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desiredmalfoy · 3 years

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Champagne Problems (G.W. x Reader)

House: Slytherin

Universe: Not Canon (I think by now its safe to say I don’t like to follow canon much in my writing )

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

TW: Talks about blood purity. Controlling Parents

Word Count: 3.5 K

Get ready for some angst! Based loosely on Champagne Problems by Taylor Swift because I got inspiration for it while listening to this song. It turned out way longer then I expected. Sorry if there is any mistakes, I haven’t fully edited it. Enjoy!

Note: I aged up Draco, Pansy & Blaise to be the same age as the reader and George.

(The picture above was made by me. I tried to make the handwriting seem a bit messy on purpose) Plus George would be the one to draw doodles on a note.)

One for the money, two for the show. I never was ready, so I watch you go

Growing up in a rich pure blood family, (y/n) knew what was always expected of her. She was to know her place at all times. Whether that meant knowing she was better then half-bloods and muggle-borns. You are to never be seen with their kind darling her mother would tell her since she was very little. She was also raised to not go against her parents wishes. Sit straight and make sure you always look your best her mother had ingrained in her brain. Ever since she was a little girl her mother had fretted over her looks and manners. If you want a good husband you must be your best darling.

She was to only be friends with the children of other pure-blood families. Make strategic friendship and make sure that she kept those who benefited her the most close. Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy surprisingly had become close friends of hers. They aren’t a group of friends who share their deepest secrets but they brought comfort to each other. They knew what the other was going through as they were all basically destined for the same fate. To keep their pure-blood lineage strong.

Her future was set in stone before she could even talk. She was to marry someone of her same blood status and continue their bloodline. She was never given the option to choose who she wanted to love. She was expected to give up her life. And that’s exactly what she did as she gave up on the only man she’s loved. George Weasley.

She had met George at Hogwarts back when they were both students. He was in the same year as her. She had heard of him, I mean who had not with the way him and Fred were infamous with their prank pulling. Life was cruel at times and she wondered if she was being punished in a way when she fell for him.

Bustling crowds or silent sleepers. You're not sure which is worse

She shared a dorm with Pansy for her final year. They had a very complicated friendship. They cared about each other and they would often share their thoughts with each other. Pansy’s parents expected the same out of her. It was nice to have another person who understood what she was going through. Although she knew to never share her deepest secrets with Pansy, she was an opportunist who would use anything against her in the end. Her and Pansy often spoke on who they thought their parents were thinking of marrying them off to. Being a part of the sacred 28 meant that there was a decent sized list of options of who they’d be married off to. It was such a twisted conversation for two young girls to be having. Childhood and lives continuously being controlled by others.

“I wouldn’t mind Adrian Pucey”, Pansy said from her desk as she continued to write her DADA homework. “Or even Draco or Blaise.”

“Really?” (Y/N) responded all the way from her bed. She was looking for her shoes as she was about to go out for one of her nightly walks around the school.

“Yeah. I heard he’s still single.”

“What about you”, Pansy questioned with an eyebrow raise as she dropped her quill and turned to face (y/n).

“Not Marcus Flint that's for sure. Remember how creepy he was during the Yule Ball last year”, (y/n) laughed with an eye roll.

“Yeah, he wouldn’t stop trying to touch your waist.”

“Anyway, enough about Flint. I’m going to go for my nightly walk. Do you want to go Pansy?”

“Nope. I have to finish this and I still have a bit to finish before I go to sleep.”

“I’ll be back later.”

That one cold October night changed her life for the better. Even if it wasn’t meant to last. This was her last and final year here before she was to return home and do what was expected of her. The days dwindled until she completely lost her freedom. At least here she had some control over her life. She on one of her nightly walks in an attempt to clear her mind when he had bumped into her. She didn’t fear being caught by anyone, her last name alone let her get away with many things. Plus Draco was the Head Boy and wouldn’t get her in trouble. Lost in her train of thought, she didn’t notice a certain ginger running down the hallway. Probably from another prank. Not looking where he was going he knocked straight into (y/n) causing her to stumble back and surely hit the floor hard. But his strong hold prevented her from falling onto the stone ground. Time seemed to freeze as she felt his touch electrify her entire body. (Y/N) stared into his brown eyes as neither said a word to each other. This was the first time they had even crossed paths with each other.

“I’m so sorry love”, he spoke as he helped her stand up straight and let go of her waist.

“It’s quite alright”, she answered softly. “Just be careful next time.”

“Of course.”

Silence followed for a couple of seconds before he spoke up again. His face showing he was deep in thought.

“You’re not going to run and tell your friend Malfoy that you’ve caught me”, he questioned her.

“Should I be informing Draco of something you did?”

“No. But I thought you’d be running off now to let him know. After all, you are his friend.”

“No, why would I go and let him know that? It’s not my job to patrol at night.”

A smile formed on his face as he looked at you. His smile made you weak and you didn’t even know why.

From there on a secret friendship blossomed with the red headed boy. (Y/N) wasn’t able to see him in public because word was sure to get your parents. Plus her friends aren’t exactly the nicest people to the Weasleys. Constantly looking down on them and their financial status. Last thing she needed was her mother writing (y/n) about being seen with a “blood traitor”. Merlin, she hated that word. Her relationship with him started slow as a friendship first. Fred was very skeptical of (y/n) in the beginning and it took a lot for him to trust her. Fred knew his brother had fallen for her and he wanted to do nothing more than protect his heart. (Y/N) couldn’t blame him for that. Although she was never truly cruel like the rest of her friends, their reputation was attached to her.

Because I dropped your hand while dancing. Left you out there standing

He wasn’t able to ask (y/n) to be his date for the Yule Ball, it was too much of a risk. Instead he watched from afar as she danced the night away with a boy from Durmstang. As (y/n) danced with him all she was wishing was that it was George that was holding her tonight.

That night after the dance she sneaked with George to the room of requirements where the room had become the same winter wonderland as earlier in the evening. This time though, she was able to dance with the one person she truly wanted to hold her in their arms.

“I really like you (y/n)”, George spoke as they swayed to the music.

“I like you too George.”

“Do you want to be my girlfriend? I know it will have to be in secret but I want nothing more than to be with you.”

“Of course”, she said smiling up at him. With that, she brought his face down to her level and placed a long awaited kiss on his lips. It was one of hunger and need. A need for him to be closer to her.

Months passed where she would sneak around and have dates with George. With the help of Fred, the two were able to see each other often. It was hard keeping it a secret as you wanted nothing more than to show the world he was her boyfriend. But (y/n) knew she couldn’t do that. They would send each other longing looks throughout the day waiting to be able to see each other again. He had once found a picture of her inside her school bag. It had fallen from one of her photo albums she had placed in her bag. He told her he was going to keep that picture in his wallet so that he would always have her near.

Crestfallen on the landing. Champagne problems

One Saturday while her friends were off to Hogsmeade, she had decided to stay back and spend time with George. While sitting in the room of requirements like she always did with her boyfriend she couldn’t stop thinking about the letter she had received from her mother. The one week spring holiday that the school offered was coming up and her mom expected her to be back home. She couldn’t even stay back and spend it with her boyfriend. She was expected to go home and attend an upcoming ball the Pucey family was organizing.

Lost in her own mind, (y/n) tried to listen to George. George spoke about wanting to start his own shop with Fred. (Y/N) placed her head on his chest as he continued to speak about what their plans would be after graduation. She played with his hands as he continued on about all the products they would have and how it would be such a great shop. She wishes she could freeze time for a while more.

Spring holiday had come quickly and before (y/n) knew it she was back home and attending countless fancy balls and dinner parties with her parents. As the oldest of her siblings, (y/n) had spent her life at countless balls and dinners with her parents as soon as she turned fifteen. Each and every event they would talk to others looking for the perfect husband for their daughter. It wasn’t until one night after a ball that her parents had informed her that they had found the perfect husband for her. She looked at them with a bit of hesitation as she waited for them to drop who she was supposed to be marrying.

“Draco Malfoy”, your mother spoke with great excitement in her voice. Mother must be ecstatic about this.

“Draco Malfoy?” She can start to feel her mouth become dry.

“Yes, you know that the Malfoy’s are a good family to be marrying into darling. Your life is set”, (y/n)’s mother said as she stroked her hair. “The Flint family also inquired about you marrying their son but they don’t quite have the same status as the Malfoy’s.”

At least it’s not Marcus Flint...

“I know mother.”

“We’ll be having dinner with the Malfoy’s tomorrow night so you two can talk more.”

“Of course father”, (y/n) responded obediently. Your expression never faltering in front of your parents. Although inside you were panicking. What about George? “I’m familiar with Draco since we are in the same house and have the same friend group.”

“You’ll be the most beautiful bride ever darling”, your mother whispered to you as she hugged you tightly. Too bad the man you want at the end of the aisle won’t be there.

Dinner with the Malfoy’s was quite uneventful other than the talk of the upcoming wedding after the both of you had left Hogwarts. Narcissa continuously complimented her on her beauty and grace. She hugged (y/n) when they entered Malfoy Manor and whispered into her ear, “We couldn’t have picked a better young lady to carry on our name.” She felt like she was about to be sick. (Y/N) did what she was taught to do, smile when appropriate and be as charming as ever. She knew she was nothing more than an object with no feeling to them.

“Draco darling”, Narcissa spoke once they had finished dinner. “We have some things to discuss, why don’t you show (y/n) around the garden?”

“Of course mother”, Draco responded as he stood up and walked over (y/n). He helped her stand from her chair with an extended hand. He offered (y/n) his elbow as he escorted her out of the dining room and out of the manor into the garden.

“Are you okay with this”, Draco questioned her once they had found a bench in the stunning garden.

“I don’t know how I feel” she responded truthfully. “But I am glad it’s you. You’ve been nothing but respectful to me.”

“How do you feel about this?”

“That we have never been given a chance. But I’m glad it’s you too.”

“Were you hoping for Pansy?”, she teased him as everyone knew of Pansy’s big crush on him back in fourth year. .

He laughed genuinely at her joke. “Anyone but her.”

It became quiet after that as they both knew what they had to do.

“We’ll be okay”, he whispered as he squeezed (y/n)’s hand.

“We will.”

Neither of you wanted this. Seeing as Draco himself was heads over heels for a muggle-born girl in your year. He had been secretly seeing her for a while. In the shadows with the same fears you had about your parents finding out. (Y/N) had actually caught him with her on one of (y/n)’s nightly walks on her way to see George. She had let him know that she wouldn’t run to his parents and let them know what she had seen. (Y/N) had sympathized with his situation and she’d be a hypocrite if she went and told on him. She felt his pain as (y/n) told him how she was in love with George. The both of you understood the pain you’d have to face as you returned to Hogwarts in the upcoming days.

Both of you cried that night knowing what you had to do. Neither of you had a way out. You both were just pawns in your parents games.

Your mom's ring in your pocket. My picture in your wallet. Your heart was glass, I dropped it

(Y/N) had made it back to school after the short school holiday. The end of the school year was fast approaching and exams loomed near. She avoided George at first, trying to live a few more days of bliss where she was still happy with him. But that didn’t last long, he had eventually found her after their shared class had ended. He secretly slipped a small paper in her hand.

“Meet me in the Room of Requirements Tonight after curfew. Love George xx”

(Y/N) was dreading this meeting with him because she knew her time with him was ending. The next time she saw George he had seemed very nervous. He was pacing in the room and kept looking at the ground. He was so distracted that he had failed to notice her presence.

“What’s wrong”, she questioned him as he suddenly lifted his head up.

“Darling I have something important to talk to you about.”

“What is it?”

“Well, you know how we’re almost graduating? I want you to come with me. I need you by my side.”

“What”, you breathed out as your eyes became wide.

“I want you by my side” he whispered as he gently placed a hand on your cheek. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black box. Inside it sat a beautiful ring with a red stone in the center of it.

“George”, she gasped as tears welled in her eyes. She’s crying because she knows she’ll never have the life she wants. It’s like fate was taunting her.

“I can’t do this George.”

“Please (y/n) come with me”, George pleaded with her.

“You know I can’t Georgie”, (y/n) whispered as she wiped the tears pouring down her cheeks.

“I know I can’t give you the same you’re used to but I promise I love you!”

“I can’t go with you because I never loved you”, she said suddenly as her expression became stoic. It’s better to have him hate her then love her. It would help ease her pain.

“What”, he breathed out as he stared at her bewildered with her recent confession. He placed the box with the only ring she’s ever wanted back in his pocket.

“I never loved you”, (y/n) repeated.

“What about every moment we shared (y/n)! You can’t fake that!”

“Please! You were nothing but a game George. You were nothing more than my entertainment for a while. I’d never thought we’d ever get this far”

“Look at me right now and tell me I never meant anything to you (y/n)”, George whimpered as cupped your cheeks. His eyes pleaded with yours to let this be nothing more than a cruel joke of yours.

You roughly got out of his hold but not before looking right at him. “I could never love someone like you.”

“I could never love a Weasley. Especially not a blood traitor.”

His expression changed from hurt to anger in seconds. As he looked at you with pure disgust. “I can’t believe I ever thought you were different from those other pure-bloods.”

He opened the wallet in his pocket and ripped out her picture. Along with her heart. The picture fell slowly to the ground. She watched it as it floated to the floor.

“Goodbye. Hope you have a good life (y/l/n). I hope you can find happiness in your bitter existence.”

“Because only someone with such hatred in their heart plays with the feelings of others.”

As he exited the room, (y/n) broke down in tears. This isn’t the life she wanted. She hated that she was destined for this. She would do anything for another life. She wanted to have the strength to run up and tell him what she was going through. To ask him to save him from her future. But she couldn’t leave her siblings alone. If (y/n) walked out of her parents grasp, she’d be walking away from them too. She felt her chest starting to tighten and her breaths getting shorter and shorter.

You had a speech, you're speechless. Love slipped beyond your reaches

The days seemed to go by with no color in her life. This week has been pouring rain nonstop. The mood of the sky clearly matches her current situation. Pansy had noticed her slight shift in mood but she blamed her emotional turmoil on the nerves of her upcoming graduation. She seemed to believe her or simply just dropped it as not trying to intrude anymore. She watched as he walked the halls of the school with sadness clearly on his face. He’d look her way every once in a while. Some days it was also pure anger when he looked her way. She had attempted to stay clear of him and Fred. After their shared classes she always left first or walked different routes to her next destination.

“You know you have some nerve”, she heard a voice behind her. She turned around and came face to face with Fred Weasley. His face red with anger.

“What do you want”, she responded to him as she turned to face him.

“You took his heart and you bloody broke it”, Fred responded angrily. “He loved you. He probably still does.”

“That’s no longer my problem”, (y/n) responded calmly. All these years of having to mask her true feelings were being used currently.

“You see, I don’t understand how this was a game to you! You don’t just fake all that!”

“You’ll never understand”, she said in a monotonous manner.

“Is everything alright here”, Draco questioned as he walked up to them. He took her hand and gave it a slight squeeze.

“Oh I see now”, Fred sneered as he looked down at her intertwined hand with Draco’s. “It was some twisted game between you two.”

“Look you don’t talk to her like that”, Draco responded as he stepped in front of you. Fully blocking Fred from your view.

“I’d hit you right now but I’m sure you’d get your daddy to fight your battles.” Fred said as he shoulder checked Draco on his way out. He didn’t bother to turn back around and look at you.

“Don’t listen to him”, Draco said as embraced her.

But you'll find the real thing instead. She'll patch up your tapestry that I shred

She knew that George wouldn’t have a problem finding someone else. Someone who would love him like he truly deserved. Someone who could help piece back together what she had broken. He would find some who truly deserved him. Because in her opinion, she had never deserved George Weasley. She could never deserve someone like him.

Challenge to self: write angst with a happy ending??

Reminder: None of my work can be reposted anywhere. It doesn’t matter if you give credit, please do not repost!

Tag List: @keepsmilingandstayhappy

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falsegoodnight · 3 years

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these are the fics I read or reread and enjoyed this month! like last time, i’m separating it into different sections: main list, podfics, wips, and non-1d. rereads will be included in the main list and marked with *.

*note: this list encompasses the fics i’ve read from the 1st to the 25th and any fics read after will be included in next month’s fic rec list because otherwise this is going to be obnoxiously long.

—

main list ~

✰ black cherries and chocolate by @harryanthus | NR | 666 (intense and jarring in the best way. this leaves you with that heart-racing feeling and panic crawling up your throat)

There is something or well, someone in the walls.

✰ keep secrets just to keep you by @hadestyles | T | 1k (loved this so much!! and need 1000000 more royalty abos from rori immediately)

“With the elements as my witness, I take you to be my husband. My heartbeat begins with you and ends with you, Louis Tomlinson.” Louis sinks to his knees as well, salty tears mixing with the pure rainwater. “And I take you as mine. My heart beats for you and with you.”

✰ bitter coffee and sweet love by @dontfuckwithmyotp | G | 1k (so cute and sweet!! proud of you ari for getting your first fic out and excited to see what you do next!)

“Hello! Welcome to The Busy Bean! Are you new?” Louis blinked in surprise at the voice and looked around to find the source. “Behind you,” The person tapped his shoulder once and he whirled around at the unexpected touch.

“Hey! Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to interrupt a person—” His rant stopped when he finally faced them. It was a guy—Harry Styles, according to his small black name tag. His eyes widened in embarrassment.

✰ turn your mic off, baby by @vogueharrystan | E | 2k (i love when lilli writes harry’s pov. this was so hot!)

Louis walks around the house naked all day and ignores Harry to play video games instead. Harry gets tired of it.

✰ This Could Be Love by mulletharry | G | 2k (such a cute and perfect little valentine’s day fic! put the biggest smile on my face <3)

Harry and Louis have been together for four months. They spend their first Valentine’s Day together.

✰ you appear as my soul by @hadestyles | T | 2k (so gorgeous and raw)

He aches — not as much as Louis, he could never imagine all that he bears quietly — and as cruel as it sounds, it keeps reminding him of how fragile they are.

✰ the energy from your body by sweetielouis | E | 3k (hilarious, hot, and cute!)

Harry and his friends have a popular podcast, for the Valentines Day special they get a bit drunk and talk a bit too comfortably about their friends arses.

It's a good thing Louis doesn't mind it all that much.

✰ look how i remember by @harryanthus | M | 4k (this left me speechless and aching)

He hates it, he wants to scream and tell Harry as much. Kiss me like you mean it. Kiss me as if we are in love. Kiss me like you will never do it again. Kiss me with so much hatred that it turns back to love.

✰ Things Unsaid by @londonfoginacup | G | 5k (so so cute and funny!!)

"That chunky oversized sweater is like a clown outfit made for winter."

It feels like time slows down.

Those words echo in his mind, familiar. Why are they familiar? The— the sweater he saw last week. The one with all the knit squares.

The train slows to a stop and Louis just— he doesn’t move. He feels frozen in place as people surge around him. Suddenly everyone is moving too fast and then just as suddenly the car is near empty, taking off again.

The man is gone.

His soulmate is gone.

✰ reckless serenade by @thepolourryexpress | E | 4k (adorable and funny and amazing!)

Harry's Google search history may or may not look like 'my girlfriend doesn't know we're dating.'

✰ dancing in the moonlight by @outropeace | E | 5k (need 100k more of this immediately, thanks. so wonderful)

Louis’ fuck buddy gets a date for Valentine’s day and he discovers that denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.

✰ The truth is, the stars are falling by larrysbeanies | E | 5k (hot!!! walking-in trope that i love so much)

Harry knows Louis is gay. Hell, he came out to Harry exactly two months ago (when the dreadful dry spell started) because it was becoming increasingly hard to hide the fact that his one night stands were men. And, you know, they’re best friends so there aren’t supposed to be secrets and all that.

Thing is, Louis told Harry he’s gay ergo, Harry is aware that Louis likes men. Why the fuck did he act so normal while fingering him three days ago, then? Is this something straight guys do to their gay best friends in Harry’s world?

Louis would really like to know.

✰ to be used and to be in love by @thelesserneptune | E | 5k (blessed that this is a series. really hot and cute!)

Louis doesn't know why his filthy best friend turned into a vanilla boyfriend and thinks of the perfect birthday present to solve that problem.

✰ on the borderline by @princelouisau | E | 8k (the way danielle writes... poetry. this broke me down and then stitched me back up <3)

Louis makes his choice.

✰ One Step Closer by agrinwithouthiscat | G | 12k (reading asexual hl fics is instant comfort and this was lovely)

The one fake relationship AU where they don't end up together.

✰ i glow pink in the night by @raspberryoatss | E | 12k (hybrid louis perfection, beautiful writing, characters, and story as always!)

Harry reads a lot of articles about hybrids and Louis is determined to prove them wrong.

✰ The Thinker of Tender Thoughts by @speakingwithink | G | 13k (asexual hl again! this one made me cry)

Louis sits on his hands to stop them from shaking as he adds, ‘and I’m ace.’ If only he had glitter, he thinks. Coming out deserves a bit of sparkle.

✰ Kiss Me Once, Kiss Me Twice by @harriblou | M | 13k (enemies with benefits to lovers goodness! so hot and entertaining)

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that,” Harry muttered through clenched teeth, bones already burning with the pure desire and hatred mixing in his body. It was an intoxicating rush of adrenaline and something else that probably came with fucking Louis Tomlinson. He squeezed his neck just a little tighter. “I can’t stand it.”

Their lips were brushing against each other, just moving with the ragged movements of their mouths and harsh breathing.

“You’re a lying piece of shit dickhead,” Louis muttered right back. That was all he did, challenge and nag. He loved to have the last word and Harry let him because he used all his energy to fuck him mindless.

✰ hold onto your stars by vashtaneradas | NR | 16k (this writer’s atmosphere/prose draws me in every time. such a lovely story)

Harry's in the army, Louis' back home, and ninety days is a lifetime.

✰ The Future is Now by @jacaranda-bloom | E | 16k (love fics in this five times format and this one was so unique and cool!! and the friends to lovers aspect = chef’s kiss)

Five times Louis follows the fortunes to seek out his true love, and the one time he realises that what he's been searching for might've been right in front of him the whole time.

✰ Visceral Heat & Carnal Highs by @theisolatedlily | E | 18k (the prose in this... gorgeous. so fucking good and addicting. delighted that there’s going to be a sequel and excited for whatever lily does next!)

Louis is a demon at a house party prowling for a meal, indulging in horrendous sins to satisfy his hunger. Harry is the talk of the night, beckoning all eyes on him and the reason why Louis’s plan goes awry.

✰ deFENCEless by @solvetheminourdreams | T | 27k (this was so cute and so funny and i had the biggest smile on my face the entire time. not surprised since stef always evokes that in me with her writing)

When Louis butts heads with his new neighbor who loves to garden a little too much, all he can do to protect his yard (and heart), is keep on building up his fence(s).

✰ darling, you give love a bad name by snowcaplou | M | 29k (been waiting for this one since summer and i wasn’t disappointed! so wonderful and real!)

Louis’ has been best friends with Gemma all his life in this stupid little town he’s grown to hate. What happens when, after one night together with his best friend’s brother, he falls pregnant? Surrounded by small minds and conservative cultures, Louis has to deal with parents that demand they do the “right” thing. Get married before anybody finds out.

✰ The Haunting of Louis Tomlinson* by @helloamhere | T | 31k (will never not be an all-time favorite. louis’ character is my absolute favorite - gothic heroine indeed - and harry is the best dramatic gay ghost ever <3)

Louis is a plucky Gothic Heroine, Harry is a Mournful Spirit, and Big Country Houses are full of mystery and suspense, as Big Country Houses ever are!

✰ begged and borrowed time by @bottomlwt | M | 40k (this concept was so unique and so cool!! loved the medieval setting and the time travel and how everything fit together in the end!!)

“It wasn’t until 1568 that it became time for Prince Harry to find a queen and prepare to rule. However, the day he was set to choose his bride-to-be, he mysteriously disappeared, never to be seen again despite the multiple search parties that went on through the years. To this day, historians still do not know what happened with the infamous Prince Styles case..."

✰ Lidocaine and Palm Trees.* by @daddyharrie | E | 45k (definition of ris comfort read - on nth reread and still love it wholly. makes me miss la which is an astonishing feat in itself)

Heat, fake tans and lots of traffic.

Harry never expected to earn his living this way when he moved to LA.

Louis didn't think he could ever be the same after his divorce.

A lighthearted story about two guys trying to find themselves in the vibrant, sprawling city of Los Angeles, with a side of technical porn industry stuff.

✰ haunted by the ghost of you* by @missandrogyny | E | 49k (perhaps my favorite fic of all time? the humor, the characters, the angst?!?! all the britney spears!! and pink ouija boards and wikihow!!)

He’s tall—that’s the first thing that registers in Louis’ head when he spots him, standing with his hands behind his back. Tall, with curly hair, staring at them with the widest, greenest eyes Louis has ever seen. And wait, are those dimples? Louis didn’t know ghosts could have dimples.

Because he’s definitely a ghost, this boy. At first glance he looks normal, standing there pigeon-toed in a band shirt (The Ramones, Louis can’t help but note incredulously), dark jeans, and some boots, with rings on both hands, and tattoos littering his left arm—a sleeve made of anchors and names and roses and other completely unrelated things. But he’s also a little bit translucent; if Louis focuses, he can see the outline of the furniture, the design of the wallpaper through him.

“Hi,” the boy—the ghost—says to Louis. His face shifts; somehow his dimples dig deeper into his cheeks. His eyes flit from Louis, to Niall, to Liam, and finally to Zayn, and his face goes from shocked to elated. “I’m Harry.”

At in that exact moment, standing between three of his best friends and staring at a (quite handsome) ghost, Louis can only think one thing.

Nick Grimshaw was right.

✰ like real people do by @eeveelou | E | 64k (this was... so amazing. the characters were so wonderfully written and so was the journey of healing and growth that louis undertakes over the story :’) loved the contrast between l and h’s lives and how they fit into each other still so perfectly)

Jessica Jones AU in which the dead stay where they belong, featuring Zayn as the high-powered lawyer with a hopeless crush on his assistant Liam, Niall as the constantly stoned but strangely insightful neighbor, Harry as Manhattan’s media darling, and Louis as the never-was hero who’s just trying to pick up the pieces.

✰ Black With Autumn Rain by whimsicule | T | 93k (i actually can’t remember if i’ve read this before??? either way - it was wonderful! loved the setting and atmosphere and the supernatural elements! i was so intrigued from the first sentence onwards)

Harry is a journalist, Louis has lots of secrets and the moors aren’t exactly the ideal place to rekindle a lost romance.

podfics ~

✰ tall stories on the page by @soldouthaz & read by @softlouislove | T (hannah’s voice is so lovely and perfect for reading aloud - and ofc the fic itself is amazing)

Harry's tired of being interviewed by people that only care about the same pointless gossip. Louis is a nice change of pace.

wips ~

✰ Truth Behind Golden Eyes by @lwtisloved | E | 60k | 6/16 (just caught up fully today but i’m really enjoying everything! this is everything i’ve ever wanted in a fantasy fic)

Louis is a royal servant born with magic in a kingdom where his sole existence is outlawed with a war he has no idea he has a part in upon him. Harry is the prince on whom the burden of mending a broken kingdom falls upon and he might be willing to risk it all for a simple servant if only he admitted it to himself.

✰ ‘cause all our tomorrows lead the way by @loubellies | E | 39k | 3/10 (having a blast reading this one!! i’ve never seen the bachelor in my life but in fic-format, it’s so fun!)

So maybe Louis’ in over his head.

He had signed up for the Bachelor on a whim after his second bottle of wine and well, here he is. He’s just been announced as the twenty-sixth Bachelor and his ass is sweating. Like, literally sweating. He’s positive that if he was to turn around, the entirety of Bachelor Nation would get a nice peek of his ass sweat.

