#it would be truly legendary if she did this and managed to pull it off

[gwililethel]

Emily Axford has the opportunity to pull the funniest move possible. Imagine: She brings in an entirely new character, and in the last five minutes of the last episode, they drop the disguise to reveal that she's been playing fig the entire time.

[pagesfromthevoid]

Enchanted | g.d. | 3

Gale Dekarios x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Smuuuuut baby (but also plot). Little bit of angst, Gale talking about blowing himself up

Author’s Note: Listen I know this is going a bit fast but I also just. Couldn’t prolong it. I love him too much.

Talk to Me! | Series Masterlist

This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go

I’m wonderstruck, blushing all the way home…

Gale had held his realization close to his heart for the time being. He had to, if anything because he simply needed time to process that the Fates had aligned enough to bring him and his bard together. The divine had not been kind to Gale in so long —yet, as it would be, they decided that Tav would be there to save him that day.

Even if he wanted to address it, to reveal how he felt and who he was to her, none of that was able to come to fruition once they saved Halsin. Of course, the Fates decided to be just as cruel as ever when Elminster appeared in the camp shortly after they saved the druid, breaking the news that Mystra wanted Gale to give his life to stop the Absolute.

Tav’s reaction was…well, it was incredibly reassuring, honestly. Heartbreaking, but reassuring. She had ripped Elminster a new one, yelling at the legendary wizard that it was not Mystra’s choice to have Gale off himself in her fucking name. That they would find another way to stop the Absolute that didn’t involve him dying. The tears in her eyes, the rage that radiated off her –Gale realized that even if she didn’t know he wrote that missive to her, she felt strongly for him.

And of course, even after Elminster disappeared from camp, they couldn’t settle down to discuss everything. Almost immediately, they had found themselves thrown into yet another quest –now moving them into an awful, shadow-cursed land that threatened to consume every single one of them whole.

Literally.

The shadows literally threatened to consume them.

As Gale trudged through the shadow-cursed land, his mind buzzed with conflicting emotions. The weight of his unspoken feelings for Tav bore down on him like the darkness that surrounded them. He stole glances at her whenever he could, drinking in her every movement, her every word, with a mixture of longing and apprehension. Amidst the palpable tension, he couldn't shake off the feeling that every step they took brought them closer to an inevitable confrontation, not just with the shadowy threats around them, but with the truths he had kept hidden.

Even with the help of the lantern and Karniss, the guide they had trusted to lead them, the trip felt far more perilous than it should have. Every minute they spent fighting harpers, or beasts, or shadows was another minute that they risked losing their lives. And, more so, he worried with every step and every fight that he would risk losing her again –and more permanently this time. The shadows seemed to whisper his fears back to him, amplifying the relentless doubts that gnawed at his resolve.

But no time seemed to be a good time to pull her aside, to admit to her that he was the one who sent that missive from Waterdeep. There was always someone else with her, and they hadn’t been able to make camp yet or else risk their lives with the shadows. They needed to make it to Last Light Inn in order to make camp, and truly there was no actual path that led to the inn safely. The urgency of their mission, coupled with the ever-looming threat, left little room for the heartfelt confession he yearned to make.

And then, naturally, when they did manage to find themselves at the Inn, they were ambushed. Naturally, they broke out in a fight that almost killed every single one of them. Even if they did manage to save Isobel, and even if they did manage to stop the shadows from consuming all the harpers –they had to fight to the last breath before they had properly rested and Gale thought truly, this might be the end of them. And naturally, they had to go find Ketheric Thorm and stop him now in order to actually stop whatever this curse was in this horrible place. The relentless onslaught of challenges seemed to conspire against any chance for a moment of respite, let alone a moment for personal revelations.

Naturally. Naturally. 

Gale wanted so badly to curse Tav’s incessant need to get herself almost killed in order to save others. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders, shake her and beg the bard to stop, and consider herself for five minutes. Consider how people –how he would feel if she died and they could not save her. Did she have no regard for herself? Did she have no regard for her own safety? 

But he couldn’t. 

Because the very incessant need to help and ensure everyone’s safety was one of the many qualities he admired about her very existence. 

Tav was kind, and loyal, and he was painfully in love with someone who had no idea it was him that wrote that damn note, that she had saved his life long before she was saving the lives of everyone around her. Watching her fight stirred every emotion inside of him –pride, awe, lust –and he couldn’t bottle it all up any longer.

When the fight had finally ended –when the blood was spilled all over the courtyard of the inn and his companions caught their breaths and all but collapsed against one another –he was resolved to give in. Orb be damned, he was going to tell Tav he loved her because he had to if they were going to keep on the way they were.

*****

“Hello! I am here on behalf of Gale of Waterdeep. He is requesting a private conversation with you, if you would oblige.”

Tav stared up at the image of Gale before her. It glowed with an aura that was unmistakably magic, though it was so drastically similar that from a distance, she was certain it was him when she approached.

“Oh, uh –yeah, of course. Where is he?”

The image of the wizard motioned towards a path outside of camp. “Just down the path. If you would like, I will happily guide you.”

She nodded, motioning for it to lead the way. The image moved freely, walking through camp without issue. Shadowheart and Lae’Zel both gave her strange looks, following Gale’s magical counterpart with their eyes as the two passed by. Tav simply shrugged in response and continued on her way, until the path was well out of camp and the image of Gale was replaced by the actual man.

He sat with his legs crossed, hands moving through the air as he manipulated the sky above him to form a night sky and borealis. Tav smiled softly at the sight, slowly sitting down beside him with her knees to her chest. 

“I love this time of night,” he explained as if answering the question she had not asked. “There’s an almost reverent silence that accompanies the peak of darkness, where you’d almost believe the dawn will never break. The cradle of eternity; the timelessness of lovers; the most beautiful of fantasies.” 

She watched him for a moment before looking back up at the sky. “It’s breathtaking. Is it your doing?”

He nodded once, but she could feel his gaze on her. “The curse is still present, of course. Just veiled and at arm’s length. Not a trick I can repeat often, but tonight…tonight is different.”

For a moment, they simply watched each other with soft smiles. Sometimes, she wished that he was less captivating or sweet; it made life so much more difficult for her when she was trying to keep feelings for him at bay. But then he went and did things like this –created beauty in a place that was so broken –and Tav found herself further drawn into her feelings for him.

“This may be my last night alive,” he explained, though his voice was soft. “I wanted it to be under a canopy of beauty of wonder and with company to match.”

Her brow furrowed as she opened her mouth to argue, to remind him that she would not let him die but he interrupted her.

“I thought this place might bring me peace. I thought…it might make the weight of what I must do to feel a little lighter. But I am not so sure.”

“I refuse to believe that this is the end, Gale. I refuse to let you die for the promise of forgiveness from a goddess who cast you out.”

“Babe or crone, coward or hero…death is assured, Tav. If you knew the end was near, would you not want to ensure it had meaning?”

“Gale –,”

“I am terrified,” he interrupted once again. “I will not claim otherwise. My face could scarcely conceal it even if my words ought to deny it. There is no point in running from the inevitable; Better to meet it, on my own terms.”

“No,” she snapped at him, grabbing his hand in hers. Her heart ached, thinking that Gale had resigned himself to death even before considering the other options. Not that she knew what those options were, but they were better than dying. “Nothing is inevitable. Not when we face it together. You don’t have to die.”

“One moment with you could sate me for a lifetime, Tav.” It was as if he wasn’t even hearing her; that he was so certain of his fate that he was just reciting his lines to her. “And I am very happy you came here tonight, to share this with me.  I know this is all unreal, but I created it for you. You must know that you’re…that you’re very special to me.”

Of course she knew. He made it clear, even if he never explicitly said it. Gale cared for her –loved her, even, if she dared assume –and it showed in his actions every day. Perhaps she should have told him to stop sooner; that she wasn’t spoken for but her heart belonged to her poet. But it was hard to walk away from someone so warm, and caring. And after her own heartbreak, having someone who gave her everything he had even when she didn’t deserve it –she knew there was love for him in her own heart now too.

“If things were different, if you were still performing and we were home, I would have done things properly. I would have never written that note, I would have found you before all this. But time is short, and I…I need you to know that I was enchanted to meet you, Tav.”

For a brief moment, everything stopped. 

Gale was watching her expectantly, waiting for her to say something; to respond. But her mind was stuck. I would have never written that note. I was enchanted to meet you…

“You…it was you?” She managed to ask, her voice catching in her throat as she finally looked up at him. Tears stung the corners of her eyes as she fished her parchment out of her pocket, unfolding it. “You wrote this?”

He took the note from her, tears pricking his eyes too, as he read it over. He nodded slowly. “I listened to you sing every night for weeks, Tav. You know I trapped myself in my tower –but you don’t know that it was you that made me leave for the first time in a year. That when I left that day, it was to find you and tell you how much your music healed my broken heart. I’m just pleasantly surprised the kobold managed to actually deliver the note.

“You added lines to it the other night,” he continued, reaching up to take her face in his hands. His thumbs wiped away her tears as she leaned into his touch, still crying. “You asked me not to be in love with someone else –to not have someone waiting for me. Tav –I have been waiting for you. And if I’m going to live my last day, I need you to know that I am in love with you.”

Through tear blurred eyes, Tav took in every detail of Gale’s sincerity. The spark in his eyes as he looked down at her, with his own tears that threatened to spill. The adoration that filled his smile as he held her face in his hands still. He loved her; he was her poet, and he loved her, and Tav was going to lose him because of some petty goddess who wanted him to beg for her forgiveness.

Without thinking any harder, she surged forward and kissed him hard. Gale let out a small gasp of surprise, seemingly not expecting her to kiss him, but soon enough he was threading his fingers through her hair to hold her closer. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him as close as she could get him without climbing into his lap –and even then, she was almost there anyway.

But he pulled away too soon, resting his forehead against hers. Tav’s tears hadn’t stopped, though she wasn’t sure if they were tears of joy or fear anymore. 

“I hope that wasn’t a parting kiss,” she murmured, pressing another one against the corner of his mouth gently. 

“Not if I have any say in the matter,” he chuckled, wiping her tears away again. “I want it to be perfect –to bond with you in the way that gods do…intertwining our spirits in visions of the Weave.”

Gale stood, pulling her up with him. She refused to let him go, arms still tightly wound around neck, keeping him close to her. “I don’t need illusions. I want the Gale standing right in front of me.”

“Are you sure?” He seemed surprised, brow furrowing as his fingers reached for her hips, holding her just as tight. “I could conjure up any sight you can imagine; some you probably can’t too. I could use the Weave to make us feel sensations beyond reckoning.”

He leaned in closer, his nose bumping against hers. “I could do more than woo you. I could wow you.”

She hesitated a moment, considering what he was offering. “I suppose you could show me, if that’s what you want.”

He squeezed her hips with a bright grin, then pulled away raising his hands in the air. Streaks of the Weave surrounded them momentarily, then they were standing in a room full of books and scrolls, with a piano playing quietly in the background. 

“How about a perfect night in Waterdeep, then?” He asked, reaching for her hand to guide her through what she could only assume was his home. It felt very much like a place that Gale would enjoy. “With the warmth of the fire in the hearth, and the spines of a thousand books greeting us.” He pushed the double doors open, exposing the balcony and the sunlight on the water. 

“I’ve seen this before!” She exclaimed, pushing past him to lean over the edge of the balcony. “I performed right down there, with the circus.” She pointed down to the courtyard below, where a stage had appeared. 

Gale wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head. She leaned back into his embrace, sighing contentedly. “I spent many evenings listening to you from my balcony, Tav. Mesmerized by how well you pulled at my own heartbreak with yours. I couldn’t see you, but I could hear you.

“Some nights, I’d simply sit out here and get lost in the pages of a book while listening to your voice. It haunted my dreams, day and night. I had been so consumed with my self loathing and the orb that I feared stepping foot outside my tower —but your voice brought me light in my darkest days.”

Gale pulled her away from the balcony, beckoning her to the settee where he pulled her into his lap. Tav sighed, burying her face into the crook of his neck as he lifted the book that rested beside him. 

“One of my favorites,” he explained, opening it up to show her. “It follows the first thousand nights of a newlywed king and queen. They make an art out of touch, out of taste –perhaps we should take a page from their book ourselves. What do you say?”

Tav giggled, reaching up to run her nails over his jaw. “I don’t see a bed.”

“The stars will be our bed.”

Her brow furrowed for a moment as she shook her head. “Gale, this is beautiful, and I am wholly impressed by everything you can do –but I want you. The real you. Not some conjuring within the Weave.”

“Tav, I am nothing special in comparison to what I can show you –,”

“You are very special, Gale,” she scolded, pulling herself from his arms. “To me, especially. And I don’t want to experience anything with you that’s not real.”

He nodded, eyes softening as the tower disappeared around them and they returned to the field that they were truly in. “Then we’ll do it your way, my love. Whatever you desire from me, I will give you.”

Though, the devilish grin of his suggested he still had a trick up his sleeve as he waved his hand. She gave him a pointed look but nothing around them changed –except for the appearance of a very extravagant, four poster bed. Tav looked it over before grinning at him.

“For your comfort, of course,” he explained simply, guiding her backwards towards it. “I would be remiss if you had to lay in the dirt to be with me.”

“Perhaps I like laying in the dirt,” she teased, taking his face in her hands to pull him into a kiss. “Perhaps I enjoy getting a bit dirty.”

“You’ll have to prove that to me another night,” Gale countered, pushing her back onto the velvety sheets. For an illusion, it was still much more comfortable than any bedroll she’d lain on. “Tonight, I want you to feel my love for you.”

She fell back onto the bed, hitting the pillows and basking in the plushness that she hadn’t felt in so long. Sitting up on her elbow, she beckoned for him to join her and smiled when he didn’t hesitate to climb over her. 

Like a man starved, Gale pulled her in by her chin and kissed her passionately. This kiss was different from the one they had shared earlier in the night. This kiss was frantic and hungry, with every emotion the two had poured into it. He was kissing her like this was the last time he ever would –though if he had it his way, perhaps it would be. Tav parted her legs, hitching one over his hip to pull him closer to her. There was too much space between them; too many clothes. Her hands drifted down his chest, pulling the laces of his shirt undone as she went, exposing not only the expanse of his chest but the markings of the cursed orb that threatened to take him from her.

Hand dropping from her chin to unlace her bodice and pants, Gale pulled away from the kiss to trail hot, wet kisses down her throat and over her chest as the skin became more exposed to him. She squirmed some, trying to pull his shirt off as her own shirt lay open finally. He chuckled against her skin, his beard tickling at the base of her throat as he pulled back and pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside. 

Then he moved to hover over her, hands resting on either side of her body now as he looked over her naked form lovingly. Bare beneath him – she thought she should be shying away from his gaze, but she couldn’t find herself feeling anything less than adored –Tav reached out to ensure they matched each other’s nakedness finally. And when Gale was finally just as bare as she was, her tears threatened to return as she traced the markings on his chest. But he took her hand, flattening it against where his heart beat, and she looked up at him longingly.

“I love you, Gale,” she whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” he promised, and she swore he meant it.

His mouth was on hers again with a new found urgency, his pointer and thumb holding her chin as he kissed her hard. His other hand, which was sitting on her hip, had begun to drift down. She shivered from the drag of his fingers over her skin before finally feeling how hard he was against her thigh. With a groan, she pulled her hands from his chest to touch him –to pull some sound from him. 

The sound he made went straight to her core, causing her to clench around nothing, as she slowly stroked him. Gale pulled his mouth from hers to kiss along her jaw, leaving hot, wet kisses along her skin. Her head fell back, allowing him to trail kisses from her jaw down her throat. Then his fingers flicked just barely between her legs, spreading them so he could better access her.

Her breath hitched in her throat, eyes closed as he ghosted his touch over her arousal. Gale kept his hand still, allowing her a moment to get used to his touch there before his fingers circled her clit gently. She keened, back arching off the bed as she chased his touch –her own touch dropping from him as she reacted. He dragged his lips from her throat over her collarbone, then down further until his tongue lapped at one of her pert nipples. Her gasp at the sudden sensation caused her hips to buck, meeting his hand in a gentle grind. The friction of his hand against her most sensitive place was overwhelming for a moment as she pulled at his hair again. Gale’s teeth grazed over her nipple now, nipping at it before he sucked it into his mouth. 

Satisfied with his work on one nipple, he bit down one more time before he switched to the other. His hand drifted down between her legs as he sucked and bit her, and Tav wondered briefly how she would ever do without him again if she lost him. She let out a gasp as he slipped a finger inside her with ease, being pressed into the bed as his teeth grazed over her nipple.

“Oh gods, Gale,” she begged, trying to move against his hand as he eased a second finger inside of her. 

He released her nipple finally, trailing wet, open mouth kisses down her body as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of her. Her body writhed beneath him, and she could feel his grin against her skin as he moved further down her body, kissing her stomach and right above her core. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling at it as he sped up his fingers.

Then, without warning, his teeth grazed her clit and she gasped, unable to keep herself still as she jolted up. He sped up movement with his fingers, curling them up as he sucked and nipped gently at her clit. Her legs started to tremble as her hands ran through his hair, yanking it by the roots. 

“Fuck, please. I’m gonna cum, please, Gale,” she gasped, bucking her hips up. 

But he pulled his fingers away too soon, and she whined, body shaking. He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, trailing his lips from her right thigh, over her clit once more until he reached her left. Then he repeated the process back —before finally, his mouth was on her like she was the last meal he’d ever eat. She cried out, stars spilling behind her eyes as she pulled at his hair again. He pushed his tongue deeper, devouring every inch of her that he could. His hands wrapped around her thighs, pulling her even closer to him. 

She started to move her hips to match his movements, pressing against his face to try to get any more possible friction. She was so close, if he just kept going –Tav groaned as he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside her. Her hands had become permanently attached to his hair, pulling as she begged him to keep going, to make her cum. Gale’s fingers returned as he lapped at her clit, pumping in and out at a steady, torturous pace. But then –he stopped. And Tav hissed in frustration.

Pulling his fingers from her –prompting a desperate whine as she fell back against the bed –Gale moved to hover over her once more. She grabbed his chin, slick with her, and pulled him into a heated kiss. He groaned into the kiss, licking into her mouth and allowing her to taste herself on his tongue.

“I need you,” he admitted, pulling from the kiss to rest his forehead against hers. His hips ground into hers, revealing how bad off he was for her. 

“I’m yours, Gale.” She took his hand and pressed it against her heart, holding it there as she bumped her nose with his. Her legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him in. “Only yours.”

Gale found himself between her legs once more, his aching cock in his hand as he stroked himself. His breathing was hard, ragged as he stared down at her naked body. Tav gazed up at him, empty and longing as he stroked himself at the sight of her.

“I need you to touch me,” she begged, reaching for him once more.

Suddenly, Gale was on his back with her straddling his waist. He was surprised for a moment, caught off guard by her new position. However, even with his hazy, lust blown eyes –the way he looked up at her made her stomach flutter and her heart skip. His hands found her hips, pulling her down against him and she grinded down against his cock, humming at the feeling of his hardness against her sensitive folds. He closed his eyes, catching his breath. She leaned in, kissing along his jaw, as her hand finally grasped his cock and lined it up against her. Gale sucked in a breath, and she could tell he was trying to savor the feeling and not rush it.

But she couldn’t take it slow anymore; she sunk down on him without question, burying him to the hilt inside her core with a deep moan and her hands on his chest to keep her balanced. Gale’s hands held her hips, no doubt bruising her, as he held her close to him. Now he truly wouldn’t let her move, savoring the feeling of her tight warmth around him. Finally, Gale opened his eyes, keeping her still for several moments as if he was trying to memorize the sight of her full of him. She tried moving, but he held her tight, cock buried in her while he basked in how tight she was. 

“Gale,” she moaned, reaching between her legs to drag her fingers over her clit. “Please.”

He flipped them over once more, bringing her leg around his waist. She groaned at the change of angle, but didn’t fight him as he started a steady pace. One hand held her leg against him while the other supported his weight over her, allowing him to kiss her hard as he pulled out. She whined at the loss, but then he was slamming back into her without warning and her whine turned into a cry of pleasure. Gale’s mouth captured her sounds, kissing her again as he set a steady, delicious pace. She moaned into the kiss again, hands reaching up to grasp his shoulders as he picked up speed. 

“Oh, gods, Gale,” she sighed as he trailed kisses down her throat again, taking a moment to rest his head in the crook of her neck. “Sweet hells, I love you —I-I love you so much. I’m so close —please —,”

His hips stuttered as she clenched around him, his grip tightening as his pace became more and more frantic. Tav wasn’t prepared for how hard her orgasm hit her, but when it did, she cried out his name and begged the gods for mercy. It was overwhelming, and wonderful, and every second he was still buried inside her was the only divine intervention she’d ever need. And as the warmth of his own climax filled her, Gale buried his face in the crook of her neck. Catching his breath as he came, her hands tangled in his hair once more, coaxing every last ounce of him into her. She was writhing under him, overstimulated from her own climax as well as his now. But he didn’t want to leave her warmth; he wanted to stay buried in her forever.

Eventually, he did pull out, rolling off of her and onto his back. She didn’t let him stray, however, and hitched her leg over his waist again and laid her head on his chest. Gale’s arms snaked their way around her, holding her close to him as his breathing began to even out. 

And then, she started humming softly, her own eyes closing as Gale trailed his fingers up and down her back.

