#nothing ever goes to plan why would i set myself up to fail?

[martellspear]

We don't know the entire story yet, so it's impossible to make a judgement like you're doing.

I'd argue that Elia was in fact in on all of Rhaegar's schemes to bring about prophecy. They both knew she couldn't have anymore kids, and so she allowed him to seek out a woman who could...Lyanna.

A crown prince must have more than 2 kids, Elia failed her only purpose. No wonder Rhaegar turned to Lyanna.

I mean, Dorne seems OK with anything so long as there's an agreement between all parties involved.

Robert didn't love any of the women he slept with. His vows meant nothing.

Rhaegar meant everything. He cared for Elia and his children, but also seemed to be in love with Lyanna. His vows had meaning, even if they were interpreted differently.

Hi, anon. I'll assume you've read "tolerate it" and that's what made you come here.

We don't know much about them but I highly doubt Elia was 100% on board with everything. I think he shared some aspects of the prophecy but can you, honestly, tell me that she would take part in the most humiliating moment of her life? Willingly?

"Jon Arryn and Robert and Lord Hunter joking a moment before what was happening dawned on them, Ned watching as Rhaegar was about to stop in front of his sister, mad Aerys glowering in the distance, Elia stiff-backed and trying to act as if nothing was wrong, Jon Connington probably looking vaguely sad, and so on." — source

That's what Paolo Puggioni, an artist George hired, said the author himself told him.

One of my darling moots put in words, better than I would ever be able to, thoughts about Elia and the polyamory relationship some people like to insert her into, you can read it here.

Yes, Elia could be accepting and supportive of others who do it, it's their life. But she's the Crown Prince's wife and future queen. Why would she even consider adding one more person to their relationship? Especially knowing the consequences of those? And not only for her personal life and her children; think about Dorne, the Stormlands and the North's reaction to such insult and pair it up with everything the war cost (Brandon and Rickard died before it even truly started). "But with Rhaegar being king-" George has made clear how fragile monarchy in Westeros actually is.

Elia would put her children in a dangerous position if she not only fully agreed to Rhaegar's plans but also welcomed Lyanna and his bastard. Additionally, I'd love it if you could point it out for me where it says a crown prince can't have only two children (seriously, I'd like to know). Elia gave him two healthy kids and it almost cost her her life, she didn't fail anything.

(consider this to be about book!rhaegar and lyanna; my thoughts on their show version couldn't be more different)

I don't think Rhaegar loved Lyanna at all. And sometimes it honestly felt like he'd rather if she died after giving birth. She was a means to an end. Personally, I believe he manipulated her and then either kept information from her (she wouldn't stay if she knew what happened to her brother and father) or kept her there against her will; two disgusting scenarios. Rhaegar was obsessed with the prophecy, he changed his entire lifestyle for it. If it was love, he could've abandoned his crown and gone to Essos 🤷🏻‍♀️.

If Elia was aware, why wasn't she in Dorne and completely safe? Why didn't Oberyn know of this? "No, but he goes after the Lannisters-" he wanted justice. Even if the person who set them up was Rhaegar, the one who gave the order was Tywin and the one who did it was his beast. Aerys and Rhaegar were not people he could go after, maybe in his afterlife.

More importantly, and I'll be repeating myself here, it doesn't matter if she loved Rhaegar or not or how deeply she did it. Rhaegar's bastard is a direct threat to her children and their future and I doubt Elia - or anyone who hasn't lost their wits - would happily comply with that.

I have done nothing but gathering information and filling voids, what most do in this fandom tbh. There's little we know of how it was like but Rhaegar did hurt Elia again and again; and I do believe he was fond of her, which only makes things worse.

I don't have to know his thoughts to know that some of his actions were disrespectful, hurtful and disgusting; Elia doesn't have to agree or be aware of his plans for crowing another woman QoL&B (and later run away with her) to be humiliating.

Rhaegar, and Rhaegar alone, handled everything with all the sensitive and grace of a reversing dump truck.

[lostmykeysie]

When will the 2nd part of the THH will be released. (No pressure or anything,, just wondering <3 ) also love your sense of humour and writing style :)

i promised that i would start publishing in june and you know what. i said that because then i won't be late until the 30th of june because i think i'm smart but what i DID NOT REALISE was that technically it would be wholly and completely justified to ask me this question on the 1st of june hahahaha (you are allowed to wonder darling wonder away i support you)

okay so i was planning to start publishing mid june but i have a really one track mind rn and i've been unsuccessful in writing anything that isn't chimaera & the wolf SO it will be sooner. i'm not going to say it will be this weekend but i will say that i have 5 days off work and i've literally just moved to a VILLAGE (am i the only gay in the village????? omg) and i hate leaving the house anyway so what else am i gonna do except write?????

SO

long story short (hit it taylor) is that you are very sexy anon. we are both very sexy people. and i hope to publish chapter 1 in the next week or so xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

[worldserasingandcreatinginmymind]

Unfaithful | Final Chapter

Series Summary: After dreaming of your perfect wedding since you were a little girl the big day is almost here. But after meeting the priest you start to question your relationship.

Pairing: Hot Priest x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2718

Warnings: all the angst with a side order of fluff, FINAL CHAPTER

A/N: this is it, the series finale. I really hope you guys enjoyed the series and that this ending does it justice. Thank you for the lovely comments on previous chapters, I love you guys! Also, spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :)

Part Five | Masterlist

- - - - -

“We need to talk”

“I think you said enough yesterday” I say dismissively as I stand up.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

“But you did!” 

“I know this is no excuse but I was really drunk”

“You're right, that isn’t an excuse. What you said to me really hurt”

“I know and I am so so sorry. I think I thought that if I could make you hate me then it would be easier for me to not love you.”

I pause, trying to make sense of what he’s just said. 

“That’s stupid”

“I realise that now, but at the time my alcohol infused brain thought it was genius.” He says and I can't help but be slightly amused “Look Y/N, I need you to know I didn’t mean any of what I said yesterday. And I really hope you don't hate me, though I don't blame you if you do”

“I don’t hate you” I take his hands in mine and look deep in his eyes “I could never hate you, you mean too much to me now. I couldn’t have got through the past few weeks without you, so you're not getting rid of me that easy”

I give him a gentle but sincere smile and he lets out a sigh of relief. 

“It didn’t work anyway” he says and I respond with a confused look “My genius plan failed… I still love you” 

Before I can say anything else Eva appears at the door.

“There you are!” She calls and I quickly release the priest’s hands as I turn to look at her. She looks from me, to the priest and back to me “everything okay?”

“Yeah, fine. This is the priest who’s doing the wedding.” 

“Oh uh, actually… I’m not anymore” he says, suddenly awkward again. 

“Can you give us a minute?” I say to Eva and she nods before disappearing back inside the house. I turn my attention back to the worried looking priest “What do you mean?” 

“I can’t be there today” 

“Are you serious? We need you!” 

“I know it’s unprofessional to pull out this late but so is kissing the bride behind the groom’s back, so…” he lets out a small nervous chuckle “I’ve arranged cover already. Father Crilly. He’s a good priest, he’ll make sure it all runs smooth”

“You're a good priest! You can make sure it runs smooth!”

“I can’t” he says, looking down at his feet

“Of course you can”

“No I can’t!” He snaps, looking back up at me. I notice tears starting to form in his eyes. “I can’t because I want it to go wrong. I want there to be a reason for this wedding not to happen, for you not to marry him… instead of me” 

My breath catches in my throat as I look at him, not knowing how to respond.

“Father…” I almost whisper “I- I don't know what to say”

“You don't have to say anything”

“You know how much mean to me-”

“Please don’t” he interrupts but I carry on 

“-but I can’t leave Daniel. I’m sorry”

“I can’t pretend to understand why you would marry a man who treats you the way he has, but if you love him even half as much as I love you… then I respect your decision. I’m not going to get in your way.” 

He turns to leave but I grab his arm gently stopping him. 

“Are you gonna be alright?” I ask and he gives me a small nod

“It’ll pass” 

I watch as he walks out my driveway and disappears down the road, taking deep steadying breaths before putting a smile on my face and heading inside to get ready. 

After all, today is to be the happiest day of my life. Right? 

— — — — 

So far the rest of the day has run smooth. I explained to Eva and the rest of the bridesmaids that the priest had to pull out last minute, making up some excuse about a family emergency, but that he’d arranged cover so there was nothing to stress about. Eva, as my substitute maid of honour, took on the job of alerting Daniel to the last minute change so there would be no confusion when he turned up at the church and found Father Crilly waiting for him. 

A few hours later I descended the stairs in my beautiful white dress to the sound of the girls showering me with compliments and my aunt Lynda sniffling into a hankie. 

“You look like a princess” she says, pulling me into a slightly too tight hug. 

It wasn’t long till the cars arrived and we were on our way. The bridesmaids pilled into one while me and Aunt Lynda got into the other. Lynda rambled on about something but I couldn't really hear her. Too busy staring silently out of the window. The closer we get to the church, the more I can feel the panic rising in my chest. 

“Y/N? Are you okay?” She asks as she squeezes my hand gently, pulling my mind back into the car.

“Yeah, of course! Why wouldn’t I be?” I reply as convincingly as possible. 

“It’s okay to be nervous. Hell, I was more nervous the second time than I was for my first”

“I didn’t know you were married before uncle Steve?” 

“Yeah! It was long before you were born. We were school sweethearts. Like you and Daniel, only less in love. We thought we were in love but looking back now I realise we were too young to really know what that meant. Your dad tried to warn me. Said Troy and I were better off as friends, but we didn’t listen. He was great for relationship advice was your dad, bit of a self proclaimed love expert.” She pauses, going watery eyed again “I’m sorry he’s not here”

“Me too” 

“I’m sure wherever he is, he’ll be watching over you today. Your mother too. They’d both be so proud” she squeezes my hand again and smiles tearfully. 

“Don't make me cry. If I ruin my makeup Eva will kill me” I laugh, wiping under my eyes.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She says, handing me a tissue “no more crying, this is a happy day!”

— — — — 

By the time we arrived at the church the bridesmaids were waiting outside with the photographer and the new priest. The photographer camera flashed at me as Lynda helped me out of the car and lead me to the church. Looking up at those wooden doors, I was glad I had Lynda to cling onto. My legs felt like jelly. 

Father Crilly introduced himself to me before heading inside the church. The bridesmaids, Lynda and I waited outside until we heard the music start, signalling the beginning of the ceremony. The bridesmaids began their walk up the aisle and before long the music changed again to the bridal chorus.

“Here we go” 

We walk into the church, stopping just inside the doors. I glance up to the front of the church to see Daniel looking back at me, a smile spread across his face. A smile I can’t make myself return. Instead I keep my eyes down, focusing on the floor as we walk up aisle. I can feel every set of eyes on me, but I keep mine fixed on my feet that carry me closer and closer to my future. 

We reach the top and Lynda gives me a kiss on the cheek before going to join the bridesmaids on the front row. Daniel takes my hand in his, whispering “you look amazing” into my ear as Father Crilly begins the ceremony. 

His opening speech goes by in a blur. I try to listen to every word he’s saying, to keep myself planted in the real world but my mind is spinning and my heart is pounding. I can’t stop thinking about what Lynda said in the car. What if Daniel and I aren’t in love? We just think we are because we’ve been together so long. We’re just used to being with each other. 

I also can’t get the priest out of my head. Worrying about him. Wondering what he’s doing now, whether he’s thinking about me. I replay our last conversation in my head. 

‘I still love you’ 

‘I want there to be a reason for this wedding not to happen, for you not to marry him… instead of me’ 

I try to push his words from my mind, focusing instead on his final ones. 

‘It’ll pass’

But what if it doesn’t. 

“If any person present knows of any lawful reason why this marriage can’t take place they should speak now or forever hold their peace” Father Crilly pauses. 

A tense silence fills the room. 

I look out across the crowd of friends and family sitting silently in their seats, a small part of me hoping the priest will burst through the doors dramatically declaring his love for me as he sweeps me away to live happily ever after. 

I shake the fantasy from my mind and turn my attention back to the man I’m actually about to marry. Daniel is also looking out at the church crowd. He looks nervous. I give his hand a gentle squeeze and he looks at me.

“Are you okay?” I whisper and he nods, but I can tell he’s not. As he looks away from me again my mind starts to spiral, panic rising in my chest. I can’t do this. 

‘It’ll pass’

 I think I’m making a mistake. 

‘It’ll pass’

These feelings are too intense to ignore.

‘It��ll pass’

These feelings of love. Not for Daniel. For the priest. I don't want them to pass. 

“I object” I say quietly, staring down at my hand enclosed within Daniel’s. I can feel his gaze on my face as a wave of gasps and shocked murmuring works its way through the church. 

“What?” He says, a nervous laugh escapes his lips but the smile fades as my sad eyes lock onto his.

“I object” 

“To- to your own wedding…?” Father Crilly asks, voice full of confusion.

“I can’t do it. I can’t start a marriage with a lie.”

“Y/N? What are you talking about?” Daniel asks, gripping my hands tightly in his own, afraid to let go. 

“When you marry someone, there shouldn’t be any secrets. You have to be able to confess anything, trust them with everything… I need to be honest with you.” I pause, building up the courage to say what I need to say next. “Daniel I-”

“I cheated on you” he blurts out, earning another gasp from the crowd

“…what?” 

“I’ve been having an affair…” Daniel repeats “Tiff and I… we, uh-”

“Tiffany? My best friend Tiffany?” I ask and he nods “How long?”

“Maybe we should continue this somewhere else” Father Crilly tries to move us but I ignore him.

“How long Daniel? How long have you been sleeping with my best friend behind my back?”

“A few months I think”

“You think? What, you don't even remember?” I bring my hands up to my head, rubbing circles on my temples as I turn my back on Daniel and take deep breaths. 

“Y/N, please listen to me. I am so sorry. I never meant to hurt you-” he puts his hands on my shoulders but I shrug him off.

“You say that a lot for someone who has repeatedly hurt me. Emotionally…” I turn back to face him “physically. And every time I make excuses for you, brush off the insults, hide the bruises because I thought I was in love with you. But I’m not. I don't love you. I haven’t loved you for a long time. I was just too scared to leave you. But I'm not scared anymore”

“I really think we should talk this through somewhere private” Father Crilly tries again but I shake my head. 

“I’m done.” I take Daniel’s hand and look him straight in the eye “Thank you for finally setting me free” 

I remove my engagement ring and place it in his hand before turning and walking back down the aisle to exit the church. Daniel runs after me, stopping me once we’re outside. 

“Y/N! Please just let me explain-”

“Did you ever stop to think how I would feel?” I spin around, taking him by surprise “When you were with her, did you consider me at all?” I pause, giving him the chance to respond but he doesn’t “See that’s the difference between you and me. All I ever do, all I’ve ever done, is think about you and how you’d react. A few days ago I kissed someone-”

“What?! Who?!” He yells, anger creeping onto his face

“Don't you dare get angry with me after what you’ve done!” I respond and he takes a deep breath “I could’ve done more. I had the opportunity to sleep with him. But I didn’t. Because I kept thinking about you, about how you would feel. And what you would do to me if you ever found out”

“I love you”

“No you don’t. If you did you wouldn’t have slept with my best friend. You don't love me, and that’s fine. I don't love you either, cause if I truly did then I wouldn’t have kissed the priest. I think we both just convinced ourselves we were in love because everyone else thought we were this fairytale love story. But maybe we were better off as friends.”

“Maybe” he says quietly, deep in thought “I’m really sorry, about everything. I treated you…terribly” 

Hearing a sincere, genuine apology from him, I finally feel at peace with it all. 

“It doesn’t matter now” I say, giving him a small smile “do you love Tiffany?”

He thinks for a moment before gently nodding his head. 

“I think so, yeah”

“You should tell her” I say, gesturing behind him as Tiffany comes running towards us. 

“Eva texted me.” She says breathlessly “Y/N, I am so sorry I should have-” 

I cut her off by pulling her into a hug.

“It’s okay” I say, releasing her and she looks at me in shock as I hand her my bridal bouquet “I hope you two are happy together. Really I mean that” 

I turn and walk away. 

“Where are you going?” Tiff calls after me.

“To get my happy ending” 

— — — — 

“Y/N?!” 

The priest looks at me confused as he answers his front door. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

“You lied to me” I say deadpan “you said Father Crilly would make sure it all ran smooth. But it didn’t. Something went very very wrong during the ceremony.”

“What happened?” He looks genuinely concerned

“Well a few things. The bride objected, and then the groom confessed to cheating with the former maid of honour. Then the bride confessed to kissing the former priest and they both confessed to not loving each other.”

He stands looking at me for a few moments, taking it all in. 

“Wow” he finally says “so not smooth then?”

“No” I burst out laughing and the priest joins in before turning serious again. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, searching my face.

“Yeah” I say after a moment, “more than okay, I’m great. I feel like a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders”

“That’s good”

There’s a comfortable silence before I speak again. 

“You know, during the ceremony I kept hearing you in my head. Saying ‘It’ll pass’. And I realised something”

“What?”

“I don't ever want this feeling to pass. This feeling I get when I think of you, when I’m with you.” I pause to take a breath “I love you” 

“I love you too Y/N”

I smile. 

“So what happens now?”

He takes a step toward me, closing the gap as he brings his hands up to my face and crashes his lips to mine.

— — — — 

I started this story by saying every girl dreams of her perfect wedding day. 

Well mine ended up being far from perfect. 

But as I lay here wrapped in the priest’s arms, for the first time in a long time I’m happy. I’m free. 

And I’m in love. 

[luckhound]

— heavy burdens.

pairing.  kaeya/gender neutral reader

genre.  angst

description.  on an important anniversary, kaeya gets drunk off his ass, bonds with a fellow captain, and realizes some burdens can’t ever be set back down.

warnings.  spoilers for kaeya and diluc’s character stories. mentions of alcohol and a character (kaeya) being under the influence.

note.  four months later and i’ve finally finished this fic after writing it on and off for that whole time mskfjdks a big thank you to sierra, miya, and grace for reading over the previous drafts of this and giving me their honest thoughts, love you ladies <3

He hadn’t expected to get shitfaced when he had first stepped foot in the tavern. Honest.

His plan for the evening was as follows: Go to Angel’s Share, chat with patrons, share some laughs, learn some secrets, and see where the night goes. Only the information he gleaned would tell how it ended; with him stumbling back to his quarters for a night’s rest, or ruminating on how to dismantle schemes that enemies of Mondstadt were concocting in the shadows.

So, the usual. Nothing too noteworthy.

Then he happened to overhear a conversation on the way there.

The two civilians spoke in low, somber tones about how it has been exactly one year since Master Crepus’s death and his son Diluc’s subsequent departure from Mondstadt. How terrible, they mused as they shook their heads, that the new winery master hasn’t been heard from since. He must still be in mourning over his father.

Kaeya nearly stopped in the middle of the crowded street. Was today really the one-year anniversary of Master Crepus’s death? How had it managed to slip his mind? He’s been busy lately with a promising lead, true, but to think that he would forget...

Which, long story cut ruthlessly short, leads him to where he is now. Tuning out his tumultuous thoughts with the help of alcohol and secrets.

Upon entering the tavern to raucous cheers, he had flitted from table to table like the social butterfly he's purported to be. The usual suspects greeted him with varying levels of warmth, inviting him to sit and keep them company. Stable hands and bandits alike shared a drink with him, words spilling from their lips like the fine wine they supped on.

After some time, though, he grew tired of their monotonous days and banal gripes. So he retreated to the bar counter. As he nursed a Death After Noon, he kept an ear out, listening carefully even as he chatted with Charles between customers.

Unfortunately, he hasn’t heard anything juicy yet. So and so is complaining about his wife, while someone else is haranguing her boss, and another is celebrating their birthday. Dull and uninteresting.

Can you blame him for getting so deep in his cups? There’s nothing else to do on such a slow night.

“So this is where you decided to hide out. Colour me surprised.”

Kaeya notes the shadow falling over the counter moments before a familiar drawl reaches his ears. He tilts his head up, blinking furiously when his vision blurs. The drinks he's downed thus far—how many has it been? He lost count after five, how unlike him—have certainly reached his bloodstream.

You stand beside his stool, your lips thinned into an unimpressed line. Despite how inebriated he is, the relevant information he has on you flashes through his mind. A Knight of Favonius. Captain of the Intelligence Team. Once a company grade officer, then sergeant, lieutenant, before ascending to captain upon the retirement of your superior.

As admired as he is by most of Mondstadt, you’re among the minority who are far from his biggest fans. For good reason, he supposes. During your first meeting, he had congratulated you on your promotion, before going on to flippantly insult your old captain. You’ve hated him ever since.

Which is why he’s puzzled by you approaching him first—outside of headquarters, at that. Such a phenomenon is rare, like catching a crystalfly in your hands.

“Captain! Fancy seeing you here,” he greets, adopting a jovial tone. Then your words register in his addled mind. “‘Hide out’, you said? Whatever would I do that for?”

You prop a hand on your hip. “You didn’t make an appearance at the meeting today. Needless to say, the Dandelion Knight isn’t too impressed with you at the moment.” You appraise him, looking underwhelmed by what you see. Ouch. “Strange. You don’t seem terribly ill to me.”

Ah. That. Kaeya had wanted to investigate some curious rumours he’d heard around the city, so he made up a flimsy excuse to dodge the captain’s meeting held this morning. Grand Master Varka likely hadn’t batted an eye over it, but not Jean. She’ll have concerns.

He hums noncommittally. The thought of annoying his oldest ally never fails to bring a smirk to his lips, but he isn’t quite in the mood right now. “Is that so. You must be here to sternly tell me to clean up my act then.”

You scoff. “Surely you don’t need a second babysitter. No, I’m off-duty, so I’m here for the same reason everyone else is: to drink.”

“Hear, hear.” He lifts his tankard as if to toast to you, but the sudden momentum causes him to sway dangerously in his seat.

“Careful!” Eyes widening in alarm, you reach out to steady him. “Geez, Alberich. How many drinks have you had?”

The palm of your hand is warm where it sits on his shoulder; he can tell that even with his furs in the way. He almost leans into the touch but catches himself at the last second. How mortifying. He can just picture your horrified reaction to him drunkenly nuzzling up against you.

Almost falling off his seat in a crowded tavern, instinctively seeking out your slightest touch... He needs to get a hold of himself. Or find a way to halt the conversation here, so he can resume drinking by his lonesome.

“Not nearly enough,” he answers airily, leaning an elbow on the bar counter. You drop your hand to your side; he makes a point to not stare at it as you do. “Where’s your entourage? I’m surprised they aren't following dutifully behind you.”

“They’re my subordinates, not my entourage.” You shift awkwardly. “And they aren’t here. It may surprise you, but they have lives outside of the Intelligence Team. They can enjoy one evening without their captain breathing down their necks.”

He eyes you in amusement. “In that case, you should join me. I would welcome the company.” He finishes off his tankard, then motions to Charles for another drink. The bartender doesn’t even ask which one as he takes the pewter mug. He knows him well by now, after all.

Kaeya expects you to turn him down and find a seat elsewhere. Usually, such an invitation is enough to send you running for the hills. You lean a hip against the counter instead, as if settling in. “If I am not mistaken, you’re needed at headquarters tomorrow. I strongly advise you to call it a night, Captain.”

“Aww, are you worried about me, Captain?” He manages a grin at the scowl his reply elicits. “Don’t be. It won’t be the first time I stumble into work hungover. Certainly won’t be the last either.”

“How reassuring,” you say dryly.

“I aim to please.”

He perks up when Charles returns with a full tankard. The delectable taste of Death After Noon still sits on his tongue, warm and heady. He very much wants to experience it again. When he lifts the mug to his mouth, however, he misses the rim. He steadies the tankard before it empties itself onto his lap, but some of the wine drips down his chin, ruining his vest.

Thank goodness he isn’t drinking red wine. Every adult in Mondstadt knows red wine stains are notoriously difficult to clean. Still, what a waste of a perfectly good sip.

“Oh, for Barbatos’s sake.” That’s all the warning he gets before his drink is rudely snatched from his hand. He protests but can only watch helplessly as you bring it to your lips.

Then you proceed to down it.

His brows raise higher and higher the longer your throat bobs. He's never seen you drink with such gusto before. Shouldn’t you be gasping for breath by now? But no, you empty the tankard in a single go, then slam it on the counter (Charles makes a face, but wisely says nothing) and meet his gaze without flinching.

Wow, is all that his intoxicated mind can conjure up at the feat.

“There, all done. Now let’s go. I am walking you back.” Your voice is firm, brooking no argument. How captain-like of you. “Wouldn’t want Mondstadt’s illustrious Cavalry Captain to be found passed out in an alleyway tomorrow.”

On any other day, he’d be mildly irked by your stubbornness. But he did just spill his drink down his front like a newborn babe. No wonder you brought up his rank. In your eyes, his conduct must not befit that of a high-ranking knight. He doesn’t care what assumptions people form about him, never has, but tonight has been a bust anyway. Maybe it's best to call it quits.

Sighing theatrically, he rises to his feet. “All right, I know when I have been beaten. But don’t change your plans on my account. I can head to the barracks by myself just fine.”

“I’m sure you can,” you say, “but letting you walk alone this late in your state would grate at my conscience. So would you stop talking for once, and let me take you home?”

You get what you want. Your words render him silent.

Home, you called the barracks. He supposes you consider that place your home. But is it his, truly?

He thinks of Khaenri’ah, nothing but a distant, bloody memory. He thinks of his father, and how in their final moments together, the man had stared through him like he wasn’t there. He thinks of the Dawn Winery, where he had spent several years causing mayhem. He thinks of Master Crepus, never dad, and a brother who doesn’t exist anymore.

No, the barracks aren’t his home. Maybe he’s never had one to begin with.

When he comes to, Kaeya registers you leading him in the direction of the tavern door, your hand on his shoulder blade. This quickly catches the attention of the patrons. They call out their goodbyes, some raising their tankards and others chuckling good-naturedly.

“Look at that! Our Cavalry Cap’n had too much to drink, eh?”

“What, are you tapping out already, Captain Kaeya?”

“Has to be escorted out by a fellow knight, no less!”

You wave over your shoulder. “Just doing my patriotic duty, that's all.”

Kaeya gives his audience an exaggerated wink (as well as he can with his one uncovered eye) followed by a lazy hand salute. His grin remains fixed in place until the door swings shut. The wooden barrier barely muffles the sounds of conversation and merriment coming from within.

