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liberty-barnes · 2 years

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And They Lived Happily Ever After

Epilogue of the (Y/n) Lively-Reynolds series

Tom Holland x Singer/Actress!Lively-Reynolds!Reader

Summary: (Y/n) Lively-Reynolds and Tom Holland get their happily ever after. It goes about as well as you can imagine it.

Warnings: uuh the end there got a bit on the steamy side so just some nice like snogging and plenty mentions of honeymoon sex and nudity, but otherwise you’re good, switching POVs so you’ll get to see everyone appreciating their love, and you’ll get to see the ceremony from so many people’s eyes, including some you haven’t seen yet ;)

Word Count: 3.4k words

Estimated Reading Time: 15 minutes

A/N: I’m not crying, you’re crying, shut up. This is a really emotional moment for me. My second series is finally over!! I started this accidentally, and it took me ages to finish, but I don’t regret a single second of it. It brought me so much happiness, and I loved reading your thoughts and comments as time went on. I only hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did <3 Just wanna send a million thank you’s to @the-girl-in-the-chair for being my test person and the one I could always talk to when it comes to this series, I love you so much Lana, you’re the beeest

I was picturing this dress (mostly cause it has pocketssss) so if you want a visual, here you go)

Also very important: the vows in this were inspired by the PA Series on AO3 and honestly check it out cause it’s just awesome and those are my relationship goals right there

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

“Alright, sweetheart, deep breaths, everything’s gonna be alright.”

She follows her mother’s instructions, taking in shaky gulps of air.

Breathe in, two, three, four.

Hold, two, three, four.

Breathe out, two, three, four.

Hold, two, three, four.

“Feeling better?”

She nods slowly, then immediately shakes her head.

“No, this is a disaster!”

Blake finally gives up on keeping her dress unwrinkled, sitting down on the floor next to her.

“Angel, everything’s gonna be alright, I don’t even know why you’re freaking out so much. You’re marrying your best friend. You two love each other so much, and you’re gonna be so happy, there’s nothing to worry about.”

She sniffles.

“But there are so many people, Mommy. And they’re all gonna be looking at me. You know I’m not good at the mushy stuff when I have eyes on me, they make me nervous. This is supposed to be perfect, and instead, we had to invite a hoard of insignificant Suits and entitled bitches, all for business. We already give them so much, why couldn’t we just keep this to ourselves?”

She sighs, and brings her daughter closer to her body, crushing her in a hug.

“Cause the world sucks, and it’s all part of the business. You and Tom have been on a break from acting for three months now, and you’ll stay there for another year at the very least. These Suits like to feel like they’re important, and inviting them to events like these keeps up a good relationship for when you come back.

“Besides, who cares about them? You’ll have to shake their hands once at the reception when you’re making your rounds and then it’s over. Don’t let a handful of idiots ruin the best day of your life.”

(Y/n) nods, gently wiping at her eyes, then crawls until she’s in front of the mirror.

“Well, at least we know the waterproof makeup works.”

Blake just smiles.

—

When Ryan first sees (Y/n) he has to pinch his thigh to keep himself from outright sobbing.

“Hey, no! No, no, no, you’re not allowed to cry, because if you cry, I cry, and if I cry, I’ll trip on my dress. These heels are tall, keep yourself together for both our sakes.”

It’s hard, it’s very hard, that’s his little girl, his sweet little daffodil, and she’s gonna sail off into the sunset with the love of her life.

“Alright, let’s do this shit. Try not to fall.”

He’s glad to see that Tom starts crying the second he sees her, so really it isn’t emotional weakness as much as it is the (Y/n) In A Wedding Dress Effect™.

(Y/n) manages to stay composed the whole walk, although her eyes are shining quite a lot.

“Thomas, if you hurt her, I will do something so unspeakably cruel to you that Satan himself will shudder.”

Tom looks at him with a face full of betrayal.

“What if she hurts me?”

“Oh, she most certainly will, you’re much more emotionally fragile than she is. That’s why I know that if you hurt her, it’ll be over something big, and therefore I’m legally allowed to fuck you up.”

(Y/n) kisses his cheek happily.

“Thank you, Daddy, the shovel talk was long overdue.”

It was actually part two of the shovel talk: wedding edition, but she doesn’t need to know that.

—

Taylor reaches into her purse and passes Harry a tissue, eyes still focused on the happy couple in the front.

This is it, right here.

The way (Y/n)’s looking at Tom like he’s the second coming of Christ. Tom rubbing his thumbs on her hands cause he just can’t stop touching her. The way they keep tapping each other three times, an endless loop of I love you I love you I love you.

This is what she’s been trying so hard to describe her whole life.

It gets her a little emotional…to remember the little girl who used to gape at her, and who’s now a badass independent woman marrying the person of her dreams.

It’s a lot.

And if she feels like she’s one strong gust of wind away from an emotional breakdown, she can’t even imagine how Blake and Ryan are faring.

“I understand that you’ve written your own vows. Tom, if you’d like to go first…”

He nods and clears his throat, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants before grabbing (Y/n)’s again.

“Do you remember the night we met? When you were crying over a movie and I took you to Burger King to cheer you up?”

She rolls her eyes and Taylor can relate, honestly. The whole world knows that story at this point.

“Vividly.”

He smiles so softly that Taylor’s itching to pull out her notebook and start writing.

“I’ve never told you how I fell in love with you. I always told myself I’d tell you the story in our wedding vows, so here it is. From the moment we left the afterparty, you kept ranting about the movie, about how it’s gonna end, about your theories… And I loved listening to them. There was one moment though, where you just took a huge bite out of your cheeseburger, while mid-rant… and on everyone else, that would’ve looked disgusting, but your eyes were shining so bright, and you were giving me your full attention and that…that was when I knew I loved you. And I would keep loving you for the rest of my life, 'cause there’s no one else in the world who could pull me in as completely as you do, even though there was ketchup dripping down your chin.”

(Y/n) blinks back tears, eyes wide.

“Oh, you fucker.”

That’s love, Taylor’s sure of it.

—

Now, to be perfectly honest, Harrison thinks those vows were shit.

Seriously?

You looked disgusting but I still thought you were hot?

That’s his big wedding speech?

As the good Best Man he is, he’s considering smacking Tom upside the head and making him start over.

He’s not expecting (Y/n) to like it to the point of tears, though.

Like, I’m sorry, but what the fuck?

He’s lucky he’s an actor cause no ordinary person would’ve been able to keep the confusion out of their face, and you don’t want a hoard of confused people on your wedding pictures.

(Y/n)’s turn now, and hopefully, she’ll do better.

“I promise that your ability to cook, clean, and remind me to eat only make up sixty per cent of why I’m marrying you.”

Harrison has to fight back the urge to sigh and facepalm.

“I wasn’t planning on liking you, let alone falling as deeply in love with you as I did. My plan was to hate you, make all my fans hate you, and do it fast enough that Marvel would have no choice but to replace you with Andrew again.”

From the audience, Andrew laughs.

“But unfortunately for me, you’re not easy to hate, and let me tell you, I tried really hard. You slithered your way into my heart like a particularly stubborn snake and I had no choice but to let you carve out your home within me and prepare myself for the inevitable heartbreak.

“That still hasn’t happened. For some reason, you’ve chosen to ignore the fact that I’m a barely-functioning sarcastic bitch whose favourite way of showing love is through insults and slaps on the ass.

“I don’t know why you chose me, and I expect I’ll be thanking every deity out there for the rest of eternity for putting you in my life, but I know that I couldn’t have chosen a better partner if I had tried.”

She pauses, and Harrison thinks that maybe, just maybe, at least one of them will have said nice vows.

“Also there’s no way I’m gonna live in a world where I can’t bite your ass on the daily, so you better say I do or I’ll end you.”

And he spoke too soon.

Tom still reaches behind him to grab the tissues Harrison was told to bring. Maybe his best friend was dropped on the head as a child, so now everything makes him emotional.

—

Nikki keeps her eyes firmly on her son and daughter-in-law as they flit around the room greeting their guests. She and Blake have made it into a game of sorts.

Every time (Y/n) wipes her hands on her dress after shaking hands with a Suit, Tom pulls her back by the waist, or the happy couple are asked to kiss, they take a sip of the very expensive and very tasty red wine provided for them.

The sound of clinking glasses feels the air once again and Blake tilts her glass.

“Bottoms up!”

And that’s one more glass finished. How far along are they now? Five? Six? She looks around at the empty bottles. Maybe a little bit more.

“Oh, my God, I’m so glad it’s over if I had to deal with another second of that, this wedding would have turned into a remake of Saw!”

