#does that not fill everyone with unending dread?

[ja3yun]

touch me and see | l.hs

boyfriend!heeseung x girlfriend!reader

warnings: smut (mdni), fingering, oral (f.rec), cum eating, overstimulation, they are tooth rottingly in love, but heeseung is commanding, not proof read, anything else lmk!

w.c: 4.6k

REQ: i can't, for the love of God, stop thinking about how heeseung will lose his damn mind if his girlfriend were to take his hand and slip it inside her panties while telling him how needy she is for him. Like. Please you have to write something about this. 🤲

a/n: hi! this was probably not what you were wanting and i can only apologise. after reading and writing about dom men for the better part of a week i needed some fluff and romance! hope you like it <3 also, i'm working through requests so please be patient with me, i am trying my best 🙏🏻

Walking through the door, Heeseung places his shoes haphazardly at the entrance of your shared apartment, the clambering of them echoing in the tiny foyer. Typically, you are home by now, and the familiarity of this daily routine never fails to warm his heart. You have been dating for a few years, and nothing brings him more joy than coming home to you, even though he does it every day. The anticipation of seeing you, feeling your presence, and sharing the quiet moments together fills him with a sense of comfort and belonging that he cherishes deeply.

Heeseung's eyes scan the cosy living room, landing on you nestled on the couch, a book in hand. A soft smile spreads across his face, his heart swelling with love and contentment. He quietly walks over to you, his footsteps almost silent on the carpet, not wanting to disrupt your peaceful moment but eager to be close to you. As he reaches you, he gently wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you into a warm, tender embrace.

You feel the familiar weight and warmth of his arms around you, and your heart skips a beat. The scent of his cologne, mingled with the faint trace of his day, envelops you, grounding you in the moment. Heeseung leans down, his lips brushing against the nape of your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses along your skin. Each kiss sends a shiver down your spine, a sweet reminder of the love and passion that has grown and never dimmed between you over the years.

"Hi, baby. I missed you," he murmurs against your neck, his voice low and filled with emotion. His arms tighten around you slightly, as if he's afraid to let go. The sincerity in his words touches you deeply, and you can feel the depth of his affection and the genuine happiness he feels being with you.

Turning slightly in his embrace, you tilt your head to look up at him, meeting his warm, adoring gaze. You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing softly against his skin. "I missed you too," you whisper, your voice carrying the same depth of emotion. It’s a bit over the top for most people, to be so in love with one another that you miss each other even only for approximately 12 hours, but it suits you both just fine.

Heeseung leans down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, pouring all his love and devotion into the simple yet profound gesture. The kiss is soft, slow, and filled with the unspoken promise of many more years of shared moments and unending love. As you pull away, he places one final kiss on the top of your head before circling the couch and sitting next to you. 

You wedge your bookmark between the pages and place the book on your lap, giving your full attention to your boyfriend. “How was your day?”

Sighing, he rubs his forehead hard enough to leave a faint red mark. “Stressful, I had to basically run after everyone’s mistakes and then somehow I got the blame.” 

Being an office worker is either the easiest job in the world or the hardest. Most days, it’s fucking dreadful since the company decided to hire people who either know nothing at all and mess up the accounts, or people who think they know it all and still mess up the accounts. When he started, he loved his job, it was a nice and simple 9-5 with little stress, even so much so that he could often call you at random points in the day just to see how you were doing. 

But now companies have merged, new staff are useless, his boss is on holiday for 2 months to go back home to Australia, life is just miserable in the office. 

Seeing his frustration, you scoot a bit closer, taking his hand in yours and kissing the back of it, the way you always do in situations like this. He doesn’t need you to come up with solutions or tell him lies like everything will be okay. The subtle gesture of your lips on his skin and your thumb running across his knuckles is enough to ease the discomfort in his bones.

“You should take a vacation once Jaeyun is back, we can go and do something fun,” you suggest, knowing that without Heeseung and his boss, the company would go up in flames. 

Pouting softly, he shakes his head, “I only have 2 days of annual leave left and I’m using it for your birthday.”

“But you’ve been working all these extra hours, days even. Surely you can get some back and we can go on a city trip somewhere?” you insist, your eyes filled with a hopeful sparkle.

Leaning in, Heeseung kisses your lips tenderly, sharing his gratefulness and love for your concern for him. Never in his life did he imagine someone would care this much about him, especially because he knows you will drop all your studying to make sure you can go on this hypothetical trip. The kiss is gentle yet deep, conveying all the emotions he struggles to put into words. When he pulls back, his eyes linger on your face, taking in the worry and affection that mirrors his own feelings.

Heeseung squeezes your hand and sits back to his original position on the couch. “Nah, that’s including me taking time back. You know how stingy the company is with time off.” He smiles, trying to reassure you, though he feels a pang of guilt for the tiny white lie. The real reason he’s been working every extra shift and covering for others is something he can’t share just yet - it would spoil the surprise he’s been meticulously planning for over a year.

You concede, knowing how hard-working Heeseung is and that pushing the matter might end up in one of you sleeping on the couch you’re currently sitting on. If there is one thing he could argue to the death about, it’s about how he can handle work and everything in between quite fine on his own.

“Alright, but promise me you’ll take it easy. I don’t want you to be exhausted when you come home or on the days off you have.”

“I promise,” Heeseung replies, pulling you closer. He runs his fingers through your hair, his touch soothing and familiar. “For you.”

Rolling your eyes, you whack his hand away playfully before joining it with yours once again. “No, for you, not for me. You need to look after yourself because you want to.” He has a bad habit of neglecting himself and only listening to you and never his body; it’s a curse to the admirable hard-working part of him.

Heeseung chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks at you fondly. “Okay, okay. I’ll take care of myself because I want to,” he says, though he knows that your happiness will always be his first priority. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “So, how was your day?”

You settle against the couch, leaning your head on your free hand as you place your arm on the back cushion, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “It was good. I studied most of the morning, trying to get ahead on my assignments. Then, I just spent some time reading. It was nice to relax a bit.”

Heeseung smiles, his heart warming at the thought of you finding some time for yourself amidst your busy schedule. “What are you reading?” he asks, spotting the book on your lap and tilting his head in curiosity.

Your eyes widen in embarrassment as you realise the cover of the book is clearly visible. It's a smutty romance novel, the kind with a particularly steamy cover illustration that leaves little to the imagination; your typical brute man in black and white, the kind you see middle-aged mums reading poolside on their Tenerife holiday. Quickly, you try to hide it, but it’s too late. Heeseung’s gaze follows your movements, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh, this looks…interesting,” he teases, reaching out to gently take the book from your hands. “A little light reading, huh?”

Your cheeks flush a deep shade of red, and you cover your face with your hands, groaning. “It’s not what you think,” you mumble from behind your hands, though you both know it’s exactly what he thinks. You curse horny authors for not picking more subtle covers.

Heeseung laughs warmly and shakes his head, dismissing your embarrassment, “Everyone has a hobby,” he reassures you. The thing about your boyfriend is that he will never make you feel shame for anything you do, even if it is the most cringy, despicable act like that one time you tried to whistle note like Ariana Grande at karaoke - he will only encourage you. It’s one of the many, many reasons you fell in love with him. 

Flicking through some of the pages, his eyes land on probably the most graphic and detailed sex scene he has ever read, granted, he might have only ever read one in his life and Fifty Shades of Grey for half an hour while waiting for a doctor's appointment might not be very adventurous on his part. 

He looks at you and pouts, waving the book about in the air. “Is this what I have to compete with? Whips and feathers?” He feigns being disappointed, hiding the lingering smirk that is currently fighting its way onto his face.

You shake your head ferociously, eyes wide and mouth open. “No, no, no. I like you just the way you are, trust me,” you plead with him. He loves it when you play along with him in his upset skit, usually because you end up complimenting him way more than normal, which is like music to his ears.

Sucking in a breath, he juts his bottom lip as he looks at the book once again, his hand easily gripping its edges. The book looks so small when he holds it, like it’s part of the mini-brand series. His long fingers, slightly calloused from work, wrap around the cover with a casual strength that makes your pulse quicken.

Heeseung notices the way your eyes fixate on his hands, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You sure? I mean, these guys in the book seem pretty...intense,” he teases, his tone light but his eyes darkening with a flicker of lust.

Your breath catches as you watch his fingers trace the spine of the book absentmindedly. The sight of his hands - so strong, so capable - starts to stir a familiar heat within you. You bite your lip, trying to focus on his words, but your mind keeps wandering to thoughts of those hands on you, exploring, caressing.

“Heeseung,” you murmur, your voice a little shaky, “you don’t need any of that stuff. You’re perfect just the way you are.” Your words are sincere, but you can’t help the flush that creeps up your neck as your thoughts continue to race.

Heeseung catches the change in your tone, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. He sets the book aside, his full attention now on you. “Oh?” he says, his voice dropping an octave as he leans in closer, his hand coming up to gently cup your chin. “Perfect, huh?”

Taking hold of his hand, you nod quickly, suddenly dipping his hand into the waistband of your lounge shorts and past your underwear, to let him feel just exactly what he does to you, how you’re only needy for him and no one else. Sometimes, you even imagine that it’s him in the books, replacing the CEO and Cowboy faces with your boyfriend’s.

Heeseung’s eyes darken, his breath catching as he feels the evidence of your desire for him. His gaze locks onto yours, a predatory smirk forming on his lips. “Is this how you feel when you think about me? This isn’t because of that guy in the book?” he murmurs, his voice husky and thick with desire. His fingers move deliberately, exploring your softness with a slow, teasing touch.

"It's all you," you whisper, breath leaving your lungs thanks to his fingers, "I get wet thinking about you, especially when you aren't here."

His smirk deepens, and his fingers start to move with more purpose, sliding through your slick folds and finding your sensitive bud with expert precision. “Really?” he murmurs, his voice a dangerous mix of lust and amusement. “Baby, I must have kept you waiting a really long time today then, hmm?” His tone is mocking, clearly enjoying how desperate you’ve become.

The heat from his fingers and his teasing words send shivers down your spine, and you’re so consumed by lust that you haven’t even realised that he’s stopped moving his fingers. Instead, your hips are thrusting desperately against his hand, seeking release as you grind against his touch.

Heeseung’s eyes gleam with desire as he watches you. The sight of you, so lost in need and writhing for him, drives him wild. He loves seeing you like this, your body reacting instinctively to his touch, your pleasure so palpable that it’s almost overwhelming.

“You really are a mess,” he growls, his voice a blend of admiration and raw dominance. “Look at you, so needy and desperate. Does it feel that good, baby?” His words are both teasing and tender, a testament to how well he knows you and what makes you tick. Heeseung’s ability to seamlessly blend tenderness with dominance is one of the many things that make him irresistible to you.

In these moments, he becomes something more than just your boyfriend; he’s a reflection of the deep, unwavering love and respect he has for you. The way he takes charge, guiding you with a gentle but commanding hand, shows just how deeply he cares. He’s not just fulfilling your desires; he’s elevating them, giving you a glimpse of the infinite affection and lust he holds for you.

Heeseung is the epitome of devotion, the kind of man who can turn a simple touch into an expression of endless love. His respect for you is limitless, but when you become this vulnerable and needy, he flips a switch fueled by desire. It’s a delicate balance he maintains effortlessly; he can love you softly and tenderly or take you with a fierce intensity, always attuned to what you need and want.

You moan in response, your words tangled in the throes of overwhelming pleasure. All you can do is wriggle and gasp, your movements growing more frantic as you chase the release that feels just out of reach. “Heeseung...please,” you manage to whimper, your voice breaking with the raw intensity of your need.

Heeseung’s fingers don’t relent. Instead, they delve deeper into your panties, his middle finger now gently tapping at your entrance with teasing precision. His touch is maddeningly light, barely brushing against your sensitive opening, creating a maddening contrast to the desperate pleasure you’re craving. The sensation sends shivers through your body, making your hips buck instinctively towards his hand.

Heeseung’s eyes stare into your desperate ones. “Please what, baby?” he murmurs, his voice thick with both affection and a seductive edge. “Tell me exactly what you need. I want to hear it from you.”

The demand in his voice just adds to your frustration. You can feel the heat accumulating between your legs, and your body's response is becoming increasingly urgent. "I need you…" you declare, the words tumbling out between gasps. "I need you to make me cum."

“Is that what your little book boys do?” he teases, prodding at your sobbing entrance as you whine out, almost crying out in need.

“Shut up, I told you, you’re the only one I need.” you screw your eyes shut, agonisingly frustrated by his underlying jealousy, no matter if he is being serious or not. You need him to touch you and you want it now. 

Heeseung’s finger finally slips inside you, and you gasp as he fills you with a slow, deliberate push. The sensation is both intense and exhilarating, the warmth of his finger adding a layer of pleasure you’ve been yearning for. He starts to move with a slow, steady rhythm, his touch both tender and commanding as he finds your most sensitive spots.

“Like this?” he asks, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper as he curls his finger, seeking out the spot that makes you mewl. He continues to caress your clit with his thumb, adding to the overwhelming pleasure.

You can only moan in response, your head dropping on his shoulder as your body responds eagerly to his touch. Each movement, each stroke sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, pushing you closer to the edge.

Heeseung’s movements are torturously slow as he adds another digit, each thrust of his fingers inside you measured and deliberate. He curves them expertly, finding that sweet spot deep within you and pressing against it, making your whole body shudder with pleasure. His thumb never ceases its flicking motion on your clit, sending jolts of electricity coursing through you.

Gripping his arm for support, your chest heaves as he presses his fingers roughly to a very sensitive area inside your cunt, the spongy surface melding itself around your boyfriend’s fingers as he holds down on it. If your body were a map, Heeseung had studied and explored every part of it, memorising your X spots with ease. It’s the reason you’re already starting to see those stars behind your eyes.

Heeseung’s breath is hot against your neck, and you can feel his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “You’re so beautiful when you’re like this.” His voice is a tantalising blend of tenderness and authority, sending shivers down your spine.

He pulls your head to look at him, and you meet his gaze through flickering eyes, fighting the urge to succumb to your pleasure. "Look at me," he commands softly, his voice a low growl that makes your toes curl and shoulders straighten despite the difficulty of the request. His fingers start to move faster, pumping in and out of you with an unrelenting rhythm, your body arching towards him.

Your hands scramble for something to hold onto, one hand finding purchase on the couch cushion while the other grips at his shirt. Your knuckles turn white as you cling, trying to anchor yourself against the overwhelming sensations. Heeseung’s fingers work you mercilessly, the slick sound of your wetness mingling with your desperate moans and his heavy breathing.

Although you’re slipping into a cum-atose, your eyes never leave his, still abiding by his previous request. His face is smug as he strains, putting immense effort into finger fucking you, his arm working overtime as he rapidly rams his fingers in and out of you the way you like it. 

If there is one thing Heeseung is going to do, it’s please his girl. And by the look on your face and the jittering of your hips, he would say you’re sufficiently pleased.

Yet, he notices how you’re holding your breath and clenching your jaw. “Baby? What are you holding back for?” he asks, his voice softening with concern even as his fingers maintain their relentless pace.

“I... I can’t...” you manage to gasp out, the intensity of the pleasure making it hard to form words. Your body is trembling, teetering on the brink of release, but something is holding you back. Maybe it’s the idea of not having his fingers once you cum, knowing that they can’t live in you forever - sadly.

Heeseung's eyes darken with determination. “Let go,” he commands, his voice a deep growl. “I want to feel you cum all over my fingers.”

His words ignite a wildfire of desire within you, the coil inside you winding tighter with each passing second. Heeseung's thumb presses down harder on your clit, moving in swift, precise circles that send electric waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours with tenderness despite the relentless scissoring of his fingers. “Let it happen. Don’t hold back.”

With a strangled cry, you surrender, the tension in your body unravelling all at once. Your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tsunami, your entire being convulsing as waves of ecstasy radiate from your core. Your grip on his shirt tightens, nails accidentally digging into his skin as you scream his name, your walls clenching around his fingers. “Heeseung, fuck!”

Heeseung watches you with a blend of satisfaction and awe, his fingers maintaining their relentless rhythm to prolong your orgasm. The pleasure borders on overwhelming, your hips bucking uncontrollably as you ride the intense ripple of euphoria.

"That's it, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the intensity of his movements. He peppers kisses all over your face and neck, constantly reminding you of reality as your brain gets lost in your high. When Heeseung makes you cum, it’s like you go into your own version of subspace, not quite out of it to the point of unconsciousness but just out of it enough to forget your surroundings.

When he’s fucking you, it’s a lot worse.

As your body starts to relax, the tremors subsiding, Heeseung gently withdraws his fingers, making sure not to cause any discomfort. He brings his glistening fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum, his eyes never leaving your shaking form. The taste of you is his absolute favourite thing and this sample isn’t enough for him, not when you have a whole pool of it between your legs.

"You did so well for me," he whispers, his voice filled with warmth and pride. He places a tender kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering as if to imprint his affection into your skin.

Gently, Heeseung manoeuvres you, his strong arms effortlessly guiding you to lie back on the couch. His movements are careful, almost reverent, as he shifts your weight, ensuring you’re comfortable. You feel the cool leather against your back, a stark contrast to the heat still radiating from your body.

Heeseung’s hands move to your shorts. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says softly, his voice a soothing murmur. His eyes are filled with a loving tenderness as he slowly slides your shorts down your legs, the fabric gliding over your skin.

He places your shorts aside, his gaze returning to your exposed form with a mixture of adoration and desire. Heeseung leans in, his lips brushing against your inner thigh in a series of feather-light kisses that send shivers down your spine. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against your skin, his breath warm and tantalising.

Heeseung's breath hitches slightly, his eyes darkening with an intense mix of lust and adoration as he takes in the sight before him. "You’re fucking gorgeous, baby," he murmurs, his voice a low, reverent whisper for only you to hear. He trails the tips of his fingers over your thighs, tracing delicate patterns as he slowly lowers himself to the other side of the couch, his breath caressing your skin with each exhale.

He starts at your ankles, placing tender, lingering kisses along your calves, his lips soft and worshipful. His hands follow the path of his mouth, massaging and caressing, as if he’s committing every inch of you to memory. As he moves higher, his kisses become more deliberate, his mouth seeking out the sensitive spots that make you shiver and sigh.

Heeseung’s lips finally find the juncture of your thighs, his breath hot and heavy against your most intimate area. He pauses, looking up at you with a gaze so filled with adoration that it makes your heart flutter. "You’re so perfect," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He places a gentle kiss just above your core, eliciting a gasp from your lips.

Heeseung's tongue darts out, teasing your folds with feather-light strokes, his touch tender and unhurried. "I love the way you taste," he continues, his eyes locked onto your face, filled with adoration. "I could do this forever."

“You do, somedays,” you manage to meek out, chest gasping out a laugh even though you’re head is still spinning.

His tongue laves over your entrance, collecting your essence with a deliberate, sensual grace as he cleans you up. Each movement is slow and careful, designed to draw out your pleasure and keep you on the edge of sensitivity. Heeseung hums in satisfaction, the vibrations sending delicious tremors through your core. "So sweet," he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin. "I can’t get enough of you."

Heeseung’s tongue delves deeper, exploring you with a gentle yet thorough intensity. His strokes are varied, alternating between languid licks and playful flicks, each one causing your breath to hitch and your body to arch involuntarily. 

Your boyfriend loves to eat pussy, more specifically your pussy. It’s like a drug to him, a fountain of pure delicious nectar that he needs to be devouring. It calms him down and riles him up all at once. If he’s having a bad day, sometimes he won’t even speak, just carry you to your bedroom and eat you out for hours. It doesn’t even have to be rushed or end with you crying out for him to stop, there are times he’ll simply lick to taste you while asking you about your day.

Men say they love giving head, but no one quite likes it as much as Heeseung does.

That’s why he will say he’s ‘cleaning you up’ when in actual fact, he’s just drinking you dry so he can cause another billow of your juices to flow straight onto his tongue.

Heeseung’s lips close around your clit, sucking gently while his tongue swirls in a rhythm that has your toes curling and your hands gripping the couch. The sensations are overwhelming, and your body is hypersensitive from your previous climax.

“Heeseung, it’s too much,” you whine out as your thighs threaten to crush his head with force as they suffocate his ears.

He can feel the tension building within you again, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he continues his loving assault. The pressure from your leg pillows mixed with the taste of fresh fluids beginning to flow into his mouth has his eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

Feeling for your hands, he interlocks yours with his as he begins to slurp you up with more vigour, the lewd noises roaming around your apartment like a song on the radio, the familiar tune bouncing off the walls as they increase with volume.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum again, baby,” you warn him, the information sending a thrill of excitement through his spine.

With a final, skilful circle of his tongue, you’re sent spiralling into another climax, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. Heeseung doesn’t stop, his mouth tenderly working you through the aftershocks, his tongue cleaning up every drop of your release with reverent devotion.

As your tremors finally subside, Heeseung pulls back, his lips and chin glistening with your essence. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "Perfect," he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper. He leans over you, capturing your lips in a kiss that tastes of you, sealing the moment with a promise of love and devotion. "You’re everything to me," he whispers against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. "Absolutely everything."

He wraps your legs in a nearby blanket, tucking you in with care as your spent body finds comfort on the couch. Heeseung’s hands linger on your skin, his touch a comforting presence. “How do you feel?” he asks, his voice a soft caress, filled with genuine concern and love.

“Perfect,” you reply, your voice a contented sigh. You reach out, cupping his face in your hand, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “You make me feel perfect.”

Heeseung leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savouring the moment. He then presses a kiss to your palm, his lips warm and soft. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice filled with emotion. “And all your kinky books with men who could never compare to me.”

Tuting, you push his face away playfully, smiling so wide that it splits your face in half. “Shut up, oh my god,” you reply, your giggles high-pitched despite your exhaustion. “I love you, too.”

_____

perm taglist: @immortalvee @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21 @diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @jiminie-08 @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @ivesti @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan @dollyyun @iluvikeu @deobitifull @yawnazzz @st1llm0nster @woorcve

[chaoticallywriting]

A Merciful King ☼ Chapter One

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen II x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, minors dni! 18+, Dubious consent, non-con, breeding kink, porn with plot, virgin!reader, virgin sex, slight choking kink, vaginal fingering, creampie, unprotected p n v sex, cockwarming, Aegon loves boobies, shitty marriage? Oh and cheating.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: I originally posted this series on TheGreensWhore. Unfortunately I got shadowbanned on there so I’m reposting all of amk onto here and will be posting further chapters on here instead of there.

Synopsis: The war is over, the blacks have lost, and as Rhaenrya’s daughter it is your duty to marry a green to secure your younger brothers safety. If only Aemond paid attention to you like his brother does.

Next

Marriage has been something you spent your whole life dreaming about. A beautiful wedding with a traditional Valyrian ceremony and a reception decked out in bundles of the best flowers the realm could offer. There would be laughter ringing through the great hall as you looked upon your beloved, who would sit beside you, eyes meeting as you think of the night ahead. You had planned it to a T, even down to the bards that would at such an event, but with war comes great sacrifice and far too much suffering.

Your mother was not there for the big day, nor your father or your brothers. Instead of a joyous occasion, a somber feeling had thickly coated the day in a dreadful way that left all tense. There was no Valyrian ceremony, and the man that gave you away was practically a stranger to you as he handed you off to one of your uncles.

Upon the death of Rheanyra, Daemon, and Jacaerys Targaryen, the war finally ended with Aegon successfully staying on the throne with a smug look on his face. Your younger brothers had been locked in the nursery, for they were too young for the occasion and did not understand where their mother had gone. The poor toddlers were to grow up as orphans with the greens in their ears, plaguing their minds with lies about their parents.

And you? You were to marry Aemond Targaryen to stop the rumors of him harboring a bastard son at Harrenhal and to keep you in a cage. As Rheanrya’s oldest living child many had looked to you to continue the ghastly war that tore your family apart. But with so few dragons and a grief-stricken heart you had surrendered like the coward you were. Now you were to spend your days with a man who hated you and once teased you for your strong looks despite being in love with a strong bastard himself. Just not you.

He looked positively livid the day he found out, and all could hear Vhagar roar in anguish as he rode off on her. He did not return for quite some time before listening to the pleas of his mother and the demands of his king brother. Part of you thinks Aegon was punishing everyone for his own loveless marriage. It was no secret that Aegon was not in love with his wife, nor even particularly interested in her existence.

“You shall pay for the sins of your mother” had been a sentence passed around by many before and even after the wedding. Everyone could see the one-eyed prince's clear disdain towards you, and rumors spread quickly of an unconsummated marriage and frequent flights back to Harrenhal. Many moons dragged on as you spent your days with your brothers, trying to fill the unending void of the loveless marriage you had been forced into.