✰ The Night Still Whispers Sins of Old by @toomanydreamers | E | 6k | 2/? (loving this so much, as expected. can’t wait to see how everything unfolds)

Two and a half years have passed since the fateful day when Louis and Harry were crowned Triwizard champions. Confronted with misunderstandings, wounded pride and heartache, Louis stumbled away from the possibility of a future relationship with Harry. Instead, he buried himself into relentless work as a junior Auror and refused to let himself be vulnerable with another person. Circumstances change that force Louis to confront his feelings - and Harry. Stolen glances, picnics at sunrise, thrilling adventures, original spellwork, midnight feasts, soft lips and cautious second chances culminate in an unforgettable mission - but will it be enough to mend their relationship?

non-1d ~

✰ like a bullet needs a gun by @millsxwriting | T | 21k | wilds au (despite me having no context, mills still got me to fall in love with toni and shelby. this was so cute and lovely!!)

Toni doesn’t expect to fall for anyone in her senior year. Least of all for Shelby Goodkind, the new girl that arrived in town just before the end of summer. In fact, Toni can’t even look at her for longer than two seconds, or listen to more than three sentences coming out of her mouth without wanting to accidentally push her off a cliff.

Cue a group project and endless bickering, and suddenly Toni finds herself with an unbearable crush.

If you read any of these beautiful works of art, remember to leave kudos and comment to show your appreciation!

*if i made any errors, please let me know :)

enjoy!

#fic recs #my fic recs #28th appreciation #february recs #2021 recs #february 2021 recs #scheduled

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galacticlamps · 3 years

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im sorry im sorry im sorry i know it’s been well over a year but i accidentally thought about Short Trips: Deleted Scenes (again) and it’s killing me (again) so i think im just gonna go ahead and post all these stupid thoughts that have been plaguing me about it since i first heard it & maybe that’ll help clear up some space in my head for like, real life things.

Spoilers I guess? It’s like a year and a half old but also high key the most recent 2nd doctor content i believe we’ve gotten which is like, the only negative thing I can say about it

The TLDR version is this:

I literally cant believe how sweet it is? Painful, but sweet. Like. I don’t honestly know what’s more likely - did they set out to write Jamie a nice little straight love interest and just fail miserably at it by constantly likening her to the Doctor AND paralleling the Doctor’s perspective with her ex’s AND putting Jamie’s relationships with both of them in direct tension with each other while constantly letting his with the Doctor win out?

OR - did they do a very 1960s thing and say hey we’re gonna write what’s essentially a story about how much Jamie and the Doctor love each other and release it on Valentine’s Day thinly disguised as a one-off romance with a french lady?

Now, as a general rule, my attitude toward questions like that is usually “don’t know, don’t care, doesn’t matter” - and while I 100% stand by that, I also have to admit that this particular audio seems to pay enough attention to detail that I’d kind of think I was selling it short if I assumed too many of these things were just meaningless coincidences, you know?

Anyway, that’s the most coherent/overarching thought. And here’s a disorganized list of things I absolutely cannot get over about it (they don’t form any kind of argument, mind, they just all happen to live rent free in my head):

- Celine is first taken in by Jamie being an idiot (specifically him claiming not to speak French, in perfect French); likewise, her entrance in the scene where they actually kiss is marked with a little anecdote about her hat getting stuck on a doornail and her scolding it as she attempts to fix her un-tameable appearance, and the narration says Celine “would often clown for Jamie like this” - all of which, while undeniably adorable, don’t exactly strike me as entirely original traits to have been assigned to Jamie’s love-interest (but also Celine is so cool and her perspective on film/media/time is an excellent addition to the long list of dr who characters)

- When they’re in the present, describing Jamie’s relationship with Celine in 1908, they call him her “companion” and highlight his going nearly everywhere with her, which earns a laugh from the 4th doctor (and me as well, though probably for slightly different reasons - but like, is that really all it takes to have a fling with someone in 60′s era who? bc if so...)

- Celine’s ex-fiance is still in love with her and is jealously watching when she kisses Jamie ... and then the Doctor appears beside him, evidently doing the exact. same. thing. They have the following conversation:

“You know, it’s not prudent to spy on people. But then, people in pain can’t be expected to act prudently.”

“Pain, monsieur? You mistake me.”

“Ah, do I? Good, because I rather thought you’d lost something.”

“What would you know about loss monsieur?”

- I’m sorry doc but who do you think you are, saying stuff like that and smiling sadly at the floor to boot? I 100% had to pause it here the first time I listened, just to not throw my laptop across the room.

- Then when I recovered continued, the Doctor closes the door so they can’t watch anymore and explains “Possessing things comes so terribly easily to some men that losing them can feel cruel, intolerably cruel. In my experience, only the very best of men cannot be tempted to answer that cruelty with more - I do sincerely hope that you are the best of men.” (guess who gets described as the best of men by the end of the audio?)

- Jamie and the Doctor apparently develop a habit of walking along the river in Paris in silence

- During one such walk, Jamie suggests Celine come with them since she already figured out about the Tardis - and when the Doctor’s worried by this, he says he only allowed Jamie & Celine to grow closer “because of Victoria.” Jamie takes offense at the ‘allowing it’ comment and also refuses to admit he knows what the Doctor means about Victoria, which leads the Doctor to say that he knows how fond Jamie was of her - he was too, of course, but with him, “it was different, wasn’t it?” Jamie only says maybe that’s true and maybe that’s not, but his voice catches until he changes the subject

- Jamie doesn’t see Celine for days both times that she’s recovering from the shock and depression of her work being destroyed. In contrast, when the Doctor’s not well, Jamie’s "afraid” and “guilty” and hardly seems to leave his side at all, if his being there “rushing to embrace him” the second he wakes up - after a period Jamie describes as “at least a week” - is anything to go by, anyway. so either bf writers need to learn how to write a committed straight relationship or admit that’s not what they ever intended in the first place

- Oh yeah, and the Doctor spends that week "asleep” in Jamie’s bedroom - no, there’s no explanation as to if that’s where he was when he first collapsed or if it’s where Jamie decided to take him bc why would they feel the need to explain him being there? why was it even relevant to tell us it was Jamie’s room in the first place?

- The Doctor somehow manages to control the Tardis enough to take Celine on one trip to an alien planet and then return to the correct time & place for her to use the footage she recorded there in her new film - and while the audio doesn’t do very much to explain how that was possible, it does treat this as A Pretty Big Deal, and immediately afterward the Doctor has to spend a week communing with his past self (and/or the Tardis?) debating how likely it is that the Time Lords could use this to trace him. When he decides it’s not worth the risk and they have to stop the film from ever being shown to the public, Jamie asks why he agreed to it in the first place, and all he can say is “Because, Jamie, you asked me to!” earning awkward stares from the crowd.

- Oh, but, lest we forget, that little outburst is also immediately followed by him putting his arm around Jamie’s shoulders, and, shockingly, apparently beginning to actually explain the truth about the danger from the Time Lords - until they’re interrupted, of course idk why exactly but the idea of a 60s dr wanting to come clean with a companion but not being allowed to bc the show demands the war games be something of a reveal hurts me in a very good way

- The mental image of “the Doctor and Jamie, resplendent in borrowed evening wear”

- The audio admitting that Jamie’s not very good at subterfuge, and the Doctor asking if he’s going to be alright with them having to steal the film back from Celine - and Jamie’s little “Aye, Doctor” as he feels a ‘glass arrow piercing his chest’ glad to see bf is reading all my letters about exactly how i feel any time something sad happens to james robert mccrimmon

- The Doctor’s anxious to get out of there for obvious reasons, but he hangs around bc Jamie wants to see Celine again - which doesn’t happen, because of her aforementioned shock & depression, but she does leave Jamie a note that ends “you and that Doctor of yours - look after him Jamie, he loves you dearly, as do I.” yeah, if you didn’t want people to draw a parallel there, you could’ve picked, like, any other wording in the world.

- In case you weren’t fully convinced I’ve been reading too much into this whole audio already, consider this: Celine dies in Long Island in 1968, three days before her birthday - 1968 is when this story would’ve taken place in the show’s history (between Fury & Wheel), and dying three days before/after a birthday in America seems a bit... well I had some deja vu from it, anyway

- Four of all people being the one to bring back the film - I know he does it bc Sarah Jane makes him, but personally, I often feel like despite the length of his run, 4 is the Doctor with which we might’ve gotten the fewest glimpses into his interiority, so the fact that it’s him and not one of the more overtly sentimental Doctors makes it feel like it carries even more weight somehow, to me anyway. I think I wrote a post saying roughly the same thing about 4 & Fate of Krelos/Return to Telos but maybe I only did that inside my own head lol. Still, I’m all for any opportunities for Jamie to be one of the few characters to draw some noticeable emotion out of Four, but in fairness I haven’t touched too much of his EU stuff to really be able to compare the frequency with which this happens with other past companions

- Is Four referring to Two or Jamie when he says he got the film from “an old family friend”? Two did the actual stealing, but he probably means Jamie’s involvement - either way, it’s an interesting way of describing old companions - or selves?

- When Jemima goes to call Jamie a thief, Four is “roused” to defend him: “he really was the very best of men” again, any time four freely shows he cares about someone, im over the moon about it

- Oh ha ha, there’s an audio called “Deleted Scenes” featuring the Doctor who’s most affected by junked episodes. And at the end of it, a character who’s spent her life researching and lecturing about a lost film gets to watch it be ‘rediscovered’ after it’s gone unseen for decades. I feel marginally less stupid for reading into the other details of a story like this when it ends up deciding to be to be clever & slightly meta like that

But yeah

all in all, it’s kind of amazing to me that this genuinely reads like they sat down and said okay boys it’s valentines day, let’s write an audio where jamie kisses a girl, since that hasn’t happened except as a plot device in one story in 1967 - but then when they got down to business they accidentally(?) wrote a story all about how important his bond with the Doctor is and how easily that can be compared to a legitimate love interest (even if the love interest in question is a one off character & the extent of the relationship appears to be like one kiss & then having Jamie spend most of his time around the Doctor instead)

I realize there’s something slightly illogical about writing the words “shipping aside” after a post like this but seriously - no matter how many categories you’re able to see two & jamie’s relationship fitting into, this is 40 minutes of big finish just hitting you over the head with how powerful/special/important that relationship is, and with them being two of my favorite characters, i really haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since

#jamie mccrimmon #second doctor #big finish #Short Trips: Deleted Scenes #yes i am gonna tag this #two/jamie #i think it earned it with the line from celine's letter if nothing else #and quite possibly the doctor's so-called imprudent & pain-driven spying #but i'll leave it at that #in case anyone's looking at the tags to decide if they should actually read this rambling monster of a post #also if you for some reason read this but haven't listened to the audio -#a) that's kind of you to care what i have to say but #b) you could probably have listened to half of it by now lol #did i mention it's a stand-alone audio that only costs $3?#and it's more of a traditional audio book format with one narrator who voices all the characters?#sorry i wasn't ready to do a bf pitch in the tags here #i genuinely dont know why someone who hasn't already heard it would bother to read all this #but if anyone has - thanks?#i'll shut up now so you can get on w ur day :)

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jjyusmile · 4 years

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the life i once had | ljy

PROMPT #11, Day 26: [Vampire]

pairing: vampire!juyeon x reader!

words: 2k

notes: for @deobiwritersnet ‘the magic begins’ event!

warning: intense intense i n t e n s e !

my writing

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

Your family has been coming to this seaside town since you were a little girl. As you strolled along the beachfront, inhaling the last of the summer air. Smoothing down your auburn brown curls and the flowing, floral summer outfit that breached its boundaries as the wind picked up. Glancing around at the crashing waves, you were mesmerised by the aggression of their nature. The sand wasn’t paradisiac, it was unpleasant. It spanned the entire shore of this coastal town, the shallow shores coated with surfer dudes and families with picnics. The town held huddles of smiling families, children playing on hundreds of penny machines that chime loudly at a win, which muffled the sound of the wind.

Your father suggested this place for old times’ sake; you had travelled the coast for the last two weeks -- saving the best for last. The town held a special place in your heart… stepping out and feeling the breeze that was mixed with the sea air. Your whole life was planned: graduate next July, move in with your partner, be engaged by next December. Your father jumped at the chance to take you on a family getaway one final time. Countless memories wandered this beach. As you looked out at the harbour boats, you noticed fisherman returning from their day at sea, reigning in their nets. Yet, your drifting gaze wandered, almost automatically. A slight crick in your neck began to twinge as was craned your gaze upwards. The daunting steps to the ruins of the town’s abbey made the whole scenario worse the longer you looked at it. What was left of the abbey were the tall, medieval monastic walls surrounding the abbey itself and an astounding house.

When you were younger, your father used to make you all climb the steps two at a time, “two, four, six, eight… the last one to the top is the beast’s dinner!” In the end, he carried you all the way to the top, “one hundred and eighty-eight, one hundred and ninety…” The abbey blocked the sun in a blinding manner, masses of people squinting and cupping their hands over their eyes to get a small glimpse at the towering wrecks of the walls. You were struck with awe once you faced the unnerving steps to the castle, looking out onto the shore. This place felt familiar every time you climbed the steps. One year, you were reading the old folklores of the abbey, once known as Streoneshalh, on signposts stating its history when your older sisters decided to recite facts about the abbey and its owner competitively; who could name more facts about how a famous writer used these ruins to inspire the scariest creature to roam the Earth. You were captivated, but you knew in yourself that vampires were not real. They were cruel, emotionless, and vicious myths.

“He doesn’t have a pulse.”

“He doesn’t age.”

Fascinated, yet bored, it had taken your Father thirty minutes to find you; the tall, aging zinc gravestone hid you well from the reality of it all. You felt a sense of comfort next to the gravestone; it wasn’t as daunting as the high-rise walls of the abbey.

Looking at it now, age twenty-one, you could never dream of how naïve you were as a young child. You had excused myself from your early reservation at the hotel restaurant to clear your head. Kicking the sand with your scuffed boot to regain you train of thought; your neck had begun to throb. This getaway was to spend some time with your family, yet, here you were strolling the beachfront alone.

“Time to head back to reality” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your neck through the thick, woolen jumper you had thrown on to keep warm. As you turned to mount the steep slant to head up to the pier, the air became suffocating. Subconsciously, you craned your aching neck to gaze upon the cliff once more. You began to feel emotions you hadn’t experienced in a long time: want, need, desire, familiarity. There was another feeling that was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it. Feet began to drift through the narrow, cobbled streets, you could have been walking for five minutes, twenty, an hour. The Bookshop, The Black Horse pub, Justin’s Chocolatiers. Your attention was no longer on the places that used to draw you in; you were being compelled by the daunting steps to the rest of your life “two, four, six, eight…”

You slowly approached the first steps when a low hum sounded… a ringing that would force anyone to find the source. Twenty-six, twenty-eight. It was inviting, blinding and staggering all in one. You could not shake the feeling that you were subconsciously drawn to this cliff. Seventy-four, seventy-six. Half way up and walking to the next set of steps that led to the abbey, the scenery behind you began to morph into a darker, gloomier sight. You caught a glimpse of flickering fire in your peripheral vision, and wooden boats wobbling in the harbor. You began to race up the steps to get a better look. One hundred and sixty-two, one hundred and sixty-four. You stood behind a familiar gravestone and gazed out at the completely different shore. Jaw slack and knuckles white, you tried to steady your mind by gripping the rough stone. Pulling your hands away, you noticed the grazes from the rough stone were slowly fading.

The shore was not only coated in dried up seaweed and flyaway branches but wooden canoes and fallen weapons that had been abandoned on the muddy sand. The tourist attraction that had protruded the tip of the bay was replaced by dark, wooden huts that you would assume were people’s homes by the clothing hanging up outside. You looked down to catch the flowing water that flooded the bottom of the cliff, as if surrounding it, with a small, aged bridge that led to the staggered steps. Small children playing in rags with bare feet in the dirt. Young men clinking stone steins together in celebration and chanting about a battle just won. Men and women were huddled around a fire, murmuring stories to one another, cheering and laughing as if they had no care in the world. How wonderful.

“Our Kingdom is wonderful, isn’t it?”

A pair of black eyes almost hidden by wavy, brown locks gazed down on your small figure. Your gaze flicked across the figures face, focusing on the deep, faded scar that lined the right side of his face. The stranger’s hand was caressing your lower back affectionately. His eyes penetrated your soul as if asking for permission to grasp it into his cold, possessive clutch. But he already has.

“It is incredible how the wind feels when you are no longer startled by the cold. It is refreshing, don’t you agree?” The stranger asked, his head tilted to the side as he gazes out with deep fondness onto the village.

His mouth, stained scarlet, morphed into a grin; his incisors stood out from the rest. Fangs. You should have been scared, but it felt familiar. His pointed nose arched delicately framing his face under the shadows. His tainted, ruby waistcoat contrasted the abundance of charcoal that coated his skin elegantly, all the way down to his pointed dress shoes. His skin was pale, but it was glowing with glimmers of silver and crimson, reflecting from the raging fires below.

“Where am I?” you whispered. Your teeth began to ache.

“My love, you act as though you have never laid eyes upon Streoneshalh before?” he cocked his head to the side, analysing every flicker of your eyes and every bump that rose upon your smooth skin. His voice was like velvet. A name came to mind as you gazed upon his adoring face.

Juyeon.

You looked down to find my woollen jumper had been replaced with a burgundy corset with overhanging silver chains and a dark, flowing cloak. “Our kingdom.” You murmured to myself, slicing your lip on the exposed teeth that had grown through. Pulling your hand away from the swollen graze, you noticed opaque blood, almost black, was dripping from your lip.

Bringing your finger to prod at the pointed teeth, you came to the realisation that you were supposed to be here. You were destined to have climbed those steps. Our Kingdom. A small man, much older than yourself, appeared in the doorway with a strikingly golden cane in his right hand. He grinned at you both with the same adoration as a father has in another life. Caedmon.

“The abbey truly is beautiful. The excellent detail that shapes its walls is a sight to behold. The glimmering light from those fires below accentuate the detail extraordinarily. Never has there been a sight like this.” You gawped. “I cannot believe that we live here…” Trailing off questioningly, unsure of the true reality of your life at this moment.

You turned my gaze back to the striking man beside you. King Juyeon, Ruler of Streoneshalh. He smiled at you, adoringly. You felt safe, comfortable, familiar. His cool, enormous hands enclosed your small ones as he intertwined your fingers. At that moment, you looked up to the scar gashing of his face. A flash of lightning passed your eyes as the scene around you changed. You saw the life you used to have before you ruled over your Kingdom.

Loud cheers surrounded your small tribe fighting to protect our coast. Flashes of silver like lightning. Swords were clashing against one another in aggression that you had never witnessed before. Your short, choppy locks were coated in sweat and dirt. Your tunic sliced in more places than one. You knew you were not meant to be in battle, but you had to find Juyeon. Your heart stopped once you noticed him lying on the floor, blood splattered his right cheek with glimpses of flesh oozing out of his skin. You ran to him faster than your legs could take you. “Please, please, please” you repeated, like. a mantra. Taking his paling face into your hands, wiping coated crimson locks from his broken skin. You sobbed until you could not shed a tear anymore. You looked up in time to see a small man with a gold cane with his gaze secured on your two figures. You took Juyeon’s hands in your own with affection, love, and hope. The battle had carried further along the shore, leaving Juyeon’s tiresome body and yourself alone with the stranger. His smile was alluring, welcoming. The light of the setting sun disappeared with a glimmer that was quicker than the lethal swords of battle.

“I owe my life to Caedmon for protecting you, giving us a life of eternity. I will never forgive you for being on that battlefield that day. The gruesome sight of slashing swords still haunts our nightmares. It was no place for someone so beautiful, so ravishing. Yet, he gave us our Kingdom to rule over and has taught us skills we could never have learned down there.” Juyeon’s gaze drifted to the small man that remained planted in the doorway watching over you, and then down towards your old home amongst the sea of cheering Saxons.

“Come, my love. The sun will begin to rise soon; we must get to our chambers. Caedmon has collected one of the dying soldiers from the battle for us. We have not fed in weeks.” He gestured toward the towering double doors that led into the abbey. You had forgotten what had ensued before you reached the steps. You wanted to follow Juyeon wherever he went. You had eternity to look after your kingdom, after all.

Caedmon reached your side, using his cane to aid his stride: “your love for one another never fails to astound me, my dear.” His grin is taken up by his protruding fangs. You witnessed a fatherly love gleaming through his eyes, despite their hollow depths. You nodded in appreciation, grinning, drawn once more by the allure of Juyeon and the abbey.

Before you entered our domain, grasping my fingers along the hem of lengthy cloak and striding confidently behind Juyeon and Caedmon, you felt an urge to turn and gaze out over the cliffs. You caught sight of a familiar gravestone; its silhouette cast a contrast against the flickers of copper that gleamed from the fire pits below in the village. Walking across the gravel path towards the cemetery, you noticed a grave marker by the same stone. Your velvet cloak flapped in the wind, stark against your auburn curls. You were surrounded by the lingering smell of burnt out fires and beef stews that you used to long for. The moment you felt fingers wrap around your waist, you were overwhelmed by his comforting scent. Inhaling deeply, your gaze wandered down to the cursive letters on the gravestone.

It read:

Here lies Juyeon and ---. Brave warriors of our unforgotten War. May their Souls Rest in Peace.

#deobiwritersnet #deobihalloween2020 #tbznetwork #lee juyeon #juyeon #the boyz juyeon #tbz juyeon #vampire juyeon #juyeon angst #the boyz fics #the boyz scenario #the boyz angst #tbz fics #tbz scenario #tbz angst

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ootori-sibs · 3 years

Text

Kyoya's second shot

Episode nineteen: Kyoya's sense of self!

Tw: assault, self harm, self hate

“Thanks for waiting for me, Kyoya.” Tamaki looked so tired, toying with his own hair nervously. He kept glancing down the hallway, clearly upset at having been yelled at. Kyoya couldn’t blame him, he hated being yelled at as well. Unfortunately Kyoya couldn’t comfort him as he wasn’t supposed to be aware, so he gave a soft half-smile and stepped forward.

“How did it go? Who was it?”

At that, Tamaki promptly burst into tears, clinging to Kyoya tightly, “she kissed me! She kissed me and then Haruhi yelled at me and- and…” he just started to wail at that point, clinging to Kyoya even tighter. Kyoya hated emotions and he had absolutely no idea how to deal with this, especially when the other hosts came out to see what all the noise was about.

“It’s alright, maybe she’s not really angry at you?” Kyoya remembered that when he was tiny and people still cared about him, how his older siblings would just pick him up whenever he was upset, not much else, just lift him up. Sadly, Kyoya wasn’t strong enough to pick Tamaki up, he was struggling to even hold him up as Tamaki cried.

The hosts helped Tamaki into the room, the twins asked what happened but Kyoya ignored them, cradling Tamaki to the best of his ability. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Tamaki…” to anyone hearing, he was whispering condolences to his friend, but for Kyoya, the statement was so much more. Kyoya felt incredibly guilty, that's why plan b had been a last resort, Kyoya hadn’t wanted to hurt Tamaki this much. He’d made Tamaki cry and he felt absolutely horrid and filthy about it.

After a while, Haruhi returned to the club room, looking furious. She sat down, clearly seething. The hosts swarmed her, asking what had happened, why was Tamaki crying? Haruhi told them that Sieka had kissed Tamaki, and that she had told Haruhi that he’d willingly gone to meet her. Tamaki couldn’t deny this, but honestly he wasn’t even trying, he was too busy crying. The hosts were clearly torn on who’s side to take, as Haruhi had clearly been wronged but Tamaki had clearly also been wronged, and he was the one crying about it.

“The letter wasn’t signed, he only went because he wanted to know who it was and why they’d write that kind of letter when the entire school is fully aware that he’s with you.” Kyoya glared daggers at her, knowing that it was a risky move, but he genuinely didn't care at this point, how dare she yell at Tamaki, "you're being selfish to think you were the only one hurt by that happening, look at him. Take a good look at that man and tell me you're angry at him, go ahead, we all know you don't love him so you have no right to scream at him for being assaulted!"

He'd stood up at that point, towering over Haruhi, who looked shocked and even guilty. The other hosts were shocked, but there were murmurs of agreement, then Honey spoke up, "Kyo-chan has a point… it really wasn't Tama-chan's fault."

Haruhi sighed, and took a step backwards, hand over her face, "god… I know, I know, I'm sor-"

"If you knew, then why would you scream at him?" Kyoya crossed his arms, moving his head slightly so the light stopped hiding his eyes and the other hosts could see the tears in his own eyes, "I'm getting to the end of my tether with you, Haruhi, if you hurt my friend again I swear-"

"Kyo-chan, calm down."

Kyoya tensed up, glancing back at him, then to Tamaki, the tears freeing themselves and spilling down his cheeks. He huffed and stormed out of the room, not wanting the others to see him cry. Once again his own guilt consumed him, he wondered if he was even allowed to feel guilty, wasn't he too evil for that at this point? He just went to sit in the library, cursing himself for leaving his laptop in the clubroom. He took out his notebook and a pen, entering a quick entry.

12:30 -I snapped at Haruhi, she’s angry at Tamaki, tamaki hasn’t done anything wrong. Sieka kissed him, it wasn’t like he wanted it. Although I suppose she’s supposed to get angry.

Kyoya wasn’t a fan of sketching with pen, but he didn’t have any pencils on hand. So he really had no choice, he didn’t even know what he was drawing, all he knew was that there were no construction lines in said drawing. It seemed to be a figure, surrounded by others, all eyes on the centre, a devil, an evil entity with no care for the pain behind him. Was this how Kyoya saw himself? Or was this just a thoughtless doodle? Even Kyoya didn't know.

Back in class, Tamaki quietly informed Kyoya that Haruhi wouldn't be joining them for the sleepover, or any of the after-session meetings for the week. Kyoya was fine with this, but expressed guilt for having snapped at her the way he did, glancing away from Tamaki as he did so. Tamaki seemed upset by this, putting a gentle hand on Kyoya's shoulder, "Kyoya… it's ok, I understand you're angry at her, you have every right to be. In fact, I'm happy that you're looking out for me, I don't know what I'd do without you."

He couldn't get those words out of his mind, what would Tamaki do without him… oh that was wonderful, to think Tamaki needed him, to think Tamaki appreciated him… it made Kyoya's heart swell. He simply adored the idea of Tamaki needing him, of course Tamaki needed him; who else was going to protect him from Haruhi? At first, Kyoya had thought he was the villain, he was willing to be the villain and just go full throttle into it… but as things progressed, he began to think that the villain was actually Haruhi. She didn't love Tamaki, she yelled at him, she was willing to brag about not loving him… she was so cruel, poor Tamaki didn't deserve that kind of treatment.

It was ok though, Kyoya would protect him. Kyoya wasn't willing to let his darling best friend get hurt, crush or no crush. The fact that Tamaki recognised and approved of Kyoya's defence of him, it made Kyoya so very very happy. He carried his newfound pride really well, standing up a little straighter and carrying himself better. The difference was visible but no one asked about it, probably because they were too scared. It had been a while since Kyoya seemed so together.

The rest of the day went by wonderfully, with nothing going wrong. Kyoya was quite happy, although the other hosts seemed a little hung up about the day's events. Whilst hosting, Haruhi kept glancing towards Tamaki, but Tamaki didn't even glance back at her, and that was the best feeling for Kyoya, he was finally getting his way. Haruhi was finally getting what she deserved, she should never have hurt Tamaki like that. It was her own fault.

By the end of the day, Tamaki was still being loud and excitable, but there was an underlying level of pain there. Kyoya did his best to keep Tamaki's mind away from Haruhi, even going so far as to suggest that Tamaki come over to his place for a little while. Obviously Tamaki was excited at the idea, and they were very quickly sitting in the limo, with Tamaki babbling on about all the fun things they could do once they got there. Kyoya didn't say much, just stared at him from behind his glasses, enjoying the sound of Tamaki's voice.

