#but then i thought about his tendency for engaging challenges and not backing down or letting up

[toastytrusty]

thinking about when alex skarsgård said in an interview that lukas gets bored and distracted easily and how he needs to be challenged to stay engaged with something and how that applies to romkas.. how roman and lukas are kinda polar opposites and lukas always pushes rome on the things he knows he struggles with but he would benefit from improving (Emotions and Family Stockholm Syndrome).. how this progresses from constantly prodding him about his feelings to casually suggesting he buy out waystar and roman be his buddy in seperating from logan to eventually not giving him any time between logan dying and meeting for the deal.. how he had to push more and more to get a response.. how when rome finally had a bit of emotional vulnerability with him (yelling at him about how he killed his dad) lukas got all big and smiley and in his space like he was proud of himself for winning . how their seperation past that could be seen as lukas completing his challenge and being satisfied with it and backing off. he's a man who has everything and roman was the only thing that entertained and engaged him. just think about that for a minute yk

[saintsenara]

Thoughts on Ron and Hermione as a ship?

thank you very much for the ask, @thesilverstarling!

i’ll state my position straight away: book ron and hermione are the best of the canon couples.

they will have a long and extremely happy marriage made rich by great and stalwart love, lust, fun, and faithfulness, rather than held together by duty and couples’ therapy like so many readers and authors (including jkr, who seems to have decided to spend the years since the conclusion of the series failing to understand anything about her own characters) tend to think.

i will state another position straight away: lest i seem like i’m just a fan with blinkers on, i think this even though hermione is, by far, my least favourite member of the trio. if she were real i would detest her, and i dislike how she is treated by the narrative as always justified in her negative characteristics. i like fanon hermione - perfect and preternaturally good - even less.

as a result, i think that it’s ridiculous that jkr has said that she thought ron needed to ‘become worthy’ of hermione. they belong together as equals - which is what they’re set up in the narrative as being from the off - and i hate seeing that undermined.

because ronald weasley? he’s an icon. and he doesn’t get anywhere near the respect he deserves in fandom.

there are multiple reasons for this - ron’s narrative purpose is to be the everyman sidekick, and so he is able to be less special than harry or hermione (the helper-figure); the amount of aristocracy wank in this fandom means that the weasleys’ ordinariness is less appealing to writers than making harry have twenty different lordships and call himself hadrian; the narrative interrogates ron’s flaws - especially his capacity for jealousy - much more intensively than it interrogates either hermione’s (cruel, inflexible, meddling) or harry’s (reckless, self-absorbed, judgemental) - but one i feel is particularly significant is that ron is such a british character that many of his traits are not understood as intended by non-british readers.

in particular - as is outlined in this excellent meta by @whinlatter - ron’s sense of humour isn’t indicative of immaturity or a lack of seriousness, but is, in fact, evidence that he’s the most emotionally aware of the trio.

ron is shown throughout the series to understand how both harry and hermione need to have their emotions approached - and i think there is no piece of writing which says this better than crocodile heart by @floreatcastellumposts:

That was what she liked most about Ron, she thought vaguely. He was very good at being suitably outraged on your behalf. For Harry, for her, for Neville. That sort of thing mattered, when you were hurt or embarrassed or wronged in some way. You needed to have someone else on your side, to be as emotional as you felt, maybe even more so, so that you might feel a bit more normal. It was very decent of him, and she was not sure he realised he did it.

ron’s inherent emotional awareness is an enormous source of comfort to other people. he does the work which isn’t flashy or special - he makes tea and tells jokes and is just there - but which is needed in healthy human relationships far more frequently than a willingness to fight to the death for the other person.

[as an aside, this normality - even though i think it is assumed rather than justified by the text - is also what ginny provides for harry. if you believe that hinny are a good couple but romione aren’t… i can’t help you.]

but let’s look at some specific reasons why ron and hermione belong together:

their communication styles mesh perfectly. ron is the only person hermione knows who feeds her love of being challenged and debated, and who is able to engage in this way of communicating without becoming irate when she refuses to back down. ron is good at picking his battles, but he’s also good at recognising that hermione’s tendency to argue isn’t intended to be confrontational a lot of the time - it’s just the way she works through feelings and problems. he’s far more easy-going about her tendency to nag, interrupt, try to provoke arguments, or speak condescendingly than he’s given credit for - and hermione evidently respects this, since when he does tell her not to push a situation (above all, when she’s trying to needle harry into talking about sirius), she listens to him.

that ron and hermione’s tendency to bicker is taken by fans to be a bad thing is because it’s something harry - from whose perspective the narrative is written - doesn’t understand. harry is extremely conflict-avoidant - he tends to take being pushed on views and opinions he has to be insulting; and he has a tendency to assume that he is right which is just as profound as hermione’s. he and ginny communicate not by debating, but by ginny having no time for his rigidity and refusing to indulge it - but ron and hermione bickering about everything is not a negative thing within their specific emotional dynamic.

[as another aside, this glaring chasm in communication styles is why harry and hermione would be a disaster as a couple.]

they each provide validation the other needs. it’s clear - reading between the lines - that hermione is a tremendously lonely person. the friendlessness of her initial few weeks at hogwarts seems to be a continuation of her experience as a child, and - outside of ron and harry - that friendlessness endures through her schooldays. i’m always struck, for example, by the fact that, when she falls out with ron in prisoner of azkaban, she has no-one else to spend time with, and that this is only avoided in half-blood prince because harry decides not to freeze her out. i don’t think her friendship with ginny is anywhere near as close as fanon seems to imply (ginny has no interest in being nagged either), nor do i think that she’s anywhere near as close to neville (not least because she is so condescending to him) as she’s often written to be.

and this loneliness seems to stretch beyond hogwarts. the absence of hermione’s parents’ from the narrative is - in a doylist sense - clearly just a device to maximise time with the trio all together, but the watsonian reading is that she doesn’t have a particularly good relationship with them. hermione’s obviously upper-middle-class background - the name! the skiing! the holidays in the south of france! - can be presumed, i think, to come with a series of expectations from her parents which she feels constantly that she’s not entirely meeting, particularly expectations attached to academic success.

[for example, the grangers - were she a muggle child - would undoubtedly have ambitions for her to attend an elite university and then go into a prestigious career. tertiary education of the type that they’re familiar with doesn’t seem to exist in the wizarding world - most careers seem to be taught by apprenticeship - and this, alongside all the other divides between the magical and muggle worlds which contribute to the distance between them, would be one very obvious area in which she felt the need to prove herself to them.]

ron, too, has quite a difficult relationship with his position in the family - voldemort’s locket is not wrong to point out that he seems to receive considerably less of his mother’s emotional attention than ginny or the rest of his brothers - and he too is constrained by expectations which he doesn’t know how to explain he has no interest in - above all, molly’s desire for her sons to achieve top grades and go into the ministry.

he also suffers while at hogwarts from being ‘harry potter’s best friend’, something which harry never appreciates. but hermione does. she recognises ron’s jealousy and never allows harry to minimise it (and she and ron are very much aligned on having no respect for harry’s saviour and martyr complexes). she appreciates ron’s strengths - above all his kindness and his sense of humour - and makes him feel as though he’s achieved things with them. and ron does the same for her; he is hugely observant when it comes to her, and he challenges and defends her.

the two of them clearly spend a lot of time together one-on-one while harry’s involved in his various shenanigans (including outside of school - hermione has often arrived at the burrow days or even weeks before harry, and they seem to write to each other frequently when apart). they do this within a relationship which is fundamentally equal. one issue with hinny is that, post-war, harry is going to have to get used to seeing ginny as a peer, rather than as someone he has to protect. but ron and hermione never have that issue - equality is baked into their relationship from the off.

because, to be quite frank, fandom overstates the role that jealousy plays in their relationship. it’s true that ron certainly doesn’t acquit himself brilliantly when it comes to hermione’s relationship with viktor krum (it’s because he’s bi and doesn’t know it yet), and a tendency to externalise his insecurity into trying to make others also feel insecure is one of his primary negative traits (hermione does this too, via her patented lofty voice when she’s trying to condescend to people). but this is often taken as the initial red flag for how the relationship would crash and burn, and ron’s toxic jealousy is often used in fan-fiction as the trigger for emotional and physical violence towards hermione which, frequently, seems to drive her into the arms of either draco malfoy or severus snape… who are, of course, the first people we think of when we hear the words ‘not prone to jealousy’...

but i think it’s important to point out several things in defence of ron’s jealousy over krum. firstly, hermione evidently regards his jealousy as ridiculous - she’s upset by it, yes, but her upset must be understood as being caused by the fact that she wanted him to ask her out. she doesn’t think he’s being possessive, she thinks he’s being stupid. secondly, hermione is equally as jealous over ron’s crush on fleur delacour and relationship with lavender brown. she behaves just as cruelly when it comes to lavender as ron does when it comes to krum - and the narrative only treats her actions as more sympathetic or justified both because harry dislikes lavender too, and because, by that point in the series, jkr has dispensed with any inclination to ever criticise her.

but, outside of this teenage pettiness, ron is never jealous of hermione over things which matter. he is never jealous of her intelligence or competence or ambition or success (indeed, he defends her constantly from attacks designed to undermine her in these areas). for someone who struggles with being overshadowed by harry, he is never upset at being overshadowed by her. he is clearly going to be happy to support her in any of the career ambitions she can be written as having post-war.

and, on this point, i think it’s worth interrogating why so many readers still seem to feel uncomfortable with the idea of ron and hermione having a dynamic where she is the more ‘powerful’ one. [it’s always a bit trite to say ‘but what if the genders were reversed?’, but actually that’s not irrelevant here]. if hermione ends up taking the ministry by storm and ron becomes a stay-at-home father or has a job which is just to pay the bills, what, precisely, is wrong with that? why, precisely, should hermione regard ron making that choice for himself as a negative thing? hermione so often seems to leave ron in fan-fiction because of a lack of ambition - something which seems to be particularly common in dramione - but, in canon, she is shown to not particularly care if ron and harry do the bare minimum when it comes to studying etc. she nags them to do their work so they don’t get in trouble. she doesn’t nag them to do it to the same standard that she would.

and, actually, i think that ron being less ambitious than hermione is something which is key to how well they work. because ron provides not only emotional support, but emotional clarity.

hermione is shown throughout canon to - just as harry does - have a tendency to become obsessive to the detriment of her own health. she is also often - as harry is - emotionally or intellectually inflexible, and finds it hard to move on when what she feels or believes is proven to be wrong. both she and harry are micro-thinkers, who lean towards knee-jerk assumptions and stubborn convictions (and, indeed, hermione has a remarkably hagrid-ish tendency towards blind loyalty).

ron is none of these things. ron is a big-picture thinker (it’s why he’s so good at chess). he’s a pragmatist. he’s the least righteous of the three. he understands that faith and loyalty are choices, and that sometimes these choices will lead to outcomes which are bad or hard. he is the one of the three most willing to own up to having made mistakes. he is the one least likely to act on gut instinct (and, therefore, the hardest to fool - i think it’s worth emphasising that he clocks that tom riddle is tricking harry immediately, the only one of the trio to do so). he understands that things are a marathon, not a sprint. he is the least obsessive.

and these traits contribute to aspects of his character which are underappreciated. ron worries about hermione making herself ill during exams, or when she is using the time-turner, and makes an effort to get her to set healthy boundaries and redirect her anxiety. ron stands on a broken leg in front of sirius or goes into the forest to fight aragog not out of righteousness, but out of choice. ron takes over the burden of preparing buckbeak’s defence when it is clear that hermione is approaching burnout. ron is completely right that harry hasn’t done any long-term planning for the horcrux hunt, and his anger does force harry to tighten up after he leaves the trio. ron has a clear head in the middle of battle. ron makes harry and hermione laugh. ron is unafraid of human emotion. ron arrests harry’s tendency to brood over the little things by looking at the bigger picture. ron will always come back.

ron is bringing his politician wife regular cups of tea and making sure she doesn’t work all night. he is helping his lawyer wife to feel less upset over losing one case by reminding her that she’s won ten others. he is noticing stress creeping in and whirling her off for a dirty weekend, or even just a takeaway on the sofa. he is teaching his daughter to be proud of her ambition and his son to treat women as equals and both of his children that all you can do when you fuck up is apologise and try to do better. he is making hermione smile on the worst days of her life. he is helping her strategise her long-term goals when she gets stuck on the short-term ones. he is telling her straight when she needs to get it together. he is seeing a misogynistic head of department call hermione a ‘silly little girl’ and choosing to tell him exactly what he thinks of that.

ron is the ultimate wife guy. hermione is a very, very lucky lady.

[my-own-walker]

hi hi can u plz do an imagine of what aftercare is like with pre-death kyle spencer?? THANK U SM

+ "could u do some pre death kyle smut fem. like obv hes a sub before he died so some cute like first time in the relationship smut. YERP TY FOR READING 😎" - anon

Superposition

note: well of course, lovelies! i could do that for ya. giving you all a twofer with this!

warnings: (unprotected) sm*t, disgusting amounts of fluff, kyle's weird music taste (toto, really?) fem!reader

+++

I met Kyle in calc. I don't know what I was thinking when I signed up for a class of that caliber.

To be fair, calculus is easy for some. For me, an English major, not so much. I struggled horrendously in class. My mind was not oriented in the realm of math. With dozens of papers and other writing assignments due in my other classes, it was no wonder I couldn't wrap my head around derivatives and complex analysis.

You know how college is. No assigned seats. Just vibes. On the first day of class everyone sorta just...decides where they're gonna sit for the rest of the semester.

I chose my typical seat in the back of the room. I always sat in the back row nearest to the door in every class. It was a surefire way to make sure I could escape at the end of the lesson without having to interact with anyone.

Kyle Spencer, notorious campus fratboy, was in my class. The only reason I even knew of him was because of a stunt his fraternity pulled during a party I was at. I went for the alcohol and stayed for the insane blonde boy doing pushups in the corner the whole night as part of some dumbass hazing.

He was one who was willing to do anything to impress his frat brothers. He had apparently been a human coat rack at one party, and at another, he got so belligerently drunk that he ended up asleep in the fountain outside the library -- 2 miles from the party.

I wasn't one to engage in the school's Greek activities. I went to parties to get drunk and would be home by midnight. I wasn't particularly interested in paying to have friends, but hey, whatever floats your boat.

Kyle picked the seat next to me on the first day of the semester. Well actually, he didn't pick it. It was forced upon him by his tendency to be extremely late to class. The seat next to mine was literally the only one open when he arrived.

As it turns out, Kyle was impressively good at calculus. Like inhuman. Thank god he sat next to me because during tests I could just cheat off of him.

Well, that was until he caught me one day.

+

We'd had a quiz that I was hopelessly clueless on. I did my usual cheating routine, the stretch and look. But this time, Kyle's head snapped in my direction. He let out a laugh and covered his quiz with his hand.

Oh, so we're the perfect little suck-up now, are we, Spencer? I thought.

I struggled through the rest of the quiz, leaving about half of it blank before time was called. I shot a glare in Kyle's direction as I walked to the front to hand the damn thing in.

I slumped back in my seat with a huff and began to pack up my things. The class started to file out so I rushed to get out ahead of the crowd.

'Wait, wait,' Kyle called to me. I whipped around and stared him dead in the eyes, trying to set him on fire with my mind. Not only for making me fail the quiz but also now for making me late. 'If you need help on the quizzes I'll help you.'

'Yeah?' I said, attitude obvious in my tone.

'Yes. But you can't cheat,' he smirked. 'Let me tutor you.'

'What, as community service hours for your fraternity obligations?' I challenged.

'Well, yes. But also because I want to! I love math,' he grinned.

'Okay, what's my name, then? If you know it, you can tutor me,' I said, proud of myself for my attempt to stump him. There was no way he knew a nobody like me.

'Y/N,' he replied, still grinning. 'I know you.'

+

Begrudgingly I decided to meet him at the library that night to go over what I was confused about on the quiz. We went over everything and he actually broke it all down in such a helpful way. I don't think I had ever understood math clearly until Kyle explained it.

When he finished going over everything I started to pack up my things to leave.

'Whoa Y/N hold on, do you wanna go get coffee or something?' Kyle asserted, flashing his five-star smile.

'At...9 pm?' replied.

'Just, I mean like-' he stammered.

'No sure, I mean that's fine. I'll take a coffee,' I smiled.

He walked close to me through campus to the only little coffee shop that would be open at that hour. It was aptly called 'Sleepwalker Coffee Co.' They knew their audience well. College students need caffeine at all hours of the day, as we all know.

He bought. I swooned. A man who buys me coffee? A dream.

We nestled into a small booth in the corner of the place. It was unsurprisingly packed in there. Tons of students getting work done while fraying their nerves with cups of liquid energy. It was dark and plush in there. Velvet seating, dark looming bookshelves, royal purple drapes on the windows. It was my kind of place.

We talked for a while about people in our class. Just the oddballs who stood out to us. Like Turtleneck Guy, who without fail, even on the hottest days, wore a turtleneck sweater. Or Test Girl, the girl that was always first to finish any test and made a large point of running up to the front to hand it in.

'So Kyle,' I started, resolving to change the subject a bit. He looked up from his drink inquisitively. 'I have a question.'

'Go on,' he said, laughing nervously.

'You said you knew me. How?' It was the question that had been nagging at my mind all day. Ever since he made a point of saying that. I thought I was a mysterious unknown, just trying to get through college unscathed.

'Oh, damn, I don't know what I expected you to ask but it was not that. You scared me,' he laughed. 'I've known you since Freshman year. The dorms?'

'The dorms?' I asked, needing further clarification.

'Yeah, Clarence Hall? You lived on a different floor than me but I remember you. I'd always see you on Tuesdays. You'd walk in as I walked out at like...3 pm? I'd always wave,' he explained.

'I have to be so honest with you Kyle, I do not remember that,' I replied, laughing as I spoke. 'You have a really solid memory.'

'Nah, I just thought you were prett- uh- cool. Pretty cool, ya know? Made me take note of you in my mind,' he quipped, pointing to his temple.

'Oh, really?' I blushed. I was at a loss for something to say. As he looked at me with those dark brown puppy dog eyes I couldn't help but feel something I'd never felt toward him before.

+

It wasn't long before our study dates became a regular thing. Kyle helped me get a B on the next quiz, all on my own. No cheating involved. He was so proud of me, he wrapped me in a bear hug, picked me up, and spun me around.

Then, our study dates became actual dates not long after. Our first real date was at his fraternity's date party. I felt so stupid showing up in my dark makeup and knee-high Doc Martens to an event where all the girls had fake tans and tight body-con dresses. Nonetheless, he showed me off like a proud fisherman shows off his biggest catch. We danced all night long and afterward, he asked me to be his girlfriend. It was also the night of our first kiss.

Kyle kept things slow with me. I wasn't used to that in a partner. He never pressured me into anything. In fact, I was the one initiating intimate contact half the time. I didn't mind. We were happy.

+

We had just taken the final for our calc class. For once, I felt confident about the work I handed in. Kyle gave me a kiss on the cheek as I got back from handing it in. It was a good feeling. I was finally free of math. I only needed one math class for my degree and bam, I finished it. And I got a boyfriend out of it. Not too shabby, Y/N.

'We need to celebrate!' Kyle declared as we walked out of the classroom into the sunlight. 'You, my dear, are a calc class success story! My crowning achievement.' He pulled me into his side and kissed me on the head as we walked.

'Thank you, Spencer. I owe ya a million,' I replied.

'Thanks for sayin' yes to my tutoring offer,' he quipped back. 'Best idea I ever had.'

We walked back to my apartment, sharing headphones and listening to Stevie Wonder songs. One of his favorite artists. My apartment was the only place he and I could get any privacy. I had a flatmate, but our rooms were on opposite ends of the place.

Kyle, upon entering my room, immediately plugged his phone into the speaker I had on my dresser. He paused for a second to select his playlist and turned around to me dramatically as the beginning of ‘Hold The Line’ by Toto played.

'You are such a dork,' I giggled, sitting on my bed.

'Baby, it's a good song and you know it,' he said, dancing toward me. He was very corny, but I needed that in a partner.

He flopped down onto the bed next to me, crossing his legs at his ankles and resting his hands on his chest. He stared up at the ceiling as he hummed along to the song.

I locked my phone and threw it onto the windowsill next to me and looked down at my boyfriend. His beautiful eyes stared blankly into space. I couldn’t help but attack him with kisses.

He leaned into them, humming in content as we made out. I swung my leg over his torso, straddling his hips as the kissing got hotter. My hands moved up to the top of his plaid button-up shirt. I hovered over the buttons and separated myself from his mouth to ask ‘okay?’

He nodded and pulled me by the back of my neck back into kissing him. I unbuttoned his top, leaving his chest exposed. I kissed him down his neck and chest, leaving hickeys as I went. Marking my property, if you will.

He moaned with each new spot that I kissed. It was delicious. A moment I never wanted to end.

The song ended. ‘Hello It’s Me’ by Todd Rundgren began to play. Our song. It was as if the universe understood what was about to happen.

‘Are you okay?’ I asked, looking at him. He opened his eyes and nodded.

‘Yeah, Y/N, I’m great,’ he sighed blissfully.

‘Is this about to happen?’ I replied. I really wanted to make sure before I started to tear more of his clothes off.

‘Yeah, I think I’m ready,’ he breathed, a look I couldn’t quite read on his face.

I started at his jeans, struggling to pull them off. We both laughed awkwardly. Once they were off, I really drank in his appearance. His nearly naked form.

