#right in that tiny sliver of time where there's some bit of hope that peace could be maintained

[recursivetransformarray]

thinking about V2 living on an Earthmover so hard I feel ill

[gentlemancrow]

In its Vastness, Floats Some Fragment of a Song - A Fairytale (Preview!)

AAHHHH CROW WRITING? ON YOUR DASH? IT'S MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK!! (ER WELL SORT OF!!) This, my friends, is a little PREVIEW of my fic I am writing for the Summer in the Archives event over at @seasons-in-the-archives!! It is not quite finished, but I am posting the first little bit as a prologue so that my AMAZING AND INCREDIBLE AND BREATHTAKING INIMITABLE ARTISTS might post their pieces as well! I CANNOT thank @lucky-numberme and @fadesinthelight enough for their ABSOLUTELY MINDBLOWING ILLUSTRATIONS for this fic I was reduced to a puddle every time I saw them and they are just RADIANT please go check out both their stuff!! And please do stay tuned for the full fic SOON!! It's got everything! Mer!Jon, Martin with big sailor rowing arms, Peter Lukas suffering for eternity, the works!

In its Vastness, Floats Some Fragment of a Song Artists: @lucky-numberme [ART HERE] and @fadesinthelight [ART HERE]

In a tiny little town far up north, there is a strange lighthouse keeper with a story... The story, he says, is true, no matter what anyone says, and it is all about the strange fog that seems to both haunt and protect the town all at once. It is about a young Sailor full of song and hope and passion, and a Captain, full of salt and cold and greed. It is about a beautiful Siren of the deep, doomed to be fascinated and consumed by both. But it is also, as all stories are, a story about love, and how love, above all things, is the most powerful force in the universe.

Way and away up North in the pink heather-speckled Highlands, watched over by a plucky herd of wooly cows and cradled by the sea, lies a sleepy little town.  Many stories begin just like this, but this town is not a sleepy little town like the kind found in the once upon a times of myth and legend.  No heroes have been birthed, nurtured, and then launched to glory from its humble foundations.  No illuminated manuscripts have been penned singing the humble origins of a tale that changed the course of history and the world.  It is not the resting place of holy artifact, arcane knowledge, or treasure beyond the wildest of dreams.  It is not even the first step on a journey to greatness and discovery for anyone seeking answers or absolution.

It is nothing and nowhere.

Naught more than a barnacle crusted dock with a few stalls that pass for a fish market, a ratty old pub that leaks in the summer and the winter, and a smattering of cottages huddled up against the sea cliffs, most maps won’t even bother giving it the dignity of a dot.  There is not much to earn it one, either. 

Perhaps the best piece of fried haddock you ever had in your life and would never have again, yet always crave when the salt air hits your tongue just right.  Maybe a beautiful piece of scrimshaw to take home to a spouse or child as a souvenir, but then never being able to recall exactly where it came from or what, exactly, it depicts.  A harrowing tale of a town so dank and damp and dripping from every rafter the favorite coat you wore would never be fully dry again.  A pressed thistle so purple it recalls a bruised seaside sunset and the lines of poetry you read when you plucked it and laid it down against the lines of it.  More likely, though, it would become a wistful memory of the last restful stop before heading out into the blinding white of arctic waters for a whaling voyage.  Just a desperate sliver of idyllic peace before steeping yourself to the elbows in blood and gore and bone.

Truth be told though, even the whales know better than to waste any time in that particular dreary little cove.  But there is one thing even the smallest, humblest bastion of quaintness, no matter how dull, always seems to possess.

A secret…

Something buried in the sands of time, hidden betwixt dusty vellum pages of history, whispered and polished on so many tongues it hardly resembles itself anymore.  There are stories here, indeed.  If one were to stay in the town long enough, treat just the right local to an extra pint, they might be lucky enough to catch one.  Though none would give anything much away of the truth of what really happened there all those years ago. The thing about a good secret is no one knows truly what the truth of it is.  It only knows itself.

And this town’s secret lies in the fog.

There’s really only one thing any poor soul has ever said upon taking their leave, and that would be something along the lines of, “Thickest fog I ever did see in my life!”, or “Like pea soup, it was!”, or “Blimey, I couldn’t see me hand in front of me face!”.  For, truly, that is the one thing notable at all about the place.  It is visited, nay, haunted, by a wicked fog that presides over the town as mayor, ruler, deity, judge, jury, and executioner— all of the above at once.  When the fog rolls in, everyone in town knows to close the shutters and close their hearts against the silvery sovereign that guards them from ancient evils they are privileged not to comprehend.  Nor does anyone care to.  They need not know how it came to be to accept it for what it is.  Though, it is not a cruel thing at all, despite how it may sound.  It looks out for them as much as they look out for it.  It is their guardian and custodian.  The billowing mists are as much a lonely embrace as they are a shield.  There is an ineffable and beautiful sort of love there and the residents wouldn’t have it any other way.

The more skeptical amongst visitors might say upon hearing this lore, for one cannot help but hear it from someone, that it sounds like romantic balderdash, or utter poppycock, tripe, drivel, or whatever colorful word they like best to describe something out of a fairy story.  Just a tale for children and old folks in their cups shameless enough to believe in magic again.  And perhaps there is a small bit of merit in that.  Everyone knows deep down fog is just fog.  It has no soul, has no master and obeys no laws of humanity or divinity.  But the locals will swear on the graves of all their ancestors before them to you that their fog, above all fog, is indeed a living thing with a will and a mind of its own, and you would do best to give it the reverence it is due.  Lest it claim your very soul from your body to drag out to sea with it when it goes, forever to wander the watery wastes.  Or to turn you into fog yourself, forever restless, forever intangible and mutable.  Or to forever be lost no matter where you wander, never to find your way home again.  It has happened before and it will happen again.  Or so the stories go.

That strange tenet, or superstition, or legend, or whatever it may be, lays as thick upon the town as the fog itself, coiled like a silver dragon guarding its secret and guarding its home.  Then it vanishes from waking memory just as fiercely with a snap of white-fanged forgetfulness.

Strange, indeed…

Though perhaps it is a bit of an exaggeration to say the fog is the only thing strange about the little village.  There would be little to tell if there were only a nasty bit of weather to the place with a few fanciful tales to give it life.  There is also something to be said of the lighthouse that stands sentinel high atop the misty cliffsides to watch it. 

And there is especially something to be said of its keeper…

He is an old man.  Not old in the way that creases the face and rots the tooth and loosens the tongue, but old in the way of the stone of the cliffs, softly etched by the wind.  Of the dauntlessness of the waves that crash upon the jetties, knowing they will someday, even if eons from now, prevail.  Of the stars that still guide sailors home from their cosmically fixed points in the sky.  The locals say he has lived for a hundred years and he’ll live for a hundred more yet.  No one knows exactly when he came, but no one remains who can recall a time without him.  He has always been.

He is built like those very cliffs upon which he roosts, dresses only in a faded blue peacoat and a mariner’s cap over his silver-white hair, and says very little. He has rheumy blue eyes with a clouded pupil that some swear rolls and swirls like the fog, but he has never made eye contact with anyone long enough to be sure.  He keeps his hands in his pockets and his gaze on the ground and the smoke from his pipe seems to cling to him like a shroud.  His rare comings always feel like a prophecy come to pass, expected and yet somehow unexpected.  A scrimshaw etching come to life from dead and yellowed bone.  He lives a solitary existence in his lighthouse, and might just fade away into myth and memory himself, if not for the command of the full moon and the story of what truly happened in that sleepy little town so long ago that lives inside of him and only in him.

Everyone in town knows there is only one chance to hear it.

On the evenings of the nights when she shines her brightest and the tide pulls back its curtains wide, he comes.  He stops at the market for the few paltry supplies he always buys, smokes his pipe on the dock as he watches the tide roll out and away from him, and then, without saying a word to a single soul, heads into the pub.  The owner already knows to pour him a pint without his asking— stout, dark and frothy, and placed on the table beneath the window as far from the other patrons as possible.  The Keeper takes the same chair, faces it toward the window, toward the mocking moon, and takes out the same book of folk tales from his pocket in a vain attempt to look unapproachable and absorbed.  It never works.

Every time The Keeper thinks perhaps this time they will not come, perhaps this time they will leave him alone.  He is always wrong.

He barely has time to even get through the haunting description of the selkie standing upon a cliff, without her coat, without her home, without anything, before the first child skitters bashfully up to him with wonder and stars in her eyes.

“E-Excuse me, sir…?” the tiny voice quivers behind him.

The Keeper winces.  He closes his book slowly, deliberately, and draws in a long, shuddering breath.  She is only spared the frostiest of glances out of the corner of an eye peeking from beneath a bushy brow.  The girl rocks to and fro on her heels and chews her lip, brimming with innocence and absolutely unafraid.  The Keeper says nothing.  She had been warned of this, she is prepared, and she continues undaunted.

“They say, sir…” the girl starts up, glancing back at her eagerly grinning father for reassurance, “They say you have… A story?”

The Story again.  The Keeper feels its weight tighten around his throat.  An albatross.  A noose.  A curse.  A duty.  It is all of these things, and he may not refuse it.  He has not the power to do so even if he dared.

“Is that what they say…?” he rumbles at length.  His voice creaks like an old castle door pulled open after centuries.

The girl bobbles her head in affirmation.

“Yes, sir!  They say it’s the greatest!  They say it’s a story about the merfolk!  And that it’s TRUE!  And-!” she chirps, then suddenly turns bashful, her voice lowering under the weight of some unutterable secret.

“…And that it’s a… a love story?”

The Keeper grinds a pensive note between his teeth and down his throat.  It is no longer avoidable.  They are no longer avoidable.  The Keeper can feel the aroused ears and eyes of the pub patrons turn upon him, luminous and yellow like a pack of wolves in the night.  He knows has but one weapon to keep them at a safe distance, loathe as he is to lay himself bare once again.  Yet he knows he must, and he deigns at last to turn his solitary chair.  The legs scrape mournfully in harmony with the crackle and pop of the hearth.  A collective breath is held. 

The storyteller faces his audience.

“A love story, you say?” he asks, painting each word in hushed calligraphy with his tongue.

“Mmhmm!” 

The girl, unafraid of the craggy, shadowed face hollowed out by wicked firelight even still, grins from ear to ear as a few of the not quite as brave children scuttle to flank her and claim their spots.

“Is that what you desire to hear?” The Keeper rumbles, his eyes everywhere and everywhen in the room but the child before him.

“Yes, yes!  Very much!”

The Keeper snorts and scoffs loudly, drops his forearms to his knees, and looks the brazen child dead on, eyes full of fog and eternity and a nameless, primordial darkness.  The blood chills in her veins and she swears she feels the fire falter and its warmth flee, but she does not look away.

He demands payment of her, “What’s so dreadfully exciting about a silly old love story, then?”

She answers the call.   She answers it with a fearless step forward and her full chest.

“Oh, everything!  Everything!” the girl cries, “Love is the best thing in the world!  It’s what gets us through life!  It’s the meaning of it all!  It’s what they always fight for in the best stories!  Love is the only thing worth dying for!  Isn’t it?  Isn’t that true?”

The Keeper’s weathered face splits into a bitter, cryptic grin.  The eyes vanish beneath the brim of his mariner’s cap.  The payment is accepted.

“I see.  Aye, you do speak true.  But I’m afraid you’ve missed the most important part-” he corrects, and hoists himself back up to his full height like a mountain crushed upward into agonizing, epochal existence as he goes on.

“You see… Love is so much more than just two people choosing to spend the rest of their days together.  More than just something to fight for, something to get you through the dark of the night and the cold of winter, something that makes life worth enduring.”  

“Love is… a force of nature- no, no… more than that… so much more than that.  It is everything.  Literally everything.  So I suppose, then, that one could say all stories ever told or will be told are love stories if you look at it the right way.  But that only makes it that much more essential.  Love is the only force in this universe stronger than death, the only one to outlive it and the only one to destroy more utterly.  It is the only one that needs no other force to sustain it.  It simply is.  It always has been and it always will be.  It is creation and destruction together incarnate.  Just like the wind will always love a cliff and by the end of the eons it takes to destroy it with its passion another will have risen to love it right back.  That’s what love is.  A constant, binding force that weaves the very fabric of the world.  And all stories are about those who would either be bound or unwound by it.  Mine is a story about both.”

The adults are captivated by him now, even the ones he knows have heard his story a thousand times before.  He must tell it.  He doesn’t want to.  He never wants to.  He knows if he doesn’t there will be a greater price to pay.

He takes out a piece of half-finished scrimshaw from his pocket, as well as a scriber, and etches at it for a while in contemplative silence.  The Story comes back to him in undulating bluegreen waves, unseen, unheard, as he adds a few delicate scales to a sinuous, achingly beautiful mercreature upon the whale bone.  His thumb runs almost mournfully across it, and his lip curls back into a barely perceptible sneer.  The ceaseless tide inside of him wells up.  The rest of his fingers tighten ever so slightly, imperceptible to all but the few children seated closest to his boots on the floorboards.  The fog in his eye swirls, furious, indignant, but then gives way and parts like a silvery curtain upon the beginning of his story so many years ago.

When he finally begins his voice is thin and shivery, almost inaudible, like seafoam slinking over shimmering sand.

“Once upon a time…”

[beomglocks]

in the morning ; k.th

summary : taehyun tries to keep you safe from the world’s wandering eyes.

pairing : yandere!taehyun x “captive” s/o!reader

warnings & other : angst (?), blood, there’s a dead person, yes the body is described (not in too much detail), enclosed spaces, dehumanization (?), honestly ignore the title i didnt know what to call this

w/c : 1.7k

your bedroom door creaks open allowing a sliver of light to shine onto your bed and down on to your face. you scrunch your face in frustration but merely turn over to face the wall to continue your peaceful slumber.

a finger pokes at your face annoyingly and you swat at it to leave you alone. "my love, wake up," you hear someone whisper.

you groan but make no indications that you'll be listening to the annoying voice in your head. you feel something cold drift across your face and down your neck which makes you shiver. when you bring your hand up to your neck to pull it away, you flinch and sit up quickly.

"ow!" you inspect your hand which now has a large bleeding gash from gripping whatever was on your neck. now that you're semi fully awake, you look up to see taehyun. great, he's back from doing whatever it is he does at this godforsaken time. you wonder if it's a normal day when he's home but no- you know there's a reason why he's in your room right now.

"i wouldn't have gripped that like that if i were you," he snickers playfully. you look down at what he's holding and frown at him. "what...did you put a knife to my neck?" crazy bastard, you knew something would go wrong whenever he was within 10 centimeters of you.

"had to wake up the sleeping beauty somehow," he grins. his face immediately goes stony and he grabs your hand, looking at the aftermath of his actions. it scares you how quickly he could change his expression. sometimes you weren't sure how to act around him because you weren't sure how he would react.

"im sorry though, i'll clean it up right away." he quickly gets up and grabs some alcohol and tissues that are laying around, and rushes back to you.

"so no light today?" you ask quietly while he cleans the wound skillfully. he stays quiet for a moment and you're about to ask him the question again in case he didn't hear you but he soon speaks up.

"n-no not today.. i don't wanna be seen like this. it could scare you," he laughs dryly. he scrubs your hands with more haste now, afraid that you'll take initiative to turn on the lights.

you sigh. how considerate of him however it's not like you haven't seen him with blood splattered across his glass skin before. it wasn't out of the ordinary to see him like this after all. your room only has a tiny window above the bed and you couldn't even look out from it since it was too high. the only light that was available to you was the moonlight. unfortunely it didn't even reach far enough to shine down on taehyun to give you the luck of seeing him.

"when are you going to stop this?" you ask mostly to yourself. "i'll stop when it gets through people's heads that you're mine."

he grips your injured hand as the anger of what he had to witness today comes rushing back to his memories. "t-tae my hand," you wince.

he loosens his grip just a little bit, enough for you to not feel that much pain but obviously, it still hurts. god, you really wish he wasn't here right now.

"why...why did he- it's his fault you know. it's not like i wanted to kill him," he says. you can hear the anxiety in his voice and it makes you want to comfort him a little bit. only a small part of your brain feels bad for his current mental state but that's only because of how kind taehyun was to you way before well- this. somewhere in you, you hope that he will change but you know he's too far gone at this point.

"he had it coming though," taehyun smiles, looking down at your wound. "he should've known not to mess with other people's property." you clench your jaw at his words. it's unfortunate how taehyun doesn't see you as a human anymore, only an object for him to keep enclosed in a glass case, like some china doll.

"you're not entirely innocent y/n," he grits. he grips your hand purposely and you let a tear roll down your face now. "taehyun you're hurting me," you manage to choke out. he pouts mockingly at your plea.

"you hurt me and you hurt that guy i had to kill," he says in a matter of fact tone. "when he said hi you should've just kept your mouth shut but no you just had to make conversation and let him hug you like some-"

he cuts himself off before he can say something that he might have to force himself to apologize for later. you both sit in silence minus your ragged breaths mixed with his heavy ones.

"you killed him," he says simply. "what?" you breathe out. "you killed him y/n! if you had just focused on me like i focus on you then i wouldn't have been forced to kill him like i did."

"taehyun i-"

"go say sorry," he sighs. you look at him bewildered but it only takes you a moment to realize what he means. "taehyun," you sob. you don't want to say that you can't believe he brought a dead body home but the sad fact is that you can believe it. he mustve had no where to hide it once he was done. taehyun is not one to make empty threats. he chuckles, shaking his head, "go say sorry to your friend."

he tries to pull you from the bed but you cling onto the bedsheets, adamant about not moving. "what so now you don't want to give him the time of day? earlier you seemed just so over the damn moon speaking with him!" he shouts.

you shake your head frantically. you want to speak, to reason with him, but nothing comes out your mouth other than choked sobs. "don't be like that, it's for your own good. now let's go," he says.

this time he uses all his force to rip you from your hold on the bed. "my love...im gonna teach you something about respect," taehyun speaks lowly. his monotone voice sends chills throughout your frigid body. you kick and scream and punch his back, hoping that you can shake him enough to let you go but nothing you do phases him.

he walks through the house with you slung over his shoulder for about a minute before stopping in front of the jacket closet. he sets you down as gently as he can in front of it and you stare blankly at it, not ready to face whatever is inside.

"it goes both ways," he finishes. you hesitantly look up at him, finally seeing his face for the first time since earlier today. you flinch when you notice just how much blood is scattered over his face. the kill must've been brutal enough to send that many splatters of blood flying.

"don't look at me, look at him. don't be disrespectful," he says. when you turn back towards the closet you flinch harshly at the sight. the guy whom you spoke to earlier was now slumped over in your closet. you remember how lively he was when speaking to you but now his skin was completely drained of life and pale in color. his lips were dry, probably from trying to heave in air to try to live. you're afraid to further gaze at the body because the further down you go the worse it gets. so much so that it's practically dosed in blood.

"say it, say you're sorry!" he commands. you know that you're not really saying sorry to the dead man in your closet. taehyun wants you to say sorry to him. you know he couldn't care less about this man. he wants you to regret putting him in the position to kill another human being.

"i-im- im-" taehyun sucks teeth impatiently. "if you don't say it naturally i will lock you in here all night. i don't want to do that so you better do it right."

a noise leaves your throat when he shoves you closer to the body. you whine, trying your best to control your voice and tears. "i-" your voice gets weak but you use every bit of force in you to say it. you don't wanna risk having to stay in that closet all night.

"im sorry," you blurt. you hear taehyun chuckle behind you, satisfied for now. "was that so hard?"

"y/n you're mine and only mine. i feel so livid when others so much as look in your direction, do you understand?" he says calmly. you nod, already wanting to be back in your bed, under the covers, away from all of this.

you hear taehyun hum and suddenly you're shoved into the closet. it catches you so off guard that your body slams into the dead one. you yell in panic and scramble as far away from it as possible. "taehyun! w-what's going on?!" you call out.

the closet is so dark when it's closed that you can't even see anything. atleast you know you're not near the body. "y/n- i-i'm doing this because i love you ok?" he says uncertainly. "this way no one can look at you or talk to you and try to seduce you."

you bang on the door, your heart beating with each slam. "p-please let me out," you plead weakly. you already know that once taehyun has done something he doesn't change his mind so it's no use trying to reason. "i-im scared- please."

he stays silent for a moment and you're about to burst into tears again thinking that he's already left but he speaks up after a couple beats of contemplative silence.

