#they cannot settle if i have them both out. ive tried just letting them go at it until theyre too tired but theyre very determined to play.

[merchantarthurn]

hello!!! if you dont mind me asking what kind of white pen do you use for adding little highlights in your art? your art inspired me to start inking and coloring my traditional art and ive been having a lot of fun with it for a year or so now but i can never seem to find a good white gel pen to use 😭

you and me both friend 😭 I have a lot of issues with the ones i've tried and im thinking i might switch to just using white dip-pen inks (shirahama has given the brand she uses it's something like icy-white but i'll have to dig that out again).

the best luck i've had has been the following:

General notes of paint/acrylic markers - be extremely careful of smudging and drying times, both of the pen and whatever you have underneath. For any solvent-based mediums (paints, alcohol markers and ESPECIALLY linework inking) acrylic markers can pick up some of the colour or damage the paper and create smudges and tears. This is relatively easy to avoid so long as you wait for stuff to dry and work in small areas. The paint itself will take a while to dry so I usually let it sit for 30mins-1hr before putting it anywhere near my scanner bed. If you need to work on a larger area and the paper you're working on isn't pretty robust you should probably switch to a paintbrush and just use regular acrylic paint (which has a longer drying time).

I've also found that with smaller pen nibs getting a reliable opacity is an absolute crapshoot lol.

Artistro paint market pen - really good when fresh, but god help you if you go without using it for too long after you start using it. it'll gunk up and I don't know how to fix them. They are relatively cheap and come in packs at least. Doesn't seem to have larger sizes though.

Posca paint pens (various sizes) - far more robust than artistro if you store them right but regrettably more pricey. I've also found the finest nibbed white pen to be... deeply underwhelming. It never seems to have adequate pigment no matter how long I shake and prime it. By contrast the artistro gave the same sized line much more consistently, but at the cost of the pen nib itself being pretty unreliable.

Decobrush pigment - I've not got these in white so can't speak for them directly, but the colours I do have are pretty spiffy and it's a BRUSH pen, which gives you so much more control and a range of sizes per pen. There is some difficulty with low opacity on these though (since they're meant to be used with other decobrush markers), so I don't know how a white "corrector" would fair. The colour range is generally pretty gorgeous though, in the long term i'd like to have more of them.

General note on gel pens - I've got a love-hate relationship with gel pens honestly. I find I can get more consistent results out of them because the ink doesn't settle and you don't have to prime the nibs, but that's only if you can find a good brand... and then a good specific pen lol. I've also found an issue when you don't let the medium below dry properly re: smudging, but it also seems like if your work isn't boneeee dry (like overnight or multiple days of alcohol markers drying) the gel can very easily take on the colour of the pigment underneath, especially darker ones. Oddly this doesn't always show up when scanning, but it will look odd in person. Not always a draw back though - it looks great for white detailing in shadow.

Sakura Gelly Roll 08 - Not sure if there's other sizes (or their efficacy) so I thought I'd be specific because if there's one thing about gel pens the specificity MATTERS. I've got a couple of these and they don't disappoint (insofar as my expectations for gel pens go)

Uniball signo broad - this was my favourite until it ran out of ink. I cannot say for the uniball signo (without the broad part) which seemingly just gave up delivering ink and enjoys carving lines on the page and maybe delivering just enough ink that you can see where the ball is on the track it leaves behind. But the broad? I really liked. It honestly probably performs the same as the gelly roll but the pen just feels nicer to use lol, and the fact that it ran out of ink rather than dried out speaks for how much I liked it lol

as a general warning though - basically any gel pen or acrylic pen should be the last thing you do on your piece, because the second it goes down you will not be doing any more colouring in that area (unless you paint with acrylics). You can maybe use lineart pens on top of them once fully dried for at least an hour (ideally more) but it's very likely to smudge.

honestly... if you scan your work, there's no shame in cloning a white area of your work to use as a highlight post-scan. i always feel like im cheating until i remind myself that every digital-artist peer i have gets do to this at their leisure lol. i'd recommend getting a good scan/photo of the work before adding any highlights anyway because it's sooo easy to bugger them up and be unable to fix it (i say this as someone who never remembers and always regrets it lol)

examples:

you can see where the opacity doesn't quite hide what it's covering - an extra layer or digital correction would have been great. pretty sure this was artistro acrylic pen. but the unseen thing is i had to correct around the iris to the point where i said "well fuck i can't do what i want now" and just fixed it digitally.

dot highlights on the left and in/around the eye - definitely gelly roll. gel pens are really good for little pin pricks because you avoid the ball-point smearing things too thin and you can get pretty high opacity from that. also some more digital "help" with a bit of airbrush glow.

Definitely gel pen but i forget which kind, but I wanted to show what I meant by "picking up some pigments" and how can can be a boon, but also how sometimes the scanner just picks it up as white anyway (left is scanned, right is a photo - you can see it's purplish in the shadows)

#asks #Anonymous #sorry this turned into an info dump basically i also Struggle with this step #and i feel like i should just go full digital with it until i find a better solution #other things i'd like to try are gouache and just using acrylic with a fine brush #mostly cos high opacity white ink is just... hard to find and dip pens are Difficult

[soulwillower]

tozier (vii)

(tozier!reader smut)

requested: okay so once regular requests open, here’s my idea. so the reader and richie are siblings and they absolutely hate each other and to get under his sisters skin, he fucks her best friend. so in sheer anger she decides to fuck all of his

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, also minor violence, bit of blood, sub reader AND dom reader, BOTH baby, light choking, mild mild cumplay, oral (fem recieving) 

part 7 of the tozier series [  i  ii iii  iv v vi ]

guys!! finally the last part, thanks for all the love on this series :) this was rly so so much fun to write for yall, pls let me know how u feel about this/the series in general

(losers and reader are 20+ and in college in this)

4.5k words

♡

"i fucked your friends, anyways." you say with a grin. 

"funny, y/n. as if any of them would settle for you." richie snarls, smirking as if he's proud of what he'd said. it makes you smirk, shaking your head. if only he knew. 

"richie, i don't think she's joking." ben speaks up. everyone's eyes turn to ben, and your heart pounds as you bite your lip. you look at each of the others quickly - ben's gnawing on his lip and looking at richie uncertainly, mike is staring at the ground in thought, eddie's staring at his lap with an amused grin, bev is smirking between the two boys with her eyebrows raised, and bill is looking at ben with a small look of realization.

your eyes land on stan, who's staring back at you intently, a suggestive look on his face as he tugs a small part of your underwear from his front pocket as he thumbs it with his finger. you send him an intent look back, trying to beg him not to do it. 

when you look at richie, he's shocked, mouth agape. "what?" richie says quietly. "you fucked my best friend. it was only fair." you say with a shrug, smiling at him. he looks like he might punch you. 

you stifle a laugh, trying to keep a straight face but failing. richie looks furious as he walks up to you, the two of you standing in the middle of the make-shift circle the losers formed in the living room. 

"which one?" he says through a clenched jaw. 

"all of them."

the room is silent as everyone's jaws drop except yours, bev's, and surprisingly stan's - the latter of whom are smirking. richie looks like he's in utter disbelief. it's silent for a few moments, until someone breaks the quiet. 

"who was the best?" 

you turn bright red at that. 

"shut the fuck up, eddie!" richie yells, no sign of joking on his face; he's red as he stares you down. you don't cower at all in front of him - in fact, you're definitely the one with the most power in this situation, and you smirk. 

"so... a-all of us slept with y/n?" bill says in shock. everyone looks around and you're just smirking, your brother furious. "i can't fucking believe you. this isn't funny at all." richie snips. 

"this isn't any different from what you did, richie. c'mon, it was just some fun. it's not like it meant anything more to any of us." mike says. you're shocked that they're all taking it so well.. you never expected them to find out, but they seem to be on your side. thank god. 

your eyes dart to stan, who's still sat on the couch. he meets your eyes and doesn't back down, his gaze piercing and intense. his eyes course over your figure and you feel a twinge of emotion as you remember his hands on your skin, his lips.... you clear your throat as you look away, hoping to god nobody will notice your lace undies sticking slightly out of stan's pocket. 

"-why are you taking her side?" richie hisses, shoving everyone away. his eyes barely leave yours, his fists clenching down by his sides. 

"because you are in the wrong, richie. you cannot possibly be mad at me for this." you say with a grin. "sorry, you're just overreacting. plus you're not just fucking cecily, now you're actually dating her. which is way more shitty. and clearly they all wanted me, richie. i'm an angel."

bill snorts from where he's standing, "yeah r-rich, you're the one who always says that girls who suck fingers without being told to go to h-heav-"   

richie throws his empty cup towards bill, missing by only an inch as he yells, "can it, denbrough! shut the fuck up!" 

you're bright red from bill's words, looking from him, to richie, and then catching stan's eyes again. you swallow, throat dry. 

"-wait, who was the best?" comes from bev this time. you bite your lip, watching as richie shoves her lightly. you grin, "well, ben was the sweetest, but mike was the most surprising-"  "you better shut the fuck up right now y/n." richie mutters. you shrug, "you talk about cecily all the time to me!" you yell. "plus, i'm not finished. eddie... well, that was the dirtiest." you smirk at him and he grins at the ground, richie moving towards you. you back up swiftly, still talking. "-eddie fucked me in your bed, you know." 

richie shoves you hard, looking the angriest you ever have seen him. everyone else gasps or rushes towards the two of you, but as your back hits the wall near the fireplace you barely wince, laughing. "then there was bev... that was the hottest. you were in the other room." you wink.

bev gives mike knuckles out of the corner of your eye and you almost laugh, watching richie as the others tug him back from you. "y-y/n, stop. we get it, r-richie's gotta calm down." bill says as he holds back richie's seething form. 

you tilt your head, grinning at bill. "what, you don't want richie to know that you have the best dick game?" 

everyone stops, and richie freezes in bills arms. "wh-" bill starts with a cocky smirk, but then richie's wrestling bill to the ground, and your eyes are widening. "richie, knock it off!" bev yells, laughing as richie shoves bill's head and bill just laughs on the ground. 

mike and ben get him off of bill, who's sitting up with a disheveled shirt and smirking. "jesus, richie." stan mutters, still on the couch seemingly unbothered.  

you feel the need to make it worse, just to rub it in. "richie, it's okay. he felt bad at first, fucking me in my bedroom while you were asleep next door-"

"shut up y/n!" richie yells, loud enough that you think the neighbors could have heard. stan laughs from the couch, and richie turns to stare at stan, who's lounging as if nothing's happening, looking entirely amused and unbothered. it’s hot. 

it's quiet for a moment, and it seems like everyone thinks you're done. you mutter, "but stan was the most recent, like ten minutes ago, actually." stan doesn't even really react to your words, he just grins devilishly at richie, dimple popping in his cheek. 

you clench your thighs. 

richie turns to you again. "you're a fucking bitch. you’re so disgusting, it's no wonder you couldn't get any of my friends to want to date you. so you just tried to fuck them all instead. you're embarrassing." richie spits. your eyebrows draw together and you almost quip back but a movement makes you look to your left. stan rises as he states, "richie. shut up." you and richie both look to stan, as do the others. 

"i don't want to hear shit from you, uris. fuck you, i've told you for years to keep your paws off my sister." he spits, and stan tilts his head. 

"she's a grown up, richie. she's not just your sister. if she wants me to go down on her in the backseat of your car, why the hell would i say no?" 

and then richie's swinging at stan, punching him hard in the face.

"richie!"the others call, bill and mike pulling him away and holding him firmly this time, shocked that he really did it. "stan?" you call, moving toward him as he flexes his jaw and holds the side of his face. he stands all the way up and licks his lip, a smear of blood leaking from the fresh split on his lip. richie's shaking his hand, face bright red under his glasses. 

"fuck all of you." richie hisses, turning and shoving eddie and ben out of the way as he grabs his car keys and storms out the front door. 

it's quiet after richie leaves, and everyone decides that he needs cool off time before he comes back or before anyone tries to talk to him. so they then get the message to trail out and head to the basement in groups of two or three until just stan remains. "stan, i'm sorry." you say weakly, offering a hand. he lets you lead him to your bedroom upstairs, silently looking at the ceiling as you re-enter the room with a shitty first aid kit. 

stan is impossible to read as you tear open a wipe to clean around the cut. your hands shake as they rise to his face. "i'm sorry." you whisper, the guilt getting to you.

 you jump a bit as one of his hands lands on the bare skin of the back of your thigh. you meet eyes and stan stares directly at you, "i'd do it again."

you smile shyly, looking down and swiping across his bottom lip to collect the blood. "i never meant for this to happen, i guess. i was just so angry, and i- yeah."

it’s quiet again. 

"when did you and bill fuck?" is all he asks after the silence. you blink at him, thinking. "um... a few weeks ago? when we went to kiera gross's party." 

he hums, his hand still rubbing your bare leg and making you feel weak. his fingertips graze the skin of your ass before moving back down, making you exhale shakily. you feel like you want stan to know that you don't have anything going on with bill - but you're nervous. "i promise, i- god, would you stop fidgeting?" 

your hand grabs his jaw, but he jerks his head away and he tosses you a glare. "i'm fine." he mutters. 

"i don't have to be doing this, i can just go back downstairs." you snap, crossing your arms. 

"yeah, perfect, why don't you go let bill fuck you again?" stan quips. "he was the best, right?" you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you look at his pouty lips. "stan, come on. and tilt your head up." 

it's silent again and stan's staring up above you, avoiding your eyes as you wipe a bit of alcohol over his busted lip. "y'know, i hate to say it, but this is kind of hot." you whisper. 

he stares at you dryly. "you think your brother socking me in the face is hot?" 

you laugh, "no, i think me telling you what to do is. you take directions well." his face blooms light pink at your words and you feel proud. he’s watching you carefully, "really? that's cute coming from you. i seem to remember you begging for me to tell you what to do not even an hour ago." 

you swallow, cheeks going red, but you notice his are too. "maybe you just need to be put in your place, stan." you whisper, leaning forward to capture your lips together. he winces slightly, his busted lip tender against yours, but his hand grips your ass immediately, tugging you towards him. 

you slide onto his lap, straddling him easily. the kiss starts slowly, but quickly heats up when he pulls you down to grind on him, causing you both to let out shaky moans of pleasure. then you gently push his shoulders back, “wanna feel you inside me.” you whisper, noticing his knowing smirk as he lays back, propping himself up on his elbows to watch you. 

you slide back on his lap, undoing his pants and sliding them down his legs. his cock springs up and you bite your lip, hand wrapping around his base. you pump slowly, watching as he bites him lip and tilts his head back. you're filled with desire as you take in his size, desperate to feel him. then you're pressing a kiss to his lips, balancing up on your knees and teasing him against your slit, spreading your wetness. he groans, bucking his hips up but you shush him, kissing him again.

he pulls off your shirt, and you quickly do the same to him, taking in his toned torso. you silently thank whoever made stan so goddamn good at baseball. he groans as you place his hands down and off your body, gently sinking down onto him.

you both let out loud groans, relishing in the feeling of him stretching you out perfectly. his head falls onto the wall behind him as you start to move on top of him, stabling yourself on his chest. “fuck, y/n.” he groans lowly, eyes shut in pleasure. 

he looks so perfect under you and you move yourself quicker, loving how he fills you. one of your hands slips into his hair, pulling and making him groan, his hips stuttering. “stan…” you moan as he places kisses on your neck and chest, moving your hips as you bounce. his teeth nip at your skin, his hands rising to grip your ass, hiking up your skirt. 

leaning forward, you find a new angle and bite your lip to keep from screaming at the feeling. stan's biting his own bruised and split lip, his face flushed and chest heaving. he’s hitting deep inside you and you feel full, moaning as you bounce up and down. you moan into his skin, sucking dark marks up and down to column of his throat, 

you lean to press your hands against his chest, changing the angle again. “fuck.” he mutters and you moan, your legs burning but the pleasure flowing through your body. he all but growls, his head falls against the wall again with a groan of pleasure, his hands raising to your hips and fucking up into you, eyes scrunched. his hips are stuttering and he’s flushed, looking like heaven under you.  "stan," you moan, "you feel so good, fill me up s'good." you whisper, unable to stop yourself as you moan. 

through breaths, he's whispering into your ear. "sorry, who did you say fucked you the best?" he asks as you clench around him. 

"shut up." you whisper into his ear as you bounce on him, your hand rising to his throat.

 his eyes lace shut, screwing with lust as he moans, hands hard on your hips as he fucks you down onto him. you squeeze his throat lightly, feeling him swallow under your palm. your lips meet and he bites down on your lip hard, moaning at the feeling of your hand on his neck. 

"who fucks you this good?" he says, and you can feel his voice vibrate under your palm, his lips in a sexy grin as his eyes flutter shut. "shut up, stan." you say again, "don't make me leave and let you finish yourself off." you whisper in his ear. 

he moans at that as you move your hips, your hand still around his throat. 

his hand rises up your back, palm sliding over your bare skin and then gripping your breasts, starting to thrust up. you moan loudly, forehead falling to his shoulder at the new angle as stan stretches you and hits perfectly deep inside you. your hands fall to his chest, clenching around him as you whimper. 

your legs burn and it's almost like stan can tell, because he's lifting you off him and then swiveling you so that your back falls onto the mattress. he hums, "no, you won't leave." 

you raise your brows as he grabs your legs, pulling you down towards him on the bed. "what makes you think i won’t just get up right now?" you ask. 

but then he's sliding into you, one leg held by his hand and the other behind him. he fills you up and makes your toes curl and your vision cloud in pleasure with one stroke. and then he's thrusting, your whole body bouncing as he pounds into you, hitting your g spot perfectly and making you gasp sharply in pleasure. 

"because," he whispers into the shell of your ear, "nobody can make you cum like i can." 

you let out a shaky breath, the last ounce of dominance gone from your body as he fucks you into the mattress. he slips his thumb into your mouth and you wrap one hand around his forearm, sucking on his thumb and swirling your tongue over the tip of the finger as he stares into your eyes. 

he bites his lip, grinning. "what was it bill said? that girls who suck fingers without having to be told go to heaven?" 

you blush at that as he thrusts into you, and he coos as he slips the finger out of your mouth with a light pop. "yeah, guess he's right. you are my good girl."

and then he's rubbing your clit gently with that thumb, his hips rocking into yours and making your legs shake. you moan loudly, the pleasure making you squeeze your eyes shut. 

he hums, "you'd better be quiet or everyone's going to know who's really your favorite." he whispers cockily against your lips, and your eyes roll back as you moan quietly. 

he smiles at you, other hand smoothing your hair. your eyes fall to the marks from your fingers around his neck, and you get shiver of pleasure knowing the effect you have on him.  "you need me. say it." he whispers against the skin of your chest. 

you let out a strangled, "n-need you, stan... i n-need you." you rush out, feeling dangerously close to your second high of the day. he smiles, kissing you sweetly as he thrusts deeper than before, making you moan into his mouth a low whimper. the aching need is becoming almost unbearable, and you pull him closer to you, clenching around him as you near your high. 

"it’s okay, i need you too, babylove." he whispers into your ear, kissing your hairline as he tugs your leg up more, hitting a different angle. the new sensation pushes you over the edge and you're moaning his name in ecstasy, eyes screwed shut as you pulse around him. you feel euphoric as he rocks you through your orgasm, kissing you softly. 

his name falls from your lips as you hold him tight, your nails leaving small half-moons in his skin. you come down from your high and stan's right behind you, only a few more thrusts until he stills slightly, his breath shake as he props himself above you.

 he pulls out and pumps himself, biting his lip as a bit of blood lingers from the split. you're breathless as he cums in spurts on your stomach, enthralled by the sight of his beauty. "god, y/n." he whispers, the david star charm on his necklace glinting in the light against his bare chest. 

"didn't want to cum inside you." he whispers against your lips, but you pull him closer, "it's okay, i'm on the pill anyways." you whisper. he swallows, sighing in relief as he collapses next to you. "good girl." he whipers breathlessly. you smile into his neck as he pulls you closer to him, your naked limbs warm against each other's bodies. you lay there for a few moments, listening to his rapid heartbeat calm down as he plays with strands of your hair. 

he gets up suddenly, though, and pulls on his own underwear and then pulls your own from his pocket of the pants on the floor. you swallow, watching him as he slowly slides your underwear up your legs slowly. he watches you, too - "did you fake it?" he asks. 

you blink at him. "no, actually." you admit, face red. "never with you." 

he smirks, kissing your bare legs as he makes his way up your thighs. you swallow, heart beating quick. "wh-what are you doing?" you ask. he shrugs, "you look so beautiful when you cum. i want to see it again." 

your throat dries up as you try to swallow to avoid choking at his words, shock coursing through you along with desire. holy fuck. "but your lip-" but he shakes his head, "-don't care." he says, eyes already focusing on your heat. 

"o-okay." you say shakily, "god, please," you add, looking at him as his breath hits you. he watches you as his tongue sticks out, licking a stripe up your pussy before swirling on your stimulated clit, making you gasp in pleasure.

the feeling is sharp and pleasant as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks lightly, tongue running over your folds. his hands move to hold your thighs as he delves in, your moans quieting as the pleasure increases after already being so overstimulated. 

you're already shaking. his mouth moves on you expertly, his tongue sliding to fuck up into you and making your hips buck, his nose brushing against your clit. you tug on his hair and he groans, sending vibrations through your body that make your toes curl. "stan, f-fuck," you say quietly, whimpering. 

its soft as he looks up at you, his tongue working you so well that within a few minutes, you know you’re already about to cum. your fingers tug his hair hard and then he's reaching to cup your face.

 his thumb presses against your lips and you kiss it softly, making smirk in between your thighs as he kitten licks your clit and draws a gasp from your lips. “stan, oh my god, i’m so close.” you sigh out, overwhelmed by how good you feel, by the pleasure coursing through you and the affection for the boy you’re with.

he just holds you tighter to his face, lapping your juices up and flicking against your clit before sucking, your thighs tightening. “stan, please, i’m gonna-” and but yourself off with a high moan, hand covering your mouth as you hit your high. you cum for the third time on his tongue, your legs shaking as you ride it out, your fingers combing through his curls. you sigh in bliss as you come down from your high, full of affection and need. 

stan rises from between your thighs, pressing a kiss to each before pulling up your lacy underwear and kissing your lips. 

he's wordless as he leaves the room, coming back moments later with a warm washcloth to clean himself off your stomach. you watch him the whole time as he smiles, your handprint fading from his neck. your stomach flutters as you pull on a sweatshirt and press a kiss to his nose. 

but the door opens and shuts from downstairs and you both share a look: now is not the time to test richie. 

stan looks to your window, then back to you, "i'm going to go. it's probably best." 

you pretend not to be disappointed. "y-yeah. makes sense." stan stares at you for a second with a gentle smile before standing and quickly getting dressed the rest of the way. 

you watch silently with an aching heart as he pulls his shirt on, grabbing his shoes and then leaning to kiss you quickly. "hey." he says softly, and you meet his eyes. "i'll... see you soon." 