He couldn't help but to wonder how it was for Sieka, how did it feel to kiss Tamaki? Kyoya knew Tamaki wore lipgloss, he couldn't remember what flavour Tamaki had said it was though, so he wasn't sure how it would taste but he knew it would be good. Tamaki hadn't wanted to kiss Sieka, so he likely didn't cooperate with her, but Kyoya couldn't help but imagine how amazing a kiss that was precipitated would be, the way Tamaki moved would be felt through every breath, life and love flourishing on his tongue as the world melted away… just the idea was enough to drive Kyoya mad.

That evening was wonderful, they listened to music and did homework together. Kyoya found it easier to bring himself to do things when Tamaki was there, he wasn't sure if it was the aura of energy or the pressure to look good in front of his crush. The reason didn't really matter, but the main point was that Kyoya was enjoying spending some time with Tamaki. After around two hours, or maybe an hour and a half, Tamaki spoke up with something that caught Kyoya off guard.

"Have you been hurting yourself lately?"

Oh, Kyoya hadn't been expecting that. He suddenly felt unsure, had he? He struggled to recall, the entirety of last week had been a blur for him really, so he wasn't sure what was what. “Well my bodyguards took my razors so…” that was before getting grounded wasn’t it? For some reason Kyoya knew he remembered sitting on the bathroom floor at some point that week and- “the scissors,” his words took the both of them off-guard, Tamaki glanced up from where he had been gazing at the cup of tea in his hands.

“What?”

“I took the twins' fabric shears... “ Kyoya paused for a moment, realising that his victory of memory was not going to be as much of a victory in Tamaki’s eyes, and that he’d just confessed to more self harm. “I…” the weight of what he’d just told the blonde dawned on him and he remembered how he’d promised to never let Tamaki see him like that again, “I’m sorry…”

He hadn’t been expecting to be sweeped up in a big hug and given small kisses on the top of his head, Tamaki had shouted something in french and continued to murmur french words to him softly as Kyoya just sat there in his arms. It was wonderful and though Kyoya was shaking he still felt tingles on his skin every time it brushed against Tamaki’s own. Only when the air was still and Kyoya had stopped crying- he had been crying? Only when there was silence did Tamaki speak words that Kyoya understood, pressing their foreheads together, “never apologize for that, ok? It wasn’t me you hurt, I’m just upset because I care about you and don’t want to see you hurt. The person you’re hurting is yourself, but I think that person doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment. You're hurting my best friend, Kyoya, can you promise me you’ll stop hurting my best friend? I know you’re in pain, I know that’s why you caused more, and I’m trying to help you, okay? But I can’t help if you don’t let me, please tell me if there's something I can do to make you feel better, is there?”

Kyoya didn’t want to move, making the barest little nod possible, but Tamaki understood and smiled. He didn’t want to speak as he spoke, hearing his voice and how pained and weak he sounded, it was awful… “can you stay with me tonight..? I don't want to be alone…"

Surprisingly, Tamaki agreed, and he even set up a blanket and pillow fort for them to sit in. Kyoya could be distracted from his all consuming guilt for a moment or two when Tamaki pulled him in close and wrapped a blanket around the both of them, he was so warm… it was hard to think in a situation like that. With every slow breath and chuckle that made Tamaki's chest shift just a little, with every little blue or gold sparkle in his violet eyes that seemed like the stars in the sky, with every little hum that left his lips and floated in the air giving off warmth, Kyoya fell just a little more in love.

Love was a funny thing; Kyoya had always thought it was stupid, just a chemical reaction, but the more he thought about it, the more he realised that he was actually a very romantic person. There was nothing Kyoya wanted more than to simply be help by someone who saw him, someone who understood who he was and who he wanted to be. That was what made this so much worse, the fact that Kyoya was now a horrible person made him scared for Tamaki to see him for what he was. He would never be seen, he could never be loved… not like this.

The thing that brought Kyoya hope, however, was the fact that Tamaki had always been one to look through a person, to see the person they wanted to be. He'd always encouraged Kyoya to be the person Kyoya had always dreamed to be, but now that dream was unclear; constantly shifting and changing, Kyoya didn’t know who he wanted to be anymore, it was so strained and fuzzy for him. The idea of the true self was slipping from his grasp as he made each step towards what he wanted, narrowly avoiding his doom at the hands of his own psyche. It was beginning to grow too much for even him to handle, but he didn’t trust himself to even try to do anything about it, what if he hurt people more?

A song, a lullaby in a tongue too foreign for Kyoya to understand, but familiar enough for him to name it. Tamaki ran his fingers through the villain’s hair, grounding Kyoya as he let the words wrap like a blanket. He was singing softly, Kyoya couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard tamaki sing- had he ever? The sound was wonderful, something to make him relax. Kyoya was a beast in that moment, an animal, he didn't trust himself to speak nor move, only laying, shivering in the blonde’s arms. Kyoya thought back to how he’d hurt everything, the people he’d cared for. He silently prayed for forgiveness, not to any god- Kyoya wasn’t a man of faith, but he had faith in his friends, he hoped when the truth came undone, they’d see through his actions to see who he was inside.

He made a promise, to them and to himself; there would be no pain caused nor received all week, they all deserved a reprieve. Kyoya knew he had a large amount of control over the pain his friends were experiencing, but as he caught a glimpse of the sadness in Tamaki’s eyes, he prayed Haruhi would allow them all to rest.

#kyoya ootori #ouran high school host club #tamaki souh #tamakyo #haruhi fujioka #Seika Ayanokoji

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poptod · 4 years

Text

Say My Name (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: You’re a harpist that gets noticed by the Prince, to your own terror. The prince is only trying to get your affection - but you simply won’t break the rules. You won’t even say his name. After all, it’s not allowed.

Prompt: Harp

Notes: Okay so recently (just now) I realized I can post my long fics! When I first came to Tumblr I couldn’t post them due to length, but now I can! I used to write big, long fics all the time, but it turns out people prefer smaller, more frequent fics, and since it takes me around three weeks to churn one of these babies out I’ll probably stick to my shorter fics. Gender neutral again, your name is Nour for historical reasons :) Also, I wrote this before I found out how Ahk was killed, so apologies. Enjoy!

AO3 Link: Say My Name

Word Count: 11.9k

It wasn’t your place to say a thing. In fact, if you did say a thing, you might get punished for it. Yet that was the partial beauty of him - if you mentioned your observations to him, and him alone, he would take it in stride. You hadn’t ever spoken to him before, never met him, but you’d heard rumours. Still, you continued playing your instrument, avoiding his gaze.

Celebrations such as this (a birthday) were one of your favorite things to do, despite how stressful they were. Constant pressure from superiors, a near command to memorize complicated music. Oftentimes, you felt you hadn’t picked the right career. Other times, you saw yourself doing nothing else.

The prince continued to stare at you, his gaze menacing. He hardly ever looked at you like that, or anyone for that matter. It led you to the conclusion that most likely, he was not directing his anger at you, which only raised more questions.

You were not allowed to leave in order to eat, or drink, or take a break. You and your ‘band’ were the best players that the palace had; thus the orders were to play till the last guest left. Because of this order, you could not ask the prince. You shouldn’t anyway, you knew that very well. You weren’t even supposed to look at him. Yet with such piercing eyes set upon you, it was a little hard to follow orders.

The birthday celebrations lasted long into the night, and you continued to play until the last guest left, leaving only the royal family. A mother and a father, friendly in stature and cruel in rulings, an elder son looking highly displeased, and a younger son, deep in thought.

“You may stop,” the Queen told you, and you did not meet her eye. You bowed low, packing your instruments up.

“Harpist,” the prince’s voice called you, and you turned, eyes fixated on the floor. It was beginning to look very interesting. “I’d like to discuss some things with you,” he said. His mother whispered something to him, and he whispered back, louder, though still indiscernible.

“Yes, my prince,” you said, bowing. You turned back around, eyes wide, face red with embarrassment. You finished packing up, and as your friends left, they pat you on the shoulders comfortingly. A weak way of apologizing for whatever fate you were about to face.

The prince turned down a hallway, golden robe trailing behind him. You looked around confused. Were you to follow him? His mother quickly gestured at him, frowning at you. You bowed quickly, following him down the hallway.

Torches lined the painted walls, giving light to the stories that had been etched there. Your eyes followed the stories, the marvelous art that you hardly ever got to see in your daily life. Eventually he turned into a room, and you followed, your instrument still in its’ case by your side.

He turned quickly around to you, watching as you set the case down. He caught your eye, and your eyes zipped down to the floor.

“No, don’t do that,” he said, practically floating over, lifting you by the chin so you could meet his eyes.

You’re pretty sure you might’ve blacked out for a good two seconds. You weren’t allowed to know what he looked like. You weren’t supposed to see his face, and by all that was holy you were not supposed to touch him.

“I need your advice,” he said, now heading towards the balcony. You did not follow him, thinking it would suffice that you could hear him from the large doorway. He did not seem to agree, as he beckoned you over. You bowed your head a little, following his command, soon standing at his side.

“Do you have any siblings?” He asked you, looking up at the sky. You stared at the ground as you spoke.

“No, my prince,” you answered simply, addressing him properly.

“Do not call me that,” he said firmly, and you watched as his hands gripped tighter around the edge of the balcony. You took a deep breath, feeling your body shake. “You may simply refer to me by my name.”

You nodded, though didn’t fully process his request.

“My brother,” he started quietly, tensing and intending his muscles. “I am worried he will do something rash. What do you suppose I should do?”

Why in the world was he asking you for advice?

“Pardon my questioning,” you said, knowing you shouldn’t at all be asking this, “but why do you request my advice? I am just a citizen.”

“That is exactly why,” he said, and he turned to face you. Knowing the demand before he pronounced it, you looked at him. You hoped the fear was not evident on your face.

“Why would the prince do something rash?” You inquired, tightening your grip on the railing.

“He has been angry recently. I’m not sure why, but when he gets angry for long periods of time, he tends to end up murdering people,” he said quickly, intaking a shaky breath.

“I think you’re stressed,” you said before you thought about it. He turned to you, looking a little surprised.

Ah, so this was how you were going to die.

“I suppose you’re right,” he mumbled, looking to the ground as if he were ashamed. Why would he be ashamed in front of you?

He looked back up at you.

“Do you have any suggestions for stress relief?”

“My prince, I really do not believe this is appropriate-“

“My name?” He asked of you, and hesitantly, you obeyed.

“Ahkmen, this isn’t appropriate,” you told him flat out, no more beating around the bush. He nodded in agreement.

“Fun things are seldom ever appropriate,” he said with a smirk, grabbing your wrist and leading you back into the room. You might’ve blacked out again. He led you to his bed, where he sat, making sure you stood exactly in front of him. He grabbed both your hands, holding them in his.

“Would you mind playing your harp again, for me? A private performance,” he asked quietly, a tenderness you didn’t expect very apparent in his eyes. Hesitantly you nodded, releasing yourself from his grip and wandering over to your case. You took it out, wondering where you could sit in order to play it. Deciding against asking for a seat, or heavens forbid sitting next to him, you kneeled on the ground. The rounded end of the harp let it fall onto your left shoulder, and you plucked out a melody. The sharp and staccato sound was pleasant to your ears, but you’d heard a great deal of it already that night. You took some liberty, changing up a few of the tunes and chords, stroking the strings a tad different than usual.

“You play beautifully,” he commented near the end of your piece. You smiled up at him, before directing your attention back to the music, not wanting to lose concentration.

“Do you sing as well?” He asked, moving to lie back against the pillows of his bed. You shrugged. Yes, you sang, but you weren’t a singer. You told him this, and he told you to sing for him.

“If you don’t mind,” he added at the end. You nodded once more, starting on a lullaby that you knew very well. It was comparatively short next to your last piece, and when you finished, he asked you where you had picked it up.

“My mother used to sing it to me,” you informed him quietly, putting the harp back into its’ case.

“My mother sang me songs sometimes. Oftentimes it was other women,” he said, sitting up properly. “Sit next to me,” he asked of you, and you obeyed. There was no hesitation in your movements, realizing at this point he was trying to make your life difficult by bending rules that you didn’t have a desire to bend. The faster you listened to him and obeyed, the faster the night would end, and the faster you’d be able to breathe again.

“Spend the night with me,” he requested. You felt yourself mentally draw the line right there.

“That is not appropriate, my prince, I must leave now,” you said, hands shaking and voice reverberating your fear into him. You immediately stood up, briskly walking over to the door where your harp lay safely in its’ case.

“At least let me say good bye,” he said hurriedly, getting up after you. He grabbed your wrist before you could reach your case, pulling you towards him. You turned to face him, bright red and highly embarrassed.

“I will see you again,” he said, and your eyes immediately directed to his lips. He raised your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles, watching you intently the entire time. You stopped breathing momentarily.

“G - good bye,” you said quickly, pulling your hand away, grabbing your harp, and leaving. You avoided the stares of palace workers and officials as you left, keeping your head down as you were taught to, until you reached more common streets.

You blacked out once you reached home, collapsing onto your bed.

Two days later, you’d achieve the same state of terror, or more, as you had two nights before. Palace guards showed at your door, giving you a notice that you were to present yourself to the royal family. Your roommate congratulated you, but you felt the opposite reaction was called for. Stress such as this was not a thing you handled easily.

Nevertheless, you presented yourself, with your instrument, as they had told you. A man you did not know, dressed extravagantly, informed you that you were to become a private musician for one of the princes. You nodded, sort of expecting that.

You respected the royal family. It wasn’t that which made you sour, or the fact that your servants quarters were shared with four other people when you originally lived with only one other person. You didn’t mind leaving your possessions behind.

Your problem was that you could get caught. The prince was the one being rash, doing things he aught not to do, things that could get him punished and you killed. Unfortunately, you had a thing about death, where you sort of didn’t want to die. Sounded a painful, unpleasant experience all around.

Later that evening, after mulling about in your new room alone, you were ordered to the young princes room. They never spoke his name, you noticed, and you realized how much worse that made the fact that you had called him by his name at least once.

You knocked once on the door, it being loud enough that you didn’t feel the need to knock again. A voice from inside called, ‘come in,’ so you let yourself in, announcing your presence with what was left of your dignity and professionalism.

He didn’t wear his cape or crown, but he kept his skirt and sported a light shawl.

“My prince,” you said simply, bowing. He chuckled, nearing you. You stood straight once again, keeping your eyes on the ground.

“Good to see you came back instead of running away. I told you I’d see you again.”

“What do you need, my prince?”

He frowned slightly, leading you further into the room.

“I thought we got over the formalities last night,” he commented sadly, still holding your wrists.

“What am I here for?” You asked once more. He sighed, giving in to your question.

“I told my parents about your music. They suggested you live here so you can help me with my, uh, stress, when needed. I thought it to be a good enough idea, and besides,” he leaned in a bit closer, “I wanted to see you again.”

“Are you currently stressed?” You asked, observing him with a calculated look. You shoved your emotions as far down as you could, hoping that would help for this evening.

“Yes, I’m afraid my brother has been a continuous worry to me,” he said, stepping away from you, beginning to pace the room. “He accuses me of awful things, and because it would be shameful for him to physically harm me, he has begun harming our servants and slaves. It’s painful to watch, and I can’t do anything about it. If I do, I will seem unfit to be royal, and I may be cast out. I can’t risk that.”

“Have you tried asking him what’s wrong?”

“I can’t do that. I thought of it, but he’s closed off, and even if he would tell someone he would never tell me. I don’t think he trusts me.”

“The trust of cowards is not something worthy to gain,” you said distractedly, looking at the patterned ceiling.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he said, stopping his pacing. “You’re really quite intelligent, aren’t you?” He neared you, standing in front of you again. You hadn’t moved from your position near the door.

“I have my uses,” you said, and he laughed, his smile delicate and very unlike who he currently presented himself as. You felt yourself weaken for a moment.

“Would you mind singing to me again?”

“Of course, my prince,” you replied, kneeling to open your case. He held a finger beneath your chin, raising your head to look at him. He towered above you in this position, a general air of dominance that made you shiver emanated from him.

“My name?” He asked quietly, his kind voice betraying his commanding exterior.

“Of course, Ahkmen,” you repeated yourself, weaker. He smiled, and left to lie on the bed. You resumed pulling out the harp, taking once more your kneeling position on the floor, the harp falling on your shoulder as you plucked at the strings. You tapped your foot to the beat, making sure that you didn’t lose your count. Every now and then you’d look up to the prince, watching his expression for any sign of displeasure. Each time he showed none, so you continued.

“What’s your name, harpist?” He asked, interrupting your playing. You shook your head a bit, getting back on track. You continued to play as you answered.

“Nour,” you said simply, concentrating deeply.

“Beautiful name,” he said quietly, sighing as he relaxed back into his bed once more. You took a deep breath, calming yourself as you kept playing. A few minutes later, he stood, walking up to you. He paused your playing, asking that you put your harp down. As always you obeyed.

“Come with me,” he said, and you again followed him. He led you out the door, and down a back hallway. The paintings on the walls disappeared, and eventually all the torches faded away. He continued leading you down more and more complex hallways, the structures confusing you. It hit you then that it would be very easy to trap you here, and that if someone wanted to kill you here, it wouldn’t be that hard. But, if the prince wanted to kill you, he could’ve done it in broad daylight.

You continued walking behind him until a small doorway appeared, lit up by the moonlight. You jogged a bit to catch up, watching him disappear down steps.

“It’s quite beautiful, isn’t it?” He called back to you, now practically running down the steps. You watched him, his eyes glued upon the river in the distance. He began running, you trailing after, weaving through the reeds that grew on the banks of the water. Eventually he stopped at the rivers edge, the sandy shore riding just above his sandals. You stopped beside him, panting, crouched down slightly. You weren’t used to exerting yourself physically. Apparently, he was.

“My prince, you must be careful, you don’t know what kind of animals could sneak up on you,” you panted, finally standing to your full height beside him. He looked at you, laughing.

“Don’t worry, much of this stretch is harmless. Too narrow to truly be a resting spot for anything dangerous,” he informed you, stepping out into the river. You froze, eyes wide as you watched him. As he continued, the water only came up to his mid calf, soaking his pants.

“Join me,” he said to you, facing you with a hand outstretched. You clenched your hands into fists, thinking about how awfully wrong all this was. You weren’t supposed to be here, not with him, certainly not by yourself, and you weren’t supposed to look at him. You weren’t supposed to touch him. He wasn’t supposed to deal with sorts like you. Lowly sorts.

You took his hand. Barely laying your fingers in his before he curled them tightly around yours, pulling you in. You stumbled slightly, regaining your balance in the water as it splashed up your legs. The moon reflected brightly in the water, but despite this you couldn’t see much of the details of his face. You could tell that he smiled though, his laughter echoing in the silent lands. However much you knew this to be wrong, you smiled with him, warm water coming up to your legs.

“See? Nothing wrong,” he said quietly, pulling you in closer and grabbing your other hand in his. All ease slipped away, and you choked up, staring petrified at him.

“We shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be doing this,” you said, voice high and shaky.

“Shouldn’t be doing what? Enjoying myself?” He raised a single eyebrow at you, judging you with a funny look in his eye. He was smiling.

Your fears came pouring out. They filled your entirety, boiling beneath your skin and itching to come out, like a rash upon your tongue.

“You shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be talking with you, I shouldn’t look at you, I shouldn’t touch you, I-“

“It’s not your fault. If anyone is to put blame on us, it will fall solely on me, I will make sure of it,” he told you quietly, an attempt to calm your fears.

“And what will happen to you then? You’ll be punished,” you choked out, feeling your throat swell up.

“All worth it to spend time with you,” he whispered, drawing ever closer. You took a step back, the water splashing up the back of your legs.

“Why are you so invested in me?” You asked, trying weakly to pull your hands out of his grip. He did not let go.

“Your playing enchants me, and the way you refuse to, well… bond with me, I suppose, is intriguing. Most people I’ve met jump at the chance to form a sort of relationship with me. Simply because of my standing,” he explained quietly.

You hardly believed people only associated with him because of rank. He happened to also be an incredibly nice person, as well as truthful and sincere unlike any royalty you’d met before. Not only that, despite what you continuously told yourself, he was very handsome.

“I hardly believe it’s only because of your royalty,” you said, voicing only half your thoughts.

“Why’s that?” He asked quickly, leaning in further, pulling you closer. He looked desperate, curious for your answer. You breathed deeply. He smelled of perfume. Of course.

“You’re one of the more benevolent royalty that I’ve met,” you said simply, not meeting his eyes. His eyes however, did not waver from yours, attention directly on you. Your skin felt hot beneath his touch.

“Is that why you won’t say my name?” He came chest to chest with you, the words from his mouth heating your cheek beyond what was comfortable.

“My prince, I am only here to play music for you,” you breathed out, weak and indecisive. Your gaze stay fixed on his shoulder and past, to the river shining behind him.

“You are here to help with my stress. That’s your job specification, and you’re doing a terrible job at it,” he laughed, his body swaying slightly.

“I think I would be better at it if you didn’t put me in stressful situations,” you retorted before you could think. Eyes widening upon reflection of what you just said, your breath caught in your lungs. An unpleasant tingle shivered through your legs, making you weaker than you already were.

“Don’t worry so much and you’ll be fine. I have to say you’re doing a wonderful job distracting me from my brother,” he told you, continuing to sway, moving your arms back and forth in some mock form of a dance. “Enjoy yourself,” he said, leaning in and whispering the words against your ear. You blacked out for two seconds again, before blinking, looking to his face, his eyes attracting you immediately.

He was scanning your face, a concentrated look in his eyes. He blinked a few times, sighing, before letting go of your hands.

“Let’s go back to the palace,” he said quietly, turning and leaving you calf deep in the water.

The sick pit in your stomach began feeling worse the longer you spoke with the prince. After three full moons had come and gone, you came to a comparison. It was a terrible comparison to make, and you’d never, ever voice it, but you felt as though you were being tempted by a demon. Play for him. Look into his eyes. Touch him just a little more. Call him by his name. Lean into the temptations and be damned for eternity, but stay away and you’ll suffer heartache worse than death.

You decidedly never crossed the border of touching him in any sort of way - no, anything that happened in accordance with that was entirely his fault. You never called him by his name. You tried your best not to look into his eyes, in fear of losing yourself within them. They swirled gold and foreign delicacies, new and familiar all at once.

You didn’t dare look at him.

“Perhaps if you become my advisor, I will be able to see you more often,” he pondered, staring up at the ceiling. He was lying next to you, in a pile of blankets of pillows, arms crossed behind his head. You played your harp quietly, not wanting to disturb his thoughts too much.

“You want to spend more time with me?” You asked quietly, astounded. You weren’t exactly an incredibly interesting person.

“Of course. You’re intelligent too, so it’s not like you’d give me terrible advice. The position wouldn’t just be for show,” he added at the end, looking up at you, before resuming his study of the ceiling.

“I do not believe commoners can become royal advisors. Or should, in the very least,” you said, trying to continue your concentration on your playing. You plucked a few wrong notes as the conversation continued. He didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s possible, and it’s not like you have to be a vizier or anything. That’d only happen if I became pharaoh, which would only happen if my older brothers died, which they hopefully do not,” he said, continuing on to describe what your life would be like if you became his advisor. You had a thought, but waited till he finished his spiel.

“My prince, is it not a bit redundant for you to have an advisor? You’re not making any political decisions, and-“

“Think of it more as a personal assistant,” he interrupted, looking up at you hopefully. You sighed tiredly, but nodded. He was quiet for a while after that, so you could continue playing in peace.

You were informed the next day that your job had been changed from ‘stress reliever’ to ‘personal servant/advisor,’ and that your quarters would be moved nearer to the princes’. It was quite the step up in the world, which was the last thing you needed, but the prince seemed to think otherwise. You were treated with an ounce more of respect, and at first you weren’t sure what to do with it, and your confusion only got worse throughout the day.

Apparently, when you’re someone’s personal servant/advisor (a job that has never existed before) you have to accompany said person everywhere they go. This included meetings, meals (where you weren’t allowed to eat), as well as important openings, surveying building and planting, and a good amount of educational programs.

Overall, a very tiring day, and you were very much ready to collapse when the moon finally shone.

You accompanied the prince back to his room, wondering how he kept his energy up. You quickly answered the question for yourself, remembering that he’d been doing it his entire life.

He must’ve noticed your state, dragging behind him but keeping your posture up despite.

“Are you alright Nour?” He asked, stopping and turning around to face you. You quickly nodded, trying to keep your eyes open. He looked doubtful however, eyeing you suspiciously.

“You don’t have to play for me tonight if you are this exhausted,” he comforted, resting a hand on your shoulder and trying to give you a sincere look. You didn’t look at him, still too afraid. Especially now, in public, with his hand on your shoulder, where anyone could see.

“I am able to play,” you said, shaking your head a bit, trying to clear out the drowsiness. He continued looking at you skeptically, but allowed you to enter his room, you once again taking your harp from its’ case. He sat in his new pile of pillows and blankets, closing his eyes, and losing himself in your playing. You blinked slowly, feeling a warm, fuzzy blanket come over your thoughts. Despite this you continued playing, trying your best to concentrate. Unfortunately you must’ve made some mistake, because you felt a hand on your wrist, and a voice penetrating the warm blanket that had come over your eyes.

“Nour, go to sleep,” he said, and you opened your eyes, your consciousness falling immediately into his warm and worried eyes. The whole world still felt fuzzy, as though you were half in a dream, the only thing fully grounding you being his hand around your wrist.

“I can play,” you said thickly, the words sounding as though they came from far away, but reverberated in your empty chest.

“No you can’t-“

You closed your eyes, just to blink, but ended up doing a lot more than that. You fell straight asleep, flopping forward onto the prince’s shoulder… unfortunately.

When you awoke, it wasn’t your assigned room. You then quickly remembered that you had moved rooms the day before, settling your worries. You were then further worried when you realized you did not own a golden vase, and the blankets you were given certainly weren’t this soft. You sat up quickly, feeling dizzy.

“Good morning,” the prince said with a soft chuckle, smiling at you from his bed. You felt about ready to throw up.

“D- did I fall asleep?” You asked hurriedly, ready to apologize as soon as he confirmed.

“Yes, but it’s not a problem,” he said, stopping you before you started. You gaped at him, horrified.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” You asked, instead of screaming. His eyes widened, glancing sideways as his cheeks darkened. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. You blinked again. Were you seeing this right?

“… I didn’t want to wake you,” he admitted quietly, head dangling embarrassed between his shoulders. You took a deep breath, trying to fully understand the situation.

“Okay. So… you let me sleep in your room all night… because you didn’t want to wake me up?”

He paused before answering.

“… Yeeeesss?”

You got up, dusting yourself off. You waved good bye to him silently, smiling awkwardly, ready to leave.

“Wait, don’t go,” he entreated, his hand moving towards you, still against his bedsheets. You turned to him slowly, practically shaking. You looked him up and down, deciding this was a terrible idea, before turning to leave once more.

“Please,” he murmured, his entire body pleading. You took a deep breath, looking at your feet. A feeble attempt to gather your thoughts. You couldn’t directly disobey him. It was bad enough that you turned away the first time - you didn’t think it possible for royalty to say please, or beg the way he practically was. So you turned back around, looking at him exhausted once more, before walking towards him, standing beside his bed. He smiled brightly up at you, the tenseness in his body completely evaporated.

“You glow perfectly in the morning sun,” he murmured, grabbing your wrist, before venturing up further to your arm. You nearly instinctively pulled away, fear coursing pain through your blood, but you stayed put.

“Inappropriate,” you chided quietly, highly embarrassed.

“I know,” he winked at you, smiling cheekily. You took a deep breath, nearly rolling your eyes.

“Do you know how to ride a chariot?” He asked you out of nowhere, still smiling up at you like you were a dream.

“No, I have no desire to,” you said, knowing that if it were time to fight for your pharaoh, you would physically be unable to fight. Thus, most likely you’d be put on different duty, like planning, or meal prep. The prince, however, looked a bit saddened.

“That’s a shame. I’m going riding today, if you wish I could teach you,” he suggested, tugging your arm lightly.