This night is flawless, don't you let it go

I'm wonderstruck, dancing around all alone

I'll spend forever wondering if you knew

I was enchanted to meet you…

[wareagleofthemountain]

What Do You Know Of Love? (Part 1)

Warnings: grief, mention of heavy drinking

A/N: I’ve always been super curious as to what would happen had Thranduil gotten back the gems he had fashioned for his wife at the end of the movie. Here is my take on what might have occurred.

See parts 2 and 3

The morning sunlight came through the open drapes and flooded the dark corners of the large bed chamber in its warm embrace. He hated the way it mocked him. Every day, for thousands of years, the sun rose with the dawn and forced him to go on. Forced him to drag himself out of bed and hope that his many layers of fine robes and glamor would be enough to cover the ever present smoldering pain of the burn scars cascading down the left side of his body. But he’d have gladly traded having to live with his whole body being burned that day, for the physical pain of that would be a mere inconvenience compared to the utter devastation he faces in his soul now.

Every morning, that damn sun rises and forces him to adorn his crown, the very crown she had crafted for him. The legendary crown of the Elvenking, forged from the living trees of his once green forest. Said to bloom and change along with the seasons during the years of his rule. Even though darkness had twisted the trees into gnarled versions of their former selves without her magic present to protect them, his crown had somehow remained unmarred.

He was no king without his queen, so why would it keep on living? As far as he was concerned, his reign had ended the day he carried her lifeless body off that battlefield. But of course, every morning he would wake up, if he’d even managed to fall asleep in the first place, and put that arrogant, self-assured mask on his face as he takes the throne.

They think he can’t hear them. The whispers among guards and maids about his cowardice and callous outlook on the affairs outside his borders. When did they forget that he had been fighting battles longer than they had been alive? If he had truly not cared for his people, he would not put himself through this hell every single morning.

And then his son…

Thranduil groaned. From the outside looking in, the elvenking cut a sorry sight. Sprawled out on the cold floor of his room, surrounded by empty wine bottles. He had not bothered to use a glass. His gray robe was wrinkled, and his silver-blond hair was unkempt. Sitting up slowly, he rubbed the back of his hand across his bloodshot eyes. Using the edge of his desk to pull himself to his feet, Thranduil assessed his surroundings. He was relieved to find out that, even in last night’s drunken stupor, he had remembered to close her old sketchbook and neatly return it to its place on the shelf by the bed after flipping through it as was his ritual every evening. However, his stomach sank as his icy blue eyes landed on the intricate wooden box on the vanity.

Mithrandir’s halfling thief retrieved it while sifting through the rubble of Erebor after The Battle of the Five armies, and had it returned to him. At first, Thranduil was in disbelief that he finally, after decades of searching, held the gems in his hands. Finding those jewels, the last remaining glimpse of his starlight, was one of the only reasons he had to continue on after her tragic loss.

And now that they were here… his soul yearned for her all the more. For the first time in centuries, Thranduil felt a spark of love crackle across his long short circuited fae. Seeing the precious diamonds for the first time since attempting to purchase them from Thror had been too much for Thranduil. He was instantly flooded with sweet memories of his soulmate, the one whom the gems were fashioned for, and was startled by the explosion of uncontrollable emotion radiating from a place deep within his being where he thought void of all feeling.

Now, as he ran his fingertips over the smoothe, cool to the touch jewels, he finally found appreciation for the sun as he watched it glisten off the white gems. Their glow reminded him of her bright eyes every time she looked at him. He knew what he must do.

[mk-smokescreen]

MK Legends: Blood Bound

Chapter 10: Truths and lies

Our group would finally make it to the palace. The guards let them through. As they got closer, Amara would whisper to Nico. Her voice was stern. Her words were harsh, as if they were meant to be a threat.

MUCHACHA: Listen, when we get in there, I'll do the talking and you shut up.

ROBIN: How about you stay on the sidelines, doing your actual job, which is protecting those who can't themselves, in this case, the boy?

MUCHACHA: I am sorry, Robin, I truly am. But he must stand trial for what he's done.

Nico's tone shifted, from being a sarcastic asshole tone, to a genuine, concerned one. His eyebrows lowered, and his frown became more obvious. He looked back at the general, with a look of concern, and maybe even sadness.

ROBIN: What does he have to be put on trial for? He looks barely 18, and he looks like he's seen some shit.

KOUNTERFEIT: I would like a word.

MUCHACHA: Zip it, boy, unless you'd like a knife in your leg. We're talking.

ROBIN: Look, see? That's exactly what I'm talking about. You need anger management lessons.

MUCHACHA: Well, my anger management is shoving swords into bastards--

Before she could finish, Sabbia would make a wall between the two, pushing them away from each other.

SABBIA: Yeah, I am going to be the only voice of reason here and say absolutely not.

ROBIN: Oh, shut up, Jason Statham, we don't need therapy from you. The writer does that for us already.

Sabbia, not knowing what he's talking about, looks a bit confused, and turns to Amara, who is a bit confused as well.

MUCHACHA: Well, if your "author" is doing that, then why are we still arguing like idiots?

The caped crusader extended his hand out to the general with a light smile, and she looked back at him as she did the same. Then, the two shook hands. Nico looked at Sabbia, who put his hand on the two before him to do the legendary "three-way handshake".

ROBIN: Well, I suppose this could work. Now, let's take this kid to the kahn-- and he's gone.

Robin pointed his finger in front of him, to the entrance, to show the kid was not there. As Sabbia and Muchacha looked around, Nico started running out of the palace. After a few seconds, he was out in the market, standing in front of Erron Black.

ERRON: So, you gotta be this blood bender I kept hearin' 'bout. 

ROBIN: ERRON! Whatever you're gonna do now, DON'T!

The gunslinger looked up at the caped crusader. He responded with a simple chuckle.

ERRON: Well, if it ain't the flushed goldfish.

Nico, a bit pissed from the comment, responds.

ROBIN: Firstly: Rude. Secondly: Don't touch this kid. He didn't do anything... on purpose. I hope.

Erron, ignoring his plea, walked up to the boy. He was a bit shorter, so the boy had to look up. The gunslinger reached his hand for the gun that he wore. But before he could pull it out, Nico threw a rock at the gunslinger, so that the blood bender could get away for a bit. Could've used your daggers which are more versatile, but whatever. Erron, angered, took a gun out. The blood mage was cornered. Erron Black took his revolver, and pointed it at the caped crusader.

ERRON: Alright, punk. You wanna be a puddle? Be my guest.

ROBIN: Hey, captain fang-face, double team?

He turns to see Muchacha and Sabbia helping the kid get away.

MUCHACHA: Hell nah, you're on your own now, pal.

SABBIA: Sorry, bud, but you're the one that wanted a fight, so now you've got one. Let me know if you lived though.

ROBIN: You've gotta be fffu--

He didn't finish his sentence. Instead, as he turned, he took a bullet to the other half of his mask. While the gunfire scared the outworlders and the bullet should have spilled Robin's brains on the floor, this time slightly denting the mask, proofing that Muchacha's cranium is mightier than the gun.

ROBIN:

ERRON:

ROBIN: 

ERRON: How.

ROBIN: Two words: Lazy. Wri--

Erron would shoot at the head, with Nico turning his head as he was yapping, the bullet once again bouncing off the mask.

ROBIN: Aight, Marty Robbins, that does it!

The crusader jumped forward and tried to punch Erron, who ducked under the blow and kicked the crusader in the stomach. He would grab him by the cape, and throw him into a building and walk away IN the direction in which the three idiots went.

ROBIN: God.. that is such lazy writing...

The crusader slowly got up, and followed Erron as fast as he could with a few shattered ribs. As the gunslinger walked into the alley, the boy was nowhere to be seen, and instead, Sabbia was sitting on a barrel, drinking some beer.

ERRON: Where the hell did that little shit go?

SABBIA: Oh, he ran away with the girl. I just sat here, enjoying my drink.

Erron, not liking this answer, walks up to the serpent with malicious intent, and he walks up to the snake with a gun at his head.

ERRON: I won't ask twice. Where, the fuck, are they?

SABBIA: Oh please, Erron. You and I both know you wont kill me. I've read a handful of books in my time and in those books, I've realized that a new character never dies first.

As he's saying that, he's forming a big pile of sand right behind Erron, without him noticing. As the gunslinger's patience is running thin, he's getting angrier.

ERRON: Listen, you fucking bastard. I've got no patients for you, so tell me.

Sabbia is quick to respond with a quip that feels like it's straight out of a Jason Statham film.

SABBIA: Well, Erron, before you do pull the trigger, do you remember the three things that slip through fingers if you try to hold them?

ERRON: What the fuck are you on about?

SABBIA: I'm talking about water, blood...

Erron finally turned around, to notice a big pile of sand right above his head.

SABBIA: ...And sand.

Sabbia would drop the sand on Erron, causing him to try and dig back. Muchacha and Kounderfeit see this happen from a window and get away. Sabbia drops into the sand, escaping and returning to the group.

MUCHACHA: Nice job, Sabbia.

SABBIA: Thank you.

They all look back at Erron, who was still trying to dig out of the pile of sand.

KOUNTERFEIT: We should run?

MUCHACHA & SABBIA: We should run.

They would all run in the opposite direction, away from the gunslinger. They were all in a room. The three looked at each other, and the boy looked up at them. Muchacha took a knee, and looked the boy straight in the eyes, and sighs and looks away emediately.

MUCHACHA: What am I doing? This is ridiculous. I was just doing my job to protect the khan from a boy who can't even control his powers and now I'm protecting said boy from the only gunslinger in all of Outworld.

Erron then kicks down the door entering the room.

ERRON: And the best one there is.

Sabbia would then turn to Erron, saying two things.

SABBIA: Okay, firstly, doesn't being the only gunslinger make you the best by default? But also- HOW DID YOU GET OUT SO FAST?!

Erron then shoots Sabbia in the leg, knocking him to the ground as he groans in pain.

ERRON: I have my own ways. Now then, general, the blood mage. If you won't hand him over, then you're gonna pay.

Sabbia looked down at the bleeding wound on his leg, and then turned his head to Muchacha, nodding at her.

MUCHACHA: Well, if you want to get to him... 

She says as she draws her sword.

MUCHACHA: ...Then you're gonna have to get past me.

Muchacha then runs towards Erron, and swings her sword, which the gunslinger quickly dodges.

ERRON: Alright, missy. If you're gonna be difficult, then I guess I'll have to shoot ya down too.

She turns to him, and as she swings at random, Erron shoots his gun and on complete accident, she splits the bullet in half.

ERRON: What the hell?

As Amara runs to him, he counters by kicking her in the stomach (god, I swear, boots are her cryptonite or some shit) and knocks her back. 

ERRON: Times up, kiddo.

As the Night Rider turned to the gunslinger, and the Gunslinger removed the mask of the boy, he saw something strange... himself. He stepped back, in complete shock.

ERRON: What the...

Before the gunslinger could finish his sentence, a fist collided with his jaw. The child's face resembled his and one of another character we'll get to later. He looked around, seeing everyone knocked out, not knowing what to do, but one thing.

ERRON: Look kid, I know I might have caused you some more trauma, but you gotta come with me. The Kahn will never know, promise.

The boy, while scared, nodded and took Erron's hand and escaped through another exit, while Robin finally came back and noticed that Amara and Sabbia were on the ground, possibly dead. Outworld guardsmen then walk in, and Nico falls to the ground, as the guardsmen take them to the nearest medic. After what seemed like hours, Robin woke up in a bed, seeing Amara and Sabbia nearby. He got up, and went to the door. 

ROBIN: Oh god... well at least my ribs feel less like rubber.

As he was walking out, he bumped into Kitana Kahn. She looked at the caped crusader, and sighed, walking away. He did a double take, and ran after her.

ROBIN: Uh... hello, Kitana. I just wanted to thank you for sending your guardsmen after me.

KITANA: You know, I was certain you wouldn't mess this up, and you return with  an injured general and a Saurian that was shot in the leg.

ROBIN: Okay, listen, it was going smoothly and then it wasn't.

KITANA: Yeah, no kidding. I don't care what happens. You failed me, Nico. And now, you, the general and the saurian will report when they wake up, and get out of my sight.

She left, leaving Nico there. He looked around, seeing Sabbia and Amara wake up.

SABBIA: What a nice sleep... Wait, why are we in a room together?

MUCHACHA: The boy... Did you see where he went?

Nico sighs, knowing he can't lie.

ROBIN: No, Erron got away and now the Kahn says I gotta report and gtfo.

Muchacha sighed and walked out of the room, with the others following. He looked to the left, and the right, and sighed. they stood infront of the Kitana, Mileena and Rain, all three kneeling.

KITANA: So, what have you to say for yourself, Muchacha?

MUCHACHA: Well, your highness, the Blood bender has escaped. We tried to fight him off, but we were outnumbered.

Robin raised an eyebrow, knowing fully this isn't what happened, but not saying a word.

KITANA: Very well. Nico, Sabbia and Amara, you are excused. Leave us, and don't let me see you again.

ROBIN: Yes, your highness.

The three walk out, and Robin, knowing what's happening, consults Muchacha.

ROBIN: I know you lied, what really happened?

MUCHACHA: I'd rather not say, Nico.

She turned her head, not looking Robin in the eye. Sabbia and Robin looked at each other, and Nico grabbed her, making sure she didn't walk away.

ROBIN: Amara, tell me what happened.

Amara sighed, knowing he won't let her go until she says.

MUCHACHA: Erron happened. He took the kid, I don't know where. But right now, that's not my concern, what is, it’s getting away from you.

As she said that, a machine flew in, and Nico knew this was his ride home.

SABBIA: Well, guessin’ this is goodbye, Robin.

ROBIN: Guess so. And before I go, next time I come back, you can call me Nico. Nico Ghai.

MUCHACHA: You never told me your name.

ROBIN: Sorry, can’t talk now, got a flight to catch. Byyyyyyeeeeee–

He said as he went closer to the hovercraft, with the door closing and taking off. Sabbia would walk away, going away from the general and waving goodbye to the general, who would salute the saurian, showing her respect.

Meanwhile… At the Black Dragon base

Erron and the blood bender would arrive at the Black Dragon base, where Kano and Skarlet would stand at the door.

KANO: Erron.

ERRON: Kano.

KANO: What brings you here?

ERRON: Child.

He says, as the Night Rider walks out in front of the Aussie and Blood mage.

KANO: And why have you brought him here?

ERRON: I’m not built to be a father. You two on the other hand have experience with parenting. Why he looks like me and Red, I have no clue, don’t ask me.

Kano and Skarlet look at eachother, shrugging, and accepting the boy as if he were their own.

KANO: Alright, Erron. Thanks. Now leave. I don’t appreciate you here.

ERRON: Well I don't like your voice. Anyways, see ya never, ‘wanka’.

He said as he mounted his steed and went back the way he came from. As he rode off into the sunset, the three would walk in and welcome him to the klan. As they’re walking, Skarlet notices something on the mask that hangs off the boy's belt. A label that she knows she saw before, but she brushes it off, as probably a coincidence.and they keep on walking all the way to Billie’s room to introduce her to her so-so brother.

SIRIS: So, what you’re sayin’ is, he’s gonna be with us?

KANO: Yes. And I hope you two get along nicely.

SIRIS: Well, I’m cool with that.

SKARLET: I’ve thought of the name Tomek for him, but you always call him Tom for short.

And so, with that, they showed Tom around and introduced him to the other members, and took him to his room just in time for the sun to fully set.

[draconic-ichor]

Dream Come True

Maddox and the Nox

Smut dabble

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, use of weapons, breast play, oral sex, hand job, penetrative sex, knotting, biting, cumshot, creampie, fendom, light dom/sub (female dom), face riding, orgasm denial, mentioned bdsm, breeding kink mentioned

Summary: After being asked to prove his mother truly killed the Void-born beast that terrorized the Eternal Cities, Maddox gives his curious Nox maiden everything she wanted and gets a reward~

Feedback appreciated, 18+ Finally Maddox gets a piece of the long coveted Noxussy

Maddox was quick to run back to the capital, the Nox maiden’s words spinning around in his head. He felt giddy, more so than he could remember.

The GodLord, seeing her son in such high spirits, agreed to let him take the legendary weapon from its display case, borrowing it for some secret purpose he wouldn’t tell.

He wrapped it up carefully, thanking his mother profusely before restocking his supplies and heading off again.

He had to make the journey in just a few short days…

In his hast, his travels were a bit more messy than he would have liked. He made it in one piece, however, and early it seemed. Worry wormed into his gut as he waited for her, fears she had second thoughts, or worse, may have set up an ambush.

The second Maddox saw the Nox through the mists, all those thoughts died away.

Those plump, dark lips curled into a smile when she saw him, making his heart race. His tail swished back and forth in excitement as she made her way over to him.

“Hello.” She spoke in that odd tongue, words just as much by mouth as by movements of her fingers.

“H-hello.” He stammered back, already feeling hot, he clutched the parcel tighter.

“So?” She asked, eagerness to her tone.

“Oh! Y-Yes, yes…it’s right here.” Maddox offered out the parcel with sweating hands.

The nox took it eagerly, shapely fingers easily pulling out the knotted twine holding it closed. As the fabric fell away she gasped, there in her hands was the Wing of Astel.

A wave of awe spread over her, turning the iridescent blade over in her hands. She swung it out with the precision of one trained to handle weapons, making Maddox jump back and out of its range.

The blade gave off a glow, melodic ringing cutting the air as she swung it again. Withdrawing it back to admire it, that smile returned to her features.

“You were telling the truth.” She turners, head flicking up to him finally.

Maddox only nodded dumbly, hunched a bit forward to lessen the difference in their heights.

Her smile widened, the other wishing they could see her eyes sparkle.

“So little prince, what would you desire as a reward.” She asked.

He thought for a moment, finally answering softly, “Your name?”

She laughed, wrinkling her nose as she did so and causing his blush to deepen. “Only my name?” She chided, carefully wrapping the blade safely away. She closed the distance between them, aware of how Maddox watched the sway of her hips.

She reached up and took the collar of his leather armor, yanking him closer. She was surprisingly strong for her small stature, almost making him lose his balance.

Maddox stumbled, face inches from hers and in a humiliating stance given his height. He swallowed, trying to will away the hardness of his cock.

Her lips ghosted his, the way he trailed after them not lost on her. “You may call me Nedra.” She purred.

“Nedra.” He echoed dreamily.

“Is my name truly all you desire?” She asked, voice suggestive.

He swallowed again, spit feeling thick. Biting his lip he shook his head.

“Well, maybe we can make a deal.” She dipped her head in closer to whisper in his ear, “Give me the sword and I’ll have some fun with you, hm?”

“Sounds one sided.” He managed.

She released his collar, turning away as she shrugged, “Up to you. If you accept and prove to be enjoyable enough, perhaps we make a habit of it…”

“…keep the sword.” He finally spoke, voice husky.

Nedra had to contain her excitement, biting her lip a bit before she turned back to him. She took his hand leading him away.

Maddox stammered, “W-Where are we going?”

“Somewhere safe.” She assured, adding cheekily, “I’m not going to strip bare out in the open, golden boy.”

His face went crimson, pants tented painfully as he followed her almost dumbly. Any hotter and steam would surely be flowing from his ears.

They found an abandoned building, a crumbling husk from when the cities were at their peak. Nedra pushed him in, turning to lock the old creaking doors. Maddox watched her, unsure of what to do and worried he would fumble this opportunity.

Nedra turned, fingers going for the laces of her top, pulling the knots free. She yanked at the collar, breast spilling out. Maddox felt weak.

Her skin was the color of slate, silvery freckles dusted over her. She smiled wider, dropping the leather top to the floor before closing the distance between them. Maddox gulped, feeling like a prey animal, easily being guided to sit in an ornate metal chair.

His claws dug at the polish as Nedra made herself comfortable between his knees. She ran her hands up his leather clad legs, careful to take extra time along his inner thighs. Even through the thick material, he shivered at her touch.

Lips curling impishly, Nedra knew she would have quite some fun with him.

By the time his cock was fully free and in her hands, he was close to bursting. Pre dripped from the pulsing tip, the nox eagerly exploring him over.

Her technique betrayed her inexperience, despite her bold disposition. Luckily, for the both of them, Maddox didn’t need much. The simple fact alone of her being a Nox had him trembling under her fingers. She felt him tighten, saw how his thigh muscles bunched and balls tried to draw up.

Nedra let him go, pulling away.

Maddox whimpered, cock needy and boarding on pain as his high subsided. He shakily exhaled, shooting her a wounded look.

Nedra giggled, standing to pull him into a kiss. Teeth clinked together as they deepened the contact. Breaking the kiss, she took his face in her hands, urging him to her breast, Maddox not needing to be told what to do. He hungrily bathed his tongue over her skin, sucking a nipple into his mouth. His sharp teeth scraped over the sensitive nub, making her mewl sweetly.

They shifted so he could lap at the other while her hand reached out to stroke his length again.

His nose wrinkled, grunting and stifling his cries into her breast as he came.

Thick ropes spread across the ancient stone floor.

She didn’t cease, smearing come over the sensitive head of his cock and jacking him harder. Maddox’s hips bucked with overstimulation, breaking away from her breast to curse, “Gods!”

His second orgasm was quickly building, head spinning as she squeezed his knot. Her hand dipped down to play with his large balls, rolling them in her palm, as she nipped at his ear.

His hips jerked, her hand coming back to catch some of his second release.

Maddox shakily groaned, head feeling heavy as his cock pulsed and oozed.

Nedra took her fingers to his lips, tapping for entrance. He gave it to her, sucking his own mess from fingers. The salty taste danced over his tongue, tinged with musk, but Maddox was far from caring at the moment.

