#i had too much fun writing this

[givemeonereason]

Legacy pt 2

Part one here

Rating: 18+ only!

A/n: @actuallysaiyan girllllll I got you! Thanks for the love. That was the first fanfic I’ve written in over 12 years :)

I hope I’m able to try and write more. If anyone wants it. Or maybe just for the hell of it.

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7:00 pm

The tower fan in the corner of the room oscillates against your bare skin sending a slightly shiver up your spine.

You’ve been kneeling there atop the satin sheets of the kingsize bed for ten minutes. Though it was quiet in the room aside for the low hum of the fan, your mind was loud with anticipation.

Should I obey his wishes and stay undressed?

Should I put on a racy set of lingerie that I know will make his blood rush with desire?

Either way he’s going to get his way.

A small giggle spread your lips into a smile thinking about his rigid, hot body against yours, his calloused fingertips digging into the soft, plush of your hips, his thick cock plunging so deep inside of you. A moan escaped your lips and you wiggled your hips.

I can’t wait until he gets home.

Your imagination snapped with a squeak of the doorknob, opening the bedroom door. It took a few steps before he towers overtop of your kneeling frame.

Instinctively you reach out to touch him. But before you’re anywhere close to reaching him he smacks you hand away. A small yelp left your pouted lips. You rub the soft skin of your hand to dull the sting of his swat. Despite his cruel reaction you’re still so desperate to run your fingers across his strong chest and feel the warmth across the his hard abs. You licked your lips looking him over and tried to reach out once more.

Your effort was in vain as he grasped tightly at your wrists. Looking down at you with narrowed eyes and disappointed.

“Ah-ah, what did I say last night?”

Your eyes quickly move from your bound wrists in front of you to his eyes, his eyebrow arched and a knowing smile.

He brought your hand down towards his belt having you undo the buckle, leather and zipper.

“Go on.” His voice was stern. But you knew the price you’d pay if you disobeyed.

Another small look at him before you freed him from his briefs. His cock so hard in your hand. You lean forward and taking the flat of your tongue against the tip. He lets his eyes close, a small groan reverberating through his chest. The tang of precum permeating your tastebuds sending goosebumps over your bare skin. His own aphrodisiac that sends you into spiral of lust.

You take him into your mouth slowly. You can only take so much of him at a time. Even though you knew his intentions, he let you take your time taking him in before he would fuck your throat.

Slowly adjusting, slowly more. The deeper you took him the more he growled. You almost had him all the way in before he thrusted forward to fill the gap. It didn’t surprise you, but you choked nonetheless.

“Mmmm, what a good girl.” He starts to set a slow rhythm of his hips. You are skilled with your mouth, swirling your tongue, hollowing your cheeks. But what he loves the most is what you do with your hands. The way you caress his balls when he thrust against the back of your throat. The way your fingers dig into his muscled thighs. How you claw at his skin when your eyes flutter with both pain and pleasure. That makes him absolutely feral.

His thrusts become more rough and erratic. He’s gripping the hair at the crown at your head. He’s grunting and growling almost animalistic. “This mouth is perfect.” You can hear the rasp in his voice as he’s barely able to talk through clenched teeth. “Your mouth was made for my cock.”

He was so close, you saw his pulsing veins up his arms. You know how hard he is trying not to thrust at full strength as he would most likely hurt you in the process. You sucked harder thinking about him pounding hard into your wet heat. A trigger that sent him into his peak. His head thrown back and a loud moan escaping his throat as he emptied himself inside you. You continued through his orgasm, sucking him for all he’s got.

His hand dropping from your hair to your chin. “Did you finish it all?”

You nodded your head, looking up at him through eyelashes.

“Let me see.” His fingers are wrapped around your chin prying open your mouth. You stick your tongue out and he smiles down at you and wiping the stains of saliva down your chin and neck.

Your eyes close when he lightly grips at the soft spot of your throat. You moaned into his mouth as he leaned down into kiss you fervently.

You were lightly gasping for air when he broke the kiss, picked you up from the edge of the bed and laid you down against the pillows. His eyes are hungry looking at your naked form fully on display for him.

He stripped the rest of his clothing from him. Your eyes glazing over his body. Your cunt clenching around nothing with need.

He placed himself between your legs. Vegeta kissed you again, your hips bucking want him against you, inside you. He was so close, just not close enough. “Impatient woman.” He laughed, kissing down your neck and down your chest taking your pert nipple in his mouth. Again, you arch your back, bucking your hips. He bit down and you yelped. “You want your prince that bad, woman?” You hummed wiggling your hips. “By the end of night you are going to bear a Saiyan.”

Vegeta reached down pressing his fingers between your slick folds rubbing circles over your neglected bud. “Geta, I need you.”

He’s ignoring your pleas, dipping two fingers down into your entrance. “Vege….please, baby.” His fingers curling inside your tight walls.

He kisses you hard. “So tight.”

When Vegeta pulled his fingers from your heat you reached out grabbing onto his arms, pulling him towards you with force. This is nothing compared to his unmoving strength.

He held you down to line himself up against your entrance. He slowly rubbed himself against your folds for lubrication before he pushed the tip inside.

You are feverish now, nails digging into the muscles of his forearms until he bottoms out. He groans into your ear. “Tight…tight around this cock.” Pushing so deep inside you.

Vegeta thrust hard against you with brutal force. You began meeting his thrusts with all the energy you had left. “You’re going to…” Deep roll against your cervix. “…look so beautiful with my child inside you.” Roll again, again. “Beautiful.”

“Vegeta, cum. Cum inside me.” You moaned, rolling your head back against the soft pillow.

Faster, he pushed. Deeper, pushing at all your soft parts. Perspiration collecting around his brow. His lips on the pulse of your neck trying to muffle his grunting. His fingers laced with yours gripping the sheets.

“I’m close.” His voice barely above a whisper between his ragged breaths.

“Baby…” you back arching, reaching up pulling him against your chest. His cock twitching inside your clenching walls.

You shook almost violently, bitting down on his shoulder. He rolled down into your heat pushing you through your orgasm. You were almost limp when he ramped up to finish.

Overstimulated moans passing your lips when he grabbed onto your hips, the headrest slamming into the wall.

He shot his seed inside you. Emptying himself, leaving his half erect cock inside you in a mating press.

“This is only the beginning, my little human. When you catch your breath,” he kissed away the tears spilling from the corners of your eyes. “I will fuck you until I’m sure I’ll stick.”

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© 2023 givemeonereason

Don’t steal other people’s works! Respect creators!

Reblogs and likes appreciated :)

[very-bad-poetry-captain]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock Characters: Spock (Star Trek), Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk, Christine Chapel Additional Tags: arguing is their love language, Love Confessions, Very Bad Poetry, how to catch your doctor: written insults, set sometime during the five year mission, Jim really should have kept his mouth shut Series: Part 5 of Spones oneshots

Summary:

McCoy finds a left-behind poem on his lab desk. A very bad, very insulting poem. Naturally, he responds in kind.

[beautifulxboy]

Eli and León - Renaissance (Closed starter)

1985 somewhere in northern Italy

Eli had tried his best but it seamed it wasn't good enough. The hours he had put into his school work now felt pointless, a waste of time and energy he didn't have to begin with. His parents tried to tell them that it was just one year, considering how much Eli had been through, the hospital visits, the hospital stays, the symptoms that the doctors couldn't diagnose, being almost 20 years old and reliant on his walking cane on top of missing so much school made it understandable that Eli would have to take an extra year to finish school. Eli heard his parents sound reasonings, their reassurances that they were proud of him, the advice to not compare himself to his identical twin Elio. Still, Eli was devastated. Hushed conversations around the house mentioned his name along side words like depressed, concerned, eating and worried. Mafalda insisted Eli stay in sight under his mothers instructions, he could not stay alone in his bedroom anymore. She insisted that summer would show itself and clear his mind of these dark thoughts. She was constantly prescribing Eli Sunshine as he medicine for any and all of his illnesses and problems. Eli wasn't sure how long he had been sat at the kitchen table, slices of fruit on a plate in front of him grew stale, eyes fixed at the pair of worn out shoes that sat by the kitchen cabinet. They belonged to Elio and he had been asked countless times to move them. That morning they had waved Elio off on his new adventure. Eli almost begged his twin to stay but wouldn't do that to him. It was good to see his twin moving forward in life but he couldn't help but need him. They both had expressed that Elio's epic love affair and heartbreak had at least bought them closer as twins but now Elio was gone and Eli was left with just his thoughts. "Eli are you listening?" his father spoke to him making Eli break his stare and take in a deep breath through his nose. "No" he admitted honestly. "The summer guest has arrived" he smiled and held out his hands out as if he had just solved all of Eli's problems with one announcement. "Well, will you come say hello?" he suggested with a hint of frustration at Eli's indifference. "Yes" Eli spoke as he looked to his side, pushed back his chair and gathered his cane to help him walk. The grip on his cane knocked against the wood floor as Eli moved through the house following his father until they reached the commotion in the living room passing Eli's piano towards the door. Eli looked up and gave his eyes a moment to adjust as he took in the new figure that stood before him.