I started to take off my own clothes, once again straddling Kyles hips. Except this time with a prominent bulge underneath me. Something stirred inside of me.

Before I tugged off his underwear I stopped again.

‘Okay?’ I asked, fingers under the waistband of his boxers.

‘Mhm,’ he grunted. 

He was completely naked. And so was I. A form we had never seen each other in before. He was…bigger…than I expected. Excitedly, I guided his cock into me.

‘Fuck,’ he moaned and gripped the sheets.

Gently, very gently, I began to ride him. His length seemed to go so far into me that it reached my limit. I moaned gutterally at the feeling of him. My hips moved instinctively. His hips bucked at the motion. He bit his bottom lip and grabbed my bare thighs tightly.

‘Can I?’ he breathed, beginning to sit up to switch positions.

‘Of course,’ I replied.

Still inside of me, Kyle took my place on top. He thrust even deeper into me. I almost couldn’t take it. I screwed my eyes shut and stifled a yelp. He pulled out at the sight of my discomfort, placing a hand on my cheek.

‘No, no, it’s fine,’ I panted.

‘I don’t wanna hurt you,’ he replied.

‘You won’t, I promise,’ I assured him.

He thrust into me again, with such force that I couldn’t help but yell out a bit. He kissed me as he fucked me senseless. I grabbed his shoulders to anchor myself, but accidentally raked down his back, leaving scratches with my nails.

He pulled out, panting loudly.

‘I think I’m gonna come,’ he said.

‘It’s okay, you can do it in me,’ I whispered, nodding assuringly.

He took a deep breath and entered me again. I was soaking wet. With a few more strokes he came, spilling his hot load into my cunt. He moaned loudly, throwing his head back in ecstasy.

Kyle fell back onto the bed next to me, breathing heavily. I moved my hair from my face, sweat making it stick to my forehead.

‘That- that was my first time,’ Kyle huffed. I shot up to a sitting position.

‘Wait, that was?!’ I exclaimed.

‘Yeah, oh my god,’ he sighed. ‘And it was so good.’

‘Kyle I’m sorry, I had no idea!’ I cried out, smacking his chest softly. ‘You should have told me!’

‘No I didn’t want to tell you,’ he laughed, ‘you worry too much. It wouldn’t be natural.’

‘My god Kyle, you were so good,’ I groaned, falling back onto my pillow.

‘You don’t have to say that to be nice, Y/N,’ he breathed.

‘No, I’m so serious Kyle.’

He sat up and drank me in, looking me up and down.

‘You are so beautiful,’ he said. He wrapped me up in a hug and pulled me into his chest. We intertwined our legs and he started stroking my hair. ‘Dear Prudence’ by The Beatles was playing. He starting singing along softly.

‘The sun is up, the sky is blue, it’s beautiful, and so are you,’ he sang, rocking me gently in his arms. ‘That’s really how I feel about you. You’re as beautiful as the bluest sky.’

My heart swelled. He was so forthright with his feelings. It was refreshing.

‘Do you wanna shower with me?’ he asked, breaking the silence. ‘I think we both need it now.’

‘Uh yeah, sure baby,’ I replied, giggling a bit. He got up and stood at the edge of the bed, holding out a hand to help me up. He followed me to the bathroom connected to my room, peppering kisses all over my shoulders as we walked. I started the water and we got in, embracing in the warmth of the water.

‘Lemme wash you,’ he mumbled, still kissing my neck and shoulders.

He massaged body wash into my skin as he continued to hum tunes to me. I looked up at him in awe. I had never been with someone so loving and caring.

We got out and changed into pajamas, nestling into my bed for the night.

‘I love you, Kyle,’ I murmured.

‘I love you more,’ he replied.

+++

I hope this was okay! I feel like I’m getting the hang of writing like this but I still need practice. Thank you both for your requests!

[artoodeetootired]

how you get the girl (11)

🌌 and that's how it works- that's how you got the girl. 🌌

part i

it is widely known that anakin skywalker excels at nearly everything- except one: how to get the girl of his dreams.

words: ~5.4k (warning: also did not proofread)

aotc anakin skywalker x padawan!ofc (+ besties padme & artoo)

best friends to lovers, miscommunication, a little angst ig?, fluff, whiny emo teenager padawans

Evelyn found herself meditating more aggressively than usual the next morning... with a lightsaber.

After she had finished her perimeter check in just an hour, she resorted to whipping her weapon around in a never-ending storm.

Her mind was too scattered, too dark. It was consumed by feelings she had suppressed for far too long, even though they were inevitable.

The vibrations hummed in the air. and she danced along with it. As she fought the enemy in her mind, she lost herself to the flow of it, letting the Force embody her, and she the Force.

Twirling and thrusting and concentrating, Evelyn reached the peak of her combination and went for the blowing swing.

Only to find resistance on the other end.

Opening her eyes in alarm, she was welcomed with the plague himself, his saber connected ferociously to hers.

Sparks sprouted around them, their blue rays challenging each other as they pushed one another.

"I knew I'd find you here," Anakin smirked, never faltering in his engagement to her saber.

From the intersection of their blades, Evelyn couldn't help but feel a little lost at the sight of his azure eyes, seeing how it matched their twined lightsabers.

She's always subtly complimented him about it, but never in the way she thought at that very moment.

"Oh yeah?" she dared to push against him a little harder, partly as a way to scold herself, "Is that what you told yourself running 'round the past few days?"

At this she ducked underneath his arm, freeing the both of them to circle around each other.

He chuckled deeply, "So you own up to actively avoiding me?"

Evelyn tilted her head, smiling behind the spinning blur of her lightsaber.

"You know I never lie."

"Well then if you're so honest," Anakin edged on, pointing the tip of his saber towards her, "Then what say you a bet?"

Despite herself and the events of the last few days (or the lack thereof), she was open to the idea.

She did admit that she found his composed demeanor quite strange, knowing Anakin extremely well as impatient. She expected harsh questioning, annoyed monologues, nosy tendencies; instead, he was acting as anything but that. Well, to an extent-he was still his cocky self this early in the morning.

Padme's rubbing off on him, I guess.

"Go on."

"We duel." Anakin states strongly, "It's been a while, so it’s even ground. And whoever wins, gets to make the other do something."

Evelyn scoffed, "Well, that's what a bet is. I meant, what's at stake?"

"If I win, you stop acting like a hellion and join us today. No questions asked," he gazed down at her.

Huh?

"And if I win?" she stopped walking, keeping her weapon by her side.

"I leave you alone," Anakin said simply, face unreadable.

Curious.

They regarded one another for a while, eyeing the other for any foul intentions. Taking it to the next level, their reach out to each other through the Force was wide open, unlike how Evelyn had closed herself off from him for days.

And so she rushed forward, swinging the first strike.

He met her by his head, admittedly a little shocked she would go straight for his neck.

He forced her to his right, then pulled her towards him so she would spin away, allowing for him to regroup. Anakin lunged for her legs, leaving a path of light in the wake of her fast feet, backing up on her toes as preparation to jump over his head.

She landed facing his back, and snatched his defenseless side as an opportunity. But as she expected, he had blocked her, his arms twisted to cover him, and his face turned over his shoulder to peek at her determined face.

He smiled, missing this.

A battling blur of blue and white ensued, dangerously similar to lightspeed; their movement rocked back and forth, bringing balance to their battle as they danced a tango they've danced before.

Both were swift, sure and strong in their steps, and it was painfully clear that they were each other's equals as they showed no falter.

Behind her followed her streak of dark hair, as sharp as her eyes; ever following Anakin's movements, discerning, calculating, deciding. She tried to ignore how his eyes never left hers if he could help it, and how she couldn't leave his. Evelyn didn't know what made this spar so different, but it intoxicated her senses.

She blamed the heat she was feeling on their lightsabers.

On the other side of their ferocious frolic, Anakin watched her fight as his body responded naturally, for they always did a thousand times. Her eyes narrowed, her teeth gnawing on her lip, her hair falling into place; he could fight her over and over again, win over and over again, lose over and over again, if it meant he got to witness this.

Unsurprisingly, Anakin maneuvered his saber in a way that always confused his opponents. Rarely Evelyn, however, as she had seen his signature move enough to handle it. He spun it impossibly fast twice behind and in front of him, meaning to draw her attention everywhere.

He was unsuccessful.

But he was counting on that.

Her perfect-on-paper tactic to strike his legs the split second his momentum drove him upwards was met with a jump. Anakin tucked his knees up to her surprise, then scooped her lightsaber in to turn against her.

He had caged her in: her own vertically challenging the side of her face, and his horizontally threatening her throat. Yet all she could feel was his racing heartbeat behind her as he pressed her back into his chest.

She silently hoped he couldn't feel hers.

"And one more thing." she barely stopped herself from shivering when his breath tingled her ear, practically feeling his ear-to-ear grin, “You've gotta wear the dress."

•〰️•

It's shorter than I thought.

Evelyn expected as much. Padme was almost 4 inches shorter than her with a much daintier physique- of course, she would need less tightening of the soft corset attached, and it would stop above her ankles rather than her feet.

Though, the Padawan wasn't going to lie- the dress was beautiful.

Padme deserved credit for her fashion sense, for she knew well enough that Evelyn preferred simplicity and comfort, and gifted her a dress she was in genuine admiration of.

Like everything here, it was soft; lace hugging her skin as if it knew it belonged to be on her. She wasn't sure how Padme had come to know of her favourite colour, but the wispy layers of the dress were of a midnight blue, the same one would see if they looked up at the sky in the latest hours of the night.

Yes, it may have been odd given that all of her life was spent in space- one would think she would be tired of such a shade. But the night had been her friend since before she was plucked out of Canto Bight's fathier farm, always reassuring her that it was okay not to sleep, always staying with her as she told it her hopes and dreams until the sun came to ruin it all.

The straps on each side intertwined with one another, deceiving all to believe they were dark vines crawling up from the gently layered skirt, up her soft corset, across her shoulders. It wrapped her in all the right places, and she couldn't stop feeling anxious about wearing it in front of other people. Angling herself around multiple times to ensure nothing was more awkward, she scrutinised herself in the mirror.

"So this is what Padme feels like everyday," she said to herself, “Not in the same robes everyday, feeling pretty and strong.”

An all too familiar series of robotic chirps muffled through the door, and she knew R2 had come to escort her; unsurprisingly, Anakin and Padme had gone ahead.

She took a deep breath, still slightly upset she had lost the duel, and headed for the door.

"Where did you say?" Evelyn asked her companion.

They had just crossed a riverbank, encircled by large, majestic waterfalls that kissed her lightly with its teardrops.

"We're almost there! Just up ahead in the field," R2 beeped, letting out a surprised yelp as Evelyn placed him safely down on the bank.

"Hey, watch your language, Artoo," Evelyn frowned, Anakin's been talking to him too much, “Plus, I thought you could swim?"

He zoomed through the grass at the implication, afraid he'd be sent swimming back to the villa.

"Seems a bit extra for me to wear a dress like this out here, no?"

She watched her step, careful not to stain the dress.

He whirred and tittered in response, and it made Evelyn beam bashfully.

"Thank you, R2. And you look pretty, too."

It was a bright, ever sunny day, but Evelyn supposed the giant waterfalls provided them with a dew that brightened the whole field up.

She didn't know whether to be surprised or not anymore, for the flowers scattering the scene were breathtaking.

Just up ahead, was the pair sitting on a small clearing, where blades of grass turned outwards as if accommodating them.

"Evelyn," Padme gasped, cupping her face as she stood to meet the approaching Padawan, "Oh, it's so much better than I imagined!"

Padme squealed softly and held her at arms-length, observing her.

"You look amazing as well, Padme."

Indeed she did, in a floral dress that spelled out her elegance, the sun making it almost golden to the eye.

Anakin’s got one lucky ass.

"I do apologise, I didn't have anything that was longer for your height and less formal for the occasion.”

"No, please don't!" grasping her hands in return, "I can't thank you enough for your kindness. It truly is beautiful.”

"Well, it is even more so now," Padme smiled, dragging her towards Anakin, the droid and a noticeable basket in the middle, "Come! We haven't started eating yet."

"Good, Anakin wouldn't have left anything,” she joked, earning Padme's laugh.

The close attention from his gaze was not lost to her, and she couldn't bring herself to look straight at him.

But his aura forced her to. So, she looked to where he was sitting, already seeing him scan her every detail, every inch of her new look.

"So, where's your dress?" Evelyn snipped to break the ice. They sat down, and Padme began to offload the food in front of them.

"Oh, I would've worn it," he broke out of his trance and reached for a sandwich, "But I wouldn't've looked as pretty as you do right now"

Evelyn almost choked on nothing, refusing to let them see the profuse blush colouring her cheeks as she glanced down.

What lovely grass.

In all of their time together, Anakin had never called her 'pretty' out of nowhere. And even when he did, it was in the most unserious of contexts.

It wasn't to say that Evelyn never thought of Anakin as... attractive. Because he was.

It would be a crime to try and lie about that. Girls in and out of the temple would gawk and giggle as he walked past, and Evelyn would be there to watch all of it, trying her best not to let it influence her perspective.

"So, Ani," Padme brought up quickly as she sensed Evelyn's discomfort, "How did you draw our mission leader away from her duties?"

A pang of guilt rang in Evelyn's chest.

"An aggressive negotiation" they said at the same time. Though, Anakin had his mouth half-full.

"Aggressive negotiation?" Padme asked, "What's that?"

Evelyn waved a hand for Anakin to proceed, who laughed as he swallowed his food, "It's, well, a negotiation with a lightsaber.

"You guys did what now?" Padme asked astounded.

They burst into laughter, and that was the start of an afternoon that surprised even Evelyn. As if nothing had happened, the three of them bonded- talking of both surface and deeper topics, and getting up to explore the field when they found sitting tiresome.

"Careful!" came Evelyn's shriek.

The two women watched as the rebel was thrown around on a wild shaak's (as Evelyn had learned the creature was called) back, trying to maintain his balance as they unsteadily shot down the hill.

"Anakin Skywalker, you are not going to die on an animal's back on my mission!"

She assured Padme that she would retrieve him, telling her to stay put with R2. Evelyn removed her sandals, hiked up her dress and ran as fast as she could until she found a falter in the shaak’s prance.

"Then join me!" he yelled down at her. Anakin's big hand shot out, albeit bouncing up and down, and stayed there until she skeptically decided to take it.

A yelp escaped her mouth as she was tugged up, and she clung on to him for dear life when she had realised what she had done.

"Oh my word, I shouldn't be condoning this behaviour."

"Aw, c'mon, we used to do more reckless thing before this." he threw over his shoulder.

"Yes, but imagine how this would look if I had to report this back to the Council!"

"Then it'll stay a secret!" Anakin whooped, appreciating the feeling of Evelyn's arms wrapped around him.

He swerved them to the left, tightening her hold around his waist. They were both laughing to the point where their stomachs hurt, and she didn't find it so bad after all.

As they galloped towards the river, where a waterfall awaited them, Anakin tried to halt.

To no avail. His smile slowly faded. He tried again.

The shaak only seemed to gain speed, and it viciously dashed through the green and towards the roar of water.

30 meters.

"Anakin?" Evelyn's frantic call rang in his ears.

10 meters.

"Anakin!"

"Shit," he muttered. Anakin turned on his heels, taking her up into his arms and braced himself.

And just as the shaak feigned to head straight into the river, Anakin used the Force in panic to push it a sharp right, throwing them off its back and deep into the river.

The pressure hit them hard, water seizing their figures into its clutches. Evelyn felt herself wrapped against someone, and managed to open her eyes to see Anakin’s blurry figure inches away from her; strong arms wrapped around her, as if a protective shell from the impact.

Her heart dropped.

She took him with her as she rushed to the surface, ears popping to the angry bellow of the stream.

To her relief, and her wheezing composure, Anakin's blue eyes took her in, desperately surveying her, reflexively reaching for her.

"Are you okay?" he gasped nervously before she could ask. The two Padawans floated there, Evelyn's dress billowing around them.

Then she slapped him on the chest.

"Ow!"

"Why did you do that?!"

“What do you mean why did I-"

“You could've gotten yourself killed!"

"I'm sorry, are you really scolding me for prote-

"You don't need to protect me! We're both Jedi, Anakin!"

"I'm sorry, I just thought-”

"Well, don't!" she huffed. Her eyes were full of fear, and so was her Force signature- a mixture of colours that she would be ashamed to have. Colours of the dark.

Anakin saw it, and tried bringing her back to him. They held onto each other for what seemed like forever, brown meeting blue, chests heaving underwater. Her hair had come undone out of its tie, her lashes laced with droplets- he had never seen such beauty as he did then.

"Okay, I'm sorry," he said carefully, eyes shifting down to her lips dangerously. Just a split second.

She noticed how close they were, and she couldn't resist roaming her stare to his wet hair, his strong jaw, his eyes.

"But you have to admit that was fun,” he quietly said in between them, and it bled the red out of her mind, turning into soothing blue and starlight, like he always managed to do.

“Yeah," her eyes flickered down too, a smile creeping up her own, "It was."

Evelyn welcomed his scent to wash over her, mixing with the smell of fresh water and wind blown grass.

Anakin couldn't believe he had always had the privilege of being this close to her all his life, but only noticed how much he couldn't bear to be without it now.

Did she perhaps feel as tortured as he did?

Was this it?

Was this the moment he had been waiting for?

Surfacing from the depths out of nowhere, her lightsaber caught her attention.

And so she decided not.

The young Jedi pulled away, blinking rapidly as she kicked to the shore, a confused Anakin just on her toes.

The red fog was back, and this time it was consuming both of their hearts.

"Now can you just tell me what's wrong?" he asked frustratedly, trudging out onto the bank.

She angrily hauled the wet dress that weighed her down, now dead from its wistful life just moments before.

"What?" she asked stiffly, her back remained turned to him.

He who couldn't care less about how cold he felt from the water, ridding himself of his leather vest and outer robe to catch up to her.

"Seriously? You've avoided me since we got here, and it's been annoying the shit out of me."

"There's nothing wrong," she turned to him, wet waves accompanying her rigid features, "And even if there was, why would I necessarily need to tell you?"

"Because you always have no matter what" his feet automatically followed her traipse up the bank, long strides getting him next to her in no time, "We always have."

She visibly struggled to walk away faster in her sopping dress.

"Well, you don't need to know everything about me."

"But I do!"

"Well we're just friends, Anakin!" she did not stop, one expressive hand flinging in the air, "Sometimes, I wanna have my own mind to think with, and sometimes you'll have to deal with things yourself, too!"

At that, his anger flared. He grabbed her wrist and turned her equally enraged face to him.

"What is going on with you?" he exclaimed.

"Nothing!"

She yanked her wrist away from him, and they were face to face, having an almost-screaming match.

"Bullshit.”

"Look, you have every opportunity to talk to someone you genuinely care about, someone you’ve really liked since we were kids," she swung her arm behind her, implying Padme, "Her door is right next to yours, and I'm giving you a chance to do what you can't when we leave."

Anakin swallowed. He'll take the chance.

"Are you... jealous?"

"What? Why would I be jealous?"

He shook the sinking feeling off.

"Well, I am worried about you, Eve," his voice rose.

She turned back around, striding once more; he followed.

"There's no need, nothing is wrong."

"You're lying through your teeth." he heatedly said to her as they walked, "And you told me you never lie."

"And because that's so, maybe this is a reflection of your inability to trust me or be wrong,” she hollered back.

"No, Eve! I know you better than anyone else in the world- in the whole goddamn galaxy," he pointed an accusatory finger at her, "You're acting just like how you used to when we first met."

"No, I'm not! I'm just making sure you and Padme get all the time you can!" her strong voice wavered.

He stopped in his tracks, breathing heavy, looking at her longingly.

"But why does that have to come at such a steep cost?"

"What?" she whipped around, not quite believing what she heard.

"I feel like I'm losing you, Eve. It feels like you're making me choose when at the end of the day- at the end of it all- you are my best friend. And I refuse to let you go that easy."

"Ani-” she shook her head.

Breathe, trying her best not to let tears fall. Not here, not now.

"You're stuck with me, like you were 10 years ago, whether you like it or not.”

Both of them panted at the speed they had been playing chase, and they stood there planted, gouging out what was next to come.

She took a deep breath, letting go of her skirt and tucking her wet hair behind her ears out of habit.

"Ani, I am making you choose. Because the two of us, we, break the Code everyday, every mission, every second we serve under the Order."

"Well, then-"

"But you and Padme can hide this with the distance as horrible as it sounds. You guys can survive through it," Evelyn pushed past his urge to interrupt, "We have and will always be looked down on for being... best friends."

She couldn't stop it anymore; her voice broke as she looked away from him, suddenly cursing the sky for setting into the night that she loved.

"…What are you saying?" he croaked. The world had never been quieter.

“Maybe I'm telling you to make the right choice.

And it isn't me."

•〰️•

Traveling back was painful. Dinner was painful. Going to bed was painful.

It tormented Anakin to know that this was what heartbreak felt like, and he didn't know whether he would be able to mend it.

He didn't need to go to sleep to face a possible nightmare, for he felt he was already living in one.

The stars cried for him, pouring out compassion through their twinkling lights. There, in his bed with the moonlight bathing him, did his sorrows lie. Fear, anger, hate lead to the dark side; but every time he was scared, it drove him to fight harder. To fight harder for her. And why was that so bad?

