#the amount of simmering rage I have

[daenerys-targaryen]

I should be in a cabin in the mountains making homemade heart shaped pizza for my beloved and waking up to sun rays as they filter through the leaves of the surrounding trees but NOOOOO I HAVE TO WORRKKKK

[lcverwrites]

the lovers ― aegon targaryen

summary ... aegon had never known the tender touch of love, from the cradle as a babe, he was cursed to be unlovable. his mother held no love for him, only the safety he provided her. his father never spared him a glance, to sickness struck to see past his golden daughter. his siblings were indifferent to him, never really having the want to dig past his drunkard front. but then came her... aegon never understood why she loved him, what she saw in him that others could not, what he could not see in himself. but thank the gods above, there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her devotion, because the unlovable had finally found someone who loved him; and who he loved in turn. pairing ... aegon ii targaryen x tyrell!reader (wife reader) warnings ... self loathing, talks of being unlovable, strained family dynamics, targcest (mentioned, but not seen), hurt/comfort, angst, trying to heal from unhealthy relationships, mentions of drinking, supportive wife mode note ... I want this fictional man a healthy amount, as you can clearly see. I might make some more things for this couple in the future, cause they've been on my mind for a loooong time. I just want to love this man for a second, after the shit storm they put him through this season. Let me know if you want more of aegon x tryell!reader, perhaps some smut between these two lovers 😏🫶🏻

⠀⠀⠀Voices spoke muffled words around Aegon, drowning him in their monotonous sounds, unimportant and distant from his thoughts. Aegon knew he should have been listening to his merriment of council members, they were talking about the needs of the realm, the wants of the smallfolk, the unwarranted needs of the already wealthy lords and ladies in his court, the impending doom awaiting them across the sees, with his sister plotting to take the crown from his very head.

The crown she was once promised, The Realms Delight was worlds away now, and the crown snuggly sat upon Aegon's head, the doing of the Mother and Grandsire, the controlling hands that guided Aegon under the guise of their affection and want to see him succeed, to bring the promised peace Viserys once spoke about.

But Aegon knew better now.

His mother held no love for her eldest son. She held him at arms length, with contempt, her lips pursed as if she couldn't ever fathom smiling at her own son. With a faux guiding hand, never reaching for a tender touch, only a harsh slap to awaken him from thoughts of straying from the path laid out for him. Alicent Hightower liked to believe she loved her children to the best of her ability, but Aegon knew better, knew that her love came with conditions, and Aegon's was to keep the safety of her family, even if he was killed in the process.

His Grandsire was a bitter old man, who reached above his station as hand of the king, all but ready to snatch the crown from Aegon himself. He was the driving force for Aegon's ascension, seeing the malleable drunk as a way to reach his ultimate prize, to be King through Aegon. There wasn't a bone in Otto Hightower that cared for Aegon past the power he could bring him.

Aegon could hear his mothers docile voice, sweeter than those of the men whom sat around her. Her words blurred into a flurry of movement, her lips parts around the words he wasn't taking in.

He watched his mother. Seeing his lips in her mirror image, full and pink, a slight downtick in the right corner, a frown always threatening to take her tender disposition by the throat. He could see the shape of her eyes, wide like a doe, but all innocence was washed away by a bland rage that barely simmered beneath their dark pools of amber liquid, subdued and boring. She could see her picking at the skin of her nailbeds, a bad habit she never outgrew in her youth, a habit she passed onto Aegon, if his red and raw nails were a certain sign.

He could see so much of himself in Alicent, in his own mother, a mirror into Aegon's soul. But all she could see in Aegon was his father, and she despised him for it.

His gaze traversed from his mother, to the stoic statue was his brother. Foreboding and concealed all at the same time, Aemond was a fearsome foe.

Aemond spoke little, hums of approval passed his sealed lips, displeased puffs of air fled from his nose. When words did leave his lips, they were precise, vicious and cold in the manner, strait to the point, never one to flounder and flaunt with unnecessary grandeur. He spoke as if he were a worldlier man, knew the bitterments was war and what was required to secure their victory, through fire and blood, through destruction and death. Aegon didn't know if it meant their own destruction or their foes, Aemond's want for power knew now bounds.

It's what desired him to his Grandsire.

He saw a likeness in Aemond that he didn't see in Aegon, and he held hatred and resentment for his oldest grandson.

Aemond paid no mind to Aegon, as if he was not there, the chare beneath him empty, no figurehead to be seen. He spoke to the counsel with the convection of a King, hand perched on the hilt of his sword, as if ready to strike at any given moment, lest one of the lords spoke against him, as if it were treason.

As young boys, Aegon and Aemond were like most boys he supposed. They poked and prodded at one another, until one of them bled, pleading for the other for mercy, running and crying to their mother. Often it was Aegon tormenting Aemond for his lack of dragon, for being the boring little know it all, smacking him against in the training yard in the name of bettering his skills, but Aegon wanted his little brother to feel even just a moment of the bitter resentment he felt feasting in his insides, sloshing around with the sweetened wine he drank himself into a stupor with.

He wanted his brother to feel small, unwanted, unloved, just as he felt. But no matter what Aegon did, his brother would always have their mother behind him, caressing his with the tender touch he craved. The lick his wounds with her tender voice, chaste kisses to the crown to his head, all the while berating Aegon in the same breath.

Aegon knew he shouldn't have treated Aemond so, they were both circumstance of their family, they were the only people who could truly understand each other, but resentment flooded Aegon's bones, strengthening his hatred for everyone whom shared his blood, and couldn't taste the bitter bite of his flesh.

Aemond resented Aegon for what he was given, just because he had the audacity to be born first. He was given the crown of their founding family, he was given the undeserving respect of the smallfolk, he was given the time and energy the the King's counsel. He was given the best tutors and training teachers, but he never respected what has trust upon him, not in the way Aemond would have welcomed him. Now his brothers days were spent on the throne he desired so, drunk in his cups and stupidly stuttering around like the idiot Aemond has always known Aegon to be.

Aegon leaned back in his uncomfortable chair, hand reaching out to play with the ball before him, the marble feeling cool beneath his heated palms. He felt as of he were just melting into the wood beneath him, and no one seemed to notice.

Except...

A hand reached for his arm, a delicate little thing, decorated with gentle rings that glimmered in the afternoon light, shimmering shades of glittering gold, azure blue and brilliant emerald. The smooth skin of a palm caressed his forearm, thumb digging into the malleable skin beneath his wrist, as if she knew he was slowly floating away, grounding him to this moment, to her touch.

Oh but she....

She was a marvellous thing. Aegon hadn't seen anything so precious in his life, so delicate, so wonderfully beautiful. There weren't enough words in the world for Aegon to describe her, nothing could ever truly do her justice, and he had tried, many a times, much to her amusement.

The Lady Tyrell had been a gift Aegon knew he wasn't deserving of, it was as if the gods were cursing him to gaze upon the mirror of the Maiden, but never being good enough, strong enough, smart enough to be worthy of even a glimpse in his direction. Aegon would only think himself lucky enough to dream about her gentle touch, to be the lucky man whom would receive her affection, to have her smile at him in a manner he'd never seen a maiden smile before.

Her smile started small, only an upward pulling in the right corner of her lips, inch by inch, her pretty pink lips would stretch in the most delicious curve, revealing the pearls of her teeth, little creased would dip in the skin of her cheeks as she would freely smile, a crinkle would form in her nose, her eyes would glitter with a golden looking happiness, as if you were the centre of her world in that very moment, the very reason she was smiling, like you were the only thing that could make her happy.

Aegon wished he could bottle the feeling her smile encapsulated, pure and true happiness unlike anything Aegon has felt before.

How could a persons smile be so contagious?

Despite his reservations, the Lady Tyrell held no contempt for him. She gazed upon him as if she were seeing him for what he was and she was willing to accept him, bitter soul and all.

The Lady Tyrell squeezed his arm, only once, and it was enough to have Aegon retreating from the narrow tunnel he was burrowing himself into. His gazed picked up from the marble to look upon the visage of his wife.

His Wife.

They'd been married when they were ten and three respectively, much to young to be married, but as is the way Aegon supposed. He hadn't even been given the chance to speak with her, before it was announced in the King's Counsel that they were to be married.

But they've come a long way from those scared children they had been all those years ago.

But the one thing that hadn't changed, was the devotion and love she had bestowed upon Aegon. Day in and day out, there wasn't a moment in time where she didn't love him.

"Perhaps the counsel should take a breath" Her melodic voice pierced through his muffled thoughts, like it always did, his every being was tuned into every sound and moment she made.

"Pardon, your grace?" Lord Lannister paused a moment, looking at her with a look of confusion.

"You have been discussing for hours now" She mildly replied, keeping an easy smile on her lips, looking like the pliant woman they demanded she be. "If we were to be attacked by our foes, they would have done so already, surely you all see this"

"Just because it hasn't happened, does not mean it will not happen" Otto Hightower's condescending voice bounced around the room, looking down upon the Lady Tyrell, as if she were a speck of dirt on his boot.

Aegon clenched his fist, loathing that she was rained down upon by Otto's hatred because she was connected to Aegon.

She never seemed to waiver beneath his gaze, nodding demurely at the Hand, as if she were bending to his whims.

"I do not disagree my Lord" She announced. "But perhaps we have spoken on the themes of war for much to long"

"Your Grace, forgive me for speaking so candidly--"

"Then do not"

All eyes turned to Aegon, who for the first time since the counsel had gathered, had found himself voicing the words that had been rattling around in the back of his throat.

"The Queen has excused you" Aegon bluntly replied, leaning further back in his seat, pulling his arm along with him, turning it just so, allowing his palm to slide right along her. Their fingers gliding together like magnets pulling them together, locking them in place.

Aegon relished the feeling of her warm palm beneath his own, smooth skin against his own rough calloused skin, like silk against leather. The cool metal of her rings biting into his warm skin, a zinging shock to his system.

"Aegon, the counsel needs to speak about--" Alicent tried to gage her son back into the conversation, but Aegon was already detached from everything that was her.

"Your King has dismissed you" Aegon interrupted his mother.

Aegon looked to his mother, seeing her lips parted in surprise. She wasn't used to Aegon snapping at her so, he had always been so willing to bow to his mother, wishing for her affection in return.

But he now knew what love without restraints and conditions tasted like, he craved the affections of his wife, whom would willingly allow him to be loved without limits.

"Fuck off" Aegon waved off the counsel.

He didn't even watch as each member grumbled up their breath about something or the other. He didn't notice the shared look of concern on his Mother and Grandsires faces, he didn't see the glare Aemond had wagered his way, icy and void of any brotherly affection. He didn't see any of it, and if he had, he wasn't sure he would care.

Not when she was gazing upon him as she always had.

With love.

"You may have been too crass my love" She smiled as the last of the counsel left the room, the foreboding doors slamming closed behind Otto Hightower himself, sealing himself out of reach of the King.

"They are a bunch of power hungry cunts" Aegon shrugged.

"Be that as it may" She conceded with a soft smile. She pushed herself from her seat, keeping her hand within Aegon's, walking around her corner of the table, until she was standing directly beside the chair Aegon was currently lounging in. "They are here because they support your cause"

Aegon huffed a breath through his nose.

He used their connected hand to haul his wife's body into his lap, she fell willingly into his embrace, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders.

"I do not wish to speak about them anymore" Aegon announced, shifting his wife further into his lap, until the side of her body was pressed firmly against his chest, the warmth of her body radiating through the thick fabric of her dress.

"Then we shall not" She decided, resting her forehead against his temple.

In this moment, Aegon hadn't ever imagine he would feel a love like this. He couldn't have ever pictured someone would love him for what he was, not for what he could give them.

He placed a gentle kiss against her cheek, enticing a soft smile to paint her pink lips.

Whatever god had decided to bring the two lovers together, he was praying that nothing would bring them apart.

[amazinglyashy]

hello, idk if you're open but if you dooo, can you do HC of lads seeing MC being more...brutal? since we all know our mc is badass but kind right, but what if sometimes she slipped and her darkness come forth more than she usually let on? hahahah idk it just after all mc been through she's more than validated to be villain u kno. so yea! thankchuu

Just a heads up, I am ALWAYS open, it's just a matter of when I get to the request, so as long as you're patient, anyone can send in anything anytime!! :D And ooh, this is an interesting one, but something I've definitely thought about haha. MC's been through a lot, and I feel a lot of readers also have too, and there comes a point when you gotta say screw it, I'm mad now. (I'll also say I'm still really grumpy about how little we get regarding MC's grieving during certain points of the story, and the lack of how the Li's all react as well to the news, no matter how little they know about the situation :/) Thank you for the request <3 hope you enjoy!

Love and Deepspace Li's reaction to seeing you finally snap

Rafayel -

He's somehow... not surprised.

But can you blame him?

The amount of rage Rafayel carries in his heart is constantly, constantly threatening to bubble up to the surface and boil over the edges of his last remaining ounces of humanity. The amount of cruelty on the basis of pure rage that he could commit is not a volume that he is proud to carry, but something he carries heavily though.

So seeing you finally snap is... almost cathartic.

He knows what he's been through, hell- he knows a great deal of what you've been through. Even in the distant past. It would be a wonder if you weren't angry. If you weren't seeing things. If you hadn't 't been simmering up to your breaking point from microaggressions and trauma stacking up and up until-

Here you were.

And for him, it feels like you're doing something of your own volition- feeling something that was entirely your own. Devoid of any outside influence or need to be the kindest person in the room. To keep your head down, path straight and narrow.

And despite the sheer amount of power he possesses in comparison to you, he will admit if asked- that he was just a little bit afraid at first. Even if just for a moment.

And damn, he was proud of you.

Zayne -

Calmly, he watches you.

It's out of character, sure, given how you usually are. Even when you're rude or abrasive, it's never anywhere near... something quite like this.

But the other thing is- he has a good grasp on the human psychic, just from his medical knowledge, even though it isn't his main area of study. He knows what it takes to truly make someone snap, both from personal experience and from his findings in research.

He also knows the extent of things you have been through that have been building up, cumulating into this moment before him where you have finally just broken.

Depending on the level of rage and cruelty you reach, he may stop you, or he may let you go. Either way, his actions are calm and calculated, no matter how he might disagree with, agree with, or fear your actions. He knows someone needs to remain levelheaded in this situation, and he's more than capable of taking on that role.

Gods forbid once you calm down that you feel guilty. If what you did was uncalled for or wrong, he'll discuss it with you, but if there was justifications to your actions or experiences and trauma that had led you to your moment, he'll just pull you into a hug slowly, his expression even.

He'll say it if he needs to, but his actions will hopefully tell you that nothing, nothing you do will ever change his love for you.

Xavier -

He's startled.

He himself is used to having complete control over his emotions, to the point where he can disguise them exceedingly well to maintain a calm aura. So seeing you fully snap and head down a warpath, it's... shocking.

But he's not entirely surprised.

Honestly, he would be more surprised if you had never got this angry at all, given the things you had told him under the covers in his bed, after a particularly late night in his apartment watching movies together.

You've been through a lot.

He knows that.

He knows how it hurts.

So when you finally rage, it takes him a few moments for even the thought of stopping you to enter his mind. And even when it does, he first has to have a small battle internally on whether or not letting you go off and have your cathartic moment is better, even at the cost of a little bit of destruction.

He'll stop you if it's particularly dangerous though, even if it means having to wrestle you away from whatever it is that was taking the brunt of your anger.

Otherwise, he'll just let you go.

Whenever you're done though, if you dare try and steal a glance back towards him, afraid that you may have scared him or made him scared or angry with you-

He'll just flash you a small, comforting smile.

Sylus -

Sylus spends the majority of his time in a cesspool of seething rage, backstabbing psychopaths, and fake smiles that take advantage of the weak and needy.

Anger for himself, anger towards others, anger to benefit others who can't seem to get angry themselves-

If anyone knows what fury is, it's him. Whether secondhand, personally, or just being around it for so long, he knows the emotion intimately well and every single shape or form that it could possibly take.

Still, seeing you suddenly lose it is... surprising.

He likes it.

Not in a way where he's turned on necessarily (though it is an additional feeling), but the enjoyment stems from constantly seeing you put others before yourself- watching you make yourself small so that the people around you could be big- and now finally watching you take what you deserved in his eyes.

He won't intervene unless you're doing something he knows you'll deeply regret later, instead favoring watching you until you've burnt out and finished to the end.

He's mostly quiet, he knows it's probably not something you want to talk about, like most people wouldn't want to after a particularly vicious outburst in an argument. But he can't help a few small comments.

"I'm surprised. I never thought the kitten had such big claws. You really surprised me, sweetie."

[nervousd]

The Redemption of Earl Nottingham

#SYNPOSIS . Unable to stand your husband any longer you decide to flee from him

#WARNING(S) . Controlling husband, possessiveness, character death, arranged marriage, violence, brief description of blood.

#CHARACTER(S) . Earl Nottingham

How did it end up like this?

Being confined to your own chambers like a child while your husband belittled you for entertaining the advances of men. You were innnocent and yet your husband believed the words of others. As a woman of virtue and a married one at that— it appalled you that your husband would dare think of you as a harlot. At the end of your argument you were left with a ghostly complexion and your husband seething in rage.

You cried and yelled for him to let you out or for anyone to release you. But there was no response, only the echoes of your own pleas bouncing off the walls. No one would help you, having no source of companionship— not that you had any before. Seeing as how your husband has refrained you from attending any social events. It was just you and the various amount of books stacked in their shelf. When your had ran out of tears only a simmering fury threatened to erupt underneath your skin. You had vowed there and than, to refuse and be kept as a prisoner. How dare he act like a husband! For years he had ignored your very precense in this manor and now he believes he has some say over you?