You had grown desperate as the gossip grew louder after your first anniversary, still with no child to claim as your own. You had tried many times to try to seduce Aemond whenever he visited and failed in such a humiliating manner that left a ghastly wound on your ego. Furthermore, you had once stalked these halls with pride, and now you hide away as you feel yourself slip into a deep depression that you could hardly claw yourself out of.

Maybe that’s what led to the truly idiotic plan you were currently conducting, or perhaps it had been the three glasses of dornish wine, but either way, you had become truly desperate for a change. For something to end the mockery and your torment, to finally feel a sliver of happiness again.

“My king,” you say with a shaky voice. Internally, you cringe at yourself while you stand from your curtsy, head still lowered in respect. “I was hoping to speak to you on a matter most private if you would only grant me your time.”

You had asked to speak to him in the council room but instead were told he would only see you in his chambers, which had left you with a feeling of unease. Whispers traveled throughout the land of his insatiable habits, and you only hoped your union with his brother would protect you. Or maybe even the mockery he used to cast towards you as children. As you said, you were desperate.

“My beautiful good sister, how surprising that you finally left your room. It’ll be nice to no longer hear my mother rant about your seclusion.” He says it all so cockily as he pours himself a chalice of wine and when he’s done he pours a second glass, one you can only assume will be for you.

You keep your eyes on the ground when he turns with a chalice in his hand, sipping his wine as he eyes you up and down. Your own self-conscious tendencies that came with Aemond’s constant rejection screamed at you to fold your arms around yourself, but the last of your dignity whispered not to.

“I wish to seek an annulment-” he begins to laugh, your sliver of confidence begins to crumble, “it is no secret that my marriage was never consummated. The whole keep knows it, and therefore the kingdom itself must as well. I know Alys Rivers has been gifted Harrenhal and shall soon become its Lady, I’m sure your brother wishes to be free of me when that time comes.”

You let out a deep sigh and finally meet his eyes as you take a step closer to him. “Please grant us both this kindness. I will go to Dragonstone with my brothers where we will live out the rest of our days in peace, I swear to you on my own mother's grave that I shall cause no unrest nor rebellion and all will know that I sta-”

“No” he rolls his eyes as tears well in your own, gulping down the rest of his wine he slams the chalice onto the table beside him. “My brother has spent his whole life speaking of honor and now expects us all to stand back and shame our family after such tumultuous times.” He strides towards you, causing you to stumble back with fright.

“He is my mother's favorite, always gaining praise as she shamed me for not wanting this life. Even after one of my children died, he still gained her affections over me! Even with a title such as kin slayer and even now as he blatantly abandons you and flaunts in Harrenhal! I am tired of him getting his way.”

With each word, you took a step back until you felt the cool stone wall against your back, your heart racing as he stood before you, almost nose to nose.

“I cannot be the only one wallowing in a life of misery while he gets to be happy. I will not bear this burden alone just for being born first,” he practically spits the last part out, a hand shooting up to roughly grab your jaw.

Your whimper of pain only seems to spur him on, and he inches closer, his lips almost touching yours. Something in you screams to try to run, but you don’t. There’s a weird, fiery feeling in the pit of your stomach that you’ve never felt before as his thumb traces your bottom lip.

“If it’s a consummation you wish for, then I shall be a merciful king and grant you that.” His lips crash against yours in a bruising manner. He tastes of wine, endless wine, and his hand on your jaw slides down to your neck and squeezes ever so slightly. You don’t realize you’ve stayed frozen in place until he squeezes harder, and you're brought back to reality. This man killed your mother. He smiled during her beheading, and now he’s kissing you like he’s a starving man, and you're his feast.

You struggle to push him away, hands pushing against his chest which makes him chuckle against your lips, your head begins to feel light as you struggle for air, and finally, he pulls away and loosens his hold to let you breathe. You bend with a hand delicately placed where his once was and struggle for air.

You think maybe he’s come to his senses, but soon his hands are on your waist as he pushes you, you stumble backwards as he pulls you away from the wall and struggle against him, hands shoving at his own and try to wiggle out of his grasp, but soon your knees meet something soft and your falling.

Your back meets the cushioned mattress of his four-poster bed, and you try to scramble away, but he grabs your ankles before you can get far and pulls you back to the edge, slotting himself between your legs. His hands slide up your legs, pushing your dress up in the process as he eyes your panicked form.

“No one will know,” he says as he crawls onto the bed. By now your skirts are pushed up to your hips, and he has one leg between yours and the other on your side, hands on either side of your face to support himself. “That your beautiful Targaryen babies aren’t his.”

Tears slide down your cheeks as he kisses down your neck, nipping at the hand shaped bruise forming on your neck, which sparks something deep inside you. You try to ignore the feeling as he unlaces your bindings and pulls your breasts out of your corset, tongue licking them and circling your nipples.

“You will no longer be humiliated, and you will have the children you desire to secure yourself here,” one of his hands goes lower until they reach between your thighs. You try to squirm away from him, but his other hand grips your hip in a way that will surely leave a nasty bruise. “While he will live the miserable life of a cuckold and I will finally have something all to myself.”

His hand touches a place no one has ever touched before, long fingers sliding up and rubbing in a spot you didn’t know existed. Your breath hitches as your eyes squeeze shut, that spark slowly burns brighter inside you at his ministrations. “I will have you, and no one will stop me. I will give you as many sons and daughters as I please, and I will make sure he never touches you or speaks out, for I am the king.”

You gasp out in shock when he pushes one of his fingers inside of you, a hand shooting out to grip his forearm and eyes flying open. Your brain is screaming at you to try to escape again, but the feeling of him slowly pushing his finger in and out brings a haze to your mind, and the words of protest die on your tongue. There’s a tinge of pain with the intrusion of his finger that slowly subsides into something else. Something you have a hard time admitting you like.

Instead, you roughly bite your bottom lip and look at the ceiling above, you can tell he’s trying to make you look at him, but you can’t bring yourself to do such a thing. This is far too intimate for someone who caused you so much despair. He pushes a second finger into you, and you whine at the slight increase in pain it causes you.

Aegon begins to pick up his pace to something that makes all the negative thoughts fly out of your brain and instinctively you push your pelvis against his hand which causes him to let out a mocking laugh, you feel your cheeks flush and close your eyes to try to hide. You continue to grind against his hand without even thinking about it. A hand grabs your jaw and jerks your head, the grip bruising.

“Open those pretty eyes and look at the whore you are” his words are demanding, and his voice leaves no room for objections. When you don’t open your eyes immediately, he impatiently shoves his fingers in harder, causing a moan to escape you and his grip tightens. You finally open your eyes and find him hovering above you, hair framing his face in a way that makes your body continue to betray you.

His eyes have darkened, and you stare into his as that spark in your stomach starts to become unbearable. You're openly moaning now, and you find yourself mentally berating yourself for sounding so desperate for him, but you can’t help the breathy noises that leave your mouth as you feel yourself being pushed toward a feeling you’ve never felt before.

Aegon cockily smirks before directing your gaze with his grip on your jaw to look down, and you see his fingers working themselves in and out of you, fingers coated with your slick. You find yourself beyond embarrassed at the sight, but it doesn’t deter the fast-approaching feeling. He must know you're close because he forces you to look at him once more, his hand leaving your jaw to place itself beside your head, eyes gazing into your own.

“You better come within the next minute, or I shall let the whole keep know that you have become my whore,” his lips crash onto yours again, teeth biting your bottom lip and his thumb finds that place he had rubbed earlier.

With his fingers thrusting into you at such a bruising pace and his thumb rubbing against you, a feeling you’ve never felt before crashes into you. So violently you find yourself arching your back and squeezing your eyes shut, the snap that’s happened within you can only be described as pure heaven, and you find yourself gripping his forearm so tightly that your knuckles have turned white. He pulls away from the kiss and watches you come undone underneath him, the feel of your walls against his fingers driving him mad.

All patience is out the window at such a delicious sight such as yourself, and he finds himself pulling his fingers out of you, hands flying to undo his breeches and pull himself out of his pants. You whine at the loss of him inside you, but quickly quiet at the feel of something against you. Something bigger than his fingers.

“Ae-Aegon?” Your voice is rough and full of panic. He looks up from between your thighs and smirks at the look of confusion on your face. Such an innocent, beautiful thing for him to corrupt. He leans over you once more, a hand cupping your cheek as he looks down at you. For a second, there’s something almost loving in his eyes. But it vanishes just as quickly.

“That was not the consummation, but simply an act of kindness” he says and with that, he slowly pushes himself inside of you. Your head falls back against the mattress once more, eyes squeezing shut and whining at the pain. This is far different from his fingers, this feels like being split in two, and you almost hate it. Almost.

His head falls in the juncture between your neck and shoulder and groans. The sound vibrates against his chest and one hand tightly grips the sheet beside you as he tries as hard as possible not to push in too fast. He thinks of lessons in his youth, being taught about how patience is a virtue, and tries his hardest to follow that teaching. Once he’s fully in you, he stills. You grip his shoulders as the seconds tick by, and slowly the invasive feeling lessens into something dull.

The ache remains, but so does the need that you feel building inside of you again. You can tell he’s trying to be gentle in this moment, something that truly shocks you, and so you do something that will shock him in return. Slowly you grind your hips against his and moan at the feeling it brings, he looks up from your neck and smirks at the desperate look on your face.

“Such a needy little whore,” he whispers against your neck, lips trailing to your breasts as he begins to pull out.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, lips opening to say something, but the protest dies in your throat when he slams back into you. A choked gasp leaves your throat as you throw your head back, he begins to thrust at a brutal pace, the gentleness is gone and at first, all you feel is an intrusive pain. His patience has worn thin and all he wants is to feel all of you.

“So fucking desperate for my cock” he moans out, eyes looking between the both of you and moaning louder at the sight. “Look at you sucking my cock in, your body is begging for me.”

You flush at his words, your gaze shifting down, and you gasp at the sight of you two connected. Slowly, the pain fades. Not completely, but simply stays in the background, a faint feeling with each thrust that is overpowered by that same feeling you felt when his fingers were inside you. You can only describe this other feeling as otherworldly and filling, it’s crashing back into you so unexpectedly, and you find yourself begging for more.

“P-Please” you moan, head thrown back and hands gripping the sheets. Aegon must not have expected you to like this part as his head snaps up to look at your face full of desperation, a smirk creeping onto his lips as he takes in your flushed cheeks and blown-out eyes.

“What?” he grunts out, nipping at your breasts. “What does my brother's wife want?” His mouth engulfs your nipple, sucking it between his lips, tongue lapping at it, and the feeling simply adds to that familiar feeling that licks at your insides. A burning fire with increasing volume and speed sits inside your stomach, his tongue, lips, hands, him, they all stoke the flames.

“Please, please make it happen again…. I want it…. I-I” you moan, letting go of the sheets and finding purchase on Aegon’s back, pulling him closer as your nails dig into his skin. The feeling is euphoric and addicting, you find yourself babbling like a common whore. The begging you begin to stoop to is embarrassing, but you're desperate for that same feeling again.

He seems to like your abuse as he moans around your nipple before letting it go, mouth moving to the other to give it that same attention. He’s a good man, he can’t simply leave it untouched. That would be cruel.

“Say that you are mine” he says, tongue flicking at your nipple, eyes dark and voice demanding. It terrifies you in the best way, a shiver creeping up your spine as the feeling nears again. His thrusts have started to turn sloppy and something tells you this moment is soon to be over. His brows are furrowed, forehead crinkled, and sweat beading across his face as he tries to keep his composure. “Say it!”

You come around him at his demands, repeatedly moaning out “yours! Yours!” With the tightening of your walls around him, Aegon finds him burying his face between your breasts and moaning while coming inside you.

The feeling is hot and almost possessive as if he’s fully claimed you as his for all the realm to see in this heated act. You find yourself worn out and hot as you lay in his bed, his cock still inside you and sweat covering both of your bodies. He nestles your breasts and wraps his arms around you, making no move to push you away or leave you.

Your whole body feels exhausted, and you find yourself wishing for sleep, but you know you must leave. It was late at night when you entered his chambers, and there’s no telling how much time has passed since then. There is little left of your reputation after the war, your surrender and your failed marriage, to be found in the king's bed, will all but seal your fate as a failure to your mother and a whore to the realm.

You try to wiggle free from his grasp, pushing against him and trying to peel his arms away from you. Aegon groans at your struggle, tightening his grip and thrusting into you again in warning. You groan, overly sensitive after what had just occurred, and continue trying.

“I…” your voice sounded hoarse, it was barely above a whisper. “I have to go.” He shakes his head at your words, pulling you closer if that were even possible. “Aegon I cannot stay, they’ll find me here and have my head.”

His face snaps up at your words, scowling. “No one will lay a hand on you, for I am the king.”

“But he has Vhagar, he may not love me nor even like me but we both know he does not do well with humiliation… T-This was a mistake” at your words, Aegon brings his face to yours, nose to nose and lips barely apart. You shiver at the dark look in his eyes. “He will know it's not his, Aegon.”

“When I complained about marrying my sister, Aemond told me he would perform his duty if it were him. He’s spent his whole life reminding all of us how dutiful of a son he truly was, and yet he’s ignored his duties as a husband when it truly counts.” That anger within his eyes, scares you in some ways, but in others, it begins to stoke that fire within you once more.

“I did not wish to be king, and yet he forced me onto the throne. I will kill Vhagar if I must, but you are not leaving this bed until I am certain that my seed has found purchase within your womb.”

With the finality of his words sinking in, Aegon rests his head on your chest once more, nestling closer to you and sighing. All you can do as you hear his soft snores is think of how your life has truly changed in just a matter of hours. And how you do not know if it is for better or worse.

[3000-200-grains-of-salt]

got any fic recs ¿

Of course. Always. (Assuming ya mean hc/empires/lifeseries) Bon apetit & happy reading <3

Without further ado, here is a (long (ish)) list of (Twenty) fic recs in no particular order:

Choke Down My Poison (I'm Breathing You In) by MawoftheMagnetar

(THIS ONE IS DARK, READ THE TAGS + TWS) 9,461 words, complete

That's not water dripping from the stalactites. That's not moss under your feet. That's not condensation on your faceplate. That's not something you should be thinking about. Your friends are waiting at the bottom, silly! OR: Zed and Cleo need to find Tango. Before it's too late.

All Laws Thrown Out The Window by ThisIsSydney

TW: Violence/blood 52,757 words, incomplete

You might ask yourself, how does one end up in front of a supervillain in an apartment complex? Ren doesn't know that's for sure. Guess this stuff can happen when you search on Craigslist for a place to live.

come sail away by apollothetransboy

(Series including Illusionary and Incendiary) TW: Graphic violence/blood 52,035 words, incomplete

Most often, assassins don’t get attached to those they have to kill, a rule Etho kept in mind when he was sent to kill the prince of a trading empire. The problem arose when Etho tried that, and the universe smacked him upside the head and told him, “No.” Instead of following his oath and immediately killing Joel, Etho realizes his own survival depends on quite possibly the wimpiest man he’s ever met, and decides to save his own life. And so, they sail, all while being chased by Pearl, driven to insanity by a man who lives in the side of a hill, apparently. And six-year-old Hermes tags along. Which, in Etho’s opinion, is less annoying than Joel.

The Call of the Void by MawoftheMagnetar

TW: Horror, body horror, psychological horror, blood, all that fun stuff (Again, this one is pretty dark, mind the tags) 24,035 words, complete

The void is singing. It calls out for voices to join its choir, begging for souls to sate its unending hunger. When Boatem heeds its call, can anything stop the spreading corruption, or is everyone doomed to drown in the abyss?

i can be the one you call by mayflowers07

(Series of oneshots, can be read individually or as a complete story) TW: Pretty much everything at one point or another, changes per work. Be careful as this one can get dark, in the mental health sense. Especially towards the end. 143,821 words, storyline is finished but marked as incomplete

The Hermits have a code phrase. If spoken, this phrase acts as an emergency safe word, telling everyone to stop whatever they’re doing, because something is seriously wrong. Whether it’s from physical or emotional distress, all Hermits know that when someone uses the code, they need help from their chaotic, dysfunctional family.

Daylight Moon Sings To You by songbirdscoo

3,247 words, complete

Etho is lonely. Nobody ever comes out at night, afraid of monsters from their own minds and terrors that are nothing scarier than the breeze on the grass. Etho is lonely, until one day, he's not.

mourning the possibilities by valiant_skeleton

2,828 words, complete

in which doc is having issues with his arm, ren is having issues with the nature of the universe, and they both benefit from a good hug and some nail polish.

Tango's Castle of Cards by EvilRat_Sabre

TW: Bugs, blood + injury, and fake death 24,908 words, complete

It’s like a fact “The sun will rise”, “the moon will fall”, “the hermits will protect and care for each other” it's a certainty. Yes, they have their individual secrets, but they trust each other to not hide something that would harm their patchwork family. In a yellow bee themed tower, an Admin felt his soul fill with worry, dread and then rage seeing the limp, permadead body of a member of their family. Tango is dead, It hits like a fact. Someone will pay, that is a certainty. - He knew he was screwed from the beginning, forever doomed by the narrative. Born as a disgusting bug that probably will end squashed as one too. His lies only delayed the inevitable and now it is the end. Tango was alone. Tango was tired. Everything was wrong, it was all Tango's fault and he really didn't know how to fix it. Tango was stuck in a metaphorical and very real hole. Or, My Centipede Tango Tek AU. I transformed Tango in a bug, killed him and gave him mental heath problems. This has more angst than should be legally allowed.

[The grammar isn't the best but. dude j. just trust me. the writing is fantastic. absolutely outstanding]

Shop at iBuy- the story of one happy customer by simplydm

TW: Unease, not quite horror 1,601 words, complete

iBuy is a giant amongst the buildings in the shopping district, built with blackstone and dripping with gold, and you're telling me there is nothing sinister happening inside? No, never, it's run by the ever-friendly Impulsesv, after all. So join VintageBeef as he has a totally very normal shopping trip and that's it.

Fight For Your (Last) Rights by MawoftheMagnetar

1,447 words, complete

Zedaph is a reaper, who ferries the souls of the newly departed on to whatever destiny awaits them. And his labour union has just gone on strike. So naturally, Impulse and Tango have come to help!

I'll bite my tongue and hold my words, no of course it doesn't hurt! by Loafabun

TW: Self esteem issues, panic attacks 21,531 words, complete

“And so what’s interesting about this build is that it’s actually inspired by-” “I DON’T WANT THE HISTORY OF IT I JUST WANT THE NAME!” Bdubs shouts. Scar flinches in surprise and stares at him, mouth half-open. He tries to say something, but Bdubs cuts him off before he can start, “I know you’re gonna go down this deep path like- ‘OH! Martin Stanley came up with this thing, he was a great engineer for his time he did this and this OH here’s some concept art!!!’ Two hours later, WHAT’S IT CALLED?!?” Scar… didn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if he should say anything, really. (Or, 5 times when Scar stopped talking, and 1 time where he continued)

Covet by Oceanbreeze7

TW: Body horror 102,734 words, incomplete

If you notice anything, it leads you to notice more and more. The humans talked, throwing bits and things into the passage they called Boatem Hole. The humans spoke to It, gentle and curious. They kept It company, called It a friend. It didn’t understand, but something beyond walls and walls of frosted glass and impermeable fog whispered pained and haunted behind It’s eyes with a voice that hurt to dwell on, don’t you remember this?

Pretty sure that's normal, right? by cityscape (worriedlywriting)

2,021 words, complete

Etho's finally completed the No Wings Club! Which is great— except for the fact that he no longer has an excuse not to use an elytra. (How do all the other hermits do it?!) Or: Etho realizes— with Bdubs' help— that his experiences with elytra might not be the same as everyone else's.

I Might Need Your Help Getting Back Onto My Feet by AstronautBeans

2,904 words, complete

At first Etho could agree it was funny. Yes, he’d missed a couple hits and didn’t always manage to kill someone when he meant to, and maybe he was getting a bit older. He’d lived in the same universe for thousands of years, of course his skill grew and waned with time. But when the phrase ‘washed up’ became a regular thing in people’s list of what to call him, and they continued to laugh at him about it, he couldn’t stop it from making his skin itch. He laughed right along with them, shook his head and sent a witty comment back. That was probably his downfall. The phrase continued to haunt him until the end of Double Life. It followed him onto Hermitcraft, and it didn’t take long at all before every single Hermit knew. He didn’t doubt the word spread across the parallel Empires server too. It evolved from making his skin itch, to burning in his chest and becoming a never-ending sinking pit in his stomach. — Or, Etho’s social anxiety gets the better of him and he ends up spiralling, but Gem is there to help him out.

DeUnAlived by Starbud

TW: Non-graphic dismemberment, past character death but he gets ressurected 828 words, complete

Grian's gruesome bloody body was strewn across the parking lot of the 100 Days Hardcore Skating Rink and Arcade. "Man," said Joel. "That's gonna suck to clean up." Scar poured out the rest of his Diet SpriteCoke™ onto the floor. "Do you think he'd let me have his shoes?"

[low word count but trust me guys it's SO FUNNY]

Don't Starve Together by InternetGone

1,500 words, complete

“…Scar?” A threatening hiss is heard over the crackling fire and that shuts him up. Probably another spider meeting its demise, it doesn’t reassure him. He subconsciously fidgets with his lighter. Scar hasn’t returned from chopping wood yet and the sun has set. He knows he shouldn’t worry because any sensible person would carry a torch or lantern on them, but Scar doesn’t have the best track record. Or, Grian and Scar settle in the desert, spooky shenanigans occur as they try to survive in the constant.

[Don't Starve Together AU]

burying the hatchet by GoodTimesWithScar and Sixteenthdays

5,000 words, complete

All things considered, this may be the worst way to find out that you can’t remember how to use an axe properly any more. Ren faces off against the half-felled tree trunk, studies the point of impact and tries to figure out what the heck he’s done wrong. It’s not that he hasn’t put enough force into it - believe him, the once and future King certainly knows how to put a bit of force into an oncoming… onslaught. Yet here the thing stands, attacked but most certainly not defeated, leaves still rustling quietly in the wind as if to mock him. (Or: Ren makes peace.)

No Questions Asked by Nyctae

(Series) TW: This series revolves around self-harm and healing from it. Stay safe &lt;3 11,063 words

"I'm a blaze hybrid." by valiant_skeleton

TW: Self-hatred, internalized fantasy racism 2,916 words, complete

“I just spilled my biggest secret, and you’re both acting like I told you we’re having soup for lunch tomorrow.” “Can we have soup for lunch tomorrow?” “Not the time, Impy,” Zed gently scolded. He detangled himself from Tango’s arm and pivoted to face him, before reaching out and brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. Tango resisted the urge to flinch. “Was your hybrid status something you were trying to hide from us, Tango?” “Yeah? Was that not…” Tango was pretty sure his brain had short-circuited– it had to be that or he was dreaming. “Did you not think I was human?” Impulse sat up with a yawn and a stretch. “You have glowing red eyes, bud.” — in which tango is afraid to tell his friends he's a blaze hybrid, and it turns out they already know. it also turns out tango has a lot to learn about hybrids and humans.

Burn All Our Sins by apollothetransboy

TW: Violence, minor character death 6,372 words, complete, part of an incomplete series

In the early days of civil war, Doc found a boy not too much younger than him, and by his creed, took him in. Now, a decade later, Mandalorian Xisuma is old enough to watch his world crumble. or, the resistance, but star wars, pt i

Annnnd that's about it for now! (I'm tired :,D ) If any of the links are wrong feel free to ask/rb this and i'll fix it :) I might also add more. Who knows. Cya later lovelies!

