#before frantically preparing his lesson plans for the second years

[anotherferalrat]

Istg if I see one more satosugu post saying Suguru would’ve made a good teacher I’m going to kill myself<3

BECAUSE HE WOULD’VE.

GEGE ROBBED US THAT MF

[helliontherapscallion]

(Y/n) and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week: Monday

Tuesday     Wednesday     Thursday (Part 1)     Thursday (Part 2)     Friday     Saturday     Sunday

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Pairing: SBI x sister!reader (she/her pronouns)

Warnings: swearing, toxic friends, panic spirals/attacks, injury, taking pills for pain

Summary: you have a very bad week, how will you manage? (Characters are fully human, but based on their DSMP characters. High school AU)

Word count: 4,818

(A/N): I’ve never played volleyball or watched Haikyuu before, so I’m not 100% certain how games work. Also, I probs should’ve split this into two parts, but eh.

“(Y/n) love, you look homeless in that sweater, it’s literally so fucking ugly.”

“Haha, yeah it is. I guess I just wasn’t really trying today.”

Adrian snorted, scanning your body with his cold eyes. “Today? You don’t try at all. You always look like trash.”

“More than trash, you always look like you just rolled in dog shit.” Sammy threw her head back and cackled at her own joke.

Your friends around you erupted in laughter as you four walked down the hallways of the hell that was your public high school. You awkwardly chuckled alongside them, you didn’t really find it funny, but you didn’t want to draw more attention towards yourself. 

“Seriously, (y/n), I really don’t know why we still hang out around you anymore. You really let yourself go.”

“Yeah, now that I think about it, you did gain like five pounds in the past week.”

“Really not a good look on you, love. Then again, nothing you do can make you look good anymore.”

You tried to not let their comments get to you, you really did, but sometimes their comments just rooted themselves deep into your subconscious. You didn’t try looking good anymore, you couldn’t wear anything without them criticising it. You could never win. 

“Awe,” Adrien poked your cheeks, “stop looking so sad. We’re just trying to give you advice. You really need it.”

“Yeah, (y/n). You’re so sensitive, get a grip.”

“Guys look, I think she’s gonna cry!” 

You wiped at your welling eyes with the sleeves of your sweater. “I’m not. I just got allergies.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. Anyways, what are our plans for Halloween? We should totally dress up like sexy angels! I think that’d be so cool. Like, Clint’s party won’t be ready for us.”

“Oh, about that Annie…”

“God, what now (y/n)?”

“I was actually planning on spending Halloween night taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating with my brothers and dad. I won’t be able to go with you guys, I’m sorry.”

The group groaned loudly. “C’mon (y/n), you never hang out with us anymore.”

“Oh my god (y/n) you still go trick-or-treating? We’re juniors.”

“I’m sorry, I’ve just been busy with my AP classes and studying for the SAT. My team captain’s really been pushing the team hard with volleyball practice. State finals are soon and we want first this year.”

“No matter how much studying you do, you’re gonna fail. You’re stupid, so why try? Just give up and hang out with uuussss.”

“Yeah (y/n),” Adrien looked at you suspiciously, “you’ve been ignoring us lately. I thought we were friends. Do you even wanna be friends anymore?”

You felt a flare of panic flare up in your gut. “I do! I-I just have so much going on right now. It’s starting to get hard to juggle everything.”

“We’re starting to think that you don’t like us anymore, we want our (y/n) back!” Sammy whined. The others agreed with her, making you feel guilty. You were ignoring them, it was selfish in your opinion. You supposed that you could skip out on taking Tommy and Tubbo trick-or-treating, there’ll be other years you could take them. 

“I guess I can take Tommy and Tubbo another year. They’d just have to go without me this year.”

They cheered, giving you praise. You beamed at that, they seemed down lately and you loved it when they’d give you compliments. They didn’t do that much, so that made their praise more special to you. You strived to get compliments.

You four went off to your separate first classes for the day. Yours was statistics, a class you’ve been struggling in lately. You didn’t know anybody in there except for your oldest brother Techno, so you tried to stick with him. Unfortunately, the teacher’s seating chart placed you both on opposite ends of the room, probably because of your last names indicating that you’re siblings. You placed your stuff down on the table and plopped down into your seat, already drained. You had a long day ahead of you; you had a major AP world history test in your next class, you had to give a presentation in your AP english class that was worth a quarter of your final grade, and you had a semifinals volleyball match that would last until late in the night. If your team won, you would be going to state finals, so it was a lot of pressure on your shoulders. You were the main setter, so you had to really focus tonight if you were going to score your team points. 

“Alright class, pull out your homework!”

Fuck, you had homework? You looked in your folder, only to see the unfinished sheet full of equations you didn’t understand staring back at you tauntingly. Mr. Mullins walked over to your desk, took one look at your blank homework, and just walked right past you. Another big fat zero in the gradebook for you, just what you needed. At least he wasn’t in the mood to berate you today. You didn’t need any more stress piled onto your shoulders. 

The lesson felt like it dragged on forever with you frantically trying to copy down the notes on the board and trying to understand the content at the same time. Overtime, he would call students up to the board. Hopefully, he would skip over you today. “Ms. Minecraft.” Goddamn it, you spoke too soon.

Your head perked up and you looked at him. “Yes sir?”

“Come up to the board and solve this.”

Gulping, you felt panic rise up in you and stood up with shaky knees. On the board was part of the newer content he was just teaching. Something that you understood only a little bit better than the rest, and that’s not saying much. You still didn’t understand the content completely. Your writing was shaky as you wrote what you thought was right on the board. Finding the answer, you circled it and looked at Mr. Mullins. He looked disappointed. 

“That’s wrong, Ms. Minecraft. Please sit down.”

You felt like your face was on fire as you saw the entire class burning holes into you with their eyes. Though they looked dead inside, as per usual with any morning class full of tired teenagers, their effects still took hold on you. You wanted to crawl into a dark hole and die. You sat back down and stared at your note packet, you couldn’t focus on the lecture anymore. Your attention was fully on your surroundings, you were hyper aware of every little whisper and bouncing leg in your peripheral vision. You could feel yourself spiraling, usually that wouldn’t happen until after your third class. Today was going to be rough. 

The loud chime of the bell startled you out of your thoughts. You shakily put your papers back into your binder and put the binder back into your backpack. Right as you were about to walk through the door, you heard Techno catch up to you. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah Tech, I’m just peachy.”

“Are you su-”

“Technoblade. I’m fine. Now if you excuse me, I have to get to my next class. I have an important presentation I’ve gotta prepare for.”

Without giving him any room to argue, you rushed off to your english class. You had Adrian and Annie in your class. For your presentation, you were paired up with people that you hardly knew. At least they did their part in the project, you were certain you were going to die if you got paired up with Adrian and Annie again. You loved them, but they never did any part of their portion of work. They left it to you to finish at midnight the day the project was due. To be fair, they both told you they had family emergencies, so you covered for them just that once. 

You pulled out your flashcards only to have them knocked out of your hand when someone bumped into you. You quickly crouched to pick them up so you could have them in order by time class started. “Oops, sorry love.”

It was Annie. She and Adrian towered over your crouched form smirking at you. Looking back down to rearrange your cards, you murmured “it’s ok.”

“Are you ready for this presentation, I know I am.”

You smiled a little. “Actually, I think I’m going to ace this. English is my best subject.”

“Yeah (y/n), I wasn’t asking you. I was talking to Annie. Besides, you’re probably going to fail this.” Adrian scoffed. 

“Thank you for asking, Adrian,” Annie shot a pointed look at you, “at least someone cares.”

The bell rang, signifying the start of your second block. You felt like you had a lump in your throat blocking your breathing. If Adrian, one of the smartest kids in your english class, said that you were going to fail, then you probably were going to fail. That would take a huge hit on your grade, this project was worth a quarter of your final grade after all. You were zoned out for the entirety of your classmate’s presentations putting yourself into a spiral. You jumped when Mr. Todd, your teacher, called your group up to present.

You stood stiffly in the middle of your two groupmates and clutched your flashcards with clammy hands. Luckily, your part of the presentation was not first. When it came to your part, you were stuttering and tumbling over your words. You even dropped your flashcards in front of everybody, causing half the class to snicker. Your face burned as you hurried to pick them up and your other groupmate took this as a signal to continue the presentation. You still had an important point to make that was integral for the set up to your other groupmate’s part of her presentation. You stared at your flashcards for the rest of the presentation. 

When the bell rang, you made a mad dash out of the classroom. You didn’t want to talk to anybody, especially not Adrian or Annie. It was a relief that you had your lunch period at the moment. You could hide yourself in the bathroom nobody used and let your panic attack ride itself out. 

You ducked inside a stall and sat on the toilet, bringing your knees up to bury your face in them. The tears and panic you were holding in all day let itself out with explosive effects. You started to hyperventilate as you muffled your sobs with your knee. Your chest painfully clenched so you couldn’t breathe. Your limbs felt like they weighed two tons each and they were shaking intensely. You didn’t hear the end of the lunch bell ring. By the time you calmed down slightly, you were five minutes late to AP world history. 

You packed your stuff up in a hurry, power walking through the halls. You probably looked like shit, but you didn’t care, you had a class to get to and a test that you probably wouldn’t be able to finish now. You lost ten minutes of your test time. When you tried to open the closed door, you found that it was locked. You had to knock if you wanted to get in. You raised a shaking hand to knock, but the door was opened by a less-than-impressed Ms. Osborne. She ushered you to your desk and gave you your unit test. 

You couldn’t focus. The multiple choice section was usually a breeze to you, but you couldn’t comprehend any of the questions. When you could comprehend them, you couldn’t concentrate on choosing an answer. You did your best to find the correct answers, but you were almost positive that at least half of them were wrong. Your handwriting was nearly incomprehensible and your essay topic was something you didn’t study for. When you were done with half of the body paragraphs, the bell rang and you had to turn in your unfinished test. 

You had your independent online psychology course next in the library. You usually worked alone secluded in a corner deep inside the library where nobody went. You would get some solace in being alone. Maybe you’d calm down enough so that you could ride home with your brothers and not go for a long walk so you could avoid them. 

You settled down in the comfortable chair and pulled out your laptop to get started. Psychology was your favorite class. It was easy for you to understand, it didn’t have much of a workload attached to it, and it was fun to learn about. It always calmed you down reading about the intricate workings of the brain. 

By time the day was over, you got most of your psychology work done and you were on your way to the car you shared with Technoblade and Wilbur. You took out your spare keys and slumped against the window in the backseat. You were absolutely drained after your terrible day and you still felt panic swirling deep within you, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

You stretched out your legs across the seat and leaned your back against the door. For the first time that day, you felt peaceful. You still had at least fifteen minutes to yourself until your brothers would start to make your way to the car. You felt the panic subside slightly and you fully relaxed. You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off into a light sleep. You needed your energy for tonight’s match. 

The door you were leaning on swung open and you tumbled backwards smacking the back of your head against the metal frame of the car and reverse scorpioning onto the pavement. Your entire upper back and the back of your head exploded in pain and your lower back hurt slightly from having your back bent uncomfortably. You heard laughter above you as you felt tears of pain start to slip out of your eyes. Your legs swung out from their place above your face and landed on the ground with a painful thump. 

You saw three blurry figures above you laughing at your pain. You reached up with a shaky hand to wipe at your tears and saw Adrian, Sammy, and Annie. They were cackling as you shakily stood up and sat on the comfortable seats of the car. You waited patiently for them to calm down. 

Eventually, Sammy calmed down enough to explain what happened to you through chuckles. “I’m sorry (y/n), it was just too good to resist. You should’ve seen your face.”

She and the others broke back into uncontrolled laughter as they remembered your embarrassing fall. You were used to their antics, and quite frankly it felt good to make your friends laugh, even if it were at your own expense. Just as they were calming down once again, you saw Wilbur and Techno walk out the front doors of the school laughing at something the other said. Annie and Sammy heard their laughter and quickly turned around to watch them. They had massive crushes on both of your brothers, many in the school did. 

Your brothers made their way to your shared car and stopped to look at you in slight confusion. “(Y/n), were you crying? What happened?” Wilbur asked worriedly. 

“Yea-”

“Oh Wilbur, it was terrible, (y/n) fell out of the car. I don’t think she closed the door before she leaned on it.” Annie interrupted you with a faked concerned tone, a complete contradiction to her reaction before your brothers came.

Techno hastily made his way to the driver’s side door. “Well, if she’s hurt we better get going, right Wilbur?”

“Yes! We better get going, please excuse us.” He sat in the passenger seat and closed the door without hearing Sammy and Annie’s desperate attempts to stop them so they could talk to them. Your brothers thought Sammy and Annie were annoying. They absolutely hated being around them. 

Waving apologetically at your friends, you pulled yourself into the car and closed the door. Annie and Sammy looked offended that you had let Wilbur and Techno get away from them. Avoiding their eyes, you looked down at your tightly clasped hands. They were shaking slightly. 

After pulling out of the parking lot, Techno glanced at you from the rearview mirror. “You ok (y/n)?”

“Yeah, my back just hurts and I have a headache.”

“Well, do you wanna go and get some ice cream? We still have some time left before we have to pick up Tommy and Tubbo. Dad doesn’t have to know,” Wilbur asked you.

You sighed, you wanted nothing other than to take a nap before your match. “Sorry, but I need to watch what I eat today. We have semifinals tonight and I can’t have anything sugary. I just wanna go home and take a nap.”

Your brothers were quiet for the rest of the car ride until you reached your driveway. Techno twisted his body around in his seat to look at you after he put the car in park. “Did you actually fall out of the car?”

Shit, should you tell him the truth? If you did, they would almost certainly get mad at your friends. Sammy and Annie would never forgive you if you turned your brothers against them. You decided that you would take one for the team again. “Yeah, I wasn’t paying attention.” 

Techno snorted. “Well, that was stupid,” he jokingly said. “Next time you’re gonna get run over by a parked car.”

You knew that he meant that as a joke, but it still stung. Stamping your emotions down, you laughed with him and Wilbur. It was stupid of you to do, you shouldn’t have let your guard down if you weren’t at home. 

You winced as you slung your bag on your back and walked the best you could back into your house. Your upper back was killing you. You made a beeline to the bathroom and rummaged through the medicine cabinet looking for some pain relief pills. You took some and shambled off to your room to take your well earned nap. You set your alarm’s setting to its loudest volume and passed out. 

You jolted up and gasped when you felt a wave of pain hit your upper back. You blearily looked at the time. You had a little under two hours before you had to get back to the school for your match. You groaned when you pulled yourself up, your head pounding with every turn. You pulled yourself out of bed and once again took some pain pills. You went downstairs to grab an apple or something to eat. Your dad was at the stove stirring something around in a pot. 

He turned to look at you with an excited smile. “You ready for your match tonight? You’re gonna kill it!” 

You only nodded halfheartedly and plopped yourself down at the table with your apple. Philza frowned at your lack of enthusiasm, but he figured that it was just because you just woke up from a nap. You’d bounce back eventually. 

“Wilbur told me that you fell out of the car? How’d you do that?”

You shrugged, wincing slightly as it moved your back slightly. “Dunno, must’ve not closed the door.”

Philza was at your side in a hurry, his hands hovering over your shoulders. “Did you get hurt? Show me where it hurts.”

“My back and the back of my head.”

“Can I move your shirt so I could look?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

You felt him gently pull the neck of your t-shirt away from your body to peek at your back. You heard his breath hitch as he looked. Was it that bad? “Good god (y/n),” he breathed out.

“What, is it bad?”

“Don’t you feel how bad it is? Your entire back is bruised. I think there’s some blood too.”

“Damn.”

“First, language. Second, that’s all you have to say? Aren’t you in pain?”

“Yeah, but the pain pills are gonna kick in soon. I’ll be fine.”

“Would you be able to play tonight? I really think you should sit this one out.”

“No, I’m playing tonight Dad.”

“(Y/n),” oh no, he was using his stern dad voice. “It’s not a good idea to play tonight. You’re hurt, I’m sure they’ll understand if you sit this one out.”

You felt frustration rise up in you. “We’re in the semifinals. They need me, I’m the main setter. They’d lose without me playing.”

“(Y/n), I’m serious. You’re not playing today.”

“Dad, I am playing today. Look, I’ll talk to Coach Williams to see if I could be rotated out more often. I know she’d let me.”

He stared at you for a while before sighing. He knew there was no convincing you. “...Fine. But you better talk to Coach Williams about sitting out for a bit if your back hurts too much or I swear I’ll drag you off the court myself.”

You smiled a little at the small victory. “Thank you! I promise I’ll sit out if needed.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “If needed?”

You sighed, “when needed.”

He walked over to the pot, stirring the contents slightly. “That’s better. Dinner’s almost ready, I made some pasta.”

“It smells good, but I think I’m skipping out on it for today. I already ate this apple and if I eat any more I’ll probably hurl on the court.”

He made a displeased noise in the back of his throat, “fine, but you’re eating something when we get home tonight.”

He walked off to go get your brothers and Tubbo for dinner. You could hear their booming steps racing down the stairs towards the kitchen. They raced into the kitchen and almost crashed into the back of your chair. You stood up and looked at the two excitable fifth graders. “Careful boys, don’t want you getting hurt.”

“You’re no fun (y/n),” Tommy whined.

“Sure, sorry bout that,” Tubbo beamed at you.

You chuckled, making your way upstairs to get ready for your match. You took off your clothes with great difficulty and slipped on your jersey and your spandex shorts. They were way too short for your tastes, but you couldn’t wear longer ones, they’d just get in the way. You fondly remembered how your dad flipped out when he first saw you in them, he hated them with a burning passion. He still hates how short they are.

When you were struggling with pulling your hair back into a tight, sleek ponytail, the back of your head throbbed continuously with pain. You most likely bruised your scalp. 

You slipped on your shoes that were made specifically for playing volleyball and headed downstairs. You were met with Tommy and Tubbo jumping in excitement seeing you in your uniform. They loved going to your matches, even if they would always pass out in the car after them because matches usually ended late at night. You grabbed your dad’s keys and headed to his car. Before you could lead the boys out the door, Philza’s voice stopped you.

“(Y/n), coat.”

You huffed, grabbing your coat and putting it on before tossing him his keys. You four got into the car and set out for the high school. The short drive was filled with Tommy and Tubbo asking you questions about volleyball and encouraging you. “(Y/n), you’re gonna kick their butts!”

“Yeah!” Tubbo cheered 

Despite their voices causing a spike of pain to shoot throughout your head, you laughed at their enthusiasm. It was always nice to hear your little brother and pseudo brother in the stands cheering you on, they were your and your team’s personal cheerleaders. 

Not long after you got to the school, you were stretching with your team on the gym’s floor. Your posse found their way into the stands, sitting in the front row. The away team watched your team like a hawk, analysing every single player for any weakness. It was because of them that you tried to not show any pain when you moved your back. You talked to Coach Williams before the team stretch and she was obviously sympathetic with your situation. She agreed to switching you out with the standby setter every few rotations. 

The echo of the whistles caused pain to ring in your head every time someone scored or a foul was called. Your team captain, Haley, was constantly, yet discreetly checking on you throughout the game since she was always next to you. She was the team’s main spiker after all. 

The game droned on and on before you realized that the opposing team was targeting you when they were offensive. They probably realized that you were injured a round ago. You tried your best to block every ball that was sent your way, but a few managed to slip past you when you couldn’t move fast enough. This team was good, but your team was better. 

The score during the final round was tied and the clock was on it’s last ten seconds as the ball soared your way. You dove to hit it, landing on your shoulder on the hard floor and hitting it up high enough for Haley to spike the ball down. The crowd went wild as the ball bounced off from the opposite end of the court almost simultaneously with the screeching of the referee’s whistle, signifying the end of the game and your team’s victory.

You laid on the floor in pain, you thought you must’ve pulled your tender muscles in your back and shoulder. It hurt to move it. You felt one of your teammates grab your hand to yank you up into a giant full team group hug. You yelped slightly in pain as you felt arms press against your back and hands firmly patting your bruised shoulders. You were whisked away into the locker room to change into the pajamas you brought with you. 

“(Y/n), are you alright? That was a pretty hard fall.” Haley’s soft voice asked you. You felt your heart sing in your chest. 

“Yeah Hales, I’m fine. I just pulled a few muscles.”

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows furrowed together, “are you sure? As your team captain and your friend, I’m worried about you.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. You felt warm knowing that she cared about you. “I’m sure, worrywart.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and breathed out a soft laugh. “Sorry for asking, grump.” Her laugh sounded like music to your ears. 

Your phone vibrated in your pajama pocket, alerting you of your family waiting for you in the car and for you to hurry up. You sighed, “sorry Hales, I gotta go. Dad’s getting impatient.” 

She gave you a small smile. “Oh, well, tell your family I said hi! Good work on the court today, I wouldn’t ask for a different setter.”

You felt your cheeks warm up and you watched with wide eyes as she left the locker room. Your phone vibrated again, your dad was really starting to get impatient. 

You walked out of the school as fast as you could to find your dad’s car waiting for you up front. Jumping in and softly closing the passenger side door, you slumped against the window. “(Y/n),” Tommy’s tired voice slurred. “That. Was. Pog…”

You glanced back to see him and Tubbo snoring away in their seats. Your match was more exciting than usual, so that must’ve really tired them out. You chuckled, turning back around to lean against the window. You took care not to put any weight on your shoulder or back. 

“(Y/n), you were amazing out there, but why did you dive for that ball? That fall looked like it hurt.”

You hummed tiredly, “thanks Dad. I just did what I thought would win us the game. We’re going to finals!” You quietly sang. 

“Did you hurt your shoulder?”

“I actually don’t know, but I think I might’ve pulled a few muscles. Nothing too bad.”

“...I scheduled a doctor’s appointment for you tomorrow morning during your first and second blocks. I want you to get your back, shoulder, and head looked at. You looked miserable the entire match.”

You sighed, too tired to argue, “mmk.”

He chuckled before the car fell into a comfortable silence. The gentle bouncing of the car and the subtle hum of the engine was lulling you to sleep. Your eyelids were drooping by the time you pulled into your driveway. 

You drug yourself out of the car and into the house, leaving Philza with the sleeping boys. You walked straight to your room and plopped down on your bed, passing out instantly for the second time that day.

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

[heliads]

Some Small Comfort

Based on this request: “reader is having a really bad day for no reason and Draco comforts her and one of the ways he does is kissing her forehead and wrapping his arms around her so she can bury herself into his chest”

masterlist

The wind is wild around you. It’s a cold, blustery day, and anyone in their right minds would have stayed firmly indoors, bodies turned instinctively towards a roaring fire in their common rooms. However, you are decidedly mad, and instead perch here in the creaking wooden stands, green and silver scarf wrapped around your neck as if the few feet of woven yarn will do anything to keep you warm.

It’s not like you’re alone, though. Hundreds of students are packed in around you, banners of emerald and sapphire being waved frantically through the air at opposite sides of the stands. It’s time for a Quidditch match, the semifinals of the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup. Your own beloved Slytherin is playing against Ravenclaw, who despite being stronger than the past couple of years is being steadily crushed by the swooping and soaring forms of seven green-cloaked players. Your cheers are ripped from your throat by the wind, joining the collective cacophony of the school as you all watch in awe.

“They’re going to win. No doubt about it.” You glance over your shoulder to see Pansy Parkinson. You and Pansy have not always been close friends, and the most you have in common with her is the house you share. She’s overly critical of the fact that you’ve been known to hang around with Potter, Weasley, and Granger. You’re a touch too haughty when you compare yourself with her. If you’re supposed to spend time with people who make you a better person, you’re not entirely sure you’ll find that same company with Pansy. That being said, there is a certain rush in being able to say what you want about whoever you want and share gloating laughs with another girl clad in viridian. It’s always a little more fun to pretend to be the villain, isn’t it?

You flash Pansy a grin. “As if there was a chance they wouldn’t. Slytherin is Ravenclaw but with muscle. It’s easy to see that those blue prats wouldn’t last ten minutes.” Pansy smirks at that. “Besides, it’s easy to cheer them on when you’ve got your star seeker boyfriend, don’t you? I hate to say it, but the two of you are cute together.” You feel your cheeks heat up as she says it, even as you know Pansy only speaks to get a rise out of you. “I’m glad you approve of our relationship. I would be utterly devastated if you didn’t.”

Pansy turns her attention back to the game. “Speaking of which, Malfoy would be utterly devastated if you don’t start paying attention. I think he’s about to win.” You tear your gaze away from your friend to stare excitedly back at the pitch. Sure enough, Draco has spun his broom into a deep dive, plunging farther and farther through the air until at last he snatches at something and rights himself, arm held triumphantly up. Even from this distance, you can see the victorious look on his face and the small golden sphere trapped in his hand, white wings beating uselessly against his palm.

Your shout of triumph is drowned out by Lee Jordan’s voice, which echoes across the Quidditch pitch. “And that’s it- Malfoy has caught the snitch- Slytherin has won. I hate to say it, but it was a good performance from Slytherin all around. We all know we’ll thrash you at the championships, though, you can count on that-” Lee’s hurried speech is cut off by the sound of Professor McGonagall chastising him for a certain lack of impartial commentating. You and the rest of the Slytherins rise up in boos against Lee, although you can’t stay angry for long. Draco has won, what more could you care about?

You rush down through the stands to the grounds below, feeling your heels fly across the packed earth. Draco’s already waiting for you outside of the locker rooms. His face, which you can tell he’s trying his hardest to keep neutral and unimpressed, breaks into a smile when he sees you. You run over to him and he picks you up, wrapping his arms around your waist. You beam up at him. “You were amazing, Draco. Honestly. That last catch was fantastic.” Draco shrugs as if it’s nothing, but you can tell that he’s secretly thrilled himself.

“It was fairly easy against Ravenclaw. Gryffindor’s next, though, in a couple of weeks. They’ll be the actual competition.” You scoff. “Gryffindor is nothing. You’ll handle them just fine, I promise.” Draco leans forward to kiss you. Even despite the bite of the wind, you can still feel a sudden burst of heat radiating through you. “Well, as long as I’ve got you I know I’ll be fine. I looked for you in the stands, you know.” You smile up at him. “I was there. Always am.”

The whole castle is in a buzz over the game. The Ravenclaw team has been training nonstop in preparation, but Slytherin still beat them easily. At this rate, the Hogwarts final will be a walk in the park. Draco still heads out to the pitch all the time, broom in hand and ready to practice, but you can tell by the ease in his shoulders that he’s ready to win. 

Your footsteps echo through the stone corridors, joining the storm of chatter that bounds off of the arched hallways. You doubt Hogwarts has ever been quiet in its long history- too many students, too many spells, never enough time for silence to draw a breath. As you round a corner, though, you’re struck by a sudden lull in the hubbub that surrounds you. It’s brief, but just enough that you recognize a few voices. Hermione, Ron, and a few others.

You pause. You were intending to go back to your common room and finish up a few essays, but you’ve got no actual plans to fill your time. Why not go chat with your friends? You switch directions, crossing over the hallway to turn around a bend and rejoin the Gryffindors. You’re hidden from them by the stone corner of the wall, and you’re almost about to catch up to them when you hear more of their conversation. With a sinking feeling, you realize you know exactly what they’re talking about.

Ron is speaking now. “-and that’s what I was talking about. Quidditch tryouts are going to be opening up next year, and a lot of the oldest members of the team will be leaving. I’d go out and practice, but the field’s swamped with everyone trying to do the same thing I am and learn broom skills before the summer.” Hermione clicks her tongue understandingly. “I have the same issue around exam season. All I want to do is go to the library in peace, and then it’s swarmed with all the kids doing their best not to fail.”

She hesitates a second. “Actually, remind me if you’ve got any brooms to spare. Y/N and I were talking about going over some Quidditch skills. Everyone around us plays the sport, and all flying lessons stopped after the first year. We were thinking it would do some good to have a refresher on the finer points of broomstick flying.” Ron laughs, muttering something about the finer points of broomstick flying, really, Hermione, you’re making it sound so dull under his breath. However, a new voice rings out beside them, and you realize that you recognize it. It’s Oliver Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He must still be anxious over the recent Slytherin victory and the upcoming crushing defeat awaiting the Gryffindors, because his voice is cold.

“The Slytherin? Why the hell would you want that?” It’s not just the fact that he didn’t say your name, or the way you can practically see him turning to Hermione in shock. It’s the disgust in his voice, the sheer revulsion in his voice at the thought of ever speaking to you. He says Slytherin in the same way you might say vermin or dementor, and it cuts you to the core. You’re remembering key facets of Oliver Wood now, the way he clings to the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry with as much fervor as he does to his broom. He would never see you as anything more than a snake, and to be honest, the same is likely true with Ron and Hermione. They’re not defending you right now, are they? No, they’re just continuing on with the conversation.

You feel sick to your stomach. You had considered them friends, people you could talk with and not regret a thing. Did they see you as anything more than the one average Slytherin, someone they would tolerate to your face and loathe behind your back? You turn away from them, shouldering your bag and walking hurriedly back down the hall so they can’t see you. You head straight down towards the Slytherin common rooms, but with every step you can feel your spirits sinking. One of the worst hurts is when a friend insults you, but this is worse. They don’t even think of you as a friend, and they would have no problems with tossing you aside.

Finally, you reach the seemingly innocuous stretch of stone wall that marks the entrance to the Slytherin common room. You stand before it, muttering the password under your breath. “Hemlock.” The wall slides away, revealing the long-awaited common room. Usually, your eye would be drawn to the intricately carved stone ceiling and columns, the tall bookcases of dark wood that house every manuscript you can think of, but not today. Even the roaring fire in its wrought iron gate seems cold, the emerald-cushioned chairs unappealing. You feel like you have a lump in your throat that seems to choke you if you even think of straying by the other students, and so you hurry on your way to your dorm. You’re not sure you want to be alone right now, but it’s better than having to force yourself to speak to anyone else.

However, it doesn’t look like you’ll get the opportunity to finally escape. A voice calls out to you as you cross the common room, and you groan inwardly as you realize it’s Draco. His tone is light, unburdened, but it hesitates with worry as he takes in your twisted face. He walks over to you, taking your hand in his. “Are you alright?” You try to tell him that you’re fine, cook up some lie that you’re just tired, but your tongue doesn’t seem to want to move. His eyes glance over the students clustered around the fire and chairs, unwanted ears that could hear your conversation, and an understanding seems to dawn on him.