@sonoftartessos

[dem0nguy]

I wrote a hurt/comfort fic around Sheriff :3 (bc my guy lost his brother and never really got consoled for that)

Anyways, enjoy! 

[slow-clap-processors]

doing some revisions on part seven of ym(a), and i…

[thetrenderchronicles]

Broken Wings and Shattered Screams

WING AU: Brian Thomas Centric

Trigger/Content Warnings: angst, mentions of suicidal thoughts, semi-graphic torture, bodily mutilation, dead dove: do not eat, DONT READ IF YOU CANT HANDLE

Word Count: 2094 words

Tags: @shreeader @charl13x​ (if you wanna be added, let me know)

It was supposed to be a normal recon mission. Brian had done this for years. He'd sneak around, making sure no one got too close to flock territory and kill those who did. That or lead hunters away and then kill them. Either way, Brian was one of the best of the best scouts and killers of the group. He knew how to travel mostly undetected and he could kill someone in complete silence.

Normally, flock rules were to always have someone with you. A buddy system, if you will. Hoody tended to work better alone or only work with Masky. As Brian would work with Tim. However, Tim was busy with his family and helping the flock adjust to their new home thanks to hunters infiltrating their last home. Both Brian and Hoody wanted revenge.

Thankfully, Alex stood up and convinced Tim to let Brian go alone, saying he had survived seven years alone. Brian could handle a simple recon mission. Tim had a bad feeling in his gut, but he let Brian go anyway. Only, Brian never came back.

Hoody followed a group of hunters, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His wings lightly bristled in the wind, gently brushing some leaves. A smile crept onto his face and he pounced. An animalistic screech rang out followed by the sound of flesh being ripped apart before it all went silent.

“Tim!” Jay called, anxiously, blue and gray wings fluttering nervously. He, Alex, and Tim were on a mission to find Brian. He should have returned by then. “I found something!”

Tim ran over, footsteps thumping along the ground. “It had better be good,” he growled, protective instincts flaring. There was a reason he was known as Papa Birb Tim. “What the hell did you find?”

“Umm, Tim, calm down,” Jay nervously said, moving his wing to the side to reveal blood, Brian’s torn hoodie, and a note. Tim’s wings flared out with silent rage. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, Jay!” Tim bellowed. Jay shrank back.

“Tim, Brian’s most likely still alive,” Alex snapped, black wings tightly folded behind his back. “Don’t shoot the messenger. Jay just found this. If anything, be mad at me. I convinced you to let Brian go alone.” He squatted down and looked over the note, facial expressions grim. “Fuck.”

Brian screamed, pulling against the chains that secured his arms above his head. His wings violently flapped, slamming against the wall behind him, adding to the pain in his back. He snarled and snapped at anyone who got close to him, teeth clicking as they snapped together. He squirmed and tugged at the chains, metal digging into the flesh of his wrists.

“Well, well, well,” Doctor Harrison drawled, walking toward Brian, looking from the man to his clipboard. “Brian Thomas,” he clicked his pen. “You’ve been quite the thorn in my side. But don’t worry. This could all be over soon. Did you leave the note, my dear?”

“Yes, I did, Doctor,” Nurse Chaplan nodded with a gleeful smile. She waved to Brian. “Miss me?” Brian growled and spat at her. She narrowed her eyes.

“Now now,” Harrison spoke, interrupting the hostility. He glared at his nurse and ordered her to go check on some tests. As she left, he turned and harshly grabbed Brian’s chin, forcing him to look the doctor in the eyes. “Here’s the deal, Brian,” he cooed, eyes flashing dangerously. “You can get out of here safe and sound if your friends get here in time. If not,” he glanced back at his surgical equipment. “If not, then we are going to have a lot of fun.”

Brian’s eyes were blown wide and his wings subconsciously shuddered in fear. He forced himself to keep calm and not hyperventilate. Harrison let go of him and stepped back, jotting down notes onto his clipboard.

They had to come for him. They had to. Brian looked at the clock across the room, the hands and the ticking seemed to haunt him. With each passing minute, Brian lost a little hope. Twenty minutes to six o’clock. His arms hurt from being held above his head for so long. The operating room was cold. Too cold for Brian.

His mind wandered back to the past. He remembered Tim always acting annoyed when he’d go to bed alone and wake up with everyone in his nest. He remembered Jay being in his bird form, sitting on Jessica’s shoulders whenever she would go into town for food and supplies. Alex would always help where he was needed, part of him still working on forgiving himself for falling victim to the Operator. Everyone had long forgiven him, but Alex still had to forgive himself. Brian didn’t know he had started crying until he heard the teardrops hit the floor.

Ten minutes left. Tim pushed himself to fly faster. He traveled through intervals of running and flying. Jay and Alex struggled to keep up with him. Tim had to get Brian before he was killed. Brian was Tim’s first and only true friend. Tim remembered how they first met. Both bumped into each other when their two highschools had their graduation parties at the same complex. They ended up ditching the party to hang out at Applebee’s. Then, it all just happened.

Rain clouds gathered in the sky, light droplets falling to the earth. Soft thunder rolled in the distance and the pitter patter of the droplets hitting the leaves and puddles almost helped to calm the trio's nerves. Almost. Less than five minutes. Alex narrowed his eyes and pushed his tired, sore limbs harder.

—

Brian's entire body flinched as Doctor Harrison and Nurse Chaplan returned, both gleefully eyeing the surgical equipment. A pit of anguish and betrayal grew in Brian's stomach. They…they didn't come. Tears brimmed Brian's baby blue eyes.

"It's okay to cry," Harrison faked sympathy. "This is going to be very, very painful." He picked up a saw and handed Nurse Chaplan a pair of large tweezers. "Oh, such a shame your friends didn't come. I guess you're not as important as you think you are."

"Shut up!" Brian screamed, eyes blazing with fury. Those were the first words he had spoken since he got there. Hoody tried to take control back from Brian, but Brian's fear and stubbornness wouldn't let him. "SHUT UP!"

"Ooh, touchy subject," Chaplan giggled. "It was only a matter of time before your usefulness ran out and they'd leave you alone."

Brian shook his head. "No, no, no, you're wrong!" He snapped, lunging forward, chains clanging as they held Brian back. He clenched his fists and pulled with all of his strength. He hissed in pain as the irritated flesh burned as the metal dug deeper.

"Keep screaming," Harrison chuckled, shaking his head. "No one will hear you. Are you ready for our fun to begin?"

"I won't tell you anything," Brian hissed, glaring daggers at the two. Despite being abandoned, Brian was still loyal. He wouldn't destroy his friends because he's suffering. "Do your worst!" he spat.

"Oh," Chaplan cupped Brian's face with her hand, tweezers in her other hand. "We plan to." Brian went to bite her and, quick as flash, she snatched her hand back. She pushed a button on the wall and the chains lowered Brian's hands enough for her to reach them without being uncomfortable.

Brian screeched and tried to keep his hands away from her. Her nails dug into his palms and his talons came out. "No, no, please!" Brian whimpered, realization dawning. "Don't do this…AHHH!" He wailed as she yanked a talon out. Blood spurt onto her face and arms, but she didn't care. Brian's body jerked and tensed, throat raw from dehydration and pained screams. Blood dropped down to the tiled floor. Brian's knees gave out and he hung from his arms, tears streaming down his face.

