#I think it took over a week for me to finally build the stage drop (for a 2nd time)

[cherriko-art]

Mi-an vs the ADHD builder with Chronic People-Pleasing Syndrome™

[svngiem-remade]

Hii i really love your writing and I’ve been wanting to request for a while but I’ve been a little shy 😅. Finally worked up the courage though! Can I request a fic where Hyunjin had a bad week during comeback and you’re frustrated from school work or something and he comes home needing you but you accidentally say something insensitive or raise your voice and he walks away saying “it’s fine” but you find him crying and realize that you messed up and try to make it up to him.

Sorry if this is too long?? But yeah I’ve been thinking about it! Also can I be “💞” anon? Thanks I really hope you consider writing it !

KISS AND MAKE UP | hhj

🧸 pairing. hwang hyunjin + gn!reader

synopsis. after lashing out at your boyfriend, saying things you did not actually mean when he begged you for some of your attention after a long week, will he accept your apology?

🌙 wc. 1.4k | au. established relationship, hyune cries :(, angsty, fluffy ending, hurt/comfort

!! note. sorry for taking this long but I just couldn't manage to make it flow as good as I wanted it to, or make the reader not seem that mean, but I did it!! really hope you'll like this! also, if you don't mind, I've added you on the anon list of my new account, thank you for loving my work, ily ❤️

Hyunjin had barely made it into the company car when thunder struck into the sky and a heavy downpour started; the bad weather plus the headache that had been tormenting him for the past three days coronating the horrible week that had just ended. 

He loved comebacks; he truly did—performing in front of an audience with his best friends, doing interviews, and meeting idols and fans during stages—but they took such a toll on his body and mind that it always took him incredibly long before he was able to go back to his previous mental and physical state. All that dancing, singing, and even talking made him so exhausted and worn-out that the only thing that was able to soothe him and his aching muscles, give him comfort and love for at least a few hours was you. 

So he couldn't contain his smile when your apartment condo came into his sight, your kitchen window being tinted by that comfortable yellow color given by the warm light of your ceiling lamp being turned on, letting him know you were still awake even if it was about 3 in the morning, probably still working on that one important work project you wouldn't stop talking about—not that he minded in any way; he loved the sound of your voice.

“Thank you for dropping me off; see you on Monday! Sleep well!” Hyunjin bid goodnight to his manager and dorm mates before hopping off of the vehicle and running inside your building, barely containing a squeal of excitement when it finally tinged—knowing that he was only a few meters away from you, from your welcoming presence and support, caused his stomach to fill with butterflies and a rosey blush to tint his cheeks. 

Hyunjin quietly unlocked the front door, not wanting to startle you as he took off his shoes and damp coat in the hallway, the fruity, sweet perfume constantly lingering in your apartment already doing wonders for his headache. “Hi, love.” he whispered as he walked towards the kitchen, leaning down to peck your cheek softly. 

“Hi, Jinnie.” you replied, turning your head to kiss his puckered lips, making him let out a soft, satisfied sigh and place a hand on the back of your head to deepen the kiss, to which you complied. A guilty expression washed over your face, though, when he caressed your thighs and tried pulling you up to your feet, clearly wanting to take things further, or at the very least cuddle with you—which was something you could not afford to do at that moment. Reluctantly, you pulled away from the kiss, your hand resting on his cheek as you caressed it with your thumb, staring into his bright, though tired, eyes. “I've got to finish this real quick; how about you go take a shower first? I should wrap this up in about 15 minutes.” you said, mouthing a ‘sorry’ when he pouted, but eventually agreed.

Hyunjin knew how important this project was to you, how hard you’d worked on it for weeks, and how the due date approaching put you on edge, so he’d been as supportive of a boyfriend as possible—reminding you to eat and drink everyday, bringing you some leftovers when he happened to dine with the boys of the other dorm, or showering you with affection whenever he had the chance, and knew you needed it. And he was doing everything right—even though he was very much on the clingy side, he’d definitely given you enough space to focus on yourself and your career these past weeks, even if he’d missed like crazy the feeling of you falling asleep between his arms, or vice versa, as you chit-chatted about your day.

Or at least, he thought he was doing a good job. 

Your typing got rougher and your jaw clenched in frustration when, after his shower, all your boyfriend did was constantly walk around the apartment, spending most of his time in the kitchen even if he’d turned on a movie for him to watch in the living room. 

Be it chips, popcorn, a glass of water, or juice, or just brushing your cheek or shoulder as he passed by you, or staring at you with his puppy eyes for minutes on end—he just couldn’t seem to stay still, and annoyance quickly bubbled up inside you. “F*cking hell, Hyunjin! Will you please just let me finish this in peace?! I have to turn this in soon, and I’m so f*cking stressed I can’t even think properly, and you walking around and being so whiny is really—” you angrily rambled when he walked once more inside the kitchen, his relaxed expression falling into pieces with every word you spat out. 

Tears pricked at his eyes, and he gulped, chewing at his bottom lip nervously as he fidgeted with the hem of his oversized shirt. What made you finally stop your frustrated ramble, though, was the sight of a single tear escaping his eyes and staining his cheek. You immediately rose to your feet and rushed towards him, your heart breaking in pieces when he took a step back. Tears filled your eyes in seconds, “I—I didn't mean to lash out— I'm so sorry, I really did not—” you begged him for forgiveness. He clearly needed to be held and comforted after spending the whole week doing promotions non-stop, practicing without rest, and running around all day and night for schedules, and you’d failed to give him that; prioritizing something you still had a week to finalize and had basically already completed, instead of spending time with your boyfriend.

He wet his lips and sniffled, wiping a tear away from his cheek with his hand. “It's fine. I'll go—I'll wait for you in your bedroom. Take yo—your time. Goodnight.” Hyunjin hiccuped, lowering his head and backing out of the kitchen as quickly as possible before rushing into your room and throwing himself on your bed, hugging the pillow you always slept on and burying his face in it as he sobbed and cried, completely dampening it in a matter of seconds. Meanwhile, you were completely speechless at your behavior, at your carelessness, at your insensitivity, at the way you turned what was supposed to be a night full of love and comfort into a night of heartache and sorrow. 

Needless to say, you immediately turned off your laptop (not without saving your progress first), and stood outside your bedroom door for what felt like hours, contemplating if he was even willing to accept your apology, if he was just going to break up with you and ignore you forever, if he’d stopped loving you after your lashing out—but you had to at the very least try to fix your mistake.

You quietly cracked the door open, sobbing harder when you heard him do the same as he hugged your pillow, his big body trembling with every hiccup and his sniffles filling your dark, unlit bedroom. You took hesitant steps towards the bed, feeling small and guilty under his tired, tearful eyes looking up at you from your messy sheets. 

With a gulp and shut eyes, you fell to your knees in front of him, not noticing his eyes widen at your action. You clasped your hands together, now looking up at him with a trembling bottom lip and big, puppy eyes. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you, I’m so sorry; I wish I could take everything I said to you back, I’m terr—” you whimpered with a broken voice, and from the genuinely regretful glint Hyunjin saw into your eyes, the fear that you actually thought everything you’d said to him washed away. He smiled.

“I forgive you, my love. Just… promise me it won’t happen again, please?” he whispered, placing a hand on your head and petting it softly, his trembling hand then reaching for your wet cheeks and drying them, you doing the same in an attempt to comfort him back.

“Can I… Can I hug you?” you hesitantly asked, mentally preparing yourself to be rejected. “Please.” he said, widening his arms so you could throw yourself on top of him, which you did with a relieved smile and repeated sorry’s as you covered his face in kisses and hugged him tight, cradling, giggling, and chatting until sleeplessness washed over the both of you, a lazy peck on each other’s lips as the both of you fell asleep under your warm duvet sealing the start of a new, brighter, happier day ahead of you.

please reblog, comment and like, feedback is very much appreciated, plus, I love reading your thoughts!

→ masterlist.

taglist : @strayingawayy | @shinsosmatcha | @zoe8stay | @sensitiveandhungry | @baby-photos0325 | @tinkerbell460 | @mingitheskzstan

— pink = unable to tag!

© SVNGIEM, 2023.

[coolshadowtwins]

LiuShen Fanficion Round Up! Lets Go!

This took way too long! These are hard to do on mobile. Thank you to everyone who gave recs! If anyone recommends any other LiuShen/BingLiuShen fics, I’ll add them to this later!

I might have missed some that people have recommended, so tell me if I did!

The clueless fairy and his knight by sailorstar165

Summary:

Yet another filler quest from the pesky System in his head leads Shen Qingqiu to a heavily damaged heavenly raiment that inconceivably now belongs to him.

This was impossible for two reasons.

One, Lunar Fairies are female only. So sayeth the "Great Master" Airplane Shooting Toward the Sky when he wrote the abomination that was PIDW, and last he'd checked, Shen Qingqiu was very much male.

Two, Shen Qingqiu is just some one-dimensional scum villain! He was a garbage person for the sake of villainy! He shouldn't have a tragic backstory and missing family and some fated role to play in this universe!

When the System lured him in with the promise of hidden lore, Shen Yuan wasn't signing up for this!

Cultivate: slow life on a monster infested mountain by NeonGhostCat

Summary:

When trying to transfer Shen Yuan from the real world to Proud Immortal Demon Way, the System runs into an error. The transfer is not complete.

Shen Yuan is dropped off at the foot of a mountain aware of two things: he's in the story, and the Shen Qingqiu of this world is not only aware but thinks he tried to possess his body — and he's PISSED. Shen Yuan tries to opt out and live a simple life on what locals tell him is a monster-infested mountain no one in their right mind would bother with.

Sounds like a great hiding spot!

(TL;DR: Stardew Scum Villain Valley Mountain.)

Reincarnation not desired, transmigration not required by Pegunicent

Summary:

Shen Yuan dies. Then he decides to finally get a life.

Star crossed wires by silversinnbees

Summary:

Shen Yuan’s family has been pestering him to get an android for months now. His health had recently taken a dip that landed him in the hospital for a bit and an ultimatum had been issued: either Shen Yuan goes into some kind of assisted living facility (which, no), or he purchases an android fitted out with caretaking programming to live with him. He had griped about it for the longest time, not liking either option given to him but he ultimately decided that an android in his living space was a better option than essentially living in a hospital.

 

Shen Yuan brings an android named Liu Qingge into his life to take care of him. He never could have expected that the android was capable of so much more than just caring.

Metagaming by esama

Summary:

[Self-Saving System Activated! You will be now returned to your original starting position.]

Shen Qingqiu dies and gets a second chance and decides to try a different approach. (Note: this does a many pairings, not just LiuShen!)

Meet Cute (these dorks) by Mayvn

Summary:

The instant he turned to dash into the fight, Liu Qingge froze as he saw Not Shen Qingqiu standing coolly over one unconscious thug, guqin in both hands and still in a pose that clearly showed he had, in fact, just bludgeoned someone with the end of his guqin. Not Shen Qingqiu smirked and tilted his head back cockily.
---
LQG finds SY running away from a sticky situation and brings him back to Cang Qiong in hopes that he can keep the man from getting himself mugged. SY is just relieved he doesn’t have to pretend to be a girl anymore.

Blanket Forts and Rainy Days by NeonGhostCat

Summary:

Mere weeks after the Demon Invasion incident, Liu Qingge visits Qing Jing Peak to discover the disciples hard at work building a monstrosity of blankets and bamboo. Like the students, he becomes inexplicably drawn into Shen Qingqiu's orbit in spite of himself.

Or: How Shen Yuan causes chaos under the flimsy guise of education and Liu Qingge heroically tries to keep himself oblivious to the state of his own squishy heart.

the stages of [...] by tennssi

Summary:

Despite all efforts, Luo Binghe died before the abyss event, and the only thing that saved Shen Qingqiu from being transported back to his world were the points he painstakingly accumulated to prevent Binghe’s blackening.

Stuck in a state of mourning that he himself is unaware of, he finds an unexpected comfort from a certain Peak Lord, who despite everything, never left his side since.

Sharing is Caring by celardor

Summary:

“Liu Qingge! I told you not to drink the water!” Shen Qingqiu shouts. His thoughts are a panicked whirl- is it going to have the same effect that it did in the original story?

 

Liu Qingge just stares at him in shock.

 

Shen Qingqiu’s question is answered when he suddenly hears Liu Qingge’s voice. Liu Qingge isn’t speaking, though- his mouth never moves. No, Shen Qingiu is hearing Liu Qingge’s voice inside his head.

Liu Qingge’s voice says, “Holy shit. I can see his nipples.”

 

They both stare at each other in horror. At that moment, there’s a happy little ding and a System notification pops up in front of him.

 

[Congratulations! Bonus mission activated: Sharing is Caring!]

 

“Fuck,” Shen Qingqiu says, with feeling.

 

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

Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge accidentally trigger a wife plot that leads to them forming a telepathic connection.

(This one is a favorite of mine! I’ve re-read it multiple times, and it has an inprogress sequel.)

The Guardian Ghost and the Bookish Fairy by NeonGhostCat

Summary:

Liu Qingge survives his qi deviation… in the form of a ghost. Having nothing better to do and no desire to be exorcised, he follows after Shen Qingqiu and decides to haunt him for the hell of it.

It doesn't take him long to realize that not only is this not the Shen Qingqiu he knew, but there is more going on. And apparently Shang Qinghua is involved too? Ah! He understands now — they're immortal fairies given the mission to thwart a dark prophecy of the sect's collapse. Well. He can help with that. And how better than to protect the bookish fairy that's taken his old foe's place?

There are no ulterior motives. Why think such foolish things???

TL;DR: What happens if SY transmigrates just a little too late?

Story marked "Chooses Not To Warn" purely because LQG becomes a ghost in the first scene and I didn't want to agonize over whether that required a MCD warning or not. If it does to you, this is your heads up! No other archive warnings are necessary.

Moments by hummingbirdhum

Summary:

Liu Qingge never paid Shen Qingqiu attention unless he had to, before. But things are different now, and in a million little ways, this new Shen Qingqiu keeps managing to make him...feel things. Things he's not used to.

Basically SQQ keeps being attractive and adorable without realizing it and eventually it's going to build up to the point LQG has to do something about it.

Updates will be sporadic in length and in upload date. Starts pre-abyss.

every memory of you by beta_babelfish

Summary:

Before Shen Qingqiu can voice his agreement and his opinion that they are doing an excellent job of getting things done, a knock sounds at the door. The other Shen Qingqiu sighs heavily, and stands. “You ought to hide, I suppose,” he says. “That’ll be Yue Qingyuan.”


“Oh? Is there some business with the sect?” Shen Qingqiu asks, immediately curious.


“Oh, he’s here to clear my meridians, as usual,” Other-Him says nonchalantly.


Shen Qingqiu blinks. He blinks again. “As usual?” he says after what feels like an eternity, voice sounding strange and an unsettled feeling churning in his gut. “What about Liu-shidi?”


Other-Him looks at him blankly for a moment. “Who?”

Or, Shen Qingqiu is wifeplotted into an alternate timeline in which he did not save Liu Qingge.

Fowl Weather Friends by Koiichaser_lucorinth

Summary:

Shen Qingqiu had always felt a small disconnect from his wings, coming from a world that didn’t have them. Like the opposite of phantom-limb syndrome. Things that were a part of him, yet felt separate.

They were cool in concept, yet gave him no end of trouble.

Like old wounds, they ached and cramped in bad weather or exhaustion. As if the Original Goods had gotten them broken in places multiple times before healing away the physical signs as he cultivated.

Also, they were just annoying!

They required so much upkeep! Feathers constantly shed and had to grow in, which was itchy as hell. When they grew in, they did so with sheaths you had to scratch off as they emerged, but you couldn’t scratch too hard because OOPS, was that a blood feather? If it was, congrats on just breaking open what was basically a straw directly to a vein. Better pluck it all out from the root if you ever want it to stop bleeding! And then you had to heal the gaping hole the correct way, or the next pinfeather might not grow back correctly.

…Shen Qingqiu might not have devoted his patience.

If he were to be honest, he might have slipped up a little in regards to the care of his wings as of late.

I Wish You Were My Husband by Feynite

Summary:

AU based on The Dreamer in the Spring Boudoir (familiarity with that story's not required).

Wherein Shen Yuan transmigrates into a harem intrigues romance novel (gay edition), Yue Qingyuan really fucks up, Liu Qingge is not suitable for his job, and no one even remotely sees Luo Binghe coming. (Note: this is maybe a stretch of LiuShen? But I think it counts lol)

You Take Me By the Heart When You Take Me By the Hand by UnhookedStar

Summary:

Liu Qingge knows that as smart as he is, Shen Yuan is often startlingly oblivious to the implications of his actions. Liu Qingge has learned this the hard way after years of obsessing over countless overly familiar casual gestures. However, while Shen Yuan's sense of personal space has always been practically nonexistent, he's been even more sticky than usual lately. He keeps casually touching Liu Qingge; brushing his hair out of his face, randomly reaching out and patting his head, leaning in close to say something and never leaning away again. The other day, Shen Yuan had held his hand. In public.

 

Or, Liu Qingge has no idea why Shen Yuan has been acting so much more familiar with him lately, but all of this casual touching is starting to push at the limits of his self control.

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan just wants to know when his boyfriend is finally going to kiss him.

The Journey Home, The Hollow Victory by MonroeKnox

The journey back to Cang Qiong Mountain seemed longer than it’s ever been.

 

Unlike so many times before, peak lord Liu Qingge was returning victorious.

But, in his heart, there was nothing to celebrate.

 

Liu Qingge could not outrun his grief forever. Especially not when he has finally brought Shen Qingqiu home.

Misery by Calamity Butterfly

Summary:

"With shaking fingers, he traces the planes of what will be Shen Qingqiu’s face. He brushes dirt from the body’s hair, rearranges its arms so it looks more peaceful, wipes a smear of mud from its chest. The body doesn’t exactly look dead but isn’t currently breathing and doesn’t have the… seeming of life. Shang Qinghua insisted that Shen Qingqiu’s soul was not yet fully inside the body, but Liu Qingge is sure he can sense Shen Qingqiu’s presence in the clearing, if not in the body. He hopes Shen Qingqiu is able to be aware of and comforted by, at some level, the knowledge that his body is safe and being cared for by one who cares for him very deeply."

A very Not Ok Liu Qingge finds Shen Qingqiu's plant body before Shen Qingqiu wakes up. He tends and cares for it and keeps it safe.

Another Time, Another Place by Mayvn

Summary:

Another Luo Binghe suddenly appeared and Liu Qingge died trying to save Shen Qingqiu, only to find himself waking up in a strange room full of strange things.


Losing his ‘apartment’? Cheating girlfriend kicking him to the curb for a rich ‘fuerdai’ after stealing all his money? What’s a ‘dogblood drama’? He doesn’t care about any of that! What happened to Shen Qingqiu?!


---


Basically, LQG gets transmigrated into a dogblood drama, but just wants to cultivate and live happily with SY. If only these damn characters would get a hint and stop trying to drag him back into the plot!
Meanwhile, after being forcefully repatriated, SY uses all his superpowers as an avid trashy web-novel reader to try to predict what will happen and protect LQG from all the shitty tropes while also dealing with the realization that there’s been cultivation in the modern world this whole time!

Not to mention the familiar-but-different faces popping up here and there…

rsvp me to world's end by beta_babelfish

Summary:

FUTURE Shen Qingqiu [FSQQ] 4130 HOURS FROM NOW opened a memo on board WELCOME TO HELL

FSQQ: OKAY. First things first if the term “peerless cucumber” means anything to you you’re in the right place. If it doesn’t then you’re gonna be banned immediately. thanks
PAST Shen Qingqiu [PSQQ] 45 HOURS AGO responded to the memo
PSQQ: what the hell is a peerless cucumber
FSQQ banned PSQQ from responding to the memo
FSQQ: what did i just FUCKING say!!!!
FSQQ: anyway
FSQQ: you know that shitty webcomic. Proud Immortal Demon's Game? about that game called SBURB that causes the end of the world and the creation of a new one with frogs or whatever. luo binghe is there, he rips apart paradox space and uses his fuckin insane powers to take over like three different universes and all that?
FSQQ: you’re in it now
FSQQ: have fun
CURRENT Shen Qingqiu [CSQQ] RIGHT NOW responded to the memo
CSQQ: WHAT THE FUCK

Or, the Scum Villain/Homestuck crossover that absolutely nobody asked for, but you're getting anyway

A Night on Cang Qiong Mountain by NeonGhostCat

Summary:

Shen Qingqiu frets over the upcoming Endless Abyss event. Wanting to figure out a way to give his little white sheep fond memories of his time at the sect to hold onto in the Abyss, he remembers Halloween, something he looked forward to each year in his previous life (even if it was only through game events). System steps in to offer him a Limited Time Event of his own.