"okay." you whisper as he slips out your window and down to your roof. 

you don't see stan for almost eight days after that. he doesn't phone the house, the losers don't come by much, stan not at all. richie doesn't speak to you, only in passing and only micro aggressions. it's lonely.

it's almost sunset when the door knocks, and you take your time walking to open it. 

you swing the door open and do a double take as you see the boy standing on your doorstep, hands in his pockets. he looks nervous, but when his eyes catch your figure, his face turns red. 

stanley uris looks devastatingly gorgeous in the dying light of the afternoon. 

"-oh, i thought..." he clears his throat. "i thought richie'd be here." he says, swallowing. you raise your brows, "he's at work right now, actually." you respond, toe drawing circles in the ground. "why did you even try to come and talk to him? he's a nightmare right now, he'd definitely try to beat you up again." you say softly. he chuckles a bit and your heart keels over and surrenders to him. 

stan shrugs, "he's been my best friend since we can remember. it's not as bad as he seems to think, i know we can get through this." 

you nod, heart then deflating as you realize that stan's intending to apologize to richie and beg for him to forgive him - of course friendships are more important than hook-ups, but after last time... and the way stan had stood up for you when richie was being mean... you'd hoped things would be different with him. 

because you think you've loved stan for a long time. 

"anyways, he has to learn to accept that i have feelings for his sister. i'm not going to sacrifice my happiness just because he's acting like a child, or that he's mad that i spend all my time thinking about you." 

your head snaps up to him and your eyes widen, heart soaring at his words. "wh-wait what?" you ask, suddenly shy. "you-" you just smile, not knowing what to say. stan shrugs, as if it's as simple as saying the sky is blue. 

"i think about you all the time, y/n. i like you as more than a friend, more than just a good fuck. i want to be yours, i want you to be mine. always have." 

you smile so big you think your face may split in two. "i think about you too, stan. haven't stopped in a few years. i missed you last week." 

"then can i take you out?" he asks boldly. "promise i'll hold your hand and buy you dinner." 

"he'll kill us." you say, looking into stan's bright honey eyes. they're full of confidence and mischief and you think he's absolutely irresistible. stan's large hand finds purchase on your waist lightly as he smiles, "has that ever really scared you, y/n?" he asks. 

you smile as you take his hand. "of course not." 

he kisses your forehead as you step towards him, his arm pulling you closer and releasing hordes of butterflies in your stomach. "think we should go visit him at work? order a shake with one straw and make out in the corner booth?" stan asks, the light catching the purple and yellow skin of his fading bruise.

you laugh as you walk towards his car, shoving him a bit. "you're an asshole." you say, butterflies rampant. his laugh makes you warm and he leans towards you. "you can say that all you want, but i know you've had a crush on me since we were kids." he teases. 

you roll your eyes. "you're really testing me, uris." 

"it's okay, tozier. i think you're beautiful even when you're mad." he says, pecking you on your nose. "well you better get used to it, i guess." you mutter, and he chuckles a bit as he kisses your forehead. 

"i will never get tired of you, no matter what you do or what your brother thinks." 

tag list: 

@gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @sft-core @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters @psykronium-cube @ruefulposts @letmereid @topper-mostofthepopper-most

© all content belongs to soulwillower 2020. do not modify, repost, or redistribute

#stanley uris smut #stanley uris x reader #losers club x reader #losers x reader #richie tozier x reader #beverly marsh x reader #mike hanlon x reader #eddie kaspbrak x reader #bill denbrough x reader #ben hanscom x reader

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

I listened to the TAZ Grad finale!

Fellas is it gay to become imbued with the essence of the sea after influence from your water genasi teammate, pester said teammate afterwards to name a boat after you, and sail away with them into the sunset to run a cruise line scam and become morally righteous pirates?

Ive been looking at people’s reactions on the finale and yeah I loved the chaos magic parts! The whole issue with the mishandling of D&D mechanics was never really a problem with me, although I know some people feel more strongly about that than I do.

Personally, I’ve always listened to TAZ for the story and not the actual D&D so I never really took issue with any of the DM-ing mistakes Travis did. Parts of the actual story had problems (the centaurs, Ranier, other points where Travis tried to be inclusive but implemented it where it wasn’t relevant) but overall I think the enjoyable parts far outweighed the bad.

And the McElroys in general are funny as hell so even though Grad wasn’t as profound as Balance or as sad as Amnesty I still enjoyed it a lot! I would probably put Grad above Amnesty but below Balance, but of course Balance holds a special place in my heart.

A problem people had with the finale that I didn’t notice while listening was that of all their talk of “destroying capitalism,” the trio settled down to comply with capitalist society at the end. And while I do agree that the “this system is bad but let’s slowly make change from within” message has been done to death, I don’t think that the ending was necessarily performative and disingenuous on the McElroy’s part.

The first point is that even though the trio decided to participate in Nua’s society in stereotypically “exploitative” careers, (particularly in Fitzroy and Firbolg/Gary’s case) they did so explicitly to keep people from being exploited by the system. Not to mention their paths fit their character arcs pretty well. 

Fitzroy’s “who will protect the weak from the strong” speech doesn’t indicate a sleazy lawyer willing to exploit the law to make a quick buck. One person described him as one of those pro-bono lawyers and I agree with that comparison. Fitzroy is a morally good person at his core, and he initially thought the hero society would help him do good, and after becoming disillusioned with hero society, he decided to carve out his own system to allow him to do good, both by being a lawyer and by being a pirate that only attacks rich assholes. (I really like that he clarified he would only attack rich assholes my chaotic good lawyer boi <3)

Firbolg’s whole character arc of being conscientious of resources to help the community instead of hoarding things to himself, in my opinion, culminates neatly with his decision of becoming a financial advisor. He has learned that both the “share all your resources without regard for the future” ideals of the Firlbolg and the “hoard all your resources for your own benefit” ideal of Nua’s society are both flawed extremes, and has dedicated his career to helping communities find a balance between the two.

Argo’s cruise seems more of a small business to me than a capitalistic venture, but I have never taken an econ class in my life so I digress. His character arc was about finding something to live for other than the past and I think it’s a good conclusion to his arc that he commemorates his mother and friends with the cruise line but still seeks out his own future outside of that by becoming a pirate. His original plan was to go with the establishment and work with one of the most powerful heroes in the world until he gets revenge, so it’s nice to see him grow to find his own self sustaining outside of the establishment.

The second point is that TAZ Grad was never about destroying capitalism. That was a joke that Travis laid the foundation to, but it was the players who made that joke and rolled with it. Tumblr user @fitzroythecreator wrote a really good analysis of how the main theme of Grad was self reliance which I agree with. While that is one of the main themes, I will be focusing on the theme of capitalism that a lot of people tend to focus on.

The characters’ goal was to destroy the HOG, which was an allegory for how organizations function under capitalism, but never a direct parallel with capitalism as an ideology or functional system itself.

When they first joked about “ending capitalism” by blowing up the HOG I was concerned because that’s not how anything works. The HOG was just one cog (heh) in the capitalist machine that was Nua’s society, and while destroying it would cause significant damage and change, it wouldn’t immediately shift everyone’s worldviews to discard their capitalist society as a whole. If the boys carried out the mission and all of a sudden the whole world was fixed, it would be even more disingenuous to present a utopian solution to a pressing, real world problem that simply cannot be solved this way.

I’m glad that they didn’t end capitalism. Social issues like this can never realistically be resolved by three spunky heroes on an adventure. You would need action from an entire population. Often violent action. There were already issues with too many NPCs in the spotlight so describing and entire population’s uprising would have exacerbated the problems even more. As four white men, the McElroys neither had the answers for how to end capitalism, nor would their medium of a D&D podcast have allowed them to present them effectively.

From my perspective, the way they would have actually ended capitalism was to go to war like Chaos and Order wanted. In this case, the entire social order and way of life for Nua would have been overturned. The main characters, Fitzroy most vocally, reject this option because of the human toll (or elves, or dwarves...whatever the term for that is for D&D races). Instead, they disturb the system to expose its flaws and let society recognize said flaws in the background. (Again, they couldn’t focus too much on it as it would take away from focus on the main characters.) Then, they choose to find their own place in the system and fix it from within.

I’m not surprised that the McElroys would pick the “change the flawed system from within” route over the “use continuous and possibly violent action to force rapid social change” route in the end. While the second stance could work if written correctly, there’s a lot more room for the message conveyed to be catastrophically bad if the writing doesn’t work. I’m personally glad that the McElroys, who don’t have a solution, presented the tamer first take instead of trying to give a solution with the second take and failing spectacularly.

TAZ: Grad was social commentary on the problems of late stage capitalistic society, but it never tries to present a clear answer on how to end this society. Rather, it recognizes that this is a problem that can’t be solved by one small group of people. It presents several possible solutions to navigate this society to bring yourself happiness within this soul crushing system while slowly changing the attitude of the society. After all, if everyone quietly changed societal attitudes for the better, then perhaps one day the population will be united enough to bring about the drastic social change that we all hope for.

#taz: graduation #taz grad #fitzroy maplecourt #argo keene #taz firbolg #SHUT UP JESSICA #this is the kind of analysis i do with media when im bored #except none of my friends that i share my bad takes with know about taz grad so #its your problem now

[popcrone818]

Spitfire - sweet pea x reader

Part two

Here is part two to spitfire, if you like it please don’t forget to comment on it. I love hearing feedback. If anyone wants to help out and beta my work I would love that too. Shoot me a message or ask with anything. I’m also thinking of creating a tag list so if you want to be on that then let me know.

Also gif not mine let me know if you know who’s it is

Sweet Pea POV

I watched as she walked up on stage once the music started, I couldn’t help but keep my eyes on her as she discarded her shirt looking around for something. Her eyes found mine as she tossed her shirt and I brought my beer up to my lips as she got rid of her jeans leaving her in a red lace lingerie set. My eyes widened at the sight and she never took her eyes off me. I could feel the heat travelling to my dick as she finished up and took off to the side of the stage where I could see Toni was waiting for her. Fangs and I made our way over to the two girls as Rory pulled her jeans up her legs. I took her new jacket off Toni and walked over to her. I placed the leather on her shoulders and she pushed her arms through the sleeves, I gathered up her red hair and pulled it gently out of her collar and rested it over her left shoulder before I rested both of my hands on her shoulders.

“You’re officially a serpent now. How do you think your brothers going to react once he finds out?” I lent down to whisper in her ear. I felt her tense up under my palms.

“I guess he’ll just never find out then.” She shrugged and I squeezed her shoulders gently before sitting down at the bar and looking at Toni for a drink.

“You’re brother is going to kill you Rory.” I heard Jones say from beside me. I noticed out of the corner of my eye he had taken my place behind Rory gently squeezing her shoulders. I felt my jaw clench slightly as she shrugged and took a swig of her beer.

“Honestly I think he needs to get his head out of his ass. You guys are actually really cool and I’m glad I get to call you my friends now too. Let him kill me he wouldn’t he loves me too much.”I felt something warm inside me but quickly shut it down and forgot about it as the door to the wyrm was thrown open I didn’t Bohr looking behind me as the intruders made their way up to the bar and stopped just short of Rory and I being at the end.

“Aurora! We’re going home now!” I heard the Northsider yell as I saw Rory stand up to face her brother before taking another sip of beer.

“Um, no thanks, I’m good here.” I watched as she turned her back on him and he stood taller standing over her trying to regain control of the situation and ultimately Rory. I stood up next to her slightly closer than was probably necessary as one of the other bulldogs walked up beside Red. I let her hand gently rest on my own as she placed her body in front of mine.

“You’re one of them now? A serpent?” Red asked squinting his eyes in his sisters direction looking down at her. My body stiffened and I took a small step closer, my lower stomach now in contact with her back. I felt my fists clench beside me. My anger at the disrespect for his sister settling in my stomach.

“Yes now please leave before you make a fool of yourself even more than your doing now!” She pointed to the door and Red followed her finger. I felt her hand on my bicep as she almost gave me whiplash with her strength pulling me back to the bar.

“You know, I’d still bang you Andrew’s even if you are just another serpent slut.” I heard one of the bulldogs whisper in her ear, closest to me, he seemed to be taunting her and me, knowing he would get a rise out me by saying that. I stood up and let my fist connect with the bulldogs jaw. I was not about to let him just walk all over her like that my protective instincts kicking in at the way Rory had tensed up at his words. Soon enough the bulldog landed a punch on my left cheek but I was quick with another blow to his pretty little face. I felt Jones pull me off the bulldog with Red doing the same to him.

“You’ve just made a big mistake Rory.” Red yelled as he dragged the bulldogs out of the wyrm. I turned myself back to my beer taking a swig to calm myself down in an effort to not snap again. I could taste a slight metallic flavour to the beer and and I brought my hand up to observe the damage on my lip.

“You didn’t need to do that Sweet Pea, I can handle Reggie.” She told me as she placed a small hand on my left cheek, I winced slightly, surely there would be a bruise there, she was gentle as she touched my face taking in the wince at the initial contact o her cold hands. I felt as all of my anger washed away with one simple small touch from one small girl.

“What’s serpent law number 1 Rory?” I held her gaze as I asked her the question.

“No serpent stands alone.” She recited as I nodded and turned my head away from her touch not liking how weak I felt under her fingers, but also not hating the way my skin tingled from her fingers, I would not let some Northsider have this effect on me. “I better go have a screaming match with my brother, I’ll see you guys later.” Toni nodded at her and I watched as she made her way out of the wyrm. I felt a slap to the back of my head.

“What was all that dude?” I heard Fangs ask from beside me. I shrugged at him.

“No women should be treated like that, serpent or not.” I got Toni to pass me another beer. “Round of pool before we head off too?” I asked him. He nodded and Toni followed us over to the pool tables. As I racked up the balls Toni turned her head to me. A questioning look hiding behind her brown eyes.

“You like her don’t you?” I scoffed as I took my shot.

“I barely like you two.” The game went smoothly and as usual Fangs got his ass handed to him and he pushed $20 into my chest. He’ll never learn.

“You would never let anyone touch you like she did tonight, not even to patch you up.” Toni just wouldn’t drop it. I groaned as Fangs put away the cue’s and balls.

“Just drop it okay she’s an Andrew’s anyway.” I shrugged and walked out of the wyrm up to my bike. I decided against a helmet and turned the key hearing the engine roar to life before I sped off in the direction of the Northside. She should be home by now, I just wanted to make sure she was safe, that’s what I kept telling myself as I turned down her street. I slowed down almost stopping outside her house and noticed the living room light on, I could faintly here yelling over the loud sound of my engine and I knew she was home safe. The curtains by the door shifted so I took off again revving the engine slightly before changing gears and heading back to sunnyside trailer park.

Aurora POV

“She’s a serpent now dad!” I heard Archie telling dad as soon as I walked in the door, my serpent jacket hanging from my elbow as it got a touch warm on the walk home.

“That better be you Aurora and you better have a damn good reason for joining the serpents!” I heard my dad yell as I tried to sneak my way into my bedroom.

“Yeah dad, its me.” I purposely didn’t answer the question about being a serpent.

“How did FP allow you to become a serpent?” My dad questioned as I walked into the kitchen.

“FP doesn’t know, some guy named Tall Boy initiated me. With the help of a serpent Archie’s age. It’s fine dad I’d rather be protected than not with the black hood business going on.” I crossed my arms over my chest. Placing my jacket over the back of the couch.

“You can’t be a serpent Rory! They came to our house to fight me!” Archie yelled at me getting closer.

“That’s because you waved a gun in Sweet Pea’s face! Yes I know exactly what happened and I also know that you threw the first punch, so don’t even try to tell me it was their fault or that they’re thugs because as far as I’m aware you are at fault right now not us.” I crossed my arms over my chest. Archie’s ja dropped a I mentioned us and not just the serpents. I heard a soft rumble of an engine pass by the house. Archie made his way over to the front window by the door and peaked his head out. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I threw my arms out beside me.

“Language young lady!” My dad yelled over me and Archie.

“You think they’re going to come back for round 2. Believe it or not but family members of serpents are actually protected too. So unless I specifically tell them not to protect you Sweet Pea cannot touch you again. And believe me, right now I’m this fucking close.”

“Aurora!”

“Sorry dad, I just can’t believe Archie right now.”

“I’m not too thrilled about you being a serpent either Aurora. But if you think this is going to protect you and us from the black hood I’m willing to make an exception.” Dad shrugged which only angered Archie even further.

“Dad! She’s a serpent, Jughead is a serpent, your best friend is a serpent and he is currently behind bars. Don’t you think she would be safer without them?” Archie raised his arms before laying them down by his sides.

“Look, FP is an adult, he chose them when he was her age. Jughead is just following in his fathers footsteps for protection just like Rory. Once FP gets out he can decide if she stays or goes. As for you Rory, I want you to go and tell FP about this little development tomorrow. See what your godfather has to say about all of this. Because I sure as hell cannot deal with the two of you right now, so I’m going to bed.” With a wave of his hand dad stomped his way up the stairs. Archie and I stayed still glaring at each other until the slam of a door broke us out of it.

“I seriously can’t believe you did this Rory, they’re bad people and now you have ruined your life, for what? A guy? Sweet Pea was his name? You’ve got to be-,” my hand collided with the side of his face.

“Don’t you dare even think I did this for a guy. Because in the last two days the serpents have actually been there for me more than you have since dad got shot. Ive made three really good friends and Jug and I are closer than ever before. Don’t even think you know what is going on in my life. You only care about yourself. And for the record I don’t like Sweet Pea as anything more than a friend.”

“Aurora! He’s the one that did Jughead’s initiation, you saw what he looked like afterwards.” Archie was trying to get me to turn against them.

“Yes I was there. I watched Sweet Pea with his brass knuckles get Jug in the side of the face, also I was the one to clean him up after and I went to the Whyte with him to get his jacket, where Sweet Pea was an asshole to me and I never back down you know that. Which is how I got to where I am now, but I couldn’t be happier Archie. So please for once try to be my brother instead of an asshole.” With that I turned away grabbing my jacket and headed upstairs to my bedroom slamming the door before I flopped face down on my bed. My phone vibrated with a message as I rolled over to look at the ceiling. I groaned before taking it out to check it.

Sweet Pea: hope you got home safe, also hope you didn’t get your ass handed to you by red.

I laughed silently at him being a dork. He wont even acknowledge that Archie is my brother. I’m pretty sure his brain would spontaneously combust.

Me: yes I’m home safe. I put him in his place don’t worry about me, I’m tough 🤯

Shortly after I hit send I got another message from Jug this time.

Juggie: did Archie and your dad kill you?

Me: dad wasn’t happy at first but then I mentioned how family members are protected too and he seemed to ease out of it. But I’m this close to letting Sweet Pea off his leash to go after Archie again. I’m fucking over it all. All the Northside, Southside bullshit. Juggie what do I do?

Juggie: you do nothing, we got your back and I’m sure Sweet Pea would kill anyone that gave you shit. He’s loyal like that.

Me: and another thing why does Sweet Pea keep coming up in conversations I have? Archie accused me of sleeping with him. Ive only known him like two days.

Juggie: you brought him up in this convo Rory, don’t try blame me this time, I think you’ve got a crush!

Me: I DO NOT HAVE A CRUSH! He’s just a good friend now after he got over the fact that I’m a northsider.

Juggie: sure whatever you reckon. Anyway tomorrow after school meet me at pops we gotta talk.

Me: sure thing I’ll see you then. Goodnight x

Juggie: goodnight x

I changed out of my clothing for the day and into my pyjama shirt before pulling the covers back on my bed and climbing in. Before I could close my eyes my phone vibrated against the side table.

Sweet Pea: sure you’re tough, anyway just wanted to make sure your got home okay from the wyrm and to say goodnight.

Me: goodnight Sweet Pea.

I fell asleep thinking about a certain tall dark and handsome serpent that night.

A couple of months after my initiation I had gotten wind that Mayor McCoy was raiding Southside high and anyone with a jacket was going down. I ran with Jughead into the school only to see two deputies push Sweet Pea into a row of lockers. Toni not far from him with only one deputy on her. I locked eyes with Sweet Pea before he mouthed ‘run’ to me. I turned around and followed Jug down the steps of Southside high. We took off running in the direction of Northside, more specifically to my house where he and I could regroup and discuss what we just saw and what we do about it now.

“What the fuck just happened?” I asked Jug as I made us both some coffee.

“Mantle said he got JJ from a serpent for Veronica’s party the other night when Cheryl was almost raped by some guy Veronica knew in New York. So the serpents and Southside high were raided, I don’t know how long they’re going to be locked up for though.” Jug put his head in his hands and groaned, this was just one big mess.

“I’m going to fucking kill Reggie!” I slammed my hand down on the counter before leaning closer to Jughead. “I know for a fact it was a Ghoulie who sold that to him.” He nodded with me. The rest of the night Jug and I spent watching movies and trying to not think about our friends that had just been locked up.

Jug couldn’t go to school the next day as Southside high was still being raided before the serpents would be released so I told him he could stay at mine, Archie and dad wouldn’t mind so I was on my way to school, jacket hanging off my shoulders when Reggie Mantle decided to be a dick and come up to me at my locker.

“So your really one of them now? I thought you had standards, but I guess not.” He shrugged leaning on the locker beside mine, I ignored him as he lent down slightly to whisper in my ear. “I’d still fuck you, though I’m sure you been passed around the serpents enough.” I slammed my locker door shut before my fist connected to Reggie’s face. I heard a sickening crack and smiled triumphantly before turning around and walking away. “Just like that serpent toy of yours always so hot headed.” I heard him wheeze out through his broken nose. I took a deep calming breath before I stomped back over to Reggie.

“A) not my toy just a friend, and B) you’re the reason my friends are currently locked up. Get your head out of your ass Mantle, you know it was a Ghoulie who sold you the JJ, you just don’t like the serpents.” I flicked my hair in his face as he held his nose blood rushing out. I rushed into the nearest bathroom and ran my hand under some cold water. My knuckles were already starting to bruise up.

“Students of Riverdale High, this is your principal, emails have been sent out to your parents, effective immediately, Southside High will be shutdown. Students will be transferred to other schools in the district, including this one.” I heard the voice of principal Weatherbee come over the speakers, I silently did a small cheer as I wouldn’t be the only one in this school wearing a serpent jacket. Betty would be happy Jug is coming back. I was excited as I’m sure Sweet Pea, Fangs and Toni would all be coming here, the rest of the day I couldn’t focus too excited for my friends to be joining this school and I wouldn’t feel so alone anymore.

Juggie: did you hear Southside is being shut down?

Me: yeah heard he announcement this morning. I’m excited for you all to be here though. Have you heard anything about when they’re getting let out?

Juggie: yeah this afternoon they get out, want to join me in getting Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea out?

Me: fuck yes I do, meet you at the station after school?

Juggie: 👍

I hopped in my car after school watching as Reggie sent me a death glare from his spot leaning against his precious Bella. Not long after I left school I joined Jughead at the station where Fangs, Sweet Pea and Toni were being uncuffed. I ran up and pulled Toni into a bone crushing hug which she returned. Fangs then mockingly held out his arms and I pulled him into me as Jug hugged Toni. My eyes swept over Sweet Pea who looked slightly uncomfortable at all the affection being thrown around and when I pulled away from Fangs I walked up to him.

