#the entirety of the dark world adventures are just us walking in and going

[sitp-recs]

Hidden Gems by @blamebrampton

Anyone who’s been following me for a while knows I worship the ground BB walks on. She’s probably among my top 3 Drarry fic authors of all time and I can confidently say I’ve read her catalogue in its entirety but curiously enough, I still get the same thrill of joy and excitement revisiting her works once twice thrice a month. BB’s narrative is very unique with nuanced and refreshing characterization, and organic witty humour playing in an effective, effortlessly charming and clever way that feels magical. It creates immersive universes and atmospheres that invite you to lose yourself into, different from anything I’ve read before or since. Beyond the incredible world building, her dialogue is a thing of beauty in itself, delightful and brilliant, packing just enough emotional resonance to make you wanna scream after a particularly clever line. It makes my job to find a quote for my recs so much more challenging! The feeling of first exploring BB’s world is exquisite and her masterful characterization never fail to impress me, it’s truly genius.

It was almost impossible to make a short list of hidden gems and it hurt my soul to stray from so many personal faves since they’re a bit more popular. But I’m sticking to the rules and that means highlighting fics that could use more attention. Words usually fail me when I’m trying to convey how much I love certain fics so feel free to check the single recs I’ve linked below - if you’re willing to suffer through my rambling thoughts, that is! I’m sure I’ve recced most of her catalogue at this point. And please please go check it ASAP, if you haven’t yet. These fics have stayed with me for many years now, they helped me through dark days and still comfort my heart whenever I need solace in fandom, I can’t imagine letting go of them anytime soon. I think of them now, 10 years after they’ve been written, and I’ll be thinking of them for the next 10 years. If you’re having one of those days - or just looking for a new obsession a special, one-of-a-kind reading experience - you can’t pick a better author. Go check these right now then come into my DMs to scream about Little Red Courgette all of them! You’re welcome 😉

And Save Me From Bloody Men (2010, T, 10k) - the only war AU you’ll ever need to read, a true masterpiece of characterization and building tension with tender Drarry romance, badass redeemed Draco and a breathtaking open ending that will make you gasp out loud. A must read!

Draco Malfoy once watched others fighting to stop the world falling apart. This time, he's not just watching. Read my rec here.

Tidings of Comfort (2012, G, 10k) - this cathartic series is on my top 3 fave comfort fics, beautifully quiet and cathartic. Featuring a redeemed Draco and a gentle curious Harry, late night conversations and

When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. Luckily for Draco Malfoy, London has places where the tired can rest and recover. Read my rec here.

Of Hoof Picks, Centaurs and Flight (2012, G, 21k) - such a charming and fun adventure, I can’t get enough of it! Perfect Draco, lots of banter, centaurs, flying cars and the good old bed sharing trope 👌🏼

Harry has promised that he will not do anything to upset the new head of Magical Creatures. Even if it is Draco Malfoy. When three centaur foals appear in Cumbria, far from the Forbidden Forest and all too close to Muggles, Harry’s promise is thoroughly tested. To say nothing of his equestrian skills. Read my rec here.

For the Public Good (2008, T, 23k) - a brilliant satire of British politics and definitely a must-read if you’re into this genre. BB gets Draco’s snark just right and the banter is fabulous, not to mention the creative world building as per usual. Fun, smart, flirty, highly entertaining!

Harry is loaned to the Muggle government to assist relations between the two governments after the London bombings. When his counterpart in the Communications team comes to him with evidence of a plot to expose wizarding Britain, he is all ears. And only in part because the messenger has such a familiar voice.

Doing the Lambeth Walk (2012, T, 26k) - brilliant urban drama with fabulous world building, soft Draco and Harry doing good deeds and finding each other, slow burn, some family drama and non-graphic violence

There are only three traditional choices for the cashed-up hero after victory. Harry Potter is too young to settle down and provide the wizarding world with a happy ending, and has too acute a sense of humour to spiral downwards into a spectacular flame-out. That leaves a life of good works. Choosing to lead it in Muggle Brixton comes with its own set of challenges, including Malfoys in the biscuit aisle. Read my rec here.

Beneath Boundless Skies (2008, T, 29k) - imho this fic is a the testament to BB’s storytelling skills as it will make you laugh, cry and fall in love within minutes. What a rollercoaster of emotions! Set in the Australian landscape it delivers brilliant OCs, organic character dynamics, and the most touching, heart wrenching funeral scene. A gorgeous and poignant post-war recovery story.

Home is a world filled with funerals, a girlfriend who can't bear the sight of you, and people who are convinced you came back from the dead. Bugger it, even Australia sounds good.

The Consolations of a Summer's Day (2012, T, 32k) - this is such a delightful and well put together case fic, I adore Harry and Draco’s dynamics right from the start and how circumstances push them closer. Subtle romance, alternating POVs, a perfect Luna and a hilarious Kreacher as a treat! Cw: character death (Pansy)

Harry Potter is absolutely certain Draco Malfoy did not murder Pansy Parkinson. He’s almost absolutely certain he can prove this without sacrificing his career and having them both hauled up before the Wizengamot.

#hidden gems s2 #day 4

[hetbigbang]

Weekly Round Up 5

Hello everyone! Here is our fifth Weekly Round Up of Stories and Fanworks! Weekly Round Up 1 Weekly Round Up 2 Weekly Round Up 3 Weekly Round Up 4 Completed Works Here are this week’s works that have been posted in their entirety! Title/Author Moments of Quiet by akionna Fanworker: Emmatheslayer Fandom/Rating: Dark Angel (TV)/Not Rated Pairing: Max Guevara | X5-452/Alec McDowell | X5-494 Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Summary: (Click on arrow) Finally together, Max and Alec are ready to start the next chapter in their lives. But first, the wedding! It's time to walk down the aisle except ... things don't go as planned. Does it ever? A blast from the past interrupts the joyous occasion ... and sends Max and Alec on one final adventure. Will they be able to overcome unforeseen obstacles and find their happiness? Title/Author Vellichor by Naaer Fandom/Rating: Doctor Who/Teen and Up Audiences Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Warnings: Author chooses not to use Archive Warnings Summary: (Click on arrow) As John gaped at Rose, colour spreading rapidly on his high cheekbones, she let out a small groan. What the hell had she gotten herself into? ~ A Modern Fake Relationship AU, in which Rose tells a rather large fib involving her sort-of-best-mate and has to work out how to handle the grand charade - especially as old memories come back to haunt her... Title/Fanworker vellichor by cersxisbitch Rating/Warnings: General/No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: (Click on arrow) Fanwork for "vellichor"" by naaer. Title/Author Growing Strong by apckrfan Fandom/Rating: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling/Mature Pairing: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Summary: (Click on arrow) Home post-war by himself other than Ministry-sponsored healers to aid in his healing, Severus finds himself at his wit’s end with the state of his life. He never intended to survive the war and has no desire to continue with his life. He plans to combine an overdose of an enhanced sleeping draught with a dose of Felix Felicis, wanting to see his true love one last time and determine once and for all if she’s forgiven him before dying. He doesn’t exactly get what he was expecting (which shouldn’t surprise him after all). See fic header in body of text for full summary. WARNINGS: Depressed, suicidal intentioned Severus Snape but it will be HEA and is not steeped in darkness Title/Fanworker Growing Strong - Fanwork by Esmalt Rating/Warnings: General/Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Summary: (Click on arrow) He caught her in a rare inactive, and unaware moment, as she was seated in his study at the desk. Chaptered Posting Here are this week’s works that are being posted by the chapter! Title/Author watercolours in the rain by Killaurey Fandom/Rating: Naruto/Mature Pairings: Nara Shikamaru/Yamanaka Ino; Haruno Sakura/Yamanaka Ino Chapters: 10/18 Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Summary: (Click on arrow) "Don't hang up. It's about Ino." Nothing less than the purest of loves could reel him back to the hell that had raised him. Sakura plays her cards well, when she wants to. That it all goes desperately wrong from there is... about what he'd expected. Shikamaru doesn't want to save the world. Maybe, just maybe though, he can save the girl. (Don't dare me to write a love story.) -- (This series is in chronological order. You do not need to have read womb under water to follow this story.) Title/Author Cochenille by AlexSeanchai Cochenille [accessible version] by AlexSeanchai Fandom/Rating: Miraculous Ladybug/Mature Pairing: Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug; Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe Chapters: 6/20 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: (Click on arrow) Marie Sancoeur knows very little about herself. She's Mère's only child, and like a daughter to Monsieur, more trusted than his own son if not more loved; Madame is—absent—but will surely admire Marie's skills both artistic and alchemical, just as her son does, once Madame is safe again; she would prefer not to be the enemy of Ladybug and Chat Noir, but both so-called heroes are the enemies of Monsieur and Madame and Mère, and so they have made an enemy of Marie. (If she thinks Ladybug and Chat Noir could simply sit back and watch Monsieur destroy himself and his legacy in a trap of his own making—truly if Monsieur ever even wants grandchildren, he should consider letting Adrien kiss Marie, leave the mansion and talk to people, or both—well, she thinks all that very quietly, and finds music Adrien enjoys to play rather louder.) Nino is not taking sides on whether Monarque lied about killing Ladybug or whether Chat Noir has abandoned Paris. He's especially not siding against Alya. She would understand if he could explain. Marinette Dupain-Cheng has no idea who any of those people are, and she has no idea what she did to be saved and protected by a cat-eared angel. Title/Author Shifting Equilibriums by Lullabymoon Fandom/Rating: Star Trek: Strange New Worlds (TV)/Mature Pairing: Number One | Una Chin-Riley/Christopher Pike Chapters: 4/10 Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: (Click on arrow) An away mission gone wrong shifts the balance of Chris and Una's relationship… AKA the one where being shot at and hiding in cold caves finally forces them to confront their feelings for each other. (Story is complete and chapters will be posted daily) Title/Fanworker [fanart] Shifting Equilibriums by oldestcharm Rating/Warnings: General/No Archive Warnings Apply Summary: (Click on arrow) Inspired by Shifting Equilibriums by Lullabymoon. If you have missed your posting date, or you need to change your posting date, send us an email ASAP and we will get your posting date changed! If you have any questions or concerns, here is the Page-A Mod Post. You can also contact the mods via email, [email protected], or by messaging LuciferxDamien or Jesterlady on the HetBang Discord server. from Het Big Bang https://ift.tt/qrEn1Xg via IFTTT

#IFTTT #Het Big Bang #hbb2022

[alanwake2downloadpc]

Alan Wake 2 Full Version

Alan Wake 2: The Movies and TV Shows That Inspired Remedys Survival Horror IGN First

This has affected the scenario design; across the duration of the chapter my objectives take me back and forth, discovering and revisiting locations as new items and information expand the story. For 13 years he’s been a prisoner in the Dark Place, where his nightmares, his fears, and his stories manifest as reality around him. For 13 years, he has been fighting to stay sane and write a story that would change reality around him in order for him to escape. In Alan Wake 2 Download Alan Wake 2, this overlap can be found in a place literally called The Overlap – areas where Bright Falls reality merges with nightmare New York. For Alan’s Big Apple, there needed to be a whole new dossier of reference material, albeit, again, with some overlap. Since 2020, Fortnite has included DLSS 2 and NVIDIA Reflex, enabling all GeForce RTX gamers to play at super fast frame rates, with the lowest possible system latency, for the definitive experience.

Wake added that Alan Wake 2 might feel slower than its predecessor, for being a survival horror game rather than action adventure. "With that comes somewhat slow pacing for the overall experience." But he's confident it'll feel in synch with Remedy's work in general. This fall, Portal with RTX upgrades to NVIDIA DLSS 3.5, making the game even more beautiful, immersive and realistic with the introduction of Ray Reconstruction, a new AI-powered technique that further improves the quality of ray tracing.

Lake added that, Remedy's sense of audience expectations notwithstanding, he himself has difficulty setting aside hours for longer games. "[It's] just struggling with finding time and you know, being interested in a story, wanting to see it through," he said. "So it can even be daunting at times to start playing a game that you know is really, really long." Alan Wake 2 PC Download NVIDIA DLSS is constantly evolving, and is available today in over 330 released games and apps. Now, we’re unveiling NVIDIA DLSS 3.5, featuring Ray Reconstruction, our newest innovation that enhances ray tracing with AI. It's made all the more exciting by the infrequency of these encounters and just how many shots enemies look like they can take. Across more than an hour of play I experienced the entirety of Local Girl, the third chapter of Saga’s story. Within it, I saw plenty of things that will make long-term Alan Wake devotees happy. There are generators to power up, and your shadow-burning flashlight is still a fundamental part of combat. But the shift from nightmare horror to grisly detective thriller on Alan Wake 2 pc download Saga’s side of the story is the first sign of the bold, sweeping changes that Remedy has made in its long-awaited sequel. Deliciously pulpy horror storytelling was at the heart of the original Alan Wake. It returns for the sequel, too, but the Stephen King-isms look to be confined to The Dark Place; the New York-styled nightmare cage the titular writer is trapped in.

Two such distinct styles demanded two different approaches to tone, however. PAYDAY 3 is the much anticipated sequel to one of the most popular co-op shooters ever Alan Wake 2 pc download made. On September 21st, step out of retirement and back into a life of crime in the shoes of the Payday Gang, the nightmare of law-enforcement wherever they go.

It's reminiscent of masterpieces of level design like Dishonored 2's Crack in the Slab or Titanfall 2's Effect and Cause, albeit more focused in scale rather than level-wide shifting realities. If the opening walk through Watery presents an air of Silent Hill, then this later approach positions Alan Wake 2 pc download Alan Wake 2 close to Resident Evil, which has long used its police stations and villages in a similar manner. As I get closer to Coffee World I stumble across a number of containers, each locked by a brain teaser with a difficulty level that scales in correlation with the rewards inside.

Ray Reconstruction is a new option for developers to improve image quality for their ray-traced titles and is offered as part of DLSS 3.5. Rasterized games featuring DLSS 3.5 also include our latest updates to Super Alan Wake 2 pc download Resolution and DLAA, but will not benefit from Ray Reconstruction due to the lack of ray-traced effects. As the chapter progresses, the Dark Place opens up and reveals what appears to be a Metroid-like nature. The combat navigated with it appears fundamentally similar to that fought by Alan Wake 2's other protagonist, Saga. Alan uses a flashlight to burn away the dark armoured cloud shielding his enemies, before filling their slightly more human form with bullet after bullet. There's an uncertainty as to which of the many shadows haunting the streets will actually be hostile, though. This seems to add an extra level of tension to every step; a moment of hesitation before the precious flashlight battery life is potentially wasted on nothing more than a dark shape. It's edge-of-your-seat stuff and yet another example of the sequel's descent into full horror. Anderson’s case spirals into a nightmare when she discovers pages of a horror story that start to come true around her and suggest disturbing links to Alan Wake, a writer who went missing in the area over a decade ago.

Epic Games fully funded the project with Remedy, we learned last year, so that probably means Epic will be publishing the unannounced game, and therefore it'll very likely be a full-on Epic Games Store exclusive on PC. We’d like to highlight that from time to time, we may miss a potentially malicious software program. To continue promising you a malware-free catalog of programs and apps, our team has integrated Alan Wake 2 Download a Report Software feature in every catalog page that loops your feedback back to us. Clapped-out Soul Reaver enthusiast with dubious academic backstory who obsesses over dropped diary pages in horror games. "I think that with Remedy games - if we go back through the whole history - being very story-focused games, have traditionally been quite short, like 10 hours or so," Lake observed at one point.

[tysonfurybattlepass]

man is it me or is the main objective of deltarune just like. fantasy imperialism

#king spade kind of had a poin- *i am pelted with increasingly damgerous objects thrown by the howling audience* #the entirety of the dark world adventures are just us walking in and going #‘hey i know you guys like live here and have your own society and stuff and arent really bothering anyone’ #‘but some old ass fairytale told me i need to seize your land and forcibly relocate you so everyone better fucking play nice❤️’ #like remember. ralsei is the one telling us what we have to do #and we know for a fact that he is not at all concerned with the wants or needs of darkners #including his own #so uh #maybe we should think about his inherent bias when he tells us that closing the fountains is what we have to do #toby fox is too smart to write this kind of concerning subtext accidentally. there is something off about our goal in the narrative #deltarune #jordan talks

[genshin-impacted]

learning curve // Zhongli x Reader (NSFW)

Word Count: ~1.7k

Notes: gender-neutral reader, Zhongli/Reader, established relationship, half SFW/NSFW -- lots of dirty talk, overstimulation, praise kink, voice kink, cockwarming, soft dom!Zhongli, sub!reader, mentions of switching

Summary: As your lover, Zhongli learns what makes you happy and finds out in the middle of all of it how much he enjoys being able to please you-- both romantically and sexually.

.

.

In everything Zhongli does, he practices patience and focus. In all his years of living as an adeptus, a god, and a mortal man, he has willingly accepted his role as a student as he continues to learn and discover new things that the world has to offer. In many ways, learning is his passion, for his expansive knowledge of all things Liyue and beyond is something of value to him whether it has a function or not. 

Zhongli is a meticulous man-- thorough and precise, leaving no stone unturned in the pursuit of knowledge, and that includes learning how to best please you as your companion, and as your lover.   

You like it when he presses kisses onto your hands. He knows this because each time he does, you always hide your wobbly smile behind your other hand, laughing in embarrassment before flashing him a smile. You also like it especially when he kisses your forehead when you arrive home from commissions because all the tension in your body seems to leave the moment his lips touch your head, your hands already reaching out to hug him after a long day. 