And so what if you did entertain that mans advances?! He was kind, handsome and an honorable man. How could you not? When your husband could barley hold a torch against him. And now— he dare to act in such a manner? You raged— oh how you raged. You had been treated unfairly your whole life you couldn't bare it any longer. You would leave this manor and forsake this accursed marriage. It was a scandalous decision— but not one you would think twice.

The soft tap on the door broke your sense of thoughts, creaking open revealing a maid holding a tray, “ I have brought you lunch, madam “ the maid announced, her voice was devoid of any warmth. Before the maid could offer the tray, you had pushed her aside. Startled, the maid stumbled back, bewildered by your act of aggression. You hurried past her without a word, leaving the maid standing in the corridor. Your footsteps echoed loudly against the polished floor— not that you cared. You were leaving this mansion and for good. Suddenly, your husband appeared at the end of the corridor where they connected with the stairs leading down towards the front door— towards freedom. His eyes were ablaze with anger as he intercepted your path.

Your husband— Ian Nottingham, stood tall and imposing. His dark disheveled hair fell slightly around his angular face, framing his green eyes with an ominous look. His scar traced a jagged path on his left cheek— a reminder of the battle he fought and the wounds that have left him scarred. In the years, you've been married to him not once did you fully look at him. He was a terrifying man— with unpredictable behavior; he would throw fits of anger that shook the manor whole. His brows were furrowed into creases, adding into the intensity of his gaze. His jaw was set in a firm line, betraying the conflict within him.

“What?” His voice rumbled with venom. “Do you find me even more repulsive up close? Hmm?” Fury twisted his face as he spat the words. His hand shot out, gripping your wrist tightly, causing you to cry out in pain from his rough handling. His imposing frame loomed over you, the flickering candles casting ominous shadows on his face. He was terrifying, “Is that why you were unfaithful? Was the baron so charming? Did that snake promise you eternal love?” he snarled, shaking your wrist violently.

With tears in your eyes, you shouted, “Think of it however you want!” You pulled at your wrist, struggling fiercely against his grip. His jaw locked, “No matter what you do to try to change this, dearest, you are still my wife in the eyes of both men and heaven, and I your husband “

It felt as if the world was shattering around you. Husband? How dare he call himself that? He had spent an eternity ignoring you—the same man who took you to the altar and made vows. “My husband? Do you really have the right to call yourself that? You never treated me as a wife! This marriage is over!”

Anger twisted his face into a contorted mask of rage, his green eyes flashing with a volatile mix of fury and jealousy. His jaw clenched so tightly it seemed like it might shatter, and his nostrils flared as if struggling to contain a storm within. His brows drew together into a dark scowl, the muscles in his forehead bunching in a way that made his anger almost palpable. Every line in his face seemed to deepen with the intensity of his emotions, reflecting not just a burning anger but also a bitter, jealous hurt that cut deeper than any physical blow. The very air around him seemed to crackle with his overwhelming sense of fury and resentment.

“Did you truly love him?” he demanded, his voice cold and harsh. It felt like speaking to a wall; his rage was the only thing driving him now. His grip on your wrist tightened to the point of pain, and you could feel the bruising pressure already forming, “ Ow! Let go!” you cried out, struggling against his unyielding hold, “ You cannot escape me! Even in death you shall not leave! Even if this cursed manor collapsed around us!”

Straining to free yourself from his iron grip, you felt a deepening frustration with each desperate tug. “Why are you doing this to me?!” you demanded, your voice breaking with a mix of anger and hurt. “What did I ever do to you?!” The resentment in your voice was palpable, each word a testament to the pain and bewilderment of feeling so unjustly targeted. You managed to break free from his grasp, quickly gathering the sides of your dress in your hands as you hurried away. Glancing back over your shoulder, you shouted, “I refuse to stay here any longer! I can’t spend the rest of my life trapped here like a ghost!”

“You can’t keep me her—!” you yelled, but as you rushed down, your foot had slipped on the edge of the stairs. Instantly, the world tilted as you lost your balance. A cold dread filled your chest as time seemed to stretch, and you felt yourself falling. Each step hit with a jarring thud, and the sharp, unforgiving edges of the stairs seemed to blur together. Finally, you crashed onto the floor below with a heavy thump, pain radiating through your body. The force of the impact left you gasping for breath, your vision momentarily darkening as you lay sprawled, disoriented and bruised. The room seemed to spin around you as you tried to regain your senses, each breath coming in ragged gasps.

A warm trickle of blood began to flow underneath your sprawled hair, staining the floor beneath you. The room swam around you as you lay sprawled, the metallic scent of blood mingling with the sharp pain, and you struggled to catch your breath, the darkness closing in at the edges of your vision.

The last thing you saw, was your husband crying out in anguish. Sobbing uncontrollably, hands clutching his face, eyes wide and frantic as he called your name over and over.

A smile crept across your lips.

You suppose you can find some solace in that—if your life, given in exchange for freedom, caused even a single moment of despair for him. That’s enough to ease your soul.

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃

ㅤㅤwoodshop teacher!joel miller x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni

word count: 2k

summary: there are many advantages to enrolling in a woodshop class: drawing you away from not-so-happy thoughts, relearning something that you enjoyed doing when you were a kid, and, well, the sight of watching mr. miller do something he’s undeniably good at.

warnings: semi-public fingering, dirty talk, reader has a small exhibitionism kink, competency kink

a/n: special thanks to the anon who requested this! I enjoyed writing it thoroughly ❤️‍🔥

There are many advantages to enrolling in a woodshop class: drawing you away from not-so-happy thoughts, relearning something that you enjoyed doing when you were a kid, and, well, the sight of watching Mr. Miller do something he’s undeniably good at.

The sleeves of his flannel were rolled neatly up to the elbow, exposing his forearms, strong and dusted lightly with sawdust from earlier. You watch intently as Mr. Miller takes the carving tool in his hands, demonstrating how to use it to the class. You’re out of breath. Completely entranced by the way his muscles flex and ripple in his forearms - beautifully defined beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel shirt. Unlike the other students who take in the information in a more appropriate way, all you can focus on is the gathering wetness between your legs. 

So much so that you don’t even realize that Mr Miller had instructed the class to start carving. You’re dumbfounded when you suddenly find the man staring right in front of your working bench, staring down at you with an amused gaze. 

“Sometin’ wrong with your tools?” 

Heat rushes to your cheeks. God. You’re an idiot. You open and close your mouth, he’s so close—close enough that you can breathe in his scent which you identify as pine. 

“No—No. Just. . .” 

He leans over the bench, his hands landing on the edge, fingers spreading over the smooth surface. Your eyes drop almost by instinct. You see the faint scars littered across his skin. 

“Distracted?” he finishes your sentence for you. You meet his gaze, heart beating in your throat, you expect to see an expression showing you that you’ve been caught doing something bad but much to your surprise, you see the lingering traces of worry. “We should talk ‘bout it after class. Sound good?” 

Does he really not see the state you’re in? That you’re practically soaked to your core—ready to say yes to anything that comes out of his plush lips. Is he that oblivious to his charm?

“Yeah,” you mutter, grabbing one of the carving tools sprawled out. You wrap your fingers around the material, squeezing it, your thumb faintly caresses the contour. His eyes flicker at the subtle movement. “Sounds good.” 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on or are we goin’ to continue to have a stare-down until my next class?” 

He’s smiling, however, it does little to calm your raging nerves. It’s been almost ten minutes since class had ended. A class that truly tested the limits of your patience. You barely managed to carve a line, your eyes were fixed on him, his hands, his arms. . . Your mind showed you one image after another, forcing you to think of the answer to questions like: how big is his cock? How fast could he make you come with just his fingers? 

Fuck, the thought alone is enough to make you weak in the knees. 

“Sorry,” you blurt out, coming closer to the desk. “Today will be the last time, promise.” 

He hums as he leans back into the chair, his legs parting. You feel another fresh wave of arousal coursing through you. “Do you know how long you’ve been taking my workshop?” 

“Uh. . . three weeks?” 

“Good,” he nods. “And can you tell me how many times I caught you just starin’ instead of doin’?” 

“A. . . reasonable amount?” 

He cocks an eyebrow, “Not a reasonable amount.” When you remain silent, simmering in your own embarrassment, he continues. “It looks like I ain’t the right teacher for you. And I care whether people learn a thing or two in my class so I wrote you down a number.” 

He rolls back a bit, opening the drawer, he picks up a card. You’re completely in shock as he stands, handing you the aforementioned card. When you look at it you see the name Tommy Miller written on it along with a phone number. 

“That’s my brother,” he explains. “He has a different approach than I do. Younger too, which may benefit you.” 

“I. . . what? Are—Are you kicking me out of your class?” 

You can’t help the quiver that accompanies your question. You’re an idiot. A huge idiot. You made him think that he’s no good in teaching which couldn’t be further from the truth. Still in shock, you stare down at the card and back up to him. He seems just as surprised as you are.

“No, no, I ain’t kickin’ you out. I just. . . I thought this would help. I didn’t mean to. . .” 

“It’s your hands—” you finally snap, taking him by surprise. Your brain is screaming at you to shut up but you can’t. Not knowing what else to do, you cover your face with both hands, breathing heavily into your palms. Your wood carving career is over. “You just—shit—you just look so good doing what you do and it’s been so long since—well, it’s just really distracting,” you feel the card with his brother’s number slip through your fingers, he’s not saying anything. Fuck. “That’s why I was. . . distracted. It has nothing to do with you or your teaching style. You’re great.” 

You should let yourself out now. You really should. 

“You think I look good?” The quip catches you off guard and you dare to lower your hands. He’s smiling again, beaming actually, he looks thoroughly pleased with himself. You blink. 

“You really didn’t know?” 

“Nope,” he looks down sheepishly. “I ain’t good at readin’ signs and it’s been long for me too.” 

He takes a step closer, pushing you back until the edge of the desk is biting into your flesh. Your breath stutters. He cages you in, muscular arms on both sides of your hips. He tilts his head and kisses your cheek. You close your eyes at the brush of his lips. His hands toy with the zipper of your jeans. “Tell me what you were thinkin’ durin’ class and maybe I’ll give you a gold star.” 

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out, rolling your hips forward. He grins against your skin. “I. . .I thought about your hands and how they would feel like. I also thought about—” 

You cut yourself off. He prompts you to continue by lowering the zipper. “You also thought about what?” he murmurs. “Don’t be a bad girl now. I know you wanna be good for me.” 

You do. You really fucking do. 

“I thought about how big your cock might be,” you gasp. “I thought about how good it would feel to have you inside me.” 

Mr Miller takes your hand and brings it to the rather impressive bulge between his legs. Your body warms as you cup him gingerly. Despite the soft touch, his eyes still roll back. “Why don’t you tell me how big I am?” he murmurs, thrusting into your palm. Fuck, he feels huge underneath the denim. 

“Really big,” you answer, stroking him. “You’re huge Mr Miller—” 

“Joel,” he groans. “Call me Joel.” 

“Joel,” you moan. “Joel. Are you going to fuck me with this big cock of yours?” 

He chuckles, “Sadly no. We can’t now but. . .” You shudder at the feeling of his teeth nipping at your chin. He pushes back your hand and swiftly tugs down your pants. “I’ll give you my fingers, sweetheart. Want to feel you creamin’ around them.” 

You tremble at his touch. Two thick fingers moving between your dripping lips, spreading them, teasing your entrance. Your breath hitches as he swirls the pads of his fingers around your clit. You melt against him, forehead falling to the front of his shoulder as he circles, circles and circles them. Your slick coats his fingers, trickles down his wrist. Those skillful hands now a mess. 

“You weren’t kiddin’,” he says into your hair. “You’re fuckin’ soaked for me.” 

“For you,” you agree, grinding your hips. “Give them to me. Please please please—” 

“Shhhhhh keep quiet or I’m gonna have to spank ya—” A wanton moan rips from your throat and you pulse, a gush of liquid drenching you both. The sounds that come out of you are obscene. “You like that huh?” 

You nod desperately. His chest trembles as he lets out a low chuckle. “So honest. ‘Guess you deserve a reward.” 

His fingers slide into you with ease, two of them sliding in and out, the heel of his palm pressing into your clit every time he plunges them deep inside. “Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, scissoring his fingers. “How are you this worked up? How the fuck are you so wet? Shit sweetheart—” 

You know. You know how wet you are. He thrusts his fingers knuckle deep, curling them, liquid heat drips down your spine, every muscle tensing with the promise of release. The sounds of him fucking you fills the workshop. The door is unlocked, you know this, there was no reason for either of you to think of locking it before. The thought of people seeing, someone watching—

Your head falls back as a whimper slips from your lips, his eyes find your own, dark with arousal. His thumb rubs at your clit. “Tell me,” he orders. 

“You have class soon,” you oblige, the thought making you clench. His brows furrow. 

“Yeah?” 

“People might see,” you add, just a hint of a teasing lilt in your voice. Your tone goes completely over Joel’s head, the tease prompting his fingers to still. Your groan in frustration, hips desperately jerking for the friction to continue.  

“You wanna stop?” 

“No, Joel. I. . .” Oh god, you can’t word it out. It’s making you flustered. “It’s kinda hot. . . that people might see.” 

“Oh,” he blinks then a second later his lips curl into a mischievous smile. “Oh.” 

And when he understands where you’re coming from—all hell breaks loose. 

Joel pushes you up the desk, nestling himself between your legs, your muscles left trembling at the stretch. He slips in another finger, fucking you thoroughly with three of them. Your jaw goes slack, your body burning from the inside out. You try to bite back the sounds but it’s hard when you’re left so exposed. It feels good—it feel amazing. You’re stammering over your words, somewhere between wanting to beg him and wanting to tell him how mind-numbingly beautiful this feels. His fingers stroke your deepest parts, applying pressure on just the right spot. 

“If you can’t handle this there’s no way you can take my cock, honey.” Your breasts feel heavy and full, nipple going hard at the gravel in his voice. You want to touch him so bad, have his cock in your mouth, worship him with your entire body. “Come on, sweetheart, let me feel how good your pussy feels when you come. Fuckin’ make a mess of the desk. I’ll just fuckin’ make a new one and you can soak that one too—” 

You’re chanting his name with hushed whispers, over and over. A familiar heat and tingle settles in your stomach, your cunt fluttering around his fingers, it doesn’t take you long after that. He keeps moaning about how good you’re feeling, about how he’ll be thinking about your perfect wet pussy when the next class starts. It’s all too much. Unbearable. 

“Look at me,” he growls and you barely hear him. He slips his fingers into the knots of your hair and yanks your head back. Your eyelids flutter as you stare directly at him. He bares his teeth. “Fuckin’ come for me.” 

Your jaw drops, all care about keeping silent floating from your head as the most guttural moan rips from your throat. It’s so intense that you can physically feel yourself creaming around him, the slick at base of his finger a shade darker. “Atta girl,” he keeps saying into your mouth, over and over. You’re still coming, your insides left throbbing and raw. 

The two of you stay like that for a while. His fingers still knuckle deep, panting heavily, both your bodies glistening with sweat. His forehead falls against yours and you sigh happily, a smile touching your lips. 

You expect him to kiss you but he doesn’t, it almost feels like he’s holding himself back. Instead, he brushes your lips together, expression almost painful. 

“You got any plans for tonight?” 

You shake your head. 

“Can I take you to dinner?” 

[multiverse-sparkles]

Your kiss is burning to my skin — S. Rogers and B. Barnes.

summary: steve and bucky break up with you to focus on their relationship. at first, you took the breakup hard. then you took it worse.

pairings: steve x reader x bucky, stucky x reader.

warnings: angst, language, mentions of violence, poly.

chapter one

“it has nothing to do with you, doll.” bucky reiterates, tone mellowing into a small hesitant whisper as he sees you flinch at the endearment. “i mean you were wonderful and so lovely; always understanding us, being the pillar for support and providing us, always with positive reinforcements.” steve squeezes his hand as his form of support, as if willing bucky to take strenght from him to continue his words as he stutters.

the tender moment was not missed by your gaze that were intent on the supersoldiers who sat at the sofa infront of you. the parallels already evident; steve and bucky, leaning to eachother for comfort, sitting in one sofa. the only distance in the room were with you and them; sat in the lone one seater, listening with bated breath to their reasons on why they were breaking your heart.

you could guess several other scenarios happening when you returned from the three week mission requiring radio silence; a breakup was not one of them.

you were happy. the last time you saw either of them, you three went on a romantic date followed by a passionate night spent in eachother's loving arms. the next day was a tearful exchange of goodbye's and unwillingness to part; bucky had almost begged to be included, knowing what the mission entailed. steve inteded to be more diplomatic and barter with tony who refused to budge on his stance.

so with a heavy heart, you departed to cold and frigid terrorist base along with natasha and sam, throwing yourself into your duties in order to come home soonest. even with the support and extensive planning aswell as research, it still took a considerable amount of time.

but not enough for a drastic change of heart— or so you thought.

the steely and determined gaze to steve, the way bucky could look at you in the eyes despite shifting in his seat; they were fucking serious. and intent on expressing their disatisfaction with your current arrangement. one that was implicitly expressed as you trek to your floor, and sat you down after an almost hostile welcome.

“this hurts us more than you.” bucky exhales, looking at steve.