"don't be scared ok y/n. you'll be fine. i'm going to come back for you in the morning." he goes silent again and all you can hear is your heavy breathing and wet sniffles. "please don't be too mad at me, i love you," you hear him whisper before you hear his footsteps retreat.

the night is spent without much sleep and your fist pounding at the closet door, hoping for an early release but it never comes.

[zhongliologist]

The Persistence of Time | Zhongli

Pairing: Zhongli x Gender Neutral!Reader

Genre: ANGST!! ANGST!!!!

Words: 3.1k

AN: Sorry this took a while!! I was trying to gather enough lore for this to work;;; I hope it was ok >////<!!! 

Now Playing: How Can I Love the Heartbreak, You’re the One I Love - AKMU; Vocalise, Op.34 - Sergei Rachmaninoff; Pavane pour une infante defunte, M.19 - Maurice Ravel

*

“That era has passed. Nothing that belonged to it exists anymore.”

-Wong Kar-Wai, In the Mood for Love

There was no sadness, no pain,

Just a longing for a moment in my life

Where everything seemed right,

Where happiness was due,

And where you and I existed.

I thought it would encompass infinity;

Towards the recesses of the universe

and the end of time.

Yet it passed us without telling;

It had passed without us knowing.

And I am now alone—

Left with a bleak emptiness,

Knowing what and how it felt to be

Complete.

*

“Please forgive me.”

It was there on that day when the gentle sea breeze became harsh gale, when the serene mountains behind him became tall ominous shadows reflecting the darkness cast upon his face. It was when the monotonous world was painted with vivid hurtful tones of silence and heartbreak; gnashing at his heart as it cut the final slivers of happiness left in him.

On that rather peaceful night, when the layers of dust that covered his heart finally blew away, Zhongli finally unearthed the haunting truth he tried to bury. After thousands of years, after monuments turn into ruins, and monoliths turn into sand, and wash away into the shores of time, he finally felt his heart tremble again.

Please forgive me.

“I am truly grateful to be able to receive your love…”

He could see it. Against the dark void of the cloudless sky, he saw it all in your eyes: the pain he had caused, killing you slowly inside like some torturous mechanism devised only by him. It had also cut him open, bleeding bloodless as he tried to force the words out of his lips.

Please…forgive me…

He didn’t want to say it; he didn’t want to hurt you. If only he could pull you to his embrace, wrap you around his arms so tenderly to ease the woes of your heart. If only he had that choice in the first place. He wished he had at that moment. But this was for the best.

“…and I also have come to realize my feelings for you, but—”

Truly, truly, he loves you. More than you can ever imagine; more than what you were thinking of right now as you stood motionless, awaiting his words. He would move mountains, divide the seas for you. He would do everything for you. And the moment you told him how you felt earlier that night was one of the happiest moments in his life, but even then, the tale must end before it could even begin.

He couldn’t risk it. You who had became so precious to him in a span of a few months, he couldn’t risk it. For you to be with a person like him; you deserved better.

“I have already resigned myself to this loneliness.”

Please forgive me.

Heartbreak is momentary. It will soon disappear, and you will soon forget about him. You will move on and find the happiness that he couldn’t give you in the arms of someone else. It felt like thorns around his throat, poison in his chest when he thought about it, yet it has to be done.

This pain will eventually be forgotten.

As he gazed at you, your eyes stunned and holding back tears he wished he could wipe away, Zhongli felt it pierce through him; more painful than any blade or arrow that ever wounded him. But this was for your own good.

“…why…?” you finally asked, eyes too weak to hold any more tears; leaving him more remorseful than ever before. “Don’t I deserve to know why?”

He grit his teeth, cursing silently at the wind. He always admired how you would never give up despite your gentle nature, but right now, it didn’t make things any easier.

“You and I both know what we feel…” you shouted at him, voice trembling. “So why…? Why can’t we be together?”

It was too much. Clenching his hands into fists, he turned away before he could give in to you; his brows furrowing in pain as he heard your sobs being swept by the wind.

“Zhongli!” you screamed, your chest too tight to be able to breathe as your voice diminished into a plea. “…answer me…please…”

His hand was trembling as he tried to hold the hurt in; to keep it suppressed into a tiny pebble inside his chest. But there will always be a point in time when he had to lose strength, when he was at his weakest—and you perfectly hit that mark when you asked him why with so much vulnerability.

“Not now…” he began, his words finally lost to him. “But if you really wish to know, see me tomorrow. At the Guili Ruins.”

*

If only the weather would also stay true to your feelings, it would’ve been a bit better.

Yet the sun was shining brightly, and the sky a deep cobalt blue with tiny whisps of titanium white clouds as it rolled across the expansive visage of the Guili Plains. Life moved on faster than your heart could ever catch up, even if it got broken just the night before.

And the one who broke it was just a few steps ahead.

Zhongli stood waiting for you just beside the main dirt road, mind always wandering farther than his feet could take him. You always wondered where his thoughts took him, or what was in his mind when he told you he had already ‘resigned to loneliness’.

As you approached him with a dread for the truth, you reminded yourself that this was what you asked for. That night, he seemed like he wouldn’t even give you an explanation if you hadn’t pressed him for it, and you wondered what was the reason for that. Now that you have arrived, it wouldn’t take long for you to finally discover what the answer was.

“…Zhongli,” you called out to him softly, stealing him away from his reveries.

He promptly gazed at you, amber eyes lingering for far too long for it to be just a simple glance. But before you could ask him why, he turned away coldly.

“Follow me.”

It stung you—how easily he could shut you off, how easily he could push you away even though you knew what he actually felt. Your eyes widened briefly, unused to this stone cold Zhongli, but you decided not to dwell on it before it could permanently hurt you. Crying when things had barely begun wouldn’t amount to anything.  

Ruins buried halfway on the ground dotted the green landscape; scattered into miniscule pieces that were no longer discernable. If only you could see how shattered your heart was, it would’ve looked similar to these desolate ruins. As you trailed behind him, unable to look at the same back you once embraced, you once leaned on to; your eyes simply gazed down on the ground just to tame these tumultuous tides of emotions.

If only you knew how much Zhongli tried to contain himself—balling his hands into tight fists, his teeth gritting at the way he kept on hurting you. He once was someone who could wear coldness in the face of carnage, yet right now, as you gazed at him with eyes so hopeful, he could feel the mask crumbling, cracking away piece by piece.

But this is for your own good—he reminded himself for the millionth, billionth, nth time.

Eventually he stopped walking, just standing right before a glowing circle on the ground. You could see a cliff behind him, overlooking a sea of long-forgotten stone ruins.

“The Guili Plains were once home to the Guili Assembly,” Zhongli began as he faced you, expression unreadable. “A precursor to the harbor city of Liyue, the Assembly was once ruled over by the God of Dust, Guizhong, and the Geo Archon Rex Lapis.”

You raised a brow at him.

It was already no surprise that Zhongli is Rex Lapis. You were long suspicious and he eventually told you, but you wondered what was the point of all of this; why he specifically asked to meet at this certain place, telling you a tale that has been buried under the sands of time. All you asked him was why he had to reject you.

“Yet the Archon Wars continued to set the lands of Liyue ablaze, and we struggled to protect the people we vowed to protect,” he continued, eyes holding no semblance of emotion, as if he had left everything behind in the distant past. “In the end, we were not strong enough. I was not strong enough to protect even Guizhong.”

You simply stood there, regarding him silently as the cogs in your head turned. For the first time today, you finally heard his stoic expression crack. Did he deeply regret Guizhong’s death that even after thousands of years, he still hasn’t moved on?

“I was too weak, too powerless,” his said his voice trailing off as he finally gave in to the vulnerability. “There was no reason for her to perish. Guizhong was gentle with her people, more compassionate than I could ever be, yet…yet…I—”

He wished he didn’t have to recall that certain moment which was still etched vividly in his memory to this very day, yet you really had to ask him why. You who had been looking at him so lovingly all this time, harboring no hatred in your heart—Zhongli could no longer conceal any more of these emotions which plague him for millennia.  

As you watched him visibly shake as the stone wall he had set up earlier crumbled into dust, you couldn’t help but feel the pain he had gone through over the years. Your heart ached for him, wondering what he must’ve felt when he lost the people he had once considered close to him. It became clear to you that the one thing he needed the least was loneliness.

Taking the first step, you walked towards him and cupped his cheek; forcing him to face you. It felt like a jab as soon as you noticed the hurt in his eyes, even with words unspoken, you immediately knew how much he had suffered.

“She was precious to you, wasn’t she?” you asked, tracing circles on his skin, your voice soft.

“YN…” Zhongli called out your name, his eyes giving a glimpse of how he truly felt as they gazed into yours. “I…I—”

Finally, he collapsed as you pulled him to your embrace. He held on to you tightly; burying his head on your shoulders, hoping that the pain would at least subside if he was in your arms.

“I…I promised her…back then. I promised…I would become the strength to support her and her people. Yet I could not even fulfill that promise…” he continued as he sobbed into your shoulders. “She was always loving to everyone…yet even I, as an Archon…could not…”

For the first time in a long while, Zhongli allowed tears to pour from his eyes as he continued to embrace you. He was enamored with you at first because of how much you reminded him of Guizhong, yet the more time he spent with you, the more he fell for you, he realized that you were different from her. Yet he still couldn’t deny his feelings. He still fell in love with you.

“I am terrified, YN…if I can’t even protect her, then…how can I even keep you safe…?”

You forced your chest to stop clenching tightly when you heard his words. Of course, there was a pang of jealously—of how much he treasured her that he still carried it with him over the years. But at the same time, you felt sorry for him. Even if he did everything he could, he still blames himself for what had happened.

“If you would die as well because of these hands… then I will never be able to forgive myself. That is why I must push you away before any misfortune shall befall you. This is the only way I could protect you.”

He couldn’t stop. He had to say everything. You had to know.

“Even…even if it pains me to see you leave, to see you love someone else, then I must endure. As long as you are happy, as long as you are alive, then I have nothing to regret.”

Brushing your hands through his long hair, you comforted him the best that you could.

“Zhongli…you blockhead…” you whispered as you rubbed his back gently. “I would never be happier if I couldn’t stay by your side. I would never be happy if you’re in pain. Please don’t carry this burden all by yourself. If I am in your arms, then I will always feel safe. You don’t have to shoulder the responsibility of protecting me all alone, I am fully capable of protecting myself, you know.”

Pulling away, Zhongli gazed into your eyes, as you wiped his tear stained face clean with a ghost of a smile. “What happened to Guizhong was a tragedy that came from a war you had already won. Yet you had led her people safely despite your shortcomings and your mistakes.”

“Look at Liyue now,” you continued. “Do you see how beautiful it is? These majestic plains and pools and mountain tops were sculpted by your very hands. Yes, you may have failed to protect her, but her legacy continues on because of you. Liyue Harbor exists because of both of your efforts, and we would have never met if you had never stumbled and fell. No matter how many mistakes you make, she would’ve already forgiven you, knowing how much you worked hard for Liyue even if you say you’re not suited for it. She’ll be proud of you.”

Again, he felt his heart trembled at your very words; the stone which covered it gradually cracking open. He had never told anyone about his regrets before, and it felt so light, knowing that he had you now, knowing that you would understand him. He wouldn’t have to feel so alone.

“YN…” Zhongli whispered, holding your cheeks between his hands as he stared at you with an evocative gaze.

In a moment’s surprise, he captured your lips in a soft yet vulnerable kiss; pouring everything he felt for you at that moment. You could feel it as he swept pass your lips, the intensity of his emotions and the gentleness of his touch. Whatever happened in the past will stay in the past. Right now, he had you.

Gasping for air, the both of you glanced at each other as words unspoken passed between you. He was grateful to have met you in this lifetime. Considering that he is a god who had lived thousands of years, the chances of meeting someone like you was terrifyingly low. But even then, he felt lucky.

“I know you can’t forgive yourself this easily, but I’m sure that you’ll get there,” you told him as you held on to his hand. “I will always be right beside you; to help you get up if you stumble again. I’ll be your support as you come into terms with your own regrets. It will take time, but we have all the time in the world.”

“Thank you,” Zhongli replied, bringing your hand to his lips, kissing it gently with a smile on his face. “

“Come here,” he told you as he slowly turned and walked towards the cliffside. “I have something yet to show you.”

Curious, you followed him to where he sat; leaning against a stone wall that was once part of a greater structure. Sitting next to him at a ledge, you watched as he produced an intricate cube, floating on the air as he held it closely. It seemed to be made of stone yet the streaks around it were glowing golden.

“This is a dumbbell called Memory of Dust,” he prefaced, turning it around gently. “It was something Guizhong gave to me before I lost her, saying that if I can unlock it then perhaps…”

You turned to him curiously. “Perhaps what?”

He gazed at the object with a sighed. “She was never able to finish what she said, and I was never able to unlock it.”

Humming, you leaned your head to inspect it closely. “She didn’t leave any clues?”

“Unfortunately, not.”

“I wonder what it contains—”

“YN!”

As soon as you touched it however, the sides of the object began moving as Zhongli swiftly moved you away from it, shielding you behind him. The cube continued to move as it floated a little further away and began glowing much brighter than ever before.

In a bright flash of light, the object imploded and the next thing Zhongli noticed was familiar voice that seem to be humming just beside his ear. He stood there, feet frozen to the ground, and simply allowed the moment to happen.

“I see. It seems you had finally understood how to become ‘human’…to be able to connect to someone and empathize, to finally understand love, and how to love whole heartedly, to lay down all your burdens and lean on for support. Now it is time for you to experience it. You have done well.”

“…Guizhong…?”

“Here is the Persistence of Time. It is slow changing and persistent. It will continue to flow like tides and ripples in a vast and never-ending fabric of the universe. Everything will be washed away and buried; tucked away until it decimates into grains of sand. Fragments, memory and meaning—all forgotten as those who remember them had long left this world. Yet as time continues to persist, then so too shall love exist past the constraints of time and memory. I shall continue to watch over you, over Liyue, as the new age of mankind dawns. Live well, my Lord.”

He had never expected to hear a voice he hadn’t heard for such a long time. Yet by the time the presence had disappeared and vanished into the air, he could finally feel some sense of peace; closure.

“Oh? You’re smiling.” Zhongli finally heard your voice as you leaned against him; your eyes seemingly knowing yet refusing to tell.

“Am I?” he asked as he offered you his arm. “I am simply grateful of your love, and of your patience with me. If you had given up that night, I would have never understood.”

You hummed. “There was something in that object after all, but then again, I’m happy. Next time, please don’t just jump into plans that aren’t even well thought out. We have each other now, don’t we?”

In a moment’s notice, Zhongli cupped your cheek; giving your lips a small but gentle peck.

“I shall be counting on you then.”

[painless-innit-colourful]

‘Two Down, One To Go’ - part 1

My biggest gripe with how late the three canon lives system was brought in is that the early deaths never got the weight they deserved in canon. So I fixed that. The night of L’Manberg’s independence is the biggest party any of them have ever attended, but Tommy’s not in a merry mood. Tubbo finds out why. Featuring a little headcanon about how a person knows how many lives they have left.

part two | part three

---

Night of Independence

“One, two, three, four, five-” His heart was racing, fingers tightening on the bowstring. There was a kind of dread in his heart like never before. Not only was Dream a better shot than him; he knew it. And to bet both the future of his country and one of his discs on his abilities…

“-six, seven, eight, nine-” His arms ached; his whole body ached. Bruises and scrapes and barely healed gashes littered his limbs from Eret’s betrayal. That b*stard. He snuck a glance at his fellows. They’d all lost so much today. All their things, a war, a country; not to mention a life apiece. Something had erupted inside of him when they’d woken back in the camarvan with a tally mark each: something red and explosive. And they returned his gaze, Tubbo and Fundy watching with bated breath. He couldn’t see Wilbur from the direction he was facing, but he imagined his expression was about the same. Fear, apprehension and just the smallest sliver of hope.

“-Ten paces fire!” And then it died, for the second time in twenty-four hours. As did Tommy.

The mood around the campfire was merry. Wilbur had poured them all drinks (watered down for everyone but him, especially Fundy) and was currently leading him and Tubbo in a half-drunk singalong of something that had started as the L’Manberg anthem, that had since devolved into innuendos about explosions and jokes about ‘independance’, though they kept in the parts with the names and the ‘it’s a very real and not blown up L’Manberg’. Tommy tried to have a good time, shouting “F*ck Eret!” every time that line came up, but the feeling was bittersweet. He slipped his hand inside his shirt and felt the tiny ridges. Two tallies. He hadn’t told the others yet. They’d given him enough pity when he’d told them how he’d traded away the discs. He didn’t need them fawning over him for this as well.

Unfortunately, it seemed he hadn’t been subtle enough. Tubbo sat down beside him, out of breath from dancing and grinning at Wilbur’s antics, and the first thing he laid his eyes on when he looked to Tommy was his hand inside his shirt. Tommy internally cursed himself and quickly removed it, but Tubbo had already latched onto the topic, “Feels weird doesn’t it?”

“Hm?” “The… Death mark.” A slight tremor passed over him, his eyes wandering down to where his own sat. The marks always showed just below a person’s collarbone, on the left side of the chest, close to the heart. “Maybe not weird but… I never expected to have one this- this early.” His words hung in the night air. They were both just kids, Fundy too, and they were all too close to a permanent death than they should be. But Tommy found some solace in how his friends had survived the war gaining only one. They were the lucky ones. Tommy had not only lost his most valued possessions but another life too. There was a line to death, and now Tommy walked along it, feet placed end to end like an acrobat tip-toeing a tightrope. Any moment now could be his last forever. It was unlikely he’d die right this second: he’d just secured peace for goodness’ sake, but what if? All it could take now was a stray arrow, a random attacker, a careless match finding an explosive in an untouched corner of L’Manberg, and that would be it for him. Gone.

Tubbo shuffled closer, “Tommy, are you okay man?” Drat. Once again, his face betrayed his feelings. He glanced around the partying men. Of all the people here, he trusted Tubbo the most, but mainly, the secret was starting to weigh him down worse than a full suit of netherite. He was tired of saying he was fine. Besides, it was Tubbo. His best friend, his brother. They’d been fighting together since the beginning: the Disc War, the Pet Wars and most of his other scuffles with citizens of the SMP, major and minor. He could trust Tubbo.

“Tubbo, I… Give me your hand.” One boy put his hand in the others’, and Tommy laid it on his chest, where they could both feel the lines representing a betrayal and a duel through the thin fabric of his shirt. Tubbo’s face changed from concern to horror to pity as he ran his fingers back and forth over the two ridges, checking, again and again, to verify what he couldn’t quite believe was true.

“You never said-” He started to say, but Tommy silenced him with a finger to his own lips hurriedly. “I didn’t want to worry anyone.” He sighed. “Or detract from the celebrations. I’m fine. It’s just a second mark.” Tubbo gave him a look halfway between disappointment and sympathy. “First of all, it’s not ‘just a second mark’ and second, you know that because I can see it on your face. It’s affecting you, dude.” Tommy looked away, closing his hand around Tubbo’s. “I don’t wanna think about it tonight, but I can’t-” He looked around at his four closest comrades. “I can’t stop running it over in my head, how much we’ve lost.” He gestured around them, at the land of their country torn apart, at the small patch of scorched grass they’d found sound enough to celebrate on. His eyes met Tubbo’s, creased with worry. “Five lives between us. Five.”

“Well… We’ve lost a lot, but we’ve also gained, y’know? What you did-” “How do you feel?” “Hm?” Tommy squeezed Tubbo’s hand. “How does it feel to be down a life?” “Don’t you remember?” He smiled faintly. “It was only this morning.” “I was a bit preoccupied, Tubbs.” They giggled half-heartedly. “True.” There was a moment of quiet broken only by the sounds of the party, and then; “I suppose I’m okay. I know I’m a bit closer to dying now, but I’ve still got another chance. So I can manage, I think.” “Do you feel more… mortal? Vulnerable?” Tommy’s voice was small. “Yeah. Like, I know what it’s like to die now- or, I know I can die. That it’s possible. I think that’s what it’s like for the others as well.”

Tubbo’s gaze drifted to look over at Wilbur, and Tommy’s soon followed. “Well, he seems fine.” The blonde remarked as Wilbur whirled past, drink in hand, a brown coat over his revolutionary uniform, adding more and more names from the crowd around them to the anthem as Fundy looked on, bemused. “I guess,” Tubbo shrugged. “He’s a bit older, so it’s less… jarring to be down one. Still not ideal, but not entirely unexpected.” “Well he’s certainly taking it well.” And at that Tubbo laughed. “He’s also quite drunk. So drunk he hasn’t noticed Fundy’s stopped watering his beers down.” That brought forth a small smile from Tommy. Tubbo continued: “He’s had time, y’know?” He paused, waiting for Tommy to look him in the eye. “When… When did you notice it?”