“I’m glad your okay.” I told him before I felt his arms wrap around my shoulders. I wrapped my arms around his middle under his jacket and held him tightly. His head rested on mine as mine rested on his chest. His height is ridiculous. I caught Toni’s smirk as she watched us before we pulled away. “Who’s up for Pop’s?” I got a chorus of ‘hell yeah’ as Toni, Fangs and Sweet Pea climbed into my car and Jug climbed onto his bike. We sent the rest of the night laughing and sharing funny stories at a booth in pop’s before our worlds would be turned upside down tomorrow at school. We all knew that the Southside high students wouldn’t be be welcomed at Riverdale high and they were dreading it. I told them I would would walk through the doors with them and help Sweet Pea beat up anyone that would look at them differently. I had told them about Reggie this morning and how I handled it, Sweet Pea gave me a high five and Jughead just shook his head at us. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I looked around before pulling it out thinking it was Betty.

ToniT: you wanna be a bit more obvious?

I gave her a look and she typed out another message, three dots showing up on my screen.

ToniT: you and sweet pea are scarily alike, and you keep looking at him with heart eyes 😍😍.

Me: no I don’t. And I just don’t like being messed with. You saw the way I stood up to sweet pea when I first met him. Stop trying to play matchmaker, if you think we’re so alike wouldn’t that be a bad thing if we were together?

ToniT:mmm so you’ve thought bout you and him together? That’s so cute! No one has ever stood up to him the way you did that night. No one usually gets a chance before they’re on their ass.

Me:I’m done with this conversation.

I shook my head and pocketed my phone again.

“Who was that?” Jughead asked nudging me with his shoulder.

“Archie.” I lied taking a long sip of my coffee milkshake. I made eye contact with Toni before the night started to get away from us and we all decided to head off. Being the only Northsider I decided to walk home. Just as I left the parking lot of pop’s I heard a bike stop beside me.

“Want a ride trouble?” I turned to see Sweet Pea holding out his helmet. I grinned and nodded before taking his helmet and kicking my leg over the bike. He sped off down the road and I finally felt free. I had started the ride with a death grip on Sweet Pea but by the time we got to my house I held both arms out beside me and enjoyed the feeling of the air rushing through my body.

Sweet Pea POV

I watched as Rory pushed through the doors of Southside high just as I was pushed into a row of lockers by two deputies. Assholes couldn’t even take me one on one. I mouthed ‘run’ to her as a pair of handcuffs were tightened around my wrists. I let out a curse as they were tightened too tight and I watched and Topaz was also arrested beside me. I just hope Rory got out safe she was wearing her jacket, if she was caught wearing it in Southside high she would also be arrested. We spent the night locked up but I never saw Rory so hopefully she was going to be okay with Jones. Once we were let out we had been informed that Southside high was being shutdown. I knew Jones would be pissed but Fangs, Toni and I couldn’t be happier. I was finally going to be able to make something of myself and get out of this shit hole of a town. Jones and Rory came and joined us once we were uncuffed, she watched as the cuffs were taken off us, I never wanted her to see this I was hoping she would just see us tomorrow for our first day but I had been wrong. She threw herself at Toni. The two smaller girls holding each other close, Fangs held out his arms for Rory to run into. My fists clenched before I released them and flexed my hands. Lastly she came over to me, usually I’m not one who is big into hugs but watching the way both Toni and Fangs melted into her embrace made me crave the feeling of her arms wrapped around me.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” She told me looking down and fiddling with a ring on her right middle finger. I couldn’t take it anymore and I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and pulled her tightly to my chest, she wrapped her arms around my stomach and rested her head on my chest. I felt her small cold hands rest on my back just above my jeans. I felt my heart beating erratically in my chest and wondered if she could hear it as I placed my head on top of hers, inhaling he scent of vanilla and sweet pea, loving the way she felt in my arms. “Who’s up for Pop’s?” She asked as she pulled away from me. We all agreed and the three of us followed her out to her car as Jones got on his bike.

At Pop’s we all ended up laughing hysterically at some stories that the three of us told about our lives. Memories growing up with the two of them and the mischief we used to get up to. Rory had decided to tell us what had happened between her and Mantle that morning and how she handled it. I gave her a high five and a wide grin knowing she was capable of looking after herself regardless of being a northsider. I noticed her right hand had bruises on the knuckles and absentmindedly reached for her hand, our fingers brushed together gently before she pulled her hand off the table and rested it in her lap. I silently sighed and took another sip of my milkshake not making eye contact with anyone at the booth. I heard a vibration coming from Rory but didn’t bother to look up. More vibrations came as I heard her nails clicking away at the screen of her phone.

“Who was that?” I heard Jones ask her and my head shot up. Her eyes found mine before she replied to him.

“Archie.” She said and shrugged, I could seen it in her eyes she was lying but I thought I would leave it be for the time being. A few hours later we all decided it was getting late and we should all leave. I watched her as she started walking out of the parking lot and turned left instead of right like the rest of us would. I quickly climbed on my bike and took off after her, she stopped in the sidewalk before she realised it was me.

“Want a ride trouble?” I asked her chuckling to myself, I was one to talk, trouble always found me, and right now the trouble that found me was in the form of a Northside serpent. I held out my helmet to her not caring that I didn’t have one for myself now, she grinned and took it. I ensured that it was done up under her chin correctly and told her to hang on as I took off. I heard her shriek slightly as her grip on my waist tightened. I chuckled and sped a bit faster wanting her to hold me tighter. Halfway to her house I felt her arms let go of my body. I took a look in the side mirror and watched as her eyes closed and her arms spread out on either side of her body. She was breathtaking but I missed the feeling of her arms around my body. Once we got to her place she placed her hands on my shoulders and kicked her leg over my bike pushing her body off it using my shoulders as leverage. She handed me back my helmet and we just stared at each other not knowing what to say to the other.

“Want a ride in the morning?” I asked her clipping the helmet to the handlebars of my bike. She nodded and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. I think this is the most shy I’ve ever seen her, she usually always has something witty to say to me.

A week later and Weatherbee had given all serpents ‘uniforms’ to wear as he thought none of us would be able to afford Riverdale High appropriate clothing, and we all had to cover our tattoos. Which resulted in me having to wear a turtle neck. We were all sitting in the student lounge when Rory walked in and almost pissed herself laughing at Toni and I. I glared at har as she walked up to us. She sat herself down on my lap and poked my turtle neck covered tattoo.

“Loving the turtle neck there Sweet Pea.” She giggled again as she looked around us strangely. “Where’s Fangs?” She asked once she stopped giggling.

“He refused to wear the uniform so Weatherbee suspended him until he wears it.” I shrugged at her as Jones walks into the lounge. Toni got up to greet him as he hands Rory a large coffee cup.

“So its either conform or be cast out?” He exclaims angrily.

“Yeah.” Toni sighs as she takes a sip from her coffee cup. Rory follows suit also taking a sip of her new coffee and moans as I feel her relax against my chest. I laugh at her.

“Is that what you sound like in bed?” I whispered in her ear laughing lightly. She shoved me in the chest lightly.

“You wish you knew what I sounded like in bed don’t you Pea?” I felt her breath on my ear as she leaned in closer to me.

“Are you two done eye fucking each other? Some of us want to keep our breakfast down before you start to take clothes off each other.” Jughead whacked Rory on the back on the head causing her head to knock gently into mine.

“Fuck you Jones.” I rubbed my head where hers had connected and she turned around on my lap to look at our friends. I wrapped my hands around her waist gently as Toni and Rory started up a conversation about Rory getting a few shifts either at the wyrm or pop’s. I wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying but rather how she was talking. I watched as her eyes light up before she took her phone out of her back pocket putting all her weight onto my pelvis as she lifted the other side of her ass up to get her phone. Her tongue poked out through her teeth and she scrolled furiously through her phone looking for something to show Toni before she turned it around to show the pink haired girl. They both giggled and I felt her place her free hand on my knee absentmindedly rubbing circles with her thumb. I felt Jones kick my shin to get my attention. It shook me out of my trance as I turned my head to look around Rory at the serpent legacy. He only just raised his eyebrows at me before he looked at Rory then back to me. I shrugged and tuned back into Rory and Toni’s conversation.

“… so we need to go shopping today after school then.” I felt Rory chuckle at Toni and nodded.

“Wanna come shopping with us Sweet Pea?” Rory asked me adjusting yet again my lap.

“He doesn’t do shopping.” Toni answered before I could say I would like to go with them. I think she may have just wanted a girls shopping trip. But I also know the amount of times I’ve complained when she has dragged me shopping, so I guess she was right, but I found myself just always wanting to be around Rory. Even more now that I got to know her. Yes the first night I saw her with Jones at the wyrm I thought she was hot, then she stood up to me and said she would become a serpent just to prove me wrong and I thought the way the light captured her deep red hair was beautiful. Then she started to hang out with us more at the wyrm and I started to get to know her more, the day we were all hauled into the sheriffs station and I saw her push through Southside highs doors right before I was slammed into a row of lockers I knew then and there that I needed to protect her from everything bad that goes on in the serpents. I knew she could handle herself but I also just wanted her to see me as something more than just a hot headed serpent going nowhere. In the time I have known her she and I have gotten really close, as well as Toni and Fangs, but sometimes I feel like she enjoys our slight banter and may even be more comfortable around me than the other two. In different ways she is friends with all of us. She and Jones have been friends since they were born, so they have an unbreakable bond with each other, like brother and sister, but less fighting. She and Fangs are on the verge of that brother-sister bond as well, they play fight and play wrestle like she’s one of the guys. She and Toni have that weird girly bond, they talk about shoes and clothes and boys, when us boys aren’t around though, Jones doesn’t want to hear about who Rory thinks is bangable this week, I find myself not wanting to be part of that conversation either. But with Rory and I its just comfortable. She can come up to me and sit in my lap without it being weird, we flirt with each other and we push buttons, I can pull her into a long, tight hug and she will know I needed that then and hug me back just as tight. She gets me, and I get her. We are one in the same but yet we both balance each other out. One touch from her and my anger can dissipate into thin air. One touch from me and she’s smiling again instead of frowning. I hated to see her frown, it made me wonder what she was thinking about. Every time she touches me though I get brought right back to the night she became a serpent almost three months ago now. When the bulldogs came in and I had a busted lip from Mantle, the way she had held my face in her hand had sent electricity through my whole being. At the time I thought she was trying to make me weak, but as time went on I noticed that when I was around her I actually felt stronger.

“Hey! Serpent slut!” Mantle strode in and Toni and Rory looked over, he could be talking about either one of them, but either way I didn’t like it as Rory got up off me and walked over to him.

“What do you want mutt?” She crossed her arms over her chest having left her coffee near me in case she needed her hands.

“I’m offering you a spot in my bed this weekend after Cheryl’s party,” he reached up and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear, I saw red as he touched her and I was on my feet and heading over to them before I saw her grab his wrist twisting it painfully before she snarled and grit her teeth.

“Let’s make this very clear Reggie. I have never, nor will I ever think about being in a bed with you. I don’t need fleas from the likes of you.” She released his wrist and I lent against the couch Rory and I had been previously seated on.

“Oh but you’ll get bitten by one of those greasy snakes? I can see a faint mark on your neck there,” he reached up again and pointed to her neck. “Who gave that to you? One of them or all of them?” Her hand flew up to her neck and she looked back over to me. That’s my cue.

“Back off bulldog! She doesn’t want you.” I pushed her gently behind me. I knew this was partly my fault anyway. Last night I jokingly gave her a hickey while we were at the wyrm when she wouldn’t stop moving around on my lap.

“Oh but she wants you? A fucking snake? Pfft as if, serpent.” I pushed him in the chest as Toni and Jones came over to us. Toni taking Rory and leaving the lounge before things got messy. Mantle, Jones and I were suspended for two days because of the fight. After school got out I heard a knock on my door, groaning I got up off the couch to open it. I stood at my front door in a pair of sweats and no shirt as the ac in my trailer had shit itself and it was stupidly hot in there. I came face to face with a pair of bright green eyes.

“You gonna let me in?” She crossed her arms over her chest and I moved out of the way for her to make her way in. She sat down on the couch and shrugged off her light jacket resting it on the back of the couch. “You know I could have handled Reggie right?” She asked me as I moved into the kitchen to get some water for us.

“It was partly my fault that he started it anyway, I’m sure if he didn’t see the hickey it wouldn’t have escalated like it did.” I handed her the glass of water and sat down beside her. I watched as she took in everything about my trailer, I started to feel a bit self conscious as I noticed a small pile of clothes by the bathroom door and a bunch of empty take out boxes on the dinning room table. She looked back at me as she took a sip of her water. I knew she was used to a fancier home, her dad owned Andrew’s construction for fucks sakes she had it good and had a nice two story home on the Northside, and I lived alone in a tiny ass trailer on the Southside.

“I know but I can fight my own battles Pea, I don’t need you to do it for me all the time. I am a serpent too and I’ve been dealing with Reggie longer than I’ve known you.” She shrugged at me as she lifted her leg up so she could turn her whole body to me.

“I know you can, I just don’t like feeling useless when I know my friends are being looked down on. And again if I hadn’t have given that to you he probably wouldn’t have started it.” She placed her glass down on the coffee table in front of us before she started to fiddle with the rings on her fingers. I placed my much larger hands over hers and pried them apart from each other making her look up at me.

“I can’t keep letting you get suspended for fights over me anymore Pea. You need to lay off or your never going to lose the reputation of hot head.” She pulled her hands from mine and stood up.

“Maybe I just want to protect my friends, did you ever think about that? He many times have I gotten into fights over anything but people talking down to the Southside? How many time have you seen me punch someone who didn’t deserve it for being vulgar or disrespectful to either you or Toni, of even Fangs? What do you want me to do? Roll over and pretend nothing is happening? Just let people walk all over you? News flash Rory, that isn’t the way I was raised. I was raised a serpent, no serpent stands alone and I’ll be damned if I’m the one to leave you alone when you need me.” I ran my hands through my hair standing up halfway through my rant.

“Damnit Sweet Pea! I don’t need you to protect me! I am my own person, I can handle a couple of dim witted bulldogs and I can even handle some serpents. I’m not some fragile fucking doll for you to protect.” She started to pace around in my lounge room pulling at the roots of her hair. This was the first time I think I had ever seen her so worked up before.

“Well I’m sorry for taking an interest in the well being of my friend, Rory.” I took a step closer to her and she held up her hands in front of her.

“Then don’t.” She stopped pacing and turned to look at my eyes the best she could. I stooped my head down slightly so I could also see her eyes. “Just forget you ever fucking knew me because I can’t keep sitting here watching as you get yourself beaten to a pulp for me.” She tugged at her roots before she turned around and was out the door. I went to go after her but the door slammed in my face and I heard her car speed off. I punched the door causing a big hole to crumble. As I rested my head on the broken wood I thought about what I could have possibly done for her to hate me. I came up blank and decided to talk to her tomorrow at school.

Fangs and Toni had come by soon after Rory left.

“Dude! What happened to your door?” Fangs asked examining the splintered wood. I stayed sitting on my couch with my hands in my hair trying not to cry at the thought of never seeing Rory again.

“I think his anger got the best of him again, but my question is; who was it aimed at?” Toni asked as she made her way into the kitchen to pull out a beer for each of us.

“Myself.” I grumbled running my hands through my hair once again. I saw Fangs give Toni a look.

“He pissed off Rory, and now he blames himself for whatever happened, if I’m wrong tell me because I don’t see her here and she usually is. You two are usually watching movies and cuddling on the couch when we get here.” I groaned and shot Toni a glare, why did she have to be right. “Thought so, now what did you do?”

“She told me she could have handled Mantle today and I told her that I did it because I care about my friends and want to protect them. She then yelled at me, something about not being a fragile doll and told me to forget I ever knew her and then walked out the door.” I ran my hands through my hair again, missing the feeling of Rory dong it whenever she was bored.

“I know why she’s pissed then, but maybe just give her a bit of space and try talking to her in like a week or so.” Toni told me. “Now I’m going to check on my other friend because if I’m right as to why she is pissed then she needs me as much as you need Fangs. And you’re also a fucking idiot Sweet Pea, Fangs talk some sense into this dumbass please.” She put her hand on my knee and I jerked away. Too many times that hand had been Rory’s. Fangs saluted and I nodded as she took off out of my trailer and jumped on her bike.

“You like her don’t you?” Fangs turned to me.

“I think I remember this conversation from a couple of months ago, answer is still ‘I barely like you’.”

“Yes, but Toni and I aren’t Rory. You let her play with your hair, sit on your lap, you give each other hickies all the time, and I’m sure I’ve seen you smile and blush more in the last three months than I have in my whole life of knowing you. You’ve also gotten into a lot more fights since meeting her too. That Jason guy was the first one for seemingly no reason until Toni explained what had happened the night she became a serpent. You like her you dumbass and she likes you, your just too stubborn to admit it yourself and to her. She left and got pissed because you called her a friend and nothing more.” I shook my head at him.

#sweet pea x you #sweet pea x oc #sweet pea #sweet pea imagines #sweet pea x reader

[king-finnigan]

5 times Geralt tried to propose to Jaskier and 1 time he didn’t

The last part of my 500 followers celebration! Once again, thank you guys so much! Masterlist!

I don’t know if modern AU deserves a content warning. But consider this a CW: Modern AU, I guess.

***

I.

He’s nervous. Really nervous. Wiping-sweaty-palms-on-your-shirt-nervous. Cannot-eat-anything-nervous. About-to-propose-to-your-boyfriend-of-four-years-nervous.

He bought the ring about a month ago, and spent the weeks after that planning this entire thing meticulously. They would go to the park where they had their first date, he would buy Jaskier ice cream, just like he did the first time, and he would propose at the bench next to the lake, where they had their first kiss. It would be perfect.

Of course, Geralt isn’t really one for big proposals and romantic gestures, but he knows Jaskier likes it, so he guesses he can bear doing it this once. And maybe every day after that, as long as it makes his love happy. But of course, first things first – the proposal.

The day goes swimmingly, and he can tell Jaskier’s having a good time. Of course, his love doesn’t really hide his emotions – not in the way Geralt tended to do, before he met Jaskier – so it’s not that hard to tell how happy Jaskier is.

And, when they finally reach the lake, he reaches into his pocket, ready to get down on one knee while Jaskier stares out over the water. This is it, this is the moment he’s been waiting for, the moment he’s been preparing for weeks, the moment he’ll show the entire world how much he loves Jaskier and that he’ll always love him.

His fingers dig into his pocket. And find empty air.

He frowns, trying again, digging deeper. Huh. He tries his other pocket, which is also empty, save for his phone. Shit. His back pockets are empty, too, and he tries them all again, just to be sure. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit.

Jaskier looks at him weirdly. “You alright, love? Looking for something?”

He digs into his empty pockets one last time, before limply letting his hands fall by his side. “No, it’s alright. Just thought I’d lost my phone.”

Jaskier smiles, takes his hand softly, and starts pulling Geralt away from the lake. “Come on, let’s go home, it’s getting late.”

And suddenly this perfect day isn’t so perfect anymore.

He finds the ring in the pocket of his leather jacket, at home.

 II.

So the first time he tried to propose didn’t end well. That’s alright. It happens. Jaskier is still very unaware of Geralt’s plans, so he still has time to fix his mistake. So, he decides to take Jaskier on a shopping trip – because Jaskier loves shopping – and bring him to the Starbucks Jaskier used to work at as a barista, where they first met. Sure, it’s not exactly the most romantic spot, but he figures that maybe he can get their drinks for them, and slip the ring over the straw or something like that.

And the day goes well. Jaskier has a good time buying some knickknacks for their home and some decorative pillows because all respectable adults have decorative pillows, Geralt, and they’ll make a great Instagram post. When he insists on buying Geralt a forest-green sweater, Geralt rolls his eyes but lets Jaskier, anyways.

He’s nervous again, when they walk to the Starbucks, even though it’s the second time he’s trying to propose, and he’s sure Jaskier will say yes. Of course, his love notices his fidgeting, and asks him what’s wrong. Geralt just shakes his head, the knot in his throat preventing him from speaking.

And then they find out the Starbucks has been replaced with a McDonald’s. Fucking brilliant.

He’s not going to propose in a fastfood restaurant, thank you very much. The idea of it happening in a Starbucks was already pushing it, but no way is he gonna do it in a McDonald’s of all places.

So, they walk back to the car, Jaskier telling him it’s alright, and there’s no need to be disappointed, there are plenty of other Starbucks’ elsewhere, as the ring burns a hole in Geralt’s pocket.

 III.

He gives up on romantic gestures. Instead, he buys a bouquet of blue roses on his way home from work – Jaskier loves blue roses, he knows.

But when he opens the door to their apartment, he finds their home empty and dark. He frowns, turning on the light as he walks into the kitchen, seeing a sticky note on the fridge door.

Girls night with Yen. Be back before sunrise, it says, and Geralt lets out a sigh. He had forgotten about the fact that Jaskier and Yen would be going to a party today. And when those two go out together, bad things happen. Not bad bad things, of course, but he’s sure that Jaskier won’t be home before 7, will either still be drunk or already hungover, and will also probably bring back another traffic sign that Geralt will have to dispose of someway, somehow. Probably by taking it straight to the dump, like he did last time Jaskier came home with a stop sign. And the time before that. And the time before that.

Let’s hope he doesn’t come home with another stray cat, though, like he did two years ago. And a year ago. And about six months ago. And last week. Geralt’s tired of bringing animals to the shelter and having to leave them behind. Of course, it doesn’t help that he kept the first cat Jaskier brought home and named it Roach – now his love feels encouraged to take animals with him when he’s drunk.

He sighs, scratching the brown cat between her ears, before he lays the bouquet on the living room table and heads to bed.

Jaskier, in a bizarre move, brings home a goat the next morning, and – still very drunk – refuses to tell Geralt where the fuck he got it from.

 IV.

Alright, fine, so there’s no way he can plan it beforehand. So, he decides on a whim, to take the ring out of his pocket when they’re doing the dishes one day, after he’s pulled the plug out of the drain. Except his hands are soapy, and the ring slips out of his fingers, carried into the drain by the last bit of dish water.

He can’t help the loud ‘fuck!’ that falls from his mouth. Jaskier looks at him weirdly. “Everything alright, love? You look a bit pale.”

Geralt blinks, then nods, hurrying to get the tools from the storage closet in the hall. “Yeah, but I think the drain is clogged. Gonna have to open it up.”

Jaskier shrugs, walking into the living room, turning on the tv. “You need any help with that?” he asks, despite already scrolling through Netflix, as Roach settles into his lap.

Geralt shakes his head as he hurries back to the kitchen. “Nope, I can handle this!” he calls out, before slamming the door behind him.

He manages to get the ring from the pipes under the sink, luckily, but gets drenched in dirty water in the process.

 V.

Today is the day, he decides, as he makes his way up the stairs to their apartment. Today is the day he proposes. He’s gonna go inside, get down on one knee immediately, and ask Jaskier to marry him. There is no way it can go wrong this time. Today. Is. The. Day.