“i doubt it.” the first words you spoke amid all these crazy tirade sounded weak, from disuse and the emotions welling up in your throat. “but please, by all means, don't let me interrupt. why now?”

“we have been talking and spending time with eachother.. unconsciously, we thought about... how we missed it when it was just us.”

you flinch. again. in the field you were almost fearless, and not even a flying knife can make you swerve— you'd catch the weapon whizing to the air with precise movements. turns out, words indeed cut deeper.

but all the more of the implication that it had been them first; and the way it sounded, you were an unwelcomed participant into the special connection they shared.

“but this is not to say we don't value you.” steve intones. “we do. you have to know that. you're special in your own way, but bucky and i have something deeper than just flesh.”

you bite your tongue to refrain from lashing out. as a coping mechanism, you entertain the anger for his fucking audacity. letting the rage simmer under the blank farce you currently wear.

“we just hope, we can focus on eachother more.” steve elaborates, tensing the slightest at your emotionless response. to be frank, both men were ready for a fight, for you to scream and be hysterical. but you were surprisingly calm and collected. which made both uneasy.

“we just want to fall inlove again, without worrying about, others.” he refers you as others now. “could be permanent, could be a thought in passing.” bucky says. “the only thing we're certain about is a break.” he evasively looks away.

“i guess what bucky and i are trying to say is that, we want more from eachother, and there are certain deeper connections that we can't sustain in a three-way relationship.” steve informs you.

“i respect that.” you run your clammy hands on your tactical gear, they couldn't wait until you were dressed and atleast fed before shoving flowery words on your throat. “but if you're breaking up with me, say it bluntly; tell me honestly, tell it in words i understand- you were a good lay but it's actually eachother we love.” you enunciate the word slowly, “and don't delude me with kind words, when i know you're going to dangle the very statements you spewed over my head, most likely in days when you're fucked up or too lonely for eachother. i will not be tripped into your bed ever again.”

you despised the words as soon as they left your mouth; the statements only providing to fuel your deepest insecurity. and it was unfair to both of them, you knew it was.

steve and bucky looked visibly wretched by your words, yet you ignore it, telling yourself to get used to not caring about either of them.

“doll”

“darling”

“don't fucking call me that.” you hiss, both men still in their seat. “we're done.” gathering whatever was left of your dignity, you trudge to the doors and out of their lives.

the door closed behind you, your own apartment looking stale as opposed to the home you have built with steve and bucky; you barely stayed here anyways, but kept it for storage reasons. it still had stark's touch, feeling more like a hotel penthouse, appearing cold and detatched.

you slide down against the door weakly, losing the false bravado infront of your ex lovers. as if a child, you hug your knees to your chest, sobbing into it unbashedly.

three years all down the drain. and they talked about it as if it were a skin deep connection, downplaying every single moment; in tenderness, in affection, in tears and the joy.

you didn't lie down with them in their bed as an extension, as a woman that can be tossed in passing.

you didn't hold them gently in your arms, and provided the warmth the world has chosen to keep from them just to be a stranger.

you didn't whisper words of comfort in their ears, in the middle of the night when the nightmares became too much to handle, just to be someone shallow and unimportant in their lives.

most importantly, you didn't love them to be hurt like this.

the pain cuts deep in your heart, like a throbbing wound, one you feel physically; one that leaves you gasping for breath, a hand held above your heart, feeling as if you could die. your chest tight, your throat welling up, you struggle to remain above ground, eyes darting around the room to keep in the moment- fuck, you were having a panic attack.

you despised when that happens. hated the sheer fact that you would allow yourself to be vulnerable when there were things that needed to be done; people that need saving, reports to be made, meetings to attend. you led a remotely chaotic life and the only thing that truly anchored you in here, to the now, turned their backs to you.

they no longer want you.

you swallowed heavily, arms instinctively hugging yourself, eyes squinting in an an attempt at concentration; color, you looked at your surroundings, dizzily naming the grey of your couch, the ivory white lamp, the silver and gold of the chandelier. your forehead was beaded with perspiration, breath coming out in shorts despite your attempts at distracting yourself.

“agent y/n, your blood pressure is fluctuating; your heart rate is abnormal which can cause the brain and other ogans to become oxygen deprived. i concluded a physical scan and deduced your emotional distress," FRIDAY “i'm at liberty to ask if i should call captain rogers and sergeant barnes, as they are—”

“no!” you managed to shout between strangled breaths, patting your chest methodolically hoping whatever it was, seemingly dislodged into your airways be cleared.

“agent y/n, in accordance to the tower's protoccol, i am hardwired to inform your immediate contacts of your current state of distress.” her posh voice inserts. and despite yourself, you groan.

“i'm peachy, fri.” you lean your head back to the door, closing your eyes and focusing on your breathing. slowly, you were able to calm down enough, “it's probably the best time to change those emergency contacts, aswell. while you're at it, remove the captain and sergeant's access to this floor; both physically and even in information.”

“ofcourse, agent y/n. please state your official badge number and code.” when you answer her, FRIDAY appears to repeat your command before doing what was asked.

“i also elected the sensible decision of reinstating agent romanov as your primary emergency contact. that being said, ms. romanov is on the way to your floor.” FRIDAY disappears before you can scold her, which made you truly contemplate wether she was conscious and, in all actuality sensitive to human emotions.

perhaps, she does have an inkling of human relationships and intense emotions, but that was no longer your concern; considering you have a black widow shaped problem coming your way. and natasha romanov was nothing, if not immensely stubborn and perpetually perceptive. you were several times screwed over.

however, as she appeared in your doorway, the waterworks resumed ten times over, and you were sobbing pathetically in the red head's arms, lamenting your broken heart.

you couldn't remember for how long you've stayed immobile in your room, but it had been several days; perhaps a week or two that you cried your heart out, barely consuming meals unless for sustenance. that in itself seemed like a chore for your aching muscle, your tired and weary bones protesting with every single movements.

this morning though... this morning, it was sunny and bright. you'd opened the curtains with much effort, peering into the bustling city; the skyline providing you with displaced warmth. a few years ago, you'd only ever dreamt about being in new york; and you've lived it. becoming an avenger was also a dream you've worked hard in achieving, and here you are, fighting alongside the heroic and brave on normal tuesdays.

should you allow yourself to wither away in a dark room, heart terribly battered and bruised when the world was set for conquering? well, perhaps it would be insensitive to use the c word; cringing to yourself upon the remembrance of several otherplanetary creatures wreaking havoc on your home planet, like it were a free for all.

you enjoyed the warmth of the sun on your skin for a few moments, allowing yourself to finally, breathe. you bask in the first time upon weeks that you thought positively for a change; so wreaked from questioning every single thing wrong about you.

for the first time in many days, you took the longest shower in history, setting the temperature just a touch scalding. you cleaned your room, changed the sheets, and donned yourself in a decent jeans and a t-shirt combo. grabbing your purse, and stuffing your phone, wallet and keys along with you, you departed from your room.

on the way to the garage, you texted both wanda and natasha; who have been at your side with the outmost vigor, crying and cursing both the supersoldiers as you wept from your broken heart.

you: mall and galiani's at the grove? :)

wands: yes!! meet you there <3

natty: otw in my sensible shoes.

you smiled softly, thankful for your friends. it may have spread like wildfire among your colleagues in the tower, and the magic six may have taken sides and pointed fingers; but amongst all the drama, you were glad that you had people to count on.

it may take a while for you to feel like yourself again... but you were willing to make it work.

[sweetbutpsychobutsweet]

Knock Before Entering

Chapter 13

Thorin Oakenshield x AFAB!Reader

Summary: Thorin will have to exercise a great amount of restraint to not maim Kili and Fili, and when it comes time to grace the Wandering Widow with an encore performance you will have to find a way to take the stage with the rest of the company being none the wiser.

Warnings: no use of y/n, angst, 18+, NSFW, minors do not interact, brief descriptions of bloody wounds/injuries, mentions of sex work if you squint

Author's Note: This chapter ended up being waaaaaay longer than anticipated so I've broken it up into multiple sections. Which means the next one is already mostly done🥳 Thank you all so much for the love for the previous chapters and the cockblocking nephews😂

Word count: 2505

“Sooo,” Kili tries to suppress a smile as you pull the last shards of glass from the cut on his hand. “How long has this been going on?” He looks over his shoulder at his uncle, who is sitting in a chair across the room. Arms crossed over his chest and a scowl etched on his face, Thorin hasn’t said a word since you were cock blocked by his nephews. Instead, he elected to just pull his shirt back on and remain in the room, brooding in the corner while you patched up Kili.

Fili still remains in the doorway, refusing to step foot in the room as if that will help save him from his uncle’s simmering rage.

“You know I have some sewing supplies,” you remind Kili. “If you irritate me enough I could decide this wound is in dire need of stitches.”

“He only wants to know whether we won the bet or not,” Fili sighs from the doorway.

You lift a brow in question, not lifting your gaze as you continue cleaning his brother’s wound. “The entire company placed bets on how long it would take the two of you to jump into bed together.”

Your head snaps up, immediately looking over at Thorin. He doesn’t meet your gaze, he just tips his head back to the ceiling with a heavy sigh.

“When did this happen?” you scoff.

“In Bag-end,” Kili winces when you start to apply the salve to his palm. “The others will be relieved to hear the wait is over.”

“The others don’t need to know,” you warn him as you reach for the roll of gauze beside you. As you do you catch Thorin’s gaze. Finally falling back on you, his eyes are filled with an emotion you can’t quite place.

You had expected him to agree with you. But instead, he looks…surprised. Like he hadn’t expected you to be so adamant about hiding your complicated relationship from the others.

Everything is still so messy and new. You don’t even know what you would call it yet.

You’re certainly not courting. Thorin could never be formally involved with someone from your background. He is a king. And a king is meant to marry a proper lady of good standing. Not a rebellious half-dwarf such as yourself. If there’s one you know, it’s that you are not meant to be his queen.

So does that make you… lovers? The term makes you cringe. It implies a much longer relationship than the situation will allow. This will only last as long as the journey to Erebor. Thorin will marry another and you will be on your way with the mountain at your back once again. This is all meant to be a temporary arrangement. If anything, it feels more like you have stumbled across an alternative way to tolerate each other’s presence.

These days it feels like the two of you only get along when you have your limbs are tangled together in secret.

And Thorin hasn’t exactly gone out of his way to make your relationship known to the others. He isn’t the kind of person to indulge in any kind of public displays of affection or to insist on putting a label on whatever it is the two of you have. Perhaps you misinterpreted his desire for privacy as an agreement to keep your relationship a secret.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost say Thorin looks hurt that you want to hide it. The look he gives you brings a stab of guilt into your chest. Tearing your gaze from him, you busy yourself with binding Kili’s hand. Whether you misread things or not, Thorin still takes your side regardless.

“What either of us do behind closed doors is no one else’s business,” he grumbles at his nephews. “Let this be a lesson to the both of you on the courtesy of knocking before entering.”

“Did uncle knock before entering you?” Kili whispers with a smirk and Thorin jumps from the chair so quickly it clatters to the floor. Fili leaps from his place in the doorway fast enough to block his path to Kili.

You quickly tie off the bandage and rise to your feet, inserting yourself between Fili and Thorin before they can start throwing punches.

“That’s enough,” you hiss at the both of them. Thorin still has murder in his eyes as he towers over you, glaring at his nephews.

“He was only joking,” Fili defends his brother, who’s now come to stand at his shoulder.

“I don’t want to hear either of you speak about her in such a manner again,” Thorin growls at them.

“Please forgive me,” Kili looks at you with a genuine nod of remorse, before stifling a laugh when he whispers “auntie” under his breath.

Thorin goes to take another step towards him as the two start to snicker. You bring a firm hand to his chest before he can make it past you. “Quit it,” you hiss as you shoot a warning look his way. You can feel the barely suppressed growl in his chest beneath your fingertips, but he does as you say and remains planted firmly in place. Keeping your hand on his chest, you turn to look over your shoulder at the boys.

“We’re done here, so you’re both going to go back to your room and go to bed.” You instruct. “And neither of you will breathe a word of this to anyone. Otherwise, those eagles will send you back to your mother in pieces. Understand?”

They both nod their heads grimly. Knowing better than to test you when you’re this close to resorting to violence. They silently turn to leave.

You walk them out. Latching the door firmly closed behind them and sliding the lock in place.

Letting your hand linger on the rusted metal, you dread turning to face Thorin now that it’s just the two of you again.

This time being alone together doesn’t carry the same implication. The moment has officially passed. The previous mood dead and buried.

With a steadying breath, you turn to face him. And just as you predicted Thorin is looking at you with an expression you’re all too familiar with lately.

“Care to explain what that was about?” he crosses his arms over his chest again.

“You’re the one who didn’t lock the door,” you deflect as you brush past him to the bed. Beginning to pick up the discarded supplies and tossing them back into your bag.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” he grumbles. “Why didn’t you want them to tell the others?”

“Why is that so wrong?” you turn to face him again, a hand on your hip. “Are you obligated to keep the company informed on everyone you sleep with?”

“No, but I don’t feel the need to go out of my way to hide it.”

“If you want to be the one to answer the endless tirade of questions about us, be my guest Thorin,” you roll your eyes. “Questions that I’m not sure either of us even have the answer to.”

“Only because we haven’t discussed it,” he reminds you.

“Is that really how you want to pass the time now that they’re gone?” you set a hand on your hip with a scoff. “Talking?”

He clenches his jaw, taking a step closer to you.

Your breath catches in your chest as you look up at him towering over you.

“I can’t help how much you infuriate me,” he growls, bringing a hand up to run through your hair. “No one drives me as crazy as you do.” His hand slowly comes to the side of your face, caressing your cheek.

“Every time you open your mouth I lose control.” He starts to trace your bottom lip with his thumb, watching in awe as you wrap your lips around the digit, beginning to suck. He growls as you gently scrape your teeth over his skin.

His other hand wraps around your waist, beginning to pull you in closer to him. You bring your hands to his chest, sliding them up the hard planes of his pectorals.

As your hands slide up, his starts to slide down. He grabs a handful of the soft flesh of your ass, eliciting a moan from you around his thumb.

Knock knock

You both groan and turn to glare at the offending door yet again.

“Not now,” Thorin shouts but the knocking persists.

Reluctantly stepping away from you with a huff, Thorin stalks over to the door. Unlatching it and yanking it open roughly.

Gandalf stands in the doorway. “Apologies for the interruption,” he says. Not looking the least bit sorry as his gaze bounces between the two of you in a knowing look.

“Can this wait?” Thorin grumbles at the wizard.

“I’m afraid not,” he replies, “we need to discuss the path we’re going to take for the journey ahead. The others are already gathered down in the kitchen for supper.”

“Very well,” he huffs, looking over his shoulder at you. “Shall we?”

“Actually,” Gandalf raises a hand to halt you both before you can head out the door. “Your assistance is needed in the tavern.”

He gives you a pointed look and you sneak a glance out the window behind you. The sun is already going down. You had promised Bertram you would put on your encore performance at sunset tonight.

“Ah yes,” you clear your throat, “I…promised one of the barmaids I would help her with some… lady troubles.”

Thorin raises a brow in confusion. “Can’t it wait? You’ll miss supper.”

“Oh, I’m afraid lady troubles never wait. I’ll join you all later.”

You shoulder your way past the two of them, Thorin looking confused at your abrupt departure.

You shoot Gandalf a pointed look as you head for the stairs and he gives you a small nod in understanding. You can only hope that he fulfills his promise to keep the company occupied long enough for you to secure the night's lodgings

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

“You’re late,” Bertram grumbles from behind the bar. “The crowd’s starting to get antsy.” He nods to the restless patrons filling the dimly lit room. The musicians are already tuning their instruments and drunken folk from the nearby towns gather around the stage impatiently.

Considering it was on such short notice, you’re quite impressed word traveled this quickly. You already recognize many regulars in the audience from when you would take to the stage on a nightly basis.

“Apologies,” you mumble while pulling up the sheer fabric at your chest yet again. “I had some wardrobe troubles.”

Either you’re misremembering how uncomfortable the costume was or it’s somehow become tighter and itchier since the last time you wore it.

There are several loose layers of fabric over your hips and chest that are meant to be removed with a flourish throughout the performance. But it’s the pieces underneath that cling tightly to your body. They cover the only parts that will be left to the imagination so you don't want to risk them slipping off.

“Pretty sure this is the only profession where wardrobe malfunctions work to your benefit sweetheart,” he scoffs nodding to the musicians on stage to signal your arrival.

“Now break a leg, and make me some money,” he waves you off and you saunter away towards the stage.

The musicians begin to strum the opening of a familiar melody and the crowd starts to hoot and holler as you slowly climb the steps to center stage.

Blowing a kiss and waving to the crowd your feet tread a familiar path as your hips start to sway, seemingly of their own accord.

Muscle memory kicks in as you let yourself get carried away by the music. Swaying and twirling, smiling and winking as the onlookers cheer.

The music rises to a crescendo and with a roll of your neck and a flip of your hair, you begin to ever so slowly slip the fabric off of your shoulders.

It flutters to the ground, leaving nothing but a long strip of fabric covering your upper body.

Everyone cheers, and you lift your arms above your head with a dazzling smile. Maintaining the pose just long enough for them to drink in the sight.

Continuing your path across the stage, familiar patrons start to clamber closer to the edge of the stage. You’ve done this routine so many times they know the grand finale is drawing near.

With another spin, you quickly slip the tie at your hip free. Holding it taut in your hand your eyes quickly scan for a volunteer.

