#they should put this on their family crest

[trensu]

Steve had always wanted to be a skilled fighter. The schools that churned out the best fighters all happened to be schools for holy warriors. It was possible that Steve maybe sort of lied a little (with the help of his friends Robin and Dustin) to get into this school by claiming he was full to the brim of religious fervor but hadn’t decided who to pledge his sword to yet. It shouldn’t have worked, if he were honest with himself, but by some stroke of luck it did, and he finished his training as one of the top combatants. 

The issue now was that he had to pick a god whose crest to carry. There were all sorts of gods. Gods of water, gods of air, gods of agriculture, war gods, cat gods, plant gods...the list was endless. And while Steve was one of the best fighters around, he was most definitely not one of the best researchers. Thankfully Dustin and Robin were very clever and knew where to find details about the many gods in existence.

“So what kind of god do you want to follow? Maybe we can start there,” Robin asked.

“Uh…a good one?”

“You’re no help at all, you know that?” Dustin grumbled.

They suggested a local god known as Carver who stood for righteousness, but Steve turned that down. It didn't feel like a good fit. They suggested a love god by the name of Chrissy, who valued love of all kinds, romantic, platonic, familial...Steve had been tempted, very tempted, because Steve had always carried an excess of love in his heart. Robin had vetoed that one stating that Steve was already too reckless with his love and she wouldn't stand by and watch him break his own heart over and over again.

Dustin suggested a god of knowledge, Clarke, who blessed and guided those with curiosity, imagination, and a knack for invention. Steve shot that one down immediately. He was never one to be overly imaginative or curious; he preferred to deal with concrete things. Out of their quickly dwindling list, Robin reluctantly suggested Hargrove, a war god favored by a nearby kingdom, but if Carver was ill-fitting, then Hargrove was outright repellent to Steve.

"C'mon, Steve, you gotta pick someone!" Dustin huffed in frustration. 

Robin thunked her head against the table in the library where they were looking up deities. She was obviously at her wit's end too. Steve, however, just dug his heels in with a particularly stubborn scowl.

"I can't just pick anyone!" Steve said. "If I'm going to pledge my sword to someone, it has to be someone...someone good. Someone that, I don't know, someone I can believe in, even when--no especially when things go wrong. That’s the whole point!"

"Yeah, I get that," Robin sighed, a mix of fond and annoyed, "but this is the eighth book we've gone through and the only one left here is called the King of Darkness which is hardly going to--huh."

Robin paused mid-rant to look at the page more closely. Steve and Dustin both huddled around her to peek into the book as well. Dustin also made a sound of curiosity.

"That's weird," Dustin said.

"Right?" Robin asked enthusiastically.

"What? What's weird?" Steve didn't get what caught their attention.

"This god only has a couple of sentences," Dustin explained, "And they don't really make sense. Something about dark creatures and the undeserving? The grammar and structure is all weird though."

"It looks like a half-assed translation," Robin added with a nod. "We should find the original text."

"Yeah! And if we can make a better translation, we could get it added to the next edition and they'd have to put our names on the book," Dustin said excitedly. Robin's eyes lit up at the thought and they both rushed off to the stacks to track down any original sources.

"Guys! Guys, what about my..."

The librarian hushed Steve, irritated. Steve groaned in defeat.

"...godly choices. Yeah, fine," Steve slumped back on his seat. "I need to find non-nerd friends."

Two days later, Robin and Dustin finished translating a slim, dusty book. They were nearly vibrating in their seats as Steve reviewed their notes on what they found. Dustin gripped his arm and gave him a shake.

"So? What do you think?" he asked excitedly.

Robin slung her arm across Steve's shoulders. With more tenderness than Steve expected, she said, "I know it doesn't seem like it, he doesn't really fit with your whole style, but it could work."

"Yeah," Steve said with a hopeful smile. "Yeah, this feels right."

--

It took longer than Steve would've liked, but eventually he managed to track down a small, crumbling shrine. It was an alcove carved near the entrance--no more than a crack in the stone really--of a cave at the edge of a lush forest. He almost missed it, it was so drowned in overgrown crawling vines and weeds. It bore a modest statue, no bigger than Steve, standing atop an equally modest plinth. There was a spot that obviously held a plaque once, but it must’ve been dug out by thieves at some point.

The sight of it made something in Steve's chest twinge; a strange pang of melancholy at seeing a god so forgotten and abandoned. It surprised him as he had never been particularly religious, but there was just something about this one that drew him in.

It was the middle of the day, so Steve quickly made camp and took advantage of the light to begin clearing the shrine. He started where the plaque had been, scrubbing off the dirt and moss that had filled the indentation. He knew a good smith; he could commission a new plaque to be made. After that, he weeded the immediate area around the plinth where worshipers would typically lay their offerings and pray.

By the time he finished that, it was late afternoon and he decided that was good enough for today. He had to eat and get a few hours of sleep so he could be alert once night fell. When he curled up on his bedroll, he couldn't help the grin that spread on his face. He was going to offer himself to his god tonight, and with any luck, his god would accept him.

--

He woke to a multitude of high pitched squeaks and the sound of many, many flapping wings. The sun had just fully set, and the stars that could be seen through the canopy burned brightly. Steve took his time to fasten on his armor and scabbard properly, and fixed his hair so not a strand was out of place. He took a few deep breaths to calm an unexpected bout of nerves before going to the shrine and kneeling.

His god had no official prayers. Or rather, the prayers for his god were forgotten. Robin and Dustin did their best to find anything prayer-like but it had been in vain. They suspected that most of the god's holy items and lore were purposely lost. Lacking that, Steve decided it was best that he introduce himself.

"Um, hi," he started and immediately winced. "Sorry. I'm not used to...this. I couldn't find any of your…holy words? Prayers? The right ways to speak to you, I guess.

"I'm Steve. Steve Harrington. I'm a fighter. I finished my training a few weeks back. I was the top of my cohort when it came to combat. I'm good with my sword and I know how to take a hit. I can turn just about anything into a weapon if it's needed."

Here Steve paused for a moment, straining to hear but there was nothing other than the typical sounds of a night out in the woods. Steve took a breath and plowed forward.

"I want to be more than a fighter, though. I don't want to just wave a sword around for nothing. I want it to...to matter. So I spent a lot of time trying to decide who to wield my sword for. It took me a while, but I found you. I want to be your shield and sword, if you'll have me."

Steve stopped again to listen. Nothing. Robin warned him this might happen. Gods didn't always accept warriors who offered themselves to them, and forgotten gods weren't always reachable. It was fine, though; he’d try again tomorrow night. Steve turned in just before dawn, eager for night again.

--

Steve worked on clearing the vines tangled around the statue's legs and feet. He yanked out the thick, scraggly vines, and carefully picked apart the prickling thorny ones. There was a particular gnarl of vines that didn't seem like they had a stranglehold on his god's statue. They were healthy and strong, and the way they curled and grew looked more like a caress than an invasion. He decided to leave those on, though he gently rearranged them while removing the more invasive vines so they looked more decorative.

When night arrived with the sound of squeaks and wings, Steve went to kneel at the shrine. He introduced himself again, gave the same spiel as the night before. Still he heard nothing. He scratched the back of his neck in mild insecurity.

“I guess I should tell you I didn’t find you on my own. My friends Robin and Dustin helped me. They’re way smarter than me, you know? Total nerds. I can swing a sword like nothing, but books and research? Yeah, that never works out for me, so they helped me look up all sorts of gods.

“There’s a lot of them. Way more than I thought. Dustin and Robin both recommended me ones or vetoed others. They were getting frustrated with me because I kept rejecting the ones they gave me. 

“Then Robin found you. Kind of by accident, to be honest. But she did her research thing and I knew that I wanted to carry your symbol. It took me forever to find this shrine. Robin said this was probably the only shrine you had left, so I had to find it. 

“Dustin kept saying it was on the other side of the forest, but obviously he was wrong. Not that he’ll ever admit it, the little shit, but whatever. I’m sorry your shrine was abandoned like this, but I promise I’ll fix it up. I’m good with my hands, I can do it.”

There was no response to his admittedly disorganized ramble. It was fine, he told himself. He needed to be patient. He’d come back the next night.

–

Around the statue’s waist there was another tangled mess of vines, except these vines had died and rotted to dark sludge. There was fungus growing on it, and it reeked. It was gross. Steve scrubbed at it for hours because the rot had stained the stone. He was able to get rid of the rot and most of the stains before going to catch a few hours of sleep in the afternoon.

Night fell and Steve was kneeling for the third time. He repeated most of what he said the previous two nights. There was still no response. He thought maybe he was pushing too hard. He’d never been the super talkative type anyway. He could share the quiet night with his god, if that was what his god wanted.

A few hours passed when he was startled out of his near meditative state by the sound of snapping twigs. He leapt to his feet, hand on his scabbard. Someone–a man by the look of it–stumbled out of the woods. He was pale and dark haired, dressed in ragged clothes that were probably awful even when they were new. He looked like a vagabond. 

Steve stepped in front of the shrine, protectively. The stranger grinned at him and Steve could already tell he was not going to enjoy the conversation that was about to happen.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Steve asked firmly, cutting the man off before he could speak. The smile only grew wider.

“I could ask you the same thing, sir,” the man said, adopting the annoyed huff of a wealthy lord. Steve scowled.

“I asked first.”

“I asked second!”

“You didn’t ask me anything,” Steve responded, somewhat smug. The man paused and then snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, okay.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “You got me.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“What are you doing here? Who are you?” Steve repeated shortly. The teasing grin was back, and Steve felt his scowl deepen.

“Nothing and no one, m’lord,” the man bows mockingly.

“I’m not a lord.”

“Huh. Could’ve fooled me. You’re certainly as demanding as any lord I’ve ever met.”

“Oh fuck you,” Steve snapped. “I’m a holy warrior.”

The man laughed at him outright.

“Well that doesn’t sound very holy warrior-ish. Are your type allowed to swear?”

Steve grinded his teeth and decided it was not worth it to continue this conversation for much longer.

“Look, if you’re here to steal, I’ve got nothing on me.”

“That’s exactly what someone with something to steal would say.”

“Well, I don’t! I’m on a pilgrimage and I don’t want to spill blood on holy ground. So.” Steve wrapped a hand around the hilt of his sword. “Leave. Please.”

“Holy ground? Here?” the man barks out a laugh. “Don’t you know what this place is?”

“Yes,” Steve says shortly, placing himself more firmly between the shrine and the man. “Please leave. There shouldn’t be violence done here.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that. This place used to belong to the King of Darkness. It’s said he was so evil that nothing grew here until he was run out and defeated by the god of righteousness. You know the one. Really plays up the holier than thou thing by making his hair all gold and glowy? Gotta say, you could give him a run for his money though.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No really! Your hair is great. Way better than Carver, even with the glowy thing.” 

“Not that!” Steve said in frustration. This guy really liked the sound of his own voice and Steve was starting to get a headache. It was near dawn and all he wanted was to spend the last hour or so in the quiet night with his god.

“So you agree your hair is better than a god’s?” The man tsks at him. “That’s pretty blasphemous. Are you sure you’re a holy warrior?”

“No! I mean, yes. Wait,” Steve growls at his own bumbling. “No, I’m not better than any god. But I am a holy warrior. Kind of.”

“Kind of.”

“Look, I’m working on it so I need you to leave. You’ve insulted him enough already.”

“Your god is the King of Dark–”

“Call him that again, and I will draw my sword,” Steve said, voice steely. “He’s the Lord of Night, and I won’t let you insult him at his own shrine.”

The man goes quiet for the first time since he showed up. He looked almost surprised, his mocking grin gone. His eyes flicked over to the dilapidated statue and then back at Steve.

“Lord of Night doesn’t sound much different than what I called him,” the man said lightly.

“Well, it is,” Steve told him. “Now, will you please leave?”

The man stared at him for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah, alright.” And then he left as suddenly as he had arrived.

The tension that had built up in Steve’s shoulders drained away. He went back to kneel in front of the shrine again when he noticed the barest hint of sunrise on the horizon. He cursed under his breath then was hit with a wave of embarrassment at cursing in front of the shrine and the whole situation that had transpired.

“I’m sorry about that,” Steve said, abashed. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

–

It happened again.

now with an additional snippet here and here

ps: i do not do those reader tag list things. if you'd like to keep up with my stuff, follow my writing tag: trensu tells stories

[poppyflower-22]

Nothing To Worry About?

Summary: Benjicot confronts you on your past relationship with Aegon.

Warnings: Incest (as usual) This is a modern au. Small talk of virginity. Mention of still birth.

Side note: Spelling and grammar mistakes. This could be a part 2 to lifetime if you like.

To love someone is to love all of them. No matter there flaws. No matter what they do.

You had seen you mother love your father's. She had loved your step father Harwin Strong. And she had loved your father Daemon.

While the rest of your family was complicated you had always known and seen what love was and how it should be received and given.

While Harwin wasn't your father, he treated you like his daughter. He showed loved to you like a father should do.

It was how you had known that what you felt for Benjicot Blackwood was love. You had known because your mother had spoken of how that's what she felt for your fathers.

It had made you feel like you had butterfly's in in your stomach. And you had never felt like this, you could feel like this forever.

“Is he good to you?” Jace asked his sister. You turned to your brother and smiled.

“Yeah.” You looked back over at Benjicot, who was playing with Aegon, your younger brother.

You felt a hand on your arm. “I’m happy for you, sister.” Jace whispered, kissing the side of your forehead.

Jace was happy that his friend was good to you. He was always going to look out for you but more so after the whole Aegon thing.

You sighed and walked over to Ben. Benji smiled up at you as you bent down on your knees.

“Hey buddy.” You greeted your younger brother. Your brother smiled at you before going back to playing with his toy dragons.

“Aegon!” Rhaenyra called, making young Aegon run over to his mother.

“Come on.” You said as you took Benji’s hand and walked up to your bedroom.

Benji squeezed your hand as you both walked past the living room where your uncles were. Aegon, your uncle smirked at Benji, knowing it would get on his nerves.

“I bloody hate him.” Benji mumbled. As he lay on her bed. He lay on his side. He had his hand on his chin as he watched you.

Your orange cat, Maple, jumped on the bed and snuggled up to Benji. He pat her making her purr.

You sat at your vanity and took off your earrings and jewellery, but your promise ring Benji had given you.

“Just ignore him.” You mumbled back, not wanting to talk about Aegon.

“Well it’s hard to when he’s here all the time.” He shot back.

You signed. “You know mother and Alicent are being friendly again, and Aegon just tags along.”

Ben groaned and dropped his head onto her soft fluffy pillows, Maple not moving as she was a deep sleeper. You smiled at your boyfriend before walking over to join him on the bed. Maple purred as you moved her softly so you could cuddle your boyfriend.

Benji smiled, letting you cuddle closer to him. He put his hand around your waist. You kissed his neck as you were put to sleep by your boyfriend.

Even him just there made you fall asleep.

Benji was cresting your back as he heard you breathing get steady, meaning you were asleep. He carefully got out of your arms and put the stuffed weighted dragon toy in your arms.

He stepped out to your balcony that was connected to your room and lit his cigarette.

As he looked out the mountains that were literally in your back, he thought of you.

The first time he ever saw you was in that book shop. He knew who you were. How could he not? You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. And you were a Targaryen.

You had giggled at him when he stumbled over his words. He was nervous to talk to you, but he got over that as you both started seeing each other.

His first had been you, his first kiss, the person that took it. He was even more drawn to you after that. He tried his best to love and cherish you with his whole heart.

He loved you too much to ever let you go. He thinks if you ever got away that he would simply die. Sounds dramatic, but his soul was yours.

And it was a plus your family approved of him.

Daemon had been harder to get the approval of. You were his little girl. And any boy wasn’t going to be good enough for you. But he liked Benji, he could protect you.

Jace was already sort of friends with him. They played football together. But they came closer after Benji started dating you. Jace was like Daemon, protective, but Jace knew you were safe with him.

Rhaenyra was the one person Benji had been he most nervous about meeting. You loved your mother with all your heart. You were her only girl. After your little sister Visneya died a still birth, your mother had been even more protective of you.

But the moment you told her about Benji, she knew that without even meeting the boy, he was the one for you. That he treated you like you were the only girl on the earth. And for that, Rhaenyra had treated Benji like another one of her sons.

Your door being open pulled him away from his thoughts of you. He turned his head to see who it was, he thought it would be your mother or brother but it was Aegon.

Benji sat up more on the rail at the sight of your uncle. He didn't like him. From just the way he used to treat girls in school and college. And also that you and Aegon use to have a close relationship.

You always hesitated in telling him anything about your time with Aegon when you were younger, but Benji had guessed what could have happened.

"What are you doing?" Benji snapped at the boy making Aegon snap his head over to him.

Aegon smirked and walked his way to the doorway of the balcony. "Just checking up on my niece."

"Well, she's fine." Benji grumbled and put his cigarette out on the rail before jumping off the rail to put it in the ashtray that sat on the small table.

Aegon shugged and crossed his arms, "She's my niece. We are close." He smirked at the black haired boy. Aegon watched as he clenched his jaw in anger. "We are so close. I would say closer than people think." He taunted the boy.

Benji clenched his fist before he took a step and got right in Aegons face, making him gulp at the glint in Beni's eyes. "You were close. Were. You're not close anymore. She has me. She doesn't need you. She comes to me with her problems, not you." Benji spat.

He walked over to you and sat down on the edge and moved some of your white hair out of your face.

Aegon’s smirk drooped. Yes, you and him were close. More close than anyone in the family. But after a while, when he had left for his first year in community college, you had distanced yourself from him. And before he knew it, you were bringing your new boyfriend home.

He glanced at the way Benjicot moved your hair softly away from your face. He used to do that with you. He taught you everything you knew.

Aegon walked angrily towards your bedroom door before he left he turned to Benji and said something that would hopefully make him angry, "Hey Benji, did she take you to her favourite place in Rome Did you take the nighttime walk where the violin players always play?" Aegon asked with a smirk before he left the room.

He left a confused and hurt Benji and a sleeping unaware girl.

The dinner was uncomfortable. You had tried to talk to Benji, but all he had done was tell you dinner was ready.

You don't know what had happened since you had fallen asleep. You had tried to hold his hand, but he shook that of as well.

He was sat between your brother and you. Helena sat next to you. Aegon sat across from him,

You had decided that if your boyfriend was going to be a dick to you for no reason, then you would talk to your sweet aunt.

Benji had tried to listen to Jace talk about his trip to Paris with his girlfriend Sarah Snow. But all he could think about was you.

When you had asked him if he wanted to go to Rome for a few days, he had jumped at the opportunity. You had been on many small trips together, but Rome was a place you loved.

And knowing that Aegon had been there and done exactly what you two did didn't sit right with him. Maybe it was jealously. But he just didn't like it.

"They had this amazing butterfly room there. You would love it Hel, we have to go, one day." You gushed to your aunt.

"Of course. Butterflies are just so beautiful. Anymore insects there?" Helena asked, interested in the other bugs you could have seen.

Aegon, laughing quietly and looking at you, made Benji snap.

"If you excuse us." Benji said to Jace, who nodded and watched as he stood up and took your hand. "We need to talk." He simply said.

You let him pull you away. Confused. "What's going on? Ever since I woke up, you have been acting weird." You huffed as he closed the sliding doors to the back yard.

Benji scoffed at you. "That fucking craven cunt." He spat making your eye widened in surprise.

"Wow, wow, wow." You rushed out in order for him to stop before he said anything else. "You need to actually tell me what's wrong. Not curse words. Words." You advised him.

Now, that's what he loved about you. You could stop him, calm him down before he went on and on, and worked himself up. But he was already worked up.

"Aegon!" He yelled at her, making her step back in surprise. "He basically told me that you both went to Rome together and that doesn't make me upset, no what makes me upset is that not only did we do what you and him did, you lied to me about it. All I want is honesty from you." He explained to you.

You sighed. You closed your eyes and pinched your nose. "Fucking Aegon." You cursed. He could always ruin something. "Look." You began taking his hand in yours. "What me and Aegon had was a long time ago. Yes we went to Rome together and did what we did. But did you ever stop and think why?" She asked him with a head tilt.

When he shook his head softly, you smiled sweetly at him. "It was because I wanted to replace that memory that I have with him with you. You are the one that I love. Not him."

You took a breath for the next words may be hard for him to hear. "I wish all my firsts had been with you."

Benji narrowed his eyes and, with a clenched jaw, looked away. He didn't pull away. Seeing this, you grabbed his face in your hands and brought his face back towards you.

"But I know I have many other first with you." You smiled up at him. You dragged your hands down his arms again. "Our first home, our first pet together, our first child..." You trailed off with a nervous smile. He smiled lightly at you, knowing you were right.

He had a bunch of first with you yet to come.

Benji sighned and leaned his forehead on yours. They stood there for a few monets. Just in the silence.

"I'm such an idiot." He whispered you with a small laugh.

You shook your head with a giggle. You put your hands on his cheeks, making him look at you in your unique purple blue eyes. "It's normal for you to feel thease things. I'm sorry for not telling you what really happened between us. And I will, but maybe when we go back to yours." You told him with a smile. You crest his cheek.

Benji leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your lips. You melted into the kiss. Benji wrapped his arms around your waist as yours went into his hair and pulled it, making his groan.

You parted and smiled at eachother.

"You were jealous. " You giggled at the blush of embarrassment on his face. He hated being jealous.

"I was not." He grumbled into your neck, making you giggle more. Benji smiled at your giggles. "I love you so much." He sighed in your neck.

You smiled, racking your hands over his hair. "I love you as well, Benji. So much." You whispered into his ear and placed a soft kiss there.

Even if Aegon was always going to be in your life, at least Benji had the resurgence of knowing he was yours and you were his.

You were from a complicated family. A family that was broken from the death of your grandmother. But you had each other to hold.

I am thinking of making this a little small series. I was bored and listening to music.

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve’s mother was the black sheep of her family.

Stella hated the snow, and the isolation of the small town she grew up in. Hated the bright colors, and sheer friendliness of the neighbors. How everyone was always involved in each other’s business, at all times--and how getting involved meant sharing.

Giving up your time for the greater good.

‘We’re one big family!’ Her father had told her, and hadn’t understood why she found the concept utterly revolting.

Just like she couldn’t understand why they never agreed with her ideas. Things would run so much more smoothly with more rules, better regulations. They didn’t need to rely on magic when they had spreadsheets.

Who cared if some people were upset? If some of the workers where put out of jobs, or “hurt” by her changes?

That was how evolution worked.

The strongest survived, and the business world demanded only the strongest of leaders.

She didn’t regret leaving.

Didn’t look behind her for a second, all too happy to go to college and find herself a rich man to make miserable.

Even had a child, though they were never her favorite things. Her Steven of course, would be so much different from the children she’d grown up among or the ones she helped oversee for her father's work.

He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t shriek or scream or make demands of busy adults. Steven would know his place, and he would stay in it until he had grown into a reasonable adult.

No unrealistic expectations, not from her son.

And absolutely, 100%, no magic.

(Unfortunately for Stella Harrington and her relationship with her son, magic does not obey the whims of one person.

Particularly not that kind of magic, one far older than Stella could comprehend.)

See: Steve knew where he came from. Would never say it of course, outright refused to put a name to it.

Knew better, even when he was young, than to speak it aloud.

Though his mother had long abandoned any powers given to her, Steve was still born with his. When lonely, he often found he could wander into a different kind of woods. 

One absolutely covered in snow.

Steve should have been cold in those woods, but he never was, not even the first time he stumbled into them at the tender age of seven.

These trees never scared him. Not like the ones in his backyard sometimes did.

The whole place felt rather welcoming in a way his own house had never been, and as Steve had stumbled along following the faint glow of lights, he found himself feeling more relaxed.

Happy.

Even at seven, Steve was smart enough to know he needed to turn back, after a while. That his mother would be furious with him if he caused her to miss the meeting she needed to go to.

That he had a responsibility to be where she put him.

He hadn’t crested the hill yet. Hadn’t quite figured out where the glow was coming from, when he realized he needed to go home--but his trip wasn’t wasted.

A baby reindeer distracted him.

It peeked around a tree, and upon seeing him, came dashing his way.

Steve should be scared, would have been scared, but something in him told him this creature was his friend. He held out his hands and greeted it as such.

He was right.

A few more little reindeer came up over the hill, running around him, and together he played what felt like a game as he walked back in the direction he thought his house lay.

Said his goodbyes when the snow started to wane and made promises to return.

Found, sadly, that he wouldn’t get another chance too for almost a full year. He was too busy, signed up for multiple sports, handed over to tutors and taught life skills by a parade of nannies, none of whom ever stayed for long.

He dreamed of the snow.

The gentle way the woods felt.

It was what made him tell the lie that let him go back.

Steve was eight by then, and smart to how his parents and nannies worked. That some of them overlapped their stays when his parents went away.

So it was easy to tell Mary that she could go.

That it was okay, really. Carla had just called, she was on her way.

Just like it was easy to tell Carla that his parents' plans had changed. Let her know she wasn’t needed after all.

What harm would it do if he was alone for a night? His father kept telling him he was a big boy. Soon he’d be on his own anyway.

The snow found him faster this time, when he went for his walk in the woods.

Delighted, Steve kept an eye out for the reindeer, fingers skittering across tree bark as he looked around, once again tracking the soft glow that came up over the hill.

It was a long walk to that light, but Steve didn’t mind.

Not until he heard the crying.

“Hello?” Steve called, voice prim and proper as always. It was a little high--Tommy teased him endlessly about it, but he had been assured it would deepen.

The crying didn’t stop, but things got quiet for a moment, in the way that happens when someone was trying hard not to be found.