These are stories based off of the same premise that can be read stand-alone if preferred. Technically you could read them in any order.

NSFW

We'll survive, you and I by rinsled05

Summary:

On the bed, back against Liu Qingge’s chest, Shen Yuan is grinding his ass against him, soft, breathless sounds slipping out of his mouth.

Liu Qingge's skin buzzes with need, and he wants to put his hands on Shen Yuan’s hips, feel them shift under his palms. Wants to hear Shen Yuan whimper as he matches Shen Yuan’s pace and rocks back. To suck and nip at Shen Yuan’s skin, leaving bruises in the shape of his mouth.

But he's too aware of Luo Binghe's presence on the other side of the bed, the curl of his arm around Shen Yuan’s waist. Liu Qingge can’t tell if Shen Yuan is awake, either, if he even realizes that the body spooned against him belongs to Liu Qingge. It’s entirely possible that he thinks it’s—

“Qingge,” Shen Yuan whines.

Oh.


In which Liu Qingge fights to keep himself and Shen Yuan alive in a zombie apocalypse, knowing that Shen Yuan would have married Luo Binghe if not for, well, zombies. Liushen main, with hints of Bingqiu, Bingliu, and eventual Bingliushen.

the horns of a dilemma by lavenderandrue

Summary:

Shen Qingqiu doses himself with truth mushrooms on purpose and gets more than he bargained for.

returned tenfold by lavenderandrue

Summary:

“We were thinking perhaps a little game of sorts? An exchange of winnings and gifts?”
Bristling immediately, Liu Qingge draws himself up ramrod straight. “I have no wish to play your games, demon,” he spits. Shen Qingqiu makes some kind of small noise behind his fan, perhaps a laugh or a sound of dismay, and Liu Qingge tries to ignore the way the tips of his ears heat up.
“Actually, Shidi, it was this shixiong’s idea.” Shen Qingqiu uncrosses his legs and sits a little straighter on his throne, which is far more ornate than Luo Binghe’s. The solemn dignity is marred a little by the pile of cushions spilling out from underneath his robes and the bag of melon seeds resting on the arm.
Liu Qingge’s chest aches faintly. This is fairly normal when he’s around Shen Qingqiu, so he ignores it.

Dual Cultivation by Acernor

Summary:

“Shizun said I made you feel so good,” Luo Binghe says, “that I could fuck you any time I wanted.”

Liu Qingge stops breathing for a second.

“What,” he blurts out.

Shen Qingqiu could tell he’d been into it?!

[sassy-ahsoka-tano]

My Personal Bodyguard

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: No

Prompt: You're a server at the International Hotel when Elvis arrives as the big entertainment act. While serving his manager, you notice something fishy going on. Can you change things for Elvis? Or will you run out of time?

TW: Swearing (a ton lmao), mention of drugs + violence

Rating: Pg-13     ||     Word Count: 5793

A/N: Fix-it fic #1 is complete. this was therapeutic for me to have the reader absolutely wreck the colonel lol

🦋 mila

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

“Bet you didn’t think we’d be this busy when you took this job did you?” Nathan, your coworker asks, and you shake your head with a breathless laugh.

“Absolutely not,” you reply. “I’ve worked at hotel restaurants my whole life, and I figured this would just be like everything else, but I guess not. People really go nuts over that Elvis guy, don’t they.”

“I guess so, yeah,” Nathan replies. “My sister won’t shut up about him, and I’m pretty sure my mother would divorce my entire family if Elvis asked her to.”

You’ve taken a job at the new International Hotel, which just opened about a week ago in Las Vegas. It’s one of those old sorts of hotels, with a casino and a stage for shows to entertain the guests. Or to keep them inside the building longer, whichever happens to come first. Anyway, you and Nathan have both been in charge of setting the tables for the first show this evening. The famous Elvis Presley is going to perform for the first time, and as far as you understand, he’ll be performing twice a night every night for the next six weeks.

You’ve heard his songs on the radio, of course, and you like them. But you don’t really know anything about him. You’re busy and don’t have a lot of time to freak out over men ten years your senior. Anyway you’re just a server at the hotel. It’s not like you have any business interacting with Elvis anyway.

“We’d better pick it up,” Nathan says, unfolding the last tablecloth and throwing it across the bare table toward you. You catch it, helping him fluff it out to drop onto the table. “We only have about five minutes to finish this before the King of rock’n’roll will be here to warm up. Can you grab some more silverware, I think we’re short a few.”

You nod, jogging over to the cart parked by the side of the stage. You dig around for a few seconds, not finding anything. Hearing a familiar voice in the distance, you hop up onto the stage and sneak into the back to find your manager. Wading through a sea of people running here and there, you finally see her and tap her shoulder.

“Hey, Katie, we can’t find the-”

Your voice stops abruptly when you see him. Elvis Presley in the flesh. He’s strutting in your direction in the most outlandishly beautiful costume you’ve ever seen. It’s a white jumpsuit, half unfastened to show off his chest, with a popped collar and studs all around. Your eyes can’t help but fall to his open chest before they flick back up to his face. He’s incredibly handsome, so much so that you actually feel your mouth pop open. His hair is incredibly dark and long, laying softly on his forehead. Everything about him screams sex, and you start to maybe understand why everyone is obsessed with him.

You and Katie step out of the way as he and his posse pass, and you feel totally worthless. Like a peasant in the street as the king passes along. Just when you think you’re in the clear, you accidentally look him straight in the eye. He winks and smiles at you without missing a beat, and you nervously smile back, dropping your eyes to the ground.

“Hello?”

You snap out of your daze with the literal snapping of Katie’s fingers in your face.

“We can’t find the…” she gestures for you to continue.

“Silverware. We’re short a few,” you respond. She nods, helping you find them.

By the time you’re running down the steps of the stage to place the silverware in the correct spots, people are starting to file in. Hundreds of them, all around, of all ages, genders, and social classes. You quickly make your exit toward the kitchen to alert them that everyone is starting to file in. You hide there for a while, chatting with the cooks and staff before your manager rounds all of the servers up to assign tables. She pulls you aside for a minute.

“Y/N, you have more experience than our entire waitstaff combined. You get the special task of serving the hotel owner, Mr. Kohn. And Mr. Presley’s manager, Colonel Tom Parker, will also be at your table. Prompt and attentive service, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you respond with a smile. It isn’t a question, but you want to reassure her that everything will be fine.

You grab onto three menus from the stand next to you and take a deep breath before heading out into the crowd. In the fifteen or twenty minutes you’d spent getting ready in the kitchen, the entire place has packed in. It’s a full house without a doubt.

“Hi gentleman, good evening and welcome to the International Hotel, Mr. Kohn and Colonel Parker,” you say with a grin, passing the menus out and hoping you’ve remembered their names correctly. “Can I get you gentleman started with any beverages this evening?”

“Red wine. Whatever you have that’s the best,” Mr. Kohn responds.

“I’ll have the same,” Colonel Parker adds.

You have to sustain your grin even though it falters when you look at the tubby man sitting in front of you. Something about his energy is off. You can’t explain it, but you don’t trust him for some reason. His accent is impossible to place and the way he leans on his cane is too comfortable. Too in control, or something. Nevertheless, you push the thoughts away, reserving to do your job and nothing else.

As you start to walk back toward the kitchen, the band starts up an upbeat tune. Your head snaps to the side, and you figure you can stay for a quick moment to see what all the fuss is about. You step down and back into the shadows below your table. You’ve heard Elvis practicing a time or two in passing as you go from one wing of the hotel to the other, but you’ve never stopped to listen. You don’t have that kind of time.

The lights shine bluish purple on the stage, and you hide in the shadows, crossing your arms over your chest. He emerges in that glorious white outfit, waltzing onto the stage. He takes his guitar from a bandmate and approaches the microphone. The voice that comes out is even more amazing than on the radio. Your eyebrows actually shoot up in surprise at how lovely it is; low, smooth, and velvety. It’s like a blessing to your ears.

You can’t help but smile when he uses his hands to enthusiastically direct the backup singers behind him and his right leg bounces frantically up and down as he strums his guitar furiously. He’s incredibly engaging, just the perfect mixture of wild and charming. Enough to make the audience feel like they’re getting value for what they paid for.

“Ain’t nobody gonna be a better show than that!” you hear that familiar unplaceable accent from above you. “I’ll tell ya, if I was you, I would book for him for a hundred years.”

“Well, no better time than the present, but I hear Schilling has him doing a world tour,” Mr. Kohn responded.

“I think that Mr. Presley could be persuaded to make the international his home, provided he was paid pretty well.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Elvis’ strong voice interrupts your eavesdropping, and you realize that you should get the mens’ drinks before they get upst. The last thing you need is to be fired from your job by the owner of the hotel. You run into the back kitchen and pop out the red wine, grabbing a few glasses as well. You shove everything onto a tray and, by the time you’re walking out of the kitchen toward the table, the band has started another song. One that you haven’t heard before.

“Your drinks, gentleman,” you say, noticing the sly movements both men take to cover up writing on the lace tablecloth. You set the drinks down and get out your notepad. “Can I get you any appetizers or food? Or would you like me to come back?”

“We’re fine for now, honey, thanks,” Mr. Kohn says roughly, shooing you away.

You smile tight-lipped and leave the table, but press yourself back into the shadows below. You’re hoping to overhear something, but with the music blaring it’s difficult. You’re dying of curiosity to know what they’re guarding so secretly.

“What are you going to pay me?” the Colonel asks with a laugh.

You walk up the stairs to the upper level with your tray to start loading empty dishes and cups onto it from the tables above. It isn’t your job, but you need to know. As you pass by your table, you shift the heavy tray to the other side of your body, making sure to use the momentum of the shift to glance down at the tablecloth. Luckily, just as you peer over their shoulders, Elvis’ performance heats up, dragging everyone’s attention to it. You watch as Elvis drops down to his knees on stage, belting out a beautiful note. You take the opportunity to glance down at the tablecloth. Although you can’t see very well, you manage to catch the words “5 million” and “International Hotel” before you have to sneak back to the kitchen.

Even as you put the dishes into the sink, something feels wrong to you. You lean over the sink taking a deep breath and trying to put things together.

5 million…international hotel…better show…book for a hundred years?

You don’t understand completely, but the whole conversation feels wrong. As you think for a moment, you reach up for the wine and trot back out to the table. You’d sworn to yourself not to do this, but you can’t stop yourself from meddling. On your way back to the table, you get momentarily distracted by Elvis’ lewd movements in stage, watching as he drops into a half-squat. He’s giving his absolute everything to the performance, and it’s paying off without a doubt. Something about the words of the song almost feel hollow to you, as if it’s speaking to something other than the performance itself.

You take a deep breath and approach the table with the wine bottle, watching as Mr. Kohn scribbles on a napkin with a hotel pen. Just as the Colonel’s grimy fat fingers reach for the napkin, you ‘accidentally’ nudge his elbow into a nearby glass of wine, spelling the red liquid everywhere. As it began to drip slowly off the sides of the table and seep into the white fabric, you throw a hand over your mouth.

“I am so sorry!” you yell, reaching into the pocket of your apron to grab napkins. You expertly swirl them around the one with the writing on it and then shove it into your pocket.

“That was completely my fault! I will absolutely rectify this situation,” you say, as a brief moment of panic settles in when you realize the man sitting in front of you can literally fire you at any second. To your surprise, he’s fairly calm.

“Not your fault, dear,” Mr. Kohn replies. “The Colonel needs to learn some etiquette, apparently.”

You smile, feeling heat flood into your face with embarrassment and fear. You quickly retreat back into the shadows, clutching at your chest.

“You do whatever you want, Colonel. As long as that boy stays on that stage,” Mr. Kohn says in a low tone.

You’re about to rush back into the safety of the kitchen, when you see large white figure coming toward you out of the corner of your eye. Elvis has left the stage and waded into the crowd and he’s…he’s kissing a bunch of the audience members? You watch from the shadows as the crowd grows around you, and you can’t help but widen your eyes as you watch his plump lips close passionately around a woman’s. He’s sweating in a way that makes everything he does that much more attractive. He smiles handsomely as he gets taken away by the crowd. You’re literally turning to go back to the kitchen when you feel a hand on your wrist. You whirl around in shock to see Elvis standing right in front of you.

“Come on, lil darlin, I need a favor from ya,” he shouts over the crowd.

Fans start pressing into you. Even though you murmur some no’s and try to pull away from him, his strong grip persists and drags you up onto the stage with him. You awkwardly clench your fingers, turning to stare like a deer in the headlights at the crowd before you.

“Sorry, I couldn’t make it up there, man,” Elvis says, gesturing to the upper seating sections.

He releases your wrist, and you bring it over to cover up a wine stain on your white employee t-shirt that you’ve just noticed.

“Now, I just wanna take a quick second here to say thank ya and acknowledge all the people behind the scenes that make this thing go round,” he says, smiling at you. Your breath hitches in your throat as you look at him for the first time. He’s incredibly handsome, so much so that it almost physically hurts to be near him.

“What’s your name, darlin?”

“Y/N,” you lean awkwardly in to say it over the microphone.

“And what do ya do here, Y/N?”

Hearing your name come out of his lips in that deep southern drawl makes your heart flutter.

“I’m a server,” you respond. “I serve tables.”

 “A server, perfect. It’s the people like Y/N over ‘ere who keep things runnin round here, and they’re gonna make sure yall’s nights are as special as possible. So don’t worry bout nothin but enjoyin the show,” he says, winking at you.

He reaches out to grab your hand, pulling you closer to him. You allow it, but avoid eye contact with him and the crowd. The napkin feels like it’s burning a hole through your pocket, and you momentarily think about shoving it into his pocket. You’re close enough to him. So close, in fact, that you can smell the scent of his cologne and sweat mixing under the bright hot white stage lights. But with his jerky movements and everyone watching, it feels too dangerous to try.

“Well, Y/N, I know I can never really pay ya back, but I wanna do a lil song for ya. For all the lovely people up in this place who take care of us,” he continues and then begins to sing.

You recognize the song, and your stomach does flips as he sings it looking directly at you. He releases you to do a big finale for the crowd, but not before he grabs your face by the jaw, pressing a hot wet kiss straight to your lips. You freeze as the curtain begin the drop, not sure how to act. He releases you, laughs, and faces the crowd again to say his thanks before the golden curtains begin to drop and separate you from the eyes of the wild crowd.

You stand, still frozen, even when it’s just you and him. You think quickly about kneeling down to give him the napkin, but before you have a chance to do so, you remember the tablecloth. You need to get it before they dispose of it.

Before he can even say anything, you dash out the side door and back down the stairs toward the table. A few people wave to you, acting like they know you now that they’ve seen you onstage. You nervously smile back and can’t believe your luck when you get to the table and see it empty. They’d left but the tablecloth is still there. You quickly remove the dishes, placing them out of the way to yank the tablecloth off. You can barely read it in the dark and parts of it are stained a deep wine red, but some of the puzzle pieces start to come together as you read the scratched words.

…previous debts cancelled….line of credit…

Your eyes widen with the realization of what’s going on. They’re forcing him to stay there. To play there…until his dies probably. You run back to the kitchen with the tablecloth in tow. You spread out in the back corner behind a rack of drying dishes and pull the napkin from your pocket. Reading them together, you shake your head, feeling anger crash over you like a wave.

They’re forcing Elvis to stay at the International so his manager can pay for gambling debts. It’s pretty clear from the writing what’s going on, and it infuriates you. You fold the napkin carefully and stuff it back into your pocket before folding the tablecloth over your arms. You have to get back to Elvis before his manager does. You’re a second too late. When you return to the stage, you see Elvis tightly hugging his manager. You peer out from the shadows to watch as the Colonel begins to dig around in his pockets, clearly looking for something. His face screws up in frantic conern, and you clutch the napkin in your pocket with white knuckles.

“I, eh, I must go back to the table,” the Colonel says in a panicked tone. “I…I believe I have fohgotten something theh…”

 He stumbles off through the side door, leaning heavily on his cane.

“Do ya need help, Colonel?” Elvis shouts after him, but the old man hurriedly waves him off.

Your eyebrow quirks knowingly. When Elvis turns back to start upstairs, you step out of the shadows.

“Mr. Presley, could I…talk to you for a minute?” you ask in a timid voice.

“Sure thing,” he says, squinting to see you in the shadows. “Ah, you’re that lil server I pulled up on stage ain’t ya? Listen, I didn’t mean to embarrass ya none or anythin like that. If you want an autograph, I can-”

“No, thank you,” you reply shaking your head. “I mean…it’s not that I don’t want an autograph, that’s just not why I wanted to talk to you. I actually, well…”

“What’s wrong, honey? Y’aright?” he asks, concern crossing over his features as he steps closer. Your yes flutter for a moment as you breathe in his utterly manly smell.

“Yes…I’m just not sure that you’ll be,” you say, pulling out the napkin from your pocket to hand it to him. “I was Colonel Parker, your manager’s, server tonight. And well…I found this.”

You watch as his face contorts while he reads the scribbled writing and tries to understand its meaning. His expression cycles through several different emotions and finally settles on a look with furrowed eyebrows. You feel guilty, being attracted to him in that moment considering what he’s probably going through. But you can’t help it. Raw sexuality oozes from every inch of his body.

“There’s also this,” you suddenly speak, remembering the tablecloth.

You unfold it to show it to him. He runs a hand over his face and turns to see the writing on the tablecloth. He stands, motionless, before slowly dropping into a crouched position. The corner of his mouth turns up in to a wicked smile. He laughs, deep and throaty, before nodding and clenching his jaw.

“Mm…mhm,” he hums to himself. “Well, thank ya for bringin this to my attention, darlin.”

He glances up at you with pained eyes.

“Goddamn bloodsucker…fuckin jackass,” he murmurs to himself, and you start to back away before you hear him sniff hard. You peer closer to his face to see him angrily pushing a few tears from his cheeks.

“Are you alright, Mr. Presley?”

He doesn’t respond, massaging his temples with his fingers. You hesitantly drop to your knees, placing a hand onto his back and gently rubbing circles on the white jumpsuit. He glances up at you, and you suddenly understand. Your mother is always going on about how it feels like you’re the only person in the world who matters when Elvis Presley looks at you. You’ve always thought she was full of it, but now that you’re here, everything makes sense.

“Everything’s gonna be alright, Mr. Presley,” you say softly.

“Just Elvis,” he says, reaching out to touch your face. “Please.”

He sniffs with a small nod and his blue eyes shine brightly even in the dim lights behind the stage. You feel your chest heaving, and you gulp. You shouldn’t allow a married man to touch you so tenderly, but you can’t stop yourself.

Suddenly, his lips are crashing onto yours, and his fingers are on either side of your face, pulling your lips taut against him. You don’t kiss him back at first, too shocked to move. But when his lips curl around yours again, you can’t help yourself. You give in. After a minute or two, he pulls back abruptly and immediately apologizes.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” he says, avoiding your eyes. You shake your head and gulp.

“That’s alright,” you say quietly. “I just hate to see you suffer.”

“Thank you, Y/N, right?”

You nod with a tiny smile and he stands before holding out his hand to help you to your feet. Once you’re standing, he presses a chaste kiss to your palm.

“Thank you,” he repeats. “I’ll see ya round, baby.”

He turns to leave, and his face has an unplaceable emotion. He almost looks as if he’s just floating through the world. You stand there for a moment in the stark silence on stage by yourself, not knowing what to do with yourself

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

Yousaw Elvis every so often over the next few years. Sometimes he invited you up to his room after the shows, and most of the time you just talked and listened to music. Your presence seemed to relax him, although you couldn’t explain why. Your relationship was purely friendly, until one day you were listening to a particularly intimate song. It had been late at night, and you were both so lonely. It was an accident, you both knew it, and it cast a shadow over your relationship.

After that, Elvis began to tour around the U.S. You barely saw him. You sometimes wonder if your efforts to help him have made any difference because it sure doesn't seem like it. You still work in the kitchen, but you're manager now. You direct more than you serve tables. You're also a few years older and wiser. You never stick your nose into other people’s business again, and you wonder if you ever should have in the first place. You know he never thinks about you, even though you think about him almost every day. You’ve almost convinced yourself that he doesn’t even remember you.

Until that day.

You’re on serving duty today, with one of your servers out for personal reasons. As you walk to the front of the room by the stage to replace the drinks for your table, you glance up at Elvis on stage. He’s sweaty, as usual, but the way he moves around is off.

“I’d like to turn the house lights up, ladies and gentleman,” Elvis slurs onstage. “Cause now that you’ve seen me, I’d like to take a look at you. Oh ya beautiful, thank ya! Ohh, we got some high rollers in ‘ere tonight. Mr. International Hotel himself. And right next to ‘im is my so-called manager, Colonel Tom Parker. But I hear rumors that Colonel is an alien.”