[newhologram]

Jack's Lament (Japanese version) - Nightmare Before Christmas lyrics and translation

ᵁˢᵘᵃˡ ᵈᶦˢᶜˡᵃᶦᵐᵉʳ: ᴵ’ᵐ ᵃ ᴶᴾ ˢᵗᵘᵈᵉⁿᵗ, ⁿᵒᵗ ᶠˡᵘᵉⁿᵗ, ˢᵗᶦˡˡ ˡᵉᵃʳⁿᶦⁿᵍ. ᴵ ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵗʳʸ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵈᵒ ˡᶦᵗᵉʳᵃˡ ᵗʳᵃⁿˢˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿˢ ᵇᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᶦᵗ ᶜᵃⁿ ᶠᵉᵉˡ ˢᵗᵃˡᵉ. ᴵᵗ’ˢ ᵐᵒʳᵉ ᶦᵐᵖᵒʳᵗᵃⁿᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵐᵉ ᵗᵒ ᵖʳᵉˢᵉʳᵛᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᶠᵉᵉˡᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ᵍᶦᵛᵉ ʸᵒᵘ ᵃ ᵇᵒʳᶦⁿᵍ ᵈᶦʳᵉᶜᵗ ᵗʳᵃⁿˢˡᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿ. Last year I did Sally's Song for Halloween so naturally this year I wanted to do Jack's Lament. In the JP dub, Jack is voiced by Masachika Ichimura who you may know as the original Mewtwo seiyuu! I really enjoy translating the Japanese versions of these popular musicals. It's a whole new way of getting to know these characters. Fansub here Gifsets will be in my gifs tag More translations Like my J-Pop translations? Donate to my ko-fi or become a Patron.

Translation, romaji, and kana below

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I always hear their cries of celebration With ovations, they praise me so If on a moonlit night, you're filled with dread It can be no one else but me

With just a bit of effort and charm I can make even adults scream out With these spindly arms and a groaning howl Even the God of Death scampers away

But it's the same thing, every year only the same The many screams I hear go "ahh!" I am the king, Jack! His Majesty Yet I'm already tired of this life of mine

The emptiness of my heart drenches my bones The yet unseen world that I long for, does it even exist?

I am the King of Terror And yes, a demon too Everyone kneels before me in fear

Even in Kentucky, I'm Mr. Unlucky I'm a celebrity all around

Yes, and since I'm dead, I can remove my skull And even perform opera this way

Nothing can beat the "Ooh!" in my voice That sends a shudder across the land

But who would understand? This bright face flush with glimmering tears The troubled king who's had enough And wants to throw it all away

Painful longing and unending worries Even with such fame and honor This hollow feeling never fades

--

itsumo kikoeru yorokobi no koe hakushu ga boku wo tataeru tsukiyo ni furimaku kyoufu nara boku ni kanau mono wa nai

wazukana doryoku to kono miryoku de otona mo nakisakebu kono hosoi ude to umekigoe de shinigami sae nigedasita

demo onaji koto maitoshi onaji da himei wo kiku no wa aa takusan ware wa ou JAKKU! shihaisha mou unzari da konna jinsei

kokoro no munashisa ga honemi ni shimiteru mada minu akogare no sekai ga aru darou

boku wa kyoufu no ou soshite sou akuma da minna obiete hizamadzuku

boku wa KENTAKII ja MISUTAA ANRAKKII achikochi de yuumeijin

sou shinderu kara atama wo hazushite OPERA mo kono toori sa

kanawanai sa kono UU! koe ni wa kunijuu furueagaru darou

demo dare ga wakaru darou akarui kao ni ukabu namida ga chira nayameru ou yamete shimaou subete no koto wo nagedashite

setsunaki akogare no kagiri naki nayami kassai to meiyo de wa munashisa wa kienai

---

いつも聞こえる 喜びの声 拍手が僕を たたえる 月夜にふりまく 恐怖なら 僕にかなう者はない

わずかな努力と この魅力で 大人も泣き叫ぶ この細い腕と うめき声で 死神さえ 逃げ出した

でも同じ事 毎年同じだ 悲鳴を聞くのは あぁ たくさん

我は王 ジャック! 支配者 もううんざりだ こんな人生

心のむなしさが 骨身にしみてる まだ見ぬ憧れの 世界があるだろう

僕は恐怖の王 そして そう 悪魔だ 皆怯えて ひざまづく

僕はケンタッキーじゃ ミスター・アンラッキー あちこちで有名人

そう 死んでるから頭をはずして オペラもこの通りさ

敵わないさ このウー！声には 国中 震え上がるだろう

でも誰が わかるだろう 明るい顔にうかぶ涙が ちらっ 悩める王 やめてしまおう 全てのことを 投げ出して

切なき憧れの 限りなき悩み 喝采と名誉では むなしさは 消えない

[stolen-pen-name23]

23 with hurt Obi-Wan and a comforter of your choosing, please!

Hi Willow!! Thanks so much for the prompt and sorry it took so long! From these prompts // prompts now closed

TW: panic attacks/anxiety

Here ya go!

---

One thing that makes Obi-Wan Kenobi the most utterly infuriating Master in the Jedi Order is that he so often does not mean what he says and he does not say what he means.

It took some time for Anakin to grow accustomed to Obi-Wan’s softening or, oftentimes, denial of his own feelings and emotions. But over the years, Anakin learned that when Obi-Wan starts rubbing at his eyes every few minutes, it means he is tired. He learned that when Obi-Wan says “I’m just tired” it means that he is sad. When he says “I’m fine,” it means he is anything but.

And when he says “I’m a little frustrated,” it means he is one snide comment away from dragging Anakin’s sorry ass to Coruscant’s highest tower and pushing him clean off the balcony.

So when Obi-Wan says “something isn’t right,” and his voice lacks the unwavering strength he always places at the forefront, Anakin can’t help but feel that the sky is about to fall from its rightful place in the heavens.

Unused to this level of candor coming from his former Master, Anakin clutches the commlink in his hand so tight he is only a few pounds of pressure away from crushing it in his grasp.

“What do you mean something isn’t right? Are you hurt?”

“Anakin, I– I can’t breathe.”

His voice is feathery. Unsure.

Anakin’s alarm spikes and he takes off towards Obi-Wan’s quarters.

“Master, I’m on my way,” Anakin says, the thundering of his footsteps adding audible truth to his reassurances.

Anakin hears Obi-Wan’s shuddering breaths crackling over his comm and quickens his pace.

“Hey, just stay with me, Master. Talk to me.”

“Can’t,” Obi-Wan says.

“Yes, you can. I’m almost there,” Anakin repeats.

Despite the rapid beat of his heart, Anakin’s hands are steady as he punches in the code to Obi-Wan’s quarters.

Anakin feels him before he sees him. The thick haze of anxiety threatens to suffocate the room, and Anakin can feel the ghosts of pain in his own chest.

“Master?” he calls out, sharp eyes scanning the room for Obi-Wan. He finds him, but the state he finds him in is unusual, to say the least.

Anakin kneels beside where Obi-Wan sits, huddled in the corner of his kitchen. He’s not looking at Anakin. He’s not looking at anything. His eyes are fixed on nothing but the opposite wall, even when Anakin positions himself in front of his unending gaze.

“Master?” he says softly, searching for a hidden wound or injury. “Are you hurt?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head no.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Feel like I’m dying,” Obi-Wan whispers, and all at once the phantom pain in Anakin’s chest makes sense and he realizes that while Obi-Wan is not hurt in the traditional sense of the word, he is still hurting.

“It feels that way,” Anakin says softly. “It feels that way, but you aren’t, I promise.”

“I know, I know,” Obi-Wan says, and Anakin can see the logical side of his former Master fighting to break through the very primal, but very real fear and panic he is feeling.

“Just breathe alright? Breathe with me and you’ll be okay.”

Obi-Wan nods and obeys, following Anakin’s breathing pattern.

The world around them is quiet, save the white noise of speeder traffic outside the windows. Ragged breaths turn even and steady. Dilated eyes sharpen. The phantom pain in Anakin’s chest lessens, but tendrils of dread still wrap their inky claws around his lungs.

It will have to do for now.

Anakin stands up and locates a glass. He fills it with cool water and hands it to Obi-Wan.

“Drink this. Slowly,” Anakin says, kneeling beside Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan nods and takes small sips from the offered glass. His breathing evens and his eyes clear up.

“Feeling better?”

“I don’t think I’m going to die anymore if that is what you’re asking,” Obi-Wan says dryly. He scrubs at his eyes and lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Master, it’s the middle of the night,” Anakin says. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Obi-Wan looks away and squeezes his eyes shut.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says. “You didn’t need to come here over a stupid dream. It was nothing… just–”

“Stop,” Anakin says. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” Obi-Wan says innocently as if he does not know exactly what he is doing.

“Pretending,” Anakin says. “You’re always pretending you’re okay. Like you don’t need anyone. Like you don’t need…” He stops himself before he can finish his sentence, because, in truth, Anakin doesn’t actually know if Obi-Wan needs him as much as Anakin does. He’s not sure he wants to find out this way. “Just stop pretending,” he finally whispers, resigned.

Obi-Wan stutters and Anakin can’t help but think what an ironic thing it is for the fabled Negotiator to be at a loss for words.

“I’m not pretending,” he finally says.

“Then you are lying to yourself,” Anakin says. “The war affects you as much as it affects everyone else. You’ve got too much pride to admit it.”

Obi-Wan rests his forehead on his knees and Anakin starts to think that maybe he’s being too harsh too soon after Obi-Wan’s panic attack, but the words inside of him are like a tightly coiled snake and he can’t stop them from unleashing their venom.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says finally. “Of course it affects me. Tonight’s episode is pretty damning evidence against me.” He blinks quickly and Anakin sees that he is blinking back tears. “It affects me, though I cannot afford to let it.”

“Is it so wrong for it to affect you?”

“Yes, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says sharply. “It is.”

“Why?”

“Too many people depend on me – depend on us – to stay strong in the fight. I make the wrong call? Men die. I slip up? Systems fall. We have everything to lose, Anakin. And I don’t want to be the one who loses it.”

Panic of his own lances through Anakin’s chest. How many times had a bad call of his led to the deaths of his men? Civilians?

Too many.

They haunted him at night just as they haunt Obi-Wan now.

Obi-Wan sighs. “Forgive me, Anakin. I did not mean to burden you with this.” Obi-Wan clambers to his feet and extends a hand down to Anakin who accepts it. “As you said, it’s the middle of the night. You should go to bed.”

“I can stay.”

“No. I can sense how tired you are. Go back to your quarters. You deserve your rest.”

Anakin wants to argue, but he finds he lacks the energy.

“Alright. Are you sure you’re okay?” Anakin asks wearily.

“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan says.

But Anakin knows better than that.

[xbunnybunz]

Daybreak (5/?) [Wolf Keum x Reader x Alex Go]

Summary: The day brings to you Alex Go, and in the night, Wolf Keum. Your past is inescapable. They build you up and tear you back down, but this is what you need to survive.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Drama

—–

The shop is big, spacious, and refreshing. The windowpanes take up most of the wall space, dousing the entire café in golden afternoon light and complementing the cream and brown wallpaper and flooring.

The light purges the heavy thoughts from your mind. It’s an ethereal sensation, and the combination of the serene atmosphere and Alex’s presence help even out your breathing.

You stay close to Alex when he speaks to a waitress. There was a gentle hum of pop music over the speakers, you appreciated the way the songs blended into the sparse chatter and gentle tinkering of metal forks on ceramic plates.

You wondered how you didn’t know a place like this before, perhaps it opened recently? Your fingers raise to skim the engravings on the front desk. The discoloration on some of the dark wooden chairs told you otherwise. The divots in the polish whisper that you’ve been left behind, that time keeps going on, no matter how much you retract into yourself.

A small sigh slips from your lips and you divert your gaze to the floor, eyes sweeping over the pretty marble tile, catching the light through the windows and winking at you with a flourish.

Since that dreaded day, you had lived your happy afternoons in miserable loneliness in your bedroom, curtains pulled close to keep the sanctifying light off your cursed skin. You always knew the world would move on without you, but you had no idea it would hurt so much.

A gentle hand brushes your elbow and you look up.

“Come on,” Alex smiles at you, “Let’s grab a seat.”

You’re both seated in a corner booth, right by the windows. You like it because the way the sunshine hits Alex’s face makes his eyes glimmer with yellow flecks. His smile doesn’t seem half as blinding when the sun is right beside him.

“Haha, we got a good spot!” He laughs. His unending excitement with life is refreshing and the radiant energy that emits from him is amazing. So why can’t you get that damned streetlight out of your head?

You push it back again, but the darkness still seeps out, spilling over the table, the chair, the marbled floors.

“I really like how much sunlight we get in here.” You say, ignoring the tingling in your fingers. “I hope the food is as good as the vibe.”

Alex chuckles and hands you a menu from the stack propped up on the side. “Oh trust me, the food is the only real reason I keep coming back here.”

He pops the menu open and you eye the way he pours over the food selection, a wide smile on his face as he hums along with the tune overhead.

He’s so happy it’s strange, so happy you can’t understand it. Being so carefree was something you could barely remember. It was a breath of an old memory, calling out, beckoning and begging you to come back. But you can’t and you can only watch, enchanted, as someone else bathes in that blissful peace.

“Truth be told, Ben and I always get take-out here but this is the first time I’ve dined in. It always seemed like somewhere people studied, or took someone to impress them.”

He chuckles, scratching the side of his head.

“So I never had a good reason to eat in, until now.” He peeks at you shyly and your stomach flips at the expression he’s making, soft, endearing, and something else.

“Well, unless you brought study guides with you,” You raise an arm and prop your cheek on your palms, eyes meeting his with a spark, “I’m impressed.”

He ignites like a firework, all smiles, sparks and red coloring his cheekbones, and it’s amazing to watch, to feel, to know he’s so close you could almost touch him. Your fingers rebel, flexing out, but your arm stays anchored to the table.

“I, ah, that makes me really happy to hear.”

You can’t believe you’re the source of his happiness, but his grin right now is too earnest, too honest, and you wonder who the hell told him to wear his heart on his sleeve like that, who told him it was alright to smile at anyone the way he does.

“Ah, I really wanted to try this last time but Ben wanted the chocolate mousse instead. Let’s try this one today!”

You lean slightly across the table and peer at what he’s pointing at, and he follows in suit so you don’t have to move too far.

Up close, you can inhale his scent, lawn clippings and pine, a hint of something like pencil shavings. You peek at him through your lashes, watching the avid manner he spoke in, all drivel now that you were so close to him.

His eyes, aglow, alive, so endless and deep with a green hue you could watch them forever, embrace the way he understood the world through them, admire the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled too big, or laughed too hard.

You take in the way his eyebrows shoot up when he sees something he wants to order, or furrow when he complains and asks why it’s in French.

The way his lips curl, his cheeks push up, his hair falls, it’s all so expressive it almost hurts you to watch him, longing and captivated all at once.

“Ack! I’ll just get this one! It’s so hard to decide when everything looks so good. What about you?”

Alex glances up at you and catches you watching him, and the world shifts in an odd, enthralling way when his enthused expression melts into a calmer one, subdued compared to his previous energy, like a tiptoe around what was going on in his mind.

A moment passes, one, two, and his eyes trail down, down, down but you break the silence before his gaze can reach your lips. Look back down at the menu, and the tension is gone.

“The French toast looks good, we can both share so we taste more of the menu in one go.”

You pull back a bit, and his eyes follow you. Thrilled and confused.

“Sure, we can go with that.”

His voice sounds breathy, coarse. It raises the hairs on the back of your neck, but you just fold up the menus and recite the orders to the waitress who comes to pick them up.

By the time she leaves Alex has settled down again, though his gaze is still curious.

You don’t pay him any mind and rescind into the comfort of your soft leathery seat, not caring about the way it squeaks against your legs.

It’s a strange but comfortable silence. You think about how the quiet that occurs at home is so much more heavy and burdensome than the one now, wonder why that is, wonder how it’s so different, if the stillness should all be the same.

Maybe because it’s not stillness. There’s a sort of bubbly sensation in your stomach and chest, like pop rocks in your mouth, when Alex Go continues to ponder about you.

He doesn’t ask, but you can tell by the way he’s folding and unfolding his tissue and chewing on his straw. His mouth opens like he’s about to pose a question, but it evaporates into the air.

He does this until all the food comes, and only after everything is on the table do you ask,

“What’s wrong, Alex Go? Something on your mind?”

He looks shocked, like he has no idea how you read his mind, but relieved at the same time.

“Yeah actually, but I wasn’t sure how to ask without seeming… Intrusive.”

He pauses, doesn’t touch his food. Strange, because you swore you remembered him saying how hungry he was on the way here.

“You can ask me.”

Your voice is soft and reassuring, and you hope it’ll be enough to coax the question out of him. And it is.

“Well, I noticed that a lot of the times you seem really sad.”

He picks up his fork, spins it, but doesn’t eat.

“When I first met you, and that day at the market. On the way here, too. I know we aren’t super close or anything, but if telling me anything helps, I’d gladly hear you out.”

He scratches his ear. Scritch scratch. You’re taken aback, but you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised. You had cried the first time you met him and tried to pick a fight with a wall. But it’s the straightforward manner that he asks that shocks you the most.

You notice he’s still not eating, wonder if it’s nerves. You pick up your fork, making sure it clicks against your plate, and break off a piece of French toast. Almost like this reminds him there’s food on the table, Alex follows suit and begins to eat.

“There was a traffic accident.” You say. It comes out easier than you thought it would, easier than those times you choke up recalling the memories alone in your room.

“Not too far from here.”

Right by that accursed intersection, right by that damned flickering stoplight that had broken for reasons unknown to you until recently.

Alex looks up at you. He stops eating again and you curse yourself. His with eyes filled with a certain type of pity you’ve grown to detest, somehow it’s even more heartbreaking coming from him.

“I think about it a lot, about him a lot… I just can’t forget. It’s agonizing.”

Like a curse, the memory plays in your head, the stark contrast of streetlights against his silhouetted body.

“I wish I could’ve… Your hands ball up, your voice faltering. “I can’t help but wonder how things would be different if I had seen it coming.” There’s a pulse in your windpipe that makes it hard to breathe or speak. You begin to drift. Your eyes cast downwards and your wrists feel numb, a painful mark of the day that had changed your life and taken so much from you. You remember him, can’t ever forget him, see him in the distance, fading into a darkness you could not reach into. Then Alex’s voice pulls you out of your daze.

“It’s not your fault.”

You look up, eyes glassy with tears you hadn’t realized were forming. “What?”

“I said it’s not your fault.” Alex looks up at you, and those soft green eyes are harder now. “No one can protect everyone.” His knee brushes yours under the table and you stiffen. You can’t help it and he doesn’t notice.

“It’s easy to blame yourself for these things, I know.”

There’s a look in his eye, one of pain, one of regret, you know it because you regard those feelings as good friends, as bad friends, as longtime friends.

“But your friend, he wouldn’t want you to hold yourself back because of it. No one would wish that on someone they cared about, even if it’s hard for us to believe...”

You swallow, but the lump stays in your throat. The feeling is back, bitter and dark, crawling along your skin and piercing your mind with thick venom.

“What if you’re wrong?” You ask, voice barely a whisper. What if you wanted someone to blame for this?

“I’ve lost everything and I have no one else to blame except…” You fix your gaze upon Alex Go but all you can see is yourself, reflected in his eyes. You turn away, a grimace forming on your lips. “…I need to talk to him again, but hell, what if that’s not an option?”

The desperation in your voice inches up and out of your lips, it consumes your words with the darkness that has always lurked deep within your mind, taunting and keeping you up at night, harboring you to the bed in the morning with a grisly type of sickness.

“I hate living like this. But I just can’t move on, every day is reliving the same damn memory, but this is what I deserve.” You choke out a laugh, “Gone. Just like that. Because of me.”

“You’re wrong!”

Alex’s voice rises enough to cause some murmurs, but he doesn’t care. You raise your eyes, so far gone that the roaring fire in his eyes feel only like a flickering candle.

“What good does it do to hold someone else back because you can’t let go of the past?” He cries.

You know he’s right, but his words burn, they sting, they feel like an attack. You want to block your ears and drown him out, but you know it won’t work now. They’re already inside of your head.

So you just sit there with your hands in your lap, hiding the way they tremble like leaves in a storm.

“It’s hard.” You say, and it’s true. Anger is all you’ve ever known since it happened. “I can’t help it.”

Alex snakes his hand over the table, an invitation for comfort.

Your body bursts with adrenaline and you want so badly to press your fingers into his, aching for the warmth of acceptance, the precious grasp of someone who will hold you gently, treat you delicately. But you are at war with your mind and it is terrified of the light, flinching away whenever Alex Go opens his mouth to rain upon you the blessed sunshine you crave yet fear so deeply.

You have been functioning only on the fuel of fear and anger since the crash. You are accustomed to the way it sears at the back of your eyes and the pits of your stomach, so you pretend to not see his offer. He’s so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice.

“I know.” He says. “But this isn’t fair to you.”

It sits in the air and curdles there, mixing with the inky blackness oozing from your pores and leaving behind a rancid odor of shame that only you could smell.

“I’m sorry.” You say. For being miserable, for making a scene, for blaming Alex, though he was not aware.

He smiles at you, always that damn smile. “You don’t have to be.”

But you are. You always will be.

You smile back at him, try to convince him he’s said the right things. “Let’s dig in.”

He grins at you, and his eyebrows quirk in that way that let you know he’s bought it.

“Let’s.”

[raysreads]

Teen Wolf Character Scents

Okay this might sound weird, but I’ve been reading a lot of Teen Wolf fic lately and it always puts a heavy emphasis on what the character smells like. Because...werewolf senses and everyone has a natural scent. I personally love this so here are my headcanons for what each characters natural scent would be!!!!!

(I give reasons for why I went with those things but some of the reasons themselves are headcanons, and some just came to me and have no reason at all besides that fact that i love it that way)

So background info: I headcanon some scents are from birth, while some are added/change based on experiences, temperament and emotions. You have your own scent and it does its own thing, even when you’re human. Humans cant smell them since they aren’t necessarily real, they are more a smell supernaturals pick up that’s a cryptic reflection of ones personality.

Stiles: Gotta start with the main boi!!!! He smells like spicy chili peppers, honey and everything spicy. He is wild and loud and so so sharp. He uses cutting anger and snark and sarcasm as a defense mechanism, this reflects in a scent that burns your nose. But he cares and loves a lot and is super soft, hence the honey. If you focus on his scent too much your eyes water with the chili. When he gets angry he send tears down everyone’s faces and even reddens the cheeks and burns the tongues of the supernatural pack members in his anger, his scent becoming physical as his spark acts up.

Peter: He smells like cold. Like cold, and petrichor and mint toothpaste. He always has. He smells like the cold of ice, the cold you smell when you open a freezer in the cold isle of the grocery store and like Vick’s Vaporub but 10x as strong. As the left hand of the pack it was his job to kill, to eliminate threats, his job to bear all the blood on his hands, to have his hands permanently stained sticky red and his eyes glow blue, so that no one else in the pack has to live with the guilt of murder, even when justified. His first kill was at 8 years old and he would never forgive the fact that he had been given that burden. So he became unmovable ice and unending cold. With the thick smell of rain for the warmth he would always keep hidden.

Theo: His scent is that of fresh, right off the smoker, BBQ sauce-soaked ribs and apple juice. Its a scent he was born with, one that reflects the gooey warmth of his soul and his innocence before he was manipulated and tortured. His scent always throws people off since it usually reflects ones personality and he’s not a good person by any means, he is amoral and cruel; and such a warm, soft scent doesn’t make sense. But his soul (though no longer pure) would always hold his original innocence. The apple juice isn’t actually his scent, but his sisters, her heart such a part of him that his guilt manifested her soul in his scent. And if you focus hard enough, underneath all that you can find the sting of bleach. His time with the dread doctors (and the fact that he was surgically tortured into being a chimera) leaving part of his scent mangled and altered into the artificial tang of bleach. The fact that he forced his scent to remain mostly unchanged throughout his life (which was worse than hell on earth) is Very Very Impressive, even more so when in the beginning he wasn’t even supernatural.

Scott: Our ever-sweet true alpha. He smells like overly sweet pink and blue cotton candy and hot, buttered, movie theater popcorn. He’s literally sugar and spice and everything nice. His morals and warmth translating to the hot popcorn and his perpetual smiling and niceness coming though as cotton candy. He smells like fairgrounds and the laughter of children. Underneath all that he bears the subtle scent of rust,  a permanent reminder of his forced change to the supernatural and permanent resentment of the burden he must bear (and the guilt about that resentment)

Derek: He smells of Sandalwood, Patchouli, and Frankincense. He always smells like incense and spices, like the inside of a stereotypical fortune tellers shop. He becomes heat, warmth, and flame. Something that pulls at his soul since the fire. Something that is a comfort to the wolves around him. He also smells heavily of smoke (something that makes Peter unable to be in the same room as him for longer than 30 minutes unless forced) because of his never-ending guilt about his family, something that seared the event into his scent. When he’s angry (which is a lot) his scent gets stronger and the incense smell becomes extremely heady and makes his betas lethargic.