(Steve knew exactly how that felt, not wanting to be found. Wanting to cry for a moment, without someone telling you to toughen up, be a man, ‘God Steven you’re too old for all this--’)

“It’s okay!” Steve rushed out, trying to locate where the muffled sounds were coming from before they ran away. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

Which is right about when he almost tripped over the other kid.

He was hunched against a tree, knees drawn into his chest with brown hair hanging into his eyes. His clothes were a odd--a little like how his teacher had made Steve dress when they’d done a play about the middle ages.

“Who’re you?” The boy asked defensively, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“I’m Steve.” He said, before kneeling down himself. “Did you get hurt?”

“No.” The boy sniffled. After a moment he added; “M’ Eddie.”

His eyes were large, and reminded Steve of a puppy he once saw. All cute and round and shiny.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” The boy said and it wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t friendly.

“I’m not from around here.” Steve told him. “At least, I don’t think I am.”

It was kind of hard to know, given Steve wasn’t sure where here was, exactly--and absolutely knew better than to ask his parents.

“Well then you should go home.” The boy sniffled again.

Steve wasn't put off by it. Tommy had been a lot meaner than this after all, when they'd first met. 

Given their parents made them play together anyways, Steve felt he he could get this kid to like him too. 

"I'm gonna, later. I'm looking for something right now though--you wanna come?" 

Which he felt was a pretty nice offer. Might distract Eddie from whatever was bothering him.

(Steve liked distractions, when he was upset. It made it a lot easier to swallow down the bad feelings.) 

“You shouldn’t hang around me.” Eddie said suddenly. His nose was as red as his eyes, and he refused to look Steve in the eye as he hunched further into himself. “I’m bad.”

“You’re not bad.” Steve told him. 

He got a glare for it.

“How would you know?”

“I dunno.” Steve stopped, brows furrowing in thought. “I just--kinda do. I always have.”

Which was true. Steve was awfully good at identifying who was good and who was bad, from adults to his fellow classmates. It had gotten him in trouble before his mother had sat him down, and told him he just had a good business sense.

That he needed to keep to himself who was good and who was bad, especially the adults, because it wasn’t his place to say such things.

(‘But it’ll serve you well in the future.’ His mother told him, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind his ear. ‘Particularly for business deals.’)

“Well you’re wrong then, because I was born bad.” Eddie scoffed, arms crossing over his chest. “Everyone says so!”

It was dramatic as hell, and Steve couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him.

“I’m sorry!” He said immediately, when Eddie’s face flushed angrily. “I’m sorry it’s just--you look kinda silly.”

He mimed Eddie’s stance for a moment, including a dramatic little huff of breath. It unbalanced him, and Steve ended up dropping on his butt, which made him to laugh even louder.

“No one who does that can be bad.” He said finally, through the giggles. 

“That’s--stupid. You’re stupid.” Eddie said, except he was clearly trying to hide his own laugh at Steve’s antics.

“I’m not stupid--and you’re not bad. I promise.” Steve said, before reaching out a hand, one pinkie extended. “I’ll swear on it.”

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asked him, but he didn’t sound sad now. More curious. 

Curious Steve knew, was a lot better than sad. 

“You wrap your pinkie finger with mine. Then it’s a pinkie swear, which is like--unbreakable!”

That’s what Carol had told him at least, and so far it had held true. Steve figured it must work doubly so, in a place like this.

Cautiously, Eddie reached out, entwining his pinkie with Steve’s. Like any minute Steve would snatch his hand back, and tell him it was all a joke.

Instead, Steve bobbed their hands up and down once, before letting go and asking; “Do you wanna go find that light with me? I wanna see what it is.”

He pointed up the hill, toward the glow that had haunted his dreams.”

“Oh that’s boring.“ Eddie told him, but he had a grin on his face that felt infectious. “It’s just the town. I’ll show you something way better!”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, and let Eddie snatch his wrist, launching to his feet and bringing Steve with him.

In doing so his hair blew, revealing that he had pointed ears.

Steve stared at them in awe as Eddie tugged him further into the trees, until they burst into a clearing filled with gingerbread houses. They ranged from teeny tiny, to large enough that Steve and Eddie could walk in them, and it wasn’t long before the two started a game of tag, broken only by laughter. 

In retrospect, this was his downfall.

Because the little gingerbread houses were really cool, and Eddie was a lot of fun. It was easy to play with him--like the two of them had been made for each other.

Steve had never connected like this with a person before. Never had so much fun with someone before.

Not even with Tommy and Carol, his very best friends.

Eddie seemed to feel the same way, and not even an hour into meeting him, Steve knew he would remember this for the rest of his life.

Remember Eddie.

Steve ended up losing track of time. Stayed so long that his lie was discovered.

The person who came looking for him wasn’t his parents, but looked weirdly like his mom--if his mom were a boy.

He introduced himself as Steve’s Uncle Nick after he called the two boys to him, hands on his hips in a way Steve kind of wanted to mimic.

Steve knew it to be true, in the same way he knew how to find the forest, and if someone was good or bad. A feeling inside him he could tap into, warm and fuzzy in a way that, should he ever be pressed, he might admit to feeling like magic.

“Now how did you get here?” Uncle Nick asked him, like Steve's presence was a surprising little puzzle.

Knowing better than to lie, sensing that his Uncle would be able to tell if he did anyways, Steve told him the truth.

It got him exactly what he expected, which was an upset adult.

Unlike his mom or dad however, his Uncle didn’t yell at him, or grab Steve’s hand in a punishing grip. No nails dug into his skin, no harsh words were hissed. Uncle Nick simply pinched the tip of his nose, before giving a sigh that shook his massive frame.

“Your mom is going to be very upset.” He said finally.

Like Steve didn't know. 

“I just wanted to see the lights.”

“The lights--oh.” Uncle Nick glanced over his shoulder. “Could you see them from your house?”

Steve shook his head.

“No but I could feel them.”

Like a pulse in his chest. A compass, or--a guide.

“He says he can tell who's naughty or nice.” Eddie chimed in, oddly quiet for how loud he had been. “He says I’m good.”

This was said as a challenge, and Steve eyed his new friend out of the corner of his eye. He’d never dared speak to an adult like that, and was both a little in awe of Eddie doing it, and afraid for him.

Something his Uncle seemed to sense.

“Edward, go home.” He said, firm but kind.  Not like how Steve's mom was when she was mad, or his dad when he had a bad day at work.“I’ll come talk to you later. Come on Steve, let me walk you back. I best explain this in person.”

Then he took Steve’s hand in his, while Steve called out a goodbye to Eddie over his shoulder.

“You’ll come back and visit, right!?” Eddie yelled back. 

Steve shouted an affirmative, even knowing it wasn’t likely he’d be allowed.

(Wished with all his heart, that he'd be allowed.) 

“Eddie is really good, you know.” Steve said once he no longer could see his new friend, because it felt important to tell his Uncle that. Necessary, for some reason.

“I know.” Uncle Nick replied gently. “But let’s not worry about him right now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then they were back in Steve’s woods, the ones that were sometimes unfriendly. In his backyard, and up to the door, and even from here Steve could hear his mother and father screaming at each other, in a tone that made his stomach curl.

“Come on kiddo. Time to face the music.” Uncle Nick told him, and Steve found he really didn’t want to let go of his Uncle’s hand.

He did though.

He was a big boy, and well trained. He didn’t flinch from his parents. Didn’t disobey when his mother demanded he tell her exactly how he got to the fun place, with all the snow--and listened further still when she demanded Uncle Nick take it out of him.

Take what Steve didn’t know--not until his Uncle lost the argument.

Reached into Steve’s chest and did something to him, something that killed that warm and fuzzy thing that had always lived inside Steve.

He cried harder than he ever had before that night. Cried and begged for Uncle Nick to put it back, that he was sorry and he wouldn’t ever use it again if they just let him keep it.

(He promised, he promised, he promised-!)

Sank to his knees and told his parents that it hurt.

They didn't listen, and they didn't put it back.

His father told him to get up off the floor, and then pulled him up when Steve found he couldn’t.

Hauled him to his room, even as his Uncle warned his mother that he couldn’t get rid of it. That he could only suppress it, the same way she suppressed hers, but those words didn’t really matter to Steve just then.

Not when he was hurting, and tired, and found himself wishing for his new friend.

(His mother told him he’d feel better in time.

Steve never did.)

xXx

The hole in Steve’s chest had never filled.

It kept him up at night. The yearning for something just out of reach, tormenting him with a feeling of being hollow.

He didn’t know how his mother could stand it.

Steve stopped fussing about it though--or rather, he stopped the first time his father had slapped him over his complaining.

“Enough, Steven! You’re perfectly fine. Now start acting like it, for fucks sake!” He’d roared, and shocked as he was, Steve had still done what he’d been taught to do.

Toughed it out. Sucked it up. Got over it.

Dumped his entire life into basketball and swimming and other parent-approved activities, even if he felt empty.

He was eight, then ten, then fourteen and soon Steve wasn’t healed, but he'd adjusted. 

Got aloof to the pain as his popularity skyrocketed, and his parents left him on his own while they chased the almighty dollar.

(Secretly, Steve tried to fill the void in his heart with parties and people, alcohol and even the occasional drug, though most just left him feeling worse than before.

It was perhaps how he ended up acting as he did.

Turning from the sweet boy who was always helping others, to someone who was fast with their insults. Popularity was a sharks game, and though he refused to participate in the bullying his friends enjoyed, he made sure everyone knew who the biggest fish in the pond was.

Because the hole was always there, in the back of his mind. The thing inside him that was missing, that made him crave the snow, and the lights, and the boy with pointy ears. 

He might be able to force himself to forget about all of that, if only the hole in his heart would allow him.)

xXx

Five days before his fifteenth birthday, some random guy showed up in Steve’s yard.

This wasn’t unusual--Steve invited a lot of people over.

Tommy and Carol both had a standing invitation to use his pool and Steve often used it to curry favor with the upperclassmen--but even underwater, Steve didn’t recognize the teenager leaning over to watch him swim.

Plus it was a little weird for someone to pop up on a Sunday.

Refusing to be intimidated, Steve surfaced right under the guy, head whipping up to make sure he splashed him in the face.

Laughed as the other guy sputtered.

“Can I help you man?” Steve drawled, hooking his arms on the lip of the pool.

“I’m looking for someone. Steve Harrington?” The guy told him, glaring as he wiped water off his face.

His hair just touched his shoulders, in that awkward stage of growing out that made him look like a pageboy.

Steve tucked that little observation away for later, in case he needed it.

“Congratulations, you found me.” He said, eyeing him over.

Black jeans with holes in the knees, wallet chain and a black shirt with a faded logo of some band Steve had never heard of proudly displayed. A checkered plaid shirt topped the whole outfit, with a red guitar pick dangling around his neck from a chain.

Like the guy thought he was some kind of rockstar, and not in bumfuck Indiana.

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Though I think you’re in the wrong place. The audition for the new town jester is being held at the high school.”

He got a frown, like the guy knew he was being insulted but didn’t quite want to believe it. “I’m not here for an audition.”

“You sure? Cause you’re definitely dressed the part.”

“Okay, you are definitely not Steve.” He said, arms crossing his chest. He had a ring on each hand, catching the light as he clutched at his arms. “Steve wasn’t this much of a dick.”

Which wasn’t the first time Steve had been called out for his behavior--but it had never been by the people he was supposed to care about.

Those people, the people his parents liked?

They loved it.

“Times change.” Steve told the stranger. Kept his tone light and playful, the way that always made girls giggle at him and guy’s listen.

Well the ones he wasn’t making fun of, anyways.

“People do too.”

He rearranged himself, planting both palms flat against the concrete, bouncing once to build energy before rocketing out of the water.

Stood, and watched with interest as the new guy’s eyes raked over his naked torso, before his whole face flushed red.

How he looked away, like he suddenly couldn’t bare to look at Steve.

“You shouldn't have changed that much.” He muttered, but Steve already had his number.

"Why were you looking for me anyway?” Steve asked as he went and grabbed a towel. Wrapped it around his waist, but kept his upper body shirtless.

Idly scratched at his hip and watched as the guy acted like Steve had practically stripped naked in front of him.

Weirdly enjoyed the little spark it gave him, to watch this guy appear so affected by his bare chest.

Defensive, the stranger bit out; “We were friends. I haven’t seen him in a long time, I was just checking up on him.”

That made Steve pause.

Really look over the guy standing before him.

The fidgeting, the blushing, the way he avoided Steve’s gaze.

He opened his mouth, an odd urge to draw this out guiding him when the hole in his chest pulsed.

Like a convulsion, a miniature seizure that took Steve entirely by surprise.

It had been a long time since it had done that, long enough to throw Steve off his game.

Make him feel unsafe, unmoored.

Abandoned.

“Yeah?” He wheezed, before covering himself and the flood of wrong/want/need with a harsh cough. “Well now I know you’re definitely barking up the wrong tree. I’d never be friends with a fucking queer.”

At that, the guy’s mouth dropped open, head whipping around to stare at Steve in shock.

"Don’t deny it, I can tell. You’re practically drooling over there.” Steve smiled with all his teeth, even as he struggled to keep his breath even. “It’s disgusting.”

“You know what, fuck you. I thought you were different and you’re not.” The stranger spat, with far more venom than Steve was prepared for. “You’re the same as all the rest.”

He scoffed, before whirling on his heel, middle finger high in the air as he stormed off into the woods.

“Have fun with your sad, beige fucking life!” He yelled, voice a little choked up.

“I will!” Steve yelled back at him, oddly heated.

Rubbed his chest when he was gone, before sitting down to try and figure out what the hell just happened--and why the hell his chest hurt so much.

xXx

Steve’s life remained completely and painfully normal--until Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy and her smile, Nancy and her reminder of what it felt like to be loved. 

She didn’t fill the void inside him, but what she did came close.

Felt similar.

Steve found he’d do anything for her, looking at life once again through the lens he had back when he was seven.

It was great.

Better than great--it was the best he’d ever been.

Then Barb went missing.

Shit hit the fan so fast that in retrospect, Steve still doesn’t understand it. There was Jonathan and his camera, with the background of his missing little brother. Tommy and his insults, grabbing Steve up by the collar. Nancy being weird, Nancy ducking him to hang out with the guy who took photographs of them having sex.

Steve's brain tracks it all in little snapshots. The way he realized that maybe Nancy was right--he was way more of an asshole than he thought. How he decided to clean the theater, and then apologize to Jonathan.

(Creepy shit or not, Jonathan’s brother was gone. Steve had never had a brother, but he understood how it felt when something important was taken from you.

How it made you act after.)

There was a shift inside him. Not coming from the void, but from how Steve dealt with it.

And then there was a fucking monster coming out of the ceiling.

This is how Steve learns the magic he once had wasn’t special. That it’s not the only supernatural thing that exists in the world.

Only unlike the snow and gingerbread house and boy with pointed ears and an Uncle that looked a hell of a lot like Santa Clause, this version came with evil government laboratories, the Upside Down and his girlfriend holding a gun.

It was kind of a lot, really.

Particularly because his parents weren’t home.

(They still came home of course, but it wasn’t with the same frequency as it used to be.

The business trips went from once a month, to every other week, to long stretches of away periods. Long enough that Steve spoke to them over the phone more than he did in person, and knew more about business mergers than he ever cared too.

Also his fathers love life, courtesy of his drunk mother.)

Steve didn’t exactly handle it well.

Doesn’t think any of them handled it well, really, even if Nancy blamed him for trying to pretend he was okay. But right as their relationship blew up in Steve’s face, shit started happening again.

Flickering lights and freaky monsters. A group of kids Steve found himself in charge of, who were doing their level best to commit suicide.

(“We’re helping El and Will, idiot!” Mike Wheeler protested in the back of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro when Steve brought up that this was not what being benched meant, and Steve let him have that one given the way the world was spinning.

God that asshole hit like a train.)

Another snapshot, full of fear and fury, and things were over once again. 

Steve was telling Nancy it was okay. She could go with Jonathan, that he could tell it was what she wanted.

It hurt him to do it, but he wasn’t going to be like his own parents.

Realized with a weird amount of clarity, that he wanted to be the very opposite of his parents.

Late in the night, feeling every ache and pain in his body but knowing everyone was safe, Steve finally started the long trek home. 

He didn’t have his car (he hoped that was still at the Byers place) and he didn’t have his keys (no clue where those went but he was praying it wasn’t in the freaky tunnels) and was well into the middle of his walk when his chest started acting weird. Really weird. 

Steve ignored it.

He kept ignoring it, focused on getting back to his bed, and his bed alone.

(Maybe he had been thinking more than that. About how the last time he had truly been happy wasn’t with Nancy, but with Eddie. That he’d give anything to go play in the gingerbread houses again.

Maybe he was even thinking of how warm his Uncle had been, the way he was so gentle when he held Steve’s hand.

How he’d argued against Steve’s parents, when no one else ever did.

It was probably just the head injury.)

Unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on who you asked later--the weird feeling didn't stop.

It grew and grew, until it felt like something was breaking out of him.

Like a cough you’d long suppressed that crawled forcefully up and out of your throat, it both hurt and felt amazing, a pang echoing out through his very core--

Then suddenly there was snow on the trees and Steve was stumbling into a teenager with fluffy hair.

“Sorry.” He muttered, right before he went down on his knees.

“What the hell---” Fluffy haired guy said, spinning around and looking at Steve like he was a ghost. “Oh shit, are you okay!?”

“I’m fine.” Steve lied, even as he gave in and laid down.

Man, this snow was nice.

Comfy and soft, and cold on his face.

There was a string of curses coming from above him, and Steve made the effort to twist his head so he could watch fluffy hair kneel frantically next to him.

“ What happened!? How did you get here!?”

“S’long story man.” Steve slurred, feeling bad and looking worse. His head fucking hurt.

“Don’t suppose there’s a guy named Eddie around? He has uh,” Steve fumbled, hands trying to point to his ears. “Pointed. You know.”

He gestured to his own ear again.

(Figured he might as well ask, given all the snow.)

The Fluffy Hair pulled said hair back at that, revealing his very own pointy ear. “Dude you’re in the North Pole, all us elves have pointy ears.”

The North Pole.

The words Steve had only ever dared to think, and never said out loud.

“Cool.” He said instead, not really feeling like he was inside his own body.

“Just--stay there, okay? My name's Gareth I’m gonna go get someone.” Gareth the elf (an elf, wasn’t that a trip. Did that mean Eddie was also an elf?) said, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, before he darted off, out of Steve’s sight.

“Can you get Eddie?” The question came out in a whine, the hurt in Steve’s chest overtaken by the pain in his head.

He didn’t get an answer.

Which was okay, he thought.

He didn’t really need one.

He had the snow, and the woods that weren’t straight out of a fucking nightmare, and, he could just sleep right here…

“Steve!”

He blinked, and found he must have passed out.

“There you are. Stay with me.” A blurry face was saying. A couple more blinks brought it into focus, and Steve knew this person, even if he couldn't put a name to a face.

The hair was longer, and there were more rings on his fingers, ones Steve could both see and feel as a hand ran along the back of his head.

Worried doe eyes met Steve's own, and just through the curtain of curls, he caught the outline of a pointed ear.

“Ed--ie?” He croaked, unsure.

“Yeah Stevie, it's me. You're okay, we brought you back to my place. Gareth is getting help.”

He was trying to sound reassuring but he mostly just sounded worried.

Not that Steve cared, because he finally figured out why older Eddie was familiar.

“Oh.” He managed, the words feeling like he had to push out. “It was you. By the--pool.”

“What?”

It felt like eons ago. The weird guy, asking after him. Back when Steve had been doing anything he could to fill the void his magic had left behind, and turned into a raging shithead as a result.

“M sorry.” Steve slurred, voice cracking in its honesty. “I was--asshole. M'sorry.”

The look Eddie gave him was wild. Like he couldn’t believe Steve was here, and definitely couldn’t believe Steve was apologizing.

Which was fair. Until last year Steve wouldn’t have ever apologized, to anyone, ever. 

“Yeah you were, but we can talk about it later. Right now I just need you to stay awake.” Eddie said instead. It was gentle, a lot more gentle than Steve felt he deserved.

It made him want to explain, more than anything, what had happened.

“I was tryin to fix…the hole. Inside.” Steve needed Eddie to understand. Needed it more than breathing, just then.

“I know, big boy.” Eddie soothed, and his hands were back in Steve’s hair.

It felt nice.

“S’not an excuse, promise it's not. I was hurt--hurting, and--I was mean.” Steve continued. It was getting harder to think, the world swimming in and out of focus, but this was important.

Perhaps the most important thing he’d done in a long time, sans saving the kids from the demodogs.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I didn’t get it back then but I understand better now and…”

He might have said something more. Steve thinks he was, but then Eddie was shaking him harshly, and Steve realized he might have tried to pass back out.

“Come on Stevie, sweetheart, you can’t sleep right now. You have to stay awake for me, okay? Steve?”

Steve tried to shake his head and hissed when he found out how much that hurt. Breathed in and out through the pain, before his brain connected back to what he’d been trying to say.

“Not jus’ to you.” He panted. “Wasn’t mean just to you.”

That was important too. That Eddie knew he hadn't been targeted. That Steve was a dick to pretty much anyone he came across.

“I know. I've uh, been watching you, from here."

“Yeah?”

“We have this giant globe. Like a crystal ball, but it’s set deep into the floor so you can only really see half of it. It can also connect to snow globes, and it can let you see places. Watch people.”

Eddie’s voice was soothing, the deep timber of it echoing through Steve’s chest. Belatedly he realized his head was in Eddie’s lap.

That felt nice too.

“I was real mad at you but the Bossman--uh, your Uncle, he kinda showed me you once or twice and then I started watching you myself. Sorry I know that’s weird--”

“Least you didn’t take pictures.” Steve wheezed and then tried to grin because that was very much supposed to be a joke.

(He definitely had felt more put together when he dropped the kids off in Billy's Camaro--so what the hell was happening? Had the shock worn off? Adrenaline?

Fuck maybe he should have just driven Billy’s stupid car back to his house, instead of leaving it at Max's house.

Asshole deserved to not know where his car was anyway.)

Then suddenly there was a lot of noise and light and fuck did that all make his head hurt. Hands went all over him, people barking orders, and a girl Steve was pretty sure was his age was peering at him.

“Steve?” She asked, but it sounded distant. Echoey and unclear.

“I can’t keep him awake!”

That from Eddie, who sounded much clearer, if not utterly panicked. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got him.” The girl said, tight but professional in a way that typically belonged to someone used to medical emergencies. “You can let him go now.”

“Are you kidding me, Buckley you’re an apprentice medmage-!”

Steve frowned at that, but found something was drifting over him. A weight, like an invisible blanket pressed down gently, and he had a second to recognize that this too, was some kind of magic before sleep tried to take him.

He fought it for a moment as a thought occurred.

One last thing he needed to say.

“You’re still good. Eddie. You’ve always been--”

The magic took him away.

xXx

It smelled like cinnamon.

Cinnamon and sharp hints of peppermint, the kind that tickled at Steve’s nose as he slowly rose back into consciousness.

Steve winced as he sat up, head itching like ants were crawling all over it. Idly he tried to scratch at his forehead and found himself touching a thick bandage, at about the same time his body seemed to catch on that he was awake.

It reminded him that he had had a hell of a night in the form of an onslaught of aches and pains.

His fingers traced the edge of the bandage as he took in the cheerful red walls surrounding him. The room was the exact kind of kitschy his mom hated, little twirls of white here and there making the place look like the inside of a candy cane.

The center piece was the full size window, taller than Steve was and twice as wide. Fat, fluffy flakes of snow drifted lazily outside it, some sticking to the window panes as they floated on by.

It was a little like being knocked out and waking up in the Wonka factory, but given all the shit that he had been through the past twenty four hours, Steve didn’t mind it.

Snow was infinitely preferable to the weird ash that came out of the Upside Down.

As if sensing he was awake, the door opposite the window swung open. A tray came through, positively stacked with a stupid amount of pancakes and oozing with maple syrup, the type Steve could smell.

“I,” Eddie announced, head just visible above the good, “had a very embarrassing meltdown when they tried to take you away from me. So suck it up Harrington, because you’re stuck with me now.”

Steve stared at him, mildly concerned he was a hallucination.

“I brought you pancakes.” Eddie added, pausing as he approached the bed like he hadn’t actually thought through to this point.

“I see that.” Steve said, just to fill the sudden, awkward silence. “There’s…kinda a lot there, man.”

So much so it was threatening to escape the confines of the tray and drip down onto the carpet.

“You play sports things don’t you?” Eddie defended, making the executive decision to put the tray down on the bed. “Kinda thought you’d need like, a lot, especially if you're healing." 

Steve snorted, but didn’t bother to hide the smile that crept onto his face.

Even if it hurt.

Dragged his gaze from the pile of pancakes now laid before him, to the man fidgeting awkwardly by his bedside.

Realized belatedly, that Eddie hadn’t changed much.

Not since Steve had last seen him, though he never in his life would have thought one of Santa’s elves would wear so much black.

(Frankly Eddie looked just like every other teenage metalhead Steve had ever met, sans the pointed ears. One of which was now pierced and had little metal hoops threaded through it.)

Eddie realized Steve was looking, and bashfully twist a strand of his hair in front of his face.

It was cute.

It made him look cute.

“You might as well sit and help me with this, it’s way too much.” Steve told him.

Which was the truth--Eddie had brought him a shit load of pancakes and Steve wasn’t exactly sure he could chew all that well right now, considering his left cheek was so puffed out it felt like a chipmunks.

Didn’t want to turn down a gift though--or rather, turn down a gift from Eddie.

Who he absolutely still needed to apologize properly too.

“I guess I should start off with a thank you.” Steve began, as Eddie dropped onto the bed. “I think you might have saved my life, though I swear I wasn’t doing that bad off before I got here.”