The crowd laughs, but your heart sinks uneasily as you watch Elvis pick up a martini glass from the table closest, getting ready to down it. You move quickly, reaching up to lift it out of his fingers.

“Mr. Presley, please don’t do that” you hiss. You’ve never seen him act like this before. You’ve known about his addiction to drugs, but you’ve always thought he could handle it. Perhaps you don’t realize how dire his siutation is.

“Somebody call the FBI and tell ‘em that he has abducted me,” Elvis continues. “That he has locked me in this golden cage to keep me here forever with you, ladies and gentlemen.”

He starts to sing the lyrics of suspicious minds, the same lyrics you’d heard the first time you ever saw him perform. But the way he sways back and forth makes you incredibly nervous.

“I can’t get out…cause Colonel’s got some big debts, baby.”

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t know whether it’s because of the awkward tension or the fact that he is finally confronting the Colonel after all this time. You stare up at him, clutching hard onto the martini glass.

“This is the last show I am ever playing here,” he says. “I’m gonna get on my jet plane, the Lisa Marie…it’s named after my, uh…”

That’s the last straw for you. You set the glass down and rush around to the side door of the stage, running up the stairs as he babbles on. You stop at the edge of the curtain, not sure whether to rush onto the stage or just watch.

“Hey, you’re that server right? The one who gave him the napkin?”

You whirl around to see Elvis’ producer, Jerry Schilling.

“Yeah, that’s me,” you reply.

A fat lumbering man waddles through the shadows up to you and Jerry.

“Stop the show,” the Colonel says. “Stop the show!”

“Fuck the international,” you hear Elvis say, and you glance back at him up on the stage.

“What the devil is happening here?” the Colonel hisses.

“That’s what he wants to know,” Jerry answers.

“Oh…security,” Elvis slurs, gesturing to where you’re all standing. Your palms begin to sweat. “Securityyyyy…securityyy blah blah blah…”

This is getting embarrassing, and the Colonel begins to walk toward Elvis.

“800 shows?” Elvis shouts as the curtains begin to descend onto the stage. “You don’t have a goddamn passport, you son of a bitch! You are fired! You are fired!”

The Colonel increases his speed, as much as he can. And you would laugh if the whole situation isn’t as bad as it is. You feel an odd sense of relief knowing that what you’ve done has helped.

“You’re fireddddd! Elvis screams into the microphone.

Silence descends on the entire space before Elvis repeats himself in a quiet voice. He drops the microphone and begins to walk off. One of the band members speaks up, pleading to go after Elvis, but you step out of the shadows.

“No, I will,” you say sharply.

As you pass the Colonel, you begin to see realization dawning on his face. You stare him down as you pass, refusing to look away. He knows what you’ve done, and you couldn’t be happier. You chase after Elvis and grasp onto the cape of his blue jumpsuit.

“Elvis, please wait! Let me help. What can I do?” you ask.

He turns with a massive smile on his face. His hands find their way to your cheeks, grasping at your face.

“Baby, you’ve helped me more than you realize,” he says. “You freed me. For the first time in so many goddamn years, I feel free as a bird.”

You smile, feeling your skin grow hot at his touch.

“I’m really glad to hear that. What will you do now?”

“Get the fuck outta here,” he replies, shaking his head.

His eyes search your face for a moment before he clicks his tongue.

“You wouldn’t wanna come with me, would ya? I know we barely know each other, but…I dunno somethin about ya makes me feel safer. And I owe ya for savin my ass, anyways. Maybe I can help pay ya or somethin. Find somethin for you to do.”

You are completely taken aback, and you don’t know what to say. One the one hand, you could really use the cash. And you can keep am eye on him, too. On the other hand, it would be a lot of changes all at once. Your apartment, your job, your family. You’d have to leave it all.

“Could you give me some time…just to think about it? I want to, god do I want to. I just don’t know if its practical.”

He nods, taking your fingers into his hands and pressing a kiss to them.

“Of course, baby. I tell ya what, I’m gonna leave tomorrow cause the sooner I’m outta this dump, the better,” he says. “If you wanna come, you meet me in the parkin garage tomorrow mornin.”

“I will.”

“Aright,” he says, smiling handsomely as he tucks some hair behind his ear. “I hope I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

You clutch onto the strap of your bag as the elevator bings. Taking a deep breath, you step out into the parking garage.

You’d spent the entire night making list after list of pros and cons. Your list of pros continued to grow and grow, while the con side became shorter and shorter. You’d been up until three in the morning before you finally decided to pack what you could and meet him in the morning.

“Where is he?” you ask as you step toward Jerry.

“Went up to get his daddy,” Jerry responds. “But hopefully we’ll be outta here in a minute or two. Hey, thanks for everything you’re doing for him.”

“He’s a very special person,” you reply. “I’m just trying to help.”

“We all appreciate it. After everything that happened with Priscilla, he needs another strong woman in his life. He’s lost all the other ones,” Jerry says quietly.

“Thanks, Jerry.”

Just as you move to sit down in the open car, you see Elvis stalking out of the elevator. He stops in stride, looking to the left.

“You bloodsucking old vampire. You bled me dry, and you still want more?”

You’re too far away to see who he’s talking to and what they’re saying, but you still rise from your seat.

“Don’t you Mr. Presley me, you toad.”

“If you are so determined to get out of our contract-”

“You’re goddamn right I want out!” Elvis is yelling.

“You still got your claws in me! You’ll still have me workin here like some goddamn slave in a salt mine! You phony no good piece uh trash! I should shoot you in your fat goddamn face!”

He turns to walk out, but then his eyes soften when they land on you. He turns back.

“Who are you?”

“I am you and you are me.”

Your feet start moving you forward before you can do anything to stop yourself.

“Cut the horseshit! Everythin I’ve ever known about ya’s been a lie!”

“EP, you good?” Jerry shouts. Elvis holds a hand up, shaking his head, to ward you off.

You ignore his warning sign and stop in your tracks when you see the Colonel walk toward the elevator. You take Elvis’ hands in yours and hold onto them tightly. He looks down at you with hopeless eyes, tears staining his cheeks. You reach up to wipe one way as the Colonel continues to talk.

“...away from all of this,” he’s saying. “But if you choose to leave, I for one would be very lonely. So would your father. But I think you may be lonely, too. For you see, my boy, the truth about the rock of eternity, it is forever just beyond our reach.”

The anger bubbles up inside of you, and your heart slams harshly against your chest.

You rip your hands away from Elvis and slam the door open button as the elevator doors start to close. The open and you slide your palms agains the doors to keep them open. The Colonel’s eyebrows are raised.

“Shut the fuck up,” you say harshly. “You don’t talk to him like that, you sick manipulative little bastard. I don’t know why you’re doing this, and frankly, I don’t give a damn. But you are not gonna ruin his life because you have some kinda gambling addiction, you lying piece of shit. So listen up and listen good, Humpty Dumpty. You can sue Mr. Presley if you want, but it won’t made a damn difference. With all the massive fraud and mismanagement that I’ve witnessed over the past four years, and Dr. What’s-His-Fuck shoving addictive medications up Mr. Presley’s veins? If you think any court in the United States won’t convict your fat ass, you got another thing coming. The Presleys will sue you for every single fucking penny you own, since they all belong to him anyway. Mr. Presley is leaving the Internatoinal Hotel for good. His contract is hereby terminated. Permanently.”

“Strong words from a hotel server,” he shoots back, and you quirk an eyebrow.

“Listen, asshole, I’m not afraid of you or whatever little pathetic power you hold. Mr. Presley is leaving, and there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop him. Stay away from Elvis. If you even attempt to contact the family again, I will personally fly up here and stick that cane so far up your fucking ass, it will come out of your brain. Do you understand me?”

He says nothing, just stuffs his cigar between his fat lips with a wicked smile on his face. You remove your hand and turn around to leave, but you aren’t satisfied enough. As soon as you make eye contact with Elvis’ glassy eyes, the anger takes you over. You spin around with a flying fist and clock the Colonel straight in the face, between the eyes, as hard as you possibly can. He doubles over immediately, his hands flying onto his nose.

“Rot in hell, you fuckhead,” you spit sharply as the elevator doors close.

You turn to see all of the band members and hotel staff staring at you with wide eyes. You glance at Elvis and shrug.

“What? The bastard had it coming.”

“Maybe I should hire ya as my personal bodyguard,” Elvis says, laughing. “That was sexy as hell.”

You just smile and shrug.

“It was nothing. Let’s get going before he calls security or something.”

You climb into the car, sitting next to Elvis. He takes your hand, intertwining your fingers. You sit together as his thumb rubs circles into your skin.

“You came,” he says quietly. You squeeze his fingers.

“Of course I came,” you smile. “I couldn’t imagine my life without you. Plus, you offered me a job.”

Confusion flashes across his face.

“I would like to officially accept your offer for the personal bodyguard position. I can start immediately.”

He laughs, raising your fingers to his lips to kiss them. You settle into the car. Things are looking up.

─────•~❉᯽❉~•─────

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[journeythroughbible]

The Road Not Taken

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference." – R. Frost

This poem came to mind upon our Daughter Ella's passing. She will be 33 forever.

We met Ella 10 years ago; she was a damaged victim with a black eye. Our church knew we had extra room and asked if we could house her for a few weeks till she could get back on her feet. We said sure, and "that has made all the difference."

A few months later, we did an adult adoption and accepted Ella into our family. Ella was an exceptional young lady with an incredible intellect whose life had been twisted from a lifetime of abuse and torture. Before we move on, think of the most horrific abuse someone could endure as a child, then step it up, and you will be closer to what El took. With that out of the way, Ella was an amazingly caring person. As we were contacting people that she had known, we became amazed at the stories of how she impacted their lives. We talked with 3 people who claimed she kept them from suicide.

"And that has made all the difference" is true since Ella claimed that if we had not adopted her, she was close to suicide. So with Ella's life being extended for 10 years, at least 3 lives have been saved and prospered. I am sure there are more.

I think of so many stories. When she first came to stay with us, she used to wake up screaming, asking mommy not to leave since "he will hurt me." Because of her, we got to know many in the Suwanee PD and Fire Department. If it wasn't for her and Miracle, I might not have had anyone close by to call 911 when I had my cardiac arrest. So technically, you can add another life Ella saved!!

I love Robert Frost, and he wrote the poem "Out, Out," which he never read aloud because of the coldness. It was a true story about a young man who had injured himself with a bandsaw. The last few lines were a grim look at how we live:

"The doctor put him in the dark of ether. He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath. And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright. No one believed. They listened at his heart. Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it. No more to build on there. And they, since they Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs."

The poem's title was from Macbeth when he heard of his wife's death:

"Out out brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing."

Both talk about life and how insignificant it is in the grand scheme of things. Really if you think about it, only the death of Jesus has one life made such a worldwide impact. Over 2000 years after his death, his statement "but my words will not pass away" reigns true (Matt 24:35). No matter how you view Jesus as a savior, a prophet, or a myth, his words and impact are undeniable. While I am not trying to compare Ella with Jesus, her life is more like a pebble in a quiet lake. The ripples go much further than the point it dropped into the water. (Ok, maybe not a pebble, but rather a large rock:) These ripples will continue well after that pebble has sunk away; like Ella, I am sure her waves will continue well into the future.

Also, we need to mourn her death, but at the same time, we need to gather our lives together and move forward. She would not want us to do anything less.

What now? She has left this earth and is finally able to hug Jesus in his T-Shirt and torn blue jeans!! What are we to do? Can we go back to scales over our eyes and ignore the child sex trafficking she brought to all our attention? Can we sit and do nothing while millions of our young continue to be abused by often rich, godly, and powerful people? Do we say, "there is nothing I can do; someone else will take care of it?"

I would say NO. You can take the easy way and give to some organization (I will link a few at the end). Or you can take the road less traveled and roll up your sleeves. I can guarantee you will have long and ugly conversations with God, and life will not be easy. You WILL be attacked, and the "enemy" will do everything they can to end your progress. All I can say is this is imperative.

Our lives would be so different if we took that path more traveled. There are some points in our life's trajectory that you can look at where you are today and realize that one decision made all the difference. Regrets? None whatsoever!

Here are some organizations we have experience with that are great sources of information and are in deep.

https://discoveringmercy.org/ - an organization that helps victims recover from complex trauma, as Ella had.

https://www.ourrescue.org/ - Tim Ballard's group for saving Child Sex Trafficking victims worldwide.

[eucalyprhodes]

Today, I was reminded of my dream job and how that quickly turned into my nightmare 😅

I think I've talked about the what and why I pursued it and why I left. But I don't think I've ever talked about the absolute stage of desperation that I was in. I think because frankly, I am embarrassed ... and you'll see why.

January 2021, on my last semester of grad school, I FINALLY got a job interview with a local private Christian University. For context, I have gotten interviews from this university for 2 different roles prior. and both interviews, I have already made it to the final stage. Both roles however, were not academic advisor, so the rejection, though painful, was still bearable. January 2021 was the very first academic advising interview that I had since I started on this journey. Unfortunately, this time, I didn't even make it to the second and third interview. I guess my first interview was not that great? (2 years later, I found out via LinkedIn that my interviewer ended up being let go from the institution. That was eerie). I was so done with this university though.

June 2021, I had just finished grad school and had such high hopes. I thought this time, I surely will get to be an academic advisor. I have years of relevant experience, I have my shiny masters degree, I'm ready! I got an interview with one of my dream university for an academic advisor for the college of business. GREAT! I love business students, I have toured the business building so often, I was so excited for it. I went through 3 rounds of interview only to get rejected yet again. At this time, I have already feeling all the pain and emotion from 5 years of rejection, so I actually wrote an email to the DIRECTOR of that department, asking why I didn't get the job! She gave me some weird roundaround answer that didn't make sense to me at all. Oh , and this whole process took about 2 months so there's that.

September 2021, another interview with the same university from June! Academic Counselor for a special population program. I was so excited because I thought this is exactly what I was hoping for! I'll get to work with underserved, first-gen students and this is exactly why I got into advising! I went through three rounds of interviews and by first week of October, I'm just waiting ..

I remember doing this embarrassing thing. On Sundays, I would drop off my husband at church because he serves and I'd go to the second service. While waiting for second service to start, I would drive to the campus because it's nearby, I would park and literally, PRAY over the school. I would pray loudly and boldly (in my car though), I cried and prayed and cried again. It was my alone time with God to really be honest and cry out to him. I think one time, campus security almost approached me but I saw them coming so I left right away. I figured I have nothing to lose so this is my last desperate attempt to get God to finally give me what i want.

and He did! He loves me that much that He graciously gave me this one thing that I wanted in the past 5 years. Only to find out almost immediately, that this career is not for me and I will never be happy and fulfilled here.

Why did I share this?

Because I want you to know that God does answer prayers, even for things that He knows will not be good for us BUT He knows we'll learn from it. Why didn't God just prevent me from getting my dream job if He knew I won't like it anyways? Because He knows that without that job, I would not be where I am today. He knows that I needed to be in that job, to see the reality of how that career pathway does not align with mine anymore, and because He knew this experience would bring a new perspective in my life, one that would grow my faith in Him. Our God is so good and smart, and today, I was reminded of that.

This is an excerpt from Pastor Jack Hibbs' book

"If what you want is against what God wants but you keep harping on it (basically NAGGING God for it), eventually, you'll probably get it. When you get it, it will be your demise, and you'll have no one to blame but yourself"

If I didn't experience the biggest disappointment in my professional life, I wouldn't return back to HR. If I didn't experience this, my faith journey would be different. God knows every moment of my life and He perfectly crafted this time so that I can grow to trust Him more.

and now, I need to apply it to this season of trusting God about my desire to conceive. These past few months have been difficult to say the least, learning how to deal with my feelings and emotions over the fact that everyone else gets pregnant (might I add, not even struggling to be one) while my husband and I have making all conscious efforts to get pregnant. However, recently, I came to realize AND remember, what we ask doesn't always come into fruition and that is okay because God knows what's best for us.

If I nag and beg and cry out to God for a child right now, He probably will eventually give me one but it might not be the best thing for me in that season. And I know in my heart deep down, we're not ready for a child. Financially, emotionally, spiritually. There's a lot of things I need to work on before accepting the greatest and hardest responsibility in this earth. So today, I can peacefully say I understand. Whether a child will come into my life or not, I understand because it's God's plan and God has the final say. I don't want to force my desire on God, I don't want to force my timeline on God because He is in full control and I am okay with it.

If you have been struggling with unanswered prayers, just know that God knows what He's doing, EVEN IF it is so heckin HARD sometimes. Do you know how many times I cried in August because of pregnancy announcements around me? too much to count LOL But they all had to happen, because they brought me down to my knees, and that's when I find comfort in our Lord, Jesus Christ.

I hope this blog encourages you <3

[gucciwins]

you promise?

here's to your first night in texas and harry's last

Word count: 5152

A/N: hi friends! can you believe there are only two parts left because i can't. it truly has been a joy to write this story and for you to continue to read each part and give feedback has been such a motivation to keep going. sorry you had to wait so long, i had a bit of a crisis over these characters and could therefore not write but we moved passed that. i love you <3

please remember to reblog! let me know what you thought!

warnings: fluff that's it

love on tour series // previous part

Houston, Texas

Harry had begun his tour in September, and it was now the last week of his sold-out North America tour. He loved being on stage; he was grateful he got to do this for a living. All his emotions always seemed to hit him now, as the final days were approaching. He was grateful to have his friends and family by his side, supporting him through it all.

His life felt like a dream, but when you walked in his Bel that September night, he wasn't sure why but stars in the universe had aligned perfectly to bring you together because he knew he didn't want you to leave now that he had you.

Harry was known to destroy relationships close to him, romantical at least. He feared being alone, but when someone got too close, it seemed as if all the walls were closing down on him except with you, it seemed as the space grew larger. He wasn't sure how to fill it except with love, something he felt he did not give you enough of.

The fear that when you were apart, the distance and late phone calls would make you bitter and resentful of him, but he doubted that could happen. He also knew he could never resent you because the love he felt for you was unexplainable.

Harry knew you valued your independence. You also were a fantastic partner and great at making him feel reassured and spending time with him. He was known to be clingy and 'too much' others have told him. Except, you took everything in stride, accepting kiss after kiss. Welcoming all his hugs and phone calls. Never once telling him, he was too much.

You valued his love, and that's something he'd never be able to forget. If the universe somehow took you from him, he knew he'd live with no regrets because he loved you with every bit of his heart and soul. You were all-consuming. Harry hoped to have you for a lifetime and in every universe that followed because he knew his love was that real.

Entering his life was the greatest gift because you were showing him a world he didn't even know existed.

It's why your fight kept playing over and over in your head.

Why did you forgive him so easily?

When he was awful, why did you assure him you loved him and that you'd work through it?

Harry had spent all of Sunday making it up to you as well as spending the day with his mother as she'd be going back home. She assured him multiple times she'd be fine and she'd see him in a few short weeks for the holidays. Harry swore there was a glint in her eye as if she was keeping something from him, but you and his mother kept him distracted that he always seemed to forget to ask.

He left before she did, and he tried fighting it, but Glenne assured you that she'd be in good hands, promising to drop her off at security and everything. It relaxed him. When his mum called to tell him, she landed; all he got was a quick hello before asking to speak with Bel. Harry faked annoyance, but truthfully he loved the relationship you and his mother were able to build together.

Harry was thinking of a way to approach the topic when you came in with a giant grin plastered on your face, hands behind your back.

"Bel?" Your smile only widened at his suspicion. "What's going on?"

"Would you, Harry Edward Styles, like to join me on a date?" You looked nervous, like he was going to say no.

He would never be able to say no to you.

"I'd love to," he replies honestly, his heart close to bursting at the gesture.

"Great. Go outside."

Harry frowns, "where we going?"

You laugh, "you outside."

"I'm confused."

"H, step outside. I'm going to fix something for us here because Tom says sneaking out doesn't fit in your schedule today," you sigh dramatically.

"Since when do you follow the rules?"

"Since they bought me a basket." You state, simply holding it up for him to see. It's got little bumblebees on the top, and he can see they must have spent some time looking to please her. Although he's sure any basket they would have brought her would have made her happy.

"Alright," he relents, seeing how excited you are. "I'll be outside."

"Wonderful." You give him a chaste kiss and then push him out the door shutting it closed behind him.

Now all he does is wait.

He hears lots of clatter, and maybe a mumbled shit them humming. It was all strange but so endearing. He wished he was in there to see all your expressions as you prepared a surprise for him.

Just as Harry was about to knock, the door swings open, and she moves back, allowing him to come in as he takes in the scene in front of him.