Lydia: She smells like metal, like your hands after handling handfuls of change. She smells like she bathed in pennies, her standoffish coldness bringing the bitter smell to her scent. Since she became a banshee she also smells strongly of spider lilies (also know as hell flowers), japans flower of death. You would think the contrast between bitter metal and floral scents, so strong you choke, would be bad but its actually strangely comforting. And while bitter its the only thing that can get Jackson to relax some days. The scent of the only person there for him for over a decade-and-a-half sometimes even more comforting than the scent of his boyfriend.

Isaac: His scent is of strong cologne even though he never wears any, he smells like he bathed in the Mahogany Teakwood candle from Bath and Body Works, or lived in an Abercrombie & Fitch for 50 years. He always had that smell, even as a child, but it just gets stronger the more confidence he gains. His childhood innocence and cleanliness of soul translates as a strong laundry soap smell. But hidden underneath there's an undertone of metal, plastic, and cold; that takes over his scent when he's scared and overwhelmes everything in a mile radius. It takes the Pack far too long to realize it smells like a freezer and metal chains.

Allison: She smells strongly of ozone and static (not rain though, never rain). Her anger and righteous fury making her scent like electricity and making the static-y-ness tingle in everyone's nose - sometimes making Scott sneeze. Nothing in her scent is pleasant or comforting to everyone's confusion. Its only when she feels negative emotions that she smells like roses and summer. Its like a warning but in reverse, the opposite of what it should be. Bad scents usually mean bad emotions or feelings or memories, and good scents mean good moods and positive things but for her its the opposite. Just like how she took the opposite path then what was laid out for her.

Jackson: He smells very very heavily of cherries, his scent so strong and sweet its like he took a bath in a hot tub filled with cherry cough medicine, chloraseptic cherry sore throat spray, cherry pie, cherry starburst, cherry Jell-O, and maraschino cherries. Its thick and sticky and strong enough to drown out the scent and stick for hours on anyone standing near him or touching him and it lingers on the Pack members even if they haven’t seen each other for years. Case-in-point: Jackson left for England after the kanima thing and Isaac left for France not long after. When Isaac came back 6 years later (2 years after Jackson came back) he still had the smell on him pretty strongly. Why cherries? No one knows. But its thick as hell and stronger than epoxy when it binds to things together forever. The Pack thinks it stems with his identity and abandonment issues, but once he claims you he wont let go, not even his scent. He is very self conscious and embarrassed about it so its never discussed, and he’s been friends with Danny for so long that his scent almost drowns out Danny’s own. 

Ethan: Ethan’s scent is subtle and barely there. He was the one who always stood in front of Aiden to protect them, and took the beatings when possible so his scent became as bland and barely-there as possible. The Pack can only smell his scent with intense focus and at least an hours meditation (unless you’re Aiden). He smells of freshly baked bread and homemade jam, comforting smells that easily calm Aiden down. In times of distress he smells of burnt toast, he scent twisting with negative memories. A reminder that all good things have eventually turned bad for him and his twin.

Aiden: Aiden on the other hand smells strongly like curry and lavender. An odd combination but one that speaks of his guarded- but angry, headstrong and stubborn- nature. The abuse left him angry and twitchy and paranoid, everything setting him off and his moods turning on a dime. His scent fluctuated wildly between spicy curry and calming lavender which indicated his mood and Ethan was the only one able to calm him down, doing so with a single touch between his shoulder blades where they merged.

Danny: Danny smells like he lived in a Eucalyptus oil factory for 50 years, the scent soothing and calm like he is. Its always the same and never changes, not even when his emotions do. It was concerning at first, since everyone else’s scents changed throughout the day, even when their mood didn't (the only other scent that barely changed was Peter’s but that was because the man hand an iron grip over his emotions, even in his scent. Which is super impressive). He was just that calm at all times, even when annoyed. The one time he got angry- and I mean really angry not just the pretenses he kept when ‘annoyed’ with Stiles who he more endeared with than anything- his scent overwhelmed the entire apartment complex ( the one Derek had bought out for his loft) with the horrible, strong, pungent scent of burnt rubber. No one angered him again.

But they did have a chat about his witch ancestry.

Erica: Her scent was that of a bonfire. A blazing bonfire, gasoline, and the smell of the world when it was so hot outside the air above the tar street shimmered. She was competitive, and fierce, and pure heat and burning. If she wanted something, she would take it she had always been that way, even when she was sick. And while her sickness may be gone she had a subtle distortion to her scent, one like poison, that made her always smell slightly sick. (Peter almost had a panic attack when he first met her because of her scent, he now never came within 10 feet of her).

Boyd: He smelled like a flower garden. He was so stoic that the floral scent took many by surprise. He had always smelled like soil and dirt, his down to earth personality manifesting as a calming and grounding scent. He also smelled like the ocean, like salt and brine, and waves. But that was all drowned out by the overwhelming smell of flowers, a scent that used to be his sisters, one that he subconsciously adopted after her death when he was still human. He empathized with Theo and would exchange heavy glances when the pack discussed their natural scents as a ‘pack bonding exercise’, they were both drowned in guilt for different reasons, but both over lost sisters. They never discussed it. That was all folks!!! Feel free to add on to this and/or use it as a fanfic reference!!! Do you agree??? What are your headcanons???

[awedbynature]

A Christmas Debt

Characters: Loki x Reader

Category: Chaptered Story

Genre: Friendship/ Love/ Romance

Synopsis: The reader renders a great service to Loki unknowingly. Not used to being in anyone's debt, our favourite God of Mischief offers a strange favour in return. Will the reader trust him enough to take up the offer?

Chapter summary: Loki finally meets the reader's family—reader does something unexpected—Loki exhibits a different side of his personality

P.C. Pinterest

Chapter One

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Chapter Three

‘So how did you two meet?’

You almost choke on your chicken. You knew you were bound to face these questions sometime in the evening, but you hadn’t expected it this soon. Taking a copious gulp of the wine, you look over to your youngest sister who has her eyes fixed on Loki.

He comes to your rescue immediately. ‘I met her during an operation.’

'So you guys work together!’ your brother interjects. ‘How come you never mentioned it, Y/N?’

‘W-we work in different departments,' you say, irritated by the sudden case of nerves that overwhelms you.

‘Which is why it seemed almost unbelievable that I met her,' Loki grins.

‘Unbelievable indeed,’ snorts your brother. He is the worst, never losing a chance to tease you. ‘How are you two even...I mean,' he gesticulates in your general direction. ‘She is...’

Your sister-in-law frowns and jabs him in the chest.

‘Way out of my league?’ counters Loki. You could not have been more grateful to him at that moment. He gives you a small smile which you return.

You brother seems taken aback. That was definitely not what he was getting at. He blinks stupidly, his mouth slightly gaping.

‘I don’t believe it either,’ Loki continues. ‘She’s kind, intelligent, charming, loyal, not to mention beautiful. I was captivated the first time I saw her.’

Now that was just laying it a bit too thick. As everyone turns to you with varied amount of surprise and disbelief on their faces, you roll your eyes and snort. ‘C’mon, the first time? The first time I saw you I thought you hated me! You barely uttered two words in my presence.’

‘I was nervous. I did not know what to say!’

You see the twinkle of mischief in his eyes. He’s enjoying this. You take refuge in the food to hide the rising heat in your cheeks.

‘How long have you been together?’ asks your father.

‘About six months—.’

'Two months—’

You whip around at Loki just as he turns to you. This is not good. This is so not good. This is exactly what you have been dreading.

Panicking, you blurt out the first thing that comes to you. ‘It’s complicated.’

All fall silent. You gulp, realising you have just dug your grave a little deeper. A tiny part of your brain is already going you're doomed, you’re doomed, you’re doomed to the tune of the William Tell overture.

Loki raises a brow at you before expertly taking over. ‘It is not complicated, actually. I asked her out about six months back. We went on a couple of dates and she finally made it official only two months ago.’

‘Only two months!’ exclaims your father. ‘Y/N, you better not let this fellow go! I like him.’

'I'm afraid it’s the other way round, sir,' grins Loki.

Your father looks at you with sudden pride. And even though you feel a tiny prick of guilt at the deception, for once the absence of that veiled disappointment in his eyes lets you breathe freely.

‘Come now, dear. Leave the poor kids alone,' your mother says, passing the mashed potatoes around. ‘Don’t mind him, he’s always too nosy,' she waves her hand at Loki, then smiles. ‘I’m so glad Y/N brought you to dinner, Lucas. We were starting to fear she’d never be able to bring anyone at all!’

That stings. You have always known yourself to be an uninteresting, quiet girl, not attractive enough to get the attention of guys. But hearing the same sentiment affirmed by a parent does strike a major blow to one’s self esteem. You try to wash down the hurt with another gulp of wine. It is beginning to take effect.

You’re hardly registering what everybody around you are talking about. Your sister is in deep conversation with Loki, while you mother nods from time to time. Your brother and father are arguing over the rising oil prices and your sister-in-law is adding her bits every now and then.

Your family means well. But sometimes they are too oblivious to your feelings. Or in your brother’s case, too callous to care.

A sudden touch on the back of your hand makes you look. Loki's hand is casually placed beside yours. You wonder at the accidental brush of his fingers. Was it accidental? Or was it his way of letting you know that he’s there for you? Or perhaps it’s just your fancy?

Somehow his presence calms you. The dinner threatens to be long but it doesn’t feel suffocating anymore.

You let the general buzz wash over you once again.

***

The journey back is quieter than is comfortable. You shift uneasily in your seat, taking quick peeks at Loki's profile. He looks out into the dark, leaning against the seat in a lazy grace. Yet his jaws clench from time to time. He’s upset.

It must have been the kiss.

Everything was going fine. You had dinner. Loki had managed to charm his way into your parents’ good graces. Even your brother seemed impressed. Your mother was trying to wheedle you into staying the night, as usual. There was eggnog and homemade cookies and loads more fun than you’d have expected. Then just as you were leaving, your sister had laughingly pointed at the mistletoe.

You had felt Loki go still beside you just as your eyes landed on the bit of green hanging from the doorframe. You eyes flew to his face. His eyes have grown wide, a panicky look taking over with every passing second. Somehow you knew he didn’t want anyone to see him like this, to see his mask drop.

And your family was waiting expectantly. So you did the only thing that you could come up with in your wine-soaked mind.

You pulled him down for a kiss. You heard his sharp intake of shock at the sudden assault but there was no other way you could think of to distract him.

Now huddled in a corner and thinking of all the ways it could have been avoided, you’re trying to broach the subject without embarrassing the both of you. Perhaps it’s better to pretend it never happened? But wouldn’t that be cowardly? Should you apologise now when it’s all fresh and just get it over with? You continue to steal glances. He has not stirred for the past couple of minutes. You take a fortifying breath and open your mouth.

'Don't.’

You blink, taken by surprise. ‘I—what?’

‘Don’t say anything embarrassing.’

‘I was just—’

He finally turns to you, his eyes devoid of any emotions. ‘Consider your apology accepted. I’m not someone to hold it against you.' He pauses, his gaze sharpening suddenly, ‘That is assuming you do not throw yourself at every stranger like that each time you’re inebriated.’

You frown. ‘Excuse me, sir, but I highly disagree on three points. First of all, I am not drunk. Secondly, I do not throw myself at anyone. Thirdly, I was trying to rescue your apparently ungrateful ass.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

The wine definitely must have loosened your tongue.

Loki glares at you. You glare back. You might have kissed him without his permission—which given another choice you’d have heartily avoided—but this is unacceptable. Throwing yourself at strangers? The nerve!

Loki is the first to give up the staring match. ‘I do not need rescuing, irrespective of any situation.’’

'Oh you mean situations like the one where you freeze every time you see a mistletoe wreath?’ you turn away with a huff. ‘Noted. Next time, I’ll simply leave you to your own devices.’ So much for apologising.

The scene outside is an unending stretch of white. The snow looks like confetti falling in slow motion.

After almost fifteen minutes, you feel him straighten in his seat.

‘Please accept my apology. I’m grateful for what you did back there.’

You wait for him to say something more. He does after a moment.

‘That plant reminds me of someone. Someone very close to me.’

‘Who?’

'My brother. Bauldr.’

‘I never knew you were three.’

'We were.’

The slight catch in his voice grabs your attention. You have never seen him this unguarded before. It feels like he is almost human. You lightly touch his wrist.

'I'm sorry for your loss.’

He looks up in surprise. ‘I never said—’

You smile sadly. ‘You didn’t have to. I’m not foreign to the heartbreak of losing a sibling.’

‘Your sibling?’

‘My sister. She was older to me by five years.’ You laugh at a sudden memory. ‘She was the prankster of our family. There was this one time when—’

Loki listens quietly to all the funny incidents you recount, nodding from time to time. You tell him about the one time she filled the entire surface of your bedroom with sticky notes, about the day she dressed up as your grandmother and made you believe she was actually visiting at five in the morning. About the holidays that never felt dull because she was always coming up with new games. About the zeal with which she charged into Life.

'—and our cat never ever went near that Christmas tree again. She would take one look at the tree, then one look at my sister, and promptly plant herself behind the sofa for the rest of the evening.’ You chuckle in fond remembrance.

‘She sounds delightful.’ Loki smiles for the first time in a while.

‘She was. There was never a day without laughter when she was around. When she died,' trying hard not to let your voice crack, you pause. ‘it was as if the laughter was stolen from us.’

‘After she was gone, our family changed completely. Dad packed away all her things and for almost four years Mom even stopped acknowledging us other siblings. I was thirteen, my other siblings mere kids. We could barely process the change. When Mom finally came around, it was as if my sister never existed.’ You can feel your eyes prickling and quickly blink away a tear.

‘Perhaps it was her way of coping,’ Loki murmurs. ‘People cope with grief in different ways.’

His face has softened somewhat. He exhales. 'They say Time heals every wound. You think you’re over the pain. And then you see something that reminds you of them and everything comes crushing back.’

‘Does the mistletoe bring back memories?’

‘Not pleasant ones.’ He notices your expectant look but chooses to ignore it. You sit in silence, each lost in memories of a time when you were young and yet to experience the cruelties of Life.

The rest of the journey is quiet, though not as unpleasant as before.

Back in your room, tired and drowsy you realise you have forgotten to thank him for the evening. He had been a huge help. He had been thoughtful, witty, charming. Hell, he had even managed to bring back a little bit of cheer in your family.

Loki was not what you had expected. There was more to him than meets the eye. You have had just a glimpse of a different Loki, a softer, more emotional Loki who told funny stories to put someone at ease, who understood pain and knew exactly what to say to comfort someone, and perhaps for the first time you wanted to discover more. You had parted on good terms, the chilliness thawed a little. Perhaps some day down the line, you’d end up as trusted allies, if not really friends.

As you curl into a comfy bundle under the blanket with a sigh and close your eyes, your last thoughts are it was not a bad Christmas after all.

To be continued...

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Tags: @lucywrites02 @lilyofthesword @country-cowgirl-101 @benji-booxx @loki-hiddlestoner3024 @outlawangel2020 @thefallenbibliophilequote @idontknowstudios @just-the-hiddles @myraiswack @noturningbacknow @natandersonnla @twhiddlestonsstuff @gluchie @inumorph

[consentaclecthulhuwrites]

Free Bird, Chapter 6

The next time Revali saw her was at the informal ordination of Link as her sworn protector and chosen knight. The ceremony had supposedly been crafted to be uplifting, and a symbolic beginning for the dangerous journey upon which they were all about to embark. However, if this ritual was meant to set the tone for the entire mission, Revali could only dread the outcome of the plan.

The commentary while Zelda stood above her chosen knight suggested Revali was not the only one with this sense of foreboding.

“Gee, this is uplifting.” Daruk sounded disarmingly sarcastic. “She’s making it sound like we already lost.”

Revali piped up, “Wasn’t this your idea? You’re the one who wanted to designate the appointed knight with all the ceremonial pomp, grandeur, and nonsense we could muster. And if you ask me, the whole thing does seem to be overkill. I think I’m on the same page as the princess regarding… this boy.”

“Oh, give it a rest,” Urbosa sighed. “That boy is a living reminder of her own failures. Well, at least that’s how the princess sees him.”

Her own failures? Revali didn’t understand what Urbosa could have meant. From what he knew of her, Zelda was an accomplished scholar and the pride of the Hyrule legacy. She had modesty, charity, and chastity. She was elegant, well-spoken, truly kind, and carried the weight of royalty like it were gossamer. There was something weighing her down to be sure, but Revali couldn’t imagine it had anything to do with her royal lineage.

Especially around the boy, she seemed more distraught than ever. What was it about this chap that got so under her skin? All the boy had was a stupid destiny. Unlike some people, the champions actually had to work for their skill, for their place in this league of future legends. It was apparent that Zelda had more than earned her reputation as one of the foremost scientific minds Hyrule castle had to offer, as well as a devoted acolyte. Sure, the murmurings made her sound more fanatical and eccentric than anything, but Revali chalked that up to shallow minds with shallow thoughts. It was the squabble of the little people, and what did they know or matter? It was their ignorant hides that needed saving.

After the ceremony had concluded, the champions were allowed time to explore the grounds of the castle. Link had gone to the stables with Mipha, Daruk was off near the armory, Urbosa was in the dining hall carousing with some of the younger soldiers, and Zelda had supposedly returned to her quarters. Revali observed that the princess had slipped out of sight rather swiftly, and none seemed eager to attend her despite what was clearly a downtrodden appearance.

He wondered...

Zelda hunched over the desk in her lab, scowling down at her journal. Why did she ever listen to Daruk? He was such a blockhead sometimes. She appreciated his sentiment; for a man of stone, he certainly had a warm heart, but the ceremony had been an absolute disaster. All the muttering amongst the champions while she spoke the ceremonial script… She caught bits here and there.

“Already lost…”

“Overkill…”

“Failure…”

Her face burned with shame. She wanted the ceremony to be meaningful, positive, and give hope to everyone. She should have known that endeavor would fail. Zelda had no hope herself. Since childhood, the inkling of the goddesses, the innate sense of their presence, just did not exist for her. Her prayers were answered with silence. Her fasts were met with ravenous spiritual hunger. She even offered up plants as sacrifices, then cried with guilt for wastefully plucking them without result. For whatever reason, the goddesses found her… unworthy.

She scribbled hastily, trying to put down the words as fast as they entered her brain. On the verge of tears, she noted, “It is as if there is a great chasm between the goddesses and I. I shout and shout for them to hear me, but only my voice bounces back from that deep, unending void.”

She heard a noise and snapped her journal shut. Someone was clearing their throat. She whipped back to the doorway, but no one was there upon opening the door, nor waiting at the end of the bridge that led from her scientific tower to her bedchamber.

She began checking the windows and at last, she saw a fierce green eye surrounded by blue feathers floating within the frame of one of the slit-sized windows.

“Champion Revali, I believe it was you who reiterated that it was rude to eavesdrop when we first met.”

He hoisted himself up to where he was fully visible in the window frame, flapped his wings, and gave a bow. “My sincerest apologies.”

“Also, do you not think it inappropriate to come see a member of the royal family in their private chambers?”

“But I’m not in them, now am I?”

Zelda laughed. “Are you in need of something, master Revali?”

He offered a gallant smile. “Perhaps your majesty would care to join me for a walk on the grounds. I can see everything up here, but I’ll admit… Hylian structures are baffling to me. I wondered if perhaps you would be willing to educate me.”

The warmth of the smile that grew on her face told Revali he had succeeded in breaking her out of whatever dismal reverie she’d been in when he peered in at her, scowling at her journal.

Zelda met Revali at the base of the stairs. They began to explore the walkways leading down the primary battlement of the castle with a leisurely gait.

“Here we have the entrance to our library.”

“Library?”

Zelda blinked in surprise, then ushered Revali inside.

“What in Hyrule…” His eyes widened as he glanced around the massive room filled wall-to-wall with books.

“Surely you know what a library is, Revali.” Zelda giggled.

Revali rolled his eyes and ruffled his feathers, then said, “Of course I know what a library is… I’ve just never seen one this massive. There is no actual library in the Rito village.”

The princess’s head cocked to the side. “Why not?”

The Rito raised his wing up to the princess’ field of vision and wiggled the most controllable, dexterous portions of his wing, which still looked wildly unwieldy.

“Oh… penmanship and flipping pages must be difficult!”

“Only disciplined Rito, dedicated to the art, actively pursue reading and writing beyond a primary education. We are creatures of oral tradition and have little use for books, though some of the oldest legends are inscribed on tablets of stone.”

“Is it mostly birdsong?”

“Yes. Why would we speak about the legends of the Rito when we could sing the ballads of heroes, the laments of our tribe, the lullabies our fathers learned from their fathers?”

Zelda pondered this for a moment. Then asked: “Do you sing, Master Revali?”

“I can, but I generally do not.”

Zelda had led Revali up a cascading set of stairs and was clearly determined to show him a specific volume. She was scowling and tracing her fingers along titles as she walked along the upper level of the library.

“I could have sworn it was in this section… Found it!” She pulled out a broad but thin volume, clearly weighted, almost square enough to be used as a breastplate for armor fitted to the girl. A harp was crested into the volume’s cover, gilt in gold.

“This is a musical volume of songs from Hyrule’s history. Do the Rito use notations like this?”

She showed him a page with a simple melody. The notations were similar but…

“We use lines like this but typically our musical staves are much larger…” He squinted at the page and then pulled back. “Our notes are not all round. We use shapes and lines to indicate different note lengths…”

“Fascinating! Could you read a melody like this?”

“I am not well-versed in musical notation. We received basic training in childhood, but after those initial years, my studies were dedicated elsewhere. However, this melody is similar to one we learned as nestlings. The Ballad of the Goddess, I believe?”

Zelda laughed with excitement. Revali could not help but notice her laugh was high and sweet, almost birdlike with a chirpy nature.

“Would you sing it for me, Revali?”

“I would rather not.”

The disappointment that fell across her face was immeasurable. It nearly ruined Revali’s day to see her so put out; he felt he had to explain, even if the reason was made up on the spot.

“I do not like the way I sound when I sing from prescribed notes; the planned nature feels stifling. I would rather you not insist.”

“Oh. I would never dream to impose upon you. I’m sorry!”

Revali turned very stern, and gazed at her directly. “Do not apologize. It is not for someone of your position.”

Zelda was a bit taken aback by this admonishment. Most did not speak to her in this blunt fashion. No one but her father had spoken in unfiltered directives. She understood the Rito were a singularly bold people; perhaps tact was not really part of their vocabulary. Her facial expression betrayed her utter bafflement. She nodded sharply.

“You’re right, Revali.”

At that moment, a member of the royal guard emerged at the top of the stairs and was clearly headed in their direction. Revali moved from the princess’ side just as the guard focused his attention on her and said, “Your presence is requested by his majesty King Rhoam.”

Zelda turned to speak with Revali, but he was already taking a bow.

“Till we meet again, your highness.”

The guard extended his arm, and Zelda passed him by, where he took up her rear as he escorted her from the library, following her quite closely.

Revali watched as she disappeared down the staircase, the royal guard following behind her. Why send a guard? Why did he follow her with so little space between them? What an incredible sign of disrespect. It’s as if they expected her to give chase if they even dared to blink. He hoped nothing was amiss. But he couldn’t help to wonder, yet again…

~*~*~*~*~

Link to Chapter 5 HERE

Link to Chapter 4, Part 2 HERE

Link to Chapter 4, Part 1 HERE

Link to Chapter 3 HERE

Link to Chapter 2 HERE

Link to Chapter 1 HERE

[sgt-morgan]

Lucky Kentucky ch. 2

Chapter 1

Hello there, welcome back to my Rockstar!Bucky x Reader fic. It was heavily inspired by my love of seventies mega rockstars, Almost Famous, Classic Rock, and a little bit of personal whimsy. I hope you enjoy, and read responsibly.

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️ : cussing, sexy times, drugs, booze, smoking, objectification, fornication, liberation, and a litany of other sordid topics and traumas.

“HEY! NOBODY FUCKING MOVE!” To say that the last thing you needed was a missing rockstar, was a drastic understatement, and a testament to your unending will.

“Where in the good sweet name of Jesus is that dick head?” You fumed stomping towards the rest of the band.

“Your guess is as good as ours sweetheart, we got nothing. No phone calls, no texts, no nothing.” Shrugged Steve Rodgers, guitarist and all around good guy. “If I knew that all the time, I think I’d be a millionaire.”

You sighed and looked around you at the fleet of your busses and equipment trucks, and you could have sworn that you were ready to kill that asshole with your bare hands. “Well hot stuff? He better show up quickly, or so help me God he will be sleeping in a tour bus with the newest, dweebiest, roadies I can find. Do you know how bad new roadie busses smell? He will if he dosent get his ass here by the time the last piece of your stage equipment is packed.”