Had it been that loud while he was inside? He hadn’t noticed.

He isn’t able to dwell on it for long, because you nudge him in the direction of headquarters. “Come on. We have a bit of a walk ahead of us. Let’s get to it.”

“Oh, very well. But only because you asked so nicely.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“I know. I was being sarcastic.”

You nudge him harder, and he snickers under his breath as he walks.

This time of night, the cobblestone streets seem devoid of life. With the exception of Patton, who’s practically asleep standing up, the two of you don’t run into anyone. It's a stark change from how the city usually is, bright and bustling with crowds.

It suits him just fine, though. The crisp night air is sobering him up somewhat, the fog that had settled over his mind thinning. All too soon, he recalls everything he was trying to suppress.

Master Crepus. Diluc. His callousness and cruelty in forgetting them both.

In hindsight, he should have taken his mug back from you instead of just gaping like a fool. Sobriety is such a drag.

“You’re quiet,” you comment. You’re staring at him intently, your expression eerily similar to Timaeus’s when he is observing an alchemical reaction. It’s as if he is a specimen that you are keen on studying under a microscope.

He wants to scowl, to snap at you. “My apologies,” he says instead, as innocent as can be. “Were you waiting for me to strike up a conversation? Hold on a moment, let me think of a good topic...”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. It’s just, usually it’s impossible to get you to stop talking. The times I have seen you...indisposed”—buzzed as a bee, you undoubtedly mean—“that doesn’t change. You talk more, if anything.”

Curiously, your voice softens, an odd cadence colouring it. One he has not heard from you before, not directed at him at least. “I guess I’m just wondering if something is weighing on your mind. Is that what prompted you to drink so much tonight?”

By now, the two of you have walked down the stairway to the Knights of Favonius’s bulletin board. Of course, Hertha isn’t there this late to assign requests and bounties. The pieces of parchment pinned to the board flutter in the breeze. He stares at the sketch of a Ruin Guard, willing his sluggish mind to craft a suitable answer.

After a beat, his eye slides over to you. An impish grin curls at the corners of his mouth. “My, I had no idea that you watched my every move so closely. I’m flattered by the attention.”

Predictably, you sputter. “What even—that is not—you know what, if you want to dodge the question so badly, fine. We can just walk the rest of the way in silence.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

Although his words were said to fluster you into changing the subject, as you had correctly deduced, Kaeya means them. You have noticed him far more than he realized. As Captain of the Intelligence Team, it’s your job to be observant and keep tabs on others. He knows that. Still, it’s disconcerting to learn that you’ve had a close eye on him in particular.

He operates from the shadows for a reason; he can’t have you jeopardizing that by shining a light on him. Five months into your new position, and already you have proven yourself to be dangerous.

As you wished for, silence reigns as the two of you turn into an alley and approach two flights of stairs, leading to the center of the city. Kaeya resists pressing a hand against the nearest wall for balance. He had walked down a stairway unaided just moments ago, despite how unsteady he felt. Surely ascending some steps would prove to be easier.

Rather than focus on his feet, he looks up ahead. From his position, he can just barely glimpse the blades of a windmill, ever-turning against the dark backdrop of the night sky. He keeps his gaze there as he climbs, his boots scraping against stone.

He clears the first flight of stairs with little issue. See? Nothing to it.

Halfway up the second, Kaeya stumbles.

His surroundings tilt, blurring as he fumbles for balance. It’s a futile effort. Thanks to how inebriated he is, his limbs are too heavy and uncoordinated. The stone below rushes up to meet him.

Before his face can greet it, however, you catch him.

Your side moulds against his, a hand clasping his hip while the other carefully grasps at his spiked pauldron. His gloved hand covers yours reflexively as his racing heartbeat settles. He feels you stiffen at the touch, but you don't pull away. Neither does he.

For a moment, not a word is spoken between you both. The alley is filled only with the soft sound of breathing.

Then you click your tongue. “So much for heading back by yourself. You can barely keep your feet under you.” Your voice lilts with humour.

He knows this song and dance. It has been ingrained in him after all these months. You snark at him, he snarks back. Rinse and repeat. Although this is the first time he has heard levity in your tone; the first time it has been aimed at him, that is. He almost hadn’t thought you capable of it.

He straightens with a chuckle. “First at the tavern, and now in an alley. I just keep falling for you tonight, don’t I?”

You blink owlishly. It takes a moment for the words to sink in. Then a flustered expression crosses your features, before you compose yourself. “You are unbelievable.”

He grins. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You roll your eyes, even as the corners of your lips twitch. “You would.”

Kaeya expects you to move away, so the two of you can resume walking, but you don’t. “Not that I mind having your hands on me, but...will you be letting go any time soon?”

“That depends.” A challenging glint appears in your eye. “Can you handle walking on your own? Or do you need me to cradle you the rest of the way to headquarters, like some damsel?”

He guffaws, taken off-guard by the retort. A reply escapes his loosened tongue before he can think better of it, “Archons, that sounded just like him.”

“Like who?”

“My brother.”

In the past, despite being underage, he was sometimes able to charm bartenders at Angel’s Share—new hires unaware of how to deal with him as of yet—into serving him drinks. Diluc would find him eventually, a disapproving twist to his mouth, and put a stop to it.

Back then, Kaeya was a lightweight and had to be supported back to headquarters. Diluc would scowl and roll his eyes the entire way, but there was still a softness in his gaze. His hands were strong, but careful; Kaeya knew that his brother would not let him fall. He could even be persuaded to join in when Kaeya began to sing, their off-key voices disturbing the silence of the night.

Come morning, while Kaeya nursed the inevitable headache and Jean nagged him about violating the Knights of Favonius Handbook, Diluc would snort. “Serves you right,” he’d say, then hand him a draught for curing hangovers.

Now Kaeya must weather the pain alone.

You tilt your head to the side, your gaze fixed on his. “I had no idea that you have a brother,” you say softly.

Had, he nearly corrects. But he has told you too much already.

This is why he is so careful when drinking in the company of others. Alcohol is a double-edged sword; as delectable as it is, it also loosens inhibitions. It’s what he relies on when charming information out of allies and adversaries alike, none of them the wiser of what they have given up.

How the tables have turned.

“Well, now you do.” A trace of bitterness enters his tone.

You eye him, quiet, before pulling back. You motion forward with your chin. “Let’s keep moving. We’ll never make it to headquarters at this pace.”

Relieved by the subject change, he listens. He makes a conscious effort to place one foot in front of the other, gaze trained on the remaining steps below. You stay at his side, closer than you were before. He can feel your hand hovering at the small of his back, ready to catch him should he trip once more, but he ignores it.

It won’t happen again. He’ll make sure of it.

The alley opens up to a view of the market district. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have long to enjoy the reprieve. The two of you turn right, away from the railing overlooking the main square, to climb two more flights of stairs. A left, and more stairways await.

By the time the Knights of Favonius Headquarters looms above you, Kaeya’s legs ache from the walk. He is very much looking forward to retiring to his quarters.

The knights stationed outside stiffen at the sight of you and Kaeya, standing at attention. They perform a salute in perfect unison. Do they rehearse that before every shift? Surely they must.

The guard on the left, with the glasses and unfortunate haircut, chirps, “Good evening, Captains! I hope you are doing well.” He appears wide awake despite the late hour.

At least the one on the right looks appropriately haggard. “Welcome back,” he grunts.

While Kaeya brushes past them with a nod of acknowledgement, eager to head inside, you stop. “Good evening, Athos, Porthos. Your shift ends soon, I hope? It can’t be terribly interesting, standing watch outside headquarters so late.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Captain!” Athos, as you had referred to him, says. “Guard duty may not be glamorous, but it is still important.”

“Much as I agree with the lad, I can’t bring myself to be so damn cheerful about it,” Porthos sighs, his words tinged with self-deprecation. “Must be ‘cause of these old bones.”

“That’s not true, Sir Porthos. Your bones aren’t that old!” the younger knight argues, prompting the older to shake his head with a chuckle.

“Athos isn’t wrong,” you add. “You are far more sprightly than most knights I know.”

“If that’s true, then Mondstadt is in trouble.”

Smiling and shaking your head, you finally pass by them, climbing the short steps to return to Kaeya's side. He lifts a brow as he pulls on one of the large oak doors, holding it open for you.

It’s almost comical how quickly your smile disappears. Your eyes narrow as you enter inside. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothing,” he says breezily, following after you. The door falls closed behind you both with a loud, echoing thud. “Just that I didn’t know you were so chummy with the guards.”

It is blindingly bright inside the Knights of Favonius Headquarters, as if it isn’t nearing midnight. The sconces on the walls are lit up, as is the chandelier hanging in the center of the main hall. The two of you make your way towards the—joy of all joys—staircase. The barracks for knights are located on the second floor, and on the floor above that, separate quarters for the captains.

“I am off-duty right now. It’s not unprofessional for me to speak informally with them.”

His eye widens. “Why, I never said it was unprofessional, Captain.”

You grind your teeth so hard he can practically hear the enamel wearing away. “You implied it.” No, he didn’t. Your distaste for him has you imagining mockery where there is none. As if Kaeya has any room to judge someone for acting unprofessional.

“I did? That’s news to me.” Privately, he marvels at how easily he can agitate you. Him, no one else—he has observed you long enough to know your prickliness is reserved for him alone. Maybe that’s why he annoys you further instead of clearing up the many miscommunications that tend to occur. Not that you’ll believe him, even if he’s being completely honest.

You huff. “How the Dandelion Knight manages to put up with you, I’ll never know,” you mutter.

“How rude, Captain! Jean doesn’t put up with me, she considers me indispensable.”

You cut a look at him. “Yes, I’m sure she thought the same when you failed to show up to today’s meeting.”

“Must you bring that up again? I shudder just thinking of the lecture she’ll have ready for me in the morning. Perhaps my mysterious ailment should plague me for a little while longer...”

“Prolonging the inevitable will do you no favours.” You pause briefly, then add, “Ah, I almost forgot to mention. After the meeting, I ran into Inspector Eroch. He was waiting outside and asked after you. He seemed irked when I informed him that you were absent today.”

If Kaeya was not so skilled at masking his reactions, he would’ve perked up at that. He might have even stopped in his tracks or whipped his head around to look at you. But he knows better than to give himself away so obviously. He leisurely climbs the steps, his features revealing only vague interest. “Oh? Somehow I doubt he was upset out of concern for my wellbeing.”

You glance over. “I wouldn’t know. He did not say anything when I asked why he wanted to see you, or if I could pass on a message. He just brushed me off and left.”

“Don’t be hurt by his shameful conduct, Captain. I for one enjoy your company immensely.”

You ignore his thoughtful statement. “I thought that he might have had a prior engagement with you, which you missed due to being terribly ill.”

He shrugs. “If we did, I don’t recall it.”

That earns him another look, longer than the one before. He doesn’t flinch away from it, his expression remaining serene. Privately, he wonders what you know. Are you merely intrigued by what Inspector Eroch might want with him? Or are you more aware than you’re letting on?

After all, Eroch is the one Kaeya has been secretly investigating for the past year.

Looks like the inspector has caught on. About time. No doubt he wants to figure out just how much Kaeya knows—which is not much, unfortunately. He knows that Eroch has more than just Mondstadt’s best interests in mind; a Fatui spy like him would have just the opposite. But he is unsure what the man is up to, or who he even is.

He does, however, have an inkling. Several, even.

Inspector Eroch had been insistent on covering up the details of Master Crepus’s death. For the good of Mondstadt, he claimed, not wanting the citizenry to lose faith in the Knights of Favonius. Grand Master Varka had ultimately sided with him. It resulted in Diluc resigning his position and leaving the city a year ago.

Kaeya had kept an eye on the inspector after that. He knew there was more to the situation than just preserving Mondstadt’s trust in the Knights, and it had everything to do with the dangerous and evil power Master Crepus had harnessed. It was only a matter of figuring out what. And once he has all of the information...

Well, he knows what Diluc would do, once upon a time. Blazing with righteous fury, he’d take his findings to Grand Master Varka, insisting on Eroch’s arrest and expulsion from the Knights of Favonius. He would see it as retribution for how poorly his father’s death had been handled.

But Kaeya suffers from no delusions. Maybe he looked into Eroch because of Master Crepus. Maybe he wanted some kind of revenge for what happened. Maybe he yearned to atone for his past inaction. None of that means he has any heroic intentions.

If it serves his interests better, he won’t expose the inspector immediately. He will hoard his knowledge instead, keeping his cards close to his chest until it’s the right time to play them.

That is how he has always operated. Master Crepus's death and Diluc's departure have not changed that. For a brief, nonsensical moment, he wishes they had. Then common sense returns to him. A foolhardy sense of justice is of no use to him. He’ll leave that to Diluc.

While he extricates himself from his wayward thoughts, you turn away to clear the last few steps. “If it is important, surely he will try to approach you again,” you say.

“I look forward to it with bated breath.”

You scoff, rightfully skeptical, but don’t respond. Clearly, you are content to leave it at that.

He wonders at how easily you let the subject drop. Had you suspected something, you would have pushed to learn more, wouldn’t you? Now is as opportune a time as any; it’s late, he’s tired and drunk, and the both of you are alone. Does that make you oblivious, or an idiot, or crafty?

Having made it to the third floor, the two of you make your way down the hallway. His quarters are before your own, three doors on the left. He stops in front of his door, reaching into one of many hidden coat pockets to produce his key.

He glances at you. You have yet to leave for own your room. “You don’t have to hover at my side, you know,” he says with a touch of amusement. “I may be tipsy, but I am no longer in any danger of being harassed by ruffians or passing out in the streets. Unless you're secretly harbouring nefarious intentions towards me, Captain.”

“You’ll just have to wait and find out,” is your unruffled response.

Chuckling under his breath, he unlocks his door and lets it swing open wide. It’s dark inside, faint moonlight shining through the small window above his desk. Coupled with the sconces out in the hallway, however, there is enough light for him to stumble to his bedside without stubbing a single toe. He doesn’t bother to close the door on you; he has nothing to hide.

Kaeya knows what his quarters must look like to a stranger. They’re a mess, as if someone had searched them in a haste and not bothered to clean up afterward. The walls are bare, save for a map of Mondstadt that he’d hung up ages ago. Tomes of all sizes and loose leaves of parchment litter his oak desk, pushed up against a wall. A quill lies abandoned atop a half-finished note with ink drying on its nib. His closet door is cracked open, a discarded boot dissuading anyone from forcing it shut.

Yes, his quarters are a mess. But he knows exactly where everything is. Should someone actually attempt to search his things, he would know immediately. Not that they would find anything particularly damning. He isn’t foolish enough to leave important documents or sensitive information lying about—nothing he is unwilling to part with, anyway.

“Horrifying, but unsurprising,” he hears you mutter to yourself.

Kaeya doesn’t even consider slipping out of his ruined clothes or engaging you in further conversation. Now that he has made it back to his quarters, all he can think about is the sweet embrace of sleep. He sinks into his unmade bed, draping an arm over his face.

You continue to linger in the doorway. “You should change before you fall asleep.”

“Mhm.”

“You'll regret not doing so in the morning.”

“Uh-huh.” He still doesn’t move.

“Alberich. You stink of booze.”

“You sure know how to compliment a guy, Captain. I’m impressed.”

You sigh, long and loud. He waits to hear the door close behind you, only for you to walk up to his bedside. Your steps are slow, hesitant yet purposeful. He stiffens, immediately on-guard, but fights his instincts in order to remain still. What are you planning?

He feels you grip his boot. Metal jingles as you undo the buckle. Then you pry it off.

He lifts his arm to peer up at you. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” You set his boot on the ground, then move on to the other one. “If you won’t change, you should at least take off your shoes. You’ll dirty your sheets otherwise.”

Oh, you make it so easy for him to twist everything you say into an innuendo. For once he resists the urge. “You forgot something,” he says instead. He wiggles his sock-clad foot at you. Just to see if you will do it.

You grimace, swatting his leg away. “Absolutely not. I don’t want to be anywhere near those.”

So you say. But you’re taking his boots off for him out of your own volition. There is no need for you to do any of this. It’s not your duty to stop him from drinking himself into a stupor, or walk him back to headquarters unharmed, or all but tuck him into bed. Yet here you are.

What is it that you want? There have been plenty of opportunities for you to try and take advantage of his drunken state, but you have sidestepped every one. Frustration brews in his sternum.

“Do you do this for everyone who you hate?” he finds himself asking, tone purposely lighthearted.

You pause in your ministrations to stare at him. “What? I don't hate you.” At his disbelieving look, you insist, “I don’t. You have always been a pain to deal with, sure, but I never once felt that way.”

He smiles, unconvinced. “Not even when I insulted your dear old captain?”

“Insulted my... That was months ago, when we first met.” Despite your bewilderment, you take a moment to contemplate his question. “I was upset with you, yes. But now that I’ve had this position for some time...maybe your assessment wasn’t off. When I was lieutenant, I didn’t always see eye-to-eye with my captain. They were too set in their ways and scorned most criticism. I respected them, and still do, but I shouldn’t be ignorant of their faults.”

Your gaze meets his once more. “In a way, what you said that day led me to realize that. You weren’t badmouthing my captain; you didn’t have a vendetta or want to get a rise out of me. At least, I don’t think you did. You must have legitimate issues with their leadership, as a captain yourself.”

He watches you shrewdly. Your tone was even, your expression clear. He cannot detect any deception from you. Of course, that means little. Still, perhaps you’re telling the truth. Perhaps you don’t hate him after all.

A headache, newly formed, pounds at his temple. If he were more sober, he would be better equipped to handle such a revelation. He’ll have to come to a proper conclusion later.

You fiddle with the buckle on his remaining boot. “And what about you?”

“Hmm? What about me?”

“You have ample reason to look down on me. Most of the knights know that you aren’t just Cavalry Captain and Quartermaster. Your role is more important than that. Surely you would make a better...” you trail off, your jaw working silently.

Kaeya knows how that sentence ends. Surely you would make a better Captain of the Intelligence Team than me. It doesn’t come as a surprise.

Up until now, he thought he knew you well. You made it no secret you loathed him. You have never said so explicitly, but he has a talent for reading people. It’s a classic case of envy. He has seen it many times before. You compare yourself to him and find yourself wanting. It colours the way you interact with him; your words brusque, your gaze narrowed.

Not only did he insult your captain, but you consider him more capable than you. Your hatred makes sense. It’s predictable.

Or so he believed, until tonight.

“You know what, never mind. Forget I asked.” Uh-oh. Seems he took too long to respond. You busy yourself with unbuckling his boot, avoiding his eye.

If he were to be honest, there are many ways he could answer you. He thinks you are a better captain than your superior could ever hope to have been. He thinks you are a leader capable of inspiring undying loyalty in your officers. He thinks you have a deep, unflinching love for Mondstadt and its people. He thinks you constantly push yourself to greater heights, to the point it lights a fire in him as well.

He admits to none of those things, in the end.

“Give yourself some credit, Captain,” he murmurs. You glance over in surprise. He meets your gaze. For perhaps the first time in a while, he hopes his words sound sincere—not because he doesn’t mean them, but because he does. “I know the officers under your supervision think you’re a good leader. They wouldn’t want anyone else to take your place.” Certainly not someone like me.

Instead of reassuring you, however, his answer seems to do the opposite. You look frustrated. “That isn’t what I...” you trail off. You search his features, silent, before your brow furrows. “I can’t tell if you mean what you just said. Sometimes I’m not sure I ever can.”

He takes care not to allow his features to visibly harden. Of course you would doubt him, the one time he tries to be honest with you. What else did he expect? Maybe you don't hate him, maybe you never have, but that means little. You won’t ever fully trust him. To be fair, the feeling is mutual.

His mouth tastes unbearably bitter. It must be the wine.

“At this point, I’m willing to say just about anything if it’ll mean I can get some shut-eye.” He feels no satisfaction upon seeing your shoulders stiffen. He still manages to grin. “Well, Captain? Any other requests?”

“No,” you say. Then you tug off his boot with a brisk motion.

He stifles a yelp. “Hey, now! No need to be so rough.”

“My sincere apologies.” You set the boot down next to his other one, your lips thinned. “I should go. Wouldn’t want you to lose more sleep than you already have. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow, after all.”

Talk about vindictive. Despite his irritation, he has to fight a smile. Knowing you, you’ll see it and take it the wrong way, as you usually do.

Having finished removing his boots, you turn and walk for the door without another word.

He’s struck with the odd urge to stop you. To reach out, take your hand in his, and tug you back. Not because he wants something from you, or needs to tell you something. He wishes you would stay a little longer, that’s all. Wants the silence to be filled by your voice instead of his thoughts.

Now he knows he’s had too much to drink. He’s contemplating such ridiculous things.

Before his addled mind can catch up and he can say something, apologize perhaps, you shut the door behind you. Your footsteps travel down the hallway, slightly hurried. The door to your quarters creaks open then closed.

He’s too late. It’s for the best.

Kaeya lies back and stares up at the ceiling. His vision swims, as if he’s adrift at sea. Closing his eye only makes it worse.

His mind pores over the events of the day. Investigating Eroch, remembering Master Crepus and Diluc, visiting the tavern, running into you. He feels restless, pulled in several directions at once.

With a harsh exhale, he rises to his feet and locks his door. Then he begins his nightly ritual.

His pauldron is first to go. It hits the floor with a dull noise. Then he peels off his gloves and tosses them on the desk. The burns on his hands have long since healed, but he still deals with numbness now and then. Not many know they even exist; he doesn’t want anyone taking advantage of a potential weakness. His eyepatch follows closely after.

He removes the Cryo Vision from his belt last. He stares at it, its blue glow washing over his scarred palm and turning his skin a sickly brown hue. If it’s been a year since Master Crepus’s death, it has been about a year since he was gifted a Vision as well. The sight of it has been a hard reminder ever since. Of how he’d won a difficult battle. Of how he’d finally revealed the truth. Of how he can never speak it again.

He tucks the Vision under his pillow, then collapses back into bed. An odd sensation fills him, as it does every time he completes this ritual. It’s like he has taken off every scrap of armour he has and foolishly exposed himself to danger, despite being alone in the stillness of his quarters.

Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling, he closes his eyes and waits for sleep to take him under.

It never does.

[theraspberryler]

IRL Benchtrio Tickle Fic (creative, I know)

Welp, here you go! This is my first ever fic, and I’m actually kinda happy with how it turned out. 

Summary: Ranboo’s staying with Tubbo in the UK, and Tommy goes over to visit them. However, Ranboo ends up finding himself in a,, mood, of sorts. He overthinks the situation too much and ends up freaking out, but luckily, he’s got two awesome friends who are there for him! (hurt/comfort)

~This is a tickle fic! If that’s not your thing, then move on please~

TW - Panic attack, self deprecating thoughts, let me know if I need to add anything else

Ranboo had been in the UK with Tubbo for a couple days now, and the two of them have been having a blast, the pure joy and excitement of finally getting to see each other in person had given them the energy to keep going constantly over the past two days, with them doing multiple streams and other activities. They had decided to meet up with Tommy that day, planning to record a vlog for Tommy’s vlog channel, but the past nights of practically no rest had caught up to the two, and when Tommy arrived at Tubbo’s house and saw how exhausted they appeared, he insisted they take the day to rest. They could record the vlog later, it wasn’t a big deal.

Of course, Tubbo and Ranboo immediately protested, but once Tommy made up his mind he was a force to be reckoned with. Eventually they settled to spend the day relaxing at Tubbo’s house, no cameras, and Ranboo had to admit, it was pretty nice. The three of them hadn’t had the chance to just talk without the stress of cameras being in their faces for quite a while, and they all needed the chance to just mess around and act like kids. No need to worry about carefully choosing their words to avoid any discourse. 

Tommy was currently sitting in the chair at Tubbo’s desk, aimlessly spinning in circles as he recalled the events of the previous day, waving his hands around with an animated expression. Tubbo and Ranboo were seated on opposite ends of Tubbo’s bed, Tubbo laughing at Tommy’s over dramatic retelling of,,, something. Despite his best efforts, Ranboo couldn’t seem to pay attention to Tommy’s words. He told himself that he didn’t know what was causing his fidgety mood, but he knew he was lying to himself. 

Earlier that day when Tommy first arrived, he shoved the door open with his usual flair, and loudly announced his arrival. Obviously excited to see him, Tubbo and Ranboo rushed over to greet him. Ranboo had instantly gathered Tommy up into a hug and held him close. And despite the show Tommy put up of not liking Ranboo, he latched onto the other as well, though of course not without poking fun at the other for being so eager to greet him, and a few playfully exchanged insults. That had been great, the thought brought a smile to his face. The part that had Ranboo squirming in his seat right now, was the way Tommy scribbled his nails into his sides after not being able to come up with a witty comeback to one of Ranboo’s playful jabs. It was brief, and after laughing at the squawk Ranboo let out good-naturedly, he dropped it. But, it was more than enough to send Ranboo’s brain spiralling into a lee mood, which only intensified as the playful atmosphere in the room continued.

Ranboo had told Tubbo before about this,,, liking of his before, and he had responded with only positivity, and he knew deep down that Tommy wouldn’t judge him either, but he still tried to forcefully shove the mood down, still telling himself that it was weird, and that Tommy and Tubbo would surely mock him if he admitted to them how he was feeling. 

The only problem was, while Ranboo was lost in thought, the other two had noticed how unusually quiet he had been, and Tommy paused his storytelling, asking if he was alright. At the attention being turned to him, Ranboo froze up, and his nerves kicked in, but he still tried to play it off. 

“I-I uhm, y-yeah, I’m fine.” Ranboo cursed himself for his lousy attempt to reassure them, and the other two clearly didn’t buy it.

“You sure, ‘Boo? If we’re doing something to make you uncomfortable, you can tell us.” Curse Tubbo for being so damn sweet, and those big, worried eyes that were carefully observing him. Ranboo fidgeted in place, refusing to make eye contact with either in the room. He was silent, getting increasingly frustrated with himself. Why couldn’t he come up with a response? Why did he have to be so bad at social interaction? This is so stupid for me to get worked up about, just say something! 

