#but at the same time she doesn’t seem to understand the scope of the pain & refuses to acknowledge that she’s a big part in the pain

[nunyverse-scribe]

Me when my head is pounding from crying over a conversation that kinda just reinforced all the shittiness I went through while also throwing me for a loop on whether or not I’m valid for feeling the way I feel, but I have to repress all of that bc ✨employed citizen✨

[ladyantiheroine]

Hi...It's me...again. Sorry for bothering you. But I was looking through the Fables comics and noticed the similarities and differences between Snow White in The Wolf Among Us game vs the comics. So I was wondering, what is your personal opinion about the character and she is handled the different media's?

Hello! You’re not a bother at all! I love having an excuse to ramble about this franchise.

I confess, I haven’t finished reading all of the comics so this is an imperfect opinion based on incomplete information.

Short answer: Similarly to Bigby, I like Snow in the game better than in the comics. She feels like a more fleshed-out and well-rounded character in the game.

Long answer:

All the characters in the game, including Snow, feel like they have more depth than in the comics. Despite the comics being longer, the characters feel static and don’t change much. In the game, the characters feel like they’ve been impacted and changed by the story’s events.

I definitely think Snow’s personality was softened in the game compared to the comics. Bother versions are assertive, both call Bigby out on his shit, and both genuinely want to help Fabletown but are privileged in a way that limits that goal because they don’t entirely understand how to help underprivileged Fables. But Snow doesn’t have the same Ice Queen energy as she does the comics.

I don’t dislike Snow in the comics the way other fans do. I have a soft spot for unlikable female characters and I don’t think all female characters are obligated to be warm balls of sunshine (especially considering the traumatic shit Snow has gone through). But in the game we see glimpses past that strictness that give her more layers and dimensionality than she does in the comics.

Like I said in my post on Bigby, the characters in TWAU just feel like they have more depth than in the comics because the scale is smaller and the struggles more internal. Snow is not just a one-note ice queen but instead a woman whose business-like demeanor hides someone who is desperately trying to maintain order in a very chaotic situation. 

Part of this is because Bill Willingham just doesn’t seem interested in the internal lives of the characters like Telltale is. I know Fables is an ensemble story and is more interested in the bigger scope politics of the world rather than individual character journeys. But the result is that characters go through horrible things and the story weirdly just keeps going. It glosses over how these events would actually affect them and it feels so weird.

(Potential spoilers in this paragraph)

Snow goes through SO MUCH traumatic shit in the first few volumes alone. She thinks her sister is murdered, she’s ruthlessly pursued in volume two by Fables who want her blood, she’s drugged and almost assassinated by Bluebeard and Goldilocks, she has sex with a man she’s only just now warming up to while under the drugs and gets pregnant, survives the battle of Fabletown while pregnant, goes through an extremely painful birthing process delivering six werewolf children, and then had to quit her job as mayor and move away from Fabletown to raise them away from their father who has fucked off to somewhere unknown. ALL WITHIN THE FIRST FEW VOLUMES.

Like, kudos to Snow for having the strength to survive all that but I’m reading all this thinking, “Damn, girl, ARE YOU OKAY???”

But the story never pauses to really sit with Snow and consider how all this is affecting her. Which is weird given how much time we spend with her and how she’s one the closest characters that Fables has to a protagonist. She just experiences horrible things and then just carries on with business as usual. Because Willingham just doesn’t seem to care.

Compare this to the TellTale game, where we see how things affect Snow. She’s shaken when she sees Lily’s dead body glamoured to look like her and even worries Lily’s death was her fault somehow. She’s unnerved when she finds out her boss has been creeping on her and glamouring sex workers to look like her. She gives Bigby a lot of shit because she’s worried he’ll get hurt. We see moments where her professional front slips and we see someone who is rightfully terrified of this whole situation. 

The comics rarely stop to do the same. How does she feel about having to quit her job to raise her kids far away without Bigby? How does she feel after being drugged and impregnated without her consent? How does she feel about GETTING HER FUCKING HEAD BLOWN OFF by Goldilocks? All this has to be taking a psychological toll on her, right??

TellTale Snow reacts to things, comics Snow doesn’t because Willingham doesn’t seem to care all that much.

Plus, sometimes Snow’s characterization in the comics feels like a conservative man’s uncharitable idea of a “strong female character.” Like he thinks if a woman is strong and assertive, that means she’s just a mean old bitch. He can’t imagine an assertive woman would actually give a shit about anyone or be properly affected by anything. And later she becomes this weepier version of herself around Bigby, but it feels out of nowhere and contrasts with what we’ve seen of her so far. It doesn’t feel like a gradual character arc.

It feels a little Taming of the Shrew, like Willingham created this assertive female character and wanted to “take her down a peg” and domesticate her. This change feels out of nowhere because, again, because Willingham isn’t interested in looking inward at his characters enough to connect any dots.

And I won’t get into Snow’s romance with Bigby because…Willingham just can’t write romance like TellTale can. The few glimpses of romantic potential we see between them in the game is way more convincing and makes me way more invested than any of the explicitly romantic moments in Fables. I just wish the TellTale games would cut off from the comics entirely and give Bigby and Snow the better love story they deserve.

So yeah, in short: I appreciate both versions but TellTale Snow is given more depth and more time to respond to things than her comic book counterpart. TellTale simply cares more about Snow’s internal life than Willingham does.

Sorry for another long response, but I hope this makes sense. I love Snow White as a character.  When I went to read the comics after I finished the game, I was excited to see her as mayor and get a proper love story with Bigby. Unfortunately, I just don’t think Willingham is as good at character-driven storytelling as TellTale is.

Thank you for the question!

[yeehawbvby]

Falling Away With You | Ch. 6

Sebastian x F!Reader and M. Rasmodius x F!Reader 

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You have an absolute blast at the Flower Dance (no you don’t lol) 

Author’s Note: She really hates this F*cking Dress™. As always, I hope you enjoy, and take care! x

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

I hate this fucking dress.

It’s big and puffy. It cinches in a weird spot on my waist. It’s blindingly white and has faded Easter-esque colors lining it in weird spots. And god, it is so fucking scratchy . On top of that, my allergies are running rampant from all the scents going on around me… amplifying the pain I feel from wearing this fucking dress. 

Evelyn did a lovely job decorating Cindersap, but there is such a wide variety of flowers in such a small proximity . It’s a big ol’ itchy punch to my nostrils and eyeballs. 

On paper, the Flower Dance sounds precious. But now I understand why I heard so many whispers around town about how dreadful it is.

Anxiously twirling some of my curled hair around between my fingers, I scope out the area near the entrance. I’m less out of place than I was in the last town event, but I still can’t help but feel super weird. It’s gotta be the dress. This stupid fucking dress.

Seb, Sam and Abby all cleaned up nicely, and even though everyone is dressed more or less the same, I still feel too embarrassed about how I look to go and say “hi” to them.

Plus, I made eye contact with Sam, and his reaction was super off brand. Usually he smiles or something, but the dude totally ignored me… Maybe he’s still nervous about the other night. I should just leave those three alone.

I opt to hide against the wall, hoping I blend in with the cliffs and the decor. It’s super underwhelming being over here, so I people-watch to pass the time.

Jas and Vincent are screaming about how badly they want to dance, but apparently only the adults are allowed. Marnie keeps having to go and lightly scold Jas for causing a ruckus. She and Marlon have been talking a lot — an unexpected pairing, to be honest! — and he totally keeps checking her out. I’m rooting for him. 

Pierre, as predicted, is yelling about his holiday sale over by the entrance. Anything to keep afloat a failing business, I guess. Caroline, as predicted, looks bored and lonely. Maybe Pierre has a failing marriage to keep afloat as well?

Leah and Elliot look beautiful as ever while they chat over by the cliff’s edge… god they’re pretty. Leah’s usual French braid has ammis and vines woven into it, and Elliot’s hair is in a tight ponytail, with a scrunchie made of multicolored forget-me-nots holding it together.

I wonder what they even talk about. Do they ever, like, act out Fabio-esque romance novels just ‘cause they can? 

I lock onto Lewis next, who seems to just be overseeing the event. He notices me and waves me over to the top corner of the field, where he’s situated . Reluctantly, I go to meet him.

“Well now, how’s the valley’s newest farmer doing?!” Maybe it’s just a warped perspective  because I’m grumpy, but he seems awfully chipper today.

“I’m alrighd.” I sniff. “ Yoba , my nobse doesn’t like all dhese flowers... Is there always this many obf them?” I sound like such an idiot oh my god.

“Of course, that’s the whole point!” He leans in, loosely cupping a hand around his mouth, loudly pretending to whisper to me as if it’s some weird joke. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Yeah? Will I get ubsed to this dress too?” 

“Now that, I don’t know about.”

“Maybe someday.” He sent it to me a few days ago without asking, alongside a letter about this supposedly mandatory event. I wonder… “How’d you eben know my size?”

“Lucky guess! I’m glad it fits you so nicely.” Lewis gives me a pat on my big, puffy shoulder.

“Could’bve just asked…” I mumble under my breath.

I really don’t mean to take out my annoyance over the event on him, but I like, he did organize it. 

I can’t tell if he couldn’t hear my sassy comment, or if he chose not to answer, but it’s probably for the best that this part of the conversation died there. And although this would be a perfect opportunity to dip back to my previous spot, alone , it somehow feels impolite to abandon an old friend of Grandpa’s so soon.

I rub my achy, itchy eyes, not caring if it smudges my makeup. Then, I ask, “Are you goi’g to dance, Mayor Lewis?”

He glimpses at Marnie, his eyes lingering on her form for a moment before answering. Damn, she’s got all the old men around here wrapped around her finger, doesn’t she?

He sighs, “No, no. I don’t think I will.” So melancholy compared to his previous demeanor. He notices his jovial facade break and quickly feigns recovery. “What about you?”

I shake my head. “Not my kinda thi’g. I don’t have anyone to dance width anyway.” I wonder if Sebastian would, if I’d asked… nah. There’s no way. He thoroughly hates this event. And I think I do too.

“Nonsense! You’re very popular around these parts, Miss (y/l/n).” Lewis seems to lock onto a few people specifically, before peering back down at me. He winks knowingly. “I’ve noticed quite a few wandering eyes land in this direction, and they’re surely not for me.”

I cringe a little, not loving the attention that’s allegedly been put on me. But before I can comment—

“Sandy!!!” a high-pitched voice shrieks from across the field.

Lewis and I hone our eyes in on the source. We observe a blue-haired blur sprinting to greet a tall, tanned, and scarlet-haired woman that I’ve never seen before. Emily throws herself at the newcomer, as she’s accepted into one of those full body-swaying bear hugs.

“Ah, I better go and say ‘hello.’ It’s not often that Sandy shows her face here anymore!” Lewis makes his way to the impromptu reunion, leaving me alone again. 

I awkwardly fidget with the bottom of my dress, not caring that the several layers of petticoat are on full display as a result. I don’t have anything else to do with my hands. They need to keep busy so that my brain calms down.

I guess I could people-watch some more… This is gonna be a looong day.

Clint is longingly gazing at Emily, a hint of jealousy in his eyes. I wonder if he’s into her. Maybe she’s dating that Sandy girl, and he’s upset he missed his chance to bust a move. Or, maybe they dated once, and she moved swiftly on but he hasn’t.

“♪You’re the only one for me, my lovely Emily!♪” he’d serenade outside of her bedroom window. It would be a cheesy tune he made up, just for her. He’d spent every night for the past week rehearsing it.

“It’s over, Clint! I’ve moved on, and so should you!” she’d exclaim in return, a patient Sandy waiting nearby. She’d shake her head with pity, giving him a pained smile before closing the window and returning to her newly beloved.  

Ooooh, the drama!

I give myself a small pinch as if to erase the scenario from my head, before finding my next target. 

My eyes meet Linus’, and he looks a little stunned by the nonverbal interaction, but doesn’t look away. I give him a smile and a nod, and a small grin creeps up on him in return before he breaks contact.

I’ve heard that the tent up in the mountains, behind Seb’s house, is where he lives. I wonder if he tried to live amongst everyone, but being so scruffy-lookin’ forced him into that position. Our neighbors do seem to be the type to judge someone’s character based on their appearance… Or maybe he was always like this, preferring nature to infrastructure, and the townsfolk just didn’t approve, which outcasted him. 

I should try talking to him sometime. If he’s as socially isolated as I’ve been most of my life then we could probably get on nicely. 

_______________

Music begins to blare from the nearby speakers – ouch – as Lewis rings a handheld bell a few times to gather everyone’s attention. Based on the flow of the crowd, it seems as though it’s time for the big dance. 

I scoot further into the corner, basically hiding in the nearest flower display. Hopefully nobody sees me standing here like a total loser.

Wanting to avoid eye contact with anyone busting their moves, I look behind the commotion.

My plan fails immediately . 

Beautiful eyes, as deep and ambiguously purple as red wine, glare at me against gray skin. They’re almost entirely hidden amongst the foliage of Cindersap.

Once it registers that I’m looking back at them, the eyes change color — rosy and pink like my cheeks probably are, now. The figure is wearing a black hooded cloak, so I can’t really tell what they look like, if I know them, or anything about them really. I think I see a stray purple hair or two falling through their vision, though.

This is… kinda unsettling. Who are they and what are they doing over there? Why do they look like that? Are they an elemental of some sort? Why are they looking at me like that? Are they, like, bad? 

Paranoid thoughts run rampant within my mind, but something keeps me from looking away. I could’ve simply ignored them, pretended like this silent interaction never happened, and I would’ve been safe and sound. Maybe. But instead, I feel this intense yearn to go and reach for the person (or whatever they are). It’s like I have to fight my own body not to follow their aura, to not walk headfirst into what could possibly be a dangerous situation.

Before I can really figure out what the fuck is going on and how to approach the situation, the figure vanishes into thin air. 

Was I just imagining that? Or did they just fucking teleport away? 

I take a deep breath, trying to ignore whatever the hell just happened. I abandon my original plan and watch the dance, not wanting to risk another freaky encounter. This is freaky in its own way, but it’s safe.

Maru is dancing with Dr. Harvey – a little creepy considering the age gap and their professional relationship, but whatever. Emily’s with Sandy, Elliot’s with Leah, Alex is with Haley… oh. Seb and Abigail are together. I shouldn’t be surprised, considering Abby’s nature, so why does it hurt a little?

While giving Abby a spin, Seb catches me creepin’ around over here. He snipes me with a playful squint, instantly releasing whatever weird little insecurities I had a second ago. I stick out my tongue and throw him the bird — for added effect, of course — to which he feigns pain before returning his focus to his partner. The lingering upward curve of his lips doesn’t go unnoticed, though. 

As the main dance and Midsommar-ass crowning ceremony come to a close, several people begin to leave. I follow, wanting to get home as fast as possible so I can fucking breathe again — but then I remember the figure I saw earlier, and hesitate. 

What if I see them again? What if they try to hurt me?

A tug on my dress breaks me from my morbid thoughts. “You look like a fuckin’ doll in this thing.” 

I spin around to Seb menacingly staring down at me, and give him a curtsy. “And whad about it?” Great, I still sound like a boogery mess.

“Nothing, dollface. Don't worry your weird, plastic head.” He frickin’ winked while he said that. Is this supposed to be flirting? Or am I being bullied?

I fake confidence in the first choice, replying with a snicker, “Enjoy the loogk while you can. There’s no way I’mb subjecting myself ‘do this thing again neksht year.” 

“Good luck getting Lewis to approve your own fashion choice.” 

“Fuck his abbroval!

“Dude! Why are you talking like a fucking nerd?” 

“Shuddup, I habve allergies.” I shudder. “Doo many flowers.”

“You poor thing,” Seb mocks. I feel some heat in my cheeks. The demeaning undertones here are killing me. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.” 

He wraps an arm around my shoulder, not helping at all with how flustered I am, and guides me along the wooden path that connects the festival area to the rest of Cindersap. Within a few steps of the exit, I’m already able to breathe easier. 

Shaking Seb’s arm away, I sniffle back any remaining snot and take a deep breath, appreciating that I don’t feel a need to sneeze or cough while doing so. “This is muuuuuch better. Holy shit.”

“Glad to have you comprehensible again.”

“Bite me.”

He leans down closer to me. An impressive feat while walking as briskly as we are, to be honest. Must be those stupid long legs of his. In a low and mischievous tone, Seb asks, “Alright, where? ”

I squeak, feeling the effects of him accepting that challenge — and while so frickin’ close to me, too — heating my tummy right up. Yoba, get it together, (y/n) .

Seb chuckles at my reaction and I shove him away. “Must you always be so…”

“Smooth?”

Yes, part of me wants to respond. I deadpan him and he wriggles his eyebrows. 

“No, incorrigible.”

He nudges me, and I nudge back. He dips me into a noogie, but a firm elbow to his belly puts him to rest. We then walk in silence up until we reach the hedges that divide my land from Marnie’s. 

“Why are you still here?“ I ask, not meaning for it to have come out so harsh. Shit. Nice one, lady. When Seb winces, I try to save myself. “Wait, no, not like that. I mean, like, I’m just surprised you didn’t leave with Sam and Abigail.” 

“No, it’s cool, I get it. You hate me and want me gone forever.” 

“Sebbb,” I groan.

He chuckles, and decides to stop teasing me over my obviously poor interpersonal skills. “I don’t know. It’s almost like I enjoy spending time with you, or something.” 

I feel my cheeks getting pink. “I don’t get why. I’m nothing special,” I sheepishly admit in a minor spiral.

Seb takes a moment, inspecting me, deciding how to approach my self-deprecating humor. He opts to play with me like the stupid lil’ doll I apparently resemble .

“Yeah, you’re right. See ya.” He snickers as he walks in the direction of the town square. 

“Fuck you!” I laugh.

“Oh my! Take me out to dinner first,” he shouts behind him. He tilts his head just enough for me to see the left side of his face and does yet another eyebrow wiggle.

I can’t think of anything witty or defensive to say on the spot, so I simply let him go.

[misskathcake]

Bunny's Love on Tour, Literally

Las Vegas, Nevada.

Harry Styles’ Love on Tour, Opening Night.

As Harry Styles’ stylist, it is Sophia’s job to make sure that every single outfit for every single show is being made to her client’s liking and under the scope of what their chosen fashion brand can make. Gucci has always had an amazing relationship with Harry so it wasn’t difficult to meet with Alessandro and the entire Gucci team when Harry and Sophia were conceptualizing each look for the tour with them.

Granted that all looks were to his liking and made possible by Gucci, it is then Sophia’s job that every single look for every single concert is ready a week before the tour is set to begin. This allows her time to fit and check the outfits on her client and make alterations that are needed without the added stress of the time ticking down to showtime.

In Sophia’s opinion, these are the easiest tasks she can have in her life. What’s actually difficult is being the spouse of said client, now that’s a whole lotta different kind of crazy.

As Harry Styles’ wife, she has to endure every stage of planning a successful and safe tour with her husband, feeling the joy and stress that comes with it. It is her job to make sure that Harry is taking care of himself and allotting time with his family and friends who won't be able to see him that much in the next coming months. At the same time, it’s also ingrained in her being to give a tremendous amount of affection to her husband, always there to support him in everything he wants to achieve. However, it’s also in her power to reprimand said husband when he’s being stubborn and a real pain in the arse for no good reason.

That latter one is her current job description at the moment.

Harry and her were having a lovely evening in the cozy confines of their Malibu home. Sharing a big bowl of pasta, Sophia compliments the fresh pasta sauce that Harry got for them when he went to the farmer’s market on the weekend. This prompted her husband to propose a plan of visiting a market in Vegas once they’ve arrived and settled, saying that they had a few free days before show day. That made Sophia remember to discuss the certain changes in her schedule, thinking that Harry would understand why she won’t be able to do that farmer’s market morning with him as she needs to finish a few more things here in LA for her other clients before she jets-off to tour with him around the US.

Basically, Harry did not like the idea of her flying after him, stating things about the dangers it can cause to her safety. To be honest, he really is being a drama queen because what ‘dangers’ is her husband talking about? Harry has always been on the top of his security game, which is what Sophia replies to his concerns.

But Harry remains stubbornly unphased by her reasoning, choosing to make her job as his stylist as his next point of argument as if they just didn’t spend the rest of their day finalizing every detail needed to be fixed on his clothes. Plus, he’s just going to be wearing a vest for the first night, how can he be able to fucking rip that in rehersal, or something?

“Bunny,” Sophia calls for him in a ‘trying to keep my fucking calm’ manner. “Glenne already agreed to accompany me when I fly to Nevada the two days after you do, I won’t be completely alone. Plus security would be there in the first place. You know that it’s also killing me that I can’t fly with you to see the final preparations for the venue, your final rehearsal, and even witness the first-hand initial reaction of your fans once they see this tours’ merchline. I just have a lot of shit to finish with my team here, you’re not the only celebrity I’m styling, baby.”

Harry’s eyebrows just seem to furrow deeper in annoyance, “Isn’t that the reason why you have a team here in LA that you’ve trained so well?”

“I do have a team here, and they are competent enough to shoulder and head my other clients while I’m away on tour with you. But that doesn’t mean we’ve already fixed and efficiently planned down to the details in the next months that I’m gone.”

“Well maybe you should have told me in advance that you need more extra time here before I finalized my departure to Vegas, now it’s all to shit.”

Harry storms off to their living room, leaving Sophia in their kitchen counter definitely not pleased at her husband’s unwarranted stubborn outburst.

She lets him cool-off a bit by himself, giving her time to really think about the cause of Harry’s adamant dislike of her plan. Sophia knows that it’s more than just fears about her safety, and the well-being of his clothes, nor the free time they can’t spend together anymore. She knows her bunny, and he’s not one to get unreasonably snappy and irritated for no reason.

It takes Sophia a whole block of the baked brownies that Harry also got from the farmer’s market (she’s not one to neglect her dessert regardless if she’s having a disagreement with her husband) before the answer came to her so clearly.

Sophia finds Harry sitting on the single swivel chair in their living room, his focus centered at the television playing a season three episode of Hannah Montana; their latest obsession this summer since they’re living in Malibu like that in the show.

She pops her bum on the long couch, trying to catch his attention without verbally calling him. That thought quickly goes down the drain when it receives not even a flinch from Harry, so Sophia thinks the latter is the only way.

“Didn’t we watch this one already?” She asks conversationally, wanting the tense atmosphere to fade. “Can you please change it to a new episode?”

Harry decides to ignore her, much to her chagrin. So she prods him further.

“The remote is on your lap, H. I would think you’d rather do it yourself than me coming near you.” She tries the route of sarcasm this time.

“Whatever.”

Instead of acknowledging her request, Harry forcefully slides the remote on the coffee table to her direction, still keen on keeping his stubborn act against her.

Sophia rolls her eyes at his action, “Bunny,” addressing him in a soft but stern way which indicates that she doesn’t want to fight with him anymore, but she’s also not going to let him continue his unreasonable act.

Harry sighs exasperatedly, “What? I’m minding my own peace here, away from you, and now you’re here ruining that.”

“I’m not ruining anything, if that’s what you think this is then I’m here ‘ruining’ your alone time cause I want to fix whatever problem we’re having here.”

“Good luck with that then, cause nothing’s going to be fixed unless you decide to follow our initial plan of flying out together with the team to Vegas.”

Sophia sighs this time, more out of tiredness than being really angry at her husband’s current difficult attitude.

She stands up from her seat on their couch, walking the short way to Harry’s seat and straddles his left thigh to position herself on his lap. Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, face finding its way there too as she hugs him to her.

Sophia knows her husband in every surface and crevices, knows that even when they’re in argument, Harry will not and cannot ignore her blatant affection especially a cuddle. It brings a small smile of victory on her face when she feels Harry’s arms wrapping themselves around her body like a knee-jerk reaction.