“After Dream took off with the discs. I finally came down from the adrenaline rush when I was alone in my house, just before I got back on comms to let you guys know. I felt it while I was taking off my armour. The tiniest little sting... And there it was.” He remembers standing alone in his house, examining both the duel scar and the extra mark in the grimy mirror he’d taken off the wall and leant on the floor. For a moment it was like the floor had gone out from beneath him again, but luckily this time it wasn’t an explosion. It hadn’t crossed his mind before then: all his brainpower had been in use, between worrying for his friends, discs, country and bow skills. The physical and mental pain of losing the duel had kept his mind off his own mortality as well, but there it was, staring him in the face, taunting him.

‘Two lives in less than twenty-four hours,’ it seemed to say (and he’d be omitting important details to not mention how it spoke in an American accent) ‘You won’t make it to twenty, or eighteen, or even your next birthday. Are you running out of time? Are you running out of time? Are you running out of ti-’

“What you did was incredibly brave and selfless.” Tubbo’s voice snapped him out of the memory of Death calling out to him, or maybe that was just him being melodramatic. “More like stupid. I didn’t know what I was doing.” “Well, Wilbur did tell you, he said ‘ohh Tommy, this country isn’t worth your life’.” “I wasn’t thinking.” “Well... I don’t care.” Tubbo squeezed his hand. “And maybe that’s a little selfish, but we’re free because of the trade you made, and maybe you’d never have pushed Dream to that point without the duel. I don’t know. But now we’re free. We’ve been beaten down by that tyrant for so long, but now we’re finally free.” He gave him a firm smile, “Yeah.” It was hard not to get swept up in Tubbo’s good moods, so Tommy reached for his drink. “Cheers. To L’Manberg!” “L’Manberg!” Tubbo knocked his tankard into Tommy’s and they both took a long drink. Wilbur overheard them and knocked Fundy’s drink out of his hands in his tipsy enthusiasm, and then there was another round of My L’Manberg. And as Tommy listened to the growing, rowdy chorus of his country, he let go of his fears for a while. Maybe they’d never leave him for the rest of his life, but for right now, they had their walls, their drinks and their song.

And as long as there were more crosses on the flag than lines on his tally, he’d be fine.

---

Taglist: @nixavia @zrenia (Please let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist in future :)

[obaewankenobis]

for forever — obi-wan kenobi

pairing(s)  :  obi-wan kenobi x reader ( mostly focused on obi-wan’s character, not the relationship because i am a hoe for this man )

summary  :  after the fall of the jedi order, you can finally be together. alternatively, obi-wan needs therapy/deserves happiness.

word count  :  2.1k

warning(s)  :  character death, a bit of angst i guess but it’s mostly fluff.

notes   :  roughly edited so i apologize if things don’t make sense, i honestly came up with this on a whim and have No Idea what was going through my head when i wrote this. the povs also switch a lot but enjoy </3.

       The sand bit at his fair skin, the grainy winds of Tatooine ruffled through his auburn locks, peppered with strands of grey, as Obi-Wan Kenobi stood, rigid and grief stricken. Kind wrinkles framed his eyes, eyes weighed down by exhaustion and desolation, the memory of a thousand wars flickering in the brilliant blue reflection. Without speaking, the woman looking at him from afar knew he had suffered a lifetime of hardship and grief, his aching heart not given a moment to mourn the loss of those closest to him. The mahogany cloak billowed around his body, covering the burnt, tattered tan robes he wore, as the wind picked up, signaling there would be little time before the twin suns set and it was much too dangerous to be outside. Snuggled between the lone man’s arms, swathed in soft cream blankets to shelter him from the cruel and unforgiving weather, was a baby. With sea blue eyes and the sparse tufts of pale blonde hair, the newborn was the mirror image of his father — that in itself was bittersweet.

       Fire. That was all Obi-Wan could remember, the smoldering lava confining him and his enemy — once his friend, his brother — inside a tight circle of flashing blue and blazing rage. Now, things were blissfully quiet, as if the universe was trying to give him peace of mind after what it had taken from him. With heavy shoulders and hollow eyes, Obi-Wan was a shell of who he used to be: a great warrior and an excellent negotiator, all gone. His last mission was here, on Tatooine, to deliver the baby to his aunt and uncle: Owen and Beru Lars. Then, he would spend the rest of his years wasting away in a sandy prison, languishing in his defeat.

       “Is it true?” The woman from afar, who had taken to staring at him from a distance, finally approached him, awaiting his answer with bated breath — Beru. Is it true? The words reverberated in his head, as the reality came crashing down upon him. The woman in front of him needed certainty, she needed answers, answers Obi-Wan could not give her.

       “Yes,” came the final reply. Who knew a single word could hold such heavy meaning? Yes. An entire government who’s history spanned hundreds of years prior collapsed within a single day? Yes, that had happened. His religion, who he had devoted his entire life to and poured his soul into, gone? Yes, decimated without a sliver of mercy. The baby’s father, the hero of the galaxy, the crown jewel of the Jedi Order, killed? Yes, murdered in cold blood.

       Beru finally brought her attention to the boy nestled within the robes of the man. “Is he . . . ” She seemed to only speak in half questions, as if finishing the sentence would make it a harsh reality, and leaving the query to hang heavy in the air would somehow leave her life in a fairytale.

       “Yes,” he replied again, nearly choking on his words as the boy let out a tiny coo, as if he sensed they were discussing him.

       “Oh.” There was a pause, a flicker of hesitation, before the woman decided to continue her pattern of half inquiries to form her own story. “May I?” With shaking arms, Beruu reached forward to take the boy from Obi-Wan’s grasp and welcome the baby into her own warm embrace. Part of him didn’t want to let the child go, for once he did he would have no real connection to his past life. Letting go of the boy meant letting go of everything, from his first steps in the Temple, to his meeting with his apprentice on Naboo, to the countless, sleepless nights in a war torn galaxy, it would all be gone. The woman’s tender smile and patient gaze was nearly patronizing, she was trying to sympathize with something she couldn’t possibly understand. No one could. A wave of fury washed over him, trapping him in a cage of his own emotions. Obi-Wan had never felt such an intensity roll over his body, preferring to keep his temperament a tranquil, emotionless pit. But this raw, uncontrollable fury was soon washed out with an even more overpowering bout of sorrow, shaking him with such force it made his knees wobble and threaten to give way. For over thirty years he was taught emotions were the enemy, by being detached and aloof he would survive, and look where that had gotten him.  

      Another soft cry from the baby jerked Obi-Wan back into the present moment, as his tiny arms reached for the woman, drawn to her sunny kindness and comforting aura; he realized a place to call home or a comforting shoulder to cry on was never something he could offer as the baby grew older. The woman made a small clicking sound with her tongue, looking up at Obi-Wan with an expectant gaze, and yet his grip on the baby remained the same. Although his mind seemed desperate to listen to logic, to reason, his body remained motionless, following the dull ache and painful longing in his heart. The battle between his mind and emotions lasted a fraction of a second, and at last, as it had time and time again, his mind won.

       Like he had done all his life, selflessly sacrificing himself for thee good of the galaxy, he let go.

     The woman took the baby in her arms, and began her journey back to her homestead, pausing just slightly to exchange one last parting smile and a word of comfort. “I think someone wants to see you, Master Kenobi.” With that, Beru began walking, a happy baby in her arms, to her husband, just as the sky merged from clear blue to salmon pink and hazy orange, the twin suns beginning to disappear over the horizon rapidly. As the light dimmed and dusk settled in, the man could make out the shadowy figures of Beru and Owen Lars, holding Luke Skywalker in unmoving content.

       Here to see me? Obi-Wan frowned, reflecting on the woman’s words. This was not his home, his very identity was supposed to remain a secret, who could possibly want to see him? Unless . . .

       No, that was impossible. He had mourned your death just as he had mourned every other Jedi’s death the moment their own clones turned against them, and he would not allow even a tiny sliver of hope to crawl its way back into his heart. Because in the end, he could only cling to the belief that things would get better, and false hope in such a desperate time would be his undoing.

—

       You wondered how long you could stand in the shadows before he noticed you, standing awkwardly by his dewback as he delivered Padmé and Anakin's son to his new family. Like Obi-Wan, you had suffered the loss of everything and everyone you knew, your entire life destroyed in the span of a second, and all you could do was stand there, watching everything burn. The Jedi robes you once wore with pride, robes that were once a symbol of humility and hope across the galaxy, now put a priceless bounty on the head of anyone who wore them.

       “Obi-Wan?” The name was dry in your throat, mouth parched and lips cracked due to the harsh Tatooine heat.

       Though he was always subtle, you could see his entire demeanor change, the way his shoulders became straighter, the way his hands, once balled up into fists of worry, were now relaxed and laying loosely at his side. In a moment, he had turned around and closed the distance between the two of you, caramel boots growing dull and scuffed as he stepped through the unforgiving desert surface beneath him. “You’re alive,” his voice came out in a hushed, cautious tone, disbelief still tainting the edges. “I thought — Yoda and I — the only ones left — ” his words grew more jumbled with each passing phrase that left his lips.

       “But I’m here. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” you cut him off, the calm gentleness of your tone making him stop in his tracks. Slowly, each movement pained and deliberate, you stepped closer, inching your way forward until he was right in front of you. Neither of you could look away; with the Jedi Order dead, there was no reason to hide in secrecy now.

—

       To realize he was not alone was comforting, but to know it was you he could seek company in was freeing. In that moment, with the distance so close between your bodies, Obi-Wan dared not breathe, his eyes fluttering shut as he let out the smallest of breaths — this was all he had ever wanted, and still, despite everything, it was something he believed he could never have.

       He wouldn’t allow himself to believe it. Not after he spent all those years repressing the desire that burned so deeply within him it began to rot within his heart, trapped with no release in sight. At one point, he had every reason to deny the yearning stirring within him, but now? Now there was no war, no Council, no code, no nothing to stop himself from unleashing decades of pent up turmoil within him.

       And stars, it was suffocating.

       He couldn’t do this.

       “You know you don’t have to push me away any more.” A suggestion more than a factual statement; voice thick and barely audible.

       Was this a dream, a fantasy meant to be chased after in his sleep? Or some sick, twisted premonition the Force was trying to convey to him? So many nights he had spent languishing in his loneliness, dazed in a delusion that remained but a figment of his imagination.

       “I know.”

       “What?”

       “The Jedi are no more. We . . . We don’t have to pretend we don’t have  — ” The words were bittersweet on his tongue; even with no one there to watch and scold him, he could not betray his way of life so easily. That everyone I have ever loved, I have watched die in my arms? And throughout all of that, I have never been tempted by the dark side, but if I lost you, I would be afraid of my own morality? Those were not easy thoughts to formulate into a coherent sentence — there were no words Obi-Wan could say that would even begin to describe how he felt.

       Instead, in a tender gesture of vulnerability, he reached out through the Force, and all at once it came crashing down on him.

       This feeling . . . it was all consuming, and he was drowning, struggling to keep his head above water and not surrender to its frosty depths. He was submerged in an endless stretch of icy ocean water so frigid and numbing, that he felt nothing and everything all at once. It was terrifying to think — and let you know — you held so much power over him, but in the same instance, he felt at peace, like a weight he had dragged around for decades was finally lifted off his shoulders. I love you, rang as bright as the city lights on Coruscant and as clear as a Nabooian waterfall. I love you.

       “I love you, too.” He heard your voice in a soft whisper, swelled up with emotion as you took in everything. Chills erupted down his spine; he couldn't quite tell if it was from the inky blanket being tugged across the sky as dusk descended into nightfall, or if it was the four word phrase that left your lips.

—

       “I cannot live without you,” Obi-Wan let out a shaky exhale, breath fanning across your face just slightly, your foreheads making contact in the lightest movements. You felt dizzy, in a dreamlike trance, for you had never been this close to him. You could see every horror he had survived in his glassy blue eyes, notice every perfect imperfection that blemished his skin and made him all the more real. In a moment, his face had become blurred as he closed the distance and finally, finally, his lips were on yours, and you connected in a long awaited, eternally sought after kiss. You could feel his hands, calloused but gentle, cupping your face, as your own fingers found their way to the nape of his neck, the kiss grew more fervent and needy, every rule you had ever lived by crumbling as you melted deeper into his touch.

       After a long moment, you broke away, breathless, your face still tantalizingly close to his.

       “I will never leave you, Obi-Wan,” your lips parted in a determined vow, a promise you would keep to your dying breath. The Jedi were dead, and yet you never felt more alive.

[wonder-womans-ex]

The Boys of Yesterday

Sometimes, Saint wonders what his younger self would think of the person he is now.

There are days where he knows that even a hint of the present would make Saint of the past try a little harder; keep going with just a little more hope in his heart. There are days where he’s sure that he’s always wanted to end up where he is now, even if he didn’t always know it.

There are days that he knows the boy from years ago would hate him for. Those are the days where he’ll stop dead in the middle of whatever it is he’s doing as cold, palpable fear grips him, a reminder of the knowledge that he’s a disappointment to anyone and everyone in his life, even himself.

And then there are days where he has trouble reconciling the two people in his mind. He’ll think about who he was then, and he’ll think about who he is now, and it’s as if there’s a line between them. A chasm, wider than anything, bottomless and endless and always there, no matter how desperately he tries to fill it. Sometimes, though—usually, even—he can imagine a bridge. He can find peace with the fact that he was one person, and now he’s another.

But once in a while, it’s like he’s watching someone else make mistakes, powerless to stop it or make it right or even feel guilty about it. He starts thinking about the boy he was then in the second person—me and I and mine turn to Sebastian and knuckles bloodied from fights and a heart full of anger he didn’t know what to do with.

That’s the kind of day today is.

He can feel it as something shifts. He tries to shield himself, but, too soon, it’s like he’s watching from a distance as an eleven-year-old boy named Bash is standing with his feet in the ocean for the first time in his life. He sees a gust of wind blow a lock of deep golden hair into the boy’s face, and then the boy is laughing, smiling, in a way he’s never really known how to before.

If Saint were that boy, not just a bystander from another lifetime, he would feel the sand, soft between the boy’s toes as he wiggles them. He would feel the cold of the water on the tips of his fingers as he crouches down, dragging them through a wave just before it breaks.

This is the scene that plays in Saint’s mind as he stands, hands pinned next to his head, against the side of the Lupins’ boathouse.

He hears the water lapping at the sides of the dock, beating out a soft, steady rhythm. He feels a spray of seawater pass through the air, dousing the left side of his body in cool droplets.

He sees the deep brown, one shot through with sea-green, of Luke Deveaux’s eyes as they stare at each other, neither daring to breath.

For a few long moments, it’s like the world is waiting for something to happen. Luke and Saint may as well be the only two people in the universe, as far as either of them is concerned—no voices are audible from beyond the shoreline, where their friends are playing beach volleyball and listening to music and falling in love; and, for once, the bright white triangles of sails are absent from the horizon.

Finally, Saint whispers, “What are you doing?”

Luke shakes his head minutely. Were it not for the distance—or lack thereof—between them, Saint wouldn’t be able to see it at all. “I don’t know.”

Saint wants to say that he doesn’t know, either, but he can’t bring himself to say the words. Instead, he smiles—one corner of his mouth twitches up, lips parting just enough to reveal the slightest sliver of his teeth.

He feels as Luke’s fingers tighten around his wrists. A tiny part of him thinks he knows why, and the rest of him hopes beyond hope that he’s not wrong.

“Why are we here?” he asks, instead, but the only response he gets is Luke’s jaw clenching as something shifts in his eyes.

After yet another long moment, he tries, “Tweedle?”

“Please.” There’s a note in Luke’s voice that says stop talking, but Saint can’t. He doesn’t think he even knows how.

“Please what?”

Three boys, young and burdened, two of them freer than they thought and one of them out of prison but still in chains.

“Just… just let me have this. Even if…”

A promise of something more; a hint of a life more than just survival.

“Even if what?” Saint’s voice cracks at the end, pitching up into a half-fearful whisper.

Sitting alone in the dark and watching a life he hadn’t lived yet flash before his eyes.

He doesn’t hear the reply—he doesn’t even know if there is one—because he barely has time to think before Luke’s lips are on his, warm and insistent and slightly rough. He kisses back without thinking about it, too, reveling in the way Luke’s hand slides through his hair and pulls them closer together.

They’re standing chest-to-chest, now, hearts beating frantically against each other. There’s some sort of symbolism there, Saint reasons, as he feels Luke’s pulse quicken more the longer they kiss.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders how long he’s wanted this—how long he’s spent looking at Luke and thinking there was something there worth loving. He suspects it’s a lot longer than he wants to admit.

Slowly, carefully, he lets one of his arms curl around Luke’s waist. His thumb slips under the hem of Luke’s t-shirt, sliding over warm skin and then coming to rest in the divot of Luke’s spine. There’s an intimacy to this—not necessarily to the kissing itself, but to the fact that neither of them has stopped the kissing, even though they both know they can’t be doing this. Not really. Not anymore—or maybe not yet.

Indeed, when Luke eventually pulls back, he doesn’t push Saint away. He doesn’t leave without explanation, the way he usually does when forced to deal with genuine human emotion. He just takes a deep breath, and then another, swiping angrily at his eyes with the back of one hand. Saint pretends not to notice the tears pooling there, one of which has already started to fall.

They stare at each other for a good ten seconds—maybe more; Saint can’t tell. It’s always as if time falls away when he meets Luke’s gaze, and now is no exception. Then Saint says, “You kissed me,” and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

“You kissed me back.”

Saint wants to make a snide remark about pointing out the obvious, but he catches himself just in time, realizing that would be vastly hypocritical of him.

“Why?”

They say it at the same time, then fall silent. To Saint’s surprise, it’s Luke who speaks up again first: “I think you know why.”

“No,” Saint says evenly, “I don’t think I do.”

“Well, I’m sure you can guess.”

A boy, black-haired and grey-eyed, who looked like love but tasted like loneliness.

This time, Saint lets his mouth curl up into a smirk. “Probably. But why don’t you say it?”

It has the opposite effect from what he intended. Luke’s eyes darken, brow furrowing into a scowl. “You’re mocking me.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” As he says it, Luke tries to push Saint up against the boathouse again, but Saint easily steps out of reach.

“Why would I be mocking you?”

“You fucker!” Luke is shouting, now; his voice is raised so much that Saint thinks the whole world must be able to hear. “It’s hard enough being in love with a… with a Hollow like you; you don’t have to play with my fucking emotions, too!”

That’s when he puts his hands against Saint’s shoulder and shoves.

Saint tumbles, practically in slow motion, off the end of the dock. He sees the anger drop from Luke’s face, replaced by an expression that looks to be part worry and part helplessness.

Splash.

The water is frigid—more so than he’d expect for this late in the summer—and it seems to envelop him completely, up and down and left and right fading away into a suspension that could last forever.

Just as quickly, it’s gone, and Saint’s head breaks the surface as he gasps for air. “Screw you, God!” he shouts, and, with a few strokes, he’s hauling himself back onto the dock. His shirt is soaked through, practically transparent, and his jean shorts are going to take hours to dry out, so he has no regrets about doing what he does next: grabbing Luke by the wrist and tugging as hard as he can until they both topple back into the water.

Dreams that felt like reality until he couldn’t tell the difference between flying and falling.

They’re underwater, now, hair drifting around their faces, and Saint registers that they’re still holding hands. Luke hasn’t let go, yet, and Saint isn’t about to, either.

Saint knows he shouldn't; they’ve just been arguing—but, then again, when aren’t they arguing? Plus, how is he supposed to not consider it, when their hands are still entwined and it feels like a crime to let go.

Luke's auburn hair is swirling around his face, defying gravity in the way only being submerged under water provides. His eyes are squeezed shut, which, Saint assesses, is probably a good idea, judging by the sting in his own. His gaze flickers down to Luke's lips—lips that were on his only moments earlier.

Suddenly, faster than he can think, Saint's self control leaves him and he leans in, connecting his lips to Luke's once again.

It’s even better than the first time. Fuck, it’s better than any kiss Saint has ever had. It’s passion and danger and something that feels a little bit like love.

At first, when Luke pulls away, severing the kiss entirely, Saint is terrified he’s done something wrong. But Luke only swims toward the ocean’s surface, pulling Saint along with him.