As Ranboo remained silent, Tommy and Tubbo’s concern for him only grew, and Tommy pushed himself up from the chair he was sitting in. making his way over to sit on the bed next to him. Seeing how uncomfortable Ranboo seemed, they didn’t push him to talk anymore, and both shuffled around to sit on either side of him. Ranboo risked a glance to his side, and, catching his gaze, Tommy offered him a kind smile, slowly reaching out to softly grasp his hand. And, oh shit, Ranboo could feel that familiar burning behind his eyes, and he quickly pulled his knees up to his chest, burying his face into them. God, why were they always so sweet to him? He was getting so worked up and upset over a stupid mood, and couldn’t even manage to say anything to them! In his frustration with himself, the tears in his eyes began to overflow, and his breath hitched.

Tubbo pressed up closer to him, bringing his arms up to wrap around Ranboo, before he paused.

“Hey, ‘Boo, it's alright. Can I touch you?” Ranboo managed a nod at that, and Tubbo wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. It was a little awkward with Ranboo being so much taller than him, but the embrace still served its purpose and Ranboo melted into his touch. Tommy brought his free hand up to Ranboo’s back, rubbing circles into it.

“Hey, Ranboo, it's okay. We’re here. Breathe with me, yeah?” He hadn’t even noticed how his breathing had sped up, but he allowed Tommy to guide him through the panic attack, as he counted their breaths, in and out, moving the hand on his back up and down along with the rhythm. 

After a few minutes of counting and failed attempts, Ranboo had managed to considerably calm down. In that time, the three of them had managed to maneuver into a laying down position, both Ranboo and Tubbo practically laying on top of Tommy, nearly crushing him, but somehow, they were comfortable. After a couple more moments of them all breathing together, Tubbo broke the silence.

“Hey, ‘Boo, you think you could manage to tell us what happened? You don’t have to, but it would help Tommy and I be able to help you.” Ranboo took a deep, stuttering breath, before he opened his mouth to speak. His voice was rough and scratchy, but he pushed on anyway. 

“I-Its stupid, really. I was just in a certain, u-uh,, m-mood, and got frustrated with myself. I-I’m fine, really, I was just upset that I couldn’t say what I was thinking.” Tubbo caught on to what Ranboo meant by “mood” pretty quickly, Ranboo having told him about it before. Tommy still didn’t know what he meant by that, but pushed on anyways, and spoke up. 

“That's not stupid at all, not being able to say what you’re thinking can be really frustrating and scary. You did a great job just now, though, with telling us what happened, I’m proud of you for that.” Ranboo whined at the slight praise, though he couldn’t deny how Tommy’s words and reassurances made him feel better. 

Tubbo forced himself to sit up, stretching his arms and rubbing his eyes. 

“Why don’t we put on a movie? And, uh,, if you wanted to um,, do something about that mood, ‘Boo, we could. Or not! Whatever you’re comfortable with, I don’t wanna push you! We could just watch the movie!” Tubbo was hesitant to offer; not because he didn’t want to help Ranboo with his mood, oh no, he just didn’t wanna make him uncomfortable, or make him feel like he had to.

At the offer, Ranboo felt his face heat up. Wow, and to think that he could have just gotten that so easily. Ranboo pushed the mildly self-deprecating thought away, and shyly nodded in response, hiding his face in his hands. Tommy, still confused as ever, just watched their interaction, not saying anything.

Tubbo gently pulled one of Ranboo’s hands away from his face, offering him a reassuring smile.

“Is it alright if I explain to Tommy, ‘Boo? You know he would never judge you.” Ranboo looked away and nervously bit his lip, but nodded after a few moment’s hesitation, pulling his hand back. Tommy looked between the two, his confused expression growing concerned, both because he was worried this “mood” Ranboo was in was something bad, and because Ranboo had thought that he would judge him for it. Tubbo noticed Tommy’s concern, however, and was quick to set him straight as he guided Ranboo to lay down on the bed of his back. 

“Don’t worry, Toms, it's nothing bad. Ranboo explained it to me over Discord one night. I’m pretty sure he called it a ‘lee mood,’ which basically just means that he's in the mood to be tickled!” Tubbo didn’t miss the flustered squeak that Ranboo let out when he said the word, and smiled fondly at him, even though Ranboo couldn’t see it, since he was covering his face. 

Tommy, upon hearing that indeed nothing was wrong and this “mood” was something as sweet and innocent as that, instantly lit up. 

“Awe, Ranboo, that's so sweet! There's nothing wrong with that at all! You want us to tickle you, big man? Is that alright?” Ranboo squeaked again, and thought this just may be the most flustered he's ever been, but it’s not a bad feeling. Definitely not. 

He couldn’t even attempt to hide how happy Tommy’s positive response made him, and at the light, teasing tone in Tommy’s voice towards the end sent tingles down his spine. Unable to find his words, Ranboo just nodded in response, curling up slightly. He let out yet another squeak as he felt someone’s hands on his sides, unable to hold in his anticipatory giggles even though the hands weren’t even moving yet. He shyly peaked out from behind his hands to see who had placed their hands on him, only to immediately hide again as the other two cooed at his reaction. 

“Giggling already, ‘Boo? I haven’t even done anything!” Ranboo shook his head in response, his giggles heightening in pitch. 

“Dohohon’t tehehease!” Tubbo pouted playfully at Ranboo, not that he could see him.

“Awe, why not? It's fun teasing you, because I get to see your adorable little flush and hear your sweet giggles!” Ranboo only whined louder, causing both lers to laugh. 

Tubbo began to lightly massage little circles into Ranboo’s sides where his hands were laying, occasionally scratching his nails into the sensitive skin. Ranboo, his sides being a fairly bad spot and already being wound up from the teasing and anticipation, let out an embarrassingly loud squeal, arching his back.

“Whoa, did you see that Toms? His sides must be sooo ticklish!” Tubbo snickered. 

As much as he was enjoying watching Tubbo tickle Ranboo to bits, Tommy decided he was bored of just watching, and would find a spot as well. After a couple moments of consideration, Tommy fluttered his fingers over Ranboo’s neck, gasping excitedly at the squeaky giggles the spot produced. Ranboo shook his head back and forth and scrunched up his shoulders, still keeping his hands over his face. 

“C’mon, ‘Boo, stay still for me, yeah? It’s hard for me to tickle you when you’re moving around all over the place.” 

Ranboo still couldn’t believe this was actually happening, it had been such a long time since he’d been tickled, he honestly wasn’t sure where he was ticklish, or even if he was ticklish at all anymore. 

So when Tommy’s fingers glided over his ears by accident, even he was surprised by the shrill shriek that he let out. The sound startled the other two into stopping for a moment, and Ranboo felt himself flush darker. He was about to start apologising when suddenly Tommy’s fingers were back to his ears, tracing his nails around the shells of them. 

“Holy shit ‘Boo, I didn’t even know someone’s ears could be so ticklish,” Tommy giggled. 

“SHUHut uhuhuhup!” Ranboo’s plea fell on deaf ears, as Tubbo picked up his tickling at Ranboo’s sides. 

“No fair! How come Tommy gets the good spot?” Tubbo playfully complained, a childish pout on his face. Tommy let out his signature barking laugh, and stuck his tongue out at the other. 

“Sucks to suck, bitch boy!” Tubbo just huffed in response, deciding to try out a different spot; maybe he could find a spot worse than his ears. 

Ranboo would normally laugh at them and play along with their childish antics, but something about how they were talking about tickling him so casually was extremely flustering to him.

“Guhuhuys! NohoHOHO!” Tubbo’s fingers had pressed into the divots between Ranboo’s ribs, vibrating them in place. Ranboo threw his head back in laughter, his hands finally leaving his face to instead latch onto Tubbo’s wrists, though he didn’t push them away. 

Tubbo grinned victoriously, flashing Tommy a cocky smirk as Ranboo began kicking his legs out underneath him. Tommy just growled in response, immediately searching for a new spot. He experimentally squeezed at Ranboo’s thigh, being rewarded with another hiccup, but not much else. Tommy pouted as Tubbo cackled at him, narrowing his eyes at the shorter.

“‘Sucks to suck,’ huh Toms?” Tubbo mocked, eyes lighting up as he reached Ranboo’s upper ribs, causing Ranboo to let out a louder hiccup than the others and a squeak. 

Ranboo couldn’t even attempt to form proper words now, between how hard he was laughing and how flustered he was, and he was enjoying every second of it. After a bit longer, Tubbo began to slow down his fingers, allowing Ranboo to take a breather. 

As Ranboo began to recover, Tommy smirked as he got an idea. He gracelessly shoved Tubbo off of Ranboo, earning him an undignified squawk from the shorter, before he sat himself on Ranboo’s hips and unleashed all ten of his fingers along his belly. 

Ranboo jolted like he was electrocuted, not expecting the sudden attack, before snorting and falling into loud belly laughter. As Tommy crowed victoriously, Tubbo couldn’t even bring himself to be upset that he lost their little ‘competition,’ instantly cooing at Ranboo. 

“Awwe, does someone have a ticklish belly?” After a moment of violent thrashing, Ranboo went limp, and just accepted his fate. Even though he was laughing so hard his belly was starting to hurt, and he could feel tears prickling in the corners of his eyes, he couldn’t deny how good this felt. To be so carefree around his friends, not even trying to muffle or contain his reactions as he snorted and laughed to his heart's content. 

“NAHAHAHA- *snort* T-TOHOHOMS!” Tommy laughed as his name was called out, pulling his hands away from Ranboo’s belly, flopping on the bed next to him. Tubbo climbed back up on the bed as well, laying himself across the other two. Tommy grunted from Tubbo’s weight being added onto him, and pulled Ranboo into his arms, rubbing his back soothingly. Ranboo buried his face into Tubbo’s hair, trying to regulate his breathing. After a minute of comfortable (almost) silence and Ranboo’s giggling still hadn’t let up, Tubbo laughed, rubbing his shoulder. 

“You alright, Boo?” Ranboo nodded, his head falling back against the bed, taking deep breaths.

“Y-yeahahaha, I’m goohohod.” Tommy fondly rolled his eyes as the giggling still didn’t completely stop, pulling the two closer to him. Tubbo shifted around, wrapping himself around Ranboo, before relaxing and closing his eyes. The only two followed shortly after him.

“Softyinnit.”

“Shut the fuck up Tubbo.” 

[keanureevesisbae]

sugar sugar - the planning 4.0

Summary: The two of them are coming back from their bachelor/bachelorette parties

Sugar Daddy!Henry Cavill x Becky Kim (asian OFC)

Warnings: Sex, blowjob, squirting

Wordcount: 2.3k

A/N: Their wedding is coming closer!

Masterlist // Sugar Sugar Masterlist // Sugar Sugar the wedding Masterlist // Previous chapter //

April 3rd 1 a.m.

This night seemed never ending, but it was kinda funny nonetheless. Seeing Genevieve live out her Magic Mike fantasy, made me turn into the Regina George’s mom of Mean Girls and film her as two attractive oiled up men were grinding up against her, while Viola kept screeching out of sheer awkwardness.

With a smile on my face, I walk into the apartment, only to discover an absolutely parched Henry on the couch. He takes a sip out of a water bottle, which is a rare sight. When he is drained like this, he usually needs a whiskey to feel better. ‘What happened to you?’ I ask, causing him to look up.

‘They pulled me into a strip club,’ Henry answers, his eyes tired and followed by a deep sigh.

They as in Greg, Noah, Gino and Peter. This must’ve been Genevieve planning the entire thing. ‘Me too,’ I chuckle. ‘Just so you know, your bare ass has my preference.’ I kick off my heels and straddle his thick thighs, before wrapping my arms around his neck. ‘You look like you’ve seen multiple ghosts over the course of the night. It couldn’t possibly be that terrible.’

Henry starts to laugh. ‘It was. I don’t think I have ever been this uncomfortable. I absolutely despised that place.’

‘Why?’ I ask him, undoing his tie a bit.

‘I had no idea they would take me there,’ he says. ‘And don’t get me wrong, those women were beautiful and good at their job, but I couldn’t stop thinking of you. It felt like borderline cheating to me.’

I don’t think I ever have to worry about Henry being unfaithful to me. Such a sweetheart. He continues to talk about the perverted types sitting there and how one guy even started to help himself a little, but because he is so busy talking, he barely notices I’m unbuttoning the top of his shirt, before taking off my thin cardigan, revealing only a light blue crop top.

Only when he finally manages to tear his gaze from the ceiling, he stops talking. ‘Oh,’ he says, leaning forward to press a kiss on my cheek. ‘This I like.’

‘I knew it,’ I say. ‘I’m the only one you want.’

‘Of course,’ he scoffs. ‘Why on earth would I want someone else?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know. Just be honest with me. Didn’t it turn you on even a little? I mean, you told me yourself they were beautiful.’

‘Yeah, they were, but they didn’t turn me on,’ he says. ‘I mean, years ago it maybe would’ve, but now, you are the only one that can turn me on. Nobody and nothing beats your body, your kisses and your whimpers.’ He kisses my lips. ‘I love you and only you.’

‘Hm,’ I say with a smile. ‘I am probably the luckiest woman on the planet. I mean, I wouldn’t mind if you were turned on a little.’

‘Were you?’

I shake my head. ‘Oh no, I barely had time for that. I mean, besides filming Genevieve having the time of her life, I just admired certain dance moves. Damn, do those men know how to move those hips.’ I run my fingers through his hair. ‘And I know I said it before, but I’ll say it again: your ass is my absolute favorite and I prefer your hairy chest over those smooth oiled up ones I saw there.’

He starts to laugh. ‘Good thing your body is my favorite as well. No one can meet up to the standards you set.’

‘You’re so cute,’ I say to him with a chuckle. ‘Especially because you’ve spend an entire night at a strip club and now is the time where you grow a little excited.’

‘Teasing me, baby girl?’ he chuckles darkly, giving me a long kiss.

‘Maybe a little, it’s just that it’s the best way for you to give me a compliment.’ I step off his lap, before I unzip his fly. ‘Just relax, okay?’

‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m already relaxed,’ he says.

I sit on my knees in front of the couch, before I pull down his pants. He leans back, after he holds my hairs in his hand. I let my tongue run over his tip and he groans softly. The grip on my hair tightens and I look up, meeting his eyes, his teeth sunk in his bottom lip.

Deciding I’m not gonna tease him too long (he has had a long night), I slowly take more and more of him in my mouth. The tip of his cock hits the back of my throat, but thanks to the many secret blowjobs underneath his desk, my gag reflex is becoming less of a reflex now. He softly forces me down a little further and I let out a moan. The vibrations cause him to buck up his hips, leaving me to slightly gag on him.

‘Oh, shit baby, I’m sorry,’ he says.

I look up, drool dripping down my chin. ‘It’s okay, honey.’

‘Oh, it’s honey now?’ he asks cocking his eyebrow. ‘We’re not in public, so you better call me something else.’

I smile. ‘I’m sorry, daddy.’ My thighs are pushed against each other, as the heat gathers in my thong. Hearing him like this, feeling him bucking up his hips and the slight pulling on my hair. It does things to me.

When I release him with a pop, he softly pulls me up by my hair, before he presses a sloppy kiss on my lips. ‘Take off your clothes, baby girl,’ he says.

I quickly shred myself from the blue crop top that didn’t need a bra and the matching short. When my thong hits the floor, Henry grabs me by my waist, squeezing the soft flesh. ‘I love you,’ he whispers. ‘In around three weeks we’re married and you’re officially my wife.’

I can’t stop my faint blush. ‘We’re gonna get married,’ I say. ‘I can’t wait.’

He hoists me up and says: ‘Me neither.’ I expect him to take this to the bedroom, but he is too damn impatient, because he bends me over the back of the couch. Without a lot of preparation, he slides deep inside of me.

I try to gain some sort of stance, but my toes are barely touching the floor. He tightly grabs onto my hips. I push the palms of my hands in the cushions of the couch to hold myself up, as Henry rams himself roughly back inside of me. I bite my lip to stop myself from moaning out loud, but it earns me a harsh slap on my butt.

‘I need to hear you, baby girl,’ he grunts.

A strangled moan leaves my lips, before it’s followed by many loud moans that fill the living room. ‘Daddy, I’m close,’ I whine and I really wished I hadn’t said that, because he pulls out, leaving me nearly begging for more.

‘I know you’re gonna make a mess,’ he says, ‘since you always do so.’ He pulls me up and smiles. ‘We don’t want to ruin the couch, right?’

I shake my head. ‘No, we don’t.’

He carries me to the kitchen counter, placing me on the cold granite. He buries his member into my throbbing center, holding my chin in between his fingers. ‘So fucking beautiful,’ he mumbles. His thumb runs over my bottom lip, before he pulls me in a deep kiss. I open my mouth, our tongues so familiar with one another.

As his tip kisses my cervix every single time he thrusts in, it nearly forces a whiney moan out of me. He always goes deep, but it’s different this time. It feels so so different. ‘Daddy, you’re so deep.’

He smiles. ‘I know that, baby girl. You like that, don’t you?’

I nod, feeling myself flutter around him. ‘Can I cum?’ I ask, digging my nails in his shoulders.

‘Of course, baby.’

I throw my head back, as I squirt around him, indeed making such a mess. He knows me too well. As I ride out my high, Henry buries his face in my neck, sucking on the delicate skin there. I cry out, sensitivity taking over and my nails marking his back. He grunts as he paints my velvet walls from the inside, his fingers tips digging deep in my legs.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whimper, as insecurity takes over. ‘Daddy, I’m so sorry.’

‘What’s wrong, baby?’ he asks. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘I made such a mess.’ My legs are sticky, I know his legs are too and let’s just not say anything about the walls of the kitchen island.

‘Have I ever complained about that before?’ Henry asks with a cocked eyebrow.

I shake my head. ‘No.’

He cradles my face in his hands and whispers: ‘Then don’t you worry about it, okay?’

‘I’m sorry,’ I chuckle nervously. ‘I’ll try.’

Henry cocks his head, taking in every feature of my face. ‘Something’s bothering you?’ he asks me.

Maybe a little. ‘Not necessarily,’ I whisper.

‘You want to talk about it?’

I bite my lip. ‘It’s stupid.’

‘You could never say something stupid,’ he says. ‘How about a bath?’

‘Sounds good.’

✤ ✤ ✤

With my back against Henry’s chest, I stare at the ceiling in the bathroom. We’re engulfed in warm water and he finally asks: ‘So, what’s going inside your head, baby girl?’

‘Well,’ I say, ‘the other day it kinda hit me that… When you and I get married, there is a possibility for a divorce. You can exchange me for anyone you want.’

He wraps his arms around my upper body, pulling me closer to him. ‘And why would I do that?’

‘I don’t know. An opportunity?’

He gives me a kiss on top of my head. ‘I love you and only you, mrs Becky Cavill. I am not spending a lot of money on a wedding I know will fail. Heck, I wouldn’t even proposed to you if I wasn’t this serious about you.’

I sigh deeply, realizing worrying about this was absolutely nonsense. ‘I don’t even know what I was worried about.’

‘Just tell me these things, okay?’ Henry says. ‘I wanna be there for you.’

‘I promise,’ I say with a smile. ‘I promise.’

April 24th 9 p.m.

Tomorrow we’re getting married and these last few weeks have been kinda hectic. My dad is officially divorced, lives in a lovely house downtown and has yet to decorate his place, but with the wedding coming up and him actively wanting to help out, that just has to wait.

Genevieve and Viola never met my parents, but they are sure as hell absolutely mad about my dad. They continue to call him: ‘cute as a button’ and I almost feel like he is our dad, instead of just mine. Without the wedding band and my mom next to him, I realize that my dad is actually such a nice guy. We get along really well and he is dead set on improving our relationship, just like I am.

While I did suggest he’d walk me down the aisle, he found himself not worthy of it and though I told him he was, I still respect that decision.

We’re at our destination for our wedding. We chose Maui, Hawaii for a few reasons. One, the weather is great and two, my friends, Henry’s friends and my dad are gonna stay for a little vacation there, while Henry and I go to our private island to start our honeymoon.

I honestly couldn’t be more excited. Henry and I took all sorts of measurements, checking the venue, seeing if everything is alright and then, tomorrow: we’re gonna be husband and wife.

Henry has been reading his vows for at least fifteen minutes now, when he finally folds the paper and places it on the book that we’re taking with us tomorrow.

Leave it to Henry to book the most expensive room in the entire hotel, with a view to die for. My dad had his eyes on a little place, one he had been eyeing for so long. Henry arranged it for him, even making sure he had access to the pool and a taxi.

‘Baby,’ he whispers, when he wraps his arms around my waist. ‘How about a little love making? Last time before we’re husband and wife.’

‘Henry, we had sex today,’ I chuckle. ‘Aren’t you ever tired of me?’

‘No, never.’

I turn around in his arms and say: ‘I’d like to be able to walk down the aisle tomorrow.’

‘That’s why I said a little love making.’

‘How about you and I enjoy the jacuzzi?’ I suggest. ‘I’ll be naked.’

Within ten minutes we’re all set and done in the jacuzzi and I straddle his lap, before taking a sip of my wine. ‘So, when you and I are back from our honeymoon, what do you want to do?’ I ask.

‘I want to travel to some places with you,’ he says. ‘Go look for a new place for the two of us to live in. Get you pregnant.’

I snort. ‘Oh, how romantic.’

‘What?’ He starts to laugh. ‘I mean, it’s the goal eventually right?’

‘We could adopt a dog from the shelter,’ I say, ‘get a little practice in. I mean, a dog and a baby are not comparable, but still.’

‘I’d love that.’ He pulls me closer to him and gives me a kiss. ‘I’m just gonna say it now, but expect to hear this many many times. I can’t wait for you to be pregnant.’

I smile. ‘And why is that?’ I ask him. ‘So I’m even more helpless and you have to do more for me?’

He shakes his head. ‘No, because we made a baby together and are gonna have a family of our own. I mean, how amazing is it that we’re gonna be the Cavills, right?’

I squeal. ‘Oh my, that is so amazing. I cannot wait for that to happen either. I’m tempted to quit my birth control right now.’

‘What is stopping you?’

‘Well, I want to have a little bit more childless time with you,’ I say. ‘Just you and me, traveling the world.’

‘Sounds good, baby girl.’

[chudleycanonficfest]

Heart-Shaped Wreckage

Day 16, Story #2 is by @adenei

Title: Heart-Shaped Wreckage

Author: adenei

Pairing: Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger

Prompt: Songfic

Rating: T

TW: implied violence and near-death experience (but nothing explicit)

A/N: This is the part two follow-up to Rewrite the Stars.

************

Hermione’s hand trembles as she reaches over to her nightstand and turns on the light. She can’t sleep, which is a common occurrence as of late. Where she once relished in the quiet of her flat, now the serenity is too much to bear. She is running out of changes to make that will erase the worst, most painful decision of her life. The ultra-soft linens she purchased for her bed are anything but comforting and luxurious. They feel scratchy and cold, and the fresh and clean look of the white comforter with its floral patterns gives off more of a sterile vibe than the new slate she’d been hoping for. Instead, it serves as another stark reminder that all the vibrancy and color had evaporated from her life when she pushed Ron away.

It’s been 62 days since the disaster of the Auror gala, and 50 since Hermione’s received any form of contact from him. Ron has honored her wishes to break things off no matter how much it pained them both to do so. Part of her still wishes he’d floo into her fireplace or knock on her door, begging her to give them another chance. But she knows deep down none of that will ever happen. He is a man of respect, and he will always abide by her requests, even if she no longer wants to keep them herself.

It’s better this way. She reminds herself of the constant scrutiny they’d face if they stayed together, and the hurt and discomfort even at the mere thought indicate that her feelings haven’t changed. There is no way she could put him through that sort of subjection just so she can be selfish and happy. Their lives are too different, and they live in a world where the acceptance of all kinds of love doesn't exist.

So, in the grueling months since they ended things for a second time, Hermione has worked to make changes, some drastic, some minute, in an effort to force herself to move on. She is too proud to let anyone in her life know the pain that she feels with every conscious breath that she takes. Hermione has thrown herself into her work, staying at school late to mark papers, redecorate the classroom, or develop new lesson plans to benefit the students and create more hands-on experiences.

And once she realized that her preparation was complete through the end of next term, Hermione turned to her flat. Weekends have been spent on home projects. Painting the walls, updating the decor, and cleaning every square inch of her flat, all to help her forget.

But the problem is, her heart doesn’t want to forget. Every book she sits down to read reminds her of time spent with Ron. Her renewed efforts in the kitchen never fail to bring a smile or a chuckle to her lips as her mind traitorously wonders what Ron would think if he were here to observe the barely edible mess she’s created. Yet, Hermione is not naive enough to believe that it will change anything. She knows it won’t.

As she sits up in the enormous queen-sized bed, she reaches for the parchment that lays in tri-folds on the nightstand. The paper is worn, with visible wrinkles preventing it from lying flat and tear stains causing the corners to curl as she unfolds the delicate sheet. Hermione’s not sure why she’s opening the letter to read. She knows it won’t bring her the comfort she craves or the answers she desires.

The messy scrawl gives way to Ron’s only correspondence with her since the last time they spoke, and she latches onto it as if it’s the only life preserver on a capsizing vessel. It’s the only thing she has left. The only reminder of the life she could have had.

I’m not scared to tell the truth. 

I went to hell and back and I went with you

Remind me what we were before,

When you said you are mine, and I am yours

Hermione,

There’s a lot I want to say and I’m not sure if I can fit it all in this letter, but I’m going to try. I never meant for any of this to happen, but I did mean everything I said that night. I’m not afraid to tell you how I feel. What we have, er, had, I guess, is special. I’ve never felt this way about anyone in my life, and I don’t think I ever will. And it’s not just about the case and finding comfort in each other. 

When we broke things off after graduation, I felt like a part of me was missing. The Auror academy kept me busy, and sure, my life moved on, but I wasn’t really happy. Not as happy as I was when we were together. And then fate brought us back together and we decided to make another go of it, that’s when I realized that you were what was missing. You make my life so much brighter, so meaningful, and I’m sorry if I sound like a sap, but I need you to know how I feel.

I would give up everything for you. Social status means nothing to me. If the Aurors sack me because of my personal relations, then so be it. I’ll work with George, or find something else. If my family can’t be supportive, then it will be their loss. I’m not willing to live in a world that doesn’t have you in it, and I refuse to give in to the Ministry’s stance on bloody purity. 

I know this is all probably ‘too little, too late’ or whatever that Muggle saying is that you like to use, and I promise you I’m going to respect your wishes. But I had to tell you. I had to let you know because...well...there’s this mission that’s come up. It’s going to be bloody dangerous and Robards asked for volunteers because he knows how risky it’s going to be. Anyone who goes isn’t guaranteed to come back and, well, I won’t go into the details, but I volunteered to go.

