#or perhaps i simply jinxed it or wished it into being???

[maliciouslove]

when the dishwasher breaks so you have to do dishes by hand at work for over 40minutes

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Until I Found You [1]

Pairing: prince!Yeosang x princess!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: It had been a while since Lady Park's firm rejection, and the fourth prince was beginning to believe he would never get over her. Though the heartbreak had made him more mature, one thing remained unchanged: his stubborn reluctance to marry. Convinced he would never find someone who could understand his pain as deeply as the general's wife, he was unprepared for the surprise life had in store for him—one that came in the form of a foreign princess.

A/N: As stated in the title, this is a spinoff. If you have yet to check out the main story, it's probably better to read that before starting this.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 2

"A peace treaty with Joseon? What do you think Father is going to offer them?" you wondered aloud, staring at your reflection in the ornate gold mirror as your mother gently combed your hair.

She sighed, her face filled with dread. "What else do you think, my dear? Another daughter, obviously. Lord have mercy on whichever poor soul has to be sacrificed."

Your fists clenched involuntarily, clutching the fabric of your robes at the thought. You couldn't imagine the horror: what if it was you? To be torn from your family, everyone you loved, everything you knew, and sent off to a foreign land to marry a complete stranger and live the rest of your life in isolation. "Mother, this is cruelty."

"This is reality, sweetheart."

You winced at her words. She was right, and you hated it. The mere thought of being separated from your mother, Royal Concubine Sarisu of Ruhon, was beyond unbearable. You were all she had, and she was everything to you.

Reaching for her hands, you squeezed them and smiled sadly up at her. Once, she had been the most favoured concubine, steadily climbing the ranks, poised to take the spot beside the then-empty throne. But then the current Her Majesty arrived. With her strong family ties and influential background, she immediately stole away all your mother's chances of ever becoming Queen.

But that wasn't all she stole.

She took everything, including all your father's affections, leaving him with no room for your mother or you. Since then, the two of you had been reduced to mere decorations in the grand palace of Ruhon, often labelled the rejects of His Majesty. You were invisible to him, merely waiting for the end of your days to come.

Neither of you were fools; you knew what people said about you both. But it didn't matter. You were grateful not to be starving on the streets and to still have a roof over your heads, even if it was nowhere near as luxurious as the Queen and her children's chambers. No matter how much favour your mother had lost, at least the King was still kind enough to let you both keep your titles and everything else.

Or was he really?

Perhaps you shouldn't have spoken about it. Now, you had jinxed it. You should have known, should have realised why he had kept you around. You had your own uses and were finally coming in handy now. The realisation struck when a eunuch rushed into your chambers, which was an unusual occurrence, bowing lightly—nothing like the deep bows usually reserved for other royals.

"Princess Sarisu, you have been summoned by His Majesty the King and are expected in the throne room this instant," he announced, gesturing towards the exit. "Please allow me to escort you there."

He let out a small, impatient huff when you remained frozen in your spot, exchanging horrified looks with your mother. "Come now, Your Highness. We mustn't upset His Majesty any further."

She cleared her throat, nodding encouragingly despite her trembling hands. "Go on, my dear. I'm sure it's nothing, hm? Maybe your father simply wishes to catch up." Not wanting her to worry, you forced a smile. "Yes, Mother. You're probably right."

You weren't sure who you were trying to convince with those foolish white lies, but a part of you clung to the hope that was all it was. With that, you followed the eunuch towards the throne room.

The palace corridors seemed colder, the shadows darker, as you walked. Each step echoed ominously, amplifying the anxiety churning in your stomach. You could feel the eyes of courtiers and servants on you, their whispers adding to the tension.

Finally, you reached the grand doors of the throne room. They loomed before you, heavy and imposing. The eunuch pushed them open, revealing the vast chamber within. At the far end, on the elevated throne, sat your father, the King. His expression was stern, his gaze piercing as it settled on you.

"Approach," he commanded, his voice resonating through the hall.

You walked forward, your heart pounding in your chest. As you neared the throne, you dropped to your knees, bowing deeply. "This princess greets Your Majesty," you greeted, your voice trembling despite your efforts to remain composed.

Your father studied you for a moment before speaking, "I hope you have been well, princess. I will not bother beating around the bush; you are at the perfect age for marriage, and it is time you fulfil your duty. The peace treaty with Joseon has been finalised. It has been decided that you are to be sent as part of the agreement. We leave in a week to celebrate your future union with Ninth Prince Yeochan."

The words struck you like a blow. Your worst fears had come true. You were to be sacrificed for the sake of the kingdom, sent away to a foreign land to marry a stranger. Your mind raced, struggling to process the reality of your fate.

Oh god, it's really happening... to me.

"Father, please..." you began, but he raised a hand, silencing you.

"Look at me, princess. This is not a question, it's an order," he commanded, his gaze steely and unyielding despite your tear-filled eyes. You were bewildered; you were merely the daughter of a concubine. It was usually only princesses born from the Queen who had to marry for the nation's sake.

"But Father—" you fell to your knees, prepared to beg for mercy.

He snarled, "No buts! Your sisters are too young for this. Her Majesty and I have deliberated long and hard. You're the only one fit for the task. You'll do well to make your mother proud. I know you're upset about leaving her behind, but you're a princess, and you know what that means. Your sacrifice will save Ruhon…"

Yes, from your reckless decisions.

If only he hadn't rashly launched a sudden attack on Joseon, none of this would have happened. Peace would have prevailed, and you wouldn't have to be offered as a pawn in the war he instigated. You weren't stupid; he was giving you up because this was a deal with the enemy. The Queen's daughters were too precious to be sent away.

"Oh, come now, my daughter. Just be grateful you aren't marrying the dreadful fourth prince of Joseon. I'm sure their ruler still has some conscience. You'll be fine."

Easy for you to say, Father...

One week. That was all the time you were given to come to terms with your fate—to be the chosen pawn sent to Joseon, to spend these final days with your mother before departing forever. Reality wasn't cruel; your father was. You had never harboured such profound hatred for him as you did now. Oh, your poor mother. How would she endure the emptiness of the palace alone? Your heart ached with the mere thought of her grieving in the cold confines of your shared chambers, her life overshadowed by your absence.

Though you faced a grim future, perhaps far worse than hers, all you could think about was the one person who meant everything to you—the one who had brought you into this world, nurtured you, protected you, and showered you with endless love. And now, you were leaving her behind forever.

The days blurred together in a haze of sorrow and apprehension. You clung to your mother, finding solace in shared memories and whispered reassurances. The palace, once your sanctuary, now felt like a gaol, each room a reminder of the departure that loomed ahead.

On the final night, she held you tightly, her voice trembling with unshed tears. "You are strong, my dear. Remember that. No matter what happens, hold on to who you are. Go and make us all proud."

You nodded, tears mingling with hers. "I will, Mother. I promise. Don't worry about me and take good care of yourself."

The next morning arrived far too soon. As you prepared to leave, you took a last, lingering look around your chamber, memorising every detail. Then, with a heavy heart, you followed the royal guard sent to escort you. Walking through the palace corridors for the final time, the weight of your destiny pressed heavily upon you.

At last, you reached the courtyard where the grand carriage awaited. Your father stood beside it, his face a mask of indifference. He offered no words as you approached, only a curt nod. "Come, let us go."

With one final, sorrowful glance at your mother, you climbed into the carriage. As it began to move, you watched her silhouette grow smaller and smaller until she was nothing more than a distant memory.

Thus, you set off towards an uncertain future, your heart heavy with grief and dread, knowing you were leaving behind everything you had ever known and loved.

Goodbye, Ruhon... goodbye, Mother.

"Your Highness, how should we announce you at the banquet?" the King of Joseon asked, smiling warmly down at you.

Your father straightened up proudly beside you, about to answer on your behalf, but you quickly bowed. "Please announce me as Princess Sarisu, Your Majesty, as I have always been known in Ruhon."

The Joseon ruler's eyes widened slightly at the realisation. "Ah, so this is the famous Royal Concubine Sarisu's only daughter. That explains your exceptional beauty. And here, we assumed a princess from Her Majesty of Ruhon would be offered to us." It was a subtle jab at your father, who had thought he could deceive the court by presenting you as a Crown Princess.

Your father's smile was steely, masking the fury that boiled inside him. He trembled with anger at your betrayal—exposing your true identity by using your mother's name, despite his stern reminder that you were to pose as one of the Queen's daughters.

Call it your little revenge if you will.

"No matter, Father. I consider myself fortunate to be matched with such a beauty. After all, I, too, am a son of a concubine. We are quite the match," said Prince Yeochan, your betrothed, as he bowed respectfully to his father and yours. His words might charm most, but you doubted their sincerity. Living in a palace, you had seen your share of false pleasantries and performative kindness.

The King of Joseon nodded approvingly. "As you should be, Ninth Prince. I expect you to treat your future wife well. Now let us adults discuss the wedding plans. You may show your fiancée to her temporary quarters."

"Yes, Father," the young prince responded, then approached you, offering his arm. "Come, my princess."

Despite the grandeur of your reception, it was clear that the welcome was more for show than genuine warmth. This became evident when you arrived at your assigned quarters, a small and secluded part of the palace, far from the bustling main areas where the rest of the royal family and court members congregated.

"Thank you, Your Highness, for showing me here," you said politely.

At that moment, the facade of the dutiful son vanished. Yeochan smirked humourlessly. "Save it. It doesn't matter if you're the daughter of a concubine or the Queen; you're still Ruhon scum to me. Don't think that just because you're here showing me your faux politeness, you can fool me. I don't trust you, princess," he spat.

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. There it was, his true nature revealed. Not that you hadn't anticipated this. Given the history between your nations, it was inevitable. You were the princess from the country that had dared to attack his own, a symbol of betrayal and defeat, delivered to their doorstep after your father's cowardly surrender. You could have argued, defended yourself, but it was clear there was no point. His hatred was deep-rooted and unwavering.

The ninth prince huffed at your silence. "I'll make this clear: you will do well to cooperate and play the perfect couple with me in public. But do not expect anything when we're alone. You are nothing more than a political pawn in this game. Remember that."

You met his gaze, your own eyes steady and resolute. "I understand, Your Highness. I will fulfil my duty as expected."

He sneered, turning on his heel and leaving you alone in your sparse quarters. As the door closed behind him, the reality of your situation settled over you like a heavy shroud. The grandeur of the palace felt hollow, a gilded cage in which you were now imprisoned.

Tears threatened to spill, but you blinked them back, refusing to succumb to despair. You had to be strong, for your mother, for yourself. No matter how cold and unwelcoming this place was, you would endure. You had no other choice.

I'll be fine, Mother... I'll live.

The rest of the day had been spent wandering aimlessly within your quarters. The thought of dining with your father was unbearable; after the stunt you had pulled earlier, you dreaded to think what he might say or do. So, you remained secluded in your room, staring at the miserable meal the palace maids had brought you.

Their reluctance to serve you had been apparent. A few bolder ones had whispered about you not so discreetly, their words cutting through the fragile composure you were trying to maintain. Feeling the tension and disdain in the air, you had dismissed them, preferring solitude over their barely concealed contempt.

Staring at the plain bowl of rice and a few meagre side dishes, your appetite vanished. You knew enough about Joseon to recognise that this meal was far from a luxury. It was a clear message: you were not welcome here, not valued, not respected.

Heaving a deep sigh, you thought of your poor mother. How was she coping with your absence? Was she as lonely and lost as you felt in this foreign place? The ache of missing her was a constant, gnawing pain, a reminder of everything you had been forced to leave behind.

As night fell, the shadows in your room grew longer, mirroring the gloom that settled over your heart. The palace, with all its splendour, felt like a prison. The heavy silence pressed down on you, amplifying the sense of isolation. You were a stranger in an enemy land, alone and uncertain of the future.

But you knew you had to endure.

For your mother, for your people, and most importantly, for yourself. No matter how bleak the present seemed, you clung to a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, in time, you would find a way to navigate this treacherous path and carve out a place for yourself in this unforgiving world. Until then, all you could do was survive, one day at a time.

You had gone to bed with a heavy heart, fully aware that this was now your reality, and nothing could change it. A part of you was determined to make the best of your situation despite the hostility you faced. Perhaps it was the adrenaline and emotional exhaustion from the day that allowed you to fall asleep without much trouble on your first night in this foreign land.

The following morning, you were awakened by the same group of maids assigned to you. They were there to bathe and dress you, and knowing you had no choice but to comply, you obediently allowed them to do as they pleased. You endured every harsh tug and rough handling without a single complaint as they prepared you for the day.

"Thank you, you may go," you said, dismissing the group of maids as soon as they had finished their task. Sitting in front of the mirror, you took in your new appearance. It was a sobering reminder that you were about to be a princess of Joseon. The foreign hanbok and hairdo, though simpler and less dramatic than Ruhon's style, were beautiful in their own right.

You reached a hand behind to stroke the single gold hairpin tucked into the neat low bun on your head, then moved down to touch the smooth lavender fabric now adorning your body. "Hmm, not bad at all," you murmured to yourself.

Despite the simplicity, there was a quiet elegance to the attire. The colours were soft and soothing, a stark contrast to the vibrant and intricate garments you were accustomed to. You could see yourself getting used to these outfits. This was your new reality, and you were determined to find beauty and strength in it, no matter how challenging the circumstances.

With a deep breath, you rose from your seat and steeled yourself for the day ahead. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you resolved to face whatever came your way with grace and resilience. Knowing that no one, especially not your fiancé, would show you around the palace grounds, you resolved to explore the place on your own. With the banquet scheduled for the next night, you had this day to yourself. What better way to spend it than embarking on a little adventure?

Finally free from the pressure and the sensation of walking on eggshells, you wandered the palace grounds with awe. The buildings and their architecture were new and different, capturing your attention at every turn. You nodded politely at any passing palace staff who, despite their reluctance or displeasure, still greeted you with courtesy. Your attire signified your status, and rules were rules; they couldn't possibly ignore you in broad daylight.

Amid your exploration, you stumbled upon what seemed to be a tranquil cherry blossom garden. Though the flowers were not in bloom, you could imagine how breathtaking this place would be in the right season. You made a mental note to return when the cherry blossoms were in full glory.

Deciding to take a walk inside, you were unprepared for the sight that greeted you. In one of the many pavilions, diligently practising calligraphy, was a figure that resembled a celestial being. The scene was almost ethereal: the serene garden, the elegant strokes of the brush, the calm concentration on the person's face.

Could he be a scholar...?

Your breath caught in your throat. The figure was dressed in simple yet refined garments. The rhythmic movements of the brush were mesmerising, each stroke deliberate and graceful. You couldn't help but feel as though you were intruding upon a sacred moment. But you couldn't turn away as you moved closer, recognising the poem being written.

"Is that Hwaseoljedeungnubu by Shin Sukju?" you asked softly.

At your question, the person's head whipped up. It took him a moment to respond, but he did eventually. "Yes, it is."

You nodded in approval, a small smile on your lips, pleased that he had yet to frown or react negatively as most people had so far. "Nice penmanship, by the way."

He cleared his throat, slightly flustered. "Thank you."

To say that Yeosang was surprised would be the understatement of the century. Only the most highly educated individuals could recognise this series of poems exchanged between Joseon officials and Ming Dynasty envoys. He wouldn't have been surprised if even most low-ranking officials were not well-versed in this.

First of all, you were a woman, and most women, despite being educated, did not study these texts. Secondly, you were clearly not local; your accent gave that away. Were you perhaps a visiting guest here for the banquet celebrating the union with Ruhon?

But above all else, did you... not know who he was? Even if you didn't, most people turned away as soon as they spotted the dreadful red mark beside his left eye, which was not hard to miss.

When you bit your lip earnestly and stepped into the pavilion, asking, "Do you mind if I join you?" The fourth prince furrowed his brows and placed down his brush, lifting his head to look at you properly, giving you a clear view of his birthmark.

"Are you certain, my lady? Why would you want to sit with me?"

You blinked, confused by the question. "I-I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I don't understand—"

He sighed, pointing at the mark on his face. "Do you not see this?"

You nodded slowly, still lost. "Yes, and?"

His brows flew up at your nonchalant response, and he took a deep gulp. "What—are you not disgusted?"

You frowned. "That's a strong word, but... am I supposed to be? By what exactly?"

He finally gave in, taking a moment to process the fact that standing before him was someone who did not see anything wrong with him—the second person to do so after Lady Park. He motioned to the seat opposite him. "Please, have a seat."

You smiled gratefully and settled across from him. He waited for you to be seated before beginning his introduction. "I apologise for my unusual questions. I… I'm Yeosang, the Fourth Prince of Joseon."

He held his breath as your eyes widened in realisation, bracing himself for the rejection he was so accustomed to. But it didn't come. Instead, your lips formed a small pout as you observed him. "So, you're the famous Fourth Prince Yeosang… I don't get it."

He chuckled in bewilderment. "What don't you get, my lady?"

"Why do they call you dreadful? I've only been here for a day and a half, met a handful of people, and you're the first and only one to treat me with equal respect. Besides, you're… very attractive. I don't understand why they'd call you—" Your eyes landed on the birthmark. "Ah, so that's why…"

He nodded solemnly, trying not to show how much it affected him. "Yes, all because of this one stupid mark."

You pursed your lips. "Well, if it's worth anything, I think you're beautiful. People can be cruel for no reason. Trust me, I know."

For the first time in forever, the fourth prince broke into a genuine grin. "Thank you, I… I think you're beautiful too."

You grew shy at that, and wanting to break the ice, Yeosang picked up his brush, handing it to you. "Now, you must tell me how you know about Shin Sukju and his poems. Also, which is your favourite?"

For the remainder of the afternoon, he refrained from asking about your identity, and you were grateful for it. You feared he might distance himself if he learned of your betrothal to his brother, and the thought unsettled you. After all, finding a genuine friend was rare and precious, and you wished to cherish this fleeting moment of sincerity. You knew that by the next day, at the banquet, everyone, including Yeosang, would eventually discover who you truly were.

But you pushed that worry from your mind.

Just for now...

Your time together was cut short when the prince had classes to attend and could no longer stay. As he packed up his things and prepared to leave the pavilion, he turned to you. "Will you be at the banquet tomorrow?"

You swallowed and nodded, offering a small smile. "Yes, I'll be there."

His face lit up with a beaming smile. "Great! I’ll see you there, my lady."

You rose from your seat and bowed. "See you, Your Highness."

Once Yeosang had departed, you sank back into your seat, lost in contemplation. So this was the prince your father had told you you were fortunate not to be wed to? Of course, you knew that if you had been matched with him, he might not have been as courteous as he had been today. Before arriving in Joseon, you had heard nothing but unflattering remarks about him. He was rumoured to be a rebellious brat, the least appealing prince among his brothers.

Yet, meeting him in person, you found the reality strikingly different.

Sure, the rebellious reputation might have some truth, but people can change. As for the claim of his being unappealing, you couldn't fathom how a mere birthmark could diminish his allure. In your eyes, Yeosang was extraordinarily handsome, and the mark only seemed to enhance his unique charm.

Could it be that you were developing a small crush on your soon-to-be brother-in-law? Maybe so, but who could blame you? His kindness, coupled with his striking appearance, made it nearly impossible not to feel some affection. Perhaps it was this harmless little infatuation that provided a semblance of comfort and sanity amidst the turmoil of your new life.

You allowed yourself a small, wistful smile. For now, you would hold on to this tender feeling, as it was one of the few bright spots in the otherwise daunting reality you faced.

Heh, a silly little crush wouldn't hurt.

After the royal tutor had left, the fourth prince found himself alone in the library, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as he gazed at the parchment before him. Your handwriting, delicate yet confident, adorned the page. He was thoroughly impressed by your breadth of knowledge, especially given that you were a foreigner. You had shared with him your passion for the liberal arts and how you had delved into them in your home library. It was refreshing to meet someone so genuinely curious and non-judgmental. You were a rare find in a world often quick to judge and dismiss.

His anticipation for the banquet grew, eager to continue your intellectual exchange and perhaps learn even more from you. This fleeting joy, however, was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"You seem to be in high spirits, my prince. Could it be because of the banquet? You've heard the news, haven't you?" Royal Secretary Choi's voice interrupted his thoughts. As he looked up, his smile faltered slightly upon meeting the secretary's inquisitive gaze.

"Heard? About what?" Yeosang inquired, his brows knitting together.

"Wait… you haven't? General and Lady Park will be attending. Last time we spoke, you mentioned wanting to see her, didn't you?" San replied, his tone laced with curiosity.

The mention of Lady Park swiftly altered his mood. Thoughts of your newfound friendship evaporated, overshadowed by the grim realisation. Although he had reconciled with the fact that she would never be his, the prospect of seeing her again—now pregnant and with her husband—was a painful reminder of his loss. The thought of facing them, of witnessing their happiness, stirred a deep unease within him. Was he truly prepared for this?

"I see. Thank you for the information, Secretary Choi. I'll see you at the banquet tomorrow," Yeosang said, gathering his belongings and leaving for his chambers. He needed solitude to grapple with the revelation and to ready himself for the emotional challenge ahead.

"We'd like to extend our gratitude to all distinguished guests here today to celebrate the union between Joseon and Ruhon. May I present to you the match that will make all of this possible: our very own Ninth Prince Yeochan and the beautiful Princess Sarisu of Ruhon. Their Highnesses will be officially wed in a month. Now, let us all use this opportunity to congratulate the new couple on their impending marriage and wish them an eternity of happiness," the King of Joseon announced.

Oh. There she is.

Yeosang blinked. There you were, standing before the assembled guests. Indeed, you were present. And, of course, you were the Ruhon princess sacrificed for the peace treaty. The puzzle pieces began to fit together. That explained your knowledge and undeniable class—qualities far beyond those of any mere noblewoman. He supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised.

As if on cue, you turned and met his gaze. Your eyes widened slightly upon seeing him, your expression turning guilty. You opened your mouth, ready to mouth an apology, but before you had the chance, a tap on his shoulder quickly shifted his attention.

Likewise, your fiancé cleared his throat, sensing your distraction. He murmured in your ear, "Focus, princess. Don't you dare embarrass me." You blinked and nodded. While people on the outside might coo and assume the Ninth Prince was a loving fiancé, only you know the reality behind his facade.

"There you are, my prince!" the royal secretary called out. "The general and his wife are just over there," he informed, nodding toward the area where the couple could be seen. Seonghwa was deep in conversation with his handpicked military strategist, General Officer Song, while his wife was engaged in a chat with one of the royal physicians nearby.