Saint, in his oxygen-deprived state, doesn’t understand—he wants to go back underwater, where Luke is his only tie to reality and everything feels like magic. Then he takes a breath, and the world comes back to him in painful clarity.

“Tweedle,” he says.

And, somehow, impossibly, Luke whispers, “I know.”

“But you don’t.”

Saint’s heart stutters at the way Luke smiles. “Why don’t you tell me, then?” asks Luke, and Saint can’t think of a good enough reason to disagree. He can’t think of anything except the way they’re as good as repeating their earlier conversation (and also the way Luke’s hair looks when it’s wet).

Two perfect eyes, full of a nameless emotion, staring at him from the other side of a bonfire and a bottle of beer.

Instead of saying anything, Saint leans in, closer and closer, until their foreheads are touching and he can feel Luke’s breath on his mouth and cheeks and nose. He hesitates for an instant, and then leans in, finally, finally, closing the gap between them.

This time, there really is something different. Somewhere, somehow, something makes a little more sense.

'I love you,' Saint will confide for the first time, later that night. He’s never said it before, because, before now, it’s never been true.

Sometimes, things are truer in the dark.

Sometimes, it takes too much courage to say what you really want to.

Sometimes, it’s easier to live in yesterday.

But sometimes, you don’t need to say anything at all.

amazing characters by @lumosinlove

thanks to @im-oknutzy-trash for letting me brainstorm at them and also writing one of my favourite parts of this when I was stuck <3

[yungidreamer]

Reluctance

Summary: Sometimes holding on to things that one shouldn’t, has consequences: Mingi has fallen out of love but hasn’t said good bye. It might have been kinder if he did.

Word count: 2.2k

Content warnings: Angst, lots of emotional pain, a long drawn out breakup.

Song: Are You With Me by Nilu

“Hey Mingles,” she greeted happily when she heard the front door open and close. “Welcome back! How was work today?”

“It was fine,” he shrugged, sprawling out on the opposite side of the couch.

“Fine is good,” she replied brightly, despite his tone. “Better than bad at least.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mingi blithely replied, turning on the television and keeping his attention there.

“Oh hey, about tomorrow,” she added, a little tightness in her tone as she pushed forward. “The party is on Saturday so we should go and buy our outfits. We can meet at the store after you’re done with work since it’s close to there. Does that work?”

“Yeah sure,” he sighed. “Whatever.”

“I know it isn’t your favorite thing,” she offered solicitously. “So I really appreciate you going with me.”

He didn’t respond, or even really acknowledge that she had said anything so she let it drop. It was for the best. He hated being pushed. He hated being nagged. And she hated when he was mad at her. It always made her feel… small. She just wanted to love him, help him, make his life a little better and sometimes it felt like she didn’t anymore.

Mingi came when she asked him too, even when it was clear he didn’t want to, and he did what he had to in order to make things work. It was enough. It had to be. So she fell into the small silence she had become used to being when he didn’t want to talk.

She sat quietly, giving him space to be himself and to do his thing, not really saying anything until it was time for dinner. Even then all she asked was if he wanted her to serve him some. He nodded, keeping his attention on what he was watching. She brought his food with a smile, daring to lean in to give his cheek a quick peck before leaving him to eat and watch in peace.

“Hey, it’s good to see you,” she greeted as Mingi approached her and the entrance to the store. “With any luck this won’t take very long.” She added perkily as she reached for his hand. A sliver of relief flooded her when he took it today, since he didn’t always anymore. His hand felt warm and strong and a sudden pang went through her at the memory of the comfort it used to give her.

It was slowly getting harder to tell herself that it was just a rough patch, that he had just had a rough day… that it was just a bad mood. It will pass, she used to tell herself. Then I’ll have that sweet Mingi with the gummy smile and infectious laugh. But weeks had turned into a month, and then months. She knew it wasn’t really getting better, but those little glimpses, the little flashes of moments that came now and again kept that tiny dying spark alive.

“I already got a couple of things I needed,” she explained flashing the shopping bags in her other hands at him. “I figured I could take care of it before you got here and make the whole thing go just a little faster for you.”

“Okay, that’s good,” he nodded, eyes scanning the store ahead of them. “I need a shirt and a jacket. The pants I have are still fine.”

“Good,” she nodded, unconsciously squeezing his hand a little tighter as she looked around, wanting to find where the men’s section was as efficiently as possible.

“Do you have to squeeze that hard?” he huffed, pulling his hand away. “It’s not like I’m five and you have to keep me from getting hit by a car in the street.”

“Sorry,” she apologized, tucking her hand into her pocket and falling back to let him lead the way. He was taller anyway, he’d be able to see the section better anyway. Besides, it’s the section he always shops in, of course he would know where it is better than she would.

“Hey babe, what are you doing?” Mingi asked, coming up behind her to hug her as she stood mixing something at the kitchen counter.

“Making cookies,” she giggled, bumping her head into his affectionately as he tucked his chin into her shoulder.

“Can I have a taste?” He questioned, giving her his brightest ‘you’ll say yes because you love me’ look.

“Just a little,” she agreed, taking a little pinch between two fingers for him. “There is raw egg in it so, let's be safe.”

“Mmmmmm,” he made an exaggerated sound of happiness as he chewed the little bit of dough. “My baby cooks the best food.”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” she kissed his cheek before going back to give the dough its last few stirs to mix it. “I’m just happy that you like it.”

“Your pants are grey, right?” She asked, looking out over the section of dress shirts that surrounded them.

“Charcoal,” he corrected as he looked through a pile of jewel toned shirts.

“Right, charcoal,” she took the correction quietly, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “I think those could be a really good choice to go with it. You always did have innately good taste.”

He acknowledged the compliment with a brief grunt and she let herself lapse into that familiar untroublesome silence. Usually if she was quiet she didn’t bother him at least.

Following him a few steps behind, she watched, only speaking up to offer to hold the couple of shirts he decided to try on while he continued to look around. Passing them to her before he sighed and headed off to another table to look through the shirts piled there.

“Good morning,” Mingi’s deep voice had a singsong tone as he pranced into the room where she was still huddled happily under the covers. “I have a surprise for the birthday girl.” He stepped up beside the bed and proudly placed a try of food on her lap. “Tada! Here look, it's all your favorites. Eggs, bacon, grits, and an english muffin with melty cheese!”

“Oh hun it smells so good,” she moaned, squeezing her hands together excitedly. “I don’t deserve this. Thank you.” Reaching up she pulled his face down to give him a grateful kiss. “You really are the best boyfriend ever.”

“Only for my best girl.” He gave her a glowing smile and sat down beside her in the bed. “After all, you did so much more for me on my big day.”

“Not really,” she demurred, blushing as she waved away the complement. “It was just a cake and stuff.”

“Cake and dinner and drinks and a whole evening of my favorite things,” he told her, giving her shoulder a light poke as he spoke.

“It was all stuff I liked, too,” she assured him. “I always have fun doing that sort of stuff with you.”

“Like I said,” he told her affectionately. “Only for my best girl.”

“Do you want me to come in and look?” she asked as they got near the dressing rooms.

“If you want,” he sighed. “I can pick them myself, too.”

“I’ll just stay over here,” she said, leaning against the wall near the end of the corridor, close to the clothes return rack.

“Okay,” he sounded tired as he picked a room and pulled the heavy curtain closed behind him. She stood, looking at her hands and waiting for the ache in her chest to loosen just enough that she didn’t feel like she could burst into tears at any moment. It wouldn’t help and it would probably make anything worse.

Sometimes she wished he would just… yell at her or say he hated her. It would have been easier to bear than the slow slip into disgusted indifference everything had become between them. At least if he hated her, he still cared enough to feel that towards her. It would be something. Or it might be enough to help her walk away. Kill that hope she held clutched in her hand like a firefly that still barely flickered.

Mingi stepped out of the dressing room, dressed in one of the new shirts and jackets. He looked so good in the deep red and the dark grey that looked like it would match his dress pants well. He had always been pretty enough to take her breath away. The red contrasted with the light beige of his soft skin and the dark mess of his brown hair. All that was missing was that smile she missed so badly.

“It looks good,” she smiled at him but he didn’t look closely enough to see the way one corner of her mouth quivered, unable to keep up the facade she tried so hard to keep. “But you always look good in colors like that.”

“It’s fine,” he said looking at himself in the set of mirrors at the end of the corridor. “I think I want a cool color instead though.”

“That would look good, too,” she agreed as he walked back into the dressing room and closed the curtain. She waited, trying to become invisible to the people who came in to try things on. She didn’t want to be a bother. She didn’t really want to be much of anything.

Mingi came out again dressed in the same jacket but this time with a sapphire shirt on under it. As she had known he would, he looked princely in the outfit. He always did. This time though, she didn’t offer an opinion and just let him look at himself and decide if he liked it on his own.

“Well?” He huffed, turning on her impatiently with his arms raised in a sort of mocking tada motion.

“You look good,” she replied quickly. “But you always look good.”

“Fine, good enough,” he exhaled and turned towards the dressing room again. “I’ll just try the other jacket to be sure.” He didn’t bother to close the curtain just to change the jacket and his voice carried through the space as he grumbled, “I can’t believe I have to spend money on this.”

She had known he didn’t want to come even if he never said it outloud. It came through in every sigh, it came through in the grimace he wore when anything related came up, it came through in his indifference as to how important it was for her. Still, she had been able to let herself pretend. These sort of things weren’t the kind of thing he had ever really liked doing and as long as they both pretended, then she could just tell herself that is all this was.

But those few words finally felt like enough that she couldn’t pretend anymore. When he stepped out in the second jacket she put her bags down and stepped forward, coming to stand just behind him. This jacket suited him even better than the first, the cut emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders and the trim tuck of his waist. He looked… so good.

As she quietly looked at him she noticed that the collar of his shirt had gotten caught on the collar of the jacket. She put a gentle hand on his arm and he looked down at her, annoyance clearly written on his face.

“The collar is stuck, let me help,” she said softly. A little of the annoyance faded from his face as he leaned down to let her fix it. “You really don’t want to come do you?” She asked as her fingers worked, careful to look at what she was doing rather than into his face.

“I said I’d go, what more do you want from me?” He asked, straightening up as she finished.

“I just…” want you to be happy again, she couldn’t finish it aloud. “It’s not just the event, is it?”

“What do you mean?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his jaw.

“You don’t love me anymore, do you,” she bit her lip to hold back the tears after finally getting the question out.

“I… don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s not like it used to be.”

“It’s okay,” she said, smoothing the lapels of the jacket against his chest. “I always knew I loved you more than you loved me. I thought maybe I could love you enough for both of us. But I don’t think I can.”

“I… I’m sorry,” he said dumbly, unable to think of something else to say.

“Don’t be sorry,” she offered him a watery smile as the tears she couldn’t hold back any longer rolled hot and large down her cheeks. “Just find a reason to smile again, okay?”

Giving the jacket a final nostalgic brush of fingertips, she let her hands drop and turned to pick up the bags she had left back in her little corner. Without looking back, she walked away, determined not to break any further in front of him. There was time later when she could crumble and mourn all the dreams that had finally been killed for her.

Mingi watched her go and couldn’t help but feel like he was letting go of something that he would never get back, even as he felt a pressure that had been resting in the center of his chest for far too long finally fade. He stood there until he could no longer see her, only then changing back into his own clothes, not even bothering to hang up what he had tried on.

At least it was finally done.

Masterlist

[minsimagines]

unguarded | kylo ren drabble

  characters: kylo ren x gender neutral reader

  warnings: sensual themes, no actual sex. 

   gif is not mine!

★ ⋆ ✰ ✦ ☾ ✮ ⁎ ★ ⋆ ✰ ☾ ⁎ ✦ ✮ ⁎ ☾ ★ ⋆ ✰  

    Kylo grabbed your arm and steadied you before you could faceplant right into him. A small grunt left your lips as you quickly steadied your feet and swung at him again with the wooden stick. You were angry. Sick of stumbling over your own limbs. Tired of not seeing the progress you wanted - even though the progress you wanted was unrealistic. 

    He grabbed your weapon with his gloved hand, and for a second you forze, your eyes widened in fear of him hurting himself. He took your second of distraction and shoved the stick back towards you, pushing it hard against your chest, sending you tumbling backwards onto your butt, the stick rolling out of your hand. 

    You let out a small yelp of pain as your back hit the ground. Your eyes looked up into the sky, the light too bright for your tired eyes, but you couldn’t stop looking. It seemed so peaceful from down there, the universe. It was hard for you to grasp the fact that up there, beyond the blue, was nothing but darkness and a million stars. Even if you’d seen it with your own eyes, from down there, you felt like you could dream it all away. 

    “Get up,” his gruff voice called from where he still stood, unaffected by any of the ‘attacks’ you had laid on him. It wasn’t as if you were training to become a soldier of any kind, so it wasn’t like you had to become perfect in any way. You were training for freedom, because in the galaxy - as you’d now come to know - freedom was only possible if you could stand up for yourself in one way or another, and usually it was extremely beneficial to at least know how to fight someone off if it came to it. 

    You doubted Kylo would let it come to that. 

    “Y/n,” he said, his voice more impatient now. 

    “Yes,” you whispered, rolling over to push yourself off the ground. Your elbow cracked as you moved and your whole body felt like it had frozen completely stuck, you were so stiff and sore. 

    “Look at me,” he said. Or rather, demanded. Your eyes automatically snapped up to look at him, as if your body was programmed to obey his every command. You straightened up and rolled out your shoulders.

    “This-” he began, as he held his hand out and called the wooden stick on the ground to him. It elegantly flew through the air and his fingers wrapped around it as if it had always been in his hand. You doubted there would ever be a time his powers wouldn’t have you awestruck. His magic.

    “Is useless if you can’t even keep your feet in order,” he continued, and motioned to the stick in his hand as he took a few steps towards you to hand it over to you again. 

    “And it’s not magic,” he muttered as he came closer, his breath fanning over your cheek as you took the weapon from him. Your brows furrowed slightly, wondering if you had spoken out loud. But of course, it was Kylo. Not much went by him without him knowing; not even your thoughts. 

    “Sorry,” you uttered, somewhat embarrassed. His eyes softened the tiniest bit, though you had seen that look before. It didn’t mean he would go any easier or be any less strict, it was simply him remembering you were not like him. You had only one goal with this, and that was to protect yourself so that you wouldn’t fall into the hands of slave traders ever again - you had no ambitions, unlike himself. 

    The training continued, and every time you fell to the ground, the sky had changed color slightly. Gotten darker. Or more cloudy. It was like a horrible dance really, a repetition of failure, but you stood up again and again without fail, which Kylo admired. He wouldn’t tell you that, but even if you were far from the most impressive person he’d seen trained, you were more determined than most of them. It made him wonder if maybe your cause was more pure; a better goal. 

    You fell down once more, and he could feel it; you wouldn’t get up this time. He didn’t mind too much, even if a small voice in the back of his head screamed at him to not show mercy, to see if he could push you just a little further, but he wouldn’t. He would have if you were training for a different cause.

    You couldn’t really see the sky any longer, your vision blurry and your eyes half closed. Your limbs were spread out, completely wiped out. It felt both awful and good at the same time. This was being tired from something you put yourself through because you wanted to, that was completely different. You knew Kylo wouldn’t push you to train if you hadn’t wanted to. 

    “We’re done for today,” Kylo ordered, though his voice was softer now, as he took slow steps towards you. You could only utter a small grunt in reply, too tired to even open your mouth. Would it be so bad to just sleep on the ground for a while?

    Kylo silently bent down and took a hold of your arms, ignoring your complaints about the pain of the bruises, and hoisted you up on your feet. You frowned in dissatisfaction, but still, your body didn’t want to stand any more. 

    As you ever so slowly swayed to the side, Kylo easily slipped his hands under your body, lifting you off the ground. Your body ached with every step he took towards the ship, but you didn’t mind. You liked being close to him. He smelled of... well, you couldn’t really put a finger on what exactly he smelled like, he just smelled like him. And it was intoxicating. You were sure you smelled like a wet rat after all the sweating and crawling on the ground, but you couldn’t find it in you to care about that. If Kylo cared, he didn’t show it, and you were glad. 

⁎ 

    The door to the bathroom slid open for a short minute, letting in a sliver of light from the bedroom. You closed your eyes, your forehead still leaning against the wall, the warm water from the shower gently massaging your back. You had a sliver of hope of who it was. Not many had access to your chambers. 

    Your skin tingled and littered with goosebumps as fingers gently slid against your back and around your waist. A soft sigh left your lips, the touch familiar even though you hadn’t felt it like this all too often. The strong hands, careful around the bruises on your body, gently wrapped around you and pulled you into a warm chest. A shiver ran down your whole body, your head rolling back against his shoulder. 

    The room was only lit by a tiny red light on the pad by the door, sending the room into a dark red glow, but you could barely hold your eyes open to see it for more than a second. 

    A cheek rested against your head, thumbs gently rubbing the skin of your waist, arms gripping you in a tight and comforting embrace, more comforting than anything you’d ever felt. The warm water ran down your chest and stomach, warming your front while he warmed your back. One of his hands moved to gently slide up your arm, across your collarbones and wrapping his arm around your shoulders. 

    You could have fallen asleep then and there, and maybe you had, your mind was clouded by him, the warmth and touch almost too calming. 

    Maybe he thought he needed to make up for the rough training that day, maybe that’s why he allowed himself to be like this with you. There was usually a reason. Not that you could find it in you to care, you were too tired, too sore and too in love. It would doom you, you were sure, but you couldn’t get yourself to care about that either. 

    Rather doom with him, than nothing without him. 

    His hand disappeared from your waist for a second and you almost whined at the loss of contact, but was pleased to find the hand back on your skin, gently massaging soap over your stomach. The rough skin of his hands on your soft stomach was a reminder of just who he was. The control those fingers had on weapons after so many years of training and pain, now they were tough and hardened and didn’t feel pain that way anymore. 

    You were nothing compared to him, nothing at all. You’d barely picked up a wooden spear for training, all in the hopes of protecting yourself, but also of impressing him, hoping he would let you in if you were useful to him. He was like a god. He touched you, not the other way around. But as it had turned out, he didn’t need you for anything like that, and you didn’t need to do anything but be your caring self for him to let you in. 

    The hands moved across every inch of skin on your body, every part of you that was bruised, every part you hated, his fingers praised them all. Every bump and crevice, every scar and imperfection, every piece to your puzzle - with his touch you felt like a complete image; a beautiful image. There weren’t perfections or imperfections, you were just you. 

    He was a rough teacher, quite unforgiving, though he never made you feel less than. Progress didn’t necessarily mean changing yourself completely from what you were to something else, it simply meant taking what was already there and strengthening it, and he had taught you that. He had made you look at yourself in a completely different way - even if you still wanted to become better. 

    Turning around in his arms, you slipped your hands around his torso and laid your cheek against his shoulder. His arms ran down your back, gently up and down, one of them reaching up to rest on the back of your head. 

    You hadn’t been this close to him too many times, but even from the first time it had seemed you both just knew how to move against each other, even with both you having no experience being comfortable with anyone. None of you had ever had the luxury of being relaxed and happy in anyone’s presence before you found each other. A hand on your shoulder as a slave was never anything but an invitation to some form of violence or nightmare, and as a powerful leader, his reaction to physical touch was somewhat the same. He could never relax around anyone else, and neither had you thought you could - but then he found you, and there wasn’t him and you anymore. It was ‘us’. And there, in that small space you found together from time to time, you relaxed. 

    There were no enemies of his ‘throne’ when he was safe with you, and there was no one ever laying a hand on you again after being saved by him. 

    His hand gently grabbed the back of your neck, pulling your head off of his shoulder. He moved his hand, his fingers taking a hold of your chin, tilting your head up towards him. Your tired eyes softly fluttered open, meeting his dark ones. They always pierced right into your soul, even now in the darkness. You didn’t care if he could read you like an open book, you wanted him to rip your mind apart and take whatever he wanted if it pleased him, you didn’t want to hide a thing from him. 

    Your body swayed, pressing even further into him, and his forehead touched down on yours. Your eyes closed once more, and you hoped this wasn’t a dream. Though, you didn’t even mind if it was; it would be the best dream you’d ever had. 

    He was more dangerous than anyone you would ever meet in the whole galaxy, yet you’d never felt safer. Even if these moments were rare, he didn’t make you feel less safe when he wasn’t around. You knew he always kept an eye on you, made sure no one bothered you any longer. 