In his absentmindedness, he doesn’t notice the small puddle of rain water on one of the steps, and slips, hitting his head on the concrete. He curses, manoeuvring himself so he’s sitting down on the steps, clutching his painful forehead.

When he pulls his hand away, there’s blood sticking to his fingers. Well, fuck. He gets up again, making his way up to their apartment, letting himself in. As soon as he steps into the living room, Jaskier is pressing against him, looking at his forehead. “What the hell happened?”

“I slipped on the stairs.”

Jaskier tuts, shirt sleeve wiping away some of the blood that’s dripping down the side of Geralt’s face. “That’s gonna need stitches, love.”

Bloody brilliant.

They spent the rest of their evening in the ER, Jaskier grasping Geralt’s hand in both of his, Geralt pressing an old rag against the cut on his forehead.

 + I

A week later, he can’t say no when Jaskier begs him to take him to that nice restaurant a few blocks away. He decides not to propose, that evening,  because firstly, proposing in a fancy restaurant is incredibly cliché, and the last thing he wants is for it to be cliché. A weird proposal? Yes. An unromantic proposal? Sure. But a cliché proposal? Absolutely not.

Secondly, he decides not to propose because there are a million and one things that could go wrong. And, with the way his past attempts have been going, the lower the risk, the better. He’s fairly certain that, by now, if he were to try to propose tonight, the restaurant would likely catch on fire or something.

So, he just has a nice, lovely dinner with Jaskier. And it’s great, it’s a great evening, it’s a great restaurant, and he’s having great fun. Until dessert, when things go wrong.

Because of fucking course things go wrong.

Jaskier orders a moelleux for dessert, and Geralt notes in the back of his mind that the lady at the table next to them orders the same thing, but he pays no mind to it. After a while, the desserts arrive, almost simultaneously, and Jaskier crunches his nose in disgust when he sees a few mint leaves on his moelleux – he hates mint. Geralt laughs at his expression, though it falls when Jaskier takes away the mint leaves, revealing a ring underneath.

Firstly, he notices that the ring isn’t the one he bought for Jaskier, now several months ago. His is silver, with a light blue diamond that matches Jaskier’s eyes. The one on the moelleux is… hideous, in his opinion. It’s gold, with a large disc on it, full of little diamonds that sparkle obnoxiously in the low light of the restaurant, so bright it almost hurts his eyes.

Secondly, he notices that Jaskier’s expression turns from confused, to slightly disappointed, to a fake exhilarated. He can tell his love doesn’t like the ring, either. Which, under any other circumstances, would be a good thing – something to make fun of when they get back home. Except Jaskier understandably thinks this is the ring Geralt bought for him. After all, why else would it be on his dessert?

Thirdly, he notices the clatter of a fork falling on the ground at the table next to them. He looks to his side, and sees the guy staring at the moelleux in horror and confusion, while his girlfriend looks at it with jealousy. Ah. He understands the mix-up, now.

He sighs, plucking the ring – which weighs quite a lot, really – from the moelleux, handing it to the guy next to him. “I believe this is yours.”

The man takes it, mouth slightly agape, before shutting it with a snap, nodding frantically, before turning to his girlfriend. He and Jaskier watch as she takes the ring, practically screams her ‘yes, I will marry you’, and the guy slips the ring on her finger.

Jaskier smiles at him. “For a second there, I thought you were going to propose to me with that ring,” he whispers to Geralt.

Geralt scoffs, rolls his eyes. “Yeah, no, I would never. That was definitely not my ring.”

Jaskier cocks his head, frowns. “That was definitely not your ring?”

Well, shit. He fucked up. Again.

He presses his lips together, fishes the ring with the blue diamond from his pocket, and slides it across the table towards Jaskier.

The whole restaurant stares at them when Jaskier starts laughing like a maniac. Geralt waits until his love is done laughing, until Jaskier has his forehead on the table, hiccupping out small giggles. “What’s so funny?”

He pales when Jaskier takes a ring out of his own pocket, handing it to Geralt. It’s silver, with a yellow diamond in the middle that matches his eyes. Almost an exact copy of the ring he got for Jaskier. He barks out a laugh, as well, laying his forehead against his palm. “God, what a mess.”

“So,” Jaskier whispers to him. “Will you marry me?”

Geralt can’t help but smile. “Will you?”

Jaskier snorts, taking the ring from Geralt again, slipping it on his finger. “I assume that’s a yes. And yes, I will marry you too.”

Geralt, in turn, takes the ring he bought for Jaskier, slipping it on his love’s finger. “Good, cause I’m tired of trying to propose to you.”

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #drabble #modern au #5 + 1 things #500 followers celebration #yes i know rings usually come in boxes #but #geralt is a himbo #bless him

[primasveraas-writing]

And In Darkness, I Stand- Chapter 4

Kallus' leg is never quite the same after Bahryn. But then again, neither is he.

1  2 3 4 5

4. Yavin IV

“Captain Kallus.”

Kallus turns the best he can, gripping the handle of his cane as he does. Zeb is making his way over, his tall frame parting the flow of traffic in the hall.

“Kal,” Zeb amends with a smile, brushing a hand against the small of Kallus’ back. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Kallus nods, and grimaces. “I don't suppose I can use my position to get out of physical therapy?”

“No. I’ll still carry you there myself if I have to.”

Heat flames across Kallus’ cheek, but there’s nothing he can say to defend himself. His daily routine has been centered around his recovery for weeks, despite his protestations. On his first day back, he reported to Command for an extra few hours rather than going to the medbay, which caused a small uproar among the likes of Hera and Zeb. The resulting situation was a lecture from Zeb and the entire medical staff, as well as a warning from Command as to where his priorities should lie.

But aside from the initial excitement, Kallus has settled in quite well. He has his own post and a small command to his name. He’s been forgiven by the Rebels in an official capacity, and has learned when to ignore the snide comments made by his less-forgiving compatriots. For the most part, his job is normal and steady- he’s in the company of fellow spies most of the time, but everyone on Yavin is well acquainted with danger, regardless of their roles within the Rebellion. He nearly fits in.

It would be better if he were not so limited by his physical ability. He cannot stand on his leg unsupported, so he has been using a cane constantly, save for a few small excursions across his quarters, which, so far, have been painful and short-lived.

Suddenly, Kallus is bad at keeping himself out of trouble, between his efforts to heal and his apparently lacking self-care habits. This is yet another change he attributes to rebel influence, but he rather likes it, even if he is adjusting to this new life slowly.

“You’re improving and you’re not going to stop now,” Zeb growls. He may as well be threatening Kallus, who minds this fact very little. His hand tightens on his cane.

“I know,” Kallus breathes, and drops his gaze. His next step forward is slightly unsteady, but he’s overly aware of Zeb watching him closely and that his friend is fully prepared to catch him should he trip.

Kallus hasn’t fallen in weeks. He can make it all the way across base without needing to rest now. The medics say the fracture is largely healed, and he thinks he must have made some kind of progress over the last few weeks.

“Are you coming with me?” Kallus tries not to sound too hopeful or excited; Zeb usually accompanies him to the medcenter for checkups and therapy, if only to ensure that Kallus himself actually attends.

“Of course.” Zeb glances at him. “‘Til you say you don’t want me there.”

“I do,” Kallus affirms, too quickly, and tries to discern if he’s blushing again. His face still feels hot.

They make their way down to the medcenter, where the staff greets him and Zeb both by name. The journey takes longer than he’d like, and Kallus tries not to count how many people pass him. It’s mid-afternoon by then, and his leg has started to twinge, although he turns away from Zeb and bites the inside of his cheek to get through the moments of pain.

Zeb steadies him as he strips off his jacket and boots, clutching Kallus’ left elbow. Kallus shoots him a grateful smile. He wobbles on one leg, unsteady, and he knows he will not fall.

“Ready?”

It’s not Zeb who asks, but a nurse. Cida Amada, who was one of the first people he got to know during his stay in the medcenter. She barely looks old enough to have such responsibility, with her shy smiles and soft tones, but she and Kallus took a liking to each other. They made each other cry, he lost in frustration and agony, and she hurt after discovering his tendency to yell and swear when in crippling pain. Yet once he had apologized, their relationship improved, and Amada became his primary caretaker, which most predominantly includes cajoling him into showing up for his appointments.

She and Zeb seem to adore each other for this fact. Kallus can only pretend he hates it so much.

He nods, his mouth suddenly dry, and she reaches out to take his hand. He lets her, and Cida smiles at him, not meeting his eyes for more than a few seconds.

“It’ll feel better later even if it’s uncomfortable right now, Alexsandr. How have the last few rotations been?”

She is gentle and kind. Forgiving, too, which is the strangest of offerings he’s even been gifted in his life. Kallus mostly expected to be dead by now, rather than guided through a half-stocked medbay by a medic exclusively trained by war doctors. Cida genuinely likes him, too, which is odd. Both Hera and Zeb had to assure him of this fact, though Kallus is sure she wouldn’t be capable of pretending otherwise. He first had doubts about the girl’s abilities as a liar since she apologized for taking a blood sample from him. She is too good to lie, which, he supposes, is why he’s a former Imperial-turned-spy, and she is a rebel war doctor.

Cida stretches his legs and guides him through a few exercises that should be simple but prove exceedingly difficult for Kallus. He has to touch his toes. Climb stairs. Walk 2 meters with support on either side. He grits his teeth and sweats through it, mumbling curses that Cida and Zeb pretend not to hear when he inevitably falters.

His hands shake for an hour afterward. Kallus showers and lies on his bunk, exhausted.

His leg feels better than it did before.

 Had he stayed with the Empire, Kallus would have received higher quality medical care.

He might not be stuck with a limp and a cane. 

First, he would have needed to swallow his damned pride and ask for treatment, and then the initial break would not have affected him for the rest of his life. The Imperial meddroids would have returned him to normal in a matter of days, if not weeks, and Thrawn would have never rebroken the leg, even if Kallus had pursued life as Fulcrum. The Empire is equipped with better resources and better training.

But he didn’t ask for help, not upon his return from Bahryn nor any of the painful days after. Konstantine didn’t even look up at him. If anyone noticed he was uncomfortable or weaker, they politely looked away and saved that topic of discussion for when his back was turned. Kallus was alone in caring for himself, and it was thus unimportant to everyone in the Empire, including him. He adopted the same attitude regarding his own health.

Hera had caught him when he collapsed, after Atollon. Cida cried when he cried because she hated seeing him in pain. Zeb has been there for him in more ways than he can count.

Sometimes, Zeb calls him Alex. He hasn’t had that nickname since he was a little boy- his parents never bothered with it and he had few friends by the time he entered the Imperial Academy.

Zeb is the only one, in his entire life, who has called him Kal.

That’s yet another thing they share. Kallus has gleamed that Zeb never fully revealed the truth of what happened on Bahryn, even to the rest of the Ghost crew.

He does not know what would be enough to repay the Rebels. They have so little, yet they give to him, in time and effort and supplies and trust. It would be more just if these things were diverted to another, not to a formal Imperial, but they will not let him refuse their generosity.

Kallus would give his life for these people. For Zeb and the Spectres, certainly, but for those he does not know, too. For the ones who hurl dirty looks and harsh words at him in the mess and hallways, for Cida, for the other Fulcrums, for every rebel on Yavin and the galaxy beyond.

His life would not be enough, when they are the very people who have given it back to him. Kallus’ life is marred and stained and broken. He can offer the rebels service and secrets and loyalty, and he will do all he can to see them to victory. 

He wonders about that, too. He would be more confident about winning the war were he still an Imperial agent. He is a man of facts and logic, and he knows that the odds are against the rebels to prevail over the Empire.

But he believes in the rebels. Kallus believes in their cause and their people. That alone has carried them further than Kallus ever predicted.

He would give his life for them without thinking. He gives his hope and keeps his doubt and his cynicism, heavy as they are, so that they do not burden those like Pica and Leia Organa and Ezra Bridger.

Even as a rebel, being a spy still demands a certain mindset of coldness and hardness. Kallus is learning mercy, and he is learning how mercy does and doesn’t fit into his role. Draven has told him more than once that they serve the cause of the Rebellion, not its people.

Kallus is not sure he agrees. Draven has the end of the war in sight, and that is what grants Kallus peace of mind while the familiarity of Draven’s words nags at him.

Draven has also told Kallus that he is still useful, despite his leg. The General had looked at Kallus with pity while he had said it. Kallus will prove him wrong, and his heart sings with a small amount of pride with the knowledge of the difference he has made already under and to Draven’s command.

Kallus is trying to be good in his new role. He is also trying to become someone worthy of the friendship and care that the rebels have shown him.

He wants to be accepted by them. He wants to be their friend.

 “Alexsandr!”

The use of his full first name startles him, nearly as much as the alarm in Zeb’s voice does. Zeb is staring at him from across the hangar, Hera by his size. The droid, Chopper, makes some obscene noise that Kallus can only assume is scolding.

The trio is at his side quickly, and Kallus grunts as he loads the shipment onto the shuttle.

“I can do that,” Hera says. She sounds mildly scandalized, and she takes the box from his hands. Chopper wags his mechanical arm at Kallus, and emits a horrifying cackle at the indignation on his face.

“No cane?” Zeb sounds surprised, but Kallus has had a good few days. He’s permitted not to use it for short amounts of time, given that his leg doesn’t start hurting. He and Cida are hoping that this will become the norm, that he will only need his cane some days. Kallus has floated the idea of field missions once or twice already, but he’ll push for more unsupervised walking first.

“Not for a while.” It’s nearly strange not to have the cane in his hand, but he’s been making good use of his free hands for a while. Then: “General, I assure you I am very capable of doing that.”

Kallus tries to take the next box from Hera, who passes to Zeb. In turn, he holds the box over their heads, then sets it in the shuttle.

“You could hurt yourself,” Hera chides. “Let us help you.”

“Lifting a few crates will hardly send me into critical condition,” Kallus protests, but the words are weakened when Hera glares at him. Chopper laughs again. “My leg is injured, not my arms.”

“No extra weight,” Zeb reminds him, taking another box from Hera. “Don’t strain yourself.”

“It’s just-”

“We’re happy to help,” Hera interrupts. She exchanges a look with Zeb, and Kallus bites back a retort. He’s perfectly capable.

The next time he sees Cida, Kallus is sure to mention lightening the restrictions on his carrying weight. She’s willing to negotiate, at the very least, and they argue until it’s agreed that Kallus can lift, but not carry, a few kilos. He’s sure to complain very little for the rest of the session, and the nurse sends him away with a smile at the end of the day.

She tells him he’s making progress; a statement constantly echoed by Zeb. Physical therapy becomes easier and less frequent; he’s fully adjusted to using his cane, although he has started to go many days without it. At first, it’s painful- he can only endure the day without his cane if he stays in Command, but then weeks pass and he can move around base on his own. He’s outfitted with temporary mechanical braces, and he goes on his first field mission as a rebel.

The days are not bad, and the initial mission goes smoothly, as do all the ones after that.

When night falls after he returns, Kallus can barely stand, and the pain reduces him mostly immobile.

Cida worms this fact out of him after he spends two rotations chasing down a rogue informant. He had been late to see her, and stiff and quiet during their appointment.

“You’ll make it worse,” she warns him. His leg has been swelling, too. “Too much at once will only hurt you.”

“I’m useful out there,” Kallus insists, staring at his injured leg. It would be a waste if he remained on base all the time. “If I can get stronger, then I can fight.”

Cida sighs, her eyes full of worry. Kallus looks away, his heart poisoned with guilt. “If you keep doing this, you may last a few months or a cycle. After that, you could spend the rest of your life walking with pain and assistance.”

He nods once. That’s as much time as he needs, regardless of what follows.

Kallus has greater potential than what his leg allows. He could be one of the best ground fighters on base, if his body worked right.

 “Does your leg hurt?”

Kallus grunts. “My leg always hurts.” He shifts, moving his lower body as little as possible, but Zeb moves into his full view a moment later.

“You shoulda said something on way back-”

“I’m fine, Zeb.”

“Your cane-”

“It hurts with or without the cane,” Kallus snaps, then averts his eyes. Zeb’s ears flatten, and Kallus’ stomach flips.

“Are you gonna use it now?” Zeb asks quietly. They still don’t look at each other.

Kallus reaches for the offending object and thumps it against the ground. “Yes,” he mutters. That’s the only reason he got here, in some dirty corner of the base. The cane saw him back from the medbay and into the spot where he had chosen to sulk.

Apparently, the covert location wasn’t quite private enough. That, or Zeb knows him too well, because he seems to have sought Kallus out with ease. But here he is, sitting on the floor with Kallus and watching the rest of the Rebellion walk by, totally oblivious to their discussion.

“Today is a bad day,” Kallus says. That’s how he measures time- in good days and bad ones. “I’ve been having a lot of those, recently.”

“You’ve been working hard.”

“I want to go back to normal,” Kallus mutters, rolling his eyes. “I’m sick of being weak. I’m tired.” He smiles at Zeb, his lips thin and pursed. “I’m done.”

“Alex.” Zeb is imploring.”How could you think you’re weak?”

“Because I can’t walk down the damned hallway!” Kallus scoffs. “Because I have gone through all this suffering and I am not better! And all I wish is that it would end!”

“That makes you weak, does it?”

“It doesn’t make me strong, Garazeb. Not the way you think I am.”

The Lasat next to him snorts. “Kal, I have seen you walk through hell and back-”

“That doesn’t make-”

“- I know how strong you are,” Zeb finishes, talking over him. “Do you trust me?”

Kallus blanches, his heart pounding. “Of course.”

“Then believe me when I say you’re strong.”

“I’ve never seen it that way.”

The words are nearly inaudible. It’s a shamefaced confession, and Zeb stares at him with wide eyes, taking both of Alexsandr’s hands in his.

“Just because I survived doesn’t mean I’m a martyr, Zeb. Or some inspiration to look up to.”

“That’s half of one of the many reasons I care for you,” Zeb whispers, his voice so, so low. “Not because you’ve managed to survive, but because of how determined you are. It’s the stupid face you make when you’re concentrating and the way your voice gets all high when you tell me about how fine and capable you are.” Zeb chuckles, and Kallus is very acutely aware that Zeb is sitting so close to him that their thighs are touching. “You’ve always been so damn stubborn.”

“You like that about me?” Some alarmed voice in Alexsandr’s head warns him that this is barely tangential to the topic at hand.

“Yeah.” Zeb’s ears twitch, and he drops his eyes from Kallus’ wondrous stare. “Even if it pisses me off.”

“I know it does.”

“Yeah,” Zeb growls, then he deflates as he sighs. “I’ve always known that about you. Even when you were trying to kill me.” He gestures to Kallus, to his brace and cane. “Seeing you recover is another way you’re proving this to me. Your absurd relentlessness. And your strength.” He glowers at Kallus when he says the last word, as if daring him to object. “You’ve always had that.”

“Someone better would have handled it with grace.”

“Maybe.” Zeb shrugs. “You’re tough, not a saint.”

“Thank you, Garazeb.”

Zeb rolls his eyes, shoving against Kallus’ shoulder gently. “Whatever.” He clears his throat. “Maybe all this made you stronger. I don’t care if you get back to normal, or whatever you’ve dreamed up for yourself. I only want you to be happy with where you were.”

“And go to physical therapy.”

“I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“Right.”

Zeb grins. “By the way, if you didn’t want the hurt from your serious injury to go away, then you’re twice as big of an idiot as I thought you were. I have no idea what else you expected.”

“I expected for it to last a few weeks. Not the rest of my life.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wishing for that.” Zeb looks up at the trees, and Kallus thinks of a burning world, razed to the ground by the Empire. Zeb didn’t come away from Lasan unscathed, he knows. “Whatever happens though, here you are, Kal. Even if all you’ve done is survive.”

Alexsandr reaches out for Zeb’s hand, and his friend takes it. Zeb’s words are muddled with affection and friendship and respect. The person Zeb describes sounds like someone Kallus can appreciate. Somebody with an iron will and a conviction for the right kind of things. Somebody worthy of love

 That night, Kallus cannot rest. He wanders the halls, on a dreadfully familiar path- the one Zeb takes him on when Kallus has to stretch out his leg. His feet carry him into the cool night air, his cane thumping against the stone after every uneven step.

Kallus searches for privacy, but he cannot make it far outside the base. There are still lights blinking from the hangars and a quiet bustle of nightlife shows that the base is still busy, but Kallus staggers along as far as he can and settles on a log under the cover of some trees.

“Can’t sleep?”

Alexsandr jumps, then he squints in the dark. Some 30 feet away is Kanan Jarrus, sitting on the forest floor with his legs folded beneath him. He appears to be meditating; his shoulder pauldrons and mask are off, and he sounds relaxed.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” Kallus calls. He fumbles with his cane and readies himself to stand; he’s still slightly out of breath and now he has nowhere to go.

“No.” Kanan stands instead and approaches Kallus, nimbly stepping over branches and rocks. Kallus stares up at the blind Jedi, then averts his gaze when Kanan takes a seat next to him.

They sit together in silence. Kallus doesn’t mind the company very much; he fiddles with his hands and does his best to ignore the aching in his leg.

“It’s lonely, isn’t it?” Kanan says finally. He turns to Kallus expectantly.

Kallus gives a nervous chuckle. “What is?”

“Healing.” Kanan opens his hands as if he’s referring to the whole jungle, instead. “Even with the people who love you at your side.”

Kallus opens his mouth to protest- he’s not sure who loves him, even if a few people come to mind- but the depth of Kanan’s words hit him a moment later.

“I don’t-” Kallus struggles for the right words. “I don’t believe I’m alone.”

Kanan nods slowly. “I had Hera with me every step of the way. She’s the most understanding, caring person I know.” Then, Kanan shrugs. “But it was impossible for her to understand what it was like, no matter how hard she tried. It was lonely.”

“Yes,” Kallus says slowly, exhaling.  “Even- even-”

“Zeb doesn’t understand?” He can hear the humor in Kanan’s voice, although Kallus cannot piece together why Kanan would be amused. “I think that’d be impossible unless he’d been through it, too.”

“Do you know anyone who did?”

Kanan shakes his head. “Not quite.” He smiles, and again, Kallus can’t comprehend why. “I had to find solace in other places.”

“Do you think you’re on the other side?”

“Of recovery?” Kallus inclines his head. “Yes. It’s different now.” Kanan’s smile becomes wistful. “But there’s no going back.”

“You made it through.”

“I did. And you will too. In time.”

“I want it to be over.” The confession falls from Kallus’ lips before he can help it. “I’m so tired of being in pain.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think it will ever pass.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Then…” Kallus sighs. “Then I move forward with it, anyway.”

There’s no other choice. He will stay with the rebels until the end, and he will do so however he can. He could lose his leg tonight or he could wake up entirely healed tomorrow morning. Either way, there will be little change to his plans.

“I thought you’d say that.” Kanan rests his hand on Kallus’ knee. “It gets easier.”

“I know.” It has already. Maybe Zeb is right. Maybe he is strong because of what he has survived, and maybe there’s truth to Kanan’s words, too. 

