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neonponders · 3 years

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Here’s a prologue for my The Mummy AU!

This all started because of the moodboards above, created by @memes-saved-me and @harringrove000 . I just couldn’t help myself.

Here’s my original post about this au (it includes links to the moodboards) ~

And @hoegrove I know you wanted to see this so 🌹

Read on ao3 ~

• • • • • • •

The overhead bulbs and candlelight cast harsh shadows and warm light throughout the grimy bar. Everyone glistened with sweat from the desert heat. The night brought with it gentle, cool breezes over the Nile, but in this packed place, the occasional thworp of paper and silk fans being thrown open could be heard. Even the swish of luxurious ostrich feathers swayed to cool people off.

Steve moved his legs to cross his knees, the papyrus green trousers brushing against the military beige breeches of the man sitting opposite him at their small, round, gambling table. They had gathered quite an audience; the messy pile of money had long since included bets beyond Steve and this man’s wagers. Steve hadn’t caught his name, but he felt the heat of his body through their trouser fabrics, and more than once caught himself staring at how the light gleamed in that dark blond, honeyed hair.

“You trying to distract me?”

“No,” Steve smirked, “I’m trying to get comfortable.”

“Stressed?” the man crooned.

Steve removed his gaze from those pin-made waves of his hair. They had long since given up their shape to the day’s heat, but a tress outright curled over this handsome bastard’s forehead. Steve dared to think he looked better unkempt. “Not one bit. Play your cards. You’re dressed like you have somewhere to be.”

“I’m in no rush,” he replied lethargically, like this was exactly where he wanted to be.

Steve let his eyes wander him a little more. “You sure? You look like a military man.”

“Honorably discharged.”

“Congratulations.”

Steve knew his eyes were blue, but in this lighting they looked like clear glass over onyx pupils when he tilted his head to look at Steve curiously. The latter retaliated before he even spoke. “Is that a strange thing to say?”

The blond shrugged with a gentle shake of his head as he plucked at his cards, rearranging them in his hand. “Only if you worship at the alter of hyper patriotism and military imperialism.”

Some chuckles sounded around them as harlots shared long, cigarette filter stems with their johns, and the barkeeps made glass clatter. Steve exhaled in a huff. “Whatever that means. I’d like to win, already. Play your cards.”

“You first, dear.”

He did, laying down his fan of cards underneath the row of cards from the dealer. The Madame of the place listened to their exchanges with amusement but kept it professional as she narrated, “Full house. Always something to brag about. And you, Mr. Hargrove?”

Hargrove, huh? Steve mused as he watched for any amount of discomfort on the man’s face. He didn’t get it.

“Straight flush,” the Madame said, aligning the winning cards with those from Steve’s and her own line. Steve had practically given him that win. And more of his father’s allowance than he would ever admit.

Hargrove moved a stack of chips to the Madame’s side of the table for a substantial tip, and then offered that hand to Steve. “Good game, Mr…?”

His eyes lolled under a slow blink before he accepted the hand. “Just Steve. It’s what I get for losing.”

“Let me top off your drink, at least, Steve.”

He took his loss with grace and stood to follow Hargrove to the bar. The crowd separated for him apart from a random slap on the back and long fingers stroking his hair in consolation. Hargrove reached the bar first, and watched all this while leaning back on his elbow. A light overhead moved across the exposed skin of his chest, just as honeyed as the rest of him, and the sparse hair there. Steve discretely lowered his gaze as if to not trip over the tiled stair raising the bar from the regular floor.

“Do you come here often?”

Steve snorted a quiet laugh and lifted his gaze. “You’ve already got me here. Ask me a real question.”

Hargrove smiled as the barkeep approached. “A bottle of red, please. Two glasses. It is a real question. People respond to you as if they know you here.”

Steve mirrored his stance and leaned into his elbow on the bar. “My sister and I come here sometimes. When we want to get away from…all of it.”

Hargrove hummed deep in his chest as the sound of a cork popping briefly diverted their attention. “Sister?”

“Stepsister, if you want to get specific, but she’s not here. You’ve only got little ol’ me.”

The barman poured two glasses without stopping, holding the vessels together with a practiced hand before he set them and the bottle on the bar. Hargrove paid him as he replied, “I have one of those. A stepsister, I mean. Although I don’t know how much it counts if you haven’t seen your so-called family in years.”

Steve reached for his wine and asked before he meant to, “Do you miss her?”

It was a bit too personal of a conversation between strangers. Hargrove’s pause made him quickly add, “You don’t have to answer that.”

“I’ll miss you, depending on how the rest of this night goes.”

Steve coughed on his wine. Hargrove chuckled as he offered a pale blue handkerchief to wipe his mouth. “Are you always this generous to people who’ve lost money to you?”

“Only the ones who are pretty enough to be a prize themselves.”

Steve’s eyes lolled in his head despite the rouge blooming in his cheeks and dusting across this throat. “If I’d known you were so used to winning I might’ve spent my money better.”

Hargrove’s eyes held steadily on him. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

* * *

Steve’s back pressed hard enough against the wall to break the kiss with a huff. He craned his face towards the sky as Hargrove made him shudder with soft lips and prickling stubble on his throat. They could hear the bar’s goings-on just on the other side of the exterior wall, but leaving the humid interior was refreshing on their wine-flushed skin. The darkness of the Cairo alleyway freed Hargrove’s hands to massage Steve’s backside.

As Steve caught his breath, he managed to slip his own hand between them, feeling the muscle of that chest for himself before he ducked to taste Hargrove’s skin. Salt and the neutral sweetness of a man’s skin. He liked the little sounds that Hargrove hummed while making a mess of Steve’s hair.

“I want this hair all over me. Better than silk.”

Steve lifted back up to frame Hargrove’s head in his hands, claiming and tasting and licking into his mouth. The way Hargrove kissed—like Steve was an oasis and honeycomb. Delicious and all his. It made Steve want to have him right here. Better than wine and cigars—intoxicating, having this kind of attention all to himself.

Hargrove hummed again, this time to get Steve’s attention. “Put your arms around me. I’ll do the rest.”

He didn’t fully understand until his trouser buttons slid free with ease. Steve openly moaned in the wake of Hargrove’s hand massaging his front, finding which direction his erection stood and easing it out into the night air. As his warm palm pumped him to aching readiness, Steve’s hands continued to wander Hargrove’s body. The man kissed him in a rush, almost brutally plundering his mouth before releasing to latch onto Steve’s collarbone.

One of Steve’s arms remained anchored around Hargrove’s shoulders. The rest of him rocked gently against the man intent to take him apart in a back alley—not that Steve minded one bit. His other hand pushed aside that half-open shirt to squeeze a nipple. Hargrove groaned deliciously and lifted his head to give Steve’s ear the same tantalizing attention—

Steve frowned a little at the hard and heavy rock of a thing knocking against his hand. It didn’t take much to pry the thing out of Hargrove’s jacket breast pocket. Steve didn’t have the time or the lighting to see what it really was. He had half a mind to hold onto it just out of petty spite. A token for taking so much out of his own wallet.

A reason for Hargrove to find him the next day.

Except a voice made Steve chirp, “Huh?”

And then Hargrove faced him with the same curiosity. They realized together that neither of them had spoken. Gas and oil lanterns were quickly moving through the alleyway, held aloft by harsh voices.

“Shit!” Steve hissed, rapidly putting himself back in his trousers. He yelped a choked sound as Hargrove yanked him out of the alley by his arm.

“We gotta go!”

“No shit!”

“Split up!”

“What?”

“GO.”

With that, Hargrove shoved him right into the vaporous air of a crowded hookah restaurant. Steve could only dodge and duck around rapidly standing patrons as the police flooded inside. The kitchen staff only reacted after he’d already dashed through the room, and by then, the police were too held up to catch up with him. Steve didn’t stop running. He heard yelling and whistles in the streets behind him, but he kept going—Hargrove’s strange stone clutched tight in his hand.

Only once he’d finished a very round-about path back to his lodgings, did he sneak quietly past his sister’s room and light a lamp to see his prize. The octagonal…thing…fit well in his palm. On one face, jagged lines had been finely carved, but all around its edges were familiar hieroglyphics.

“Oh. What the hell—better yet, what is a handsome American in Egypt doing with you in his pocket?”

Steve went over to his writing desk to find his glasses in a drawer. He popped them on and recognized a cartouche when he saw one. “Seti. Pharaoh Seti, huh? Well, Robin’s going to be all over this when she sees it.”

A shrill whistle outside startled him enough to drop it heavily on his floor. The whistle sounded far away, but he remained very still in case the wrath of a woman awoken before dawn barged into his room.

If Robin woke up, Steve remained blissfully unaware. He quickly undressed, washed as much of himself as he was able with the washbasin, and collapsed onto the bed. With Hargrove’s fancy artifact on his bedside table, Steve let the memory of sharp beard stubble and firm hands guide his own down to his cock. He got himself back to standing and finished what Hargrove started quickly.

But it was soft lips, open arms, and steady eyes that eased Steve to longing sleep. A slumber so deep that had his stepsister threw a pillow at him the next morning for oversleeping on her way to work at the National Library.

#harringrove #here we go again #the mummy!au #neonponders #pondermoniums #1920s!au #fic rec #updates will be hella slow

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bigskydreaming · 2 years

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Sooooo yeah. I definitely did say I was probably gonna be back in just a couple of days and that was not actually a couple of days ago so much as like, a whole fucking month ago, but hey. Time is fake and yada yada yada.

Anyway! Sorry bout that, last month turned out to be a lot more stressful and busier to deal with than I’d thought at the time, and so I kept putting off opening tumblr back up because I was like ugh its gonna take me so long to catch up on everything I’ve missed and/or been meaning to post and/or been asked or @’d on, and then I was like oh hey, saying that every day for a whole fucking month definitely does not help with that so fuck it, I’m back and I’m just not even worrying about some mythical ‘catching up’ idea. Its made up. Its Narnia. I don’t know her.

That said, if you did have something you asked or @’d me about or that happened while I wasn’t around and that you wanted to know my thoughts on or assumed I would’ve had loud, passionate OPINIONATED thoughts on HAD I been around to see it, feel free to resend or bring it up now because I can pretty safely guarantee that I’m not gonna be getting around to combing through my notifications from three weeks ago any time soon, y’know?

Otherwise I’m just gonna go back to my usual shit and you all can go back to seeing your dash flooded by reblog sprees courtesy of me going ‘ooh shiny’ at any random post I see, in between slightly hysterical Dick Grayson rants spread across five to ten posts per any given topic, interspersed with occasional attempts at seducing more followers into reading X-Men comics while pretending that’s definitely not what I’m doing, and punctuated by sporadic posts about Teen Wolf fandom that masquerade as nostalgia but the discerning eye can clearly see as just proof that I’ll never be over that damn werewolf show and you can expect to catch me fifty years from now in some nursing home shouting SEASON FIVE SCOTT WAS RIGHT AND PEOPLE SHOULD SAY IT while the nice nurses beg me to take my pills and also a nap.

So, y’know. Like normal.

Not that I’m saying I’m predictable or anything.

#consistent #the word we like to use around here is CONSISTENT #its a positive quality. very admirable even

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bump1nthen1ght · 3 years

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Thicker than Water (Demon x Reader) Chapter 1

Pairing: Female Reader x Gender Fluid! Demon

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Arm Injuries, Several mentions of blood

Word Count: 1870 Words

Summary: A summoning gone awry ends up in your favor

Chapter 2

A/N: Alright, I know I literally just posted a demon story but this post showed up on my dash and my god if I have never been more inspired to write a fic. I legit wrote this in 2 hours in a frenzy. Also I plan this story to be multi-chap, but still rather short, so maybe 3 parts in total

Before that night, you had never known what nearly-passing out felt like.

Your mother had done it, once or twice, usually after a particularly stressful day at the shop. If you didn’t check on her between your studies she may forget to eat entirely, your father as well. But you had been lucky; Someone had always been there to catch her, to cradle her head and spoon-feed her strength back.

On the forest floor, surrounded by the smell of your own blood, you have no such luxury.

The black spots flickering in your vision blend into the desne canopy above you and your tears only muddle your sight. The iron and copper of the summoning circle drawn around you drown out the scent of fresh pine and grass, while your ears can only focus on your own heartbeat and the bickering of the four boys.

Oh, that’s right, they’re still here.

It seems you had lost more fluid than you realized, probably because of your incessant crying. You had tried to stop the flow, but your brain was losing coherent function with every second. The boys conversation sounds far away and hollow, bouncing off your eardrums and confusing your sense of direction

“You idiot, I told you not to go for the arm!”

“We needed a lot of blood!”

“But she needs to read the ritual dumbass! She can’t if she dies!”

Ah yes, the ritual, it all is flooding back to you now.

Having received a private education from your father at your family’s apothecary, you were already prone to isolation as a child. It didn’t help having no siblings, nor a lacking natural talent for friend-making. Although you had lived in the city all your life, the young people your age knew very little about you, and you them.

You knew they had rumors about you, The daughter the apothecary hides away; That your gaze can turn people to stone, that you can curse and poison people with a couple words and the right ingredients.

The truth was you weren’t so glamorous. You knew your way around a medicine cabinet, sure, but nothing about poisons or magic spells. You didn’t have any special abilities to compensate or explain your reluctance for socialization. Just some overprotective parents and a shy disposition.

So when the handsome postmasters-son began to pay you special visits, you let your guard down. You let him walk you to and from the market, memorizing your weekend route. You let him in for a bit of tea late at night, especially when it seemed so cold, and told him where the spare key was kept. And yes, you even told him about your favorite secluded spot in the forest, where the sounds of civilization were far away, where you could be alone.

And here, in these last moments of your life, you can’t help but feel so naive.

“Hey, hey!”

A boot taps your cheek, shaking you out of your revelry. Your glassy eyes look over to your right.

It’s one of the local merchant’s boys, you think his name is Nicholas? It doesn’t really matter. All you knew about him was that he was a bit rough around the edges; always nicking things from pockets, looking up ladies skirts, and skipping his lessons. That’s what your dad complained about anyway.

A page is shoveled in front of you, dangling over your face. Your eyes take a while, but focus on the words. Nicholas’ boot heel digs into your neck.

“Read it out loud, or we’ll kill you.”

Clearly I’m going to die anyway dumbass, why should I help you?

You might’ve retorted, if you were in such a physical condition to do so. But instead, you do as you're told, and start speaking.

To your left, the postmaster’s son, Richard, sucks in a breath with anticipation. Any false composure he had while luring you here is gone, his feet tapping with excitement as he holds your left arm and lef bound spread eagle.

Holding your right leg is Markus, another merchant boy. He picks at his teeth.

“What are you guys going to wish for?” He whispers. It goes in your ear and out the other, too focused on forming coherent sentences.

“A full-harem of babes, obviously.” Simpers Hunter, the son of a landlord. He isn’t ugly, only a bit plain, and has enough money to boot. Compared to the other bachelors in town however, he has had little luck in procuring a courtship.

“A million coins could get you that and more, idiot. That’s what I’m wishing for.” Whispers Richard.