After he cleaned them thoroughly, Nedra purred in his ear, “Good boy.”

His golden eyes were blown out and dewy, dumbly nodding in agreement. She kissed him again, deep as she tasted his seed on his tongue.

Breaking the kiss, she went back between his legs, kneeling on the messy stone. She smiled impishly, making him pale a bit.

“I-I don’t think I can go again…so s-soon.” He stammered, cock traitorously hardening in her hands.

Nedra, one hand teasing his cock the other playing with her breast, batted her eyelashes at him. “Once more?” She asked sweetly, “I’ll put it in my mouth.”

Her offer went straight to that coil in his gut, tightening as Maddox nodded profusely. Her smile returned, leaning forward to take an experimental lick up the underside of his cock.

She could feel his heartbeat hammering through the member, skin overly sensitive from her previous affections. His omen given beastial traits, to many a disgrace, enthralled her. Maddox was nothing like anything she had experienced, and she wanted more.

She wrapped her lips around him, trying to work as much of his cock into her mouth as she could. She was messy, spit and pre running down her chin, but the image alone was doing Maddox in.

Sucking him raw, her free hand toyed at her own folds, dipping in and relieving some pent up pressure. Her tongue circled his gland, pulling back to lap at the pointed tip.

He was gone a while ago, a mess of moans and feeble thrusting. Maddox clung to the chair for dear life.

Feeling her own orgasm ripple through her, Nedra moaned around his cock. The vibration sent pleasure surging through him, pushing him over the edge for a third time.

His hips lifted off the chair, back arching, muscles taught. Nedra’s lips popped off of him just in time to be bathed with a final rope of come. The viscous liquid seeped into her veil, sticking it to her face beneath.

She made a little sound of displeasure, pulling away the fabric.

Maddox was sobered from his lust drunken state, golden eyes glued to her. He’d never seen a Nox female without her veil.

Nedra wiped her face, not realizing yet the intimate act she committed. He tried to take everything in: she had a mess of snowy curls framing her face in a bob cut, those oh so familiar plump black lips, and her eyes were a silvery white.

She blinked up at him, face flushing deeply. Nedra instantly tried to hide her face behind her hands, turning away a bit.

“You’re breathtaking.” Maddox sighed honestly.

She peeked at him through her fingers, looking more vulnerable than she had when naked.

Maddox covered his eyes with his hands, not rising from the chair. “It’s alright…if you need to go…” there was concern in his voice for her.

He heard her shuffle about, most likely redressing. His cock, now allowed to rest, deflated and hid away in his sheath.

There was a long moment of silence.

Suddenly Maddox felt a soft kiss press against his cheek. “I suppose we can make a habit of this.” Nedra whispered into his ear.

He quickly nodded in agreement.

~

They met up multiple times over the next few weeks, Nedra making the most out of having a male wrapped around her finger.

She would ride his face until she lost count of the orgasms, tie his hands up while teasing him, or once even teased him to completion while in the cold water of the ancient river.

Maddox was ever the obedient subordinate, relishing any affection she awarded him. Yet, he craved more.

In all the times they met, never had she allowed him to penetrate her with his cock. Oh, but he wanted to…wanted to claim her as his, fill her up and knott her. He fantasized about it during the long nights when he lay alone in the darkness.

He worked himself into such a desperate mess that when they next met, secluded away in some long abandoned ruins, he was at his limit.

Maddox bent Nedra over a low wall, pressing his furry hips into hers, both stripped bare.

“Please.” His voice was low and husky hints of desperation ringing his tone. His fingers dug into her thighs, claws threatening to break skin. Maddox trembled with his restrained, “Please, Nedra….”

She bit her lip, core oozing. She could feel his dripping cock drag against her entrance. “You begging is so cute.” She wiggled her hips a bit, causing a groan to slip past his lips. His hips cantered a bit as she spoke again, “Beg more.”

He grit his teeth for a moment, but his ache of need overpowered his already withered pride. “Please, by the gods please.” He begged, “I've done everything you’ve wanted, please let me inside.”

She nodded, “You have been good.”

Nedra reached back, grabbing her own ass cheeks, spreading them and showing off her cunt.

Maddox whined, watching every move with hungry golden eyes.

“Breed me.” She ordered, “Show me how omen fuck!”

He didn’t need to be told twice, pulling back just enough to angle his cock towards her waiting hole. He breached her entrance, her tight walls already squeezing him. Maddox swallowed, eyes rolling back as his hips bucked forward.

Nedra gave a cry as she was stuffed full in a few quick thrusts. Never before had she felt something so thick and filling, his beastial cock sporting knobs and ribbing that rubbed along her walls perfectly.

Her inside mushed around his intrusion, sucking him in and urging him on. Maddox became quite vocal, moaning with every sink of his hips. He clawed at her, mind fraying at the end.

This was everything he wanted, so many sleepless nights of imaginings suddenly made flesh. He watched the place their bodies met, how her small form swallowed him greedily, losing himself.

This wouldn’t last.

“Please, please, please, please.” He begged, hips snapping, “Can I come? Please, can I come? Please, please!”

Nedra’s mind felt like liquid, almost not hearing his desperate pleas. Scrapping together as much sanity as she could manage, she suddenly realized something: a heavy pound of flesh was banging against her entrance, swollen and threatening.

“Knott me!” She screamed, totally gone with lust.

Maddox surged forward, tail lashing madly. His knot popped into her, making more screams rip from her throat. She felt like a vice, milking his cock and drawing a shattering orgasm from him.

His cries intermingled with her own, filling her to the brim with molten seed.

[hlizr50]

Gwynriel Week Day 2 - Favorite Headcanon

Bow or Bleed

Read on AO3

-Gwyn-

Gwyn examined herself in the mirror, turning her hips and looking over her shoulder. She was technically covered, but also decidedly not, navy chiffon so dark it was nearly black waterfalled down her legs, the milky skin of her leg exposed by the hip-high opening. The top of the gown had long sleeves and a deep neckline past her breastbone, but it was also sheer – strategically placed beading and applique crept up her stomach and over her breasts. It was certainly the most scandalous thing she’d ever worn.

Azriel had warned her before the meeting with the High Lord, nearly three weeks before. Times were peaceful – something they were all thankful for – but Rhysand wanted to remind the denizens of the Hewn City of the Night Court’s might, introducing the new division of their defenses. Therefore, the three female leaders of the Valkyries were requested. Her mate had kept her hand firmly gripped in his for the duration of the discussion, and that silent support was just one of the many reasons she loved him. So was his deference to her decision. That was something that had been a little more difficult to achieve, the shadowsinger being as protective as he was, particularly where Gwyn was concerned.

They had discussed in depth what she would find in the Court of Nightmares and the expectations that came along with being in attendance in a position of power. And while, in the three years they had been together, they had explored any number of intimate situations and dynamics in the comfort of their private home, it was Azriel who had suggested that Gwyn be regarded as the dominant one of the two.

The inhabitants of the Hewn City know that I am to be feared. And I want them to see the woman who has tamed the infamous spymaster and cower. Not only from a perspective of your safety, but to be perfectly frank it would be incredibly arousing.

She had laughed at that.

And so Azriel and Gwyn had painstakingly discussed every detail, the two of them valuing preparedness and knowledge above all else. Where would they be expected to stand? How were they expected to interact with the rest of the inner circle and the Valkyries? He came with her to dress fittings, discussing how the fabric would move and working with the Valkyrie and the seamstress to ensure she looked tempting enough to draw attention, but covered enough that she wouldn’t be constantly pulling and tugging. They had even come home with a replica of the skirt so they could train together, for the unfortunate possibility that violence might become a necessity.

So here she was, with her chosen sisters, examining herself one last time before their entrance into the Court of Nightmares. When she looked up she found Nesta at her shoulder.

“Ready, Gwyn?” The redhead could see the faint glimmer of concern in her friend’s eyes.

A reassuring grin crinkled the freckles dotting the former priestess’ nose and the corners of her eyes. She trailed her fingers over the hilt of the dark blade sheathed at her thigh, drawing strength from its weight and the lingering power from the hands that wielded it. Gwyn nodded, the copper waterfall of her high ponytail brushing past her ears and cheeks.

“Let’s give them a show,” Emerie quipped with a smirk.

Gwyn regarded the two females that had been at her side, constant support and friendship and love over the past four years. Nesta was a queen in every sense, beautiful and dangerous, with a neckline that dipped even lower than her own. Her gown fit tight against her, black velvet rich and luxurious. She wore her weapon for everyone to see, the sword Ataraxia hanging from the black leather riding her hips. Her leg was also revealed by a near-indecent slit in the midnight cloth, the tightness of the dress pulling the ends apart and baring it for all to see.

And then there was Emerie, who had opted for pants, tailored just right to show off the strength in her legs. Black silk fell loosely from her honey brown shoulders creating lovely drapes over her front and baring her smooth muscled arms. The back of the garment only met at the small of her back, letting all appreciate the ripples and cords of muscle and the incredible wings that marked her as Illyrian.

Emerie smiled wryly, ready to intimidate, but it was Nesta who pushed open the wooden doors with as much force as she could muster. Gwyn was inwardly satisfied at the sound that cut through the cavern. She lifted her chin and fixed her gaze forward toward the raised dais, where the High Lord and Lady sat enthroned in dark power. She would not turn her gaze toward the shadowsinger as they strode in, footfalls synchronized as if they marched into battle. She kept her head lifted, near-arrogant smirk on her wine-painted lips.

But, Mother, could she feelhim. The flicker of power, the gold thread between them taut with heat and tightly coiled desire. Gwyn didn’t dare a glance, but she could feel the burn of his hazel gaze – likely now closer to molten gold – roaming over her.

The three Valkyries stopped at the foot of the dais, Nesta in front with Gwyn and Emerie at her shoulders. When they each fell to one knee before their High Lord and Lady, the copper-haired warrior could feel the cool, moist air prickling the skin of her now-exposed thigh. But she didn’t feel exposed, even with so much less of her covered than she was accustomed to. She didn’t feel weak, even as she bowed in the midst of this infamous court. She was a wholly different person from the quaking priestess that had been rescued from Sangravah, and it was this court that had helped build her up. She was a warrior, a Valkyrie, one of eight Carynthians to ever exist, and now she was a general. And through all that she had become a sister, friend, lover, and mate, and it was those bonds that truly gave her strength.

They rose and turned to face the court, and Gwyn did her best to observe nonchalantly. So many leering stares, expressions of disgust – so many fragile males opposed to the concept of powerful women.

“The Valkyries were legendary in the Great War, and we are pleased that these three females have resurrected their practice and built new ranks.” Rhysand’s voice was rich and dark, like the velvet that clung to Nesta’s skin. “As their skills have improved and their ranks have deepened, the Valkyries have been inducted as an official division of the Night Court defense. Even in times of peace we all know that it is imperative to remain dedicated and prepared. These three females join the ranks of my Inner Circle as generals, and they will be respected as such.” There was a pregnant pause after his statement, the court regarding the three of them, sizing them up. “Any word or action against them will be counted as a word or action against myself or the High Lady. And while all of the denizens of the Hewn City understand how I manage those slights, let them rest assured that these women will exact their own justice.” After one more glower over the crowd the females split apart, turning toward their respective mates.

That’s when she finally laid her eyes on the Spymaster of the Night Court, clothed in black leather and swathed in shadows. The angles and planes of his face, in this dark place, made him impossibly more beautiful. He was an imposing creature when he needed to be, and in the Court of Nightmares he would only be seen as this man of malice – an angel of death.

With near-glowing eyes fixed on her and her alone.

-Azriel-

This plan could have been a grave mistake.

Not because Gwyn wasn’t absolutely breathtaking and fearless, and not because he didn’t believe that any male would think twice before approaching her with the shadowsinger apparently on her leash.

No, this plan was very potentially a mistake because Azriel wasn’t sure he would be able to keep himself from swathing them in shadows and ravishing her in the middle of the damned great hall as soon as she was within arm’s reach.

He’d known what the dress would look like on her tall frame – he had accompanied her to consultations and fittings, ensuring that his mate would feel comfortable and safe during this foray into the sinister underbelly of the Night Court. The inspiration for Amarantha’s domain not-so-long ago.

To say that the idea of Gwyn stepping foot in this place had given him pause would be a grievous understatement. His shadows had twirled around his wings in agitation when Rhys had informed him, but he also knew that his mate was not the same girl he had rescued from Sangravah those years ago. He had agreed to let her hear the request and decide for herself what she would do, and he would be happy to do everything in his power to ensure that she was prepared.

The female that faced him now was nothing short of a queen.

Azriel found himself thinking back through the times that he had been rendered breathless by her astonishing beauty – more times than he could count. The first time he’d seen her in the Valkyrie leathers he thought he might have to leave the room, lest he melt into a heap on the floor before her. Their first Starfall together his shadows had frozen around him as he remembered how to breathe, her dress and eyes outsparkling the heavens. The evening of their mating ceremony, where a simple silk shift had sent tendrils of inky mist dancing and had nearly set his soul on fire.

Before him was a warrior, confident and ferocious. And his. Her skin was moonlight against the darkest blue the seamstress could find, curves barely concealed beneath lace and beading that had been expertly placed to toe the line between demure and deadly. Makeup was not something the former priestess indulged in often, but the wine-red that painted her full lips tempted him to lick his own and the kohl lining her teal pools only seemed to set them ablaze. The high ponytail was somewhat unexpected, but it was the sight of the blade strapped to her thigh – so dark it seemed to absorb any light that dared touch it – that had the breeches of his leathers tightening considerably and his twirling shadows thickening.

Truth-teller.

Neither of them needed weapons to be deadly, but that didn’t mean they would venture into the Court of Nightmares unarmed. And there would be no better way to send a message to any who dared covet his mate than for her to brandish the deadly blade that was known throughout the continent.

Gwyn strode toward him, head held high. She had schooled her expressive eyes into cool indifference, something she had likely learned from him, but Azriel could spy a glimmer of mischief. She was enjoying this game, and he was more than content to play it with her. He lowered his chin and dropped to one knee as she approached, and his shadows could hear the whispers of stunned onlookers as the spymaster placed himself firmly beneath the Valkyrie in the hierarchy. A wry grin curled his lips as he watched those exquisitely formed legs come to a halt before him and the hand at her right hip present itself. He kept his gaze fixed on the speckled flesh of her knuckles as he raised his own scarred hand, cobalt siphon flickering, and grasped her fingers before leaning in to reverently press his lips to her knuckles. He could feel the golden warmth of her satisfaction in his chest, sparks of desire intermixed.

When he released her hand it moved to his face, two long elegant fingers landing under his chin and pulling it upward. Lifting his gaze, he found her face alight with fierce confidence.

“Shadowsinger,” she purred, applying more pressure to encourage him to rise before her. Their stares were transfixed in the eyes of the other as he did so, her hand only moving far enough to land in a possessive grip toward the back of his neck. He couldn’t hide the smirk that crawled over his lips, enamored as he was with the predatory confidence that she wore.

“My lady,” he murmured, dipping his chin. “You look absolutely exquisite.” The slightest pink blossomed on her cheeks, proving that she was not completely immune to his charm. She circled him and stepped up behind him onto the first stair to the dais, keeping her palm on is neck. He had to stifle a groan, reveling in her possessive touch and the heat of her at his back between his wings. Her breath snaked across his ear and his skin pebbled, her lips like a phantom touch over the shell of it.

“You are beautiful and dark, as always, love,” Gwyn whispered before dipping her chin and pressing those soft painted lips just below where the sharp line of his jaw met his neck. His breath shuddered and his mate gave a soft giggle. “Your shadows are quite… friendly tonight.”

“Well, lovely general, I can hardly be expected to control them when you make it so difficult for me to even manage myself,” Azriel breathed.

“Hmmm. You do make an excellent point.” She gripped his jaw and pulled it to the side to claim his lips with a bruising kiss. When she released him he nearly drowned in the teal pools that captured his gaze. He could see the challenge there, the desire, the pride. He loved when he could glimpse those things in her expression, when he could put those feelings there. Gods, the way it felt to bow before her, to be the one she trusted to submit to her will. It was a distinct possibility he wouldn’t survive the night.

“I know you have duties, Shadowsinger,” the Valkyrie stated softly, dropping her fingers from his jaw. His permission to leave her side, to stride through the shadows and dark corners of this hall to ensure that members of this court still understood the price of disrespect and the power of fear. He turned, tucking his wings tight to avoid striking her. He meant to look back into those piercing, starlit eyes, but his gaze caught on Truth-teller at her thigh. He lifted a mottled hand and settled his palm over the hilt, letting his callused fingers brush delicately over that tempting sliver of porcelain flesh. Leaning down, he brushed his mouth over the peek of skin just above his thumb.

“Wine, my lady?” He straightened and grinned crookedly at her flushed neck and chest. She dipped her chin in confirmation and he turned, striding into the throng of revelers. Hopefully his High Lord didn’t expect him to listen too closely. It was peacetime, after all, and he had to contend with every delicious image of Gwyn flashing through his mind. Hopefully his shadows would pick up on anything glaring and drag his attention out of the gutter.

He had retrieved two goblets and turned back toward the dais when he felt a twinge of anxiety in his chest, tightening the golden thread that connected the Shadowsinger and the Valkyrie. He weaved quickly in and out of the dark swaths in the hall, his shadows carrying to him the echoes of words between her and a yet-unknown male.

“…quite an actress, priestess…”

Azriel quieted the snarl that threatened to push through his lips as he rounded a pillar silently, finding Gwyn’s back pressed against it and the male – one of the darkbringers, he realized – doing his best to tower over her. He stayed silent, tucked into the darkness. He had vowed not to intervene until it became obvious that she couldn’t handle the situation. And while he had felt the moment of uncertainty in their bond, his mate looked calm and nonchalant – if not a small bit annoyed.

“Although I find it difficult to believe that a timid acolyte from the library sanctuary could best the Spymaster. They say the women in the great library have experienced great horrors, but perhaps if you warm the bed of the angel of death, you’re into that kind of thing.”

The male had lifted a hand to Gwyn’s face, making to touch her. And quick as the wind she had Truth-teller in her hand, blade against a particularly sensitive part of the male who thought he could dare to insinuate what he did, much less dare to touch her. Azriel saw the rage sparkling in her gaze, all traces of anxiety and annoyance gone.

“Think very carefully about the next thing you say,” she hissed. When the male tried to smirk and play it off she pushed the blade the slightest bit deeper, the edge biting into the leather of his pants. “I am a general. I won the Illyrian Blood Rite. I have bested far more intimidating creatures than yourself. So do ask yourself if you want to test your luck.”

Azriel’s lips twisted into a sadistic smile, basking in the glow of his mate’s strength. Her eyes darted to him for a split second, and the male’s eyes followed. The color drained from his face when he saw the rippling shadows twisting and rising like flames over his shoulders and wings. But a push against the dagger at his crotch shifted his attention back to Gwyn.

“Hear me now, brute,” she seethed. “I do not always keep my Shadowsinger so tightly leashed. And he does not take kindly to unimpressive, brainless males touching the female that he belongs to.” My Shadowsinger. The female that he belongs to. Mother above, those words went straight to his already-straining cock. “So I hope that little thrill that pulsed through your undoubtedly underwhelming dick when you thought you could intimidate me and bend me to your desires��� I do so hope it was worth it.”

The male stepped away with hands raised, but the copper-haired queen kept her blazing stare on him, dagger still ready in her hand.

“Shadowsinger, I hope you have that wine,” she cooed, sheathing the weapon when Azriel stepped to her side. He offered her the goblet and then offered her an arm, muscles and shadows tremoring from barely contained fury. His instincts warred within him, an urge to rip the male limb from limb against the desire to whisk his mate into an alcove and plunge his tongue between her legs until she was screaming his name. He wasn’t sure if he had ever desired her with such a feral male pride, and from the heat blooming across her chest he could tell that she could feel that pulsing need through their bond. But her breathing was slightly more shallow than normal, and he remembered that nervous twinge he’d felt before she’d nearly castrated the man. The spymaster let them to a darkened corner, shadows swallowing them and hiding them from prying eyes and ears.

“Are you alright, songbird?” All pretense and games were gone, leaving only the soft voice of a protective male concerned for the love of his eternity. He took her wine glass and set both of them on the stone floor. When he straightened he pinned her with his gaze and raised callused fingers to trace the freckles on her cheek. Gwyn sighed a calming breath and leaned into his touch.

“Yes, love. I was nervous for a moment, but I think I handled things quite well,” she smiled widely. He released a dark chuckle of his own, stepping into her and pinning her gently against the wall. Azriel tilted his head and leaned down, pressing his lips against the sensitive space under hear ear. Nipping at it, then flicking his tongue over the spot to soothe it, smiling against her soft flesh as he felt her gasp beneath him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more aroused in my life, Gwyneth Berdara,” he uttered into her neck, voice low and guttural. He pressed his hips against her, letting her feel what she had done to him. “When you called me yours, when you said I belong to you… Gods, nothing has ever been truer.”

Azriel dragged his lips wantonly over her jaw toward her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip when he got there. He was on fire for her, every inch of him aflame with want for his warrior queen. He crushed his lips into hers, tongue beseeching. She gave in without pause, and he greedily pulled at her lips and tongue. He wanted to breathe her in, needed to taste her.

“Azriel,” she gasped, but he continued pouring himself into her, only stopping when her hands cupped his face gently. He pulled back and took in her swollen lips and lust-darkened eyes. “We need to behave, remember?” The shadowsinger groaned, earning a musical laugh from the Valkyrie. He leaned his forehead against hers.