"Hmm, I figured you'd have more of a pain tolerance," Chaplan hummed, cleaning the tweezers before going to the next hand. Brian weakly struggled and sobbed. "Oh, don't do that. I promise to be gentle." A sickening snap rang out as the next five talons were ripped out.

Black spots danced across Brian's vision. His hands burned and stung. Blood covered his hands and floor beneath him. His fingers were now shorter. The fight had left his body. He tried to fight as he was manhandled into a lying position. His boots and socks were forced off. "Please, stop," he whispered, throat shredded from screaming. He banged his head back against the cement. His mind flashed back to the fall and he struggled again. Pain spread through his wings that were pinned beneath him.

"Ten more to go, Brian," Chaplan cooed. "You're doing so well." She started the process again.

"Go to hell," Brian spat blood to the side. He cried out as Harrison harshly kicked his side. "Don't be rude, Brian. This is to better you." He laughed as Brian screamed. Ten more snaps rang out over the span of a few minutes. Chaplan's face, hands and arms were drenched with blood.

Brian's eyes rolled to the back of his head, the pain too much to bear. Yet, he wasn't granted the sweet release of unconsciousness. They forced him to stay awake. He barely registered being forced into standing position, feet in white hot agony. Only when his wings were pulled to full length did he perk up.

"No, no, no, not that!" Desperation filled his voice, eyes wide with pain and horror. "Please, no! I'll do anything! Anything!" He screeched. "Tim help please!" he sobbed, head drooping. "Alex, Jay, anyone, please! TIM!" He screamed and struggled, eyes bulging as air was forced from his hand. Harrison punched Brian's gut again.

"Quiet, this will soon be over, Brian." He took the surgical saw and stepped behind Brian. "Feel free to scream as loud as you can." He pressed the blade to the root of Brian's wing.

A bloodcurdling, anguished scream rang out. Brian's body went limp, all energy and fight gone. Blood splattered everywhere. Pain clouded his vision and mind. Brian begged for Tim to save him. He apologized and screamed, praying Tim would come save him. But, no one came. Two weights were lifted from his back.

"I thought you could have screamed louder," Harrison shrugged, dropping the two wings in front of Brian, forcing the man to look at what was taken from him. Brian sobbed, body sagging. "Shame." He gripped Brian's face. "Your mother did." Brian wailed, eyes full of hatred and agony.

"Chaplan, send the bill to Andrew. I'm sure he'd love to pay for this," Harrison manically grinned. "I'll tell your father you said thank you," he taunted before pushing Brian back. The chains let him go and Brian's head hit the floor, allowing him to finally go unconscious.

—

The rain washed away the blood that pooled under Brian's body. He couldn't move, body too spent to do anything but feel pain. Tears mixed with rain water slid down his cheeks. He peeled his eyes open and stared up at the clouds. The ground beneath his body was muddy and soft. Brian prayed for death. He wanted to die. Then the pain would go away. Then, Tim and the others wouldn't have to worry about him anymore.

He barely registered someone crying out and pulling his body into their lap. Brian made a soft noise of pain. The other hugged him tightly, whispering apologies. " 'im," Brian's words slurred together. " 'm sorry, 'm sorry. Tr'ed t' fight ba…back." Brian slipped back into unconsciousness.

Tim sobbed harder. He gently held Brian close and attempted to bring him back to the Flock. He blamed himself for being late. He, Alex, and Jay had gotten there at 6:04, but Brian was gone. Back at the Flock, Brian was treated by Amy and Sarah, both trying to keep their tears to a minimum. The whole night was a horrible nightmare.

Afterwards, Brian was placed in the middle of the cuddle pile. Tim held Brian. Surrounded by family and comfort, dull blue eyes opened, but it wasn't Brian who woke up. Hoody glared at the ceiling thinking of all the ways he could imagine to torture and kill Harrison, Chaplan, and Brian's father.

Brian Thomas died that day. Hoody failed to protect him. Now, Hoody wanted revenge. And revenge is what he will get. A cruel smile crept onto his face. Yes, Hoody would avenge Brian and every other Winged who suffered at Harrison's hand.

[himilce-persephoniea]

hmm on these prompts: what about "24. i was happier before"?

I’ve finally finished it 😈 I hope you are going to like it 👉👈 it was supposed to be a May the 4th gift, but it got out of hand.

The prompt invited for a post-order 66 too easily, so I choose violence, and made a Modern AU (maniacal laugh).

Here is the duolingo prompt list if you are curious/tempted.

And here we go!!

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“Hello, can you help me?”

Obi-Wan raised his head from his book and looked at the most gorgeous creature he had ever seen. Tall, honey-curled hair under a cap, dazzling smile, blue eyes, charming flannel that marked his perfect torso and biceps, even the scar on his eye was attractive. If demi-gods walked on earth incognito, this is what they would look like.

Obi-Wan tried to remember how to think again, closed his mouth, and opened it again to say. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

Tatooine was a little town lost in the middle of nowhere, and Obi-Wan was still asking himself months after move-in how he had landed there. When the police officer knocked at his door, he knew that something horrible had happened. A broken wire prevented a man from stopping his car, and he ran over the one who Obi-Wan thought was the love of his life. Satine didn't suffer, the police officer told him that much. She died the moment she hit the ground. No one was to blame, the wire just broke, the car had been revised a week earlier, and the man was perfectly healthy. It had been all a terrible accident. An accident that left Obi-Wan numb.

For months, he sank into sadness. He didn't eat, he didn't leave his home, he barely reached out of the bed. The day he noticed her clothes stopped smelling like her was a terrible day. He just could think of before. Before, when he was happier, when he had the light of his life, when he could breathe, when he could live.

He was forced to go to therapy. It was a mistake. He lied. Playing with the therapist was easy. He told them what they wanted to hear, and he was cleared quickly. Only Bo-Katan, Satine’s sister, was able to see through his lies. She was perceptive and never trusted him. But they never believed her. They should have.

Going to work was bleak, coming home was torture, seeing people happy threw him into a desperate spiral. He sank into a hopeless pit.

But then, one day, his father came. He lived far away, on the other side of the country. He had come to Satine’s funeral and had stayed a few days to help Obi-Wan with some things. He had fallen for his lies like everyone else, and had come back home. However, he had sensed that something was off when they had talked by phone, and he had come back.

“Obi-Wan,” he began after giving him something that should have tasted like Jasmine tea. “I know that you have been hiding your suffering.” He tensed, hearing that. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you. I’m not condoning your actions, grief is different for everybody. But I came here to tell you that I will always be with you, and, if you want, there is an opening as a librarian on Tatooine. You could come with me, leave this city and all its bad memories behind. Have a fresh start.” He lowered his voice, as he was hoping, “Be happy again.”

Obi-Wan looked at his teacup murderously. There wasn’t happiness in the world without Satine. “What happiness could I find in your town in the middle of nowhere? Give people books about crops? About farming? I had a life here, a career that I’ve built over the years, friends that want me close. You want me to be happy?” He raised his eyes and looked at him directly, “I’m going to tell you: I had found my happiness! And a stupid broken wire took it from me! I… I was happier before! Before this… this… Before…”

He collapsed in his father’s arms and cried. He was so tired. He wanted this pain to go away! He wanted to smile again; to wake up and have the will to make pancakes for breakfast. He wanted to have a family. Even if it was his wayward father. He missed his steady embrace, his strong grip, his deep voice telling him that everything would be alright. He had been a difficult child, he knew it, and now he was even more difficult as an adult. Satine saw him as a challenge that she liked to have everyday. There was no one left to be with him except his father.

“Come with me to Tatooine.” He caressed his head. “It's calm. And if you need a few days off for you, you wouldn’t have to answer to anyone, you’d be the only librarian.” Then his father did something he hadn’t done since Obi-Wan was a child: he hugged him tightly. “Come back home.”