“Thank you for the offer, but I will stay here instead.”

He offered once more, and you once more declined. Leaving it at that, he redressed into looser clothing.

You stayed in your room for the time he was gone. There wasn’t much for you to do, and you had to stay on call in case someone needed you, so you mostly tried to write new songs. Still slightly new at it, the songs were a tad plain, but you were getting better.

When the sun was near set in the sky, you received a knock at the door. You quickly got up, and a soldier informed you that the prince had returned, and was requesting you in his chambers. You acknowledged, packing your harp up and heading down long hallways to his room.

You knocked, which was met with a small ‘come in.’ When you opened the door, the prince was sitting on his bed as usual, with a large, deep scuff mark on his cheek. You nearly dropped your instrument, staring at the red and black mark.

“No need to be surprised,” he smiled, before wincing and returning to a straight face.

“My prince, doesn’t that need attending to?” You had to physically stop yourself from walking over, digging your nails into the flesh of your leg.

“It’s alright. I fell off the chariot,” he explained, laughing as he thought back. He twitched slightly from pain, letting his face fall again.

“You should clean it in the very least,” you suggested, setting your instrument on the floor. You turned to the door, ready to fetch some water and a cloth.

“You worry too much,” he said as you left, fetching a tight basket of water and an old but clean cloth. You returned a few moments later, setting the supplies on his bed where he sat. He looked at you expectantly, tilting his head slightly. You fidgeted, muscles twitching as you tried to stay calm.

“If you’re so worried, you should do it,” he closed his eyes, ready for you to clean him, “I doubt you’ll accept anyone else doing it.”

You sniffed indignantly, a little ashamed and a little embarrassed. More embarrassed than anything. Nonetheless, you dipped the cloth into the clean water, wringing it out once you pulled it out. You dabbed at his skinned cheek and jaw, trying to make sure it didn’t hurt. The mark reached to his ear, behind the lower part of his crown. You thought of asking him to move it, or moving it yourself.

“Um, my prince, could you remove your crown?” You finally asked hesitantly, still trying to removed the dirt from the visible mark on his cheek. When you removed the rag he nodded, taking off the golden ornament and setting it on the bed. Biting your lip you took a deep breath, once more setting to clean the rest of the scuff.

Finally you dropped the cloth into the water, setting the basket on the floor.

“Done?” He asked, smiling pleasantly at you. In a minute motion you nodded, turning quickly away. You bent down by your instrument, getting ready to play for him once more.

He stared at you for a while as you played, his face straight and his emotions unidentifiable. It put you on edge, as most of the time he was rather see-through. You kept playing despite your worries.

As night came, he did not tell you to stop. You were starting to get a little tired, but you continued playing diligently. The sounds outside the room subsided, silence enclosing the space around and between you and the prince. He shuffled on the bed, lying down, his eyes closed in deep thought.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he said, piercing soft silence that had lasted so long before. In your shock you struck a wrong string, the dissonant sound making you curl in on yourself. However, you didn’t find yourself too surprised - his actions indicated he had to have felt something different with you.

“I am aware,” you said quietly, picking up another piece. You steadied your hands, trying to play the right chords once more.

“In that case,” he said, clearly annoyed at your passiveness, “you should also know I am free to marry who I wish, and I want to marry you.”

He stood, legs swinging off the bed and waltzing over to you. He grabbed your wrist, stopping your playing and pulling you upwards. Your harp shifted, falling to the ground, softened by the pillows surrounding you.

“I want to marry you,” he repeated softly, breath hot against your face. He leaned in close to you, his eyes hooded, desperate for you to just touch him.

“I can’t,” you said hurriedly, the words coming from pure instinct. You felt your hands shaking in his grasp, terrified by the whole situation.

“Why?” He whispered, face contorted near tears. You hummed uncomfortably, a meager sound in automatic reaction to his sadness.

“I have to go,” you rushed out, ripping yourself from his grasp and running out the door.

Why did this keep happening?

Your tiresome night was not to come to an end, as you ran into someone in the hallway. You fell to the ground from the impact, profusely apologizing to whoever it was you hit.

“Aren’t you that servant my brother’s traipsing around with?”

Fuck, this must be the prince’s eldest brother.

You did not meet his eyes, instead keeping your body in a bowed position.

“Yes, my prince, he has requested it,” you answered obediently.

“You’re rather acquiescent, aren’t you? Such a small thing,” he commented, and you felt his stare on the back of your neck, harsh and cruel. He pressed two fingers to the back of your bowed head, pushing you so you looked upwards at him. Out of fear, you allowed him to move you as he wished.

This was your first meeting with the brother you’d heard so much about, and he was nothing like the prince. His eyes pierced you, emotionless and senseless. It made you long for the warmer, welcoming man you had run from.

“Hm. When I become pharaoh,” he spoke as royalty should; proud, and succinct, “I should make you serve me instead. Most of the servants I get are defiant and rude. You’d be quite the change.”

“Yes, my prince,” you said, too afraid to say anything else. Too scared to mention the fact that the prince that currently owned you would not give you up very easily.

Distantly you heard feet running down the hallway, halting before you and the older prince.

“Kahmuh,” you heard him say, voice practically unidentifiable with the vindictiveness in it.

“Ah! Brother, here’s your, uh, thing,” he said, flicking your head towards his brother. After, the older prince turned and left, his stride confident and domineering. The younger rushed to you, kneeling in front of you.

“Did he hurt you?” He grabbed your face, turning it and inspecting for wounds and marks.

“No,” you mumbled, looking down. He was so human compared to his older brother.

“Did he say anything to you?” He inched closer, looking worriedly at you. His hands moved to your shoulders, gripping them tightly.

“He said that… he wanted me to be his servant when he becomes pharaoh, because I’m obedient,” you said hesitantly, hoping that the prince wouldn’t do anything rash in retaliation. Instead he grimaced, and you watched as his muscles tensed.

“If only he knew you’re the exact opposite of that. You just follow rules. You won’t bend them, not for me, and definitely not for him,” he said, his tone bordering on venomous. He helped you up, patting the sides of your arms awkwardly once you stood.

“Spend the night with me?” He asked haltingly, giving you a look of it’s alright if you say no.

“You know I can’t do that,” you answered quietly, hoping to convey that maybe, you wished that you had the confidence to bend the rules just slightly.

“I’ll walk you back to your room,” he said, ceasing all contact with you.

“Do you know where my room is?” You asked, walking beside him, instead of behind.

“Uh… no,” he answered shyly, laughing quietly. You smiled cordially at him. The walk to your room was silent, a few people flitting by but besides that, lonely.

“Thank you, my prince,” you bowed your head respectively, before turning to open your door. He held your hand, keeping you there as he spoke.

“You’re welcome… my love,” he answered gently, letting your hand slide out of his.

You stood outside your door, dumbfounded as he left, watching as he disappeared around a turn.

My love?

Four more full moons passed. Overall, you must’ve been working for him for seven moons, which was quite a while, looking back. A few days ago the Pharaoh and his Queen had announced that the throne would have to be passed soon. You gave them around a year to actually hold to their statement.

It was to your surprise that, a few days later, the Queen called you to her quarters. You had been playing for the young prince, when a messenger directed you away. You bid a quick good bye to the prince, heading where the messenger took you.

Her room was larger, shared with her husband, who was not present. It was only her, pacing back and forth in her room, rubbing her hands together anxiously.

“Harpist, good,” she said, upon noticing you, directing you inside. She sat you on a chair, and you thanked her.

“What do you think of Ahkmen?” She asked you, finally stopping her pacing, looking directly at her. You kept your eyes on her feet, always remembering your place.

“He is a kind man, overtaken with emotion and confused, but that is expected of someone so young. He’s benevolent and wise beyond his age,” you answered, attempting to summarize your observations of him over the past half year.

“You’ve met my other son, correct?” She asked you, and she began pacing again. You confirmed. At this point you’d met him a few times, none of the meetings being entirely pleasant. He seemed to favour you though, which you hoped would continue. You still had a thing about dying.

“What do you think of him?”

You swallowed. Would you really dare speak ill about a woman’s son, especially a queens’?

“He is brave, and well, succinct. He knows what he wants and he achieves it. He’s ambitious and also overtaken with emotion, though the emotion is… not kindness,” you ended hesitantly, starting to fidget just like the Queen was.

“I know you are a commoner. My youngest son has told me about you, and he says you follow rules and tradition no matter what someone of higher power says. But now, I need you to be honest with me,” she kneeled before you, looking you directly in the eyes.

This had to be incredibly important, for her to kneel, let alone in front of you.

“Who is fit to be king?”

Your mouth fell open. You weren’t qualified to answer this. Was the fate of the entire kingdom resting on you now?

“My Queen, is it not appropriate for the eldest to take the throne?” You asked quietly, knowing the answer already.

“Yes, but… Kahmuh has been doubtful in all essence of the word. He is violent and rash, he does not think over his decisions. If it were a choice the obvious choice is Ahkmen, however it isn’t right. It’s never happened before, so I thought the advice of a commoner might be of some use.”

“Your youngest son would be the best choice,” you said. Given the choice, you’d choose him every time.

“You don’t think the citizens will be outraged?”

“I suppose you could… lie, if you’re worried about it,” you suggested, choosing your words carefully.

“What kind of lie could you or I come up with that would soothe their worries?”

“Could say that the Gods chose him. Which is technically true,” you added that at the end, seeing her eyes widen with horror. She took a deep breath.

“You’re right. You’re very wise for a commoner. Dismissed,” she said, standing up. You bowed, thanking her for the time spent with her, and left.

When you returned to the prince’s room, he asked what she needed you for. You thought about telling him the truth, but instead you lied, saying that she was simply checking up on how her son was feeling through the person spending the most time with him. He believed you, and you resumed playing your music.

“Why can’t you marry me?” He asked you, lying next to you in his large splay of blankets and pillows. You sat on the edge of his cushioned area, a blanket to soften the floor for your knees.

“It is prudent to marry within your social class,” you muttered, voice quiet as you still tried concentrating on the task at hand.

“In that case, do you wish for me to marry my brother?” He laughed, before sticking his tongue out and gagging.

“Please don’t,” you chuckled.

“I’d still like you to know that since I’m not becoming Pharaoh, I can marry whomever I want,” he teased, poking you in the shoulder. You rolled your arm back, shaking him off. You thought back to what the Queen had said - if she was to give you credit and follow through your advice, he would be Pharaoh, and that’d be a big problem.

“You can’t assure that you won’t have to become Pharaoh some day,” you said quietly.

“Are you planning on killing my brother?”

“Not yet,” you gritted under your breath. He laughed, rolling onto his side. He stared up at you, a subconscious smile on his face.

“My love, you mustn’t worry. He will become king, not I, and I will be able to marry whomever I please, and whomever I please will be you,” he still smiled at you, sure that he was correct. “As long as you’ll have me,” he added quietly after a beat of silence. You cautiously nodded, aware that while he valued your opinion and input, he could simply force you to marry him. Though knowing him as well as you did, you didn’t think him capable of something like that.

“I don’t think I’m fit to rule,” he sighed a few moments later, letting his hands intertwine behind his head to cushion him. You gave him a quizzical look, silently requesting for him to continue his thought.

“I’ve never been good with fast decisions, and as you might’ve realized I’m terrible under pressure,” he said very matter-of-fact like, sighing dejectedly as he finished. “I’m just not fit to rule.”

“Given the opportunity and right people, anyone with a kind heart and brave soul is fit to rule,” you hummed, letting your fingers pop more gracefully as they plucked the strings.

“That would mean you’re fit to rule,” he said offhandedly, rolling his shoulders back.

“Afraid not, my prince. I’m a coward in my soul,” you laughed, but it was partially true. You’d never break a single rule.

“Perhaps so. You’re not willing to break a rule that isn’t even real, but your kindness more than makes up for it. Besides, with how pretty you are, I’d let it pass,” he casually flirted with you. He was beginning to do so often, and with increasing smoothness. It seemed as though he was really coming out of the shell you really wish he’d go back into.

“Uh - thank you, my, uh, prince,” you stammered. “Do you have any plans for your birthday?” You quickly changed the subject.

“My parents are throwing another party, not much else. I would very much love it if you attended.” He looked up at you expectantly.

“Of course, my prince. I was the harpist at your last birthday, I would be happy to reprise my role.”

“No, I meant as my… partner. My plus one.”

You paused, thinking over the implications if you were to arrive with him, as his equal.

“Who will play harp then?”

“We’ll find someone else, though they won’t be as good as you, I would prefer you to stay at my side,” he said, sitting up and turning to face you. Your skin burned, nerves tingling as you imagined events of the night playing out. You’d probably be expected to do a lot of things you weren’t raised to do.

“Please, my love?” He wrapped his hand around your wrist gently, and his calm demeanor seeped through the contact he made with you.

“… Of course, my prince.”

Two months had passed since that eventful day, where you’d learned that the Queen was doubting her older son, and that you were to attend a royal party as a guest, not an employee. The prince had done to the best of his abilities, as much as he could to soothe your nerves. You hadn’t told him about your anxiousness surrounding the event, but it was easy for him to pick up on it. To help you, he educated you on the different replies to various things. You’d mainly learned that staying silent and by his side would make people avoid talking to you. After all, if you stayed with him, most people would be too enamored with him to notice you, and if they did, they’d probably ask the prince who you were and not you. After a few days of his etiquette training, you’d felt a little better.

Around evening when you and the prince retired to his room, he had been called up for a surprise meeting. You were instructed to stay in his room, so you did, tuning your harp and waiting for him to come back.

He did, a long while later, his shoulders drooping and eyebrows furrowed.

“Nour,” he sighed, rubbing his face as he walked forward. He came in front of you, bending to his knees before planting his face in your shoulder. His arms came around you, tired and slow, but tightly encircling your waist.

“My prince?” You questioned awkwardly, unsure of where to put your hands.

“They’re thinking of breaking the rules. Of giving me the throne,” he whimpered, voice muffled by your body.

“That can’t be so awful,” you murmured, ultimately deciding to rest your hand on his back and head.

“I can’t marry you,” he partially whispered, pressing himself into you further.

“Oh,” was all the tiny sound you could muster. Was that really what he was worried about?

The two of you stayed intertwined on his makeshift nest of blankets and pillows. You, with your heart beating straight out of its’ hole, and him, with his face pressed tight against your body, crying ever so slightly. It gave you time to think of a plan.

“I might regret telling you this, but I have an idea,” you started off slowly. He didn’t move, or make any noise, so you continued.

“You could marry me now,” you said, feeling much more stressed and yet less anxious with the thought now in the open. Open for judgement, yes, but also for accepting, and which one terrified you more you did not know.

He removed himself from you, mouth slightly parted and wide eyed. He then knitted his eyebrows together, cocking his head to the right.

“You’d do that?” His tone was quiet and uncertain, unbelieving and a half whisper.

“If you married me now and you or I decided that it wasn’t a thing we wanted, we could later divorce. However if you let your father announce you as Pharaoh before we are married, it would not be allowed. It’s simply…” you trailed off, unsure of where you were headed.

“The logical decision, to help with my stress?” He smiled shyly. You laughed awkwardly, and nodded.

He leaned forward, looking like he was about to kiss you. Instinctively you pushed him away, heart beat increasing once more.

“It’s just a place holder. Nothings changed. I still don’t think I should even be looking at you,” you quickly relayed to him, hoping to make him realize that you didn’t want to act married.

“Alright. I will kiss you one day though,” he reminded you with a teasing lilt, raising your hand to his mouth, kissing you with a touch that was barely there.

“It appears you already have,” you replied, thinking back to the many times he’d kissed your hand. You knew it to be a sign of utmost respect, and it had confused you when he first did it. Now, you were far more accustomed to it, though you still didn’t approve of it. You supposed he had a right to whomever he respected.

Three days later, he’d convinced you that it was okay to tell his parents. You were hesitant for obvious reasons, but he assured you there wouldn’t be harsh consequences. Unfortunately, he wanted you to be there when he broke the news.

So you stood behind him, shaking, going into a mild cardiac arrest.

“We’re married. It was my idea,” he started with, which was very outright, and you wanted to berate him for that.

“… Married?” His father confirmed. You hadn’t ever spoken to him before, but he had a commanding voice. He, like his eldest son, had a posture, an air about him that simply made him fit to rule.

The prince nodded. His parents exchanged looks, before their eyes fell on you.

“You are?” His father asked, eyes burning your skin.

“My name is Nour. I was the harpist for many of your parties. I have been the youngest princes’… stress reliever,” you answered, attempting to be succinct. You kept your head down, a sign of submission and respect.

“Oh, you were his whore?”

You spluttered, face turning red as you made flabby attempts at defending yourself.

“No, father, Nour has helped me to calm down through music… not, uh, sex. Nour won’t let me touch them,” the prince stepped in to defend you, and at the same time, completely discredited your claimed marriage.

“You two wish to be married, yet you’ve never touched each other? Just, holding hands?”

The Pharaoh seemed confused. He turned to his queen once more, before looking at the two of you again.

“I’m very adamant that I not be touched until marriage. It is a simple personal preference,” you said quickly, coming up with the explanation on the fly. You begged to whomever would listen that it would suffice. Still your eyes were trained on his feet, simply to avoid accidentally meeting his eyes. Despite this you saw him shrug helplessly, waving his hand at his son.

“Alright then, whatever. Why are you telling me this then? Do you want a celebration?”

“Y-“ The prince started, being promptly interrupted by you.

“We’d prefer to keep this quiet for a little bit,” you quickly requested, still keeping your head down. The Pharaoh grunted something, dismissing you quickly. The prince grabbed your shoulders, rushing you out of the throne room and down a quiet hallway. It was open, with large pillars replacing a wall, allowing you to see the city.

“Before you ask, I thought it would be best to have a celebration when we actually get married, if we do,” you told him, which made him finally stop pushing you ahead. He pushed you into a wall, trapping you between his arms. For a moment you were scared, but he was smiling for some reason.

“I care what you believe more than anything, but for right now, I don’t care. We’re married,” he laughed, pressing his forehead to yours. He looked elated, and it made you scared, but it also made love rush beneath your fingertips, spritzing out in the form of a desperate need to touch him.

He reacted before you did, leaning in as slow as he could, still smiling. As he neared your lips, you caught onto a rather scandalous idea.

“Oh my prince, what are you playing at?” You asked coyly, giving him a coquettish grin. For a split second you saw confusion paint his face. You grabbed his wrist, pulling him back into the wall. You switched places with him, pinning him to the wall. There was the unfortunate bit where you were quite a bit shorter than him, but his knees buckled beneath him, bringing him lower than you. Mimicking some of his first actions against you, you pressed two of your fingers beneath his chin, moving him so he looked you in the eyes.

His eyes were wide, staring into yours with happy anticipation. You could almost see him mentally devouring up the attention you were giving him.

“We both know it goes like this,” you whispered, words dripping with amorously inviting intentions. He seemed to melt further into you, smiling with a blissed out look. You were sure if you simply left him like that, he’d only find you more inviting.

So you did.

You ceased all contact all at once, leaving him breathing heavy with wide eyes. You smiled innocently at him, and continued down the hallway. A few minutes later, he finally caught up with you, looking embarrassed but more professional.

“Nice play my love, but I’ll get you someday,” he whispered into your ear, still walking behind you. You just let out a giggle, wondering if he really had it in him.

“Of course, my prince,” you smiled at him.

The two of you returned to his room, feeling much less stressed about the whole situation. However, he asked that you not play the harp. Instead he wanted to simply sit with you, and you agreed as if you had any other option. He led you to the nest of pillows and blankets you were both too familiar with, sitting you down across from him.

“I could write endless poetry about you,” he said dreamily, leaning in and taking your hands. You flushed red, attempting to stammer out a reply.

“Uh- um, t-thank you? I’m hardly deserving,” was what you got out, not meeting his eyes out of embarrassment.

“Nour, you must realize that at this point you are my equal. You can look at me,” he lifted his hand to your cheek, pulling you back to face him, “and you can touch me.”

This was true. Now the only thing stopping you was your own inhibitions, and to you, it felt like enough. When for a few moments you did nothing, he sighed, dropping his head onto your shoulder.

“Whatever you wish, my love,” he murmured, falling back and away from you.

Before you fully knew what you were doing, you pulled him back, sitting yourself in his lap. He looked surprised, staring at you expectantly. Hesitantly, you ran your hand through his short hair, your heart rate increasing as he continued staring at you.

“My love?” He asked in a hushed voice, full of tension, and yet excitement as well.

“My prince,” you responded, your voice holding the utmost reverence and adoration. Once more his hand came to rest on your cheek. He eased you closer, letting you follow his hand of your own accord. It seemed incredibly like him to allow you to take control in such a situation as this.

At long last you relaxed in his touch, melting into his hand with a sigh and closed eyes. You heard him chuckle just slightly, felt him leaning in and felt his nose press into your cheek.

He was letting you make the final move.

You did just so, moving forward not even a centimeter before you felt his lips upon yours.

The tension in your muscles, the tension that had been there since the moment you stepped foot in the palace, faded away. The longer he stayed there, moving his lips against yours, the more anxiety faded away, being replaced by unending need and laudation. The fondness you felt for him consumed your entire being, burning in your blood and electrifying your movements against him. Your hands found a resting place on his shoulders, pulling him ever closer to you. Everything else besides him felt numb, your senses existing only to feel him.

He sunk deeper into you, hands coming beneath your shawl. You leaned away, landing you on your back with him above you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, leaning down to land soft, open mouthed kisses on your neck.

“You’ve mentioned that,” you breathed out, eyelids fluttering shut as he worked away. You felt out of place, confused, and unsure of where to put your hands. Ultimately he took charge, holding your hands in his and holding them above your head. His fingers threaded into yours, and he came up to kiss you upon your lips.

“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how beautiful you are,” you said as he removed himself from you, sitting on his knees. You followed his actions, coming close to him, settling your hand on the back of his neck.

“I’m not sure how,” you gave him a curious look, “but you seem to glow, whenever I see you.”

“That’d be the moonlight,” he teased.

“I think it’s actually just you,” you murmured, leaning in for another kiss. He hummed pleasantly, chasing after you when you tried to pull away.

“I’ve hesitated to say this until now but I truly love you. I’m sorry I haven’t said it before, I -“

“Was following the rules?”

“Yes,” you said in a hushed voice, hoping he’d understand. He shifted, moving his body so you could sit in his lap, before pulling you into him.

“I know. I admire you for it, you’ve got quite the tenacity to disobey orders just to obey rules,” he smirked, teasing you. You giggled quietly, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

Finally, everything felt correct. Maybe it was just because you might’ve been a massive prude, but there was the fact that if you were a massive prude, you would’ve waited until a wedding celebration to kiss him. So maybe you were just an avid rule follower. Either way, this time it felt right to touch him, so you did just that.

It was the first time you spent the night with him, both of you asleep in his bed.

Surprisingly, not much changed. Per your request his parents had not told anyone, so no one treated you differently than they had before. A small part of you appreciated that, and the other parts didn’t especially care. Planning for the young prince’s birthday celebrations continued, with you sometimes included in such planning.

Despite recent events you were still nervous about being his ‘plus one.’ It would be making a statement, something you never liked to do, though the statement was more on his behalf, not yours. Nighttime was often the only peace you got, what with daytime being hectic and stressful. Most evenings you played for the prince, whom you still referred to as the prince in your head. Usually out loud, as much as it bothered him. You’d get there eventually, you told yourself.

Sometimes he’d sit behind you, playing with your hair, landing soft pecks on the back of your neck. It was incredibly distracting for your playing and incredibly welcome by your heart.

“I love you,” he said, a thing he often said simply to remind you. When you were feeling especially shy, you’d reply, “I know.” However, during your more normal or confident days, you’d respond, “I love you too.” You had a feeling he preferred the latter.

“How are you feeling? I know there’s been a lot going on,” he asked quietly, threading your hair between his fingers. He tugged at it every now and then, and you wondered if he was trying to braid it.

“I’ve been alright. I got measured today for my clothes, for your party,” you told him in a calm murmur. The quiet moments you shared seemed to be the only time there weren’t voices yelling in your ear.

“Do you like the design?” He asked, tugging at your hair before releasing it.

“I didn’t see it,” you said with a soft laugh, stopping your music for just a second before resuming. He kissed just below the ear as you began, causing you to miss the chord entirely.

“Your affections ruin my playing.”

“Isn’t that the best way to ruin it?”

“There’s better ways.”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around your stomach. He pulled you away from your harp, dragging you into his embrace. You smiled, relaxing into his arms. Your harp, luckily, landed on a bed of pillows.

“I love you,” he murmured against your hair, kissing your head.

“I love you too,” you said, turning up so he could kiss you properly.

The celebration was, in your opinion, loud. In your sort-of husband’s opinion, it was joyous. The food was wonderful, you did admit, a good chunk of dessert being made out of sweet honey. Too many people for your taste, just the right amount for his taste, and too little for his parents’ taste. The entire time you sat by his side, people gave you odd stares, but said nothing. His parents didn’t say a word, but greeted you with a curt nod, which was a lot more than you were expecting.

“To the eighteenth birthday of the new Pharaoh, Ahkmenrah!”

The entirety of the table that stretched from one end of a very long hall to the other end of the very long hall raised their glasses. Wine sloshed within the cups, sometimes pouring onto the table. You raised yours careful not to spill. You hadn’t drank that much anyway.

As the hands lowered all took a sip or gulp from their drinks, and promptly after that, the Prince turned Pharaoh collapsed onto the ground. The chalice in your hand crashed onto the table as you knelt hastily by his side, turning him over and shaking him, desperately trying to get him to wake up. Your fingers tingled with pin pricks, all the blood rushing to your head and thumping loudly like the drumbeats of the reaper.

He was carried away from you, and in your own misery you missed the calamity. When you returned to yourself, aware of your own body, you found yourself still kneeling on the floor of the dining hall. It was empty save for a few servants cleaning up the table, and Ahkmenrah’s parents. You felt an empty hole in your torso, as if someone had plowed a log straight through your body.

His father set a hand on your shoulder, telling you to get up and stay by his side. You obeyed without question.

You sat by his bed, grasping his hand. Healers stood on the other side of the bed, putting some sort of ointment into his mouth.

With sluggish movements his head turned to you, lips purple and cracked. His eyes seemed to sink into his skull, eyelids blinking slow and red.

“My love,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and cracking under the light pressure. You kissed his knuckles, holding them tighter.

“You’ll be alright, my prince,” you assured him, glancing up at the healer as you said this. He made a small shrug motion, giving you a worried look.

“No I won’t. Don’t… worry, about me? Don’t worry,” he said to you, trying to raise his arm to your cheek. He couldn’t bear the strain, so you leaned down, pressing your cheek to his open palm. The edges of his lips turned up slightly, smiling as much as you assumed he could physically stand.

The healer left the room, coming back a few minutes later with his parents.

“It’s poison,” he informed them quietly in the corner of the room. His mother gasped, hands coming up to cover her mouth. Your mouth automatically fell open, eyes widening in worry as you looked back down at the prince.

“Your brother,” you said, knowing it must’ve been him. No one else hated him, at least not as much as his brother did.

“I know,” he murmured, trying to swallow. It hurt him, you could tell by the way his eyes closed and his brows knitted tightly together as he winced.

“I will -“

“Don’t. It’s not your job. He will be brought to justice, not by you.”

You nodded, gripping his hand tighter.

“My love,” he rasped out, “be at peace, for I am at peace.” His lips barely moved before he lay still. His eyes remained open, and his head relaxed towards the ceiling.

You numbed entirely. Your hands went cold, and his hand dropped from your cheek with a graceless thump.

And he lay still.

And he did not move, not for hours, not until people moved his body for him, moving him away from both his parents and your eyes. You stayed, kneeled next to his bed for longer than you knew.

Publicly you weren’t married to him. Publicly you were his servant, and that meant you could be buried with him, whether you wanted to or not. You weren’t sure what you preferred.