“I know you’re not being unreasonably stubborn and mean right now because of all the things you’ve been saying earlier,” Sophia softly says, her warm breath hitting the skin of Harry’s neck.

“I get that you’re worried about my safety, love it even that you appreciate me that much.”

“It’s my job,” Harry replies just in the safe soft tone, “I’m your husband; it’s one of my main priorities in life, if not the most important one.”

“Yes bunny, I know that, can feel your love and attention all the time,” Sophia places a small peck on his jaw in acknowledgement and gratitude at his words. If she was to rate Harry’s job of being a husband, it would only be of stellar remarks without a doubt.

“But, as your wife, it’s also my job to worry about you especially when I know that you’re worried about something that you’re not telling me. Don’t think you can fool me that easily.”

Harry reacts instantly, a sharp in-take of breath moves his chest that Sophia feels from her position on top of him.

He remains quiet so Sophia takes it upon herself to start the flow of the conversation for Harry to slowly open-up to her.

“Bunny, you remember what I always tell you whenever you’re feeling worried about me or about us, the thing I say that always comforts the both of us?”

Harry looks at her solemnly, his eyes on her always feel like he’s directly looking at her soul regarding her so wholeheartedly, “That we’re always in this together; your safety is my safety, your comfort is my comfort, so whatever worries me or you, we’ll always fix it together cause our love is one.”

Sophia smiles softly, closing the small gap between them in a slow kiss, Harry rubbing the tip of his nose affectionately with hers.

“Yes bunny, our love is one.” Sophia repeats kindly, “And because of that, I know that your worries about our current situation runs deeper than you’ve told me earlier in your angry exchange.”

Harry’s face simultaneously contorts to that of a frown of concern, “Sorry, Sunflower. Didn’t mean to be angry with you, just got lost in my worries. Not meant to be unkind to you, my love.”

Sophia pecks his pink pouty lips again, trying to stop the smile threatening to break on her face. She finds it so endearing that Harry instantly apologizes whenever she straight-out tells him he was being angry with her for something; not settling well with him that he was being unkind to her in any way.

“I know bunny, I know, don’t worry alright? And thank you for your apology, baby.” Sophia assures him, her hands finding the growing curls at the back of his head to twirls it on her fingers in a soothing manner.

She doesn’t want to prompt Harry any further, knowing that he won’t open up more if she doesn’t let him take his time. As his wife, she already knows that her husband would soon tell her what’s really wrong after she’s reminded him about the foundation of their relationship. Harry just likes to take his time to gather the right words, after all a musician like himself loves to take his time to explore and respect words when creating amazing, earth-altering music.

When Sophia thinks he’s ready to divulge his deep worries, Harry tightens his hold around her body and situates his lips directly on her ear, kissing it softly and inhaling her comforting scent before speaking.

“This tour just means so much to me. Have been working for ages trying to perfect everything cause the fans deserve nothing but the best for being so kind and patient when everything was rescheduled. At the same time, it’s our first tour together where you’d be there as my stylist the whole time, and that makes me want everything to be much more perfect because my wife’s well-being is now in the equation. I guess the stress of wanting everything to be just immaculately perfectly, is messing with my head. You know that I trust you so much, Sunflower, rationally I know your safety would be ensured a hundred percent since the guys know I’d literally strangle them myself if something happens to you when I’m away. I also know that you’re a responsible woman, who knows when and how to protect herself and you’re not one to do stupid shit or get into stupid situations like your husband.”

Harry’s joking words provide a pause in their rather serious conversation, the two sharing a giggle and a kiss at how true yet unfortunate his words are.

“So, I don’t know, it’s like..it just scares me that you changing the plan by not flying with us makes me think that something’s going to go wrong cause we’re derailing some part of the intricately perfect plan. And I know that sounds stupid and highly irrational, but I can’t help but get scared baby that something abou the concert will just not go as planned, like you not being able to attend the first show because of a late flight or something here in LA stops you from going, which is the biggest and worst fucking nightmare I can think about that can go wrong.”

Bingo, Sophia thinks to herself. She had the biggest hunch that this was the kind of fear her husband was having, her intuition telling her that it’s mostly not about her, but the external instances that can concern her that Harry has zero control over.

“Thank you for telling me, bunny.” Sophia coles on his ear before getting a good look of his flushed face. “So proud of you for being so open about your worries with me, always down to communicate with your wife.”

Harry gives her a small wry grin, “Only for you; only going to push myself to be more vulnerable and communicate for you, Sunflower.”

“Me too, because I love you and that’s what we do when you love someone.”

Sophia presses a kiss to his cheek, small hands cradling his face so she’s sure that the next words that are about to come out from her mouth will truly be registered in Harry’s soul and entire being.

“Harry Styles, you really are a fucking stupid fool if you think I’d allow anything to come my way and prevent me from watching your opening night. Heck, I would strangle with my bare hands if that happens, ‘treating people with kindness’ be damned!”

A startling laugh erupts from Harry, his laugh so infectious that even Sophia begins to laugh hard with him, forgetting for a moment the depth of the words she wants to say next.

“Did you seriously just call me a ‘fucking stupid fool?’” Harry asks in disbelief, “Not only did you just curse at me, but you called me stupid, and you decide that’s not enough so you also referred to me as a fool! You are one harsh spouse, Sunflower.”

Sophia just smiles at him all cutely in return, “Married me for a reason, yeah?”

That just makes Harry laugh even more, nodding his head too in agreeance with an undeniable smile on his face, “That I did, married you for the right fucking reason.”

His wife kisses that big smile off his face so hotly, bottom lip nipped and sucked to her satisfaction, leaving Harry breathless and defenseless to her cunning ministrations.

An instinctual groan leaves from Harry’s chest when Sophia leaves his lips with a popping sound, “No groaning, bunny. Can’t distract me with your dimples and sexiness.”

Harry bites his bottom lip, eyes hazy green, already distracted from his wife’s kisses. To be honest he thinks that her kisses are already enough comfort to his irrational concert fears, a few more of those (and maybe he can return some too, not on her lips though) and he would completely forget why he was worried in the first place.

But Harry knows his wife, knows that it’s important for her to resolve things with reason and not solely rely on the reprieve that sexual acts can provide. So he lets her be, squeezes the dimples on her back to encourage her to continue.

Sophia returns her hold on his face, thumb slowly stroking his cheek, “Aside from those adjectives, I also wanted to say in all seriousness, that you should stop fearing something that won’t ever happen. I’m not going to miss your concert, bunny. I know that there’s a lot of factors that are out of our control, but for something that extreme to happen, a lot more than those external factors are going to be needed to be able to stop me from coming. Bunny, again, I’m not going to miss your concert, promise.”

And that was that. Harry’s fears are thrown out the window, the comfort of his wife’s words consistently work like the most powerful magic.

***

The two days away from Harry were certainly easier than what Sophia perceived it would be after dropping him in the private lounge at the airport for his private plane ride to Vegas.

Obviously, Harry didn’t allow her to just ‘drop’ him there, he certainly made that clear by guiding them straight to the couches at the private lounge, nodding his head at the greetings from his team and making her sit down on the seat and then for him to plop his bum on her lap. Totally preventing her from leaving, really.

Sophia spent the rest of the time with Harry on her lap waiting until his boarding time. She converses with his team, Jeff even reminding her about the nail salon trip that he booked for Glenne and her. Sophia tries her best to acknowledge and reply to the conversation from Harry’s team, but the man himself is really testing her abilities by doing everything to make sure that all of her attention is all on him.

His hands finding their way to massage her hair, not one to deny amazing head scratches like her husband.

His lips landing random kisses on her face, his affection something she just can’t deny (and return) from her husband.

His nose rubbing around her temple, neck, and jaw, their scents always comforting one another so she gets distracted and returns the sentiments breathing-in his scrumptious scent that she would surely miss.

And then there’s his words, whispering softly to her ear about sweet promises (or sexual, the man likes to be inclusive with his promises), and how much he’s going to miss her and for her to expect his constant text messages throughout the next 48 hours or so.

Sophia really just let him be, indulging him on his antics to get her attention just to appease his mind and soul.

By the time boarding was called, that’s when her husband decided it’s a good idea to start the waterworks. Not only did his hold on her tighten, but Harry’s tears also soaked the shoulder of her top. He’s really not one for farewell, especially when Sophia’s the one he’s forced to part with.

Usually, when one of them is crying, the other is mostly trying to keep their calm to not further escalate the situation. At that moment, Sophia tried her hardest not to shed any tears as she coos comforting words of love in Harry’s ear, constantly kissing the side of his face while telling him how much she adores him and he should be on his best behavior in Vegas even without her.

Harry only cries harder, surprising Sophia at the sudden sob that erupts from him. Her level of concern is slowly rising with this very extreme reaction coming from her husband, not really his usual response when they’re going to leave each other for only two days.

Before she can voice her concerns, Jeff interrupts their moment, saying his apologies for doing so but informs them that they really had to go board and everyone is just really waiting for him.

That seems to catch Harry’s attention, placing one last deep kiss on Sophia’s lips and another ‘I love you, I’ll miss you.’ was rushed out from him. Their last exchange happened so quickly that the next thing Sophia knows, Harry and Jeff have boarded the private plane and her husband leaves a quick message to her phone before they take-off.

🐰 Husband 🐰: Don’t worry about my sobbing from earlier, Sunflower. Your scent just made me really emotional, or I’m about to get my period or something, I really don’t know. But I’m alright, my love, don’t worry. I’ll message again when we land. I love you 💖

So that settled Sophia’s emotions, even making her laugh at his joke about getting his period, like who says that? Apparently a man-baby like Harry Styles.

After that airport situation, everything else was sailing smoothly.

Harry messaged her upon his arrival at the MSG hotel in Vegas, sending a picture of the view from his penthouse room. Sophia returns the sentiment by sending a view from one of their favorite cafes in LA, her late lunch of tuna pie with a side of baked potatoes and a mango smoothie visible on the picture surely made Harry wish he was there eating with her.

The same interaction between the two continued in their two days apart, both of them making sure not to message all-throughout the day as it defeats the purpose of Sophia staying in LA for a bit more to finish much needed planning and scheduling with her team. At the same time, his wife also understood not to bombard his phone with messages for it would hinder Harry from doing the final touches for his first night on tour.

Though as promised by her husband, Harry sends videos and pictures of the moments that Sophia was very sour about missing.

Harry sends a 360 degree picture of the entire arena after the stage was set up for his liking. Even proceeded to do a stage and backstage tour video with him as the presenter. Mitch’s protests of being held captive as his videographer were present at the audio, as well as Jeff’s and Anthony’s cheeky comments here and there about Harry’s very ‘obedient behavior’ while she’s away and she would surely be proud of her boy because he wasn’t acting-up like a baby for missing her. All of that plus the occasional tidbits that Harry shares about the venue that he knew she would like, made Sophia feeling pretty happy.

For Harry’s final full run-through of his concert, Sophia was blessed with a picture of her husband in nothing but a pair of fucking banana-printed boxers standing proudly at the center of the stage with his arms wide open. The ever-nudist that he is, sent Sophia various videos of his rehearsal, singing his heart out without a care in the world of his lack of clothing. The cheeky little thing even sent a video of him twerking in front of an undeniably uncomfortable Mitch, Sarah only laughing wildly at her boyfriend’s unfortunate situation while playing the drums. The entire thing made Sophia laugh at random moments of the day upon remembering the things Harry sent.

Upon her husband’s supposed plan for them, Harry did find a farmer’s market during his free time in Vegas. Sophia was bombarded with pictures of his visit there, seemingly stopping at every stall based on the amount of selfies he took (with his iconic peace sign) while holding or showcasing the most random thing. It’s either a video of him taste-testing various kinds of cheese, local homemade chocolate that he knew she would have loved, attaching random colorful clips on his curls, or a picture of his hand holding a matching, hot pink thong and boxers with the words, ‘Baby, wanna get hitched in Vegas?’ glitter-embossed in the crotch area. Obviously, Sophia was appalled by this scandalous purchase but Harry only replied to her messages of concern with the following words: ‘I think a proposal only asks for either a yes or a no as an answer, don’t you think so, Sunflower?’ Well she sure is thankful that they’re married already, really.

When the new merch for tour went live, Sophia was in the middle of a meeting with Alessandro Michelle and Miley Cyrus for the latter’s custom Gucci outfits for her upcoming music festival performances. The two smile knowingly upon seeing the creeping school-girl smile on Sophia’s face (the one they’ve associated with the two disgustingly in-love spouses whenever they’re with them) as she looks at the caller id of her ringing phone placed on top of the table.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Miley laughs, motioning to her phone, “Answer the call before Harry combusts out of his undying love for you or something.”

“Yeah, poor boy pining all the way from Vegas.” Alessandro jests further.

Sophia flips them off laughingly, not even bothering to excuse herself from the room and answers the non-stop ringing phone. The first thing she saw upon answering the FaceTime call is Harry’s smiling face, the mischievousness glinted in his green eyes should have alerted Sophia that her husband was probably up to no good.

The next thing she sees is a full body mirror shot of a nude Harry, literally down to nothing but his birthday suit! Sophia wasn’t expecting such an atrocity on a Friday afternoon so the obvious reaction (which she should not be blamed for) is to actually scream her lungs-off.

Both Alessandro and Miley look at her in alarm, while Sophia screeches at her phone.

“HARRY! WHAT THE FUCK, BUNNY?! I’M IN A MEETING!”

Harry curses and stumbles to get under the covers of his hotel bed as if his wife and the people she’s in a meeting with can actually see his naked glory all the way from Vegas.

“What did he do?” Miley asked amusedly, sitting down beside Sophia to look while Alessandro hovers over the two.

Sophia laughs, seeing the morbid look Harry is giving upon seeing the other two faces, now safely covered with the hotel sheets up to his chin. She puts the call on speaker cause might as well, everyone’s already invested in what just occurred.

“Bunny,” Sophia giggles, “Mind telling my guests what you did to cause my earlier shock?”

Harry groans, face-palming himself, “Shit, are you really going to make me do this? Sunflower, this is going to be embarrassing for me.”

“Well you should have thought about that before basking me with all your nakedness on a sunny, Friday afternoon.”

Miley and Alessandro bursted out in rambunctious laughter, Sophia smirks triumphantly as Harry’s groan got louder and began to flip his friends off.

“No FaceTime sex during work hours, Harry!” Miley jokes.

“Wasn’t going to have phone sex, jesus!” Harry defends himself, flipping Alessandro off again when the latter does a crude gesture with his hands, as if jerking-off.

“Bunny, just tell us what’s going on here before we get into more nasty assumptions.”

Harry chuckles, pointing his finger at them, “Yeah, that’s correct, you guys are nasty! Seems to have your heads under the gutter or something.”

“You’re the one who called your wife, apparently butt-ass naked, during a meeting” Miley points out, “So I don’t really know if we’re to blame here, cause you seem to be the one to have other, clearly, sexual intentions.”

“Again,” Harry laughs, “I wasn’t going to have mediocre sex with my wife during works hours, alright? She deserves better than that, like all night loving or something.”

Miley and Alessandro whooped and whistled at that, Sophia’s cheeks pinking because of the implication of his words.

“Okaaayyy… let’s get out to the topic of sex, hm? So what’s the purpose of your call again, baby?” Sophia prompts as Harry gives her a knowing look, knows that his wife is very private about their sex life, much more than he is really.

“My new Love on Tour merch just went live, so I was just going to stop-by and give you an exclusive try-on haul just for you, my lovely wife. But looks like I called during the wrong time?”

“That you did.” Sophia agrees, smiling fondly now that she knew the intention of his call.

“Awww,” Miley coos, “That’s so sweet! Like something out of every ladies’ dreams!”

“I hope my customized Gucci suits for you have also received the same honor of an ‘exclusive try-on haul’” Alessandro smirks jokingly.

Harry snorts, “She’s my stylist, Lallo. Obviously, try-on hauls of your suits are normal occasions in our relationship. You should be honored with the amount of loving I get after she sees me in them, if you know what I mean.” Harry wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

That was the point Sophia takes in the reins, and kindly asks her husband to call again later when her meeting was over. Sadly, Harry had a dinner meeting during her free time so instead of an ‘exclusive try-on haul’ video call, Sophia’s phone was flooded with pictures of Harry adorned in his new merch line.

Sophia fonds over the pictures, not immune to her husband’s good looks especially in his most natural and disheveled look with his lovely curly locks poking out of his ‘Harry is my friend’ hat. That, is definitely Sophia’s favorite from all the things he just released, the tote bag being the second.

What really warmed her heart is the last item Harry sent her.

A picture of his pouting face, wearing the similar hat she adores. What catches her eyes and makes her stop, is the words embroidered on it: ‘Harry is my hubby bunny’

So yeah, she thinks their time apart could have been worse. Now she’s just ready to adore and support her husband at this new milestone he’s about to approach.

***

Sophia arrives in the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Vegas at exactly one hour before showtime.

Wearing her custom black Gucci lace corset top, tight leather trousers and shiny black pointy pumps, Sophia gets escorted out of her ride and into the backstage entrance with the security team Harry hired for her. And as she walks in the twists and turns of the backstage, she hears and feels the excited fans just on the other side of where she is.

She knows her husband is in near proximity when she hears his laugh above everyone else's. Sophia assumes they’re all in the common area, shaking her head already knowing that Harry’s still probably in just his boxers at only an hour before the first night of his tour.

And her assumptions were verified as she reached the common area. Harry’s entire band are scattered around the couches already in their custom Gucci outfits for the show unlike her husband, who’s currently sitting on the middle of the floor in just his boxers. Not just any boxers though, it’s the exact hot pink one that he bought in the farmers market.

“SUNFLOWER! YOU MADE IT!”

Harry stands up, stretching his arms wide-open for a hug. His smile is so radiantly big that Sophia decides to say her comment about his current attire later and lets herself melt in his hug. Both of them exhale a sigh of relief, finding instant comfort in being wrapped in each other’s arms once again.

“I missed you, baby.” Harry whispers, giving a loving kiss on her temple.

Sophia puckers her lips for a kiss, Harry bends down a bit to do so, and the two instantly smile at the first contact.

“I missed you too, my bunny.” Sophia says after separating their lips, arms still wrapped around each other in the middle of the room. “But I can’t believe what you’re wearing right now. The audacity, H. In front of your bandmates, really?”

Harry feigns a gasp of shock, letting go of their hug and gestures to his crotch.

“This? Is a piece of art, Sunflower. If someone had proposed to me while wearing this, I would have said yes without any hesitation.”

Sophia, along with everyone else present in the room, laugh at his earnest ridiculousness.

“He says it’s he’s new lucky pants for every show.” Mitch informs Sophia, standing up to greet her. Everyone follows suit to greet her now that she has reacquainted with Harry already.

“Now you can’t be serious?” Sophia says, incredulously eyeing her husband who’s now back to sitting on the floor.

Sophia’s in tight leather trousers, so she ignores the pout Harry gives her when he pats the space on the floor in between his parted legs for her to sit on. Instead, she sits down beside Sarah and Mitch on the couch.

“Well I don’t think you’d wear the matching thong I got you so I might as well make use of that while this one is in the laundry.”

Sophia laughs with the others, but she’s not a hundred percent doubtful about his comment because her husband might be a jokester, but he’s also ridiculous and bold and does what he wants as long as it hurts no one.

She lets Harry lean his back on the couch where she’s seated while still sitting on the floor, hands finding hers to interlock with one another resting on his shoulder.

“Bunny, I have to get you dressed-up and ready in five minutes time, alright? Why didn’t you follow your bandmates’ responsible steps and also got ready earlier? I’m sure Jeff or Glenne could have helped you since she arrived earlier than me.”

Harry shakes his head, “Didn’t wanna. Wanted my wife to get me ready for opening night, Sunflower.”

The boys, Mitch, Niji, and Pauli all say resounding ‘boos’ at Harry’s apparent sappiness and sweet talking. While the girls, Sarah, Erin, and NyOh, giggle and coo. Sophia just brings her other hand not held by her husband to his curly locks and gives it a little scratch, acknowledging his words.

Sophia begins to catch-up with Harry’s friends, getting more tid-bits of the happening in Vegas that she has missed, Mitch not failing to mention the torment her husband had given him upon her absence and constant attention. To her surprise, it was Harry who signals her that his five minutes is up by giving the back of her hand a soft kiss.

She says her wishes for a smashing show for the others as Harry slowly leads her to his dressing room. The moment the door is closed, Harry quickly leads her to the couch in his dressing room and arranges them so that she’s comfortably straddling his lap as he tightly wraps his arms around her before they start kissing hotly.

Kissing, suckling, bitting, is the passionate routine that their lips followed for the next following minutes, the two spouses seemingly forgetting about the ticking-time until the concert. Thankfully, Sophia wakes-up from her rose-tinted haze when Harry squeezes both cheeks of her arse.

Sophia reaches behind her and wraps her hands on his wrists, “Off-limits until after showtime.”

Her teasing earns a frustrated groan from Harry, whining when Sophia leaves one last deep kiss to his red-bitten lips and goes straight to the vanity to fix her appearance. She looks back at her husband, raising an eyebrow in question at his relaxed state.

“Better get your butt off from that couch cause I don’t think Vegas will sing itself.”

“Should have told me that before you snogged my soul out of my body.”

Sophia laughs at Harry who’s now walking to his ensuite bathroom to freshen-up.

“Excuse you, you’re the one who man-handled me on your lap in the first place. I had good intentions when we went here, you’re the one who has an ulterior motive to snog wildy.”

“I fucking missed my wife, can you blame me?”

“Nope, cause I did too, miss my husband that is. But, I’d like to set some boundaries, bunny.”

Sophia props herself up on the vanity table, Harry making his way to stand between her parted legs. He bends down to rub his nose against hers in pure, instinctual affection.

“So far that boundaries,” Sophia begins, “Because I’m your stylist now for tour, I think it’s best that when it comes to work time, you shouldn’t distract me with your words and affection as your wife. I mean, everything’s mostly going to be the same, I just want more professionalism when I’m going to get you glammed and ready for your show.”

“And professionalism entails…” Harry trails-off in a question.

“Like just, more putting on clothes than unbotting them. More straightening outfits you're wearing than feeling each other up.”

Harry laughs heartily at that, “Sunflower, I’m afraid that you’re the only one here who actually feels me up. You’re the stylist who dresses me, not the other way around.”

“Excuse you!” Sophia giggles at the accusation, “You’re the one who had their hands on my arse earlier.”

“That’s only a slip from my immaculate conduct because I was missing you. Otherwise, I have outstanding marks.”

Sophia pushes Harry’s smirking face to the side jokingly, “I’d only believe that once you show me. More moving, less talking, bunny.”

Before Harry follows her instructions like the dutiful husband that he is, he cradles Sophia’s face on his hands tenderly.

“Joking aside,” he says, “I agree with these boundaries for work. I just want everything to be perfect this tour, might that be for you, me, the team, or the fans. Whatever would help that happen, I’m all in for.”

“Okay, that’s good to hear.” Sophia smiles, turning her face to kiss his thumb.

“Just promise me no full deprivation of kisses and cuddles.”

Sophia smirks at his pleading face, as if she can deny him that.

“I promise, my bunny. You can still get some of my kissies and huggies.”

“I better.”

***

In no time, Sophia has got Harry dressed in his pink trousers and sparkling pink-fringe vest. She remembers Harry’s earnest insitince for this specific look for his opening night, not opting for nothing less than extravagant and flashy.

“Haven’t performed in a long time,” Harry says as Sophia and her assistant fix any tangled fringe on his vest, “I think this outfit would do good for my depleting narcissist fuel.”