For the walks along Liyue Harbor, he intertwines your fingers into his, clasping palm upon palm, because he knows how you adore his affection in public, a subtle demonstration that the two of you belong to each other. You love the smell of glaze lilies, the taste of violetgrass, and the look of a silk flower bouquet on the dining room table; and he loves the sound of your laugh, the brightness of your smile, and the way he can make you happy by paying attention to your preferences. When he gets a new cologne-- a mild but masculine one that was recommended by Ying’er, your hands are all over him, whether or not you’re aware of it, attracted to his scent and his presence alone. But, oh, he also adores when you are aware of it, your voice as low as a purr when you can smell his cologne, call him ‘irresistible’ and tug him into the bedroom by his tie. 

You take good care into loving him too, in the little ways-- rubbing circles into his temple when he comes back from a long day of work, brewing him tea with the scent of Qixing flowers in the early mornings. But in the bedroom, you are much like the veteran adventurer of Teyvat that you are, zealously finding out what he likes best: licking stripes up the vein on his cock, kissing at the space behind his ears, and pulling at his nipples with your teeth. He is at your mercy when you ride him, milking out his orgasms until he’s gripping his nails into your thighs (much to his embarrassment and much to your delight when he leaves noticeable marks afterward). 

Zhongli is by no means experienced (not that you were particularly either), but he makes up for the lack of experience by doing what he has done for the past millennia.

He learns. 

He is sensitive to your reactions, noting every gasp or moan he can elicit from you, and how your body responds to each of his ministrations. He adjusts how hard he presses, where to touch you, how fast to do something-- how to make you feel good because out of the many songs of beauty that have graced his ears, your voice crying out his name is by far the most melodic. You are his lover, his beloved, his dove-- surely, he need not explain that he would want nothing but the best for you, and if he can bring about your happiness, be it by gifting you with flowers or by making your back arch in pleasure, then he would surely do it.

But just when did he begin seeking out your pleasure-- your words of praise-- so voraciously? 

"Zhongli, ah!" He would hear you gasp when he finds that one spot that makes you lose your inhibitions about showing your expressions. You grasp at his arms and tell him to do it again, words of praise spilling from your mouth as he repeats his actions dutifully to bring you closer to the peak. "You feel so good," you moan. "Zhongli--!"

Making you cry out his name louder and higher until you reach your peak and fall, and he builds it back up again almost ruthlessly. The more he hears from you, the better. He's ardently pounding into you harder, faster until you're sinking into the bed, or using his tongue until you have made a mess on his face, legs shaking from overstimulation and mind unable to fathom how many times you felt waves upon waves of pleasure course through you.

He's learned what you like, what has your nails digging into his flesh and what makes you say his name until your voice grows hoarse. And he's liked how he's also learned a new side of you, for whenever you are pliant under him, at the mercy of his actions, you respond well to his voice. 

Zhongli would be a fool to not take advantage of that.

He thrusts into you and listens to you keen, calling you eager and telling you how much he's enjoying watching you fall apart. The phrases he tells you are almost elegant-- poetic, even, with the way he weaves praises into his words and describes in the finest detail how he feels about you. It's a perfect juxtaposition to when he speaks the dirtiest of things into your ears-- of how well you're taking his cock, how tight your walls are clenched over him, and oh, you like it when he talks to you like this, don't you?

"Can you come with just my voice alone, do you gather?" Zhongli asks you, his voice reverberating through you as a shiver. "You're twitching.” He observes with a hint of amusement, making you hide under the darkness of your hands in embarrassment. He chuckles, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Is that something you desire, my love?” 

When your breath hitches, he says lowly into your ears, “I’m more than willing to see it through if that is what you please, having me sheathed inside of you while you come untouched--”

Zhongli takes a sharp intake when he feels you clench over him in response, and with a grunt, he buries himself inside of you again. 

"Ah, Zhongli," you call out, tugging at his hair with a grip that has him seeing stars. "Zhongli, Zhongli--"

And his name on your lips sounds like words of praise. 

"Tell me what you want," Zhongli asks. He kisses at the juncture of your throat, knowing it to be unfair since that spot has never failed to make you breathless. "Tell me what you want, and I shall provide." He chuckles when you let out a whine, your hands clawing at his back, wordlessly begging him to continue. "It will be your reward," he says, "for being so good for me."

"Zhongli--"

“So obedient,” Zhongli continues, trailing kisses down your neck as his hand reaches up to pinch your nipple. “So shamelessly loud, so full of want for me with your legs urging me to thrust inside of you and your arms making marks on my body. Tell me, my little songbird, do you want the entirety of Liyue to know that I am yours?"

"I'm yours," you cry out, and it takes everything in Zhongli not to bottom out inside you again. "I'm yours, Zhongli; please move! Fuck me--"

You keen again when Zhongli sucks onto the skin at your collarbone, leaving a mark that's sure to turn a deep purple by tomorrow. And without further delay, Zhongli tangles his hand with yours and gives you what you want, his cock thrusting into you at the angle he knows will have you seeing stars, and it does not take long for you to rise to the peak again. 

When you fall, Zhongli catches you with a kiss, swallowing your moan and letting you roll your hips as you ride out your orgasm. He finishes soon after, with his forehead pressed against yours, his cum splattered on your stomach. 

He always murmurs soothing words as the both of you come down from your highs, pressing gentle kisses onto your cheek until he feels your arms wrap around him.

.

.

.

You respond well to praise, he catalogs as you slide into the bath after him. It is truly a windfall for you to be so compatible with him in this way, for he loves to praise you as much as you love receiving them. Or is it that you simply respond well to his voice in general? 

"Will you respond like that each time we make love?" Zhongli asks afterward when the two of you bathe in the rose-scented water, and he watches you lazily play with the water. 

You turn your head to him grasping onto his thigh so you don’t float away. “Because of what?” You reply teasingly, “You’re going to have to be more specific considering the fact we did so much.”

Zhongli fights down the blush to no avail as he clears his throat at your familiar ribbing. You have always made him grapple for words, so in a way, he would be more than pleased if he were able to render you speechless on a repeated count. “On the… words of praise. You seemed quite receptive to that.”

He hears you laugh as you turn around, making waves in the water. "You really do have a way with words, huh,” you comment. “You’re very good at that.”

“That is because I always have praise for you, my love,” he teases, hearing you laugh again although albeit shyly. “If you liked that, I would not mind having a repeat performance, so to speak.”

You hum thoughtfully, sneaking your hands into the water to grasp his. “Well,” you begin, and he knows you well enough to know that there is a shine to your eyes. “Only one way to find out!”

And Zhongli continues to learn with you.

#genshin impact x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact imagine #genshin impact zhongli #genshin smut #genshin zhongli #zhongli/reader #dom zhongli supremacy??

[luimagines]

Hi! I have a request, but first i wanna say your writing is absolutely amazing! The length + amount of time you put into these prompts is insanely good. Now! Onto the request, how would the boys react to a reader from a more modern era? Maybe a more modernized hyrule or our current point in time?

Masterlist

Thank you so much for the compliment! I'm happy to see the response even if this blog is still relatively new.

I hope I do your prompt justice.

I probably could have done a headcanon list but I was hit with inspiration.

I also might have given Reader some backstory.

Scenario below the cut! It’s long, take caution.

It was a cool night, but you didn't mind. Your bed was warm, the WiFi was fast and even if it was three AM on a school night, you managed to keep yourself giggling with cat videos and blursed memes until the words and colors merged.

A night well spent.

But it led to questionable decisions.

Even if the shredded cheese in the fridge was beginning to seem a more and more enticing snack, your body was tempted to succumb to slumber.

Until a large purple light encompassed the entirety of your window.

Something was in your backyard.

Aliens. Your tired brain supplies and you sprint to the glass and push away the curtains. Is this it? Is this where I'm kidnapped and never seen or heard from again?

You pull out your phone and open up the camera.

"Pics or it didn't happen." You remind yourself and snap a few before showing your face.

What you see isn't what you're expecting. Instead of a flying saucer in the sky beaming down a laser or a weird pear shaped space craft on top of the grass, there's a single panel of glowing light, swirling with black accents that creeps in a circular motion.

"Cheese and crackers...." You gasp and begin to blatantly stare at it with no regard to whether something may be coming out of it.

You wait and nothing happens.

You wait some more and nothing happens.

You spend an hour watching this portal that has appeared out of nowhere, waiting for something to happen, willing for something to happen. But you get nothing.

The unknown stares right back at you, unblinking and unchanged.

Go through it. A voice tells you. What if there's something on the other side?

"I'm going to die." You gulp and take a deep breath.

Who else gets a chance like this? The voice talks again. This could be a grand step towards a more modern society. A whole new world could be on the other side, waiting, reaching out, calling to humanity!

You think you a see a shadow move behind the portal and out of sight but it’s gone before you can even process it.

"Should I call the police?" You step away from the window, ignoring the thoughts, the voice- you're too tired to know if it's your own any more. What's the plan? How does one go about something like this?

Where’s your sense of adventure? Pack a bag and go! What if it goes away?

That last thought seems to get through to your tired brain and for a reason beyond your understanding, it latches onto it.

Now you’re excited.

You run to the closet and take out your old backpack. It used to be for school but it was fancier since it was the only one you could get. The bag had a replaceable water bag with a plastic straw connected through the back of it and the straps have just worn down enough to where they’re actually comfortable. It doubled as a hiking backpack and came with its own insulated lunch box that clasped on the back of it.

It’ll finally serve its purpose.

You quickly roll up your favorite blanket and strap it in tightly beneath the lunch box. You’re quick to take out two extra outfits and pack them as well as change out of your pajamas.

Ok. What would you need? You don’t know where you’d be going so this has to a catch all kind of deal.

You pack away your swiss army knife first for good measure. A solar powered charger for your phone and an extra pair of socks follow suit even after you’ve picked out the extra clothes.

You take out the water bag and run to fill it all the way to max capacity as you think of any other necessities.

You’d need food. You have a small jar of peanut butter and granola bars that can fit in the lunch box. You can bring your extra water bottle and put in the side pockets of the backpack, and maybe bring some of those powered flavor packets your brother loves so much. You think he has lemonade and some green tea ones.

Those would be great. He won’t mind, hopefully.

You let the bag overfill momentarily before running back to shove it in your bag. with the lid screwed tight.

Next you run to the kitchen, grabbing the first things that you thought of already and begin to look around for more.

You grab an unopened pack of beef jerky, a bag of veggie sticks and a half eaten bag of dried mangos.

During your search you grab the water bottle and fill that too.

You return to your room with your bounty and begin to carefully put everything in the box. With some more deliberation, you run back to the kitchen and make yourself a quick sandwich, eat it, make another one and pack that as well.

You look out side the window and the portal is still there.

The sun is beginning to rise now so you’re trying to go as fast as you can, unless you want to neighbors to think something is going on.

Even if it is.

You’re about to leave but in a stroke of brilliance, you run to pack sunscreen and bug spray as well. You see a small first aid pack that was bought recently for when you would take your family vacation but you reason that it might one of the most important things you’d have if you got hurt.

Into the bag it goes.

You grab your hoodie before you leave the door, wrap it around your waist and pocket your phone, your headphones and your wallet.

You feel immediately under packed when you step outside and see the portal up close.

It’s weirdly triangle shaped, you think and step closer.

You reach your hand out and try to touch it. It feels as if you put your hand through a humidifier but it’s not wet. It’s misty and cold but not necessarily unpleasant.

An idea hits you right before you take your first step through.

You pull up one of the earlier photo’s you took and send it to your friend’s group chat. It showed up in my backyard. I decided to make a bad late night decision and I’m going through. If you never hear from me again, I want you all to fight over my electronics. Winner takes all. Godspeed.

And you step through.

You had first assumed that it would merely take you tot he other side but very quickly realize that you have to walk through it.

The first part still had a little light but with time, it got darker. So dark that you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face.

You kept walking.

As fast as the light disappeared, it came back and you stepped into the light of an open field, right in front of one, two, three, four, nine males that had appeared to be traveling towards you or rather, towards the portal.

The portal disappears in the process.

“Oh so we didn’t have to go through it! We had to gain another member!” One of them yells. “Would have been nice to know before we packed everything up!”

“Ho boy, where am I?” You ask and tighten your grip on your backpack. Why didn’t I bring a weapon?

They all had long tunics and swords on their backs. Old fashioned leather boots and hand bracers were the norm in this group and you realized very quickly that your jeans and t-shirt had wildly missed the memo.

“Dang, I didn’t think I’d walk into a LARP group. Sorry about that.” You sheepishly smile. “I had no idea where the portal was going to take me. But if you would be so kind-”

“Wait, what’s LARP?” One of them speaks up. He was a dirty blond and somewhere in the middle of the group height wise. He wore a white cape like thing with blue designs on the back but you didn’t recognize the symbol.

“Live Action Role Play?” You tilt your head. “It’s why you’re all dressed like that? Right?”

“This is just our clothes.” What appears to be the youngest bounces up to you. “What are you wearing?”

“First I could grab in my closet.” You admit and look down on it. It’s one of your comfiest shirts and best looking pants. You’re a little proud of yourself for finding those in the dark.

“Weird.”

“We’re heroes. We’re all named Link.” Cape guy speaks up again. “Is it safe to assume that you’re in the same boat?”

“Heroes?” Your eyebrows furrow together. “I’m not a hero and my name’s not Link.”

You’re quick to tell them your name and you watch as the confusion covers their faces. “My brother’s name is Link though if that helps anything.”

“Oh we needed him!” The youngest groans and it instantly irks you.

“What would you need with a five year old?” You deadpan and cross your arms. 

The information stuns the group.

“The portal showed up in the middle of the night and I’m the one that went through it. I’m pretty sure I was the only awake to even see it. Are you telling me that it was for my little brother?” You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t a little pissed. “My baby brother was supposed to go through it? He was asleep! He’s five. What kind of logic is that?!”

“Well...” The biggest and oldest of them runs a hand over his face. You think he has some cool tattoos and sick scar going across his eye but he looks about as angry as you feel, so you don’t say anything. “It appears the gods truly do not care for the hero’s maturity, only his existence.”

“Ok...What’s with all this hero talk?” You bite back. “What did... Where am I?”

“Hyrule.” The second with cool face tattoos speaks up. He’s got a large fur pelt around his shoulders and you have to tighten your grip against your backpack again to keep from reaching out to touch it.

Even so you feel yourself deadpan even more. “Hyrule? Like the ancient empire? The one that collapsed more than two thousand years ago? That Hyrule?”

You’re inclined to not believe them and write all of them off as crazy... but you also walked through a portal. And your grandma did say that magic existed in the strangest forms.

They all share looks of concern and some begin to murmur quietly amongst themselves but you’re too far gone to even notice.

“Did I time travel?” The idea hits you like a bus and you feel your eyes widen as you stare beyond the group. You quickly take our your phone and unlock it.

No signal.

“Is that a type of Sheikah slate?” Someone asks you.

“I don’t know what that is.” You reply automatically. “Wait, hold on, what year is it?”

“Why don’t you tell us what year you’re from and we can start from there?” The darkest brunette of the group speaks up.

“202x PC” You say robotically, not really processing the world around you anymore.

“That’s...” The blond with a long blue scarf speaks up with a slight hiss. “...Beyond any of our timelines. You see, we all come from different worlds and eras of Hyrule’s history.”

“I don’t think you’re the farthest down anymore, Wild.”

“This would then make them my successor, right?”

“It would make their brother your successor.” Someone amends. “I think they just jumped in his place.”

“Leave my brother alone.” You snap back into the present, pocketing your [hone again. “Ok, you know what, screw it. I don’t know what you’d want my brother for but I’m here now. I’d gladly take his place if it means he gets to stay home!”

“Hey.” A boy with pink hair stalks up to you looking a little more serious than you’d like.

“Nice hair dude, way to defy the gender norms.” You smirk a little before genuinely grinning, hoping to quell the tension. “What product do you use? It looks like Artic Fox but not every place sells their brand.”

“...I have no idea what you’re talking about but what happened to Ganon in your world? How have you been handling it?” He snaps and places his hands on his hips.

“Ganon? Like my old principle? That’s a name I haven’t heard in forever.” You’re confused again. “Last I heard he joined the police force only to be reassigned out of state. I don’t know what’s happening with him. Kinda hope he gets fired though. He’s not a bad guy but he’s not someone you’d want in that kind of position of power, you know.”

“Police force?”

You blinked and look them all over. They look very medieval. “Oh... You don’t have that...”

You begin to think about your history lessons and what they might be familiar with if they’re telling the truth about being from Hyrule.

“Ya’ll got knights?”

Many, almost all of them nod, a few with face of despair already on them before you finish speaking.

“It’s kind of like that. Mixed with a towns guard position... kinda. They enforce laws... at least they’re supposed to but the whole system is flawed and racist and really needs to be dismantled for the abuse of power that they have-”

“Abuse? Of power?” You have their attention again.

“It’s stupid and it won’t really make any sense if I try to explain because I doubt you have anything similar but it’s basically a group of people given the right to treat the public in anyway they like for their own benefit because they have no one telling them that they can’t.” You groan and slowly begin to feel your lack of sleep catch up to you. 

You slowly reach to behind you and sit down on the dirt, looking at all of them. “Mr. Dragmire wasn’t like...Demise or anything but he was a huge jerk. No one liked him. He liked me though. I remember that. I was the envy of the whole school because I somehow got on his good side while everyone else wants to strangle him. I think he was transferred for some misdemeanor or something like that... like he might have been throwing hands with someone he wasn’t supposed to. I never heard all the details. I didn’t really care for it when it happened either. I’m pretty sure he lost that fight though. The dude looked like a blast of wind could have knocked him over let alone someone’s knuckle sandwich.”