But when has he ever liked losing? When had he ever been obedient?

Never. Especially not with her. But ultimately, she had chosen him over herself, prioritising him over whatever she may or may not have felt; it saddened him even more.

Anakin swung the duvet out of his way, leaning his elbows into his knees. Taking his loose, camel-coloured shirt from a chair, he slipped it on and treaded for the balcony with a tired rub of his eyes.

Stepping out into the cool midnight air, he looked to his right, a small twinge of hope to see Evelyn on her own balcony, melancholy dripping off of her.

But she wasn't there.

Of course she isn't.

She was the one who found solitude in her self-control. When she made up her mind, it was often too hard to change it.

He knew she was right deep down; he just couldn’t believe that he had lost her in the snap of his fingers, when he spent so long to even get close to her.

The cool stone ledge under his hands comforted him in a strange way, in a manner that even the stars couldn't; it grounde him back to reality, back to his present, back to the light of the Force-

Evelyn?

In the distance, just about to detach from the dock, was Evelyn's undeniable silhouette aboard a gondola.

Alarm rang throughout his body, and he stumbled around in a rush to get her.

No doubt, he would go after her.

Anakin pushed off from the balustrade, and ran faster than he ever had- through the dark corridor, down the grand staircase, and towards the docks.

"Eve!" he bellowed, running down countless steps, not keeping in mind who could've heard him.

For once, he thanked the years of rigorous training for his stamina. One foot in front of the other, he raced time to see Evelyn drifting further and further away from the shore- from him.

"Eve!" he cupped his hands over his mouth, heaving from the rush while he dreadfully stood at the very edge of the wood.

She didn't turn. She was painfully still, too; he feared the worst.

Was she leaving them? Was she under some sort of trick? Did someone get to her? Was she-

No.

Like always, Anakin acted impulsively, this time fuelled by an intoxicating amount of adrenaline.

He jumped.

He dove through the water less gracefully than he'd hoped, and swam until his whole body burned.

Don't go. Don't go. Don't go.

In time, the cold sting of the water motivated him to keep going.

Stroke by stroke, he could feel her presence intensify, and he had never been so glad to bask in it.

Seeing the tail of the gondola in the short moment he went up for air, Anakin stopped, grabbing onto it.

"Anakin?" he heard through muffled ears.

Thank the Maker.

Her startled face was illuminated by the blue glow of her lightsaber, but he didn't care, pulling himself up to join her from the loud splashing he had caused.

"What are you doing out here?" he gasped in confrontation.

"What are you doing out here?" she retaliated; no bags, not even properly dressed, nothing. He suddenly felt a little stupid; she’s had her fair share of sleepless nights, too.

Even after the ridiculous ordeal, as he shivered, he soaked in her perfect hair blanketing her shoulders, her sharp eyes softened just for him, and her in just her nightgown and robe.

Have mercy on me.

"Anakin Skywalker, are you insane?!" she tucked her lightsaber behind her, rushing to remove her robe to leave her arms and legs exposed to the cold air. She wrapped him in it, even though it was too short on him.

"Yes," he blurted out, "Deeply. For you. You've driven me mad. Crazy. Deranged."

He realised she was only half-listening, too preoccupied with drying him off.

"Clearly," she continued to pat him down- trying to ignore his nearly translucent shirt displaying the contours of his muscles- scowling through concentration, “What were you thinking? I could've sliced you in half! And you scared the shit out of me!"

“Please just listen to me," he implored, trying to catch her eye.

So, this is what she looks like in a nightgown.

He could definitely get used to it.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she sat back down across from him, boat rocking back and forth,"You could get sick!"

"Listen-"

"I can't take care of both Padme and you. You must be out of your mind to have just done that!"

"Can I just-"

"You've been acting half out of your mind since we got here," she harshly told him off.

"Evie."

She shut up from the urgency in his voice. Her face in that upset pout Anakin loved whenever he annoyed her, she waited.

'Then you tell her what you've always wanted to. And don't. Hold. Back.'

"Eve," he gulped, "You've been my best friend for, well, for a long time. It's been a long 10 years."

"Yeah, no shit."

"And I was too afraid, too cowardly," Gods, he was really doing this, "To tell you what I wanted."

He could tell she was still mad at him, especially given that she had completely closed her mind off from him.

"I want you," he whispered so softly, as if it might break them apart, "For worse or for better."

He kept his eyes on her, her increasingly surprised self. The more he spoke, the more he betrayed the Code.

To hell with it.

"I would wait for you, forever, no matter how long it takes. And I- I know I've broken your heart... but I want to be the one to put it back together. And to protect it, cherish it, love it."

He reached out to take her hand, pleased to find that she didn't pull back.

"If you will have me, the way I want you."

Something so wrong had never felt so right, and he was so addicted. Now, he didn't hold himself back from staring at her- his best friend.

Love may be forbidden in the Order, and both Padawans have continuously disagreed with it. To bring 'peace' meant to protect, to protect meant to love, and to love meant to fight. It didn't mean they were drawn to the Dark Side, but rather that they embraced the challenges, to know how to fight it, to beat it.

"But..." she finally sniffed out, the gleam glossing her eyes looking majestic to her partner in crime, “What about Padme?"

Anakin couldn't help but laugh, even though the face she made told him it was wrong.

"Eve," he held onto both of her hands now, "She helped us get together, helped me even get to this point. I was so lost, and when we finally saw her again, I knew I needed help from someone I could trust.”

At that, a tear finally rolled down her smooth cheek; Anakin gently wiped it away. She rarely cried, and he vowed the first time she did years ago to wipe it all away.

“I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise," he sincerely apologised, tucking her loose strands behind her ear, "I was too scared of our duty. Only to realise that I only did this- do this- duty because of you. It's always been you, even when I told you about Padme when we were kids. Even when Damon dared to challenge me in the courtyard."

I think I'm doing pretty alright with this.

“But what about the Code? And Master Kenobi and Gallia? And the rest of the Order? Ani, it's already been hard living everyday with the thought that something might happen to you, and now-"

She slapped his chest in the midst of her rant; it was a normal occurrence for them.

“You fucking sociopath!" she seethed through her flowing tears now, "Could've told me earlier!"

His laugh reverberated through his chest. He pulled her close to him, and pressed a tender, loving kiss on her forehead; so full of his caged emotions.

And so he realised, she, too, was betraying her whole life's purpose for this. For them.

“We'll figure it out. And, I mean, judging by your reaction," he pulled away, playing with her Padawan braid, "You feel the same way?"

She glared up at him, aggressively wiping her cheeks, "Yes, you dumbass! You should've told me before I looked like a fool, running around to get you two together for the past month!"

"I know," he sheepishly said, "I really wasn't good at the whole love thing. But what Jedi is, right?"

Her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, and she sniffed, "Lo- you... love me?"

He smirked at her.

"I mean... I could not, I guess."

"Yeah? We’ll see how that goes waterboy," she threatened, giggling at his embarrassment.

Gods, he wanted to kiss her.

“You’ve always been and are so beautiful,” he cupped her warm cheek in his hand, “Almost lost my shit when I saw you in that dress.”

They both chortled, reminding themselves of the unpredictable day they had had.

“And we have got to sneak some of those nightgowns back,” Anakin’s smirk grew twice the size when she hid her face from him.

He realised he was wrong.

He believed now that in every universe they existed in, he would always find his way to her, he would always choose her, and he would always love her. Always.

"I love you," he confirmed.

Her eyes came up to flash in between his.

"Okay"

Huh?

Anakin's eyes bulged out.

"What-"

"I'm just kidding," she chuckled.

Her hands small compared to his own, though to him fitting perfectly, tugged him closer by her robe around his broad shoulders.

A canvas of colours blurred their visions, the pair allowing the paints of their passion taint the Force flowing between them.

She dared to creep closer, their knees brushing against one another, and she said with the most depth as she could, drawing straight from her heart,

"I love you."

“You promise?" he loved her smile, even if it was tinted with tears and her natural blush; he mirrored it unconsciously.

Evelyn tilted her head playfully, "I never lie to you, remember?"

With Padme and R2 cheering from their balcony as faithful witnesses, with the night sky ceremoniously hosting them as a mutual friend, and with the stars gifting them their blessing-

They kissed.

•〰️•

“You just lied to me again."

"…Yeah...we have a lot to talk about…”

•〰️•

a/n: got a bit carried away... i had more written, and with more detail, but i decided i couldnt possibly put everything in. anyways, one can imagine the aftermath- teasing, questioning each other, them going thru and talking out all of their feelings n miscommunications haha. hope whoever reads this enjoys! Imk if u have suggestions, prompts or just comments :)

[kermiethefroog]

I understand that a lot of people are focusing in on who Hbomberguy was talking about in his new video, which I understand. I watched a couple of those channels and some of this news was in fact news to me as well! Especially with James Somerton, who I put on occasionally in the background and generally found interesting. It can be shocking to learn these things (as mentioned in the video).

BUT

I think that we have a tendency to run away with ideas of scandal and center the outrage and frustration over the other messages at play. I am definitely not the first person to bring this up or mention it, but I wanted to list some of my favorite takeaways from the video.

Plagiarism is ever present and downright COMMON on the internet, especially on a social platform like youtube, but this goes for any form of social media INCLUDING sites like tumblr (I don't think he mentions tumblr specifically, but I think it is fair to loop in most social networks in this case). Harris is highlighting that these things are hard to check and people are (sometimes) good at hiding their wrongdoings.

We can do our part by supporting creatives and people who properly research or speak deeply from their own experiences. Going back to talking about James, that section of the video hit very close to home. Queer solidarity and supporting queer creators is something that is very important to me. I really appreciate Harris highlighting exactly who was wronged, list new people to watch and engage with, and specifying who he will be compensating for creating his video. I really do encourage people to check out the other creatives mentioned AND looking for smaller creators to become connected to. Hell, I recommend reading articles and books by queer authors if you have the time and the means to do so.

The last big takeaway I have is the discussion of the creative process and the struggle of making original material. Creating anything with a semblance of analysis or personal thought in a thorough way is really challenging. Many creators regardless of medium or space have a sort of imposter syndrome about their work. Imposter syndrome is a double edged sword, and in many cases has led people to do the things discussed in the video either out of desperation, but also as a shortcut to success that they desire. Harris breaks down this feeling of being an imposter and highlights is universality. Despite this sense of imposter syndrome, creative and artistic people continue to try and make something novel or something new out of synthesizing the ideas of others. Creative work should ideally be transformative in some way and is why this kind of work can be so compelling AND inspire other people.

[splendidissimus]

2012 - To The Pain

((Content warning: Cruciatus torture, beating / physical abuse of a vulnerable person, graphic bloody torture))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 18: Tortured for information ))

Genre: whump

Romance level: negligible

Angst level: 2/5

Draco's headspace: defiant / calculating

((words: ~4000))

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Discretion was the nature of Draco's business. The specifics of his business varied from client to client — the two most common asks were legal advice or representation, or money, but he really appreciated more interesting challenges and would engage with basically anything that wasn't outright Dark — but the desire for discretion was near universal. To that end, he wasn't surprised when he got a terribly mysterious message asking for an appointment after most of the rest of Diagon Alley was shut down and with the utmost privacy, but he was intrigued. 

He came back alone to the office at midnight, after his secretary was long gone for the day. His health was well enough he could leave Theo to his work instead of bothering him for an escort; he had only a mild cough that the tea basically suppressed and, while he may not be able to walk much more than the length of the corridor at a go, it wasn't a large office and he had no problems staying upright at the moment. He found that the portrait of Elizabethan Lucius that hung in his father's study and watched the house had followed to the frame here, feigning complete disinterest that was rather undermined by the fact that he was there and didn't need to be. The manor must be boring this time of night. Unfortunately for him, privacy meant privacy, and the portrait sniffed disdain at his apologetic noises as he covered the frame with a muffling cloth. 

He was making tea from the charmed pot when he heard the bell that announced a visitor coming through the Vanishing Portal from Hogsmeade. "This way," he called, without looking but with his eye on the mirror that was positioned so he could see the door, as he poured a second cup. 

It was a solid, rough-bearded wizard of maybe a little more than his age who opened the door. He looking passingly familiar, and Draco was automatically reaching for the wand he'd set down beside the tea as he tried to identify him. 

"Expelliarmus!" 

Draco erected a shield spell with barely a thought; the attack ricocheted off and knocked several books from his shelves, and he turned around, lifting his wand…

And the wizard's fist slammed into his jaw and sent him sprawling to the floor. 

"Yeah, knew you was a duellist." The wizard stepped on his arm and snatched his wand out of his hand. For good measure, he stomped on his hand, and Draco let out a noise as he felt it crunch. Sharp pain travelled up through his wrist. "Don't do much good against the Muggle kind, do it?" 

And now he recognised him. "Gerald Vick." Husband of one Mary Vick nee Patternel, who had engaged him a bit over a month previously to help her disappear, in large part due to her husband's violent tendencies; he'd seen him in a picture taken by the investigator who did background on his clients. He pushed himself up to sit against the cupboard, holding his broken hand gingerly. "Your wife's not here."

"That's what we're here to talk about." He pulled out Draco's chair and sprawled in it, wand levelled at him. Draco realised he wasn't sure where his own wand had gone. "I know the little bitch came to you. Now you're gonna tell me where she went." 

"I am not." Draco's attention fell to his desk behind Vick without actually moving his eyes. After the escaped Death Eater incident, he had installed an alarm for precisely these sorts of situations, a device rigged up of Protean and cosmetic charms that would activate copies with Theo and at home. But it was under his desk. If he could get to it… 

Bright red sparks shot into the cupboard beside his head, and he flinched his face away. 

"You are," Vick said. "Only question's how much's it gonna hurt before you do." 

He wasn't going to tell him — but if he could talk his way out of any more pain, that would be ideal. "Allow me to save you the trouble." He looked back at Vick again levelly. "You wife is under the protection of the Fidelius Charm — the ancient spell that locks her secret into a single living soul. No amount of threat or torture is ever going to get her location. You will never find her."

"Fuck!" Vick exploded out of the chair and kicked him viciously, screaming obscenities. Pain erupted through his sides, up his arms; he managed to hide his face but it got him in the back of the head, and he ended up curled on the floor, hiding behind his arms, a little noise escaping his throat with every new pain. 

If only the entire office weren't Muffled, for discretion, someone might have heard…

Eventually his attacker moved on to the furniture. Draco stayed where he was, trying to catch his breath with every movement of his chest squeezing pain from his ribs, listening to things being thrown around his office. Vick was demanding to know where the supposed records were. As though Draco's name wasn't 'Malfoy'. 

Something hit the wall above him and shattered into a shower of ceramic shards that rained down over his hair. "Alright, new plan." Vick grabbed his arm and yanked — Draco cried out in pain, that was obviously broken too — and pulled him halfway to sitting up. "Maybe you didn't write shit down, but you know who's got her secret. That's what you're gonna tell me." 

"I can't imagine why your wife wanted to leave," Draco said faintly. "You're so powerful when you're beating up a wandless invalid half your weight. Who wouldn't be impressed?" 

Vick threw him back so his head slammed into the wall, and he groaned and held it. Maybe one of these years he'd learn to keep his mouth shut. 

"Start talking." Draco lifted his eyes to see Vick was holding his wand on him. "Or I start taking off pieces." 

Draco considered the wand, then leaned his head back on the wall again. "Give it up," he said, with a weak cough to try to get breathing more deeply. "You're not going to kill me. I'm not going to tell you anything. I've been put under the Cruciatus by Voldemort… What do you really think you can offer?" 

It was one part truth, two parts bluster, and one more part self-talk. He could feel his old constant companion fear trying to take hold and he had to logic himself out of it. Even if absolutely nothing else went right, in five or six hours, his secretary would be in… He could handle being yelled at and kicked around for six hours. 

This wasn't like Voldemort. It wasn't like Rowle. This had an endpoint, a goal, a way to win. Focus on that. 

"That's a real interesting assumption." Vick grabbed him by the collar and lifted him to his feet; he gave a small sound of pain, but managed to get his feet under him, using mostly the wall for support. "That I'm not gonna kill you." 

Draco studied his face; they were about the same height. Watery, red eyes. Bad breath. He was at least half drunk. He tracked his wand without actually looking at it. It wasn't steady either. "You're not," he said confidently. "You might've been dangerous to her in a fit of pique, but premeditation doesn't suit you." 

Vick grinned sharply. "Shows what y—"

Draco didn't care what Vick was saying, or what he himself had to say to get him to; the point was to get him smug and relaxed. When he sensed the wand drooping, he lashed out with his left hand, snatching for the wand, and pushed back away from him along the wall. He didn't have the strength to pull it away entirely, but they were both holding the wand, and he was the more prepared; he twisted it toward Vick and yelled "Confundo!" 

It missed. The spell whiffed past Vick's head and ricocheted off the far wall. Vick yanked his wand back, Draco lost his balance, and then Vick punched him in the face, then again, and he fell to the ground, dazed and his head exploding with pain. 

"You done?" Vick kicked him onto his back and planted a foot in the middle of his chest, and leaned on it, wand arm resting on his knee. Draco choked desperately, weakly shoving and hitting his leg to try to move him, even using his broken arm, panicking for any air. 

Vick ignored him. "We're gonna try this again." He leaned more weight into his chest. A pitiful noise squeezed out of Draco's throat, a high whistling squeak that came out between the last of his air. His chest felt like his ribcage was about to explode. "You're gonna tell me how to find my wife, or I'm gonna kill you, real… fucking… slow." 

Draco shook his head, weakly and desperately. Vick shoved off his chest; the force made something crack, but the weight was off his chest and now he could start to breathe again. He clawed at the collar of his robes to pull it down, like that would help, dragging in a thick gulp of air that made his entire chest burn with pain, and then cough it back out in whimpering hacks. He couldn't breathe for coughing, he couldn't cough for pain, he couldn't breathe through the pain…

He tried curling up in a painful ball, but Vick grabbed him by the broken arm and yanked him back with a weak cry. 

"Now." Vick crouched beside him, wand dangling over him. "You know who's got my wife's secret?"

Draco nodded without trying to speak, eyes closed, still fighting with his breath. 

"Good." Vick patted his rapidly-swelling cheek right where he'd been punching him. "Who?"

He didn't respond or even bother to look at him. 

Vick's wand tip laid against his arm, then with a quick slash and the word "Diffindo," he laid a ragged gash down the length of his upper arm. Draco had just enough breath to cry out in surprised pain, rolling over to grip the wound. It wasn't clean and smooth, it felt torn, ripped into the flesh. The edges of the torn sleeve were frayed and rough and that showed how he used the spell. 

Vick gripped his jaw and turned his face up, shaking his head to make him look at him. "Take me seriously now?" 

Draco gulped in a painful lungful of air managed to control it. "I'm listening." 

"Funny how quick that happens." He smirked. "Go on then." 

"It's been… a month…" He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing as deeply as the pain shooting through his chest would let him. The blood was flowing freely through his fingers, and that was concerning. He couldn't take many more like that. He didn't have enough blood to spare. "I don't have it… on the top of my head." 

"Someone's a fuckin' liar." He moved his wand toward Draco's chest.

Draco flinched and tried to twist away from him. "No, stop! I'm not lying." He moved his bloody hand up to grip his hair. "Do you realise…" he had to breathe, "...how many times you've hit me in the head? Already had problems…" 

"Need help remembering, do you?" The wand wandered toward his face. 

Draco cringed back and put his hand between his face and the wand. "Notes, in my desk. I'll get it." 

"I've been all through your desk." He gripped Draco's jaw to turn his face to the upended drawers with their contents scattered on the floor. 

He pushed his hand to try to get it off. "Missed the false drawer." 

"Secrets inside of lies with you Malfoy's, ain't it?" He pushed himself up to his feet, but Draco only had breathing space for a second. Then Vick grabbed him by the front of his robes and hauled him to his feet, dragging him toward the desk. 

Draco cried out and couldn't stay up, stumbling back to his knees, curled up over himself with his breath shaking. He really couldn't get up. It was all pain. How many broken ribs, how many internal injuries? Were his lungs still whole, and if so, how many more times of being tossed around until they weren't? Vick may or may not actually intend to kill him, but at this rate he stood a very real chance of killing him by accident. 

"Get up." Vick kicked him in the side.

"It hurts," he panted. "I can't stand. Need my chair…" He waved vaguely toward where Vick had taken it. 

"Anything else I can get you, princess?" He grabbed the chair to drag it back.

While his back was turned, Draco reached up under the desk, fingers searching for the alarm. Activating it would require a spell, and while he normally wouldn't have needed his wand to do it, properly done wandless magic required intense mental focus, which he wasn't capable of when he was in this much pain and duress. But once he had it, he could worry about that part.

His fingertips pried free the coin-sized item, but he wasn't quite quick enough dropping his hand — he sensed Vick's attention just before the chair slammed into him and sent him sprawling with a cry, sliding on loose parchments scattered on the floor. The alarm skittered unseen out of his hand and vanished somewhere in the mess. "You got another wand stuck up in there, do you?" He stomped on his broken arm, drawing a weak scream. "Think you can play me?" 

He opened his eyes and studied him, then painfully rolled up on his knees. "I know I can play you," he panted, holding his arm against his chest and curled defensively around his injuries, pushing himself away, fingers groping around in the scattered papers to try to find it. "I told you upfront I wasn't going to tell you anything… yet you still believed me…"

"Depulso!" 