After moving the couches further back, you managed to lay out a classic red and white checkered picnic blanket, giving you a large center where all the throw pillows were laid around. There was a basket in the corner with the food sitting around. He wasn't sure what was in there. All he knew was that he couldn't wait to spend this time with you.

"Do you like it?" You ask timidly.

"Like it? Oh, love you, this is amazing. I love it." His eyes meet yours hoping you can see all the honesty and happiness this gesture brought him.

"Wonderful, let's eat."

You tug his hand, urging him to follow, then have him sit by the pillows. Before you can sit, you go shut off one of the lights to give it a more somber look in the room.

"Setting the mood," he teases.

"You know it, baby," you shoot back.

As you're getting yourself situated next to him, a strong smell calls for attention. It's soup, warm and welcoming, and he wants it now.

Harry eyes you not looking instead putting your hair up, getting it out of the way, and he takes that as his chance to stick the spoon he found next to the lid and steal a taste.

He hisses loudly, dropping the spoon on the napkin, his tongue burning.

You roll your eyes, handing him an open water bottle, "you're so easily tempted."

"Baby, it smelled good," he defends.

"Yeah, now you got a burned tongue."

"This isn't the first time it happened." He mutters, thinking back to Dallas and telling the crowd about it. He makes a mental note to mention it once again, it's meaningless, but it definitely earns him sympathy points.

You sigh, "it's like Anne said you're just a curious pup."

He pouts; you're teasing him. He wants to be comforted, not teased, even if he's okay now. That doesn't mean he won't try to milk it out.

"You spoke to mum about me."

"What were we supposed to speak about, the weather?"

Harry laughs because he knew you'd talk about him. "Don't diss the weather. It's interesting."

"You just love the sun."

"Everyone loves the sunshine," he sings off-key, making you giggle. It's music to his ears.

"Dork, let's eat."

Your lunch passed by slowly, speaking endlessly about your favorite tv shows, your upcoming projects, and how excited you are to get back to work. Harry talks about his family and how excited he is for you to meet his sister in New York. He jokes that you're finally going to meet the better Styles sibling.

Spending time with Harry always makes you feel safe; you know the weight of the fight still weighed heavy on him. It happened so fast, yet the words you both spoke lingered. Letting go for you was easy, something your family taught you to forgive and forget. It's something Naomi told you was your bad trait because it made for people to walk all over you.

Except, you didn't feel that way. You had a good judge in character, and Harry had proved to be the kindest person. Someone who speaks nonsense in fear, something he promised he was working on, and you believed him.

There was something on Harry's mind; you could sense it as you laid against him, the food finished and now enjoying being in each other's arms. Harry's movements were tense, something you noticed happened when he had a lot on his mind.

Harry could feel you squirming around, squeezing his hand every few minutes as you chatted mindlessly about Viola and how he had won her over.

"Bel?"

You stop talking and freeze; he knows you noticed how tense he was.

"Yes, H."

"Why'd you forgive me so easily?"

"Harry," you sigh as if not believing he's bringing this back up for conversation.

"No, Bel. Seriously. I was a jerk. I was so scared of losing you I almost actually did."

You sigh, sitting up. You shift, turning to face him, sitting on his lap, his arms resting on your waist, holding you tight as if you'd disappear.

"I'm scared too, H."

"Of?"

"Losing you. I fear that if we fight and don't fix it, that'll be the end, and I don't want that. I want you in my life for a long time."

You let out a deep breath, grateful to get that off your chest.

Harry feels his heart get heavy and the tiniest bit lighter, knowing you share the same fears.

"Sunshine," he whispers.

"I know you love me," you assure him. "But I was so upset. I don't like how angry you get, but I also don't like how I shut down when it happens."

Harry nods. Of course, you both have flaws. What matters now is how you both move forward. You both see a future together; you just have to find a better way to communicate your fears and worries.

“Are we bad for each other?”

Your face falls at his words. You have never thought that and shake your head no. You reach a hand up and place it on his cheek. Harry can’t help but lean into your warm hand. The touch is soothing and perfect.

“No. We aren’t.” Your voice is confident and assuring. “We fight, but we communicate. And the love I have for you is like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

“I love you.” He kisses your lips, you repeat it again and again against his lips, leaving the imprint of the words on his skin.

Harry pulls back as much as he didn’t want to and continues the conversation.

“Why have your past relationships ended?” He asks.

“I felt them getting too close. They wanted too much control. Also weren’t giving back what I put in. So I walked away.”

“Do you feel that way with me?” Harry can’t help but check.

“No.” A sure answer, not an inch of hesitation. “With you…I feel consumed by your love. Like it’s all you want to give me.”

Harry smiles. He wasn’t expecting that answer, but it seemed to be everything he needed.

“Your turn.”

He sighs, “the last relationship, I guess, was jealousy.” He pauses, trying to collect his thoughts. “Jealous of who she went out with and how close they were. It led to me drinking a little too much and accusing her of something more. She denied it, and I believed her. A few weeks later, she broke up with me, saying this life—my career was too much. That she couldn’t do it being followed every minute.” He doesn’t like sharing his heartbreaks, but it’s so easy with you. Knowing that you’re there listening and not waiting to judge him. “Then right after she got in a public relationship with him when I was still healing.”

You squeeze his hand, knowing he went through a hard time. You tended to do the heartbreaking, but the one heartbreak you had almost crushed your heart. Almost made you give up on yourself, but then again, you were only a teenager. You felt too much at the time.

“How’d you move past that?”

“Writing the album was therapeutic.” He laughs, “a little petty in lyrics,” he confesses.

You laugh, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

“Also therapy.”

“That is very helpful,” you agree.

You quiet down and think back to what Sarai told you as you spoke to them yesterday, getting an update on Ruby. They all told you something different, but their words stayed with you, unlike the others.

“Sarai told me I forgave you too easily.”

“Maybe you did.” He agrees; the hurt can be seen in his eyes as much as he tries to hide it.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why’s that, angel?”

“Then you’d still be beating yourself up over it.”

“I am.”

“You shouldn’t be. Your apology was genuine.” You remind him. “Others don’t know our relationship like we do. It’s been two months,” you emphasize to remind him. “Although it feels much longer than that.”

Harry agrees. Having spent every day with you has made it feel like there was never a moment you weren’t there in his life. Except he did go through that; now he doesn’t have to.

“What couple do you know spends every day together when they first start dating?” You ask.

“No one.”

“I do love you, Harry. With every bit of my heart.” You hold his gaze as his eyes gloss over as he buries your words deep in his heart. “I do feel like…I don’t know the universe aligned the stars for us to work. For us to have this chance.”

“Think we were written in the stars?” He teases, feeling overwhelmed at your confession.

“Yes, mi estrella. I do.”

“God, so do I. I’m in this forever, darling.”

Harry leans in, connecting your lips with his, and it’s like coming home. The kiss is slow as if you’re both trying to preserve this moment, wanting to keep it in your memories forever. You move against each other in sync, lost in the feeling of each other; it feels right. It feels perfect.

“Talking is good,” Harry says out of breath against your lips.

You giggle, “especially if it ends like that.”

You’re not sure how much time has passed, but you’ve shifted positions, and now you are laying down your head resting on Harry’s lap as he plays with your hair. A quiet conversation about how he’s ready to go home, but also sad the tour is coming to an end.

There is a single knock on the door, then it’s swung open Jeff walking in, halting their conversation.

“Hey,” he greets standoffish.

“Hi, Jeff.” You and Harry greet in unison.

“You good?” He checks in.

“Mhm…all good,” Harry responds.

“Right, uh, you’ll be going on a bit later tonight. Remember?”

“I do. No opening act.”

“Okay.” Jeff continues to look at you both strangely.

“Why are you being weird?” You ask, never seeing him so skittish.

“Honestly, you’re both oddly calm.”

“We’re just chatting,” Harry tells Jeff honestly.

“I’m..” He points to the door, “I’ll just go.”

The door shuts loudly behind him.

“Did he not believe us?” You question.

“Guess not.”

You giggle, and shortly after, so does Harry.

“Strange man.”

“Strange indeed, my love.”

"How's everyone been treating you?"

"Too well," Ruby groans. "I want some peace and quiet."

"They are all just looking out for you."

"I'm close to locking them out in order to get a few minutes of peace."

"Now, Ruby, that isn't nice."

Ruby smiles at you through the computer screen. "Please talk with them," she pleads.

"They won't listen to me unless I fly in and watch you myself."

"Right, right. You stay where you are then, and I'll suffer," she jokes.

Harry laughs from his spot next to you, but you nudge him to quiet down as he stays out of frame as he requested.

"What are you doing now?"

"Besides complaining," Amir cuts in, "we're picking out our second film for the day."

"Oh, what did you finish watching?"

"Pride and Prejudice."

"Amir's choice," Naomi teases, very well knowing it was Ruby's and Sarai's favorite.

"True taste, if you ask me."

"All because of you, darling." Ruby reminds you, as you always had them play the film, a comfort film on your bad days growing up throughout high school and even now.

"What's next?"

"Sarai chose Stuck in Love."

"Oh, did you miss my face that much?" You tease. It was one of the first films you did and one you looked back on fondly as the cast remained some of your close friends.

"Why, of course, darling. We always miss you here." Harry squeezes your thigh as he hears that knowing he's keeping you from them but too selfish to have you leave.

Sarai pops into frame, her hair a copper color. They must have made the change in the last few days as the stress got too much. Their coping is having the ability to change their hair color whenever they please. "Also, because I know Naomi is a sucker for Logan Lerman."

"Who isn't?" You joke, earning you a poke to your side from Harry, causing you to shift away in the frame.

"Oh, is Harry jealous?" Sarai smirks. "Don't worry, he's a sweet young man too bad he's in a healthy relationship."

Harry laughs, shaking his head at you, but doesn't comment. The teasing is typical in your family, something Harry is good at hashing out when he wants to. For now, he is content to listen in and take it, knowing very well he's a hold of your heart just as you do his.

Naomi pops by, "he's my hall pass."

"I'll make sure they never meet," you assure Sarai.

Everyone starts laughing as Naomi scoffs jokingly at losing the chance, but you know she'd never do it even if given the opportunity. The girl is too in love. There are plans to go ring shopping in December together.

Ruby shoes everyone out of frame bringing back the conversation to you both, "appreciated the get well soon basket."

"Oh, it was nothing," you brush it off, knowing, in fact, you felt awful not being there, so you sent her an endless supply of bath bombs, face masks, new nail polish, an all-inclusive spa certificate for her alone to enjoy, her favorite coffee beans and water.

"Trust me, those bath bombs are being put to good use."

"I love hearing that. The strawberry is a favorite of mine." You tell her, gosh, you miss having baths. You'd have to ask Harry for one for when you arrived in New York.

"The water was a nice touch," Ruby smirks, shaking her head at your silliness.

"Oh, that was Harry," you laugh.

"You've got a funny one."

You shrug, "he's alright."

Harry snaps his head to look at you, gasping in shock.

You continue on, keeping an eye on him from the corner of your eye. "You know how there's the pretty one and the funny one in the relationship, well he can only be one."

"You think I'm pretty," he mouths, a clear blush on his face.

You nod, winking at him.

"I'll call you tomorrow, Ruby."

"Sure, darling." You're about to hang up when she gasps as if remembering something halting your movements. "Dear, the plans for the holidays are perfect."

"Glad you think so. Got one last person to speak with before it's confirmed." You eye Harry as he raises a brow, suspicious of how you'll be spending the holidays.

"I love you, have a good day."

"Love you, Ruby. Love you all too, chismosos."

They laugh, popping their heads back in their 'I love you's ring loud before the facetime call ends, letting you close your laptop.

"What are your holiday plans?" Harry asks.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" You stand up to put your laptop away and get ready for the show, knowing you've both procrastinated long enough.

"Hey, tell me."

"Nope got one last person to speak with. Then I'll tell you."

He groans but gives up. "Fine, but I'm not happy about it."

Harry's door is swung open, Tommy coming in with a frown on his face. "Harry, why isn't your hair done yet?"

"Uh, I was writing."

"Get your ass in the chair, Harry. Bel, out."

"What?" You both exclaim in shock.

"I need her," Harry complains.

"She's needed for something important. Just like you are."

You and Harry share a look but know better to fight Tommy.

Harry stands up as slow as he can, making Tommy want to come over and push him along faster. Once he stands in front of you, he presses his lips against your cheeks, then your nose, and finally your lips parting away with a loud smack.

"See you soon, my love."

"Bye, mi corazón."

Ayae enters, and you exit. Tommy walking ahead of you.

"What's my important job?" You ask, trying to match his fast stride.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" You gasp.

"Jeff needed you out of the room, or he'd never want to get ready."

"Depriving me of spending time with my boyfriend," you pout.

"There are fresh cookies in the kitchen, and Sarah's there with bub," he offers.

"I'm sold."

You laugh at how easily they persuaded you, but you'd never miss a chance at spending time with two of your favorite people. You'd go from seeing them every day the last two months to being separated, and you weren't ready to say goodbye. Not to everybody and certainly not to them.

Harry was confident going on stage; you had told him his outfit was beautiful. It was a blue diagonal grid-patterned shirt, cream trousers, and cream boots. He knows he looked good, but hearing it from you gave him that extra pep in his step. You were quick to pick up that it was similar to Glendale's outfit, something the fans would see as well. He knows you'll ask to see the matching pieces together, and well, maybe he'd make you beg for a bit.

When he was on stage, it was an entire consuming feeling of love and gratitude. His fans' support got him to where he was today, and he knew he'd never take it for granted. Each song, the energy only got louder. He was happy to see Bel dancing and singing with their friends. Their happiness only fueled his energy on stage.

One of his favorite parts of the night was interactions with the crowd, any small thing had them screaming, and he thrived off of it. The band had their fun with them as well. Pauli and Niji have become crowd favorites, rightfully, so their energy matches well with his.

During his welcome intro, he shared news of how he'd burnt his tongue before coming to stage. It was good soup and very worth it. He might have exaggerated a bit, but he lived for the theatrics. Harry swore he could hear your laugh ring out loud through all the noise from where he was standing.

Harry saw Mitch pick up a cowboy hat thrown on stage and put it on; it looked good on him. He made a show to tell him how he liked it; when he went to ask for it, he saw Mitch place it on Sarah's head. Harry realized just how much he loved love, especially their love. He loved seeing how happy his best friends were together and the small part he got in getting them together.

It was not time to read a few posters when he noticed twins.

"What's it like being a twin?" He asked, genuinely curious as to what their answer might be. "Amazing, they both say at the same time." Harry teased as they laughed. He proceeded to ask them a silly question before moving on.

"Should I block him?" Harry wasn't sure when his fans decided he was a love guru, but he was here for what they needed.

The audience is quick to chant, wanting the woman to block the man in question. "The people have spoken. If you're asking, you should probably block him."

The fan thanks him, and Harry bounces over to the other side of the stage where a young man captures his attention, his sign wanting him to call someone.

"Call her for you and ask her to take you back. Well, Kevin, don't tell me what you did." The phone makes its way into his hand, and he's calling the young girl named Emily. Harry could tell she was shocked but spoke with him in a shaky tone and a bit of laughter, not believing this was even happening. "Kevin and Emily will be okay. Be good to her."

The fans scream, wanting to know what more he said, but some things got to stay private, don't they.

"Moving on, what's this?" He points to a bright pink sign, "Miss Belmonte's favorite song?"

The person holding the poster starts screaming and shakes the sign, almost ripping it in half. "You want to know her favorite song."

"Yes," they nod.

"Well, that's tricky," he jokes, "see because from which album? Live or studio?"

The girl laughs just as he had intended, "tour setlist."

"This tour?"

They nod.

"Okay, okay."

Harry knew they'd be making headlines once more, but can you blame him? He loved talking about her, even if it was only a question about her favorite song.

"You see, I'm her favorite artist." He shares, knowing Bel would never let this go. "She tells me all the time." He exaggerates. "Her favorite live is Canyon Moon. So here it is."

A perfect segway.

Rising up onto the stage for the final time and the last songs seemed to fly by. He wasn't ready for it to end. He loved being on stage, but he was also eager to get off stage, knowing he had someone waiting for him. Someone whose arms he could run into, as he was showered with love and affection.

Yeah, he thinks. I'm ready to be with Bel.

After his final bow, Harry was ready to walk down when he felt a cowboy hat hit his ankle. It would only be a moment, but he knew exactly what he wanted to do. He picked it up. It was bright pink and perfect, he thought. He held it for a second, making a gesture to the crowd before placing it on his head. Harry smirked as the screams only grew; he stopped right in front of the stairs, a smirk on his face as he looked straight at Bel and tipped his hat to you. Taking off the cowboy hat, he threw it into the crowd and rushed down the steps to go backstage, where he would be ready for you to meet him.

"Why does it feel like we haven't slept here at all?" You frown, throwing your bag on the couch, ready to crawl into his comfy bed and call it a day.

"Cause we haven't, darling. Been at home or hotels."

You hum, he's right. Being on the bus was nice, having a few more people around, getting to chat, and cooking easy breakfasts in the morning. Sitting around together sharing stories, trying your best to hear from everyone else even though they all beg to hear more about you.

"Going to say goodbye to it soon."

Harry nods, ushering you to the backroom, waving bye to the guys.

"What are you doing?"

He shrugs, "want some alone time."

"No funny business."

"Bel," he pouts.

"Nope, can't guarantee you'll even be quiet."

"Me?" He gasps.

"Mhm… you're too vocal."

"Says you." He teases. "You're always vocal."

"You love it." He pinches your butt as he closes the door behind him, making you jump away from him.

"I do. How could I not."

You both begin to change in silence, knowing you're both more tired than you realize. The last few days are nearing, and even though you know you'll get to enjoy him for a few more days, there's a sadness in the air around everyone as you all begin to say goodbye.

The routine was effortless as Harry handed you a shirt of his, and you gave him the sweats he always seemed to misplace. It was domestic, and you were certain you'd miss it. You loved the idea of living together, but even you knew it would be too soon. You'd want to enjoy the time together sharing the same home, but for now, you'd cherish even being in the same city together because that would change soon.

"Are you comfortable, lovie?" Harry asks as you adjusted your pillows but made no move to scoot closer to him.

You nod, allowing him to pull you in closer, your head resting on his chest, throwing your leg over his allowing yourself to get comfortable intertwining you closer.

"Perfect now."

Harry kisses the top of your head, settling down, and you feel him relax in your hold.

"I love you, darling. Goodnight."

You peck his bare chest, "love you, H. Sweet dreams."

The room is silent; only your slow breathing could be heard, a small glimmer of light peeking in from under the door. You feel tired, but your brain is at full power, continuing to spin.

"H?"

"Hmm…"

Silence.

"Sunshine, what is it?"

"Will you visit me?"

"When? During the holidays."

You shake your head, burying yourself deeper in his hold. "When I'm away filming." You don't give him a chance to respond before you're talking again. "I know you're busy. You're preparing for another leg of tour and the album. But–"

"Hey, hey, love, of course, I will." His voice was soft and assuring.

You're tempted to turn on the light to be able to see his face but don't want to pull away from him.

"It won't be easy."

"We got this. I'll visit on weekends or weekdays. Whatever is best for you, but I promise nothing is keeping me from taking you on dates in whatever city you end up having to be in to film."

"You promise?" You whisper.

"I promise."

Harry squeezes you tighter. You hide your face in his neck, leaving small kisses.

"Why are you worried?" He runs his hand down your back, trying to get you to relax, and like magic, it works.

You shrug, "both going home soon."

"Doesn't mean this ends, love. If anything, we're just beginning."

"Just beginning, I like that."

"Good."

You drift off to sleep knowing you're due for a long conversation where both of you share your thoughts and fears of how to navigate the change in your relationship, but you're assured it will all be okay.

thank you for reading <3 i adore you

taglist: @alienorknight @harry-is-my-sunflower @myfavfanficsever @springholland @michellekstyles @harryismyfwend @evanjh @onlyamylee @golden-hoax @itsmycorneroftheinternet @harryspirate @tenaciousperfectionunknown @thurhomish @thelovecayon @shawnieeboyy @dontworrysunflower

twenty-six little rock

[xbadgerbearx]

i hope so

pairing: Abner Krill x Reader

word count: 1.1k

warning: contains spoilers!!

note: Reader is gender neutral so everyone can enjoy :)

Can’t Sleep: … [2]

Damn, this is getting old.

There is no rest with Waller. Wake up, go on a mission, rest, rinse, and repeat. It was relatively early in the morning; the clock on the wall was the only indication that any time was passing. Any sunlight that was available was blocked out by walls and replaced with harsh artificial light. Taking your time getting out of bed, you observed yourself in the mirror that was embedded in the wall. You still looked a little rough from the last mission, but something tells you that Waller wouldn't care. Your clothes, or rather prison uniform, was wrinkled. As you stood up you smoothed out your shirt.