I know, I know, I can hear you in the back of my head telling me that it’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done and not to throw my life away because we’re not together, but Hermione, it’s been twelve days and I can’t go on day to day like this. I can’t. Working is the only thing that eases the pain and gets my mind off of everything. I’ll be as safe as I can be, I promise.

I hope you find the happiness you deserve. You’re brilliant, always remember that. Just know that I love you, and it’s because I love you that I’m going to try to let go.

Ron

Tears threaten in Hermione’s eyes once again. It’s no different than every other time she reads the letter. Nothing has changed; Ron’s gone, still on his mission six weeks later and no end in sight. Hermione is sure this is the reason she’s not sleeping. With every passing day and no news of Ron’s whereabouts, she turns to the only object that can provide her with any source of comfort: the letter.

After three weeks of constant worrying and bags under her eyes so prevalent that even her eight-year-old students noticed, Hermione caved and wrote to Harry. Even though they can’t be together, she knows deep down that she can still care about his well-being. 

Harry’s response had been timely and brief. He didn’t have details of the mission but reassured Hermione that no news is good news. Hermione thanked him and asked for updates if it wasn’t too much trouble. The two had been friendly in school, growing closer as her relationship with Ron blossomed as well. She didn’t expect his alliance to stray from his best friend but still appreciated his willingness to be cordial with her after everything she’d put Ron through.

“Please come home to me,” she whispers into the darkness.

Her heart aches more as her eyes hover over the parchment once more, searching for the three words that she knows she’ll never read too many times: I love you.

For some reason, this three a.m. readthrough hits differently. She carefully folds the parchment, places it back on the nightstand and turns off the light. There are still a few more hours left to find sleep.

Hermione tosses and turns as she attempts to focus on sleep and quieting her thoughts. At some point, a flash illuminates the night sky, and that’s when the pieces begin forming more vividly in her mind. The clap of thunder follows seconds later, and with it, a realization is born. As the rain begins its slow cadence of pitter-patters on the window, the brevity of Hermione’s decision hits her with the force of the storm strengthening outside.

I don’t know much, but I know myself

And I don’t want to love anybody else

So let’s break the spell and lift the curse

Remember when we fell for each other head first

There is only one question that forms in her mind. One question that surpasses any of the other thoughts she’s managed to cope with over the last two months. 

What have I done?

None of her previous attempts to move past this matter anymore, even though it’s too late, and there’s nothing she can do. 

Three days later, Hermione is finishing up her night-time routine when there’s a knock on her door. She looks at the antique clock on the wall that reads 10:45. Her heart plummets to her stomach. No one calls this late at night with good news. She stands frozen in place, amazed that the glass of water in her hand hasn’t spilled to the floor as a result of her shock.

Another knock, and Hermione manages to lift her feet from the floor. She reaches over and sets the glass on the counter before pulling her dressing gown tight around her waist. The carpet feels thick and heavy, as if her feet are wading through mud and sludge as she makes the torturous trek to the door. Five steps feel like five thousand. She’s sure all of this has happened in a matter of seconds, but it feels like minutes. Maybe the caller will be gone by the time her eye reaches the peephole.

Her hope is instantly quashed when she peers through the tiny circle to see an older gentleman that she doesn’t quite recognize at first. He’s wearing an overcoat and tan bowler hat, and is looking down at a torn piece of parchment. A pair of cerulean blue eyes drift back up to the number on her flat’s door, and that’s when the familiarity hits Hermione like a muggle slamming into the brick wall that separates platforms nine and ten at King’s Cross Station.

She can feel the blood drain from her face as dizziness overcomes her. Falling forward, she clasps onto the doorknob to steady herself. The noise catches the gentleman’s attention.

“Er, Ms. Granger. Are you home? It’s very important that I speak to you. Please, I mean no harm if you’ll open up.”

Hermione struggles to find her voice to respond. Her hands are shaking so violently that she can barely latch on to the deadbolt that has been fastened for the evening.

“Oh, er, please forgive me. We haven’t formally met, but it’s Mr. Weasley out here. Ron’s father.”

Hearing Ron’s name gives Hermione the strength that she needs to click the deadbolt to the left as she manages to turn the door handle with her other hand. Pulling the door open, she slowly looks up at the elder Weasley.

“Is—is everything okay?” Her voice is raw and weak, and she’s sure the shock is the only thing preventing the tears from pooling in her eyes.

“Er, no, it’s not. May I come in?” His eyes dart around, as if he doesn’t want to discuss the matter out in the open.

Hermione opens the door wider to let him in and manages to shut it when he’s through the entryway. Her free hand fiddles with her wand that’s still inside her pocket—just in case—though she fears no imminent threat from Ron’s father.

"Ms. Granger, I’m sorry for calling so late. I wouldn’t be here at all, actually, if it wasn’t for Harry mentioning—ah, well, that’s no matter...” 

Mr. Weasley is rambling, and Hermione has trouble processing his words. Her breath catches at the mention of Harry’s name, which draws Mr. Weasley’s attention to her, helping him get to the point of his late-night visit.

“Ron’s been gravely injured. He’s at St. Mungo’s now. They brought him in an hour or so ago. Molly and I met Harry and Ginny there as soon as we heard. He’s stable for now, but the Healers are unsure if it will hold.” 

Hermione grasps the back of the couch to keep from collapsing to the ground. A sob bursts from her throat as the tears that threatened moments ago now spill freely down her cheeks.

“Wh-what happened?” 

The words are spoken with great effort.

“We don’t have many details. The Aurors are still trying to clean up loose ends on the mission, but it sounds like the operation was successful thanks to Ron’s efforts. One of the target’s accomplices hit Ron with an unknown spell before he was caught.”

Even through Hermione’s own devastation, she can hear the tremor in Ron’s father’s voice. He’s scared, though he’s hiding it well as he continues to explain what he knows. There’s a sheen in his eyes as the moisture appears, emotions raw as he finishes bringing Hermione up to speed.

“Everyone was apprehended, and Ron appears to be the only one who got hurt. We should know more in the coming hours.”

Hermione can only offer a blank stare as she processes the information. His letter said it would be a dangerous mission. He didn’t sound as if he was hopeful that he’d come back alive. Or maybe he was hoping—no, don’t think like that. It was her fault that he’d gone in the first place. By some miracle, he was still hanging on, and the haziness of Hermione’s previous decisions about their relationship begins to give way. The fact that his father is there in her flat informing her has to mean something.

“Why are you here?”

It comes out harsher than Hermione intends, but after their less than amicable meeting at the gala, Hermione can’t be bothered with pleasantries. Even if his wife’s behavior was ruder than his own.

The older man pulls out a handkerchief and wipes beads of sweat off his brow as he sighs deeply. 

“Ms. Granger—”

“Hermione.”

“Right, yes, Hermione. I am aware that we did not get off on the right foot. I’m sorry I never introduced myself on the night of the gala. We weren’t expecting Ron to have a date. I’ll admit that Molly and I were ignorant in the way we treated you that night, and for that, I am sorry. Nothing can take back our words, nor can it change the way others view you based on your blood status, but please know how wrong we were. 

“Ron was devastated after you broke things off after the gala, and I suppose that was largely due to our behavior. It’s clear to us how much he loves you, and we don’t want to stand in the way of that. So, when Harry mentioned you had asked for news and wanted to come tell you, I insisted that I should be the one to see you. Please don’t let our ignorance stand in the way of your happiness.”

Hermione stands there, listening to Arthur’s apology. While she appreciates the olive branch, part of her can’t help but feel that it’s too little, too late, and a new wave of tears flood her eyes as she sees those exact words in Ron’s letter. She offers a curt nod to let him know she appreciates the gesture, even as her voice can’t find the words.

“I won’t keep you. I should be getting back, but Ron is in room 408. You are on the approved list as a family member if you decide you want to see him, and Molly’s agreed to let you stay with him if you’d like.” 

Arthur gives a weak nod as he dabs his forehead once more before making his way to the door. It takes Hermione a moment to realize what’s happening, and as soon as everything processes, she’s pushing herself off the back of the sofa and calling out to Arthur.

Look at this heart shaped wreckage

What have we done?

We’ve got scars from battles nobody won

We can start over, better

Both of us know if we just let the broken pieces

Let the broken pieces go

“I’m coming! Please, er, if you don’t mind waiting. I just need to get changed—”

“Of course.”

Arthur offers a paternal smile as Hermione rushes into her bedroom and throws on the first thing she can find. She almost forgets to grab her bag as she throws on her coat and locks the door behind her.

Moments later, they’re entering St. Mungo’s, and Mr. Weasley leads the way through the main hall to the lifts. It’s only as the gate shuts that nerves begin to bubble up in her stomach. She’s been running on the adrenaline of the news, and now she can’t help but wonder how the rest of Ron’s family will react when they see her. Or, what’s worse, how Ron will react if and when he wakes up.

When. It has to be when.

As if sensing her trepidation, Mr. Weasley places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The lift opens, and the first person she sees is Harry in the waiting room. Her feet gravitate toward him of their own accord, and when Harry sees her, he meets her halfway and wraps her in a tight hug.

“He’s going to be okay. He has to,” Harry whispers in her ear.

Hermione nods, forcing her brain to believe his words. When they let go, Ginny hugs Hermione next, which helps her feel more relaxed. 

Maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

After one final squeeze, Ginny lets go so Hermione can follow Arthur down the hall to Ron’s room. He opens the door, and Hermione enters the sterile, white room. The most color she sees is his shock of red hair against the fluffy white pillow that’s cradling his head. Her heart begins beating faster as she spots his mum sitting vigil at his side. 

Mrs. Weasley looks up to see the two standing there. A hard, stony look immediately sets on her face in defense before it softens slightly. She stands and walks over to Hermione. She knows that she’ll have a harder time winning over the Weasley matriarch based on this interaction, but if Ron wakes up—and will take her back—she’s willing to do anything to make it work.

“Let’s give her some privacy, Molly. The healers will call us in if he wakes up,” Arthur coaxes his wife out of the room as he gives Hermione one last reassuring smile.

When the door closes behind them, Hermione walks up to the chair Molly was perched at and takes a seat. She moves the chair closer to the bed as she observes Ron in his sleeping state. A tear slips down her face as her hand reaches out to take his. It isn’t cold, but it’s also not as warm as she’s used to.

“Please wake up. You have to wake up,” she pleads, choking back a fresh wave of tears.

I can’t find you in the dark

Will we get back to who we are?

And I can’t fix this on my own

Our love is still the best thing I’ve ever known

She’s not sure how long she sits there, watching his chest slowly rise and fall as he breathes. No matter how hard she tries, Hermione can’t look away, for fear that his breathing might stop if she does. She’s so focused on his chest, that she doesn’t see his eyes flutter open. 

“Er-my-nee.” 

His voice is breathy, with more rasp than she’s used to, but she’d have given all the gold in her Gringotts vault to hear her name on his lips again if she had to. He lifts the hand that she’s holding, and Hermione leans in closer to press her face into it.

“You came,” he whispers.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she lifts off the seat and leans over him, capturing his lips with hers. They’re cracked and dry, no doubt from being undercover in who knows what kind of conditions, but none of that matters. Ron’s alive, and he’s kissing her back.

Look at this heart shaped wreckage

What have we done?

We’ve got scars from battles nobody won

We can start over, better

Both of us know if we just let the broken pieces

Let the broken pieces go

“I’m so sorry.” The apology seems frail as she mutters the words against his lips.

His other hand reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear and wipe the tears from her face. “It’s okay.”

“Don’t ever do something that stupid again.”

“Only if you give me a reason not to.”

Let the broken pieces go

Just hold on to each other tonight

“I will, I promise.”

She pulls away to look into his tired, bright blue eyes that carry the hope she feels in her chest.

“Does that mean…?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t know what life is going to throw at me, Ron, but I only want to take it if you’re by my side.”

“It’s about time you came to your senses.”

The hand that’s still cupping her cheek adjusts to pull her back to him as he does his best to crash his lips into hers for a searing, though still tender, kiss. His breath is hot as he groans against her mouth, solidifying their reunification. There’s an unspoken agreement to let the broken pieces of the past go. 

Tonight, they’ll start over, rewriting the stars to match their love story the way it’s meant to be.

[genshin-impacted]

close proximity // Zhongli x Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k 

Notes: gender neutral reader “you”, MAJOR Pining in Zhongli’s POV, touch-starved? Zhongli, domesticity

in the long haul, this would be one part of a(n indulgent self-insert) long-fic where Zhongli finds out that you (adventurer/traveler) have been camping out in the wilderness, so he invites you to crash at his place for an indeterminate amount of time 

also, happy birthday zhongli :)

Zhongli thinks that he should have known that welcoming someone so late at night into his home would invite the worst of the gossip. It only grows worse when people see that you continue to come back into his house and that you even have your own key to enter with. 

Luckily, the change from your original Mondstadt attire was the decisive factor that allowed you to walk the streets of Liyue relatively unseen, for you are no longer associated with being foreign or wanted by the Millelith. Instead, you are known to be the one that now apparently resides permanently (or so it seems) in Mr. Zhongli’s apartment, and the attention is now directed toward him.

You’ve even suggested that you float down and enter through an unsuspecting open window in hopes of abating the rumors, but Zhongli thinks about the implications of entering in any way other than the front door and saves himself the trouble. 

You apologize every time he closes the door on a particularly chatty neighbor, but Zhongli always waves it away. He feels more than justified inviting you into his abode. After all, he has caused you the most trouble, despite what you may think of Childe, with his plans for the harbor. Allowing you to share a space with him is nothing short of a fair trade. 

The feeling is only bolstered by the fact that you moved in with only the backpack hauled on your shoulder and nothing else, with Paimon wailing about how good it feels to finally have a pillow to lie on-- much to your embarrassment. (He waves your apologies to this away as well and does not speak of how the bashful expression on your face is rather endearing to see.)

It’s been a few days since the original hubbub, and the rumors have died down after numerous explanations that ‘they are a friend; yes, only a friend, and yes, we are both unmarried and the walls are thin, but you will not need to worry about any unsavory noises, as is routine.’ It’s evident that the nosiest of neighbors believe that he is lying, but he takes his words as seriously as the contracts that bind him.

If anything, the noises that can be heard are the random bursts of laughter or the playful arguments between you and Paimon. If the neighbors expected anything other than this, Zhongli cannot find it in himself to be apologetic because he cannot remember the last time his apartment was filled with so much sound or ever be so lively. The conversations seem ceaseless at times: whether he is sharing facts about Liyue Harbor or the random story he can remember that he thinks you would enjoy or whether you are the ones sharing stories of your own home-- or simply when Paimon asks a question that takes the entire night to explain. 

Zhongli likes the way his stories can make you laugh. It sounded sweet on the week's journey to Daudapa Gorge, and it sounds sweeter now in the confines of his home. Sometimes, when your laughter is all spent and your eyes wet from mirth, he sees you look up at him behind a shy smile with cheeks warm from something other than osmanthus wine, and he finds that he cannot stop watching you.

That is not to say that he is lacking in amusement. Paimon herself would be fine entertainment from her ideas and dreams and strange train of thoughts, but with your quick witted humor and easy-going banter, there seems to be no end to his smiles. Even Hu Tao has pointed out that he smiles more during work in the funeral parlor, and that it was, quite frankly, a little weird. Zhongli has no problems not letting that get to him, considering her boisterous demeanor as the head of the parlor herself. 

Another unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome change is the domesticity. Zhongli has always had his own routine: wake up at dawn to watch the ships leave the harbor, head over to the funeral parlor if he has been called in, peruse (and if he remembers his wallet, purchase) the new shipments, and come home for evening tea. With your presence, he finds himself waking up to sleepy Paimon and an even sleepier you, cracking an egg over the stone stove to cook breakfast. He eats in the morning now and receives an eagerly given lunchbox for him to take around when he goes to work. 

The times in which you leave the apartment differs, just as the time you happen to come back, but you never fail to bid him farewell or greet him when he comes back. You tap his shoulder to call him over for dinner, and you pat his head when you head to sleep. 

With you and Paimon, Zhongli gains a new routine-- one that he grows used to at an almost alarming rate, considering how unused he is to change. It’s almost a shame that this is a temporary set-up-- just until the drama dies down when Rex Lapis’ body is finally given its respects, and you can find a place to stay without being afraid of arrest. But as he has learned recently, some things are bound to change, whether he wants to or not. 

Which is not a bad thing, per say, he thinks to himself, as he cuts through the onions you have asked of him. If there is anything his time as Zhongli has taught him and of his journey with you, the beauty in many things is that they do not last-- which is why it is ever more important to enjoy it while it does. 

“Wow, you really don’t get bothered by the onions, huh.”

Zhongli chuckles, carefully cutting the onions for the stirfry Paimon has requested to eat tonight. He would have suggested eating at Wanmin Restaurant, but a grimace from you when you look at your wallet convinces him to suggest a home cooked meal tonight instead. “It is one of my many talents, it seems,” he says as you put your hands on your hips defiantly. 

“You’re going to be cutting all the onions under this roof,” you announce, walking behind him to turn on the stove. “Ack, I can feel myself wanting to tear up just from walking past that. How do you stand that, Zhongli?”

The smell of sesame oil permeates the kitchen nicely when you pour it into the wok, the sizzling a rather pleasant sound to accompany it. “Aren’t you going to tell me where the onions come from?” You ask as he dices the volatile vegetable.

He turns his head ever so slightly at your question, surprised. He prefers to tell you inane, though fun facts and stories he thinks you would be interested in, but he is surprised every time you come to him for things about Teyvat or of Liyuen culture. Though, he would be lying to himself if that does not please him. “Is that something you would be interested in hearing?” 

“Yeah,” you say, slightly distracted as you take out the ingredients from the cupboards, “I mean, Paimon and I can never find them in the wild, so I figured it doesn’t really grow naturally… so it must be from a farm?” He sees you wave a wooden spoon in question. “But where? Oh-- by the way, are the onions ready? The wok's ready."

“Ah, the onions are actually grown in the villages north of Liyue Harbor,” Zhongli replies, finishing the last of the dicing on the cutting board. “Though most of farms focus on exporting rice, there are some that farm mainly onions-- which is where you see most of the wares being brought in--”

“Oh shit, I put the fire up too high-- Zhongli, I’m going to grab the onions!” 

“Ah, yes, apologies, here--” 

He does not realize you are right behind him until he feels your body press against his for a moment, your hair brushing against his cheek as your arm reaches out for the cutting board. He cannot help but feel himself tense, only able to turn his head slightly just to see your face as close as it has ever been to his. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you say quickly, taking note of his surprised expression. “Nice cutting-- okay, time to cook--” The moment is brief as you rush to slide the onions off the board and into the flames, if the crackling is anything to go on. 

But he finds that he cannot stop thinking about how ticklish your hair was on his face or how warm you were. He remembers the longest embrace in your trembling arms and of your trailing fingertips on his shoulder for a wound that does not exist.

The kitchen is at a comfortable temperature with the stove going on high, but it is by no means hot by any standards. Yet Zhongli feels his ears burn.

“Zhongli?”

He should set the table, he thinks, but for some reason, he feels an ache in a chest every time he thinks of doing anything other than feeling your warmth again. 

“Zhongli?” You ask again, shaking him from his thoughts. His hand curls into itself in a moment of panic as he turns around, wondering if his distraction was obvious. If he were not a God himself, he would have thanked the higher beings that you didn't notice. “Sorry,” you say instead, “I interrupted you last time. What were you saying about the onions? Something after onion farms?”

“Ah, yes, ahem,” he starts again. “Most of the wares the Second Life sells is mainly from the villages themselves, and…” 

You continue to indulge him as Zhongli speaks about the farmlands of the north and about the mountain trade routes in the east when the two of you set up supper. He tries not to think about the way your fingers brush against his when he passes you a bowl of rice or about the way your bodies press together when you wash the dishes.

(Touch-starved. 

He is touch-starved, he finds out much later down the road, when he is able to hold you in his arms without needing to ask. It is why he wishes your hand would linger on his shoulder when you call him to dinner or why he finds himself relaxing at your touch. 

Or why he had started hoping that you would never decide to leave.

It seems almost too obvious now, in retrospect, but Zhongli does not mind that he is constantly learning something new about what it means to be human-- not when it means he can finally hold your hand walking down Liyue Harbor and squeeze your hand and feel you squeeze back.)

[trickfootpike]

OKAYOKAYOKAY now that i've had a few nights to Ruminate here are way too many thoughts from 9/16's show -- fair warning that they aren't *super* coherent as a lot of this i just tried to loosely organize from dms i threw at folks night-of, but it is most of what i remember sticking out to me!

GENERAL THOUGHTS --

last saw the show in august of 2019 - back then i saw it up in the mezzanine, this time i was 7 rows back dead center in the middle of the orchestra. watching the show from the mezzanine feels like a god's eye view of the show while sitting up close in the orchestra is much more like being in the world of men, and how it hits in hadestown particularly is just nuts bc you really do feel like you're on the factory floor.

back in the London production i remember eva playing eurydice with more youth and hope to her, and when the show came to Broadway eurydice hardened. in a world with a pandemic eva seems to have actually shifted this back! Eurydice is still holding tightly onto Orpheus Knowing that the world is unlikely to be kind enough to let them have each other for long but she starts off less faithless than she used to, I suppose I would describe it? she's definitely played more open with others from the beginning rather than having it be something she has to really work towards!

WAIT FOR ME IS A TOTALLY DIFFERENT FEELING FROM THE ORCHESTRA THAN THE MEZZANINE AND NOT JUST THE LAMPS. the lamps really only swing out to over the first 2 rows, speaking very generously, anyway. what i remember being most impactful from last time was how the whole theater rumbled as the walls of the set split to reveal hadestown. what i couldn't see and afaik no boot's been able to pick up is the the set ALSO SPLITS AND STRETCHES OPEN AT THE TOP. that awning that covers the balcony lifts and the wall of hadestown is revealed to stretch floor to ceiling and it is just so much, so fucking much oh my god i could not stop hysterically blubbering to myself watching hadestown stretch open like it is absolutely here to devour you whole. it makes you feel the immensity of The Wall. I've linked ig videos of the set pre act 1 and post intermission to give like the best perspective on it i can and tried to film them so they were zoomed as closely as to what my eyes were seeing as I could, but here are also some pictures!

PRE ACT ONE

INTERMISSION

after our lady of the underground when eurydice comes back from hades' office and Persephone is finishing with her show, me being closer this time i was actually able to see amber's face during way down hadestown ii and flowers. and how she portrays seph's feelings re eurydice, it's like : genuine concern and watching over her when she first starts on the line, Quiet Seething and Jealous Rage as the fates' tattle "Hades put his hands on ya" that sticks for a While including the first half of flowers, but as soon as eurydice remembers the meadow her and Orpheus visited her heart just b r e a k s and you can see her wiping away tears. seph's just so caught in her own feelings of helplessness in hadestown. when hades tells her to stay out of him dealing with Orpheus all the fight just deflates out of her and the direct accusing look Orpheus gives her at the end of if it's true mixed with seeing his effect on the workers makes her physically rear back like she's gotten the fight slapped back into her

even with this audience who almost for sure has all seen ht before, there was still the loudest heartbroken gasp when orpheus turned. i know everyone calls this out but it still hit me hard that with a greater percentage of previous viewers in the audience it still hit us all like a fucking brick

and ofc. road to hell ii. it's a millions times more impactful than it already was what with the pandemic, making it through hard times and how they could be hard again but making the best of them even if it doesn't turn out well this time either. i was crying so hard last time but this time i was crying harder but also feeling like a huge weight was being like, very softly cradled in my chest to take some of the burden away

TOM'S HADES/HADES AND PERSEPHONE SPECIFIC THOUGHTS --

Tom's Hades whole tl;dr could be that Hades is a Performance. all those descriptions of him beign "jazzy" and "egodriven" are correct, but there is also this massive vibe he gives off that all his showmanship is there as a cover up for the very pessimistic man at the core of him. when him and persephone are getting along the jazziness is there for genuine playfulness with her, but apart from seph it is a purposeful exaggeration on hades' part to get Whatever it is that he wants. he is playing up aggression as king (see papers) and what he thinks as being suave (see hey little songbird) to maintain his throne and his marriage, and Epic III is the Destruction of that performance. Tom's Hades at the end of Epic III isn't trying to sell anyone anything, you just get to see the suddenly very scared and unsure heart of the man behind the performance of foreman and king. And oh boy is Tom's Hades at his heart unsure. He is so fucking pessimistic; back in Act 1 when Orpheus starts to sing Epic I he turns from Persephone even before she gets reminded of the world above and starts longing for it, because he already expects to see it coming and he doesn't turn back to her Ever Again, literally until he comes to get her in Way Down Hadestown. Not even when she gives him a kiss on the cheek goodbye. His Kiss, The Riot is him trying to figure out how the hell he's gonna be able to rebuild his performance after his whole kingdom saw through it, but he also ends it being so very certain that the deal he figures out for Orpheus Will end with Orpheus failing somehow. There is no doubt in this very pessimistic Hades that doubt will come in, whereas Patrick used the end of His Kiss The Riot almost like he was desperately trying to justify that his doubt came to him only in Persephone's absence

road to hell i: tom's hades loves cheering on the band so much he is Part Of The Problem that Hermes has to get to chill out and it makes so much sense for this jazzy dramatic motherfucker

balcony time (road to hell i until livin' it up on top): when they were upstairs playing dominoes they kept laying their tiles with these overexaggerated movements.. Like when they actually getting along they are so damn flirty and trying so hard to make each other smile and laugh and it is TOO CUTE

way down hadestown: Once Again "I missed ya" gives me no rest, mostly because Tom delivered it with this super coy and cocky grin and Amber immediately smiled back at him like Persephone couldn't help herself

chant i: is spent with him looking up proud into his creation while persephone is looking down with heartbreak and disgust seeing the workers as people in suffering and the ugliness of hadestown. as the song goes on he gets increasingly frustrated like a child who's super proud of the drawing he brought home from school that Persephone has nothing but terrible things to say about. when eurydice starts singing about her suffering seph throws out her arm and points to her like "see! See what you're doing!!" while hades is more in himself processing his disappointment, frustration, heartbreak, but over the next minute you start to see him Formulating A Plan as he watches eurydice. but he doesn't look entirely sold on going through with it until seph throws out her last verse in disgust. it was absolutely the straw that broke the camel's back.

