wan exclaimed to no one in particular. He turned on his heel to pace in thought, a hand gently resting below his chin. “Why did Qui-Gon bring you here? Allow you to live your days in isolation?” He spun back around, now directing his thoughts at you. “Who was he hiding you from that The Order could not face? Did he even tell The Council?”

You sighed, your eyes falling down to your hands where you gently circled your thumb into your palm. “He hid me from the world, and The Council, because of the prophecy.”

Obi-Wan cocked his head. A prophecy? Another prophecy?

“What prophecy?”

You looked off into the distance. And while your vision was limited by the small confines of an ancient ship buried underground, Obi-Wan thought your eyes were taking you quadrants away. Then, you faced him.

“You should probably sit down.”

He followed the guidance of your hand as it lifted to lead the way back toward the table. The sound of wooden chairs slightly scratching across rusted metal colored the sudden stillness. Obi-Wan settled, glancing at you only to notice your eyes glued to the peeling Japor ivory below. Your finger graced a discolored patch with interest. Obi-Wan waited patiently, hands clasped before him, your hesitation driving his curiosity through the hull.

You raised your vision. “The prophecy tells of a protector, a guide, known as The Guardian. It tells of a Jedi to be discovered and trained outside of The Order.”

“A Gray Jedi...” Obi-Wan mused aloud.

“Yes.” You confirmed.

Obi-Wan’s mind circled through your words. “And who does The Guardian protect?”

“The Chosen One. The Guardian must do whatever is necessary to stand between the Sith and The Chosen One so that they may return balance to the Force.” You explained.

Obi-Wan watched as you peeked at him, a sudden amusement dancing upon your lashes.

“It certainly puts a target on my back for anyone who doesn’t want that to happen.” You chuckled.

Obi-Wan sent you a thin look of disapproval at your dark joke before returning to his thoughts. In all his research about The Chosen One when preparing to be Anakin’s Master, he not once saw mention of The Guardian.

Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed. “I’ve never heard of this.” He admitted quietly.

“Few have. Qui-Gon discovered the legend by chance in the Holocron Vault when he was retrieving something for his Master. I think he said it was part of the Jedi Archives at The Temple, but you’d know better than me.”

“You’re correct.” He confirmed.

You nodded gratefully. “Anyways, from what I understand, The Council feared this aspect of The Chosen One’s prophecy because of its transparent separation from The Order. So they hid it away.”

Obi-Wan took a moment to gather his thoughts. The ramifications of your words were astounding. Another entity, willed into existence by the Force, with the purpose of aiding Anakin on his journey. In a sense, he felt relieved, like a burden lifted from his conscience. Qui-Gon was supposed to train Anakin, but when he passed, the duty fell to him. He never really felt ready, stumbling through ways to guide the young Jedi when he himself had only just become a Knight. But it seems as if the Force works in mysterious ways.

He was equally disturbed by the prophesy’s wording. If a Guardian was needed to protect The Chosen One from the Sith, it suggested that Anakin’s fate was not sealed on the side of the light. And that terrified him. Anakin always struggled with his place within The Order, and while he was very proud of the man he’s grown into, he knew that Anakin still grappled with his intense fears and deep-seated anger.

“I need to know.”

Obi-Wan returned from his thoughts, motioning for you to continue. You watched him for a moment. Obi-Wan could see the gears turn through complicated maneuvers in your head. Then, determination settled on your face.

“Are you The Chosen One?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No, not me.”

He noticed your brows crease in confusion. Quickly, the older Jedi played over the morning’s events. His mind centered on what started this conversation in the first place.

“Is that why you were afraid?”

You shot him a questioning look. “I was not afraid, I was shocked.” You staunchly defended, erupting within him a subtle sense of amusement.

But the sudden downcast of your eyes changed his tune.

“I thought you were a Sith.” You candidly explained.

This time it was Obi-Wan’s turn for shock to contort his features. “A Sith?! Whatever gave you that idea?”

“It’s the beard.” You said stone-eyed, pretending to scratch phantom whiskers on your face with an embellishing movement of the fingers.

Obi-Wan nearly choked on air.

You burst out laughing, holding your stomach for good measure. Obi-Wan, however, was unimpressed with your antics.

He leaned back, crossing his arms as an exceedingly light smile garnished his feigned displeasure. “Very funny.”

Your cackle died down before you seemed to relax back into the gravity of the situation.

“In all seriousness,” you began, taking a moment to compose yourself. “When I looked into your eyes, I saw the reflection of my own, and they were silver.”

“And?” Obi-Wan questioned, not seeing the point of her observation.

“Obi-Wan.” You sighed, glancing down at your hands, which you now had clasped together on the table before you.

You raised your head, staring into his gaze once more. And to Obi-Wan, it felt as if you were gazing into his soul.

“My eyes are y/e/c.”

The older Jedi’s jaw fell open as his eyebrows raised. He was dumbfounded, not understanding how that was possible. The first thing he noticed when he met you at the crash site was your extraordinarily bright, silver eyes.

“The legend says, that when The Guardian’s journey begins, it will initiate their transformation. Their eyes will begin to shine the color of their fate.”

Obi-Wan hummed. “And how does that journey begin?”

“By meeting someone tied to their fate.”

Then, it clicked. “Ah, a Sith or The Chosen One.”

“Exactly.”

A hush washed over the two of you as Obi-Wan considered the connotation of your eyes. The two passionate orbs that dotted your face shined a color with deep meaning.

“And your eyes are silver. The color of balance, purity, peace.” He mused, a hand lightly stroking his cheek in contemplation.

“Which hopefully reflects the future.” You countered.

Obi-Wan’s eyes sparkled almost as bright as yours. “A hope we share.”

However, once more, his countenance was shrouded in rumination at a discrepancy.

“But your lightsaber is gray.”

He noticed the corner of your eyes crinkle. “My journey has just begun.”

Obi-Wan matched your expression. “Of course, and was Qui-Gon able to prepare you before…” he trailed off.

You exhaled. “He taught me everything I know, but I must admit, most of my saber and force training was advanced through The Muntuur in the last years.”

Intrigue gripped Obi-Wan, edging him to lean toward you, hands gliding along the table. “The Muntuur?”

“An ancient Jedi training gadget Qui-Gon found abandoned on a distant planet. He never told me where.”

“Interesting.” Obi-Wan mused. “I’d like to analyze this device, if that is alright with you.”

“That’s fine. But first, I must know.” You watched him keenly. “Who is The Chosen One?”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to answer when a light thud sounded behind him, followed by a ripple of frosty wind against the back of his neck.

“Y/n, I could hug you!” Obi-Wan heard. He turned in time to see Anakin jump down the shelter’s entrance with a wide grin, avoiding the ladder completely in his excitement. Ahsoka made a similar entrance, her lips quirked up.

“That manual was detailed enough for me to salvage secondary parts from other sectors of the shuttle in the repairs! Who knew that bucket of bolts had so many adaptable segments? Had to use every single one.”

Anakin froze mid-saunter, a meager speechlessness overcoming him as he seemed to register the humorless faces watching him from the table, including his former Master who was particularly annoyed. Obi-Wan watched the young Jedi rub his hands together, partly from the freezing outdoors but mostly, it seemed, in an attempt to cut the tension.

“Am I interrupting something?” He chuckled nervously.

Obi-Wan spoke. “Anakin, we need to talk.”

“Is he…”

“Yes.” He finished your thought, glancing back at you to glean your reaction to that sudden divulgence.

“Wow.” You mumbled before sending Anakin an earnest look.

“You should probably sit down.”

[strawhbrrries]

Hell on Heels, part two.

pairing: rhett abbott x tillerson!afab!reader

summary: you made the devil a deal; he made you pretty, he made you smart and rhett abbott she’s coming after you.

warnings: everyone calls reader ‘honey’, sweet rhett but also asshole rhett, the tillersons (they need their own warning tbh but i love a good forbidden romance), unprotected p in v, car sex, a wee bit of rhett begging, no use of y/n or description of reader, not proofread 

word count: 3.6k words

author’s note: eventually I want them to have sex in a place that isn’t rhett’s truck, i started writing the next part for this before this was even finished so!!! this isn’t nearly as good as the last part but it sets me up for a great third part. as always, enjoy!!!

read the first part here!

You slipped a coin in the jukebox that sat in the corner of the Pit Bar, flipping through the songs before landing on Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood. A small smile replacing the previous frown you had as the music started over the speakers. Your frown was the result of Rhett Abbott, he’d apparently fucked you and forgotten to text you. The girls had brought you out, their treat, in a desperate attempt to get THE Honey Tillerson back to her normal self.

“Wait so he actually fucked you?” Ash whispered across the table as you sat back down, taking a sip of the mixed drink in her hand as she awaited for your answer with bated breath.

“Mhm, nice and good. It was all hot and sweaty too, after the rodeo y'know?” You giggled, feeling like a schoolgirl with the way they were treating this. 

To be far, this was a long time coming. You’d been after this man for as long as any of them could remember, unconditionally loyal to a man who wasn’t that way for you. To them, hearing that he’d finally kissed you and then fucked you is truck was the news of the century. Especially in a small town like Wabang. 

“He finally grew some balls I guess, shoulda done that the second you told him to his face you were gonna marry him. Freshman year, remember?” Taylor teased, poking you in your side as you covered your face in embarrassment.

“I am never living that down, you guys bring it up like everytime we talk about him.” You groaned, burying your face further into your hands and distorting your words slightly. “Besides, he totally choked it. He hasn’t texted me since that night. And guess what Luke told me this morning?  Rhett and Maria were caught going to the motel, the same fuckin’ night he fucked me.”

“That whore, what the fuck!” Ash whisper-yelled, dropping her jaw open at the bombshell of news. “I’m gonna need another fuckin’ drink if you keep droppin’ bombs like this, Honey.”

“Yeah, I’ve made some sort of peace with it. I’ve been second to her our entire lives, shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up about it.” You shrugged, taking a sip of the drink in front of you and making direct eye contact with none other than the man you were speaking about.

The news had initially hurt when Luke told you. Then you thought about it and realized that you simply were never going to be better than Maria, she wasn’t at fault here and being upset with the other woman did you no good. Your knuckles had gone white when the words left your brother’s mouth, how could you have reacted any other way? You’d finally slept with the one man you’d been yearning for your entire life only to find out he then slept with someone else directly after. Didn’t she smell you on him? See the red lipstick peppered on his skin or the collar of his shirt? 

“Tay, come sing with me?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at the girl sitting next to you, even pouting your lips for extra measure.

“Cowboy Casanova?” She asked, smiling happily when you shook your head yes.

It was the perfect ‘revenge’ song, Carrie knew how to write her songs and she had rent to pay with this one. The bar had finally started to pick up and it was simply the perfect moment to, subtly, call Rhett out on his actions. Sure he had no ties to you but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give you basic respect and tell you he didn’t want you the way you wanted him. You made sure the cowboy hat, a new one you had bought earlier today, was snug on your head and your makeup was still in place before dragging Taylor up to the stage with you. The drinks had started to feel nice and warm, tipsy was the only time you’d openly sing like this. Especially such a directed song like this one. 

“You better take it from me, that boy is a disease.” You sang loudly, making direct eye contact with Rhett who had his arm around Maria next to him. 