“What are you going to wish for Nic?” Asks Markus

“Oh my gods, will you guys shut the fuck up?”

Nic snarls, unconsciously digging his heel back into your throat. You choke and stutter, but keep going. The runes around you, written in your own blood, begin to glow.

All of the boy’s eyes widen and they step back from you. Your limbs sink like dead weight as the words begin to flow out your mouth with no thought. The paper with the chant drops to the ground, out of your sight, but it's like your brain has been reprogrammed; You know the rest, know it in your bones.

The grass begins to simmer and burn under the summoning circle, smoke swirling into formation above you. When the final word whispers out of you, you feel your body go lax. You don’t even remember tensing up

I guess this is it. Sorry Mom, Sorry Dad.

You clench your eyes, just hoping the demon will be quick. That it will at least leave a recognizable corpse.

“Holy shit.” You hear muttered, unsure by whom.

Your eyes are closed, body teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, but your senses are still intact. A hot wave of breath washes over your face and the ground below you trembles with heavy footsteps. The boys are quiet but you can hear their hearts pounding. They thrum with life, while yours slowly fades.

“Why have you summoned me, mortal?”

Even half-dead, your muscles tense in fear. The demon's voice is deep and resonates like a crowd talking all at once. It reeks of inhuman power and cracks like thunder.

A brief silence passes, before Nicholas finds his courage.

“We have come to ask for a wish.”

Later, when recounting the story, you will mention that the demon looked over to Nicolas, unamused, despite never seeing it yourself. The demon huffs, the heat of it blowing over you once more.

“I don’t believe I asked you.” The demon mutters. The cacophony of voices blend together into one, bland and emotionless. Even in your state however, you are able to decipher a couple of louder tones which overpower the others. They seem...angry.

“But...you…”

“I asked….”

Your eyes snap open as a wet droplet lands on your cheek. Lingering above you, drool seeping from their unnaturally sharp teeth, is the creature. It’s face resembles that of a goat, but sharp fangs stick out from their lower lips. Their eyes are golden and shine in the night, piercing right into yours. Despite the part of your body screaming out in terror, another part feels oddly….comforted. It’s why you don't startle when they brush a hand against your cheek, their thumb wiping away your tears. Their palm is warm, not like a blistering flame, but like a thick quilt. Like hot chocolate on a rainy day.

“......What do you need of me, little one?”

Their hand, padded and calloused, slides down your arm, closing up the large gash on your inner bicep. In another movement, they do the same to the other. Power and vitality seems to sink back into your body, drip by drip.

Words escape you, but not Nicolas.

“Excuse me, demon, but we're the ones who summoned you.” The sarcastic tone of his does little to hide the quivers of his fear, especially when the demon's neck turns toward him at an unnatural speed. Still, he persists. “Not her. And we want-”

“Do you take me for a blind fool?” The voice bellows, sending all the boys to their knees. Markus clutches his ears while Hunter whimpers on the ground. Nicolas falls back to the ground, eyes widen. The demon stands to their full height, several feet above all of you. “Do you think I was born without smell, without sense?” The step away from your body, swiping at the ground with their fingers, taking a small bit of your blood with it.

The demon sticks their thumb and forefinger in front of Nicolas’s face, causing him to yelp and fall onto his back. “Is this your blood which forged the connection? Was it your words that spoke me into existence? Was it your body which came to the brink, wrenched open the door and pulled us both through?”

Nicolas, trembling like a leaf, shakes his head no. The demon’s eyes jerk up to the others. “And was it any of these young men?”

Richard furiously shakes his head, while Hunter stays collapsed on the ground. Markus pushes himself away, hands still clamped around his ears. The demon sneers, before turning and walking back to you.

The demon kneels before propping your upper body up with a gentle touch. A comforting claw rubs your lower back while another paw rubs the tension out of your shoulders.

“Now, mistress, what may you ask of me?”

Your muscles may no longer tire from blood loss, but your mind truly feels like it’s on the brink of breaking. The demon, with fearsome fangs and a soft look, looks to you for an answer.

“I-I…” You mutter as the demon continues to massage your back. They hum.

“Take your time, it is alright. Rituals are difficult, I can only imagine the toll your body feels.” The mass of voices have synchronized, fading from a hundred to a single, harmonious tune. It is cavernously deep, but pleasant. It reminds you of the portly older man who used to read stories aloud every holiday.

You feel your body unconsciously turn towards your captors. Nicholas stays stuck to the ground, the whites of his eyes almost glowing in the darkness. The others have slowly moved to their knees, all terrified with shaky limbs, and look like they might make a run for it. Markus is slowly inching towards Nicholas’ shoulders, trying to lift him up to his senses.

For the first time in your life, a deep, boiling hatred burns your skin.

Cowards. You sneer, with all the malice stored in your reserves.

“I want-I want…” You stumble as the anger bubbles out of your belly. “I want them to hurt. To feel humiliated.” Nails bite into the palm of your hand, letting out blood as you clench knuckles. “I want everyone to know what they’ve done, who they are, every fault they’ve ever been guilty of. I want them alive, but I want them to burn.”

The demon smiles, pulling you in for a hug. You collapse into their embrace, keeping your eyes locked onto the boys, those rats. The demon hums a contented tune as they rub your back.

“As you wish, my master.”

#monster romance #demon x reader #reader insert #monster x reader #female reader #my writing

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dreamifics · 3 years

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Left my Heart in the Past:

James Potter x Reader

Part 13:

The smell of books and wood was all Y/N could smell, this was her favorite place in the world.. The library was quiet some students were talking, some were whispering and some are sleeping..

But this was the first time Y/N was uncomfortable in the library and it's just all because of James Potter.. No one dared to break the eerie silence between the two of them.. She calmed down, no longer angry at James.. They were still doing their potion's assignment, getting the ingredients was going to be hard but good thing Y/N knows exactly where to get the ingredients..

James Potter was deep in his thoughts, questions flooding his mind.. Why was Y/N mad at him? He steals a glance at Y/N who was writing on her paper.. Her endearing face was showing agitation..

"Are you mad?You look mad.." James broke the silence, she looks up..

"Im not mad.." She answers, gaze falling back to the table..

James frowns, why is she like this? Sometimes she's laughing with him, joking and teasing him but there are other times where she's like this.. Cold and distant..

"Your face looks screwed up like you're mad.." He points out, Y/N's face soften up suddenly feeling insecure at how she looks..

"Im pertubed, not mad.. Just pertubed.." She explains, he just gave her a nod and they both went back to writing..

A couple minutes of silent, James looks up again and sees Y/N 'pertubed' face..

"You still look mad.." He breaks the silence, a intese glare was instanly sent at James..

"Im not MAD!But im almost there!" She yelp at the charming guy infront of her..

"Blimey, no need to get MAD.." He emphasize the word 'mad', Y/N just rolled her eyes at him..

"Just study Potter.." Y/N closed her eye, she can feel all the stress on her body flows through her veins..

"Fine, im almost done anyway..What about you?" James asks..

"Im done, just doing some final touches.." She answers never looking up from her paper.. James just mumbles an 'okay', he was quite surprised that she was already done.. He didn't knew that she was so smart.. He was getting lost and lost in her..

Y/N was now finally done, her eyes trailing her paper, a proud smile showed on her face.. James who was staring at the smiling girl felt his world stops..

But a shiny thing wrapped in Y/N's neck caught his attention, it was a locket.. Curiousity filled his mind, he knows that she was not wearing that for the past few days she was here.. It was a locket, who was inside the locket? Is it her boyfriend?

"What's that?" He asks, his question dripping with curiousity and mostly jealousy.. She stares at James confused and dazed..

"What are you talking about?" She asks and James just grabs the locket, he couldn't control himself..

"Hey!Be careful with that!" She was about to yank back the locket when James opened it.. Y/N's world stopped, what if he recognizes Harry? What if he sees the oddly similarity between the two.. Y/N's body was in a shock state, every strength on her body was gone..

The picture in the locket made James heart stop, he sees Y/N with three other people.. But he was just focused on Y/N, the way her hair was a little messy.. And the way Y/N's dress hugged every fiber of her body.. James wanted Y/N and he was sure of it..

James eyes trail on Y/N's arm who was wrapped in a boy's arm, Y/N and the boy's arm were interlocking, like in a date..

But there was something about this raven-haired boy that oddly looks familiar to James..

Y/N was pulled back to reality, she snatch the locket away.. James looked at her in surprise, a viscious smirk forming in his face..

"You look beautiful in that picture, i would definitely steal that photo.." He jokes, a crimson red showed on Y/N's face..

Why was she blushing? This was stupid, her cheeks burning up and James seems to notice it..

"Oh my!Did--no yeah you did blush!" He jumps from his seat and did a victory dance.. The red tint in Y/N cheeks were now gone because of James actions.. He was doing a victory dance, but he was not very good.. It looks like he has two left feet..

"What in Godric's name are you doing?" She questions James with glaring daggers.. James slowly stopped when he sees Y/N's dagger glares at him..

"D-Doing a victory dance?" James smiled sheepishly at Y/N, a loud laugh erupted from her mouth..

"You--Oh my dear--You ca-can't dance!" She said in between laughs, this was music to James ears..

"Wow!Way to kick a man down.." He playfully pouts at Y/N but she just wince at James..

"Shut up!Are you done?" She asks, crossing her arms in her chest.. James gave her a nod, Y/N takes a deep breath and lay her head in the table, burying herself in the pile of papers in the table..

"Great, you can go now, if you want..." She felt a tinged of pain in her heart.. She heard a chair moves, Y/N hears footsteps.. James left and Y/N was now all alone.. A sigh can be heard from her lips..

Y/N closed her eyes shut, she wanted James to stay.. But he sure had other plans.. She heard the chair infront of her move, looks like someone occupied the chair James used to sit in, and the next thing she knows..

Someone was holding her hand, and the one who was holding her hand and was humming a song.. Y/N's body stiffened up, she knows exactly who this person is..

But she wanted to make sure that she was right.. She wanted to be sure..

Slowly looking up, Y/N sees James Potter holding her hand, and his head was laying in the table.. He was humming to one of the Queen's song called 'Good old-fashioned Lover Boy'..

Y/N smiles at her view, he was handsome and Y/N knew deep inside her that this was no crush or infatuation.. She love the way his eyes shine when he jokes and how his smile was bejeweled, he was even more attractive because they always a riot behind his heartmelting smile..

James was just perfect, he's extremely bright and funny, and it makes her wonder if he was real.. James was also charming, he knows how to make people fall inlove with him..

Intentional or not, he makes people fall in love him without even knowing it..

Y/N tilts her head admiring the guy infront of him, James was a diamond, he shines with inner and even outer beauty.. Maybe that's why Y/N was attracted to James, he has the shine and sparkles nobody could ever take away..

James was just feeling happy, holding Y/N's hand was one of the happiest moment of his life, the rush that flows through his heart.. He was just happy, so happy that he was humming 'Good old-fashioned Lover Boy' by Queen's..

Y/N was feeling everything for James but she didn't know what it was, she never felt this way before.. She never felt attraction before, Y/N never felt fluttered, she never felt this rush in her before.. And it bothered her but she was loving every part of it, the sweet smile that she had falters when thousand negative thoughts flooded her mind..

James Potter was getting attached to Y/N and she knows this is trouble.. She have to push James away, because if not she may ruin the present and the future..

As the realization hits her, she untangled her hands away from James.. He looks up and disappointment was painted all over his face..

"I-I have to go.." She mumbles, frantically packing her things back to her bag..

"Hey-What--Are you okay?" He asks, worries dripping in his tone.. But all Y/N could think about was Harry and Lily.. She starts feeling guilty and she doesn't know the reason why.. Well maybe it's because she was holding hands with her bestfriend's father..

"It's Harry--I meant nothing!" She looks at James, she started to feel more guilty again.. James face was full with sadness and shock, a pang of guilt rushed in her veins..

"Im sorry.." She dashes out and ran far away from the library.. Y/N heard James calls from behind her, but she didn't bother to turn around..

James was left heartbroken and confused, doubts and unanswered questions run through his mind.. He was feeling happy when he held Y/N's hand, but the way you rushed out and left him was so heartbreaking..

He lets out a deep sigh, James pick up his things and left the library.. James wanted to know the reason Y/N left him in such a rush.. He wanted to barge in Y/N's room and demand answers but it was too straightforward..

Did he do something wrong? This feeling unfair, Y/N's making him anxious while she's going to sit there perfectly fine..

Also this is the dress your wearing in the yule ball, just pick one these were all beautiful!I saw this on pinterest and i swear i will buy one when i stop being a broke ass student..Anyways sorry for the late updates, and our wifi will be down for a few days i might not update for a day or so..

Please reblog this post if you would liked to be added to my tag list !

By commenting, or reblogging this post, you’ll be telling me that you’re interested in being on my tag list! You’re also welcome to DM me or send me an ask if you’re more comfortable with that :)

Taglist:

@letssee2468

@herbatkazmiloscia

@natblxck

@fairysums

@thatguppienamedbae

@greengecko

#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james+potter+x+reader #marauders #imagines #hogwarts #james potter #no voldemort au

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swordladywritesthings · 3 years

Text

Choice Words

Pairing: Dreamnotfound (ooh thats new)

Words: 1972

TWs: miscommunication, a bit of anxiety. Let me know if there’s one I should list!

AN: So this is actually a school assignment, but since my teacher thought it was good and I still like it, it’s goin here. I know I don’t usually post MCYT content, but I’m hoping to change that soon! Don’t worry, Sanders Sides will probably stay my main priority for a while. (Also yes I’m still supposed to be on hiatus I know I’m a bad Christian shhhhh /j) Enjoy! EDIT! This is now available on AO3 here! for your viewing pleasure

George felt his head bounce against the school bus’ window as it bumped and sputtered its way down the road. He closed his eyes, hoping to catch up on some of the sleep that he had missed out on the night before, and now was sorely missing. This didn’t last long, however, because the bus screeched to a stop and the sounds of other teens climbing out filled his ears. George just sighed and was about to close his eyes again when he felt a pair of strong shoulders crash into his.

He pulled his head away from the window to meet his best friend’s lively green eyes. “Dream, I’m trying to relax,” he huffed, doing his best to smother the smile he felt creeping onto his face. “Do you mind?”

“Nah, I don’t mind at all,” Dream responded with a cheeky grin, making George roll his eyes. He was just about to put his earbuds in when Dream grabbed his hand, stopping the movement.

“Uh, actually,” Dream said, looking down at where his and George’s hands met, “I had something to ask you.”

“Mhm?” George just continued to scroll through his phone, seemingly not minding the contact.

Dream suddenly found himself supremely more nervous than he had been a few moments ago. He took a steadying breath and just decided to spit it out.

“There’s a new movie I wanna see coming out in theaters tonight, and I was wondering if you’d wanna come with me?”

At this George turned his attention from Twitter to focus on Dream’s face. After a momentary pause, he smiled. “That sounds like fun! I’ve got homework to do, but you could pick me up later tonight?”