“Robin said the shock wore off.” Eddie told him. He didn’t wait for Steve to dig in, grabbing a pancake and rolling it up like a sausage before stabbing one end in syrup. “She also said you had a hell of a concussion, two cracked ribs and a literal boatload of scratches,”

Which sounded about right, considering.

“Still though.” Steve frowned, looking at his hands. “I mostly just fought off Billy, the demodogs never got me.”

Something he was incredibly thankful for, given the sheer amount of teeth.

“I think you’re downplaying your injuries here, handsome, you gave Robin a hell of a fright. She cursed in four languages." Eddie talked fast, just like the little boy Steve remembered him as.

It made him grin. 

“Handsome, huh?” Steve teased, and regretted it the second it slipped out of his mouth.

He hadn’t meant to call attention to it. Not just yet anyway. Wanted to work his way up to his apology and then the things he had kind of realized on his walk home (and possibly before that, though he thinks he might have…repressed it.)

Given the way Eddie froze, Steve figures he’s got about two seconds to talk himself out of it, before Eddie rightfully shut him out.

“I like it. The nicknames.” He said, which is also not what he intended to come out of his mouth and God he was really blowing this, wasn’t he?

“Steve,” Eddie started, sounding a little strangled and nope, no, he was going to fix this dammit!

“I’m sorry.” He said honestly. “I know I was an ass when you came to check up on me, and I know I said some terrible things to you. I regret it. I regret it a lot, and I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“You weren't wrong.” Eddie cut in, twirling a ring on his finger, eyes firmly on it. “I am gay. I am flamingly gay. And I understand if after today, you don't want me here.”

Which apparently answered the question about whether or not elves gave a shit about such things.

(Or maybe they did, and it was humans who cared, and Eddie was giving him an out for it.

Steve figured he’d ask later.

After he had finished groveling.)

“I want you here.” He said, as seriously as he’d ever said anything. “I think the real question is why you would want to help me?”

It was the one thing that didn’t add up. Why Eddie had been so nice, when he’d shown up.

Sure it was one thing to be a good citizen or whatever, help out a guy who was passed out on the ground, but Eddie hadn’t just gotten help.

He’d stroked Steve’s hair. He’d kept him awake.

Hell he called Steve sweetheart.

And now he was here again, right by Steve's bedside, checking up on him.

You didn’t do that for the guy who was a downright douchebag too you, even if it had been a few years.

Eddie bit his lip, before he chanced a look back at Steve, up through his bangs. “Because you said I was good Steve. You were the first person who ever said I was good.”

Quieter he added “And because we were friends once.”

“I'd like to still be friends.”

“Even if I'm gay?”

Steve took a deep breath, and let out a truth that he’d maybe been ignoring for almost as long as he’d tried to forget about the hole in his heart.

“Cards on the table Eddie, I’m not sure I’m not gay Or whatever both is." 

He'd heard the word once from Chrissy, but hadn't cared to remember it.

(Regretted that a little bit.) 

He got a mighty frown in response.

“Don’t do that. Don’t--joke, like that.”

“It’s not a joke.” Steve said slowly, feeling the words as he spoke them. “I think this is part of the stuff I always just--ignored. Didn’t want to deal with it, because my--”

Steve couldn’t bring himself to say magic, and so, aborted the sentence entirely. “I couldn’t deal. So everything connected to this place, to the rest of my family, to you, I just pushed aside. Pretended it didn’t exist.”

Pretended that he was normal.

Just like his parents wanted.

Then he’d met Nancy.

Realized what he felt about her, he’d always felt about Eddie. That the way she looked at Jonathan wasn’t the way she looked at him--and even then, in the love he had for her, Steve hadn’t looked at her like that either.

Steve had been attracted to her for her yes--but initially, maybe, because she’d looked a little like someone else.

Admitted to himself that he the reason he could clock Eddie so fast back when he was fourteen, wasn't because he was that good at reading people, but because he recognized what it looked like to get caught checking out a guy.

“But I could never forget about you.” Steve added because well. “I’ve never been able to forget about you.”

He’d already said cards on the table, hadn’t he?

Might as well reveal his whole hand.

“You were the last thing I thought of, when I was trying to get home. I wasn’t thinking about my house, or my parents. I was thinking about you. I’ve never been able to come back here, not after Uncle Nick,” He cut himself off again, frustrated that he couldn’t just fucking it, but made himself take a breath.

Continue.

“--but I could, last night. I could get to you.”

Technically he’d gotten to Gareth, who Steve probably also owed a thank you too, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Gareth had found Eddie anyway, in the end.

“I absolutely get if you want nothing to do with that, considering I think I’m just now accepting this about myself but. I wanted you to know. You’re important to me, Eddie. You always have been.”

It was weird--Steve should have felt laid bare. Vulnerable now that he’d laid out all these things he’d suppressed, that he thought taken away alongside his magic.

Instead he felt lighter than air.

Like the weight had finally been lifted and he could breathe deep once again.

For a long moment no one said anything and Steve figured this was it, he’d gone too far, when Eddie darted in, pressing a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek.

He pulled away just as fast. Wide eyes searched Steve’s face, as though expecting Steve to change his mind. 

If anything, it just solidified it.

Steve reached out slowly, gently grabbing on of Eddie’s hands. Brought it up to his mouth and kissed the back of it, while maintaining eye contact.

Enjoyed the way Eddie’s face went bright red.

“You’re important to me too.” He managed, voice awed. “You’ve always been important to me. Stevie.”

Finally feeling like he knew where he belonged, Steve grinned back. 

xXx

Bonus

“When I said let him sleep Munson, I didn’t mean with you!” Someone screeched a few hours later, jolting Steve awake.

“He was awake when I came in!” Eddie protested, shoving himself up onto his elbows when the women from yesterday--Robin, Steve thought her name was--stormed in. “We fell asleep together after Robbie, I swear!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Hi.” Steve said with a little wave, before the two of them could screech some more. “I’m Steve.”

“I know, Dingus.” Robin told him, eyes narrowed in fury. “You’re a member of the Clause family, everyone knows who you are.”

“Oh.” Steve said, though it felt less cool and more weird that someone had finally said it out loud.

That he, Steven Harrington, had an Uncle, and that Uncle was Santa Clause.

‘Dustin is gonna freak.’

“I’m sure Mega-Idiotson here hasn’t told you, but I’m the medmage that saw you last night. Or kinda--see I’m an apprentice medmage, but my teacher was kinda out with the Boss seeing someone a town over and time was tight and we couldn’t exactly wait--”

“Breath, Buckley. In,” Eddie teased, before demonstrating a deep breath on himself, hand sweeping into his chest before he loudly exhaled. “and out.”

“Shut up, Eddie, I’m working up to something here!”

“What is it?” Steve said, feeling like if he didn’t interject Robin would take a while to get to the point.

“I might have accidentally undid whatever was on your magic?” Robin rushed out, so fast Steve nearly didn’t catch it. “Like I can tell that’s the Boss’s magic, and that he did--whatever that was, but I couldn't figure out how to heal you with it there and it was kinda already leaking out so I just--took it off?”

Steve gaped at her.

“You fixed me?” He managed after a moment, hand darting out to squeeze at one of Eddie’s.

“Um. Yes?” Robin cautioned, like she wasn’t exactly sure that’s what she did.

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” Steve laughed, then felt absolutely stupid for not checking in with himself.

Because Robin was right.

The hole was gone--and his magic was back.

How had he not noticed that his magic was back!?

“Eddie, Eddie she’s right--I have it back!”

He turned in bed, dropping Eddie’s hand so he could cup his face and kiss him instead.

“Okay, I don’t need to see this--” Robin complained, but Steve didn’t care.

Could only laugh delighted into Eddie’s mouth, before Eddie deepened the kiss.

(“Guys seriously I am still right here! Can’t you at least wait until I’m gone!?”

“No. Now get out Robin, you’re ruining my moment!”

“It’s okay, Eds. I’ll give you as many moments as you want.”

“Ew, ew, ew-!” )

This whole ass thing on A03 if you'd rather read it there!

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ YN TROLLING CHAEWON FOR FIVE MINUTES 876k views

↳warnings richgirl!yn, chaewon trying to not lunge at yn, posting this to lighten the mood before it gets serious ( the last clip most definitely does not lighten the mood sorry…)

➩ CLIP #1 PLAYING… 📼

chaewon shifted uncomfortably in the hot room as she adjusted the strap of her tank top, she tried her best to focus on the live but the humidity of the room was getting unbearable and it was getting her irritated.

to be honest she couldn’t blame her being irritated completely on the heat of the room, the human bank account that sat beside her was also a big reason to her being irritated.

chaewon doesn’t understand why their managers thought it was a good idea to put them together for a live, it was like they didn’t even care about her feelings.

“it’s so hot,” she said to herself but loud enough for the girl who was sat beside her to hear who turned to chaewon and flashed the older girl a teasing smile.

“did you say yn is so hot?” yn asked before laughing at chaewon shocked face, she hated yn’s laugh it sounded like every rich person laugh, it her want to scratch her ears off.

“NO-” she tries to defend herself but it’s cut off my yn.

“thanks for compliment, but I don’t have any money to give you right now.” she says playfully hitting chaewon’s shoulder, while the comments laugh.

“you’re crazy.”

➩ CLIP #2 PLAYING… 📼

yn and yizhuo laughed uncontrollably as they sat on the floor together comfortably while talking to to ning’s live on instagram.

fans were completely convinced that they were on something with the way they’ve been acting to chaotically the whole live and what yn did next completely proved their point.

“I’m gonna call zuha.” yn says to live as yizhuo rested her head on yn’s shoulder.

but unluckily instead of kazuha, yn accidentally taps on chaewon’s name instead.

the call was answered was answered on the first ring and both ning and yn flinched at the sound of the persons voice.

“what do you want.” it sounded more like a demand more than a question, the chat laughs immediately realizing who it was on the call, their always up for a banter between yn and chaewon.

“zuha?” yn says confused looking at ning who looks back at her just as confused, while the chat is now seriously concerned on if their heads are in the right places, “you sound so different.”

there’s silence and the sound of static fills the live before chaewon decides to talk again, “yn are you being serious?”

“woah zuha you sound like chaewon.” yn says in amazement before looking at ning who nods her head rapidly, “tell her she needs to get into voice acting.” she adds.

“ning said you should get into voice acting,” yn giggled out, “she’s so right, you should.”

there’s another staticky silence before the sound of the disconnect tone fills the room.

➩ CLIP #3 PLAYING… 📼

yn stood between kazuha and chaewon as she adjusted her school like uniform making sure the pin of her family’s crest of her uniform jacket was upright, it made her stand out the most out of the girls.

she was too distracted that she didn’t even take in the men talking to her until chaewon harshly nudged her, she snapped her head up immediately, “huh?”

she scrunched her face up slightly when all the men in the room that sat at desks also wearing school uniforms laughed, “she really is a rich girl, they’re always air heads!” one says making everyone in the room laugh including the girls except for kazuha who jokingly pooked yns side.

“we were talking about school and we wanted to ask how your school experience was, but your head was in the clouds.” one of them says after everyone calms down form their laughs at the joke that yn didn’t find that funny.

“ohhhh.” she says staring at them, making them all laugh again, “what?”

“so how was your school experience!” one asks laughing, “we really have to spell things out for her huh, did you go to school?” he jokes making everyone in the room laugh again.

kazuha looks at yn who side eyes chaewon who’s laughing a bit too hard along with the rest of the girls, “yn went to the biggest private school in korea.” she cuts in making all the men in the rooom ahhhhhh and reallyyyyyy.

yn nods her head and smiles, “yeah I really enjoyed my time there.”

“did you take the school bus.”

“school bus?” she asks giving them a confused look causing everyone to laugh again, “my driver dropped me off if that counts.”

“so you’ve never been on a school bus.” chaewon cuts in making the men laugh again, and yn is starting to think that’s the only think they can do, “you had a personal driver?”

“you didn’t?”

“no.”

“oh. that sucks.”

the room was now filled with laughter at yns words

chaewon narrowed her eyes at yn’s cat like ones, “she has very slick mouth huh?” she says turning back to the interviewers, “don’t know what to do with her.”

[bellrose]

A Kindness

Summary: Your brother has been lost to the flames at Rook’s Rest and the anxious whispers of the Court do not give any consolation. However, the words of a knight in green do. How you wish you could give him a kindness in return.

Gwayne Hightower x female reader

Warnings: Angst. Loss of a family member. Descriptions of injuries by dragon fire

Word count: 2.615

The host had returned to Kings Landing with a fanfare akin to a funeral march. 

The flies buzzing like bees amongst the rotten flesh of Meleys a song for the dead. Vhagar had been there on the battlefield, the King himself fallen from the sky, and the hope you held close to your heart and in prayer had been a child’s dream.

Your brother isn’t among the men climbing stiffly from their horses. Nor the men carrying the banners with their ragged edges, specks of rusty brown marring the King’s crest. He won’t drink with his fellow brothers in arms, revelling together in their victory until the cups double in their quantity. He will never smile again. A crooked smile, for he had lost a tooth during a tourney right before attaining knighthood.

No, he will never return.

You’d known when Father received the raven and his hands shook to hold the message. The sight of Meleys’ severed head being paraded through the streets a finality. It is an omen, the folks whispered to themselves. For who dares to slay such a formidable creature? Your brother laid rotting like the mighty beast and the hapless mass of fallen soldiers. Overlooked by Sisters guiding them through their final hour, if they were lucky that is. 

The dead don’t speak. They wait to be reunited with their families. Or to be lost in a field. 

Nameless. Forgotten.

Turned black like coal at the bottom of the hearth they’d whisper. Faces molten into an eternal scream they'd hush behind fans flapping away the noon sun. I heard they fed the remains of those poor boys to one of those beasts, for the sheep had fled. How awful!

There are others who share your grief, who barely leave the Sept or gorge themselves on any rumour that might bring reprieve. The Ladies of the Court give you their pity, their condolences, though it is half-hearted and they refuse to look upon you truly. You do not blame them. 

Rumours cannot explain the seven hells that had opened up on those grounds, and with the King’s condition a barely kept secret, they grow less sensical by the day.

Father would know, for he wakes up with a tome in his hand and an age old tale on his tongue. Surely he must know the truth? You wish he would speak to you, but he has thrown himself into his duties and refuses to receive you in his small chambers. 

Ladies smile demurely and sip politely on sweet reds. They don’t scream. There are no more tears to cry. You’ve exhausted your grief to the point your eyes feel dry and brittle. Like parchment, and you wonder how long it will take until you, too, shall crumble underneath the dragon’s might.

“Lady Waye says the Queen has shadows underneath her eyes as deep as the night,” Edeva murmurs to your right, low enough that only your ears catch it. “That her whispering has returned tenfold.”

“I think her Queen’s Ladies in waiting should put their grave concerns into action instead of turning to gossiping,” you bite, a bit louder than intended, only it gets lost in the clamour of tinkling glasses and a bard playing the lute. 

Edeva has been your companion, a good friend to turn to in the halls of the Keep, and you feel ashamed for pushing her aside. She tries to distract you by pointing out the dish full of lush summer fruits being set upon the table by a servant. However, the sight of their ripe, glossy skins makes you nauseous.    

Without announcing your leave, you slide past the gowns and grapes further into the Keep. You have no destination in mind, other than it has to be anywhere but here. 

The stairs blur beneath your heavy skirt. Every breath locked high in your throat. You turn a corner, another, the colourful tapestries twirling in your periphery. The stories they tell a mockery. A servant leaps out of your way. Another step of stairs, and then - the sound you keep hidden escapes into a shocked huff when you collide against something solid.

A hand grabs your wrist to steady you, warm through the dark brocade.

It does not take long to recognize who stands before you. The tower spewing flames engraved on the leather doublet telling enough. His ruddy hair brings forth the invitation to a dance, that same hand guiding you over gleaming stone to the cacophony of a summer ball away in the past. Father telling another tale of a tourney. That dreadful day when the Stranger took Queen Aemma and her newborn son, when Prince Daemon drove him to the ground on his black steed.

You will never claim to know him well. Only a flash of red and green through the years when your paths crossed before taking residence in the Red Keep. Like so many faces he is out of your reach, a familiarity, but not an acquaintance.

Ser Gwayne Hightower's face does not bear any scars of Daemon’s lance. These are the nicks and scratches of a different battle.

He had been there. He had stood on the field where your brother met his grisly demise.

“Apologies Ser,” you whisper, voice cracking around the syllables. You retract your hand and slowly bow your head and knees in curtsy.

“The apologies are all mine, my Lady. The halls of the Keep are mighty. I fear my feet get lost in their splendour,” he says, the hint of a smile on his face a tad tight-lipped.

The steps of the seat of the Hightowers can be more daunting, and the structure itself grander than the Red Keep could ever be. You feel there is more to the white lie, a contempt.

There is a horror hidden in the ashes stubbornly clinging to the grooves and fibres of his clothing. His face has been scrubbed clean on the road, but the dirt of travel still sticks in his hairline, a little smudge behind his ear. You imagine you can smell it, even if leather and the natural musk of men try to hide it so. The stench of dragon fire; of burnt flesh and desperation, of loss - and if you cannot smell it you can see it in his eyes.

Gwayne does not possess the doe brown of the Dowager Queen. His eyes shine brighter. Like the precious gems Lady Nelda likes to wear around her neck whenever the occasion arises. On another day they would have been inquisitive. A bit haughty. Now they are exhausted. Duller. Something unsettling swirling in those depths. You are hit with a different kind of familiarity, one of understanding.

“My Lady,” he bows.

The moment is gone. Gwayne averts his gaze to a point further down the hallway and you wish he would look upon you again.

The knight in green has taken but a few steps before you find your voice.

“My brother... Ser, I-”

He halts. The expression on his face is a mystery, though his shoulders stiffen.

“Was he in the company at Rook’s Rest?" he asks lowly.

Your nails bite in the palm of your hands. “Yes. He was.”

Gwayne turns back around. A scrutiny in those dimmed gems when they rove from your balled fists to your face, and you cannot start to guess what he finds there. The despair bottling inside overflows into a torrent.

“The men- They say dragon fire melts the flesh like wax. Turns the bones to dust, to scatter in the storm. That there is nothing left of their prey but soil to grow our gardens.” Something changes in his stance, the dullness receding and it encourages you even more. “Is that what is left of my brother? Dust? We cannot bury what is lost on the wind.”

“I do not know, my Lady.” Gwayne takes another step forward. “I do not know of the fate of your brother. I wish I could give you that amenity, to ease your mind.”

“Does it ease your mind, Ser?” you ask, aware how your tone is rising in pitch. Shrill. “To have witnessed the dragons dance and live to tell the tale?”

And how dare you pose such a question? When it is loud and clear he has witnessed the unspeakable that the fiery beasts left in their wake? But he is here, standing, breathing, and he sees.

“I wish it were that easy,” he answers, wavering before he rightens his shoulders, clenching his jaw. “We need to be brave, my Lady. Be brave for your brother. Be brave and find it on your own, as I cannot give you the solace you seek.”

“It is not solace that I seek. I-”

He cuts you off. “You want answers. You want an elaborate summation of his gruesome faith, is that it?”

Gwayne takes another step forward, closer now, and you have to lift up your chin to follow. At first you believe it is rage that meets you, anger at your accusation. It is helplessness instead.

“Many good men died at the foredoor of Rook’s Rest. The dragons tear off each other’s limbs in the clouds, trampling them all underneath their feet and breath. What folly…”

He drifts off, his attention now on one of the many tapestries adorning the walls. A wry chuckle bursts from his lips. “It seems the many days on the road have disrupted my manners.”

“I fear there is no propriety in grief Ser,” you confess quietly.

Gwayne tilts his head sideways, considering your words, before he smiles once more. A real one this time, still edged in a shared sorrow, but it’s warmer.

“I guess not.”

“I do not know what I seek.”

“Then stop seeking.” His eyes find yours again, and his next words are spoken earnestly, kindly. “Do not tarnish what is the memory of your sibling, my Lady. He would have wished to be remembered whole, for then he cannot be lost to the winds.”

Gwayne grabs your right hand, unfolding the balled fist. His thumb stroking over the indents your nails left behind and turning the palm downward. His lips are warm when they touch your skin, lingering for a moment too long.

“A good day, my Lady.”

“Good day, Ser.”

You watch him go. Steady steps carrying him down the hallway. His words mulling over in your mind and for the first time in the past moon, ever since your brother left the Keep, you feel a peace.

The stone steps underneath the soles of your shoes are still a bit damp, the ground forth uneven where hoofs have trampled and disturbed the earth.

There’s a flurry of activity in the yard. Green with golden dragons on shields and banners, knights gleaming like silver coins rolling on a hardwood table. For a fleeting moment, you expect to see another face, one with a crooked smile who belongs only in your dreams now. 

And then you see him.

Dressed in his armour bounding towards his horse, as if he cannot wait long enough to leave. As if Kings Landing is worse than what awaits outside its seven gates. Perhaps it was, or he would rather not delay the inevitable. And what is that? A quick death? No.

Ser Gwayne offered you a kindness with his understanding, and you wish to understand him in return. To offer something steady in a world that is tilting on its axis the longer the war continues.

Deep in the pocket between the fabrics of your skirt, your hand grasps the hidden piece of cloth. The stitches tickle your skin. It steadies you, dousing the nervous thoughts that have been following you all morning. 

It’s not a handkerchief. Not in the traditional sense. You found it among the garments in the chest of your quarters. Dark green, almost blue, and the moment you touched it, an idea would not leave you alone.

The needle still feels clumsy at times between your finger tips, as you were never the patient pupil your mother had wished you to be and rather spent your time learning the harp, but the flowers they bore are delicate. Pretty. Refined. White petals with a core of deep orange; the colour of the sun peeking over the horizon. Your Septa would have been proud. Though, she would admonish the purpose behind it.

A kindness. Be brave.

It is that sentiment that moves you forward, past the guards standing sentry near the stairs and interweaving through the crowd filling the yard. His destrier, standing out with its magnificent armour, shining on the morrow, is in the hands of a squire. Gwayne does not see you coming, too busy speaking to the boy. Voice short and clipped.

“Ser Gwayne?”

The squire bows and runs off. Gwayne watches him go for a quick second before his gaze lands on your form. There’s surprise in the way his brows raise, the corner of his mouth turning up just so.

“My Lady,” he says, loosely gripping the reins of his horse. The destrier noses the pauldron at his shoulder. “How may I help you?”

Promise me to return all these men to their families, to come back, but that would be too much to ask and too forward, as if bestowing him with your needlework isn’t daunting enough.

“I sincerely regret not thanking you properly for what you said to me that day,” you state politely.

His head tilts down in understanding. The sun catches the red in his hair like honey. “Your regrets are misplaced. You do not need to thank me.”

“You misunderstand me Ser, I do.” Bolder now, you fish out the embroidered cloth from the hidden place of your dress. “You will be in my prayers, but please take this as a token of good fortune.”

He accepts the cloth mutely, brows rising further and gloved fingers studying the wreath of flowers you stitched along the edges. For a moment you fear the gift is too unbefitting after all, that the warmth that you had felt besides the kiss upon your hand a figment of your imagination. That he will reject it. 

He’s quick to crush those doubts, but not quick enough to halt the blush of regret that is slowly blooming on your nape. 

“I will cherish this gesture my Lady,” he says, eyes glittering. “But do not trouble yourself with concerns on my behalf, there are much more important matters to ponder.”

“This I cannot promise you Ser,” you answer honestly. “I’ll be awaiting your return.”

“That sight alone might make me forget the pungency these streets carry,” Gwayne parries, a hint of smugness that is purely in jest, and studies the cloth again. “White Lelas... They grow near Goldengrove, do they not?”

“Yes. My late mother used to put them in my crib when I was a mere babe, as my father tells me.” You think of the washed white stone of your grandfathers’ Keep and tall grasses holding a vast array of flowers. Too many to count. “I barely remember what they smell like, but I always thought they were quite charming.”

“Quite indeed,” Gwayne hums, though he is not looking at the cloth anymore. He turns towards his horse, looping it around a buckle on the saddle in a strong knot. The fabric will sway against his leg with every step the steed took. It will be with him when he confronts the enemies of the Crown.

A memory, a constant. 

“I hope the day will be upon us soon my Lady,” he says and the kiss on the back of your hand is a farewell.

For now.

Did I purposefully mirror the phrasing of “turned to dust” from Cole's we're-all-going-to die-anyway spiel for possible parallels and continuation purposes? Why, yes. Maybe. It was never my intention to write this anyway but the brainrot is real. Damn you, Freddie!

Thank you for reading

[neosero]

Can I please request a part two to [01:15], were the reader ignores them afterward the fights/never death experience and when the characters try to talk to them the reader just ignores them and walks away and the characters feels a little guilty, I'm invested in what will happen next. Probably a lot of angst but maybe some fluff at the end

[ 12:30am ]

and yet, you still resist

collection | gods, the all powerful - #genshin

↳ [ 01:15pm ] and sometimes you have to remind yourself they're gods |

↳ pt. ii [ fontaine version ] |

↳ [ 12:30am ] and yet, you still resist |

wc | 5.3k total

noteworthy warnings | gn!reader; dark themes; kinda starts at a random moment of time sorry lol, stalking ( venti ); implied-kidnapping, forced-intamacy ( zhongli & neuvillette ); reader gets makeup put on them but still nothing specific to gender, also i do not know a thing about makeup lol ( neuvillette )

a/n | SORRY THIS TOOK FIVE MONTHS this one is for you anon! kinda forgot about the fluff but still i hope you like the follow up!! this is an extentsion of the linked fics above. though it isn't required it would be best to read that for a clear picture on the character dynamics

( extended author’s note at the end!!! )

THE ANEMO ARCHON Lord Barbatos | wc. 2k+

"So patchy, what's your story?"