(Y/n) slumps down heavily onto the chair, toeing off her heels until she can bring her knees to her chest and lean on the backrest.

“Why did we have to have a wedding? We should’ve just eloped. It would just be us, maybe I’d fly us out to Iceland and we could get married in a hot spring, I’m sure the water would do wonders to relax us, no?”

Nikki fills up her glass and hands it to (Y/n), who immediately downs it.

“Look on the bright side, tomorrow morning, you’ll be on a flight to Syros and one step closer to a full month spent only with your husband and the inordinate amount of cats on that island.”

Nikki’s been there. It’s amazing. They should plan a family holiday there.

“I agree.”

Oh, she’s talking out loud now.

“Yes, you are. But Nikki!”

(Y/n)’s eyes brighten, and she feels her arm get grabbed and pulled towards her brand new daughter-in-law.

“You said husband. I have a husband, I’m married!”

Yes, if someone had to marry her sweet little boy, she’s glad it was someone like (Y/n).

—

“And now, please gather around to watch Mr and Mrs Holland have their first dance as a married couple.”

While they get into place, Harry shares a look with his own husband, sitting primly at the piano, staring back at him.

When (Y/n) and Tom first came to them, shily asking them to sing If I Could Fly as their wedding song, Harry burst into tears. He just loves love, and to be a part of something as monumental as a first dance-

He really should have said no cause Louis just started playing and Harry’s already having a hard time holding back tears.

But the way Tom and (Y/n) stare at each other- that’s how he stares at Louis. And it’s the look he sees reflected back in his husband’s eyes every second of the day.

Love is just such a beautiful thing.

For your eyes only I’ll show you my heartFor when you’re lonely and forget who you areI’m missing half of me when we’re apartNow you know me, for your eyes only

He feels privileged to even be in the same room as them. It’s no secret that (Y/n)’s fiercely private. She loves, deeply and wholeheartedly, but not for others to see. She loves each person in their own special way, pieces of her heart are cut, shaped, and fitted to fit her feelings for everyone around her. But her love for Tom as it’s shown today is a sight to behold.

It’s the sun after long dreary weeks. It’s the first flower bloom after months of cold, harsh weather. It’s seeing the stars out in the countryside after a life spent in the city.

It’s fragile. It’s new. It’s special. It’s lovely.

Harry loves love, but he thinks that right now, he may love their love the most.

—

Georgia takes yet another sip of the very expensive but very tasty champagne offered.

To be honest, she didn’t want to come. Weddings are boring, if not for the open bar, and knowing that she isn’t really welcomed here isn’t making her feel particularly better. I mean, she’s met (Y/n) all of once and they mostly trash-talked the Kardashians, she can’t have made an important enough impression to be an esteemed guest.

But, the Lighthavens are an important family in the film industry, earning them an invite to the most awaited event of the year, and it would look bad if someone didn’t show up to represent them.

Still, being twenty-seven and single, there are many things she’d rather do than sit by the open bar getting smothered by other couples’ happiness while she wallows in her own misery.

“Whiskey sour, please.”

He turns towards her.

“And refill the kind lady’s glass.”

Oh, goodie.

She barely spares him a glance, eyes still focused on (Y/n), flitting around the room.

“Enjoying the wedding?”

She shrugs.

“It’s entertaining.”

He puts a hand on his heart in fake offence.

“Ouch. As the Best Man, it’s my job to ensure everyone’s having the time of their lives, so tell me, what can I do to make this night more enjoyable for you?”

She turns towards him, taking in the ruffled blonde hair, white shirt sleeves folded up to his forearms, vest and tie discarded somewhere.

“Actually, your job is to stop any upcoming crisis so the groom doesn’t get blamed and inevitably murdered by his newly-aquired wife.”

She steals the whiskey from his hand and starts drinking it. He blinks dazedly but dutifully orders another.

“Your unhappiness could quickly become a crisis, though. As much as she hates to admit it, (Y/n) doesn’t like it when people are miserable, especially when she’s having so much fun.”

She sighs.

“Do you know who I am?”

Panic shoots through Harrison’s eyes. It’s fleeting, and it’s subtle, but it’s real.

“Am I supposed to?”

Interesting.

“You’re telling the truth.”

He shrugs.

“(Y/n)’s motivated me to be more honest, although I can’t quite see the benefits she’s always raved about as of yet.”

She smirks into her glass.

“You genuinely have no idea who I am.”

A single mention of him from her lips and his acting career would shoot through the roof.

“I’m sorry. Although from how happy you look, maybe I’m not?”

“What’s it gonna be?”

He’s saved by the bell.

“All the unmarried people out on the floor I wanna see which unlucky bastard will have all grandmas pinching their cheeks and cooing cause they're next.”

A collective groan was heard throughout the crowd.

“If it helps, there’s a hundred-dollar bill in the bouquet that you can keep.”

That got people moving.

Harrison takes a look at her ring finger.

“Not gonna join?”

“If you out me as single, I’ll end you, there’s no way I’m doing this.”

He shrugs.

“Suit yourself. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve broken whatever fight will undoubtedly come from this bouquet tossing.”

He stands on the sideline, ready to stop things from escalating.

The bouquet lands in his hands.

(Y/n) squeals.

“Oh, fuck yeah! Even with my back turned my aim is impeccable.”

Tom pushes him forward when Harrison’s reluctant to move and whispers something in his ear.

Georgia doesn’t break eye contact while he walks towards her and takes a lavender rose out of the bouquet.

“Here. It matches your dress.”

Alright so maybe weddings aren’t that bad.

—

It’s a testament to his patience that Tom waited until the hotel door is closed before pressing (Y/n) up against the wall and getting started on his Wedding Night Ravishing.

“Fuck, I can’t believe we actually pulled it off.”

She mumbles through their kisses and to be fair, he kind of can’t either.

“I swear to God- we got him the perfect fucking girl- if he doesn’t invite Georgia on a date- fuck, baby- I’ll kill him myself.”

He starts trailing kisses down her neck, slowly unzipping her wedding dress.

It’s pretty, and it’s special, and it has pockets, he’s not gonna rip it, thank you very much, he wants to have ‘just got married’ sex tonight.

“Georgia’s a tough one to get to, you said it yourself. He’ll have to work for it.”

She pulls his hair harshly until they’re eye to eye and he moans. His pupils are probably about as blown as hers right about now.

“You had to work for me.”

He licks his lips and her eyes trail on the movement, mouth falling open unconsciously.

“And what a good fucking decision that was.”

And if there’s one thing that never fails to get her going, it’s that.

“How loud do you think you can make me scream before the other residents complain?”

Challenge fucking accepted.

—

(Y/n) lowers her sunglasses a tad, wanting to take in her husband in all his blazing glory, no filter in between them.

Whoever invented honeymoons was a fucking saint. One month of a near-constantly naked Tom more than eager to fuck her into the nearest solid surface made for a very happy (Y/n).

Currently, she’s sunbathing on a pool chair with a mimosa while Tom is swimming laps in the pool. Or was. Now he’s getting out and the water’s trailing down every single inch of him and suddenly she’s not as thirsty for champagne and orange juice-

“Princess, are you listening?”

Her eyes flit back up to his face.

“Don’t ask me the colour of anything, this isn’t fair, you’re distracting.”

He chuckles and climbs over her, tasting the mimosas right out of her mouth.

“I’m distracting? You’re distracting! Do you know how hard it was to swim my usual laps while you’re just laying here, happy and calm and naked and mine?”

She grins smugly.

“I can feel how hard it was, yeah. I’d ask if you’re up for it, but I kind of already got that answer, so you should just hurry and get it in.”

For a few more glorious seconds, she gets lost in the kiss and in his hands moving along her body, getting so close, so close-

“No, but actually I did get out of the pool for a reason.”

In the back of her mind, she remembers Harry in that one concert saying this is called edging after stopping Kiwi for the millionth time, and the way Tom grabbed her waist and pulled her towards him, smiling in interest.

If she weren’t such a good person, she would have kicked him in the balls for that.

Unfortunately, she needs those, so.

“Haz got a date with Georgia.”

Her jaw drops open and she slaps his arm happily.

“What the fuck, are you serious? Tom! This means it worked! We got them together! We’re the best fucking matchmakers in the world!”

Tom chuckles and flips them over until she’s straddling him, running his hands from her knees to her waist, where they dig in just a little.

Great idea, if you ask her.

“Calm down, darling, it’s just one date.”

She hums.

“That’s what I said about you, and now look at where we are. We’re married and on our honeymoon.”

His eyes all but sparkle at that.