Instead, he guides you over to the window seat on the far side of the common room, the one that holds the swirling waters of the lake behind it instead of a view of the grounds. He sits down, reaching out for you. He pulls you close, letting your head rest against his chest. Your legs stretch out over the window seat, and you watch as the shifting lights of the lake tint the air around you a comforting green. Draco’s voice is quiet when he finally speaks. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” You sigh. “It’s nothing, just- Well, I was walking back here and I heard Ron, Hermione, and a couple of other Gryffindors talking. My name came up, and one of them seemed so disapproving, like he hated me just because of my house. I know we do the same thing to them, probably worse, but it still hurt in the moment.” You can feel him tensing underneath you, head tilting slightly in anger. You look up at him, shaking your head slightly. “Don’t do anything. I don’t even think they thought about it much. It’s not worth it to get a detention so close to the game.”

Draco presses a kiss to your forehead. “You’re too nice to them. They don’t deserve to be around you, and if they can’t see that, then I pity them. You’re far better than any of them, and they know it. They’re probably scared.” You chuckle quietly. “Only you could turn an insult into a compliment. I’m not sure they’re scared of me, I’m not very threatening.” Draco runs his fingers absentmindedly over your arm, tracing invisible patterns into your skin. “Maybe you’re not looking hard enough. I think you could hex any one of them into the hospital wing if you tried.”

You laugh in spite of yourself. “I think you just want me to hex them.” Draco smiles. “What’s wrong with that?” You roll your eyes, but you can already feel your mood lightening. “Thank you for listening.” Draco pulls you closer to him, nestling your head against his heart. “I’d do it any day you ask. You know that.” And you do.

[cryingoverafictionalcharacter]

Fred Weasley x Reader

 Prompt: The three times Fred knew he fell for you, and the one time he told you he loves you.

A/N: I absolutely love this prompt, I’ve seen it a couple times before but if your the creator of it please let me know so I can give you credit. Also credits to the owner of this gif!

Warnings: My longest fic ever, So many commas, Fluff, maybe angst but not really, Fred being cute, you being cute, both you and Fred being oblivious to your feelings, swearing bc its me, I think that’s it

It all started sixth year. Fred was sitting across the room from you in potions, one of the only classes you had together. You knew each other pretty well, being in the same house and year as each other, but you didn’t really get to know each other until year five, when a certain incident brought you together.

You were working on a potion, trying to read the directions as you simultaneously poured in your ingredients, before looking up and seeing you were accidentally putting in dragons horn instead of dragon claw. You started flipping through you book frantically, causing Snape to walk over.

“Something the matter Y/L/N” He said in his monotone voice, but before you could answer, your potion exploded, causing thick purple slime to cover the both of you.

The class went completely silent, not daring to speak, except for Fred, who after a few seconds was kneeled over laughing.

“Ten points from Gryffindor, and both Y/N Y/L/N and Fred Weasley will be spending the rest of the day in detention” Snape said, dismissing the class before excusing himself to exit to his office, leaving Fred to look at your purple covered self, only to be surprised when you let out a chuckle.

“He’s a lot less scary when he’s purple” You said to Fred, which caused both of you to fall into a new wave of laughter, before you pulled out your wand and muttered a quick cleaning spell.

Fred watched noticing you had missed a spot in your hair, making Fred cross the room over to you and reach to remove the last bits of goo out of your hair, which was surprisingly soft.

You laughed before thanking him and going to collect your things so you could go do whatever tasks Snape had in store for you. Fred watched as you moved your hair behind your ear, and couldn't help but notice how his heart rate picked up.

The next time Fred knew he had fallen for you was much more obvious. You and Fred had become good friends since the potions incident, and he had even let you help with some of his and Georges pranks every once in a while. You three were beginning to get along very nicely.

One night though, Fred and George were up late working on a new type of fire work in the common room, which involved using just the right amount of possibly explosive materials.

This obviously ended badly, sending fireworks flying around the room and causing quite a bit of noise. You probably wouldn’t have noticed if you were asleep, a good bit of soundproofing between the common room and your dorm room, but because you were already awake, having had trouble falling asleep, you heard the sound and assumed the worst, running out of the dorm and down the stairs.

“What's going on?!” You said once you reached the common room, eyes landing on the two boys who were ducked behind one of the couches, and covered in a bit of ash.

“New project” George said smiling looking over to Fred, expecting to join in on his explanation, but Fred was just staring at you. You had run down in a rush and didn’t bother to get changed, so you were still in a tank top and short shorts, causing Fred's brain to pretty much short circuit.

He had always found you attractive, but he had never really seen you in anything accept your robes for classes, so suddenly seeing so much skin was certainly a change.

You didn’t notice Fred's staring, but George certainly did, coming to his brothers rescue and elbowing him, snapping him out of his trance.

“Huh? Oh yes, fireworks, got a bit carried away” Fred said, trying to recover from the seemingly obvious ogling.

“Working with dangerous explosive without me” You said, putting a hand to your chest and putting on a fake sad face “and here I thought we were friends”

“We were planning on inviting you but-” Fred said, suddenly flustered over that he may have hurt your feelings.

“I’m kidding Fred, sheesh what's gotten into you?” You said smiling and shaking your head. “Maybe all that gun power has finally gotten to your head”

“Yeah probably” Fred said, trying to laugh it off.

“Well, I’m off to bed, try to keep it down” You said, before saying goodnight and heading to your room.

“That was painful to watch” George joked, causing Fred to look at him

“How do you mean?” Fred asked

“You’ve got it baaaaad” George said, causing Freds face to heat up before he wacked his younger brother on the shoulder.

“Shut up” Fred said, causing a laugh to erupt from George

After that night George was doing everything in his power to get the two of you together. Leaving the room whenever it was just you three, tripping you so you would fall into Fred, on top of many other things. Sure George thought you two would make a good couple, but to see the flustered look on his brothers face whenever you were near him was enough to keep it going, despite you being completely oblivious to him liking you.

The weekend had finally rolled around, and you and a few friends, including Fred and George, were headed to Hogsmeade to do some shopping and just to have a few hours away from the school grounds.

You were walking with Fred and George, doing some window shopping just as it started to snow.

“Ah shit” You said, looking at the falling particles. You loved the holiday season, but you did not handle cold well. You were already wearing two sweaters and could already feel yourself starting to get cold.

“What's the matter Y/N?” Fred asked, looking down to see you wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Its nothing” you said, trying to seem like it wasn’t a big deal, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out you were cold.

“Speaking of nothing, I need to go get some supplies for some new prototypes, so I’ll leave you to it” George said, quickly parting from the group, but not before sending Fred a quick wink, noticing how George was holding his wand.

“That little” Fred muttered to himself, finally figuring out that George started the snow in the first place.

“What was that?” You said, looking up at Fred, a slight red tint starting to dust over your cheeks as the air got colder. Fred couldn’t help but look a few seconds longer than he should have, thinking about how cute you looked.

“Oh nothing” Fred excused, continuing to walk next you you past the shops. 

After a few more seconds, he noticed your arms wrapping more tightly around yourself, slightly shivering as a particular gust of wind shocked your body with cold. Without thinking, Fred put his arm around you, pulling you closer to him.

You started warming up, his body heat surrounding you almost instantly. You could feel the muscles of his arm underneath the fabric of his sweater as he pulled you even closer to him, causing your face to suddenly heat up. Quidditch practice really had its rewards.

“Is this ok?” Fred asked, noticing your changed expression. you nodded

“Yeah, its actually really nice” you said, wrapping your arm around him as well and leaning your head on his shoulder a bit.

You spent the rest of the day like that, snow falling around the two of you, arms around each other, feeling butterflies swarming your stomach. You had always found the older Weasley twin attractive, but you hadn’t really thought of him romantically until now, and you didn’t completely hate it.

“Warmer yet?” Fred asked, causing you to snap out of your haze.

“Much, thank you” You said, looking at Fred to see a mischievous look on his face. 

“Good” He said, before suddenly plopping a snowball on your head. where had he gotten that?!

“Oh... so this is how its going to be” You said, kneeling down to form your own snowball, picking it up and looking at Fred.

“Now Y/N, lets not get to hasty” He started, before he was dodging a snowball aimed right at his face.

“Get ready to pay Weasley!” you yelled, chasing him, throwing snow balls at each other, laughing the whole time before you suddenly fell flat on your back.

“I cant, I surrender” you said through laughs, trying to catch your breath

“So what you’re saying is that I’m the best snow ball player in the world” Fred said, making you roll your eyes.

“Shut up and help me” You said, holding out your hand for Fred to help you up, but as soon as he grabbed it you pulled him down, causing him to land next to you, causing you both to fall into a fi of laughter.

“That was so evil” Fred said from beside you, after you had both finally composed yourselves.

“Nah you love me” You said, causing Fred to tense a bit beside you at the sudden realization that, he actually might. Before he could say anything tough, you had slapped another snowball to his chest, getting up and running in the opposite direction.

“Race you back!” You said, causing Fred to laugh, before standing and chasing after you, all the while thinking about what the hell he was supposed to do.

The next year you were closer than ever. You had visited each other dozens of times over the summer, and just as you were headed back to school and getting used to the old routine, it was time for the Tri-Wizard tournament. You watched as Fred and George attempted the aging potion, laughing as they both flew back as old men, but also visiting them when they had to go to the hospital wing.

You were in class with Fred, potions once again but this time you two were lab partners. You sat at your desk, talking with Fred about something random when Snape walked in, telling us to open our textbooks and prepare for the lesson.

As you were reading you suddenly felt a piece of paper fall by your hand. You looked at it and then over to Fred, who was already looking at you, nodding to make you open it. you reached for it but before you could open it, the note was snatched out of your hand by Snape.

“No, note passing in class” He said before throwing the note in a trash in the corner.

You looked back at Fred, who glared at Snape as he walked away before bringing his attention back to you. He put his book down and looked to make sure Snape wasn’t looking.

“Do you... want to go to the ball... with me” He mouthed, creating pretending to dance before pointing to himself.

You instantly felt your face heat up. Over the summer your feelings towards Fred had certainly grown, but you didn’t think he would feel the same way about you. You quickly snapped out of your trance though, smiling at Fred and nodding.

“What am I going to do?!” You shouted as you landed face first into your pillow, Angelina and Katie looking at you, rolling their eyes at your dramatics.

“Go to the ball with him you dim whit” Katie said, causing you to glare at her.

“He probably only asked me as a friend anyway” you muttered.

Both Angelina and Katie knew about your crush on Fred. They both also knew Fred had a crush on you, Angelina finding out from George, who was a whole other love story waiting to happen.

“Or... maybe he asked you out because he likes you” Angelina countered.

“I don’t know, I’m just freaking out” You said, sitting up to look at the two girls.

“I have a perfect solution” Katie said, causing both you and Angelina to look at her.

“Y/N, you have a crush on Fred, Angelina, you have a crush on George-”

“I do not-!” Angelina started, before Katie cut her off.

“You do too, now shut it and listen” Katie said. She was pretty close to George and Fred, being on the same quidditch team and all and knew for certain that the twins liked the both of you.

“Angelina, you’re going to go to the ball with George, Y/N with Fred, now if at any point they don't seem interested, you can just ditch and hang out with each other the rest of the ball.” She said, matter of factly.

“That's a stupid plan” You said, earning a pillow to the head.

“It is not! And you wont even need it because they like you you idiots!” Katie said throwing her arms in the air. Literally everyone could see that You and Fred liked each other, except for you two.

“Were doomed” You said, causing both you and Angelina to fall backward onto your beds, Katie rolling her eyes.

Two days later, you were sitting in front of your mirror getting ready for the ball. You had chosen a beautiful blue and silver halter top dress. It hugged your body until it reached your waist when it fanned out a bit. You matched it with some silver shoes that you found comfortable, and had Angelina help you with your hair.

“You look amazing, he’d be stupid not to see that” She said, finishing your hair.

“Says you, you look like a goddess!” you said, looking at her purple dress.

“We all look great now lets go” Katie said impatiently. She had gotten a date from Durmstrang and was excited to say the least. You all shared a laugh before heading out to the ball.

Fred was a nervous wreck waiting at the bottom of the stairs. He was trying not to show it, trying to mask his nerves with his usual goofy attitude but George could see through it.

“You’re going to be fine, chill out already” George said, causing Fred to shoot him a look.

“I’m completely chill! I’m the most chill person in the world, I’m-” Fred’s rambling was cut off when he saw George suddenly looking at the grand staircase behind him. Following his eyes, Fred turned to see Angelina, Katie and you. All he could see was you.

Suddenly all the nerves he had, all the things he practice he was going to say, all the worry, left his head. You were Y/N, you were his best friend, and he couldn’t believe how absolutely head over heels he was for you.

“Good evening sir” You said, doing a little curtsey, causing Fred to smile.

“Madam” He said, doing a deep bow and causing you to laugh. “Shall we” he said, holding out his arm.

“We shall” You said, taking his arm and following him to the ball room.

You spent the whole evening either dancing, or talking when you needed a breather. You would drink punch and people watch, trying to guess what people were saying to each other.

Suddenly the music changed, starting a slow song. You looked at Fred to see he was already looking at you. Wordlessly he held out his hand, causing you to smile while you took it. You walked out to the dance floor and started to sway to the music, suddenly very aware of the feeling of his hand on your waist. 

“You look amazing Y/n” Fred said, leaning down so he could almost whisper it in your ear, causing chills to run down your spine.

“You don’t look to bad yourself” You joked, not wanting to get caught u in the moment and forget that you were only here as friends. Right?

“Can I take you somewhere really fast?” Fred asked. you felt your cheeks heat up at his sincerity but nodded none the less, allowing him to lead you out of the ball room.

He lead you to the outside of the castle. You walked side by side, just taking in the scenery before Fred suddenly stopped, causing you to as well. You had stopped at the bridge, being able to get a full view of the Black lake, the moon reflecting off of it. 

You were too busy looking at the water to notice how Fred was looking at how the moon fell on your face, and made your eyes seem to glow. Or how he felt like he was suddenly seeing you for the first time all over again. Or how badly he wanted to just lean in and-

“Thank you, for asking me to the dance” You said, snapping Fred out of his trance.

“Of course, they ’res nobody id rather go with” He said looking at you, but you refused to meet his eyes.

“I’m sure that's not true. I’m sure there's someone here that you fancy” You said.

Fred looked at you confused. “How do you mean?” He asked.

“George told me that you liked someone... over the summer” You said. Fred mentally face palmed. That idiot! Of course he was talking about you, but Fred guessed George was just trying to get you to confess, which you obviously didn’t.

“Well, yeah... I do like someone” Fred said, an idea coming to mind.

“Oh... well who is she” You said, trying to mask you disappointment.

“Well, she’s in Gryffindor, she’s the absolute funniest person I’ve ever met, she has this smile where you see it and you can’t help but smile yourself, she's able to just walk into class and make the whole room brighter, ya know?” He said, looking down at you, trying to hide the sadness on your face.

“Is it Katie? Because I can talk to her and-” You started

“Oh my god, its you dumbass!” Fred suddenly exclaimed, causing your head to shoot up to meet his eyes.

“Wait, you like me?” You asked, Fred nodding, turning his body and gently grabbing both of your hands, holding them in front of him.

“Yeah, I have since last year” He said. Now it was his turn to not meet your eyes. “I knew I liked you from the moment you turned Snape purple, and ever since I’ve just fallen for every part of you, and I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier, I was just worried that-”

You cut off his rambling, quickly lifting yourself on your tip toes and quickly pressing your lips to his. The kiss lasted less than a second, and you couldn’t read the expression on his face, causing you to panic a bit.

Meanwhile, Fred was wondering if what happened actually happened, or if he suddenly died and went to heaven, he didn’t see your worried expression though.

“I’m sorry, I-” This time Fred cut you off, moving one hand to cup your face while the other went to rest on your hip. You reacted quickly, closing your eyes and moving to wrap your arms to rest around his neck. 

This kiss lasted much longer, the two of you moving in sync as you finally did what he had wanted to do for almost a whole year. After a while you both finally pulled away for air, smiling at each other like idiots.

“I think I might be in love with you” Fred said, causing you to blush

“I think I might be in love with you too” You said, causing you both to laugh a bit before leaning in to reconnect your lips, but not before-

“Its about bloody time!” George shouted, causing the both of you to jump apart, fearing it might have been a teacher, but as soon as you both saw it was only George and Angelina, Fred started fuming while you just laughed.

“No thanks to you, arsehole!” Fred yelled back, causing George to laugh, before you suddenly realized the situation before you.

“Wait what are you two doing out here?” You asked, causing both George and Angelina to stop laughing, a slight tint forming on their faces.

“Well we were just going to... um...” George started, trying to find the words

“We were going to snog” Angelina said bluntly, causing George to look at her with a look of shock on his face, while you and Fred just laughed.

“Well Its about time yourselves then!” You yelled, giving Angelina a quick thumbs up before they left towards the Gryffindor common room.

“How did that not happen sooner, its so obvious they liked each other” You said, shaking your head in mock disappointment.

“completely oblivious, the both of them, couldn’t be us” Fred joked back, making you giggle before reconnecting his lips to yours.

A/N: I'm still in the denial faze of grief because Fred Weasley is my dream man but he doesn't exist, so please feel free to enjoy my coping mechanism :)

[babbushka]

5 Times Flip Ruined Valentine’s Day (And 1 Time He Didn’t)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader (Darling Jewish Wife AU)

11k ; cw: mild angst, mostly fluff & humor, mentions of baby zimmerman, mentions of war, mentions of undercover with the klansmen, brief hospitalization (sex injury), NSFW (PIV, fingering, praise kink, begging, finger sucking, multiple-orgasms, mild lactation kink, implied marathon sex) 

Available on AO3

----------------

L is for the way you look at me

February 14th, 1962. Flip Zimmerman is twenty-three years old and has finally worked up the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend. After months of pining, months of agonizing, months of Jimmy makin’ fun of him for being such a chicken, he finally asked and you stunned him by saying yes straight away. It’s his first Valentine’s Day with you, but more than that, it’s his first Valentine’s Day ever. Flip has it all planned out, he’s going to make sure that this memory is a perfect one, wanting to prove to you that he can be not only your best friend, but the best boyfriend.

Oh, if only life were that easy.

It had started out innocently enough, at least he likes to tell himself that. Not wanting to go too big too fast and run out of room on the very first holiday, Flip decided to keep things simple. He was going to cook you dinner. A real dinner too, with all five courses and a dessert. You didn’t know this, but Flip had been taking cooking lessons secretly after his shift at the lumber mill twice a week. He felt bad, knowing that you always do the cooking whenever you’re together, and dammit he plans on marrying you one day, so he figures he better get his act together now. His Ma had even given him the go-ahead to use the good china.

He doesn’t know when exactly, it went wrong.

“Hey Jim, are you busy?” Flip’s just finishing up his shift at the mill, when he calls his best friend to try and get some extra muscle, “I’m about to head to the market, help me with these groceries?”

He had told Jimmy about the plan of course, mostly because he told him everything. He loved telling you everything too, but this was one of those things that he had made Jimmy swear to secrecy, so as to not fuck up the surprise.

“Sure thing, pick me up?” Jimmy’s cheerful voice crackled over the phone line, and with an affirmative reply, Flip is practically bounding out of the little office where he works, and is grabbing his keys.

Ten minutes later, Jimmy is in the passenger seat, reaching into Flip’s jacket pocket for the grocery list, wondering what the hell Flip needs his help for.

“So what’s on the list anyway – holy shit this is a lot of stuff, Flip.” Jimmy’s eyes widen comically when the grocery list seemingly never ends, and he tries to make heads or tails of Flip’s shitty handwriting.

“I know! I’m doing a soup and a salad and then making these bread rolls that I know she’ll love and then for the appetizer course I’m doing – ” Flip doesn’t catch the concern in Jimmy’s voice, so focused on driving down to the market, focused on his mission.

“Uhh, are you sure about all this? Don’t you remember what happened that time you tried to boil water?” Jimmy very gently cuts Flip off, only keeping his best friend’s interests at heart.

Flip, for his part, sours and shoots him a glare, snatching the list back from his friend’s hand.

“Shut the fuck up, I’ve been taking lessons. I got this, now would you help me find everything? I figure it’ll be faster with the two of us, and I really need to get started before she comes over.” There’s a distinct edge to his voice that’s the closest thing to panic that Jimmy’s ever heard – at least since the day that Flip broke his clavicle on that snowboarding accident a decade ago.

Once in the grocery store, Flip can’t help but feel cocky. Between the two of them, everything on the list is found with time to spare, which is good because now that he’s really doing this, Flip won’t deny he’s got butterflies. It has to be perfect, he thinks, it just has to.

“Alright that’ll be everything I think – oh!” At the checkout register, Flip quickly grabs a big chocolate bar of your favorite kind, and adds it to the already enormous pile of shit, “And this too, please.”

Jimmy helps Flip load all the paper bags into the car, and then is a good friend and helps bring everything inside the house. Flip doesn’t let him stick around to help, instead shooing Jimmy out with a big plate of his Ma’s homemade cookies as a payment for all the help, and finally letting out a deep breath that he didn’t even know he had been holding.

“Okay Phil, you can do this.” He whispers to himself, “It’s just like class.”

And surprisingly, it was just like class. Flip prepared all the vegetables and got all the dishes starting in the correct order so they’d be finished in time for your arrival – which was in exactly half an hour. He doesn’t know how the fuck he managed to pull this off, but he’s not about to go tempting fate or anything, so he decides that now would be a good time to freshen up so he doesn’t smell like raw onions when you get there.

Flip agonizes over what to wear, eventually settling on a nice dress shirt and some slacks, willing his hair to part neatly. He hopes you don’t think he looks stupid, he – the doorbell rings, and he sucks in a sharp breath to himself.

Without another second’s hesitation, Flip moves to the front door and opens it, momentarily stunned by your beauty. He should have lit up a cigarette, he thinks, because all of a sudden his hands are shaking, just from the sight of you.

“Hi.” He blurts out inelegantly, but you only give him a big smile.

“Hi, you look really handsome.” You bat your lashes and bite the inside of your cheek, and some of the tension in Flip’s shoulders slip away, because he realizes that you’re nervous too.

Taking in the sight of you, it’s very clear that you tried hard to look nice for him, something that blows Flip’s fuckin’ mind. How’d he ever get so lucky to have a girl like you want to be his? Your nails are freshly done, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen you in this dress before, you even put on some perfume. The scent of it curls up in his nostrils, and he tries to think of something to say so that he isn’t just staring at you.

“You too.” Is the genius move he comes up with, immediately tripping over his tongue, “I mean, you’re beautiful, not that you’re not also handsome, if you want to be, I – ”

“Can I come in?” You give him a break, and he’s grateful for it.

Opening the door wider for you, he steps to the side and mentally kicks himself for being such an idiot.

“Yes. Yes please do, please come in.” Flip tries his best to remember the manners that he was raised on, although it’s difficult when you’re so beautiful and you’re here and you’re his girlfriend. “Let me take your coat?”

“Sure, thanks.” You grin, before your smile falters and a deep concerning frown dimples your forehead, “Say, something smells…um…Flip is something burning?”

Flip frowns too then, filling his lungs, trying to figure out what you’re talking about when it hits him --

“My roast!” Flip shouts, bolting into the kitchen.

What had just been a perfectly cooked dinner not thirty minutes prior, was now a large grease fire, with flames licking up high high high into the air, threatening to touch the ceiling and spread across the kitchen.

“Fuck – fuck shit! God dammit!” Flip frantically begins searching for something, mind going into overdrive to put the fire out. He grabs a bag of something, he doesn’t even know what it is, flour maybe? All he remembers from the class is to never ever throw water on a grease fire, otherwise he’d really be in trouble.

“Oh my god the stove!” The soup on the stove has boiled over and hit the gas burners, there’s smoke coming out of the oven in thick dark plumes, and you scream, “Where’s your fire extinguisher?!”

“Under the sink!” Flip remembers all of a sudden, and lunges to the cabinet under the sink, yanking on the pin and letting the white frothy foam explode out of the nozzle.

Flip pushes you to stand behind him as he puts the fire out, like some hero in an action movie, but instead of praising his heroism, you run out of the room to the phone in the hallway and dial the emergency number.

“I’m going to call the fire department, the flames could be inside the wall.” You shout to him, opening up the windows to air the place out as you go.

Ten minutes later, the fire department is crawling all through his house, and every single one of the neighbors is standing outside on their front lawns like the nosy people they are. Flip is sitting with you on the front porch, his head hung low between his knees, as you rub his back.

“God my Ma’s gonna fuckin’ murder me.” He groans, praying that the fire didn’t get big enough to ruin the whole kitchen.

“We’ll explain to her that it was just an accident.” You lean your head against his shoulder and keep him calm, a soothing balm that cools all his frayed edges. “We’re okay, and that’s what matters most, right?”

He looks at you then, cups a hand to your cheek and gives you a sheepish sigh.

“Yeah.” He grumbles, really desperate for a cigarette now, “I’m real fuckin’ sorry sweetheart, I had it all figured out and then…”

One of the firefighters walks past him, and Flip just gestures to him with a sigh.

But you, somehow, somehow you’re an angel and all you do is laugh, nudging his side with your elbow, making him look at you with an eyebrow raised. Of all the reactions that he had expected you to have, laughter wasn’t one of them.

“Hey, at least we’ll have a story to tell the grandkids one day.” You offer, and in that one little sentence, Flip’s heart beats double time.

“You’re not dumping me?” His eyes widen in surprise, because he was sure, so sure that that’s where this fucking day was going, he wouldn’t blame you if you had, he almost burned the house down after all.

“Dumping you! After how hard you worked and tried? No way.” You shake your head, almost sounding offended by the thought. “In fact, I think it makes me want to date you even more now. Just promise me next year, we stick to flowers or chocolates, okay?”

“Oh, speaking of which – ” Flip remembers, reaches around for something in his pocket, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

It’s pitiful really, the way that the chocolate bar from the grocery store has slightly melted and broken while being in his back pocket this entire time, but he figures, no better time than right now to give it to you.

And even though you’re laughing, your arms corralling him into a tight hug to kiss the side of his face and reassure him that you think the gesture was very sweet, Flip still can’t help but feel…well…burned.

O is for the only one I see

February 14th, 1967. Flip Zimmerman is thirty years old and officially (!!) your fiancée. It only took him five years to propose, but you knew Flip, and you knew how hard and long he thought about things like this, wanting everything to be perfect. And it had been, the trip to Egypt was a dream come true! The wedding was set for next month, March 18th to be exact, but Flip didn’t want to rest on that excitement to not give you the incredible Valentine’s Day he’s always dreamed of giving you.

True to his word, the previous few holidays have been spent very lowkey, a quiet night at a nice restaurant, dinner prepared by someone that wasn’t him, chocolates and champagne and big bouquets of roses.

But things were different now, he wasn’t just some lowly boyfriend who worked at the family lumber mill – no, now he was a Detective with the CSPD and more importantly, your fiancée and that had to mean something. He wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t going to start slacking now that you’ve agreed to tie the knot with him.

“Ketsl? It’s me.” Flip’s just finished changing out of his work clothes in the rec room, into something more put together for the surprise date he’s about to take you on.

“Hi honey! I’m almost ready, I’ll be all done by the time you come home.” Your voice is bright and fills him with warmth from the other end of the line.

“Remember to wear something comfortable.” Flip flicks the ash of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk, looking at the picture of you he keeps framed right next to the phone, that way it’s like you’re really there, even when you’re not.

“Will you tell me where we’re going?” You have that pleading tone in your voice that usually Flip can never deny, but today is a different day, a special day.

“No way, then it won’t be a surprise, would it?” He chuckles into the receiver, and you groan playfully, eventually conceding.

“Okay, I love you, see you soon.” You blow kisses into the phone, and Flip shoots glares to any and everyone who dares to make fun of him for that.

So what if he’s in love? Who could fault him for that?

He had it all figured out. After the disaster that was the grease fire, Flip decided that this year there would be no adventurous cooking. Since that Valentine’s Day, he had moved into a small house right off 21st Street with you, and the last fucking thing he wanted was to burn down that kitchen too.

Instead, Flip had gotten tickets to a play you had been dying to see at the Denver Center for the Preforming Arts. It was a bit of a drive, but the trip would be worth it, especially considering the seats he was able to get thanks to a friend over at Denver PD. He was going to take you out to a nice dinner beforehand, which meant if you were going to make it in time, he needed to hit the road now.

His car makes it halfway to his house, when there’s a strange rattle that comes from somewhere inside the dash.

“Excuse me?” Flip says out loud to himself, praying that what he thinks is happening, isn’t happening right now.

A light goes off on the dash, and then another, and then somehow another light, all lighting up on the dash, as his car rattles and makes all sorts of noises that he knows he can’t fix with his tire-jack.

“Oh no,” He groans, as the car comes to a rolling stop, the engine failing for whatever fucking reason, “No no no.”

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, he’s already doing the mental math and knowing that he’s going to be late – if he gets home to you at all. To avoid risking an accident, Flip manages to urge the car to the side of the road, and he chucks the flashers on.

“This cannot fucking be happening, not now.” Flip gets out of the car, goes around to the front and opens up the hood. It wasn’t like he didn’t know how to fix things, he was handy and took mechanics in high school, but shit high school was some fuckin’ time ago and he doesn’t even know where to look first, anger and frustration bubbling up inside his chest. “How the fuck am I – Flip, remain calm. De-escalate the situation.”

Two seconds later, he still can’t figure it out, and he slams the hood shut with a loud, “God fucking dammit!”

There’s only one choice, Flip knows. He has to walk to the nearest gas station and use their phone for help. Luckily, he knows of one not too far away, you always give them a gift basket of homemade treats for the winter holidays.

As he walks down the sidewalk, leaving his car there on the street without much other choice, he feels…something.

A light plip of water on his shoulder.

Dread creeps up into his throat, because that plip turns to a downpour in five seconds flat, and Flip really had to just stand there, take a moment, and try not to scream out his frustration as the rain pours and pours and pours out of fucking nowhere.

By the time he makes it to the gas station, he is soaked to the bone, and livid.

The door to the gas station swings open and Flip steps inside, taking deep breaths to try and preserve some dignity that he has left. Of course, he had an umbrella, but it was in the car, and he wasn’t about to double back when he was already wet. The look on his face must have been murderous, because the cashier at the counter approaches him tentatively.

“Hey man, are you okay?” The guy asks. Really he’s a kid, probably not more than sixteen, and Flip composes himself as he lights up a cigarette now that he’s sure the drenching downpour won’t put it out immediately.

“My car broke down a couple miles up the road, can I use your payphone?” He sucks down a couple drags, pulling out his wallet and fishing for a few coins.

“The payphone is out of order.” The kid replies, and Flip freezes, letting that information settle into his bones.

“Of course it is.” He mutters, teeth nearly pinching through the cigarette that he’s now smoking like it’s the last one he’ll ever have.