“I think you’ll find someone who makes it less lonely. I believe you’ll find yourself on the other side.”

Kallus bows his head in acknowledgment, suddenly exhausted. “Zeb will be yours again, once we get back from Lothal.” Kanan’s seriousness disappears, and Kallus knows the moment has passed. He can’t help that the corners of his lips are quirking up, and Kanan seems to both know and enjoy this fact.

“You leave soon?” The thought is bittersweet; the Lothal rebels returning home again, and Zeb will leave his side.

“Three rotations.” Kanan answers. His tone has become heavy again, but the Jedi does not sound afraid.

“I wish you luck.”

The earliest sign of civilization is a healed femur.

#kalluzeb #kalluzeb fanfic #swr #rebels #kallus x zeb #alexsandr kallus #kallus #agent kallus #star wars #star wars fanfic #sw rebels #rebels fanfic #star wars rebels #SWR fanfic #star wars rebels fanfiction #kalluzeb fanfiction #kalluzeb imagine #kalluzeb headcanons #and in darkness i stand

[mysterioushogwartsrequests]

Ceremony (Smugglers, Part 5)

Hello everyone! I am so excited to finally be posting Part 5 of The Smugglers Series! I am so sorry to keep everyone waiting for so long, but I really had a creative stump when it came to continuing this, but I finally figured out the structure. This will be the fifth installment of this seven-part series, the next parts will center around their honeymoon and the Battle of Hogwarts. 

This piece is extremely long and I tried to shorten it, but after all the waiting the fans of the series have done, I couldn’t bear to leave anything out. I started writing Smugglers on a whim about two years ago after reading a Tumblr post and I cannot believe how much this story and this blog have grown. I owe you guys everything and I cannot wait to keep putting out work. I apologize for the long wait, but I went through a painful writer’s block regarding this story and I am happy to be releasing it.

Smugglers Series: Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

Taglist: @a-sweet-little-fangirl | @homowillraise | @fanfable

Just in case anyone was interested (and for my own visualizations sake) I compiled a picture of the wedding, maid-of-honor, and bridesmaids’ dresses, along with pictures of the various bouquets written in the story. If you guys would like to see them, please let me know! 

Anyways, enjoy the long-awaited continuation of “Smugglers: A Charlie Weasley Fanfiction”

Romania. November 30th, 1994.

The Romanian Dragon Sanctuary was home to an array of dangerous species. The dragons held there ranged from both manageable and potentially deadly. But amidst the potential dangers, foul-smelling cages, and bitter weather, a certain couple spent their final month before they finally moved back to their shared home in Scotland. 

Charlie Weasley, renowned Dragonologist, and fidgety husband to be proposed to master Gringotts Curse-Breaker (Y/N) (L/N) during the 1994 Quidditch World Cup surrounded by their family and friends. Encouraged by the outbreak after the cup and the realization that war could break out at any moment, the two worked quickly to organize and finalize their wedding. 

But before going forth with their wedding, Charlie and (Y/N) were finishing up their tasks at the Sanctuary. The workers had safely transported the four dragons utilized in the first task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament back to Romania and they all settled comfortably into their respective nests. Luckily for (Y/N), her last mission reeled in far more gold than the Goblins had expected, and granted her some time off, which she gladly took to spend some time with her fiancé. She was truly enjoying her time at the Sanctuary, although she never encountered dragons while on her trips, she hoped that the information she learned from Charlie and his colleagues would prove useful in the long run. Charlie, on the other hand, spent his early mornings caring for the newly hatched Peruvian Vipertooths and his afternoons patrolling the grounds ensuring the dragons were safely secured for the night. Ever since his departure from Hogwarts, Charlie had spent most of his time studying the various dragon species held at the Sanctuary. During his stint there, however, he had never witnessed the ferocity of baby Vipertooths. 

The nonnative Vipertooths were having a difficult time adjusting to the brutal cold of the Romanian countryside and Charlie worked day and night to ensure they survived. Although quite small, the dragons posed a large threat to whoever handled them due to their poisonous bites and their intense, unsatisfiable craving for human flesh which Charlie – charmed by their adorability – almost fell victim to them the first couple of days they were in his care. 

The Sanctuary workers were in full swing, carefully preparing for the upcoming blizzard. Steady tents erupted near the dragon nests and each worker was tasked with creating protective barriers around them to protect any of the eggs and their mothers.

Back on Ridgebit Rock, (Y/N) trudged through the snow with a clipboard in hand and studying the contents of the wooden crates lined up along the center. Charlie pulled the collar of his jumper higher, hiding the lower half of his face in the turtleneck as he called out numbers to his fiancée. (Y/N) had grown accustomed to the hectic environment and considered the sanctuary a second home so she couldn’t help feeling nostalgic as they finished up the final task. 

She looked around the surrounding forest, closing her eyes and breathing in the crisp cold air, shivering as a gust of wind blew past them. “I’m going to miss this,” she spoke up, clutching the board close to her chest, “You’ve spent so much time here, it feels bittersweet to leave it behind…” She understood that to grow, one must move on, but it was unusual to have their time at the sanctuary come to an end. 

“Me too,” replied Charlie, gazing towards the heated tent that held the small Vipertooths, “I wonder if the Dragons will remember us when we’re gone...” (Y/N) giggled, cut off by a sneeze as another gust of wind blew through the forest. Charlie glanced over at his fiancée, his heart swelling at the tinge of red that spread across her nose and cheeks. “You’re cold, aren’t you?” He asked while (Y/N) blew hot air into her gloves, attempting to cover her reddening nose.

Charlie smiled sweetly, removing his scarf, and wrapping it around her to shield her from the cold breeze. He gazed at her face with admiration, running his thumb across her cold cheek as she leaned into his gloved hand. 

“A little,” She admitted, setting down her clipboard and quill and slipping her hand into Charlie’s with ease, “But, I hope they remember us,” responding to his earlier statement while gazing over the hill where some of the dragons were kept, “They’ll be taken care of here and we can always come to visit.” (Y/N) grinned, squeezing her fiancé’s hand, “I’m sure they’d love to have their best Dragonologist back, not to mention their most handsome one.” 

Charlie hummed in satisfaction, “You’re absolutely right,” He replied, pulling her in for a tight hug and pressing a kiss against her cheek, “We’ve done a lot here and I never properly thanked you for staying by my side” He muttered, his fingers playing with her hair as they embraced. 

“And why wouldn’t I, Mr. Weasley?” (Y/N) teased, “After all, we said ‘til the end of the line our fourth year, remember?” 

All the adventures, family outings, dangerous vault discoveries, and, of course, all the travels that helped them grow as a couple. The two had spent years together, watching each other go through the awkward stages of adolescence and all the hardships that came along with it. From the moment they met, they had each other’s back and although that fact did not need to be confirmed by a ceremony, they knew it was the next big step in their relationship. 

“And soon we’ll be saying, til death do us part” Charlie added sweetly, pulling her scarf down and quickly stealing a kiss from her.  (Y/N) smiled against Charlie’s kiss, placing her gloved hands on his cheeks, and pulling him in before pulling herself away from his grip, “But we need to finish taking inventory” she joked, picking up her clipboard from the crate and tapping her quill against it. 

“Always so determined,” he replied, rolling his eyes as he attempted to pull her back into his grip and laughing as she ran down the snow, “Let's finish up so we can head home” Charlie smiled, catching up to her and pulling her along the Sanctuary. 

Scotland. November 30th, 1994. 

The warmth of their home quickly enveloped them as they stepped out of the fireplace, the green flames dying down at their feet. Although it was still rather chilly outside, it was nothing compared to the weather in Romania. 

The two walked around the ground floor of their home, hanging up their coats and scarves in the entrance closet. Their usually tidy home had papers scattered over the countertop, along with different types of flowers, silverware, envelopes filled with wedding invitations, and other materials necessary for their preparations. 

(Y/N) sighed at the mess they left behind. Planning a wedding proved to be more difficult than breaking curses at Hogwarts, and she always worried she would miss something essential while they prepared. 

She rounded the kitchen counter, sorting the letters the owls had deposited at their house while they were away. Their wedding date was approaching fast, and the thought of their big day eased her worries but amplified them simultaneously. 

(Y/N) tore open one of the letters, her eyes scanning over the neat cursive with a subtle smile on her face. 

Dear Cursebreaker, 

(Y/N) Selwyn, I wanted to reaffirm how honored I am to hold the position as stylist for this special occasion. I’m sure you’ll recall our previous correspondence where I told you not to stress about any of the fashion choices for your wedding. But knowing you, you’ve spent hours tearing through magazines trying to find the perfect wedding dress and bridesmaids’ dresses.

But I am a man of my word and I intend to provide one of my best friends an eye-catching gown with bridesmaids’ dresses to match. I have enclosed the finalized – and colorized – sketches of your wedding gown and the dresses the girls will be wearing. I’ve included three options for your dress and two for the bridesmaids’ dresses. You’ve never mentioned a maid of honor, but I designed a variant just in case you picked one without informing me. 

Write to me as soon as possible so I can finalize the preparations. If all goes accordingly, your dress should be finalized before Christmas. 

I hope you’re intending on wearing a tiara, I think it would tie everything together and I included them in the drawings so you could visualize it. In all honesty, I truly think this is my best work as your style-Wizard and I expect some well-deserved credit at your reception. 

All jokes aside, take a look at the dresses and send me your response, along with the measurements of your selected maid of honor and bridesmaids. Also, tell Charlie to write back as soon as possible. I sent him his dress robes options ages ago and he hasn’t sent a letter back, I should honestly charge him for it. 

That was another joke, I’m not taking any form of payment from either of you. That’s final so don’t even try to debate me on that. 

I can’t believe you two are finally getting married. You don’t know how long everyone has been thinking about this day, I can’t wait to see everyone. 

I hope you and Charlie are well.

Best Regards, 

Your friend and best style wizard in all of Europe, 

Andre Egwu

(Y/N) reached into the envelope and pulled out several pieces of parchment, each containing intricately painted dress designs in various shades of white, silver, and gold with a thin red sash tied around the waist. She smiled brightly at the letter and tucked the contents back in the envelope, setting it in the bin labeled “important” to remind herself to take a better look at them tomorrow morning. 

She turned back towards the kitchen countertop, gathering the letters from Gringotts, as well as notices from the Ministry of Magic, and sorting them into their respective piles. Charlie came out of the entrance closet where he stashed his dragon-hyde boots and the rest of his fireproof gear to the sound of the rustling of papers. Shaking his head, he turned into the kitchen with a faint smile. 

Even after all their hard work in Romania, she still managed to find another task to keep herself occupied. 

“I don’t think so,” Charlie uttered, pulling (Y/N) away from the mess, and gently pushing her against the kitchen wall. Charlie admired her beauty once more, placing his calloused hand on her waist, “You’ve been working all day, I’ll be damned if I see you cleaning this late” He spoke, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. 

“Charlie,” whined (Y/N), crossing her arms with a pout when her fiancé caged her in, “You know we’re behind on preparations,” she explained, placing her hands on his shoulders, and massaging them gently, “And you haven’t replied to Andre, he’s growing rather tense and so are you, it seems.” He caught himself admiring her once again, admiring how easy it was for her to read him. Charlie thought back to their years at Hogwarts and those moments where she would bring him exactly what he was craving for dinner or when she silently comforted him, even though he had not spoken about what bothered him. And even though he immediately eased up under her touch, his goal to keep her relaxed was unshakable. 

“You, my love,” hummed Charlie, running his thumb against the apples of her cheeks, “Are going to take a nice, warm bath while I make you dinner.” (Y/N) smiled up at Charlie lovingly, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling her face in his broad chest, “What if I want you in the bath with me?” She asked playfully, her hands sliding down his waist and into the back pockets of his work trousers. 

Charlie chuckled darkly, his hands sliding towards the back of her thighs and lifting her off the ground, wrapping her legs around his hips, “Who am I to deny the lady what she wants?” boasted Charlie, tightly gripping the back of her thighs, and leaning his lips close to hers. 

“Such a gentleman,” (Y/N) muttered breathily, her hands gliding through Charlie’s and her nose brushing against his. Her soft lips brushed delicately against his, close enough so he could inhale her breath and feel the warmth radiating off her skin. Charlie’s heart pounded harshly against his chest; the feeling of her lips so close yet so far sending a subtle shiver down his spine. Understanding why she paused, Charlie closed the gap between them, his lips perfectly molding against hers and she swore she felt time stop. 

It did not matter how many times they shared a kiss, it still felt like that moment on the Quidditch Pitch. That moment when Charlie pushed through the crowds of cheering Gryffindors, the house cup forgotten in the hands of another team member, to pull her in for an electrifying kiss, one that set the course of their loving relationship. (Y/N) was so captivated by their kiss that she did not notice when Charlie expertly moved up the stairs and towards the master bathroom. 

It wasn’t until he set her down on the bathroom sink that she opened her eyes, laughing wholeheartedly as Charlie bent down to open the warm water, his endearing chuckle echoing through the bathroom. 

“You’re quite sneaky, aren’t you?” questioned (Y/N) teasingly, hopping off the countertop and making her way towards Charlie, her cold hands sliding underneath his long-sleeve making him jump. 

“And what does that make you?” He retorted flirtatiously and gripping her wrists, pulling her against his chest, his hand trailing down to the side of her neck. 

“Hm, a demiguise, maybe?” She asked innocently, her eyes shifting upwards in mock pondering and Charlie rolled his impatiently, tugging the hem of her jumper and slipping it off her body. 

“Of course, how could I have missed that? The long hair honestly seals the deal. Although…” He trailed off, his eyes scanning her bare torso and sneaking a hand behind her, his fingers drumming towards the clasp of her bra, “I’ve only ever seen your eyes light up like that when your squirming underneath me–” 

“Charlie!” (Y/N) exclaimed, gaping open mouthed at the blushing red-head and failing to catch her bra as it slipped down her front. She quickly crossed her arms over her chest, hiding her exposed breasts, and slid past her fiancée, “Enough playing around,” she stated firmly, turning her back towards him and unbuttoning her trousers, letting her panties fall on the floor with them and sliding into the warm water, “Get in before I change my mind” She grinned, splashing a handful of water across his chest. 

Charlie scoffed, but pulled off his shirt by the neck, almost tripping over his trousers as he tugged them off with urgency, “Alright, alright! I surrender!” With that, he sunk behind (Y/N), pulling her against his chest and peppering kisses against her cheek. 

The Burrow. December 5th, 1994.

“Oh, my dear!” Cried Mrs. Weasley, tears threatening to spill from her eyes as (Y/N) turned in her wedding dress. Andre Egwu stood behind her, proudly gazing and his handiwork and twisting the red sash so the diamond snowflake brooch sat comfortably on the left. 

“Come on,” Andre crooned, “tell me I’m a genius” he prodded with a smirk, stepping back to stand beside Mrs. Weasley with his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, but turned to admire herself in the mirror, “I’m going to have to admit it this time,” she acknowledged, looking back at the satin train of her A-line gown, the tails of her red bow falling shorter than it, “You truly have outdone yourself, Andre. I really can’t thank you enough” 

Mrs. Weasley dabbed her eyes with her apron, sniffling as (Y/N) spoke, “You look radiant, (Y/N)! Charlie is going to faint when he sees you,” she beamed and walked to her, pulling her in for a tight hug. 

“But I still think you’re missing something,” Andre chimed in, drumming his fingers against the old brown box sitting on the bedroom dresser, “Like we discussed, Mrs. Weasley?” He added and (Y/N) raised a questioning eyebrow as Mrs. Weasley scurried to the desk and opened the box, shielding its contents from the soon to be bride. 

“It was Auntie Tessie’s wedding tiara,” Mrs. Weasley spoke up, beaming as she faced (Y/N), the sparkling headpiece held delicately in her hands. 

(Y/N)’s jaw almost hit the floor. Of course, she had expected Mrs. Weasley to pull out all the stops for their wedding, but she never thought she’d be hiding such a luxurious piece. 

“Mrs. Weasley– You can’t mean–,” stuttered (Y/N), shaking her head vigorously and her eyes jumping from Andre’s grinning face to Mrs. Weasley’s loving smile. 

“I do, dear,” she reassured, beckoning for her to come closer, “Andre sent me the letter when you picked your wedding dress! Of course, he didn’t know I would have the perfect piece to tie everything together, but Auntie Tessie left this behind when she passed and she especially fond of Charlie,” she began to explain, gazing down at the tiara and turning it to set it on (Y/N)’s head, “She wanted his future wife to wear it down the aisle. If that’s alright with you, of course.” 

(Y/N) turned to face the mirror once again, but this time focusing on the five sparkling rubies in the crystal tiara, “I don’t know what to say,” she forced out, overwhelmed with emotion at the sight of herself in a wedding dress, “And, yes. I want to wear this tiara, are you having a laugh?!” She exclaimed excitedly, tears welling up in her eyes as she threw her arms around her future mother-in-law, “You’ve been nothing, but kind to me all these years. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” 

“My dear,” sniffled Mrs. Weasley, “How many times must I tell you? Charlie is the happiest I’ve ever seen him and that is all because of you, (Y/N)” she explained honestly, her hand rubbing up and down her back as they embraced, “All these years, he’s only spoken about you. How you make him feel and how important you are to him.” 

“Mrs. Weasley–”

“I think it’s high time you started calling me Molly, dear” interrupted Mrs. Weasley, pulling out of her embrace and holding (Y/N)’s shoulders tightly, “You’re going to make a wonderful bride, my darling” 

(Y/N) let out a small sob, her arms wrapping around her fiancé’s mother once again, “Thank you, Molly” she whispered, wiping her tears away and smiling down at her as tears streamed down both their faces. 

“I hate to interrupt,” Andre chimed in from behind them, the grin still evident on his face, “but I think we should get (Y/N) out of that dress before Charlie ruins the surprise.” 

The women nodded in agreement and (Y/N) removed the tiara, handing it to Molly, who returned it to its velvety cushioned box. 

“I’m going to go work on dinner, I’ll see the two of you down there in a bit,” She announced happily, exiting the room and descending the stairs to her kitchen. 

“Andre–” (Y/N) started, holding her friend by the elbows, “I have to find some way to repay you. After all these years– I mean, you made my first date outfit for Godric’s sake and you’ve never let me pay you once–”

“And I never will.” he retorted defiantly, “Your friendship is far more precious than some stupid galleons,” Explained Andre, placing his hand on her cheek, “You helped me find my passion in fashion design, you and McNully taught me how to become the best Keeper Ravenclaw house had ever seen and,” he paused, shifting around so she could look at herself in the mirror, “even though we’re not at school, you invite me to all your adventures and Ministry events. You and Charlie have given me so much and you don’t even realize it.” 

Andre took a step back, holding (Y/N)’s hands in admiration, “You deserve the very best on your wedding day, and so does Charlie. I’m just glad I’ve been along for the ride, but if you’re so adamant of repaying me,” he grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “Save me a dance the day of your wedding, that’s all I ask for.” 

The waterworks came once again, (Y/N) let out a small sob as she threw her arms around her long-term friend, “Of course, Andre,” she agreed, her voice wavering while they embraced, “Thank you so much for everything.” 

Andre smiled, his hand resting at the back of her head, “Anytime, Cursebreaker.” He muttered, “But we should get you out of that dress, I need to fix Charlie’s dress robes before dinner.” 

(Y/N) nodded in agreement and stepped out of his grasp, watching Andre head towards the door, “Make sure he doesn’t look better than me!” She joked as the door opened and Andre let out a hearty chuckle. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it!” He shot her a wink and slipped out of the room, the door closing gently behind him and his voice booming down the stairs while he yelled for Charlie. 

(Y/N) laughed when she heard Charlie’s startled yell and the door to his bedroom slamming open. Her hands slid down the soft satin of her dress, the rhinestone straps glinting as the sunset over the horizon and the ghost of a smile decorating her relaxed features. 

“Only a month away,” she thought joyfully and hung up the dress in its black garment bag before joining Molly in the kitchen. 

Scotland. January 5th, 1995. 

Wedding preparations were in full swing at the home of Charlie Weasley and (Y/N) Selwyn. The family of the bride and groom ran up and down the house, folding the seating arrangements and fixing any stray flower bouquets that remained in the kitchen. 

“George!” Bellowed Mrs. Weasley as he and Fred slid down the bannister, their ties around their heads and vests unbuttoned, “You two better straighten up before the guests arrive!” 

“Molly dear,” Mr. Weasley spoke up from behind her, his hands running down her arms soothingly, “They’re just excited, I’m sure they’ll settle down soon” 

Mrs. Weasley placed her hand over her husband’s while the other soothed the velvet of her elegant green dress, “I’m sure you’re right, Arthur. I just want everything to be perfect for Charlie and (Y/N)’s special day.” 

“I know, Mollywobbles,” he muttered, pressing a kiss against his wife’s forehead as she blushes furiously, her cheeks turning as red as her hair.

“Come now, Arthur,” she urged, but unable to fight the smile that formed on her face, “Let us go finish up the tent” 

Outside stood Charlie, running up and down the wedding tent, yelling orders to his younger brothers who had, apparently, never seen this side of Charlie before. 

“No–! Percy!” He groaned, straightening the ribbon against the back of it, “Over and under, like this!” Charlie twisted the ribbon, leaving a delicate bow to decorate the pearl white chairs. 

“I am perfectly capable of tying a ribbon, Charles.” declared Percy pompously, demonstrating his bow-tying skills on the next chair, but struggling a little more than Charlie had. 

Charlie let out a small sigh, adjusting his tie and the lapels of his red and black dress robes, “I know,” he admitted solemnly, “I just want everything to be perfect, (Y/N)’s spent so long planning this–” 

“Don’t worry,” Percy interjected, “With William and I here, everything is bound to go smoothly.” He grinned, placing his hand on his older brother’s shoulder, “We’re the most responsible and we’ll make sure everything goes smoothly, for you and (Y/N)” 

Charlie sighed, but this time out of relief, his arms wrapping tightly around Percy, “Thank you for being here, Perce. I know it wasn’t easy to get time off.” 

Percy let out a small scoff, “You think I would miss my brother’s wedding? Mr. Crouch’s cauldron bottoms can wait until after the ceremony, even though it’s rather painful to put off my work for this long.” 

Charlie fought back the urge to ruffle his brother’s hair, “When did you get so grown up?” He asked playfully, “I still remember you killing spiders for Ronnie.” 

Percy rolled his eyes at his remark, but smiled nonetheless, “We all grow up eventually, Charlie. Just look at today, I could not be prouder of you and I know Mum and Dad are too.”

Charlie thanked Percy with another hug, but their moment was interrupted by Bill, who was waving his wand towards the marital archway, making light silvery roses appear in between the bright red ones, “Oi! Guests are arriving in twenty minutes, we’ve got time for friendly chats later, but we really need to get everything together before they apparate!”

Percy nodded in agreement, striding down the silver carpet and clearing out a path through the snow, raising another set of tents from the entrance of their house towards the wedding tent. Charlie joined his brother near the archway, clapping him on the shoulder and waving his wand so the rest of the flowers appeared on top of the seat ribbons. 