“We are. We’re married. I’m your husband, and you’re my wife, and we’re married.”

She leans down, can’t stop herself from snogging his face off when he looks so sweet and happy at the prospect of spending eternity by her side.

“And we’re gonna live happily ever after, right?”

“And we’re gonna live happily ever after, princess.”

---

please do come talk to me about this series. comment, reblog, send in an ask, literally anything, can just be a gif of someone screaming, just ACKNOWLEDGE IT SO I KNOW IT WASN'T IN VAIN

#libby writes #tynlrs #the (y/n) lively reynolds series #tom holland #louis tomlinson #harry styles #larry #marvel #blake lively #ryan reynolds #taylor swift #nikki holland #singer!reader #actress!reader #harrison osterfield #tom holland x reader #harrison osterfield x oc #lively reynolds!reader

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alicent-targaryen · 1 year

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RED RIDING HOOD!WANDA x WOLF!PIETRO aesthetic board

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softspaceboibrian · 2 years

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softspaceboibrian MASTERLIST

hello, lovelies! this is everything I've ever published here on tumblr, or at least it should be. enjoy! <3

Ted Lasso

Jamie Tartt

The Heart Wants What It Wants

Fell in Love with the Fire Long Ago || A Jamie Tartt Story

Prologue

Chapter 1

Stranger Things

Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy || Eddie Munson I have a taglist for this, so if you would like to be added, please let me know!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

more to come....

Marvel

Eternals

He would never admit it || Druig

X-Men

Nightmares || Warren Worthington III (Angel)

You Over Everything Else || Warren Worthington III (Angel)

Queen & Bohemian Rhapsody cast

Journeys End in Lovers Meeting (Professor!Gwilym Lee x student)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Kisses Series

Gwilym Lee: Unspoken Feelings

Ben Hardy: A Goddess Among Men

John Deacon: Reading Session

Ben Hardy

My Girl

Long Enough

Private After After Party (smut)

Golden Slumber

One More Present

Wouldn’t Have It Any Other Way

With A Little Help From My Friends

Gwilym Lee

Roll With It

The Rest of My Life

Roger Taylor

Bad Habit (song fic)

Rog and the Flying TVs

Our Castle

Brian May

You Need to Relax (smut)

Headcanons

Valentine’s day

Imagine being the daughter of a Queen member

BoRhap boys’ as dads

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lovepollution · 6 months

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youtube

Girl, help, I'm getting ideas about writing a fic based around 'Exile' where Joel meets Lenny for the first time and finding out he's dating Midge. 😩

But it'd be so fun! And I really do love writing Joel in his true state: a bitter, annoying asshole.

#midgelenny #midgelenny fan fiction #midge x lenny #lenny x midge #the marvelous mrs. maisel #i'm trying to write a thing #taylor swift exile #exile #taylor swift #taylor swift songs #Youtube

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yelenabemylova · 1 year

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hi! welcome to my blog :) 🍉

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ana. they/she. writer. swiftie. sapphic. ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ masterlist ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ my tags:

-> ybml talks: random rambles

-> ybml writes: my fics/drabbles etc

-> ybml vents: silly little rants

-> ybml answers: responding to asks

-> holly <3: posts about my wonderful

girlfriend @enjoy-the-butterflies ࿐ྂ

. . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ about me ࿐ྂ

🩷general interests: sitcoms. formula one. jigsaw puzzles. guitar. gaming. women. hay day. armchair expert. writing. reading. travel. procrastinating.

📺tv shows: grey's anatomy. station 19. modern family. dickinson. bridgerton. derry girls. gilmore girls. agent carter. new girl. parks and recreation. stranger things. the good place. wandavision. the walking dead. the big bang theory. the office. community.

🎥films: glass onion. black widow. captain marvel/the marvels. deadpool. pitch perfect. mamma mia. a simple favor. frozen. barbie. mean girls.

🎤celebrities: taylor swift. blake lively. blake lively's husband. jodie comer. florence pugh. elizabeth olsen. scarlett johansson. brie larson. kristen bell. hailee steinfeld. cobie smulders. suki waterhouse. charles leclerc. reneè rapp.

#pinned post #ybml talks #ybml vents #ybml answers #ybml writes #taylor swift #marvel #sitcoms #etc #please feel free to talk to me in my inbox #especially about the things mentioned #<33

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sesamestreep · 9 months

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Jyn/Cassian, 14

14. All my days, I’ll know your face. (from this prompt list) cross-posted to ao3 here, with content warnings and tags galore, since this one gets a little heavy... It's a Cloak & Dagger AU, it's for Zainab's birthday, it's almost a year since she sent me this prompt, just go with it! If you want to know what you're getting into beforehand, read it on AO3, please! Much love and happy belated birth to you, @firstelevens, you are theeeee best!

xvii. the moon

Jyn wakes up from the dream again. The one where she’s drowning. She’s ten years old, still wearing her clothes from ballet class, sitting in the back of her father’s car, which hass just gone off the side of the bridge into the water and it’s starting to sink. Her father is already dead in the driver’s seat and she’s never been able to tell if that’s a mercy or not, that the dream doesn’t even allow her the fictional opportunity to save him. It always starts with them already in the water. And then it ends with the same fade to darkness as a hand reaches out and pulls her to safety.

It’s a dream, of course, but it’s also a memory. One largely influenced by her childhood imagination and fears and flights of fancy and therefore pretty untrustworthy, as far as she’s concerned, but a memory nonetheless. She and her father did get in a car accident, one where he died and she survived. The rest probably doesn’t matter much, she tells herself as the gurgling waters of her dream melt into the sounds of her alarm and she finally, fully wakes.

She nearly smacks her phone off the crate she’s using as a makeshift nightstand in her hurry to get rid of the noise. She would never have set the damn thing to “relaxing” babbling brook sounds knowingly. She’s not fond of water and doesn’t find its noises soothing, for obvious reasons. She’d rather wake up to the most obnoxious beeping known to man than this shit. No wonder she’s having nightmares.

She grumbles as she rolls herself over in the sleeping bag she’s using in lieu of an actual bed while she stays here. According to the signage posted out front, this building is technically condemned, but it suits her purposes just fine. She is always welcome at her mother’s house, or so her mother says, but being welcome somewhere isn’t the same as being at home, she’s realized. Staying with her mother means supporting her mother’s bullshit, and dealing with her disappointment, and putting up with her questions. It’s better for everyone if Jyn lives on her own, even if it’s in a condemned shithole like this place. What little of its original architecture that remains suggests it used to be a church, which is pretty bleak, but the price (free of charge) is right, so she pretends not to care.

She might start giving up these afternoon naps, if she’s just going to have bad dreams all the time. They’re supposed to help her so she can stay up late and work and make more money—maybe even enough to afford a real apartment with an actual shower—but lately they’ve been leaving her more drained than if she hadn’t even slept. She’s got to get ready now—the idiot rich kids going out on the town tonight aren’t going to rob themselves, after all—but she can’t bring herself to move. It’s only when she realizes that going back to sleep might put her back in that sinking car that she manages to convince herself to get up.

vii. the chariot

Cassian stares at the ceiling of his childhood (and current) bedroom and thinks, not for the first time, of how they missed a few glow-in-the-dark stars when he decided such things were for babies and told Maarva they could take them down. She’d hidden her expression of disappointment under something more bright-eyed and understanding quickly but not fast enough that a twelve year old Cassian hadn’t seen it. Before he could take it back, she was already moving briskly to get the step ladder. That’s how Maarva handled everything after his father’s death: briskly and head on. Even when she hated what she was doing. Every challenge in life was like getting a shot at the doctor’s office: just a quick pinch and then it’s over.

It’s that kind of attitude, he knows, that’s made her so successful and transformed her into a sort of pillar of the community. She started as a member of a variety of citizen’s action groups and a leader for the local chapter of NOW and then moved her way up up to a seat on the city council. Cassian admires her for that, the way she’s turned grief into purpose, but he’s always felt less adept at it than she is. Sometimes he’s consumed with guilt that his grief has mostly just stayed as grief. He knows he could be doing more, and he knows she wishes he was too. It’s a lot to bear. It’s a lot of emotion for a couple of glow-in-the-dark stars.

He decides to get out of bed and do something with his day rather than sit here and contemplate any of this further. Downstairs in the kitchen, he 's alone just long enough to pour himself a glass of orange juice before Maarva appears with her phone pressed to her ear. She kisses him on the cheek as she goes by and Cassian hears hold music on the other end of her call, which means he's in for it.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks pleasantly as she moves to pour herself some coffee.