You didn’t get the time to think it through. He was buried, and his brother became King in his stead. True to his promise, he kept you as his servant. You weren’t allowed to be buried with the prince, and for a while, you served the Pharaoh well. For a long while, and many moons passed before you couldn’t bear more.

It wasn’t until grief consumed you that you changed your situation. His parents had died months back, and whether they were murdered or not you didn’t know. They got proper burials, alongside their son. The world had nothing left to give you, and the Pharaoh was cruel and unjust. You saw clearly now why his mother seemed so worried. You had originally thought that no one could be as inhuman as he was, and now you were wrong. And now you had to end it.

It wasn’t until you died that you awoke again. You’d killed yourself in Egypt, and found yourself awake years into the future, locked inside a half rotted wooden sarcophagus. Besides the tight encasing, the worst part was the dank smell. That had to be expected, after you realized that you had definitely been in that sarcophagus for well over a thousand years, and your wrappings were covered in dust and rot.

To your immense luck it wasn’t pitch black. The wood had rotted through enough to shine small specks of light into your coffin, and due to this whenever you awoke, you could see through to the other world.

You awoke and fell straight asleep and the same time every day. When you awoke, you shifted to a hole, and with your wrappings coming off just slightly below your eye, you saw people. All kinds of people - locked up in glass containers and wearing silly looking clothes. If they weren’t in their own casings they moved around, banging on the glass to be let out. None of them could fully speak, but the throat bleeding screams behind their wrappings was enough to make your blood run cold.

Sometimes, you’d see people not in wrappings, and not encased in glass. They wore dark blue clothing, and they looked old, with pale, white skin.

It made you wonder, very often (when you weren’t panicked about never getting out, and suffering eternity locked away), where you were. You had realized you were in the future, but how? How were you alive? Why were you still in your coffin, and why were you surrounded with glass? Most importantly, how did you wake up?

Ages later you were still in the same place. You lost count how many times you woke up, just to never be released, and fall back asleep. The funniest thing was, you were never tired when you fell asleep. You just did, as though it were instinct.

It was that evening that absolute chaos ensued. Something had happened - there was only one man in dark blue clothing, and he looked frightened. The screams of those around you grew louder, and soon the man was gone with a start.

This pattern of the man running through the room continued for a few more nights before peace came about once more.

A few more nights later, the screaming stopped. Two men spoke together outside in a language you couldn’t understand, but it seemed to be civil, if not worried. One of them got passionate, but was eventually calmed down.

Then a lock clicked.

Fresh air seeped in through the holes of your own prison.

And your lid opened.

You still wore your wrappings, so it was a little hard to see anything. Cloth kept your hands tightly bound to your chest, and when the two men you could barely see noticed that, they helped. Eventually your arms were torn free, quickly followed by the wrappings around your mouth.

You breathed truly, fresh air for the first time in longer than a century. Unfortunately, your eyes were still covered, so it was a bit musty.

“Um,” one man said, mumbling something garbled that you didn’t understand. Hands came behind your head, and for a moment you flinched back, but he slowed. With more care he came up from behind, slowly unwrapping your age old prison.

You blinked as harsh light filled your eyes, cringing away. Before you could fully see arms wrapped tight around you, pulling you out of your casket and holding you tight to a body, clothing and jewelry pressing tight into your skin.

“I - I’m sorry?” Was all you could think to say, eyes finally being able to see. The glass around you was gone, and you saw in full vision the others who were encased. They too were out, some more violent and confused than others, who seemed to also be from Egypt.

“Nour,” he mumbled, a cold sort of crown chilling your cheek. The voice, knowing your name, speaking it with such blessing, sounded too familiar. You tried to form words, but found yourself at a loss for them, resorting to confused mumbles and noises.

Over the mans’ (who was still hugging you) shoulder you saw another man, white skin, younger. Dark hair, strong brow, and looking incredibly awkward. Upon seeing that you noticed him, he waved awkwardly, saying something in another language.

“What’s happening?” You asked weakly, hoping the man who was hugging you understood your language.

“Oh, my love,” he murmured, lips brushing against your neck as he pulled back.

“My prince?”

#ahkmenrah x reader #ahkmenrah #night at the museum #rami malek #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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spirit-of-vengeance · 3 years

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@spxcemuses @mr-mansnoozie @xxstar-bluesxx

Guess who gathered enough mind to finally write her full backstory of Western Verse. Her being a bounty hunter is set in the Wild West time period (1865-1895), there is no current year(s) to set her story in mainly because I don't want to make a mistake messing up the timeline.

Calm before the storm

Her father, Attila a lesser Hungarian noble whom supported the 1848-1849 revolutionary war but after the failure of it he escaped emigrated to America to avoid the Habsburg revenge, soon followed by his brother Gábor. He could save a small amount of his fortune along with his two most important horses: a purebred Lipizzan stallion and an extremely rare Akhal Teke mare. He had settled near a small town, due to his financial situation and education as a noble he established a school with the support and approval of the local church. To quieten his guilt for abandoning his country in its peril, he poured all of his heart into educating children; at least he is still useful in some way.

One day, a group of artists traveling artists, acrobats traveled through the town and the aristocrat fell in love at first sight. She was like the queen of fairy from the folk tales he'd heard in his childhood, she was tall, blue eyes sparkled like light sapphire, long golden brown hair floated ethereally with every twirl. The smitten lord shamelessly courted the the graceful acrobat, determined to know at least the name.

The group had stayed in the town for a few weeks, allowing Attila's and Myra's romance to blossom; after a month she ended up staying with him, just like in true fairytales.

My obsession with angst backstory strikes again

The lord was in love, deeper than poets could express it. Since the loss of his home and country he had found his place in the universe along with the perfect companion by his side. He paid less attention to the school, the church and other public affairs; it wasn't like he abandoned them but became more withdrawn to spend time with the love of his life, especially after the birth of their daughter. She was almost the perfect miniature of her mother, same beautiful hair glinting gold in the sunlight, only her eyes were the brightest emerald green he'd ever seen.

While Myra's heart and aura was as pure as a fairy's; the local church was beyond distressed. They claimed that Attila had completely abandoned helping those in need because of her wicked seduction. When they witnessed her performing for the amusement of the crowd, the 'temptress witch' brand couldn't be lifted. They gathered a few enthusiastic townsfolk whom shared their views and a few morally questionable men whom only wanted a piece of the lord's fortune.

10 year old Karma was awakened from her deep slumber by her frantic father; smoke and yelling blinding her senses as he carried her out of the burning house into the nearby forest so the mob won't find her. He promised her he will be back but he had to return into their home for Myra; he couldn't leave her inside. Karma watched her dad disappear into the flames, the air filled with suffocating smoke and religious shouts for god to smite the sinners. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the spot where her father was gone, waiting for her parents to stumble out of the half collapsed building; but that never had happened. She sat unmoving from her spot, struck staring into the flames then into the ashes as the sun has risen.

Birth of the marksman

Attila's brother, Gábor arrived the next day after hearing the news, he was the one whom found Karma still staring at the ruins in a catatonic state. He couldn't avenge his sibling as it meant endangering his niece and she has lost more than enough.

Gábor expected her to become a soft spoken, reserved lady once she overcame her trauma; that theory was soon abandoned when once he had awoken to his niece practicing with his rifle outside with frighteningly great accuracy. The young girl naturally had an extraordinary aim and after a few long talks, he'd seen the determination burning in her to avenge the murder of her parents. Given by her mother's dance lessons, she was also flexible and capable of many different acrobatic moves; this combined with her aim proven to be a very dangerous combination.

To not awaken suspicion he told his friends Karma was an orphan whose parents were killed by bandits and he had adopted her to give her a family and education. Karma was fascinated chasing greater heights of her skills, this involved reading every possible book about anatomy, marking, engraving the useful spots of the body. Karma knows where to shoot to disarm, to cause a slow death, to paralyze, to disable for life and when it is only a warning: an injury which will heal with time. Along with her accuracy, her drawing speed only can be compared to lightning. Although she prefers/most comfortable with her dual revolvers (model undecided yet), she is still a menace with shotguns, rifles, flintlocks and even bows due to Gàbor's 'A Hungarian is not a Hungarian if they can't use a bow' mindset.

The bounty hunter quicker than death

Karma had her first official gunfight at the age of 18 on the auction. for Vihar (Storm), the filly of her father's horses.

Detailed post about Vihar

She officially entered the bounty hunter business when she was 20 and Vihar was 2, aiming for the most dangerous criminals whom committed the worst acts possible. In her early years after the kill she slit open corpses she trying to find the bullet, surverying the damage it caused and adding filler information to her anatomy knowledge. Of course she didn’t bother burying the bodies, she knew as a woman she has to be extremely vicious above talented to be hired and mutilated dead bodies did send a great message & served as cement for building her reputation. The name Karma wasn't entirely her idea, many thankful family members claimed that karma has came for their loved ones' murderers. Her talent spread like wildfire among the men of law, glad to be rid of the dangerous scum; with careful planning, use of environment and Vihar as backup she had wiped out gangs, not solely focused on individuals.

Unfortunately her reputation summoned an unofficial grand price on her head as well in certain circles; they had tracked her back to her uncle's house. The battle claimed Gábor's life and nearly her sight as her right eye was almost slashed out. The new loss opened old wounds: her not being able to protect her loved ones. She couldn't look into a mirror, the scar a reminder how despite all years of training she wasn't untouchable; after burying her uncle plan to gain control over her psyche already formed.

She took a knife and carefully carved four half circles around her eye to form a crosshair with her pupil being the middle of it. She made sure she kept the wounds open for enough time to scar as visibly as the vertical cut; she wanted a symbol to add to her legend. Excuse my pathetic excuse of an edit, I'm not good in this, nor I can draw.

Now Karma is 25, Vihar is 6, both of them in their peak physical prime; the name Vihar is also symbolic a little, Karma is the lightning to her horse. She is dancing on the thin edge of bounty hunting and being an outlaw as she often takes...side jobs to help people who deserve it and usually that person doesn't have a bounty on their head, therefore it is technically murder.

Local antisocial feral monk & cocky gunslinger feral lady / addition of the AU with the amazing @mr-mansnoozie

Near her uncle's house, Karma had discovered a cave and a grumpy mute monk living in it along with his pet bear. The monk, Sandy eventually became a second uncle to the traumatized angry orphan, he taught her how to move & creep upon someone soundlessly, disappear without a trace, cover her stances and behavior patterns of various animals. Before and after returning from a job she always visits her uncle of choice for a chat; a silent way to prepare him to the possibility of her not coming back. But she always do. She considers Sandy as part of her tiny family, although his...copying mechanisms with his own traumas were a bit strange to get used to; she adapted quite fast, after all who is she to judge with a past like that?

I'm a dead man walking, Hell's at my door.

aka collection of small headcanons

🎯 Her dual revolvers are called Salvation and Damnation because she's dramatic

🎯 Karma has a small sketchbook filled with anatomy drawings for further practice.

🎯 She actually can sing, but rarely does, only to Vihar since she never received positive feedback on it. Her voice is gritty, rugged and deep; definitely not the usual and desired sounding from a woman.

🎯 If her target was an outstandingly cruel bastard and/or one of those whom killed her parents she uses a little psychological torture. After fatally wounding them she starts whistling (for the most terrifying experience wear headphones & close your eyes while listening) as they try to crawl away or beg for mercy. The first time the whistle gets shrill & more intense is when she lazily reloads, knowing she has both the time and the upper hand. The second pace shift is when she aims; she shoots during the last, long drawn out high note.

🎯 This is her only verse where Cindy is afraid, no terrified of fire; during her....26 AU's she's always been associated with fire despite dying in or being wounded by it. In this verse she is more tied to lightning, the scent of smoke is enough to send her into a silent panic attack and despite loathing the cold she will never sit close to the fireplace. Her other deep fears include injuring her hands & sight and losing Vihar. Her horse is the only remaining family member of hers, she can't fail her too.

🎯 Most of Karma's scars, injuries are a result of her standing between Vihar and a knife/bullet/ even a bullwhip when a criminal was smart enough to catch on their deep emotional bond.

🎯 She has recurring night terrors about the night her parents died, she always wakes up in cold sweat; she's sort of used to them. Though, sometimes she still cries but thankfully Vihar is there to comfort her.

🎯 Karma has a special morning stretch routine to keep her flexibility and warm up her hands & keep them steady and fast.

🎯 Due to her dad and uncle she received high quality education

🎯 For the untrained eye, the belt of her hat are simple crosses while in reality, they are inverted crosses to symbolize her stance with Christianity

🎯 Karma's middle name is Emerald, given by her father due to her eye color.

🎯 Karma was first inspired by League of Legends Miss Fortune because that name alone is great but unfortunately she is too pirate coded for a western so I abandoned the relation. Though when Karma is not being the 'Call me a slow reader but I only made it to the Dead part, the or Alive didn't register.' ; her personality is similar to hers.

🎯 Due to her dad, Karma is actually half aristocrat. Not like she cares about it the slightest; the only indication of noble blood is her idle stance. It is an unconscious mirror of how her father used to hold himself: back straightened to almost impossible point, left arm behind it, right hand resting on the grip of in her case, revolver instead of hilt of a sword.

🎯 If given the chance to live a normal life, she would've grown into a captivating, lively young woman, much like her mother but with the aristocrat elegance of her father; finding a suitor who lives up to her parents' and her standards would've been the challenge of the century.

🎯 Her special move is called Dance of Death. This is used as last resort when she's facing more opponents up to 12, as with her dual revolvers she has 12 bullets without reloading. She mentally marks the stances of all opponents, predicts their movement, firing order and possible way of their bullets before whirling out of her hiding place. Each pose minimizes the chance of getting shot, and with each change of movement two bullets are fired, two men drop dead.

🎯 Her accuracy isn't just 'gun goes boom >:D' but a combination of natural talent, endless practice, movement prediction, sharp, quick thinking & analytical skills and different techniques molten together to utilize them all at once

🎯 Her hair is now as long as her mother's, she always keeps it in a single tight braid to keep it out of the way; without her hat and hair down she actually loses some of her dangerous edge.

🎯 The only physical memory Karma has of her parents is her dad's hussar sword she found underneath the ruins of the house, it was protected by a very thick wooden box & a lock of her mother's hair is tied to the grip. She has hidden it in the nearby forest, her thoughts often wander to it along with the wish to wield it.

#🦂 western au🔥| one shot; one kill #🔥headcanons🔥 | secrets of the fire #I can't help myself with the little hungarian details can I?#it just makes me so happy because my country doesn't really get any recognition in media & it feels good to weave the history of my country #into a badass character #I also spent 2.5 hours typing this. my fingers ;-; though totally worth it 😄#🔥alright to reblog🔥| let the wind carry the cinders

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jusananimehoe · 4 years

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Play with Me? Pt 2

Here we go kiddies, have some more Kurono smut, another 3000 words just for you, I am absolutely going to write another part to this, I’m on such a Chrono kick lately, literally weak for the man. Enjoy xxx

Part 1 is here xx

You blinked, laying lazily on your bed, head hanging over the side as the blood rushed to your head. How long had it been? A week, maybe a week and a half? You sighed, driving your hands into your eyes as you tried to relieve the stress headache that had been plaguing you all day, to no avail. You blinked slowly, eyes hazy from being closed and then sat up slowly, fingers clutching tightly at the sheets. How long was he going to ignore you?

You understood it was dangerous, he was your guard, and Kai’s aid, his right-hand man, but he felt something for you, you knew he did. Ignoring you was just his way of pushing you away, keeping you both safe, your bottom lip trembled slightly, I’d rather be dead than this miserable. You whimpered softly, climbing to your feet, pulling on your boots and a white jumper you’d stolen from Hari months ago, it still smelt like him, if you pressed it tightly to your face, you swore there was still a hint of him there. You blinked back a few tears and then walked slowly out of your room, eyes downcast, beginning a steady journey towards the exist.

All of the precepts had been training all day, and Kai had been entertaining himself with some new pretty toy he’d brought home, Carla, or maybe it was Camille? Caprice? They all blended together eventually. Your relationship had always been for show, only to make Pops happy, he’d just wanted you taken care of, of course, if only he’d known. You tried to squash the bitterness, walking faster, tears blurring your vision as you gave up and let them fall, sniffling softly. Maybe a little fresh air would help your misery, you so rarely got to leave the compound anymore, and never without Hari escorting you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go looking for him when he so clearly didn’t want to see you. Besides, you’d been locked away for two days with a headache, only Hari would come to check on you, and it’d be a brief head in the door to make sure you were alive, they probably wouldn’t even notice you were gone until nightfall. Just some time to breathe, that’s all.

It took you a good half an hour to escape the compound, and when you finally reached the surface, you sighed and closed your eyes, enjoying the sun on your face for a moment before continuing on you journey. Your destination took only another fifteen minutes to reach, a quiet little coffee shop with a lovely barista who served you your usual, the same amazing white hot chocolate you purchased once a month, you thanked her warmly before heading further out of the city, down towards the docks.

It was late afternoon, the sun beginning to set already, so all was quiet, allowing you to take a seat on a deserted embankment of sand, staring out at the glittering water, letting the soft motions of the waves soothe you for some time. How long you sat there, lost in thought, you weren’t sure, but you did know that your mind never seemed to want to drift from a hot set of lips being pressed again yours, a hardness rubbing against your core as your hands tangled in silver hair, when had you fallen so in love with Hari?

Was it four years ago, when you’d first found yourself thrown at Kai, or was it after? Was it when you were palmed off to him to be protected when Kai wasn’t around, or was it when you had started spending more time with him than your actual boyfriend? A boyfriend whose never once touched you. The reminder stung sharply, you had never been enough for Kai, never, and though Hari had been snarky and difficult, even cruel at times, he’d always tolerated your company, simply moved things aside to make room for your constant presence in his life, like you’d always been meant to fit there.

You blinked and realised absently you were crying again, tears streaming down your cheeks as you hiccuped softly, burying your head against your knees a moment later, dissolving into a fit of all out sobbing. You didn’t look up when you heard the footsteps approaching, it’d just be one of the precepts, and you didn’t care if they had to throw you over a shoulder and carry you back, you weren’t in the mood to get up, or deal with them, so you studiously ignored the presence, until you realised who had coming looking for you. Of course, it’d be him.

Warmth enveloped you then as a body slid in behind you, pulling you back against a firm chest, arms wrapping carefully around you, drawing you into him, head nuzzling into the crook of your neck, making you cry harder. A hand swept your hair back and off the top of your head, before tugging softly on the hood of your jumper, you turned obediently, eyes trained on the ground as you did, climbing into his lap as he sat back, arms wrapping around his neck on reflex, head dropping to his shoulder.

You waited silently for the scathing remark or biting comment about going out alone, instead he tilted his head and pressed a soft, warm kiss against the skin of your throat, your breath catching in your throat as you drew a sharp breath in, fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He pulled softly on your hood, trying to coax you out of your hiding place, you half obeyed, turning your head in his direction, but nuzzling into his throat, effectively hiding your face from him again. You nibbled softly at the skin there, feeling him shiver beneath you, breath stuttering softly as his grip in your hood tightened, yanking your head up to meet his gaze.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his slowly, eyes glittering, nose rubbing softly against his, even as he tilted his face to kiss his way across your cheek, up your jaw, the sensitive spot behind your ear, nibbling at the hollow of your throat, hands working slowly up and down your body as his lips ran wild. You gasped softly when he bit down harshly on your shoulder, that’d defintley leave a mark. You opened your mouth to say exactly that and found a tongue shoved inside it instead, licking deeply across the inside of your cheek, teeth gripping your bottom lip hard, dragging a choked moan from you in response. Eyes fluttering open to meet his, finding his silver irises already locked on you. Your lashes fluttered slowly as he deepened the kiss, eyes closing as his hand buried itself in your hair, pulling you further up against you, rocking you slowly against the growing hardness in his white pants.

You moaned against his mouth, fingernails raking down his back as he hissed softly at the sensation, you shivered and then leaned forward, hands pressing against his chest until he gave up and fell backwards, the tight grip in your hair bringing you down on top of him, mouths resealing a moment later as your hands reached desperately to unbutton his coat, dragging it down his shoulders forcefully to get to the plain white shirt underneath. You rolled your eyes before tugging at it, silently pleading with him to take it off, did he wear any colour other than white?

He sat up just a bit, allowing you to pull the shirt over his head, revealing his slender, toned torso to you, your hands wandering instantly, nails scratching over his abdomen, running up over his ribs, up further, groaning softly at the nipple piercing you found, leaning forward instantly to suck on it, humming softly when he bucked his hips up in response, a soft gasp escaping his mouth as you tongued at the bar, nibbling soft, red marks into the skin surrounding it. It was all the playtime you got before he rolled you harshly, hands reefing the white jumper over your head, revealing your lacy red bra to him, pupils dilating wildly as his hands cupped your breasts through the sexy material. No interruptions this time.

He shoved it up your chest, not even bothering to take it off, and closed a mouth over your nipple to suck and bite instantly. Your back arched wildly up against him, a desperate keen leaving your mouth as his free hand rubbed the opposite mound slowly, grip teasing, thumb flicking slowly over your nipple, already stiff from the cold. You shivered slightly, half in arousal, half from the weather, he seemed to notice, enormous pupils taking in the goose bumps starting to cover your skin. “You’re cold, we should- “

Your mouth slammed against his a moment later, yanking fiercely on your hair, dragging an annoyed growl from his mouth, but he kissed you back, body pressing warmly against yours, hips thrusting slowly against yours, erection pressed tightly to your core, you gasped and let your head fall back as his mouth ran down your throat, over your collarbones, a wet tongue licking slowly over your breasts, further even, down your belly, mouth stopping carefully as he reached your pants, eyes flickering up to you slowly, fingers moving to undo the button, nimble digits sliding the zipper down, holding your gaze the entire time, watching carefully for your reaction.

You lifted your hips then, let him slide your pants and panties down your legs, eyes fluttering as his mouth moved down your thigh, hands moving back up to rub at your breasts. Your eyes flickered down to watch as his hot breath fanned slowly over your drenched lips, biting at your lip to keep from moaning. He shot you a cocky smirk at that before licking a slow stripe up your folds, you’re hips jerking up as you gasped. When was the last time someone had even come close? You couldn’t remember, and a moment later you didn’t want to, his hot tongue surging forward to lap hungrily at your dripping pussy, before shoving the pink muscle inside your hole, dragging a loud, gasping cry from you as he set a steady pace, tongue-fucking you as one hand came down to your pussy, thumb rubbing slow, hot circles around your clit.

Your soft whimpers seemed to turn him on even more, tongue thrusting more wildly inside you before a long, slender finger slipped inside as well, thrusting forward into your heat, curling expertly to rub at that spot inside you, you squealed beneath him, back arching wildly as another finger joined the first. You whimpered then, hips spasming wildly, one hand tangling roughly in his hair, fingers mindful of the sensitive needles, the other hand reaching down to clutch at his hard cock, palming him roughly through the pants. When he didn’t shove your hand away you slipped your fingers inside, hand ghosting up and down, enjoying the velvet like texture as you jerked him slowly, using the precum as lubrication.

He groaned softly when your hand sped up, your eyes flickering up to meet his gaze as you bit down on your lip. “Hari”, you whispered softly, watching as those pretty silver eyes snapped to yours, pupils swallowing the irises completely now, gaze completely overtaken by need. “Can I taste you”? He groaned then, actually groaned, loudly, hips thrusting up into your hand, eyes blinking closed, muscles in his arms flexing and relaxing before he sighed softly, eyes opening to glance down at you, expression softer than you’d expected.

“Maybe next time”, he mumbled softly against your lips, tongue licking slowly up your cheek. You shivered and whimpered, hands grabbing at his shoulders pleadingly, you needed so much more. “I cant wait any longer”, he ground out against you mouth, eyes flickering, “I need to be inside you”, he bit the words out through gritted teeth before shoving his pants down his legs, hand guiding the thick, glistening cockhead to your entrance, eyes locked on your face, and then he thrust it inside.

You squealed, back arching, fingers digging into his shoulders as you moaned, feeling him push forward slowly, sinking deeper inside you, inch by inch, it was so tight, so good. He was so big, by the time he’d finally bottomed out you were a panting, moaning mess, you’d never felt so filled in your life, groaning softly as he slowly pulled back, almost to the tip, before snapping his hips forward to fill you again. You weren’t sure if the noise you made was pleasure, pain or both, but you knew that you needed him to do more.

“Please fuck me Hari”.

He snarled, actually snarled, before snapping his hips forward to thrust inside you, slapping your bodies together harshly, stifling his own noises by biting down on your shoulder, dragging more desperate cries from you as his cock reached depths inside you that you hadn’t even thought possible. Your head lolled back against the sand as he continued to rail you, hand clutching at your thigh, lifting it up to your chest as he pressed forward harder, cock rubbing that spongy spot inside you that had your mouth open in a silent scream, eyes rolling back as he lifted both of your legs over his shoulder, hips pistoning like a machine.

Stars exploded in your vision a moment later, an actual scream leaving your throat as your pussy clamped down on his thick cock in a vice grip. Your hips spasmed against him as he fucked you through your orgasm, your squeals becoming whimpers at the overstimulation, eyes flicking up to his, pleadingly. He leaned forward to capture your mouth in a hot, wet kiss, tongue lapping over your bottom lip, nibbling softly just after as your eyes captured his again.

“Cum inside me Hari”, you all but begged softly against his mouth, hands gripping his shoulders hard enough to bruise as he groaned, a deep, throaty noise that had you shivering as he slammed inside you one last time, warmth spreading through you as he filled you, hips twitching slightly as your clenching walls milked him. His head dropped into your neck a moment later, gasping softly even as his cum filled you to the brim. You tangled your fingers in his hair, stroking softly through the sweaty needles, untangling them carefully, mouth pressing soft kisses into his shoulder.

“Hari”, your soft whisper against his hot skin had him humming softly in response, and your courage failed you suddenly, though you knew you needed to tell him. What even is this, what are we doing? You blinked rapidly, fingers running slow, affectionate circles int his scalp as he made a happy, contented noise in his throat.

“Stop that”, he commanded lowly, and you blinked confusedly, about to ask him what he was talking about. “You’re thinking so loud I can pretty much hear it, just relax”. He pulled his head slowly from your neck, mouth pressingly softly against your lips, before moving across your cheek, fingers rubbing soothing circles across your collarbone. He rubbed his nose softly against yours, pressing your foreheads together in a tender moment, dragging a soft little whimper from you. He smiled softly and shook his head in response, “None of that now”, voice a soft croon as he brushed the wetness from your eyes. “I’m here, with you, isn’t that enough”?

You blinked up at him slowly, hands rubbing up his toned arms, thinking to yourself. Was it enough? Would this be enough, in the end? You leaned up, mouth slotting slowly against his, fingers carding through his hair slowly, tongue tangling with his in a slow, deep kiss before pulling back for air. “No”, you whispered softly against him, waiting nervously for his reaction. He watched you, lips turning up slightly in an amused grin before he snorted softly, nuzzling your cheek.

“Always such a brat, even I cant fuck it out of you”, his grin had you smacking his shoulder, reaching to smack at his cheek even as he laughed and caught your hand in his easily, pressing it lovingly against his cheek, nuzzling into your skin for just a moment before turning his face back to yours, expression growing serious, nibbling nervously at his bottom lip. “I love you”, had your heart stopping, hand shaking, bottom lip trembling before you lunged forward against him, head buried against his chest as you stifled a sob.

“I love you”, you choked out, voice cracking with emotion as he kissed the top of your head softly. “I love you so much, Hari”. You pressed closer, letting him roll you both, so you lay side by side, heads pressed together, eyes blinking slowly at each other, soft smiles on both your faces.

“But if we don’t get dressed and get back to the base in like, maybe fifteen minutes, Kai might murder both of us”. You groaned softly, head lolling to the side in exasperation. I’d forgotten all about him. What are we going to do now? You sat up slowly, fumbling around, pulling your clothes on quickly, the cold nipping at your skin now as the gears turned in your head. A warm mouth pressed against yours then, dragging you from the jumble of your throats.