A gaggle of women hid inside the master bedroom on the second story of their home, a half-empty champagne bottle resting on the vanity with six empty glasses surrounding it. Six girls stood around the bedroom window, gazing down at the boys in the garden with wide grins, “This dress is quite beautiful!” exclaimed Rowan Khanna, turning to examine herself in the mirror, “Andre truly has outdone himself!” Her dress was slightly different than the other girls. It was still made out of the same silver fabric as the other ones, but her’s contained an array of silver crystals covering the left side of the bodice while a ruched one-shoulder sleeve came up and around her right shoulder 

“I agree,” chimed in Penny Haywood, twirling around in her floor-length silver dress, “I can’t believe the day is finally here!” she squealed. Her dress also contained a ruched one-shoulder strap but lacked the bodice crystals in favor of a criss-cross fabric belt around her dress, “Tonks! Stop messing with it!” 

Nymphadora Tonks shifted in her seat as Penny attempted to soothe her bright pink hair, which she had grown out to shoulder length for the occasion, “It looks too neat!” complained Tonks, ruffling her unnaturally straight hair, and curling the bottoms of it with her wand. Tonks and Tulip were wearing the second variation of Andre’s dress, it contained the same details as the others, the only difference being the two straps in contrast to the one-shoulder Penny and Merula wore. 

“I think it looks quite nice,” muttered Merula Snyde, gazing at her straightened hair, “Don’t you think this color brings out my eyes?” She asked absentmindedly, her hands running over the chiffon gown.

“Oh, please” groaned Tulip Karasu with a grin, “That’s what you said during the Celestial Ball!” 

Merula glared towards Tulip, “And was I wrong?” she asked, throwing one of the satin dressing gowns they wore while getting ready. The two girls broke out in a fit of laughter, launching the dressing robes at each other and dodging them swiftly and the other bridesmaids joining in until the sound of the bathroom door opening caught their attention. 

“Merlin’s beard,” gasped Rowan at the sight of her best friend standing underneath the doorway, an angelic glow radiating off her, “(Y/N), you look–”

“Breathtaking,” finished Merula, her lips curling into a devious smile, “Weasley is going to lose his mind when he sees you.” 

Penny nodded in agreement, rushing to (Y/N)’s side and taking her by the hand, “I promised you I wouldn’t cry, but I honestly think I am going to break down during the ceremony.” admitted Penny, and the other girls joined her around the bride. 

“You guys,” (Y/N) smiled sheepishly, gazing around her friends, and pulling them all in for a messy group hug, “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” she admitted, a sniffle resonating through the room as she pulled back, “And you’re all here, what more could I ask for?”

“How ‘bout a sack of galleons from your boss at Gringotts?” joked Merula, slapping (Y/N)’s arms and laughing along with the rest of the girls. Rolling her eyes, (Y/N) returned Merula’s slap with one of her own and stepped towards the vanity table to add the finishing touches to her hair. 

“Oh! Let me help you,” exclaimed Rowan, rushing behind (Y/N) and picking her wand up from the table, “I’ve spent hours reading hair-spell books, I want to be the world’s best Maid of Honor!” She ran her fingers delicately through the curls of (Y/N)’s hair, waving her wand and uttering an incantation so a thin stream of hairspray sprayed out of the tip. Unlike ordinary hairspray, this magical substance would ensure the curls stayed intact even if she stood in a hurricane zone. 

(Y/N) smiled at Rowan through the mirror, fighting back the tears that were welling up in her eyes, “Rowan, I’m so glad you’re here, I still remember when we first met and the wonderful scarf I picked out for you” 

Rowan laughed as she sprayed another curl in place, “I still have that scarf, it was approved by Andre and everything so you should start calling yourself a style-wizard as well.” As the two best friends reminisced, Penny and Tonks were opening the brown-leather box, gaping at the tiara with admiration and carefully wiping it with polish to amplify its shine. 

“Some guests are arriving,” Tulip announced, looking out the window with Merula, the two of them craning their necks to see the small group pass through the snow led by Percy and Molly Weasley who bore wide grins. 

In the sitting room, the groom and his groomsmen gathered around the kitchen island, six glasses of firewhiskey resting on the countertop, “No, I-I really shouldn’t” Charlie pleaded, raising his hand out to block the shot glass his best-man, Andre, was forcing into his grasp. 

“Just one!” urged Andre, wiggling the glass in front of him as Bill and Barnaby raised their own in celebration, “(Y/N)’s had her champagne! I saw the glass, I promise!”

“I’m even having one, Charlie!” added Ben Copper, raising his glass to meet Barnaby and Bill, earning a laugh from Jacob Selwyn as he rounded the corner of the island, his own shot glass in hand.

“Charlie, I know you and my baby-sis talked about it and in all honesty, mate…” started Jacob, his eyes scanning Charlie’s tense behavior, “You need to loosen up a little, I saw you yelling at chair ribbons before the guests arrived.” 

The groomsmen laughed, earning a small scoff of amusement from Charlie, “Alright, alright!” He boomed, snatching the glass from Andre, and raising it into the circle with the rest of his men, “But I’m making you all take three at the reception!” 

“That’s fine by me!” cheered Barnaby Lee, “We don’t have drinks at work; they’re all a bunch of prats really” he jested, gazing at the firewhiskey bottle longingly, “I’ll do however many you want!” 

“Enough talking! To Charlie and (Y/N)!” bellowed Bill Weasley, flashing a toothy smile while Jacob patted Charlie’s back encouragingly. Jacob’s relationship with (Y/N) had strengthened significantly as years passed and although he loved having a younger sister, a part of him always wanted a brother. And, after months of getting to know him, finally found one in Charlie. 

The groom and his groomsmen down their shots, slamming the decorative glasses down on the countertop and filing out of the house, excitedly patting Charlie on the back as they urged him out the front door. Several minutes later, the girls, in their matching silver dresses, came down the stairs excitedly waving their red and white bouquets. 

(Y/N) came down the stairs, her dress and veil trailing behind her as she gripped the banister, her other hand carrying her much larger bouquet which contained a set of additional black roses mixed in with the red and white ones to match with Charlie’s robes. With the guests settled in their seats, Jacob ran back into the house and past the curtains dividing the tent connected to the front door. 

“Look at you...” He gaped, his eyes wide in admiration when he finally caught sight of his little sister in her wedding gown, the sparkling tiara sitting perfectly atop her head, “I wish Mum and Dad could see you.” added Jacob in a whisper, reaching for her hands and smiling softly as their eyes met. 

“Me too,” added (Y/N) earnestly, “We’ll visit their grave before the honeymoon, it’s not much, but it’s the least we can do.” She proposed and Jacob nodded in agreement, squeezing his sister’s hands while she spoke. 

“I’ll tell you this, though,” chuckled Jacob, sneakily glancing out the tent as the music started, “I’m surprised Charlie isn’t sweating bullets, he looks more nervous than that time he asked for my permission.” The two siblings broke out in a fit of laughter, heading closer to the door as, unbeknownst to them, the wizard officiant began making his way down the decorated aisle, waving happily at the guests. 

“It’s almost time,” muttered (Y/N), butterflies fluttering in her stomach as they stood behind the icicle wedding curtains, “Oh my god, I’m getting married.” She could feel the nerves overcoming her excitement, a small lump forming in her throat as she worried about the many things that could go wrong, one being tripping down the aisle. 

“Hey,” Jacob spoke out, turning her by the shoulders while Charlie and Andre strode confidently down the aisle, the soft violin accompanying them as the sound of cheering whistles followed after them. “You, my dear sister, have dealt with cursed ice, magical ciphers, loony and manipulative professors, and  – not to mention –  spent the last few months taking care of hordes of dragons. The most dangerous creatures, according to the Ministry registry,” He explained comfortingly, his hands running down the side of her arms, “I think you can walk down this aisle and meet the man you love, and more importantly, who loves you without anything to worry about.” 

(Y/N) bit her lip at her brother’s words, throwing her arms around him and pulling him into a tight hug, “Thank you, Jacob,” her voice wavering, “Thank you so much.” 

Jacob rubbed her back comfortingly, looking over her shoulder to see the bridesmaids making their way towards the archway, “Anytime, baby sister. Anytime.” 

“But” he added, pulling away from their hug and grabbing the first layer of her veil, pulling it over her face with a gentle smile, “I think Rowan is about to walk down and the only tears I want to see are Charlie’s.” Pressing a kiss against her cheek, Jacob turned his sister towards the curtain, bright smiles pulling at their lips. 

Charlie stood nervously at the archway, conspicuously twiddling his fingers as the song changed and the icicle curtains were pulled open by an unseen force of magic. At the sound of the change, Charlie looked up and as soon as he met (Y/N)’s gentle expression, all his worries slipped away, and his mind blocked out everyone else at the venue. 

He wanted to burn the image of (Y/N) in her stunning white dress into his memory. A sight he had been dreaming of since their one-year anniversary, one that surpassed the vision of her during their first date or the ones of her during the Celestial Ball. As she was led down the aisle by Jacob, Charlie made a mental note to thank Andre with the largest slice of cake or some-kind of present because this was, honestly, the perfect gown for (Y/N). 

The dazzling white pleated crisscross sweetheart neck bodice fit perfectly, the red sash around her middle accentuating her waist most breathtakingly. The small snowflake brooch on the left side of her sash sparkled brilliantly, matching perfectly with the delicate rhinestone straps that fell delicately over her shoulders. His eyes trailed upwards, his grin faltering at the sight of Great Auntie Tessie’s tiara underneath (Y/N)’s veil and he finally took notice of the tears that spilled out of his eyes. He hastily wiped them away, stepping down towards the carpet to meet (Y/N) and Jacob a few meters from the archway. Charlie grasped Jacob’s hand tightly, giving it a stern shake before taking (Y/N)’s hand delicately into his own, leading her in front of the officiant. 

Charlie held both of her hands, looking her over and sighing in amazement as he pulled the veil back, exposing her flushed face and the dazzling tiara, “You look–” He breathed out, unable to find an appropriate word to describe how incredibly gorgeous she looked.

“Breathtaking?” She finished with a mischievous gaze and placed a kiss against Charlie’s cheek who blushed furiously as they turned towards the officiant. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the sing-song voice of the officiant who raised his arms in acknowledgment to the couple as a collective silence fell over the crowd, “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two beautiful faithful souls.” 

The wedding guests watched avidly, some moving towards the edge of their seats with intricate handkerchiefs as the couple turned sideways, their hands intertwined. 

“Do you Charles Septimus Weasley, take (Y/N) Selwyn to live together in marriage? to cherish in friendship and love today, tomorrow, and for as long as the two of you live, to trust and honor her? to love her faithfully, through the best and the worst, whatever may come, and if you should ever doubt, to remember your love for each other and the reason why you came together with her this day?” 

Charlie was nodding eagerly before the officiant had even finished his spiel, tears streaming down his face but an unwavering smile decorating his freckled face, “I do. More than anything in the world.” 

(Y/N) beamed back at him, squeezing his hands tightly and releasing them momentarily so Charlie could slip the wedding band onto her finger. The officiant turned towards (Y/N), the smile on his face widening as he opened his mouth to speak. 

“Do you, (Y/N) Selwyn take Charles Septimus Weasley…” the words floated away from (Y/N)’s mind, she registered the officiant speaking but she could only focus on the man in front of her and how his hands felt in hers. The way his dress robes fit perfectly and how they brought out the color of his bright green eyes. She felt her hand moving on its own to grip the golden band and the words, “I do” sliding past her lips and she recalled it being the easiest phrase she ever had to say in her life. 

The two of them did not register the happy sobs of Mrs. Weasley in the front row or the audible sniffles of Barnaby, Penny, and Rowan beside them. They even blocked out the loud trumpeting noises at the back of the wedding venue that undoubtedly came from Hagrid with Professor McGonagall dabbing her eyes an aura of dignity by his side.

The two of them only returned to the present moment when the officiant uttered the words, “Then I declare you, bonded for life.” With that, a stream of glittering snowflakes came out from the tip of the officiant’s wand, spirling over (Y/N) and Charlie’s heads. 

“Come here,” Charlie practically growled, twirling (Y/N), pulling her in by the waist, and pressing his lips against her. At that moment, it felt like all the planets had aligned to create a timeless- one passionate moment that defined the future of their relationship. Overwhelmed by happiness, Charlie turned his wife in his arms and dipped her in front of the whole crowd, the sound of thundering claps and booming cheers filling the tent while they kissed. (Y/N)’s leg was lifted beside him, stretched perfectly and peeking underneath her gorgeous gown as the heat rose in her cheeks, that familiar sensation of liquid lightning coursing through her body. 

The newlyweds turned upright again, pressing their foreheads together as they laughed and returned to the tumultuous crowd surrounding them. Charlie and (Y/N) raised their intertwined hands and the excited guests rose from their seats, their chairs disappearing only to be replaced by the reception tables and an ample dance floor. Overlapping ‘congratulations’ came from the numerous guests, patting the couple in support as they made their way towards the dance floor with their wedding party. 

“I love you, more than you’ll ever know,” Charlie spoke out, spinning (Y/N) as they shared their first dance, the lights dimming around them as the crowd watched them. 

“I love you so much, Charles,” replied (Y/N), placing her hand on his cheek and leaning in to steal another kiss, “And I’ll spend every day showing you just how much.” Charlie let out a gleeful laugh, spinning his wife around the dance floor and pulling her towards their table once they finished. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,” a soft voice caught their attention and they both turned to see Professor Dumbledore, McGonagall, and - to both their surprise - Professor Snape standing in front of them. 

“Professors!” (Y/N) exclaimed, “We’re so glad you could make it! We thought with the tournament it’d be difficult to get away-” 

“Nevermind that!” dismissed McGonagall, placing her hand on the bride’s shoulders, “I’m so proud of you and Charles,” she gushed, unlike her usually composed self, a small hint of moisture underneath her eyes, “Professor Dumbledore insisted we attend.”

“Yes,” added Snape in his usual tone, unlike McGonagall, he was devoid of any emotion, “Even I have to congratulate you on this joyous occasion,” he explained, his black eyes scanning over the crowd and back on his former pupil, “It seems Selwyn- or must I say, Weasley, that you have grown into a capable young witch. One Slytherin house was very proud to have.” 

(Y/N), overcome with the emotion of the celebration, wrapped her arms around the Hogwarts Potions’ Master who returned her embrace with a very stiff pat on the back, “Come now, Severus.” Dumbledore added gleefully, his eyes twinkling with excitement, “I’m sure Mrs. Weasley is just happy to see you.” 

Charlie let out a small snort, unable to contain his laughter as Snape recoiled and his wife returned to his side, “But Minerva is right, we are all very proud of you and I am not one to miss a wonderful evening to celebrate love.” 

“Please, help yourselves with food and drink!” urged Charlie, gesturing towards the tables and bar, “We’ll be resuming the dancing shortly, we’re so thrilled to have you here.” He finishing confidently, shaking Dumbledore’s hand who returned his smile with one of his own. 

“Will do,” He agreed with a nod of the head, “We’ll leave you two to it then!” With that, the three Professors trailed off to speak with Charlie’s parents who stood excitedly at the bar. 

“Do you think I went a bit overboard?” asked (Y/N) cautiously once they left, a small giggle overcoming her as Charlie vigorously shook his head, “Are you mad? It’s our wedding day, we’re allowed to go overboard.” He reassured, pressing a kiss against her forehead.

“Well, if that’s the case… I could use a drink,” she whispered coquettishly but was interrupted by their wedding party clearing their throats behind them. 

“Wow, Weasley,” Merula pipped up, “I thought you were an excellent Legilimens, if you were, you could’ve heard us coming from a mile away” she teased with Rowan waving a shot glass as (Y/N) turned around. 

“You’re not allowed to tease today, Merula!” She exclaimed happily, taking the shot glass from her and pulling Charlie along so he could grab his from Andre, “I’m a married woman now! I get a free pass!” 

Merula rolled her eyes but gave in to her request, “As long as you take this drink, I won’t say anything!”

“Who knew it only alcohol to get Merula to lay off?” Barnaby quipped, earning a small punch which hurt her from than him due to the considerable amount of muscle he gained throughout the years. 

“I’m not going to wait any longer!” threatened Ben, raising his shot glass towards Charlie, “Ready?” he announced and everyone raised their glasses in a circle, “To life and happiness!” 

“To life and happiness!” They bellowed in unison, downing the chocolate vodka liqueur and extending their glasses towards Bill, who had hidden the bottle behind his back.

“Charlie did say three!” He announced, replicating the sing-song voice of the old officiant, “So everyone better have an excellent tolerance tonight because we’re celebrating until dawn!” 

Tonks threw an arm excitedly around Penny’s shoulders, almost spilling the contents of their shot glasses but laughing as Bill continued to pour their drinks. 

“You better switch up the drinks then!” Tulip muttered while sniffing the glass, grimacing at the strong scent of alcohol that practically burned her nostrils, “I’m more of a firewhiskey girl.”

“I’m going to have to agree,” nodded Jacob, “Not about the girl part, but I do like to mix things up… I wonder if they’ll prepare my specialty drink at the bar,” he pondered, looking longingly at the bar with a mischievous smirk. 

“On three!” Andre yelled, catching everyone’s attention and he gestured towards Rowan so she could join in on the count down. 

“Three!” Andre and Rowan finished chanting, throwing their heads back and swallowing their drinks before bellowing out indistinct cheers. 

“I know you guys said three-” whined Penny, shaking her hands in front of her glass but it was snatched away by (Y/N) so Bill could pour their final shot, “Oh, come on! At least let me breathe!” 

“You’ll breathe when we eat and dance!” dismissed Tonks, forcing the glass back into Penny’s hands who reluctantly raised it towards the happy couple, “Your turn!”

“Ready?” Charlie asked (Y/N), a dark blush spreading across his cheeks as he felt the early onsets on the alcohol affecting his body, “Let’s do that arm thing we talked about…” he whispered excitedly, pressing soft kisses against her cheek making her giggle. 

“You’re so in love, Mr. Weasley,” She muttered with a small shake of the head, “But so am I” (Y/N) pressed a kiss against his nose and linked her arm around his, “On three!” she exclaimed, forcing her glass as close to her lips as possible. On three, the wedding party downed their third shot of the evening, some of them shivering as the alcohol coursed down their esophagus. 

“Alright, let’s dance!” yelled Ben and Barnaby, pulling the bridesmaids away towards the dance floor to join the rest of the excited guests. 

“If you don’t mind,” interjected Andre, extending his hand towards (Y/N), “I do believe you owe me a dance?” he reminded her, and (Y/N) quickly slid her hand into his. 

“You’re quite right, most notable style-wizard of all Europe,” she replied, shooting Charlie an apologetic look but he only smiled, “Don’t worry,” He reassured, “I’ve got to see Mum and Dad.”

Andre pulled (Y/N) away towards the dance floor, the two of them spinning away towards the middle with wide grins. Charlie joined his family, who overwhelmed them with hugs and kisses, including his thirteen-year-old sister who had traveled with Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid to be there for the occasion. The rest of the guests danced and conversed excitedly, eating away at the delicious food the white-robed servers had brought to their tables. 

Jacob Selwyn sat at one of the farthest tables, exchanging stories with his sister’s old prefect, Felix Rosier who was accompanied by Angelica Cole, the former Gryffindor prefect. Sometime during the evening, Hagrid appeared in front of (Y/N) and Charlie Weasley in his mole-skin coat and tears streaming down his face, lifting them both up from the ground as he happily embraced the two of them. 

“So grown-up” cried Hagrid, wiping his tears away when he set them down, “I remember when yeh were both this tall” he gestured downwards, replicating their heights during the first-year and the couple nodded happily, red tinges on both their cheeks as the giggled at Hagrid’s remarks. 

The rest of the night went by smoothly, exchanging numerous conversations with witches and wizards they could hardly remember their names of due to the amount of alcohol in their system. (Y/N) was spun around the dancefloor but all of the Weasley siblings, even performing an impressive three-person tango with Fred and George, who seemed to have more to drink than the newlyweds themselves. Charlie was joined on the dance floor by his mother and father, his best man, and, at one point, Jacob who had raised him onto his shoulders at the climax of the song. 

While they were dancing, Ronald Weasley explained his blunder with Hermione at the ball to (Y/N), who automatically dragged him away to the muggle-born witch to correct his mistake and giggled excitedly when she saw the two twirling in a small circle with Harry and Ginny at their side. Some of the guests began to politely excused themselves by midnight, waving the couple off after leaving the gifts at the respective table and heading out towards the garden to the designated disappartation point. 

The celebration did not stop until the first hints of sunlight gleamed over the horizon. At that point, most of the younger guests had retreated inside the home to sleep on transfigured mattresses set up throughout the newlyweds’ home. Rowan and Bill had to forcibly escort (Y/N) and Charlie away from the dance floor since the two expressed their desire to stay until the sun shone above them but kept closing their eyes as they embraced. 

“Come on, little brother” chuckled Bill, winking at Rowan as he pushed Charlie, who continued to hum the processional song, up the stairs. Rowan blushed furiously at Bill’s actions but kept her eyes on (Y/N), who was spinning Great Aunt Tessie’s ruby tiara in her hands at the rhythm of Charlie’s humming, “I’ll have to thank you for that,” whispered Rowan excitedly, gazing longingly up at Bill and successfully getting the couple into the bedroom. 

Bill removed their shoes while they giggled on the bed, exchanging several kisses while Rowan secured the tiara in its leather box, “Think we should help them change?” asked Rowan, turning towards Bill, but quickly realizing the answer to her question. 

“I think that’ll be a no,” declared Bill, running a hand through his hair and extending the other towards Rowan, “Let’s go before we see something we don’t need to see. I think I saw an empty mattress in the room Andre is staying in.” Rowan nodded stiffly, sliding her hand into Bill’s and quickly closing the door behind her, locking the door for good measure. 

On the bed, Charlie shrugged off his overcoat and threw it to the side while (Y/N) pulled on his tie, undoing it and tossing it with the rest of his outfit. His lips mashed against hers, his tongue pushing past her teeth as she gripped his head firmly, locking him in their embrace as she fell back on the mattress and her dress pooled underneath her. 

“My dress,” she moaned against Charlie’s lips and he let out a small laugh, shrugging his dress shirt off and reaching behind for the zipper of her dress, “Of course, we can’t desecrate such a delicate creation,” he mumbled against her lips and lifted her up so she could wiggle out of it. (Y/N) laughed as the cold air hit her body, winking at Charlie as his eyes widened at the sight of the bright-white lacy lingerie she had hidden under her dress.

“Like what you see?” she teased, attempting to wriggle away from his grip, but he caught her by the waist and pulled her onto her back, “Don’t you dare, my darling” growled Charlie, pressing harsh kisses against her neck and pulling her stocking-clad thighs around his waist. 

“I love you,” gasped (Y/N) as Charlie groped her breast, her fingernails digging into his broad back and her hips grinding upwards to meet his, “So so much.” Charlie cupped her cheek, harshly pulling her up to exchange another kiss, not satisfied – no matter how mesmerizing they were – by the previous ones. 