A big burly man with a long beard calls out your name with a cheer, holding his drink high overhead in a toast. You extend the piece of fabric out to him and he gladly accepts.

“Hold on tight,” you instruct with a wink and he does exactly that. Holding the end of the fabric in place, you begin to twirl away from him in a whirlwind, the skirt unraveling around you as you do so.

The crowd goes wild as the rest of the fabric disappears, sliding down your legs to pool at your feet as you strike another pose showing off your now bare legs.

Gingerly stepping over the pile of fabric you resume your dance, twirling to the other end of the stage.

Your next move is to reverse the movement and travel in the exact opposite direction. But before you can, a strong pair of arms reach around your waist from behind, dragging you backwards off the stage.

With a shout, you are abruptly set on your feet in front of the absolute last person you want to see right now.

“What are you doing?!” Thorin growls, keeping a firm grip on you as his eyes take in the very small amount of fabric in such a public place.

“I’m a little busy right now,” you hiss. The crowd has already started to shout in protest and the musicians have stopped playing, looking at each other in confusion.

You’re more than a little pissed they let someone just grab you from off the stage but that’s a conversation for another time.

You try to pull yourself from his grasp, if you get right back up there and finish the performance you’re sure you can remedy the situation.

Bertram is already pushing through the crowd, red in the face with his sights set on you.

Thorin’s grip only tightens on your arms, a muscle in his jaw tensing. He releases you for a brief second, and you foolishly think he's letting you have your way. But before you can climb back on stage, he is suddenly wrapping his cloak around your bare skin and tossing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"You and I are going to have a little talk," he growls as he carries you out of the tavern kicking and screaming.

Next

Taglist:

@mrsdurin @thetaekwondofeline @enchantingkryptoniteheart-blog

@exhausted-humxn-being @marsmallow433 @sverdgeir

@champagne-glamour@yve-barr @krampus236 @nerdthickly

@lyl1pad @bruhk @eri-s-big-sis

[gliphyartfan]

The au in which hylia is teh one who sealed or cursed Y/N. After discovering this the chain decided since to side with the villain of their stories for example. Skyward sword link works with demise and so on.

Aaaah, makes more sense. But still not clear enough? (Wait did I write this Au?) most of final big bads are uh…dead? So they can’t just resurrect them all Willy Nilly.

Maybe this is a list for each individual and not the chain as a whole but I dunno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Alright! Time to Wing it!

(I genuinely hope I answered this correctly 🥲🥲🥲)

But also that’s actually rather tricky if you GENUINELY think about it.

Cause yes, With Sky

Sky’s trust in Hylia is shattered when he learns she orchestrated (Y/N)’s suffering.

And he seeks out Demise, swallowing his hatred and disbelief to work alongside the Demon King.

And while working with Demise’s forces, Sky becomes hardened and more brutal.

Sky’s newfound drive may even surprise Demise, who quickly recognizes Sky’s tactical mind. Sky uses his knowledge of Hylia’s weaknesses, strategically placing Demise’s forces where they can inflict the most damage on her temples and followers.

But honestly? I doubt Demise survives, Sky

isn’t siding with Demise in spirit but probably manipulates their partnership to weaken Hylia. He gives Demise enough power to serve his plan, sowing just the right amount of discord to make Hylia vulnerable without letting Demise gain full control.

And while subtly sabotaging Hylia’s temples and weakening her mortal influence,

Sky’s primary goal is still to kill Demise, only after he’s used him to dismantle Hylia’s power. Sky plans to drive the final blow himself. (She probably escapes anyway. Much to his rage)

With Warriors

Warriors would joins Cia and Ganon, leveraging his knowledge of Hyrule’s soldiers to disrupt and weaken them.

Well, he’d play the part of hero until Ganon shows up and then just joins up with him…..or maybe…no…nah he has to wait, Cia would have spotted it before the darkness split her. (He still doesn’t like Cia tho)

Warriors knows every tactic the Hyrulean army will employ, and he’s relentless in using that to his advantage.

He becomes a spy within Hyrule’s ranks, (he can’t be a traitor if HYLIA betrayed him first. Thems the breaks) sending misinformation and sabotaging missions, all to bring Hyrule’s forces to its knees for (Y/N)’s sake. Warriors never falters, his loyalty to (Y/N) driving his every action.

Honestly Warriors pretends to remain a loyal soldier to Hylia’s cause within the Hyrulean army while secretly coordinating attacks that amplify chaos, allowing Ganon’s forces to strike where it hurts Hylia the most. He’s playing both sides.

Considering he’d make a brief trip to Skyloft, (and Nintendo never makes things clear about time periods.) I’m gonna assume each era is close enough to the heroes of the era that it wouldn’t be odd that Sky could send messages to Warriors.

He won’t hesitate to manipulate people he once considered friends if it furthers Sky’s plan to weaken Hylia, prioritizing (Y/N)’s rescue over everything else.

With Time

Time would see Ganondorf as a means to an end. He joins Ganondorf’s cause, using his knowledge of the temples and sages to disrupt Hylia’s carefully laid plans.

To Ganondorf’s forces, Time is terrifying, silent, calculated, and nearly impossible to predict. He holds a deep, simmering rage within.

And just in case anyone asks, within the mask, the Fierce Deity watches Time closely, seeing how the hero’s loyalty to his sword brothers contrasts sharply with his rebellion against Hylia. While Fierce remains bound, observing Time’s darker decisions with approval, he’d subtly align his energy with Time’s intentions, lending strength where it’s needed most. (Gotta protect his vessel ya know?)

Fierce Deity understands vengeance, perhaps better than anyone else. Even without communicating directly, Time can feel this resonance. There’s an unspoken agreement, Fierce supports Time’s defiance against Hylia’s will, seeing it as a just rebellion.

Time might notice that the power of the Fierce Deity feels especially potent when facing those aligned with Hylia or when defending his brothers. Fierce Deity’s own ancient rage fueling each strike.

While fighting beside Ganondorf, Time would have to craft a careful facade, (kinda like Sheik except he doesn’t have a magical disguise to hide his features….does he??) and considering the war of eras, he’d also be able to help Warriors with his side of things.

Ooooh the heroes that join Warriors could easily play the part of brainwashed heroes~

With Twilight

Well, bitter and heartbroken isn’t enough describe his feelings. He’s been heartbroken once by Midna. And maybe for a brief period of time, he genuinely thought (y/n) left him too.

So to find out Hylia was the one to take her away was….the limit.

So he’d strike a deal with Zant and Ganon.

But given Ganon probably still hates the hero cause of Time’s little act of slaying. So he’d side with Zant for a while.

He and Zant would create a network of darkness across Hyrule, corrupting places once sacred to Hylia I suppose? (Aw but I like Midna….)

His ferocity increases tenfold, and he finds bitter satisfaction in seeing the land Hylia cherished crumble under his hands.

He just wants his darling back.

With Wild

Well….Wild’s trust in the goddesses was already unsteady before with his own insecurities and self-doubts, but now it’s shattered, leading him to align with Calamity Ganon’s essence.

Not much going on since Ganon destroyed everything already and Flora is holding Ganon back. I mean, he’d wait until she couldn’t hold him back no more and then just switch the chaos?

He probably infiltrates the Yiga Clan, rising to a powerful position within their ranks to wreak havoc.

With Legend

Legend throws his loyalty to….i guess Yuga? (Boy he has a bunch of journeys.) seeing in him a chance to finally defy Hylia.

Or rather, he’d aid Lorule in gaining Hyrule’s Triforce. OR maybe he can’t…

…actually…maybe he just speeds up the poisoning of the land. Make it more Rulie’s era, after?

With Hyrule

Well Hyrule has always carried a subtle skepticism of authority (have you SEEN his era??) , so learning that Hylia, the goddess he once revered, is responsible for (Y/N)’s suffering would strike a chord.

This betrayal would make him question every act of loyalty and every sacrifice he made in the name of serving a higher power. He would quickly become resolute, deciding that any being capable of such cruelty doesn’t deserve his allegiance.

Hyrule’s protectiveness over (Y/N) would intensify. He would view (Y/N) not only as someone he cares for but also as someone wronged by a divine power. He’d become ruthless in his pursuit of freeing (Y/N) from Hylia’s influence and would stop at nothing, even if it meant forging dark alliances and exploring forbidden paths

To stand against Hylia and her agents, Hyrule would seek out shadow magic, using it to level the playing field against holy magic and divine forces. While he might initially be cautious, his dedication to protecting (Y/N) would outweigh his reservations.

Hyrule’s gentle spirit might begin to darken as he moves down this path. His compassion would remain, but his disillusionment would leave a lasting effect, making him wary of kindness that comes without reason and promises that seem too good to be true.

He’d become a hardened figure, mistrusting of any higher power and willing to destroy anyone who stood between him and his goal.

With Four

Four’s fractured self allows him to see all sides of Hylia’s betrayal, making him perfectly suited to side with Vaati and , Shadow.

Each color has a different way of undermining Hylia’s forces. Blue is calculating, Red is fiercely defiant, Green becomes a spy, and Violet dives into dark magic.

Together, they are a force of chaos, and their unpredictability makes them especially dangerous. So long as Vaati can guarantee (y/n)’s return and safety, he doesn’t care what he has to do.

With Wind

Wind is lured into Ganondorf’s cause, using his knowledge of the Great Sea and islands to spread rebellion among those loyal to Hylia. (Which aren’t a lot given most don’t remember Hylia in that era. But it doesn’t make it easier for him to make her out to be the devil.)

Wind adopts a reckless, defiant attitude, channeling his anger at Hylia into everything he does. He becomes powerful weapon in Ganondorf’s hands. (But remember folks, the heroes loyalty only stick to eachother and ABSOLUTELY their darling so Ganon dies if he can’t deliver on his promises!)

[thestorycomesalive]

And I Would Do it Again

George Weasley x Reader

Summary: When you stick up for George in front of your whole Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Professor Umbridge has a certain consequence in mind for you.

Angst and Fluff, Hurt/Comfort.

TW: Mentions of Blood

****

“Eh hem, Mr. Weasley,” hummed a trilling voice from behind the tall red head next to you.

“Professor?” George raised an eyebrow to the pink clad woman behind him, wondering what in the world the small, angry lady could possibly want. Afterall, he hadn’t done anything wrong. And he knew better than to test her at this point. Or at least he knew his limits. Ron had told him of the tragic events that took place in Harry’s detention. Ever since then, he and his twin brother had gotten quieter and cleverer about pulling their tricks around school. Of course, they hadn’t stopped altogether. George wouldn’t be George without his pranks. But George knew he couldn’t get detention. Not out of a kindness for himself, but rather for your sake. He knew you’d worry too much.

But this time, he hadn’t done anything to provoke Professor Umbridge. He racked his brain for a moment, but he couldn’t think of one thing that would call her attention to him.

“You have received a generous amount of our class time today to complete your writing assignment, and while even Ms. L/N next to you has come up with a few paragraphs, you seem to have nearly nothing on your page. Care to explain what you’ve been up to all of this time?” The woman teetered to the front of your table, peering down at George.

He gave her a look of disbelief. “Well, it is not for lack of trying. I just have a hard time learning on paper. And you don’t let us use our wands,” he pointed out.

She giggled a single, ugly giggle. “Mr. Weasley… I can’t say I’m surprised. Afterall, I have come to expect less than from you. You shouldn’t need your wand to learn. Perhaps it is time for you to accept the fact that your own stupidity is to blame for your shortcomings. I really do my very best, but some students are just purely unteachable.” She hummed the last part to herself, shaking her head.

Your eyes shot up to her instantly. You had been watching her for some time, but in this instance, your eyes had been on the boy next to you, offering looks of kindness and sympathy without words. But now you were angry. Practically fuming. “Excuse me,” you muttered sharply, grabbing her attention with a whip of her head. “That is not, in any way, fair or warranted. George is one of the smartest people I know.” Your eyes were shooting darts at her as a piercing, condescending smile crept up to her ears.

“Ms. L/N. Talking out of turn will not be tolerated in my classroom. Especially not when it is used to talk back to your superiors,” she huffed.

You felt the smallest sensation of George’s pinky finger entwining with yours, as he tried to simmer down some of the anger, he knew was bubbling within you. You sighed and decided to leave the subject, having said your piece.

“You shall not question my knowledge and wisdom in any sense. If I say he is stupid, he is stupid, and if I say you are a flying Niffler, well then, you must be a flying Niffler. Do you understand, young lady?” she grinned, clearly having been satisfied with what she thought was winning the argument. You feel the heat and anger rising even higher than before at the mention of the sweet boy next to you. And then you finally realized what it is she was asking of you. She was asking you to agree with her cruel assumption about your George in front of the whole class. She cocks an eyebrow in the air with a wild smirk on her face. The rage pools over as you finally let it escape your mouth.

“No. I do not. I do not understand how you can call someone so bright and creative stupid, simply because you lack the skills and empathy to teach them what you would like them to know. Or because their knowledge simply extends beyond concepts that you can understand. You might not agree with me, Professor, but not everyone is like you. Not everyone wants to sit in a dark room and just pretend to learn for the rest of their lives. You want to give me detention, Professor? Fine. But I will not stand by while you abuse really great wizards, let alone, the ones that I love.” You cock your eyebrows back at her, knowing she has you right where she wants you. You don’t have a care in the world as the steam almost rises from your ears. It is now you notice that George’s hand had moved from your pinky to your wrist, gently trying to stop you from making the decision you had just made, his eyes pleading with yours with a gentle sadness and slight shock. However, for the briefest moment, you thought you could make out the tiniest glimpse of pride pass his eyes at the same time.

“Detention, Ms. L/N. I will not have anyone tell me how to teach in my classroom or question my abilities and judgement as a witch. Let alone someone so new to magic, as yourself.” She smiled smugly as she returned to the front of the classroom continuing her lesson immediately, not giving George or you a chance to respond to her. It was this act that left George hunting her down with a glare that could kill for the rest of the class, hand still in yours.

****

George spent every moment away from you that day, skipping his classes, trying in every way to get himself detention with Umbridge as well. However, every attempt ended with a quiet humph and scolding from her filled with cruel and nasty words. It was clear that even though she dreadfully wanted to, she was not going to give in and give George the detention he so desperately desired. She knew his punishment would be far more effective if she let you suffer and put him in a position where he would not be able to do anything about it whatsoever. It was the only time that he had the freedom to do nearly anything he wanted at Hogwarts, to break almost any rule he wanted to break, and get away with it. The painful irony is, he hated every second of it.

*****

Your detention arrived quickly that night when the corridors of the castles quieted. You had spent all day since your class with Umbridge quiet by George’s side. On the moments that you would be separated, you would go find a place in the Gryffindor Common Room to sit and wait for him to return from his classes or what you thought must be prank trials with Fred. But you weren’t worried about your detention like most people probably assumed you had been. Hell, you probably should’ve been. No. You were furious. Furious at Umbridge for targeting George, furious at her for backing you into a corner until you couldn’t take it anymore, furious at her for hurting Harry, furious at her for getting away with all of the terrible things she has done… furious.

When darkness befell the Common Room, only George, Fred, Lee, and you remained. You hadn’t told Harry or anyone else about your detention. You didn’t want him to worry. However, Fred and Lee, of course, had known of your soon-to-be punishment, considering they had been in the class when you received it. When you left the classroom, George pulled you into his side protectively and Lee had given you proud pat on the shoulder. With an exaggerated wink, Fred had run up and exclaimed, “Blimey, that was amazing, L/N! Nice craftsmanship, excellent execution.” Fred had tried to wipe some of the anger from your face throughout the day with a few, “don’t mess with that one, she’s fiery” and “Oi, Lee, careful. Catch yourself even looking at ol’ Georgie too long, and you might have to answer to that one,” with a point in your direction. These usually earned a genuine, soft smile from you as you chuckled to yourself. Freddie was the one person in the world who could make any person laugh no matter the circumstances. George would blush, and if he saw you laughing, he would also laugh to himself at the mention of the last joke from Fred. Part of you wondered if he may have enjoyed feeling your protectiveness over him. And you didn’t mind. You liked that he liked it. Even now.

But as the four of you sat late in the quiet Common Room, you felt the jokes wash away as George twiddled with his fingers, your head on his chest. You could tell he was feeling worried and helpless as you waited for your time to leave for detention. When that time came, you gave them a gentle smile and said, “Alright, I’m off. I’ll see you guys in the morning. Don’t go worrying about me too much.” You gave Fred and Lee a wink and kissed the top of George’s head.

As if on instinct, George grabbed your hand, pleading with his face, as if he were trying to keep you from going. But he knew that if you did not show up tonight, it would only earn you an even bigger punishment with the nasty, pink-shoed woman later. You took his hand and held it to your cheek as you gave him a little smile and whispered, “I love you. Goodnight.” And off you went, George watching your back as you left.

*****

As you creaked through the half open door of Umbridge’s office, you heard her squeal in delight. She toned out, “Do come in, Ms. L/N.”

You walked in without a word, eyes piercing through the small woman as she continued. “I do hope tonight will serve you nicely. You will be writing lines for me, dear.” You nodded your head, eyes still shooting at the Professor. This is what you had expected to hear from her. “Take a seat. There is a quill and parchment already for you at the desk there.”

 You took a seat at the desk she pointed to as she tutted. “Hmm… What lesson is to be learned tonight, do you think?” You, of course, didn’t answer. “There are many lessons I believe you could benefit from learning, Ms. L/N, but I have chosen to be generous to you, for reasons unbeknownst to me. I believe the lines, ‘I will learn my place and be respectful to my superiors’, will do just fine.”