Draco flinched behind his better arm and was thrown off the floor, slammed into the wall hard enough to leave a dent in the plaster, with every bruise and broken bone screaming in symphony, and then collapsed in a shaking heap of pain. Don't throw up, don't throw up… He could tell already how much it would hurt if he threw up… 

Vick lifted him off his face by the back of his hair, and he moaned, trying not to move, but forced to at least lift his head. He found himself looking up at the covered portrait on the opposite wall. 

Proper wandless magic required intense focus, focus he wasn't capable of when he was in pain. But improper wandless magic… that just required letting himself go. 

Before he could think more about it, he flung his left hand toward the portrait, throwing his willpower with it. 

His magic ripped the portrait off the wall, and tore down the shelves beside it and sent books and decorative pieces pelting the pair of them in a hail of blunt objects. But it also ripped the cover off the painting, exposing it to the room.

The portrait tumbled end over end into the room, teetered on its corner, threatening to land uselessly face down on the floor, and then finally fell to rest leaning forward against the side of the desk where the inhabitant could see and hear the state of the room. 

But the frame was empty. 

Of course it was, his ancestor had no reason to sit around in a dark frame he couldn't see or hear from. He had just hoped.

He cried out as a gash ripped across his back. Then he was thrown onto his back, and the combined pain of his injuries conspired to paralyse his breath and voice, not even allowing him to cry out for it. 

"Let me know when you got something to say." Vick laid another ragged gash down the inside of his left arm, bone-deep, to stop him using it again. And then one straight through the palm of his left hand. Draco gathered enough breath to wheeze, trying to twist away from it. 

Vick studied his face for a long minute. Draco didn't know if he liked what he saw there, but it seemed unlikely. He held him down in a way he hadn't before, one hand pressing down his shoulder and pinning his leg with one of this feet, and set his wand against his stomach. Draco shook his head,pushing ineffectually at his wand with his mangled hands; it didn't matter. Vick said the incantation and dragged the wand over his stomach, so, so slowly. The agony pulled out a scream he wouldn't have thought he had the breath for. 

His clumsy hands clutched desperately at the stomach wound to try to hold it closed, to keep his guts on the inside where they belonged. It was a losing battle; he could feel a loop of entrails slipping between his fingers. Vick lifted his wand back into his line of sight, and there was actually blood on the tip of it. There was so much blood. He could taste it. Didn't have six hours now — probably didn't have one. Even a person whose blood would clot on its own wouldn't be able to handle this.

"Tell you…"

"Go ahead." Vick looked at his face expectantly, wand tracing slow circles above his chest. 

"…having to say the incantation, every time… makes you look childish…"

Face contorted in fury, Vick threw the spell into his chest, raking a deep gash across him. He choked and coughed a fine mist of blood into Vick's face. 

Really, that was on him for expecting that this time Draco was going to say something useful instead of something smart… 

Vick kicked him in the stomach — Draco barely had the strength to scream as the gash was ripped open further — and stomped on his chest. "I guess I'm gonna do this the hard way." He punctuated the words with kicks around his torso and head. "Start at the top and work down. Start with her parents, those old friends she used to have. Think you're so fucking smart, don't you? I don't need you, you're not gonna help an—"

"Crucio!" 

Vick immediately twisted to the ground, screaming; there was no space between the sound of father's voice calling out the curse and the sound of his tormentor being tormented. That was nice. After a few seconds, Draco raised his hand weakly to show his father he was alive, and to stop him. 

The sound of the screaming was replaced with "Stupefy," as his father came into the room, Stunning Vick unconscious. Then "Incarcerus," to bind him. He cast the counter to the Entrail-Expelling Curse — smart, Draco might not have thought of it, though without some powerful healing they weren't going to stay there. 

He crouched beside him in the pool of blood, hand on his chest briefly, probably checking his heart and breathing. "You're going to live," he said, in his way that was not an observation, it was a spell, impressing his will into the world. 

Draco nodded. "Aurors," he panted weakly. "Aurors first." 

"This is more important." He summoned Draco's lap blanket from the mess of the room and pressed it, folded into a thick pad, against the gaping wound on his stomach to try to staunch the bleeding. 

"Now." The effort of that made him cough and the spasms made the bleeding worse. 

His father considered with narrowed eyes, then looked over at the leaning portrait. "Nott?"

"Already on his way." Elizabethan ancestor Lucius smoothed his beard into an even finer point. "In fact…"

The signature waft of the floo was heard in the reception room, and then Theo's quick strides to the doorway. He immediately swore and came to his side; his father nodded and made space for him. "Two of these immediately." It was a blood replenishing potion he held and helped him drink. 

The immediate effect was that all of his wounds veritably poured blood, like it was running straight through him, but that was why there were two. With his healing resistance, it wasn't going to be a simple matter of spells to hold him together. The potions would at least mean the blood loss didn't kill him while they were working on it.

"All right." Theo touched his hair. "You can hear me?" He nodded. "Good. I'm leaving you another potion. Don't let yourself get lightheaded. I'm going to get help, I'll get Pye called in so he's ready by the time we get you to St Mungo's." 

"Take your time…" Draco invited breathlessly. 

"Hush." He ran his hand over his hair. "I'll be right back." He left his side and in a second Draco heard him calling out the name of the hospital in the floo.

And then, for a moment, the room was empty, still, and silent. Draco was alone. His father had left without drawing attention to it, and Vick was still unconscious and bound. Slowly, he pushed himself into a painful seated position against the wall for a little bit of pride, panting shallowly between wet, bloody coughs and trying to keep his intestines in.

A voice from near the desk proved he wasn't quite completely alone. "Have we learned a lesson about covering portraits, hm?" 

"I'll have to think about my policy," he allowed. Portrait-Lucius harrumphed. "Thank you."

"Better. Now don't go and die, it would be disruptive." 

"I'll try." 

Soon enough, the quiet was disrupted by the bell over the street door, and his office became a flurry of activity again. His father returned with a pair of Aurors, Janssen and a young woman he didn't know. She made a disturbed sound, probably at all the blood, and Janssen had her collect Vick and get him back on his feet. He was argumentative as soon as he was conscious, yelling that they didn't have anything on him and he was being held prisoner unlawfully.

"Gerald Vick," Draco supplied the Aurors. "Hunting down his wife… who does not want to be found…" 

"I didn't lay a hand on her." He fought as she started dragging him toward the door, and saw Lucius calmly observing. "Arrest him! Malfoy! That son of a whore used an Unforgivable Curse! He used the Cruciatus on me!" 

"That was me," Draco corrected breathlessly. "By accident. Had problems controlling my magic… St Mungo's can confirm… Normally use my wand to control it, but he took it…"

The Auror woman rifled Vick's clothes. She had presumably already gathered his wand from the floor and hadn't thought to search him. "White, about ten inches?" 

"That's it…" She made to return it to him, but he lifted his mangled hands to show he couldn't really take it, nodding toward his father instead. That had the not-entirely-unintentional side effect of exposing some of the wound on his stomach as the sodden blanket slipped. She muttered that she was going to be sick, and handed off his wand to his father. 

"I'll take whatever punishment is deemed appropriate, of course…" 

At the same time, the Mediwizard team from the hospital was flooing in. He held up a hand to keep them back and beckoned for Janssen to come close; he took hold of his arm to pull him even closer when he stopped at a normal distance. "Daniella Paradiso is Mary Vick," he whispered into his ear, then let him go and spoke in a normal tone, or what passed for one at the moment. "Let her know her secret's safe… and I can lift the charm if she'd like to give evidence…" 

"You?" Vick suddenly struggled against his bindings and the Auror holding him back, almost breaking free. "You were the secret-keeper all along?" 

Draco painfully but with immense satisfaction lifted two fingers at him, then rested his head back against the wall, allowing Theo and the healer team to come tend to him now.

[un-necessarycontext]

From Smelly to Maybe, Sorta Swoon-Worthy… If You Squint

Let’s back things up a bit, shall we?

In my last post, I described meeting Declan on my first day at Work Co. and that our initial meeting hadn’t exactly thrilled me. But then I went on, admittedly without much context, to admit that not only had my feelings about him changed, they’d manage to escalate from “meh” to “holy shit, why haven’t we made out yet?”

So, what happened? How did Declan, the scrubby, slightly smelly man manage to burrow his way under my skin and stay there, rearranging my thoughts and feelings toward him until I actually began to find him desirable?

Maybe it would help to discuss who Declan is.

Declan is a divisive person. And by that I mean you either grow to love him or you don’t and he annoys the everloving fuck out of you. I think most of his fans and/or nemeses around the office would agree with me on that.

He is opinionated and stubborn. He likes to interrupt meetings to tell awful dad jokes. He has a tendency to hog the conversation and his short temper has been known to flare up with people he doesn’t like.

Sounds like a dream, right?

Except that’s not all of Declan. He’s also an incredible listener. He has a knack for remembering small details that make people feel seen and special. His sense of humor, barring the dad jokes, is infectious and he has the ability to brighten the mood in a room just by entering and engaging with the people therein.

Burning It All Down

I remember the moment I realized my feelings for Declan had taken a turn.

I had come out of a meeting with another department and was in a funk. I needed to vent, so I messaged the one person I knew would immediately leap to my defense.

Sure enough, I’d barely gotten the words, “That fucking meeting,” out of my mouth, before Declan leaned in toward his camera with a sly grin and whispered conspiratorially, “Is today the day we burn it all down?”

I laughed, mood instantly lightened and feeling as though a small bubble of joy or something like it was swelling inside of me.

As we continued talking, that bubble kept growing. It felt warm and comfortable and eventually the feeling flooded through my system. It was more than the euphoric “these are my people,” feeling I associate with realizing you’re truly clicking with someone. It was more than that.

It took about five minutes after our call had ended to realize what it was: the beginning of a crush.

Declan had already gone from being my co-worker who I liked, but who also got on my nerves (more on that another time), to being a treasured friend. And now he’d gone from being a friend to something more.

He’d done it by giving me almost exactly what I wanted.

I had wanted a work friend. Someone who listened, someone to share inside jokes with and someone to go out for lunch with on Fridays.

I wanted someone who would always see the best in me and who’d cheer me on as I faced down challenges. Words of affirmation have always been my love language.

I wanted someone who I could trust. Someone to whom I could confess my professional insecurities or to whom I could safely rant about how Barb in Sales was a truly heinous bitch. Someone who, when I was struggling, was always on my side, ready to come out swinging on my behalf.

And Declan was all that. He is all that.

Is it any wonder I fell for him?

[firsttarotreader]

Hello! To post your anon and answer your question, I decided to leave out the part where you mention something from his blog because it’s not necessary for the post. The other bit about the jacket was something he said on his Facebook many years ago. Before we start, I also need to point out it would be very frivolous and irresponsible of me to read these cards and say someone would or would not become violent to the point of acting on it, towards any other person. What I can do is see if there are aggressive energies in his cards and in case there are, what would be the advice Tarot could give him about it. The presence of these energies do not mean he will act on them in any way.

So when I asked about said aggressive energies, the first card was the 7 of Spears. This card might be indicating he could potentially not trust himself when it comes to the aggression inside him. However, even if he becomes seriously angry, his tendency will be to pretend he isn’t, he will do his best to hide it from others and even from himself, leaving it to his thoughts instead of taking action.

The first cards to give us more information were the 5 of Spears, Ace of Teacups reversed and 8 of Spears reversed. So, the 5 of Spears is a card about conflict, about misunderstandings, frustration, defeat, but this conflict, since it's a card from the suit about ideas and thoughts, the realm of the mind, could pretty much stay in verbal arguing or internal conflict than anything. Ace of Teacups reversed is a card about emotional imbalance, either because there's a lack of emotion and feelings or because they are all over the place. 8 of Spears reversed is about getting out of a conflictuous time, being free from its restrictions, limitations, maybe even cutting ties and enjoying clarity of mind and moving on. I take it from these cards that there's a lot of internal conflict involved, with feelings and thoughts (Teacups is the suit of feelings and emotions). He could possibly fight verbally, leave the person, cut ties with them forever, but the energies are still more linked to the mind than anything.

The next cards were Justice, Knight of Spears and 9 of Teacups. Justice, very present in his newest readings, shows he will try to be fair, rational, balanced and levelheaded, and act in the healthiest way possible. Knight of Spears is the Knight who is always ready to fight and take up any challenge that might come up, but he is again part of the mind suit, of thoughts and ideas. 9 of Teacups is the card of comfort and joy, of reaching a state of satisfaction. So let's say that when facing challenges that get him angry, he will try to be fair, he will actively face them and try to solve them in the best way for everyone involved.

The last 3 cards were Temptation, 7 of Spears and 5 of Flowers. Here is where the aggressive energies might be dwelling. Temptation, as The Devil in regular decks, points to the possibility of unhealthy behavior, very human, and that includes anger and aggressiveness. 7 of Spears shows up again with him not trusting himself with this aggression, but trying to conceal it, even from himself, trying to act like it's not affecting him that much, even if it is. 5 of Flowers is the only card in the "action" suit we have in this pull, and it's a card representing conflict and competition, which drives him really upset and full of resentment. This card points to the feeling of not being heard or appreciated. So he might fear he will engage in unhealthy behavior when he faces situations of competition and rivalry, but there's still a lot of trying to hold back on any aggressive feeling.

So, all in all, we know everyone has aggressive energies in a way and no one is free from having a meltdown and ending up being aggressive or violent in life, and neither is Pedro, but his cards are pretty much in the rational and emotional fields, and he seems to be someone who will try to calm down and level his emotions and solve the conflicts with words as much as he can.

I then did an extra pull to ask the cards for advice on how he can manage his anger and aggressiveness should he face them in life. The first card was Suspension reversed. The main advice should be: do not engage too much, do not deep dive or let yourself become too involved in anything that might trigger your anger.

Then we had Temperance, Knight of Hedgehogs and King of Teacups, and that was beautiful! Temperance is about moderation and balance. So practice moderation and try to balance your emotions so you can navigate harmoniously through the most trying times. Knight of Hedgehogs is the worker, the one who sticks to a routine and works hard to make things happen, he is dedicated and diligent. So do it every day, remember to ponder things and balance emotions on a daily basis. King of Teacups is very simple in his message: LOVE. Let love rule, be the caring and loving person you know you can be more often than not.

So that was it, hope it answered your question, anon!

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

Lol I decided to be brave and not to hide using the anon mask. 🌝🤡

Have you ever thought about this NSFW/Explicit possessive Zhongli pounding reader in front of their stalkers? Like, there are these weird stalkers who always take a peek at reader whenever they got the chance. Zhongli finally had enough of it and decided to show them who owns this puss—🤐

"Pity. A mere human cannot touch what's mine. You see this seal on her abdomen? Yes, it means my seed is there to take place."

🥵💦 water pls

Thank you for waiting! ╰(￣ω￣ｏ)

Also you're tougher than all of the U.S. Marine for going non-anon lmao mad respect (≧∀≦)ゞ From the moment I saw your asked I knew it would awaken something in me and it did lmao it took me so long since I had to make sure I'd have enough horny vocab for this lmao and so let me water and quench your thirst now lmao.

Thanks for the first ever womb tattoo ask. Photo of the womb tattoo included.

CW: Public Sex, Mind Break, Dub-con

Marking You Gently

Summary: Zhongli appreciated how you were honest with him by revealing how your past lovers were run off by the amount of stalkers you had and he was pleased with how dependent you were on him to get rid of them, he just never thought he'd have to resort to drastic measure to stake his claim not that he was complaining.

--

Zhongli was keenly aware of your innate ability to attract stalkers. This much you had admitted to him when he had been on the receiving end of a particularly foolish one. Of course, this had not deterred him from courting you at all, if any, he had enjoyed the challenge of keeping you safe and staking his claim on you to your stalkers.

And you were so cooperative too, you had let him gift you accessories in his colors and wore it proudly on a day to day basis. That you spent most nights in his bed and company only made his win sweeter. Zhongli strived to ensure that you would be happy and content in a relationship with him and if that meant curbing his own stalkerish tendencies...well...it was a small price to pay.

It was this confidence that led him to not properly pay attention when one of your stalkers had gotten particularly...courageous.

“Zhongli~” you whined at him, worry and annoyance in your eyes, as you clung to his arm. Your soft breasts and erect nipples were a welcome sensation to his arm, “I can’t find some of my panties~”

Zhongli thought for a moment, trying to remember if he had forgotten to return some of your panties he had used to fap with, “Have you checked the laundry?”

“I did!” You were tearing up, voice about to cry “I-I think some of them got it again…” You clutched at his arm tightly shivering at the thought of your stalkers being able to easily invade Zhongli’s tightly warded home.

At your words, all thought of fingering your bare pussy fell out of Zhongli’s mind, he didn’t like seeing you scared and teary eyed. He kissed your forehead, removing his arm from the tender clutches of your soft breasts and enticing nipples to give you a tender hug of comfort.

“Why don’t you accompany me for a while? Until I catch those disgusting vermin?” Zhongli offered, soft smile on his face as he gently rubbed your back.

“Will Hu Tao be fine with that?” You asked, uneasy at inconveniencing the first boyfriend to ever care about you this much.

“Of course” Zhongli replied, kissing you sweetly on your lips.

It was easy then to use sex to calm your frightened self, Zhongli’s kiss grew heated and lascivious as his hands drew teasing circles on your ass and thighs, squeezing it in intervals before teasingly grazing on the folds of your pussy. He squeezes your ass cheeks, spreading it apart before he firmly places his hand below your ass to grab you up.

You cooperate with him, moving your legs to firmly hug his waist, your wet pussy rubbing against his erect cock. You moaned into his kisses, body shivering with delight as you clung to his body.

“Mn~” You moaned as your tongue entwined with his.

The wet sound of kissing seemed loud in Zhongli’s quiet apartment, the panting noises coming from the two of you could be heard clearly. As Zhongli placed you on top of his dining table, hands going under your shirt to fondle your soft breasts and play with your erect nipples.

“Haaa~” You panted as your body arched with pleasure, Zhongli’s long and thick cock was rubbing against your clit.

“Just leave everything to me” He said, as he laid reverent kisses on top of your stomach. Leaving a trail of hickeys that led to your throat. He had already ripped your shirt off your body, exposing your breasts that still carried last night’s marks and your erect nipples which still had his teeth marks surrounding it.

“Forget about all those unpleasant things, my love” He crooned as he kissed you on the pulse beside your neck. His free hand was teasing your wet pussy, fingering it until he knew that you would be able to take all of him all the way in.

“Zhong-” You moaned “-please! Put it in!” You begged brokenly as his masterful ministrations on your body left you a panting and moaning mess.

Zhongli hummed in satisfaction, “And what do we say?”

“Plea-please” You began shakily, “put your co-cock in my slutty pushy!”

You fumbled on the last word, moaning it out as Zhongli thrusted his thick cock inside you in one strong move, not bothering to wait until you finished speaking. He moved his hips back and forth, the head of his cock hitting your g-spot again and again until you could only moan and call out his cock with a loving voice.

You were oblivious to the predatory grin in Zhongli’s face or the way his eyes glinted dangerously as his mind thought of a solution to your ability to attract stalkers. He licked his lips, growing aware of the change in his teeth to fangs.

He bent over to suck on your nipples, his hands preoccupied with keeping your legs spread apart as he thrusted his cock against your wall.

You keened, your body arching and pussy clenching on his dick as you came, Zhongli moaned as he came with you, spilling his seed inside your clenching pussy and uterus, he spilled so much cum, as if he had not just creampied you last night until the early hours of the morning.

He collapsed on top of you as you lay limply on the table, panting and pussy twitching from the earth shattering orgasm you had.

“Have you heard of womb tattoos?” Zhongli asked as he lovingly and gently cradled your face, kissing you on your cheek.

You blushed, “No, I haven’t.”

He hummed, not bothering to unseathe himself from your warm and comfortable pussy, “It is typically used for lewd purposes,” Zhongli explained as he let his hand drop from your face, gently tracing a line from your neck, passing through your left tit, playfully rubbing your nipple, before he ultimately ends it on the area above your crotch “But it can also be used as a way to repel...shall we say your disgusting stalkers?”

You let out a soft “oh!”

“Would it be painful?” You asked, worried that tattooing it on that area would be too much for your pain tolerance.

“It wouldn’t” Zhongli assured you “I would never let you feel any pain.”

He smiled at you with so much affection that you easily agreed to his solution, you didn’t bother to give any input to what Zhongli was going to do, you had so much trust in him that you simply waited for the day he’d marked you and solved your most annoying and hated problem.

You hadn’t thought to ask what it would do, believing that Zhongli would make the tattoo a repellent against your stalkers. Which wasn’t wrong per se, it wasn’t until the tattoo was put into use did you register what it would actually do.

--

For Zhongli, it was normal blissful week of having you in his arms, regaling you with Liyue’s rich history and flirting with you as a gentleman would. It was his day off, and thus he had brought you to Wangshu Inn for a short staycation for the weekend. His strong presence at your side had deterred even your most courageous and stubborn stalkers, not that it had stopped them from trying to take a peek at you when you bathed or changed clothes.

A quick petrification to some of the most vile ones was an easy way to scare off the rest of them. By the time he was done turning some of them into stone, you were finished with your business and happily ensconced yourself into his arms. Purposefully not paying attention to the new additions on the inn’s decoration.

“Shall I take you to solve some geo puzzles?” He offered, his hand resting lowly on your hip, just above your crotch, firmly gripping you at the sides.

“Okay~!” You happily complied, leaning even closer to him much to his visible satisfaction.