Obi-Wan accepted. He resigned his post in one of the most prestigious libraries in the country, and moved to a little town in the desert. The local librarian, Mrs Nu, had retired, and they needed someone new to modernize the place. His father installed him in a little apartment near the library, and his job began.

Obi-Wan's first task was to fight the City Council to buy him computers: they were still using paper cards!! He asked for a raise for his paycheck too because the law said he needed to be paid 60% more, at least. Then, he searched desperately for the catalogue of the library, and when Obi-Wan found it eaten by rats, he almost fainted. He decided it was time to gather some help for his cause, but he didn't know how to do it.

“You’re going to need the kids,” said Shmi.

Shmi was Obi-Wan’s father’s neighbour, and the grandma of two adorable kids: Luke and Leia. Their father was the lawyer of Tatooine. It would take time for Obi-Wan to cross paths with him because he worked too much, but the other Skywalkers were easy to be with.

“Organize an activity in the school. Luke and Leia would adore doing something with you, and so the other kids. Then, convince some teenagers to help with the books and the catalogue.”

“I can’t pay them.” He had barely convinced the City Council to pay Mrs Nu her real retirement, he couldn't push again for some kids now.

“They need to have some extracurricular activities in their CV for college. Except for Anakin's law office, you’re the most interesting thing in town.”

Obi-Wan decided to follow Shmi’s advice, and the next morning he went to the school and high school to propose a collaboration with the library. He will give to whoever came recommendation letters in exchange for their help in organizing the library and their help in certain events. He wanted to do readings for children and have an outpost of the library when there was a festival in town. But for that, he needed someone to take care of the library itself when he was out.

Three teenagers came to his library after he posted the announcement. All in their last year of high school, all three friends.

“What are your names? And why do you want to achieve with this activity?” he asked during their interview. He wasn't going to hire them because they have come.

One of the boys, a redhead, talked first, “I’m Cal Kestis. I want to be an archaeologist. My history teacher said that first I have to be acquainted with the libraries to do a good job.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. That teacher wasn’t wrong, but… an archaeologist? From Tatooine? That was ambitious.

“My name is Merrin,” said the second of the teenagers. “I want to be a scientist, not sure yet what field, but a scientist. These books are the base of my future profession, I want to know them better than anyone.”

Obi-Wan nodded, “Great plan. You’ll find what field you feel more comfortable with very soon, I’m sure.” He turned to the last one of the lot. “And you?”

“Caleb Dume. I like sports, I want to be a professional troublemaker, and I’m here because Cal, Merrin, and my mom forced me to do some extracurricular activities.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “And Mr Skywalker has kicked you out of his office?”

“No, sir,” Cal intervened, sighing. “Director Windu has prohibited Mr Skywalker from taking Caleb under his wing. And I quote, one at a time is enough. Tatooine wouldn’t survive them both together unleash.”

Caleb seemed grumpy, “Director Windu is my grandpa and a buzzkill.”

Obi-Wan tried to not make any strange faces. He had met Director Windu, and he didn't seem old enough to be a grandfather. The world was full of surprises.

“Well,” he finally said, “If you like sports, I’m sure I can do something with you. Kids are extremely active.”

“You take all three?”

“Yes. I need someone who would have the courage to adventure in the archives. I’ve seen rats out there bigger than cats, Cal.” The redhead seemed happy with the perspective, Obi-Wan had fled the place and hadn't come back yet. “I need someone to substitute me when I’m out at meetings, Merrin.” She nodded, “And I need a co-pilot for the activities with kids, Caled.”

And that’s how he found himself, that afternoon, selecting/reading a book for the next activity with kids. Caleb was supposed to read the story to them, but he had to be sure he would catch their attention, so Obi-Wan needed a very entertaining story.

The man with the cap was smiling at him, ravaging any concentration Obi-Wan could have on the books. He didn’t even know what book he had in front of him.

“I’ve come to pick up my kids.”

And suddenly, everything crumbled. Of course that gorgeous man was married with kids. In a place as little as Tatooine, men like that were snatched in middle school. Obi-Wan tried to hide his disappointment. It had been the first time he thought about looking at someone since Satine. It was a strange feeling, but he discarded it quickly, he had other more important matters.

“I think it's the first time I see you,” hottie or not, Obi-Wan wasn’t going to lead a stranger to kids he had the responsibility for. Parents usually left their kids in the library to read. It was an unspoken kindergarten.

“Yeah, that’s for sure,” said the man, leaning over his desk with a smirk, “I'd have remembered your eyes.”

Was he… Was he flirting? Obi-Wan wanted to be offended for that man’s partner. But, suddenly, he heard a little voice coming from behind him.

“Daddy!! You came!” Little Leia Skywalker ran around the library desk and crashed into the man’s legs. “Did you finish your day early today?”

“Yes, princess.” He caressed her head. “I called your grandma, and she said you were here.”

“Yes!! Ben let us stay in the dinosaur section.”

Anakin Skywalker, because that was the famous Anakin Skywalker, smiled wryly. “So it’s Ben? And here I thought that the name of the famous new librarian, of whom I have heard so much about, was Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan tried to not get all flustered. He was a seasoned man, with experience. He had years of experience; some glancing smiles shouldn’t affect him at all. He would never dare to show his college records to his father –too much glitter and long hair back then–. But the reality was that he liked Anakin’s smile, he liked when he looked at him, and he certainly liked when he directed that wry smile at him. It hadn’t happened to him in a long time. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.

“Obi-Wan is a complicated name for little children. Instead of letting them butcher my name, I give them a nickname.”

Mr Skywalker smiled, “Can I call you Ben, too?”

He had to know what Obi-Wan’s answer was going to be. “You’re a grown-up man, with a bachelor degree. I’m sure you can perfectly say my name without being tongue-tied.”

The man in front of him laughed as if Obi-Wan had said something funny. “I can try to see what your name would feel like in my mouth over dinner. What do you think? Tomorrow at seven?”

Suddenly, the pleasant feeling wasn’t there anymore. One thing was some smiles, a laugh, a phrase said innocently, but this was completely different. Obi-Wan hadn’t expected that Luke and Leia’s father would ask him… ON A DATE?

“Mr Skywalker, this is highly inappropriate!”

The man smirked. “I have a lot of inappropriate ideas, but my daughter is in front of us. So, what’s your answer?”

Mr Skywalker had crossed a line Obi-Wan hadn't imagined he would cross so quickly. This was intolerable. Obi-Wan straightened his back, outraged. “Absolutely not! I’m going to call Luke.”

That afternoon, when he called his father to tell him what had happened, the man laughed. He told Obi-Wan to not worry. Anakin was harmless; he just probably wanted to cheer him up because he saw him too serious. Two days later, Leia told Obi-Wan that Shmi had been furious. That day, the man was back, at noon, with a box of chocolate chip cookies as an apology.

“Mr Kenobi,” Oh, he was Mr Kenobi now? Never underestimate the power of an angry mother. “I owe you an apology. You were right, my behaviour was highly inappropriate. I shouldn't have told you those things. Please, accept my apologies.”

Obi-Wan looked at the cookies with hesitation. “Why did you say those things?”

The man shrugged. “You looked so serious. I thought they could make you smile.” He looked a little ashamed. In his demeanour, suddenly, Obi-Wan saw how much Luke looked like his father. He was unable to be angry at the man for long. “I’ve always been a disaster at flirting, but my late wife always laughed at the end. I suppose I wanted you to laugh too, using the same tricks. I should have thought that, sometimes, the same trick doesn't work for different people.”

Obi-Wan leaned on his desk. He wanted to say a lot of terrible things, and most of them rebukes on the lawyer’s behaviour. But it was clear that his mother had already done the job; it wasn’t necessary to do it again.

“Apologies accepted.” He took the cookie box.

The next few weeks, Anakin –“If someone else calls me Mr Skywalker outside my workspace, I swear, I’m going to commit murder.”– came more regularly to the library to pick up his children. He brought more cookies to the three teenagers, and even candies. Obi-Wan got to know him better. His late wife, Padmé, had been one of the Council Members of the town. She died in childbirth; no one could do anything to prevent it. Anakin threw himself at his children, and at being the only lawyer in town. He had the help of his mother, who ran the farm next to Obi-Wan’s father’s estate. Anakin was passionate about mechanics and repaired everything that broke on his mother’s farm.