The kid notices Flip’s darkening mood, and thinks for a minute or two, before noticing one of the other people in the gas station.

“But hey! My buddy here is a mechanic and drives a tow truck. He can give you a lift, can’t you Tony?” The kid offers on his friend Tony’s behalf, and Flip tries not to get his hopes up.

Tony, another teenager who looks like he just got his license, maybe a little older, pops up from around one of the aisles with his arms full of chips.

“Sure thing sir, where you headed?” Tony smiles brightly, and Flip just smokes smokes smokes.

“21st street.” He offers, praying that this kid knows where that is.

By the way his eyes light up, Flip thinks that maybe, just maybe, his luck is turning.

As it would turn out, Flip’s house isn’t too far from the mechanic shop that Tony works at. On the way to his house, they strike up a deal to get the car looked at and fixed up before the day was over.

It’s still pouring rain, Tony pulls the tow truck up to the curb and Flip opens the door, reaching over to shake his hand.

“Thanks, I appreciate this a lot.” Flip says, feeling much less angry and now sort of…defeated.

“No problem, I’ll give you a call when we’ve fixed her up.” Tony gives Flip’s hand a hearty shake, “And thanks again for paying for my snacks, that was pretty cool.”

They part ways, and he only gets two steps closer to the front door when it flies open and you’re rushing out into the rain to hug him, holding him close.

“Phil!” You bury your face in his chest, and automatically Flip’s arms wrap around you tight. “Oh thank god I was so fucking worried about you! It’s been hours! What happened?”

You pull away enough to cup his cheeks in your hand and search his gaze, eyes wide and worried, and Flip’s chest sinks. It’s like the first Valentine’s Day all over again, he sighs to himself, feeling just as shitty now as he had when it was a disaster then.

“The car’s in the shop, I’m sorry ketsl, I tried.” Flip shrugs, not knowing what else to do, or say.

“I know handsome, I know.” You stretch up onto your tiptoes to press a deep kiss to his lips, before grasping his hand in your own and tugging the both of you out of the rain, announcing, “But I planned for this.”

“How the hell could you have planned for this?” Flip mumbles, but you just throw a smile over your shoulder to him, trying to get him into a better mood.

“I had a feeling you’d do something extravagant, and we both know how that tends to turn out – ”

“Hey.”

“So I made us a special dinner and figured we could watch those old black and white movies together like we used to do all the time. Maybe have some champagne in the bubble bath as a pregame.” You waggle a brow, as the both of you find shelter in your front room, door locked safely behind you.

Water drips from your hems onto the floor, and you reach for a very conveniently placed towel that happens to be right by the door, offering it to him.

He has never wanted to marry someone more, in his entire life, than he wants to marry you.

“Next year will be better.” He promises, kissing you sweetly, before taking you up on that promise of a bubble bath.

V is very, very extraordinary

February 14th, 1968. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-one years old and celebrating the holiday, the first Valentine’s Day together since you’ve been married, overseas.

This year was not, in any way shape or form, better.

He listens to the tape you’ve sent him, plays it over and over again just to hear your voice, hoping to drown out the harrowing experience of war just beyond his headphones. He listens to your voice, and wonders if you’re relistening to the voicemails he’s left you once upon a time, wonders if you’re having dinner with your friends, if Jimmy brought you those flowers like he had asked.  

He rewinds the tape, but he knows it’s not the same.

E is even more than anyone that you adore can

February 14th, 1972. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-five and finally back home from Vietnam. He surprises you one sunny day last summer, and the two of you are practically in each other’s back pockets every day thereafter.

There is no place Flip would rather be, than with you. To anyone who didn’t know you, it might look suspiciously lovey-dovey, but no, that’s really just how you are now. You nearly lost him over there, in the war. You went three years without him by your side – you didn’t want to be more than a foot away from him if you could manage it.

This Valentine’s Day, Flip has arranged everything so that you could do just that. He had a fantastic fucking date planned for you – nothing too fancy, but special nonetheless. It was going to be a complete throw-back, he’ll take you to the diner where they now serve the Zimmerman Special -- a combo of the sub sandwiches you always order, and a chocolate milkshake to share; you can’t get the sandwiches on their own, they have to be ordered together, something that always makes your heart flutter – and then afterwards, he got passes for the mini-golf place, one of the very first dates he had taken you on all those years ago when you were first stepping into more-than-friends territory.

You’re about ready to walk out the door, and Flip is right behind you when the phone rings.

Exchanging glances, Flip seriously is tempted to ignore the phone altogether, but you raise a brow at him and he lets out a disgruntled groan, dragging his feet over to the hallway and picking the phone up.

“Zimmerman, it’s Harry.” His boss’ voice has a tone to it that already has Flip developing a localized headache right in his temple.

“Why do you sound like you’re about to give me bad news.” Flip grumbles, and Harry just sighs.

“Because I have bad news.” Harry replies, and you already seem to know what’s coming, because you close the door with a sad sigh and step out of your shoes, “Look, I’m really sorry, but Ron just gave us some new intel, looks like the boys are having some sort of get together at the Bloomin’ Tulip, and we need you there.”

He was on this case with a rookie named Ron, something about infiltrating the local klan chapter. He wasn’t happy about it, not in the fucking least, for a lot of reasons. The men were vile, and he hated spending any more time with them than he needed to, and he had really fucking hoped that he wouldn’t need to today.

“Isn’t that a strip club?” You pipe up having overheard the name of the establishment, and Flip blinks, gearing up to start shouting at his boss.

“Flip I know it’s not how you want to spend the night but – ”

“Are you out of your fucking mind? It’s Valentine’s Day! I’m not going to a strip club with a bunch of neo-nazis on Valentine’s Day! Besides, they know I’m married.” Flip seethes, the hand that’s not holding the phone gesturing wildly even though Harry can’t see it.

You light up a cigarette and hand it to him with a kiss to his cheek, knowing he’s going to need it.

“Felix and a couple of the other guys are married too, and they’re going. I’m sorry Flip but we need to know if they’re planning anything serious.” Harry really does sound apologetic, and at the end of the day, he is Flip’s boss.

Flip looks at you, and you look back at him and give him a sad smile, encouraging him to go with a little nod of your head. You knew what you were signing up for when Flip asked your thoughts on him becoming a detective, and you had agreed all those years ago. It was part of the territory, and you weren’t about to make him feel bad for protecting the town you loved so dearly – for keeping you safe.

“When?” Flip sighs into the receiver, and he can practically feel the relief in Harry’s sigh.

“You have to be there in an hour.” Harry replies quickly, already spouting off directions and whatever other bullshit that Flip’s not listening to.

“Tell Bridges I’m pissed about this.” Flip eventually cuts him off, and hangs up the fucking phone without even so much as a goodbye.

With the phone slammed back onto the wall, Flip smokes his cigarette for a second and lets his shoulders sag. He really couldn’t catch a fucking break, could he? Turning to face you, wondering where you went, he finds you settling on the couch, your pretty coat hung up on the hook, reaching for a book to start leafing through.

“Ketsl I – ” Flip’s heart sinks, and he has half a mind to call Harry back and tell him that he isn’t going to go, but you shake your head.

“Go, it’s okay. Work is more important.” You reach a hand out for him, and he takes a few long strides over to the couch, kneels in front of you and holds it reverently between his palms.

Flip rests his head on your thigh, pressing small kisses to your knuckles, hating this.

“No, it’s really fucking not.” He grumbles, anxious about the thought of leaving you. “How about this: I’ll go for just a couple hours, make some excuse, and then come right back to you and we’ll go on that date?”

He’s really going to give Ron a hard time about this, Flip thinks, when you just pat his cheek lightly and pull out your wallet from the purse you’ve left on the coffee table.

“Do you need some singles?” You rifle through the thick stack of cash and count out roughly fifty dollars.

“Why do you have a ton of singles?” Flip frowns, confused, and the playful suspicion in his tone gets you giggling, a sound that rushes through Flip like the breaking of a dam.

“Don’t worry about it.” You reply, mock-defensively, before you roll your eyes and explain, “It’s from the bake sale, trade me for bigger bills?”

Flip kisses you, a loud smacking smooch right on your cheek, and fishes out his own wallet, not wanting to steal money from the bake sale. Whatever he spends on the case he’ll get back from the station, but still, that money was to go to the children’s hospital.

“I love you more than anything in the entire fucking world and I will be back as soon as I possibly can, I promise.” Flip rushes to say, as the clock chimes, letting him know he’s got to leave now if he wants to make it in time.

“Just go.” You smile, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. You kiss Flip once more, and then shoo him away with a parting, “And be respectful to the girls there!”

“Of course! I love you.” Flip calls back as he leaves the house, running back to give you one last kiss, before leaving for real.

Flip has nothing against strip clubs, not at all. He knows and likes pretty much all the dancers, from his days as a rookie himself when he would be the only one around the station to calls on his late night shifts. They know and trust him, and he’s thankful for that; especially when they see he’s clearly undercover, and know to keep an eye on him without making it too obvious.

The klansmen are exactly how Flip had expected them to be – obnoxious, loud, rude. They don’t tip well, spend most of the time jeering at the women and the rest of the time talking shit about their wives or girlfriends. Felix at one point asks Flip to join in, almost a dare to prove how masculine he is, how much of one of them he is, and the words burn in the back of Flip’s throat as he lies through his teeth.

He hates this, he hates them, everything is too loud and the beer is warm, and Flip’s having a terrible fucking time.

He also has no idea how much time has actually passed, because it’s too dark to see his watch, and there aren’t any clocks on the wall. At one point, Ivanhoe decides to get a little too handsy with one of the dancers, violating rule number one of the club, and gets the entire group of them thrown out. Flip had never been happier to get thrown out of an establishment in his life, and used that as an excuse to leave, claiming an early day at work in the morning.

When he gets back in his car and sees that it’s somehow after midnight, he curses the entire fucking way back home.

He opens the front door carefully, not wanting to come home making all sorts of noise in case you’re asleep. There’s an anchor in his stomach, he feels sick, he’s so fucking annoyed with how this day has gone, and all he wants is to be back with you

“(Y/N)?” Flip whispers, making his way through the house. “Are you awake? It’s me.”

He finds you on the couch right where you had been when he left, and despite the valiant effort you must have given to try and stay up for him, it’s undeniable that you’re dozing. Head resting on the arm of the couch, you’ve got your arms wrapped around one of the throw pillows, and Flip’s chest squeezes because he knows that should be him instead.

“Hmm?” You make a little noise as Flip’s arms scoop you up and hold you against his chest, turning off the lights on his way up the stairs.

“Shh, I gotcha honey-bunny.” Flip presses a kiss to the top of your head, feeling like the worst husband in the fucking world, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” You snuggle into his chest some more, voice thick with sleep. “I ordered a pizza, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t, I can’t have my girl starving, can I?” Flip smiles weakly, bringing you into the bedroom and laying you gently down on the bed.

He tugs the stockings off your feet, works on unbuttoning your blouse to unhook your bra, knowing that must not have been comfortable. You, the spoiled princess that you are, don’t bother helping him, liking when he does all the work. Flip can’t even tease you for it tonight, the weight of how the holiday has been ruined heavy in his chest.

“The pizza place was cute, they made it in the shape of a heart.” You say, watching him with soft eyes.

“I’m going to make this up to you.” Flip promises, mind a little too exhausted to figure out exactly how he’s going to do that just yet.

“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You shake your head, before groaning dramatically as you get off the bed much to Flip’s confusion, “Come on, let’s go shower.”

Flip checks the clock on the wall, it’s nearing up on one o’clock, and he’s sure a shower will just wake you up even further.

“You’re coming with me?” Flip asks, which is a stupid question because in the back of his tired mind, he knows that you always shower together.

“Well someone’s going to have to get the glitter out of your hair.” You give him a smile, and that stops Flip in his tracks.

“…Glitter?” Flip groans, yanking the bathroom door open and turning on the light switch, seeing how he’s completely and totally covered in the shimmery circles that he loathes probably more than anything for the way they never ever come off, “Aw fuck.”

You just laugh, and get the water running, and Flip feels like the luckiest sonofabitch that exists, even if he is covered in glitter.

Love is all that I can give to you

Love is more than just a game for two

Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it

Love was made for me and you

February 14th, 1974. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-seven and is the proud father of two precious little angels, that he absolutely cannot fucking believe are his. Last Valentine’s Day was hectic with the kids being so little, but now that they weren’t so teenie tiny, he has arranged for them to be watched by his Ma for the evening.

She had of course agreed, because any opportunity she could spend with her grandchildren was a good one in her book, which let you and Flip have the evening alone together for the first time in a long time.

It was silly almost, how excited the two of you were to go out to a fancy steakhouse and have an expensive dinner, how hard you both laughed at the comedian that Flip had managed to get great seats for, even so far as being able to meet him after the show and get a photo with him.

You are still laughing about some of the jokes all the way back home, and Flip is trying his best not to feel cocky. Finally, after so many years of trying to have a good and special evening, he’s finally gotten to give it to you.

There’s some gifts waiting for you at the house that he can’t wait for you to open, but when he gets you through the door, you are on him like a bee on honey. Your hands don’t know where to settle, skimming across his shoulders, his chest, cupping his cheeks and tangling in his hair, desperate and excited in a way that makes Flip’s heart pound.

“You are so fucking sexy.” He breathes, crashing your lips to his, throwing the keys and your purse to the ground as he backs you against the door, as he holds you tight to him, licking into your mouth and working on getting you naked.

“Take me upstairs?” You moan as his teeth clamp down onto your shoulder and he sucks hickies all over your throat, head tipping back for him to get better access.

Flip groans, his cock rock hard in his slacks, and he smacks your ass to get you runnin’ up to the bedroom, chasing after you with a hearty laugh. He pinches at you and you squeak out laughter and yelps of your own, as he tackles you down to the mattress, mouth seeking yours at once.

“How’d I ever get so goddamn lucky, huh?” Flip shoves his hand into the waistband of your panties, two thick fingers pressing right up into your pussy, working eagerly to get you stretched and relaxed and ready for a good hard fucking, he grunts and groans as your pussy sucks his fingers deeper, “I’m going to make you come so fucking hard ketsl.”

“We have all night, I want you to make me come all over this house.” Your eyes glitter and sparkle in the lamp light of the bedroom, and he grins, feeling overheated in his clothes.

Pulling away much to your dissatisfaction, he works on getting himself naked, while you deal with your own clothes. He eyes you as you reveal yourself to him, and his dick twitches, wanting to thrust as far as it can go into your body, your perfect fucking body.  

“Oh I will, you better fucking believe I will,” He growls, yanking your ankle and pulling you across the bed with bright laughter. Flip climbs on top of you and resumes fingering you, “This pretty pussy’s in for a long night I hope you’re ready for my big hard cock.”

Your hands squeeze at his shoulders, traveling across his back, gripping him tight as your legs part and wrap around his hips. Flip lines himself up and begins to thrust inside your wet cunt, the pulsing heat throbbing around him and making him groan, the friction so good.

Moaning and sighing together, you gasp out loud as he builds up a speed that has you bouncing bouncing bouncing on the bed. He’s managed to find your gspot right away, and he wants to make good on his promise to get you fucked until you’re thoroughly and utterly wrecked – so he figures the more orgasms he can get out of you, the better.

Kissing you deeply, groaning into your mouth, he doesn’t realize how the way he’s pistoning his hips has you moving across the mattress, until you’re grasping at his shoulders with a surprised gasp, “Wait, Flip hold on we’re a little too close to the edge.”

He shakes his head and smiles down at you, wanting you to know that you’re always safe with him.

“I’ve got you baby, you don’t worry about a fucking thing – ” He starts saying, not realizing just how close you both really were, and with one particularly eager thrust, the two of you go toppling over the side entirely, landing with a loud thud on the floor.

Shit, he thinks, as he rolls off of you, scrambling to pull out and make sure you’re okay.

When he looks at you, expecting you to be laughing and scolding him and telling him all about how you were right, and instead sees a small trickle of blood across your forehead from where you’ve hit your head on the corner of the nightstand, his body runs cold.

“(Y/N)?” At once, he begs smacking lightly at your cheeks, a heaving feeling starting to rise up in his stomach as he shouts, “Oh my god, I killed my wife!”

Flip’s military training kicks in, and all he can think about is getting you to the hospital. He grabs a pair of pants off the floor and doesn’t even realize he’s put them on backwards, as he wraps you up in the sheet and runs with you down the stairs. His heart thuds and tears blur his eyes, but he swallows them down because you’re okay you have to be okay he doesn’t know what he’s going to do if you’re not fucking okay.

“Oh my god,” Flip manages to get the bleeding to stop by bunching up the sheet and pressing it against your forehead, and he keeps one hand on you as he speeds through every single red fucking light in Colorado Springs on his way to the emergency room, “Oh my god oh my fucking god.”  

The hospital isn’t too far, and thankfully him being a police officer gives him some special perks – like leaving his truck parked right on the curb as he practically kicks the doors open. He’s got you wrapped up in a sheet, carrying you bridal style with thick streams of tears pouring down his cheeks, shouting and shoving his way through the waiting room.

“Everyone out of my fucking way – can someone help my wife?” He’s frantic, must look like a fucking lunatic, but, “She won’t wake up I don’t know what to do.”

“Bring her this way, hurry!” One of the nurses who happens to recognize him buzzes him in, and he doesn’t let you out of his arms until you’re surrounded by nurses and a doctor is on the way.

He watches as they wheel you back somewhere he’s not allowed to go, not even as a police officer, and Flip punches the wall, hating that he can’t do anything else.

Twenty minutes later, one of the nurses has found him and given him a shirt, because he had forgotten to put one on in all the panic, and asked him what the hell was even going on. So he hangs his head between his knees and tries not to be sick, tears and snot hiccupping out of him.

“…And that’s when she fell over the side of the bed and smacked her head and started bleeding all over the fucking place which I know she’s going to hate because I just washed the carpeting this morning for her and fuck is she okay? Will she live?” He rambles on and on, twisting the fabric of this shirt that is too small in some places but too big in others, nervously, wondering what the fuck he’s going to tell everyone – what he’s going to tell his kids.

“Live? Trust me, she’s alive and kicking right about now.” The doc comes over then, sees the state that Flip’s in, and scoffs.

The words barely register in Flip’s mind before he’s running. He doesn’t even know where he’s running to, somewhere they’re keeping you, sticking his head into every room on the way in case it’s yours.

He finds you eventually, and relief makes his knees go weak. Rushing to your side, he carefully carefully carefully kisses you, the words spilling out of him all at once.

“(Y/N)! Oh honey-bunny I am so fucking sorry I didn’t mean for you to fall the way you did you were right I should have listened are you okay the doc told me you had to get stitches?” His eyes are wide with worry, but you have something of an amused if dazed smile on your lips as you comb your fingers through his hair.

“Hi Philly.” Your voice sounds rough, and Flip could cry, maybe he is crying, he doesn’t know, he’s just so happy to hear your voice. You nod, giving him a little sigh, “Yeah, just a couple right where I hit my head. Was I out for very long?”

“No, but then you were in so much pain they put you under while we worked.” The doc says, because how the hell would Flip know, he was having a nervous breakdown outside. Checking on the machines that you’re all hooked up to, he asks, “How do you feel now?”

“Like I was hit by a truck.” You sigh again, before turning to Flip and giving him a dreamy smile, “But you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

Flip kisses you again, once twice three times right on the lips, before cupping your cheek and not looking away from you when he asks the doctor, “Does she have to stay overnight?”

The nurses come in then and begin to unhook the IV and pull all the cables away, bandaging you up nice and securely.

“No you’re free to go, there’s no blunt trauma or damage to the brain. All you have to do Mrs. Zimmerman, is rest up.” The doc pats your blanket-covered foot at the end of the bed, winking, “And take it easy in the bedroom next time.”

This has the both of you immediately embarrassed, feeling like scolded schoolchildren who got caught ditching class, instead of the grown adults you actually were. You give him a glance as if to say I can’t believe you told them how this happened, and he gives you back one as if to say I had to! I thought you died!

“Yes doctor, thank you doctor.” You cough awkwardly, covering your face and muttering to Flip once you’re sure everyone else is gone, “You think we’d get a free ice cream cone with how often we’re here, hm?”

“I’ll get you ice cream, do you want ice cream? We can stop by on the way home.” Flip kisses your hand, presses the tips of your fingers to his lips and smooches all over them, making you chuckle despite it all.

“Actually, that does sound pretty good.” You mull the thought over in your head, “Okay, just hand me my clothes and after I change we’ll go sign some paperwork and head home.”

It is then, that Flip realizes he forgot much more than his own shirt, when he had carried you up and away to the hospital. He looks around, wondering, hoping that the nurses had brought something for you instead of the little paper gown that you’re currently dressed in, but it seems that that hope was in vain.

“Oh…yeah…” He stalls, “Ketsl, about that…”

“You did not bring me to this hospital naked, did you??” For the first time in a long time, you give him an incredulous look, anger clouding over your face as you demand to know.

“Of course not!” Flip stammers, looking around for the proof that he, “I uh, wrapped you in a sheet.”

He holds the sheet up, still covered in the blood from your forehead,

“Philip Daniel Zimmerman!” You shout, covering your face and sinking back down into the bed, pulling the covers over your head as you realize in horror that he had somehow gotten you into the car naked, and carried through the lobby and the waiting room in nothing but a stained sheet, “God that’s so fucking embarrassing!”

“I love you so much, I love you more than anything in the entire world you are my one true love – ” Flip immediately drops to his knees, really lays it on thick as he winces, knowing that he really fucked this one up worse than all the other Valentine’s Days before it.

“Oh give me the fucking sheet.” You bemoan, snatching it from him and getting out of the hospital bed, taking stock of his own appearance.

He’s wearing his pants on backwards, and a shirt that you’ve literally never seen in your life. He’s got one sock on, and one is missing, no shoes in sight, and his face and hair are a travesty. The poor man looks awful, looks like he had spent the past hour bawling his eyes out, and with the redness in his eyes and around his nose, you’re sure that he has.

Despite it all, you can’t be mad at him. So, instead, you swallow your pride and wrap the sheet around your body like some long avant-garde evening gown, and sigh, “You’re so lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

And if anyone has anything to say about your combined appearances as you leave the hospital and head on your way to pick up ice cream from the drive-thru, neither of you notice, too glad to be alive and together to care.

L is for the way you look at me

O is for the only one I see

V is very, very extraordinary

E is even more than anyone that you adore can

February 14th, 1975. Flip Zimmerman is thirty-eight and he is sick and fucking tired of things getting in the way of this damn holiday. He is determined, absolutely fucking determined, to make sure you have the best day imaginable. He’s done everything right – and he means everything – to ensure victory in this long-sought-after, elusive battle.

Every Valentine’s Day disaster has been leading up to this, he thinks as he drives home from dropping the kids off with Uncle Jimmy. He will not be cooking, he will not be working, he has his truck tuned up and running smoothly, and he is on his way to you right now.

Fresh bagels, breakfast sandwiches, warm pastries and hot brewed coffee from that bakery down the street that you like are sitting in the passenger seat of the truck, and he’s going to surprise you with a perfect fucking day so help him.

When he comes back home, he arranges everything neatly on a tray and brings it up to you, smiling to himself that you haven’t woken up yet. He places the tray – decorated with a little rose in a vase and everything – on the dresser, and settles next to you, petting back your hair from your face.

“(Y/N),” He whispers, trying to bring you out of sleep, “Honey-bunny, wake up.”

“Mmmmorning.” You beam up at him, reaching your arms up for a hug, that he is more than happy to give.

“Hungry? I brought you breakfast.” He kisses you with a smile.

With that, you push yourself to sit up against the headboard and regard him lovingly as he leaves your side and brings the tray over. He settles it over your lap and gestures to the assortment of fresh and delicious looking breakfast choices for you to pick from, but you first lift the little rose up to your nose and give it a deep sniff, happily sighing.

“I thought something smelled good, have you been gone long?” You kiss his cheek and pat the spot next to you so he can lay in bed too, so he does, picking up a muffin and doing his best to not get crumbs all over the sheets.

“About an hour, I didn’t want to bother you on your special day.” Flip sidles up next to you and lights a cigarette, and you rest your head on his shoulder as you smile at him through the reflection of the mirror on your dresser.

“My special day huh?” You tease, knowing the track record for when Flip tries to plan something extravagant.

“Yeah, for real this time.” He’s so determined, so fucking determined, everything is going to go right if it’s the last fucking thing he does, but he doesn’t say all that.

You still hear it anyway.

“Do I get to know what we’re doing?” You prompt sweetly, almost convinced of the fact that it’s because he tries to keep things a surprise, that it all goes badly.

Flip must think so too, because he’s sighing and rolling his eyes, unhappy about spoiling the day but knowing it’s probably for the best.

“Yes, I got us a couple’s spa package. I know things have been difficult with the littles toddling around, and you do so much for them and for me, so today is all about pampering you.” He announces, and you let out a loving little squeak from the back of your throat as you aww at him, making him blush.

“That’s very very sweet, thank you honey.” You beam, excited about the prospect of a professional massage, especially because he was right; you loved your children with your entire heart but having two under two was a bit hectic at times.

“Don’t thank me yet – I don’t want to jinx anything.” Flip is quick to say, and you laugh because you know how he must be feeling right about now.

After breakfast and some lazy lovemaking in bed, the afternoon light shines brightly as you and Flip arrive at the spa.

It’s a real fancy place, the kind with a big water feature right on the wall that makes the entire lobby feel serene and luxurious. Flip is halfway expecting something to go wrong – he keeps bracing for it. But as the nice women at the front desk bring you into the couple’s massage room, everything seems to be going off without a hitch.

Hot stones are all the rage, and so for the next sixty minutes, you and Flip enjoy the peaceful quiet and mood music as the knots in your muscles vanish. Afterwards, they put some kind of mud mask on both of your faces, and add little slices of cucumber over your eyes. You both sit like that for a good while, as you’re each given a manicure and pedicure.

You get your favorite color of polish done, and Flip just asks for a clear coat, wanting his nails to look nice but not necessarily colorful. It’s fun, Flip decides, being pampered with you. Maybe this could become more of a regular thing, he sure as shit could use those hot stones now and again after a long fuckin’ week of stakeouts or pouring over paperwork.

By the time you emerge from the spa, it’s practically evening. You suggest going back home, but Flip has other plans – namely, to keep you out of the house for a little while longer. He brings you to a pizza spot that you remember fondly from your days of dating Flip back when he was working at the family mill he now owns, going out for a slice and a cola and kissing in one of the red booths in the back.

Everything is exactly the same, except everyone’s a little older, but the pizza and the company are still great. Flip can’t help but kiss you, even though you’re not in the red booth in the back, but no one seems to mind anymore. It’s been years and years of this, of Flip loving you, they’re all used to it.

Flip chucks a couple quarters into the jukebox and the two of you dance on the black and white checkerboard like you’re the only two people in the entire pizza joint, because when you’re together, it feels like you are. It feels like you’re the only two people in the entire world.

The clock strikes seven, and he knows the coast should be clear at the house by now, so he brings you home and tries not to act too suspicious. You call him out on it, but he refuses to say, manages to keep his big mouth shut the whole way home, until you’re opening the front lock and pushing the door open to reveal a romantic wonderland.

Ron and Jimmy had been working tirelessly the past two hours, blowing up heart shaped balloons, arranging big bouquets of your favorite flowers and roses of all different colors, and a thick trail of rose petals that led up the stairs to your bedroom.

Speechless, you clasp a hand over your mouth and give him a look, impressed and surprised, and Flip can only grin.

“Go up, there’s more.” He whispers, kissing you on the cheek and patting your ass playfully.

Following the trail of rose petals, you push open the bedroom door and your heart fills with so much love and appreciation for your husband, because on the bed are some carefully wrapped boxes with white satin ribbon bows just for you, along with a giant teddy bear, a bucket of ice and a bottle of expensive champagne, and your favorite kinds of chocolate.

“You are so good, you know that?” You whirl around and practically jump into Flip’s arms, hugging him and attacking his face with kisses, making him smug as shit, but rightfully so.

“Want to open them?” He offers, but you’re so overwhelmed by it all in the best way possible, you just keep hugging him.

“Oh Flip – I will, but first, please, please fuck me?” You bat your lashes up at him, suddenly desperate to feel his body against yours, desperate to feel him in and around you.

Flip hadn’t expected that right away, but that doesn’t deter him. He quickly scrambles to get everything off the bed and onto the floor or up on the dresser, and is back to you within a few moments, kissing you deeply, working to get your clothes off with a deep chuckle in the back of his throat.

“Yes, shit you’re so pretty, my pretty girl.” He scoops you up and drops you onto the bed, wrestles with you a little until you’re laughing and grinning at him, his mouth smacking smooches to your lips as he demands, “C’mere.”

“Please don’t let me fall off the side of the bed this time.” You grip his biceps and he flushes a deep embarrassed red, but brings your attention to the floor where the accident had happened all that time ago.

“One step ahead of you, ketsl.” He gestures to a series of plush pillows that he had lined up on either side of the floor by the nightstands so that if you were to fall – which he’s going to make sure you never ever do again – you’d land on something soft, “A perfectly padded landing platform.”

That is the final thing holding you back from pulling him down by his shoulders on top of you, and Flip happily goes, happily settles you underneath him, eagerly slides the head of his cock through your folds. Your pussy grows wet under his touch, and it’s not long before you’re whining for him to really give it to you, so he does – oh fuck, he does.

Lifting your hips with one of his strong hands, Flip lets your legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts shallowly in small motions, wanting to get you stretched and relaxed as he sinks his cock deeper into you, making you moan, your eyes rolling back into your head when he bottoms out in your hot cunt.

“Oh! Oh yes, right there, right – yes!” You gasp as he begins to fuck you in earnest, holding your legs up and bending your body in just the right way to give him deeper action, stronger penetration that has you gasping.

Your back arches and your toes curl just from the feeling of being so full, your head tossed to the side as your hands twist in the pillowcase underneath your head, reaching up to grip the headboard that begins to shake and smack against the wall as Flip moves his hips faster and faster.

“Look at me?” He doesn’t like that he can’t see your face though, with the way you’re tucked against your arm, so he reaches for it and grips your jaw, pulls you to look at him. Your eyes are already unfocused and glassy but you’ve got the brightest smile on your face, that drops into a beautiful perfect O as he pounds into your pussy, “Fuck, you’re the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve ever seen, you know that? I feel like I don’t tell you enough.”

“Tell me again.” You tease, biting your lip and shaking under him, opening your hips and letting him fuck over your gspot with wild abandon, voice wobbling from the effort, “I didn’t hear you.”