While you were happily clinging into Zhongli, listening to his engaging explanation of how the mechanism worked and its purpose, you were unaware of the group of stalkers that were watching you from behind. They were lying on the ground, using the natural reflective surface of the water to take a peek at your crotch that was exposed due to the crotchless panties Zhongli had you wear underneath your clothes.

From their binoculars, they could see how wet you were, cum dribbling slowly out of your pussy that had them salivating and achingly hard. They were imagining that it was their cock being shoved to your exquisite pussy, that it was their cum that was dribbling down the folds of your thoroughly used cunt.

They were so immersed in their fantasy that they had not noticed Zhongli’s murderous glare as he sealed them together as if they were Azhdaha.

“It seems that none of you had learned the lesson” He spoke coldly, glaring with complete and uncharacteristic derision in his eyes as he watched them visibly turn pale.

You stood behind Zhongli, trembling with fear, you had never seen him quite this mad. It wasn’t until he had pulled you to the front, your dress shoved up to your waist and exposing your wet cunt and glowing tattoo did your heart start beating faster.

“Zho-zhongli?” You called out to your lover, trembling in his arms, as your legs shookt from the lecherous looks of your stalkers.

“Don’t worry my love, it’s about time for them to know who owns you” He whispered in your ear, making your pussy visibly throb and grow wetter.

You could feel your mind slowly turning hazy as your body heated up. The tattoo glowed brightly as Zhongli began fingering you. You were helpless and growing weaker, only capable of leaning on his chest, weakly grasping on the sleeves of his clothes as you began to moan.

Your legs automatically spread themselves, exposing the pink and cum-filled inside of your pussy, letting your stalkers know that Zhongli had thoroughly fucked and came inside your pussy earlier.

“Zhong-nnn!” You tried to call his attention, wanting to put a stop at his action but as his fingers curled inside your cunt, you let out a seductive moan that went straight to the cocks of every male in your vicinity.

“Good girl,” Zhongli praised as he watched your hand reach for the zipper of his pants, “Show them how much you want my cock.”

You nodded, eyes hazy, as you turned around and shakily knelt on the ground, your hands fumbled to get his cock out. You happily mouthed through the fabric of his pants as you tried to get his thick and long cock out of its constraints. Zhongli’s large hand was a comforting weight on your head, petting you as praises flowed out of his mouth.

“Such a good slut, not needing more instructions on her master’s part” He praised “Look at you happily fucking your mouth to my cock the moment you see it.”

You senselessly blowed his dick, tongue swirling on its tip and swallowing all of length until it hit the back of your throat again and again. You had long since forgotten about your stalkers or the fact that you were giving them a show.

Your mind was filled only with the thought of Zhongli’s cock and his cum. You whined when you felt him pull away, crying at the lost of the warm and comforting weight of his cock on your tongue.

“Shhhh” He appeased you, “turn around love, put your hands on the wall of the seal.”

You did as he said, body automatically positioning itself to a lewd pose, your tits were pressed on the wall of the seal, making your stalkers gulp and try to reach for it only to be electrified by the seal’s wall.

Zhongli smirked at their audaciousness.

“Cock~! I want your want cock~!” You cried out as you bent your body further, until your ass was pushed up to the air, shaking your hips to entice Zhongli. Your legs were spread apart to show him the pussy he loved and owned.

“Good girl” Zhongli purred as he took his cock and guided it to the folds of your pussy. He teased your cunt, sliding the head of his cock up and down the wet folds of your pussy making you whine and try to push your pussy towards his cock.

He slapped your ass, “Behave.”

You did as you were told, there was no autonomy in your mind anymore, the glowing symbol on your abdomen had thoroughly wiped out any sense in your brain. Zhongli had reduced you to walking, talking flesh light.

With a look of superiority, Zhongli thrusted his cock inside your waiting pussy, he maintained eye contact with your stalkers as he fucked you from behind. He mercilessly plunged his cock in your abused pussy, ramming it again and again against your cervix, the pain turning into pleasure. Each thrust of his had the tattoo glowing drawing attention to it as you moaned and drooled from the pleasure. You were no longer the proper and energetic lady that was known in Liyue.

Zhongli’s cock and womb tattoo had reduced you to this lewd slut that craved his cock and cum. Your mind was filled with sex and pleasure, begging him for more,

“Please! Give me your seed!” You cried “Breed me! Ahn~!”

Zhongli watched as some of your stalkers threw away their dignity and started fapping to your lewdness.

He pulled you away from the wall, hoisting you up and fucking you as your arms automatically wrapped itself backwards on his neck. He made out with you sloppily while his cock fucked your pussy, bulge visible on your stomach and slightly deforming the glowing tattoo.

You came from the immense pleasure but Zhongli didn’t bother stopping even as you lay limp and unconscious in his arms. He kept on fucking you, hands groping your wildly bouncing chest as your stalkers started pumping their cocks faster.

He turned to them and taunted, “Pity. A mere human cannot touch what's mine.” He placed a kissed to the side of your throat as his eyes grew darker and his voice dripped with possessiveness that belonged to a dragon, “You see this seal on her abdomen?”

He smiled darkly as he saw recognition on their eyes, it was only natural for them to know what it was considering that they all had the same thoughts towards you. The difference was that he had won and they were losers, pitiful humans who would never have you nor have you sire their spawn.

With great delight, Zhongli crushed all of their dreams as he confirmed the worst of their thoughts, “Yes, it means my seed is there to take place."

And then he spilled all of his cum inside your pussy, spilling it all the way through your uterus as the mark glowed brightly before slowly dimming and sinking back beneath your skin.

It was a clear sign that Zhongli had successfully impregnated you.

“Don’t ever step foot in Liyue again” He ordered, eyes glowing bright as he cursed them out of the land.

He left with you in tow, fixing your clothes and pushing back the cum that dripped on the inside of your thighs back to your pussy. Zhongli smiled at your sleeping form, content and pleased with the knowledge that none of your stalkers would ever bother you again.

“I wonder how you would act with other variations of this tattoo?”

[mrmrswales]

Exclusive: the ‘profoundly powerful’ moments that shaped Duchess of Cambridge’s children’s charity work by Camilla Tominey

It all started with secret visits the public never got to see. Newly married, and with the world’s press chronicling her every move – down to the details of her designer dresses – the Duchess of Cambridge resolved to go "below radar".

Acting as Prince William’s "plus one", rather than a fully fledged solo royal in those early days, the newest addition to the Royal family knew that she wanted to find a cause she could champion as impactfully as Diana, the Princess of Wales’s landmine campaign; it was simply a question of where to find it.

Having already announced her first patronage of Action on Addiction, a charity working with people with drug and alcohol problems, Hope House, a women-only rehabilitation centre in Clapham, south London, seemed as good a place as any to start.

It was October 2011 when the then 29-year-old Duchess paid the first of several, incognito visits in a bid to find out what had sent its clients on a downward spiral of self-destruction.

According to Rebecca Priestley, who accompanied the Duchess on the visit and would go on to spend five years as her private secretary, it played a pivotal role in her decision to put childhood at the heart of her philanthropic endeavours.

Speaking on the record for the first time, Mrs Priestley, who is now an executive coach, recalled:  "I remember going up to Anglesey, where they were living after the wedding, to have a conversation with the Duchess about her royal life."

At that point, she had the philanthropic world at her feet. She could have done anything she wanted in the charitable arena. Typically, she had put a lot of thought into it already. Addiction was an issue she was instinctively thinking about – but she was also genuinely interested in understanding what support was there and what role that played in the bigger picture of mainstream societal issues."

With the Duke having flown to the Falklands for a six–week tour of duty with his RAF search and rescue squadron, Mrs Priestley put a programme together to support the Duchess’s desire to "listen and learn"."A lot of it was behind the scenes, just talking to people and hearing where it was that they needed more help.  The one thing that united all of the women at Hope House was that the derailing had started so early on. They could trace the problems in their adult lives back to childhood."

A subsequent private visit in February 2012 to Clouds House, a treatment centre in East Knoyle in Wiltshire, served as further confirmation that the early years should be a key area of focus. But it was during a later meeting with female inmates at a detox unit at Send Prison in Woking when the penny well and truly dropped.

"It was a profoundly powerful moment,” recalled Mrs Priestley. "You go in there with this preconceived idea that these women have done things wrong, that it was their fault. Then one woman started speaking to the Duchess about her earliest memories of seeing needles on the floor of her home."

She had always thought addiction was a misunderstood issue, but after this, she became concerned that there was a pre-destiny about those affected – an inevitability about it. These women were born into it and there was very little chance of escape."

The experience set in train a sequence of events that will next week culminate in the Duchess, 39, stepping up her ambition in driving awareness and action on the impact that early childhood can have on society at large.

She will launch a new initiative through the couple’s Royal Foundation to further explore the science around early childhood, raise awareness of the issue and foster collaboration and partnerships across relevant groups.

According to Lord Hague, who became chairman of the Royal Foundation last September, the "ambitious" new project will be equal in stature to William’s £50 million Earthshot Prize, launched last year with Sir David Attenborough to find workable solutions to climate change and environmental problems.

"The Duchess truly believes this is one of the great issues of our time," said the former Tory leader. "This is the central plank of her work in the way conservation issues are for the Duke. It’s a hugely significant moment."

While politicians are often in a rush to make a difference during the comparatively short time they have in office, royals are there for life, which perhaps explains why Kate has taken 10 years to get to this point.Having been instrumental in launching the Heads Together campaign with William and Prince Harry in 2016, designed at tackling the stigma and changing the conversation on mental health, it was not until 2018 that she convened a steering group of experts to look at how cross-sector collaboration could bring about lasting change.

In January, she delivered a landmark speech after her Five Big Questions on the Under Fives survey garnered over 500,000 responses.

"People often ask why I care so passionately about the early years," the mother-of-three said.

"Many mistakenly believe that my interest stems from having children of my own. While of course I care hugely about their start in life, this ultimately sells the issue short. If we only expect people to take an interest in the early years when they have children, we are not only too late for them, we are underestimating the huge role others can play in shaping our most formative years, too."

Pointing out that the social cost of late intervention has been estimated to be over £17 billion a year, she added: "The early years are therefore not simply just about how we raise our children. They are in fact about how we raise the next generation of adults. They are about the society we will become."

According to Eamon McCrory, Professor of Developmental Neuroscience and Psychopathology at University College London, the Duchess "has a vision of how she can help transform how we as a society view and invest in the early years for the benefit of society".

Describing her interest in "the role the brain shapes our early experiences and how that sets us on a path to adult life", he explained: "When you look at very young babies and infants, on the surface they don’t appear to be engaging in complex emotions so there's a tendency to underestimate the millions of synapses that are being formed every minute. But science is telling us we have to look under the bonnet.

"There’s no question that for the Duchess, this is a lifetime piece of work. The last five years laid the foundations, now we are entering a more proactive phase.” Described by one source as “thoughtful, professional and determined to do a good job,” there is a sense that Kate has never been in it for the early wins, but the long haul.

As one well-placed insider put it: "She took the job very seriously right from the very beginning. She continues to want to get it right and do her very best - for the institution, for William and the importance of the work she’s doing.

"She doesn't just want to rock up for a picture opportunity, which is why she used to get quite frustrated with all the early focus on what she was wearing. She really cares about this stuff."

Another source said she was "much more fun" than people give her credit for, pointing out how she has grown in confidence having found a cause that she is not only passionate about - but also well informed.

As Lord Hague put it: "She’s been reading the books and had trustees reading the books. People assume her interest in the early years is because she has children – actually it comes from all the adults she’s met." The other key influence has been Kate’s own idyllic childhood.

Brought up in leafy Bucklebury in West Berkshire by her entrepreneur parents Michael and Carole Middleton, pictured below with the royal family, the Duchess has never made any secret of how fortunate she has been to be brought up in a loving and supportive family.

"She always recognised that she benefited from such a great start in life," added Mrs Priestley.

"That’s why sport and the outdoors has always been a key theme for her. She was always asking how those sorts of experiences could be made accessible to others."

For Dame Benny Refson, president of the children’s mental health charity Place2Be, where the Duchess has been patron since 2013, Kate’s grounded upbringing has proved an asset.

“The Duchess listens and people feel heard and valued. It’s nothing to do with privilege. The groups she meets in challenging areas in London don't look at what she's wearing. What makes a difference is that an important person has shown a genuine interest in them. She can relate without passing judgement, which is so important."

Having started out as a reticent public speaker, the Duchess has finally found her voice – and next week she will have a lot more to say.

[moonlitceleste]

marinette dupain-cheng’s guide to picking up cute guys

A/N: Chez Vous is real in the DC universe; it’s described as a restaurant but I decided to use it as the name of the café because I didn’t want to come up with one myself. It translates to “at your house,” which basically implies “make yourself at home.”

thanks to @ramos123 for being my beta reader! <3

ao3

“Bet.”

Marinette slapped a crisp 20-dollar bill onto the wooden table with enough force to slosh around the brown liquid in the cup sitting before Alya’s smirking face.

Chez Vous was the name of the café they had been sitting in for the past fifteen minutes. The place had a nice ambience, the quiet chatter of customers and aromatic smells combining to make what was an unusually cozy atmosphere considering the location.

Gotham wasn’t exactly known for being hospitable, but she supposed the fact that it was clearly fashioned after Parisian cafés contributed to the homey feel. It vaguely reminded her of her parents’ bakery as well, so it certainly lived up to its name.

Perhaps it was this sense of familiarity that had her and Alya reminiscing on how far they’d come. It hadn’t been that long since lycée or université—the two were only 22 and 23, respectively—but recalling the good times they’d shared was always fun to do.

Of course, their friendship had momentary blips (ahem, Lila), but the two had managed to sort out their problems eventually. Now that Alya had become more attuned to Marinette’s boundaries and there were no pressing superhero secrets to keep, they knew how to both ground and challenge each other in positive ways. Which was exactly what had caused Marinette to get herself into this situation.

While chattering about their lycée days, Alya poked fun at her once again for what had transpired on the day of the Animan akuma. How could she ever forget that while secretly masquerading as a superhero and locking her best friends in an empty gorilla habitat together, she had somehow helped them end up in a relationship? And now the two were engaged.

This topic somehow lead to Adrien and the stupid puns he spewed both in superhero and civilian form. Alya was insistent that Marinette was charmed by them at some point, to which she replied, No way! They were horrible. Even I could do better.

It was with twinkling eyes that her best friend asked “Bet?” and well, Marinette was never one to back down from a challenge. So after pulling out some spare cash from her purse and setting it down in front of Alya, she raised a brow.

A wicked smirk grew on her best friend’s face, and any lesser person would have faltered, but Marinette was prepared for anything that could possibly be thrown at her.

“Fine. If you’re so confident, I dare you to use a pick-up line on… him.”

As if on cue, the bell at the top of the glass-paneled wooden door jingled, and Marinette followed Alya’s pointed finger right on time to see a very attractive man walk through.

He had a confident stride, but not an arrogant one—his aura was one of someone who was assured and knew exactly what they were capable of.

Despite his seemingly laid-back disposition, she didn’t fail to notice how his eyes darted around the room cautiously, the same habit she had gotten used to doing after she had been given the Ladybug Miraculous. Then again, this was Gotham, so being on constant guard was only natural.

One thumb was hooked in the pocket of his jeans while the other moved up to ruffle his hair, and wow did he have nice hair.

It was perfectly coiffed, and if she didn’t have experience with hairstyling due to her career she would’ve thought it was as effortless as it looked. Most models would kill for the natural luster his locks seemed to have, and even from a distance she could tell that anyone who decided to run their fingers through his hair would be met with softness.

And she didn’t even want to get started on his face. From his glowing skin to his strong jaw and pretty eyes, she refused to believe someone so attractive could be real. It was unfair, really.

“...inette? Marinette? You good there, girl?”

A snap in front of her face broke Marinette out of her stupor, and she offered an instinctual yelp in response.

“What?”

Alya’s eyes twinkled knowingly, and Marinette shifted anxiously in her seat.

“You sure you weren’t checking him out?”

“Alya!”

Said girl let out a mischievous cackle at her hissed response.

“Now get over there!” she said, waving her hands around in a shooing motion.

Marinette glanced over to the line, where the man was no doubt giving the barista his order.

From what she could tell he was just about done, and she watched as he shuffled through his wallet to hand the barista a bill. But rather than proceed normally as most client-worker interactions would, his payment was met with wide eyes and flailing hands.

Marinette was much too far to discern what was being said, but from context clues she could deduct that he had just handed the barista quite a sizable amount. She had already guessed he was well-off from simply observing the quality of his clothes, but this was near confirmation.

It wasn’t as if status or wealth mattered much to her, but she did have a tendency to be wary of higher-class people due to past experiences with them. Being around them really wasn’t as pleasant as it seemed.

Her musing was interrupted when the man suddenly moved, relocating to the waiting line. There was her chance.

Marinette pushed herself out of her seat, steeling herself and lifting her chin high. This was no biggie. All she had to do was somehow convince this gorgeous man to give her his number by making a crappy pick-up line and a pun on the spot. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t done before, but this felt different, probably because it was a total stranger she was about to attempt it on.

She felt Alya’s gaze trailing after her with each step, and Marinette reminded herself that she absolutely had to succeed or she would never hear the end of it.

The closer she got, however, the more her confidence died. Apparently she had made a major miscalculation while gauging her probability of success, because she hadn’t accounted for the brain spasm she was currently having. Why, oh why did he have to be so cute?

Marinette had the sinking feeling that she was about to majorly embarrass herself, but she was determined to win. Screw embarrassment—she was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. All the trouble she had gotten into with Alix and Kim as kids had prepared her for this very moment. Nothing mattered besides victory.

So she sauntered up confidently, stopping right in front of her target.

“Hey, you must be Batman’s sidekick.”

“What?”

The man’s head snapped towards her, and Marinette didn’t fail to notice the subtle defensive stance he took. Years of hero experience had made her more perceptive towards these things—it was part of the job, after all. She filed the information away in the back of her mind, making a mental note to dissect all that later. Her priority was winning the bet—and oh, right, she still had to finish that pick-up line.

“...because you’re Robin my heart.”

The quip was accompanied by an uncharacteristically roguish smile, à la Chat Noir. She’d give herself a solid 10/10 points on delivery.

Her target seemed to agree with the verdict, because after a split second of shocked silence, he burst into full-bodied laughter.

The instantaneous shift in demeanor nearly caught her off-guard, but she was too occupied by the bright smile on his face and his melodic chuckle to notice. It was light and carefree, and she couldn’t help but crack a small smile as a result.

The only problem was that the laughter didn’t end, though, and she felt her face heat up more as the seconds ticked by.

Oh, Kwami.

Marinette buried her face into her hands with a soft groan, wishing the ground could just open up and swallow her whole.

She knew it wasn’t the greatest pick-up line ever, but she didn’t think her attempt warranted that much amusement.

The laugher ceased abruptly, and she peeked through her fingers in time to see the man quickly sober up.

“Sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you!”

A pause.

“Okay, not exactly. I just—wow, that was a great pick-up line.”

She slowly lowered her hands, though she kept her head down to peer at him through her lashes.

“Did it work?”

He chuckled and offered her a bright smile that made her blush like a high schooler with a massive crush.

“Yeah, you can tell your friend over there that you won your bet.”

If it was even possible, she turned redder.

“What? How…”

At the mention of Alya, Marinette sent a quick glance to their café table only to find that she was doing absolutely nothing to hide her rapt attention. She quickly caught on to the fact that they were looking her way and sent a very obvious thumbs-up and wink.

Oh, I am so going to kill her later!

But Marinette’s momentary vexation made way for embarrassment as the gravity of the situation hit her.

“I guess I wasn’t exactly subtle, huh?”

“Yeah,” the handsome stranger shrugged. “You probably could have been more discreet. But I liked it.”

“Okay, that’s the second time you’ve said that, but I have a hard time believing you. You can’t possibly tell me that you actually enjoy puns.”

“So I’m guessing I shouldn’t tell you that meeting you was a fortuitous aster?”

“Aster? As in the opposite of disaster?” she wrinkled her nose.

“You got it!”

Marinette rolled her eyes in exasperation, though the upwards tug at the corner of her lips betrayed her true feelings.

“Careful there, or you’ll be the one Robin my heart.”

She’d never admit to it, but she flushed a tiny bit before straightening up in realization. Hey, she was supposed to be the one doing the wooing here!

But before she could open her mouth to respond, her companion beat her to it.

“Since you’re stealing something so dear to me, I think it’s only fair that I get my thief’s name in exchange.”

He was clever, she had to admit.

“Marinette,” she proffered.

“Dick.”

She blinked in surprise at the seemingly random obscenity before it clicked.

“Oh, that’s your name!”

The words tumbled forward, and once she realized what she had said, Marinette tried to frantically backpedal. Her spilled apologies didn’t seem to be necessary, though, because that mesmerizing laugh came back.

“No, it’s fine, I get that a lot,” he breathed between chuckles.

She brightened immediately, glad she hadn’t offended him or embarrassed herself too much.

“Well, since I’m already taking something from you, may I steal your number as well?”

“Only if I can do the same.”

Her inquiry was met with a grin, and the two exchanged phones to type in their respective numbers. Marinette’s found its way back into her hand shortly after, and moments after she pocketed it the call of “medium espresso and beignets!” broke the quiet ambience.

“Well, that’s my order,” Dick said, words weighted by a silent apology. “I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a few things I need to take care of. Maybe we can meet up later this week?”