Yeosang's breath hitched as soon as his eyes landed on the pregnant woman. In an instant, all thoughts of you and the revelation of your identity as the foreign princess meant to marry his brother vanished. All he could see and think about was the general's wife. It was the first time he had seen her since her wedding with General Park, and she looked… beautiful, as always. In fact, she seemed even more beautiful now, glowing with the radiance of motherhood.

Oh god, he realised he was still far from getting over her. Would he ever get over her? He didn't know, but for now, just for now, he needed to talk to her.

Taking a deep breath, he started toward her, his heart pounding with every step. As he approached, her laughter reached his ears, a sound that once brought him immense joy and now brought a bittersweet ache. It took her a moment to notice him, needing the royal physician she was speaking with to signal his presence. Her eyes widened in surprise when she turned to see him, starting to bow, but he stopped her before she could do so.

"It's been a while, my lady. Would you... care to catch up?" he asked.

She bit her lip, turning to meet her husband's warm gaze. The general nodded, indicating the decision was hers. Turning back to face the prince, she beamed. "Of course, Your Highness. Shall we talk over some snacks? Pregnancy cravings, you know," she joked, and he agreed, guiding her to the refreshments table.

"So, how have you been?" Yeosang asked, his voice laced with a mix of hope and sorrow.

"I've been well, thank you," she responded, her hand instinctively moving to rest on her belly. "And you? How have you been?"

He hesitated, searching for the right words. "I've been… managing. It's good to see you looking so well."

She smiled again, a hint of sadness in her eyes. "It's good to see you too, Your Highness. I heard you've been doing well with your studies and your duties."

The fourth prince nodded, unable to tear his gaze away from her. "Yes, I've been keeping busy." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I just wanted to say… congratulations. You look radiant."

"Thank you," she said softly, her smile genuine. "It means a lot coming from you."

He gulped, pausing briefly before meeting her eyes. "You are happy, aren't you? The general... he's treating you well, yes?" He knew that San had already assured him of this once, but he needed to hear it from her to be fully convinced, to properly let go.

The lady softened and nodded. "I am, my friend. I feel like the happiest woman on earth. I assure you, you don't have to worry about me. And yes, my husband is very good to me. I promise you, I'm telling the truth," she added with a hint of jest.

"That's good. That's all that matters to me, my lady. Promise me you'll invite me over once the baby's born," the fourth prince said, despite the light ache in his chest.

"Of course, Your Highness! You'll be the first I'll invite!" she replied, laughing warmly.

The two exchanged a few more words, their conversation unknowingly catching most people's eyes in the hall, given their well-known history. For those craving drama, it was slightly anticlimactic to see the two get along so well. While the King and Queen exchanged proud smiles, the ninth prince was less than pleased, again overshadowed by his elder brother. Even on his special day, Yeosang managed to steal the spotlight.

The fourth prince sensed all eyes on him, growing slightly self-conscious. He wasn't clueless; he hadn't been naive enough to ignore that his failed attempt to win General Park's wife had been the talk of the palace. People weren't scrutinising him merely for his birthmark and rebellious tendencies anymore, but also for his brave yet foolish pursuit of a taken woman—one who belonged to one of the most intimidating and feared individuals in all of Joseon.

Knowing it was time to make himself scarce, he took one last, long look at the lady he still held feelings for, reminding himself it was time to truly let go. She was happy, with child, about to build a family with her husband. It was wrong for him to still feel this way.

"I wish you happiness, my lady. May you have a safe delivery, and I look forward to meeting your mini you," he said, his voice tinged with genuine warmth and a lingering sorrow.

She giggled softly, nodding. "Thank you, my prince. I wish you all the happiness in the world as well."

With that, Yeosang finally bid the lady goodbye, not forgetting to shoot the general a grateful nod before making his way out of the hall. He needed somewhere quiet to organise his thoughts and emotions. As he walked away, the murmurs and whispers of the court followed him, a stark reminder of the weight of his actions and the expectations placed upon him.

Reaching a secluded garden within the palace grounds, now adorned with lanterns hanging from the trees as part of the celebration, he allowed himself to breathe deeply, the cool night air filling his lungs. The moonlight cast gentle shadows, and the lanterns emitted a soft glow, while the distant sounds of the banquet faded into the background. Alone with his thoughts, he closed his eyes, letting the reality of the situation wash over him.

He had seen her happiness, her radiant glow as an expectant mother, and it brought him a strange sense of peace. It was time to move forward, to let go of the past, and to find his own path to happiness.

Taking one last deep breath, he straightened up, a newfound resolve settling within him. It was time to face the future, whatever it might hold, with a heart unburdened by past regrets.

Time to move on, Kang Yeosang...

The night had never felt longer than it did now as you sat wearily beside your fiancé. You observed with curiosity as Prince Yeosang conversed with the beautiful Lady Park, catching the gossip from two palace maids nearby. So this was the woman who held the fourth prince's heart and was the reason for his significant change.

Love, indeed, was a strange force, altering people as soon as they were struck by its powerful emotions. You wondered if you would ever experience such feelings. But glancing to your left at your soon-to-be husband, you doubted it would ever happen. From here on, everything was merely a duty—this marriage, this commitment.

At some point, you noticed that Yeosang was no longer in sight. Ah, to leave as you please must be a luxury. Like him, you, too, would rather be anywhere but here. But with no choice, you remained seated, playing the role of the perfect fiancée to the ninth prince.

Nearing the end of the banquet, the overwhelming presence of false kindness around you became unbearable. Turning to Prince Yeochan, you forced a smile. "Your Highness, it seems the event is drawing to an end. I am feeling rather fatigued. May I please excuse myself?"

He turned to you, and you could see the effort it took for him not to roll his eyes as he too forced a grin. "Of course, love. Anything for my princess," he said, loud enough for his father to hear.

The King of Joseon nodded approvingly. "Go, my dear. The ninth prince shall attend to the remaining guests."

With a grateful bow, you departed, ignoring the searing gaze of your father on your back. You had avoided interacting with him all night; his presence made you sick to the core. If having a father meant having one like him, you would rather have none at all. You couldn't wait for him to leave, not wanting to see him any longer.

As soon as you were out of the hall, you dismissed the maids escorting you, preferring to be alone and sparing them the burden of accompanying the hated Ruhon princess. With a sigh of relief, your shoulders slumped, finally feeling a sense of freedom. You began walking aimlessly, letting your feet guide you wherever they pleased. Though you knew your way back to your quarters, you had no desire to return to that cage just yet. You needed fresh air, a moment of peace.

Your eyes sparkled in wonder when you stumbled upon a beautiful garden area illuminated by lanterns. The soft glow of the lanterns cast gentle shadows, creating a magical atmosphere. You paused, taking in the sight, feeling a sense of calm wash over you. The night air was cool and refreshing, a stark contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the banquet hall.

Wandering deeper into the garden, you savoured the solitude. The sounds of the banquet faded into the distance, replaced by the rustling of leaves and the soft chirping of crickets. The garden felt like a sanctuary, a place where you could temporarily escape the expectations placed upon you.

Your breath hitched when you finally spotted a familiar figure sitting by the cobblestone ledge, facing a small pond. Carefully, you stepped towards him, unsure. Hearing your footsteps, he turned, causing you to freeze. With a small chuckle, he gestured to the spot beside him.

"Oh, hey there. Take a seat, princess." Your heart skipped a beat at the way he addressed you, genuine and without sarcasm, unlike your fiancé. And so you did, settling down beside him cautiously.

You swallowed nervously, avoiding his gaze, and asked in a whisper, "Aren't you angry with me, Your Highness? For deceiving you?"

He raised a brow in surprise and replied, "Why would I be, princess? Technically, I never inquired about your identity, and you haven't told me any lies. There is nothing for you to feel bad over, and absolutely no reason for me to be displeased. If anything, I'm quite happy to learn that you'll be staying here. You know, it's not often I encounter someone with a mind as exceptional as mine," he added with a teasing smile, giving you a gentle nudge on the shoulder.

A laugh escaped you, and you turned to face him, your heart fluttering at the sight of his warm and pretty smile. He extended his hand towards you. "Friends?"

You hesitated only for a moment before placing your hand in his. "Friends."

As you sat side by side, a tranquil silence enveloped you both. The gentle glow of lanterns bathed the garden in a soft, ethereal light, while the quiet murmurs of the pond added a serene backdrop to the moment. The moonlight shimmered on the water, creating a magical and soothing atmosphere.

You stole a glance at him, a genuine smile gracing your lips. For the first time since your arrival, the oppressive weight of loneliness seemed to lift. His presence beside you brought a sense of calm and companionship that had been sorely missing.

Perhaps, after all, being here wasn't so bleak. The evening's initial discomfort had given way to a blossoming connection. As you shared this peaceful moment, you couldn't help but think that this might be the start of something truly significant—a genuine friendship. The idea of finding someone who truly understood and accepted you kindled a warm hope in your heart.

I think I'll be just fine here, Mother.

« Preview of Part 2 »

"Thank you, my King," the mother of the nation murmured softly, holding her husband's hand as they settled into bed.

His Majesty raised an eyebrow, glancing at her with curiosity. "For what, my wife?"

The Queen sighed, her gaze distant. "For not forcing the fourth prince into this arranged marriage. I was afraid you might do so as part of his punishment, to settle him down once and for all."

The ruler of Joseon exhaled deeply. "I won't deny it, my Queen. I did consider it. But then I remembered Lady Park's words—he has endured enough already. It's my fault he became the man he is. I have not been the father he needed, and the least I can do now is honour his wishes, even if it means he chooses not to marry."

Her Majesty nodded, her voice gentle. "I have not been the best mother either. But perhaps it is time we make amends. This decision is for the best."

"It is," the King agreed, his tone resolute.

Surprise!! Didn't think I'd update on a Wednesday but long story short, I got injured and am on medical leave today. So, I figured, why not use this time to write? HAHA

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[myouicieloz]

Do you have any thoughts on the rest of the girls’ trailers?

i do!! they’re not exactly theories, though… just scenarios who could possibly match that vibe.

like, for winter:

- something like jennifer’s body, yk?

- small town, nothing ever happens, everyone hates their lives, always cloudy and rainy.

- everyone’s just eager to get out

- she’s the quiet kid, always walking with her gaze glued to the ground, not caring if she’s bumping into like half the students on her way to her locker.

- and she’s got that weird aura around her, too. perhaps it's the flannel jackets, or the way her hair is constantly disheveled, or the bags under her eyes… anyway, everyone’s always weary of her.

- And they’re right

- Idk if you know jinx, but just like her, winter’s always seeing stuff, too. Like you’ll always catch her muttering to herself or shaking her head as if to discharge all the ideas off. She always seems busy, too.

- whenever she’s asked something, she’ll simply stare at whoever’s asked and huff before getting back to whatever it is that she’s doing (which is usually writing aggressively in her worn out journal).

- Her mind’s always clouded with thoughts that bother her with their intensity, clogging her brain as they confront each other constantly. it leaves her restless, hyperactive. winter wishes she’d get a single moment of pure silence.

- she has plenty of hobbies (obsessions): like mangas, science, zombies… her bedroom is full of posters and miniatures. also, there are clothes and stuff everywhere. her mother has given up on telling her to tidy it up.

- she’s never around, either. winter’s mother. being a nurse in one of the 2 hospitals in town, she takes too many shifts for the sake of her health. Winter had told her to slow down countless times until she understood: her mother loved her job. It was what fullfilled her; being with her coworkers and helping others made her life meaningful.

- so winter let her be. seeing her at least a bit less miserable made the girl feel less like she ruined her mom’s life by being born when she was still so young; barely leaving high school.

- winter’s always biting her nails, moving her legs frantically or hitting her pen on the table.

- no one ever asks her to stop, though. no one has the guts to do so.

- the first time you properly talk to her is when you get assigned to a big project together. winter would usually do those projects by herself, but the new teacher insisted no one was left without a pair. the poor woman was new to the school and still so full of life and hopes...

- she was young and naive, clearly thinking she could help with whatever it was that was wrong with winter.

- she didn’t think you’d actually accept to work at her house, truth be told, specially since it was an unspoken rule to not be at least an arm’s length near her at all times. at least it was what it seemed like, at school.

- “have you guys ever actually taken a look at her?” you answered when your friends warned you about it, “she’s so tiny and frail. anyone could win her in a fight. she’s harmless, guys.” you all laughed, as your eyes were glued on hers, in the cafeteria. she was already staring, but you didn’t mind. you just smiled back, making her blush and look away.

- you found her house too cold and gloomy, even more than the city itself. it lacked light, and you shivered as you went up the stairs. the deep shade of red of the walls reminded you of blood, and you were relieved to see the ones in her bedroom were painted a different color; surprisingly, they were purple, which made you giggle.

- you two start working, and you’re not at all surprised to find out how smart she is. she talked effortlessly about the project, being patient to answer your questions as she explained what had to be done and what you’d be doing. the work was basically all done, and she’d gladly do it all by herself, but you insisted on helping. you just hated the idea of being useless, even if it was just in a stupid lesson. you two get the work done quickly, and winter found herself enjoying her evening: you were kind, and didn’t treat her as if she were the most despicable thing on earth like people would do, at school. your sweet smiles and calm nature made her relaxed, almost as if the voices in her mind finally agreed on something: how peaceful you were.

- she caught herself staring at you again, suddenly a little at ease.

- you got comfortable around her, too. which was why you had come to her again, days later you’d turned in the assignment.

- “would you help me, please? you’re like, super smart, and i don’t really want people to know i’m failing.” you asked her for some tutoring over that same class, and she reluctantly agreed to it.

- you stared going to her house everyday after classes and winter was growing fond of you, loving to have your full attention. you even took her to the local fun fair, which was one of the best nights she’d ever had since she could remember.

- you two were somewhat friends, even though your friends always would always send you weird looks once you started defending winter whenever they talked shit about her in your presence. she kept your secret—about the grades, and you were truly grateful for her help. you found her sweet, funny and very observant. which she was, indeed.

- in fact, winter was so observant she was the only one to notice the bruises on your arms and shoulders, even thought they were well hidden in the thick hoodies you never took off, not even inside.

- she didn’t say anything at first, thinking the things you did were none of her business. but as the days went by, and you were still trying to hide them, she started to wonder.

- “did you do those to yourself?” she asked, one day, while you were focused on doing a few exercises your fucking teacher had said were worth some extra points, ones you needed badly. her words, though carefully elaborated, made your eyes widen, as you shook your head furiously.

- “n-no, of course not.” you’d told her, toying with her hands as you decided wether or not to tell her. but it was just winter, right? there wasn’t anyone she couldn’t possibly tell, and she had kept your secret, once.

- with that in mind, you took a deep breath before explaining about how your uncle had been living with you, your siblings and your parents ever since he lost his job. all he does is spend the whole day drinking and watching tv, but sometimes, he gets frustrated with his own stupid ass and with the miserable life he has in this fateful city. in one of those days, he was specially mad, and threw you against the wall right after you had arrived home and stopped by the living room before going upstairs.

- you assure her it’s ok—he’s getting a job and moving out soon, but winter’s grip on her pencil was proof enough of her rage.

- she made you promise you’d tell her if it ever happened again. and, as much as she wanted to call the authorities immediately, you forced her to sit back down, begging her not to. you didn’t want to cause any trouble, specifically since he’d soon be gone, you reiterated.

- “yes, he’ll be gone.” was all she answered, her gazed fixed on your face. you shivered at her cold tone, but forced yourself to shrug it off.

- once you were gone, all winter could think about was your beautiful skin, all marked because of that fucker. this wasn’t how it was supposed to be: not to you, the dearest person she’d ever known. you were so sweet, empathic, and nonjudgmental… the thought of someone making you suffer was enough for her to nearly destroy her room, trowing things in the air to try to rub off the anger. however, it did nothing to ease her restless mind; the thoughts were back, now as loud screams in her head, agreeing on something for the first time: that winter had to make your uncle pay for hitting you.

- she forced herself back into her desk as she planned her future actions. it took her days, but she managed to finally come up with a perfect plan.

- winter waited patiently for you to leave home as she sneaked into your place, dragging her feet through the carpet. she took her time observing the fucker, hammer throbbing in her hands as she watched him get himself even more waisted, dropping a beer after the other.

- she finally decided to put her plans into action as he went into the guest room, probably to do one of the 2 things he knew: drink and sleep.

- her favorite part was tearing the door open, she thinks. to get rid of the wooden chips as she delighted herself with your uncle’s screams, pleading for mercy that wouldn’t be granted to him, not after what he had done. no... no one gets to hurt you and live.

- It’s what she kept repeating to him, ducking quickly to get his pleading hands off her as she saw his movements stop, slowly.

- she cleans up after that and, when morning comes, she offers you her condolences, as soon as she spots you, in class. your eyes are red and swollen and winter hates to be the reason of your sadness, but it was necessary, after all.

- you let yourself cry in her arms, hiccups leaving your chest as you get all the stress you self out of your system. winter tried to be as empathic as she could, patting your back as she assured you that you were all safe; no one would hurt you anymore— there was no reason to be sad or scared. you nod, clinging to her as the words get etched onto your brain.

- you only realize your uncle’s murder hadn’t been shared with people from outside your family circle weeks later. as if you’ve been woken up from a trance, you shift uncomfortably besides your friends as your eyes found hers, once again. your body trembled with fear as you refused to acknowledge all the patterns launched right into your face.

- immediately, winter smiled, with all the feigned innocence she’d been showing you all those months. it didn’t matter what you thought: you were safe, and you were hers. forever.

this is too messy sorry ^^ i wrote it in the middle of my lecture lol

[6leggedhorse]

The Evil Eye: What is it? How Can I protect Myself? Personal Life Update & Experience With The Evil Eye.

I’d like to start off this blog post with an apology, I completely forgot about yesterday’s blog post. This was because I had a family emergency in which I’ll explain further down the post. Feel free to skip the personal life update as it can be put simply: family dog crossed the rainbow bridge unexpectedly last weekend and I’m grieving.

Have you ever met someone that doesn’t like you? Perhaps they envy you or wish you nothing but the worst for you. Or maybe you’ve done this yourself wishing that one shitty co-worker would step on legos bare foot or get their soaks drenched and possibly wished that their pillow is always warm. The Evil Eye, Nazar, or in Latinx/Hispanic cultures may call it Mal De Ojos and in Italy they refer to it as Malocchico. With the uprise of spirituality, the evil eye has been noticed and mentioned more and more. So before we dive right into this grab your favorite drink and snack, your fur baby, and get cozy cause we’re gonna talk about The Evil Eye.

What is The Evil Eye?

The Evil Eye is a hex, curse, jinx or simply bad energy/harmful wishes, thoughts and desires that is casted upon the u aware victim by giving the victim a ‘evil’ glare. This glare is spiteful. Envious. Enraged. Hateful. Mean. You name it there is ill will intertwined with it. However, nowadays you will see beads, bracelets, necklaces, amulets, mini tress, rings, car accessories and more with the blue amulet that looks like this 🧿. You can find this amulet in different colors, styles, and in different shops like Etsy, Amazon, Earth Bound Trading Co. (I think). And any spiritual and metaphysical shop. Some people have even tattooed this symbol onto their bodies with reports of it later fading away as time went on. The goal of this amulet is to protect you and shield you from the negative energy being sent your way. It is also known to have a return to sender effect and send that nasty energy back to the source.

This amulet is said to have its origins traced back to the country of Turkey and a couple middle eastern countries. In some cultures it’s an incantation while in others it’s a physical symbol.

How Do I Protect Myself?

So The Evil Eye can be either intentionally or be mistakenly done without the caster’s knowledge. In order to protect yourself, you should understand what the colors mean that way you can protect yourself accordingly to your specific situation.

Dark Blue: protects your fate/karma, communication and how to circumnavigate chaos

Light Blue: Basic protection, opening your mind up, peace

Black: I hear black can also transmute the negative energy and turn it into positive energy for the wearer (if this is true share you stories), power and prosperity

Brown: Earthly connections

Orange: creativity and happiness (could possibly help with your inner child work)

Dark Green: life balance and happiness

Light Green: Success, health and power

Violet: protects your love life, boosts intuition and communication

Red: protects you from anxiety and fear, boosts energy, confidence

Pink: (I hear it can protect your love life too and if it’s true please share your stories), helps keep you calm, save friendships, happiness

Purple: takes obstacles away, life balance

Yellow: protects health, protects you from burning out

Grey:soothes intense energies, protects against sorrow, makes one feel secure

White: Purifies, removal of obstacles

Now that you know what color you need, you can wear it, or keep one on your keys, keep one in the car or hand some up in your home. Be sure to cleanse it though because you do not know the person who handled it before and what kind of energy they got. You can draw it too on a canvas but as always be sure to cleanse your tools before doing any sort of witchy project! Also if it breaks or explodes, get a new one ASAP. DO NOT FIX IT. if it breaks it has served its purpose.

Personal Life Update

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️ TW: MENTION OF ANIMAL DEATH, ANIMAL SURGERY, ANIMAL BASED INFECTION, GREIF

So, one of my family dogs died last week Saturday. I was at work when I got the call from my step mom telling me the dog is extremely sick with a uterine infection and that she is going to need surgery. The surgery was high risk, but it was a risk my family was willing to take to try and save her. The doctor took labs and x-rays and saw that her reproductive organs haven’t ruptured and the surgery would need to happen that night. My family opted to put her through surgery to try and save her. How ever by the time the doctor got in, it was far too late. Not only was it ruptured, she had gone septic. Her whole body was infected. Her survival rate went from a 50% to 0%, her quality of life would be extremely poor.

I refuse to go into the gore parts of it because it’s just too graphic to share with all of you and it’s haunting to still think about. This grief based scar is still fresh in my mind. I was extremely devastated by the details and once I got home from work she had been euthanized humanely. Now this infection happens suddenly, especially in intact female dogs who are not spayed and haven’t had puppies. Some breeds are more likely to get this infection than other breeds. Now, the dog did not show signs of discomfort, pain or suffering prior to the emergency vet visit, not until the very end as she stopped eating and walking suddenly. This infection happens quickly, so quickly in fact that the best way to avoid this is to spay your dog as soon as they’re eligible. I cannot begin to describe how sudden this all was. This past week feels so unreal, after work that night I screamed in my car before I drove home. I cried all night, I couldn’t eat, my boyfriend ended up driving me to Jack in The Box to get us comfort food that way I can eat. I cried talking to him over the phone keeping him updated about it too while he was working. I called off of work that same night. The dog that passed was never fixed due to the vet costs.

I want you guys to take this story to heart, not in a mean vengeful way, but as a PSA and cautionary tale. For the love of the gods, please, fix your dogs. Cats. whatever animal you have whether it’s a boy or girl. Neuter and spay them if you have no intention to breed them. Please look into local resources that can help get your dogs fixed at a reasonable cost, ask for that extra $50. Skip that Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks. You don’t need that new eyeshadow palette from Ulta. My family is very responsible with the animals, I want to emphasize that, because even the most responsible pet owners still can experience unexpected tragedies. Even if they’re prepared for the worst. 