“I would love to hear more about this.” The youngest sits next to you with a large grin on his face. His eyes are bright and his body language reminds you of your cousin Zelda. You instantly think they’d get along like a house on fire. “What are your monsters like?”

“Monsters?” You tilt your head. “Be a little more specific bud, it depends on where you’re from.”

“You have that many?!”

“It depends on if you believe they’re real or not.”

“Speaking of monsters, can you fight?” The shortest walks up to you. You like that his tunic is stitched up with multiple colors and designs. It gives it personality, you think. “Do you have a weapon you’re more comfortable with?”

The question throws you off your rhythm and you don’t fight your wince. “What would happen if I say that I do not, in fact, have any sort of weapon on me?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.” Pink guy speaks up again. “That pack is huge, there has to be something in there.”

“It’s food, water and extra clothes my guy.” You lean back against said backpack since it won’t let you lay down with it still on. “Not a lot of space for anything else. I’m pretty good at hand to hand combat though. Karate’s a good way to fight out stress.” 

“Your bag’s not magic?”

“Why the hell would it be magic? ...Are you trying to tell me magic actually exists?” You raise an eyebrow as your eyes begin to close against your will. “I know my grandma said it does but I thought she meant like fairies and shadow demons.. and bigfoot. Can’t forget him, he’s the real MVP... You know...Children’s bedtime stories and stuff like that, it’s not real. But like magic magic? Magic items and the like? Find me Tinkerbell and I’ll show you Neverland, that’s what I say.”

“Are you serious?”

“Second star to the right, straight on till morning.” You respond.

There’s a moment of silence as the group in front of you processes your words. It’s hard to tell their reaction since you’re not looking at them but you no longer have the energy to do anything else.

“Are you falling asleep right now?” It’s the one they called Wild.

“I...” You try to open your eyes. They don’t budge. “I haven’t slept in nearly 20 hours... I think. I might have past 24 hours a while ago actually. Portal showed up at like four in the morning... I had to get up at six and I didn’t sleep at all before then.”

More silence.

“Great another one.” Someone scoffs.

You snort.

“Why did we pack up camp again?”

“No one kill me.” You say right before you lose consciousness. “Please and thank you.”

“They’re doomed.”

“Have some faith Vet. They stepped in for their little brother. That has to mean something?”

“They’re in for a rude awakening, and that’s all I have to say about it.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #is this readers origin story #maybe? #i got a little carried away with this one #had to stop myself before i went even further beyond #i don't know if I want to continue with this as a story or just throw out some headcanons with modern reader #i like to think that everything i write takes place in a separate universe #especially the ones where they catch feelings #might throw out what they think of reader #might not #depends on you guys! #let me know what you think!

[wastelandcth]

A Moth in the Moonlight

part one of One Night, 5 Seconds of Halloween

summary: Ashton’s night includes a way home. 

author’s notes: Welcome to One Night, 5 Seconds of Summer! This is a mini series I did for Halloween and I hope you enjoy part one! 

warnings: mentions of sexual situations, car sex, alcohol, and biting. 

masterlist || request || series masterlist

Ashton watched as she walked through the crowds of people, her smile lighting up the room almost as bright as her eyes did. He watched as the people around her drew themselves in, like a moth flying towards the flame, hanging off her every word and wishing they could hear more. But no, like a moth, she flew between conversations fluttering in and out between the crowd searching for the brightest flame, the one that kept distracting her throughout the dark party. Her eyes searched the crowd for a familiar head of curls that Ashton had fussed with for longer than he would like to admit hours before he’d shown up dressed as a bloody gangster with the curls she loved so much slicked back.

“There you are,” she gasped as she spotted Ashton, the wig she’d slipped on earlier in the night bobbing with every exciting step she took towards him, “I thought you’d be too busy to show up,” she teased and pulled Ashton into those hugs that left him breathless.

“You know I’d never miss this for the world,” he chuckled and shook his head, “You’ve always known how to throw a good party, honey.”

“Yeah, well I’m glad my favorite party guest made it,” she giggled, her eyes bright and wild, “And that you put that fake blood to good use, your costume looks amazing.”

“Thank you,” Ashton grinned, knowing his costume was pretty simple and had been a last-minute one he had to put together after she’d suggested a matching theme, “You look quite terrifying and dangerous.”

“Only the best for Halloween,” she chuckled, “You sure the guys don’t hate me for having you change your costume last minute?”

“Pft, I don’t think any of them even showed up with the original plan anyway,” Ashton chuckles, the only flashes of white armor being from a stranger who’s been sneaking off upstairs with another mystery guest in costume, “I haven’t even seen the guys here yet.”

“I’m sure they’re around here somewhere, they’ll probably find us by the end of the night,” she nodded, taking his hand in hers, “Come on, let’s get this party started?”

The night had come and gone, Ashton stuck to her side during the entirety of the party as he took in the feeling of her warm hand in his. He watched as she entertained friends and loved ones with stories of her most recent work adventures, how she’d found herself lost in the middle of a new city only to find an almost comical solution to every problem that came her way. He stuck by her when she giggled through the drink she’d been nursing, whispering in his ear whenever someone he’d never met before had left their conversation, telling him all he needed to know about them. He was there when she begged him to follow her to the dance floor where the music bumped from the floor all the way up to the ceiling and Ashton had no choice but to be pulled into the center and watched as the shining lights lit her up while she twirled the night away. “I’m glad you came,” she smiled, her hand back in Ashton’s as she led him out towards the chilly night, “It means the world to me.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, you know that,” Ashton chuckled, the swing in their hands catching his attention as he leaned against the railing of the balcony, “You mean the world to me.”

“Ash,” she whispered and smiled, her eyes landing on their intertwined hands, “You don’t mean that.”

“Of course I do, I could never lie to you,” Ashton mumbled and shook his head, “Why would you think that?”

“Because,” she sighed and shrugged, hesitating before finally letting go, “It hurts to think that I might’ve just imagined everything.”

Ashton frowned as he watched her shrink back into herself, letting the light inside of her dim as her thoughts raced, moving farther and farther away from the words Ashton had confessed into the chilly night. His hand moved away from hers, missing the warmth as soon as it had been replaced with the cold wind biting against his skin, quickly finding the warmth of her cheek as his eyes met hers once more in the darkness of the dark moonless night. Her eyes had always been a favorite of Ashton’s so deep and filled with mysteries that Ashton had craved to unlock and slither into, leaving him breathless whenever her haze had been focused on him because for a moment in time he had all of her attention.

“You are….” he whispered, letting his thumb trail across her soft skin as his brain raced for the perfect words, “You are the only one who could outshine all the stars in the universe without even trying. You’re the flame that leads me to what home should be. You, you’re my home.”

Ashton watched as her eyes widened, how the gears in her brain turned at the confession. He had only told a handful of people that he had told that he loved, the number so small he could count them on his two hands but this one, this one felt different. He had let the dam that he’d spent so long building crumble in a few short words and his hands didn’t shake, his heart didn’t burst as he’d always imagined, no, all that he did was let out a soft breath that fogged up and floated up into the night sky like a ghoul escaping from a cemetery.

“You’re my home too,” she whispered into the windy sky, her body finally springing into action and in a quick second, any doubts between them both that created a tight string of tension snapped when their lips met.

Ashton would have kissed her until his lungs collapsed from the lack of oxygen, relishing in the feeling of her body against his as their lips melded into one another making up for any words between them that had been left unspoken during the night. He would’ve kissed her until the sun rose high in the morning sky and replaced the stars until the music inside the building dimmed and simmered off into silence only replaced with the twittering birds waking up to a new day. He would’ve lived in the feeling of her lips and the spark that they left on his, making him feel more alive at that moment than he had felt in who knew how long. But the strong push of wind that tangled their bodies closer together and smacked hair against skin had shoved them apart, forcing them to look at one another once more and decode what had just happened.

Her lips were puffed, shiny, and tinted with hints of her lipsticks that Ashton was sure now stained his own lips, begging to be kissed once or twice more. Her skin prickled and bumpy with the evidence of the cold night that Ashton had been craving to breathe in minutes before inside of the crowded party. But her eyes shone so bright Ashton wasn’t sure if the moon would ever look the same to him, its latest competition pulling him in farther and farther until his back was hitting the plush leather of a car seat and his eyes were closed once more in the pleasure of her lips once more on his skin.

“I’ve thought about this for so long,” she whispered against Ashton’s shoulder, the buttons of his blood-stained shirt popping open with every push of her thumb against them, “How you would feel, how you would taste.”

Ashton was positive the dark night was messing with him, that the feeling of her body pressed up against his in the enclosed space of his backseat was a dream his brain was cruelly playing on him and it wasn’t until her teeth bit down on the thumping vein on his neck that he realized exactly how real this all was. The whiny moan he let out, mixed in with the gasp he couldn’t hold back, only spurred her on and when her cold hands found Ashton’s warm chest in the dark, he knew he was a goner.

“Gotta make sure I make it worthwhile then, huh?” Ashton breathed out, his hand squeezing the back of her neck as he brought her lips back to his, eager to get lost in the revelry of her kiss once more.

The windows of the car were fogged, evidence of just how worthwhile the wait between them both had been, the slow rocking of the vehicle to the outside world lost on partying people who were too busy dancing and drinking to ever realize that in the small space of Ashton’s backseat, love was being confessed and shown in more ways than one. Two lives were changing in a matter of passionate kisses and whispered praises, a tangled scene of two bodies reaching for one another in the darkness they’d feared for so long. That in the moonless night, where the wind smacked against windows and walls, where it shook the trees and littered leaves on the ground, a moth had led Ashton home.

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#ashton irwin fics #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton irwin blurbs #ashton irwin imagines #ashton irwin x reader #ashton irwin x you #ashton irwin #5sos fics #5sos fanfic #5sos blurbs #5sos imagines #5sos x reader #5sos #halloween fics #5sos x you #gemma writes #one night 5soh

[aelingalathyniusrailme]

Gwynriel- when Gwyn confesses to Azriel about being in love with him but he thinks he isn't good enough for her so he runs away, but while he's gone Gwyn gets injured and then he confesses too

It's been a couple weeks since I got this one but I finally got around to it. I hope you enjoy it and please stick around for the ending it's my favorite part. also if anyone likes it and wants to send me more prompts my inbox is always open

‘hold me until we are all but dust’

“Azriel,” she held his hands in her own, gripping them as she looked into his eyes. “Azriel, I think-no I know you are my mate. And I know that you struggle with conveying your feelings so you don’t have to say it back, but I couldn’t live with myself if you didn’t know that,” She felt her eyes begin to water and she huffed out a laugh. “That I love you, and I didn’t think it would ever have been possible for me to feel this way after what had happened to me. And god did I want it, but only in my wildest dreams and fantasies did I think that even a fraction of how I feel now, was possible. But you, my shadowsinger, have exceeded any expectation I could have ever hoped for and I know there will never be anyone else who can make me feel as safe, has been my friend, challenges me, and infuriates me as much as you do.”

“Gwyn,” he breathed.

She delicately cupped his face in her palms, gently wiping a tear away. Gwyn whispered, “you idiot I love you.”

“Gwyn,” he said again. So rarely was he at a loss for words but it seemed he could say nothing more than her name. The words were there, screaming at him to be voiced, pleading, begging, and yet he could do nothing. He didn’t deserve her, in what world was this beautiful, spirited female allowed to love him. Everywhere Azriel went, he hurt and destroyed but he would not hurt her. Gwyn deserved to thrive, to grow, but he was all darkness, shadows, and endless voids. He was where light and warmth went to die. “Gwyn,” he said one last time and opened his mouth to voice every incoherent thought he had, in his mess of a mind. But once again no words came.

“Hey.” she forced him to look at her. “Hey. I am not asking for you to say anything back and when you are ready you will tell me but I just needed you to hear it. Ok?” she turned away from him but not before he caught the slight look of disappointment. She didn’t look back.

Azriel stood there minutes after Gwyn had left, stunned. He had hurt her, he had let her down and the thought of ever doing that again left him hollow and with an urge to break something.

Subconsciously he felt his shadows begin to wrap and weave around him, folding Azriel into his own darkness.

He opened his eyes to find himself at the gates of rosehall. The house was in a corner of the night court where few lived. Outside the limits of velaris, but far from the horrors of the court of nightmares. Azriel’s mother loved it but he knew sometimes she felt suffocated from the simplicities of what life had become. His mother craved adventure and excitement, the domestic life was one she still wasn’t fond of.

Az hadn’t been planning a visit but might as well see his mother since he was here. He knocked on the gates, the magic recognizing his own, and opened.

She was sitting on a rocking chair, knitting and quietly humming to herself. She was only a few centuries older than himself but illness caused her to look much older.

She sighed not looking at him. “What did you do?”

“Can’t I just want to see my beautiful mother every once in a while?”

She rolled her eyes seeing through his bullshit. “You do see me, sometimes I think you’re here too often. So I ask again, what did you do?” Maybe it was magic, some gift, maybe it was just mother’s intuition but somehow she always knew.

He kissed her on the head and began to make way to the room he kept in the house. “The sickness is finally getting to you, you’re making things up.”

She snorted, “Hunny you’ll know the day this thing beats me but it sure as hell won’t win without a fight.”

“Of course mom.”

“It’s alright I’ll get it out of you eventually.” She winked at him as he winnowed to his room. Azriel heard her mumble “won’t even use the damn stairs anymore.” and he chuckled softly.

Within seconds Azriel collapsed on his bed, closing his eyes to ignore the tug he felt within him. He wasn’t running, he was doing what was best for Gwyn. That’s a lie, the subtle hiss sent shivers up his spine. Azriel shut his shadows out too. She didn’t need him and he didn’t deserve her.

He didn’t sleep, when he slept he was drowning in nightmares. For five days he cared for his mother, catching up on the occurrences of each other's lives. Azriel was careful to avoid Gwyn in his recaps. And every day he could tell his mother was growing more and more concerned. He desperately wanted to be with her, he could feel the pull in every inch of his body but Azriel had always been stubborn, so he stayed with the knowledge that what he was doing was the right thing.

He felt his mother watching him, studying him until finally, she spoke. “Az is this extended visit about that girl.” she paused trying to think. “The redhead? For the love of god this stupid illness, I can’t remember her name, Gwyn? Was it?”

Azriel’s eyes flitted away giving her confirmation her guess was right. His mother sighed, grabbed her cane, and began to stand. He got up to help her only to be met by a dagger-eyed glare that said you help me and I cut your arms off. She was several inches shorter than him but as his stubborn mother hobbled over to him, she held out an arm for him to take. He took it without hesitation but the question remained on his lips.

“We are going for a walk.” she beat him to it.

They walked in silence, ever so often her arm clutching his tightly as if she were about to fall. Memories flashed of his mother before she was sick. When she could not stay still for more than a moment, even centuries-old and still she had carried a youthfulness with her that could not be replicated.

As if she could read his thoughts she raised her eyebrows, “I’m fine.”

“I would never suggest you weren’t.” Although they both knew she wasn’t fine, denial was bliss for those with limited days. His mother studied Azriel as he looked around at the plethora of roses covering the entirety of the gate.

“I hate them.” she scrunched her nose in disgust at the bright flowers as Az snorted.

“Then why don’t you do something about them.”

“They were here before me and they will be here long after me, what right do I have to disrupt them from their home?” She paused. “To the displeasure of my eyes and nose, I will not be moving them.”

They continued their leisurely walk until they finally reached a well. It was a considerable distance outside the boundaries of what was her home. She began to fill up the bucket with water from the well. It was a slow process for his mother's stubbornness forbade him from helping her. When she was finished she grabbed the pail and walked away from him leaving Azriel behind.

“Wait-”

She turned to face him. “Close your mouth, my dear, you wouldn’t want to swallow a fly,” and kept walking.

“Are we not-” he fumbled for his words. “Going to talk about her.”

“Well, I came out here for some fresh water.” She looked at him innocently. “Would you like to talk about her?” His damned mother played him. Her gaze softened.

“I may be sick but I know how to get my son to talk to me even when his own stubbornness refuses.”

He sighed. “I will never doubt you again.”

She sat down on a bench a few feet from the well and motioned for him to join her. “Now tell me what happened.”

He was quiet for a second before he spoke. “Gwyn, she, she told me she loved me.”

“And do you love her back?”

Without hesitation, Azriel responded softly. “Yeah, I do.”

“Then why are you here with me and not with her.” Azriel looked away. “Is this female your mate?” He nodded. “And you’re in love with her?” He nodded once again. “The female you have been looking for your entire life wants to be with you and you ran away?”

Azriel ran his fingers through his hair. “It is more complicated than that.” “Why?”

“Because- because I don’t deserve her. Gwyn, she’s full of this light and she has a spirit unlike anyone I have ever met and I know that I cannot give her what she needs.”

His mother appeared speechless for a moment before bursting out into a fit of laughter. He scowled at her. “You men are fools.” It was Azriel’s turn to be speechless. “Listen to me, is she worth it?”

“God yes.”

“Then it is not your place to decide what she needs. I have never been one to sugar coat and I won’t start now, there is a chance that this may crash and burn. But you have to decide if the possibility of pain and rejection is worth letting yourself be happy. Gwyn is telling you that she wants to take the leap with you and that regardless of whatever you may think, she believes you are worth it.”

Azriel stared straight ahead as his mother spoke. But she forced him to look at her. “Azriel, it’s not selfish to want to be happy. And this female makes you happy.”