The end of his sentence lilted up in hope, and Marinette found her chest warming with affection.

“I’d like that.”

She bid him goodbye with a smile and a wave and quickly tacked on an “I’ll text you later!” in afterthought.

She’d forever deny squealing giddily as she unceremoniously dragged Alya out from her seat and through the café doors, but the sound didn’t escape Dick’s attention—or his enhanced hearing, courtesy of Bat-Tech.

As he watched her leave with Alya, a smile slowly spread across his face at the thought of seeing her again.

Yeah, he sighed to himself. She’s definitely Robin my heart.

-

PERMANENT TAGLIST *@astoriaandromeda @avengerthewarrior *@bluesimani @enternalempires @flower-girll @freesportspalacesalad @glastwime859 @h1sss @heart-charming @iloontjeboontje @jayjayspixiepop @jalaluvsu @kitsunebell @maskedpainter @moongoddesskiana @nathleigh @no-username2544 @too0bsessedformyowngood @ultimatetornshipper

[queenoftheworldisdead]

Death Metal Odinson

Summary: Being the new manager of the up and coming Norwegian rock band is harder than you thought it would be.

Warning:18+ ONLY, choking, non con, cream-pie, autoerotic asphyxiation (i think)

Note: didn't feel like proofing this so let me know if there is a glaring edit I need to make. Sorry so lazy. this should’ve been called band shirt. LOL. Once again inspired by this challenge

https://sapphirescrolls.tumblr.com/post/650739920586047488/rockstarau-friends-masterlist

Dark Thor x Reader

The Norwegian death metal band were running three hours late to stage. The crowd displayed their displeasure by chanting expletives while you watched anxiously. You knew things were going to get worse until the rockers decided it was time to grace them with their presence.

Ever since the label assigned you to manage the group they had been a thorn in your side. You didn't want to blame them as a whole, but their leader was a bad influence on the bunch. New bands always had a tendency to test their boundaries and this group was no different.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding when the lights dimmed. Finally. The rowdy chants turned to cheers and when the spot light illuminated the group your lips sunk into a frown. They were all drunk, you could tell by the slight sway of each member and you hoped that was all. Loki the only one holding his composer as they approached their stations. The only beacon of hope you had in regards to possibly taming the group.

Your lips set into a deeper frown when your heard the cords. Thor began to play chords to the song you told him not to play and as you predicted the crowd was not happy. The audible scoff from Thor was heard stadium wide. When Thor spit into the crowd and flipped them off, you grabbed your purse and anxiously dug through it to find your cell, you were having flash backs of Oklahoma.

You had told him repeatedly not to do that, especially after what happened in Tucson. They barely made it out unscathed doing the exact same thing. Coming in late and not rewarding the crowd for their patients.

This audience seemed to be cut from the same cloth. They changed their chants to jeers.  A bottle immediately flew toward his head and the crowd that had been somewhat tame were now destroying anything that wasn't nailed down.

With your cell at the ready you dialed security. "Extraction protocol engage" you commanded. They confirm the order before you hung up. Security were about to rushed the stage before these fans tried to 'take souvenirs'.

Three men crowded Thor as he taunted the eager patrons to come get some. While Loki took aim and swung his guitar at the head of a young guy that got way too close. You cringed when it finally splintered across the face the poor kid. Heimdall managed to wrap an electrical cord around one guys throat and even from this distance you could see the lights in his eyes going out. Security arrived just as Valkrie's kick drum few into the animus crowd making the bad situation worse.

Lawsuits. That’s all you could see from the madness. They instigated it and the label would be paying for it, and did the band care? No.

By the time you reached the hall that lead to the bus you had to stop and marvel at how such a narrow hall could fit so many people. Groupies of every size shape and walk of life squished themselves together as they waited to be chosen by the band.

Security parted the sea of bodies as they escorted the band to the bus. You watched as they took their pick while they clumsily made their way through the packed path as if they had not just started a riot three feet away.

The doors of the bus closed behind you as the band members played with their toys at various points in the bus. Internally you groaned, but you weren't a rookie to rocker life. You had gone through many a band and have long since learned to stomach this behavior.

"What the hell were you thinking!" You berated Thor first, marching over to him. He wasn't listening. How could he with the groupie's tongue halfway down his throat?

"Three hours late on stage, drunk and I told you don't play that song. I told you before that it had not been cleared. And at least give the crowd a treat if you are going to be late!" You looked around to all the other members, but they too were distracted by their own pretty young things to care about the mayhem that they had rot.

The label would be coming down hard on you for this like you could control these degenerates.

"Why can't you be more like your brother?" You knew he didn't like it, but after the headache he had just given you, this was your sweet revenge. Their feud rivaled that of Oasis and nearly costed them their contracts, but cooler heads and stacks of cash prevailed.

"Loki shows up to rehearsal on time, Loki shows up to interviews on time and sound check... guess what." You motioned one arm dramatically at Loki. That was enough to tare his attention away from the needy groupie on his hip. Loki smirked devilishly as you praised him over his brother, while Loki's groupie fell to her knees before him.

Thor pushed all the hair that encompassed his face away with his meaty fingers. The strands just as defiant as he, rebelled and fell forward covering his face again. But not before revealing the deep set frown on the normally cheerful face.

The busty groupie that had been pawing at his side was now pushed away harshly. Landing on her ass next to Heimdall and his equally busty toy.

Before either of you could register her protest Thor's palm smashed into your face. You flailed as he marched you backwards. When you heard the slam of the only door on the bus, you knew he had led you to ‘The Quiet Room’. The ironic name dubbed by the band. In actuality they took bets to see how loud they could make their conquest cum.

Thor released your head, but not before pushing it hard thrusting you backwards. You stumbled backwards on to the bed. If you weren't so pissed you. Would cringe at the disgust you felt from touching the mattress. If walls could talk then this bed would write a tell all novel.

"Oh you have lost your damn mind! I am not one of your little groupies you can just toss around I am a grown ass woman!" You pushed up on your elbows, before rising steady to your feet.

"I'm Fuckin tired of your attitude. This is my band" Thor growled at you. Raking his hands through his locks again Thor's hair cascaded down as he blocked the only exit. His long blonde hair looked wild, giving him the look of a lion ready to pounce.

"You signed a contract, so that makes this the labels band" you remind the bratty rocker. A thick tension fell between you two and when your phone rang you were thankful for the distraction.

You had, had it with him. Brushing past him you proceeded to walk out of the room to take the call. A flash of black fell past your eyes, then suddenly you found yourself slamming backwards into the bare chest of Thor.

"I've had enough of your attitude.." Thor growled as your finger tips slipped off the knob when you reached for it.

The fabric wrapped around your neck tightened as your cell phone slipped from your grip. You were in a full on panic, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

The door before you blurred as your eyes went wide and watered as you struggled to breathe. Clawing at it, it was too thick to break free with your nails.

"Stop... please" you croaked out as his branch of an arm hooked around your waist. You felt your feet dangle as he lifted you up and spun you toward the bed.

"Not so mouthy now hmmm" He lead you like a dog forward, your legs tripping over themselves as he marched you to the bed. You shouted at him to free you but your words came out broken and cracked as you gasped for air.

"Look your in charge I'm sorry" you struggled to pull the fabric off. You finally felt Thor's other hand move up your body, groping your tits through your blouse. Each squeeze felt more desperate than the last and when his finger strummed at your buttons you started to hiccup.

"Hmm I like the way you sound all pathetic and weak."

You had two choices, fight his other hand pulling at your shirt or free your neck. Your natural instinct kicked in and you chose air.

You felt him chuckle as he ripped of your blouse hard to one side, most of the buttons found the floor while the others struggled to stay hooked. It was enough for him to reach inside your opened shirt, palming your breasts, humming as he played with your nipples as you fought to breathe.

When he pinched your nipples you felt bizarrely aroused. A heat built up between your legs when he tweaked your hard nipples. Through your chokes you moaned involuntarily and of course he chuckled to his delight. "I see someone likes the rough stuff hmmm" he pressed his firm cock into your back and you closed your eyes and prayed this would be as far as it goes.

"Jack me off and I might let you breathe" Thor commanded. You could barely hear him over the sound of your own heart beat in your ear. You felt the fabric slack and your chin fell forwards as you breathed-in frantically. "Hurry up now, I promise you won't like it if I do it myself" He said into the shell of your ear.

Clumsily you reached behind, fumbling with his belt, you winced when he tightened it. You were desperate, reaching into his pants you found his member already hard. Thor hummed as you grasped it.

"That's it." Thor's body heat felt as if it poured into you as you awkwardly stroked him from behind your back. The door to the room banged and someone shouted "It's pretty quite in there!" Taunting Thor.

"You hear that we need to give them a 'treat'" he chuckled throwing your own words back in your face. Your mascara started to streaking down your cheek as shame and embarrassment ripped through you.

"Take off your pants."  

You couldn't do it. Instead you reached up and grabbed the blondes hair and yanked it. That earned you a harsh twist of the shirt around your neck, the fabric burned your skin and you let go to once again free your neck. "Well, if you want things done right..." Switching hands he moved down your hips. Thor hooked a hands at your waist and forced the fabric down. You felt your seems burst as he forced it passed your ass.   "Hands flat on the bed" Thor ordered, but he just pushed you forward by your neck restraint. Thor loomed over you, his cock pressed against your bare ass. You squirmed when he began moving the fabric of your panties to the side. You felt like a wild dog on a leash, fighting to get free. "Don't worry I'll be gentle" he lied. You felt your walls strain around his cock as he filled you to the core. "She's as tight as we thought boys!" He shouted over you. Banging and cheering came through the door as you clawed at the sheets, trying to take hold to escape him. Digging his fingers into your hip he slammed into you with sinister delight. "Too.. much" you managed to choke out, but that only seemed to rile him up. Thrusting you so hard that he almost lost his own grip. "Oh by the gods you grip me so fucking good." It felt as if he was splitting you from the inside. Your sight began to fade as you felt yourself barreling to an end. You choked out a loud mewl as he held on to the knot on the back of your neck. Yanking your head back to watch you choke as you cum around him. You felt the fabric loosen again even though his grip on the shirt stayed threateningly in place. Thor roared loudly, filling you with cum, before falling on top of you. "I think I like you better like this, with my cock deep in your cunt."

[laurore-stormwitch]

BEWARE THERE ARE ROW SPOILERS IN THIS FAN FICTION

So, I did something. Rule of Wolves left me in tears. But I felt we were missing an epilogue, and that’s my take. We can see a little of Nikolai courting Zoya, his proposal and the wedding. I poured all my love into this, all of how much these characters mean to me. I hope it can bring comfort and a smile to all of you who love them as much. I don’t say it much, but this is one of the things I loved most writing, and I hope you’re gonna enjoy it. I send a big hug to whoever has taken this grishaverse wild ride  word count: 4953 you are my endless summer - ao3 

“Is this strictly necessary?”

Zoya asked, faking more annoyance than she felt. She wondered what kind of crazy idea had come to Nikolai’s mind this time, as she stumbled through the woods with a strip of cloth tied on her eyes. Nikolai was guiding her, holding her hand and her elbow to steady her through the fallen branches on the ground. He didn’t answer, but she could swear she could hear the smug smirk on his face.

“I already know where you’re taking me. You’ve kept me away from the garden for two months, I kind of figured out what you were doing.”

“How cunning you are. That’s why I love you.”

She nudged him on what she hoped was his stomach, eliciting a laugh from his side.

“Humour me Zoya, please. What kind of a surprise would it be if I let you see?”

“The kind where you don’t end up being a pile of smoking dust.”

Nikolai laughed again, a crystal-clear sound that made her heart twitch. The threat was not that far from the truth. Nikolai had been entertaining himself way too much with this idiotic courting thing he had decided to pursue. She thought back on when she believed she could have a quiet romance with him. A quiet romance with a man who has a double identity as a privateer and wears a ridiculous teal frock coat. Great thinking, Zoya.

The first hint of how much not quiet Nikolai was going to be had been the absurd deal of public flirting he engaged in, knowing damn well how Zoya was used to propriety. And bitter and ruthless words, at the very best. Not even under torture she would admit how endearing it had been instead; better to keep scolding him. However, as usual, Nikolai saw right through her pretence, caught the gleam of amusement and desire in her eyes. That had only made him become more daring and blatant. Nothing could compare for him to the satisfaction of leaving Zoya speechless. Zoya had tried to match his bold attitude, but she had to admit she was not half as good as him. To this day, he was still rubbing in her face the time where she had almost caused a diplomatic incident due to the shock of his shamelessness. He had just got back from a trip to Ketterdam, right after the coronation. They were waiting at the palace’s gates to meet with the Shu delegation, coming to pay their respect to the recently crowned queen. Nikolai had chosen the moment where their newly acquired allies were emerging from the carriages to lean into her ear to whisper, ignoring the fact that they were surrounded by soldiers and dignitaries, and not just Genya and Alina like last time; Nikolai loved an audience as much as he loved himself.

“I see you’ve resorted back to your kefta”, he had muttered in a casual tone.

Zoya had cut him a quick glare, saying something she would regret later. “Did you like the coronation dress better?”

“Oh no, not at all. If I remember correctly, I suggested you get out of that.” The Shu delegation was getting closer. Nikolai had lowered his voice even more, starting to smile at them. “I stand to my suggestion. There are several outfits I like better on you than a dress. Namely, your kefta, which I'm happy you got back.” She had kept her eyes trained in front of her, ignoring him. “Or the rough spun clothes you use when we are on the Volkvolny.” He had plucked a non-existent dust from his sleeve, keeping the nonchalant attitude of someone who was speaking about the weather. “Your nightdress, the one that looks like a starry night and has a shockingly small amount of fabric.” He had waved a hand in Ehri’s direction, who by that time had been a couple of steps too close to them for Nikolai to keep talking. But the man did have a tendency to risk his life. “But you with nothing on would definitely be in first place.”

Zoya had widened her eyes and a violent rush of blood had tinged her cheeks, while Nikolai had sprinted on to welcome her guests and she stood there like an idiot, trying to catch back her composure. After that, she had quickly understood just how much Nikolai appreciated a challenge. And when he understood just how much Zoya hated to cause a scene, that had been the end for her. At least it seemed like they were alone right now. Better to be safe than sorry, although.

“Nikolai, please at least tell me you’re not about to stage another of your embarrassing public fit.” She asked him now, half pleading and half threatening, as they made their way through the woods.

Nikolai chuckled. “Not this time. And do not lie to me, I know you’ve enjoyed my scenes.”

“I have not.”

“Not even a smidge?”

“You should thank the Saints you’re still breathing after all the stunts you pulled.”

“The Saints and your infinite love for me, I suppose.”

“My love may be infinite, but I assure you my patience is not.”

Zoya tried to keep the smile from her voice, failing miserably. Nikolai had a way to overwhelm her with a now familiar lightness and serenity. Their bickering, his hand in hers, his scent in the air. It all felt like home. So much so that she had found herself subtly pressing on him to get married, eager to have him forever with her. It was a feeling of certainty she wasn’t willing to let go of. It was a treasure she wanted to protect. And she didn’t really care about grand gestures, about big declarations. As far as she was concerned, she could find a ring on her nightstand and they could be married in secret. Nikolai knew that, always seemed to know exactly what kind of attention she needed. He left her his little wire boats everywhere to be found, he concocted small and useless inventions just for the sake of amusing her. He placed hidden notes and drawings in her drawers or under her pillows. He courted her in a way she had never been courted before, dedicating his clever mind to making her feel loved and safe - a task in which he was succeeding brilliantly. 

But the privateer in him came out every now and then. Apart from the flirting, which she could admit she had been enjoying, he had picked up the unnerving habit of pretending to be about to propose to her in the middle of all sorts of gatherings. The first time he had sank down on one knee had been during one of their evenings with the rest of their friends. Everyone had drawn a sharp breath, falling silent and still. But the idiot had simply picked up one of her earrings that had fallen on the floor, winking at her while she narrowed her eyes at him from the upside down. Then he got bolder and bolder. The next time, he had clanked his glass at the end of a state dinner, saying he had a declaration to make for his queen. Zoya had glared at him from her seat, shifting uncomfortably, praying to all the Saints for him to shut up. But the worst had been during the ball they threw last week in honour of some Saint or occurrence she could not even remember. They were dancing, spinning around the ballroom. Nikolai was indeed a very gifted dancer, so she usually let him guide her. It was a strange feeling, the safety of being carried by his arms.

“Your hand is nowhere near the level of propriety, Nikolai”, she had whispered with a playful look, noting the fire on her skin as he had brushed her lower back.

He had smirked. “Let them envy me. I’m dancing with the most gorgeous woman in the room.”

“The one that’s going to step on your foot if you don’t behave yourself.”

Nikolai had nudged her closer, skimming his lips on her jaw. “Want to give them something else to watch?” And then, without preamble, he had kneeled in front of her, right in the middle of the ballroom, holding one of her hands in his. The music had stopped, the room had been filled with ecstatic murmurs. Zoya had caught Genya giggling on the other side of the room, but she could only hear her heart thrumming in her chest.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

One beat had passed. Two beats, and that delicious grin of his had erupted on Nikolai’s face. He had cleared his throat and turned to the people assembled around them.

“Pardon me for the interruption, but I believe it’s time for the Queen to give her speech!” He had joyfully declared, getting back up on his feet. She had looped her arm on his, seething under her breath.

“I am going to smite you where you stand.”

From that moment on, every time he had tried to garner the attention in public endeavours, she had been terrified to see him cause another scene. Deep down, Zoya knew he was not going to ask her like this. He was way too much of a romantic soul to do this. Sure enough though, he was immensely enjoying himself. She supposed she could let him have his fun. As long as she was his, and he was hers, she didn’t really care how many times he would embarrass her. There was nothing on earth that could compare to the feeling of seeing him beaming with happiness. Not even the dragon, in all his lifetimes, had known a warmth like this. Zoya loved him enough to let him have his way at times.

The creak of the garden door distracted her from her thoughts. Finally, Nikolai stopped. She heard him move behind her and place his hands on her hips, while his lips brushed on the skin of her neck. 

“You can look now.”

He murmured against her skin. Was she imagining the slight tremble of emotion in his voice? He sounded thrilled, nervous. Slowly, she pulled the cloth from her eyes, caught back by the light that was flooding the place. Whatever she had thought she was going to see, it was nothing compared to what Nikolai had built. The breath was knocked out of her lungs, the beating of her heart racing up like it was about to take flight. It was her garden, but it was so much more. The structure Nikolai had designed was an engineering marvel of glass and wrought iron, twisting toward the sky, looking like the dome of a chapel. A perfect combination of his brilliance and a most expert Fabrikator’s craft. The whole building was transparent; Zoya could see the sky beyond, the clouds, the ray of sun warming up the place and shattering through the glass in a rainbow of colours. The flowers hadn’t been touched; new pots had been placed, new space to fill. The thorn wood still ran on the sides, around the bricks and the lanterns. But the wall had been painted with every sort of wonder; there was a dragon roaring through the sky, a ship that looked like the Volkvolny sealing a storm-swept sea, with a two-star flag added to Sturmhond’s one. A fox emerged from the bushes on the wall nearer to the door. The Grisha colours and symbols were all over the place, a flash of blue, red, and purple blossoms; waves, fire and lightnings ran throughout the murals. 

“Alina painted them.” 

Explained Nikolai, whispering softly when he noticed she was looking at the walls. Zoya took two steps in front of her, tilting her head up. There weren’t words she possessed right enough for this moment, none of the languages she knew was fit to describe this. The wrought iron was shaped like quince and gusts of wind that towered over the place in a million branches, spreading on the lines of the glass dome.

“Every panel of glass can be opened in the summer. They’re closed now, so that the heat stays in and the flowers can blossom in every season.”

Nikolai’s voice was still soft, still stumbling a little, like he was holding his breath to wait for her reaction. He had poured all of himself into this extraordinary building. This is what love does. If only Lilyiana could see her now. If she could see what she had found. Let love pour through, my little girl. Let your golden hero carry you home. You are safe. Zoya was shaking. Breathing was hard. She turned to him, feeling a suspicious prickle behind her eyes. Nikolai had once again got down on his knee amidst her wildflowers; she caught the sparkle of a jewel in his hand. Zoya smiled, too stricken with emotions to concentrate on anything that wasn't him.

“I hope it’s the last time you kneel to me.” Zoya tried to muster some wit, but her voice came out croaked, her throat sore. Nikolai was undoing her.

“Do shut up, Your Highness. I believe it’s my turn to speak.” The too-clever fox smirked, a clear and expectant look in his gleaming hazel eyes. “I had a speech - honestly it’s hard to remember it right now.” He cleared his throat. “I’ve been wanting you for so long, and I’ve been believing for so long that there wasn’t a future for us, that it seemed impossible to have this.”

He opened his mouth again, clearly about to correct himself, but Zoya was quicker. “Improbable”, she added, unable to restrain herself. Another smirk curled his lips.

“Improbable”, he conceded, immensely satisfied that she had picked up on his favourite line. “I know I’ve kept you waiting. I would have asked the first time you kissed me. I would have asked that night in the cargo hold. But I said something else that night, something I wanted to live up to.”

Zoya watched him carefully, trying to see through him, to wrap her head around what was happening. She felt like her heart was about to burst in her chest.