Sophia snorts, pinching his arm earning a squawk from her husband, “You already have enough of that, mister popstar-rockstar hybrid.”

“Sunflower, narcissists 101 would tell you that it’s never going to be enough.”

“Whatever, H.” Sophia dismisses with a good natured eye-roll, “Too bad this is the only one of this kind for tour.”

“Speaking about that, do you think we can change some of the looks to more of these kinds?”

That sets-off another round of conversation between the two, Sophia shutting his idea quickly because it’s just irrational and undoable when they already have everything set outfit-wise. Harry couldn't defend his argument any further as Jeff notifies them that he has to get his mics and ear-ins in just a few minutes' time.

Hand-in-hand, the spouses make their way quietly around the backstage. Upon reaching their destination, Sophia watches her husband get his mic pack and ear-ins fitted, smiling at the camera that Anthony has pointed at them. She won’t be surprised by how many pictures of her this tour alone will garner until the end.

After Harry’s gotten prepared, he comes back to sling an arm around Sophia’s shoulders to pull her close to his side. Sophia wraps her arms around his body in return, squishing her face on the side of his bare chest giving it a small kiss.

“I love you,” she mouths to him, knowing he can’t hear her because of his in-ears and the screaming of the fans.

Harry smiles, dimples popping, “I love you too, Sunflower. Very happy that you’re here.” he says before giving her a sweet kiss on her nose, cheeks, lips, and forehead.

Sophia can’t agree with her husband any better; she’s fucking happy being right here beside him too.

***

Together with Glenne, Jeff, and their security, Sophia made their way to the barricaded area at the opening of the backstage where they will be standing at all-night for Harry’s concert. At first, Harry didn’t like the idea of her not staying at the private box at the top of the arena but Sophia had relented everytime he worried about her comfortability saying that she’d rather be standing all-night long to watch Harry in a much nearer area rather than being on the private box which is so far away from him that he looks just like a tiny spec from up there.

The audience was wild, Harry hadn't even arrived at the stage yet and Sophia already saw dozens of camera flashing, fan signs raised up in the air, and dozens upon dozens of varied voices singing Harry’s songs as if their voices won’t be horsed later while singing it back to the man himself. Sophia can’t help but feel a sense of gratitude and appreciation for the genuine undying support Harry’s fans have. It truly means the world to her that they are able to see the talent and kindness in him which is all she truly wants as it makes Harry so happy, and nothing can compare to seeing the love of your life shine so bright with happiness.

It’s a testament to the fans’ modesty and self-restraint that they didn’t climb over the barriers when Harry finally came out of the stage for Golden. If Sophia was in the same boat and didn’t happen to be married to the rockstar, surely she would have hauled herself upwards to party with Harry on-stage, security and her dignity be damned.

But thankfully that wasn’t the case, and nothing of that kind of chaos ensued as Harry pranced around the stage giddily, singing his heart out together with his fans as if they hadn't sung this song a million times already before tonight. Harry for one, usually plays the album in their home, singing along to it with Sophia whilst they're in the kitchen cooking, working-out at their home gym, or when they just want some white noise while they cuddle on the couch and relax. Sophia’s sure the fans have done the same, have probably obsessed over the songs more than them if the way they’re shouting the lyrics back at Harry more enthusiastically than the singer himself can be any indication.

In Sophia’s unbiased opinion, nobody should be left just standing, or god forbid sitting down in any of Harry’s concerts. Everybody should be fucking dancing their assess-off without a care in the world! So Sophia does that, dances herself to every song her husband is singing like it’s the first time she’s hearing it all over again. Glenne and her even drag Jeff in their little dance party, twirling and swinging each other around with their shoulders shimmying constantly as if they’re wearing Harry’s sparkling red fringed vest too.

Harry’s spiel about the circular stage and how sometimes you either get his face or his ass, releases a howling laughter from Sophia and starts chanting ‘Ass, ass, baby give me your ass!’ getting Glenne and Jeff to chant along earning the attention of some fans, and obviously gets Harry’s too when they start screaming in glee at Sophia’s reaction. Harry turns towards his wife and friends, pointing specifically at Sophia while smirking her way.

“Only the best for my wife, so you get the ass,” he turns his backside to her, “ALL OF THE ASS, BABY!” and actually shimmies his arse side-to-side before slapping one cheek for emphasis.

Sophia starts screaming in exhilaration at her husband’s response, the fans eating-up the first interaction they’ve witnessed of the married couple whilst in Harry’s concert prompting Sophia to twerk her ass back in his direction resulting in a louder uproar from the entire arena.

When Harry moves position on the stage, much closer to Sophia and their friends now, he sees a fan holding out a crochet sunflower towards his direction.

“Oh my god, it’s a sunflower! Is that for me?”

The fan nods enthusiastically and Harry comes closer to her to accept it, even smiling for a picture when she raises her film camera towards his direction. When he comes back to her position beside Erin and NyOh, guitar strapped to his chest he holds the crochet sunflower under his nose like his smelling it’s sweet floral scent.

“That’s quite wonderful, you guys really know me well that I love sunflowers,” he says thoughtfully, earning laughter from his audience at his other implication, “and being a lover of sunflowers, I thought it was only fitting that I married one, yeah?”

He shows off his wedding band on his left hand to the audience, his fans screaming in recognition at the only remaining ring on said hand after years of full-ringed fingers.

“Anyway, I got myself my very own sunflower now, she’s actually here, Hiii my Sunflower!” Harry waves widely at a smiling-so-big-my-face-might-burst Sophia who waves back at him just as enthusiastically.

“I love her very much, as you guys would have probably known by now if you follow my social media and see that beautiful face of hers on every picture that I seem to post, can’t really blame me really with how beautiful she is, isn’t she gorgeous? The world deserves to see her beauty, really!”

Even if it’s so dark in the arena, and the lights are mostly on the stage pointed at her husband, Sophia still feels that everyone can see the raging blush on her cheeks. She can’t say that Harry doesn’t usually say sweet things like that in every opportunity he can get, but it’s the first time he’s done it in-front of thousands of people in a sold-out arena. It’s pretty much a new experience for Sophia, which by now she thinks she has to get used to starting now.

When the audience lessens their gleeful agreement to Harry’s opinion, he continues his bit, “So I’m very fond of giving flowers to my Sunflower whenever I can, again, if my rare social media posts can be any indication. Now I have a magical flower in my hand and I have yet to give her one today as a congratulation for not only it being her official first day at work as my tour stylist, but for being able to handle my weird narcissistic ass and love me unconditionally despite everything that comes to being married to me.”

Sophia definitely didn’t see that change of route with his bit, and felt herself close to tears at Harry’s raw words of honesty. Both Jeff and Glenne pulled her close to their sides in a tight embrace, anchoring her amidst the loud screams and coos of everyone else.

“I’ve always advocated for treating everyone with…”

“KINDNESS!” Sophia hears Jeff and Glenne scream in unison with the others, too speechless to follow along.

“Kindness, that’s correct!” Harry claps his hands in elation, “Definitely going to inform you lots’ teachers to give an A plus for good conduct! But anyway, I was going to ask if you guys can kindly pass this beautiful crochet sunflower to my Sunflower all the way to the back? My heart is forever going to be filled with love if we get to show her some kindness tonight.”

Sophia doesn’t understand how that’s possible, how her husband can make that possible. Because the next thing she knows, everyone seems to quiet down as Harry passes the sunflower back to the audience, and everyone’s rapt attention is placed on the precious cargo moving from one fan’s gentle hands to the other, nearer, and nearer her direction.

The winning scream that everyone lets out once the crochet sunflower is in Sophia’s grasp is deafening. She’s typically not a narcissist, but she would like to share her input on the increase in volume of those screams compared to the last hour of Harry singing.

Sophia’s sure the smile she gives Harry no matter the literal distance between them right now, is already enough to show her gratitude and adoration towards him and his grand display of affection. But as a bonus (cause as he said, it’s never enough), Sophia copies his earlier actions of pretending to waft the scent of the flower, earning an audible giggle from Harry resounding across the arena as she mouths an ‘I love you.’ just like she did earlier before sharing her husband to the rest of the world.

The show continues after that; Sophia swaying along the heartfelt melody of Cherry, arms slinged with Jeff and Glenne as they move side-to-side as Harry sings about coming home in Canyon Moon, and of course, losing her shit while dancing like an animal gone wild to Kiwi was a definite requirement if one wants to have the full Harry Styles’ concert experience.

Like a blink of an eye, Harry was bowing and blowing kisses to the audience, making his rounds to give his thanks to everyone who had come and supported his opening night. Sophia clapped her hands and cheered wildly throughout the remaining moments of the concert, excitement and adoration coursing through her veins ready to congratulate and dot over her husband.

Just as expected, Sophia thinks Harry does phenomenal for his opening night of his sophomore tour.

***

Later on the night, when Harry had completed all the duties that comes with being the star of a concert, had said his gratitude towards his team, bandmates, friends, and whoever he passed by while leaving that supported him that night, Harry was free to be completely immersed in his favorite role in the world: being a husband.

All the appreciation he had given to everyone that made tonight possible, did not compare to the recognition he had given his wife. Between the time they’re finally alone in their penthouse room in the hotel, and up to the point where their naked bodies are cuddled together on the bed with matching sated exhales and happy knowing smiles, Harry’s sure being Sophia’s husband definitely tops any concert he will do for the rest of his life.

It’s not even a surprise to him how he easily gravitated towards his phone to look at the pictures taken tonight by Anthony, who has kindly sent it to him immediately upon his request. Fingers swiping pass his pictures and finding the perfect one of his wife, instantly enamored by one particular photo.

Harry opens his Instagram account, ignoring the thousands upon thousands of notifications he got from tonight’s concert media content he presumes, and blindly finds the picture of his wife he had chosen and lets his fingers type-away whatever sappy thing his mind has to say this time like every other time he posts about her.

At two am in the morning, Harry Styles posts the first ever picture in relation to his tour. A picture of his wife clutching the crochet sunflower, Harry on stage in the background in his red glimmering vest is almost not even the focus of the picture as Sophia is smiling so big her eyes are squinted at the ends like she just can’t contain her joy taking all of the picture’s attention.

Below it, he had captioned: My Love on Tour, literally 🌻 💘

[redrobin-detective]

give lilies with full hands

“Ghosts at the cemetery, why am I not surprised?” Valerie grumbled under her breath as she glanced at the glowing dots congregating near Heavenly Gates, Amity’s largest cemetery. It was just after 5pm on a Friday; Valerie should be at home getting ready for a fun and relaxing weekend. Instead, she was speeding forward in the dreary pre-rain mist about to tackle a hoard of the undead. Her life was so strange and unfair sometimes it just fueled her hatred for everything ghostly.

As she approached the cemetery, she slowed down and had her ectoweapon up and ready to shoot. Instead of a fire fight, she found an eerie, unsettling quiet that sunk deep into her bones and made her unable to move. She just hovered above the cemetery and took in the full scope of the scene. The Fentons were here, hard as they were to miss but like Valerie, they were also frozen with unease. Mrs. Fenton kept fiddling with her weapons but couldn’t manage to lift it in a meaningful way. 

The fog hung heavily around the cemetery, clinging like wet paint dripping down an unfinished picture. She could make out the unnatural glow of several ghosts, a few of which she recognized. That annoying child pirate ghost none of the adults could ever see was sobbing silently, curled up in a fetal position on the ground as if he were trying to make himself as small as possible. The biker guy and girl were cuddled into each other, leaned up against a grave looked scared and worn, flickering dangerously like static on TV. Val spotted Ember looking frightened and quaking looking like she wanted to run but was unable to. Her soft glow alerted Val that there was another ghost she’d initially missed.

The ghost was more shadow than anything, the fog moving through and from them. They were a swirl of greys and blacks in the approximation of a long cloak covering their face entirely. Pinpricks of bright lights shone from underneath the cloak’s hood. They bore down on Ember as if it were seeing deep into her soul and found her lacking. 

Phantom was there too, he looked almost normal compared to everything else going on so it’s not surprising she’d missed him at first. The fog dampened some of his ghostly glow and he was standing properly instead of floating. Like Val and the Fentons, he seemed unable to move. The heavy drizzle in the air flattened his normally gravity defying hair. If she hadn’t known better, she’d say he was a normal person standing there, albeit one with weird fashion sense who went a little crazy with the bleach. And if Phantom looked human in comparison then just what was this new ghost?

“Amber Jablonski,” The ghost whispered quietly within the cemetery but Valerie could hear perfectly well, as if were being spoken into her ear. From the shivers she saw come from the Fentons, they were experiencing the same thing. Ember moaned, something deep and agonizing. She fell to her knees as more of her glow faded. “An eager musician just making a name for herself in her small town. A performance at a barn had faulty wiring. The building caught fire and Young Amber was trapped by debris and unable to escape.”

The flame in Ember’s hair burst into brilliant blue flames before painfully sputtering out like a candle on the verge of going out. A wisp like ghostly hand reached out and tenderly ran a finger down the side of Ember’s face like a mockery of the tears she could no longer shed. “Cause of death was severe burns across her whole body and smoke suffocation at the age of 22.”

“Enough,” Phantom announced suddenly, stepping forward through the ghostly arm putting himself squarely between Ember and the wisp ghost. The dead rockstar barely noticed, her whole form trembling as she looked down at the cold earth with absolute horror. Val wondered if she was feeling the cold of the cemetery or the burning heat of an out of control fire. “You’re killing her.”

“She is already dead,” the ghost answered, “as are they all. They are but echoes of lives come and gone.”

“That doesn’t mean you have the right to remind them,” Phantom said, looking more ghostly again. His aura flared suddenly and his eyes lit up like angry lightning bugs in a jar. “Death is sacred, it’s private and you’re using it to hurt them.”

“It is my duty, I am the Mortem Obire. I make the restless dead confront their own mortality, remind them of what they lost.” The ghost stared down Phantom who flinched but overwise stood his ground. “It is because of you, Danny Phantom, that I have been summoned to this realm. Your life essence has made these ghosts forget what they were. They flock to you, drawn to your vibrancy, seeking what they’d lost. The dead were straying from their existence, emboldened by your example, they were forging new purposes. I am merely correcting their assumptions to preserve the delicate balance that maintains the two worlds.”

“But death shouldn’t have to define them, I mean us,” Phantom pleaded. “They can grow if they want, experience new things. The end of life isn’t the end.”

“How very human of you,” the other ghost said breathily, an unnatural imitation of a chuckle. “Your death, if we can call it that,” the ghost said, “was born out of innocence and ignorance. Nature demanded the experiment fail but your naivety allowed for the flow of life and death to be disrupted. You looked at a machine you could neither understand or control and made the attempt anyway. Your hubris consumed you in the form of electricity, pain firing through your whole body as you screamed for a relief that never came. Your old body was obliterated and remade into the abomination you are now.”

Oh god, Phantom was electrocuted. He had lived his last moments as a human screaming and in pain. She knew he was vaguely around her age but it was one thing to know a kid her age had gone through that and another to hear it described. Without thinking, she lowered her weapons. 

“Yeah I know that,” Phantom said weakly. “I took out the power in the whole city for a few hours which I felt bad about afterwards. What’s your point?” His glow was completely gone, the wet humidity of the air clinging to him much like how it fogged up Valerie’s suit. The shadow of the sinking sun made his white hair look dark and the greens of his eyes had faded into a less unnatural blue/green. 

The only think remotely otherworldly about him was a faint pulsing glow coming from the center of his chest. It beat like a heart, a soft brightness that seemed to dispel the overwhelming feeling of death. Ember looked up from the ground, the pirate kid uncurled himself a little, biker guy and his girlfriend became a little more solid. They looked at Phantom with such awe and envy and grief it was almost painful to watch them stare at what they clearly lacked. 

“My words hold no domain over your heart now, child of two worlds,” the ghost wheezed, floating past Phantom. “But someday you will greet death properly, be made humble by it, and I will be there to remind you of how fickle and fleeting that precious life of yours is.” 

“I-” Phantom defended, glowing slightly with his eyes once more an ectoplasmic green. But now it was obvious to see how much more lively and present he was compared to the others. She still hates him, will probably still hunt him but while she knew Phantom was a ghost she knew, whatever he was, she couldn’t call him dead. Not with eyes so sympathetic and expressive and alive.   

“Be gone, all of you mortals, this is a place for the dead,” the ghost commanded. The ghost hovered over to the Box Ghost who had been shivering behind a tombstone the whole time and suddenly went still as stone. “Your compassion for them does them no favors. This is the price for their existence, the dead cannot and should not forget. That is their purpose and this is mine. This is not an end to their existence, merely a reminder.”

Valerie never thoughts she’d see the Fentons flee from a fight but still she watched as Jack and Maddie slowly backed up until they reached their garish assault vehicle. They fumbled for the handles, not willing to tear their eyes off the ghosts before climbing in and driving off. Phantom looked torn, grief stricken as he watched the mist ghost, the Mortem Obire, speak softly to the Box Ghost. He looked like he wanted to interfere, to place himself in-between again but his shoulders slumped as he realized the futility of the action. This was the nature of death and memory and the living were not to interfere.

He glanced up at her, wary and saddened before disappearing from view, going off to wherever it was he lived his life when he wasn’t causing her problems. Valerie swiftly turned her board around and sped quickly in the direction of home. This had left her a lot of things to think about, about Phantom, about ghosts, about what it meant to stick around once your number was up. 

But that was for later, for now she wanted to get out of chill before the rain started in earnest. She wanted to drink something warm, sit close with her father and feel their hearts beating in time. Valerie Grey wanted nothing more, in that moment, to simply breathe in and appreciate her life before it was taken and those happy memories used against her. She would not die full of regret for what she had missed.

[ravenadottir]

How do you think the S2 LIs would react to MC having a chronic illness like arthritis?

well, some of them might be more understanding and know what it feels like, more than others.

lucas. this man with a person who has chronic pain, especially, would be so patient and caring! it's his job dealing with different cases, and because of that, he's better equipped than most boyfriends would be. he might insist on twice-a-week sessions with him, even though she might be feeling better one week or the other. "prevention is better than remediating."

noah is possibly just as caring, just not knowing exactly what to do. he might make her sit down and explain every single detail about it so he can be helpful and not make mistakes while trying to assist her. also, he's already the type to take initiative to cook and do chores, he would never complain about them. while some boyfriends are terrible and make their partners feel like a burden, noah is the complete opposite.

bobby will make a stupid joke, possibly about certain wrists movements, and it's a serious matter but if you're with bobby you would expect it. it's bobby we're talking about! regardless, i think he could have empathy and patience as well. he spends loads of time in the kitchen, stirring, emulsifying, beating and stretching dough. it's not the same but he understands the pain is exponentially harder compared to his. "i'm your compress/pill reminder bloke. and whatever else you need, of course.". he would flood your lap with food. that's how he shows love and concern, so expect lots of cupcakes. maybe even some funny emojis to try and make you laugh.

gary understands. he's been through an injury that immobilized him for weeks, and even though his case wasn't chronic, he still gets it. he might even say "doesn't even compare. mine only lasted for a few weeks. you're a hardass for living with this and still being able to do your stuff!".

kassam (it's a headcanon of mine) might have similar problems. working with equipment and instruments all the time requires lots and lots of physical therapy after a while, especially for shoulders and wrists, so i reckon he might be more helpful than he seems. while he looks tougher and colder than most, i don't think he would be the type that doesn't care. if there's a week where both are having constant pain, he might hire someone for the chores around the house. and lots of food delivery too.

henrik. he has empathy, and more than that, balms to come along with his support. he'll make them especially for you because he knows the difference between soreness and nerve pain, and in most cases soreness goes away after a hot bath/shower. the boy has so much to offer when it comes to pain, and is actually excited to do exercises to help out.

carl doesn't know much about it, and might possibly panic once you have a really bad episode. he doesn't know the first thing about emergencies, and even though he possibly goes through it because of his occupation, he still panics when seeing someone suffering. he'll get the hang of it, just... not right away.

marisol has probably read about it, but doesn't know much on the matter. she might come across insensitive but that's just her way of trying to compute the data you're giving her. she doesn't go through it so it's harder to comprehend once she sees it happening, but still, she would be careful and do her specialty, which is pretty much taking care of the food. if you're having a really bad episode she might go for comfort food therapy. something that has a lot of warmth and heart in it. and convincing you to do the exercises even when you're tired. actually, SPECIALLY when you're tired.

tai. he gets it. playing sports and having a career made in it definitely gives him as much scope as lucas, professionally speaking. he might not suffer from it, but he knows plenty of people who had to walk away from rugby because of it, i'm sure. i love to picture him preparing the meals and, without realizing it, massaging the spot that hurts while you watch a movie. it becomes a habit and he doesn't even notice.

[kpopmalereader]

assume ; na jaemin

• summary: you’re on a dance team with jisung and chenle. jaemin was on the team the year before and comes back. you’re rehearsing by yourself one day and jisung and chenle catch jaemin watching you through a window. they (and a few others) notice jaemin can’t take his eyes off of you, but you brush it off, not wanting to make any assumptions about jaemin despite the constant glancing and interest in each other • pairing: na jaemin x male!reader • word count: 2469 • to do

Music blares through the room. It bounces off the walls, shaking the mirrors in front of you, and resonates in your bones. You’re dancing by yourself in the large room, but your fluid movements and the personality you put into even the smallest moves morphs the room smaller. You could be dancing in the largest cathedral all by yourself, and you would only let the world be as large as you want it to be before you pulled it back in. 

Jaemin’s eyes follow you. He’s engulfed by your every move. His bag is packed to the brim, and it feels heavy on his shoulder, almost painful, but all he cares about is the way you look. You’re beautiful, arms moving gracefully. You portray every emotion flawlessly. Jaemin realizes he’s openly staring at you but doesn’t care.

That is until Chenle and Jisung come up to him. They look him up and down before looking into the room. They can just see your ending pose, sweat dropping off your forehead. Your shoulders and chest move up and down as you breathe. The music is still booming through the room as you lean on your knees and attempt to catch your breath.

Jisung and Chenle move their eyes from you to Jaemin, then back to you. The gears moving in their heads are almost audible as they click everything into place. Chenle gasps and slaps Jisung’s shoulder as realization sets in.

“You like-!” Chenle’s yelling is cut off by Jaemin shoving him away from the door.

“I don’t! He’s a good dancer, and he’s grown a lot in the past year. That’s all I was looking at.”

Jaemin pushes the other two further and further away from the dance room as he talks. Neither of the two seem to believe him as they walk.

Jisung turns his head as his shoulder is hounded. “You’ve never looked at anyone dancing like that, no matter how good they are.”

Jaemin ignores his statement even though he knows it’s true. He continues to force both of them until they’re on the other end of the long hall. They can hear the music turn off, and not too long later, they notice you walk out of the room and out the side door. Chenle and Jisung are still looking at Jaemin like he’s oblivious, eyebrows raised and amused expressions. Chenle begins to smile at the thought of Jaemin having a crush on you and doesn’t bother hiding it.

“Don’t,” Jaemin warns.

“You two would look so cute together!” He cheers out. He sighs and places his hand over his heart. Jisung is pulled closer to him, clutching his shoulders and pretending to swoon. Wouldn’t they? Two dancers, they could do duets! They-”

“Are never going to together because neither of them like the other.” Jaemin finishes. “I was watching him dance. I haven’t been here in a year. I should scope out my competition.”

Jisung rolls his eyes, still being pulled down by Chenle. He argues against Jaemin’s statement, raising his voice as Jaemin begins to walk away. “We’re on the same team. There is no competition!”