Personal Experience With The Evil Eye

So, now my experience is low key silly, but to make a long story short, before I got with my partner, I met this other guy who, I didn’t realize at the time was a complete pile of shit. I put workings on us to have him dump his GF and to get with me.(see where this is going?) Well, hail Loki those workings didn’t get too far as I met my boyfriend and got with him. Other time, I reversed some of the workings expect for the break up and domination ones (I was more focused of getting this pile of shit who I refer to as Dollar Tree Danny Zuko out of my energy.) I also need to mention that it is confirmed he treats his GF like crap too, hence why I didn’t reverse some of the workings. When I reversed the binding work, the next day I got a reading detailing what may happen as the working progresses. Not even half an hour later, my evil eye bracelet, exploded. I was putting on a shirt, it didn’t snag on a string or anything. I put on one of my Steven Rhodes shirts and it exploded all over my bedroom. Luckily I had a couple more evil eye jewelry as back ups in case of the event it would happen again.

I also like to mention that Loki does NOT like Dollar Tree Danny Zuko. Here is how they describe him:

References

Epilogue

There you have it, a long boi post to try and make up for Friday’s forgotten post. I do apologize for the personal life update. But Grieving the loss of a pet is one of the most difficult things to experience. My family’s other dog is grieving as well, my sister pampered her today with a bath and quality time as they both mourn (they’re soul mates ISTG). For more information on The Evil Eye, there is a book on Amazon that goes more in depth about this topic. If you would like to go on a head and read it, cool, unless you wanna wait for me to review it, because I got bills coming up and I’m on call for work right now so I’m doing everything I can not to spend unless there is a sale for E-books. I look forward to posting on time next week. Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope I get to see y’all next week! Until next time I’ll catch y’all on the flip side! Here is the Amazon link:

The Evil Eye: The History, Mystery, and Magic of the Quiet Curse https://a.co/d/8evW9iS

[zaunrising]

A year to build. A night to destroy.

I had a random idea, so decided to write a drabble. Non canon to anything. Violence, blood, a bit of minor quick gore involving eyes kind of, angst. TLDR: Silco spent a year trying to improve Zaun, and had it all ruined in one night.

One year, Silco had done his best to follow Irisa’s advice for one year. A year in which Zaun, to be fair, prospered. More of his money, influence, and planning than ever before went purely into improving Zaun. Food, medicine, public schooling, he had even created an orphanage, albeit one that emphasized loyalty to Zaun and to the one who did the most for Zaun which was of course Silco himself. A year in which everyone except for him made money, and a lot of it. A year in which violence slowly went down, Piltover slowly stopped looking so closely, and things quieted down. By all rights everything seemed perfectly fine, but Silco never entirely stopped watching the shadows with an odd suspicion in his eyes even when Irisa tried to reassure him. His mood some days was better, and some days worse, but always he continued forward. Halfway through that year his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and the suspicion had dimmed, although it’d never disappear entirely.

He hurt less people in that year, and killed fewer people, than in any year since he’d started working with Vander. By all rights, it was a good year, and even Jinx found herself calmer as well. With how Zaun was improving, no one wanted to take the risk that Jinx would kill them for some random comment, and so she was left in peace more than ever, which suited her just fine. It was perhaps one of the most peaceful years Silco could remember, and more than once he’d visited his brother's urn with a sad smile, and a comment that he wished Sol could have seen this.

All things have their ending point however, and Zaun… well… Zaun, was Zaun, and always would be.

Looking back on it, Silco would find himself mildly amused that when things changed once again, it was actually on the anniversary of the death of Irisa’s father. A strange kind of synchronicity, but life could be that way sometimes. At the time however, there was nothing at all amusing. The first thing he heard, from a runner, was a warehouse of food getting burned down. Something that made him frown, but according to the runner it “was probably an accident”, and so Silco sent a couple of people to check it out, but otherwise let it go for the time being. The next thing was a water filtration pant being sabotaged. From there on, report after report came in. Everything he’d worked for getting broken, burned, destroyed, the one and only thing not touched the orphanage and his works as a chem-baron if only because those had the best security. Grabbing The Trio, and Sevika, Silco headed out onto the street to try to figure out exactly what was going on.

What was going on was quite simply ruin. A fortune, a city, a dream all destroyed in one night. What had taken Silco a year to build, although if he’d accepted more aid from Irisa and the fortune gained from her father's company it likely would have taken less time, was nearly wiped out in one single night. Each building he saw crumpling, each confused looking Zaunite who couldn’t make sense of what was happening, each new endeavor that had been burned to the ground added to his rage. A rage that for once wasn’t directed at Piltover at all, but at whatever greedy sack of shit had decided to make this happen. That rage swirled around, and found itself slipping closer and closer to being directed at Zaun itself. It was no longer his Zaun, loyalty no long mattered, no one stood side by side anymore. It was an enterprise, and all there was seemed to be competition, and now they didn’t need the Pilties to hurt them. They could do a better job of it themselves than Piltover ever had. Piltover, at least, had simply not let them have prosperity. Piltover hadn’t ruined it after it arrived. Not having it at all allowed dreams to be created, and for people to strive towards those dreams. Having things ruined, however? That could crush peoples spirits.

At some point, Silco told Sevika to go check on the Shimmer factories. Not out of a lack of caring for the rest of what was getting destroyed, but because without that he would lose everything. The trio was sent off to check on other things, and if nothing else was intact, to protect the orphanage. Silco himself headed towards Irisa’s medical clinic to ensure she was safe personally, and also in hopes that Jinx was there visiting Irisa. Sevika, was left alone. The Trio, had minor problems, but nothing worth caring about. Silco was not so lucky, however.

There was no warning at all besides from a flash of light off of a gun barrel, and that itch between his shoulder blades as a finely honed instinct nudged at him. His coat saved his life, and his frame that was smaller than his outfit suggested. The flash, and the itch causing Silco to move to one side nearly unconsciously so he could take a different route down a side street, and causing a bullet to slam into the meat of his upper left arm. The impact made Silco stagger, and a curse escape his lips even as he turned, kicking a door open to a random apartment building and headed into it.

The next ten minutes or so would be a flash in Silco’s memory ever after of desperation, and rage. A back door into an alleyway, men waiting outside as well as a couple of women, his pistol getting pulled followed by a knife. His arm hurting, and more wounds acquired as he found that sleeping monster within himself getting pulled up to the front. Lips pulled into a snarl, showing off his jagged teeth as he refused to allow them to put him down like some aging dog. Someone shot in the chest, another with a knife in their side, another with an elbow to their throat. Teeth at someone’s throat as he felt a club pounding into his side, and back, while he lashed out with a knife. A close up street fight, the kind Silco hadn’t had to fight in years upon years. A fight that ended with his coat utterly ruined, his face bloodied, blood streaming down his arm, and a range of cuts and bruises over his entire body. Eyes alight with rage at once cold, and heated, Silco spit on one particular body before grabbing a few items from his ruined coat and leaving it on the ground. A coat left, a dream abandoned, and whatever tolerance he had for any that would challenge him erased.

Moving through his city, Silco moved through back alleys and side streets, doing his best not to be seen. Skills he’d not used for quite some time coming back to him as easily as breathing, and before long he was at the medical clinic. Walking into it, he was greeting by more violence. People had tried to set the clinic on fire as well, but between Irisa and Alexis and the runners Silco habitually had there they’d failed. A couple were still alive, although it was obvious there had originally been more. The couple that were still alive had guns out to threaten those around them, trying desperately at this point just to leave. Silco, seeing them, found his rage once more overwhelming him.

Lunging forward, he made it to one person before they could react with his hands on their face, and thumbs digging into their eye sockets as he slammed their head against a wall. Dropping them to leave them screaming on the floor, Silco paid no attention to anyone around him other than the last person who was still a threat. Fist slamming into their stomach, and another into their face, Silco started to simply hammer into them, ignoring the gun they still held. A gun that did them no good at all as Silco kept them off balance until they fell to the floor, at which point his boot started coming down onto them over and over again. Eventually that boot stomped on their throat, crushing it, and he stopped while still breathing heavily. Blood splatter over him, his own injuries covering him, eyes wild with rage and bloodlust, breath quick with adrenaline, there was no kindness to be seen in that moment. Simply a killer, and a monster who had been blindsided and brought back to a particular reality. Turning, he gazed down at the blinded man whimpering on the ground, and growled. “You’re going to be telling me who sent you. You will give me something, or I swear I will piss in your eye sockets and then drop you in a pit with rats.”

Eyes moving to gaze at Irisa, Silco simply stared at her for a second before raising a hand to wave it vaguely in the direction of the outside as his voice went stone-cold. “It’s all ruined. Gone. Destroyed. Everything I, everything we, tried to create. The food, the water, the, all of it.” Voice suddenly raising up, Silco found himself actually well and truly yelling for once.

“This is what Zaun is! Violence, blood, death, and desperation! EVERYTHING IS GONE! There is no loyalty any more from anyone to anything. Everything I’ve done for the past year is just weakness as far as they are concerned! THEY ARE COMING TO KILL US. Me, you, Jinx, ALL OF US, because those greedy FUCKERS do not CARE about Zaun. Chem-barons, gangers, the rest of them, fucking parasites, and now they are coming for us. It won’t stop here; it won’t stop with a few ruined projects, they will come for OUR HEADS.”

Head lowering for a moment, Silco actually shook as a soft sound came from him that, if it’d been at all loud, would have been described as a scream of rage. Head-turning so he could gaze at the room with his eerie eye that seemed to blaze with fire, his voice dropped back to its normal volume, although it was filled with spite and venom.

“I’m going to kill them all. If this is how they want to play the game, if they want us all to be nothing more than savages in the streets, fine. I will remind them who I am. What I am.”

There was no mercy in his voice, no kindness in his eyes, and nothing in his stance other than utterly predatory intent mixed with rage. Silco had been pushed further than ever before, and he would repay those that had struck against him in kind. No longer would he be content with ruling The Lanes, and influencing the rest of Zaun. If they wished to try to ruin him, fine. He knew exactly what to do in response.

“I am going to take all of Zaun.”

[seldomscilence16]

Whumptober day 15:

"I don't need you to help me, I can handle things myself." 

Makeshift bandages | suppressed suffering | I'm fine

Fandom: Scooby Doo (au)

Prompts used: Vaguely all of them

So writing Scooby is exhausting lol. Anyway, an alternate first real meeting of the gang, before their adventures. Shaggy angst as always. I know we have technically met his parents, but this is my headcanon and I'm stubborn.  

TW for child abuse and blood.

…

Norville "Shaggy" Rogers was the son of an interesting family. He would need a few hours to truly get through all of them, but the main bit was that he had A LOT to live up to, and his father would not let him forget it. 

Shaggys life was the constant pressure of finding something he could make a living off of. His father was breathing down his neck anytime he was home, and had put him into any and all extracurriculars that he thought would 'fix' his son throughout his childhood. Several of which Shaggy less than excelled at, but a few he actually took something from. 

Those somethings just weren't helpful for what his Father wanted. 

Shaggy's pretty sure he could never be what his father wanted, he looks at the kids in the activities/classes he was forced into, and sees exactly what he should be. One Daphne Blake would be perfect he's sure, who is good at everything she tries and tries at everything she does. 

Shaggys only saving grace is that he's a star when it comes to track and field. In fact, gym class is his highest grade- next to home economics but his dad doesn't count that one. His mother wished he'd stuck out his Piano lessons, but the disaster of a first recital had made it impossible to continue in public. 

As it was, he was not the ideal, prodigal son. But he would like to think he's a good brother. 

Margret "sugie" Rogers was sometimes the only thing that kept Shaggy going. He wonders sometimes, if his parents need for control and no nonsense attitudes, had jinxed their children. Though Sugie was obviously the favorite between the two, even she couldn't escape their parents' wrath on a bad day. 

And today was a bad day. 

Shaggy had come home from school early, at the insistence of the nurse, after passing out during a panic attack. A panic attack that took place in a closed locker, after a bout of bullying, Fred Jones and Velma Dinkley had heard his panic and freed him, but Shaggy had been unable to calm down. 

Shaggy's mom had to come pick him up, and since Shaggy usually walked Sugie home, they picked her up as well. The car ride had been tense to say the least, her white knuckled grip on the steering wheel and clenched jaw, the twitch of her eye with any sound they made. She had told them to stay in their rooms until she and their father got home from work that afternoon. 

Shaggy had made Sugie a snack anyway, worried about dinner not going well. A feeling that was right on the nose. 

Shaggy couldn't tell you the exact words used, echoes of a million fights beforehand that were too similar to differentiate from clouding his brain. Their parents hated their anxiety- though they would never acknowledge the medical term as a real thing- and this was a prime example of why for them. Shaggy couldn't stand up for himself, couldn't fight them off, and passed out 'from being scared of a locker'. They yelled until they were red in the face, only to start all over when they realized Shaggy had made a snack- Sugies favorite snack. 

The minute they'd turned on Sugie, his sister's already tearful face had fallen further, fear growing in her eyes. And Shaggy did something he could only ever do when he was protecting her, he moved in front of her, and stared into his fathers eyes with a defiance he hadn't known he'd possessed until she was born. The fight had turned physical after that, which was common enough in Shaggy's life. 

The sound of shattering glass still rings in his ears- or perhaps his ears were simply ringing, he had taken a gnarly hit to the head. He was honestly more concerned about his arm, since he's pretty sure that's where the glass had come into play anyway- he couldn't tell if what he was seeing was bone or something, but he hoped and assumed it was simply glass- the bloody wound took up most of his forearm and was scarily worse than any prior blood drawing injuries he'd received. 

But he couldn't focus on his injuries quite yet, limping on a wonky ankle down his darkened street, he wasn't safe from prying eyes yet. His parents would be pissed if he was seen, and Sugie was still home. He makes it all the way to the park by the lake, collapsing heavily on the first bench he finds. He takes deep breaths to calm his racing heart- the last thing he needed was another panic attack, please brain, one thing at a time. 

He tugs the flannel from around his waist, his red one, that Sugie always said made him look like Christmas when paired with his favorite green shirt. Her smile had made it his most paired outfit, he hoped the blood would wash out. He examines his arm again, blood crusting even as more continues to drip out, and can't help his grimace at the sight. It would need more than an ameture bandaging job with an old flannel, whether it was glass or bone, it needed attention and he didn't have the skill or supplies for it. He wraps it as best he can manage if for no other reason than to hide the problem. 

The bushes nearby shake, he tenses up despite a protesting multitude of injuries, leveling a wide eyed stare at the offending flora. He didn't think he could move another step, but he supposed he'd be testing that shortly. 

He does not expect a dog to exit the bushes and freeze at the sight of him, as if Shaggy of all people was intimidating. 

"Uh… nice… doggy…" Shaggy manages, the large canine quite the sight, despite his seemingly young features. A great Dane maybe? 

"Reah!" The dog nods, he… frickin nods… like Shaggy had asked if he was a nice dog, and said dog was confirming it. 

Shaggy had to have a concussion.

 

"Cool, cool coolcool. Cool." Shaggy nods back and looks away, maybe it was a figment of his imagination. 

"Rhy are rou rurt?" 

Well he's still here. 

"I'm fine, talking dog. Just taking a breather." He really shouldn't entertain the talking dog, this could be some creature out to eat him or steal his soul or any other number of things, oh gods Shaggy was about to die. 

"You're reeding." 

"I do like a good book now and again but currently resting actually." Seriously Shaggy, did all the blood leave your head!? 

"Ro, rud, rur reeding rud." 

The dog is now beside him, his nose sniffing at a smudge of red on his pants and Shaggy understands. 

"I'm fine, it's just a… little, blood." His body would disagree, but Shaggy had been weak far too much today and if he couldn't handle this, there's no way he'd make it until his 18th birthday where he would be able to legally work on getting his sister away from here.

What's a little blood loss and pain in the face of losing his little sister.

"Ry ran ret rou rome relp!" 

"No offense but, I don't need you to help me, I can handle things myself. I have to, you probably wouldnt understand despite being a talking dog." Shaggy shifts with a wince and a groan, his ribs protesting. 

"Rooby rooby roo!" The dog startles him at the change of volume- if only slightly elevated- and he worries this is some ritual of doom, but he only stares at Shaggy expectantly, saying it again a little louder when the teen only stares. 

"Shhh!! Okay okay, what do you want?" Shaggy looks around in a panic, if the cops are called he's screwed. 

The dog puts a paw on his own chest,

"Rooby roo!" 

"Rooby roo… uh Looby Loo?" A shake of his head, "Cooby Coo?" A soso motion, "Uh… Sooby Soo?" The dog puts up a halting paw, does a series of gestures that semi compute with Shaggy's achy head. "Scooby Doo?" 

"Reah, reah!" 

"Oh, is that like, your name?" Shaggy takes a deep breath as a wave of nausea hits him, head spinning, "You can like, call me Shaggy." 

His head lulls and he hears a worried warble of words he's too tired to listen to.

"Just… gonna take, like, a nap." 

"-aggy! Wake up!" 

"'M'fine…'mma Rogers…"

"Wake up Shaggy, please!" 

His sight is blurry, squinted eyes seeing blobs before him. 

"Shaggy, you're hurt, you need to stay awake." 

"Not hurt… 'm like fine." 

"Shaggy Rogers, you stay awake or this snack I packed is going in the lake!" 

"Like, what'd the snack ever do to you?" He mutters, but forces his eyes open further to find none other than Fred, Velma and Daphne, the dog- Scooby- next to them. 

"Do you realize what could have happened If your dog hadn't found us?" Velma asks, examining his flannel covered arm. 

"I would have gotten some more sleep?" He wonders what the big deal is until he really focuses on her intense stare, "what?"

"This is a lot of blood, it should be in a lot of pain, that is your body telling you it needs help. If you ignore that it causes major problems, you need blood to live, Shaggy, what happens when it keeps leaving?" Velma is talking slowly, small words his tired brain can catch.

"Not good." Shaggy responds, seeming to get her meaning, he looks at his bloody shirt and guesses it's worse than he thought, he'd been ignoring the pain, to keep his weakness from showing, but now that he's thinking about it, the throbbing is too much to ignore.

"You need medical attention Shaggy." Daphne pipes in. 

"Cant." He responds simply. 

"Shaggy-" Velma is cut off.

"We can go to my sister." Daphne's eyes say more, but Shaggy is the only one to know the language. 

"I can't…" he trails off, unsure of how to say it without drawing suspicion. 

"We'll be quiet. She'll be quiet. But we'll also help okay?"

Scooby lays his head on Shaggy's lap, and while Fred and Velma seem vaguely lost, they nod anyway. 

"Okay…"

[independentzaun]

Testing Pow-pow

Drabble for Jinx. General concept is the first "real" job she pulled for Silco after making Pow-pow. Death, murder, Jinx being Jinx, and so on CW.

It was perhaps a month after her birthday which had been a fantastic one as Silco had given her all the final bits, and pieces for Jinx to finish her biggest project yet. A minigun she had named Pow-pow. However she hadn’t fully tested it out yet in a combat situation, and Jinx really wanted to. All the same pulling out pow-pow just to gun down one random person seemed rather anticlimactic. Such a big project deserved better than that, but she hadn’t figured out just what yet. Until she heard the comment Silco muttered angrily while working on one thing or another as she relaxed on the rafters above him. Head turning a bit Jinx looked vaguely contemplative as her adoptive father practically growled.

“I wish this idiot would drop dead how can someone from Zaun be this stupid, and useless? I don’t even care about getting my money back at this point, I just don’t want to have to deal with him anymore.” A long irritated sigh came from Silco as he reached for a cigar before a question drifting from the rafters half caught his attention, and he glanced up. “What was that Jinx?”

Jinx rolled over, and leaned down peaking out at him. “I said what about the people around that “idiot” as you called him?” Silco raised his eyebrows than grumbled although it wasn’t directed at Jinx, but the people she was asking about. “They can all drop dead as well for being stupid enough to not make the man realize how incompetent he is.” Jinx tilted her head a bit than rolled back over as one last comment came from her. “Okay.” Silco too caught up in his irritation, and work didn’t think about her question or the last comment as he returned to figuring out how to fix the problem that had been dropped into his lap.

((Cut for length))

Later that night Jinx had dropped down, and gone through some of Silco’s papers getting a name and an address before heading to her workshop to grab supplies and pow-pow. Not long after that Jinx was up on a rooftop looking down at a particular house in what could be considered the “nicer” part of The Lanes, and had two guards in the front and one in the back. Those guards weren’t the problem so much as the extra two she could see through a window that were in the kitchen. Frowning for a second Jinx crouched down pulling out her spyglass examining the guards in question. They all looked capable enough by average Zaun standards, and had your expected assortment of melee weapons. One man had something that looked like a pistol stolen from an Enforcer and modified to suit him. Singularly none of them were an issue, and as a group even she had no doubt she could handle them. The problem was handling them, and than getting to the man Silco wanted killed as well as the man’s family. Checking the time Jinx just nodded to herself, and headed to a corner of the rooftop and curled up there. Head on top of Pow-pow she yawned and pulling her legs in close to herself simply took a nap looking for all the world like some wild dog or a coyote in the wild sleeping before it went for a hunt.

A couple of hours later in the darkest part of the night her eyes snapped open, and she stood going to check the status of the house with her spyglass once more. The guards were all still there, but they all also looked more tired and the house seemed dimmed and darker. If she had to make a guess it seemed as though the real Target of the evening had gone to bed, and now was likely the best time to make her move. Reaching down to her belt Jinx unclipped a mask she’d made for herself that was canine shaped, and slipped it on hiding her face. Walking back to grab Pow-pow she stretched, and slung it over onto her back before turning and running. Across one roof top, and than the railing of a building than up onto a street sign and a long jump out into empty space before landing on the roof of the building she’d been waiting to visit for hours now.

