#i originally drew this with another song in mind but when i finished this piece

[demidevildonnie]

my name is dark

[flowers-of-io]

#and it means the vex are Singing and are Not Evil and this sentence alone deserves a whole essay in and of itself

do you. do you have an essay? 👀

Oh, my good friend. I do.

This is something I’ve been meaning to write for so long now, ideally as a part of my Music of the Spheres essay, but looking at the shape that piece is in currently it will probably take me another six months to finish. I’ll try not to ramble and stick to the point but this is such a wide, tightly-knit fabric it’s hard to pluck out one thread without moving the one thousand others surrounding it. Maybe I’ll start off with why “the Vex are Singing”.

I already wrote about the origins of the Vex here (see section 3) The Pattern), so if you don’t really get how the Vex connect to the story of the Gardener and Winnower/Light and Darkness/Unveiling, I welcome you to read that one first. And so. The Garden the Vex originated in was full of music, as I also remarked there, and the flowers opened and closed rhythmically, in a flowing pattern. Then, of course, the patterns (Vex) escaped from the Garden into the birthing universe, but that little spark of music remained in them – a hypothesis I will attempt to prove here. Was this the song of life/universe? Maybe. Let me talk.

Let’s divide this entire thing into thematic sections:

1) Trials and Tribulations

Trials and Tribulations is a fascinating and also very meh lorebook, at least for me personally, because I can’t be bothered about brother Vance and the whole drama with Osiris. But the theme which resonates throughout the whole book, from start to finish, is indeed music. Vance’s story here starts with him joining the Cult of Osiris; at one point, when a fellow disciple and also a Guardian dies briefly to the Cabal, he hears something strange echo in the Lighthouse:

During the battle, something strange occurred. Leanna was fighting near-insurmountable odds—based on the amount of ammunition I heard discharged—and she was overcome. Of course, she was resurrected by her Ghost, but the spire reacted. There was a hum; the timbre consisted of two distinct resonating tones—one smooth and warm, the other sharp and cold. I thought I could have imagined it through the ringing of gunfire, but it was most certainly there. It was almost imperceptible, and I thought merely a coincidence until it happened again. Eremac, the other Warlock and student of the Dawnblade, was also temporarily disposed of. The roar of the Colossus's slug launcher tearing through Eremac's flesh was unmistakable, but so was the tone that followed.

Chapter 4 – Reflections

Vance appears to be the only one capable of discerning the notes. He decides he needs to learn more, and this is how the Trials of Osiris are born. While studying the sounds the Lighthouse makes when Guardians fall, he one day witnesses a Hunter being shot down by another Guardian, and when they are down, the victorious one attempts to shoot their Ghost but is out of bullets. And again, something strange happens:

The victorious Guardian craned his head toward the Ghost. He raised his hand cannon and sunk trigger to frame. The revolver's cylinder rotated, the hammer fell, and the piece gave off a heavy, empty click. […] The Hunter's Ghost discharged a pulse of Light, blinding the Guardian and raising the Hunter. The risen Hunter swift-drew a cannon of Light, as if reactively defending his Ghost. He cracked off a single golden shot from his flame-licked weapon. The shot pierced its target and sent ash snaking into the air.

The Lighthouse played Vance a new song. It hummed, deeper than before. He took in the sensation as low bass rolled through his chest. The hums grew dull, darker, as if born from death. Vance sat straight up, spine rigid, with a wide smile on his face. He composed a harmony of similar tones in his mind, tracking their down-pitch trajectory with anticipation.

[…]

"I heard the Light bend. The Lighthouse reached out to that Guardian when they died… and their Light reached back. They are harmonious."

Ch3-5ka picked up his line of thought, adding: "Anomaly detected. There has been a transmission from the Lighthouse. Uplink time: 0.00019 seconds."

"A random artifact, nothing more. Conclude this match. Archive the recordings. There is much to do."

Chapter 5 – [Ambition]

His studies lead him, eventually, to seek counsel with Mara Sov, who orders him to cease the research and destroy all findings. She also tells him to tell Osiris to “plant the Seed”, what I’m pretty sure refers to the Seed of Silver Wings he had acquired in the ?Pyramid ship? and which later grew into the Tree on Io. What’s interesting is that Mara’s conversation with Vance takes place way before the Red War, and most likely before her death in TTK, while Osiris finds the seed—if I’m not mistaken—during the Season of the Worthy, when Rasputin can already see the Pyramids approaching. But then again Mara is known to have prophetic visions.

Vance, being Vance, ignores Mara’s words and continues his studies; he also calls the melody the Lighthouse sings him “the music of death”. Another phenomenon occurs at the onset of the Red War, precisely in the moment when Traveler’s Light is sealed off:

A competitor was defeated at the precise moment the Light was stripped from him; his Ghost destroyed in the concussive blast from a pulse grenade. Then, the most marvelous phenomenon occurred: The Lighthouse spoke to me but changed its key. A D-sharp minor, if I'm not mistaken. Previously, I had been presented with only a harmonious two-toned note; the implications, as I made clear to Queen Mara Sov, could not be overlooked. Today, I am presented with a defining note that substantiates my theory and validates everything our founder stood for.

Chapter 7 - Nyctalopia

Vance discontinues Trials and eventually informs Osiris on his findings; Osiris is furious, but admits (to Sagira) that the implications of his discovery are grave and that Vance was right. Just at the end of the book, Vance uses a device mimicking a pocket Infinite Forest to see the future and make sure “he had read the signs” right.

Ruin.

Something new |and so very old| emerged, brother to a shriveling star: An angular |hungering patient yawning deep| shadow reached across Mercury. Uncounted |known| spires fell under its grasp |with uniform relief|. Dulcet tones brought low under lightless breadth and the weight of dark |salvation| hummed beneath the shadow. Their echoes spilled out |awakened| and flowed over crumbling spires |in conversation|. One singular spec of illumination blinked into being, |an end| seen by none, and then |many| spread as the shadow did. The old Lighthouse |spire's collective| beamed |rose| and flared as shadow overtook it |to meet the underbelly|.

Vance |the implement| could hear |their inspired voices| weeping, not with tears, but in the |voracious| low |ceremonial| hum he had come to associate with death. He closed his eyes |and saw what was to come|.

This day had many names.

None would suffice.

Chapter 9 – In|spire|

What Vance saw is, in my opinion, the coming of the Pyramids. Note how in Season of Arrivals all the spires were lit up, beams of light shooting from them into the sky? What Trials and Tribulations really is about, and what Mara and Osiris warned of, is Vance (“|the implement|”!) unwittingly making the Lighthouse on Mercury call the Pyramids to Sol.

But wait! Where are the Vex in all that?

Well, let’s retreat to the first chapter of the book, Insti|gate|. It’s full of sentences divided by vertical bars and hard to read—a phenomenon so often seen in Destiny lore, particularly that connected to ahamkara, Savathȗn’s intrusions and the Vex. It’s, from what I understand, supposed to indicate two or more voices fighting in the text, two or more perspectives on the same moment wrestling. It’s also very much present in how the Vex’s (and Kabr’s in particular) POV works in text, but that’ll come later.

I think what the first chapter is about—though it’s hard to understand, really—is how the Vex ended up on Mercury:

It was |supposed to be| a garden world. The phrase |will echo across quantified cross-sections of conflict|, uttered in confidence |had always been false|.

The expanse above, a cup—rimmed in gamma-ink radiance—dammed against the Mercurian sky at the Kármán line. Against the howl of star-wind |the fountains of the Great Deep burst apart and the floodgates|, the black |screen of tomorrow| fell open. Within the rip |without form known nor ever to be seen| a monolithic hulk of fluid and steel convulsed |eternal and always| and excreted coils of shimmering |glorious| life. Probing |host of multitudes|, clattering tendrils |an ungodly horror that no time would accept| slithered down |the gullet of the Heavens| to make landfall.

Chrome-hooked appendages |breached sky, counted in triplets| stretched for miles through sun-soaked atmosphere. They bored |with deepest intentions| into the marigold sands. From the great temporal chasms |wailing mouths of creation| flowed an ocean |a second conception| of radiolarian fluid. Across the horizon |of definitive sprawl| the scene was |super-imposed design| resonant and |uniquely| multiplicative.

Each injection site |form mirrored in the hundreds of thousands| fostered a new lineage in stone and steel and fluid. |They would live| the new age in sub-routine |sleep| and observation. They would foster the |metallic| seeds of a generation in |twilight| time. From the sites bubbled pools |progeny| of |endless possibility| that murmured chaotic, |lullabies of change| and wrung the Traveler's Light from Mercury. The Light coalesced |imbibed| within the pools. The planet transformed |reborn| into a |sleepless dream| machine of prediction.

Allow me to make my argument here: I believe the Winnower sent the Vex to Mercury (as per in Unveiling: Patternfall, just read that entire entry) to ruin the Gardener’s work on her Garden World, and the way the Winnower did that was by creating the Lighthouses. They would lie waiting, and in time, call out to their creator:

The arms retracted |purpose fulfilled|, and returned to |space between time| temporal hovels, suspended just above Mercury's |last gasp| influence. With them |in compliant tone| rose the spires. From the core, threads of iron |dancing in coaxed animation| fused reinforcement into the spires and brought them high. A surface driven flat |prepared| by eons of solar erosion had |been resurrected| risen.

A million open mouths |sang| curled plated tongues in |ritualistic| completion. Across the world grew |beauty.| a terrible consciousness that yearned to |establish the connection| find its progenitor. The hulking vessels |cried out| pulsed with light. The pools and spires pulsed dull tones in recognition, and the |starless| black sealed once more, restoring the sol-dominated sky |awaiting an angular shadow|. Illumination left the spires, |who had begun their work| and the Light was |sewn| erased.

2) The Black Garden

I’ve already compiled a standalone essay on Kabr’s Glass Aegis (a.k.a. the origins of this ask lol) so I won’t dive really deep into everything that’s mentioned in that particular loretab, but I want to highlight something that appears both there and in the chapter Gnomicof the book Aspect: these weird code-like Vs, Ks and carets (^). In Gnomic they appear twice, like this:

^K^KV^V^V^V^V

^V^V^V^V^V

and in Kabr’s Glass Aegis also twice, like this:

^K^K

^V^V

The idea Green (grneyedmusiklvr)from Focused Fire Chat brought forth in their episode on Aspect is that the Vs and carets are used in music, in writing upstrokes and downstrokes for children as they learn to play a bowed string instrument; the code here would indicate music (especially that the first set of signs comes right after the sentence “He is talking silent singing.”). Here’s the link to the episode with timestamp. I took this theory and ran with it, but it still didn’t explain the Ks—when, suddenly, it dawned on me that the explanation could both be so simple and confirm my theory that Kabr is both the Vex and still himself that I wrote about in that Kabr’s Glass Aegis essay. Maybe the Ks simply stand for Kabr and Vs stand for the Vex.

In Gnomic, in the first set the Ks and Vs are interwoven, as if to indicate a struggle between the two; in the second, there are only the Vs, and right after the narrator says: “He was named too well he is his own grave and the cut on his left hand will never heal.” But then in Kabr’s Glass Aegis the ^K^K divide the first, messy, analytical(?) part from the second, where Kabr again speaks for himself—up until his words merge with the Vs again.

We’ll revisit Kabr’s Glass Aegis when we’re done with the singing, now let’s move on to the main theme of Aspect itself.

Aspect gives us a unique insight on the Sol Divisive (a.k.a. the Black Garden Vex), particularly its first and last chapter. It talks about the Divisive’s faith in the Darkness and the way they deal with the loss of the Heart, their waiting for the tides to turn—and then, at last, a change in the song, one that sends a shiver throughout the entire Garden and drives the Vex out to the Moon. This could be the Lighthouse’s pulse, but I believe it was rather the Darkness (Pyramids) making their approach known to the Vex, or the disturbance Eris caused at the onset of Shadowkeep when she discovered the Lunar Pyramid.

Everything in the Garden becomes of the Garden, eventually. Shed leaves decompose and fertilize the soil. So do the bones and unspoken ideas of everyone who couldn't find the end of the maze.

So do the wordless songs of the Vex gardeners.

[…]

The Harpies stop where they are, a shudder running through each of them in order from one end of the Garden to the other. A flicker. A wash of power, coming from somewhere distant.

A pulse.

The power it carries lights up the pathways. The Mind's eye blinks for a bare moment, under its blanket of lichen.

The power passes through the Garden, overruns the Vex machinery within it, floods the network beyond it.

[…]

The bronze pathways hum, a counterpoint to the Goblins' song. And the Garden's door vibrates with them.

Aspect: Realis

This strangely mimics the first chapter of Trials and Tribulations, with “illumination [leaving] the spires” as they begin their slumber waiting for the Darkness to call them again; this but in reverse, the Darkness’ call awakening the Garden. The Vex’s patience rewarded.

Then there is the last chapter,

The Garden wakes, and the Undying Mind wakes with it. It rises from the barrow that's grown up around it, shedding vines and hanging moss like bedsheets.

Circuits flood with power, pass the excess along to the next in line, flex massive limbs in boot sequences. Goblins write more circuits and weld them to the Mind, building it up to take advantage of the power—not an occasional pulse now, but a steady hum. Their faith has been rewarded.

[…]

The Garden's massive door hums, an echo of the song the Goblins sing as they tend the flowers. The first Minotaur readies itself to step through, shield coming awake around it.

Aspect: Irrealis

3) Vault of Glass

Boy, I hope all this makes at least as much sense on the page as it does in my head.

The Vault of Glass is a gift that keeps on giving when it comes to the Vex lore, but what I’m most interested in regarding this essay are the Oracles. It was found back in D1 times that the notes they sing are in the CLydian b7scale, as per this post (and also that it weirdly connects to the Alpha Lupi array, something I must physically restrain myself not to dive into just yet because we’d be here for another 3k words). Kabr calls the Oracles “stars” that “will move around you and mark you and sing to you”, and “decide if you are real”.

I’m sure there are more crucial details about the Vex’s musical inclination in the lore I currently cannot recall, but for a heat-of-the-moment analysis I believe this suffices. The Vex sing!

4) The Vex are Not Evil

Here it’s good to start with what has been set up at the very beginning of the game, in D1 vanilla, by the Exo Stranger. When meeting our Guardian in the Ishtar Collective, she says:

The Vex. Evil so dark it despises other evil. Have you heard of the Black Garden? The greatest threat to us all lies there, where these machines are born.

A Stranger’s Call

The (one of many, but definitely major) reason I love love love Kabr’s Glass Aegis is the callback it makes to this ages-old cutscene, with Kabr saying:

their/our/their desire is not malevolent it is survival she is/was/is wrong there is no evil there is no despise there is no SEPARATION there is harmony inside if you/you/you allow it

(And this is where my blog title is from.)

This is the true purpose of the Vex: the pattern. Praedyth explains it in Paradox:

The Vex have no hope. No imagination, no drive, no fear. All they have ist he pattern. Everything must fit. If it can be made to fit, good. If it can't, it gets cut away. […] For them, there is no paradox. There is only the pattern. And the pattern needs the Vex to see it to completion. And sot he Vex must be. For the mind of the Vex, is that faith?

Asher also remarks on this once or twice, and even the Winnower states the Vex are not “theirs”, but that—Kabr’s words, as someone quite literally on the inside—are, I think, the perfect definition of what the motives of the Vex are. Their only desire is survival, and the pattern is the way of achieving that, and it can only be viewed as ‘evil’ from our point of view because it collides with our goals. And of course, again, “there is harmony” – the Vex sing lol!

This reply is already six pages long and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, I hope it makes anysense though because I honestly can’t tell.

[sparklymanacakes]

What I drew here I didn’t fully finish the story for. But it was a visual exploration of the idea I enjoy playing around with of there being some helpful souls traversing in & out of the Blighted Lands. And what I was getting at was this Thornspeaker who can (spiritually) travel in the realm. It was an alternate scenario where he senses Jaina, whose inner child (the most damaged part of herself) has separated from her. He knows this so tries to nudge it on back to her, because Jaina couldn’t move forward/escape unless she’s whole, and the Thornspeaker can sense she’s not supposed to be there.

But the wounded inner child needs help, guidance and reassurance. Because the whole point of the break in it having left was to avoid the suffering it feels when connected to Jaina’s body & mind. She (the inner child) feels like Jaina doesn’t protect her. So while the inner child may be terrified of the realm it currently finds itself in, it’s still less painful than being ‘whole’ again, connected fully to Jaina. Because then it has to face all of that pain with her.

The Thornspeaker does manage to nudge the inner child along its way, and it wanders as best it can until Katherine comes in and essentially takes over moving it forward. It divided itself further, each trauma a piece of it and Katherine witnesses each fracture/trauma experience. In this process Jaina’s soul is going through, outside forces could act as helpers, but they can’t do the work for her. Her inner child has to find its way back and reconnect on its own.

Another thing I like to headcanon is since having made it through the Blighted Lands, Jaina is more sensitive to otherworldly things around her than she used to be. Like the place left its mark on her energetically. Being a mage, she was always more sensitive to energies in general, but this is more like a deeper connection to the metaphysics of Kul Tiras, its Drust energies and the Blighted Lands. So she has odd dreams sometimes, and “things” may visit her in those dreams on occasion. Katherine has it some too, but not to the degree Jaina does.

I originally had more dialog for these but stumbled across this Tori Amos song where some of the lyrics essentially said the exact same thing I was saying in the panels, So I ended up just plucking some of the verse lines for this instead and saying the same thing in like 5 lines instead of 12 lol. ‘Reindeer King’ is the song name for anyone curious.

[summershouto]

💗togachako haircut fluff💗

“Are you sure you know how to cut hair? Ochako asked again nervously.

Himiko scoffed. “Yes, Ochako. I told you that a million times.”

Ochako sighed and nodded slowly. “I know, I know, sorry. It’s just…usually my mom cuts my hair but she usually only does trims and this is a /big/ change—“

“Ochako,” Himiko said calmly, patting her head. “It’s okay. I know what I’m doing.”

Ochako dropped her shoulders and pressed her lips together.

Himiko giggled, pressing a kiss to the top of Ochako’s head. “I used to cut all of the League’s hair! Well, most of them.”

Ochako pushed aside the burning desire to ask who’s hair she cut, deciding that was a question for another time. Instead she drew in a deep breath and nodded, handing Himiko the scissors. “I trust you.”

Himiko let out another small giggle. “I thought we established that ages ago!” she whined, although her words held no real bite. She gripped the scissors with her right hand before carefully reaching out and running her fingers through Ochako’s hair with her left.

“Don’t be scared when I start you hear a buzz,” she added, gesturing towards the hair clippers plugged in nearby.

Ochako nodded, squeezing her eyes shut until she heard the first loud snip of the scissors.

It was surprisingly easy to tune out the rest of the world once Himiko started humming. Ochako always thought she had a beautiful voice; her songs were like the call of a siren. Himiko was practically a siren herself, but somehow the siren loved Ochako back.

Himiko would probably call her a siren too. Ochako never had to try too hard to get Himiko to fall for her though. Himiko loved with all her heart and Ochako only had to sick back and watch it unfold, day after day until she was drowning in the sensation of it all.

Ochako felt the clippers buzz the hair on her neck and tried to focus on Himiko’s delicate touch as she brushed various hairs aside. If Ochako tilted her head just slightly, she could see an occasional stray hair fall to the ground.

They hadn’t set down a cloth to catch all of it, which meant sweeping their hardwood floors was going to be another chore to manage afterwards.

Ochako only realized that Himiko was finished because her humming abruptly stopped. As nervous as she was to begin, Ochako suddenly missed the slow brush of Himiko’s fingers as she worked, and she longed for Himiko to sing again.

“Wanna see?” Himiko asked, her face popping in Ochako’s peripheral vision as she nervously touched the top of her head.

Ochako nodded shakily, tentatively grabbing the mirror Himiko presented her with. Himiko seemed confident, which reassured Ochako just enough to lift up the mirror and look.

Her hair was always short, but now it was striking. It was practically a pixie cut, with only a few layered pieces to frame her face in front.

“Wow,” Ochako breathed, reaching up to run her hands through the sides. There was barely any hair left to feel, her fingers stopping abruptly when she tried to rake her hands through.

“Like it?” Himiko asked, but her cheery voice told Ochako that she already knew the answer.

Ochako nodded, plopping the mirror on her lap so she could reach for Himiko’s face. She squeezed Himiko’s cheeks and pulled her closer, planting a quick kiss right on her pleased smile.

“I love it, thank you,” Ochako whispered.

Himiko beamed, even once Ochako released her. She didn’t stray too far, simply stepping back to drape herself over Ochako’s shoulders. Apparently she didn’t mind all the little hairs still stuck to the back of Ochako’s neck.

Ochako turned her head slightly to press another kiss on Himiko’s nose, laughing when she missed and kissed Himiko’s chin instead.

“Why’d you leave longer pieces?” Ochako asked, tugging on the front sections again. She didn’t mind them, but it was a little different than the pixie cut she originally asked for.

Himiko raised an eyebrow. “Because that’s your /thing/,” she said, as if baffled by Ochako’s question.

Ochako snorted. “Yeah, I guess I always do have some layers.”

“I love your layers,” Himiko said immediately, reaching out to touch them again.

Ochako rolled her eyes, shaking her shoulders until Himiko finally stepped back with a pout. “Come on,” Ochako said as sternly as she could while still smiling. “Let’s clean up all this hair.”

Himiko started humming another song as Ochako handed her the broom, and Ochako decided maybe cleaning up wouldn’t be so bad either.

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Eleven: Water Under the Bridge (Finale)

a/n: welcome back my loves <3 It’s so weird to think that this is the final chapter of YBMH and I’m definitely having a lot of feelings about it (denial, mostly). I want to say a huge thank you from the very bottom of my heart for sticking with this story and these characters that I love so much. I’ve had the most fun over the past few months talking to some of you and hearing your thoughts; I cherish it more than you’ll ever know. With all of that said, I’m going to miss this era so so much but I would still love to hear from you lovelies, so please feel free to drop by my inbox and let me know what you thought of this series!! Feedback, criticism, all of it is welcome :) Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai’i!Harry x Original Character (Halani <3)

Warnings: swearing, angst

Word Count: 6.7k

catch up on parts one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten

January, 2018

A strand of hair tickles Harry’s nose and his eyes flutter open. The faint sound of car horns and traffic outside reminds him of his location when his memory fails. He gently slips out of the bed and tiptoes over to the window, careful not to wake the girl sleeping soundly next to him. A thick layer of snow blankets every building and surface in New York City as far as the eye can see, and the grey sky above signals another storm on its way. 

I’m going to die of hypothermia, Alani shivers, nursing her steaming cup of tea as she walks away from the office window and takes a seat behind her desk. Even after living in the city for a year, she still hadn’t adjusted to the cold weather and feared that she never would. Her boyfriend had joked on numerous occasions that you can take the girl out of the island, but you can’t take the island out of the girl. 

“Vanessa’s on line three,” her assistant calls from the doorway. 

“Thanks,” Alani nods before bringing the phone to her ear. “So, what did you think?”

“It was brilliant,” the editor admits. “Insightful, witty. I think they’ll love it,”

Alani smiles and spins in her seat to face the window again. “St. James has been on my ass about this piece for weeks. I hope it’ll shut him up,”

“It will, trust me. Hey, I gotta go, but I sent the revision notes and we can discuss more later,”

“Great, thank you so much. See you at dinner,”

“Ta-ta.”

Alani reaches for a pen and scribbles a reminder onto a pink post-it note nearby. 

Bloody five-star hotel, you’d think they could afford decent pens.  Harry grumbles to himself, shaking the ballpoint to no avail. 

“Where are you going?”

Harry freezes in his tracks and turns to the brunette stretching out her tired limbs. He has to clear his throat to keep from saying the wrong name. 

“Just a quick walk,” he explains with a tight lipped smile. “Go back to bed.” 

She flashes a wide grin and snuggles back into the covers, but he secretly hopes that she’s gone by the time he returns. 

The snow crunches under Harry’s feet and he digs his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. He had never been very fond of the cold, but he did have to admit that Central Park looked unbelievably beautiful in the winter. His phone buzzes inside his pocket and he digs it out to read the message. 

Mitch: Me and Sarah are going to Bisous in ten. Meet us?

Harry: See you there. 

********

“French is such a pretentious language,” Maleah scoffs, taking a bite of her pastry. “But I’ll be damned if I have to give up my chocolate croissants,”

Alani chuckles lightly and traces the restaurant’s logo of a red kiss printed on her napkin. Going to Bisous at least once a day had become a tradition during her best friend’s visits. 

“I’ll have to smuggle a real one back for you and then you can tell me if this one’s the real deal,”

“When are you going, again?”

“Next month,”  

Maleah wiggles her brows. “Oooh, Valentine’s Day? Are you taking Mason with you?”

“No,” Alani says casually. “It’s for work,”

“Well, who says you can’t mix business and pleasure?”

“Literally everyone.”

“Okay,” Maleah sighs, patting her full stomach. “Let’s go now before I get sleepy.”

The two friends make their way out of the busy restaurant and Alani’s shoulder brushes someone next to her. 

“Sorry.” she apologizes, making brief eye contact with the other person before doing a double take. 

Mitch purses his lips and turns his head back to the other girl at his arm while Maleah drags Alani out the door. 

********

“I mean, what the hell was that? I could barely keep my drum kit together,” Sarah laughs gently, sipping her coffee. 

“Cause of death: rocking too fucking hard,” Mitch shrugs. “There are worse ways to die,”

Harry stirs his black coffee with a spoon and watches the mini whirlpool grow. “Rob said you could feel it in the balcony, too,”

“I’m surprised you didn’t die,” Mitch pokes. “Mr. defective lungs,”

“Heyyy, I can’t help the asthma thing, alright?”

“Well it’s the last night,” Sarah chimes in. “Are we gonna try to beat the Kiwi record and go for four times in a row?”

Harry shrugs, a soft grin on his lips. “Dunno. Maybe if it feels right,”

“I say we cut out the middleman and just bulldoze MSG ourselves. What difference does it make if the fans tear the house down or if we do?” Mitch suggests. 

“Oh yeah,” Harry nods. “I’m sure Irving would love that.”

“Some food for thought.”

The trio finish their breakfasts and excitedly continue their conversations about the impending show, but the entire time, Mitch is haunted by the knowledge of Alani’s presence in the city. He debates telling Harry, but is suddenly reminded of the intense aftermath of the pair’s falling out. 

********

“Where’s Alani?”

“Don’t fuckin’ say that name to me ever again.” 

Mitch’s brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”

And with a simple question, anger had subsided into grief. Mitch still didn’t  know all of the details surrounding their split, but he had pieced together sufficient bits from Jeff and, in part, from the lyrics Harry penned in the following weeks. The slump had lasted through the fall and winter of that year, but as spring rolled around and the album’s release drew closer, Harry pulled himself together enough to promote and tour. It felt good to be on the road, and he found himself revitalized by the energy of those who came to support. Tour itself had been relatively intimate, as he had actively decided to play smaller venues than the sold out stadiums he was accustomed to, but the enthusiasm of the crowds hadn’t changed from his band days. As Harry occupied his attention with music, Hawaii grew smaller and smaller in the back of his mind. Eventually, it dwindled into a dull ache at the center of his chest, felt only on particularly long nights coaxed with a little bit of alcohol in his bloodstream. For now, he tried to focus on his last show at Madison Square Garden. 

********

Alani’s stomach turns. Had she really seen Mitch or had it been a remarkable doppelgänger? She hoped it was the latter, knowing that if he really was in New York City, Harry wasn’t far behind. This was by no means the first time she had been reminded of her summer love turned sour, but it stung just as much every time. The first incident was last April when she turned on the T.V. only to find Harry performing one of his new songs on Saturday Night Live. It had resulted in the loss of her favorite mug as it shattered against the hardwood floor in her apartment. Since that day, Alani had seen his face on countless billboards in Times Square and habitually asked taxi drivers to change the radio station or turn it off entirely. After a while, she had gotten better at dealing with the sinking feeling whenever he was mentioned, it was easier to detach feelings for someone who lived on a screen. Running into Mitch, however, had blasted a hole straight through the fourth wall that Alani had erected,  and she knew that there was absolutely no way she could cope with a similar encounter from Harry. 

“Oh shit,” Maleah gasps softly, looking through the windshield at the hundreds of people lined up on the pavement outside of Madison Square Garden. 

“What?” Alani asks, head still spinning. 

Her best friend immediately turns to her with a nervous smile and shrugs. “Oh it’s nothing. Hey do I have something in my teeth?”

Alani glances out the window behind Maleah and her eyes bulge. “Woah, what’s happening there?”

“Oh it’s probably, like, Lady Gaga or something. Anyways, look at this random text I got the other day.”

But it wasn’t “Lady Gaga or something.” The marquee reads “Harry Styles—SOLD OUT” in bold lettering. Alani retches into her bag. 

********

“Oh, for fucks saaake!” Harry shouts playfully, the sound of his obscenities echoing throughout the large venue. 

Mitch and Adam chuckle beside him and continue setting up their equipment while Sarah offers a comedic “badum-tss” on her drum set. 

“Okay then at that point, stage lights will come down and it’s ‘Meet Me in the Hallway’,” the technical director speaks into his earpiece.

Harry nods and watches the screen behind him roll through the animation that will play during the song. 

“Alright, then it’s—”

“Wait,” Harry interjects over the mic. “Sorry, can we run it?”

“Run ‘Meet Me’?”

“Yeah,”

Mitch tenses listening to the conversation that filters through his own inner ear piece, but he continues fiddling with the strings of his guitar.  