hey little songbird: THO IT SOUNDS SO SEDUCTIVE ON AUDIO. OML DOES IT LEAN INTO EURYDICE'S "STRANGE MAN" DESCRIPTOR. HADES IS LIKE THE CREEPY SALESMAN ON THE CORNER WITH WATCHES AND A TRENCHCOAT. BUT HE'S SELLING HIS SHIT WELL, HE'S JUST ALSO A WEIRDO

Why We Build The Wall/"Behind Closed Doors": That followup on hades' threat when eurydice arrives in hadestown. as hades goes to the stairs he like not whacks, but definitely nudges seph's arm harder than Patrick does to get her attention. when he did she Startled and laid her hand over her arm where he'd tapped her like she was overwhelmed by just that touch........ but then she turns around and watches him take Eurydice up and when he opens his coat and she Realizes you see her whole body go slack. once eurydice goes past the office doors hades turns and lingers staring pointedly down at seph, for *seconds* whereas with patrick i remember it being more of a pointed glance. it drills home that hades is doing this specifically to spite seph and he wants her to know it. and you can see amber discreetly wipe her face before she turns back to "does anybody want a DRINK." there's less direct seduction between hades and eurydice but more explicit threat between hades and seph about eurydice

papers: actually isn't too much Bastärde as it is his Performance. HOWEVER, the way he directs the workers to beat Orpheus is chilling. Like patrick he hangs around, but he's watching until the last 10 seconds so it's way longer. And he makes like the smallest gestures with his hand to direct the workers to the different stages of beating Orpheus, fuck it was twisted

how long: how long actually starts with seph and hades seemingly coming to each other on a similar page - hades came out pensively fiddling with his wedding ring and Amber delivered "I know" like seph was already past the eurydice situation. this also could have been a product of time and seeing how actually little he did "seducing" eurydice lmao

chant ii: very much Hades Sees Orpheus As A Threat™️ (more on this further below) , also dare i say it but tom kills I CONDUCT THE ELECTRIC CITY

epic iii: oh man oh man. he looks so untouched until Orpheus starts the lalas and he goes from completely passive unimpressed face to like. his body unfolds on his stool and his hands go slack and he looked between Orpheus and Persephone when he asked where Orpheus had gotten his melody. he asked it a lot softer than I expected him too as well. a big part of the audience actually laughed when Hades sang his lala because Tom cracks his voice during it but it petered off into sniffling when they realized why and then we were all just crying together as persephone placed the flower in his vest.

lovers desire: SOME VERY CUTE STUFF. hades' performance is broken but tom's hades is still a Jazzy Jazzy Man at heart and they're like 100 times more playful with each other - they're both giggling and grinning their asses off while they dance together and give each other these like nudges to the next series of steps and it was adorable and I was discretely sobbing. they both played it like they knew how to do this dance with each other better than they knew anything, the little nudges were like..... them playing inside this dance they already knew so well? Like more overexaggeration to make each other laugh and just revel in this wonderful thing they've rediscovered- specifically I remember that Amber raised her skirt soooooo high when she was doing the curtsey and Tom was like waggling his eyebrows at her and adding extra flourishes with his hands and widening his eyes super big everytime he pulled off a move (the funniest ones were when they do like the two-step where they move one after another in sequence and he's copying her moves in reverse and oml it was just adorable). When Seph had the move where she pulls their linked arms over his head to tuck him into her I remember that was the one part where he wasn't doing this goofy act but his expression straight up melted and he looked so smitten. and when it's the last bit of the dance and he spins her across the stage, seph's face breaks open with tears his expression responds with like this mix of heartbreak and "ohhhhh no baby please don't cry" as he moved across the stage to quickly take her into his arms for the dip at the end

AFTER this when orphydice has finished promises and right before Orpheus turns to ask Hades if they can go, they come out of slow dancing to the side but are still super wrapped up in each other - seph wraps herself around one of his arms and presses herself super close and Tom leaned down with this little smile like Hades was gonna try and steal a quick kiss, but then he hears/sees out of the corner of his eye/senses or something Orpheus approaching and pulls himself up and formal to be the king. When he says I don't know and seph wrenches herself away from him to the other side of the stage to firmly stand behind Orphydice he gets this look of Extreme Frustration on that she's still not standing with him and these damn kids are still more important, bc even with character growth he still is a petty selfish bitch who does not like to share lmao, he's just getting that he Has To now

wait for me ii: Hades stays onstage by the microphone stand to the left to watch Hermes deliver his judgement to orphydice/seph/the workers and watching Tom during this was a Treat. this is the first time he's seeing how orphydice and esp Orpheus function when he's not involved to terrify them. they're so sweet and so good, and they have what looks like so much unwavering faith in each other unlike him and seph, maybe they really could... so when he delivers "i let them try" that last word is stretched with so much wonder. he's getting this first glimpse into feeling how everyone else felt when orpheus sang of how the world could be that isn't just focused in about how he feels about persephone, which always drives him - now he's having to deal with the Greater Implications and orpheus' seemingly unbreakable faith in a better world rocks him to his core. that certainty that orpheus would fail gets shaken as he watches them and when Seph asks him if he thinks they'll make it, his I Don't Know is 1/2 defensive and 1/2 actual uncertainty. he still hates to be wrong but he's wondering if his beliefs about doubt will turn out differently this time. he isn't optimistic about it by any means but orpheus, eurydice, and the workers' response to them both does give him pause

meanwhile in hades and persephone's section, on a personal level they deliver their lines to each other like they're a great deal more nervous about what next fall will bring than i've seen and heard before - something I'm thinking stems from hades' worldview being so suddenly shaken and seph too being a little more vulnerable?

MISC THOUGHTS

Tom seems to be leaning into Hades not having done anything with Eurydice other than tempt her down - once she's in Hadestown even during Why We Build The Wall he drops the salesman croon entirely and when he does rarely speak to her/about her it's commanding as a king who sees her just as another object under his possession, with very little interest in her for anything at all beyond that. he was just going after the goal of making sure Seph knew he had Options whether or not he actually pursued them

tom is super dedicated to how power-hungry hades is. I remember when I saw Patrick during chant ii he was playing hades as more affected by how much seph seemed to care about the workers now and desperately trying to get her attention back (even negatively), Tom was more consumed in seeing Orpheus as a threat because of how effectively he had turned his "children" on him. He knocks Seph down in those "shackle her from wrist to wrist" less as a personal petty attack to her like Patrick does and more like to try and destabilize her as someone backing Orpheus up. Tom's Hades perceives Orpheus as a Threat no matter how much he plays up his Performance as Nonchalant Jazzy King. he really emphasizes Hades' relationship to Orpheus whereas Patrick played more into his relationship with Eurydice, which makes so much sense what with Tom's Hades being a pettier more egotistical messy bitch obsessed with his kingdom and Patrick's Hades' obsession being his wife and Hadestown being like, this side-effect of being a god that he just couldn't help, he Had to build and strive for power whereas Tom's Hades reveled in it and wanted it. Instinct versus drive I guess. one of my buds put it super well as: "Patrick!Hades sees everything as a threat to his power Tom!Hades is so certain of his power that he can afford to be somewhat nonchalant but the fact that Orpheus alone is his main genuine threat is fucking brilliant"

and ok for now, that's what I've got! if anyone wants any clarification or wants to ask details about specific moments I didn't put in here feel free to shoot me an ask!

[mystic-shadows42]

Allure {Part 2}

Warnings: None

Aslaug and her sons gathered around to have their meal just as they always did around this time of the day. They had all been unusually quiet. Aslaug had noticed that they never were lively with you gone

So to get them to open up more, she turned her attention on Ubbe.

“When are you going to marry and have children?”

Ubbe sighed loudly. This conversation has come up quite a few times much to his displeasure.

“This again mother?”

“I am curious as to why you haven’t found yourself a suitable woman. They’re plenty here to choose from.”

“I don’t intend on marrying anyone anytime soon.”

Ubbe had lost his appetite at the thought of having to marry. His mother has always been adamant that he should lead his brothers by example. 

He didn’t want to marry to lead by example. He simply wanted to live his own life without being questioned or pushed to do so.

“That’s because he’s waiting for the inevitable to happen. We all know she’ll never marry him.”

“Whom do you speak of?” Aslaug asked curiously. She hadn’t seen any of her boys stick with one woman for long.

“Y/N,” Sigurd stated in an obvious manner.

“Shut up Sigurd!” Ubbe stated, throwing a piece of food at him. Aslaug felt like she was starting to lose control now that her boys were starting to fawn over you.

“I don’t think the daughter of Lagertha would be a good choice, considering her mother was once with your father.” Aslaug wanted their attention directed elsewhere other than on you.

“I’m surprised you’re actually denying a candidate for marriage.” All the boys grumbled in agreement.

“I want the best for you. She seems sweet but I’d rather you go with...someone else.”

“You sound bitter.”

Aslaug ground her teeth and turned to look at all her sons who were now focused on her.

“I have no reason to be, it’s just that there’s always someone better. I figured Bjorn and Lagertha would object to such a pairing considering the circumstances. Even if you were to be with Y/N there’d always be complications. It can’t always be-”

The doors had opened abruptly making all of them turn their heads to see who had interrupted their conversation. When they saw it was you at the door, they all sat up straighter staring at you with surprised looks on their faces. 

Your arrival had been unknown to them.

“Oh, you’re all having dinner. My apologies, I was just looking for Bjorn.”

Ubbe stood up from his seat immediately. “Don’t go. Have dinner with us.”

“I don’t think I should.”

“Please,” you couldn’t help it when all of them looked at you like that. So you gave in and nodded to them.

One of the new thralls was quick to give you a seat that was on the other end. Before any of the boys could say anything to you, Aslaug jumped in.

“So, Y/N, we certainly weren’t expecting you to come here today.”

“Which she’s always welcomed to at any time.” Ivar chimed in winking at you.

Aslaug bit her tongue not liking how quick they were to come to your defense. She didn’t hate you, she just didn’t like how you had the power to make or break her sons. That uncertainty is what unsettled her.

“My visit won’t be long. I plan on going back to Hedeby.”

“You don’t have to leave so soon. My boys rather enjoy your company. I myself don’t even know that much about you other than you being Lagertha’s daughter.”

You slightly tilted your head at Aslaug. “Something tells me that you know more than you’d like to share. You see my mother told me of your particular outlook on things that haven’t happened yet. She’s shared something with me when I was but a little girl still. One that I didn’t understand until I became a woman. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. It was, after all, your vision.”

Aslaug hummed. She was impressed with your quick wit.

“What vision do you two speak of?” Sigurd was quite curious as well as his other brothers. He had grown accustomed to the fact that his mother had visions. One that foresaw him having a defect in his eye making it look like a snake.

“It’s nothing.”

“I want to know now,” Hvitserk spoke while leaning forward. His food had been long forgotten now that you were here.

“It wasn’t my vision.” You stated looking to Aslaug. You knew she never told any of her boys what she saw. She figured if she never said anything that you might be forgotten somehow. “You can tell them.”

You nodded once more to Aslaug to let her know that it was okay to continue. All the boys then turned their attention onto their mother who was debating whether or not to tell them.

She knew it wouldn’t affect the outcome either way but still, it felt as if she was admitting defeat. 

The gods personally had you under their care because they favored Lagertha. It was set in the stars that Aslaug would bear Ragnar’s children. It was a bitter-sweet twist of fate. 

Not one person could truly live in happiness once the gods had plans for them.

She knew her time would soon be up. She had her sons and raised them well. She wouldn’t grow old, no, she would leave this earth soon but did she really want you around her boys manipulating them when she’s gone?

“My vision occurred when Y/N was just a little babe. She had this...presence about her. An aura if you will. I knew then that she was under the protection of the gods. How else would you explain Lagertha having a baby after so many failed attempts of conceiving? That wasn’t all. I saw that when she became a woman that all you boys would flank to her side. Be with her even when if it went against everything you believed in.”

Ubbe scoffed and threw a piece of meat down on his plate. Aslaug raised her eyebrow at his reaction.

“What? You don’t believe me?”

“You know I don’t. While I do believe what you see has some truth to it, I believe everyone acts on their own free will. Your vision changes nothing. My brothers and I do what we want and we’ll continue to do that until the day we die.”

“Oh, so you don’t think you’re overly fond of Y/N here? Do you not wish her to be your future bride?”

Ubbe’s smug smile had dissipated.

“In your vision mother,” Ivar quipped. “Do any one of us have her to ourselves?”

Aslaug sighed aloud. “I only saw her with all of you kneeling down to her. It was all just a bunch of quick flashes.”

“I hope you didn’t see everything. I’m quite a giving lover, that I’m proud to admit.”

Hvitserk was all smiles at what he said with only Ivar smiling at his joke. Aslaug was annoyed more than ever with her sons.

“Not all of you can have her. If any one of you were to marry it’d have to be just with one. Marriage is sacred.”

“I know it’s customary and ideal to marry but I don’t plan on doing such a thing,” you chimed in.

Aslaug clicked her tongue and patted her mouth with a cloth.

“May I ask why?”

“I’ve never seen one marriage in my life that worked. There’s no sense of love or loyalty. My mother told me of her previous marriages and they all failed some way or another. I made a vow to myself that I won’t be like that. I’ll make my own decisions on what I think is right.”

“Well, that seems a bit harsh. Don’t you want to elevate your status? You’re very beautiful and I bet you’d be capable of marrying an earl or even a king.”

“None of that is fitting for me. Marrying an earl or king would mean that I would be under their thumb. Those of high power are used to being in charge. They’d probably have very little patience for what I say and do.”

“I do admit it takes some getting used to but that’s what husbands are for. They’ll give you children and life goes on after that.”

“That doesn’t seem much of a life for me.”

All the talk of marriage between you and Aslaug had been a strain in the brothers’ eyes. Not one of them wanted to marry, but when the mention of you possibly marrying someone else in a made-up scenario just didn’t sit right with them. It would have to be one of them or no one at all.

Hvitserk reached for your hand and stroked it with his thumb, offering comfort and support.

“Don’t worry marriage is a tough subject for us too.”

“Perhaps we should go for a walk outside?” Ubbe mentioned wanting to get away from all this talk.

“Yeah, but Ivar can’t come. He’ll only slow us down if we have to carry him.”

“Sigurd,” Aslaug warned.

“What? Do you really think a cripple like him has a chance at being loved without women feeling sorry for him? I doubt he has any chance of having children. Though, I think it’s probably for the best.”

“Sigurd! That’s enough.” At the sharpness of your voice, Sigurd backed down.

Everything was hitting Ivar all at once. His anger towards his brothers began to surface. They had always doubted him. The rage and jealousy hit him tenfold. 

“Y/N, did you know that my brothers here have all shared the slave girl, Margrethe? That’s all they’ve been doing since you’ve been gone.”

After Ivar made his announcement Ubbe nudged Ivar’s seat and Hvitserk’s eyes grew wide. Sigurd was flabbergasted. They all were at a loss for words.

Now Ivar was the one with the smug look.

All three brothers were glaring at Ivar before turning their attention to you.

You retracted your hand from Hvitserk then watched them all before briefly turning your attention on the thrall whom they were speaking about. Her eyes were cast downwards while shuffling her feet in obvious discomfort.

“I appreciate you being truthful Ivar but your brothers can bed whomever they want. They can do whatever they want. They’re free right? Now if you’ll excuse me I have to find my brother.”

“Y/N, please,” Ubbe spoke up but you didn’t even turn to acknowledge him.

“Well, brothers it seems like I’m going to be favored and in Y/N’s good graces. Good luck trying to win over her affection.” Ivar smiled boastfully.

“She said we can do what we want.”

The brothers all looked at Hvitserk shaking their heads.

“Poor Hvitserk, so slow to catch on,” Ivar chuckled.

“Would you be okay with Y/N sleeping with someone else?” Hvitserk shrugged. “Other than us.”

That’s when Hvitserk’s expression changed. He didn’t like that thought at all.

“Yeah, I can see why she’d be upset.”

“I think it’s for the best. You all should keep your distance with her.” Aslaug had no problem voicing her opinion on the matter. She was actually glad her boys were focused on someone else at the moment.

“Why’s that?”

“She is the daughter of Lagertha after all. She’s probably turned her into a good manipulator seeing that she is a beautiful seductress to you all.”

“I don’t care who her mother is. I only care for her,” Ubbe spoke up.

“I suppose that’s why you slept with the help then,” Ivar couldn’t help himself. He wanted to revel in their misery which worked when Ubbe stood up and stormed off with the meek thrall following after him.

Everybody else dismissed themselves after that, leaving Aslaug all alone while they all scurried after you.

Tagged: @belovedcherry @lordsexmachine @lol-haha-joke @mariaenchanted @ethereallysimple @bababasti @ir-abelas-telanadas 

[laughingphoenixleader]

Here’s another full-fledged fic, friends!

Pairing: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Rating: G

A/N: This one’s set the night of Season 3, Episode 3: The Holocrons of Fate. This is my vision of how Kanera dealt with the whole K-disappearing-for-six-kriffing-months thing. Enjoy and feel free to leave feedback if the Force calls you to!

@kanerallels <3

Hera Syndulla can’t wield the Force.

Not even a little bit.

But even so, she’s been told that she has a real talent for sensing other people’s emotions.

It started when she was a little girl—a knot in her stomach or some tension in her lekku would appear out of nowhere. She’d suddenly feel frustrated, sad, or afraid without understanding why. Except for times during puberty and her time of month—unfortunately, Hera wasn’t exempt from actual mood swings—those feelings that came out of the blue were never hers at all. When these unexplained emotions appeared within her, Hera would come to find out that someone close to her was struggling with something that had induced the exact feeling that Hera had experienced. So, she was often able to figure out what the people around her were feeling before they understood it themselves. It even, on occasion, happened with complete strangers.

Over time, she even became capable of knowing whose wave of emotions she was being hit by. Everyone’s felt slightly different. Emotional intensity varied from person to person, as did how they felt their emotions. Some beings felt their emotions pounding in their temples, others carried their stress in their shoulders, while others’ feelings made knots in their stomachs materialize. Hera became such an expert on discovering how each person was feeling that she’d often greet a friend or family member by asking why they were feeling so angry, sad, or afraid. The closer she was to a person, the more sensitive she was to their emotions, and the stronger they felt to her.

Hera has never been as in touch with anyone’s emotions as she is with those of Kanan Jarrus.

During the six months when he distanced himself from Hera and the rest of his family, she had always known when the nightmares had come. But he had never come to find her like he used to when the terrors struck. Hera could feel the pull to him—it was always present, no matter how she denied it—growing inside of her until it was almost unbearable, but she had steeled herself and remained where she was (usually the pilot’s seat). She spent plenty of nights staring off into the stars like she and Kanan used to do together, feeling the pain of doing nothing gnawing at her soul. But her respect for Kanan’s desires and needs outweighed it all. She knew him better than anyone else, so she could tell that he didn’t want her help right then. If he had, he would have come and found her. He had to come to her on his own time.

For six months, Kanan hadn’t wanted her help. He hadn’t wanted her.

Hera had to keep telling herself that this hadn’t broken her heart.

When she feels the sickening wrench of panic in her chest while sitting in the pilot’s chair on Atollon, though, she knows in her core that this time is different. This time, he needs her.

In an instant, she’s jumped to her feet, placed her datapad on the floor of the cockpit, and is slamming the button on the Ghost’s controls that opens the door to Kanan’s cabin. No one but her knows that any of the cabin door locks can be overridden from the cockpit, and she plans on keeping it that way.

She’s in his cabin in a flash, heart racing and Kanan’s fear coursing through her veins. She can hear him tossing and turning in the dark as she presses the button to turn on the lights. The dark-haired Jedi in the bottom bunk is drenched in sweat, the sheets twisted around his thrashing form. His scarred eyes are shut tightly. Hera realizes that, though he returned from his self-imposed exile several days ago and lost his sight six months ago, she hasn’t seen him without some sort of blindfold or mask covering his eyes since the incident. His face is twisted into an agonized expression.

Hera runs to his side. “Kanan,” she tries to call him from whatever world of horrors he’s trapped in. “Kanan, wake up!”

The Jedi’s whole body immediately responds to her voice, turning towards her and stilling slightly. Kanan’s always told her that he loves the sound of her voice. So she keeps talking.

“Don’t worry, everything’s fine.”

Kanan’s face twists again, and he seems to look around searchingly, though his eyes are still closed. His body is shaking, his fear palpable.

“It’s me, Kanan, I’m right beside you; you’re safe.”

His eyes fly open.

Kanan’s eyes, eyes that Hera could have stared into forever (though she had usually done her best not to think about that), eyes full of beautiful, vibrant aquamarine, are now pale and colorless.

Hera scolds herself for the lump in her throat that forms. It doesn’t matter. This shouldn’t upset me. Am I really that shallow?

She shakes off the sudden wave of sorrow and focuses on Kanan.

“Hera?” he calls for her, still searching. His face fills with panic again. “Where are you?”

“Look at me—“

Hera stops short.

That was how she had always drawn him from his nightmares before. Look at me, she’d tell him. I’m here. She’d turned the light on for this exact purpose when she’d entered, forgetting for a moment that everything had changed.

She’ll have to get creative this time.

“I can’t!” Kanan cried. “I can’t anymore, Hera, it’s gone—“

“I know, I know—“

“You’re so far away,” his voice breaks as he speaks.

Hera moves closer. “No. I’m right here, Kanan.”

“No,” he says miserably. “You’re gone—you left me—everyone left me—I’m useless, I’m broken, no one needs me anymore—it’s too late—“

His voice, full of anguish, breaks again and his body shakes with tears that he is no longer able to shed. Hera forgets that he broke her heart, that he left them all, that the deepening relationship between them had suddenly become nonexistent. The man she loves is hurting, and she’s going to fix that. Or, at least, help him through it.

She goes back to the door, turning off the lights so she’s forced to see how he sees. Then she climbs into the bunk beside him.

His body is racked with sobs as she places a hand on his cheek. He gasps at her touch.

“Kanan,” she says in her most soothing, reassuring tone—the one that has never failed to calm him before—“do you feel me?”

“Hera,” he whispers, filled with relief, and sounding…awestruck, for some reason.

“It’s me,” she tells him comfortingly, emphasizing her next words. “I never left you, and I never will.”

Kanan begins to mumble her name, one of his hands finding its way on top of hers, the other holding onto her forearm for dear life. The way he says her name always makes her heart race, though she’s never really understood why. No one else pronounces it like that…the way he speaks out the two syllables somehow sounds and feels like a caress. He begins to speak hastily; desperately.

“I can still fight for the Rebellion—I have the Force, it’ll help me see—I’m not truly blind because I can see myself.”

“I believe you, Kanan,” Hera presses her forehead against his. “You’re not useless. We’re never giving up on you.”

Kanan feels her arm, touches her shoulders, his hands seeming to be on a mission to make sure she’s really there. When they near her lekku, Hera moves them away. He’s touched them before, with her permission. That first time he did was the best nights she’d ever had…and so was every other night he’d done it again. Now that he’s been gone for so long, and he clearly doesn’t want her…

Focus on your mission. He needs you—right here; right now.

Hera slips out of her thoughts and feels Kanan place his hand on the side of her face for a moment, then take her in his arms and hold her close. He presses his forehead to hers. Their closeness makes Hera’s heart attempt to catch up to Kanan’s pounding one.

Slowly, his body relaxes. His heavy breathing evens.

Hera relaxes, too. More than she has in six months.

She hasn’t let herself realize how much she’s missed the complete safety she always feels in his arms. She lets him hold her, tucking her head underneath his. Kanan makes a noise of discomfort, and she smiles softly, placing her forehead against his again. This has always been the position they’ve used when comforting each other. Kanan sighs contentedly.

Eventually, he stirs, and she knows he’s emerged from the nightmare.

“Hey,” Kanan greets her, the panic gone from his voice, gentleness and awkwardness taking its place.

There has never been awkwardness between them. Not like this.

Hera lifts her head from his. “Better now?” she asks him.

He shudders. “That’s an understatement.”

Hera strokes his cheek in reply. The last six months had seemed to fade into oblivion during the last few minutes, but now she feels the shards of pain return.

Will he ask me to leave?

“Hera…” he says her name for the thousandth time that night. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she responds quietly.

They don’t move from their positions.

After a moment, he continues tentatively. “You don’t have to stay.”

Hera can still feel the remains of her anger towards him from several days before cutting into her, but the image of his tortured face and voice from earlier are seared into her mind.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asks gently.

His arms involuntarily tighten around her.

She laughs softly in spite of it all. Though her hurt and anger is returning, she’s delighted that he wants her beside him.

“I’m staying.”

Hera realizes that he’s been holding his breath when he resumes breathing again. His pulse speeds up, though it isn’t pounding frantically like it was earlier.

The night he’d come back, they’d had their worst fight to date. Once they were alone in his room, she’d tried—Kanan would chastise her for using that word—to hold her emotions back, to be understanding, but her hurt had led to anger, and it had burst out of her, as it often did. Words had spilled out of her, words she’d bottled up inside her for the last six months. She’d said things she knew she’d regret, things that she could see cutting through him. But her own pain had blinded her in that moment. She’d kept going for those six months, never stopping long enough to deal with her hurt, so it had only festered. Kanan had been defensive, stony-faced, his arms crossed, and that had only enraged her further.

Then, today, after several days of avoiding each other, Maul had attacked the Ghost. Throughout the experience, Hera’s lekku had burned with the knowledge that her last interaction with Kanan, besides a short phrase here and there, had been full of biting words and simmering hurt.

She’d spent the hours after Kanan had rescued her and the others contemplating out what to say and how to apologize. She’d been in the middle of doing so when the wrench of terror sent her straight to his room.

The fight had ended with her snapping, “Don’t pretend you still want me. You proved that that wasn’t true when you abandoned me—abandoned us for half a year.” Her voice had broken against her will. “You didn’t even say you were leaving. Or when you’d be back.” Then she’d slammed on the button to close her door in his face, blinking furiously to hide the scorching tears in her eyes. Hera had slid down the wall, then spent the rest of that night finally letting the tears she’d held back spill out of her.

“You…you want to stay?” Kanan now asks her uncertainly. “Everything you said several nights ago—it all makes sense, and I’m so sorry.” His earnestness and guilt rolls off of him as he continues. “I understand if you don’t forgive me; I know I hurt you—I was gone for so long—“

Hera interrupts softly. “I forgive you.”