“Fine,” he growled. “But as soon as we get home, rest assured, I will have you. And I want you to keep Truth-teller on that pretty thigh.”

Gwyn’s cheeks turned crimson and his throat rumbled with approval. He pressed a quick, hard kiss into her lips before stepping back, giving her some air to cool the heat on her face. Swiftly, he scooped up their wine goblets and offered his elbow to her.

“Ready to terrorize more unsuspecting males, my lady?” Azriel grinned wickedly, and she threw her head back, a cackle erupting from her throat. She tucked her starkissed hand into the crook of his arm.

“Always, Shadowsinger.” Quickly, before he let his shadows disperse, she pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I love you.”

The bond burned golden fire in his chest, swelling with love and contentment and bliss. “I love you, too, Berdara.” He murmured, and then they were in the throng again, the music and revelry of the Hewn City swallowing them. He let his shadows wander and listen, but his attention was focused on his mate for the remainder of the evening. He marveled at her confidence, her strength, the pride she felt at being able to conquer this moment. Feyre may be his High Lady, but Gwyneth Berdara was his queen. And, if tonight was any indication, he would gladly bow before her for the rest of his immortal life.

[violetueur-archive]

@fallesto​​

Continued from: HERE

EVERY SINGLE SEASON … WITHOUT FAIL … HE WOULD RETURN TO HER VILLAGE …

Perhaps he was smitten, without a shadow of a doubt he was. She was playing hard to get. She should have been notched off years ago, but she was making him work for it. Truly this one was special. Perhaps more than what he thought, but he would not dare cloud his sense of reason. It was impossible. The risks were too great. It was never going to work anyway. Even if there was a small part of him that wished for it. The world was broken. It was never going to be fixed, it was always going to need him. Some were, there was always some cunt stirring up trouble and he would be there to stop them. A dragon had devoured his family, laid waste to his entire village, burned everything to cinder and do you want to know why it did such a thing, because it could. Because his home was within the way of it’s view of the mountain and so it slaughtered hundreds of people for that sole reason. Evil. The very definition of it and he made a promise, to kill every single last dragon in the world, and it had trickled down from that, to monsters, demi-humans, anything and everything that dared treat humanity as a source of entertainment or something to harm because they were better, faster, stronger. Never.

Still there was one thing that was certain. Within one part of the world, there was no danger. There were no dragons, no great monsters, beasts, or any shred of darkness. He had always made sure, nothing ever reached her village, her lands. He always stopped it before it ever reached her own door step, his own little way I suppose of taking care of her. Still, each start of a season he would come back. To bring her gifts, to tell her stories and above all else, try to get into her pants. Yes, hardly the thing worthy of songs and stories to be told down the line, but … that was who he was. He loved fighting, but he loved women more than anything else in the entire world. If there were no evil, he would have spent even more time chasing after them and spoiling them rotten. He was a lover, not a fighter. Yet the path he had taken, was that of someone who had to put the world first, too many times to count … but he still managed to squeeze as much … fun in as possible. As she knew better than anyone else. Once it happened, he left. The deed was done and he was always grateful, but it was once and only ever once. Never out of hatred, never out of ill intentions, but always for them. He could not linger in one place for too long, he could not allow his scent to pass onto another, any trace of himself. All it would take, is one dragon, to cleanse a village, a city, an entire kingdom of the face of the earth, if it thought it had any chance to kill him.

“There is a reason, no one sees me like this.”

There was no humor within his voice. Not this time. The flowers from the edge of the world, the trinkets from forgien lands. The sword he had pulled from the back of a legendary dragon who had burned every brave hero who had ever faced it, he had dropped them all to the ground the moment he saw her. The moment his eye locked onto her own and saw the bruising. The darkness around her eye, the marks, the swell of her lip as well. Someone had struck her, harmed her, dared raise there hand to such a perfect being. His eyepatch was removed and tossed to the side. As he reached out the cup the side of her face, gentle, always, to touch, to feel it as his eyes narrowed even further. A look that … was out of place on his always happy looking face. There was one thing within the world. That was a whisper. A rumour. It never happened and when it did, the world stopped dead in his tracks and all evil felt a chill run up there spine.

THERE WAS NOTHING MORE TERRIFYING. THAN THE WRATH OF THE SWORD SAINT.

“I will ask you once.”

His breathing was … not calm nor collected. There was a crack, of bones within fingers, as his other hand, his digits were moving, his hand opening and closing several times. As his head turned to look behind him. He had come back, after a season of being away. Excited. A spring in his step almost. As he had practically ran from the other side of the world to get here before the new season would fall onto the lands, only to see this. A voice that was stern, serious, commanding as well. As he would not be refused this one request. Of all the things Reid was, he was never serious about his duties. He was playful, charming, humorous even to his enemies, until he wasn’t … and when he wasn’t, even the gods themselves pitied any who had mistakenly angered him and crossed him.

“Who did this to you.”

At the beginning of each season, though she tried very hard not to admit nor let it show, Nicolette eagerly awaited his inevitable return. Despite her attempts to feign indifference in the beginning, it became harder and harder with time to uphold the act, and at the first sign of change she would find herself on the precipice of some unspoken, hidden feeling that she refused to put a name to. To anyone with eyes it was clear that she was infatuated. It was usually easy to bury deep and ignore when he was not around ( though sometimes she became possessed by a strange longing ), but it would always burst forth like a blooming bud through melting snow as the time for his visit drew nearer. Nicolette often wondered what the people in her village must think. Perhaps they pitied her, surely some envied the attention the revered Sword Saint showered upon her, but regardless of their opinions, none could deny the benefits they all received, because of her foolish crush. They had always been rather well off, but their collective station and social standing had only increased, as a result of the many tributes offered. Not to mention, the luxury of complete safety they all lived under. No one could make the mistake of believing it mere coincidence.

He had never made any show or it, nor taken the chance to brag, entirely uncharacteristic, but Nicolette had noticed, anyway. She always noticed things, when it came to him— the way he almost appeared relieved when she turned him down now, how his attempts to bed her had become less insistent than they’d once been, even that he’d looked somehow lonely beneath it all, yet it seemed to lessen, when he was in her company. Maybe it was all wishful thinking or merely imagined in her head, but she liked to think it was real. It was the only reason, she still hadn’t given in, even after all this time. But some people, could not appreciate her headstrong nature, like he could. Her obstinance and loose tongue had garnered negative attention many times before, but it was rare that someone be so daring, and it had never happened this close to his visit. Nicolette... hadn’t wanted him to see her like this, ever. She felt utterly humiliated, and frankly embarrassed, to appear before him looking so unsightly, but it had never occurred to her not to meet him as she usually did. Missing him had won out, over her desire to hide. Even after she’d tried to make light of it, she knew it wouldn’t work, but still, she hadn’t quite expected his reaction.

The moment their gazes met and realization dawned on his face, Nicolette felt her heartrate increase tenfold in her chest, and it only grew faster as he dropped the lovely gifts in his arms and quickly closed the distance between them. One might think such a reaction was out of fear, but it was, in fact, quite the opposite. The eyepatch was torn from his head and tossed away ( a small blessing ), and then he was standing right before her, reaching out to cradle the injured side of her face in his large hand. Calloused fingertips gently prodded at the discoloration around her eye, thumb brushing over the cut on her bottom lip, causing her to both flinch and shiver, before she leaned into his palm, peering up at him with wide eyes, spellbound by his quietly simmering fury. ❝ Reid... it’s fine, I’m— ❞ His low voice interjected, leaving no room for argument or excuse. He spoke as if commanding her, yet she didn’t hate it, nor did she stubbornly refuse. She had never... seen him get angry before, but she was not so blind as to miss where that feeling was coming from. He was angry, for her sake. If Nicolette were being honest, she... liked it. It was certainly thrilling, but more than that, it made her feel unquestionably valued. Important, somehow.

Yet, she knew it would be unwise, to encourage it too much, at least over something this insignificant. ❝ It’s okay, ❞ She whispered, entirely fond, as delicate hands reached up, one touching his forearm as he continued to cradle her face, the other pressing against his heaving chest. ❝ It’s not that bad, it just looks worse because my skin is so fair. ❞ Which was likely true. It had certainly hurt quite a bit after the initial event, but the pain had dulled to merely an annoying sting, now. ❝ It was no one of any importance, I assure you. He’s already been dealt with, and I don’t say this for his sake— I fear if I tell you a name right now, you might betray your own vow, and he is hardly worth it. ❞ He had told her before, that he never killed humans, and from everything she’d seen him do, she believed him. It was an oath she didn’t quite understand, but respected nonetheless. As much as it might satisfy her to see the man who’d assaulted her be slain by his hands, she didn’t want to risk a burden like that weighing upon his shoulders. ❝ If... if you insist, even still, I will tell you... but I’d much prefer you take care of me instead. And I’d quite like to see those lovely flowers you brought? ❞

[archaneanscribe]

Finally Taking the Trip to Jupiter

Vague spoilers for MGS4. Also xtremely fucking sad fair warning lol

“Snake... Dave?” Hal immediately corrected himself upon entering the room. The veteran’s (finally they could use that term, with there truly being no fights left to fight) request to drop the codenames they had maintained for nearly a decade had been a little sudden, but entirely understandable, “We think we’ve found a place to stay, for the moment. A nice house, close enough to a town that Sunny can go to school in, but far enough ouy most folks will leave us alone.”

David simply nodded- taking a deep breath that would normally be an intake of smoke into his lungs, but he was sincere in his declaration of quitting. Even if it wasn’t for very long, he could do that much for Sunny and Hal, after all this time. The tech wiz stood awkwardly in the doorframe, posture so closed in on himself David would see the gangly nerd he once was before he had started spending more time eating and moving around than seated in front of a computer.

He still did plenty of that, but years on the run had shifted the ratio considerably until just recently.

“Out with it, Hal,” he croaked out in a voice that was becoming increasingly unfamiliar to both of them. This seemed to shock his companion out of his own thoughts, and he finally moved closer.

“Ah, well, you see- what do you want for your last name, Dave? You know I’ll be formalizing Sunny’s adoption, which means we’ll finally be obtaining,” emphasis was put on the word, because in reality it meant forging, “papers for her, and I thought you’d probably be in need of some too. We can use whatever is on your birth certificate, but if you want to pick something out yourself...”

A smile formed under Dave’s mustache.

“I already know what I’m using.”

Hal perked up, “You do? What is it?”

With the same simple, to the point gruffness he would never quite be rid of, the one legendary soldier answered in a single word.

“Emmerich.”

All sounds except the Nomad’s machinery working overtime on her last voyage and David’s unfortunately heavy breathing ceased for an eternally long moment, Hal’s face journeying between every emotion he possessed. Tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, and his attempt to stifle his sniffles failed.

He probably wouldn’t have admitted it at the beginning, but something David had always loved about Hal was his ability to keep crying. No matter the hardships he faced, the traumas, the evils and cruelties he bore witness too, he didn’t run out of tears. His compassion was a well that ran deep, and those tears were just a result of it overflowing.

“Dave...of, of course,” his expression betrayed some amusement past the waterworks, “Do you want me to list you as my brother, or-”

“You know exactly what it’s going to say, Hal.”

They both laughed now, such different sounds than it was just a year ago even. David had been sitting on the edge of the bed, and Hal had been across the room, but that distance closed as Hal kneeled on the floor, placing his hands on David’s knees. It was a gesture that David had previously classified as pitying, but he knew better, now. 

It wasn’t for his comfort at all.

“Thank you, David.”

David had half a mind to ask what it was like to kiss an old man with a mustache, but they didn’t have the time for jokes like that anymore, so he just closed his eyes and enjoyed it.

---

The eyeroll David had given when Hal told him the name of the town they’d be living in was named Jupiter was so legendary it surpassed his previous exploits with ease. But, despite how silly it was, he couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest. 

They’d gotten their trip to Jupiter, just a little late.

Jupiter, Washington, was as small as a small mountain town got. It didn’t even have an elementary school for Sunny to attend (she was bussed to the neighboring, larger town). Most residents were the descendants of the people who had first lived there, so their new faces stuck out for awhile, but they eventually concluded what was essentially the truth, albeit missing some key details, and moved on- they were just two retirees, hoping to live out what was left of the older one’s life in peace with their orphaned granddaughter, nothing exciting.

Hal laughed at how huffy David had gotten at the granddaughter comments.

For the first month, their time there was peaceful. Content. Happy.

The second month, David starting being able to spend less and less time out of bed.

In the third month, he took Hal aside.

“You should stop sleeping in the same bed as me.”

His husband was a genius, he knew exactly why, but he still asked anyway.

“Don’t make me say it.” 

That he didn’t want Hal to wake up one sunny spring morning cuddling a corpse.

Tears were shed, as they always were, but he complied nonetheless. All of David’s belongings were transferred to the guest bedroom (Hal had tried to convince him to stay in the master bedroom, it was more comfortable, but David was adamant- that was where Hal would be staying in the future, and he didn’t want his ghost lingering in the air whenever he slept).

On the first day of the fourth month, right after sending Sunny off to school, Hal told him they were getting a dog for her.

“She loves those chickens, and I thought she might like another pet.”

“Or is it to replace me?” he asked, morbid mirth nearly buried under the pure gravel that had become his voice, “Seems to fit perfectly.”

Hal’s eyes, sad and weary, seemed to want nothing to do with this conversation, but he participated for his partner’s sake, “How so?”

“It’ll bark at strangers, bite the hand that feeds, and just generally be a pain in your ass.”

Despite himself Hal did laugh, not entirely bitter, “We’ll train it better than that.”

“Don’t train it too well. Won’t remind you enough of me.”

Fifth month, they had a dog. Rex, a joke on two layers- a name so common it was funny, and a reminder of one man’s shame that he’d never quite shake off. Not a husky, because while that would please David, they’d be keeping it long term and that level of energy just wouldn’t suit their needs. Rex was an adolescent Golden Retriever. 

The dog of the American dream.

Almost like he could tell David wouldn’t be around long enough to justify getting attached, Rex mostly ignored him. The feeling was mutual. 

Sunny loved them both dearly, and that was enough.

---

They had been there half a year, and Sunny made them breakfast. Her specialty, eggs fried to methodical perfection, toast just a little browner than anyone would like, maple sausage microwaved for ten seconds more than the instructions said just to make sure they were thoroughly cooked, and a glass of pulpless orange juice tucked precariously into the crook of her arm as she carried the meal to Uncle Dave’s bedroom.

It was two minutes after Hal watched Sunny depart from the kitchen that he heard a loud crash, glass and ceramic shattering, followed by Rex’s insistent barking and whining. He was on his feet and rushed to the scene, fearing the worst and finding exactly that.

“Oh, Sunny... Sunny...”

“U-Uncle H-Hal,” she barely managed through her cries. Rex, to his credit, ignored the food on the ground and nuzzled at her face, whining, confused and upset by the noises of unparalleled distress his beloved human was emitting. Stifling his own grief, Hal went over to the young girl and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

He didn’t do a great job at holding that grief in after all.

“Sunny, Sunny, Sunny... I’m so sorry... I should have checked up on him when I woke up... It’s okay, Sunny...”

“H-He’s d-d-dead. J-Just,” her stutter was exacerbated by her choking sobs, “J-Just l-like my m-mother.”

The downside of having such a bright child was that you couldn’t shield them from life’s harsh realities that easily. There was no convincing Sunny that Uncle Dave was with the birds in the clouds, or any other such comforting tale. 

He was dead and gone, and she knew that.

---

The gravestone read:

               David Emmerich

       Beloved father and husband.

All three of those titles were ones he had only worn for six months, but he had worn them with honor.•

[jinnyu]

regarding romance!

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Used artwork credits

Hop

Bede

Leon

Raihan

╘══════════════════╛

———☆️

Hop🍀

It started as the cliché love story about falling in love with your very own bestfriend

Which, actually turned out great??

His Zacian/Zamazenta loves you as much as it's trainer does, and is willing to protect you from anything

Probably because it observed Hop being protective over you, and proceeding to do the same

Sure it might took a toll on him when you defeated him on the championship semi-finals, but he wanted you to be happy more than anything

He's such a sweetheart even if he doesn't show it much

The type to appreciate small little things, especially when it comes from you

"Let's camp together!!"

You camped together

He got chased by a wild steelix whilst trying to gather data for his research later

His Zamazenta/Zacian was busy playing with your own legendary

*from the distance* "GAH! HELP!"

You ran after him and calmed down the wild steelix

Then you walked to him and checked if he got any wounds or scratches, which leads you to cupping his face gently with a worried look on your face

Hop's blushing

He's freaking out inside

You didn't notice the tint of blush dusting his cheeks,which gradually reddens with each second that passes

"im okay, dont worry" he tried his best reassuring you

Even though he's blushing, he proceeded to press his forehead gently against yours, closing his eyes and smiling

oh no he's cute

You're blushing

haha blushy reader

You let him do his thing, its somewhat calming

He's warmm

His hands are calloused, different from yours; you just remembered this when he placed his hand on top of yours while you were checking for his wounds from before

This just shows how much he's been working off to reach the champion title

And yet he's completely alright with you taking the spotlight

After all, you're his shining star

And he wouldn't have it in any other way

You let him borrow your champion cape

And he lets you borrow his labcoat

It fits just right with you! And it got his scent, which calms you down whenever you're feeling anxious

When you wear his labcoat, you're 1000000000% irresistible to his eyes

"Don't be so adorableee" he said as he pulled you into a hug and burying his face in your neck

You only laughed softly at his reaction. He was blushing too,,,

You often waited for him to finish his lab work, even if it's until late hours

He's a really hard worker, no wonder he stayed until late

"Im sorry for making you wait"

He looks exhausted, but tried his best to pull a bright smile, not wanting to worry you

You only gave him a warm hug, which surprised him at first before he hugs you back and proceed to walk you to your house

💓💓💓 < your heart

Comfort time

There's usually some jerks who'd tease you for being the champion, or flirt with you in an impolite way

If Hop caught on to this, he would politely ask them to leave

If they still dont understand, his legendary comes out of his pokeball and growl at them

He'd ask them one more time to stop bothering you, but this time, with a menacing smile that says "stay here any longer and you wont get to see another daylight"

Then he'd check up on you, asking if you're alright, if they did anything to you or whatnot

Hed wrap his arms around your waist and drape his labcoat over you, because he knows his labcoat always manages to calm you down

"It's okay, you're okay, everything is alright now, c'mere"

You let him hug you as you feel safe around him, and you two stayed in that position until you feel alright again

💕💕

———☆️

Bede🍰

He's not the best at showing affection but at least he tries

You help him come out with quizzes for his gym challenge

And sometimes joke about the poses he makes when practicing

Sometimes, he gets reminded that you're the champion of Galar and he's way out of your trainer level

Which actually motivates him to become the strongest gym leader there is by pushing past his limits

"I'll show you how strong fairy types can be"

He said to himself as he was thinking about you

People kept misunderstanding fairy types after all, and thats a big mistake

You appreciate his efforts in maxing out his strength, and you show it by coming to his fairy stadium whenever he battles a challenger

You texted him "good luck, I'll be cheering 4 u!❤️❤️👍" before his matches start

And you looked at his direction after sending the message

He has just gotten your message, and opened it

Which leads to him blushing furiously as he covers his face with one of his hands

He took a deep breath and tried to regain his composure, only to fail miserably when he saw you looking at his direction with pure ambition and determined eyes as you grinned happily

All that i could say is, he's red as a beet

He wont lose this match, not when you're watching him.

He puts extra effort when you're watching his match, and made sure not to slip up. It'd be embarrassing if he did.

Opal notices this and only smiled seeing her successor acting out of his place whenever you're around

Opal knows something that you dont, and that's Bede's feelings for you

After his match ended, his Hatterene walked towards your direction, pulling you into a tight hug

You were surprised, but apparently Hatterene has grown to like you ever since she first met you

And when you look at Bede's direction, he was looking away with his arms crossed infront of his chest, visibly drowning in embarassment

,,,you wondered, is Bede projecting on his Hatterene or what,

Yes, yes he is

So you asked him if he also wants a hug, which of course he answered with "Why would i want a hug from someone like you? That'd be an insult to me"

You let go of Hatterene and hugged him anyways

He flinched when you hugged him, not knowing where to put his hands and just let them stay still in a defensive pose

Hatterene watched with a smile from behind you, seeing her master in such a flustered state was truly something new for the Pokemon

Not long after, Bede finally let his arms wrap around your waist, giving in to his subconscious and just hug you

he wanted to hug you anyways so thats a win win situation

You were actually surprised when he hugged you back

He smells nice!! Like perfume?? Cologne?? Floral scent

His Hatterene decided to join in and wrapped her arm around you both, making you all hug even more tightly

Bede cant handle this well.

No, not at all.

His face was really red and its hot— in all honesty, its cute, but he was burning

"Why do you have to embarrass me like this?"

You buried your face in his neck, which startled him as he couldn't think at all

"Y-you!!"

He feels nice and soft, so you're not planning to let go any sooner, likewise with Hatterene.

Bede's mind: ASDFGHJKL????—GODDAMMI—

OKAY NOW COMFORT TIME

His true nature would come out when you're not feeling yourself or when people would makw you feel like shit

"Hey.."

His face shows concern, but it still his usual look of coldness— however, his actions are warm despite his cold features

He'd let you wear his coat as he battles anyone who dared to hurt you

"Are you alright now..?"