At that moment Azriel felt a lurch in his chest. A tug stronger than any he’s felt. It was intense, it was dizzying, it took over every one of his senses. “Gwyn. it’s Gwyn she needs me.”

His mother gave him an incredulous look. “Then what the hell are you doing here? Go to her.” It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order. Azriel didn’t think, he just let his shadows wrap around him and instinct took over.

He opened his eyes and looked around. His eyes caught a flash of red, he bolted and found Gwyn laying on the ground limp. She was bleeding. No No No. Too much blood. His heart was a drum in his chest. Azriel, as gently as he could, lifted her into his arms. There was an arrow sticking out of her chest, just barely missing her heart. “gwyn. Gwyn. GWYN.” Finally, her eyes opened slowly. Her lips were purple and her skin was a sickly shade of white. He ripped off his own coat and wrapped it around her.

“Az” she croaked and let out a groan of pain. “It seems the Illyrians don’t like me very much.” She whispered each word a struggle to speak. Her eyes drifting closed.

“Shhh don’t speak don’t speak. Gwyn, my love, I need you to keep your eyes open.”

“Take it out.” she huffed.

“If I do that you’ll bleed out and I need you to live.” In his mind, Azriel screamed for Rhys. Over and over he thought the words. Gwyn’s bleeding out I can’t move her, we’re deep in Illyrian territory please come quick.

Seconds passed and it took every inch of concentration for Gwyn to keep her eyes open. Azriel watched her internal struggle, knew the feeling of being on the edge, how it would be so easy just to close your eyes. To rest.

“Please Gwyn” his voice broke. “I need you to- I need you.”

He just barely heard the words. “Why?”

“Because-” Azriel took a deep breath. “You make every moment better. Because I have lived 500 years and yet you still find ways to surprise me. Because I have never known what it meant to love and be loved as fiercely and absolutely as we love each other. You never gave up on me, not once, because you are stubborn and determined and I could walk this world for millennia more and I know without a doubt in my mind I could never find anyone like you. Even if you weren’t my mate they would never and could never compare to you.” He took another breath. “And I know that I hurt you but I need you to live to be mad at me, live to scream at me for all the things we both know I did wrong, live to hurt me as I hurt you, I don’t care just please Gwyn. I need you to live.”

“Say it.” Azriel laughed a shaky, desperate, nervous laugh.

“You idiot, I love you.” He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to hers, and held her close to him. Azriel had never been religious but in that moment he begged and pleaded and prayed to the mother, to the cauldron, to whoever was up there watching that this was not the end. This couldn’t be the end.

#gwynriel #gwynriel one shot #gwynriel I love you #gwyn berdara #azriel #gwyn x azriel #I had fun writing this #these two istg #but I love them in all their stupidity #I'm looking at you shadowsinger

[thedragonnerd]

Rayaari headcanon - let's have celebrations for their Wedding

(Inspired by these lovely anons)

Raya spends weeks having a beautiful golden armband made by Fang metalsmiths, which she then brings to Heart artists for the engraving process - wanting her proposal offering to have aspects of both cultures displayed prominently.

But while the armband is still with the engravers, she ends up being beaten to the proposal accidentally by Namaari. They've gone for an evening walk, taking the opportunity to spend time together in private, and enjoy the night sky. Raya is gazing at the stars and pointing out different constellation shapes, when she realizes Namaari is watching her instead of where she is pointing.

'I was going to have a whole...thing planned,' Namaari tries to explain, and Raya just smiles at her, confused at what she's referencing. Namaari grasps her hand tightly, and rests their foreheads together. 'Dep la, I don't want to wait. I just want to spend the rest of my life with you. Would...would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?'

Raya kisses her deeply, tasting a slightly hint of salt, although she isn't sure which of them is crying - or if they both are. She almost forgets to say yes afterwards, too busy covering Namaari's cheeks with kisses.

They tell Benja first, if only because they are currently staying at the palace in Heart. He swings Raya round in a hug, and she can't help but laugh at his joy. Namaari approaches and tries to bow formally to him, about to apologize for the lack of ceremony she's displayed with her proposal, but he merely steps forward and sweeps her into an embrace also.

Raya accompanies Namaari to Fang two days later, wanting to tell Chief Virana as soon as possible. Virana isn't surprised by the news, but alternates between welcoming Raya to the family in a warm voice, and scolding Namaari for being unable to wait a few more days until the ceremonial daggers were ready for a proposal.

Namaari finally presents Raya with the daggers the following night, when they are sat side-by-side on the large windowsill of her bedroom, looking out at Fang's kingdom. 'These represent the balance between you and me,' Namaari explains, presenting both knives with slightly unsteady hands. 'The symbols are for protection, so you will never fall in battle.'

Raya laughs slightly when she takes them - they feel solid yet lightweight in her hands, perfect for close-quarter fighting. Truly a wonderful gift for her.

Raya uses the moment to thrust her own offering towards Namaari, having collected it in Heart before they left. The armband also has protective symbols engraved along the side, as well as important moments of mythology from Heart and Fang alike - combining the history of the two lands into one.

They agree on two ceremonies; firstly because they would never risk telling one of their parents that a wedding won't happen in their land, and secondly because it is important to introduce the other in an official sense to the citizens.

Namaari suggests that the first ceremony is held in Heart, well aware of the message it sends to the rest of the lands: Heart and Fang are uniting, and there are no longer grudges held between their families. Raya agrees, especially since she wants everyone to accept her new wife as easily as possible, considering their history.

That being said, Raya is somewhat disgruntled that the largest crowd of guests will be coming to this first ceremony, especially as it seems like every dignitary from Talon, Spine and Tail have agreed to attend. But this wedding is bigger than just the two of them - it's a symbol of hope and peace for Kumandra. And at the end of the day, she knows she will be walking away with Namaari as her wife, so it's a small price to pay.

Benja goes wild with the catering for the ceremony. He wants everything to be absolutely perfect for his Dew Drop, although Raya gets an incredibly embarrassed look on her face whenever he says as much. Namaari just nods along wisely at everything he says, and says 'You can't blame him for wanting everything to be perfect for his favourite daughter.' Raya dislikes this new vibe of her father and 'Maari bonding together against her, but merely grumbles 'I'm his only daughter.'

Soon, of course, he will also have a daughter-in-law.

On the day of the ceremony, Raya almost wants to flee, just from the fear of the crowds and expectations surrounding her. But Namaari holds onto her hand tightly, and whispers how she can't wait to begin the rest of their lives together, and it is this image Raya clings onto whenever she begins to feel overwhelmed.

As part of her wedding ensemble, she insists on wearing the two daggers from Namaari, strapped to her waist, as well as a necklace that belonged to her mother.

Namaari wears Raya's armband meanwhile, as well as a well-worn necklace in the shape of Sisu - a private connection to their history, that no-one else knows. There is a large sword hanging at her own waist. It had belonged to her father, and although it is too great in size to be a good weapon for Namaari to comfortably wield, just having it with her brings a feeling of strength.

Tuk Tuk is not allowed to the official ceremony, but as soon as the evening party begins, Namaari sneaks him (as much as she can sneak, with his size) into the palace just to see Raya smile in surprise.

The ceremony in Fang is held a week later, and is a much more subdued affair, at least in terms of the number of guests invited - focusing not on world-saving symbols, but on introducing Raya to the Fang citizens.

Unlike Benja, Virana seems to be quite content at allowing Namaari to deal with all the preparations (but in reality, neither of the girls realize how much micromanaging she is carrying out behind the scenes - she is adamant that her Morning Mist will have the perfect wedding, even if it's a second one).

In tone however, there is nothing subdued about how Fang celebrates weddings. They are a warrior culture, and with that comes, to Raya's amusement, sparring and fighting as entertainment. General Atitaya wins the competition, bowing low to her two Princesses.

'It could have been romantic for me to fight for your hand,' Raya teases in a whisper to Namaari, whose cheeks blush pink in response. 'You had my hand long ago,' she whispers back, and follows that up with a subtle squeeze of her fingers on Raya's knee.

Namaari's serlot is curled up at their feet throughout the entirety of the evening's feast, and if anyone asks, Namaari merely smiles serenely and says it is for security purposes.

Sisu and her siblings of course attend both ceremonies, and Raya is amused to see that Namaari is still as star-struck all these years later as she was when she first met Sisu.

When the wedding finally ends, they take a week to enjoy travelling, not as Princesses of Heart and of Fang, but as Raya and Namaari, two newly-weds who want to have personal adventures and time to themselves.

They take Tuk Tuk and Namaari's serlot, spending their week exploring forests, deserts, market places and more through all the lands. They camp under the stars as much as possible, and remain incognito whenever they enter towns.

They finish their time away by arriving back in Heart. That evening, Namaari takes Raya's hand and leads her on a walk, and they stroll along the pathway while enjoying the growing darkness.

Raya realizes she's taken them to the exact place where she proposed, and they kiss under the stars.

#rayaari #raya and the last dragon #ratld #raya #namaari #raya and namaari #raymaari #raya x namaari #wedding headcanon #there were so many ceremonial things i wanted to include #but we could have been here foreverrrr #our ladies deserve some lovely celebrations #but also time to themselves

[flowerflamestars]

i remember that you once said something about privateer nesta could you elaborate? please? *shrek cat eyes*

WHO TOLD YOU I AM COMPLETELY VULNERABLE TO THE CAT EYES??

okay, so admittedly I don't remember the context in which I said this?? But I still SUPER super love the idea

and it matches with what we'll call the Dream ACOTAR Extended Universe Plot, almost canon.

We begin with the final battle against Hybern. Tamlin dies, closing the loop of his tragic, misspent life. Amren stays dead, a magical being on to the next adventure.

Rhysand stays dead.

He functionally (magically) threw himself on a bomb, and took the whole blast. He's not the Cauldron- and no one man could repair what it once was, but he could contain the fatal, drastic implosion of an object that was meant to endure forever, fractured into more and more peices.

Why is this important?

Because it leaves a world where Feyre Archeron- twenty-ish, romantic hero, prop, prisoner- becomes High Lady in her own, true right.

(I don't think she's necessarily good at this job, because why would she be? It's not even her fault- Feyre has no idea about how faery politics work, no real tangible knowledge of her own inherited kingdom.)

But both the men who stole her and defined her and loved her and hurt her are dead.

And it not only sets her on a journey to become, on her own, an actual character in her own life, but it galvanizes the Archeron sisters.

Feyre's basically fucking comatose after the battle. Elain has been a mess this entire time, but after that last fight with Grayson, walking into the war and stabbing a king in the throat- she is as vital and herself as Nesta has seen her in years.

Nesta just watched her father die and felt nothing- and she hates herself for it. She and Elain had taken the head of the man who stole everything from them- and she doesn't have a single regret.

Feyre screamed until she could no longer- there's so much magic seething out her it hurts to look at-

There's a dark well inside herself that could rise. But why should Nesta let it? So what, if she doesn't mourn her father? He'd never cared about her and Elain- not when they were young, too busy and important to even speak to his own children. Not when they lost everything, and he'd tried one last time to sell them both into marriages to recoup the family loss. Not after, in the starving cold, no matter what she'd tried to force him into action.

Nesta had been mourning all along a human girls human life- what is an absent, neglectful, shitty in the most ordinary of ways human parent if not a part of that lost future?

Their sister owns a fucking country- their sister is, at this minute so hemmed in by her followers no one can see her, much less comfort her- there's a war camp falling apart around them- there's Nesta, Elain, and Azriel, unhurt, upright, alive.

(she does not let herself think that an hour before she'd been ready to die and thought it right, the ending the meant to be conclusion of her story. she does not think about how she'd wished Cassian healed beneath her hands and that he had healed, that she'd wept to learn she could do more than destroy.

that she'd still been weeping, her mouth bright with his blood, when he'd pulled away, dragged himself to Morrigan's waiting arms)

Nesta Archeron is alive. Her sisters are alive. They're free, and she'll be fucking damned if this all falls apart before Feyre can heal.

Nesta turns to Azriel and asks if he can take control of the legions.

She has no time for his blank, angry eyes- she knows he's hurt, he's mourning, he's lost- but she needs him. Cassian's...down. Rhys is dead. Feyre and Morrigan are not coming out of that tent.

And he just listens. Thoughtfully. Asks what Nesta intends to do.

And Nesta looks at Elain- soft, kind, gentle Elain who'd never once wavered now when life was on the line. Who hadn't cried a tear for their father, or for the man who'd kidnapped and then married their baby sister.

The danger wasn't over- and neither had the steel faded from Elain's spine.

Nesta tells Azriel she's going to find Keir.

Nesta isn't blind- she's walked the Hewn City, spoken to the eldest darkness. She was also at the joke of a Summit- Autumn wants new territory, Keir wants to rule Night. And here Night is, weakened, a lamb to slaughter.

Nesta's not going to lose again- she's not going to give these ancient, cruel lords another chance.

Elain grabbed her hand and squeezed- the one person, always, who Nesta never need explain herself to.

Aren't the High Fae technically Morrigan's Elain asked, a bare whisper as they walked through the camp.

It went without saying yes, but Nesta had never seen any indication they respected her enough to listen to her. She made a face, and Elain made one right back, rueful. She had eyes too, after all.

They're not going to listen to us in these clothes, Elain also told her.

She was right, of course. They were High Fae, and that mattered to those vile pricks, but they'd been outfitted for flight. She would do almost anything, actually, to be free of leather pants.

Which Elain, a gleam in her eye that Nesta was learning meant magic, dreamy and happy- led her precisely to a gold topped tent, stepped inside, bowed, and asked without a trace of hesitation if Helion Spellcleaver, Lord of Day, would perhaps do them the favor of loaning them some garments.

Solid gold eyes gleaming against blood and smoke tinged dark skin, beautiful, glorious Helion, smiled.

Day-white against Night- but also, Nesta knew, taking care with her crown of a braid, the splatter of blood left on her throat, her mouth, her cheeks like fine paint- white was the color of death.

Elain covered herself completely- shawl wrapped over her hair, tucked around her neck, breathing easier now, in human modesty- but hung from a golden belt that Helion, with the clear air of someone who knew something about seers, had found, metal hammered with stars and flames, was Truthteller, the long blade without a sheathe, black metal swallowing up light.

Keir was easy to find, and in fine form, surrounded by Darkbringers, who looped back behind the sisters the second they were close.

Nesta was not afraid- she'd thrown power into the sky and it had hurt. Not in depth, but because she was still holding on- it wanted out-it wanted to devour-

Elain dipped a flagrantly rude, swallow bob of a curtsey. Nesta didn't even bother- just let Keir hail them, royal family that they were. He liked the sound of his own voice, but he was also clever- they'd come here of their own volition and now they were trapped.

She could smell the reinforcements, the utter Autumn reek.

Nesta interrupted, and asked Keir to come and swear fealty to her sister.

It was never going to get the right answer, but it had to be said. It had to be heard.

She'd been right- they'd been right- Keir enjoyed the cruelty of getting close to Nesta, denying straight to her Archeron face that no, Rhysand's bloodline was ended. It was time, it was right, for the House of Truth to once more hold their throne.

He spoke his treason aloud, looming over Nesta- close enough to touch.

So Nesta did.

She'd willed Cassian alive and whole. It was so, so much easier to remember fire, death, drowning, to push and want the revolting man's destruction.

And when he fell, silvered fire that had filled his lungs spilling from his throat, Nesta did not flinch. She looked to the next lieutenant, a frankly indistinguishable golden haired pale-eyed blandly handsome man in black armor, and asked, if he, as the new commander of the Darkbringers, would like to give a different answer.

He did.

Azriel met them halfway back to Feyre, grim mouth flickering for a second at the sight of Elain, before looking, stone-faced, at Nesta beside her, leading a crowd of the highest ranked Night Court faeries she could find.

Keir? He asked.

Dead, Elain answered, and that was that.

The Shadowsinger fell in step with the Seer, a threatening shadow to two pale beacons.

It was Azriel who actually went inside the tent. Who said what needed to said, what made Morrigan splutter loudly enough to be heard outside, before she burst out the tent in a whorl of hair, before blanching.

Nesta had just enough control not to roll her eyes. They come to swear fealty.

And Morrigan, chewing her lip with all the dignity of a child- Elain and Nesta had been trained out of such gestures at eight, what did she think was happening here? - shook her head. She's not well, it can wait.

No, Azriel said, from behind her, it can't.

He was supporting what looked like the entirety of Feyre's weight. Dead-white, blue eyes a blaze, Feyre looked blearily out at all of them like she recognized no one.

Elain, treasure that she was, came forward to take her sister's other hand, whispering both condolence and explanation.

And so the High Houses of Night knelt in battlefield mud, and swore eternal loyalty to the youngest Archeron.

It was only after they were gone that Nesta hugged her sister- hard enough Feyre protested, a fresh batch of tears soaking Nesta's shoulder even before Elain joined them.

It's Azriel, voice a little less like a phantom, who tells Feyre they're handling things. That if she wants to rest more, that's fine.

She was so clearly shattered- Nesta half wondered how much of that Azriel can literally feel/hear with his shadow...things.

Feyre protests that there's things to do- Feyre makes it halfway through a sentence about plans before she says Rhysand's name like he's still alive and collapses in on herself like a wave crashing.

Nesta and Elain tuck Feyre back into the blanket pile. Nesta manages to kiss her forehead before Morrigan is there, hugging Feyre putting herself bodily between the sisters.

They leave, and outside, Azriel is waiting.

To hand Nesta a gaudy, enormous platinum ring. The seal of the Night Court- Nesta recognizes it from shipping manifests, but she'd never actually seen it as an adult. Here, as a faery.