His face screwed up at the lyrics once he learned you were singing about him, and to him. Maria whispered something in his ear, making a face you couldn’t quite decipher when he shook his head yes and whispered something back to her. 

“He’s a curse, he’s like a drug. You get addicted to his love.” The two of your voices harmonizing beautifully, prancing around the stage and captivating the audience in a way that seemed to anger Rhett. But, unlike him, the audience simply thought you were performing to have a good time and not to get back at him.

The group of girls you came with had started chanting your names, whooping and hollering from the table they sat at, being your biggest fans without getting swallowed in the sea of bar patrons.

“I see that look on your face, you ain’t hearing what I say.” Is the lyric that caused Rhett and Maria to get up and storm out of the bar, not another soul in the place giving a single shit that his masculinity had been hurt by a Carrie Underwood song.

You finished the song off with a bang, bowing with Taylor as the crowd gave you a standing ovation. It was the most thrilling thing you’d done all week and you loved it, it felt nice to let him know he wasn’t shit. He called you Hell on Heels and you’d be damned if you didn’t live up to it, you were coming for him. The girls gave the two of you another round of hollers as you approached the table.

“Did you see them storm out?” Ash giggled, tilting her head towards the table they had previously been sitting at.

“Don’t be a two timin’ bitch next time.” You smiled, taking the last sip of your drink and basking in the glory of what just happened You’d finally actually stood up for yourself and damn if it didn’t feel fucking good.

You’d spent your entire night at the bar, chatting with the girls about anything and everything between. Mostly gossiping about the look Maria had on her face when she realized you were singing about Rhett. The rest of your family had been asleep when you got home, it made it way easier to go to your room without a million questions about who, why, when and where. You hung up your hat on the rack right inside the door of your room, taking in a deep breath before exhaling shakily. Yeah, it felt good to tell Rhett off that way but you still had some love for him and that would never change. The whole situation was a little heartbreaking for you. You were hopeful that dreamland would fix all your problems, take you to a world where he only wanted you.

“Rhett Abbott is at the door sayin’ he needs to speak with you.” Billy’s tone laced with confusion, anytime one of the boys showed up at the door it was never for you, looking over at where you sat on the couch.

You got up from the couch and walked to the door, giving Billy a look that said ‘please give me a second’ and he walked off. Turning your attention to the man on your porch you wanted to burst into laughter, he was pissed and you knew why. 

“We need to talk.” Rhett stated, arms crossed as he waited for you to step outside. 

“About what, because if you wanna talk about what happened at the Pit Bar I distinctly remember you leavin’ with someone who wasn’t me.” You closed the door behind you and leaned up against it, waiting for him to get to whatever the hell his point was. 

“I’m not your boyfriend, Honey-“

“Exactly, so why are you here?” You cut him off, raising your eyebrows at him, ready to tell him if that’s what he came to say it could’ve been a text. 

“What?” This time he was confused, not expecting you to have agreed with him right off the bat. 

“You’re not my boyfriend, so why are you here? You’re angry that I did what I wanted at the bar yet you get to run off with Maria the second you don’t want to deal with me. You’re not my boyfriend but you wanna fuck me in your truck after you win finals, don’t forget you took Maria to a motel after bein’ with me.” Your words were calm, too angry to give him the satisfaction of seeing your emotions. His eyes got big at the mention of the motel, he was trying to figure out how the hell you knew. “Luke told me, don’t sneak around in a small town and think it won’t get around.”

“Don’t you dare bring her into this. This is between the two of us.” He hissed, pointing a finger in your face.

“Have you no respect for me, Rhett Abbott? You don’t get to sneak around with the both of us. Have you no respect for Maria? Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” You rolled your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose, choosing to ignore the finger in your face to save whatever dignity he hadn’t taken. 

“Honey-“

“No, Rhett. It’s my turn to speak. I’ve been second fuckin’ best to Maria my entire life, every single turn she was unintentionally one upping me. I don’t deserve this shit, Rhett. If I wanted a man who couldn’t commit I’d take notes from some other girl in town, that night in your fuckin’ truck gave me a single sliver of hope that I’d finally come out on top. That you’d finally decide I was the one. So much for bein’ a good luck charm. Good bye, Rhett Abbott.” 

You turned around and slammed the door in his face, locking it behind you before he got any ideas to come in after you. Unbeknownst to you, he’d come to apologize. He’d realized the way he acted on both the nights you mentioned was unacceptable, he was going to man up and say he was sorry but you went off on him. Told him to shut up and didn’t give him a chance to speak. He placed his fist on your front door and laid his head down next to it before he realized you really weren’t coming back outside and he walked away.

“What’d he want?” Billy asked, he’d taken your spot on the couch and was now eating the breakfast you had previously prepared for yourself. 

“To talk.” Is all you responded with, as much as you wanted to confide in him all your words would make it back to Luke. That was something you absolutely didn’t want to deal with, so you opted for pretending everything was fine and dandy instead. 

You found yourself hesitating when you went to block Rhett’s number, for some reason you just couldn’t fucking do it. All the what ifs flooded your mind and no matter how angry you were with him, you’d always be one call away. Ready to make everything feel okay, even for just five minutes before he found solace inside another girl. You threw your phone on your bed with a frustrated groan, trying to think of all the ways he went from praising you in his truck to being the biggest asshole you knew. That was hard to beat when you had one for a brother. 

You decided not to dwell on it and get ready for the day ahead of you, you had nothing planned but if you knew one thing it was that you didn’t live a boring life. By the time you’d finished getting ready and had eaten something, making sure Billy didn’t get to it when you turned your back, your phone had been blown up by your girlfriends asking if you wanted to go to the bar tonight. Of course, you said yes. You double checked your makeup and made your way down to the bar that took Rhett Abbott away from you, he did it himself but the bar solidified it. 

“Hey sweet girl, Honey.” Ash greeted you, kissing your cheek as you sat in the same booth you always did when your group attended the bar.

“Always so welcoming.” You smiled, scoping out the place as you sat. Your eyes landed on none other than Rhett Abbott, and god did he look handsome. His signature cowboy hat wasn’t what got you, it was the small tufts of hair sticking out of the side untamed. “I didn’t know moving on from him was going to be so damn hard.”

“I mean, you did fuck him like three days ago. Let yourself live.” Taylor pointed out, rubbing your back in support. 

“True but he just looks so…fuckable.” You pouted, watching him tilt his head back in laughter.

“So are you and look where it got him.” Ash took a sip of her beer, eyeing you up playfully. “Fuck him one more time to get him out of your system.”

You contemplated what she said for the rest of the night, your attention remaining on Rhett when it could be. You noticed Maria was here too, but not once had she interacted with Rhett or made any indication that she wanted to speak to him. He hadn’t paid her any attention either. His attention was on you everytime you weren’t looking at him, he wasn’t a man to grovel but you were making him reconsider it all. Your anger at him this morning turned him on a bit, not that he’d admit that to anyone other than himself. After failing to apologize he’d given Maria a call, called it off with her completely. He told her the plain old truth, that sneaking around with her wasn’t worth it when he could be with you and feel on top of the goddamn world. He felt no shame or guilt after he did, almost contemplated telling you what he’d done just to prove a point to no one but himself. 

“Can we talk?” Rhett asked, walking up to your table of girls and staring directly at you. Admiring the low cut of your shirt and the way your red lipstick had slightly smudged from the straw in your drink.

“Uhm, sure. I’ll be back ladies.” You smiled at the girls before giving them a confused look and scooting out of the booth, following Rhett out of the bar and to the side of his truck.

“I came to your house to apologize this mornin’, Honey.” He spoke softly, no longer the stoic man he was just a minute ago. You took in a deep breath as you contemplated his words. “I called it off with Maria, all the way off. Honey, I need it to be you.”

“Rhett-”

“Look, let me talk this time.” He mocked your words from this morning, a small smile playing on his lips as he spoke.

“Okay, hit me.” You spoke softly, unsure of where this conversation was going and if you were going to lose your pants by the end of it. You counted on the fact that you’d end up folded in half in his backseat.

“I came to apologize for how idiotic I was, for one sneaking behind your back. I’ve been stringin’ you along for awhile and I shouldn’t, you’ve been nothin’ but faithful and supportive of everythin’ I’ve done. Secondly, for storming out of the bar and just bein’ an ass in general. You blew up at me before I could say anythin’ else, which is valid because the first thing out of my mouth was ‘i’m not your boyfriend’ and i’ve regretted it all fuckin’ day. Honey, I want- fuck I need to be your boyfriend. If you aren’t ready I’ll wait for you-”

You cut off his words by smashing your lips to his, you’d think over his words later and truly process them when you weren’t so incredibly turned on by an idiot saying he needed to be your boyfriend. This was probably as affectionate as Rhett was able to be and you’d happily take it. Your hands intertwined themselves with the hair on the back of his head, pushing your body completely against his. His hands found themselves at your waist, holding you still as he bit your bottom lip and explored the inside of your mouth with his tongue when you gasped.

“Rhett.” You whined against his lips, pulling at his hair softly in a plea to get him to do what you wanted but you weren’t even sure what that was.

“I know, sweet girl. I know.” He whispered, disconnecting your lips and pulling back to admire the fading love bite he gave you last time. “C’mon, in the truck.”

He helped you get in the backseat, positioning you on his lap once again. Your lips found his again while your hips ground down against his, both of you groaning at the action. His hands tangled themselves in your hair, tugging on it slightly to get you to lean your head back and give him access to your neck. He placed open mouth kisses from the top of your jaw to the end of your neck, nipping occasionally and soothing it with his tongue. Rhett was rock hard the second he saw you walk into the bar hours ago, but you grinding down on him had him harder than he was the first time he had you in his truck.

You fumbled with the buckle of his belt, your fingers slipping and not quite able to get it in your frenzy to remove his pants. A small cry escaped before Rhett shushed you, placed a kiss to the top of your head, and unbuckled his belt. He lifted you up just enough for him to get his jeans pushed down around his ankles, relishing in the fact that his dick wasn’t heavily compressed in his jeans. 

Immediately you went to sink to your knees, went to pull his boxers down and put him in your mouth like you’d been waiting to do since the first time you slept together. 

“No.” He rasped, holding you where you were.

“What?”

“Need to be inside of you, right now. Don’t have time for that.” He groaned, yanking your jeans and underwear down in one yank. 

You shook your head yes and kicked your jeans off, straddling his waist and unbuttoning the shirt he was wearing just enough to see the tattoo on his chest. You traced it, admiring it. 

“Honey, please.” Rhett begged, his chest flushing red.

The fact that you had him underneath you begging would forever be one of the best things you ever accomplished, you absolutely would not tell the girls about it though. It would be your little secret. You would probably think of it every night you had your hands down your pants, cumming to the thought of him. 

You stroked him a few times before lining him up with your entrance and slowly sliding down. 

“Fuck, Honey. I love you.” He groaned, laying his head against the back of the seat. 

You froze, did he just? What the fuck. You loved him too but this was supposed to be a one and done for you, but you were now realizing he thought you were- oh no. Should you say it back? Pretend like you never heard him? Make a noise to acknowledge him? 

Rhett on the other hand was now beating the shit out of himself internally because how could he say that shit out loud. All he was doing was making the situation worse between the two of you by putting you in this weird limbo. 