"Well enough," he replies, because anything else will be met with a deluge of concern that he doesn't want right now. He leaves out the part where he dreamed about the night Clem died—the one where Cassian himself almost drowned—again. He'd gone years without having that dream, to the point that he'd thought himself past it, only to have them come back with a vengeance when he moved home again after graduation. The superstitious part of him wants to blame New Orleans, with all of its supposed mystical powers, but rationally he knows it's just being back at home with reminders of his father everywhere. He didn't have this problem at school in New York, but he'd made the choice to come back and this is the cost of that decision.

Maarva nods approvingly and takes a sip of her coffee. "I assume that means you'll be working on internship applications today."

Cassian sighs. He has only been done with his summer internship at the state house in Baton Rouge for a few weeks and his mother has been on his case about what's next since the moment he got home from his last day. "I'm trying, Ma, honestly, but nagging isn't going to make an opportunity instantly materialize. You know that."

"Neither will loafing around the house," she counters. "When you decided to take a year off between college and law school, you promised it wasn't an excuse to sit around and do nothing. I just want to be sure you're keeping up your end of the bargain."

Cassian knows a lot of parents who would have been thrilled to have their kids choose to come home right after college, but ever since he was young, the plan for him was that he'd get into a good college—Ivy League, preferably, which he'd managed—and then he'd go straight to law school and follow in his mother's footsteps to a career in politics. She'd always instilled in him that it was his responsibility to help make the world a better place. And after everything that had happened with Clem, it was the only path that made any sense. But his senior year at Columbia, after spending months studying for the LSAT, he'd found himself unable to go through with the exam. The idea of law school started to fill him with dread and he'd begun to miss deadlines. Eventually, he'd been forced to tell Maarva the truth—or, at least, part of it. He said that he wanted to take a gap year to volunteer and do internships to gain practical experience and figure out what kind of law he was most interested in. She'd taken the news better than he expected, but still with the vague attitude that he was only delaying the inevitable, which, in Maarva's world, always meant agreeing with her. She still fully anticipated he'd come to his senses and follow her into politics at the end of all this. And maybe he would, but he'd like to decide something—anything—for himself, for once. He told himself over and over that this was the point of the gap year, but in his heart, he wasn't truly convinced and clearly neither was Maarva.

"Yes, I promise," Cassian says, wearily. "I'll get some applications submitted before I go out tonight."

"What's tonight?"

He hesitates before answering but he doesn't love lying to his mother, so he prepares himself for an argument. "Bix invited me to a party that some friend of hers is throwing and I promised I'd go."

Maarva looks displeased, as expected. "Is that really the best use of your time?"

"If I get my work done today then, yes," he replies. "It's a Friday night. No one's going to be reading my applications after business hours anyway."

"You're not taking up with that crowd again, are you?"

"If by 'that crowd', you mean my friends from high school, then yes," Cassian says. "They've been giving me grief for being home all summer and working only an hour away and still never seeing them. They're going to be insulted if I don't go."

"That girl's a bad influence," Maarva says, shaking her head.

"And yet she's the only person you trust when your car starts making that weird noise," Cassian points out, rolling his eyes.

"She's a wonderful mechanic, I will give her that. But I never liked you dating her."

"We've been broken up for four years now! You don't have to worry about that anymore."

His mother raises an eyebrow at him. "You're sure about that?"

He groans in frustration. "Yes, I'm sure. Bix and I are just friends these days. And if I want to keep her—as a friend—I can't keep bailing on plans with her. Besides, didn't you raise me to be a man who honors his promises?"

Maarva smiles, reluctantly. "That is an ambitious argument for going to drink cheap beer in someone's basement ."

"You're the one who wants me to become a lawyer," he says. "Arguing is a pretty important part of the job, as I understand it. Besides, I think the party is in someone's backyard, not their basement."

"Good to see that Pre-Law program wasn't for nothing, " Maarva remarks, amused.

"You could also try to remember that I'm a responsible adult and you trust me," Cassian says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That is true," she says, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "But it is my job to worry about you, as your mother."

"I understand that, but we've talked about reining in your expectations for me a little."

Maarva looks like she wants to argue with that, but a soft, tinny voice comes through the speaker of her phone, demanding her attention once more. "Yes, I'm still here," she says, to the person on the other end of the call. "Actually, give me one moment," she adds, putting her hand over the speaker. "Whatever you end up doing, don't drive home if you drink."

Cassian suppresses another eye roll. "Obviously not. Give me some credit, please!"

"Fine, then. Oh, and be sure to reply to your mother's email sometime today. She sent us that nice picture of Kerri at the state championships, remember?"

"I replied last night," he replies, exasperated. "Go back to your call."

Maarva nods, then, and gives him another kiss on the head before wandering off. Before she's even out of the room, she is already deep in some important conversation with the person on the other end of the phone, like nothing had interrupted her in the first place, and Cassian is left to finish his orange juice in relative peace.

i. the magician

The crowd at the club tonight is decidedly lackluster in Jyn's professional opinion. There's not enough trust fund kids partying alone for her usual grift and for whatever reason, any viable targets are looking right past her. She might as well be invisible. If she wasn't already planning on returning this dress (the tags are still on and tucked away so no one will notice them), she'd definitely be considering it now. It's clearly not doing her any favors.

Maybe she's just not in the right mood for this tonight. Her mark from last night had been a piece of work and said several vile things to her before the sedative she'd slipped into his drink took effect. Then again, she had turned around and robbed him of most of his valuables after that, so maybe they were even. If she didn’t need the money, she’d already be on her way home, but most of the things she fenced from last night didn’t net her much profit, so she’s got to find a way to turn this around.

At the exact moment she’s beginning to despair of her prospects, her phone lights up with a text from Bodhi.

wyd?

Bodhi works security at one of her usual nightclubs and she’d much rather be there tonight, except it’s his night off so there’s no one to get her on the list without paying the cover charge. This place is her second choice—one of the bouncers accepts the adderall that she liberates from her marks as payment—so she’s happy to hear from Bodhi instead.

at the second best club in NOLA rn, hbu?

Bodhi responds with a pinned location. It’s in the middle of the woods on the other side of town. Friend of a friend of a friend is throwing a party out here. Take a night off playing Artful Dodger and come hang...

can’t take a night off, but I’ll come steal where you are, if it’s all the same

just don’t get caught, okay? I can’t keep hooking you up if people catch on

be there soon

Jyn’s phone dings with a thumbs up from Bodhi as she finishes her drink and heads for the exit. At the coat check, she makes a fuss that her number wasn’t put on the correct hanger and leaves with a more expensive jacket than she came in wearing.

x. the wheel of fortune

Cassian takes a sip of his beer and surveys the scene in front of him. The party turned out to be less of a backyard affair than a middle of the woods rager, which is a piece of information he's absolutely not going to volunteer to Maarva later. There's a large bonfire in the middle of the area the hosts (whom he still hasn't met) cleared for the party and then a spot not far off where someone's pickup truck is parked with a keg in the bed. Cassian is probably done after this drink because four years of college parties didn't cure him of his anxiety about getting caught drinking by his mother, even if it is entirely legal for him to do now, but most of the people here do not have his qualms. The guy manning the keg is keeping very busy and, since they're charging for drinks, he's also flush with cash.

On the other side of the bonfire, he can see Bix animatedly telling a story to their friend Xan and a guy from the body shop Cassian's never been formally introduced to. He's glad he came out tonight, even if all it accomplishes is getting his friends off his case. Still, he can't help feeling like he shouldn't be here. Maarva is right that he needs to stay focused on his future. Meanwhile, his friends that stayed in New Orleans together while he was away at school have bonded and put down roots in a way that makes him feel like an intruder.

It's while he's having these morose thoughts that a drunk girl collides with him and drenches him in beer, which is probably what he deserves for being so somber at a fucking party.

"Woah, sorry," she says, stumbling to a stop. "Shit, I really soaked your jacket, didn't I?"

"It's fine," Cassian says, wiping at his jacket with his hands rather ineffectually.

"No, that was super uncool," she replies and even standing completely still, she looks unsteady on her feet. She reaches out to swat at the stained fabric with her hand uselessly before she seems to catch on that it won't accomplish anything and pulls off her knit beanie instead. "This...isn't actually helping, is it?"

He laughs, unexpectedly. "Not really, no. But it's fine."

"I'm so sorry," she says, miserably, as she continues to try to soak up the beer with her hat. "I'm really not this much of a klutz normally."

"Not your first stop of the night, I'm guessing?"

She groans. "I don't look that wasted, do I?"

Cassian tips his head to the side, trying to equivocate, but it's a hard thing to walk back now. "Well, it's partially that and also you're a little overdressed for this party."