The firewood tumbles in on itself within the pit. Ember sparks fly high, dancing between you and the other soldiers that crowd around the flame. It does little to combat the chilling air of Dragonspine, but it does provide enough of a haven for your group to forgo the mission to sit in idle company.

Chatter is loud amongst the knights and you would think this some caravan camping out over a reconnaissance party. You have a thought to hush the group as to not alert your targets, but with three days of just constant snow and no other signs of life you hold your tongue for their sanity.

“Hey! I asked you a question.”

The cold has been a lot better against your bandages than you had first thought. The old wounds from the incident haven’t completely healed, but the breeze feels like a gentle cold wrap around the warm ache of your body. Albeit not the best place for it, you feel more relaxed than you have for a while.

“Do you have a problem with me or something?!”

The once boisterous ensemble goes silent as all eyes turn to the quarrel. A soldier you don’t bother even trying to recognize has suddenly stepped up to your face. It's obvious he is new to the ranks; his armour is still freshly polished and not a dent in sight. You can catch the edgings of a family crest on the hilt of the sword he reaches for at his side.

A spoiled child of wealth. He'll probably last two more days before he turns back.

"Ignore him. Recruits are always ill-mannered to their seniors their first time out.” A man — Druig, the captain of your team — grabs the boy by the neck of his armour, dragging him back to his stool before he causes anymore of a scene. This brings back the laughter of the knights and the boy sits arms crossed with cheeks tinted pink.

"Though you could humor him." Druig boasts again, loud and obviously falling victim to the jug of wine in his hands. He offers you some carelessly, the liquid spilling over the rim and staining the pure snow red. You raise a hand in rejection and he happily takes another swig for himself. "Hell, all the lads could use a fine tale!"

Another cheer into the night. Druig has been determined to get you to open up since you took the commission. Although you can see the logic behind it — as your employer he deserves to know some part background — it never occurred to you as something that should be this importance. But with three days of begging and now several pairs of eyes awaiting the tale, there is really no escaping the memory.

You sigh deeply, already regretting the decision. You squat to the fire.

"It was the wind. Strongest I had ever seen."

The image is so clear in your head; the ache is still so painful in your bones that it's difficult to forget.

That fear is so easy to remember.

"An Eye of the Storm. The Eye of the Storm. An elemental lifeform so powerful it could be at level with an Archon. It raised the ground. It shook the trees bare. I didn't stand a chance."

Your voice falters as the face of Lord Barbatos flashes within the flames. His crazed smile reopens closed wounds and suddenly your skin feels itchy all over again.

The existence of Gods in the mortal realm hangs a heavy shadow over Teyvat. Stormterror's Rampage, the presumed death of the Geo Archon, the being that is Inazuma's Shogun; they are what mere humans cannot equal or challenge in any possible regard. And yet we still choose to worship the unknown.

"The Archons must have blessed you to survive that."

It's laughable really; how they can have so much faith in a being who spends most of their time drunk in a tavern while the rest of the world begs for their fortune.

"We live in a world where people can control the elements like magic and beasts can grow taller than trees- taller than mountains. My life is no blessing from a God and it never will be." You spit with a fire.

The impious statement shocks the soldiers still. With the Archon being held in such a religious light in Mondstadt, your behavior naturally rouses anger. The emotion slowly seeps through most of the men who no doubt have been within the Knights for sometime and upheld the Archon's image. It's obvious you've stained what little welcome you had within the group.

There is no reaction when you stand or when you begin to turn off into the cold of Dragonspine you wave over your shoulder, "I'll get more wood for the fire."

You walk past angry men unapologetically. The boy from earlier spits at your feet as you march by but it doesn't deter you in the slightest. Their beliefs aren't yours to taint in this moment and with direct orders from the Acting Grand Master you refrain from overstepping.

You travel far enough through the snow that the flames from the camp cannot be seen through the blizzard fog. With enough space to hear your own thoughts again, you can finally be at peace with the mountain. The snowflakes fall around you in clusters. Pinecones tumble from rustling trees with silent thuds into the layered snow. Small critters scurry around foraging for their next meals.

You breathe into your hands for warmth. While you are out you might forage yourself. There won't be much firewood to find in this area. The blizzard has dampened much of the fallen twigs and searching for dry wood is like looking for a needle within a haystack. Still you kneel to the floor to keep yourself busy and keep a clear head.

A boar's grunt catches your attention. Just over a shrub you can catch sight of the native beast's shaking fur. It's back is turned to you and it seems to be trying to scare something hidden in the bush ahead. Of course you cannot see anything noteworthy in the bush, yet you do not doubt the animal's senses.

Without warning it barrel's head first at the plant. You expected a few things: a rabbit, a weasel, a few clustered crystalflies, another boar even. With having taken a commission that was far from civilization — far from him — anything else should have been what came out of that bush. Instead it was a man.

He falls to the ground with a yelp, the weight of the boar's charge having kicked up snow in its wake. Your first instinct should have been to question the strange man's presence in such a place like this, but your apprentice training kicks in before you can think it through. You approach him to help.

He is covered in snow from head to toe, and when you bring him up most of it falls. You are about to tell him off, the whole knightly script just at the edge of your tongue as you rub off more snow. It was odd the way he stood beside you at an angle like he was trying to hide something. Just as you move to speak you do catch the edge of what he is hiding. You can’t forgot its shape even if you wanted to.

It was a lyre. Your fingers still at his sides. Slowly you look to the man’s face and those bright green eyes meet your gaze head on.

This was no man but a God. The Anemo Archon: Lord Barbatos.

You jump back hastily, nearly tripping over your own feet to get away. Venti brushes the remaining snow off his body with no urgency and stands upright like this was some casual meet. "Long time no see."

He takes a step forward and on reflex you draw your sword. He holds up his hands in surrender but you won't take any chance... not this time. Your whole body visibly shakes, your hands break out in cold sweats and breaths are labored. Why is he here? What possibly could have brought him to the one place you had been sure he wouldn't be?

"You look good." He speaks after a short silence and you scuff to the trees. "What the fuck are you doing here!"

It isn't a question, you demand an answer. You grip the sword with two hands to steady yourself.

"You haven't been home for a while so I got worried. I never got the chance to apologize to you and it feels like you're avoiding me." He pouts like some concerned friend. Your eyes constantly flicker from his own ones to the lyre at his side. How far could you get if you make a run for it? "And the guild said you were taking more out field commissions so I..."

"You what?" Venti doesn't answer quick enough, instead taking a cautious step forward which makes you move to widen the distance. "I've been... following your scent through the wind."

You feel gross all over, like you need to scrub the skin off your bones in order to erase whatever scent he is talking about. He's been tracking you... hunting you... stalking you by smell.

"How long?"

"I know how weird this may sound but-"

"How long have you been here!"

His hands drop to his sides and he casts his gaze to the distance, a habit you hate spikes up old memories. "Two days." He admits regrettably.

Oh god. He's been watching you from the start, maybe even before you reached the mountain.

"But I was just coming to apologize. I was waiting for the right time and you looked so happy that I jus-"

Your throat has run dry and the freezing temperatures aren't helping the situation at hand. Your voice cuts in sharp with what little courage you have left, "Listen — and I'll only say this once."

"I want nothing to do with you ever again. Okay! Go sniff out that Honorary Knight or something just... stay away from me."

His face contorts from one of deep sorrow to one of pain. Just like that day. It takes a few beats, a few moments of false hope that you broke him enough to make a run for it. He laughs to himself dimly and you feel your strength waning. Your hope is crushed with his next words.

"I think you should let the wind carry you a bit longer, unless you wish to fall into the storm once again."

The lyre shifts a deep crimson faster than you can blink and that weighted fear returns tenfold. The blizzard grows in ferocity. Various rocks, wood and helpless animals are picked up with the wind and flung out in various directions. You can barely keep your own footing now and he hasn't even begun his song.

His hands raise, ready to start his torture. All you can think of is the end. Preparing yourself for those wretched noises. But all you hear is... silence.

"What the hell happened to you?" You nearly jump out of your skin. Druig comes from behind a tree, puzzled.

You turn to where Barbatos stood only moments ago but only see a tuft of falling snow gliding in the air. Your eyes shift frantically throughout the open space from the tops of trees to the distant expanse of the now tame snowy night. There is no blood on the snow, no signs of a storm, not even the outline of footprints.

Nothing.

"I saw... it was... uhm... " Your heavy breathing cuts your sentence short and you know you must look crazy to the captain. He was here. He was right here and yet. You're still shaken, the thump of your heartbeat not only in your muscles but also your fingers and your head. What just happened?

Druig stands waiting for some sort of answer and you blurt your first thought. "It was a boar."

"Well, it must have been some boar, huh?" He doesn't question your lie and you bet it on the wine. You nod to him trying your best to look as calm as possible. "Anyway, we'll be going deeper into the mountain. I'd... understand if you didn't want to continue."

"No! I'll stay, I have to see this through." You admit to get your mind on track. The man laughs heartily with a smack to your shoulder. The pain is searing but it grounds you to the moment. Druig leads you back to camp. He does most of the talking, while you try to calm yourself down unsuccessfully. Barbatos had followed you here, has been following you and probably still is. You're all too aware of every little rustle in the wind, every possible shake and stir in the air. This obsession will be your undoing.

The faint strum of a lyre follows your every step. Whether it's the tune of a bard's promise or an Archon's wraith sends a chill over your entire body.

THE GEO ARCHON Rex Lapis | wc. 1.2k+

For three thousand years you’ve been at the side of the Geo Archon Rex Lapis following the events of the Archon War. 

For the first thousand years you thought you could fight him. After having dragged you back from the rubble of your home, he chained you to the foot of his throne. You thrashed, clawed, screamed and bled to get free. Any food offered you tossed, whenever he’d try to touch you you’d bear your teeth like an animal, and every single day you pulled at that chain. But days turned to month and month to years and years drained you until you couldn't fight anymore.

He breaks the chains when you got too weak run from his touch. Morax fed you by hand, held your chin to make you chew, he kept you close at all times and when you pushed he’d pull back harder. He nursed you till your strength returned and even when you got strong enough to run he never let you get far. He’d make the earth swallow you whole and spit you right back at his side where he made you think you belong. 

For the next thousand years you had thought you could beg. Time brought upon something you never saw coming for the Geo Archon: change. When you met some four thousand years ago, he was ruthless. He massacred thousands and leveled the earth whenever he saw it fit, but he was different then. He had begun to changed.

His touch is gentle, his tone less demanding and his stare was more human. With as long as he had lived and seeing as so many of his treasured friends die, the reality of being the strongest — of being immortal — has finally set in. You had thought this change would help free you but your pleas were always met with this same look of sadness. Morax would tell you every single time, almost apologetic: you cannot leave.

You didn’t believe him, you never did and still don’t. It's only on the night you decided to run that you understand his sadness. You make it to the bridge of the Harbor, the one thing that you separated you from the rest of the world. The yaksha, the only one still living, didn’t chase you. The earth did not move to block your path. Freedom is so close. You ran across the bridge under the belief it would be all over like waking from a bad dream.

You should've known better. As soon as your foot crossed the end you were forced back. The pulse of it stunned you and almost left you winded when you fell to the floor. You were sure you weren’t followed. When you stood with a lot more cautiously, nothing seems out of the ordinary until you caught sight of it in the moonlight.

It was a barrier. Morax’s contract to you. A barricade that surrounded the entire Harbor to keep the all evil out, and you in.

You ran around the whole port, and that barrier was there to meet you head on. You even tried your luck out at sea, you had swam for the distant boat but all there was to greet you was bars to your prison. When you seam back to shore soggy and exhausted, Morax was there to greet you. He looked down at you with sad eyes and all you can hear were those words. 

You cannot leave. You screamed and cursed his name till your voice broke that night.

And now, three thousand years later, you're left here.

“Please leave it all to the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and we’ll see to their gentle passing.”

You bow to the grieving family as they make their way to the exit. Your movements are robotic; you bend deeper than you should and smile too cheerful for having just discussed the ceremonial process of their approaching burial. Playing human hasn't come easy for you…

“You’ve improved.”

…And neither has your hatred for the archon who imprisoned you. Well archon no more.

Morax has died, now replaced by this… Zhongli. His renounce of his divine position was a long time coming, you had seen it first hand. He lives his days posing as a mortal, the god that captured you is gone but you still cannot forgive him. You will not forget what he did to you.

You ignore what he said and move past him to the Director. You offer her your goodbyes and leave the building without sparing him a glance. His gaze follows you with that sadness he's always had. It's been decades since you found out about the barrier and ever since then he’s missed the sound of your voice. He couldn’t care what you said; you could promise to kill him or even expose his truth but all he would care for is the fact that you addressed him.

You walk for a long while. You go through the plaza, by the markets and down past the docks. You stop at a shoreline just off the docks — it's the farthest place you can go from the Harbor that grants you that little sense of freedom. You go there most nights to watch the sun set. Most nights you're alone, left to bask in your own thoughts of the past and what would have been. Some nights, like tonight, Zhongli joins you just before the sun has completely gone. He doesn’t speak to you because he knows you won’t answer. He just stands right by your side until you’ve had your fill and left for home. Tonight is different though, because this time he speaks and you aren’t prepared for it.

“My dear gemstone… I’m sorry for what I’ve done.”

In the distant past you aren’t sure what those words would have done to you. You would have probably gone insane, trapped in the thought of how someone can feel sorry and still do the things they did. A part of you thinks you would have killed him. Your powers still work although not as strong as they used to be without a human’s faith. You could have made a crystal from your tears so sharp it would have ended it all for you. You wouldn’t have succeeded but you would have kept fighting. You should have kept fighting.

Now three thousand years later, with the spirit of the god who caged you long gone, you aren’t sure what to do.

Oh. Your body thinks it best to cry. 

Your shoulders shake with sobs. Your tears flow down your face in rivers of silver and break off into fragile droplets of diamonds. 

Zhongli brings his hand up slowly, placing it gently on your shoulder opposite to him. He is still for a long moment waiting for you to break away from him. You don’t; you’ve lost your will to fight. It’s slow and careful the way he pulls you into his chest, like you’ll shatter the moment he envelops you completely. He holds you close while your soft cries mix in with the sounds of the waves draping the sand…

… and for the first time in a long time, you don’t try to leave his side.

THE HYDRO SOVEREIGN Nuevillette | wc. 2.1k+

"That one doesn't match the theme at all."

"How would you know you haven't even seen the flyer!"

"The flyers are everywhere. I can't miss them even if I wanted to!"

The three Melusine continue to argue amongst themselves over which eyeshadow to throw onto your face next. You have to bite your cheek to stop yourself from yelling to the archons above. This gala cannot be so important that it would warrant a criminal to attend dressed to the nines instead of behind bars.

Eight years. Eight long years since you've moved to the proclaimed nation of Justice, and seven of those years have been spent as a registered criminal under the watchful gaze of the judge who enforced your sentence: Neuvillette.

Being forced to live every moment with that man has become your hell. He insists that you accompany him on his every whim. Your there for his important office meeting, his court cases, his unusual habit of water tasting by the pier and his evening routine dinners at restaurants.

It is all done with you right by his side like a lap dog…and it's humiliating.

This isn't the relationship that should be shared between law enforcement and a criminal, but it seems you are the only person in all of Fontaine to give a damn.

The public sees your relationship as they do everything else here: entertainment.

The Judge and His Criminal: A Match Made at Trial.

News articles and tabloids headline with the two of you every other week. Each one just so happens to catch you both in some sort of intimate spotlight that couldn't be any farther from the truth, but it isn't like Neuvillette fights against them. Various citizens have sent you handwritten letters questioning about your relationship, paparazzi tackle you with questions and request for personal interviews as if you're some celebrity, he even has your parents under the impression that the rumors are true.

Your hands clench at your sides with the thought, dull nails digging into the inside of your palms. God how you wish it would end.

The chatter between the Melusines comes to a halt as the double doors are opened. You had thought it was a blessing sent from above, but the clatter of heeled boots makes you go stiff.

"Monsieur Neuvillette!" The Melusine cheer, happy to see him as they scurry over to his side excitedly. You remain in your seat. They talk up to him, the bickering you had thought reached its vote returning with a vengeance. They each still insist on different colors for you to wear like it is life or death. The closed eye smile he offers in return shows he finds their little disagreement more amusing than as serious as they do themselves. He listens to every opinion nonetheless, taking in everything they all have to say with interest.

Then his eyes shift over to you.

"Don't worry. I'll take over."

You scoff, uncaring that everyone else in the room can hear you. The Melusine look to you and then back to Nuevillette who continues to smile down at them as if nothing is wrong. They nod to him one by one, then they wave to you goodbye before skipping out of the doors to leave you both alone in silence. You pick up the tea cup at your side, watching the liquid swirl around in the fine glass.

"The Melusine tell me you are not well. Might I know what troubles you?"

Neuvillette takes the seat in front of you once the room is clear and the doors shut, speaking to you with his normal neutral tone. He removes the tea from your hands just as you go to drink it, placing the cup back on the table. He continues where they have left off, grasping the brushes delicately as he brings them close to your eyes. It's soft the way he applies the eyeshadows, treating the brushes as if they aren't the finest material imported from Inazuma and would harm you if he applied too much pressure.

You don't bother to answer him, opting to look past him at the open window. Your silence doesn't bother him as much as it once did. You've long since given up your begging to be set free and now have chosen to go non-verbal in his presence after the first few years of your...parol.

He picks up a thinner pen once he believes he's done with shadow. Its an eyeliner pen.

"Don't move."

He prompts not that you have moved a muscle in this seat for the last thirty minutes, reluctantly sitting in wait for his arrival. Like an obedient dog.

One hand holds your chin tenderly, the other just barely touching the space above your eye. The Melusine had spent a great amount of time perfecting your look for this event and it would be a shame for him to ruin it.

You clearly do not share that same concern.

Just as he presses a bit harder into your skin to draw a line you jerk away. He is startled of course and draws the pen back but the damage is already done — a crooked line of black smeared from your eyebrow across your forehead. It isn't as bad as it may seem, just a quick makeup wipe away really but still Neuvillette looks dejected with the mess.

A smirk graces your lips at his expression. You might look like a fool from what you can see from the mirrors but you couldn't care less in this moment. "Shall we go."

You speak to yourself and rise in a new found spirit. You grab your coat from behind your chair and catch the sight of clouds outside the window in the corner of your eye. You expected the storm clouds, maybe even a tickle of rain - never did you expect the rumble of thunder.

Before you get the chance to pass Neuvillette, he grasps your forearm. The tenderness in his touch long since drowned, and for once you wince in his hold.

"A shame."

It's unexpected, his sudden turn. You're launched back into your seat, the force tipping over the desk beside you and pain running through your shoulders. There is a protest on your tongue, your first thought to tell him off if it wasn't for the dark glow in his eyes.

"I had thought you would grow complacent as time went on. But I've grown tired of your tantrums and this will be the last." The dragon speaks.

He is back on you in a quick second. Neuvillette's hand envelopes your mouth forcing your gaze to the side in a harsh grip. You cannot move, he crowds around you in the seat and shoves you deeper into the cushion. Your hands grip his own, trying to pry him off to no avail. He has you at his mercy yet again.

With your head turned directly into the mirrors at the vanity you watch in horror at what he does. He brings his other gloved hand to his lips, tongue darting out to wet the material with spit. He then brings the finger to your face starting to wipe away your mess.

You attempt to inch away, fighting with all your might to dodge his touch but that only causes him to push you further into the seat. The pain in your shoulders spikes again but his hand prevents your scream. Your hands thrash out determined to keep fighting as long as you can, but you can only do so much against the might of a dragon recently empowered.

Your spasmodic fighting is loud; you knock over another table spilling your tea cup, you swipe the makeup palettes onto the ground in a vocal clatter, something else falls you can't see and it shatters. You want someone to hear now, to burst through those doors and see just what a monster their highly praised Judge really is.

As the wrestling gets more aggressive, you know the people outside the office find it harder to ignore. Some turn their heads after hearing the various items hit the floor, but that is all. You want to have hope that they would hear your distress and come to your aid. Although, deep in your heart you know it won't ever happen. For what is your daily torment is their newest line of gossip.

The ones who look to the doors grow hot and red at the sudden sinful thoughts that flash through their heads. Others play at continuing their original tasks, a faint gossip starting through the masses as they openly say what they think is happening behind office doors. The last few of them actually do keep their noses deep within their files, acting as if this was a normal everyday thing as it has come to be.

When you finally burst open the double doors, they all go back to work hurriedly. Anger seethes from your being as you look throughout the office. Books are raised to cover faces, backs turn away to continue meaningless conversation, various fingers start toying with clothes to pick at lent. They don't care about you, and the quiet snickers of those few workers who don't care about being discreet stir up a sour feeling in you.

You hold back on lashing out at them, it would do nothing but make you look crazier than they already suspect. Instead you straighten your back and make haste to the doors.

As soon as you leave the building that suffocating weight is off your shoulders. The sky has cleared off with only faint remains of clouds. You take a deep breath of the fresh air, to calm yourself. Years upon years of being caged and you're finally free to think alone...wait.

You are alone.

Alone as you can be standing outside, but still alone. The gardes have not noticed you, and the streets are mostly barren thanks to the gala. You can escape. If you run now and hide off outside of the city they won't be able to find you in time. It's a chance chance to take, but you can't care now as your legs carry on their accord. Freedom is right in arms reach and won't miss the chance to take it...but nothing is ever that easy.

A man blocks your path before you can take another step. He is clad in a run of the mill tux, all black. His tie is strung out haphazardly and with the man's sleeves rolled up you can catch sight of the various bandages around both his arms and hands. A disheartened sigh leaves your lips.

Wriothesley scoffs himself, "what you aren't happy to see me?"

In truth, no. Trying to escape now would be asking for a greater punishment. No one can escape the wrath of the Duke and with his close relationship with Neuvillette it isn't worth asking for a cover up either. You put on your best smile, hands raising up his chest to fix the tie around his neck. "Just wish the day would go by faster."

His eyes never leave your own, even when your hands leave his body. The tie is perfectly in place now, though you both know he'll have taken it off by the time you get to the venue.

"You look good." He says suddenly and you pause. The compliment is genuine, the clothes you wear are personally tailored for you and fit snug yet freely enough for you to move without constraint. Wriothesley thinks the color suits you well and the details are a great addition from Liyue. You smile at him again, this one a lot more genuine and he can definitely tell with the way your face wrinkles.

You want to thank him, should have thanked him. But the sound of heels catches your attention over all else and the words crawl right back down your throat. "Shall we go." Neuvillette's hand clamps around your wrist like a handcuff, voice curt. It has been a while since the Duke has seen the man this displeased or you this upset. Wriothesley looks down at the Iudex's gloved hands. He can catch sight of teeth marks in the leather material and a bit of smudged powder along the print of his thumb.

"Is everything alright? I’d hate to get between-"

"Everything is as it should be." Neuvillette interrupts quickly, stare stone cold.

Wriothesley makes no comment against it, at least not here anyway.

All he does is nod, leading you all to the awaiting personal chariot. Neuvillette moves his arm, firmly locking your forearm on his own. You thrash a bit, although it takes one pinch to your skin to stop you from causing another scene.

To the public, you are living the life of royalty. But you know nothing has changed, you remain a prisoner chained to Nuevillette... and he isn't afraid to pull back on the leash when you show signs of bearing your teeth.

pre-note | got completely swamped with college work and now summer work is completely beating my ass ( currently neglecting it as i finish this ) so deepest apologies for the late response!!!!!

extended a/n | my first ever anon i feel so famous now! had a blast revisiting this idea and building more into their personalities, thanks so much for the ask!! i sadly had to exclude a few characters from this :/ they wouldn’t have fit this particular scene as they wouldn't tolerate behavior like this in as healthy of a way as the ones above i hope that’s okay! also ik you asked for a bit of fluff and the only one who really got that was zhongli — only because out of all the characters he is the only one i can see changing from his old way of handling the reader if that makes sense!! if you have anymore thought do not be afraid to send an ask ( promise to complete them in a more timely manner next time around T-T )

[achillesuwu]

Au where merthur have soulmate identifying mark but merlin is the only one who know they are because if Arthur knew he would find out about his magic 👀 (arthur's mark being a beautiful dragon mainly on on his back but its tall is draped on his torso, a wing stretch on his right shoulder, another end on his hip and its head rest upon his stomach. As if it were jealousy protecting him. its scale are of a blue so dark it nearly look black. It has golden eye and tread of gold on is horn, gold shimmer on its body highlighting its scale at some place.

It screams powerful sorcerer.)

And thus it doesn't change anything from the show. Merlin doesn't tell him not even at the very end (Merlin's mark is a smaller red dragon with its head on his shoulder and who is is holding itself on his shoulder)

It would be very angsty but also SO FUNNY if in a post return futur where arthur (Gwen, the knights) are very confuse and lost but luckily for them there exist multiple center for "People who got Teleported at the wrong place/Bought back from the dead? We are here to help!/ your five yo drank a weird potion? No problem! Etc" basically Magic help center.

Just imagine basic social worker sorcerers who tries to do their job at 3 am and see THE Emrys mark ™ on a random dude and they are like *gasp*.

Them : what the fuck

Arthur :???

Them :WHAT THE FUCK

the others :????

Them : we are calling your soulmate RIGHT NOW. WHAT THE FUCK should I call the government too???? I'M NOT PAY ENOUGH FOR THIS.

Arthur : my???

Them : YOU. DO NOT MOVE IF I LOSE YOU I'M DEAD. DEAD.