Dream let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. “Yeah, totally. Around eight?”

“Perfect, it’s a date then!”

As George went back to looking at his phone, the bus came to Dream’s stop. He grabbed his backpack and gave his friend a goodbye smile, then made his way off the bus and up his driveway. When he was sure that it had turned the next corner down the street, Dream did a little jump and let out a whoop. He was so sure that George would turn him down that now that he hadn't, Dream wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. After a moment of stimming, which mostly just meant standing in the driveway clicking his tongue and shaking his hands up and down, he had regained his composure enough to be able to enter his house without immediately being teased by his sister.

At 7:30 that evening, Dream was standing in front of his full-length mirror and evaluating the outfit he had chosen. It was nothing fancy, just a pair of jeans and a lime button-up shirt, but that was exactly the issue. Was it too formal? Or not formal enough? This was his first date with George after all, he didn’t want to disappoint.

It was in the middle of this scrutiny that his sister spoke up, leaning against the doorframe casually. “You look fine, idiot,” Drista said with a teasing grin. “You know he’s gonna like you no matter what you dress like, don’t stress about it.”

“But what if I overdress? Or underdress? What do people even wear to movie dates anyway?”

Drista shrugged. “I dunno, I’ve never been on one. Probably what you’d wear for a usual date,”

“Thank you for the help, dear sister,” Dream said sarcastically, turning his head to give her a deadpan expression. She stuck her tongue out at him, so of course he had to stick his tongue out at her.

Their teasing match was interrupted, however, by their mother calling up the stairs. “Clay, George is going to be expecting you! Shake a leg!”

“I’m going!” Dream hollered back, taking one more moment to fuss with his hair. Drista sighed and walked over, fixing it for him.

“You’ll be fine, Clay. You’ve known him for, like, ever, and just because you’re going on a date doesn’t mean that either of you are any different than you were this morning.”

Dream nodded, and Drista gave his arm an affectionate whack. “Now get out of my house, you nerd.”

“I’m still older than you!” He protested as he grabbed his keys and walked out the front door.

The drive to George’s house was a short one, and soon enough he was knocking on the front door of a small ranch-style house that served as the Found household. He took a step back from the door when he heard muffled barks and scrabbling of nails on the other side. George cracked the door open, pulling three very excited dogs away from where they were trying to push out the door and run into the front yard. He smiled a bit sheepishly at Dream, then turned his head to call over his shoulder. “Mum! I’m leaving!” After a faint response had been hollered back, he shoved his way out past the dogs and onto the front porch.

George huffed, brushing his sweater free from the dog hair that clung to it. “Sorry about that, the dogs just get excited when someone comes to the door.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m used to your dogs by now,” Dream chuckled, bumping his shoulder against George’s. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” George fidgeted with the hem of the blue sweater he was wearing, kneading it between his fingertips. The outfit wasn’t really anything special, but it was one of Dream’s favorites. The color made the brown of George’s eyes richer, and it looked especially good paired with the light pink blush that was currently painted across his face.

Soon enough the two of them were sitting in the plush red chairs of the theater, watching previews and waiting for the movie to start. It was a pretty small showing, there were only two other couples in the entire room, so Dream and George were free to spread out. George had his legs slung over the armrest, leaning his back against Dream’s shoulder, occasionally tipping his head back to give him an upside-down grin. In a way that confused George to no end, Dream had managed to fold his long legs underneath him so he was sitting cross-legged on the chair. He had one arm hooked over the back of the seat, not quite around George but close enough to feel the warmth coming from him.

The background chatter of the theater quieted to a hush as the lights slowly faded and the beginning of the movie started to play on the screen. George flipped around in his chair to sit normally and shuffled closer to Dream’s side in excitement, causing butterflies to erupt within the taller boy’s chest. He casually dropped his arm to rest around George’s shoulders, then settled back to watch as the main character dashed onto the screen.

The movie’s plot climax was fast approaching, and George wasn’t handling it very well. He was curled into Dream’s side as the scene around the main character exploded, and he practically shoved his face into Dream’s shoulder with an anxious squeak when the character onscreen only narrowly avoided the hunters chasing him. Dream couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle at George’s reactions, earning him a firm whack to the bicep.

“Don’t laugh at me! It’s a very intense moment!” He mumbled, though the effect of his statement was diminished slightly by the fact that he was still hiding his face in the lime green fabric of Dream’s shirt.

“Aww, don’t worry Gogy, I’ll protect you,” Dream cooed teasingly, patting his head fondly. With a quick glare towards him, George turned back to look at the screen, though he didn’t move from where he was basically plastered to Dream’s side. Maybe if he had looked closer, he would’ve seen the smitten looks that Dream couldn’t resist giving him every couple of minutes. Or maybe he would’ve caught the way that Dream stiffened momentarily when he grabbed George’s hand, caught up in the moment. Or the relief that flooded over him when George just squeezed it without a second thought.

The two of them got so caught up in the movie that it took both of them by surprise when the lights came back on and the credits started rolling. George pulled away from Dream’s hold to stand up, which made him pout for a moment, but returned to stand at his side when he had gathered his things. Together they walked out into the parking lot, where George talked animatedly about the characters of the movie while Dream watched in amusement. The drive back to George’s house was filled with much of the same, George sharing his thoughts on the plot and characters while Dream listened happily, throwing in his own opinions here and there.

Dream did his best to swallow his nerves as he walked George up to his front porch, catching his elbow when he went to open the door.

“I had a really nice time tonight, George,” He smiled at his best friend, hoping he sounded a lot calmer than he felt.

“So did I! Thanks for inviting me. We should do this again sometime,” George chirped.

“You think so?”

“Definitely!”

“In that case,” Dream said, taking a deep breath and trying to gather his courage. “Would it be alright if I kissed you goodnight?”

This seemed to take George off-guard, taking a small step back and giving him a baffled look. “What? Why?”

“It’s okay if not!” Dream rushed to backtrack, bringing one of his hands up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just figured that’s what people usually do after a date goes well.”

So many emotions flickered across George’s face in a matter of moments. Disbelief, realization, guilt, eventually landing on a mix of confusion and sadness. “Clay,” He started softly. “When you asked me to come with you tonight, did you mean it romantically?”

A look of horror and embarrassment struck Dream’s features. “Did you think I meant it platonically?”

George nodded silently, and Dream buried his face in his hands with a groan. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I should’ve made it more clear. Jesus Christ, I’m such an idiot.”

“Hey, hey, don’t talk about yourself like that!” George said sternly, drawing Dream’s gaze from his palms to his blushing face. “Maybe there was a communication issue, and maybe neither of us completely understood the point of tonight, but that does not make you an idiot,” his voice softened as he watched Dream’s face flush.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Dream mumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets self-consciously. “I should probably get going,” he went to turn away but felt a hand reach out and grab his forearm before he could.

“Clay, I…” George hesitated, trying to find the right way to say what he wanted to say. “I did really enjoy myself tonight, and I’m sure that I would’ve acted differently if I had known how you felt about me,” He quirked his lips up into a smile. “Can we try this again? Do it right next time?”

Dream’s eyes shone with cautious excitement. “Really? You wanna go on an actual real date with me?”

George nodded, and Dream smiled excitedly. “Okay, let’s do that.”

George turned to look at his front door, then back at Dream. “I gotta go, it’s late. Text me when you get home, okay?”

Dream nodded, then reached out to gently squeeze one of George’s hands. “Yeah, absolutely. Good night, George.”

George hesitated for a split second, then rose onto his tiptoes to press a quick kiss against Dream’s cheek. “G’night, Dream,” he murmured, then disappeared inside his house, leaving Dream on the porch in stunned but ecstatic silence.

TAGLIST

General: @definitely-a-living-human @my-friends-art-and-writing @arodynamic-enby @ari-the-writer-enby @me-a-mess-morelikelythanyouthink @asexualtrashcan @the17thmeatball @inku-snas-art @fandoms-are-my-world

MCYT: @gabnapp @justalittlecorrupted

#kat's writing #dreamnotfound #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #dream smp #idk how to tag #dream #george #drista #miscommunication

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writeraquamarinara · 3 years

Text

as with everything else in life, I’m late to making this post. I tend to make one around Jan 1st every year, but it’s now a few days after that, and all i can say for myself is that time is non-consequential during a pandemic, right? right.

anywho, this is my usual “thank you for keeping me going this year” post, but with even more fervor. 2020 would not have been nearly as tolerable without you all in it. and when i say all i really do mean all. thank you to anyone who follows me here or has read and supported my work on AO3 or has sent me a message or an ask or even just likes my posts. you can never know how many people’s hearts you’ve touched, lives you’ve made better, but i’m telling you now: you made me smile and laugh and feel love in a year that could have easily stolen all that. thank you for sticking around.

a few more specific shoutouts are under the cut to keep from flooding your dashes. i hope you’re all having a wonderful start to the new year.

much love, mari

to @anniemurphys: ria, i cannot thank you enough, for so many things. you played such a vital role in turning this year around for me. your friendship, and the friendships you’ve helped me make through book club, kept me smiling from week to week. i never wanted to leave our meetings, no matter how long they’d already gone. I could listen to your literary analyses and life advice for days on end. you’re such a kind, patient, loving person, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life. here’s to another year of freaking out over taylor swift albums and the power inherent in voluntarily turning oneself into vegetation.

to @bigdsgirl: heidi, you’re one of the sweetest, most hard-working people i know. you amaze me, and you graciously humor my latest hyper fixations—somehow always knowing, always reblogging content related to what i’m obsessing over at the moment. you give such great advice and have such a calming presence that i love being in chats and on calls with you. i cannot wait for more zoom movie nights in 2021.

to @hellodinoflower: raptor, you’ve supported me for so many years now, and whenever i feel down about my writing i’ll go back through the comments on some of my old fics and yours always make me tear up. you’re so thoughtful and kind and excited about my work that i cannot help but be the same. i hope you enjoyed the little dino reference in pride & publishing—i tried my best, i really did—and i hope you’re doing well. sending you so much love.

to @soyforramen: soy, i promise i’ll get to your head canon asks some day. i promise i haven’t forgotten them; i’m just uncreative and uninspired, but what else is new. you, however, are brilliant and kind and thoughtful, and your guidance in making both life and fic-writing decisions has been so important to me this year. wishing you so much luck with school this year, and even more happiness.

to @ithoughtyoulikedmereckless: rach, where to even begin? you’re the person i talk to when i’m feeling happy or sad or annoyed or angry or pretty much anything, really. our FaceTime convos are my favourite, no matter what time of day we have them at (somehow, the ones at 10pm are just as crazy as the ones at 3am, and i don’t really understand how or why, but i love that for us). i’ve learned so much about myself through my conversations with you, and you keep me level headed when i start doubting myself too much. you understand me on such an amazing level and i’m so lucky that you reached out to me so many years ago. i’m so lucky that we just happened to find each other on here and just so happened to move near each other this year. i still cannot believe i get to see you in person and go on walks in the woods with you. you’re such a talented photographer, writer, painter, baker, and all around artist; an incredibly kind and funny person; and i aspire to be you. i’m rambling now, but just know that i love you.

to @catthecoder: lav, my light, my love. seeing your icon and username on my dash makes me smile so hard. you just give off the best vibes and chatting with you always leaves me feeling like i’ve been basking in the sunlight for the past few hours. we need to make a resolution to sprint with each other more often this year, even if 2021 is going to be as hectic as ever, as i find so much joy in reading your snippets as we go along. you’re such a wonderful writer, and i often read your gift to me from years ago for inspiration and comfort. i hope you’re doing well and am sending so much love.

to @stirringsofconsciousness: stirrings!! i know you’ve had a super busy year, but you still made time to chat with me and i’ll be forever grateful. i often think about the advice you’ve left for me and the thoughtful responses you’ve given to my personal posts and find so much inspiration in your own words and actions. i also still cannot get over the time when you sent me a post of artful vases because you thought of me when you saw them. mortifying ordeal of being known who? anyways lol, i just wanted to thank you for being in my life and wish you a happy 2021.

to @heavy-lies-the-crown: alex, i just wanted to thank you for putting your time and energy towards answering my incessant questions this year. you’ve been an inspiration to me as a writer ever since i first found your work, but you’re also an inspiration to me as a person, and i’m always thinking about the advice you’ve given me. i hope you had a wonderful end to 2020, and that 2021 brings you even more joy than seeing your posts on my dash brings me. much love.

to @stonerbughead: maria, you brought so much happiness to my 2020. your support for my work took my breath away every time, and I swear I nearly cried when I saw your latest comments on pride and publishing. you put so much time and energy into this fandom, and into supporting the people in it, and I hope you know that it doesn’t go unnoticed. we all love you, and we’re so lucky to have you; your fics are brilliant, your podcast highlights are a joy to read, and your disdain for ras is hilarious. thank you for being you. sending lots of love.

to @sullypants: sully, it’s been years and i still marvel at how lucky i am to know you. you’ve taught me so much, from how to be more thoughtful to how to navigate therapy and self-love to how to be a kinder person in the world. you introduced me to ask polly and you send me really nice asks and you’re one of like four people who interacts with my posts on a consistent basis, which makes me feel a little less alone in the world, if that makes any sense. i’m going to stop myself from rambling on or else i might cry, but i just wanted to thank you for—here comes the cliche—changing my life (doesn’t everyone we meet change our lives, in some way or another? but you’ve changed mine considerably, and for the better). sending you so much love (in the form of both yellow and blue heart emojis)

to @justcourbeau: mel, our paths cross less frequently now than they used to, but that doesn’t mean i don’t think about you and the conversations we’ve had, or smile when i come across your posts on my dash, or when i happen to open up instagram once in a blue moon and see you’ve posted on your story. please never stop sending me sparknotes memes—especially cask of amontillado ones. your words of advice from the night i called you, distraught, a few years ago live in my brain rent free, and i will continue to carry them into 2021 with me. i hope 2021 treats you well, and that you achieve all you want and more. sending you an immense amount of love.

to @protectorofthesmoll: your string of comments on pride and publishing made me cry multiple times, i swear. i still read them back every so often, when i’m trying to muster the courage to start up on the new chapter. your support means so much to me, and it amazes me how far back it goes: I’m pretty sure I have at least two asks of yours sitting in my inbox, from back in 2018 when I had barely any followers or supporters, both of them writing prompts that I never filled. i promise i’ll get to them one day. anywho, i just wanted to thank you for your support this year, and every year before that. wishing you so much love and happiness in 2021.

to @panalegs27: 2020 was the year of figuring out that we have so much in common: a hatred of dating apps, confusion over tumblr’s obsession with the raven cycle, and an attraction to logan lerman with gray hair. thank you for chatting about all of these things, and more, with me; seeing that you’ve sent me a post always makes me smile, and our conversations make me laugh. wishing you even more love and laughter in 2021.

to @indiebughead: maria, it’s been so lovely getting to know you more over the course of this year. i love listening to your stories and living vicariously through you, lol. (i want updates on new neighbor boy, asap!) thank you for listening to my petty rants and for encouraging me to make bad decisions and be salty on main when i want to be. i couldn’t have asked for a more supportive conspirer ;) sending lots of love.

to @redundantoxymorons: iz, you’re one of the smartest, most eloquent, most supportive people i know. i know 2021 will be both stressful and exciting in many ways, and i wish you all the best. i know you’re going to thrive wherever you end up, and i’ll cheer you on as you navigate this new world, just as you’ve done for me all these years. i’m so lucky to have you as a friend, supporter, and beta, and all of our conversations bring me so much joy. pls continue to gush about taylor swift and rec books and send uquizzes with results that make me feel Known in 2021. i love you very much <3

to @cracklr: leda, i’ve missed your passive aggressive smiley faces, but your gushing insta comment more than made up for that, i promise :) sending you so much love and happiness in this new year <3

to @dottie-wan-kenobi: dottie, the posts we send each other make me so upset, but in a good way—the “if i just had to see this nasty shit then so do you” kind of way—and i love that about our relationship. who else would understand how disgustingly hilarious something is other than my wife? no one, that’s who. i often think about how you were the first friend i made in fandom, and i’ll be forever grateful for that: i couldn’t have found a better person. i love you so much, and am sending you all my love.

this list of shoutouts is really much shorter than it should be, but my brain is currently friend and i cannot seem to think properly anymore. therefore, i’m going to call it a day and reiterate my above statements that I love you all, and I hope you have a fucking amazing 2021.