Two months after that disastrous first day, he was helping Obi-Wan clean a part of the archives where a pipe had exploded. It had been a catastrophe. Cal, Merrin, Caleb and Obi-Wan had saved what they had been able to in the archives, but everything was flooded. The plumber had said that he would have to come back another day because the damages were too heavy to repair in one day. Anakin had come to bring some pastries, and Obi-Wan hadn’t had any moral issues to recruit him to clean the basement. The lawyer laughed and began to help him. Two hours later, they were both completely dirty, but the ground was clean.

“Thank you, Anakin,” said the poor librarian. “Without you, I would have been cleaning until midnight.”

The man shrugged. “Mom is taking care of the twins. Knowing them, they would have wanted to help, and we would have had two very dirty children in addition to our clothes.”

Obi-Wan was picturing the awful picture. He would have to buy something nice for Shmi to thank her.

“Alright, what about we call it a night? We close the library, we shower at my house, and I prepare something light for dinner as a thank-you. How does that sound?”

A fretting smile appeared on Anakin’s lips, as if he wanted to say something, but he didn’t dare to say it. “Do you have something my size?”

Obi-Wan looked at the man. He was tall, but Obi-Wan was bulkier. “I’m sure we can find something.” The librarian didn’t want to tell Anakin right away, but he liked to sleep in very long pants. He was sure he could give him some of his spare pants.

They closed the library and went to Obi-Wan’s apartment. It was just in front of the library. It was very convenient for him. He had to leave home barely two minutes before opening the library, and if he had forgotten something, he could come back swiftly.

Obi-Wan’s apartment was cosy and small. It was nested on the top of a three-story building. On the weekends, when the sun hit the windows, it was the perfect place to sit and read a book with a good cup of tea. Obi-Wan had managed to bring back his enormous library. He could buy anything from scratch, but he will never abandon his books.

Obi-Wan had always hoped that some of his friends from the city would come to visit him. Since he had moved, only Quinlan had threatened him with his presence –and he was scheduled for a visit in a few months–. For that purpose, Obi-Wan bought a sofa-bed; Anakin would sleep there. He gave Anakin the opportunity to shower first. He had guessed correctly, his pyjama pants were exactly Anakin’s size. While the lawyer was showering, Obi-Wan began to prepare everything for his stay and the dinner. He thought that some sautéed vegetables would be perfect.

Anakin came out of the shower, and Obi-Wan had to remember that staring was rude.

“I’m sorry,” said the man sheepishly, “your t-shirt is quite too short for me.” He made a demonstranstation, and he was right, the shirt left all his stomach uncovered. Obi-Wan tried to not blush. “Don’t worry, we are at the beginning of the summer, I’m not going to catch a cold.”

Obi-Wan breathed one time, to not say something stupid, and then he said. “If you think you’re not going to be cold… I’ve prepared everything for sautéed vegetables. Is it alright for you?”

Anakin smiled softly. “Perfect.”

Obi-Wan ran away to the shower and showered with cold water, very cold water. When he was more master of his emotions, he came out and prepared dinner. Everything went smoothly and they separated for bed.

A few hours later, Obi-Wan was unable to sleep. He thought that maybe a good cup of chamomile would help him to regain his calmness. He stood up and went to the kitchen to prepare the infusion. He was so lost in his thoughts, thinking about everything he had to do with the broken pipe, that he didn’t notice Anakin entering the room. He just saw him when he sat next to him.

“Mom used to make them for me when I was a kid and I couldn't sleep.”

Obi-Wan smiled softly, nesting his cup. “Chamomile is an infusion that calms nervous people. Do you want a cup?”

Anakin threw him one of his lost puppy’s eyes, and Obi-Wan was unable to resist him. He gave him another cup, and they went to sit at the window, under the stars.

“I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true that in the big cities, you cannot see them as bright.”

Anakin nodded. “I know. I had my degree in Coruscant. When Padmé was pregnant, her parents asked us if we wouldn't prefer to move to a bigger city where the twins could go to better schools.” He drank a long sip. “Padmé said that they would have missed the stars. I’ve never regretted that decision.” He looked at him, smiling. “And Tatooine is not that far from her native Naboo. Her parents come every now and then to see the twins. With their health problems, they couldn't have done it if we would have moved to a city like Coruscant.”

Obi-Wan smiled. “I’m glad to have listened to my father… I would have never found a pinch of peace where I was. Too many things reminded me of Satine. I needed a fresh start with people that loved me.”

They stayed in silence for a moment, until Anakin dared to say something Obi-Wan had the impression he had wanted to say for a long time. “I… I know that I’ve apologized already for what I said the first day we met. But I do regret it… I mean…” Even if they had stayed with the lights closed, he could see how Anakin was blushing. “I regret how I acted.”

Weeks had passed since that incident, and Obi-Wan had learned to know Anakin. He knew now that he wasn’t a bad person. “You regret just how you acted, not what you said, don't you?”

The younger man got even more flustered. “Yes, that’s it. I mean! That’s not something you say to someone you have just met! And I said it in front of Leia!!” He put his hands on his face. “Every time I think about it.”

Obi-Wan laughed. “That’s alright, Anakin. I’m sure Leia has forgotten the words, and I know you tried to cheer me up.” He drank a little of his chamomile. “Besides, even if it was a long time ago, they have said worst things to me at college.”

Anakin looked at him seriously. “Satine didn't flirt with you?”

Obi-Wan smiled sadly. “Her flirting was more on the sparring side. When we fought, you knew we were flirting.” Anakin looked at him bewildered. “It was our way of saying that we found the other fascinating. It was romantic, Anakin, believe me.”

Anakin leaned his head on his hand and said softly: “You deserve to hear on a daily basis that the sun wakes up every day to see you, that the stars were hung up in the sky to make you smile, and that the moon shines brighter with your laugh.”

Obi-Wan didn’t know what to say. No one had said anything like that to him. When he was at college, he had flirted a great deal, but what he had said –and had been said– would have put an expert courtesan to shame. Sincerely, no one had ever mentioned the beauty of his eyes, of how he smiled. He had always believed that that sort of courtship belonged to the nineteenth century, to romantic books, said by characters so impossible that they could only be the creation of a human mind. No one could say such things in real life.

“Anakin… that was… rather cute to say about someone.”

The young man sighed. “You don’t believe I can think them.” It wasn’t a question.

Obi-Wan stood up and put a hand over his shoulder. “Of course I believe it. Just not about me.” and he went back to his room, leaving the cup in the sink.

The next day marked the beginning of Anakin’s crusade to send Obi-Wan the most ridiculous messages of all time. Every day the librarian would find a note handwritten by Anakin. It could be in his mailbox, under the door of the library, given to his children as intermediaries; and what they said was even more ridiculous: “I’m wearing the smile you give me”, “the light of the day is warmer because I have you in my heart”, “You are Endor’able” –Obi-Wan get mad at this one because it made him snort, and the twins asked him to show them what it was that funny.

At the end of the first week, Obi-Wan left the library to Merrin, and went to Anakin’s law office to ask him to stop. The place was more professional than he had imagined. It had those spaces that screamed money, it had the comfortable seats that he had seen in every expensive law office. He knew that Anakin was the only lawyer in town, but he really made that much money?

Trying to continue with his burst of confidence, he went to the secretary and asked to see Anakin. He had seen her a lot of times in the bar down the corner, dancing with a smile. Seeing her in her professional environment was strange.

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, I can’t let you pass without an appointment.”

“I’m here, so your boss can stop this kind of nonsense.” He showed his ‘Endor-able’ card. She snorted too, but recovered her professional stand quickly. “I’m sure you can squeeze me somewhere.”

The secretary looked at his schedule and smiled sheepishly. “He only has his lunch free today.” Obi-Wan was fed up, so he accepted. “One moment.” She picked up her phone. “Mr Skywalker? An appointment wants to see you urgently. But you only have your lunchtime free…” From a nearby office, came a series of noises. Obi-Wan was sure he had angered the man. Good. “Oh, someone you find Endor-able.”