You can imagine arthur pendragon pacing like a 13 years old stressed before an oral presentation because even if he was afraid then thought he globally didn't really care about his soulmate. He realised that it wasn't so much that he didn't care but he thought it would simply never be so he just... Kinda forgot about it. Now he just can not put it away because is soulmate IS coming and WHERE IS MERLIN WHEN HE NEEDS HIM (he is blocking any thoughts about Merlin potential dead thank you very much)

(Gwen is currently finding the situation extremely funny because she figured out in 5x13 and she is 80 yo (in a younger body but still) . And she is waaaayyyyyy to old to see her former husband stay in his denial.

Leon is 78 years old and he is slowly recognising the dragon in question that look very much like Merlin's family crest. He is looking at his wife in a very conspiracy way.

Gwaine is currently not really giving a damn about the whole soulmate thing. What do you MEAN you can send messages to people in less that a second?!?!?

Elyan would usually not give a damn but he is very much not happy ™ to find out that his sister (first) husband had a soulmate mark who isn't dead and he is glaring at Arthur but he is also getting a hug from gwen so it doesn't look menacing at all.

Perceval (57) is right behind Gwaine but he is currently watching himself in the mirror because seeing his younger self again is weird asf

Meanwhile Lancelot is talking with the assistant (on the verge of a break down because they are going to see the GOD OF MAGIC OH MY GOD) about magical history

[pasukiyo]

Hey, ignore if u arent still doing requests but I've had this storyline in my head for ages and I think ur a perfect writer for tom. Basically, the reader is a muggleborn but she attends Hogwarts and it's like half term where they are all home for a break. Shes either avery or lestranges adopted sibling and it's kinda been kept a secret from tom because.. well yknow shes a muggleborn lol(he knows about her now because her adoptive brother had to explain before bringing Tom over) anyways so hes at every or lestranges house for some reason (you make it up) and shes in her room, her adoptive brother needs something so he asks tom to get it from her desk in her room and they preferably have 🌶 time. Sorry if it sounds stupid but I've been thinking about this for ages!!😭

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!reader 8,104 words warnings: smut. sort of angst. also lots of prejudice against muggle-borns. read part two here. notes: reader is hufflepuff and muggle-born in this one. summary: every year, the lestranges will hold a christmas party for only the oldest of pure-blood wizarding families. every year you are locked in your room while the party rages downstairs, but everything will change when tom riddle is invited to this year’s party. everything…

 The Lestrange name definitely held some irony, considering how strange the family truly was. The Mother sent an owl at lunch, the rolled parchment dropping onto the plate in front of Tiernan Lestrange. On either side of him sat Clarence Avery and Liam Mulciber, who gazed down at the rolled parchment sealed with the Lestrange family crest with sparkling irises. 

 “Is it for the party, Lestrange?” Avery asked as Lestrange took another bite of his sandwich, dusting his hands off before finally taking a hold of the parchment, untying the ribbon keeping it closed. “More than likely,” he replied as the parchment unraveled, his mother’s handwriting gazing back up at him in inky black cursive letters. 

 ‘To my dearest son,

 Tell your friends they’re more than welcome to join us on Christmas Eve for the party. Invite that Head Boy you were writing to me about too. I am most interested to meet him, since you speak so highly of him. Remind the Girl that she is to not speak of the party, I simply cannot have any more of her kind in the house. I will see you at King’s Cross Station, my darling. 

 With all my love, your mother.’

 Of course, the Girl referred to the Hufflepuff sitting all the way across the Great Hall at her own House’s table, her head down as she ate, so as to not catch the attention of her brother or any of his friends. She didn’t choose this family— and if it were her choice, she’d be far away from them— and neither did they. 

 It was the fault of whomever it was who dropped her onto the Lestranges’ doorstep in the wee hours of the morning when she was only an infant. The Mother had given birth to her son only a few months before, and found the crying baby on her doorstep to be quite a burden. 

 She asked herself why the Mother and the Father even bothered keeping her, for even before they learned of her blood status, they hated her. Perhaps it was to uphold their reputation— taking in a child who wasn’t theirs? It was the perfect foundation for the story of a kind-hearted pure-blood family— how could the Lestranges let that opportunity go?

 Of course, behind closed doors, she was treated less than a family member, some would argue far less than a house elf. She may as well have been a house elf if you ask her. She was treated like how they believed anyone of her kind should be treated— a mudblood deserved to be treated like the rubbish they are, they’d say. 

 Up until she got her Hogwarts letter, she believed them. She believed she deserved to be treated this way, that she deserved to be put through the torture that came with living with the Lestranges. She believed she had filthy blood, demon blood. 

 But all of that changed the second she first stepped foot into Hogwarts. Of course, the Lestranges were at first very against letting her attend Hogwarts— mudbloods shouldn’t be taught magic, they’d say— but even they could only take so many letters flying through the fireplace or popping up in the stew before they gave in. Of course, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone of her blood status— “you are not to tell anyone of your filthy blood status,” the Father had told her with an accusatory finger in her face. “As far as anyone is concerned, you are pure-blood. So I expect you to act like it.” 

 Her school robes and supplies were not as grand as Tiernan’s, and she wasn’t allowed an owl or a cat or a toad. But she told herself that she would make do with what she had, and she felt at least a little bit grateful that the Lestranges didn’t give her tattered secondhand, even third-hand clothes, even if she knew it was all for the act. 

 When the Lestranges found out she had been sorted into Hufflepuff however, oh, it gave them all the more reason to ridicule and torture her back at home. “Of course the mudblood is in the weakest House,” the Mother would mutter beneath her breath as she and her husband read the letter their son had written. “We were fools to think that old ratty hat would sort her into Slytherin.”

 Tiernan and his friends— they made certain that her life at Hogwarts was just as bad as her life at home. Of course, Tiernan was the only one who knew the truth about her blood, Avery, Mulciber, and the others just tagged along because they found it funny. They loved calling her names, making her trip in the hallways, pulling pranks such as jinxing her school books so that they may not open no matter how hard she tried. 

 And still, she didn’t dare stand her ground, for she knew all too well that the Mother and the Father would catch wind of it, and make certain that she’d be on the first train back to King’s Cross Station. So instead, she dealt with Tiernan and his friends, just like she learned to deal with everything else. 

 But Tom… Tom Riddle was different. 

 Tiernan Lestrange and his friends worshiped the ground Tom Riddle walked on, and it was no secret. She remembered when she first saw Tom, all the way back in the Sorting Ceremony in her first year at Hogwarts. She remembered hearing his name ‘Riddle, Tom’ being called and she remembered watching as he approached the platform, settling himself down onto the stool. 

 She remembered the way their eyes met and she swore her knees turned into jelly when she gazed into those dark ravines he had for irises. And she remembered when the Sorting Hat exclaimed “Slytherin!” hardly before it had even touched a hair on his head. 

 And she remembered how disappointed she felt when she was called up to be sorted, the Sorting Hat put her into Hufflepuff. She wanted to be a Slytherin— she wanted to be wherever Tom Riddle was. 

 In all her time at Hogwarts, she’d never even spoken a word to Tom Riddle. They’d pass each other in the halls, but thanks to her brother, she’d never been given the chance to even tell him hello. And Tiernan made it clear that she never would. 

 So life went on, and she got older. She hoped that over time, she’d forget about Tom. But it was hard when he was made prefect, and when he was given the Special Award for Services to the School, and when he was made Head Boy at the beginning of their seventh and final year. 

 She remembered her fifth year during all the attacks on muggle-borns vividly as if it were only yesterday. She remembered how frightened she was when she realized it was muggle-borns whatever it was was attacking. She remembered the panic she felt when Hogwarts was on the brink of being closed— she couldn’t have that! She belonged at Hogwarts, not out there with the Lestranges where she was treated like vermin. 

 At least here, she could pretend to be someone she was not. 

 Of course Tiernan was no help, always taunting her and teasing her that she’d be next. She remembered when she heard that it was Rubeus Hagrid who had freed the muggle-born killing beast, how although she felt that it could not be Hagrid, she felt a sense of relief when he was expelled, when all the attacks had stopped. 

 And of course it was Tom Riddle who caught him. And of course it just made her admire him more and more. 

 But she would keep her distance. She’d admire him from afar. She couldn’t begin to imagine the torment Tiernan would put her through if he found out she liked Tom Riddle. 

 “Yes! Looks like we’re invited, Mulciber,” Avery exclaimed, pumping his fist. Tiernan rolled his eyes at his friends, “you’re invited every year,” he replied, just as Tom entered the Great Hall, and they fell into silence as he approached. 

 She could see Tom over the tops of the heads of the Hufflepuffs in front of her, and she slowly sat up to get a better look. That was when Tom blinked up and she swore their eyes met, just for a moment, before he settled down into his seat, disappearing behind the heads of the other Hogwarts students. She felt herself flush as she hunched over her plate again, a small smile creeping onto her face. 

 “My Lord,” Tiernan Lestrange nodded as Tom settled himself between him and Liam Mulciber. Tom nodded in acknowledgement as he placed a few pieces of chicken onto his plate, and Tiernan’s gaze flickered from him to the rolled parchment in his lap. “My mother sent an owl,” he said, and Tom hummed in reply, nodding. Still, he said nothing. 

 Tiernan shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, and Tom, with his eyes slightly narrower than before, peered up at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. Tiernan turned pink beneath Tom’s stare, and he presented the letter to him, Tom’s dark eyes flicking down to the inky black words on the scroll. 

 “My family, we… we hold a Christmas party every year,” he said, and when Tom glanced back up at him, he flushed again. “And you would’ve been invited! But it’s only for the oldest pure-blood families, and, well…” Tiernan trailed off when he saw the shadow looming over Tom’s already dark gaze, and Mulciber and Avery shifted in their seats uncomfortably. 

 Tiernan cleared his throat again, “but I’ve been speaking very highly of you to my mother. She wants you to come,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. Tom pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he stared back up at Lestrange, handing back the parchment. “Yes, I know. I can read, Tiernan,” Tom said sternly, and Tiernan clawed at his knees to prevent himself from trembling. 

 “Yes… well…” Lestrange said shakily as he rolled back up the parchment, slipping it inside one of his pockets. “…I’d really love it if you come. We’ll all be there— me, Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, Nott— and our families too, so you can meet them all!”

 Tom took a bite out of one of the chicken wings on his plate, placing it back down before wringing a napkin between his hands, gesturing towards Lestrange’s robes with his head. “Who is your mother referring to when she speaks of ‘the Girl?’” He asked, and heat crept back into Tiernan’s cheeks until they glowed scarlet. “Oh, you know… my sister…” he muttered, and Tom’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t she refer to her daughter by name?” Tom questioned, turning his body to fully face Tiernan, his interest piqued. “What does she mean by she ‘cannot have any more of her kind in the house?’”

 The other boys leaned in to hear what Tiernan would say next, and he knew now that there was no way to get out of this. He’d have to tell the truth not only to his friends, but to his Lord. 

 “Forgive me, my Lord, for asking this of you,” Tiernan hung his head and muttered lowly towards Tom. “But I must ask that you promise you won’t tell another soul about this. This goes for all of you, too,” he said towards Tom and the rest of their group. Lestrange gazed into each of their eyes and held contact for a moment with each, to make it known that he was serious. 

 Tom shrugged, “I promise.”

 Tiernan inhaled a shaky breath, before finally saying, “she… as you know, is not my sister,” he began. “And she’s not pure-blood, either. She’s a mudblood.”

 Mulciber, Avery, and the others all leaned closer and broke into a sea of murmurs, “that sure explains a lot. But a mudblood? In the Lestrange family?” Tom remained silent as he stared at Lestrange, beckoning for him to continue. “Her filthy muggle parents left her on our doorstep after she was born. My mother and father took her in purely out of the goodness of their hearts,” Tiernan sat up and stuck out his chest proudly. “And they kept her, even when they learned where she came from. So you see now why she never comes to the party. Mother always tells guests she’s never home for the party anyways.”

 The boys all laughed and ridiculed her while Tom, again, remained silent, staring absentmindedly down at his plate. He wasn’t sure what to think, how to feel. All this time he’d spent watching her, only catching glimpses of her from afar when he felt a gaze on him, watching as she turned away whenever she saw him with Tiernan and the others. 

 All this time he secretly lusted after her, the outcast of her family, the black sheep of the family. All this time he felt some sort of connection to her, all this time he felt he could relate to her because he, too, felt like an outcast. The outcast of the orphanage he grew up in, the outcast of the Gaunt family, the outcast of his muggle father’s family. 

 Tom Riddle never belonged anywhere, but he belonged here, at Hogwarts. And he knew she felt the same. 

 But would things change now that he knew she was muggle-born? Should he feel disgusted with himself now for ever thinking of pursuing her, for ever thinking of taking her in whichever way he pleased? Was it wrong of him to still lust for her, to still think of having his way with her? 

 Tom was clever but this, this he wasn’t sure of. 

 “So where has she been hiding during the parties?” Liam Mulciber asked, and Tiernan Lestrange snickered. “Mother and father force her up into her room. Says they’ll punish her accordingly if they hear even the smallest of noises coming from her room,” he replied, the boys erupting into another fit of snickers. Tom was still silent as he stared at his plate— he suddenly didn’t feel like eating. 

 The next day, she and a group of other Hogwarts students waiting to go home for the holidays gathered at Hogsmeade station, waiting for the arrival of the train. She snuck glances over to where Tiernan and his friends stood together, Tom in the middle of them all. She flushed and turned away when his head began to turn, and she moved to hide herself behind a few of her fellow Hufflepuffs, safe away from Tom Riddle’s view. 

 The train’s whistle echoed as the train emerged, slowing down to a stop before them. She dared gaze back over to where Tiernan stood with his friends as she waited for the doors to open, and when she did, Tom was no longer looking her way. She let herself stare for a little moment longer before she felt someone tap her shoulder, and blinked at the Hufflepuff girl in front of her with brown skin and shoulder length black hair she recognized as Clara Wingrave. 

 “Are you coming?” Clara asked, a furrow in her brow. She blinked and nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat back down. “Yes, sorry Clara,” she mumbled as she followed the Hufflepuff girl onto the train, sliding into the seat opposite the one Clara chose. She sighed as she settled herself into the seat just as footsteps thundered through the train, and she hardly had any time to register what was happening before their compartment door slid open, revealing none other than Tiernan Lestrange, Clarence Avery, and Liam Mulciber, Tom and the other three boys nowhere in sight. 

 Clara narrowed her eyes at their intruders, “hey, go find your own—“

 “Shut it,” Mulciber hissed towards her. “No one allowed you to speak.”

 Clara’s glare hardened as Tiernan leaned down to block his adopted sister’s view, his lips curving into a cheshire grin. Her hands balled into fists, and she suddenly felt the strongest urge to slam them right into that crooked smile of his. 

 “Mother sent the owl this afternoon,” Tiernan muttered, and he needn’t elaborate, for she was already used to the rules she was forced to follow every year during the annual Lestrange Christmas party. “Oh yeah? And let me guess…  I’m not to speak of the party, I’m not to attend the party, I’m to stay up in my room and if I make even the smallest of noises, I’ll be punished accordingly? Is that all?” She asked quietly, so that the girl across from her could not hear. 

 Tiernan scowled and grabbed for her throat, much to Clara’s shock as she shrieked, giving her a firm shake. She pressed her lips closed and gazed into Tiernan’s dark umber eyes as they gleamed with mischief. “You dare give me attitude?” He tsked. “You just wait. I’ll tell mother and father about this and—“

 “—Tiernan? Won’t you leave her alone for Merlin’s sake, the train is about to leave.”

 She along with Clara, Tiernan, and his friends snapped their heads to the open compartment door where the Head Boy now stood, a furrow in his brow. He narrowed his eyes every so slightly, and he looked irritated. She flushed when she saw him and turned away as Tiernan released her, dusting off his clothes. She glimpsed up at him as he turned to leave, not without making sure to flash a dirty look her way over his shoulder before he slid the compartment door closed behind him. 

 “What the hell was that about?” Clara gasped and shook her head in disbelief. “I know it is common for siblings to fight, but that was just absurd.”

 She shook her head as she shifted in her seat, gazing out the window as the train began to move, and Hogsmeade station grew further and further away until it disappeared altogether. 

 “He’s not my brother.”

 The train ride back to King’s Cross Station seemed to go by quicker than usual, much to her dismay. She wished she could stay on the train forever rather than have to go back to living with the Lestranges, and wished that she had an invisibility cloak so that she could hide and be on her way back to Hogwarts within the hour. 

 But, since she didn’t, she sighed as she collected her bag with her few belongings and exited her compartment, stepping out of the train and onto Platform 9¾, where her eyes immediately fell upon the Mother and the Father where they stood, eyes narrowed when they fell upon their muggle-born adopted daughter. She huffed as she made her way over to them, standing beside the Mother with a considerable amount of distance between them. 

 “Where is my son?” The Mother asked through gritted teeth, and she shrugged her shoulders. “He and his friends should be getting off soon,” she replied, not daring to turn to look at the Mother. Sure enough, almost as soon as she finished saying it, there stepped out Tiernan and his friends, Tom Riddle close behind. The other boys left to greet their own parents, but Tiernan and Tom made their way over to where she stood beside the Lestranges, and she flushed. 

 Why was Tom coming over here?

 “Tiernan,” the Mother smiled, drawing her son into her chest for a hug. “And you must be… Tom, is that right? Hogwarts’ Head Boy?”

 She glanced over to where Tom stood, a charming smile plastered his face and she could feel heat creep back up her neck. She turned away from him before he could catch her staring.

 “It is nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Lestrange,” Tom greeted them, shaking Mr Lestrange’s hand and giving the top of Mrs Lestrange’s a polite kiss. “Oh!” Mrs Lestrange giggled. “I like this one. The manners!”

 Tom flashed his best smile but snuck a glimpse over to where the Lestranges adopted daughter stood, her arms crossed over herself as she looked anywhere but at him. He eyed her up and down just as Mrs Lestrange clutched either of his forearms, and he was forced to tear his attention away from the girl behind her.

 “Tiernan here tells me you’re from the orphanage?” Mrs Lestrange asked and Tiernan felt like shriveling away beside Tom. Tom only nodded in reply to which Mrs Lestrange tutted, “how about this? You’re welcome to come and stay with us for the holidays. We’d be delighted to have you.”

 She froze at this and her lips fell agape with the intent to protest, but nothing came out. She knew nothing she said would matter anyways, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle being around Tom for the entirety of the holidays. She’d been comfortable leaving him at a safe distance away from her at school, but now she’d have to deal with seeing him at the Lestranges? She simply wouldn’t be able to trust herself being around him for so long. 

 “Thank you for your hospitality,” Tom beamed as Mrs Lestrange fussed over him, leading him away from the platform, and she, the Father, and Tiernan followed close behind. Tiernan made a point of ramming his shoulder into her every once in a while, and it took everything within her to control herself, to not shout or push him away. The Father saw this was happening but did nothing to stop it. 

 It wasn’t longer before they finally entered the Leaky Cauldron and made their way to the fireplace, and they each grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. The Father went first, then Mrs Lestrange, and Tiernan before it was down to her and Tom. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had ever been alone together, and she forced herself to look away as he stepped into the fireplace. 

 Tom was no stranger to her shy nature. He tilted his head to try and get a better look at her, watching as she peeked over at him only to find he was staring, and looked away again. He smiled, exclaimed “Lestrange Manor!” and he was gone, leaving her alone. 

 Soon, she too was back in the Lestrange Manor, and she nearly ran into Tom where he stood just before the fireplace. Her palms instinctively fell onto his back to find her balance, and oh, how she felt she’d explode where she stood. 

 It was the first time she had ever touched Tom, and she truly did not expect him to be so warm. Tom glanced back over his shoulder when he felt her hands on him and swiftly stepped out of her way, feeling her touch lingering on his back where she had touched him. Something ignited within him at that touch, and every doubt he had about still wanting to pursue her seemed to fray away. 

 He wanted her. 

 “Welcome to our home!” The Mother exclaimed with a smile as she dusted off the shoulder of Tom’s coat where some ash had fallen, letting her palms soothe back down all the way to his elbows. “Tiernan will show you where you will be staying. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

 She began to follow Tiernan and Tom as they headed for the staircase leading to the next level, but just before she could, the Mother grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her backwards to face her and the Father. She scowled down at her adopted daughter as soon as she made certain Tom was out of sight and leaned down until they were eye level. 

 “Listen to me, girl, and listen to me good,” the Mother said lowly. “You are to be on your best behavior while we have a guest in the home. You are to stay up in your room for the holidays except for meals, do you understand me, girl?”

 She blinked— normally, she’d hate the fact that she had to stay up in her room all hours of the day, but instead, she felt relief surge through her. At least she wouldn’t have to see Tom, at least she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself in front of him. 

 “Yes, Madam Lestrange,” she said as the Mother released her elbow, and the Father stepped forward, leaning down to eye level.

 “And you mustn’t leave your room under any circumstances during the party tomorrow evening,” he muttered. “If I hear even the smallest of sounds coming from your bedroom, I will punish accordingly and do understand, I will not show mercy.”

 She heard this rule every year, but still to this day, the way the Father threatened her sent chills down her spine. “Yes, Mr Lestrange,” she nodded and when the Father waved her off, she walked as fast as she could towards the stairs, practically sprinting up the steps and down the hallway until she finally reached her bedroom. 

 Tom and the rest of the Lestranges were already in the dining room when she finally bounded down the steps, and he could tell Mr and Mrs Lestrange were using all the self restraint they had within them to not blow up at her, most likely for his sake. He watched as she sat down across the table from where he and Tiernan sat, carefully only placing a small selection of food onto her plate. 

 He glanced back over to where Mr Lestrange sat on one end of the long dining table before looking over at Mrs Lestrange on the other end. Neither paid her any attention, or showed any intention of speaking to her. She didn’t seem to want to talk either. 

 “So, Tom, Tiernan tells me you’re exceptional at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Mr Lestrange said, shaking Tom from his thoughts. He forced a small smile as he nodded, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Yes, actually, I wish to become Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher one day.”

 She listened as she finished her dinner as quickly as she could, but she didn’t stick around to hear the rest of Tom’s story. She gazed over at the Mother who only nodded that she may be excused before she gathered her plate and hurried off to the kitchen where the Lestranges house elf cleaned. 

 “Thank you for the food, Gimbel,” she nodded at the house elf who only nodded back as she set her dirty plate on the pile of unclean dishes the house elf had stacked on the countertop. She hurried back upstairs where she shut herself in her room, sighing as she fell onto her mattress. 

 All she had left to endure was breakfast tomorrow morning, and she’d be free of seeing Tom for the rest of the day. She rested her arm over her eyes, her heart beating against her chest. She couldn’t believe the boy she’s been pining after since her first year is in her house, staying in only a few rooms down from hers. How she wished she could talk to him, to treat him like a guest rather than act like he wasn’t even there at all. 

 She even, for a moment, wished she was a true member of the Lestrange family, so that she could be treated as an equal. 

 Tom hardly saw her for breakfast the next morning, for as soon as he and Tiernan had entered the dining room, she was seemingly finished with her food, and once again scurried off towards the kitchen as she did the night before. Tiernan scoffed when he saw this as they took their seats on one side of the long dining table, loading their plates with biscuits and bacon and eggs. 

 “I apologize for her… strange behavior, my Lord,” Tiernan muttered to home as Tom took a sip of milk. “She’s always like this, you see.” Tom didn’t care to listen to whatever else Tiernan had to say about his adopted sister. Tom had already made up his mind about her, it was how he’d find the chance to talk to her that was the problem. 

 She seemed to avoid him like the plague, and he knew he more than likely wouldn’t be seeing her at all the rest of the day, since the Lestranges locked her in her room while they hosted their party. Tom was clever, so surely he’d be able to find a way around it?

 But as the time for the party to begin approached, he still came up with nothing. He had no excuse for wanting to see her, and with Tiernan practically breathing down his neck, he hadn’t any chance of sneaking away any time soon. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to see her at all when the party began and Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, and Nott all came rushing towards him and Lestrange. He had no space absolutely no space and no time to sneak away. 

 “Don’t worry,” Lestrange was saying to his friends. “The mudblood is upstairs in her bedroom. Won’t be coming out at all tonight, that one.” The boys snickered as they called her names and made jokes about her, but Tom wasn’t listening. Even though it seemed as if all hope of seeing her tonight was lost, he was still thinking of every possible excuse he could come up with to sneak away. 

 But fortunately, he wouldn’t have to contemplate for much longer. 

 “Blast,” Lestrange cursed, feeling around his pockets. Clarence Avery furrowed his eyebrows as he watched his friend, the others soon joining in. “What is it?” Liam Mulciber asked as Lestrange emptied each of his pockets, coming up with nothing. “Left my damn wand in my room,” Lestrange muttered, and Tom perked at this. Lestrange turned to Tom and stepped closer to murmur close to his ear, “forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord, but I simply do not trust the others. Will you go upstairs and retrieve my wand for me? I can’t go upstairs, mother and father said I need to stay down here.”

 If Tom was the type, he’d laugh and jump up and down at the request. All day he had been trying to come up with some sort of excuse to slip away from the party, and now he finally had one. He cleared his throat and nodded, “of course,” he said to Lestrange before making his way over towards the staircase, but he did not stop at Tiernan’s bedroom door as he passed. 

 Instead, he walked a little further down the Lestranges upstairs hallway, stopping at the last door on the left where she was, the black wooden door the only thing separating him from her now. Tom raised a fist to the door and knocked, and for a moment, it was silent on the other side. 

 Who could possibly be knocking at her door?

 She knew it could not be any of the Lestranges, for they would’ve just burst through the door without any respect for her privacy anyways. It couldn’t be Gimbel either, the house elf never came to her room. She grew weary as she closed her book and set it down on the mattress beside her, clearing her throat before murmuring a low, “come in.”

 She watched as the handle to her door twisted and it swung open, and when she saw who was standing there in her doorway, she felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. She’d only ever dreamed of Tom Riddle being in her bedroom, but never before did she actually think he’d really come in here. 