“You’re – so – yes! – fucking – beautiful – oh god,” Flip groans long and low as you clench around his cock, your pussy fluttering and pulsing, the tight we velvet heat sucking him in and never letting him go, making Flip’s ears ring with pleasure, “Do that thing again ketsl, do it.”

You do as he says, and your cunt clamps down hard on him, making fucking you even sweeter, the friction driving him insane, making him grind his cock as deep into you as it can go. You can feel it knocking against your cervix and you whine out in pleasure, tears from overstimulation pricking up at the corners of your eyes, clinging to your pretty lashes.

“Flip! Ohhhhh Flip, that’s so good,” You praise him, only spurring him on, making him sweat sweat sweat all over you, dripping sweat down onto your perfect fucking tits that he just cannot not kiss and lave his tongue over and suck on, “Your cock is so good honey, fuck me harder, please!”

“No, I’m gonna take my time with you, make you fall apart, make this pussy soaking wet by the time I’m done with you.” Shaking his head, Flip pulls one of your nipples into his mouth and makes you moan high and loud, and Flip doesn’t even stop when your body confuses him for the baby, and sweet milk floods his mouth.

“H-honey! Right there, right there just a little faster? Please just a little f-faster -- ah!” You’re crying now, your thighs shaking, feet kicking out your pleasure, one of your hands gripped tight in his hair and yanking hard, making him come a little into your cunt, making him never want to stop.

“I should tie you up, keep you right here under me where you belong,” Flip pulls off your nipple and grips your jaw, “Tell you how fucking pretty you look taking my big Jew dick – suck.”

Slipping a few fingers into your mouth to wet them and let them rub against your tongue, gagging you, making the sweetest choking noises spill from your throat as you try to moan and suck at the same time, Flip’s mind blanks out entirely with pleasure, a static sort of hum singing through his body as your pussy pins him and holds him.

“I-I-I’m --!” You wail, and that’s his cue to pull the fingers out of your mouth, drool stringing from your lip to his knuckles, and finds your clit, rubbing steady circles that have your body jackknifing up, tensing up and cry cry crying his name.

“That’s it ketsl, let it out, shh I know it’s good.” He massages your clit slowly, milking it as he fucks you through your orgasm, licks up the tears and sweat on your face, kisses you deeply, passionately.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop honey!” You beg, trembling against his lips, and Flip wouldn’t dare go against those wishes, not for anything.

You don’t know how many hours pass, before Flip comes in you for the final time. He crashes down onto the bed next to you, chests heaving, bodies sticky with sweat and come and tears of pleasure, of overstimulation, of love.

The night is still young, you still have to open your presents and drink your champagne and all, but for now, all he wants to do is gather your beautiful naked body into his arms and kiss you, so that’s exactly what he does.

“Fuck.” He grunts as his muscles which had been so loose from the spa day, are now burning with all the exertion. He kisses you and pinches your nose, asking with too much hope, “Good?”

“Really good.” You promise him, cupping his cheek with a pleasure-weak hand and kissing him again and again and again, until he’s smiling. You laugh and stretch a little, your entire body made of jell-o, and joke, “At this rate, we’ll be three for fuckin’ three years in a row.”

“Would that be so bad?” Flip thinks of the kids that should be fast asleep by now, and his chest grows warm.

You duck your head bashfully, feeling so loved and cared for and wanted by your husband. You always do, truly, but you can’t deny that it feels a little more special today.

“I gotta say, Flip,” You turn to face him and prop your head up on your bent elbow, “You really knocked it out of the park this time.”

If there were a Heaven, this would be it, Flip thinks as joy and elation course through his veins. He grins and punches the air with happiness, feeling like he suddenly has the energy for a victory lap around the property. You laugh at how display of theatrics, and he surges up then, wrestles with you playfully and nips at your jaw with his teeth, finally finally finally having succeeded in something he had tried for over a decade to do.

“Would you mind saying that again?” Flip echoes your earlier sentiment with cheeky sarcasm, “I didn’t hear you.”

And you can only laugh and tell him again and again, wanting him to know that you have had a wonderful, a perfect, a beautiful Valentine’s Day, not just this year, but every year that you’ve been together.

Love is all that I can give to you

Love is more than just a game for two

Two in love can make it, take my heart and please don't break it

Love was made for me and you

Love was made for me and you

                                          -------------------------

                                         -------------------------

Tagging some pals! Thank you all for reading, I hope you enjoyed :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag  @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions  @direnightshade  @reyloaddict55  @thembohux  @kylorenswhxre  @sunflowersinthesnow  @babayagakeanu  @safarigirlsp  @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks  @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief  @materialisthicc  @drake-bells-waxed-penis @dutchiepie @slut-for-harri  @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000​

[themonotonysyndrome]

Guilt Eater

Part 4 of the ‘Successors of the Future’ is here! And yes, I will do my absolute best to squeeze in as much Blazblue reference in this series until I can’t! (I mean, that’s how I got the plot bunny for this series anyway~)

We’re moving the spotlights today to Malleus and Ace and a special guest! I thought it’ll be an interesting shift of perspective and change. Don’t worry, we’ll get right back to the kids in the next oneshot. 

As always, big thank you to @tri3tri for letting us expand her Second Wive AU. Hope you guys enjoy this oneshot. 

-

Time tend to leave its mark differently on each species. 

For creatures who only grew stronger with time while their bodies remain near immortal, the passing of time means nothing to the Fair Folks. Time is likened to the ocean; ancient yet full of wonders. 

For Malleus, however, time has not been kind to him. Not since his dear heart and children vanishes. 

Ever since then, there is an unspoken rule among the residents of the Castle of Thorns: the Queen’s family wing is forbidden to everyone but the King.

Even Lilia nod his head to the rule; even he has been walking on eggshells around their King. 

And the years had transformed the Queen’s domain into a catacomb. The rumpled beds, the toys littered in Princess Sherrie’s bedroom, the Queen’s favourite book on her study table - everything is left untouched with layered of dust and cobwebs covering every inch of the surfaces. 

Every evening, the King would stalk the empty halls and bedrooms like a ghost; constantly yearning to feel the memories that embedded on the walls. Once he did his duties as the King and beget the male heir that the court had been pushing, Malleus has been living in regret ever since. 

He should have known that his beautiful wife would attempt to escape during the night of his second wedding. He should have tightened the security not on his concubine, but to the Queen and their Princesses. He should have assured Renata and Sherrie that only their mother holds his heart and that Bellatrix is just a means to an end. 

He should have told them that he loves them. 

Regret and guilt are terrible poisons. It festered under your skin and twist your heart painfully. They plague your mind with ‘what if’s’ and ‘should have’s’ and Malleus have been carrying them ever since that night. 

Tonight, he lost hours inside Renata’s bedroom, just staring at her favourite doll that he bought for her. He still remembers how her eyes lit up and how sweet her smile was when he presented the doll to her; how she was so happy that she clings on him and the doll that day. Deeply amused, he humoured her and carried her in her arms the whole day. Malleus even brought her to his court session, regardless how it broke propriety. 

His every waking moments now drift to MC and their daughters. Where are they? Why couldn’t he find them no matter how many soldiers he dispatched across Twisted Wonderland, no matter how far his magic blanket the lands? Are his daughters healthy, happy? What are they currently doing now? Are they safe? Have they forgotten about him - 

The mirror on the vanity table shattered. Malleus releases the doll in his grip and struggle to calm himself down; his body curl inwards and his breaths erratic. The thought of his wife and children far away and happy from him nearly drove him crazy if it weren’t for Lilia’s quick and careful words of consolation.

“They can’t hide forever, Malleus. Don’t ever give up, you hear me? And once we’ll find them, we’ll make sure her little escape routines are put to a stop. Permanently.”  

Lilia’s words are enough to ground him. For now. 

Malleus failed to assured his wife and daughters his love towards them, failed to show just how deep his convictions towards them are. The moment he finds any threads of their whereabouts, he’ll make sure to rectify that. 

And as the night made way for morning, Malleus forces himself to leave his daughter’s abandoned bedroom to prepare for another long, monotonous day. The only reason why he hasn’t delegate his duties to Lilia was because of his grandmother. His grandmother had come to visit on the eve of his second wedding and stayed when a frantic Silver announced MC and their children’s disappearance. If it weren’t for her, Malleus would’ve burned away his suit and transform into a dragon to search for them. While Lilia organise a search team with Silver and Sebek, his grandmother made sure he understood his duties as King once more. 

That was the first and last time he slept with Bellatrix before his thoughts and desire are consumed with the need to find his family. At that point, neither Lilia nor his grandmother could’ve stop him. 

The castle staffs and guards know to scattered when they see him step out of the Queen’s wing. The moment they heard the door creaked open, the room is empty. 

All but for one individual. 

“Good morning, Father!” 

Malleus stop his track. He tilts his head towards his heir, expressionless. Victor refused to be deterred by his Father’s gloomy aura yet he’s smart enough to carefully approach him. 

The king is stoic on the best days, frightening on his worst. 

“Will you be joining us for breakfast later? I heard from Grandfather Lilia that the kitchen staffs are planning to cook your favourites.” 

“I’ll be taking my meals in my office as usual.” Malleus reply and starts to walk away. 

Victor’s smile drop a little but he pressed on, jogging behind his father. In a rare burst of courage, the Prince grab Malleus’ hand. Surprisingly, Malleus stops walking. He stares at his hand before narrowing his eyes at Victor. 

“W-Would Father like a report of my recent academic progress? My tutors said that I’ve been doing well in my magic classes! O-Oh! I’ve also been diligently keeping up with my etiquette lessons.” Victor stutters out after he immediately let go of his Father’s hand. Feeling like he just committed a grave crime. 

“No need. Your tutors have been sending letters of your progress, daily.” 

“Oh... then would Father be willing to... to train me - ”

“I’m busy. Ask Lilia or any of your tutors.” And with that, Malleus refused to linger any longer, leaving Victor in the empty room. 

Crestfallen, Victor watch his Father go. Knowing that if he bothers him even more, it will just upset him and another storm would loom over the castle for the next few days. His expression immediately morph into a combination of anger and sadness as he stomps away before the staffs could return, not wanting them to see him vulnerable. 

As usual, Victor desperately hopes that one day his Father would finally acknowledge him as a son, not as his Prince. 

-

Time tend to leave its mark differently on each species.

For creatures with a set of years as flimsy as a lit candle’s flame, humans are creatures who bear the passing of time with a passionate vigor. Time is likened to fireworks; beautiful, bright but only for a short moment. 

For Ace, however, time is a constant remainder that he had failed his best friend. Being vulnerable in Night Raven College is a sure way to be taken advantage off and Ace is never known as anything but his brutal honestly, mischievous streaks and habits of getting himself (and others) into trouble. 

But when the headmaster announced that he couldn’t find MC anywhere the day after their senior’s graduation, was the moment that he, Deuce and Grim completely lose their composure. Deuce was too shocked to say anything while Ace couldn’t stop screaming alongside Grim. 

She couldn’t have just vanish! People don’t work like that! 

And even if she finally somehow found a way back to her world, she wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye! 

Ace hated himself as that moment. If only he texted them the night before. Why didn’t he? They usually send stupid texts to one another! If only he kept a closer eye on them. If only she kept Grim close to her. 

For once, the headmaster drop all pretence. For once, his guilt laden answer and heavy sags of his shoulders are genuine. 

MC is gone and he has no idea how or why. But the three of them refused to gave up just like that. Ever since that day, they would do their best to figure out or research about MC’s fate. Jack and Epel, after finding out what happened, did their best to help out too. But days passed without any leads and with heavy hearts, they accepted that their friend is lost to them. 

That was not a good day. 

After Ace and Epel managed to pull Deuce and Jack away from one another (Deuce had completely lost it when the wolf boy reluctantly admit that maybe it was best to stop their research), strangely enough, it was Sebek who finally interjects. 

They need to accept that MC is gone. Even if they could never gain the closure that they desperately want, it’ll be no good to carry this sort of horrible guilt with them forever. With a long sigh, Sebek told them to find peace with it, even if it’s hard. 

Easier said than done. Even now that he’s already an adult and have a son, Ace still couldn’t help but wonder what happened to his friend. He hopes that wherever she is, MC is safe and happy. Anything other than that Ace couldn’t bear to think. 

Ace takes out his phone and checks the calendar app. The anniversary of MC’s disappearance is coming. Usually, Ace would cook MC’s favourite food in honour of her memory and over the years, he has gotten pretty good at it. Good enough that it also becomes his son’s favourite dish. 

Just as Ace was about to put down his phone and get ready to go out for lunch with his older brother, it suddenly rings.  

The name on his phone surprises him. His son rarely calls him ever since he got accepted to Night Raven College. Something about wanting some independence from his old man that Ace retaliates by ruffling his hair because of his boy’s cheekiness. 

Ace press the accept button with a grin, knowing that this is going to be good. “What’s up, kiddo? Finally admit that you miss your old man?” 

He expects a scoff, maybe a reluctant admittance, hell even his son’s rare bout of innocent honesty. What Ace didn’t expect however, is hearing his son’s frightened shriek.

“Dad! You knew a MC/S before right!? Please tell me you know what to do when she went batshit insane!” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down! What are you talking about? I can barely hear you!” 

Ace impatiently wait while pressing the phone close to his ear as he hear his son rapidly talking to someone, shouting apologies and heavy breaths as if he’s currently running. 

“Oh Sweet Seven, ok, I think we managed to hide from her.” His son panted. “Yeah, so, I might have, uh accidentally threw my food tray all over this girl and she immediately went supernova. We barely managed to dodge her fireballs!” 

Suddenly, Ace felt his heart drop. “Girl? What girl? Night Raven College is an all-boys’ school.” He heard himself reply. Absentmindedly, his mind brought up the memories of his Entrance Ceremony, years ago. Of a girl that looked so lost in her robes as she stood in front of the Mirror of Darkness. 

“Renata MC/S. She’s the only girl that ended up a student here. I remembered that you had a friend with that surname so I thought she might be related.” 

At that moment, Ace choose to believe it. It’s way too coincidental for it not be. A girl that shares his lost best friend’s surname who also just happend to be the only girl to be accepted in Night Raven College? 

But what Ace doesn’t understand is his son’s comment about the girl throwing fireballs. MC doesn’t have magic. So what’s going on? 

“Hmm, I usually gave her some space before I apologised to her. And a little bribery never failed too.” Ace advised, recalling how MC reluctantly accepts the candy that he offered after he upsets her. 

“That’s not a bad idea, Dad! Will report back the result if I’m not scorched to death.” Ace’s son dryly answer. Some rustling noises and hush whispers can be heard through the phone before his kid ended the call. 

Ace is already calling Deuce’s number. He needs to know about this. 

-

I hope I managed to did Malleus and Ace justice in writing them! I’ll get better with writing the rest of the boys once their children are introduce. Because Renata needed friends/allies against Malleus after all~ 

Speaking of Victor, I was really nervous when I was writing him. Here, he’s not all haughty because deep down, all he want is some praises and love from a Father who only see him as something to appease his court. Not a son. Hope I managed to portray that properly! 

(Also, the name of Ace’s son and two others will be reveal in the next oneshot)

[sope-and-shine]

Baby Bottles, Potions, and Squabbles

-> Pairing: Yoongi x Reader(ft. Baby Namjoon) -> SFW // Fluff, angst // Fantasy!AU -> Word Count: 4.5k -> Summary: The one rule Yoongi has for his potions lab is to NEVER eat or drink anything that’s down there. But is it really your fault when it had been so clearly labeled as water? -> Warnings: Mild language, baby Namjoon

a/n:  It’s done! I did it! My last February oneshot! Please enjoy.

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“What. Did you? Do?”

In the 5 years that you’ve known Yoongi, you’ve only ever seen him this angry twice before. Once when Namjoon - his apprentice - set his entire herb crop on fire. The second time when he had Seokjin house sit and his twins completely wrecked his home. Both times the blue haired man was absolutely furious, but not as furious as he seems to be now.

You flash him an innocent smile, “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“How about the baby wearing Namjoon’s clothes?” He gestures to the baby that rests in your arms, drowned in the multi-colored knit sweater that Namjoon will only ever take off if he’s showering or set on fire.

“What baby?” Yoongi glares and you look at the baby in your arms that he’s referring to and you continue to feign innocence, “Oh! You mean this baby? When did he get there?!”

Yoongi rubs his face with his hands and holds them over his eyes for a moment, trying to find the will to not hit you, “I am not in the mood to play games with you.” He puts his hands down and instead places them on your shoulders to keep you from running away, “Now, tell me what happened to Namjoon.”

With his intense gaze and his tight grip, you can only laugh awkwardly, “Well, you see-”

---

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Joonie?” You ask.

For the past hour you’ve been watching Namjoon trip over himself and fumble with various ingredients you don’t have the stomach for to throw into his pot. You’re used to watching Yoongi do it and there’s definitely a difference in process between the two. Then again, you can’t deny that Namjoon has definitely been getting better and better over the past 4 years. He’d be unstoppable if he’d just figure out how to use a knife properly.

“Of course I do!” The blade of his knife narrowly misses his finger, adding another oddly cut piece of willow root to his pile. He stirs his concoction twice clockwise before dropping them in and stirring four times counter clockwise. He turns up the heat and you watch from a distance on a counter adjacent to his as the once murky, purple liquid changes to a putrid green when it begins to boil.

“The bubbling green mixture says otherwise.” You comment. You hop off the counter to walk up next to him and immediately cover your nose, “This stuff smells disgusting!”

“It’s supposed to!” Namjoon defends, apparently unaffected by the rancid smell that’s leaving the cauldron in front of him.

“Why can’t it smell like, whatever that red one is?” You ask, pointing to the pot on the other side of the room.

He sighs, “Because the red one is different.” It takes him a second, but then he realizes what you said. He pushes you back away from his area and glares, “And stop smelling the potions before you smell the wrong one! Yoongi already doesn’t want you in here.”

“That’s why he sent me to bother you.” You smile, happy to have Yoongi’s permission to be in his lab for once. The blue haired wizard thought it would be good for Namjoon to work under pressure, and your presence was nothing but pressure.

Namjoon shakes his head, “Of course he did.”

The apprentice continues his stirring, adding a few more ingredients that are already prepared for him. He adds water and lowers the heat, letting everything settle before he adds what looks like basil leaves into the concoction as well. It’s after the first leaf hits the potion that it finally blows up in his face. You turn and face away from the blast, covering your nose as smoke billows around you. You hear Namjoon sputter in the background but the smoke that billows around you is too thick to see if he’s okay. 

When the smoke begins to thin and you still hear Namjoon coughing and hacking, you look for something to help him. Before the blast, you remember seeing unopened water bottles somewhere on the counter you were sitting on. Through the partially dense smog, you reach for the counter. You search blindly with your hands for one of the plastic bottles that sit at the back.

“Aha!” You cheer as you find one. You pull it to you and crack it open, turning to find Namjoon in the smoke that still lingers in the room. You use his consistent coughing as a way to help locate him. You place a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Namjoon, you need to drink some water.”

Without a second thought, Namjoon downs the entire bottle. He takes a moment to catch his breath, the smoke finally having cleared out and to the air pockets in the lab for ventilation. When he feels better, Namjoon sighs and looks at the bottle you had handed him. 

His face drops.

“Where did you get this?” He asks.

You point to the collection of bottles, “I got it from the counter. It wasn’t opened.”

Namjoon shakes his head, “That’s not water.”

“What do you mean it’s not water? The seals aren’t broken.” 

“Okay, but Yoongi said it’s not water.” 

“What is it then?” You ask.

He shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you “don’t know”?!” You ask again, more frantic.

“I don’t know what it is-! Agh!” Namjoon grabs for his stomach, groaning in pain. He grabs onto the counter in front of him, but crumples to the floor.

“Namjoon!” You reach out to help him back up, but you stop. A bright light emanates from Namjoon’s body and you take a step back, shielding yourself when the light becomes too bright. When the light dims and you can look again, you’re met with a small, lilac haired baby sitting calmly on the floor in the sweater that once belonged to Namjoon.

Namjoon is nowhere to be found.

Fearing the worst, you kneel down and pick up the small infant, “Namjoon…?” You ask.

---

“And that’s what happened.” You finish, explaining the story in detail as you cradle baby Joon in your arms. Yoongi looks far from impressed by your story. If anything, he looks more annoyed than usual. 

The wizard closes his eyes and takes a long, deep breath, “How many times have I told you not to drink what you find in my lab?”

“It was labeled ‘water’ so I drank it!” You defend.

“Don’t. Drink. The liquids. In. My. Lab.” He scolds, emphasizing every word.

“It. Was. Labeled. WATER!” You remind him.

“I can’t deal with you right now!” He scoffs. He reaches out and takes Namjoon from your arms, pulling the newly turned infant into his grasp and holding him out in front of him. He moves him away from you and inspects the damage done to his apprentice. His anger is still evident on his face. The more he glares and holds Namjoon away from him, the more the small infant begins to fuss in his arms. 

And then he wails. 

“Why is he crying?” Yoongi asks.

“Because you’re scaring him!” 

“I’m holding him!”

“You’re yelling.” You don’t bother asking, you take Namjoon back into your arms and hold him to your chest once again, “Hi, Joonie~ You’re okay, I’m here.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes as you coo at the baby, “He’s not just going to magically stop crying because yo-” He stops himself when Namjoon’s unbearable wails fade away, “Not another word.”

The infant’s small hands grab onto your shirt, his head nestling into your chest. He seems to be tired from the mixed emotions, and it worries you that he may have real problems that you and Yoongi aren’t able to see from the blast. 

“What are we going to do, Yoongi?” You ask.

Yoongi sighs, “Didn’t I just say not another word?”

You ignore his obvious annoyance with you and continue to voice your concerns, “Namjoon is a baby! What if he has problems and can’t tell us?”

He shakes his head and turns away from you, “Yeah? Well, that’s no thanks to you.” The way he says it is cold. It feels as though he’s demeaning you - and he probably is - but you can’t let his anger get in the way of helping Namjoon.

“Yoongi-!” You attempt to follow after him, but he makes a quick turn on his heel.

“(Y/n)!” He marches towards you, making you stop in your tracks and walk back until you bump into the couch. He stops in front of you - so close to him that you instinctively pull Namjoon as close to your chest as you can. His nose is right in front of your own and he takes a moment before he continues, “I will figure out how to get Namjoon back to normal. You will stay up here, out of my way, and out of trouble.”

“Okay, but I can help!” 

Yoongi rolls his eyes, “You can help by keeping him out of the lab.”

As soon as he’s finished saying his piece, he turns away again. This time, you don’t follow him. You let him walk away to do whatever it is he needs to do to turn Namjoon back to normal, even if it means he’s still angry. In all honesty, you can’t blame him - Namjoon turning into a baby is technically your fault, but how were you supposed to know unopened water bottles labeled water weren’t actually water?

Hopefully if you stay out of his way and let him work through it he’ll calm down.

---

For as long as you’ve known Yoongi, he’s always put himself on the back burner to get his work done. Whether it was to prepare new ingredients for new potions, creating a lesson plan for Namjoon, or assisting Seokjin in grading essays from his own students at the Academy, you’ve become used to his workaholic ways. It’s because of his tendency to overwork himself that you took it upon yourself to start taking care of him in return.

Ever since you first met Yoongi, you’ve always taken notice of his work hours. Too often he’d start his work before dawn and end way into the night. You watched him work himself into the ground for a lot longer than you should have before you started to do small things around his house for him. Sometimes you would wash whatever dishes were in the sink, or you’d organize his spice rack how he likes it when he’s just run out of the energy to do it himself. You’ve thrown his dirty clothes into his washer on more than one occasion, and meals seemed to be the one activity you were always working on just for him.

You decided to make dinner after Yoongi left you alone with baby Namjoon. He’d already spent 5 hours - starting at 4 in the morning before the incident - hunting for Iridescent Dot Frogs, and it was going on another 6 of him attempting to reverse whatever you’d done to Namjoon. Lately, most of your meals or goods deeds have been done out of guilt and as a way to say sorry. And now - with infant Namjoon resting on your hip - you want this meal to be the best one you’ve ever made.

Right as you turn off the front burner, you hear a loud explosion come from Yoongi’s potion lab. The floor beneath you shakes and the dishes above your head rattle. You move fast to push the pan with your meal to the back burner before the quakes send it over the edge of the stove. Your quick actions mixed with the small trembles have Namjoon bouncing in excitement and clapping his hands together.

You chuckle, “You would enjoy that, wouldn’t you? Figures.”

Behind you, you hear the basement door open, signaling that Yoongi is finally leaving his bubble of isolation. You grab three plates from the dish drainer and set them on the counter, “I hope you’re hungry, I made a lot.” 

When you turn around, you catch a big whiff of dust and smoke that emanates off your friend. His once light blue hair is blanketed in soot and you can’t help but cover Namjoon’s nose before his little body has a chance to breathe it in as Yoongi passes. He goes to the sink and grabs his special soap from the cabinet.

You watch him rub the soap into his hair and over his face, waiting for him to turn off the water before you attempt to spark a conversation, “Are you okay?”

His towel stops moving and he turns just enough to peek at you over the cloth, “Do I look okay?”

Your eyes narrow, “You look like you’re alive and not a toddler.” His attitude - while still somewhat valid - was not appreciated.

The wizard simply turns back to his towel and shrugs, “I’m fine.”

“Dinner’s ready. If you want some.”

You set Namjoon on the counter so you can make both his and your plate, moving them to the table before you come back for Joon. You settle him on your lap and alternate between his fork and your fork, all the while ignoring Yoongi just as he ignores you.

You don’t notice how he looks over his shoulder when you trick Namjoon into eating his potatoes. You don’t acknowledge him when he sits down next to you while you make sure Namjoon chews his food all the way through. You don’t notice when he stares at you while you wipe away stray bits of food from Namjoon’s chin. It’s like the domesticity of the situation has him relaxing and finding peace that he’d been needing since the incident even happened.

When he’s finished, Yoongi takes just a bit longer to enjoy the way you coo over the infant on your lap. He allows himself to be selfish for just a moment before he decides he has to get back to work, “Thank you for dinner. I’m going to get back to work.”

It’s the most calm thing he’s said to you all day, and it makes you feel better knowing that he’s begun to calm down - even if you don’t know why. You smile, “Okay. I’ll clean up and give Namjoon a bath. Just let me know if I can bring you anything or go out to grab something.”

“Alright.” 

He returns downstairs, and it’s another 4 hours later before he’s back up.

Despite all the work and effort he put into it, he wasn’t any closer to finding an antidote for Namjoon. His potions just kept blowing up, and if he didn’t get any sleep soon, then he really wouldn’t get anywhere.

When he opens the door to the main floor, he’s surprised to see the lights still on. Usually, you turn off the lights before you go home or before you go to bed. It wasn’t often that you stayed up late for him, and Yoongi really doesn’t want to get into the details of the day with how tired he is.

He goes to the living room to see if you’re up waiting for him, but he stops in his tracks when he sees you passed out on the floor with your arm resting lightly over Namjoon’s torso. You’ve laid out a small blanket, just big enough for the two of you to lay down beside each other, but your knees don’t even rest on the blanket. You look so peaceful laying next to the small infant, and he can’t help but admit how it makes his heart ache.

Knowing you, when you wake up you’ll be in too much pain to do anything. Instead of letting you suffer, he places an enchantment on the blanket underneath you. It slowly expands and bulks up, becoming a plush mattress for you and Namjoon to rest on. He conjures a light blanket to throw over you, moving a hand over to Namjoon’s side to place another enchantment - something to keep him from rolling off in the middle of the night and getting himself hurt.

He admires the image for just a moment before he waves his hand and turns out the light, heading upstairs to get as much rest as he can.

---

It’s been over a week since Namjoon turned into a baby and nothing Yoongi has done has worked. He’s tried several potions to counteract the one Namjoon had drank, but nothing seems to stick. The only hope for Namjoon seems to be the growth into a toddler just the other day.

The whole situation is troublesome, especially with you looking after Namjoon on a daily basis. When it was just you, it was easier to ignore the way he felt. As a teacher, he needs to be focused on his students and not the person that makes him meals on the daily. Now that you’re taking care of a baby in his house 24/7, he can’t seem to concentrate. He’s so out of it that he almost wants to apologize for being an ass and scolding you - but he won’t because he’s that stubborn.

Now, he’s just trying g to get through an especially hectic trip to the market. Normally, he’d be able to slip away from both you and Namjoon since Namjoon would know what he’d need. But with Namjoon being unable to see over the counter and form coherent sentences, he’d have to stick by your side to make sure you don’t get swindled into buying something useless again.

Instead, he enjoys the view of you fixing Namjoon’s sunhat - a fabric hat that you’d purposely shrunk in the dryer so he could wear it outside. The poor kid wears an oversized shirt of his, and it swallows him whole. It’s much different from what the apprentice is normally used to. Especially since he’s resting on your hip instead of walking beside you. 

“Yoongi! Isn’t this that weird fruit you like?” You ask, holding the dark purple Wake Fruit above your head. Unlike the name, the fruit is actually supposed to help you sleep - one reason Yoongi usually forces himself to eat it. He watches Namjoon reach for the fruit with both of his little chubby hands and he can’t stop himself from smiling when you laugh, “Namjoon seems to think it is!”

“You know, Wake Fruits are good for growing babies. I can give you a dozen for $8.” The old woman behind the stall offers, having cut the normal price for a dozen almost in half.

Yoongi is already pulling out his wallet when he hears you try to protest, “What? Are you sure? You don’t have to do that.”

“Please, dear, I’ve been a young mother. You’ll need it.” Her comment makes you blush, but the wizard doesn’t give you time to think about it.

He hands the older woman the cash and accepts the fruit from her, “Thank you very much. We really appreciate it.”

He guides you away from the stand and on route to the next one, a hand placed on the small of your back with Namjoon on your hip between the two of you. Neither of you comment on just how intimate it feels to walk like this, almost as if the tender moment you’re sharing is a real family moment. From stall to stall, the both of you smile and live the dream that neither of you would admit to wanting out loud. 

As you get further along, Yoongi comes to realize that there’s one stand you and Namjoon can’t go to. Not because it’s for wizards only, or because it was full of fragile items. But because the people that enter the tent behind the stand where he needs to purchase his next items were not friendly. He’d taken Namjoon once when he first started out, and the grown adult - at the time - almost wet himself.

“Here.” Yoongi stops at a candy stand and rests the handle of the wagon in your hand. He pulls out the cloak he had stuffed in the corner of the wagon and wraps it around himself. He throws his hood over his head, “I’ll be back in about 10 minutes, just look at what you want and I’ll buy it when I get back.”

“Okay, take your time.” You wave him off, going as far as to use Namjoon’s little baby hand to wave goodbye to him as well.