The both of you elected to ignore the fact that he said it, instead focusing on how you were bouncing on top of him. One of your hands braced against the back window and the other softly planted on his chest, using him as leverage. 

“Lean back, I wanna ride the bull.” You whispered into his ear, getting a small laugh in response. Both of you exchanging small smiles.

He eventually got tired of the pace you had set, wrapped both his arms around your lower back and set his own pace. Thrusting up into you like it was his full time job. Holding you close to him, like he sensed that you were debating not seeing him again. He’d made up his mind about you and you made up yours, but they contradicted. He didn’t want to let you go and yet, you knew you had to. Maybe. Rhett would always be your kryptonite, deep down you knew you’d always find yourself back with him but if you never gave yourself a chance to find ‘better’ would you ever regret it?

He painted your insides white with a low groan and a mumble of Fuck, Honey. You weren’t far behind him, your walls clenching around him as your orgasm washed over you. He didn’t let you go or pull out, he just stayed there. Enjoying some sense of normalcy before you both left his truck and things could change, maybe they did, maybe they didn’t. He wasn’t taking his chances, not when it came to his sweet ol’ Honey.

[plscallmeeren]

A M E R I C A N W O M A N

Jennifer Walters x Reader

Request: Yes

Summary: you (fem reader) love to cook and spoil your girlfriend (Jen). This was a short one sorry :/ have been very busy (six weeks traveling India there's a lot to see)

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 600+

You hummed along to 'Glass Onion', singing a few words every now and then when you were sure about what they were. The rice boiled over while you were distractedly peeling tomatoes. "Fuck," you murmured, turning that stove off and wiping away some of the water.

I told you 'bout the fool on the hill, Lennon sang - you thought it was him - instantly making overcooked rice seem inconsequential as you joined in again. The song came to a close as you poured the tomatoes into the pot.

Kadhai Paneer was one of Jennifer's favourite curries, one you loved cooking for her whenever you had time. 'Lucifer Sam' by Pink Floyd blasted through your speakers and you whirled around dramatically when the lyrics began.

Keys rattled in the door and you jumped to attention, cursing under your breath. You knew you should have started earlier.

Before you knew it, Jen's steps were dragging through the apartment, tired eyes scanning the kitchen. She was obviously exhausted from a long day at work, but she smiled nonetheless. "You cooked again? What is that, it smells great... wait." She looked at you seriously. "You didn't."

"I did." You grinned, turning the music down a bit and rounding the counter to peck her on the lips. "Kadhai Paneer, dal, chapatis." You kissed her again, this time on her forehead. "You look beautiful. And tired."

"Such a sweet-talking devil," she cooed, laying her arms around your neck. "Can I help somehow?"

"Forget it. Lie down on the couch and rest. You're my hardworking American woman, after all." You smirked, hearing the song switch to 'American Woman' by Muddy Magnolias. "Do I look like, the step all over me type? I'm a whole lotta grown-ass American woman!"

Jen laughed, pressing her face against your shoulder. "Please don't turn the music down. I'll just watch you from the other side of the kitchen like some creep, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of having it any other way," you said defiantly, leading her groggy form to the couch so she could collapse onto the plush seating. You gently massaged her shoulders just long enough so that she would relax with a great heaving sigh.

She lay splayed in a star shape, eyes on you relentlessly. Every now and then they fell closed by accident, but mostly her smile infected all her expression.

You waltzed back to the kitchen, spooning the rice and dal into separate bowls, head nodding. She chuckled as you put on a bit of a show, twirling and swaying as you set down plates and cutlery.

Next, your playlist treated you with another Pink Floyd, but a slow one. You calmed your movements somewhat, taking strides that matched the melody as you finally turned the last stove off.

Long you live and high you'll fly

Smiles you'll give and tears you'll cry

And all you touch and all you see

Is all your life will ever be

"I don't know this one," Jen breathed, sitting up slowly, "but it's moving."

"Yeah, I think so," you whispered, sitting down and serving both your plates. "Makes you think, anyway."

Jennifer smiled, sat across. "Thank you for doing this. Now, but also in general. I don't know whether I show my gratitude enough."

"Save your good words for work," you laughed. "I love doing things for you. And if food makes you happy, then food it is."

"Food definitely makes me happy."

"Why, marvelous." She actually giggled, and you had to stop yourself from kissing her over the table. "Bon appetit."

"Right back at you. You're a great dancer, by the way."

"I know," you said smugly, but your insides went all warm and fuzzy anyway.

Jen had some spoonfuls before scooping with her chapati hurriedly. "Oh my God, this is good."

"Always the tone of surprise." She stopped, tilted her head with a look that said 'really?' in a board sort of voice. You loved that look.

[its-all-ineffable]

Hello hello! Fellow AMC IWTV fans I need your help. Some of you may know this, but in 2022, after the show came out, I planned fanfiction series' for the show, based on songs from Taylor Swift's album Midnights.

Now, I have completed one series already - Anti-hero, linked here - and I'm 3 fics away from completeing the current series - Mastermind, linked here.

Now, I need your help deciding which series I should do next. A short description of the series is below the poll!

DETAILS BELOW:

The Great War - Loustat, Louis & Lestat centric fics that are mainly angst, set during both seasons and post s2. Also 2 AU/canon divergent fics that take episode 5 in different directions, with one consisting of 4 fics.

Karma - A series exploring 'karma' - how past actions bring about present situations for all the characters, primarily Louis and Lestat. Set during series 1 and 2, with some fics being post series 2.

Bejeweled - Primarily Loustat angst with a couple being more hurt/comfort, set mainly during the course of both seasons, with the last one being an extended version of their season 2 reunion.

Midnight Rain - Armandaniel (Armand x Daniel) centric fics, primarily focusing on their relationship before the series, in the 'Devil's Minion' era, and the last few focusing on them post s2.

Would've, Could've, Should've - Louis centric fics, mainly taking place throughout the seasons 1 and 2 and post s2 finale (canon divergence), heavily self-reflective.

You're On Your Own, Kid - Claudia centric fics, taking place primarily in season 1, but also in season 2 (drawing some parallels); mainly her thoughts on what she sees and feels.

Paris - Loustat & Armandaniel fics mainly focusing on loving and fluffy times between the two couples, both pre & post seasons, with links to Queen Of The Damned (what I imagine it may be like in the show) in most fics; also bookended with the four main characters being in each other's company.

High Infidelity - A series exploring the complex relationships between Lestat, Louis, Armand and Daniel, focusing on the 'infidelity' between all of them (as well as Daniel's wives & Antoinette) and how their relationships have changed and developed with each other over time.

Maroon - A Loustat series set over both seasons, and also post s2; mainly angst and hurt/comfort fics. Focusing on their romance and how it changes and develops overtime.

Lavender Haze - A Loustat series focusing on how others percieve them, judge them and try and keep them apart.

[rorywritesjunk]

For these foamy green hills are but saltwater desert

Richie, Mohji's lion, isn't doing so well. The crew end up at a small island with a dwindling population to seek help and Buggy meets Midori, the mayor who is far more stubborn and trusting with his crew than he can really comprehend.

Rating: PG-13, gonna have smut at some point later though. Warnings: Buggy being obnoxious, of course. I'd call this a fast paced slow burn. It takes the place over the course of the week and days are split into two chapters. There's also some drama and other pirates. A/N: Full confession. I honestly wrote this because I have been watching the anime and Richie is one of the best characters. Do I know a lot about the anime? No. Is some of this chaotic and characters OOC? Of course! It's a fanfic. Is it self indulgent? Hell yes. I had fun writing this and wanted to share it. Also, I wrote this more with anime!Buggy in mind since we don't get to see Richie in the live action. Title comes from the song "Dryad's Promise" by Tricky Pixie.

Chapter 2

Day 1 pt 2

“Here, this should do the trick.” Midori said as she handed him the roofing tiles, hammer, and nails. Buggy grumbled as he took them from her. Once she learned what his Devil Fruit power could do, she asked him for help with replacing tiles on her roof. There was an area that was too high for her or anyone else to reach with even the tallest ladder, but with his abilities, she saw a solution. 

His hands and head detached from his body, floating up to the problem area. She sat on the roof across from his body, watching with fascination as it remained still on the roof, not seeming to care that it lacked a head and hands at that moment. It also allowed her to really see his physique. He had left his hat and coat in her home while they climbed the roof, so now he was just in that bright red and white striped shirt and turquoise pants. It was definitely a bright outfit, but she liked it. The shirt fit rather snug, the sleeves showing off the muscle definition of his arms. His pants were a little looser in the legs but the way they hugged his hips had her wondering what he looked like underneath those clothes.

He came back to his body and handed her tools back. “I fixed a few other ones that were about to come loose. You should be fine for the next few storms.”

Her eyes lit up and she smiled brightly at him. His cheeks pinkened and he looked away. “Thank you, Captain.”

“Yea, well… whatever.” He grumbled as he made his way over to the ladder to climb down. She followed after him, hopping off the last rung of the ladder and planting both feet on the ground. She smiled up at him as she set the toolbox down and hoisted the ladder up onto her shoulder before heading to the barn to put it away. He sighed and picked up the toolbox to follow after her. “... So, you take care of this farm on your own?” 

She glanced back at him and nodded. “My parents moved me and my five brothers here when I was young. We all helped run it, but then my parents died and my brothers decided to move on, so I’ve been taking care of it for the last ten years.”

“Ten years? By yourself?” He asked, sounding surprised. It wasn’t a large farm but it was definitely too big for one person to manage. “Why don’t you have anyone to help you? Why aren’t you married so someone can help?”

“Hm?” She chuckled. “Well, I tried to get married, but he wanted to leave the island and… I just wasn’t ready to do that. This place is my home and I’ll be the last one here.” She glanced back at him with a smile. “I know I keep repeating myself, but this place is so beautiful and peaceful. I don’t want to leave.”

“So you’ll die here then? When you’re the last one?” He scoffed as he opened the barn door for her. She stepped inside to put the ladder away and he followed in after her, closing the door. She replaced the ladder then pointed out where the tools went for him. “How are you that stubborn?”

“Why does the idea of me staying here until the end bother you so much, Captain Buggy?” She asked as she crossed her arms and leaned against one of the supports of the barn. He flushed, looking embarrassed and frustrated all at once. She didn’t look bothered, only smiling at him. It was getting on his nerves.

“You could have the chance to go anywhere, see the world, but you want to stay on some island and rot?!”

“I guess.” She shrugged with a laugh. “Where else would I go? I have no one left, you know. There’s already a family talking about moving off the island, and if they do that, it drops the population down to 8 people. It’s a young couple with five kids, and I wouldn’t blame them for doing it. It wouldn’t be sustainable for them to stay here.”

“You’re… stubborn.” Buggy told her. “Frustratingly stubborn!”

“Why does it bother you?” She asked, smile fading. “I bring you into my home, offer you my food and drink, and you’re calling me stubborn because you can’t accept how I want to live. Why is that, Buggy?”

He flinched when she said his name. “That’s Captain Buggy!”

“Never heard of you.” She smirked. His eyes narrowed and his hands popped off, grabbing her by the front of her dress and jerking her towards him. She looked a little surprised by the strength he had to do that; she thought his limbs would be weaker once they detached, but the way he was holding her to him, seething as he glared down at her, surprised her just a bit. Apparently she struck another nerve.