    His hand slid to your cheek, fingers slipping into your hair, against your scalp, his thumb nudging your head back, his lips hovering against yours. Your own parted slightly, and they brushed against his. The smallest of touch was like another embrace - warm and soft and safe. As he gently pushed his mouth against yours, it was like all the pain in your body vanished. Your hand reached up to hold onto his forearm to make sure you were still in reality. 

    There wasn’t electricity, but there was magic. You could feel him. Not just under your fingertips, but in your mind. In your soul. Like you were one and the same, and it was better than electricity. If possible, your knees got even weaker than they’d already gotten as your soft lips danced in a slow rhythm against each other. Usually, you’d get nervous during those moments. It all felt so bare, like there was truly nowhere to hide, but then you’d remember who he was. There was no reason to hide. And this time, you were confident. You didn’t wonder if you were enough - he wouldn’t be there if you weren’t. 

    You adored these moments over any other. You were glued together, and all the more powerful knowing how few people he could trust around himself. 

    And of everyone, he chose you.  ⁎

    Slowly strolling down the corridor, you were headed to the cafeteria, a small yawn slipping out from your lips, still tired after a long nap, but you had to eat something. You didn’t like eating in your room, even if Kylo had arranged for you to do so. It felt like you were somehow above the others on the ship - which you weren’t. Not really. You were a worker, like them. The only difference was him. 

    Kylo. Your cheeks warmed thinking of him. Thinking of earlier. Cherishing every second in your mind. Your favorite memory to date. You didn’t bother wondering when the next time would be, it would only make you sad. He was busy, and he wasn’t like others. He wasn’t one to freely give himself like that at any point he wanted, even if it was you. Even if he trusted you.

    The walk was long, and the corridors many. It seemed like no matter how many times you walked down them you still couldn’t really remember all the turns. Slowing before a hallway splitting in two, you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth. There was no one in the corridor, no one to ask. 

    You knew how easy it was to get completely lost, and you really didn’t have the energy or time to get lost. You wanted to eat and just go back to sleep. 

    You were about to take a step to the right when a hand on your lower back gently nudged you towards the left. You turned in surprise, hoping it wasn’t someone planning on being nasty, but to your utter shock, it was Kylo. He was wearing his helmet now, and he was… there. With you. You hadn’t hoped to see him again for at least a day or two. Your lips parted, about to ask what he was doing there when his hand nudged your waist to the left again, not saying anything. 

    Confused, though not one to argue with him, you turned to walk down the corridor, your mind in a swirl. As you walked, you frowned. He never went to the cafeteria or any rooms in the area around it. Turning to look at him, you found he had disappeared. Vanished in thin air. 

    You stopped in your tracks, wondering if you’d simply imagined him there, though it would have been an awful real imagination. Shaking your head you continued your trek to the cafeteria, relieved when you found it. 

    After a decent dinner, you sat in the cafeteria for a minute. There were several people in there with you, though they didn’t really sit with you much. Not that you minded, but you knew it was because they were afraid of you. Because of Kylo. Because they knew you were being trained by him. They thought you were force sensitive. 

    Sighing, you cleaned up after yourself and slowly walked out of the big room. 

    A shadow by the door had you taking a wide step to the side as you left the cafeteria, a small gasp of surprise leaving your lips. Kylo was there, looking at you. Or, he at least appeared to be looking at you. He had to be waiting for someone, or maybe he has business around the area - there had to be a reason he was there. 

    “Come with me,” he demanded, though you could hear on his somewhat awkward tone that he was trying to ask nicely. What surprised you the most was the hand he held out for you to take. Not wanting to make him feel ignored, and even though your heart was pounding in both giddiness and confusion, you slipped your hand into his and let him lead you away. 

    It felt unreal and vaguely threatening that he was openly showing you this affection, and even though it was late and most people were in their chambers, it made your skin tingle in both excitement and worry. This was new territory for you; for you both. He would usually disappear in the darkness, leaving you be for however long he saw fit, before finding you and being with you again. 

    This - seeing him more times in one day - was very unfamiliar. Holding his hand outside the safety of your private meetings was unfamiliar. You didn’t really know how to react, so you decided to stay quiet and do what your body and mind lead you to do.

   After several long minutes of walking, your hand still held tight in his gloved one, you recognised the area. You had been in his chambers once, and you would recognize that door anywhere. It was one none on the ship but him dared enter. 

    But there you were, entering his chambers as if you’d always belonged there, and he was so casual about the whole thing that you thought your head might just explode from all the confused and happy thoughts spinning around each other. 

    He stopped in the middle of the room and let go of your hand to your dissatisfaction. He reached both up to his head and a hiss sounded as he moved to take the helmet off. 

    You stood close to him as it came off, revealing dark eyes and a cold expression - the way he always looked. However, there was something a little different. Something in his gaze was different. He seemed almost… sad. Or, maybe pitiful. 

    He placed his helmet down on his table, though his eyes were glued on you. You had never really wanted any power like his magic, but in that moment you wished you had only a sliver of it so you could get a peek into his mind.

    “It’s not magic,” he muttered, his gaze turning the slightest bit amused as you blinked in confusion. 

    “Yes, it is” you argued quietly, your head tilting slightly. “Are you always in my mind?” 

    “I don’t have to, your thoughts are... loud.”

    “Oh,” was the only thing you could think of saying. You weren’t really embarrassed, it was just unfamiliar still.

    “I…” he began, his fingers folding together, his eyes looking down, seemingly in deep thought. 

    “You did good today,” he said, almost a little too formal, especially considering how informal you had both been a few hours earlier, but you couldn’t blame him.

    “You think so?” You asked, a smile spreading over your lips. You noticed his eyes gazing at your smile before they met your eyes again.

    “But… that’s not why I brought you here,” he said. You swallowed as his eyebrows furrowed, a nervous sensation growing in the pit of your stomach. 

    “Earlier you,” he began, but stopped to try to formulate his thoughts in the best way. He frowned, a little aggravated at how scared he was. “You showed me something.”

    “What?”

    “You’re scared,” he uttered quietly, his eyes carefully studying yours for a reaction. 

    “Of me,” he continued before you could react. “Or rather, scared of being... without me.”

    A warmth flushed over your cheeks and burned on the tip of your ears. It was true, and it was the reason you usually tried to block every thought and image of him out of your mind when you weren’t with him; it hurt knowing that he wasn’t comfortable with being cared for. 

    “Yes.” The word slipped out before you could even register it, though there was no point in denying it. There was no grace to save; he’d seen it all anyways. 

    “You… you don’t have to be,” he said, taking another small step towards you, closing the gap between your bodies. “You’re safe… with me.”

    It was hard for him, his whole body was rigid; more than usual. It was awkward and embarrassing, but he had to get it out. He hated it, but you were more important.

    Had anyone told you Kylo would be the slightest bit capable of caring when you first met him, you would have shaken your head in utter confusion. Yet as he stood there in front of you, he seemed so sincere and vulnerable, you realised this was his way of caring for you. This was his way of telling you he too felt for you. Maybe even loved you, in his own way.

    You reached up to cup his cheek, your eyes flickering between his, feeling an urge to just wrap yourself around him and hold him and make him happy, but you didn’t want to push things when he was already being so open and unguarded.

    “I don’t,” he whispered but stopped himself, the frown appearing again, as if he was angry at both wanting to say something and not being able to at the same time. “ I really don’t want to be without you,” he pressed out, his eyes staring straight into yours as if you were the only thing keeping his feet on the floor.

    “Then don’t be,” you breathed, a small smile curling over your lips. It terrified you, the thought of possibly truly being with him in the way you had seen others love each other. You had dreamt of it several times, hoped and wished, but in that moment, as you saw the sincerity in his eyes, you didn’t want to be like them. Kylo would never be like them, and you didn’t want him to be. You wanted him to be exactly what he was. 

    “I, for sure, am not going anywhere,” you promised him. 

    The side of his lips twitched up in the slightest of smiles before he leaned towards you, his lips pressing against yours, his arms wrapping around your waist. 

    You could feel him in your head, a slight pressure in the back of your mind as your fingers slid into his hair, a smile on your own lips. 

    There was no way to know what the future would hold for the two of you, no way to know if you could even handle being by each other’s side, but you didn’t care. It was you and him against the universe.

[katie-writes24]

Fell Into The Same Arms Pt.2

Pairing: Thomas Jefferson x reader

Warnings: Language, angst, a pinch of fluff, ANGST, suggestive material, mentions of drug use, sad sad sad

Part 1

I’m starting to believe I will never just get straight to the point? But it’s whatever. This wasn’t even suppose to have a part 2, but everyone hyped it up which was super shocking to me? And luckily for you I write a lot when I’m in need of a vent soooo yeah! Anyways, let me know if you want to be tagged! Feedback is always appreciated! Enjoy!

It was cold, the wind a lot stronger this morning because of last nights storm. The window was open.

Thomas always left the window open, no matter how many times she complained.

"What if a bird flies in? What if someone climbs up and breaks in? And I don't like those bug noises!"

"What bug noises?"

"Like crickets and just little noises- I don't know but they creep me out!"

"I get too hot when I sleep, you know that," Thomas shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, climbing into bed and folding his arms behind his head.

"Yeah, well I get too cold now," Y/N gets in on her own side, proving her point and wrapping herself in the blanket, making Thomas chuckle.

"Come 'ere, I'll keep you warm!" He wrapped his arms around her torso, cradling the back of her neck and breathing in the sweet scent of her shampoo. Y/N curled in and let out a blissful sigh, finally recovering some warmth.

"Don't let me go," She whispered before nodding off to sleep.

"I won't, I promise."

He was keeping his promise.

She should get up and go back to her own apartment, tell Hercules about everything and beg him not to tell anyone because she didn't want to hear the much deserved I told you so's. She should maybe stop at the drug store and pick up some pain meds and concealer, at least try and make the bruises fade. When Angelica calls her and asks where she is, she should tell her that she had a rough night and can't make it to work. She should leave this bed...

But she can't fight the warmth of Thomas's chest, can't seem to remove the covers and face the world just yet.

Lost in her own thoughts, she soon felt a hand run up and down her spine slowly. He was hesitant, and he had every right to be. They shouldn't indulge themselves in this, they both know that it will only hurt them later.

Last night, she let herself fall, both in her own beaten head and in Thomas's arms. She let him fix her up and tell her that it would be okay, and he let her rest in his bed because he knows that she always enjoyed the soft, fancy foam. Thomas didn't call anybody because he knew that Y/N didn't want that.

None of this would've happened if she just stayed home last night. She knew exactly what she was getting into when she opened her mouth and fought the fight that wasn't hers.

"You're thinking too loud."

He was one to talk, really.

His fingers found her scalp and started to massage it gently, and there was no resisting the feeling. It was a moment of peace, something she hadn't gotten in a while.

"When's the last time we were in bed together?"

Just like that, it's gone.

Y/N quickly removed herself out of his embrace and folded the covers back. Thomas only sighed dramatically, "Don't get so sensitive, Y/N."

"Yeah, that's rich. I think you should just be proud that you managed to bring me upstairs in the first place." She was being bitter, she knew it, but he sounded too smug about something that didn't even happen last night. Turning to face him, she could feel tension forming in the air.

"You're right, excuse me for trying to be a nice host!"

"Is that what you would call it? Because you had that dumb look on your face where you think you know exactly what you're doing, but you really don't. It's so...ugh, it's so practical of you to think last night was a whole thing!"

"May I remind you, that you're the one that broke this off." It was a stab, and again, she deserved it. But she didn't want to get into it right now, not when she was sore from a viscous beating from the previous night.

"I don't have time for this, Thomas-"

"When will you have time? We never even- we never sat down and talked about it!" Thomas was out of bed now, pacing the room and looking at her with narrowed eyes. "Will you ever make time for me? Do you even want to try and fix this?"

"If I wanted to fix it, then I would've when it happened!"

Thomas snapped his jaw shut, staring at her in disbelief. Y/N sighed, rubbing her forehead and looking up to meet his eyes. "Look, I know that this is all my fault, everything is my fault! I shouldn't have came here last night, I shouldn't have moved in with you, I shouldn't have said yes, and I shouldn't-"

"You shouldn't have said yes? Really? So...so-what, you just never loved me at all?"

"Of course I love you Thomas! I should've never gotten involved with you in the first place, that's the problem! I shouldn't have brought you into this fucked up life I have. I don't even remember why you liked me in the first place. I was in AA, and I obviously wasn't getting any better! And look at me now, look at my arm-" She thrusted her arm in his line of sight, making him flinch backwards either at the motion or the scrapes and bruises that layered her skin. "There's no helping this, Thomas."

The silence that came afterwards was deafening, both of them standing still, looking at each other. There was nothing more she could do to patch up the hole, there was no saving them.

"I thought you were getting better," Thomas was barely above a whisper, and the quiver in his voice made her feel guilty.

"Yeah...well, so did I." She felt calmer now, there wasn't a reason to be, but she felt like it was pointless anyway. "It's been a rough week. Too many tasks, too many problems. This guy at work....he said that they would help me sleep. I don't know really...what they do, but it's definitely not sleep."

"So, you're taking without knowing what it is? That's just...that's great-"

"I'm not here for a lecture, Thomas."

"Then what are you here for?"

Shockingly, she wasn't expecting that one. There was more to it, a long story that revolved around Alexander and John, one about Eliza telling her to go back to group, one that ended all contact with Lafayette. There was even more to the story of last night, but she was afraid if she told Thomas all of this, he would never open that door again to her, not even if she banged on it crying for help.

She was here because when she fell hard on the cement last night, she thought that it was the end, that she finally lost the battle and it would all be over soon. The first person she thought of was Thomas; if he would come to her funeral, if he would keep in contact with her friends, if he would ever think positively about her again?

There was even a sliver of hope that maybe he would come rushing down the corner, see her and help her. Luckily, the worker taking out the trash across the street saw the scene, started yelling, making threats about calling the police. Even though the threats weren't at her, she couldn't risk it, and she fled.

Looking over at her ex, and seeing his eyes all watery, she then realized she said all of that out loud.

"I always regretted it," Y/N clears her throat, trying to fight her own tears. "Always wish that I could take it all back, never even step foot in that club and take what was offered. I really do, Thomas. If I had just done that, maybe we would still... be together."

And what could you say to that? Thomas was always one to make it known when someone was in the wrong, would always correct someone when they said some asinine shit that he knew wasn't true. She could name three times that he called her out, one time that he even called James out, and she couldn't even keep count on how many times he told Alexander off for being absolutely wrong.

Her last statement..there was nothing wrong about that, because even he knew it was the truth.

She let drugs and people and lies overcome her, and it took a toll in their relationship. They both knew the last time they were in this house together that years of built up trust, compassion and love was destroyed in one minute.

Just when she was about to grab her keys and walk out, out of his life for good, for the better, he scoffed.

"You said love," It was barely above a whisper, but she could hear him perfectly.

Still, she played dumb. "What?"

"When I asked if it was real? If you ever loved me? You said you love me...present tense."

Looking up at his wide eyes, she could remember the nights where she would stare into them like they never ended, like there was a tiny galaxy in his pupils. It made her warm, and he would never look away.

Right now they look hopeful, the stars shining a bit brighter than before.

Y/N gestured small, not really knowing what to say or do. She'd either lie to Thomas or lie to herself, and she had lied to him enough, hasn't she?

Thomas crossed the room, placing his big hands against her arms. Their foreheads touched, and he was too close, it was bound to get ugly. It was bound to fall back into the same cycle if Y/N let him stay this close.

"We shouldn't," Y/N whispered, voice cracking and not meeting his face until he tilted her chin up. There were his eyes again...

"You're probably right," Thomas huffed and licked his lips.

She didn't like the sound of that, she even shook her head to convince herself that this was all just bad bad bad.

"I need help, T."

His thumb swiped against the water on her cheek, shushing her. "We'll get you help. We can do this, you can do this, Y/N. Just let me be there when you do it."

It was tempting, so tempting.

“You know, maybe it’s not exactly fate...but Y/N I know that you were on my doorstep last night for a reason, let it be yours or not, who cares.”

There’s a thought. Maybe if she didn’t show up, she wouldn’t be in this situation, with Thomas so close that she could just selfishly take what she wants. The temptation was right in front of her and yet it wasn’t hers to have.

“Let this be our second chance...please.”

Thomas was begging, he never begged, not like this.

"I can be there, by your side. I will be...just let me in."

“Your relationship was doomed from the start.”

“Don't think about it too much. Things happen.”

“He doesn't need you, not when you're falling apart and breaking from the seams.”

Y/N leaned up and met his soft lips, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him as close as possible. Thomas wrapped his arms around her back, kissing back just as firm.

Call it cliche, but it felt like Y/N was back home, like this whole time she was on a ridiculously long getaway, except that she had never meant to getaway in the first place. This connection was what she needed all along. Or maybe Y/N just needed to be around Thomas, just talk to him. Maybe they were meant to fight and scream and argue and just be. Maybe she was meant to get hooked again only to show up and have Thomas take her into his arms willingly.

Their lips moved against each other with the same rhythm as before, with passion and skill. Thomas massaged her tongue with his own, only pulling back when he was out of breath.

They weren't sure what the future would look like, if Y/N ever would get better, would actually try to. Maybe she'd break Thomas's heart again, and it would be a lesson to him. Maybe they would both take it slow and learn how to build up from here without damaging one another unknowingly.

Good or bad, they were willing to give it a try, no matter how many of their loved ones told them how terrible it was to go back to the one that hurt you most.

Let me know if you want to be tagged!!

Jefferson tag list: @notebookgirl30 @dontblinkumightmiss @tinywhim @checkurwindow @einfachniemand @daveeddiggsit @ohsoverykeri-blog @astralaffairs @i-know-i-can

[remedialpotions]

Dawn

As a thank-you to the lovely folks on the HPRomione discord who made my job organizing the inaugural Secret Santa gift exchange so easy and delightful, I wrote this toothache-inducing fluff. Special thanks to @al-in-the-air for schooling me on how to *properly* make a cup of tea; I will never speak the words ‘fire kettle’ in your presence again. 😘

ffn  ao3

Ron yawns and stretches his arms up over his head, revealing a sliver of pale skin below the hem of his shirt. Hermione likes him like this, bedraggled, warm from sleep, peaceful. In these pre-dawn hours, having been coaxed from the warmth and comfort of his bed, he is the most natural, authentic version of himself.

“Remind me again,” he says, sitting down next to her on the carpet. “Why couldn't we have done this last night?”

“Oh, we could have done,” replies Hermione briskly as she taped a piece of wrapping paper into place around a box, “if you and your brothers hadn’t got so invested in your game of charades-“

“Erm, have you forgotten that George cheated at one point and we had to redo it? We may be business partners, but I couldn’t just stand by and let that happen-”

“-then we could have left at a reasonable hour.”

“Ahh, well,” Ron chuckles. “Worth it to see Percy trying to mime ‘The Wizard and His Hopping Pot’.” He stretches his long legs out before him and surveys the scene beneath the lowest branches of the tree. “Looks like you’ve got most of this done already, have you been down here a while?”

“Oh,” says Hermione as she picks up a gift tag and a quill. “Yes, I woke up a bit earlier than we planned.” At the tilt of his head - he’s clearly about to ask why, since they didn’t Floo home until well past one in the morning - she quickly adds, “but everything we left out for Father Christmas is still over there. You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Right!” With remarkable energy for such an early hour, Ron jumps to his feet and retrieves the tray they left near the hearth the evening previous, which bears a plate of biscuits, a few carrots, and a small glass of whiskey. “This is the best part of being a dad.”

Halfway through addressing the gift tag - to Rose, with love from Father Christmas - Hermione looks up and quirks a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Eating stale biscuits at seven in the morning is the best part of being a dad?”

“Maybe not the best, but definitely a perk.” Ron sits himself back down on the carpet beside Hermione, tray in front of him. “It’s a bit too early for the whiskey now, though, innit?”

“You can probably just leave it,” agrees Hermione. “I don’t know that Rose will really notice it’s different.”

“Yeah, I suppose she’s not even two yet,” says Ron as he snaps one of the biscuits in half and pops it in his mouth. “But I’d like to at least try to keep up the illusion.”

Hermione affixes the gift tag to the box and sets it under the tree. “Do you know how I figured it out? That there wasn’t a Father Christmas at all?”

“I assume you did the maths and realized there’s no way some bloke in a sleigh can make it round the world in one night,” says Ron with a grin.

“Close, but no.” Hermione helps herself to a biscuit - then quickly realizes it’s the last thing she wants to eat, and sets it back down. “Actually, I realized that Father Christmas and my mum had the exact same handwriting on all my gifts.”