Suddenly, more noises came from that office and Anakin came out. He straightened his suit –a very expensive and tailored suit– and walked toward the secretary’s office.

“Obi-Wan! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Obi-Wan showed him the recent note as an explanation. “Oh, Rose here is right. I need more than a couple of minutes with you, and my next appointment is about to arrive. What do you think if, instead of lunch, I repay you for the other day’s dinner, and I prepare you something tonight?”

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, “you better had a good excuse.”

“I’ll be good, promise.”

Obi-Wan sneered, “That’s not in your vocabulary.”

And he left the office. When he told Merrin what had happened, the teenager raised an eyebrow and just commented, with a veiled smile, “he has managed a date out of you… I’m impressed.”

Obi-Wan wanted to protest, but suddenly, he realized that the young one was correct; with his notes and his busy schedule, the only viable solution to talk with him was after their respective working time. And he was almost certain that Shmi would be more than pleased to take care of the twins for the night. He had been trapped by Anakin Skywalker, and he hadn’t seen him coming. How did it happen?

When he closed the library, Anakin was already there, waiting for him, with a radiant smile. Obi-Wan really wanted to be mad at him: the notes had been embarrassing, and he could have asked him for a proper date if he wanted it so badly, but they needed to talk, so he let him have his way.

Anakin kept his promise, and brought Obi-Wan to his home. He had been there several times those past few weeks, accompanying the twins back. Anakin had shown him where the spare key was and had trusted him to take care of his children in case Shmi couldn't, and he was blocked with a case. It was a very rare occurrence, but sometimes it happened. The next day, he would find a piece of cake as a thank-you gift –Anakin had discovered Obi-Wan's sweet tooth through his father, and he exploded it as the heartless lawyer he was.

“What do you think about spaghetti with meatballs?” the lawyer asked, while taking his coat out and heading to the kitchen.

Obi-Wan laughed, it was such a kid's meal. “It's not healthy, Anakin.”

A grinning smile appeared through the door, “when was the last time you ate spaghetti with meatballs?”

He had to surrender: when he was a kid, his father had tried to make some lunch. It had been awful, but young Obi-Wan had still loved it because his father had made it for him. Spaghetti with meatballs reminded him of that time in his childhood.

“What can I do to help?”

Anakin cooked and Obi-Wan set up the table. Apparently, in a house with two four-year-olds, things got dirty very quickly: there was only one clean tablecloth, a blue and red chequered one. Obi-Wan didn't make any comments, and tried to avoid the song that was beginning to play in his head. When Anakin brought the biggest spaghetti with meatballs plate he had ever seen, he had to laugh.

“Only one dish?”

“It’s funnier if we eat from the same dish.”

He wasn’t wrong. They began to eat and talk. Quickly, Obi-Wan forgot why he had come to Anakin’s house, why he was so mad at him, or why he should. He was comfortable discussing his library, about Cal and the other two teenagers in his charge; he liked to hear about Anakin’s day and his plans to take the twins to the lake where he took their mother on their first date.

At the end of the mega dish, he suddenly realized: the sadness that had been about to swallow him whole in the city wasn't there anymore. He could talk about Satine without dying from despair, he could remember their time together with a smile, he was full of projects for his workplace, and even better, his heart was beginning to beat for someone else. He hadn’t realized, but Anakin’s attention had warmed his heart. He didn’t know if the widower was interested in him, but he had helped him to realize that he could see other people again.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” said Anakin, panicking, “You are freaking me out.”

Obi-Wan laughed and then said, “I can’t help it. I am trapped in the gravitational field of your eyes.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow, weirded. Oh, it was fun to say those kinds of sappy quotes and see the reactions of the target. He could maybe try another one. “Looks like you’ve got your blaster set to stun because you’re stunning!”

“Oh gosh, no! Obi-Wan! That one was terrible!” Was he blushing?

“Are you a Sith Lord? Because I’ve Fallen for you.”

“This one is not funny, Obi-Wan!!” Oh, he was definitely blushing.

“Did it hurt when you fell from Cloud City?”

Anakin hid his face behind his hands. Obi-Wan took them, separated them, and forced him to look at him.

“Oh, but Anakin, I think too that you’re Endor-able. Especially blushing like that.”

“Do you really think so?"

Anakin recovered his seriousness. He wasn't smiling anymore. Obi-Wan could see a kind of vulnerability that made him want to protect the man he had in front of him. He wanted to have him in his arms forever and be sure that nothing would happen to him ever again. He wanted to lull him on the front porch, until they reached old age together.

“I do.”

Anakin made one of his risky moves and launched himself to kiss Obi-Wan. For once, he stopped overthinking about everything and reciprocated it. It was a warm and soft kiss, and it tasted home.

Later, he would never admit to his father that it had been thanks to him that he had found his husband, he would deny it until his last breath. He would always say that it was Anakin’s awful flirting skills and his cookies what seduced him. But they all knew; if he hadn’t moved he wouldn’t have found his peace, his happiness, his love. They would visit Varykino, Padmé’s home, and Kalevala, Satine’s home. The twins would meet Bo-Katan, and she would be a fierce competitor with Beru Lars for being the most amazing aunt ever –the prize would be won by Breha Organa, a friend of Padmé, by far–. Luke would be a kindergarten teacher, and he would find his husband in a single father from Mandalore. Leia would be a politician, like her mother, but on a much bigger scale.

And Obi-Wan and Anakin? They would age on their porch. Happily ever after.

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

Obi-Wan’s flirting sentences come from this web. I’d be completely unable to come up with those. Let's say he searched on internet as I did. Anakin deserved his own Medecine 🤭 hope you like it! Until next time!!

[wasabi-gumdrop]

neon glory squad 💖

[sugarcoatednightshade]

thinking about how Humans Are Space Orcs stories always talk about how indestructible humans are, our endurance, our ability to withstand common poisons, etc. and thats all well and good, its really fun to read, but it gets repetitive after a while because we aren't all like that.

And that got me thinking about why this trope is so common in the first place, and the conclusion I came to is actually kind of obvious if you think about it. Not everyone is allowed to go into space. This is true now, with the number of physical restrictions placed on astronauts (including height limits), but I imagine it's just as strict in some imaginary future where humans are first coming into contact with alien species. Because in that case there will definitely be military personnel alongside any possible diplomatic parties.

And I imagine that all interactions aliens have ever had up until this point have been with trained personnel. Even basic military troops conform to this standard, to some degree. So aliens meet us and they're shocked and horrified to discover that we have no obvious weaknesses, we're all either crazy smart or crazy strong (still always a little crazy, academia and war will do that to you), and not only that but we like, literally all the same height so there's no way to tell any of us apart.

And Humans Are Death Worlders stories spread throughout the galaxy. Years or decades or centuries of interspecies suspicion and hostilities preventing any alien from setting foot/claw/limb/appendage/etc. on Earth until slowly more beings are allowed to come through. And not just diplomats who keep to government buildings, but tourists. Exchange students. Temporary visitors granted permission to go wherever they please, so they go out in search of 'real terran culture' and what do they find?

Humans with innate heart defects that prevent them from drinking caffeine. Humans with chronic pain and chronic fatigue who lack the boundless endurance humans are supposedly famous for. Humans too tall or too short or too fat to be allowed into space. Humans who are so scared of the world they need to take pills just to function. Humans with IBS who can't stand spicy foods, capsaicin really is poison to them. Lactose intolerance and celiac disease, my god all the autoimmune disorders out there, humans who struggle to function because their own bodies fight them. Humans who bruise easily and take too long to heal. Humans who sustained one too many concussions and now struggle to talk and read and write. Humans who've had strokes. Humans who were born unable to talk or hear or speak, and humans who through some accident lost that ability later.

Aliens visit Earth, and do you know what they find? Humanity, in all its wholeness.

[hootyhoowoo]

A little 15 min doodle but first post of the year has to be Bingqiu!