“I think you should land his ass there anyway, to give him time to think about what he’s done.” Sam shrugs, Clint vehemently nodding his support as he wrangles one of his two delightful children. “I think his punsishmet should fit his crimes personally.”

“Oh yeah! I think that’s a great idea! Or, he could stay with Laura and I on our bus, I’m sure the whining infant won’t keep him up all night, He’s gonna love it!” Clint nods, “We have a rule, no booze, broads, or bud around the kids! He’ll dry out quick!”

“No Clint, no worries at all. He won’t sleep or get laid on the roadie bus,” you laugh, “he’ll be surrounded by filth, and endless questions, and gawking. He won’t get the back room either, I’ll give him a bunk. Frankie will be on his bus, that way he never gets away with anything. No escape artists on my watch!” You wink, plucking his oldest, Cooper off his back and wrestling him into a head lock.

“Oof, devious as always.” Natasha laughs nodding and throwing her arm around you. “I remember when I got on your bad side, wasn’t worth the never ending week of publicity with no coffee. That was the strictest ban I’ve ever dealt with for sure.”

“Someone start calling his ass.” You laugh pulling away from Tasha and waking towards Peter to get a rundown on the status of loading up.

“Oh captain, my captain!” Peter saluted, about nine or ten roadies following in his lead while the rest just stood gawking as if they had never seen a woman before. “We are about twenty minutes from setting sail, I have my men sorted into busses and vans, Frankies bus has one extra bed open as per request, and, as our lady of perpetual mystery might be interested to hear, we have a new crew of over eager security team members stocked to the brim on Frankies bus, even worse than the roadies. Is everything ship shape?”

“At ease Parker,” you giggle, shoving him out of his stiff rehearsed stance, “indeed we are ship shape, now if only our little diva Jr. would show face, we could be on our way.” Just as you were finishing that sentence, a car pulled up, and out stumbled the man of the hour, James Barnes.

James Buchanan Barnes was drunk. Inibriated, intoxicated, off his ass, pissed, blitzed, sloshed, ranked, hammered, wrecked, out for the count, drunk. He stumbles out of the Uber, bottle in hand, but at least he was dressed. He stumbled over to the rest of the group, he had a duffel bag, wether it was packed with anything useful is up in the air, you’d make sure you’d get your hands on it and ensure that it had what he needed. Wanda could take care of filling in the gaps. You have now decided that there is no escape from Frankie for him. You’d have to put someone on the bus. You don’t know who yet, but someone. Maybe Quill? Whoever it was, needed to get along with Sam and Steve. Thor, he would work nicely. You’d see to it that Frankie had him moved. Now there was the Liquor problem. This was a decision every road manager has to dread. As any good rockstar could tell you, you have to be stone sober or completely fucked to perform a good show, you just had to decide what would or wouldn’t ruin the band... or him. So, sober it was. No use dragging it on any longer.

“JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES!”

—————————————————————————

Any man alive knew that sound was trouble. No woman used the full Government name if you were in good standings. That was just facts. However, drunk thoughts beget sober truths and the truth is, that was incredibly sexy. When he turned hands raised in surrender whiskey bottle and duffle abandoned he was greeted to the glorious sight of her. Kentucky, dressed in leggings and a ripped up old band tee that he could faintly register belonged to Led Zepplin. Her hair piled up on her head shining in the sunlight her curves begging to be expl-

*whack*

Well, that will sober you up quick.

“Hey dickhead, so glad you could make it!” Sam, not looking too thrilled despite his statement of glad tidings gave him a smile he could only describe as cat catching canary. “I think Lucky needs to see you. Loose the doe eyes, it’s getting creepy.”

“Yeah buddy, I can catch on pretty quick.” He fumbled for what to say, and settled on “Bluegrass, doll, you look stunning this fine morning. Care for a swig of Kentucky’s finest?” He slurred, She sauntered up to him and he could swear he felt the magic, until she snatched the bottle and promptly tipped it out onto the ground. “Hey, woah! Easy there Kentucky, that was a bottle of Kentucky’s finest! that was a bottle of Eagle Rare!”

“No James, your looking at Kentucky’s finest, and you should know that I’m better than all the barrels in Frankfort. Buffalo Trace has nothing on me. Now, since you came in all washed up and wandering right smack dab before the deadline, I’m gonna be merciful, but the next time you pull this shit? Theres a bunk in Frankies bus with the minors that has your name on it. Are we clear? Brooklyn?” She had the empty bottle in her fist, her other arm draped under her breasts and she was jabbing him in the chest. He had never been more frightened and turned on in his entire life.

“Reading you loud and clear KY, I got the message.” He nodded backing away slightly.

“Good!” She smiled turning into an entirely different woman. One with sunshine and laughter in her soul, her perverbial horns retracting. She snatched his sunglasses right off of his aching eyes, and placed them on her face. Low blow, but not entirely unexpected. “Now that the princess is here, load up and let’s roll! First pit stop is in Vegas, so we got a lot of ground to cover!” She stuffed his empty bottle and his duffle back into his hands, and headed for her bus, he just caught the conversation as the Barton family began to load up watching her go by.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Lila?” Clint said helping his little girl put her little pink hello kitty duffle under the bus.

“Is Uncle Bucky in trouble?” She asked innocently looking back at Bucky, who gave her a little wave.

Clint turned to face him, chucking as he met his gaze, “Oh yeah honey, lots and lots of it.”

—————————————————————————

You loaded yourself onto the administrative bus, plopping yourself into the little booth right at the front near the head bus driver, Phil Colson.

“Hello Phil!” You smiled, opening your laptop and checking on your hotel reservation. The kind bus driver smiled and started up the bus. Next on we’re your bunk mates, Wanda, Vision, Bruce, and Peter. That left two bunks open for Tony and Pepper for when they joined you on the occasion.

“Well, I can proudly announce that Barnes’ military training has not gone to waste, even sloppy drunk he knows how to pack his essentials!” Wanda’s beautiful soothing voice waltzes its way into your ears as she and Vision loaded themselves onto the bus. “He’s got his tooth brush and everything! It’s a miracle!”

You nodded at that eyes still focused on checking your route’s traffic and totaling how much it would cost you for a late check in if nessicary. “Good, he can be a functioning adult when he wants to be!”

“The widows are settled onto their bus, everyone’s got what they need. Carol said she could do with some more angry Lucky, she missed you apparently” Bruce sighed plopping down next to you silently checking over your figures.

“I’ve got everything packed so that it should only take the lighting crew and I two hours to shore up, which puts my productivity up by 30%” Vision shrugged putting his arm back around his beautiful wife.

“And I can move heavy things and take good photos. Also, I fixed that stage piece you were worried about and it is no longer does the rocky thingy.” Peter grinned giving you finger guns.

“Ugh, I love the sound of efficiency!” You sigh, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you throw your stuff in the bunk closest to the shower. “Thank you all for agreeing to take this on with me, I wanted you because you’re my A-team, and I knew that I couldn’t do this without you... plus I knew it would look fantastic on your resumes.” The crew in your bus gave a here here for that statement.

“So, Barnes. How do you plan to tackle that battle?” Peter said plopping down on top of Wanda and Vision as if they were just two decorative pillows. “He’s gotta strong will and a heady brooding nature, rough shit I tell yah.”

“Not to mention the fact that he’s incredibly handsome,” Wanda said pushing Peter to the floor, “We know you’re a pushover for that type!”

“Well lady and gentlemen, I plan to kick his ass into shape. Good looks and broody behavior be damned!” You huff.

“I may point out, that is not exactly a plan darling.” Vision says sympathetically patting you on the head as he carries his and Wanda’s things to the back of the bus.

“Well Viz, darling I am well aware of that. I have a plan. He’s gonna have to sober up. This behavior isn’t normal for him, his band mates and Tony have made that clear, he’s on the string for some girl that couldn’t have given less of a shit about him, so he’s all fucked in the head. MY job, is going to be reminding him he’s a goddamn rock star, who doesn’t need a bitch like that to make him happy!” You gesticulate as you unpack the supplies you’d need for a shower. “Then, all should be well with the world again, and I can go back to managing tours that don’t make me want to kill myself.”

——————————————————————————

“Say Stevie, that uh, that Kentucky sure is one tough dame right?” Bucky say’s as he charges shirts, “gotta lot of spunk?”

“Yeah Buck, she’s a real hot head when she wants to be, but she’s fantastic at this. I’ve not seen a better organized tour in my life!” He hears his best friend laugh from the front.

“Not to mention,” Sam started from his position on the couch, “she’s one hot mama, veeeeeery fine. You can tell she knows it too. I wonder if she likes dark chocolate, I think I should find out.”

Bucky felt anger deep in his gut at Sam’s teasing, but for the life of him he can’t figure out why. He dosent need another relationship, hell, dosent want one. That only leads to broken hearts and empty bottles... broken hearts and empty bottles... a little cliche but he could make it work. He’d write it down later. Right now, his sole purpose was intel. Gathering as much info on Kentucky as he could.

“Gotta make sure she’s not already tied up Sammy boy!” He laughed, “besides, I think she likes Seargents.” He winked.

“Well if it’s information on the lady Kentucky you want, I’ve got you covered.” The big braun-y security guy Thor chuckled, “she’s single as it comes, bad break up with some hot douche bag in some other band. Wasn’t pretty that breakup, I tell yah. Frankie and I had to beat the guys face in to get him off her door step, she started road managing in order to get away from him, being constantly on the move made her a moving target, it worked better that way.”

“Sheesh, any ideas on that band name? I’d hate to bump into them sometime.” Bucky shook his head, “she sounds like a tough lady.”

“Oh she is,” Thor chuckled, “got some rough and tumble to her, she’s good at what she does. Hydra? I think that’s the name at least.”

“Sheesh,” Steve muttered, “She messes around with hard hitters huh? Hydra is huge on the pop punk charts, they’re not topping out on the hot 100 or anything, but they pull a decent crowd for sure.”

“Yeah, this isn’t the first time I’ve heard stories about them being absolute dicks either,” said Sam, “poor thing. I hate that for her.”

“She’s a good lady, really, she’s always so kind, goes out of her way to learn names and remember important dates, never afraid to pitch in where she’s needed. You guys are lucky to have her for this tour.” Thor nods, putting his things away and laying down in his bunk.

“Yeah, very lucky.” Bucky nods, daydreaming about a woman he just met. This was gonna be a long tour.

——————————————————————————

Their first stop was in Nevada. Los Vegas, baby. The first show of the tour was at the colosseum at Ceaser’s palace. This meant discounted hotel rooms, larger merch sales, and quite a bit of press was involved, but you were ready to take on the challenge. You arrived in Los Vegas around 6am, all of the bands stumbling off their respective busses and making their way towards the resteraunts in the hotel. You and Bruce headed off to snag hotel keys, and settle the bands into place. Wanda, Vis, and Peter, headed with the rest of the crew and the equipment trucks to the Venue for set up.

“Alright Bruce, you get the Widows settled in their rooms, I’ll take care of the boys. Tell the girls their press is at 10 and their rehearsal will be at noon, they are to be at the venue no later than 9:15. They will arrive and go straight to Wanda, who has outfit options, and makeup. They have a lunch break at 2:00, and they need to be at the venue by 5:00 for their sound check at 5:30, curtain is at 7:30.” You rattled off handing Bruce back stage passes and a few printed copies of tonight’s schedule. “I’ll meet you outside in twenty to send the busses to the venue.” Bruce gave you a tiny salute and you wandered off to find the Commandos. You found them sitting in a resteraunt, a waiter bringing them their drinks. You noticed Bucky had a screwdriver, now that just wouldn’t do. You snatched the glass from him right as the waiter was about to put it in his hand, slamming it back in one go.

“Woohoo! Good morning Kentucky!” Clint laughed clapping with Steve and Sam, who were pointing at a dumb struck Bucky.

“Damn, sugar! I didn’t know you had it in you this early!” Sam laughed.

“We,” you said gesturing between Bucky and yourself, “will take water and a coffee.” You said to the waiter with a wink. “Good morning boys! We’re in for a good one today! Starting off at the colosseum is a great first gig! Now I hate to be a downer, but unfortunately, I gotta lay down the law. This tour will have a no show day drinking policy. Zero tolerance, breaking this rule leads to a prohibition to the breakers caffeine supply, and lands you in a bunk in Frankies bus with the newbies. The only exceptions are exactly one pre show shot and or beer for last minute jitters, or a celebratory toast. Any other hard day drinking will lead to repricutions. Rule number two, I run a right ship, I do not appreciate tardiness. I went easy on you the first day, but here on in, if you are late by more than ten minutes, I will assume you’re dead and send the cops to come find you. Very loud, very messy, and definitely will make the news. So, do I make myself clear?” You looked around and met their gazes everyone seemed to be okay with these rules, except Bucky.

“What the hell lucky? Am I some kinda child or something? No drinking? No tardiness? Am I a high schooler? Jesus, you gotta pair on you if you think that I, a grown ass man would ev-“ your food came about five words into his little tirade, and as soon as the waiter left your food, you shoved a roll in Bucky’s mouth.

“Stuff it Brooklyn, we wouldn’t fuckin NEED these rules if you could get your ass together for five minutes to see what you’re doing! Your drunkenness has made you sloppy, you’re late on your due dates, your waisting Tony’s time and money on your pouty bullshit, and your friends are worried about you. So yes, we’re gonna have rules, they will have consequences, and I’ll beat your ass myself if you show the inability to get it together!” You rant jabbing your finger into his chest to get your point across. “Now, eat your waffles, here’s your schedules, and if you are not showered and decently dressed at the colosseum by 10 am sharp, so help me God I’ll call the cops.” With that you gathered your coffe and your purse and stalked away. Handing Steve they’re schedules, passes, and hotel keys as you went. It was gonna be a long night, you could feel it.

“Did anyone else find that extremely sexy?” Sam asked, and by god Bucky couldn’t help it, he nodded in agreement.

—————————————————————————

Steve and Bucky followed eachother up to their floor of the hotel, crew, secrity, and bands took up the entire fifth floor. Later tonight, when everyone actually got to unload after the show, It would be a real party, people leaving their doors open, coolers of beer, goods and services being exchanged, instruments and duffle bags and food being passed from room to room, it was Bucky’s personal favorite part of the evening.

Right now, it was sad and empty. So, he showered, and he went to sleep. At approximately 10:15 am, Bucky was rudely awakened by a pounding on his door. He looked at the time and he jumped to his feet so fast he almost broke his neck tripping on his sheets. Kentucky was gonna kill him. He just hoped to God whoever was outside his door didn’t drag him out of the hotel in handcuffs.

“Ok Bucky, time to shine!” He muttered to himself and threw open the door. Outside was quite possibly the largest man he’s ever seen, and he was no pipsqueak himself, he towered over bucky by at least a foot, and his biceps were roughly the size of his head. “Hello there, seeing as you’re not in a police uniform, you must be Frankie.” The big man grunted his assent. “Ok then, may we g-“

“Listen here pretty boy, I don’t care if your famous, you hurt Kentucky? I hurt you. Understood?” His voice felt like a blast of attic wind. It made Bucky shiver. Where was this coming from? How would he hurt Kentucky, it’s not like she would ever date him, he couldn’t even get a woman to Mary him, let alone bag an absolute catch like Lucky.

“Yes sir, won’t happen again.” Bucky saluted like he was still in the service then realized what he was doing and always my scratched his head. “Can we?” He pointed at the door, hoping against all odds to escape this absolute shit show of a conversation.

“By the way kid? You’re lucky she didn’t send the cops.”

——————————————————————————

At the colosseum, Y/N was pracitcaply putting a hole in the rug of their dressing rooms, while the various other band mates who bothered to show up on time, sat there bored out of their minds.

“I’m gonna kill him,” you muttered, biting at your bottom lip.

“No your not mama,” Natasha laughed from the couch, “You think he’s sexy, you don’t burn fine art.”

“Dammit, you’re right.” You sighed throwing your hands in the air and plopping dow on top of her and Peggy who were sitting next to eachother looking at dress designs Wanda sent them for SNL next month.

“I like the black one Nat, the red detailing is classy and fun.” You mutter, Peggy nods in agreement.

“I like Wanda’s idea of us all having black dresses with different colors, we could do it 1950’s style and put our hair up? I think it would look really cool. Fits the vibe of our song choice.” Peggy says casually flipping through the designs.

“Carol and I respectfully request to wear suits if that’s ok?” MJ pipes up, “I think two and two will look cool.” She shrugs, I’ll do the regular hair and makeup though.”

“Can I get a broad brim mobster hat?” Carol asks popping up from her place on the floor beside MJ’s chair.

“Yes, I like this idea. SNL will like it too I bet.” Wanda nodded. “If they let Megan and Billie do what they want, I’m guessing your performance will be just as accepted. That and it can be in black and white. Rami Malik is also the perfect host for that. I’ll pitch it to their team.”

“How about you boys, any ideas? You’re the week after.” Wanda said looking towards the Comandos who had already made it.

“I like the Jailhouse rock Idea! I think we sh-” Just then, Frankie walked in holding James by the collar.

“Put him down Frankie,” you sigh “he’s an ass, but we need him.” After Frankie let him go, he brushed himself off and grinned at you sheepishly. “You better have a damn good explanation for this.” You grind out.

“Over slept?”

“Im gonna kill him”

——————————————————————————

All in all, the show went off without a hitch, the bands both sailed through their songs beautifully, and earned themselves an encore. However, on the last encore of the night, Bucky made things a little more interesting.

“This last one, goes out for a little special someone!” When he said that, you could swear he winked at you.

“Hey hey mama said the way you move” when he held out that move? You could feel your soul shake. He was going it slow, taking the opening slow to really get the crowd worked up. It was like he was expressly trying to lock eyes with you, seat his irises into your soul. “Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove.” Then when the first two lines were done and they kicked into tempo, you remembered where you were, what you were doing, and you let the song echo behind you, as you went to help Wanda pack up the dressing room.

What was that look? What game was he playing at? He couldn’t want to mess around with you, you were a nobody. He was James Barnes, lead singer of one of the biggest bands of the decade, he had no interest in you. You were a road manager, a stick in the mud, a hard headed know it all. He dosent know a thing about you and dosent want you. You were just getting caught up in the music right?

[selne]

     ◜  *  hi  hello  everybody!!!  i'm  billie  (  she/her,  21  )  &  i'm  here  to  introduce  everybody  to  miss  selene  ishii,  your  resident  mystery  novelist  &  overall  cutie.  if  you'd  like  to  plot  please  don't  hesitate  to  take  a  gander  at  my  connections  page  &  feel  free  to  drop  a  like  for  a  dm  ♡.

𓏲  ՞  ˖  🍀    𓂃    ogawa  mizuki  (  léa  ),  cis  woman,  she/her.          have  you  seen  selene  ishii  around  town?  she  can  often  be  found  at  the  brew  commune,  &  you’ll  be  able  to  recognize  them  by  her  seemingly  permanently  ink  stained  fingers.  the  24  year  old  is  a  mystery  novelist  and  has  been  residing  in  solaris  for  seven  months.  the  aquarius  often  reminds  the  residents  of  frayed  edges  on  a  well  worn  sweater,  crinkled  eyes  hidden  behind  round  glasses,  and  the  mischief  an  empty  street  at  night  invites.

𝙺𝙾𝚃𝙾𝚁𝙸 𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙸.

born  to  two  middle  class  high  school  teachers,  kotori  ishii  was  brought  to  this  world  wrapped  in  love  and  care  and  laughter.

with  a  mother  that  was  loud  and  vivacious  and  passionate,  and  a  father  that  was  quiet  and  reserved  and  kind,  kotori  took  after  the  best  of  both  of  them  and  quickly  became  the  apple  of  their  eyes.

kotori  grew  up  with  a  warmth  that  charmed  most  of  the  people  she  met,  and  a  clumsiness  that  endeared  her  to  them,  but  little  miss  sunshine  (  as  her  father  liked  to  call  her  )  always  had  a  nose  for  trouble.  she  was  constantly  looking  for  adventure,  straying  off  the  yellow  brick  road  to  chase  down  the  interesting  looking  bird  flying  over  head,  or  climbing  over  a  locked  fence  to  see  what  was  hidden  behind.

seeing  this  behaviour,  her  parents  sought  to  correct  it  by  encouraging  her  to  read  books  with  adventure  in  them  rather  than  seek  her  own,  and  to  their  delight,  kotori  took  to  the  stories  with  ease.

it  was  when  she  was  old  enough  to  finally  begin  reading  agatha  christie  that  kotori  felt  something  click  in  place.  all  the  mysteries  she'd  read  that  were  written  for  kids  were  good,  yes,  but  nothing  beyond  that.  the  world  of  agatha  christie,  however?  it  was  magnificent,  and  kotori  couldn't  get  enough.

she  doesn't  start  writing  her  own  mysteries  until  she's  in  high  school,  even  under  the  watchful  eye  of  her  mother  as  she  taught  english,  and  her  father  as  he  spouted  off  about  math.  she  was  never  quite  careful  enough  to  completely  hide  it  from  her  parents,  but  they  were  both  simply  happy  that  she  found  a  passion  of  her  own.

after  that  it  was  writing  competitions  and  posting  anonymously  on  different  websites.  it  was  winning  and  impressing  the  people  around  her  but  it  wasn't  enough,  not  really.  kotori  wanted  her  own  book.  hard  back.  she  wanted  her  name  on  the  cover  and  she  wanted  to  see  it  sitting  on  a  shelf  in  a  bookstore.

her  parents  had  said:  don't  be  disappointed  if  you  don't  get  results.  her  agent  had  said:  what  if  you  went  by  selene  instead?

𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙽𝙴.

selene  leaves  kotori  behind  when  her  first  book  gets  published.  mononyms  are  in,  her  agent  had  said,  and  she'd  said,  okay  then.  her  first  book  becomes  something  of  a  sensation.  people  whispering  about  how  someone  so  young  could  write  a  book  like  that,  how  someone  completely  unknown  could  write  a  book  like  that.

she  is  twenty  and  she  makes  headlines  and  does  interviews  and  answers  calls  from  her  parents  crying  about  how  proud  they  are  on  the  other  end  of  the  line.  and  it's  a  lot.  it's  too  much.  selene  wanted  her  book  on  the  shelf,  she  wanted  her  book  to  be  read,  but  the  rest  of  it?  the  rest  of  it  she  could  live  without.

when  she  was  fifteen  and  writing  the  first  draft  of  her  first  novel  she  had  never  thought  about  the  fame.  even  when  she  was  twenty  and  looking  at  her  own  display  in  the  bookstore  she  had  never  thought  about  the  fame.  she  was  not  a  celebrity,  not  in  any  way  she  thought  counted,  so  then  why?

eventually,  someone,  somehow,  someway,  found  the  address  to  the  apartment  complex  she  was  living  in,  and  on  her  twenty  first  birthday  she  got  an  anonymous  present  dropped  off  in  front  of  her  door.  it  was  an  innocent  little  thing,  a  snow  globe  and  a  little  thank  you  note,  but  it  was  enough.  it  was  enough  to  make  selene  wary,  and  a  paranoid,  and  think  about  people  less  kind  also  knowing  where  she  lived.

she  moves.  and  that  solved  the  issue,  for  a  while.  but  then  she  dropped  her  second  book,  aged  twenty  three  and  a  half, ��and  the  next  week  there  was  an  abundance  of  gifts  waiting  for  her.  she  stays  this  time,  but  doesn't  open  the  presents,  and  her  parents,  seeing  her  uncomfortable  shifting  and  wide  eyes,  they  tell  her  about  solaris.

and  so  she  picks  up  everything  and  disappears.  only  her  parents  and  her  agent  know  she  is  now  residing  in  solaris,  and  selene  would  very  much  like  to  keep  it  that  way.  meanwhile,  her  fans,  her  critics,  her  friends,  they  wonder,  where  is  selene?

𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙺𝙳𝙾𝚆𝙽.

selene  came  to  solaris  to  run  from  everything,  basically.  and  now  she's  here,  finally  relaxed,  to  work  on  her  third  book  in  peace.

in  terms  of  personality,  she's  very  friendly.  very  warm  and  inviting,  always  wearing  a  big  smile  and  saying  hello  with  a  friendly  wave.  she  babbles  a  lot,  though,  especially  if  she  isn't  fully  comfortable  with  you  yet.  she'll  fill  the  awkward  silences  with  unending  chatter.

she's  also  very  passionate,  especially  about  writing  but  that  translates  to  anything  she  likes.  you  can  tell  when  she's  talking  about  something  she  likes  because  her  smile  gets  wider  and  her  eyes  go  brighter  and  her  gestures  become  bigger  and  more  exaggerated.

even  though  she's  grown  now,  she  still  yearns  for  adventure  as  much  as  she  did  when  she  was  a  child.  in  fact,  sometimes  she  thinks  about  writing  adventure  novels  instead  of  mysteries,  but  she's  afraid  to  branch  out  incase  it  won't  work  and  people  hate  it.

can  get  kind  of  stubborn.  if  you  argue  with  her  she  will  get  huffy  and  put  one  hand  on  her  hip  and  furrow  her  eyebrows  and  use  her  other  hand  to  poke  a  finger  at  your  chest.  mostly  refuses  to  compromise  or  bend  her  opinion  on  something,  unless  you're  Very  very  convincing.

if  you  tell  her  you  don't  like  her  work,  she  Will  cry.  she'll  say  it's  okay  and  she  gets  that  not  everyone  will  like  what  she  writes,  but  she  will  definitely  be  emo  about  it.

𝙱𝙾𝙾𝙺𝚂.

first  novel  :  dancing  shoes  by  SELENE. blurb  :  a  ballet  academy  is  the  perfect  place  for  secrets,  and  zola  academy  of  dance  is  no  exception.  however,  when  on  the  eve  of  zola's  annual  production  of  giselle,  nothing  is  found  of  principal  dancer  maia  chang  but  her  dancing  shoes,  those  secrets  might  be  in  danger  of  coming  to  light. rating  :  4.07/5  stars  on  g**dreads.

second  novel  :  the  fifth  floor  by  SELENE. description  :  sitting  in  the  middle  of  an  ordinary  town,  lies  an  ordinary  office  building,  filled  with  ordinary  people.  there  is  nothing  ordinary,  however,  about  how  every  year,  without  fail,  at  8pm  on  march  23rd,  somebody  will  jump  to  their  death  from  the  fifth  window  on  the  fifth  floor. rating  :  4.29/5  stars  on  g**dreads.

third  novel  :  n/a  (  first  draft  in  progress  ). description  :  n/a. rating  :  n/a.

𝙿.𝚂.

thats  all  folks!!!  thanks  for  getting  through  all  that  <333  again,  i’d  love  to  plot  so  feel  free  to  like  this  for  an  im,  or  hit  me  up  on  discord  at  :  !!!#2428.

[offtopicoverload]

Hey!! Idk if youre still using those dialogue prompts (its all good if youre not) but if you are, may i ask for prompt 29 “Im not going anywhere” with Marisol? Thanks x

Hey anon, sorry it took so long, but here’s a little bit of fluff and hurt/comfort!

Marisol x MC (Violet)

~1.2k

It’s late, the sky dark tonight with clouds and a heavy downpour, the moon and starlight no longer mingling in the night sky to illuminate the few people still roaming the streets at this hour. Street lamps provide a path towards safe haven and the pavement’s damp beneath stragglers' feet as they hurry home or to work or wherever they’re required. Rain drops slide down window panes, thunder rumbles in the sky and lightning flashes between closed curtains as people hide from the night and its downpour.

Violet and Marisol are curled up together in bed, sleeping soundly and ignoring the storm. At least, Marisol is, with her arms wrapped around her pillow and the duvet falling down her torso. Violet’s coiled in a tight ball, sheets and duvet abandoned as a nightmare races through her mind, echoes of the thunder outside rattling against her skull.

She’s always hated thunder, it’s always startled and scared her, even though she knows it’s nothing but a sound. But it’s a sound equivalent to the world splitting open and the clouds lead a charge against humanity. It’s a sound that rattles your bones and shakes the walls, a sound that can rock the world and everyone in it.

Violet’s always hated the power that thunder holds, it’s always scared her and panicked her. It’s always given her terrible nights of sleep and horrifying nightmares that she can’t explain, all she can understand from them is a constant feeling of dread and terror.

And tonight’s no different, the faintest flickers of comprehension only fanning the flames, the few scraps of a story line irking her, sending her stomach into knots and her mind into anguish.

She startles awake, gasping right as thunder crashes, trembling the walls of the flat, rattling the bars of Violet’s protective cell, attempting to break through to her. She fumbles upright, glancing around the room and taking in the drawn curtains, the dark shadows, and Marisol dead asleep beside her, her back to Violet.

She’s always loved storms, loved the rain pattering on the roof and loved the smell of the world when she steps outside. She’s always loved the excuse to stay inside, the excuse to curl up with a blanket. She’s never minded thunder or lightning, always seen them as harmless additions to her favourite weather.

She’s never been afraid of the power they hold, it’s never even been a worry to her. It’s never kept her awake at night, only provided white noise to drift off to sleep and cycle through unintelligible dreams to, dreams that travel through fragments of memories and random amalgamations of colours and sensations.

Violet falls back to the headboard, her knees pressed into her chest as she stares into the dark, working to slow her rapid breathing and her pounding heart. Her forehead falls to her knees, her back rising with every shaking breath and fingertips pressing into her shins to ground her. Her loose hair curtains her face, only further isolating her from the outside world.

Another rumble explodes from the sky, Violet jumping with it and shaking in her skin, her breathing quickening once again as her hands slide into her hair, gripping her roots and squeezing her eyes shut. She can feel her heart thumping against her ribcage, echoing in her muscles, pounding in her ears mercilessly.

“Vida?” a small whisper asks from in the dark, Marisol looking at Violet’s hunched form from over her shoulder. She struggles upright, scooting close to Violet and pulling her hands from her hair, squeezing them gently, “Vida?” she whispers again.

Violet lifts her head from her knees, meeting Marisol’s eyes that she can barely see in the little light of the room, dark abysses staring back at her. Marisol’s thumbs caress her hands, gentle and delicate before they split apart to brush dark locks out of Violet’s face.

She’s used to this by now, used to calming an anxious Violet and comforting her in the dead of night, the second thunder breaks the clouds. She’s used to being patient and steady when Violet’s spiralling, to being her tether to reality. She’s used to it, she doesn’t mind it, and she almost expects it. If Violet’s eyes never shined with anxiety again, Marisol wouldn’t know what to do, she wouldn’t know what to make of it.

“Do you want to watch a movie? To drown it out?” she asks gently, her hand running circles along Violet’s spine as the taller woman leans into her, her head landing on Marisol’s shoulder, breath brushing her neck.

She shakes her head, settling further into Marisol’s body as she does, quiet for a long moment, the storm filling the silence. “I had a nightmare,” she murmurs, Marisol’s nails scratching at her lower back and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her thumb trailing her jaw.

“About what?” Her arms slide around Violet to enclose her in her hold, running her hand up and down her upper arm soothingly. Violet doesn’t answer, simply turns her face into Marisol’s neck, lashes tickling the lighter-haired woman’s skin. “About what, Vi?” she presses the topic, halting her hands and pulling back to try and catch Violet’s gaze.

She avoids it, staring into the dark with her head dipped, a few strands of hair obscuring her features. Marisol brushes them from her face, staring at her averted eyes, “Vida, what was it about?”

“You left me,” the words come out barely audible, her eyes downcast as her chin falls to her knees, arms wrapping tight around her legs. Not a single emotion passes her face, her expression entirely blank and eyes dark.

“Vida. Vida. Hey, Vi,” Marisol tries to draw Violet’s gaze, but she keeps it focused on the shadows as rain pelts the roof above them and the window across from them. “Hey. Look at me,” she cups Violet’s jaw, forcing her eyes on her, “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” She forces as much earnesty into her eyes as possible, staring into inky black darkness before her.

Violet nods, stiff and hesitant, not believing in the haunting dead of night. Another rumble rocks the flat, Violet falling into Marisol’s arms again as it rages on and on and on, seemingly unending until it abruptly halts. Marisol traces her spine, up and down her back as Violet’s forehead presses into her shoulder.

As the rain against the window retakes its position as the loudest sound in the room, Marisol cups Violet’s face carefully, pulling her eyes level with her own. Her thumbs brush Violet’s cheeks, “I’m right here and I’m not leaving. It’s me and you. It’s been me and you, for over a year now. I love you and that’s not just going to randomly change one night. Got it, vida?”

Violet nods, for real now, letting her forehead fall against Marisol’s and eyes flutter shut, “I love you, too.” Her words ghost along Marisol’s lips, light breaths sending shivers down Marisol’s spine, and she darts forward, capturing Violet’s lips with her own.

They break apart slowly, their breath mingling in their close proximity, their limbs tangled together as they fall back to the sheets, wrapped around each other as lightning flashes through the gaps in their curtains and thunder shakes their walls. Rain berates the roof above them, a constant, erratic rhythm as they slowly drift off to sleep in the dead of night.

[hermits-that-craft]

Chapter 47 - Arch 2 - Fulfillment

AO3:https://archiveofourown.org/works/23509375/chapters/62156269 TW - Torture, Death, Confusing Magic, Body Horror, False Hope, Fighting, Stab Wounds, Blood, Abandonment, Betrayal

They sit in a room together, Etho's sheets spread out in front of him. It's been a while, and though worry plagues the back of their minds, worry for both Scar and the people that they know are captured, but Etho, Builder and Protector work through it. Protector mumbles idly to herself, occasionally looking at Builder with a pained face, as though she's trying to remember him before he dies. Etho isn't sure of what this prophecy entails, or what it really says, but he doesn't know if they are worth breaking the siblings up for. He shrugs off the concern as Rose walks into the room with Cub, carrying more iron. Etho is glad that they had already measured Iskall's arm, the man has been through enough and Etho doesn't know if he'll stay here if he saw what they were doing with the arm.

Rose and Protector glare at each other for a moment as Cub puts the iron down, and Cub pulls a face, meeting Etho's eyes. They both smile uncomfortably as Builder looks up, taking the iron from where Cub put it. The watcher begins to hammer it into shape, ignoring the silent argument between the wives.

"I am very uncomfortable with the energy in this room." Etho says to Cub as the two players move to sit with each other.

"Tori this is madness, the prophecy doesn't need to happen so soon. Some more time Tori." Rose pleads.

"You know, this argument would be easier to mediate if we knew what the prophecy was and also what you guys are saying." Etho calls to the women, who both sigh, glaring at the newly undead.

"Tori- Protector believes that she should-"

"Rose isn't willing to lose people for the sake of the universe." Protector sighs. "I don't blame her, it's clear that someone will die in the-"

"Could you tell us the prophecy?"

"'A watcher, of original descent, will fall to the Night protecting the universe'." Builder says, stand up from where he sat. The metal arm in his hand glows slightly, and Etho smiles, taking it from him. "That's the prophecy. Rose is worried that Protector will be the one to die."

"Of course I'm worried that she'll die, I'm pregnant!" Rose mumbles to herself, though the room is so quiet that everyone hears it. Cub gasps loudly, and Etho struggles to keep hold of the prosthetic arm. Builder's face goes slightly pale, his eyes wide, and Protector's face goes soft, lovingly staring at her wife. "I don't want them to grow up without their other mother."

"How does that even work, aren't you both-"

"Magic Etho. Anyways that doesn't mean that Aunt Protector will die, it could be Uncle Builder, it doesn't even say that either of them will die! Night could magic them asleep, or-"

"Can we go back to how Rose is pregnant?" Etho asks. "You shouldn't be here, you could get seriously hurt! And if the baby is made via magic, couldn't you have planned it better?"

"I'm three months along, Etho." Rose smiles sadly. "We thought that we would be safe."

"Why would you come here if you knew?" Builder asks, though his eyes are filled with wonder.

"I knew that Protector would speed the prophecy up. I thought that maybe I could stop her from-"

She's cut off, not by a scream or someone speaking, but by a buzz. Everyone's communicators go off, and dread fills the room. A scream or a shout would not be as troubling, as fear inducing as the communicator going off. A death message? Etho doesn't want to know, but his hand grasps the communicator anyways.

WatcherBuilder: NIGHT. YOU. ME. WE'RE ENDING THIS. WatcherBuilder: MEET ME WHERE YOU AND ISKALL FOUGHT. NO STARS. NO HERMITS. WatcherBuilder: Just us two. Please. TheNight: Give me two hours. I'll be there.

"Builder what the fuck?" Protector growls out, and Etho snaps his head up, looking at Cub with confusion in his eyes.

"You aren't going to be the watcher to fall to Night. You're going to be a mother. I'll do it, Protector. Just, tell them that their uncle loves them, okay?" Builder's eyes have tears in them, and False and Cleo run into the room, Iskall close behind them. The two girls have swords out, god armour on and anger painted onto their faces. Iskall looks upset, scared and furious, though Etho can't tell which of those emotions was the one that made him run into the doorframe. 

"You're going after Night without us?" False's voice sounds wreaked, anger and fury tearing at her vocal chords. "Why. Why won't you take us?"

"Because you're going to use this as a chance to break the people who Night captured out."

---

Grian rests his head against Xisuma's shoulder, his breathing deep. Wels watches the door as Xisuma checks them both for wounds, any sign of serious discomfort. It doesn't matter, really, Xisuma has no supplies to make either of them feel better, but its something to do, and it's the thought that counts, right?

Footsteps echo up the halls and Xisuma holds his breath, a small prayer flittering across his mind. He hopes, pray with all his might that the feet continue to go down the hall, to where they heard Ren. Guilt tears at away at the thought, but Xisuma doesn't know how long he can last if someone hurts Wels and Grian again. He doesn't know if he would be able to fight against Admin if Night comes in.

The footsteps stop and Xisuma gently wakes Grian, knowing that the small avian would hate to be woken by screams. Grian yawns and rubs his eyes as the door opens, Night's glowing eyes and smile appearing in the doorframe. Grian freezes and Wels backs towards Xisuma subconsciously, acting on instinct rather than reason. Xisuma holds his breath, ready to fight whatever they say if it means that he'll protect Grian and Wels.

"Oh calm down, I'm not going to help you. I have a meeting to be at." Night's voice is airy, happy and the captured men freeze, worry cast over their faces. Night calling torture help isn't unusual in and of itself, but Night just wanting to talk is concerning. A meeting, however? Another death, a new hermit joining them in this unending nightmare. It isn't fair. "Grian, how would you rate your father's fighting skills?"

Grian face goes paper white, horror painting his face a terrifying shade of fear. Night laughs as Grian tries to save face for his father, waving a hand at him.

"Don't bother, I know my brother-"

"Brother?" Wels gasps, looking at Grian. Xisuma, not for the first time, can't find enough air in the room, even though the air is thicker in the overworld. Grian's eyes flash, the purple turning brighter, a flash of magic that Xisuma recognises but Wels clearly doesn't.

"Don't call him that." Grian mumbles.

"Don't call him what? My brother? Oh please, are you a fool? That's what he is. He is my brother, he doesn't have a say in his lineage."

"You emancipated yourself. You don't get to claim us as family. You left." Grian mutters accusingly, though it's obvious that he isn't mad about Night leaving. No, it feels as though he is mad about something else, though Xisuma can see the thinly veiled fear in his eyes.

Night can see it as well.

"What, scared that I'll kill your other set of parents?" Night taunts and Grian freezes. "Oh, you didn't know? Your home planet wasn't destroyed because of fate or any of that 'it was just their time' bullshit Builder sold you. Your birth father would have been able to save your planet. I destroyed it. I watched as your mother screamed to protect you and your siblings. I watched as your father opened that portal that sent you to the world hub. I'm the one who tore off his wings."

"Shut up." Wels yells, fury in his eyes and Xisuma knows that Night hit a nerve. "How could you? How dare you take another's wings?"

"Wingless one, do keep your mouth shut, you're only useful serving others." Night's smile glows brighter. "I have to go, I can't be late for my meeting after all, but I'll bring your father's head to you, Xelqua."

Night turns, their laughter making Xisuma's ears bleed. Grian's breathing doesn't calm, not even after Night has left, and Xisuma holds onto Grian's hand. Wels send him a worried look, removing himself from Xisuma's other side to inch his way towards Grian. The two men wait as Grian calms himself down, his breathing deepening as the remaining feathers on his wings flatten.

"Grian, if you were adopted by Night's family, could you know who Night's sons are, where they are?" Wels asks. Xisuma shoots him a glare, though theres nothing really making it stick. "I mean, if Void took their kids away, maybe your parents know?"

"How would Grian know who they are, let alone where they-"

"I know." Grian's voice is quiet, shaky and fragile. He stares at the floor. "I've known for a while, about halfway through season six, in fact. I had to hide it from Bird because-"

"They're hermits?" Xisuma's eyes widen as he realises it. "Oh Void, who has a twin brother in the hermits."

Wels frowns for a moment, mumbling to himself before his eyes widen as well. Wels shoots a look at Grian, who grimaces before nodding towards Xisuma.

"I can't for the life of me remember-"

"Xisuma, who is Evil X?"

"Oh! He's my twin." Xisuma cuts himself off, his eyes wider than dinner plates. "Oh. Oh it's me."

"I'm so sorry."

---

"Can I ask you something, Bdubs?" Tango's voice is full of concern and they walk towards the armoury. Bdubs is shaking slightly, from the cold or fear.

"Of course, shoot."

"Why are you going back?" 

Bdubs stops, then shrugs, then moves again, but he doesn't say anything, the shaking just gets worse. Impulse looks at Tango worriedly, and they share a nervous glance. It's good in theory - Bdubs knows where Night's base is. He knows the layout enough to get them in. Still, he could draw a map or even just guide them through the base by using the communicators. 

"You need a guide." He mumbles after a while. "I need to," He pauses, the words dying in his throat, and once again Impulse sends a worried look to Tango. "I need to know if Wels is alive."

Tango and Impulse exchange a glance, Tango sucking in a breath. Bdubs ignores them, pulling open a chest laden with swords and god armour. Tango sends him a small smile as he puts the chest plate in his inventory. Impulse hums to himself, pulling the diamond pants on, checking the enchantments on it as he does so. Tango looks for a correct sized helmet. 

"I guess we're going on an adventure." Impulse mumbles to himself. "Or a quest? Tango, would this be an adventure or a quest?"

"A quest I think. I mean, an adventure is unplanned right? So it's a quest."

"It's a quest, cause a quest has an end goal. Our end goal is getting our friends back." Bdubs smiles as he suggests it.

"But we don't really have a plan?"

"Tell False that." Tango smirks at Impulse.

"Cleo too. The girls have been planning a rescue since Builder got here."

"Oh! I bet that Scar is in kahoots with them, and that's why he's not here. Too dangerous for him to be here with King Silas too." Bdubs suggests happily, and false hope wraps around the men.

The three hermits leave the armoury, decked out in more armour than they care to admit. Cleo, False and Evil Xisuma wait for them at the end of the hall, and Tango wonders Evil Xisuma feels strange as he is slotted into the role that Xisuma usually fills. He looks uncomfortable, though, as Cleo absentmindedly calls him 'Xisuma' and Keralis calls him 'Shiswammy'. 

"Hey Evil X!" Tango calls. "You doing alright? We'll have your brother back in no time."

"Promise?" Evil Xisuma's voice is quiet, scared and Cleo and Keralis look shocked. 

"Of course, Ex." False says, her hand over her heart. "We'll bring him back. We'll bring as many back as we can."

It's a hard promise, one that Tango isn't sure that they can keep, and from the look on Impulse's face its clear he is also doubting their abilities. But they'll try, the group has to try. It's not fair on the hermits if they don't try. It's not fair on anyone if they don't try. They have to try their hardest - if they don't who will? Who will save the others?

No more words are spoken, and Keralis pulls Bdubs into a tight hug. Zedaph comes into the room as well, and he silently begs Tango and Impulse to come back. To stay safe, to fight hard. They promise him that they'll try, and tears spring in Tango's eyes and he's pulled into a hug. He doesn't want to leave, not the embrace that reminds him of home.

Of what they have to save.

Reluctantly, Tango pulls himself out of the hug, Impulse following suit. Cleo gives Joe a quick hug and False hugs Xb for a second. TFC escorts them to the nether portal, the worry etches into his face. It's clear that he doesn't expect this mission, this quest, to succeed.

"No one will blame you guys if you come back without anyone." TFC says, his hand on False's shoulder. "You can't blame yourselves for it either. Your safety is more important. We won't blame you if you can't save everyone."

"We're going to get everyone." False swears to TFC, and the old man sighs, his hand dropping from her shoulders.

"Just take care of yourselves." TFC sighs. "Please."

False relaxes slightly, smiling weakly at him. 

"Of course." False says, the rage melting from her eyes. "We'll take care. You have to as well, though."

"When the war reaches my doorstep I'll be down in my mines." TFC smirks. "I don't fear this Night character, I've met worse. Go fight."

The walk through the portal to the nether roof, Impulse guiding them to a hole he put into the bedrock. The jump down the hole, Cleo grumbling to herself about how much she hates the nether when a ghast spawns, right in front of Impulse. Cleo screams and False pulls out her sword, but before Bdubs and Tango can drag Impulse away from the ghast the hermit puts his hand out. The ghast pushes its head against Impulse's hand and twists slightly, rubbing itself against Impulse. The redstoner turns, smiling at the group.

"She offered to fly us to Night's portal." He says, grinning. "As long as you put your swords away."

"Since when could you talk to ghasts?"

"Since always? If you bothered to ask you'd know this - Tango you were raised with me  put your sword away!"

The group reluctantly puts their swords in their inventory, Impulse already on top of the giant ghast. He sits comfortably, making noises that Tango isn't quite sure a human could make, and the ghast responds, lowering its-herself down to their level. They hop on and the ghast flies them around, quickly flying through areas that none of the hermits recognise. It's a maze, a labyrinth of tunnels and pockets and Tango watches Impulse with worry. Yes, he knew that Impulse is as much a netherborn as he is, but he didn't realise that Impulse had a connection to the ghasts. He doesn't blame the man for not telling him, netherborn with connection to creatures - when Tango revealed that he himself can talk to blazes the two men had to flee their home in the nether as they were hunted, even though Tango had only revealed it to people in their village. Those who can talk to mobs are prizes, though it's clear to Tango that Impulse speaking to ghasts is one of the reasons they survived for so long before Xisuma found them. Hindsight is twenty twenty and all that.

The ghast lands, letting them off at a small ledge before she talks to Impulse again. It seems as though they are having a rather important conversation, Impulse's forehead furrowed in concern.

"She says the portal is this way, but she can't bring us any closer. The ghasts have seen Night leave this area before. With Stress."

"We'll get her back, False." Cleo says, taking False's hand into her own.

"We don't have much of a choice in that matter." Impulse smiles tiredly, leading them further into the nether rack alcove.

---

The two original creations land, standing opposite from each other. Clouds cover the sky, blocking out the sun and it's light as Night's mask glows. Their brother stands, a sword resting on his hip. He can't use it, he never learnt how to. But the threat still stands. Both sides have a goal, both players know how to win the game. Neither wants to fall to the other. A game of chess is to capture the opposing side's king, but what happens when the kings are the last piece on the board? A careful strategy has to be implemented, but does either side know how to plan? The siblings had not planned for this, they do not know what to do in this scenario. Only their sister had a plan for this, but Builder hid her away. There are stains in the dirt that rain has not washed away, copper against the vibrant green. Blood stains. 

"Did he die?" Night asks, knowing that the only other watching is one on their side.

"No." Builder replies evenly. "He has a new arm now. Built by myself."

"When did you learn redstone?" Night's voice is light, an older sibling meeting the younger after a year away. Builder looks uncomfortably around, as though he doesn't want to answer - doesn't know how. "Don't tell me that you still don't know redstone."

"I had help." Builder doesn't lie, but it isn't the full truth.

"Protector? Or a player?"

"Silas." Builder lies.

"Silas," Night laughs. "You trust that old goat? Your loss. He works for whoever offers him the most power."

"He works for Void."

"He will meet Amari on their orders." Night doesn't threaten the Vex King, but threatens Builder. Night offers more power, Builder knows that.

Silas knows that.

"How is Amari, by the way?" Night asks, walking towards their brother. "She still the Queen of the Underworld?"

"How would I know, she rarely makes the trip between life and death." Builder rolls his eyes.

"Pity, you really should know the person you will stay with."

"Are you threatening me?" Builder asks, a frown on his face. "Night, you can't be serious about this. Come back home, Void misses you."

"Don't tell me that you've fallen for their lies as well." Night sounds happy, glee and disgust mixing together. "Xelqua would be so disappointed."

"What have you done to him?" Builder growls. "Leave him out of this!"

"Your son joined my side willingly." Night smiles. "I didn't do anything to him, I just showed him what would happen to him if he stayed with you."

"Night, let him go."