He cupped your face and made you look at his face, swiping off the tears that stained your face with his thumbs delicately

He hated seeing you cry, and he'll try better next time to make sure you didn't cry

———☆️

Leon🌟

He's kind at all but sometimes he's just... "???????"

Training!! Dates!!

More like battle tower dates because he really admires your strength as a champion

Occasionally, he'd visit your house and check up on you, wondering if you're free for the day for "quality time"

At first, he was surprised to see one of the legendaries answering the door for you

And he couldn't resist to ruffle it's hair

your legendary on the other hand was kind of irritated by it

So it let out a displeased howl

Which leads you to come down stairs and see who is it

"L—leon?"

He looked up and greet you with a goofy grin as your legendary returned to your side, walking with you

He treats you like a gentleman, and sometimes is very strict with your training regimen

In which you usually whine about because you're the current champion and you have no business listening to him

But he'd swoon you with lovely words

And you would easily fall for it

you hate this

You hate him

No you dont

You love him, you could never hate a goofball like him anyways

Hey did i ever mention Leon's sense of direction is shitty

You went on a date in Wyndon a couple of times and he still gets lost everytime

"Ah!! Hey—....."

"Im lost again aren't i?"

He tried to find his way back to you but got surrounded by paparazzis

Even if he's not the current champion

You saved his butt since he couldn't say no to the people and his fans

He said thank you and hugged you, lifting you up to the air before pulling you close to him

This only made you laugh softly as you hugged him back, letting your fingers comb his thick lavender like hair

His body is warm and comforting, you really like his cuddles and hugs

He came into your house one time when you didn't answer his calls or messages, only to find you drown in your anxiety and self loathing

He pulled you in his arms and let you cry on his shoulder until you're all done and alright again

He'd draw circles over your back and tell you reassuring words— tell you that you're more than enough and he's grateful to have you here, alive and well

Your Zacian/Zamazenta got out of it's pokeball and helped you in calming you down too by giving you small licks on your knee

It'd whine whenever you're sad and climb onto your bed, nudging your arm afterwards as if it's asking what's wrong

You're lucky to have them both whenever you need them the most, and they're lucky to have you

———☆️

Raihan 🐲

It's finally the Character y'all been waitin for, dragon boi coming through

Okay serious talk here— Raihan is TALL

His hoodies makes you look smaller than you already are

You tried copying his "Gaooo~" pose a couple of times while wearing his hoodie

Its cutest thing he has ever seen his entire life

It makes him melt everytime

Okay aside from that, he's gentle and laid back, even if his personality is quite the opposite when he's on battle

He's cLINGY ASF

Don't forget his fangs, never forget his fangs

You're actually curious about his fangs since the first day you saw him

And he lets you touch it whenever you like

Youre still curious, because what the hell, its so cool

The first day you saw him after defeating him in a match and gain your gym badge, he immediately took an interest in you and your strength

"Hey Challenger!"

He called you before you tried to take your leave, gaining your attention

He then asked you if you want to practice with him next time, and have a rematch when you've become the champion

You agreed and exchanged numbers

What can i say, he spams you like?????? A lot

And casually sends you pictures of him and his duraludon

You love his dragons, especially flygon

Flygon loves you too, and one time it wanted to come with you

Raihan lets you keep his Flygon and you send him pictures of you with it

He sends emotes of duraludon crying, wanting to join you and your fun trip with Flygon to grab the Champion title

After you took the Champion title, Raihan greeted you with a big hug

And you hug him back with no hesitation

"Congratulations, may i have a selfie with the new Champion?"

He asked in a teasing manner, letting you down on your feet as you nodded

You took a selfie selfwith him numerous times before he posted it to his social media

He captioned 'First person to get a selfie with the new Champion'

He took pride in that, and some of his fans were jealous that you managed to get a selfie with him

From that day onwards, he'd have casual selfies with you, sometimes hilarious one and sometimes its just for showing off

You didn't mind it really, he's a celebrity anyways, so you understand why he does that

"Hey.. do stars have feelings"

It was three am what the fuck Raihan

You squinted at your screen seeing his message

"Why in the Galar would you be awake, dear Dragon tamer?"

You answered him

And immediately he answered "oh? The Champion is awake?"

You guys didn't sleep afterwards and was sending streaks of blurry selfies

It was fun and helped you cheer up

You got some of his blurry pics that he captioned "party rock in the house" when clearly its just him and his pokemons

What a goofball pt.2

You love him anyways shut up

Haha smol reader pt.2

[chickwiththepurpleguitar]

For a prompt, maybe Bobby having a job in high school where he teaches guitar to kids and Emily and Mitch mistakenly sign Luke up for lessons? (Bobby just doesn't sound like a teenager on the phone) Belated congratulations on the 500 milestone, btw ✨

Here you go, friend! I hope you like it! My first jatp AU fic lol :)

Read on ao3 here:

--

Here’s the thing: Luke already knows how to play the guitar.

Has he ever taken a lesson? Officially? No, of course not, because he’s not a nerd. But he’s been learning from YouTube tutorials for almost six years now, been writing his own stuff for four, been the lead singer and guitarist of an epic, legendary rock band for two. He’d say he’s pretty well covered in the “knowing how to play the guitar” department, without some crusty old guy showing him the chords to songs no one’s listened to since the 60s in the grimy basement of a church two hours a week.

And yet, here he stands, on the sidewalk outside said church, guitar case in hand and a truly menacing grimace on his face, staring up at the hand-painted sign on the door detailing “Guitar lessons for kids! Room B38” in big block letters.

“Well?” Alex, who drove Luke here because Luke is currently not on speaking terms with his mother and father out of pure unadulterated spite, claps a hand on his shoulder, already stifling giggles. “You ready for your lesson, kiddo?”

“I will kick you out of the band,” Luke threatens.

“Then you can walk home.” Alex jingles his keys teasingly, then tugs Luke into a quick hug. “Come on, man, I think it was a nice gesture. Try to make the most of it, at least your parents are trying.”

Right, because the whole reason Luke’s here is because his mom thought the lessons would be a good reward for Luke passing all his classes this semester. Because she heard him complaining that Sunset Curve needed a rhythm guitarist to fill out their sound and decided that meant he needed to learn how to do it himself, even though Luke tried to explain to her that he couldn’t play rhythm guitar and face-melting solos at the same time.

Of course, she didn’t listen, and then his dad found a flyer for this guy Robert giving lessons out of the local church, and before Luke could say no, the first month’s worth were already paid for and he didn’t have a choice.

And he supposes Alex is sort of right. At least his parents know what a guitar is. At least they’re trying to be somewhat, relatively supportive of his music, instead of pushing him to apply to college or get a job over the summer like they did constantly until he ran away for six months after Christmas and almost died (he’s fine now, but that near-death experience really changed his parents’ tune).

At least they actually acknowledge that he’s in a band at all, unlike Alex’s folks, whose friends think Alex volunteers at homeless shelters in his free time, or Reggie’s, who just don’t care.

Luke knows he’s got it good, compared to his friends, compared to himself a year ago. But that doesn’t mean he’s gotta be happy about it.

“All right, I’ll pick you up in an hour,” Alex says, giving Luke’s shoulder another friendly squeeze. “Try not to pout so much, it’s unbecoming.”

Luke gives him the finger, and Alex’s laughter echoes behind him as he heads back toward his car.

And then Luke sighs, grips his guitar a little tighter, and heads inside. He’s already here, he might as well get it over with.

Room B38 is a tiny classroom deep in the bowels of the church, reserved for Sunday School or daycare or some other such activity. The door’s closed, so Luke knocks, and a voice from inside calls, “Come in!”

A voice that does not sound like it belongs to the crusty old man Luke had been picturing.

He frowns, wondering if maybe he’s in the wrong place, but tugs the door open anyway and maneuvers himself and his guitar inside.

There’s no crusty old man waiting for him. There is, however, a handsome (Luke can’t help noticing and then feels stupid for noticing), young man, no more than a year or two older than Luke at most, sitting in a comically small plastic chair and tuning an acoustic guitar.

“Hey,” Luke greets him, raising an awkward hand. “You’re… Robert?”

“Please—Bobby,” the guy corrects, laying his guitar down on the carpeted floor next to him so he can stand and shake Luke’s hand. There’s a gleam of confusion in his eyes, and he glances over Luke’s shoulder like he’s looking for something as he says, “You must be Luke’s… older brother?”

Oh, Luke is going to kill his parents. “Uh, no,” he says, clears his throat awkwardly. “No, um… I’m Luke.”

Bobby lets out an undignified snort, and then claps his hand over his mouth. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, still sort of giggling. “I shouldn’t laugh, it’s just—most of my students are in the four to twelve age range? I thought you’d be, like, eight.”

Luke rolls his eyes. “Well, I thought you’d be, like, sixty, so I guess we’re both disappointed.”

“Not disappointed,” Bobby corrects, and his smile makes Luke’s stomach flip in a way he’d really rather not analyze too closely right now. Bobby nods down at the guitar case in Luke’s hand. “Should we get started?”

Luke’s tongue feels dumb and thick in his mouth, but he manages to stammer something vaguely affirmative, and Bobby grins at him.

They settle into the kiddy chairs across from each other, and Bobby picks his guitar back up while Luke pulls his own out of its case.

He briefly considers pretending to actually need guitar lessons so that Bobby will have a chance to show off, because Bobby’s cute and funny and clearly cares about music, and Luke doesn’t know how to flirt.

But Luke also doesn’t know how to play guitar badly. So they only get about twenty minutes into the lesson before Bobby stops and says, “You don’t need me, do you?”

“I really don’t,” Luke apologizes. “I play lead guitar in a band, I’ve been teaching myself since I was twelve, my parents are just—” he starts to say stupid, then remembers Alex’s words and amends—“a little clueless about this kind of thing.”

Bobby puts his guitar aside and leans forward in his chair. “What, have they never heard you play before?”

Luke resists the urge to roll his eyes. “No, they have, they just. We’re looking for someone—my band and me—to play rhythm guitar for us? My parents asked why I couldn’t do it, and when I explained it to them, they thought ‘I can’t play lead and rhythm at the same time’ meant I couldn’t play rhythm at all. I don’t know.” He shrugs a little, busies himself with putting his guitar back in its case.

“I could.”

Luke looks up, frowning. “You could what?”

Bobby raises his eyebrows pointedly, nods at the guitar lying at his feet. “Play with you guys. If you’re still looking for someone, I mean.”

Luke’s heart skips a beat, and a warm smile spreads across his face without his permission. “Seriously, man? That’d be amazing! Here, let me give you my number and you can come over sometime and meet the band.”

They exchange information, and Luke spends a little too long staring stupidly at the contact in his phone that Bobby has named “Guitar Teacher <3”.

“Plus,” Bobby says, and Luke looks back up to see him smirking as he returns his own phone to his pocket. “Now I get an excuse to see you again. Since you obviously don’t need the lessons.”

“Yeah,” Luke agrees. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

“But, uh, maybe don’t tell your parents that. Cause I can’t give them a refund.”

--

Taglist: @whenweremarried @sunsethimb0s @pink-flame @penguin0613 @fighttoshine @sunsetcurvecuddles @apples-bees @reggiescrookedteeth @brightattheorpheum @queenmolina @jandthephantoms @lexilucacia @sapphossidechick @acnhaddict @shrimp-colours @sunset-bobby @lenacarstairspotterstewart @conversationaltreestump @burntchromas @shellydominique @julieandthequeers @joyandthephantoms @it-tastes-like-lizard

[fanmoose12]

Partners

Characters: Petra Ral, Levi, Hanji Zoe x Levi

Genre: Action / Mystery / Romance

Rating: T

Detective!au

Summary: when Petra was promoted to a detective and partnered up with legendary Levi Ackerman, she felt like the happiest person in the world.But, as she soon found out, detective Ackerman she used to admire so much was actually a far cry from the ideal policeman Petra thought he was. He was rude, harsh and easily annoyed. And, in addition, he still hadn’t moved on from the death of his previous partner - detective Hange Zoe.

Chapter 13/14

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Сhapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Сhapter 7

Сhapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Beep, beep, beep

It didn't stop, didn't pause, didn't even quiet down.

Hange tried to ignore the irritating sound, tried to forget about it and return to the dark place where she was safe and warm.

Beep, beep, beep

As though mocking her, it got louder and louder, allowing Hange no respite. Accepting that this battle wouldn’t end in her favor, she groaned and forced her eyes open.

The ceiling above her was white, the walls surrounding her were mostly white too. The bed she was lying on was also white, and to her hand was attached a thin line of IV.

Huh. It was a while since she had the pleasure to wake up in a hospital.

Hange meant to continue her survey, but everything else was too blurry for her to see. Glasses. Where were her glasses?

Her hand flew to her face, touching her nose. No glasses there.

With a considerable effort Hange pushed herself up into a sitting position. She blindly reached to her left where a bedside table stood. She moved her palm all over it, there was lots of things on top of it. No glasses, though.

"The first drawer," a voice behind her helped.

Hange obediently opened it, her fingers immediately finding the familiar shape of her glasses. She put them on and sighed in content, as the world around her finally came into focus.

She turned her head to the direction the voice was coming from. Next to her bed stood another one, separated by a blue curtain. In the corner of it she could see Zeke. Their eyes met, and he gave her a weak, but unexpectedly genuine smile.

"Welcome back to the world of the living."

"Was I out for too long?" Hange frowned, trying to recall what had happened. She remembered Floch, remembered that horrible room in Zeke's safe house, remembered his brother, the erupting pain in her side as he had shot her and the dangerous glint of Floch's blade near her throat. She remembered being afraid and sorry for missing her another chance and not telling Levi how she truly felt all these years. Remembered Levi rushing in, saving her. Remembered his trembling fingers and soft touch. Remembered how he held her and refused to let go all the way to the hospital, remembered—

That was all she remembered.

"It's been almost a day since doctors operated on you," Zeke explained. "You've got your friends worried."

Hange looked to her bedside table again, gawking at the amount of gifts there. There was a box of candies from Nifa, teddy bear from Moblit, balloons from Keiji and Abel, a giant bouquet from Erwin... And a small postcard that stood at the far side. Hange picked it up, studying curiously. Her lips curled up and she giggled - the postcard was from Pieck.

"And what happened to you?" Hange looked back at Zeke. His torso was bandaged and he was unusually pale in the face.

Zeke grimaced, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. "My brother turned out to be a better shooter that I've anticipated."

"And..." Hange began uncertainly. Her fingers curled into the bedsheets, she wasn't sure if she wanted to know, but— she decided to ask anyway. "And what happened to Eren?"

Zeke sighed, pushing hair back from his face. "I took care of him."

Hange looked down, not knowing how to feel about it and what to do with that knowledge. Should she say something to Zeke? Tell him that she was sorry? Or that he did the right thing? What he wanted to hear? He probably didn't wish to hear either.

"And what happened to your eye?" she pointed her finger at a large bruise that bloomed on his face. "Was it... Eren as well?"

"No," Zeke scoffed. "That was your partner, detective. An eye for an eye, I guess," he chuckled dryly.

"Levi..." Hange's heart fluttered at the mention of him. "Do you know if he's—"

"He's been by your side this whole time," Zeke rolled his eyes. "He left just a few minutes ago. I'm sure he'll be there any moment now. He barely slept while you were out."

"Oh..." Hange couldn't help her smile. She wanted to see Levi so much...

"Jesus," Zeke groaned. "The two of you are sickening. If I spend another day watching you, I'd get cavities from your damn sweetness. Damn it, and I can't even smoke here..."

Zeke obviously meant to complain some more, but he fell silent, as the door to the ward opened. Hange turned to it with a grin that dissipated almost immediately, a heartbeat after she saw Petra's sheepish smile instead of Levi's gloomy scowl.

"Disappointed, aren't you, detective?" Zeke mocked with a shit eating smirk.

Hange discreetly flipped him off and roughly closed the curtain between them.

"Sorry about that," she mumbled, giving an apologizing look to Petra.

"It's alright," she said. "Levi is just behind the door, Oluo is distracting him while I'm here." Petra tutted, her auburn locks flying as she shook her head. "I had no choice but to resort to this. He doesn't let anyone else see you. Only Captain Erwin was allowed inside, and that too lasted just for a few minutes."

Hange chuckled, her heart swelling. Yep, that's the ridiculously protective shorty she knew and loved...

"I know you can't wait to see him, too," Petra winked, taking note of her pleased expression.

Hange flushed, but the embarrassed blush turned into angry one, when she heard a not so subtle scoff behind the curtain.

"So I will be brief," Petra sat down on a chair beside Hange, setting her hands on her lap. Her fingers twisted together in a nervous matter as stared at the floor, appearing deep in thought. After a long moment, she lifted her eyes, a small, slightly crooked smile playing on her lips. "I just wanted to thank you for... giving me strength back there. I lost all hope, thought I was done for, but you... You kinda rekindled that light inside me. You showed me what true bravery and resolve means."

"Petra," Hange smiled, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. "I should be the one thanking you. On the night Levi and I reunited, if it wasn't for you, if it wasn't for your bravery and resolve, who knows what would have happened? Perhaps, I would have never gathered enough courage to face Levi. Perhaps, he would have never found out that I actually survived. Don't sell yourself short, you're a strong and courageous person, and have been like that long before we met. You have a bright future ahead of you. I'm excited to witness it."

Petra bobbed her head, her smile growing wider, more open. "And I'm excited to learn more from you. But as for now," Petra stood up and fixed Hange with a rather strict look.

She is learning things from Levi too, Hange thought with an amused smile.

"Rest and gather your strength. Everyone is waiting for you to come back. Someone is more impatient that the others. I need to go before that same someone rips Oluo's head off for keeping you away from him. Take care," Petra waved her hand, gifted Hange another bright smile and left.

As soon as she closed the door, Hange heard a familiar, grumpy voice.

A second later, Levi walked in. His eyes widened when they met hers. With his hand still on a doorknob, Levi stood at the threshold, staring at her with an intent look.

Hange almost squirmed under his gaze, it was too intense to belong to Levi. She wondered what was the reason for it.

But then the spell broke, and Levi looked away.

His steps heavy, he marched further into the room. He didn't head to her bed, though. Instead he stopped next to Zeke's.

"If I hear just a pip from you," he warned in a low voice. "They'll have to prolong your stay in this hospital."

Levi didn't wait for Zeke to reply and turned on his heels, taking a seat next to Hange. Crossing his legs, he just sat there, his gaze not moving away from her face.

He didn't glare, didn't scowl, just stared like Hange was the most interesting thing in this room. Her stomach turned, and she wasn't sure if she liked this feeling or not.

"Where were you?" she asked, when it became evident that Levi wasn't going to start a conversation.

Her question made him look away, just long enough to roll his eyes.

"That idiot Oluo ambushed me in the hallway. Demanded an advice from me."

"An advice?"

"On how to be a good detective," Levi answered, before Hange could get funny ideas about other types of advice. Not that Levi was knowledgeable enough to give them. "Erwin decided to promote him. Now Petra will have a new partner."

"You and Petra won't work together anymore? Then who is going to be your new partner?"

"Yeah, Hange," Levi sat back in his chair, crossing hands on his chest. "Who will it be?"

"You," Zeke stage whispered.

Levi's eye twitched.

"I told you—"

"Wait," Hange put a hand on his arm, quelling his anger. A heavy feeling settled in her stomach, a hope that was ready to get crushed. She frowned at Levi. "Can I even return to work? Technically, I'm still dead."

"Erwin is working on it. He pulled some strings, asked a few favors..."

"And?"

"He managed to restore your documents. He even kept your full name."

"He wanted to change it? To what?"

Despite the faint blush, Levi held her gaze firmly. "Ackerman."

Now it was Hange's turn to feel flustered.

"And by the way," Levi rose to fluff and fix the pillow underneath her. Hange tried to ignore the subtle tremor she noticed as his fingers moved. "You'll have to stay at my place for a while. Erwin is looking for an apartment, but since most of your stuff is already there..."

Hange couldn't help it - she started laughing. God, both of them were so hopeless.

"Aren't we moving things a little too fast?" she gave him a sly look, a flutter inside her returning as Levi snorted.

"Too fast? If you ask anyone else, four-eyes, we're moving things way too slowly."

Well... Hange certainly couldn't argue with that.

"And if you want to help things move along more smoothly," Levi sat back down, putting his hand on the bed, his fingers almost touching Hange's. "I remember you promising to tell me about your type."

Hange did promise that, she almost did tell him too, back in his office, when they received news about Petra. It wasn't the right time back then. But now...

"My type is certainly one of a kind. You have seen him, though."

"Where?" Levi grew just a little bolder, moved his hand just a little closer to Hange's.

She grinned and shortened the distance, intertwining their fingers.

"In the mirror."

The possibly sweet, tender moment was ruined by a loud groan that was followed by, "God, I never thought that flirting could be so torturous."

[childrenofthenightt]

That’s The Way

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 3.6k

Warnings: none, this is kind of an introductory/fluff chapter if you will :)

Story summary: Y/N Y/L/N, an ordinary seventeen-year-old girl, gets pulled into the world of rock and roll on a fateful night at the Marquee Club in London when she experiences the musical phenomenon of the Five Live Yardbirds. She grows up fast, navigating her way through the downfall of The Yardbirds, the legendary skyrocket of Led Zeppelin, era-defining decadence instigated by the ‘60s and ‘70s mindset of free love and personal gratification, and finding the courage to express how she fell deeply in love with one of modern music’s greatest guitarists.