 But there he was. There Tom Riddle stood, closing the door behind him and turning to gaze at her where she sat on her bed, his eyes entrancing as they were dark. Even from across the room, his irises seemed to pull her in like they were magnets and she was metal, and she lost herself further and further into his soul…

 “Forgive me,” Tom said, and she blinked. Those were the first words she had ever heard him direct towards her. “I would not usually barge into a lady’s room like this.”

 Fire raged across her skin, up her neck, and to her cheeks until they were seared with flame. She suddenly had the strongest urge to open the window, wondering if she had broken into a sweat yet or not. 

 She blinked again, and the corner of Tom’s lips curved into a soft smile. He knew he already had her wrapped around his finger. 

 “Your brother thought he left something in here,” he said, gesturing towards her desk against the far wall of the room. “May I?” 

 She could not think of anything Tiernan could have possibly left in her room, but she wouldn’t dare question Tom, so instead she nodded, and she watched as he strode across the room, opening her desk drawers and sifting through its contents. 

 Of course, Tom wasn’t searching for anything. But she needn’t know that yet. 

 “Hm,” Tom hummed, closing the drawers he had opened and turning to face her again, leaning back against the wooden desk. “Perhaps, your brother was mistaken.”

 She felt small underneath Tom’s gaze, and she felt as though she could curl herself into a ball right now and shrivel away. But instead she sat still on her bed, unable to speak, unable to move. Tom chuckled and she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, mentally cursing herself for being so shy. Typical Hufflepuff, she could imagine her adopted brother sneering. 

 “You know, you should really join the party,” Tom said, hoping to break the ice between them. She soothed the skin of her arms with her palms and rubbed at her elbows, shaking her head. “The Mother and the Father won’t let me attend,” she managed to speak at last, and she gulped down the lump in her throat. 

 Although Tom already knew the answer, he still tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Why is that?” He asked, and she swallowed again, forcing back down the truth. She dropped her head and shrugged, “because I’m different.”

 Tom blinked, and he suddenly felt like he was ten years old again, still living at the orphanage he grew up in. For over ten years, he grew up unlike all the other children, and even at an early and young age, he knew that he was different. It wasn't until Albus Dumbledore came to visit him that he finally understood why he felt this way. 

 It was different in her case, because at least she knew why she was different. But they were still treated the same, like they were misfits, rejects, outcasts. It was then that he understood the connection he felt towards her with a different meaning, that he first noticed this string tethering them together. 

 They had both been lost before, but just like he had found himself, she could be found too. Tom could be the one to find her, for he seemed to be the only one who understood her. 

 Tom’s footsteps permeated her bedroom as he made his way over towards her bed, setting himself down on the mattress beside her. She flinched when she felt the bed dip beneath his weight, and it was then that it occurred to her just how close he was. 

 They had never ever been this close before. 

 “Why are you different?” He asked, gazing down at her as she peered up, their eyes meeting closer than they ever have before. For a moment she said nothing, only continued to lose herself further in the dark depths of the treacherous caverns that were his eyes. He studied her— her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her lips. 

 It was no secret that she was beautiful, even Tom could admit that. But she was vulnerable, it was clear the moment Tom met her eyes again. And Tom could work with vulnerability. 

 “Well…” she trailed off, contemplating how much she should tell him. Tom’s fingers grazed against her knee and she trembled, her eyes flicking down to his hand and back up to his face. “You can tell me,” Tom said warmly. “You can tell me anything.”

 She blinked. Never before had she heard those words. Nobody has ever wanted to hear her story before, for they all thought they already knew it all by now. She was the child who was left on the Lestranges doorstep as a baby, the child the Lestranges took in to ‘raise as their own’ because they just couldn’t bear giving such a young girl away since they were so kindhearted. 

 So never had she ever thought she’d be given the chance to tell someone about herself, to let someone read her story. But there was something about Tom, and she felt like she could trust him. 

 “I’m… I was left on their doorstep as a baby,” she began, and Tom nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I was… I am muggle-born…” she trailed off, wincing as she searched Tom’s face for disgust, but he didn’t even recoil. He only gazed at her with that same patient stare, waiting for her to keep going. 

 So she did. 

 “They hate me for it,” she added. “For having dirty blood. I’m not sure why they kept me, I could’ve been a Squib or not even a witch at all for that matter. Thankfully, I got my Hogwarts letter when Tiernan did.” She wrung her hands together in her lap, Tom’s warmth drawing her even closer to him. “It certainly didn’t help that I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin.”

 She swallowed the lump in her throat back down again, and Tom let his palm rest on her knee again, his touch warm, like a kiss from the sun itself. She felt relaxed when he touched her, despite how nervous she actually was inside. 

 “They treat me… so bad,” she whispered. “They treat me like I’m nothing.”

 Her voice wavered before it broke, and when it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to continue, the hand that had previously been resting on her knee retreated so that it may instead reach her face. Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her face up to his, her teary eyes searching his for something, anything she could hold onto. Warmth, comfort, reassurance, hope, anything. 

 So Tom would tell her what she wanted to hear. 

 “You are not nothing,”  Tom murmured, and her lip quivered the longer she stared at him. “You are somebody. Don’t let them take that feeling away from you.”

 She blinked and her brow softened, her vision blurring with tears. She was somebody. Tom Riddle thought she was somebody. 

 And somehow, that seemed to be all she needed to hear. 

 A silence ensued and they only gazed deeper into one another’s eyes. With the grip still on her chin, he drew her near and he leaned down to meet her halfway, his lips pressing against hers softly, as tenderly as he could. He felt the way she shuddered under his touch, as if his kiss was a tranquilizer, and she was becoming limp and pliant, all for him. 

 So he kissed her deeper, he kissed her harder. His tongue was warm in her mouth as she let him reign dominance over her own, her hands shaking as one cupped the side of his face and the other grabbed his bicep. 

 This was what Tom Riddle had been fantasizing about for years. To have her compliant beneath him, to have her completely under his control. He loved how easy it was, how easy it was to have her. Although he’d admit, this connection he felt towards her was growing, and it was growing at an alarming rate. As he pushed her down onto the mattress and trailed his kisses down from her lips to her jaw, he found that his heart burned, as if she had set it aflame, and this feeling was foreign to him. 

 He had no idea what this tenderness he felt was, whether he dared call it love or not. For eighteen years, he was under the impression that he couldn’t love, that love simply just wasn’t in the cards for him, and he was completely okay with that. 

 But this feeling, whatever it was he felt for her, came unexpectedly, and he was unsure whether or not he should embrace it or push it away. 

 For now, he worked at unbuttoning her blouse as he sucked marks into her neck, his tongue swirling around her collarbone. 

 She pressed her lips together to contain her noises as Tom slipped her blouse from her shoulders and down her arms, discarding it down onto the floor altogether. He made quick work of her brassiere, his lips previously kissing her collarbone venturing down between the valley of her breasts, sucking marks onto either mounds of flesh. 

 “T… Tom,” she mewled as he pressed a kiss to one of her nipples, kneading her opposite breast with his palm. He hummed in reply, gazing up at her through hooded lids as he sucked the erect bud, releasing it with a wet pop before doing the same to the other. She squirmed beneath him and squeezed her eyes shut, arching her back up off of the mattress. “T… Tom, I… they will punish me if they hear me.”

 Tom smirked against her skin as he released her nipple from his mouth and kissed down her stomach, past her belly button, all the way to the hem of her skirt. He pushed himself up by the elbows as he hooked his fingers over the hem, beginning to tug them down her thighs. 

 “Then I suggest you stay quiet,” he said simply as he removed her skirt from her ankles, her panties soon joining the sea of clothes on the floor as well. 

 She sank her teeth down into her bottom lip so hard when he placed a kiss just above her aching clit, she feared she’d draw blood. Tom eyed her through his hooded stare as he teasingly dipped his tongue past her folds, testing the waters. He watched as her face scrunched and she kicked her legs, arching her back at just the simplest of touches. 

 So eager, he thought. 

 He soothed her stomach with one of his palms as he pecked her clit, watching the way she trembled and writhed, whining behind closed lips, silent pleading for more. Tears broke past the glossy barrier of her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks like crystals, and he smirked as he pressed his lips down against her heat, sucking her clit as it throbbed and ached to be touched. 

 She threw her hands down on the mattress on either side of her, her fingernails clawing at the sheets as he flicked his tongue up and down her slit, humming at the taste of her nectar on his tongue. She tried to watch as he lapped up the juices spilling down her folds before flicking his tongue against her bud again, but she couldn’t even hold herself up, much less keep her eyes open for longer than a few seconds. 

 “P… please,” she mewled quietly as one of her hands ventured down between her legs to grip at his hair, and she ground her hips against his face, eager for more. That was when Tom stopped and pried her hand away from his head, and she blinked up at him through her bleary eyes. 

 “Do you want to come?” He asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, shouldering it off of him and tossing it to the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. She gaped at the sight of his chest, but he grabbed her face again and forced her to look at him, squishing her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.”

 She trembled and felt her walls clench at his words, nodding up and down. “Yes. Yes please,” she whimpered as he tore his hand away from her face to work on his belt, tossing it and his trousers away until he stood before her completely in the nude, in all of his glory. 

 He was beautiful. And he was already beautiful to begin with but this, she never could have even imagined how he looked underneath the clothes. He wasn’t muscular or built like a statue or even a Quidditch player, but still, his arms and torso were toned, and his cock…

 She could feel her patience slipping away the longer he kept her waiting. She watched as he took a hold of his cock and stared down at her, maintaining eye contact as he gave himself a few pumps, his other hand absentmindedly stroking up and down her slick. She bit down onto her lip as she gazed up at him, watching him in anticipation for what was to come next. 

 Tom leaned back down to her face and captured her lips with his, unable to resist the temptation any longer. He kissed her again and again and again as he slipped inside of her, her moans muffled by his mouth on hers. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dug her fingernails into his skin, etching crescent moons into his flesh. Tom broke their kiss and let his forehead drop onto hers as he rocked his hips into her, slowly at first. One of her hands slithered to cup the back of his neck as tears streamed down the sides of her face, never feeling this good in all her years. 

 Tom let his gaze fall upon her face again, her eyelids squeezed shut but her face scrunched in pleasure, every once in a while muffling her sounds by pressing her face into his shoulder. He began to thrust harder than before, her legs wrapping around his waist and squeezing, beckoning him further inside of her. So he fucked her harder, and harder and harder and harder as if he intended to break her, to shatter her into a million pieces. 

 And maybe that was the goal all along. 

 Never has Tom felt this good, never had he felt so intoxicated by another person, and never did he believe he could be so attached to someone else before. Part of him hated it, part of him wanted to throw it away and stomp on it and set it on fire. 

 But the other part of him embraced it, another part of him felt powerful as he fucked into her with reckless abandon, powerful having someone underneath his control. He never imagined another person could feel so good, he never imagined someone else could make him feel so infinite. As far as he was concerned, he was doing just fine on his own. 

 But this was different. This was on a whole other level of power. He felt strong, even when she clenched around him and gushed around his cock, even when he felt himself so close to the edge, so close to releasing himself for another person. 

 He pushed away from from her and groped her chest with one hand, holding onto her shoulder with the other as he fucked her harder than before, without a care for how much noise they were making. He’d make it up to the Lestranges, he’d go down and tell them it was him making all the noise, it wasn’t like they’d punish him. 

 For now, he focused on chasing his release, on the way she felt around him, on the way he was so close to climax he could practically taste it. She sobbed beneath him and her lips fell agape with the intent of screaming his name but he clapped his hand around her mouth before she could as he thrusted again and again and again until finally he released, and warmth surged through her. 

 Tom’s chest heaved and he fell on top of her as she cried, motionless beneath him. Sweat made her skin glisten and tears made her cheeks swollen and sticky, but he found that he admired her all the same. 

 This warmth in his chest was new, and it was a feeling he couldn’t quite place or put a finger on. But if whatever it was could make him feel like he was on top of the world, like he was the most powerful being on this Earth, like he was infinite…

 …then surely he could learn to embrace it. 

a/n; oop this is the longest imagine i’ve ever written 🙈 thank you so much for the request anon! i wrote this one up pretty fast because i really liked the idea, it definitely wasn’t stupid! so i hope this is close to what you’ve been imagining!! and feel free to send in more requests if you’d like! i love writing requests!

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza 🥹🫶

[burr-ell]

#no literally like. why not just have it take place somewhere else. if you’re going to take all the steam out of the anger #and the desperation and the settling grief like #vex hunched over percy’s body . scanlan asking her to join the rest of them and she refuses to leave percy’s side (now. when it’s too late) #scanlan fucking. carving a crest into her forehead. keyleth weeping . #and like obviously they can’t do everything. i don’t expect them to #but even if they do have a group kill ‘this is for percy’ moment with ripley later it’s like. the energy is gone #part of what is so like. horrible and compelling about that moment is like. their grief is still being processed in its immediacy #and it is complete Vengeance that they are wreaking on ripley in percy’s name #not retribution because that would just be a shot between the eyes. #but like percy wanted for his family. every member of vm wants their pound of flesh #and that simply Cannot hit the same or similarly if they’ve buried him and sat by his coffin and slayed a dragon while saying ‘for percy’

Part of what makes that moment so compelling and enduring is that Vox Machina is enacting the very vengeance Percy explicitly let go of during that fight by forgiving her. They're turning all of Ripley's cruelty back on her and just straight up torturing her to death and Vex in particular gets two final quietly vicious shots, and then the battlefield goes quiet...and none of it mattered. Percy's still dead, he didn't make it through the fight when they know he should have. It's an incredibly bittersweet moment of hollow victory and it's a feeling shared among the entire team, because they're now realizing what Percy did—vengeance and catharsis don't bring back what you lost or make anything right.

And now? Even if they go chase her down, it won't hit the same. There isn't a quiet battlefield where two shadow archetypes met and neither made it out but one is grieved and loved and that makes all the difference. Instead Ripley gets to sail off and, I dunno, feel bad about herself? Get more unhinged? Ask herself how she managed to get punked by a 23-year-old twice? Why is it so damn important to keep her alive at this point, other than "well we blew our load on Thordak in episode 9 and the last three episodes have to have some tension (and we haven't really put in the work to make Raishan vs Keyleth compelling enough to carry the end of the season)"?

[dranosh-haran-of-paleoworld]

Okay, this is my first time doing this, but I need to say this, to the people who claim Sasuke's a bad clan leader, or that Fugaku and Mikoto would've accepted his relationship with Sakura had the clan survived, you're all idiots and I am not sorry for saying that.

I don't watch or read Boruto as I don't consider anything past chapter 695 as canon, but I'm still going to get this out of the way first. Sasuke never wanted to marry that bitch Sakura, he never wanted a kid with her or whatever. This man is the victim of a state-sanctioned genocide, torture, and humiliation at hands of his own brother whom he loved dearly and admired, and it was all done on orders of the state after decades of systemic segregation, oppression, prejudice, and discrimination. Sasuke was forced to relive the massacre over a million times in the Tsukuyomi and went through this twice once when he was 7 and again when he was 12 or 13, with the latter experience putting him in a coma following Itachi breaking his wrist and ribs, and this nearly killed him had Tsunade not helped him (literally the ONLY good thing she did in the series). If anyone here in the real world experienced this, they'd either be dead or in some kind of mental hospital. The point is that they would be mentally destroyed, and they'd barely be able to function in society. Regular depression already fucks people up as is, and Sasuke went something no one should ever have to go through and it's a miracle he's still able to function as is.

Sasuke also repeatedly to Sakura to fuck off and leave him alone. That bitch repeatedly pestered and harassed him for years, emotionally wearing him down until he agreed to hump and dump her ass once. This bitch emotionally abused this poor guy, so it's no surprise he not only didn't want shit to do with her or her sithspawn of a daughter. This guy wasn't emotionally or mentally stable after what Itachi did to him at 7, and he hasn't been since. Hell, it's said in one of the databooks that Sasuke originally wanted a normal life with family and friends, but Itachi ruined it with his torture sessions. Those of you shitting on Sasuke for not being a good clan leader for not communicating with Sakura or Sarada or something, don't use your heads, those two dumbasses aren't even Uchiha.

Now, onto the other part of my argument, neither Fugaku nor Mikoto would've accepted Sakura being in a potential partner for Sasuke had the Uchiha survived, however, before I start this portion let me admit that this will be hard for me to properly articulate and so I apologize in advance so with that said let's get into this.

Putting aside how shitty and lackluster of an individual Sakura herself is, she also offers or brings nothing to the table.

As other people have so beautifully said before, the Uchiha are one of the oldest and strongest clans in the series. Their lineage goes back thousands of years, dating back to the time of Hagoromo, who himself was considered a myth by the public in the present. Because of this, there's a great deal of prestige, honor, pride, and recognition that comes with their bloodlines' age. Not only that, but the Uchiha are more distinct and well-known than any other clan in the series. The Uchiha are the ONLY clan to possess distinctly potent and voluminous chakra, and because of this, they're only ones who possess and wield one of the most powerful and coveted kekkei genkai in the series the sharingan. This stems from them being the ONLY clan to have inherited the potent chakra and dojutsu of the Shinju.

The Uchiha have their own clan specific culture, mores, values, beliefs, and traditions strictly unique to themselves, for example, the clans' crest can only be worn by the members of the clan who've demonstrated mastery over their signature fireball katon jutsu and as Fugaku says to Sasuke it represents the will of those with fans who manipulate fire, use or mastery over this jutsu also makes that Uchiha a fully fledged member of the clan.

The Uchiha were known and feared throughout the world for their strength, prowess, and renown as a battle clan, so much so that other villages had rules when facing off against them. Every time someone saw or confronted Sasuke, they always brought up his lineage with reverence and fear. Two Kumo shinobi saw him and Taka carrying Bee away, and while they considered rescuing Bee, they immediately changed their minds upon seeing the Uchiha crest on Sasuke's back and instead reported to Ae about what happened. A whole crowd of wealthy patrons showed up at the Chunin Exams to see the last Uchiha battle it out, and that's why Sasuke wasn't disqualified for showing up late to his battle with Gaara during the Exams. During the Warring States Period, the Uchiha were virtually unstoppable with only the Senju due to their jutsu variety and their chieftain the freak Hashirama Senju rivaling them.

Taking all of this into account, there's no reason for a distinguished clan/bloodline like the Uchiha to take an outsider like Sakura into their midst and spoil the bloodline. Bloodline purity is a thing in the real world and persists to this very day. It's actually considered to be a huge transgression for members of distinguished clans, families, and lines to bring outsiders in and spoil their bloodlines by marrying them to the point that they're cast out and probably disowned to the highest caliber for doing it.

I wanna briefly talk about Sakura herself and explain why neither Fugaku, Mikoto, or the rest of the clan wouldn't have accepted her into their midst.

As a shinobi, Sakura is a complete nobody. She has no feats, strengths, capabilities, skills, or whatever that her remotely capable.

Her chakra reserves ridiculously tiny, she can't even handle a trickle of biju chakra. Her skillset is a complete copy pasta of Tsunade's, her skills as a medical nin are surpassed by those of Tsunade, Hashirama, Kabuto and even Sasuke during the time he had Orochimaru's white snake abilities in his system and even after he lost that, as Sasuke's self-taught himself to funnel raiton through his body to avoid mortal injury which he's done during his battles against Deidara, Bee, and Danzo. Sakura hasn't improved on, reinvented, or created her own jutsus. Her super strength is just an extension of her byakugo. She's got no talent for genjutsu or handling vast amounts of chakra. Her speed and agility feats are nonexistent, and her intelligence feats are lackluster too.

Sakura also doesn't come from a distinguished clan or bloodline. Neither she nor her parents are civilians. Let me take this time to clarify that the hidden villages house NO civilians within their midst, the hidden villages are MILITARY powers, everyone within them are soldiers, it would be antithetical for these villages to house civilian populations within them as the civilians contribute nothing to the overall prosperity and function of the village as again these are military powers within the countries. Sakura and her parents are from a smaller or minor clan within the series.

Sakura also doesn't train or take her training seriously. Sasuke points this out to her in canon during the earliest chapters of the Chunin Exams arc, and Sakura still did jackshit about it, only finally taking her training seriously after Sasuke left Konoha for good and defected to Orochimaru. And since the Uchiha again are a battle clan and the most elite clan in canon, someone like Sakura ain't being allowed within a hundred feet of them.

As an individual, Sakura, as I said above, is very lackluster and shitty. This girl has petty self-esteem issues. She knows she's lacking in various departments and tries to compensate for this by latching onto others like a leech and using them for her self-worth, Ino was originally this before Sasuke unwittingly came along. She's very shallow and vain, too.

She knows absolutely nothing about Sasuke from minor things like whether or not he wore glasses, to serious things like him being an orphan, which is ridiculous since everyone else at the academy knew these details before they were made genins. She doesn't question or try to understand Sasuke or his motivations.

She's an asshole to pretty much anyone and everyone around her whenever Sasuke's not around in canon, including other women.

She broke off her years' worth of friendship with Ino over a boy who didn't know she existed and wanted nothing to do with her. She's also made numerous attempts to downgrade and put Ino down, despite the fact that Ino was the first person to treat her with kindness, helped her with her bullies, and was the first person to validate her. Ino was also the one to try and mend and patch up their relationship. Hell, Sakura wanted Sai to call Ino ugly and was pissed when he didn't.

During the War Arc, she disrespected Tsunade, her own mentor who turned her from a nobody to a decently capable medical shinobi.

She taped a picture of her in her thirties over a picture of Karin with Sasuke and spreads rumors to Sarada about other women, like Ino trying to take Sasuke away from her.

She frequently insults and assaults Naruto, and it isn't comedy relief as she does this even after he saves her or treats her nicely. She assaulted Sai for calling her ugly despite the poor guy being a slave and Sakura name calling Naruto on a regular basis. She also attacked Konohamaru before calling her an ugly bitch (which was based on his part lol). She was also pissy about his and Naruto's sexy jutsus only to act like a fan girl when he showed her hot naked dudes, like Sasuke. So she's a hypocrite.

And she doesn't care about her own parents, and actually disrespected them, Naruto's parents, and Sasuke's as well. She tried in canon to invalidate the importance and love Sasuke had for his parents and clan, and that's tremendously disrespectful. Hell, in Boruto, she repeatedly chased after Sasuke despite being pregnant with Sarada putting her at risk, discarded the umbilical cord, which is a serious taboo, wrecked her house when Sarada asked her a simple question or two about her father, Karin frequently sends Sarada gifts instead of Sakura.

The Uchiha as a whole care deeply about one another and all within their clan, and someone like Sakura, who's again vain, shallow, petty, selfish, disrespectful, and ignorant would NEVER be considered fit to join them.

Let's play a little game of What if? Because this is something I've thought about for a while.

Following Sasuke's successful usage and mastery of the Uchiha fireball katon in front of Fugaku who himself chooses to make Sasuke his heir, Hiruzen decided to not only personally meet with and apologize to Fugaku and the Uchiha for the false accusations and punishment over the 9-Tails attack, but he also grants the clan the rights and positions of power that they deserved from the beginning, even stepping down as hokage and letting Fugaku become hokage then and there, but Fugaku maintains his decision on Sasuke being the next clan head. If this scenario took place, there's no way in Hell Sakura's going to be anywhere near Sasuke. He would've been even more untouchable for her than he already was in canon. Sasuke was already very clan oriented and duty bound in canon. He was fervently loyal and devoted to his clan and cared deeply about what they and his family thought of him, outsiders be damned. Fugaku isn't allowing any of his children, especially his heir, to marry an outsider like Sakura. The Uchiha clan in its entirety wouldn't have accepted this either. There's no way they would've accepted their future chieftain marrying a non-Uchiha, and if they did accept it, they would've accepted someone of equal standing or prestige as them. Fugaku and Mikoto would've arranged a marriage for Sasuke, and he wouldn't have objected to that. After all, Sasuke was pulling out all the stops in canon to make his father happy, and he was already extremely close with Mikoto and was well liked and respected by the rest of the clan so marrying someone his parents picked out for him is something Sasuke's definitely doing.

Let's also not forget that Sasuke's extraordinary on all fronts, in terms of beauty, skill, strength, talent, and prodigiousness, all of this, and his chakra volume and potency are through the fucking roof even the standards of his own clan. Sasuke's Sharingan is the most powerful and potent within the series since or after Indra’s which is insane as only Indra inherited his fathers chakra.

Orochimaru and Obito both knew and explicitly stated that Sasuke's Sharingan and chakra were more powerful than Itachi's. In canon, Sasuke was supposed to be THE vessel for Orochimaru, the last one he'd EVER need. Obito's entire Infinite Tsukuyomi plan hinged on utilizing Sasuke at EMS and connecting him to the Gedo Statue, something Nagato, Konan, Zetsu, and no doubt Kisame knew all to well. Kabuto knew this, too, and he himself had his own plans for Sasuke. He blackmailed and helped Obito fight a war for Sasuke, and that war was fought to see who between them could get to Sasuke first. Everyone wanted Sasuke for one reason or another, either for his looks (Sasuke's the most good-looking character in the series), his talents and skills, and abilities everything. Madara, Tobirama, Orochimaru, Obito, Zetsu, Gai, Jiraiya, Cee, Darui, Bee, Mei, Hagoromo, Kurama, Karin, Jugo, Suigetsu, Kabuto, Kakashi, Hiruzen, Neji, Tenten, Deidara, Nagato, Konan, Kisame, and Fugaku (when Sasuke performed their clans rite of passage jutsu at the age of 6 only a week after being shown it once) all of them to varying degrees were aware and dumbstruck by Sasuke's gifts and many of them wanted him.