“We’ll work it out as we go”, whispered against your ear. You smiled softly and leaned back against his warmth, worry still evident in your eyes.

“He’ll find out eventually, somehow, he always does”, you mumbled softly, head falling back against his chest, eyes flicking up to his, fingers ghosting slowly over his cheeks, marveling silently at his beauty, especially here, in the moonlight.

“Well I’ll guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it”.

A soft kiss to your head had your smile widening to pathetic widths as you blinked happily up at him, eyes warm even as he started down at you, expression so full of love it nearly had you crying again. Whatever happened next would be fine, just as long as you had Hari by your side.

#chronostasis #bnha chronostasis #hari kurono #kurono x reader #kurono #bnha #shie hassaikai #eight precepts of death #myheroacademia #league of villains #my villain academia

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 4 years

Text

Decryption_Error: “Mr. Robot”

Summary: Once Mr. Robot realizes Elliot is not going to give his relationship up, he warily turns to someone else for help. Meanwhile, Y/N’s faith in Elliot holds strong, especially now that she believes he is seeing a psychiatrist.

Decryption_Error: All Chapters

Word Count: 4700

--Narrator--

Mr. Robot’s hair ruffled in the breeze, the silvery strands near his ears fluttering as he squinted into the sun.

“This is the life, isn’t it, kiddo? The perfect excuse not to think about Evil Corp. About what they did to your dad. To Angela’s mom.”

Elliot tried not to stare too obviously at what he knew to be an empty space beside his girlfriend.

“Yes … it is a real sweet escape,” Mr. Robot said in a chipper voice, a grin spreading across his face as he stretched his arms out across the rail of the sailboat.

Elliot closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as he willed his mind to reset, to stop with the visual aid that sometimes accompanied the voice he had always known, a voice he had come to love and to fear.

When Elliot first met Y/N, it was just Mr. Robot inside of his head, chattering out cautions about getting too close when he sensed that Elliot actually liked her.

But something had happened during the incident in the server room that had scared him. It was like someone else destroyed those towers; it was an out-of-body experience that seemed to be fueled by an inexplicable rage. Yeah, what those assholes did was shitty, but Elliot had been dealing with shitty people his entire life and had never flown off the handle like that, at least from what he could remember.

What bothered him even more was that several aspects of his life now felt less grounded in reality and more like a vivid daydream. Going to therapy, talking to Darlene about DDoS attacks, reading over the Washington County court transcript and thinking about what Evil Corp did to his father—all of it felt like it was filtered through a foggy lens, one that he couldn’t get to come clean, no matter how hard he scrubbed.

Elliot’s psychiatrist assured him everything he felt was normal; she said a feeling of “fogginess” was often a side effect of the medication she had prescribed for his anxiety. It was important to stick to his medication, especially if he wanted to protect the good things in his life.

Like his relationship.

When he was with his girlfriend, Elliot knew everything was real. For the first time in his adult life, he let himself be loved, so why Mr. Robot was being so cruel was something he couldn’t figure out. The deeper Elliot became enmeshed in Y/N’s world, the more his old friend spoke up, even taking over at times to leave him diatribes on his computer, like writings in a journal. Mr. Robot ranted about the unequal distribution of wealth, about people like his girlfriend and her family, about Evil Corp, and he would fill pages of a document that Elliot would read with unease before deleting.

“She is a looker though,” Mr. Robot praised, drawing Elliot’s attention outward.

“Not in your wildest dreams did you imagine landing a fox like her. Well, maybe in your wildest dreams,” he said with a smirk.

“Shut up.”

“Hey!” Mr. Robot said, turning his sharp eyes to Elliot. “It all came true. You get to crawl between those thighs any—"

“I said shut up,” Elliot growled, leaning forward. “You don’t get to talk about her.”

“Everything okay, El?” Y/N asked, smiling softly at him in a way that always made him feel safe.

“Just a little warmer out than I thought it would be,” Elliot lied. He hated lying, but it was the only way to protect her from him.

“I figured. I brought a t-shirt for you—it’s in my blue and white bag below deck.”

“Thanks,” Elliot said, standing and offering her a slight smile as Mr. Robot stood and stretched, clearly intending to follow him.

Elliot heard his footsteps thud down the short stairs, and he wasted no time whirling around and stabbing at Mr. Robot’s chest.

“Why do you want to ruin this for me? Why?” Elliot asked, a desperate ache in his voice.

“Ruin what? Playtime with the rich and famous?”

“She,” Elliot said pointing above deck, “loves me,” he finished by pointing at his own chest.

Mr. Robot laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his glasses winking as they reflected the light streaming out from the short stairwell.

“Please just go away,” Elliot begged, meaning far more than just go away now; why wouldn’t he just go away?

Elliot had thought he finally lost his mind when Mr. Robot reappeared a few weeks ago. Sure, he had always been there--in. his. mind—but Mr. Robot, in the metaphorical flesh, hadn’t been around since he’d turned 15. Elliot always figured he’d just gotten too old for an imaginary friend, so Mr. Robot retreated into the recesses of his mind.

When Elliot went home from his girlfriend’s one night a few weeks ago with a headache and several lost hours and saw Mr. Robot sitting outside on his apartment’s cement stairs, he thought maybe he really was schizophrenic.

Mr. Robot laughed at him, assuring Elliot that he had way too much control over his life to be an unmedicated schizophrenic. This issue, though, was that Mr. Robot had an itch to scratch.

Revenge on Evil Corp was always Mr. Robot’s gig, always his go-to way to refocus Elliot when he needed it, but Elliot always believed it was a fantasy—a very vivid daydream in which he and Mr. Robot teamed up to take down the company that had stolen the life of his best friend and father, Edward Alderson.

Elliot and Mr. Robot stood face to face, two sets of eyes, one pleading, the other dismissing.

“I’ve been here for just about your whole life, kiddo. What makes you think I’m gonna just fade to black now?”

“Because I don’t need you anymore,” Elliot said softly as he tried to appeal to that kind side of Mr. Robot he remembered from his childhood, the side who made him laugh, thought up silly games with him, the one who never let him feel too lonely.

As Elliot got older, he realized memories of an imaginary friend weren’t enough to quiet that ache of loneliness. He needed to connect with people, new and old. Because of his girlfriend, Elliot reconnected with Darlene, and she was once again a constant in his life. Spending time with a real family, one who welcomed both of them into their lives, one who made Elliot feel like he was finally getting the family he had always wanted.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’ve got me,” Mr. Robot said, his voice quiet as he put his hands on the sides of Elliot’s face.

Elliot almost fell for it; he almost fell into that safe space Mr. Robot had created for him, but he was only recently realizing that it was actually a trap. It was like being stuck in quicksand—the harder Elliot fought for full control, the deeper he sank into the sand and the harder Mr. Robot squeezed to protect him.

Elliot was 27 years old; he didn’t want to be protected anymore.

“You’re not enough!” he said through gritted teeth as he pushed Mr. Robot away and watched him stumble into the decorative life preserver. “I want to let her in … all the way in.”

Mr. Robot rubbed at the spot on his chest where Elliot’s hand had pushed. It felt like acid, like if he looked down, he’d see his flesh sizzling away.

Mr. Robot was wounded, and Elliot had no idea that with those words, he sealed his fate. In that moment, Mr. Robot knew Elliot would go through with his declaration. He would let his girlfriend in. She would pull all of those hidden things out of Elliot, and he would remember. There was no way Mr. Robot could let Elliot remember; he wasn’t ready…neither of them were ready.

Even though he was not a fan of the one who mostly slept in Elliot’s mind, the one who only woke up for moments of time to lash out, full of rage, Mr. Robot was going to need his help. After all of this time keeping Elliot safe, Mr. Robot wasn’t about to fail because of some rich bitch from the Upper West Side.

“Playtime is over. You’ve gotten your practice with these other hacks, but now it’s time to go after Evil Corp … after one more hack, that is.”

Elliot’s mouth dropped open, fear prickling across his skin with alarming speed.

He shook his head back and forth as he said, “No. NO.”

“Y/N’s dad lied to his own fucking daughter—all of Wall Street knew about the Washington Township plant and they all did their part to cover it up. His connection is the one we need to finally infiltrate Evil Corp’s servers.”

This again.

Elliot and Mr. Robot had been at odds since the first time Mr. Robot had this conversation with him. Elliot’s face was twisted into a panic now, his chest closing in on itself as he warred within, wanting nothing more than just a single chance at normal. He couldn’t figure out why Mr. Robot couldn’t give him this one chance.

“I won’t do it,” Elliot mumbled.

“Won’t do what? Change your shirt?” Elliot’s girlfriend asked with a slight tilt of her head, her lips curled into a teasing smile.

Elliot’s mouth went a little dry as he balked, horrified he’d just been caught talking to Mr. Robot, who was now nowhere to be seen.

Y/N walked slowly toward Elliot, her palms up in a gesture of openness as if she were approaching a trapped cat who knew it needed help but would rather scratch and run than stay still on the chance it would become a victim.

“You don’t have to change if you don’t want to. It’s no big,” she finished, sounding too much like his sister.

Everything in my life is a fucking big, Elliot scoffed internally.

“I—I forgot which bag was yours.”

Sighing in mock exasperation, Y/N crossed the room and picked up the blue and white striped bag that had been sitting in plain sight on the bench.

“Grey or black? You’ve sort of gone back to dressing in a neutral palette, so no wild colors,” his girlfriend offered with that same smile she had given him above deck, the one that made Elliot feel safe.

“Guess I’ll get a little wild and go with the grey.”

“Mmm—grey makes your eyes even more discernable in their color,” she said, pulling the t-shirt out of her bag and tossing it to Elliot.

“Hey,” Elliot said softly, catching her wrist before she could climb back up the steps, “I love you.”

“Don’t I know it,” she answered with a wink.

I really hope you do, Elliot thought as he watched her go topside, determined to chase his happiness and even more determined to protect the person he loved from whatever it was inside of him that wanted to push her away.

--Y/N--

Sailing with Charlie and my parents seemed to put Elliot at a mild ease, though I did find myself longing for the days when I could clearly read him. As least now I could begin to understand what happened when he became closed off; something within was fighting him for control.

I wondered how much he understood.

I wondered why he never looked up the symptoms.

I wondered what would happen when he finally found out why he lost time.

When Elliot emerged from below deck, I patted the seat next to me. He sat down and seemed to decide for a moment if he wanted to be affectionate. He hesitantly laid his arm out behind me on the railing, and I leaned into him, encouraging the gesture.

I admired the profile of his face and the way his skin seemed to drink up the sun. A few hours on the boat, and he looked healthier than he had for the last month. I leaned in to press a kiss to his jaw, which made him blush and look at my parents as if they were going to scold us.

They were paying no attention, so Elliot leaned close to my ear and whispered a quiet thank you.

“For what?”

“This,” he said as he glanced around the boat. “Them,” he added as he looked at my parents and at Charlie.

And after a moment’s pause, he said, “Us.”

“Can I tell you something I really want to tell you but am afraid might totally freak you out?”

Elliot pulled his lower lip in, his jaw clenching.

“You can say no,” I added hastily.

He released his lip and muttered, “Say it.”

“If, if we consider Memorial Day weekend the start of our relationship, in exactly 4 weeks and 6 days, we will have been together for an entire year.

Please don’t freak out,” I added as I watched him.

“Isn’t … that a good thing?”

“Yes!” I grinned, “I think so at least. I mean—did you ever imagine we’d get to this point?”

“No.”

“You never imagined it? I thought that was kind of a rhetorical question, but alright.”

“What I imagined is how badly I’d screw it all up before it could ever get to that point,” Elliot clarified in a quiet voice.

“Well, you can be less than a picnic,” I stated with a smile, “but so can I.”

“You’re perf—”

“Oh no. No. No. You don’t get to say that. Don’t you remember our argument about subjectivity and words like ‘normal’ and ‘perfect’?” I teased.

“Fine,” Elliot said, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re my version of perfect.”

I laughed as I replied, “Thank you.”

“Did--did you actually just take a compliment without deflecting?” Elliot asked, his face twisted up in mock scrutiny.

“Mayyybe.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

“I love it when you call me yours,” I murmured, moving my face close to his, wanting nothing more than to kiss him for hours while the sun blazed and the boat rocked through the water.

Elliot closed the gap and pressed his lips to mine, and despite the simplicity of the kiss, the intimacy made my breath catch.

“Charles,” I heard my mom croon. “Look.”

“Motheeer,” I groaned as I turned to scowl at her, catching both of my parents looking at Elliot and I like we were more precious than gold.

Elliot snickered, and I shot him a look of surprise, expecting him to be mortified. Instead, he gave my shoulder a squeeze and said, “She actually just took a compliment for once. Didn’t even try to counter it.”

“Nice to know she’s finally becoming civil! She’s always been shamefully ill-mannered,” Mom said with an airy laugh. “Elliot, dear, did I ever tell you about the summer she was banned from every party from Tribeca to Midtown?”

My dad laughed as my mouth fell open.

“Mom—that’s really not a story Elliot wants to hear.”

“Oh, I think Elliot wants to hear the story,” Elliot grinned wickedly.

“Let’s see,” my mom began. “She had just gotten her driver’s license—"

“Sis!” Charlie shouted at me, “Haul in the jib sheet!”

“Oh, thank god,” I mumbled as I gave Elliot’s thigh a pat before I jumped up to help, hoping to avoid being a bystander to my own humiliation.

After I set the sail, I settled in beside my brother at the helm.

“Feel free to jerk the wheel. Maybe our mother will fall into the bay.”

Char did jerk the wheel, but it resulted in me nearly falling on my ass as he laughed and grabbed my arm to keep me upright.

Elliot and my parents looked back at us, picture-perfect wide smiles on all three of their faces as the sun warmed us, reminding us of the promised sweetness of summer. But what really filled me with happiness was the fact that Elliot looked like he belonged to us, like he belonged in our family.

* * * * *

At least twice a week Elliot saw his psychiatrist, but after the first session, Elliot told me he needed space—not break up space, just a day or two kind of space after his sessions.

I readily accepted the distance and reminded him, probably an annoying amount, that he could tell me anything and I wouldn’t judge him. He said his psychiatrist told him it was important to take time to process and to only share what he was discovering about himself slowly. I, of course, agreed and backed off, keeping my questions to a minimum and not prying if he only gave short answers.

His doctor had also prescribed an anti-anxiety medication, which did open up a partial conversation because Elliot knew I took something for anxiety, too. We compared brands and dosages, but he seemed more interested in learning about my anxieties than talking about his own.

I actually felt a lot more at ease since one of the biggest sources of my anxiety, the hacks, had seemed to stop. CIStech was currently in the process of upgrading Precision Machining’s servers, so everyone was busy with data backups, image backups, replacing memory, installing new cards, and closely monitoring the log files to quickly catch any errors.

I was determined to ensure it went flawlessly, mostly to heal my pride after the cyberattacks.

Even though Elliot and I were both busy at work and didn’t see each other much during the week, we still spent every Friday night through Monday morning together, usually at my place.

Since we had gone sailing last weekend, I figured it would be nice to do something lowkey—just the two of us.

It was around 5:00 pm when I locked up my office and headed down to CIStech’s wing. I said hello to a few employees on their way out, and as I made my way to Elliot’s desk, my smile faltered.

He was deep in conversation with Angela.

My first instinct was to stop and turn around, like I was an intruder. Then, I realized that she was the one at my company, talking to my boyfriend.

Employee, I corrected, attempting to convince myself that jealousy was not at all what I felt.

Angela’s employer, All Safe, was a young company, but they were still competition. Their CEO, Gideon Goddard, was an impressive businessman who finally achieved recognition when he took on cybersecurity for E Corp. Surely Elliot found that repugnant, so surely Angela wasn’t sent here to try to steal him away.

“It’s an impressive setup, El,” I heard Angela say and a little pull of unease settled in my stomach at hearing someone other than myself or Darlene call him that.

Her back was to me, but Elliot noticed my approach and stiffened. At the change in his body language, Angela turned and didn’t bother to hide her surprise at seeing me.

“Hey, Y/N. Coming to make sure your staff isn’t working overtime?”

“That would be Tim’s job, not mine. I’m just here for this guy,” I said as I gently slid my hand over Elliot’s shoulder.

Surprising me, he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his side; I smiled at him before returning my focus to Angela.

“What brings you here? Surely not trying to steal away our best white hat?”

Angela chuckled, “Wouldn’t dream of it. I had a late lunch with Sarah, one of your account execs--we went to law school together. So I figured I’d just pop in and say hi to Elliot.”

“You went to Fordham, too?”

“No—Hofstra.”

“Hmm. I must be getting my execs mixed up. I’ve always preferred the tech aspect of this business rather than the sales.”

“I’m more of a people person. Computers … intimidate me,” Angela said.

“Quite the opposite of El, huh?”

Angela looked at me for a minute, clearly considering her next response; she and I both knew it would tell me all I needed to know about whether she accepted me as good for Elliot.

“You know what they say about opposites,” Angela said with a smirk. “He needed someone to draw him out of his shell when we were growing up.”

No, she did not approve of me, but despite what my mother believed, I was well-mannered.

I gave her my most charming smile and replied, “I’m glad Elliot had such a good friend growing up. Genuine friendship is a rare and powerful thing.”

Angela’s large blue eyes slid over my face.

“It is. Listen, Elliot. I’m gonna run. It was great seeing you,” she said as she stepped forward and gave him a hug, hanging on until he slowly returned her embrace.

As soon as his hands settled on her back, she pulled away, gave me a wave, and left the office as Elliot and I both watched her walk away.

“Did I … just witness a white-collar catfight?”

I slowly turned my attention to Elliot, only to find him smirking at me. It was the most arrogant expression I had ever seen on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re jealous.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You are … aren’t you?”

“Darlene says it’s good for you if you aren’t always right,” I said walking toward the exit as Elliot hurriedly shuffled into his backpack and doubled his strides to catch me before the elevator.

“So jealous,” he mumbled, and without looking over, I knew he was still smirking.

Slowly, I turned to him with narrowed eyes.

“You think you’re such a genius.”

“Did I or did I not have to hear all about the ‘gorgeousness’ of some pretentious dick named Alexander Strömberg as you and my sister discussed whether he was worth fucking around with or not?”

“You pay attention to that kind of stuff?”

“Of course I do,” Elliot said as the elevator opened up.

We tabled our discussion as we navigated the busy lobby, but as soon as we were on the sidewalk in front of Precision Machining, I asked, “Did you hack him?”

“Of course I did.”

“Elliot!”

“Well …” he trailed off, probably wondering how he lost the upperhand on this conversation.

“I knew Angela didn’t go to Fordham. I was just being a bitch.”

Elliot stopped in the middle of the street, stunned, but I kept walking, a smile hidden on my face.

“You hacked her!” he exclaimed, jogging to catch me yet again.

“Just a little.”

Elliot laughed and leaned into me, pushing me off of the crowded sidewalk and into a little nook that led to a small patch of green the city only called a park so it could honor the very wealthy person it was named after.

His hands moved to my face as he pulled me in to kiss me, his teeth nipping at my lips.

“You are fucking jealous,” he said, grinning into my mouth.

“Shut up,” I said as I slid my hands from his chest to around the back of his head. I brushed my fingers across his short hair as he kissed me again.

--Narrator--

“What are you doing now?”

“Finishing up the track on the 23 IP addresses. None of them used a VPN except two, so once we get them to install the keylogger, we own them.”

“All 23 gonna be dumb enough?”

Master Mind rolled his eyes, “They’re people, aren’t they?”

“You’ve got to hurry—you’re not strong enough to keep Elliot locked up in his therapy session for long.”

“He’s safe there. He thinks he’s getting treated for his social anxiety. He’ll never know any different.”

“We haven’t done anything this extreme before,” Mr. Robot said, his normally controlled speech punctuated with concern.

Master Mind turned his head to aim his comment in Mr. Robot’s direction, “Maybe we should have. He clearly doesn’t understand what’s at stake. Maybe he’s the one who isn’t strong enough to pull off the job?”

“Is that why you fucked his girlfriend?”

Master Mind turned back to Elliot’s computer, “You saw that?”

Mr. Robot moved beside Master Mind and leaned forward, staring at him like he was an idiot.

“I see everything. It’s my job to see everything. And I don’t like that you took advantage of him when he was weak.”

“IP address list is done. When Elliot gets back, all he has to do is embed the malware link in an iframe.”

“That doesn’t solve the problem of Little Miss Fairytale.”

Master Mind’s fingers flexed over the keyboard.

“Do you … like her?”

“Elliot loves her.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Don’t tell me you think you have feelings for her,” Mr. Robot said with a laugh that sounded more like a snarl of warning. “That’s not your domain, pal.”

“She’s … one of them,” Master Mind said slowly, testing out his newfound independence to share his thoughts. Normally, Mr. Robot kept him so quiet that he often wasn’t aware of what Elliot was doing.

Months could go by and life hardly changed for Master Mind, which was probably why he felt more alone than the others; he was really only good at constructing the worlds Mr. Robot sometimes needed to occupy Elliot. And no, Master Mind never refused to help protect Elliot; in fact, he wished he could do more to help him, to make the world a safer place for all of them.

And thanks to Mr. Robot’s overreliance on Master Mind’s hacking skills, he had more time to think now, and he was beginning to realize just what needed to be done to create the kind of world that would be good enough for Elliot.

“After we hack her dad, she’s gonna know. She’ll leave him,” Master Mind decided.

“She hasn’t left him yet.”

“He hasn’t crossed a line he can’t come back from yet.”

“Once we hack the 23 jurors, we should have enough information to get Angela to restart the lawsuit. If we’ve got her working toward our goal, too, all we’ll need is Darlene to start the ring. She’s the one who has the connections.”

“She has the people skills.”

“Something Elliot still can’t quite master.”

Master Mind looked Mr. Robot full in the face, his eyes scanning him for any hint of deception.

“Is all of this necessary? He’s going to hate you if you succeed.”

“He’s not going to remember.”

“How many times are you going to reset him?”

“As many times as I need to protect him from the truth.”

“The truth of what?”

“That’s not your domain either, kiddo,” Mr. Robot said in the voice he normally used to say nice things to Elliot. Master Mind liked that voice and a part of him longed to stay, to keep talking to someone, even if it was Mr. Robot.

“Elliot is gonna fight you.”

“I think he’s gonna put up a hell of a fight, but if we can get Angela back in his life and get rid of his girlfriend, we can get him to focus on what matters—revenge.”

“Revenge,” Master Mind repeated slowly, tasting the way the word moved through his mouth, heavy and important.

Master Mind shook his head, his eyes blinking slowly.

When Elliot realized he was sitting in front of his computer, his brow furrowed. He knew he’d just left the therapist’s office not more than a few minutes ago.

“It’s just me, kiddo,” Mr. Robot said. “I needed to finish what I was working on.”

“I don’t even want to see it,” Elliot said exiting out of every window.

“Suit yourself. But you’ve got work to do.”

“You promised,” Elliot said. “You promised that if I helped you hack the jurors, we could give what we found to Angela and then you’d be done. You said you’d go away and let me live my life.”

“If that’s what you still want when I’m done, yes. I’ll go away and you can try out the whole domestic bliss thing. No contingencies.”

Elliot looked hard at Mr. Robot and a part of him knew he was lying, but it didn’t matter. Elliot was stuck. He had no choice but to take the risk.

At least Mr. Robot was letting him go to therapy, and he was starting to feel a better.

All he had to do was let him scratch a few more itches.

Tags: @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash @teamwolf2411 @limabein @txmel @alottanothing @ouatlovr @backoftheroomandnotbelonging @moon-stars-soul @free-rami @ramimedley @hopplessdreamer @sweet-charmie @polarcrystall @hah0106 @clumsybookworm18 @diasimar @ramisgirl512 @aboutthatmelancholystorm

#Elliot Alderson #elliot alderson x reader #female reader #rami malek #rami malek character #mr robot #mr robot fanfiction #mr. robot #mr. robot fanfiction #Elliot x reader

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musesofolive · 3 years

Text

I’ve been thinking harder on that Sahar x Isla ship from the incorrect quotes and it’s encouraging me to think how it would happen outside my head.

Let’s say Isla gets taken down the pathway where she’s kidnapped by a dark magic bounty hunter and brought to Viren, only before she’s imprisoned by him, she manages to get away from the bounty hunter. At first she tries to find the pathway the hunter used with no luck, and she desperately spends some of her months trying to find a way back over the border to Xadia. No matter what she tries, she cannot do it. Any spells she tries backfires and the only pathway that’s clear is being defended by humans who will kill her on sight. She’s stuck, and the realization makes her both want to scream and cry.

She ghosts through to Duren, and it’s pretty peaceful there, she can survive very well with stealing a few loaves of bread and vegetables after dark. But as she scouts the city during the day, she sees a child about to get trampled by a horse and carriage, her good heart can’t just watch that so she breaks from the shadows to save the child. This blows her cover and she barely escapes from the town with her life, and she ends up hopping the border over to Neolandia. Neolandia’s a lot tougher to survive in, between the blistering heat and the people being a lot tougher and on edge than the people of Duren. She’s starving, not having eaten in a few days and she’s desperate. The first apple she sees sitting on a window sill, she grabs it, only for someone on the inside of the house grab her wrist in return. It’s the youngest of Sahar’s brothers.

He’s about to yell out to get someone, but he sees the desperation and fear in her eyes, how vulnerable she looks, and he can’t bring himself to end her cover and instead manages to drag her inside the house before she can escape. He gets into an argument with his older brother about what to do with her, especially with Sahar coming home tomorrow. The youngest argues that they can’t cast her out, she won’t survive, the middle argues back that they can barely afford to feed themselves, much less an elf. The father sits and listens to all of this, all while staring at Isla who’s crouched on the floor and trying not to shake but clearly is, before making the final decision that she will stay, but she has to pull her weight and help however she can around the house. They can’t afford free-loaders. This is something Isla readily agrees with and is relieved to be watered and fed with the closest thing to a bed she’s had in months. She was given Sahar’s old room, actually.

Anyways, tomorrow comes, Isla’s up with the rest of the family, doing her assigned chores and making light conversation where she can. But eventually, they all dip off to work, and she stays behind, bored once she’s completed every chore she can. Hours pass by, only the youngest comes home, but he’s resting before going off to another job. Sahar comes home earlier than they exepected, and the first one she sees is Isla. She freaks out, wrestles Isla to the wall as her brother comes down to yell at her to leave the elf alone. Sahar is eventually sat and the situation is explained to her. She’s extremely unhappy about it, making this clear to Isla, any time they interact. Isla takes it all the way until dinner when Sahar makes a last scathing comment and Isla’s had enough. She stands up from her seat and rants about how she never wanted to be here. She never asked to be kidnapped away from her lands to be used as fodder for dark magic or torture or information or whatever else she had been kidnapped for. She never asked to be stranded in a land filled with people who would kill her first and ask questions later. The last thing she wanted was to out her cover in Duren but she couldn’t stand to see a child die when she knew she could save them. Elves had been unfairly cruel to humans, yes, but she didn’t deserve to be held accountable for actions done that had been out of her control since birth. She wasn’t a soldier, she didn’t hate humans, she just wanted to see her family. The entire table goes silent when she’s done speaking, and it stays that way as the meal ends and she helps them clean up.

Isla and Sahar have to share the bedroom, which is incredibly awkward given the argument that just went down. But eventually Sahar speaks up, apologizing for any especially uncalled for comments she had made, but that still didn’t make up for the fact that there was no trust between them. Isla was fine with this fact, they were strangers it was fair, she could prove her trustworthiness at least, and says as much. They lay on opposite ends of the mat and fall asleep.