Author’s notes (from Molly of rebel-without-a-zeppelin): Hi everyone! A little disclaimer on my part: this is the first story I’ve ever shared for public consumption. I’ve been toying with this idea in my mind for a very long time now, and I’ve finally mustered up the courage to share it with you all. I hope you like it. I am incredibly honored to collaborate with Syd on this project; this is truly our baby, as it has a very long, detailed, intricate plot, so saddle up for lots (and lots) of drama! This is also a sloooowwwww burn, like really, really slow lol. Over the course of the story, please feel free to send me your theories and comments; I would absolutely love to read them. Please enjoy, and happy reading!

---------

3 May 1965

The sound of a car horn beeped incessantly from the front of Y/N’s house. Dropping her backpack down on her bedroom floor with an annoyed huff, she sprinted down the steps. She never did get enough time to prepare, and it was no different today. With her friend Carolyn in tow, Y/N made a beeline for the front door, the click-clack of her Oxford shoes pounding across the hardwood floor. Y/N’s mum, who nonchalantly strolled out of the laundry room with an armful of freshly washed and folded bath towels, leant against the doorframe.

“Now remember Y/N: no drinking, no drugs, no sex. No going home with strange musician guys, nor are you allowed to go to their hotel,” her mum instructed calmly, knowing she’d receive an eye roll from the girl. Her stern expression at home on her gracefully-aged face, the girls receive the speech they get every time they go out.  “You too, C. Even though I’m not your mother, I still worry about your safety.”

Both Y/N’s mum and dad had a very protective instinct over their eldest daughter, just like their other three children. Even at Y/N’s healthy age of seventeen, she longed for the freedom and trust that her older brother had gained at her age.

“Thank you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Carolyn replied with a little laugh.

“Mum! This is literally the fourth time I’ve been to a Yardbirds gig, and nothing bad has happened,” Y/N huffed. Her mum raised her eyebrows.

Lillian, Y/N’s little sister, walked into the foyer and surprised Y/N with a big, tight hug around her waist. Y/N gasped at the sudden contact, but chuckled when she realized it was her younger sister, and reciprocated the hug.

“I don’t want you getting hurt, Y/N. Boys are icky. And stupid!” Lillian said in a whiny voice, her face muffled by being buried in Y/N’s stomach.

Y/N ruffled her sister’s muss of dirty blonde waves affectionately, rubbing her back to soothe her worries. “I promise, I will come back perfectly fine! I won’t let any boys mess with me, Lil,” Y/N said with a smile, “And when I come back, I’ll tell you everything that happened.”

Lillian gazed up at Y/N with a similar smile, her small teeth shining a bright, pearly white and her chin resting on the taller girl’s stomach. “Okay,” she said, content, before releasing from Y/N with a stuffed animal tucked under her arm.

“Where’s Charlie?” Y/N asked, hoping she could say goodbye to her younger brother before she left.

“I think he’s riding around the neighborhood on his bike with his friends,” Y/N’s mum replied with a shrug. Y/N felt a little disappointed, but she figured she’d talk to him tomorrow at breakfast about her night out.

Thomas, Y/N’s older brother, continued to honk the horn rather obnoxiously, growing quite impatient. It’s a wonder the neighbors weren’t at arms, knocking on their door. He was forced by his parents to be Y/N and Carolyn’s chauffeur to the Marquee Club in London.

“We have to go, or else Tommy will have my head,” Y/N said as she started to open the front door.

“Wait!” her mum said, sloppily placing the towels down on a nearby counter to dash to the door and give Y/N a hug and a kiss on the head goodbye. Finally pulling away her weathered hands flew to Y/N’s shoulders, and gripping them firmly, she continued, “Be good. Love you.”

“I know, I will. Love you too,” Y/N smiled, before dashing down the steps and to the passenger seat of the car. Carolyn was in quick pursuit, following her to the car and taking a seat in the back.

“It’s about time,” Tommy huffed impatiently, tapping his fingertips on the top of the steering wheel as he put the transmission into drive.

“Sorry. Mum was giving me and C a safety brief,” Y/N replied apologetically.

“Why are you two still in school uniforms?” he snorted, shifting to look over at the girls; their studious appearance of white oxford shirts, sweater vests, plaid kilts, white knee socks, and smart oxford shoes would be quite out of place among the audience at the show.

“No time to change, just like usual,” she replied, turning on the radio, soft melodies pouring out at a low volume.

The three drove in silence, except for the sound of the radio playing, until Carolyn had dozed off on the somewhat lengthy car ride. Occasional small talk between Y/N and her brother permeated the quiet that fell over the group, but it picked up when they were only a few blocks away from the venue.

“You gotta stay safe in there, Y/N,” Tommy said, looking straight ahead. His teeth clamped down sharply on his bottom lip: a dead giveaway to the nerves he must have been feeling.

“I know, Dad,” Y/N joked, punching him lightly across the shoulder. Her bright smile wavered and fell when she saw his grim expression.

“I’m serious, you know. I don’t want my sister being pestered by some wankers in a blues band.”

Y/N smirked at her brother’s sudden defensive behavior. “I can take care of myself. Trust me. This isn’t my first rodeo. You should’ve seen the first Yardbirds gig we went to. Utter chaos...” The tilt of her lips signalled that she was joking, and Tommy huffed out a laugh.

Carolyn, stretching with a grunt, had miraculously woken up just as Tommy pulled up to the front door of the Marquee. Glancing at the venue with awe dancing in their eyes, Y/N and Carolyn disembarked from the car, walking closer with the façade of calmness and competency.

“I’ll be back later to pick you girls up. Have fun, but not too much fun,” Tommy rolled his window down as he said this, winking playfully.

Y/N waved to her brother as Carolyn thanked him graciously for the ride. Arms linked, Y/N and Carolyn entered the famous Marquee. Nervousness and anticipation began to pool Y/N’s stomach as she was greeted by the decadent atmosphere of the club: the smell of smoke, alcohol, and sweat hung in the air as her eyes were flashed by many people mingling about, dressed in typical mod clothing. Y/N and her friend looked at each other, feeling like aliens in their intelligent dress. They tactfully made their way through the crowd as they found their way to their usual spot, a small leather-upholstered booth set against the wall near the stage.

“Today might be the day, Y/N,” Carolyn said as they settled into their seats.

“I don’t know,” she replied, smoothing out her skirt, “the idea of that is both scary and exciting to me at the same time. We’ll just roll with the punches, I guess.”

“Which Yardbird do you have your eye on?”

Y/N smirked as she thought for a moment. “Hmm...I’m not sure. I guess they’re all pretty cute in their own way. What about you?”

“Yes, I agree. But I must admit, I do have a very soft spot for Chris Dreja.”

“I’ll pray for ya, C,” Y/N chuckled.

~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, backstage, five live Yardbirds were performing some pre-show rituals in the hopes of easing the preliminary anxiousness. Jeff, Keith, and Jim were peeking out the little sliver of curtain that allowed them to see their gathering audience.

“Look! It’s those two schoolgirls again!” Jeff pointed to the two teenage girls in school uniforms, chatting in their booth waiting for the show to begin. They were huddled together in conversation, legs daintily crossed as their faint giggles floated over to them. Jim couldn’t help but smile at the sound, though he recovered quickly, not wanting his bandmates to get any ideas.

“What’s wrong with that? They must like us,” Keith replied.

“I think they’re both really pretty, especially the one with the Y/H/C hair,” Jim pointed out, trying to be as subtle as possible.

“Yeah, maybe we should invite them backstage after the show… have a nice little chat,” Jeff winked at the singer and the drummer cheekily.

After taking a final glance at the two conversing girls, the three returned to the backstage area where Paul and Chris were. Jeff immediately enlisted Giorgio, their manager, to complete the agreed-upon mission. Jeff loosely draped an arm around Giorgio’s shoulder before bestowing the request as politely as possible. Not trying to be suspiciously polite, of course, because everyone in the band and its entourage were firsthand witnesses of Jeff’s temper and stubbornness. Yikes.

“Okay, I’m going to need you to do me a favor,” Jeff said to Giorgio with a mischievous smile.

Giorgio rolled his eyes, knowing this “favor” would have to do with scouting girls from the audience. “What d’ya need, Jeff?” he sighed exhaustedly.

“Don’t complain, please,” Jeff deadpanned. “There are two pretty birds in the audience, wearing their school uniforms. They’ve been coming to our shows for a little bit now, and they seem nice—”

“You want me to bring them backstage after the show?” Giorgio interrupted, somehow telepathically knowing, by routine, what the guitarist’s request would be.

“You finish that sentence like you know what I’m about to say.”

“That’s because I do, Mr. Beck,” Giorgio retorted sarcastically, “this happens a lot more often than you think it does.”

“Whatever,” Jeff grumbled moodily, knowing he was right, before walking back to the group of musicians in preparation.

~~~~~~~~

Y/N and Carolyn continued to gossip happily about what was happening at school, not a care in the world. They felt the stares of older men in the club, who silently disapproved of their knee socks being scrunched by their ankles, because that wasn’t the “proper” thing to do. But they didn’t care. Who are they to judge?

Every teacher scolded girls at school who did the same thing, because they didn’t want their long legs to be “tempting” or “distracting” any boys. A bloody nuisance, is what it is.

The girls were snapped from their thoughts by the sound of a heavy guitar tone being blasted through the speakers in an opening riff. Their eyes were stapled, almost transfixed to the stage as they took in the five sharply-dressed men in front of them, singing their songs and playing their instruments.

As much as Carolyn enjoyed The Yardbirds and music in general, Y/N had a rather deep connection to it, odd enough as it was. She could play the piano fairly well, so she understood where these musicians were coming from cognitively and creatively. From what she’d read in magazines about current popular musicians, like The Yardbirds for example, she liked the same music they did. Y/N understood dynamics, tempo, tone, key, and musical notation, just like they did. Perhaps she’d be able to get into an intelligent musical conversation with at least one of them one day.

Two straight hours of hits, obscure songs, and blues covers from The Yardbirds’ catalogue were played for the Marquee Club patrons, hypnotizing its drunk and high onlookers with polished musicality and instrumentation.

As the final song concluded, both Y/N and Carolyn, unbeknownst to the other, felt a sinking feeling of disappointment that fell like a pit in their stomachs. They wouldn’t have the chance to meet the band. No one from the entity had approached them yet, and momentarily the five live Yardbirds would be exiting the stage for the night.

After they said their goodbyes and thanks to the crowd, they disappeared behind the curtain. The main lights of the club brightened to signal that the show was over, as the voices of all the patrons raised in rave of the spectacular show they had just witnessed.

Discouraged, but still in light spirits at what they had just seen, Y/N and Carolyn stood up from their seat and headed for the front door. Y/N expected her brother to be waiting in front; it was late, so might as well not make him wait longer than he needs to.

Y/N and Carolyn were merely a few feet from the door when Y/N felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. Turning around to see a man with a dark beard already baring a jovial tight-lipped grin at her, the girl was quite surprised, maybe a little weirded out, but she reciprocated the gesture as genuinely as she could.

“Hello sir, what can we do for you?” Y/N greeted, discreetly nudging Carolyn to help her out and become a united front with her in front of this stranger.

“Good evening ladies, I was sent by Mr. Jeff Beck to offer you an invitation backstage to hang out with the band.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped and her face broke out into an obvious mad blush, much to her dismay. She was internally screaming. The Jeff Beck had spotted them in the crowd?! This had to be a dream.  Wait, this could be a complete drunken buffoon trying to trick them. Y/N remembered what her mother had said, and took the proper precautionary measure.

Y/N smiled in the most composed way she could. “Thank you for such a gracious invitation! Could I ask your name, if you don’t mind?”

“Giorgio Gomelsky, manager of The Yardbirds,” he replied, in a seemingly proud manner.

Okay, this was real. Y/N knew that Giorgio was definitely the manager’s name. She turned to Carolyn, who looked just as excited as she was.

“What are your names, dears?” Giorgio asked, pulling them out of their daze of what seemed like a fake reality.

“I’m Carolyn, and this is my friend Y/N,” Carolyn piped up, excited that she finally got an opportunity to speak to someone close to The Yardbirds.

She internally agreed to let Y/N handle the “diplomacy” part of the introduction, knowing that she was best at that. Carolyn knew her friend was quite shy, so she knew to step in when Y/N was starting to feel anxious. She noticed Y/N starting to fiddle with her fingers while talking to Giorgio in the most collected way she could muster; as excited as Y/N was, Carolyn knew she was growing very nervous.

“Well, it is certainly lovely to meet you both. So, what do you say? Would you like to meet the lads?”

After one final glance of excited mutual agreement, Carolyn replied, “Yes, we’d love to.”

Giorgio led the pair of girls back the way they came, through a sea of inebriated people, but this time through the backstage door. Y/N made an appoint to walk behind Carolyn, in an attempt to collect and relax herself. She was starting to sweat a little, her stomach doing flips and her hands becoming cold and clammy.

~~~~~~~~

“Our guests should be arriving any minute now,” Jeff said as he was placing his guitar back in its case.

Chris was standing and chatting with Paul in a corner when he turned around in surprise at the news. “Guests? What guests?”

“We had Giorgio invite two girls from the audience to come back here,” Jim replied, walking over to sit down in a metal folding chair.

“And why weren't we made aware of this?” Paul asked, as he walked to get another metal folding chair to place near Jim.

“It was their idea,” Keith replied, pointing two fingers between Jeff and Jim. Paul and Chris just nodded in recognition.

“I didn’t hear you disagree, Relf,” Jeff clapped back. He then told Chris and Keith to get some chairs for themselves and the two girls that would be walking through the door at any second.

Before Keith could respond, a couple knocks resounded in the room, signalling the arrival of the guests. Jacket lapels and ties were quickly straightened, even though each person was still glazed with quickly-drying sweat from the show they had just played, before the room fell unnaturally quiet as Giorgio opened the rather squeaky door.

The initial tension in the room that lasted a split second could be cut with a knife. Y/N felt her heart pounding in her chest, a cold sweat already running down her back, as five pairs of eyes landed on her, Carolyn, and Giorgio, warm smiles following suit.

She felt like internally combusting.

“Boys, this is Y/N,” Giorgio broke the momentary silence by introducing her, “and Carolyn.” Y/N smiled shyly and sent them a little wave, a dusty shade of pink seeping its way to her cheeks. Carolyn’s greeting was much more exuberant than Y/N’s, as she took the initiative to go over and shake all of their hands amiably. Y/N realized she had to follow her friend in order to make a good first impression.

Knowing that the boys wanted to spend time with the girls without being chaperoned, Giorgio left the room to attend to other business affairs.

Upon first glance, Y/N was the most beautiful girl that four of the five Yardbirds had ever seen. Perfect features, long legs, a calm, gentle, sweet demeanor… Just an absolutely angelic young woman; a vision.

Jeff had obviously recognized her beauty, from seeing her at multiple shows, but he thought she was way out of his league. He decided to focus on getting her to laugh and relax around them, because he noticed just how nervous she looked. She was turning pale right in front of his very eyes! Paul and Chris began to internally question themselves, how have I not seen this girl before? She is so gorgeous! Jim had been glancing at her sporadically throughout the show, soaking up her faraway presence. He noticed how her eyes glistened in childlike wonder as she watched them do what they did best: perform the Chicago blues.

“Well, it is very nice to meet you both,” Keith replied enthusiastically. “I’m Keith,” he alluded to himself, then pointing to the other members of the group while giving their names, “and this is Chris, Paul, Jeff, and Jim.”

“I mean, we know who you guys are, but it’s so lovely to finally meet you,” Carolyn replied. Y/N nodded in agreement.

“Come and sit down! Make yourselves comfortable. We don’t bite,” Jeff joked, motioning to the open chairs. The girls smiled and accepted his invitation, Y/N taking a seat between Jeff Beck and Jim McCarty, while Carolyn took a seat between Keith Relf and Chris Dreja. The chairs were arranged in a circular formation, so each person could talk to the other with ease.

“Tell us about yourselves!” Paul initiated, “I think Y/N should go first though, because you haven’t said too much yet,” he laughed at the last part. Y/N giggled (a little too idiotically for her own liking), but she felt herself become starstruck at how her name sounded coming from one of their voices.

Y/N clenched her cold, clammy hands in her lap as a method to ease her anxiety before starting with a smile. “Well, I’m from Saint Albans. This is our fourth time, I believe, coming to see a Yardbirds gig. Carolyn and I came to see you with Eric Clapton once, and then this is the third time with Jeff.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic! I guess I see where your favor lies in terms of guitarists,” Jeff responded playfully.

“I guess you’re right,” Y/N laughed, “I will admit that I love what you’ve done with the body of work. Clapton was a blues purist, which I respect, and he’s great, but I think your playing is much more interesting and unorthodox.”

Paul, Jim, and Jeff all raised their eyebrows at Y/N’s comment. They were impressed with how she understood their musicality.

“Are you a musician?” Jim asked Y/N.

“Not in your sense of the word,” Y/N chuckled, “But I’ve been playing the piano for most of my life, so I understand music. Probably more than your average female audience member,” she added with a grin.

“That’s so cool! Are you classically trained, or is it just a hobby?”

“Classically trained,” Y/N admitted to Jim shyly.

“Oh wow, so you’re the real deal,” Jeff added.

“I’m not a professional, so I’d say no,” Y/N laughed.

“You probably know more about music than all five of us combined!” Paul said.

“Well, I know that you know much more about the blues than me!” Y/N answered playfully.

“Okay, I’ll give you that,” Paul smiled at Y/N. She cursed herself in her mind for feeling weak at Paul’s simple sentiment, but tried to keep her composure as best she could.

The four of them, especially Jeff and Y/N, began to bond over their love for different musicians. Y/N expressed her love for Chet Atkins and his fingerpicking style, Scotty Moore’s lively soloing style, and Robert Johnson’s slide technique and open tunings, rendering the three men shocked at her knowledge on the subject. Y/N loved how easily Jeff could make her laugh, and how interested Paul and Jim were at whatever she had to say, significant or insignificant. Chris Dreja, who was in a little group with Keith and Carolyn, occasionally spaced out of his conversation to hear what Y/N had to say.

They bonded for about an hour and a half about everything and nothing, until Y/N abruptly realized that Tommy was probably waiting for a while outside for her and her friend. She apologized to the band profusely for such a sudden departure as she and Carolyn walked towards the door.

“Say you’ll come visit us again after the show?” Jeff called to Y/N as she turned towards him in the doorframe.

“Absolutely,” she smiled brightly.

---------

Thanks so much, hope you enjoy!!

Taglist: @y0uth--anasia @reincarnated70sbaby

[johns-prince]

Let's play the speculation game and say McLennon was real. Going with the common idea that Paul dumped John in India, wasn't the "let's all be friends, write together and go on double dates with our wives" angle Paul seemed to hope for completely delusional? Why would someone with John's issues stick around and celebrate Paul's happiness with someone else after being downgraded?

I have great respect for Paul's decision of not being John's nanny/handler for the rest of his life. But I've always been annoyed by his inability to let the man go for good. Paul, you've made your choice, my friend. Enough with the sad songs about not being called back or turning up on John's doorstep with a guitar when the he was spending time with his own family. People hate that but some things in the world really are black or white. You can't have it both ways.

Why speculate when we know it was and is real 

Alright so, let me try to unpack my thoughts cohesively get ya tinfoil hats on y’all;

If we go with the theory that during 1967, when Paul and John were practically living together and conjoined at the hip, taking LSD together and sharing those intense and intimate experiences that even Pau’s girlfriend Jane had become envious of— John had come to the realization of what he wanted, finally acknowledged it and came to accept it. 

So in India, John tried to confront Paul about their relationship and their “relationship,” and openly admit to Paul that he wanted more, that he was now willing to leave Cynthia and Julian for a life he truly wanted or desired, and that included Paul (but to what extent is what we debate I guess) 

And now that I’m thinking about it, we also know John was sort of beginning to spiral downward in 1968. It was obvious his marriage with Cynthia was at it’s end, and he didn’t want to work on it anymore. He was surrounding himself more with druggies, an unsavory crowd that Cynthia really didn’t approve of (Yoko was part of this crowd) and he was actively pulling away.  

I think John was realizing that, he just wasn’t happy. That, putting everything he had into becoming one of the most successful musicians in the world, to become bigger then Elvis Presley, didn’t make him happy. It didn’t fix what needed fixing in him, what needed addressing. He was still drowning despite it all. 

So you’ve got the trip to India, the boys going in hopes that perhaps the Maharishi Mahesh Yog and his spiritual teachings would somehow give a new perspective on things, produce the answer that would save the band (save John and Paul) from what appeared to be an inevitable downfall. But as we know, that isn’t what was needed. 

John and Paul needed to talk. The lack of consistent communication between them for years and years, and the fact John needed a therapist, he needed rehab. So did Paul, during the White Album era. 

I don’t believe Paul dumped John, but I do think John could have easily misconstrued Paul taking a step back and not willing to just go blindly, impulsively jumping off a theoretical cliff with him, as being rejected. We know Paul had to sort of take the position of ‘think before you leap’, to be more conscious of the actions and decisions he and the others decide to take, and how it would effect them as individuals, and especially them as a band (because frankly the others wouldn’t) and we know that John could be incredibly impulsive, only thought of the consequences after the fact. That, and who’s to say such a proposition and confrontation from John hadn’t scared Paul? Got him feeling those insecurities of his own crawling up. 