Her thoughts on Azriel's powers hold true, as he answers the dismay: Rhys only used it when he had to. It had passed between the whole Court of Dreams hands, there had not been a vizier, a lord of stars, since the time of Rhysand's father.

Nesta puts on the hideous ring, barely flinching at the brush of magic, it resizing to her hand.

Elain grasps her other, squeezing, and asks Azriel who is next.

They work ceaselessly, pausing only to sleep. Azriel, Nesta is quite sure, isn't sleeping at all- until she goes looking for him with a question and finds him finally, finally out cold, face tucked in Lucien Vanserra's neck.

In silence and gestures, they come to something of an agreement- and when the Night Court comes to the table to talk peace, it's with Lucien. Jurian, who Nesta immediately liked.

By the time they return to the North, there is not a Lord one who does not know the names and nightmarish qualities of all three Archeron sisters.

Feyre mourns, and learns to govern slow. Cassian goes back to Illyria and does not return for a long, long time. Morrigan becomes Feyre's second- Nesta laughs, not altogether kind, when Lucien tells her this. No one has been able to answer her as to why, if Morrigan is so powerful, why did she not fight? what does she actually do?

What answers to her questions she does find are appalling. Why does Winter block our every turn? oh, Rhysand killed more than a dozen children. Why is Summer refusing our trade? Well, Rhysand stole their ancestral pride. Why is the Hewn City so wrathful at even the slightest form of intervention? Because Rhysand had left Keir to rule alone.

Nesta doesn't want to rule the fucking court. She thinks she could leave all of these politicians to rot- but she won't let Feyre misstep her way to death, shouldering a burden of her dead mate.

There's nothing they can give Winter but apology and so that's what Nesta does. On her knees, in a gilded palace of ice, stars caught in her hair and the seal on her. Kallias, bright and young, seems to know something about inherited problems- he does not ever forget, but he forgives, at least, the Archerons.

Summer is more complicated- but Nesta does what she can. Gives them every melted, ruined piece of the Book. Offers reparations for the next millennia. Ends up paying for what she is appalled and embarrassed to learn is a two hundred year old debt for a building the head of the Night Court's armed forces- Cassian, fucking Cassian the ghost haunting Nesta- had destroyed. During a brawl. At a solstice party.

She deals only with Cressieda, and they come to understand each other very well.

Nesta was not raised for politics and bullshit- her mother wanted her to marry a crown, but Nesta wanted the family empire. Trade. The Archeron legacy, denied to a girl. She likes Summer more than any place in Prythian, and she doesn't hide that. She relearns old lessons of tide and routes in secret, before Cressieda reveals that of course, she knows who the Archerons were.

It goes well, until Morrigan finds out what she's been doing, and tells Feyre.

The youngest Archeron had been doing better. Morrigan has been right by her side, through everything. Cassian is in Illyria, and Feyre understands why, writing him letters. She writes letters to Rhys too, if only to have a way to direct the words.

Azriel, spectral and busy she sees the least of, but Feyre never doubts his presence, keeping her safe. Elain comes, drags her out into sunlight, brings Lucien and it makes Feyre happy to see them together. Nesta comes too, with them both and alone, with papers from Feyre to sign, with affection sharp-edged but true.

Feyre knows she owes them all more than can be said- she's not stupid, she knows they're keeping Night together. That slowly those responsibilities will fall to her, when she's ready.

She does not think about how much of those responsibilities is cleaning up the tangled mess of betrayal Rhysand left behind. In her head, there is only Rhys- beloved and shadowed, kind and tortured.

Until Morrigan tells her that it's been acknowledged, in public, by Night, that Rhysand was a thief, and a murder of children.

Feyre loses her shit.

Rhysand had done what he had to. Who was Nesta, to say such things? She'd always hated Rhys. Rhys had always hated her, maybe he was right- the children. Rhys had mourned them in screaming nightmares, but he hadn't hurt them-

(Feyre does not stop to think it strange, that Rhys could have nightmares of memories not his own. That he might have fractured just a bit, under Amarantha. That the Red Lady had no daemati- that was why she'd kept Rhys all along.)

The fight is as ugly as can be imagined. And what proceeds is of course, worse. Feyre says terrible things she will ultimately regret and apologize for, but what becomes clear is that Morrigan thinks that Nesta means to hold power forever.

That she's taken advantage.

And Cassian, called home by rage, believes her.

That is, more than her ungrateful sister, more than the ongoing weight of cleaning up after a man she despised for good reason, the end of Nesta Archeron's Night Court career.

She'd thought she loved him- she'd been willing to die with him- but they'd lived. This was the life, the next life, and what did he think of her? That Nesta was a power hungry snob. That she was paying too much heed to politics.

That Nesta belonged quietly at home. That she should have learned to fight somewhere along that way- a point so convoluted it made Lucien laugh- that she hadn't learned anything that mattered.

That she had no right to kill Keir, because it had hurt Morrigan.

Had he ever, Nesta would wonder later, even liked her? Enjoyed anything about her but for that magical tether, telling him he was blessed with something special?

Nesta was something special, and she knew it.

And so she returned the ring to Azriel, packed up her possessions, and left.

First to Day, where Elain had bought a house. Fury and tears both met the explanation of what happened- fury and tears that turned to getting inadvisably drunk in sunlight, when Lucien and Azriel snuck away to join them.

For the first time in Nesta's adult life, she had no obligations. Magic, money, freedom- the whole world was out there.

She stopped wearing black. Learned pants where actually lovely, when they fit correctly and weren't made of leather. Learned Azriel could laugh, and Lucien was as clever as she'd always thought.

She read books, she ate fruit, she took Helion up on several of his more lascivious offers.

She thought of Cassian, and it ached, but not enough to go backward.

Elain's house was by the sea, right on the water. The scent of salt reminded Nesta of Summer- but also of her oldest, most secret dreams. The warehouses of goods, like mysteries to solve. The account books she stole, learning by candlelight the trade in her blood.

Ten years after the war, Nesta bought a ship.

She set out to be a merchant, use what she knew, but what happened was this: Nesta Archeron did not care anymore for rules. And so when she came upon Hybernian remnants-for they were an island kingdom, even more one with the water than Prythian- pillaging a Summer town, she destroyed them.

She stole their treasure, gave much of it back to the people.

Found, unexpected, that she had much more of a taste for marauding than she would have expected. There was still trade of course- proft made and shared- but Summer needed someone willing to do some destroying out on the sea.

Twelve years after the war, Nesta Archeron became a privateer under the Summer flag, pearls in her hair and a true smile on her lips.

Things grew, as all things do. Feyre wrestled herself the reins of government, stymied by the councils Nesta and Azriel set up as much as she often was by Azriel himself out of truly petulant action. Morrigan remained second, golden blades bright as her gowns within reach. Cassian became a sort of seneschal, reigning over Illyria in Feyre's name cold and alone as the wind through the mountains.

(Feyre thought he might never get over the war, but Azriel knew the truth.)

Elain took herself wherever the future led, a sort of mediator and councilor, walking in all Courts- but always back to home, that isolated green, green cove, where Nesta would land.

When war came again, there was no great Lordly alliance, no cut-throat summit. There was a fleet of ships whose sails where edged in purple, whose announcement across the water was silver fire, whose accompaniment were monsters of old.

Violence did not touch Prythians human shore, because Nesta Archeron did not let it.

She was death on the tide, and she remembered what shores had borne her.

She had a home in Summer, a place in Day, her family across the continent- she had her ships, full of faeries from every walk of life, who wanted as she did the freedom as much as the profit, the endless, endless blue, where sea meets sky.

It was eternity, and the Archeron sisters, free, had made it their own.

#i'm sorry this is literally a novel #but!!! #this is my dream plot actually #all about legacy and complicated feelings #the total failure of cassian as a partner #of rhys as a ruler #of feyre as a sister!! #there's so much love in the end but its not easy love #and they do have to fight for it #Nesta Archeron has always been exactly who she is and that shouldn't have to change #Elain has never GOTTEN to be who she is and that should change #Feyre standing alone is all i want yall #a true overturning of the patriarchy actually #yes this a luzreil universe #Elain...mhmm.... definitely just has a string a very romantic love affairs #marriage as a prospect caused her so much pain #she's done #I feel like Mor comes off almost too badly in this #but like #she would?? #she's SO possessive of her people #and totally weird about Feyre's sister's from the start #Nesta having power? #Nesta having Azriel's backing? #NESTA BEING CASSIAN'S MATE? #its never going to go well

[dameronology]

asystole {obi-wan kenobi x reader}

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

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

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

enjoy 

- jazz 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘You look like shit.’  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Did it hurt?’

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

‘I suppose it is.’ He murmured. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I miss it already.’

-- 

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Do go on. Help, I might be able to.’

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

‘Lots. Specific, you must be.’

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

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

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

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

‘What if they didn’t?’

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

Well, that explained it. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘That’s mean.’

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

Wait for you. Follow you.

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

‘Mmm?’ 

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

‘Or?’

‘How do you know there’s an or?’

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

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

‘Just cut to the point.’

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

‘So, you and me?’

‘What?’

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

That was the problem. 

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

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

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

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

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

‘Can I tell you something?’ He asked. 

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

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

‘Try me.’

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

‘I am here.’ You reminded him. 

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

‘What’s the difference, Obi?’

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

‘Yeah.’ 

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

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

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

‘What do you mean?’ You gently pushed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#obi-wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi-wan imagine #obi-wan angst #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi-wan kenobi angst #obi wan x reader #obi wan imagine #obi wan angst #obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi imagine #obi wan kenobi angst #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars imagines #star wars imagine #star wars angst

[destiny-islanders]

So I haven't been on the kingdom hearts side of the internet since KH3 came out (minus looking at some fan art occasionally) and I feel like I've missed something but I don't know it's it's a whole game or like a dlc or what so what exactly has happened since KH3? (Plot wise or game release wise works, I can just Google the other if I have a starting point)

Let’s seeeeee...

KH Re:Mind explains how Sora used person-disappearing time travel (?) to save Kairi 

Using his friends’ hearts as points to jump through space and time, Sora witnesses his allies’ battles with various members of Organization XIII (enduring combat where Cure is assigned to the triangle button, an offense most egregious)

He eventually finds a way to save Kairi... at the cost of. Y’know. Having A Corporeal Form

Fast-forward one year into a Sora-less future. Everyone’s trying to find Sora. Donald and Goofy are on a world tour to see if he’s popped up anywhere. Riku’s visiting the Radiant Garden crew to see if they can be of any help. Kairi is sleeping. So. Everyone’s contributing on brand.

Cid is hoping that through analysis of data of Organization XIII’s members, the group may be able to uncover some clues about where to find Sora. The method of analysis: Data Sora must engage in data battles that are almost prohibitively hard if you’re playing on any difficulty above Standard mode. (So, again. On brand.)

After hundreds of attempts and Data Sora bodies getting scraped off of the floor with a Keyblade-shaped spatula, the day is won.

Jump over to disappeared Sora, who’s stuck walking on water in the moonlight. A figure walks towards him in the darkness. No, Destiny, it’s not Noctis like you let yourself get worked up over when you heard his voice in the trailer. It’s Yozora, the main character of Verum Rex from Toy Box and decidedly not voiced by Ray Chase. And he wants to kill you. Suddenly they’re on the roof of a skyscraper in the middle of a busy town that looks like Shibuya but it isn’t, shut up, nerd.

Unless you have the skills of a KH god, Yozora does indeed kill you the first time. Sora becomes an exquisite ice sculpture and Yozora promises to protect... either him or someone else. If he’s talking to our Sora, he has some work to do.

When the player finally beats Yozora (it took me 150 tries on Proud and that’s not an exaggeration-- I COUNTED), it’s Sora’s turn to witness his opponent get put on ice.

Not-Noctis wakes up in the back of the Not-Regalia where Not-Ignis says cryptic words. Not-Ignis sounds just like Luxord.

Melody of Memory explains why Kairi was sleeping during KH Re:Mind. She’s delving into her memories in the hopes of finding a key to Sora’s whereabouts.

Enduring such hardships as listening to tracks like the Mickey Mouse theme and Bibbidy-Bobbidi-Boo in their entirety, she recaps the entire KH story so far (unless you have a mobile phone and still play KHUX and Dark Road).

She eventually ends up in the Final World. Xehanort is there. They fight. It’s very exciting. Until it’s not. Xehanort knocks Kairi on her ass. He’s about to strike her down, but then Kairi uses the Kingdom Key to defend herself. Which is awesome. But then she turns into Sora. Which is unawesome. You fight Xehanort as Sora and win.

Kairi sees a glimpse into her past, where Xehanort, during his time as Ansem the Wise’s apprentice, captures her and prepares to send her into the outside world. He says some cryptic shit about what should happen if she fails.

Kairi wakes up and reports what she’s found to the others. We are reminded by Ansem the Wise about the many different realms we’ve explored throughout the Kingdom Hearts series. The world of memories, dreams, data... and now, based on Kairi’s experiences, we’re faced with the world of ~fiction~.

The Fairy Godmother appears and accompanies Riku and Kairi to the Final World, where they meet up with the nameless star that Sora had spoken with before he un-appeared.

The nameless star turns out to be a girl from a different reality-- most likely the world of fiction that Sora has disappeared to. It’s called Quadratum.

With the star’s help, Riku gets to embark on an adventure to save Sora while Kairi is left behind again :)

Kairi goes back to Yen Sid to continue her training so she can finally join the Cool Kids Doing Stuff Club. She decides she’s going to train under Aqua which is cool but there’s too much salt on this table for me to forget the taste.

Mickey, meanwhile, is sent on a mission to learn about the ancient Keyblade masters. If you strain your ears, you may still hear the groans of everyone who still hasn’t played or at least brushed up on KHUX’s storyline.

#destiny answers #long post #text #kh mom spoilers #Anonymous

[trashmenofmarvel]

Always Will Be - Ch 2

Pairing: Loki x TVA Agent!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ Only): Eventual Smut, Slow Burn, Violence, Time Shenanigans, Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Chapter Summary: You interview Laufeyson for his crimes against the Sacred Timeline. 

AO3

The journey from the elevator was uneventful as you led the variant down the long hallway. Other employees of the TVA also walked the hall, alone or in pairs, and they paid attention to the two of you only to make sure you weren’t in their path.

You kept Laufeyson firmly in your periphery, more to keep him from wandering than a belief that he would attempt to escape. You didn’t doubt that would come at some point, but it was a little too early for him to play that hand.

“Where are we going?”

The casual candor of his voice didn’t fool you, not when the sharpness of his gaze was heating the side of your face.

“If it’s to my execution, I would rather know ahead of time,” he added with false friendliness. “It’s just polite.”

“We don’t kill people, Mister Laufeyson.”

“I can’t suffer a liar.”

You stopped before a heavy double door, two Minutemen standing guard on either side of it, and turned to the variant.

“I don’t lie. That’s your department.”

His eyes darkened and genuine anger flashed in their depths, but then it was gone so fast you would have questioned it was there in the first place if you hadn’t known better.

But you did.

Both Minutemen opened the doors, and you led the prisoner into Time Theater 25. It was the same beige color as the rest of the wing, and the only pieces of furniture were a small, round glass table, two metal weave chairs, and a control monitor.

You indicated the seat to the left and said, “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

“I would be more comfortable with this collar removed.”

Out of the corner of your eye he moved, quickly and without warning. You slipped the remote out of your sleeve and thumbed the pad. In the blink of an eye, he vanished and reappeared where he’d been two seconds previously, as if he hadn’t moved at all.

“You’ll find time works differently here at the TVA,” you informed him. “Please, sit.”

He said nothing, the animosity wafting off of him in waves. You ignored him, setting the files of paperwork down onto the table before taking your own chair. He took his own, albeit more cautiously, his eyes narrowed in dislike.

“Let the record show this is the entirety of Loki Laufeyson’s life recording,” you began. “Formerly of Jotunheim, formerly of Asgard—“

“—and formerly of Midgard.”

His smile was sharp.

“I did spend quite some time there. Both in my youth, and well, more recently.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Just wanted to be sure you’re thorough in your interview. That is what this is, isn’t it? My intake interview?”

You ignored the curious tilt of his head, as well as his question, and turned to the control monitor. It was rather small, round and orange, almost reminiscence of the gumball candies invented on Earth.

You flipped a switch and the room dimmed just as a rippling image of light appeared on the wall, powered by the holoprojector.

“We will be very thorough, Mister Laufeyson, and we shall start from the beginning. This is your home world. And that is you.”

The image focused on something small, blue, and wailing. The prisoner as a child, dying and abandoned.

You had seen the reel hundreds of times, had scoured most of this variant’s life. So while the film played, you watched him out of the corner of your eye. It was curious that Laufeyson didn’t flinch at the sight of his infant self being left to die. His face was carefully blank, unreadable, and his eyes barely moved.

But there was a shift when the King of Asgard entered the scene. When Odin lifted the lost babe into his arms, his nose slightly crinkled at the corners.

It was the only obvious tell he gave for quite a while. Laufeyson was closed off, appearing almost bored as his adolescence played out on the wall. The two royal brothers had rowdy, adventure-filled childhoods, though Laufeyson often acted as his brother’s second shadow. He only excelled when given magical lessons by his adoptive mother.

He gave an eye roll or two during Thor’s coronation, and he actually yawned during the fight on Jotunheim. But his boredom fell away when blue stretched across his skin for the first time, inflicted by the touch of a Jotun. And he replaced the carefully constructed mask over the confrontation with his adoptive father, and the truth was revealed that his very identity had been a fabrication.