“More,” groaned Charlie, his red-hair falling over his eyes as he pulled away to mutter against her lips, “I love you more” he breathed out, pressing kisses in between each word and pulling his wand out of his trousers, and uttering inaudible silencing charms towards the door. 

The two of them grasped messily at each other, running their hands over each others’ bodies and leaving marks that would surely be visible in the afternoon.

#charlie weasley #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #charlie weasley x slytherin!reader #charles weasley #jacob's sibling #ben copper #bill weasley #hogwarts mystery #hogwarts fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #Smugglers Series #harry potter hogwarts mystery imagines #Harry Potter Hogwarts mystery #tulip kasaru #nymphadora tonks #rowan khanna #hogwarts mystery au #William Weasley #barnaby lee #andre egwu #this was literally eighteen pages... #I went overboard lmfao #i hope yall enjoyed it tho #i was gonna add the smut but it was literally so long already #it probably wouldve hit twenty pages so Im just going to include it in the honeymoon portion hehe

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part IV

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 5.1k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

It was nine o’clock in the morning, two days after I’d made my arrest, and Paya’s trial was in its opening stages. I was watching from the gallery. Normally, as the one running the investigations, I would be the first witness to take the stand, but today, for whatever reason, the lead prosecutor, Urbosa Sigatur, planned to summon me second after Auntie Purah. Urbosa was far from a stranger to me, however. She and I had collaborated on several cases in the past, and she shared with me many of my own ideals. She’d once even known my mother before her untimely demise. And so I decided not to question her judgment, however unconventional it may have seemed.

The prosecution’s opening statement had been based on the fact that the stolen Sheikah Slate, along with a bloodstained bullet, had been found in the defendant’s room, which, until recently, hadn’t been searched as it had been deemed irrelevant to the case. With these conclusive pieces of evidence, she’d stated, the defendant had been charged with both the theft of the Slate and the murder of its owner, Impa Sheikah.

The stolen object was the most central piece of evidence in the prosecution’s case. It had once been a target of my own immense interest, even before its theft. But that had all changed following its recovery. The riddle, though having been solved by means of professional reprogramming, still made little sense to me if any. “Carnation” was its answer, according to Auntie Purah herself. Much to my dismay, the secrets that the riddle had supposedly kept hidden had turned out to be nothing but my own fantasy. Every last piece of data that had once been stored in the Slate had been deleted, meaning the possibility of proving a motive for its theft was next to nonexistent. The only thing left in its memory was a diary entry, written by Auntie Impa the day before her murder. This in itself, however, held the potential to serve as a lead to her killer’s identity, at the very least.

The diary entry, as projected onto the courtroom wall by the Slate, went,

“Today was the first day of Zelda’s holiday visit. It is hard to believe that the last long term visit she paid us was already over a year ago. We have all missed her dearly. She seems as interested in my sister’s work as ever. It brought me joy to see the two of them bonding over their shared passion once again.

“However I must admit, I would still love for her to also spend some quality time with Paya some day soon. I sensed some resentment coming from her directed at my dear granddaughter. Perhaps it is something to do with that boy. Either way, it seems their relationship has hardly changed since she left the nest.

“I cannot say for certain whether anyone will ever be able to read this, but I have faith that Purah will figure it out. I am no good with machines like these, but I believe in her. At any rate, I hope she is the one who gets to read this message, but in the event that it happens to fall into the wrong hands, I will sign off here.”

With this, the prosecution’s argument, though a bit scattered across several different points, seemed sturdy enough so far. That Auntie Impa had seemingly known that her life would be taken the following night after writing her final message, combined with the fact that she’d received no threats from the outside world up until then, was one of the strongest pieces of evidence in our arsenal.

Paya’s defence lawyer, one Revali Twii, had made several attempts to dismantle her argument by claiming she had no possible way of knowing whether or not the victim had received a threat from outside the estate by phone. These attacks were easily deflected. As a foreigner to this city, Mr. Twii had been unaware that, thanks to the Sheikahs’ company, household phones here were all equipped with recording devices. Naturally, Ms. Sigatur had already listened to each recorded call since a month before the murder and had detected no discernible threat in any of them.

And yet in spite of all that, the argument shifted heavily in favour of the defence when it then carried out his cross examination. With how confidently Urbosa had stated her case, I never could’ve imagined how easy it would be for the opposing side to shatter it into countless, tiny pieces.

Mr. Twii’s primary line of questioning was a solid one, to say the least. He concurred with my deduction as presented by Ms. Sigatur that the parlour indeed was not the true scene of the crime. However, he claimed that the real crime scene could not possibly have been the defendant’s bedroom either. His basis for this was the gunshot. Paya’s room was in the same hallway that the sleeping quarters of the current witness, Auntie Purah, as well as myself, were in. Mr. Twii had her testify about the sound of the gunshot that she’d heard. In addition to the fact that it hadn’t seemed loud enough to have come from the very next room over, she’d only heard it once: from the parlour.

No doubt he intended to question me about the same thing when the time came for me to take the stand. I’d been itching to speak my mind and set things straight so badly that I’d had to cross my legs just to keep myself from getting up too soon by the time court was finally adjourned for a half-hour recess.

Now the prosecutor and I were together in a private room reserved for witness prepping. Normally I did just fine testifying on my own, but in this trial, everything was at stake, and I couldn’t seem to stop my heart from racing no matter what I tried. Thankfully I had Urbosa here, and simply talking with her had done much to calm my nerves already.

“You’re originally from out of town too, aren’t you?” I noted, thinking back on her performance.

“That I may be, but unlike that lawyer, I’ve spent enough time here to know of the perils this city is facing, and who’s been holding it together in spite of all that.”

“Right.” My lips rested against the curve of my index as my leg bounced restlessly underneath the table. “That schmuck really doesn’t have a clue, does he?”

“No, not likely. Though he’s quite the formidable opponent, I must say.” She leaned back in her chair, looking pensive, but not the least bit agitated. “My case took quite the beating out there.”

My heart rate was starting to pick up again. “You don’t think you’ll...lose...do you?”

“Who, me? Lose?” She let out a hearty bout of chuckles. “Young lady, are you quite sure you know who you’re speaking to?” I returned her laughter halfheartedly, unable to shake the foreboding feeling lying at the pit of my stomach. Urbosa cleared her throat, preserving her calm smile. “All jokes aside, I wouldn’t worry even if we do end up losing this one. The true criminal is still out there somewhere, and there is no such thing as a perfect crime.”

“I suppose...” Perfect crimes may not have existed, but neither did perfect investigations. If they ruled Paya out as a suspect, then only one other, “safe” option would remain.

“Alright, out with it. What’s on your mind?” Her hand had landed on my shoulder as she’d reached across the desk, over my half empty glass of water. “And why are you so set on getting Paya convicted, if I might ask? Sibling rivalry is one thing, but this is...”

I avoided her perceptive gaze, staring intently at the latch on my bag. What could I possibly tell her? “It’s just,” I stalled, eventually settling for a vague, “I’m running out of time.”

After a long pause, she leaned back, letting go of my arm. “I see. Well, whatever it is, know that I’ll be on your side no matter what, little bird.”

Oh, if only she’d known.

“So to sum up, you were outstandingly negligent in your investigation of the defendant’s bedroom.”

My jaw unhinged at what I’d just heard come out of the attorney’s mouth. I’d just finished giving him an explanation of my findings in as much detail as I could, during which time he’d been surprisingly polite, until now.

“You likely saw the Slate along with the bullet and made your arrest right then and there. You didn’t even stop to consider the possibility that you hadn’t found all there’d been to find in that room, did you?” I opened my mouth to respond, but he cut me off again. “In fact, I’m willing to bet you didn’t even attempt to look for the murder weapon.”

“Excuse me, Sir,” I retaliated with chest puffed up, “but my team and I searched the property from top to bottom, repeatedly, for two whole weeks, and—”

“Yes, I am well aware. However, you failed to complete a thorough search of this so-called ‘true crime scene’ before you arrested Ms. Sheikah. Do you deny it?”

I was floundering for words. Why bother questioning me if he merely intended to cut me off and answer his own questions? “I-I...”

“Objection.”

All eyes fell upon the prosecution. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“The defence is harassing the witness, Your Honour.”

The judge gave a slow, considerate nod of his head. “Objection sustained.”

Twii gave Urbosa a subtle but unmistakable side-eye. I thanked her silently. “Speaking of the murder weapon,” he continued in his signature, holier-than-thou tone, “I have here Exhibit F: a list of traits possessed by the elusive firearm responsible for the victim’s life.”

This wasn’t good. The list in question had been compiled by the prosecution based on traits of the fatal wound revealed by the autopsy, as well as other traits shared by the two bullets that were found at the estate. It contained information like its .38 caliber and that it had likely been fired twice at point blank, to name a few examples.

“My question for you, witness, is the following. What did you find during your ‘investigation’ regarding the weapon?”

This was fine, I kept telling myself. He still had yet to present the most fatal piece of evidence in the record. “As I’ve said before, none of our searches turned up any sign of it, other than what’s listed on that piece of paper you’re holding.”

“Is that so?” The sarcasm rooted in his voice had me sweating bullets. “In that case, Ms. Hyrule, I’d like to turn your attention to this passage here at the bottom.”

That was “Inspector Hyrule” to him, but of course, he couldn’t care less for such trifling things as common decency.

But when I read over the passage at which he was pointing, my throat closed up.

“Allow me to read it aloud for the court.” He snobbishly cleared his throat. “And I quote, ‘The murder weapon and the circumstances surrounding it strongly suggest an Octoric M&P revolver,’ end quote. I’d also like to add that this particular model is favoured by the district bureau of police, who issue them out to many of their detectives for self-defence.”

I gritted my teeth, annunciating each word as I spat, “Get to the point.”

The smarmy bastard was hardly even phased by my unmasked hostility. “Now, now, Ms. Hyrule, you’ve no reason to worry,” he waved off. “After all, I have no intention of accusing you.”

When he spoke that last word, my heart stopped, and deep down, I knew it was over.

“Firstly I wish for you to clarify a few things for me, as you were one of the first to discover the scene of the murder when it happened.”

I gave a slow, strenuous nod, losing strength in my knees by the second, but standing my ground all the same. “Go on.”

“The defendant showed no sign of having a gun on or anywhere near her person when you arrived, correct?”

“Correct,” I lied.

“Good. Now that we’ve established that the defendant was unarmed, I’d like to present another piece of evidence.” He laid out flat a second sheet of paper on the stand in front of me. “Exhibit H. This is part of a record kept by the precinct where the witness is currently employed, alongside the rest of her team. It details a list of the firearms given out to detectives each day, as well as the time when each one was issued and when it was returned to custody at the end of its designated officer’s shift.”

And there it was. I’d known all along that it had only been a matter of time until he’d bring out this piece of evidence, but, evidently, I’d failed to prepare myself mentally for this. Perhaps a part of me had hoped not to be on the stand when it happened. All I could do now was hold my peace and pray that it wouldn’t get worse from here.

“This page corresponds with the day before the murder. Now, Ms. Hyrule,” he addressed, summoning a swarm of butterflies in my stomach, “I’m sure you’ll recognize this badge number here. Would you please read it aloud for me?”

I swallowed my nerves and did as he’d requested. “FB7732Z438LL.”

“Thank you.” He flashed me that shit-eating grin of his. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the number belonging to one Constable Link Fyori, the witness’ very own investigative partner.” A few whispers drifted through the gallery following that announcement. “One who reads this will also notice that, after his revolver was issued out to him the morning before the murder, it was never returned to the precinct’s custody thereafter. In fact, it is still missing to this day.”

With this, the whispers grew in number, creating a din of distrust that had the attorney smirking from ear to ear.

“Objection.”

The whispering dissipated. Twii’s shoulders sagged as he hypocritically shot Urbosa a look that said, “What now?”

“Mr. Twii, how is this relevant? Unless you have definitive proof linking Constable Fyori to the crime, I see no point in bringing it up.”

The judge gave a pound of his gavel with a bone-chilling shake of his head. “Overruled. The court will allow the defence to continue, provided that it has good reason.”

My mouth fell open, and so had Urbosa’s.

“Thank you, Your Honour. I was just getting to that, my good prosecutor.” Now even she seemed on edge. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut through with a knife. “I may not have proof as things stand currently. However, that is about to change. You see, I have reason to believe that our witness here is covering for someone.”

The courtroom broke out into an even louder din of murmurs, as if I couldn’t clearly hear each backhanded remark the members of the gallery were making at my expense.

The pounding of the judge’s gavel echoed throughout the room, and the whispering ceased once again.

“You must be mistaken.” I stood as tall as I could with how close my legs were to giving up on me. “I happen to be one of the most trusted detectives in the force. Why do you think I was put in charge of this case despite being one of the first on the scene?”

“Ah, but that, dear witness, was your superiors’ fatal mistake.”

Damn that solicitor. “What do you mean?”

“Although my client has elected not to testify to the court, she has let me in on a certain piece of information—one that I believe will make the jaws of everyone here drop to the floor.”

Surely not. Surely even she wouldn’t dare stoop so low.

“Inspector...” The attorney looked me dead in the eyes. The air was suffocating. “What do you have in your briefcase?”

Everyone was staring at me and murmuring amongst themselves, more raucously than ever before, like I was the one on trial.

“N-No, it’s—it’s not what it seems,” I wavered. Then mustering my shattered courage, “You!” I pointed my finger at Twii. “Prove to me that the defendant wasn’t lying. I demand to see proof!”

But my demands were met with silence. Even Urbosa was looking at me with cold contempt and disappointment.

“Bailiff.”

An officer appeared from the sidelines. He seized my bag.

“Wait, stop!”

I tried to wrest it from his grasp, but he was too strong. I watched helplessly as he opened it up, reaching in and revealing the murder weapon for all to see.

“No...!”

“Bailiff, what is the number engraved on that weapon?”

He seemed to recite the number in slow motion, twisting the knife with every digit. “FB7732Z438LL.”

“No, please!” I screamed. “It wasn’t him, he’s been framed! Please, Your Honour, you have to believe me!”

Amidst the roar of the crowd, I saw the conclusive shake of the judge’s head. With a pound of his gavel, he said, “I hereby order the immediate detainment of Link Fyori under the charge of first degree murder.”

I met eyes with my partner but half a second before I saw him be dragged out of his seat with brute force.

“No!”

“As for this witness, she shall receive her sentence after being questioned by the police for the concealing of evidence, contempt of court, and perjury.”

I cried out when an overwhelming pain shot through my arm. My family watched from the gallery in either horror or disgust, or a mixture of both perhaps. I tried with all my might just to get the bailiff to stop hurting me, but it was futile.

“Your Honour, just a moment please.”

With the judge’s approval, the man’s grip on my arm lightened up. The one who’d spoken had been none other than that wretched defence attorney.

“Inspector, if you don’t mind, I have one more question to ask you.”

I held my breath, bracing myself. Though there wasn’t much he could say at this point that could possibly make the situation worse.

“Why?” he finally asked. “Why did you feel the need to conceal such a critical piece of evidence?”

My entire face boiled over with heat. I looked around, taking in the courtroom’s atmosphere, and my whole being was filled to the brim with indescribable anger and shame. Barely able to swallow the charged whimper lodged at the cusp of my throat, I choked out the words, “No comment.”

The trial had ended while I’d still been in the middle of interrogation by my own peers. I was lucky enough to get off with a fine, but it was because of that hour-and-a-half-long lecture that I only found out about Paya’s “not guilty” verdict after the entire courtroom had been cleared out. This was no surprise to me, of course, but still a disappointment, to put it lightly. What was a surprise was that no one, not Paya, nor Auntie Purah, nor even Urbosa, had bothered to wait for me.

That was fine. They could think whatever they wanted of me. I’d simply have to redeem myself by proving Link’s innocence in his trial.

It was to this end that I made my way to the district’s Centre of Detention.

When Link appeared behind the iron bars of the visitors’ room, he was already sporting a worn and faded prisoner’s uniform, surely having just undergone an interrogation of his own. Though, from the looks of him, his had been considerably more thorough than mine.

I cleared my throat. “Hello, Link.”

“Hello,” he replied.

Deathly silence filled the air. The harsh ticking of the clock on the wall behind me was slowly starting to crawl under my skin.

“They, uhm...didn’t go easy on you, eh?”

He shook his head, eyes wandering without aim.

Why did it have to be so hard to talk to him sometimes? He’d never been so unapproachable back in our days as teenagers. Though now, I supposed, recent events were only making things even more difficult for me than usual.

“Look...” I took a deep breath, shifting in my seat. “I’m sorry. Alright? I couldn’t cover for you forever. They were bound to find out eventually. Please, don’t be upset.”

“What? Zelda...” His demeanour morphed from listless to urgent, almost apologetic, as he struggled to find his voice. “Why would I be upset with you? I never asked you to cover for me in the first place.”

“I know.” Now it was I who couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eyes. “I just knew that you couldn’t have possibly... I mean, you would never—”

“I didn’t.”

He’d caught me with my mouth hanging open, when he’d cut me off.

“I didn’t kill her. I promise you.”

Of course he hadn’t. It was obvious, even though the revolver had borne no fingerprints and, with the gloves that he always wore, he wouldn’t have left any. What motive could he have had? He was an amnesiac, and even if he hadn’t been, he still wouldn’t have had a reason to kill my godmother.

I took out my pen and notebook, the only things left in my case that hadn’t been confiscated. “Tell me what you know, Link. Everything.”

A beat. Then he straightened his posture and began to explain his side of the story. As it turned out, my intuition had been spot on. This whole mess was the design of the Yiga organization. Link told me about his encounter with them before the murder. They had blackmailed him into surrendering his revolver to them, after which he would never see it again.

Though, even without a hint of deceit in his tone or manner, I had questions about the means by which the Yiga had blackmailed him. He had virtually nothing to lose. Didn’t he?

In any case, I honestly had considered showing him the gun that I’d found on the scene that night, but somehow I’d had the distinct impression that he’d known nothing about it, despite the very object in question belonging to him. I’d thought perhaps someone from the organization had switched out his weapon for another without his noticing. It was no secret that even the police bureau was infested with their ilk. In the end, I hadn’t been far off the mark.

The whole time he spoke, he had his head lowered, hair falling in front of his eyes, as if something were holding them back from meeting mine. Then he muttered, “When I had my encounter with the organization, I...remembered.”

His limited annunciation meant I had to take a moment to decipher the syllables of the last word he’d uttered. Then they sank in. “Wait. What? You mean you...” It felt beyond strange to even speak the words after so long. “You got your memory back?”

He lowered his head further. Was that a nod?

My mind went back to what he’d said to me on that one occasion in the office, not long after this whole mess had first begun. “Link, you...” My hands curled into themselves around the strap of my satchel. “All this time...why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” he pleaded. “It would’ve been a hindrance to the investigation.” I hated to admit it, but he was right. Dropping that bomb on me would only have thrown my conscience deeper into its already tangled web of turmoil.

Amidst all the questions swirling in my mind, one suddenly appeared, eclipsing all the rest. “Why did you disappear back then?”

At this, he finally looked up and met my gaze. But when he did, his eyes were wide, almost trembling. His look seemed to cast the whole room into a great, looming darkness.

“Oh, it’s...it’s okay if you’d prefer not to talk about—”

“No,” he exclaimed. “I must.” But the way his shoulders came up to meet his ears and how rapidly his chest rose and fell told me it wasn’t going to be an easy story to tell. “It was the Yi—” He choked on his words. “The...organization.”

There it was again. The name of the group I’d been chasing without rest ever since their appearance eighteen years prior. “I knew it...” I mumbled without thinking.

He steeled himself, then continued. “That day, my father was picking me and my sister up after school. Normally we would’ve ridden home with him in his automobile, but that morning, he and I had planned to surprise Aryll by getting...I think it was ice cream, on our way back. Anyway, we decided to walk home that day. But...” His face darkened yet again. “But then...”

Pressing him for more details would have been beyond cruel. I could only imagine the horrors that those blackguards had put him and his family through. “How many of them were there?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is that they had us outnumbered.” I nodded along, without thinking, as he continued his tale. “They were all armed with what looked like military grade shotguns, and they wore those masks with the inverted Sheikah family crest... I’ve always known that I’d seen that image somewhere before.”

No one knew why the organization had chosen this symbol for themselves, though I personally suspected it to be a show of opposition.

“Anyway, after they sh...shot father,” he struggled, a hand coming up to his now quavering lips, “they must’ve felt threatened by Aryll and me, because the next thing they did was...shoot her, too.” The way his tone had started to oscillate and how his face had drained itself of colour made my stomach churn. His anguish was so clear, it was devastating. “One of them had said something to the ends of, ‘We can’t have you scamps telling on us.’ But before they could...’shut me up’ as well, I fled.” Another pause. He kept on breathing. “I was too terrified to notice which way I was going. The whole time I ran, they kept firing at me. They were too reckless to aim properly, though, mind.”

“Well...that’s lucky, at least,” I tried. This was met with a sigh of reluctant agreement. “Still, how did you make it out of that with your life?”

“They stopped chasing me when I made it out of the back alleys and into the open,” he explained. “I suppose they couldn’t risk revealing themselves.”

Now it all made sense. Seven years ago, when he’d vanished without a trace, it was as though he’d never even existed in the first place. No one could get in contact with him or his family, and yet, no one batted an eye about it. It had seemed I’d been the only one who’d thought of it as anything less than perfectly normal. Just like when my mother had lost her life.

“We never had the chance to get ice cream that day.” He looked all but ready to burst into tears with that sentence. That was the moment I realized, no matter how drastically the last seven years of hell had changed him, there was still a fragment of that playful, hollow-legged sixteen-year-old left deep in his dark, forgotten core. If there was a way to bring that bright-eyed child back out into the light, I would find it, even if it spelled my demise.

Even so, there was one thing left that had yet to be explained. “What about your amnesia?”

“Ah...” His brow furrowed in thought. “I don’t know what caused that, to be honest with you.” He seemed to be racking his mind, but to no avail. “By the time those thugs finally gave up, I didn’t recognize my surroundings. I remember trying to find my way home, but I suppose I just ended up getting myself even more lost from there.” It was no wonder. The street names in this town were of little help in navigation, and it wasn’t hard to understand why he might have been apprehensive to ask for directions in such a bustling and hostile environment, especially after what he’d just been subjected to. “So I fell asleep in the streets that night,” he concluded with a shivering exhale. “The next morning, I woke up without the slightest notion of who I was.”

My heart took a plunge at the thought of his young self curled up in some alleyway, like a baby bird who’d fallen from the nest. “It must have been some sort of mental defence mechanism,” I conjectured. “That’s the only explanation I can come up with.” He slowly nodded his agreement. “After that, then, I suppose the rest is history.”

“Indeed...”

The visitors’ room fell into a deep, reflective silence, one nothing like that which had had me gasping for air moments ago. I watched the weary feelings of dread swim in his once bright blue eyes, tearing him apart.

He’d spent five whole years in that cold, cramped ward without even a name by which to call himself. And now we were back where we’d started. He may have regained his memories in the end, but at what cost?