“I’ll make sure you remember me by the end of the week.” He growled. 

Midori grinned up at him as she placed her hands on top of his. “Is that a promise, Captain Buggy?”

He let out a frustrated growl and released her before stomping out of the barn. 

~

Buggy showed up for dinner, looking like a stray cat that wanted to be anywhere else but Midori’s kitchen. She let him inside and he sat at the table, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her move about the kitchen. She was preparing meat and vegetables, which looked to be quite a feast for just two people, but he didn’t say anything. He stayed quiet as he watched her, but then she opened her cupboards and let out a sigh, looking up at the top shelf.

Without a word, his hand went to help her, grabbing the jar she was reaching for and bringing it down to her before returning to his body. She looked over at him with a smile before opening it and added some of the contents into the roast pan. While he was stewing in the silence she was embracing it, humming a tune softly as she worked. Buggy didn’t recognize the tune.

“What is that?” He asked. She looked over at him. “The song, what is it?”

“Oh, just a song my mother used to sing to me and my brothers when we were kids.” She told him. “I don’t really remember the lyrics at this point since it’s been so long since I last heard it. I just remember the tune.” She put the food in the oven and looked over at him. “Is it bothering you?”

“No, no… just wondering.” He muttered as he looked away from her. She grabbed a dish towel and wiped her hands on it before joining him at the table. 

“So, what about you?” She asked, catching him off guard. He frowned at her and she tilted her head to the side. “Are you married? You asked me so I’m asking you.”

“What? No, I’m not married.” He scoffed. “Why would I be married?”

“I’m sure there are pirates who are married.” She said with a shrug. “Having someone in bed with you every night, someone to wake up to, I think it’d be nice.”

“I can pay someone for that and more, you know.” He shot back. She raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t need to be married to have that.”

“I guess.” She shrugged as she looked over at him. “You can pay for anything when you’re a pirate, right? Even love?”

He made a face at her and leaned back in his own chair, crossing his arms. She just looked over at him, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied his face. He glared back at her, jaw clenched tightly as he wondered what she was thinking. She brought her hand up to her chin and tapped on it, looking thoughtful as she took him in, eyes taking in the shape of his jaw, the stubble, color of his eyes, and finally his nose. Her eyes lingered a little too long and he cleared his throat.

“What?” He demanded. 

“Nothing. Just wanting to remember your face so I can tell the next person I see that I met the infamous Captain Buggy.” She grinned. “I’ll be able to see your face on a wanted poster and remember it. You have a memorable face, you know.”

“What was that about my nose?!” He snapped. 

“I said nothing about your nose!” She laughed. “Honest! Why are you so defensive about… everything? I’ve done nothing wrong, Captain.”

He seethed quietly and watched her from across the table. Why wasn’t she intimidated by him? If any of his crew spoke to him the way she was, they would have been thrown overboard or fed to Richie! No one spoke to him as casually as she was, with the teasing, stubbornness, even the talking back. He wasn’t used to it, especially from a stranger. 

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” He demanded. “Everyone trembles before me when they see me, but not you. Why?”

Midori looked at him curiously. “I don’t know. I guess you’re using words and your Devil Fruit powers to try and intimidate me, but it doesn’t work. Not to mention I was brought to your ship by a man who was worried for his lion, and your crew never threatened me when I came on board, so probably because… you haven’t done anything threatening to me, Captain.”

He huffed in annoyance. “Guess I’ll have to find ways to make you scared of me then.” “I’ll hold you to that, Buggy.” She grinned. He narrowed his eyes and she threw her head back to laugh. “Captain Buggy, I mean.”

[sheikah-simp]

Exile//Vilify, One Year Retrospective

Well folks, as of May 31st, 2023, it has officially been one whole year since the last update for Exile//Vilify was released, and it simultaneously feels like way longer than that and not very long at all. But, in celebration, I wanted to take some time to look back on my thoughts and ideas and processes that led up to the creation of this story, and share some appreciation for all that’s happened since then.

First of all, this book is massive, and it was way more massive than I thought it would be when I set off to write it. It is almost as long as Tolkein’s “Two Towers” and other similar novels—not what I was expecting when I went in to write an origin story about a character completely lacking in personality with no backstory. But if there is one thing I do, and do well, it is commit to the bit. And here, the bit was doing justice to a character I saw having so much potential but was, quite literally, doomed by the narrative, and built to be a throwaway character for a spinoff game consumed by his own hubris and never developed or mentioned again. And I thought to myself, “Man, that sucks! What would it be like to be him?” And the answer is: it would suck a lot, actually. But also in that vein, I still wanted to portray how his life was still a life worth living, and his story, one that was worth telling. Even if it is one that doesn’t “matter” to Nintendo or the LOZ franchise as a whole, even if it’s one I had to entirely make up grasping for straws, it is one that mattered to us. And that’s kind of the thesis of the entire book.

Many of you know I’m a Pokemon writer (hence username) and I never really intended to write in other fandoms, but I dont know what I expected. Something about this character just fucking gripped me, and I couldnt let myself stop until his story was out of me. But the thing is, I wasn’t super interactive within the Pokemon fandom. I had actually just ended a huge general life hiatus for mental health and had made a resolution to get back to what I love. The result of that was the completion of The Devil and the Dead Sea and the start of my hardenshipping series. But I just kind of dropped that book on AO3 when it was complete and then didnt interact with anyone. I wrote it and then uploaded it all at once, which didnt give me a lot of time or opportunity to develop a community and discuss updates. I had a few people who reached out, but nothing close to the type of community I’ve felt now.

I have been so full of love and blown away by the support I’ve received from this small but mighty niche in the community. So first of all, I just want to say thank you. I'm so glad that I could bring this story to life and so blessed to think of how many people it's touched. So now I just want to take a moment and look back on the book and how it started, what things changed, and where it's going and what's happening in the future.

Exile//Vilify's conception

Does it feel like a trial? Does it trouble your mind the way you trouble mine?

The band, The National, has inspired I think all of my fics to this point. After playing Age of Calamity, Astor had been swimming around so much in my head, especially since so much of his mysteries were unanswered. And one day blorbo was on my brain in just the correct way at just the correct time when I happened to be listening to a completely unrelated song from Portal 2, Exile Vilify. The book, of course, has nothing to do with Portal, but on that particular day, the lyrics really spoke to me of Astor and his potential struggles, and I became fascinated with the idea of him and his ideological square-off against the king: a man who was so set on defying prophecy and the man who, well, prophesied it.

So Exile//Vilify was born, to me, actually in the concept of a butting of heads between King Rhoam and Astor. I saw the song lyrics as a dialogue between the two of them, mutual antagonistic (but also troubled) feelings shared between them. So King Rhoam was actually going to have a much bigger role in my original vision for Exile//Vilify. In fact there was a toss up in my mind between whether or not he'd have an odd homoerotic rivalry thing for the king, or his crush on the queen, but--

But the simple fact of the matter is I found Rhoam super unlikeable and sadly couldn't find a good way to get into his head in a way that would be sustainable for a novel. So while the concept is what initially gripped me, Exile//Vilify ended up going in a different direction, although the inception of that concept is definitely still there. The closest I've gotten to writing my desired dynamic between Astor and the King was in "Prophecies to Waterfowl," a one-shot in my short stories compilation Stories from Exile. ("Prophecies to Waterfowl," aside from "Voe and You," is my favorite of my stories in that compilation).

Other things that were cut/changed in the writing process

When I realized the fic was getting as massive as it was, I wanted to streamline its focus and decided to cut down on some plotlines. I could have just left it was it was, because fic writing is about being self-indulgent, but I want to challenge myself to be a better writer than that. (Not that there is anything wrong with just writing to be self-indulgent, but I use my fics as my place to practice and get better, so I need to.. actually practice).

One of the biggest things that was therefore cut was the relationship between Astor and Ganondorf, and the implications of Astor's past lives. How Astor became the one selected by Ganondorf. Because in the fic, it just ended up seeming random, which was intentional. Fate is merciless and random and does not pick and choose, while also picking and choosing.

There were going to be more Astor and Ganon dream scenes planned, and a plotline of Astor's "awakening" somewhere along the line where he unlocked visions of his past as a different kind of royal seer--the seer to Ganondorf. There are hints of this in the dreams, but nothing concrete.

Still, the idea of what "could be" still fascinates me, and I love the idea of exploring the idea of Astor as Ganondorf's reincarnated seer, and I have a one shot that I am currently working on that explores this very concept, and can be considered canon (or semi-canon) to Exile//Vilify. I hope to have that out... soon. Ish. Eventually. I have a lot cooking right now.

Other honorable mentions:

Astor was going to have more blatant romantic feelings for Rose.

Astor was going to have more blatant romantic (or complicated) feelings for Rhoam.

The contention between Ganondorf trying to push Astor into evil and Thelem agreeing to block Ganon from Astor in the meantime was also going to be explored more, but Ganondorf got his last laugh on that eventually.

Even more fucking Order of the Seers stuff (culture, rituals, etc)

Chapters of Astor stalking Link and Zelda leading up to the awakening of the Calamity

More Yiga scenes (my little teen Kohga gives me oxygen) and Astor building a cult following of people who worship Ganon

Astor having basically a weird prophetical drug addiction to the "high" of witnessing the Great Calamity in his visions (this is kind of implied in the book, but not expanded on)

All of these things, ultimately, were great ideas, and things I'd love to explore and maybe will some day if I'm ever inspired enough on any of them to write anything concrete. They were just things that slightly detracted from the story I wanted to tell. But that's why I keep Stories from Exile around.

So What's Next?

As I mentioned, I have a few things Exile//Vilify related still in the works. The first is that Astor/Ganondorf one shot I was talking about. (Likely going to be called "Prophet to a Gerudo King.") I also have a secret surprise fic commission that is also Astor/Ganondorf related and involves an AU and the Stories from Exile universe ;) (that one will hopefully be out soon).

I have a lot of things on my Stories from Exile list that were not out yet, and I may revisit them if I'm feeling or have the time. I'd love to keep updating that one every now and again, now that Exile//Vilify is complete, just to keep the world alive.

I also am planning on doing a limited, hard-cover release of Exile//Vilify to celebrate its publication. I have a great team of people who have been slowly helping me copyedit this massive beast so I can get it printed from a self-publishing company. It will not be publicly listed for sale, as it is illegal for me to sell or make money off of it. This hardcover will only be available to obtain for those who contact me on tumblr during a specific time frame. That time frame is not now. When I have a more clear set date for that, I will circulate posts. You will have to cover the cost of shipping and maybe some of the printing depending on what the cost is on my end, but the book will be free. It will likely be 500+ pages. It will likely happen by the end of the year.

That said, as the book nears being printed, if you would like to lend a hand proofreading, there is still time!! Please just DM me. You will have the option to be credited in the hardcover if you'd like.

And finally, you'll still be able to find me here, and updating in my other writing. I still really love receiving asks about this book, so please never be a stranger to my inbox. Sometimes I have more energy and power to reply than others, but every ask always makes my day.

I have planned "Trouble Will Find Me," which is a Thelem and Azelphir prequel that will detail some of the stuff that I didn't have time to develop about the Order of the Seers, and Thelem's origin story. This one I might just release all in one chunk - uncertain right now. At that point though... isn't that kind of just original fiction.... set in the BOTW world???? Unsure.