You spend quite a bit of time looking over the candy selections. There are a lot of candies that Namjoon enjoys but can’t have with him being too young. So, you attempt to find a replacement that a toddler can enjoy.  You don’t pay any mind to what Yoongi had said before about waiting for him, you just continue to point at candies that you'd like and order the appropriate size for who you know will eat it.

When you finally need to pay, you set Namjoon down in the wagon full of groceries. It takes you a second to get him situated, but you get him in a good enough position to get your own wallet pulled out to pay for your items. It takes you even longer, however, to get your packages settled around the bundle of joy that moves without a care.

“C’mon, Joonie, just sit still for a moment.” You beg, trying to settle everything into a stable position.

“Need some help there?” You turn over your shoulder to see a tall man with dark hair hovering next to you, his attention split between you and Namjoon. His smile, although seemingly genuine, puts you off. Especially when he reaches a hand out before you okay him, “Toddlers are just a handful aren’t they?”

Before his hand can even get close, you push his arm away from Namjoon, “That’s quite alright, I got it.”

If he was offended by your action, you don’t notice. He plays it off cool, “Are you sure? I don’t mind helping out. It must be hard doing the parent thing all by yourself.”

“I’m just fine, thank you.” You hope that a verbal reassurance will send him away, but this supposed “casanova” just doesn’t seem to get the hint.

“No, really, I can do this.” He makes another advance towards Namjoon and you’re quick to reach out for the miniature apprentice first.

You don’t care if your groceries fall into the dirt or spill over for everyone to step on. You don’t even care if you drop your wallet. But there’s no way in hell you’re letting this creep lay even a single hand on your friend, “I said I’m fine, thank you.”

“Don’t you think he needs a father figure?” He asks, now clearly agitated.

You shake your head, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“As a man I think it is.”

“As the father, I think you need to mind your own damn business.”

Both you and your “admirer” turn to see Yoongi pull the hood of his cloak down, a burlap sack filled with whatever he had bought dangling from his other hand. His expression is easier to read than normal, filled with more anger than you’re used to seeing from him. You always thought the face he made when he was upset with you was hard to handle but this expression is much worse than anything you’ve personally received from him.

When the guy doesn’t answer or even attempts to move, Yoongi makes his own movie to walk in between you and the guy to set his things in the wagon where Namjoon had been. When he’s empty handed, he puts an arm over your shoulder and pulls you closer to him with a firm grip, “As my wife said, she’s fine. And our son having a father figure is none of your business. Do you get it now?”

The way Yoongi asks the guy if he understands is almost cynical. You can hear the underlying threat in his tone, almost as if he were daring the guy to go ahead and just try to pull something. But he seems to have somewhat of a head on his shoulders.

“Yeah, I got it. Sorry, man.” He apologizes, but it’s empty. Emotionless. You don’t even want to think about what he’s thinking.

“Did you already buy the candy you wanted?” Yoongi asks, still watching the man as he disappears further into the crowd.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good, we’re leaving.”

You weren’t about to question Yoongi about leaving. You definitely don’t have everything on your list, but you have absolutely no desire to stay around.

When you make it back to his house, Yoongi takes charge of putting the groceries you got away while you put Namjoon down for a nap. He assured you that he would go to get the rest later when Seokjin would be out of his classes for the day. He didn’t want you left alone with Namjoon, and for once in the many times that Yoongi had done something like this, you don’t mind one bit.

It’s when you’re pulling the blanket up to the toddlers head that you hear him walk up behind you, “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

“You think so?” You ask, letting your hand linger on Namjoon’s cheek.

“Yeah, I do.”

You stand up all the way and turn around, nodding towards the door for Yoongi to follow. He leaves the door cracked open behind the both of you, that way you can hear Namjoon if he needs you. He follows you all the way to the living room before you both flop down on his couch from exhaustion. 

“Please remind me when Namjoon’s back to normal that children are indeed a gift.” Your day had been filled with nothing but chasing Namjoon around Yoongi’s house and traveling around the market for the entire afternoon. As much fun as you’ve been having with him as an infant, your body is definitely feeling way more exhausted than usual.

“Sure.” 

You close your eyes and tilt your head back, enjoying the silence that comes with Yoongi’s presence. It wasn’t always so calming to you, but the more time that you got to spend with him over the years the more you began to love it. 

Next to you, Yoongi sighs, “I’ve been an ass.” 

You open your eyes and turn your head, finding him staring at the ceiling above him. He’s pouting, and it takes some control to not laugh at him, “Not a total ass. I did kinda deserve the treatment.”

He shakes his head, “Not all of it.” He turns his head to look at you and sighs again, “I should’ve been more understanding.”

“I turned Namjoon into a baby.”

“Namjoon probably would’ve turned himself into a baby.” He says. You both laugh, knowing that there’s more truth than assumptions to his statement. He sits up and turns to face you, “Look, I just want you to know that I’m sorry.”

You sit up next to him and place a hand over his, “I’m sorry too.”

Yoongi takes a moment to stare at your hand over his before he looks back up again, “Maybe when we get Namjoon back to normal I can make it up to you?”

“We?” You ask.

“We.”

[unmaskedagain]

Archenemies to Superfriends

Do you know how hard it is to make Lila likeable? Do you know the struggle I went through to write this fic? I know I said I wanted a challenge, something unique. BUT WHAT THE HELL! This took me longer than my last two fics combined. Class salt but make Lila the good guy? Like seriously, do you hate me? I hope the Anon requester likes this. 

"I regret that we meet in this way. You and I are of a kind. In a different reality, I could have called you friend." — Romulan Commander, Star Trek: The Original Series, "Balance of Terror"

It turned out there was a line Lila Rossi wouldn’t even cross. Sure, she wasn’t the nicest person in the world. Far from it. She was a liar, a thief, a cheater, a bully at times, a social climber.

But she wasn’t a monster.

           As she looked the sketchbook in Alya’s hand, and the vindictive look on her face; Lila realized what was about to take place would push her over the line into monster status.

           The school day had just ended. Most students had already left. Lila had been about to leave when Alya stopped her.

“How? How did you get it?” Lila asked. Surely Marinette wasn’t foolish enough to leave it around.

           It was Alix who preened, “I snuck it out of her bag.”

“She’s been so mean to you, girl,” Alya said. “Marinette needs to learn a lesson.”

           No, Marinette hadn’t been mean to her. Lila never even implied the bluenette had been mean to her. Lila spun her stories to the class, and whenever Marinette called her out for lying (which she was), the class would gang up on the Bluenette and accuse her of being jealous, of bullying poor Lila.

           It was actually rather startling how fast the so call best friends had turned on the girl. Lila didn’t even have to push or instigate it like she usually did. No, a few promises of meeting famous celebrities, and they all rushed to do it on their own.

           Rose’s sleepover. Rose didn’t invite Marinette at the other girls’ insistence so Lila wouldn’t feel unease.

           Nino’s party. No one mentioned it Marinette. She had been acting crazily lately.

           Trip to the movie. Marinette would just ruin it for everybody.

           And so on and so forth. Until the class was going out of their way to avoid the bluenette. Some even went as far as verbally bashing the other girl and ending their friendships. It got to the point where no one, not even Adrien, would speak to Marinette; and ostracized her to the back of the class. Only Chloe defended the girl and sought out her friendship. To which Alya snorted, “Of course. Bullies belong with bullies.”

           Now the class had moved on to destroying private property. Great.

           Lila sighed. How was she going to get herself out of this one?

Lila prided herself on still being able to look at herself in the mirror at the end of the day. Despite all she had done and would be willing to do; Lila was firm on what she wouldn’t do.

           Destroying someone’s life work; something they had spent months and months on, something that had nothing to do with Lila, was going too far.

           Lila needed to move quickly. She eyed the sketchbook. It was a standard black sketchbook, nothing special. She owned a similar one herself that she used for quick doodles and to write down ideas.

           That was when Lila got an idea. She quickly put her school books on the desk and beamed at her moronic classmates. Then all it took were quick sad eyes, and a can I hold it first, please. For Alya to hand it over. Then Lila accidentally spilled all off her books on the ground, and when everyone rushed to help her. Lila switched the two sketchbooks.

           Then it took her classmates, not friends (never friends); Alya, Max Alix, Kim, Nino, Mylene, Ivan, all of ten seconds to destroy the book into as little pieces as they could. Never even bothering to look to see if it was actually Marinette’s work.

           They left the pieces scattered on Marinette’s desk.

           Just as they finished said girl rushed back into class, a frantic searching look on her face. It took her five seconds to notice the torn sketchbook on her desk. Pure devastation overtook her face, tears filled her blue eyes.

           Alya snipped a mean retort about Karma and left the class with the other students following behind her. Not realizing Lila wasn’t among them. Not caring that she had just hurt the girl she had sworn was her bestie not too long ago.

           Marinette stared quietly at the mess, not letting the tears fall. “Why?” She whispered.

“I didn’t have anything to do with this,” Lila told her. “You don’ have to believe me. But I swear I didn’t. This isn’t my m.o.”

           Marinette wanted to lash out at the other girl; scream about it being her fault, and her being a liar. But she couldn’t even find words to speak.

“Here,” Lila said as she handed over the sketchbook. “I switched it with mine before they could… you know.”

           Marinette blinked once, then twice, before she slowly reached for the book; hope filling her. And sure enough. Relief rushed through her. She thanked all the kwami. “Why?” She asked Lila. “You hate me.” That had been the basis for their relationship for months.

           Lila snorted, “I don’t hate you. I don’t hate anyone,” She shrugged. “Hate clouds judgment. You’re just my competition. No one likes their rival team.”

           Marinette stared at the Italian girl. Rival team? Competition? What? “We’re not even competing for anything! If it's about Adrien. He’s yours. I don’t want him.” It turned out, the blond was too cowardly for her taste. Not enough backbone.

“Of course we’re competing!” Lila snapped. “Since I got to this school.”

“Over what?”

           It was Lila’s turn to stare. Didn’t the other girl know? Hadn’t they been fighting for the top spot?

“Being the most popular girl in school.”

           Marinette just looked confused. “But I’m not popular. Especially not now.”

“Not popular?” Lila could’ve cursed. “Not popular! On my first day, I didn’t go more than a foot before someone mentioned the wonderful Marinette. She’s so smart. She’s so sweet. She’s so EVERYTHING. I knew from day one we were archenemies. You knew it too. Why else would you try to call me out so much!”

“…I just don’t like liars.”

           That time Lila did scream.

           Because it wasn’t possible. There was no way Marinette Dupain-Cheng hadn’t even realized they had been competing. This wasn’t just some delusional one-side battle on Lila’s side. No way.

“Why me?” Marinette asked, with a tilted head, reminded Lila of a puppy. “There are tons of more popular girls. Aurore; she’s the most beautiful girl in school. Ondine, she’s the best athlete. Ruby in drama was literally voted the most popular kid in school last year.”

“That’s different,” Lila waved it off. “Those girls are popular for one specific thing. Even Ruby was only voted because she throws the best parties. And even then, most only like them for that thing. Everyone likes you.” Or at least all but one class now.

           A class that had proven to be worthless. Lila was starting to realize that she had been playing against her most noteworthy opponent, who apparently never realized they were competing, in a less than worthwhile game to be the most popular girl in class to get the approval of the students. Students who, again, weren’t worth it.

“You’re the only one worth a damn in this school,” Lila admitted as she sat down at her desk. “That’s why you. You’re the best. I want to beat the best.”

She never attacked the weak. She attacked the strong. She went after the strongest of the strong. Lila thrived off competition. She just didn’t want to win. She wanted to be The Winner. Lila wanted the number one spot engraved with her name. To do that she had to beat the best.

Her motto: A hero is only as good as his villain. The reverse is also true.

Lila knew since was a little girl that she would never make it the big leagues if she only fought small fries. So in every school, in every class; Lila found what was most important to her fellow students and went after it. Some school was easy. A few classes valued music; Lila started a band, with her as the lead singer, and knocked out her competition. Sports freaks; Lila always had a knack for futbol. Everyone in class fought to have the best grades (It only happened once) but Lila said bring it on.

Even she had to cheat, sabotage, lie, or whatever else to get to the top she’d do it. And she did. And she was always won.

She was the most popular kid in school within the month. Always.

As for her competition. Some fell easily; too easily for her taste. Some took months to fall. One guy took an entire year. His name had been Felix, and he been Lila’s favorite nemesis. He had fought with everything he had; pushed Lila far beyond her limits and made her think outside the box every time they went head to head.

He had been the joker to her Batman. (Afterall, every villain is a hero in their own mind)

But eventually, even Felix fell.

It had been glorious. A high that Lila road all the way to her new school in France.

Looking back, Lila should’ve known better. She should’ve known that Felix had been preparing her for her greatest battle yet. The fight of her lifetime. Against the greatest opponent, she would ever know.

Marinette.

The Superman to her Batman. All good things good and pure Versus the big bad of the night.

           It had been a fight Lila had been waiting for her life. And yet it turned out, Marinette never even really noticed.

           And to think, Lila had thought she had been winning. The class turned again Marinette. Everyone loved Lila. Except none of it seemed to bother the other girl. In fact, she seemed to get stronger.

           For every friend Marinette lost, she found another; a better one. Aurore, Claude, Ondine, Marc, Luka, Bridgette; the list went on and on.

           Alya voted to have Marinette removed as class president. Marinette gets on the student council. The class loses its most organized student. Lila declines the role of feigning that she was too busy. To make it worse all the well-planned birthday parties, school trips, free costume designer, and the random sweet day where baked goods were brought to class on particularly stressful school days, (all of which Lila had enjoyed).

           Adrien no longer speaking to her. (Honestly, Lila never saw what anyone saw in the blond model besides the potential connection he offered. He was naive and a far too idealistic for her taste). Marinette gets twelve different boys, and three girls, asking her to the sweethearts dance.

           Without the class clinging to her and demanding her time, Marinette seemed to thrive. No longer stressed; rarely ever late. Lila, on the other hand, found her days busier and busier as her classmates tried to lean on her more.

           No matter the bad thing that happened, Marinette just stronger. And she never lost her positive attitude.

           Marinette shook her head. This one turning out to be one strange day. “If you want the class, you can them. They’re my friends anymore.” She glanced at the pieces of the sketchbook on her desk. “I don’t know who they are in anymore.”

“Fame seekers,” Lila answered. “More concerned with what someone can do for than actual friendships. You get used to them.” She paused. “I don’t want them either. They’re…”

“Taxing,” Marinette offered as she sat down next to Lila. “Emotionally draining. Opinionated. Users.”

“Bad friends.”

“That too.”

           It went quiet. Neither girl knowing what to say. Lila didn’t know what to do now that all competition was all but officially declared over. Marinette realized that her ex-friends' actions couldn’t be blamed on Lila. Everything they did was on their own. Forgiveness wasn’t going to happen. So what are they fighting for? What could they fight for?

“Truce?” Marinette offered. “I let the morons believe whatever you want. And you just leave me out of it.”

           Lila nodded, “You go your way. I go mine.”

           This was worse than Superman V Batman movie ending as far as Lila was concerned. At least no one died.

           That was it. They left school that day feeling a little shook. Each girl agreed to move on and avoid each other.

           Except that wasn’t what happened.

           Somehow, slowly, Lila and Marinette became friends.

           It started off small. Lila had needed a break from her groupies and hid in the art room. Marinette had been working in there.

“They too much again?” Marinette asked.

           Lila winced but nodded.

“I used to hide in the back of the library,” Marinette offered. “On the roof.  Any random classroom I could find. Sometimes, I even just left for my parents.”

“Seriously?” Lila asked. “They’ve always been like this.”

           Marinette snorted. “Worse. Wait until they start asking you for favors. Which will turn into demands.”

“…They are just the worst.”

           Then both girls laughed.

           After that whenever Lila needed a break, she sought out the presence of the other girl. Sometimes they hung out in the library, on the roof, wherever. It was nice.

           It wasn’t until Lila showed up in Marinette’s room, bitching about her mom canceling their plans together again. Marinette just listens to Lila’s sorrows and offered ice cream. They spent the entire night just bitching and watching reruns of Doctor Who. (It turned out Lila was a bit of nerd.) Lila slept over and slept easily for the first time in months.

That was when the two realized they were friends.

Marinette, Lila’s once declared greatest enemy, became her first real friend.

After that everything just fell together. Lila started showing up at Marinette’s and more.

Eventually, Lila being invited to Marinette’s girls’ night and being introduced to a new friend to Chloe, Kagami, Aurore, and Ondine.

Upon seeing her, Chloe snorted, “She got you too, huh. It’s the eyes. Don’t look her in the eyes.”

“Yes,” Kagami agreed. “I, too, had declared Marinette my rival. Now I wear bunny pajamas and adorn avocado oatmeal face masks.”

Well shit, Lila thought as she eyed Marinette’s former rivals, did I ever stand a chance?

           The answer was no.

           But Lila didn’t mind.

           After that Chloe found herself having more actually friends than ever before. In Chloe, she found a second-best friend. Someone she could always bitch with, and not just to. The blond had the presence Lila had always strived for. Chloe stalked through the hall like a model on the runway. People jumped out of her way. She was a phenomenal force to be reckoned, likened to Wonder Woman.

           Marinette and Lila were two peas in a pod. They both strived to the best, thrived under pressure, and loved fashion. But while Lila wanted to model and be in front of the camera, Marinette wanted to design.

           Lila loved Marinette’s clothes and decided the girl need a bit of a push. So she reached out to Chloe, and together they teamed up to convince Marinette to start her own website. It took a bit of work but MDC designs were officially online. All designs, of course, were modeled by Lila, Chloe, and Marinette’s other girlfriends. Lila had never felt so glamorous. Marinette never looked so happy.

           Lila started being the one Marinette went to whenever she needed someone to cover for babysitting. Or had to have a random excuse as to why she wasn’t present. And Lila did both jobs remarkably well.

           Still, despite their friendship, Lila was a bit surprised to get Marinette’s birthday invitation. Marinette made her promise not to tell anyone. Even more so, when Marinette took her and Chloe, Kagami, Luka, Claude, Marc, Aurore, and Ondine to Clara Nightingale concert. They had backstage passed and Lila nearly died when Clara rushed over to hug Marinette after a song. Lila took a lot of pictures, even one of her and the superstar together, but didn’t post them.

           Which left Marinette happily surprised. Apart, though small, still expected Lila to boast in class about the additional celebrity she knew. But that never happened. Marinette felt relief and a bit guilty, she supposed some part of her was testing the other girl to see if she could trust her; and was happy to find out Lila had passed.

           Despite their Lila and Marinette’s friendship things at school didn’t change. The other students in class still froze Marinette out. Lila, though, did her best to keep them from doing anything mean to the bluenette. Though this only happened when the other students needed something Marinette used to do for them; like free babysitting, custom-designed dresses, stage design, and interview with Ladybug, it wasn’t going to happen. Or when the class trips were lackluster at best.

           Lila hadn’t realized just how much she and Marinette had grown to like and trust each other until Ladybug showed up in her room. She was prepared to send a barging remark to the hero who had nearly sabotaged her attempts to win over Adrien, thus the rest of the class, when Ladybug spoke.

“Marinette sent me,” The red hero said. “She said I could trust you; that you’d make a good hero.” And then Ladybug showed her the fox miraculous, a replica of the one Lila used to wear.

           Lila’s mouth dropped opened.

“As soon as the fight’s done, you’ll need to return it to me,” Ladybug stated firmly. “Do you understand.”

           And just like that Volpina was reborn. Her costume was darker than before, her tail a bit longer and curved. Her mask black.

           Ladybug and Volpina fought side by side against a Clown Akuma that turn people into balloon animals. During the fight, Volpina learned that Chat Noir had, once again, abandoned Ladybug after the hero turned down his affections. Lila never felt so much disgust. What kind of hero was that?

           After the fight, Volpina and Ladybug met back up in Lila’s room and Lila immediately handed over the miraculous.

“Thanks for the help,” Ladybug smiled as he pocked the necklace.

           Lila nodded, “Chat Noir was wrong. What he’s doing is sexual harassment. Like seriously, look it up. No means no. You shouldn’t have to take that.”

“He’s my partner.”

“He’s not acting like it.”

           The words seemed to affect Ladybug who visibly wilted.  She didn’t say another word as she left.

           However, not long after Lila found herself being called forth to fight as Volpina more and more. Chat Noir never showing up once.

           When both heroines were confronted by a furious Alya, live streaming, Lila learned something.

“What happened to Rena Rouge?” Alya demanded, hurt and anger in her eyes. “Why replace her with this faux-hero? And what about the rest of the new team Miraculous;  Viperion, BrightRoar, and Ryuko. What about the old team?”

           Faux-hero? Ladybug had to physically stop Volpina from ripping into the reporter.

“Rena Rouge has been retired,” Ladybug glared. “She proved herself to be untrustworthy. In fact, all former heroes such as Caraprace and Chat Noir have been retired. They have been replaced by permanent heroes like Volpina, here, Queen Bee, Viperion, BrightRoar, and Ryuko. They have proven themselves to loyal and capable heroes.”

           No one knew who was more stunned Lila or Alya. She was a permanent hero? Chat Noir had been replaced? What?

“What?” Alya asked. “Rena was amazing. A much better hero than some people,” She gave a dirty look to Volpina. “And You and Chat Noir belonged together. Everyone says so!”

“Rena was a good hero,” Ladybug said. “But outside the mask, she proved herself unworthy. As for me and Chat Noir. I’ve said countless times, I felt nothing but friendship for him. It was Chat Noir and tabloid sites like the Ladyblog that hyped up that nonsense.”

“Tabloid?” Alya shrieked.

“Yes, tabloid.” Ladybug hissed. “Why do think I stopped working with you?”

           In retrospect, Lila should’ve realized sooner the fallout that would happen not long after. Alya wasn’t the type of person to own up to her own mistakes. However, Lila had been so busy cheering at being a new permanent hero that she got a little distracted.

           After Ladybug called her out, Alya spent all every ounce energy to find out how she went from Ladybug’s goto to Ladybug’s no go. And then answer was in the comments to her videos of Lila. All calling out the Italian to be a liar.

           By Monday, everyone in the class knew. As soon as Lila walked into class, Alya tore into accused her of lying and ruining her blog.

           TO which Lila gave big crocodile tear-filled eyes, “I just wanted to make friends.” She tried to gain sympathy. It didn’t work.

           Soon all the class was screaming at her.

           It stopped when Bustier and Marinette walked into class.

           Bustier looked like a deer caught in the headlines, unsure of what to do.

           Marinette had looked directly at Lila, “You can sit in back with me and Chloe.”

“Girl’s, she a liar,” Alya hissed. “You were right.”

           Marinette scoffed, “And yet she’s a better friend than you ever were.” She looked at Lila again, ignoring the protests from her classmates around her. “Come on.

           Lila smiled as the two girls made their way to the back of the classroom to join Chloe in the back.

           Lila, Marinette, and Chloe sent matching Ice Queen looks to the rest of the students in class; daring them to say something, to approach.

           And just like the heroes: Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman, Lila likened them to be; no one would even consider it.

           It wasn’t like anyone else in the class was worth a damn anyway.

[ithebookhoarder]

Chapter 10:  Four Years Later.  (The Gangster’s Daughter)

Masterlist:

Also available on AO3: 

Warnings: Original Character(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Explicit Language, Gangsters, Period Typical Attitudes, Parent Tommy Shelby, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent.

1919

-------

Time had never gone by so slowly. Ever. Of that, Evie was sure.

Never before, had a second felt so much like a minute, nor a minute felt so much like an hour. It was driving her insane as she sat at the kitchen table, eyes fixed firmly on the clock hanging by the door. The peeler in her hand had long since stopped, as had the two black hands dangling teasingly on the clock face.

“Come on,” Evie whispered. Somehow, she hoped willing it would be enough to hurry time up. To push the hands further round and towards the hour. The hour she’d been waiting so long for. Hell, even Finn and Ada sat beside her, completing their chores in an attempt to distract themselves.

Waiting was not a Shelby strong suit.

Ada yawned, visibly uninterested in the task at hand. She had also given up on her task of de-podding peas. Then again, it wasn’t just impatience to blame for her lack of productivity. The exhaustion was all too clear in Ada’s eyes. She probably had only got back a few hours ago from Freddie’s. Since he’d returned from the war a couple weeks ago they’d been all over each other.

Before the war, they’d been bad enough, beginning to scurry about the streets together on secret dalliances. However, separated by the sea, Ada had been writing him, slipping him letters in the wedge she delivered to the post office on behalf of all of them. Polly, Finn, Evie, Martha and Ada had all written to their family, telling them tales of life in Birmingham without them.

It had felt like a world away from Small Heath. The closest they’d got were the letters frequently dropped to and from France, detailing and describing the carnage and chaos abroad. True, Ada had passionately decided to become a nurse only a few months into the war, to travel and join the fighting in France. However, less than one lesson later, the plan had disintegrated.

It was unfair. Or so Evie had griped. Why couldn’t she train as a nurse even if Ada didn’t want to? Why couldn’t she drop out of school and go help her father and uncles? What use was arithmetic anyway at a time like this?

“You’re still a child,” Polly had explained, trying and failing to pacify her. “War is no place for children.”

“Tell that to the boys my age enlisting, pretending they’re older!”

Polly had sighed, wiping her hands on her apron and lighting another cigarette. “If I could, I would.  I’d like to shake some sense into every bloody man who wants to join this blood soaked shit show. However, I swore I’d look after you and this family until the others come home. You are my responsibility and I will not allow anyone else from this house to risk their lives!”

And that had been that. Evie hadn’t dared raise it again, and luckily for Polly, this whole mess had ended just shy of her being legally old enough to volunteer herself. Otherwise, there would have been a whole other war raging, this time in Small Heath.

However, Polly’s best intentions hadn’t been enough to keep everyone in Small Heath safe until the others returned.

It had only been a matter of months after John had left that Martha had gone into labour with their latest child. He’d been excited by the prospect before he’d gone off to war, boasting about the stories he’d have to tell their child when he returned - and soon, considering the way the government said things were going. It’d be over by Christmas. That was what they said.

In a way it had been; the life they’d all known before had ended and all too abruptly.

It had been less than twenty four hours after giving birth to a beautiful baby boy that Martha began to feel unwell. What had at first been a minor fever and headache had quickly turned into something far more sinister.

In a matter of a week she had succumbed to what was later realised to be a sudden wave of fever in the city, leaving her three children parentless and in the care of the remaining Shelbys. Of course, John was informed via letter and the funeral held swiftly.

Evie didn’t know what to think. It had been enough to rattle them all. So much so, there had been an uneasy truce in the house ever since. No one upset the others, knowing that they only had each other to care for them. They had to stick together. Not just then but always. Who knew if the others were coming back, after all.

All they could count on were the people in that house on Watery Lane and the community that flocked around them in their time of need. For example, Evie lost track of the people who offered to watch her cousins or brought them food they’d made. Most of them had been women who’d come to take their husband’s place at the betting shop.

Together, they had muddled through, their own little community.  

Years had passed since then and life had carried on. Until a mere month ago, when the announcement had been made. The war was over. The boys would be coming home.

Now the day was finally here and Evie felt like she could explode with anxiety and anticipation. It was why, as soon as the clock hit the designated hour she was gone.

She didn’t look back, despite hearing the sound her name bellowing behind her as she burst out the door and into the street. Ada, Finn and Polly could stay and prepare lunch if they wanted, but Evie couldn’t wait a damn second more as she sprinted through the street like a wild stallion.

Her eyes remained fixed firmly on the horizon, aiming for the giant brickwork building ahead. The rising plumes of steam and roar of voices were all a blur to her, a blur confirming she was in the right place as she barged past porters and taxis.

Birmingham Train station.

Weeks they’d been stuck in France, waiting for a ride home but they were here now. Arriving on the morning train, just as her father had promised they would be.

So close. They were so close.

Evie didn’t stop until she was on the very platform, eyes focused on the shining train that had drawn to a halt.

A great whine of gears. The brakes hissed. Then the doors opened.

Four years she’d waited for this. Four agonising years, filled with agony that no letter or prayer could fill. Until she saw them there, in person, for herself, she wouldn’t believe it was true - the war was finally over.

Doors began to open and men in uniforms descended in droves, bags and hats flying. The tears, cheers, and fears erupted in a mass symphony of life as people began to run, merging passengers and onlookers in one ocean of bodies.

Evie didn’t know which way was up. She’d never been the tallest of people and she was once again regretting her shorter stature as she jumped up and down on her tiptoes. Her eyes kept darting frantically around the place.

They had to be here somewhere. She could feel it in her bones…

Then she saw them. Well, she saw Arthur to be precise, jumping down from one of the carriages before making way for John. He’d always been hard to miss, more so with his overgrown moustache and loud cheers of relief to be back on Birmingham soil.

“Uncle Arthur! John!” she screamed, hurrying frantically toward them. They barely had time to turn before she was on them, flinging her arms about their necks and peppering their cheeks with kisses. To hell with the Shelby aversion to public displays, Evie was too damned overwhelmed to care. The laughs and hugs she received in return proved they didn’t care either.

“God damn, you grew,” Arthur scoffed, spinning her round and laughing as he took her in. Four years was indeed a long time for anybody, and Evie’s teenage body definitely betrayed the separation, almost like the lines on his forehead did him. “Just get a look at you. Some welcome wagon. Aren’t we lucky bastards.”

“The others are back home waiting. They can’t wait to see you all, the famed heroes.”

“I bet they are,” John grinned, taking his own turn to hug his niece. “I’d kill for a slice of Pol’s gin cake right about now. I’ve only had a bleeding sandwich all day.”

“Hopefully, John you’ll never have to kill for anything again.”

That was the voice that shattered any composure Evie had been holding on to as she turned.

“Dad?” she whispered. “Is it… is it you?”

He nodded. “I promised I’d come back, ey?”

The tears were strong as she staggered into his arms. Her legs threatened to go from beneath her as she tried to control the tidal wave of emotion that flooded through her. She simply let him cradle her to his chest, the itchy wool of his uniform pressed against her cheek.

She didn’t even care. It was merely more proof that this moment was real. It wasn’t a dream or some fantasy. It was real and solid and here. It was everything she’d hoped it would be and more. After all, she hadn’t dared hope they’d all look so in tact, so healthy compared to the previous train loads of injured and sick soldiers that had been pouring into the city for months now.

Yet, here they stood. Barely a scratch on them - just like their letters had said.  

“I told you,” her father breathed, as if sensing her thoughts. “I keep my promises.”

“I know,” Evie sobbed. “I knew you would. You all would. I just… it’s been so long waiting for this moment and now that you’re all here I… I…”

“We know,” John muttered sympathetically. The thin sheen in his eyes told them he knew exactly how she was feeling.