[sweetieviktor]

"cuddles? cuddles!", feat. steb.

summary: after patrol, steb come home asking for cuddles!

word count: 300.

content warning: just fluff!! :D ((and this may be a little bit ooc since he got so little screen time

author notes: okay, theres almost 1 month since i’ve written something for this blog and im really sorry for it (but hey, at least im 18 now and looking for a job :)). i hope this count as an apology lol. hope yall like this!

after a hard day at work, steb favorite thing to do is to lay down on your bed and just listen to you and all the sounds coming from outside your home. the raindrops were hitting softly against the window, the dark clouds blocking any source of light, no voices could be heard in the streets, a peaceful night. perfect to cuddle.

he rolled to your side of the bed, stealing some of the blanket while doing so, but now he was closer to you, sharing his warmth. you wouldn't need the blanket anymore, would you? he poked your arm once, twice. his shiny eyes looking up at you, secretly hoping you would get his intentions.

you tried to contain your smile, looking at the ceiling, not wanting to fall for his charms again. he did this every time, he annoyed you till he got what he wanted. he pushed his upper body up, using his forearm as a support. looking over you now, he blocked almost all the ceiling, still making this face, glossy eyes, pout lips and turned down ears. the same face he knew you wouldn't say no to. “urgh, fine! but give me back my part of the blanket.”

you snorted while he smiled smugly once you opened your arms, letting him accommodate himself over you, adjusting the blanket so it could shield you both from the cold atmosphere on the outside. he propped his head over your chest, taking your hand in his and kissing your palm shortly, bringing it to his hair. you knew what he meant, so you played with his hair till his ears dropped and the scales around his eyes moved softly, only reacting when your fingers touched his scalp again, letting go of any stress from earlier. he surely looked adorable when sleepy.

[bonbonly]

college au! daniel.. people (me) died.. i LOVE college/uni au’s so lord, sign me up. especially because i actually have my own variation of student! daniel brewing.. nsfw obvi but.. another au about it? tell me more 🫵

no em omg because i have this WHOLE idea it's crazy, lemme drop a thot - i mean erm, thought

bon's thoughts (18+) (exhibition, p in v, calling reader a whore/slut, i got carried away again lol)

collegeau! daniel ricciardo is definitely your best friend. the both of you constantly have to leave lecture halls because he keeps acting like he's in high school, throwing a pencil at you and leaning in to whisper some crude joke about whatever you were learning in class. you have to clamp a hand over your mouth and snicker quietly.

it's like having two class clowns in class, one is clearly trying to do everything he can to get expelled, and the other (you) is still trying to focus on your classes while doing something that has the whole class laughing. and so it becomes a game between danny and you, who's going to outdo each other in class and make each other break first. the challenge would start in a week, and danny wiggled his brows and with a haughty look loudly declared that he was def going to win.

most of the days follow you biting into your knuckles to not laugh out loud, or danny burying his face in his hands, his body shaking as he tries everything he could to not let the giggles out. surprisingly, danny breaks first and it wasn't even in front of the class.

he joined you in the library after he finished playing basketball with his friends. his cap on backwards, his sweat stained shirt dampened just enough so you could see the outlines of his abs. you scoffed, going back to your notes because "playtime was over daniel" but when he took off his shirt and tossed it at you because he knew how you hated the smell of sweat, you rolled your eyes and said "ok whore"

and that made him laugh out loud with wide eyes, "e-excuse me?" he asked, which had you giggling. there's a dark glint in his eyes that you failed to notice, his big grin seemed to mask all his intentions.

that little game you had now transformed into something else. you were still trying to out-do each other, but in a very different way. daniel would purposely roll up the sleeves of his white tee for your friends to ogle at his glistening arms after an intense workout. you'd wear an extremely tight jumpsuit when you offered to bring him his homework in front of his friends. daniel, being impressed, decided to go even further one day and undressed down to his boxers in front of your group of girls when they were loitering behind the bleachers to look at the athletes. he flashed a smile at you, waving innocently despite the unimpressed look you gave him. he was starting to annoy you now, because all your friends could only talk about daniel! daniel's so hot, daniel's so funny, did you see daniel the other day? he had his hands in his curls, i wanna tug his curls when he's-

and your resolve snapped, so you decided to put your entire life into winning this challenge once and for all. it was daniel's birthday and he invited all his friends and even for your friends to his house! you weren't really the type to stay up that late, so he wasn't really expecting you to show up. and then his eyes widen at the sight of you in that red crop top, he could see a glimpse of your underboobs and the tiniest mini-skirt to match. when you bent over, he could see that you weren't wearing panties.

ok whore, he thinks to himself, a massive smirk on his face. you really outdid him tonight.

so when his friends, all drunk out of their minds, decide to get a bit too handsy with you, daniel chuckles and pulls you upstairs to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"ok who won?" he asks, and you pretend to not know what he's talking about.

"won what?"

"our challenge? because im ready to let you be the winner," he throws his hands in the air, taking defeat. you frown, usually daniel was all about winning.

"and why do you want me to be the winner?" you raise an eyebrow, crossing your arms.

"because i'm so fucking hard right now, and if my friends even dare touch you, i might fuck you right in front of them," daniel exclaims, glaring at you to even dare think about messing with his friends. he should know you by now, though. you've been best friends for years. and that smirk you had wasn't really convincing him that you'd pass up on his threat.

"i guess you won then, ah fuck, sweetheart," daniel groans as he has you bouncing his cock, facing his friends who are cheering him on. your crop top is torn to shreds on the ground, and daniel's hands roll your nipples, loving the way you whine out loud. he scowls at one of his friends who gets a bit too close for his liking and his hands fall down to grab your hips, bucking his hips harder and faster, "fuck, she's mine, and only mine. she's my fucking slut, nobody touches her except for me."

his words only spur you on, and pretty soon you're cumming around his cock which is still bullying into you at an ungodly pace. you have nothing to hold on to, and your head falls back onto his shoulder as he continues his abuse, "fuck, fuck, fuck, you're so good, fuck i should've done this a long time ago. we were too busy cracking jokes huh?"

you can't even respond because now he's rubbing hard circles on your oversensitive clit, ensuring that you orgasm once more. you shake your head, trying to squirm away but he clicks his tongue, shaking his head mockingly, "ah, ah, ah, baby, you wanted this remember? show my friends how you're gonna milk my cock again, show them how much you love me, show them what my best friend is gifting me for my birthday"

you're screaming as you cum for the second time, and daniel's peppering kisses onto your cheek, reminding you that you still had the entire night to celebrate his birthday AND your win.

[starry-bi-sky]

Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well: 

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.  

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents. 

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill. 

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.) 

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one. 

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself. 

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.) 

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.) 

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.  

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe. 

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.  

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal. 

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking. 

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter. 

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind. 

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous. 

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own. 

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t. 

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward. 

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”) 

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)  

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell. 

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his. 

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it. 

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.   

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now. 

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own. 

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)  

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother. 

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten. 

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands. 

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely. 

It is a fast dream. 

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods. 

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him. 

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal. 

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train. 

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.) 

—---  

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again. 

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person. 

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.) 

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)   

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird. 

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is. 

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off. 

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom. 

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.) 

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

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

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

[sage-lights]

amanda wdym that your fic was supposed to have an amangela make out scene and that amangela broke up in your world…

[diyasgarden]

merry christmas, please don’t come

“Oh, golden boy, you shined a light on our home and at your best you were magic we were sold. But don't tell 'em what you told me. Don't even tell 'em that you know me.I would rather burn forever”

from “Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call” by the Bleachers

“What do you mean Patrick isn’t coming?”

Art doesn’t know how many times they’ve had this conversation. (He stopped keeping track after the fifth time)

Memory loss, a dwindling attention span, and blanking. All problems the doctors said his grandmother would struggle with after her stroke. He’d expected difficulties with remembering her routine or where she was. Even the people around her. General things, he could walk her through. Not something so specific. And frankly, considering all the things she could forget, this feels like a cruel joke.

He lets out a steady exhale, stepping closer to where his grandmother stands by the small fir covered in lights, tinsel, and other markers of the Christmas season. Sebastian, the old tabby, is nuzzled right by where his grandmother placed the small, wrapped box under the tree, looking up at him with a cautious gaze.