"Yellow... what an irritating color."

You were washing your face in the sink in the corner when the door opened with a loud creak. You finished rinsing your face before turning the faucet off with a sigh. It was Waller, but she had people with her. New teammates?

"This is (Y/n) (L/n), also known as Mimic. As the name implies, they can mimic almost anything. Every good team needs someone who specializes in stealth."

"Why the fuck do they get to wear different colored clothes? We running a fashion show here? Not to mention all the security 'round this cell," a voice I've never heard say. It was deep and rather soothing.

"It's a safety precaution," Waller answered. "We can't have a shapeshifter steal someone's identity and escape, so when they leave their cell they are constantly monitored. Their clothes are made out of a special material. That way they will always be visible, even when invisible."

"They can turn invisible?"

Ignoring the question, Waller called out, "Let's go (L/n). You've got a new mission."

Shuffling out of the cell, you were greeted with the sight of Christopher—Peacemaker—and Cleo—Ratcatcher II—as well as an unknown man and giant humanoid shark.

"How's it going, (L/n)?" Peacemaker asked, "Long time no see."

"Yeah yeah, it's as good as being in prison can be," you answered with a wave of your hand. "Cleo! Nice to see you," you smiled.

Cleo let out a small laugh before yawning. Sebastian waved his paw towards you in greeting.

Waller led the almost finished team towards another wing of the building before abruptly stopping in front of a cell.

"And finally, we have Abner Krill."

"What's that 'round his neck?" Bloodsport, or rather Robert DuBois you learned, asked.

Abner was standing in his cell with a bulky collar while waiting patiently to get it removed.

'He's cute,' you noted.

As he looked at his new team, his eyes fell on you. You visibly saw his breath hitch as he stared in your direction. You knitted your eyebrows in a questioning manner before turning your attention to Waller when she started talking again.

"A power dampener. They call him the Polka Dot Man."

Peacemaker scoffs. "Polka Dot Man. What's he do, throw polka dots at people?"

"Chris, you don't even have any powers so you can't talk," you scoffed back.

Before he could retort, Calendar Man made a rude comment towards the aloof man getting his collar removed, who, in return, looked down dejectedly. You felt a little bad. Calendar Man, or rather Julian Day, was honestly a laughing stock among the villains he associated himself with, so it was rather egotistical of him to make that comment.

"We need to debrief," Waller announced as she turned and walked away.

Before you went to debrief, she ordered everyone to change into their combat outfits. You each got to change into a small room, so that helped not making things potentially awkward. Your outfit was relatively simple and not attention grabbing; the opposite of Polka Dot Man. When walking out of the dressing rooms, Abner seemed to shrink into himself. Seeing you look at him, he let out a little laugh of embarrassment before gesturing to his attire.

With a playful smile, you laughed out, "I like it, I think it's cute," to which Abner responded with a blush dusting his face along with a bashful look.

"Everyone follow me," Waller announced with a loud authoritative voice.

She led everyone to a conference room before standing on a stage. Everyone seated themselves, you next to Cleo in the front, before Waller turned on the presentation. Unbeknownst to you, Krill had his eyes on you in curiosity.

"Corto Maltese is a small island nation off the coast of South America," Waller began. "Over the past 100 years, the country has been ruled with an iron fist by-" with a click the screen changed, "-the Herrera family. But, a week ago, this guy," click, "-General Silvio Luna, along with his right hand man, Mayor General Mateo Suarez," click, "-took control of the Corto Maltese government in a violent military coup. The entire Herrera family were hanged in a public execution," with another click a video started playing. Your jaw dropped a little at the sight. Waller continued, "Although the United States did not condone the excesses of the Herrera regime, they were non-antagonistic toward the U.S. Luna, however, is virulently anti-American."

"So you want us to kill Luna?" Peacemaker spoke out.

"No," Waller answered simply before resuming with another click. "This is Jotunheim. A scientific experimentation facility containing something known only as Project Starfish. Our intelligence sources tell us that Starfish is extraterrestrial in origin. In the hands of the Luna regime, it is potentially cataclysmic for Americans and the world." You could hear Abner shuffling in his seat uncomfortably. "Your mission is to infiltrate Jotunheim and destroy every trace of Project Starfish."

"How're we supposed to get in?" DuBois asked. A click was swiftly followed.

"Gaius Grieves, the Thinker, is a geneticist in charge of Project Starfish. After hours, he hangs out at a gentlemen's club known as La Gatita Amable. Get Grieves to help you by whatever means necessary and he can get you into Jotunheim." With one last click, the presentation was turned off. "Any questions?"

"What is that?" Ratcatcher II asked while pointing at a piece of old machinery sitting off to the side.

"That is an overhead projector."

"Do you ever use it anymore?"

"No, not really."

"So, why don't you just throw it away?"

With a sigh, Waller called on Peacemaker.

"Starfish is a slang term for butthole. Think there's any connection?"

You let out a loud laugh at the unexpectedness of the question.

"No," Waller answered before calling on Nanaue, who you learned was the shark from Chris.

"Hand."

You turned around to see King Shark pointing at his hand, fin, paw thing. You weren't too sure.

"Yes, that is your hand, Nanaue, very good."

"We're all gonna die," Bloodsport commented.

Polka Dot Man responded with, "I hope so." It was the first time you heard him speak; he had a nice and gentle voice. You liked it.

[whetstonefires]

heavier than a mountain, lighter than a feather

[my take on @misskirby's not-prompt about obi-wan beating palpatine to death with an office chair]

-

Obi-Wan had once touched the cold-burning edge of the Dark Side to give himself the extra edge he needed to cut down the Sith who had cut down his Master. He had fought with rage pushing him, he had fought with all the fear that Qui-Gon lay expiring on the reactor floor, that he might yet win and find himself seconds too late to bring the emergency med-treatment necessary to survive a lightsaber to the chest.

(Not that it had mattered; all he’d gotten from his desperate, hasty win was a few seconds of farewell bereft of comfort, and the burden of Anakin hung around his neck, and oh, he wished his padawan was not a burden. There had been no option but to take him and thus taking him must have been right, but no one should take on a student they did not feel ready for, and he had.)

If he had fought that way this time, he would have lost.

The Sith Master would have done what the apprentice could not, and twisted the Dark Side within him as it rose, and snared him in it, so he could not find his way back to the Light, and used that grip to bear him down with Sidious’ greater power, because the Sith said the Force will free me but it was the way of the Dark to place one will over another by pure force, so even what narrow freedom there was on the dark path was offered to one alone. Even in the best case, he would have been overwhelmed too heavily to fight for more than long enough to finish him.

Perhaps he would not have been killed. Perhaps he would have been kept alive to be used as leverage against Anakin. But assuredly he would not have been able to win.

Obi-wan however had what he would have thought of, if he had allowed himself to think about it, a trick for using his attachments and the desire not to lose them as fuel without reaching into the destabilizing, consuming whirlwind of the Dark Side. It was a dangerous, stupid trick, really, at least the way he used it, although Obi-wan thought of that way as fundamental to being a good Jedi, which would have explained a great deal about him if anyone had known.

The trick was this: it was easy to push yourself to where your limits should have been and beyond using your attachment to a person, without falling into the hungry selfishness of the Dark Side, if you simply did not intend to survive.

When he was thirteen, he had tried to persuade Qui-Gon Jinn, who had not yet been his Master, to use the bomb in his recently fitted slave-collar to blow open a door, killing Obi-wan but allowing him complete the mission, which was not Obi-wan’s mission

It was not difficult to return to that place, that space in himself where serenity came easy because soon there would be nothing left to go wrong or to lose—Anakin had made it difficult, for a long time; Anakin he was obliged to raise and train. Anakin who needed him.

All his obligation to the war and the Council and all the men under his command had not pinned him to himself the way his duty to Anakin had, and—knighting him had been helpful. It had been a relief, to finally cast off that weight. There is no death, there is the Force was much easier to believe of oneself than of those one grieved, and some weeks Obi-wan breathed it in and out with every breath, and there was no fear.

He knew several things, as he entered the Senate through an entrance that was technically, perhaps, a window. One that did not open, at that. That the Chancellor had some kind of failsafe embedded in the GAR’s brains. That the Chancellor was a Sith Lord. That the Chancellor had been using his access to Anakin all these years to hurt his Padawan.

That if he took the time to assemble the rest of the Council and try to stage this as a proper arrest, word would have time to reach Palpatine of Obi-wan having been publicly informed, because Maul was the least subtle sentient Obi-wan had ever had the misfortune of meeting more than once, and that if Palpatine knew the jig was up he would use his fail-safe.

So Obi-wan needed to do this alone.

It was possible, of course, that it wouldn’t be difficult. Sidious was a creature of stealth and insinuation. He spent most hours of his life maintaining a posture of harmlessness. When could he have found the time to do regular lightsaber drills, let alone practice live combat?

But Maul probably feared the man for a reason. So Obi-wan was going to do this as quickly as possible, but he wasn’t going to be hasty.

Spring the trap.

He’d closed himself down in the Force before he got near the Senate building, jumping through the hole he’d sliced into the window with only his physical strength and no Jedi edge, and only when he got near the Chancellor’s office did he reopen his senses just a thread, to make sure there was no one in there meeting with Palpatine whom he needed to keep alive. The Force didn’t slam into him with a warning, which would have to be confirmation enough.

Obi-wan yanked the door open, hurled five primed thermal detonators in the direction of the great ship-like slab of an occupied desk, slammed the ornate portal shut again, and threw himself to the ground at the foot of the wall, as far away as he could get, head tucked under his arms. He was fairly sure he’d seen Mas Amedda in there, standing beside the desk as the Chancellor in his thronelike chair raised his head with a gratifyingly startled look on his face.

Pity. The Vice-Chancellor could probably have explained so much of what had been going on behind the scenes, all this time.

The blast left the office door half-shattered, belching smoke, but Obi-wan escaped with just one splinter, not terribly large, in the back of one calf. His robes and boots had absorbed the rest of the shrapnel that had made it that far. He tugged it out as he got up—no time to do anything more, it wasn’t bleeding much. He drew a deep breath of half-clean corridor air and dashed into the opaque ruin that had been the Chancellor’s office, senses fully unfurled now that the time for stealth was over. Though in the interest of not being an irresistible target, he did not ignite his lightsaber just yet.

The Force guided him through the smoke, and he brought his sword to light even as he swung it through the murk.

It stopped, humming, against a bar of red light that hissed into being at the last instant, and that felt equally inevitable.

“You.” Sheev Palpatine’s face looked like a Sith Lord’s now, twisted with hate and lit red from below. And, gratifyingly, somewhat scorched. His hair had sizzled from the heat, and his left arm seemed to have something at least mildly wrong with it. Obi-wan hoped the explosions had affected at least one of his legs, as well, since his own maneuverability was cut by the shard of door to the calf.

“Me indeed, Chancellor,” he said, taking advantage of his two-handed grip to bear down against the block with extra force. Palpatine bore up admirably, but as his snarl tightened it was clear that it was not without cost. “Or should I say, Lord Sidious?”

The smoke was starting to thin, leaking away out of the shattered room. Sidious was still behind his ruined desk with its weakly sparking console, which seemed to have taken much of the impact for him—he was standing, anyway, sadly. Mas Amedda’s corpse, on the far end of the desk from the one Obi-wan had circumnavigated, was one of the things that was still smoking. Most of the brocade and other decorative fabric in the room must have been thoroughly treated with fire-retardant, but he had not been.

“I thought you might have learned my true name,” Palpatine said, far too complacently for someone whose long deception had been uncovered and who was staving off death one-handed. “But what brought you racing here in such haste?”

“Well, you see, they used to call me Sith-killer because of Maul, and since that’s been proven regrettably in error, I thought I had better—” Sidious tried to fling him back against the opposite wall with a sharp jerk of his wounded hand, and Obi-wan had to push back with the whole of his will and stance to slide back only a few feet.

This had freed their lightsabers, though, and Sidious chopped low with a terrible speed. Obi-wan leapt clear, knowing the blood soaking into the pale fabric of his pants was betraying the weakness in his leg—Anakin had had a point, he admitted grudgingly, about black hiding all kinds of stains.

For better and for worse.

He tried to catch Sidious with an overhead slash while he was up, to keep that red lightsaber busy for the most part, and when it was intercepted used the force of that impact to somersault back in a momentary return to his master’s old Ataru style—not too far, though, at all costs he must prevent the Sith Master’s escape.

Sidious wouldn’t need to get far, just to a room with a working holo transmitter, to destroy everything.

He flung himself back in.

Palpatine sidestepped his next attack, parried another, stepped back with the third. His single arm was telling against him, and while he was regrettably fast his movements were stiff enough that he had clearly taken at least one other hurt. Probably somewhere in the right hip. Obi-wan stayed on the offensive—it was how he’d beaten Maul, after all, though he was at pains to avoid overreaching to the point of recreating Anakin’s loss to Dooku.

His attacks did more damage to the sparking desk, bisected the thronelike monstrosity of a chair, which turned out under all the gilt, padding, and chromium to be mostly of durasteel, got close enough to put additional charred rents in Palpatine’s ornate sleeves. Nearly a minute had passed since he threw those detonators, and Sidious was still alive. Too long.

“Really,” said the politician, dropping his stance to one that would allow him to parry more from the shoulder, his first hint of fatigue. His style was not quite Makashi even as he adapted to the one-handed approach that was clearly not his preference, but there were some notes to it that rang so strongly of Dooku they could come from nowhere else. “What do you hope to achieve?”

“You won’t have Anakin,” Obi-wan said, the plot that had been in retrospect laid so horribly bare with just a few sentences from Maul, supported by a few more from some of their most trusted troopers, put together with a hundred hints and oddities and he should have guessed on his own.

Sidious grinned, the amiable wrinkles of his face lying deeper and more correct, somehow, in this attitude of wild, infinite gloating. “Possessiveness, Master Jedi?”

“No,” said Obi-wan, and it was true because he had given Anakin up, given everything up before he came here. He was holding onto nothing, he was an object in free-fall but not falling, because he was at exactly the right place and momentum at the outer edge of a gravity well that would let him remain at a constant height.

Orbits degraded, given time, if not carefully maintained. And if they were disrupted sharply enough it meant a violent, flaming spiral down into explosive doom, or sometimes out into the fathomless dark. This was not a true, secure serenity like a Jedi should strive for. But it would serve. For today, it would serve.

He fell on Sidious again in a flurry of blows, pushing his physical advantage, but although the Chancellor was clearly straining to keep up this defense, his stamina continued to fail to run out or even noticeably decline, as though he had learned to subsist on some constant well of the Force alone.

Probably he had, because it was welling up out of him, filling the room, an endless pit of the Dark that had lain concealed like a trap under pinned canvas and scattered leaves all this time. He was drawing heavily upon the Dark Side now and that wasn’t precisely goodbut it was promising.

He was beginning to develop something that was not quite optimism or confidence but approached both by the time the progress of the humming, crashing process of the duel took them past the far end of the desk, back into sight of what had been Mas Amedda. Palpatine angled his next fractional retreat toward the corps, away from the cracked and blackened windows, avoiding the treacherous footing of a shattered vase that had probably been a valuable antique.

Obi-wan tried to take advantage of the change in angle in the next rapid, whirring clash of lightsabers.

Unlike every other time they had crossed blades this duel, Sidious simply—shut his off in the moment before contact.

Obi-wan had committed a little too much of his weight to the blow to abort it entirely. Sidious ducked away from the remainder with a sinuous grace even as he activated his weapon again, now on the inside of Obi-wan’s guard—trakata, executed with terrible excellence.

The need for the dodge was the trakata maneuver’s great weakness, and gave Obi-wan time to avoid the worst of the stroke, but even still the red lightsaber clipped him across the wrist—not a clean sweep slicing off the hand entire, but a glancing blow, that seared through the skin and flesh and took a significant bite out of the ulna.

Obi-wan didn’t try to repress his strangled scream, and Sidious leaned into it in the Force, pressing at the pain, stoking it and encouraging it to drag him down into the Dark, where he would be the Sith Master’s plaything. He was smirking now, more deeply and honestly than ever, a laugh rising into his mouth, for if Master Kenobi had had a slight edge in their fight with two hands to one, with the Jedi’s primary weapon-hand incapacitated, the Sith would surely dominate.

In that moment, Obi-wan moved to rebalance the odds. His blue lightsaber chopped down—not onto Sidious’ flesh, which it was clear he guarded with the preternatural awareness of a being whose own self was as valuable as all the Galaxy else, but to sheer through the emitter end of the crimson lightsaber.

It spat and burst but, unfortunately, tragically failed to explode.

As Sidious raised his eyes from the ruined weapon looking like he might explode in its place out of pure outrage, Obi-wan brought his sword back up to go for the decapitating blow now that the Sith had no weapon to block with, but in that moment Sidious’ burnt and broken hand jabbed up, and shot a gout of lightning into his face.

His back arced so violently it threw him off his feet, and it was all Obi-wan could do to keep hold of his lightsaber in his good hand and deactivate it as he went down, to avoid doing himself a worse injury than Sidious had yet managed. The lightning followed him down, scouring its way from just beside his left eye down every nerve ending he had in a screaming, jerking chorus of pain.

The deep lightsaber burn on his right wrist somehow hurt more now than it had to receive, but the force of his constant convulsions kept him from screaming again.

Then it stopped. He had no idea how long it had been, and wondered if Palpatine had become too fatigued to keep up the electrocution. There had to be a limit to how long he could maintain that kind of power output. His chest was heaving, trying with animal need to make up for lost oxygen. Smoke and the scent of dead Chagrian weighed down his sensory world, since his eyes declined to open and most of his body would only say pain.

The whisper of expensive Senate slippers crunched toward him over the rubble of the ruined office with a surefootedness that no one would have expected of the elderly Chancellor. At least he was still here; Obi-wan had angered him enough to bother sticking around to kill him rather than running off to activate the troops.

Or maybe he was confident he could spin this whole event to his benefit—Obi-wan had destroyed the security cameras that would have recorded his Sith activities, after all. Maybe he would say Master Kenobi had been tragically killed defending him from the dreadful Sith Lord. Maybe he would ask Anakin to become his constant protector in Obi-wan’s memory. Anakin would do it.

He was struggling to turn his lightsaber back on and raise it, though getting it between him and the next round of lightning seemed unlikely when he was exposed in a supine position, when Palpatine kicked it. Kicked his hand, actually, so hard at least one bone cracked and the lightsaber went flying.

This weapon is your life.

“Should I summon it back and use it to kill you?” Palpatine murmured, with a deadly, vicious good humor that suggested he knew very well Obi-wan had no backup coming, that the only interruption they could expect would be Commander Fox and his men in red, here to protect the Chancellor. “Or should I step on your throat until you breathe your last? Or should I keep you alive and put you on trial, and drag the name of the Jedi in the mud through you, so that when your Order falls it will be your name that the Galaxy uses to call the killing just?”

Horror twisted in Obi-wan’s chest and Palpatine chuckled, a whispering foul sound that still resembled his polite politician’s laughter. “Yes, very good. I’ll make young Skywalker believe you tried to kill me out of pride and greed and because you despised him, until he curses your memory. Everything that happens now will be your doing.”

The rage and the fear that he had left behind when he entered were flaming up now in Obi-wan, the orbit deteriorating, the gravitational pull of abandoning them and letting the Order down and ruining everything and too little, too proud, the same hopeless arrogant padawan and of that terrible, world-tearing no dragging him down to shatter in fire against them, like he had on Naboo all those years ago but so much more utterly and irrevocably and--this wasn’t all him.

He sucked in his breath, shaking through teeth still clenched too convulsively tight to pull apart for a witty retort to all that poison, and melted away inside himself.

Over him, Sidious frowned, feeling the Jedi escape his grip in the Force. “Are you dying already, Master Kenobi?”

He thought Sidious had mentioned summoning his lightsaber through the Force to encourage him to try it. It wouldn’t be impossible. He knew the feel of it in the Force like he did few other things in the Galaxy; he didn’t need sight to reach for it.

But it was too small, and too far away, and his senses were too scorched and blasted by that awful lightning. Long before his weapon could make it to his hand, Sidious could kill him, even with no working lightsaber of his own. He couldn’t win that way, or even (that far lesser goal) live.

Instead, Obi-wan grabbed for the closest large object he knew to look for that wasn’t a corpse: the sliced-loose upper half of that baroque monstrosity of a desk-chair, conveniently bulky and only a few long steps away, just behind the desk he’d fallen from behind.