#i can't find my 2019 one of these so i've decided i need to start tagging them with something so i can read them back #so for posterity:#end of the year appresh #anywho #none of this is edited or read over #so if it's embarrassingly cheesy or there are typos... welp

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meridiansdominoes · 4 years

Text

Showers of Starlight

Incoming blyla incoming blyla incoming blyla

This issssss the sequel to ‘Catch the Rain’ that was posted a few weeks ago! @thatfunkyopossum HAPPY BIRTHDAY UR MY FAVORITE <3

(this is like, 6k words?? Is that okay to post in this weird tumblr format?? It’s gonna be mad long... well idk,,, but here it is anyway on ao3 too in case you don’t want to destroy ur dash with a long post heh

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758554

Aayla finds her Commander standing out on the little balcony, dressed in civilian clothes and staring out into the city. Night turns Coruscant into an endless sea of luminescence. Air lanes become lines of shooting stars pressing onward in the darkness. Skyscrapers around them glow with the light of thousands of residents inside, creating trails of brilliance that ascend up towards the black sky.

By the time Aayla arrives at the complex that serves as the temporary housing for her officers while they’re on leave, the sun has disappeared from the sky, and she’s mentally exhausted. A full report to the Jedi Council takes effort and energy that she has to fight to produce, but she is required to give her debriefing before she can get some rest herself. She’s relieved that it’s over now, but there are still a few things to take care of. Her men need to be fully settled, otherwise Aayla won’t be able to sleep well tonight. She knows that Bly will take care of things, but she needs to verify their wellbeing for herself for her own peace of mind. Here on Coruscant they’re finally safe, and she has to remind herself of that somehow.

Though visiting Bly to check on the men isn’t necessarily a bad thing. If anything the thought makes some of her exhaustion leave her as she steps into the lift that will take her up to her Commander’s quarters. The journey upwards is smooth and quick. When the doors open on the correct floor, Aayla steps out and immediately finds one of her officers in the hallway, clad only in his blacks.

“General!” Captain Brine says in surprise, blue eyes widening. He snaps off a quick salute automatically. The effect is dampened slightly by the pillow he has tucked under his other arm. “What are you—oh. Looking for the Commander?”

Aayla nods. “Are you well, Captain?”

Brine shrugs.

“Well enough, sir. It’s a bit odd to not be on the ship, but the rooms are nice. Though the pillows leave a lot to be desired. I had to go find myself a new one.”

Aayla huffs out a tiny laugh.

“I’ll take your word for it, Brine. Could you direct me to Bly’s room?”

“The last one on the left, sir,” Brine answers without hesitation. He meets her gaze carefully, something unreadable flashing across his face. “He’ll try to keep working instead of getting some rest like he should. Maybe you can help him where I can’t.”

Aayla blinks at her Captain, but before she can fully make sense of the words Brine is already retreating towards his own room. He closes his door behind him, leaving Aayla alone in the hallway. She sighs and makes her way to the end of the hall until she stands in front of the very last door on the left.

It isn’t locked. The door slides open when she knocks lightly on the durasteel. She steps inside. The rooms that Brine had described as ‘nice’ are small and spartan in design. Nice is not the word Aayla would have used, but they’re a step up from the barracks to her men. There are three tiny spaces all hooked together—a small reception area, a tiny unused kitchen, and an even tinier bedroom. Aayla can see through the entire apartment.

Bly is nowhere in sight, although his armor is neatly stacked on the table in the little kitchen. Aayla hesitates for a moment, confused, until she notices the transperisteel door flung open against the far wall. Cream colored floor-length curtains hide the actual doorway from view. She makes her way through the apartment and pushes the curtains aside.

Coruscant is far too polluted for its inhabitants to see the stars that stretch above them through the smog. For some residents, the brilliant night is the closest they will ever get to seeing space around them. It is beautiful, in its own way. From the balcony of Bly’s window it seems as if he is poised on the edge of a glittering nebula, watching the colors swirl in hypnotic patterns and glitter quietly in the dark.

Bly is framed by the ambient light of the city. Aayla allows herself to just watch him for a nanosecond. She can’t see his face, but the light plays off of his tan skin in such a flattering way that she can’t avert her gaze. There’s a datapad in one of his hands. She raps lightly on the wall to alert him to her presence. He turns a little too fast, free hand jerking down to his side for a weapon that isn’t there right now. Once he’s seen her, he stiffens a little bit into a loose attention. One eyebrow raises slowly.

“General?”

Aayla doesn’t respond immediately, mostly because her brain stalls as she finally takes full stock of what he’s wearing.

He’s dressed in a loose white shirt with a low neckline that reveals his collarbone and the hint of a gold tattoo over his chest that disappears under the fabric. Her eyes pause on the smooth skin of his neck before she forces herself to drop her gaze—but that just makes things worse, because without the usual armor smoothing out the lines of his body she can see every muscle in his arms. His biceps are... impressive. She spends a moment just... drinking it in, because who knows if she’ll ever get to see this ever again. The tight black pants completing his outfit certainly don’t help her concentration.

Bly coughs suddenly. She glances back up to look him in the eyes. Now that she’s already thinking about such details, it’s hard to stop. The splashes of gold against the slant of his cheekbones is distinctly alluring. Aayla struggles to pull her thoughts out of the downward spiral and grimaces inwardly. She’s left him standing there for a heartbeat longer than necessary. She quirks one lek in a hasty greeting.

“At ease, Commander. I just wanted to ask you if the last of the reports have come in yet.” Aayla steps out onto the balcony to join him. She does, in fact, have the self-control necessary to keep her gaze from roving across his exposed skin this time, as tempting as it is.

Bly’s body language loosens. He leans against the railing again and taps at his datapad, scrolling through a list of reports. She can see tiny pinpricks of light reflected from the city skyline in his eyes. Aayla settles herself against the railing next to him as well, content to wait as he runs through his mental checklists.

She reaches out with the Force and grounds herself against his presence. It’s always bright and soothing and mellow to her in a way that she’s never felt before, not even among Jedi. She’s drawn to it. Today his mind is smooth, pulsing gently with peace and relief to finally be on leave. It’s rare that she gets to feel him in that state of mind. Bly is always concerned about something—about the men, about a campaign, about hyperspace routes, about shipping documents… about her.

Perhaps he thinks he is subtle, but Aayla sees far more than he realizes.

She notices when his gaze lingers on her, when he hesitates with his mouth hanging open as if he wants to speak before closing it and marching stiffly away. She notices when he bristles with anger and places himself between her and the foolish males that do not see the lightsaber in favor of inspecting her curves. She notices the fleeting smiles that cross his face when he thinks that she isn’t looking.

She wonders if he’s ever noticed the similar expressions that cross her own face.

There has been an odd tension in the Force lately. It’s a steady buzz, just present enough to nag at her as if ordering her to pay attention to something. It doubles whenever she speaks with her commander. Aayla thinks that she understands why now. Perhaps. Tonight is as good a night as any to either confirm or dispute her theory… if she is brave enough. If she is wise about how she approaches the subject.

It’s a risk, but it’s one that she’s willing to take. Determination floods her veins.

Bly sighs and looks up from the datapad with a nod of approval.

“I’ve got every report, sir. We’re good to go. I’ve even got the ship’s maintenance schedule here.” He grins wryly. “If only it were like this every time. The crew have sent all the records to me quicker than usual so that they can be off duty faster.”

Aayla chuckles.

“It would spare you a large amount of stress, at the very least,” she comments in amusement. Bly rolls his eyes.

“Force forbid,” he mutters. There’s something so easy about standing next to him, about the civilian clothing, about the casual conversation. Aayla feels a strange pang of jealousy. How easy would all of this be if they weren’t soldiers, if she were not a Jedi? She’s never doubted her purpose before, but Bly is the catalyst for many such thoughts.

Bly lifts his free hand to rub at his face. She glimpses a line of gold curling up his arm, disappearing into his sleeve. She reaches out to touch it without even thinking, brushing her fingers along the line and marvelling at how his something that should feel metallic and cold under her hand is warm and soft instead. She traces the tattoo higher, stopping just before she reaches the barrier of his sleeve. Part of her wants to follow it further. The thought abruptly makes her mouth go dry.

“It suits you,” Aayla tells him honestly. He freezes up. For an instant, she feels muscles bunching under his skin. She pulls her hand away quickly, afraid that she’s crossed a line, and reaches out with the Force to check if she’s offended him in any way. Perhaps the tattoo is in memory of a lost brother, or a hard battle that he hadn’t wanted to remember right now—

When she brushes Bly’s mind she finds it full of static. His thoughts are racing almost too fast for her to make sense of them. After a moment he seizes them and wrestles them into submission. He swallows once and nods at her politely.

“Thank you, sir,” he says. Calm, controlled. If she hadn’t glimpsed his thoughts she wouldn’t have known any better. But she does know, and the realization makes amusement and perhaps a hint of mischief course through her. If this is how he reacts to a simple compliment, she can’t imagine how he would be if she were to—

Force. Enough of that.

“Have the men gotten settled?” she asks quietly, retreating away from his mind for the time being. He straightens at the question, shoulders drawing back.

“Yes, sir. They’re alright.” Then he winces. “They’re… excited. We haven’t gotten a good amount of leave in a while. I was thinking of drafting an apology letter to Fox tonight, just in case.”

Aayla laughs.

“They deserve to have their fun,” she comments, leaning against the railing and staring out at the skyline in front of them. “We’ve had a busy few months.”

Bly drags in a deep breath and exhales slowly.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “They were getting tired. This will be good for them.”

“And for us,” Aayla adds. He hesitates, unsure of how to respond. She takes the opportunity to lean over him and pluck the datapad from his hand. A protest rises on his lips, but she shoots him a look, and he bites his tongue. “You deserve rest just as much as the rest of your men do, Commander.”

He nods in reluctant agreement, resting one elbow against the railing and slumping a little. He isn’t completely relaxed, but it’s more than he had been a few moments ago. Improvement.

Silence settles over them. It isn’t uncomfortable—on the contrary, it’s peaceful. A light breeze stirs through the air. Aayla glances up at her Commander, squaring her shoulders a bit. There is an opportunity here, a chance to act. She takes it.

“What would you like to do after the war, Bly?”

He blinks at her, taken aback. To be fair, she’s never asked him something like this before. During the heat and smoke and fire of a campaign she’d never felt as if it were an appropriate question to solicit. She watches him consider it. He glances down, picking at the loose white shirt as if suddenly unsure of himself.

“I’m not sure, sir,” he answers slowly. “I was created to be a soldier. I can’t really imagine myself doing anything else with my life. What… what would you like to do?”

Aayla hums.

“I suppose I will continue to be a Jedi. Though it will undoubtedly be strange. We’ve taken the roles of Generals so easily. Many will struggle to leave it behind.”

His expression flickers as something unreadable passes across his face.

“Will you?”

She falters.

Aayla will struggle. She already knows that, as surely as she knows that the sun will rise in the morning. Perhaps a few years ago that would have concerned her, but today she accepts it and wonders, not for the first time, if she even will want to leave it behind. Not for the power, not for the thrill of command, but for the men. For Bly.

The Council would be appalled to hear that. Quinlan Vos would be thrilled.

“I will not leave my men behind, even if the title of General is removed from me,” she tells Bly firmly. It’s so easy to be honest with him. It’s part of the reason why they work so well together. She sees something in Bly ease a little at her words.

“That’s good, sir,” he says. Without warning he tenses again, taking a shallow breath. “I don’t necessarily know what I want to do after the war, but I do know that it wouldn’t be worth my time if you weren’t there as well.”

Her heart stutters in her chest. He turns his face back to the skyline, as if immediately berating himself for the comment. Aayla resists the urge to reach out with the Force and find the true meaning of those words, to understand everything left unspoken there.

“In that case, I would welcome your company,” she responds quietly. Bly shifts his weight just a little. Some of the strain eases from his shoulders at her acceptance. His words hadn’t been an offer, not exactly, but it had been a bold statement—especially for Bly, who understands his priorities and selflessly resists the feelings that he so clearly wants to act upon. Aayla senses conflict in him, a constant battle between remaining stoic and throwing all caution to the wind.

It would be a lie to say that she did not feel the same thing.

There is a chain of command. There is a Jedi Code. There are rules, both dictated and not, that must be followed. In all her life she has never found herself wishing that it were not so until now.

Bly pulls away from the railing of the balcony, taking a step back. His tattoos gleam like liquid gold across his arms as he moves into a different light.

“I… I’ll get some rest then, General. You should too,” he suggests carefully. Too carefully. She is consistently impressed by his restraint. If it weren’t for his careful self-control she would have fallen a long time ago, but he balances her out perfectly in that as well as everything else. She doesn’t want him to leave yet.

She catches his arm as he tries to turn away with her own hand. Both of them freeze. Aayla looks down at her hand and is suddenly fascinated by the way the blue of her skin contrasts with the warm brown of his.

“Bly. Stay with me?”

She doesn’t have much right to ask that of him. It’s his room, after all. But Aayla doesn’t imagine the little tremor that runs through his body as he pulls his arm away. She lifts her head to meet his gaze and is stunned by the storm of conflict in his eyes.

“General… I don’t think…”

“Stay,” Aayla repeats softly. She ever-so-gently brushes at the edge of his mind again to make sure she isn’t pressuring him. She won’t force him into something he genuinely doesn’t want to do.

Bly’s mind is always so welcoming to her. She doesn’t even think that he’s aware of how readily it opens to her, of how easily it shares its secrets with her. For that reason she chooses to keep her distance for the most part, because she refuses to take advantage of him in that way. If she must reach for his thoughts, she keeps the connection as shallow as possible.