 Your mouth dropped. You were expecting to write lines, and you knew the pain that would come with that, but you had not expected the number of words she would give you to write to be so extensive. You only prayed that the number of lines she would have you complete would be less, to even out your sentence to compare to the stories you had heard from others, including Harry. You dared to ask. “How many- “

“One hundred,” she interrupted without hesitation.

You nodded, eyes still a bit wide from shock. You assumed that you had really struck a nerve with your defiance towards Umbridge. Afterall, why else would your sentence be nearly double that of any other student you have heard from so far? You figured that you also were being used as punishment towards those you loved as well. Those who have also unmeaningly struck a nerve of Umbridge’s too: Harry and George. But you wouldn’t be used as bait. No, you quite refused to be used as such.

As you dared to hover the dry quill over the paper, you prepared yourself for the pain that would inevitably begin once you touched them down to meet. And when it did, the pain was one hundred times more unbearable than you had even begun to imagine, just like the number of lines you were to complete.

By the time you had arrived halfway through your assignment, blood was dripping down your fingertips, drenching your parchment along with the tears crawling down your face. Finally, soft whimpers that you had tried to hold back for so long, began to escape.

 The clock ticking echoed in your ears, taunting your brain with the idea of freedom. After what felt like an eternity, you had finished the lines, and you were a both dry and wet bloodied mess. You sat up from your seat and handed the now quiet professor your scarlet stained parchment full of scratches reading, “I will learn my place and be respectful to my superiors”, front and back.

“May I leave now?” you uttered.

She simply nodded with a conniving grin plastered on her face as she watched you walk out the door.

*****

You held your breath until you arrived back past the portrait into the Gryffindor Common Room, not wanting that evil woman to hear you cry. When you stepped into the room, you pressed your back to the cold wall next to you and grabbed your wrist, blood flow never-ending, and finally let the tears and sobs escape you, as your back fell down the wall. You were so blinded by the pain that you didn’t even notice there was someone in the room with you. They ran up from the couch, over to your place by the wall, and sat right next to you, pulling you into their lap. From the moment you discovered the figure, your brain and your heart knew it would be your George. Part of you had a feeling he wouldn’t sleep until you were back, and you didn’t want him to see you like this. You fought your brain which told you that you were allowing yourself to be the live weapon that Umbridge wanted you to be. You just hadn’t expected the pain to be so much. You hadn’t expected that you would collapse right in front of George. You so desperately wanted to be strong. To stay strong for him. For yourself. But, oh merlin, did it hurt.

His big arms wrapped around your shoulders and brought his hand to pull your bloodied one into his line of sight. His breathing hitched and he felt his blood run to his cheeks and his ears as his other hand clenched into a fist. He was seeing red at the extra bloodied hand you fostered, much worse than he had ever seen, even on Harry. But the rage he felt was nothing compared to the crunch of his heart splitting in two as your cries of pain reached his ears. He didn’t know what to do, he felt so helpless, just as he had all day, but a million times worse.

“Darling, I know. I’m so sorry. I’m- I’m so sorry. Please. Please, I have to wrap this. You have to let me wrap this,” he struggled, pleading with you.

Your head heard his words, and it told you to move, to stop crying, to say something. But your skin was on fire, and the roar of the flames outspoke the language of your brain trying to reason with your body. You were able to lean your head into his shoulder, as you tried to compose yourself as best as you could, but the best you could do was quiet your sobs ever so slightly, as any and all words fell silent in the back of your throat. Your tears soaked through his shirt and coated his upper arm that still held you. He began to take his arms and pull himself up, untangling himself from you. He moved to sit on his knees in front of you, eyes searching for yours as he tilted your chin up to look at him.

“My love. Please. I need to wrap your hand. Can I bring you to the couch?” he asked, peering through your eyes for an answer.

You slightly nodded your head, barely noticeable. But George, he saw it. He always saw it. He could read you better than anyone in the world. The moment he saw your head move, he scooped his arm under your bent legs and placed his other one across your back and under your arms. You turned your head into his shoulder as he gently move to place you on the couch, your back pressed to the arm of the chair. You pulled your knees up on the couch, moving your heels to touch your bottom. Splayed out across the table in front of you were bandages and a wrap for your hand. As the tears began finding themselves more and more scarce at the hope of relief, the smaller of the words at the back of your throat began to find their way out.

“Georgie?” you asked, coming out in a high-pitched whimper.

His deep, worrying eyes looked to you, hands finding your cheeks. He followed your eyes to the table and the equipment laying on it. An embarrassed blush came to his cheeks as his brows furrowed. Supplies. It was pathetic, he thought. He should’ve been the one being punished. But instead, it was you and there was absolutely nothing he could do except for find some simple supplies. Unable to even think about sleeping, he had snuck his way over to Madame Pomfrey in the medical wing as soon as you had exited the Common Room. He asked her for some supplies and after more than a lot of convincing that everything was okay and that he wasn’t up to anything that would get her in trouble, she suspiciously obliged. He knew you would refuse to see her anyways, not wanting to take up her time. And deep down, he too knew that there was not much she would be able to do for you, no matter how much he begged. Afterall, this was a punishment enacted by Umbridge herself, and no matter how much she wanted to, Pomfrey could not disregard the rules set in place by the self-proclaimed headmaster and inquisitor.

He turns back to you quickly trying to cover the look of shame and guilt on his face.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry,” his voice breaks, tears of his own forming.

You could see him fighting with his own mind over something that you were sure would split your heart right down the middle.

“George?” you squeaked out once more.

“I’m so sorry…It’s my fault. I was behind in class. It should’ve been me. Not you. I should’ve protected you, I-,” he finally lets it all come rushing out.

You cut him off by placing your good hand on his cheek, giving him a difficult and very broken smile. Your voice comes out raspy from the sobs you had forced down but determined now, as soon as you hear the pain in George's own voice. “No. This decision was mine, George. All mine…” you give the faintest of laughs, almost in disbelief. “And yet, I can’t find the mind to regret it… I would do it again… and again.”

He leaned into your touch, eyes wincing as you revealed to him that you would take this punishment and this pain for him once again.

“Look at me?” you whispered.

He brought his eyes up to meet yours. Your voice was a little bit clearer now, although wavering ever so slightly.

“My decision. Please do not take that away from me, Georgie. It was my decision to make, and I am so glad that I did. You are so smart. You know that, right?” You looked up at him from under your eyelashes through the now silent and mild tears that streamed down your face.

He shook his head. He couldn’t bring himself to even begin to describe himself as smart. If that were true, he thought, he would’ve found a way to be there with you. If that were true, you wouldn’t have been there at all. He couldn’t understand, how through all of the terror and pain, you were the one to comfort him. He simply began to unwrap the bandages from their place on the table and started to wrap them tightly around your hand to stop the blood from dripping any longer, a lot of it starting to dry already. When he was finished, you took your good hand and placed it on his cheek once again. You pulled him into a sweet, soft, salty kiss.

“Smart. Clever. Kind. Brave. Gentle,” you muttered these words in his ear as you rested your head on his shoulder, and he once again pulled you into his lap, this time, towards him.

“The strongest girl I know, so beautiful, so loving…,” he muttered back, caressing your hair, trailing off into magical, sweet nothings that mean quite everything to both of you.

“I love you, Georgie,” you whisper.

“I love you, darling,” he says.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” you ask the beautiful, ginger boy that you love so dearly.

“I will always stay with you, my love,” he says as he begins to lift your body from the couch to carry to your dorm. There the two of you find comfort in each other’s embrace, finally drifting off into a deep sleep.

[danikamariewrites]

Taken (part 1)

Cassian x f!reader

A/n: I realized I haven't written much for Cass so I decided he gets a two-parter

You can read part 2 here

Warnings: angst, kidnapping, violence, Beron Vanserra being a dick

The room had gone silent, there was a slight ringing in Cassian's ears. Someone had taken you. Someone had taken you from your home. And he wasn’t there to protect you or stop it or kill the person who dared touch you. You’re his mate, and he failed at the one job he had, protecting you.

“Cassian,” Rhys spoke softly, noticing Cassian's hands were curled into fists at his sides. The red siphons strapped to the back of his hands were glowing as his rage simmered. “We will get her back. Whatever it takes. Azriel should be back soon, he said he has a lead.”

He knew what you would say to him if you were here right now. ‘Don’t worry Cass I’m fine. I can handle myself.’ He knew you could. He had been training you since the mating bond snapped. But you didn’t grow up like him. Training every day, honing your body into a weapon.

You grew up studying history, learning languages, and everything about the courts of Prythian. Your mind was strong. You were witty and the smartest person he’d ever met.

Cassian always joked that he was the brawn to your brains and that’s why the cauldron had mated you. But smarts didn’t always get you out of a sticky situation.

Azriel burst through the door, Feyre and Mor on his heels. Cassian turns to face his brother, his rage nearly boiling under his skin. “Who. Took. Her.” He demanded through gritted teeth.

Azriel took a cautious step forward, putting on the mask of Spymaster, attempting to remove his personal feelings from the situation. “Y/n put up one hell of a fight. The house was a mess but I was able to recover this,” Azriel holds out an armored shoulder plate in his scarred hand. “She knew to leave a clue, Cassian. We’re going to find her.”

Cassian took the armor from his brother, examining it. It was bronze, with the insignia of Berons personal hit squad carved on the curve of the metal. Rhys rounds the corner of his desk to examine it.

“Get Nesta and the Valkyries ready, you two get ready as well,” he says to his mate and Mor. “We need to form a plan,” Rhys commands. “No!” Cassian's booming voice echoes around the office. His family pauses, waiting for him to explode.

He shoves the armor into Rhys’ chest. “I’m not fucking waiting for you. I’m going ahead. I’ll see what we’re dealing with.” He stomps towards the door, Azriel stepping in his way. “Cassian, you know how bad of an idea that is.” Cassian growls at his brother but Azriel doesn’t back down.

“I hate to do this Cass,” Rhys starts, Cassian’s back stays turned to him, “but Az is right. As your High Lord, I am ordering you to wait until we are prepared to leave.”

———

You heard a door open and shut echo across the cavernous dungeon, and a male's angry voice muffled by whispers. You didn't dare open your eyes out of fear the guard stationed at your cell door would announce it. So you lay on the floor, pretending to be unconscious.

It was better to catch people off guard when you could, Cassian taught you that. Cassian! Judging by the small amount of sunlight coming in through the tiny window in the cell, it was late and he had to know you were missing by now.

You had tried to reach out to him through the bond a few times but it was no use. Your abductors had used a lot of Fae Bane to subdue you, and the wards around the Forest House were strong. Beron was a very paranoid person and left nothing to chance.

The male's heavy footsteps approach, accompanied by two other pairs. You tried not to let the scent of your fear be known. “Open the door.” You know that voice. Beron had come to see you himself. Something had to be going on if he was desperate enough to have you kidnapped.

He entered the cell, crouching over you. He grabbed your face, squeezing hard. Your eyes fly open, anger overtakes your features as you struggle to get away. He pulls you into a standing position as he looks down at you. “Now, now y/n. You should know better than to struggle.” you stop, your breathing heavy. You weren't an idiot. You wanted to live long enough to attempt an escape, so you'd obey for now.

Beron roughly pushes your face, letting go. Never breaking eye contact you growl out, “What do you want?” He backhands you across your face so hard you fall, hitting the stone floor. Recovering quickly you scramble away from the High Lord of Autumn clutching at your face. You could feel a large bruise forming.

He stands scowling at you, “It's too early to be taking that tone with me y/n. But I will sate your curiosity.” you push into the damp stone wall, hoping you'd fall through it and escape.

“You are Rhysands go-to for translating languages and whatnot.” ok, so he knew your job title. Big deal. “I've come across something rather rare, my people have looked at it but the incompetent fools failed at translating it. You will translate it for me.” He stares down at you expectantly.

It's clear the other High Lords didn't know about Beron's little find, but you had to make sure. “I take it the other High Lords are unaware of this.” He huffs out a laugh. “No, and it will stay that way. You do serve another purpose being here though.” you tilt your head giving him a curious look.

“Your little inner circle is keeping secrets. I didn't think Rhysand would be so careless but alas, I found this in my idiotic son's study.” Beron takes a crumpled piece of paper from his breast pocket holding it out to you. You lean forward slightly to make out the message.

Shit. That was one of the first letters between Rhys and Eris after Hybern. Shit, shit, shit. And Beron knows they’ll show up for you. It's not a secret you and Cassian are mates. Shit. This is a trap. And you're the bait.

The panic showed on your face as Beron smirked at you, knowing he won. He turns to leave, saying, “I'll send guards for you when I'm ready.” The cell door slammed shut and the guard went back to his watch position as Beron and the other two walked away. He was going to leave you here all night. Just to emphasize how powerless you were in this whole situation.

———

By the time the plan was set and everyone was armed to the teeth Cassian was fuming. Too much time had passed for his liking. He was going out of his mind, thinking of all the negative what-ifs. And he couldn't feel you down the bond.

He had reached out a million times and nothing. It was still there but that wasn't enough for Cassian. If he kept thinking about it he was going to be sick.

Rhys’ voice broke him from his thoughts, “You know what your assignments are. We have no room for error. And remember, this could very well be a trap we're walking into. So stay alert.” Everyone nodded.

The plan was that Azriel would winnow in first, then send the all-clear to Rhys for Feyre and Nesta, then Mor and Emerie. And he and Rhys last. They would sneak into the Forest House from four different spots. Nesta and Emerie would take out guards where they could. Mor, Feyre, and Rhys would keep trouble off their backs and find Eris. And He and Azriel would head for the dungeons to get you out.

Rhys grabbed Cassian's arm. The world fell away, darkness consumed his sight, and then the forest of Autumn bathed in moonlight was around him. The air smelled crisp and earthy.

He took a deep breath and followed his brother toward the Forest House.

———

You couldn't sleep. You tried different spots on the floor but your anxiety kept your heart pounding at the thought of Beron coming back for you.

You were sitting against the wall, knees pulled into your chest. The guard had yelled at you an hour ago for fidgeting too much, so you've been sitting in this position since. You didn't want to see what he would do if you moved around again.

You began absent-mindedly running your fingers against the stone wall. On your second pass over a certain spot, your finger caught slightly. You ran your finger over the spot again. And traced the crack in the wall up and over.

Laying your palm over the space you felt a slight breeze. This wasn't just a crack in the stone, it was a door to a secret passage. At that moment something in your brain clicked. You've studied every High Lord in Prythian, even the layouts of their houses.

You knew exactly where this passage led. The guard was your only problem. You could do this. Cassian taught you how to sneak up on people. You just had to stay calm.

You moved into a crouching position and slowly made your way over to the bars. His quarterstaff was held lax at his side. You stuck a hand through the bars grabbing the staff. Before he knew what was happening you brought the staff up to his throat. Grabbing the other end you pulled him against the bars, choking him until he passed out. You let him down slowly, so his body didn't make noise.

You push and push against the secret door. After a few minutes, it finally gives in. You start crawling in the dark and dusty passageway. It clearly hadn't been used in centuries.

You didn't want to get ahead of yourself, but this escape route was looking promising.

tags: @nyotamalfoy @auggiesolovey @bubybubsters @baybay123455 @msiecrane

[mixtapedoh]

How about lonely boy, lee know, and forced proximity?

@eclliipsed — i am thinking of you, specifically while writing this <3

;༊ — lonely boy

pairing: lee minho x gn!reader genre: fluff, office setting word count: ~3.6k warnings: language, situational stress, han is here stirring the pot, a startling amount of homicide jokes

olive’s notes: a unique challenge of writing lino fic that i did not before account for or even conceptualize is that when i think of said silly little stray kids cat boy, i think of him almost 99% of the time as 'lino' and like 0.9999999999% of the time as 'lee know'. lee minho? you mean the actor? it's not clicking up here, asdfghj. all that's to say, if i make a mistake and call him lino instead of minho, i'm so sorry, feel free to stone me in the square on whatever day is most convenient for you <3.

☄. *. ⋆ lee minho x forced proximity...

— society, as a collective, just loves their 9 to 5, right?

i mean, if it were actually a 9 to fucking 5, maybe you wouldn't be screaming, crying, throwing up, gnawing on the iron bars of your enclosure.

— but haha, as a general rule (collectively agreed upon at some point, or perhaps no one agreed so much as they were browbeaten into submission), more than society loves their 9 to 5, they love their workplace grindset culture.

gotta get those financial gains, amirite?

— which is all to say, you were simply enamoured, quite totally besotted with, completely captivated by and hopelessly devoted to your demanding, grueling, parasitic life-force of an office job.

and people had the gall to say you didn't have romance in your life.

clearly, they hadn't seen the zeal and devotion with which you dedicated yourself to your company issued computer, stacks of files, and white-walled cubicle.

after all, regular hours simply weren't enough for all the worship you had within you — you simply had to have both your mandatory overtime and your Implicitly Dictated and Oh-So-Reasonably Expected overtime hours as well <3 you did want to keep your job after all, and job security is such a silly little thing <3 corporate culture really is just soooo romantic in that regard <3 complete and utter devotion <3 commitment almost pious <3

until you managed to break away from the curse of Living in a Society and could live without bills, debt, responsibilities, more bills, more debt, and the desire for silly little (but financially substantial) hobbies to make this existence of yours worthwhile, your love affair with your job would simply have to stick.