It came, and in coming swept Palpatine’s legs from under him, knocking him not quite sprawling, and then the curve of it had smacked into Obi-wan’s outstretched left palm, jolting the broken bone which did not matter in the slightest, and he rolled up onto his knees, graceless but fast, the slab of steel and leather still moving with the momentum that had dragged it to him, and clobbered the sitting-up Sith Lord across the face with it.

One of Obi-wan’s many faults was his tendency to take a vicious glee in striking low his enemies, but he did not think he had ever taken quite the joy from any beautifully executed maneuver that he did from watching Palpatine knocked to the floor by a slab of office chair. Obi-wan lunged after him, not bothering with niceties like getting to his feet, and brought the chair-slab down on his face again, this time with the strength of both arms—his right hand was mostly numb but for hurting, only the thumb and forefinger would move at all, and it was very weak, but none of that interfered with placing his whole forearm against the upholstery and slamming the searing-hot, bare metal inner side down.

There was a crunch, probably nose, and then instead of diminishing the awful seething presence of the Dark Side rose like a hurricane, and Obi-wan felt his throat close as from a powerful phantom hand, cutting off all breathing.

This caused him not an instant’s hesitation, because he had come here fully intending to die.

He raised the sheered-off slice of chair, adjusted the angle so the sharp edge where he’d cut the durasteel was pointing down, and aimed for the throat.

The ensuing explosion threw him after his lightsaber, and he knew nothing after hitting the wall.

[dazz-linglight]

Hi, I hope your having a good day!!

Can I request enemies to lovers smut with Enhypen Jay? :)

(delivered! And thank you for requesting ❤️)

A match made in heaven

"I want you to see how good you look when you cum." He explains turning you around to look at the full body mirror in front of the bed.

"So pretty, all for me to touch." You let his hands wander, his fingers wrapping under your chin, pressing slightly for you to look at him. You stare back, bottom lip pulled between your teeth and he press his thumb on it to make you release it, just gazing over your face for a second then ducks his head down and presses his lips against yours, suddenly moving his fingers to brush over your panties. You let out a whine against his lips, squeezing his biceps and growing needier until he moves his fingers to get inside your panties and feel your wetness directly, circling the bundle of nerves with precision as the other hand find your breast, squeezing it gently.

"Jay.." You squirm getting closer to finish after a few minutes in his arms, provoking a pleasing friction on his clothed cock and he groans on your ear and inserts two of his fingers and moving them rapidly.

"Will you cum for me, baby?"

"Yes, yes please make me cum.." You plead shamelessly and he smirks looking at your body at full display in the mirror, your legs getting weaker and finally feel it just over the edge until..

You wake up with a jolt on your bed with the buzzing of your phone, feeling sweaty and panting from the very convincing dream.

"Oh my god.. I must be crazy." You sit up and drop your head into your hands. After a minute to recover you get out of bed to get ready for school. Your older brother had set a strict rule for you to stay away from his friends and he would stay away from yours. You tried to be strong on following it, even if it meant not giving in to one specifically handsome friend of his, Jay. So the best way you found to do it was to hate him, or at least pretend to while attending the same school and classes as him.

At the school, Jay arrived a little earlier than normal, walking close to the lockers and stopped when one thing got his attention. It was a blue sticker note on your locker, his curiosity screamed louder and he decided to read it.

Want to go to prom with me? Send a text if yes. Hyucka - xx-xxxx-xxxx.

He couldn't let this happen. Jay wouldn't let a random boy take you to prom when he could do take you. He took the piece of paper and smashed it, leaning over your locker as if nothing happened and waited for you to arrive. Not long after you approached to get a book for the first class, confused as to why Jay Park was on your locker when his was at the opposite side.

"What are you doing?" You asked trying to shoo him out of the way and he took a step to the side.

"Go to prom with me."

"Why would I go with you?"

"I don't see anyone else asking you."

"I might as well not go." You pick the book you were looking for and try walking past him but he holds onto your wrist.

"Don't be stubborn. What's so bad about going with me?"

"You're annoying."

"You could be cuter but I'm not complaining, am I?"

"Then leave me alone."

"Not happening."

"Are you a masochist?"

"Do you really want to know?" He raises and eyebrow and you slap his chest, feeling the firmness of it for a brief moment.

"Yah!"

"What?"

"If I say yes will you stop bothering me?"

"Say it and I'll think about it."

"Aish.."

"Watch your tongue." He interrupted before you could finish the word.

"Or what?"

"I'll bite it." You glare at him as he take your belongings and go in direction of the first class and you follow.

"Pick me up at 7p.m tomorrow, don't be late."

"I'll be there by 6:55."

••

He did justice to his words, arrived five minutes early all elegant in his black suit and brought flowers for both you and your mother and she arranged them in the living room, thanking him for the gesture. You wore a fancy red dress and gave permission for Jay to place a white corsage on your wrist and you placed the matching boutonniere on his lapel. Your father held the camera, taking a hundred of pictures of the two of you and gave instructions for you to come back before midnight.

Jay drove you to the school, the building was all decorated inside with fairy lights and balloons, many couples walking in, taking pictures and smiles from all the sides. The night went great, everybody enjoyed the party and danced to the songs, ate sweets, had drinks and you were surprised to know that you and Jay got nominated for Queen and King, even more after winning. Jay kissed your cheek on stage and some girls got jealous for the crown and your head and the boy by your side. He brought you back home a little past midnight and apologized to your parents for the delay, which they understood.

Saturday and Sunday went by and you and Jay kept messaging and soon you found yourself breaking the rule you had with your brother. But he already knew you went to prom with Jay, so it was useless to care about it now.

Jay: You're lucky to have found such an excellent boyfriend. I'm handsome and I can cook, what else you could ask for?

You: Who said you're my boyfriend? You're in the phase of tests."

Jay: For how long?

You: Hm.. Until the end of the next week!

Jay: Then prepare your heart for the most heart fluttering days of your life.

You: You're so annoying 😂

Jay: And you like me 😄

You: You forgot to say you're humble.

Jay: Right?

The next days you always found Jay at the same spot by your locker, waiting for you to walk together to class, hugging you whenever you both had free time and no other guy approached you. He took you on dates after school, cooked for you, you shared kisses and cuddles.

A week later, on Saturday you wake up to the feeling of a warm chest against your back and a pair of arms tightening on your hips, soon kisses being littered across your cheek. You sit up still in a daze and turn around to see Jay freshly awake in your bed. He looks handsome as always, his eyes sparkled with the baby blue that was beginning to light up the sky at dawn through the window of your room.

"How did you get in?"

"You left your window open." He sits up beside you, hands searching for warmth until finally finding it in your cheeks, holding your face in his large hands. "The week is over, you know."

"You're so bold, Park Jongseong."

"That's right. Are we official now?"

"You're already here, how can I say no.."

"You definitely can't."

"Then it's a yes." You sleepy gave him a sleepy smile and he got closer for a peck that you prolonged for a little longer.

[the-last-kenobi]

*kciks down door* ReQuEsTs?!??! uh, 18. “Is it all right if I hug you?” with Obi-wan and character of your choice (please, this boy needs a hug so bad)

Hugs!!!! What an excellent ask.

Took me forever to pick a character though. I came this close to writing multiple hugs throughout the years but it would’ve been very long...

It’s still long. Whoops.

Note: I skipped the actual sentence and instead went for ✨vibes only✨

(From this various prompts list.)

_

Obi-Wan is twenty-three standard years old, very nearly twenty-four.

It is a delightful stage of life. (It’s awful.)

He’s growing in independence, so close to Knighthood he can almost taste it. (Is he? Nobody seems to have a clear opinion.)

He’s receiving more and more solo assignments, and on his missions with Master Jinn, the older Jedi makes an effort to at least await the Padawan’s input before making a decision, sometimes even deferring to Obi-Wan’s word. (Only in public, though, is there a sense of equality. Behind the scenes, Obi-Wan is still very much the learner.)

He longs to be free. (He doesn’t want to be alone.)

The confusing clash of thoughts and emotions is, in and of itself, a creator of more clashing emotions, all resulting in a bundle of self-doubt that crouches near his heart, like a greedy bird, picking away at his strength and certainty when he most needs it.

Doesn’t your doubt show you that you’re truly not ready? the pestering creature asks.

Doesn’t your longing for freedom prove you don’t deserve it? it says, tapping against the veins of ice and fear that lie right against the heat of his heart.

Doesn’t your need to be reassured tell you that you’re too hesitant, too weak to be alone?

His desire to fly is wrong. His desire to be sheltered, even more so.

Both together, coexisting in his heart and mind, could quite possibly mean the one thing he had been dreading for over a decade now, the thing older Jedi, real Jedi, had put into words and addressed to his face when he was only twelve, only eleven, only ten.

You are too emotional, they said.

You are overeager, they said.

You are not destined to be a Jedi, Qui-Gon had told him. I will not train you.

He had, in the end, and Obi-Wan has been wondering in the depths of his heart for all these years of it had not been a dreadful mistake. As much as the Force sings in his ears Jedi, Jedi, Jedi, endure, Jedi, Jedi, it felt like everything he touched, everything tangible, argues back failure, weak, selfish, foolish, unwanted, not fit.

Obi-Wan is twenty-three, almost twenty-four, and he is years into adulthood and light years away from proving that he’s capable of handling it.

When will he be Knighted?

Nobody seems to be expecting it from him.

Do they know, he wonders, have they known since the beginning that I am doomed to fail? Has this all been a gracious attempt, a thank you for my actions on Bandomeer, and they have drawn this out and out and out as long as they can?

How much longer can this go on?

Still, there are moments when he is at peace, when Obi-Wan is sure. When he meditates, when he accomplishes something new, when he walks away from an assignment feeling unashamed when he translates his memories into a tidy mission report.

When he has one of his long talks with Master Yoda, or Master Windu, who despite their revered status have taken to talking to him more like a friend than a child, outside of the Council chambers.

When he remembers the Force whispering inside, Jedi Jedi Jedi Jedi, endure, Jedi...

And then, on one of the missions assigned to both himself and his Master - still the overwhelming majority of his assignments - he and Qui-Gon are separated during a violent uprising.

There are bodies in the streets and buildings are aflame; children weep over the bodies of their parents and parents cradle the bodies of their children and scream as if the sound is their only companion left in the world. The standing government has a point, the rebellion has a point, the civilians caught in the crossfire don’t say which point they agree with because they’re too busy screaming and perishing, and Qui-Gon is simply gone.

Obi-Wan, faced with the threat of further bloodshed right here and right now even as the air is still clogged with ash and flame and as another body topples from a rooftop in front of his feet, raises his hand in surrender and calmly proposes a truce, offering himself as a legal hostage against the government that brought the Jedi here.

Obi-Wan is led away with his hands bound behind his back and his lightsaber taken away, and though his face is calm, the furrow between is brow speaks of his inner turmoil, which sounds like tapping against the cracks in his heart and Qui-Gon, where is Master Qui-Gon, I don’t know what I’m doing, if I fail more people will die, if I fail it will be my fault, is this taking charge or stepping aside, am I a leader or a victim?

He spends not days, not weeks, but three standard months as a hostage. He spends a terrible amount of time sitting in a cell and pondering his uselessness, the gravity of his foolishness, but every time someone opens the door and escorts him out to hold parley with the leaders of the rebellion and the ministry of the planet, he holds his head high, tempers his fear, and speaks to them with all he has.

Which is honesty. Humility.

You don’t know what to do, he says. Neither do I.

We all know we must do something. No matter how much blood you spill and how much earth you scorch you will eventually come back here to this table to have this same discussion until either both of you are broken beyond belief or one of you has been crushed, and half your planet’s voice stolen away. And you will have sacrificed two of the Republic’s Jedi along the way, a black mark against whichever victor is left standing.

Or, he says, we choose to pass over the violence and talk here and now, and choose this again and again and again. You have already had your fighting. Your people are already hoping for negotiation.

Are you here for their sakes or to kill them for show?

He does not use these exact words.

He sews them into his brief speeches, hammers in the point sharply when he must, weaves the common thread over and over again.

He knows they fight while he is locked away.

But he believes, from the growing respect in the eyes of these people who hold him both by his and against his will, that he is making a difference. He must be.

And Obi-Wan is twenty-three, very very nearly twenty-four, when he finally walks free to witness the signing of a treaty like this planet has never had before, to witness the formation of a new government, and he discovers not ashes and mass graves when he sees daylight for the first time in three months — but instead, a city and a planet marred only by scattered battlefields, and marked more clearly by the way its people have fought to keep it clean, to keep it safe.

Children race through the streets, unafraid, because they have had real shelter during the war. It has not entered their homes since that first terrible day.

Neighbors from opposing sides of this fight and friends who staked no claim in this war mingle freely. Their smiles are a little hesitant, but they are there.

The dead are all honored equally.

It is leaps and bounds, it is a civilization that propelled itself through years of struggle in three months, and Obi-Wan is awed by them.

He knows it cannot be this way everywhere.

He knows that there will be wars where no one wants to surrender, or where one side will be so certain of their point of view that they would rather raise hell than cease, and he knows there will be people who resist them.

But today it is real.

Obi-Wan looks at his pale and clammy hands, the marks around his wrists where he was so often bound, and feels the way his limbs shake from months of too little sunlight, not quite enough food, and more than his share of fear and doubt and self-recrimination.

As he smiles for a camera that will record this moment forever, he glimpses Qui-Gon amongst the crowd.

Someone explains to him, when he asks, that his Master had been injured during the uprising and spent the first three weeks of Obi-Wan’s captivity in convalescence. The remaining time, he has spent on the sidelines, forced there by his Padawan’s actions. With Obi-Wan a willing hostage, playing negotiator and leverage both, Qui-Gon had no role except to mingle with the people, offer them comfort and aid.

Something Obi-Wan knows his Master loved, but — he had still stolen his Master’s role.

He had thrown himself into a stupid, foolish situation, and how many times had Qui-Gon teased him about playing damsel in distress? And here he has gone and surrendered of his own accord. What would Qui-Gon have done if Obi-Wan had led them all to ruin?

Obi-Wan slowly loses his confidence, his relief, his silver tongue, as the press and the people recede, and he and his Master walk to a room that has been prepared for both of them, as honored guests by this new government.

Qui-Gon says nothing to him.

They walk in silence for twelve minutes.

And then, as soon as the door has shut behind them, Obi-Wan finds himself pulled into a fierce embrace, one of his Master’s hands buried in his hair, Qui-Gon’s chin resting atop his head.

Obi-Wan hesitates.

Does his Master think him a child?

Perhaps Qui-Gon senses his thoughts, because the man pulls away briefly, still holding his Padawan by the shoulders, as if unwilling to let him go completely, else he vanish like smoke.

“Padawan,” Qui-Gon says, and his voice is loud and strong and brimming with warmth that washes over Obi-Wan like sunlight, like water, like an embrace. “Well done, my Padawan.”

And then he is pulled again into Qui-Gon’s comforting arms, and Obi-Wan breathes in and gives in, folding against his teacher like a child, and if a few tears stain Qui-Gon’s robes or drop into Obi-Wan’s hair, neither of them speaks of it.

Obi-Wan lets his Master hold him, lets go of fear and pride and doubt, and finds that he is safe.

~

[yourheartonfire]

A continuation of the villain discovering the hero is their best friend/crush - and taking advantage.

First part here. Thanks to @gingerly-writing for the original prompt!

At first it was fun, tormenting the hero under the guise of being a loving and concerned partner. The villain plied their friend - their partner now - with affection and comfort, home cooked meals and help with chores. And then, at just the right time, they'd drop a reference to the recent uptick in supercrime, or leave their phone open to a crowd fund campaign for [Villain] 's most recent victims. 

It worked every time. The hero would go pale and drawn, the villain would make loud noises about pain and flutter about with Tylenol and pillows, and the hero would force a smile and lie, even as they clung tighter and tighter to the villain with every passing day.

But... well, it was one thing to see hero suffer. It was another thing to see their friend racking themself with guilt and frustration at being grounded. Especially when it was so very easy to make them happy-

"Surprise!" yelled the hero as they flung open their apartment door.

The villain jumped. The hero was on both feet, the cast gone - ah, there was a plastic brace on their ankle and a cane. Only then did the villain notice the trays of take-out sushi on the coffee table behind them. From the villain's favorite restaurant.

"My treat tonight," said the hero with a warm kiss to the villain's cheek. "As a thank you."

"You can't afford this!" the villain blurted out.

The hero rocked back on their heels, considered the villain a long moment. 

"Mm hm," they said finally, pulling the villain in and closing the door firmly behind them. "First of all, I'm aware whatever you do in banking pays more than grad school but I can budget for special occasions. Second, this is to butter you up. Because we do need to talk."

"Oh," said the villain cautiously as they followed the limping hero to the sofa. Through the plastic box lids, they could see the hero had gotten most of their favorite rolls and their extra wasabi. "What... is something wrong, sugar?"

The hero sat and took villain's hands. "You've been so amazing and supportive the past few weeks. And I need you to dial it back."

"What?" The villain blinked.

"Don't get me wrong, I love it when you take care of me." The hero smiled. "But you need to let me take care of you too. It's really clear you are exhausted and stressed to the max."

"No I'm not," the villain said automatically, trying to pull away. "I mean, I've been worried about you pushing yourself too fast-"

The hero sighed. "See, this is exactly what I mean. Every time I want to talk about your needs, you turn it back around to mine."

"My needs? I don't have any neeee..." The villain trailed off mid-word. The hero raised their eyebrows. "Oh," said the villain again, feeling uncomfortably exposed. 

Damn it, this was not supposed to be about them. The villain felt themselves going hot and furious again. How dare the hero lecture them when the hero was the liar!

"Look, I don't think it's a coincidence this started right after my accident," the hero went on, oblivious to the villain's building anger. "You must be, like, off the charts in 'acts of service' as your love language." The hero traced their hand along the edge of the villain's face, in that way that would've sent shivers down the villain's spine if this all wasn't a lie. "But that can't be the only dynamic in our relationship - you giving and me taking. Especially when I'm so close to getting this thing off."

"You still have a lot of physical therapy," the villain started. The hero gave them another look. "Right. I'm turning it around on you again." The villain closed their eyes and took a breath. "Okay. I'll do better. More dynamics. We'll be a dynamic duo."

"Starting now," the hero said, and swung their leg across the villain's lap, gazing adoringly down at them. "Tonight let me take care of you, okay?" They tilted the villain's head up into a soft kiss. 

This was much easier to handle. The villain let themselves relax as the hero took the lead. Their hand ghosted over the thin plastic shell around the hero's ankle. Still healing, still so fragile and vulnerable.

"You set me up," the villain murmured between kisses. "You knew I'd say something about the sushi, you could segue in..." The hero chuckled and the villain pulled them closer to nibble on their ear. "Another of your clever traps," they growled playfully.

The blow hit them across the chest like a train, knocking them back. The hero was on their feet in a crash of movement, eyes wide as headlights and fists clenched. "What did you say?" they gasped.

Oh shit. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck and shit.

"I... said, 'another of your clever traps?'" the villain replied, careful not to lower their voice this time, to make it sound a bit corny and staged. "Like that show you were watching about [Villain] last week, it was something they said, right?" they said, sitting up with their best puzzled expression, rubbing their chest where the hero had knocked them away. "Sugar, what's wrong? You're shaking like a leaf."

"Oh Jesus," the hero said, a hand to their mouth. "You sounded just like-" Belatedly they noticed the villain's position. "Oh my god! Did I hurt you? And - oh no!"

This last was directed at the coffee table, knocked upside down and the food scattered across the floor.

"Hey, hey. It's okay. I'm okay," the villain soothed. They reached out for their partner and the hero shied away.

"Let me go, uh, get something to clean this up," they said, backing towards the kitchen with hitched steps and a shaky smile. "Just... don't do that voice again, okay? You're scary good at it."

"Okay," the villain said. Their heart was hammering in their chest, even 10 minutes later after the hero finished fussing around and settled back at the villain's side, pale and drawn and tucking themselves close. That had been too close, unforgivably sloppy.

The next night their partner begged off their date, claiming extra papers to grade, and the hero was back out in costume and reinforced ankle boots. 

The villain was ready. Now things were really going to get interesting.

Part 3 here and part 4 here!