I'll also be returning to my Pokemon series, The Dead Sea Trilogy, if you have any interest in that fandom or my other writing.

That's all I have for you! Thank you all so much for an amazing year (really more than that, since I've been posting about this big honkin' thing since December 2020...) and thank you so much for being such a great community. I can't wait to see where else this journey leads.

[hedgewyse]

Tag 9 people you want to get to know better Tagged by @dummerjan, @misspoetree, @letsabandonthisworld (I got around to it eventually!)

Three ships

I love power dynamics in ships, and people who absolutely should not be together. I love people who could destroy one another if they chose to. Whose family or society would be horrified they are together. Bonus points if they are definitely fucking each other up, but continue anyway.

Dongfang Qingcang/Shangque - Love between fairy and devil Ghostship

I love the idea that Shangque is this ancient, powerful dragon but is utterly devoted to Qingcang, knows all his habits, looks after his little mood swings, let's him feel like he's in control even though he probably knows rightly how to manipulate him if he wanted to. Qingcang is the definition of cringefail edgy villain who tries not to show that he's squishy in the middle but only for the right people.

VegasKim - Kinnporsche Ghostship

I really don't care at all about the cousins angle here. When you take a step back and think, our weirdness about that is rooted in concerns around genetic risks and that's uh, not really an issue with same-sex stuff, y'know? Anyway, no, the bit that does it for me is that both families would be outraged, and that they are both utterly tough and unhinged about the family business and absolutely could destroy one another. And they are definitely fucking up each other's lives, ambitions, and self-identity.

Gahan - The Devil Judge main co-stars

Kim Gaon and Kang Yohan are so clearly into each other. So much fascination with each other, how the others operates, what motivates them, the grudging respect. But also just really hot for it. The roaming eyes on both sides when shirts are off. The moments of softness Yohan allows to slip out, the moments of brokenness and anger that Gaon suffers Yohan to witness, how they betray each other but are inexorably drawn together again anyway. I love the moment Yohan risks discovery to save Gaon. I love the moment Gaon risks his life to go down with Yohan. I love both gradually realising the other will come to rescue them, no matter what the risk. I love the age gap. I love how different they are, and how they are two broken pieces which fit together perfectly nonetheless. It's messy and beautiful.

Honorable mentions: WangXian ults, obvs. But I can't put them in every single one of these so I'm trying to branch out.

First ever ship - BtVS: Sprusilla

The second I laid eyes on Drusilla and her graceful, syrupy brand of crazy I was in love, and Spike is such a cringefail dark little villain I was always going to fall for him. They are perfect together. I wish they'd had a spin off series Bonnie&Clyde-ing all over Europe.

Last song

I got this recc from a fanfic. Fucken love when people have fic songs! Set the vibe, queen, I wanna cosy up in your brain.

Last movie - Wandering Earth

Currently reading

Mastering Active Directory by Dishan Francis. Don't even ask, honestly.

But I pretty much read some kind of snuggly fanfic every night to get to sleep - I need my 'literal sleeping together' angst fix.

Currently watching

Just finished Physical: 100 (the women! 👀👀👀) and Moonlight Chicken (this was my first FourthGemini and I am SOLD, holy smokes).

Deciding now between The Glory, Interview with the Vampire (which I'm resuming at ep 5 after the friend I was watching with got distracted by his girl and I am tired of waiting), and I'll probably cave to My School President even though I hate school BLs because of the aforementioned FourthGemini. I'm also still in the middle of Taxi Driver and a rewatch of Magicians with a different friend.

Currently consuming

It's been a really hard month so I've gone back to comfort food; so sweet and sour chicken, pad thai, garlic ramen. And still burning toast every time I come home drunk, lol.

Currently craving

I dunno. Friends who actually want to dance as something more than just pulling at the club? Skinship? An occasional twink to spoil? A deeper conversation? Carrot cake?

Issue declined due to absence of required parameters

Pretty sure everyone has done it already, but just in case, tagging @hilema @negrowhat @dream-thief-forever-amen @cloudburst-ink @eyesof-kkomi @staytotheend @saturnskyline @hoe-for-jihyo @sinistergooseberries

[electricrogue]

I posted 505 times in 2022

31 posts created (6%)

474 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@unleashed111

@teslacriss

@tinknevertalks

@maverey

@droidmom

I tagged 208 of my posts in 2022

#music baby - 41 posts

#within temptation - 12 posts

#sharon den adel - 8 posts

#i mean - 7 posts

#heh - 7 posts

#everything comes back to teslen - 6 posts

#yes - 5 posts

#well - 4 posts

#the amazing devil - 4 posts

#but still - 3 posts

Longest Tag: 129 characters

#at this rate the border police will pick me up from the airport before i even get the chance to set foot in canada or netherlands

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Sharon den Adel isn’t fucking human

... no, really. For context, I was at a music festival in my country - Way Too Far Rock Festival, and believe me that name is earned xD. And Within Temptation were headliners there and I got to see them live (again, it was my third time actually but definitely not the last one) and aaaaah.

First of all, that woman is like fucking quicksilver. Like it was my first time I had a decent enough phone to try and make pictures and I was trying to get a shot of her with the boys but like... one second she was here, then she was on the opposite side of the stage, running like hell from one place to another and I was just trying (and mostly failing) to keep up with her.

Also because of Covid bullshit this was the first time I got to hear the newer songs live (newer meaning Resist and the singles that came after that). And just... It was late and my feet were hurting a bit and I was tired but the second I heard the trumpets in Reckoning and she came on stage I forgot about all of that. It’s such a surge of... life, there’s no other word for it, that you get when she starts singing that it’s fucking unbelievable.

Also fun stuff they played also their most recent single, Don’t Pray For Me, and I feel like I have to punch some people for that. Why, you ask? Because Sharon was like “ok so we wrote this one and then we wrote like a whole ass story about the reason we wrote it and actually it’s about this and that”. And here comes the want to punch people, because she had to do that because people complained. And ok I get religion is a touchy subject, but she didn’t sing about religion, not really. She sang about how when you stuff religion down someone’s throat it becomes an issue, and she’s fucking right about it. And you know what even if she sang against religion, I never heard anyone complain about Weak Fantasy or Cry For The Moon for that matter so yeah. Hypothetically if she wanted she could also be against religion a bit. You know, as a treat.

Also they did Raise Your Banner and they sang it for Ukraine (I will post that separately because it deserves its own post) and God... chills.

Also also there was a real cute moment at the end where Sharon noticed there were kids in the audience and she was like “you know what bring some kids on stage, like the two girls over there and the two boys over here“ and in 30 seconds she had like 20 of them on the stage? Like I hated audiences when I was a kid (I’m not too good about them now either) but to have that done to me when I was a kid? I’m pretty sure I would have become an instant fan. And that is based only on how cute and caring Sharon was with them like some of them were a bit out of their element(totally understandable) but she took care of them and told them were to stay and calmed them down and 20 seconds later they were singing like crazy with her and yeah. Nobody is immune to Sharon that’s all I’m saying.

... and on a final note I wanna kiss whoever designed Sharon’s outfit because damn that was gorgeous. And yes I know Sharon is probably the one who came up with the idea I said what I said. Like the crown and the metal thingie on the arm (I wish she kept those more but it’s probably hard to navigate with them).

6 notes - Posted August 30, 2022

#4

See the full post

7 notes - Posted August 29, 2022

#3

Everyone is like "oh it's not the same without Henry" this "Liam and Joey will not have the same chemistry" that... Honestly get Madeleine Hyland to play Geralt instead and all your problems would be solved

9 notes - Posted October 30, 2022

#2

So fair warning chances are this post will piss you off if you're a Nightwish fan. Especially the kind that thinks Tuomas is Mozart or Beethoven reincarnated or something. Also long ass post ahead.

That being said... I went to a concert of theirs yesterday. Am I a Nightwish fan? I wouldn't go that far. Like yes I know their songs well enough to sing along to them and they have nice lyrics I will give them that... But the problem is I don't like Tuomas as a person. I liked Marco even less but he's gone now so yeah that problem was solved. So why did I go to the concert, then? Because basically I was curious to see what the fuss is about. That and I do like Floor no not like that and I figured just because she's singing for a douche doesn't mean I have to skip going to see her live.

Now about the show... Good stuff first. They have nice special effects like fire and smoke and all, probably the nicest I've seen out of all the concerts in this genre that I've been to. This is also because they had the biggest stage, like I know given the space Within Temptation and Epica have nice effects too, but alas people in my country are idiots and Nightwish is the only symphonic metal band most of them know about. Which has the nasty consequence that everyone else is demoted to shittier stages.

Also, Floor is a damn good singer I will give her that. The best they had in some ways, and I say this as someone who is a Tarja fan (yes, this is why I don't like Tuomas, I know it wasn't only his fault she left but the way I see it it was a dumbass cockfight between two idiots - not a fan of Tarja's husband either). But I digress. The nice thing about Floor is that she has a mother fucking impressive range. Like Tarja could hit those high notes and Anette could be creepy and haunting... But Floor can do both. She can go from belting the high notes of Shoemaker to the grunts in Tribal in a heartbeat and I love that for her. If Nightwish would be her band there's a very good chance they'd be my second favorite band in the genre. Second one because nothing will ever top Within Temptation for me but still.

... but the thing is, it's not her band. It's Tuomas' band and that... Is painfully obvious. Like don't get me wrong I know he writes the music and the lyrics and that he's a damn good composer. Not the best and not the Mozart of our times thank you very much. But the thing is, there is a reason why these are called female fronted metal bands. They'd be fucked without the girls. And yes Floor is center stage but Tuomas is also center stage towering over her and the camera focuses on him mostly and everyone is like "oh our good friend Tuomas wrote this when he was drunk on a submarine" or something and yeah. Also what pisses the hell out of me, they never introduced the band. Like every band I know has this moment near the end where the main singer goes through the members of the band and introduces them to the audience. And that seems common sense to me because it's a fucking teamwork and everyone plays their part so they should be at least acknowledged. But that didn't happen. Without any previous knowledge of the band you'd go back home knowing there's a dude Tuomas who wrote Nemo and that's it. And while we're at it do NOT get me started on that song and the very creepy undertones of "I don't mean anything unless you love me" because yeah... Really not liking the implications of that.

Also, and this is not on Floor, she's doing her best... But the change of lead singers hurt them. Like you have songs like Nemo and Sleeping Sun which are Tarja's. Then you have Imaginaerum which is Anette's and nothing Floor does will ever change that. I'm not saying she's bad at singing them because she's not, it's just that you are used to the studio versions and live it sounds differently and you have a moment of wtf happened. Fucking Holopainen happened that's what

You know what the short version of all this is? One that will make sense to probably only four people that follow me but yeah. Nightwish are basically the X-Men of symphonic metal. Like sure they're the most famous in their genre and they are flashy and impressive and all... But they would be better if they let the girl(s) loose more. If you ask me symphonic metal is a kind of thing that needs a woman's touch. And by touch I mean the woman should be in charge. Come to think at it two of the most successful bands in the genre are lead by girls and it worked for them. Delain is basically led by the less smarter Westerholt and look where that got them

11 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Buckle up pals I'm gonna tell you a story. Which is incidentally also sort of a literary analysis of a song so yeah if you're not into that leave while you still can XD. Well, more like a specific part of Drinking Song For The Socially Anxious. This one to be more precise:

And in a moment of total rapture

And with every strength I have

I ask if you play D&D

And your face lights up like you’ve woken up

From this endless fucking nightmare of pretending this is you,

This is us, this is me, this how we’re meant to be

But your smile tells me I’m safe

And that voice unspoken’s heard

Cos if god made us all in his image

Then god’s a fucking nerd

So basically the story is about what my source blood sister calls the fangirl gene. Like there's people who get remotely excited about stuff and there's people who fall really deep for their calling. (Yes I went there). Whatever said calling is, it can be a tv show or a celebrity or even fucking stamps for all I care. It's not the what that matters. What matters is that society is expecting you to be a functional adult and if you go beyond a level of obsession it looks at you in a weird way. So you tone it down and you don't advertise it too much and you try to sound casual about it because normal people are not interested in you going in hour long rants over stuff, you know?