“Running ‘Meet Me’,” the director affirms. “Sarah, stand by.”

Harry’s eyes dart over to Mitch and he nods as a sign to begin. The guitarist clears his throat and strums the opening chords. 

Meet me in the hallway 

“M’gonna go wait in the hall…”

Meet me in the hallway 

“Give you some space to think and then we’ll talk, yeah?”

I just left your bedroom 

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

Give me some morphine 

“I hope you got all the material you wanted.”

Is there any more to do?

“Please don’t go.”

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Maleah offers. “I can catch a return flight tomorrow,”

Alani sits up in her bed and shakes her head. “No, Mi, it’s okay. I’ll be fine,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s probably just a stomach bug or something,”

Maleah gives her friend a tight squeeze and pulls away to read her face. “Let me know if you need anything, I’ll come right back,”

“Thank you,” Alani says, forcing a smile. “I’m so sorry to put a damper on your last day.”

“Nah, there’s nothing to worry about. Feel better soon, Nani.”

The door closes softly and Alani burrows deeper into the covers. She tries to bury the emotion back under a lock and key, but a gentle sob fights its way up her chest. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, she cries, but maybe it was. Just as the sun rises and sets, so had Harry entered and exited her life, and maybe that’s exactly how it was meant to be. After all, Alani had gotten exactly what she wanted, hadn’t she? So why does it still hurt? 

The snow falls gently outside of her window, but the entire scene blurs into shades of white and grey behind her tears. It had snowed just like this on the day she moved to the city. Shortly after the article about Harry had been published by a small gossip site, Alani had contacted the publishers and threatened litigation if they didn’t take it down. Unsurprisingly, they had also been contacted by Columbia Records and thus, the piece was removed that same day. Despite the quick turnaround, Rolling Stone had caught wind of the storm brewing on social media and reached out to Alani a few days later. They had been impressed that the elusive Harry Styles granted her an interview, but they didn’t push the matter much further. Instead, they had offered her one piece of her choosing to prove herself. If the reviews were favorable, she would be given a regular contributor spot, unpaid of course. They would re-evaluate at the beginning of the new quarter and negotiate from there. When January of 2017 rolled around, Alani’s writing was making surprising waves in the Rolling Stone community, so she had been hired on as a junior writer and assistant to the Editor in Chief. The pay wasn’t great, but it was a leap in the right direction. 

Despite everything that had changed in a year, a string of random letters on a building that Alani passed a million times had brought her emotions right back to the day she had tried so hard to forget. Her phone buzzes under the covers and she reaches out a hand to locate it. Her editor’s name appears and she answers it quickly. 

“Hello?”

“Darling, hello! Where are you?”

“Oh my god,” Alani groans. “Vanessa I’m so sorry,”

“Is everything okay?”

Alani sits up and clears her throat. “I have food poisoning,”

“Christ, from where?”

“Bisous,”

Vanessa sighs. “Poor thing. Okay, no worries we’ll just reschedule,”

“I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you,”

“No need to be sorry, get some rest and we’ll catch up later!”

The call ends and Alani gawks at the time. 7:30 already?  She slumps back under the covers and sifts through her social media, wincing when she sees several of her friends posting about the line outside of Madison Square Garden. No, Alani decides sternly when the sudden urge to go stirs in the pit of her stomach, absolutely no fucking way. 

********

“10 minutes!”

Harry scans the crowd from the monitor backstage. He pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb as the nerves settle in. 

“The house is packed,” Jeff comments with a hand on the singer’s shoulder. “And there’s still a crowd outside,”

“We did it?”

“You did it,”

So why does it still hurt? 

“Thanks for everything,” Harry says, bringing his manager in for a hug. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jeff pats Harry on the back. “All in a day’s work for the dream team.”

Before heading out, Harry stops one of the crew members and asks if any of the guests on his list have arrived yet. Names are read off, friends from different inner circles over the years, but there’s one name in particular that isn’t called. He offers a thumbs up and a forced grin before making his way to the stage.

It always surprises the technical crew at every venue that Harry has specific lighting requests for the house. Performers had their individual preferences, this wasn’t unusual, but no one made a bigger deal about being able to see the crowd like Harry did. He enjoyed being able to see each person and connect with them, especially when performing an album that was as personal as this one. But in every sea he searched, one face was always missing. Tonight’s audience, much to his disappointment, was no different. 

The crowd cheers as “Sweet Creature” fades out and the lights on stage dim. More than half of the show has already gone by and they’ve reached the point that is always a little harder to get through. Harry takes a swig from his water bottle and clears his throat to fight the lump that forms. He breathes in deeply and “Meet Me in the Hallway” begins, but no matter how hard he tries to focus on the technical aspects of his performance, it’s nearly impossible not to get dragged back into the moment when the song was written. 

“I should go back,” 

“H, I don’t know if that’s such a good—”

“I have to go back.” 

And so he had. After two hours of pacing the airport lounge, Harry had jumped into an Uber and sped back to the hotel. It had taken another agonizing twenty minutes to explain his situation to the front desk workers and retrieve his old room key, but it was no use. He was too late. The bed was still unmade, but there was no sign of Alani save for the faint scent of Baby Honey and a gold necklace tucked away between the sheets. 

The flight back to the mainland had already departed by the time Harry stumbled through the hotel lobby, and there wouldn’t be another one for three more hours. In the meantime, he decided to get some fresh air and clear his mind, hoping all the while that he would find Alani at the edge of the beach waiting to run back into his arms. She never did, and he was left with all the words he wished he had said. 

I walked the streets all day 

Running with the thieves 

‘Cause you left me in the hallway 

Just take my pain away 

Just let me know and I’ll be at the door, at the door

Hoping you'll come around

Just let me know I’ll be on the floor, on the floor 

Maybe we’ll work it out

********

“Great show,” praises Rob Sheffield, author of one of Harry’s favorite books, Love is a Mix Tape. “Drummer’s incredible,”

Sarah beams and Harry flashes her a grin. “Thanks. It’s Sarah’s band, really. I’m just the frontman,”

“Well she kicked ass. All of you did, and I can tell by the way the floor was shaking that I’m not the only one who thought so.”

“Thank you so much, that means a lot.”

More guests filter in and congratulate Harry and the rest of the band, but while he sincerely appreciates all of the love, he can’t help the way his eyes flicker to the door every once in a while in the hope that someone else will straggle in. He slowly loses that hope when the room empties and the night drags on. 

********

This isn’t ethical, Alani chastises herself, this is wrong on every level and you’re gonna pay. She runs her fingers over the Rolling Stone press badge in her hand and stares at the marquee towering over her. What the fuck are you doing? 

“Excuse me!” Alani calls when she sees an employee slip through a side door. “Hi, I know I’m really late but I’m actually here with Rolling Stone,”

The blonde-haired woman blinks and scans over the badge with an unamused look on her face. 

“Nice try,”

“No, wait,” Alani begs. “I have to get in there, please—”

“You and every other girl within a twenty-five mile radius.”

Alani takes a deep breath and re-groups. “You don’t understand. I really need to get back there, I’m working on an important piece,”

As the struggle continues, another woman in stiletto heels exits through the side door with a clipboard in tow. 

“My name is Alani Hale, see? Please just—”

“Wait,” the woman with the clipboard intervenes. The name sounded strangely familiar, probably from the blacklist, in which case security would need to be notified. “What did you say your name was?”

Alani holds her badge out and swallows hard. “Alani Hale, junior writer for Rolling Stone.”

The woman checks through the blacklist but the name isn’t registered. She does a cursory glance over the V.I.P section and her finger lands on a note that reads “Mahealani ‘Alani’ Hale—Code Carolina: escort backstage and inform Mr. Styles immediately.”

“Follow me, please,”

Alani trails behind, doing her best to keep up with the long strides of the woman with the clipboard.

 “Marta to security, I have a Code Carolina,” she murmurs into her ear piece. “Repeat, I have a Code Carolina.”

Alani’s heart races as they zig-zag through the arena. Did Harry know that she was coming? Had Mitch told him that they saw each other at Bisous? The answer was no, Mitch hadn’t told and Harry didn’t know. He had only hoped. Unbeknownst to Alani, her name was printed on the Madison Square Garden list and on every list of every show in all the countries scheduled. Through Paris and all through Rome, Harry had looked for her face in the crowd and he dreamed that one day his efforts wouldn’t be in vain. 

“Wait here,” Marta instructs, leading Alani to a back room with mirrors, a couple of couches, and a clothing rack. “Someone will be with you shortly.”

Before she can ask any questions, Marta is gone and the sound of her heels echo down the hall. Alani takes a deep breath and her lungs are immediately filled with the familiar scent of vanilla. Her eyes carefully rake over the scene and land on a familiar white shirt hanging on the rack and the words “Enjoy Health, Eat Your Honey.”

“Thief,”

“I meant to return it.”

Alani spins on her heel and Harry stands with his fists shoved deep inside the pockets of his flared pants, eyes cast down at the floor. She tugs on the sleeves of her coat and offers a shy smile. 

“It’s okay, looked better on you anyway.”

A brief silence follows and they size each other up like it’s a gunfight, each waiting to see who will draw first. His hair is longer and curlier, Alani notices, chest and shoulders broader, too. But there’s a familiarity in his creased brow and in the heart shaped curve of his cupid’s bow. Harry does his own inventory; dark, almond shaped eyes, check. Round face, cinnamon skin, check and check. Her long, wavy locks are now shoulder length, but he’d recognize the scent of Baby Honey anywhere. The two are absorbed in their own silent assessments for a moment longer, but Alani quickly gets the urge to flee after she counts too many similarities between this Harry and the one that left her with a broken heart. 

“I should go,” she croaks, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have come—”

“Why did you?” Harry asks earnestly. 

Alani tugs at a loose thread on her sleeve before crossing her arms. “Saw your name outside and got curious. For a while there, I started to think that maybe I imagined you,”

Harry doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that he had haunted her as much as she had plagued him. He had spent so long believing that he meant nothing to her, but nevertheless, a part of him left room for her return. 

“You did, this is a hologram projection,”

Alani smiles and her shoulders relax at his humor. It really was him. 

“Did you enjoy—”

“I didn’t see the show—” they speak at the same time, eager words overlapping. 

“Oh,” Harry laughs softly. “You didn’t miss much,”

Alani shakes her head and takes a single step forward. “No, that’s not true. I’m sure it was amazing,”

Harry offers a coy grin, the shadow of a dimple on his left cheek. One hand emerges from his pocket and his knuckle brushes against the tip of his nose. Alani catches sight of the silver rose on his finger and she still remembers how it feels under the pad of her thumb. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks softly, pulling her from her reverie. 

“What?”

“Have dinner with me?”

Alani blinks, her throat suddenly dry. “Oh. Well I don’t know, I don’t wanna interrupt—”

“Never an interruption,” Harry assures her. 

She nods and he takes a step back. 

“M’gonna go change,” he explains. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“What, you don’t wear custom Marc Jacobs suits to dinner?” She teases. 

He grins, amused, and continues backing away towards the door before correcting her. “It’s Gucci.”

Alani rolls her eyes and he disappears into the hallway. 

When Harry reemerges in a beanie, puffy coat, and light wash denim jeans, he leads them through a series of tunnels and exits. 

“Where are we going?” Alani asks, bracing herself for the snow outside. 

“It’s a surprise.” he offers and she doesn’t fight him on it.

********

“We’re not eating here?” 

A soft smile falls on Harry’s lips. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed her incessant questioning. 

“No,”  he replies, opening the passenger door with one hand and passing her the bag that contains their dinner. “Too crowded,”

“Oh,” 

It made sense that Harry would want to keep a low profile and avoid any possible paparazzi sightings of the two of them, but it still felt strange to worry about such things after they had lived so carefree in Hawai’i. But that was then, and this was now, things had inevitably changed. 

“D’you wanna play some music?” Harry asks, settling behind the wheel. The parallels between this moment and their first excursion together make her chest tighten. 

“How about,” Alani starts. “Your album? Since I didn’t get to hear it live,”

Harry’s breathing hitches. “Well, I dunno—”

“Please?”

He meets her pleading eyes momentarily and, against his better judgment, agrees. 

“What’s it called?” she questions. 

“It’s just my name,”

“Self-titled, very classy. I like it,”

“I thought about calling it Sign of the Times,” Harry reveals. “But it’s already been done before,”

Alani hums. “Prince,”

“Yeah,” he nods. “But then I also thought about going with ‘Pink,’ because, you know, when in doubt—”

“Go with the pink one,” they say in unison and Alani smiles softly. How had he remembered that?

“And it’s the only true rock ‘n roll color,” she continues. 

Harry beams. “Exactly. But then Jeff suggested that we just go with the name. Simple, but effective,”

“Okay, so now that we’ve got the background,” Alani pokes. “And you’ve sufficiently distracted me, can I listen now?”

He swallows and checks the GPS, still twenty-five minutes to go. 

“How about we hold off,” he suggests. “Just for now so we can listen to the full thing and really soak it in?”

Alani backs off. “Alright, deal.”

She presses shuffle on the playlist of her frequently played songs for the month and immediately regrets doing so. Clearing her throat, she goes to press skip but Harry stops her. 

“S’a good one.” he says gently, so Alani lets Adele fill the awkward space. 

If you’re gonna let me down 

Let me down gently don’t pretend 

That you don’t want me 

Our love ain’t water under the bridge

********

Harry opens the passenger door and Alani steps out, her eyes squinting to make out any recognizable landmarks in their surroundings. They remain a comfortable two feet apart and make their way to the entrance of what appears to be some sort of greenhouse. Alani is filled with more confusion, but she doesn’t ask further questions until they reach the white double doors. 

“What?” Harry questions. “Never been to the New York Botanical Garden?”

Alani’s eyes widen. “The—wait, you—we’re?”

“After you,” he chuckles lightly, opening the doors. 

“Are we even allowed? I mean is it open?”

“I pulled some strings,”

She enters cautiously, immediately met with an archway of blush colored flowers and string lights that takes her breath away. A long, narrow pond in the center reflects the image back and creates a kaleidoscope of pink, green, and golden hues. 

“How did you,” Alani begins, at a complete loss for words. “Who are you?”

Harry nods in the direction of an adjacent hallway. “There’s a ballroom set up for a wedding tomorrow night, but Jim said we could crash as long as we clean up after ourselves,”

“Jim?”

“The director.”

“Of course.” 

Sure enough, round tables with cream colored tablecloth and elaborate floral centerpieces are arranged around the room. A delicate, yet undoubtedly expensive, chandelier twinkles in the center of the room and casts such a warm glow that Alani momentarily forgets about the snow outside. 

“Dig in,” Harry instructs, setting the pasta on the table in front of them. 

Alani sits and gently sheds her winter coat as he does the same. Underneath his jacket, Harry wears a yellow shirt that catches her eye with the words “treat people with kindness” printed in black lettering. She freezes when she spots a gold chain with a sun and moon pendant nestled comfortably between above the words.

“How is everyone?” Alani questions politely to shift her attention. “Mitch, Tom, Jeff,”

“They’re good, yeah,” he nods. “How’re Freddie and your family?”

“They’re fine, and he’s living his blissful little life,”

“Good for him. Miss his cuddles,”

And yours, Harry thinks, but he pulls back. Alani offers a shy laugh and thinks about the elephant in the room yet to be addressed: the break-up. It’s worth discussing, but she sure as hell isn’t going to be the one to bring it up. 

“And how’ve you been?” Harry asks when the silence stretches out for too long. 

Alani chews and ponders the question. “Good. Been working a lot,”

“Where at?”

“Rolling Stone,”

“Really?” he beams. “That’s incredible, congratulations,”

“Thank you,” she replies graciously. 

Harry’s chin rests in his palm and he twirls a noodle around his fork. “So you live here?”

“Yeah, in the Village,”

“Wow. Greenwich Village, a real city-slicker now. Traded Stevie in for the Holland Tunnel?”

A bittersweet smile spreads across Alani’s lips at the memory of her beloved Bronco. “Sadly, yes. And you?”

“Malibu,” Harry divulges. “I hate the cold.”

“It’s not so bad. You can always cuddle up with the giant rats,” she jokes, which makes his nose scrunch.

“I’m just gonna pretend you didn’t say that,” 

“Speaking of pretend,” Alani wiggles her brows. “You were in a movie after all,” 

“I was,” 

“I didn’t watch it, sorry,” 

Harry feigns offense and Alani quickly back pedals. “I don’t like war movies!”

“And you hated my guts.” he teases, though it pains him that there might be some truth to his words. 

Alani shakes her head and fights the urge to reach across the table for his hand. “No, not really. It was kind of the opposite, actually.” 

Harry’s eye wanders to the outside of Alani’s wrist and a faint smile creeps across his face when he spots the black outline of a crescent moon. He wonders if there are any new inked designs that he isn’t aware of. Despite all the time that has elapsed, there is a familiarity in her presence that he hadn’t felt even in the comforts of his California residence. It was like kicking off your shoes in the doorway after a long trip. It was like coming home. 

They finish their meal and continue their light-hearted banter into the night. Harry tells his favorite stories from tour and Alani wishes more than anything that she could have been there. She details the events of her own busy life in New York and the highlights of working for Rolling Stone, one of which being the time that she got to meet Stevie Nicks in the flesh. 

“Did you tell her about your car?” Harry presses enthusiastically. 

“No way,” Alani chuckles, draining the last of her drink. “I wasn’t gonna embarrass myself in front of the Supreme,” 

“I think she would’ve found it flattering,” 

“Naming your child after someone is flattering, not a car,” 

Harry shrugs. “I think it’s cute,” 

“Yeah well,” Alani sighs. “You’re not like most people,”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

She mulls it over, studying the familiar sea glass irises that she never thought she’d see again. What had Alani meant by that statement? Truthfully, she didn’t know if she could put it into words, nor had she meant to say them in the first place. But something about Harry always made her feel brave, like she could speak her mind uncensored and he would understand without even trying. 

“I just meant that you’re, you know,” she starts. “Not judgemental. Like, I could tell you that I think I’m part alien and you’d probably try to help me find my home planet,” 

Harry laughs and leans forward with his elbows on the table, an unspoken challenge for Alani to continue her thoughts. 

“You make people feel seen and heard,” she says finally with a wistful look in her eye. “I mean, why do you think all those people lined up to see you tonight?” 

The last part of her statement is a deflection from what she really wants to say, which is that Harry makes her feel seen and heard. Despite all the time and space between them, it was still true and it terrified her. There was only so much bravery that Harry’s presence could evoke. The mood shifts suddenly when Alani’s phone buzzes and the name “Mason” with a pink heart emoji lights up the screen next to her glass of water. Harry hadn’t meant to look and he deeply regrets that he did. 

“You have a boyfriend,” he comments dejectedly, and though he hadn’t meant it to be accusatory, all words carry the sting of judgment when falling on guilty ears. 

“Oh, and I’m sure you’ve stayed celibate this entire time,” Alani bites back. 

Harry’s brow furrows. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” she apologizes, standing with her coat. 

“Wait,” he jumps up. “What just happened?”

“I have to go—”

“Just stop for a minute, please,”

Alani stops in her tracks and turns back to face Harry slowly. His jaw is tight and the crease between his eyebrows is deeper than she remembers. 

“I’m sorry,” she begins carefully. “Thank you for tonight, but I really shouldn’t be here—”

Harry’s eyes clamp shut and he runs a frustrated hand through his messy curls.  

“Can you stop acting like you’re doing me a favor by leaving and just talk to me?”

“What do you want me to say?” Alani pushes back. “‘I’m sorry that I saw your name in flashing lights and I got caught trying to spy on you’?”

“Alani—”

“‘I’m sorry that I tried to move on’?”

“Stop apologizing—”

“I’m sorry that I fell in love and fucked it all up because I was afraid and I’m sorry that I betrayed the one person who meant everything to me,”

Silence falls between them and the only sound is the sniffling of Alani’s nose as she tries, and fails, to hold back the emotions that pour over. 

“That’s why I went,” she continues, voice wavering. “Because I’m selfish and I couldn’t stay away. Every single day, I’m reminded of how royally I screwed everything up and it tears me apart, so I went to try to make things right and take some of that pain away. Even though I hurt you and there’s nothing I can ever do to change that,”

Harry swallows hard and his eyes sting, but Alani speaks up again before he can respond. 

“So please,” she begs. “Please, just let me finally do something right by you and let me go,”

He takes a cautious step forward and shakes his head. “I don’t want to,”

They both hold their breaths, anticipating the other person’s next draw. 

“And maybe that makes me selfish too,” Harry adds. “‘Cause I went back that day, back to the hotel,”

Alani blinks. “You did?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Because I wasn’t mad that you published the article, I was scared that it was the only reason you were with me—”

“Harry—”

“But then I realized that I didn’t care,” he laughs dryly. “Because I still loved you, and I figured that having you— having just a little bit of your heart and your attention—was worth it, even if you didn’t really love me back,”

He takes another step forward and the toes of their shoes nearly touch. “And maybe I’m being selfish now by asking you to stay, but you’re not the only one trying to get rid of the pain,”

Alani takes a shallow breath and studies the eagerness in his eyes. The sight makes her chest pound. 

“I’m sorry that I ever made you doubt,” she whispers. “But I meant every word I said, you were everything to me. You were the sun that my life revolved around and I was terrified of losing you because the truth is that I hate the cold, too,”

Harry gently reaches a hand up to her cheek and Alani leans into the warmth of his touch. 

“Can I show you something?”

You and your goddamn surprises. “Yes.”

He leads them down several winding hallways before flicking a light on in the gallery. Alani’s heart stops when she sees it. 

“Not quite as impressive as the real thing,” Harry offers. “But Ms. O’Keeffe did a pretty damn good job,”

An original Georgia O’Keeffe painting of a waterfall, their waterfall, the one that Alani had mentioned all that time ago, is displayed proudly on the wall before them. A replica had hung above the bed they shared on many nights and all at once a faint memory resurfaces. 

“Where did you say the original was?”

“New York Botanical Garden,” 

 “M’gonna take you one day,”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Alani takes a step closer to the artwork and examines the details of the oil on canvas. A few steps behind, Harry is only concerned with her reaction and pays little attention to the piece of art on display. As far as he was concerned, Alani was the only one worth admiring. 

“Do you remember what you told me when I asked why you went to the falls to write?” Alani asks. 

Of course Harry had, but he remains silent to let her continue. 

“You said that you liked going there,” she adds, deliberate. “Because it made you forget about every bad thing that ever happened to you, because none of it was real in comparison to the feeling of standing in front of that waterfall,”

Harry nods gently, but he still doesn’t speak. 

“Do you know what that feeling is called?”

“No,”

“It’s called home,” Alani says softly, turning to face him. “It’s what I felt, what I feel, when I’m with you,”

His breath hitches and he stands frozen as she carefully walks toward him.

“And while we’re making wishes come true,” she smiles delicately. “I never told you what I wished for the day we saw that rainbow,”

“What did you wish for?” Harry searches. 

Alani’s eyes fall to his parted lips. “That you would kiss me.”

His mouth curls at the edges and he releases a long breath. “Think maybe I can deliver on that one, too.”

Harry leans in, ever so slightly, and Alani closes the gap. They had been standing mere inches apart, but the meeting of their lips bridges an entire chasm. Over and over again, like waves against the shore, their mouths collide desperately as they pull each other closer with no intentions of ever letting go. 

********

February 14, 2018

“Comment est le temps?” 

Alani peers up at Harry and shields her eyes from the sun behind his back. “What does that mean?”

He grins softly and kisses the top of her head before taking a seat on the balcony next to her. 

“Means ‘how’s the weather?’,” 

“Oh,” she leans over, lips puckered for a kiss. “Full of perfectly Parisian sunshine,”

“Try sayin’ that ten times fast,”

Alani swipes his pink, heart shaped sunglasses and slips them onto the bridge of her nose with a contented sigh. Ahead, the Eiffel tower stands proudly in the distance and the lenses of her glasses tint the entire scene in a picturesque rosy glow. 

“La Ville de L’amour,” she hums. “Did I say that right?”

“Oui,”

“Hey, you know what I saw on the room service menu?”

Harry shakes his head. “No, what?”

“Piña coladas,” Alani wiggles her brows. “Think they deliver at midnight?”

He chuckles lightly and his hand takes purchase on her knee. “They better,”

“Never had a Parisian piña colada. Sounds romantic, though.”

“Sure does, sweets.”

Alani stands and reaches for Harry’s hand. He accepts and rises to his feet, pulling her close. Below, the sounds of the city serenade them as they gently sway in the chilly breeze. When Harry feels Alani shiver, he hugs  her to his chest and rests his chin comfortably on the top of her head. She feels his steady heartbeat against her cheek and smiles softly, fingertips smoothing up and down his back. 

“Are you ready for Valentine’s Day surprise number one?” he asks, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes. 

She narrows her eyes. “Where are we going?”

Harry pulls back with a mischievous smile, hands still attached to hers, and leads them back inside.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Alani giggles but she doesn’t push. Instead, she happily follows him out of their room, down the hall, and into the bustling streets of Paris. 

We don’t know where we’re going 

But we know where we belong 

And oh we started 

Two hearts in one home 

It’s hard when we argue 

We’re both stubborn 

I know, but oh

Sweet creature, sweet creature 

Wherever I go, you bring me home 

Sweet creature, sweet creature

When I run out of road 

You bring me home

[sarcastically-defensive17]

There’s going to be a part three to benefits right? Like I don’t think I can live without knowing the end of the story.

Conclusions? - C. Hood

Final part of the ‘Benefits?’ Series.

I had planned to release this when my hiatus ended but I have made y’all wait too long, and I was far too excited. This is my fav set of fics that I have done and I’m so glad that people liked them!

I hope you enjoy! Thank you all for reading, you have my love.

Xoxo - Cas

Original story by sarcastically-defensive17

Against her better judgement, Y/N had listened to Youngblood as an album on repeat for weeks after it dropped. The songs were powerful, perfect even. She had relished in the sound of their voices, the way they worked their instruments perfectly. She longed for her friends every time she listened, and the pain became addictive. Yet, she found comfort in ‘Moving Along’.

Things had been extra tense since her conversation with Calum. Another week had passed, and they were in another state, the men jumping around on stage, singing their hearts out, putting on a show for all of the people who came to see them.

But... Calum wasn’t himself. He shied away from the flashes of the camera. He still sounded perfect in all of the songs, yet he was dejected. Turned in on himself almost. Shy, hurt.

Per the fans requests, she snapped many shots of Calum, adding them to the plethora of shots of the other guys. She was paid to take photos, after all. She may as well earn her money, even if she struggled to look at Calum without feeling hot tears burn at her eyes.

Moving Along started and she smiled slightly. She especially enjoyed the song, moving her feet to the high energy chorus, ignoring the sting the lyrics left in her heart.

What she didn’t expect, was to turn to take another shot of Calum, and have his eyes staring straight at her.

His verse came, and he tore his eyes away from her faster than expected, and her photo turned blurry.

“Is it bad that I’m hoping that you’re broken? Is it bad that I’m wishing you’re so broken?” His voice broke, crackling as the words danced off of his tongue.

It was subtle, not noticeable to those who didn’t know Calum. Who didn’t know his little quirks, the little aspects of his being that alluded the general public. Y/N knew.

From her position at the front of the stage, she could even see the tears threatening to fall from his eyes, and the way he rubbed his face on his shoulder, disguising it as an adjustment of his ear piece.

It was the second last song of their set, the collaboration with the Chainsmokers being their last, and then Calum would be off stage.

Watching Calum sing the lyrics struck a chord inside of her. The first verse was full of such anger, but as it progressed, Luke’s verse portrayed sadness. Regret. Everything Calum had been trying to tell her the other day.

The feelings were overwhelming. She was furious. She knew that there was another song for Calum to write, having heard many parts of the other songs the guys were working on, but the pieces worked themselves together in her mind.

She had her speculations, but chose to divert her thought pattern. Every time she cast her eyes on him, she felt a ache in her stomach.

For so long, she had near constant emotion flooding her eyes. She couldn’t disregard her anger.

The songs moved quickly, and she climbed on stage to get photos of the group performance to close the pre-show. Andy had already agreed to take the pics for the Chainsmokers, knowing the tenseness of the past week for her. Y/N was looking forward to escaping to her hotel room and mulling over her thoughts.

For 5 days she had been contemplating whether or not she should stay on the tour. She had savings, enough to rent an apartment in another state. She could find photography work elsewhere.

But, she also couldn’t stand to be away from Calum again. There was a sense of hopefulness existing between them. She was far too scared to grace the topic again, and history had told her enough that Calum wouldn’t attempt to converse with her about it again, but still - she had hope that she would work up the courage to move past her anger and the sadness of her broken heart.

She was looking for a new excuse to forgive him every day, and she found them. Yet, she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him. To tell him that she was sorry for leaving.

She couldn’t bring herself to apologise, when he pushed her away.

She worked up the courage and booked a flight. It was a week away. They had no concerts scheduled for the next two weeks, taking a small break in between states.

She had only told Andy, Alex and Drew about her news so far, knowing they would be the most relaxed. Her relationship with Drew had been near non-existent. She had been using him, but when Calum came back into her life, she could barely be in Drew’s arms without comparing them to Calum.

It was cruel of her to do so, so she made the shift to simply friends. Neither of them missed the benefits connection all too much, and their relationship was already friendly enough.

The days moved along faster than expected until she was three day’s out from leaving.

She had planned to break the news to everybody the next day, but she found that the hardest part was already done when a knock sounded on her door.