Isla ends up cuddled around Sahar the next morning anyways, because she’s a cuddler when she sleeps, which makes for a very embarrassing wake-up call that stiffens both of them when they head out to meet the rest of the family. They all talk for a little bit, Isla’s a bit more adjusted and friendly with them, something Sahar takes notice of, and then they all leave. Sahar stays behind though, and Isla’s like “sooo, what are you going to be up to?” And Sahar’s just like “checking over the house, papa’s worried with all the recent break-ins around town that they might be next, so I came down to offer some security.” It leads to a brief and gruff reveal that Sahar works directly as crown guard for the royalty of Neolandia, which Isla’s pretty impressed with and relates it to a similar dream that Torin wanted when they were younger. They continue to talk just as Sahar’s about to exit the house, and Isla almost goes with her until she’s stopped by Sahar who’s like “you can’t be seen in broad daylight, are you crazy? Get back in the house.” And Isla, however unhappily with being left alone, nods.

She does her tasks while Sahar takes patrols around the house, checking the windows and locks to make sure they’re tight and secure. Comes back inside to find lunch prepared for her by Isla who tells her she was bored and had nothing else to do so, made her lunch, which Sahar accepts and they carry on conversation.

This happens for a few days, allowing Isla to bond to Sahar and her family more, though the news about the break-ins becomes increasingly worse. And eventually, the robbers strike Sahar’s house. Sahar catches them first, since she was already staying up to guard the house, the commotion causes the youngest to come down to see if he can help in any way, but the robbers then take him as a hostage, which forces Sahar’s hand to back down. This draws Isla’s attention however, and she’s just around the corner, hearing all of this go down. Well, she’s not about to let the people who have been so kind to her just get robbed blind without doing anything about it, so she sneaks out through a window unseen. At first, she’s looking for any sort of plant-life she can manipulate, but this is desert land, so there’s not much in this area. She stops in her tracks upon hearing hissing though. They’re cobras, and she starts speaking with them and convinces them to go in the house and at first freak out the robbers, but if they don’t budge, to go in for some attacks. Snakes do the thing, they wrap around the robber holding the youngest and he panics, trying to get them off his foot which makes him let go of his hostage. With Sahar’s family no longer endangered, she’s back in action, taking them both out and tying them up. The snakes start coming for Sahar too, but Isla runs up to them and stops them before they can, thanking them for the service, and they slither off. Sahar realizes Isla helped protect her family and gains a bunch more respect for the elf that only shows on her face as she hauls the robbers off to be handled by the law appropriately. But one of them catches sight of Isla just as they disappear.

The coming days are much more relaxed, giving Sahar actual time to spend with her family and Isla, they’ve become good friends. Though talk begins to spread about a stranger who’s living in Sahar’s house and that a robber said he saw an elf before he was brought in. The rumors make Sahar uneasy and she tries to dispel them anyway she can, but there’s not much she can do, people still talk, and she’s due back at the castle in the next week. Isla learns of this and finds she’s going to miss Sahar immensely, Sahar admits she will miss her too. But, it has to be this way, she has to continue her service to provide for her family. Isla, being a family person herself, understands this completely, she’d be doing the same thing for her own if it came down to it. Sahar leaves officially with tight hugs and goodbyes from all her family and Isla, who gifts her a small, and inconspicuous desert flower, which Sahar spends much of her journey back admiring.

The next few days are fine, normal, if a bit sad and quiet to Isla. Sahar feels the same as she guards at the castle, Nalira and Inan, the two children royals, tease her about having met someone. She brushes this off as she tries to think of a way to get Isla back to her family. This leads her to write to General Amaya, someone she’s met and trained with on occasion and has a somewhat good standing with about her inquiries. The peace ends about a month and a half later when the bounty hunter Isla had previously escaped from finally tracks her down, having been looking for her ever since she escaped. She is kidnapped from the house quietly, and forced back on the road, imprisoned once more.

Sahar’s family finds out the next day, and they’re horrified, writing to Sahar about the news. When she hears of it, she’s immediately worried and angry, with all Isla’s done and grown on her and her family, she feels she has a duty to keep her safe too. Plus, her correspondence with the general had been successful, Amaya seeming to understand the situation and not being out for blood. She quickly sends word to Amaya that she will be seeing her and the elf very soon. With that, she regrettably asks for leave once more, under the urgency that someone has kidnapped a person belonging to her family and she feels the only one responsible enough to retrieve them. The King grants the leave, with the wishes that her family will be alright. Not long after, Sahar has a horse and is on the road. It takes two weeks of searching to find the two of them, in a shady Xadian Creatures auction ring for dark magic mages, scientists, or just plain enthusiasts. She knocks out the guards that are holding everything back stage, searching for Isla, but she’s no where to be found. She almost begins to panic until she turns at the last second and sees Isla being shoved around the corner and up the stage. She has to think fast, she can’t just storm the stage, she would be brought down and killed before she could even cut Isla’s bindings. So instead, she creates a panic, opening the cages of every alive creature in there and letting them storm out. It creates the diversion she needed and she grabs for Isla, running out with her and almost about to make it when the bounty hunter stops them. He’s angry, the elf already cost him the very hefty price Viren had set out, and now he’s about to lose even more money. A fight starts between Sahar and the hunter. They’re both skilled, but Sahar’s not as well rested as she should be, too worried about what might become of Isla. Her edge is not as sharp as it should be, and after some more dirty moves from the hunter, he’s about to go for the finishing blow. Before he can, Isla rushes in, doing her best to tackle him and lock him in a chokehold. She holds it until he passes out and she breathes a sigh of relief when she realizes he’s still alive before checking over Sahar. She tries to treat the soldier, but is brushed off and is instead pushed to the horse as they ride away from the chaos before more bounty hunters can see what’s happening.

They settle down to camp when Sahar passes out from all the blood she’s lost from her wounds, Isla barely catching her from falling off the horse. She heals her friend’s wounds and hugs her tightly when she wakes up, crying about how she had been so scared that Sahar wouldn’t wake up. She just hugs Isla back, reassuring her that she’s fine. Eventually, Isla is filled in about how Sahar managed to convince General Amaya to grant her safe passage over to the Sunfire’s hold of The Border since she’s an innocent of the war and not a soldier. Isla starts crying, she’s so happy and this gets Sahar even more hugs which she returns bittersweetly. She had been doing this because she understood more than anyone what it was like being away from her family, but the thought of never seeing this bright and cheery elf again, who had more grit than anyone gave her credit for, gave a dark pit to her stomach. But she brushed it off, it wasn’t her place to ask the elven woman to stay where Sahar knew she couldn’t guarantee her safety.

The next few days are spent travelling to The Border, both of them getting increasingly more sad about Isla’s departure. They reach it, Sahar gives instructions on where to go so General Amaya’s personal assistant will escort her and Isla nods, but she doesn’t turn to leave just yet. She just stares at Sahar, before giving her a last, tight hug, thanking her for everything she’s done. That she’s loved getting to know her and seeing behind the soldier mask, that she’s loved getting to be her friend. Sahar’s only happy to have helped, and more than glad to have met such a brave and kind individual. They pull back, faces close, there’s an opportunity to kiss, and Sahar forfeits it by pulling away and telling her to get home to her family safely. As much as she wanted to, it wouldn’t be fair to Isla to complicate her emotions and then try to make her pick between staying here and going home. Isla is disappointed by the action, but understands and says goodbye as she turns away.

A year passes, the battle at the Storm Spire happens, and Isla catches wind of the fact that Neolandian soldiers are here. Hope catches her throat at the thought of seeing Sahar again and she travels over as quick as she can. And we will say that this is an AU where Sahar managed to convince Kasef to go with him because she fought extra hard to go to Xadia for the same reason that Isla’s rushing to the scene now, and also Kasef’s not dead, missing an eye and several arrow scars in his back, yes, but not dead, and he’s showing signs of recovery. Sahar’s got her own set of scars from this battle as well, she feels awful about the whole thing, she barely remembered turning into a lava monster, and even less so fighting an entire battle, but she was back to normal now. Anyhow, while taking a walk to clear her head, she hears a rustle in the branches, she goes to attack in case it’s an enemy, only to have pinned Isla to a tree. They’re both surprised, before Isla starts laughing with a “this seems familiar! Do you always greet people you haven’t seen in a year like this?”

A smile spreads across Sahar’s face as she drops her weapon, bringing Isla in for as tight a hug as she can which Isla returns. Both claim that they missed the other so much, and this time when they pull back from it, Isla goes straight in for a kiss, just ecastatic to see and hear and feel the person she’s grown so fond for again. It surprises Sahar, but she can’t react too much because Isla’s already pulling back and apologizing for doing that, she should have asked first or even just confessed first. While she’s rambling, Sahar finishes processing that the feelings she thought she was the only one harboring at this point are in fact returned but no matter how many times she tries to interrupt, Isla keeps apologizing, so she settles for actions and captures Isla’s lips in another kiss to shut her up, pulling her as close as can be.

“S-so, you love me too?”

“Yes, I believe you had my heart the minute you saved me from the brink of death. The first thing when I woke up was your face encased in the moonlight as you brought me up to speed. I wanted to tell you at The Border but I...didn’t want to make you choose. It seemed unfair to give you that information just as we were both unsure if we would see another again.”

“I almost wished you had told me, it would saved me a few months of wishing I had told you! But, thank you for thinking of me, and I guess it doesn’t matter now, you’re back, and I’ll never be happier again.”

And it was all cute and fluffy and their relationship lasted forever, the end.

#musings #Isla #Sahar #Isla x Sahar #Sahla could be the shipname #my writing #Olive writes #anyways this was WAY LONGER THAN I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE OOPS #but I’m glad I did #it made me happy hehe

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creationcitystreet-em · 3 years

Text

His Southern Belle 1

Masterlist Full book 1 summary in the link

Chapter 1

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC (face claim: Rose Leslie)

Word count: ~2450

Summary: Maddi starts her new school in Brooklyn and meets some new friends.

Warnings: none

Author’s Note: I started this fic when I was still in high school, and I have worked really hard on it since. I’m not a fan of some of my writing from earlier chapters, but I don’t want to change them until I at least finish writing the entire story. I will be updating this fic here on tumblr one chapter a day until I am caught up with where I am at on the other platforms I’ve posted it. If you’d like to read ahead of that schedule, you can check them out on from the links on my masterlist. I just also wanted to make the fic available here on tumblr with the rest of my fandom interactions, so this is the plan to do that!

Unless otherwise indicated, all date entries are from Maddi’s POV.

September 5, 1932

I stood in front of the small class while my new teacher introduced me. I was in my best knee length dress trying to make the best first impression but I quickly realized the style in my hometown was very different from that of teenagers in New York. The girls seemed to have a little more money than my family as they wore nicer clothes and styled their hair to the newest fashion. My long red curls were probably a little too messy and I didn't wear the same socks and shoes as the them. I tried not to show how uncomfortable I felt when our teacher asked me to say my name to the class. I smiled and said "My name is Madeline Bennett, but my Mama and Daddy called me Maddi." I immediately heard laughter from the students and it made me feel twice as self conscious. It must be my accent, people in Brooklyn definitely sounded different than those in Tennessee. As soon as the teacher let me sit, I chose the only empty seat next to small and skinny boy with blond hair. He smiled at me but it was not cruel like the other kids when I walked to my seat, so I gave a small smile back.

During lunch, I sat alone until I heard the sound of a boy talking in front of me, "hey new girl, you know I can show you around if you want. I know some great places we can sneak off to together." I politely declined as I could tell his intentions did not seem innocent. He continued to push "Come on, look I know a lot of people laughed at you in class, but I can keep you safe baby doll. Once you're with me, nobody will be laughing." I immediately looked back down at my food trying to ignore the group of boys as they snickered behind the nameless boy who talked to me. I could tell this was probably a trick considering they were clearly still mocking me like before, and I just wanted to be left alone. I tried to hold back tears as I thought about how much I wished I could go back home with my family. I didn't want to be in Brooklyn hundreds of miles away from the only home I ever knew. I didn't want make new friends or learn how to live with a new family I barely knew. I wanted my safe little town where everyone knew who I was and nobody would dare pick on me unless they wanted my brother going after them. I missed my brother more than I ever would have admitted to him.

Just then, two more boys came to my table and I thought it would only get worse. "Leave her alone Jason, she clearly doesn't want to talk to you right now," the smaller of the two said. I now recognized him as the boy I sat next to in class.

"Alright Rogers, what are you going to do to stop me?" It was a fair questions, the boy was half a foot smaller than Jason and clearly much skinnier than the already developing teen.

"Listen Gally, I know you can see me standing right next to Steve here so you clearly should know when to keep your mouth shut. Now the lady said no earlier so I think you should respect her wishes and take your friends and leave." Jason Gally stared at the taller boy, who looked more like a man, and finally decided to leave. I continued to remain frozen in place after everything that happened, until I saw the two that helped me start to walk away as well.

"Wait!" I called to them as I wanted to tell them I appreciated what they did. They turned around and looked at me and I gathered up all the courage I had left to keep talking despite knowing they will clearly hear my accent. "Thank you for that. I got your name, Steve, but I didn't really catch yours," I said to the taller one.

"James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky."

"Well Bucky, Steve, thank you again."

"It was no problem, Maddi right?" Steve questioned to make sure he remembered my name correctly. I was pleasantly surprised and nodded my head yes.

I took a leap of faith and suddenly asked, "would y'all like to sit with me?" They stared at me for a second and I tried to explain myself quickly, "It's just that I'm new and don't have any friends yet. You two were so kind to stand up for me and I just wanted to know if maybe you would want to sit with me." I prayed I didn't just scare the two nice people in front of me off, but then they looked at each other and sat down across the table from me. I started to smile as they began to ask me about where I was from and why I moved to Brooklyn. "I'm from Tennessee, and I moved here to live with my Aunt and Uncle. They're the only family I really have left." they stayed quiet knowing I didn't want to go too deep into that subject just yet. The two nodded and didn't push anymore about it. I was very grateful for that.

It was towards the end of lunch and Steve said "Well Maddi, I'm glad we met you. Bucky is a year older than us but we still hang out after school. Where do you live, maybe we can walk home together?" I told them the general area I moved to and they both eagerly said they lived near there. We made plans to meet after school and for a brief second I thought that maybe moving to the big city wouldn't have been as terrible as I initially thought. I wished I could be back home, but knowing that I would never get to go back, having a couple friendly people here was the best I could ask for.

September 24, 1932

“How has school been going, Maddi?” Aunt Lily asked as I ate dinner with her and Uncle Ryan.

“Alright. I made a couple friends, but I don’t really seem to fit in with the class. They dress and talk different than back home.” I played with my food a bit while I thought about how the last couple weeks have been. Steve and Bucky were definitely very nice to call friends and I liked spending time with them, but girls still gave me strange looks and boys would bother me if I wasn’t with my new companions.

“Well, our neighbors have a granddaughter on the other side of town about a year or two older than you. I’ll see if she has any extra dresses you can have,” Aunt Lily offered. I knew she and Uncle Ryan felt bad for not having enough money to spend on me, but I really didn’t mind. With their two children already grown and moved across the country, they didn’t exactly plan to pay for an extra mouth to feed. Times were hard enough as it was without unexpected expenses. I never actually met these family members before: we never had the money to travel, but I heard about them a lot.

September 30, 1932

I wore my new dress that seemed to match more with the girls at school and it made me feel a little less nervous, but I also felt sad to be giving up more and more from my life in Tennessee. I sat with Steve and Bucky at lunch like I did everyday, and we talked about frivolous things until I asked Steve what was in the book he always carried around.

“It’s a sketch pad, I like to draw,” he said shyly.

“Can I see?” I asked and he hesitantly handed me his sketch pad and I flipped through the pages in awe. Each piece of paper had beautifully drawn pictures of buildings and landscapes. He had a few with people, but one close up of a young woman and man who looked in their early 20s. “Who are they?” I curiously questioned.

“That’s my parents,” he said quietly. “It’s from a picture when they were newly married. I don’t really remember my dad, he died in the Great War.”

“I’m sorry,” I said hoping I didn’t make him feel sad as I knew how it felt to lose a parent. “I lost my ma when I was young too, not as young but still I was 5 when she got sick.”

“Is that why you moved?” Bucky asked me.

“No, I still lived with my daddy and brother, Alex, until this summer when a storm hit and they both died. I was with a friend when it hit and a tornado took down my entire house and my family inside.”

“Jeez, I’m sorry Maddi,” Steve said as I fought back a few tears thinking about what happened.

“Don’t worry about it. I was lucky to have Aunt Lily and Uncle Ryan to take me when they heard, and now I got to meet you two so that’s good I guess.” I tried to look towards the better things in situations but it was always hard.

“Well, you’re officially our friend so there’s no getting out of it now,” Bucky said with a smirk.

“Only now it’s official? What has been the last month then?” I asked with a laugh.

“A trial friendship,” Steve stated smiling.

“Yeah, just to make sure you weren’t crazy or anything” said Bucky.

“I’m glad y’all think I’m worthy of being your friend then!” I winked at them as I continued the joke. We all laughed as we finished our food and headed back to class for the day.

December 24, 1932

“The snow is so beautiful on Christmas,” I sighed as I walked through the park with Steve and Bucky like we sometimes did together.

“It sure is, but I’ve always wanted to see snow where there were no buildings in sight. Just miles of it with nothing else to mess the blanket of white up,” Steve told me as we saw children running through the already played in snow.

“That is a sight to see, but I think that's just wasted? Look at how happy all this available snow makes everyone, that’s something worth drawing.” I said this as I knew that was one of the reasons he probably liked the idea of untouched snow: to be able to draw the scene. “Draw me and Bucky!”

“What?” Bucky questioned, not sure what he had to do with this topic.

“Draw us playing in the snow,” I requested with a smile. Bucky quickly got the idea and ran towards a clean pile. He made a snowball and threw it directly at me hitting me on the shoulder. “Alright Barnes, you have it coming to you now!” and I laughed while I ran to make a snowball as well except I missed when throwing it at him. He laughed at me until I made another and hit him square in the face. I heard a chuckle from Steve and I looked over at him sitting on a nearby bench watching us and making small rough sketches in his book. “Come one Steve, put it to memory and come play with us!” He looked slightly surprised for a second until he put his book down and came over to join our snowball fight. We did this for about an hour until we sat down on the bench to rest. Steve quickly went right back to his book to continue his scene he started on. We sat in silence for a while just taking in the day.

“What are your holiday plans, Maddi?” Bucky asked.

“I’m not sure. We haven’t really talked about it. We’ll probably go to Mass tonight and I got a small present for my aunt and uncle tomorrow. I don’t really expect much of a present for myself; besides, my favorite part has always been Christmas Eve Mass. My daddy and Alex and I would go and then always visit mama after. I guess I can’t see any of them this year since their all buried in Tennessee.” I had never really thought of that until now and it quickly took away all of my joy from playing in the snow before. “They would have liked you guys,” I added before they could reply. “You're both gentlemen and passionate about what you care for.”

“They’d like Bucky,” Steve tried to clarify as he continued to draw.

“No, they’d like you both,” I told him with confidence. “Especially you, your heart is much more kind than this silly guy sitting next to me,” I laughed as I sat between them and gestured towards Bucky.

“Hey!” Bucky said with a smile. “Just because it's true doesn't mean you have to say it!” Steve just stayed quiet and had a slight blush on his face.

I put my arms around both their necks and said “thank you for making Brooklyn more bearable.”

“You did that,” Steve said as he looked at me and I smiled back at him.

December 25, 1932

There was a knock on the door and I went to answer it. When I opened the door, Steve stood there waiting and I gave him a surprised smile. “Hey,” he started. “I know today is mostly spending with family so I’ll try to be quick. I just wanted to give you your present.”

“Steve, you didn’t have to get me anything!” I began to feel bad as I had nothing to give in return.

“It’s nothing, here.” He handed me a piece of paper and I saw it was a beautiful drawing of Bucky and I in the snow from the previous day. I just stared at it for a few seconds in awe before he continued, “Sorry it isn’t that detailed, I was trying to finish as quick as I could and the shading might not be-” I cut him off by hugging him.

“I love it!” I said as he wrapped his arms back around me. “I love the art you make, it’s so good. Thank you for giving me one, it really means a lot.” We both let go and and he was redder than I had ever seen him before.

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said with a chuckle. We then said our goodbyes and he went back home to spend the rest of the day with his mother.

Next Chapter

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captain-aralias · 4 years

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8, 15, 17, 28 for the writer meme, if you didn’t already get any of those

8. Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

i just answered this, but since it’s you, i’ll go for some blake ;) hm....

i must say, i think i have written some pretty great dialogue for blake’s 7 in my time. here’s one of my favourite bits -

“It’s a quality operation,” Vila said. “They wouldn’t skimp on a thing like that. You want a boyfriend, Blake – and I want to go to Del Ten. Give me your promise that we can spend a week there once we find Docholli and I’m your man.”

“Vila, once we’ve found Docholli, we will have the key to finding Star One,” Blake pointed out.

“Are there any dancing girls on Star One?”

“I very much doubt it.”

“Then I’d still rather go to Del Ten,” Vila said.

“Couldn’t you wait?” Blake suggested. “Until after we blow up Star One?”

“After you blow up the Federation’s weather control systems, you mean?” Vila said. “And throw the civilised world into chaos? Right, I’m sure that would be a lovely time to take a holiday. Got any more suggestions like that, Blake? Perhaps I should invest in the stock market at the same time.”

“Two days,” Blake said. “I could give you two days on Del Ten.”

“A week!” Vila repeated.

Blake shut his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He willed himself to find the strength to complete this conversation and make the right choices.

“Oh, Blake,” Vila said kindly. “You really need this, don’t you?”

Blake felt a hand rest on his shoulder and looked up into Vila’s sympathetic eyes. “Yes,” he said with relief. “I’m sorry, Vila. I don’t want to put you in this position. But I really do need this.”

“You’re going to have to give in then,” Vila told him in the same kindly tone as before. “Unless,” he said, a twinkle in his eye, “that is, you want to ask Avon to be your boyfriend...”

i could have quoted this entire scene - even this is a lot. i love writing blake and avon, i love writing avon and vila, but i really really love writing blake and vila together because there are some lovely moments in canon to draw on. they’re two characters who have very little in common except that they’re both smart. this conversation is about how blake - who almost always gets his own way - now needs something he can’t just demand that vila does, and that gives vila the upper hand repeatedly throughout this conversation. blake, even though he knows this is an awkward conversation and really should be better prepared.

i also like the different lengths of the dialogue - it has a good patter.

it’s also funny, and funny because it’s cruel to someone (in this case blake, not usually), which is very blake’s 7. also also - it ends with vila insinuating what is essentially the plot - i.e. that avon will have to pretend to be blake’s boyfriend by the end of the story - and this is a trick that i always enjoy for a section end. the audience is like - oh ho, wouldn’t that be simply TERRIBLE? ;) ;)

good times.

15. If you could choose one of your fics to be filmed, which would you choose?

hm - not sure. maybe right now ... ‘Hang the Moon’? it’s got a lot of good action that would translate well to film, and i have a very clear idea of how most of the scenes look.

it would be kind of weird, though, right to have a film of a ‘carry on’ fanfic before we have a ‘carry on’ film. so i’m finding it quite hard to visualise.

i would have loved to have written some dialogue for blake’s 7 people to actually say (assuming they remembered how to do the voices properly, paul darrow). i would be so embarrassed to present paul darrow with my porn, though (although ‘An Apple Cleft in Two’ would be so great, though, as it’s practically a bodyswap - i love the idea of seeing the real stephen pacey pretending to be blake, and paul darrow just being so angry), so it would have to be some sort of gen.

ok - i think i choose ‘Showdown’ because it basically is ‘Duel’, so I know the Beeb could have staged it. it’s got some mega emotion that gareth would have done beautifully, too -

Blake extracted his hand slowly from Avon’s. He pressed his fingers against Avon’s wrist and waited, but there was no pulse. He let the hand drop and tried the artery in Avon’s neck, but he knew he was just prolonging the inevitable. Avon was dead.

He forced himself to look back at the man who had been his friend.

Avon looked peaceful. The blood spattered on his face was not his – it was Travis’s and had fallen from Blake’s cheeks like tears. Blake screwed his eyes shut again in an attempt to stop it, and in the darkness Sinofar’s voice said,

“So – the battle is over.”

17. Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

i almost always write in order. when i think of a scene that is in the future, i will usually write some notes about it, but try not to write it because i very much build on (in my head? i dont know how much comes through in what gets written) what i wrote before in terms of how people think and feel/i do a lot of dialogue call-backs.

there are a few occasions where i go ahead and write something that happens later, but then i feel like i really screw myself when i try and go back and write the missing piece. i have to re-write everything i wrote previously to make it make sense... ‘Greener Grass’ actually is an example where i didn’t write out of order on purpose, but i thought i’d start with simon’s section which introduces all the bodyswap stuff fine, but it was too heavy with the bodyswap plot AND the introduction of the agatha-isn’t-here/get simon’s magic back stuff. there was just too much going on.

so then i had to write an intro section for baz, which i thin is good - it frames the story as baz’s story, which i know is what rainbow would want, and gives us calm before the storm ... as well as giving me an opportunity to write the exposition i needed.

but i had to go back an edit the next section a LOT to make room for it. which i hated.

28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

i’ll do two batches.

blake’s 7:

x_los is my girlfriend, but i knew her first as an amazing writer. i wouldn’t have written half the things i did for b7 if she hadn’t started writing these epic, involved political stories, and she writes great porn. i really am not interested in david copperfield/uriah heep, but she thinks baz is a cat killer who does not deserve the time of day, so there you go. we’re in different fandoms now.

elviaprose is not only a great writer (the foot fettish fic is incredible, given that neither she nor i have a foot fettish as far as i know), she’s also really engaged with other people’s writing and i love that. it’s really good fun.

judith proctor - i wanted to put in a second generation fan, and i was tempted to go for willa shakespeare (so good, so plotty, so porny) or nova (such pain!), but i have to go for judith. judith taught us all how incredible blake is. her love for this character, and the way that she always writes him as smart but flawed, and attractive to avon because he is smart and principled, rather than for any other reason, is fundamental to any of us reclaiming him for the future. (it’s probably not a surprise that the authors i like really influence me as a writer, but worth calling it out - i am very much saying that as well). Touching Life! so good.

carry on:

we have some amazing writers, thank you fandom <3 three of my very very predictable favourites (the same three, i think, who wrote my favourite fics of last year) are:

@basic-banshee - what can i say? (insert long pause while i think of what to say.) i mean, we all know Ban is a great writer. it’s a pleasure when the most popular writer in the fandom is also a genius. i love all her secondary characters and that she spends so much time with them. she writes the way i want to - lots of good tropey stuff, great fun AUs, and plotty plotty good plot stuff. also - she always writes the most perfect endings that just make you feel GOOD.

@sharkmartini - i think we share a lot of the same ideas about what we like in fics i.e. we like the same tropes, we like that baz is a vampire, we think the same things are hot and romantic. i love the way sharkmartini plots this and she always writes great dialogue. also, i do think we owe snowbaz smut to her - maybe it wasn’t the first-first, but ‘Monster Under the Bed’ (which is SO good, honestly still one of my absolute favourite things) seems to have influenced so much of what came after it.

@krisrix - also an amazing artist, but for me an even better writer. the smut is amazing and sexy while also at the same time being really tender. kris also writes beautiful, long amazing kisses - and again, endings that are so beautiful and tender. also - let us talk about the plotty things! i love writers who mix plot and romance (or even dare i say - smut) because i love to have all the things in one fic. What Stays and What Fades Away is so smart and interesting. and, of course, kris has written my all time most favourite trope - fake relationship.

#my content #carry on

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alexrbrooks29 · 4 years

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cardigan/august/betty: a Joe, Taylor and Tom love triangle?