On occasions she’s seen his mind flare brilliantly when she’s nearby until he stuffs the light away under a grey shield of professionalism. She catches glimpses of it when he’s not being careful—when they’ve won a campaign and the men are celebrating in a fever, adrenaline and relief and the thrill of success spinning through the air. When she tells him that her recklessness had indeed been part of the plan and he only responds with an eye-roll and a fond chuckle. When he changes an entire battle strategy because she makes a single offhand comment about how she’s worried about destroying a beautiful forest.

Never once has she felt his mind grow heavy and dark with the sick lust that so many other men succumb to when she approaches. When desire does escape from the deeper recesses of Bly’s mind it is only visible for an instant as a bright flash of heat before he shuts it down without mercy. His respect for her is tangible even without a glance at his thoughts.

Right now, his mind is hesitant. She can sense that he wants to stay, but he is afraid as well. He’s worried for what he might do if he does remain, for what she might think, for what the men might say.

If only he could see into her mind. Aayla thinks a bit wryly that he wouldn’t be as afraid if he could feel her own thoughts on the matter.

“I would like it if you stayed,” she reiterates, just so that he understands that this isn’t an order, isn’t something that he’s required to accept. “Though you are welcome to get some rest if you wish.”

It’s a dangerous game that they’re playing. The attraction, the want, is mutual, otherwise it wouldn’t be as potent as it is. Aayla is tired of ignoring the bantha in the room. War takes and razes and tears down everything in its path. For once she wants to take something for herself.

Bly clenches his jaw and nods once.

“I’ll stay,” he acquiesces quietly. In the distance, faint police sirens become audible. Aayla can’t help a tiny smirk at the way Bly’s expression turns pained.

“There are millions of life-forms living nearby, Bly, I’m sure the men are fine. They probably don’t have anything to do with it,” she teases. He rolls his eyes.

“If I don’t get some sort of complaint in the morning I’ll be extremely surprised,” he grumbles. The grumpy amusement on his face is so utterly endearing that she steps forward without even thinking about it.

“Bly…”

His name comes out of her mouth with more warmth than she’d intended. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Aayla.”

She shivers. Her name rolls off of his tongue in the most delightful way. She draws a little closer to him, just enough to be intruding in his personal space. When he finally opens his eyes to look at her again she can see his defenses crashing down, crumbling as she reaches out to trace her fingers along the gold across his cheek.

He swallows hard as if bracing himself and reaches out a hand. His fingers brush against one of her lekku tentatively. She makes a soft noise of encouragement, and his touch grows a little more firm, sliding up to rest just at the junction of her skull. Aayla sighs. She leans forward and rests her forehead against his.

That makes him pause. His eyes go wide, as if he’s only just realizing what he’s doing. He jerks away from her so fast that she briefly loses her balance. The absence of his touch, as fleeting as it had been, makes her chest ache.

“Aayla, I—General. General, Force, this isn’t—I can’t. You have your—the Code, and the regs—”

Aayla exhales.

“And what if I wanted to choose, just for a moment, that they did not exist, Commander?” she asks him. “The time for hesitation is over. I will not sit in silence and wait until the war takes even you from me.”

Bly’s expression contorts. The edges of his Force presence go jagged.

“It isn’t that simple,” he forces out. “We could pretend all we want, but that wouldn’t change the rules.”

“Some would say that the rules are outdated,” Aayla counters. She feels a sharp flash of frustration. It’s tempting to let it stew and grow, but she does her best to let it go.

“That doesn’t matter, sir. We couldn’t ever… if anyone ever noticed, you would be stripped of both your rank and your title as a Jedi Master. I won’t be responsible for that.”

She mulls over his determined words with a sad fondness. He would give up everything he ever wanted just to keep her safe.

“Fortunately, you are not responsible for that,” she replies smoothly. “I am quite capable of making my own decisions. If I were to be expelled from the Jedi Order it would be because I chose that path.”

He stares her down, horrified. Then he narrows his eyes and sets his jaw.

“I would rather have you with me—with us, with the battalion—as a General and nothing more, than not have you at all.”

Aayla’s frustration comes back, stronger this time. She frowns at him.

“As I told you before, I will not leave my men behind, even if the title of General is removed from me. Nor will I leave my men behind if the title of Jedi is stripped from me. This is a risk that I am willing to take.”

Bly grimaces and tips his head back, sighing at the sky.

“Sir, regardless, I’m not—I’m not worth that risk. I’m a clone. This isn’t just inappropriate, it’s unfair to you, and I can’t—”

“That is not what I believe,” Aayla interrupts sharply. She feels just a jolt of anger, of outrage that he’s been conditioned to think like that. The emotion is difficult to banish. “You are worth far more to me than you could ever realize.”

He twitches and looks away fast. The rise and fall of his chest comes quicker now. His mind undulates with uncertainty and fear. The uncertainty is understandable, but the fear—that, she doesn’t understand. She steps close to him again and watches him tense, glancing at her as if worried of what she’ll do.

“What are you afraid of?” she asks in genuine surprise. She is just as new to this as he is, after all, and she wants answers. Bly lets out a stuttering breath.

“I don’t know,” he rasps. The words ring with honesty. An idea flits on the edge of Aayla’s mind. She reaches up to touch his temple. Despite everything, he leans into the touch.

“Let me see,” she requests. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares into her eyes. Ever so slowly, he dips his head in a small nod. Aayla closes her eyes.

When she reaches for his mind, his thoughts all but pull her inside. In an instant she’s deeper into his psyche than she’d originally meant to go. All of his emotions roll over her like a wave. She tries to pull away from them, but it’s too late, and she gets thrown into a whirlwind of sensation—

It’s overwhelming. The first thing to hit her is a tide of devotion so fierce that it feels like a firestorm against her own mind. A distinct longing is next, waxing and waning in strength as he struggles to keep it in check. Then there is a devastating clash of loyalty and restraint and desire and helplessness that makes her head spin.

In the center of it all, she sees herself.

It isn’t what she expects at all; isn’t even close to how she imagines herself in her own mind. She stands against an infinite stretch of darkness, lighting the way with her lightsaber outstretched as a brilliant blue beacon. She can sense Bly’s instinctual inclination to follow regardless of where she will lead—even if it means death, even if it means something worse. Through Bly’s eyes she is glorious and powerful and ethereal. Except then there is a sharp contrast, because she fights with all the vigor of a warrior but then she turns to look at him and everything goes soft and suddenly he is overcome by admiration and fondness and a hesitant, tentative love—

Aayla reels back. She struggles to stay above the sea of affection and desire and passion that follows after her doggedly, as if it can’t continue to exist without showing her everything now that she’s stumbled across it. She is jolted to reality. Both of her hands are curled tenderly around Bly’s skull. His eyes are squeezed shut.

She trails her gaze over his face. Aayla is flustered and panting. She had known that he feels something for her, but she’d never realized to what extent. His self-control is even more impressive now that she’s caught a glimpse of what he truly thinks.

“Bly—you—?”

He blinks his eyes open and immediately lowers them in shame.

That won’t do at all. Determination swells in her heart along with a strange sensation of desperation, because she’d known, but she’d never truly understood. He’d kept the full extent of his feelings carefully locked away, and when parts of it had escaped they had only implied a mere fraction of what was really going on inside his head.

She wants—needs—him to understand that it goes both ways.

When she enters his mind again, she lets Bly’s emotions wash around her instead of hitting her full force. She sinks deep, catching glimpses of memories and snippets of sound—

A battlefield shouldn’t be alluring, but with fire swirling around her and sparks drifting past them, she’s more glorious than anything else he could ever imagine.

He wishes that he could express the sensation that he feels whenever she looks at him like that, how his heart seems to swell three sizes and continue expanding until it’s all but bursting out of his chest.

Blue. Blue. Blue. He can’t get the color out of his head, can’t stop his eyes from trailing over her skin and noting all of her visible scars, can’t focus right even though he knows that he needs to concentrate.

She makes a bad call. Not even the best Generals are without fault. Brothers die. For all that he admires her she is still flawed, but somehow that doesn’t detract from how badly he wants her, from how much he cares. She is imperfect and scarred but he loves her all the more for it, for how she fights to become better with every breath she takes.

It’s raining. She looks happy. She looks at peace. Her eyes are bright. She’s beautiful. He wants to reach out and touch her. He aches because he can’t.

Nothing will ever come out of his feelings but he will content himself with the fleeting sensations of joy he finds when she presses her spine to his in the middle of a battle and fights with absolute certainty that he’ll be there to guard her back.

Jedi aren’t immortal and that has never been more obvious now. She is sick and miserable and tired. He convinces her to leave the bridge under his command for the day and go get some rest. When he drops by her room to update her on the Separatist’s movements she is sprawled out on her bunk, mouth hanging open and drooling. It is possible the most unflattering view of her that he’s ever seen. He hardly cares. He sits next to her anyway, a grin springing to his lips as she stirs and blinks up at him, surprised at his presence. There’s nowhere else that he’d rather be.

He hadn’t been created to love. Sometimes he wishes that he had been.

There. Hidden in that thought Aayla finds hints of darkness. She catches a hold of the trail of insecurity she had originally intended to follow and chases after it.

Chain of command aside, Jedi code aside, anything he feels for her is foolish. Bly is not unique, not special despite his rank. Even if there were no restrictions he has millions of brothers who all look the same, so why would she pay any attention to him at all?

He is Kaminoan property. There is no place for love in his purpose. He barely even understands the concept even though he knows the word. He couldn’t possibly offer her what she wants, isn’t worthy to even try. He’s just a clone, nothing more.

It hurts her to feel how deeply those thoughts are woven into his mind. She tugs at them carefully and feels him lurch. Somewhere in the real world she feels hands clutching at her shoulders, but she can’t focus on that right now.

She won’t be able to replace the thoughts, can’t destroy them as much as she would like to. Instead she presses her own thoughts over his, carefully so that he can sense every detail.

Gold is enthralling to her now. Her eyes get stuck on it automatically. She can only think of armor and tattoos and eyes and tan skin—and a steady presence beside her that she wouldn’t trade for the galaxy.

They are alone and desperate and fighting. Aayla pushes herself to move faster, to fight harder, to continue even though her limbs are shaking because she won’t let him die, not today. It would hurt more than anything to replace a battalion but it would tear her into pieces and leave her incapacitated to lose Bly.

It’s raining. She coaxes him to step into the open and tilt his head upwards. His Force presence goes still and calm as he stares up into the clouds above them. Raindrops settle in his hair like tiny glass orbs and scatter across the tattoos on his cheeks. She wants to reach out, she wants, she wants. She senses that he does too, but then he pulls away and she marvels at his control even though her chest contracts in disappointment.

He stands against a hailfire of blaster bolts, unshaken, grounding her along with the rest of his brothers, pistols blazing. She draws strength from his courage and pushes forward. She trusts him with her life. She knows with unshakable certainty that Bly will have her back.

It’s late. The hangar is empty except for them, seated on top of a LAAT with the hangar bay doors thrown wide open to show wide-open space above them. When she turns her head over to look at Bly she sees a wide-eyed awe on his face. He marvels at how different the stars look from here than on Kamino. His joy is tangible. Aayla only has eyes for him. She feels warm and happy and light in a way that she’s never felt before.

He smiles at her fondly and she feels faint suddenly, as if the single breathtaking, handsome, devoted expression is enough to stop her heart.

Love is dangerous because she is a Jedi. But she looks at him and decides that she doesn’t care.

Aayla lets him feel and see and understand every inch of her yearning, every ounce of her awe. His entire mind quakes under her touch. She feels the knot of darkness shiver and unravel a bit. She can’t get rid of it just yet. That will take time. She dares to hope that she’ll get the chance to try soon.

She comes back to herself. Bly’s hands are trembling on her shoulders. When she makes a soft noise of concern he wrenches them off of her and presses his fists against his sides.

“Aayla,” he groans, and he sounds absolutely wrecked. Like he’s seconds from falling apart. His eyes are bright and wide. They’re practically glowing in the dim lighting.

“I want you,” she tells him firmly, forcing every bit of blunt honesty into her voice as she can. She brushes her thumbs across his cheekbones and then lets her hands drop. “This is worth the risk to me, Bly. But it is up to you.”

She puts the choice in his hands and half expects him to turn away, to mull over everything he’s felt, to hesitate again.

He does not.

Instead, he makes a strangled sound, leans in, and presses his lips to hers.

It’s the last thing she’s expecting. She nearly stumbles as a result. His panic spikes into the Force until she grabs his shoulders and kisses him back.

The Force surges in a flare of heat and electricity around them. Bly exhales shakily against her. The brush of their lips is light and tentative. Aayla gathers herself, curling her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and deepening the kiss. Their mouths slant together. One of Bly’s hands finds her lekku again and strokes it gently. Her knees go weak underneath her at the pleasant sensation, at the feel of his mouth against hers.

When they break apart, Bly is gasping like he’s dying and can hardly believe his own audacity. Aayla feels heat crawling up her neck. She can’t stop panting either, and she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.

She’d hoped to get this far, to help him see that he’s worth it, that this is a risk that she’s willing to take, but she hadn’t expected any of that. This is unfamiliar to both of them.

“I—I didn’t—I—” Bly stammers out, and Aayla just blinks at him, because she isn’t doing much better.

Neither of them say anything for a long moment. Aayla can’t tear her gaze away from his face. He’s still so afraid, but she can see his mind weighing all of the options, struggling to make a final decision.

The pinprick of cold on her forearm makes her jerk. It’s followed by another on her lek, and then another on her forehead.

It’s raining.

Bly sucks in a sharp breath.

It rains once in a blue moon on Coruscant. It isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t common either. Aayla remembers a memory from a forest planet months ago, etched into both of their minds with striking clarity and sentiment. Slowly, Bly tilts his head back until he’s looking up into the sky.

She had shown him that. It sends a thrill down her spine to watch him remember, to feel his Force presence go from raging indecision to solidifying into careful determination.

The raindrops are growing bigger. She can hear them clattering against the balcony around her. A droplet splatters against her nose. She reaches out to brush the water away and goes still when Bly reaches for her hand, threading their fingers together as if he’s afraid that she’s going to change her mind.

“It’s worth the risk,” he whispers, like a prayer. She smiles at him. After a heartbeat, he returns it. “I want... I want you too.”

His words make Aayla feel giddy, like she’s soaring, light as a feather and free as the wind. The rain comes down around them. It would only take a few steps to enter the room and dry off but neither of them move.

She wants to kiss him again. The relief and elation she feels as she realizes that she actually can now is heady. His lips are still parted ever so slightly. When she leans in again, he meets her halfway.

It doesn’t matter that they’re going to get drenched. It doesn’t matter that there’s a chain of command or a Jedi code. It doesn’t matter that there’s a war going on and sometimes it’s safer to not get attached.

She focuses on Bly and finds peace in the rhythm of the rain. It’s worth the risk.

#fanfic #blyla #clone wars #Aayla Secura #commander bly #oh i'm so weak for them #wow jaymes congrats i'm addicted and it's your fault XD #writing

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meg-tann · 4 years

Text

Listen to my voice

summary: sebastian, y/n and his friend Paul went through the IT haunted room and let’s just say sebastian is the best boyfriend ever...

warning : panic attacks (if this happens to you or you are not comfortable with this sensitive topic, i understand what you are going through and like the title I’m here) plus clowns, fluff

Story!