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 311: Hand Gun

Previously on BnHA: Horikoshi was all “thinkin’ about dropping in some woke analogies of the very real and very presently relevant issue of racial profiling idk what do you guys think” and then shrugged and did it without waiting for an answer, and ngl it was a bit sudden, but I’m here for it. All Might was all “DEKU YOU NEED TO EAT” and Deku was all “OKAY” and took his hero bento and went to go stand dramatically on a tower in the rain whilst having some highly anticipated Vestige flashbacks. OFA II was all, “sup, I guess I’m not Kacchan... OR AM I,” and ngl I think he is?? Alternate universes anybody?? Hello??? But anyway, so OFA the First a.k.a. Yoichi was all “remember that time you guys rescued me from my evil brother and Two took my hand and we Had A Moment?”, and Two and Three were all “ahh yeah good times”, and it was very nice and very, very gay. The chapter ended with it being very unclear if Two and Three have actually lent their power to Deku yet or not lmao. Y’all need to get your shit together dudes.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all “what if I gave a random bad guy a fucking tommy gun that shoots nails” and jesus christ calm down son. The Hawksquad, a.k.a. SQUAWK as per @hotchocolatier​, are all “time to drive aimlessly around town acting like Deku has a restraining order on us because that’s literally the best plan to combat the League we could come up with,” and I have no further comment. Hawks is all “idk about you guys but I want to know more about AFO and Tomura’s whole deal” and I can’t remember the last time I identified so strongly with one of these characters. All Might is all, “[EXPLODES???]”, and the chapter ends with that mysterious hot girl from the Tartarus breakout being all “HELLO I CAN TURN INTO A GUN AND I LITERALLY DON’T GIVE A FUCK” and (1) WOW, and (2) IT’S TRUE, SHE CAN, AND SHE REALLY DOESN’T. GODDAMN.

(ETA: so this wholly escaped my notice on the first go, and also has nothing to do with the chapter itself, but I only just realized that this chapter was scanlated by a new group, TCB Scans. they actually did a very good job, and I’m curious if they’ve found a new RAW provider, because the quality this week is actually crazy good in comparison to what we’ve been dealing with for the past few months. I’m gonna have to get caught up on what exactly happened here lol.)

so what will it be this week? more Vestige antics? more of Sad Nomad Deku standing on buildings and pretending like he’s some cool aloof antihero, as if he could fool us when we all know his hero backpack is secretly stuffed full with his nerd diaries and the remnants of all the hero bentos that All Might keeps giving him?? or, just putting it out there, just a crazy thought, but you don’t suppose we might actually cut back to U.A.? mmm. side-eyes emoji

maaaaaan I’m starting to get tired of this trend of beginning chapters by dropping in on random power-tripping civilians and/or Shindou lol. just once can we get a chapter that opens with someone I actually give a fuck about

oh at least Endeavor is here

A WHAT SUPPORT ITEM!??! HOLY SHIT DDLKJSLFKJL

lol somehow that’s more terrifying than bullets for me?? like I’m fully aware that bullets will fuck you up way worse and that in real life nail guns probably don’t work like this AT ALL and only have a range of like... hold up let me just google... up to 100 to 150 m/s and distances of up to 500m wait WHAT

okay wait. hold up. like I was expecting google to tell me nail guns only shoot a few feet at most, and instead the first search result is some CDC blog article that’s “dispelling” the “””myth””” -- please note my repeated sarcastic quotation marks -- that nail guns can fire 1400 feet per second, by explaining that actually they can fire anywhere from 315 ft/sec to 1,295 ft/sec, and that “it is in the pneumatic nail gun user’s best interest to handle these tools as if they were a firearm despite having a lower velocity” dlkjdslkjflkl

SO THAT SCENE IN IRON MAN 3 WHERE TONY RAIDS A HOME DEPOT AND BUYS A BUNCH OF RANDOM TOOLS AND SHIT AND GOES ON TO STAGE A ONE-MAN INVASION OF AN INTERNATIONAL TERRORIST’S FLORIDA MANSION HQ IS ACTUALLY TRUE. YOU’RE TELLING ME THAT THE FILM “HOME ALONE” IS ACTUALLY A DOCUMENTARY. “the Discovery Channel television program “Mythbusters” compared the penetration capacity of an airborne projectile shot from a pneumatic framing nail gun to that of a 9mm hand gun” HELLO YES AND A MERRY “WHAT THE FUCK” TO YOU AS WELL

anyway, so. there’s apparently a reason why the Number One hero, who can burn people with the intensity of a sun going supernova, is hiding here behind this concrete support column making frowny faces. nope. nuh uh. he ain’t about that. I don’t blame you buddy

so now he’s barrel rolling out of his hiding place and setting this dude THE FUCK ON FIRE because HELL NO. BAD ENOUGH I HAD TO WATCH THAT FUCKING MUSHROOM EPISODE LAST WEEK! YOU TAKE THAT SHIT SOMEWHERE ELSE

LOL look at his face

I know the context is actually him being all “I know I’m responsible for basically everything that happened and so that’s why I’m so grim and serious about this mission to set things right piece by piece,” but in my mind this pissed-off face is 100% all because this dude tried to shoot his eye out with a nail gun. look at that. you made him go full flame face again. beard and all. protecting his face so that it can hopefully melt any stray nails that get too close. nope nope nope

good lord. so what’s up next. let me guess the guy fighting Best Jeanist has like an atomic chainsaw or some shit

lol nope we’re just cutting back to Hawks and Jeanist chilling in the Jesla after they’ve wrapped things up

Jeanist has got some serious Groot energy you guys jesus christ he’s like 12 feet tall

oh snap someone threw a pipe at him now

today is just the chapter of Endeavor being assaulted by random DIY tools I guess

I mean, I get why they’re pissed at him obviously; I would be too lol. but tbh I also don’t really understand the “get out of here we don’t want your help” attitude that all of these people suddenly seem to have?? like it if were me, I would be fucking DEMANDING for him and the other heroes to be working round the clock to fix their stupid mess. I mean who else is gonna do it?? it’s their mess, I sure don’t want to be the one to clean it up instead. anyways but whatever lol

oh shit?

so they haven’t dropped the whole “OFA secret potentially gets revealed to the world” thing yet after all. that makes sense I suppose, it did seem like that whole thing wound up playing out a bit too easily

anyway so yeah

the locals are definitely none too happy. well at least Dabi’s got something to be cheerful about I guess

so now we’re cutting to the interior of the Jesla and they’re chitchatting about the current investigation

oh wow this actually makes a bit of sense now. so there was a reason they were keeping their distance from Deku

please note that even in this abstract Endeavor’s-Mental-Image-Of-Him panel, Deku’s eyes still don’t have the light in them anymore :( my poor son

also ftr I still think using Deku as bait in this particular sense is the shittiest idea ever ngl. like sure, let’s let the sixteen-year-old run around battling miscellaneous escaped prison convicts while we stay several kilometers away ON PURPOSE despite the fact that you’re using him as bait to draw out the Big Bad, who just a reminder can destroy anything with a mere touch and who you were all basically helpless against. what exactly are you all planning to do if Tomura or one of the other League VIPs actually shows up to retrieve him?? are you even keeping tabs on him at all in real time?? jesus

(ETA: well that escalated quickly lol.)

Horikoshi is all of a sudden dropping whole pages of exposition here and I can’t be bothered to summarize this lol so just,

a big fat YES to what Jeanist said, though. that’s why imo they would have been better off laying a trap at U.A. rather than just wandering around out in the open. I assume they’re trying to cut their potential losses because U.A. is full of students (and civilians), but those students also happen to be more capable than pretty much anyone else in the manga at this point. and tbh they’re already in life-threatening danger regardless of how things play out from here on, so they might as well at least try to use the few advantages they have right now. U.A. is almost certainly going to come under siege at some point anyway, so they might as well prepare for it

lol I don’t think I’m explaining this very well because I don’t have the patience right now to break it down point by point like it really ought to be, so for now I’ll just say that imo “U.A. siege” stands a good chance of being the eventual endgame even now, and so this whole “Deku runs around being bait” arc is really just killing time until then lol. like and subscribe for more rambling nonsensical takes such as this. maybe next time I’ll even put it all into one single sentence for maximum meandering senior citizen rant value

well it’s nice that they’re finally talking about all of this I guess

we readers have known all of this for months now but this confirms the heroes are finally caught up. ALSO, Hawks is so fucking smart, as always. kinda wonder if things would have played out differently if All Might had let him in on the secret a bit earlier. probably that’s why Horikoshi made damn sure they didn’t find out until after the War arc lol

OH MY GOD YOOOOOO HAWKS OUT HERE ASKING THE REAL QUESTIONS

“anyone else wondering why AFO bothered to raise Tomura as his fake heir for fifteen years when he was secretly planning on taking over his body the whole time” YES, [raises hand] lmao Hawks where the hell were you when I was debating this “AFO is the final villain and Tomura is just his pawn” thing on multiple occasions over the past several years lol

lmao seeing them debate the metaphysics of OFA and all of its mystical bullshit is seriously surreal you guys

JEANIST HAVE YOU CHECKED OUT MY META TAG I HAVE WRITTEN SO MANY ESSAYS. I ACTUALLY WAS PLANNING ON WRITING ANOTHER ESSAY ABOUT THE THING THAT I’M PRETTY SURE HAWKS IS ABOUT TO BRING UP, BUT I NEVER GOT AROUND TO IT WHOOPS, BUT MAYBE I WILL NOW LOL LET’S SEE HOW IT GOES

yes!!

WHICH AFO FUCKING ENSURED HE WOULD BE BY LITERALLY PLANNING OUT EVERY LAST DETAIL OF HIS FAMILY TRAGEDY, FROM SECRETLY GIVING TENKO THE QUIRK TO MAKING SURE NO CIVILIANS OR HEROES WOULD HELP HIM UNTIL AFO FINALLY STEPPED IN. I’M 1000% CONVINCED THIS IS THE CASE YOU GUYS. NOT JUST BECAUSE I’M NOT A FAN OF “THE WORLD IS A FUNDAMENTALLY SHITTY PLACE, ACTUALLY” TAKES BECAUSE MISTER ROGERS TOLD ME TO ALWAYS LOOK FOR THE HELPERS, BUT ALSO BECAUSE IT LITERALLY JUST DOESN’T MAKE A LICK OF SENSE OTHERWISE. THEIR ENTIRE HOUSE CAVED IN FFS, YOU’RE TELLING ME NONE OF THE NEIGHBORS FUCKING OVERHEARD THAT SHIT AND WENT “UMMMMMMMMM” AND WENT TO SEE WHAT WAS GOING ON?? “DIDN’T THERE USED TO BE A HOUSE HERE, AND LIKE A WHOLE FAMILY, AND SHIT?”

LIKE I’M SORRY, BUT IT’S ONE THING TO SAY IT’S REALISTIC THAT NOT A SINGLE PERSON WOULD ATTEMPT TO HELP THE WANDERING TRAUMATIZED CHILD AFTERWARDS (WHICH I DISAGREE WITH AS WELL BUT AT LEAST THAT’S MORE SUBJECTIVE), AND IT’S A WHOLE OTHER THING TO ARGUE THAT IT’S REALISTIC THAT NO ONE WOULD BE FUCKING NOSY. LIKE THAT’S A WHOLE DIFFERENT LEVEL OF “THAT’S NOT HOW ANY OF THIS WORKS” ENTIRELY LOL. anyway tl;dr AFO is a piece of shit and Tomura’s entire worldview is based on a magnificently intricate and savagely cruel lie more at 11

anyway so after all that ranting it looks like that wasn’t even what Hawks was talking about after all lol. I just went off for absolutely no reason lol oh well. instead it seems that Hawks is suggesting that Tomura’s carefully cultivated hatred might not yet have actually reached “can defeat OFA” levels even after all of that trauma. interesting!

don’t mind me, I’m just sitting here while my brain furiously scrambles to put together all the parallels between Hawks and Tomura that it never noticed before until exactly this second. like I’m not even sure that was the intent here at all (I need to check out another translation or two lol), but regardless my mind decided that now would be the perfect time to make the connection between these two twenty-somethings who both had horrific childhoods and spent years being molded by their respective manipulative guardians, and developed eerily similar “laugh at everything because what else can you do” coping mechanisms to deal with it all hmmmmm

anyway so they were talking more about their strategy, but now all of a sudden Jeanist’s phone is beeping??

AND NOW WE’RE CUTTING AWAY TO ALL MIGHT AND HIS MIGHTMOBILE DAMMIT so that means the call to Jeanist was actually something important then!! WAS IT BAKUGOU OMG. DOES YOUR INTERN WANT A WORD FFFKLFSJK please it’s been so long I just need a little crumb or two to tide me over lmao have mercy

anyway so All Might’s following the GPS tracking device he’s apparently got planted on Deku (which in my conspiracy headcanons he’s actually had for a long time now, like since before DvK2 lol because HOW ELSE WOULD HAVE HAVE KNOWN THAT THEY WERE FIGHTING EACH OTHER IN GROUND BETA, PEOPLE) and thinking angsty thoughts about Deku’s sucky life

AND NOW ALL MIGHT’S PHONE IS RINGING TOO?? BAKUGOU HOW MANY PEOPLE ARE YOU CALLING. “WHERE ARE YOU HIDING THE NERD GODDAMMIT”

OMG

lol is he under attack or is he just finally giving All Might the slip like we all know he SECRETLY PLANNED TO ALL ALONG oh my poor dumb angstmuffin

OMG AHHHHHHH WHAT

DID ALL MIGHT JUST FUCKING DIE LMAO NO OF COURSE NOT, BUT WHAT

WHAT IS HAPPENING OMG

THE FUCK IS THAT. AT LEAST IT’S NOT A NAIL

OH IT’S A SPEAKER!! OMG DID THEY TAKE ALL MIGHT HOSTAGE

“THEY’RE HERE” WELP, TIME TO SEE JUST HOW SHITTY THIS SHITTY PLAN REALLY IS LOL

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

SHE!!!!

omg. AND OVERHAUL JUST CHILLING THERE IN THE BACKGROUND ALL “WHAT DO YOU EVEN WANT ME TO DO I’VE GOT NO FUCKING ARMS” YEAH GOOD RIDDANCE LOL

DOES THIS GIRL HAVE ONE GIANT LEG OR WHAT, LIKE WHAT’S THE DEAL HERE

-- HOLD UP WAIT, THE GUN IS HER ARM, HOLY SHIT SHE CAN TURN INTO A GUN -- OKAY HOLD UP BECAUSE I NEED TO SAY THAT IN BIGGER TEXT BECAUSE !!!!

YOU GUYS, THE COOL TARTARUS GIRL IS BACK AND HER QUIRK IS “CAN TURN INTO A FUCKING GUN.” THIS IS NOT A DRILL!! MY BEST GIRL MT. GUN IS FINALLY BACK ON THE SCENE WITH HER QUIRK “CAN DO ANYTHING A GUN CAN DO.” “I HEARD Y’ALL WENT AND NAMED ONE OF YOUR HEROES ‘GUNHEAD’ EVEN THOUGH HIS HEAD ISN’T EVEN A GUN, LIKE WTF IS UP WITH THAT LET ME SHOW YOU HOW IT’S DONE” DANG OKAY

lmao only fifteen pages this week, and STILL NO KACCHAN (THEN WHO WAS PHONE!!!), but man I don’t even care because finally we’ve got a cliffhanger that’s actually deserving of being a cliffhanger! hot dog. okay then

[liquid-luck-00]

Seven Stages of Being thrown into Teenage Superherodom

Stage 1: Panic

@marijon-week Day 1: Blue Eyes / Identity Reveal

@t1dwarrior-of-earth

Here *** Second

~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since Fu made her Guardian she left Paris. The Kwamii convinced her that the stress of being ladybug and the mental, and now physical, abuse of her classmates has become too much. Her parents also noticed her shift and they supported her leaving.

This was how she found herself in Blüdhaven. She was a student at Gotham Academy, but with Gotham's high crime rate they wanted somewhere safer for her. Sure she could have also chosen Metropolis, but the commute from Blüdhaven was shorter.

She will be the first to admit that it wasn't ideal, but for her mental health it was great. And with complete honesty and sincerity she wouldn't change a thing.

You see one thing that apparently gets overlooked is that Nightwing is the resident vigilante of Blüdhaven. Even more is the fact that he happens to be her neighbor.

OK so maybe a little bit backtracking here. Marinette may have figured out that her next-door neighbor, Detective Richard Grayson, happens to moonlight as Nightwing at night.

So the building they had chosen for her was extremely safe, however they didn’t take an account Marinette's extremely packed and late work schedule. With how Marinette would still be awake in the early morning hours, and if she heard a thump of boots on the balcony next to hers regularly, she is going to look out the window eventually.

When she does, she sees Nightwing at her neighbor's apartment. Which could be one of two possible reasons why Nightwing could be there. One, his significant other lived in that apartment and he just came regularly. Or two, he lived there and assumed every sane person was asleep.

Her question was eventually answered one night when she was at the desk next to her balcony door, she heard boots like normal, but this time they were closer than normal, this time they were on her balcony.

The door moved, causing her to turn and focus on the door. That was when a male voice muttered, I thought I left it unlocked like always.

So most people would have quietly left, but she wasn't most she opened the blinds. She is pretty sure she had a stare down with him but its difficult to say because at the mask.

However after countless akuma attacks, you tend to figure out who the target is, which is what she did. Same height, same rough build, same hit and skin tone, combined with her ability to recognize figures for fashion, that gives you Richard Grayson. Without breaking eye contact she got up, stepped to the door, opened it and pulled him in, shutting it and the blinds, turning to face him. Then is when she noticed the blood near his hair line and down his neck.

“There better be an extremely good reason why this happened Mr. Grayson.” She looked innocently at him, “because I don’t know how to explain.” She gestured to him now seated at her desk. She pulled out her first aid kit and started checking him.

“How did you find out?”

“Night owl,” she shrugged. “I hear you come in every night and well um, well...”

“Curiosity got the best of you.” She nodded.

Of course this was when her phone would go off, she grabbed it, opened it, and groaned, because of course she was being called a Paris in the middle of the night, morning over there.

“You know what you're still alive, just a superficial head injury, but I have to go.” She said moving towards her bedroom when Mr. Grayson finally reacted.

“I’m supposed to… you said you were 14 right?” She nodded. “I’m supposed to let a 14 year-old leave in the middle of the night?”

“I am, I can explain in the morning.” She tried to justify, but he wouldn't let go of her wrist. So in a leap of faith, she gave him a quick rundown of the Paris situation and why she had to leave. If after this Blüdhaven had another vigilante well no one else knew why, Trixx loved it though. And she had someone who not only knew who she was but knew how to help and train her. Even if he acted more like a brother to her.

After all the eyes are the windows to the soul, and as a true guardian and a pure soul of creation, she knows that she can trust Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson’s.

- - -

It’s almost humorous that the next pair of eyes she would this come to trust were a blue so electric that they seemed to hold Lightning itself. Those eyes belong to one Jonathan Samuel Kent.

She had actually met John while in class at Gotham Academy, but nothing much more than their initial meeting and a good morning in the halls. This was pretty much because he seemed to stick with Damian Wayne, the ice Prince of Gotham. And green eyes always hurt her in the past, so she mostly stayed away from them.

However the fates had another plan for them. A group project, yay was sarcastically running through her head because of course, the two people she was partnered with happened to be two pairs of eyes that made an impression on her originally.

“So, should we go to your place, or should we go to the library, oh maybe we should go to Damien’s, or maybe mine to work on this.” Jon rapid fired at her and Damian, as they well she moved in order to talk about the project.

“I um... I’m not exactly...” she couldn’t even finish the sentence before Damian butt in.

“Tt figure this out and inform me later.” With that he go up and walked away. And go figure her assumption that everyone with green eyes were complete and total dicks is just reinforced. Because if you’ve never had a good experience with anything or anyone who shares the same traits why would it be any different now.

“Maybe we should just meet at the café or at the library just get this over with.” She got up with the bell, turned on her heel, leaving Jon sitting at the desk she just vacated.

She heard of a soft, “oh ok” as she walked away.

But of course nothing ever was easy in her life. Because the next thing she knows she hears foot falls behind her, they were actually picking up speed, and then stomps as if they were trying to stop right behind her. That was when I hand wrapped itself around her wrist making her spin and face the person who grabbed her.

In that moment she didn’t think, she reacted, she reacted like every other time one of her classmates decided to hurt her. It was a motion that came as naturally as breathing while in her civilian form, so much so that she would bet her heartbeat wouldn’t have changed. She dropped the books and book bag from her arms and shoulder lifting her arms defensively to protect her head and she pushed her shoulders forward , defend her head, in an attempt to stop a blow. But the swing never came, no weight, no pressure, no kick, no pain, just silence.

She tentatively opened her previously shut eyes eyes and looked forward, towards where the hand had originally pulled her, to the person who pulled her, she saw Jon, shocked at her reaction and then that turned to fear almost, it seemed to her, as if he was wondering if he did something wrong, if he hurt her, quickly she tugged her arm away from him and dropped to the ground and tried to pick up her items. However what shocked her was that he also dropped down and tried to help her pick up her things.

She looked up as he handed her a stack, “I forgot to ask you for your number so we can do a group chat. Are you OK?”