It all felt too good to be true. Any moment she felt as if she’d wake up and this would fade away like sand slipping between her fingers. It was why she was reluctant to release her grip on him, on her father, and let him grab the remainder of his belongings.

“Come on,” Arthur coaxed, clearing his throat in an attempt to prevent himself from being caught further in the emotional reunion. It wouldn’t do for Arthur Shelby to be seen weeping in public now. He may have been in France, but he still had a reputation to uphold. “Let’s get moving, eh? I need a fucking drink.”

“You and me both, brother,” Tommy laughed. “You and me both.”

-----------

The rest of the day passed in a wondrous blur.

From the moment they’d stepped foot back into Watery Lane it was as if the whole world had brightened. The sun escaped the cloud cover that had been masking it all day and the smiles on peoples faces were effervescent as they greeted the returning heroes.

Finn, Ada, John’s children, and Polly were all quick to throw their arms around the boys and sob with relief.

“You’re home. You’re really home,” Polly choked, kissing each over and over again until they were thoroughly smothered in her lip rouge. “Thank God.”

“We’re home and here to stay,” John grinned, scooping up his newest child into his arms. Only three, he was the very spitting image of his father. “Isn’t that right, son? Your old man’s home.”

The toddler whined but seemed to understand, pawing at John’s face as if sensing the tears John was doing very well to hide. It broke Evie’s heart, knowing how much Martha would have wanted to see this moment, as delayed as it was. Still, she hoped Martha was watching, wherever she was.

“Come on then, you’re probably famished,” Polly cooed, wiping her own eyes. Arthur had taken one look at the awaiting feast laid out on the kitchen table and cheered. It was only Polly that prevented them from tucking in right away. Instead, they’d all hurried upstairs to wash up, change, and join them back downstairs in time for lunch as per their aunt’s orders.

“You’re no longer in France,” Polly had chuckled. “I’m your commanding officer now. What I say goes.”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” Arthur scoffed, saluting her. Still, he knew better than to argue. It would be shit luck to have survived a war, only to come home and be murdered by Polly Gray. It was why he tried alternative tactics. Tactics that involved opening a bottle of champagne and hurling toasts left, right, and centre.

For all her posturing, Polly eased with every sip of champagne. Everyone was too happy to care about anything other than each other and rejoicing at the domestic scene. For example, no one said anything as Evie had a second glass of champagne, cheering as she watched the room. The laughter was like nothing she’d heard since the day they’d all left, accompanied by the soft hum of the gramophone.

Whatever song was playing though, was drowned out beneath the voices and a particularly bawdy song coming from John. Finn was joining in, much to his delight. Where he’d learned the lyrics, Evie couldn’t be sure. Had Polly been sober she probably would have. She’d most likely have put a stop to it too, rather than joining in.

Before long, the party had decide to migrate elsewhere.

“To the Garrison boys!” Arthur bellowed, met with a raucous cheer of approval.

“Come on,” Tommy smirked, offering Evie his arm as she rose from the table. “I think we can celebrate for one night. Even Pol can forget about a bedtime on a day like this.”

Considering she was already half way out the door, Evie suspected her dad could be right. And so it was, they spent the evening surrounded by an ocean of smiling drunken faces.

Evie danced with anyone who asked, laughing all the while as she twirled, letting the world dissolve into a jubilant haze. She felt euphoric - and that had nothing to do with the several large champagnes she’d thrown back.

It had more to do with the realisation that this was real, and not one of the many dreams she’d woken from, heartbroken, the last four years. Every face, once familiar but now a surprise, were real. She could reach out and touch them and they wouldn’t disappear in a puff of smoke.

Maybe that was why she jumped as she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. A hand she’d recognise anywhere as her father grinned down at her.

“Dance for your old man?”

Evie laughed, eyebrows raising. “I thought you didn’t dance?”

“On the rare occasion I make an exception - mi’ lady.”

The sight of Tommy Shelby lowering in a mock bow, hand extended was enough to make tears of laughter prick at the corner of Evie’s eyes.

“Sir,” she smirked, struggling not to laugh as he pulled her into a rather good interpretation of a hold. Almost immediately they were swaying around the floor, laughing as they trod on each other’s toes and span about to the lively music. It was as if they were one of the couples she’d seen at the pictures, the whole world revolving around them.

Once upon a time, she’d been small enough that she’d stood on his toes when doing this. He’d held her against his chest, her grinning upwards. Now, though, she was tall enough to almost meet his eye. She could stand on her own two feet. She could dance just as well as he, even if she allowed him to lead.

Four years really was a long time. If she’d asked, Tommy would have told her such. As, for every new line or crease she saw on her father’s face, he saw an equally grown woman where a child had once stood.

For a moment as he’d got off that train, he’d thought Rebecca herself had come to greet him…

“Come on.”

“Tommy Shelby. No.”

“I’ve got you.”

“No. You’ll drop me,” Evie laughed, holding on for dear life as her father dipped her backwards, tilting her toward the floor before hauling her back upright in a well rehearsed motion.  

Tommy just grinned. “See? I’ll never drop you.”

“One more drink and you would have!”

“Never,” he dismissed, laughing with her as the song came to an end. It was swiftly replaced with another. Most people didn’t even notice as they carried on dancing. “Another?”

“Why not?” Evie shrugged, already resuming their hold as she started to dance to the beat. It would take an act of God to interrupt her stride. “Otherwise Arthur’ll ask me again and I’m still recovering from the last dance.”

“I’m sure you are!”

----------

There was nothing overly spectacular about that party that night, not in comparison to the hundreds of other parties occurring across the country. Yet, it raged deep into the night and deep into the hearts of everyone there. For years after, they’d refer to this night with fond remembrance … well, those sober enough to remember it. Not everyone was in great condition come morning.

Evie herself had staggered into a chair at some point during the early morning, struggling to fight the oncoming exhaustion. Dancing all night had done her in. One yawn and she felt herself curl into the edge of the booth she’d chosen, letting sleep wash over her in waves.

She didn’t even realise she’d fallen asleep, not until she felt herself being scooped into someone’s arms some time later.

“Come on, let’s have you.”

She didn’t even need to open her eyes to know her father was responsible as he began to carry her towards the door and the early morning beyond it.

“You’ll be comfier at home, and Pol will gut me if I leave you on that chair any longer,” he continued softly, chuckling as he did. She could feel the way his chest vibrated with it; happiness.

“I’m glad you’re back, Gather,” Evie muttered, but she knew he’d heard her attempt.

“Me too, Chavi. Me too.” She hardly heard him speak in the ‘gypsy tongue’, or so Polly often called it when she was reading tea leaves or cursing about something. It was a soft sound, one that made her smile. “You’re almost too big for this now. It’s like carrying Arthur.”

Evie sniggered but yawned, choosing not to protest. She was just too damn happy to even try. Her family was back together again in one piece, and she knew when she awoke later that nothing could change that.

The Shelbys were home.

[kibybun]

Yandere Hawks and Little reader

Tw: Yandere, stalking, kidnapping, mind break, abuse, non-con/rape, generally gross themes, necrophilia, pedophilia

Enjoy!

🧸You and everyone you were around saw you as very mature, and you didnt see anything wrong with that. It allowed you to keep things organized, get things done, and handle things logically.

🧸Many actually admired you for how mature you were. Even Hawks.

🧸When Hawks first met you, it was so formal. He saw you as the most attractive person he's ever met but the way you walked and talked was annoying. He hated formalities.

🧸After seeing you, he instantly flicks to your side. He throws on a flirty facade and tries to get to know you.

🧸You brush off all his comments and simply brush him off. You were here to do business, not entertain this man child.

🧸He was already upset that you were so formal so you ignoring him only made him more upset.

🧸He follows you untill you make it to his boss. The head of the Hero Commission. He was mortified that you would go and talk to him.

🧸He tries to deter you but stops as he sees you start to get angry. It was hard to see through your normally calm demeanor but the way your eyebrows knitted and how you crossed your arms gave you away.

🧸You disappear into the office and Hawks waits. You were tiresome with your formality but he was determined to get you to play with him.

🧸The door opens and you walk out, not bothering to give the pro hero a second glance.

🧸Just as he was about to chase you, he was called into the office. There it was explained to him that you world with another hero and you were here to form a contract with them.

🧸Hawks asks which hero, surprised to hear it was a low time hero. Nonetheless he agrees. Anything to see you again.

🧸Over the next few days you show up around the office. He chases you like a puppy but you just ignore him.

🧸Not liking being ignored by you, he starts following you outside of the office. Watching you on your days off and through different windows of your home.

🧸He even started leaving gifts.

🧸Little teddy bears and candies to, hopefully, bring out your inner child. Sadly you just throw those away. You had no use for them.

🧸Slowly, his flirting at work has become more aggressive. Instead of sweet compliments you receive harsh slaps on the ass and disturbing comments.

🧸Keeping your formal act, you give him a disappointed look and walk off to later report his actions. Little did you know that this only upset him more. He only did it to get you mad, to show you weren't a robot.

🧸To him you were just a boring adult he adored. He planned on making you more exciting.

🧸Soon, you started seeing Hawks less and less. You simply thought he learned his lesson but you knew that wasnt the case. He was up to something.

🧸It had also become evident that Hawks was skipping work. Many started to panic, trying to cover up his sudden disappearance but after a week or so, he magically appears. Blowing off the whole situation.

🧸You were naturally annoyed but disregarded it. You had other things to do.

🧸Today you were gathering your stuff in preparation to take your winter vacation. You were so excited, you even tickets to fly somewhere to relax. You had even told your boss about the cross country vacation and he understood that you might be a day or two late.

🧸You grab the last of your things and make your way out of the office, only to be stopped by Hawks.

🧸You try to push past but he stands strong. You ask what he wants and he says he wants to take you for a coffee or a snack. You ask why and he says it's his way of apologizing for what he did.

🧸You sigh but accept, you could use a coffee before you pack.

🧸He happily leads you through the town as the the sun sets. You follow with caution due to the streets being near empty.

🧸He takes sharp turns down odd alleys and side streets. Whenever you ask where you are or how far away you are and only says, "We're almost there."

🧸Finally the two of you make it some weird abandoned street filled with empty shops and apartments.

🧸You've had enough of this little spooky game of his. You demand to know where you are and that he takes you back.

🧸He tsks and walks closer to you. Telling you that he likes you better when you aren't so adult-ish. Then, everything went black.

🧸You wake you in a incredibly soft bed with fluffy blankets and many stuffed animals. Everything is colored with soft pastel colors and everything looks so soft. The one thing that stands out most is the fact that the bed has bars around it, much like a crib. It also included a mobile dangling above your head.

🧸You try to sit up but cant due to the fact that your hands and feet were bound together tightly by a ribbon. Your arms were tied behind your back, ribbons starting at your elbows ending tightly at your wrists. There were two sets of ribbons on your legs. One starting at the top of your thighs and ending at your knees. The second ribbon starts at the top of your knees and ends at your ankles

🧸You also notice your clothes had changed. You were now wearing a big oversized and fluffy sweater and thigh high socks that match. You also got a tiny glimpse of the teddy bear patterned underwear that you were put in.

🧸You freeze as you hear footsteps. Looking around you find the door and watch it open, only to be mortified that it was Hawks.

🧸He carefully walks towards you cooing about how precious you look. He even tried to caress your face but you jerk away. He didnt like that.

🧸He turns violent and grabs your face, nails digging into your skin. He begins to tell you that if you keep acting like an adult he'll punish you.

🧸But you didnt know how he wanted you to act.

🧸You start to shake as you try and break free from his grasp. He scowls and throws you out of the make shift crib.

🧸Due to your body being tied you weren't able to brace yourself for the fall. You hear a snap as pain builds from one of your fingers.

🧸You begin to whimper but hold back the tears. Hawks didnt like that. He comes up and crouches in front of you. He says it's good for little girls to cru and that he'll be there for you.

🧸You look at him confused but once he sees that you're not crying he gets closer. He reaches behind you and grabs your hands. He starts to gently squeeze but you refuse to cry. Slowly, the pressure starts to build, causing you to scream but not yet cry. He gets tired of this and suddenly grips your hand with all his strength. You feel your bones grind against the others.

🧸You seem to be at a lose for sound as tears trickled down your face. Hawks let's go and holds you close, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and petting your hair.

🧸You cry so hard you pass out. Not before hearing him say, "Daddy's got you."

🧸From there on the cycle continues. From the beginning it's very obvious he wants you to act like a child. He set you up in a child like room, gave you child like portions of food, spoke to you like a child, and took care of you like a child.

🧸If you didnt act to his liking he'd punish you, sometimes he'd know when you're faking too.

🧸His punishments consisted of insults and degrading you, physically hurting with bruises, cuts, etc., raping you, and locking you up for days in end.

🧸For months this went on, you getting punished and not understanding how to behave like he wanted. Until, one day, something clicked while stuck in isolation.

🧸Everything had a innocent blur to it. You little stuffy had a name and was your cowboy space partner. Suddenly you had a hatred for pants and vegetables. You wanted to scribble on the walls with crayon and wanted pillow forts. Suddenly you were terrified of the dark and miss you daddy.

🧸You cries start soft and grow into wailing as you call out to Hawks, but instead of saying Hawks you said daddy.

🧸His intrest was fully peaked as he ran to you. Once he opened the door you beamed happily and started to crawl to him since you were still tied up.

🧸He untied you and spins you around. He did it. He got your pure childhood innocents to shine.

🧸From then on a new routine started. Hawks became your caregiver, or daddy for you, and happily took care of you. He clothed you, bathed you and bathed with you, fed you, played with you, and slept with you. Both intimately and innocently even though your mind was trapped in the state of a young child.

🧸Hawks loved the life he started with you so dearly but, after years of this, it tends to get redundant.

🧸You only ever want to play the same games, eat the same food, wear the same thing, say the same things, do the same things.

🧸Somehow, your mind has trapped you into this loop. Whenever Keigo broke this loop you had a mental breakdown.

🧸He still loved you with all his heart but he couldn't handle repeating his days over and over and over and over and over again.

🧸While you slept that night, Hawks carried you as he flew. He flew to some secluded area you always talked about. Once he landed, he set you down and watched you for a moment.

🧸You were his precious angel. He made sure you were.

🧸He started to cry as he gently woke you up. You rub your eyes confused and instantly start to comfort your daddy.

🧸He holds you tight and tells you he loves you. You hold him close, still confused, and gasp as something sharp pierced your back.

🧸Hawks starts to sob as he feels your blood drip from his feather that stabbed you and as he feels your arms start to go limp around him.

🧸He pulls away to look at you one last time. That's when he sees the innocents drain from your eyes as betrayal sets in. Your last words where "D-daddy?" as you frantically tried to understand what you did.

🧸But everything turns dark and Hawks leaves that husk of love behind.

🧸Hawks surprisingly moved on fast. After a month or two he had found someone else. They had the same formal attitude to everything and still didnt give him the time of day.

🧸Perhaps he liked that about all of them.

🧸He set it up just like he did before. Flirting, the report, time of silence, the lure of an apology, and the torture.

🧸This time it was easier to break their mind but they weren't the same type of innocent you were. They didnt cling to every word he said like you did. They didnt play space cowboys like you did. They didnt hold onto him as he holds them close and loves them like you did.

🧸You were the best he had ever had and will ever have.

🧸Hawks takes his new play thing to a place they enjoy and ends their life there. He didnt hold them close or cry for them like he did you.

🧸He goes back to where he left you and finds you laying there, all rotting and decaying.

🧸He smiles a bittersweet smile and picks you up, not caring about the smell. He can swear he hears you call out to him as he makes his way back. He only holds you closer and promises that he'll never leave you again.

🧸Once home, he washes you. Getting all the dirt and maggots off but being sure to leave as much skin as possible on your body.

🧸After that he puts on your favorite movie and builds you a pillow fort. He can hear you speaking so he speaks back. It was your usual conversation but it was greatly missed by him.

🧸After he puts on a second movie, Hawks snuggles closer to you. His hand trailing up your partly missing thigh and into your underwear. He can feel your body aching for him so, he takes you.

🧸This time he was extra gentle to be sure your bones dont break but he feels your body calling out for him, wanting something more passionate. So, he delivers.

🧸He thrusts into you harder and faster, feeling you clutch onto him tighter and when he finishes he hears a snap.

🧸It was you leg.

🧸He flops next to you and pulls you close, lightly laughing at the situation. He promises to fix it in the morning.

🧸He kisses you goodnight and holds you close, never letting you leave.

Kiby~💚

[tickly-tufts]

Different Yet Familiar

you know i thought this fic would turn out a bit spicier, and that the focus would be sokka wrecking zuko... but then i ended up getting sentimental and stretching the meaning of “tickled to tears”

behold the end result

--- 

“How do they feel?” Sokka asked, eyeing the Fire Lord’s bound wrists.

“Soft,” Zuko replied, tugging his arms a few times. “...and sturdy,” he confirmed when the fabric ties didn’t give.

“Sounds good, and you remember the safeword?”

“Turtleducks?” 

They both huffed in amusement.

“Yeah, okay, I guess we’re ready to go.” Sokka grinned as he climbed onto the bed.

The ambassador started with Zuko’s lips, kissing them softly and slowly. Zuko tasted lightly of spice, though Sokka couldn’t say what spice it was. While his eyes were shut, he felt Zuko lean forward, eagerly attempting to deepen the kiss. Though every part of him yearned to give in, he still found the willpower to drag himself away.

Sokka smirked when Zuko let out a whine, pecking him on the cheek to make him stop pouting. “We’ll come back to that later. Just be patient.”

Reluctantly, Zuko obeyed.

Drifting lower, Sokka moved to his neck, planting down another kiss before sucking on the skin. He smiled when Zuko made a noise of approval, then shifted his attention towards his throat. Sokka lingered there a bit longer, content to simply nuzzle against him. He halted, however, when Zuko giggled, the sound coming out surprisingly shrill.

“Not quite the reaction I was going for.” Sokka lifted his head, confused but endeared. “Did you just think of something funny?”

“Your goatee was... rubbing on me...” Zuko struggled not to blush.

“Oh.” Sokka paused. “Oh,” he repeated. He stared as if seeing Zuko for the first time. “I can’t believe I forgot you were ticklish. It really has been way too long...” 

He recalled teasing Zuko relentlessly when they were teens, taking ample advantage of the prince’s ticklishness. He’d discovered it during their time at the Western Air Temple. The memories felt ancient, yet no less vibrant. It had been quite a shock at the time, to learn the fearsome firebender had such a silly weakness, but that made it all the more entertaining when Sokka won half their sword matches by tickling him into submission.

They’d spent so many days together back then, before the end of the war brought with it new responsibilities. Sokka couldn’t help but mourn the following years of distance, though he supposed everything still worked out in the end. Now taking in the sight of Zuko beneath him, Sokka couldn’t help but marvel at how far they’d come. However, it wasn’t until Zuko spoke up that Sokka realized the opportunity he’d stumbled upon.

“Sokka, look, I know what you’re thinking,” Zuko rushed to dissuade him. Little did he know that he was digging his own grave, leading Sokka straight to the root of his worry.

“What am I thinking?” Sokka raised an eyebrow, taking great pleasure in watching Zuko stammer. It never ceased to amaze him how Zuko delivered grand speeches, yet still fumbled so easily in casual conversation. “Actually, scratch that. I’ll just tell you. I was remembering how cute you were whenever I used to tickle you.” The corner of Sokka’s mouth curled upwards. “Are you still as ticklish as you were back then?”

“Don’t you dare,” Zuko threatened, though he was about as intimidating as a baby dragon. “Weren’t you the one who said you had plans? Tonight’s about-”

“-trying something different.” Sokka grinned when Zuko faltered. “Sorry, sweetheart, but this is happening.” The firebender shivered at the endearment. “Now then... where should we start?”

Sokka soon returned to Zuko’s neck, nuzzling the area with playful intent. Zuko immediately resumed giggling, tickled by the brush of his facial hair.

“You know, I wasn’t sure the goatee look was for me, but I think this proves that it was a good choice. What do you think?” Sokka questioned. “Do you like it?”

“Y-You’re the wohohorst...”

“Aww, c’mon, that’s not an answer.” Sokka put on an exaggerated frown. “But I guess you can’t really see it from this angle. Why don’t I sit back and try something else?”

Sokka proceeded to do just that, straightening up to survey his options. He was pleased to note Zuko already looked flustered, cheeks dusted a flattering shade of pink. His gaze lingered on Zuko’s bound wrists, gradually trailing downwards from there. His eyes lit up when they reached Zuko’s underarms.

“Remind me... were you ticklish here?”

Zuko flinched when Sokka’s hands came to rest against his hollows. For a moment, they were still, until Sokka started scratching. Though he knew it was futile, he still tried to resist the feeling, actually doing a decent job until Sokka caught on. 

“Does the Fire Lord think he’s too dignified for laughter? As your ambassador, I respectfully disagree.” Sokka tickled harder, making Zuko strain his arms. "C'mon, laugh for me. You know you want to."

“Mhmhmph! Nuhugh! Grrgh!” Zuko tried desperately to muffle himself. Unfortunately for him, this only spurred Sokka on, and things soon took a turn for the worse.

"If you're going to be stubborn, then I guess you leave me with no choice..." Sokka promptly burrowed his fingers into Zuko’s defenseless ribcage.

“AhahaHAHAHACK!” Zuko broke. “NOHOHO! WAHAHAIT! NOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHERE!” Laughter poured out of him like an unstoppable flood as he thrashed helplessly against the bed.

“Sounds like this is still a sweet spot,” Sokka observed with satisfaction. Digging into the soft spaces between Zuko’s ribs, he curled his fingers, eliciting a squeal. “Man, do you remember the first time I did this? You screamed so loud, Toph thought I was hurting you. You turned so red when I had to explain that you were just really ticklish.”

“Sokkahaha!” Zuko protested, humiliated by the memory and overwhelmed by the tickling. Sokka had eased up while reminiscing, but it was still enough to keep Zuko frantic. “Plehehease juhust-! Ahahanywhehehere ehehelse!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll be nice. But just for the record, you brought this on yourself, and I am nowhere near done with you.” 

Sokka massaged Zuko’s ribs for a few more seconds, then brushed his fingers down the firebender’s sides. He repeated the motion for a full minute, keeping Zuko twitchy but relaxed enough to breathe. However, as soon as Zuko recovered, Sokka didn't hesitate to pick up speed. Zuko yelped, feeling pinches at his hips, which then transitioned into squeezing at his belly.

“I always loved tickling your tummy,” Sokka mused as Zuko cackled. “Your abs made me pretty jealous... until I figured out how ticklish they were.” Sokka had been particularly smug after that little revelation. It had been so easy to poke Zuko in passing, often making him flounder mid-stretch. On top of being amusing, the way Zuko startled was genuinely adorable. Sometimes the gloomy royal just needed to laugh, and as the team jokester, Sokka aimed to provide.

Moving up Zuko’s stomach, Sokka inevitably encountered his lightning scar. Located just below his chest, it was far less obvious than the scar on his face. Even so, it stood out clearly against the pale expanse of his body. Carefully, cautiously, Sokka traced its edges, following its shape with his finger. 

It wasn’t long before Zuko was trembling, unaccustomed to the sensation.

“Sohohokkaaaaa...” he whined weakly, attempting to squirm away. He burst into a renewed fit of giggles when Sokka rubbed the discolored skin.

“Sensitive?” Sokka asked, keeping his touch feather-light. Rather than responding, Zuko hid against his shoulder. “Hey, no fair keeping your smile from me! You can’t hog something that precious forever.”

Zuko’s mind scrambled to process the praise, so much so that he barely noticed Sokka shift. Despite the fact he’d literally held lightning, Zuko still wasn’t prepared for the sudden shock to his system. 

“EEHEEHEEK!” he nearly shrieked as Sokka blew an aggressive raspberry. Sokka’s lips were flush against his scar, unleashing jolts of ticklishness that radiated out from the center. Reflexively, Zuko writhed, twisting this way and that in an effort to escape. However, he ultimately found no reprieve. Sokka had him right where he wanted him.

“Learned your lesson?” Sokka smirked, pulling back once he was satisfied. "Don’t you even think about hiding that face from me again.”

“Yohohour ridiculous!” Zuko wheezed, face flushed and eyes watering. He forced himself to speak in spite of any residual giggles. “Whahat’s even the pohohoint of this? Do yohou just like mahaking fun of me?”

“I like seeing you happy.” Sokka touched their noses together. “You smile and laugh more than you used to, but it still feels pretty rare. If tickling works as a shortcut, then why wouldn’t I indulge in it?” The tone of his voice was surprisingly sincere, even with the teasing edge. His expression held so much affection that Zuko almost stopped breathing.

“You... that doesn’t... I don’t...” Zuko murmured. His eyes had taken on a concerning shine. Sokka wavered, suddenly uncertain, sensing he’d uncovered something delicate.

Hoping to soothe him just a little, Sokka ran his fingers through Zuko’s hair, but when that only seemed to distress him further, the ambassador decided to change tactics.

“Hey, sweetheart, what’s the matter?” Sokka cradled Zuko’s face in his hands. He gently brushed away Zuko’s tears with his thumbs, feeling the warmth of Zuko’s cheeks against his palms.

“You’re... so good to me,” Zuko mumbled.

“It’s what you deserve,” Sokka replied.

At that, Zuko looked positively stricken, and Sokka finally realized what the problem was.

“You do,” Sokka emphasized before Zuko could deny it, pressing a firm kiss to his forehead. “I will absolutely fight you on this, so don’t even try me.”

“Okay.”

After a long moment, Zuko seemed to calm down, and Sokka took that as his cue to continue. 

“By the way, if you still wanna make out, it’s later, and you’ve been pretty patient.”

Zuko’s next laugh came out shaky, but it made Sokka beam all the same. When their lips eventually met a second time, Sokka could feel Zuko’s smile against his own.

[starrosefics-archive]

Treasure Bin- Chapter 1

Summary: MK hears about his great-aunt’s passing, Macaque gets back in contact with some old friends, and MK gets a call from his sister.

Notes: @watermelonjuicee wrote a fic based on one of my posts and I’ve been riding that happy high since yesterday. Go check it out.

Prologue

-_-

MK woke up to come down to a quiet restaurant.

That wasn’t unusual at the early hour and Tang only on his second bowl, he had been finding out. He had been falling asleep faster at night, which had been allowing him to wake up earlier. It had been agreed that this was due to his increased physical activity as the Monkie Kid. (Pigsy, much to his delight, had been giving him bigger portions of food to help.)

But this was a different silence. He opened his mouth to ask when his eyes landed on the newspaper. Tang grabbed it, but it was too late.

WEALTHY SPINSTER PASSED

He froze, heart not sure whether it wanted to sink or start running like a rabbit. He knew the woman that the article was talking about. 

For a moment, MK was back to feeling a wrinkled hand run through his hair, an aged voice cooing You’re our most precious treasure, starshine-

“-MK.”

It was Pigsy’s voice, calm and certain, that drew him back. MK tried a shaky smile. (The chef noticed the shakiness and added it to the mental list of ‘reasons to look up therapists’.) “Sorry.” He nodded to the article. “Great- She- dead?” Tang, thankfully, understood.

“Three days ago.” He thought before offering the article, relief passing over his face when the younger man shook his head. “They kept it secret until she could be buried.” Pigsy snatched it away, crumbling it up and throwing it at the recycling.

“C’mon kid, it doesn’t matter. Kitchen.”

“Yes sir.” MK said, thoughts already moving away from his former family and to helping Pigsy prepare.

Well, his thoughts attempted to move away.

He was stuck puzzling over Great Aunt Tetra all day. He greeted Mei when she poked her head in, did deliveries, and took orders, but it was all on autopilot. Sure, he didn’t like the woman- no. Dislike wasn’t the word to describe it. But he had known her.

Eventually, he had some free time to slip away to Flower Fruit Mountain. As he climbed the peak, he considered every angle until his brain landed on one question.

How was Bao taking it?

-_-

Princess Iron Fan was careful.

Being careful was often the only thing saving you from the forces of Heaven or whatever came. That was the lesson she had taught Red Son. So, as the world changed, both of them were careful with money. Both of them were careful with resources. And Iron Fan, most of all, was careful with places.

The small palace that the Demon Bull family now inhabited was the same palace DBK had lived in centuries ago, back when they were preparing for his strike against the Monkey King. The same strike that ultimately landed him under a mountain. His wife and son had lived there for a few years before moving to the city, but Iron Fan had been careful to keep a few servants in the hidden complex to keep it updated.

After the mess that the last lair had been left in, everyone was glad for that one.

Especially Red Son.

He sat in his room, staring at a bracelet. It was a cuff bracelet, made out of gold with one small ruby. The jewel itself matched the headband of a certain boy. He twirled the piece absently, considering the implications that hadn’t filled his head when he had started crafting the gift.

There was a knock on the door. Red let out a yelp, trying to both stuff the bracelet into his pocket and scramble off the bed. "Come in!" He managed out eventually, smoothing his shirt down.

The door opened, revealing a servant. He straightened, trying to look like the cool and confident prince he was. “Your parents request your presence.” they said with a bowed head. Red Son nodded, not trusting his voice.

He stalked out of his room, keeping his head high. It was probably to talk over plans, he supposed. There had been some silent agreement to not talk about the White Bone Spirit at the moment. But his thoughts kept wandering.

To his enraged father.

To the cry of traitor.

To MK-

A chuckle broke him out of his thoughts. Red Son looked around, confused and a little wary due to the said spirit. There was a tap on his shoulder and he let out a shout. On instinct, his fist slammed out before slamming into a hand. There was another chuckle.

“Jumpy, kid?”

He drew back. “Macaque.” he said, giving a respectful bow of his head. The dark-furred immortal chuckled, eyes glowing. “Excuse me. I...”

“We weren’t expecting you here, Macaque.” His mother’s voice broke the tension as she strode down the hallway, his father following. Her face was frozen into one of politeness and he couldn’t blame her. Given his and Monkey King’s past...relationship, it was hard to determine if he was now friend or foe. “What brings you.”

Unannounced was the word Iron Fan didn’t use.

“Iron Fan!” Macaque said, striding forward to meet her. He grabbed her hand to press a chaste kiss to it. “Can’t a guy come visit some old friends?” She drew her hand away. “Anyway, I’ve heard about your difficulties.”

“There are no difficulties at the moment.” his mother said stiffly.

Macaque chuckled. “Denial. But I’ve brought all of us a chance.” He pulled out a jar, full of what Red Son could only describe as slime. “One of the few sorceresses in the world left us three days ago.” Everyone stared at the information as Macaque swirled the jar. “But she did manage to leave us this.” He snapped his fingers. “And we still have a guide.”