*

The ground beneath you sways slightly as you stand. Your legs are far too tired to be still. You struggle to listen to the words the dance teacher is saying. Jaemin stands on the other side of the room with his arms crossed. His eyes sweep from the speaker to you, but when he realizes he hasn’t caught any of what she has said, he brings his attention back. 

Not soon after forcing himself to pay attention, his eyes go back to you. His eyes follow the curve of your cheeks down to your jawline. He watches you tilt your head back and forth, eyes seeming bored and disinterested with what the guest teacher says. You notice his stare a long time after the looks began. You glance up at him and make eye contact. You look away immediately, face turning light pink at his appreciative look.

He doesn’t look away from you. You can feel his eyes on you still but try not to pay attention to it. He absolutely devours the consistent darkening of your cheeks the longer he watches you. The other dancers around you notice Jaemin eyeing you up and start to draw conclusions about it. You’re still ignoring the look, somewhat certain he’s looking at everyone and not just you. 

Chenle and Jisung once again question Jaemin’s interested looks and big eyes as he watches you. He finally begins to relinquish some feelings but denies any reciprocation on your part.

*

Jaemin sits against the wall of mirrors, legs crossed and head leaning back ever-so-slightly. Over the few weeks that have passed since Jaemin came back, his looks and constant moving to get closer has gotten more and more exaggerated. It’s unable to be avoided, but you’ve tried your hardest to. You’ve given every excuse in the book as to why Jaemin is looking at you that is not any romantic interest. In the beginning, when his long looks and passing glances began, you cast them into a single box. 

It was a box of him being intimidated by how much attention you’ve gotten since he left and him thinking you weren’t talented enough to be given that attention.

Shortly after, the box was relabeled. It became more of a blossoming acquaintanceship. You categorized the looks to him deciding if he liked you or not.

The gazes are still in those boxes despite Jisung, Chenle, and anyone else who spends more than ten minutes with you or Jaemin telling you they’re endearing. 

Now, Jaemin studies your every move. He stifles the unplaced jealousy in his chest as another dancer leads you in a duet. You follow along, learning the actions on the fly as the other man has his hundredth practice. Even though the other dancer has learned and shaped the dance over a month and a half, you stomp all over his performance. Your moves are half-a-second behind his, but your performance is closer to perfect than his will ever be. You could dance circles around him and the choreography, but Jaemin doesn’t mention it quite yet.

The man’s hands brush along your back, and he touches your face gently. Jaemin’s nostrils flare. The look of appreciation and wonder he was given to you turn to glares and hate at the other dancer. The dance ends, and you roll your eyes at yourself. 

You pull at your hair, immediately stepping away from the other dancer. Jaemin’s heart swells at the disinterest, wondering if you would be so willing to move away from him if he was there with you. You walk over to the teacher and ask her to repeat the song, not feeling happy with your first dance of a song you’ve never learned. She shakes her head, and your shoulders fall forward. Jaemin can hear her telling you that you did great for just learning the dance, but you don’t believe her much. You find a seat next to your friends with a frown.

Before, Jaemin’s gaze could be considered merely concentrating on the dance. But now it’s obvious he’s only been viewing you. He watches the frown on your face and how you chew your lip. He can see the talking of everyone around you enter and leave your head in less than a second. The next duet steps up to center-stage. The music begins, and though it’s not at all similar to your song, you begin to practice the moves. Your movements are small, just marking the movements, but your eyes are pointed. You are wholly concentrated on remembering the moves for the next time you get in front of everyone.

Jaemin watches your eyes dart around the room. You try to make sure you’re not interrupting or distracting anyone, but that worry causes eye contact with Jaemin. He smiles and raises his eyebrow at you, lighting up even further when your hands halt and fall and your eyes go wide. Your face begins to flush, and you suddenly become very interested in the dance in front of you.

The practice ends shortly after. You start to rush out of the room but Jaemin sidelines you. He appears in front of you with a cocky smirk playing on his lips. Your breath hitches in your throat, and you smile at him. You begin to walk around him, and he steps to the side.

“Are you ignoring me?”

“No! No... no,.” You repeat the word, calmer each time. “I’ve been here for a while and want to get home.”

His left eyebrow lowers in a question. “Why don’t I believe that?”

You clear your throat and shrug your shoulders. Jaemin doesn’t quite understand or know where the small boost in confidence he gets comes from.

“You did well today,” He mentions. “It’s difficult performing a dance so soon after you learn it, and you were following along well.”

Your eyes are pointed at the ground. “Thanks. I need to practice it more.”

“Well,” He starts a sentence but cuts himself off with a hum. “Actually, never mind, you said you wanted to get out of here.”

Your curiosity gets the best of you. Your eyes slowly move up until you’re looking just to the right of Jaemin’s face. You don’t want to ask the question or share too much, but you breach the world. “What were you going to say?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “I was going to offer my help. You could practice some more, but if you want to get out of here, that’s fine.”

The beating in your chest quickens. A minute of silence and wide eyes pass before you finally speak again.

“I- I-” You breathe halfway out, the rest of it getting caught in your throat. “I can stay a little while. Do you remember any of the dance?”

You didn’t know he could get any more confident, but he does. He stands taller and nods his head. “I have a pretty good memory.”

The room is cleared out quickly. He drops his bag at the edge of the room and walks over to the speakers. You stand by the door, waiting for direction.

Jaemin hums as he moves around the room. “You seemed like you really wanted to go home.”

You don’t say anything back to him, following his movements.

“It almost seems like you want to spend time with me.”

He knows he’s teasing you. Even though his back is turned to you, he can feel your face turning darker as he speaks.

He begins the music and gestures for you to join him in the center of the room. You start to dance with each other. You’re exceedingly hesitant as you move until Jaemin starts leading you around. You get swept up quickly. You find it difficult to take your eyes off of him as he dances around. Jaemin can feel you shiver as he brings his hand down your back. You clear your throat as the music ends. Jaemin asks you a question, but you can’t quite understand it, overwhelmed with the thoughts running through your head. He can see the wide eyes you give him. He disregards the question he asked and turns the song on again.

You pay a bit more attention this time around, putting more effort into it. The song ends, and Jaemin holds you in place longer than needed. You gulp and look up at him. You don’t move away either until another piece begins to play. You jump back and clear your throat, walking swiftly to the speakers. Jaemin chews on his cheek to hide the smile he wants to show and waits for you to come back to him.

You walk back to him as the song begins. Jaemin grabs your waist and pulls you in. He begins to dance, not taking his eyes off of you as he does the choreo. You try to maintain eye contact but soon can’t stand it and look away. He smiles brightly as he dances, feeling energetic even after a days worth of dance practices. The song ends. Jaemin doesn’t move away. You stay with your arms around his neck even after the song ends. Jaemin looks down at you. His eyes are warm. You watch him for a few seconds before the weight of it becomes too much.

You take one step away from him, letting your hands fall to your sides. The next song begins to play, but you don’t move to turn it off. Your face seems conflicted as you stand there. Jaemin just watches you like he always does.

You begin speaking after moments of silence. You open your mouth, then close it again. You look flustered, and Jaemin is surprised he can’t see any red on your cheeks.“I didn’t want to assume anything about you.”

“Okay?” He raises his eyebrow and waits for you to continue.

“I didn’t want to assume anything, so I hadn’t said anything or pursued anything or listened when Jisung or Chenle said to.” You realize you’re beginning to ramble and shake your head. “I didn’t want to assume anything about you. I tried to tell myself that you were only staring because you didn’t know if you actually liked me or not or for some other made-up reason that seemed stupid even to me. So, I don’t want to assume anything, but I want to ask if you were staring at me and act like this because you have feelings for me?”

Jaemin smirks slightly as you talk, trying to control the overconfident feeling blooming inside of him. You look up after you ask the question. Everything you’ve feared coming to light since Jaemin rejoined the dance team is laid out on the floor. And, yes, he’s smiling, and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen, but he isn’t saying anything, and your nerves are running wild. Your mind begins to backtrack and regret even the small amount of things you’ve said. Your heart is pounding in your chest. Your head is telling you to run away and change your name. The panicked look on your face becomes too much for Jaemin, and his smile turns sweet. It is more than adoring as he steps forward. 

“Jisung and Chenle have been telling me to do more than stare for a while now, and I’ve never pursued it.” He chews on his lip and leans down. “Now, I wish I would have said something sooner.”

The blush he’s grown to love appears on your face. You hope he can’t hear your heart beating, and, for once, you’re able to keep your eyes locked on his longer than a few seconds.

[phantompearlsalt]

Sour Cherry, Chapter 17

Preview AND the real deal in one day? I’m on a roll 😎 But in all seriousness: super happy I could share this (more or less) on time with everyone! I’ve started working on a side project I’ll share more about tomorrow so I’m still figuring out my writing schedule. Also promise I’ll respond to all asks this week as well! As always, feel free to check out this chapter on AO3 and know that I adore all kudos, comments, asks, etc. You all make this journey such a gift ❤️

These days, things somehow felt slow and exciting at the same time — it was odd. There was so much at stake and all of it lay within the borders of Republic City. In a few weeks time, Kuvira’s spirit cannon would reach completion and the army would be on its way to claim all that remained to consecrate the Empire.

Although you still find yourself caught up the more bureaucratic aspects of the work — paperwork, meetings, more paperwork — it feels like you can almost touch the weight of anticipation that hangs in the air. Nothing else slows down but everyone appears to hold a collective breath as Baatar works on the final touches of the machine.

Today in particular, you decide to take a trip to engineering. Kuvira is nowhere to be found so you assume she’s off in some pressing meeting with her sergeants. Perhaps strategizing for the City’s response and especially the Avatar’s. Given the scope of the army’s proposed attack, you can’t possibly imagine anyone, not even Korra, withstanding such magnitude of force.

You feel a slight twinge in your chest at the thought of what lies ahead. You think of Bolin, Varrick, and Zhu Li. You wonder whether Raiko will willingly submit to Kuvira and spare the damages that will transpire if he doesn’t.

But at this point, you know better than that. If the United Republic had wanted to end things peacefully, Kuvira would have already reached an accord with them. It was clear no one was willing to budge so you could only hope that the damages would be as minimal as possible.

You stroll into the warehouse, following the sharp sounds of electricity and metal clanking together. A number of privates salute you as you walk past and you offer them reassuring smiles. “At ease, privates,” you chuckle. Despite how much time has passed, you’ll never grow accustomed to the way people interact with you for being both Kuvira’s significant other and a critical role in her Inner Circle.

Baatar recognizes your voice and he looks down from the platform several feet above you. He calls your name excitedly and you can’t help but grin. Admittedly you’ve never been too fond of the man (even back in Zaofu) but you would be wrong to deny all of the incredible work he’s put into bringing the army this far along. Plus, he’s done his best to get on your good side once it became clear his chances with Kuvira were effectively eliminated.

“How’re things going up there?” you call out.

“They’re going,” Baatar responds, somewhat disillusioned. Your brow furrows together and you cross your arms.

“What’s the matter? You don’t sound too pleased,” you remark.

“I can’t seem to make the connection between the cannon and the suit’s body...each piece functions properly on its own but the wiring simply won’t synthesize everything together,” he explains.

“Hm...I’m not sure how much help I could be but could I come check it out at least? If anything it’ll be a good way for me to admire all your handiwork,” you say.

Baatar smiles halfheartedly and sighs. “I suppose. Perhaps there’s something you might notice that I haven’t been able to. Five straight hours can do that to someone,” he admits, leaning over to press the yellow button that unfolds a metal staircase.

Once it lands on the floor with a soft clink, you leap onto it and head up until you’re within an arm’s length from Baatar. Being much closer to him you can see the lines of exhaustion etched below his eyes. His hair is gelled down neatly, though some strands of it fall along his temples where it sticks to a thin film of perspiration.

“Baatar...have you seriously been working on this for five hours straight?” you ask.

He appears confused by the question and purses his lips. “Of course I have. What else would I be working on?” he replies.

“I understand but...you should take a break soon. At least a half hour or something,” you recommend. He vehemently shakes his head in protest.

“Absolutely not. Kuvira wouldn’t allow it and with good reason. Every moment wasted on anything other than this machine is more time lost to take Republic City for the Empire. I will not be the reason everything we’ve worked for is lost,” he states.

You stay quiet, watching him worriedly before you release a soft sigh. You always knew Baatar to be...a deeply passionate man since joining Kuvira. From what you had pieced together during your conversations with her, you learned that he grew up in his father’s shadow. He was always praised as the mirror image of the older Baatar, with an aptitude for design and engineering.

When he joined Kuvira, it was probably the first time in his life that something was entirely his own. Not an addition to his father’s work, not a continuation of everything so many people expected of him. What he created was novel, powerful, and completely his own.

Understandably, he had grown so invested in this final display of his autonomy and innovation that any potential threat to it was unfathomable.

“It’s alright, I understand,” you reassure him, stepping forward and tentatively resting your hand on his forearm. You feel him tense beneath you and you wish he hadn’t because now it feels even more awkward. You’ve never felt the urge to offer him any sort of comfort until now but then he relaxes and you can slide your hand away without feeling too uncomfortable.

“So!” you exclaim, hoping to break the odd tension. “You said you were having trouble connecting the cannon to the rest of the suit?”

“Indeed,” Baatar sighs. He peers into gaping machinery, sifting through thick cords of wiring and metal. “I’ve checked for any and all missing pieces and there isn’t a single thing out of place. I wonder if you’d be able to see anything I might be missing.”

You chew on your lower lip, growing nervous at the prospect of going anywhere near the obviously complicated technology. The chances of you damaging anything are close to none...though they aren’t quite zero.

Nevertheless, you lean forward just an inch to gaze upon the convoluted maze coiled within the massive platinum encasements. None of it makes sense to you and you feel foolish even bothering to check.

Even so, you angle your hand forward and throw Bataar a questioning look. He nods and you start carefully pushing aside the cords in hopes of seeing, well, something.

At the exact moment you feel an indentation in one of the metal fibers, you hear the echo of footsteps below and the sound of Kuvira’s voice. You mean to pull away in excitement but the hem of your sleeve gets caught.

Grumbling, you manage to pull it away but not before feeling a sensation pulse through your body that’s lightning hot and stinging all the same. The pain concentrates in your arm for a split second and your eyes are forced closed.

The only thing you’re aware of is the muffled sound of shouting around you beneath your own screaming before your head crashes against something cold and hard and your vision fades into complete darkness.

---

“This could have been so much worse, Baatar. Do you have any idea how much worse this could have been?”

The voice sounds distant, almost warped, as if it were coming from another room. Wait...are you in a room? It feels still and quiet so you assume you are.

Your eyes are sealed shut and it feels like your brain is trying to push out of your skull. When you try to twitch your fingers, a searing pain shoots up your left arm and a pained sound gets caught in your throat.

Okay. So no moving yet.

You inhale slowly and wince at the sharp ache in your ribs and your chest. Other than that, nothing hurts too bad if you stay relatively still so you focus on maintaining a careful breath.

As you start to grow accustomed to the aches and pains, you let your eyelids flutter open. Well, flutter almost seems too glamorous to describe the heavy feeling when you peel them apart. It feels like you’ve had them shut for weeks.

You try not to move your head around too much as you scan your surroundings, realizing you’re back in the tent you share with Kuvira. The lanterns have been blown out so you assume it’s nighttime until you hear the voices again.

“Kuvira, I apologize profusely for my lapse in judgement. I should have known better than to—”

“You’re right. You should have known better and you didn’t. Baatar, I expect nothing but the utmost professionalism from you and now is not the time to make such potentially fatal errors.”

Though you can’t see anything, you clearly envision what poor Baatar’s face must look like: crumpled in defeat and tight with regret. You want to get up and reassure him you’re okay, though you aren’t really sure what happened in the first place.

Instead, you clear your throat and before you can even open your mouth, Kuvira’s voice whispers something rushedly before she bends the door open and steps inside. You expect to see Baatar join her but she enters alone, sliding it shut and preventing anyone else from entering.

“You’re awake,” Kuvira sighs, rushing over to you and kneeling at your side. Her hands hover over your arm, unsure, and it catches you off guard. Kuvira’s self-assurance rarely falters — when it does, it’s a cause for concern.

“I am,” you affirm, attempting a soft grin before you try to push yourself up. As your left arm protests in agony, you realize it’s been bandaged with multiple layers of thick gauze. Kuvira notices your confused expression and her face grows grim.

“What happened?” you ask. Kuvira stares at your arm for a few moments in thick silence, almost as if her capacity to speak had been plucked from her throat the instant you broached the subject.

“There was a damaged piece of armored cable,” she eventually says. “Between the wiring and what little spirit energy was being transmitted from the suit’s core, it was exposed enough to deliver a shock that knocked you out for hours.”

Ah. So that explained the bandaged arm and why everything else seared in a dull, muted ache.

“Hours? That’s better than what I thought,” you joked. “I could’ve sworn I was out for weeks!” You attempt to laugh but Kuvira finally looks up at you and her expression is so grave it effectively shuts down whatever attempt you make to lighten the situation.

“You could have been,” she hisses. “Had you gotten any closer to that damaged material who knows what could have—I don’t know what I—”

“Kuvira,” you interrupt. Her eyes slide shut and she grips the bedsheet tight, closing her fist over the material with a force that would break anything else if it were more solid. You manage to lift yourself up with your good arm and once you’re upright, you press your palm against her cheek.

“I’m okay, really I am,” you reassure her. “It’s probably just some bruising here and there. Plus my arm will be good in no time, you’ll see.”

“I know that, it’s just…” Kuvira’s voice trails off for a few moments before she can continue. She swallows hard and exhales shakily. “I walked in exactly as it happened and...it looked like you were gone. I heard you scream and when you went quiet, your body hit the ground and I could’ve sworn you...you weren’t there anymore.”

“I’m here now, Kuvira,” you murmur, dragging your thumb over her cheekbone in that way she loves but has never actually verbalized. You maintain a slow pace until you feel Kuvira melt into your touch, her features softening.

“I’m right here with you, alright?” you tell her. “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. I’m going to be okay and I promise I’ll be more careful. Now why don’t we go on a walk and maybe grab some tea?”

“No,” Kuvira responds quickly. “You stay here and I’ll bring you whatever you need. Besides, it’s late and you should be resting anyway. We’ll spend the night in the tent and see how you’re feeling tomorrow. Just...wait here.”

She leans forward to press her lips against your temple, staying there for a moment, confirming to herself that you’re really alive, and then breaks away with a reluctant stride. You sigh but smile inwardly, leaning back and hoping you get better soon so Kuvira will feel more at ease.

---

True to form, you recover within the span of a few days from the worst of it all. You take it easy in the days immediately succeeding the accident, even finding some spare time to meet with Baatar and assure him there’s no bad blood. He can’t find it in himself to accept forgiveness, though frankly you don’t blame any of it on him. You make it a point to eat the occasional meal with him when time permits...something you never envisioned doing mere months ago.

Character development indeed.

Though your arm takes longer to heal, you get back to work within three days time, albeit with slightly less mobility. Nevertheless, you approach your assignments with the same level of attention and detail as you would any other time.

However, the one thing that remains the same is Kuvira’s unwillingness to stay away from you for longer than thirty minute intervals.

Ever since the accident, she stays by your side almost nonstop except when she’s called away for business that doesn’t involve you. A hand on your waist when you lift yourself off a chair, her arms circling you as you get out of bed, her fingers guiding you towards an exit when there are too many people nearby.

Today, you’re filing away the last of the latest shipment updates from Yi. You sigh and Kuvira looks up from across the room. “Are you alright? Are you in pain?” she asks worriedly.

You bite your lip with hopes that it’ll stop you from rolling your eyes as you shake your head. “I’m fine, Kuvira,” you respond. “Head’s just feeling loaded from all these files. I think I’m going to close out for the day.”

“Of course. Let me take you to our quarters,” Kuvira replies, shoving away whatever she was working on and making her way towards you. She offers you her hand which you take, not without some exasperation.

“I can get there on my own, you know,” you remind her, hoping you don’t come off as too abrasive. Luckily it seems to go over her head because Kuvira is too preoccupied with making sure your knee doesn’t smash against the desk or that the wall doesn’t touch any other part of your body.

“Of course I know that but I won’t let you,” Kuvira says simply. And with that, she guides you back to the tent with one arm wrapped around your waist, her hand digging softly into your side. The guards look on with a mix of sympathetic glances and the occasional teasing grin. You grimace in response and do your best to ignore them, affronted that they’ve become so bold.

You reach the tent and you aren’t sure what look Kuvira gives the guards because they quickly scramble away (or as good as one can scramble in a bulky mech suit) so she can bend the door open. She steps in first, letting you lean on her arm to lift you up the two steps.

“Here, let’s get you into bed,” she murmurs, leading you towards the mattress and releasing your hand as you sit down.

“Kuvira…” You start to say but something in her face makes you stop. You’re tempted to tell her to ease up, that you’re fine and she’s worrying over nothing but you remind yourself what you would’ve felt in her place. You’ve seen Kuvira come close to death too many times and the thought nearly destroyed you.

So you keep quiet because you know she’s not actually being domineering. You hold her hand between both of yours and bring it to your lips, sliding the glove off so you can press your mouth against her bare skin.

“Don’t leave, Kuvira,” you murmur. “Can you...can you stay with me?”

“Of course,” Kuvira whispers, her face losing some of its tension as she sits to your side. She watches you intently and you can’t tell what she’s looking for. Perhaps some indication of pain? Discomfort?

The tent is quiet for some time and when Kuvira breaks the silence her voice is unusually hesitant. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable lately,” she sighs. You look at her and her expression is unreadable.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“I’m afraid I’ve been rather...overbearing for the past few days. I know you’d never say it outright but I imagine it’s been difficult for you to deal with,” she explains. “I hope you understand why I’ve done it though.”

She adds that last sentence almost as if to reassure herself that her behavior is warranted which, frankly, it absolutely is and it pains you to think she doesn’t believe that.

You press closer to her until your thighs touch, lifting your hand to tilt her face towards yours and cupping your fingers around her jaw.

“Of course I understand, Kuvira. It’s absolutely fine. I can’t expect you to recover from something so frightening in such a short amount of time. I’m sorry if I gave the impression that you had to,” you apologize.

Kuvira exhales sharply and her lips curl into a faint smile. “Never. If anything you’ve been extremely patient for someone who’s had their partner doting on them for almost every waking hour,” she chuckles.

You grin and lean forward until the tip of your nose brushes against Kuvira’s. “Well I can’t say it hasn’t been kind of sweet having the Great Uniter at my beck and call,” you respond slyly.

“But don’t you always?” Kuvira asks, closing the gap between your faces just enough for her lips to nearly graze over your own.

“I suppose you’d think so,” you giggle. “Clearly you’ve been more...zealous as of late, haven’t you?”

Kuvira hums while she slides the other glove off her hand, lifting her fingers until they wrap around the back of your neck. The caress of warm skin produces a thrill that courses all the way down your spine. “May I kiss you?” she whispers and her breath tickles the skin below your ear.

“Please,” you respond, bridging the space that separates you and finally bringing her supple mouth against yours. The kiss is tentative and chaste, so similar to the ones you would share in the early days of your relationship. Kuvira’s hand stays still on your skin, mirroring the carefulness of her mouth, so evidently displaying her anxiety of moving too abruptly for fear of harming you in some way.

So you decide to encourage her further, parting your lips and letting the tip of your tongue playfully brush against hers. Kuvira gasps and jerks backward, her face already tinted a lovely shade of red. It’s an unusual look for her but one that you relish for its rarity.

“What’s the matter? Too much?” you ask. The inquiry comes out sounding much more playful than you’d intended.

“I, um. I guess I didn’t expect that. I thought you would want to take things slow for now,” she elaborates. Kuvira is normally so composed, hyper-aware of every sound and movement she makes especially when she’s being closely observed, which is why you’re pleasantly surprised to see the way her throat clenches as she swallows.