The girl looks down at herself like she forgot what she was wearing: a simple but tight black dress and heels that would do better on a dance floor than in the woods and a trendy, expensive looking jacket. He realizes, a little belatedly, that she's pretty, which is something he's going to have to ignore considering how over-served she is. Still, even in the half light of the bonfire, her eyes capture his attention.

"You got me there," she says, rolling her beautiful eyes like they're in on the same joke. “I had to put in appearance at my stupid cousin's twenty-first, which she just had to have at some bougie club with loud, shitty music and expensive drinks. But this was where I really wanted to be all along."

That last part was said flirtatiously enough that Cassian's entire train of thought slams to a halt. The effort of getting through college in one piece and with a GPA that could get him into a good law school had clearly done a number on his social skills, because high school Cassian would have been able to knock a serve that easy back over the net with little trouble and now he was just staring blankly at this beautiful woman. He tells himself that it's her state of inebriation that gives him pause and not an utter lack of game on his part.

"Uh…I'm not one of the hosts," he says, weakly, "so, you don't need to flatter me.”

"I guess not," she says, with a smirk that tells him his deflection was obvious but that she also didn't take it too personally. She holds up the beanie with grim amusement. "And this is clearly not doing anything. I'm going to see if I can find…napkins? Paper towels? Something useful for absorption at least?"

Cassian snorts. "Don't hold your breath," he says, trying and failing to imagine the hosts of this kegger having something practical like that on hand.

"Yeah, well," she says, with a rueful shrug, "a girl can dream, right?"

''I suppose so."

She nods and starts to wander away. "I'll be back. Don't move," she says and then offers him an ironic little salute.

Cassian laughs to himself as she goes and then pivots his attention to survey the damage to his jacket. The thing is made of wool, which means it's absorbing the beer quite admirably, against his wishes. He probably should have told her not to bother with the napkin hunt since he'll most likely have to get it dry cleaned anyway just to get the beer smell out, but she'd seemed determined to help somehow.

A few minutes after his mysterious friend departs, Bix materializes at his elbow. "Man," she says, stepping back immediately to cover her nose, "You smell like a bar floor. I thought you promised Maarva you'd go easy tonight!"

"I did," Cassian says, scowling at her. “This is someone else's beer, unfortunately."

"Tough break," Bix replies, casting a sympathetic eye over him.

"Probably a sign to call it a night, though."

"Boo," she yells, not entirely sober herself. "You can’t go now! You said you'd buy me a drink!"

"I can do that before I leave," he says. "I just don't want to pay for a cab home and I will definitely need to if I have another drink."

"You used to be fun, Cass," she says, morosely, and he ignores how much it hurts to have his fears about himself voiced by another person.

"Do you want your beer or not?" he grumbles instead, because he knows it's not something she would have said sober and that's enough to soothe him for now.

"Of course," she says, rolling her eyes, and loops their arms together.

Before they can get very far, Cassian pats his jacket pocket to find his wallet and comes up empty. He stops himself and Bix in their tracks and searches the pockets of his jeans too, finding his car keys and his phone but nothing else. He turns around to see if his wallet is on the ground somewhere, like maybe he dropped it, and pats his jacket one more time for good measure. His hand comes away wet and he remembers, suddenly, that someone else recently did the same thing. His head whips around as he searches for her in the crowd.

"Cassian," Bix says, plainly worried. "What is it?"

"My wallet. Beer girl...she must have taken it..."

"Wait, what? Who the fuck would do that?"

"A thief," Cassian says, as he spots her on the other side of the clearing. "Hey, thief!" he calls.

Her head lifts at the raised voice, and she looks around, bewildered, before her eyes—the ones he'd been admiring not that long ago—land on him and go wide with surprise. Before he can formulate something clever to say, her face clears of its confused expression and turns ice cold before she takes off at a run.

"Son of a—!" he mutters and follows. He doesn't even think twice about it, like he probably should. For whatever reason, this stranger stealing from him tonight feels like a very personal betrayal and chasing her down doesn't register as the ludicrous idea it obviously is. He vaguely recognizes Bix calling after him in alarm but he ignores it. The world narrows to just him and his pickpocket.

xvi. the tower

Jyn has got to be more discerning about only stealing from people who can't keep up with her on foot. If nothing else, she should have given this guy a kick in the shin when she had the chance because he is fast. She's not doing her best work in these heels either, but she hadn't planned to run through mud and wet leaves when she got dressed this evening. She was supposed to be at a nightclub. Bodhi is in for it when she gets a hold of him. She hadn't even seen him at this party he invited her to before this dude caught her lifting wallets. What sort of Sherlock Holmes wannabe was she even dealing with here, anyway?

A lucky break presents itself in the form of an entrance to an old graveyard at the edge of the woods. There will be more places to hide there, she reasons, and most people are irrationally superstitious about graveyards, especially after dark. She's willing to bet Wallet Guy is no exception. She ducks through the barely open gate and sprints down a row of tall headstones, feeling the gazes of granite angels on her the whole way.

She eventually hides herself in the shadow of an ostentatiously large gravestone (or maybe it's a very tiny mausoleum) and holds her breath when she hears footsteps approach. Sherlock Jr. clearly isn't afraid of graveyards like she’d hoped. With her luck, he'll probably camp out here all night, waiting for her, completely unbothered.

"Listen," his voice rings out, echoing in the stone aisles, "Beer girl, I'm not going to call the cops or anything. That's the last thing I want, okay? Just give me the wallet back now and we're even. I'll forget your face. You have my word."

Jyn is almost tempted to snort at that but her muscles are tensed up so thoroughly, she couldn't do anything involuntarily at the moment. Still, the audacity that she should trust this guy to be cool, to bet her actual life on it; he must be joking. This is the moment she decides she's going to have to sacrifice the heels in order to get out of there, which she does not want to do because it means spending money she doesn't have to replace them. She can't think of a better plan right now, though, and she's absolutely willing to ditch them if it means giving this guy the slip. Jyn slowly and quietly toes them off so she's ready to run, while he is distracted trying to reason with her.

"I'm serious," Wallet Guy announces, like that wasn't obvious from literally everything about him. It's part of why she'd zeroed in on him in the first place. He seemed so serious that she was sure a little mishap and some light flirting would completely throw him off and make her grab for his wallet virtually undetectable. She'd only been a little wrong, to be fair. "I don't want trouble any more than you do!"

But that had always been Jyn's problem: she's never minded trouble. She can get herself out of it just as easily as she can get herself into it. Some rich kid from the right side of the tracks is no match for her in the trouble department, she thinks, and so she ducks out from behind the headstone and tries to make her escape. In doing so, however, she accientally kicks some gravel loose as she takes off running, which gives away her location. It also turns out Wallet Guy was much closer than she'd originally thought and his reflexes are better than anticipated too, because it only takes a quick heel turn and a few strides before he's caught up with her and reaching for her wrist.

"Please," he says, before there's a bright flash and a lurch like a train picking up speed too quickly and then she's being wrenched away from him with enough force that it launches her across the graveyard.

iv. the emperor

When Cassian was eight, he'd watched his father die. He'd watched him get shot by a police officer, while his hands were up in surrender, because the officer had been startled by an explosion nearby. Cassian always forgets this part—the Imperial Gulf oil rig explosion happening the same night as his father's murder—but one of those things actually materially changed his life and the other was just a thing from the news grownups were worried about. If he hadn't been right there when it happened, he might have forgotten about it entirely, for all people in New Orleans still talk about it all the time. People don't forget here, he's found. The city has a good, long memory.

There is a chance that if not for the explosion, his father might not have been shot, but even as a kid, Cassian knew the odds were bad. Clem was a Black man caught holding a stolen sound system, the one Cassian had stolen on a dare from some older boys at school that he was desperate to impress. He was ten years old and the only thing that ever seemed to matter to him in those days was seeming grown up. Clem had come looking for him when he was late getting home from school and found the stolen stereo in his hands. He'd insisted they bring it back and try to make things right with the owner.

It didn't matter to the police that Clem hadn't stolen it, that he was just trying to teach his son a lesson. Cassian's adoption had only been finalized the year before and he was still acting out sometimes, pushing the limits of his parents' patience in what a counselor would later explain to him were attempts to see what it would take to be sent away again. There was no easy way to explain to a little kid that his birth parents hadn't "sent him away" for being bad, but because they couldn't keep him, or that his adoptive parents wouldn’t do the same thing someday for some minor infraction. He just didn’t understand that back then. Still, Clem was trying to teach him right and wrong without triggering his fears. It was even starting to work. If only he'd never stolen that car stereo, everything would have been different.