Out of the shadows, probably carried by one of his shadow clones, a girl tied up was thrown. She looked to be a few years older then Red, dressed in a teal sweater and white leggings, and covered in soot. She also looked completely pissed. Macaque stepped forward, ignoring how she was struggling against her bonds, and pulled out the gag.

She coughed, clearly getting used to the freedom of speech, before ignoring everyone except Macaque. “I told you already, I have no idea exactly what that does! It could make the Monkey King loopy or it could kill him! It could blow us up! I! Have! No idea!”

His mother grabbing her shoulder stopped the struggles. “Ah ah ah! Except you do!” Macaque pulled out an aging journal. He paused. “Excuse me, I’m being rude. Everyone, meet the Monkie Kid’s older sister, Bao.”

MK had an older sister?

“And you better not touch a hair on his head!” Bao yelled, struggling against her bonds again. “Look, I might know what that stuff is supposed to do, but I have no idea if it does and you f-”

Macaque pulled out his staff.

She went silent.

“This stuff,” He explained to his audience, holding up the glowing jar. “Is a special spell that her great aunt developed. For lack of a better word, it’s a virus that loosens their controls, like under the influence of alcohol. Which means that they’re easy to catch and control.”

Red stepped forward, considering the jar. “And what do you want?” he voiced.

Macaque grinned harder. “Simple. To work with you to create a trap for both Wukong and MK. She,” Bao grunted as he gave her a kick. “Is the current owner of a huge warehouse full of magical artifacts. Artifacts that will be useful to you and...” He leaned forward, eyes lighting up. “Especially to the brat. I get Wukong to undo whatever that monk did to him. You get MK-”

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

“SHUT UP!”

“Shutting up.”

“As I was saying, you get MK for whatever you want.” Macaque said, smoothing back his hair from where it had fluffed up. Red Son's thoughts whirled, all circling around the bracelet in his pocket. He didn't move, however. Instead, he watched his parents before Iron Fan finally nodded. “Great! As for you!”

Bao winced as he reached...to untie her. She blinked when the bonds came loose and he pulled out a phone. “Call your brother. I told you, you’ll come with us but at the end of it, you’re going free.”

She glared but typed in the number.

-_-

“My great aunt’s dead.”

Wukong let out a yelp. MK couldn’t blame him- it had come out of nowhere. They were in the middle of after-spar meditation, but he couldn’t keep it down. “I...” the immortal said after a moment. “I’m sorry- wait, no. Your great aunt, from what I saw, was a bitch.”

“I know!” MK said it in a burst. “God, I hated her when I left. But she’s still my blood and I...I don’t know? Feel sad?” He stood, starting to pace. “She thought I couldn’t do a thing for myself, just because I couldn’t do magic like her or Bao or my parents! But she...I don’t know.” He sat back down, staring at his hands. “She still loved me. Kinda.”

His mentor stared before letting out a sigh. “Kid...you shouldn’t think about this. You left because she was your family and she was unhealthy. You shouldn’t let the family part weigh you down-”

There was a ringing. MK pulled out his phone. The number niggled at his memory, but he didn’t remember where. With a shrug at Wukong, he answered. “Hello?”

“Star- MK?”

“BAO?!” On instinct and encouraged by Wukong’s frantic waves, MK moved to end the call.

“Wait, wait, wait- I left!”

He paused. “What?”

“I left Mom and Dad. And...that’s why I’m calling you. Auntie left the shop to me.”

He blinked before moving forward. “That’s great. But I don’t want you in my life, so...”

“I want to make amends.”

He paused again. “What?”

“I...I’m calling. Because I want to make amends.” The words were awkward and the silence was long. Long enough that MK could barely make out a few taps, repeating over and over again. “The White Bone Spirit’s still loose, right? There’s some artifacts here that could help you.”

More tapping. A pattern, repeating over and over again.

“Okay.” MK hadn’t realized he had said it before Bao was talking again.

“Great! That- that’s great! Most of it is in this other warehouse, down north, but Auntie had a portal. I’ll leave instructions and I’ll meet you there, cool?”

He nodded before realizing she couldn’t see. “Yeah. Cool. Bye.”

“...Bye. Dress up warm!” Then the call was over and MK was left staring at his phone. Wukong let out a whistle, startling his student.

“Well, that was a trainwreck-”

“Bao’s in trouble.”

[spirit-of-vengeance]

@spxcemuses @mr-mansnoozie @xxstar-bluesxx

Guess who gathered enough mind to finally write her full backstory of Western Verse. Her being a bounty hunter is set in the Wild West time period (1865-1895), there is no current year(s) to set her story in mainly because I don't want to make a mistake messing up the timeline.

Calm before the storm

Her father, Attila a lesser Hungarian noble whom supported the 1848-1849 revolutionary war but after the failure of it he escaped emigrated to America to avoid the Habsburg revenge, soon followed by his brother Gábor. He could save a small amount of his fortune along with his two most important horses: a purebred Lipizzan stallion and an extremely rare Akhal Teke mare. He had settled near a small town, due to his financial situation and education as a noble he established a school with the support and approval of the local church. To quieten his guilt for abandoning his country in its peril, he poured all of his heart into educating children; at least he is still useful in some way.

One day, a group of artists traveling artists, acrobats traveled through the town and the aristocrat fell in love at first sight. She was like the queen of fairy from the folk tales he'd heard in his childhood, she was tall, blue eyes sparkled like light sapphire, long golden brown hair floated ethereally with every twirl. The smitten lord shamelessly courted the the graceful acrobat, determined to know at least the name.

The group had stayed in the town for a few weeks, allowing Attila's and Myra's romance to blossom; after a month she ended up staying with him, just like in true fairytales.

My obsession with angst backstory strikes again

The lord was in love, deeper than poets could express it. Since the loss of his home and country he had found his place in the universe along with the perfect companion by his side. He paid less attention to the school, the church and other public affairs; it wasn't like he abandoned them but became more withdrawn to spend time with the love of his life, especially after the birth of their daughter. She was almost the perfect miniature of her mother, same beautiful hair glinting gold in the sunlight, only her eyes were the brightest emerald green he'd ever seen.

While Myra's heart and aura was as pure as a fairy's; the local church was beyond distressed. They claimed that Attila had completely abandoned helping those in need because of her wicked seduction. When they witnessed her performing for the amusement of the crowd, the 'temptress witch' brand couldn't be lifted. They gathered a few enthusiastic townsfolk whom shared their views and a few morally questionable men whom only wanted a piece of the lord's fortune.

10 year old Karma was awakened from her deep slumber by her frantic father; smoke and yelling blinding her senses as he carried her out of the burning house into the nearby forest so the mob won't find her. He promised her he will be back but he had to return into their home for Myra; he couldn't leave her inside. Karma watched her dad disappear into the flames, the air filled with suffocating smoke and religious shouts for god to smite the sinners. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the spot where her father was gone, waiting for her parents to stumble out of the half collapsed building; but that never had happened. She sat unmoving from her spot, struck staring into the flames then into the ashes as the sun has risen.

Birth of the marksman

Attila's brother, Gábor arrived the next day after hearing the news, he was the one whom found Karma still staring at the ruins in a catatonic state. He couldn't avenge his sibling as it meant endangering his niece and she has lost more than enough.

Gábor expected her to become a soft spoken, reserved lady once she overcame her trauma; that theory was soon abandoned when once he had awoken to his niece practicing with his rifle outside with frighteningly great accuracy. The young girl naturally had an extraordinary aim and after a few long talks, he'd seen the determination burning in her to avenge the murder of her parents. Given by her mother's dance lessons, she was also flexible and capable of many different acrobatic moves; this combined with her aim proven to be a very dangerous combination.

To not awaken suspicion he told his friends Karma was an orphan whose parents were killed by bandits and he had adopted her to give her a family and education. Karma was fascinated chasing greater heights of her skills, this involved reading every possible book about anatomy, marking, engraving the useful spots of the body. Karma knows where to shoot to disarm, to cause a slow death, to paralyze, to disable for life and when it is only a warning: an injury which will heal with time. Along with her accuracy, her drawing speed only can be compared to lightning. Although she prefers/most comfortable with her dual revolvers (model undecided yet), she is still a menace with shotguns, rifles, flintlocks and even bows due to Gàbor's 'A Hungarian is not a Hungarian if they can't use a bow' mindset.

The bounty hunter quicker than death

Karma had her first official gunfight at the age of 18 on the auction. for Vihar (Storm), the filly of her father's horses.

Detailed post about Vihar

She officially entered the bounty hunter business when she was 20 and Vihar was 2, aiming for the most dangerous criminals whom committed the worst acts possible. In her early years after the kill she slit open corpses she trying to find the bullet, surverying the damage it caused and adding filler information to her anatomy knowledge. Of course she didn’t bother burying the bodies, she knew as a woman she has to be extremely vicious above talented to be hired and mutilated dead bodies did send a great message & served as cement for building her reputation. The name Karma wasn't entirely her idea, many thankful family members claimed that karma has came for their loved ones' murderers. Her talent spread like wildfire among the men of law, glad to be rid of the dangerous scum; with careful planning, use of environment and Vihar as backup she had wiped out gangs, not solely focused on individuals.

Unfortunately her reputation summoned an unofficial grand price on her head as well in certain circles; they had tracked her back to her uncle's house. The battle claimed Gábor's life and nearly her sight as her right eye was almost slashed out. The new loss opened old wounds: her not being able to protect her loved ones. She couldn't look into a mirror, the scar a reminder how despite all years of training she wasn't untouchable; after burying her uncle plan to gain control over her psyche already formed.

She took a knife and carefully carved four half circles around her eye to form a crosshair with her pupil being the middle of it. She made sure she kept the wounds open for enough time to scar as visibly as the vertical cut; she wanted a symbol to add to her legend. Excuse my pathetic excuse of an edit, I'm not good in this, nor I can draw.

Now Karma is 25, Vihar is 6, both of them in their peak physical prime; the name Vihar is also symbolic a little, Karma is the lightning to her horse. She is dancing on the thin edge of bounty hunting and being an outlaw as she often takes...side jobs to help people who deserve it and usually that person doesn't have a bounty on their head, therefore it is technically murder.

Local antisocial feral monk & cocky gunslinger feral lady / addition of the AU with the amazing @mr-mansnoozie

Near her uncle's house, Karma had discovered a cave and a grumpy mute monk living in it along with his pet bear. The monk, Sandy eventually became a second uncle to the traumatized angry orphan, he taught her how to move & creep upon someone soundlessly, disappear without a trace, cover her stances and behavior patterns of various animals. Before and after returning from a job she always visits her uncle of choice for a chat; a silent way to prepare him to the possibility of her not coming back. But she always do. She considers Sandy as part of her tiny family, although his...copying mechanisms with his own traumas were a bit strange to get used to; she adapted quite fast, after all who is she to judge with a past like that?

I'm a dead man walking, Hell's at my door.

aka collection of small headcanons

🎯 Her dual revolvers are called Salvation and Damnation because she's dramatic

🎯 Karma has a small sketchbook filled with anatomy drawings for further practice.

🎯 She actually can sing, but rarely does, only to Vihar since she never received positive feedback on it. Her voice is gritty, rugged and deep; definitely not the usual and desired sounding from a woman.

🎯 If her target was an outstandingly cruel bastard and/or one of those whom killed her parents she uses a little psychological torture. After fatally wounding them she starts whistling (for the most terrifying experience wear headphones & close your eyes while listening) as they try to crawl away or beg for mercy. The first time the whistle gets shrill & more intense is when she lazily reloads, knowing she has both the time and the upper hand. The second pace shift is when she aims; she shoots during the last, long drawn out high note.

🎯 This is her only verse where Cindy is afraid, no terrified of fire; during her....26 AU's she's always been associated with fire despite dying in or being wounded by it. In this verse she is more tied to lightning, the scent of smoke is enough to send her into a silent panic attack and despite loathing the cold she will never sit close to the fireplace. Her other deep fears include injuring her hands & sight and losing Vihar. Her horse is the only remaining family member of hers, she can't fail her too.

🎯 Most of Karma's scars, injuries are a result of her standing between Vihar and a knife/bullet/ even a bullwhip when a criminal was smart enough to catch on their deep emotional bond.

🎯 She has recurring night terrors about the night her parents died, she always wakes up in cold sweat; she's sort of used to them. Though, sometimes she still cries but thankfully Vihar is there to comfort her.

🎯 Karma has a special morning stretch routine to keep her flexibility and warm up her hands & keep them steady and fast.

🎯 Due to her dad and uncle she received high quality education

🎯 For the untrained eye, the belt of her hat are simple crosses while in reality, they are inverted crosses to symbolize her stance with Christianity

🎯 Karma's middle name is Emerald, given by her father due to her eye color.

🎯 Karma was first inspired by League of Legends Miss Fortune because that name alone is great but unfortunately she is too pirate coded for a western so I abandoned the relation. Though when Karma is not being the 'Call me a slow reader but I only made it to the Dead part, the or Alive didn't register.' ; her personality is similar to hers.

🎯 Due to her dad, Karma is actually half aristocrat. Not like she cares about it the slightest; the only indication of noble blood is her idle stance. It is an unconscious mirror of how her father used to hold himself: back straightened to almost impossible point, left arm behind it, right hand resting on the grip of in her case, revolver instead of hilt of a sword.

🎯 If given the chance to live a normal life, she would've grown into a captivating, lively young woman, much like her mother but with the aristocrat elegance of her father; finding a suitor who lives up to her parents' and her standards would've been the challenge of the century.

🎯 Her special move is called Dance of Death. This is used as last resort when she's facing more opponents up to 12, as with her dual revolvers she has 12 bullets without reloading. She mentally marks the stances of all opponents, predicts their movement, firing order and possible way of their bullets before whirling out of her hiding place. Each pose minimizes the chance of getting shot, and with each change of movement two bullets are fired, two men drop dead.

🎯 Her accuracy isn't just 'gun goes boom >:D' but a combination of natural talent, endless practice, movement prediction, sharp, quick thinking & analytical skills and different techniques molten together to utilize them all at once

🎯 Her hair is now as long as her mother's, she always keeps it in a single tight braid to keep it out of the way; without her hat and hair down she actually loses some of her dangerous edge.

🎯 The only physical memory Karma has of her parents is her dad's hussar sword she found underneath the ruins of the house, it was protected by a very thick wooden box & a lock of her mother's hair is tied to the grip. She has hidden it in the nearby forest, her thoughts often wander to it along with the wish to wield it.

[suhyla]

Lessons From The Hijrah 🍃🐪 Dr. Akram Kassab

The Hijrah is one of the events that changed the course of history, and it contains many lessons and learnings, and here I will mention some of what I learned from this blessed migration:

1. The Hijrah taught me: That tawakkul (reliance) upon Allah does not negate taking practical steps. Rather, the first step of having Tawakkul is to be taking practical measures, and this was evident in going out at night and hiding in the cave.

2. The Hijrah taught me: That the [best] outcome is for the righteous. So no matter how much the falsehood rises it is defeated, but victory is not only a victory over an enemy, but your persistence in the truth is a victory, and your adherence to your principles is a victory. Mus'ab did not see the stabilization of the muslim community nor did Hamza see the religion of Islam becoming dominant but they were victorious by remaining steadfast upon their principles until they died.

3. The Hijrah taught me: that sincerity is the basic foundation. So whoever speaks for da'wah seeking fame or wealth has missed the goal. If Muhammad, may God bless him and grant him peace, wanted that, he would not leave his homeland and would not leave his house. So make sincerity your guiding motto and the world and the hereafter will come to you.

4. The Hijrah taught me: Moderation is the companion of the Muslim. So he is not humiliated when he is weak, nor is he arrogant when he is victorious. We saw the Messenger, may the peace and blessings of Allah be upon him, leaving [his homeland] alone to migrate honored by his religion and dawah saying, as narrated by Ahmad: "If only your people did not force me to leave I would not have left." We also saw when he returned after eight years after the conquest of Makkah, he was nothing but humble and grateful.

5. The Hijrah taught me: That, without a doubt, God’s preservation of the callers of Dawah is certain, but preservation is not only the protection of life. Rather, from it, and most importantly, is the preservation of the religion. And no one emigrated for the sake of God except that God preserves his religion for him. And ask about Suhayb, Bilal, Ammar and Abu Salamah and you will be informed of this with certainty.

6. The Hijrah taught me: Confidence appears in during circumstances of difficulty. And here is the example of Al-Sideeq submitting himself to his friend, May the Peace and Blessings of Allah be upon him, on a journey filled with dangers. And what a most wonderful response of Al-Sideeq when he was asked: "Who is this man in front of you?" He said: "This man shows me the Way..." (Narrated by Al-Bukhari)

7. The Hijrah taught me: Victory comes with patience. There is no victory for the one who is frantic and hasty and no victory for the one who is quick to despair and lose hope. The Prophet, peace and blessings be upon him, said to Khabab and his brothers: By Allah, this religion (i.e. Islam) will prevail till a traveler from Sana (in Yemen) to Hadramaut fearing nobody except Allah and the wolf lest it should trouble his sheep, but you are impatient." (Narrated by Al-Bukhari)

8. The Hijrah taught me: Whoever left something for the sake of God, God would compensate him with something better than it. When the Companions left Makkah, which was of the best places to live, God conquered the world with them and they traveled the earth and inhabited many different lands bringing goodness and virtue to its' people.

9. The Hijrah taught me: that the woman is the companion of the man, so neither the man alone builds a civilization, nor can the woman alone create glory. And that is why Asma and those before her such as Sameeah and Naseebah were not absent from the events of the Hijrah.

10. The Hijrah taught me: that victory is not with the enthusiasm of the youth alone nor with the wisdom of the elders alone. The lesson is in the abilities and qualities. What Ali did is not less than what Al-Sideeq did. And Al-Sideeq did not qualify for his companionship [in the journey] due to his age or friendship, nor did Ali qualify for his role due to his youth or kinship, but rather what nominated each of that was based on their capabilities and qualities.

11. The Hijrah taught me: that preaching and guidance does not build civilizations or bring glory, but rather what builds civilizations and glories is through determination and planning. And the prophethood of the Prophet, may Peace and Blessings of Allah be upon him, did not prevent him from planning. So the role of Al-Sideeq was his companionship, the role of Ali was to take the place of the Prophet (may peace and blessings of Allah be upon him), and the role of Asmaa was delivering food and sustenance, and the role of her brother was to bring news and to help keep their location hidden, and Ibn Areeqat's role was to show them the way.

12. The Hijrah taught me: That life has roles and everyone has a role in which he is fit and not everyone is fit for every role. He who does good work openly has a role model in the Al-Faruq, and whoever performs the work in secret has an example in the rest of his companions. And whoever God has endowed with money, then the giving of Al-Sideeq is a great example to be mentioned... So put yourself in what you have mastered and are effective, not what you love and desire.

13. The Hijrah taught me: that the leader does not deserve leadership if he takes it upon himself to act alone. Whoever leads alone will live alone and die alone. So the companionship of the leader is necessary. If someone was able to work alone, the Prophet, May the Peace and Blessing of Allah be upon him, would have done it. And in the Qur’an: {He said to his companion, “Do not grieve; indeed Allah is with us.” [At-Tawbah: 40].

14. The Hijrah taught me: The good is always in what God has chosen not what the servant of God wishes. God may dispel from you what you wish because He wants for you better than what you desire. Al-Sideeq wanted to migrate alone but Allah wanted for him an unparalleled companionship in his journey. And according to al-Tabarani, the Prophet, peace and blessing be upon him, said: “Do not hurry; Perhaps God facilitate for you a companion [in your journey]".

15. The Hijrah taught me: That the Home of the Caller to Islam is his primary supporter. They believe in his idea, defend his cause, and carry out what his call requires. And how wonderful is the home of Al-Sideeq? The father is the companion [in the journey], the daughter brought them the food, and the son brought them the news. What a great and wonderful home.

16. The Hijrah taught me: Adversity strengthens the material of men. The men of Al-Arqam, the people of Abu Talib, and the people of the first and second bay'ah are the men of al-Hijrah, and they are the men of the da'wa and the state and how much has the intensity of the torture strengthened the resolve of Ammar, Bilal and Khabab.

17. The Hijrah taught me: That the man of the da'wah is not the man of the state, and there is good in each of them. Abu Dharr who was of the first of the Muhajireen, and he is the truest of the people in speech, but he is not fit for a statesman, even if he is a man of preaching at the highest and best degree. And therefore the abundance of worship does not qualify one for positions of leadership, and being from the first and foremost in the dawah does not necessarily qualify one for leadership.

18. The Hijrah has taught me: There are actions of the heart and actions of the body. For the heart is the worship through tawakkul (reliance), trust, tranquility, certainty, love and loyalty. And for the body are actions such as supplication, humbling oneself, reverence, striving, courage and generosity. So do not deprive yourself of either of these.

19. The Hijrah taught me: That brotherhood does not mean eating a brother’s money while he is under the duress of modesty. A person is more deserving of his own money. And according to Al-Bukhari, the Abu Bakr Al-Sideeq said: "O Messenger of God! I have two she-camels I have prepared specially for migration, so I offer you one of them." The Prophet said, "I have accepted it on the condition that I will pay its price."

20. The Hijrah taught me: The homeland of the Da'ee is where Allah opens the hearts of people for him and the Muslim’s homeland has no limits. If he is restricted in the place which he resides, even if it is the best of places, he must look for another place to reside. Allah says: And whoever emigrates for the cause of Allah will find on the earth many [alternative] locations and abundance. [Al-Nisaa: 100]

-Dr. Akram Kassab

[hellowkatey]

The Plights of Force Vision: Chapter 4

Rated T for language and depictions of violence

Summary: Obi-Wan is running on fumes. Anakin has a bad feeling about this. They go into battle anyway.

Read it on AO3

Chapter 4: General Kenobi

This morning, a shiny asked Obi-Wan if he preferred General Kenobi or Master Kenobi. It was a question that earned him a slap on the back of the head from one of the more experienced men. "He is your general, newbie, only the other Jedi call him Master." The men laughed it off, giving the kid trouble, and Obi-Wan walked away before they noticed.

An innocent question, yes, but one that sent Obi-Wan into a bit of a tailspin. The war has been getting to him. He hasn't had proper sleep in days, living off stale caff and wherever he can curl up for a thirty-minute power nap.

Do you prefer General Kenobi or Master Kenobi?

He wants to say master is his preferred title. The title he has been working his entire life for. Master Kenobi is a Jedi who worked hard to come back from less than adequate beginnings. One of the youngest members of the Jedi council (and they certainly like to remind him of the fact). A master of Soresu and the only Jedi that actually enjoys instructing the youngling Aurbesh class. After spending months teaching a padawan as stubborn as Anakin to read when he was nine, three-year-olds are a breeze.

But Master Kenobi isn't here right now. General Kenobi is.

General Kenobi is a smooth-talking, always rational, master of strategics. The Negotiator, they call him. Even named a ship after him and signed him up to command the whole of the Third Systems Army. High General Kenobi-- Who fights alongside his men on the front lines, coordinates the attack plans for other Jedi Generals, and somehow finds time to learn the names of thousands of troopers that look almost exactly the same. As much as Obi-Wan wants to be Master Kenobi, he simply is not. There will be a time and a place for that man, and one day he will get to take that place.

But not today.

Not as they prepare for battle. Not as Cody is assigning positions and handing out blasters to men who haven't been alive but ten years. Not as he overhears his former padawan challenging a sixteen-year-old to a competition on who can decimate the most battle droids. Certainly not as he looks at the plans and can tell this is going to be a bad battle where no matter how well they fight they will lose many troopers.

Because underneath Master Kenobi and General Kenobi is Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan is simply tired.

He feels Anakin approaching, so he pushes aside his weariness and pretends to be going over their starting positions. A strong hand clamps onto his shoulder.

"I know I didn't just hear you two planning another one of your silly competitions," he says before Anakin or Ahsoka can say anything.

"It's called efficiency, Master," Anakin replies cooly, plucking the datapad right from Obi-Wan's hand. He rolls his head to the side so the knight can better see his dissatisfied expression. Ahsoka chuckles, looking between the two generals in a staring match.

"We have to beat Master Mundi's record!" Ahsoka says, nudging her master in the ribs. "C'mon Skyguy, Rex is waiting for us."

"What have I told you about-- nevermind, let's go," He turns back to Obi-Wan and gives him a one-finger salute. "May the Force be with you, Master."

Obi-Wan smiles. "And with both of you."

The pair takes off toward a gunship on the opposite side of the staging area where Captain Rex is waiting as patiently as a trooper dealing with those two can be. Obi-Wan can't help a small smile as he watches the Master and Apprentice pair talk with animated motions the entire way over. Ahsoka is simultaneously a good lesson in responsibility for Anakin, and so much like him, they might as well be quarreling siblings. In a certain way, he feels like they are both his padawans-- kids thrust into war too young. He feels responsible for them no matter how many times Anakin is insistent that he is not "a padawan anymore" and he can "take care of himself".

Right. I'd like to see him trying to make that claim while he curls up in my bunk after a rough mission or having a bad dream.

(Truth be told, Obi-Wan doesn't mind when Anakin shows up at his door in the wee hours of the night, his eyes bloodshot and watery from another horrifying premonition within his dreams. It's a feeling Obi-Wan knows far too well. He is pleased his quarters are a place where the young knight can feel safe.)

"Ready, sir?" Cody says. Obi-Wan hadn't noticed he walked up next to him. He looks at the clone commander he's come to consider a good friend and puts on his best look of confidence.

"Of course, Cody. Gather the men."

_________

As Anakin and Ahsoka take off, leaving the staging area to get to their drop point, Anakin keeps his gaze fixed on his former master until they are too high for him to see him. He frowns, earning a mirrored look from his padawan standing across from him.

"What is it, Master?"

He can't really explain it. Something is nagging at him and he isn't sure why.

"I just have a weird feeling."

"To be honest," she says, placing a hand on her belly. "I think those rations this morning were expired...I've had a weird feeling all morning, too."

He squints. "Ahsoka, rations don't expire."

"Then why did it taste like cardboard?"

Rex, who is standing next to Ahsoka starts to laugh. "Did you have the taco salad one, sir?"

She looks up at him with wide eyes. "Yes!"

"That's just how that one tastes. We usually leave those for the stray cats."

Ahsoka looks disgusted, and Rex and the other nearby troopers look amused. But Anakin stares back out the open door of the gunship trying to puzzle through what could be feeling so strange in the Force.

________

Obi-Wan is quite literally knee-deep in battle droids. Some of them had the misguided programming to attempt to dogpile him, which resulted in about ten battle droids being sliced through their midsections with a quick spin of his saber. Coincidentally, a few tanks and another battalion of battle droids decided to show up at that moment, so the area around him quickly turned into a battle droid barricade.

Anakin would find this hilarious, Obi-Wan thinks, managing a smirk as another battle droid gets added to the pile. The battle is going well, allowing him some respite. The Separatists had a good position, but their strategy was weak. The 501st managed to push the forces that threatened Obi-Wan's pursuit the most into retreat, freeing up significant resources to aid the main front. Their casualty numbers have been minimal so far, and he can feel the confidence and energy of the men increasing as this daunting battle quickly turns in their favor.

And then, Obi-Wan feels a familiar prickle down his spine and the faint smell of mint. Surrounded by battle droids bleeding oil and shooting sparks, the fresh scent should be the last thing he should come across. His eyes widen as he frantically turns to find Cody.

Thus far in the war, Obi-Wan has gotten lucky.

Now, luck is not necessarily something he believes in-- everything is the will of the Force. However, since his visions are also the will of the Force, he figures the fact that a bad one has not struck him in the midst of a battle is something he can consider lucky. At least, luck attributed to the Force being not in the mood to see him incapacitated while getting shot at.

Of course, the reason Obi-Wan doesn't like luck is that it runs out.

And of course, it happened to run out today.

As he turns to find a place to retreat to ride out this vision, a blast manages to slip through his cleverly constructed wall of droids, ricocheting off the durasteel and slamming into the back of his shoulder. He yelps in surprise, crumbling to the dusty ground. As his vision starts to blur he manages to press a code on his commlink and bring it to his face.

"Code Ginger," he rasps. His body goes limp as he hears the faint yelling of troopers running toward him.

"The general is down! Repeat, the gen..."

An explosion ricochets off the side of the mountain, sending Obi-Wan flailing into the open air. An animalistic, shrill shriek echoes off the rocks around him, and it takes a moment for him to realize it is not his own scream but that of a varactyl falling a few meters below him.

Falling. I'm falling! He realizes as the world around him rushes past. Through the wind whistling, he can hear his men yelling.

"The general is down!"

But...

If he isn't mistaken their tone is not one of fear or anxiety, but of celebration.

The general is down.

He's plummeting toward a body of water at an alarming rate. Many times, Obi-Wan has fallen from great heights, so his reaction is automatic. He stretches his arms and legs out, attempting to create as much drag as possible as he tumbles through the air.

But pull in before hitting the water.

Obi-Wan draws the Force around him, cradling his body to slow his descent. He's going too fast to stop himself, but it's enough he could survive this fall.

Probably.

Closer and closer the water comes.

How long have I been falling?

Luckily and unluckily the varactyl hits the water first. The animal, unfortunately, unaided by the cushion of the Force dies with a high-pitched gasp upon impact. He has just a second to feel the sudden blip of Force presence cut out before he pulls his body into a straight line, takes a deep breath, and plummets head-first into the water.

From the surface being broken by his fallen companion and his manipulation of the Force, Obi-Wan opens his eyes to find himself still alive. He is deep in the water, the pressure aching against his head and lungs. Even with his rebreather, which he quickly shoves into his mouth, it will be a slow-going way up to equalize the pressure. Obi-Wan watches sorrowfully as the lifeless green blur of the varactyl sinks into the bottomless abyss below him. Had he fallen below the animal he would most certainly be dead.

I almost died... and how? Cody and the others had the platform secure. The blast had to have come...

Screaming. Bellows of agony echo through his mind in a sudden crescendo of fear. Screams he shouldn't be able to hear so deep underwater if they were coming from the surface, so they must be--

Death. So much of it. It wraps its dark fists around Obi-Wan's throat, and even with the rebreather allowing oxygen into his lungs, he sees dots before his vision. The Force is imploding, writhing as he can physically feel inky darkness staining the delicate tendrils of light.

He kicks as hard as he can, trying to find his way to the surface but everything in him is saying Stop!

Stop.

Rest. Finally, rest.

Panic spreads through him. His head is whirling as pain shoots through it. A shooting pain he hasn't felt since Qui-Gon was killed and their bond was forcibly--

Help us!