"No, you'll have to take him from me. I'll make sure he personally escorts you down to Amari's doorstep. Unless..."

"Unless?" Builder sounds so hopeful, practically filled with false hopes and pretenses.

"Unless you join my side. Think about it, Builder. You can have your son back. Void cares not for us, only for Protector." Night smiles. "Join us, free yourself."

---

Ren shakes, leaning against Doc. The wither effect hasn't left either of them, Princess leaving them in a daze. It's clear that it was on purpose, the pain not meant to subside until one of them breaks, but Ren doesn't know who will break first. Probably himself, though Doc did break the muzzle. Ren doesn't understand it, who Princess is, why she's possessing Stress.

At least its quiet now.

"What are you going to do when we get out?" Not if. When. Doc still has hope.

"I'll stay on loser island with Pam." Ren mumbles. "I can't expand upwards anymore, so I'll hire the boomers to blow up the downstairs part. How about you, what will you do if we escape?"

"When." Doc corrects him absentmindedly. "When we escape, I'll build more rooms in my half of the mansion. Maybe I'll expand on the pink, any colour is better then purple and black at the moment, so pink and white isn't that bad."

Ren and Doc both laugh, tired and unapologetic. It's the only sound that they can hear, laughter and there's no more fear, not now. Not here, together. It's better, quieter, safer here, without anyone else.

An explosion in the distance stuns them into silence. Yells, shouts, anger mixes and the fear is back. The room feels darker, though the light level doesn't change. Something is terribly wrong and neither hermit can tell why.

Impulse. They can hear Impulse's voice, too far away from them to make out words but too close to not hear them if they scream. 

"Impulse!" Ren screams, standing up. Doc stays seated, chained against the wall. "Impulse, we're here!"

"Impulse!" Doc yells, and Ren walks towards the door. 

"IMPULSE!" Ren screams.

Silence.

Nobody came.

---

"Get them outta here!" Impulse yells, Tango and Bdubs supporting Xisuma as Grian and Wels shake nervously in the corner. They look terrible, white dress shirts in tatters with blood and dirt staining them. A large bruise has bloomed against Grian's cheek and Wels keeps spitting out blood. Cleo knocks back Beef, trying to protect the team. Impulse quickly turns to False as she fights off Mumbo, lending her a hand. "Tango, Bdubs, get them the nether out of here!"

"Mumbo this isn't you!" False says, trying to snap him out of it. "C'mon, Mumbo please."

"We need to get out of here!" Cleo yells, her sword going through Beef's chest.  Beef despawns, a puff of smoke is the only thing left of him. Cleo blocks the swing from Mumbo's sword, kicking out his feet as False kills the man. The two women let out shaky breaths, False giving Cleo a large grin.

"Well, Mumbo hasn't really improved fighting," False laughs breathlessly, holding her side. "So we'll probably be fine."

"Yeah, let's get home." Cleo agrees, sticking her tongue out. They walk towards the door, Impulse waiting for Grian and Wels as Tango, Bdubs and Xisuma make their way out of the room, Xisuma wincing every time he steps, his leg bent at an angle Impulse knows isn't natural.

Grian and Wels watch Impulse with wide eyes, as though they don't know if they're allowed to follow. As though their waiting for permission, or perhaps orders, to follow the group. Impulse's heart breaks, though he doesn't let it hurt for much longer. He has to get them out, and if orders make them follow, then orders will work. He can break the conditioning later.

"Grian, Wels, you're coming with us." Impulse orders, trying to put as much seriousness into his voice. Wels hesitates, fear written across his face, and Impulse winces as he steps in front of Grian as though it's second nature. Grian begins to breath faster, but he steps forward, terror in his eyes. Guilt eats at Impulse, but he watches them as the walk out the door, Wels standing close to Grian's side.

The group makes their way around the building, trying to find Doc and Ren before the two men are lost, though considering how Grian and Wels broke free they wouldn't be lost forever. Impulse wonders, in a brief moment of foolishness, what it would take to free the rest of the hermits. Grian screams as Beef shoots his side, collapsing to the ground with his hands protectively covering his head. As though this has happened a million times.

It probably has.

Impulse moves in front of Wels and Grian, protecting them from the mind controlled man, their friend. Beef doesn't wear one of the masks that Grian and Mumbo sported when they left to kill Scar, but Impulse finds himself wishing that the man did. The masks would hide the disgust written on Beef's face, they'd hide the emptiness in his eyes.

In the distance, Ren screams for him. Impulse can’t get to him. The portal rests behind the door that Cleo stands in front of. Impulse has to stall, to make sure everyone else gets out. He won’t let False make the self sacrifice. He’ll break his promise to Zedaph, but that’s alright. Because at the end of the day, Tango will be back with Zedaph.

“Beef, it’s us.” Impulse says quietly, his hands raised.

“He can’t hear you.” Silas’ voice booms through the room, and Impulse’s heart sinks as tears slip down Wels’ face. There’s a traitor in their midst, and it isn’t a hermit. Is Silas the only traitor? What about Builder, about Protector? Impulse doubts that Rose would betray them, but can any of them trust her?

“Your highness,” False growls, “may I ask you what the fuck you are doing here?”

“Night has offered me something I can’t refuse.” Silas grins wickedly. “I want the mage back, I want to keep my power. Night will win this war against Void, and I intend on maintaining my status.”

Impulse fires at Silas, ready to fight him. Ready to serve as a distraction so the others can get out. Ren and Doc are still screaming as Impulse swings his sword, cutting the Vex King. False joins the fight as Cleo begins to usher the group towards the portal. Beef falls onto False’s sword as Bdubs and Tango get Xisuma out. Impulse is thrown across the room by Silas’ magic as Wels carries Grian through the portal. False screams as Mumbo stabs her. Cleo runs through the portal, and Silas makes his way to it. 

Impulse, not knowing what else to do, throws a water bucket over the portal. He’s trapped False here, but the others won’t come back. 

They’re safe.

---

“He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Protector asks her wife quietly. “I mean, Night wouldn’t hurt Builder. He always was Night’s favourite sibling.”

“Tori,” Rose sighs.

“And Night wouldn’t kill him, right?”

“Tori.”

“I’m sure he’s fine. He doesn’t need to fulfil the prophecy I mean-”

“Tori I love you but for the sake of my sanity please shut up.” Rose sighs, her wings fluttering as they land near the clearing. Protector quickly disguises her watcher wings, walking over to the tree line. “We’ll be caught if you keep this up.”

“You two are the worst people to try and sneak around I’ve ever met.” Night says, their voice echoing around the clearing. Protector freezes, taking Rose’s hand as the wives step into the clearing. Builder looks alright - he isn’t physically hurt from what they can see, at least.

“How did you see us?” Rose asks.

“You have bright red hair, Protector’s hair is bright blue. You stand out against the trees.” Night takes off their mask, placing it on their belt. Their skin is purple, their eyes glowing white. They frown, stepping towards Rose with a confused look in their eyes. Builder looks away, biting back a laugh. “Do you know that you’re pregnant?”

“No, I had no clue.” Rose lies, a deadpan expression on her face. “That’s why I’m here with my wife, to see the world's most assholish pregnancy test.”

“I could kill the baby.” Night’s smile is unnerving, sending shivers down Rose’s spine. Protector moves in front of her, but Rose can’t move, her heart hammering in her chest. “Right now. I could kill it in your womb. All that magic connecting you two, lost.”

“No, you wouldn’t dare?”

“Wouldn’t I? I hardly think that killing a child is a line I won’t cross. Unless you’ve forgotten, sister, I killed Grian’s planet, children and all.”

“You wouldn’t dare, you over glorified twink!” Rose snaps at him, her eyes glowing blue. “How could you?”

“You’re too soft, Rose.” Night shakes their head. “Your brother was always the stronger one.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Protector snaps. “She’s twice as strong as you’ll ever be.”

“I don’t doubt that for one second.” Night’s smile is unnerving. “Though, perhaps, if you looked at the ground, your lovely Rose would understand why she can’t move.”

The ground around Rose is pitch black, connecting her to Night. The grass wilts, and flowers crumble in the lines path. It doesn’t hurt Rose, though she can tell that it will, if Night wants it too. The surrounding grass begins to wilt, flowers decaying too fast for Rose to properly see.

“I wonder, can Rose wither?” Night laughs, the three others stuck in the clearing looking at him. Builder growls, throwing himself at Night. 

Duck. Dodge. Spin. Strike. Block. Repeat. It hurts, something appearing under his feet and sending more damage into his system than any of Night’s strikes. His communicator buzzes, once, twice, death messages mixing with warnings. Strike. He can’t let Protector and Rose get hurt. Dodge. His lungs scream, not used to this type of fighting. Block. Not used to fighting for his life. Spin. Not used to fighting for the lives of others. Duck.

Protector doesn’t want to hurt the player. She won't her the girl, in fact, even if she’s working with Night. The player is wearing a black dress, layers of petticoats under the thick skirt. She wears a black corset outside of the dress - highly impractical, for day wear, though Protector does remember wearing a corset outside her dress when she got married.

Rose watches, helpless, from where she is frozen. Tears slip down her face as she feels the joints in her fingers crack, black ooze leaking out from them. It’s unnatural, it’s painful, it’s terrifying, it’s painless. A scream rips her throat as black ooze falls from her hands. Builder falls to the ground, Protector struggling not to fight the player girl.

“Night, stop this.” Protector pleads. “Please.”

“It will stop when one of you die.” Night says plainly. “But I will not touch you. You must kill someone, your wife or your brother.”

“Protector I,” Builder begins, a hacking cough forcing its way out of his lungs.

“Rose, please.” Protector begs, kneeling in front of her wife. She hands her sword over to the Vex woman. “My life is on your faith.”

“I can’t.” Rose cries, the sword heavy in her heart and hands. The player backs away, towards Night, and the two watch. A tear slips down the players face and Night grins in glee. “I can’t.”

“You must.”

Rose gasps, trying desperately to think of another way. To convince Protector to fulfil Builder’s wish to die protecting them. She can’t, she knows that this is the real reason that Protector came to this wretched place. The prophecy must be fulfilled.

“I wish we had more time.” Rose mumbles as someone exits a nether portal nearby. She can hear the footsteps running towards them. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Through every world,” Rose mumbles her wedding vows, “I will be with you, sickness and health be damned, my love for you will out number the stars.”

“In every universe, I will be by your side.” Protector finishes, kissing Rose’s hands. “You will be in my heart, the thorn in the side of my heart.”

Rose plunges the sword through Protector’s chest as Grian bursts through the clearing. Protector collapses into Rose’s arms, Night laughing in the distance. Rose sobs as Protector lift’s her hands up, brushing some of Rose’s hair out of her eyes. Rose sinks to the floor, resting Protector against her chest.

“I’m sorry, Tori, I’m so sorry.” Rose cries, shaking with sobs.

“Dad are you okay?” Grian asks as Builder stands, his face blank with tears rolling from empty eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“‘Tector.” Builder mumbles under his breath, unable to look away from his twin sister.

“Mum?” Grian’s confused, and he looks over at the scene. “MUM!”

His scream echoes through the clearing, drowning out every other noise. Protector looks up weakly as he runs to her side, bruised and bloody and crying. Tango, Cleo, Bdubs, the admin and a knight stand at the edge of the clearing, tears rolling down the three named hermits faces. The mission wasn’t successful, then. Rose blinks, and Builder is at Protector’s side. Grian sobs, holding Protector’s hand. He’s begging her to stay alive, to stay with him. Rose can’t tell. She can’t hear anything, her heart drowning out any other sounds. Builder holds Protector’s other hand.

There’s a spot of blood in Protector’s mouth.

“Please stay alive, Mum please.” Grian begs, his voice breaking through the sound of Rose’s heartbeats. “Don’t leave us. Please don’t leave us.”

“You’re going to have a younger sibling, G.” Protector mumbles, wiping the tears from Grian’s eyes. “You take care of your other Mum, alright?”

“Mum,”

“Take care of her and your Dad for me.” Builder’s sobbing, his arms shake as his chest heaves. Faintly, Rose hears the sound of fighting in the distance. Protector smiles, a sad affair. There’s pain in her eyes and more blood forces its way past her lips. “And take care of yourself, Bērniņš”

“You’re not supposed to die.”

“I love you. I love all of you.” Protector looks to the sky, a smile on her face. The light leaves Protector’s eyes as she breathes her last breath.

Rose’s world shatters.

[ilyamatic]

Don't Make Pledges to Mermaids

The world sucks so I wrote a very late piece for mermay. I wasn't super interested in mermay because culturally I don't fuck with mermaids. But this ended up being a ton of fun AND felt culturally appropriate. I hope you all enjoy!

It was hard not to stare.

He was supposed to be observing, or taking notes, or getting a quick sketch in even. But Julian found himself too captivated to do much of anything. 

About 100 yards away, a merman laid on his stomach on a large flat rock. Deep brown skin glistened in the sunlight. His long, coily hair was brushed off to the side while the tip of his iridescent teal tail flicked water on him lazily. Julian was tempted to brave the rip tide warning to swim over and join him. He was well aware that he'd be pulled out to sea but it felt like it was worth the risk.

I now see how the sailors of old met their ends, he thought sardonically.

Whatever last dredge of self-preservation kept him by the shore however. He could be reckless but even that was taking it a step too far. Julian begrudgingly contented himself with watching for now.

After what felt like an eternity (a wonderful, glittering eternity) the merman rolled on to his back and stretched. Julian drank up the sight of the thick lines of him. Eventually, brown eyes opened lazily and glanced over to him. He should have felt shame, staring so blatantly as he was. And yet, all he could was smile and wave.

The merman did not return the gesture but instead slipped into the sea. He had no reason to fear the increasingly churning water. His powerful tail would propel him safely to his destination which, much to Julian's delight, was a rock closer to the shore.

Julian wasted no time. He ripped off his clothing and rushed into the warm, tropical waters. He had no fear of rip tides in the shallower waters and made it to the merman ease.

A soft, indulgent smile crossed full lips. "Someone is eager."

"I wanted to talk to you since I spotted you," Julian responded breathlessly.

The merman hummed. "Is that why you were staring for the better part of an hour?"

Julian found his shame and blushed.

"Honestly Juju," he continued. "Weren't you bored?"

"How could I be bored when looking at such beauty?"

The merman laughed lightly. Juju was always the flatterer.

"Was I beautiful the first night we met?" he teased.

"Yes," Julian answered with no hesitation.

The merman snorted. He honestly doubted that. 

_____________________________

Andrico growled in frustration and rage. Those foolish humans, ungrateful mortals! He had given them everything and this is how they sought to repay him?

He thought back to the riches he brought them, the prosperity. A once dilapidated collection of huts full of starving people was now a prosperous fishing town. Was it not he who dug up treasures from the ocean floor to help them pay for food and medical care? Was it not he who herded fish into their usually lifeless waters? He saved them. And what does he get in return? An attempt on his life. All for asking for one spouse and the people's eternal fidelity as payment.

Fools.

He snapped his jaws angrily, his needle sharp teeth narrowly missing a curious fish.

He did not regret drowning everyone who came out seeking to end him. They were infinitely lucky that his clan had no taste for human flesh!  He'd let the scavengers take care of that. However, he did not come out of his victory unscathed. The harpoon in his tail was proof enough. 

Andrico sighed heavily. Wounded and in no shape to fight off sharks, he swam to a nearby small cave. Hoisting himself onto the cave floor, he took stock of his injuries and realized the harpoon went in deeper than he realized. And the wound was bleeding steadily around it. Miles from his clan and no medicinal herbs in sight, Andrico's stomach filled with dread. Not knowing what else to do, he laid out on his side and waited. If the Goddesses were merciful, one of his siblings would come looking for him. If not…

Well, he had never been afraid to die.

After what felt like years, there was rustling and splashing coming from the mouth of the cave. Instead of one of his clansmen however, it was a pair of humans with flashlights. His response was immediate. With the strength he had left he began to growl and screech. The spines and claws that had receded as he rested sprang back to the surface. He might not be able to fight them off but the racket should have been enough to send them running.  As it was, the humans were not deterred. Instead they seemed almost… concerned.

"We're not going to hurt you," one called out over the din. If he had the presence of mind he would have snorted. The harpoon in his tail told him otherwise. 

The humans did not continue their advance. They stayed by the mouth of the cave while Andrico continued his attempts to scare them off. Eventually his screeches died out into pathetic hisses. He was exhausted and had lost too much blood to continue his defense. He flopped back down on the cave floor and awaited his fate.

Seeing that he was no longer going to fight, the humans made their move. He could not catch all that was said in his pain induced haze but he did catch snippets of 'first aid', 'medical kit', and 'veterinarian'. And right before he lost consciousness, he felt a warm hand run along the spines of his arms.

'Stunning' was the last thing he heard before the darkness took him.

______________________________

Strong hands carded through auburn waves. Julian rested his head on Andrico's tail. The gentle motions and the sounds of lapping water were softly cradling him to sleep.

"My sweet Julian," Andrico cooed gently. "I will miss you terribly when you leave."

"I wish I didn't have to," Julian said half-asleep. "I would give anything to stay by your side."

Andrico felt a jolt run through him.

"Is that so?"

Julian hummed in acquiescence.

"Would you even-," Andrico continued. "Would you even pledge your unending devotion to me?"

"Yes," Julian said as he drifted off. "How could I be anything but devoted?"

With that, the man fell into the embrace of slumber, missing the wicked smile on the merman's face.

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 2 - 8

This is a series. Start here, continued from here. 

This is a sequel to Honor Bound. 

Anon requested more of Isaac and Sam, the ultimate brotp. Here ya go!

AO3

Cw: medical whump mention, sex trafficking/noncon mention

Isaac’s hands were tight on the wheel. Even when we aren’t even running from something, I feel like I’m being chased. He rolled his neck and consciously relaxed his hands.

“You ok?”

He looked over to see Sam staring at him, their eyes wide with concern. They bit their lip.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Just want to get there. We’ve got a long way to go.”

“Yeah.” They forward at the car in front of them where Finn, Ellis, Gray, and Edrissa were just visible as silhouettes through the back window.

“We’ll make it.” Isaac glanced back at Tori as she said it, her eyes tense, her lips a thin line. The bruises around her neck were only just starting turn purple after a week of Gray’s recuperation at the hospital and four days on the road. Vera pressed a kiss against the side of her head and pulled her closer.

Gray’s recovery had been harder than they’d anticipated. The chest tube had stayed in for days, pulling the lung open after it collapsed after the breathing tube had come out. “Gray’s not a young person,” the doctor had said to the team in a hushed voice outside their room. “This recovery is going to be hard. They can probably safely leave in a few days. But they won’t be back to normal for…months, maybe.” She’d looked sad as they told them. “Whatever life you’re living, whatever fight you’re trying to win, they won’t be able to do it with you anymore.” Tori had cried for hours.

Now they were running again. Miraculously, they’d been able to stay hidden from the syndicates during their time at the hospital. They were racing against the chance – the inevitability, it seemed – that they wouldn’t make it north. That they would be caught. Captured. Tortured. Killed.

They’d been forced to stick to back roads, sometimes staying in one place for hours as they waited for a safe time to move. Just after leaving Beringer, they’d had to hunker down and hide in their cars as a syndicate helicopter had circled overhead for most of the day. They still had another two or three days to go, at that rate. Isaac’s brow furrowed. I can’t believe we weren’t found while Gray was recovering.

“Do you think we’ll make it to the house you told us about tonight?” Sam turned around to focus on Tori.

“We might get there tonight.” Tori looked out the window at the unending horizon of grass, shimmering almost white with the sun directly overhead. “It might be another eight hours. I don’t remember exactly where it is, but I think we’re still pretty far away.”

“Can we stay there tonight?” Sam stifled a yawn.

Isaac covered his mouth as he yawned, too. It had been a long day and a half. They hadn’t stopped yet, pulling over for bathroom breaks and to switch out drivers every few hours. His back ached and his legs had long since cramped. The journey was taking three times as long as it would have if they hadn’t been sticking to backroads. “If there’s no one following us, then yes.”

“And if there is?” Sam’s throat bobbed as they swallowed.

Isaac blew out a slow breath. “We’ll handle it.”

Vera wrapped her arms tighter around Tori. Tori folded into her embrace, wincing slightly as her arm pressed against the broken skin of her back. “Sorry,” Vera whispered.

Sam’s gaze turned back to Isaac. “Do you think it’ll just be the syndicates after us? Or…or bounty hunters too?”

Isaac’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know.”

“Would people…really turn us over to the syndicates?”

“They would if the money was good enough.”

“But…” Sam’s eyes sparkled with tears. “But we’re all on the same side…”

“You heard the guards back at the hospital,” he said under his breath. “There are no more sides. We can’t blame people for doing their best to get by.”

“I wouldn’t give people to the syndicates even if I needed the money,” Sam mumbled. They crossed their arms in front of their chest and looked out the window.

Isaac looked over at them, the corner of his mouth turning up in a half-smile. “Not everyone’s like you, Sam.”

“Interesting that people guarding a hospital would argue there are no sides,” Vera snarked.

“Interesting isn’t the word I’d use to describe them,” Isaac growled, his knuckles going white against the steering wheel again.

“What does that mean?” Tori sat forward.

Isaac shot Sam a glance. They had gone very still next to him, staring militantly out the window.

“Isaac?” Vera’s voice was tight with concern.

Sam turned back to Isaac, their eyes downcast. “When we got there they…uh…”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want,” Isaac murmured. He pressed his lips together.

“I…I know…” Sam chewed their lip. “Um…” Their voice became very small. “The guards wanted to…um…trade me. For Gray’s surgery.”

“Trade…” Vera’s eyes narrowed and her nose wrinkled in revulsion. “Trade, like…”

“Yeah,” Isaac spat through clenched teeth. “And you…” He jerked his chin up, eyes fixed on the road. “You were going to give yourself to them.”

Sam hung their head. “If it meant Gray got their surgery -”

“Sam, no…” Tori whispered. Her hand went over the front seat to rub their shoulder.

Sam turned wide, tear-filled eyes to Isaac. “I knew you would protect me.”

“Then why did you -”

“I mean…” They swallowed. “I mean you wouldn’t have let them…kill me.”

Isaac glanced at Sam, his face twisted in horror. “But you think I’d just…let them…”

“I just wanted to save Gray,” they whispered miserably, tears running down their nose. Vera’s hand went to Sam’s other shoulder and she squeezed. They stared at their lap, face twisted in shame. “I’m sorry.”

Isaac leaned his elbow on the door and pressed his face into his hand. His eyes pricked with tears. “Please don’t apologize.”

“Sorry.” Sam sniffed. They glanced up at Isaac. He felt their eyes on him and his face pulled into a twisted smile. They laughed once through their tears. “Sorry.”

Isaac licked his lips, working to force down the lump in his throat. “Sam…”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” He dashed the tears from his eyes. “I can’t protect you. No matter where we go, no matter who we’re with, all I can ever think about is how Gavin wants us dead, or worse, and has almost unlimited resources to make both those things happen, and no matter what I do I can’t…” He shook his head bitterly. “I can’t keep you safe. Not even from our own…side. Because it doesn’t matter who’s syndicate and who’s not anymore. No matter where we go there will be people who want to hurt us, hurt you and I…I thought I could stop all that when I went to Gavin. But it turns out that didn’t matter.”

“Isaac!” Vera’s mouth hung open.

He pushed on, bitter tears burning his cheeks. “None of it matters. Even after all that we’ve been through you could have been taken, maybe killed, on the steps of a hospital that was supposed to be on our side.”

Sam was quiet for a long moment. “It mattered to me that you went to Gavin in my place,” they whispered.

Isaac’s eyes snapped to Sam’s and guilt clouded his face. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” His hand loosened a little on the wheel and his lip trembled. “I just want to protect you. It’s all…” He wiped his nose. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you. For you to be safe.”

Sam’s dark eyes rested on Isaac for a long time. Then, in one motion, they scooted themselves across the seat and tucked themselves under his arm. Isaac’s breath caught in his chest and he wrapped his arm around them, crushing them against his side. They laid their head against his shoulder and he squeezed them tighter.

“Maybe you can’t keep me safe.” They shrugged. “Maybe no one can. But…you saved me. Three times.” They cuddled against his side. “It’s more than enough.”

His voice wobbled. “Thanks, Sam.”

“I mean it.” They pulled back and looked at him. “Can’t you just…forgive yourself?”

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the heavy, metallic dread in his gut that the miles had done nothing to alleviate, or maybe it was the weight of the past six months coming down on him all at once. But Isaac looked down into Sam’s trusting eyes, still a little watery but warm with their smile, and he lost control.