— which made for the perfect little soup you were currently mired in. a thick broth of learned helplessness seasoned with intense loathing, a dash of interest in low stakes coworker drama, a sprinkling of compulsory people pleasing, a garnish of yes man energy, and an optional mix-in of untapped, constantly simmering rage.

so, of course you were best friends with han jisung.

— the universe really did do you a solid when they placed han jisung in the cubicle next to you.

perhaps the only employee that hadn't succumbed to the incessant humanity-sucking leech affectionately called a company, jisung was the only one who kept you sane when you were 56 hours deep in your work week and considering moving to a homestead on alaska where you would likely not even last a whole 72 hours — but, hey, you would at least get some sleep at the end of it when succumbing to the effects of hypothermia, so it didn't seem that bad of a gig, really (jisung always offered to cover half of the down payment cost, but at the end of the conversation, he'd just buy you a coffee and the two of you would call it even).

— and being friends with jisung was, all at once, both a blessing and a curse.

(because this is corporate living and existence is a fucking nightmare ~°~♫⭒~꘎ )

— poor excuses for jokes in your company chat box, sticky note battles during days when the mundane tasks you were assigned were mind-numbing enough to fell the strongest of corporate warriors, the constant "i owe you" back and forth when one of you went on a coffee or vending machine run and grabbed something for the other, and, of course, juicy gossip during your lunch break — all of these were the positives of being jisung's partner in captalist crime.

— but on the other hand, should either of your work be wanting in any regard... well... accountability is a word long enough to stretch between two.

— which led you to your current state of affairs.

"the next time you forget to delete your 'tongue-in-cheek' speaker notes on the powerpoint we're submitting for review from higher ups, i'm breaking your fingers so you can't type them in the first place."

but of course jisung just turns it into a joke about a hand kink.

— your punishment for 'distasteful' jokes left in the margins of official company output wasn't anything too severe — bless whatever cosmic force made it so that the generally easy going mr. ok taecyeon was the one to see jisung's fuck up, and not someone less forgiving — but it meant the next few weeks would be hell in the form of grunt work.

see, your company was expanding in the industry, and it meant that the building you were currently working in wasn't big enough to house all the ✨aspirational goals✨ it was just starting to believe in. thus, the majority of higher ups were going to move into a new office building... and for some ass-backward reason, so, too were all of the archives.

and someone had to go down there and box it all up, making sure it was properly labeled and in order.

sure, the company was just head-empty enough to have the desire to move physical archives to a new office building. but at least they wanted it all in order before they stuck it in a different dusty basement.

— the very first day you went to the basement and saw the sheer level of work the two of you had in store, you locked eyes with jisung and just knew that fucker was going to find some way to get out of it.

— on your lunch break you tried to beat him to the punch and defend your honor against the soul crushing weight of undue punishment. but alas! you had already taken vacation days in the last month (damn that kpop concert - did you really have to be that devoted to your ult group??) and han hadn't had a day off for the last 6 months.

how the hell did you end up doing the punishment work for actions that weren't even (mostly) yours?

han jisung better move to that alaskan homestead after all, nowhere else would ever be safe from your wrath... once you got out of this basement, of course.

— the most you were given was help in the form of lee minho — who would have thought that he of all people would be your saving grace?

maybe he'd help you plan jisung's murder. they were friends, true, but anyone who was around han long enough would not be opposed to plitting his demise. it was part of his elusive charm, after all. everything wonderful about him also lent itself to fodder for plotting his demise.

convenient, really, given the circumstances you were in.

— but back to lee minho. perfect performance lee minho. always last to leave the office lee minho. infuriatingly not suffering from looking chronically fatigued or daunted, overwhelmed, or simply fazed by the overzealous work culture you found yourselves in, lee minho. curt and focused but lacking of an edge that would make him unapproachable lee minho. impossible to pin down, the vitruvian man of corporate dreams, somehow the bosses favorite despite failing to do any of the sucking up some of your other coworkers engaged in almost religiously lee minho.

he didn't frustrate you; he didn't even really baffle you, but he didn't exactly occupy your brainspace in a way that could be described as indifference, y'know?

maybe this was something you could blame of jisung, too. he always talked about minho an ungodly amount, waxed poetic about how it was a shame that minho worked in a different department — how the two of you really would get along famously, but damn, if he couldn't convince either of you to spend any of your (perhaps two (2)) hours of off-duty life in the same place at the same time.

social lives, after all, were laughable, where the both of you were concerned.

— the day you walked down there and saw minho already elbow deep in a filing cabinet seemingly older than your parents (which, lamentably, was the worst organized filing cabinet you'd ever seen, and was regrettably representative of 95% of the work ahead of you), you laughed out loud and took the moment to convince minho to take a picture for you, so you could tell jisung that he was missing the Historic and Long Anticipated Meet Up, and that was the moment you realized that you were so deep in the basement, phone service was a pipe dream.

it wasn't a concern, really — you were both benefiting from the random employee benefit of free spotify premium, so your downloaded content was enough to get you through the long hours of organizing and packing, and hey! being in the basement meant no one really expected any more out of you than your required hours and whatever mandatory overtime you had left to complete.

— so really, jisung had been stupid as hell to avoid this punishment. it was effectively less work than you were used to (though tedious) and you were far enough away from your desk that the thought of the work piling up in the world above wasn't eating at you that much (at least not any more than usual; workplace anxiety and you were well acquainted, at that point <3)

— and minho! — god forbid you say anything complementary about that bastard han jisung while he left you (more than) 6 feet under, doing work that was, by many rights, his punishment — but he had been right when he said you and minho would gel.

he didn't disturb you, for the most part, but working in the same space for full work days with nothing to do but listen to podcasts and check the dates on dusty files meant that Annoying The Only Other Person In Your Vicinity became a welcome distraction from wallowing in the fact you were moving at a pace slower than desired. and he responded quite well to any question you threw his way - no matter how brain-dead, invasive, or embarrassing. in fact, he'd hit something back - put the ball in your court in a question almost more ridiculous, leaving you to question how jisung hadn't forced the two of you together sooner (but fuck jisung; all my homies are blaming this comedy of errors on jisung and are in this basement actively plotting his demise).

— and it didn't take you long to realize charming minho is almost exactly like getting a neighborhood cat to endear itself to you.

pspspsps at random (bat a stupid ass joke his way);

give him space but respond to his random bids for attention;

have a snack drawer (one of the first emptied out file cabinets furthest to the back of the archival area) and occasionally offer something sweet as a reminder that the snack drawer exists and is for joint indulging;

entertain him with logic puzzles and psychological warfare;

and, of course, shit talk your coworkers and company.

indulge the cats desire for destruction and mayhem; tell minho that whenever he was ready to put in his two-weeks, you'd be right there beside him and would run the paper shredder all night while he corrupted the files.

exist calmly and comfortable in the cat's space; work so well in tandem that you began anticipating the movements of the other.

spend quality time with the cat; both of you begining to wordlessly take your lunches at the table in the archival basement, instead of going all the way back up to the cafeteria, choosing instead to chat with each other and indulge in the other's niche interests and stupidly staunch opinions on poor pieces of media.

slow blink at the cat; catch yourself staring for a bit too long when he doesn't notice you looking, your thoughts getting all muffled and sappy as you become wholly fascinated by the slope of his nose and the softness of his big, dark eyes that look perpetually half-bored at work but sparkle with intelligence and mischief when you call out his name — lighting up with interest and disguised delight as that lazy, gummy smile makes it's way onto his features, eyebrows quirking upward, already expecting a challenge and...

— wait... what was that?

— is there absestos in the company walls, and that's why they decided to randomly move buildings? is there lead lining these filing cabinets? black mold in the ceiling? were you perhaps inhaling narcotics in this dusty ass air and hallucinating something vivid?

you were not developing a crush on someone just because you were stuck in the basement with this fool for going on two weeks now and hadn't seen another good looking coworker in quite some time. this wasn't some kind of drama where the ceo has a strange delight in forcing company employees into situations laced with ✨sexual tension✨. you weren't a main lead suffering from romantic withdrawals. remember your leech of a company. you have no time for shit like that.

— but, i mean, if you're never out of the office, perhaps finding romance in office is a solution...

shut the fuck up, you and minho weren't even in the same department. that point was moot.

— because damn, maybe asbestosis really was getting to you, and that's what was knocking the wind out of you any time minho smiled. yes, certainly the absestos in the walls was what was informing the way your heart constricted whenever the two of you brushed hands passing a file between you. maybe you should sue your company and have some hospital use you as a case study. maybe all the distracted daydreams was a new symptom of your newly contracted deadly disease.

see, that would make sense. you weren't catching a mean case of crushing on your forced proximity coworker, you were simply dying. because of the absestos.

— but even still, the day both of you piled all the boxes of (appropriately lableled) filing into a work car, and minho drove you over to the new building, the fresh air didn't seem to be a cure all. you were still a little more than distracted by his messy hair and black sunglasses... his concentration on the road... his pushed up sleeves... not to mention his hands wrapped around the steering wheel.

(but of course you'd snap out of your thoughts when you remember that joke jisung made about your supposed hand kink at the beginning of all this nonsense. shut the fuck up, memory ghost jisung. you don't know shit. you and minho had already talked about it and were coming for his broke ass the day he had the courage to step foot in the office again.)

— yeah, haha, you weren't crushing on lee minho because of a comedy of errors you had never dreamed would befall you in the first place. working alongside him hadn't woken anything in you. certainly not.

— and yeah, haha, you'd definitely be able to hide this from jisung when he came back. not a problem at all when he asks you about how sorting archives went (he had the gall to bring it up every five minutes — taunting you with the fact that he got to have 4 days off and was then reassigned to do answer all the emails that had piled up during his time out of office. yes, he had picked up some of the work originally meant to go to you, but still. a veritable traitor who deserved your absence from your usual lunch dates. and yes, it was hard to be slick when he'd bring up your casual absence from lunch — were you finding minho's company to be more than enough? — but you'd manage. like hell were you going to give the smug bastard satisfaction after he made you atone for his and also your crimes.).

— and yeah, haha, you'd would definitely be able to explain to a suspicious and put out jisung why you were canceling anime re-run night with him to instead go with minho to this hybrid cat-and-comic-book-cafe he had mentioned never being able to get a reservation for, despite living two blocks away from it. silly little things like that would be easy to wave away, right.

it's like, totally platonic for you and minho to meet up on your only day off to spend hours lounging at a cafe retreat together where you cooed at semi-sociable cats and joked about adopting and co-parenting the one who enjoyed wearing cute hats, and read comic books for hours and order food to share and have low-stakes debates about the best tropes and characters of shared beloved media.

it's not like that whole set up is incredibly date coded.

and it's not like it would become a recurring habit for minho to invite you to do things with him that would have jisung waggling his eyebrows even as you pleaded innocence and smacked him with whatever quasi-weapon you just so happened to have on your desk (mostly file folders and your favorite cat themed mini calendar).

— haha... it wasn't like you were down bad and incredibly bad at hiding your crush.

...right?

— you fool. you absolute buffoon. han jisung could smell your lies and poorly contained crush from thousands of leagues away. even if you weren't shit at hiding it, he would have known. he could have actually been on that remote homestead in alaska and still picked up on just how brain dead you were over your crush. you thought you were slick? when han jisung has a doctorate in anxious suspicion and twelve master's degrees in the art of bullshitting?

hell, he knew you were going to fall in love with minho before the two of you even met. why do you think he'd wanted to connect the two of you in the first place? because he thought you two needed a social life? please — he knew going in that putting the two of you in the same room was horrible for his self preservation; he knew it was practically undermining company goals because your joint productivity would fall 2000% and the amount of cat memes you two would send on company time would increase so exponentially, you'd both resort to making your own memes using your company paid subscription to adobe creative cloud; he knew that the two of you were almost scarily well matched and equally devoted to drinking your refusal-to-believe-i-can-be-loved-romantically juice.

he knew that you and minho would develop glaring crushes on each other and wouldn't do a damn thing about it beyond smoothly flirting for an afternoon, inviting the other out on dates-that-aren't-dates and promptly fake-gagging and denying in a manner almost theatric that you might *gasp* enjoy the other's company in a way not-so-platonic, only to do it all over again. a vicious cycle of 'stop feeding the rest of us lies and just kiss with tongue already, damnit.' and he knew all of your coworkers would be caught in the middle of it.

— which they were. for, like, a solid five months.

— now, it wasn't too bad, considering the fact that you and minho worked in different departments, but anytime there was cause for collaboration, suddenly you were clambering to be considered, no matter the intense workload or the way the task was slightly out of your wheelhouse. suddenly, it seemed you were incredibly eager to learn and prove yourself.

at first, your team leader was overjoyed. initiative? drive? a seeming zest and fire for more commitment? say less and do more! marry yourself to the dumbass collaboration with the other department! perhaps this could mean freedom for their long suffering servitude under the corporate thumb!

but then they saw you flirting with minho and making plans to spend an afternoon together at a book signing while still on the clock. and while they're not opposed to a bit of misuse of company time (vive la révolution contre les régimes capitalistes, and all that), it was a bitter and sobering pill to watch that shit happen daily while not getting any yourself, and then stomaching the fact that these clearlly love-struck fuckers won't admit their own transparency-set-to-0% feelings and put their chronically-single corporately-suffering coworkers to rest. either say you're in love and just be done with it or take the rest of us out with a shot gun. goddamn.

it's like a sitcom's mind-numbingly over-the-top valentine's day special. someone make it stop.

— and it didn't take a genius to connect the dots and realize that the employee responsible for all of this was han jisung.

after all, he's the mutual friend between them. no doubt he talked about the other constantly in glowing terms. no doubt he planted the seed they'd be a match made in heaven. no doubt he was the one to blame.

and! wasn't it his fuck up that forced you and minho to work together in the archives to begin with?

maybe killing han jisung wasn't going to make you and minho confess to each other, but it would be some kind of catharsis for the people who were stuck in this hell of Watching You Two Take Your Sweet Time With It.

— so jisung had to understandably think of some kind of plot. after all, the two of you were his best friends, but to hope that you would admit your feelings for someone to save his livelihood? don't be ridiculous. the both of you were quite happy with the flirting stage, as it currently stood.

— how to get your stubborn friends to admit their (very real and very reciprocated) feelings for each other... when there's no external or even internal pressure (on them, at least) to do so... jisung would have to think outside of the box.

or perhaps inside of it.

— which i'm sure is reason enough to explain how the both of you managed to get stuck in a closet during your company's holiday party.

and, through it all, is minho's mischievous eyes and your flair for the dramatic.

"do you think we should tell our coworkers we've been dating?"

☄. *. ⋆

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[achaotichuman]

What You Might Have Been

For Day 3 of @sjmvillainweek, sorry I am a little late to this day!!! I had an idea for Amarantha and Tamlin months and months ago, and decided I really wanted to fit it in for this event. I am very loosely using today's prompt Deception.

Summary-

He's something she could never be. Somehow, everything she hates and wants woven into one being. Soft, kind, loving. Everything a leader shouldn't be. Everything she's spent her life cutting from her being. Yet, when she sees it in him, she cannot help but want it more than anything.

A short story of Amarantha and Tamlin, two polar opposites locked in eternal orbit of each other.

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

“You learned to mask it all, finally, it made you a stronger leader.” She said, edging closer, step by step. 

“Get out.” He knew he couldn’t order her down here, this was her territory now. He tried all the same. 

“You used to cry in the beginning, when you still felt everything, when it was all new and unknown. You were used to being silent, but you weren’t used to hiding your emotions.” She said, her voice no longer the seductive pur, but simply stating facts. The General in her was showing its face. 

“You forced me to be silent,” Tamlin stated, trying to keep his composure, trying to not let the burning rage simmering under his skin show. He was facing away from her, eyes locked on the door carved out from the cavernous wall. This place was a temple, it shouldn’t have been touched, ruined, like this. The Spring Lord may not believe in a God, but he knew for certain the Cauldron had ties to places like this, and going against powerful magic entities like the Cauldron was inviting trouble into their lands. Practically begging for trouble in fact. 

“I did, but I didn’t stop you from feeling fear did I? I let you cry, I let you scream at times. I let you get angry, you used to spit curses at me, do you remember that?”

“I am supposed to thank you for that?” Tamlin spat, looking over his shoulder to where Amarantha stood, she was wearing that damning blue dress. Tamlin hated that dress. 

She snapped her fingers, her eyes lighting up with cruel amusement as she pointed to him, “That! That right there. That’s how you used to snap at me. Oh, the fun times, when everything was still so new for you. You got quite boring after a while, when you knew what was going to happen, when you realised you couldn’t fight me.”

Tamlin huffed a laugh, “Sorry for that, should I have made myself more entertaining? Was I, after being told I would be sold to you, supposed to be better at acting the part of personal jester?”

Amarantha just smiled as she stepped closer, “You and I are quite alike you know.”

Those words made sickness twist in his stomach, Tamlin looked away from her again, closing his hands into fists, “I am nothing like you.”

“Well that's not true and you know it. I think you used to think you weren’t like me, but all this… loss has made you realise you are indeed exactly like me. The loss made you stronger. It hardened you, you were too soft before. Too kind.”

Claws shot through his fingertips. Red blood fell from his palms. Tamlin remained silent. Even in anger, he knew he couldn’t lash out at her, it wouldn’t end any of them in a good place. 

“Dear friend, you know as well as I, that after a certain amount of grief, you go numb, you were no exception. You stopped feeling so much after a while.” She was right behind him now, her warm breath fanning against the crook of his neck as she leaned in close. Her hand slipped out and traced the curve of his waist. 

“I know how that feels,” she said, “I know what you feel. You and I are so alike. We would have made the world kneel at our feet.”