Pausing there for a second, and listening for any movement Jinx crept down the roof, and leaning over it swayed back and forth idly as her hands reached out working at a window. It was locked of course, but reaching into a pocket she pulled out a glass cutter and a moment later had just enough glass cut out to let her fingers slip through and undo the lock. Window pulled slowly upwards Jinx swung herself down, and into the building landing quietly before tugging the window back down. One guard outside looked up with a puzzled expression on his face before shrugging. It was just an office with no one inside, and Jinx quickly moved out of it than downstairs rather than up. One guard in the kitchen now rather than two, and near as she could tell it was only that one guard that was inside now. No doubt because of how late it had gotten. It was a fatal mistake however as she moved forward, and with no warning grabbed him by the back of his shirt slamming him into a counter top. Dropping him onto the floor afterwards one of her heavy boots came down on his neck crushing it, and leaving the guard twitching on the floor as his hands dug at his neck trying desperately for air as he suffocated. Turning around Jinx tilted her head for a second listening before moving to the back door, and locking it followed up by a chair tucked under it so no one could get in. The front door she flipped one lock on so they could likely bash their way through it, but it’d slow them down. Along with that Jinx positioned a couple of smoke chompers so that when the door opened who ever came through would be immediately caught up in, and confused by a wave of smoke.

Heading upstairs Jinx glanced through the last couple of remaining rooms, and saw what seemed like a happy small family. Two teenage boys in their room, mother and father in another. It didn’t bother her in the slightest, and deciding to handle the boys first she pulled out another recently crafted weapon pulling the pin and tossed in a knock out gas chomper closing the door behind her. Shifting back and forth on her feet she waited a few seconds, before going into the room, and dragging both boys out of their bedroom down into the kitchen. Humming softly to herself Jinx sat each of them up at the table, and took a moment to rip up the sofa with a knife so she could use strips from the covering of it to tie the boys to their chairs. Heading back upstairs Jinx went into the master bedroom, and stood there for a second watching the man and his wife sleep. Picking the man simply because he was the closest to the door of the bedroom Jinx put a hand over his mouth pulling out that same knife she’d used to rip out the sofa with, and plunged it into his chest three or four times until he stopped struggling. The knife had been stolen from the kitchen, and her own knife Silco had gifted her a couple of years ago was still sheathed so she decided to just leave the knife in question in the mans chest.

Canine mask still on her face she leaned over, and shook the wife before quickly moving backwards and down the stairs. The wife predictably enough awoke, rolled over, and screamed as loud as possible. Shaking her now very dead husband with tears streaming down her cheeks she shook her head before remembering her two teenage sons, and leaving the bed via the foot of it rather than climbing over her husbands body went to check on them. Seeing them missing she started praying, and whimpering as she rushed downstairs. Getting to the kitchen only to see a blue haired, and masked woman standing behind the table that her sons were placed at still tied to their chairs once again she screamed. This time however she screamed for the guards, and as she did so Jinx moved to one side not saying anything. The back door held shut against the heavy thump of a shoulder, and a boot before that guard ran around to the front of the house. The front door opened more easily albeit still with a heavy application of force, and as the two guards ran in drawing their weapons both stopped coughing and wheezing waving their hands to try to clear the smoke away that suddenly erupted around them.

That should have been their signal to leave, and if not that the sudden noise of a minigun spinning up however they never had the chance. A moment later Pow-pow was firing, and unseen under her mask Jinx was grinning wildly as bullet after bullet went through the teenagers and the mother and the guards trying to get into the house. Not stopping until every person was bleeding, and either dead or dying she giggled softly letting go of the trigger. “That worked so well.” Glancing around Jinx hummed softly before pulling an explosive chomper out, and triggering it she headed out the front door stepping over the bodies of the guards while tossing the chomper at the ripped up sofa which quickly caught on fire.

Heading home she would smell of smoke, gunpowder, and be quite obviously pleased with herself should anyone be awake to notice. However Jinx had no real intention of waking anyone. Silco would no doubt find out in the morning from someone or another delivering a report as to the family being killed, and than she should tell him all about her evening adventure!

He’d be happy, and proud of her...right? Right!

[rahorak-a]

PSA : THE LE.ODI.A SHIP.

It's been a while since I have touched upon this ship, let alone shipped it with anyone really, so let me make a somewhat detailed post explaining my stance on this ship.

I tend not to make it a secret that I don't ship Le.ona and Dia.na in canon. I never really have, because I find the nature of it extremely toxic. And not in the fun way. One, if not both of them, is actively trying to kill the other and I think it was a bullshit decision on Rito's side to make them basically canon, without removing that part of their lore. Because we now have a romanticized oppressor / oppressed ship on our hands.

I get that their sun / moon dynamic is very pleasing, to some more than others. And you won't see me harass others who DO ship them, never, ever. I won't tell others what they can or can't ship. So I really, really hope you will extend the same courtesy to me. Because I know full well how... vocal, this fandom can be. Therefore, I reiterate:

This is only my own opinion. I speak for myself, and no one else. The purpose of this post is for me to have it to point towards if / when people ask me about this, so I don't have to constantly repeat myself. It is not to shit on your ship. It is not to take the joy out of it for you. It isn't even about you. Now, without further ado, let's dive in.

As a Le.ona RPer, there's always been a certain pressure to ship them. I'm sure people didn't mean to, but I am not blind. I see how my numbers skyrocket when I post anything about them. I see the joy it brings to a lot of people. I see that, more than any other ship I've had, I get questions and such about them. And that is fine, because I know you mean well. And by all means, keep them coming. I am not shy to give my opinion on things.

But it is disheartening, as someone who loves their muse, to very often have her be... just, sort of expected to be with another character. I spoke with Jinx about this last night and, honestly? We agree that Le.ona feels kind of like a side character to Dia.na. Or maybe it is vice versa. But they feel ultimately so intertwined that, me, a rebel, wants desperately to break out of that. I want my muse to be her OWN character. Not someone's girlfriend. Not the villain in someone else's story. Her own. character.

And you know how much I love sun mom. I do not say this lightly. I want to give her the respect and attention she deserves. That is my primary concern. My secondary concern, is the aforementioned problematic nature of canon Le.odi.a. Perhaps I will expand upon that with time. For now, I think ( Or hope. ) You know what I mean.

Because I want to state very clearly that, I can see myself shipping Le.odi.a, despite this. The reason being that, while I disagree with them in canon, my Leona is not canon. And should the right Dia.na come along, I am willing to give things ago. My only two requirements are these:

My RP partner accepts my portrayal of Le.ona isn't canon, and that she is her own character.

My RP partner respects my other ships.

Quite simply, the same shit I ask of any of my other ship partners. I didn't spend 3 years writing a character to have my development for her disrespected by my own writing buddies, lmao. My Le.ona does not wish death on the Lu.nari, including Dia.na. It is possible for them to have had a romance, or almost romance, in the past. It is possible for them to have a romance ( Albeit a tragic one, given the other Solari's, and especially the elders', stance on things. ) going on so long as everyone involved are aware that their factions are at war, and it won't always be pretty. So long as their suffering isn't romanticized.

The take home messages here are the following:

Please send me questions about my ships, but be respectful about my character being her own woman in the process.

I don't ship canon Le.odi.a, but I can be convinced to ship them canon divergently.

Don't fucking bite me about this, I will bite you back.

Maybe one day my view on this will change, I cannot say. But for now, these are my two cents. Feel free to go ham in the replies below if you've something constructive to say!

[piltover-sharpshooter]

Jinx looked at Caitlyn, then back at the cupcake before them, then back at Caitlyn. Grinning wolfishly, the Loose Canon rose a balled fist and slammed it down onto the frosty treat. SMASH! The cupcake smeared across her balled fingers, dripping icing and chunks of dough like the remains of a freshly opened carcass. Jinx lifted her hand and began to lick her fingers clean, savouring the broken crumbs and smears of frosting. All the while, her purple eyes inspected the former Sherrif without any flinching.

I saw that meme and Jinx went 'Oh, I have an idea.' I wish I could apologise for her being a volatile disaster.

Send in 'SMASH' if your muse would sleep with mine if they could or send 'PASS' if not

Caitlyn simply stared at Jinx's mind working as she looked between the two of them and to the cupcake. Before she could even warn her against it, the cupcake was smashed into bits, making a mess around the desk.

The sniper hadn't reacted either, mainly because Jinx gave such an obvious warning. But some of the crumbs and cream did manage to fall on her, resulting in a small sigh escaping for her.

"Of course you decided to make a mess" She grabbed one crumb that was sticking to her cheek, then quickly she held the hand that Jinx was licking clean. "Perhaps you are just desperate for me to clean your mess as always?"

She finished the sentence by playfully licking one of Jinx's fingers while keeping eye contact.

[honeydazai]

the Arcane characters' kinks

feat.: Viktor, Jayce Talis, Silco, Vander, Vi, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika, Finn

warnings: nsfw content, breeding kink, size difference, praise kink, dumbification, spanking, etc.

requested?: yes! | reblogs appreciated!

VIKTOR loves seeing you squirm and writhe underneath him whenever he edges you; the way you whimper in desperation has his dick dripping precum against his own thigh, though he's entirely focused on your pleasure for the moment. When you buck your hips up in need, his lips curl into a smirk — not a particularly kind one — and he can't help but tease you when you beg him to let you come, your words nothing but barely understandable sobs of his name.

Despite being shy about it, another thing Viktor is into is body worship. Whether it's him kissing his way up your body and telling you how gorgeous you are or you doing the same for him, a slight flush on his cheeks; he just loves it. It's so intimate and arousing in the best wholesome way — he simply wants to express his appreciation for you, especially when you mewl so prettily for him. He's not opposed to you returning the favour either.

“Oh, you're getting impatient, dear. I can tell. It's only too bad I don't think you're truly sorry yet — oh, don't beg, my love. It doesn't suit you. Where did that bratty attitude of yours go?”

While he knows he's a pretty big guy, JAYCE has never thought much about his height and how muscular he is compared to others. That, however, abruptly changes when he meets you — you're just so damn tiny compared to him. When he's thrusting into you from behind, his body nearly completely covering yours as he leans forward, he's groaning at the obvious size difference; it's got his cock twitching in interest and heat curling low in his stomach.

Another thing Jayce absolutely revels in is praise — honestly, he just absolutely melts whenever you decide to call him 'handsome' or a 'good boy'. When you decide to do that in public, he doesn't hesitate to discreetly usher you to the next storage room and pin you to the shelves, your cunt soon clenching around his cock. Honestly, he doesn't last long, especially not when you tell him how pretty he looks while fucking into you.

“Ah, princess, god—, you're so damn tight around my cock. Fuck, you're so tiny compared to me — look, I can even see my dick in your damn stomach, babe.”

Honestly, SILCO just loves seeing you go dumb on his dick. You're bouncing up and down on his lap, your thighs trembling with exhaustion, and your moans are nothing but lewd. Still, he does nothing but watch you, a mean smirk curling his lips upwards because, god, you're such a mess already, your jaw slack and saliva dripping down your chin, your eyes unfocused. He's absolutely enamoured with that look on your face — frankly said, he wishes he could always keep you like this.

Silco isn't afraid of bending you over his lap whenever you've misbehaved. The opposite, really — he enioys spanking you a lot, because how couldn't he when you whine that prettily each time the flat of his palm comes down hard on your ass? The way you whimper and kick your legs makes his dick twitch in his trousers; and despite your squirming and your pained cries, you're dripping wet and grinding against his thigh.

“Hm? Oh, don't tell me you're enjoying this, dear. That's filthy. Still, this is supposed to be a punishment — perhaps I'll just have to go a little harder.”

VANDER hadn't really known it himself, but he's absolutely into breeding you. He's thrusting into you, most of his weight on you as he bends you into a mating press, and, fuck, if only you hadn't given him the idea of cumming inside of you, because now the thought won't leave his head anymore. By the time you're coming for the second time, he reaches his first orgasm, liquid warmth soon filling you up, and the sensation has both of you moaning in pleasure.

He also loves having you cockwarm him; whenever he's too exhausted to pull out after sex, he simply doesn't bother to. It's warm and comfortable and also serves to keep his cum inside of you; besides, you don't seem to mind it much if the way you're cuddling close to him is anything to go by.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good around me, so damn tight. Gonna fuck you until you're dripping with my cum, darl—, ah, damn. Clench a little now, there you go; 'm not gonna have you waste even a drop.”

VI herself isn't sure why, but she greatly enjoys having her hair pulled on. When she goes down on you, her tongue flattening against your wet folds and her thumb rubbing over your clit, and your hands fist in her hair, she outright moans. Your nails rake over her scalp, making Vi gasp and redouble her efforts, her tongue pushing into your dripping cunt.

Another favourite of hers is bondage — it doesn't matter if you're the one who's tied down or if she is, she loves both of it equally. Whenever she's got you tied up, a piece of rope around your wrists, Vi greatly enjoys teasing you; you're squirming as she pushes her strap-on into you, a smirk on her face. When she's the one bound, however, she's frowning at you, muscles flexing against the rope while you decide to take your time with her.

“Fuck, darl, come on, stop teasing me. Just untie me already — I'd fuck you so good, baby, come on. I'm so close, fuck—.”

Frankly said, JINX simply loves marking you up. When she's thrusting her fingers into you, making you mewl and whimper underneath her, she's got her lips on your throat, sucking colourful marks into the soft skin there. Whenever she's feeling mean — and when isn't she, let's be honest? —, she adds some of her teeth, too, until you're gasping as she sinks them into your neck to the point there's obvious marks forming. She's not opposed to collaring you either — as long as it's obvious you're hers, she's into it. She's just possessive that way.

Jinx also loves experimenting with toys of all kinds — whether it's candle wax that's dripping down onto your nipples and making you squirm, a vibrating toy making you come for the third time or some nipple clamps that have tears welling up in your eyes, she adores it.

“Oh, you look adorable right now, sugar! That collar just suits you so well — why don't you say 'Thank you, Jinx', hm? Be a good girl now. Oh, maybe I'll even get you a leash so everyone can see what a cute pet I've got.”

EKKO loves seeing you cry — from pleasure, not pain, that is. The way you whimper and mewl when he bottoms out inside of you is a massive ego boost, especially considering the fact he's not even fucking you yet. By the time his dick is repeatedly nudging against that one spot inside of you, you're keening, your back arching and tears welling up behind your eyelids and soon dropping down your flushed cheeks and, fuck, Ekko just loves it.

While the idea seemed odd to him at first, he's now rather fond of role play; whether it's him catching you stealing supplies and playfully punishing you or you taking the lead for a night, he definitely enjoys all of it.

“Fuck, look at ya, baby — am I making you feel good, hm? So good you're crying already? Come on, tell me, babe. Want to hear you, use your words.”

A mean smirk is curling SEVIKA's lips up as she watches you try and squirm away from her; not that you're possibly able to with the way she's got her metal hand on your lower abdomen, pinning you down onto the mattress. Honestly, she can't blame you for trying, though — by now you're reaching your third orgasm, and if the tears on your cheeks are anything to go by, this one really hurts. Still, you're clenching around her strap, and she's sure you've still got one orgasm left in you. Overstimulating you is simply too much fun.

She also takes great joy in degrading you — the way you whine whenever she calls you a desperate slut or a pathetic whore is just addicting. Right now, Sevika's thrusting two of her thick fingers into you, crooking them until you're gasping, though she scoffs in disdain when you beg her to let you come. That's just embarrassing.

“Come on, stop sobbing. That's pathetic. Ah, I've got a fun idea — let's make a bet, babe. Come again for me and I'll let ya get some rest before we continue. Guess I'm feeling nice. So, what do ya say?”

It's strikingly obvious that FINN has a rather unorthodox sense of fashion, which is why you're not entirely sure why you're this surprised when you sink down on his cock for the first time and, quite suddenly, feel something rather cold, something unyielding press against your walls. The second the dick piercing presses against that one spot inside of you, you gasp, your back arching at the foreign feeling, and Finn smirks against your neck, smug.

Another thing he's into is making you sit on his lap during meetings; there's the eyes of multiple chem-barons on you, on Finn's pretty little arm candy, while you clench around his dick, and the fact that they can all look, but not touch you is what makes this kind of exhibitionism so arousing for the both of you. One calloused finger moves down to rub over your clit, and you can't help but cry out, once again drawing everyone's attention to you.

“Damn, doll, you're so hot. Look, everyone's staring at you — too bad no one can touch ya, make ya feel the way I do. Come on, come for me. Show them how much you like my dick spreading you open.”

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notes: i want to write for Local Cuisine

tags: @vislovelywife @mamanaga @vaemadz @cicada-teeth @jinxsslut @silcosnumber1 @coochie-intervention @my-awakened-ghost @afidiofobia @helloyellowsheeps @yuuotosaka3 @sccarymonster @satoruislove @pastelsbaby @artsyxabbyx @cyan-skulls @arboranimus @marina-and-the-memes @holysmokesblog @twilightdollie @kaaylvst @definitely-not-v @innerstrawberrypolice @misty-q @perylinsus @pleasemakeitgayer @imaginesbymk @meimayooo @doxmino @smolbeandrabbles @darknessbyme @darthkenobii @mars738 @cupcakkesinflatedwetbussy @illicittete @lemzhargreeves @festivalthrash @savagemickey03 @rosepxtlz @user4837 @Nervousartisanheart @mikariell95 @mechmoucha @silcobrainrot @medeaa5 @nocturnal-onlooker @modernamilf @catsaiem @t0r @beyondblissxoxo

[roll-da-credits]

A Letter For The One I Love Most Erwin Smith 1k words

Dear Y/n,

If you’re reading this now, that means I’ve met my untimely demise. As you know I’m not one to really beat around the bush and I think it’s better to say that now than to wait until you’re halfway through the letter to know I’m never coming back. I have entrusted this letter to a couple of people, Commander Pixis of the Garrison Regiment, Captain Levi Ackerman of the Scout Regiment, and Captain Hange Zoe of the Scout Regiment. I’ve told them where this letter is kept and who to give it to when I have finally closed my eyes forever.

It probably pains you to read this, just imagining your expression causes my heart to ache. It’s truly unfair how fate places us here, within the confines of three walls, caged like prey just waiting to be devoured. But, who knows, if life would’ve been normal, I might’ve never met you that fateful day. For that at least, I’m thankful.

Thankful for you, the person who always waits on our bed, waiting for me.

I know I promised that I would always come back to you, no matter how long an expedition took or how injured I am. I promised I’d always make my way back to you. My home. My comfort. My love.

This time though, I’m not coming home. I explicitly told Hange, Pixis, and Levi to only give you this letter when there is someone to vouch that I was dead. That they see with their own two naked eyes that I was dead. Therefore, if you are receiving this letter, please rest, you might not have a body to bury and if that is the case, I’m sorry.

But please, don’t stay up late waiting for me to return, it’ll only hurt you more. And who knows? If there is life after death, I could be watching you, and seeing you hurt yourself for me would only ache my heart even more.

I tried to stay strong writing this, keep my composure, yet, the more words I lay with ink on this piece of paper. The more I realize how painful this would be. Oh, how I ache to one day be free from this world, learn why the titans act the way they act, learn why the history books seem so odd. How I ache to see the day you and I are free to roam this world, and then when everything’s done, I’ll show you this letter and laugh.

Laugh at how pessimistic I was being that I would die. Then you’d scold me, like you always did, with a smile on your face, telling me that I was preparing for the worse, thus jinxing me. Then you’d embrace me and I’ll feel your warmth, our hearts beating as one.

I don’t want to continue this letter.

I wish I could continue living in this fantasy. But I have chosen freedom and the truth over my own personal feelings. I know you’ll understand, you always did, and in time, you’ll accept it.

For the ones who lived to tell another tale without me, don’t loathe them. If I died, it would mean I sacrificed my life for the better, perhaps leading my men into battle once more. Don’t loathe the survivors, love, I know it might be hard to accept their survival when I have met my untimely demise.

I love you.

I love you more than I could ever fathom in words. I am no poet, I am simply a man that has a way with words, or so you say. It would seem years of motivating my men into battle have shaped me into somewhat of a poet.

Nevertheless, I could never find the words to express my love for you.

Every time I look at you, my heart aches as a smile twitches my mouth upwards. You looked amazing that day I met you in the bakery, even years after our first meeting you still look as amazing as you did back then. It’s ridiculous how head over heels I am for you.

I’ll serve the entire world on a silver platter if you so ask me to.

But you’ve never asked me for anything. The fact that I came home after every long mission was enough for you. Even if it was only for one night in a couple months that I shared your bed, you didn’t complain. You nagged and teased sure, but you never held any ill-intent.

I knew your only hope was for me to come home, and I hate that I might have to ruin that promise of me to you. If you have gotten this letter from someone other than me, that means I have broken it. Broken the one promise you asked me to keep. Broken the one thing you asked of me.

I’m sorry.

I love you so much it makes my chest tighten whenever you even spare me a glance.

How a deity like you could even let me get this close will always be a mystery to me. A mystery, for once, that I don’t care to solve.

I don’t want you to hold onto my death for long so I’ll end this letter in a few more sentences.

Take your time my love, take your time in grieving me. Don’t feel pressured to move on too quickly. But don’t drown in your own darkness. I know how you’ve always been the type to worry yourself half to death. So, for my dying wish, promise me you’ll continue living and move on.

Promise me that one day you’ll look at my portraits and trinkets not with regret, anger, sadness, but with a fond memory of not what was lost, but what was once there.

My love for you is bigger than this world can truly imagine, and if the unthinkable can happen, a devil such as I love an angel such as you, then you can get through this and move on. Perhaps love again?

Though I don’t know if my spirit if there does exist such a thing, wouldn’t torment whoever you chose to be your next lover.

My love, take your time.

I’ll see you on the other side.

Signed, Erwin Smith, the man who will never stop loving you

Hi there! This is a different concept then how I usually write with but I hope you guys enjoyed this either way! I know for a goddamn fact that Erwin would have thought about every single terrible way you would've grieved him but when the time comes to write the letter (cause he realized he's fallen in love too hard) he'd go blank and write what he feels instead and that... that just hurts me.

[dracosathenaeum]

The Game | D.M.

Summary: You and Draco are friends with benefits but a game of spin the bottle causes you both to rethink your situation

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x reader, slight Fred Weasley x reader (hot make out scene 👀)

Warnings: Smut, angst, daddy kink, baths, alcohol

Word Count: 3,651

A/N: You’ve just lost the game, you’re welcome xx I also wasn't going to post this tonight but @fuckingdraco and @dracoswift hyped me up, ily <3

MASTERLIST

FOR THE NON-BRITS: touchwood = knock on wood

You weren’t anything special. No golden girl like Granger, not a descendant from anyone of significance, no. You were just you. And perhaps that was why he was so surprised when his heart started tugging at his chest every time you left his arms.

He had been with countless the girls.

He had touched you the same as he had touched Pansy. 

He had kissed you the same way he had kissed Daphne.

He had held you the same way he had held Millicent.

He had fucked you the same way he had fucked half the girls in the year.

Yet you still managed to be different.