He eased the car onto the shoulder and put it in park, pressing his hands against his face and sobbing. Sam’s arms went around him and he clutched at them, fingers tangling in their curls as he pulled them firmly against his chest. He heaved forward with each sob, feeling Sam’s fingers dig into his back and make fists around his shirt.

He heard the door close and looked up to see Vera intercepting a very worried-looking Ellis. “We just need to switch out drivers,” he heard her say faintly through the closed window.

“Is Isaac ok?” Ellis was practically pushing past her, their eyes fixed on him. They pulled the driver’s side door open. “Isaac? What’s wrong?”

He sniffed. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, scrubbing his face with his sleeve. “It’s just been…um…” He blew out a gusty exhale. “I’m just tired I guess.”

“Oh. Ok.” They looked visibly relieved. “So everyone’s ok?”

“Yeah. Everyone’s fine.” He pulled away from Sam and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess I could take a break from driving.”

“I’m up next,” said Tori as she climbed out of the car.

“Go tell everyone we’re ok or Finn’s gonna have a damn aneurism,” Vera laughed. They all looked over to see Finn’s face plastered against the back window, apparently having crawled into the back of the car to see what was going on, unwilling to leave Gray.

“They’ve been fussing over Gray’s stitches all day,” Ellis grumped.

“We can switch if you want…” Vera offered.

They glanced back at the car. Their face pulled into a grudging smile. “No thanks.” They turned to walk back to the car. “Next time we pull over you guys can lead for a bit.”

“We’ll reach the house today, so that works. I can guide us in,” Tori called after them. Ellis threw a thumbs up over their shoulder and climbed back into the driver’s seat.

Isaac stood up and stretched. “Thanks Tori,” he murmured as she walked to the driver’s seat. He climbed into the back. Sam scrambled to join him. Vera laughed and got out, walking over to sit in front with Tori.

Sam moved to Isaac’s side as if drawn by a magnet and curled up against him again. His arm went around their shoulder and he pulled them close, his other hand distractedly stroking through their hair as Tori put the car in gear and slowly got up to speed behind the other car. A few stray tears made their way down his cheeks as he stared out the opposite window, warmed with Sam’s closeness. They sighed and closed their eyes. He kept holding them after they relaxed into his arms and began to snore softly. He smiled gently and pressed a kiss into their forehead.

Continued here.

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @insomniacscoprio, @whumpy101, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word

[goingsllightlymad]

Blinded By Your Light - Part 1. On Meeting

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader 

Summary: Y/N is the definition of ordinary. Studying at a medical school as far as she can get from her rainy hometown of Birmingham, she never expected to be shipped off the Flanders when the war was at it's peak. Much less to meet a handsome young patient with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she had seen in her life who as fate would have it would fall into her lap.

Word Count: 5035 (I had to split this one up into two chapters because it was getting hella long).

Warnings: I have absolutely no writing skills.

________________________________________________________________

The sunlight on the windowsill was more depressing than it was bright. Wan and pale, you knew that you would find no warmth there in the light of that cool, indifferent sun, shining on a fate much more dire than even its own fiery glory. August had not been kind to either of you.

The last traces of summer were fading away, and everyone in the hospital knew it. Gone were the summery days when you could wake and catch the glimmer of hope that the sunshine had brought with it, the apple trees in the orchard laden with fruit and the last of the spring's bright blossom on their rich branches, the birds wheeling in the sky as though they could not hear, not far away, the rattle of machine gun fire and the sickening crash of bombs. In those clearer nights, sat upon your windowsill and gazing out at the unending sky, you could almost see the flames leaping from the wreckage of today's attack, the occasional flare shooting up into the sky in a sudden burst of bright green light, casting a lurid glow on the trees and fields below.

And now the cold was seeping in, with its grim promise of longer nights and the worst that was yet to come, and the war was far from over. Sometimes you had to wonder how many men were left, as through the doors to the hospital there came every day the steady flow of men half-dead and some already long since gone, draped in their funeral gowns of stiff brown uniform and the bloom of rich red blood like roses on their unnamed grave. This war would leave no man untouched, and you could see the poison as it crept into the eyes of those who made it out of here, chilling and colder than that false bliss that washed over the still faces of those who weren't so lucky.

It was the same routine as always - waking in the cool morning light to dress in the harsh white uniform and make your way to the dining-rooms for breakfast, eaten in silence in a crowd of sullen, sleepless faces, then working until late in the evening, all night if they needed you, as they did more and more these days. It was getting worse out there, though no one dared to mention it.

It would be an understatement to say that no day at Flanders General Hospital was without a new surprise, still today had to be an exception. Walking into the main ward at 6:00 in the morning, the last thing you expected was for the ward to be filled with bustling crowds of nurses in sharply-starched aprons and men carrying stretchers.

"Qu'est-ce qu'il y a? (What's going on?)" You turned to another nurse as she made her way past you, busying yourself with folding a blanket over the edge of a bed and scanning the room for clues of whatever had happened.

"Il y a eu une explosion dans les tunnels la nuit dernière.. Un gros, clairement. Des hommes de partout. La directrice dit qu'il semble que nous allons courir pendant plusieurs jours. (An explosion in the tunnels last night. Big one, clearly. Men from everywhere. Matron says that it looks like we'll be running around for several days)." she whispered quickly, raising her eyebrows and gesturing wildly at the rows and rows of narrow white beds, already filling with bloodied men. You took in the pained expressions of the wounded men and the frantic ones of the nurses, and all at once you had to fight the urge to run away. You had never seen so many patients at once, and the noise was something that you knew you could never forget. The screams and wails and sobbing drowned all of your senses, and you wondered if Hell could ever sound so bad.

"C'est affreux... Que puis-je faire? Dis-moi que je peux faire quelque chose. (It's awful... What can I do? Tell me I can do something)." You followed her as she set off briskly down the ward, collecting soiled towels from beside the beds.

"Faites tout ce que vous pouvez voir qui doit être fait. Habiller les plaies, nettoyer les lits, transporter l'équipement. Tous sur le pont, vous savez. Ne les laissez pas vous voir rester les bras croisés. (Do whatever you can see that needs doing. Dress wounds, clear beds, carry equipment. All hands on deck, you know. Don't let them see you standing around idly)."

You sent her a quick nod as she ran off with her armful of towels, then turned to the bed beside you, where a man painted with soot and thick red blood was splayed across a bare mattress. Grabbing a basin of warm water from the bedside stand, you set to work scrubbing his tired limbs gently, eyes wandering across the thin and broken form. Reaching up to his face with the now-blackened washcloth, you brushed the heavy mass of matted blonde hair away from his face, swiping at the cracked skin underneath in slow movement. He flinched, tensing up involuntarily, and the eyes that flew open to stare at you were deep and hazel and terrified.

"Tu vas bien, tu vas bien. Je ne vais pas te faire mal. Sûr ... tout est en sécurité maintenant... (You're okay, you're okay. I'm not going to hurt you. Safe... all safe now...)" you murmured to him in your stumbling French, rubbing soft circles on his stained cheek with a shaking fingertip and wetting the washcloth once more. His whole body trembled and his eyes rolled around madly in his head like the eyes of a God forgotten. You wished you would never know what it was like last night.

For the rest of that day, you were rushed off your feet with helping the patients. More and more seemed to flood in from all directions, filling the wards and drawing the nurses in like a swirling cesspit of blood and gore and pain. Grime was washed away, leaving behind faces that were somehow worse, haunting in their shell-shocked horror.

By the time dusk rolled in through the windows high in the stark white walls, the ward was only beginning to quieten, the last of the soldiers carried in almost an hour ago. In a gradual tide of hushed movement, the nurses retreated once more into the dorms and the backrooms of the hospital, the last few remaining to sit by the bedsides and wrap and rewrap the same wounds in the soft glow of candlelight.

Sitting alone on the windowsill of your dorm, you tried again and again to read, your brain dizzying in some other realm of thought that was nowhere near those bleak black letters and the story you'd read before. You'd moved here in a hurry, leaving behind everything you'd known before, and the books were no different. In your carpet-bag when you'd left had been only the three small novels you knew you could never live without, and only enough clothes to last you your journey there and back. You were meant to be home by Christmas, with all the books you could ever hope to read, but as time passed it was becoming increasingly clear that Christmas was going to be a long, long time in coming.

A knock at the door startled you out of your thoughts, making you jump slightly and slam your book shut. You opened the door cautiously, and were met with the sympathetic face of another nurse.

"De quoi avez-vous besoin (What do you need)?"

"La matrone a envoyé pour vous. Il y a un homme dans la salle, anglais. Il est agité, il parle dans son sommeil. Vous êtes anglais, n'est-ce pas? (Matron has sent for you. There's a man in the ward, English. He is restless, he talks in his sleep. You are English, are you not?)".

"Je suis. De quoi a-t-elle besoin pour moi? (I am. What does she need me to do?)"

"Parle lui. Voyez ce qu'il a à dire. Il vaut mieux qu'il parle à voix haute plutôt que de déranger les autres avec son sommeil (Talk to him. See what he has to say. It is better for him to talk aloud than to disturb others with his sleep)."

You sighed, pulling on your apron, wrinkled and creased from the day's hard work, and stepped past the nurse into the corridor. She placed her hand lightly on your arm and gave you a small smile, directing you down to the west ward, where all the British soldiers were lying.

It was not difficult to see which one she was talking about. In the stillness of the ward, one bed was rocking slightly, the patient thrashing wildly in his sleep. His cries echoed throughout the room, piercing through the whimpering and sniffing that hung heavy in the air from all the other beds. A particularly loud wail stopped you in your tracks, and you wanted to throw your hands up to your ears and block out the dreadful noise, but you forced yourself to keep moving towards his bed, biting down on your lip hard enough to taste the hot, metallic blood gathering on the tip of your tongue.

You sat in the chair beside the bed, pulling the curtains tight around the two of you until there was only the bed and you beside it, and in it the man flailing blindly in his horror-stricken fever dream. His hands dropping to his sides to clutch and tear at the bed sheets, you used the opportunity to reach out and stroke his cheek gently, hushing him and pushing the hair back from his sweaty forehead. Over his eyes there was a strip of warm, wet cloth, and you didn't even want to know what would be there should you move it back.

"Who are you." his voice almost made you jump. Low and husky, with a thick Brummie accent, it filled the enclosed space around the two of you like cigarette smoke hanging in the night air. You had not sensed him waking up, but now his breathing was steadying and his body smoothing down against the bed.

"A nurse." you soothed him, still tracing the soft white skin of his face. He made as though to sit up, trying to push up off the bed with unsteady hands, and you pushed him back down lightly, "Shh shhh... Lie down, Mr Shelby. You're weak."

"'M not weak." But his voice was broken and uneven and you could almost hear the smoke in his lungs in the slight wheeze when he breathed.

"Soon, no. But for now let's just let me do the work." He relaxed into your hands, his hands falling back to the bedsheets and you rubbed the back of one of them with your own.

"Where am I?" he croaked.

"General Hospital, Flanders. We found you out by the river, near dead." you spat out the rumour that by now everyone had heard. Five of the men half-drowned, half-suffocated, lying on the riverbank in a pool of soot and blood that seemed to spill from within them, like the war was in their very veins. Five men with no homes to go to and no way to get to them, and four without names. Only Mr Shelby, a name you could swear you had known in some distant lifetime, had been identified, and only he out of the five had survived, although no one was quite sure how.

"Should have left me there." He stiffened, removing his hand from yours and trying to turn away from you, but his ribs ached and it was all he could do not to cry out aloud at the sudden movement. He made do with turning his head to the other side, and you caught the trail of dried black blood that ran down his neck and disappeared under the stiff collar of the white hospital robe. "Y' don't know what I did." His voice was hard and bitter, sad as you had never heard sadness before, but sad at himself, as though even the war was better than what he saw in the mirror every night.

"And I don't particularly want to know. But I can't just let you die, considering my job." you joked lightly, smiling a little at him to cheer him up and then realising that he couldn't see you anyway, and your smile faded away into the evening gloom of the hospital ward.

"Why don't you go save someone who actually deserves it."

"I am, right now." you persisted, and he didn't know whether to laugh or to scream at you or to break down and cry. There was something about you, know you as little even as he did, that drove him a little insane, listening to you challenge him and contradict him as no one had ever done before, and he thought perhaps he liked it. Liked you, but that was cruel and that was weak, and that was something that Tommy Shelby would never do to another soul.

"If you only knew the things I've done-" he chuckled lowly, bitterly, and you got the feeling he was laughing more at himself than at you.

"If I only had a pound note for every man who's come in saying that, I wouldn't be washing and fixing your filth, now would I." and it was true - war was the cruellest thing you know, and it broke men like nothing else. First their bodies, then their minds, then their very souls themselves. In a job like this, it was very difficult not to think about souls, but you were sure that, somewhere within the prison of his broken body, Thomas Shelby had the most beautiful soul that you had never seen.

"Would that you wouldn't, eh." He almost smirked - almost. His lips settled back into a grimace as he tried to laugh.

"I'd have bought meself a set of uniform and be standing in the trenches as we speak."

"So desperate to get to the front line?" He tilted his head as though studying you, and you had to remind yourself that he couldn't see you from beneath his blindfold, or else you were sure you would have squirmed under his scrutiny.

"So desperate to get away from it?"

"Need a way home. 'S work for me back there, and work must be done."

"Then," you spoke decisively, smoothing out his blankets and straightening his chest onto the mattress, and he wheezed painfully at the action, making you flinch instinctively, "I suppose you ought to lie back and let me help you, else you'll never be out of here." you tapped him on the cheek softly, a motherly thing that you hadn't even thought about but now seemed too close, too patronising and at the same time too affectionate. You stood quickly, anxious to run away before he could react and tell you that you were being unprofessional, but as you turned your back to the bed you heard from behind you a quiet chuckle, breathy and honest, and the shifting of bones beneath weary skin.

"Suppose I ought."

You smiled at that, and walked away.

________________________________________________________________________________

Early the next morning, they called on you again to make up his bed linen, ladling into your arms the thick reams of bleached fabric and shoving you in the direction of the west ward. As you saw him, lying on his back and grinning at you as you approached, staring into you with those unseeing eyes as though he had known all night that you would be coming back, you couldn't help but smile. You weren't one to pick favourites but this man was really testing your morals.

"You're back." his voice was still monotonous and weak, and his words hung heavy with exhaustion and a bleak, dark emotion that you hoped you would never feel, yet still you caught a hint of amusement. His statement seemed so decisive, like he had wished you back and here you were, just as he had wanted you to be. Even broken in his bed, Thomas Shelby had a curious power over you, and you hesitated to say you didn't like it.

"Are you so disappointed?"

"On the contrary, love. I quite look forward to our little chats."

"And what's on the mind of the great Thomas Shelby today?" you laughed, snaking an arm around his back and lifting his torso off the bed a little, then pausing as he coughed forcefully to cover up the whine of pain that had slipped out.

"Well wouldn't you like to know." he shot you a trembling smile as his body settled back into your arms. A thrill of pity shot through your heart and you pulled him a little closer into you, gazing down thoughtfully into his weary face and covered eyes. Somewhere between today and yesterday, those eyes had become the most important thing in the world to you, the only thing you wished to God you knew. Something deep within you was stirring when you looked at them, trying to make out the shape through the tough white blindfold, and you knew it wasn't good at all. Men like him weren't made for girls like you, and men with pretty eyes were only ever trouble.

"Well now, let's suppose I do." you pulled back the covers and folded them over the foot of the bed. Looking back at his uncovered form, you couldn't stop your eyes from roaming. From the scars on his legs to the blood that hadn't washed away, to the tired bones that jutted out unnaturally from under withered skin, Thomas Shelby was exhausted, physically as well as mentally. Beautiful, so beautiful, and irreparably fucked up.  

You wrapped your free arm under his knees and pulled him into your arms in an awkward bridal position where you could smell the sweet, metallic blood in his skin and on his clothes and he could almost taste the harsh carbolic soap from that awful night before, you kneeling in the water in the darkness, scrubbing the taste of war from your skin again and again until your very soul could bleed white blood and the darkness within you seeped out through every breath into the darkness without.

You almost threw him onto the spare bed that had been cleared beside him.

"If you must. I'm thinking about you." he murmured thoughtfully, as though those words were much deeper than you could ever see, and you longed to see the meaning in his eyes as he stared, unseeing, up at you.

"Nothing too saucy, I hope." you joked, but part of you wondered if you really meant it. You thought perhaps you wouldn't much mind it if he did.

"Never! Get that a lot here?" He tried to gasp in mock indignation, but the breath ended up catching in his throat and he hacked and coughed violently, his eyes stinging with tears at the pain in his chest. Your hand flew out to grab his, and you rubbed small circles on the back of his hand reassuringly, holding him against your chest and rubbing his back with the other hand as he collapsed into you once again.

Once the coughing fit passed you pulled yourself away, trying to ignore as best you could the empty feeling that rushed into your arms in the space he left behind, and the way he tensed up again as soon as you had parted. A trick of the early morning light, and you were beginning to get the feeling that that was a common feature of this man, with all his tricks and secrets.

"Wouldn't be too surprised. Lot of lads missing their gals, and I'm just walking sex appeal. Or so I've been told."

"Bothers you, does it?" there was a cold edge to his voice, protective, possessive even. If you didn't know better, you might say that Thomas Shelby was laying a claim on you.

"Not too much. Flatters my ego, 's all. Got a girl at home, Mr Shelby?" and now it was you that was keeping secrets, trying to control your voice in what you told yourself was a perfectly professional question. Had to know if he had any emergency contacts, that's all there was to it. Still, as he let out a weak laugh and grinned up at you, you could not help but let out a long, shaky breath that you had not known that you were holding. Well, that was one thing cleared up at least, and you thought perhaps you might be happier because of it."

"Tommy." you tested the word, let it roll off your tongue and fill your lungs with its false air, stain your lips and taint the sanctity of that unholy mind. A name you wanted to shout, to scream and to whisper and to plead and to say into the darkness in places you knew were much less professional than this white corner of the hospital ward. It was a name you wanted to keep all to yourself, and it was so much more than just a name. It was a confession, and it was holy.  Nah, nothing at home for me but cold and dark and office work."

"No family?"

"None at all." he said far too quickly and you knew not to push it any further. There was trust and there was Thomas, Tommy, Shelby, and something told you that the two didn't coincide much.  

"Must be awful lonely." you almost felt bad for him, living all alone in his cold town with his dull work and his tiny little life, and you knew that you and him were not so different after all. For a moment it felt almost like you were lying in the bed beside his, and that these two worlds were somehow one. You felt united, and you understood, because this was a secret the two of you could share, and god, wasn't it domestic?

"I shouldn't say so. Look on the bright side - I'm lying in bed with a pretty girl next to me right now. Not sure I should be so excited to go home just yet." your heart sped up a little with the last statement, aching and leaping at once with the fear of him leaving and the knowledge that while he was here there was nothing you could do but stay by his side. You almost didn't want him to go home at all.

"Aren't you just incorrigible! What must the others all think of me?" you teased, pretending to scold him as you giggled and how long had it been since someone had made you laugh like this?

"Hopefully not what I'm thinking of you, love, else we might have a bit of a fall out." his smooth, easy words and comfortable tone made your smile falter a little despite yourself, and you wondered how many girls he had told the same thing to before.

"Been here too long. Bet you're just itching for a fight."

"Told you I was no good." he said, half-joking and half-sincere, and there was an unnerving depth in his words that really should have made you turn and walk away, back to the others in their little back rooms and the laundry that really did need doing now. But you were right - it had been so long since you had seen the light of a proper day that didn't dawn on the cold grey wards and chambers in a country you had never loved before and now could never stand, and in your bones you longed for a story to take you far away, so against your better judgement you stayed, and all the more thought none the less of yourself for it.

"And I told you that was bullshit." you chastened him softly, lifting him back into your arms and returning him to his now-made bed. You laid down his limbs carefully, straightening out his arms and legs and smoothing down his hair against the pillow as he sighed into the crook of your neck, thick, hot air that burned like kisses down your jaw.

"You should really watch you're mouth while you're working."

"Why don't you watch it for me?"

"Take this bloody thing off my eyes and maybe I will." he grinned, but this time there was an earnest, almost pleading note in it that had your hands already reaching up to his face, and to the cruel blindfold that had so robbed you of the truest beauty that you had ever wished to know.

With soft, tentative movements you peeled off the strips of adhesive that held the cloth in place, pushing aside the blindfold and, cupping his jaw with the other hand, tilting his head to look at you. Those closed, scarred eyelids, and suddenly they were twitching and fluttering, lifting heavily as he forced his eyes to open. And there they were - such bright blue stars that burned your blood and sent your heart to frenzy. And time had stopped around you, arrested in their brilliance, blinded by their light, and a bolder girl than you might say that this was all that there would ever be, for he was here and so were you and didn't it seem a lot like fate?

"Beautiful. Nurse (Y/LN), you've been holding out on me." he almost gasped, holding your hand to his lips and pressing a small kiss against the back, his eyes on you like you were all that he'd been waiting for and you wished, you wished, you were.

"Mr Shelby..." you blushed against your better judgement, and he hated himself for doing this to you. He wasn't entirely sure how it had happened, but somehow and so suddenly he was holding the hand of the most beautiful girl he had seen in a very long time, and she wasn't trying to run away. This was the most afraid that Tommy Shelby had been in his life.

"Tommy." he chided gently, and your smile widened.

"(Y/N)."

"So beautiful."

Your faces were closer than you knew you should be, the hospital far away and all around and you wondered if the others were watching you two now, pressed together and so close and still too far away. It was all you could do not to bridge the gap and kiss him, and in another world perhaps you would because then perhaps there was a chance that this could be something more than just a week in a crowded hospital in the grim hell of war. But as it was, you pulled away, closing your eyes so as not to see the light in his flicker and dim as you parted, a thousand times the worse to want his light.

"I should-" you choked out, and his eyes were large and pleading and Tommy had no idea what was going on but he knew that this was the worst that he had ever felt and he could feel his very heart splitting in two a little as you stood to leave.

"Or you could stay."

"I really shouldn't."

"Please." he whispered, and you wished and wished, and you began to walk away again, bed linen under your arm.

"Sleep. I'll be back tomorrow."

________________________________________________________________________________

It was not for him to know that, later that night when the other nurses had retired to their chambers and the dimly-lit backrooms of the darkened hospital, you crept once more out of the nurses quarters and down to the west-wing, where he lay, for once, asleep. Sitting by his bedside in the gloom, you longed to reach out and touch him, and knew that you wouldn't wake him for the world. He looked so peaceful while he slept, and you ached for him as you had for no other, wished that life would bring him rest like this again as you could not seem to bring him health no matter how hard he tried. Even now, in the purplish shadows of evening, he looked so small and thin, a ghost among his fellow men. He looked a world away from when he'd boarded his train to the front line, know that man as you did not. Something in him whispered that, just as it whispered that you should leave, and just the same you pushed it back and sighed into the palms of your hands, drunk with your bittersweet melancholy and the fear with which you loved him endlessly.

And of course it would not mean anything that, when he stirred in his sleep, early in the morning and you still beside him, and began to shake and sob, you rested your hand on his shoulder gently and, for the first time since this bloody war began, you let yourself sing quietly to him. Snapshots of memories from a lifetime that had come before, softening in the blurred blue darkness and painting the world around the two of you, and for a moment you could almost believe that there were only the two of you in all the world, playing at games of war and house that were too old and too dull to tie you down. You could almost spread your wings and fly away to greener gardens where days were meant for living and nights for dreaming dreams that did not wake you colder than you began.

To the sisters who would ask the next morning, when they caught you half-asleep in the chair beside his bed, you were afraid that he would have another nightmare and disturb the other patients, but even you knew that that was not the case. You were there because you wanted to be, and you wanted to be there because he was there, and there was no where else on Earth that you could breathe as freely as you did when by his side.

But you didn't need to tell him that, because he was Tommy Shelby, and it seemed he had problems enough on his own.

________________________________________________________________________________

A/N: so here it is! This was originally going to be a really long oneshot, but then I got really into writing the plot and making it more and more angsty so it kind of became the first part of a REALLY long series plan (I have no self-control, this is a problem). Just a warning, this is the fluffy chapter. Like, one of literally three or four or whatever chapters with no heartbreaking angst (I say optimistically, knowing this is all gonna be so underwhelming I swear to God). ALSO (this is the last thing I swear), this is gonna take me so long to update I don't even know any more, I have a shit ton of exams between now and July, so any of y'all that actually like my shitty writing skills ARE gonna end up hating me for this.

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