But you know what? It's exhausting to pretend to be normal when you're not. And you can't really be friends with people who you have to pretend with because you have this constant fear you'll slip and then they'll judge and you'll have to kill cut ties with them. I didn't do it in the past and God I regret that but I won't make the same mistake again. Like ok maybe you're not into something, I get that, but when someone you like loves that thing, the most you're allowed to say in my book is something along the lines of "eh not my cup of tea but you do you". That's it. Not "ugh why do you like that shit it's for kids" or whatever.

But I digress and this wasn't supposed to be about the bad ones it was supposed to be about the good ones XD. You know gaydars? I suck at that but I like to think I'm pretty good at having a fandar. As in, to know when someone has a thing for something. Again, what isn't that important(of course it's a thousand times better when they're into the same stuff as you are, but it's not mandatory). It's just the way they talk about stuff or they get pissed about stuff because let's be real fangirling can also involve getting pissed off. They care, to sum it up. And honestly? It's so damn refreshing to meet someone like that. Because you see yourself in them, in the way they get excited about stuff and then they go like 'eh whatever' before you think they're mad, in the way they start ranting and there's that little spark in their eyes and gah. It's these things that make you feel safe with them and you just know they're keepers. At least as friends but it can go either way.

70 notes - Posted January 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[stilllostinthedaydream]

Ho postato 1.972 volte nel 2022

Sono 1.068 post in più del 2021!

3 post creati (0%)

1.969 post rebloggati (100%)

Blog che ho rebloggato di più:

@recogniseillusionfromreality

@lilyinthesnow

@accio-victuuri

@jro616

@voxofthevoid

Ho taggato 1.972 dei miei post nel 2022

#tv series - 453 post

#funny - 267 post

#wang yibo - 229 post

#xiao zhan - 197 post

#animal - 193 post

#taemin - 119 post

#cat - 100 post

#the untamed - 95 post

#me af - 86 post

#key - 81 post

Longest Tag: 127 characters

#i just saw it everywhere and i thought it would have been a good idea to watch the series and the cartoon and to read the books

I miei post migliori nel 2022:

#3

If you receive this, you make somebody happy! Go on anon and send this to ten of your followers who make you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. If you get one back, even better! 🖤💞

This is so cute! Thank you 🥺🥺

0 note - Postate 2 dicembre 2022

#2

Hey, stranger 😘 3 and 12 for the end-of-year asks

3. Favorite musical artist / group you started listening to this year? Taemin. I have listened to the same few artists for years, so imagine my surprise when he got me invested.

12. Talk about a new friend you made this year. Mmm, it’s not actually a friend I’ve made this year, but we got real close a few months ago. I thought she was that kind of confident, bubbly person who’s always talking and making noise, but she’s actually insecure, very attentive. You could talk about anything without feeling judged. She’s really sweet and kind. (She’s also the biggest simp, I would have never imagined that).

Thanks 😘

Ask me some?

2 note - Postate 4 dicembre 2022

Il mio post numero 1 del 2022

tag mutuals you’d like to get to know better

Thanks @voxofthevoid for the tag 😘😘 (making a new post ‘cause I don’t really like when they get too long)

Favourite time of the year: spring 😌. Little birds start to come out again and it’s not too hot. It’s perfect for lazy days.

Comfort food: pizza (duh)

Favourite dessert: fetta al latte or cannoli

Things you collect: failures probably. In all seriousness, I don’t really collect anything if not museum’s tickets and plushies maybe?

Favourite drink: hot: coffee, cold: tea

Favourite musical artist: absolute favourite is paramore, but right now I’m really into taemin

Last song you listened to: 2 kids by taemin

Last movie you watched: I haven’t seen a movie in so long I can’t even remember. Maybe fresh?

Last series you watched: I’ve just finished the sandman on my own and bad buddy with my twin

Series you’re currently watching: rewatching the untamed ‘cause my finger slipped the other day, it wasn’t my fault. And Love between fairy and devil

Current obsession: K-pop and bls to be honest. It really opened up a new world to me

Dream place to visit: don’t really have a dream place, I just know where I wouldn’t want to set foot, ever

A place you want to visit again: florence

Something you want: too many things and nothing all at once to be honest

Currently working on: Latin exam 🫠

Tagging @lilyinthesnow and @tutifaitroppiproblemi if you want

2 note - Postate 2 settembre 2022

Guarda ora l'Analisi del tuo anno 2022 di Tumblr →

[cryptid-killjoy]

Babyface wasn't used to being parented much anyway, so he didn't feel a big difference in that respect other than the loneliness. Babyface was used to a large number of people around. The funniest part of it was all he ever wanted back then was to get some damn privacy and space. Now that everyone was gone the world felt pretty empty to him. It was just a bunch of nameless suckers out there at this point. It's all he could see anymore besides Ellie and the woman locked behind those prison walls. He would do just about anything to be suffocated and overrun by his old problems again, not that he ever liked to admit he used to feel that way. But, Ellie knew. Ellie knew even if he put on his I can handle anything face.

He got to see his mother once a week as was allotted to her for visitors. His mother was noticing the pattern. He'd been coming weekly unlike before. He never used to come this much. She could see it in his eyes he was up to something. She could tell by his random questioning of routines and wanting very specific details no one else would bother to ask. She was starting to get hopeful her boy was an informant for someone bigger in the family with skills and he was leaving out details he couldn't say to her where people were listening.

Alas, she was wrong. Babyface was his own informant for just him and Ellie. He wasn't feeling confident in his details either. The more intel he gathered the more impossible this endeavor began to seem less Ellie seriously go in fire and ice blazing and not concerns on casualties taking the place on like a one woman army. That felt... insane to Babyface. He was hoping Black Arts might have some more ideas.

The first visit did go well though. Ellie at least seemed to like his Mom. That was okay sign he figured. Then speak of the devil singing way too friendly a song for guy with the last name of Beagle.

"That would... yeah that would be our guy."

Babyface confirmed it.

"Black Arts Beagle."

He shook his head thinking what the fuck to himself. The antics went on on stage a bit longer when he was spotted. He wanted to duck and run in case he was the crazy sort to want to pull him on stage, but the guy wound it down jumped off handing the mic to the next person.

Black Arts snapped his sunglasses on in the club for dramatic effect as he walked up to Babyface and peered down at him.

"Is that really you? Doth my eyes deceive me? The Beagle with the face of Babe."

Then he clapped, pulled his glasses off, and stood tall again.

"How is your mother? Besides alive?"

"You'd know if you visited."

Yikes. What a come back from Babyface. He stood there and knew it was true. He also couldn't believe Babyface of all Beagles was going to be his big reunion when meeting up with family again.

"Can't argue with you there. I haven't seen you since you were a literal baby."

"I don't remember you at all."

"No. No, I guess you wouldn't."

As this solemn odd silence stood between the Beagle pair despite how excited Babyface had been to get family back, all the vibes on why the family act strange about him started to set in and worry him. He couldn't figure it out. He didn't introduce Ellie yet. He stood there looking the guy over. He wasn't in his magical get up in most his insta pics. That threw him off. Then right as his mind was considering it the girl popped up from behind and filled in.

"Then I guess you two have a lot of catching up to do."

She smiled brightly, hung on Black Art's side, and inserted herself with a shine. "Hi, I'm Nebby. I've heard all about both of you. You must be Ellie. Happy to meet you both."

"How about we let them get started? Who's up for a round? We could go back to the bus and lose this crowd. What do you say?"

Ellie had left home once before and made a new one. This didn’t feel any different to that, except instead of parents, she had Babyface. And sometimes she sort of felt like the parent because she knew that she should put her foot down sometimes, like yeah just because they managed to sneak out a grocery store birthday cake by pretending it was her pregnant belly, didn’t mean that they should eat it all in one sitting. Buuut they did. And it was great. And painful after. Almost felt like the good thoughts were the intrusive ones these days.

She was thinking about how things had gone over with Babyface’s mom, very well in fact, and wasn’t paying much attention to where she was going - until the music started to hit and she looked over at the RV so fast, it almost gave her whiplash. She hoped - just for a couple of seconds - just for a moment hoped…

No. It wasn’t. Of course it wasn’t. Iain was dead. Had to be. And she felt her heart sink a little more at the reminder of it.

There wasn’t the car that she was used to, with the little swinging duck and a picture of Petey hanging from the rearview mirror. It was a whole ass RV which looked really out of place on this street. Like seeing To’ak chocolate at the dollar store, out of place. She followed Babyface around, and looked incredulously at the handsome man that was leading the singalong. “That wouldn’t happen to be … our guy, would it?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, swallowing down the traces of sorrow.

[venus-haze]

All Shook Up (Austin!Elvis x Reader) Part 1

Summary: You’re one of the biggest musicians in the United States, getting your start in the industry while you were just finishing high school. After years of what felt like non-stop performances and your songs crawling up the charts, you’re the musician all the others are looking to beat. Always looking to keep your career relevant, you write a duet with one particular musician in mind, the controversial and oh-so dreamy overnight sensation Elvis Presley.

Note: This is based off of an anonymous request. The request originally asked for smut, but I definitely want to make this a series, so that’ll be in a later part. For now, this can be read as a gender-neutral reader and takes place around when Elvis released his first record with RCA (so 1956-ish, obviously it won’t be completely historically accurate). Please do not interact with my blog if you are under 18 or post ED/thinspo content. Requests are open🔮

Word count: 2.9k

Warnings: None for this part, but this series will include sexually explicit content in the future. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Part 2

A workaholic almost to a fault when it came to your music, you had just finished recording several songs for a new album that was set to release soon, with a promotional single already at the top of the charts. Its coveted spot at #1 had only lasted for a few weeks, until your song was kicked down to #2 by Elvis Presley. You’d never heard any of his music before, but you’d certainly heard of him, and the accusations of scandalous dancing and salacious hip thrusts at his shows certainly piqued your interest. You’d gone out and bought his self-titled album, and you couldn’t deny it awoke something in you. Despite your album being almost completely finished and promotions well under way, you decided to throw a wrench in the works, and at two in the morning, drafted a duet for you to sing with Elvis.

When you’d presented the idea to your manager of several years, Ray, at a meeting early the next morning, he was understandably exasperated. You knew you could be a real pain in the ass to Ray sometimes, who’d guided your early career by pushing you to be as authentic as possible so you wouldn’t lose yourself in the industry, but also, as you could clearly see through your desired duet partner, controversy sells. You had developed a ‘devil may care’ approach to your public image in the process, which only made your audience more enamored with you.