Calum was bleary eyed. It had been rare for him to be seen without blood vessels visible in his sclera, and he looked no less worse for wear now as he stood at her door.

She stood in shock when the opening revealed his figure. He looked heartbroken, the same as he did in Ashton’s hotel room a few weeks back.

She fought with herself not to embrace him.

“D’you mind if I come in?” His voice was small, making her heart feel smaller.

Her voice wouldn’t work, instead she moved her body aside to make way for his large frame. He was shrunken. His shoulders sagged slightly, his hands clasped together. A clear sign of his nervousness, to Y/N.

She could often read him like a book, and she could see that he was hurting.

She had been looking for a resolution before she left, and she couldn’t help but think that this could be it. Her stomach was vibrating from the force of butterfly wings, and she watched Calum sit carefully on the edge of her bed.

She watched how his eyes fell over the bed, settling on a familiar green blanket. He had gifted it to her a few years back, knowing she hated to use hotel linen. She adored the soft fabric, taking it everywhere when she was in unfamiliar dwellings.

She forced her eyes away from him, clearing her throat to kick her voice box into the right gear.

“What do you need-“

“You’re leaving.” He said, more of a statement than a question. Her eyes grew in size slightly. She had planned to tell them all the next day, so she couldn’t understand how he had come upon the information. “Andy is a big mouth. He can’t keep a secret to save his life. You should see how he acts when he has content that he can share. He’s as giddy as a kid on Christmas.”

He refused to meet her eyes.

“I was planning to tell you all tomorrow. My planes booked for a few days time.” She hadn’t realised that she had folded her arms, her right hand rubbing along her left elbow. “I didn’t want to leave without telling anybody. Without telling you...”

“Like you did last time?” The words were intended to be venomous, but the sniff that followed told her exactly how he was feelings.

However, her anger still flared, “You know why I did what I did.”

He nodded softly, pawing at his eyes gently, turning his head to look out the window of her room. The sun was setting, the horizon mesmerizing.

“When you first left, I was so angry.” His hands were wringing together again. “I started to hate you. I wanted you to be as broken as I was - as I am. But then...” he blinked, a tear slipping down his face as the light of golden hour washed over his sun kissed skin. “Then I wanted you back. I would get drunk, I would sit there with my phone in my hand and want to call you. I wanted to apologize every day that you were gone, but, I didn’t deserve you. Hell, I still don’t deserve you. I’m the one who said those horrible things to you.”

She stepped closer, watching the way his eyes locked on the scenery outside of her window. The picture in front of her was reminiscent of the night in Ashton’s room, except this time Calum is the one who can’t bear to look at her, for fear of breaking.

“I wanted to talk to you before I left.” She spoke honestly, brushing hair away from her eyes. No matter how hard she fought herself, she wouldn’t look away. Who knew when she would see him again, and she was falling in love with the lines of his face all over again. “I wanted to tell you why I was leaving, but... I don’t know, I was scared of telling you why I can’t stay, and finish discussing what we did that night. I couldn’t start the conversation. I guess I am now, because I can’t keep fighting with myself anymore.”

His brows furrowed, his head slowly turning towards her. “What do you mean, Y/N? What conversation?”

Surprising herself, Y/N felt the butterflies disperse. The man in front of her was Calum. Her Calum. Her best friend for years, the man who knew her inside and out. The man who broke her heart, and who pushed her away.

The pain she felt couldn’t be amplified any more. She knew she could live without Calum, but she also knew that every day would be a new kind of pain. She had decided in that moment that she couldn’t make their situation any worse than it was.

“I mean, I love you, Calum. I love you so much that being around you hurts me.” There were no tears, and her eyes were locked on his. The way his face contorted in pain, and the droplets that’s fell down his round cheeks broke her heart, but she couldn’t let her facade fall. She needed to get this out before she left. “What you said the other night, about loving me - I have wanted nothing more than to hear that for so long. But when I finally told you, you rejected me. You did more than that - you made fun of me.”

He was on his feet, face red, eyes bloodshot. “If I could take back every word I said that day, I would in a heartbeat.” His voice was cracking again, she could feel the emotion dripping from him. “Nothing hurts more than when you’re not around. Everyday since we met up again, I wake up and hope that I can do right by you but I know I can never take back what I did. The things I said to you... I hate what I did. I hate that I destroyed something so perfect. Somebody so perfect.”

She felt tears prick at her eyes once again. She wanted to fight it. She didn’t want to spend another night crying over Calum, but the tears weren’t for Calum. They were for the loss she felt. The way she sobbed at night when she wanted nothing more than his presence.

“Don’t, Cal.” She cleared her throat, stepped back. She was retreating in on herself. “Being here, with everyone, it hurts. I spent so long looking for you in somebody else, and now that you’re here, I can barely focus. Every day is like an old wound being reopened. I hear the words you said to me, remember how much it hurt. I just- I can’t be around it anymore,” her voice was a bit higher than a whisper. Neither of them dared to look at the other any longer.

“Moving Along is about you, Y/N,” He sobbed.

It was agony to see him so broken.

He had taken steps towards her and refused to pull her eyes from his face. She wanted to check for any semblance of a lie in his facade. She could read him like a book, and she needed to know his intentions before she chose her next words.

“I have loved you for as long as I have known you, Y/N. I love the way you know nothing about Star Wars, how you’re not afraid to speak your mind. I love you so much that I write countless songs about you. I cant even fucking sleep without thinking of you before. I can’t do anything without remembering the way you smell, the way you smile, the way you fucking do any little thing,” he sobbed again, breathing between his words. “I would do anything, if it means I could have you back in my arms. I would give up all I had, just to see you smile at me again, to tell me that you love me too.”

He walked up to her, hands on either side of her face, forehead against hers. Their heaving breath mixed together, and Y/N fought to keep her cries in.

“Please, Calum,” he felt her tears fall onto his hands. “You can’t want this.”

“I would give up everything, I would leave the band, the public eye, the fans for you. Y/N I would do anything you asked, just to prove to you how much I need you.” He opened his eyes, gauging her reaction. She had pulled back slightly to look into his eyes.

She knew it was a horrible decision, but she kept the thought in her mind that she couldn’t make things worse and she pressed her lips against his.

Their tears fell still, the kiss soft and sad. Calum held her face as if he would slip away if not for the feeling if her skin. Her fingers clung onto his shirt so tightly, afraid that he would push her away again.

He pulled away first, eyes still closed. “If you want to leave, then I don’t want to stand in your way. I just need you to know that I have loved you for so long, Y/N, and I will love you for the rest of my life. Nobody will ever mean as much to me as you do, even if you’re not with me.”

It was as if all of the pieces fell into place. She knew what she wanted, and she knew that they had the time to do it. Once again she reminded herself, what could go wrong?

“Come with me.” She stated, more than asked.

“Sweetheart, I can’t-“

“I’m going back home. There’s just over a week until the next show. Come with me, spend some time, just us. If things go well... I’ll one back.”

“And if they don’t? What happens if we can’t get back to us?” He looked hopeful but the fear was hiding deep beneath his chocolate eyes. “I can’t lose you again, Y/N.”

She offered a small smile, raising her smaller hands to wipe the tears still on his cheeks. “Then I guess we will have to make things go well.”

~~~~~

Despite the comfort they shared in her hotel room, the first few days in L.A. were odd. Tense, but Y/N had never felt more at ease than she did in Calum’s house, her spirits hopeful and a smile on his face whenever his eyes fell on her.

By the fifth day, they were dreading returning to the tour. Y/N had decided that she would go back. They had already booked their flights to Chicago, their next stop.

For now, Y/N sat on Calum’s lounge, her eyes glued to the television as she finally allowed herself to watch Star Wars. They were on the third prequel, and Y/N was fighting back tears as she watched Anakin surrender to the dark side.

Calum was laying on his back, his head resting in Y/N’s lap, his gaze focused on her face.

He was following the curve of his nose, the slight swell of her lips as she unconsciously poured at the television. She was mesmerizing.

He couldn’t bring his eyes off of her. He knew that she was going back to the tour with him, but the thought of losing her again was terrifying. She was his oxygen, and he had spent almost a year struggling to breathe.

“If you keep starting at me, I’ll poke you in the eye. This movie is actually decent, stop distracting me.” She grumbled, pouting further when Obi-Wan and Anakin we’re battling.

“I can’t help it. I’ve missed you,” he said without thinking. The past few days had been about honestly, rekindling and catching up. He saw no reason to hold the truth back now.

His words elicited a smile from her, a slight blush peppering her cheeks. “Suck a dick, hood.”

He snorted, “But that’s your job.”

Her fingers were running through his hair absentmindedly; her heart beating fast. This was Calum. Her Calum. The same Calum that knew her inside and out, yet, he still made her nervous.

The last year has been a rollercoaster, but now, she loved him, and he knew, and he loved her as well. He was free from his fear, knowing that nobody else could amount to the woman that Y/N is.

“I love you,” she whispered, casting her eyes down on him. Her smile was small, adorable and it forced a grin to split across Calum’s face.

“I love you,” he answered. He pulled her hand from his head, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “What do you say to getting some Mexican food and binge watching Friday the 13th with your favourite guy tonight?”

She deadpanned, blinking at the tv screen. “How can I do that? Ashton isn’t in L.A.”

“Fine, no Mexican food for you,” Calum huffed, sitting up and crossing his arms in protest.

Y/N pouted, latching onto him like a koala and peppering kisses onto his cheeks. “Baby, I’m sorry! I need Mexican food!”

It was safe to say, Y/n got Mexican food that night.

Friends with benefits relationships are always the most dangerous. It is so easy to develop feelings, sharing such an intimate part of yourself with a person, both as a friend and a lover.

Sometimes things are rocky; but other times, the benefits outweigh the negatives.

Tag list: @starshonerose @mantlereid @another-lonely-heart @theanswertoeverythingisl0v3 @poetnstuff @snookiebrookie @oyesmendes

[sarcastic-sunshines]

She’s Mine Part 1

Author’s Note:  This is my submission for @chaneajoyyy​ & @shaekingshitup​ ‘s Quarantine Challenge. It was just what I needed and I am so grateful for both you lovely ladies doing this. I hope you all are staying indoors and staying. As always, I cannot wait to hear what you think 😊

P.S. I was inspired by the song She’s Mine Part 1 by J Cole

Pairing: Erik Killmonger x [Black Reader]

Quarantine Writing Challenge Masterlist

________________________________________________________________

She’s Mine Part 1

“You’ve made so much progress over the past few months.”

Erik lifted his head, finally making eye contact with his therapist.

Here he was.

He never saw himself making it this far. He had asked for one thing: death. But here he was, spending most of his days listening to this woman and his family, trying to repair the inner turmoil that had been building his entire existence. 

Erik stared intensely at the woman before turning and looking at his ‘family’ around the room. They seemed happy, they always did. But this time, they showed a look of accomplishment. They believed in the progress that he apparently had made. He didn’t. He could see the benefit, though he wasn’t ready to call them family yet. Nonetheless, he thought he understood them all better. But he wasn’t ready to open up fully yet. He didn’t think he would ever be ready.

“If you ever need more than the weekly sessions, I can make myself available to you, Prince Erik.” He nodded slowly. The title still sounded foreign to his ears.

The therapist got up and left. Not long after Queen Mother and the Princess followed her out, but T’Challa stayed, waiting for his cousin to say anything.

“Are you alright,” he said, tired of waiting.

“I’m good,” Erik spoke. He observed the gentle face staring at him. “It don’t matter how many sessions we have. I’m gonna need time to adjust to this, my new normal.” T’Challa had a way of getting him to open up with little effort. The man always appeared so trusting, and a little piece of him wanted to fully trust him. But he knew better than to do that. So he would slowly let the man in. 

Slowly but surely.

“I know it is strange. That is why I think throwing yourself into a project will help you acclimate better.”

“Yeah,” he responded while  leaning back into the chair, “what you got me doing?” 

“Shuri is working on something for the kids in the center. I think you would be interested. It is a long term project that you will get to present in about nine months. I think it is enough time to decide where you would like to be. Here… Or America.” T’Challa stood, waiting for Erik to do the same. “Though I will admit cousin, as difficult as it had been for us, I have enjoyed your time here, and I personally would love it if you stay.” With that, T’Challa turned to walk out the room, leaving Erik behind. He needed a moment before he started walking towards his own chambers. 

His cousin’s question made him think about where he wanted to be. He hadn’t thought he would make it this far. He wasn’t sure what to do with this ‘second chance at life’. That’s what the therapist called it. He still wasn’t sure if he wanted it. Until he figured that out, he was back to surviving. He didn’t know what living felt like. He hadn’t for a long time. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The music was blaring. The heavy afrobeat tempo bounced off the walls of the lab as he entered, but he didn’t mind. He looked around at the different lab coats busily passing through the lab, working on what he could only describe as greatness.

That’s when he first saw her.

Her large afro puff pushed away from the deep umber complexion of her face. Her glasses sat low on her nose as she was solving some equation on the holographic board. Her lab coat hung tight on her curves that were impossible to miss. She was glowing. She had to be! How else could he explain why he was so drawn to her.

Her concentration broke away from the board as she surveilled the room for a moment. Briefly, her eyes connected with his. It only had been an instant, but in that instant, he knew. He had felt more within his soul than he had in months. Shuri quickly drew him away from the moment as she waved with rhythm, trying to get her cousin’s attention. 

“I am so excited you are here! I think you will love what we are working on,” she said, already moving towards her work table.

“Your brother said it’s basically like mini kimoyo beads.”

“Exactly. Of course, more limited than the ones Wakandan Citizens have, but this will help the kids with any of their needs! From school to housing, and even letting the Outreach coordinators know if a child is in trouble.”

“I like that, so what do you want me to do?” he asked as Shuri handed him a clipboard.

“Well, your fancy American degree leads me to believe that being the head of something like this would be right up your ally. And of course, your life experience lets me know a sense of empathy will be included as well,” she said with a small smile.

He nodded at her, and though he didn’t return the smile, Shuri could see the warmth in his eyes. Despite everything, she knew Erik liked her. She would catch him snickering at her jokes every once in a while, and it made her feel like she was doing something right. And she was. Erik could admit that watching Shuri’s enthusiasm for life was something worth seeing. It made him feel warm on the inside, and instinctively protective over her. Which showed how far they had come, considering how they had met. 

“And here is your team.” Shuri gestured to five individuals who lifted their heads to work and wave at the prince. “I will let you get to know them on your own time, but you will be working closely with y/n.” 

And just like that, the woman who had captured his attention when he entered stood in front of him, Her smile was wide as she stuck her hand out for him to shake. “ Y/n originally came up with the idea and has been leading it alongside me. I think you will both get along. She is easily one of my favourite people,” Shuri continued to praise y/n, who Erik had finally focused enough to shake hands with. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Erik” he stuttered out and internally winced. What was happening to him?

“I know”, y/n said, still smiling. She never broke eye contact, and it was as if she was seeing into his soul. “From what Shuri has said about you, I think you will be a great fit for what we have already started.”

“Alright. I’m excited to get to know you,” he said smoothly, his charm slowly returning. He made it obvious he was taking her full form in, and he could see she was doing the exact same thing. He didn’t mind at all. “Why don’t you introduce me to everyone, and then show me the layout.” 

And with that, her work mode turned on. Erik found himself struggling to catch up as he trailed behind her around the lab. He tried to stay focus and soak up everything she was saying, but it never took long for his mind to focus on everything else about her but the safety guidelines she was currently reading out. He could tell already, there was a fire in every aspect of her. He was so intrigued by her, more than ready to explore this fire, hoping he wouldn’t get burned along the way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MONTH 1

If there was one thing Erik loved about Wakanda, it was the landscape. The natural beauty of the land was really like no other. So every day, during his lunch he would climb a hill where a few benches were littered and eat while enjoying the beauty before him. It seemed like a remote spot, so he was always able to enjoy peace and quiet. Especially knowing his next meal would be a much louder family dinner.

He didn’t mind family dinner, but he was for sure not used to it. The idea of sitting at a table where everyone shared their days and inside jokes was one he never saw himself being included in. At only one foster home did he ever eat at the table with everyone else, but it was always dead quiet. Laughter rarely filled that table. But here, among his ‘family’, laughter was a requirement. He still found himself feeling like an outsider despite the few chuckles he had been able to let out.

So at lunch, he appreciated the serenity of the hill as he prepared himself for not only the rest of the day but also his attempt to join the laughter.

He began to chew slowly, placing his book to the side when he could hear the muffled version of someone’s music. So much for a quiet lunch, he said to himself. He took a large bite thinking that if he ate quicker he could leave quicker. He felt a presence, but he didn’t turn until the person was sitting right next to him. 

The irritated face Erik originally had turned with had disappeared as soon as he saw y/n sitting next to him ever so casually.

“I thought I was the only one who liked sitting up here,” she said pulling out her packed lunch while stealing glances at Erik.

“Guess not,” he said finally. “ It is quiet up here, almost -”

“Serene,” she said, finishing his sentence before looking at him with a smile. He nodded slowly, with the smallest smile growing on his face. He liked y/n. After working with her for the better part of the month, he admired how confident and sure of herself she always was. When she looked at him, he felt her trying to understand him, even with the very little that he offered.

“Exactly, how come I haven’t seen you out here before? Actually, I never see you leave the lab. I was starting to think you were one of the robots that Shuri is always working on,” he said, taking another bite as y/n giggled at his comment. He almost felt proud of himself for getting her to laugh. 

“I am just a perfectionist. I really want this project to go well. It is like my baby.” she said looking out at the landscape, before turning to him. “But how ironic you say that, considering you are always the last one to leave the lab and the first one there in the morning.”

“Yeah well, you’re not the only one who wants this to work out. Shuri was right. My heart is in it. I didn’t want it to be, but it’s hard not to think about all the kids whose lives could be even a little better than mine.”  Y/n stared into his eyes the whole time he spoke. 

“I understand,” she said softly, and without thinking, she placed her hand on his knee. He stared at the hand for a moment. He didn’t want to admit but it was comforting. One thing he had noticed about working with y/n was that she had a way of making everyone feel like they had known each other for decades. Her presence always brought a sense of familiarity and Erik didn’t realize how much he loved it until this moment.

“So what does the prince do when he isn’t spending all his time testing out prototypes?” she said breaking the comfortable silence they had been basking in.

“I don’t know yet. Y’all don’t really play basketball out here.”

“Have you tried football?” “You mean soccer?” he asked, making y/n roll her eyes, “ I do. T’Challa tries to take me every once in a while but I don’t know if I like playin’ as much as watchin’.”

“Well if you like watching, I always need someone who is willing to watch the Premiere league with me. Wakandans are very patriotic, and that even comes to football, they only watch their own league,”  she explained 

“So you’re not patriotic?”

“I am. I just also enjoy the beautiful game of football as the international treasure that it is,” she said with a slight glare, her smile still painted on her face. “Besides, we can work on some of that paperwork that goes along with American projects as we watch.”

They both began to pack up their lunch as she waited for his answer. Since Erik had gotten here, he hadn’t made any friends, let alone been invited to activities outside of work. He was used to keeping to himself, and he liked it. But there was something about this woman that made him feel like he couldn’t get enough of her. So he ignored the voice in his head telling him to say he was busy and nodded his head. 

“A’ight, I’ll come, but you gotta watch a Warriors game with me,” he said. 

“That is fine, but just know I am a Clippers fan,” she said with a smirk. Erik stopped for a moment, he couldn’t lie, he was a little shocked she watched the NBA at all. Basketball fans were not that many in Wakanda, and he had only found a few.

“What?! They not even the best team in LA,” he said, catching himself smiling.

“That is not what is important here! I grew up a Clippers fan, so they are the best team to me.”

“Now who was out here teachin’ you the wrong thing,” Erik asked as they walked down the hill.

“My father. He was a war dog stationed in Los Angeles. He used to say his favourite thing to do on his mission was to go to Clippers game, especially when they played the Lakers, so you can take that up with him when you see him,” she said with a giggle.

“Shit, I might just have to,” he said with a low chuckle to match her laugh. He stared at her as she kept talking. This was the most comfortable he had felt since waking up. When they reached the bottom of the hill, he realized he didn’t want the moment to end. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MONTH 3

“Okay, try this.” She held a spoon full up to his mouth. He stared at the spoon for a second before giving. He chewed for a moment before moaning in satisfaction. 

“Damn, that’s good. It tastes like collard greens,” he said, watching y/n serving him a plate of the vegetable.

“Because it is. It is called Sukuma, and its what we are going to eat with the Ugali.” She finished serving them both before placing both plates on her dining table. Meanwhile, Erik worked hard to not get lost staring at the roundness of her curves. So, as usual, he focused on the artwork on her walls, vibrant colours that matched the equally vibrant decor inside y/n’s home. 

The first time he came over, he felt like he learned more about her just from her home. She smiled more when they were here, and she always seemed more relaxed. Erik enjoyed her the most here and recognized her home as her comfort zone. Her curls always went up into the tidiest bun she could manage at the time, and her work clothes were replaced with a pair of leggings or shorts with a crop top. If the Clippers were playing, she would bring out her jersey just to annoy Erik. And each time he would feign annoyance, just to stop himself from saying how sexy he actually thought she looked.

Each week, she would introduce him to new Wakandan cuisine and they would talk endlessly about nothing. Sometimes the conversation got deeper than nothing. He talked about his father, and his experiences after as he bounced through different foster homes. He learned that her mother was a Somali-American who her father had met while stationed in LA. After she passed when y/n was five, her father brought her back to Wakanda, and she hadn’t been back since. Knowing that made Erik more comfortable with his own confusing identity.

As usual, they moved to the couch where they let the effects of their food coma take over their bodies. Erik had learned quickly that y/n loved physical touch. Even if it was in the most subtle of gestures like their knees touching. After a heavy meal like the one, they just had, y/n head was always found resting against his shoulder as they watched a sports game. They had started to show each other their favourite films. 

Tonight y/n had convinced him into watching Beyond the Lights, Erik watched y/n face as she felt every emotion that Noni Jean portrayed through her screen. 

“I see you,” she whispered.

“What?”

“I see you. It’s like the overall theme of the film. To have a love so deep, so soulful, that they see all of you.” At this point, y/n had sat up and was looking at Erik intensely. And Erik was looking back at her, feeling every word she was saying. “Your fears, your insecurities, your wants and needs, aspirations, all of it. That type of love is so deep and intentional.”

“You ever had that type of love before?” Erik asked meekly, as they sat facing each other now.

“I always thought I did, but I don’t know, sometimes you just feel a connection, and I think at that moment you begin to feel it.” She broke eye contact for a moment to look at her leg, where Erik’s arm had been soothingly passing for about a minute.

“It’s like…”

“It just clicks in that exact moment, and you just know everything and anything.” His voice grew deeper as he finished her sentence. It had been like this for the past two months. Sometimes the conversations would get so deep, they felt the energy. It would take over his whole body, but the fear of opening up like that would make him pull away.

But not this time. He knew with all his being that he didn’t want to pull away. So he moved his hand from her knee to cup her face softly.

“Clarity. That’s what that is,” she said softly as she closed the space in between them. Erik met her halfway. They were so close, he could feel her breath on his lips. “I see you.”

The gentle declaration was all he needed to finally capture her lips in his. 

It felt like they had been in this space before. He didn’t feel like he was learning her body, but rather that he was being reintroduced to the curves he had been admiring from afar. Her lips on his body was a sensation that he had been anticipating for a while. His hands on her hips felt like home, and he hadn’t had that in a long time. Their bodies connecting was a moment he wanted to just live in forever.

Her little snores were a comforting sound as she laid on his chest. His hand slowly passed on her bareback, and it was then he realized that he felt alive, had something to look forward to.

With that thought, he kissed her head and finally turned off his mind and let sleep take him. It was the best sleep he had had in months. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MONTH 5 

Y/n looked over Erik’s shoulder as he focused on the long legal document that sat in front of him. He had been reading through it for the better part of the night. She pulled the chair next to him and rested her chin on his shoulder. He turned for a moment to kiss her before going back to highlighting.

“You have been looking at this all night. I thought you came over to spend time with me,” she pouted as she spoke. His arm came around her, slowly creeping under her shirt.

“I’m sorry, baby, you know how it is. Once I start, I can’t put it down.” He turned off the holographic document and turned his full attention to her. “But I’m all yours now, what are we doing?” 

She kissed him again, trying to center him, but she could tell he was still thinking about whatever he was working on. “Do you want to share with me what you are reading about?”

Erik stopped for a moment, hesitant to share. She lifted his head so they could hold eye contact.

“It’s the Foster Care Regulation in the state of California. I’m just tryin’ to see if there’s a way the center can take in these kids instead of them being thrown around the system.”

“Because you know you can do a better job than the current system?” she asked, he nodded along with her question.

“I just know what it’s like, and if I can help even just one kid, then this would be worth it. Giving them food and safe place ain’t shit if they’re being shuffled around every couple months.” As always, she nodded along as he spoke, acknowledging every word he was saying, and the words he was afraid to say. “I hear you,” she said softly, and with those simple words, he felt like his ideas were sane. “I am sure we can look into more when we go for the launching of the beads. I’m excited you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course, I get to see places that I haven’t been able to go since I was a little girl. Probably visit all the parts of the city that my parents loved so much. And, of course, see all the places that created my Erik,” she said gripping his chin, his smile exposing the golden grill that she loved so much.  

Y/n kissed him softly before continuing. “After your cousin opened the border for Wakandans, I promised that I would only go back if I had something to give to my people. Now the months are getting closer and it’s becoming so real, you know?” He loved how excited she looked.

“You ever thought about moving back, like living there?”

“I don’t think so… Wakanda is home at this point. I want my life to be here.” She paused for a moment before looking at him doubtingly. “Are you thinking of going back to Oakland?” “It’s a possibility.” 

“Meaning?”

“Look, I never knew how long I was gon’ stay. I just knew I needed to learn this side of me, and I did. Oakland’s home though. It’s familiar to me. And if I wanna get this alternative foster care system off the ground, I’m gon’ wanna be there. There ain’t nothing holding me here anyways.”

Y/n’s eyes opened wide. He could see the hurt he caused and immediately felt bad “Really, not one reason for you to even consider staying?”

“Baby...you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

She didn’t wait for him to finish before getting up and walking towards her room. All he heard was the slam of her door to know she was pissed. These were the moments Erik wasn’t ready for yet: the attachment part, where he had to consider someone else. He knew what he said was rude, but a little piece of him needed to know he could be without her. There was a strange comfort in knowing that. At least that’s what he told himself as he packed his things to go home. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MONTH 6

Family dinner was extra loud today, and that’s because Erik had joined. His boisterous voice was finally being heard in the dining hall. Most importantly, his laughter. He was with his family, six months ago, he didn’t think he could say that without feeling strange about it. But here he was, listening and laughing.

“Oh, by the way, Erik, can I give you this folder to give y/n?” Shuri asked casually. “I’ve barely seen her at the lab.”

And Erik knew why. She was avoiding him. It was obvious. They had barely spoken since his comment. Not that she hadn’t tried, but things just grew awkward. Erik missed her though. Even when she was around, he could tell she was withdrawn, probably doing what he too was trying to do.

Protecting his heart.

“Uh yeah, I’ll bring it to her later on,” he said, retreating back into his hard shell. The only one who seemed to have noticed was T’Challa, who didn’t have a problem sharing his concern as they walked down the long palace halls.

“So are things okay with you and y/n?”

“Yeah? Why you asking?”

“Because you’ve been showing up to dinner more often,” T’Challa said with a smirk that made Erik roll his eyes.

“Yeah, well, things have been different. I mentioned going back to Oakland and she got all up in her feelings.” T’Challa frowned for a second before steadying his face.

“So you decided to go? I didn’t know you had already made a decision. I was getting used to having you here, cousin.”

“I haven’t decided shit. She just thinks we’re a unit. But I need to figure out what’s best for me. Ain’t that what I was supposed to be doing,” he said much more aggressively than he intended.

“That is somewhat true, but I also know you have been acting like you are a ‘unit’. You practically were living together,” T’Challa said jokingly, making Erik kiss his teeth. “I also know since you started seeing y/n, you have become a much different person than who you were six months ago. I can’t say she is the cause of it all, but you and I know she played a larger role.”

Erik stopped and leaned on the wall, looking at the folder under his arm. He knew his cousin was right, and he hated it.

“I think you are just afraid of the love and stability she offers. We both know you haven’t had that in a long time, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t deserving of it.” 

Erik nodded for a second. He spun his ring for a moment before leaving the wall. “I gotta go. I’ll catch you later,” he said walking in the opposite direction from T’Challa.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a large bang on the door. It startled y/n who had been meditating. It seemed like she had been needing a sense of peace more than usual. There was another bang on the door, followed by Erik yelling. “Baby! I know you in there!”

She slowly got up from her spot on the ground and found Erik standing on the other side looking much meeker than he had sounded only a moment ago. Slowly, his eyes traveled down her body before he cleared his throat to speak.

“Shuri said to bring this to you,” he said thrusting the folder in her hand. She looked down at it with a frown.

“Is that the only reason you came here?”

“No. I came to find out why you haven’t been coming to work. You know we need you to keep us in order,” he tried to joke, but y/n’s face did not move at all.

“Baby, can I come in and talk for a second,” he asked more seriously. Reluctantly, she opened the door wider to let him in. He took his normal spot on her couch and watched as she chose to sit as far from him as possible. He groaned before remembering he wasn’t there to argue with her.

“So,” she said with all the attitude she could.

“There ain’t never been a time in my life when I was allowed to be comfortable, you know that,” he said slowly. “I’m not justifying anything, but it’s hard for me to let you in like that, to think this kinda happiness is one I’m supposed to be comfortable with. That it’s not gon’ leave as soon as I accept it. So I became cold as soon as it became comfortable.” His leg began to shake nervously. “Everyone I have ever loved has been taken away from me, and I don’t need that happenin’ with you. I’ve been fine on my own. At least I thought I was, then I realized I got family, and you. And I am sorry I ever made you feel like you weren’t the most important person in my life.” 

He finally looked at her for the first time since he started talking.

“Because I love you so much y/n. I love you so much I’m afraid to lose you,” he began to sniffle, trying to keep his emotions together.

Y/n smiled at him, slowly closing the gap between them. She placed a hand on top of his, and with the other, she held his chin, making sure he kept eye contact with her. And for a moment she didn’t respond, she just stared at him. Erik felt his breathing slowing down. He hadn’t even realized how anxious he had been. 

It scared him to think about how safe one person could make him feel. Something he hadn’t experienced since being a little boy in his Baba’s arms.

“I love you too Erik Stevens,” y/n spoke after a moment. A soft smile rested on her lips. “I was scared to, but I do, and because of that, I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded softly letting her words sink into his soul.

“I love you, and I see you.” Those words, so simple, but enough to let him know where he needed to be.

“I see you too,” he said before kissing her softly. She brought her arms around him, and just like that, he felt alive again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MONTH 9

“I’m open!” 

Erik yelled to one of the kids on his team to pass to him. As soon as he got the ball, he went straight for a layup, and just like that he helped his team win. The young boys circled around him reaching for high fives from Erik. Erik glanced at y/n who stood at the sidelines with a slight smile on her face. 

An announcement rang through the outreach center letting the boys know they had ten minutes before a session with Shuri. Erik watched as all the boys moved to get their things and go. He took the opportunity to walk over to y/n who he greeted with a deep kiss before she pushed him away.

“If I knew I had a cheerleader out there, I would have made more shots,”  he said with a smile that made y/n playfully shove him as she tried to hide her smile. 

“Yeah, whatever. I’m just here to make sure you get ready for the game on time. I want you to see every moment of the Clippers destroying your little team.”

“You talk a lot of shit for a team that ain’t got no ring,” he said putting his arm around her as she giggled. They started to walk from the center to his car ever so slowly. He took in the atmosphere of his hometown. He had missed it, but not as much as he thought he would.

“You are very good with the kids.”

“Yeah... You think so?” He opened her car door for her.

“All they talk about in our practice sessions is how cool Erik.” She threw her hands up mockingly as he buckled in and turned towards her. 

“They’re cool kids. It ain’t hard with them.”

“I hope its that easy when we have ours.”

His heart seemed to have stopped for a moment. They had never talked about that far in the future before.

“Calm down, ma, you don’t want to do things the right way? I don’t know. Think about marriage first,” he says looking at her face, making sure to take in everything she said.

“My dad always mentioned the two of us doing our rituals and him giving me away to you.” Y/n rolled her eyes.

“You don’t want that?” 

“I don’t know. My parents never got married but I think their love was pure without it. So I think I feel the same way. We don’t need titles to know we are committed to each other.”

He looked at her for a moment, slightly distracted by the woman that he loved. 

“I like that. Just know that no matter what we decide I’m still gon’ call you my wifey.”

“That’s fine. As long as you are the one saying it,” she said leaning in to kiss him.

“I hear you,” he said looking at her before getting ready to drive off.  

She kept stealing glances of him before speaking.“Have you given more thought about where you want to stay? Is Oakland calling you?” 

He placed his hand on her bouncing leg.

“Right now? Home is wherever you are,” he said with a straight face. “That’s gon’ mean me going back for a while but we’ll make it work.”

She nodded with a smile before picking up his hand on her thigh and giving it a kiss and placing it back. He flashed her a smile showing off the golden grill that she loved so much. They entered a comfortable silence, filled only by a soft R&B playlist he had playing. It was then, he was sure, that this was what living felt like. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Part 2 

Taglist: @aloevverified​ @chaneajoyyy​ @shaekingshitup​ @fd-writes​ @ashanti-notthesinger​ @ghostfacekill-monger​

[malumsmermaid]

Sweet Dream or a Beautiful Nightmare?

Happy Halloween everyone! This is the halloween event fic for the collab discord!

I chose the prompt of “Person A sells their soul to Person B, a crossroads demon,” for Mashton.

Word Count: 4.6k

Pairing: Demon Michael x Ashton

Description: So I made this an alternate timeline. 5SOS is still 5SOS, but, they don’t really take off until after Ashton is already 18, and Ashton joins the band much earlier than Michael does, for the sake of the prompt and my plans.

Warnings: Demons, mentions of death

Event Masterlist        My Masterlist       Buy Me a Ko-Fi

Ashton took a deep breath, giving the book and bag of supplies sitting in his passenger seat an anxious glance. He’d bought the spell book from a local used bookstore months ago, assuring his two friends that it was just as a joke. This week however, curiosity and desperation took over, leading him to dig through his closet until he found the note-laden spell book, still in the bag it was placed in the day it was purchased. 

He steeled himself, grabbing the book and bag and turning off his car, climbing out and taking sure steps towards the intersection of the streets. He grabbed chalk from the plastic bag, trying not to look too long at the other ingredients for the summoning. He set the book next to him on the ground, shivering as it fell open to the exact page he needed. “Okay Ash,” he breathed, “get yourself together and let’s do it, for the boys. Six guitarists in six months is fucking ridiculous.” 

He dug in the cloth bag for the box of chalk, taking a piece out and walking to the center of the intersection. He kneeled on the pavement, focusing on the crossroads he was at mentally as he drew out the symbol illustrated in the spell book. He knew that Luke, Calum and himself had a great fit for their band, the only thing they were lacking in their balance was the right guitarist. He had a feeling that if they didn’t find another guitarist soon, and if this seventh guitarist wasn’t the missing piece they’d been searching for, the two younger boys may lose hope and give up. He maintained focus on his goal as he meticulously followed the instructions laid out in the book.

Everything completed he took a step back, eyes closed as he focused on what he needed. When he opened his eyes again, there was a cloaked figure in front of him, orange glowing eyes showing from beneath a hood. Ashton stood his ground, even with the lit candles flickering out, staring the orange eyes down as he waited for the crossroads demon to speak. Ashton thought he could make out a smirk on the demon’s lips as he sized up the eighteen year old in front of him.

“Was this just some dare from your friends or do you actually need me for something, kid?” The demon’s voice was low, almost bored.

Ashton squared his shoulders, standing up straighter and sticking his chin out, pushing down even the slightest bit of fear. “I truly believe my band has a good chance of making it in our field, we just are failing desperately at finding the right guitarist.”

The demon blinked, “You’re willing to sell your soul to a demon...for a guitarist. Not the success of the band, just the guitarist.”

Ashton nodded, sighing, “We’ve been through six guitarists in as many months. I’m here for the perfect guitarist for our band. The success will follow from that.”

“Are you sure about that?” the demon asked, fingers fiddling with the large sleeves of the cloak. “This is really what you want to sell your soul for, no little extra guarantee that it will actually work out on top of this guitarist?”

Ashton looked at the ground, silent for a moment, before looking up into the glowing eyes through his fringe, “It really is. I think my bandmates may give up if this next guitarist doesn’t work out, and I don’t want that to happen. Besides, if it had been one of their ideas, I would’ve made sure I was the one to do it. They don’t deserve that.”

“And you do?” The demon retorted, though his voice took on a concerned note.

Ashton paused, eyebrows pulling together before shaking his head. He reached his hand across the sigil he’d drawn in the road, “Do we have a deal?”

The demon took in Ashton’s unwavering position, his refusal to back down, convinced that this was the measure he had to take for his friends. “Deal.” The demon responded, grasping Ashton’s hand in his own. “Guitarist lucky number seven will be at your next rehearsal,” he stated before turning around and getting ready to disappear back into the darkness, “Can’t wait to see how this one turns out.” He muttered to himself.

Ashton gathered what remained of his ingredients, taking them to the car and grabbing his thermos full of water, rinsing the chalk off of the roadway before finally getting back in his car and going home.