“There were things I wanted to do before asking you. I wanted to gift you something ill-suited for war, something precious. That’s why I built this.” He gestured to the structure around them. “Because your garden need not be just a monument to grief anymore, but one to life. To the way you make everything around you blossom.” Nikolai paused, his gaze intense and fierce on her. “And then there were other things I told you I would have done for you, once I could.”

“You wanted to give me a crown.” Zoya said, with surprise in her voice. She had started to figure out where he was going with this, had started to grasp his words from the memory of that night, carved inside her. 

“That was the first thing. I believe it worked splendidly. What else did I tell you?”

“You wanted to show me the world from the prow of your ship.” 

She brought her fingers to her lips, as if she could not believe her own realization. Her voice was trembling too, now. She remembered. She remembered when Nikolai had insisted they took a couple of days at sea, during their mission in Os Kervo. Zoya knew Nikolai wanted to travel with her, but they simply had not had the time to do it properly. Zoya had promised him they would, someday, when peace was secured. Nikolai had pressed her on that trip to sail on the Volkvolny, even for a little while. She had not questioned him, thought he was only being nonsensical as usual and had obliged him. He had told her something, on the railing of the ship, as the sun was setting in front of them. That’s why I like the sea, he had said to her, because when you look out at the horizon, you see everything beyond. Look, Zoya. You can see the whole world from here. It’s all ours for the taking. She had laughed, tilting her head to the sun. You gave me Ravka, Nikolai. It’s enough for me. She had been wrong. Nikolai had not just given her Ravka. Here, in the silence of her garden, she knew he was giving her so much more. 

“And then there was one last thing.” Nikolai encouraged her. Zoya drew a sharp breath, catching the ring in his hand into focus. 

“You wanted to give me a sapphire, the size of an acorn.”

Nikolai took her hand and placed the ring in it. The band was made of white gold, in the shape of a dragon curled around itself. Between its tail and its head, it held a glowing sapphire, the colour of a midnight sky. She peered at him under her lashes, too overwhelmed to say anything. His hands were shivering.

“I know it’s not the size of an acorn. We are still slightly broke, and, well - I thought you would have liked it better like this. It’s more elegant, it suits you more.”

Silence enveloped them. Zoya felt his warm uneven breathing on her skin, his nervousness, the sheer truth and love behind his actions taking her like a tide, filling the well inside her that had once protected her grief and caged her heart.

“I wanted you to understand that I’ll always be true to my promises. I don’t know when I started loving you, but I know I’m lost now. I searched for you for a lifetime. I still want you all the time. I want to lay beside you every night, wake up with you in my arms every morning. I want to build the future with you, I want to watch you scowl at people and be the brave and ruthless leader you are.” Nikolai inhaled a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. “You've been my general. You are my friend, the woman I love. I would have chosen you before, I would now and I always will. Would you do me the honour of being my wife?”

Zoya didn’t try to hold back the tears. It didn’t matter. It didn’t because she had never felt safer in her life than she was feeling now, held in the dome that protected her garden, in the hands of the man that had always protected her. What he was telling her now, it had an echo to so many other things he had told her in the past, scattered throughout the moments they had shared. It told the story of how they took care of each other for so long, of their longing, of their strength. How they had found each other at last. She gently kneeled in front of him, folding her hand over the one that was holding the ring. All around them, the flowers had sprouted, their scent clouding them. She placed the other hand on his cheek, locking their eyes together. It took all her might to find her voice within the emotions swimming in her chest. Zoya had never been sentimental like him. She had never tried to be, maybe she could never be. Yet, she wanted him to know now; to know even a fraction of how much her love for him ran deep in her veins.  

“You made me believe that impossible really is just a word.” She tried, wavering, gaining more confidence with each word she brought out. “You made me believe again, Nikolai. You are the hero of every story I have ever heard. And yes, I’ll marry you.”

He opened in an astonishing expression of relief, leaning in her touch. Nikolai slipped the ring on her finger, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“Turns out you can be romantic too, when you want to.” He teased, getting up and bringing her with him, circling her in his arms. As she leaned on his chest, she heard the rhythmic pounding of his heart, quick as the flapping of a bird’s wings. 

“It’s hardly a match between the two of us. I know how much you enjoy it, so I let you take all the credit.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Does this mean you’ll stop kneeling in front of crowds?” 

“I think so. I will not stop with the flirting, though. It’s a compulsion.” 

Zoya went on her toes to press a kiss on his mouth. 

“Do keep up with that. I like it.”

She tucked her hand into his pocket, closing her fingers on the blue ribbon he kept on him all the time. Zoya pulled it out, unfurling it in front of them. 

“I believe I’ll need this for the wedding day.”

The smile that lightened up his face was worth a thousand wars to wage. A thousand years to wait. 

 ***

To say that the wedding was grand, would have been an understatement. Genya had outdid herself, both with the decorations and the dress. If Zoya had thought she had made a great work with the coronation, what she had managed to create on this day put everything else to shame. Zoya didn’t remember much of it. It had been a whirlwind of colours and voices, people kissing her hand and offering their congratulations, dancing, and music and mostly a lot of drinking on their part. The ceremony had been long and complicated, but as usual, Nikolai had made everything more bearable. Somehow, he had managed to make her feel like they were the only two people standing in the chapel, the same one that held such awful memories and was now a place of celebration. 

She had chosen not to wear gold, and they all went with it. Once had been enough; silver was more fitting for a dragon queen that commanded the storm. Being a queen had its advantages in terms of breaking with traditions. Nikolai had walked the aisle with her; he had never left her side, he had never left the grip on her hand. Zoya could feel his intense desire to make this day joyful for her. She would never stop marvelling at his selflessness, at how good and pure his heart was. To her surprise, he had chosen to relent the traditional Ravkan wedding vows in favour of the ones spoken by Grisha. They applied a lot more to them than any other oath they could make.

We are soldiers. I will march with you in times of war. I will rest with you in times of peace. I will forever be the weapon in your hand, the fighter at your side, the friend who awaits your return. I have seen your face in the making at the heart of the world and there is no one more fierce, passionate, and unbreakable.

There was not much else to say; everything they needed to tell each other, they had already done in the quiet of their intimacy. Everything they needed to share about what it meant to have each other, they already knew. But Nikolai had added something, lowering his voice to a whisper, only for her to hear. 

I will always seek to make it summer for you.

He had spoken the words in Suli. A ridiculous Suli, with an accent as thick as Zoya’s one and probably quite the number of mistakes. Zoya didn’t care. She didn’t know much Suli either, but she had understood. She had felt the urge to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him senseless, all these people be damned. Instead, she had murmured her answer to him, searching in her childhood for the words, hoping his knowledge of the language was broader than hers.

You are my endless summer. 

Nikolai’s eyes had sparkled, his lips trembled when he had kissed her, knocking her off his feet, and she knew he had understood too. The first half of the party had been slightly tedious. Her dress was heavy, the crown hitched on her head. But as the night went on and the brandy had started to flow, she had found she was enjoying herself much more than she thought. Nikolai’s presence glowed in the room, equally as handsome as her. It was well past midnight when people had started retiring, saying their goodbyes to the newly wed royal couple.

At last, they found themselves alone at a table with all their friends. Tolya was astoundingly drunk, much to their amusement. He was trying to convince Adrik to stand on a chair and recite some poetry with him. Adrik, who was incredibly smiling, seated next to Leoni who wore her usual thousand sun merry expression. Adrik had taken Zoya’s position in the Triumvirate, while Leoni held the post for the Materialki now. She and Genya were deep in an argument about some sort of poison used to make people sleepwalk. Genya was laughing, her head thrown back, a glass of honey tea in her hand. Seeing her happy was a sight for sore eyes. Zoya knew they were all missing David more tonight; her eyes wandered on her friend’s kefta, which stood a little too tight around her stomach. The bump was starting to show clearly right now, four months into the pregnancy. She was beaming. It takes a village, people said about raising a child. This child would definitely never be alone. Alina and Mal had retired earlier, eager to return to their kids. She had held Alina in an embrace a little longer than usual, trying to convey how wonderful her gift to Zoya had been, how much comfort the paintings in her garden would bring. In the middle of the room, Tamar and Nadia were still dancing, or trying to at least, missing every rhythm of the music. Tamar stopped abruptly when she saw Zoya watching them. 

“I can’t believe you two pulled it off, at last!” She made a toast in their direction, making Nadia stumble. 

“I can’t believe Nikolai pulled it off”, Genya smirked, toasting back to Tamar with her tea. 

Nikolai shrugged his shoulders. “I’m known for always choosing the hardest quest.” 

There was little hope to ever make them stop with the teasing. Turning her gaze, Zoya caught sight of Nina and her prince, who had traveled all the way from Fjerda to be here tonight. Nina was stunning as usual, in a dress that hugged every curve of her, stacking on a pile of pastries and forcing Hanne to taste each and every one of them. The reckless Heartrender didn’t miss the chance to weigh in on the conversation, popping a pastry in her mouth. “And to think Zoya was the one to bash me about falling in love with Fjerdans. It backfired right in your face.”

Zoya clicked her tongue. “At least I take care not to let people walk in on us having a private moment.”

“That’s on you”, Nina grinned, “But I guess now you know that the thing about Fjerdans being cold it’s just a myth.” 

“Definitely a myth", confirmed Nikolai, winking at Nina. Leave it to the two of them to be inappropriate.

Tolya downed another glass of whisky. For a giant, he didn’t have a good resistance to alcohol. “Good luck Zoya, he’s all yours to suffer now.” He managed to mutter. “At least he’s not moping around about you anymore like a lost puppy.” Tolya, the most respectful soldier she knew. He really was drunk. 

“I’ll still mop around about her, don’t worry.”

“I can manage, I think", Zoya answered to Tolya, curling her lips. 

She sighed happily, tightening the hold on Nikolai’s hand next to her, while she watched the people who were now her family filling the air with their laughter. He put the glass down, gazing at her with amusement. His golden hair were ruffled, his elegant shirt crumpled, his skin heated. His eyes were filled with awe, a smile dancing on his lips. She felt her breath itch at the sight of him. Nikolai leaned closer to her, bringing her hand up to his mouth. His look turned soft, affectionate.

“You survived today wonderfully.”

Zoya fell silent, watching her golden boy. This is what love does. You fight for it, and it saves you. You build it, brick by brick, and it stays. The dragon spread his wings inside her. 

“You built me a home.” 

She told him, and cocked her head to the side, making some strands of hair fall from the elaborate updo Genya had weaved. Nikolai rushed to tuck them back into the ribbon that held them in place, the one she had taken from his pocket when he had proposed. 

“You gave me something to build it for. Someone to fill it with.”

Zoya knew, in that moment. She knew that every blow, every pain, every loneliness she had endured had been meant to take her here. It had been meant to make her worthy of him, to make her believe they could have this. She knew every loss and every battle had forged her so that she could let herself love him. And Nikolai made everything possible. The weight of his hand in hers felt sacred. 

“We will go on, you and I. We are going to be fine.” 

It wasn’t a question. It was the strongest belief she had ever had. It was hope. After an eternity of fighting and suffering, the stone tumbled inside her, coming to rest. Nikolai nodded, closing his eyes and sighing. The world felt easier. It felt warm, and sunny, full of his light.

“Yes, we are.”

And they would. For years to come, they would be fine.

[clairecrive]

"Getaway car" - Billy Russo x reader

A/N: no one asked for so many Billy pieces, I know. They just come to me in waves and I can't get them out of my head unit I write them out. So yeah, here's another Billy fic. Bit shorter I think and more angsty too.

Warnings: bit of angst

Tagging: @thefictionalgemini, @tarkanelima-blog, @pansysgirlfriend, @acciorudolphx (if you want, you can add yourself to my taglist by filling this form)

You can find my other Billy fics here and my other masterlists here.

"So, what do you like most about our Billy here?"

It was Friday night and the bar you'd chosen was packed with people, the background music barely audible over the crowd's noises. It was your usual group, only Micro and Curtis were missing both busy with their other halves.

Billy had brought over the lady of the hour, or of the week in this case. Not that you had anything against her per se, you just tended to distrust the women Billy chose to spend his time with. He clearly had a type and you openly disagreed on his tendencies, insisting that he deserved more.

You had met Billy around the same time Karen had met Frank. As the two of them got close and eventually started dating, you and Billy became close as well. In another way though. Strictly platonic.

That was not to say that you didn't think he was handsome or charming or whatever. When you first met, you understood perfectly what type of man he was and you simply wasn't what he was looking for. So yes, you flirted a bit here and there but you never toyed with the idea of "something more" between the two of you. That would have been stupid on your part and would have set you up to certain heartbreak.

You didn't mind being only friends with him. You enjoyed spending time with Billy, he was easy to be around and that simply wasn't something that happened to you frequently. You'd usually needed a bit of time to open up and get used to someone. But there was something about the easygoing way Billy held himself and in his sense of humour that had done the trick.

You realized almost immediately that you'd got to see a side of him that wasn't for everyone and that alone made this whole "just friends" situation worth it.

This wasn't the first time you had confronted Billy about his dating tendencies. The more you got to know him the more you understood why he did that but it also got you more and more frustrated with him. You just couldn't see how he could be fine with it.

The lady on his right gave you a smirk and almost immediately your lips tightened already foreseeing the kind of answer she was going to give.

"His fingers, if you know what I mean." She glanced eloquently at said fingers before taking a sip of her drink. She thought she was so sly, it made you sick.

Glancing at Billy you saw him mirroring her smirk before sending you a look that you know meant "drop this". But, of course, you weren't going to.

"Ah, but of course, nothing speaks more about a person than their fingers." She pouted at the obvious challenge but didn't match your sarcasm. Crossing your arms you ignored Billy's eyes on you.

"Don't mind her, she is not accustomed to what skilled fingers can do." He fired at you leaning back in his chair.

"And you're clearly not used with the word "objectification"."

"Nor you with the concept of keeping your opinions to yourself cause no one cares about what you think." He retorted putting extra emphasis on "no one".

Your eyes were now slits and you and Billy were staring down at each other. No one at the table cut in, all were familiar with this by now. Frank only cleared his voice but that did little to nothing to ease the tension.

"Fine," you conceded raising your hands, "if no one cares that I'll just have to stop caring too."

You felt everyone's eyes on you, Billy hadn't stopped glaring at you even though his eyes soften at your words but you didn't acknowledge it. You simply leaned back in your seat and took a sip of your beer before turning to Karen and engage her in a conversation.

You could feel Billy's eyes on you from time to time but you made good on your words and stopped paying attention to him and his date. After all, it was his life and he could ruin it the way he saw most fit. The only reason you bumped with him so much was that you cared deeply about him and couldn't stand seeing him getting anything less than what he deserves.

But enough is enough. If he really didn't care about your opinion that you were not going to give it to him anymore.

And so the night passed like this. Relatively seamlessly with yours and Billy's interactions down to a minimum. When it was time for you to go home, you'd got up and said your goodbyes generally. Without your usual goodby hug and kiss for each of them.

You weren't in the mood to hug or kiss Billy's date or him for that matter but ignoring them only would have been rude and too obvious, so you just gave them a general wave and left.

Stepping out of the bar you pulled your phone to call a uber. Thankfully it wasn't too cold tonight, just a light breeze.

"Since when you leave without a hug?" His voice met your ears, instinctively making you roll your eyes.

"Go inside, Billy. It's not nice to keep a lady waiting nor to leave your friends in her dull company." You kept tapping on your phone without looking up at him.

"Why are you so spiteful tonight?"

"Sorry, it's a collateral effect for being a caring friend. I'm going to grow out of it though, don't worry." The uber had been called, now you were just stalling in order to avoid his eyes.

Until your phone was taken away from your hands.

"You know that's not what I meant, y/n."

Lame excuse, another roll of eyes on your part.

"Y/n," he called you when you didn't add anything. "Come on, don't do this."

"You're wasting your time here, Billy. Go back inside. Message received, loud and clear."

"You're not listening to me." This time he made you turn around by pulling your arms.

"Not a good feeling, huh?" A bitter smile was on your lips as Billy's hands on you tightened.

"I do listen to you-"

"Yeah, you just don't care about what I say." You interrupted him shrugging your shoulders that were still in his grip.

"You know that's not true."

"The lovely lady in there proves you wrong, darling."

"What do you have against Karol, eh?" He was getting frustrated, you could hear in his voice but he was completely missing the point.

"You've been dating her for two weeks now and the only good thing she could have said about you she chose your fingers, Billy. Your fingers." You exclaimed, taking one of his hands off of you to make a point.

"You're not just a pretty face, Billy. And I hate how you let these women objectify you and think of you as only a hot piece of ass, okay? I can't stand it and I can't keep quiet when I see someone I care about being mistreated." You continued as he did nothing but stare at you. Sighing, you removed his other hand too before taking a step back.

"I get it, you don't want me to get involved and I won't. But it breaks my heart seeing you with them. You honestly deserve so much more, Billy. It hurts that you don't see it."

"You're taking this too personally." Really? Well then.

"Whatever, Billy," you dismissed him as you saw your uber arrive, "have a good night," you said over your shoulder as you climbed in the car.

And Billy let you go, watching the car speed away.

[robininthelabyrinth]

extra 1 for Tedious Joys, with thanks to all the suggestions from people engaged in the discussion on tumblr, your ideas were fantastic and I used all that I could fit in!

-

Before Lan Qiren left to attend the first discussion conference held after Nie Mingjue’s ascension to the position of Nie sect leader – a notion that still gave Lan Qiren a stomachache merely to think of it – Lao Nie made him promise three times over that he would keep an eye on his painfully earnest, straightforward eldest son and keep him from doing anything foolish.

“Of course I will,” Lan Qiren finally said, exasperated: any more nagging, and he was going to be late. When he’d thought to himself that he’d picked up a wife, he hadn’t really expected this part of it; if anything, he assumed he’d be the one doing the nagging. “You know perfectly well that he’s as dear to me as my nephews! I don’t know why you feel the need to even ask.”

“Your nephews have good self-control, a trait my Nie sect most definitively lacks,” Lao Nie said. “We’re all in agreement that it’s not yet time to challenge Hanhan. What if A-Jue forgets that and, I don’t know, punches him in the face?”

“He won’t,” Lan Qiren said. “He’s a good boy, your son; you’ve told him not to, so he won’t. Anyway, if it really comes to it, I won’t let him.”

Finally, Lao Nie let him leave, and Lan Qiren made his way to the Lotus Pier for the discussion conference. Nie Mingjue and his retinue had arrived shortly before he did, the circles under his eyes and the small signs of mourning he still wore making him look older than he ought to be; there was a scowl fixed on his face that did not disappear entirely even when he nodded to Lan Qiren, although it did soften a little.

Lan Qiren’s heart hurt for him. To manage an entire sect at fifteen – even with support, the pressures of it must be well-nigh unbearable, and it looked as though Nie Mingjue had started using his cultivation to get him through all the nights of missed sleep, as unwise as that approach was in the long term.

It was strange to go to the habitual meeting of the Great Sect leaders, the one they had with each other before they mixed with all the other sect leaders, and bow to Nie Mingjue as if to a peer, rather than to a junior.

Stranger still to see Wen Ruohan do the same, a mocking smile on his lips as he raised his head from the greeting.

“Sect Leader Nie,” he said, and there was almost some sense of satisfaction as he said the unfamiliar words – no one had had to use them when it was Lao Nie, of course. “I bid you welcome, as the newest member to the ranks of leadership among our Great Sects.”

Nie Mingjue did not respond with words the way he had when similar sentiments had been offered by others – no Please give me guidance here, though that was understandable given what the entire cultivation world knew he believed about Wen Ruohan – and contented himself by merely jerking his head again in a nod.

“Your father was a very involved member of our little group,” Wen Ruohan continued, and was he really going to offer Nie Mingjue his condolences for Lao Nie’s death? Propriety demanded he do so, but he’d never cared much for propriety, and given his actions it would be an offense to all sensibility. “One could hardly hope to match him in his passion and enthusiasm in all that he did. I look forward to seeing you...take his place.”

His eyes flickered over Nie Mingjue from head to toe, blatant in its unspoken unspeakable implication, even as Nie Mingjue’s eyes went round with disbelief.

A moment later, it ended up being Lan Qiren’s fist that found its way to Wen Ruohan’s face.

Luckily, Wen Ruohan found it funny - laughing at how he’d managed to break Lan sect discipline, rather than taking offense - and no war was started.

Whether that would last once Lan Qiren reported the substance of the conversation back to Lao Nie, however...

-

“You know,” Lan Qiren said, staring at the ceiling and wishing it would come down on top of him. “It’s very nice that you’re all such good friends.”

His nephews both bobbed their heads in a polite nod.

“I’m sure Mingjue and Huaisang greatly appreciate it.”

Another nod.

“However, they are now sect leader and sect heir, and we must treat them with the dignity that those positions require.”

A third nod. He was starting to wonder if they’d been replaced by dolls with loose necks.

“This is why they were assigned their very own rooms in our guest quarters, rather than spending their nights in yours.”

“Nie Huaisang will be lonely if he sleeps by himself,” Lan Wangji said, stubborn as ever. “My room is better.”

“Wangji. Yesterday, you chased Huaisang up two separate hills with your sword, sat on him, made him cry, and then wouldn’t let him up until he admitted you were superior in every respect.”

Lan Wangji smiled briefly, a rare and beautiful sight that warmed the heart. “Mm. Deserved it.”

Lan Qiren flailed a little. “Wangji, do you even like him?”

“No.”

“Then why do you care where he sleeps?”