Young voices cry in agony, and he feels something irreparable within him shatter as the galaxy cries out with a haunting mourning song. Help us! Save us! He's coming! He's going to kill--

And then silence. Silence so jarring he stops swimming in hopes he will hear anything.

A faraway voice. A woman speaking in hushed tones. "Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope." And then she too is silenced.

He feels like he might puke. Or faint. Or just fade into the Force right there.

But the Force wraps around him like a blanket, warming his shivering body and urging him upward. Onward.

You're their only hope.

And so he swims.

Obi-Wan awakes gasping, staring at the burlap roof of the med tent at base camp. He's not underwater. Not falling. The screams turn to the familiar yelling of his troopers, and the occasional echo of blaster fire.

He breaths heavily, letting reality melt back to him... but as it does, involuntary tears well up in his eyes.

__________

Cody was the first to see the general drop. Tucked up near the very front lines, the Jedi curated an impressive pile of clankers and was, per usual, keeping the large bunk of the battle droids occupied. The Commander was already watching him when he saw the Jedi suddenly stiffen and stagger back. Cody has been in enough battles with Kenobi to recognize it's time to send in backup.

"Waxer! Gearshift! With me!" he commands, and the two men fall into formation behind him.

Cody watches in horror as a stray blaster shot smashes into the already-weary general, and he loses sight of General Kenobi beneath his pile of battle droids.

Code Ginger.

The commlink message rings out and Cody curses. He calls in for more cover fire, shifting some of the troops a further distance from General Kenobi to draw the Seppies away.

The three troopers arrive at the fallen general, immediately struck by the wake of carnage Kenobi has left around him. The Jedi are efficient in battle, but it's rare their casualties are so... concentrated. Gearshift nearly trips over the head of a battle droid.

"He's hit," Waxer says, examining the blaster wound. "Superficial."

Cody is suddenly aware that the Jedi's eyes are still open, making his stillness look eerie like a dead man. He tears his glove off and presses his fingers to his pulse point, instant relief at a strong heartbeat beneath his fingers.

"We extract him now. Gearshift, hold this position."

"Taking over the clanker cage, sir," Gearshift says, eagerly planting his long-range rifle on its stand to get some ground-level snipe shots through the gaps of the droid pile.

Waxer jumps to the other side of the man, kicking the fallen clankers out of the way to make room. He squats down and picks up General Kenobi as though he weighs nothing, throwing him limply over his shoulder. Cody grips his blaster, taking a deep breath. He and Waxer nod to one another, and then the lieutenant presses to a stand from his crouch, Cody laying down cover fire as they run back toward the base camp. Other troopers, momentarily pausing to take in the sight of General Kenobi being carried unconscious, jump into action. They join in on the cover, alerting others of the 212th to fill in. Supported by his brothers, Cody turns to focus on his running.

The shift in the attitude of his troopers is palpable. A moment earlier they were immersed in the battle, fighting well and yelling their usual battlefield jokes over the sound of blaster fire. Now, the men fight with a different determination. Their Jedi is down and they have collectively decided their opponents will be swiftly defeated.

Cody feels a pang of pride for his brothers and their quick response, but also mutual worry for their general. He's come to grow attached to the annoyingly reckless Jedi, and though he knows this is mostly Jedi Force stuff going on, he can't help feel concerned seeing his lifeless body.

Cody catches up to Waxer who is breathing heavily with exertion but shows no sign of slowing.

"'t's like Geonosis all over again," he yells.

"Let's hope that's where the similarities end," Cody groans. The dusty terrain of this planet already reminds the commander enough of the Point Rain mission. He doesn't need or want a third Geonosis.

The two troopers burst into the med tent, startling Kix of the 501st. The medic's eyes widen when he sees the general slumped over Waxer's shoulder before narrowing with intensity. "Bed two. What happened?" the no-nonsense trooper asks, grabbing a handful of bacta patches.

Waxer deposits General Kenobi gently on the cot while Cody explains the blaster wound.

"It's a flesh wound, but the general is in the middle of a... Force vision.. thing. He might be unconscious for a while."

Kix looks from General Kenobi to Cody again. He can see the gears in the medic's head turning with this new information. "Damn Jedi Force shit,"  Cody hears him mutter. "Sir, will he need... treatment? For...  that when he wakes up?"

Haar'chak, I didn't think to ask that. General Kenobi gave him a very brief crash-course on Force visions. "Sorry, Kix, I just know it's a Code Ginger."

"Code Ginger?"

"It's the tea Obi-Wan drinks to relieve his post-vision headaches," a new voice rings out through the med tent. Cody, Kix, and Waxer turn to see Skywalker standing with his arms folded in the doorway. "with honey. I came up with it," he adds. General Skywalker thankfully looks untouched beside his robes being quite dusty. "501st is back with reinforcements. Ahsoka is with Rex getting them in position. Looks like the Separatists have already started calling for retreat, though."

Cody nods and looks at Kix. "Do you have any tea on hand?"

"No sir, I'm afraid not."

General Skywalker walks further into the tent, pulling a small pouch from his utility belt. "I have some." He hands it to Cody, and Kix goes to work examining the blaster wound on Kenobi's left shoulder. Without the wall of clones obstructing his view, Cody is vaguely aware that Skywalker has a full view of his master. He watches the young Jedi, thankful he has his bucket on to hide his observations. Skywalker sighs deeply, his fist clenching at his side before relaxing. He is used to seeing General Skywalker worried when his master is injured-- Kix has grown quite comfortable pulling rank when he needs to by this point. But now, he is reacting differently than usual. The Jedi Knight is calmer like he knew something had happened and wasn't at all surprised. Perhaps it's just that he understands this whole Force thing. From how stocked his utility belt is with in-case-of-emergency Obi-Wan Kenobi supplies, this must be a frequent occurrence the commander isn't aware of.

Even so, Skywalker has freaked out over lesser wounds than blaster burns.

Cody stands by him silently for a moment, waiting for further questions about what happened, how Kenobi was shot... but it never comes. Instead, Skywalker turns, looking at him with a hollow expression.

"Thank you, Commander. For pulling him out."

Cody can't imagine a world where he wouldn't run into an active battlefield for his general. The apology catches him off guard. What else would he have done? He nods anyway.

"Of course, General... How long do these usually last?"

"Depends."

For as much as Skywalker talks, he certainly doesn't say much, does he? Cody thinks and then squeezes his eyes shut. Great, I sound like General Kenobi.

"Depends on what, sir?"

"How bad the vision is."

Cody isn't sure if bad is referring to bad like graphic scenes or bad like vivid and lengthy, but he gets the feeling the Jedi knight isn't in the mood to elaborate either way. He excuses himself to go find Rex and end this battle once and for all.

_________

Obi-Wan's quarters feel small. He lays in bed, staring at the ceiling with no intention of falling asleep anytime soon.

He's vomited twice. It worried Kix, but he convinced him to let him sleep in his quarters anyway. That he would return if he vomited again, though there is nothing in Obi-Wan's stomach that could possibly force its way up now.

Somehow, he still feels like he's falling. Like he'll hit the water at any moment now. He tried to meditate on these potent feelings clouding his mind, but every time he closes his eyes he hears the cries of agony and the horrible feeling of death tear through him like a damn lightsaber.

Obi-Wan curls onto his side, pressing his shins against the wall of his bunk. He tells himself the usual list:

1. The future is constantly changing.

2. His vision is not guaranteed to come true.

3. None of it was real.

He tells himself this despite the fact his visions come true more often than not. He was a padawan when he experienced their horrific landing at Point Rain decades before it happened. He was a youngling when he saw himself fighting amongst the Young on Melida/Daan. Both times there were these moments when reality collided with the dreams he had spent months trying to get out of his head. It was a strange sensation. Like he'd been there before, and knew exactly what was coming. (His vision did give him the foresight to bite down on something as Trapper set his dislocated leg back in its socket when that moment came around again.)

And there were many others. Somehow his visions have the convenient quality of not providing him enough context to stop the horrible consequences. He doesn't realize he's in the future he foretold until it is his present.

This terrifies him.

He doesn't know who is in agony or why. Where even is he? How did he fall? Why is he their only hope? His anxiety is peaking and attempts to quell it are not working. Obi-Wan draws his shields in, feeling the unanswered questions swirl about his mind.

Then there's a knock. Before he can say anything or even move, his door is opening.

"Master?"

He lets out a deep breath that betrays him, quivering with emotion. And then Anakin is beside him, a hand on his bicep gently rolling him from his side so he can see his face.

"Master Obi-Wan!"

"Anakin," Obi-Wan says, acting as though he woke him up though it is obvious that is not the case, "what are you doing here? Did you have a bad dream?"

"I--" the young knight looks conflicted. Tired and conflicted. "No, I-I wanted to check on you."

Obi-Wan pushes himself to a sitting position. "Well the bacta did its job, so my shoulder is quite alright."

Anakin swallows hard, sitting down on the edge of the bunk. "That isn't what I mean, and you know it."

"My vision?"

He nods.

"Well, it wasn't anything too crazy. Actually, it was quite unevent--"

"Don't do that," Anakin huffs. "I know what you're doing."

"And what exactly am I doing, padawan?"

"Bullshitting me!"

"Anakin langua--"

"It's bullshit, Obi-Wan and you know it," he crosses his arms over his chest. Obi-Wan half-expects him to storm out, but instead, his face softens. He's getting better at controlling his anger at least. "I had a bad feeling about today. Before the battle. The Force was trying to tell me something," he looks up at Obi-Wan. "Warning me about you."

Obi-Wan leans forward, placing a hand over his former padawan's. Anakin only slightly leans into the touch, still maintaining his hardened expression.

"It was only a blaster shot. Cody and Waxer were on top of it, and as for the vision I managed to use the code to--"

"I also felt you on the battlefield," Anakin interrupts (again), and Obi-Wan feels everything around him freeze. He is always on top of his shielding for visions-- has been since he was a young child. Sure, he's been tired lately but that shouldn't be an excuse to project. Unless...

"The blaster injury... might have compromised the hold on my shields," Obi-Wan says quietly, looking down at his lap. "Did Ahsoka feel my projections too?"

"She was shielded. I made sure once I started to feel it." Obi-Wan feels Anakin's hands on either of his shoulders. He looks up to see him staring at him with blue eyes full of worry and concern. "But master, I... I felt what you were feeling. How you reacted to that vision, and..." he looks away a moment, taking a breath. "it nearly made me lose my lunch in the middle of battle, and I couldn't even see it... What happened?"

For the second time today, Obi-Wan feels tears welling up in his eyes. Partially at the guilt for putting his former padawan through such an ordeal, and partially because the voices are screaming again, and he is afraid that maybe this isn't reality as he thought. He reaches up and wraps his hand around Anakin's wrist, feeling his flesh against his own and a heartbeat beneath his fingertips. Real... Real, this is real. Anakin is here and he is real.

"Honestly," Obi-Wan whispers, "I don't know what happened. I just felt... everything around me... the entire galaxy become shroud in darkness and death." he looks into Anakin's eyes, trying to make sure he believes that he is telling the truth. "So many-so many dying. So many in pain... it was horrible."

And then he's being pulled against Anakin's chest, Obi-Wan's face against his shoulder, and the knight's arms wrapping tightly around him. Obi-Wan shakes, weeks of exhaustion, and a day of battle, injury, and diving far too deep into the Force catching up to him all at once. The last time he cried in front of his padawan must have been after Qui-Gon's death, and even on that day Anakin wrapped his nine-year-old arms around him and hugged him tightly. Over ten years have elapsed since that time, yet he half-expects to open his eyes and find himself back on Naboo.

Anakin holds him until his body stops quivering and his tears run dry. And when he pulls away he sees silent tears running down the knight's own face.

"I won't let it come true," Anakin says softly, shaking his head.

"You know we don't have control of these things. As much as we would like to."

"I'm the Chosen One, though," he says, swallowing hard. "I am supposed to bring balance. I won't let darkness win, Obi-Wan. I won't."

He's speechless, only able to nod along with the young man that is unraveling before him. This is exactly why he picks and chooses what visions to share. He doesn't want Anakin to carry the guilt.

The future is constantly changing.

My vision is not guaranteed to come true.

None of it was real.

Anakin falls asleep curled in a ball at the end of Obi-Wan's bunk. He grabs his cloak and spreads it over him before slipping under his covers. With his legs pulled up to his chest, they both fit in the bunk. He doesn't mind the position.

The future is constantly changing.

My vision is not guaranteed to come true.

None of it was real.

He finally drifts to a dreamless sleep.

By morning, Anakin is gone from his quarters. He wonders if it was actually all a dream, but from his cloak unceremoniously bundled on the floor, he knows it all happened. Obi-Wan gets dressed and tidies his hair. As he finishes, he stops in front of his refresher mirror, gripping the edges of the sink as his reflection stares back at him.

Visions have been a part of Obi-Wan's life for thirty years. He's had bad ones before-- arguably worse in content. He can handle this one and move forward. He always does. He must. There are people relying on him. Battles to plan and execute. The war rages on no matter if he is having a nervous breakdown over a nightmare, so he might as well muster on.

Are you General Kenobi or Master Kenobi?

Somehow he sees neither. He looks in the mirror and sees only Obi-Wan Kenobi. Tired, weary, shaken by the events of the previous day.

That won't do.  

General Kenobi would throw himself into the next campaign. Distract himself until the screams fade to the back of his mind.

So he leaves his quarters, heading for the mess to grab a cup of caffeinated tea and some breakfast. He greets his men, assuring them that he is alright and they did a fantastic job in the battle. He sits next to Ahsoka and tries to ignore the pity smile Anakin is giving him.

"So," Obi-Wan turns to the young Togruta, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. "What was the final tally on battle droids?"

Her eyes widen and flicker to her master before a wide grin crosses her face. "Sixty-eight."

"What!" Anakin bellows. "You did not get more than me again."

"You dipped early, Skyguy, not my fault."

"I was at the med tent, all the one's after don't--

"I suppose--" Obi-Wan interrupts, shaking his head at the two, "when I see Master Mundi I will have to inform him his record has been broken."

The table erupts in cries of protest from Anakin claiming a recount and Ahsoka rubbing in her victory. These two have much to learn. But as the knight and his padawan quarrel, Rex and Waxer slide down from the other end of the table, both of them holding back smiles.

"Seventy-four," Rex says, making Anakin and Ahoksa's heads turn in shock.

"Rex what! You got seventy-four battle droids?" Ahsoka says in awe.

"No, sirs," Waxer nods his head in Obi-Wan's direction. "Master Kenobi did."

That is enough to set off the other two Jedi over logistics of whether or not Obi-Wan should even be considered as part of the competition when he was the one making fun of them for it in the first place, and the troopers into fits of amusement. Obi-Wan lets them have their fun, sipping on his tea and letting the warmth of the drink and the moment spread through him.

The voices of his vision are still there. A constant reminder that no amount of his padawans' yelling at one another will allow him to forget the cold that spread through his every cell. In this instance, maybe the General Kenobi approach isn't enough.

Master Kenobi would meditate over these lingering feelings. Perhaps after breakfast, he will feed on this positive energy and take the morning to release his anxieties to the Force.

Maybe, being a little bit of both will help.

He just won't be Obi-Wan. Not right now, at least.

[redassassin]

a beautiful nightmare

part 8-> part 9

a/n: this is a repost, but I did change one thing that’s kind of important, so please reread <3

The night of the ball was the busiest Nova had ever seen the castle. Everyone was getting ready, either to attend or to work, and the halls were bustling with people. She made her way back to her room and stepped over to where her dress hung off her closet. She had gone back to visit the Anarchists, and ask Honey for help with a dress. Honey had only laughed, pulling out a purple ballgown. Nova sighed at the sheer number of skirts and petticoats beneath the outer skirt. 

“Really, Honey? You couldn’t have come up with something a little more practical?”

“Nova, your only job tonight is to look so pretty that the Prince can’t take his eyes off of you. Leave any fighting to us. Besides, this is my old dress, and it’s the only one grand enough for a ball at the palace.” She sighed, a dreamy look on her face. “If only times were different.”  

Nova had to admit that the dress had grown on her. She had tried it on a couple days before the ball, and holding her sword in her hand, she felt more powerful than she ever had before. 

As she reached behind her to tie the back of the dress, she remembered the knives she had designed to go under the dress, strapped to her legs. If there was going to be a fight, there was no way she wouldn’t be involved. Even if it gave her away. Nova knew that she would do anything to bring down the Renegades. 

A knock sounded at her door and Nova jumped, strapping the knives to her thighs, where there was no way they would be seen. Most likely. Nova blushed at the thought, adjusting her skirt and opening the door to find Oscar. He looked nervous, his fingers tapping on the top of his cane. 

¨Can I come in?¨

Nova nodded, stepping back to let him in. 

“You look-”

“What are you-” They spoke at the same time. Laughing, Nova nodded at him to finish. 

“You look really nice. I wasn’t sure you would be going. Doesn’t seem like your scene. Planning on sneaking away with Adrian?”

Nova blushed, her fingers clenching the fabric of her skirt. Oscar only laughed, and stepped further into the room. 

“I guess you’re wondering why I’m here?”

Nova mulled over possible scenarios in her head. 

He could have found her out, but he probably would have told Ruby, who would have told Danna, who would certainly have had her arrested. No, that wasn’t it. She back-tracked, her mind landing on Ruby. Oscar wasn’t very good at hiding his feelings, and almost everyone knew that he liked her, Ruby included.

“You want help with Ruby.”

Oscar stared at her, his mouth falling open, before quickly closing it and nodding. “How did you-” “You’re not very subtle. Anyone with common sense could take one glance at you and know.”

He flinched. “Do you think she knows?”

“I think she does, but I also think that she likes you too, Oscar. You’re a catch, and Ruby knows it. You have everything you need for tonight, you know? It may sound kind of trite, but just be yourself. If she hasn’t already, Ruby will fall for you in a second.” 

“Kind of trite? Seriously Nova, that’s what everyone tells you growing up. But thanks. See you soon?”

“Yeah. See you soon.”

 He nodded goodbye, making his way out of the door and down the hall. 

Nova closed the door behind him, letting out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. The words she had spoken to Oscar echoed in her head. How could she tell Oscar to be himself when everything about her was a lie? She was an anarchist, not a Renegade. The Nova that they knew was a lie. But the Nova that the Anarchists knew was a lie too. She didn’t know who she was. Nova groaned, her head falling back against the wall as she sunk to the floor, her thoughts spinning. 

Adrian had insisted on helping prepare for the gala, not that there was much for him to do. Servants were adding final decorations, and the food was being brought out, but otherwise, there was nothing to do. The Council had said that it wasn’t necessary, that the servants would take care of it all, but he wanted to help. He hated having people do things for him. That, and he needed something to distract him from Nova. She had said that she was coming, but that didn’t mean anything. Nova was a little bit unreliable, always late, sometimes never showing at all. She always apologized, mumbling something about her uncle. Adrian thought that her uncle must be very old, or sick, because he seemed to always be ill. Of course, everyone was encouraged to bring their families tonight, and Adrian had asked if she would bring her uncle, but Nova had burst out laughing, saying that he was not the type for galas. Nova didn’t seem to be the type for galas either, but she had said that she would come. All he wanted was for her to come. Hell, she could come in her guard uniform and he would still whisk her away across the dance floor. He sketched some flowers for decoration, handing them off to a servant.

“Adrian!” The Council stood behind him. Hugh had spoken, his tone laced with disapproval. “The ball is starting in 5 minutes, you ought to be in your place.” 

Adrian sighed, turning away from the tables and slowly walking towards the far side of the room, where he would give his opening speech. He could hear quiet talking from behind the large doors, where guests were inevitably waiting for the doors to open. Adrian wondered if Nova was behind those doors. He leaned against the wall, lost in his thoughts as he waited for the doors to open. 

Nova walked down the corridors, holding her skirts up. Her heels clicked on the hard floors, her pace not quite frantic, but not leisurely. She was late. She had been caught up in her own thoughts, and had barely heard the chiming of the bell towers. The ballroom wasn’t far, but she couldn’t run, for fear of arriving out of breath, or tripping on her heels. Honey had trained her well, insistent that there would be another lady among the anarchists. Nova could walk and run in heels, as well as apply makeup, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it. She had knives strapped to her legs, hidden beneath layers upon layers of skirts. As she reached the large double doors, she heard applause, and a shout for the festivities to begin. She confirmed her invitation with the doorman, and slipped through the doors, hiding in the back of the crowd. Adrian stood in front of all the guests, a brilliant smile on his face. Nova’s breath caught in her throat. If he had looked handsome before, it was nothing compared to now. As soon as the crowd began to disperse, his smile faded and he searched the crowd, desperation hidden deep in his gaze. Music began to play, and a swarm of girls beelined towards the prince, all hoping to accompany him for the first dance. Nova made her way towards him, if only to let him know that she had arrived. She watched him as she walked, waiting for the moment when he would see her. She was halfway across the room when he did. His smile was back, as brilliant, if not more so than ever, and he stood, pushing gently through the crowd of girls to meet her. She stopped in the middle of the ballroom floor, and waited as he made his way towards her. Everyone around her was whispering, and more than one young woman was throwing a hateful glare her way, but Nova didn’t care. Adrian reached her, taking her hand and brushing a gentle kiss against her knuckles. 

“You look- you’re beautiful.” Nova flushed, mumbling her thanks. It wasn’t enough that Adrian was looking at her with such intensity that Nova’s whole body felt like it was on fire, but every pair of eyes in the room was on them, the air filled with whispers.

“I wasn’t sure you would come. I didn’t see you at the beginning-” 

“I lost track of time. Besides, I heard so much about the food from Oscar that I figured it would be a crime to miss it.” 

Adrian laughed, and the sound sent electricity coursing through Nova’s body. She smiled, and Adrian dropped her hand. 

“Nova McLain, will you please do me the honor of accompanying me for the first dance?” He held out his hand to her bowing ever so slightly. She took his hand and dropped into a curtsy. He pulled her closer, and the dance began. 

Nova had never liked dancing. And she never thought that she would, until she danced with Adrian Everhart. Her dance lessons all those years ago with Honey were swept away as she followed Adrian’s lead, forgetting everything Honey had taught her. They moved with the music, stepping and twirling, Nova’s skirts swirling around them. 

His hand slid around her waist, and Nova let out a breathy sigh. Thoughts of what was sure to happen later that night fell away as she danced with Adrian. She began to notice the people around them. No one else was dancing, they were all watching her and Adrian. 

“They’re all looking at you.” She whispered, staring up at him. 

“Believe me, they’re all looking at you.” He was looking down at her, something indescribable in his eyes. 

The dance ended, and they bowed and curtseyed. Nova’s breathing was ragged, although not from the dance. Adrian was still so close, his hand returned to her waist as he looked down at her. 

“Nova?” 

She looked into his eyes. He was so close, she could almost feel his breath fanning across her face.  

“Can I kiss you?” 

Nova leaned up, brushing her lips against his in response. She pulled away, ever so slightly, staring up at him. Adrian leaned down again, capturing her lips with his, pulling her close. Gasps arose from the crowd, some of surprise, others of disappointment and anger. She quickly pulled away, stepping back.

“Not here. Not with everyone watching.” 

He nodded, grabbing her hand and pulling her through the crowd, towards a side door.

“Everyone is still watching. Won’t they talk?” 

“They’ll soon forget. Come on, I have something to show you.” 

They left the ballroom, and walked through the halls, hand in hand. It took Nova more self-control than she was proud of not to grasp at him and kiss him until they were both breathless. But she didn’t, instead following Adrian as he led her into a gallery. Paintings, small and large adorned the walls. He pulled her towards a small painting in the back. Stopping in front of it, he pointed at the painting. 

“This is my favorite painting of my mother. My father had it done one of the first times they met. He asked her if anyone had ever painted her, and when she said no, he told her that they should, that there could never be a more perfect painting than one with her in it. She only laughed, but then the next time he visited he brought an artist, and he painted this one. Of course, once she became queen there were more, but this is my favorite. She was still carefree, living her life the way she always had been, before the mess that this kingdom became.” 

“She was beautiful.” 

Adrian nodded. “She was. She was kind, too. She never wanted to be queen, but she loved my father and wanted to take care of the kingdom, and to ensure that it didn’t fall to anarchy again.”

His mention of the Age of Anarchy reminded Nova of her mission. She wandered throughout the room, examining the paintings, slowly making her way towards the door. Adrian followed her, and more than once she noticed that his gaze was not on the paintings, but on her. She so desperately wanted to turn around and kiss him, but she knew that if she did, she wouldn’t be able to stop, and this was not the right place. She needed to take him out to the gardens, where the Anarchists would be waiting. Adrian took her hand again, leading her out of the small room and out into the hallways once more. Nova paused by a bench, sitting down for a moment to remove her heels. Adrian waited, and offered her his hand as she stood, her shoes in hand. He pulled her towards him, hands at her hips. 

“You’re shorter now.” He held back a laugh as he looked down at her. 

“I was wearing heels.” She brandished them at him, laughing. “We can’t all be as tall as giraffes.” 

“I’m not that tall,” he scoffed. “Besides, as long as I can kiss you, I’m perfectly okay with being tall.” 

Nova laughed again, leaning up and kissing his cheek. Adrian pouted, and Nova stood up as far as she could on her tiptoes to kiss his lips. Escaping from his grasp, she pulled away and raced down the hall, giggling as Adrian groaned. 

“Nova, I’m wearing a suit. And I’m the prince! I shouldn’t be seen chasing pretty girls down the hallways of my castle.” But he laughed chasing after her. 

Nova’s heart fluttered a tiny bit at his words, but she was more focused on her path, she led Adrian through the corridors, towards the gardens where the final phase of the plan would be carried out. 

She was out of breath when she finally reached the gardens, the sun setting over the hedges. Adrian was right behind her, gasping for air as he finally caught up to her. They were both breathless and full of laughter, giggling as they began to walk into the gardens. 

“I was here once, as a child, did you know that? My father was commissioned to make something in for the castle, and he brought me and my mother along and we explored the gardens. I found this statue in a tiny corner, and it was like everything stood still. Like there was nothing else in the world but me and the ruins and the statue. My mother was furious, of course, when she found me, but it was worth it. I wonder where it was…” She trailed off, looking around for some clue of her old path. 

Adrian pulled a tiny sketchbook from the pocket of his suit. “Is this it?” He said, pointing to a drawing.

Nova gasped. “How did you- yes-how?” 

“I go there to escape from my everyday life. Even patrol. No one else that I know of has ever found it, but not without lack for trying. The Council hates that they don’t always know where to find me. Here, I’ll show you the way.” He took her hand, lacing their fingers together, and pulled her down a path. 

After a series of twists and turns that left Nova’s head spinning, they reached the statue glen. Nova gasped. 

“It wasn’t a dream. It really happened. And it’s still here?” 

Adrian laughed as she ran to the entrance. She stopped right in front of the final barrier separating her from it, taking a deep breath before walking to the statue. It was exactly as she had remembered it, moss covering the pedestal and winding up the legs, an overwhelming sense of calm shrouding it. A rosebush grew beside it, the flowers as dark and red as blood. 

Nova sighed, laying down in the grass, staring up at the statue, her skirt fanning around her legs.

“It’s so beautiful.”

“Yeah, it is.” There was something in Adrian’s voice that made her look up. He wasn’t looking at the statue, or even at the area around them, but at her. Nova blushed, standing up, brushing off her skirt and holding out her hand to him. 

“Dance with me?” 

He took her hand, pulling her close. In his other hand, he held a rose from the bush. He held it out to her, and she took it. They danced a few steps, but it quickly turned into a kiss. Nova grabbed Adrian’s collar, pulling him down with her, until they were both on the ground, Nova’s back to the statue. Adrian pressed up against her, smiling into the kiss. The rose fell to the ground beside them. 

His hands made his way into her hair, his fingers running through it. Adrian let out a moan, his fingers tugging slightly on her hair, and Nova kissed him harder, nipping at his lower lip. One of his hands strayed from her hair, curving around her waist and pulling her against him. They piveted, Nova letting him guide her to the ground as he moved above her. Her arms were around his neck, pulling him down to her as their lips moved in sync. Her heart was pounding as they kissed, and if it was any louder she would have sworn it would beat right out of her chest. Her face was flushed, eyes squeezed shut. 

Bang.

Her eyes flew open. She gasped, her breathing growing heavier by the minute as the images of that fateful night flashed through her mind. 

Bang. 

Tears formed in her eyes, threatening to spill over. 

Bang.

The gunshots reminded Nova of her purpose. She didn’t belong here. She never would. No matter how much she wanted to stay here in Adrian’s arms and kiss him until she couldn’t breathe, she didn’t belong. This was a dream, the best she had ever had, but she would wake up soon, and Adrian would be gone. She would be back with the only family she had left, and things would be back to how they always had been. Ace would respect her, and the Council would fall. She would forget Adrian Everhart and his radiant smile, his handsome face, his kisses. No matter how much she wanted this moment to last forever, everything had to come to an end. 

Nova released her power through her body, through every place their skin touched. She was shaking, her breathing ragged, and as Adrian slumped to the ground beside her, she let out a sigh. 

Taking a deep breath, she removed herself from Adrian’s grasp and laid down beside him.  Something brushed against her hair and she reached for it. It was the rose. She tucked it into Adrian’s suit pocket and laid back down. The moon was high in the sky, stars stretching across the midnight sky as far as she could see. She searched for the constellations she knew so well, smiling as she identified each one. She knew this sky as well as she knew the city. As a child she had climbed rooftops and laid for hours, searching the sky. She had learned the stories that accompanied them, whispering the tales out loud as the stars twinkled. 

Now, laying in the palace gardens, with the sleeping prince beside her, Nova was reminded once again of that night all those years ago. Waiting for someone to come save her. Only this time, she knew who was coming. And it wasn’t the Renegades. The Anarchists may have been cruel, but they always came for her. She was one of them, and they didn’t leave anyone behind, as long as they served a purpose. 

She watched the stars, waiting for the Anarchists. A bee buzzed through the air, landing on Nova’s nose. Her eyes crossed as she looked at it, standing to follow it as it flew off. The Anarchists were waiting for her on a nearby path. She led them back to the statue, and they gathered up Adrian and brought him back to Winston’s balloon. Seeing Adrian floating in the air in front of Ace, Nova realised that everything that had just happened was real. It wasn’t a dream, she had really done it. Their plan was well underway, and her part was done. All she had left to do was watch from the sidelines as the Renegades fell. They all boarded Winston’s hot air balloon, letting Adrian drop to the floor as it rose into the air. Nova winced as Adrian’s head hit the floor, hard enough to leave a mark. She turned away, watching as the castle faded from view and the forest took its place.

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