When the scene was finally over and the King had fallen into Odinsleep, an inexperienced and uneducated person might have believed Laufeyson was unaffected. That all of the events of his childhood were little more than entertainment for his amusement.

But it wasn’t. Having to relive those moments would linger in his mind, and that was the point.

He smirked whenever the scene changed to him displaying power over Thor and his companions while holding the temporary throne. He seemed to enjoy his adoptive brother’s exile to Earth, and there was no shame given for these childish displays. That’s what they were, the product of a child throwing a tantrum.

His mask started to slip again, but not at the timestamp you expected. Laufeyson flinched at the point of violent contact between the Destroyer and Thor, knocking him back and nearly killing him in the process. Would have, if not for Thor’s returned power.

You wondered if Laufeyson had wanted to murder his brother intentionally, or if he had underestimated the Destroyer’s strength.

You picked up a notepad and scribbled down the question. Unfortunately, the chronological record could only display events as they happened, not the motivation or intention of the actors involved. It was a relevant question to ponder later.

“What are you doing?”

You lifted your head to find the variant staring at you. You clicked your pen closed and put it on the table, keeping the notepad firmly in your lap.

“You needn’t concern yourself. Please, pay attention to the screen.”

His gaze narrowed but said nothing. It was a look you were familiar with, though not one aimed at you. It meant Laufeyson would also ponder the question for later, though with an agenda bent toward scheming and manipulation.

You would need to be careful, but not as careful as he needed to be. After all, he was the Time Criminal.

The battle between Laufeyson and Odinson drew a few chuckles and smiles from the variant, as if he were recalling fond memories. His expression flattened into boredom when the King arrived to prevent Loki from falling, and his face remained blank as he let go, falling into the wormhole the unstable Bifrost had created.

It was a show, all for your benefit. Proof that he didn’t care about those he had harmed, that he was above all of his past decisions.

Because of his put-upon apathy, you let the record continue to run. You knew what came next. He did too.

Laufeyson watched his past-self float amongst the stares, frozen and immobilized in the vacuum of space. He didn’t perish, Jotuns and Asgardians were too tough for that, but it wasn’t pleasant. The subzero temperatures, the negative pressure, the absence of air and light, all contributed to his silent suffering.

It was a pleasure compared to what happened after.

A massive, dark ship appeared on the horizon, pulling him onboard. Laufeyson barely had time to defrost (even Jotuns had a freezing limit) before he was fixed with an electric collar and thrown into a cell.

Laufeyson was left in the dark for days with no food or water. He was brought out only to be strung up by his wrists, asked questions he refused to answer, and then he was electrocuted until he was barely conscious.

He was returned to his cell, given nothing for warmth or sustenance, and the process began again several days later.

The present-day Laufeyson didn’t blink. Didn’t seem to breathe as he watched. His eyes were glazed over, skin pale under the harsh lighting.

Another round of torture, but this one was different. It was inflicted not by electricity, but by a blue stone. Not the stone he would use to splinter the timeline. This stone was actually yellow, and it commanded minds rather than physical space, but Laufeyson didn’t know that at the time.

All he knew was agony, delivered by the hands of the owner of the ship. A warlord from Titan that would not stop until Laufeyson begged to be allowed to serve.

And beg he would. It had already happened, was recorded with perfect clarity, and it would happen within just a few short hours of being exposed to the Mind Stone.

Laufeyson made a small noise, quiet compared to the distant screaming of his former self.

“What was that?” you asked at normal.

“I said stop.”

When you craned your head in his direction, he refused to meet your eye.

“I don’t want to see this.”

You put your pen down on the table and fully faced him, folding your fingers in front of you.

“Do you verbally acknowledge that you wish to skip the contents of your time with Thanos the Mad Titan?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?”

“A yes or no response is required.”

“Yes.”

He drew out the word in a growl.

“Do you verbally acknowledge that the Time Variance Authority is under no legal responsibility for memory gaps or incorrect memory recall for the time skipped during this interview process—“

“Yes.”

“Do you verbally acknowledge the contents that lie herein are accurate and complete—“

“Yes!”

He jerked his head toward you, his eyes reflective and bloodshot, teeth bared in a quiet snarl.

“It’s accurate, as you bloody well know, so unless you derive sick pleasure from the tortured screams of others, would you be so kind as to fucking skip it!”

His chest heaved, skin dotted with sweat, and he was half out of his seat with fingers clawing into the table hard enough for hairline cracks to splinter down the glass.

You had witnessed the variant become aggressive and hostile before, mostly against his adopted brother. Having the force of that fury directed at your direction was a much different experience.

You dropped your eyes and smoothed your tie, giving him a moment to collect himself. When you heard the shuffle of him retaking his chair, you lifted your head but kept your eyes on the monitor. With a few knobs turned and a switch flipped, the image on the wall, currently depicting Laufeyson kneeling before Thanos, supplicating him with promises of whatever he wished.

What Thanos wished was now being shown on the screen: the variant arriving on Earth to steal the Tesseract and prepare for Thanos’ full force to arrive.

Replaying the events of Earth Incident 327-A (colloquially known as the Battle of New York by Earth residents) garnered less of a response from the variant. He watched impassioned as his past-self led the Chitauri against the Avengers, and subsequently lost that battle.

“I really don’t see what all the fuss is about,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the screen as it displayed all of the Avengers seemingly threatening the audience. “A few humans perished. It’s what they do. Nothing to get excited over.”

You ignored the comment. He wasn’t, after all, under scrutiny for the lives he’d taken while under Thanos’ control.

No. The reason for his current incarceration came next.

The holoprojector displayed Alexander Pierce stopping Thor Odinson and Tony Stark, demanding Laufeyson and the Tesseract be remanded to his custody. The argument was interrupted as Stark went into a mild cardiac dysrhythmia due to Scott Lang sabotaging his Arc Reactor.

Lang then kicked the case containing the Space Stone towards another variant of Stark.

The only occupant of the room to notice was Laufeyson. Bruce Banner (as his Hulk persona) created the chaos needed for the Tesseract to be freed from its case, tapping lightly against Laufeyson’s boot.

You fully turned to the variant just as his past-self picks up the Tesseract, disappearing into a spacial rift and vanishing off the screen.

“On May 4th, 2012 at 11:39AM local time, a nexus event occurred.”

The variant rolled his eyes. You continued.

“Loki Variant L1130—“

His eyes narrowed.

“—by using the Tesseract to escape the Avenger’s custody, you created an unsanctioned timeline, and therefore have been deemed a Time Criminal. This timeline has been course-corrected by the Time Variance Authority, and it is my duty as your handler to determine whether you are to be assigned to a Time Cell or pruned.”

“Pruned?” He wrinkled his nose. “I believe the term you’re looking for is killed. I arrived at the same time as another man, and he refused to cooperate. Those goons melted him without hesitation.”

You slightly leaned forward, speaking concisely so there would be no misunderstanding.

“That ‘man’ was a variant, as are you. A being whose existence should never have come to be, and therefore, your life is null. Forfeit. It is by our grace that you even draw breath, and it’s my job to ensure you continue breathing from behind the walls of a cell.”

You leaned back and shuffled your papers in front of you.

“As I said before, we don’t kill people, Mister Laufeyson. Variants are not people.”

Something flashed within his eyes. You only caught a glimpse of it before it was gone, and then his expression was back to one of hostility.

“I deny the charges.”

You blinked.

“You cannot deny them.”

“I just did.”

“It is an irrefutable fact that you stole the Tesseract—“

“My apologies, but,” Laufeyson interrupted, not sorry at all, “did we not watch the same act of the play? Because I distinctly remember seeing a very tiny man stealing the Tesseract first, handing it off to what appears to be a second Tony Stark, who then tried to make off with it before a certain green monster deprived him of his ill-gotten gains.”

Laufeyson spread his hands, giving a toothy smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You may as well charge the Hulk with spoiling the timeline—it certainly wouldn’t have happened without his helpful input. In fact, bring in all the Avengers for crimes against the ‘Sacred Timeline.’ They’re just as guilty as I am, unless that goateed chap I saw happened to be Stark’s long lost twin brother.”

Laufeyson sat up straighter, staring you down.

“You speak of Time Criminals? It’s they you should be after.”

Then just as quickly, he crossed his arms and leveled you with an amused tilt of his head.

“Perhaps you could provide me with a taskforce and resources, and I could return and eliminate them for you. No? Nothing? Cat got your tongue again, darling?”

You rose to your feet, bracing the palms of your hands against the table as you looked him in the eye.

“You picked up the Space Stone and stole it, breaking the timeline. You did that. No one else. It was your actions that brought you here.”

It was not this Loki variant those words had been spoken to, but the smile was wiped from his face just as quickly. Deep down, he may have sensed an echo of those words. A phenomenon known as déjà vu to the common layman, when in reality it was something variants experienced from the Sacred Timeline they were no longer a part of.

Laufeyson also rose to his feet, leaning against the table to meet you in a staring match. He had height on you, and he took advantage of it to lean uncomfortably close.

“You speak of my actions as if you can possibly understand them. You think you know me by watching from a safe, comfortable distance?”

His eyes looked between yours, boring into them with an intensity that was unsettling. And when he spoke, his voice was low and deceptively soothing.

“I know what this place is. Your organization is shrouded in mystery, more of a legend than fact according to Asgardian historians. But Frigga, she should sense your constant manipulations, echoing across time. She forewarned me of what should happen if I come across your ilk. She thought you one of the greatest threats of the universe, but I? I see an amusing sideshow. The Time-Keepers have built quite the circus.”

He leaned in so close you could barely keep him in focus, his warm breath puffing across your face.

“And I see the clowns are playing their parts to perfection.”

You didn’t budge, refusing to cede ground and give him the satisfaction he sought.

“And in this metaphor of yours, where do you see yourself?”

His lips spread into a sharp grin, and he hovered closer.

“In the center of the ring, of course.”

For a moment, you thought he would close the rest of the distance. The sudden aversion of what he might do was so strong that you looked away first, backing off and sitting back down under the pretense of organizing your files.

“It sounds as if you cast yourself as the ringleader,” you commented, still shuffling papers. “The smartest of us all.”

“I am smart.”

“I know.”

He went silent as he slowly sat down, his expression open with surprise. The only one who had ever acknowledged his intelligence without it being an insult was his adoptive mother. Those who knew Laufeyson personally knew how intelligent he was and saw it as a threat to their ego.

You had no such concern, nor did you have an ego to protect. Laufeyson was smart, smarter than you by all accounts, but he wasn’t in control. You were. And that was something he still needed to learn, for his own sake.

“I believe we’ve discussed all that is required,” you said. “This interview is over.”

You stood from your chair and closed your folders, picking them up and tucking them into your arms.

Laufeyson mirrored your movement, rising to his feet, the movement quicker to catch up to you.

“Now, hang on just a minute,” he protested. “We’re not through here, not by a long shot. I demand to speak to someone with actual authority around here, because this is a mistake. I don’t belong here, and you don’t have the power to—”

Pulling out your remote, you rubbed your thumb across the dial, and an internal TVA portal appeared underneath Laufeyson’s feet. He disappeared into it with a cry before the beige portal vanished.

You adjusted your files, straightened your tie, and left the time theater. You had just enough time to grab a bite to eat before the next stage of Laufeyson’s intake procedure.

Next Chapter

#loki #loki x reader #loki series #loki x tva!reader #loki fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction #loki wednesdays

[retvenkos]

romantic at heart | m.

Legend of Korra - Mako x Reader, fluff

tw: none

word count: 4.6k

A/N: canon? who needs her? certainly not this fic. korrasami deserved to be canon earlier so i vaguely mentioned it, and mako and bolin’s apartment is the perfect setting don’t @ me.

Summary: Mako has always had bad luck when it comes to love, but with (Y/n), things feel easy. So why, then, is it so hard to admit it?

the three times he didn’t say it, and the one time he did.

one;

“I’m telling you guys, this is going to be great! Part Four is my favorite in The Adventures of Nuktuk: Hero of the South!” 

Mako shared an amused look with (Y/n) as Bolin led the way into the darkened theater, holding open the door for the group to enter. Asami and Korra passed hand in hand, and when (Y/n) walked past Bolin, they tossed a piece of popcorn at him and Bolin caught it in his mouth.

Mako brought up the rear of the group, and as they walked up to find their seats, he whispered, “How many parts are there, Bo?”

“Seven! And the Finale’s great, don’t get me wrong, but it just doesn’t have the heart that part four does.”

“That’s just because he kisses Ginger,” (Y/n) leaned in and whispered to Mako, earning an incredulous “hey!” from Bolin.

“How’d that work out, by the way?” Asami turned to the earthbender with what sounded like genuine curiosity and Bolin chuckled nervously.

“Ah, well, you know, the hearts of mover stars are fickle, so we didn’t last long… there was something about it being a publicity stunt, but that didn’t make much sense, so…”

“Well it’s her loss,” Korra elbowed Bolin in the side with a smile and he forced a chuckle.

“She doesn’t deserve you, Bo.”

“Yeah, you’re a great mover star.”

A few people in the theater shushed them, and the group settled down into their chairs, just moments before the lights dimmed further and the mover started. The disembodied voice of Varrick boomed through the speakers with a recap of the previous 3 parts of the daring adventure, and everyone fell silent, slowly getting sucked into the mover before them.

Ever since their debut, the Nuktuk movies were a success - a staple of Republic City culture - getting replayed in theatres again and again. After learning that Mako hadn’t seen Nuktuk in its entirety, Bolin called for a state of emergency and got the whole group together so they could schedule a time for a complete rewatch of the seven-part masterpiece.

Mako had been planning to make some excuse - a series of cases that Beifong put him up to, or a slew of paperwork that some higher-paid coworkers pawned off onto him. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to miss something for work, and it wouldn’t be the first attempt at lying to get out of a viewing party. Just three months ago he narrowly avoided a showing of Love amongst the Dragons by faking sickness and saying that Beifong told him to sleep all day so he could be back at work the next. Everyone but Bolin believed him, and Bolin (who didn’t want to see it either but promised Asami he would go) let it slide.

After that, Bolin was better at guessing when Mako was lying, and whenever he needed Mako’s compliance, he set (Y/n) up to the task of cajoling Mako to come along.

So far, their track record had been impeccable.

(Y/n) chuckled at something they saw on screen, and Mako turned to them. “How many cases of Vari-dye do you think Varrick sold after that product placement?” They gestured to the screen where the once blonde Ginger flagrantly mentioned her hair dye product before becoming a, well… ginger. The script was somehow able to loosely tie the product placement into the plot, but the moment earned a couple of well-earned laughs throughout the theater.

“Millions, most likely. Aren’t these movers big in Ba Sing Se?”

“As comedies,” (Y/n) muttered, leaning in, clearly trying to keep their voice down so Bolin didn’t hear. The theater around them was dark and silent, but the light reflected in (Y/n)’s eyes was full of life and mirth. Mako found himself unable to look away.

He cleared his throat, “You do have to give it to Nuktuk and his comedic timing.”

“And Juji’s heart-wrenching death and subsequent resurrection.”

Mako found himself chuckling at their lame joke, and for once, he didn’t mind. (Y/n) smiled triumphantly, as though they had accomplished something truly grand, and angled their bag of popcorn towards Mako. He took some and popped a piece in his mouth, his laughter still dying on his lips. 

“Varrick must be quite the director, to get you to laugh in a totally serious, not-a-comedy mover.”

“Varrick?” and there was just enough suggestion in Mako’s words to say all that he couldn’t, though why he couldn’t seem to get anything else out, he didn’t know.

Things were always easy with (Y/n); their smiles were soft and infectious, their tactics in getting him to open up were effortless and effective, and falling in love with them had been the most simple and uncomplicated thing in this world. It should have been with such ease that Mako told them that it was them that got him into the theater and their corny comments that made him burn inside, like a thousand dying comets that took the form of shooting stars.

But for some reason, he was stuck.

Unsurprising, really, Mako had never really had luck when it came to love and even friendship. There was always something complicating things; there were always two sides of him, fighting the other for reasons even he couldn’t fathom. Eventually, one of them would lose. Eventually, something would give. 

But until that eventuality…

“I suppose I am quite the comedian. Should I write a screenplay?” (Y/n) was speaking, but something in their demeanor was different - a little stunned - like they hadn’t considered something before and it was only now dawning on them, slowly, but comfortably. Easy. “It would have to be a sequel to Nuktuk, of course. Maybe I can introduce the grumpy, mysterious fire-bender who he’s now forced to share a quest with?”

(Y/n) nudged him in the shoulder, already rolling their eyes at their own idea. Mako looked down, suddenly interested in picking the perfect piece of popcorn. “Yeah. If you’re making it, why not?”

(Y/n) snorted and turned back to the film.

two;

Taking the steps to his apartment two at a time, Mako fished for his keys in the pocket of his pants. Walking the beat had the potential to be more trouble than it was worth, and often Mako found himself at the gym at the end of the day, taking out his frustration the way he used to - pro-bending. Well, not so much pro-bending, anymore, seeing as they disbanded the Fire Ferrets, and dissolved the team, but it was the same training, nonetheless, and Mako had been a pro-bender so long that oftentimes, nothing felt more comfortable than the gym.

As he walked down the hall to his door - second on the right, Bolin had insisted - Mako could hear the sounds of laughter and the beeping of the oven. Despite himself, he smiled, breathing in deeply as he fiddled with the lock and opened the door.