Buckle up, ya’ll @jingersoll88 and I have a theory that is going to leave you shook! We think this self-described “teenage love triangle” is about Taylor’s 2016 summer with Tom, while she was secretly seeing/pursuing Joe. Taylor described the album as a way of “escaping into fantasy, history, and memory” - we know these stories are based on her insanely talented storytelling, use of imagery, and exploring different perspectives. Taylor said she “created character arcs & recurring themes that map out who is singing about who” and tries to make the love triangle seem like a boy pursuing two girls one summer, but we think it’s actually about her pursuing the two men. The point of view is blurred at times, and though the stories are told through other characters, the parallels to Taylor’s life are undeniable.

To break it down:

“Cardigan” - Taylor’s perspective

“August”- Tom’s perspective

“Betty”- Joe’s perspective

“cardigan”

In cardigan, Taylor sings about summer 2016 where she was dating Tom, but possibly seeing/pursuing Joe and draws inspiration from her other songs. It goes all the way back to the 2016 Met Gala, where Taylor met both Joe and Tom… and had a night of dancing with Tom to Beyoncé's "Crazy in Love" and T.I.'s "Bring 'Em Out.". Taylor describes her first time meeting Joe in the song “Dress” as “Flashback to when you met me, your buzzed cut and my hair bleached.” - basically confirming they did meet at the Met Gala.

Coming back to “cardigan,” Taylor describes her very public summer romance with Tom unfold as they go on dates all over the world, where she wore “High heels on cobblestones” in Rome, but was also still thinking about Joe. “Broken cobblestone” is later mentioned in the song betty. She describes her Met Gala outfit as “Sequined smile, black lipstick”. “But I knew you / Dancin' in your Levi's” draws a reference to her line in “Delicate” with the lyrics referring to Joe, “Dark jeans and your Nikes, look at you”. “And when I felt like I was an old cardigan / Under someone's bed / You put me on and said I was your favorite” After a whirlwind summer and when Taylor was feeling at her lowest, she came back to Joe and, like a warm cardigan, he was her ultimate home .The cardigan is mentioned later in “betty” with the line, “Standing in your cardigan”. Also, Joe was in the movie “The Favourite”. “Chase two girls, lose the one” Taylor was dating Tom, but was still chasing after or couldn’t stop thinking about Joe. “Lose the one” could be seen two ways - she briefly lost Joe when she chose Tom / but in the song “the 1” she “[digs] up the grave another time” and reflects on how it could have been a fun relationship if her and Tom did end up together? The second chorus “But I knew you / Playing hide-and-seek and / Giving me your weekends, I / I knew you / Your heartbeat on the High Line /Once in twenty lifetimes” reminds us of the line in “Paper Rings” where she sang about how her and Joe played “cat and mouse for month or two or three” (May → August?) and the line “Once in twenty lifetimes” connects with the lines from Lover, “Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?” and Daylight, “I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night” And the ending, “'Cause I knew you / Steppin' on the last train / Marked me like a bloodstain, I” sounds similar to a “wine-stained dress I can’t wear anymore” talking about Joe. Then she flips the switch and talks about Tom in the lines, “I knew you / Tried to change the ending / Peter losing Wendy” about how Tom tried to keep her, but she was never his. Verse 3 is where she could be playing with multiple perspectives “I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs / The smell of smoke would hang around this long / 'Cause I knew everything when I was young / I knew I'd curse you for the longest time / Chasin' shadows in the grocery line / I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired / And you'd be standin' in my front porch light” basically saying she would always wonder what could have been if she didn’t give a relationship with Joe the chance it deserves, or looking at it from Joe’s perspective saying he knew she would come back to him once the shininess of her relationship with Tom wore off. We’ll get to the part about the porch in betty.

“august”

August is the second song in the trio, and is from Tom’s point of view. The song describes a summer romance that was bound to fizzle out. In the folklore album prologue, Taylor says the song is inspired by “the sun drenched month of August, sipped away like a bottle of wine.” - it is of note that late August/early September is when Tom and Taylor broke up. The first verse, “Salt air, and the rust on your door / I never needed anything more / Whispers of ‘Are you sure?’ / ‘Never have I ever before’” describes the salty air of Taylor’s Rhode Island house, where her and Tom were first photographed together, and where she hosted the 4th of July party. “Are you sure/Never have I ever before” could imply they are wondering if they should be seen together, given her recent breakup with Calvin. Also in “august” she sings “your back beneath the sun, wishin’ I could write my name on it” If this was indeed written from Tom Hiddleston’s perspective, it would make sense. He wore the “ I love TS” shirt at the 4th of July party, but wished Taylor would wear his name too. Tom reflects on the month of August, when Taylor was slipping away; he tried to reconcile things when he visited her in mid-August, after they hadn’t been seen together in weeks, but it is too late. Perhaps, during the weeks they didn’t see each other she was pursuing Joe? “August slipped away into a moment in time / 'Cause it was never mine / And I can see us twisted in bedsheets / August sipped away like a bottle of wine” (Also, can we stop pretending this is about teenagers, what teenagers drink wine?!) He also says “you weren’t mine to lose” meaning he knew he never really had her to begin with. “But do you remember? / Remember when I pulled up and said "Get in the car" / And then canceled my plans just in case you'd call? / Back when I was livin' for the hope of it all, for the hope of it all” Hmmm this definitely sounds like a callback to “Getaway Car” where Taylor sang “You were drivin' / The getaway car / We were flyin' / But we'd never get far” Was Tom the actual vehicle, THE getaway car for her to leave Calvin in? In “Getaway Car” she also mentions how she “switched to the other side”, potentially meaning she ultimately chose the other man, Joe. Taylor also alluded to a love triangle in that song with the lyrics, “But with three of us, honey, it's a side show / And a circus ain't a love story / And now we're both sorry”

“betty”

Ah, finally to betty - written from Joe’s perspective. It’s no coincidence that “William Bowery” is the unknown co-writer of this song. Joe’s grandfather’s name is William. Taylor and Joe separately attended a private Kings of Leon concert at the Bowery Hotel in October 2016. William Bowery = Joe Alwyn. Joe may have helped Taylor see things from his perspective and tapped into that while co-writing the song together. The perspective isn’t entirely perfect in this song, but it could be the narrator describing both sides of the story. The song starts by describing how “Betty” is hurt by something that the narrator did. “You heard the rumors from Inez / You can't believe a word she says / Most times, but this time it was true / The worst thing that I ever did / Was what I did to you” - This is where it gets interesting - if Joe is the narrator, that would imply he did something to hurt Taylor. Taylor has written a few times about how she may have been hurt by Joe at some point, or maybe implying how they hurt each other throughout their illicit affair. If this is written from Joe’s perspective, it implies he isn’t completely innocent in this love triangle. Of note, Taylor also mentions being hurt in “hoax” where she says “but what you did was just as dark” “But if I just showed up at your party / Would you have me? / Would you want me? / Would you tell me to go fuck myself? / Or lead me to the garden? / In the garden would you trust me / If I told you it was just a summer thing? / I'm only seventeen, I don't know anything / But I know I miss you” PAUSE. Cruel Summer also says, “I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you / And I, snuck in through the garden gate / Every night that summer just to seal my fate” Implying they were sneaking around that summer… in a garden. Maybe implying that her relationship with Tom was just a summer thing. Also of note, Taylor referred to herself as seventeen in the song “I Think He Knows”. The lyrics use the imagery of a high school dance to describe what we can only infer as Joe seeing Taylor from across the room dancing with Tom in the lines, “Your favorite song was playing / From the far side of the gym / I was nowhere to be found / I hate the crowds, you know that / Plus, I saw you dance with him” - further confirming Joe saw Taylor dancing with Tom at the Met Gala. The point of view gets blurry, but later in the the bridge it goes, “I was walking home on broken cobblestones / Just thinking of you / When she pulled up like / A figment of my worst intentions / She said "James, get in, let's drive" / Those days turned into nights / Slept next to her, but / I dreamt of you all summer long” This could be shifting to Taylor’s POV when she was leaving the Met Gala on “broken cobblestone” (imagery for a broken path.. Not knowing where she stands or what to do) when Tom slid in and said “let’s drive” (read: Getaway Car) and she didn’t intend for the night to go that way, but it did… and she ended up spending the summer with Tom, but thought of Joe all summer long.

In conclusion, we believe Taylor used this high school love triangle as a way to describe her love triangle with Tom and Joe in the summer of 2016. She mixed up characters and meshed some ideas, but ultimately the overarching theme is this:

Taylor is the perspective in “cardigan.” Knowing she would ultimately come back to Joe after she went off and had her fun.

Tom’s perspective in “august” is sad in a way. It’s in this song that he realizes Taylor was never his to lose, she always belonged to Joe.

Finally, Joe in “betty” admits the worst thing she ever did was what she did to Joe. Potentially they started off as friends as she sings “I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this,” in “Paper Rings” then Taylor was a little lost. She explored possibilities with Tom. She may have secretly still met with Joe on weekends and at night, leading him on. Ultimately, she makes her way back to Joe. She apologizes, and she realizes he’s been there all along and he’s the one for her.

She showed up at his party. And ya’ll, it looks like he forgave her.

Broken wings officially patched.

#@taylorswift #@taylornation #betty #august #cardigan #folklore #swifties #eastereggs #joealwyn #taylurking #lovetriangle #fantheory #tom hiddleston

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amydancepants-peralta · 5 years

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So here we have it - what happens when you get a Taylor Swift song stuck in your head and the rest of your brain is only mildly obsessed with Peraltiago. 🤦🏼‍♀️ I give you this ... a Jake & Amy/fwb fic based on the lyrics to Cruel Summer. ❤️🎶

it’s a cruel summer with you

The bar is noisy tonight, a rambunctious crowd of newly turned 21 year olds taking up court in the centre of the venue as they sing along loudly to a song she doesn’t know playing on the jukebox.

Amy slams another shot glass down on the bar, wincing as the strong liquor burns her throat along the way. She revels in the ache - it’s weak after all, compared to what her heart is feeling - and she looks up to watch her partner laugh along with their friends, blinking slowly as his mega-watt smile cuts through the crowd, hitting her square in the chest.

Her feet tap restlessly against the metal edges of the barstool, a dull clinking sound barely reaching her ears as she gestures to the bartender for another shot. She can hear more laughter coming from a booth to her right and she ducks her head until another glass is shoved in front of her, making quick work of the drink and looking up just as things begin to spin.

His eyes catch hers, and the tears begin to well up again. She can’t do this. Not tonight. Her head shakes, hands reaching blindly into her purse and shoving bills onto the bar before pushing herself away, unsteady feet carrying her far from everything with a surprising speed.

The air outside is warm, as it has been for months now, and she runs into the street with her arm raised high, hailing the first cab she sees. Through the intoxicated haze Amy swears she can hear her name being called out, and it’s a voice she knows (it’s a voice she loves), and for that reason alone she clambers into the car without a second thought, rattling out an address as the tears cascade down her face.

She had been crazy to think that this could ever be something casual.

Two months earlier …

Amy can feel his hand heavy on her back as she sits up slowly, fists clenching the sheets close to her body while she draws her knees up. The room is quiet, a heavy cloud of unspoken words hanging over them as they both fight to catch their breath.

Dropping her head she uses the length of her hair as a curtain, hiding her face behind it as she listens to Jake’s breathing start to regulate. There are a thousand things she wants to say, but in this moment she daren’t let herself speak.

“So … what is this, exactly?” His voice cuts through the silence, confusion clear in the tone.

Amy shakes her head, throwing in a shrug of her shoulders for good measure in case he missed the first response. His hand is still resting against her skin, the warmth of his fingertips searing through her muscle, and it slips slightly as her shoulder blades lift. He doesn’t readjust, and with a quick sniff she moves, scooting her body to the edge of the mattress and reaching for her shirt, thankfully one of the few items still within reach.

Once, is a mistake. Twice is a habit. Tonight makes three.

She knows his eyes are watching her move about the room, sliding on the pieces of underwear as she recovers them, and she’s careful to keep her face turned away. Jake has known her and worked with her for so long that she knows if she were to turn, he would read her like a book.

The next sentence takes a lot of courage. “How about we just stick to what you suggested last time?” She speaks to the wall, wrestling with the band around her wrist until her hair is up and away from her face. Buttoning her shirt carefully as her hands begin to shake. Putting on her best version of a relaxed face, she turns to face him. “No rules.”

He sits up, eyebrows raised in surprise. “No rules, Santiago?”

“Yeah. It’s cool.” The words feel foreign on her tongue. It’s not what she wants, but she knows it’s what he wants to hear.

He nods, dropping his gaze to the tangled mess of sheets surrounding him. “Yep. Cool. Keepin’ it light and breezy. Cool cool cool.”

It hadn’t even been a particularly special day the first time it happened. Just another Wednesday, except this Wednesday they were spending their night at Shaw’s celebrating because after three long months they had finally managed to catch their perp in the act, putting an end to his chain of felonies throughout the city. Impressed with their work, Holt had given them the following day off, and in hindsight they both should’ve headed straight home - they were exhausted, after all - but the fluorescent lights of the bar were beckoning and before they knew it there were five empty glasses on their table.

They had both been quick to blame the alcohol when they’d woken up the next morning, skin feeling cool against the sheets in the absence of clothing, confused eyes searching for answers amongst the trail of garments that led to Amy’s bedroom. It had been a stressful few months, and their inhibitions had been low, and it didn’t mean anything.

It was another two weeks before it happened again - the longest two weeks of her life, because for the first time in years she was avoiding her partner as much as humanly possible. And then a missing person’s case had turned into a manslaughter, and she’d been drowning her sorrows in their booth when he’d looked over at her, and next thing she knew her clothes were on his apartment floor and he was telling her that we should just keep this simple, no rules, just sex and in that moment she would have agreed to anything if it meant that he kept kissing her.

So now, as the afterglow of three begins to fade, she puts on a brave smile, shrugging her shoulders in what she prays looks like casual indifference, sliding her jeans back on while her eyes scour the floor for her purse. From the corner of her eye she can see him flop back onto the pillow beneath him, palms resting against his forehead as his fingers rake through his hair, and she wants it to be her hands running through them, like they were just a few minutes ago, but she can’t because he doesn’t want that at all, and so she grabs the strap of her purse, clearing her throat and calling out a farewell. The door is slamming closed behind her before she can hear his response.

He finally catches up to her in the break room two days later, both of them pretending that the distance between them hasn’t been deliberate.

She hears him before she sees him, body already stiffening as she listens to the tell-tale signs of sneakers scuffing across the tiled floor. Suddenly, she is incredibly invested in knowing the entire contents of the vending machine, eyes glued to the familiar reds and yellows of a Clark bar when he approaches.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

She winces slightly at the obvious hurt in his voice, and even though she can’t yet tear her eyes away from the machine, she shakes her head quickly. “No, not really. Work’s just been crazy lately.” It’s a lie, and a bad one at that, and she knows he can tell. She’s grateful when he doesn’t push it.

“Look, I just want to make sure after everything - ”

“It’s fine, Jake. Really.”

His hand rests along the top of the vending machine next to hers, and he releases a heavy sigh as her head turns curious towards his. The cheap bulbs behind the glass light up his features, the suitcases under his eyes growing obvious now that she’s really looking at him. A tiny pang runs through her heart that she could be the cause for any of his exhaustion and her hand clenches by her side, resisting the urge to reach up and rest a palm against his cheek.

“I just think … with the work we do, what we face every day, and let’s face it - my track record, keeping things casual is the best option.”

And she’s trying. She’s trying so very hard not to let him see how much this is killing her, how difficult it is to plaster on a smile and tell him that light and breezy is a great idea. That he is right, that trying to be more will only lead to disaster. It kills her that he already thinks he’s going to screw this up. She knows, she already knows, that if they ever did this for real, there’s no way he could ruin it.

But he doesn’t want it to be real; and while sporadic, these tiny fragile pockets of heaven were worth the wait, so she nods in agreement to everything he said. Friends, with benefits: the only rule being that there were no rules - no attachments, no feelings.

She’s at his apartment by the end of that very day, running hands over a body that is beginning to feel so familiar, so precious, and for the first time in her life, Amy begins to break the rules.

Like a sucker, Amy waits by her phone each nightfall, fingers hovering over the glass time and time again. Their arrangement has been working for close to a month now, so she should be confident enough to beckon him to her, but it’s been three days since she last saw him, and logically she knows that it was work that pulled him away, but also maybe he’s decided to move on. Maybe, he’s found somebody that makes him feel the way she feels whenever she looks at him.

All the words she wants to write sound desperate, because she is, still craving another fix of him, even though the week before had seemingly provided her fill. Nearly dropping her phone in shock when it vibrates against her skin, she’s quick to unlock the screen, heart jumping up to her throat as she races to her window, face cracking open with a giant smile when she sees him standing on the sidewalk. He’s here - everything she needs is waiting for her on the street below - and then she’s pressing the buzzer to release the front door and he’s here and her clothes are falling to the ground.

His kisses are different. Maybe it’s her, maybe she’s projecting, but his kisses feel different, like he’s a starving man in the desert and Amy’s a mirage he refuses to let disappear. She lets him drink her in, returning his touches with her own, and the couch cushions are soft underneath her bare skin and she has a newfound hatred for the word casual.

Jake doesn’t stay - they never do, an unspoken rule amongst the nonexistent - but he lingers, fingers gliding softly along her back and she closes her eyes, safe in the knowledge that he cannot see the look of contentment on her face. She wants him to stay, but cannot bring herself to say it, and eventually he moves, throwing a hand up in a casual wave as he leaves. It’s another few minutes before she hears his footsteps fade down the hallway, and the couch is cold without him there, but her bed is so large and empty and she can still smell his aftershave, so she drops her head back onto the throw cushion to breathe him in.

She waits until the sound disappears before letting her tears fall.

It’s been another month (making it three in total, not that she is keeping count), and they’ve almost got the whole thing down to an art.

There are signals and messages and systems set in place, and it rarely stretches past a day or two before one is reaching out to the other. The neighbourhood that separates their apartments holds home to a relatively well maintained park, and Amy has walked through it so many times that she’s begun to track the growth of the wildflowers, often stopping to admire the blooms along the way. Sessions between the sheets have extended to takeout dinners and the occasional Netflix session, but nothing ever builds past that, and it’s killing her slowly, but the alternative is far worse.

Today is Boyle’s birthday, and in true Charles fashion he’s thrown a party that promises endless drinks under only one proviso - that everyone turns up in costume. Despite their greatest of protests, the benefits had inevitably outweighed the costs, and one by one they filter into the apartment, each heading straight to the bar in a desperate need to forget what they are wearing and just have fun.

It isn’t long before the room is filled with a myriad of characters, faces unrecognisable behind masks, conversations fading into the background as the music grows louder and louder. Charles, in his element, flits between pockets of people, encouraging his guests to try the more obscure appetisers being passed around. Amy adjusts her outfit, a simple black and white dress covered in a crossword pattern, smiling at Terry as he describes at great length Cagney and Lacey’s recent ballet recital. It was the end of a long week, and if she hadn’t been surrounded by her friends she would have left hours ago.

At the back of the room she sees Rosa, smirking at the crowd surrounding her before rolling the dice for a game of Snake Eyes, the red sequinned horns of her devil costume barely peeking out from her mass of dark curls. She rolls a five, and Hitchcock cries out in victory, clearly unfamiliar with the concept of the game.

To the right of them, Jake stands tall, looking remarkably accurate as Robin Hood, plastic archery set still tied safely to his back. He’s laughing with a beautiful dark haired woman, who in a vague memory she thinks may be named Sophie, and the woman flips her hair and Amy’s eyes narrow. She knows that move. She’s made that move. This chick was getting her flirt on with Jake, and there was nothing that she could really do.

Her eyes narrow as she struggles to lip-read, trying and failing to seem casual about it all as she tunes out the sound of Terry’s voice. From beside her, the glittery halo attached to Gina’s head catches the light and her eyes roll, exasperation obvious as she turns back to Amy, muttering something about being ‘the worst kept secret’ and briefly Amy wonders if perhaps she and Jake haven’t been as covert as they’d thought. Not that she minds, really - she’d shout this all from the rooftops if she thought he would be okay with it.

And there are times when it feels like maybe he would be okay with something more than what they have now, when his hands linger more than normal over her skin, or his eyes hold her gaze for longer than a beat and she can almost swear that she can see feelings underneath it all.

But then he pulls back, and it’s another day or two before they’re back to old habits, and while she’s almost certain there hasn’t been anybody else there was always the threat of somebody, a somebody worthy of a title like girlfriend, and when she watches him talking to women like this (Sophia! That’s her name. Sophia) the danger of losing him becomes a little too real.

She excuses herself from the conversation under the guise of needing a refill, quickly downing the remaining contents of her cup as she heads towards the bar - an area that also happened to be conveniently near Jake and this Sophia. He breaks the conversation with her as Amy nears, and the other woman watches on before stepping back with a raised eyebrow.

“Found a new friend?” She tries to keep her tone light.

“She’s a D.A. I actually don’t even know how she got invited.” Jake answers quickly, reaching for the nearest bottle and pouring the contents in as he speaks. “We were talking about Boyle’s latest arrest.”

“The flasher?” He nods. “Well, I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure she wants to flash you.” The smile she wears is so forced, desperate to keep the tone light, knowing that one wrong move could bring this arrangement of theirs crashing down.

He doesn’t respond straight away, eyes staring at the bottles of liquor, the grip on his cup a little tighter the only giveaway that he’d heard her at all. And then he’s looking at her, a careful gaze that she doesn’t quite know what to do with, one that makes her feel entirely exposed. It feels like it stretches on forever, until finally he shakes his head - “Nah. She’s a D.A., Ames. That’s like … the closest thing to evil in our world. And besides, I -”

A cheer erupts from their left, snake eyes finally landing on the table, and Amy is grateful for the distraction as she lifts the red plastic cup to her lips. He moves a little closer, lowering his voice the way he does during other things and a tiny little tingle runs down her spine. “Meet me at mine in like … half an hour?"

Her teeth feel sharp against her lower lip, a surprising sensation that cuts through the alcoholic haze, and she nods quickly, ignoring the flush of red that washes over her cheeks.

He falls asleep before she’s even had the chance to leave, laying stomach-down on the mattress, one hand still resting against her abdomen while he snores softly. Revelling in the moment Amy follows the lightly coloured freckles on his skin, playing connect-the-dot along his arm until she reaches his hand, linking their fingers and trying so hard not to cry when his hand grips hers. She stays, longer than she probably should, but moments like this are what she craves the most, and even if it’s only an hour, it’s already better than she imagined.

When he opens his eyes again it is daylight, and Amy is long gone. She’s left a note on his bedside, neatly spaced out in her careful handwriting, and he reads it over and over but the message never changes. That she can’t do this, that it’s all become too much, and please don’t talk to her about it because she doesn’t think that she can.

And just like that, it was over.

Present day

The grass is surprisingly cool against Amy’s bare feet as she runs through the park, shoes gripped in one free hand while the other wipes tears away from her face.

She can hear Jake calling out her name from behind, but she just can’t bring herself to turn around. There’s a part of her that still isn’t sure how she got here in the first place, doesn’t understand why she gave the cab driver this address instead of her own. She should have just asked him to drive on, rising number on the meter be damned.

But she’d stepped out onto the sidewalk outside Jake’s apartment, and her eyes had still be trained on the window she knows to live just to the right of his bed when another taxi pulled up, and this time Jake got out, calling out her name as he slammed the car door behind him.

He had moved so quickly towards her that she hadn’t had a chance to prepare herself for his arrival, heart still pounding somewhere outside of her chest because not tonight, because in vino veritas, because all of the things she had been trying so desperately not to say were bubbling up inside of her, and she still isn’t sure just how she got here.

And then she was running. Turning on her heel and heading straight for the park she knew so well, ready to cover the same path she had taken almost every night this entire summer.

He’s faster than her, calling out her name as he follows, and not for the first time she’s resentful of her shorter legs. The grass spins, alcohol catching up to her mind and she slows, exhausted by the sprinting but more so because she’s tired of hiding, tired of pretending that everything is fine when it so clearly is not.

His breath is ragged and his hands are gripping his sides when he stops in front of her. His confusion is obvious, but more than anything he looks concerned and it’s enough to make her the tears start back up again. She pushes her head up towards the sky, unfocused eyes trying to make out the glittering dots as she blinks, a quiet sob escaping her throat.

“Ames?”

She doesn’t trust herself to speak.

“What the hell happened back there?” Her head shakes, shoes dropping to the grass with a soft thud so that she can cover her face with her hands.

“It doesn’t matter, Jake. It’s stupid, really.”

There’s a shocked tone to his voice. “Of course it matters, Ames.” It’s so sincere, so sweet the way he speaks to her, and she doesn’t want to love him but she really, really does. He clears his throat. “I know I haven’t spoken to you tonight, but you told me not to, and I wanted to show you that I respected your decision, even though I .. anyway. Next thing I know you’re running and you’re outside my place and I’m so confused-”

The words are bubbling up inside of her and it’s driving her insane, how quickly he makes her say all the things that she doesn’t want to say, and she snaps at him. “Just leave it, Jake.”

He matches her exasperation, raising his voice and it carries out over to the edges of the park. “You ended this!” She can hear the rustle of his jacket as he throw his hands to the side, and his persistence just frustrates her all the more. “Just …. tell me why you’re running, Amy!”

“I love you! Okay? I love you. You’re a pain in my ass sometimes, and you cannot clean to save yourself, but for whatever it’s worth, I love you.” She laughs, a short self-deprecating bark. “Ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard? But there it is. It’s true. I love you.”

She doesn’t want to look at him, terrified of what she’s certain will be a look of horror on his face. Damn the alcohol, and damn the feelings that had been building up and just had to explode here and now. Everything could have stayed just as they were, if she hadn’t opened her damn mouth.

But, the voices in her head reasoned, you didn’t want things to stay as they were.

“Ames.” His voice is soft again, but still so loud in this dark garden with only them around.

Her head stays low. “I know. We’re partners, and we both went into this knowing it couldn’t be anything. It doesn’t make sense to change things. And it was stupid of me to - ”

“Ames.”

Amy holds her breath, but raises her head anyway. Time to face the music.

His head is lowered, one hand resting along the back of his neck, and at her silence he looks up, and her heart may as well have stopped completely. He’s grinning. That devilish, incredibly handsome grin that has never failed to make her feel completely at home.

He’s grinning, and she can feel her defences start to kick in, but it’s not in a ‘I’m about to make fun of Santiago’ kind of way. He looks like a kid on Christmas Day, opening that one present that he knows will make the day amazing.

And then he speaks. He’s telling her about how long he’s been biting his tongue, his own declarations of love threatening to make an appearance so often that he’d begun to just stop speaking altogether unless he was certain the topic was safe.

That he dreamed about holding her hand as they walked down the street - about waking up and making breakfast together; of nights at home in their rattiest clothes, falling asleep on the couch while a terrible movie plays in the background. Nights that aren’t about sex, but just being near each other, knowing the other will still be there when the sun rises again.

His hand reaches out for hers, and she takes it without hesitation. She’s never been one to take risks, and certainly not to break the rules, but sometimes you just have to take a chance, and she would throw everything away in a second if she could just stay here in this moment. He tugs her forwards, lips landing on hers as his arms wrap around her so tight, and finally, everything is as it should be.

The sun is warm against her back when she wakes in the morning, his arms still wrapped around her and legs tangled together underneath the sheets. And they stay together through it all - while the leaves turn brown and begin to fall; as the days grow cool and everything is covered in a tiny white dust.

The park between their apartments blooms florals bright and strong with the coming of spring and they cross the grass together one last time, the final box of his possessions tucked under his arm as they head towards the home that was once hers but is now theirs. The memory of shouted drunken confessions pale to the feeling of his hand in hers and she smiles up at him, squeezing his fingers as they pass through the gate and already she is home.

Whatever came next summer, they would face it together.

#okay I don't know where that came from but I needed to write it #but I hope you all enjoy it #mine #myfic #b99 fanfic #b99 fanfics #peraltiago fanfiction #taylor swift fanfiction #brooklyn nine nine fanfic #fwb

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