You had started out as just another pass time, but you had lasted longer than any of his other flings, and beating Pansy was a trial in itself. She had stuck to him like glue in between other flings. He didn’t hate her company; he just knew he your company hadn’t become annoying to him yet, and that was all he needed. Maybe that’s why you had lasted so long, as soon as he realised girls started falling for him, he would pull away and break things off. But it had been almost half a year of your mutual agreement and you showed no signs of infatuation, no pesky feelings that would get in the way of good sex and he liked that.

He hadn’t grown tired of you. Hadn’t begun to find your voice annoying or your kisses dull. He still loved the way you felt in his arms, loved waking up to you curled into his side and most of all, being inside of you.

He wasn’t in love, feelings may be there, but not love. Not that he was willing to jeopardise his consistent shag of course, finding another girl to take over would be easy, finding one who wouldn’t catch feelings would be the hard part. Besides, he was used to you, if you wanted to break off the arrangement, he wouldn’t stop you but he sure as hell wouldn’t be the one to do it. He would simply wait it out, wait for you to fall for him like all the others before you had. Except this time he would give you a chance, test out your compatibility perhaps, though clearly you were both very compatible in bed.

You had both set some rules early on.

1.           There would be no labels attached to whatever relationship you two had

2.           If either of you wish to pursue a romantic relationship with someone else, you must break off this agreement first

3.           Could use the other to keep unwanted advances off

That last one was more for him than it had been for you, not many people had noticed you before you started sleeping with Draco, but none had attempted to even flirt with you since the two of you became public. Everyone knew of course, that you weren’t together together, just fuck buddies as it were, that was all of Draco’s relationships after all. But that didn’t mean anyone dared try to interfere.

//

Astoria Greengrass. The younger sister of Daphne Greengrass, someone Draco still considered a friend despite their history and her feelings. Astoria however was not someone anyone expected to try and cosy up to Draco, especially considering how Draco’s arm was still wrapped firmly around your waist as she threw on a flirty smile. Astoria was innocent, she was young, and her sister had surely warned her away from him judging by the look of hurt flashing across the elder sister’s face. Yet here she was.

A 7th year party was the last place you expected Draco to be stolen from your side, but you let him go, you don’t really have a say after all, rather, he’s the one that lets go of you.

You knew the game well, you had watched the girls before you fail at the final hurdle but you were determined. You had first noticed him properly in 3rd year, started developing feelings in 5th before finally getting your chance in 7th. You had managed to catch his eye; you had learnt the failures of the previous girls and you used it to your advantage.

You finally had the chance to be something more, to pretend he loved you when he held you, when he fucked you, when he moaned praises in your ear. You wouldn’t ruin your chances. Not yet. Not when you had spent the past 6 months hiding your emotions, willing your face to give off no sign of jealousy. There was only one emotion you found hard to find, hurt. But that usually came after he was gone, when he wouldn’t stay some nights and instead left you the second he was done with you. Those were the nights that you realised just what kind of game you were playing, that in the end, you would be the one to lose everything.

You try not to look, you really do. But it’s an itching behind your eyes, fingers fiddling with the cup you’re drinking out of and it’s the anger in Daphne’s eyes as she watches their exchange that makes you finally turn and look. He’s leant against the wall with Astoria stood infront of him, fingers innocently strung together as she stared at him from under her perfectly curled eyelashes. A whisp of her perfectly curled hair falls infront of her face, you watch as her mouth forms an innocent ‘o’ before trying to blow it away only for it to fall back. Her giggle makes you want to hex her. Draco tucking the strand of hair behind her ear makes you want to shave her head. The flush that comes across her face at Draco’s actions and his hand that lingers in her hair a second too long has you joining in on the spin the bottle game you had previously sat out of.

Downing the contents of the glass in your hand, you wince at the burn before sitting at the empty spot between a Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

You look up to see yourself directly across from Cormac McLaggen which has you cursing under your breath and sending a silent plea to every god and deity there is to save you from that. Anyone but him.

You cheer when the circle cheers, watch as horny teenagers practically swallow each other’s tongues. Cormac gives you a greasy smile that has you wanting to get up, but it’s better than watching Draco and Astoria flirt their perfectly compatible arses off.

“Anyone but that bastard McLaggen.” You whisper it just before you spin, hoping that it works in your favour rather than jinxes it, tapping the table leg behind you with a quick “Touchwood” just to cover all grounds.

You’ve fucked it.

It spins, but the universe is mocking you. It slows down, likely to land on fucking McLaggen. He could be a fucking prince for all you cared but there was no way you’d let that slimy shit kiss you.

You cross your fingers, willing for it to pass him. And for a while it looks like you’re screwed, but just as you’re about to feign alcohol poisoning it passes him, by barely an inch, but all the same it passes him. You watch with wide eyes as it lands on Fred Weasley by that one inch and you let out the breath you hadn’t known you held. The worried expression on your face quickly became one of relief, a look of relief could’ve been mistaken for happiness, and for a certain blonde, it had.

Fred raises an eyebrow at you, clearly not expecting that reaction from you, before offering you a toothy grin that you return before crawling to where he sat, settling your arms around his neck as his guided your face to his.

You couldn’t stop the moan that sounded at the first touch of his lips against yours. They didn’t know your lips as Draco’s did but that didn’t stop him from being a damn good kisser, knowing exactly where to put his hands and when to use his tongue. Fred Weasley was good. You briefly wonder if the alcohol was why you couldn’t pull away but that didn’t matter when he took your lower lip between his teeth and bit hard.

Forgetting yourself and where you were, you didn’t object when he grasped your thighs in his hands, pulling you to straddle his lap. You don’t hear the cheers erupt around you; you don’t hear Astoria shout after Draco as he leaves her mid conversation, and you don’t notice he’s gone until Fred pulls back to catch his breath.

You catch Pansy’s gaze from over Fred’s shoulder and that’s when you realise something was wrong.

She was smirking at you.

She only ever did that when things had gone her way, which, when concerned Draco, was never a good sign.

You were in half a mind to just turn your head slightly and kiss the man you were sat on senseless again, especially with the way his fingers gripped your thighs under your skirt. But you also knew they were trying to keep you from running as soon as you could, as if knowing you would inevitably follow the Slytherin out but wanted you to stay anyways.

Your head drops to Fred’s shoulder, breathing in a scent you could only describe as homey and warm, the opposite to Draco’s crisp, sharp aftershave, a scent you loved and could almost describe as home.

All these years and not even a magical first kiss with someone (though you were very drunk) could waver your love for him.

“Draco is one lucky bastard.”

“I’m sorry, Fred.”

“It’s okay, it’s just a game after all.” You grimaced at his tone but dug yourself deeper into the hole.

“If it’s any consolation you are a damn good kisser.” Complement a man then leave him high and dry for another, great job y/n. You were doing great.

“The second he fucks up you know where to find me though yeah?”

You couldn’t stop the giggle that left you lips, in a life where you weren’t already enamoured with Draco, perhaps this could’ve been the start of something.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind.”

His fingers slip from your thighs, offering you a hand to steady yourself before you take off, the bottle continuing to cause messy drama as you watch Harry’s spin land on Theo. Damn Draco and his fucking temper tantrums for causing you to miss that moment.

The walk back to Draco’s room sobered you up, head clearing and realising what him leaving meant. Was he mad that you had kissed another person or was he… jealous?

You had never let yourself hope before, but then again, you had never found a reason to.  

He’s waiting for you, pacing around the room with his brows furrowed in a way that reminded you of a child throwing a tantrum. The thought of it making you laugh, giving away your presence in the room.

“Draco, I-“

He pushes you against his door, hands trapping you against the hard wood of the door behind you as his mouth swallowed your words. His hands worked quickly to strip you of your clothes as you tried to reciprocate his actions as best as you could, mind whirling as this was not where you had expected this to go.

Fred’s kisses had been new, they’d been exciting and addicting. But Draco’s? Even whilst he was pissed and rough, they were home. Lips you were used to, lips that could mould to yours perfectly instantly, lips that knew exactly how you liked to be kissed.

He pulled away to bring his mouth to the column of your neck, giving you a harsh suck where he knew would have your knees buckle, using the movement to sweep you off the floor and onto his bed.

Draco works fast when he’s angry, nothing in his mind but fucking his anger out of his system. He’s out of the remains of his clothes before you even have a chance to catch your breath. He stares at you with an unreadable expression so you match his, your features showing indifference rather than the usual lust you would allow yourself.

His narrows his eyes at you one last time before he brings his body between your spread legs, his warm mouth making contact with your cunt, tongue swirling around your clit. Your hips raise of the bed, wrists pulling at the charm that held them in place over your head as the rest of your body tries to get as close to the source of pleasure as possible.

A whine leaves you as his mouth stops its ministrations, one of his hands pushing your writhing hips back onto the bed as his darkened eyes find yours once more.

“Good girls behave, y/n.” You can’t stop the moan that falls from your lips when eases a finger into you, eyes never leaving yours.

A second finger joins the first, curling at a certain angle that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, a heavy weight starting to form in the pit of your stomach.

“Only good girls get to cum y/n, you haven’t been very good tonight, have you?” The tightness in your stomach ready to uncoil when his lips met your clit again, giving a harsh suck before pulling away from you completely. Without his hands holding you down your hips rise up, following his fingers as they pull out and away from you, his cold gaze telling you everything you needed to know.

“I’m sorry Draco, please. Please. I was so close; I swear I’ll be good from now on. I promise. Draco please.”

“I don’t think you have.”

He’s standing again, hands on his hips, tongue running across his lips, the lips that had just almost pushed you over the edge. You didn’t have time to be frustrated over the near orgasm, besides, Draco had a thing for orgasm denial, you were all too used the edging.

“Unbind my arms.” He raises an eyebrow at your attempt to shift in power, but does as you ask all the same.

Your hands reach for his heavy cock, mouth giving a tentative suck at the swollen head, tasting the salty precum on your tongue. Your hands give him a few hard strokes before you take him back into your mouth, eyes watering as you struggle to fit even a third of him in your mouth.

“As much as I love to see you choke on my cock, I don’t think you deserve it today.”

You stare up at him through your eyelashes, the twitching of him in your mouth was all the confirmation you needed to know he was very much enjoying the view of you struggling to accommodate the size of him. 6 months of practise but you still couldn’t manage to take him in all the way.

His hands cup your face as he pulls you off his cock, replacing it with 3 of his fingers instead. His fingers press down on your tongue, forcing your head back, the rest of your body following as he lowers himself over you, his free hand already lining himself up with your entrance.

“Beg for it.”

All it would take would be one small shift of your hips and he would slip inside of you but the last time you had tried that he had bent you over his knee and slapped your cheeks until they were burning. You knew when to test him, and right now was not the time.

“Please fuck me Draco, I’m yours-” You’re not done practically purring your words when he thrusts so that his hips are flush with yours, giving you no time to adjust before he starts pounding into you with deep satisfying thrusts that have you drooling on his fingers.

His hands hold yours above your head, his mouth hot against your ear as he grunts and reminds you of who you ‘belong’ to.

“That Weasley could never fuck you like I can. This cunt is mine; it’s made for my cock and my cock only, do you understand?”

You whimper as your only response as his hips switch from their long deep thrusts to sharp snaps of his hips against yours, his mouth still reminding you who you belonged to.

“This cunt is mine; do you understand?”

You don’t know if you had responded with a “yes” or if it had simply merged with a moan to become incomprehensible.

“Yes what?” His hips continued their thrusts all the while, never losing their rhythm as your body arched into him and squirmed trying to get closer.

“Yes, daddy.”

You don’t call him that a lot, only when you’re truly in need of a trap card and apparently you were as it fell naturally.

His eyes snap up to meet yours, his grey eyes turning even stormier than before as he claims your mouth in a bruising kiss, forcing his tongue into your mouth and fingers finding your swollen clit again.

“Be a good girl for daddy and cum.”

You don’t have to be told twice and finally let go of the heaviness in the pit of your stomach, your walls clenching around his as your body clings onto him, mouth unable to keep up with his kisses. The sight of you lost in pleasure, body writhing under his own, the fact that he had been the one to bring you this much pleasure was all he needed to paint your walls white. You hadn’t even noticed his stuttering hips, hadn’t noticed him still before pulling out. You were still in a daze, collecting your breathing as you came down from a high you had never experienced before.

“Are you okay?” You blinked away the blurriness in your vision to see Draco’s worried eyes scanning your face, hands keeping your gaze on him. “Was I too rough love?”

You know you must look horrendous right now, sweat coating your skin, a dazed expression on your face but you still give the biggest smile your tired muscles could.

“I’m perfect.”

“Want me to carry you to the bathroom?”

“Please.”

You’re in that space between reality and dreams when he picks you up, an arm hooked under your back and knees. He places you on the toilet first, you made the mistake of forgetting once and you made him promise to never forget again.

You watch as he moved around the bathroom, eyes appreciative of the view. Watching his back muscles become taunt as he stretched was something you could never get tired of. The red markings down his back from a couple nights ago were still prominent, you had offered to heal them, but he insisted on wearing them like ‘battle scars’ to show off in the quidditch changing rooms, you had rolled your eyes when he gave you that reason.

He had charmed the bathtub to fit the both of you, sliding in first before helping you step in. You rest against his chest, humming appreciatively as he runs his hands across your skin, focusing on the way they felt rather than the ache between your legs and on your wrists.

“I mean what I said.”

“hmm?” you had almost fallen asleep, his voice pulling you out from your haze.

“You’re mine. All of you. If you’ll have me.” You’re fully awake now, body tensed up as you realise exactly what he meant. You turned your body to face his, ignoring the water splashing over the sides of the tub as you settle between his legs again, facing him, “You want me? What happened to wanting no strings attached?”

You knew the game he played well, you wouldn’t fall at the final hurdle, if that was even what this is.

“I want you y/n. I’m not going to spout some bullshit love confession like some first year drugged on Amortentia, but I can’t share anymore.” Draco Malfoy was bad at communication but good lord this was a new low even for him. You were half inclined to continue feigning indifference to protect what you had, but the other half was greedy. Draco was offering you more, how could you not take this opportunity. You had beaten the game, you had gotten Draco to want more with you, well at least you were 70% sure.

“Is this some roundabout way of you asking me to be your girlfriend?” His upper lip twitched as you said the word girlfriend, the action making your own eyes drop to the space between you. Wet fingers cup you face, bringing your face back to his as he captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. You had had lazy kisses together before, during lazy morning sex. But this, this was slow and meaningful and full of emotion. He might never be good with words, but this, this would be enough.

You pull away from him by a hair’s breadth, lips only millimetres apart. “Okay.” Each syllable you said caused your lips to touch again, neither of you moving just yet. He lets out a shuddering breath that he must’ve been holding in, a grin covering his face in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re lucky you asked now, I was hoping to visit Fred soon.”

The ache between your legs only became worse as he kept you awake for the rest of the night, edging you and taunting you for hours to prove you belonged to him and that a Weasley wouldn’t even begin to compare (too bad you never got the chance to).

Waking up with sore limbs and a satisfying ache all over your body was worth every second it had taken to get here. To win Draco Malfoy.

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[dameronology]

asystole {obi-wan kenobi x reader}

summary: ‘the trouble is the way you stick, to any part of me that remains in tact/but if i pull the plug, it isn’t only me i’m holding back’ - asystole, hayley williams (a.k.a ‘the one where you’re the bane of obi-wan’s life, even as a force ghost’) 

warnings: mentions of death, swearing, angst, and me not having a single fucking clue how force ghosts work 

this was originally based on a random idea i had and also encouragement from kara/@hellotherekenobi who requested a prompt that i completely forgot to include but...we move. also, i would highly highly recommend listening to the above song just because it’s a real tear jerker and i lOVE it 

enjoy 

- jazz 

Loss, for Obi-Wan, was not a stranger. It was an old acquaintance, constantly lingering beside him -- not quite there, but not gone either. He could always feel its presence, a constant and painful reminder of everyone he’d lost. He could probably count them all one hand but that didn’t make it any better. Loss was loss, whether it were two people or ten. Even if his grief had stopped and started with the passing of his master all those years ago, it was still something he felt in its wholeness and in its entirety. Because that’s all Obi-Wan could do: feel. It was everything or nothing. Zero percent or one hundred.

And with you, he wished it were nothing. He wished that your sudden absence from his life was something he didn’t have to feel in every fibre of his being. It was hard enough to acknowledge and even more painful to comprehend. You were the one person he’d always just assumed would be there forever. How foolish it now seemed, he was very much aware. Everybody died -- Qui-Gon Jinn was a testament to that; as was Satine Kryze and quite literally every other person in the galaxy who’d had the pleasure of being reminded of their mortality. It was just that this was...it was you. You weren’t immortal by any means but maker, you had acted like it. The way you went about life with an air of recklessness and discontent for the rules, making even the hardest of missions into an adventure. His life had been a thousand times better since you’d come running - nay, stumbling - into it. You’d blown his entire world to bits and pieced it back together with tiny, intricate bits of yours. Filled it with chaos and laughter and a light he hadn’t felt since the days of his youth. 

Perhaps most importantly, you’d looked after one another. He would stay by your side 24/7 to make sure you kept your head screwed on your shoulders, and you would pester him to drink water and remember to eat. He would remind you when you had important missions and meetings, and in return, you’d proof-read his paper work. He remembered the first time he’d fallen asleep beside you, to wake up with a blanket wrapped around him and his boots pulled off. It was so clear in his head because it was the first time someone had ever done anything for him without asking. It became something you did often, and though he never said it, it was something he kept so close to his heart. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t a fool. He knew you weren’t going to be around forever - he just didn’t realise that not forever was going to be a whole lot sooner that he’d anticipated. He used to make jokes about how your recklessness would one day lead to your demise. The idea of it made him feel sick now. He’d been right the entire time. He didn’t want it to be real.

None of it felt real. The whole conversation he’d had with Mace Windu about you not making it felt like a distant nightmare, something he’d tried so hard to wake up from, only to find that he was wide awake the entire fucking time. Night terrors were bad, but reality was arguably worse. 

It didn’t feel right at first, to see your chambers still filled with your stuff and your lightsaber still resting on your nightstand. Obi had been the one to put it there when you’d been taken to the infirmary, thinking you would have asked for it when you woke up - but you didn’t. It went hand-in-hand with the robes he’d hung up on your door and the get well soon, moron card he’d brought you. 

Then, they emptied your room. Took your clothes and your books and every other worldly possession you had. Your name was removed from the door to your quarters and added to the list of Jedi who had died in combat on the stone in the Temple gardens. Aside from that, any sign that you had ever walked the halls or burst into council meetings at the last minute was gone. You lived on only in his memories, your lopsided smile ingrained into his mind and contagious laugh echoing constantly in his brain. 

Throwing himself into work was the only option for Obi-Wan. He already took on a thousand things at once, but without you to help bare the weight, it became a million. If he was busy, he didn’t have time to think -- about you, or how fucking fragile everything was, or about all the ways he could have saved you. You’d slipped through his fingers, even when he’d be holding on so tightly. It wasn’t his fault. It was just...life. 

A few weeks passed, and Obi-Wan continued to push himself. Everybody noticed it -- how suddenly busy he was, how quiet he’d become, how tired he looks. Blue eyes had grown exhausted with grief and regret, strawberry blonde hair becoming longer and unrulier than was characteristic for him. When you’d died, you’d taken a tiny piece of him with you. An important part. Maybe that part had been you. 

It was on a cold Tuesday evening that he heard the four words. Sat out on the balcony of his quarters, watching Coruscant and life pass by in a blur ahead of him, a tangle of traffic and noise and a million sounds that he couldn’t quite decipher. The sky was a navy blue, cast with the tiny little glints and dots of distant planets. All worlds that you’d once promised to explore 

‘You look like shit.’  

He thought he’d imagined it at first. In fact, it wouldn’t have been the first time in the last few weeks that the sound of your voice in his head had felt clear enough to be real. Imagining things - hallucinations and echoes of the long gone - was simply part of the grieving process. A process he’d gone through countless times before. 

 The sudden appearance of you in the corner of his eye jolted him like an electric shock. Perhaps not that far off of the emotional equivalent of being hit by a bus. Or a light freighter. Or...all of those things at once. 

You were ethereal. When he’d last seen you, you’d been...tired. Now, you were smiling and radiating some sort of energy that could only be described as quintessentially you. There was not a chance in hell that a grief-induced hallucination could be so life-like, so crystal clear. Plus, why would he have imagined you like this, slightly transparent and with a blue glow surrounding you? A fitting colour for your final form, he figured. 

‘Shocked to see me?’ Your drawl continued. ‘Because if you think you’re shocked, let me tell you. One second I was napping and the next I was a fucking Force ghost. Could you imagine?’

Obi-Wan smiled softly. ‘I don’t think I could.’

‘I can float through walls, though.’ You grinned. ‘How cool is that?’

‘It’s...that’s very cool.’ He replied. ‘I don’t suppose you can hug Force ghosts?’

Obi-Wan reached his palm out towards you - slowly but surely, as though he were scared you were going to fade away all over again if he touched you. You mimicked his actions, faded blue fingertips just moments away from his. When they finally touched, they didn’t. You felt nothing. He felt a rush of cold, as though somebody had poured a bucket of cold water over him.

He didn’t fully understand the concept of Force ghosts. Studied them, sure. Understood them? Not quite. There weren’t enough Jedi texts in the galaxy to fully capture the complexity of what made somebody come back. Often, they were linked to acts of heroism, or stemming from action taken when the person was still alive. That didn’t seem like you though. You weren’t the sort of person to try to fiddle with jinxes and hijinkery that would allow you to come back once you were dead - at least not purposefully. There was certainly every chance you did it accidentally. 

 ‘Guess not.’ You murmured. ‘Sorry ‘bout that.’

The icy feeling only grew closer as you took a seat beside him. It was funny, because he thought that if he’d had the chance to reunite with you, that it would have been more emotional than this. Something filled with more feeling and grandeur. Instead, you’d just appeared, and acted as though you’d never been gone in the first place. Obi-Wan preferred it that way. 

‘I’ve missed you.’ He continued to stare blankly ahead. 

When you died, there were a thousand things he’d come up with that he’d wished he’d said. They ranged from comments about the weather to grand declarations of...how much you meant to him. All things he would never dare say to your face, and that’s probably why he came up with them. Because he would never get the chance to say them. And now, here you were, right beside him, and he had a second opportunity to get that closure -- but the words didn’t quite come. They stayed on the tip of his tongue, there, but not quite there. Even if this wasn’t quite the version of you that he imagined himself telling them to, it was still undeniably you. 

‘I should hope so.’ You tried to nudge him with your elbow, but it was just another icy jab. ‘I would say that I missed you too, but I don’t know where I’ve been.’

‘What happened between then and now?’ Obi asked. ‘Between that and this?’