~~~~~

Two days later Ashton was setting up his drum kit in Luke’s house. He was anxiously tightening a wing nut to a cymbal when the doorbell rang. Luke frowned, putting his guitar down and going to answer the door. Ashton could hear Luke talking to someone and hummed, continuing his set up. Soon Luke returned, another boy following behind him. “This is Michael,” the blonde started, getting both Ashton and Calum’s attention. “He told me that he heard from a friend that we were looking for another guitarist?”

Luke’s blue eyes were questioning, wondering if his other two bandmates had spoken to anyone about the recent opening. Calum looked just as confused as Luke and Ashton whirred through some excuse he could make up. “I uh, may have mentioned it to one of the people at the barbecue I went to after practice the other night. Didn’t think they’d actually know someone looking for a band though, guess I was wrong.”

Luke simply shrugged and nodded, turning back to Michael, still hanging behind him. Ashton caught the guitarist’s eye and...did he just wink at him? No, he had to have imagined it. Michael’s brown hair fell in his face and he crouched on the floor, pulling his guitar out of the case and tuning it, knowing that the band would need to hear him play before anything was decided.

Ashton finished setting up his kit and took a seat in front of the Hemmings’ Christmas tree. Calum was on one side of him, fidgeting with the shoulders of his tank top, Luke on the other looking at Michael. He’d pulled his guitar strap over his shoulder, guitar hanging on his back as he fidgeted with the strands of his hair before stepping up to Calum’s keyboard. He took a deep breath, calming his nerves before he started playing the opening notes to Nightmare by Avenged Sevenfold. He swung his guitar around and began to play. He leaned into the microphone and began singing the lyrics as well and Ashton thought he caught another furtive glance and a smirk from him. 

Luke got to his feet halfway through the song, stopping Michael. “Dude, if you can get along with the three of us as well as you can play guitar, I’d say you’re in. What do you guys think?”

Calum spoke up from his spot, “Yeah, hang out with us some after practice today and same at the next and if we’re all getting along, I’d say it’s going to work out.”

Ashton simply nodded his agreement with the other two boys and got to his feet, going to settle behind his drum set, ready to start practice. Michael was beaming as he moved to the other side of the living room stage, looking at the tabs Luke was showing him for one of the original songs that he wanted to work on today.

~~~~~~~

Michael blended into the group with ease, Ashton and Calum welcoming him in before the first rehearsal with the new guitarist was even over. Ashton brushed off his apprehension about the looks that Michael had been giving him, he was a nice guy and there was no way he could know about the deal the drummer had made. By his third rehearsal, Michael had come up with a name for the group, the other three boys having been struggling with that for a long time, especially with the more pressing issue of keeping a guitarist on the forefront of their minds. 

Soon, 5 Seconds of Summer were posting more videos to Luke’s youtube channel and playing more local shows. With Michael fitting in so well with the group they were now working harder than ever before. After a few months, they finally got a call from a label. They worked out the details with their parents and began touring around the country, and then across the world. 

The years went on and the band’s success continued to grow, multiple albums debuting at number 1 and playing larger and larger venues. During one tour Ashton dyed his hair black, posting a picture in front of a window, captioning it “feeling like a demon again.” Michael was in another room, and he let out a low chuckle when he read the caption, double tapping the photo and carrying on.

It was coming up on ten years since Michael joined the band, ten years since Ashton made a deal with the crossroads demon. He wasn’t really in the mood to celebrate his 28th birthday when it came along, knowing in five months, he would no longer be himself, if he was even still here. They finished recording their sixth album and Ashton went back to Australia for a month, spending time with his family. When he got back to LA in mid-September he began pulling away from his friends, only responding to band related texts immediately, sometimes taking three days to reply to even Calum when he tried to check in. He tried to say that he was working on a second solo album during the lull before they had to start promoting the new record, but he knew that would only hold them off for so long.

By October Ashton’s nightmares of the orange-eyed demon he’d been having from time to time since they met were now nightly. The first week of November he just gave up on sleeping entirely, throat raw from waking up screaming as the cloaked demon dragged him out of bed and down through his bedroom floor into darkness. 

At the end of the week without sleep, Ashton once again found himself spending the whole day sitting on his couch, staring intently at a blank page of his journal. The room grew dark around him as the sun sank in the sky. The last few golden rays travelled through the windows when he recognized the sound of Michael knocking on his door. Before he could get up or even respond to the sound, the door opened, Michael walking straight in. Ashton wearily raised his head, looking at his friend standing in the doorway to the living room. “You look soulless.” Michael said, “Trust me, I would know.”

Ashton shook his head, placing his elbows on his knees and leaning his head on his hands. “What do you need Mike?”

“I know why you’ve been avoiding us, pushing everyone away.”

Ashton let out a dark chuckle. “Sure. Take a guess.” He muttered, keeping his head down.

Michael stepped further into the room, boot stomping on the hardwood. “Ashton. Look at me.”

There was something different to Michael’s voice, and Ashton found himself unable to disobey. He sat up, turning to look at the blonde and gasped. The same glowing orange eyes that had been haunting his nightmares were staring straight at him, coming from Michael’s face. Ashton scrambled backwards until his back was against the far arm of the sofa, the guitar that had been next to him dropping to the floor. Michael frowned, stepping forward, picking up the instrument from the ground, checking it and carefully beginning to tune it again while Ashton searched for words. 

“Y-you!” He choked out, “Get out of Michael!”

The demon sighed, eyes fading back to green as he fiddled with the guitar. He snapped his fingers, turning on some lamps. “Ashton,” he said, voice soft, “I’ve been Michael the whole time, from before you came forth to make the deal to now.”

Ashton shook his head, “So I wasn’t being paranoid about the looks you were giving me when you tried out for the band.”

Michael chuckled, nodding. “I was sort of hoping you’d notice much sooner. I was just drawn in by your confidence that all you needed was a guitarist. And you were right.”

Ashton was still pressed against the arm of the sofa, so Michael stayed where he was, tenderly cradling Ashton’s guitar, letting him set his boundaries, letting him figure out how he felt. Finally, Ashton shifted, actually looking at Michael, no longer pinning himself to the end of the couch. When he spoke, his voice was raw, “It’s just...god, Michael. I’ve trusted you with things I wouldn’t tell anyone else. I’ve been vulnerable with you...I--I’m in fucking love with you.” Ashton’s scoff turned into a disbelieving laugh. “I would fall in love with a demon, makes so much more sense now.”

“Hey now,” Michael said, voice soft as he moved to sit next to Ashton, hand resting on the drummer’s thigh. Ashton didn’t pull away and Michael carried on, “I gave up my original job out of curiosity after we met. The past ten years I’ve spent with you...and the band...I’ve been closer to my old mortal life, old feelings, than I have been in centuries.”

“What do you mean?” Ashton asked, hazel eyes meeting green.

“I mean, I wasn’t always a crossroads demon, if that’s what you’re asking. In my old life I was a travelling minstrel, and one day, I performed the same ceremony you did, summoned the demon who would be my master in order to make a deal.”

Ashton tilted his head, understanding crashing over him and he nodded, curls bouncing. “Did you make the deal you expected me to make? Asking for success and fame?”

Michael chuckled, “No, Ashton, I assumed that’s where you were going because I’ve been a crossroads demon for four hundred years. The number of times I’ve heard that request in the past fifty years alone...it’s not a hard assumption to make.” 

Ashton nodded, quietly waiting to hear Michael’s story. Michael hummed, leaning back into the couch as he began. “It was a festival, celebrating the arrival of spring. We were playing in the market square and a boy caught my eye. I later learned he was the son of the lord and lady of that region and doubted I had much chance. But I had to have him. So, that night, I made a deal and within the next fortnight, I was a regular in his bed. 

His parents knew nothing of the matter and within two years he was married to the daughter of some duchess, but we had an understanding with her. She had little interest in lying with her husband anyway, her heart laid with one of the maids who helped her dress.

Much too soon my time came and I became a demon. I stopped aging, learned my trade, and began my work. I still spent nights with my beloved, but he continued aging, and soon, at least to me, it became clear that he couldn’t keep up with me anymore. I held his hand as he crossed over. He and his wife never had children, even for the sake of appearances, and so their line ended with their deaths. He chose to be reborn, I check in on him once every century, but I always miss when he would be my apparent age. The two times that I caught him in his later years, his soul recognized me for who I was and we had long talks when I came by, but nothing more.”

Ashton stared, nodding as he listened to Michael’s century’s old tale, of who he had been before Ashton was even a thought. “H-have you found him in this century?” He voiced.

Michael chuckled, “Yes, I have. As much as you remind me of him, you aren’t him. No, he’s the man you’ve known as my dad the past few years. Hate that I had to put that sort of spell on him, but I needed a cover. But, like I said, my timing has been off, probably the curse of being a demon, can’t keep up with the man I loved.”

Ashton nodded slowly. “But you know why I can’t tell anyone why I’ve been pulling away. Luke and Calum wouldn’t understand. I...I don’t want to hurt them.”

Michael hummed, pulling Ashton to rest on his chest. “I know, but I have a plan. I’ll get us both out of this. But first you need to get some sleep.”

Ashton wanted to protest, to explain his nightmares, but the warmth of Michael’s body and the song beginning to fill his ears were making his limbs heavy, eyelids drooping.

~~~~~~

Ashton awoke in his dark room, feeling more rested than he had in months. He was dimly aware of the other body in his bed, but opted to continue to lay still, see if sleep would claim him again, unsure how long he had been out. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Michael murmured, shifting to face Ashton.

Ashton didn’t jump, he wasn’t as foggy as he would normally expect upon waking up. He still remembered his conversation with Michael before he’d fallen asleep, and he still felt comforted by Michael’s presence, despite now knowing the truth. “How long was I out?” He hummed, turning to look at Michael’s silhouette.

Michael shifted, picking up his phone to check the time. “So it was like almost 7pm when you fell asleep the other night, then all of yesterday, I cleaned up the house by the way, and now it’s 5am the next day. Thought you were gonna wake up a few times during the day, but you just rolled over after mumbling something.”

Ashton blinked as he tried to take that in. He didn’t think that he’d ever slept that long, even at his most jet-lagged or exhausted following a long tour. “Makes sense, it’s been so long since I’ve gotten any sleep, since I’ve slept without any nightmares.”

Michael nodded, tentatively reaching out. Ashton moved closer, letting Michael place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Looked up tickets, got us a flight home tomorrow afternoon, figured you’d be awake by then. Do you wanna get Luke and Calum together for lunch or dinner today and just have a boy’s night, have a heart to heart?”

“But we can’t really tell them all of it, can we?”

“Up to you, I don’t mind them knowing, my plan includes shrugging off my old job, getting rid of these guys.”

Even knowing the truth, the sight of Michael’s glowing orange eyes still made Ashton flinch. “Let’s just plan getting together today, and decide what we’re going to tell them when we get there. I’m going to go do some yoga, stretch out after being in bed so long.” Ashton got out of bed after Michael nodded, stretching out his back as he walked around the bed. “How about dinner? Then we can come back here and talk more.”