Sasuke's skills with the sharingan, chakra, and Ninjutsu are beyond profound. He's genetically capable of awakening the EMS and the most unique rinnegan in Shinobi history.

In this alternate timeline, Sasuke's going to be trained to hell and back by not only Fugaku and everyone who he deems fit to train him. As he grows and matures Sasuke's parents and clan, ARE going to take notice of all of these aspects and gifts of his, and they're going to be especially picky about who his bride would be, as the next head of the Uchiha clan especially one like Sasuke with his looks, skills, talents, wealth, and prestige can't and won't marry just anyone especially without the consent of his parents and clan.

In this scenario, Sasuke's future wife would either be another Uchiha (the most logical conclusion) or someone else from another distinguished clan or bloodline. I see people mentioning Ino and Karin on this topic since their love for Sasuke while still being in part because of his beauty is still way more genuine than Sakura's. Karin was saved a few times by Sasuke, and he ultimately was the one who allowed to take control over her own future. She knew and understood Sasuke the most, and her relationship with Sasuke is the most erotic in canon.

Ino's love for Sasuke was described as tender by her father, and it was never about herself but how he brought her joy.

Frankly I don't object to either of them being with Sasuke, although I would like someone to help me understand how Ino from a bloodline perspective would be a good match for Sasuke as Karin is an Uzumaki and her clan has been around as long as the Uchiha so I can see why Fugaku and Mikoto would've accepted her as a future daughter-in-law, but Ino I feel like I'm missing something else or I'm just over thinking it in regards to her. Ino and Karin are also better individuals than Sakura and capable shinobi, their skills, abilities, and lives having nothing to do with Sasuke and instead being completely independent of him. Neither of them were pushy and respected Sasuke's boundaries to a better degree than Sakura.

This was a long-winded post, I know, but essentially, Sakura ain't ever hooking up with Sasuke at all, Fugaku and Mikoto ain't letting her anywhere near him.

Before I close this off, I want to ask anyone who reads this. Who else do you think Fugaku and Mikoto would've accepted as Sasuke's bride in the little what if I put above? Let me say I'm not a shipper, and like others, I find the Naruto fandom's obsession with shipping to be incredibly stupid and annoying. I am staunchly in the Pro Uchiha, Sasuke, Madara, Indra, Fugaku, and Mikoto camp, the Uchiha its members and lore, as well as the real world myths and lore used by Kishimoto to create them all capture me. But admittedly, I do agree with some people who agree that Karin and Ino would've been better partners, and that really had me thinking about who else Fugaku and the rest of the clan would've saw as fit to marry Sasuke and join the clan, so yeah I'm curious to know your thoughts and opinions on this topic as well, however, I do not agree with the Sasuke x Hinata ship, I want to shoot that down quickly, that shit ain't happening.

But again, this is a very long first post of mine on Tumblr, so yeah, thanks for reading.

[wwinterwitch]

new vows – din djarin x gn!reader

summary: the first time din ever removed his helmet in front of you

pairing: din djarin x gn!reader (no pronouns used)

word count: 2.5k

warnings and tags: fluff and angst + good ending, insecure!din, established relationship, kissing, the helmet's removed, doesn't follow the plot of the show at all (it's just din, reader and grogu being a happy family)

author's note: oof i hate how this turned out but my best friend read it and told me to post it so here we are, i hope it doesn't suck as much as i think it does

a reblog and/or comment on my posts really help me out as a content creator so thank you in advance if you take the time to do either!

navigation | pedro's characters masterlist | star wars masterlist

Din was observing you and Grogu from the entrance of the Razor Crest, arms crossed across his chest as he leaned against one of the walls of the ship. He smiles to himself when he hears the child giggling after you put a flower at the top of his little head, immediately reaching out with some difficulty to grab a flower from the ground and offering it to you.

"Thank you, Grogu. It's very pretty!" you say to the baby, who looked absolutely thrilled to realize you liked his gift. 

The kid stands from the ground, lifting both of his arms as a sign that he wants to be carried. Already familiar with the gesture, you quickly lift him up from the ground before laying on your back in the middle of the landscape filled with lilac and light pink flowers. The baby giggles again, holding onto you as you both lay there.

Din's smile fades just enough shortly after that when the inevitable thought pops in his head again. That annoying and sudden thought that always makes an appearance during the day. 

At first he didn't mind, finding ways to always push it away before it got to him. However, it's been more and more frequent these past couple of days and it's becoming a bad habit he seems unable to control at this point, and it's starting to really annoy him.

His mind is filled with all these doubts and insecurities. Not only because of the content of what he's thinking, but because it's completely impossible to push it away now. Almost like an avalanche, it falls down the mountain at a rapid, devastating speed and it only seems to get bigger as minutes pass. It destroys everything in its way. In this case, the prime and only victim is Din.

Perhaps the worst part is that it always ruins what should be pleasant moments. If Grogu is looking up at him from the ground begging to be carried, the thought is there. Whenever you wrap your arms around him or grab his hand when the two of you are exploring yet a new planet, it's there. Even when he's trying to sleep right next to you, hearing the faint sounds of the baby already asleep, you can bet that thought will be there to torture him.

Because all of those little moments he shares with his partner and son remind him of the fact that neither of them even know who he is. Sure, they know how he is, but not who.

Every touch is not really a touch, it's just skin brushing against a uniform. Every exchange has a helmet hiding his features. They can hear him laugh, but they don't see his eyes squinting just enough and the smile that adorns his face. They can hear him remind them of his never-ending love for them, but they don't get to look into his eyes as he says it.

And it hurts because his mind has tricked him to believe none of those moments are real. Because they've never seen the man that claims to care for them so much, none of it is genuine. It's just touching a uniform and hearing empty words coming from a helmet. It almost makes him feel like a droid rather than a human, leaving him longing for that real connection. 

He knows he probably shouldn't, but he craves that actual contact, which is something he never felt before you two showed up in his life. 

Being a Mandalorian and living by their code was easy. He never even considered breaking his vow because nothing and no one was ever worth it. What could possibly be more important than this? That's what he would always ask himself and he wasn't able to come up with an answer– until you and Grogu showed up.

Now that you two are here, it's obvious to him that his priorities have changed. He wants to commit to an entirely new code. To prove his undying fidelity to his family and make a vow to the two of you.

But that brings another set of insecurities that make this entire situation a lot more difficult for him. As much as he needs to truly feel connected to you, he's terrified of what that connection means. It's obvious that in order to obtain that, he needs to take off his uniform. Most precisely, his helmet– which is something he has never done in front of anyone. Ever.

So that's when his mind is yet again filled with negative thoughts. What if you don't like what's under the helmet? What if you already have a picture of him in your head and he disappoints you because he looks nothing like it? What if you suddenly don't love him anymore because he's not what you expected at all? And what if Grogu rejects him too? He couldn't deal with either of you not liking what has been hiding underneath all the Beskar.

That's the complicated mess that's been haunting him for a few weeks. That inner struggle he has tried to keep hidden from the two of you. Should the helmet stay on despite being an obstacle to reach the depths of connection he needs to have with his family, or should he remove it and risk rejection? Is it better to settle or search for more?

He feels pathetic. The supposedly fearless bounty hunter is terrified of even thinking about taking a risk. Going on adventures used to be a lifestyle. Now, the mere idea of it is enough to fill his mind with self-doubt, making it almost impossible for him to make a decision.

He thought about it later that day when the three of you were already inside the Razor Crest and getting ready to go to bed, really considering his options and trying to create different outcomes to this hypothetical conversation that kept playing inside his head.

You were telling Grogu a bedtime story when Din joined the two of you. He sat on the bed and listened to you speak as he watched the baby, who was struggling to keep his eyes open at that point, holding onto the little blanket covering his body. 

By the time the story was over, Grogu was already completely asleep. You carefully brushed his face with your pointer finger in an affectionate manner, smiling down at him before focusing on Din.

"Ready to go to bed?" you asked.

"You'll tell me a bedtime story too?"

The comment made you laugh. "I think you're a little old for bedtime stories."

"Ouch. I'm not old."

"I said a little old," you quickly correct, putting both of your hands on his shoulders. He quickly lifted a hand that was resting on your hip a few seconds later. "Not the same as just old."

You smile down at him as he gently caresses you from your hip all the way down your thigh before his gloved fingers trails back up. Your smile inevitably takes him to the dark corners of his mind again because he knows you won't be able to see him smiling back at you.

His next words came out very impulsively. "Can we talk?"

Evidently, you were a little concerned after hearing that given the tone he used. "Is there something wrong?"

"I've just been thinking a lot lately...there's something that's been bothering me and it won't leave my head."

"Okay..." you said, trying to be receptive to what he was saying but still having no idea of what's going on.

"Neither of you know what I look like," he decides to simply confess. Why would he try to over explain something that is actually quite easy to say? "And I've never...you know, actually touched you," he adds, his helmet titling towards his hand still resting on your hip, hinting at the glove covering it.

"I mean, yes...but that's because you're a Mandalorian. It's what your people do, right?"

Din nods after your words. "It's part of our code, but...I don't know. It's been bothering me because lately this entire uniform feels like an obstacle. I still feel like it's a part of me but...it also stands in between us."

"I've told you how I feel about the suit," you quickly say in a soft, reassuring voice. "I don't mind it one bit."

"I know, I know. This isn't because of something you did or said," Din explains. "I guess my priorities have changed."

"You mean...?"

"I mean, I care more about connecting with you than with my traditions. I've started to question things I never took a second to consider before you and Grogu showed up. I want to be able to touch you– really touch you. And I want to look at you and talk to you. Not through a visor and a modulator," he further explains, feeling like a weight is lifted off his shoulders. "I don't need to be a Mandalorian when I'm with you two. I just need to be Din."

"Oh, darling," you start affectionately, feeling so incredibly in love with the man sitting in front of you. "Whatever it is that you want and need, I'll support you no matter what. Helmet or no helmet, you're still the guy I fell in love with."

"Really?" he asks with evident worry.

"Of course," you immediately reassure him.

"I guess it took me too long to talk about this because...well, I didn't know if you'd like what's underneath the uniform."

"Din," you call in a very serious voice, hoping that'll hint just how much you mean your next words. "I love you so much. I love you because you're the kindest man I've ever met. You're loyal, passionate, brave...and you care so much about me and Grogu. I could stay here and mention a trillion things about you that make me fall in love with you every single day. You're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with and nothing in this world is ever going to change what I feel."

He was quiet for what felt like forever, simply staring up at you while you held the helmet in between your hands so you could stare directly at his visor where his eyes should be. 

"You can't see it but I'm smiling, by the way. This is a good silence," he offers, which immediately makes you laugh.

"Is it okay if I take it off and see that smile for myself?"

He hesitated before answering. "Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

"I promise I won't change my mind."

There was another pause before he finally answered. "Okay..."

You start to remove his helmet in a gentle, slow manner. If he wanted to stop you, he could at any second. You really didn't want to rush it because you still wanted to give him a chance to back down if he wanted to. 

The fact that he wears the helmet all day in front of you has never been an issue. You fell in love with the person he is, whatever he looks like couldn't possibly matter any less to you. That love is not going anywhere. Ever.

It looks like Din is confident in his decision because he doesn't stop you at any point. He continues to keep one of his hands attached to your hip and the other rests on his lap for a few seconds until he uses it to help you completely remove his helmet.

Still holding it with both of your hands, you look down to admire his face. You can tell by his expression that he's terrified as he stares back at you, impatient for any hint of rejection. He was still expecting to see the disappointment all across your features before you take a step back from him and reveal he's nothing like what you expected.

But that disappointment never appeared. Instead, he's relieved to see the smile forming on your face before you leave the helmet next to him on the bed, immediately reaching out to grab his face.

Din practically melts under your touch, closing his eyes and focusing on just how good it feels to have your skin touching him for the very first time. The way your soft fingers trace his cheeks before they move down to his jaw...it feels like absolute heaven.

And you take your time with that. Your digits explote his features as if contemplating them wasn't enough. You needed to touch every inch of his face in order to truly appreciate what's in front of you. 

The most beautiful sight ever. The man you love so much, looking even more handsome than you could've ever predicted. From his soft brown eyes to the hint of a beard, he's so perfect you can't believe you're seriously this lucky.

"So?" he dares to ask. Hearing his voice without the modulator for the very first time almost made you feel goosebumps all over your body. How is this man so pretty?

You could've just said that. You could've stood there and told him over and over how pretty he is, but it didn't feel like it was enough. No words would ever begin to explain the admiration you have for this man, even before you knew what he looked like.

After feeling his skin for the very first time, you could only crave more. It was probably that inefficiency of words and the need for more contact that made you lean down and kiss him for the very first time.

He kissed you back instantly, the grip on your hip tightening just enough as he completely gave in to you.

It was evident you were his first kiss, but that detail couldn't be any more insignificant right now. His lack of experience didn't bother you. All you could think about is how lucky and happy you are to have him as your partner.

The kiss lasted for a few more seconds before you pulled away, failing to hide your smile when you saw his face. It was evident he was already missing the way your lips feel against his. 

You stare at him again for a bit, caressing his flushed cheeks, before you finally decide to speak. "Does that answer your question?" Din was still too lost in his thoughts to reply out loud, so he simply nodded. His reaction after your first kiss made you giggle, and you swore right there that you've never felt happier in your life. "Good. I'd like to kiss you again if that's okay."

Another nod, this time looking more desperate, was all you needed to kiss him again. You got more comfortable as you sat on his lap, knowing you'll be there kissing him for a bit, feeling his arms wrap around your lower back to keep you close as soon as you sat down.

And as he holds you in his arms, he knows he made the right choice, silently vowing to be yours for as long as you allow him to.

[acerathia]

cw: Obito x reader, nobody dies AU, suggestive; very selfship coded, look away, this is all mimi's fault btw

At some point, the relationship between you and Obito has grown beyond what you might've imagined many many years ago. You've gotten very comfortable in his presence and in his home; your own stuff littering small nooks and crannies with each of your stays.

In fact, you've grown so comfortable, you decided to just take something from his closet to put on for the day. There wasn't much thought behind it, his shirt was just the next oversized thing you could find, and your hands are awfully sticky when it comes to clothes of other people.

So, of course, you don't consider the consequences of wearing something with the symbol of the Uchiha clan on your back. Not that it would matter, as you didn't plan on leaving his home just yet, you're patiently waiting for him to come back from his short trip.

It's a pure coincidence that the moment Obito enters the room you're lounging in, the crest immediately jumps into his sight. And he should be used to you taking some of his stuff to use, especially as he never minds your little habit, because everything always returns back to him in due time.

But there's something about seeing you wear the symbol of his family, one that only members, be it through birth or marriage, are allowed to wear. Something that makes the blood rush through him and him painfully hard.

He doesn't even try to adjust himself as he steps closer to you, wrapping his arms around your waist to give your neck a small kiss.

"Do you even know what you're doing to me?" he murmurs against your skin, as he begins to put his weight on you, pushing your torso closer and closer to the mattress.

Bending his body over yours, almost like it belongs just there, you feel him straining against his pants, pressing against your behind. And instead of answering, you move to be much closer to him, turning your head to catch him in an openmouthed kiss.

[ahoycaptainautumn]

Fated Mates Part 2

Synopsis: you, a vengeful vampire slayer, cross paths with the devious and handsome Astarion. Instead of a stake through the heart, Astarion finds something he thought impossible for vampire spawn. A mate.

You find yourself confronting Astarion on the whereabouts of a certain vampire, but get more than you bargained for.

Summer kissed winds whistle around your party as you continue to trek forward. The nearest town was still some many miles away according to the ancient wooden sign you saw ways back on the dirt path you’ve followed. You had all come to the agreement that there must be someone, somewhere, who knows what those things were and how to treat the parasite they implanted in all of you. The team couldn’t be more different and strange if you tried. Personalities instantly clashing and fights already broken out. You maintain peace as best you can, somehow the unspoken leader of the rag tag group. You warm to most of the members, all but the cold blooded one. There was no mistaking what those eyes were. The way his canines came to such a point. You’ve met enough of his kind, with swift justice making them meet their end. Not one of them had gotten you any closer to who and where the vampire who had killed your family is. You planned to be asking Astarion similar questions once his guard was down and camp was set. That time should be coming here shortly, the sun beginning its turn down for the evening as it crests over the mountains in warm orange light. Thankfully you and the rest of your party had found left bits and pieces of gear along the trail to put together a semblance of a camp. Even lucky enough to buy or swindle for more when passing fellow travelers or merchants. Astarion had somehow charmed a group of travelers into a lavious camping set, the lucky bastard.

The tranquil sounds of a river flowing fills your ears and your stomach can’t help but grumble at the thought of the seafood within it. The others must think the same as you as you all come to a standstill locating which direction the sound comes from. You lead the group through the brush off the path keeping an ear for the sound of lapping water getting louder. Under fallen trees and several berry bushes you find a quaint clearing near said river. The surrounding trees give much needed shade with limbs of long forgotten trees placed nearly in a perfect triangle in the center.

“Perfect!” Karlach rejoices, throwing her camp gear on the ground with a thud. Everyone shakes off the equipment they’ve so far gotten and make way to prepare the space for the night. Astarion flanks your side silently, his lips so close to your ears you can feel his breath on your neck.

“Good job little killer.” A tingle shoots straight up your spine and shakes out through your shoulders. You scowl and side step, ready to remind him of personal space but he’s already moved and gone to set up his tent. You bite your lip in frustration and choose to not follow behind him. He would be hearing from you very soon regardless.

—-----------

With dinner settled in your stomach and water in your canteen you felt like a brand new person. A fire roared in the middle of the logs as you all enjoyed the warmth of the fire against the cool night air. You passed time seeming to absentmindedly twiddle pieces of wood, small but necessary stakes easily hid under clothing. No one seemed to pay it any mind. People were now drifting in and out of the warm campfire, most calling it a night. You feigned the same, cuddled into your sleeping sack. Truly, you kept an eye on Astarion and his comings and goings. If your assumptions were correct, he would need to leave camp soon to find someone or something to sink his teeth into. That’s when you would sneak into his tent and surprise him on his return. You peer out of one eye and find Astarion closing the tent he set up a bit away from the rest of everyone. Only the small crunch of branches alerts you that he has went off into the forest. You waste no time and jump out of the sleeping bag and head towards his tent. You do a double check around camp, sure that everyone is truly asleep. With a bated breath you break your way into his tent. A gasp escapes you as you take in the lavish interior. Soft fur pelts line the flooring with fluffed pillows and duvets littering the far corners. Black silk sheets are thrown over overly plush arm chairs. A long oak table with an ornate table cover littered with maps and quills sits to your immediate left. Dripping wax candles crowd every surface available to them. Your attention snaps to the sound of soft footsteps nearing the tent just outside. You curse yourself for even taking the precious time to gape at his grand belongings. You make the quickest and easiest decision and dive under the table. Just at that moment you hear his feet at the entrance and swallow your ragged breaths. You’ve got this, this isn’t anything new to you; you remind yourself. You register the polished shoes of Astarion enter inside. He makes a few steps into the tent and you ready yourself. You smirk at how easy this has become. Stupid vampires, so full of themselves, so naive and not even suspecting-

“Are you going to come out or do I have to drag you out?” Astarion asks in a bored tone. Your nails dig into your palms in frustration. Biting back every curse you can think you slink out from under the table and stand behind the vampire. He keeps his back to you as he reaches in front of his chest to undo the buttons of his shirt. Animal blood stains the front of his shirt, his first feed had made all civility lost on him. Savagery had taken hold of him and he felt that same fire now. For how it was going to be used was up to you.

“You know if you wanted a fun little night you could of just asked me little killer.” Astarion muses, mocking your new nickname. A cocky smirk graces his face as he juts his chin towards the pile of pillows in the corner. “That would make a much better spot than that dreary old table.”

You reach ever so carefully down into your boot where you had kept a stake hidden. Controlling your breaths, counting each one to zero in your focus you raise your weapon straight.

“I came here looking for answers, not to fuck.” You spit from behind grinding teeth. You remind yourself of the anger that fuels you. The revenge that fills your being and drives you.

“Oh darling, who says both aren’t possible.” Astarion keeps up, he cocks his head your way as he begins to turn to look at you. He’s met with the sight of your deadly stare and a sharpened stake directed right at him. All smugness wipes clean from his face as fury takes hold. “Smart little thing.” is all he gets out before you rush him. Your feet move quick, unnaturally fast, and bring you closer to him. Astarion swings to the side grabbing hold of your arm to further throw you into the tent. He brings you off kilter, stumbling forward past him. You correct yourself and pivot back. An alabaster hand flys forward and grabs the scruff of your shirt. His other hand reaches out to further grab hold. But you move and wrap a leg around his own and pull towards yourself. He loses balance and tumbles back a bit. Its enough to get his hand off of you and you use those precious moments to push off and towards him. Your fingers grip your stake and you raise it overhead. Astarion sweeps a leg out and catches your midriff. Oxygen explodes out of your lungs as you crash into the table. Astarion leaps onto you, catching each of your arms with his hands. He twists the stake out from your grip and seizes both of your wrists in one of his hands. The momentum has your back slamming into the oak beneath you. A hand pounds down next to your head as Astarion face comes a breath away from your own.

“Looks like your quite trapped.” Astarion snickers. His lips hover just over your own, breathes mingling in the small bit of space between you two. Hungry crimson eyes skim over you and find purchase in your biting gaze. Heat and anger passes in your shared stare. His canines shine in the flickering candle light as he brings himself inch by inch closer to your neck. Your throat bobs and you swear his eyes follow the thump of your pulse in your carotid. You can’t help the muffled squeal that barely escapes your full lips. Astarion hears it though and his malicious grin only grows wider. You push against the restraint of his strong grasp and wriggle on the hard table. His other hand comes to your throat and cold fingers swipe hair away from your neck. His thumb presses under your chin and forces your gaze up and over as his nose brushes against your cheek. Hot breath licks your neck.

His attention is now fully on his next meal and away from the threat that truly lies beneath him. Using core strength you fling your body upwards as best you can as you tuck your knees into your chest. Not a second later your boots find purchase on his chest and thrust him back as hard as you can. Astarion flounders back and trips over the discarded silk sheet lying on the floor. You push off the table hard and sink into a crouch. A second stake hidden in the opposite boot makes its appearance as you then jump on the fallen Astarion. You straddle him, a hand on his chest with the other pointing the stake right at his jugular. The point just kisses his ivory skin creating a small wound. He scowls at you, nothing but pure hatred gleaming through his eyes.

“Like I said, I have questions. And you are going to answer them Vampire.” You press. You see a small flinch of movement come from his hands and you warn him with jabbing the sharpened wood a little deeper into his throat. You tut at his attempts to move.“You are not my first nor last biter, so don’t try it with me.”

“But I would dare say I’m the most handsome.” He smiles. You have to fight the urge not to roll your eyes. He assesses his situation looking you up and down. Asserting you are a decent enough threat he stills his attempts at escape. “What’s your questions then?”

“I’m looking for a certain vampire. I have a score to settle. Names Cazador, where can I find him?” You ask. At the mention of the vampire Astarion’s face drops. A chill wraps the air and an unnatural stillness settles between the two of you. The temperature drops and you almost shiver. Astarion’s face is unreadable, a look of fright and confusion mixes on his face. Nails digging into the wooden weapon you lean into it, putting a bit of extra pressure on the device.

“Well? Anything to say blood sucker?” Your patience thinning. Astarion’s eyebrows scrunch together, trying to unwrap what you had just said to him. Surely he must of misheard you. There’s no way some stranger he just happen to meet would be asking about the Cazador. His old master. The slave owner. His personal horror.

“Cazador?” Asatarion can’t help but repeat. His brain refused to keep up with what was happening. His thoughts a run away train at the mention of his old owner.

“Did I stutter vampire? Now are you going to tell me or do I press this stake all the way through?” You seethe.

“Why?” The authenticity of his question makes your eyebrows raise. His face holds no mystery, just curiosity.

“Does it matter? He has spilled blood and I plan to return the favor. Now. Where can I find him? Once this tadpole situation is handled he’s my goal.” You press. Astarion takes a minute to ponder his situation.

“I’ll tell you where he is. For a cost. A tic for tac. See, if you want to get your hands on Cazador you are going to have to get in line. I have my own qualms with him myself. We could.. help each other.” He bargains. A feeling of mistrust burrows deep in your chest. No good came from vampire bargains. As much as you had high suspicions, this was the first time someone knew Cazador or was willing to go against him in giving away his location.

“And what do you want in return?” You ask. You back the pointed stick from his jugular and retreat your hands from him. Astarion brings himself up by the elbows to look you in the eyes.

“A debt to be collected at my choosing. Doing what I ask at that time.” Asatarion smirks. Curse the vampire, of course he would keep an open ended bargain. You desperately want to say no. To drive a stake in his unmoving heart and go on with it. But this was your first shot, maybe only shot, at finding Cazador. Letting a long breath out you level your gaze with his. You hesitate before responding.

“Are the rumors true? Bargains with vampires are signed with a kiss?” You timidly ask. It was something you had picked up from another traveler before. Someone who had run into their supposed fair share of vampires. A wide smirk stretches across Astarions face.

“My my, don’t you know everything. Now, do we have a deal?” You take one more deep breath and give a small nod. Astarions hand reaches up and wraps around your neck and twines within your hair. His other hand finds purchase on your hip and brings you closer to his chest. He lifts his face to yours as you gently bend to reach. Your eyes flutter close as Astarions lips press into your own. Lips mold perfectly together, as if they were created for this moment alone. A knot tightens in your chest. A soul grabbing lurch pulls you into him. It’s gravitational. World stopping. Like when your eyes had met for the first time the world seems to fall away from the both of you. Just as quickly as it had come, Astarion pulls from the kiss. You mentally recover from the way it gripped you so harshly. Chalking it up to the very anti-romance your life has led thus far. You swear you see astonishment in his features, but just as quickly it is gone.