‘Okay, first of all - you can say my death. Coming up with a thousand other words for it won’t undo it.’ You said. ‘And...I don’t know. I just remember blaster fire, then some darkness, and then I was here.’

‘Did it hurt?’

‘Well it didn’t tickle.’ You replied ‘It was quick, if that’s any comfort.’

‘I suppose it is.’ He murmured. 

‘You’re being uncharacteristically quiet.’ You observed. ‘I can go away if you want. I’m not sure how this whole thing works but if you want me to leave, I can go and scare Dex-’

‘- that’s the last thing I want.’ He cut you off. ‘I just..I’ve spent the last few weeks trying not to acknowledge that you’re truly gone and it’s a little hard to do that when you’re quite literally a ghost.’

‘I’m not really gone though, am I?’ You said. ‘I’m still here. Not as I’d like to be, but I’m here.’

‘So as long as you’re around to irritate me and make snide comments, you’re here.’ He smiled. ‘Whether that’s in the flesh or...in the blue.’

‘I’m sorry it happened.’ You gently sighed. ‘Not sorry that I died for the greater good but sorry it was so..sudden.’

‘It’s not your fault.’ He wanted to reach across, to take your hand in his or run it down your arm - but he couldn’t. He couldn’t deal with another rush of cold in place of what used to be warm flesh. ‘It was still undeniably your most half-witted decision to date but you saved a lot of people, so I won’t hold it against you.’

‘Oh, how kind.’ You snorted. ‘I bet you’ve secretly enjoyed the peace and quiet, Kenobi.’

‘I miss it already.’

-- 

Obi-Wan woke up the next morning, still on the balcony. The air was cold -- as evidenced by his violent shivers -- and the sky had changed from navy, to a turquoise-tainted pink. The city below was moderately quiet, signalling that it was still pretty early. The only sounds were coming from traffic in the distance and the occasional whoosh of a passing jet in the sky above. He stayed like that for a moment, azure eyes clouded with some kind of apprehension as he watched the clouds slowly pass, not a care in the world for the fact it was fucking freezing. 

Last night had been real, even if there was no sign of your presence. Actually, that wasn’t quite true -- the robes he’d discarded before your appearance had been thrown over him like a blanket. They did little to protect him from the cold air, but it was a confirmation that you had been there. He wasn’t sure when you’d left - or how - but he was the only one on the balcony. 

There were a lot of questions floating about in his head. Why were you only turning up now after weeks? Why had you materialised by him? Why were you here at all? You were finally free, free to do literally whatever you wanted, and you’d wound up by his side. There were millions and millions of places in the galaxy and somehow, his balcony was the one where you’d wanted to be. 

After showering and shaving, Obi-Wan found himself heading towards the classroom of the best Jedi he knew: Yoda. If anyone was going to know anything about Force ghosts, it was him. He’d have to make sure not to let slip exactly what he was talking about - your relationship with him was far more attached than the code allowed, after all - in a more general sense, he must have had something to offer. It wasn’t the kind of thing they taught in Jedi training. If anything, it was the opposite. The lesson was don’t become attached enough to someone so that they haunt you! - and it was one at which he’d failed quite miserably. 

‘Master Kenobi.’ Yoda sat in the middle of the classroom, meditating. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who it was. ‘Of assistance, may I be?’

‘Good morning.’ Obi-Wan greeted him with a bow. ‘I have some questions, and I was hoping you might be able to help me.’

‘Do go on. Help, I might be able to.’

‘Right.’ He cleared his throat, awkwardly taking a seat beside him. ‘What do you know about Force ghosts?’

‘Lots. Specific, you must be.’

‘Say you had a dear friend, and they died.’ He began. ‘Then they came back a little while as a Force ghost.’

‘Come back, they don’t.’ Yoda opened one eye, glancing over at him. ‘Never gone, they were. The Force takes time to manifest.’ 

‘So...the ghost version of them is still them?’

‘Very much so.’ He said. ‘Why, there are many reasons. Many Jedi study for a long time to materialise as ghosts after passing.’

‘What if they didn’t?’

‘Then unfinished business, they have.’ He replied. ‘When a Jedi dies, their Force connections do too. If they are left unbroken, exist as a ghost they will.’

Well, that explained it. 

‘Right.’ He murmured. ‘Last question, I promise - how long does that connection usually last?’

‘Months to years, it may be.’ He explained. ‘On their unfinished business, the connection depends.’

‘That makes sense.’ Obi-Wan nodded. ‘Thank you, Master Yoda.’

The little green creature simply nodded in response, turning his attention back to his meditation. He didn’t ask questions -- what was the point? He’d been around hundreds of years, and dealt with hundreds of similar things in that time. Truth be told, he didn’t have all the answers. He was just good at acting like it. 

Obi-Wan pondered on the conversation for the rest of the day. 

 There were a lot of things that could have constituted your unfinished business. The list was endless, especially given how suddenly you’d passed. Nobody knew you better than Obi-Wan, but even he struggled to decipher it. You weren’t the sort of person who would hang around for no good reason. It had to be something important -- something so pressing that you quite literally couldn’t pass away in its entirety without dealing with it. Part of him was worried that he didn’t know at all; you were always sneaking about, always doing something that you shouldn’t have been. That left a long list of possibilities. 

But Yoda had directly mentioned Force connections, right? Maybe he’d meant it in a general way, but Obi would have been a complete dumb-ass to think that the Jedi didn’t know what was going on. If the situation didn’t tell him, his seeming ability to know everything about everyone certainly would have. You were the only person he could have possibly been talking about. 

It was something he knew he had to bring up, and so he made the mental promise to himself. The best time would have been that night, when he saw you again. If he saw you again. He trusted you to return. You knew better now than to disappear forever without saying goodbye. 

And he’d been right. That evening, after he’d exchanged goodbyes with Anakin, Obi-Wan found himself wandering out to the balcony. Sure enough, you were leant against the railings, back turned to him as you peered down at the city below. The air was cold again -- maybe because it was Winter, but also maybe because of you -- and the harsh winds blew back your hair. He wanted to reach out and feel it, to feel you, but he couldn’t. A man whose love language was physical touch was sure to suffer when the person he wanted most was a fucking entity.  

‘You’re late.’ You glanced over your shoulder at him. ‘Don’t your meetings normally end at six?’

‘Anakin wanted to talk about something.’ He replied. ‘So is this your life now? Waiting for me to come home?’

You snorted. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been at the diner all day moving stuff around to confuse Dex.’

‘That’s mean.’

‘And what would you do if you were a Force ghost?’

Wait for you. Follow you.

‘Explore.’ He lied, leaning against the balcony beside you. ‘I spoke to Yoda today about...this.’ 

‘Mmm?’ 

‘He said that people who usually come back either purposefully prepared for it when they were still alive.’

‘Or?’

‘How do you know there’s an or?’

‘Because I sometimes struggled to turn on my lightsaber. You think I’m skilled enough to do this shit on purpose, Kenobi?’

‘You’re…’ brilliantly intelligent, easily the smartest person I know, ‘...clever. Don’t put yourself down.’

‘Just cut to the point.’

‘Right.’ Obi-Wan cleared his throat. ‘He said that, or that they had unfinished business. Force connections still strong enough to keep them here.’

‘So, you and me?’

‘What?’

‘Our Force connection.’ You said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘You do know what we have one, right?’

‘I...I figured we were always just...close.’ 

‘No, you dipshit.’ You shook your head with a laugh. ‘They can develop between best friends. It’s a little rare, but we’re both so strong with the Force that it just happens naturally.’ 

‘That makes sense.’ he turned to look out at the city. ‘I didn’t really have a best friend before you.’ 

You looked over at him, a smile playing on your lips. ‘Yeah, me neither.’

--

Obi-Wan quickly fell into a routine, post-you. Not post-you completely, because he still saw you every evening, but that had helped push him towards the transition. He adjusted to only seeing you after work - not in the mornings or during the day or every waking second like it used to be. Nothing was how it used to be. Not even close. You were no longer beside him during meets or climbing into bed next to him when you had nightmares. There were no more missions with you or late nights filled with paperwork and laughter. 

That was the problem. 

You were here, but you weren’t really. The ghost he saw every night had your eyes and your laugh and your personality, but it wasn’t really you. Obi-Wan couldn’t touch you; he couldn’t feel you in the same way he used to. It was like having a conversation with a figment of his imagination -- conversations of false hope and plans that would never come to fruition. Because you could banter and you could laugh and you act like things weren’t completely fucking different, but they were. You were a ghost. A ghost of yourself, a ghost of the past, a ghost of what used to be. 

It had helped the pain at first. Eased the dread of knowing that you weren’t ever going to be back, not properly. Obi-Wan had appreciated that. It made grieving a lot easier when you were technically still there to tease and jester him through the process. Knowing that his friendship was the reason you couldn’t fully let go of existing had both made it better and worse. Better, because it meant you cared for him as deeply as he did for you. Worse, because it was so open-ended. At what point would you be satisfied enough to finally let go? Would he get to say goodbye, or would you just be here forever? 

That was the problem, Obi-Wan had come to find. 

He was hopelessly in love with you - though that much was obvious - and he couldn’t deal with only having some of you. He wanted all of you, or he wanted none of you. Only being able to talk to a blue apparition of you just wasn’t enough. It was just a constant reminder that the person he loved most in the universe was gone, and that he’d never fully have you. He was kicking himself for that one. What if he’d said something to you when you were still alive? Declared his love for when he could still physically reach out to you? 

That was the thought plaguing his mind every night. With you beside him, a cold aura radiating towards him as you sat with your legs hugged to your chest. It had been a few weeks since your first appearance, and your nights together ranged from deep conversations to comfortable silence. The latter was always worse, because Obi-Wan constantly found himself teetering on the edge of saying something. It was hard, because despite everything, he found you to be more enchanting and peaceful than ever. More entrancing. 

‘Can I tell you something?’ He asked. 

‘Sure thing.’ You peered over at him. ‘You look worried. Is it serious?’

He paused for a moment. ‘Depends how you take it, I suppose.’

‘Try me.’

‘There are…’ he faltered again. ‘There are some things I regret not telling you when you were still here.’

‘I am here.’ You reminded him. 

‘No, I know that.’ He found himself unable to look at you. ‘I mean when you were here here.’

‘What’s the difference, Obi?’

‘Remember when you used to come to my bedroom at 2AM because you’d had a bad dream?’ He asked. ‘Or when you’d throw yourself into my arms after we’d been separated on long missions?’

‘Yeah.’ 

He absent-mindedly reached a hand out towards you; it went straight through you, a rush of cold shooting down his arm. ‘I can’t do that anymore.’

‘You can still talk to me.’ You urged. ‘You can still be with me-’

‘- not in the way I want.’ Not in the way I need.

‘What do you mean?’ You gently pushed.

‘You don’t need me to explain it.’ He finally looked at you, blue eyes shrouded with an emotion you couldn’t quite decipher. 

‘Obi-Wan, what do you think has been keeping me here?’ You asked. 

You knew. Of course you fucking knew. Try as he might to be mysterious and suave, but you could read him like a book -- and it was a shock to you that he hadn’t seen your feelings either. They were clear as day to both of you, and yet it had been easier to ignore them for the sake of your friendship, and for the sake of the code. You both always figured that you could deal with them at a later date, because that’s when you’d had a later. 

‘Just say it.’ You murmured. ‘Say that you love me too and I’ll go-’

‘- I don’t want you to go.’ He cut you off. ‘Because then you’re gone forever.’

‘And then you can move on.’ You smiled. Neither of you knew that ghosts could cry until now. 

This was the closest he would ever get to having you now. He could have just sucked it up and dealt with it, and kept you by his side in your ominous form - but would that have been fair on you? To keep you around, just because he was so full of regret over things unsaid and so full of fear over grieving? None of this was fair, on him or on you.  

‘I can’t say it.’ Obi-Wan murmured. ‘Not yet.’

‘It’s okay.’ You gave him a watery smile. ‘I know.’

Neither of you said anything else - maybe you didn’t want to, or maybe you were scared to. The fact you’d finally acknowledged the bantha in the room after years, finally admitting that love had been the driving force behind what made your friendship so good, for so long. The irony was that when you’d died, he’d wanted nothing more than for you to come back in some form. Now, he realised that it was holding him back from moving on -- and he couldn’t do that until he’d let you go. But he couldn’t do that either. 

Unbeknownst to Obi-Wan, his words had been a confession. Albeit a thinly veiled one, but a confession nonetheless. It had confirmed to you the only thing you’d wanted to know before you’d passed: that he loved you back. That was all you needed. It was all you’d ever needed. 

Eventually, the Jedi beside you grew sleepy. That’s how it usually went every night -- you’d talk, he’d fall asleep beside you, and you’d cover him with a blanket and slip out to wherever it was that Force ghosts went at night. He never asked, for fear of it ruining the mystery. Obi-Wan knew that he wasn’t the only person you saw, but it was a nice thought, and one he didn’t want to taint. At least you took more mercy on him than you did with Dex, who slowly thought he was going insane at all the random objects suddenly being moved around. 

When you heard him gently snoring, you stood up. Obi-Wan looked peaceful, as though he’d finally gotten something of his chest - even though he hadn’t realised he’d done it. He hadn’t realised that it had been enough.  

You leant down beside him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. For the first time since you’d appeared, you could finally feel his skin against yours - no cold jolts, no body parts suddenly disappearing through the other. Just your lips against his; warm and...human. 

‘Good night, Obi-Wan.’ You ran a hand through his hair, before standing up and stepping back. ‘I love you. I’ll always love you.’

He felt it. He was asleep, but he felt your lips on his and your hand in his hair, and he’d secretly smiled to himself, not entirely realising what was going on. He’d thought it was a dream, or that he was simply imagining that you could finally touch him as though you were a human, and no longer a cold, blue ghost. 

Because you weren’t. You were no longer a ghost.

Obi-Wan didn’t realise till he rose the next morning, a blanket tossed over him and the feeling of your lips still lingering on his, even hours later. He even dared to smile for a moment, before the knowledge of what he’d done hit him. He’d given you what you wanted - an unintentional confession of love. The thing you needed to finally cut off your Force connection. The only thing still tethering you to this world.

You were gone, but at least he’d finally gotten what he wanted. You. Even if it was only for a few moments.

[bubblyani]

The Letter

(Melvin Purvis x Reader)

A Melvin Purvis One Shot

Fandom: Public Enemies (2009) Michael Mann

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6.6k+

Summary: The day when the FBI plans to catch John Dillinger, you finally write a letter full of undisclosed affections to Melvin Purvis, the love of your life. 


Author’s Note: Please note, this is all based on the fictionalized version of the character played by Christian Bale. It was a challenging concept but very happy with the outcome. Maybe I’m just “Bumping Gums*” but, hope y’all enjoy!!

“What are you thinking about?”

That familiar, male voice inquired. Cool yet affectionate; lingering in the darkness long enough for a female voice to hum before responding:

“Me? just things…” she began, her voice comprised of a much greater familiarity above all others, “Things I wanna say to you. I…” a chuckle arose, “It’s silly but…” she inhaled deep, “I just want to, write them down…for you”  

“What?…like in a letter?”

“Uh huh!”

“Why? I’m right here” Her giggles seasoned his genuine curiousity,“It’s not the same. I…” she inevitably paused, “I’m just shy” as softness smeared over her tone. “Oh…” he decided to follow suite, “…somehow I don’t believe that” with his words exiting in the form of purrs, the two pairs of lips finally met. The kiss, it was chaste. Yet the sound remained crisp. And the shared chuckles that soon followed, were crispier. Audibly vivid at its finest.

Sheer pity, for it merely was a memory. Such a pity, for it vanished the very second your eyes dared to open.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(1934)

A heavy sigh left your lips in disappointment. Arms folded, your right index finger wandered over your silk robe, in detail. It had no other option, especially when your lips could not indulge his own, when your eyes could not indulge the only loving gaze that truly mattered. Thus, there you were, running your fingers over the silk of harsh reality. Nothing to imagine, nothing to relive.

All the while you stood, staring at the door ahead. The door from where he just left.

It was a lazy afternoon, and anxiousness had found its way deep into your bloodstream. Woken nerves, uneasy stomach, the pounding heart with great speed and clarity. Harsh reality had turned to the worse, grabbing you by the shoulders, only to force you to stare deep at it.

Face the facts, it uttered. But which part of you wanted to do so?

Though being the sole occupant in the room, your pounding heartbeat did not fail to drown your very own hearing. This feeling, you despised it, to the core. If only it would stop.

Until it finally did. But only when you spun back around in a split second. For you decided to take action on it instead.

Planting yourself firm on the wooden desk, hands were occupied in the hurried dance as drawers were pulled, and stashes of paper were grabbed and dropped out before you. But once the hands found their way to a beautiful pen inside, all actions reduced pace. Holding it with care, your eyes grew warm by the mere sight. For the pen, it was a symbol of things a many, and one in particular. The one which cost you a heavy sigh, before opening the cap and let the pen make take its course on the paper. And just like that, you finally wrote down two words. Two out of the many your heart ached to speak into existence:

Dear Mel…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The sigh that followed soon after, was relieving. It was liberating. In truth, even a smile seemed possible. Hence, your intentions were clear.

“Dear Mel…” leaning forward, you read it out with warmth. For you were prepared to permit the ink to reunite with the paper once again, and linger on a little longer:

Looks like I finally found a reason to sit down and write this letter to you. Honestly, I feel like laughing, cause I never thought I’d end up doing this. 


Chuckling to oneself, you proceeded to write:

But I know if I don’t do this now, I would regret it. Cause now I finally know you deserve to read every last bit of my thoughts and feelings. All that I have hidden for too long. Before it’s too late.

Seeing you walk out that door wasn’t anything new. But when you did it this afternoon, it felt different. My heart, it felt something. It was heavy! That’s the word. Was I worried? afraid? I don’t know. All I know was that, it was too much. Enough for me to remember your effect on me.

Those words may have been generalized, yet you were astounded by the comfort you sensed when writing them. Inhaling deep, you kept on:

You were not a man I expected to ever meet in my life, Melvin Purvis. Never for one second. Out of all the folks here in Chicago, why would we ever meet? Whatever reason it was, I am very thankful. I am very thankful I opened my door to the hallway that night.

And I am thankful for Mr. Lloyd, and for that man in the navy blue coat.

Your words, they brimmed with sincerity. Looking up from the paper, you couldn’t help but stare into the wall. It was simply inevitable. Especially when every bit of detail began to flow into your consciousness, only to unfold the memory of that fateful night in your mind.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chick Webb’s “Blues in my Heart*” playing in the radio, certainly did not fail to mirror your heart to perfection. For the melancholia was mutual. And the dim lights illuminating the apartment in the late evening, seemed to have sealed the emotion shut.

Memorable was your deep sigh, along with warm cup of tea that rested on your hands:

“I figured he, of all people would vouch for me, but instead he just…hung up” You remembered uttering, tone enriched with sadness whilst imitating a telephone being disconnected.

“Well…” a gruff voice began, “…if I were your Old man, I would never pull that nonsense”

You looked up, to set your eyes over at your neighbor Wilmer Lloyd, sitting across from you in his pajamas. A spritely gentleman in his late seventies, Lloyd was the friend, who in time became the father figure you wished you had.

Amused by his temper filled response, You chuckled with disbelief:

“Mr. Lloyd, your daughter had to move to another city, cause you didn’t like the fella she wanted to marry” you replied, “No need for the unnecessary kindness” adding with a smile, you proceeded to take a sip of the hot beverage.

“What kindness? she is no good kid like you. She married a goon*! ” Lloyd responded in defense, leaning forward with conviction, “While your Pops is just mad cause you’re trying to be a Secretary”

“I bet you a Lincoln* that my folks rather have me marry a goon, than have me find my own way of living”  you said, gulping down the rest of the tea.

“Don’t jinx it, kid” the old man grunted, his index finger pointed right at you, “I don’t wanna hate you too”

You laughed out loud. Truthfully, you were relieved to have finally did. The room felt too depressing for too long.

“Alright, kid. I’m beat” the old man sighed, pushing himself up to stand with a grunt. “Goodnight, Mr.Lloyd” You stood alongside him. The two parted ways, with you making your way over to the kitchen, and your neighbor making his way out. As if it was so habitual. For a daily chat with old Wilmer Lloyd, was indeed habitual.

Your first proper encounter with Lloyd was a special one. It was only a few months ago that you moved into Chicago. Stressful work shifts and lack of friends led to an eventual emotional breakdown one fine evening. A seemingly noticeable one, which caused the usually moody Lloyd to peep through his door, only to find you bawling your eyes out in the hallway. The sight of you kneeling before your apartment door in tears, was more than enough for his cold heart to melt, and to voice his concern. All while he helped you gather the groceries that had fallen out of your brown paper bag.

“We all gotta start somewhere, kid”

That phrase of comfort, was the invisible handkerchief that wiped your tears that day. And as you rinsed the tea cup, that phrase managed to return to your consciousness, being an invisible hand to pat you on the shoulder. Closing the tap, you sighed with relief. For you were once again thankful for the good in humanity.

Until the sound of a gunshot attacked your ears.

Clinging on to the sink with a jump, you felt your heart beat out loud, and there was no stopping. Before any was comprehended, a loud groan soon followed, originating from the Hallway. Your eyes widened. Could it be?

“Mr.Lloyd…” you breathed, as your legs finally made you dash towards the door to open. You gasped out loud, the moment you found Wilmer Lloyd sprawled on the floor, shot.

“Oh my god!…” you whispered, kneeling beside him.

But Lloyd lost your attention for a slight second, for you caught the sight of a man disappearing into the right-side stairwell. The sight was quick and blurry, yet it was evident he was armed. And one particular color was prominent as he left.

The groan repeated, forcing you to focus on Lloyd once again. Which was most important.

“A-are you alright?” A meek inquiry was all that you could do.

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, KID?” The old man answered in pain, shifting. Slight relief washed over you, when you noticed he was only shot in the arm. Perhaps it was your heartbeat, or a new set of pounding footsteps nearby. Either way, the sounds grew louder from the left.

“Freeze! Chicago Police-” A voice, a male voice cried out, only to pause, causing you to look over, only to freeze.

Lowering his pistol, a well dressed man stood, surrounded by two others. All in suits and fedoras, and all seemingly alarmed by the sight of you and Lloyd.

“Is he alright, Ma’am?” The first man inquired. “I’m fine. Jesus!” Lloyd responded with annoyance. The man nodded with acknowledgement. Although there was slight embarrassment in the his face, you were simply too distracted by the cool nature of his voice.

“I know this is the wrong time but…” the man uttered, “…but did you see-”

“The shooter? ” you began all the sudden, “…in a navy blue coat? He went that way” pointing towards the right, you added. The muscles of the man’s tensed face relieved.