But he did. And the police found him and his father trying to return it. And while Clem tried to surrender, the explosion had happened and one of the officers panicked and fired his gun. They'd been down by the docks when the police found them and, when Clem was shot, he'd fallen into the water. Without hesitation, without any thought at all, Cassian had jumped in after him. Maybe it was from a misguided place of hope, believing that something could still be done to save his father. Maybe it was out of fear, knowing that he wasn't safe with those cops after what he'd seen. Or maybe it was a death wish. Maybe in that moment, losing the man who'd been so kind to him even when he hardly deserved it, he just didn't see any reason to try to survive so he followed his father into the water because he wanted to follow him into death.

Under the water, though, he'd seen that there was no helping his father and the oil rig's collapse was only getting worse. He tried to make his way to the surface but it was impossible to see anything more than a few feet away. Everything was dark. He'd been so consumed with fear when he dove into the water that he had no clue by then how far he'd swam from the docks. He was never going to find his way back now. Just when he was truly starting to despair, there had been a sound from the direction of the rig and a pulse went through the water that hit him like a slap across the back of his head. When he opened his eyes again, there was something glowing in the water ahead of him, a pure white light he reached for instinctively. He'd felt sure in that moment, despite everything, that the light would save him somehow. He'd never felt faith or hope that certainly in his life before, and he sure as hell hasn't felt it that way since. Then again, he hadn't seen that bright light again since that night either. Until he reaches for the girl in the graveyard, that is.

xi. justice

Jyn's shoulder throbs in pain. It's the part of her that had made contact with the headstone that broke her fall, so it makes sense that it hurts, but it's going to be a problem if this guy decides to fight her. Then again, judging by the look of him right now, he's not in any condition to fight either. Whatever force just threw her back did the same thing to him. He's still conscious, though, which is only good because she doesn't feel like dealing with a dead body right now. There's something wrong with him, though. He's looking down at his body in alarm—inspecting himself for injuries, she suspects—but he freezes in horror when he sees his hands. It takes Jyn a moment to realize why but when she does, her heart nearly stops.

There's smoke coming off his hands in tendrils, but nothing's on fire as far as she can tell. It's like the smoke that comes off of dry ice except it's pitch black. From any further away, Jyn's not sure she could convince herself it wasn't the shadows moving of their accord. Based on the expression on the guy's face, he's never seen this before, but she has. On the night of the car accident, after her father died, she'd seen it.

She'd been trying desperately to get out of the sinking car, but the water was coming in too fast and the windows were all sealed shut. Then there had been an explosion underneath the water and a ripple went across the bay, knocking her backwards into the seat. When she opened her eyes, there was black smoke pouring through the windshield. It looked like someone had dumped ink into the water, the way it moved and spread its way into the car. She'd reached for it, more afraid of staying still there than whatever the black smoke could do to her. She had expected her palm to find the window when she did, but there was no glass there anymore. The smoke had dissolved it or replaced it somehow and Jyn didn't stop to rationalize how or why that happened. She swam towards the shadows and felt a hand clasp around her own and pull her to safety. And now that same smoke was pouring from the hands of the boy who'd chased her down in the graveyard.

"What the hell was that?" she calls out, shaking (she tells herself) with anger and not with fear. "What did you just do to me?"

"Me?" he fires back. "I didn't do anything! That—that wasn't you?"

"No! I couldn't—how could I do that?"

"Your hands," he says, voice shaking. "They're glowing."

Jyn looks down, then, to find he's telling the truth. Her palms are glowing with a bright white light. This is...definitely a sign of concussion. There's no way any of this is really happening.

Before she can get too far with that denial, the guy is gingerly standing up and brushing off his clothes with shadowy hands. “I've seen it before," he says, carefully. "Once."

Jyn shakes her head, still hoping to write all of this off as a side effect of a head injury. "You've…what?"

"I've seen something glow like that before," he repeats, patiently. "It was you, wasn't it? You're the girl from the beach, the night of the oil rig collapse. You saved me."

Jyn swallows hard, so that she doesn't say the first thing that comes to mind, which is that he's got it all backwards. As she remembers it, he was the one who saved her that night. She knows it's been twelve years but she can't believe she didn't recognize him immediately. His face has been haunting her dreams her entire life. She should have known him.

"That was you?" she asks, uselessly. Who else could it be? Who else would even know about that?

He holds up his hands tentatively but they're answer enough. That night was the one and only time she'd ever seen smoke like that.

"We must have—something happened to us," he starts to say, far too reasonable and certain for her taste. "Back then, or ...just now, I don't know."

Panic rises in Jyn's throat, threatening to choke her. She starts shaking her head before the actual thought has even articulated itself in her mind and she picks herself up off the ground feeling like her body is made of lead.

"I can't do this," she says, still looking at her glowing hands and beginning to back away.

"Please," he says, starting to come closer, "don't leave. I just want some answers."

The light grows brighter as her panic sharpens. "I don't have any," she shouts, over the roaring in her ears, “I’m sorry.” And then she runs.

The boy from the beach calls after her but she doesn't stop running until the light coming from her hands fades completely and she has to pick her way through the woods by the light of the moon. She puts a healthy distance between herself and him, between herself and the party and anyone who could recognize her, and gets back to a main road somehow. She decides to literally go for broke and hails a cab. Once she's given the driver a respectable residential address near enough to where she's illegally squatting, she settles back in the seat and tries to close her eyes. Something pokes at her side from her jacket pocket, though, and she remembers that she still has the wallet.

Tentatively, like she's handling something unstable and potentially explosive, she pulls the wallet out and opens it. She finds a handful of small bills, a debit card as well as a credit card, a library card and a membership card to a local grocery chain. Boring stuff, mostly, but there's also a student ID and a driver's license, which tell her what she really wants to know: Cassian Andor. She'd always been curious about the name of the boy who saved her life all those years ago and now she has it. Her hands shake with the possibility that this knowledge offers. She even has his address, if his license is up to date. She could find him again, if she really wanted to. The problem is that she has no idea what she actually wants.

xvii. the star

Cassian doesn't bother going back to the party. He skirts around the clearing and finds where he parked his car without saying goodbye to anyone. He's not even sure what he would offer as an explanation for his disappearing act if people asked. Instead, he avoids everyone and their potential questions and just goes home. It’s late enough when he gets there that his mother is already asleep, which is just as well, because he doesn’t want to deal with her questions either.

There’s so many things he doesn’t understand right now and so many questions he wants answered and the only person who could even begin to help him ran as fast as she could in the other direction. He didn’t even get her name, which is somehow the most disappointing part of all. He’s spent more than half of his life dreaming of that night and remembering her; it’s only right that he should have a name to go with that memory. Cassian sighs and wills himself to forget about it, even though he knows that’s a lost cause. He takes off his stained jacket and his muddy shoes and heads upstairs, where he doesn’t bother undressing any further before slumping down onto his bed. He tells himself he’ll actually get ready for bed in a minute, but he knows this is also a lie. After a few aborted attempts to get back up, he commits to sleeping in his clothes and pulls a blanket over his head to block out any remaining light. It feels like only a few moments later that the sound of birds chirping and singing wakes him. He wouldn’t normally notice such a thing, but these birds are loud. They must be right outside of his window, he thinks, as he throws the sheet back to welcome in the morning sunlight. He gets the surprise of his life when, above him, all he sees is the faded pink skies of dawn. He lurches up to a sitting position and looks around and finds himself on a rooftop downtown.

It must be a dream. He’s still asleep and that’s the only explanation there is. He hadn’t dreamed of Clem or the oil rig explosion or the girl from the graveyard and he’d thought it was a mercy, but this is…weirder. And it feels real. He can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest and the humid, dewy air of early morning on his face. If it’s a dream, it’s a completely new kind for him. He’s even wearing the same clothes he went to sleep in, and he can feel the bruise on his shoulder from when he fell in the graveyard. And his hands, where they’re still clutching the blanket, have the black mist curling around them again.

He might not be dreaming after all, he realizes, watching the shadowy tendrils twist delicately around his wrist and into the open air. Maybe this is his reality now. Maybe he can—what? Teleport? Travel places in his dreams? What exactly did he do to get here of all places? Where is here, anyway?