He stops his uncomfortable, awkward squirming.

“You do?”

His tone is so full of uncertainty and hope that Hera’s heart melts.

“I do,” she tells him gently. “For everything.”

Kanan begins to protest, torture and regret emanating from his voice, even as Hera can feel some of the tension begin to drain out of him. “No, Hera, you shouldn’t forgive me so easily. I don’t deserve that. After all these years, I just left. The way I made you feel…” Kanan’s voice wavers before he continues. “I thought that the Force was telling me to spend time alone—that was my excuse. But I distanced myself from the Force, from you, from everyone—and I don’t even know why.” He shakes his head, incredulous at himself, then desperately starts to explain. “I couldn’t handle any responsibilities or obligations. My feelings took over—I thought I was useless, that I was a failure because of my blindness—my depression overwhelmed me. I was lost—lost again, like I was when you found me on Gorse.” Kanan’s still holding her, but his embrace feels almost fragile, like he’s afraid that she’ll rip herself away from him at any second. “I thought I had grown since then, that it would never happen again. It wasn’t just that I lost my vision—it was that Ahsoka is gone, that we lost against that Sith Lord—” Kanan heaves a sigh, one heavy with self-hatred. “And now I’m making it about me again.”

Hera listens intently. He’s clearly been carrying this within him for too long. “It’s all right,” she reassures him quietly. “Talk to me.”

“I never stopped wanting you,” he says in a rough voice, one filled with sincerity and raw emotion, and Hera’s broken heart skips a beat. “And I know that that doesn’t seem true, because I still stayed away.” He’s quiet for a moment. Hera can practically hear the gears in his mind turning as he works to verbalize and explain. “I couldn’t face you. Not when I felt so lacking, and you’re so…so capable, so impactful, so successful.“

Hera nearly protests at this, but she stays silent for his sake, knowing that her interruption won’t be helpful to him right now.

“I was ashamed. Ashamed of my weakness. Ashamed that I didn’t sense Maul coming, that I didn’t stop him somehow. And…I couldn’t face the pain of not being able to see you. I didn’t want to hold you back or burden you, or make you feel like you had to let me tag along on missions. I thought that you were better off without me in your way.”

Hera’s heart is reeling and rejoicing at the fact that she is still wanted, that he never really rejected her, but she also knows that he’ll only keep spiraling downward if she doesn’t interject at the right time—which is now.

“You don’t have to explain it all to me,” she tells him sincerely, though the still-angry side of her screams that that isn’t true.

“I’m just trying—I just want you to know that…that I still love you, Hera.”

The earnestness in his voice and the admission of “I love you” does it. Hera can feel her shattered, rejected heart begin to heal. What he says next only soothes it further.

“The depression drowned everything out—but sometimes I would hear your voice, or see your face in my mind, and that kept me from losing all hope. From giving up on everything.”

Hera’s heart swells, and tears spring up in her own fully whole eyes. She places her forehead against his again. His breath catches, but he finishes speaking. “I understand if you don’t feel the same way. I don’t know why you would, after how much I hurt you. I…I can tell you’re heartbroken, Hera.” His body starts shaking again, as if he’s living inside of another nightmare. “And knowing I did that to you—just because all I could think about was myself and what I needed, rather than what you and the rest of the crew needed—“ Hera can feel the unshed tears again as he begins to apologize, again and again, until he loses the ability to speak. She gently cradles his head, stroking his disheveled hair, her own healing heart throbbing at his anguish. She brushes her thumbs over where the tears would be, if everything were different.

“I’m too full of mistakes,” he sobs. “You deserve much better than someone like me.”

Hera decides that now she’s on a mission—a mission to stop her Jedi’s spiral of self-hatred.

“Listen to me, Kanan Jarrus,” she tells him in a firm but kind tone, as she continues to stroke his hair. “You’re no worse than anyone else. We all make mistakes. We’re all selfish at times. Even those of us who devote our lives to helping others sometimes hurt them instead. Caring about someone means helping them move on from their mistakes and make it right. What kind of people would we be if we never gave others a second chance?”

His dry shaking begins to stop, and Hera can feel him listening in rapt attention.

“You know I don’t give up—and I never gave up on you. I never will. Yes, you’ve hurt me, but I care enough about you to forgive you. Who you are right now is worth forgiving. You’re worthy of forgiveness, of my choosing you, even though you aren’t perfect.” Hera’s words seem to hit hard, since Kanan’s breath catches again. She continues genuinely and tenderly, “Even if I met the most perfect person in the galaxy, I’d still choose you instead. You’re truly good, Kanan.”

After a moment of silence, Kanan whispers, “You really mean that?”

Hera lifts his face and presses a kiss to his forehead. “Of course I do. And I really do forgive you. If you’ll forgive me for hurting you instead of listening to you over the last few days.” Now her own voice is colored with remorse. “I should have been there for you, helping you readjust.”

“But, Hera, I understand why you were angry. I deserved it.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Hera points out. “Will you forgive me?”

Immediately, he replies, “Yeah. I forgive you.”

Then his hands move for the first time since his nightmare. He places one on her cheek, while the other moves to the small of her back. Hera’s heart begins to pick up speed as his face nears hers. “Is it all right if I…?” he asks in a whisper, ever respectful of her boundaries. In answer, Hera moves her own face closer to his, and their lips meet.

Six months is a long time.

But the longer you’re deprived of something, the sweeter it is when you finally get to experience it again.

The first thing Hera feels is the warmth. It spreads throughout her whole body, especially her lekku, chasing away the emptiness and loneliness that became the new normal in Kanan’s absence. One of his hands caresses her cheek, while the other pulls her close, resting on the small of her back. She pulls the band from his now-destroyed ponytail, slipping it expertly onto her wrist (she’s had plenty of practice) and threading her fingers into his hair. She can feel him smile into her lips when she does so, which makes her smile in return. Kanan seems to get a burst of excitement, a delighted gasp escaping him. Hera pulls away just enough to ask, “what is it?”

He responds, his voice charged with enthusiasm and love,

“I got to feel you smile again.”

A wave of emotion sweeps over Hera, her heart squeezing at the overwhelming amount of sweetness infused into that small sentence. She presses her lips to his again, beaming just for him. Kanan laughs giddily, a sound of pure joy.

Hera hasn’t heard him laugh in so long.

So she can’t help but laugh with him. A moment later, his thumb begins stroking her cheek more urgently. She gently breaks the kiss to ask, “What is it, love?”She can feel his giddiness rise at the term of endearment, which makes her beam again. He murmurs in a voice filled to the brim with gratitude, “Thank you, Hera. For forgiving me. I thought that I’d lost this. I thought that I’d messed up too badly to ever earn your affection again.” Misery seems to overwhelm him at the thought.

“There’s no need to earn it,” she assures him, placing her other hand, the one not entwined in his hair, on his chest. “Honestly, I couldn’t take it from you if I tried,” she confesses.

“Are you saying that you’re hopeless, Hera Syndulla?” The cocky slyness, which had made up the Kanan Jarrus that she first met all those years ago on Gorse, fills his voice.

She rolls her eyes, then remembers that the lights are out, and that he can’t see her anyway. And yet—

“You just rolled your eyes, didn’t you?”

“You earned it,” she deadpans.

He laughs again and somehow pulls her closer, so that their foreheads are touching again.

“There’s the Hera I remember,” he declares, tenderness and the classic mischievousness returning.

She showcases her own mischievous streak in her reply. “Missed me, love?”

“Every second,” he answers tenderly.

“I missed you, too,” she tells him, warmth filling her tone and her soul.

That sly mischievousness again. “Especially my sense of humor, right?”

“Actually, that’s what I missed the least,” she switches back into deadpanning.

“Hey!” he protests, his tone a convincing one of feigned offense, but then it makes way for the trademark slyness. “But you did miss it.”

Hera groans. “That is not what I said.”

“You’re not denying it,” Kanan teases.

After a moment, he declares, “I’ve finally found the one benefit that comes with being blind.”

“What’s that?” she asks, resigning herself to whatever nonsense he’s about to spill.

She can hear the grin in his voice. “Now I can’t see it when you glare at me.”

Hera rolls her eyes, then says in a playful tone, “But you can feel my anger in the Force, right?”

Kanan’s silent for a moment. “It’s impossible not to.” He shudders, mortified at the thought of it.

“Kanan Jarrus, you’re a Jedi Knight and a veteran of the Clone Wars, and you’re afraid of me?”

He lets out a huff of laughter, like the answer is obvious. “You bet.”

Hera’s voice is devious. “You should be.”

“Everybody should be. You’re terrifying, Hera.”

She chuckles, shaking her head slightly, her forehead still pressed to his. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Come on, I never exaggerate.”

After a moment of silence on Hera’s part, he amends reluctantly, “okay, I usually don’t exaggerate. You’ve seen how the kids and I look at you when you’re furious with us.”

Hera considers this. She always knows that when she gives members of her crew that glare, they’ll do whatever she says. Usually. “Maybe I should use it on whoever’s trying to attack us sometime.”

“You should. Just to see what would happen.”

She laughs. “I don’t even need a blaster. No armor can protect those stormtroopers from my death glare.”

“You better believe it,” Kanan murmurs, stroking the small of her back.

“I sure am glad you’re not angry with me anymore,” he adds after a bit of comfortable silence.

“Me too, love.”

Chills ripple over him at the term of endearment, and she chuckles lightly, a bubble of joy rising inside of her at how much he treasures her little ways of showing him how much she loves him.

Hera has no clue how long they stay like this, stealing kisses, sharing little touches, slipping in and out of conversation (complete with plenty of smiles and eyerolls). What she does know is that the distance between her and Kanan has disappeared. The emptiness and feelings of being incomplete have been replaced by fullness and completeness. No, they aren’t as close as they were before Malachor, but Hera has faith that that will change over time. What matters most is that she knows that Kanan is happier than he’s been in a long time. Eventually, they drift off into sleep, still holding each other close. Their dreams are peaceful, for there’s no room for nightmares when nothing but long-awaited contentment fills them both to overflowing.

When morning comes, the members of the Ghost Crew don’t need to be able to sense each others’ emotions to know that things have finally changed for the better.

The family is whole again.

[morimakesfanart]

Sindria's Prophet #17

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16]

[AO3]

*In this house we stan string theory and multiple dimension theory *Also, this chapter gets a little preachy, and delves more into my interpretation of the series so to make up for it I made a lot of art.

~POV Sinbad~ "If you're willing to talk about the future, does that mean you are finally ready to explain about those calamities you mentioned in Balbadd?" When Ja'far cut in he was in a rush; he didn't want to miss this chance. Sinbad had underestimated Ja'far's concerns; he had been too preoccupied with the Prophet. All the same, "I don't know if this is the time for that conversation. This is Mori's first meal with everyone after all." Wait. He knew that look. Ja'far wasn't actually asking to have that conversation now. He was pressuring Mori so she would have to agree to tell them soon. "I'm fine. I made a promise and I intend to keep it. As long as everyone else is willing to talk seriously for a few mins, I don't see the problem." Mori was wearing the same stern expression she had the morning of the coup in Balbadd. When Ja'far had cut in with his request he could have tried to sound a little nicer but it didn't warrant the cold response Mori gave in return. There had been rising tensions between Ja'far and Mori since Balbadd, but both seemed to get along most of the time. "Wait really? You're agreeing this easily?" Ja'far's shock also spoke for the King. She obviously didn't want to talk about the Calamities even when she promised to tell them, so why now? "A promise is a promise." Mori almost felt like a completely different person compared to the coy way she was teasing them all just moments ago. "Besides, this will just continue to be a point of contention until I explain."

--- King Sinbad was finally eating with his Generals and Prophet, but this was nothing like he had planned. Mori sat straight with both hands on the table interlocked. "The 1st of the 2 calamities occurs in about 2 years. As you know, there's a few countries that currently have rising tensions." Which countries? The Kou and Riem were prime contenders since they were already Empires causing trouble for other countries. There was also Magnostadt which has been becoming increasingly hostile to other nations, and seemed to be encroaching on the Kingdom of Actia. "In 2 years, 3 of them are going to go to war. A massive amount of black Rukh will be released, and the same type of magic used to make the Dark Djinns will be used to make a humanoid monster the size of a mountain." Of course, Al Thamen would be involved. "The amount of black Rukh it will have will make it a Medium for opening a black spot and letting Ill Ilah connect to the world which is Al Thamen's ultimate goal. Once Ill Ilah connects it will destroy all of the white Rukh in the world -bringing death." It sounded just like what Falon had described as her plan all those years ago. The same thing that happened in Parthevia a decade ago is going to happen again in only 2 years? "The Medium is destroyed before that can happen thanks to all of the current Metal Vessel users and assimilated Household Members coming together to destroy it. The world is saved but in the process one of the Magi will have to commit one of the ultimate taboos of this world. That taboo is what will eventually lead to the 2nd Calamity. If King Sinbad and the Metal Vessel users of the Seven Seas Alliance, which were the last to arrive, can show up sooner then that taboo and the 2nd Calamity might be something that can be fully avoided especially since I already know the Medium's weakness." It was clear that Mori knew more. Sinbad would have to talk to her about it later; he wasn't sure how much he wanted to talk about this tonight -they were supposed to be celebrating and getting to know each other light heartedly. However, there was one question he couldn't hold back from asking. "What is this taboo?” Mori sighed like she had expected that question. She looked to the ceiling. "Honestly, I didn't want to think it was a taboo when I first learned it, but after seeing what happens I get it now." She looked back at them. "I hope you can accept me not telling what it is. I don't want to even try to explain the 2nd Calamity because I'm not sure how without explaining the taboo. You see, the taboo involves information, so if I explain it to you I will be committing the taboo myself. I can only hope that the world isn't endangered because I know it." The air in the room felt thick. All of the Generals were waiting for his decision. Sinbad tried to read the Prophet's expression. It was serious, and determined; it seemed like fear and remorse were hiding right under the surface. What information could be dangerous on its own? "Alright," he agreed. "We don't want to take any unnecessary risks. However, if we are unable to prevent the taboo from being committed you will explain the 2nd Calamity." Mori attempted a half-hearted smile. "I was already planning to do that." She glanced around at the Generals. "Are there any other questions?" Sharrkan grumbled. "This is all really complicated stuff." "Yeah. Pretty scary, huh?" Pisti agreed. Drakon and Hinahoho were sharing a look while thinking.

"You still haven't told us where this is going to happen." Ja'far decided he would ask the next question. "Are you withholding that information on purpose?" Mori's expression was blank. "I'll tell you the countries involved after King Sinbad returns from the Kou Empire. I don't want to influence how the negotiation goes by giving him too much information he wouldn't normally have. I'm doing this for Balbadd..." Mori withholding vital information was the entire cause of Ja'far's distrust of her. "You took too long to tell us what was going to happen back in Balbadd, remember? If we know what their next target is then we can stop it before it ever happens." "The 1st Calamity has nothing to do with Al Thamen." "What?” that question was asked by all except the Prophet. Mori explained, "That country has refused contact with them and been building towards this for the past 10 years all on its own. All of the Black Rukh that has been accumulated there is like a trap waiting to be set off. The people currently in charge are not people who would be willing to accept change, or to listen to the arguments of the people here." That definitely narrowed it down. Riem was already having meetings with them, and it was only a matter of time before they formed an alliance. They already had the peace treaty with the Kou, and King Sinbad was about to go negotiate with them for Balbadd. That only left Magnostadt as the center of the conflict -the country they knew had increasing disparity between it's upper and lower classes. Mori was staring at him. He wasn't the one she was actually hiding this from. Since it didn't seem to be an avoidable Fate, she was preventing Yam from learning the Fate of her home country for as long as possible. Mori was trying to be considerate. "How is that possible?” "If they aren't behind it then how could such a thing happen??” Mori gave a sad smile. "It would be so much easier if all of the bad things in this world really were all caused by that organization. I had wrongly thought that was how this world works in the heat of the moment back in Balbadd, but I know better. I've read this world's Fate after all. Even in this world it is a mistake to hold onto the hope of total altruism too strongly." It almost felt like she was calling them all naïve with that last statement. She looked down at her hands. "Sentience, experience and free will make us all imperfect. All people are shaped by their past and everyone has a vice. There will always be people who think they are above everyone else, people who think they are right because of their feelings, people who think that they deserve something just because they want it or that they can do something because it is available to them," she looked back up and made direct eye contact with her King, "people that think that their luck or privilege is a sign that they were chosen by Fate, that they are the only one who can do something because they are special and that that means they are righteous and their failings mere stepping stones when in reality they are all normal people just like the rest of us." ///She knows nothing about being a Singularity. There's no greater proof of being chosen by Fate!/// Since the Fall of First Sindria, Sinbad had been hearing a voice periodically. It was like stray thoughts -many were opinions he didn't really have. The fact that the voice felt the same as him in this made a pit form in his stomach.

Mori gestured at him and continued. "Even his Majesty being a 'Singularity' is only something rare. You aren't the first, and you won't be the last. You know I can read the waves of Fate as well, so it's obviously not the type of thing that you or Al Thamen makes it out to be. There is no 'chosen one.' No one is immune to human fault or failing. 'Fate' is the history of how all of our decisions affect each other.” It was like she was reading his thoughts. There were other Singularities? Mori could also read the waves but- The waves in the room were over flowing. This was greater than when Mori changed things in Balbadd. They were far off topic now, but this was more important. ///She doesn't understand anything. I've read Fate!/// Those stray thoughts hated Mori and how she was changing things since the beginning even though when Sinbad read the waves around her he liked the direction they were going. Her waves wouldn't stop him from reaching his dream. If that voice was this against what she was doing then he had to know more. "Mori, please tell me, what makes you so sure? You say you've read Fate; how can you say there isn't a grand plan? Can you really deny that the Rukh guide us?" Would they have to agree to disagree? Was this something he could afford for the Prophet of his own country to not see his way? She watched him and the Generals as she thought. "There is a 'plan,' but it isn't absolute. I read more than one 'Fate' for this reality. If Fate was already fully decided then in Balbadd Judar would have defeated all of you instead of being crushed by Ugo, and Cassim would have married Princess Kougyoku instead of dying, but that didn't happen, now did it? When I read Fate, I read how it was changed from it's original design by the people of this world. And as I've already said, I couldn't be here if everything was already decided.” ((these are things that are said to be in the og draft of Magi, but got changed when actually making the scenes)) They had been changing Fate's course before Mori arrived? Was that even possible? Mori wasn't the type to lie out right over something like this. Between her demeanor and the waves, he could tell she wasn't lying. He had to know where this new path was leading and asked an obvious question. "Isn't it just as likely that those 'changes' were supposed to happen?" Mori scowled at that. "Anything is true somewhere. There are infinite realities where any Fate is true. Every moment infinitely more form to account for every possibility -every decision, and unexpected change, even an asteroid coming and destroying the planet. If you can imagine it, it is reality somewhere." Sinbad had read Fate in the waves, of course he knew about there being other possibilities. Were there really other realities where he had followed one of the other paths? Mori didn't wait for him to comment. "There's no way to know which destiny or Fate we are following until it's already happened. Being able to read the waves has helped me narrow it down to 2 or so of the Fates that I read for this reality, but it can't account for everything. Since I can't read my own Fate I can't know how my presence will affect things." Mori continued, "When I read this reality's Fate, I learned how it functions on a fundamental level. Everything is made up of Rukh and is dictated by the Rukh and magoi. The Great Flow of the Rukh 'guides' the living but it is also affected by the wants and desires of the living. It sees all those wishes and creates opportunities for people to realize those dreams based on how many want that dream to become real. But it's still up to the living how they react. The Great Flow creates opportunities and makes suggestions, but it can't make your decisions for you. And" Mori paused while looking for the right words, "and the more magoi directed at a certain wish the more likely the Great Flow will try to help." Mori waited for them to absorb the meaning of her words. That meaning made Sinbad nervous. If she wasn't lying... Drakon broke the silence. "That would mean that someone with

a lot of magoi would have a greater affect on the Great Flow." "It does." Mori confirmed. Was that really how the Great Flow of the Rukh worked? How Fate worked? Mori stayed silent again, reading them as much as they were reading her. The waves were still high. Yam was the next to comment. "I know the amount of magoi a person has defines how strong of a magician they can become, but it sounds like those born with a lot of magoi also have an amazing privilege when it comes to the Great Flow." "Exactly." Mori agreed. "The people that Fate seems to favor aren't chosen by Fate or particularly special. They are born lucky just like those born rich." She paused. "All Dudgeon Capturers have an above average amount of magoi. A Djinn won't select a King that doesn't even have enough magoi to use their power. The more Djinns a person has, the more magoi they need to have. King Sinbad, you were born with a rare ability, and the equivalent magoi of a large city or small county -even before all that Rukh merged with you in Parthevia. If you didn't, there would be no reasons for the Djinns to cut you off from trying to capture more Dungeons." "What?" Sinbad's question slipped out of him in an airy gasp. He knew he had more magoi than average, but this would make him no different from those that grew up as royalty thinking that they were inherently better than their poor subjects. He wasn't sure if he could believe her, but the waves of Fate had never lied to him. The Prophet's waves were overwhelming the space, encouraging him to believe her. It was obvious how this information would change things. King Sinbad had more than the waves, he also had a sharp intuition. There was something hidden in her words. Some truth about his future that she hadn't told them yet. Even if he had been intentionally given these privileges by Fate, Mori had already stated that his decisions were his own. When Mori had said there were people that conflated their privilege with a righteous roll given by Fate it definitely included him. But if he wasn't chosen by Fate, if they had been changing Fate all along, then what was what happened in Parthevia or Riem? Mori's voice pulled him out of his thoughts. "Not being chosen by Fate and everyone having free will is a good thing if you ask me. It means when someone chooses to do right by others it is because they chose to, not because someone is forcing or directing them. I like to think that everyone thinks they are doing the right thing, and only act out against others because of strong emotions and ignorance. The cure for most negative emotions is a stable environment ((including medication for those who need it)) and the cure for ignorance is education. These are things that Sindria and the Seven Seas Alliance are able to provide. "All of you are using your privileges and talents to help people, and to bring peace to the world. Regardless of whatever mistakes you made in the past, this country and the current state of the world are a direct result of your choices. These choices you've all made are even more admirable because you made them on your own. Isn't that why so many have sided with Sindria already? It's also one of the main reasons I chose to become Sindria's Prophet in the first place. With your help, we can greatly reduce the disparity of this world and raise the quality of life for everyone." Her smile was soft and confident. Mori's waves overtook his own.

The King had a thought that shook him, but it was Hinahoho that asked it, "You didn't just tell us some of the taboo information, did you?" "What? No." Mori was shocked by that question. "His Majesty and others would have figured this out all on their own in about 5 years -not to mention those that already know it." He could try to deny it, return to the path he was on, but he would know deep down that she was right. And apparently, he would figure this out in the future anyway. There was no reason to hold himself back then. He could see that now -there was no going back. This was one of the changes he had felt in her waves from when he first met Mori. ///How can she say such foolishness?? This woman must die before she ruins everything!!/// A chuckle slipped out of Sinbad. That voice really did hate his Beautiful Prophet. His waves were changing. He was changing. But he still had the same dream: to create a world without war or poverty. Mori's goal was to remove disparity. Even their goals worked well together. Why had he been so sure that being a Singularity made him some special chosen one? When had that started? It was members of Al Thamen that had told him that. They were the enemy yet he still believed their manipulation so completely. Sinbad knew why deep down. If he was chosen by Fate then his actions would be righteous and the awful things he experienced were stepping stones. Like a child learning to take responsibility and step out of the shadow of their parents, in this too he would have to take ownership for his place in the world. He would be thinking about this a lot in the coming days. All of this information was invaluable. Why did Mori choose to follow him if she knew all this? There was no way she didn't know how he viewed himself and the world before this conversation or the mistakes he had made. Was it thanks to opportunities that the Great Flow gave him that he was able to seduce her to his side? No. Mori already knew what was going to happen. She knew the future more clearly than what the waves could show. She knew him and his methods as well. She knew that the Kou Fleet had been on it's way. That meant Mori would have been deciding where she wanted to go and weighing her options from the beginning. Mori made her decision, gave him a slow drip feed of what she was capable of, and made sure each request he had of her was given a price. She wasn't just withholding her help due to a lack of trust; she was leading him to make the best possible offer. She knew that he would try to bring her to his side if he knew her value. He had played into her hands not the other way around. Why didn't this realization upset him? This new information wasn't going to stop him from achieving his dream. In fact, now that he had a better idea of how the Great Flow worked he could consciously use it to his advantage. He got what he wanted and it was mutual -not simply Fate. They both wanted this. This was making him excited. The smile on her face was one he recognized. He had worn it when he was young whenever he had convinced others to his side. Mori was cut from the same cloth. She had agreed to have this conversation not just because of Ja'far's insistence; she was after the opportunity to clear up his misunderstanding about Fate. ((plz ignore that I forgot to draw my freckles in most of the shots and am too lazy to fix it.))

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 3 - F#$k the Police

Bucky Barnes x (f)reader Series Rewrite (Civil War, Infinity War/Endgame, TFATWS)

Summary: What’s happening in Romania? For awhile you’ve had the best time with Bucky all to yourself, but now, it appears the world is not done with you two just yet.

Warning: tinge of fluff, violence, fighting, reader being a bad bitch, Bucky going through it, Steve metaphorically herding cats (Bucky, reader, T’Challa), some google translate (I hope its right)

Masterlist

Leaning against a telephone poll, you adjust your darkly tinted sunglasses before stuffing your hands back into your jacket pockets. Hood up and stance as casual as ever while you patiently await your dark haired lover, who at this moment happens to be purchasing some plump and juicy looking plums.

Doing his best to appear relatively unrecognizable, Bucky walks over to you in his usual faded ball-cap, layered jacket, and black gloves while you give him a nod of acknowledgment as he quickly approaches. Soon he’s by your side and the two you begin walking towards the street where you’ll be crossing.

“Y/N, you think these ones will taste good?” Wonders Bucky as he shifts his gaze to you for a wise answer, like you magically are able to tell if these random plums are sour or not.

You shrug, “Probably.”

He stares uncertainly down at the plums, “They were kind of sour last time.”

Throwing him a humored glance, you keep walking, “Did you tell her that? Maybe she would have given these ones to you for free.”

“Well.....no.”