“Thank you, ma’am…” he breathed, before making a dash, “Boys! Take this man to the hospital” his commanding voice trailed behind him, indicating Lloyd. All before he himself disappeared into the stairwell.

And to your luck, the two able bodied youngsters knelt over the old man to do the needful. “The bullet is still inside. He’s gonna be alright, ma’am”

“Thank god! You heard him, Mr.Lloyd” you said, “Let’s go”

“Eh…” Lloyd muttered, holding the wound whilst being carried, “Not that I’m overjoyed about getting shot, but I gotta say I’m more than happy to know I’m not gonna die tonight” he grunted. To which you finally smiled behind him:

“Not in a million years…”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The sound of loud sirens shattered your trail of reminiscence. Sirens, you gasped. For they suddenly brought you worry. Was he in trouble already?

Parting from the pen and paper, your hands pushed you to rise and scurry towards the window. Except you merely saw a youngster getting his ear pulled by an angry policeman, for fiddling with the police car siren.

You clutched your chest, sighing with relief to see. The fact that daylight yet reigned supreme was also sufficient evidence for you to rationalize your new-found relief. He was safe, wherever he was.

Returning to the desk, you picked up the pen. Glancing at it with affection, you proceeded to write once more:

Because of the accident that night, I found myself meeting a man who fascinated me instantly. So , you could understand how frustrated I was when I couldn’t even thank him.

You smirked upon those words. Not soon before you continued writing:

But then again, who knew I would have the actual luck to see him again two days later? At a place where I least expected. All thanks to a Bad Customer.

Akin to a Moving Picture, or a Talkie*, that very moment began to project into your memory. All the while your index finger managed to twirl a piece of your hair with nostalgia.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Apparently it was just some low level goon. Well, at least that’s what the Police told Mr.Lloyd…when they took his statement. But I don’t buy it, no. Why would those Federal Agents be there if it was?…”

You said, tying up the white, cotton waist apron over your baby blue waitress uniform.  

“Goodness! I really wouldn’t know what I would have done if I were you, Sweetpea” Cathy, your best friend replied while she followed suite.

Once the hair was fixed, the two of you headed to the kitchen, “Everyone! Look who’s changed her shift!” Cathy cried out, urging the other employees at the Diner to focus on you. There were cheers, bringing out the brightest smile in you. It was official.

Living with the Great Depression which has affected all, you were grateful even for the employment at a Diner in the city. A temp job, as you called it yourself. Until that very morning, you were assigned to the later shift and spent several weeks parted from Cathy. Fortunately, upon your boss’ satisfaction, you were finally offered the shift you always wished for: The morning shift.

You graciously used the first hour that morning for familiarization, which mainly included the customers. And that was indeed the part that fascinated you. For the customers were diverse with each shift. And the mornings were mostly welcomed by blue collar workers.

“Cathy! They’re waiting for the pancakes” 
“Oh! Shoot! I’m on it”

Listening to Cathy’s response in the background, you shook your head with amusement. You watched your friend waltz over to the eagerly waiting booth. But only before you made your way to the corner of the Diner counter.

“Can I help you, Sir?” A well rehearsed phrase exited your painted lips with politeness. A young man was the current owner to the corner seat. “A refill” the blonde haired drawled, indicating his empty, white mug on the counter. “Right away” “Thanks, Sweetheart” he replied, whilst the sound of the black coffee being poured, filled your ears. A group of eyes watched you from another corner. It was certain. And sure enough, your stealthy eyes caught the sight of some men sat across the diner. All sniggering. “Ya know…” the Blondie continued as he leaned forward, “my boys over there…” he indicated the suspicious group, “…they don’t believe me but, I think you’re one fine girl, sweeter than sugar” he said, flashing a flirtatious smile. “Oh, really?” You inquired with a polite chuckle. “Cross my heart, I hope to die” He was handsome, yes. But he was the handsome you never wanted. The type of handsome that could also break your heart. Besides, his attempt of seduction was misdirected, “So…um…” leaning closer, he began to whisper, “Care to help me prove the boys wrong? Like with a date? Or even a kiss? ” He inquired, his suggestive eyebrows being quite evident.

Oh, that fool, you thought. If you were at liberty to throw your head back in laughter, you would without any hesitation. Yet, it would not be appropriate.

“Ah! I’m sorry Sir, but I’m working” you replied.

“Aww come on!” He groaned, to which you shook your head and took a step back.

“Sorry Sir-Ah!” Except he grabbed you tight by the wrist. And displeasure was the mask he wore.

“Hey now, is that the way you treat your regulars here?” He inquired, increasing volume. Confused and very violated, your heart rate began to speed up. You sensed a threat.

“Let go, Sir!” You muttered in desperate politeness. Yet he did not.

“Why?” He sniggered, amidst your struggle to break free, “Whatcha gonna do, sugar?”

“I believe the lady asked you to let go”

That voice. A voice you could identify. A voice that forced you and Blondie to turn heads. Your eyes widened. Dressed smart and completed with his Fedora, the FBI agent from two nights ago stood before you both. Authoritative yet graceful, he sighed:   “Pardon me for intruding, but I know a Regular won’t harass a waitress this way” he said in a casual tone, to which Blondie stood up: 
“Yeah?” He snarled, offended, “How would YOU know about being Regulars, smart ass?” “Cause I am one” The Agent answered, before missing Blondie’s surprise punch, only to twist his arm within seconds.

Cries of pain erupted from the young man’s lips, until he was pulled close by the agent. You watched him whisper some words to Blondie’s ear, all before he finally released him. Confidence was nowhere nearby when the blonde man stashed some cash onto the counter, and stumbled towards his group of boys with fear.

You suddenly heard Cathy’s sigh of relief nearby: 
“Oh, Thank god you’re here, Mr.Purvis” She said to the Agent, “You just saved my friend” she motioned towards you.

Finally you had the liberty to observe him. Tall and lean with sharp facial features, he possessed the handsome that comforted you. The handsome that formed potential in you. The handsome that attracted you. Sitting on the now empty seat, he flashed you a cool smile: “Melvin Purvis” he said, “I believe we haven’t had the pleasure…” It seemed he did remember you. You smiled back. “No, we haven’t…” you replied with softness, as you held up the pot, “Coffee?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

And who knew the man that fascinated me, would be you?

I am not ashamed to say, I was over the moon to see you again, Mel. Seeing you for only a few seconds in the hallway, clearly wasn’t enough for me. I was greedy. So greedy I was afraid to admit. But the moment I realized that corner seat in the counter was your usual spot, I knew my greed was not in vain. I was greedy, to get to know someone so badly. So, when you saved me from Blondie, you also saved yourself a spot in my heart. I just didn’t know it at that moment.

But I do remember when I finally did.

When one serves a regular customer long enough, certain facts become known. Be it their usual breakfast order, their favorite beverage, or the guilty pleasure one indulges once in a while. But apart from that, conversation comes into play as well.

I don’t think you knew how happy you made me every time we talked, even while you had your Eggs and Toast. Whatever it was, I enjoyed them all. All topics, from about the mouthy janitor, to the famous FBI cases, which were solved or ongoing. But I was also happy when you also had the time for me, to know about my crazy stories about customers in the late shift, or even just about myself. Which surprised me the most.

You finally became aware of the smile you wore throughout writing. Though you managed to relax your facial muscles, the smile remained at default. Thus, you kept on with your words:

Mel, you made me look forward to work everyday. And that was one huge favor. Waitressing was never this girl’s dream. Another job was. And you know what.

“I know…” you remember saying, as you wiped the Diner counter, “Secretary, A Nice Office…Even my own folks think it’s a silly dream for a girl like me-”

“That doesn’t mean its your truth” Mel, your calm, unfazed reply, those words shook me. You were right. You made me feel braver. You made me want to work harder. You made me feel like anything was possible. And that was when, I finally saw that special spot you had in my heart. Oh Mel, it felt like an earthquake in here. I was affected. I couldn’t even sleep that night. Cause that spot of yours made me realize, I had fallen for you. Fallen in love with you.

Placing your left palm over your chest, it did not take you long to relive that magical feeling whilst you wrote:

Suddenly, I couldn’t look you in the eye anymore. And I’m sorry for that. I may have looked busy with customers for some days, but that was me struggling. I was at a war with myself. A constant battle with my eyes to not care for you more, a battle with my lips to not tell you, how much I pined for you.

But as you remember, I finally did.

And the morning when you did, felt to be a landmark of your bravery.

Upon serving his breakfast, you retreated to the kitchen with haste. The fact you did not even acknowledge Melvin’s usual “Thank you” proved strangeness. Generally, when employees were seen standing at the back entrance of the Diner, one would expect them to be occupied with a personal matter, or even have a smoke break. Except, you simply longed for a break from him.

Seeing Purvis was torture. And that morning felt more torturous than ever. Your desire for him multiplied with every single visit.

Rubbing your forearms to fight off the spring chill, You took a deep breath. What was that you feared? Confessing your feelings? Or the mere possibility of being refused?

“What are you doing? Out here in the cold?” You gasped, looking up to find Melvin standing before you.

“I-” you paused, as Melvin took off his long coat, and slung it over your shoulder with no hesitation. A warmth protected you all the sudden. Was it the coat? Or was it him?

“Are you unwell?” He inquired. You shook your head, not taking too long to finally settle your eyes on his. And there it was: the speeding pulse, the torture, the multiplication of desire. Eyes growing wider with concern upon your speechless look, Melvin shot glances at both directions with stealth: “Is anyone bothering y-”

Only to be intruded by your lips pressed against his.

Oh, Mel! What did you do to me?

With a deep shudder, you kept writing: Why did your lips taste like the sweetest pie in all the world? I’m sorry if my ink turns messy here. It’s just that thinking about it, I just hope my heart won’t burst and bleed. Tasting that sweetness, I was ready to risk it all. Ready to accept the worst fear to come true.

You had a fair point. Especially when his lips remained unmoved throughout your kiss. Which forced you to move back quick, and blush with embarrassment: “I-I’m sorry…” you blurted, struggling with one’s movements as you handed over his coat back and turned to leave. 
“No! please…” Melvin breathed, stopping you with his hand on your shoulder, “I’m sorry…” he stressed, “I suppose I was just caught by surprise” with a chuckle soon after. “Believe me, it wasn’t planned” you chuckled alongside him, relaxing a little. “Although I was hoping…” he began, “If I could take you to dinner one night…” Your eyes widened, but your heart bloomed.

But life was kind enough to gift me a date instead. A date with the best man I know.

“Yes! You can…” you answered immediately, “And please…no need to call me Ma’am anymore, Mr. Purvis” you smiled. To which he smiled back with a hint of mischief, which seemed surprising for the 30 year old Agent:

“Then, there’s no need to call me Mr. Purvis anymore either”

A date that I had always dreamt about. Not with a boy, but with a real gentleman. It had come true. Were you reading my thoughts this entire time?

Bashful giggles erupted from your lips upon writing. It was a date to remember :The fancy restaurant, the fine dining, the stimulating conversation basked in soft jazz and candlelight. Watching and taking in every fine line that adorned his beautiful, statuesque face brought you pride.

Sitting with you, getting lost in our own world, it was no doubt that I was the luckiest woman in the entire restaurant that night.

“I had a wonderful time, Mel. Thank you” Your words were enveloped with warmth and sincerity.

It was late, and Melvin had brought you back home like the gentleman he was. Opening the car door for you, he surprised you with just a smile, no other reply. Which forced you to raise your eyebrows, evidently confused. Could it be that he did not share the exact sentiments as you? Were you not the woman he hoped for by the end of the night? Insecurity began to bubble up within.

“What?” You inquired with a nervous chuckle, “All night you were yapping away, but now suddenly cat got your tongu-”

He gently pushed you against the car. Just so his gracious hands could cup your face, and just so he could plant his lips on yours.

And I was also the luckiest woman in the neighborhood, when you finally kissed me right back.

Sweetness infused with softness, you needed not permission to be fueled with greed at last. For greed finally permitted you to wrap one’s arms around his neck, only to pull him closer. Those lips of his, they had tempted you from the very first moment. And when they finally voluntarily expressed their affection, you were more than ecstatic.

Mel, your kisses were magic. They made me wish if I had all the power in the world to slow down time.

And I felt the very same, when we finally made love that night.

That night, that mere memory. You would be lying if it did not manage to send chills down your spine.

Invitation for a nightcap was your only shameless excuse. For not a single cell of your being, wanted him to leave your sight. Not when he had lit up a flame of desire in you, a few minutes prior. You silently cursed all the passerby’s who forced you both to pull away from the kisses. The kisses that he started by the car. But what could you do? You were surrendered to the laws of love.

Thus, the mere act of turning on the Crosley* Radio, became an involuntary act of seduction. Rudy Vallee’s “If I had a Girl like You*” filtering out from the speakers, gave life to the entire apartment. And it did ever the same to you, tempting you to sway your body from side to side. But your body felt so much vigor, when Melvin gave up on patience, only to hold you by the waist, spin you around just so his hungry lips could taste yours once again.

Melvin kissed you, and you kissed him. Slow, articulate, these lips were making up for every day they did not touch one another. All those days full of remorse.

Thus, began a dance between the two lovers. Heated, passionate. A dance consisting of choreography that had existed within all of mankind. Did not matter if it was carrying you bridal style to the bed, or placing you on to the bed without a sound much louder than a mattress squeak, either way, Melvin’s presence exuded safety.

Pleasure and excitement were in a fiery alliance when you savored shedding every piece of clothing off his torso. Never once did you think seeing many layers would bring you so much arousal. Especially when his eyes had nowhere else to look but at you during. His eyes, they burned with desire. And you would be unfaithful to your honesty if you denied the loins that burned within you as a result. For it was evident how much you longed for him. How the hunger led you to provide him the attention he truly deserved with your touch and kisses.

Dressed, he was smart, authoritative. Undressed, he was god-like. And to hear his soft moans amidst your attention was a gift. A gift that aroused you further. Yet before your eager hands could fondle his hardened shaft, he flipped you with impatience to focus on you instead. His kisses were other-worldly, making sweet contact on your soft, naked skin, creating waves of untold pleasure whenever he peeled off each piece of lingerie. Naked you may have been finally, yet you were more than ecstatic with the new outfit you wore: him. The infusion of soft music, sounds of lovers moans and kisses while the bedsheets rustled, were indeed sweeter than nectar. Tantalizing enough for him to finally enter you. Arousing enough for you to accept him. Resulting in unity, love making, deeming soft as the moonlight that shone into the bedroom. Soft, yet impactful that every second remained carved in your mind fresh, like it was yesterday.

Oh Mel, how did your touch made me weak, but gave me power at the same time? How did you make every second of it worthwhile?

You wrote with a sigh, blushes occupying your cheeks. Not before you cleaned up your ink stained fingers, caused by your thoughts of pure distraction.

Why did you get me addicted to your loving? But most importantly, why were you the perfection I dreamt of all along?

Breathless, you would be lying if it did not take you a while to regain your senses. Re-reading the previous sentence written, you proceeded to give the letter further life: 


After that night, I wanted shout out loud from the rooftops full of happiness, I wanted to tell the entire city, no! The entire world of my blessing: My blessing to have a wonderful man like you, Mel.

The simple truth: that was all that it was. And not long since you and Melvin had gotten together, life was suddenly drizzled with an extra dose of joy. An extra dose of encouragement and hope. Work went better for the both of you. Even Mr. Lloyd managed to re-meet him, but this time with more familiarity and respect. Given his interaction with the Agent, it was evident the the older man had offered his blessing and approval, which meant more to you than anything.

Since then my life was bliss, Mel. With you by my side, I knew I could take on anything.

Except, you drew in a sharp breath with a heavy heart.

All until J Edgar Hoover declared those fateful words to America: War on Crime. John Dillinger.

The heaviest sigh left your pursed lips. For a surge of concern was powerful enough to consume you.

Believe me, Mel. Seeing you get promoted to Special Agent in Charge of the Chicago Field Office, it brought me nothing but joy. Seeing you in the papers, I was the most proud anywhere I went. But with that pride, and with that joy, I was also afraid. How could I not be, when you were assigned to catch Dillinger, Public Enemy No. 1?

How could I not think of the risk you had on your life? So afraid for you that it didn’t strike with me that we didn’t see each other for so long after. 

Though you were out of sighs, your heart remained heavy with the thought. It was true, soon after his men’s lives were affected by Dillinger and his gang, Melvin did not set foot in your apartment nor in your neighborhood. And surprisingly, you did not feel betrayed. Not one bit.

When you phoned me that one time, I could tell in your voice. I could tell the weight you had on your shoulders. The burden, the responsibility, the guilt.

And to me, it didn’t matter I couldn’t see you everyday anymore. It didn’t matter that I had a hard time missing you or thinking about you. Be it at the diner, the streets, the park, the living room and the bedroom. It didn’t matter to me that I had to pretend my life had nothing to do with yours. All I wanted was for this nightmare to end: to stop the unnecessary deaths of innocent lives. All I wanted was for you to be safe. And I knew you could do it all. Without complicating things.

Thus, when someone knocked on your door a few hours ago today, your fear was justified. You remembered standing by the door, arms folded, only to feel your heart beat out of your chest. And when those loud, rapid knocks attacked the wooden door, you could not help but wonder: Could it possibly be one of Dillinger’s men? Another shooter perhaps? Were they aware of Melvin’s connection with you? Were you about to be leverage?

But to your surprise, you opened the door regardless. Clutching your chest, you could only gasp.

But I never thought you’d suddenly come crashing in this afternoon.

For there stood Melvin Purvis, Fedora at hand, heavy panting accompanied.

Never so soon.

“You were not at the Diner” he said in a hoarse tone, still panting. “I-I took a day off” you answered, with wide eyes,“Mel…” you gulped, taking a step forward “What’s wron-” To which he could only reply with rough kisses, slamming the door shut behind him.

And being in his arms again after possibly endless days and nights, you were certain you did not wish to be anywhere else.

It was as if fate urged me to stay home today, just so I wouldn’t miss your hungry kisses. Just so I wouldn’t miss your love. Something I craved for what felt like forever.

Longing translated into desperate kisses, where tongues wrestled in haste. And passionate lovemaking rushed in soon after. The type of passionate, that demanded every item of clothing make quick stops in different parts of the apartment, only to lead a trail to the bed. The type of passionate, that had his eager hands wander over your naked back, before palming your heaving breasts with impatience. All the while you straddled him, with your hips rolling against his. The type of passionate, that tempted you to gaze into his  shining eyes. For they spoke to you, even in silence. How he treasured you, how he savored you, his eyes said it all. And with your responding kiss brimming with moans and emotion, you acknowledged his silent confession, you satisfied his hunger, and accepted his peak of pleasure. All until a new climax was reached together, before collapsing on to the bed with exhaustion.

“Mel…” you panted, sweat further infusing with his, “You still didn’t tell me what’s going on…”

It was only a few minutes later, did Melvin began to speak. Only then were you able to find out about the mission that would happen tonight. The mission to finally catch Dillinger. And as if the floodgates just opened, he kept talking. And all you could do was nod, as he continued to cradle you in his arms.

Little did I know, you came to me in possibly the most fateful day ever.

“You think it will work? The plan?” You inquired, soft. His responsive hum vibrated in his chest. “The source is solid…” he replied, “So…we’re betting on it”

Lifting your head up, you looked at him. Truthfully you could not help but feel sorry. There was a hint of exhaustion in his tone. How far did this man go to make this mission a reality? How many men were sacrificed in the process? Death of many men including Carter Baum, his own partner. Feeling useless, you knew you could only offer him a reassuring soft smile:

“Then it will…” you murmured, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. His skin seemed magnetic to your lips, causing you to proceed with more kisses. Over his eyebrows, bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, the best place of all. With another greedy peck, you pulled yourself away and sat up. With the afternoon breeze playfully caressing your exposed frame, you were tempted to reach out and grab your silk robe tossed on the edge of the bed, which you did.

“I hope you know I couldn’t risk seeing you, with Dillinger’s men on the loose”

Melvin began. Looking back, you nodded with nonchalance. “Of course…” Wrapping the robe around, your answer was as casual as taking a diner order, “I understand” you added meek, looking down at the knot.

“But…that doesn’t mean I was never here”

You froze. With wide eyes, you looked up at his sitting frame. “What do you mean?” You blurted. Only to gasp, “You-w-were you-?”

Melvin nodded,  “Every night around bedtime, from the street…looking at THAT window…”  he said, indicating the very window in your bedroom. If only you could just tell him how your heart just began to melt after possibly weeks. If only you were capable of an embrace that told every fiber of his being how moved you were by him. Melvin sighed, running his fingers through his hair:  

“I just had to make sure you were safe…” he said, “But today, I…” he paused, “I couldn’t stay away”

“And neither should you…” you replied in an instant, cupping his face, “….you’re only human”  you continued with a sigh, “It’s been too long, Mel” your voice grew softer, “ And I missed you” uttering weakly, you proceeded to press your forehead against his. And like that, you both stayed, indulging in the silence with the most innocent physical contact possible.

“This mission…” Melvin began, his warm breath falling on your face, “If I make it out alive-” “Mel, you WILL make it out aliv-” you breathed, before he placed his fingers over your lips.

“If I make it…I’m yours”

He whispered, forcing you to freeze once again. Overwhelming emotion seemed to have frozen you with disbelief, when his sharp features unveiled the softest smile, “As a man, I want to do what’s right for the people” he said, holding your chin, “ I want do what’s right for my heart. And I wanna do it all with you, by my side, always”

And in the blink of an eye, you left through that door, hours before our lives could possibly change forever.

No wonder you made love to me, as if it was your last.

Sniffing, you placed a loving kiss on the pen. For it was the pen Melvin once gifted you with. The pen he hoped you would use when you finally become a secretary. And it did not take long for you to wipe the tears that streamed down your cheeks in silence. What will happen tonight, at the Biograph Theater will end in either two ways. And all you could do was to pray for one in particular. Pray for the one you desperately needed. With another final sniff, you continued to write, until you found yourself finally finishing off the letter you never imagined yourself writing. You wrote your heart out, which left you no regrets:

Before I end this letter, I want to ask you a question.

Do you remember when I was helping you put your tie back on, minutes before you left?  

When I did, I felt something. Something warm, something nice. And I won’t lie, I enjoyed it. Cause in the end, it gave me the feeling you always gave me from the moment I met you: Hope. But today, that hope was also protected by a layer of love. A strong layer. To be able to put your tie on possibly every day, would be an honor I’d wear like a badge for life.

Mel, you WILL make it out alive. You and your men, you WILL get it done. Because this letter will be waiting for you. Because I will be waiting for you.