A glance over his shoulder reveals the answer to many of those questions. Behind him on the roof, he recognizes a downtown landmark: the old Imperial Gulf Oil sign. The building below had housed the first offices for the later-rebranded Imperial Energy back in the day. Years ago, they’d built a huge, expensive facility across the water where their employee offices were now located and sold this building to a developer, who wasted no time turning it into expensive condos no one here could afford. They’d kept the enormous neon sign on the roof as a nod to the neighborhood’s history and probably because it’s exactly the sort of aesthetic nonsense their ideal buyers would shell out extra for. If there was any chance Cassian still believed his appearance here was pure coincidence, it was gone now. He had said he wanted answers and the universe sent him a literal neon sign. Imperial Gulf is where all of this started and it’s where he’ll get his answers.

He just has to find her first—the girl from the beach, the girl from the graveyard, the girl from his dreams.

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ilyasorokinn · 6 months

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hi me again!! can i request number 3 (hiding face in neck) or number 8 (shielding the other one with their body) from the touching prompt list with frank castle please? whichever one you pick is fine with me <3

NIGHT TIME ACTIVITIES

my last blurb for my tumblr-versary :( tysm to evryone who sent things in! i love and appreciate you all, and i love and appreciate everyone who has followed me or read my work or sent in anything. i love you all! also, i decided to go with both prompts, so slay ;)

3. "hiding face in neck" 8. "shielding the other one with their body" (from this prompt list)

tw: crime/violence

frank didn't like it when you got involved with his nightly activities, but you were able to help him sometimes. this time, you offered him a lot of help.

you were really good with computers, and usually, he would just call up lieberman for help, but he was desperate and didn't have time to call for backup.

you stood behind frank, hands in your pockets as you waited for him to finish picking the lock. once the door was open, he yanked it open and pushed you inside.

"so, how long do we got before they come in and we become target practice?" he asked, scanning the room as you took the usb out of your pocket.

you didn't exactly know what frank needed from these people, but you knew it probably wasn't good information.

"13 minutes starting..." you plugged the usb into the other computer, "...now." your heart was beating fast as you typed away on the computer.

"and you're sure you know what you're doing?" you stopped typing and raised a brow at him, "right. sorry, dumb question." he nodded, turning around and standing guard while you got back to typing.

your eyes went from the block in the corner of the screen to the progress bar in the middle of the screen, "how much longer?"

"almost done," you responded through gritted teeth. you jumped at the sound of tires squealing outside.

"i thought you said we had 13 minutes."

"maybe they were down the street." you snapped. when the progress bar disappeared and the 'download: complete' message popped up on the screen, you ripped the usb out of the computer and turned to frank, "how're we gonna get out of here?"

"working on that." he snapped. before either of youcould do anything, a bullet flew through the wall and landed in the wall right by your head.

you yelped, flinching and covering your head, "down!" frank shouted, grabbing onto you and shoving you to the ground. he moved fast, his body covering you like a shield.

you gripped onto his shirt, shoving your face into his neck, "we're gonna be okay!" you heard him shout over the sound of gunfire.

the people shooting at you must've run out of bullets because the shooting stopped, and you heard tires squealing away. once the coast was clear, frank pushed himself off of you and looked around.

you lay there, trying to collect your thoughts, "hey, you okay?" he asked, bending down next to you again and caressing your hair.

"that was the scariest thing that's ever happened, and i was approached by the fbi to work for them." you reminded him.

he dropped his head, smiling sadly, "i'm sorry. i never wanted you to get involved in this."

"are you kidding? if this is what you go through every night, i never want you to be alone again." you punched him softly in the shoulder.

"awe, you're worried about me." he teased with a smirk, "don't worry, i can take care of myself," he reassured. you pursed your lips, humming.

again, thank you to everyone who sent things in! i love you all <3

taylor's tumblr-versary!

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chasingmidnights · 6 months

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The Manuscript (Masterlist)

Below, you'll find all of my stories that I've written. They range in characters and in length of the story, so I hope there is something for everyone on here! I do not claim to own any of the characters that I write for. I also do not claim to be a professional writer, any and all mistakes are my own; nothing is beta read. This is an 18+ blog, minors DNI, you will be blocked. If there is something that you like, feel free to give me your feedback! Also, a share or a like is greatly appreciated!

One-Shots & Series:

~ A Collection: One-Shots (random, fandom short stories masterlist)

~ A Collection: Series (masterlist for mini series)

Stories for Spooky Season:

~ Tales of a Whumpee Newbie (Whumptober 2022)

~ 13 Nights of Halloween: Campfire Stories (October 2023)

Misc. Fun:

~ The T. Swift Project (Taylor Swift songs as drabbles)

#the midnight reading #the midnight library #new masterlist #updated masterlist #multi fandom #multi fandom fanfiction #multi fandom blog #multi fandom one shots #multi fandom mini series #multi fandom drabbles #whumptober events #taylor swift #taylor swift fandom #marvel characters #marvel fandom #marvel fanfiction #courtney writes #courtney creates

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nyxvuxoa-writes · 10 months

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【𝙲𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜】

If you are curious as to if I am going to work on or have started your request, you can check here to see if maybe something sounds like your request. Mostly, it just lets you know that I have moved things into my drafts and they are being worked on. All works currently being worked on are mature. Minors, please DNI.

This list is in no particular order as to when they will get done. I go with the flow of my writing, so if one is flowing better than another one, it may get done earlier.

Dating Ray Marcus Would Include Ray Marcus headcanon. In drafts almost done. (Finished)

Flesh Kraven. Currently in drafts and being written.

Keep Your Enemies Closer Kraven. Request, Spiderman Related. Moved to Drafts.

A Wild Call Kraven. Tarzan!Kraven, Requested, Moved to Drafts.

Hot Sugar in the Afternoon Tangerine. Anon Request, in drafts and almost done. (Finished)

Sugar, sugar, touch me like a pornstar Tangerine. Anon Request, follow up to Hot Sugar, in drafts.

The Best and Worst Timing Ben Leonard (Savages). Anon Request, Moved to Drafts

Leather black and Eyes of Blue Ford Brody (Godzilla). Anon Request, Moved to Drafts

We Are Meant to Be Count Veronsky. Yandere!Veronsky, Request, In Drafts

--- 【 F.A.Q | ATJ Masterlist | Multifandom Masterlist 】

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anonymityisfunwriter · 5 months

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thinkin bout grumpy bucky being my sunshine because the depressive episode hit hard

so he’s like …☀️?

and i’m like 🌧

Hello, friend!

So I've been writing my fingers to the bone, I swear. I've been committed to finishing The Twin Flame before I post anything else. (I'm almost there, but I'm not quite entirely happy with the last chapter). And not to spoil anything, but I am working on a Midnight Rain fic (very excited for that).

But, I think people forget, it's not always as cut and dry as Grumpy and Sunshine.

Bucky's Grumpy. Everyone knows that. He's the Grump in the Grumpy x Sunshine that everyone knows and loves, but what not many people know is that, just like anyone else, you also struggle. Some days, it's bearable. And other days, it weighs so heavily that you swear you're going to sink into the ground.

There's some days where he has to be the Sunshine to your Midnight Rain. When you're tired, when you can't see the good in yourself, when you can't rise from the ashes anymore. He'll be your Sunshine. And he'll do it with a heart full of love.

He's not very good at it. At least, not as good as you are.

He's a man that believes in acts of service as the most genuine symbol of love. This is just one of those days. He'll hold your hand, be your anchor in the storm, he'll sit with you in the trenches like you've done for him so many times before.

He calls them 'In Case You Forgets'. It is quite literally just simple little reminders. Over the phone when you can't drag yourself out of bed. Text messages on the days when he can't be by your side. Little post it notes scattered throughout your apartment on the mornings you wake alone to a cold bed.

From the basic tasks that you can barely bring yourself to do.

B: In case you forget, there's some leftovers from dinner last night. Please eat something.

B: In case you forget, I filled your water bottle, it's on the nightstand. Make sure you stay hydrated.

To the things he hopes you'll never forget. That you're not alone, even when you feel like you are. That there's a light at the end of the tunnel, and until the moment you see it, he'll keep reminding you that it's there.

B: In case you forget, you're doing great. I'm proud of you. Always and forever.

B: In case you forget, I love you.

So yeah... just in case you forget. 💛

Part of The Grumpy x Sunshine Series AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

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philtstone · 10 months

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45, Sam Wilson

#45 -- shining like fireworks lol this is way longer than it was supposed to be and also was crafted around the #25 prompt, because I can't read. but I made it work. zainab i know youve already written something like this but i wanted to try my hand at it too! my homage to the epistolatory fic...

"You made me a scrapbook for my birthday?"

Okay.

Maybe he should rewind.