“He isn’t able to come this year,” Art repeats, reaching to the home-made popsicle candy cane ornament hanging at arm’s length on the tree. It was the decoration he made with Patrick when he came to visit Christmas in 2000 — the first of a long line of ornaments they’d make together for the holiday. 

His grandmother lets out a gentle, albeit unbelieving scoff as she shakes her head. “He always comes,” she remarks, a blatant dismissal of Art’s words. 

His thumb rubs aimlessly over the painted birchwood decoration, as he looks back at her with a tentative gaze. She wasn’t wrong, Patrick would always come for the holiday. After spending Hanukkah with his folks, he’d fly out to the midwest by the twenty-fourth and spend the rest of winter break with him. “For a proper Christmas experience” he’d tease, although Art knew that he just didn’t want to be at home.

Now it’s the twenty-third and he was nowhere in sight. 

“Well he isn’t this year, grandma,” Art sighs, eyes quickly darting back to the tree. The ornaments he made with Patrick are there on nearly every other branch. His thumb presses down harder on the candy-cane popsicle, continuing it's steady back and forth motion, as his eyes jump from one decoration to the next.

Her eyebrows knit and she looks down to the present she placed for Patrick, Art’s gaze trailing behind her’s. In smooth, cursive black sharpie, the word “Pat” is written on top of the metallic red wrapping paper. It's small enough that Art can’t figure out what it is, but its presence may as well take up the whole room. 

“Did he say why?” she suddenly asks, instantly looking back up to him. 

The question is ironic. As if Patrick had any say in the decision. As if he chose not to come. Really Art should just say "he isn't welcome here" and move on. But that's an over simplification in itself.

Art turns his head up to her and settles with: “He’s busy.” 

t wasn’t a lie. The last time he checked, Patrick was somewhere in the Mediterranean, probably trying his luck with the European tour. Or at least that’s what Art gathered from Patrick’s recent facebook posts. (He allowed himself a peek every once in a while to keep his curiosity at bay)

His grandma takes in a soft inhale, looking back down at the present. Sebastian moves away from the box to rub against her leg with a purr, and she looks down at the cat, before shrugging. “We’ll keep it in case he comes.” 

He supposed the danger of going no-contact with Patrick meant that his old friend really had no way of knowing what Art expected.

And Patrick always had a tendency to see what he wanted.

we'll keep it in case he comes

Suddenly, Art feels a sharp poke in his hand, and he turns back to where his finger holds the popsicle stick decoration to see a splinter in his thumb.

He stares at it for a moment and then yanks the decoration off the tree.

It’s around midnight when he goes to properly handle the decorations.

He tip-toes down the stairs, cautious to avoid Sebastian on the railing who is already looking at him with an accusatory gaze. If it wasn't for the cat's general hatred of him, he'd assume it knew exactly what he is about to do. When he walks to the kitchen to grab a trash bag, he can hear the cat hiss. Drawing out an eye roll as he creeps towards the tree in the living room.

The place is only illuminated by the yellow-toned string of lights on the tree, and he just stands there, taking in all the ornaments he is about to take down. 

Some wash pin-figures

Couple of snow globe bulbs

Many paper snowflakes. 

And the candy cane popsicles.  

He lets out a deep exhale before quietly pulling each decoration from the tree and placing it gently into the trash bag. He moves quietly and focuses his eyes on the motions of his hands, not allowing himself to look at any ornament longer than he has to. Only Sebastian’s displeased purrs filling the room.

By the time he’s done, his stomach churns at the sight of the tree now mostly decorated by store bought figures, tinsel, and lights. It’s a foreign sight he keeps looking at, up and down, until eventually the little present with the cursive “Pat” written on-top catches his attention. 

The metallic red wrapping of the little box reflects the Christmas tree lights back like a kaleidoscope. Art just stares down at the sight, still unsure of what the present is. 

Hesitantly, he bends to the floor and gingerly reaches for the box, picking it up in a sluggish motion. It fits into the palm of his hand, and makes no noise. There's a certain weight to it that he can’t place. and his thumb deliberately runs against the tape of wrapping paper.

Then with the same sluggish movement from before, he puts it back down underneath the tree. His hands flex against where he holds the trash bag, and he remains on the ground. Eyes tracing the loops of his grandmother's handwriting and the fractured reflections of colored light.

When he eventually pushes himself to go back upstairs, he puts the bag in the back corner of his closet. Tucking it away behind some old duffle bags from his time at the academy before dragging himself to bed.

Patrick posts a photo of a Turkish marketplace on the twenty-fourth. Somewhere in Istanbul. Or Izmir.

Art doesn't really care where.

At least he was right about it being the Mediterranean. 

authors note: this is me fighting the art donaldson hater allegations!! not really sure how i feel about this, but i think of art and patrick everytime i hear this song and knew i had to write a fic based on it for them. although i did change the line for the title, just so it would fit better with the final product. many mixed feelings on this, but i hope you enjoyed it!! tell me what you think!!! and if you want an edit of artrick to this song...check this out!

art credit: from the December 1960 issue of the new yorker

[waterlooletterwrb]

WRITE WITH ME!

I will start, and you can use the reblog to continue this story however you desire! The idea is that post by post we do a longer story (but if you wanna post your version somewhere else feel free to do so, you just remember to credit me!).

The One rule: You can't gender the Elf!Reader character.

If you need, add more warnings to your post!

OTP: Mairon (Sauron) x Elf!Reader

Universe: Rings of Power / Tolkien

Warnings: main character death, angst, blood, "you can fix him" plot;

Summary: You're the one who stole the Dark Lord's heart, yet you're dying in his arms.

A Forbidden Promise

"Don't go. I — I cannot follow you there. You can't go. You can't go." His voice was frenetic, desperate in a way the dark lord never sounded. How could he not be? You're dying in his arms, the only sweet touch, warmth, love he's ever known. And he will never be able to follow you to Mandos. "Please, I will never be able to go with you there, please."

His plea sounds like he wants to go tho. A begging, maybe the first time in more than two ages that Mairon of the Maiar actually regrets his choices. In you he found his perfection. And now he would lose it. Was that the vengeance of the Valar?

You raise your weak hand, resting it on this face. With your thumb you wipe one of the tears from his cheek. Even now he is as beautiful as the first time you saw each other.

"I — I will come back. For you, I will come back." Your voice is not much more than an whisper. Yet, somehow you make a disbelieving smile appears on his lips.

"Who would give up paradise for me? For Sauron?" The name disgust you as much as it disgust him, and your face probably shows it because he sighs. "If you're leaving me, at least leave saying the truth. It's too... cruel to say it. For I never hoped before."

That makes you give him a pity sad smile. Ignoring the pain, you do everything you can to raise yourself. He holds you tighter, his warmth is what you need to concentrate even when your vision starts to fade.

"Mairon, endanya¹. Hear the last words of the one who stole your heart." This make you see for one last time the sweet smile that he only ever directed to you. "As I promised once, I will never lie to you."

He presses his forehead against yours. For the last time you breathe the same air. "So I dare to command you, Mairon or whatever name you desire to hear now: learn to hope." I little cry escapes your lips, and you feel his hands tremble where he holds you, for a moment you lose your mind and all you can hear is the blood dripping. It's a shame, his always beautiful tunics will forever be stained within your blood now.

Even so, he won't stop holding you. So you do everything you can to reassure him again. He needs to understand, he must believe.

"Learn to hope." You mumble. "For I shall return to you."

You no longer can see or feel, your hand falling from his face is the first sign you went to the undying lands. But you were right. And Mairon, Sauron, does not let you go. He holds you tightly, in a crying so long it's impossible to believe that that destroyed and devastated being was once Morgoth's heir.

The grief is too much and, when he finally let you, there's no one to hear but the wind while he whispers:

"I — I'm yours to command, endanya. I will hear whatever name you call me. I will do whatever you wish. I will hope — I will hope for you."

A promise and a threat. Because in his soul he knows; you were the only one that could stop what's coming for Middle Earth. You were the only one that could stop him.

So now even the wind hopes. You need to return.

••••••••••••••••

Endanya¹ = if i did the word correctly it should be quenya for "my love/my soul", but in a deeper way of calling the one you love "your everything". In my mind, when Sauron says it he is also telling that the reader is his light.