Paul wanted a traditional family, he wanted to have a wife and children. But Paul also wanted John, he wanted and loved Lennon-McCartney, and he didn’t think (or he’d hoped) him getting married and having a family would really change anything between them (because John got married and had a kid and they were still able to do go and do whatever they wanted together, so what was the difference—) that he could still keep what he had with John, that they could still stay together after The Beatles split. Get around to writing that musical, and grow old together still writing and making music, still creating together.

How I see it, is that Paul wanted to have his cake and eat it too.

Paul, being fine with keeping the status quo between them, it was safe and enough (right?), but John vehemently wasn’t fine with it anymore, and it wasn’t enough for him. Nothing was enough for him, as we know; John was a very all-or-nothing individual, and expected complete devotion and love from someone, because receiving less felt like rejection and abandonment was only around the corner. This way of feeling and thinking for John was only exasperated by the drugs, his alcoholism, and his spiraling mental health. 

Paul could have tried compromising with John, and John still could have taken that as a complete rejection of his feelings and what he wanted, and what he had hoped and thought Paul also wanted. 

I believe Paul probably didn’t even know himself what he had done wrong, or that he did anything wrong. I don’t think Paul believed he was downgrading John to anything either.

If only they had talked.

Then they returned from India, and the rest as we know it...

“To me, a summary is something like: “gifted, disturbed boy with tremendous amount of drive to outrun a bad childhood discovers love for music and creative soulmate(s) and gives everything he has to become the most famous musician in the world, hoping it will make him happy. He does, but it doesn’t, and people who don’t have his best interests separate him from his friends, his creation and creative spark, and ultimately himself. He’s too screwed up by addiction, mental illness, and unaddressed traumas to change things, so he retreats further into addiction and mental illness, wishing he could somehow regain his lost spark. He makes a few halfway steps toward doing so, but they’re not enough, and ultimately he is killed in front of his apartment building where, 24 hours later, his wife installs the man she had been sleeping with behind his back.”"

— Michael Bleicher, The Artist as a Dissipated Man: Fred Seaman’s “The Last Days of John Lennon.”

Right, so both John and Paul made their choices in life. Some choices and decisions that we as fans and outside observers might never be able to understand, or agree with.

But who’s to say Paul (and John), couldn’t, didn’t, or don’t regret those choices and decisions? 

I get what you’re saying, I understand. Why can’t Paul move on? He made his choices, why is it 40, 50 years later, that Paul can’t just let John go? Let sleeping dogs lie, all that.

Because Paul loved John, still loves John, to this day. 

Because, clearly Paul has some regrets. He regrets how things were handled during the Divorce. He regrets not hugging John enough. He regrets not telling John, when he had the chance and time, that he loved him (and without the help of alcohol) When you love someone so deeply, and suddenly, without warning, they’re taken from you and the world, you regret a lot, and you miss what could have been, the ‘What if’s.’ 

Paul said that what he and John were, were soulmates. I don’t know how it feels to lose a soulmate. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to know how it feels to get the opportunity to love and be around them. 

How awful do you think it is to meet your soulmate, but you cannot freely love them? Can’t just, be, with them? Not in just one way, bestmates, legendary partners, but, as everything that the word Soulmate brings along and includes with it? 

That God decided to have them be of the same sex, during a time where it was illegal to love and be with someone of the same sex, and could even be a potential death sentence to be assumed or thought of as a ‘queer.’ 

So, you take whatever you can with them. 

Then that isn’t enough. One grows restless, desperate for more. It can’t happen, not realistically, not without consequences of varying degrees. 

Strain, miscommunication to none. They communicate through a musical, artistic language which just isn’t enough. Drugs, alcohol, mental illness and emotional turmoil, it’s all too much. It breaks. Soulmates are still flawed human beings. 

You have people who work to purposefully pin them against each other. Parasites and piggybackers. 

A nasty divorce and breakup between two lovers that never were.

And then, after ten years, it’s happening. You two are talking again, things are tense and awkward still sometimes, but something’s changed. You’ve planned on reuniting, couldn’t do it this year, because the studio you wanted was booked. So you plan for after the New Year. 

Then, your soulmate is killed. Just, taken away from you, like nothing. Violently and suddenly. And all the possibilities... The time... Gone. Ripped away from both of you.

I can’t blame Paul for not letting go. I can’t say I’d ever be able to understand the sort of pain and heartbreak he experienced. He still goes through it! It’s still there. He’s just learned how to manage it a bit better. 

I’d say it’s more pathetic then it is annoying— and I don’t mean it in a way to insult Paul. I really don’t. Because John was just as pathetic when it came to his obvious obsession, desire, and love for Paul, too. 

Love, that kind of soul-deep love, it can make you pathetic and hopeless. And it’s not something you can just... let go for good. 

Wanting, or expecting Paul to let go of John for good... Firstly would be impossible, and secondly, how do you let go of a soulmate? John is a part of Paul, whether some like it or not. Can’t really have one without the other. 

Can’t have Lennon without McCartney, and vice-or-versa. Forever intertwined, are they.

[justanotherpersonsuniverse]

Game Master Akuma AU by  crisisdparity

Xavier Duchamp was rather proud of himself. What he had before him was an absolute masterpiece of a campaign if he did say so himself. The product of over six months of study, research, and rebalancing efforts followed by two weeks of discussion with his five players to hash out schedules, meeting times, characters, backstories, potential character arcs, and getting them set up with a messaging app that was really good for sending discrete messages between the GM and the players. Valentine and her boyfriend Justin were onboard in an instant. Within days, he’d greenlighted their Half-Elf Bard of the College of Glamour whose spell list was 100% Illusion spells and Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) who was focusing entirely on Abjuration as Rena Rouge and Carapace respectively. Olivia had spent a few days coming up with a Halfling Rogue and debating subclasses with him until settling on Scout. Along with some discussion over how her special magic item’s stunning and paralysis effect would work with Sneak Attack, the campaign had its Vesperia. Jeanette had gone back and forth with him for a week looking at various homebrew subclasses for her Gnome Artificer before they both agreed on one particular Master Tinkerer entry that would be balanced and do the character justice. And with that they had their Ladybug. Even Matt was on board with a stealthy human Chat the Barbarian using the Path of the Beast. The class choice was something Matt had insisted on (and that Xavier would have suggested anyway just for the high hit point totals given Matt’s history with characters dying) and he’d even come up with a backstory that Xavier felt was quite compelling compared to Matt’s usual efforts. Morally ambiguous, likely to be tempted by promises of power, but with a great deal of story potential to work with. Which was a relief. Getting a new player into their group to replace Matt was not something Xavier really felt comfortable with. There were too many unknowns with introducing a new person, far too many for him to risk his masterpiece on an unknown factor. He knew Matt. He could work with Matt. Despite the history. He’d put everything he had into this. Every known Akuma ever fought by the heroes had been made into a boss-tier foe. He’d carefully documented each and every power the heroes had shown to craft special legendary magic items based on the Miraculous. Hawkmoth and Mayura themselves were going to be the final bosses of his campaign. In response to criticism about the difficulty of his campaigns (he tried to make them fair, but still challenging enough to be memorable), he’d made several guest NPCs based on every other hero that had ever been called upon, statted out like player characters that might show up in a pinch to help. He even had a genuine Deus ex Machina that he was ready to use to get the players out of a truly impossible jam if they found themselves in one. Not always, but a few times at least. Enough to get them to the point where they wouldn’t need it anymore. —– It was thirty minutes in, right in the middle of exposition from the Guardian NPC, when Xavier got his first message on the app. Matt/Chat - Chat’s going to wait until everyone breaks up and follow Ladybug stealthily. Xavier/GM - Starting party conflict on the first session? Not what I’d advise, but it’s your character. Go ahead and make your Stealth roll now. Matt/Chat - <photo> 17 Xavier/GM - Yeah, that beats everyone’s passive Perception easily. You’ll sneak off handily without anyone noticing. —– “Jeanette, Ladybug is grabbed from behind by an unknown assailant. Roll to resist the grapple.” “Geez, already? Okay, what did my assailant get for their grapple? How screwed am I?” Xavier pretended to roll a die while consulting the message from Matt. “19.” “Okay, difficult, but not undoable… Crap.” “What’d you get?” “Nat 1…” “Hah! I rip off her earrings and claim them for myself! The Wish is mine!” “Seriously Matt?! What the hell?!” “Because it’s payback time! Payback for every character of mine killed in these hellish

campaigns!” “Oh, come on! You’re not the only person whose had a character die at this table! <GM> runs some pretty challenging campaigns, but they’re always fair!” “What about the time he killed Allric the Allmighty in a single round of combat?” “Dude, you tried to Leroy Jenkins straight into melee with a 4th-level Wizard that had a CON penalty. Even at full health you had like 10 hp.” “14!” “Not much better, dude.” “Guys, it’s fine. I can handle this. Okay, Matt. Chat the Barbarian managed to get the earrings-” “Yeah, Ladybug screams bloody murder when he rips them out. Good luck getting out of this in one piece.” “The moment Rena hears Ladybug scream, she bolts for the sound.” “So does Carapace.” “Vesperia too.” “-and with their current locations and movement speeds, I assume you’re all using the Dash action?, you’ve got maybe one round to decide on your Wish before they’re all over you, so choose carefully. And be aware that I plan to grant whatever you wish for in the worst possible way, just as I would if any of the others pulled this.” “Rena screams ‘What the HELL, Chat?! We’re supposed to protect the Miraculous, not use them for our own selfish purposes! Didn’t you listen to the Guardian? Such actions always bring misfortune upon those who misuse the Miraculous!’” “Because I am Chat, avatar of Destruction and I WISH THIS WORLD NEVER EXISTED!” There was dead silence at the table. “Matt… What… just… WHAT?!” “Hah! You like that?! How does it feel now that the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?!” “What the hell is your problem, Matt?!” “My problem? MY problem?! Do you know how much time I’ve spent making characters for these shitty campaigns only to have them turned into paste in one session?!” “Because you made primary spellcasters and played every last one of them like a barbarian, charging in headfirst without thinking! All of us breathed a sigh of relief when you revealed that your character finally matched your playstyle!” “I HATE BARBARIANS! THEY’RE BORING! I SHOULD GET TO PLAY CHARACTERS THAT CAN AT LEAST CHUCK FIREBALLS!” “THEN MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP RUNNING THEM FACE FIRST INTO ENEMY SWORDS!” “NONE OF YOU COULD EVER HANDLE THE FACT THE I MAKE MORE AWESOME CHARACTERS THAN ANY OF YOU, SO YOU JUST LET THIS DOUCHEBAG KILL THEM OFF SO YOU WOULDN’T GET OVERSHADOWED BY HOW AMAZING I AM! WELL NOW I KILLED SOMETHING YOU ALL WORKED HARD ON, SO SUCK IT! I’M DONE WITH ALL OF YOU FOREVER!” “MATT! HEY! GET BACK HERE YOU JERK! MATT!” “Crap, I think Olivia might actually kill him this time…” “It’s going to take all of us to stop her from getting arrested at least.” Xavier just watched numbly as the rest of the group ran out of his apartment. Over six months of work. Gone in less than an hour. He’d given so much to making sure this would work. He’d apologized to Matt at least twice for every character of his that had died to get him to come back. He’d agreed to demand after demand just to keep a familiar face on board, never dreaming he’d pull something like this. He’d nearly gotten fired from his job trying to rearrange his schedule to fit with everyone else’s. They’d somehow, miraculously, gotten the whole day with no other obligations among any of them and decided to make the first session a true marathon. They’d meet in the morning after breakfast and eat both lunch and dinner at the game table before calling it a night late in the evening. It was barely 10:00 in the morning and the whole campaign he’d slaved over for months was kaput. He never noticed the butterfly landing on his custom Miraculous-themed Game Master screen and being absorbed into it. “Game Master, I am Hawkmoth. Few people appreciate the kind of effort that goes into making something truly grand and memorable. I shall give you the power to bring your entire world to life and in return, I ask only for a few simple things.” This was wrong. Hawkmoth was the worst of the worst. The kind of person who would be at home among all the final bosses he’d ever made for his campaigns. Heartless, manipulative, cruel. “Not

enough? Ah, but what is a game without players? How would you like to have the Miraculous heroes themselves run your great campaign? Surely they would be far more appreciative than those ungrateful peons that left you alone with nothing but the broken remains of your efforts.” He knew all these things, but the allure of bringing the world he’d spent so much time on to life… What creator could ever turn down an offer like that? “I, the Game Master, accept… Hawkmoth.” “Excellent. And in exchange, you shall bring me one of two things: The Miraculous, or the identities of their wielders.” “No.” Hawkmoth was silent for a moment. “I beg your pardon?” “I said no. I am the Game Master. I make the world. I craft the challenges. I decide the rewards. But I do not do anything for anyone. If you want these things, get them yourself.” “If you refuse me, it shall be very unpleasant for you.” “No. As Game Master, I decide the limits of all powers within my realm. And I decide that you have none over me.” And with that, he unleashed his creation over all of Paris, drawing everyone and everything within into his sphere of influence. —– Ladybug blinked the spots (ha) out of her eyes as the flash of light died down and looked at herself. She didn’t remember transforming, but she was clearly in her spots. Except her red and black superhero uniform didn’t usually look like it was headed to a steampunk convention. Looking around, she tried to figure out what had happened and her eyes landed on a familiar belt and pants combo. Problem. Whoever this was, their groin was at eye level for her. She looked up. And up. To find a grinning Chat Noir, sans anything resembling a shirt and having put on at least a foot of height and apparently a hundred pounds of pure muscle, grinning down at her. “How’s the weather down there?” Chat Noir chuckled as he flexed his unfairly attractive muscleman physique. “I WILL END YOU!” the heroine snarled, already 100% done with whatever new insanity Hawkmoth had cooked up. Characters: Ladybug - Gnome Artificer (Master Tinkerer - Homebrew) Chat Noir - Human Barbarian (Path of the Beast) —– Vesperia had to admit, as Akuma attacks went, this was pretty dope. She was currently a halfling. A halfling! If it wasn’t for her fantasy ensemble being yellow and black, she’d have thought she stepped straight out of Lord of the Rings. Of course, fantasy setting or not, there were still things she’d have rather left back in the real world. Like racism. And stigma against mixed couples. Not directed at her, but rather at the two walking down the street next to her. “You know, people are staring…” she said as she craned her head to look at her companions. “Let them,” the Half-Elf Rena Rouge (who looked like a cross between a musician and a belly dancer) said from her perch atop the shoulders of the heavily armored (and surprisingly buff) Half-Orc Carapace. “They’re just jealous because their boyfriends can’t carry them everywhere.” Characters: Vesperia - Halfling Rogue (Scout) Rena Rouge - Half-Elf Bard (College of Glamour) Carapace - Half-Orc Fighter (Eldritch Knight) —– Ryuko blinked as she studied the apparent snake-man-thing before her who claimed to be Viperion. She lifted a hand to study it and found what appeared to be bronze scales covering every inch of her skin. She sniffed herself, smelling the sharp tang of ozone. What was she? And why did she appear to be wearing wooden armor? Characters: Ryuko - Dragonborn (bronze) Druid (Circle of Storms - Third Party) Viperion - Naga Sorcerer (Divination Magic - Homebrew) —– Polymouse giggled as her friends ran over her. Okay, she’d freaked out a little to find a swarm of mice (with hair like hers no less) crawling all over her surprisingly mouse-like body when she’d come to in the middle of some forest somewhere. But she’d gotten over it pretty quickly. It helped that her new friends were adorable. It might help more if she could figure out where she was. Or find another person. Characters: Polymouse - Kobold

(rodentlike) Ranger (Swarmkeeper - Reskinned) —– Purple Tigress sighed as she felt the hair (fur?) on the top of her head being shifted around and twitched her new catlike ears in mild annoyance. “Are you quite done?” “Almost!” Pigella’s cheerful voice answered. “Your fur is so comfy!” Tigress sighed. Of course Pigella would end up being a fairy, and having her normal cheerful enthusiasm cranked up to previously unimagined levels. “I love you dearly, but if you start shouting 'hey listen’ I will stick you in a bottle.” “Aw, I love you too! Hey, what’s that?” “I think it’s my character sheet?” Characters: Purple Tigress - Tabaxi Paladin (Oath of Glory) Pigella - Fairy Cleric (Order Domain - Reskinned) —– “According to my analysis, we have been placed into what appears to be a Dungeons and Dragons campaign under 5th edition rules,” Pegasus stated in a mechanical monotone. “I am apparently a Warforged Wizard using the School of Conjuration whose spells create portals to bridge dimensions and summon or banish my intended targets. You are what is known as a Simic Hybrid, with the class of Monk, following the Way of the Drunken Master.” “Aweshum,” King Monkey slurred, his generally human appearance clad in monk’s robes marred by his monkey-like hands and feet as well as the monkey tail swishing behind him. “Why do you keep slurring like that? According to my sensors, your gourd is filled with only water.” “Gotta keep up appearanshes!” King Monkey grinned as he continued faking drunkenness. Characters: Pegasus - Warforged Wizard (School of Conjuration - Reskinned) King Monkey - Simic Hybrid Monk (Way of the Drunken Master) —– Hawkmoth studied the dark red horns growing out of his head in the mirror. The change in appearance was disconcerting, but he felt a rush of power in this new form that he’d never felt before. “Hmm… perhaps I can work with this…” “Speak for yourself…” Mayura muttered off to the side, ruffling her peacock-like feathers in annoyance as she tried to glare at the beak on her own face. Characters: Hawkmoth - Tiefling Dark Lord, Warlock Patron, Contracted by Lila Rossi, Volpina, Queen Wasp, and many others. Mayura - Kenku Assistant to the Dark Lord, Creator of Monsters —– “Oh, come on!” A figure in a cyan and white hooded robe complained as they waved a similarly colored umbrella around angrily. “Everyone else gets to be part of this adventure, why can’t I join them?” “Because you’re too OP. You’d completely break everything and remove all challenge from the adventure.” “But sitting around is no fun at all!” “If you like, I can put you in the position of the main quest giver. Your job would be to direct them towards their enemies and means of becoming stronger.” “That’s it?! I’m on 'mysterious hooded figure’ duty? Boo! Why can’t I fight with them?!” “Because you’re too OP. But if you insist, I’ll allow some Deus ex Machina interventions.” “YES!” “Five.” “I’m sorry?” “I’ll allow five interventions at your discretion to aid them when they are in peril. Once you have come to their aid five times, I will allow no more meetings save to impart quest information.” “That’s it?” “Yes. Choose your interventions wisely.” “So… if I manage to save one for when they fight Hawmoth and Mayura in the final battle…?” “Then I would allow you to join them of course.” “Score!” Characters: Bunnyx: Mysterious Hooded Figure, Deus-ex-Machina (5) Game Master: Akuma Lord of the Miraculous Campaign —– Addendum When the Game Master is finally purified and the damage reversed, it turns out that he took the effort to trap all of Paris in a temporal stasis bubble so that no matter how long passed inside no more than a few moments passed outside. Meaning that after what seemed like months in the bubble, it’s basically less than a minute after he was akumatized when everything is put back. All his friends, minus Matt, come back in bringing a new person named Zack that they vetted themselves to take Matt’s place in case he pulled something like what he did. And while he

has a similar playstyle to Matt, he’s savvy enough to know what kind of characters that is suited for and he loves playing barbarians. They all sit back down and restart the game they were all looking forward to.

—-

oh wow- that’s- wow. good job dude, seems like you worked on this a lot. Next time You should post this on your own account though, as this isn’t getting tagged or anything. Thank you though, you did a good job with this.

[bnhayyy]

The Call (8)

Chapter Title: Catalyst

Wordcount: 3.2k

Fic Tag: Click

Ao3 Link: Click

Chapter Summary: Ymir and Historia make a dangerous discovery.

Notes: I'm one day late in posting, but this is my response to day three of @mikannieweek ! The prompt was fight, so you best believe you're getting a fight. I know that neither Annie nor Mikasa actually appear in this chapter, but since it's very plot-relevant to the fic as a whole, which is very much a Mikannie fic, I say it counts. 

 Celadon is on vacation this week, so thank you to Rinky for betaing for me! Also, if you haven't already, you may want to read Caution and the Inverse before reading this chapter. It's a Yumihisu one-shot taking place in the same universe as The Call, and while it isn't necessary to understand this chapter, it does add some extra context.

Sleep was a tenuous thing for Historia. Sometimes she could get through the night just fine. Sometimes she would toss and turn, barely dozing off during the night and waking up to another morning where she'd have to put on a pleasant face and pretend that everything was fine.

The worst nights were the ones where she woke up screaming.

Sleeping with Ymir's arms wrapped around her helped keep the nightmares at bay. However, even she could not ward them off completely. There were still times when Historia woke up in the middle of the night with visions of Frieda screaming and snarling demons and shattered church windows flashing behind her eyes. In those horrible moments, the lie that was Krista Lenz felt like it was wrapped around her with the intent to suffocate rather than protect.

Ymir helped. But not even Ymir was truly invulnerable, for all that her strength and bravado tried to lull her into thinking she was. Historia had taken steps to protect her girlfriend after the encounter in the club. She had told the college that she was sick and holed up with Ymir in her apartment, where they had set up hidden cameras around the apartment building and made umpteen plans on what to do if the slayers broke in. Or if they forced them out. Or if they ambushed Ymir when she eventually went outside, because for all that Historia would be happy to make daily visits to the butcher's for the rest of her life if it meant keeping Ymir by her side, she knew that couldn't happen.

She couldn't even manage to keep her inside for two weeks.