Michael agreed, “I’ll send them a text later to get everything planned, doubt they’d appreciate a 5am text.”

~~~~~~

Ashton ended up deciding against telling Luke and Calum the full story, since it sounded like Michael was planning on no longer being a demon by the end of the week, and he still wasn’t sure he wanted to explain how Michael had really become part of the band, by Ashton making a deal with the demon. They’d been nothing but supportive, reminding him that they’re always there if he needs to talk. Michael was sitting next to him, occasionally giving him gentle touches and reassuring looks as he explained some of what he’d been going through. 

Ashton slept the whole flight back to Australia the next day, only waking during a spot of turbulence to find Michael had rested his head on Ashton’s shoulder, also asleep. Once they’d landed, Michael rented a car and they went to get dinner before checking into the hotel. “Let’s get some rest,” Michael said after he set his bag down, taking a seat on the bed. “Then tomorrow night we’ll go back to where we first met and get this reversed, neither of us will have anything to worry about anymore.”

Ashton nodded, and both men took turns getting ready for bed. There were two beds in the room, but Ashton looked over at Michael anxiously. “Can I sleep next to you? I...I don’t want to be alone in a bed again.”

Michael nodded and Ashton flipped off the lamp by the bed he’d originally claimed, crawling in next to Michael. He moved close to him, scared to be touching him, still not entirely sure where they stood. Michael however, closed the distance after he turned off the lamp, pressing his body closer and throwing an arm over Ashton’s shoulder.

The pair slept soundly through the night, spending the day laying low, having lunch and dinner out at quieter local cafes. As the last rays of sunlight disappeared below the horizon, full moon rising higher in the sky, Michael drove out to the crossroads where Ashton had summoned him just a month shy of ten years ago. He pulled over, reaching into the backseat for the bag he’d brought with him. Ashton followed him to the center of the intersection, watching as Michael began the summoning ceremony Ashton had followed, but in reverse order. The asphalt swallowed up the ingredients as Michael threw them down, the demon chanting in an ancient language as he circled the ground. He traced glowing orange runes into the road. 

Once there was a glowing circle surrounding the runes, Michael stepped back, arms open wide as he continued chanting, Ashton hesitantly stepping forward to stand at his side. Michael fell silent as before them appeared a figure far more terrifying than anything Ashton’s nightmares had conjured. Ashton was petrified, rooted to the spot. Michael gave him a glance before looking back at the entity before them. “Hey Cain, been a minute. Could you do human form, for the sake of my best friend here?”

The figure began to shrink, swirling shadows of dark fog turning to flesh and animal skin clothing, terrifying features morphing to human. “Cain?” Ashton squeaked, “Like Cain and Abel, Cain? Like…”

Michael simply nodded, “Told him about 150 years ago that he owed me a massive favor, now I’m cashing in.”

Cain snorted, now fully human, leaning on a wooden club. “I have existed for millenia, young minstrel, that may as well have been yesterday.”

Michael simply rolled his eyes, carrying on. “Look, you owe me big time and that’s what matters. Ash owes me his soul and his day is coming up, but I don’t want it anymore. I’ve spent the last ten years with Ashton and our bandmates and I’ve been more in touch with my mortal side than I’ve been since my beloved died the first time. After watching him die that first time, and then several times after that, I’m done. I have a new love and I can’t go through that again, watch him age and die. And none of that redemption myth stuff that goes around. I want to be mortal, I want to grow old for the first time in my entire existence, and I want to do that with Ashton.”

Ashton blinked, staring at Michael before he turned to look at Cain, who was deep in thought over Michael’s request. “That definitely is well within your right to request, and fills my debt to you without leaving you in debt to me...well thought out, minstrel.”

Michael’s face remained neutral and Cain held his hands out on either side of him. In his right hand, a scroll with what Ashton recognized as his signature at the bottom, in his left, a glowing ball of light. Cain released the ball of light, which began to float toward Michael as the scroll tore in two and burst into flame. “The deal is complete.” Cain stated, disappearing into shadow as the ball of light reached Michael, floating into his chest.

As soon as the light touched Michael’s chest, he collapsed onto the pavement, Ashton gasping and rushing to his side. Shadows poured from Michael’s eyes, nose, mouth and ears, sinking into the ground. Ashton crouched on the road, holding Michael’s head in his lap as the last of the shadows trickled out and faded away. The blonde’s eyelids slowly fluttered, finally blinking open fully. Ashton stared down at him, an extra glimmer of life showing in Michael’s green eyes that Ashton didn’t think he’d ever seen before. “Ash,” Michael croaked, trying to push himself up, but Ashton firmly pushed his shoulders back down.

“You just got blasted back by that bright thing, you need to chill for a moment.” He stated, hands staying on Michael’s shoulders.

Michael remained still, smiling up at Ashton. “It was my soul, my original soul, the one I signed over,” Michael whispered, “I can feel it.” He paused, then his eyes widened, “Do I look fucking ancient now?” He gasped.

Ashton chuckled, shaking his head, “No, you look like Michael, the same Michael I’ve known for the past ten years, just a little more soul behind your eyes.”

Michael rolled his eyes at the joke before looking up at the stars. “I meant it, when I said I wanted to grow old with you.”

“I know. I do too, I’m glad we have that option now.”

Michael smiled and they sat there quietly until Ashton felt that Michael had recovered, finally getting to their feet and driving back to the hotel. They spent the rest of the week in Australia, Cain’s deal hadn’t undone Michael’s spell on his parents, and both he and Ashton were glad of that, visiting with both their families while they were there. 

Once they were back in LA, Michael began moving his things into Ashton’s house. They had dinner with Luke and Calum, and the other two men could tell that something had changed between their friends, but didn’t push it. They knew that they’d be told when Michael and Ashton were ready.

Months later, Michael and Ashton were in their garden, sitting around the fire pit. They’d told Calum and Luke about their relationship at New Years, to which Luke yelled “Finally!” They’d all laughed and hugged before staring into the sky as fireworks exploded across the city, well ahead of midnight. 

Tonight was the last night of peace before they were set to go back into the studio. Ashton cuddled closer to Michael on the bench, lazily poking at the burning logs with the hook. “Y’know,” he whispered, “I feel like, if we were both human the whole time we’ve known each other, I’d still offer you my soul.”

Michael glanced at him, green eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Ashton giggled, dropping the metal rod to the grass and leaning up and giving Michael a kiss.

“Like in the I’m totally in love with you way, you worry wart.” He said. “I trust you with my heart and every bit of my being. I know that you won’t hurt me.”

Michael hummed, smiling at Ashton, watching the flames dance in his hazel eyes. “You know what?” He said after a couple of minutes, “I’d give you my soul too.” Michael tore his gaze from Ashton for a moment, sticking his skewer into the flames, watching the marshmallow goo that was still stuck to the metal blacken and drip into the fire. “Feels a lot better this way.” He observed, “With my first love I signed over my soul to get it, but to you, I’d give it freely.”

“That’s how it’s supposed to be.” Ashton whispered.

Michael nodded, dipping his head for another kiss. “I love you Ashton Irwin.”

“And I you, Michael Clifford.”

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Part 9 of the other side AU concept! I did split this one when it started getting long, so there are some scenes snippeted earlier that aren’t here because they’re in part 10. (Which should be the final part but who knows, since I’m doing this for fun and will continue until I’m not entertained anymore.)  I also want to add a gentle reminder that despite its length, this is concept writing, not a polished, chaptered, titled fic like Backbone or Gambit.

Previous: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

5.3K below the break.

***

“I have something for you.”

The younger Kanan sounded unspeakably weary, for which Kanan couldn’t blame him.  He said gently, “Did you get any sleep?”

“Some.”  He felt the younger man eye him, hesitating on whether or not to say anything else, then he said, “This happens pretty often.”

“I’m –”

“Not as sorry as I am.” The kid scrubbed his hands back through his hair, letting his breath out in a sigh. “It’s fine.  You were – I know what you were trying to do.”  He put a shoulder against the wall, scuffing a foot absently against the floor.

“Kid –”  Kanan hesitated, turning his head briefly in the direction of the common room door.  He was aware of both women in the other room, having some kind of argument with Chopper about either fruit or repairs; he couldn’t figure out which of the two it was without putting more than glancing attention to it.

“I’m starting to feel like you’re just calling me that to get a rise out of me.”  His voice was dry, with a hoarse note to it after the previous night’s screaming.  Kanan had noticed that he always spoke a little hesitantly, as if he was never quite certain he should be doing so at all.

“The alternative is a little confusing, but I’ll stop if you want.”

He felt the younger man’s brief amusement. “It’s fine.  I know what you mean.”  He tapped a finger against his forehead.  “And you don’t do it the way the rest of the Inq – the way it is at the Crucible.”

He stepped back from the wall, letting the door to his room slide open behind him; Kanan followed him inside.  It was on the tip of his tongue to apologize again, but he stopped himself; words only did so much when it came to Jedi.  Instead, he said, “Will you be all right?”

They both knew he didn’t just mean after the events of the previous night.  The other Kanan sighed and said, “I don’t know.”  He turned his attention to his hands, studying his unmarked palms and the faint scars across the backs of his knuckles.  “Would you be?”

“I was lucky.”

“Every other –”  He hesitated for a long moment, then grimaced and finished, “– every other pet the Hunter had died.  So maybe I was lucky too.”

“You’re alive.”

“Yeah.”  He snorted. “I guess.”  He gestured at the meditation cushion and Kanan took a seat, folding his legs tailor-style.  His automatic impulse was to let his mind roll out, but he kept a hold on himself instead, studying the younger Kanan without reaching further into the Force than he had to.

The kid turned away from him, opening the drawer beneath his bunk.  Kanan felt the bright flare of the holocron’s awareness and the other Kanan flinching away from it, unwilling to test himself by bringing it out.  He turned around with his – with Caleb Dume’s – lightsaber in his hand, offering it to Kanan.

“I know you don’t have yours,” he said quietly. “And I don’t – I can’t – it’s a Jedi’s weapon, and I’m – I’m not a Jedi anymore.”

Kanan got to his feet. He felt the boy look up quickly, his eyes widening, and knew somehow that his gaze had gone immediately to a point three inches above his own head – where the Grand Inquisitor’s eye line would have been.  After a moment the younger Kanan swallowed, biting his lip.

After a moment, he said, “You didn’t see the worst of it.”

Kanan bit his lip. His sleep the rest of the night had been restless, a welter of incoherent dream fragments that he knew he had picked up from the other man during their connection, and some of it had been worse than he had imagined the first time he had touched the younger man’s mind.  He had woken up with the light touch of Hera’s hand on his shoulder and nearly flung himself off the bed, as if burned by her touch.  It had taken him three shuddering breaths to remember who she was and where they were, and who he was, for that matter.

He put his hand on the hilt of the lightsaber, just above the boy’s, but didn’t take it from him. The other Kanan started to release it, then stopped.

Kanan could feel the kyber crystal beneath his fingers, familiar but also not at the same time. It was just slightly discordant to his senses, a difference in resonance to his own so slight that he might not have noticed it if he hadn’t known his own kyber crystal so well.  The crystal is the heart of the blade…

He drew his hand back, and felt the younger man look up at him in surprise. “It’s your lightsaber,” Kanan said gently. “Reach out with your senses – can you feel it?”

“I’m not a Jedi,” the boy said again.  He turned his attention down to the weapon in his hand, his mind reaching out to the crystal and then flinching back even as Kanan felt it welcoming him.

“Why do you think that?” he asked quietly. “That you aren’t a Jedi, I mean.”

The boy looked up at him. “I’m an Inquisitor,” he said, his voice flat.  His free hand dropped to the lightsaber on his hip, then jerked away as soon as his fingers brushed the metal of the hilt. “I can’t be.  Not after what – not after.”

Kanan couldn’t tell if he had meant to say “not after what I did” or “not after what happened to me,” but he didn’t ask.  He said, “You didn’t bleed your crystal, though.”

“No.  I – my lightsaber was on the Ghost when I was…when my master took me from Naboo. When we got to Mustafar – to the Inquisition headquarters there, the Crucible – they put me in a room with four trainee Inquisitors, all armed.  I wasn’t. That’s where I got this.”  He touched the lightsaber on his hip again, then closed that hand into a fist.

Kanan put his hand out silently, and after a moment the other man took that lightsaber off his belt and put it into his hand.  He turned his mind to it, cautious, and felt the kyber crystal respond.

He could sense the boy’s sudden interest; he had felt the kyber crystal’s reaction too.  Without turning his attention from the lightsaber, Kanan sat back down on the meditation cushion, folding his legs in front of him.  When he dropped his hands to rest on his knees, the lightsaber stayed where it was, suspended in the air before him.  His mind ticked over the weapon, pulling it into its component parts.

It had been the standard Inquisitor’s double-bladed lightsaber with its circular guard before, he found.  At some point the younger Kanan had dissembled it and reassembled it to his liking, clearing the crystal of its taint when he had done so; the second kyber crystal that made the dual blade possible was gone.  Casting his mind out further, Kanan couldn’t sense it anywhere on the ship – though with unaligned kyber crystals it was always hard to tell – so the boy might have left it on Mustafar or lost it somehow.

He lifted the remaining kyber crystal gently away from the other components to examine it on its own. It was attuned to the other Kanan, but only weakly, the way any item in the possession of an active Force-user would attune itself to them over time.  The boy’s fear had kept him from sinking into it inasmuch it was possible with any random kyber crystal, rather than the one he had found on his Gathering.

Kyber crystals weren’t sentient, not like people and not the same way holocrons developed a kind of low-level sentience over time.  But they weren’t not, either, and Kanan could feel this one responding to him with cautious interest and gaining enthusiasm. The other Kanan hadn’t hated it – either he was too good a Jedi for that or he had saved those strong emotions for the Grand Inquisitor, either consciously or otherwise – but he had both resented and feared it.

He could sense the crystal’s previous owners entangled in its matrix.  It puzzled him for a moment; amongst the Jedi kyber crystals were only ever passed down between Temple Guards, who set their own lightsabers aside as long as they served in that post, and he had never had any reason to examine a Temple Guard’s lightsaber closely.

The Grand Inquisitor was a Guard, he thought with a sudden start.  Not for the first time, he wondered how much of what he had seen in the temple on Lothal had been real.

Telemetry wasn’t one of his wild talents and this wasn’t really telemetry, but he still blinked in surprised at the flash of memory that he felt through the crystal.  It passed in less than a second, but even that was long enough for Kanan to be aware of the younger Kanan’s constant fear, that hot flash of satisfaction when he had taken it from the Inquisitor who had borne it previously, that Inquisitor taking it from another, and another before him, and then a moment, scraped raw and bare, when the crystal been removed from its original lightsaber and bled to its red sheen.  Beyond that, there was nothing, as though the trauma of its bleeding had wiped the crystal matrix of its memory of its first bearer.

I’m sorry, Kanan thought, for whatever that was worth. The idea of his own kyber crystal being stripped from his lost lightsaber and corrupted that way was unbearable, nearly as bad as the loss of his sight.  Kyber crystals were sacred to the Jedi; his own body was only flesh.

He felt the crystal align itself to him, the resonance of its silent song altering incrementally until he could barely tell it apart from his own body.  He let it settle back into the framework of the lightsaber hilt, his mind bringing the disparate pieces back together, settling firmly and comfortably into place.  When he raised one hand, the lightsaber fell neatly into his palm, feeling different somehow than it had when he had first taken it from the boy.

He raised the lightsaber in front of him, feeling the strong, familiar warmth of it in his hand. He depressed the trigger almost without conscious thought, the blade springing up before him.

“It’s blue,” the younger Kanan said, his voice harsh with longing. “It’s yours.”

Kanan deactivated the lightsaber and let his hand fall to rest on his knee.  “That weapon is yours,” he said, nodding at the lightsaber the other man still held. “You know it, I know it, your crystal knows it. The crystal is the heart of the blade; the heart is the crystal of the Jedi; the Jedi is the crystal of the Force; the Force is the crystal of the heart.  All are intertwined – the crystal, the blade, the Jedi – you are one.”

The other Kanan began to weep, harsh, gasping sobs that shook his whole body.  Kanan was on his feet in an instant, pulling the younger man into his arms as he wept.  The other man didn’t try to pull away, just leaned against him.  He was all turmoil in the Force, fear and pain and the open, bleeding wound that was his connection to the Hunter.  Kanan held him the way he would have held Ezra, but unlike with Ezra he didn’t need to speak out loud; just let the warmth of the Force pass between them in something more primal than words.  Words would have rung false, anyway; so he just held the other man, letting him cry as if his heart was broken.

*

“Do you remember when we went to that mountain resort in the Mid Rim?” Hera murmured, her lips against the back of Kanan’s shoulder.  His skin was warm against hers, still a little sweat-slick from their earlier love-making.  She felt comfortably relaxed, curled against his back with one leg thrown over his. “When that Imperial officer was supposed to meet with that spice dealer?”

“And he broke his neck skiing and we got to spend the rest of the week eating expensive desserts on someone else’s credit and having sex in front of the fire?” Kanan said, his voice warm and amused.

Hera flushed despite the fact that they were both naked in bed together.  Their – whatever it was – had still been new enough to be a little shocking to her, but she had been able to put that aside when they were on their op, undercover as an Imperial officer on a discreet vacation with his Twi’lek mistress.  The role had let her relax a little, to admit that, just for a little while, this was what she wanted – to shut the world out beyond the confines of their small suite.

“I think that resort is still there,” she said. “There wasn’t much fighting on that world – just a little in the cities, not out in the countryside.  I wouldn’t mind going back sometime.”

Kanan turned over so that they were facing each other. “I wouldn’t mind that either,” he said.  He kissed her, his mouth warm and comfortable against hers, and Hera smiled.

She put an arm around his shoulders to draw him closer to her and murmured, “Well, there isn’t a fire right now, but –”

“I think dessert’s right here,” Kanan said, grinning against her mouth.  He had one hand on her back, moving it lower to squeeze slightly and make her gasp.

Hera kissed him again to stop him from saying anything else.

*

“I’ll miss you,” the other Hera said.  Her voice was still a little hesitant, as if she wasn’t certain how to admit any of her own feelings to anyone else.  “It’s…nice to have another Twi’lek around.  And you’re not like –”  She flexed her fingers on the handle of her caf cup, thinking for a moment before she went on. “My family wants certain things from me, and I just…I don’t know how to be that for them.  You never wanted anything from me.”

“I wanted you to leave the Empire,” Hera said gravely.

“You never told me that,” the girl pointed out. “You never expected it.”

Hera opened her mouth to respond and then hesitated, thinking back on everything she had said those past few days.  She supposed she hadn’t ever come out and asked for anything other than help getting to Scarif, and she wasn’t certain she had ever asked outright for that either. She had stated her case, and left the two Imperials to make up their own minds.

“I didn’t need to,” she said at last.  She smiled at the other woman over her own cup.  “I didn’t have to.”

The other Hera sighed. “I wish I could have that kind of faith in anything.”

Hera flicked a glance in the direction of the cabins, where the two Kanans had gone to talk or meditate or both. “Nothing?”

The girl followed her gaze and sighed again. “I love Kanan more than anything,” she said, lowering her voice. “And I know he loves me.  But – it’s not him, it’s me.”  She looked down at her mug, turning it until the handle pointed directly at her, then up at Hera’s distressed expression and bit her lip. “Oh,” she said, even softer. “It’s me, then, not…us.”

Hera tried to arrange her features into something less appalled and reached across the table to lay one hand on the other woman’s. “I would stay if I could,” she said. “Both of us would.”

The girl turned her hand palm up and curled her fingers briefly around Hera’s. “When I was at the Academy, I never –”  She hesitated over the words, frowning. “I…forgot who I was.  And I can’t be – I can’t be you, or who I would have been if I’d grown up with the Fleet, but I didn’t know what was…me…and what was – what was the Empire.”  Her hand moved briefly under Hera’s, as if starting to gesture before she stopped herself. “It’s…nice, I suppose…to have a baseline.”

“I’m not sure I’m much of a baseline,” Hera said mildly.

She lifted a shoulder in a brief, constrained shrug, the same kind of gesture Hera had seen a dozen Imperial defectors make over the past few years; uniformed Imperials weren’t prone to much in the way of expression, while armored troopers tended to exaggerate their gestures when they made them at all. “You’re something. And I can’t – I’ve never been able to remember anything from before the Spire very well.  It’s there, but it’s – it’s like it happened to someone else, or something that I watched in a holovid.”

She looked down again, not releasing Hera’s hand.  “Auntie said – but it’s not what happened at the colony.  I mean, it didn’t help, but – the Spire – my cell there – it was my whole world for so long.  It’s like my life ended there.”

Hera squeezed her hand, not knowing what to say in response.  If she had been one of her cadets back in the Alliance there were things she could have said, but this wasn’t a cadet or a recruit or another officer, it was…her.  It could have been her.

The other Hera looked up suddenly, heat flushing her cheeks. “May I ask you something?  You can say no.  It’s – it’s a little – a lot – personal.”

“Of course,” Hera said, bemused.  She squeezed the other girl’s hand again, then released her to wrap her fingers around her mug.

“You and Kanan – your Kanan.”  The girl bit her lip, not meeting her eyes.  “When –”

Hera bit her lip, not sure whether to blush, laugh, or cry. “Sometime around now, I think,” she admitted, after a moment where she got herself under control.  She could feel heat in her face, spreading up under her flight cap to the base of her lekku.

The girl’s eyes went wide. “That’s a long time,” she blurted out, then covered her mouth with one hand. “I’m sorry –”

“No, it’s – when did you?”

The other Hera looked down, blushing so hard that it vanished beneath the high collar of her shirt and the edge of her flight cap.  “About four months after Gorse,” she said, her voice small. “He was so beautiful, and he – he was so kind and he – I wanted him so badly.  I never wanted anything – or at least, I never wanted anything and got it before then.”  She put her hands over her face, breathing hard, then lowered them after a moment. “You don’t know what it’s like in the service if you’re a Twi’lek.  They’re – it’s –”  Her hands were shaking.

Hera reached across the table and took her hands in both of hers again. “It’s all right,” she said gently. “It’s over with now.”

The girl wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I thought I was broken,” she said. “People kept – telling me things about what Twi’leks – what Twi’lek women – were like, and I – I knew they were wrong, but they kept saying it, and I felt like I was going mad.  Or that I was broken.  Or both.  And he – I wanted him so badly.  I’ve never felt like that about anyone else.  He was – he still is – so beautiful, and I wanted him so badly.  I didn’t think that I – that I could feel like that.  He wasn’t like anyone else I had ever met, and he – he treated me like I was a person.  Like it didn’t matter.  Or – that’s not right.  Like it was just part of me.  Like me being a Twi’lek mattered because it was part of me, not – not because I was a Twi’lek.  Do you – do you know what that’s like?”

“A little,” Hera said. “It was different for me.”

The other woman looked at her uncertainly, but whatever she saw in Hera’s eyes must have convinced her. “What was it like for you?”

Hera hesitated, setting her teeth against her lower lip as she thought.  “I wanted to fight,” she said finally, trying to remember what had been going through her head at the age of eighteen.  “More than anything.  My father only cared about Ryloth, but I wanted something bigger.  Kanan – I met him on Gorse too – was part of that.  I couldn’t let myself think about anything past that.  He understood that.”

The other Hera nodded slowly.  “What happened?”

“Well, we both almost died,” Hera said, and the girl made a sound that was almost a laugh, though she immediately looked worried that Hera would be offended.  “It was complicated.  I probably made it more complicated than it needed to be; I never wanted to talk about it. We just – went on, I suppose.  And then we started getting a crew, and – it was harder because there were more people on the Ghost –”

The girl winced, for which Hera couldn’t blame her.

“– it was all right,” Hera hastened to assure her. “It was just different.  And then Kanan got an apprentice, and we started working with other Rebel cells –”

The other woman nodded in sudden understanding. “Everyone at the ISB knew about us,” she said softly. “But around other people it’s different.”

Hera nodded. “It was stupid of me,” she admitted. “We’d been together for a decade – sleeping together for most of that – and I just thought we’d go on.  He – knew.  He knew there was something coming.  And I wouldn’t –”  She took a suddenly shaky breath; this time it was the other woman who squeezed her hands.

After a moment she raised her head and smiled crookedly at the other Hera. “It’s good that he knows you love him,” she said. “And that you know.  I wish I’d had that when I was your age.  There’s nothing wrong with having a mission, but – I thought it had to be that at the cost of everything else for such a long time.  That cost us both.”

“I’m sorry,” the girl said gravely. “That sounds difficult.”

Hera didn’t think it sounded half as difficult as what she had been through, but she wasn’t going to say as much, since she wasn’t sure that there was anything she could say about it that wouldn’t sound like a veiled insult.  “Will you be all right, once we’ve gone?”

The other Hera nodded. “Yes. I don’t know what we’ll be – who we’ll be – but I think we’ll be all right.”  She glanced at the door the two men had gone through. “He’s better now. I didn’t think he ever would be.” She hesitated, then added, “I am too.”

Hera squeezed her hands. “I’m glad,” she said. “I wish –”  She wished a lot of things, but at the end of the day she needed to get the Cluster-Prism data back to the Rebellion and she needed to get back to her son.

“We’ll be all right,” the other Hera said again. “Both of us.  I – thank you.  I don’t know what would have happened otherwise, but…thank you.”

*

“This could be a little awkward,” Hera said thoughtfully.  She accepted her blaster from the other Hera with a faint smile, automatically checking the safety and the charge before holstering it; since she had never needed it she hadn’t bothered asking for it back before now.

Kanan smiled at her. “Awkward as in ‘duck, they’re going to start shooting’ or awkward as in ‘this is going to take a lot of explaining’?”

“Probably the second one,” Hera said.  She checked the bag slung over her shoulder for the fifteenth time that morning, making sure that she had the datacards with the Cluster-Prism files and the ISB files she had gotten from the other Hera, along with the box Bail Organa had given her for Leia. “Maybe the first one, depending who’s there.  I hope Zeb hasn’t decided to make a three-ring circus out of this.  Or Chopper.”

Chopper grumbled at the sound of his name and Hera smiled a little. “My Chopper,” she clarified. “Not you.”

Kanan grinned in reminiscence, then stepped aside to talk quietly with the other Kanan.  Hera turned away to give them some privacy, looking at her counterpart.  After a moment she held out her arms.

The girl hesitated, then stepped into her arms, returning the embrace.  Despite the obvious muscle in her shoulders and arms she still felt terrifyingly fragile to Hera, as if she might shatter under too much pressure. Hera pressed a kiss to her forehead and said, “You’ll be all right.”

She got a smile in response. “So will you,” the other Hera said.  She hugged Hera again, then stepped back.

Hera looked over in time to see Kanan put an arm around the younger man’s shoulders in a swift, fond embrace.  He said something to him, too low-voiced to make out, and the other Kanan nodded, his response equally soft.  When Kanan released him, he came over to Hera.

She put her hands out to him, smiling, and he took them. “Thank you,” she started to say, at the same time he said, “Thank you –”

Hera laughed, then released his hands so that she could hug him. “Thank you,” she said again. “I just – thank you.”

He hugged her back. “Thank you,” he murmured in response.  He didn’t clarify that, but he didn’t have to.

“Be well,” Hera told him gently, kissing each cheek.  She hugged him once more, then let go of him.

The other Hera was speaking shyly to Kanan.  Hera waited for them to finish, then saw both men wince in unison.

“Are you all right?” the younger Hera said, startled.

“It’s starting,” her Kanan said.  He gave Kanan a crooked smile. “I think we’re both going to be sensitive to that for the rest of our lives.”

“Forgive me for hoping it never comes up again,” Kanan said, returning the same grin.  He put his hand on the other Hera’s shoulder, smiling at her, then stepped back.

Hera held out her hand and he took it as he stepped up beside her.  She could feel the pressure coming, the air starting to hum as her vision flickered at its edges.  The younger Kanan and Hera backed up, as did Chopper.

“May the Force be with you,” said the girl.

The universe dissolved around them.

*

“– ait, there’s something wr –”

Luke Skywalker’s voice was garbled, as if coming over a malfunctioning comm.  Hera tried to respond and couldn’t; when she breathed in, there was nothing there and she gagged; she opened her eyes not to blackness but to nothing, to an absence.  She would have screamed if she could have.

The only thing she was aware of was Kanan’s grip on her hand.  She felt his fingers flex against hers, his breath hissing out between his teeth with effort.

“– ith me, togeth –”

The second voice was female, familiar, with the same quality of being barely there.  Hera flailed out wildly with her free hand, but there was nothing.  It was like being in vacuum, but worse; there were no stars, no planets, no pieces of shattered starships to orient herself with.  There was only Kanan’s hand.

“– n, think about your mo –”

Kanan’s hand flexed on hers again. Hera dug her nails into the back of his hand, terrified that she might release him by accident and lose him in the void.

“– the Force –“

Hera had the sudden sense of being thrown, disorientingly familiar as the familiar confines of the Ghost’s common room coalesced around her.  For an instant she still saw the younger Kanan and Hera where she had seen them last, then they were gone, replaced by Zeb and Chopper.  She staggered sideways, fighting back nausea and supporting herself on the holotable before she fell over.

“Whoa!”

“Mama!”

Hera jerked upright in time to see Alexsandr Kallus grab Jacen and thrust him behind himself before he could run to Hera, his hand on his holstered blaster.  Sabine was there too, her blasters already in her hands and raised, pointing at –

Hera flung herself in front of Kanan, who had very sensibly not moved. “It’s him!” she said. “I swear, it’s him!”

She took in everyone in the room with a glance – Zeb, Chopper, Sabine, Kallus, Jacen, Luke and Leia, Rex in the doorway, and –

Ahsoka Tano, one of her lightsabers already in her hand and ignited, her expression hard.  Kanan’s head was turned towards her, his white eyes fixed on hers.  Luke, who was holding the bell-shaped artifact between his hands, drew in a sharp breath; even Hera felt the air flex between them.

“It’s him,” she said again. “It’s Kanan, I swear.”

“We’ll see about that.” Ahsoka deactivated her lightsaber but kept in her hand as she stepped forward, gesturing Luke to stay back when he made to join her.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” Kanan told her quietly as she approached.

“I could say the same for you,” Ahsoka said.  Her gaze went to the lightsaber on his belt, the one he had gotten from the other Kanan, then she said, “Don’t fight me.”

“Don’t give me a reason to.”

“He’s –” Hera started to say, but Ahsoka held up a hand to silence her.

“It’s all right,” Kanan said, turning a quick smile on her. “This won’t take long.”

“What –” Sabine started to say, then gave it up, her blasters still raised.

Ahsoka replaced her lightsaber on her belt and placed her palms on either side of Kanan’s head, her gaze boring into his.  Kanan didn’t pull away; Luke sneezed and Leia put a hand to her head, her expression pained. Jacen made a startled sound and Hera made a reflexive motion towards him before Kallus met her eyes.  She stopped.

Ahsoka stepped back suddenly, her breath ragged.  “I –”

Kanan wiped blood away from his lower lip where he had bitten through it. “That’s a little hypocritical, isn’t it?”

She stared at him for a long moment, then took a step back until she could sit down abruptly on the bench-seat, pressing a hand to her forehead.  Something passed silently between them, and Ahsoka’s hard expression softened.  Her shoulders slumped suddenly as she said, “It’s good to see you again, Kanan.”

There was a long moment of silence in the room, then Sabine flung herself forward with a shout, nearly bowling Kanan over as she hugged him.  Zeb was just behind her, sweeping Hera into the embrace as well as they almost knocked the holotable out of its seating.

“How!” Sabine said, not so much a question as an exclamation “How – it’s you?  It’s really you?  This isn’t a trick?”

“It’s me,” Kanan said, sounding slightly strangled. “It’s really me.”

Zeb yelled in triumph. Hera found herself laughing, effulgent with joy and success.  She could hear Chopper shrieking just behind her and managed to disentangle herself from the group embrace to kneel down and put her arms around her droid.  “I missed you,” she told him fondly, then looked up.

Kallus looked as gobsmacked as everyone else in the room, still holding onto Jacen’s hand as they came over. “Mama!” Jacen said, and Hera released Chopper to put her arms out. She swept her son into a hug, kissing his forehead and breathing in his familiar scent.

“Hello, love,” she said. “I missed you.”  She reached behind herself without looking, knowing when Kanan took her hand.  He knelt beside her, and Hera looked over at him, smiling.  She was crying; she didn’t remember starting, but she could feel the tears on her cheeks. “Jacen,” she said, “this is your father.”

[bi-the-way-i-love-bunnies]

(In which Draco is Harry’s healer and now he has to look through his pensieves in order to save him au. Also, Harry travels)

Drarry drabble: 

“I don’t understand,” Hermione whispered as she gazed down at the seemingly lifeless form of her best friend. “I know we haven’t spent as much time together as we should, but he’s dying?”

Behind her stood Ron Weasley, a comforting presence, though he wasn’t fairing much better. It was disheartening to watch, even for Draco’s standards. 

“Yes, well,” he went back to his notes, using it as an excuse to look away and keep busy, “Even a person like him can’t be so lucky all the time can he?” 

His team was one of the best at St. Mungo’s and upon their discovery, he estimated that Potter was cursed within the last month. 

“He was in Jakarta at the time,” Hermione said, “Only came back last week. If we had known…” The look on her face said enough. 