“Elvis doesn’t date, at least publicly as far as I know, but as soon as there’s whispers of the two of you working together, those magazines will be on fire,” Ray said.

You rolled your eyes. “Listen, sooner or later there’s going to be rumors I’m dating him anyway, so I don’t care.”

Sometimes, you had to laugh at the man of the month that the tabloids linked you with. They were going particularly wild over a photo of you and Marlon Brando sitting together at the Copacabana. While he had only leaned over to whisper something to you over the noise of the nightclub, the photo had made it look like he was leaning in for a kiss. It was chaos from there, from claims you had been in a secret relationship for years, to supposed sightings of the two of you eloping in Mexico–he had sent you a clipping of that article and a note that read ‘Sorry I didn’t get you a wedding gift’ which had made you snort. Of course, some of the indecent escapades that were hidden from the front pages had actually happened after you’d left the club with him, but you weren’t about to let those rag mags know they had gotten one of your flings right for once.

Ray shook his head. “His manager–I don’t think he’ll agree to it if he knows you’re who he’d be working with.”

“Then don’t tell him, and let Elvis come down here and decide for himself,” you said.

“Alright,” Ray said. “I’ll call and see what they say. Just don’t set your expectations too high.”

The rest of the day was filled with photoshoots and interviews, being shuffled from one skyscraper to another by Ray’s assistant, Jeanne, who had become an aunt-like figure to you through the years, signing autographs and posing for photos in between. The highlight of your day was when a woman showed you the tattoo of your name she’d gotten in a heart on her arm. Later that night, you continued working on the song in the privacy of your New York apartment, which you had bought outright after your first album went gold. You weren’t sure why, but despite Ray’s warning you not to get your hopes up, you felt like everything would fall into place. 

A little before midnight, your phone rang, and you knew it’d be Ray.

“So, what’d they say?”

“His manager said that Elvis is interested, so–”

“I told you!”

“He has a gap in his touring schedule next week, so he’ll be in the city for a few days doing his own promotional stuff. I’ll go ahead and tell the label to keep a recording booth open for you,” he said.

“Ray, you’re the absolute best.”

“I know,” he laughed. “Night, Y/N.”

You wished him a good night, hanging up the phone with nothing short of a self-satisfied grin on your face. You were too excited to sleep, and instead made your way onto the balcony, welcoming the cool night air as you sat on one of the chairs set out, looking at the city below you. You’d been living in New York for years now, and loved how there was always something to do if you wanted to–restaurants and clubs open at all hours, streets bustling with people, subways running day and night if you really wanted to get somewhere. It was the perfect place to be at this stage in your life, your career, and you wanted to take advantage of every bit of it while you could. 

Fame was fleeting, you knew as much, one bad album and it could all be over. You remember seeing people in clubs, their careers on a seemingly upward trajectory and then never hearing from them again. It unfortunately happened more often than you’d like, even though they were technically competition, you felt bad. Your knowledge of this drove your workaholic tendencies. You could weather the constant rumors and even the occasional scandal, but you always had the underlying fear that at some point people wouldn’t be interested in your career anymore. So you wrote constantly, whatever idea for a song came up in your mind, in case it could be something.

You shook these thoughts from your mind. Your career was established, and you had enough people covering your songs that you could never record another song and be okay. You couldn’t deny it, though, you loved the spotlight, the fans, every celebrity did, no matter how bashful they acted. You didn’t go into this business to not be recognizable, not when you owed those people everything. So you signed every piece of paper shoved your way, took every photo requested, no matter how tired or busy you were because without them, you wouldn’t have a thing.

It was late now, too late to still be awake when you had a day of meetings with label executives the next day. You got up from your seat on the balcony, closing the French doors behind you as you walked back into your apartment. The clock on the wall read a little past one in the morning, and you’d have to be up at six to eat, get ready for the day, and to make it to your label’s office at eight. You went into your room, climbing into bed, but still found that sleep eluded you for the next half hour or so.

The morning you were going to meet Elvis felt like it came far too quickly. You’d spent the week obsessing over the song, and still didn’t think it was good enough. You forced yourself out of bed, shuffling into the kitchen to put a pot of coffee on, hoping that and your morning shower would wake you up. You found yourself stuck on what to wear to the studio, wanting to impress Elvis but not look like you were trying too hard. Finally settling on a happy medium, you just barely finished getting ready before you could hear knocking at your front door.

“Y/N! C’mon it’s time to go!” Jeanne shouted through the door.

“Let yourself in, I’ll be done in a second!” you yelled back.

“You ready? Got everything?” she asked as you shoved what you figured you’d need into your bag.

You nodded, “Got it.”

She went over your itinerary for the day as you rode down the elevator. You greeted the doorman, Bill, as you left the building, getting into the car waiting outside before anyone noticed you. The drive to the label’s office was quick, but you got held up signing autographs and talking to fans, one of whom was visiting from Texas and cried when you hugged her. Moments like that always touched you deeply. 

Jeanne waited for you near the door, becoming more impatient as you got closer to being behind schedule for the day. You gave her an exasperated glance as you continued talking with your fans, slowly making your way over to the door before thanking them all and disappearing inside.

“I know you care about them, Y/N, but some people don’t like to be kept waiting,” Jeanne said.

You nodded in concession. “I know.”

Most of the morning was spent in and out of meetings, which were frequent whenever you were about to release a new album. For how long you’d been in the industry, you always hated them. It was the same song and dance every time, out of touch old men casting doubt on your skills only to be proven wrong with the next hit you came out with. You couldn’t help book it out of the room as soon as the last meeting finished. All you had on your mind was that you’d be meeting Elvis in less than an hour.

You had lunch with Ray and Jeanne in their office, ordering from a local diner. Your eyes were practically glued to the clock as you ate, mindlessly shoving fries in your mouth as you pretended to follow their conversation. Ray’s phone rang, and your eyes shot over to it as he answered.

“He’s here. His manager wants to meet with me first, says Elvis is waiting in the studio on the seventh floor,” Ray said.

“See ya!”

“Y/N–”

“What?”

“I’ve looked into his manager, past deals he’s made and all that. If you want Elvis to do the song with you, you’re going to have to give him half of the songwriting credits, same for if he covers any of your songs,” Ray said.

You raised your eyebrows. It was a bold demand, no other artists required such a thing when they collaborated with you, let alone covered your songs. You knew it was a fishy as hell deal, especially when so much of the money you made came from royalties associated with your songwriting credits. Still, you felt sure in your decision to want to do the song with Elvis. “Fuck it, give ‘em half.”

“Alright, but if he makes any other big requests I’m telling him I have to run it by you first. I know you want to work with Elvis, but I’m not going to let you get swindled,” Ray said.

“Thanks, Ray,” you smiled.

On your way down to the studio, you attempted to hype yourself up, which you felt embarrassed about, as you were the one with the more established career. Shaking your head, you reminded yourself that you were the one who had reached out to the budding star, not the other way around.

You walked into the studio, seeing a tall man with greased up black hair and a pink suit standing around, his matching suit jacket thrown over a nearby chair. The photos in the papers definitely didn’t do him justice. There were plenty of guys in the music business who had close to no talent and were riding on looks alone for as long as they could, but Elvis was the whole package, the real deal. He looked up at you, his blue eyes wide as he watched you approach.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he said almost breathlessly, a starstruck smile on his handsome face, “I would’ve never imagined that it was you wantin’ to work with me. I think I have all your records, drove my mama crazy playin’ them all the time.”

His voice was deep and sweet, with a sincerity that made you nearly swoon. What a sweetheart.

“I’m a fan of yours too, Elvis. As soon as I heard your album I said to myself, that is someone who I don’t mind knocking my songs down a peg or two on the charts. Why not work together?”

“‘Course,” he nodded eagerly, “whatever you have in mind.”

“Perfect! We can have our managers work out the boring details,” you said, taking his hand and leading him to the nearby piano. “We’ll work on the music.”

You’d typed up the lyrics on two sheets of paper before you’d left your apartment that morning, but made sure to let him know that you valued any input he had.

“I don’t really write my songs. I’ve never been much good at it,” he said, a blush creeping up on his cheeks. “I mean, I’ve written some lines here and there.”

That was one thing that made you stand out among your peers. While most record labels had in-house songwriters to write for different acts, you almost always wrote your own music. It came naturally to you, but you knew that wasn’t the case for most other artists in the industry.

“That’s okay,” you assured him. “I got the words, but I know you have a great ear for music.”

He picked up his guitar, nodding along to the song as you played. The melody was simple enough, but you knew if anyone could make it exciting, it’d be him. As you got to the second verse, it was like magic how he transformed, playing out a rough riff on his guitar that sounded exactly like what you were hoping for. You excitedly handed him a copy of the lyrics, and you were shocked at how naturally everything came together. In less than two hours, the two of you had a song that you knew would dominate the radio waves for months.

The two of you called it a day, collapsing onto the nearby couch. Elvis had come out of his shell in the short amount of time the two of you had been together. He was nice, with a sense of humor that made you want to talk to him for hours. You were surprised to find he was about the same age as you and had been working as a truck driver prior to getting into music. He’d already known that on the day you got your high school diploma, you also got one of the biggest record deals in history with your label. Coming from similar humble roots as him, he admitted that your success as someone with little connections in the music industry had partially inspired him to pursue music.

“Hey,” you said, feeling bold, “my manager told me you don’t date. Is that true?”

“The Colonel thinks it’s better for my image if fans think I’m available.”

“Oh, so they can think they actually have a chance with you,” you said.

“I don’t lead no one on,” he said, “but I guess.”

“I’ve gotten with fans before,” you admitted. “It gets messy, though, especially the more famous you get. I think it’s easier to date other celebrities now.”

“Like Marlon Brando?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Y’all ain’t datin’?” 

“No, he’s just a friend, and so is every other man those magazines try to say I’ve dated.”

He was silent for a moment, thinking over what you’d just told him. “In that case, you wanna go out sometime? I’m only here for a few more days and–”

“Elvis, I’d absolutely love to,” you said, getting your pen and a stray piece of paper. “Here’s my address. I know I’m available after six tomorrow. I’ll tell the doorman to let you in. Do you like Italian?”

“I���yeah, I like Italian.”

“Well, there’s a fantastic place in Little Italy, a bit of a dive, but we’ll have plenty of privacy–if that’s okay with you.”

“Privacy is okay with me,” he said.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Can’t wait.”

He was about to say something to you but was interrupted by Ray and a strange man who you assumed was the Colonel entering the room. Ray made introductions, and you and Elvis waited to see if they’d come to an agreement.

“Well, you two will be recording, what I have no doubt will be the next duet for the ages, in the next few days!” the Colonel announced. “Provided of course, the lyrics are appropriate for the collaboration.”

You wanted to defend yourself, but Ray beat you to it. “C’mon, Y/N isn’t looking to put her or Elvis’ career in jeopardy.”

“Yes well, pardon me, Y/N, but I do keep an eye on the papers, and you do have a bit of a reputation,” the Colonel said. “As you may know, my boy does too. He will do this collaboration with you on a strictly professional basis, but I want no confusion among the press about his relationship with you.”