“Sebastian Stan, I already told you i am not going inside there” I said strenly to my boyfriend that was currently joking around about how I was being chicken for not wanting to go into some ‘stupid’ haunted room that they had made to promote the movie IT chapter 2.

“Oh come on Annalise, don’t be a buzzkill and ruin the fun” Paul’s voice rang from behind his phone that he was using to record this experience making me roll my eyes and thanks to my crude british nature, naturally I flipped him off. I heard Seb chuckling softly from behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist and chin pressed into my head.

‘thanks you height difference…’

“Oh come on angel, it will be fun besides it’s probably not even scary, it’s just an experience, not like anything is going to jump out at you” Seb said with that cute puppy dog eyes look he does making it impossible to say no too.

I groaned and huffed “you can’t do that! it isn’t fair” this only made Sebastian fake a pout more not responding.

‘why can’t I say no to this idiot’ I mentally rolled my eyes

I sighed and mumbled softly “fine......i’ll go in”. Instantly regretting agreeing to this after hearing Sebastian and Paul’s cheers. Lets just say that clowns were not my favourite thing.

I gripped Seb’s hand tightly as he pushed open the door to the experience room. Red strobe lights flashed across the room as it brought us to the scene with Bill and mirror maze. The echoing sounds of pennywise’s eery, ominous laughter blasting out the hidden speakers at a volume that only made me want to either turn around and bail, run away or just piss my trousers; or pants as Sebastian would call them.

The sudden small dashes of Pennywise and blood on the interior walls make my heart feel like it was going to pop up of my chest.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t wear a watch that tracks my heart rate..’

Suddenly, a hologram of Pennywise appeared on one of the mirrors making me scream loudly which caused Sebastian to jump. I could feel my throat closing up and your heartrate speeding up.

‘Fuck not right now please’ I thought as I cursed my stupidly persuasive boyfriend out.

Tears began to flow down my face from fear and I gripped Seb’s bicep closer to me, my acrylic nails starting to dig into him yet he didn’t mind.

I walked futher, now with Sebastian’s arm quite literally attached to my body, the strobe lights continued and was know starting to hurt my head making me wince softly in pain. I could practically hear my breathing get louder and harder which made Sebastian look my way, concern filling his face.

I knew Paul was still behind the both of us recording so that Seb could finally post something on his Instagram which is why I was trying not to make a big deal out of it.

All of a sudden, an actor dressed head to toe in pennywise’s costume jumped out and screamed directly in my face. His face was covered in that slightly smeared white paint with the red smile lines that were done in a way that it looked like it had almost been cut into his face. The bells on his costume jingled as he jumped and screamed around me before quickly ran away back around the corner.

It was like my whole body just shut down. My heart pounded against my chest and it felt like the whole room was going to collapse and close in on me. My breathing became so hard it sounded like I was gasping for air. Everything felt hot and immediately I shook my head, chocking out a sob as I pushed as many layers of clothing I could off.

My body dropped to the floor and I instantaneous hugged my knees into my chest. All you could see was Sebastian’s face stressed out, concern flooding every part of his face as he called out my name trying his best to calm me down. My ears started to block out any noise surrounding me as me stared blankly out at the room, tears falling down my face in streams of mass hysteria. I shut your eyes begging for it to stop and yet it still felt like I couldn’t hear anything.

And then I did.

“hey angel...i’m here”

“listen to my voice”

Sebastian

“paul turn the bloody camera off” he snapped at his friend who had forgotten that his camera was still recording the audio of the sensitive scene.

“he printesa, asculta-mi vocea”

“Am nevoie să mă privești”

“1....2....3”

I nodded my head and tried to listen, my eyes snapped open when I realised that Sebastian was carrying me out of the room. I was on the floor having an anxiety attack and there he was by my side like he promised. The same look of adoration that he always held when he looked at me - just this time scattered with slight flickers of concern.

I stared into his calm ocean blue eyes and after 10 minutes, my breathing return to normal. Sebastian continued to count down until he saw my once tense body relax. He knew I was going to be alright now.

“hey there my beautiful girl, you scared me there Sebastian whispers into my ear as he placed soft kisses on my temple and ear taking in the smell of my shampoo, his apparent favourite as he always tells me.

“hey” I whispered out, smiling when Sebastian wiped my falling tears with his big thumb, leaving a kiss on my now pink nose when he was done. He’s always been obsessed with doing that.

“i’m so sorry for making you go in there, it’s my fault, you were so brave” he tells me. I shook my head in denial and buried my face in his built chest breathing in the mix between his cologne and natural scent that I loved so much.

“thank you” I whispered, kissing him sweetly on the lips which he returned in an instant. Our lips molded together and I could still feel the butterflies in my stomach every time.

Paul cleared his throat “excuse me but some of us are still single” he said rolling his eyes.

I pulled away breathless and laughed, stick out my tongue in mockery.

“I didn’t do anything sweetheart, it was all you. You have nothing to thank me for” Sebastian said smiling down at me hugging me tighter to his chest.

“what do you mean? you calmed me down, you carried me out-” I started saying but Seb cut you off.

“And you listened”

End!

hey hope you liked the one-shot! to anyone who goes through these things i know how you feel, it had happened to me once but I didn’t have anyone to help me through it so it need anything or what to talk about anything and everything no matter the sizenof the issue or whatever. I am here and I will listen.

i’m am sorry if I didn’t describe that bit to your satisfaction, i described it from what I used to go through myself so I apologise if it wasn’t up the standards that it should have been. i am open to helpful criticism on how to make it better.

anyways i still do hope you liked it! you and please leave me an ask if you want any stories of one shots written in the future! request are always open.

- meggs xoxo

#sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian x reader #sebastian stan fluff #sebastian stan smut #It chapter 2 #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #sebastian stan instagram #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan one shot #lance tucker #bucky barnes fluff #fluff #panic attack #It #pennywise

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writing-in-april · 4 years

Text

Last Name

Vague Poe Dameron x Gender Neutral reader

Starring- Reader, Hux, Poe (mentioned)

Warnings- Torture, blood, swearing, guns, normal Star Wars content just a little bloodier

A/N- This is a new fandom for me to write for so here’s to branching out! I’ll still post for Spencer Reid hopefully once a week but I have a bunch of other things I’d like to write for as well!! Thank you Discord for helping me with this especially my beta readers @agntprentiss @fanficlibrary82 and @onedirectionfansarelegends (This was the only way I could tag her for some reason) This idea literally came to me in a dream and I just had to write it down (it was supposed to be a blurb then came out to be 2k words 🤷‍♀️) Requests are open!! @april-14-blog is my main blog where I reblog smut and fluff.

My head felt like it was on fire, that was the first thought that shot through my head as I came to. I struggled to pry open my eyes, it felt as if I had the weight of a starsystem pulling them closed.

Slowly my senses started coming back to me, I could tell I was strapped to a metal chair with binders around both of my wrists. They were bound tight, tight enough that I could feel the harsh metal digging into my flesh. I must’ve been captured from my latest mission for the resistance, though I could barely recall the details. All I could evoke from my memory was landing on the planet Kashyyyk, I was supposed to meet up with a spy who had critical information for new hyperspace lanes.

Suddenly the metal panel slid open snapped me out of my memories. The harsh scraping of metal on metal setting my teeth on edge. The anticipation of who was going to walk through was like sitting on needles and the hairs of my neck where standing straight up. My eyes were still adjusting to the harsh lighting that was casting varied shadows throughout the room. A silhouette came into my view and I could immediately tell who it was even without being able to see the details of his figure.

General Hux, a smarmy high ranking officer of the First Order. Well at least it wasn’t Kylo Ren.

“Y/N Y/L/N data analyst for the resistance.” Hux sneered from the shadows. “We have a whole file on you, you hold key information about resistance tactics and locations. Resistance is futile, just give us the data” he stepped forward which allowed me to take in his slimy appearance. His eyes looked dead, no emotion was given away, I knew there was no weaseling my way out of this. I’d have to fight my way out.

I completely blocked out Hux’s voice, letting it play in the background like a broken audiobulb, which helped me absorb the blows that started coming at my stomach from a stormtrooper. Eventually they moved up to my upper shoulders and face when it was clear they were getting no reaction from me.

My mouth was steadily filling with crimson blood, which gave me an idea to further goad the general. I spit the blood at Hux spraying his face scarlet and delivered a devilish insult.

“Eat my shit, you flaccid son of of a street whore” I said with a bloody smirk, he was going to have to try harder if he wanted to get me to speak.

“You rebel scum” he spat out at me. Then with a raised fist he punched me in the nose with a sickening crack. “You’ll never leave here, you’ll rot in a cell. Even if you do attempt to escape it’s not like you know how to fly. We’re in the middle of deep space and you’re just a simple analyst.” He taunted at me, this was subtle confirmation that the pilot I came with was dead, at least it wasn’t Poe I thought selfishly.

Through the threshold of my cell a probe droid came through, I started to unconsciously squirm, I knew what was coming next. The black floating sphere droid hovered over to me and shot out a syringe which was surely filled with something they were sure would make me talk.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way” Hux sneered out- Kriff I wish he’d just shut his mouth. “What where you doing orbiting Kashyyyk?”

I shook my head in defiance, I didn’t care about pain, I just cared about the survival of the resistance.

“Very well” he grumbled before waving the torture droid towards me. The needle pricked my right forearm giving me a slice of the pain that was to come. It didn’t creep up on me, but hit me with full force, making me feel as if fire was running through my veins. Hux started screaming at me again to try and pry out the information, even though whatever they injected into me didn’t let me form a single thought. My eyes started to give way- I didn’t know if I was going to pass out or die- just that I needed to do something to escape the burning pain. Relief flooded through my veins as the galaxy around me faded to black.

———————

When I came to again my head was pulsing harder then before, plus there was a sharp ringing in my ears. Pushing my pain aside I promptly started to look for an escape route. Then I remembered how Poe and I had gotten out of being captured by Weequans on Felucia. I prepared myself to scream out to the troopers, I’ll fake being sick and hopefully they’ll let their guard down.

“Help please!” I shouted in the most convincing scream I could managet. “I’m going to throw up! You’ll have to clean it up if you don’t give me a bucket or something!!!”

The two stormtroopers stationed outside finally relented and opened the door with another whoosh. They clambered in obviously miffed that they would have to deal with me. One unlocked the binders and forcefully pulled them off me, giving some relief to my already bruised wrists. They shoved me out of the cell out towards the refresher that was reserved for prisoners.

“Hurry up.” The second one snapped at me in a brusque tone while they shoved me through the door.

I assessed my surroundings trying to find anything to gain the upper hand, sadly it seemed as if I would have to use brute force to escape. I hunched over the toilet pretending to make a gagged sound and called for one of them to help me again. Swiftly I kicked the trooper’s legs out from under them and grabbed his blaster, the second immediately put his hands up knowing that I had the upper hand. I decided to spare the two, by knocking them out with the butt of the blaster.

My legs were burning as I ran out of the detention block with black spots dancing around my vision but, I wouldn’t let myself stop for anything, I needed to get home. The Star destroyer I had gotten myself stranded on had an unnecessary amount of seemingly useless hallways. I was certain I had gotten lost in the deep dispensable cesspool, I had barely even run into any troopers, seemingly signaling that I was off course. Finally I saw the light of a hangar bag coming into view, then of course the alarm went off painting the col clinical hallways a deep red. They must’ve realized that I had escaped, my poor legs were close to giving up, the stress of being tortured had nearly beaten me into submission. Yet I willed myself further as I came in through the hangar doors, troopers were running around looking in every nook and cranny trying to find their lost prisoner. I hid my frame behind a stack of crates and peeled my eyes for a ship to pilot.

My pupils fixated on a tie fighter around the bend that luckily had no troopers snooping about. I made a mad dash towards the open hatch of the ship and hopped inside. Buttons and switches adorned the small ship looking slightly foreign to me. Instead of worrying about taking off I tried to apply basic flight knowledge that Poe taught to me and I got the ship hovering off the ground.

The troopers finally realized what was happening and started to fire at the ship, even though the tethering cable was still attached I grabbed the controls to swerve around incoming fire. I swung around until the end of the tethering cable came into my sights, I quickly swiveled over to the blaster controls. Aiming expertly I shot down the only thing holding me back from leaving this Sarlacc pit. I made my way back to the piloting controls and quickly passed through the exit out into deep space. Several tie fighters followed me trying to shoot me down as a crackling came through the comms.

“You’ll never outrun us!” Hux shouted through the comms, they must’ve still been connected through the enemy ships.

“Are you so sure about that Hux?!” My shaky hands were attempting to program the coordinates of the D’Qar base into the navicomputer which was harder without an astromech to aide me.

“Even if you did escape the star destroyer Y/L/N you wouldn’t get very far- you’re no pilot” his voice like steel scraping through the comms.

“ Did you know my name isn’t Y/L/N anymore Hux?” I mocked as I prepared to jump into hyperspace, I had him right where I wanted him.

“The name’s Dameron, Hugs” I slammed down the hyperspace lever and blasted off ready to go back to my husband who taught me how to fly.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe #Oscar Isaac #hux x reader #fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars #imagine #y/n #clone wars #finn #rey skywalker #kylo x reader #kylo ren #poe dameron imagine

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rosy-wooyoung · 3 years

Text

Let’s get emotional…

I know no one will read this but i’m still putting it out there!

today is my account anniversary!! 🥳🥳

I created this blog on the 14.12.2019, and a year later, nothing really changed. It’s just me, still sitting at my desk, my whole back hurting with cold hands and my pathetically low self-esteem. It was one boring evening, I remember, I had just eaten dinner and I rushed to my computer to come back on Tumblr to read more ATEEZ content because I was fascinated by them, their talent and stage presence. (I still am, don’t worry) And then, I thought damn, I wanna write for them as well. You know what?

Fuck it. Imma do it.

I put the task of finding a username aside and start feeling inspiration flooding in my mind. I spend the entire evening writing as the words come, not caring about the coherence, the grammar nor the consistency of my writing, I just type and type until my fingers are cramping and my brain lagging. It’s just an amazing feeling when you don’t have to rack your brains to find ideas or words, I just had to think of an ATEEZ member, and the imagination would immediately submerge my mind.

I truly aspire to find back the motivation I had a year ago.

The next morning, I even skip breakfast because I wanted to create, brainstorm, rewrite and correct the works I had produced the night before. I completely ditch my uni homework - don’t do that kids - until the end of the afternoon, where I post a note, introducing myself to the atiny Tumblr community. I was very anxious and shy before posting my first imagine, but I was immediately welcomed with likes, 20 on the first day to be exact. It was HUGE for me.