Inside the tiny apartment, (Y/n) and Bolin were working side by side, leaning over the oven as they looked at the baked goods that lay within. The counters were a mess of cluttered ingredients and mismatched bake wear, Pabu had tracked flour across the carpet, and by every measure it was chaotic, but Mako simply leaned against the doorframe, speaking just loud enough to be heard. “Stress baking, again? Y’know, I’m really starting to regret giving you a key.”

"This was all Bolin, actually.” (Y/n) pulled the baking sheet out of the oven and set it down before turning to Mako with their usual countenance. “He told me to come over - he bought a set of mixing bowls and everything.”

“He didn’t buy more counter space?”

“Hey!” Bolin called incredulously through a mouth full of baked goods. Pabu scuttled beneath him, eating the crumbs that fell to the floor. “Counters wouldn’t fit.”

“It’s alright Bo,” (Y/n) nudged his arm with their shoulder, turning back to the task at hand. They used an old spatula to take their masterpiece off of the pan, and Bolin took two from them. 

“You have to try this batch, Mako, (Y/n)’s gotten really good at their green tea cookies.”

“Oh?”

Mako shut the door behind him and walked over to the couch. (Y/n) met him halfway with their signature, light green cookie, Mako took it with an appreciative smile. “The secret is in the matcha. I wasn’t putting in enough before, so they didn’t taste right.”

Mako broke off a bit of the cookie, making sure to get a bit that had a white chocolate chip in it, and savored the taste. (Y/n) was watching him with one of their expectant smiles, and he nodded his head, the bittersweet flavor still lingering in his mouth. “These are your best yet.”

“High praise, coming from you.” And there was an edge of sarcasm to their voice, but their eyes were bright. Mako just looked at them for a moment, really looked at them in all of their casual beauty. (Y/n) had moved into his life so early on and so slowly that Mako didn’t know what life would be like without their casual teasing and easy grins.

And, of course, their random (but not unwelcome) bouts of stress baking.

Mako must have been staring a bit too long, because (Y/n) raised a playful eyebrow, and not too long after, Bolin broke the silence. “Uh, Pabu and I have to go, and uh... y’know, do adult stuff, with uh....”

“With Korra?” (Y/n) supplied amusedly, turning to Bolin, who was stuffing a napkin with cookies hurriedly. 

“Yeah! Y’know, Avatar stuff...” Bolin shrugged, slipping out the door, only to open it up again and grab his shoes before shoving off again.

(Y/n) scoffed and Mako sighed, calling after him. “Real smooth, Bo!” 

A muffled response called out to them, and (Y/n) laughed, walking back over to the kitchen area, where they started to put together another batch of cookies, measuring the sugar with their hands and putting it into a bowl with butter. “I’m surprised you haven’t been kicked out from noise complaints.”

Yeah, well Bolin charmed our neighbors into liking us too much to see us go.”

“His charm does go far, doesn’t it?” Mako watched and (Y/n) moved through his apartment with ease, pulling spoons out of the drawers and cleaning the dishes as they went. Their practiced movements had the surety and preciseness of someone who lived there, and the thought was enough to make Mako’s throat dry.

“So,” Mako cleared his throat and walked over to (Y/n) passing them the egg they were reaching for. “you measure everything with your hands, and yet you’re constantly insisting that baking is a science. How does that work?”

“It’s all in the weight and look of it - a full cup is a far cry from a fourth.” (Y/n) mixed the ingredients together, their brow set in concentration, “Or, at least, that’s what my mom used to say. What I will tell you—” they looked up at Mako rather suddenly, that intensity still alight within them “—is that it’s in how it feels.”

“So the weight of it.”

“Yes... but it’s more than that.” (Y/n) looked at him with their sharp eyes, as though trying to judge something. “Go wash your hands,” and they jerked their head to the side, “I’ll show you.”

Mako didn’t even hesitate to do as they said, and even though Bolin had left, he could hear his voice - a surprised “what...?” - nagging the back of his mind. It was easy to shrug off. It was (Y/n). Everything was easy when it came to them.

“Alright,” (Y/n) said, with a hint of childish excitement, as Mako slung the towel he had used to dry his hands over his shoulder. “Give me your hands.”

Their touch tickled and their fingers - dry and powdery from the flour - grazed over his, opening his palms with a gentle sort of care.

“Here is one cup or so.” (Y/n) grabbed a handful of flour, transferred it to their other hand, and skimmed some off the top before placing it in his. “Yeah, you can feel the weight, and you can see how much there is, but you have to kind of trust that what you're feeling is right, because it’s not always going to feel the same, right? When you’re tired or you’ve been baking all day, things feel different, even though they’re the same.”

“All this for flour?”

“For each cup of flour. We need two and a half.”

“I can see why Bolin asks you to do the baking.” (Y/n) chuckled and guided his hands to the mixing bowl, where Mako let the flour slip out of his fingertips like really fine sand. “But I can tell that you feel it...” the last bit of flour fell out of his hands, but Mako let his hands hover near (Y/n)’s for just a moment longer, “and that’s good enough.”

They smiled, and it has all the serenity and beauty of dawn. “I’ll make a baker of you, yet.” They added more flour to the bowl and started mixing, their gaze flicking up to Mako. “One of these days you’re going to understand the feeling of it.”

“I...” and part of Mako wanted to say that he already did, that his feelings were about the only thing he understood when it came to moments like these, but the words got caught in his throat, and he found himself unable to get them out. “I think we’ll have to do a lot more baking, then.”

three;

Mako ran, the ground beneath his feet steady and his breathing exact. The beauty of Republic City Park surrounded him and in the early morning, when the air was just nippy enough to need a jacket, there were few people to be found. The usual groups of people practicing tai chi or playing Pai Sho weren’t out yet, and the sun was just peaking over the horizon. 

Morning runs often gave Mako a sense of clarity - there was very little he could focus on when in fast, forward motion, and everything complicated fell away. It was just him, the ground, and the fire in his veins. 

Mako slowed to a jog, and when he found an empty park bench, he sat down, wiping the sweat off of his brow. The shadows were just starting to creep away, losing to the brilliance of the sun and hiding in each recess and tiny alcove. The duck pond in front of him was warming to a crystal-like blue. Mako breathed out and tipped his head back, letting the stillness wash over him, his thoughts slowly catching up with him.

“Mako?”

And at first, he thought it was just his feelings for (Y/n) meeting up with him once more, but then he heard the steady pounding of the pavement and there they were jogging toward him, ushering in the morning with a comfortable pace.

“Heading into work later than usual?” They stopped by the bench and Mako slid over so they’d have room to sit.

“No, Beifong told me to take a day off. I usually do paperwork today, but she handed it off to someone else.”

(Y/n) hummed in acknowledgement. “So you’re joining Asami and me for our run, then?”

"Huh?”

“Asami and I usually go on a run, at this time. We meet here.”

“Asami told me that I should take a run since I wasn’t going into work today.”

Both of them scoffed, relaxing deeper into the metal bench. For a moment they just sat there, taking in the moment, and letting the world dawn on them, a beautiful mixture of colors - a painting slowly completing itself. Eventually, (Y/n) turned to Mako, an eyebrow raised in jest. “Do you reckon they think they’re being slick?”

“Probably - and it’ll only get worse once they get Korra on board.”

“Who’s to say they haven’t already?” The two chuckled, shaking their heads at the efforts of their friends, and (Y/n) knocked their knees together, leaning in a little closer. “It’s alright, I like spending time with you.”

“You’re gonna hate me once we finish this run, though.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to buy me some tea, afterwards.” (Y/n) stood up, stretching their arms and letting out a yawn. “To make it up to me, of course.”

Mako stifled a smile and stood, making a show of his weary sigh. “Alright” —(Y/n) rolled their eyes at him— “You drive a hard bargain.”

They started off at a slow jog, and every minute or so Mako upped the intensity until they were sprinting across Republic City Park, occasionally dodging the wayward soul taking a morning stroll. The world blurred around them, the lush foliage turning into swaths of green with the occasional pinprick of color - purple or yellow, green or blue. As they slowed down, the world became more defined, and when they came to a walk, (Y/n) pulled ahead and turned around so they could walk backwards, facing Mako with a breathless grin.

“You owe me at least a muffin to go along with that tea, after what you just pulled. I almost ran into a woman walking her toddler! Could you imagine what would have happened, had I hit her?”

Mako laughed, still coming down from his high, and (Y/n) grinned at the sound - dazzling and so bright, it put the sun to shame. “Let’s get you out of the park, then, before you start running down Pai Sho players.” 

The two fell into step beside each other, taking the path out of the park and into the busy streets. Already, Republic City was booming with life, and the two were rather quick to slip into the quiet tea shop that was just around the corner. Inside, the cafe was fairly empty, with slow music playing from the speakers. (Y/n) closed their eyes and breathed in the smell of freshly-baked muffins, and Mako was quick to look away when they caught him staring.

(Y/n) walked towards the case that held all of the baked goods, trying to read the different types they had displayed. “This is way better than trying to throw something together at my apartment.”

Mako pulled his attention away from the menu board, where he had been searching for the right type of tea. “Your apartment? You mean you actually have a place to go, other than mine?” 

“You gave me the key.”

“For emergencies.”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Well, ‘emergencies’ is in clear need of a mutual definition.”

The two ordered, and Mako paid, despite (Y/n) saying they had the money, and when their order was ready, they took a seat in the corner, next to a window that overlooked a busy intersection. (Y/n) insisted they split the muffin and gave half to Mako, and after settling into their more calm atmosphere, (Y/n) turned to Mako.

“So, what are you going to do for the rest of your day off?” (Y/n) took a sip of their tea and fixed Mako with one of those stares - the kind that saw through everything else, and somehow got down to his core. “I can’t imagine this is what you had planned.”

“Uh… I don’t know. I figured I’d go home and work on finding a lead to a case or something.”

“Even though Beifong told you to take the day off?”

“Well, I’m not at the station…” Mako trailed off, suddenly finding great interest in the rim of his cup.

“And you’re not going to work from home, either.” (Y/n) scoffed exaggeratedly, and though Mako was the most incorrigible person they’d ever met. Although, in their defense, he probably was. “Not on my watch.”

“So what, you’re going to find something for me to do all day?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Mako watched as (Y/n) sat back in the booth, a triumphant yet challenging smile on their face, and he felt the disbelief in his chest melt into something softer. It was there, again, that urge to say something both incredibly brave and terribly stupid; that desire to put all of his feelings into words and express them more truly than anything else.

“Alright,” Mako swallowed and allowed himself a small smile. “If that’s what it takes.

✧ *:･ﾟ

one;

Just when Mako had admitted to (Y/n) that he was an avid reader, he couldn’t remember, but at some point, they had found out, and ever since, the two spent their lazy weekends sprawled out on his sky blue sofa, books in hand. This time, (Y/n) had come earlier than usual, and by midday, they had already finished their novel - a fast-paced murder mystery with just a bit of a redemption arc for one of the main leads. They had talked about (Y/n)’s book while walking down to the market to get the necessary fixings for dinner, and when they came back to Mako’s tiny apartment, he passed them one of his favorites to read - a historical fiction that combined elements of notable legends and recorded history to make an interesting thriller with plenty of easy-to-digest drama. 

When (Y/n) took it from him, they took one look at the summary and raised an eyebrow.  “This is one of your favorites?” Mako had tried to push down his embarrassment, stuttering out some kind of response, but had just smiled. “It’s not a bad thing, just surprising. I’m sure I’ll love it.”

And they did. For the next hour and a half, the two sat in Mako’s apartment in relative silence, reading separate novels and making the occasional exclamation of shock, betrayal, joy, and surprise. Mako had looked over at (Y/n) occasionally, trying to judge where they were in the book, and whether they were enjoying it just as much as he had, the first time.

At some point in the day, the sun filtering through the window matured into a deeper, golden shade, turning the afternoon into early evening. Mako, who had been thoroughly engrossed in his novel for the better part of the day, stood up from his couch and stretched when he noticed the change in light. Letting out a sigh, he made his way over to the kitchen area. As he started to make dinner for the both of them, Mako missed the way that (Y/n) turned to look at him from their place on the couch, a lopsided grin on their face. They still lay on the turquoise material, sitting upside down with their feet in the air, book in hand and the red couch cushion resting on their stomach, watching as Mako turned on the stove with a click of propane and a bit of fire bending. 

It wasn't long before the apartment was full of the comforting smell of Mako's cooking, and soon (Y/n) found it impossible to focus on the page before them. They opted to right themself instead and watch Mako as he finished up, adding the finishing touches to the meal before splitting what lay in the pan into two different bowls. 

He handed a bowl to (Y/n) as he settled onto the couch, both of them moving to sit cross-legged, their knees touching. (Y/n) savored the flavor of Mako's signature dish, and he gestured to the book beside them. 

"How're you liking it so far?"

"The book? It's great. Perfectly paced, in my opinion, although I wouldn't mind for a little bit more world-building. The time period is so interesting and they could lean into it a little more."

Mako nodded, satisfied with the smile on their face and the eagerness in their tone. "I figured you'd like it. There's a lot happening, but the characters are good enough to carry the story."

"That's a raving review, coming from you." (Y/n) laughed, the sound falling from their lips effortlessly. "And I can see why it's your favorite. You like a good redemption arc, don't you?"

"It's an interesting enough idea."

"A rather sweet one, too. Are you sure you're not a romantic at heart?"

Mako scoffed in response, but even so, he could feel his cheeks burning up, the nagging voice in his head (the one that told him to just confess already, or do something equally as rash) getting louder from conviction. "I think that's you."

"Oh definitely, but there's always room for one more," (Y/n) mumbled through a mouth full of noodles. "And judging by your taste in books, I'd say you already are."

"There's not even a romantic subplot!"

"The main character literally took lightning to the face for his best friend, and then proceeded to say that he’d do it all again, if it meant they could stay together. Are you telling me there isn't something there?"

“You said yourself that they’re friends!”

“C’mon, Mako,” (Y/n) deadpanned, setting aside their dinner so that they could use their hands to punctuate their speech. There was a fire in their eyes, and something restless in the way they moved - like there was something important they were trying to say. “Friendship is clearly just an excuse for them.”

“An excuse?” Mako felt his throat dry. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of their proximity, and the little space that still existed between them - like they were almost touching, and yet oceans apart. 

(Y/n)’s hands fidgeted in their lap. “Yeah, like… An easy out when you’re too afraid to go for it...or when you think you’re not enough.” Part of Mako wanted to look away, but (Y/n)’s eyes had caught his gaze too fully and the other part of him battled to stay. For the longest moment, he couldn’t move. “But they love each other - you can see it.”

There was a battle waging war inside Mako; each side fighting the other for dominance, and only one coming out on top. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost like a deep sigh. “Yeah, they love each other.”

(Y/n) smiled, their mouth moving with just the slightest tremble, and part of Mako wondered what had disrupted the ease with which they did everything, but another part of him already knew. Mako reached out and cupped their cheek, the feeling of their skin against his flooding him with courage he didn’t know he had.

“And I love you, (Y/n).” 

“About time you confessed to me.” (Y/n)’s eyes sparkled in jest before they surged forward, kissing Mako and igniting the fire in his chest. All he could think about was them and the way they blissfully invaded all of his senses, how soft their lips were, and how strong their hands were, as they wrapped around him, pulling him nearer. When they broke apart, (Y/n) rested their forehead on his. 

Then they said it, their voice a whisper that sent him tumbling over the edge, their breath fanning against his cheek.

“I love you, too.”

Mako kissed them again, craving the feeling of their lips against his, chasing after the way they made him feel - like every moment had led to this, like every battle had been worth the struggle. Time seemed to stop, and for a moment, it was as though there was no gravity, and the only thing anchoring Mako to this world was (Y/n), and their touch.

“Like I said,” (Y/n) was smiling when he pulled away, and their gaze made it easy to come back down to earth. “You’re a romantic at heart.”

Mako chuckled and (Y/n) laughed with him, the sound filling the tiny apartment with something undefined but utterly perfect. 

“Alright, so maybe I am.” Mako relented, tipping his head back. “But an epic romance doesn’t happen within that book, if that’s what you're after.”

“Well, maybe we’ll have to write a sequel of our own."

-- taglist: message me if you want to be added to a taglist!

#legend of korra #lok #the legend of korra #tlok #mako #mako tlok #mako lok #mako x reader #mako x you #mako imagine #lok imagine #legend of korra fanfic #legend of korra imagine #fluff #reader insert #atla #gender neutral reader #and yeah you can measure flour and stuff with your hands i do it all the time don't @ me

[maxwell-grant]

The crossover fic + learning he's a favorite of yours has me curious: do you think it would be possible to tell a satisfactory Shadow vs. Mr. Mxyzptlk story? I think he'd fit surprisingly well in that milieu as a credible threat: he's something of an older, mistier, shadowy world, kin to fairies and elves and imps, pixies and sprites and genies, bound by old laws and dressed like a parody of 20s/30s class, beyond The Shadow's usual powers and yet...THAT. There a thematic in to this throwdown?

I had never actually thought of Mxy in that light, even though it's very much in line with what he is, because Mxy is one of those characters I don't tend to think about much. He's one of those ready-made perfect villains who pretty much guarantees a fun and creative time whenever he pops up uninvented. Like The Ventriloquist for Batman, he is so uniquely a product of how Superman works and what his stories allow for, that I can't say I ever thought of taking him for a spin outside of them. But there's definitely stuff to work with in putting him and The Shadow together.

Come to think of it, if there's a Superman villain I think Walter Gibson would have liked to play around with, it would be Mxyzptlk. Mxy stories are fundamentally about Superman being thrust into a position where his only way out is to solve puzzles and turn the tables using nothing but his wits, and Gibson spent the majority of his career before and after The Shadow as a writer of books on magic and puzzles, both of which show up a lot in The Shadow stories. You see it even in several covers which contained clues for the stories within.