“I understand that,” you said, displeased that you’d have to break the date you had just agreed to with Elvis.

The two managers rambled on, but you were admittedly too upset to pay attention. You and Elvis snuck glances at each other until the Colonel announced that Elvis had another appointment to get to. 

To your surprise, Elvis gave you a hug before he left.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night?” Elvis whispered in your ear.

You bit back a smile. “You better.”

[mllx-anazra]

tis the damn season (part 2) 

Here is part 2 (part one here, also on ao3), thanks for the likes and comment :) I just remembered that Dorothea is the companion song to tis the damn season, so I might use lyrics from this song too!

TW: smut in later chapters so minors DNI, talk of therapy and trauma in later chapters, Eddie Munson is pinning, so is the reader, mentions of asshole rockstar boyfriends, drugs (the old devil's lettuce), explicit references, reader is a Henderson to make my no Y/N rule easier but is a cousin so hopefully it's ""inclusive"" enough?

Part 2: I escaped it too; remember how you watched me leave

"So why the fuck are you back in Hawkins." Jesus, the kid could not even let you catch a breath after you were trying to not combust from the mere touch of Eddie fucking Munson on your finger. 

            "Language, Dusty," you gritted, probably driving from your house too fast. 

            "Spill it, Sparkle."

You chuckled at the use of your surname, covering your entire face in glitter for Halloween three years in a row to be a sparkle fairy until the ripe age of 11 would do that to you. 

As you passed the all too familiar roads, you could not help the sullen sigh escaping your lips. For all his denseness concerning sarcasm, your baby cousin was not too bad at discerning emotions and inner turmoil. 

            "It's not going too well at the label," you offered, turning left on the main road. "Did they repaint the arcade's façade?"

            "No, they did not, and what do you mean, 'not going too well; you're an amazing musician?"

The spirit of Dustin warmed your heart a little. 

            "Well, according to them, I'm an amazing composer, yes, but interpreter not so much. They're giving away my songs left and right to other artists." You tried to keep your tone light, but the reminder of why you came crawling back to Hawkins constricted your chest painfully. The snide comments of the senior managers cut through your confidence like knives. You apparently were too bubbly, too “small town girl”, to charm the Californian crowds, no matter the changes in appearance you had tried over the last years. You eventually reverted back to what you felt comfortable with, keeping some of the ‘edge’ you had gained in California. That also meant taking the backseat of the label, confined in the studios where you slaved away for non-recognizant up and coming pop artists, fearing your failure and trying to set themselves from you as much as they could. 

"But that's okay, I had a hunch; good thing I registered for remote classes of English and Psychology at Purdue."

            "That's BULLSHIT; if they can't see your talent, they must be fucking death of something…." Dustin's eagerness to defend you prevented any additional remarks on his foul language. 

            "I really don't mind the break, Dusty. My creative juices were completely drained. I swear to God if I need to write another syrupy breakup song about ocean blue eyes, I will drown myself in the lake."

The last few cavity-inducing ballads you had to craft made you want to cringe, their repetitive melody and dumbified lyrics (apparently wanting to include mercurial and earth-shattering in a love song was too much to ask from teenage girls) not even matching what you used to write when you were fourteen. Which was saying a lot, considering you could not even sing the word “hand on my thigh” back then without stuttering or blushing, opting for an awkward “aaaah” during the middle school talent contest. The dubious looks of your classmates were still burnt in your retina, but at least now you could laugh about it rather than metaphorically combust. 

            "But Chris, let that happen?"

The mention of your ex-boyfriend, stupid talented older cooler than you rock musician asshole, made you break a bit too violently at the red light, shaking your beat-up Ford too much for it to be unnoticed by Dustin, who squealed undignifiedly.

            "Uh, yeah, he hum, he did," you stammered, completely giving yourself away. 

            "Are you guys…" Dustin started, eyeing you warily as he still clutched the handle atop the door and dashboard instinctively. 

Your tongue clicked, and you responded with what you hoped was a neutral tone, "We broke up. I mean, I broke up with him, so yeah, we're not together anymore. Yeah." God, even your chuckle was awkward. 

How could you convey to your cousin that the charismatic leader of "not like your typical garage band," literally ten years older than you, had planned to ditch you for the newer girl at your label? How could you explain the anguish of seeing a man to whom you poured all your affection, attention, and loyalty for over a year swapping you for a younger, edgier, hotter one, the minute she set foot in the studio? How deep it cut you because you dumbly believed him when he talked about his past, thinking his future was with you, stitching you to his life so intimately you could only blindly open your heart and legs when he said he loved you? How the number of arguments you had only increased, making you question your sanity as you screamed and bellowed and threatened and broke down? And how, to save the last shreds of your pride, you had been the one dumping his ass over lunch with his whole band witness to your falling before he could, the only thing hurt in his eyes being his pride and not his heart. 

You had jumped in the literal getaway car that was your beat-up Ford, jamming all the trinkets you had accumulated in California and your still unopened Hawkins boxes in a trailer, leaving a scalding quitting letter to your former boss desk, and did not look back until the sign indicated that you were back in Indiana. The only persons aware of your itinerary were your aunt and dad, the latter offering a room at his new house in Maryland. You had declined, using your remote degree as an excuse to go back to what you still considered home. You did not want to see the disappointment in your father’s face as you explained to him how unhappy this two years and California had made you, and his impeding guilt following. He was the one encouraging you to leave the state when the occasion presented and chase your childhood dreams rather than stay in the confinement of Hawkins. He did not know that a pair of chocolate brown doe eyes, fumbling hands in the dark, and a slow dance at prom had made you reconsider the label’s offer.

            "We… Looking back, I don't think Chris and I were a perfect match. He, he made me understand that I was getting in the way of, uh, his career. Or something", you opted for, cringing at the scandalized look on your cousin's face “So I, well I called it off preventively”. 

            “Preventively? What are you, an insurance company? I thought you loved the guy, it’s all you could talk about whenever I managed to have you on the phone!”

You groaned. You were not about to have a conversation about your complex feelings to your little cousin, who despite his best intentions did not need to know the intimate details of your romantic life. Especially when it included sex, lust, and the leader of his DnD group. 

            "Honestly, Dusty, I'm not sure anymore. It's been a couple weeks, and I'm glad to take a breather out of that place, and that guy, for a while (you wanted to say forever). But enough about me, how is the beginning of your high school experience going? You're buddies with Munson?"

Now that was a topic you were more interested in. How Eddie managed to not only stay as gorgeous as you remembered, all shaggy brown curls and laughing eyes, smirk, and quips intact was a delicious surprise. The fact he had grown a bit more in his frame, gained a little confidence in his step, and velvet to his voice only fueled the seemingly endless pool of desire the man could ignite in you with just a snap of his fingers. Fuck, his fingers, little bastard had added more rings since your departure, and you wondered if he had new ink too. You would love to map these newer additions with your tongue, getting drunk on his shaky breaths and shivering skin, like you did eons ago in the hidden crevices of the town where you would make each other fall over and over again. Yeah, you had missed Eddie fucking Munson. 

'Eyes on the road, you animal', you chastised yourself. 

            "Yeah, because of Hellfire, duh. How are you two buddies, now that is a surprise. Even Steve seemed taken aback."

            "Well," you chuckled, "it's not like Steve was particularly observant during my last year of high school, Dusty; he was too busy choking Nancy Wheeler with his tongue for that." The look of utter disgust on your cousin's face made you laugh. "I used to tutor Eddie in English and History; he was so bad. But clearly, I was no better tutor because he obviously still struggles enough to be stuck in Hawkins High for six years in a row."

The real reason for Eddie's poor results despite your tutoring was because riling him and seeing how fast and quietly you could get your hands in each other's pants was more fun than the Civil War or Shakespeare. The memories brought what you hoped Dustin would interpret as a fond, not lustful, smile. The kid did not need the trauma. 

            "Psychology and English, uh?" he commented, a bit thoughtful. 

            "Yes. About that, I was thinking of setting up an art therapy group or something; I'll pitch it to Higgins tomorrow. Whaddya think?" This made you sincerely excited about returning to the Indiana hole you had ripped yourself out of, setting up a workshop on how to process feelings and trauma through artistic expression, your lifeline since your Mom's brutal death when you were still in middle school. 

            "After all that happened, Will's disappearance, the destruction of the plant, the Starcourt mall fire… I mean shit Dusty, I still can't believe we lost Hopper."

Your curly cousin remained silent, which was an unusual indication from him. You tried to remain as light as possible, despite the churning of emotions threatening to overflow since you had read the articles on the violent destruction of the mall, and its fallout. 

            "I feel like the Hawkins community has gone through a lot, and an outlet to process and heal could truly benefit everyone, especially teenagers. I hope I can help in any shape or form in that regard."

            "I'm not the one who needs convincing, Sparkle. But I'm glad you're back. Despite, y'know, your shitty label and boyfriend and all."

            "Thanks, Dustibun, and it’s ex-boyfriend. For good." you sincerely said as you affectionately squeezed his shoulder, your aunt's house and second home looming closer. 

She was at the door already, probably hearing the familiar dying noises of your car, cradling a cat that did not look like Mews at all as she waved at you. Upon asking the whereabouts of the old orange cat you were very fond of, Dustin gave you the most unconvincing story you had ever heard him spin. Strange. 

After a bone-crushing hug, warm laughs, easy conversation, and enough boxed leftovers to keep you well fed for a week, you went back into the junk you called vehicle, both physically and mentally exhausted. 

You rummaged through your tapes collection, a dusty one tumbling out of the depths of your glove box, its content making you both melt and ache again. "Songs I wished I had written for you," the scribbled writing of Eddie Munson greeted your growing smile. You remembered how he practically shoved the tape into your hands, red in the face and clearly uncomfortable, as you saw him for the last time. 

He had driven you back to your house after you spent your literal final day in Hawkins fucking his brains out in his minivan by Lovers' Lake in a secluded area, only taking breaks to cool down in the water where you would inevitably rile each other again, playful nips and tugs turning in burning hands and searing mouths. You hoped the desperation of your wandering fingers and tongue conveyed the ache you felt growing inside at the prospect of leaving him behind. It was silly to miss someone already when you were not yet parted. Eddie's matching gestures and eagerness made you stupidly hope that he, like you, had fallen into the age-old trap of developing feelings for the friend you too regularly had sex with. Especially considering said friend's attractiveness, humor, talent, energy, magic fingers…

The raw vulnerability evident in his warm brown eyes as he handed you this tape, somehow more terrified of this than anything else you had done before. 

It might have crushed your spirits to rip yourself from the warmth of his embrace, but your awaited future was calling. And you thought the road you chose was the right one, as you met and fell headfirst with who would be your walking nightmare. Onto the road not taken, then, you pondered as the familiar tune of The Cure, so unlikely the metalhead's favorite genre yet so evident for you two, enveloped you. You were struggling to quash down the hopeful hum in your chest, lodged where your heart should be if you had not ripped it at age 18 and shoved in the first hands you could fine to forget those who could make you come undone and cradle you like you were precious all at the same time. 

Oh, how you still had it bad for Eddie Munson, the gold-hearted nerd who could see through all your fake smiles and rock this poofy dramatic hair only like Ozzy could, the sweetest man you ever found yet left behind two years ago in damp, terribly sad Hawkins, for somewhat sadder California.