“I am nothing like you.” He whispered again. 

At that she breathed a laugh, it was not cruel, and it was not cold, it almost seemed… sad, resigned, “Perhaps not, but perhaps I was like you.”

Tamlin blinked, and anger gave way to confusion, “What?”

“Lovely Tamlin.” She breathed, hitching her chin to rest on his shoulder, “I was once young too, you know. I was once innocent, not cruel. The cruelty came with time. I was hardened in the same way you were.”

She trailed a hand lower, playing with the waistband of his trousers. She wouldn’t touch, she had made a plaything out of the Night Lord, Rhysand was enough to satiate her hunger for now. At least until their loose strings were tied up.

“Though I suppose I cracked into the cold, cruelness sooner than you. Perhaps that makes you stronger than me, that you’ve survived this long without losing your heart.”

Her hand came back up, tracing the outline of his heart, “You know what they used to say about you? Back in Hybern? They used to say you had a heart of pure gold.”

That claw she called a fingernail pressed harder against his chest, pushing into the hard flesh above his racing heart. 

Tamlin felt the quiver of magic that fluttered through his veins as Amarantha seized control of his power. Her hand turned to actual claws. 

“Let’s see if that is true.” She grinned before searing pain consumed him as she plunged her hand into his chest. 

______________________

Hours had passed, he only knew from the tall grandfather clock that stood proudly in the room, ticking with each painful, passing second. 

And in the corner, sprawled across a red velvet chair, she watched him. Picking at her nails as she watched him rouse from slumber. 

“Not gold.” She said, “The rumours were false.”

As she said the words, it was like they awakened the aching pain that throbbed through his chest, sending bolts of screaming electricity through his ribs. Tamlin groaned and tried to remain as still as possible, hoping it would slowly subside if he remained entirely still. 

“Why?” He whispered into the still air, it was a futile question, but what did he have to lose? “Why do all of this?”

She laughed, “You know why.”

“Is it the power? The fame, the fortune, just… didn’t you have all of that in Hybern?” 

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why anyone would want any of this. To willingly live beneath a mountain, to never taste the rain, to never bathe in sunlight, to never feel the wind on your skin. He didn’t understand why she wanted him, and he didn’t know why she wanted him caged with her. 

“I did have all that in Hybern, but I didn’t have it all.” Amarantha answered. 

“What could you have possibly wanted for?” At this point, Tamlin wasn’t even attempting to stall whatever horrible other things she had planned for him. 

He just…

Needed to know. 

She seemed to think about her answer for a good long while. With every second that passed, the clock ticked and his heart ached, despite it no longer beating. 

“You.” She murmured. 

“You had me.” He said, “All those years ago.”

“Yes, but… I did not have you. Tamlin I-” She sighed, tipping her head back.

This was…

This was different. 

But also the same. 

The woman she had become to the faces of the High lords, sickeningly sweet, putting on a performance that deserved an award. Charming and worming her way into their thoughts and hearts, until she had them wrapped around her finger, and soon their magic. 

But back then. 

Back then, Tamlin remembered a different Amarantha. One that was worn down by battle and settling disputes. One that was stoic, uncaring, unfeeling. 

Raging with grief. 

“After a certain amount of grief, you go numb.”

Was that why it was so easy to put on a performance? Because underneath it all, there was nothing really there.

“You were everything I didn’t have. Everything taken from me.” She murmured, “Pure, kind of heart, soft.”

A serpent’s smile creeped along her face, “I could not have you. So I had to take it from you.”

It was at that moment that she stood, that the lies and faces slid back into place. She leaned over him and grasped his chin. 

“I took it all from you. Drained you of that purity. That innocence.” Her lips brushed his cheek. 

“After all,”

Amarantha spoke against his mouth. 

“That's all beasts like us deserve.”

[kyber-kisses]

Swimming In Stars

Captain Rex x Jedi!reader

Warnings: none

Summary: while on shore leave the reader decides to go off on an adventure of her own, stumbling across a certain clone captain in the process.

It probably wasn’t the smartest idea to be sneaking out of the temple the night before shore leave ended, seeing as there were still reports to file and mission plans to go over. . . But then again you weren’t exactly known for making smart decisions.

The temple guards were easy enough to slip past, especially after years of you and Anakin memorizing the shift changes. You could probably do it blindfolded if you were being honest. . . And backwards.

The sun had long since set when you departed, a deep navy cloak wrapped around your form,the hood pulled sharply over your head as you dove through one of the open temple windows and onto the ground below. The cloak had been a gift from a woman on Pantora that you had helped rescued from enemy fire. You had tried to decline but she insisted, practically wrapping you in it as she did.

You didn’t wear it often though, only using it for special occasions. . . Such as sneaking out of the temple in the dead of night. Normal things like that.

Having resided on Corucant for most of your life, you knew the streets well and you navigated them with ease, blending in well as you did. Without your Jedi robes you were as common as the rest of the species who perused the streets.

Though you had a particular mission in mind unlike most of them: 79’S.

Normally you held little interest in the clone bar, despite it being a common discussion topic amongst the clones. . . But when you overheard Jesse and Fives talking about going the night before shore leave ended you couldn’t help but find your interest peaked.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t done stuff like this before- force when you and Anakin were younger it was a weekly occurrence to sneak out and wander the clubs and cantinas dressed in civvie clothes.

But it had been so long.

And if you were being honest you could do with a night out.

79’S wasn’t hard to miss, not with its giant neon sign and clusters of clones moving in and out of the doors. No one paid you a passing glance as you moved between the throngs of white armor. And if anyone did, they didn’t care.

Slowing to a stop in the middle of the raging bare you cast your eyes around you, thankful that over the years so many clones had picked up signature markings. But then again with the amount of time you were around certain members of the 501st it was easy to recognize their force signatures.

Your eyes moved across the room to one of the lit up circular booths in the corner. Fives was the first one you recognized, and the Jesse followed along with Hardcase, Kix, and Echo.

A sly smirk pulled on the corners of your lips as you ducked under a clones elbow, twisting between moving bodies as you navigated your way through the crowds.

Keeping your features hidden to the best of your ability you moved towards the table, none of them paying attention to you as they listened to some dramatic storytelling from Fives, the ARC trooper waving his hands wildly in the air as he did.

You didn’t allow him the satisfactory of finishing the story though, because instead you sharply slapped a palm down on the table earning all five sets of deep brown eyes to look up at you.

“Ma’am can we help you?”

Letting your fingers dance across the surface of the table you picked up one of the untouched shots littered about the table. “Getting drunk the night before mission? Mmm I thought you boys knew better.” You hummed, keeping your head low as you allowed your words to simmer.

“Uhhh-“

When you had finally had enough of your antics your amused smirk widened and you suddenly slid into the booth besides Fives, tooling back the shot as you did before turning to peak out at the ARC trooper next to you.

“I’m just kidding, I don’t care what you guys do.”

Fives eyes widened besides you and as you slowly looked around the rest of the table the others did the same.

“General!?”

Slapping a hand over the ARCs mouth you gave him a warning look. “Hey, keep it down!”

Fives nodded beneath your palm and as you slowly lowered your hand you let out a breath. Across the table Jesse leaned forward, keeping his voice as low as he could in the noisy bar. “General, with all do respect what are you doing here?”

“It’s shore leave isn’t it?”

Next to Jesse Hardcase leaned back in his seat, arms sprawled out against the back of the booth. “I didn’t know Jedi knew how to party. I ain’t complaining though.”

“Trust me when I say it isn’t exactly smiled upon, but c’mon- when have any of you known me to stick by the rule book?”

A chorus of rarelys and nevers went up around the table, making you grin.

“But I swear-“ you leaned forward, bracing your elbows on the table as you pointed a finger at all of them. “If you guys say anything I’m freezing you all in carbonite and using you as well decorations.” You paused, “now who wants to go get us a round of shots?”

———————

You could feel the buzz the alcohol was giving you but you were nowhere near drunk. Maybe tipsy but knowing your midichlorian levels that was as probably as good as it was gonna get. Fives, Jesse, and Hardcase on the other hand? They were twice as chaotic as they usually were, leaving you, Kix, and Echo to watch on in amusement.

“How many drinks does it normally take to get him on his ass?” You whispered, having somehow found your way in between Fives and Echo.

“You don’t wanna know.” Echo spoke over the rim of his cup, the two of you eyeing his brother.

“Got it.” Leaning forward slightly in your seat, you look across Echo at Kix. “Five credits he tries to challenge one of us to darts.”

“I’ll take that bet.” The clone medic reaching over to give you a solid hand shake.

But it would seem the rambunctious ARC trooper had other plans. “Uh guys- guys!” Eyes elsewhere, Fives slapping you in the shoulders.

“Kriff, Fives no need to hit so hard-“

“Code Red, code red!”

All sets of eyes apart from yours followed Fives line of sight, a chorus of curses going up as they did. The whole bunch practically sliding deeper down into their seats as if trying to lay low.

That’s when you found what they were looking at. . . Or rather who.

A certain blonde clone captain accompanied by another familiar clone clad in white and yellow.

“I’m getting the vibe that it isn’t common seeing them here.” You spoke softly, head titling slightly as you observed Rex and Cody walk up to the bar.

“Are you kidding me? I mean we constantly ask Captain if he wasn’t to join us but it’s always “I have reports to fill and so on and so forth-“ Fives mimicked, reaching for his drink that you casually slid out of reach from him, your eyes still on the blonde clone.

You considered Rex one of your closest friends, since the beginning of the war you had helped Anakin co- command the 501st, and with it you had become close with the clones under your command.

They were your friends, but none of them held quite a place in your heart such as Rex. He was everything a person should be. Understanding, kind, outrageously smart.

Being in his presence was like standing in a beam of warm afternoon sunlight.

You trusted him with your life.

“Twenty credits says if he spots us the General gives him a heart attack.” Jesse spoke, taking a sip from his drink as the six of you watched them from across the bar.

You blamed the buzz from the several shots for what you did next. “I’ll give you something even more entertaining.” With eerie ease you slid over Fives lap and out of the booth, once more adjusting the hood that was over your head.

“Should we be trying to stop her or-“

“Nah I wanna see how this plays out- plus she’s one of our superiors, I don’t think we can do anything to stop her now.”

As the night had worn on the crowds had somewhat thinned, making it easier to make your way to the bar. With both their backs turned to you a playful grin returned to your features.

You were going to milk this for all it was worth.

With an immense calmness you threw your arms over the shoulders of both the men, sticking your head in between the two of them. “Funny running into you two here. Come here here often?” You mused, eyes bouncing between the shocked looks on both their faces. . . Though Cody’s was also laced ever so slightly with amusement.

“General!” Taking notice of how loud the word came out of his mouth, Rexs eyes darted around before returning to you. “General, what are you doing here?”

“Avoiding my responsibilities.” You spoke casually, glancing over at Cody with an amused smile. “Commander I just know Obi-wan is gonna have a laugh when I tell him your out drinking before we all return from shore-leave.”

The amused look on Cody’s face fell slightly. “Kriff, please don’t tell him.”

“I’m just kidding, I won’t.”

Your turned back to Rex, leaving Cody to order his drink as you did. Y/e/c eyes met deep brown ones that you knew all too well. “I’m surprised to see you here general.”

“I’m honestly slightly surprised to be here. I’ll admit this wasn’t my plan when I woke up this morning.” You smiled, leaning slightly on the bar as you turned your body to face him. “And I definitely wasn’t prepared for a drunk Fives.”

From underneath his breath Rex let out a soft string of curses, before following the way you were nodding your head. You watched in amusement as your group of troopers sent their captain an awkward set of waves, Rex wincing in embarrassment at the state of the men under his command.

“Please tell me you didn’t get them drunk. . . “

“No, of course not!” You paused. “They already had drink when I got here. . . Though I will admit the three rounds of shots were on me—“

“Y/N!”

The use of your first name caught you somewhat off gaurd as Rex slightly scolded you, though the hints of a laugh could be heard behind it.

He had never called you by your first name before. It had always been General or General Y/L/N. For some reason it made you melt.

“What! I haven’t had fun like this in ages, give me a break!” You laughed, watching as Rexs face turned ever so slightly pink.

“If my men are hungover tomorrow I’m blaming you.” Rex shook his head, his own smile creeping across his lips.

“Deal. If they are I’ll bring you Caf for the next week.” You paused. “The good stuff Obi-wan has.”

Rex raised an eyebrow. “I’ll shake to that.” His gloved hand coming up to meet yours in a solid handshake, your nerve endings feeling as if that had just caught fire from his touch alone.

“Also you’re playing darts with us, c’mon-“ without giving him a second to speak you were yanking him out of his bar stool, unaware of the deepening shade of red on the captains face.

“General, I-“

“No buts. Plus Cody can watch your seat.” You mused, looking back over your shoulder at the commander of the 212th, the clone sending you an amused look as he brought his drinks to his lips.

“Don’t let him have too much fun General!”

“I would never!”

——————

It took longer than expected for you to get Rex out of his normal shell and loosen up. You managed to get two shots into him with the aid of several cheering clones and now he was demolishing Fives and Jesse on their fourth game of holo-darts, all the while a soft smirk had laid itself across his features.

You were slowly seeing a side to Rex you had never seen before.

“You got him wrapped around your finger you know.”

You hummed a response, lifting your glass to your lips as you watched Rex throw yet another dart at the board, earning a groan from Fives.

“Y/N-“

The use of your name pulled your attention finally, turning your head to look at Echo was was leaned against the wall next to you. “Sorry what did you say?”

Echo merely grinned, “I can bet you without a doubt that if you weren’t here Rex would not have agreed to play darts with us.”

“That’s because none of you were going to ask him.”

A pause.

“Alright fair point, but if we had he wouldn’t have.”

Playing with the tiny straw in your drink you let out a sigh. “Echo what are you trying to say?”

The only answer was a light laugh and a pat on the back before the ARC trooper moved forward to take his turn at the board.

Glancing around the bar you could tell it had gotten much later. Only a few little groups of clones still mingled, talking casually to one another while one or two sat passed at the bar. Cody had departed awhile ago, only stopping by to say farewell before heading back to the base.

The neon clock on the far wall told you that you should probably be heading out as well. You had to get up early tomorrow to re-walk the Resolute and make sure everything was in place for the upcoming missions.

Grabbing your cloak from where you had discarded it earlier when you had realized the crowds were thinning, you snapped it back into place.

“Alright boys, I’m calling it quits for the night.”

A series of protests went up, and though you prided yourself on how observant you were constantly you didn’t notice how the captain turned his attention towards you as you passed, an echo of his smile from playing darts still on his face.

“So early General?”

With a raised eyebrow you looked over your shoulder. This really was a new Rex. “Captain it’s past midnight. We all have to be up in a couple hours to catch the shuttles back up to the Resolute.”

It was clear Rex had lost track of time, his face falling as he looked past you at the clock on the far wall, it’s neon numbers blinking lazily. He let out a curse under his breath, shoving his remaining dart into the outreached palm of Jesse.

“I told General Skywalker I would have those reports finished by morning.”

“Ooh Captains in trouble.”

“Shut it Fives.”

Shaking your head in amusement you turned to depart, only getting as far as the main entrance before a figure was rushing after you. “General! Allow me to escort you back?”

As you looked over to your left you smiled at the blonde clone settling into a steady pace besides you, the two of you stepping out onto the slowly quieting Corucant street.

“I thought you had things to do captain?”

“I do, but the temple and the clone facility are in the same general direction. Plus it wouldn’t be right to have my general walking alone.”

There he was. Your sweet and polite Rex you had grown so very fond of. You were perfectly capable of defending yourself but you would also never turn down an evening stroll with your favorite captain. “Very well.”

As if you had done it a million times before you absentmindedly looped your arm through Rexs, pulling him slightly down the street, all the while being blissfully unaware of the startled look on the captains face and the red creeping across his cheeks.

In truth Rex had always looked at you like you were the most brilliant thing he had ever seen in the galaxy. The first time he saw you he didn’t think you were real. You were laughing at something General Skywalker had said, your head tilted back towards the sun, eyes squeezed shut tightly in joy.

He stumbled on half his words when he was finally introduced.

And now here he was, your arm looped through his as you led him down some neon lit street in the belly of Corucant.

“How was your shore-leave? I know it was only a week but-“

“It was fine, thank you General. Got caught up on a lot of cadet forms that had been piling up while we’ve been away.”

Laying your free hand atop Rexs arm you gave him a soft smile. “You can call me Y/N, at least for right now. No one else is around, plus I like when you call me by my name. Makes me feel more like an actual person and not a tool for the Republic.”

Rex was silent for a moment, any words that had been on his tongue a moment before had all fizzled out. Kriff, you were going to be the death of him.

“Y/N.” He said it slowly, almost as if laced with caution.

You beamed up at him, giving his forearm a pat. “Rex.”

He fell silent yet again. . . And then coughed awkwardly, turning his eyes ahead. “Uh, how was your shore-leave?”

“Boring. In the temple there’s a lot of time designated for self reflection. It gets boring and much to quiet if I’m being honest. I would rather be stuck in the barracks with the 501st-“

At that Rex let out an amused chuckle. “All due respect I don’t think you’d last a night in there. You haven’t had to go to sleep with the odor of Fives feet in the air. “

“Mm maybe not but when we were padawans there was a couple weeks where I had to share a bunk with Anakin, and let me tell you— half the time he smelled like a wet womp rat.” You paused, “but then again Hardcase sometimes smells that way too-“

You were surprised that your words got a full laugh out of Rex, his head tilting backwards as he laughed. The sight was enough to make your smile widen.