“And whoever told you bargains are sealed with kisses was the biggest perv in all Faerun, but do thank him for me.” Astarion is all grins. A blush explodes across your face and down your chest. You feel red hot and immediately jump off Astarion as if he is made of fire. Astarion rises, flicking dust from his shoulders nonchalantly.

“You are the absolute worst!” You all but scream.

“Please, the flirting can only get you so far.” Astarion watches you fling yourself from his tent without a look back, hot anger palpable from you. Once you made your exit Astarion sinks to his knees with a hand quivering at his lips. He had a small suspicion when he met your gaze. The way the world seemed to standstill. That an immortal and ancient knot seem to tie at that very moment. But he didn’t think it possible. A rarity. Almost laughable really, especially for a spawn.

“Mates.” He whispers to himself.

Part one here

Part three here

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Platonic Yandere Trevor finding out that he isn't the last Belmont, and that his younger sister escaped or was spared because she was a iligitamate child of the family and not publicly known to be a Belmont and the church assumed she was just a servant of the house

A/N: It would be great if Trevor was not to be the sole Belmont left! Not that he can’t handle the responsibility, because he does step up in the end, but because it would be much easier to carry on a legacy when there’s more than one person left to tell your story. 

Edit: Here's what I think about his sister's age

Edit 2: Here's why her age makes it all the more horrifying.

Platonic! Yandere! Trevor Belmont Finding Out He Has a Long-Lost Little Sister: 

The moment Trevor finds out about her, be it from unearthed family records in the Belmont hold, or from growing gossip in town, he sets out to find her and bring her home. Even if it turns out not to be true, he can’t let her continue to live life on her own, she’s too much of a target with the Belmont Family crest on her back. 

He is both angered yet relieved when he finally meets her and discovers she’s truly his half-sister. Trevor feels betrayed that one of his parents strayed beyond their marriage, but he also feels thankful for their infidelity, as it provided his half-sister the cover she needed to escape the slaughter of the rest of his family.  

It doesn’t matter if she’s in a relationship or if she’s found a new family for herself, he whisks her away back to his life, cutting off any other bonds she may have forged for herself. After all, those people didn’t matter. They were simply placeholders, keeping her safe until he could dutifully come along to take her back to the life she was always destined to live. 

If he’s traveling with Sypha at the moment she better welcome his half-sister with open arms and support Trevor’s decision to take her back with them. Trevor makes it clear to Sypha, that should push come to shove, he’ll choose his half-sister over her. Sypha was the one who encouraged him to fulfill his family’s destiny in the first place. She should know very well Trevor would put his last remaining blood relative first. 

Regardless of where he and Sypha are, Trevor elects to drop everything and head back to the ancestral Belmont hold. Trevor needs to show his half-sister all that’s stored there. He needs her to remember who she is. 

On the journey back, he teaches her some basic combat, mainly self-defense. One part of him doesn't want his sister to join in the physical fights ever, but another part of him knows deep down it’s inevitable. All the Belmonts were fighters in one way or another, even if that wasn’t their main skill set. Being a part of his family meant no one could afford to be a pacifist. He knows too well: if you’re a Belmont, trouble’s bound to find you eventually, especially when you aren’t looking for it. 

If his half-sister appears to have an affinity for it, he might even consider letting Sypha teach her some Speaker magic. Trevor knows how capable Sypha is of taking care of herself during a battle, and he’d very much like that same reassurance for his little sister as well. 

If Trevor and Sypha have already defeated Death and are residing within Dracula’s castle, Trevor journeys to retrieve his sibling alone, before bringing them back to the former ruins of the Belmont hold, what is now the beginnings of Village Belmont. He does his best not to sound too proud when he tells his little sister the village name. 

Despite the warm welcome his little sister receives, Trevor refuses to let her speak to anyone else or hang out with villagers her age without his supervision. Even though these are the people he fought alongside to stop Death and his vampire generals, Trevor tells his little sister not to trust them. 

Trevor’s paranoia worries Sypha, Alucard, and Greta, who truly just want to be friends with his younger sister. At the same time, they do have some degree of understanding of why Trevor would want to be as watchful as he is. 

Sypha tries to bring it up but gets shut down. Having their future children to think about, she decides to let the matter go, knowing her focus is needed on her baby right now. 

Greta tries to offer to teach Trevor’s sister some basic fighting techniques but that suggestion is quickly squashed by Trevor who makes a show of dominance. He challenges Greta to a quick fight and wins of course. But not before making it clear that he had more than one opportunity to finish her off for good if he wished. Greta keeps her distance after that, and she advises her people to do the same. 

Alucard accompanies Trevor and his younger half-sister on every tour of the Belmont hold, making the occasional snide comment about Trevor’s family dedicating themselves to the eradication of his kind. Seeing how uncomfortable the tension makes his little sister, Trevor lashes out at Alucard, the two of them causing a fair amount of property damage. The two of them only stop when Trevor’s sister rushes between them, crying, begging them to please stop hurting each other. 

It becomes clear to everyone that unless Trevor learns to let go, his half-sister is going to live a very sorrowful, very isolated life as a Belmont. 

As always, if you enjoyed, please LIKE & REBLOG!

Consider Tipping Me Via Kofi Here

[supercorpkid]

Lovebug

Supergirl, Kara Danvers x Reader. Alex Danvers.

Word Count: 2830

Notes: @supercorpenthusiastic here's the scene you've asked for! Hope this makes it justice.

Recently, Kara has been complaining more than she has in years. It’s never direct—it simmers just beneath the surface, a quiet frustration that colors every sigh, every furrowed brow, and the way her lips press into a thin line when she thinks no one’s watching. And yet, the meaning is clear, always the same: We should live normal lives.

And honestly, you’ve been thinking it too. You could walk away from all of this—the chaos, the danger—back to the life you once knew. You were never exactly ordinary, but before you joined the Superfriends, there were fewer fires to put out, and your life wasn’t hanging on a thread every other week.

But here, now, as you scam around the med bay, you realize why you stay despite the cost. These people, this team, they’ve become your family. They fight for you, and today, they are fighting to keep you alive.

“Kara, I need you at the Tower.” Alex’s voice is sharp through the comm, a lifeline in the haze of your fading consciousness.

“Alex, can’t someone else do it? I'm working.” Her voice cracks through the static, and your body, though heavy with exhaustion, stirs instinctively at the sound of her.

“It’s Y/N. She’s hurt. Badly.”

Everything goes black before you can process it. The last things you’re aware of are Supergirl’s crest, a hand stroking through your hair, and her voice—shaky, almost breaking—whispering, “It’s okay, bug. I’m here now.”

When you wake, it’s to the familiar sound of Kara’s voice, though your body still feels battered, bruised beyond recognition. But there’s a comfort—her fingers in your hair, tracing slow, gentle lines against your scalp, as if she’s afraid to stop.

“I’m so tired, Alex,” Kara’s voice is low, tinged with a weariness you’ve never heard before. It breaks your heart to know you’re the cause of it. “I’m tired of the stakes always being this high.”

“She’s got superpowers, Kara. She’ll be fine.” Alex’s tone is steady, reassuring.

“Easy for you to say.”

“It is easy for me to say. I’m the doctor here.” Alex quips, and if you had any strength, you'd laugh. “Look,” Alex continues, “I know you care about her, but even if you tried, I don’t think you could stop her from fighting.”

You're not sure about that, though. You think there's a lot Kara can do to make you stop fighting. You’ve been lying still, barely breathing, but you force your eyes open to see Kara’s tear-filled gaze. She’s so close, her face etched with worry and something else—something deeper, rawer. Love? You wonder.

“Hey,” you croak, your voice raspy, “I’m okay. I promise.”

“You’re not okay,” she insists, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. You can’t help but wish she had the courage to kiss your lips instead. “I’ve never seen so many shades of purple on one face.”

“Well,” you manage a weak smile, “it is my favorite color.”

“Don’t joke,” she says, voice trembling. Her hands cup your face, and for a moment, it feels like she’s holding you together with sheer will. “Not about this.”

You give her a soft pout and add in an even softer tone, "but you love when I'm funny."

Kara’s lips almost break into a smile, but she holds it in, though her face betrays her. It’s painted with adoration. "I love it a lot more when you're not making jokes about you almost dying."

"She’s not—you’re not almost dying," Alex reassures, squeezing your hand. "You just need a couple of weeks to brush it off. You’ll be fine."

“Can I go home?” you ask, though what you really mean is whether you can get out of this sterile place that feels like an echo of all your pain.

“Sure,” Alex begins, but Kara cuts in sharply, her voice like steel.

“No.” She looks at you with a fierce determination that makes your breath catch. “You’re not going to be alone. You’re coming to my place. I’ll take care of you.”

You’re about to protest, to insist you’ll be fine, but the truth is, the idea of Kara fussing over you, taking care of you—it’s everything you want. You say nothing, letting her words wash over you like a promise you didn’t know you needed.

Kara picks you up gently, as though you’re made of glass—delicate and precious, yet somehow the most important person in her universe. As she carries you out, you can feel the tension in her body, the struggle to keep herself together.

You nestle into her arms, getting so comfortable it’s hard to imagine you belong anywhere else. She flies slowly, but even so, you're at her place in no time. She’s ready to settle you on the couch, but you make a disgruntled sound, stopping her mid-motion.

"Okay, okay," she says, sitting down first, allowing you to make yourself comfortable in her lap. "You’re feeling okay, bug?"

"I am now."

Honestly, the beating you took was brutal, but as you lay here, curled up on Kara's lap, her large hands gently stroking your back, you almost think it was worth it.

Kara takes care of everything—food, bandage changes, the works. She orders your favorite fried rice, even though it’s not from Chang’s. Taylor Swift songs fill the room, playing on a soft loop all day. And when you complain about one particularly bad bruise, she uses her cold breath to soothe it and follows up with a kiss to make it better.

At night, the two of you nearly argue. She insists on giving you her bed, while you argue the couch is just fine. So, to resolve it, she simply picks you up and lays you down on her bed, tucking you in so tightly you can barely move.

“Okay,” you laugh as she continues pressing the comforter’s edges under you. “I’m not going anywhere! You can stop now!”

"I need to make sure you’re comfortable," she teases, feigning seriousness. 

You roll your eyes. "Well, in that case, I can't breathe."

She undoes her work in an instant, her concern replacing the playful tone. Once satisfied with your comfort, she leans down for a soft forehead kiss. “Goodnight, bug.”

"Wait," you hold onto her hand before she can move away. "Stay."

Kara’s brows furrow in confusion. She looks ethereal in the soft light filtering in from the street outside. You can’t help but think of how beautiful she looks, even with her worry etched into her features.

“There’s enough space for both of us. Stay…in case I need help during the night.”

It’s a flimsy excuse, and you both know it. She’s Supergirl. Has super hearing, super speed—and her couch is only ten feet away. But still, she stays.

After you're both settled in her bed, the two of you lay there in silence for a few minutes. You feel her shift next to you, her breath steady but laced with something unsaid.

"Hey," you whisper, breaking the stillness. She could be asleep, but you know better. "Why do you call me ‘bug’? I never really understood it."

“Oh,” she shifts slightly, her voice soft and hesitant. “It’s from a song I heard once. It reminded me of you.”

“Oh really?" You turn to face her, catching her gaze. Her blue eyes, now inches away, glisten with something vulnerable. "Which one?"

"You know, it’s been years. I don’t really remember it very well," she murmurs, her voice growing quieter.

You furrow your brows, not buying it. It’s dark in her room, but the moonlight coming in lets you see the faint blush rising in her cheeks.

"Tell me," you whisper, giving her your best soft pout—the one she finds hard to resist. "Please?"

Kara swallows hard before finally whispering, “I think it’s called ‘Lovebug.’”

“Cool.” You reach for your phone on the nightstand, never breaking eye contact. It doesn’t take long to find the song and hit play.

"Called you for the first time yesterday, finally found the missing part of me..."

Her breath hitches, caught in her throat as the first verse plays. She blinks at you. Even though her mouth says nothing, her eyes are screaming at you—this is too much. It says too much. It confesses to more than she was willing to. It admits it all.

"Now I’m speechless, over the edge, I’m just breathless. I never thought that I’d catch this lovebug again..."

Oh. Lovebug, you see.

"I can’t get your smile out of my mind. I think about your eyes all the time. You’re beautiful, but you don’t even try."

She mouths it. Every word. Her eyes stay locked on yours, unwavering, as if she’s caught in some dreamlike trance.

"Hm." You stop the song right after the line, kissed her for the first time yesterday, everything I wished it would be. You give her a soft smile. “Guess that part was a lie, huh?"

"For now." Her voice, barely a whisper, sends your heart into a wild frenzy.

For now.

The following days are a blend of recovery and tranquil moments with Kara, but the peaceful routine is short-lived. As always. It was almost too normal to feel true.

The next mission yanks you both back into the whirlwind, and soon, despite your injuries, you're itching to join them.

"I can fight!" you insist, though you can't barely stand up on your own yet.

"The hell you can!" Kara snaps.

"Don't you dare treat me like I’m incapable."

"I wouldn’t dare," she retorts, sounding especially daring.

You give one step forward, so you can touch her face and speak softly, "Kara, baby, these are just bruises."

She doesn’t budge, not even a fraction. Her face remains set in a steel expression. "The only way you’re going into this fight is over my dead body," she declares, her arms crossed and biceps flexed with her strength. You hold your breath, struggling to mask your reaction to how hot she looks like this.

"Okay, okay. At least take me to the Tower. I’ll give technical support."

"Alright, but if you so much as step foot in that fight scene, I swear to Rao, we’re gonna have a serious problem!" And you definitely wouldn’t want that.

You monitor the chaos from the Tower’s screens, since that's all you're allowed to do. You switch to a private channel to Kara. “Kara, there’s a situation two blocks away too. Can you check it out when you’re done there?”

"UGH!" Kara groans, her frustration obvious. “Honestly, I can’t deal with this anymore.”

"Okay, I'll ask M'gann."

"That’s not what I meant!" she huffs, her voice tight with emotion. "I meant, no more fighting!"

"What do you want to do instead? Sit down and calmly talk to the villains?"

"You wanna know what I want to do? If it were up to me, we’d get married, you’d move into my apartment…”

Your eyes widen as she continues, her words raw and unfiltered.

“We’d have a couple of kids.” She keeps talking, and you switch cameras to keep track of her as she flies to the new location you’ve directed her to. “We could buy a house in the suburbs!”

She sends a villain flying with a powerful kick, her fury almost palpable through the screen. You’re so stunned by her revelation that you can’t even bring yourself to speak.

“We’d adopt a dog, name him Rex, and a cat, name him Streaky! The kids would have a normal childhood.”

You watch as she flings another villain into a building. Kara’s voice is still untethered to the battle, yet her emotions towards you are clear.

"But NOOOOO! We have to be just superheroes!"

"Kara, what the hell!" Alex’s voice blasts through your comm, and you freeze, realizing you’ve accidentally left the channel open. "Do you really think this is the right time to declare your love?"

"I don’t know," she replies, her voice quivering. "We might be running out of it."

The Tower is quiet now, too quiet, and the only sound left is the faint hum of Brainy’s weird tech that keeps it running. But it’s not what you’re focused on—it’s the words Kara said over the comms that you can’t shake. Marriage, kids, a house in the suburbs. 

You’ve seen her angry, you’ve seen her scared, but you’ve never heard her say anything like that. And now, with the mission over, all you can think about is what you’re going to do when you have to face her.

When she lands on the balcony of the Tower, there’s still a slight spark of tension in the air. She steps inside, brushing the dust off her suit, but her gaze finds yours almost immediately. She looks apprehensive and scared, eyes wet as if she’s about to cry.

Everyone else is still on their way here. Supergirl sure is faster, but you know your friends well enough to know they are trying to give you both space after her admission through the comms.

“Kara,” you begin softly, trying to gauge where her head is at. "About what you said—"

"I didn't mean to say it like that, sorry—" she starts, but you cut her off, needing to know.

"Do you really want all that? A normal life? With me?"

She pauses, her eyes meeting yours. You can see the exhaustion in her face, the weight of all the battles fought, the near-misses, and the moments when she thought she might lose you. “I’m just tired, bug,” she admits, voice trembling slightly. “Tired of living every day like it’s a life or death situation. Tired of watching people I love get hurt.”

You step toward her, your hand reaching for hers, and she clings to it like a lifeline. “I know. I get it, Kara. But you’re Supergirl. You can’t just walk away from this.”

“I’m not saying I want to walk away.” She sighs, pulling you closer. “But there’s a part of me that wants… more. Something simpler. A life where we don’t have to worry if the next mission will be our last. One where I won't ever see you like this.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence stretches out, but it’s not uncomfortable. You know exactly what she means, and part of you wants that, too. But you’ve been doing this long enough to know it’s not that simple.

"Maybe we can’t have a perfectly normal life,” you say slowly, watching her reaction, “but we can figure this out. Take some time, find a balance.”

She looks at you, her eyes full of a mix of hope and doubt. “How? How do we do that when the world needs saving every other day?”

You smile softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “We do it by being together. We take breaks. We build a life between the chaos. Maybe that house in the suburbs won't happen tomorrow, but it can happen someday.”

Kara lets out a small, shaky laugh. “You really think we can do that?”

“I know we can,” you say, leaning in just enough that your forehead touches hers. “Because at the end of the day, I don’t care where we are or what we’re doing. I just want to be with you.”

Her breath catches, and for a second, the world narrows to just the two of you. You can feel her heart pounding through your joined hands, the slight tremble in her fingers.

And then, finally, after what feels like an eternity of almost-kisses and unspoken confessions, Kara closes the distance between you. Her lips meet yours in a kiss that’s soft, tentative, but full of all the things she’s never said. And it does, it says it all. It tells you that marriage and kids and a future together it’s going to happen, because there’s absolutely nothing better than her lips on yours, you’re sure.

When you pull back, she’s smiling in that shy way she does when she’s let her guard down completely. “Maybe we could take a vacation. Start there.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, your heart feeling lighter than it has in a long time. “A vacation sounds good.”

The two of you are back at her apartment later that night, curled up on her couch, the city’s lights spilling into the room. The TV is on, but neither of you are paying attention. Instead, you’re watching the stars outside the window, your fingers intertwined with hers.

“You know, bug,” she whispers, turning her head to look at you, “maybe we can’t have it all, but we will always have each other.”

You smile, squeezing her hand. “And that’s more than enough for me.”

Kara leans her head on your shoulder, a content sigh escaping her lips. In that moment, with the world outside quiet for just a little while, you know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be—by her side, ready to face whatever comes next. Caught by the lovebug again.

[leapingbadger]

Goodbye

Summary: Hunter has recently learned that he can sense Tech’s ghost and has shared that information with his family. Omega comes to terms with Tech’s death with the help of her brother.

Notes: This story follows canon and deals with Tech’s death. If you’re not comfortable reading about that I would give this story a miss. This also follows along with some of the other stories I’ve written. You can read them here: Hope; Sunrise; Sunset and Tested

Read on AO3

Word Count: 1431

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

Omega sat on her bed, holding her fallen brother’s goggles. She hadn’t done this in a while. She had been content to let them sit on her nightstand, silently watching over her. A thick layer of dust had collected on the edges of the broken glass. The light, formally glowing red, was now dark.

If she squinted, they would sometimes look whole, and she should imagine the chocolate-colored eyes behind them looking back at her. But not today.

Hunter had told them about his mission with Rex and newest encounter with Ventress. And that he had sensed Tech or Tech’s ghost or whatever it was.

Initially she had been thrilled. It was like getting him back again. Hunter had even pointed out that he was at the table, sitting with them, laughing with them. But in the dark, in the quiet, Omega realized that he wasn’t back. He wasn’t here. Not in the way she wanted.

There had always been a small part of her that had hoped. Hoped that he had found something to catch himself on, fallen into water, been saved by some miracle and now the reality of it crashed over her. He was gone. He had fallen to his death for them, and he would never show up on an idle afternoon, scratched, maimed, but alive.

A tear fell onto the goggles as this realization hit her like a fresh wave of grief.

She heard a creak outside her door and didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

“Are you okay,” Hunter asked softly, crossing to the bed and sitting next to her. His palms were in his lap, not wanting to intrude too directly onto her grief, but still close enough if she needed him.

Omega had always found Hunter’s lack of touch frustrating. She knew he loved her, knew he wanted to hug her, comfort her, but he wasn’t capable in the way that Wrecker was.

She sniffed in reply and dissolved, sobbing over her most prized possession, the last remnant of her long-lost brother.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Hunter whispered, putting his arm around her. He squeezed her close to him, resting his chin on the top of her head and holding her. She sank into his arm, drinking in the safety and warmth. She would have been surprised by his sudden affection was she not wholly consumed with sorrow.

They stayed like that for a while in silence, except for Omega’s shuddered breaths. She felt where the tears had fallen on her cheeks, as though they were permanently etched in her skin like her brother’s tattoo. The sun was streaming into her golden room. When she finally sat up, she wiped her eyes and exhaled deeply. She looked down at the goggles, ran her finger over the shattered lens, and gently placed them on the nightstand once more.

“I thought he might come back. Hoped,” she mumbled.

Hunter nodded but didn’t say anything.

“Where are Wrecker and Crosshair?” she asked, suddenly realizing how quiet the house was.

Hunter sighed, “Wrecker went fishing to clear his head. Crosshair is painting at the crest. Said he’d be back later. It’s difficult information to…”

Hunter paused and chuckled “of course,” he said to no one. He stood up from the bed and sat on the floor facing her.

“He’s here, if you want to talk,” he said with a smile at the space he had vacated next to Omega.

“I can’t sense him the way…”

“I’ll translate,” Hunter leaned forward, took her hand and placed it on the spot next to her on the bed. “he’s here,” he said gently, sitting back down.

“I don’t feel him,” she said, staring at the nothingness next to her.

“I know,” Hunter said sadly. “He asked how you are… oh sorry. Yeah, okay Tech.” Hunter looked at her, amused. “He said I need to translate verbatim,”

Omega giggled and sat up straighter. She noticed Hunter close his eyes and lowered his head as though not to intrude into a private conversation.

“How are you, Omega,” Hunter said, his voice punctuated in Tech’s familiar rhythm.

“I’m okay…Tech,” she said, feeling silly but also lighter than she had in a while.

“I’m very…proud of how you have grown up. You are an excellent pilot,”

Omega’s eyes swam with tears, “thank you.” she looked down at her hands and across to Tech’s goggles, “I’m sorry we couldn’t save you, Tech,” she said, feeling a weight dop into her chest. She looked at Hunter whose face had crumpled.

Omega had never seen Hunter cry, although Wrecker had assured her that he did, had, many times after she was taken; When he thought no one else was around. She was aware in that moment how young her brothers were and how much they had endured in their short lives.

“I would make the same decision again and again if it meant you were safe,” Hunter as Tech said.

“Did it…hurt?” she asked, finally voicing her greatest fear.

“I didn’t feel anything, Omega. I was not and am not in pain. I am lucky that I am somehow able to watch you live your lives in peace,”

Hunter looked up at the space next to Omega and smiled.

“Are you always here?” Omega asked hopefully.

“Not always. I seem to pop in every now and then. It’s not something I control. It would be fascinating to do further research. However, in my current state that doesn’t seem possible,”

Omega giggled; Tech was always trying to discover more.  “Where are you when you’re not with us?” she asked and Hunter looked at her, surprised, as though it had never occurred to him to ask that question before.

“I seem to go to a strange, void space. It is black with white, glowing arches like some kind of ancient star map. I’m always alone but can hear other voices. It is quite an odd but not unpleasant sensation. Regardless, I much prefer to be on Pabu with you and…”

“Phee?” Omega supplied.

“Why…ah…yes…I do pop in on her from time to time,”

“Does she know?” Omega asked, directing the question at Hunter. He shook his head but kept his eyes closed and head down.

“Perhaps you can help Hunter with that particular conversation,” Hunter as Tech said.

“I’d be happy to,” Omega said.

The light was streaming through her window now, a beam of sparkling dust illuminated the space next to her and for a second, she could imagine Tech in his armor, looking down at her with a smile on his lips.

“I love you, Tech,” she said to the nothingness.

“And I you,” Hunter responded in Tech’s familiar tone.

There was a pause before Hunter raised his head and blinked open his eyes, focusing on the spot. Omega knew Tech was gone. She could see it on his face.

“Did that help?” he asked, concern in his voice.

She smiled and launched herself at him, hugging him around the neck. “Yes. Thank you.” She said, tears dripping onto his shoulder.

“I was just the translator,” he said softly. He picked himself up and wiped his hands over his face and through his hair absentmindedly.

“Should we go and see Phee?” Omega asked excitedly. She felt so light, happier than she had since she heard the news, she wanted to spread it as far as possible.

“I dunno, Kid,” Hunter said solemnly. “I’m not sure I can break anyone else’s heart right now. Maybe we wait until Crosshair and Wrecker get used to the idea.”

Omega nodded in understanding and took his hand. “you’re not breaking hearts, Hunter. You’re giving hope.” She said with a smile.

“It doesn’t feel like that,” he said quietly. He squeezed her hand twice and let go, crossing the common room to the kitchen beyond.

Omega looked back at the spot where Tech had been. At least, where she thought he had been. His goggles sat in a pool on sunlight, the broken glass which looked grey and devoid of life before glowed yellow and she gasped.

She knew she would carry the loss of him with her forever. It was burnt into her skin like a brand. But knowing he was watching, that he was proud, and that he loved her as much as she loved him, she realized that it was enough. The grief would never fully leave her, but it took up less space, knowing she could speak to him again.

“Goodbye, Tech,” she whispered into the room as she followed Hunter to the kitchen beyond.