“I’ll take things slow if that’s what you want. Is that what you want, Kuvira?” you ask innocently, lifting your eyebrows and removing your hands from her body. “Do you just want me to kiss you nice and slow...not deeper and harder until you feel your heart pounding against your chest? Not until you start kissing my neck and moving your hand lower and lower...just enough to feel how wet—”

Much to your delight, you’re swiftly cut off when Kuvira seals her mouth over yours again, the force of it strong enough to push you back an inch. You make a pleased sound in your throat and finally throw your arms around her neck, readjusting until you can swing your legs over her thighs and rest upon her lap.

Kuvira’s hands drift mindlessly over your sides, not quite touching but not too far off either. You grow exasperated so you tug on them and wrap them around your hips, grinding downwards so she can feel the growing heat between your legs. How desperately you’ve wanted this for days now.

She moans softly against your mouth and her patience wears thin within moments. Between the havoc you wreak on her lips and the canting motion of your body against her thighs, she eventually cradles you against her arm before placing you onto the mattress on your back.

You gasp in pleasant surprise once she hovers over you. She carries her weight with even greater caution, overly cognizant of potentially pressing down too hard and hurting you.

“What happened to taking it slow?” you tease breathlessly, hovering your fingers over the metal plates on her shoulder. She notices right away and knocks them off with quick work of her hands. They’re tossed onto the ground with a resounding clash.

“I think you should be asking yourself that question,” she responds, leaning down until her lips dance across your neck. “What was that you were mentioning earlier?” she whispers against you, dragging her tongue along the skin that isn’t covered by your uniform.

Your body instantly arches upward, feeling Kuvira’s breasts press against your chest. Between the accident and how busy everything already was before that, it had been weeks since you’ve been with her like this.

Therefore it’s no surprise that your body responds accordingly.

“Now don’t tell me you’ve gone all soft on me,” Kuvira says, pushing away the collar of your uniform and carefully sinking her teeth into the flesh at the base of your neck. You’re at a total loss for words, the sounds and syllables dissipating with each brush of Kuvira’s mouth on your body.

“Because that would be such a shame. I do love it when you make me work for it,” she sighs. Her hands, firm yet careful nonetheless, drift downwards until one rests over your hip. Even through the layers of fabric, her touch produces a sensation like fire that spreads from the point of contact all the way to each bit of muscle and nerve.

“But you also love it when I’m completely at your mercy, don’t you?” you shoot back, rather proud that your voice isn’t as weak as you expected it to be. Kuvira cocks an eyebrow and removes her mouth from your neck. You mourn the loss momentarily but keep going.

“You can’t deny it, Kuvira,” you continue, your eyes widening with glee. “I’ve seen the look in your eyes when you have me all tied up, completely and utterly at your disposal for whatever you desire. Haven’t you missed that? The way I’m completely helpless when you bind me up and all I can do is wait to see what you’ll do next.”

“It sounds like you’ve been thinking about this for some time,” Kuvira exhales, already short of breath.

“Oh I certainly have. And given how you can barely get through an entire sentence without gasping for air, I’d say you’re quite a fan of the prospect yourself,” you murmur.

“Are you sure? You’re not in any pain at all? I don’t want to hurt you,” Kuvira says quietly, the lustful look on her face morphing into one of concern.

You nod assuredly and shyly press your lips to hers again. “Yes, I’m absolutely sure. We’ve got our word, remember? I’ll let you know if I need you to stop.”

Kuvira nods against your touch and moves her hand to the back of your neck once more, this time undoing the buttons that hold the article together and lifting your arms to pull it away. The fabric bunches up around your bandaged forearm and though the gauze isn’t as thick anymore, it’s enough to make you both pause.

You bite back the laughter flooding your mouth and Kuvira looks vaguely irritated. Nevertheless, she approaches the minor hiccup with her usual, unhurried maneuvers until it slides away and you’re only covered by a soft undershirt.

The scars beneath the gauze start throbbing a bit but you manage to keep the worst at bay. It’s nothing too bad — nothing worth paying much attention to.

Kuvira spends the next few moments showering kisses, bites, and caresses over every inch of skin she can reach with her mouth. She takes you apart with slow and intentional movements until all you can do is lay frenzied with desire beneath her ministrations and attempt to hold back the pathetically desperate sounds that fall from your lips.

She begins to lift up the undershirt until it glides over and off your head and falls to the ground, along with the growing heap of Kuvira’s clothes mixed with your own. She keeps your arms high above your head, sliding her fingers over your skin and pauses. When she stops, you realize your eyes have been shut so you snap them open and look down at her impatiently.

“Don’t you worry...I’ve got exactly what you’ve been waiting for,” she murmurs. Kuvira lifts her hands and starts to coil her fingers. You hear the sharp sound of metal sliding against metal and then you see two silver strips emerging from her abandoned uniform. They float menacingly above your bodies, gradually curling into crescent shapes that hover over your wrists.

“I think it’s about time,” Kuvira whispers. Not a moment is wasted between the time she utters those words and the sensation of frigid metal clasping around your wrists, pulling your arms together and holding you down tight.

You’re met with an immediate burst of exhilaration and you ride it for about five seconds before it’s overridden with a growing feeling of discomfort that spreads under your bandages. You do your best to ignore it and instead focus on Kuvira moving downwards until she reaches the hem of your trousers.

“Now let’s see just how much you’ve wanted this,” she purrs against your hip, clipping her teeth over the edge of the fabric and using it to guide her hands as they slide it off. She’s soon met with the throbbing heat nestled between your thighs and you sigh in shameless pleasure.

As delicious as it feels, the pain in your arm only intensifies with each passing moment. You attempt to zero in on Kuvira’s mouth brushing against your bare hip, your thigh, the feeling of her lips hovering over the wet fabric of your underwear. It becomes overwhelming — the tension of wanting more but feeling your arm quiver with increasing pain.

“May I?” Kuvira asks, hooking her finger over the thin fabric and hinting at tearing it off. You murmur a quivering “yes” and hope she can’t sense the discomfort in your voice. She promptly removes them, dragging them down your legs and pressing her face against the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

It’s such an unbearable union of tender and carnal that it makes your body jerk hard against the restraints. The material digs into your injury just enough to make you cry out in distress.

“Silver, Kuvira! Silver,” you grunt through gritted teeth. Kuvira immediately breaks away and bends the metal strips off from your arms. They land on the floor with a harsh sound that makes you flinch.

“What do you need? What should I do?” she asks calmly. It would almost startle you how quickly she manages to shift tonalities but right now, it brings you a comfort you didn’t realize you needed.

“My arm...it-it stings,” you mumble, carrying it down until it rests on your abdomen. “I just need a second. Maybe that healing salve?”

“Of course. Stay still, alright? I’ve kept it in my desk,” Kuvira reassures, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead and leaping off the bed. She throws a spare bed sheet over her body as she strides across the room, shuffling through a drawer until she finds the salve and a sealed green pouch.

She kneels on the bed and slides her arm around your bare back to help lift you up with little pressure. Once you’re upright, she gingerly takes your injured arm between her hands and begins to unfold the gauze.

The skin that emerges is marred with a thin layer of scarred flesh, much less angry than how it appeared just last week. Kuvira uncovers the glass jar and scoops a portion of the salve onto two fingers that she presses against the wound.

It feels awful at first, almost exacerbating the pain, but it gradually melts into a refreshing coolness that numbs the discomfort. You hiss a bit at the beginning and Kuvira lifts her hand away.

“Is it too much?” she murmurs. “I’m not pressing down too hard, am I?”

You shake your head adamantly. “No, not at all,” you respond. “You’re totally fine. Just stung at first. It feels good now, I promise.”

Kuvira nods in understanding, rubbing the last of the substance onto your skin and pulling open the small pouch. She pulls out a long strip of gauze that she untangles and starts folding over your arm, sealing the salve’s properties against the scars.

She moves smoothly, indicative of one who has done this many times before. You wonder how often she had tended to others’ wounds as a guard in Zaofu.

“You’re all set,” she affirms once she ties it all together. She rests her hand over her handiwork, stroking her thumb over the material and looking up at you concernedly. “What else do you need?”

“I hate to say it but I think you were right,” you chuckle. “I think...I just want to sleep now. Do you, uh...do you mind, er—holding me?”

Kuvira’s face brightens even in the darkness of the tent and she nods, guiding your bodies back down to the bed so she can curl her body around yours, mindful of where your injured arm rests. Your legs tangle with hers as Kuvira tugs a thick blanket over your shoulders, bringing you closer to her chest until your forehead touches her collarbone.

The silence is comfortable, soothing. Exactly what you need. But you can’t shake the slight degree of embarrassment that clings to your thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” Kuvira murmurs. “I know you want to...and I understand. I won’t scold you for it but just know you don’t have to. I’m glad you told me. That’s what we do, right? Honesty.”

You nod against her and swallow. “You’re right...I appreciate it,” you respond. And though you don’t exchange any more words for what remains of the evening before you fall asleep, you lose yourself in the calming silence that follows. Kuvira’s hands float up and down your back and your shoulders, guiding you into a dreamless sleep that welcomes you with warmth and safety.

[feysandandnyx]

I really hate the pregnancy plot line, to me it doesn't make any sense. In my opinion, Rhysand is being mischaracterized by hiding Feyre's pregnancy risk. However, I think Sarah's intention was to show that Rhysand is being severely affected by Feyre's pregnancy, including his ability to judge or think. Basically, he's more overprotective than usual. Rhysand all the time tries to keep Feyre safe and hassle-free. He's not making it easy for anyone, not even himself.

"Did you really need to give Nesta that death glare earlier?" He sat up, the soul of innocence. "I don't know what you're talk about, Feyre darling" - "I'd never do such a thing. You must be thinking of your other mate." 'Yes, the cruel, overprotective, half-insane one" (acosf - Sarah. K. Maas)

"You have a pregnant mate, Rhys. You’ll kill anyone that presents a threat to Feyre. You’re a danger to all of us right now". "I’d never harm someone Feyre loves. You know that." There was enough tension in the words that Cassian clapped his brother on the shoulder, squeezing the hard muscle beneath. (ACOSF - sjm)

Tonight also served another purpose: to tell the world of Feyre’s pregnancy. She wore a dress of sparkling black panels, muchlike the one she’d first worn here—and it did nothing to hide her swelling belly. No, it showed off her pregnant womb, gleaming in the candlelight. Rhys’s face was a portrait of smug, male pride. Cassian knew he’d shred anyone who so much as blinked wrong at Feyre into a million bloody ribbons. Indeed, cold violence rippled off Rhys as they walked toward the dais, Feyre’s babyrich scent filling the air. (Acosf - Sarah J. maas)

Rhysand is being a danger to himself because he can't stand the idea of ​​hurting Feyre.

“Because I can’t bring myself to give her that fear. To take away one bit of the joy in her eyes every time she puts a hand on her belly.” His voice shook. “It is fucking eating me alive, this terror. I keep myself busy, but … there is no one to bargain with for her life, in the amount of wealth to buy it, nothing that I can do to save her.” (Acosf - Sarah J. Maas)

The secret seems to arise from the need to keep Feyre safe:

Amren threw a withering glare in Nesta’s direction, but said, “We did not wish to alarm you. Fear can be as deadly as any physical threat.” (acosf - Sarah J. maas)

But Rhysand is overreacting, because he's more overprotective than usual:

Rhysand overreacted. He completely and utterly overreacted. Cassian shook his head, though Feyre couldn’t see it. I’m sorry you had to learn of it. I’m not. I’m furious with all of you. I understand why you didn’t tell me, but I’m furious. (Acosf - Sarah J. Maas)

“I think Eris is our ally, and will expect to dance with a lady of this court at the ball no matter what. I won’t let Feyre within five feet of him, Mor might kill him, and Amren is more likely to scare him off than win him over, so you and Elain are the only options.”“Elain doesn’t go near him,” Feyre said. “And you won’t let me near him?” Rhys threw her a charming smile. “You know what I mean.” Feyre rolled her eyes. “You’re becoming insufferable.” (Acosf - Sarah J. Maas)

Let's remember that alongside Feyre's pregnancy there is the possibility of war on the horizon and during ACOMAF Rhys was saying this:

“If I am a High Lord’s mate, I’m expected to bear you offspring, aren’t I? So perhaps I shouldn’t.”“You are not expected to bear me anything,” he snarled. “Children are rare, yes. So rare, and so precious. But I don’t want you to have them unless you want to—unless we both want to. And right now, with this war coming, with Hybern … I’ll admit that I’m terrified at the thought of my mate being pregnant with so many enemies around us. I’m terrified of what I might do if you’re pregnant and threatened. Or harmed.Something tight in my chest eased, even as a chill went down my back as I considered that power, that rage I’d seen at the Night Court, unleashed upon the earth.” (Acomaf - Sarah J. Maas)

There is no part of the book that says Rhysand wouldn't tell Feyre the truth. This is what Nesta is saying but 1) she knew how Rhysand was feeling 2) she knew he was looking for a way to save Feyre

“Is Feyre distraught?” “She doesn't know the full scope of it. In this she willed herself to settle the fear by leaching through her. "And Rhys needed to fight out his fear." "Yes. Along with his guilt and pain." (Acosf - Sarah J. Maas)

And Feyre is saying this about his relationship with Rhysand:

I knew he was hedging, and I let it slide. I'd learned that Rhys would tell me what was bothering him when he was good and ready.

It had always been part of our friendship: to give each other the space to decide when we were ready to talk. (Acosf - Sarah J. Maas)

Perhaps that explains why Feyre forgave Rhysand too quickly and she isn't calling him Tamlin 2.0.

No one is considering that Feyre could have an abortion (it's like there's no such option since it's not mentioned) and Madja was the one who forbade Feyre to do shape-shifting.

“Madja has put a ban on any more shape-shifting. She says that to alter Feyre’s body in any way right now could put the baby at risk. On the chance that it could be bad for the baby, Feyre is forbidden to so much as change the color of her hair until after the birth.” (Acosf - Sarah J. Maas)

Even if Feyre chose to make a shapeshift (which she doesn't), nothing could guarantee that she would miscarry or that the fetus wouldn't be deformed or anything like that.

So why is Rhysand controlling Feyre's body? Why can't he, as a parent, be worried about Feyre and the baby's life? Of course Feyre deserved to know, it was her right as well as Rhysand's. But why does he appear like a monster in some speeches? I believe that Sarah failed in this construction, especially when she does not write clear dialogue and leaves things for the reader to guess and this allows anyone to have their own interpretation of the subject. She could have written a dialogue between Feyre and Cassian where these things would have been clear. Feyre could have been talking through Cassian what it was like to kick Rhysand for that. I mean, does Cassian have time to wish Rhysand the same happiness but not to give depth to him or Feyre through his point of view?

Dialogues serve to clarify developments and contain damages. This should be taken into account, especially when you're writing a book where the main point of view doesn't favor the IC for a considerable part of the narrative.

[ignorantarmiesclashbynight]

Whumptober 2021 Day 15: feed a cold, starve a fever | delirium | fever dreams

He’s hunched over the saddle, fingers loose in the horse’s mane, every breath a struggle. He can just make out the path ahead, dim in the moonlight, blurred with pain. No idea where he is; how long he was on the back of an O’Driscoll horse; how long he’s been hanging in that cellar.

All he knows is that he has to get back, has to warn the others. Warn Dutch.  

He leans along the mare’s neck, unable to keep his head up any more. She nickers in curiosity and concern and he runs a soothing hand down her side. His best girl. His Boudicea. No, not Bo. She’s gone. Long time gone. This one’s younger, a little less footsure, but he trusts her just the same. She seems to understand he’s not able to do much more than loop the reins around his wrists and stay in the saddle as best he can. It's all up to her now.

C’mon girl… Get me home…

* * *

The miles drift in and out. The air is cool but his skin is burning hot. Every step jars through his bones, flares in his shoulder, but he knows he can’t stop. Doesn’t even have the strength to pull on the reins. Has to keep going, through this endless purgatory of a night. He can’t remember where he is or why. Can’t remember a time when his world wasn’t made up of all-consuming pain. All he knows is they’re coming for him. For Dutch. For everyone. Even little Jack.

Piecemeal memories sweep over him like waves.

A beach. A string of flowers. Catching fish with Isaac. No, not Isaac. Long gone, just like Bo.

That man, Milton, whose face he’d like to put a bullet through, talking about loyalty.

Dutch, through a rifle scope. Relying on him. With you watching over me I would walk into hell itself.

And maybe that’s where he is now. It’s hot enough to be hell. The relentless thud of hoof beats like a hammer against the base of his skull. He shivers closer into the horse’s back and thinks maybe he should try to pray but he’s forgotten how.

* * *

The scent of sage and oregano. The soft swish of trees above him. A trail so familiar it brings a lump to his throat. They’ve been through so many camps lately he’s not even sure which one it is, but he can see the wagons and smell the fire smoke and hear the soft murmur of conversation and the word home sinks into him like a warm bath.

His horse stops just short. She knows she’s not allowed past the hitch posts and she’s done her part. He whispers his thanks to her, his head swaying on his neck. The camp wavers like a mirage and he can’t raise enough of a voice to shout with. He can see his tent from here—it's not far, just a few dozen steps. He slips sideways out of the saddle and the ground rushes up to meet him.

Stars above him. Earth at his back. Anxious faces looking down at him, calling his name. His eyes won’t focus right, limbs won’t move. But he has something he needs to do, something he needs to say, before he passes out.

“Arthur?”

Dutch. Get back to Dutch. Warn him. Tell him about… about what?

Hosea sitting at the table, barely looking up from his book. “It’s a trap…”

“I told you it was a set-up, Dutch…” he mumbles.

“My boy... My dear boy. What?”

A rifle butt slamming into his face. The barrel of a gun, pressed against his shoulder. An explosion of pain and noise and then darkness.

“They got me… But I… I got away…”

Dutch’s hand on his forehead, cool against the blazing heat of his skin. “Yeah. That you did.”

Colm laughing at him, dangling him like a fish on a hook, poking at him with a spoon. “Sepsis. Ain’t nice…”

“He was gonna set the law on us…”

“Of course he was.” Dutch, always so sure, even when he’s wrong.

They haul him up to sitting and his vision flickers like candlelight. His shoulder feels full of splintered glass.

Voices he knows. Family. Gentle hands. Worried tones.

“Miss Grimshaw, I need help! Reverend Swanson!”

“I’m sorry, Arthur.”

“Let’s get him to bed.”

Dutch, at his side, holding him up, and lying all the while. “You are safe now, Arthur. You’re safe now.”

He falls into his own bunk with a gritty laugh. “That’s pretty, Dutch. That’s real pretty…”

The darkness swamps him, heavier with every heartbeat. He’s drowning in it, a thread of light trailing off into the distance, too far away to reach, too fast to grab onto.

Someone takes hold of his hand, anchoring him back to earth. Miss Grimshaw, her voice softer than usual but still not to be argued with. “You’ll be okay, Mr Morgan. You’re home.”

He wants to believe her. He doesn’t have the strength to fight it anyway.

The light blinks out. He lets go.

* * *

He wouldn't call it sleep but he dreams, nonetheless. Dreams of a silver-eyed wolf. A golden stag. Not quite asleep but unable to claw his way out of the mist.

Everything hurts, right down to the bone. The heat peels off him in waves, leaving him shuddering a moment later. There’s poison in his shoulder, seeping through his blood, through his muscles, like tiny needles.

There’s someone different at his bedside each time he opens his eyes. He calls out for Dutch, tries to sit up, but they press him back down, every touch a bruise on his tender skin.

He dreams of hanging—by his feet, by his neck—swinging in a burning breeze, the world on fire.

When he wakes, he calls for Dutch. Sometimes he’s there. Sometimes not. Sometimes daytime, sometimes night. Once, the reverend, reading words for a dying man. A woman, crying over him. He thinks it might be his mother. Or Mary, maybe. But no… they’re long gone, too, just like all the others. Everyone leaves him in the end.

He dreams of a gunshot ripping through him, over and over. He tries to fight back but they hold him down. Tries to dodge but there's no escape. The bullet slams into him and he wakes gasping.

Someone reopens the wound in his shoulder with a hot knife. Scours it with alcohol. Sews it shut again. They lash him to the bunk, two of them holding his legs, another leaning across his chest. Put a leather strap between his teeth to stifle the screaming.

The pain wins. Sends him back into darkness.

He wakes and calls for Dutch.

A squeeze of his fingers. “I’m here, my boy. I’m right here.”

He dreams of a still lake at the foot of a snowy mountain. Dusk or dawn, he’s not sure which. The sky is pink and full. He’s floating in the ice, numb and weightless. His heart slowing, beat by beat. His breathing shallow, barely a whisper.

And he thinks perhaps he could stay here forever, where the pain can’t find him any more. Where everything just stops. Just… let go.

But there’s something at the back of his mind. Something he still has to do. That golden thread, snaking off into the darkness, urging him to follow.

Dutch. Get back to Dutch.

And he’s never been able to disobey.

* * * 

He wakes to a grey sky; the gentle sound of rain on canvas. The clouds filling his head are starting to clear; his senses returning. Birdsong. The gentle lapping of water on the shore. The crackle of fire. A laugh and a barking dog. The turn of a page.

Hosea sits at his side, quiet and still, a book in his lap. His eyes soften when he sees Arthur watching. “There you are.”

“Where’ve I been?” he whispers, paper-thin.

Hosea gives him a faint smile. “You almost strayed too far, Arthur. But you’re back now. We’ve got you. Just rest.”

And this time he believes it. They’re not the same kind of pretty words that come out of Dutch. These ones feel true. The same way Grimshaw says home.

He feels Hosea take his hand. Didn’t even realise his eyes had fallen closed again. And this time he sleeps—really sleeps—deep and dark, without a dream.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Blessed Are The Peacemakers - it had to be done. Planning on making the next prompt a follow-on from this so gimme your headcanons on those two weeks of recovery.

Also on AO3! Requests more than welcome (prompt list is here)

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Sheltered By Memories

Summary: The night after the Promised Day, there’s a thunderstorm. 

Ed hates thunderstorms. 

He can’t exactly wake Al to keep him company through it, not when he’s only just able to sleep again.

But Hohenheim’s awake, and as the weather rages outside, Ed and his father begin to tentatively rebuild the bridge between them, starting with memories of a similar storm many years ago. 

Rated: G

Sheltered by Memories

One would have expected the night after an event as momentous as the Promised Day to be clear and still, with the stars shining brightly and a big full moon. Ed knows that he can’t hope for a full moon since it was an eclipse today, but he can still be utterly furious that he’s woken up in the middle of the night to find that it’s hammering down with rain and howling a gale, with lightning flashing across the sky every five seconds and thunder rolling loud enough to wake the dead.

Ed curls up, pulling the thin hospital blanket over this head in a futile attempt to block out the storm. Across the room, Al is sleeping peacefully, undisturbed by the weather outside. Ed feels a pang of something he can’t quite define. Al’s never been bothered by thunderstorms. Even when they were little kids, Al was always at ease with the weather, never flinching or cringing at the bangs and crashes and flashes. 

Al never normally sleeps through storms, though. Even back before the armour, he would always stay awake with Ed if there was a storm.

Ed can’t wake him now though. Not when he’s been unable to sleep for so long and now he finally can.

“Edward?”

Ed peers out of the blankets and as the next flash of lightning plunges the room into brightness again, he sees Hohenheim sitting in the chair at the foot of Al’s bed. 

“Hohenheim? How long have you been here?”

“I’ve been here the whole time, you just weren’t awake.”