“And were you gutted to find this out?”

“Not particularly. I was a bit relieved, actually, it always seemed rather unsafe to let a strange man break in through the fireplace and eat our food.”

Ron lets out a deep, delighted belly laugh and leans over to press a kiss to her cheek. “Only you would worry about that.”

“So how did you figure it out?”

“Oh, the twins spilled the beans before I had the chance,” says Ron flippantly. “Not that it mattered much anyway, he usually only brought like, new socks and things like that.” His features turn pensive. “I hope Rose doesn’t cotton on to it for a long time.”

Hermione nods. She’s suddenly acutely aware of every tiny detail: the hush over their sitting room, the ever-present twinkling of the fairy lights adorning the tree, the knowledge that their daughter is sleeping soundly upstairs. She is not often one for sentimentality, but things right now feel perfect, just as they are.

“I hope so too. But,” she adds, more businesslike as she unfurls the roll of wrapping paper, “it’ll be quite a long time before we have to worry about that.”

“Is this the last one?” asks Ron, picking up a box containing a toy dragon that breathes warm, kid-friendly fire upon command. “I can do it.”

“Oh, I’ve got it under control.”

“You’ve done nearly all of them though.” Carefully, he prises the wrapping paper out of her hands. “You could have woken me when you got up, you know. I don’t actually mind.”

“I know you don’t, but it’s fine. I supposed at least one of us should get some sleep.” As Ron used his wand to sever the paper (he was missing out, Hermione thought, on the glorious sliding sensation that comes only when using scissors to cut wrapping paper), she hauled herself to her feet. “Do you want some tea?”

“So we’re not going back to bed after this, then?”

“There isn’t really time, Rose is going to wake up soon.”

Ron’s gaze shifts toward the sitting room window, where the first vestiges of grey winter light are just streaming through the curtains. “She does rise with the sun these days,” he agrees. “Yeah, tea sounds great, cheers.”

Hermione pats him on the shoulder as she walks to the kitchen, where she sets the tea kettle to boil. As the water heats up, she opens the cupboard below the sink and peers into its dark and disorganized depths. There, among bottles of cleaning solution and spare sponges, is a small parcel wrapped in shiny gold paper. She retrieves it from behind the drain pipe, and as she does, her stomach flutters with nervous excitement. It’s been doing that a lot the past few weeks, and now that the moment is upon her, she finds her hands trembling as she drops tea bags into mugs and pours the hot water.

It feels different than it did the last time. This time around, she knows how this is going to go, and she can’t wait.

In her eagerness, she scoops probably too much sugar into one of the mugs (which, considering Ron’s standards, is really saying something), and carries both back to the sitting room with the parcel tucked under her arm. Ron’s just taping the corners of a box closed when she reaches him.

“What’ve you got?” asks Ron, extending an arm up to take his tea from her.

“Oh, erm.” Hermione deposits herself onto the carpet beside him. “This is for you, actually.”

She places the box onto his lap. With his mug of tea halfway to his lips, Ron frowns at it, then looks up at Hermione.

“We said we weren’t getting each other gifts this year.”

“I know, but can’t you just say thank you and open it?”

“No, I feel bad now, I’d have got you something if I knew - I even had ideas-“

“If it makes you feel better, it’s really for both of us. And Rose, actually,” she adds. “So just open it.”

Ron’s brows knit together in confusion. “How could it possibly-“

“Will you just open it already?” Hermione blurts out. “For God’s sake, you are impossible sometimes.”

“All right, all right,” Ron relents with a laugh,”I’m doing it.”

Breaking through the tape, he pulls the gold paper away from the box. It’s just plain white, a garment box, which Ron turns over in his hands to pull off the lid. Hermione’s heart thumps wildly in her chest as his hands push away the tissue paper and pick up an impossibly tiny jumper: retina-searing orange, with black interlocking Cs on the chest.

Quiet falls again; seconds drag on like hours.

“This is for a baby,” says Ron softly, and Hermione sees that his hands are shaking too.

“Right.”

“And… this won’t fit Rose.”

“Right.”

Their eyes meet. Ron’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly in a silent question; Hermione’s grateful he can’t find the words, because she can’t either. All she can do is nod… but it’s enough.

His arms engulf her, pressing her face against the soft fabric of his shirt and flooding her senses with the scent of his skin and his hair, everything about him that makes her feel safe and loved and whole.

“I can’t believe it,” he breathes, lips brushing the side of her neck as the words tumble out.

Hermione pulls back just enough to look at him. His blue eyes are shining. “Why can’t you believe it? It’s not like we haven’t been trying.”

“I know, I just-“ He leans in and kisses her, soft and sweet. “I still can’t believe this is my life. I can’t believe I get to have this life with you.”

Without the words to properly express just how much she agrees, she simply kisses him again. Even with eyes squeezed tightly against the tears now threatening to fall, she can sense the new light filling the room. Rose will wake soon, to tear through wrapping paper and eat biscuits for breakfast and spend the day in her pyjamas, but Hermione hopes to cling to this moment for just a few seconds longer.

“So, all right.” Ron’s smiling at her, so broadly that his cheeks must ache. “When did you find out? How did you - I mean-“

“I’ve known a couple of weeks,” Hermione confesses, sheepish. “That’s why I was up so early today. I’ve had horrible morning sickness.”

Ron shakes his head in amazement. “You’re barking.”

“You’re not angry, are you? That I didn’t just tell you?”

“What - no - why I would be - it’s perfect, it’s all perfect.” Ron lips find hers again, working their way over to her ear. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Hermione settles contentedly into his embrace, but hardly has a chance to appreciate it when a small yet insistent yell sounds from the second floor.

“Dada!”

“Oh, that’s me,” says Ron cheerfully, releasing Hermione and clambering to his feet. “Shall I go get her? Are we ready?”

“Yes, we’re ready.”

[currywaifu]

𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞: mutuals 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: miyoshi kazunari/reader 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: sfw 𝐰𝐜: 1.9k words, 2 images

𝐚𝐧: me? back w/ fluff? it’s expected at this point! his speech is hard for me to replicate, but I rly do love Kazunari so I hope I did this scenario justice! I, uh, got too excited at the prospect of “insta mutuals” oops~ hope you don’t mind the additional media TT

The Insta notification that popped up on the top of your screen distracted you from the game you were playing. Normally you’d flick the notif away, but as soon as you realised what it was about, you rushed to finish the rest of the stage.

You and Kazunari have been Insta Mutuals for nearly a year now, ever since he hit you with a follow and you proceeded to stalk his readily-available socials. 

The two of you had been liking and commenting on each others’ posts for weeks on end, starting off with you praising his most recent graphic design work to him sending a paragraph of heart emojis on the most recent fan art you drew.

Somewhere in between following each others’ spam accounts to tagging each other on Insta story games, he finally slid into your DMs and the rest was history. Sort of.

You knew what people said about online dating, or even just long distance relationships in general, but try as you might it was hard not to fall for Kazunari.

The more you talked to him, the less he stayed as your “funny artist mutual” and soon enough he progressed into the “still funny but also really sweet and cute artist online friend, 10/10 would date if asked” category.

You didn’t bother stifling your laugh as you looked at the message he sent you, immediately liking his selfie before saving it on your phone.

Okay, no. He can’t just hit you with an “I do wanna meet u already” and then take it back but not fully commit to it!

You waited for him to respond through text, but instead got hit by your ringtone blaring loudly at such an ungodly hour. At the sight of your contact nickname for him, you eagerly answered his call. You rushed to get the first word in, him doing the same unbeknownst to you.

“Kazu-“

“Babe, I-“

The both of you paused, his eventual laughter easing up your tension as you let out a giggle of your own. You mentally told yourself not to be so nervous— Kazunari and you would have this conversation eventually anyway; besides, it wasn’t as if you didn’t want to see him in person. It was quite the opposite, actually. You just figured that conversations like this needed to happen in call, at least.

“Shoot, should probs shut up so Mukkun doesn’t wake up,” Kazunari commented, his voice volume already lowered, “do you wanna go first?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you replied with resolve. You gathered up your thoughts, formulating the next set of sentences that would leave your mouth, before ultimately deciding on one question. “I just need to know first… how serious were you about meeting up irl?”

“I mean, that wasn’t what I meant when I sent the message? But like, it’s still valid, you know?” he paused, but when you didn’t say anything he decided to continue, “it’s not the first time I’ve thought about meeting you. I think about it a lot, actually.”

It was a bit of a shame the two of you chose to voice call instead of video call. You would’ve loved to see your boyfriend’s face just about now, though you supposed it wouldn’t be a good idea to have a heart attack a quarter to 4 in the morning.

Plus, you weren’t sure you could handle him teasing and throwing compliments at you due to your clearly visible elation, if the upwards stretch of your lips was anything to go by.

“Babe? You still there? Did you pass out, or…” In reality it had only been a few seconds, but still you didn’t want to leave him hanging. Not when the two of you were talking about something that meant taking the next step in your relationship.

“I’m still here, Kazu,” you reassured him. Your voice shook slightly, a sliver of your excitement slipping through the cracks. “I’m the same. Like, no lie I was shocked we brought it up like this, but, um… I’m ready, and if you’re ready, too, I want to meet up with you.”

“Wait, wait, wait— hol’ up! So we’re finally going—“ he laughed for the second time tonight, a fuzzy-wuzzy warmth escaping as its sound equivalent. “Wahh! Of course I’m ready! Can’t wait to finally see what a cutie you are irl♪ Hngg, how am I supposed to sleep now? I’m too hyped up!”

You rolled your eyes, despite understanding exactly how he felt. His infectious cheerfulness amplified the blossoming commotion occurring inside your brain. Despite not making any official plans yet, the prospect of finally meeting up had you frenzied.

Still, one of you had to be at least slightly responsible. While you wouldn’t claim to know his daily schedule, if Veludo Arts was anything like your university, he should be as swamped with workload as you were. Actually, maybe that was the reason he was up so late? That’s how it was for you, anyway excluding the fact that you took a break to stamina clear.

“It’s nearly 4 am… do you wanna continue planning this tomorrow? Err, rather, in a couple hours? After our lectures end, maybe?” You asked, though by the tiny whine Kazunari let out you had a feeling he wasn’t going to agree so quickly.

“Ehh? Why don’t we do it now? I have so many ideas about where we could go, and what we could do… oh! I could introduce you to everyone in Mankai! I’m sure they’d love-“

“I’d love to meet them too,” you cut him off, tone as firm as you could manage at this time, “and I want to hear your ideas, really, but I just know if I let you keep talking the sun will rise before we’ve even decided on a date.”

You chuckled as Kazunari let out a sound of protest, though you had a feeling he knew you weren’t wrong about your assessment. “Zuzu~ Let’s go to sleep now, okay?”

His phone microphone picked up on an audible gasp. “Ehh, how come you rarely call me Zuzu? It’s cute when you say it!”

“Because it sounds like a nickname you’d give to a Pokemon!”

“Uwu, maybe I’ll get Itarun to lend me a copy? Then I’ll catch the cutest Pokemon and name it after you~” you nearly groaned at how fluffy he was being. Seriously, he was distracting you from your agenda of going to sleep!

“Kazu! Stop flirting with me at 4 am or we might not fall asleep!”

Though you couldn’t see him, you were 200% sure he had a wide grin plastered on his face right now. “Me? Using tactics to get you to keep talking with me? Never,” he claimed, professing his false innocence.

“Well, I’m not falling for it! I may not be able to physically tuck you in bed right now, but I can in spirit!”

“Oh!? Then can you give me a goodnight kiss in spirit, too?”

At this point, you were sure that even with just a poke on the cheek you’d be able to feel the heat beginning to envelop your face.

As Kazunari finished laughing, you let the quiet lull of the night seep in the conversation for a few moments before gently breaking it.

“I’d rather give you a kiss irl, though.”

And just like that, you claimed victory over the game he started. With how Kazunari sputtered, a part of you worried that he’d disturb his roommate’s slumber. Still, an even bigger part of you was smug to have him speechless for that much of a duration.

“Babeeeee,” he drawled, “you’re so, so, so unfair… I, like, really want to hold you tight right now…” he murmured, the rustle of his bedsheets discernible through the call. You found yourself nestling onto your bed, too, snuggling up to a soft pillow.

“Soon,” you suddenly yawned, your tiredness seeming to have settled in the comfier you got on the bed. “We’ll have a lot of time to plan tomorrow and the days after, yeah?”

Kazunari let out a hum in agreement, a comfortable silence following suit.

“Kazu?” You muttered quietly, careful not to disturb your peaceful atmosphere.

“Yeah?”

“I love you. Good night,” you said, heart aflutter as you heard his response.

“I love you, too, cutie~ sweet dreams♪” he said in an unbelievably soft tone, before ending the call.

After quickly connecting your phone to a charger, you fell back atop your bed and hugged your pillow tight, already anticipating the day you’d be able to hold Kazunari in your arms, and you in his.

…

Morning come, you hastily prepared for class as you always did. You fell into your usual routine— as soon as you were out of the bathroom, you selected an outfit and went over the things you needed to bring to uni today.

You stopped for a minute; taking a quick selfie to post on your story and emphasise your exhaustion to your close friends, before making yourself some breakfast. Within less than 5 minutes, your phone pinged— a recorded message from one of your favourite people this early in the morning.

"Mornin' piko☆ You're looking cute as always today♪”

There was no way you would admit to how many times you replayed it to Kazunari, but even so it was a good way to keep you positive for the rest of the day.

You don’t remember Veludo Way being this rowdy, though it was hard to trust your memory when it’s probably been years since you’ve last visited. Somehow, it was not tough to imagine Kazunari walking around and performing here— the liveliness of the streets difficult to not associate with one of the liveliest people you knew.

While the original plan was to meet up at a cute and trendy cafe you saw all over people’s SNS, the two of you agreed to meet up somewhere less crowded and more meaningful to him— the theatre which he’d performed at multiple times in the past.

As you saw the building from a distance, you wondered when you’d be able to see him on stage, too.

A shout of your name pulled you out of your thoughts, and you couldn’t help yourself from running over to meet up faster with the figure that was jumping and waving around in your direction.

Had you any sense left, you probably would have told him that you didn’t want him embarrassing himself in public, but in reality it was quite apparent that you were just as excited to finally see him in person.

“Kazunari!” you can’t help the little shriek you let out as you finally embrace him, only joyous laughter and each others’ names escaping the both of your lips. When you finally got a good look at Kazunari, you nearly wanted to bury yourself into his shirt again.

Everything still seemed so unbelievable. That this was real. That it was finally happening. It almost felt like the dreams you’ve had of this moment many times before.

“How are you so beautiful in person, too?! It’s totes like I’m falling in love with you again♪” Kazunari exclaimed, squeezing you one more time before finally settling on holding hands with you. “Ahh! I super, duper love you!”

Except it wasn’t. There was nothing imaginary about his warmth, and the way his words made you feel, and the beaming sunshine of a smile he aimed at you.

“I love you, too!”

want to order again?

[poptod]

jiāoqiǎnyánshēn (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: jiāoqiǎnyánshēn (chinese, v.) - to have a deep and intimate conversation with a stranger.

Notes: for @hideamnos​! a bit longer than my last couple of fics so I hope you don’t mind. the strange city happenings are all things I’ve seen in San Fran. As always, gender neutral. Word Count: 2.6k

Rain falls down from the sky in great sheets, battering down at your umbrella so harshly that you have to tuck it away to avoid flying off. Wind whips at your hair, biting at your exposed skin, pushing you to seek some sort of shelter, any shelter, from the fall-winter weather.

Nowhere is open. It has to be around midnight – you can't be bothered to check your phone, considering the last time you used it it was on 5% battery. The only light you can really see is the one near the train station, and with that singular sliver of hope, you run off in that direction. With the wind at your back, something finally goes right for you.

In the fluorescent light another man sits, skin that you assumed would've been dark in any other light paled in the station lights. The dull buzzing you usually hear is gone, beaten out by the rain, pounding harsh against the flimsy rooftop. With shaking hands you sit on the bench, curling up into a ball as though that would keep you warmer.

You won't deny that New York City has some strange folks – it's much like that in many other cities, though New York has to be the worst case you've seen of it. There was one point where a long line of monks, numbering somewhere into the fifties, walked down the sidewalk chanting some language you couldn't understand. This one can't be the strangest occurrence, though it is a little peculiar. His clothes are too nice to be a costume but it can't be anything else; a man wearing ancient Egyptian garb, donned entirely in gold and bearing a crown that looked far too heavy for his head. He's standing, carrying a tablet at his side as he stares off into the ink black of the city's night.

When it begins to hail he looks up at the sky, a calmness in his movement that you hardly ever see. Turning back down to the ground, he steps further inside the safety of the train stop, sitting down on the bench beside you.

"Come here often?" He asks in a humorous tone, a British accent shocking you mildly. With a chuckle and a wide smile, you shake your head, mumbling a small 'no.'

When he turns to once again stare at the empty railroad tracks, you let yourself examine him, his bone structure, the way his skin rests on his face – all very middle eastern, probably Arabic or Egyptian, or a mix of the two. It's becoming a bad habit at this point, staring at people's facial structure. Despite the fact that it'd probably make people uncomfortable if they knew you were doing it, it's good practice for you, what with your attempts to become a forensic pathologist. He's pretty, you note that as well – soft skin, sharp jawline, sweet eyes, pink lips – all leading to you blushing and looking away when he notices your stare.

"You're curious, aren't you?" He says in a quiet voice, but you can tell he doesn't mind your intrigue in him.

"Well... yes, but I'm used to not figuring out why people do strange things," you say, recalling the fifty monks and the one woman wearing only dog leashes as clothes. Your comment earns you a tiny smile from him.

"My name is.. Ahk," he says, removing his hand from the many folds of his clothes, holding it out for you to shake. You do so, noting nice fingernails and a firm grip.

"I'm (Y/N)," you respond, releasing his hand.

"I'm from the Natural History Museum, here in New York. The Egyptian exhibit," he says, and for a moment you wonder what the hell he's talking about, before remembering they created a new exhibit recently. Some sort of attempt to 'bring history to life' by hiring actors.

"Oh, you're the actor playing that boy king," you say in recognition, secretly proud that you remembered that.

"He's... he's not really a boy," he laughs sweet, a wide grin and crinkles around the eye – you can't help but continue noting how handsome this man is.

"How old is he then?" You ask, scooting closer in a fashion that made sure he wouldn't recognize what you were doing. This was too good of a chance to lose so suddenly.

"I – um, he died when he was around seventeen," he stutters out, blushing when you both know that's still a very young age for a king. "But – but he would've... grown up."

"All of us would've grown up. Doesn't mean that fellow is 4,000 years old now," you snort.

"Yeah..." he chuckles nervously, "right."

"Are you interested in Egypt or.. is it more of just a job for you? It seems interesting nonetheless," you say, leaning in. Stories have always been a staple of your life, the woes people go through and the accomplishments of humanity – everyone has something interesting about them.

"I'm actually from Egypt," he says, confirming what you'd deduced earlier. "It's a bit like returning to my childhood. I.. um, I lost my parents at a pretty early age, so it's a little difficult sometimes, since my job sort of.. reminds me of that part of myself, but um – I, uh, I still enjoy it."

"I understand. I lost my father recently," you say in a soft voice, your gaze drifting to the hail covered cement as you recall your father. He'd always been much nicer and closer to you than your mother. "It must be difficult. It's great that you've been able to enjoy yourself, though. When did you leave Egypt?"

"... in my twenties," he says after blipping out for a moment, which only makes your sentiment for him warmer – maybe you have a thing for airheads. "I left to go to Cambridge."

"Really? Wow, that's a nice school," you say with a sigh, already shuddering just imagining how expensive it had to be. Not even factoring in the fact that University in itself can be expensive, Ahk is Egyptian and had to be a foreign exchange student, which only ups the price.

"Yeah, I had a mildly pleasant time there," he chuckles, and you laugh as well – you wonder for a moment if you could manage to get his number.

"Here's another question for you, if you don't mind my asking," you say before being promptly interrupted by him.

"Only if I can ask you a question after."

With a sheepish smile you nod, realizing you've been bombarding him with question after question, and leaving him little time to figure out anything about you. He adjusts himself in his seat, and waits patiently for your query.