Everyone knew that Harry Potter decided to leave England in order to travel and see the world. What exactly he was doing remained a mystery but the general public believed that he was spending his days relaxing and sightseeing the world, fitting for the boy who couldn’t seem to catch a break. 

Meanwhile in England the remaining golden trio has been trying to keep the Ministry together and help capture the remaining death eaters with the aurors. It has been 7 years since Voldemort has been gone. During the beginning of all the rebuilding, Draco heard enough of the small whispers that the golden trio had some sort of falling out, though he never quite believed it. Judging from the tension in the room, it was obvious that they still cared for one another deeply. Just because one moved on with their lives doesn’t mean that he left everything of his past behind. 

“Right,” Draco got back to what he was planning to say before Granger got all emotional on him. “There’s little chance of recovery,” he warned, “but if we move fast enough we might be able to make a breakthrough if we find out what cursed he was hit with, seeing as he’s a high priority patient.” Merlin knows what would happen if the public found out they let their savior die. 

“Luna’s his mind healer. She has pensieves of Harry’s memory stored in her clinic. He always bottles his latest memories of his trips and shows them to her.” She bit her lip before adding, “although it’s highly confidential, if you’re able to help him in just any way, you’ll be allowed clearance to view.” 

Ron interrupted before Draco could reply, “Remember Malfoy if you use these memories in any way to hurt him you will be sorry.” He gave the blonde a pointed look, “Harry has had a tough time after the war and if you end up leaking anything, and I mean anything at all, you will be on the receiving end of my wand, and I know some pretty mean hexes.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it Weasley,” it was the next head auror he was talking to after all. “Just left Lovegood know that she’ll be expecting me.” 

And that was how he ended up in this current situation having tea with the Ravenclaw in her clinic. He sipped his earl grey tentatively as she came back to the room with a box full of Harry’s pensieves.  

She smiled sweetly before setting them down on the long table. 

“These are all the memories he pensieved while he was in Indonesia. He visited quite a handful of times you know. Something about it kept pulling him back in.” 

She levitated their cups as she made her way out of the room, giving him some privacy to focus. Before she closed the door she turned back to him to give him a warning. 

“Draco, as one healer to another I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt a patient. But know that we would never betray Harry’s confidence and given your history I’ll have you know that a lot of people care for him. Don’t betray his trust, Draco.” 

He nodded in agreement and when she left, he slowly poured the bottles into the pensieve, the newest model allowing multiple memories to be viewed at once. If he was being honest with himself he was a bit anxious to know what his old rival’s been up to. Sadly, he acknowledged that his old obsession with Potter back at school was making a comeback. As he was pouring out the last bottle he couldn’t help but notice a note attached to the label. 

‘Loving can hurt, yet loving can heal and mend your soul. Remember to keep your love in these photographs, Harry, and they’ll help lead you home.” 

Obviously one of Lovegood’s encouragements he mused as he poured the last one in. He stared at the pensieve for a beat longer before plunging in. 

He expected a warm sunny beach, or yet a luxurious hotel for Potter to be relaxing in. What he wasn’t expecting was to see children in poverty in a small room. They were huddled over small books and there was an adult at the front speaking. With a small jolt he realized that this was a classroom. He searched around for Potter before finding him next to a little girl around the age of 5 or 6. He had a small piece of parchment out and it looked like he was trying to draw. 

He spoke to the girl quietly before presenting her with what he drew, earning him a delighted smile. He watched the memory continue as the group of students eventually moved on from their school day and watched Potter instead. Salazar, since when could Potter draw? As Potter finished yet another art piece a small memory made him remember that Potter was friends with Thomas, who was now a famous artist in England. He wondered if Thomas ever gave his friend lessons. This might’ve been a year or two after the war since Potter didn’t look like the scrawny teen he once knew. Actually, judging from the state from when he was admitted to St. Mungo’s, all the traveling clearly benefited him deeply. 

Another memory and they were in a more public area, but this time Potter looked closer to when he just finished the war. Here, Potter was speaking with an old man, deep in conversation. A turn of his head showed a different group of kids, yet their situation didn’t seem any different from the group in the previous pensieve. After a while, he saw Potter hesitantly approach and open a bag, giving the children and their parents some basic necessities like soaps he got from his hotel to small snacks from a local vendor. He proceeded to sit down when he was done and engaged in small talk with the locals, the man he was speaking to earlier leading the conversation. He watched Potter slowly grow more relaxed and laugh more freely. At some point he moved on to entertaining the children. Draco watched on until the sunset before shaking his head reminding himself that he was on a mission. 

More memories afterwards showed more of the same thing. Occasionally Potter would spend some time for himself but he would always move on to the streets to engage with the locals. A lot of the pensieves had the old man from the second memory. 

Potter drawing, Potter handing out whatever he could spare, smiling, laughing, and surprisingly even dancing to the song some local street band was playing. Apparently his dance skills have improved quite a lot since their fourth year. 

Eventually he came across a memory that stood out in more details. You could tell with the more vivid colors in the pensieve that this was quite an important memory to Potter. 

“Have you found her yet?” he asked after a small woman entered back into the room with the old man Draco nicknamed Rani. 

“We think she wandered too far under the bridge. It’s getting late and she still hasn’t returned,” the woman replied shakingly. “If something happened to my daughter…” she trailed off but the silence filled in what she was trying to say. 

He watched Potter get up from where he was sitting. “I’ll find her.” 

“Are you sure?” Rani asked as the Gryffindor walked towards the door. “Jakarta is a very friendly city but Naya is young and easy to prey upon.” 

“I’ll be back by tomorrow at best,” he hitched his backpack over his shoulder. “Give Indah my love and tell her I’ll try visiting soon.” 

He followed Potter through the pensieve once he left, watching as they passed barracks, railroad tracks and bridges. Eventually he watched Potter pass under a bridge before a small ambush took  place, Potter’s attackers shielding a small child behind them. 

He watched at the last second as Potter got hit square on the chest, which barely fazed him, before he threw an Expelliarmus and stunned him. Once it was over and he got Naya back to his mother, Draco replayed the fight scene over again and watched as the attacker fired the spell, noting the color and making out the incantation. 

He watched Potter one last time, all relief and smiles showing in his face as he watched Naya reunite with her mother. Ever the heroic Gryffindor still. He briefly wondered if these people would miss him if Potter- he shook himself from these thoughts and he resurfaced from the pensieves. 

He found Luna Lovegood watching him softly before nodding to herself and helping pack back the memories. A look behind her at the window told Draco that it was already night. 

“Thank you for letting me borrow the pensive Lovegood,” Draco said while slowly moving the contents to their original bottle, “I think I got what I needed for Potter’s case.” 

“He was quite happy wasn’t he,” she spoke out of the blue, “I think he truly needed that after the war and all.” 

“He did look...rather well, yes,” he agreed, unsure of where the conversation was leading. He may have wondered about Potter in the past but it never got him anywhere. He didn’t realize how much he missed the git until he saw him basking in the joy of just spending time with others and engaging in their culture. He wondered what else he had missed with Potter’s life and suddenly he was a bit too keen to find out. 

“I think Harry needed to see that the world wasn’t all that bad after Voldemort was gone. But even though he didn’t find exactly that, I think it makes him happy. Being part of their lives and doing what he can. Humans lead such intricate lives,” she paused appearing to be in deep thought. “I secretly think that if it was all sunshine and rainbows like Harry wanted to find, he would’ve gotten bored after a while you know? Life can only be good when you see the bad too. And in all his pensieves he saw a mix of both. Poverty with a sense of community. They had the simple pleasantries he couldn't have afforded here.” 

Draco thought back at the Potter he knew from Hogwarts. He thought back to all the bitterness and jealousy that he felt when Potter was always the one in the spotlight. Even with everything going on at school, the git just wasn’t able to have a normal year. He reflected back to what Lovegood said about simple pleasantries. He knew all too well what that felt like after the war. Those were some dark days before he was finally able to apprentice as a healer when Penelope Clearwater decided to give him a chance.  

They finished in silence as Draco bottled up the last of it. 

However before he left, Luna sent him off with a message, “When Harry finally wakes up, give him my love will you?” 

He was already on his way before he could tell her about the low chances of Harry’s survival, yet he didn’t doubt Luna’s words. And for Merlin’s sake when did he start referring to her as Luna? 

Entering St. Mungo’s was a blur or pressure and distress. Him and his team worked hard to form some sort of antidote potion (a counter spell wasn’t made yet), and the whole time he couldn’t stop worrying about the git. He knew as a healer it was his job to remain calm and collective for the efficiency of the case, but he really needed Potter to wake up afterwards. Although they still didn’t see each other much, Draco was determined to fit himself into Potter’s life. There was just no way he couldn’t when he recalled what Potter was like in Jakarta. He wanted to know how he changed and all the ways he could smile and bring joy to people’s faces just by engaging in small talk or dancing without a care in the world. 

He thought of all the things this would change for them as they fed Potter the potion, and he thought of all the things he needed to say as Potter slowly awakened after a few hours. 

“Malfoy?” Potter stated groggily as he sat up, “God, I remember the last time I was here. Do you need me to do those annoying question checks to see if I’m fine?” 

Draco felt the corner of his lips quirk up as he scribbled Potter’s new status on his notes. “Yes, Potter. Not even the boy who lived can escape standard check ins, no matter how annoying they are.” 

He looked up just in time for Potter to let out a fond sheepish grin. “Yeah I reckon so, though I have no idea what you could possibly ask me.” 

A beat of silence was shared and Draco felt a swell of anticipation for what he knew was going to come. He could tell Potter knew too just by reading his face. He was always an open book. 

“I guess we’ll have to start off with the basics,” Draco smiled, approaching closer until he was standing to Harry’s side, “Tell me about your trips to Jakarta, Potter.”

[thegalleonsnest]

Wiggle’s Muse - Short Excerpt turned into a FanFic

Yo, so, I wanted to share a small snippet of a future project I’m working on (while also delaying my current art projects). What I’ve written out here in this post was originally in a format not meant for professional writing purposes, but I said “eh, why the hell not,” and written it out in sort of a short fanfic format for you guys to read. This project btw, is not a fanfic (had to make that clear). What I am working on is a very large scale project for myself and is still in the blocking out/rough draft phases. This right here is probably my most fleshed out scene I’ve written out, and feels pretty complete as it’s own thing. Honestly, I’d appreciate the feedback if any of ya’ll found this interesting! 

Also I’m putting this in a tumblr post because I don’t have an AO3 or fanfiction account, and this is already too short for it anyway. Read the excerpt below

In front of the camera lenses, multiple grumpuses walk back and forth discussing a matter of topics but most importantly, where was Wiggle?

"Has anyone gotten ahold of Wiggle yet? She was supposed to be here hours ago,” a gruff voice coming from out of frame says. “We’ve tried calling her for over an hour, but we got nothing,” says another off camera, “do you think we should reschedule-” before they could finish, the studio doors bust open with a loud thud echoing the studio room. A tall, short armed grumpus with a boa stumbles along the room carrying an oddly shaped banjo.

“There she is,” said the gruff voiced grump, “Wiggle, whatever you got going on, you better do it now cause we got a meeting with investors in half an hour!” From the blurry view of a slightly out of frame Wiggle, she barely registered what the grump said. In a stumble, she walks to the center of the camera’s view & shakes her head, almost slurring her words, “Doooon’t worry, Darling, we’ll get you a new vest later.” “What, no, wait, that’s not what I-” before another word could be said, Wiggle readies her banjo and strikes a quick pose before strumming the strings like her life depended on it.

It didn’t take longer than a few seconds before the crew sprung into action, setting the proper lightning, mics and cameras around her. Her rhythm and measures became a lot more stable, catchy even, and then she broke into song. The next set of lyrics would become an instant, regrettable classic. 

It’s not long before the VHS tape stutters and stops, showing mostly static. A magenta furred Grumpus with some hair covering a part of eye, hits the eject button, takes out the tape and turns off the tv. “Girl, you were a right mess there!” She said with a giggle. “Tell me about it, Vrittany...” Wiggle said frustratingly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “And you’re telling me you can’t come up with anything better than that? Come on now!” “I wish I was lying, but I’m not. No matter what I come up with, nothing is topping whatever the heck my walking coma came up with instead!” Wiggle grabs her mug of coffee and takes a longing sip.

The two sit across from one another at the coffee bar. The aroma of that day’s set of cocoa beans waft through the cafe as most of the outside lamps fill out the darker spots inside. The place is nearly empty besides them, and a single muted green furred occupant sitting at a booth at the opposite end of the cafe, drawing away in his sketchpad.

“So, whatcha gonna do?” Vrittany asked sarcastically, “Stay awake for another week? Get inspired again? Hehe.” Wiggle sets her mug down, and answers, “I did try that again, but in style I fell asleep comfortably on a couch in the lobby”. Vrittany looked a bit stunned. “You’re kidding?! You’re crazy!” “Not crazy, Vrittany,” she takes another sip of her coffee before striking a pose in her high stool seat, bellowing out her voice. “Just creatiiiivly driveeeen~” “Whatever you say, darling,” Vrittany says before turning around to her bar’s sink. She cleans several mugs and glasses with gusto while preparing one last pot of coffee, enough for a single cup for later.

Vrittany takes off her apron and hangs it on the wayside of the counter as she walks around to take a seat next to Wiggle. After situating herself, she puts a paw on Wiggle’s shoulder. “Listen, pretty sure this is just a rut you’re stuck in right now,” she says. “Doesn’t every artist go through that every now and then?” Wiggle turns her head toward Vrittany, “Well..yeah, but this is different,” she desperately says. “I can’t let a song I made in my sleep be the best thing I’ve ever made! I know I can make something that’ll shake the world more than whatever ‘Do The Wiggle’ was.” 

Vrittany pulls back her paw from Wiggle to put on her best thinking cap. As deeply in thought as she was, her face immediately relaxes into a deadpan expression, “Have ya tried singing from the heart?” Wiggle cracks a smile, “HA, if only that’s how it works! It takes a musical genius to write a hit song in show biz, not just some field day with my feelings.” “Eh, worth a shot. Got any other plans?” “I’m still trying to figure that out. I need some kind of inspiration...almost like a-”

Before she could finish her thought, they both caught a glance at the muted green furred grump who walked up to them. He mustered up the words and said, “E-excuse me, you’re Miss Wiggle, right?” Wiggle turned in her seat to get a better look at the young Grumpus. She could tell he was nervous, clutching his sketchbook in his arms rather tightly. She quickly put on a more relaxed front to help calm things down, while also still showing off a bit of her excited side. “Why yes I am, Darling,” she said enthusiastically. “And I can tell you must be a fan of mine.” “Y-yeah...!” The green grump looked a little more relaxed, but still stiff in the shoulders. “Hey now, no need to be so nervous. I always got time for my fans.” “Thank you, Miss Wiggle. Um…” “No need to finish that thought, Darling, I know what you’re about to ask and I’m happy to oblige!”

Before the young man could stop to say something, Wiggle pulls out one of her many professional hand out photos that she has, and quickly signs with her autograph before handing it to him. “O-Oh, thank you, Miss, but that’s not what I was going to s-say.” he sheepishly says. “Really? Not an autograph,” Wiggle says surprisingly. “It’s usually the first thing fans ask of me.” “Sorry, I just...I wanted to show you this sketch I made…” 

The nervous grumpus slowly turns his sketchbook around to reveal a fully sketched art piece depicting a stylized Wiggle singing her heart out at the bar with Vrittany hanging out in the background cheering her on. He hands it to Wiggle to give them a closer look. It was still somewhat messy, showing a few guidelines and early roughed out shapes, but for what it was, it was still impressive to the two girls.

“Woah, that’s pretty rad!” Vrittany yelled out, leaning out from her seat trying to get a closer look. Wiggle was pretty stun, gasping at the sight of such a piece of artwork. “Darling, you drew this?! Just now,” Wiggle asked in awe. “Yeah! I was listening to some of your music and then you came in and sat down. It made me wanna draw you as fast as I could,” the green grumps says excitedly before rubbing the back of his head. “Sorry if it’s still a little messy looking though…” “Don’t be, because it is beeeaautifuuul~” “T-thank you so much, Miss Wiggle! T-that means a lot to m-me!” the grumpus says while his face lights up red from the praise. “You’re like an inspiration to me.” “Really now? Like a muse? All I do is sing the night away, Darling. You draw little masterpieces like this from me?”

As Wiggle continues to be enthralled by the young man and his work, Vrittany notices the coffee pot had finished brewing. She gets up from her seat and go back behind the counter to finish her last cup for the night. Wiggle and the green grump continue their conversation.

“W-well kind of,” says the grump, “it’s a bunch of music that inspires me when I draw. A lot of your stuff is so upbeat and fun, it gives me lots of different ideas to pump out!” Wiggle looks back, almost flabbergasted. “I’m...honestly a bit stunned that I had that kind of impact on you, Darling,” she says, almost with a melancholy tone, “...heh, kind of forget sometimes I do make some kind of impression on grumps like you.” She looks back down at the sketchbook, entranced by the creativity that sparked in the moment. That dazzling moment where it all clicked...where could she find that, when someone else can find it in her?

After an awkward minute of silence, the young grump spoke up and said, “If you like, you can keep the sketch page, Miss Wiggle?” Wiggle snapped her head back up from the sketchbook to the green fuzzball. “W-wait really? Are you sure you wanna give up this piece of art?” said Wiggle worryingly. “It’s no problem at all,” said the green grump proudly. “I already took a picture of it to save for later. I’m gonna make a painted version of it online later! Besides, it’ll make me happy if you kept it, since I was going to give it to you anyway.” “Oh Darling, you’re nothing more than a sweet one now, aren’t you? I’ll gladly keep it!” “Thank you so much, Miss Wiggle!”

Wiggle hands the sketchbook back to the green grumpus and he tears out the sketch. “No, Darling, thank you,” Wiggle says ecstatically. Vrittany returns from behind the bar with a to-go cup in hand, saying “Here’s your order, kid.”  “Oh, thank you, Vrittany. How much was it again,” the green grump asked. “Eh, don’t worry about it. Don’t feel like counting change. It’s on the house.” “O-oh you sure?” “You wanna change my mind?” “Don’t think I can, so thank you!” The green grump turns back to Wiggle and says “It was so nice meeting you in person, Miss Wiggle!”

“The pleasure is all mine, Dar-,” Wiggle catches herself before she realizes something. “Actually, what was your name?” “It’s Grite, Grite Tillsland!” Wiggle lets a genuine soft smile grow on her face. She felt a lot more at ease and happier knowing her new friend was much more relax and happy overall. She reached out her paw for a handshake, and Grite reciprocated.

“The pleasure’s mine, Grite, Darling.”

[carewyncromwell]

Back with another installment of the POTC AU...and we have entered mermaid (and men) waters, folks. These two lovely creatures are Merman!Kai Williams and Mermaid!Keira Jones, owned by @hphm-brooke, based on their designs here, but with more of the “fishy” look the mermaids have while underwater in Pirates 4! (They look much more like Brooke’s concepts, when they’re above water.) I hope I did your kids justice, cherie! Yes, I know this visual logically doesn’t work at all as neat as it looks, since Carewyn should be drowning if there’s a hole in the ship she can see through: I was stupid and half asleep when I originally drew this, but I went ahead and conjured up an explanation for it for the actual writing section, so indulge me. XD;;

Some LGBT+ headcanons of mine for the HPHM cast are also featured here -- namely, McNully as gay, Skye as lesbian, and Charlie as aroace. (I also personally see Carewyn and Orion as ace/pan and gray-A, respectively. ^.^) Feel free to ignore them if you see these characters differently than I do...goodness knows I understand why plenty of people would want to hook up with Charlie!! He can always be interpreted as demi, gray-A, or just a late bloomer here too, if thou dost prefer. <3

For the previous part of this AU, click here -- for the full POTC AU tag, click here -- otherwise, enjoy! And beware any siren song you may hear...

x~x~x~x

The Revenge was an even more oppressive prison than it was when Carewyn was a child. Charles Cromwell had always been a very controlling, cruel man who only saw someone’s value based on what they could do for him. Even when you were family of his -- or, one could argue, especially if you were -- you were expected to never say “no” to him and to always put his desires over your own. So it was when she and Jacob were under his control way back when, and so it was now that Carewyn was alone.

Interestingly, despite Charles’s clear disdain for Carewyn having become a Commodore of the Navy, he actually seemed very coldly pleased by how she’d grown.

“The Navy may be a pathetic institution,” Charles said very coolly as he strode leisurely in a circle around Carewyn, “but at least fighting in the War toughened you up. You’re strong -- ruthless -- talented in swordplay and willing to do whatever it takes to defeat your enemies. You’ve been taught and trained to kill.”

He stopped right in front of her, his cold almond-shaped blue eyes boring into her as his lips spread into a smile.

“You are far from the weak, bleeding-heart little girl you were before, Carewyn. Before, you could only be useful in persuading other men to join my crew -- now, once we’ve finished at Isle de Muerta...you’ll be able to join your aunts by doing that and helping us with our plunder.”

Carewyn’s eyes, which were the same color and shape as Charles’s, met his gaze head-on with just as much coldness, but with no hint of a smile.

“I have no intention of being anything like Pearl or Claire,” she spat, “least of all by being one of your pawns.”

Pearl made a violent move forward, but Blaise grabbed her arm and gave her a dull warning look.

“Pawns?” repeated Charles. “I’m wounded, child. We are family -- we are blood. I raised you and your brother. I provided for you.”

“After killing both Mum and Dad right in front of us,” Carewyn said very coldly.

Charles feigned an empathetic expression, but it only came across as incredibly condescending.

“Yes -- it was a horrible thing. But your parents thought to abandon the crew, our family...to take you two children away from me, your grandfather, who loves you so dearly. And deserters and traitors must be held accountable -- any good leader knows that. It’s awful that it had to happen...but they left me no choice.”

Carewyn’s eyes flashed with hatred.

“First of all...our parents thought to protect their family -- Jacob and me -- from you. Second, any good leader knows that true loyalty is accrued through respect, not fear. Third, you always have a choice to do what’s right, and you didn’t. Fourth, I will NOT hear you try to tell me that my parents brought their deaths upon themselves when you pulled the trigger. And fifth...”

She took a step forward, aiming to get right up in Charles’s face -- Claire Cromwell grabbed her harshly by the arm and held her back, but Carewyn was strong enough to push herself forward right up into her grandfather’s personal space anyway.

“...you don’t know what love is,” hissed Carewyn venomously.

Charles’s face lost all hint of a smile or warmth, instead becoming oddly mask-like and detached as he considered her. The stillness was far, far more intimidating than his attempts at pleasantry -- it was like he truly felt nothing...like all possibility of persuasion or appealing to his better instincts was hopeless.

“It seems freedom has spoiled you, my child,” he said softly. “I suppose I’d have to blame your brother for being such a bad influence on you...at least while he was still alive.”

Carewyn’s face blanched and her eyes widened. ‘What?’

“Oh?” said Charles, raising his eyebrows in mock concern. “Were you unaware? I thought for sure something would’ve trickled back to you through the Navy. But I suppose if they had told you, you’d have had far less reason to be loyal to them. After all...the pirate who killed him ended up getting a full pardon from the crown, and now works alongside the new Lord Cutler Beckett at the East India Trading Company...a thoroughly prosperous woman, by all accounts.”

Charles’s face again grew much mask-like as he stared down at Carewyn.

“One would never know such a woman could be capable of shooting a man square in the back and then pushing him overboard into the ocean...and just when he’d returned from Port Royal, to find that his sister was gone...”

Carewyn could feel her shoulders quaking. Her eyes had fallen away from Charles and down to the deck a while ago, as she struggled to contain her emotions, but what he said --

It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. Jacob, dead -- Jacob, having gone to look for her, and not finding her because she’d gone off to War -- Jacob, being murdered right after he tried to come home --

“You’re lying!” snarled Carewyn, but her voice quaked with pain and grief despite her best efforts.

Charles didn’t answer. Clearly he didn’t think he had to. The silence was infinitely worse than if he’d chosen to mock her further -- it forced her to solely focus on the terrible doubt and pain flooding her chest and making it hard for her to breathe.

Charles’s gaze flickered up to Claire still holding Carewyn’s arm.

“Get Carewyn out of that Navy filth and into some proper clothes,” he said almost boredly. “Make sure to pick something that shows off her assets -- she comes from fine breeding, and we want the men of Tortuga to see that first.”

His gaze then rested on Carewyn again, twinkling with a cruel kind of satisfaction, as Claire yanked Carewyn away. Carewyn fought against her grip, but before she could pull out of it, Pearl grabbed her other arm and, with considerably more strength, helped Claire drag her away.

Carewyn was soon forced into a pair of men’s knee breeches so tight that they felt more like form-fitting stockings than trousers; tall black boots; an off-white sailor’s shirt identical to Pearl’s with such an oversized neckline that her chest was largely exposed; and an R-standard dark red coat just small enough that she couldn’t button it around herself to hide her chest better. Pearl had also pointed a pistol at Carewyn’s neck while Claire applied eye-make-up and bright red lipstick. Carewyn normally wouldn’t have minded wearing make-up -- she may have had to dress like a man out of necessity, but she liked women’s fashion a lot. Under the circumstances, though, it was impossible to enjoy it.

Needless to say, Carewyn was in no mood to take orders from Charles or exchange so much as a word with any member of his crew, whether it was her uncle, aunts, cousins, or in-laws. At one point, one night, one of those such cousins -- clearly very amused by how unhappy Carewyn was with her new “look” -- decided to try to force himself into her personal space, and Carewyn was so disgusted that she grabbed his own pistol out of his belt and pointed it right at his head to threaten him to back off. Rather than scare him, though, the cousin merely laughed.

“Go ahead!” he jeered. He clearly thought Carewyn was too much of a “good girl” to do it. “Go ahead and shoot me. Right in the head, come on -- ”

Carewyn pointed the pistol down at his thigh instead and fired.

BANG.

The younger man collapsed in on himself with a cry as his leg collapsed out from under him, the bone clearly blasted open from how close the pistol had been. Carewyn then gave the pistol a light shake to clear the smoke.

“Seems to me that place is closer to where you do most of your thinking than your head,” she said very coldly. She looked around at the rest of the crew, who’d stopped to watch, and added, “Now, all of you, stay away from me -- AHH!”

She suddenly felt a hand seize her around the neck and hoist her up off the ground.

The younger man somehow was back on his feet again, as if he hadn’t been injured at all. Carewyn’s shock only seemed to make him smugger still, even though his smile was oddly humorless.

“You’re so cute, little Winnie,” he said. “Thinking you can hurt somebody who feels nothing but pain already.”

At that very moment, the clouds parted, to reveal an eerie silver-white moon. And it was in that terrible, paralyzing moment that Carewyn saw why everyone said that the crew of the Revenge was cursed.

It seems that the medallion Jacob had stolen from Charles’s office wasn’t just a pirate trinket. It was one of 100 identical pieces from a cursed chest that once belonged to Cortez himself. Anyone who stole but one piece from the chest was cursed trapped between life and death, unable to enjoy any earthly pleasure -- food, drink, or otherwise -- with their true decaying form only revealed under moonlight. Jacob had taken the medallion with the thought that Carewyn could always sell it if they ever got really desperate for money -- Carewyn had kept it because it was one of the only things Jacob had ever been able to give her before he disappeared, and she cursed herself eternally for the sentiment now. Still, she told herself, it also hadn’t seemed safe to try to sell something that so clearly looked like a pirate medallion anyway -- just about anyone would ask where she got it, and that would’ve opened her up to a million more questions. In either case, that medallion Carewyn had was the last piece that Charles Cromwell needed to break the curse -- and thanks to her fame as the newest Commodore in the Navy, one of her portrait miniatures had found its way into Charles’s hands, revealing to him where his granddaughter had vanished to. And now he had both her and the medallion -- in short, everything he’d wanted.

Charles Cromwell decided to punish Carewyn for her little act of defiance by locking her in the brig. It was a very wet and mildew-stained place -- clearly it had been host to more than a few leaks. One hole in Carewyn’s cell in particular even showed clear blue ocean water -- she suspected that the Revenge had been patched up with quite a few spells to keep it from sinking, over the years. She remembered there was a witch on Tortuga that her grandfather sometimes made deals with -- maybe she’d given him something to keep the sea water from rushing in.

Carewyn could’ve easily broken out of the brig, but under the circumstances, she decided it wasn’t worth it. Not only did she not want to show off all her tricks yet, but the cell door would at least serve as a barrier between her and everyone else, for now. And that was what she’d wanted -- to get as far away from them as she could. Jacob would’ve understood. Jacob had always been there as a protective wall between her and the rest of their family, in the past...

The night in that cell was one of the coldest, darkest, and loneliest of Carewyn’s life. Her heart ached at the thought of Jacob -- of Percy, his face white with upset and terror when she told him to retreat -- of Bill and Charlie -- of Jules. She missed them so much, and yet she knew...she would likely never see them again. Charles Cromwell wouldn’t tolerate her insubordination for long, and if she failed to escape -- rather likely, considering that neither he nor the rest of her family could be killed, at this point -- she’d be murdered just like her parents.

...At least then...she’d see Jacob again...

She didn’t know when or how she’d fallen to sleep, but it was in her sleep, when she was most lonely, that Carewyn found herself again in her and Jacob’s tiny, old house in Port Royal, sitting at the side of her own bed, which currently held a young man with a worn brown bandana around his head, a black eye, and bandages around his arms. He looked up at her, his dark eyes rippling like the darkest sea -- and then, he rose from the bed. As he did, he changed, becoming older, with tanner skin and dreadlocks under an emerald green bandana. Orion didn’t say anything in the dream -- instead he held her gaze, drowning her in it as he gently held her hands in his...

When Carewyn awoke, she found her face wet with tears. Wiping her face clean, she sat awake for a while, revisiting Orion in her mind. As bizarre as it sounded -- just like he had many times in the past -- the thought of Orion seemed to bring her a sense of peace and focus she couldn’t quite explain. And it was for that reason that she found herself singing one of the songs she used to sing Orion to sleep, all those years ago...for the thought of him, if not for the man himself.

Abroad, as I was walking one evening in the spring,

I heard a maid in Bedlam who mournfully did sing.

Her chains she rattled on her hands, and thus replied she:

"I love my love because I know my love loves me.

Oh, cruel were his parents who sent my love to sea,

And cruel was the ship that bore my love from me --

Yet I love his parents since they’re his, although they've ruined me...

I love my love because I know my love loves me.” 

As luck would have it, however, her song attracted some attention. For the waters surrounding the dreaded Isle de Muerta contained merfolk -- specifically a mermaid called Keira and a merman called Kai, who hunted as a pair and had heard Carewyn singing through the hole in the ship’s hull.

“Was that you singing?” asked Kai. He seemed the more sociable of the two -- the red-haired mermaid behind him called Keira was staying at a distance.

Carewyn rested a hand beside the hole, trying to peek out at who was speaking. She couldn’t see them very well, but from what little she could see, they didn’t look like how she’d always heard mermaids described. They appeared human enough on top, of course, but she could see scales on their faces and there was no white in their eyes. Kai had one completely brown eye and one completely blue eye, while Keira had completely blue.

“Yes,” said Carewyn.

“I could hear the longing in your voice,” said Kai. “Like a woman in love.”

Carewyn’s face flushed, but she kept as proud of an expression as she could manage.

“...Are you merfolk?”

“Why, yes,” said Kai with a smile. “And you? Are you a pirate? Or perhaps you’re a maid from Bedlam, awaiting her love’s return?”

“Neither. My name is Carewyn...but most people call me Carey Weasley.”

Keira looked at Carewyn through the hole, clearly interested despite her distance.

“You’re different than the other humans on this ship,” she said thoughtfully.

Carewyn scoffed. “I’d certainly hope so. I suppose my grandfather and his crew fear you?”

“Fear, yes,” said Keira in an oddly stiff voice, “but we don’t approach them.”

The memory of her disgusting pirate cousin as a molting skeleton rippled over Carewyn’s mind and she grimaced.

“...I don’t blame you for that. I wouldn’t be here either, if I had a choice.”

Kai raised a curious eyebrow. “You’re a prisoner, then.”

Carewyn sighed and nodded. Kai’s eyes flickered over to Keira before returning to Carewyn.

“...Perhaps we can get you out.”

Carewyn was startled. “What?”

Kai’s lips turned up in a smile. “Come with us...we’ll help you escape.”

It was strange -- Carewyn hadn’t known these two at all, but something in their voices sounded so kind. Despite everything she’d ever heard about sirens, they seemed oddly persuasive...it was like even they were singing beautifully, even while talking...

But...

“No,” she said. “My grandfather and his crew can’t be killed. I’d never be able to defeat them, while they’re like that...and anyone who tried to help me would be killed right along with me.”