“Oh.” Ed’s not exactly surprised. After the adrenaline of the final battle with Father and that final trip to the Gate to get Al back had worn off, he’d all but collapsed. He has a vague memory of Hohenheim catching him before he hit the ground, and the haziness of waking up in this bed a few times before the thunder started and woke him properly. He thinks he can be forgiven for not paying attention. 

Hohenheim gets up and comes across to perch on the edge of Ed’s bed. 

“Your mother hated storms too,” he says. “I remember the big storm of ‘02. Al slept right through it and the rest of us had a terrible night.”

It’s jarring to hear Hohenheim talk about events from Ed’s childhood that Ed himself can’t remember. He missed so much of their lives that it’s easy to think that he wasn’t paying any attention to any of it, and easy to forget that he was there until Ed was five, however much he might have stayed in the background. 

That said, now that he’s mentioned it, Ed does have a vague memory of being three years old on a night like this one, and tiptoeing into his parents’ bedroom because the light was on. He remembers Mom curled up tight against Dad (because he was still Dad back then, he hadn’t left yet and lost the right to that name), her fists pulling his undershirt out of shape and mangling it more with every flash of lightning. He remembers crawling into bed with them and Dad pulling him in close, one arm around Ed and one around Mom, keeping both of them safe from the storm. 

“I forgot Mom was scared of lightning.” He feels bad about it. How could he have forgotten something like that? He tries to reason with himself - it’s been ten years since she died, he was so young, Resembool so rarely gets thunderstorms like this one - but he still feels a gnawing guilt at having forgotten something about Mom.

“It’s all right. Trisha was always so brave and strong. It’s hard to believe she was ever scared of anything.”

The lightning flashes again, illuminating Hohenheim’s face. He’s off in the middle distance, deep in memories of Mom, but he’s there, and against all the odds, Ed feels safe. His heart is still leaping to his mouth with every roiling rumble of thunder, but he’s not alone, and Hohenheim doesn’t mock his fear. 

Strange. Just as he can’t really believe Mom was ever scared of anything, he can’t really imagine Hohenheim being scared of anything either. Maybe it’s because he was always so distant, always concentrating on something else. The only emotion Ed can remember on him from his childhood is frowning.

“What are you scared of?” he asks presently. 

Hohenheim doesn’t answer for a long time.

“My worst fear came true,” he says eventually. “So I don’t think I’m scared of anything now. I lost you and Al and your mother. I think that was always what I was most scared of.”

There’s a kind of catharsis in hearing him admit that. He and Ed and Al are all in the same room and all three of them are alive and comparatively well, but he still admits that he’s lost them, that he messed up royally when he left. Even though Ed now understands why he did it and why he didn’t really have another choice, that he would definitely have lost them all if he hadn’t done anything, it still soothes the sting of it all. 

“Did Mom know?” Ed asks. “About the souls, and Father, and the Promised Day and everything?”

Hohenheim nods. “Not all of it. She knew about the souls. I didn’t think it was entirely courteous to start a relationship without her knowing about the several thousand voices in my head. She knew I was immortal. That’s why we made that promise; that I’d find a way to get back to normal and she’d outlive me. She knew about Homunculus, because I’d told her the story of how I got this way. I didn’t tell her about the Promised Day and why I had to leave. She knew I had to do something that only I could do, but I didn’t want to worry her with the scope of it.”

“She always believed you were coming back. Even right at the end.”

“I always was coming back.” The lightning flashes, and Hohenheim’s eyes look old, every one of those four hundred odd years showing in his expression. “I didn’t realise I would be gone for so long, but I was always going to come back. I dared to hope that once it was all over, we could have a normal life and not need to worry about anything again.”

Outside, the storm continues to rage, and Hohenheim continues to watch it calmly, just taking it in.

“I think it’s fitting that it’s storming tonight,” he says. “Washing away the old, getting rid of it all in one big rumbling explosion. Nature’s last act of violence to drown out the violence of the old world and make way for something new and peaceful. There’s always sun after a storm.”

Ed huffs, pulling the blankets up again. “There’d better be.”

Hohenheim smiles. “There will be.”

Ed closes his eyes, the bright flashes and sudden cracks of thunder no longer making him shiver. Even as he’s drifting off, he can feel that Hohenheim’s still sitting on the bed, still watching the storm. 

Still there. 

X

The sky is bright blue and sunny without a cloud in it when Ed wakes up. The birds are singing and the dissonance from the previous night is almost mocking. Still, the storm is over, and the rest of their lives can now begin in calmness, just as Hohenheim said last night. 

Ed sits up, looking around. Al is still asleep, and Hohenheim is nowhere to be found, but Izumi is sitting in the chair. She gives him a tired smile. 

“Hey Ed.”

“Hi, Teacher. Where’d Hohenheim go?”

“The men’s room. And I think he’s probably searching for coffee as well.”

“Oh.” It’s such a mundane explanation for his absence and Ed has no idea why he was expecting something more weird and wonderful other than the fact his father seems to be a magnet for the weird and wonderful.

Ed is prevented from any further contemplation by the sound of Al yawning from the other bed. He scrunches his face up before he opens his eyes, and Ed’s missed that goofy expression so much. 

“Hey. Welcome back.”

“Hey.” Al looks over at Ed, and then at Izumi. “Hi Teacher.”

“Hey Al.”

“Was there a storm last night? I think I remember hearing thunder at one point.”

Ed laughs. “Yeah, it was ridiculous. I’m amazed you slept through it. Guess you really needed a nap, huh.”

“Yeah. I hadn’t realised how much I enjoy sleeping.” Al stretches out his thin arms and looks over at Ed again. “You could have woken me. I wouldn’t have minded.”

Ed shakes his head. “I think the nurses would probably have minded. You need all the sleep you can get to get your strength back. I was ok. Da-- Hohenheim was here.”

Al quirks an eyebrow at the slip but doesn’t say anything, and it’s another expression that Ed’s missed. He’s always known when Al’s making that face, even in the armour, there’s something in his silence that Ed knows equates to that little quirk, but at the same time, it’s so good to finally see it again. 

There’s a knock on the door and Sig and Hohenheim come in bearing coffee, handing off a mug each to Izumi and Ed. 

Hohenheim smiles on seeing Al awake. 

“Good morning Al. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thanks. Honestly just any sleep is amazing right now.”

“We did check with the nurses but no coffee for Al,” Sig adds. “It’s good to see you awake, kid.” 

“That’s ok.” Al waves the arm with the IV line in. “Probably for the best right now.”

Ed just sits quietly, sipping his coffee, watching them all. It’s going to be strange now; his life has been completely turned on its head, but he knows that no matter what, he’s got Al to see him through it, and it seems like Hohenheim’s going to stick around. Maybe before Ed wouldn’t have wanted him to; they’ve got this far without him, they don’t need him going forward. But this is a time for new beginnings, and maybe a time for his feelings finally beginning to thaw, now that he knows Hohenheim takes that responsibility that has so long lain on Ed’s shoulders, now that he’s taking back that burden that has been Ed’s to bear alone for so long. 

It doesn’t undo everything that’s already been done and suffered; those memories will always be there and will always be painful. 

But it’s a start, and that’s all they need.

[what-the--curtains]

Alliance

Chapter 3 - The Revelation

(Mando x f!reader)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summary: After agreeing to help the Mandalorian, you land on Tatooine. Joined by an old friend the three of you locate a potential informant and a secret is revealed.

Notes: everytime I get a lil notification sayong someone has liked this post my heart gets so full so thank you all❤️❤️ I hope you continue to enjoy the story as much as I enjoy writing it!

Tw: Mentions of Alcohol/blood, Swearing

Tagged: @crazycookiecrumbles

Word count: 3.2k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

R-16, Geonosis, Outer Rim Territories

Your POV

“Pretty swanky” you say, taking note of the Mandalorians newly acquired ship “who’d you steal this off of.”

He boards it stopping at the top when he realizes you hadn’t followed him up. “Are you coming? They’ll notice you’re missing soon. Your client didn’t look like the kind of guy to last a whole night.”

“How do I know you’re not going to sell me off again?” you ask, currently rethinking this whole situation.

“ If that’s what I was here to do that, you’d be handcuffed already”

“Really? Because if I remember correctly had it not been for your counterpart hitting me in the head last time, you’d have been on your way back empty handed.” He shakes his helmet evidently getting aggravated.

“Where is she by the way?” you ask.

“We don’t have time for this.” he interjects, walking back down and grabbing you by the arm. You shake free “I’m not going anywhere with you if you’re going to treat me like a prisoner.” A clatter from up above draws you attention away from the conversation at hand. “You sure the kid’s not just roaming around upstairs.”

“Wait here” he exhales, disappearing briefly before returning with an unmistakable bundle.

“Anya!” you exclaim under your breath, eyes lighting up. “Impossible” you whisper as the small creature wriggles out of Mandos' arms and rushes towards you. “How?” you ask looking up. “Answer me Mandalorian” .

“The child” he responds “he brought it back to life. What?” he asks, noticing your forehead wrinkle in confusion.

“Nothing, I just thought the only people that could do that were long gone.” Perhaps you owed this child more than just a thank you for saving Anya. If he was able to give life he too was able to wield the force, your grandmother would not be happy if you left a Jedi in the arms of the empire. Knowing this you climb onto the ship with Anya.

“They’ll be a bounty on me now.” You state, sitting down in the co-pilot seat.

“Welcome to the club,” he says, jumping the ship into hyperspace.

“Let’s get a few things straight. I now understand why you traded me, and why this child must be returned safely, but do not get me wrong, we are not friends, I do not forgive you and I definitely do not trust you. I am here to repay a debt. Once I have we go our separate ways, and I never have to see beskar ever again. Got it?” He nods shifting into auto-pilot. “Good. There a shower on this thing?” you ask, your smell becoming increasingly offensive.

“Downstairs to the right.” You drop down scoping out the ship, not too shabby. You hear a clang, turning around to face the Mandalorian.

“What?” you say, concerned he’d caught you snooping.

“Here” he says, handing you a set of clothes, “should fit.” You take them, but he doesn’t move, and he’s blocking the door to the shower.

“What are you waiting for? A kiss?” You ask as you push by him into the bathroom having flustered him enough to knock him off balance. Closing the door you breathe a sigh of relief, as you lock it behind you. You get into the shower letting the water hit your face and run slowly down your body. It’s not warm, but it’s better water pressure than you’ve had in months. Looking down you see a puddle of burgundy pooling at your feet, caused by the admixture of blood, makeup and various other fluids currently coating your body. You rinse the blood and guts out of your hair scrubbing at that which had been there long enough to crust over. You wince in pain when you brush up against an old scar that must have reopened in the fight earlier today, oh well, you think, it will heal. The various wounds on your body were proof of that. After about a month of being in the rings you stopped bruising, but scarring was still a part of day to day life. They covered the markings and tattoos scattered across what was once smooth skin. Turning off the water, you step out of the shower and dry off before pulling on the black pants and long sleeve provided to you. Walking back up to the cockpit and placing Anya onto the seat you lean over the dashboard.

“Where are we going.” you ask. No reply. “Hey beskar head I asked you a question.” You say not realizing he had been staring at you. He points at the tracker sitting on the dash. “On another hunt?”

“ This was on the guy who sold me and the kid out, started beeping again while you were showering.”

“You gonna give me my weapons back?” you inquire, unsure of what the plan was.

“Still downstairs, I couldn't sell them. No one wanted them” he says locking in the coordinates and beginning his landing.

“Well I guess I was wrong Mandalorians can’t tell jokes after all. Where are we by the way”

“Tatooine home of the moisture farmers, and not the nice part”

“Think they’d choose a wetter planet to farm moisture” you say, looking out at the planet's arid landscape through the windshield. The two of you exit the cockpit and head towards the armoury.

“Careful” he says, as you reach your hand in.

“I just spent several months in combat I think I’ll be fine” you say sarcastically. You reach into the armoury, quickly pulling your hand back when the security system zaps you. “Fuck” you say bringing your hand to your mouth, as he turns off the protection. “Shut up”

“I didn’t say anything”

“But you were thinking it. So same goes.” You remove a bow and arrow, quickly realizing they weren't your originals.

“Real ones were lost in the incident, picked these up on the way to get you” he says leaning forward and removing the Anbam sniper rifle and standard issue blaster.

Anya follows the two of you out of the ship burying her nose into the sand pulling out a large bone. The Mandalorian was a man of few words so you have no idea where you were going, or what the plan was, but you were happy for the peace. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been in complete silence.

“Well, well, well.” A voice echoes. You draw your bow and the Mandalorian unholsters his blaster.

“Didn’t think you’d be back so soon and with someone so pretty.” the voice says as a figure of a tall man appears from behind a large sandstone.

“Cobb” the Mandalorian says, lowering his blaster

“Mando!” The older gentleman exclaims locking arms with the somewhat reluctant Mandalorian. You keep your bow aimed, as Anya approaches him sniffing his boots.

“And who might this be?” he asks looking at you while bending down to pet the critter.

“Ask her yourself.” Mando says, almost annoyed. Cobb was handsome, more so than most which makes you almost immediately untrusting of him. Anya seems to have taken a liking to him though so you drop the hostility for now. You lower your weapon and take his extended hand. “Cobb Vanth, i'm the marshal round these parts, Nice to meet you” he says

“y/n, and likewise” you respond, pulling your hand back.

“Where’s the kid?” Vanth asks and you see the Mandalorians' demeanor change guilt radiating off him.

“He’s gone, we're trying to find him. She’s a tracker” he says, pointing to you.

You look over at the Mandalorian, how did he know that? The two men walk in front of you, discussing the events that had unfolded a few days prior. As you make your way into the town you find yourself relaxing slightly. None of the locals looked like the kind to recognize you.

“Glad to see things have picked up since I was last here.”

“Well Mando, turns out less giant snakes makes for happier people.” Cobb says

“Funny how that works”

“C’mon, you look hungry and like you need a few drinks,” the Marshal says with a smile. “Might just run into your bounty if we’re lucky.” He throws two fingers up at the bartender, as you enter, leads you to a nearby empty booth. You thank the bartender as he brings out the food and drink.

“So who are we looking for.” The Marshal asks

“Ugly guy” Mando starts

“Well that narrows it down” you mutter earning a chuckle from the Marshal. Before he can continue describing the guy, the tracker starts to beep more consistently.

“Must be your lucky day” the marshal says coolly as an Aqualish enters into the establishment, tusks and all.

“Put your hood up” you say to the Mandalorian “he’ll recognize the armour, switch seats with me.” He obliges, pulling up the hood of his cloak as you shift over top of him so his back is now facing the door and you're sat between him and the Marshal.

“Alright looks like we’re in need of a plan” Cobb says.

“Give me 20 minutes with it, I’ll get the information” you say standing up.

“No way. Not happening. If this falls through you’re our only shot at finding the kid.” The Mandalorian says tugging you down by the back of your shirt, much to your dismay.

“Well there's always option B.” you say, pausing for a moment “you get up and he runs a mile then we're really gonna be screwed.” Seemingly having convinced the Mandalorian you were capable of getting the information needed, he agrees.

“Fine. 20 minutes, then we're coming after you.” He says. You stand up passing by the marshal and make your way over to the bar.

Mandos POV

He watches you head over, scanning the crowd for any potential threats. Even cloaked you stood out, and the odds of someone recognizing an ex-gladiator was high, especially one as successful as you. He tenses up when a Nikto approaches you. His hand subtly moves to the blaster, but not so subtly that it didn’t catch the marshals attention.

“You should relax Mando, it seems like she’s got it under control.” he says, nodding his head in your direction . He turns seeing you utter a few words to the Nikto causing it to continue on seemingly in a trance. His hand eases off the blaster and he relaxes back into his seat.

“Awfully protective” Cobb says, the Mandalorian ignores this comment, of course he was being protective, he needed you to find the child. He’s pulled out of his thoughts by a glass being dropped off at the table. Cobb throws his hand up nodding to you in thanks, the target had been acquired.

“So, where’d ya find her?” he asks, taking a sip of the drink.

“Long story.”

“Well we have twenty minutes.”

“Traded her for the child a while back she was fighting in a gladiatorial ring until about 25 hours ago.” He says as Anya settles down on the Marshal lap.

“This is quite the creature.”

“The kid saved it.”

“So that’s why she’s hanging around with your homely helmeted ass. Seriously, she looks like a fallen star.” Cobb pauses looking to his friend “Ahhh, but you’ve already noticed.” With no response the Marshal continues “Well if there’s nothing there then I’m in luck.” The helmet turns ,“A joke Mando, a joke.” The Marshal says lifting his hands up. Before he can respond the Mandalorian feels something bump against his shoulder causing him to look up just in time to see you pass by with the target in pursuit. As he watches him exit the bar he catches a glint of a small sphere, a bomb.

“dank farrik” he says, standing up and moving through the bar in pursuit.

“What happened to twenty minutes?” the Marshal shouts after him.

Your POV.

“Thanks for the drink sweetheart” the Aqualish says as you turn around, this was not your first time dealing with one, but you did hope it would be your last.

“If you’re looking to repay the favour you may be able to help me find something, I believe you’ve come across. A child. Small, green, big ears.”

The Aqualish laughs reaching its hand back for the bomb. Using the force you stay his hand a few inches away from the weapon.

“Answer me, before my patience wears thin.” You say. Patience, already wearing thin.

“Look lady I was hoping for some fun, let me go and no one has to get hurt.”

“You’re not in much of a potion to be negotiating.” You say. The unmistakable sound of a blaster going off suddenly echoes and you feel something cold and wet hit your face. You look up as the Aqualish drops to the floor standing behind him you see the Mandalorian.

“Seriously!” You say angrily, wiping the residue out of your face.

“It had a bomb.”

“I know I had it under control. Clean this up you say” pushing past him.

“Why do I…” he starts,

“Because…” you say turning on your heel to face him, “if we had done things my way there wouldn’t have been a mess to clean up at all.” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the air, before returning to the bar.

You slump down in the booth next to the Marshal.

“How long did you put up with him for before you lost it?”

“Went well I take it.” He says offering you the remainder of his drink.

“Could have, if someone had just showed a modicum of trust.” You say taking a swig of the blue liquid.

“Seems like he trusts easy. He trusts you enough to ask for your help.”

“He doesn't trust me he needs my help, there's a distinct difference.” You say downing the rest of the drink causing Cobb to raise his eyebrows slightly opting to change the course of the conversation.

“Well I have to say you are just about the prettiest thing to show up here.” You roll your eyes, it wasn’t the first time you’d heard that. Despite this you find yourself smiling Cobb was quite charming after all.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on her, she doesn’t usually take to strangers.” You say moving in to scratch behind Anya’s ears.

“Got a way with all living things, though I find humans easier than animals.” He laughs.

“Well I’m sure that has something to do with your charm and face” you say. He’s about to respond when you both see a flash of armour leave the bar.

“Guess we’re leaving” He says offering you a hand, you take it and exit in pursuit of the Mandalorian.

“Mando!” the Marshal calls after him.

“Don’t leave on my account. I’ll be on the ship. If you’re not back by morning I'll find the child on my own.” he says continuing on his way.

“Oh don’t be jealous Mando we were just talking.” Cobb, says not making the situation any better.

Assuming you couldn’t piss him off anymore than he already was you pick up a stray rock and throw it at him. It hits the back of the helmet causing him to stop and turn around.

“Nice shot” the Cobb whispers to you looking impressed.

“Thanks” you say walking over to the Mandalorian.

“You okay Mandalorian?” you ask

“We should be looking for the kid not relaxing in a bar.”

“You’re not the only one who owes this child something, and don’t act like this wasn’t the first moment of freedom I’ve enjoyed in months.” with no reply you continue “What now? You killed our last lead.”

“I don’t know that’s why you’re here to figure it out.” He says sharply, the two of you now staring each other down.

“Well that’s my cue, Mando, always a pleasure, (y/n) lovely to meet you, if you’re ever looking for work I’m always in need of a deputy.” Cobb says, patting Anya on the head and heading off back towards town. You interrupt your glaring contest and wave goodbye to the Marshal. Having calmed down slightly, you turn back to the Mandalorian.

“Do you have something of his?”

“What?” the voice asks, even with the modulator you could tell he was frustrated.

“Of the child’s anything belonging to him?” you say suddenly feeling equally as irritated.

“It all went up…wait.” he says reaching into his pocket pulling something small and silver out.

“A toy of his” He says. You stick your hand out and he drops the small silver ball into your hand. As it makes contact with your skin you feel the emotion enveloping it. He cares greatly for this child, perhaps you had misjudged the Mandalorian. With this in mind you begin to gather stray stones placing them in a pattern on the ground using a nearby stick to trace lines in the sand.

“Are you going to summon him or something?” He asks.

“Not a witch.” you reply unsure if he’s joking or not.

You close your eyes, breathing deeply. The Mandalorian watches in awe as the rocks and sand begin to rise recreating a map of the galaxy. You open your eyes and walk over to Anya, bending down, you offer her the small metal ball which she sniffs. She begins circling the base of the galaxy stopping on the outer rim. Pulling more rocks forward you create a series of steps which Anya begins to ascend, sniffing the planets in front of her. She stops, sitting down so as to indicate she had located the scent.

“You know where that is?” you ask, looking up at the T visor which was still fixed on the map you had created. He hadn’t said anything in a while not that he ever really did, but you’d asked a question and needed an answer.

“Anyone home” you say, lifting your hand to knock on the helmet. He grabs your wrist before you can.

“No, I don’t, but I can get us there.” He says, gently releasing you. You drop the map to the floor leaving a small cloud of dust in its wake as you re-enter the ship.

“I hope you appreciate the delicacy of what I just did and the possible danger I’ve put us in.” You say, taking your seat, hoping you had made the correct choice in trusting him.

“How long have you known? That you have powers?” He asks, you smile at his choice of words.

“Since I was a child. My grandmother trained me in the way of the Jedi until she passed.”

“I’m sorry.” He says as he takes off.

“For what? you didn’t kill her.” After a prolonged period of silence you speak again. “I trust you’ll keep this between us, man of few words and all if it was to get out I'd take it very personally.” Taking his silence as understanding you breath a sign of relief. Leaning back you settle in for the upcoming journey.

[cordsycords]

la by night: a series retrospective

I am continuously surprised by the power of storytelling. A well-told story can mean many things to many different people. Stories bring joy and pain, catharsis and release, a temporary reprieve from the struggle of everyday life, and, if we're lucky enough, stories can even create entire communities. In my mind, that is when they can become truly magical.

It's hard to believe that I started watching LA By Night almost three years ago today. It's been a long time since then, and I've certainly changed. This community, while itty-bitty compared to some other ttrpg-streaming giants, has been welcoming, friendly, and (relatively) discourse-free since the beginning. I've had such a blast getting to create, and interact with people who enjoy the same thing I do with equal enthusiasm.

It's always sad to see a story end. Fandoms thrive on the stories they attach themselves to, so watching them end can sometimes mean the end of something more. While I am glad to hear that the World of Darkness will be creating more content and that we might see more of these characters in the future, there still will always be something special about their first go at it. That initial spark.

So let's take a walk down memory lane, shall we?

season one

I think it's important to acknowledge the roots of LABN in that its creation was very intentional and not by mere accident. LABN started right around the time the 5th Edition of Vampire the Masquerade was launched and was created as a way to get players, old and new, interested in the new edition of a quite beloved TTRPG. While describing it as a "glorified advertisement" may sound derogatory, I feel like it's important to remember a text's beginnings to fully understand its eventual impact. When LA By Night first began, five seasons was certainly not in the bag. So it is only by the success of this first season that the story was able to continue as it did.