Ready to have more hope, ready to do more good, ready to live our truth, by your side, always.

With love,

Yours forever…

——————————————————

Glossary of 1930′s Terms/Slang Bumping Gums* - 1930’s Slang for “Talk about nothing useful” Blues in my Heart* - Jazz song by Chick Webb and his Orchestra recorded in 1931 Goon*- 1930’s Slang for thug or bodyguard Lincoln*- 1930’s Slang for $5 bill Talkies*- 1930’s Slang for Movies Crosley*- A Radio Brand famous in the 1930’s If I had a girl like you*- Jazz song by Rudy Vallee, recorded in 1930

——————————————————

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[official-weasley]

Love, William (Bill Weasley x OC) - Chapter 10

WARNINGS:

Chapter 10 - Fred's Higher Hand

Dear Theodora,

I didn’t know if sending you that first letter for your birthday was a good idea. I didn’t expect to get a response let alone us starting to correspond as we did.

Now, looking back, it seems it was the best decision I have ever made.

I couldn’t agree with you more about you finishing school. I can’t wait for you to work in the shop as we can be closer to one another. I am so excited to spend time with you that my mind keeps creating ideas where we could go.

I know how it sounds – writing promises in a letter, but I simply can’t stop thinking about you and...

“Fred, give me back the letter!” Theodora gasped and stood up, trying to reach for the letter in Fred’s hand.

“No. You have been grinning and blushing writing back to someone for months now.” Fred stuck out his tongue.

“The curiosity is killing us, Theo.” George winked at her.

“I am warning you, Fred! Give me the letter or I will hex you!”

Fred was now standing on the table in the Great Hall, students all around them having breakfast were eyeing them curiously to see what was going on.

“Do you have a secret admirer?” George took the letter from his twin.

Theodora didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t tall enough to get the letter from the twins and she was terrified that they are going to read it.

She has been hiding her letters so well from them. She knew they were suspicious because she was always in a hurry to store them in her bag, not wanting to open them in front of them and if she did, she was secretive about it and she never could stop the smile from spreading all over her face.

This morning when Bill’s letter arrived during breakfast, she was so excited to read it that she forgot about the twins being with her and as she felt her cheeks burning and her heart racing, she didn’t see Fred getting closer to her and taking her letter.

“Theo, what is this?” George was shaking with excitement, reading the letter.

“Nothing! Give it back!” Theodora made her way onto the table, but Fred and George already jumped down before she could reach the letter.

“This doesn’t sound like nothing.” George grinned.

“We’re just talking about our shop and the business behind it.”

Theodora was getting desperate. She knew that she’s busted. She has been keeping her secret for so long.

It’s been weeks since she and Bill confessed feelings to each other. They have been writing romantic letters, saying how much they miss each other and being sweet ever since then.

Theodora was debating on telling the twins. She didn’t know what they were going to say about it. She remembered how they were teasing them at the Burrow last summer and thought that perhaps they wouldn’t mind if she was dating their brother.

But at the same time, the teasing could just be in good fun and if they actually got together it could damage their friendship and she would never do anything to let that happen – even if it meant her never being with the man she was falling in love with faster than she flew on her broom.

Besides, she didn’t know what would happen between her and Bill. What if they meet up and Bill changes his mind and says that she is indeed too young for him? What if she doesn’t meet his expectations? What if he sees her and decides that the letters were a mistake?

It would be useless to tell the twins without knowing what they are and where their relationship is headed. But now it was too late – now they will find out and she couldn’t do anything to stop them.

“This definitely talks about business but has nothing to do with finances, if you know what I mean,” George smirked.

“What is it? What does it say? Who is it from?” Fred wanted to know.

“I simply can’t stop thinking about you and am counting down the days when we can meet and...” George started to read out loud.

“George, give me the letter!” Theodora said through her teeth.

“...and hopefully make our promises and wishes into reality.” Fred read from behind George’s shoulder.

“Love, William.” The twins read together.

“William?” Fred furrowed his brows.

“As in our brother William?” George gasped.

“What is it with you and our brothers signing their letters to you with their full name?” Fred chuckled.

The twins looked at Theodora who was red with rage and embarrassment. She stepped closer to them and snatched the letter out of George’s hands, frowning.

“You had no right reading that out loud!” She barked.

“Theo, don’t be mad, we just...”

“Just what? Can’t you mind your own business!” Theodora folded the letter, put it inside her bag, and started toward the door of the Great Hall.

Fred and George looked at each other, regret painting their faces.

“Theo, wait!”

“Theo, please!” George jumped in front of her in the corridor.

“We didn’t know it was that type of a letter.” Fred sighed.

“You promised...” Theo sniffed.

She was so overwhelmed with how the twins found out and hearing the rest of the letter – Bill being so sweet – that she was on the verge of tears.

“You promised you will stop with the teasing.”

“We didn’t know it was from Bill.” Fred tried defending himself and his brother.

“We just wanted to see who was making you so happy.” George scratched the top of his head.

“What do you mean?” Theodora asked, confused.

“We have been watching you grinning like an idiot every time an owl dropped an envelope in front of you.” George smiled.

“We loved seeing how happy the letters were making you and our curiosity got the better of us. We’re sorry.” Fred put an arm around Theodora’s shoulder.

“So are you two dating?” George couldn’t resist asking.

“No.” Theodora shook her head.

“Well according to the letter, you’re not just friends either.” Fred got excited.

“We’re just writing letters to each other, that’s it.”

Theodora didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t even know what she and Bill were and for the first time she didn’t feel like talking about her love life with her two best friends.

“Right.” George narrowed his eyes in disbelief.

“We won’t tease you, we promise,” Fred reassured her.

“How in the bloody hell did you two start writing to each other?” George squeaked.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s just letters.” Theodora bit her lip.

She wanted the twins to stop asking questions and she wanted to go to her dormitory to reply to Bill.

“Fine. Keep your secrets!” George rolled his eyes playfully.

“We don’t want to know anyway!” Fred said dramatically.

“Just promise you’ll invite us to your wedding.” George put a hand on his chest, making puppy eyes at Theodora.

“You said you’ll stop teasing!” She took out her wand, ready to cast a jinx on them.

“Run, George. She’s crazy!” Fred said to his brother and they started running down the corridor, leaving Theodora behind, shaking her head and giggling.

—

“I think we have a problem,” George said with a huff. “What is it?” Theodora tore her eyes from her notes.

“If we want to do this on the fifth floor we have to make it smaller,” George explained. “Why?” Fred asked confused.

“Because we would have to turn ourselves invisible to get away with something this big.” George pointed at the product in front of him.

“But we already shrunk it three times,” Theodora frowned, “if we keep continuing to do so it’s going to explode in your room.”

“Have any better ideas?” George asked hopefully.

“Can we trust anyone to help us?” Fred rubbed his chin thinking about it.

“Who should we ask for advice?” Theodora gave his proposal some thought.

“You can write to Bill since you two are corresponding so much now.” Fred winked at her.

Theodora took a deep breath, stood up, sat next to Fred on the ground, and punched him hard in the shoulder.

“You deserved that.” George chuckled.

Ever since the twins intercepted Theodora’s letter to Bill, this is what she has been put through on a daily basis. Every time they could find a way to bring Bill into the conversation, the twins didn’t hesitate to do so.

Theodora was losing her mind about it but she couldn’t deny that it amused her too. She felt at ease that she didn’t have to hide her letters anymore and the other day she made a mistake by replying to Bill in front of her two friends and she swore she will never do that again.

The entire time they were making kissing noises, throwing winks at her, and singing “Theo and Bill sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

As much as the teasing grew on her, she didn’t like it because it made her miss Bill even more. The letters he was sending her were getting sweeter and more romantic and she wasn’t holding back, expressing her feelings either.

To make her miss him even more, Bill started sending her roses once per week. At first, they were orange and then, two weeks ago, he sent her 3 red ones. To say that her cheeks matched the color of the flowers was an understatement and the note that came with them melted her heart. She will never forget the words.

Now that you know how I feel, orange doesn’t seem to fit anymore. Red roses are a symbol of desire and longing for the one who makes your heart flutter. I reckon you would agree that red is our color now.

She was sitting in front of an empty piece of parchment for half an hour before she found the words to thank him for the flowers. She felt so bad that she couldn’t send him anything in return and hoped that Bill wouldn’t mind just getting her words of gratitude.

She was now counting the days to get out of school and she was getting more and more nervous knowing that they will meet up the second she starts working in the shop.

“As I was saying,” Theodora took a deep breath, “is there anyone who could help us?”

“I don’t think there is.” George frowned.

“We can’t let anyone in on our plan if we want everything to go as we have envisioned.” Fred sighed and looked at the product in front of them.

They have been working on their plan for weeks. They finally created an item they deemed perfect for their prank on Umbridge. Because they knew what they have created and they could imagine the aftermath after their plan is executed they decided to simply leave school.

Theodora told Eric the very next day after Fred gave the idea. She needed to know how he feels about her not finishing her education. She didn’t care – she even found it amusing imagining her mother losing it when she finds out. She knew what she wanted to do and she was determined to follow the twins out of the school once they finish with the prank but she couldn’t deny that if Eric would tell her that she should finish her education she would feel conflicted.

To say that she was pleasantly surprised when she received Eric’s letter fully supporting her and giving her nothing but encouragement, was not enough. She has never felt luckier about him being her brother and he even said that he will visit their shop once he comes to Britain at the beginning of July.

He told her not to worry about mum – since she’s of age she shouldn’t worry what she says anyway – and Eric promised her he is going to protect her if she tries anything.

A tap on the window disturbed their brainstorming. Theodora got up and opened it to let the owl in. She took the letter from its beak and patted the bird on its head before giving it some treats from the bag on Fred’s desk.

“Is it from William?” George wiggled his eyebrows.

Theo,

I am glad your brother supports you with your decision. Truth be told, with the business you lot are going to have I don’t see how Hogwarts can teach you anything that might come in handy.

Know, that I feel the same way as your brother – I am by your side and if your mother will give you trouble, Eric and I can team up and give her hell for you!

I can’t, however, say that it will go so smoothly for Fred and George. I know mum will lose her head the second she finds out and then she will send Howlers to me and Bill and shout at us how we didn’t prevent this even though she has no idea either of us knows already.

She won’t be pleased with them not finishing their education. Especially, since they will be the second and the third in our family to do so. Me dropping out in the middle of my seventh year because I got a job in the Sanctuary didn’t exactly make mum proud but she got around to it once she saw I can take care of myself.

I bet it’s going to be the same with them. I will write to them as well but just know that you shouldn’t get your hopes up for her visiting you any time soon. She’ll need time to process the fact that their sons are selling joke items for a living – no matter how much money it might make them.

Did you tell Bill about your plan yet?

I know the two of you are corresponding, Bill told me himself can you believe it! I know you’re taking it slow and you haven’t seen each other since last summer but Bill has it deep for you, I just wanted to say that. So if you feel nervous to see him, you have no reason to be.

I knew something was going on at once when he came to visit me last month – he couldn’t stop smiling. I needed quite some time to get it out of him but once he started talking he couldn’t shut up about you.

I know you’re not together yet but know that I am very happy for you two and I can’t wait to officially welcome you into the family.

Sending you a big proud hug,

Charles

PS. I made a promise to you when we were in the forest at the Burrow when you called me a hopeless romantic and now I think it’s safe to say: I told you so.

Theodora couldn’t stop smiling at what Charlie wrote about Bill talking to him about her. She couldn’t believe how sweet he was and she felt relief at Charlie’s words that she shouldn’t be nervous. This wasn’t just about the letters anymore – it was real – she could really be with Bill.

Just thinking about it in her head made her blush and it sounded as if from a fairytale. She found someone who believed in her, understood her, wanted to protect her and give her his heart, and wanted to be with her.

“Your brother Charlie wants you to know that you are both gits.” Theodora stuck her tongue out at the twins.

“Rubbish!” Scoffed George.

“He loves us!” Followed Fred.

“He does and he also said that he supports us but that you should be prepared for your mum not speaking to you for a while.” Theodora pressed her lips together.

“Oh, we wouldn’t expect anything else from her.” Fred sighed.

“We know we are taking a risk of her never speaking to us again.” George looked at the product in front of them. “What we are going to do will be written down in history but I don’t think the kind our mum would appreciate.”

“She’ll come around!” Theodora put her arm around George. “Maybe not at first but if we succeed in getting Umbridge out of here, she will be more than happy to give you a big hug.”

“Like Bill will be happy to give you one?” Fred looked at Theodora with the most innocent expression he could muster.

Theodora picked up a book that was on George’s bed and hit Fred’s head with it, rolling her eyes. She knew that they weren’t going to stop any time soon so she might as well get some entertainment out of it too.

[shelby-love]

FRED WEASLEY

Battle of Hogwarts

Requested: yes (by anonymous)

Prompts: none (Voldemort’s lines (cursive) are from the movie)

Warning(s): mentions of death, angst

Word count: 1.9K

Author’s note: I’m weak guys I literally cried while writing this. UGH! Movie 8 is so freaking devastating how can it be someone’s favorite?? If it’s your fav than you’re a freaking soldier! Anyhow, enjoy this because we all know Freddie deserves it! God I wish he lived :’( In the movie I mean lmaooo 💀

Link to Voldy’s little whispering announcement is here! Recommend watching it so you get the feels.

The once peaceful night had turned into a rampage in a matter of seconds. Just 16 hours prior to the battle you were sleeping late with Fred at the Burrow, inhaling his familiar scent until it lulled you back to sleep eventually.

Now you stand filthy, with cuts and bruises all over your body, looking around as the school you had attended not too long ago became a battleground for all witches and wizards.

Tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, the sickly smiles the Death Eaters pranced around with suddenly being too scary to look at. The wind was no calmer than yourself - it blew harshly, pushing your hair violently to one side while you turned your head to look the other way. Death Eaters had penetrated Hogwarts and you were all alone to fight off the first wave.

Jets of green light flew past you in the heat of the moment, missing you by a tiny fraction of an inch. You ducked behind a fallen statue doing your best to ignore the never ending screams of curses. A giant plotted around the debris, walking in a semi-circle while trying to catch a few wizards onto his half-moon shaped weapon of choice.

No one had your back, only the stone statue you trusted enough to lean your back against.

The sight before you was truly terrifying. So many memorable places had turned upside down into something you didn't recognize. Didn't try to recognize. So many memories were squished into anguish. Pain.

Fear for your loved ones.

"Fred!" You screamed out in terror. Your boyfriend was not by your side, having split up from you when he went after his older brother Percy. You didn't see him anywhere since that moment on, but perhaps that was a good thing. Fred wasn't outside to see what the grounds has turned into. He wasn't there to hear the despairing screams that surrounded you. "Fred!"

Another burst of green had escaped from someone's wand, sneaking up to your body with force. The death curse awaited you - no one could deny it.

But something blocked it. A surge of light - pure bright light - blinded you for several seconds before it died down to a spark, leaving you squinting your eyes at the savior in gratitude.

"You really think I'd let my future sister-in-law die like that?" Said George, his voice unmistakably similar to Fred's. It wrapped around you like a cloak of protection, reassuring you that there was still hope.

That you weren't alone.

"You're alive!" Your voice, unlike George's, lost all its light as you staggered to your feet hastily.

"Course I am," said George teasingly though his dashing smile turned into a thin line of worry fairly quickly. He grasped your elbow and dragged straight inside until you met the corridors you roamed around your entire adolescent life. Without a choice but with full trust, you followed after George, watching as the robes on his shoulders held themselves on by mere threads, his whole body blackened by the smoke. Just like yours.

Panic flared within you. You could hear even more screams inside the school - the only place that was free of tall, monstrous giants with voices that shook the ground like bombs.

People, good and bad, screamed out both curses and jinxes while dueling. Your head snapped into different directions every second you were inside, readying your body to defend yourself.

George stopped suddenly, pushing you back behind him and blocking an unavoidable Avada Kedavra before turning back to you. He looked panicked, "Find Fred! He's on the seventh-floor corridor with Perce! Go!"

"I can't leave you, George!" You bellowed in between screaming a jinx at a dark hooded Death Eater.

"I don't think you have much of a choice in this matter, sis!" He said without a backward glance, hurling you into the opposite direction with a mere swipe of his wand. "Go!"

And so you listened, running off to find the man you loved while leaving his brother behind with a heavy heart.

The long-lost piece to your heart, although the piece that belonged to George since birth.

Fred.

You ran forwards through the halls you knew like your own home representing a mad-woman. Every so often, after cursing a different Death Eater through the window you would glance around and choke back a sob.

The halls, per se, weren't as devastating to see; it was the lack of greeting smiling faces that once stood proudly up on the walls that broke your heart. The people from the pictures had disappeared, no longer greeting you in passing like before.

Just then the sound of thunder penetrated through the land, like a storm greeting you on the doorstep. The room began to tremble, your head pulsing to the point you thought it would explode.

And then His voice echoed.

"You have fought valiantly... but in vain. I do not wish this. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a terrible waste."

You dug your hands into your hair like doing so would push Him out.

It didn't.

Although His whispers remained there, His influence did not.

Only at the sight of Fred backed up against the wall with Augustus Rookwood at his feet did Voldemort's voice drain down your ears into oblivion. He had his wand pointed to Fred whose own wand had been knocked out of his hold, disarming him.

Power surged through your being and without much thinking, a bright light of a jinx blasted out your wand, neatly hitting the Death Eater making him drop his wand and crumble to the ground like a pile of ash.

You drew in a suffocating gasp for air and dropped to your knees, a wave of wet tears threatening to spill over like a river. Augustus blew away with the wind, leaving only the two of you alone.

For now.

Instinctively, you cupped Fred's cheeks with your shaky hands and pressed your forehead against his. The whispering was getting too much. "Shh...you're okay..."

"I therefore command my forces to retreat. In their absence, dispose of your dead with dignity."

"Y/N?"

"N-no, don't speak Freddie," you murmured sadly, shakily brushing a strand of his hair while pinning his eyes into yours to distract him from the whispers. 

He did as you said, locking his eyes with yours and not looking away until it was over. "Fred I love you."

"Harry Potter, I speak now directly to you. On this night you have allowed your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. There is no greater dishonor. Join me in the Forbidden Forest. If you do not do this, I shall kill every last man, woman and child who tries to conceal you from me."

And just like that, the castle became unnervingly quiet. Every blast of light that sparked around was no more than a lingering smell in the air, unharmful to anyone - rendered completely useless. 

You didn't know for how long this eerie bit of peace and quiet would last, but you were going to use it up completely. 

"I-I..." Fred started, although no more words followed after that. He swallowed the rest of the thought heavily, instead letting you silently help him stagger to the Great Hall. 

You tried not to look at the blood, but how could you not? It was everywhere, littering the walls and walkway even though no physical contact had to be made in order to kill someone using magic. It just comes to show just how merciless the dark followers truly are. You bit down on your trembling lip, suppressing the dark thoughts that invaded your mind.

Fred had thought the same apparently as he looked just as broken and tired as you did when you stopped in the doorway of the Hall, not knowing what awaited for you beyond those doors. 

The room that used to be the liveliest place on earth shuddered with silence, only footsteps could be heard. Tears rounding up as a close second. 

People were bawling. Although quietly, as if the fallen were asleep.

The house tables, the tables of pronounced rivalry between the four houses were gone. What crowded the room were the people, their arms around each other's necks. The injured were being treated but the dead lied in the middle of the hall. 

Your friends mourned their loved ones; professors sat quietly by the side, looking grim but with hope still glimmering in their eyes; kids who you had nothing to do with during your schooling suddenly felt like the closest of friends, their closed eyelids will never open again. It tore your heart.

The first of many sobs escaped. You paused ever so slightly, pushing Fred back too without even realizing it. Breathing became harder, your lungs became tighter. Life was too harsh at that moment.

Inhale. Exhale.

"Y/N hey," said Fred softly, cupping your chin with utmost of care. Almost as if he was scared a simple touch could break you. "It's okay. Look at me, love."

You shook your head, unable to do as he said, "Fred? Y/N?"

Both Fred and you glanced at George who was standing amidst the crowd, looking worse than he did before. But at least he had a smile.

"Go." You gave Fred a simple nod, and he didn't even waste a second. Both brothers ran for each other, winding their arms around each other's necks. You could hear their cries of agony and the falling tears, so you turned your head to hide your own set of tears. All you could do was release the emotions, you came to realize.

There was something about the twins, as if they felt what no one in the world could. Perhaps that's what made them so close, a joy to be around really. Like many, they fought, but then they simply synchronized at the right time and all became good again.

There was something about knowing that the love of your life's brother was okay that made the world a bit more bearable. George was a part of Fred no one could replace - you, Molly, Arthur, Ron, ... You didn't want to live to see the day Fred mourns over his brother too soon.

But Fate smiled down on you, reuniting the two soulmates as a gift to the world.

Ginny walked toward you so quietly you almost failed to notice her, but when you did your lips curled sadly; her face was swollen, and she looked to be in a great deal of pain, but she hugged you tightly despite it. Your arms mimicked her own, pulling her close until the comfort balanced out.

Soon, the rest of the Weasleys joined, showing just how grateful they were for each of their kids. Hermione and you closed in on them too, and they immediately pulled you into the group, showering you with love while your parents couldn’t.

Remus and Tonks looked peaceful, looking as if they were resting while laying down next to each other, their hands touching. You didn't have the heart to wake them, you decided. Instead, you kneeled down and thanked them. Promised them that their son would learn and grow up to be just like the two of them.

You yearned not to feel, but that was simply not possible. So, you turned to Fred, tears travelling down your cheeks, every thought fried and cluttered - his eyes dimmed sadly. Fred reached out and pulled you to him, hugging you securely, his strong arms becoming a shield of love no one could break. You felt his tears travel down your neck and that urged more of your own to fall down too.

When you finally parted, you looked deeply into his eyes, letting him wipe your tears away. "Please don't leave again." The words barely managed to break out as the sobs you started to withhold chocked your voice back. Fred's eyes softened, his chin rested on top of your head when he brought you back to him. His arms clenched you tighter this time, like a promise.

"I'll never leave you again. I promise."

MASTERLIST

Here is the link to my tag list masterpost! If you want to be added to one of my existing tag lists (or perhaps new ones) let me know! :)

✭ GENERAL TAGS (all WIPs):

@fofisstilinski @short-potato @miranda0102  @httphiddlestan @caromichaela @xx-missunicorn-xx @jemmakates @theravenclawmarauder @httphiddlestan @tclaerh @chefdoeuvre @abimoon @sofiasamps @princxss-fia @thirstykpophoe

✭ HARRY POTTER: /