Her eyes softened. “Thank you...but I have to stay here.”

Both Kai and Keira looked genuinely startled. Kai seemed to rest on his stomach in mid-air, his tail flopping up over his head as he rested his chin on his fist, his lips spreading in a much fuller, fanged smirk.

“...Well, now,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone saying ‘no’ to one of our kind in order to protect them before. He shared a glance with Keira. “You truly are different, Carey Weasley.”

Keira exhaled tiredly. “Come on, Kai...let’s go.”

“Coming, coming,” said Kai in amusement, as Keira began to swim off. He added to Carewyn, “Guess we’ll never know if we would’ve been able to tempt you, if we’d met you above water...oh well. Best of luck, little Bedlam maid -- thanks for the new song!”

Kai swam in a circle to follow along after Keira and disappeared into the dark blue depths.

Back on the Artemis, the days of their voyage dragged. Jules had heard all sorts of exciting stories about pirates since she was a child, but now that she was onboard a ship with them, she found that it was far less glamorous than one would think. There was so little to do to pass the time, aside from trimming sails or swabbing decks. Charlie and Bill admitted that was a lot of what sailing on board ships was like in general -- there was plenty of excitement, sure, but only inter-spliced briefly between long stretches of nothing. On top of that, the water on board went sour before long, making it so everyone had to drink rum instead, since it was the only drink that didn’t go bad at sea. The best thing by far for Jules, though, was that there was no dress code -- and so she ditched her fancy dress as quick as she could, traded them in for a pair of men’s breeches, and then belted her chemise around her waist so that it fit more tightly like a shirt. She’d be a little embarrassed walking around in her underwear for a while, but after a while, she concluded it really wasn’t any more revealing than the loose-fitting shirt and men’s breeches Skye was wearing. Bill’s ears turned a very dark red when he first saw Jules out of her dress, though.

Their first real burst of action came when they had to battle a torrential storm that had blown in. The Artemis had been tossed about as if it were a toy in a bathtub, sea water splashing onto the deck with full-bodied waves that could knock a man off their feet. It was likely only thanks to Orion’s bizarre idea to tie everyone securely to the mast with a long piece of rope that served as a life line that no one was thrown overboard. The following day, the storm had fortunately cleared to leave an almost surreal calm. Soon everyone returned to the boring routine of before, mending torn sails and swabbing the deck, as if nothing had even happened.

The helmsman solely followed Orion’s direction of where to go, rather than using a map, so Bill, Jules, and Charlie had assumed he already knew where the Isle de Muerta was. One could therefore imagine how horrified Bill was overhearing McNully talking offhandedly to Orion one afternoon about his compass “not working right for him” -- Jules recalled that it didn’t work at Port Royal either. When the three confronted Orion about it, the Captain responded rather cryptically.

“Lieutenant Weasley said that my compass didn’t point north, Miss Farrier. That doesn’t mean it’s broken.”

Orion turned on his heel and headed back up to the helm. “A bit more to starboard.”

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but McNully climbed down one of the loose ropes enough to pat his shoulder.

“Easy, Mr. Weasley.”

He lowered himself back down into his chair and rolled it around to properly face them.

“The Captain’s compass isn’t like most compasses -- just like Orion himself isn’t like most captains.”

“But you said it wasn’t working right,” Charlie said angrily. “And all he ever seems to look at is that compass. How do we know we’re even heading the right way? Does he even know how to get to Isle de Muerta at all?”

Jules had to admit, she had doubts too. Orion had sounded pretty confident that he’d be able to find Carewyn -- but how could anyone do that, when they didn’t even have a compass that could point north?

The dispute was interrupted, however, when Orion abruptly called out from the helm.

“Put out the lamps!”

The crew immediately tensed up, and bolted around, putting out every lamp. Jules looked around in confusion.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “It’s almost dusk -- we won’t be able to see!”

“The water is darker and colder here,” said Orion solemnly, “and there’s a song on the air. The lamps would only antagonize them further.”

“‘Them?’“ recurred Jules.

“Mermaids, of course,” said Skye impatiently.

“Mermaids?”

“I heard those tales when we were all in the Navy,” said Bill, glancing at Jules a bit uneasily. “Mermaids are attracted to singing and lamplight.”

"Right,” said McNully. “There’s still a 32% chance they might show up even without those, though, so you’d best keep your wits about you.”

Skye nodded. “Mermaids are no joke. They might look beautiful above water, but they don’t look half so pretty under the water when they pull you down to the depths and eat you alive.”

Jules cringed.

“If they’re that dangerous,” she said slowly, “why don’t you do what Odysseus did, to escape the sirens? Just have someone else tie you up really tightly on the mast, and you can’t jump overboard.”

“Yeah!” Charlie piped up. “I reckon Jules, Skye, and I can handle running the ship for a bit on our own -- pretty faces don’t really do much for me.”

McNully laughed. “If being attracted to gorgeous women was the problem, then I’d be a better choice to help than Skye.”

Skye rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“Mermaids don’t just tempt you with sex,” the quartermaster explained. “They’re temptation itself. Everything about them draws you in, makes you open up to them and talk to them...lets them look right through you. They’ll try to tempt you with whatever they think you want most in the world -- and when you give in and get too close...”

She made a knife-like gesture across her throat with her finger.

“There’s only one person on this ship that’s known to have ever said ‘no’ to a mermaid before,” said McNully, and he nodded up at the helm. “And that’s the Captain.”

Bill, Charlie, and Jules all looked up in surprise. Orion had his back to them and was looking out to sea with narrowed, unreadable eyes.

Then, all of a sudden, the crew could just barely make out a eerie, beautiful song, which seemed to float on the wind itself.

“...her chains she rattled in her hands and thus replied she...”

“Stopper your ears!” McNully said urgently. “Quickly!”

The crew hurriedly did as they were told. Orion, however, did not do so. Instead he darted down to the main deck, grabbed one of the lanterns, and set about relighting it.

“Orion, what are you DOING?!” bellowed Skye.

Orion didn’t answer her. McNully rolled hurriedly around the deck as he tried to make sure everyone blocked their ears, but Orion completely ignored him, instead rushing over to the side of the ship with the lit lantern.

The singing was getting louder now.

“Yet I love his parents since they’re his, although they've ruined me... I love my love because I know my love loves me...”

Just as Bill had finished helping Charlie and Jules completely stopper their ears, he caught the sound of a low male voice singing the next line.

“With straw I'll weave a garland, I'll weave it wondrous fine...”

Bill looked up in alarm at Orion. He had a hand cupped over his mouth to magnify his volume as he sang over the ship’s railing.

“With roses, lilies, daisies I'll mix the eglantine...”

“Stop!”

Bill barreled over, grabbing Orion’s shoulder and trying to pull him back away from the edge.

“What are you doing?! Singing and lanterns attract mermaids!”

“That’s the plan,” said Orion, his voice almost frustratingly calm.

Bill saw the water burbling up beside the edge of the ship. His heart clenched with fear.

Orion, however, paid him no mind -- he turned right to the form burbling under the water, his hand beside his mouth again as he continued,

“And I'll present it to my love when he returns from sea... I love my love because I know my love loves me."

Jules quickly grabbed Bill’s arm, pulling him back away from Orion. Bill looked at her anxiously, but she merely reached up to stopper his left ear with some fabric she’d ripped out of her chemise. Orion wasn’t going to explain, so all they could do is get ready.

Within moments, a woman with red hair had appeared out of the water. Her chin and neck were still largely submerged as she blinked up at Orion.

“You know the words,” she said almost shyly.

“Yes,” said Orion. “Where did you hear that song?”

The mermaid blinked slowly. “A maid imprisoned in the brig of a pirate ship.”

Jules had been just about to stopper Bill’s right ear when he straightened up sharply. He turned his head sharply to better listen to the conversation.

"What did the maid look like?” Orion asked.

The mermaid’s eyes flickered over the pirate captain’s face carefully as she eased her head and shoulders out of the water.

“I could not tell for sure. The brig was dark. The hole looking into it was small.”

“Yet you spoke to her?”

“Yes. She was a selfless woman. Very selfless.”

“When did you see her?”

“Very early this morning...before dawn.”

Orion’s dark eyes narrowed. The mermaid reached out to grab onto the edge of the Artemis so as to slide herself out of the water and closer to Orion.

“You know her,” she said.

“Yes,” Orion answered quietly.

The mermaid’s eyes seemed to soften. “...You love her.”

Bill, who had been listening carefully, looked quickly at Orion’s face for some sort of reaction -- but once again his face was remarkably calm, and he didn’t respond.

“I could take you to her,” the mermaid said sweetly. “I know where she is...”

Bill felt his mind drifting slightly, as if he’d suddenly become very sleepy -- her voice sounded almost soothing -- and she knew Carewyn? She could take them to Carewyn?

“No, thank you,” said Orion with the kind of polite finality one would more likely hear at a Christmas function than to a creature that wanted to eat human flesh. “If you saw her this morning, we’ll be caught up with them soon enough. The wind will take us where we need to go, if only we have our sails pointed in the right direction.”

He inclined his head respectfully.

“Best of luck finding your next meal elsewhere.”

The mermaid frowned in immense confusion at him, looking almost put-out.

“You and Carey Weasley are both very strange humans,” she said. Her lips then curled into a faintly wry smile as she added, “She was not tempted by our call either. That should please you.”

And with that, she splashed back into the dark water and disappeared.

Orion blew out the flame on the lamp and turned back around.

“It’s all right now!” he bellowed loud enough that everyone could just barely make out his voice through the stuffing in their ears. “It’s safe!”

Everyone little by little unblocked their ears. Bill turned around to face Orion properly, his brown eyes rippling with amazement and a bit of guilt despite himself, as the pirate captain walked past him.

“You did know what you were doing.”

Orion turned to Bill. The eldest Weasley rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I misjudged you.”

Orion inclined his head slightly to Bill, his lips touched with traces of a smile.

“A common enough thing, for people to do,” he said patiently. “Think nothing of it.”

He strolled back up to the helm, leaving Bill and Jules alone.

Jules turned to Bill. He still had his eyes on Orion’s back.

“Bill...is everything okay?”

Bill glanced at Jules and then back up at Orion, and he swallowed.

The mermaid had said Orion loved Carewyn. He didn’t make any kind of reaction that would prove it was true -- but he didn’t deny it either. And more importantly, back at the church, he’d said he wouldn’t have hurt “either Bill’s or his lady,” when talking about Jules and Carewyn. And immediately after, he spoke of Carewyn’s past, of her history with him...of details even he didn’t know, like her apparently having worn a red ribbon in her hair since she was little...with such a soft voice that it wouldn’t be a stretch to think there was something fond in it, under that detached affect..

Bill hadn’t had a real friend in his life until he’d met Carewyn. They’d connected almost immediately out of their mutual desire to protect and nurture others, and they always seemed to be in sync whenever they had to battle together. Bill had always been a shoulder for others to cry on, but it was Carewyn who had first offered her shoulder to him, while they were fighting the Spanish together. The friendship and caring she’d shown him made her family to him more than her using his name alone ever could have. She was a sister to him -- his best mate -- someone he loved and cherished like few others in the world. And he wanted every happiness for her, just as he knew she did for him...

But what happiness could there be for her, with Orion? He was a pirate. There’d be no way the Navy would pardon him with the East India Trading Company breathing down their necks -- and would Carewyn truly be happy living the life of a pirate, after having been raised on a pirate ship like the Revenge? She’d built up a stable life for herself in the Navy, and Bill knew how much Carewyn loved being able to come back to Port Royal after a long expedition -- to come home, after being at sea. But pirates had no home. There was nothing anchoring a pirate. And no matter what Orion’s feelings were, and how much Bill suspected they might actually be something genuine...it didn’t mean a thing if Carewyn didn’t feel the same way.

“Jules...” he said at last, very quietly, “...is Carey...in love with Amari?”

Jules was startled by the use of her nickname. She glanced from Bill to up at Orion at the helm and back, frowning deeply. 

“...Love, I’m not sure, but...back at the fort, before Captain Amari rescued me...Carey told me that she’d bandaged him up and hidden him from the Navy, when they were young. So when Captain Amari figured out who she was...he let her go. I reckon they probably just made it look like Carey broke free.”

This information startled Bill. His brown eyes brightened in understanding.

“He owed her a life debt,” he said softly.

Jules smiled. “No. I thought the same thing -- that it was gratitude, on Captain Amari’s part. But...”

Her dark eyes softened.

“...Carey said...that he was simply a good man. And I don’t know...but the look in her eyes, as she looked out to sea...I’ve never seen her eyes look like that before.”

She reached out and took Bill’s hand. Bill gave it a squeeze.

“The water temperature has returned to normal,” announced Orion from the helm, emptying the bucket of sea water he’d filled earlier over the side. “Go ahead and relight the lamps -- we should approach Isle de Muerta within the next day or so.”

[lov3nerdstuff]

Someone to you

*Loki x reader*

Part: Oneshot

Words: 5.6k

Warnings: little language, some gloomy thoughts

Summary: Loki knew that feeling deep within him, and he tried to suffocate the first kindling before it would become a raging fire, burning up his very being to the essence yet again. What Loki felt indeed, was hope. A stupid and desperate hope that maybe just this once he could actually be somebody to someone, something more than just the villain, the lesser brother, the monster… that he could be someone, to you.

A story written in Loki's perspective about how he learned that even he deserves kindness and love. Your love.

Original Request: Hi! Do you make song based requests? If you do I'd love a oneshot of Loki x Reader based on the song Someone to you by Banners. Thank you if you can ♡ -> by @hunter-with-a-tardis

A.N.: Okay folks, this has gotten a little dark, but I promise it has a fluffy ending indeed! It doesn't really fit the song based on the melody, but I focused on the lyrics! 💚✨ Enjoy!

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For the longest time, Loki had felt lost in this world. In every world. Lost and alone, broken, abused and shattered in so many ways that he'd given up any attempt to hold grudges against individuals, and at one point simply started to feel hate for everyone and everything. Yet he knew very well that hate wasn't the right word for what he felt, but it was easier to title it hate and delve into that feeling than admit, even to himself, what it really was indeed that was keeping him up at night and made him burst with a raging, dark energy at daytime.

To Loki, self-awareness was his ultimate doom, his one true mean to selfdestruction. He knew what he felt, he knew what had caused it and what it meant and yet… he couldn't change a single thing about it. Sometimes he wished he was as oblivious in his emotions as the midgardians he spent his time with, but that just wasn't how his mind worked. No, his mind picked up every pebble and inspected it to the depth of a single atom, twice.

And he'd lived in this illusion of universal hate for so long that it had become his reality, a shallow one, but it was still enough to dictate his behavior and sometimes, if he wasn't careful, also his thoughts. He felt himself slipping into living within yet another lie, one brilliant enough, carefully enough woven to suffice. It was his own, after all. As long as no one would be able to see through his facade, there was nothing, no one, worth dropping it for in return.

So Loki found himself living among his brother's friends, the people who despised him without ever having bothered to get to know him. But really… him trying to take over their planet all those years ago, to them, must've seemed like a good enough getting-to-know each other.

Loki didn't really bother to tell them the truth, for things were easy enough while they hated him and believed he hated them in return. And honestly, by now, he kind of did sincerely hate them. He hadn't in the beginning, but their coldness and constant rejection had forced Loki to withdraw further and further into his own mind. A very dangerous place to dwell in indeed and yet the only place he felt truly safe (at times).

The days passed away like leaves in autumn, withering and tumbling down into the abyss of indifference. And autumn it was indeed when something happened that made Loki's carefully constructed reality come crashing down on him like a building's collapse. It was the day he met you.

Honestly, it had been a day exactly like every other. He'd picked a book from the library, then sat down in the floor length window in the living room and ignored everyone and everything around him as he escaped into the world between the pages, right into the rough paper resting against his fingertips.

That was until Stark, that tin of a fool, came sauntering into the room and inevitably drew everyone's attention towards himself. Why exactly Loki chose this one instance to actually listen to the man of iron was beyond him, but he put his book down in his lap and looked over to the two figures standing in the middle of the room.

"Alright everyone, this is Y/n." Tony announced loudly, clapping you on the shoulder. Loki's eyes met yours and you… smiled.

He frowned immediately, deeply irritated, and looked back to the book in his lap. His ears however didn't once leave the announcement of your presence.

"She is… well, why don't you explain it yourself?" Stark asked and took a step to the side, giving you room to introduce yourself.

"Well, hi everyone. I'm Y/n, like Tony said already…" Your voice was soft, like liquid silk that ran straight from Loki's ears to his mind, wrapping around his senses in a way he couldn't really prevent. "Before anyone starts guessing, I'm not an Avenger, or even remotely trained in combat or the sorts. I'm…"

"...going to live here, for a while." Tony finished the sentence before you could, making Loki frown to himself once again. "She's going to be living with us. So please treat her nicely, and look out for her a little. No funny business. I'm looking at you, Reindeer Games…"

Loki ignored the comment, just like he always did, but he felt your eyes on himself like a scorching heat burning his entire left side.

"Alright, I gotta go, but everyone please introduce yourselves now and the sorts… And Cap, will you show her to her room later? The guest bedroom on the third floor will do." Tony ordered quickly, then addressed you once more. "Y/n, dear… I know for a fact that you'll be fine with those guys here, but you better stay away from the odd one over there."

Loki just knew immediately that Stark had meant him, causing him to roll his eyes to himself. Obviously he wouldn't at least this once be given the chance to start off on the right foot with someone. No, they were all rushed into prejudice before he even got any chance to make things right. At least this once.

And oddly enough, Loki wanted to make things right with you. Maybe only because you were new indeed, a blank piece of paper for him, but then again… you had smiled at him. Just for a very short moment, and without any intention to mock him. Just a sincere, innocent smile. Maybe you simply didn't know who he was and what he'd done? And yet… he couldn't forget about that one smile, even if he tried.

For the next minutes Loki quietly observed how everyone currently present introduced themselves to you, his eyes following you through the room as you moved from Natasha to Thor to Wanda… Smiling at everyone and exchanging meaningless smalltalk. Gosh, how Loki hated smalltalk, or anything that was meaningless really. They asked you about all the most ridiculous things, while Loki himself would have wasted no time to ask the really important things. For example, why Stark had interrupted you in your attempt to explain who you are or where you are from. What had brought you here despite being of no obvious use to the stupid little team? Questions upon questions that he could've asked, but he didn't, for the solemn reason that this was not the right place nor time. He looked back at his book, trying to read the words that threatened to escape his mind the second they entered it. Hell, why wouldn't his damn mind just leave you and the stupid idea that at least one person in this freaking building might actually grow not to hate him alone for good? He couldn't focus, and his ears picked up every word of your conversations with the others. It really wasn't even interesting, but something within him seemed to cling onto you so desperately that he grew more and more angry with himself by the minute.

He didn't even know you, for heaven's sake, then why did it feel like your appearance was the single ray of light breaking through the cold sky, filled with heavy clouds of dark? A single ray of light, keeping him from fading, from disappearing from reality altogether. A ray of light drawing him in like a moth to the flame. Like Icarus and the sun.

To be honest, Loki knew why. He knew that feeling deep within him, and he tried to suffocate the first kindling before it would become a raging fire, burning up his very being to the essence yet again. It was exactly this feeling that he'd tried to drown out with the cold hate all along. Why he'd tried to push reality as far away as possible, for he knew what would become of him. He couldn't help it, couldn't extinct the tiny flame that had so suddenly flickered to life upon your one damn smile. What Loki felt indeed, was hope.

A stupid and desperate hope that maybe just this once he could actually be somebody to someone, something more than just the villain, the lesser brother, the monster… that he could be someone, to you. But he didn't want this hope, for hope was a one way road to disappointment and pain.

And until this very day, Loki had done a great job to extinguish every bit of hope from his very being and drown it in hatred and mockery.

"Hey…" Your voice, very close suddenly, made him snap out of his mind and back to reality, only to find you standing right next to him, towering above his sitting form. He didn't dare looking up from his book.

"Since everyone else seems to avoid you as good as possible, I just wanted to say hi, at least."

"Didn't anyone tell you to stay as far away from me as possible?" Loki asked defensively and without his eyes parting from the page he'd tried reading for the last thirty minutes.

"Oh, they most certainly did. All of them, actually." You replied calmly, not at all bothered by his admittedly hostile attitude. Geez, Loki didn't know for himself why he was behaving so hostile towards you when all he really wanted was to make you like him. Maybe it's just who he was now, the cruel empty shell of a broken man.

"And why didn't you listen to them?" He asked, inhaling a little more audibly than he would've liked.

"Because the things they said didn't make sense… that you're dangerous, insane, cruel… not worth my time and effort." You mused, shrugging, and there was a tone to your voice that made Loki's heart pick up speed.

"You are not making sense, mortal." He snapped, cringing inwardly at his own behavior as his mind begged him to stop this ridiculous hostility.

"I'm…" You stopped for a moment and Loki almost believed he had finally broken you, finally made you see how horrible of a person he really was. Yet, you continued in a tone as calm as ever. "Would you be so kind and show me to my new bedroom?"

"Why would I? So that your new friends can mock me and have a decent excuse to end me for coming too close to their newest plaything?" He snorted sarcastically, closing his book with a loud pang and rising to his feet in his usual graceful manner, finally towering over you as he knew he was standing too close to you for his own good. But if being mean didn't work to scare you away, maybe intimidation would.

"Why would I do such a thing indeed, mortal?" He asked again, his voice dropping down to a dangerous and quiet low that spoke of nothing but disgust. It couldn't have been further from the truth, he felt drawn to you beyond measure.

"Because I would like you to know where you can find me when you need a break from torturing yourself like this." You replied calmly, yet so quietly that only Loki could hear, looking right into his eyes and he felt his blood freeze over for a moment. He stared right back at you in a maddening mixture of shock and awe, unsure if his physical presence continued to exist once his mind swallowed him into the depth of abysmal nothing.

"Loki!" Thor's thundering voice however ripped Loki from those depths, as he was forced a few steps away from you. Loki let Thor pull him away without a shred of resistance, eyes still irreversibly fixed on yours as he only heard the echo of his own heartbeat hollowly drumming in his ears.

How could this creature that was you have such an enormous effect on him? Mess with his mind even, trick the trickster indeed.

"Y/n, did he… hurt you, or try to?" Steve asked then, and his words reached Loki's ears, but not his mind.

"Why would he?" You replied calmly, turning to the soldier with a friendly smile. "We were just talking."

"Looked more like he wanted to murder you in the most gruesome ways…" Bruce commented carefully, giving Loki a suspicious look.

"Maybe, who knows…" You shrugged at them, smiling, as you turned back to Loki. The look on your face told him that you knew indeed. You knew that he wouldn't ever hurt you, nor anyone else if it could be prevented.

When Loki forcefully jerked his arm out of Thor's grip and made for the door with quick and long steps, all he was really asking himself was just WHY you knew.

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For the next few days Loki stayed out of your way. Whenever you would enter the room, he would turn to leave in return and thereby cause his heart to clench in the most painful ways. And every single time he asked himself why exactly he was doing all that… all the pretense, all the hostility and all the false hatred. You'd not once given him any reason to dislike you, you always said hi to him (being the only one who even acknowledged his presence most of the time) and tried to talk to him a few times even. But there had always been someone in the room with you, someone's watchful eyes on him as you spoke and that always had resulted in him pulling back from you, more and more until he didn't talk to you at all anymore.

And for once, he experienced what real hatred felt like, in the hatred he found for himself and his behavior towards you. It wasn't your fault after all that he fought a war within himself that he was very close to losing on either end. Fighting off the darkness was routine, really, and he'd grown used to that constant fight long ago. Yet, now that he was fighting off the hope on the other end, he was at risk of losing on both sides. If he only could stop this nonsensical behavior at once, and maybe give you a tiny shard of his real self, maybe then he wouldn't feel so torn anymore. He wanted to be closer to you, to get to know you… who you are, why you were here, why you seemed to be able to see right through him and still didn't try to save him from his misery. Because, if he was honest with himself, he was desperately hoping that you would save him indeed. That you would lead him through his own darkness and guide him to a better place. And he was hoping that he could be someone better for you, since he failed to be better just for himself. And that, exactly that was what scared him. He didn't want to use you as a path to the light, he wanted you to be the light, for him.

This war within him continued on for weeks, but he had let go of the hostility immediately after one evening's events. He'd been somewhat sarcastic and mean as usual, ignored everyone at dinner really, until one thing he had said in particular had made your face fall and for the first time, Loki had seen sincere sadness and hurt in your eyes. He'd gotten up and left immediately, silently promising to make sure that he would NEVER be the cause of those emotions again. After that day, things had been different for him. He'd still stay away from you, but he never once had said a single hostile word to you again. He had been just the same old to everyone else of course, but with you… he'd become reluctant, almost. The hope within his mind had grown into a flame almost painful in its fury, urging him to give in. Ironically, the one thing that worked best against the hope was reality for now. He'd spent a few weeks locked up in his room to sort through his own messed up emotions, then spent a few more being mean to you, then a few more being basically a mere shadow on the wall. Always there, always listening but never noticed until someone needed something to be scared of.

He couldn't sleep at night. His mind would torture him with countless possibilities for how things could become even worse from where he was, while his logic would try to draw up a plan on how to make things right. He absolutely hated that with the hope, also the deeply rooted desire to be loved had resurfaced and clung onto the hope in return, making him ache for your attention and your approval. Such a horrendous desire, really… he'd spent centuries getting rid of it. And now it was suddenly back, hitting him like a hulk smash.

Unable to even remotely find rest, he got out of bed and left his room to head to the living room where he'd left his current read in the afternoon. It was three am in the morning, he didn't even bother to change into something other than his tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt for he was certain that he wouldn't run into anyone anyway. The sound of his naked feet on the cold stone floor reminded him just how much of a prison this place really was. An big and empty one, but a prison nonetheless.

When he walked around one final corner before entering the living room, he immediately spotted your small frame, dark contrasting against the giant window. Maybe you'd heard him approaching, but he didn't know for sure and he wanted to leave it at that. So he kept standing on the other side of the room, observing you as you observed the millions of bright stars in the night sky. That maybe was the only good thing about the avengers base being out here… one could see a million of stars every night, if only the clouds allowed it.

For the longest time Loki observed you in silence, his heart beating strongly against his ribcage in an almost painful manner. Until finally he gave in, unable to resist the raging hope any longer. With a second of careful thought and a few rays of soft green light, he recreated the entire night sky in the living room, surrounding you in a bright bunch of a million stars. The small gasp that escaped your lips brought a smile to his face, a moment before he turned to leave, not without granting himself two seconds of admiring your beautifully overwhelmed expression.

It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to you when he returned to his room with quick steps, his book long forgotten. No, he would've loved to talk to you, but he simply did not know what to say after all this time of severely screwing things up with you.

You'd been nothing but nice to him from the very first moment and he'd been nothing but poison to your lovely being. A fool, scared and lashing out in fear of getting hurt. Ironic, really, considering that he'd been well aware of this the entire time, yet again unable to change his own behavior. And now that he'd finally gotten over himself, he was more than sure that he'd already managed to drive you so far away from himself that it was past any point of return.

So he just lay on his bed, on top of the neatly folded green covers, and stared at the ceiling in the dark. Until a few minutes later there was a faint knock on his door.

He knew that it must be you, nobody else would ever knock on his door and nobody else would be awake at this time, but him. He had the door swing open gently without as much as moving a finger.

"May I come in?" You asked quietly, standing in the door frame as your eyes inspected his room quickly, yet intently. He almost smiled at your curiosity, the urge to study your surroundings… it's something he found himself inclined to do as well.

This was his last chance, and he was done pretending, done trying to keep you at a distance.

"Yes." Was all he could really say, in as much calm as he could manage. His eyes were still fixed on the ceiling as he heard your soft footsteps approaching him slowly. Would you hear his frantic heartbeat in the insufferable silence of the room?

Then he felt the bed dip ever so slightly as you moved to lay down next to him, at a safe distance, but he could feel the heat of your body on his side nonetheless. It felt nice.

"Would you do it again? For me?" You asked calmly, yet again in a quiet voice as you stared up at the ceiling as well. With the smallest of smiles Loki brought the stars back from the sky into his room, filling the entire space with a soft light in form of a million little sprinkles. You let out a soft sigh, and Loki's smile widened. Maybe you didn't completely hate him after all.

"This is really beautiful, you know…" You said after a few minutes of comfortable silence. "Have you seen the entire universe?"

"Not only this one… there's more, so much more." Loki replied easily, and he felt more at ease than he had in as long he cared to remember.

"Amazing... I can't imagine what it must be like to see all those incredible places!" You sighed.

"Would you like to see some of it?" He asked before he could stop himself, his voice laced with the hope he didn't care to repress anymore.

Now, finally, he felt confident enough to turn his head to look at you, finding you looking at him already with a soft smile. And just like the first day you had met, Loki felt your eyes forcing their way into his soul, touching it with a gentle caress and leaving imprints wherever they went. What surprised him most however was that he let you in, without timidity.

"I'd love to. See some of it, I mean…" You smiled at him with that heart-warming, all-consuming smile of yours and Loki couldn't help but stare. Here you were, merely two feet away, lying on his bed and smiling at him as if he wasn't… this. Wasn't himself. He wanted to ask you about your reasons, but he didn't know how. For once in his life, his eloquence was lost on him. And thus he did what he knew he could do best, turning his head back towards the ceiling and moving the stars around the two of you, going from planet to planet while both showing and explaining to you which secrets each place held in its depth and uniqueness.

You listened intently to him, nodding, giving soft noises of approval or occasionally asking questions about the things he said. Loki found himself relaxing in the conversation, smiling more frequently and looking at you from time to time, observing your beautiful features while you admired the imagines of distant places he conjured up just for you. And sooner than he would've liked, Loki found himself wishing that he could show you the universe for real.

Time flew by like the stars you passed on your magical journey, and soon night turned into dawn. By morning, Loki had spent more time looking at you than looking at the stars, really, and he found the urge to be close to you growing into the insufferable, while you seemed completely enamored with his tales of distant places and times. He would've talked on forever if only to make you happy, to bring this light to your eyes and dwell in the comfort of your presence. But after the sun started to rise, you decided that you would have to leave to get at least some more rest. Obviously Loki didn't make an attempted to stop you, but wished you a good night (even if it was morning indeed).

During the following days, Loki was back to his usual self (with everyone but you, of course), placing some carefully worded threats and intricate insults into the conversations he was systematically excluded from. Only when nighttime rolled around, he would be in his room, waiting, until you would come to hear more stories, or to chat about all the most meaningful things, but not once about anything personal. He enjoyed this new ritual immensely, allowing himself to be raw, honest, true… during the day he may belong to his demons, but during the nighttime he belonged to you. And even though he would've loved to be more than just a storyteller, a means to passing time to you, he was still content to be something to you, at least. But with every night you spent lying next to him on his bed, listening and looking at him like he himself was the single most fascinating thing in the entirety of the universe, Loki found himself wishing for more.