Ten days. She only managed to remain inside for ten days, Ymir gradually growing more stir-crazy and Historia more anxious, before they broke. And it was all Historia's fault.

With the threat of the slayers breathing down their necks, the nightmares had increased. She had woken up screaming for seven of the past nine nights. When, on that tenth night, she woke up thrashing in Ymir's arms, concerned eyes staring down at her and the alarm clock on the nightstand reading three A.M., she finally gave in.

It was a short distance from her apartment to the river, and one of the few things that could reliably calm her nerves after an episode like that was going for a walk by the water. That evening, when Ymir caressed her hair and gently suggested that they go for a walk, Historia didn't have it in her to turn her down.

It was risky. There was a chance that one or both of the slayers would have found a reason to be by the river. However, Ymir swore up and down that Mikasa was almost always at the graveyard at three A.M. on weekdays and, Annie, who had been following her around like a cat with a mouse, would likely be there as well.

Historia still made Ymir check the cameras to make sure that the slayers weren't waiting for them outside the apartment. When she couldn't catch so much of as a glimpse of them, they set out.

Walking down the shoreline and breathing in the cool autumn night air, Historia couldn't say she regretted it.

Beside her, Ymir shoved her hands into pockets and glanced up at the sky. "So," she began, extending the word in a drawl. "Want to talk about it?"

Historia shrugged. "There isn't really much to talk about," she admitted. "I don't remember much of it. Just..." She swallowed down the lump in her throat and turned her head to look at the water. "Just that it was about Freida."

Nightmares about Freida weren't exactly uncommon. Most of them featured her in one way or another.

Silence hung over the pair for a long moment. It was broken by Ymir saying, "Well, if it helps at all, I think she'd be proud of you."

Historia glanced over at the vampire and raised an eyebrow. "You sound pretty confident for someone who never met her," she said.

There were many additional statements beyond that comment, things that she couldn't bear to delve into. Maybe someday she would. For now, however, she was content to act like they weren't even there.

Now it was Ymir's turn to shrug. "She sounds like she was the soft, sappy type," she said.

"As opposed to you," Historia countered.

" Exactly, " Ymir said. "You understand me so well, Historia! I really am going to need you to marry me one of these days." She shot her a wide, glowing grin and reached over to ruffle her hair. Historia ducked, but wasn't quick enough to avoid getting several locks of hair brushed out of place.

"Ymir," Historia groaned. Her girlfriend responded by lapsing into laughter, and a smile began to form on Historia's face in turn.

"What?" Ymir teased. "I can't help it if you're-"

Ymir froze, her grin faltering before fading away in place of pursed lips and narrowed eyes. She reached out and grabbed Historia's wrist not a second later.

"Ymir?" Historia whispered, her heart already beginning to quiver in her chest. She forced herself not to pay attention to it. If something was happening, then the last thing she needed to do was give in to panic and fear.

It was a good thing that she was already practiced at pushing those feelings down.

"There's someone up ahead," Ymir hissed.

"One of the slayers?" Historia asked.

She knew she was wrong even before Ymir responded. The gleam in her eyes, the tenseness in her muscles - neither of those things would be quite the same if it was the slayers. This was something that she thought might pose a threat to Historia. Then she slowly shook her head, and the confirmation came soon after.

"A vampire."

Historia nodded slowly. "Is it a stranger, or..."

Ymir took in a deep breath through her nose. She closed her eyes for a moment as she focused on the scent. When she opened them, there was a new fire blazing there. "You know him," she said. "I've caught his scent on your clothes before, when you come back from art class."

Art class? Historia didn't even have to stop and mentally run through the list of her classmates. Her mind immediately zeroed in on the immediate suspect, the vampire Ymir suspected of possessing the legendary gem of amara.

"Reiner," Historia breathed. 

Ymir stepped back and tugged on Historia's arm, gentle but insistent. "We should get out of here," she said.

Faintly, Historia realized that Ymir probably had the right idea. However, she could not deny the idea that was beginning to formulate within the depths of her mind... or the dull ache of anger behind the theory that fueled it.

"Wait," Historia said, voice pitching low. "I want to talk to him."

Ymir shot her a startled look. "Are you nuts?" she hissed. "Historia, I smell blood!"

"No," Historia said. "I have an idea."

Ymir hesitated. As she did so, Historia pulled her wrist out of her grasp, grabbed her hand, and looked into her eyes. "I trust you to protect me," she said. "Now trust me on this."

A long moment passed as Ymir stared at her. Finally, the vampire let out a long breath and nodded. "Alright," she said. "What's this plan of yours?"

Historia smiled. "Stay out of sight and follow my lead," she said. "I think it will become clear pretty quickly."

Ymir was once again reduced to staring at her in silence. For a moment, Historia worried that she might go back on her word. However, after a few heartbeats had passed, she nodded and gestured for her to go ahead.

Historia offered a smile that was meant to reassure her girlfriend rather than express any of her own emotions. Then she resumed walking down the shoreline while Ymir wandered off to the side, disappearing into the darkness.

It wasn't long before a figure came into view. Historia slowed her breathing and stepped more carefully, as if her attempts to be quiet would be any real help against a vampire worth their salt.

Except Reiner didn't react as Historia drew closer. Eventually, she drew close enough to make out the shape of a body in the sand beside him, but Reiner didn't move a muscle. He was just standing there, staring out at the ocean. Historia furrowed her eyebrows. There was a chance that he was just faking her out, but she suspected that wasn't the case. She supposed that it might be in part due to the fact that the wind was blowing away from him and toward her. However, she also couldn't help but note that he seemed rather distracted.

Fine. She could use that to her advantage.

Historia drew even closer, drawing forward and closer to the river with each step. The patchy grass beneath her sandals eventually gave way to sand, automatically making her steps fractionally louder. It didn't matter. Reiner still didn't notice, a fact which became a little less surprising when she got close enough to realize that he was talking to himself. She couldn't quite make out the words, but she could see his lips move and make out the low, soft cadence of his voice.

More importantly, she could make out the body beside him. 

It was a dark-haired, pale-skinned woman who looked like she was in her early to mid-thirties. Historia didn't recognize her. She stared blankly for a few seconds, feeling next to nothing. There was a faint sense of sorrow that someone had died at all, but no true distress or grief over a random stranger. Historia knew all too well that people died all the time. If she cried over everyone who met an undeserving fate, she would never be able to stop.

Frieda would have cried. But Historia was no Frieda, no matter how hard she tried. 

So she stood there and stared for a few seconds. Then, steady and inevitable as the tide, her existing, tepid anger began to rise and grow into ice-cold fury. It probably wasn't fury for the right reason, but if the alternative was no strong feelings at all, she would take it. Especially considering what was at stake. 

Another person was dead. That would be another death that the slayers blamed Ymir for. Another reason for them to want her girlfriend dead.

Historia didn't have anything against Reiner. It was horrible that he was killing people, but frankly, as long as he didn't hurt anyone she cared about, she wasn't sure that she'd do anything about it. Reiner was pleasant company, and while she wouldn't help him, she wasn't going to risk the few things she had come to love to bring him to justice. But if it was between him and Ymir...

There weren't many things left that Historia loved in the world, and it had taken her a while to find them. But now that she had them, she wasn't going to let them go for anything.

So Historia plastered a concerned, fearful expression on her face and stepped up to the vampire. "Reiner!" she called. "What are you doing?"

Reiner jolted , and when he turned around, there was genuine surprise in his expression. "Krista," he said. "You're..." His gaze wandered over to the dead body beside him. "I didn't expect you to be here," he finished.

Here. Where he was dumping the body, he meant. Now that she looked, she could see weights attached to the body's hands and ankles.

The river was deep in places. If he handled this right, there was a good chance that the body would never be found again. Which explained where all the other bodies went. And oh, how much easier it became to let someone else take the blame for your crimes when there was no body to tie it back to you.

Not that Krista was supposed to catch on to all of that so quickly. Instead, she looked up at Reiner with large, watering eyes, and asked, "What is 'here'? Reiner, that's a body. We need to do something! We need to call the police or... or..."

She trailed off. Reiner was looking off to the side and running his hand through his hair, his jaw gritted and tension in his shoulders. It was probably safe for her to "realize" now.

"Did you do this?" Historia whispered, coaching her expression into one of dawning horror.

"Shit," Reiner said. "I'm sorry Krista. I didn't want you to get pulled into this."

A warm flame of vindictive triumph flickered in Historia's stomach as she took a step back and held a shaking hand up to her mouth. "Reiner, are you the one behind the disappearances?" she asked.

"Yeah," Reiner said, his expression hardening. "And I'm sorry, but I can't-"

He was cut off by someone fast enough to very nearly be a drill running up and punching him in the chest, sending him flying down the shoreline. "Thanks for the confession," Ymir snarled.

Reiner managed to land on his feet and was back upright in seconds. He looked at Historia, hard eyes meeting her flinty ones, before looking over at Ymir. "Ymir, I'm guessing."

"I'm surprised you didn't catch on," Ymir said, placing her hands on her hips. "I thought the slayers would have told you about us."

Reiner smiled unhappily. "The consensus is that Krista's being manipulated," he said.

"I'm not," Historia said, voice stony.

"Yeah," Reiner replied. "I'm getting that sense."

As Reiner began drawing closer, Ymir took a nigh-unnoticeable half-step back toward Historia and tapped her wrist. A sign to back off. Historia frowned, but reluctantly began stepping back, only stopping when she was several yards away from the other two. 

"What I'm wondering," Reiner continued as he took a slow step forward, voice level and suspicious, "is how you knew about me."

"You don't recognize me?" Ymir asked. Her eyes were gleaming the way they did when she was about to do something dangerous, and her feet shifted into a more solid fighting stance. "I'm surprised, seeing as I killed your friend and all. Marvel, or something?"

Reiner froze. A shadow fell over his face for half a second, then melted away as his eyes flashed yellow and his face morphed into the snarled visage as a vampire. "You're lying," he spat.

"You seem awfully upset, if I'm just supposed to be a liar," Ymir remarked.

"Marcel was killed by the slayer."

"Sorry to disappoint." Ymir shrugged. "But hey, he's gone and you're here, so I'd say it worked out pre-"

Reiner charged at her. Ymir lunged to the side but was unable to avoid his blow completely. She let out a hiss and staggered, knocked off-balance as his fist grazed her shoulder. Reiner swung around to aim a blow to her head, but Ymir quickly ducked, raising her arms and aiming a kick at his stomach.

But Reiner pulled his punch and grabbed Ymir's leg before she could make contact. Historia’s stomach wrenched at the sharp crack as Reiner pulled Ymir's leg in two directions. At the same time, Ymir twisted around to grab Reiner's shoulders and flipped herself up and out of his grasp. As she twisted, Historia noticed her grab a stake out of her back pocket.

Historia barely even had a moment to wonder at the fact that her vampire girlfriend was carrying around a stake before Ymir plunged the offending object into Reiner's back, right over his heart.

Reiner gasped and jerked forward.

Ymir pulled the stake out and took a step back.

He should have turned to dust. Instead, Historia watched as the hole in his back instantly closed, leaving only a hole in the back of his shirt.

Reiner took a few steps away from Ymir before turning around. There, the pair stared at each other for a long moment, Reiner's hand hovering over his heart and Ymir leaning heavily on one leg. Finally, Ymir's gaze flickered down to Reiner's hand. "Nice ring," she said. "Wonder how you'd fare against me without it."

"I don't plan on finding out," Reiner said, smiling grimly.

Reiner charged at Ymir, but she lunged forward and grappled him, pivoting on her uninjured leg and using his own momentum to fling him into the river. He hit the waves with a splash and sank like a rock, although Historia knew that it wouldn't keep him down for too long.

Ymir knew it too. She raced over to Historia, or at least, moved as fast as she could in her condition, and moved to pick her up.

Historia wriggled out of her girlfriend's grip and hissed, "Ymir, your leg!"

"Will heal no matter how badly I fuck it up," Ymir said. Historia might have even bought it if her gritted teeth didn't give away how much pain she was actually in. "But you-"

"-Can move faster than you right now," Historia interrupted. "Let's be smart about this." With that, she manhandled Ymir’s arm over her shoulders and all but dragged her girlfriend back up to the path. Once they were on even cement, she picked up the pace and began walking as fast as possible while aiding Ymir. 

For her part, Ymir was forced to slump and clearly reluctant to actually lean on her. However, once Historia started speeding up, she gave in and allowed her to bear some of her weight. Historia might have smiled if it weren't for the dire situation.

"Is he following us?" Historia asked.

"No,” Ymir said. "He isn't gonna. He still has to take care of the body. He's gone this long without a corpse being found, it'd mean a lot of trouble if one shows up now. Besides..." Ymir let out a pained laugh. "I staked him. He knows he’d be dead without that ring. He'd be an idiot not to let us get away."

Historia nodded and tried to swallow down her unease. She wasn't about to slow down and gamble on Reiner's willingness to let them escape, but it was good to know that she probably didn't have to worry about a furious vampire attacking them from behind. Even if there were what felt like a million other things that she did have to contend with. Such as...

"I'm sorry I got you hurt," Historia murmured. Since her car was now in sight, she allowed her gaze to drop for a moment before fixing it dead ahead once more.

Ymir laughed again, this time a little less pained and a lot more triumphant. "Hey, don't worry about it," she said. "What you got us is a lot more useful than an uninjured leg. Speaking of which... do you think you could get me a few phone numbers?"

Historia didn't even need to think about it. Being Krista Lenz, warm, kind, and so very involved with her school, came with a lot of benefits. However, she did pause as she led Ymir over to the passenger side door. Once her girlfriend was secure, she walked around to the driver's seat and climbed in. As she buckled her seatbelt and put the key in the ignition, she said, "Of course."

"Good," Ymir replied. A grim smile spread across her lips. "It's about time Ackerman and her friends found out who they're dealing with."

[wlntrsldler]

Could you maybe do Love Story for George? I will leave the details up to you but I do love the way you write him.

PROMPT: based on love story by taylor swift (an installment of my taylor swift x harry potter series. to read more about it, click here) George has a crush on a shy Hufflepuff. 

WC: 1.6K+

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST

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love story (g.w one shot)

George didn’t know what it was about you that caught his attention first. It was like his life at Hogwarts was divided into two parts: before he met you and after he met you. It was like before he met you, after every prank, successful or not, he would bask in the cheers and laughter of every Hogwarts student. He and Fred had that in common- arrogant, at times, but never egocentric. Okay.. maybe a little bit, he’ll admit. He would walk through the corridors of the school, high-fiving all the students who worshiped his and Fred’s pranks. He loved it, to say the least. He loved looking into the crowd of people who loved him for doing what he loved to do. 

But after he met you, when he met your eyes for the first time as you stood towards the back of the crowd that formed around him and Fred for winning a Quidditch match, he found himself looking for you everywhere he looked. When he made his way to the Great Hall, his eyes searched for you at every house’s table. He’d zone out, ignoring his twin’s incessant chatter about their next prank. He even tripped on his own feet, more times than he’s willing to admit, because he was too focused on trying to find you. Eventually, Fred caught onto his crush, taking every opportunity to tease him about it. 

George wanted to talk to you. Godric, did he want to talk to you, but he didn’t know where to start. What if you didn’t like his pranks? What if you thought he was annoying because of his obnoxiously loud laughter? He didn’t even know what house you were in! Even worse, he didn’t even know your name! George mentally scold himself, cursing that he let years pass before he even noticed you. But now that he knew who you were, Merlin, was he going crazy. 

After a few weeks of obsessively searching for you in everything that he did, he finally found you. You were in the greenhouse, caring for plants with Neville. Truth be told, he probably wouldn’t have found you if he wasn’t sneaking around to pluck a leaf from a plant that Professor Sprout was caring for, for a prank he and Fred were going to pull on Filch.

He hid behind one of the pillars leading towards the greenhouse, watching as you helped Neville properly care for the plants. George watched you as you mumbled words of encouragement to the young Gryffindor, walking away to tend to your own duties. He saw the yellow tie you wore proudly around your neck. He couldn’t help but continue to stare at you, finding your movements so captivating. It wasn’t until Neville spotted him and raised an eyebrow in confusion that he realized how odd he must’ve looked. 

Blushing furiously, he emerged from behind the pillar and began to walk towards the greenhouse. He was thanking his lucky stars that your back was turned from him, not catching him. George looked at Neville, widening his eyes a bit and using his head to motion for the door. It took a minute for Neville to understand what George was saying but when he did, the boy giggled softly before removing his apron. 

“Hey, Y/N?” Neville asked. 

Y/N, George thought, even her name is gorgeous. 

“Yeah?” You turned around, expecting Neville to be the only one in the greenhouse. When your eyes met George’s, your jaw dropped a bit, not realizing you had company. You tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, suddenly becoming too aware of your disheveled appearance. You’ve been working in the greenhouse all day, you haven’t had the time to clean yourself up. “Oh, h-hi.” 

Neville discretely nudged George’s arm, already understanding that George most likely had a crush on you. He was glad, he knew George well enough to know that he was a good guy. You were the only one who was kind to him and helped him fuel his love for Herbology, stating that you saw a lot of yourself in him. George was one of the few people who stood up for him when he was being teased, so for that, he was eternally grateful. 

“I forgot I had something to do today, is it okay if I leave you a bit early today?” Neville asked, already half-way out the door. 

Reluctantly, you nodded, a bit suspicious with the boy. “Sure, Nev. Meet here on Tuesday?”

“Mhm!” He called out, closing the door behind him. Through the glass, you heard his muffled farewell, “Bye, Y/N! Bye, George!”

Your cheeks turned a shade of pink, realizing that now it was just you and George. You tried to flatten out your hair, trying to salvage a bit of your appearance. You snuck a quick glance at your reflection, grimacing when you realized that it didn’t help you much. Giving up, you smiled shyly at the ginger boy in front of you, who was watching you with an amused smirk on his face. You cleared your throat, “How can I help you, George?”

George’s eyebrows shot up in surprise when his name left your lips. You said his name so beautifully. The tips of his ears turned red and all of his found confidence quickly faded away, “Y-you know who I am?” 

“‘Course I do,” you giggled, turning back around to tend to your assignment, and to hide your blush. “You’re legendary, you know.”

George heard those words from other people before. He heard it nearly everyday, but when you said it, nobody else mattered. She thinks I’m legendary, a voice in his head sang. It took all of his being to not do a happy dance right then and there. But then he realized that you knew who he was- not just that he was a Weasley, but you could tell him and Fred apart. “How do you know I’m not Fred?” 

You looked over your shoulder, his words making you doubt your certainty. Your eyes raked over his body, stopping at the small indent on his left cheek, a defining mark of George Weasley. It was almost unnoticeable, almost. Your lips quirked up to a smile, shrugging, “I just do.” 

“Hmm, I’ll learn your wicked ways one day, Ms. Y/N,” he grinned, now standing beside you. 

You secretly hoped he’d never find out. It wasn’t really easy to explain that you’ve stared at him so much over the years that you’ve now learned their mini differences. You’ve had a crush on the younger twin for years, but being the shy Hufflepuff that you are, never once made a move. You’ve admired him from afar, opting to spare yourself from embarrassment. 

You cleared your throat, “What did you need, Mr. George Weasley?”

He began to explain his next prank to you, finding comfort in the way you burst out laughing by the time he finished. You placed a hand over your mouth, wanting to silence your laughter. George bit his bottom lip, trying to contain his smile. He loved the way he made you laugh. Your laugh was like music to his ears. Once you calmed down, you placed your tools down and walked to the other side of the greenhouse. He followed you like a lost puppy, stopping when you did. 

“What’s this?” he asked when you placed a leaf in the middle of his palm. He raised it up, twisting the stem between the pads of his index finger and his thumb. He leaned over and smelled it, “Hmm, not bad.” 

You smiled, “This is the key to making your prank successful. Mix it in with his food and he should be out like a light for a few minutes.” 

George beamed with excitement, using his free hand to raise a thumb up. “Brilliant, thank you, Y/N! I owe you!”

“It’s nothing,” you brushed off, returning to your work. “It’s an honor to play a part in one of your pranks.” 

“Let me make it up to you,” George argued, leaning against the glass walls. “Let me do something to repay you for your kindness.” 

“Truly, it’s nothing, George,” you said, waving him off. 

“Blimey, Y/N,” George groaned, marching over to you. He grabbed your shoulders and made you face him. His touch sent shocks throughout your body, making you look down at your feet. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, embarrassed by the bright red blush you knew stained your cheeks. “You make it so difficult for a guy to ask you out.”

Your eyes widened as you looked up at him. Your jaw was hanging wide open, staring at him in disbelief. He stood there, hands on your shoulders, with a handsome smirk on his face. Did he really need to be that attractive? You questioned, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Dearest Y/N, I was trying to ask you out smoothly but your cute, yet oblivious self, was not catching onto my hints.” 

“I- what?” 

He chuckled, “Just say yes, darling.” 

You gulped, the sound of his laugh sending shivers down your spine. You looked down at where he held you, unable to hold back the smile that was threatening to come out on your face. Finally, after what seemed like eternity, you nodded, “I-uh, s-sure.” 

He let your shoulders go, holding the leaf tightly in his hand, “I’ll see you tonight!”

Shocked and at a loss for words, you barely managed to utter out, “Where?” 

George set you a look over his shoulder, “Quidditch Pitch at 11!”

You listened to his footsteps disappear into the hall, looking down at your feet with a large grin on your face. That night was the start of your very own love story. 

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@rexorangecouny

A/N: i have sooo many requests to get through but i promise i’m working on them! sorry they’re taking a while.