"Why are you at a train station in the middle of the night wearing your work clothes?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he laughs, but proceeds to answer anyway. "A couple friends and I went out for fun since we weren't actually working, we, uh, we don't work on Tuesdays and weekends, but we do rehearsals and such on Tuesdays so it's... technically work? Anyway, we went out, had some fun, caused several statues to come to life and then we got separated because they got arrested for disturbing the peace, but I managed to escape, ever the lucky one –" you laugh when he says that as though it's a monumental accomplishment, "but I need to get back to the Museum before dawn.. my clothes, and all that. I don't have an automobile, so... train."

"Sounds like a hell of an evening," you say with a laugh, wondering what other hectic things this man could be up to.

He proceeds to ask you the same question, 'what are you doing at a train station at midnight,' but it doesn't process in your head when you realize he said he caused several statues to come to life. He had to be joking, but he didn't mention it, which he definitely should've since it's a very confusing and worrying statement to make.

"(Y/N)? Are you alright?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry," you rush out, registering he's been waving his hand in front of your face. He backs away when you finally react, though he continues to look worried, and asks you if you're alright. "I'm fine, I just.. remembered I haven't had dinner and I need to plan that when I get home."

"Oh, that's not good. Definitely eat something. But, uh, as I was saying..." you perk up again, "what are you doing here?"

"That's – that's a funny story, actually. I was off at an art exhibit, or at least I was planning on going to it, and it was a pretty late night one," you look down at your phone, which is now dead, "it was supposed to go till around 1 AM, not sure what time it is now but – I was, I was stopped at the door because, as it turns out, I had the wrong address. I didn't know that at the time, though, so I kept insisting I wanted to go inside. I sort of thought they might've been discriminating against me but I digress. I finally got inside, turns out I actually was at the wrong place. I'm honestly not sure what kind of party I walked into, but it was.. really odd. Decided to stay because it began to rain, but then somebody started stripping and so did everyone else and I decided it was time to get out, as many people would decide. I left the building incredibly disoriented and a little drunk, got a bit lost, and then the rain picked up and I couldn't see a thing. Eventually found my way here."

"That sounds a lot more exciting than my evening," he says after giving your spiel a moment to set in.

"Yes, well, at least no one got arrested. To my knowledge."

"Right," he laughs, looking down at the floor when you meet his eye. As his laughter fades he tucks in his lip, biting and discreetly rolling his tongue over the top lip, making your heart stutter in your chest.

"Hey, do you know where we are? I might be able to drive you back to the museum," you offer, something you can immediately tell was the right move to make. He sits up a little straighter, a spark of hope in his eye.

"Would you do that? That'd be wonderful, really. I'll die if I don't get back in time," he says with wide eyes, turning to you like you've just become best friends. You giggle and nod your head, thinking about the many strange things this man has said, and wondering if he has always been so different from others.

Unfortunately, neither you nor Ahk have much of an idea as to where you are, so you turn to the maps. Two of them sit on either side of the small rest area, illuminated by the pale light and protected behind glass. There's a marker telling you where you are, and while Ahk is absolutely horrible at reading the map, you manage to pinpoint where you stand.

"It's a good thing you're smarter than I am," he comments as the two of you head off, trying your best to stay out of the hail.

"I don't think I am. I think I've just lived here a while," you say, ducking beneath the overhang of a building roof. "You start to recognize patterns and such the longer you stare at things."

"Yes, I've..." he looks to you as though you're suddenly precious, "I've noticed. I used to look at the stars quite a bit when I was younger."

After going through both sopping rain and biting hail, the two of you are exhausted by the time you reach your car. You hadn't driven it to the function (it would've been much easier to find had you done that, but you didn't) and you hadn't left it at home either, but you distinctly remembered leaving it in an underground parking lot. The reasons as to your decision to leave it there are unimportant, and Ahk does not ask. Painted an alarming shade of red, your car was a gift from an eccentric aunt, and though it's tight to fit more than two people in there, the two of you manage.

Throughout the evening you've noticed things that are 'off' about him – the way he tells stories, how he recalls memories, his choice of words, his life in general, but sitting in the car with him has to be the strangest thing that's happened to you. It doesn't feel as though he's ever even been in a car, mesmerized by the blinking lights and the soft radio that comes from the surround sound system you have. So it's a fact in your mind – there's something about him that isn't entirely true, that isn't wholly normal, and the idea excites you just as much as it terrifies you. Maybe he's a prince. Maybe he's a murderer. You don't know, but he keeps up the happy energy that seems ever present in his company all throughout the ride.

Large lights dug into the ground shine bright onto the front of the museum, showing off the pillars and carvings and, of course, the ever-changing advertisement posters. The hail has lightened back into rain, though it's still freezing and biting when you walk him up the entrance. Your legs slow in the cold, sore to move and making your whole journey up the many steps just a little more difficult, but Ahk doesn't seem bothered by it. It's another thing that strikes you as unusual – he hasn't complained of the cold, or shown any of its effects at any point. His clothes only add to your confusion, as they're definitely suited towards warm, Egyptian weather, not hail and sleet.

"I want to thank you again for driving me here. I am indebted to you," he says with a small bow once the two of you are safe underneath the portico. Inside, all the lights are on, and it looks as though most of the actors inside are still in their costumes.

"It's not a big deal," you insist. "I'm happy to help."

"Still, you're very kind," he says, taking your hands in his, a sincere smile on his face.

"I, uh –" you stammer, blushing from the contact. "I enjoyed our conversations. Is... do you, um... is there any way I can, uh, contact you?"

He halts, and for a moment you think you misread the signals – maybe he isn't as interested in you as you thought, and the idea of that alone puts an anchor in your chest.

"I don't have any phones," he says, a sentence that sounds wrong but is technically correct, "but I'm here pretty much every night. I'm very dedicated to my job." He winks, and you can't help but smile.

"Then I hope I'll see you again, Ahk," you say softly, biting at your lip as your nervousness begins to get at you.

"I hope to see you again as well."

With that he leaves you starstruck, already dreaming of when you'll see him again.

[asmileyoucouldbottle]

champagne problems- catradora

word count:  2479 

tw: drinking 

takes place in season 4. someone finds a bottle of champagne while going through shadow weaver's old stuff, and catra and double trouble are talking while drinking. catra begins to realize that maybe she was the one who left adora, and not the other way around.

lots of angsty internal monologue, sweet yet haunting flashbacks, and heart-breaking realizations.

(based on champagne problems by taylor swift)

***

“Double Trouble, do you ever think about what we’re doing?” Catra looked down, regret clinging to her like shadows. She tipped her glass, staring down into the carmel liquid. Kyle, Lonnie, and Rogelio had just found a bottle of champagne while digging through Shadow Weaver's old stuff. One of the other cadets had gotten together enough glasses for all of them- a celebration of “how far they’d come.”

There was nothing to celebrate though.  Everyone was constantly so happy and proud of themselves, and of their success so far. Sure, they’d won a few battles, but what were a couple cities and an edge? Etheria still stood. Adora still stood.

Catra wouldn’t rest as long as she did.

And yet… 

“What are you referring to in this instance?” Double Trouble lifted their own glass, curiosity sketching their features. 

What was that old saying? Curiosity killed the cat.

Double Trouble wasn’t exactly the trustworthy type after all, her position was so precarious… and they knew too much. Who knew what they could do with more information to hold?

She took another sip, and the bubbling liquid burned her throat. People seemed to rave about the taste, but she noticed nothing but the slight warm sensation. Catra didn’t taste much of anything these days. 

Adora’s expression while Catra cut the vines on the simulation cliff flashed in her vision. Her shock- the widened eyes and parted lips. Lips that had moments before mused about how she’d missed Catra. Her hands desperately gripping the vine… the same hands that had extended in offering. 

“Catra, help me, please…” 

“She left me.” Catra declared out loud. The words were empty. A half-truth, a story with only one side. 

“I never wanted to leave you… you could come with me!”

A growl tore itself from her throat, slamming the glass down.

“She left me.” Catra repeated with more force. “If she never wanted to leave me, then she wouldn’t have.” 

“Who are we talking about again?” Something in Double Trouble’s expression made Catra suspect they knew the answer already as they lazily tilted their head.

She bristled at the apparent indifference, but her words were low and pained as she whispered, ��Adora.” 

A long sip.

“She told me to cover for her, she’d be right back.” Catra intended the words to be sharp, just the way they felt in her heart. To be cruel. She was over Adora after all, and far better than she was with her. She’d worked so hard to be better than her. To prove she didn’t need her.

But they came out aching.

“She didn’t come back.” The last thing Catra expected was the clog of tears, which she took as a challenge. Taking a harsh swallow, she willed the liquid to clear her throat before she continued. 

“She was gone one day, and she had a new life. New friends.” It was like I didn’t even exist. Even after everything they’d done together, all their life they’d lived.

“It was like you meant nothing to her.” Double Trouble’s words were a direct hit, and Catra physically flinched. 

Adora had been everything to her. 

When the only thing that matters to you leaves, what’s left?

And if you didn’t matter to anyone, then what are you?

She’d thought she mattered to Adora. They were a team, them against the world. Until suddenly, the team had become a party of one. Adora had new friends- a new team.

Sorry, squad. 

Adora, or at least She-Ra, mattered to everyone. But without Adora, Catra mattered to no one. 

Thus, Catra had to make herself matter. Become important.

“Like I meant nothing to her.” 

Double Trouble leaned forward, resting their chin on their palm. “And that’s why you’re fighting the Rebellion? Because Adora’s there?”

“No.” Catra spat, the implications that Catra only existed for Adora making her prickle. She’d worked so hard to make her own place- without Adora’s shadow. Adora couldn’t take this from her too. “It’s complicated, okay?”

Shadow Weaver, raising the same hand that caressed Adora to strike Catra, came to her mind. Fighting a tremble, Catra steadied her hands against the glass as she took another long sip. An ache was settling in her with each bit of champagne, though she doubted it had much to do with the drink itself. She actually wished the drink was stronger, but she didn’t know if she could bear walking in Shadow Weaver’s chamber again to dig around. 

Then Scorpia, whose kindness Catra had scorned, but only now realized how much she had relied on as she continued to put her down. She left her too. 

Entrapta, who had been nothing but supportive and helpful, but had betrayed her for the princesses. A betrayal that Catra had given back in a much more painful way than it was received.

Adora again, her horror as Catra dropped off the cliff at the Princess Prom. And as she had let go and fallen into the portal, knowing that it would cause Adora pain. Every look and word that proved, despite Catra’s best efforts, Adora had still cared for her.

But then, her glare as she walked out of the portal, which still felt like a dagger stuck in Catra’s heart. Behind the anger, Catra had seen a reflection of something in her own eyes.

Hardened and hatred filled as they were, she saw it. Broken. 

Catra hadn’t realized how much she’d clung to Adora’s continued care until it was gone. 

“Come with me. You don’t have to go back there. We can fix this.”

“She asked me to come with her.” Catra blurted, staring as if trying to burn a hole in her glass. 

Double Trouble’s eyebrows peaked in interest. “Go on.”

“I didn’t think she meant it, okay? When you flake on someone like that, it seems like too little too late.” She was getting worked up, her tail bristling as familiar anger joined the helpless sadness. 

“Come with me.” 

Double Trouble’s unimpressed look humbled her and she sat back down, tail still drawing distressed motions. “But I wonder… what if it wasn’t.”

“Well, Kitten, she does seem awfully obsessed with you.”

“What did you say?” she demanded,  unsure if the increase in speed of her heart was from fear or excitement of what she might hear.

“Catra this, Catra that.” They titled their head. “A lot like you, come to think of it.”

Catra growled, claws gripping the table in warning. 

“One would almost think she misses you, but that would be ridiculous, considering all you’ve told me.” The shapeshifter’s gaze held hers, a challenge. A small sliver of hope slipped through her crack, followed by a montage of memories.

Suddenly she was a child again, holding Adora’s hand as they admired beetles in the dirt of the Fright Zone and collected ants to put under Kyle’s covers. Playing pranks on the older recruits, which more often than not would end in a scuffle. Even when Catra picked pointless fights with force captains three times her size, Adora had her back. They would get matching black eyes, boasting and bickering over who had the better blue-black hues and comparing sizes. 

When Adora had gotten her first red jacket on her thirteenth birthday, Catra had immediately grabbed her hand and demanded permission to “make it cooler.” She’d been denied, but spent weeks persuading Adora to let her rip it up. Finally, Adora had conceded to a “little personalization,” but only after Catra pointed out they’d be matching- the little rips in her pants and on the sleeves of Adora’s jacket.

Training, where Catra first learned, after gossiping with other and older cadets, what it meant to want to kiss someone. Their faces had come almost to touching in a sparring match while they were grappling for a staff, hands clasped over each other. Adora was bright with the challenge, lips pursed and brows drawn in concentration around the gray-blue eyes Catra knew better than her own. A flush from the exertion was tinged on Adora’s cheeks, and as she gave Catra a small and secret smile despite their competing, she felt her heart flutter. Her grip went weak as Catra became overcome with the intense urge to lean forward just a tiny bit, to be even closer.

Their comfortable peace sitting together on the ramparts, whether it was in silence or rambling about everything under the sun. One day, only weeks before the attack on Thaymor, Catra had found a booklet in some box while on trash duty. “The Works of Shakespeare.” They’d spent an hour going through the old stories and laughing as they reenacted the plays, dramatically fainting and faking stabbing-death-by-stick all over the place. Their searching hands had found each other as they pretended to reach, outstretched on separate balconies. 

Come with me.  The attack on Thaymore. Her hand once more in Catra’s, just like always. This time, Catra had pulled away, leaving a crack behind for the first time.

Princess Prom, Adora had tried to hold onto her again, but once more, Catra let go. 

Then the She-Ra temple and the cliff. Adora had done nothing but tried to protect her, but as they’d raced through the halls, fingers entwined, bitterness welled up in Catra anyways. Another drop of the hand, another crack left behind.

Every battle they’d had that Catra had swung true but Adora had merely deflected was a hairline, a small break that amassed over time.

Perhaps… she had been the one to really leave Adora.

The realization shocked Catra, a rupture deep in her bones.

No.

No. 

Adora had left her. The champagne was making her head foggy. She wasn’t thinking clearly. 

But… 

Catra slammed her cup down. Changing her mind, she brought it to her lips, knocking it back before standing abruptly.

“I have more important things to do than celebrate and chatter.” 

Double Trouble barely looked fazed, and Catra guessed that emotional outbursts were to be expected around her. She was a bomb always ready to go off, to be treated with caution.

The entire room quieted- she hadn’t noticed that there was a buzz around her until it was replaced with tense silence. She looked out over the other Horde members, who had frozen, some with drinks halfway to their lips. Her eyes met Lonnie’s, then Kyle’s, and Rogelio’s. Lonnie looked at her, something bordering on accusation behind the slight fear. 

They were a team, right? Teammates were evergreen. 

She saw them laughing in the halls without her, a new bond bright and strong between the three of them. Even Kyle, who had always been the odd one out, was right in the midst of them. 

And Catra was on the outside.

But as she looked between the stunned and scared faces of the three of them… she realized that she was the one who broke that too.

Fuck it.

Not waiting for any sort of signal or response, she stalked out the door.

Catra meant to walk right out and to her dormitory, but she couldn’t bear to see any other faces and what they might be thinking of her behind her back. So she paused beside the door, burying her head in her hands, trying to still her heavy breathing.

“All twisted in knots after Adora.” Someone- Lonnie?- was murmuring. Catra’s ears peaked and her head jerked in the direction of the door.

“They were always… close.” Kyle added. Rogelio made some reptilian nose of agreement.

“They still could be, but you know what I think? Catra scared her off.” Lonnie lowered her voice even more as she added. “Fucked in the head, that one is.”

Rogelio hissed, and Kyle shushed her. “What! You see how she walks around this place like a crazy woman, muttering to herself and ordering people around like she wasn’t just some cadet like the rest of us.” 

“She could hear you.” Kyle muttered, panicked.

“Oh knock it off Kyle, she’s not lurking around every corner. Don’t be paranoid.”

Forcing herself to breathe and walk away, Catra buried her hands in her hair, combing through the mass. Desperately she pulled, wondering what had happened to the girl with wild curly hair and flushed cheeks, running hand in hand with a sweet blonde in the crisp autumn air. Their laughter haunted her as she walked, and she pressed her hands against her ears until she was flat out running to her bunk.

Fucked in the head, that one is.

She crashed to a halt against the lower bunk, hands curling into the hard mattress as her pants echoed. The room was mercifully empty.

Her eyes flicked up to the drawing she’d done years ago, her and Adora’s smiling faces, scratched through in rage. A sob clawed up her at the sight of it. It had been theirs, a testament to their friendship, and she’d shred it. 

Her mind might be making muddled connections from the alcohol, but she thought of a tapestry. It was something only princesses had, and she’d certainly never seen one. But from what she had heard, they were things of beauty, made to withstand time and tell a story.

Her and Adora were supposed to be a tapestry. Or at least, this silly little drawing was.

Catra wondered if Adora had a tapestry- a real one- in her honor. She was sure there were countless of She-ra, the hero of Etheria.

If Adora was the hero, what did that make Catra?

Tracing the outline of Adora’s face in the drawing, another tear slipped past Catra. She wouldn’t be surprised if Adora’s “Best Friend Squad,” had a tapestry. One of their heroics and the love they had for each other.

She almost hoped they did.

After all, if Catra was the one who broke things, didn’t Adora deserve people who could fix them?

One day Catra would be nothing but this scratched out drawing on a wall. The Rebels were going to win. They had She-Ra. The almighty princess.

They had Adora.

Curling herself into a ball on the bunk that was once Adora’s, Catra told herself that this was all the alcohol talking. Tomorrow she knew that the anger would be back, the familiar rage she clung to in an attempt to justify her actions. Anger was easier than sadness.

No matter who’d hurt who more, Adora had started this war, and Catra was going to finish it.

She had a goal. A purpose. One that, for once, she was doing for her, not Adora.

Destiny was hers to make, and nothing- not Adora, not her foolish regrets, not the “friends” who’d left or betrayed her- was going to change that. 

But, as she buried her face in the pillow that no longer smelled of Adora, she dared to dream about what would’ve happened if only she had said “yes.”

[darth-void]

On the Streets of Coruscant

Chapter 3 

~

AN: Thank you @sydnubabu for being my beta and catching all the commas I miss, there were so many, thank you! 

Rated G (for now 😏)

Words: 3k 

~

You heard your comlink chirp early one morning as you were getting ready for the day. It was Maul attempting to contact you. You checked yourself in the mirror quickly, and answered his call. 

“Maul, what a pleasant surprise.” 

“My lady, I hope I am not bothering you this early.” 

“No, it’s fine, I’m an early riser. To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“You said before that you would like to take a ride on my speeder bike when it is finished. Is that interest still there?” He asked. 

“Y-yes, certainly,” you answered, trying to hide your growing excitement. 

“Splendid. I have finished it and done several test-drives. It is ready for me to show you.” Is that a smirk? You thought to yourself. He looks pleased. Paired with his perpetually furrowed brow, he looked almost wicked. 

“Well, it’s a good thing you called early, there is no session at the senate today, and I had yet to make plans. Until now.” You smiled as you spoke with Maul. You were privately eager to hear from Maul again, your last encounter hopeful for another one, and it came sooner than you imagined. “My apartment has a small landing platform off the balcony, I can be ready in an hour, if that works for you.” 

“I shall be there, my lady.” And with that, the call ended. 

~

Maul was waiting at the dock outside your apartment on his speeder bike. He had ditched his hooded flowing robes for a more sleek look for the ride. He saw you making your way out of your apartment and noticed you too had decided on trousers and boots over your usual formal senate robes that he was used to seeing you in. 

You started to head outside and your security captain had begun to follow, so you stopped, within hearing distance of Maul. 

“Captain, I promise you, I will not need you for this. I trust Maul to keep me safe, and I will stick with him for the duration.” 

“Senator, please-“ Captain Cen began to protest, but you cut him off. 

”We talked about this, and you are staying.” You had a finality in your voice that Maul assumed you used while working in the Senate. He liked hearing you exert your power. 

“Are we ready, my lady?” Maul said standing next to his bike as you approached. 

“Yes, quite.” You smiled at him, excited for the ride. You looked at the bike and noticed the seating was a bit cramped. “So, how will this work?” 

“Unfortunately, this speeder was not exactly built with two riders in mind, but I think there is a way for us to fit well enough.” 

“Will it be safe?” 

“You’ll always be safe with me.” 

Maul went to sit on the speeder bike, straddling it, and making sure to scoot back. 

“You’ll sit in front of me, here” he gestured to the small bit of padding left between his legs. You looked a little apprehensive, then he held out his gloved hand to ease you in. 