Season 1 had a difficult task to undertake. In short, it is the equalizer. Not only does it have to bring a new audience (including myself at the time) up to speed, it also has to interest the existing audience enough to make them want to continue watching from week to week. To say that S1 sticks the landing is probably an understatement. Again, 5 seasons. It expertly weaves in worldbuilding, character development, and hints of a larger story together to make sure you want more by the end of it. The plot, while not as fast-paced or widely scoped as the later seasons, is deeply personal. And it has to be. I doubt the events of S2 and S3 would be as exciting without the amount of character work put into this initial season. These characters have to work. The audience has to care. Plot doesn't matter if we don't care about the characters it happens to. And, of course, in S1 the character that has to work the most is Annabelle.

To say that Annabelle is a controversial figure in the wider LABN fandom is... well I won't get into it. Many things have been said, and while I can agree with some arguments, I disagree with most. So I'm going to sweep most of that aside and focus on what makes Annabelle work. Annabelle is, obviously, the audience stand-in for S1 of LABN. She's there for us newbies, who don't know what the hell a Camarilla is, to ask the questions we can't ask, and have them explained to her so we don't feel like idiots. And she fills this purpose quite well. The young, rebellious, college student. Always asking questions. Always asking why. And that's the most important question, isn't it? Why are these hierarchical structures in place? Why can't we change them? Why do I, a person reborn with the potential to gain almost unlimited power, have none? Maybe these questions are annoying to some, the lore of VtM being as established as it is there are definitely answers and good answers at that. Yet Annabelle never seems to be satisfied. I like that about her.

Season 1 is Annabelle's season in that most of the plot/drama, from beginning to climax, revolves around her. From the inciting incident of the coterie discovering her at Griffith College, to the conclusion of her revenge on the person who killed her, the mystery of Annabelle is a steady storyline throughout the entire season. She also works as a very good foil for the rest of the characters around her, the wide-eyed newbie with heart of gold vs those who've lived longer, and understand the world for what it is. In this way, not only does she work as an audience stand-in, but as a way for other characters to clash with her, leading to further development for them as well. When personalities and opinions clash, the audience always wins, we get to learn more about both parties involved: how backstories inform present opinions, a character's relationships to the people around them, and even a glimpse into how these characters may change in the future.

So, I think it's fair to say that you don't like Annabelle. There are several things about her that can be criticized. However, that doesn't mean she shouldn't be there, and I don't agree that the story would have been better off without her, especially in this first season. Annabelle works. And because she works, everything else does too.

season two

If season 1 is Jason Carl leading us up a peaceful hill to look at the beautiful view, season 2 is Jason Carl betraying us and pushing us off a fucking cliff. To say that S2 ramps up the tension from 0 to 100 is an understatement. However, even if the story has suddenly increased in scale and consequences, it still remains deeply entwined with the characters of our coterie, grounding it with personal stakes. This season also presents the beginning of a very large shift for our coterie in terms of status among Kindred. A coterie that started as some mooks for the then-Baron of Hollywood, suddenly gets thrust into the spotlight, quickly becoming some of the most well-known and important Kindred in the city. It's almost a fish-out-of-water narrative, trying to figure out where they fit in the grand scheme of things. Some reject it, others embrace it, and watching how these people suddenly deal with new-found power is fascinating.

In my mind, Victor Temple and Nelli Griffith both fit on opposite ends of the same spectrum. Going into the first season of LA By Night, I had certain expectations and preconceived notions about each of the characters of our coterie. While Victor managed to stick to almost everything single one of them, Nelli broke them to pieces. It's hard for me to keep them apart in my mind, and I don't think that they would want me to. They work as good compliments to one another, two halves of the same coin. While the idea of a more-than-platonic relationship between the two was floated a couple of times over the course of the chronicle, I don't consider them canonically romantic. However, there's obviously a lot of love there, which serves the arcs of these two in interesting ways.

Victor is a Ventrue of a Ventrue. He's just.... he's such a Ventrue. I'll start out by confessing that Ventrue isn't my favourite of the playable clans. I tend to lean more towards the perverted nobility of the Tzimisce than clan Ventrue's new money vibe. That being said, Victor did manage to endear himself to me, while being quite infuriating at the same time. He's just so damn sincere in everything he does. From teaching Annabelle how to survive, to supporting Nelli when it came to Chazz, to telling Jasper that he's beautiful, the sincerity of it all just drips off of him. Throughout the chronicle, it's easy to see that Victor doesn't want to gain power just for the sake of it, he wants to gain power to protect his friends. The way he uses the power can certainly be questionable, but the good intentions are there, and Victor is happily paving his own road to hell.

The tension that arises within his own Coterie when Victor rises to Baronhood is one of the highlights of S2. Status is a fun thing to play with when it comes to improvisational storytelling, and the very sudden acquisition of it leads to some very interesting roleplaying. Victor's relationships with the other members of his Coteries had to change so much in this season, as everyone begins to realize that he is now the boss of them. And those relationships never go back to the way they were. They can't. It's sad to think that this one event is what began the unravelling of our coterie that lead to its eventual demise, but I do believe it to be true.

While Victor is dropped into the deep end of a shark tank and told to stay afloat, Nelli's rise to Baronhood is a bit more gradual, and perhaps, a little more well-deserved. Cynthia Marie truly blew me out of the water with the direction she took Nelli in, and I can't give her enough kudos. Nelli has to grow a lot over the next couple of seasons before she becomes Baron, learning lessons from both her friends and her enemies and, while this is mostly speculative, I think she ultimately has the ability to become a more effective and well-respected Baron than Victor. While their motivations are extremely similar, Nelli's respect for the people beneath her, and her fierce protection of her own independence (and others' independence as well) lend to her being a more fair leader in the long run. Watching her go from the cowed childe of Chazz in S1, to where she ends up in S5 was fantastic storytelling. And all the while, she was never forced to compromise her own identity to get what she wanted. I wish there were more characters like Nelli in other, larger, pieces of media.

season three

Okay. In keeping up with the metaphor, we are now at the bottom of the cliff, beaten and broken, moaning in pain, and season three is Jason Carl sending an anvil over the edge to crush us even further. Season three of LA By Night is lightning in a fucking bottle. This season is an absolute banger, maintaining the tension and scope of S2, all while ramping up the personal stakes to fucking 1000. I can easily say that S3 is the best that LABN has to offer, and if you've seen it then I don't think I really have to explain why. The fact that S3 was probably the height of my LABN fic-writer career says a lot about how I feel about this season. The greatest compliment that can be given to a story is that it inspires those who consume it to create stories of their own, and S3 was truly inspirational.

Somehow, I was able to not talk about Jasper for 1800 words. A personal best. This was, of course, completely intentional. Jasper's decisions at the beginning of the season completely reshape the rest of the season to come. I've talked a lot about personal stakes previously, and Jasper's near-death is the pinnacle of this. The plot, which up to this point in the season has been about the larger struggle of Anarch vs Camarilla, completely shifts in a span of five minutes to a group of people just trying to get their friend back. I remember having to wait those three weeks between his kidnapping and the episode when they could finally rescue him, all the while wholly convinced he would probably die. Lightning in a bottle.

There's a lot I can talk about when it comes to Jasper. The foil he is to Annabelle as examples of Nature vs Nurture in the world of Kindred. His begrudging respect for Nelli, which actually grows over the course of the chronicle. The eventual degradation of his relationship with Victor. It's all good stuff. But then there's the romance subplot.

It's probably common knowledge at this point that Alex Ward did not intend for this to happen, but the fact that he went with it anyways makes it all the better. "Yes, And" is, of course, the most powerful tool an improviser/roleplayer has in their arsenal and allowing himself to explore this part of Jasper was awesome roleplaying. Is a monster capable of love? Does he deserve it? What does he do when he earns it? How does he change because of it? Jasper's struggles over the course of the chronicle were more internal than external. I loved his continuous refusal to engage with the plot at large in exchange for a lot more introspection on his part, from his bitter acceptance of his own monstrosity to his desire to change. I'm glad he's taking a step away from it all, in the end. I'm glad he's distancing himself from Victor and Annabelle. I'm glad that he'll continue working with Chloe, a tiny glimmer of the humanity he lost. I'm glad Nelli seems to be on his side when it comes to his independence. While the World of Darkness is a dark and dreary place, I do have a little bit of hope that Jasper will finally get to a better place. Maybe.

It's very difficult to talk about a romance with no mention of the other party involved. Don't worry, we'll get to her later.

season four

It's at this point when I have to start with some criticisms. I don't think this would be an accurate retrospective without me talking about the good along with the bad. That being said, if anyone wants to drop off at this point, I completely understand.

I'll start by saying that I don't hate season four. There are a lot of parts of it I enjoy! Katya was a wonderful addition to the show, adding a more personal villain for a couple of our main cast, and providing some much-needed backstory to Eva. The promotion of Eva and X to main character status was a genius decision. The sixth episode, Hollywood Forever, is an absolute banger, comparable to the heights of S3. "Did Jasper and Eva smash?" is a line of dialogue that will forever be ingrained into my psyche (the answer is yes, obviously). But for some reason, S4 just lost a little bit of that magic for me.

I've talked a lot about personal stakes in this ramble of mine (can I call it an essay yet?) and I think this is where S4 kinda fails for me. There's not enough character investment in the overall plot for me to still be invested in it as well. At this point, we've been following the Anarchs vs Camarilla struggle for two seasons, both of which featured very personal storylines for our Coterie that directly involve them in this larger plot. In the second season, it was Victor's rise to Baronhood, thus becoming more of a part of this struggle than ever before, along with Nellie's final vengeance on Chazz. In the third it was Jasper's kidnapping. In season four, the two groups have reached a tentative truce, but we're really just waiting for the pin to drop. The two groups are weaving their machinations, gathering their allies, but why are we supposed to care anymore? What stakes do these characters personally have in this fight beyond the greater philosophical divide? There's a lot of ways this could have gone, and the improvisational style of storytelling makes it hard for me to say "they should have done this instead". In my mind, the perfect way to bring the personal stakes back is with the character of Katya. We have an obvious parallel of the childe-sire bond with Nelli and Chazz and Eva and Katya, except instead of it being antagonistic, Katya and Eva were very much In Love and, if it weren't for external circumstances, would probably have wanted to still be together in the present if they could have. This brings out a lot of personal dilemmas. If Katya and Eva still love each other, what does that mean for Eva and Jasper? Would Eva want to get Katya out of the Camarilla? Would the Coterie be willing to restart a war just for the sake of one person? Would Katya even want to be saved? There's a lot there that was possible, and I'm sad that it wasn't given its due time.

Up until now, I've avoided talking about the guest stars of LA By Night, though I think this is a good time to bring them up, as there is a shift in the way that guest stars are utilized between the first three seasons and the next two. First, I'll start by saying that I believe that the guests of LA By Night are an intrinsic part of its DNA and a fantastic tool in this type of improvisational storytelling. I don't think that LABN would have had good enough legs to carry itself for five seasons with four PCs alone. Not only does it lend a more cinematic tone to the show, but we also get a closer look at the factions that oppose our main characters. We can't get the meeting of Victor and the Barons without guest stars. We can't watch Vannevar descending into madness without them either. The success of X and Eva and their promotion to the main cast shows that the use of guest stars was extremely successful, and I have great respect and admiration for all the talented people that were able to step into these roles without very much previous knowledge of the game, setting, or the characters they were playing.

Of course, the popularity and success of LA BY Night's guest stars has to begin with a spark, someone has to make it work. So we have to talk about X. The portrayal of X by Xander Jeanneret is a masterclass of respectfully portraying this kind of character. Malkavians being what they are, I think it's all too easy to fall into the traps of stereotyping a group of people that not many of us may completely understand. X is kind and thoughtful, and he's hiding a lot of pain beneath a veneer of cheeriness and whimsy. The coterie's failure to help X before it was too late just shows how effective this facade was, and how the knowledge of Malkavian stereotypes as a whole may have affected their reactions to his pain. I'll be saying this a lot, but I really wish we had more time with him. I really wish we got to see more of him and Jasper. The nuggets that we did get were all fantastic, but I don't know if they successfully lead up to the emotional confessions we get in the final episode of S5. X's finale was certainly one of the more tragic of the chronicle, but it does still give us a chance at seeing a bit more of him in the future.

I mentioned before that there was a shift in how guests are used in this season compared to previous, and I think this is the second point at which S4 lost me. Think about it: in S1 all of our main characters were present in 5/8 episodes, in S2 it was 7/9, in S3 7/9, and in S4 our entire main cast (including the two newcomers) were only present in 1/8 of the episodes (guess which one), and our original main cast in 2/8. This series was built on these characters and their interactions with one another, but we don't get to see them interact. It's too much of a good thing. Instead of adding to the conversation, they just seem to take away from it. Kyoko shows up for three episodes, and I had hoped they were going to follow through from the end of season 3, when she gets attacked by Strauss and sent into torpor, only to wake up with blue eyes and blue hair, and I hoped that we were going to learn more about all that, but it just doesn't go anywhere. She shows up, says the most iconic line of the entire series, and leaves. And I can't help but think: if only they had more time.

season five

If there is one word I can use to describe season five, it is BIttersweet. As a whole, I don't know if S5 deserves its ending. And while I believe it is a good ending, I do think it's missing a couple of stops on the way to getting there. I've repeated that I wish they had more time, and I think it really shows in the execution and final product of S5. My biggest problem is the introduction of the Second Inquisition as the real big bad of the series. While the SI has been mentioned multiple times in passing, we never had enough build-up of them to view them as a real threat, and they've always been quite passive. The sudden introduction of them by way of killing our current villains, while exciting and cinematic, just doesn't feel earned. It's here where I really wish there was one more season, even if a proposed S5 and S6 were shorter than usual, 5 or 6 episodes instead of the usual 8 or 9. While I respect that the cast chose to end their chronicle here, I can't help but feel that we're missing something that they know more about. Of course, it's easy to say all of this in hindsight. Unlike a written story, we can't go back and edit the parts that we didn't like.

I'm going to leave my criticisms with S5 there and focus on one thing I did like: the ending. I could write a whole fic (HA) about how I think everything leading up to it should have gone, but I don't think that that's necessarily productive considering that fic and a TTRPG actual play are two very different mediums. In short: the ending was good. Sweet, short, poignant. A logical conclusion to the character arcs we were shown. I like that Nelli is putting her foot down as Victor's equal as the Baron of Hollywood. I like that Jasper is backing away from politics to focus on himself. I like that Annabelle is leaving the city to learn more about the world. I like that Victor remained very much the same person we saw in the beginning. Looking back, I don't think that this chronicle could have ended with the coterie staying together, and I don't think I would have been happy with them returning to the status quo. While I'm sad to see that the things that bound them together broke down in the end, I'm glad to see them part, hopefully on new adventures of their own.

Bittersweet.

Okay, deep breath.

If me waiting 1800 words to talk about Jasper was difficult, me waiting 3800 words to talk about Eva is a damned near travesty. But it felt right to put her here at the end, especially since she's the last main character that we get to see. And what a Scene that was. I hope it doesn't come as a surprise to say that Eva was my favourite character. From the moment she walked into the room with a bouquet of flowers, Josephine McAdam had me hooked from the very beginning, and she never let go. It has been an absolute pleasure to watch this character grow and change and come to her inevitable end. I don't know how well I can put into words just how much I love her, but I will do my best.

Eva's story is ultimately, and unfortunately, a tragedy. Though I guess that fits. There are very rarely happy endings in the World of Darkness, and the fact that we got four of them this time around is a true miracle. From the very beginning, I think it's obvious that Eva is very much a being of Love. Love of humanity, of the rain and flowers, and even of her fellow Kindred if she deems them worthy enough. I don't think there's a better example of this than her relationship with Jasper. The two of them are just so right for each other. Eva is also a person who is very aware of herself, and her abilities. She knows that what she is and what she can do is dangerous, and she obviously tries as much to prevent herself from hurting others, either directly or indirectly. I think it's very intentional that one of the very first things she gives to Jasper is a healing potion.

It's sad to watch as the thing that makes Eva so special eventually becomes the thing that damns her. I don't think it was as obvious while I was watching it, but looking back, the signs are there. It starts with Jasper's kidnapping, continues with her growing desire to take revenge on Strauss, and ends with her willingly using her magic to harm mortals. And while I could blame the Beast on the corruption of her love of Jasper leading to her breaking many of her morals, I can't help but think that it's incredibly human of her to do so. Even if it did lead her down a dark path, she recognized where she was going wasn't good, and stopped herself from going any further. While I do love Jasper and Eva together, I don't know if the two of them together would have ever concluded in a happy ending, at least in this universe. Their relationship, while wonderful, isn't balanced. Jasper gets too much out of it, and Eva loses herself in it.

I know Josephine and Jason crafted the final scene of Eva walking into the light of day to be up to interpretation. Personally, I choose to believe that she met her final death that day. I don't think I could write her out of it. I don't think I would want to. All Kindred will, eventually, meet their final death. I'm glad she got to do it on her terms.

I said before that the best stories are the ones that inspire us to create our own, and I believe the same can be said of characters. My eternal kudos to Josephine McAdam for her portrayal of Eva. I've certainly enjoyed my time with her. She was truly inspirational.

And so here we are. We've walked into the sun. I'd like to thank the cast and crew one last time for their efforts in creating a truly wonderful vampire story to follow along with these past three years. It's hard to believe that I was able to summarize all that in only 4200 words. To be fair, I think I left a lot out. I don't know what my future in this fandom will be like, I guess we'll see what happens when New York by Night comes out. Maybe the ending of LABN will finally get me to finish a fic or two. Either way, vamily, it's been a blast.

[escxpedes]

loopholes (cont.)

I literally can’t even begin to tell you how much everyone’s support meant to me on the last chapter. All your comments and tags were so sweet, it was seriously the highlight of my day. I’m sorry for the delay, I meant to get this out a couple of days ago, but I’ve come down with a bad cold. This part, while fun, was so hard to get right. Angus Macgyver is a genius, his mind goes a mile a minute, and I wanted to do my best to replicate that. This part is a little slow in getting to the Macriley stuff, but I wanted to show how much he really thinks about things. He’s such a complex character, that if I didn’t do him justice, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. Also, there’s dialogue in this one! Sadly, Jack isn’t mentioned in this chapter, but he’s there in spirit. Clearly, we all love and miss him. I hope you guys enjoy, the last part will be out soon! x

~

loop·hole

noun | A loophole is an ambiguity or inadequacy in a system, such as a law or security, which can be used to circumvent or otherwise avoid the purpose, implied or explicitly stated, of the system

~

Riley finally moves into her new apartment, but struggles to adjust after the events of Codex and the realization of her feelings for Mac. When Mac finds her passed out over her keyboard after a late night of coding at Phoenix, he decides a talk is long overdue. Just some slightly angsty soft!macriley to help you cope with this season 5 hiatus.

~

of lips that i am yet to kiss (and eyes not met my own.)

It's highly unlikely that you'll find Mac walking down the halls of the Phoenix Foundation so late at night. Without the bustling energy of his coworkers fetching important documents or discussing the best way to break down one of the many mysteries the foundation deals with, the darkened hallways and quiet atmosphere can be unnerving.

Sure, he spends nearly every waking hour employed there, but he'd rather be outside the office in different countries, doing hands-on work and saving lives. When you work in his profession, It can be difficult to separate business and pleasure, but that only makes it more important—if only to conserve what mental health he has left. 

However, in the haste of putting together last-minute preparations for yet another meeting with the Department of Justice and trying to make it back to his house in time for something Desi whipped up, he managed to forget his cellphone.

It's funny, mainly because of how little the small device truly matters to Mac.

It only goes to show how insignificant material objects, or even human beings in general, are. The idea that something so meaningless can affect someone's life so much when, if they just looked past that obsession and considered its part in the profound scope of the universe, another perspective would take shape.

It's fascinating stuff, really.

There's a concept essential to understanding Japanese aesthetics, otherwise known as an ancient set of ideals important to Japanese society, called Yūgen. When applied in the right context, Yūgen underlines this deep awareness of the universe and the experiences we have within it. It's often the feeling interpreted when you gaze at the stars late at night or watch the sunset dip behind a hill.

Mac wouldn't think twice before breaking his phone, or rather, breaking the phone of his nearest friend, open for an obscure part that might make one of his many homemade devices come together. However, when he's the only person able to communicate the scientific specifications of an unheard-of-until-recently base plan for saving the planet, he's practically on call 24/7.

He remembers having it in the labs earlier that day when he stopped by before his meeting to remind Bozer to come by his house on Friday for the team's new weekly attempt in group-bonding.

After the betrayals that surfaced during the climax of taking down Codex, the team collectively decided to spend more time as a group in hopes of eliminating any lingering doubts. 

They used to hang out all the time before the government dismantled the Phoenix Foundation.

Mac still can't believe that, after everything they had been through, he allowed his friendships to dissipate over the year they had been separate.

Bozer is his childhood best friend, and Riley had become a solid foundation in his life. He didn't have anyone outside his team at Phoenix, and while he deeply cared for Desi, their first relationship was proof that too much time—and too little communication—with each other can do severe damage to one's sanity.

If Russ hadn't brought them back together, would they have tried to reconnect at some point?

Mac wants to say they would have but wouldn't blame them if they didn't; they all lost something they cared about, and each served as a constant reminder of it.

It would've been hard, but part of him feels like living without them is a lot harder.

When he manages to access the lab, flipping his shiny new I.D. card over his fingers and into its place in his wallet, his eyes scan the room. It's empty, which isn't unusual at this time, but years of military training have rewired his brain to notify him of threats, even if there aren't any.

Just like he thought it would be, the device sits untouched a few tables behind Bozer's workspace where Mac had been sitting.

Quickly, because he left the house in a hurry and forgot to leave a note, he scoops up his phone and makes his way towards the exit. There's a couple of missed calls, but it doesn't seem like he missed anything too important.

Not that they would let him. 

At any rate, they would probably show up on his doorstep if they couldn't get a hold of him. With days off so few and far between, that's the kind of interaction he's hoping to avoid. Hence, why he came to pick up his phone when he realized it was missing instead of waiting until the next day.

He's nearly made it to the end of the hall when a light flashes in his peripheral vision, coming from the I.T. department.

His body is tense with apprehension; his mind races with several different kinds of possibilities and outcomes. He slows his pace, his movements fluid, silent, and controlled from years of stealth practice.

The light is soft, he notices, as if only one or two monitors are in use.

When he gets to the doorway and nudges open the door, hands at the ready, his entire body sags in relief to see the dark wavy hair he's come to associate with one of his closest friends.

"Riles?"

The nickname falls from his mouth before he can stop it, and even though the light from the monitor creates a halo above her head, shadowing her features, it's unmistakably her.

She doesn't move. 

It becomes abundantly clear why as Mac moves towards her and notices the monitor's screen filling up with a sequence of letters that look nothing like coding despite his lack of knowledge in programming languages.

Her elbow balances precariously on the edge of the table, her arms creating a makeshift pillow for her head. The weight of her forearm bears down on the keyboard, causing the side of her hand to press down multiple keys at once.

He shakes his head a little, amused by the situation unfolding. 

Her cheek rests comfortably on her hand, a serene expression masking the signs of exhaustion that showed on her face.

Mac's lips curved into a soft smile, seeing Riley in any state that wasn't cloaked in layers of worry or anxious determination always washed away any doubts he might have about working in such a stressful field.

The scars that covered his body, the secrets he has to keep, and the pain he has to endure are so unbelievably worth it as long as she out of harm's way and able to sleep peacefully.

Of course, he couldn't imagine anyone else by his side on a mission, knowing they share the same love and passion for kicking ass and saving lives.

However, he also knows that more lies underneath the surface.

He wouldn't wish the hardships of this job on anyone. Seeing it affect someone he cares about, watching it break them down slowly pulls at his heartstrings and fills him with a knowing sadness. 