To an extent, you could argue that The Shadow might figure out quicker a way to trick Mxy, because The Shadow's already has to utilize a constant amount of trickery and deceit and puzzle-solving in his daily adventures, it comprises almost the majority of what his stories are about under Gibson. The usual Mxyzptlk narrative is one that's well within The Shadow's domain.

But on the other hand, it's definitely some extremely unusual territory for The Shadow, villain-wise. A villain who eclipses his powers and scope to such an extent is completely unheard of. The one time I can think of where he fought a villain this weird and who he was completely powerless against was when he met Suven The Clown King of Venus (who's definitely a character that could show up in this meeting), and even then Suven was just a weird alien who looked gigantic next to the shrunken Shadow. Even on the few occasions where The Shadow encountered other aliens or eldritch monsters, he was able to find a way to stop the threat for the moment or even kill it, which is definitely not happening here, because Mxy is a whole other level.

Superman has the strength and endurance and superpowers to roll with whatever mayhem Mxy throws his way. If Mxy decides that The Shadow’s looking too pale so he's gonna give him a tan by throwing him in the sun, what the hell is he gonna do to stop him? I imagine that Mxy would likely take a different approach to messing with The Shadow, since he can't tank nukes like Supes and he's not really a good sport about the game. 

Fine, whatever, Mxy's a creative sort, he's got a couple of ideas for messing around with Mr Grim-n-Serious over there, show him what an Eldritch Monster looks like past the squid monsters and dragons he may have met.

The idea I'm getting here is, on one hand, Mxy attacking The Shadow with the usual goofiness he brings with him. And on the other, him realizing that messing with The Shadow's dignity isn't as fun as he thought he'd be, so he instead goes full SCP Foundation/Awful Hospital/Ice Cream Man on The Shadow until he's stopped, trapping him in amusing and horrifying eldritch nightmares and situations that he has absolutely no way to escape until he solves the puzzle. 

I mean, he's not fighting Superman here, he can kill this guy with a blink, even just stopping his heart with a thought. No fun in that. He's gotta beat the "Master of Darkness" at his own game. He's got a point to prove.

I imagine that much of the story would play out of The Shadow having to piece together what exactly has gone topsy-turvy in his reality, whether it's Commissioner Weston eating spiders for breakfest or the entirety of Manhattan sans him going blind and all lights going out across the country. And when Mxy comes out with that shrill SURPROISE!!!, assuming The Shadow already knows what he needs to do, then he falls for whatever gambit The Shadow's had to cook up to trick him. 

At the end, Mxy is an arrogant bully who lords power over those that can't fight back, and The Shadow's a master of beating those by turning their arrogance against them. It's Duck Amuck, except Bugs is a mind-breaking sadist and Daffy has to fight back.

I imagine something akin to a particularly funny scene from a story called Face of Doom, where a gangster traps The Shadow in a room surrounded by armed henchman so he can enlist him into taking down the city's leading criminal, The Face. The Shadow unmasks himself as Cranston to gain his trust, and the two proceed to talk plans. I'll post the sequence below

Calmly, The Shadow was removing his slouch hat. His arms spread, the black cloak began to drop from his shoulders. Clipper's nervousness changed to elation. If ever a criminal fooled himself, Clipper did so at that moment.

Though The Shadow voiced no agreement to Clipper's offer, the crook was confident that it was sealed. The Shadow was taking a step that no other criminal had ever witnessed.

When Clipper's squinty eyes saw the hawkish features of Lamont Cranston, the crook displayed another of his downward grins. There wasn't any question about the prisoner really being The Shadow.

"A ritzy mug, ain't you?" voiced Clipper. "Well, that makes you the real McCoy. One thing we'd all figured, Shadow — we guessed you was a high-hat guy.

"'You don't get out of here until The Face is croaked! Say, though — maybe one of your ritzy friends could put up a good front with The Face."

"There are others, who might serve. I have agents, you know."

A shrewd gleam brought new ugliness to Clipper's eyes. He had heard of The Shadow's agents. It would be smart stuff—using them to get The Face, then disposing of them afterward. Clipper couldn't hide the eagerness that betrayed his new scheme.

"Good stuff," agreed Clipper. "But how am I going to reach those guys and get them to work with me? They only take orders from you, don't they?"

In reply, Clipper saw Cranston pick up the black cloak and hat. He handed the garments to the crook. For the moment, Clipper was puzzled; then he saw Cranston's hand extend the discarded gloves.

"I get it," chuckled Clipper. "You want me to rig up like I was you. Then the guys that work for you will listen to me. How do you handle them—with some password?"

"Usually," replied The Shadow. "Try on the cloak and hat first, Clipper. I must study the appearance that you make."

It seemed like a give-away of The Shadow's game. Any one could stage this Shadow stuff. All he had to do was masquerade in black, spring a shivery laugh, and shoot quick with his guns. If Cranston could pull it, Clipper could.

The Shadow spends a couple of paragraphs calmly walking Clipper through the steps necessary to pull off a convincing Shadow performance, almost like he's directing him. And then this happens:

The back of Clipper's neck was exposed. Though The Shadow's voice was still the leisurely tone of Cranston, his left hand had lost its laziness. Behind Clipper's back, that fist whipped an automatic from a shoulder holster. Clipper didn't scent the move until the muzzle of the .45 iced his neck.

"It won't work, Shadow," rasped Clipper. "You know it as well as I do! One pop from that gat of yours, the mob will pile in and croak you! There's a wicket in that door; they'll use it!"

The Shadow had shifted low behind Clipper's back. The crook could no longer observe the reflection of Cranston's face. He could still feel the pressure of the gun muzzle on his flesh. "Climb off my neck, Shadow," warned Clipper. "It ain't getting you nowhere!"

It was getting The Shadow further than Clipper guessed. The gun muzzle was actually gone from Clipper's neck. His impression that it rested there was merely an after effect, from former pressure.

Crouched low, The Shadow had now reached the door. Before Clipper guessed what was up, The Shadow twisted the door knob. Wrenching the door inward, he pulled himself behind it.

At the same moment, The Shadow snapped a quick command, in a rasp that resembled Clipper's own harsh tone:

"The Shadow's yours, gang! Croak him!"

It ends for Clipper about as well as you'd expect.

One of the things I like most about Mxy is that you can't take shortcuts with him. It's not like how it is with Riddler stories, where you can half-ass the riddles because you know Batman's gonna win once he touches Riddler and the story's gonna end in a punch-up, Mxyzptlk is completely invincible unless you solve the puzzle he presents, and you'd think of course that, surely, he can't fall for it this time.

He's a wise guy, see, he's seen all of Superman's tricks by now, and what's that dumb old Shadow gonna do that he can't see a mile away? This is almost too easy.

It's so easy, in fact, that The Shadow even agrees, he's lost it completely, and the way he could possibly beat Mxyzptlk is by calling one of his agents to save him, and he's prepared a list of some of his smartest, cleverest agents for this moment. But, no, he wouldn't dare put them in such danger against this invincible, immortal genius, someone has to take this list from him and run, but ZOINKS, Mxy's taken the list. So he's gonna start seeing who is it that the Shadda thinks is smart enough to take him.

Clyde BurKe? Like some dimestore journalist's gonna have a shot, just cause he solves crossword puzzles. Lamont Cranston, yeah, more like, LAMEONT CRANSTON. Harry VincenT, who, the dumb kid who tried jumping off a bridge once? Come on, you gotta give me a hand here, Shadda! Let's see, Pietro, what, some cook? Ya kidding? Moe ShrevnitZ...actually, Shrevy's allright, scratch that one. ShrevY, hey, come on, that's cheating, ya just put Shrevnitz's name again, ya dum-dum. Mr Xanadu, hmm, catchy name but probably not a real guy. And Margo Lane. Yeah, smart dame that one, she could probably figger something out. And ya keep writing everyone's name's weird - WAIT

I KNOW WHAT YER TRYING TO DO HERE.

I KNOW YOU GOT SOME CLEVER SCHEME HERE, I'D SEEN THIS BEFORE, IT'S AN OLD TRICK.

YOU EMPHASIZED THE LETTERS SO THE REAL SMARTEST GUY YOU KNOW WOULD BE HIDDEN WITHIN THEM, SO THAT SOMEONE ELSE COULD FIND HIM.

HAH, THAT'S RICH. THAT'S KID'S PLAY. WHAT, YOU THINK I CAN'T FIND THIS

KLTPZYXM

BY MYSELF?

.

.

.

aw crickets...

#replies tag #superman #the shadow #mr mxyzptlk #dc comics #comic books #pulp heroes #bogleech

[tooruluv]

Tobio Kageyama x F!Reader ( part 1 )

❝ goodbyes hurt when the story is not finished, but the book is closed. tell me, have we started a new one? ❞

description: it had been years since you and kageyama broke up. it had been years since the two of you left each other, hatred brewing. fate works in funny ways, you thought, as you caught his eye across the café. love works in funny ways, you thought, as you woke up in his bed the next morning, his fiance calling his phone.

genre: forbidden love, cheating, ex lovers, (all characters are aged up)

word count: 2,007

warnings/notes: strong language, cheating, lowkey toxic relationship, just a lot of heartache and angst! i’ve been thinking of this one for a minute, so i hope you enjoy!! pls let me know your thoughts, i love hearing from you guys <3

| next

masterlist

The final pages of the story were finished. The book was closed, the concluding statements read. The story of you and Tobio Kageyama had long since completed. With a few nostalgic memories and a broken heart, it was the end.

Except, like many stories, it wasn’t. An epilogue had begun. A new chapter starting in the midst of nothing, a sequel to a seemingly finished story.

Because you had somehow ended up here: gasping in between desperate kisses with the aforementioned man. He had you pinned up against his penthouse wall, hands grasping every inch of you that he could while your hands threaded in his hair.

Kageyama was buffer now, extra muscle and better build. He easily picked you up and made his moves with more strength and power. It wasn’t just passion the both of you were working with, but anger as well. He was angry at you, angry at the world.

But most importantly, Kageyama was angry with you, still. For breaking his heart.

The night was full of rough, heated kisses and using each other’s bodies in a way that would most certainly leave marks the next morning. You never once spoke, not since the very first kiss you had shared in five years.

Heaving and exhausted, the both of you fell asleep in the hotel you were staying in. There was no cuddling, no pillow talk. Instead, you fell asleep side by side.

Tobio Kageyama was the love of your high school life. The two of you dated the entirety of the dreadful years, seeing each other grow. He may have seemed stoic, or too focused on his favorite sport, but you would be lying if you said that he was a terrible boyfriend.

You brought him a milk every day at lunch, you supported him at every early morning volleyball tournament, you helped him study because despite everyone telling you he’s smart he was actually the least studious person ever. And he came to your house every time you felt sick, he looked at all of your drawings as if they were professional paintings, he brought you a hot chocolate (with your specific order) from the coffee shop you both liked whenever he felt the need to apologize.

You completed each other.

But you can’t really bring up the good parts, the parts you missed the most, without bringing up the bad parts. The parts that make you never want to return.

You were drained in the relationship, to say the least.

You were exhausted all of the time, full of worry because he never texted back, tired from the late nights when he would leave you waiting after practices when he promised he would meet you outside after. And he would get mad at you and give you the silent treatment until he brought you a hot chocolate and neither of you ever talked about it again, or if you tried he would change the subject. He also tended to hate PDA, something you rather enjoyed even if it was just holding pinkies.

The worst part, though, was his hatred for your friendship with your best friend. Tooru Oikawa had been your best friend since you were both children. You had even met Kageyama through the older boy, back in junior high. 

You had to tell him over and over and time and time again that Tooru Oikawa was just a best friend and nothing more. You, in simpler terms, had told Kageyama that you had never ever had even an inkling of a crush on the man. This was a reoccurring situation for the entirety of your relationship.

Like it was a competition between the two and you were the prize. And you hated being played as a game.

One day, only a couple of weeks before you had broken up with him, you and Kageyama were sitting in your bedroom. You were trying to study with him, flashcards and papers spread out across your bed as he sat beside you.

Your phone went off, and you ignored it. Kageyama didn’t.

“Oikawa’s texting you again.” He said, voice low with irritation. You rolled your eyes.

“You know, Kageyama, that he’s only a friend and has only ever been a friend.” you told him, ignoring your phone when it went off again. “It’s like you talking to… Hinata.”

“Hinata’s not hitting up my phone every hour, though, is he?” 

“He might as well be.” You set down your book and turned your body so all of your attention was on your boyfriend. When your hands reached for his, and your fingers interlocked with his, he basically let out a sigh of relief as he relaxed. “I love you. You.”

“I love you, too.” He wrapped his other hand around the one holding yours. “I didn’t want to start a fight.”

“I know.”

God, it was going to be hard to tell him goodbye.

Five years had passed since you had last seen Tobio Kageyama. They passed in a series of blurs, as you spent a majority of them traveling and moving non-stop. And after a long time, you had somehow ended back where you started. Back in Japan.

Oikawa was the one who picked you up at the airport, excited as all hell to talk to you about his achievements since high school and hear your stories. He even wrote your name on a piece of paper and all.

“Ah, I have missed you more than you could possibly know!” Oikawa exclaimed as you walked beside him to get your luggage. “And now that you’re back, you can stop Iwa from bullying me.” He pouted.

“You know even I don’t have that kind of power.” You joked. Oikawa got taller, too.

On the way home, you heard about his new team and how they traveled the world, you heard about how big his nephew had gotten, about how things have changed since high school (Oikawa actually lived by himself, now, which was a shock to you since your best friend hated being lonely).

And you caught him up on your adventures, about backpacking in Europe and visiting the Great Wall of China, about living in the states.

You missed being back, for the most part.

Oikawa helped you unpack in your hotel (“You could always stay with me, young traveler, instead of this hotel” He told you. Which you replied with, “My dear Tooru, I wouldn’t want to intervene on prime masturbation hours.”)

The first place you visited since being back was Oikawa’s apartment. The second place you visited was the Scoups Café. 

The café wasn’t tiny, but it wasn’t large either. There were tables spread out along the floor, decorated with old newspapers and flower centerpieces. The smell of coffee filled the air the second you opened the big glass doors. The small chatters of people and clicking of keyboards created a chorus of nearly synchronized harmonies. Though it was soothing, beautiful, but it reminded you of every love story imaginable all packed into one: Tobio Kageyama.

You ordered your hot chocolate and waited behind the brown counters. As you did, you heard your name being said from behind you.

You turned to see him. The dark hair, the blue eyes. Unmistakable. You froze on the spot, arms limp at your sides. You didn’t know if it was the anger or the heart break that hit you first. But all you knew then, in that moment, was that he was there. He was there, in the coffee shop with you, and was looking at you with the same anger/heartbreak combination you wore.

“I hate you.” 

Those were the last words Kageyama said to you. Those were the words that you heard repeatedly over and over and over. You weren’t sure if he was being honest or if he was just pissed off, but he said them. To you, to your face, in front of loved ones. He said it. 

And you hated him for it.

The plane ride was full of running makeup, shaking, and putting your phone on airplane mode (not that Kageyama would even text you, you knew he wouldn’t).

Maybe “I hate you” was better than “goodbye”. Maybe “I hate you” was better than “I love you”. Maybe “I hate you” was better than literally any other thing he could have said. Yeah, maybe.

Because hating him for the rest of your life would be way easier than being in love with him.

You claimed Tooru Oikawa as your best friend. And he claimed that you were “slightly higher than Iwa on the best friend scale”. It stemmed as children, you were in the same junior high as them before moving to Karasuno in high school. You were sitting with your other best friend, Hana, watching the game with such intensity that both of your eyes might as well have popped out of your head.

Hana was just as involved. Though it was just a junior high game that wasn’t that hard, it was interesting.

That’s when you met Kageyama for the first time. Your eyes were trained on him the entire time, his drive and passion showing even at the young age. He just… felt different. His aura drew you in like a red string tied on your pinky.

“You’re drooling!” Hana teased from beside you.

“I am not!”

You most definitely were. And after the game, you congratulated Oikawa on court along with his teammates (meaning a certain dark haired boy).

“Does he still hate you?” Oikawa asked you on facetime while you were still in the states. He was outside, in daylight, and you were about to pass out from staying up too late.

“I don’t know.” You didn’t like talking about it, contrary to popular beliefs. “I haven’t talked to him.”

“It’s okay. He hates me too.”

“Are you on a swing? Are you a child?”

“I’m watching Takeru!”

“I smell excuses, Tooru. Excuses.”

You laughed as Oikawa did his best to defend himself, making up ridiculous excuses that only made you laugh harder. Always the dramatic one. You were just happy to derail the conversation.

See, you thought that would be it. One relapse sexcapade with the man you loved for most of your life. One “get it out of your system” night. It’s funny, isn’t it, how things never truly are what you expect them to be.

You didn’t wake up to an empty bed. In fact, you woke up entangled with the dark haired man. Your legs were wrapped around his, and his arms around your waist. He was warm, chest pinned against your back.

His phone rang throughout the bedroom, interrupting your (quite peaceful) sleep.

He reached over your body, still staying behind you (completely naked still, to add), checking the caller ID. His one arm held his body over yours, chest to your side. Like he was trying to keep you trapped there, or he knew he looked like a god in the morning sun (the orange hues reflecting off of his skin in the most beautiful way possible). Either way, you just watched as he grabbed the phone off of the stand.

“Shit.” He mumbled.

His fiancé was calling.

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