The fit was tight, but it looked like Maul had found a way to adjust his handlebars and the backrest so you both fit and he could still reach around you to steer the bike. You were a bit scrunched up with your legs bent and feet resting on the bars above the footrests. Maul’s arms reached around you and caged you in close to his chest as he started up the bike. When you both were situated and as comfortable as possible, he took off. 

 ~

Maul stopped the speeder bike and helped you off first. You stepped away and looked out over a vast vantage point, a panoramic view of the main hub of Coruscant. You could see the Jedi temple off in the distance, and the Senate building. The view reminded you of your first time on the ecumenopolis, the start of your Senate work, and the awe you felt in those early days and weeks, looking out at the vast city from your apartment. 

“How have the proceedings been going in the senate lately?” Maul asked you as you took in the view. He could sense you wanted to talk. 

“It has been… difficult. As always. Some days I do not know why I want to be a senator. Getting bogged down in petty squabbling and nothing ever happening.” You let out a little huff. “But, I do not know what else I would do, honestly. This does truly feel like what I should be doing. It’s just- it can be difficult most days.” You looked back at Maul who was casually leaning on his speeder. “That is why I’m glad I got your holo this morning. I needed a good break away from work.” 

“You said you were not going into the Senate today,” Maul stated quizzically. 

“Yes, that is true, but I do not have much of a life outside of my work, and I usually spend days off in my study preparing my work.” You had a feeling that Maul was the same, always working and never truly having time for himself. “What of your life, Maul. Have you been busy with… apprenticing?” 

“I always am. If I am not busy with a specific task put out for me to do, my master insists I spend any free time doing work for myself. That’s how this speeder came to be.” 

“A pet project then. Lovely. Tell me about it then. You said you made this from scratch?” You asked. 

“Nearly. It is from a Razalon design that I stripped apart to pieces and rebuilt completely to my specific requirements,” Maul replied. 

You enjoyed Maul opening up and hearing about his passions. 

“I named it Bloodfin, after a powerful and deadly creature. The Bloodfin are a dark red, semi-aquatic predator native to the oceans of Bastion. For the rebuild, I had its energy systems modified to divert all power to speed. It can go 650 kilometers per hour, but I was sure to make it silent.” 

“Are you a predator like this fish, Maul?” You toyed. 

Maul smirked at that but stayed silent. 

“There is something to be said for working with your hands,” you said. 

“Indeed.” 

The two of you shared a look… 

“Come, let’s continue,” you said to Maul and walked back to the speeder. 

~ 

Maul drove you around all over the city, no true direction in mind. He often took long rides and knew the city well. Maul always felt a sense of emptiness and frustration as an apprentice under Darth Sidious, so he would often take to the streets. 

You two also stopped at specific places throughout your trip through the city, once for lunch at a hole-in-the-wall eatery Maul claimed was decent for the likes of a senator, and he was pleased to see you actually enjoyed it. Maul told you half-truths about how he came to know the area so well. He did have work in various parts of the city, sent by his master. For mechanical reasons, they were not. He drove with you until the sun went down and the city lights grew brighter before he headed back to your apartment. 

As you got to your apartment, Captain Cen walked out to meet you, clearly having been worrying all the hours you were gone. 

“Senator, good to see you back safely,” he said to you, then eyed Maul suspiciously. Maul smirked back at the man. 

“Yes, I appreciate your concern, I’m back and now you can rest easy. Thank you for today but that will be all.” You quickly dismissed Captain Cen, but he stood there with a confused look. 

“My lady?” 

“You are relieved for the night. You may leave a single guard at my door if you insist, but that will be all.” To Maul’s delight, you spoke again with that authority in your voice, and Captain Cen had no choice but to submit. 

“Very well, my lady. I will leave one person for you tonight. Good night.” He gave a quick bow of his head, and he was off. 

You turned back with a smile to Maul, who was still sitting on his speeder. 

“So, would you like to join me for dinner again?” 

“Certainly, my lady,” Maul replied and gladly dismounted. 

~

The two of you ate with a more casual conversation, a big difference from the first dinner you shared with him. Maul spoke little still, but it was better than nothing. Not to get too cocky, you felt pride in cracking his hard shell throughout the day and seeing a tiny sliver of him. 

“I am trying for a different approach this time around. The Republic has an army, though a small one since we are a galaxy at peace right now. And the Senate has its delegates that form committees, what need is there to send the Jedi to do Republic bidding? I do not believe that the Jedi should be sent on behalf of the Senate to participate in negotiations. Negotiators. Ha! Why do they need those dangerous weapons for peaceful negotiations, hm? They should just stick to being religious beings that hole up in their precious temple learning about the force.” 

You finished your small rant and felt a little better, but also a little guilty once again at unloading so much on a new friend. You took quite a big swig of your drink and placed the glass a little too forcefully on the table. The two of you had finished dinner and were standing at your balcony and looking out at the city. 

“I’m sorry, I know I can get a little passionate when I drink, I-“ 

“Do not apologize for your rage, your passion. Let it out. I encourage it, let me hear your anger and see your feelings.” Maul’s eyes were lit up, they looked to literally be glowing. He looked like he basked in your rage, to see it flow freely from you in a moment of your unguarded true self. 

“It’s just- They take children from their families! And so young… it's all so they can brainwash them into believing their ways, so they don’t know of anything other than the order.” At these words you noticed Maul's face darken. 

“Were you…” you started quietly. You felt you shouldn’t continue in this exact question. Instead, you changed your direction.  “I feel like I don’t know enough about you, Maul. May I ask you something?” You looked at him, and he made no gesture of acceptance or refusal, so you went ahead anyway. “Do you have a family?” The question was a little out of the blue, but you knew where you hoped this line of questioning would go. 

Maul did not answer, but looked down. His brow still held his scowl. 

“Are you force sensitive?” 

Maul stayed pointedly silent. You took that as an answer in itself. You were almost sure you knew the answer anyways. 

“The night you saved me in that alley, you were not close enough to the man, and I saw him get thrown against the wall. I wasn’t sure what had happened initially because it all happened so quickly, but… I played it back in my mind after you left my house that night.” 

Still silence. 

You started to languidly step closer to Maul, but he stayed still as you approached him. 

“Is that why you dislike the Jedi?” You asked him. “They didn’t come for you.” You whispered so low, but he heard you. He looked down at that, then you took one last step and were so close to him …

You gently put a hand to his cheek, thumb lightly brushing against his prominent cheekbone. He looked back up, and his glowing eyes were boring into yours. His face was the most gentle you had ever seen it, the creases around his brow relaxed and soft. 

Maul finally spoke, his voice low yet clear. “I do not remember my family. I was… given to my master as his apprentice when I was very young. I have been here ever since. He raised me, taught me. He is not an easy man to know, but he has trained me well through the years.” He paused for a second, his eyes giving away his internal conflict of whether he should go on. 

“You are correct in your guess. I am force sensitive. Though the Jedi not taking me in is not my reason for hating them. I-“ he paused, figuring out if he could twist the truth into the lies he’s already told you. “I cannot say. It is a long and terrible story. Maybe someday, I will share it with you.” He looked up into your eyes, your hand still gently on his face. 

You had hoped this would be the moment he would open up to you, he really looked like he wanted to, but you understood why he didn’t just yet. The two of you had only met a few times, and yet you already feel a bond with him. You didn’t want to push the trust he had given you so, you accept his answer. 

“It’s okay, I understand,” you replied with a nod. 

You noticed him look down at your lips then quickly turned his head to look away as if he wanted to do or say something but couldn’t. You brought his face back to look at yours. The two of you were so close you could feel his breath on your face. 

Still gauging his comfort, you brought your face closer and kissed him, your lips lightly pressing on his. Maul was hesitant at first, but relented and kissed you back. He brought a hand to your waist and to your hand that was on his face. 

He was gentle with you in this moment, as he always was with you. You kissed for a moment until Maul pulled away, pressing his head to yours. You stayed like this for a beat longer, wondering what he was thinking. 

You finally decided to break the silence. “I’m sorry,” you said in a whisper. 

“No, I apologize. I just. I don’t know if I should,” Maul replied. He looked conflicted. “It’s getting late, and it’s been a long day. I must return.” 

The two of you stayed like that for a moment longer, neither wanting to move away first. Finally, Maul pulled away, and took your hand away from his face but still held your hand in his. 

“I must go but I will return.” 

You nodded in reply, not knowing what else to say.  

Maul let go and turned to leave. He started up his speeder as he mounted it and looked back at you before he took off. You stood on the platform and watched as he flew further and further away. 

~ 

Just as Maul arrived at his lodgings, he received a holo from Sidious. “Come to me at once my apprentice, we have much to discuss.” The call was terminated before Maul had a chance to reply. He quickly changed into his formal robes and went out again to the apartment of Senator Palpatine. 

Maul made a slight detour when he spotted two Jedi, a master and an apprentice, on the streets speaking with some citizens. He couldn’t help but hover in the shadows and spy on them, allowing it to feed his rage and hide his true thoughts before he met with Sidious. The encounter was short, and he slipped back into his path to Sidious. 

Sidious scolded Maul for his distraction with the Jedi and threatened him with punishment of death if Maul ruined his well-made plans. 

“I know you are keeping something else from me. Tell me what else you have truly been up to. I can feel it. I know you are hiding something from me. Tell me now,” he demanded. Darth Sidious had a cold aura about him, and he was always scheming. His hold on Maul was tight and nothing Maul did escaped his grasp. Maul knew then that Sidious had known what happened with him and the senator he was sent to tail weeks ago. 

“I have made contact with the senator, my lord master,” Maul admitted as he bowed his head in submission. 

“More than just made contact. I ordered you to follow her at a discreet distance. She was never meant to see you!” Sidious yelled. “You have disobeyed me. Do not let it happen again.” Sidious started walking and Maul followed him. “Since it is too late and you have made contact, tell me, have you learned any more?” 

“The senator does not seem to give up easily and is often changing direction for how to get her bills and legislation seen by the senate. After the attempted assassination, her security has been increased and no second attack has been made, yet.” Maul told as much information as was pertinent to what Sidious was after. He did not think that the private and intimate time you two had spent together was something he wanted to tell his master. They were special moments he wanted to keep to himself. 

“Very well. I do, however, have a task for you.” Sidious explained his mission and sent Maul away to fulfill it. 

Maul went back to his place and readied for the Kellux system. He decided before he left to send a one-way holo message to you. 

“My lady, I wanted to let you know that I am going away. I do not know when I will be back but I will call when I return. I do not have time to say goodbye, I must leave straight away. Know this, I will be thinking of you.” 

With that, Maul sent the message and boarded his ship.

[lvlyhao]

Moments (Tom Holland x reader)

A/N: first Tom one-shot I actually completed! The reader is a female since it’s what I am used to working with. If I keep writing, I’ll try to make everything GN. Sort of proud of this, and I hope you all like it^^, and if you do, please like and reblog! 

Warnings: none. This is pure fluff.

Info you might need: Castellucio is a small village in Italy, and a very pretty one at that. It’s known for the flowerings that take place in the fields, every Spring. There are fields of lentils, poppies, violets... and I chose the red poppies.

Y/N = Your Name. M/N = Middle Name. L/N = Last Name. H/C = Hair Colour. E/C = Eye Colour. F/C = Favourite Colour. 

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

When the first rays of sun peek through the sheer curtains, Tom’s eyes flutter gently. The world is hazy the moment he opens them, seeing the entire room melt golden under the light. The air feels warm and balmy over his bare skin, immersing the two bodies in amenity as the early birds chirp outside.

Two bodies.

Finally coming to himself, the brown-haired boy stirs under the satiny sheets, looking for the glow of his lover. When his hand bumps into her, his heart beats faster. There she is, fast asleep, snoring softly and sprawled on her back. Her delicate skin seems velvety where glorious drops of light dance upon it. Her hair, H/C and silky, spreads over the ivory pillow like a halo. Soft, swollen lips give out peaceful breaths, and her hands are neatly folded over her stomach. A dot of glimmer attracts his gaze, and on her left hand, he finds the elegant ring. His ring, that he gave to her just yesterday.

Thinking back to that moment, it seemed like ages ago. The crimson fields of poppies of Castellucio encircled them and contrasted with her F/C dress—the one he always said was his favourite. His chocolate locks were an absolute mess from the wind, and he could only imagine how sweaty he looked, wearing a polo shirt and dress-pants under the scorching sun. Y/N didn’t seem to mind it that much, though. 

The second he kneeled on the grass, she started sobbing and grinning like a dork. It was endearing, how she couldn’t refrain from smiling even when he was talking about their (many) embarrassing memories. That tiny detail made him fall even harder for her. Every sliver of doubt he had left dissolved when she interrupted his speech, falling to the ground in front of him and lacing her arms around his neck. 

“That was enough”, she had muttered, “just ask the damn question already!”. Tom chuckled, reviving the way his voice cracked when he followed her request.

“Y/N M/N L/N, darling”, he grasped her hands, “will you marry me?”

Tears flowed down their faces as she nodded soundlessly time and again, too thrilled to find her voice. He slid the ring in her finger and they stood there, arms around the other and bawling their eyes out. For an instant, there was nothing else there—the flowers were gone, the Sun was hidden by the clouds, the winds turned into a breeze and even the smell of the Italian summer vanished. It was just the two of them, clinging onto each other for dear life and drowning in the chaste feeling of love. It was easily the best moment of his life.

Was it really?

Drinking in the sleeping figure of his fianceè, Tom thought about the day he met her. 29/04/20, a Wednesday, when he went live for the Marvel pub quiz. It had been genuinely amazing, to interact with his followers like that. He could still hear Harry's voice, telling him what to do to invite people to join the transmission.

“Such a grandpa”, he had said, shaking his head in amusement. Tom ignored him, randomly calling a username from the live chat to answer the final question—what does S.H.I.E.L.D stand for? 

The bright face that popped onto the screen one second later took his breath away. She had the most beautiful E/C eyes, sparkling with kindness and life. H/C strands framed her face, and her smile made his heart skip a beat, even with the low quality of the video. 

It was like everything around him froze; no one dared to move, fearing the moment would shatter. 

Except for his brother, though, seated to his left. 

“Oi, mate”, he nudged Tom, “read the question.” 

The brunette boy snapped out of it, covering his blush with a smirk and pretending he couldn’t hear Haz snickering behind him. Is it that obvious? 

Yes, of course, it was. How could it not be, when not only was she the loveliest girl he had ever seen but also a Marvel fan?

Y/N got the question right, not missing a beat when he asked. The three of them, on the other side of her screen, cheered a bit louder than necessary, and then he ended the live. Both his brother and best friend teased the hell out of him for the next few days. The fandom, of course, made memes about it, and eventually, Tom slid into her DMs. It was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

Tenderly clasping her right hand, not to wake her up, the boy shifts and stares at the ceiling. It is painted baby-blue and makes him think of the sweater she wore to the first Christmas spent with his family.

While juggling university and her job after quarantine ended, meeting his family wasn’t a top priority for Y/N. She and Tom always spoke about it, guessing how it would be like, but she was not ready the day he made the offer. 

“Go to my family’s Christmas Eve dinner. I promise you it’s gonna be awesome, they’re gonna love you! And if you feel comfortable, you can sleep there and spend Christmas with us. If you don’t, I’ll find a way to get you home in time. Please, love”, cue puppy-eyes. She couldn’t find it in her to say no to that, but she had never felt more jittery than in the week before the dinner.

When the 23rd rolled around, she was tense the entire day. Tom had tried everything to make her unwind, from running a hot bath to giving her a massage and attempting at making muffins (which turned out burnt and very salty). When he started to feel as helpless as his girlfriend, 5 pm struck, and they left to his parents’ house. The ride there was made in silence, only broken when he turned to her to whisper how much he loved her.

The next 2 hours or so went by in a blur. He couldn’t exactly spot how it all went—the first contact with his brothers and parents, finally meeting Haz, introducing her to Tessa… the first memories of the actual dinner began with what she told him, days later, about the exact moment she clicked with everyone.

The first person she befriended was Harrison. He was very sweet, keeping her company when Tom would leave to help his mom with something and making her feel at ease. The one point that made the two grow close was his cooking. She had seen both the hot bread and the pancake video, and just couldn’t help but bring them up. At first, he seemed quite bashful, but when Y/N said she couldn’t cook either, he decided he liked her. They talked for a long time, telling their most awkward cooking stories, and Tom watched everything from afar. I knew they'd get along.

Next was Harry, the sassy younger twin who seemed sort of intimidating. It’s not that he was mean, not at all, but he had a strong presence and for a split of a second, she thought he hated her. The tables turned when she mentioned her interest in photography and directing. It was all laughter, jokes and deep conversations by the fireplace after that, talking about some of their favourite films, photographers and directors. Harry turned out to be very kind, and the time she spent with him made her feel welcome.

With Sam, things were a bit different. Whenever Tom mentioned the twins, she thought the two of them would hit it off immediately. Apparently, though, she was too shy to initiate any kind of interaction with him and vice versa. Haz sensed her discomfort from the other side of the room and went to her aid. For the next 45 minutes, he acted as a bridge between them, keeping the chat going until they were talking like old friends. They bonded over the fact that they were huge Marvel fans, and discussed several theories for the next movies, as well as their favourite characters. Oh, how she loved the twins.

Getting to know Paddy was a challenge as well. He wasn’t timid but also didn’t seem very interested in talking. For most of the time, he played with Tessa quietly, time or another chiming in with a remark about something. It didn’t help that he was the youngest. Thinking back to everything Tom had told her about him, she couldn’t find a single topic to bring up. He was a high school kid, and that summed up everything they didn’t have in common. What would she talk about? Physics? Football? 

Things only clicked in her head when Tessa left his side to come to lick her hands, asking for pets and tossing around a rubber ball. So Y/N went outside and played catch, mutely hoping the boy would come around to play too. Soon enough, he did, and she bonded with the two of them at the same time.

By the time Nikki and Dom were finished with dinner, they were the only ones she hadn’t talked to a lot just yet. All the nerves that had gone away while she got to know the boys were back the moment everyone sat at the table. 

That was it. His parents. If they didn’t like her, chances were slim the relationship would last very long. Tom was a family person, and she'd never make him choose between them and her. 

She put on a charming smile, praying they’d get along, and complimented the food. A lot. Probably way more than she should, but there was no stopping now. It was her anxiety talking the wheel, after all. Luckily for her, they took it as a sign she was putting effort into making a good impression, and that was enough for them.

In one month, she was the closest thing to a sister the Holland boys had ever had. Things were fantastic after Christmas, and Tom could see a bright future for them. Waking up by her side was what he loved the most, but he could go on and on about every little thing he adored in her and their relationship.

One time, he did. It was their anniversary of two years, and Tom giggles at the mere thought of that. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong with his plans did go wrong, and he cried in front of Y/N, thinking he had ruined their special day. She took him in her arms, standing in the downpour at his favourite beach, where they were supposed to have a nice picnic. A long-forgotten basket was by her feet and the two were soaked to the bone, feeling a rainbow of emotions at once. 

Of course, she wasn't particularly cheery, but seeing Tom like that hurt, so she pushed her own frustration aside to take him home. There, wrapped tightly in 3 blankets and with a cup of cocoa in his hands, Tom was spoiled to death. They watched a bunch of Pixar movies, ordered pizza, took a bath together and, when the clock struck midnight, went to bed. 

The day was perfect, just not in the way she and Tom had imagined. It was better, actually, and the British boy decided to show her that with an impromptu speech. He had never been very good with words, but when he delicately cradled her face between his hands and began talking about the reasons why he loved her, he couldn’t stop. He told her about every tiny detail in her, from the way her nose crinkled when she smiled to how considerate she is. Recalling the moment she shut him up with a teary kiss, Tom realized he might have a tendency to overdo speeches. 

Now, lying side by side with the person he treasures above any other, he feels overwhelmed with love. The urge to take her in his arms, hold her close and defend her from the world brings a grin to his face as he gapes at her once more. Her eyes are starting to flutter, and soon she’ll be awake. 

Then, they’ll make plans for the afternoon and the night, since the morning is ending at this point. They’ll build one more memory for him to think about and laugh, and to someday tell their children about. They’ll go and live their dreams, cherishing and caring for one another. They’ll go and live thousands of perfect moments, because every moment by her side is the best of his life.

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tagging some people I love here: @chaoticpete​ @underoosjae​ @spider-parker04​ @gwenvrse​ @lost-space-ranger​ @allegra-writes​