Kriff, you were in so much trouble.

“What?”

“What?”

“You just said you were in so much trouble.” Rexs previous joyful expression had fallen, now laced with concern as he looked at you.

Oops. . . Apparently those words had not just been in your head.

The two of you paused at a crossroads. . . Literally. Though neither of you paid attention to the hundreds of ships and cruisers that buzzed by several yards above you.

“It’s nothing.” Shaking your head, you pulled yourself away from Rex, continuing forward.

“General- sorry- Y/N. Are you alright?” Folding his arms behind his back, Rex moved forward to sink into your pace.

“I—“ you paused, a tiny war raging inside your head as you weighed wether or not you should give him some explanation. “I am not a good Jedi.”

“What do you mean? I may not know much about Jedi but I know that for as long as I’ve known you you’ve done an excellent job.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but I’m really not. I’ve made a really big mistake that no jedi is supposed to.”

Rex paused in his steps, watching you with a slight tilt to his head. “Which is?”

Your own steps faltered when you realized he had stopped, the action making you look back over your shoulder at him. “Jedi arnt allowed to form attachments. It’s considered a selfish act. . . And yet I’ve done it.”

A pause. “Forgive me but I don’t understand you jedi and your rules.”

“Heh, neither do I Rex. Neither do I.” Turning fully, you gave him a soft smile and for a moment you just watched him, waiting to see if he caught on.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You really don’t get it do you?”

Another pause. “Get what?”

Your feet was moving before your mind was but when it did catch up you made no move to stop it. You only halted when your toes of your boots were bumping against Rex’s, the captain looking down at you with a wide eyed and curious stare.

“The attachment I have is you, Rex.”

He said nothing, though you felt a shift in the air as his eyes widened and his cheeks turned rosy. “Me?”

“Yeah, I think it was set into place the moment I met you. With your awkward smiles and salutes and your unwavering kindness and understanding.” You looked down, slowly reaching out to grab Rex’s gloved hands.

“General-“

His voice brought your gaze upwards and with it Rex sucked in a gulp of air. “It’s Y/N.”

It was only when you slowly rose to the balls of your feet did Rex shift awkwardly, heat creeping down his neck as he realized what you were doing. “I’ve never kissed anyone before-“

“Neither have I.”

You both knew the risk you were taking and though neither of you spoke it, there was a silent promise that neither of you would say a word of it to anyone.

And with that you pressed your lips firmly to Rexs, and for the first time in a long time. . . The force around you felt right.

[emmg]

There’s a codex entry where emmrich thinks that maybe he could have joined johanna, i don’t remember what it says exactly but basically he hints that he may have been tempted or is scared of his own thoughts. All that to say that i think there’s a possibility for him to be a darker version of himself (it’s about ur earlier post about him being written as a dark character, it got me thinking

Oh yeah, I do vaguely recall something like that. Egad, this game has so many codex entries that it’s hard to keep track lmao. But that’s a good thing. I’m a hoeeeee for lore, gimme more

Mmm, you’re right of course :) I just have a hard time coming up with specific scenarios in which he would “go dark”, for lack of a better term.

Does the Mourn Watch unexpectedly cross a line so spectacularly against everything Emmrich stands for that he just snaps? Like, full petty meltdown mode, the kind of rage that’s been simmering under his charming professor exterior finally blowing up in their faces. We know he can be petty and elegantly shitty, we’ve seen it when he argues with Taash and Harding. Something so grand it’s enough for him to go, “Fuck you, your mother, your dog, your entire bloodline,” flips them off with the energy of a man who’s been politely holding back for decades, and then calmly picks up a crystal to call Johanna, like, “Hey bestie, let’s talk lichdom—do you offer a fast-track program?”

Or does the world not just go to shit, but goes to such catastrophic, next-level shit that his academic mind spirals into an existential feedback loop so intense that no amount of wine in Thedas can pull him out of it? Specifically a non-lich Emmrich with Rook, who is not only terrified of dying but is kept awake at night dreading that Rook might die. He’s fully lost it at this point, pacing around their ridiculously opulent 7-story apartment, muttering stuff like, “Darling, I’ve decided the ground outside is now lava and it will eat you alive. Please stay inside while I physically push you back indoors if you even think about stepping out. What’s that? Tea with young Davrin? Oh, right—HE’S FUCKING DEAD.”

Idk, idk. What I do know is that it would take something monumental, a serious world-shattering betrayal or disaster, for Emmrich to completely chuck all his principles out the window—the ones he’s been cultivating for years and wears like emotional armor. Like, sure, he says, “A gentleman is never without a brush and a razor,” but tbh under the right circumstances, that razor might not be for shaving anymore.

This is fun lol

[caeslxys]

I am SO fascinated to get your take on BH's reaction to Ludinus and Downfall.

*****SPOILERS FOR 102 BELOW*****

As someone who left Downfall with a very negative view of the gods, it's interesting to me that BHs (in particular Imogen) kept saying "but you're just like them" about Ludinus and then not realizing that she was saying that the gods are no better than Ludinus fucking Da'Leth. Yeah, Luda is a hyprocrite. Do you realize that the gods are no better? The GODS.

And BHs comparing themselves to the primes/betrayers as this "fucked-up family" completely ignores the power differential. "They're just little guys! We all make mistakes" but you're saying that about entities that can literally sling 9th levels every 6 seconds without using any resources.

Nothing that can feel and be motivated by loss, rage, fear, and revenge should have that much power. Respectfully.

Sorry this took me so long to answer! I’ve been letting my own thoughts simmer and rewatching the episode in pieces to grasp the Many Many different things that happened on my own because it was Quite A Lot and some of it (the delilah of it all, funnily enough) left me immediately with an overall sense of disappointment that I wanted to sift through before talking Thoughts so that I could determine analysis from bias lol. BUT. I DO HAVE THOUGHTS

Long answer under the read more, but tldr: Apart from Orym, Ashton, and Dorian (simultaneously the most and least surprising!) I don’t think we’ve gotten the full breadth of BH’s opinions at all. In part because this a topic of discussion that requires them actually, well, discussing it to form fully rounded opinions on but also, crucially, because they were expressing opinions and emotions in front of Ludinus. This is important, because Orym/Ashton/Dorian make the most sense to have no reason for holding their true thoughts back in front of either him or the party (obviously in Orym and Ashton’s case, but I’ll be honest in not considering what is now obvious—Dorian has no idea who this guy actually is! Of course he wasn’t opposed to raising his perspective!), whereas other characters—namely Imogen—have many more internal steps and hurdles to actually reaching a conclusion that must happen outside of Ludinus’ eye.

Alright. Long version.

I think it truly speaks to the characters that the ones who reacted the most immediately decisive were Orym—the one whose opinions wouldn’t have changed regardless of what was held within that orb (which. sigh)—Ashton—the punk, anti-authoritarian character who has had an established perspective of the gods and their power for quite some time, perspectives that were in many ways cemented in viewing this piece of history rather than dispelled—and Dorian—someone who, as mentioned earlier, has the least amount of context for who Ludinus is, but who also himself was raised in a comparatively high position of social power so as to understand exactly what Ludinus is saying about the gods’ misusing theirs.

And, of course, Imogen. I’ll admit: I was immediately shocked at her response, but in hindsight of course she responded the way she did. I have talked and gushed and wailed before at how deeply empathetic Imogen is, and how it is also her ultimate fatal flaw (demonstrated explicitly here), so of course her first thought was how she saw the feelings and motives behind the decisions made in downfall and not how it was also an extreme over-reach of power and influence. Of course she did. I think the only person she’s incapable of empathizing with is Delilah lmao.

And to that point: A lot of that seemed, on a rewatch and to me, posturing on her part. So much of Imogen is defined by her guilt and shame and self-loathing and its especially prevalent when she is playing leader—a role she is naturally very good at, but doubts constantly because she does not consider herself “good”. So, often, she does what she thinks others perceive as “good” and “right” and keeps her more complex thoughts to herself until she is in a safe space (often with Laudna), and projects who she thinks others need her to be in the moment.

Laudna, in the same vein, also shocked me that she didn’t push the breach of power here. But, again, she is also right next to Imogen in “bells hells characters most driven by/capable of empathy” (though hers is, unlike Imogen’s, often in conflict with her desires in really compelling ways) so on further reflection—and especially taking into consideration the massive amount of shame she is feeling from swordgate—of course she focused on the empathetic side of it all.

Ultimately we didn’t get much time at all for them to actually discuss and dissect their take-aways on all of downfall in a setting and context that would be free of bias and performance. If i’m honest, I think those conversations need to happen individually instead of in a group, though maybe Dorian’s inclusion and obvious clear decision on his stance being more in line with Ludinus’ may just be enough for Orym alone not to break the conversational thread again with his personal grief (and guilt, but that’s another post lol). I think their real opinions have yet to solidify even for themselves, and we’ll see them truly form in the coming episodes. The Delilah of it all notwithstanding.

Speaking of Orym’s refusal to think about anything—I think he and Imogen both are suffering from Predathos tunnel vision. Honestly I’d argue a good portion of fandom is as well. None of that conversation is ultimately about Predathos, it was about the gods and the role they play and the power they use or over-use or deserve. By focusing so intently on what we all already agree is the wrong and bad solution to this problem, we ignore the problem entirely. It’s one of my main issues with Orym’s stance this whole campaign. If we don’t ask what is to be done with the gods, and the campaign just wraps up with “we defeated the bad guys, yay!” well. What of the ruidusborn, who we know are treated unfairly and unkindly and who suffer through no fault of their own. What of the young vanguard members—the kids—who, also, are only guilty of caving to the idea of peace. What of Aeor, what of Ludinus—what of the cycle that birthed them both. To not engage with the questions being asked for hyperfixating on the Predathos of it all is to leave this campaign, in my opinion, on both a deeply unsatisfying but also deeply hopeless note. The cycle will continue. We may not see it—it may be another thousand, two thousand years before another Ludinus rises—but another Ludinus or Aeor or both will rise, because ultimately no change will have been implemented in the problems which resulted in them.

And—final note, promise—I was talking to a friend about this yesterday but when it comes down to acknowledging the societal implications of downfall, especially in Imogen’s case, I do think it’s going to have to be pointed out first. A lot of Bells Hells are characters who have suffered at the very hands they are trying to save, but also suffered in part and specifically due to a lack of access to knowledge about it all. It does not escape me that the very first scene of campaign three is Imogen attempting to gather knowledge on powers that have made her miserable for a decade and being unable to access them in a library due to her station. That is, to me, more and more becoming the underpinning theme of this campaign—especially as all Ludinus is doing in this moment with the Occultus Thalamus is displaying it; again, obviously Ludinus is wrong in his means (and arrogant in his assumptions that just because of his failures that no one else could find a solution) but this, specifically, the spreading of knowledge—that, I 100% find myself in agreeance with. So it’s not that they won’t understand what characters like Ashton and Dorian, both hyperaware of the implications of power here, are or will be saying. It’s that they literally do not know to think about it like that. Why would they. It has been intentionally kept from them.

Anyway I have no idea if that was uh. Sufficient Enough of an answer adksfjd at some point I just started yapping but! I’m intrigued, especially because of Dorian’s adamant belief, in what conclusions they’ll draw moving forward as the discussions truly begin! Hopefully! Hopefully they will discuss it!

[greyskyflowers]

Finally caught up on Bleach TYBW (anime) and a need to discuss a potential idea.

~ More Ichigo and the Visored ~

⚠️ Please scroll past this if you're worried about spoilers for the anime ⚠️

So because the idea that some of the visored die so soon after they've finally gotten back to normal devastates me in ways I can't fully put into words, and because I will never get enough visored and Ichigo interactions/relationships, I think a canon divergent/AU type fic idea towards the end of the 2nd season would be so fun to explore.

As always I'm gonna add in some more instinctive traits that I like to imagine the visored have.

So, I'm really into the idea that Mayuri can save Rose and Kensei but he's not going to do it out of the good of his heart. He's got the thing he's doing with the zombie type stuff already so let's imagine he's can save them still somehow. Or that they're going to be fine and everything's fine, totally fine. They're all good

However, Ichigo would be a prize that would make saving them worth the trouble. This would be perfect opportunity. He'll heal Rose and Kensei if Ichigo agrees to go with him, they negotiate x amount of time. Maybe a week or whatever.

Even better, Ichigo agrees to this. No one can even say that Mayuri had taken him against his will or done something worth being stripped of captain because when Ichigo agreed. And Mayuri is even going to honor the time frame agreed upon. He knows that he's already pushing it with the deal tbh.

I personally can't believe there aren't more fics about Mayuri trying everything he can to get Ichigo in his labs for testing and observation.

But I want to focus on the visored and Ichigo with this.

Rose and Kensei wake up to the others and they all have a little time for themselves as a group because the idea of losing any of them is devastating and they almost did.

And maybe people still aren't panicking about Ichigo yet, everyone assuming he's with someone else, but that quickly changes. Because Ichigo isn't with Chad and Orihime, or Rukia and Renji, or Urahara, Ganju, etc. And people start to panic because where the fuck is Ichigo?

I like the idea that Mayuri just tells people when they get smart enough to side eye him after he's been strangely quiet about wasting resources on searching for someone like Ichigo.

He didn't do anything wrong, after all. He and Ichigo had made a deal. They will get Ichigo back after the allotted time is up.

So everyone is stuck waiting for the time to be up, hovering outside the 12 division in shifts, trying to keep Kisuke from destroying his old division in a breathtaking rage and attempting to convince Kenpachi to wait until they have Ichigo before killing the clown.

No one quite gets what happened though. What could Mayuri had offered that Ichigo wanted so bad?

And maybe only a few people figure it out, or maybe everyone does, but somehow the visored put together that Ichigo saved Rose and Kensei specifically.

What would that mean to people who were used to betrayal? Who probably only truly trusted or loved each other?

Sure, Ichigo is one of their. And I wish we got to see more interactions with them. Bleach has so many great relationships and dynamics that we never really dig into as much as I'd like. But he was so young and there was a slight disconnect between them because Ichigo hadn't been betrayed like they had, he hadn't been left to simmer in his anger for years like they had.

They're fond of him, more so than they are about most people, but they would never had asked this of him. Or ever have even expected it. And that makes it even worse because Ichigo didn't need them to ask, he just did it.

There are certain people are Ichigo's, his to protect and love and sacrifice for. His sisters, Chad, Orihime, Uryu, Rukia, Kisuke, the Visored, and more.

So Mayuri had the ability to save people that Ichigo considers his and he didn't even have to think about it.

Of course he'd let Mayuri do his experiments on him, as long as Rose and Kensei would be okay. Because Ichigo also knows that it's going to destroy the other visored to hear that they're gone.

When the time period is up, Ichigo comes stumbling out of the 12th like he's drunk, clearly hurt, and starting to fall only to immediately be swept up and away by one or more of the visored.

There are many people who want to see Ichigo, to check on him and make sure he's okay but they all step back and allow the visored a chance to have him first.

They have a wildness to their eyes that doesn't have anything to do the gold in them and they seem darker, right on the edge of being cruel if they deem it necessary.

No one is going to touch Ichigo when he's hurt and vulnerable because of them.

So everyone steps back and lets them be the ones to get him first.

They have a room they consider safe and comfortable, far enough away to have some privacy but close enough that no one was going to throw a fit about Ichigo being too far away.

They hover when someone from the 4th comes in to check Ichigo and they make their intentions of being alone with him known to anyone who's brave enough to check on them.

They settle around the room with lips curled back to show teeth and eyes glowing, looking like the monsters they try so hard to not be. Their bodies sink into the shadows of the room and golden eyes focus on their youngest, hurt and passed out on a little futon in the middle of the room.

And to add to it, I think something about not being able to heal everything because they don't know what Mayuri gave him and how it will react to kaido, so he's just bandaged up for the time being.

Chad, Orihime, Rukia, Kisuke, and others keep everyone away and guard the room. Even though they would love to see Ichigo and make sure he's okay, they know that the visored need him more right now.

They make sure food and water is regularly provided and try to not look when the door opens enough for a hand to reach out and grab the supplies.

They looked once when the door cracked open and they just saw darkness and gold, a growled warning that went all the way down to their bones and had them snapping back around and pretending they hadn't seen anything.

Ichigo smells like blood and salt and hurt. It burns their noses because he's supposed to smell like warmth and power and Ichigo. Like pack.

He eventually wakes up and, because it's Ichigo, the first thing he focuses on is how happy he is to see Rose and Kensei are okay. How happy he is to see that they're all okay.

He smiles but it doesn't sit quite right on his face because he's still bruised and hurt. They yell at him, calling him everything they can think of and trying to make sure it's drilled into his head that he should never do something like that again.

He knows they've been staying there with him though, can tell by the state of the room that they haven't left him. They look rough, exhausted but with a fresh burst of energy from him waking up.

He can hear the thank yous in-between their lectures and complaining. He can feel the affection in the way they keep looking him over, all of them close enough to jump into action if he needed them. He knows they say don't ever do that again but they mean we will never put you in that position again, and god you're a fucking idiot but they mean god you're our fucking idiot.

There's still a small smile on his face, and he says he'd do it all over again.

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1.) I'm fucking obsessed with Senjumaru. She's perfect. Her character design is beautiful, her bankai is incredible, and she could stab me with needles and I'd say thank you.

2.) I'm also enjoying Askin a lot? I've honestly found most of the quincy characters annoying as fuck but I'm enjoying him so far.