Retrieving your dark tinted sunglasses from the bridge of your nose before shoving them in a pocket, you throw a glance back over at the plum cart, nudging Bucky, “I’ll steal some again and then we’ll compare what days they taste good and what days they taste bad. Maybe that will help out your plum dilemma.”

“You’ve stolen plums before?” Whispers Bucky in bewilderment like you just stabbed a guy in broad daylight, “Y/N.” He whines, “We can’t be stealing things! We’re trying to keep a low profile, remember?”

Rolling your amused eyes at his fearful concern over something so tiny, you playfully tug against his grey jacket, “Stealing some plums is the least unlawful thing I have ever done moya lyubov' now come on.” You muse with a reassuring grin.

Wanting to protest, he chooses against it when he hears you call him my love in Russian; that’s new, he think warmly, you’ve never said anything that deeply intimate before. He could certainly get used to it.

Coming to a halt, the two of you patiently wait for the roadway to clear up, but while you’re standing there in the open, you skillfully take notice of some man in his mid thirties with a half eaten lollipop positioned in his right hand. He leans against the counter from behind a newspaper stand, where two curious greyish blue eyes give yourself and then Bucky a wary look as he begins to squint suspiciously. Soon his gaze trails over you both again like he’s trying to solve a 1000 piece puzzle, but can’t quite tell just yet which piece goes next. How odd, you think.

“Nothing is ever odd, there is reason for everyone’s intricate behavior, always be on guard.” Speaks a whisper from your past days training with Hydra.

Glancing over to Bucky, you notice as he starts to appear rather uncomfortable since he’s realized the stranger is staring. What a nosy little weasel, why would he give a shit about us? Tugging on his sleeve, you begin taking the lead across the four-way, the weaselly looking mans eyes go wide in genuine fear as he turns and books it out of the booth like a bat out of hell. Racing past annoyed civilians as they go about their normal business.

Brows furrowed in confusion you hastily reach the newspaper stand and flip a paper around only to be greeted with greatly troubling words printed aggressively in big black letters reading...

 -WINTER SOLDIER CÂUTAT PENTRU BOMBARDMENTUL DIN VIENNA- 

...with a blurred security footage picture of Bucky’s shadowed face walking suspiciously by a white van in presumably a parking garage.

On further inspection lower down the page, you take notice of the alarming words below, translating to...

 -On international watchlist; Possible accomplice suggested at place of crime, Y/N Valerious is being investigated into for feasible involvement with one credited for bombing. Investigators advise great caution if seen and require a report immediately upon recognition.-

Paired with a blurred fuzzy head shot taken from CCT footage in 1997 after you sliced your way through a notorious drug cartel in Colombia.

Shit. And how the fuck did they find that picture?

Bucky quickly rips it out of your hands and stares frustratingly at the parchment, eyes focused on the concerning news as he flickers his attention back down at you, “Y/N?” He mutters uncertainly, face appearing increasingly distraught as he looks to you for an answer.

Glancing warily around the crowded area, you swallow nervously before finding his uneasy gaze once again, “I really need to stop speaking ahead of myself....fuck.....we need to leave.” You urge, tugging on his arm to move, you let go as the two of you head back to your shared apartment.

Eyes glancing warily around you the whole way there.

——

Walking quickly up the steps, you suddenly catch the scent of an unknown man leading right into the cracked door of your apartment, Bucky halts as you remain still as stone, nose crinkling as you test the air.

“Y/N?” He whispers unsurely as you shush him.

Sensing this stranger isn’t here to fight due to the lack of aggressor pheromones extruding from out of his system, you both cautiously walk into the room, on guard as you move more silently then an owl in flight, he doesn’t hear a thing. Quickly you visually analyze a tall man in dark blue with a helmet tightly fitted against his head, standing relatively still with his back turned to you two. A familiar shield held strongly from his left forearm as his head looks down at the journal positioned in his right hand. 

Bucky’s journal.

Standing defensively side by side with Bucky, the uniformed man suddenly turns around; his eyes are a dark ocean, yet soft and set; a faded white A sits just above his eyes and a dull white star appears in the center chest area of his stealth suit. This is without a failing doubt Captain America, but what does he want with you two? 

Breathing steadily he gives the two of you a once over before focusing on Bucky, “Do you know me?” He asks, voice calm and collected. Not an ounce of aggression.

Your eyes flicker cautiously from Bucky then back to the stranger as he takes a slow breath, “You’re Steve. I read about you in a museum.”

[They’ve set the perimeter] -speaks a disembodied voice from Steve’s earpiece, only yourself and Steve are able to pick it up.

What the fuck does that mean?

The American sets Bucky’s journal onto the kitchen table as he shifts in place, your fists instinctively clench in preparation for a possible clash as Steve’s perceptive gaze shifts warily from your hands up to your watchful glare; he must know about you, “I’m not here to fight.” Confirms Steve with a small nod before turning to Bucky, “I know you’re nervous, and you have plenty of reason to be. But you’re lying.”

“I wasn’t in Vienna, we both weren’t. I don’t do that anymore.” Mumbles Bucky truthfully, you’ve been with him for months now and neither of you have even left the city so how the hell did his blurry photo get printed onto the daily newspaper?

[They’re entering the building.] -speaks the voice.

Steve takes an urgent yet cautious step forward, clearly something terrible is about to go down for the three of you, if the guy on the ear piece wasn’t telling enough, “Well, the people who think you did are coming here now. For both of you. And they’re not planning on taking you alive.” Warns Steve sincerely, voice steady and true.

Bucky’s lips nervously purse together as he mutters unenthusiastically, “That’s smart. Good strategy.”

[They’re on the roof. I’m compromised.]- says the voice, more urgently this time.

Suddenly your ears pick up the sounds of heavy boots as they pound against the large spiraled staircase, squeezing your eyes shut in irritated anticipation, you open them to face the soldier, “Well this is fucking fantastic.” You seethe through clenched teeth, accent dripping strong as you shake your head in frustration.

Steve gives the two of you a pleading look, “This doesn’t have to end in a fight.” He urges as you both stand like a nervous predator, unsure if their prey is going to put up a deadly brawl to the death or not.

Giving him a hooded grimace, your eyes shift from the front door then back to him as you begrudgingly mutter, “It always ends in a fight.”

Looking away, he nods towards Bucky, “You pulled me from the river.” Starts Steve as Bucky hastily removes the black glove covering his metal arm, “Why?”

Bucky huffs, reluctant eyes dancing over to Steve’s, “I don’t know.”

[Three seconds!]- says the voice.

“Yes, you do.”

[Breach! Breach! Breach!]

Yells the voice frantically just as the left window shatters as some can sized metal bomb crashes onto the floor, the three of you immediately turn towards the harmful object right as Bucky kicks it, Steve coming to the rescue as he covers the bomb with his shield. Boom! It goes off, leaving everyone to live another day, or at least for the next minute.

A second later you hear insistent shouting in German just as Bucky grabs the mattress, he shields himself with it as his other hand pulls you to his chest protectively just as a destructively lesser bomb ignites against it from the now broken window.

Pulling out of his grasp, Bucky tosses it aside before kicking the small kitchen table where it lodges itself tightly against the front door. Turning towards the two windows positioned on your right, you’re immediately greeted with the breaking of glass as two heavily equipped combat police burst rudely into the room, heavily armored in tactical gear and ready to kill.

Well, shit.

At an inhuman speed you swiftly grab the first mans gun and point the steel barrel upwards just as he shoots, avoiding killing Bucky if you were a second late; your eyes turn angry as you swing your fist, knocking him unconscious from your blow to his helmet.

The second man shoots a line of bullets that scream angrily into the ceiling when Steve thrusts his gun away from you two, knocking him out in the process. Immediately another soldier breaks into the room from the bathroom door by Steve, gun at the ready as Steve shoves his weapon to the side where Bucky then harshly kicks him in the chest. Sending the intruding soldier into the bathroom, presumably with a hefty concussion.

But before Bucky is able to continue onward, Steve quickly grabs his arm, “Buck, stop!” Instantly he twists out of Steve’s grasp, giving his old friend a deadly glare, “You’re gonna kill someone. Both of you!” He snaps, stormy eyes shifting from you to Bucky just as your Winter Soldier shoves him to the ground by his collar before lunching his metal arm violently into the floorboards right next to his head.

Glaring at Steve, he growls, “I’m not gonna kill anyone.” Before pulling his arm out of the broken wood, travel backpack in hand; he stands and immediately throws it out the broken window about ten stories onto another rooftop below.

Standing in the middle of the ruined apartment as you face them, another soldier crashes through the broken window to your left, Bucky and Steve brace for the worst as the man pauses for a moment, gun facing the floor. Moving swiftly, you quickly unsheathe your razor sharp Adamantium claws out of your right fist before cleanly slicing his weapon into three consecutive pieces.

Shouldn’t have hesitated fucker.

The broken gun clashes to the floor as the soldiers eyes flash with fear before you roughly push him against the wall, grimacing in anger, right hook cocked back as you suddenly thrust a clawed fist directly into his shoulder. He lets out a pained gravelly scream as you pull away to face Bucky and a wide eyed Steve, the injured soldier sliding down the wall to the floor as he applies pressure on his newly bleeding wound.

A second later two more men come racing into the room as your victim slumps to the side once you kick him in the head, unconscious but still breathing as small drops of blood seep out of his affected shoulder. He’s someone else’s problem now.

Steve raises his shield as bullets deflect off the metal, soon Bucky throws his metal arm up; deflecting multiple bullets as Steve takes out a guy on the balcony. Bucky in the meantime has managed to knock the gunman out with a cement brick as you retract your claws back into your fist.

Boom! Boom! Boom! 

Pounds loudly against the locked front door as bullets crash into the hinges, soon Bucky races for the thin wood and thrusts his metal fist into the door without a second thought. Seconds later he breaks down the door, knocking out two guys in the process as you slip past him and into the long staircase hallway that only goes in two consecutive directions, up or down.

Shit, more are coming up the stairs!

A soldier promptly breaks through the overhead glass window from the roof and ascends on a thick black rope, shooting at Bucky who easily deflects his bullets before you kick the man into the wall, knocking him out instantly. Body limp and peaceful as he hangs suspended mid-air in the center of the rounded stairwell, you quickly look down to witness the tiny army of combat police hellbent on ruining your perfectly fine day. 

Well, not much of a fine day anymore.

Without time to process much, you watch as more soldiers charge up the stairs, guns ready to fire; suddenly Bucky jumps on the knocked out man hanging from the ceiling and falls to the next landing below as he uses the unconscious soldier for a sort of pully system, knocking out more police as they try and fight him off once he lands.

Blinking, you jump down without assistance but your own fearsome willpower before shoving a guy down the stairs, who conveniently trips up others in the process. But at least eight more are racing to finish their job, right on cue another soldier meets on your landing as Bucky fights off one from behind you.

Before he’s even able to pull the trigger, you’ve sliced his weapon in half, kicking him harshly into the wall, doing the same to his friend as you fight your way along the staircase, skillfully avoiding bullets and fists alike. 

Turning around to the sounds of Bucky grunting, your eyes trail up and watch as he throws a man over the edge of the railing. But before anything bloody happens, Steve swiftly catches his dark collar much to your disappointment. He then heroically throws the man elsewhere as the fighting starts up again.

Soon Bucky nearly gets his lights knocked out as an armored gloved mitt comes flying for the back of his head; your fist however, breaks the guys jaw with a loud crack as you save your lover from an unfortunate injury. Bucky then gives you a quick nod of silent appreciation before you look up the staircase to see a disappointed Steve. oh, fuck off.

Huffing in irritation, you nudge Bucky to make a swift exit out of here; heeding to your urgent request he knocks another guy out before jumping down a multitude flight of stairs, grabbing onto the closest railing and tearing it back with a pained cry as he uses it to maneuver himself onto the landing.

Alright, time to go.

Breaking a soldiers arm, you proceed to do the same; arriving roughly on the cement landing as you skillfully tuck and roll before jumping up into a standing position and taking a moment to watch as Bucky races down the hallway before jumping off the corridor balcony.

Taking a deep breath in preparation for the jump to come, you book it down the same hallway and soon are free falling while quickly headed for the rooftop below. The damn roof ledge comes faster then you’d anticipated; landing hard against the protruding edge, you grunt in pain before rolling across the roof a couple feet while Bucky picks up his backpack mid run.

With no time to dwell on the burning ache in your shoulder, you push yourself from the ground as you race to catch up with Bucky who’s a good ten feet from you by now. He listens as you grumble a string of incomprehensible swears in displeasured Russian, but keeps running forward as he knows you’ll be right behind him in an instant.

Boots smacking hard against the rooftop cement, you’re almost caught up with Bucky when without so much as a warning does a dark silent shadow appear in your line of sight from directly above you, a second later you’re forcibly thrown into one of the metal conditioning system units, eyes wide and head in a daze. Only to be greeted with a man dressed in a black catlike stealth suit of some strange armor, where he soon begins hand to hand combat with Bucky.

Fuck that hurt. Asshole, you growl miserably.

Bucky dodges and throws skilled yet desperate punches at the mystery individual, although neither of them appear to take any real damage, fortunately for Bucky’s dwindling safety, but not for this other guy. Shaking the fuzziness out of your head, and ignoring the small trickle of blood leaving a red stain from the side of your temple, you hastily jump to your feet and charge the armored bastard as he throws Bucky into another conditioner unit.

Making a clean dent in the thin metal, Bucky’s eyes widen in genuine fear as the angry panther brings his shimmering silver clawed hand into the air, ready to strike. Cornered, Bucky braces for the worst with his metal arm blocking his face just as you seize the panthers forearm.

He abruptly turns his armored head towards you, and is thus kindly greeted with a swift punch to the face that sends him rolling across the rooftop a couple feet away from you and Bucky. Tumbling for a moment, he instantly regains his footing while silver colored claws slash thin sparking lines of gold across the cement as he stops dead in a predatory crouched position.

Well, now he really looks unhappy.

Bucky watches as the panther slowly rises to his feet, looking rather angered by your violent intrusion; breathing heavily, you stare down the fucker before a slow ‘shling’ sounds from out of your clenched fists. The panthers head tilts curiously, closely resembling that of an actual feline as he witnesses a total of six razor sharp claws protruding dangerously in the sunlight.

“Alright. Now we’re even.” You growl darkly as the panther charges for an attack, within seconds yours claws clash violently against his armor as he swipes for an opening to cause some real damage.

Bucky rises to his feet as he watches you and the panther fight like old enemies, sparks fly like confetti as your claws slash against his strange suit while the two of you dance in a rhythmic warriors tango, strangely on the rooftop of some Romanian hotel while Steve remains elsewhere for the time being. 

Anticipating another blow from you, the panther blocks it and finally gets a clean shot of your face, soon you’re on the ground in a blurry daze before shaking your head while you rise to your hands and knees. Okay fuck this guy.

Drops of ruby red blood patter onto the cement as your face turns into a pissed off scowl, both the panther and Bucky watch in anticipation as you dramatically turn around to face them. Three clean slashes mark deep from your right hairline, across your cheek, where finally it relents at the base of your jaw.

You sneer in vexation as your skin fuses ripped muscle and blood vessels back together in a matter of seconds, then without warning does a helicopter appear from above where it rudely begins raining bullets onto the three of you.

Fuck this.

Luckily the artillery is deflected away from Bucky as it hits the panther first, unluckily for you, a couple strays vigorously drag themselves in and out of your shoulder and torso. A sharp white hot paint rips through your vessel causing your legs to buckle, falling to the ground, you instantly scream out in agony when the unpleasant sensation fully registers in your brain, as Bucky’s face turns to worry then anger.

Soon the bullets stop as the helicopter gets pushed off course by some man in a bird suit. Well today really couldn’t be any weirder, what’s next Ironman? You sarcastically think before reluctantly forcing yourself onto your feet only to be welcomed by the worried face of Bucky as he grabs your bleary attention, “Let’s go, we could make it to the underpass.” Affirms Bucky as your strength comes to you once again, muscles fusing back together, the pain fading swiftly.

“Yeah, fuck this.” You retort as he turns and swiftly jumps off the roof and onto another ledge below a you do the same, claws slashing down the buildings side as you do so. But all too soon are you greeted by the metal on metal screeching of the panthers claws as he slides down the side of the same apartment building, closer then you’d like. “Fuck.” You mutter, deeply irritated by this dickhead who won’t give either of you a break.

Not wanting to face the wrath of his shiny sharp claws, you quickly retract yours before you and Bucky instantly turn and jump the rest of the way down, landing skillfully onto the grey sidewalk below before booking it out of there as the panther aggressively chases onward. Steve not far behind, though you don’t care nor have the time to look.

Racing across the city road, bullets fly by the two of you as the opening to the cities subterranean underpass greets you with open arms. Shuffling past some small bushes, Bucky jumps down first, you right behind him as your world turns into a hasty blur. Soon everything comes to an abrupt halt once your boots smack hard against the surface of the roads blacktop.

The sounds of angry car horns blare loudly in your ears as a couple vehicles swerve to the side, just narrowly missing yourself and Bucky, “Come on!” You shout urgently before twisting around and booking it down the underpass with Bucky close behind.

Running at an inhuman speed, you pass cars and trucks alike as they swerve to avoid the two of you, about fifteen seconds later you’re greeted to the all to familiar whirring sounds noisily emitting from the local police cruisers as they hastily follow yourself, Bucky, Steve, and the panther across the highway tunnel.

“Ugh, move!” You snap in irritation before deciding to jump up and run across a green convertible, Bucky almost smiling as he races on the blacktop next to you, continuing onward as you land and race for safety or cover or anywhere away from this mess.

“Left!” Shouts Bucky as you both reach the area where the two huge lanes split from right to left, noticing the sirens coming down from the right lane, you don’t think twice as he practically pulls you in the opposite direction. Left lane it is.

This time traffic races towards you which makes maneuvering in this fucking tunnel even that much more difficult. Your boots clash against the hard ground as Bucky suddenly eyes up an approaching motorcycle, he is not.

As the motorbike comes into about five feet of him, Bucky grabs onto the handles, pushing the guy off while he does an impressive one-eighty before throwing a leg over to straddle the bike as he now points it in the direction of the traffic flow. Not wasting a precious second longer, do you swiftly jump on, throwing your arms around his strong waist for some bit of safety.

The bike instantly growls and groans in protest as Bucky focuses on getting the two of you the fuck out of there; cars fly by in a blur as the wind aggressively whips back your hair, only causing you to hold on tighter as Bucky races down the underpass’s road. Sirens and police speeding not far behind. The constant sound of their sirens just about driving you insane.

Without so much as a warning, your peaceful ride is rudely interrupted when the panther jumps off a car and makes a beeline for your body. Bucky’s flesh hand is around the panthers throat in a second as you lower yourself out of the way. In reply, the panther suddenly twists his body and runs a couple feet on the side of the tunnels wall and low cut ceiling before Bucky tries to throw him down by his throat.

Unfortunately this causes the motorcycle to shift left; dangerously close to the racing ground, he lets go of the panther and switches hands on the handles so he can avoid losing control completely. Metal fingers scrape across the cement creating glowing sparks of angry fiery flickers as the panther holds onto your jacket and the back of the motorcycle for dear life.

Not appreciating this in the slightest, you instinctively begin unsheathing your right claws that are positioned across your lap; you bend low, face pressed against Bucky before twisting the best you can and swiping the panther off of you and onto the harsh ground below. You don’t care to look back as Bucky pushes his metal hand off the ground, finally at last stabilizing the motorbike. Hitting the gas harder, it flies down the road as you swiftly retract your claws back into your knuckles.

“Y/N are you okay!” Shouts Bucky as you tighten your hold from behind, face pressed against his back as you listen to the sirens hastily approaching in the distance.

Gifting him a squeeze of reassurance, you give him a light kiss though he doesn’t feel it, “I could honestly be better!”

Bucky shows the ghost of a smile as he whirs the bike into submission, soon more wind swirls past your face as he pulls something out of his pocket and throw it against the roof of the tunnel where it sticks, blinking red.

Boom! Crash! Down goes a multitude of cement ceiling and destructively onto the freeway, effectively creating a blocker against the panther, Steve, and the Romanian police.

Smiling into his back, you mentally praise him for keeping some of the Hydra weaponry at hand. Until you’re roughly pulled from the bike by the fucking panther himself. Who even is this guy?

And how did he....

Yelping in surprise, you grasp onto Bucky’s backpack for all it’s worth, successfully managing to drag him down with you. The grey tiled street of the tunnel hits against your body harder then you’d like, but nonetheless you take the beating like a champ as you tumble harshly against the ground.

You and the ground are really getting to know each other today.

The panther doing the same from behind you while Bucky rolls awkwardly across the floor like an angry stiff log of dark flowing hair and concealed muscle. While trying to stop yourself from clashing around any further, you quickly regain your bearings in time to block Bucky from getting his throat cut out by the panther who’s on him in an instant.

With your claws bared and shimmering in the light of the protruding sun from the tunnels giant observatory opening, you’re quickly stopped by Steve as he races past you and tackles the panther to the ground by his waist.

Your little violet adventure coming to a messy end, when the panther stands defiantly a couple feet away from the three of you who by now have risen to your feet. Police lights flash from behind him as more surround the four of you instantaneously from on all sides, well shit, this doesn’t look good.

Your frantic eyes shift all around you as your world comes to a crashing halt, a helicopter flies over head, and in this moment you want nothing more then to slash your way out of this one. But you’re trapped.

You stand to Bucky’s immediate right as Steve stands to his left, hands out protectively as you glare at the officers in front of you, neither you nor Bucky speaking a word as you take in heavy breaths from your hefty sprinting session. Suddenly the notorious War Machine lands with a dramatically heavy thud onto the road in front of you, shoulder gun and hand blasters raised as he looks between the three of you.

Well at least it’s not actually Ironman. Right?

“Stand down, now.” Commands War Machine as you throw him a resistant look of pure daggers, hatred and fury flashing across your face as you clench your fists.

Obeying the authoritative command, Steve puts his shield away, latching it to his back as you begrudgingly retract your silver tinted claws back into your forearms with the usual shling sounding as you do so.

“Congratulations, Cap.” Verbally applauds War Machine, voice clearly sarcastic, “You’re a criminal.”

Moments later the Romanian police fully surround you all, guns at the ready; you’re harshly pushed to the ground by angry gloved hands that take captive of your arms and wrists as they pin your stomach to the earth.

“ot"yebis', tupyye pizdy!” You mumble angrily in Russian as the Romanian special task officers hold you like a wounded beast, your actual words translating to “fuck off, you stupid cunts” though they’re none the wiser to your heated threats.

Your chin scrapes against the cement tiles as your hands are pressed against your back, tied instantly as you strain your head to look up. The panther retracts his catlike claws before unclasping his helmet to reveal the troubled face of a dark skinned man; brows furrowing in confusion you suddenly realize who he is when War Machine says, “Your Highness.”

Grimacing in agitation, you can’t help but let out a string of curses aimed crudely at the Wakandian prince and many of the officers in question, half of your verbal abuse a mix of both English and your mother tongue. Soon an officer lightly kicks your side as you send him a deadly glare that causes him to take a cautious step back.

Though to relieve himself of his high authority once more, he gathers some of his men's attention by pointing down at you, “Muzzle this one.” He commands diligently as you squirm in protest, your face a mask of pure rage while Bucky keeps a steady frustrated gaze with the ground. His heart breaking for how they’re treating the two of you, but most importantly how they’re dealing with you.

If not for the current situation, you could have actually laughed; well now, aren’t you quite royally fucked.

-

Tagged: @minigranger​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @holyhumorliteraturelight​ @diegos-butt

[puckrph]

‘NOT YOUR KIND OF PEOPLE’ SENTENCE STARTERS

taken from garbage’s 2012 album. feel free to change pronouns, etc.