Sam won't lie and say it hasn't been a rough few months. So technically, the weight of the world doesn't need to be on his shoulders. He keeps thinking he oughta take a page out of that Spider-kid's book, and just be a friendly neighborhood Cap, or something. It's just between intercontinental warhead measuring competitions (something he can say around his nephews without Sarah raising both eyebrows), dickhead suits (come on, Sarah), flying green men, and regular old food shortages in his own damn home state ... well, it's hard not to feel it all, when you care.

He used to call Bucky and bitch about things, before. Or rather -- he'd call Bucky, and Bucky would start bitching about things, which gave Sam the opening to also start bitching about things. Funny how that worked out. But they weren't even living together then. They were miles apart! Since he and Bucky got that stupid bachelor pad apartment six months ago, they've barely spent more than three consecutive minutes in each others' presence. They've both been out of the apartment for such mutually overlapping long stretches of time that every time Sam checks the fridge, the brand new carton of milk he got on the last grocery run has gone lumpy. The worst of it is, he hasn't had any chance to talk to Bucky about it properly, and there's a weird, tireder-than-usual Sam part of his brain that worries maybe this isn't the best solution to Bucky's isolation issues. Wasn't that part of the reason they decided to move in together, anyway? A solution to loneliness? Humans weren't made to live all alone, grown assed men or not, Sam thinks.

All of this is making Sam in more of a bad mood than he needs to be, given that it's his birthday.

It is his fortieth birthday, so maybe that, too, is contributing.

By rights, he should be turning forty five. That part though, Sam refuses to think about at all.

"Yeah, yeah, complain about how old you are," Bucky says, leaned too far back in his own porch chair, long legs stretched all the way out against the rail, and nursing the twin of Sam's own cool beer. "Is it 'cause you need reading glasses now?"

"Bucky," Sam grits out, because he's not sure how to communicate, I am stupidly glad you, one of my dearest friends some-fucking-how, are here, I've missed you, I really didn't expect I would this much, but also I am five seconds away from drop kicking you into a small body of water, so help me God, in a non embarrassing, well-adjusted kinda way.

"Aw, it is," says the most annoying man alive, who at one hundred and seven has the general face and physique of a particularly genetically-blessed thirty-eight year old. The fact that technically, if you do the in-and-out-of-cryo math, Bucky clocks out at two years younger than Sam is possibly the single worst fact in the universe, right now.

"Both of you shut up and let Sam finish opening his presents," says a third voice, and Sam, miffed, turns to glare at his sister, while Bucky, the bastard, is grinning like a set of cheap fireworks.

Sarah had promised that they won't do nothing big til tomorrow, and that this afternoon was just for family. Sam should've expected that meant four neighbors and three of their childhood family friends and two cousins, also, but by four pm, most people have filed out and lunch is a demolished mess of scraped-clean plates and almost empty pots on the big fold out table on the backyard porch. He's already opened AJ and Cass's humble contribution: a baseball mitt, which Uncle Sam can use to teach them baseball, much to Bucky's endless amusement ("Didn't you say baseball was an old people sport? You played baseball in school, Samuel? When you were even younger?" Yeah, he's real close to Bucky-cide, today). He knows Sarah's got him an old record player of their dad's upstairs, which he'd been planning to get fixed up all those many years ago, before their lives were torn apart; the fact that it has survived, and they have survived, makes Sam feel a certain kind of way. What Sam wasn't expecting was the lumpy, large, rectangular package that emerges from under the porch table, wrapped in brown paper and presented to him by his nephews.

"And that one's from B," Sarah says. Sam's too busy staring at it incredulously to clock the amused twinkle in his sister's eye.

"You got me a birthday present? Forreal?" Sam doesn't know if he wants to laugh or be suspicious or tear up like an idiot. Jesus, it's not like he's Bucky, getting all misty at basic kind gestures. Bucky shrugs and takes a drag from his beer.

"What, you can get me stuff, but I'm banned?"

"You're not banned, oh my God. I'm just surprised."

"I get people presents!"

"I know you do!"

"So, it's your birthday, I got you a present."

"What is it?"

"Now he's making it weird!" Bucky says, helplessly, to Sarah. AJ and Cass have started giggling.

So Sam rips off the wrapping paper, muttering to himself.

Which brings him back to an immutable, inescapable fact.

Bucky Barnes made him a scrapbook for his birthday.

"It's not a scrapbook."

"It's literally a scrapbook. Holy shit, are those stickers from Joanne's?"

"Hobby Lobby," offers AJ solemnly.

"Look, okay, it was Sarah's idea! Just read the fuckin' -- I mean, uh --"

At this point, the boys' giggles are threatening to turn medical. Sarah mouths nope, all him, from behind Bucky's chair, while Sam gapes helplessly at the shockingly neat mess of .... post it notes?

No. No way.

"You put all the annoying sticky notes you left me about the fucking soured milk in a scrapbook?"

"Oh, guys, come on!" Sarah throws her hands up in the air. "That's two in half a minute! You want these boys to grow up cursin'?"

"Half of them are yours!" Bucky points. "Which, by the way, were also annoying!" He's not quite embarrassed, but there's an airy, funny kind of laugh bubbling up behind his words at the ridiculousness of it all. Sam's feeling it too. He reaches into his pocket and takes out his reading glasses.

Bucky cracks; he chokes on his laughter, stuffing it roughly behind one metal fist; AJ has plastered himself against Sam's side and Cass is literally slumped, hiccupping, on the floor. Even Sarah's having a hard time fighting it.

Primly, Sam begins reading at a random place in the middle of the book; the note is written on an overlarge, bright blue POST-IT.

SAM. WON'T BE BACK TIL THURSDAY. PICKED UP THAT WEIRD MILK YOU LIKE FOR YOU. -JBB

Bucky, just got in. Leaving again tomorrow 0600. Hope Ross isn't being too much of a pain in the ass. Lactose free milk is a sexy modern invention, NOT weird. Its kind of gone bad tho. Did you not drink any of it???

Also, u dont have to sign post its. - Sam

I WASNT GONNA DRINK YOUR MILK. ITS YOURS. THANKS FOR TAKING OUT THE LEFTOVER TRASH, HAD TO RUN. GOT YOU MORE MILK FOR WHEN YOU GET BACK. YOU WILL DO GREAT. RIP STR MALONE A NEW ONE - JBB

I know who you are! Milks bad again. Jesus, i need a vacation. I didn't rip any senators new ones

Wanted to, tho. You keep switching burner phones so i cant text you this shit

LEAVE NOTES. THEY STICK TO THE FRIDGE NICE - JBB

Oh my God, you did not get a cat while I was gone

SHE CAN LIVE IN MY ROOM. GOT YOU MORE MILK AS A BRIBE :-)

She tore up ALL THE CURTAINS. I LIKED THOSE CURTAINS. And do your own laundry instead of getting me milk!

I DO LAUNDRY! IVE DONE YOURS THREE TIMES IN A ROW.

FUCK. MILKS GONE BAD.

You tried to drink it? What happened to its Sams milk?

Your cat peed in my shoe by the way!

IT WAS GOING BAD!!!!! -JBB

It's always goin bad!! - STW

Hey B, heard about the op from Rhodey. Im in Delacroix tmrw, come down if you can. Take care of yourself, man.

At this point, Sam stops reading. That was a couple days ago. He looks up again, pulls his glasses off. As irritable as he was earlier, there is relief in seeing Bucky perfectly in-tact, effortlessly whole. Maybe a little tired around the eyes, but Sam thinks that's maybe a detail about him that's never really gonna go away at this point. He'd been worried, yeah. Annoyed, that they hadn't talked properly before parting ways. Missing his friend and pissed off about the milk. What was the point of living with a person if you never fucking interacted, and then they got blown up?

"I can't believe you kept all of this shit," Sam manages.

Rubbing at one eye, Bucky shrugs, looks down, then up, like he's not actually embarrassed about it at all. He says, "I had to prove to my therapist I was living successfully with a roommate somehow."

Sam snorts. After a beat, Bucky adds, "Hadn't had a roommate in years. It would've been weird to throw them out."

Yeah, Sam thinks. Yeah.

"Hey, man," Sam says, while Sarah (still chuckling), begins cleaning up the plates on the table with Cass's help. "I missed you too." Bucky smiles -- "You better tell me where you found that mangy stray cat, though."

At which point Bucky's mouth drops open in what is apparently mortal offense, and the rest of Sam's birthday is spent arguing over viable pet names for the tiny white demon kitten from hell.

#this is far from perfect but im kind of just pleased i wrote something at all #do i look like i know how the marvel timeline works. no. so sams forty #my writing #taylor swift prompt meme #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sarah wilson #the falcon and the winter soldier #marvel #sam x bucky #tfatws

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