I’m someone extremely self-conscious and very hard on myself, so it was kind of a struggle to post content out on the Internet for strangers to read. I’ve always feared judgement, I’ve bathed in it since the day I was born and I can’t seem to get rid of it. 20+ fics are still rotting in my drafts, I’m just too insecure to release them, so I ignore them and always search for new content to write about. I’m also scared to disappoint, but that’s another story. Aside from that, I’m really grateful because I’ve never received this much love and support in my life since I started this account. Whether is keyboard smashing in the reblog section or just someone saying “uwu that was so cute 🥺”, my day is automatically better. I have never received support or compliments from my parents, siblings or friends that I thought were the closest. Never. And it’s a weird yet great feeling!!

The first two months were amazing. By the beginning of February, I had hit the 200-followers milestone. It was something unbelievable for me. You may think that I’m exaggerating, but I was really thinking that I would only get like maximum 50 followers, and I would have still been happy about it. My account was doing great, but at this point, it was my health that started going downhill.

The pandemic and the stress from it aggravated everything, weakening my heart to the point of needing urgent surgeries (2, almost 3 in October, where there was a risk for me to d*e. Great when you’re a young woman who only spent her twenty first years of existence studying and worrying about her future :/). I get stressed out extremely easily and my doctor diagnosed me with severe anxiety and depression a few years ago. And guess what? They were acting up of course, so nothing was by my side. I was lost about my future and my career – I still am haha (pain) – and it was a hard time for me, for us. I’m still not at my best, but at least I’m trying, that’s what matters the most, right? This blog and the people I met there were my source of comfort and light, my safe place, it helps me a lot to just read or laugh at what I see in my dash to make me forget about everything that is bothering me. I met wonderful, supportive people on there and I can’t find the right words to truly express how I am feeling. And here I am right now, a year later, Tumblr being my solace because I can read really really good fics and wips, as well as exchanging with other atinys and people from other fandoms.

I still have those moments of doubt when I’m about to post something like, will this be appreciated? Isn’t it too cliche, too bad, too fluffy, grammatically correct, cool enough, aesthetic enough, cute enough, did someone already write something along those lines without me knowing it? Will I get accused of stealing or plagiarising?

I can’t stop overthinking, but I’m trying to work on it, I really am, even if it’s hard. It’s really not something easy and I get defeated quite quickly, but at least I’m trying.

Even if I lost loved ones during this year (friends that ghosted me for other people, my grandpa passing away from cancer, watching and knowing acquaintances dying bc of covid…) I’ve got to know beautiful angels on here, my mutuals and my followers!! Even if we don’t talk 24/7, I really love and appreciate every single one of you. I know we’re just internet friends, but you really count for me. Please excuse me if you’re tired of seeing me being constantly apologising or being weird and absolutely not funny, I’m trying to become a better person. I absolutely adore when you mention me in tag games or send me love and support via asks or private messages, it makes my heart go really warm. If it were possible, I’d give each single one of you a hug and a big kiss on the cheek because you all deserve it and I love you.

Thank you @atbzkingdom, @closer-stars, @barsformars, @trashlord-007, @ateez-little-star, @tinkerbellwoo, @chrryhwa, @ateezlips, and everyone that I missed that follow me and support me, I luv you all sm :-]

Sorry if this post doesn’t make sense, I just wanted to try and express my gratitude as well as my love for everything you gave me. I hope 2021 will be better, kinder for all of us, and I wish everyone reading this to be(come) happy and healthy.

with all my love, rosy ♥

#rosy's talk #rosy-wooyoung anniversary #personal #<333

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kingreywrites · 4 years

Text

With a little luck

@runningracingdancingchasing

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2308

16. “I’m trying to cheer you up.” (prompt list)

Summary: Flynn Rider didn't have bad days. He was always charming, always confident, and never ever worried about any kind of consequences. At worst, Flynn disappeared for one or two days, but no one could actually attest of any bad days being had. It was a question of reputation, and all that. Eugene wasn't so lucky, in that regard - oh, he was still charming, still confident, quite funny and dashing if you asked him but he cared.

Note: Thank you for the prompt!! I had trouble settling on one story for it but I hope you like this! Btw, this is set pre-series but post-movie, because I’ve been thinking a lot about Eugene and Rapunzel’s early relationship since i read here in this light by Hannamoon, so I can only recommand people check out this incredible fic!!

Read on ao3

Flynn Rider didn't have bad days. He was always charming, always confident, and never ever worried about any kind of consequences. At worst, Flynn disappeared for one or two days, but no one could actually attest of any bad days being had. It was a question of reputation, and all that. Eugene wasn't so lucky, in that regard - oh, he was still charming, still confident, quite funny and dashing if you asked him but he cared. A lot more than he let on to most people, but Eugene cared, it was in his nature, and Flynn had only tried to bury it. And, as such, Eugene had bad days, and he couldn't even hide out until it passed. Thankfully, along with being Eugene again, he had found a family - and he had found Rapunzel. Eugene's bad days were always better than Flynn's good days when she was here.

Didn't mean he had to like them, though.

It had started easily enough. He was bantering with Cassandra, as they always did - he had even started it himself, so really, he shouldn't be complaining - when she said something. A little jab, in the middle of so many others, nearly nothing really.

"Keep going like this and you'll end up all alone, Fitzherbert."

It had struck a nerve. Eugene had faltered, for barely a second, then had kept going as if everything was fine - and it was, really! But he couldn't get this sentence out of his head afterwards. It was silly, and he knew it - Cassandra had said worse. Come on, he had said worse to her, that was nothing!

But it wasn't.

He had talked more at lunch, because he was nervous and nervous Eugene babbled, and he saw clearly the annoyed glances that Frederic threw his way. Even Arianna, as serene as she always appeared, advised him once or twice to take a little more food, the closest she ever got to outright telling someone to shut up. The problem laid with the fact that Eugene was very good at talking with his mouth full, which garnered another scowl from Frederic, but a giggle from Rapunzel, so he kinda won anyway.

Ending up alone. As a kid, it never made sense to him how that could be a shared fear for orphans - they were already alone, weren't they? He wasn't scared of that at all, he would proudly claim to whoever was willing to listen (mostly Lance), because he never had anyone to begin with and that meant he didn't need anyone. (Except you, Lance, he would add back then.) And all his life, he had tried to prove it, had tried to show that he could do anything he wanted to without help, had dreamt of ending up alone and rich, far away from everyone on an island of his own. He had left the orphanage behind, had left Stalyan behind, had left Lance behind, because he was Flynn Rider and he- he-

Flynn Rider didn't get lonely. (But Eugene did. Eugene was vulnerable and he had hated it, hated the emotions he couldn't stop from flooding him, and his only solution had been to stifle them until he could pretend they didn't exist at all.)

After lunch, Eugene had fled the table in a haste, muttering an excuse he didn't even remember now. He knew Rapunzel still had a lot of activities scheduled, being a Princess and all, and that he had nothing else to do but mope. It was weird, to be so inactive now. As a thief, every day had been a new challenge - he had to keep moving, to keep stealing if he wanted enough money to live. Being able to stay idle was both a blessing, and an incredibly strange feeling at times. It gave him more time to mull over his feelings, in any case. More time to really live through his bad days, without any alcohol to distract himself with, for sure.

Cassandra's remark shouldn't have hurt like it did, because it was illogical. He knew he wouldn't end up alone now - Rapunzel loved him, just as much as he loved her, and- and they were each other's dream and he knew it.

He knew it.

It was simply hard to remember sometimes, because feelings didn't care about logic. He… Had experience in being abandoned, but he had thought that he was done with this feeling at 12, when he decided that he didn't want to be adopted anymore. Eugene was terrified that everything he had gained these last months, everything he had built back for himself once he let go of his life as a thief, would end up disappearing in seconds. All his life, having something meant being prepared to inevitably lose it, but he didn't want to lose this - he didn't want to lose Rapunzel.

He knew who he was when he was all alone, and he didn't want to be that person anymore.

He nearly went to hide out in the library, but he heard voices inside and he was not in the mood to speak to anyone. Especially not to another fancy person that would look at him as if he was nothing but a thief - he knew his presence in the castle wasn't accepted by everyone, but he hated being judged that way. He hated how it reminded him of the way adults would look at him when he was an orphan, hated the pity and the disgust that came with those stares, hated… hated that, at best, he was only Rapunzel's saviour, but not anyone worthy of their time for anything else.

Nowadays, Eugene knew the castle's layout by heart, always quick to remember a place just in case he needed to flee it - and stealing the crown had certainly taken a lot of preparations on its own, so really, it had no mysteries left for him. Especially one perfect, always empty and quiet spot: the roof. It didn't take long for him to go sit on his recently self-designated hideout, all of Corona seemingly under his feet. The fresh air and the silence were a welcome distraction from his thoughts, and a welcome distraction for his over dramatic reaction too - he had spent the last decades avoiding to wallow into his 'sad orphan backstory', and he had no reason to stop now.

Well. Rapunzel would want him to be honest with her about what he was feeling. But this was stupid, and she was busy with all the Princess' activities her dad had been pilling up on her recently, because of her upcoming coronation. There was no need to bother her with it, and she would totally understand that he didn't tell her - right?

Right. He could totally get over it by himself.

Keep going like this and you'll end up all alone, Fitzherbert.

"Thank you Cassandra," Eugene grumbled, kicking his feet in the empty space beneath them, "couldn't you have just insulted my nose or something?"

He would have gasped and defended himself, but at least it wouldn't have put his insecurities at the forefront of his mind. He was doing a good job of ignoring them before, thank you very much. Sighing, Eugene realised he couldn't even manage his fake-anger at her, because he was… tired. Tired of his bad day, already, even if it was barely one, tired of being scared, and tired of dwelling on something that he considered to be ridiculous. He wished he could convince himself that this new life was permanent, that Rapunzel would always love him, but it was hard. Dangling his legs, he decided to count all the houses he could see in front of him, until he was bored enough to go back inside.

He was halfway through a second round in Italian, to spice things up, when a noise on his right startled him.

"Hey," Rapunzel said, her brown hair glowing in the setting sun. He hadn't expected her to find him here, but some part of him wasn't surprised that she did anyway - because of course she would. Her hands were behind her back, and she quickly skipped over to him, always graceful.

"Sunshine," he smiled because he couldn't not, no matter his mood. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, the man I love disappeared on me, after spending lunch looking absolutely miserable," she answered gently as she sat next to him, handing him a cupcake that she had been hiding. "Of course I wanted to find you."

Eugene took the cupcake in both hands, and hoped that the blush he could feel creeping on his cheeks wasn't too noticeable, but something told him he wasn't so lucky.

"A cupcake?" he laughed.

"Hey, I'm trying to cheer you up! What better way than a cupcake?" Rapunzel said teasingly - but she also put her hand on his knee, and looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

How he had ever managed the reputation of a tough guy was beyond him, Rapunzel only needed a few words to undo him completely.

"So," she said, once it was obvious that he wasn’t about to say anything else, "do you… Do you want to talk to me?"

He didn't, really. But he took her hand in his and squeezed it, hoping that she would be patient while he gathered himself. Eugene knew how comforting people was sometimes stressful on Rapunzel. At the very beginning of their relationship, he had quickly understood that her only experience with it was trying to please Gothel after an argument, which involved a lot of gifts and apologies. They had discussed it together, trying to separate what was unhealthy from what Rapunzel actually enjoyed doing - for example, gifts were one thing that she didn't want to give up on, but she was glad that it wasn't mandatory to the process. She was still anxious, though, that what she was doing was wrong, or at least not enough, and while she wouldn't ask for him to comfort her when she was trying to comfort him, he still tried to be mindful of her fears.

"I…" he tried, before cutting himself off. How could he begin to explain all the contradictory thoughts in his mind? Start from the essential. "I love you."

"I love you too, Eugene," Rapunzel answered easily, her skin warm against his.

She was close enough that he could count every freckle on her skin, even the most hidden one, sitting right under her eye, beneath her lashes. Faced with the prettiest view of Corona one could find, Eugene only had eyes for her. He loved her. And he was terrified, at the same time.

You'll end up all alone, Fitzherbert.

"Sometimes I'm scared that I'm gonna lose everything," Eugene blurted out, before cringing. "I mean, I know that you love me, of course I do but- I-"

"It feels too good to be true, somedays," Rapunzel finished softly. She lowered her eyes, and put her head on his shoulder.

"Yeah," he breathed, putting his arm around her shoulders. "A castle I could understand, but getting to be loved by the most wonderful woman in all the seven Kingdoms?"

"And getting to be loved by the most incredible man in all the seven Kingdoms?" Rapunzel echoed with a chuckle. "Impossible."

"Ludicrous."

"Oh good word."

There was a beat, and then they were both laughing, and holding onto each other.

"I love you," Rapunzel whispered again after a while, "and I know that being scared doesn't always make sense, but I promise that I'll never leave you."

Eugene's throat felt too tight after this declaration. It… It meant a lot more than he thought it would, because as much as he loathed admitting it, he was terrified of losing everything. As a kid, ending up with nothing had seemed inevitable; but he didn't want that, he didn't want to accept this future, he- he wanted to be happy. And he couldn't believe he got that chance with Rapunzel.

"I promise I won't leave you either," he answered, because he wasn't sure how to even voice the gratitude gripping him. "You're the best thing that has ever happened to me."

"Same goes for you." Rapunzel shifted, so she could take his hands in hers, and look straight at him again. "You don't have to hide from me when you're upset, I… I always want to be there for you. And as you can see," she smirked, gesturing to their predicament, "I'm not afraid to follow you in the weirdest places if I need to!"

Eugene laughed. "How did you even find me here?"

"I've got my secrets," she said playfully, "and they may involve remembering that one conversation where you talked about how we should hang out on the roof so my maids couldn't find me." Her brilliant smile made him fall in love all over again.

It also made him remember the cupcake that he had put aside. The frosting had melted a little, and he didn't look as good as earlier, but the sentiment it carried was still the same. Most of the time, he was the one bringing Rapunzel's cupcakes, but they meant as much to him as they did to her. It was one of the first things he bought after being a thief most of his life - one of the first things he bought for her. This cupcake was proof that he wasn’t the same man, that he was neither sad orphan Eugene Fitzherbert nor careless thief Flynn Rider.

He was just Eugene, and he had found a family now - he had found Rapunzel. And having bad days wasn’t so bad, when they ended with sharing a cupcake with his new dream, alone on one of the roofs overlooking the entire Kingdom of Corona, his new home.

#tangled #Eugene Fitzherbert #Rapunzel #tangled the series

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georgemackayhey · 4 years

Text

Rules For Falling In Love: #3

summary: In which George wants to get married. But… you’re not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: So sorry I've been MIA! Here's the news. There are only two chapters left of this fun little story. And something else is in the works for which I'll be posting a sneak peek of very soon (bet ya can't guess what it is!) I hope you're all still just as in love with this plot, though, because I know I am. Let me know your thoughts as always, dudes

w/c: 3k

───※ ·❆· ※───

"What the hell are you doing?" You hissed through your teeth at your very own reflection. You were dressed for any imaginable occasion. If folks noticed you waltzing down the street, they might assume you were on your way to lunch with friends. They might think you were headed to the market, or to the movies, or shopping around. But they most likely wouldn't imagine you were on your way to get married. But you were.