“If he sleeps badly, he will do even worse than he already does,” Lan Wangji said. “Someone might make fun of him.”

“…and what happens then?”

“Bite.”

“Wangji! We’ve discussed this, no biting people. Not even if they’re making fun of your friend!”

Lan Wangji nodded in a way that suggested he was only being agreeable so that Lan Qiren stopped insisting on silly things like Nie Huaisang getting his own bedroom instead of sleeping on the spare bed in Lan Wangji’s and not actually agreeing in the slightest.

They were still working on the biting thing.

Giving up, Lan Qiren turned his gaze to his older nephew.

Lan Xichen squirmed. “…sometimes I go to stay in his rooms instead?”

“You’re not even planning on coming up with an excuse?”

“Lying is forbidden, uncle.”

Lan Qiren pinched the bridge of his nose.

-

“For this sort of thing, you go to your eldest uncle,” Lan Qiren said flatly, and after a moment of contemplation, Lan Wangji conceded that he had a point.

After all, Lao Nie had been married several times, presumably intentionally, whereas Lan Qiren had ended up with a wife through circumstance and luck.

Lao Nie was a very good wife, though, even if for some reason Lan Wangji was required to refer to him as eldest uncle rather than calling him aunt – though that was mostly his uncle’s preference. Lao Nie thought being called auntie was hilarious.

In retrospect, though, Lao Nie’s tendency to think things were hilarious was a lot less endearing when it was aimed at him.

“Just tell him you like him,” Lao Nie suggested, as if that wasn’t the most ridiculous Nie sect style advice possible. “Tell him you want to spend more time with him.”

Lan Wangji shook his head firmly.

“How is this Wei Wuxian supposed to figure it out, then?”

He wouldn’t. Obviously. The question was how to get rid of the feelings, not how to actually let Wei Wuxian know that they existed.

“I don’t know, I find sex works really well to deal with repressed emotions associated with pining.”

Lan Wangji wanted to die.

Or possibly find and bully Nie Huaisang the way he used to when he was a kid. Not that he would, of course, he was above that, and also Nie Huaisang was really good at getting revenge and he couldn’t risk that happening where Wei Wuxian might see.

“Sex is not a valid solution in all cases,” Lan Wangji’s uncle interjected.

“Ah, Qiren, Qiren. Are you still holding Hanhan against me?”

“Yes, I am. He tried to kill you.”

“So?” Lao Nie shrugged. “That describes basically everyone I ever slept with.”

“Have you ever considered that that may be part of your problem?”

“Don’t act like I’m the only one! Look at Wangji here; the first thing he noticed about this Wei Wuxian character was his excellent fighting skills – a moonlight duel on the rooftops, how romantic –”

“You don’t know what romance is –”

Lan Wangji was just going to go back to his unrequited pining.

It couldn’t be worse than having to listen to this argument again.

-

Lan Wangji was fighting frantically, but he already knew his sword would not be sufficient.

They were going to burn the library.

All those precious books..!

His uncle had already sent Lan Xichen away with the most important ones, but Lan Wangji didn’t want to lose any of them. These books had been his friends growing up, the source of his strength and the consolation in his loneliness – their pages bore silent witness to his childish tears, the imprints of his dirty fingerprints, the good times and the bad. There were books he had thumbed through a thousand times until he knew them down to the last idiosyncratic quiver in their calligraphy and books he had not yet acquainted himself with, had only seen on the shelves and thought one day. To lose them now, old friend and future friend alike, would be to break his heart.

There was a sound behind him and he spun, already tired, exhausted, and it was Wen Xu behind him, the leader of the invading Wen sect cultivators himself. He was smiling so cruelly, holding a fire talisman aloft like a flare, knowing that Lan Wangji wouldn’t make it in time to stop him –

A hand wrapped itself around Wen Xu’s wrist from behind, freezing the motion.

Freezing not just him, but all the Wen cultivators around him, each one of their faces twisting in horror as they realized that a cultivator dressed in astere mourning white that might be mistaken for the colors of the Lan sect had managed to get through their forces to stand at their master’s side, even if his hands were empty of any weapon.

Their horror quickly turned to agony, and then nothing at all, as the reconstituted Jiwei flew through the air, battering through their swords with overwhelming force and piercing their bodies, as vicious and free as if she were alive – there was nothing that quite compared to the Nie sect’s fierce sabers when unleashed at the beck and call of their masters, a weapon against which regular spiritual weapons had difficulty holding up.

With their bodies fell their fire talismans, their flares, and suddenly Lan Wangji felt hope thudding in his chest: one man could not change the tide of war, but he could change the course of a single battle, especially if he could convince Wen Xu to order a retreat.

If Wen Xu ordered a retreat now –

The library would survive.

“Tell Hanhan that Lao Nie said ‘hello’,” Lao Nie said in Wen Xu’s ear – his face was as pale as a ghost in the fire and moonlight, his lips red as blood and his smile full of viciousness like a slash across his face –and with a single twist he snapped the bone of Wen Xu’s wrist.

-

“It really isn’t me!” Wei Wuxian protested. “For one thing, didn’t the sightings of old Sect Leader Nie start before I took up demonic cultivation?”

“I don’t think it was you that did it,” Nie Mingjue said, not for the first time. His eyes kept flickering around the room as if seeking help, and his expression, to those that did not know him well, was stormy; Wei Wuxian saw this and clearly panicked, continuing to try to explain.

To those that did know Nie Mingjue well, it was immediately obvious that he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Lan Xichen sympathized.

It wasn’t Wei Wuxian’s fault that it served their purposes for the moment to have it be thought that Lao Nie was a spectre arisen from his grave in search of personal vengeance on Wen Ruohan – it was certainly causing Wen Ruohan no end of agony, judging by the way his strategy got a lot less rational and a lot more frenzied whenever Lao Nie put in an appearance – and if he was even slightly more discreet a personality, they would have simply brought him in on the secret already.

They were planning to – Lan Wangji had insisted, looking pained on his secret beloved’s behalf (secret in the sense that Wei Wuxian didn’t know about it, not secret in the sense that everyone else in their small family knew about it) – but they hadn’t had a chance. Lao Nie had insisted on being there to make things clear, since apparently he’d accidentally-on-purpose bumped into Wei Wuxian a few times in the Cloud Recesses while masquerading as a Lan sect elder so that he could evaluate his nephew-by-proxy’s crush, and he hadn’t yet arrived.

Which led to the current situation of Wei Wuxian being earnest and Nie Mingjue attempting to send mental smoke signals to Nie Huaisang in an effort to have the latter rescue him.

To no one’s surprise, Nie Huaisang was being no help at all.

In fact, his occasional well-timed sobs of “Wei-xiong! I thought we were friends! My father’s corpse! How could you?!” were in fact making things notably worse.

“I didn’t! I really didn’t!” Wei Wuxian yowled.

Lan Xichen was not going to laugh.

He wasn’t.

-

“And who’s to say the Yiling Patriarch won’t try to take charge of the Nie sect, too..?”

“Well, for one thing, I’m actually alive,” Lao Nie said loudly, and Lan Xichen flinched at first before relaxing. He’d forgotten, somehow, that Lao Nie had been the most shameless member of the last generation; it was no surprise that he, who could be as blunt as his son when he wanted to be, would address the whispered rumors drifting around them directly and without pretense. “Wei Wuxian may be a demonic cultivator who created a conscious fierce corpse, but no one has yet suggested with any plausibility that his abilities extend to living people who were just in hiding – which is a good thing, given how many people here would fall into that categorization.”

There was an awkward silence.

Sect Leader Jin coughed. “No one is suggesting that you’re Wei Wuxian’s puppet, Lao Nie,” he said, even though someone had very clearly been suggesting exactly that and if anyone believed that they had done so within Sect Leader Jin’s home without his knowledge then Lan Xichen was worried about what else they’d be willing to believe. “We’re merely expressing concern regarding his increasingly reckless actions – and on behalf of the Wen sect, no less! Especially with him having custody of such a powerful tool as the Tiger Seal, it is a little suspicious…”

“Wait, are you suggesting that you think Wei Wuxian has been possessed?” Lao Nie said. “By Hanhan? That’s ridiculous; they’re nothing alike. Wei Wuxian attended the hunt at Phoenix Mountain and didn’t hit on me once, there’s no way Hanhan is possessing him.”

Sect Leader Jin’s eye twitched.

Lan Xichen did not smile, but it was a challenge. Truly there was no one quite like Lao Nie when he was in full swing.

“Still, if people are having that sort of nonsense float around, I think it makes perfect sense for me to go check up on him to see how he’s doing,” Lao Nie continued. “I’m a respected member of the previous generation, and no one knows Hanhan better than me. Better still, I’ll take Qiren with me; we’ll make a holiday of it – it’s the least we deserve, really, now that we’re both retired sect leaders.”

“I suppose it would be more appropriate to send someone removed from active politics,” Lan Qiren said, voice a little toneless and neutral as always. “That would allow us to avoid any unfortunate implications that other sects were seeking to utilize the bad reputation of demonic cultivation to extract the Tiger Seal for their own purposes.”

Lan Xichen’s uncle was a renowned teacher, but equally well known for his inability to read the subtle nuances in social situations – no one else could have gotten away with just saying that when everyone was painfully aware that it was the subtext of Sect Leader Jin’s actions.

Though, actually, it was possible his uncle just hadn’t realized it was, in fact, meant to be subtext.

“I think that makes perfect sense,” Lan Xichen interjected before Sect Leader Jin – or Jin Guangyao, for that matter – could say anything. His sworn brother had never entirely forgiven Lao Nie for showing up at the last possible moment to murder Wen Ruohan personally before he could claim his head himself, even though the fame he had won for being their spy had still been sufficient to get him a spot in the Jin family, and as a result he was inclined to use his clever tongue to oppose Lao Nie just because he could. “Sect Leader Jiang, Wei Wuxian is a member of your sect, and therefore you have primary charge of him. Would you be willing to take Lao Nie and my uncle with you when you go to see him to act as impartial judges?”

“But I don’t want to be a third wheel on their old people sex honeymoon!” Jiang Cheng blurted out.

There was another moment of silence, and then Lao Nie burst out in howling laughter.

Nie Mingjue followed suit only an instant behind him, and of course once Nie Mingjue was laughing then there was no hope for Lan Xichen; he’d never been able to resist Nie Mingjue’s laughter, so rare after he’d become sect leader. Within moments, the tense atmosphere Sect Leader Jin had so carefully cultivated had been utterly shattered and the entire room was sobbing with hilarity, excluding only Lan Qiren who was scowling at all of them and Lan Wangji whose laughter was entirely in the way his eyes were crinkled in the corners.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” Lan Qiren said icily as his former student cowered in front of him. “I will have you know that Lao Nie and I are not in a sexual relationship –”  

“Wait, you’re not?” Sect Leader Jin blurted out, clearly despite himself, and that just set the whole room off again.

-

“Welcome to the Unclean Realm,” Lao Nie said.

“Since when do former sect leaders act to greet people at the door?” Wei Wuxian said, grinning at him: they had gotten on splendidly ever since the whole ‘did I resurrect you from the dead by accident’ question had resolved, and Lao Nie helping him out of the tough spot with the Wen sect by arranging his marriage to Lan Wangji had sealed his approval of him forever.

That was why he was arriving with the Lan sect delegation, after all, although Jiang Cheng had kicked his heels around at the entrance in order to ambush him – he wanted to ask some questions about Jiang Yanli’s upcoming wedding plans – and of course the Jin sect had gotten suspicious that they were up to something and waited as well so they were now coming in as one big group.

At least it gave Lan Xichen some time to chat with Jin Guangyao, who seemed much happier to be spending time away from the rest of his family; based on what he’d overheard of their conversation, they were scheming to get Nie Mingjue to relax a bit more and let his father temporarily take up sect leader duties again now that he and Lan Qiren were spending half the year at the Unclean Realm.  

“I’m on punishment duty,” Lao Nie said, looking delighted by it.

Which, hey, seemed weird, but based on everything Lan Wangji had told him about the former sect leader Nie (and his own mysterious ‘eldest uncle’, as he’d been known while he was at the Lan sect) and his former exploits, it seemed very in character for the man. And, well, Wei Wuxian wasn’t really in any position to throw stones…

“Eldest Uncle,” Lan Xichen said, looking over. “Did you do something to irritate Uncle again?”

“I didn’t! It was something different, actually, which I’m not at liberty to disclose to you.”

Oh, now Wei Wuxian was curious, and so was everyone else – Jiang Cheng sent him a ‘you don’t have shame, why don’t you ask’ sort of look at once – and since he did not, in fact, have shame, he asked, “Are you sure? What could it possibly be that you did?”

“Oh, Xiao Nie knows what he did,” an old woman in Nie sect colors said as she passed by. “And he’s going to stand there until he admits that he was wrong.”

“I’ll be here until I collapse,” Lao Nie explained proudly, but by that point everyone had stopped caring about whatever new thing he’d done in light of the newest twist.

“Did she just call you Xiao Nie?” Jiang Cheng said, sounding betrayed.

“…yes? She’s my great-grandaunt, she can call me anything she likes?”

“It’s just wrong,” Wei Wuxian agreed. “Isn’t it just wrong?”

“It is a bit wrong,” Jin Zixuan said, looking perturbed.

“Very wrong, even,” Lan Xichen said. “I didn’t know anyone did that.”

“No one does,” Lao Nie said. “Now stop gossiping and go inside already!”

“They say married couples start to act like each other,” Wei Wuxian said to Lan Wangji, who looked amused. “There really seems to be some truth to it – do you think he’ll start reciting Lan sect rules next? Ooh, or musical cultivation?”

Finding out that Lan Qiren was apparently the musical cultivation equivalent of a mad scientist in his spare time had been the happiest moment in Wei Wuxian’s life.

“Just wait until you see what Uncle is like when he’s drunk,” Lan Wangji said, and stop. What?

That was a thing?

Wei Wuxian had to make that happen right away.

[mtreebeardiles]

Touching Prompt #34: washing the other’s body

I decided I'd challenge myself a bit with this one and give some Turians a try. Thanks for the request/helping me get out of that block!

Also on AO3

Suit VI screeching a warning as the distortion blast ripped through his armor and Avitus's first thought was well, shit.

The second may have been ow as the follow-up attack further sundered his armor all the way down to the undersuit, a hail of bullets finding their marks to the softer, less protected hide below, but he didn't give himself time to dwell on it. Flash of an omni-tool followed by the relief of medi-gel and painkillers and he had enough presence of mind to hurl the last of his grenades towards the Eclipse merc prepping for another biotic assault, blinding her and her buddies long enough to slip away.

Mission parameters shifted from confiscate contraband to get out of this warehouse alive.

Wedging his body between two shipping containers a moment to collect himself and formulate a plan, Avitus chanced a glance up, way up, to the high windows that offered a slice of the Illium skyline beyond. A fancy, clean, white-collar sort of place on the surface presented a convincing façade to those who didn't know better. For all Omega was dirt and filth and desperation, it was honest about what it was, and the one Avitus preferred of the two. He had little patience for puffery, and even less for corporate conniving.

He probably should have thought about that before agreeing to this assignment.

He'd become less choosy in the jobs he took, less invested in the why's presented by the Council and more interested in the where's and when's and how's, the what's another means to an end. What that end was, he still wasn't sure, but work was work and he needed it, needed that focus to his thoughts before they drifted, before the questions came back, the doubts, an echoing cacophony at the edges of his thoughts --

--Spectre Everett Shepard has asserted Spectre Saren Arterius murdered Spectre Nihlis Kyrik --

--Confirmed: former Spectre Saren Arterius has been killed --

Avitus shook his head. Thoughts of the reports would only conjure up thoughts of his deceased friends, and it was a long, agonizing route downward from there. He didn't have time for it.

Calling up his omni-tool, he tapped out a quick message, shorthand, an exchange of information in a language he'd developed with the one friend who had been there when everything else had fallen apart around him.

Was in the market for a vacation home on that hoity-toity Asari planet -- you know the one. Suggestions?

No contact information, no tracers, the message self-erasing upon successful delivery. He didn't have to wait long for the response, thank the Spirits, memorizing the coordinates sent before these, too, deleted.

----

"You know, maybe an actual vacation wouldn't be a bad idea."

Avitus grunted as hands moved to steady him, the door to the safe house whirring shut behind him, locks re-engaging.

"You can get alcohol with tiny umbrellas just about anywhere if you look hard enough."

This response earned him a huff of laughter, and he felt his shoulders relax for the first time in months.

"I didn't realize you were in town," he went on as the other Turian carefully guided him through the space. Harsh light overhead revealed he was being led to the bathroom.

"I was in the neighborhood," Macen Barro replied lightly. "Sit."

Avitus said nothing as he did as he was bid, though he couldn't help the flare of his mandibles as he regarded the man before him. Macen was an old friend, one he'd met and made back in bootcamp what felt like a lifetime ago. A good soldier, but unconventional, with a tendency to run his mouth when he would have been better off staying quiet. Black ops had been a natural fit for him, restrictions looser and better suited to someone with his skillset of stealth and sabotage. Not too unlike Avitus himself, and he rather thought he would have followed Macen to Black Ops if Saren hadn't handpicked him for Spectre candidacy.

Avitus swallowed, willing thoughts of his old mentor away, and refocused on the armor Macen was carefully peeling off his body.

The damage was worse under the cruel lights of the bathroom, their sharp glare highlighting the scope of what his armor had been subjected to. A hiss as the final piece was stripped away, dark blue blood blossoming on his undersuit, and Macen's own mandibles twitched in concern.

"I'm going to need to take all of this off," he began, eyes flicking up to meet Avitus's. Avitus was already nodding, seeing the necessity of it. Illium might pretend to be clean, but its warehouses were just as dirty as their corporate dealings. Avitus wasn't interested in an infection.

"Do it," he verbalized, knowing Macen was waiting for the words. It was rare for a Turian to be completely stripped down, bearing the more vulnerable parts of their bodies even in private. The carapace that offered some level of protection around their heads and shoulders softened over the belly and at the joints, the same lightness that gave Turians greater speed than other species offering weak points easily exploited if not sufficiently guarded.

"Can you stand?"

Macen's hands on him were gentle and he swallowed, pushing the surge of other thoughts away as firmly as he had those of his dead compatriots. It was harder with Macen right there, Avitus's eyes drawn to the curve of the other's clan markings, the burning blue of his eyes, the way his mandibles twitched with obvious care and worry as he assessed the damage to Avitus's body. Hard not to lose himself in the idea of being seen, a safe spot in the light carved out by their history and things unsaid thrumming below the surface and --

-- don't go there, Rix.

Macen's eyes flicked up to his, mandibles pulling in tight a moment. "Think you can stand on your own to shower?"

It was a valid question. He wanted to say no, wanted to accept the help Macen was clearly offering, but the feelings he had for the other Turian were hard enough to force down as it was. So he shook his head, stepped away from those careful, gentle hands -- and nearly fell on his face.

Macen caught him with arms looped around his waist, a hand steady on his chest, and Avitus's blood was surging through his veins, his distracted thoughts of Macen Macen Macen interrupted by thank god for Medi-gel.

A quiet laugh, and he could feel Macen shake his head. "You know, stubbornness is liable to get you hurt one of these days."

"I already am hurt," Avitus retorted gruffly, infinitely grateful that Turians, unlike humans, couldn't blush.

"Is that from stubbornness or a miscalculation in your mission?"

"They weren't supposed to be there," he grumbled.

Another quiet laugh, and Avitus felt himself relaxing in spite of himself. Macen rearranged his hold on him, supporting him over to the shower stall.

"So that's how you got hurt? Clerical error?"

"Basically."

Macen started the water, checking the temperature before helping Avitus under the spray. The other man stepped away long enough to remove the upper portion of his own armor, leaving him in his undersuit for greater mobility as he returned to help his wounded friend.

"I do wish you'd be a bit more particular in the sorts of jobs you take, Avi," Macen murmured, and Avitus swallowed at the nickname. Two-syllables, a simplification of his given name, should not have had the effect they did, but wrapped in Macen's voice, murmured just so, and he thought maybe he better understood the humans and their brittle knees when it came to objects of affection. "Corporate bullshit isn't your usual bag."

"Maybe I'm just branching out, stretching my legs."

"More liable to get them blow off. These white-collar fucks play dirty with the mercs they hire to protect their shit."

Avitus merely grunted, watching as the other Turian disengaged the showerhead's detachable wand to run the water with greater focus over the worst of his wounds. The pressure was gentle enough to not hurt, blue blood sliding off his skin to swirl around the drain at their feet.

"It's not so bad," he began, trailing off as Macen sighed. Quiet save for the running water fell between them, Macen gently sponging him with soap next before another rinse.

"I'm getting worried about you, Avi," the other Turian admitted once he had him seated again. He knelt to better towel him off, having left to grab the medkit from the wall opposite first.

"I'm fine, Macen."

And maybe it was blood loss and pain and memories of friends too difficult to think of anymore, but the sight of Macen's shoulders tensing, mandibles fluttering in clear agitation, were too much for Avitus to take in that moment. He wasn't sure what he was doing, exactly, only that he had to do something, offer some sort of reassurance, and his hands were moving, talons as gentle on Macen's chin as Macen's had been on his wounded body. He tilted his head up, and Macen didn't resist, blue eyes smoldering with the words Avi was still too scared to say.

He rested his head against his, heard a different sort of sigh, and murmured, "I'm okay, Macen. I'm going to be okay."