AUTOMATIC SYSTEMATIC HABIT

‘ you love those lies. ’ ‘ you love those lies, you tell them straight to my face. ’ ‘ they feel so right. ’ ‘ they keep you safe. ’ ‘ you’re so good at it, it comes automatic: lies. ’ ‘ i can see right through, you have see-through eyes. ’ ‘ i won’t be your dirty little secret. ’ ‘ not for you, not for me, not your other lover. ’ ‘ men like you keep me up at night. ’ ‘ you want your woman at home and your bit on the side. ’ ‘ you’re so good at it, a systematic habit. ’ ‘ i’ll tell your mother, tell your brother, tell your friends, tell your teacher. i won’t be your dirty little secret. ’ ‘ i won’t be knocked down. ’

BIG BRIGHT WORLD

‘ we are difficult to understand. ’ ‘ it was hard to make the simple plan work. ’ ‘ that’s what made it burn. ’ ‘ you’re a satellite around my heart. ’ ‘ it’s indescribable, and that’s what makes it you. ’ ‘ inside this big, bright world, we rage against the dying light. ’ ‘ you’re mysterious, you make no sense. ’ ‘ i love you because you’re innocent. ’ ‘ magnify the best inside me, fill the parts that you can’t find, the parts that won’t give out when things get hard. ’ ‘ i’m with you. ’

BLOOD FOR POPPIES

‘ i’ve been sitting here all night long. ’ ‘ duty calls, but it’s way too late, i’m too far gone. ’ ‘ i miss my dog. i miss my freedom. ’ ‘ i don’t know why they’re calling on the radio. ’ ‘ i know i’m right. ’ ‘ i hate the things i think about you when i’m all alone. ’ ‘ i know you’re tough, but i’ve been gone for so long. ’ ‘ i play the memories of you inside my head so all those pictures of us burn and radiate. ’ ‘ i’m falling through the cracks. ’ ‘ i’ve got to take a chance and keep on moving. ’ ‘ i see your light from miles away. ’

CONTROL

‘ the world might end, the night might fall, rain on down and cover us all, and drown us with the burdens of our sins. ’ ‘ i’ll look you in the eye, tell you “you don’t wanna die.” ‘ ‘ maybe i’ll hold my breath and jump right in. ’ ‘ your autograph would really buy me time. �� ‘ if you think you are the reason, give me something to believe in. ’ ‘ it’s always darkest right before the dawn. ’ ‘ i confess: i’ve lost control. ’ ‘ i let my guard down. ’ ‘ i let the truth out. ’ ‘ flip a coin and see which way i fall. ’ ‘ the charlatan is singing. we love to watch him killing. ’ ‘ i can feel i’ve lost control. ’ ‘ i was trapped like a prisoner in my skin. ’ ‘ i was bound, and i was caged, and i was tricked. ’ ‘ i was suffocating. ’

NOT YOUR KIND OF PEOPLE

‘ we are not your kind of people. ’ ‘ you seem kind of phony. ’ ‘ we don’t see eye to eye. ’ ‘ i don’t want to be like you ever in my life. ’ ‘ when you start talking there’s nothing but white noise. ’ ‘ running around, trying to fit in and wanting to be loved. it doesn’t take much for someone to shut you down. ’ ‘ you can’t sit still, and you don’t like hanging around the crowd. ’ ‘ they don’t understand. ’ ‘ you dropped by here as i was sleeping. ’ ‘ you came to see the whole commotion. ’ ‘ the joke’s on me for not believing. ’ ‘ we see through your lies. ’ ‘ we won’t be cast as demons, creatures you despise. ’ ‘ we are extraordinary people. ’

FELT

‘ i felt sure you felt something. felt sure, but it really was nothing. ’ ‘ you’re only guessing. ’ ‘ they’re only feelings, baby. ’ ‘ i felt i’d left you hanging. felt sure i’d stopped myself caring. ’ ‘ you felt that i’d stopped believing. ’ ‘ what is real? is real reason? ’ ‘ i still get you. do you still get me? ’ ‘ i felt my skin on your skin. it felt sure, sensations like raining. ’ ‘ you felt. no logical thinking. ’

I HATE LOVE

‘ your words are pretty but i already know who you are. ’ ‘ i knew you before you met me, long before we would part. ’ ‘ you tricked me and laid on my bones. ’ ‘ you kissed me and buried my hope. ’ ‘ you stole my spirit. ’ ‘ they lay all their dreams on you. ’ ‘ they let you in, and you start to believe you’re soft as a miracle. ’ ‘ i was new and unfurled: innocent and open as any lamb, and hoping for paradise. ’ ‘ i hate love. ’ ‘ love leaves you desperate and feeling a fool. ’ ‘ love makes you ruthless and love makes you cruel. ’ ‘ love makes you crazy with nothing but lies. ’ ‘ love promises nothing, and then your love dies. ’ ‘ it’s 2 am, where are you? ’

SUGAR

‘ give me sugar, give me something sweet. ’ ‘ i’ve spent a lifetime feeling incomplete. ’ ‘ if i sound bitter, or if i’ve come too late, please reconsider. ’ ‘ i don’t need much on my plate. ’ ‘ don’t come close. please keep at a distance. ’ ‘ look, but don’t touch till the light goes on. ’ ‘ don’t touch the glass till the curtain calls. ’ ‘ don’t make me wait. ’ ‘ give me something deep. ’ ‘ i don’t make a habit of crawling on my knees, but this is different. ’ ‘ can’t you see i’m in control? ’ ‘ this is the moment where all your dreams have flown. ’ ‘ oh, won’t someone love me? ’ ‘ won’t someone love me? like you? ’

BATTLE IN ME

‘ look at you: an accident of drinking. ’ ‘ what a mess, a train wreck of lipstick. ’ ‘ what a joke, but do you hear me laughing? ’ ‘ get out of my face before i lose my patience. ’ ‘ let’s cut this party. ’ ‘ it takes a lot to shake me. ’ ‘ it’s a bloody war of attrition, let’s see which one of us is going to last the night. ’ ‘ “white rabbit” plays right when the room starts spinning. ’ ‘ i want something to happen, so make it happen. ’ ‘ let’s take a torch to the past and the future. ’ ‘ let’s make out. i won’t tell your girlfriend. ’ ‘ see how it feels with a passion burning; we’ll be damned when we’re done. ’

MAN ON A WIRE

‘ i looked into the mirror, what did i see? there was a big black beast looking back at me. ’ ‘ you looked into my eyes. what did you see? ’ ‘ like a man on a wire, i set myself on fire. ’ ‘ i’m the destroyer of a dream, trying to find a spark, desperate for love. ’ ‘ i was like a volcano just waiting to explode. ’ ‘ i have been resurrected, reborn, and i have been transformed. ’ ‘ i was a green eyed monster. ’ ‘ could you tell i was afraid? ’ ‘ i sat myself down and shot my fear in the face. ’ ‘ i see you sitting around with your wristwatch and your white collared shirt. ’ ‘ i see you hoping to watch me fail. ’

BELOVED FREAK

‘ you’re not certain when you feel hurt. ’ ‘ get violent when you deal with how the world drags you along. ’ ‘ you’re not alone. ’ ‘ nothing good was ever free. ’ ‘ no one gets it. no one sees. ’ ‘ here you stand: beloved freak. ’ ‘ sometimes we get so tired and weak, we lose the sky beneath our feet. ’ ‘ every comet throws an arc and scars our vision ‘cross the dark. ’ ‘ when we’re gone, we will remain. ’ ‘ people lie and people steal. they misinterpret how you feel. ’ ‘ we doubt and we conceal. ’ ‘ don’t worry for me. just think of yourself. ’ ‘ the world is at your feet. ’

[pandoras-princess]

Next Best Thing (Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader)

*gif not mine//credit to the owner

A/N: Woop wooop! Helloooo my lovely peoples!! 🌸 yes I am wayyy overly excited because this part just came out so effortlessly so I am hyper af 💃💃 I am very happy to welcome you to part three, and while it may seem a little lacklustre, it’s the lead up to the final part which will be show stopping material and I hope you’ll agree 🤗 you have all been so nice and absolutely amazing about this fic and I appreciate it so much I can’t wait to bring you part four 🥰🥰🥰 but let me shut up and get to it. Happy Reading Peoples! 🥳🥳 as ever I appreciate every like, reblog and follow, feedback is always welcome 😌

P.S: Y/N/N = your nickname

Summary: Fantasies are shattered and dreams come true as Y/N navigates her way through this messy love triangle...

Pairing: (OOC) Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader

Warnings: Violence, swearing, blood, alcohol

PART ONE PART TWO PART FOUR

━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━

“What can I get ya?” You shout to the burly man on the other side of the bar.

“Two whiskeys and a pint of beer love!”

The buzz of the crowd continues to drown out your voice, which not only made your job unnecessarily hard, but also provided a little tune for the tiny men occupying your skull to hammer away to, so it turns out.

Little hairs lining your throat were long since singed and a dull ache seeps through the bones in your feet as you set about preparing the next round of drinks.

Quickly scanning the area to your left, a smile spreads across your face when you land on the pair of ice blue eyes you were after, his cheeky wink inspiring a new burst of energy in your overworked muscles.

That smile drops as quickly as it spreads; the once friendly and loving gaze of your best friend now replaced with a cold glare.

In the weeks that had followed your last encounter John hadn’t been near or by the house, and every time you had a shift at the Garrison he was conveniently held up elsewhere. It was the longest you’d ever gone without speaking to him and it was safe to say you couldn’t take much more.

One of these days you’d have your old Johnny back, you thought.

One of these days...

“Where’ve all the glasses gone?”

“Out there.”

Harry’s thumb jerks in the direction of the ever growing crowd, earning an all too familiar groan in response.

‘Get a job you said... it’ll be fun you said... it’s just pulling pints!’

You disappear into the sea of people grumbling to yourself, only managing to grab four empty pints before you begin to carve a route back. Your struggle - along with your mood - was only to be made worse as you near two men in the midst of an argument, the stench of beer and stale cigarettes rudely invading your senses.

“Excuse me!”

“What yerr shaying about me wife” the large man slurs, entirely oblivious to your presence behind him.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

“Excuse m-”

You watch, frozen in horror, as his fist connects with the second man’s jaw, sending the large brute hurtling into you.

Crashing to the ground, a pained scream tears from your throat.

Tommy - who was engrossed in a conversation with his two brothers - hadn’t witnessed you get hurt, but he definitely heard it.

He shoves his way through the crowd until he is met with your body hunched over, quietly whimpering as you attempt to dislodge shards of glass from your right palm. His eyes follow the steady stream of blood trickling down your arm and any facade he held about your relationship quickly fades away.

“You’ve hurt my girl.”

He rounds on the man responsible, nostrils flaring and lips snarling as he reaches for the deadly cap atop his head.

Despite being a good foot taller, the stranger shrinks away, vigorously shaking his head as he rushes to apologise.

“I’m so-sorry Tom real sorry. It- it was an accident I didn’t know she was y-yours ho-honest!”

“I suggest you leave.” Tommy spits out. “That goes for everyone. Leave, now!”

The once jolly punters trip over themselves to squeeze through the narrow doors. Within a matter of minutes the pub is empty and Tommy is crouched at your side inspecting the cuts.

John remains in his seat, jaw set and knuckles white, as Tommy scoops you up and disappears into the office.

He carefully lowers you onto the desk; a warm kiss lingering on your forehead as he’s tending to your injuries.

“You’re okay Princess” he mumbles wrapping a bandage around your hand. Whether he was reassuring you or himself you weren’t quite sure. But thoughts of any kind are banished from your mind as he draws you into a kiss.

His lips are chapped and salty as they move against yours. It was slow and it was sweet. It was the kind of kiss that called every hair to attention; the kind of kiss that replays in your mind as you drift to sleep.

Without warning Tommy is ripped away from you, an involuntary yelp slipping out at the sudden loss of contact. Brain scrambling to make sense of it all you soon zone in on John’s forearm tight against Tommy’s throat pinning him to the wall.

“You bastard! I warned you- I warned you to stay away from her! She’s not one of your little whores you can pick up and fuck off when you get bored. I fucking told you to stay away!”

“What do you mean, you warned him?”

The quietness that followed easily could’ve been passed off as nobody hearing your question. And it probably would’ve been, if you hadn’t seen the slight drop of John’s head.

It was physically impossible for him to ignore you; it always had been.

Tommy took this opportunity to push his younger brother away and the two men stood glaring daggers at each other, embroiled in an argument only they were privy to.

“Tommy, what’s he talking about?!” You ask your boyfriend, who was now unable to meet your eye.

Once again your question is met with silence.

“Will somebody bloody answer me!”

Your small hands ball into fists at your sides as you look between them.

John’s face softens when he finally looks at you, the confusion that passes over your delicate features serving to break his heart further.

The guilt that flashes in his eyes as he threads a hand through his hair adds to your impatience. “Well get on with it then!”

“He knew, Y/N/N, that you liked him. He knew because he read your diary. He already knew and he had it all planned out in his little fucking mind the minute you asked him for the job. Why’d ye think he said yes? I told him-” an accusatory finger points at Tom standing a few feet away “-you weren’t to be played with, and now look!”

You fail to register John lunging at Tom. You fail to register the scuffle that ensues as a result. You fail to register Polly screaming at the top of her lungs to separate the brawling idiots.

Piece by piece, memory by memory, your new found utopia crumbles between your fingers and you stand, completely oblivious to your surroundings, as everything clicks into place.

“You knew?” You whisper, inching towards Tommy.

He watches you shift from confusion to anger to disgust as the revelation sinks in, shredding through the trust he’d so effortlessly built. And he was utterly powerless to stop it.

“The whole time... you knew? When you came to me and- and asked me to... you knew?!”

His mouth opens, but the words escape him.

With a final shake of your head, your trembling figure retreats from the office; the following slam of the double doors eliciting a flinch from everyone.

The parilysis subsides, and he jams his finger into John’s chest. “You have no fucking idea.”

“Y/N wait.”

Your feet cry out and your muscles scream in protest as you storm down the cobbled road, Tommy hot on your heels. But with the searing pain in your hand creeping up your wrist, you push on, desperate to escape any person with Shelby as their last name.

“Y/N please I can explain!”

“You can explain? You can explain?!” Shrieking you finally give in to the blind rage that threatens to consume you.

“You can explain what exactly Thomas? You can explain how you violated every ounce of trust we’ve ever had? You can explain how you thought it’d be a good old laugh to have me convince the man I was hopelessly in love with to marry someone else?! You can explain how the past 7 months - everything between us - was one big lie! You don’t need to explain anything Tom, honest. It all seems pretty fucking clear to me.”

Tommy watches your hands wave and point and clap and throw themselves in the air as the anger pours out of your every word. See, it was a tough one for him really. On the one hand, he’d really fucked up and the least he could do was pay attention to the scolding he was rightfully due. On the other, you were so god-damned irresistible when you were angry it was driving him mad.

“God Tommy! I thought you were different! I actually thought you were fucking different. I thought you loved me, not as a lie, not out of fear, but honest true love. And that’s the worst part, really Tom, it’s not that you pulled the wool over my eyes, no no, it’s that I fooled myself into thinking this was actually real! I should’ve known I was just another pawn in your stupid game.”

Whirling around, you resume your getaway.

“If this was all a game, why would I have this?”

When your body slowly turns back to face him, Tommy knows the argument is done.

“What are you...” your voice trails off as you find Tom on one knee in the middle of the deserted street.

He held a little black box, and in that little black box sat a gold ring set with a diamond so flawless it remained sparkling under the gloomy skies of Small Heath, and a sapphire so blue you’d get lost at sea if you dared to stare too long.

“I do love you Y/N, have done for a while. Not as a game, not until I get bored, just honest true love.”

Tommy moves to stand in front of you, stopping inches from the tip of your nose. He takes your left hand and slides the ring onto your fourth finger with ease, pausing to admire the look of the gold metal against your smooth skin.

“I had to ask you to convince John or you’d still be in love with him today, wasting away oblivious to how much you’re really worth. Yes I had a plan when this started, but I could never have planned falling in love with you-”

Chapped lips graze over your knuckles, kissing each one softly.

“-I could never have planned the amount of time I spend thinking about you in your absence-”

His lips brush over your wrist, leaving pecks along the length your arm.

“-and I could never plan the desperate need to hold you in my arms, to see your smile and hear your laugh and cherish you, because you’re the only thing in this god foresaken world that can keep the storms at bay.”

His feather-light kisses trail over your shoulder and along the curve of your neck, stopping just above your lips in an undeclared challenge. You close the distance, hungrily drawing his bottom lip between your teeth as his fingers tug at your roots, deepening the kiss.

The intoxicating taste of sweet smoke and Irish whiskey sweeps over your tastebuds and you tangle your fingers in his soft brown tresses.

Reluctantly separating a few seconds later, you’re both left panting as you make up for the lack of air. His hands make themselves at home on your waist, whilst yours settle comfortably on his chest.

“You know... I never did say yes” you smirk, twisting the gold band around your finger.

“Mm it was implied.”

So caught up in the joys of young love were you and your fiancé, that you failed to notice the wooden doorway supporting John’s weight as he watched in the distance...

[wannabe-fic-writer]

All Over Again - Chapter 10

Summary: What was lost can be found. 

Warning: 18+ Smut, Language, Violence. 

Ch. 9

* * * * * *

A loud groan sounds as booted feet stomp into the Quinjet. 

Tension twists in the air, wrapping around each member of the team as they move about in silence. 

Sam, having just been the one groaning, frustratedly throws his mission issued earpiece into the wall. The little device breaks on impact, plastic chipping and sliding across the jet floor. 

Your eyes linger on a single broken piece, hands clenching into fists around the edge of the seats beside you. 

That priority mission that you’d all been preparing for for weeks just ended horribly. And you can’t figure out how everything went south.

One second you all were neutralizing the last of the threat, yourself and Sam heading toward the containment cells. And the next, the super powered that was supposed to be locked inside the cell was attacking you. 

They were quick, calculating. Every move you made they made a smarter, faster one. The fight left the two of you bruised and battered physically and mentally.

Admittedly this could’ve been much worse, had Wanda not been there to calm the brute there’s no telling what would’ve happened to you and the Falcon.

Said younger woman watches you with sad eyes. Losing sucks for her too but she can tell that it’s affected you a bit more. With a sigh, she moves to sit beside you, gentle fingers wrapping around your clenched ones. 

While your body relaxes at her touch, your posture remains stiff, eyes unmoving. All she can do is scoot closer, laying her head on your shoulder. 

With there being nothing to say the flight back to the compound is quiet. Wanda offers you her comfort the best she can and you accept it. 

The little bit that you do start to feel better goes away the instant the jet lands. You all head straight to debriefing and having to convey your failure to Steve makes you all the more upset. 

Among the many things you hate, failure is top of the list. Especially in instances such as these. 

You’d extracted enhanced individuals a number of times before, you know how to do it and how to do it damn good. To suddenly not do it well, makes you question yourself. 

It’s as you’re walking to your room that you encounter yet another frustration.

Well she isn’t exactly a frustration, or she wasn’t. With what has recently happened between yourself and the redhead there’s a tension in the air that could very well suffocate you. 

Even though she’s been giving you the space you asked for, you don’t miss those unreadable looks she gives you whenever you’re in the same room. And you know for a fact that she’s been talking to Wanda about you. The younger woman wouldn’t tell you what about specifically as she never wants to break Natasha’s trust in her, but she did tell you that Natasha asks about you. Having done the same in the past, you aren’t going to make a big deal of it and in a way, a small way, it’s nice to know she still cares.

Stopping in front of you, the redhead opens her mouth to speak, then shuts it to think. It takes a second for her to settle on,“ hey,” a hesitant pause,“ how was the mission?”

The heavy sigh you give makes her frown,“ not well. We lost the target.” Just repeating it makes you want to punch something. 

“Oh,” she grimaces. An awkward silence settles and instead of staying in it, you nod and retreat down the hallway to your room. 

Despite what use to work, the shower you take does absolutely nothing for your sour mood. In fact, other than soothing your aching muscles, the time you spend in there thinking about what happened pisses you off even more. 

You weren’t good enough to neutralize the target and now there’s no telling where they are and who they’re hurting. All these years spent trying to protect people and now you’re the very reason there’s a threat to innocent lives. 

Being so lost in thought, you hadn’t realized you were squeezing the life out of your phone. You slip it into your pocket before you break it and exit the room promptly. 

With a single destination in mind, you head down the hall, and straight back to the meeting room. As expected, Steve is still inside, eyes flickering over the mission reports you all filled out and the pre-mission information. You don’t expect Natasha to be just at his right as well but you don’t linger on that.

“Captain,” your hands press against the glass surface of the table,“ when are we going to look for this guy?”

His eyebrows pinch together as he looks up at you,“ Y/n we can’t do anything yet.” A sympathetic look masks his face which doesn’t help,“ I know this loss was big but-”

“This loss could lead to a lot of people getting hurt unnecessarily. That enhanced individual almost laid myself and Sam out and managed to escape even after Wanda got to him so just imagine what they could do to innocent unsuspecting civilians. We can’t sleep on this, if we don’t move soon somet-”

Natasha butts in, eyes as soft as ever,“ Y/n we aren’t sleeping on this. We’re going to catch this guy but if we rush in we can do more bad than good.”

Steve nods along,“ just try to relax. There’s already a team on standby when we’re ready to move.”

Your eyes narrow,“ I take it I’m not on that team.” Both of their silence is answer enough. So with a nod, you turn and leave. 

Why you weren’t on the team you don’t know. If you aren’t then you’re assuming neither are Wanda and Sam. This whole thing is about as personal to you as it is to everyone else. But you trust Steve’s leadership so whatever reason he has must be good.

Doesn’t mean you aren’t still frustrated.

In terms of instant relief, the message from Lena that comes through is number one. Just seeing her name alone decreases your heart rate. 

To then see that the message is a picture of her and your new found friends with the message ‘missing you’ beneath makes your heart soar. 

Suddenly you’re wondering how insane it’d be of you to fly out to NC. It wouldn’t be the first time so not too crazy. And you know that seeing Lena would make just about everything better. 

That’s how you find yourself, hours later after having prepped weapons for the team's mission, spoken with Cap, and talked to Wanda(who obviously understands your decision and supports it unwaveringly), stepping off a plane into National City airport.

You text Lena the second you’re in a car to find out where she is. Then telling the driver and sitting back, a little anxiously, for the ride to Al’s. 

When you get there, you thank them with a tip, and head into the bar with your duffle bag in hand. E/c eyes scan the building for the familiar group and before you can even spot them, your name is called very excitedly, and you’re enveloped in a strong hug seconds later. A blonde ponytail flips past your view as you return Kara’s hug. 

“It’s so great to see you.” She pulls away to reveal her bright smile,“ hi!”

Her enthusiasm brings a smile to your lips as well,“ hi.” That smile instantly grows as the brunette you’ve been longing to see walks over. Subconsciously you bite your lip, taking in the sight of her in her usual business attire, mainly the way those heels make her legs look even better. 

Lena stops in front of you, a happily surprised look in her eyes. As you two focus on each other, Kara takes slow quiet steps back. 

“Hope it’s okay that I just showed up, I didn’t have the best day and really needed to see you.” You give your honest explanation in hopes that you don’t seem crazy for flying across the country in the middle of the day.

The CEO’s expression softens even more, her hand reaching for yours,“ you okay?” Her eyebrows pinch together, thumb stroking the back of your hand, and she steps closer a little.

“Not really, it was pretty bad,” you sigh at the thought alone,“ seeing you makes it better though.” With your words you lean in and kiss her, a hand resting on her hip. 

Lena melts into it, hand gripping yours a little tighter as she presses further into the kiss. Weeks without your lips definitely did her in. She’s positive she won’t be able to let you go this time around. 

Finally pulling apart, only to quickly kiss once more, Lena tugs your hand towards the booths of your friends.

“Hey everyone.” You smile and wave. 

After a round of hugs and handshakes and being introduced to Kelly, James’ sister, you sit down beside Lena. The woman leans into you and you’re happy to wrap an arm around her shoulders. 

While the drinks and company are good, you still can’t bring yourself out of the rut your failed mission has put you in. Through your short laughs and on and off smiles, Lena picks up on it.

“Hey um,” she leans forward to look at everyone, grabbing the majority of their attention,“ I’m getting a little tired so we’re gonna go but we’ll see you all tomorrow night?” 

Kara’s the first to “awww” but nods understandingly. Yet another round of hugs is given before you and Lena are leaving out. She maintains her hold on your hand, occasionally looking up at you with a slightly worried expression. In all the time she’s known you she’s never seen you so torn up over something. Her plan is to find out what’s on your mind and fix it asap. 

So the second you’re in her apartment she’s fixing your usual drink and bringing you over to the couch. 

“Thanks,” you smile softly and sip the drink. The familiar burn of the scotch warms your insides and you give an almost inaudible sigh. 

“You want to tell me why your day was so bad?” Lena asks, taking a sip of her wine, and easing back into the couch. 

In one quick move, you turn and lay yourself across the couch, resting your head on Lena’s lap. An action that Lena welcomes with a soft smile, her heart swelling instantly. 

The woman sets her glass of wine to the side and hesitantly cards her fingers through your hair. Her soft touch is incredibly comforting. You find yourself nearly melting at the feeling, then remembering what she asked. 

There’s only so much you can tell her about the mission, especially seeing as it’s still pretty open ended. What you can tell you do and it’s enough for her to understand why you’re so upset. 

Groaning, you tilt your head back, further into her touch.“ - truthfully I just needed this. If I could have exactly this after every mission I’d be the happiest person alive. Scotch and you.” To emphasize your point, you take another quick sip of the drink and scoot further into Lena.

“Well,” she chuckles softly,“ if you lived here then you could have it.”

You freeze. Nothing moves but your eyes, e/c orbs landing on green as you search for seriousness. Finding it makes an eyebrow raise. Swallowing, you shift up a bit, elbows pressed into the cushions as the backs of your arms brush Lena’s thighs. 

It’s clear questioning in your eyes that has Lena’s head tilting to the side. A quick teasing smile hits her lips,“ what you don’t trust that I’m a good roommate?”

“What no I- would you seriously want to live together? You don’t think that’d be moving too fast?” You ask. Moving too fast could very well cause this whole thing to end in shit and you didn’t want to risk that.

The brunette shrugs,“ I don’t think so. I already know I love you Y/n and just these past few weeks without you has me more than willing to be with you everyday. If you don’t want to that’s okay but I’d be more than happy.”

Her words settle in your mind. While thinking about them, you end up lying back down. Lena’s eyes remain on you. She occasionally sips her wine and brushes her fingers across your hairline. 

Living with Lena would be incredible. Having spent a few nights with her here you can’t say you don’t love the idea of waking up to her every morning and possibly going to sleep with her every night. But moving would be more than just living with Lena. 

You’d definitely be leaving Wanda. Not having your best friend around daily, now that would suck. Moving would include becoming a remotely working Avenger or just leaving the team in general. What you lose in the team you’d gain in your friends here in NC. 

But then there’s finding a job that would fill that void in you. Helping people is you’re calling and you aren’t sure if being a cop or something would hold the same weight. And it’s not like you could walk up to Supergirl and the DEO and request a job. 

“What’s going on in that genius brain of yours?” Lena’s voice is soft, as if she doesn’t want to startle you.

Sighing, you tell her how you’d love to live with her but then share the drawbacks of moving from New York to National City. 

Her quirked eyebrow makes you curious.“ I could help with the job part.” She says with a proud little smirk.

“Yeah?”

“I work at the DEO.”

“Huh?” You frown, sitting up completely and turning to face her,“ I thought you worked at L-Corp.”

She nods,“ I do but I also work at the DEO. It was a brilliant business decision and a better way to help people. When the government supports your business there are more liberties.”

Point noted. She is right though. 

“Are you sure you want to live with me? My team would argue that I can be annoying. If you don’t believe me ask Wanda.” You say.

Lena’s fingers reach up and brush your cheek before she leans in and kisses you gently,“ I’m sure I can handle it.” She tells you, earning a soft chuckle in response. Her eyes scan your face and brighten with hope at the look she finds.“ You gonna come live with me Y/nn.”

You can feel the heat rush to your face at the nickname she uses but it’s cute, especially coming from her.

“I’d have to tell the team, square some things away, have a long talk with Wan, and make sure I get that DEO job,” you ramble off, noticing that Lena’s expression remains the same,“ yes I’m gonna move in with you.”

The brightest smile you’ve ever seen lights up her face and she wastes no time in pulling you into a hug. Her lips press a quick kiss to your neck in excitement,“ I can’t wait. And you don’t have to worry about the DEO job. I know you’re more than qualified.” 

When she pulls away, she tells you,“ leaving your home won’t be easy but I promise I’ll do whatever I can to make it easier for you.”

“I love you so much Lena Luthor.” You tell her.

“I love you too.” She kisses you for good measure.

As the two of you decide to go make something to eat, and that conversation replays in your head, you start to think of how you’ll tell the team and how they’ll react. Either way, you know you really want to live with Lena. 

* * * * * *

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