You were truly lovely, the kindest and smartest person he'd ever met and he constantly asked himself why by the gods you were spending your precious time with him. Eventually, he figured, he would run out of stories to tell and you would stop your nightly visits, his own personal time spent in the light.

But he wouldn't let that happen, or rather he simply couldn't. If this one last time he allowed himself to hope, to try to be somebody to someone, turned out to leave him hurt again, he knew he would lose his fight against the darkness, and thus lose his final threat anchoring him to reality.

That is why tonight Loki decided that he would visit you for once, in your room. He'd never been there before, you had always come to see him in his own space. It was still a little while until you usually would be coming over when he made his way through the dark hallway, up the staircase and towards your door.

Just when he lifted his hand to knock, the door was opened in an instant and you almost ran into him as you moved out of the room. Loki's eyes widened as he looked down at you in surprise, but a moment later he couldn't resist peaking into the room behind you (he was, after all, of an impeccably curious nature).

"Hey Loki..." You looked up at him in that adorably flustered expression. "I was just going to come see you, actually."

"Hello Y/n…" He replied calmly, giving you a small smile. "I… I wanted to visit YOU, for once."

"Oh…" You smiled to yourself, looking down to your bare feet for a second. "Well, do come in then!"

You moved out of the way, backing into your room and Loki followed with careful steps behind you, looking around himself. Your room way probably double the size of his own, with an open window front and the lovelies furniture. And it was only a guest bedroom, after all.

"What made you come here tonight?" You asked, studying his face intently as you leaned your head slightly to the side.

Loki took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second, fighting off his pride. Why was it so hard to just tell you how he felt?! Maybe because all he'd really done for the past few decades was keeping his feelings to himself, if he admitted to having them in the first place. He just wasn't any good at being honest in a nice way anymore. Is that something one could unlearn?

"I'm here because… because you told me to find you here when I needed a break from torturing myself." He finally said in a faintly shaky voice, jaw clenching as he looked at you with everything he didn't know how to say.

"Sit down." You ordered gently and Loki did as he was told, eyes not once leaving yours as he sat down on the edge of your bed in silence. He would do absolutely anything you asked of him and he didn't feel the slightest bit ashamed of it.

"May I try something that might make you feel better?" You asked quietly and with the slightest hint of insecurity, and Loki only managed a nod in return. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

His eyes widened ever so slightly when you moved towards him, closer and closer, and he could feel his body tensing involuntarily. The closest he had gotten to people in a long while was the distance it took to stab them.

So when you very carefully sat down in his lap and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close to you in the most innocent hug, Loki was lost. For a moment he forgot how to breathe, before a second later he wrapped his arms around you very gently at first, then tighter and tighter until you were pressed against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, dwelling in the overwhelming sensation of being so very close to you. Of you allowing him to be so close.

"Why?" He finally managed to ask, not once letting go of you. He might quite possibly never let go of you again, if it that would've been for him to decide.

"Because I like you, Loki." You smiled, playing with the tips of his hair on his back, making him let out an unintentional sigh. "I have from the very first day."

"Why?" He asked again, almost pleading in his tone as he desperately tried to understand.

"Why not? You are absolutely amazing… intelligent, funny, kind…"

"Don't mock me, Y/n…" He breathed, fingers digging into the soft fabric of your shirt. "Even if you might not have known who I was when we met, I'm sure I have given you enough reason by now to believe that I am not a kind person."

"I knew exactly who you are when we met." You replied calmly, resting your head against the crook of his neck, which made Loki's heart flutter almost painfully.

"Then why did you smile at me? If you knew what I was all along… Why did you have to do that to me?"

"Because you deserve kindness, Loki, maybe more than anyone else." You whispered, tightening your grip on him.

"I don't." He replied in the same quiet voice, relishing the feeling of your arms around him, your warmth a comforting blanket and your scent as addicting as anything could be.

"You do. And you are kind indeed, despite your suffering."

"I don't suffer…" He gave back in a tone that didn't even convince himself of his statement.

"I see it in your eyes, you know… in your behavior. In the way you carry yourself. You have suffered more in your lifetime than anyone should even dare to think of." Your voice was so calming that Loki found himself relaxing more and more, deep breaths making his chest rise and fall in unison with yours.

"You deserve better than this, Y/n… I wanted to be someone to you so badly all along, and what did I do? I pushed you away for weeks and proved with every word that I am more monster than man by now." The words came freely from his mind to his lips at last, lifting some of the weight off his heart as he spoke.

"A monster doesn't hope, Loki… A monster doesn't try to be better for someone. A monster doesn't spend nights lying next to me, making the starlight circle the room while explain the mysteries of the universe to me." You lifted your head and pulled back only far enough to be able to look at him in the eye. "I see you, Loki... All of you. The past, the present and the future and I will have all of it."

"You can't possibly see the past, nor the future…" He breathed, staring at you in awe as it slowly dawned on him.

"I can see a great deal of things." You smiled kindly, moving your hands from his shoulders to his neck. "Time is but a mere comma in the story of eternity, really."

"Who are you?" His eyes were fixed on yours, inches away only as he realized that quite possibly the greatest mystery of the entire universe was sitting right in his lap.

"Yours, if you will have me." You replied with an almost flustered smile. "I want to be someone to you too."

"You are. And you were, all along." He returned the smile, honest and hopeful and adoring, watching your expression for a while before he dared to speak up again, in the new found courage of acceptance, maybe even love, that he had been missing over a thousand years. "Y/n… may I be yours?"

"You are. And you were all along."

Without wasting any more commas in the story of eternity, you leaned down, closing the final inches between Loki's lips and your own.

"I may be my rawest self for you to see, but I'm still going to be a nuisance for absolutely everyone else." Loki finally smiled against the soft skin of your neck, placing feathery kisses along your jawline a good while later.

"I expected absolutely nothing less." You replied with the very same smirk. "And I'm very much looking forward to all the mischief yet to come."

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If anyone would like to be added to my general tag list, feel free to tell me in the comments 😊💚💚✨✨ I hope you guys enjoyed this story and I tried really hard to do Loki justice, his perspective is really intriguing yet difficult to write ☺️ tell me what you think!

[buirbaby]

The Wardens: Death Is A Cruel Mistress

Summary:  Tabitha's time had run out on Earth, consumed by flames. When she wakes up in her new hell, she discovers that not only is it cold, but it's a hell of an entirely different meaning. She is in Westeros, with the knowledge to change the tides of future, but without the ability to speak it aloud. Tabitha must carve her path without fame, fortune, or noble titles in order to save characters from their deaths. All she has is a sword in her hand and the ability to warg.

Rating: M+ Mature themes, language, and violence

Masterlist | Next

The end of the work day was like any other. Tabitha was misting a few plants in the lowlight of the fading afternoon as evening encroached on her small storefront. Jingling jovially, the door tinkled open with just five minutes to spare on the clock before she'd lock it. Lifting her head, her fingers listed up toward her glasses to see who had entered. Originally, she had believed it to be a customer in search of a last minute plant or clippings she sometimes arranged into floral bouquets. However, rather than a customer, her stomach dropped to the floor at the cursed visage of a man in a finely pressed suit.

He wasn't there for a plant, she knew this. Just as she knew many others that had been harassing her and a few other remaining shops on Main Street. A new development wanted to take control of this block and turn it into an impressive condo complex on the rustic street that garnered attention from tourists and locals alike. Wiping her hands off on her apron, which was dusted with dirt and pearlite, Tabitha cleared her throat and approached. If he thought there'd be a mousy garden shop owner, he was sorely mistaken. Tabitha's family had own this storefront for generations and she wasn't about to hand it over, not when she'd fixed it up with her own blood, sweat, and tears. She was a successful business woman, the shop was in stellar condition and thriving despite the pause in society due to COVID.

"Can I help you?" she asked sharply, coming around the polished wooden counter to assert her place.

"Yes, is the owner or manager in?"

The fated question, one that made her blood boil each time the casual, yet scathing glance was set over her, as if a woman in her late twenties couldn't be said person. It happened yet again and Tabitha forced herself not to snort in indignation. "I am her," she replied evenly.

"Wonderful," the man drawled, withdrawing a manila folder from underneath his arm. "As you're likely aware, my company is purchasing property in the vicinity. There are a few stores, this one included, that are refusing to sell. I've come with an offer-" he opened the folder, images of the supposed development and work ushered beneath a contract and a hefty sum with quite a few zeroes.

"Then you would be aware that I, like the other few businesses, are still refusing to sell. Listen, this street prides itself on historical shops and architecture. I know that we're prime water view property, but I'm not selling, and I know for certain that my fellow business owners are just as adamant in our position. I don't need the money," Tabitha didn't touch the paper. He could have added more zeroes and she wouldn't have cared. This was principle, her family's lineage, and she wouldn't be a sell out.

"Please, these prices are negotiable. My company is really eager to develop here and keep to the charming architecture on the street. Won't you consider it? You could always reopen in a much larger shop down the road," the man suggested.

"It wouldn't be on Main Street," Tabitha pointed out. "Look, sir, I've got nothing against you, but I don't appreciate being badgered to sell. I will never sell. Your company should either take what they've got or look elsewhere. Now please, I'm just about to close."

"Nothing is going to change your mind, miss?"

"Nothing," Tabitha assured him, closing the folder and sliding it back over toward him.

Escorting the man to the door, he paused to glance at the fire alarm posted near the entrance. It was a bit old, but the pipes had been updated within the last decade. "Old system here," he commented.

"The shop is as humid as a rainforest, I'm not too worried," Tabitha shrugged, opening the door. Perhaps she should have thought about the oddness of the comment more, but she didn't. A lot of things in the shop were old, considering how long the building had been standing. She had put a lot of money into reinforcing the structure and replacing the old with new so that the beautiful piece of history could be continuously preserved. Shutting the door behind him, she locked the glass door and flipped the sign over to ‘closed’.

There were a few chores to finish up around the shop, to include changing out bug sticky tape and sweeping up dirt. After balancing the register, she locked up the cash, and shut the lights off. Through the back of the store, there was a locked door that led to a staircase, revealing a set of stairs that ascended into her apartment that was situated above the shop.

Her head ached, them pestering at least twice a week to sell her home and livelihood just to relocate. That wasn't it. Aside from the principle of it all, she would also have to find a house and a new store. Who knew if she'd be able to buy it outright or what she'd be getting. Then the stress of moving alongside of wondering if her typical clients would follow her elsewhere. No, it was too much and she wouldn't do it, even if she was the last one on the frontier against this condo company. Maybe if she had some family to help her she would've grudgingly considered it, but already she was spread thin between all her work.

A loud meow greeted her as she pushed open the door to her flat and she smiled, the tension of the day slipping away as a fluffy black cat stood on the arm of her couch and beckoned with his tail to be given attention. Letting out another shouting protest, Tabitha chuckled and brushed her palm over the feline's head, the long hair cat pressing into her hand as she raked down his spine. "I know, I know, I kept you up here all day. I'm sorry Balerion. Bad cat mommy," she hung her smock up and bent down to pick the fluffy monster up, the baby curling into her arms like a babe as he mewed in content. "But you know I'm going to make it up to you. Tomorrow we're going on another trip, aren't we? Hollis is gonna take care of the shop while we're gone."

The plan was to head up to Iceland for the hike and climbing trip that Tabitha had been saving for for years. Balerion was her partner on all escapades, a willing participant in hikes and her little buddy even in rockclimbing as he'd be situated in a special backpack where he'd be fully strapped in. Already the feline had been with her to the Amazon, Alaska and Denali, Scotland, the Azores, and Hawaii. He seemed to love the adventure, which was uncommon for cats, especially given the strenuous conditions they were sometimes subjected to. However, even if Tabitha was miserable, Balerion was always kept warm, dry, and safe. She had friends, but Balerion was her soul mate.

"Let's go through our packing list one more time, we don't want to forget anything," she said, reminding herself more than him as she brought him into the bedroom and plopped him down onto the bed. Balerion flopped down, hanging his meaty paws over the edge as she opened her suitcase and hiking pack to double check the supplies. "Now it'll be summer there, so lots of hours of sunlight, but still quite mild. Want to make certain we're warm enough at night. Shouldn't be as bad as Denali though."

After checking the list thrice more and comparing it to what she had laid out, Tabitha decided that the two of them were ready for the journey tomorrow. Dinner was simple to prevent much to clean before the two of them settled in for the evening, a book on her lap as she re-read through one of her favorite series: A Song of Ice and Fire . The place where she'd gotten Balerion's name from. She barely managed more than a chapter, too excited to board the plane at the crack of dawn to Iceland with her furry companion.

Tugging the blanket up, Balerion curled up by her side, Tabitha set her alarm on her phone and tried to get some shut eye. It was difficult at first, the anticipation clawing at her, but eventually she slipped away from reality. Cascading into a dreamless sleep, she was awoken by the worried yowl of her cat, which roused her. Eyes burning, Tabitha turned over in an attempt to grab her phone to check the time. It wasn't often that Balerion made such an awful noise. Usually when he wasn't feeling well and was going to vomit. However, as she turned on the night lamp, she noticed a thick haze permeating the room. Balerion was no longer beside her, but she could hear his crying, loud and insistent.

Smoke. It was smoke.

"Balerion?" The moment she opened her mouth, she drew in a copious amount of smoke and choked on it. Sputtering, she rolled off the bed and crawled, looking for her pet. "Bale, come here baby. Come here!"

She didn't hear the fire alarms going off. If there was any sort of fire, the alarms should have been ringing. Ducking underneath the bed, she found him cowering in the corner, reaching beneath to drag him out toward her. Fire escape. There wasn't time to think about what had caused the fire, nor where it had originated. Her mind was fully in survival mode. This was the second floor and the ceilings were quite high, her best hope would be utilizing the escape to get as close to the ground as she could before dropping down.

Tabitha made it to the window where the escape was, standing up enough to try and glimpse outside, but was horrified by what she found. There was a glass pane to look through, but a curtain of fire as the flames had consumed the exterior of the structure first. She had replaced a good portion of the interior, but the outside was still the same old shingles. Wherever the fire might have started, it had lanced up around the outside, beginning to eat in through the roof before billeting up through the flooring of her apartment. It was possible that the wet atmosphere of her shop cocooned the apartment temporarily, but in the meanwhile the rest of the older parts of the structure went alight.

Panic consumed her as Tabitha dropped back down to the ground and hoped that maybe the nearby fire department would get inside before either of them perished. Keep low to the ground, try not to breathe in the smoke.

Crawling away from the window and doorway, Tabitha slid next to her bookcase, glancing over at the picture frames and the years of her early twenties depicted in photos of her when she'd left the confines of her small town home to embark on a journey in the military. Those years, while she'd complained a lot about them, had helped put a backbone in her and set up a foundation for schooling and regiment. She still enjoyed rucking-or backpacking as the civilians called it, never quite trading in her boots in.

Her eyes fluttered, a soft hoarse cough parting her lips again as Balerion's yowling quieted and she felt exhausted. Perhaps she could hear the fire trucks in the distance, perhaps she couldn't. Tabitha's eyes shut to the sound of a formation marching and a cadence being called.

[capricornus-rex]

A Legacy Begun (2)

Chapter 2: The Wedding | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: After a long time of running and fighting, you and Cal decided to finally settle down after all these years to raise a family. However, it was never a life of peace whilst the shadow of the Empire looms over your heads.

Prompted by Anon: Hiya! Still taking any requests? If so, can you write something about Cal and JediReader finally settle down and have a kid or something.

A/N: Alexa play A Thousand Years by Christina Perri & Steve Kazee ;;;///w///;;;

Also posted in AO3

Additional prompt: My fic idea

Tags: Scruffy! Cal Kestis, Daddy! Cal Kestis, Adult! Cal Kestis, Jedi Family, Jedi Offspring, Force-Sensitive Offspring, Settling Down, Rebel Alliance

Previous: Part 1 | Next: Part 3 | Masterlist

2 of ?

Two days before the big day, Merrin woke up early—perhaps the earliest you’ve seen her up—and she told you to wash up and get dressed. She dragged you along to the town that sat on the valley, a trek away from where the Mantis sat in a forest clearing.

It is clear that she was excited for you and Cal, and wanted to be of help to you in time for your celebration.

“Have you ever attended a wedding, Merrin?”

“I can’t say I have, but that’s what makes me excited—I get to see one for the first time, and it’s yours, no less!”

Her enthusiasm was new to you, normally, when she’s curious about something—beyond the knowledge that she has from living in Dathomir—she would only inquire, question after question until her mind has been sated. But this display of hers was unique—there was a child-like glee in her as she tugged your hand in hers, leading you into the town with the objective of the perfect dress.

“Don’t the Nightsisters and Nightbrothers in Dathomir have a sort of union?”

“We’re not a celebratory kind, [y/n]. Once a Nightsister finds her mate in the Nightbrother village, that is that, apparently,”

“I see,”

The city, known as Reema, was a sizable settlement whose business districts and residential areas mingled together—as well as the peoples that resided there. It was a town abundant in textiles, exotic foods, as well as a sturdy, construction material whose raw state originates from a bluish-green mineral called Zakora found in the planet’s oceans and deeper reefs—giving the citizens’ homes a decorative, mosaic-like effect.

You made it clear that you want everything to be simple yet perfect. Merrin already understood that you were not one for grandeur. There was one street in the business district that had a whole row of stores that sold fabrics and pre-made clothes. Some of the shops had a dress or two displayed behind their glass window; but you two girls skipped most of them since they didn’t fit your taste or they priced the clothes unreasonably… or both.

“I think we’ve swept the entire street in search of your dress, [y/n],”

“It’s okay, there’s no need to rush. We can take a break if you like, Merrin,”

“Of course,” the Nightsister’s eyes trailed over your shoulder. “There’s some shade over there.”

“Perfect! Come on,” you take her hand and bring her along to the bench underneath a tree.

After taking a breather, you and Merrin agreed to have one last sweep before heading home. Hopefully by then, you would have found what to wear before heading back to the Mantis. The two girls walked together through the street, passing by the same shops but stopping to look at the ones you’ve skipped.

Merrin gave a slight tug of your hand when she stopped to see a dress hop that stood out from the rest.

“This looks promising,” the Nightsister commented.

“Come on, no harm in trying,” you added.

Perhaps, it might be the smallest atelier you’ve seen in this street. The person who greeted you was a young woman, you’re under the impression that she was an apprentice seamstress, but upon examining the studio, you realize that she worked alone.

She was startled by the sound of her door chimes ringing upon your entrance, she fumbled about on her work desk and she stomped through piles of fabric that pelted the floor.

“H-Hello,” she stammered shyly, embarrassed by the mess. It seemed that she wasn’t expecting any visitors.

“Hi there,” you warmly greeted.

Merrin looked around the place, “Do you work alone?”

“Yes, m-my name is Milana,”

“Hello, Milana, is it alright with you if we take a look around your shop?”

“Please, by all means, miss,”

You flashed a friendly smile as you thanked her, she managed to repay the gesture and awkwardly leaned against the edge of her worktable. She constantly fiddled with a strip of cut fabric, anxiously watching these two ladies who just entered her shop. The young girl’s head was racked with questions that she answered herself in her mind.

“For what occasion, may I ask?”

“A wedding,” Merrin answered, then bobbed her head to you. “For her.”

The young lady’s eyes lit up, suddenly enthused, and she tried to break out of her awkward demeanor.

“Oh! I have a section specifically for that,” she chirped. “Please, follow me here.”

Her studio had another room, neater and less cluttered than the main space, two racks hugged the walls and another work desk sat by the window of the room—but a dress on the works occupied the table instead of drawings and sketches. She helped you out in deciding the designs by asking you what kind of style you wanted.

“Just something simple, Milana, please. I don’t want to go through puffy skirts and wide sleeves anymore!” you joked.

The young designer had an array of dresses that nearly fitted your taste—pertaining to your preference of straight skirts, slim sleeves, and minimalist designs.

Eventually, after scouring every dress she has out in the racks, Milana spotted you pulling out a particular white dress—its transparent neckline gave the illusion that white leaves, sown and expertly shaped with beads, crawled up to a lady’s bosom, though it lacked sleeves; and the skirt is made out of billowy tulle. You instantly fell in love with it.

“May I?” you smiled.

“Oh, of course, miss!”

Merrin helped you in fastening the back of the dress, minutes later, you come out of the fitting room—which was only a nook covered by drapes—and the two girls gasped upon your appearance. You walked up to the front of the mirror, turning around to get a look of yourself in different angles, you even attempted to do a little twirl so the skirt flared.

“Aww [y/n],” Merrin fawned.

“This is it!” you giggled.

“It’s perfect, Miss [y/n]! Simply immaculate!”

When you announced in the studio room that you’re taking it, the young designer ran towards a closet that sat beside the mirror. She pulled out one of the drawers and produced a small box.

“Originally, when I made that dress, it had to go with this,” she flipped the lid open, revealing a silver headpiece. The designer explains that it should be worn on the back of the head and no particular hairstyle is required for it to be securely worn on the bride’s hair.

While Milana explained, Merrin already knew what to do with your hair on the wedding day. Milana also provided a selection of shoes for you, admitting that you were used to boots for most of your life, you decided to play it safe and chose the cream-colored heels that were only two inches high.

You couldn’t thank the young designer enough, you insisted paying a little extra for her help and she had no other choice but to accept—although she did it with great gratitude and bade well wishes to you for your wedding.

—–

Today’s the day.

You wake up with a rapid heartbeat and clammy palms.

The wedding happens in the afternoon, Cal had found the perfect spot where the ceremony will be held. It was customary that bride and groom don’t meet on the day itself, thus, both of you slept in separate rooms—you slept in the same bunker as Merrin and Cere last night while Cal remained in the original quarters.

For the rest of the day, Merrin and Cere delivered food and drink to you and would allow you to go around the ship—granted that Cal was absent in the Mantis—and this went on until three hours prior to the ceremony.

“How are you feeling, [y/n]?” Cere asked, placing her hand on your shoulder.

“Nervous,” you awkwardly chuckled.

Cal had already got himself cleaned, his red hair slicked back while his growing stubble remained undisturbed, and donned his crisp black ensemble piece by piece: starting off with a long-sleeved tunic over a short, black leather vest, and finishing it off with black pants and boots.

“How do I look, BD?”

“Beee! Trill, chirp!”

“Yeah? Thanks, buddy,” he chuckled. “Well, here goes.”

He marched out of his quarters, passing by the bathroom door and heard the water running, he heard you humming and giggling in between the song. He smiled to himself and imagined what you’d look like when you come marching towards him.

You finished washing yourself, returned to the shared room and Merrin delivered your entire outfit. The Nightsister assisted you once again in fitting the dress, only now did you realize that the dressed emphasized your curves, you put the shoes on while seated and she began working on your hair. Merrin’s slender fingers created an elaborate braid that crowned the back of your head, she secretly used a little bit of her magick to make sultry waves on the remaining length of your hair, and for the finishing touch, the crown of silver leaves nestled above the braid. You also splurged on some makeup for this day: you drew winged lines on your eyelids, painted your lips to a soft pink, and brushed your cheeks with powder and blush.

“There, you’re ready,” Cere cooed, examining you from head to toe and resting her fingers underneath your chin.

Merrin stood by Cere’s side to take a look at you as well, she smiled, triumphant and proud of her masterpiece on the bride.

“You’re so beautiful, [y/n], the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen,” the Nightsister fawned.

"Thank you so much," you squeaked, grateful of the help you've received from the two ladies.

“We’ll see you there, okay?”

“Okay, Cere,” you breathed.

They embraced you and kissed your cheek one by one before leaving the room. Five minutes later, you finally walk out of the ship. Your bouquet of flowers rested on the lounge table. The entry ramp was left open and you take the deepest breath you’ve ever taken in your life.

“Here it goes, [y/n],”

You take the first step out of the ship, you were so nervous at the moment that you could feel your footing unstable—even though you practiced walking on the ramp with the shoes on for a whole day—but you managed to get to flat ground. You were surprised to find one of the male partisans back in Kashyyyk. It was a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one. He was to deliver you to the aisle, to your husband-to-be.

“Cere said it was a surprise,” the partisan added.

You gripped your bouquet and continued your march with the partisan guiding you, following the path showered with flower petals of all colors.

Cal stood by the lake, awaiting for your entrance; Merrin, BD-1, Greez, and the rest of the witnesses stood at the side of the path waiting for you as well. When a splash of white caught Cal’s eye, and you appeared in the arch that the trees formed, he almost stopped breathing. His heart leapt at the sight of you—dressed like a demure goddess, the length of your hair spilled over your shoulders, and your face naturally glowed with the sunset as you smiled while walking the aisle.

“Wow…” he gasped.

Cal found you more beautiful than the sunset behind him. Your eyes spanned across the lake’s clearing and found some familiar faces like Mari Kosan and a few partisans you’ve personally befriended. In the gradually shrinking distance, you and Cal traded shy smiles. It felt like your legs were moving on their own, but you didn’t resist them. You knew that you were walking into a newfound life to share with the man you love.

His tears instantly welled up and he had little to no time to fight them back, and then his heart pounded faster and faster for every step you took. You finally stood a mere inch away from him. He bit his lip as he smiled, you caressed his cheek and then a single teardrop escaped his eye.

“Darling…” you whispered, running your thumb across his cheek to wipe away the tear.

He offered you his arm and you linked it with yours. The both of you turned to face Cere who presided the ceremony.

“Here I stand before two individuals, whose bond was forged, grown, and then strengthened by time and by the Force. They have willed to nurture that bond through this ceremony of marriage and for the times to come,”

Cal couldn’t help but steal a glance at you, the gesture was returned when you turned to smile back at him as Cere stated her opening remarks.

“May the words of their vows express their unbreakable connection that run as deep as the Force itself.” She cued.

The bride and groom faced each other.

Cal reached for your hand and you willingly took it as he recited his vows.

“Lo, behold my Maiden, for she will cast away my fears that reside in the Dark. She is my torch that will lead me away from the shadows of doubt, to whom I will forever hold on to. To you, [y/n], my beloved wife, I commend my heart, life, and soul—all this as the Force wills it.”

Next, you reached for his free hand to which he gladly took as you said your vows.

“Lo, behold my Knight, for he will combat the haunts of the Dark. My shield to conceal me from the evils, to whom I will always find shelter in thy arms. To you, Cal, my husband, I commend my life, heart, and my soul—all this as the Force wills it.”

Finally, Cere took a step back and ignited what used to be Trilla’s lightsaber—instead of a bright red beam, a blade as white as bleach emerged from the hilt—and she instructed both of you to kneel.

“By the will of the Force, I dub thee, [y/n] Kestis—wife of Cal Kestis.” She hovered the saber above your shoulders and then concluded her dubbing by hovering the blade over your head.

She then repeats the gesture when it was Cal’s turn, “By the will of the Force, I dub thee, Cal Kestis—husband of [y/n] Kestis. All this as the Force wills it, and so shall it be for your joined days until the end.”

After her oration, you and your husband stood up.

“You may kiss the bride.” Cere declared.

Cal cupped your cheeks, pulled you in for the sweetest, most tender kiss of your life, his stubble tickled your face but you didn’t care; you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against him as you smiled in between kisses, and applause and cheers filled the forest. When he pulled away, your new husband snuck another kiss on the tip of your nose, warranting a tiny chuckle from you.

“I love you,” he whispered to you.

“I love you too,”

The wedding was immediately followed by a banquet celebration courtesy of Greez. The Lateron really cooked up a storm when he served the slow-cooked Nerf roast to the table, a Jogan berry cheesecake, and Phillak steaks. Pouring two glasses of wine, the newlyweds linked arms with glasses in their hands.

“Bottoms up!” you and Cal said in unison as you drank the wine from each other’s glasses, chugging down the slightly strong liquor and fighting off the bitter taste.

Your guests laughed and applauded once both of you finished your wine. Evening had washed over Cerinda, the moonlight’s reflection rippled in the lake and fireflies dotted the space like starlight while you and Cal perform your first dance as husband and wife.

“To the newlyweds!” Mari Kosan proposed a toast, raising her glass and everyone followed suit.

They lightly tapped their glasses, urging the two of you to kiss, Cal was the first to cave in. When he spun you in his hand, he pulled you in closer to him so that his lips meet yours once more. Applause filled your ears once again, both of you could feel each other smiling in the middle of the kiss.

Your fingers raked his hair and then your hand trailed to his jaw, the prickly hairs of his stubble brushed roughly against your nails.

“This is the best day of my life,” Cal cooed.

“Here’s to forever?”

“Forever and ever, my wife, until the galaxy ends.”

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

Why did you draw Cody getting shot? That’s messed up man. You should probably see a therapist for this.

Okay, so sometime in the early 2000s I was reading an issue of Nickelodeon Magazine that had a section dedicated to obscure superheroes from the 1970s. One was a disco skater, one was a weasel themed hero I think called the whizzer (I remember they made a pee joke), and one was a hero called Matter Eater Lad who was a lad who could eat matter. I thought that was a dumb name, but I was intrigued by the power to be able to eat anything; there was also an alien on the cartoon Ben 10 with the same power, a little chameleon gummy bear looking guy called Upchuck who could grab things with his tongue and digest them no matter the size (his stomach was bigger on the inside). Well, being a little plagiarist I decided to come up with my own superhero with the exact same powers as Matter Eater Lad and Upchuck. I had an entire cast of stick figure characters I drew comics of, so I was going to introduce The Digester in the next "issue," which was just a bunch of squares drawn on sheets of lined notebook paper. I didn't know what an origin story was, I just thought the origin was what you called issue 1 whether you explained the powers or not, so his "origin issue" began with him stopping a bank robbery; the robber shot at him, he dodged the bullets, then snatched the gun with his lizard tongue and ate it.

My teacher didn't like that AT ALL.

I got sent to the front office, and the assistant principal interrogated me for half an hour. She kept talking into a walkie talkie she had clipped to her belt, so I thought I was in DEEP dog shit. I was scared out of my mind! She was accusing me of threatening other students, of planning to bring a gun to school, of being a danger to myself and others. I thought I was gonna be expelled or jailed or something. Choking back tears, my little 10 year old self had to try and explain that it was a bank robber shooting at a superhero, not me shooting at another student. I explained the plot I had planned out (I only managed to finish one page before they took it from me), and that he was eating the gun, not committing suicide by putting it in his mouth. It was benign, there were more violent visuals on cartoons they let us watch, and my drawings were literally faceless stick figures. They just wanted to make an example of me in front of the rest of the class. I was escorted to the office by the school's police officer, so everyone thought I was being arrested, which made them think I was guilty of everything the teacher accused me of. You don't make a lot of friends when you're arrested for threatening to kill people. Cody, the kid who brought knives and an unloaded gun to school, he never got this sort of treatment. He was a little bucktoothed varmint, the kind of kid who you wouldn't be surprised to learn tortured animals (I don't know if he did, but he looked and acted like he would). He's also the first person to introduce me to the song Last Resort by Papa Roach. He liked to sing it, especially on field trips, "cut my life into pieces, this is my last resort, suffocating, no breathing, don't give a fuck if I cut my arm bleeding." He thought the F-word was funny, and liked to make suicide jokes, pretending to slit his wrists as he sang the song. I never learned what happened to him, he just didn't show up when fifth grade started. Don't know if he was expelled or if he moved or what, didn't know, didn't care, wasn't his friend, didn't like him, forgot about him until I was old enough to learn about school shootings in the news, probably high school or college aged, and realized that we dodged a bullet (no pun intended)

Cody was the kid who needed therapy. I just wanted to draw a comic book.