When a piece of hair falls into her face, his fingers don't hesitate to gently brush it behind her ear, lightly tracing her cheekbone and caressing her cheek.

Kneeling, his hand drops to her shoulder in an attempt to gently wake her.

After a couple of shakes, the expressive brown eyes he's come to look forward to seeing begin to flutter open and nearly render him speechless.

She blinks a couple of times, inhaling slowly, "Macgyver."

Her voice is full of sleep and breaks from misuse, but the way she says his name—like there's nobody else she'd expect to see when she wakes up —has him grinning from ear to ear.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

Rising from her position on the table, she scans the room before meeting his eyes and scoffing, "It's hardly the morning."

He laughs softly, holding back the urge to mention that technically it is morning considering its past twelve. Instead, he focuses on the matter at hand, or more likely, the question at hand.

"What are you doing here so late?"

She's more alert now, sitting back in her chair and lifting her arms to stretch out the muscles that stiffened while she slept, glancing at her work on the monitor.

Her face drops into a grimace when she notices her mistake, "Matty and I were talking about updating the foundation's firewall and spyware," she yawns, "I must have been more tired than I realized."

Mac's eyebrows scrunch in thought, remembering something Bozer said earlier about Riley spending quite a few nights this week working late.

Between going over his mother's scientific data, trying to patch up whatever relationship he had left with Desi, and making sure he didn't go off the rails with grief, his effort to check in on everyone decreased significantly.

"Yeah, you've been doing that a lot lately," his hand returned to her shoulder to emphasize his point, "Everything okay?"

She waves him off, "There's too much work that needs to be done around here before we can get things running the way they used to."

Riley doesn't lie to him—if you overlook the whole situation with her ex, Aubrey, that is, but the movements she's making indicate otherwise.

Her eyes refuse to meet his, flickering down and to the right. When she talks, her head shakes lightly, and she purses her lips in an attempt to give off a careless impression. Maybe someone who doesn't know her or didn't train to pick up on it would believe her, but he knew better.

She was definitely hiding something from him.

Part of him understands that if she wanted to talk about it, she would. However, his instincts urge him to press harder, locate the problem, and bring back her contagious smile that always seems to fill him with warmth.

As much as he doesn't want to admit it, you can't patch some things together by sheer will and sellotape, so instead, he stands up and drops his hand from her shoulder.

"Let's get you home."

[yaimlight]

For The Sake Of Writing

A/N: I am struggling with this, with writing in general right now. Can’t find the drive, the desire to do so and I have tried, many a time but nothing comes out, the page stays blank. So I put it all away and decided to write something else, something completely different and unrelated to anything else but even this has been difficult, like pulling teeth to get the words on the page. I have no idea what this but I feel at least a little accomplished that I managed to get it out. I didn’t know what to do with it once finished but I thought I would share it with you guys. It’s not part of a fandom or anything, it’s just me and whatever came out and though I may not be 100% with it I still hope that maybe you will enjoy it.

Love is not the morel of the story. It is not a fix all or a balm to sooth deep wounds and it is definitely not an excuse for any wrongs done. It doesn’t ride in on a white horse and save the day, making everything perfect and happy and all sunshine and rainbows. It doesn’t make a bad person suddenly good and nor does it render all wrong doing excusable.

Love is the biggest lie the world was ever sold. All it ever brings is pain and suffering and people welcome it with open arms and eager smiles.

Idiots the lot of them.

Though you supposed you shouldn’t knock it, people’s misplaced desire for love was what kept you in a job. Well, sort of. You were what came after, when hearts were broken, people’s pried bruised and their reputations damaged. Funny how that was normally the one that hurt the most. People claimed that love was everything yet it was their reputation and wealth they cared more about. When push comes to shove they always picked the material things in life, dressing it up as something other than greed, like that made their actions better, excusable.

Sighing you focused your attention back on the room across the street. The blinds were wide open, the two people as clear as day as you adjusted the scope. You would think they would be a little better at hiding this kind of shit, considering the illicitness of it all but their idocity made your job easier. They looked so happy, the women smiling as she pulled the mans shirt off him, the two of them making quick work of stripping the other down to their underwear and trading passionate kisses and teasing touches.

Objectively the man was attractive with broad shoulders and rippling muscles, his skin perfectly smooth and tanned. It was clear to see he took care of himself, hours spent at the gym as well as in front of the mirror. You knew the type an you would bet money on him being a narcissist, more concerned with himself than the people he was pissing off along the way. He was young though, to caught up in the fact he had caught the eye of someone hot and rich. To young to think about the consequences of his actions. He was probably so fucking smug, landing a women at least a decade older than him that still looked like a model and had enough money not to even notice when hundreds of dollars started to disappear from her account, squirrelled away for a rainy day. Her husband on the other hand had noticed almost straight away and it hadn’t taken long to find out where it was going.

The women fell back on to the bed, the man crawling after her until he hovered over her. You could see the two of them smiling at each other, staring into each other’s eyes like they could see the whole universe there. He leant down, pressing his body against hers as they went back to kissing. Her hands sunk into his black hair, her wedding ring glinting in the light.

You readjusted your aim, lining up the shot as you focused on her ring finger. You breathed in, your finger pressing down and you breath out.

The glass cracked, her eyes going wide as the man slumped lifeless on top of her. A second passed, a beat of a heart. Just a moment where she lead there blood splattered and missing a finger, not understanding what had happened before everything settled and she started to scream. Frantically she shoved the dead body off of her before falling to the floor and scrambled away to a corner, screaming the whole time.

Huffing out in amusement you stepped away from the window and dropped down onto you knees next to your bag. You made quick work of taking your gun apart, placing every bit back into the correct slot without really having to look. Clipping the case shut you slung it over your shoulder, rising to your feet and heading towards the door without a backwards glance. The job was done, there was nothing left for you here now.

You took the stairs, slipping on your sunglasses and cap before shoving your gloved hands into you pockets. It was still sunny enough you could get away with it though dusk was starting to settle in but you would be far enough away by the time your attire started to become suspicious. For now you would blend in with the crowd, be able to slip away unnoticed and unremarkable amongst the other occupants of the building coming and going.

You took the train, skipping the nearest subway station and heading to the next one along, going in the completely wrong direction and changing lines twice, paying in cash and keeping your head down. You lost the glasses after half an hour, the hat an hour latter when you finally got on the right line and sank into one of the ratty sets with a sigh, your gun case safely between you legs. You didn’t worry about closing your eyes and tilting your head back, counting stops in your head and knowing that if someone tried anything you had a switch blade in your jacket pocket with their name on it. You must just give off that air of danger though because no one comes near you, not even taking the empty seats on either side of you but that was fine. It’s how you liked it.

It was dark when you finally got off the subway, hands still shoved into your pockets as you kept your head down and navigated the still busy streets. It didn’t take long for your destination to come into view, the glitzy looking hotel standing out amongst the boring and monochrome buildings next to it. You slipped round the back, smiling and exchanging greetings with the people you passed and slipped into character like you did every other night you came to your other job.

The building was alive, the hustle and bustle of activity having you weaving around people as you made your way through the busy corridors until you could slip into the locker room. It was just as busy in there, people getting ready for their shifts and seemingly being as loud as they possibly could. You let the sound was over you, blocking it out until it was almost like static in the background and focusing instead on the steady beat of your heart as you headed towards the back corner of the room. You stuffed your case in your locker, the black box fitting perfectly inside before pulling out your change of clothes and hanging the garment bag up on the door. It wasn’t idea but it wasn’t the first time you had brought a weapon here and you doubted it would be your last. You did try not to mix jobs, mix lives but on days like this it was unavoidable, you just hadn’t had the time to go home first.

Toeing off your shoes, you quickly stripped down to your underwear, folding your clothes nicely and placing them on to the small shelf, your shoes just fitting at the bottom of the locker next to your case. “Cutting it close tonight Harland,” a teasing voice came from behind and you scoffed, not even bothering to look as you pulled on the white blouse, deft fingers making quick work of the buttons. “You know I like to live dangerously,” you smirked, finally glancing over your shoulder to look at the women leant against the row of lockers next to yours.

Rosie huffed, rolling her eyes at you but her smile still stayed in place on her to red lips. She looked pristine in her black pencil skirt and white blouse, the cut low enough to just show of a hint of cleavage but not enough to be overtly suggestive. Her auburn hair was pulled up into a bun, her emerald bright eyes rimmed in perfectly applied eyeliner and her pale skin looking like porcelain. She looked the picture perfect representation of professionalism, what with her head held high and oozing confidence. Shame it was just a front, the woman was addicted to amphetamines and a borderline alcoholic who was just teetering on the edge of a full blown breakdown but at least she was normally fun to be around.

Turning back to your task you quickly rolled your stockings on, having barely snapped them into place before you were pulling on your own black pencil skirt, slipping on your black kitten heels at the same time and tucking your blouse in. The two of you chatter away about pointless shit as you finish getting ready, platting your hair and doing your makeup whilst Rosie tells you about her boyfriend and how much of a dick he is being about her work hours. You hum along but don’t really comment on the state of her most likely doomed relationship. You’ve had that conversation before and it hadn’t gone well. Lucky for her you had been willing to stick around and take her to the hospital instead of letting he choke on her own vomit. You had thought about it though.

She doesn’t seem to either notice or care that you don’t really participate in the conversation and as you take the lift up to the lobby you contemplate telling her that her precious boyfriend was screwing around with her sister just to get her to shut up but the headache it would bring you outweighed the satisfaction you would get at seeing the shock and hurt on her face. It wasn’t that you wanted to hurt her you just couldn’t stand the constant insistence that she loved the scumbag and their relationship was perfect. It made you want to smack her head against the nearest hard surface until she finally understood how stupid she was or passed out. Whatever one came first.

The lift doors dinged as they opened, Rosie finally falling silent as you both slipped into your rolls. You were on the clock now and it wouldn’t do to be caught gossiping about personal matters by the famous and affluent that frequented the hotel. No instead the two of you would smile and listen, taking in every little detail. You did it because information helped in your other line of work and you had even got wind of a contact or two from guests who didn’t seem to know the meaning of a private conversation. Rosie did it just for the gossip.

It didn’t take long to change over shifts, the list of requests and awaiting check ins surprisingly small. It meant a slow and easy night, only really having to deal with any calls that came from the demanding guests up above and that was fine. It was why you worked the night shifts anyway. You hardly had to interact with people face on and the mindless and repetitive activities brought you a kind of peace that you didn’t really get anywhere else. It‘s why you had stayed, originally getting the job to do recon on the rooms for a job but long after the women had been found dead and the body moved you found yourself reluctant to move on. So you hadn’t. You had an understanding with the owner anyway, having deposed of his abusive farther or him. As long as you didn’t kill anyone else in his hotel he didn’t care what you did and that suited you just fine.

As midnight crept closer a calm fell over the hotel. Most of the guests were sleeping now and those that weren’t were either still at the rooftop bar or would be out partying till the early hours. There had been no calls for the last hour, no idiots stumbling into the lobby and being loud and rude drunks that you wished you could stab in the face when they broke your serenity. Rosie had abandoned you as well, allegedly in search of coffee but you highly doubted that. Most likely she had slipped off to go make eyes at one of the bartenders in the lounge and score a shot of something. The point was that you were blissfully alone, with nothing but silence and admin to keep you company and it was perfect.

It didn’t last long.

The sound of the city beyond flooded the lobby as the doors were open, the warm night air spilling in and interfering with the air conditioning. As quickly as it had all come though it was gone, instead replaced by the steady thump of shoes hitting the tiled floor. Lamenting the loss of your solitude you kept you eyes on your screen, finishing up your notes on room 308 and the new spattering of complaints about its occupants. You didn’t look up as the person got closer, didn’t even acknowledge them when they came to a stop in front of the desk, highly unprofessional but you were technically busy. Surprisingly though they stood there in silence, patiently awaiting you to finish what you were doing. Shocking considering most would be huffing by now or impatiently ringing the bell, even hurling abuse at you.

It was odd, unusual and you weren’t sure how to deal with it so as you submitted the form you plastered a smile on and started the expected greeting as you looked up. “Welcome to the Hotel Astoria. How can I help you...” the words died on your lips, your smile falling as dread filled you. No. This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not ever. You had been having such a good day as well.

Your fingers twitched towards the letter opener as you stared straight ahead, trying to work out how best to get rid of the man before you without it being noticed. Eyes like the summer sky stared back at you, endless and bright and almost impossible to pull your attention from but you managed it, letting your eyes slowly drag across the rest of him.

He had gotten older, now in his early thirties instead of his twenties but he still looked just as good. He was tall, with broad shoulders and well defined arm muscles that were straining at the sleeves of his black shirt. His skin was golden, sun kissed and oh so very tempting. His jaw was sharp, a light covering of stubble that gave him a rugged handsomeness apposed to the boyish charm you had known. He still had the same ridiculous haircut though, his blonde hair parted to the side with one side longer than the other, his fringe hanging just over his right eye and looking soft despite the amount of product he had probably used. He looked good, annoyingly so considering the time of night but despite all that it was his smile that held your attention, his lips twisted in a cocky smirk that left you wanting to punch him in the face. God you hated him.

Huffing in laughter Johnathon leant forward, resting his arms on the counter and tipping his head to he side slightly. Your fingers tightened around the letter opener, body tensing as you got ready to attack. “I see I still leave you speechless,” he teased, smirk getting wider and sounding oh so smug. You blinked, his words jogging you out of your stupor and you narrowed your eyes at him, lifting your head up higher to look down your nose at him. “Hardly, I was just trying to decide on the best way to dispose of your body.” You let the letter opener go, instead crossing your arms over your chest and schooling your features, trying not to give away how much you were panicking. He was an idiot, not a threat, not in that way at least.

“You always say the sweetest things,” he winked, exuding confidence as he flipped his fringe out of his eye. You had liked that about him once but now it had your jaw clenching and your fingers twitching with the desire to grab a fistful of his hair and smash his face into the marble countertop. “If you think that’s sweet wait until I tell you about how I’m going to stuff your body in the trash compactor,” you said, voice sickeningly sweet and a smile on your lips.

The idiot actually laughed at that, the sound rich and deep and you didn’t even know you had missed that sound until heard it once more. Huffing you shoved that thought down, trying to drown it under the anger you were currently feeling. He shouldn’t be here, couldn’t be here and yet he stood before you without a care in the world, acting as if this was all some big joke when in reality it was so much worse. “As charming as always. Going to finish it all of with a kiss,” he waggled an eyebrow at you, smirk getting impossibly wider and something inside you snapped.

You moved quickly, one hand darting down to grab the letter opener as the other shot out to grab at the front of his shirt and yanked him forward. His hands slapped down on the counter, his eyes going wide as you leant forwards and pressed the edge of the blade against the delicate skin of his throat. “You have five seconds to explain to me what the hell you are doing here before I shove this through your carotid and watch you choke on your own blood,” you hissed, pressing the blade harder against his throat and watching the way it bobbed as he swallowed. His eyes had gotten darker, his lips parted slightly and breathing deeply, a slight flush to his cheeks. You knew that look and it had no reason to be present in this situation.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you hissed angrily, jerking away from him like he had burned you, dropping the letter opener on the counter with a clatter as you moved. He had the decency to look embarrassed if only slightly as he coughed nervously and stood up straighter, eyes darting around the room and rubbing at the back of his neck. He licked at his lips, your eyes tracking the movement before you even knew they were doing it. He let out a deep breath, “in my defence I didn’t know...” What ever he was going to say was cut off though as both of your attentions were pulled to the doors.

The doors opened once more, a warm breeze filling the space as a women stepped inside. She was stunningly beautiful, with long blonde hair and legs that seemed to go forever and a figure most women would be envious of. She looked like a model, like she had stepped right of the pages of some glossy magazine. “Fuck,” Johnathon mumbled and you tore you eyes away from the women working her way towards the desk to raise an eyebrow at him. He was finally starting to look worried but you didn’t think it was in regards to yourself.

“Sorry darling but you know how Cynthia is, I couldn’t just ignore her call,” she smiled, slipping up to Johnathon’s side and wrapping her arm through his before leaning down and pressing a kiss to his lips. Something twisted in your gut, dark and ugly as you watched them pull apart, the women beaming at Johnathon whilst he offered he a soft smile. You didn’t like it, whatever the feeling was you would have been quiet happy never to experience it again.

“So we good?” she asked, that ridiculously bright smile still on her lips. “Hum?” Johnathon hummed, looking at the other women in confusion and you had to fight the urge to snap out no, nothing was good. They needed to leave, he needed to leave. The two of you had had a deal and him being here was like throwing your kindness back in your face and spitting on it. The blonde tipped her head slightly towards you and he turned to you with a frown. You could practically see it when he realised what she had meant, his eyes widening and lips forming into a small ‘o’. “Oh, yeah, right,” he rushed out, laughing nervously as he turned to look at you.

You already knew what was coming, that heavy feeling of dread back again as you silently begged him not to do it. To say there was a mistake and take his arm candy and just leave before things got bad but you knew he wouldn’t, could see it in his eyes as his looked at you with genuine apology. “Johnathon Harland, checking in,” he mumbled, offering you a small smile and not for the first time this night you had to push down the urge to punch him.

Love was rotten, a twisted ugly thing and all it ever did was make every situation go from bad to worse. It made smart people make mistakes, act stupid and irresponsible when normally they were so calm and collected. Love ruined everything, made people weak, soft and once that set in you could never undo it. It set in like rot, leaving you crumbling into dust. In the end you were better off without it, were stronger for never knowing what it felt like to have that connection with another. It would save everyone a lot of pain, a lot of suffering and maybe the world would be better for it.

You really should have killed him when you were supposed to.

[sableflynn]

By flash and thunder fire - 9

Prompt: No. 17 (dirty secret)

CW: references to torture, drugs, human trafficking. mostly just katia and savs having a lil chat

Taglist: @lave-e @justplainwhump @hurtmebeautifully @whumpymirages @slaintetowhump @justwhumpitwhumpitgood @whump-tr0pes @whump-me-all-night-long @greatandquestionablecontent @whumping-newbie

Also on Ao3

---

The silence stretched on as Katia and Savio watched each other. Some part of her relaxed; he was sitting, he wasn’t near her, he couldn’t touch her. The rest of her knew that this was far from over.

“Phone.” Savio held out one hand towards Leila, not taking his eyes off Katia. She passed the phone to him and he finally tore his gaze away to look through it, flipping idly through the images with his thumb.

Images of me, bleeding and crying and terrified and—Katia stopped the train of thought before it could spiral further.

After a moment, Savio looked back up at her, his face unreadable. “We haven’t heard a single word from your husband since that first phone call.”

Katia’s stomach plummeted. He’s going to hurt me more, push this further until Nic has to respond. She swallowed. Nic’s looking for me. He has to be. He isn’t answered because he’s working with the police, detectives, putting out a search. He isn’t leaving me here.

Savio smiled at the clear distress playing across Katia’s face. “All those photos I sent him of you, suffering because of him...and he does nothing.” He sighed and drummed his fingers along the back of the chair. “He has until tomorrow morning. Then we’re moving you to our warehouse and putting you on the auction block.”

The words took a moment to sink in, and then Katia’s mind went blank with terror. “No, no, you—you can’t,” she begged, as if her words could sway him at all. How can this be real, how can something like this even be happening—she looked at Leila in desperation, praying she might step in again, but the other woman was silent. He's going to sell me. “He’ll get you what you want, just—just give him more time—”

“I’ve given him plenty of time,” Savio snapped, before relaxing once again. “I guess I misjudged him. I honestly thought you would be more valuable to him.”

Anger flared up in her at that, and she flexed her arms against the painful pull of the chains still holding her. “He loves me,” she hissed. “He’s going to get me out of here. He just doesn’t negotiate with criminals.”

Savio stared at her in silence. Her flash of rage dimmed, and she grew uneasy under his eyes. “You really do believe that,” he finally murmured. “Sweet thing, just where do you think your husband gets all his money from?”

Her skin prickled at his tone, the way he was watching her expectantly. “What are you talking about?” She studied his reaction as she spoke. “He...he’s in business. Finances. I don’t really understand the details…”

“Business.” His smile was so condescending. “You don’t get rich like that through legitimate means.”

“Then please tell me just how you get rich like that,” Katia growled through gritted teeth.

“Domenic Sterling,” Savio said with a wide grin, “is the head of one of the largest criminal syndicates in New Barrington, and my biggest rival in the human trafficking and drug smuggling sectors.” Smug satisfaction was written across his face. "That's how."

Nic...what? Katia blinked, momentarily breathless. He was lying, of course. It didn’t make any sense. But what was his angle? “You’re a terrible liar,” she spat, “and you’re pathetic. Trying to, what, turn me against him?”

“Trust me, I wish it weren’t true,” Savio said with a shrug. “He’s been a thorn in my side for, oh, a decade now.”

A decade? It couldn’t be true. “That’s insane,” Katia insisted. “We’ve been married for five years! I know him.”

Savio laughed at that. “You know him, do you?” He leaned forward over the back of the chair. “Do you know what he does all day? He kidnaps people. He sells them. He tortures. He murders. And then he washes the blood off his hands and comes home to you and gives you a kiss and sits down for a romantic dinner.”

Katia’s mind was whirling, and she hated the tiny nugget of doubt that was starting to make its way into her thoughts. He’s lying. He’s trying to fuck with me. Her heart was hammering. “There’s no way he could’ve hidden something like that from me.”

Another condescending smile, like he was explaining things to a school child. “He’s spent over a decade fooling the police, the media, his business partners. You really think he couldn’t fool you?”

She couldn’t help but think of all of Nic’s deflections whenever she asked him about work. Oh, it’s just finances. You wouldn’t care about all the boring details.

“Honestly, what’s more impressive to me,” Savio continued when she said nothing, “is that he managed to protect you from us. There’s a lot of people who would pay a lot of money to have you, just because you’re his.” He swept his eyes over her once. “Lucky me.”

He’s always been a bit overprotective, Katia thought. Always scoping out whatever restaurant they visited. Always a touch nervous whenever she would go out alone. She pushed the thoughts aside. “You’re a sick bastard,” she said instead.

“Maybe I am,” Savio admitted with a shrug. “But I can promise you that your husband would be doing the exact same thing in my place if he had someone he thought he could use against me.” His eyes were glimmering under the bright light as he watched her reaction, and she hated how much he seemed to be enjoying this. “He would ransom them and torture them. And he would enjoy every minute of it.” He tilted his head, pausing to think. “I hear he’s fond of blowtorches.”

Katia’s stomach churned and, absurdly, her first thought was of her and Nic baking together, laughing and kissing in the kitchen, using those little culinary blowtorches to burn the sugar on their creme brulee. Everything Savio was saying was completely insane, she knew that, and yet…

She forced herself to not flinch as Savio stood, walked over to her, until his face was inches from hers. “Just remember,” he said in a low tone. “Your husband isn’t refusing to cooperate because he’s so noble and won’t work with us lowlifes.” One hand came up and brushed a stray hair back from her face. “It’s because he’s decided his little criminal empire is more important than the wellbeing of his wife.”

“I don’t believe you,” she lied.

He smiled. “It doesn’t matter if you believe it.” His hand lingered on her cheek for a moment, thumb brushing at the blood that had begun to dry there.

Then he stepped back. “Hammond, get those cuts cleaned up.” Katia blinked in surprise as Leila moved near her; with the all-consuming shock of the conversation with Savio, she’d completely forgotten the other woman was still in the room. Savio headed for the door. “I’d hate for her to scar. We want her to look good for tomorrow.” He glanced back over at her with a nasty grin. “We’re going to have plenty of interested customers.”