You perfected your lipgloss and fixed your hair, and when there was nothing left to primp, you stood there, still, waiting for the girl on the other side of the glass to reach through, grab your shoulders and shake some sense into your head. But she didn't.

///

"That's it? We're done?" You asked in a stunned breath. The cheery old fellow who'd walked you through the process of signing a bunch of papers and reciting a few promises smiled, but studied you for a beat before nodding.

"You're married, now. Congratulations!" He escorted you and your group toward the door, waving a bony hand from the entry before slamming the old wooden door shut, abandoning you in the massive marble halls.

"Oh, that's absolutely not it." George's sister whined. The girl yanked you and her brother out into the warm sunshine. She shoved some wildflowers in your hands, forced you to stand in place, and shoved her brother to your side. George draped an arm around your shoulder as you both grumbled for the girl to stop making such a fuss.

"Just think of all the things I was talked out of doing. The party I could have- no, should have thrown. Now smile!" She rose her phone camera and snapped a few shots, humming with satisfaction when she was decidedly finished. Bless her, she really did only want the best for the two of you. And you and George were due for some new photos besides the ones snapped of your forced smiles at the latest award show.

"Well, I forgot to bring cake as promised, but let me take you round the cafe uptown to kick off my stress eating. " Dean sighed as if someone was making him pitch the offer.

"Sounds like ya need it." You jested. Dean rolled his eyes and gave you a real, soft smile. George's sister left with a big wave and a dramatic congratulations.

Dean was excited to choose your celebratory treats himself, and was the first to dart inside the posh cafe when you arrived. You and George followed, laughing about how your friend had transformed into the classic "kid in a candy shop." You lost Dean to the winding line and moved to find some big comfy seats in the busy shop.

The reality of your latest achievement hadn't quite set in yet. George's laughter was such a familiar, comforting sound, as you settled beside him on some ridiculously oversized ottoman. Today was just... another day.

"Please tell me that what Dean just told me is a big fat joke." A familiar lilt pipped up from the other side of the paint chipped coffee table in front of you. George's agent was stood, slack-jawed with a big, whip cream filled to-go coffee in hand. How funny she happened to be here, you thought. Only her surprise greeting was much different from the times you'd bumped into each other and chatted in line at the markets, before.r

"It's nice to see you too, Donna." George laughed, watching as she set her drink down and moved to sit in the claw foot chair at your side. The woman reached for your hand in a flash, focusing on the ring you'd grown rather attached to over the week.

"Surprise?" You laughed, a twinge of worry settling in your stomach as the woman glanced up to you, eyes full of shock.

"Why on earth did you get married?" She asked in a slow squeak, turning to George as you drew your hand out of her clutch. "More importantly why haven't you told me?"

"Well, it's only just happened. Like half an hour ago." George looked to you, then back to his agent. Donna let out a laugh, and you understood her shock, but her reaction was a bit unnerving. She continued to ask a string of rhetorical questions, how, why, where, why, why?

That was about the time Dean emerged from the line that was now flooding out of the doors and around the building. Was it filling up in here, or was the place closing in on you? A nagging unease settled at the base of your lungs as George told Donna some of the things you'd discussed and what led you to signing some papers, together.

Your favorite third wheel plopped down a tray of little bite-sized cakes, decorated in different shades of pretty pastel icing. They reminded you of the macaroons George brought home from the last award show after-party, and never shared.

"Care to join in the celebration? Tea is on it's way." Dean spoke in Donna's direction before casting his gaze to you, sitting across the way.

"Unfortunately, I've got to get going, but I do wish we could continue discussing what the hell you two have gotten yourselves into." Donna stood, with a wavering smile, grabbing her condensation covered to-go coffee, and spinning toward the door to the tune of your crew's goodbyes.

You glanced down to the cakes Dean had picked out, as he piped up to explain their fillings and flavors. George reached over to place a hand on your knee, as he nodded along to his friend's excited dessert-themed rambles. All the worry that had sprouted at Donna's confusion was swiftly put at ease when you noticed the ring on George's finger. This was your decision, together. You'd talked it all the way through and back. Anyone else's worry over the matter didn't hold value over that fact.

When your tea came, you had managed to ask Dean about the girl he'd been seeing. The three of you noshed on divine desserts and listened to your friend gush over the girl he'd taken on a fourth date, just the night before last. His eyes sparkled and you couldn't help but smile when he paused to think up just how to describe his new beau. He was lucky to have found someone who brought a blush to his cheeks at the mention of their name. Hers, was Claire.

You'd been enraptured by Dean's rose-colored chatter, so much so that your phone's sudden rhythmic buzz in your pocket made you gasp aloud.

"Oh shit." You muttered, past a bite of cake. "We're gonna be late for that thing." You turned to George whose face lit up in recognition. He had an interview today, one for a late-night talk show that would be on air long after you'd settled in for the night.

George thanked his friend for the desserts and for being there today, for the both of you. You knew George meant it, you knew how important it was to him. But to hear his genuine appreciation in his goodbye to Dean made your heart lurch.

"I know I've been giving you both a hard time about this, and I'm still a bit confused by the whole thing, but honestly, I'm happy for you both. And I'm glad you let me come along today." Dean shrugged as you all stood to head your separate ways. Now your heart was a puddle, as you flung yourself to the fellow, wrapping him in a hug and thanking him for being too good a friend. You were lucky too, you figured.

///

It was almost actually funny how uncomfortable these things made George. He was so keen to be a movie star, in the most romantic sense, of course. He could go on for days (months, even, you suspected) about the magic of storytelling and all the lessons to be learned from his chosen career.

But promoting his works, promoting himself, wasn't something he was fond of in the very least bit. So once, you tagged along to some garish dinner party that was really just a competition for best dressed, in disguise. He mingled with the people he knew, and the people he was meant to know, trying with all his might to make genuine connections because if he'd failed to learn at least one person's life story on a night out, he considered the evening wasted. And when they asked about him, he'd get it over with in a flash before turning his attention to you, introducing you, asking you to tell that one story. And when you were left alone to await the next celebrity encounter George begged you with his hands clasped together to come along with him to all of the ridiculous Hollywood shindigs he was ever required to attend. And of course, you couldn't tell the boy no.

So tonight was another one of many. You went home, tossed on a dress, and spun out of the door again without a second to breathe. All your focus was spent reminding George that this would all be worth it in the end. How selling his latest film to millions of viewers would ensure the story he was so proud to have been a part of would effectively become dear to most everyone who tuned in to hear his interview.

When you crept through the studio doors, hand in hand, the welcome George received was perplexingly warm. Interns offered both of you snacks and drinks, directors passed through the green room doorway with beaming smiles, and instructions for George to follow. Writers breezed in, covering the last of the bases, and a friendly old makeup lady fussed over his look just in time for George to float to the stage. When he did, he dragged you along with him. You let go behind all the cameras, promising you'd be near the door's he was meant to exit- near enough to give him the odd thumbs up and dash away when it was all said and done.

A small audience murmured as the set changed, and cameramen fluttered about. And then it was off. A man in a casual suit sped through a nauseating, over-rehearsed introduction and you wondered how many of the audience members were laughing for real or because they'd been told to.

And then, out of nowhere, without any warning, the interview took a turn you hadn't prepared for in the least. After the usual quick nice to see you again greetings had been passed back and forth, the host asked George a question he already knew the answer too and presented a photograph you hadn't even gotten the chance to see yet.

It was the one his sister had taken this morning, with the wildflowers, out in the midmorning sun. She'd posted it to her Instagram, tagging you in the caption that featured some long-winded sentiment. And you knew that the girl only had you in mind. She probably wasn't dreaming of George's next interview when she uploaded the photo for the world to see. She most definitely probably wasn't thinking of a moment like this coming true, and how her brother would hate it. In the blink of an eye, you envisioned George angrily phoning his sister and her dramatic defense, and a big unnecessary row breaking out.

But then you zoned back to life and watched George answer the interviewer's question with a small smile. He confirmed that he was officially married, and glad to be. George swiftly moved the conversation toward the film he was meant to prompt, which didn't sway the host on a strict schedule to cover all sorts of topics in the next three minutes. But George wasn't dismissive of the subject. He didn't squirm when the aspect of his personal life was spoken aloud to a room full of strangers. He smiled and caught your eye from the stage. You were too stunned to give him the usual thumbs up from where you waited, you just watched as he grinned, and nodded when the host offered his congratulations.

Then it was over, and the audience flooded away, and you and George hurried to collect yourselves and leave in as big of a hurry as you could without seeming rude. He held your hand like a vice, and you led the way out of the exit, toward the car park.

Before you could reach sweet freedom, a small crew of George's fans had been waiting near the back, with hopes of catching a moment of the guys time they'd come to watch get interviewed. The three young girls held out a marker and asked for his autograph in a shy manner. You noticed most of the fans George encountered over the years were just as meek and mild as the guy himself.

So he smiled and agreed with pleasure, as you awkwardly shifted on the sidelines, unable to flee to the car across the way because he had the keys.

"We're really happy for you, by the way." One of the girls piped up, facing you. "You guys have like, always been our favorite couple."

"You restore our faith in love." Another one of the girls giggled, approaching George with movie posters in hand.

All the complex feelings in your gut the rose at the girl's comments didn't matter. It was entirely too sweet of them to say something. So you thanked them with a smile, and waved goodbye when the last of them had their selfie with George. He said goodbye and turned toward the car with a sigh. You could practically see the weight of the evening's events fall off of his broad shoulders.

You piled into the passenger seat, debating on what to have for dinner, already knowing he dreamed of nothing more than a self-indulgent end to the long night. When you both agreed on what to have, a silence fell over the two of you for the first time all day.

It was heavy with different versions of the same question, the same subject. You'd woken up in one era, one that ended around ten this morning. And neither of you had much of a chance to talk about the fact that you were married now.

"Are you... happy?" You spoke up, at last, watching the world float by on your drive through the city.

"I am. Are you?" George smiled, turning to catch your eye, glancing back at the road ahead a couple of times.

"Yeah." You laughed a little. You wouldn't have agreed to any of this if you weren't dead sure you'd be at peace when the decision was made. And you were filled with that same calm that filled you in the cafe, this morning when George rested his hand on your knee. You'd made the right decision for the both of you, and you were very glad for it indeed.

///

Three months had passed. They were quite busy, and filled with all the usual stress that any typical trio of months held. But as the days passed by, you found George was right, somehow. Things... were easier. Maybe you'd talked yourself into believing so, but you noticed celebrities had stopped leaving you out of chit chat when they breezed through after-parties. You notice stranger men had stopped pestering you at the bar, half of the time. And when you met new people and wound up in new places, you didn't have to go through the long spiel of who Geogre was to you, and why he was always around. He was simply your husband, now.

It was strange to get used to the tile at first, but by the time you'd made it to month four, it rolled off your tongue like melting butter. George seemed most keen to use your unity to get out of other plans.

"Sorry I'll have to miss the next gala, my wife wants to go kayaking." You'd never kayaked. You didn't know how, and you'd never brought it up.

"Ah yes, I am that guy from that one movie but sorry I can't come back to your motel, I've got to help my wife pick out dinner." He had rushed you along grocery store stalls in a hurry to escape the odd, unnerving encounter.

That's how your week started, avoiding the scary fan who kept stalking through the market, stopping George with strange questions around too many corners. It wasn't his most unsettling encounter, but one that left the poor guy on edge for another day or so. You'd get home after fifteen-hour shifts, too tired to talk about it. Too tired to ask what he'd been up to all day.

By the end of your week, you'd barely seen George, and he'd been just as busy. You ended your last, hellish never-ending shift with tears in your eyes from the thousands of little things that had piled up and left you stressed till it was time to clock out.

You got home to find George in the living room, reaching for the remote. He left the thing on the coffee table when he twisted to see you in the doorway, worn down, strung out, over it. He asked if you were alright as you kicked your shoes away and hung your coat up in a hurry to decompress.

You demanded George wait to watch whatever film he had in mind for you to join him. You desperately needed to shift your focus from your own worries to an unrelated fictional realm. In a hurry, you showered the day from your achy body and slipped into your comfiest nightclothes. Then you piled up your best blankets on the sofa, using a couple as faux pillows while you and George shared one big, massive quilt, and flipped on the film.

"What'll be tonight then?" You asked, sinking into the cushions at long last.

"That one my mum won't shut up about. About that couple who gets divorced? WOn a bunch of awards." George muttered, clicking on Netflix. He'd always made it a point to watch the films the public raved over, to find out if the fuss was worth it.

"What if this kick starts our own divorce." You joked, the thought escaping your lips as soon as it passed through your head. Regret might have seeded itself in you if George wasn't so quick to laugh.

"I solemnly swear I will not let a fictional couple's marital issues affect my promise... no, my genuine desire to continue working at being with you for better or for worse."

Where the hell did that come from? You gapped at George as he queued up the film.

"Damn. You're getting good at this whole husband thing." You let out a small, stunned laugh. It made the dull ache in your head hammer. George noticed as you drew a hand to your brow, waiting for the thrum to settle.

"I'm sorry you had another bad day," He whispered.

"Thanks, You softened, knowing he truly empathized.

George lifted his arm and bobbed his head, beckoning you closer. You took the invite to curl into his side with a sigh. He was warm, and comforting, and his bicep was the perfect pillow. You relaxed for the first time in forever, it seemed, closing your eyes in to soak up the calm, quiet evening. The sounds of the film faded as you fell into an accidental nap.

You were jarred awake by a dreadful buzzing coming from the coffee table. George's phone was ringing, and when he twisted too slowly to reach for it, you realized he'd fallen asleep too. You noticed Dean's name flash across the screen as George answered, lackadaisically holding the cell in the hand that wasn't still closely wrapped around you.

"You're on speaker," George warned, as you stayed lethargically content at his side.

"Good! I have a question for both of you." Dean 's voice crackled through the telly. His assumption that you were already wherever George was, made you chuckle.

"Claire and I are staying in that quaint little seaside town, this weekend. Fancy coming along? In fact, it was her idea to invite you both to join us." Dean explained, it sounded as though he was walking through the city, shouts and clangs passing through the call.

You glanced up to George from where your head still rested near his shoulder. Neither of your expressions held signs of disinterest so when George carefully responded to Dean that the idea sounded nice, and asked for more details, you grinned and relaxed back into place.

Dean listed off some more information as George hummed and murmured in response. When the call had ended and new plans were made, George tossed his phone back on the table, and settled deeper into the sofa, shifting the weight of his arm beneath you, but hardly disturbing your peace a bit. The sun was peeking through the cracks of your curtains, and the movie must have been nearly over. You both drifted back asleep without another word, and all seemed well. It must have been.

You and George were closer than ever before- and you had already been classified as inseparable. But you'd hardly gotten to enjoy each other's company since making whatever you had official. Rule number three of this marriage enforced you must take every opportunity to for a bit of fun, as possible. It was time for a small getaway. A peaceful sleep would have to do, till then.

───※ ·❆· ※───

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