“Oh yeah yeah I’m fine.” She pulled a pen quickly from her bag and a sticky note, she usually uses to annotate her sketches and class notes come on, “here.” She handed him the piece of paper, Marinette got up and started to walk away again, as to not miss her next class.

By the end of the day, she found out that Jon can can text her head off. She always tries to respond to text quickly but this boy spammed the chat trying to get to know her better. If she was Damian, and she figured he did, she would’ve silenced the conversation, but it would be rude of her not answer.

Eventually they did figure out a an arrangement, Damian was going to go meet a brother after school so he wouldn’t be available meaning that she and Jon would start the project. So they decided to open a chat just between the two of them and figured it out from there.

Seeing as both of them lived outside of Gotham they decided it would be a little bit safer to meet at Marinette’s and John would leave from her apartment. And that is what they did, together the two of them left Gotham Academy after school, took the train to Blüdhaven and got into study mode. They worked in relative peace, researching and writing down ideas until there was a knock on the door. Marinette made her way up to the door, looked through and there stood Dick. So she opened the door, yet what got her attention was not just her pseudo Brother but the person who is with him. This person just happened to be the missing member of their project group, Damian.

“Hey Mari, I thought I would introduce you to my baby brother!” He beamed then noticing the other person in the room. “Hey Jon.” He greater and then took a double take “Jon!!!”

“Hey Dick, Damian.” He smiled.

“Tt. Anyone care to explain this.” Damian glared between her and his brother.

“Wow something the boy wonder doesn’t know.” She muttered under her breath, apparently it wasn’t quite quiet enough as some reacted.

“She knows?!?” Jon directed towards Dick and Damian.

“Know what?” She bit the bullet.

“Boy Wonder!?!” He seemed to shout just loud enough to get their attention. This did cause a reaction, Dick almost looked proud but Damian seemed ready to attack her.

“Okay I knew you were clever but seriously?!”

“Not the time Dick!” She moved so the kitchen island was between her and Damian. That was when something clicked Boy Wonder, Robin, Damian is Robin. Dick is Nightwing, both work with Batman. Jon heard her the others didn’t, Robin is close with… oh sweet honey iced tea. “ Dick please please tell me that I’m wrong!”

“I’m going with no your right.” Thump went her head as it fell onto the counter unrestrained.

“Why can’t my life be normal?” She asked no one in particular.

“You are a magical girl who can use the power of mini sized gods who you also protect.” Dick supplied ever so helpfully.

“Not helping!” She glared at him.

“Your life wasn’t normal long before we met.”

“Still.” She grumbled. Damian and Jon were now watching her and Dick interact as if trying to figure something out. Ping. Her phone went off. “Oh come on.” She fell back on the counter.

“Who is it this time?” Dick asked.

She tossed the phone to him. “I hate elementals.” A livestream of Stormy Weather ravaged the city of Paris.

“Cookies?”

“Cookies, I’ll be back.” He tossed her a box from her pantry. Special macaroons for the kwamii.

“Wait! Let me come with you.”

“And how many times have I told you that would be a bad idea.”

“But…”

“No, don’t make me call Honey Bee to venom you again.”

He slowly backed up and sat on the couch dragging Damian with him. “I’ll um… I’ll hold down the fort. Don’t call Goldie.”

“I won’t.” She turned to go to her room. “Oh there is fresh cookies in the jar.”

She silently transformed and portaled away. Luckily her team was already there and they made quick work of the Akuma. Meaning she was back near instantly.

“That was quick.”

“Viperion was there.”

“How many times?”

“Dunno.”

“Liar.”

“Am not.”

“You are.” Jon interjected into their bickering.

“Who’s side are you on anyways?” She asked out.

“I have no idea.”

“Great we broke Superboy.” She plopped down on the couch next to a stunned Jon. “If only… Fluff.”she smiled, and knowing that smile Dick panicked. “Fluff. Hey Fluff.”

“Oh no time travel is what got you into this time travel will not get you out.” Dick jumped landing on her keeping her seated.

“What it’s going fine?!“ Jon screamed at them, looking pretty close to a mental break down, she should know.

“You didn’t explain anything did you.” She looked on up from her position under a pile of a Dick and pillows.

“I was meaning to come up with the cookies were good and kind of had my mouthful.”

“OK great so here’s the rundown. Hello my name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng and I was chosen at the age of 13 to wield the Miraculous of the Ladybug which grants me the power of creation and healing. I moved Blüdhaven and enrolled into Gotham Academy because of my utterly deteriorating mental health as a result of bullying in my previous school. Not to mention the magical terrorist who prays on sad or negative emotions, who happens to be using the Miraculous Butterfly or the miraculous of transmission. My partner uses the miraculous of the black cat which grants them the power of destruction, but he’s a total and complete asshole, but that’s not surprising. I was then given full guardianship of every single miraculous in the Chinese zodiac box, the most powerful of all of them the tender age of 14. I figured out that Dick was Nightwing about a month after I moved in and afterwards I have been going out into with him as he’s in as the vigilante Vulpes. And I literally just figured out you are Robin,” she pointed at Damian. “And you are Super Boy,” she pointed at Jon, “because of you’re a little outburst. I would not have figured it out otherwise! And I’m totally not I am going crazy because now there is a total of three people who know my identity in another country, no less, and I’m sure I can figure out the rest of the Bat family from here but I so I don’t want to.“ She was able to breathe now, after having explained this in just under a minute.

She looked between both Damian and Jon noticed they both looked as if she was either crazy or that certainly made a lot of sense, or a mixture of both she really can’t tell.

“You were bullied.“ Jon seemed to only take away. “That actually explains earlier.” He said just load enough for her to hear, as they were still next to each other.

“I’m not going over this again.“ She huffed, causing Dick to roll off of her laughing onto the ground and she followed suit. “You know there’s a reason I’ve always trusted blue eyes.” That was the beginning of and inseparable friendship between her and Damian, and something more between her and Jon.

None of them quite knew that at the time.

Next

~~~~~~~~~~

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[painless-innit-colourful]

Invisible

Potions of invisibility grant the user the ability to disappear, functionally: the concealment of one’s self through magic, distilled into a draught easy to swallow. For better and worse, Tommy’s familiar with the taste.

It tastes sour, primarily. 

Looking at the ingredient list, no wonder. Nether wart and fermented spider eye. Gross. There are some things a golden carrot just can't balance out. 

It's such a disgusting taste he doesn't notice the shimmering feeling, instead focusing his attention on scraping a thin layer of translucent brown sugar-mushroom-spider ick off his tongue. Not until: 

"Tommy?" "Y- Bleh- Yeah?" "Oh!" Tubbo waves his arms in a wild arc, smile growing, before his hand collides with Tommy's arm, and he picks up Tommy's wrist. "It worked!" "What do you- Ohhh..." 

If he blurs his vision, Tubbo's fingers circle around nothing. If he looks properly, he can just about see the edges of his wrist, the lines of his shirt sleeve. "Dude, how does that work?" "Which bit?" "Clothes. My clothes didn't drink it too." "Dude, I dunno... My turn!" 

They learn to spot the tiny signs of an invisible person. They learn to disguise them. Tommy tries to tackle Tubbo and misses completely, and both of them fall about laughing. 

Call that a drug van success story. 

--- 

He sprints past it, hoping they aren’t following, panic filling his bloodstream. He chugs the potion as he runs, drops spilling down his front, staining his navy coat with off-white shadows as he shimmers and disappears into thin air. 

Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

He stumbles into the shallow waters of the lake, wading - disturbing the water, too many signs, you're gonna be seen - towards Tubbo's tunnel. He takes three steps and slips under the surface, landing on his hands and knees on the tunnel floor, waiting, waiting- Where are they? 

There's the sound of an arrow seeking its mark and hitting true, and for a split second Tommy sees an arm with deft fingers and a dark blue sleeve fall over the side of the entrance, and then the body is gone and shit shit shit- 

Tommy sticks his head back out- Who was that? Wilbur? Tubbo? He feels the shimmering feeling again - "a quick escape", where are the others - and slowly drops back to the tunnel floor. 

Make a decision, what if they find you, Little Laddy One Life? He walks away, opting to live to fight another day, hoping that his friends will join him soon. 

--- 

Funnily though, while clothes disappear with the potion, armour doesn't. He doesn't know why; he's not smart enough to. And right now, as he yanks the shoulder straps of his chestplate tight, he doesn't really care. 

"Stop!" They don't stop, voices mostly drowned out by the overwhelming sound of rushing water. Dream, his face also hidden, but by his signature mask as opposed to the magic of an invisibility potion, holds his hand towards Tubbo and tells him "I need the disc." Tommy crests the wreckage of the Community House, no longer attempting to stay hidden as the water thunders down around his ankles, pulling him towards the platform in the centre. It's a bizarre version of the Pit. It’s an arena. It's a stage. 

"No!" He screams, as Tubbo takes half a step back towards the ender chest. Heads snap to his position, looking at the empty suit of armour that's just appeared beside and above them. Tubbo stutters something in quiet disbelief, and between that and the sudden attention, Tommy falters. If he took off his armour now, could he get out of there? Or would the same fate that once befell Wilbur catch him? The blame for this building is on him, after all. 

He jumps in, landing on his feet between Dream and the cabinet of L'Manberg. He is caught in the crossfire of their questions: "Tommy?" "Is that Tommy?" 

He shouts, and he screams, and he revolves like a merry-go-round, trying to keep his eyes on everyone, not trusting that his armour'll be enough to protect him from the sheer amount of enemies about. So many people hate him, he realises, it's 30 v 2. Technoblade would like those odds. Technoblade, who's standing beside him, not invisible because he went to get milk. He likes the protection; he thinks. 

They don't listen. Tubbo keeps insisting he betrayed them all by teaming with Techno, that he betrayed L'Manberg, but they don't understand, he didn't have a choice, "You don't know what he did to me in exile." Tubbo has the disc in his hands, and without having an inkling of where Dream's eyes are, he watches him consider simply snatching it from Tubbo's hands. 

"You're not gonna give him the disc." Tubbo looks at him like it's a dare, and why can't he see? Tommy's practically crying with the effort and exertion of watching his best friend betray him in slow motion, of being this close to his abuser, of being blamed for something he didn't do, of being beaten down every time he gets on his damn feet. 

"I don’t need to prove myself to you. This wasn’t me. Trust me. Jesus— for once in your life, Tubbo, trust me." Tubbo's eyes are cold, his mind made up. What happened to us against the world?  "I did trust you. Once. The first time all of this happened. And I won’t make the same mistake twice." 

There's a little moment where time stops, and everyone draws nearer like a crowd at the coliseum, and Tommy feels his invisibility ripple slightly, warning him it's about to wear off. Who the fuck cares. 

Tubbo takes a step towards Dream, and Tommy lunges to put himself between them. "Don't you dare." Tubbo's hand goes to his axe. "You betrayed me, Tubbo, you- Did you just-" Both of their eyes are on Tubbo’s weapon, when he puts the disc away, staring Tommy down plainly with his one hand returning to the axe at his waist, and the other taking out his shield. "I didn't betray you." His voice is level, all business. Okay then, Mr President.

"You betrayed everything that you'd built with presidents prior." Tommy's anger, and hurt, and frustration, and pain finally boils over, so much so that it's visible in the way he shakes as he brings out his axe. "You know what?" He bites into a golden apple, feeling its effects drown out the rushing water and the shimmering sensation of his invis. "You've got your axe up." Technoblade’s tone is surprised but light as he tells Tommy to make this decision wisely, but he’s already gone, his safety and conscience be damned. He throws himself at Tubbo, brandishing his axe as the pigman taught him, like he once practised with the brown-haired boy he’s swinging at, thinking You say I betrayed you? I'll show you a traitor. 

Poetically, perhaps, it's less like a fight, and more like a dance. They are a whirlwind - a hurricane - clashing and blocking and pushing and shoving across the otherwise empty floor. Somewhere in the gushing water, Technoblade's bloodlust has seized him, and he's gone for the L'Manbergians and the festival-goers and the unrelated parties that came when they saw the destruction, and he's scattering them this way and that, but who cares about that? 

They are not equally matched. Tommy shakes too much: there is too much of him vulnerable here, not just his mortality, something that neither invisibility nor armour can keep from being scratched and damaged. He's losing. He's quite badly losing, despite Tubbo's inferior armour and weapons and allies, and he leaps into the nearest watery wall, letting the Respiration helmet Techno made for him protect him as the water drags him under and away from his attacker. His best friend. He bites into another golden apple, his pleas swallowed by the torrent. He still hears Tubbo's shout though, permeating the water and being relayed through his communicator from wherever Techno is. 

"Where are you?" 

He pops back up, shaking and soaking wet and sees a familiar sight: an old friend, a brother - once - staring him down with death in his eyes from behind brown hair. He was wrong, oh so wrong, all those weeks ago: at once he is Schlatt, alone at the end of his days, and there's Wilbur, old pals who'll be the death of each other. No. 

No. 

"I didn’t betray you, you teamed up with the very person that destroyed us the first time!" He feels his invis shimmer one more time, and the timing is immaculate, really. Cinematic, one might say. 

"I went for the discs— Tubbo, the discs— The discs were worth more than you ever were!" "No... Wh- Th-" The world stands still, and it feels so good, it's so good to finally say it, to watch Tubbo's face fall, his shield slipping from his hand, listen to the reactions around their little arena, watch as Tubbo shuts his mouth and yanks on the strap of his chestplate and lets it drop to the floor, leaving him defenceless and open to attack and wait- no- wait- 

Mutely, Tommy’s gaze drifts skyward, and it should feel good because they know now, they know how he feels, but it's not, it's not good because that- that wasn't true. That wasn't right. 

And he looks back at Tubbo, and finally, finally, his invis runs out, and he hopes it shows on his face, that he knows he's fucked up because Tubbo looks destroyed, and a shiver goes through him because he no longer looks angry he just- He just looks sad. 

He takes off his helmet, breathing heavily from the ache and exertion, heart burning in regret. 

‘The discs were worth more than you ever were.’

How do you fix that? For one crazy moment, he considers the invis again. Turning translucent and running, back to Techno- back to Technoblade who'd congratulate him on 'moving on' and tell Phil like he was proud and probably write that line on the fucking wall, how could he be such a monumental ass- 

"Tubbo?" Their eyes meet. Tubbo says nothing. 

"Give him the disc." 

He looks bewildered, "You want me to give Dream the disc?" He says, the tiniest sliver of something they used to have peeking through, the bearest hint of kindness, and bless him, it's more than Tommy deserves. It makes him want to go invisible again. 

He smiles softly, and it can't reach his eyes, but he pours every ounce of good left in him into it and desperately hopes it's enough.

"Yeah." And because he's fucked up, because he knows they can never go back from this: "I'm sorry Tubbo." 

--- 

He's done it again, he keeps fucking up. Sam's hand is holding him down by the shoulder, firm fingers digging into him, keeping him from reaching Ghostbur. 

He tried so hard. His throat is sore from not coughing. His muscles hurt from the pure tension and adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, from his stubborn heart to the ends of his fingers and toes. He thought he'd gotten caught when he drank the potion in the waivers room, and his heart had been beating so loud that he'd thought Sam could hear it. 

Yet, they made it. But it doesn't matter, because he pulled out the axe too early, and now he's busted, and Sam's gonna kill him or Wilbur's going to come back or both, and it's all his fault. 

Every time he tries. Every time he tries to fix things, or do what's right, or have something for himself, it's taken away, destroyed and he's kicked to the ground. Every time. 

It's enough to make anyone want to be invisible.

[onlyfreds]

Cupid’s Chokehold | F.W.

Title: Cupid’s Chokehold (band!au)

Requested: Yes/No [x]

Summary: Fred hasn’t always been known to not be serious about a girl, until he meets Y/N and finds himself in Cupid’s Chokehold

“You okay sweetheart?” Fred asked, slinging an arm around my shoulder as their band wrapped up practice.

I nodded, fiddling with the end of my shirt, “Yeah, just a bit nervous.”

“For what?” He asked, “Meeting my parents?”

I nodded, avoiding his gaze.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to my temple, “Don’t be nervous. They’ll love you. Even if they don’t m, that won’t stop me from loving you.”

I looked up at him, “Really?”

“Of course. I’d even tell the whole world if you want.” He said before hopping on to the stage and grabbing the microphone, pointing a finger in my direction, “Take a look at my girlfriend. She’s the only one I want.”

I laughed, “Freddie, you don’t have to do that.”

My boyfriend grinned, “There’s that radiant smile!”

—

I looked up at the house where my fate would be decided. I felt like my heart would jump out of my throat as we were mere inches away from the door.

“You okay?” George asked, “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

“Yup.” I said, “Just dealing with some nerves.”

Fred pressed a kiss to my cheek, “You’ll be fine sweetheart.”

George knocked on the door, causing their mother to open it and engulf the both of them into a hug, fussing about them getting thinner with all the practice they’re doing.

When Molly’s attention turned to me, a smile grew on her lips as she pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, “You must be Y/N! Goodness, you’re so beautiful! How was my son able to snag someone like you?”

Fred laughed, “I ask myself the same question everyday.”

Dinner with the Weasleys went by smoothly, we gathered around the living room exchanging stories when I excused myself to get some water from the kitchen.

That’s when I overheard Fred and Molly’s conversation.

“Fred, are you really sure about her?” Molly asked.

Fred nodded, “Mum, this is going to sound like a really bad joke. But, it’s safe to say she’s my new girlfriend.”

Molly sighed, “I know, but she is the first girl that you brought home. You have to, at least, be serious about her.”

“I am serious about her. I know it sounds old, but Cupid got me in a chokehold. We even got a secret handshake. And she loves the music that my band makes. I know I’m young, but if I had to choose her or the sun: I won’t have any second thoughts about choosing her.”

—

“Good morning sweetheart.” Fred greeted, wrapping his arms around my waist as I transferred the pancakes unto the plate.

“You ready for your show later?” I asked as he scattered soft kisses along my neck.

“Just a tad bit nervous.” He admitted, “But, knowing that you’ll be there in the front row makes me a whole lot better.”

“Is that my favorite pancakes?” He asked, peeking over my shoulder.

I chuckled, “Yeah. Just thought you would like some.”

Fred smiled, burying his head into the crook of my neck, “If this ain’t love then I don’t know what love is.”

—

Fred and his band performed perfectly, receiving a standing ovation from the audience.

I pushed through the crowd of people, making my way backstage when I felt somebody tap my shoulder.

I turned and saw a girl giving me a small smile, “You’re the lead singer's girlfriend, right?”

“Yeah. I am.” I said.

She giggled, “You’re so lucky to be his girlfriend and it was sweet of him to dedicate the last song to you.”

I smiled, “As far as I know, that song was about me. But, you’re right, he is a gentleman and I’m lucky to have him.”

As soon as we finished our conversation, I headed backstage and almost walked into another conversation.

Fred’s voice could be heard, “Dad, I’m trying hard not to talk fast. But, I finally have found the one. She is the type of girl that will make you way proud of your son. She’s my soulmate, I can tell by the way she says my name.”

Arthur smiled at him, clapping him on the shoulder, “I’m already proud of you.”

—

I glanced at the clock that hung on the kitchen wall: 11:30 am. The band’s practice time must’ve been extended.

I then heard the door open as Fred came in. He had a slightly pissed off look on his face as he took off his coat and threw it on the couch, dropping his bag on the floor.

Sensing his exhaustion, I left my chore and ran into his arms, breathing in his musky scent.

“Bad day?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Better.” He mused, kissing the top of my head, “Now that you’re here in my arms.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” I said.

My boyfriend shook his head, “Maybe later. Right now, I just want all of my attention on you.”

—

Another week has ended, which meant another Sunday dinner at the Weasley household.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Charlie said, “You can’t tell me that Fred’s girlfriend is this gorgeous!”

“I told you!” Bill said with a small laugh, “It’s hard to believe that he managed to snag someone like her.”

Fred raised his hands in mock surrender, “I know you guys think that I slipped her a love potion or something. I,myself, can’t figure out how she fell for a dork like me. I mean, look at her: she’s got a smile that would make the most senile. Her eyes are comparable to sunrise. And it doesn’t stop there, she’s got the cutest laugh I’ve ever heard. When I start to build my future, she’s the main component.”

“Simp.” George snickered, teasing his twin.

Fred draped an arm around my shoulder, “Call it dumb, call it luck, call it love, or whatever you call it but no matter what you say, she’s the one for me.”

Ginny shushed him, “Why don’t we ask your girlfriend.”

I suddenly felt all eyes on me, “Well, Fred may be a dork. But, he is the sweetest and most caring person ever. He always knows what to do to make me feel better. As cliche as it sounds, he brings out the best in me. That, and the fact that he is handsome and hot.”

Fred beamed at me with pride, “Take a look at my girlfriend. She’s the only one I want.”

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