I no longer felt the need to hunt down those who had wronged me. Now, my only desire was to slip between the bars that stood between the two of us and whisk him away to a far off land, where no one would ever hurt us again. But I pushed the impossible daydream aside. Even if escape were an option, we’d only be running straight out into range of Yiga fire.

“After your trial tomorrow...well, at the very least, I’ll lose my badge,” I smiled waywardly. Then, letting it fade and rolling my shoulders back, “Until then, I swear, I’ll do everything within my power to prove your innocence. Then we can go out for ice cream together.”

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears when he looked up at me then. Now that I thought about it, this seemed like the first time I’d ever seen him come close to crying, even in the time before the incident. Of course, he’d seen me in tears countless times back then. I wondered if he remembered them.

“Zelda...?” My name had started to leave his lips with conviction, but weakened on its way out. “There’s...something else I should tell you.”

“Anything.”

Just then, I caught him straightening out the cuff of his black-barred sleeve, concealing the fair skin of his wrist, out of the corner of my eye. “Never mind.” He again cast his gaze downwards, muttering an inaudible, “It’s nothing,” under his breath.

#is it obvious yet how much I love Ace Attorney? #my writing #fanfic #botw #zelink #botw zelink #zelink botw #link x zelda #zelda x link #botw link x zelda #botw zelda x link #zelink fanfic #zelink fic #zelink ff #zelda pov #detective au

[organabanana]

Leaves of three, let it be [1/?] || harlivy

Chapters: 1/?

Fandom: DCU (Comics)DCUHarley Quinn (Comics)Harley Quinn (Cartoon 2019)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence

Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel

Characters: Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel, Selina Kyle

Additional Tags: Mentions of alcohol, mentions of batman fucking bats, most of this is straight up idiocy tbh, i just finished watching the cartoon so everyone swears like a sailor i'm sorry, rated for (ahem) happenings later on, ivy/harley/catwoman frenemies

Series: Part 1 of the Cliché a Week 2021 series

Summary:

Aided by a terrible hangover and a severe lack of impulse control, Harley accidentally drinks an unknown substance at Ivy's apartment and suddenly remembers why Ivy goes by Poison Ivy in her professional life. Luckily for Harley, she's immune to Ivy's toxins. Unluckily for Harley, she may not be immune to her love pheromones, and turning into a human-plant hybrid is not her idea of a good time.

Telling Ivy so she can give her an antidote may seem like the obvious course of action, but there are very few things Harley hates more than disappointing Ivy with her poor decision-making skills. Besides, like Selina said, if she'd drunk pheromones she'd be in love with Ivy by now, right?

And Harley Quinn is absolutely not in love with her best friend.

Notes:

This was (loosely) inspired by Prompt #1104 by @promptsforthestrugglingauthor: “Hey, do you know if potions expire?” “I think it depends on the potion. Why?” “Well, I was really hungover this morning and grabbed the wrong glass and I feel super weird right now.” And "Everyone knows they’re dating except them” from the Cliché A Week Challenge by @montocalypse. The plan is for this to be 4-5 chapters at most BUT I'm not ready to commit to a number just yet so we'll see how that goes!

[ao3 link]

Harley wakes up with a pounding headache that makes her wonder if someone stole her bat and tried to crack her skull with it last night. 

"Ughhh..." she groans, squeezing her eyes shut. Her mouth feels like sandpaper. Her throat feels like... like sandpaper. Listen: she's not in any kind of mood for elaborate, imaginative similes right now. Everything is pain and/or sandpaper. Deal with it.

"Fuck me." It comes out in a whiny, pathetic little voice, and Harley is almost more pissed off about that than about the hangover itself. Where is she, anyway? She forces herself to sort of... perceive  the world around her without moving a muscle or opening her eyes, which may not be the best approach but it works anyway because she totally knows Ive's apartment by smell.

As friends do.

Once that's settled, and she knows she's in fact safe (how could she not be? She's at Ivy's!) Harley moves her right hand and feels around for the bedside table, but apparently she didn't climb into her usual side of the bed (friends have sides of their friends' beds, obviously) because what she feels on her right side is soft and warm and definitely not a bedside table.

"Sorry." She mumbles, affectionately patting Ivy's ass before turning over to the other side and trying again. She does find a table this time, and she nearly cries in relief when she finds a little water bottle waiting for her parched lips to drink.

Score.

It's only when she's downed the whole thing that she realizes two things:

One, that did not  taste like water.

And two, there is a reason Pam goes professionally by Poison  Ivy.

"Shit," Harley stage-whispers, blue eyes now wide open as she stares at the empty bottle in her hand, "shit, shit, shit."

Harley knows she's not dying. She knows she's immune to toxins, and she's cuddled the fuck out of Ivy (as friends do) on enough occasions to know she doesn't break out in hives at Ivy's touch. But the thing about Ivy is, she's kind of an overachiever. There aren't just toxins to worry about. Harley could be about to turn into a fern or something, and nobody could do anything to prevent it.

Well, except Pam.

But you know what? Considering the kind of mood Ivy gets in when Harley makes a less than stellar choice, she's gonna risk turning into a plant rather than waking her up.

"Morning, sunshine." Selina walks -- nay, prances  -- into the bedroom looking flawless as always, which is pretty fucking unfair considering her presence at Ivy's can only mean she was there for whatever hangover-causing shenanigans they all happened to get into last night. But of course, Selina Kyle is above looking like shit while hungover. 

" Selina ," Harley all but hisses (which is fitting, considering Selina's... you know), showing her the empty bottle, "I fucked up."

"When do you not  fuck up, Harley?" It comes off as both smug and somehow charming, which is, again, pretty fucking unfair. "What did you do this time?"

Harley shows her the empty bottle once again, shaking it slightly like she cannot  believe Selina isn't getting the gravity of the situation right away.

"What? I don't get it-- ohh ." Selina lets out a quiet chuckle that sounds almost like a purr. "Yeah, you fucked up."

"Dammit, Selina! What if I turn into a fucking succulent?"

"Oh come on, don't be dramatic. What color was it?"

Harley stares at her. "Don't you think I'd have known not to drink it if I'd looked at it?"

"I mean, I tend to assume people look at things  before putting them in their mouth. But you did  fuck Joker, so..."

"Hurtful." A beat. "Fair, yes, but still. Hurtful."

As if on cue, Ivy rolls over in her sleep, draping her arm across Harley's lap. Harley smiles, momentarily forgetting the bottle and its contents and the potential result of her having drunk them, because Ivy is just such a good friend. Protecting her from Selina's... well. Selina-ness even in her sleep.

"You guys need some privacy?"

Harley doesn't stop gently tracing the vines on the back of Ivy's hand, but she does look away from soft green skin to shoot Selina a teasing look. "Aw, does someone need scritches? Here, pussy pussy..."

Selina rolls her eyes. "Fine. Turn into a fucking sequoia for all I care. At least you'll be good for climbing."

The soft movements of Harley's fingers stop as Selina's words fully sink in. "Wh- what?" Harley's voice sounds a bit deflated, like one of those sad clown balloons after a sad balloon fart.

"I'm just saying. Pheromones and chill forever as a human-tree abomination? Kind of her signature move."

Harley just stares at Selina, horrified at the prospect of spending the rest of her life as a brain-dead tree and trying (and failing) to come up with a plausible reason why there is no way Ivy's pheromones were in that bottle.

"Anyway!" Selina sighs, stretching her arms up over her head. "I should get going. I have cats to feed."

"Wait. Wait!" Harley stage-whispers, and she's suddenly extremely thankful for Ivy sleeping like a log.

Heh. Like a log .

"You can't leave me, Selina! What if you're right?"

"Oh, come on, kitten," Selina says over her shoulder, already on the way to the door, "if it was pheromones you'd be in love with her by now."

The sound of the door slamming shut behind Selina is enough to finally wake Ivy, and Harley feels her best friend's arms tighten around her as Ivy stretches awake.

"Mmmhey, Harls." Ivy mumbles, voice rough and heavy with sleep as she moves even closer to Harley. 

Normally, Harley would've just sunk back into the most comfortable bed ever (there's a reason she rarely sleeps in her own!) and gone in for a round of lazy morning cuddles. She'd have basked in the smell of Ivy in the morning (freshly cut grass sparkling with dew drops) which is so different from the floral notes of Ivy at any other time of the day. She'd have pressed a kiss or two to Ivy's warm skin, felt her lips tingle with the sweet taste of a poison she's very much immune to, and maybe even fallen back to sleep listening to Ivy's heartbeat and the soft rhythm of her breaths.

You know. As friends do.

But today, thanks to Selina (the fact that nobody forced Harley to drink that stupid bottle is irrelevant, of course), Harley can't relax. She stiffens, even, becoming virtually un-snuggable and making Ivy fully open her eyes to give her a questioning look.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course, Ive!" The enthusiasm is as fake as her smile, and the way Ivy's eyes narrow tells her it's been very much noticed. "Bit hungover, that's all."

It takes a couple of seconds for Ivy to speak. Like she's pondering whether to mention there's never been a hangover bad enough to keep Harley from getting her cuddle on or to just let it go for now. Harley's delighted to see the second option win in the end.

"Want me to give you something for the headache?"

"Nope!" Harley's on her feet in two seconds flat, practically jumping away from Ivy's warm body and her warm eyes and the warm offer of some nice natural drugs. "Thanks, though. You're sweet as pie, butter...fly."

"Butterfly." Ivy deadpans from the bed, looking more and more like she's mere seconds away from researching actual mental health facilities in Gotham (Arkham does not  count).

"Buttercup doesn't rhyme with pie. Listen, I should go. I have so much to do. There are-- well, you know! Havoc won't wreak itself, right? Gotham needs me."

"To... wreak havoc."

" Pre cisely. Gonna wreak it real good. You know me! Won't settle for a half-wroken havoc." 

"Wro... ken?"

"Oh, for sure, for sure!" What is she even saying? Harley grabs her bat and swings it a little like she's holding a purse and not a weapon, but thankfully she doesn't break anything in Ivy's room, which is great. "Text ya later, yeah?"

Ivy looks like she's struggling to even begin to process everything that's happened in the five minutes she's been awake. And honestly, Harley's grateful for it. She hasn't noticed the missing bottle, and she's not forcing Harley to stay and answer questions, so it's a win/win/win situation if you ask her. You know... other than the potential mutant tree issue.

"Okay!" Harley grins. "Good talk. Bye, Red. Love ya!"

Shit . 

Harley freezes for a moment. She's told Ivy she loves her before. Of course she has! She loves Ive, and Ivy loves her. They're pretty vocal about that. But today isn't just any other day. She always loves Ivy as a friend, of course. As her best friend she adores and would absolutely kill and die for. The most important person in her life. The one person who's ever made Harley feel safe and loved and appreciated unconditionally. She loves Ivy in a way that makes her feel like her heart is a bit too big for her ribcage and sometimes it gets so crowded in there she's afraid she may pop a rib out of its socket or something, but then Ivy holds her and everything settles again.

You know. A friendly kind of love.

But does she love  Ivy? Harley looks at her hands like she's expecting a few leaves to have sprouted there already. 

"Harley. Seriously, are you okay?"

Ivy's voice snaps her out of her funk, and Harley knows she needs to get out before she's forced into a whole conversation about this thing. 

"Peachy keen, Pam-a-lamb." Harley forces herself to walk towards the door without looking back, just in case. Just in case suddenly Ivy's surrounded by a pink fog of love, or whatever the fuck people see when they look at her while under the influence of her pheromones. I mean, she can't look even more  beautiful than she does normally, right? That's not even possible. So it must be like... a heart emoji filter or something. She really  doesn't want to find out. "Talk later!"

***

Harley looks at the melting cheese on her third egg sandwich like she's expecting it to hold the meaning of life. Or, at the very least, an answer to today's big conundrum. Is she or is she not turning into a tree?

And sure. Sure! She could ask Pam. This would be solved immediately, she knows. She could just ask Pam what was in the bottle and confess she's drunk it and just... put up with her mood for a while. No big deal! Except she really fucking hates disappointing Ivy, you know? When she gets all... cold and detached, and feels more like lettuce than lush tropical foliage. 

Listen, trust her, okay? Sad salad buffet lettuce Ivy is just the fucking worst.

So she takes a bite of her sandwich and tells herself whatever she drank can't have been anything too dangerous. It's been a couple hours now, so she should've felt some kind of effect, right? She should be feeling a bit plant-y, at the very least. Maybe a bit nauseous or something. But she feels fine. 

Well-- not fine , fine. She's still kinda rattled, but that's Selina's fault.

She's fine.

***

"Are you sure you're up for this?"

Ivy lets Selina handle the entry point (you'd think Gotham millionaires would've given up on skylights by now) and looks at Harley with a mixture of concern and distrust in her eyes. She clearly hasn't forgotten about their conversation in the morning.

"I'm fine!" Harley swings her bat around just to loosen up her bat-swinging muscles. She's fine. Not a plant, not in a love fog, not in any way dying. Totally fine. And , most importantly, not dealing with limp lettuce Ive. "It was just a hangover."

Ivy's eyes narrow just enough to make it crystal clear how little she trusts Harley right now, but for once Selina Kyle makes Harley's life easier instead of harder when she speaks.

"Ladies. This is a truly riveting conversation, but I have shit to do.”

“Like fucking a bat-fucking bat?” It may be a cheap shot, but it makes Ivy stiffle a laugh, and Harley kinda thinks that makes it the best joke ever.

But Selina simply cocks an eyebrow at Harley. “Are you sure you want to discuss regrettable sexual partners?”

Ouch. “Fair enough,” Harley concedes, already jumping through the hole Selina’s cut in the glass, “come on, we have an oil tycoon to kill.”

“Not an oil tycoon, Harls.” Ivy glides down on a vine, looking all majestic like some kind of forest nymph, and Harley simply has to stare and smile because how can she not? Look at her friend! “He’s been using an experimental fuel that causes—“

“Does it matter?” Selina sighs like even interrupting Ivy is exhausting, plucking a shiny gold ornament from a nearby table and making Harley wonder (honestly, not for the first time) if she just keeps shiny trinkets hidden in her catsuit like a magician to make it seem like she’s finding them everywhere. “Guy’s loaded.”

“It matters to me, Selina. Not all of us have the moral compass of a magpie.”

Harley giggles at Ivy’s joke. You know what? It may not even have been a real joke, because Ivy’s sense of humor is not exactly her best quality. But it was funny anyway.

“And if it matters to Ive, it matters to moi .” Harley points at herself with her bat and winks at her best friend, and honestly, who the hell cares what this guy does, exactly? Maybe he’s single-handedly destroying the Amazon, or maybe he just happens to walk through the grass instead of using the little paths when making his way across the park. Whatever it is, it’s important to Ivy. And if it’s important to Ivy, it’s important to Harley. And if it’s important to Ivy in a way that makes her smile like she does when Harley winks at her? Well, then this is absolutely Harley’s top fucking priority.

Things get interesting as soon as they turn a corner and step onto the plush carpet of the experimental fuel (hey, she actually listens when Ivy speaks) tycoon's private wing. And you know what? Harley's delighted to hear the alarms go off and a bunch of goons crawl out from their hidey holes like buff armed cockroaches. She knows Ivy and Selina prefer the whole... well, you know. In and out, clean and easy kind of approach to murder and robbery, respectively. But Harley's an action gal. She has the energy to burn and a bat to swing, and most of all, she has shit to not think about.

So she's delighted when this guy's goons happen to be relatively okayish at fighting, which is much more than can be said for most men she fights in this city. 

"I'll go deal with him before he can escape," Ivy says, already walking towards the door to his office. "You guys all right out here?" 

"We're great ." Selina says in that tone she has where she pretends she's annoyed but you can tell she's having a blast. 

Honestly. Who wouldn't  be having a blast? It's like whack-a-goon!

"So," Selina says as soon as Ivy's out of earshot, which Harley can appreciate as an act of friendship, "no pheromones, I take it?"

"Nope!" Harley punctuates the word by slamming her bat into some guy's face. "None at all."

"Huh."

"What?" She's distracted enough by Selina's reply that she actually takes a punch to the face, which only manages to piss her off. She turns to look at the guy who delivered the blow just so he can see the look in her eyes before she completely obliterates his face. "Holy shit, dude. Can't you see we're having a fucking CONVERSATION !?"

For the next few minutes, Harley focuses on getting rid of the last few men around them so they can finish talking. Sure, beating up idiots is fun, but that little 'huh' was just mysterious enough to grab Harley's interest. What could possibly be so huh-worthy about her being fine? 

By the time they're done, there are a number of unconscious goons scattered all over the place. Harley pants, using her hand to wipe blood (mostly not hers) and sweat (mostly hers) off her face as she catches her breath.

"Whew. That was fun, right?"

Selina, as usual, manages to look spotless even if Harley saw her deal with several men with her own two eyes. Is Selina Kyle secretly magic? 

Could be.

"I've had better." Selina uses one of her claws to unlock an ornate little box and gather the jewels inside. Can she smell  expensive stuff? "Come on, let's go get Ivy."

"No, no, wait." Harley lowers her voice like she's scared Ivy may hear them somehow. "What did you mean earlier?"

"What do you mean, what did I mean?"

"You know," Harley motions in the general direction of the spot where Selina was when they were talking before, "with the huh."

"The what ." 

"The huh, Selina! The huh!" Dark olive eyes narrow in confusion (and annoyance), and Harley groans because she can't believe Selina Kyle is being this thick. "I said no pheromones. And you said huh."

"Oh, that." Selina uses a polished silver platter as a mirror to reapply a lipstick Harley is frankly not sure where one would even carry in a skin-tight leather jumpsuit. The more time she spends with Selina, the more convinced she is she just doesn't abide by the laws of physics. 

And the more time she waits for Selina to elaborate, the more Harley realizes she just... isn't going to, apparently.

"Uughhh!" Harley groans and uses her bat to smash a nearby sculpture. "You're killing me, Selina! What the fuck did you mean!?"

Selina cocks one perfectly manicured eyebrow (Harley can tell it's happening under the mask) and gives Harley a look like she can't believe she'd have the audacity to speak to her in that tone. 

"I meant," Selina's tone is a warning, like she wants to make it clear she could have made Harley suffer more if she wanted, but she's choosing not to, "I found it surprising. You looked a bit loved up to me."

"What? Pffft." Harley lets out a chuckle and nudges one of the pieces of the sculpture with her foot. "Cut back on the catnip, Selina."

Loved up. Ridiculous. Does she love Ivy? Of course. Is she loved up? Of course not . There's no heart emoji fog. None at all.

"If you say so." Selina gives her A Look. The kind of look says she doesn't believe Harley, and she wants Harley to know that even if she won't engage in an argument about it right now. Selina Kyle can say a lot with one look. 

For a moment, Harley considers pushing the issue. She could insist. She could give her a list of reasons why she's absolutely not loved up at all whatsoever. She could tell Selina how what she shares with Ivy is actually true friendship, and Selina would know if she was capable of bonding with anything other than cats and jewelry. She could tell her how there's nothing even remotely mind-foggy about her feelings for Ive (she could bring up she's seen that mind fog in action the many times Ive's put Batman under her spell, even). Harley could tell Selina how her brain always feels a bit foggy in a vague kind of way -- just foggy enough to keep Harleen quiet and let Harley take the wheel -- but being with Ivy makes her feel more lucid, more real , than anything else in the world. How when Ive says she loves her Harley feels it right in her bones, in the very marrow of them, in the deepest, darkest, longest-forgotten parts of her brain where no other feeling can ever reach.

She could tell her how wildly different all that is from a silly potion-induced love fog. But she doesn't think Selina would understand their friendship even if Harley actually spelled it out. So she doesn't.

Instead, she silently follows Selina towards the office where Pam's been doing her thing. Where Pam's still doing her thing, actually, and Harley can't help but smile and lean against the doorframe to watch her best friend doing what she loves most (after Harley) in the world: eco-conscious murder.

"I fucking swear ," Ivy hasn't realized they're there, so she must be talking to what Harley can only assume is the tycoon himself even though only one of his legs can be seen outside the enormous mouth of a very happy-looking carnivorous plant, "how hard is it to not print out e-mails? Look at all this shit. Do you know how many trees had to be killed so you could print out your shitty... whatever the fuck this is?" 

Ivy groans like she's frustrated she can't use her powers to just will all the papers scattered everywhere to turn back into trees. There are vines everywhere -- like nature reclaiming the furniture and the walls and the floors and really every surface of his office. There's a strange beauty to it, Harley thinks. Haunting, like those pictures of abandoned buildings covered in grass and moss and weeds. Even when she's angry -- and oh, she's angry  right now -- Ivy really can't help but make the world a more beautiful place, can she?

Even when she was on the other side of the reinforced glass, wearing her glasses and her white coat, Harley never fully understood why Poison Ivy was lumped in with the rest of the psychos in Gotham.

Harley doesn't know how long she stays there. Selina's happily working on the safe next to the carnivorous plant, and Harley's more than content to just watch Ivy in her element for a while.

And then, it happens. 

Ivy's going on a rant about a bunch of single-use coffee cups she's found in the trashcan by the desk when she suddenly stops in her tracks. Harley can't see what she's looking at until Ivy turns around with a small flower pot in her hand, a sad-looking, mostly dry plant limply hanging off its side.

"Fuck him."

Ivy touches the plant and her brow furrows, and Harley knows she's feeling the thirst and the pain in the little plant as if it was her own. "You're okay now," Ivy says as the plant starts to recover, and her voice is so soft -- so full of love for a dry, nearly dead plant -- that Harley swears she feels her heart grow at least a couple sizes. She watches her best friend breathe life into a little plant, watches it turn from brown to green, brighter and taller, watches it sprout new leaves that make it look like it's stretching after a long sleep. And then she watches a bright yellow flower bloom, and when Harley finally manages to tear her eyes away from the flower to look at Ivy instead, she swears she feels her heart stop dead in its tracks.

Ive's always beautiful. Always, without fail, no matter what time of day or night, lounging at home or brooding in an Arkham cell. Pam is beautiful always. But Harley doesn't think she's ever seen her look more beautiful than she does right now, with her hair slightly disheveled after a fight and some blood (not at all hers) splattered on her face and clothes. It's the way she's smiling at that little plant. The way her smile grows and softens when she notices Harley looking at her. Harley's so enthralled by Ivy that she doesn't realize what she's thinking until it's been running through her mind for a while.

God , Harley's in love with her.

And that's when she realizes. That's when she hears the proverbial record scratch in her brain and her eyes widen in horror because there it is. There's the pink fog before the botanical mutation, right? I mean she can't exactly see a literal pink fog, but she may as well. She can feel her heartbeat all over the place. The butterflies in her stomach. The nearly all-consuming need to grab Ivy and kiss her until neither of them can breathe. 

"Shit. Shit, Red, shit, shitshit shit ."

Ivy's no longer smiling. At all.

"Oh God, Pammy. I fucked up." Harley feels her eyes well up with tears as she rushes towards her best friend because this is no longer a hypothetical: this is happening. She did  drink something dangerous. And suddenly keeping Ivy from finding out and getting mad at her feels less important than fucking surviving. "I fucked up, Ive, I drank a potion and now I'm turning into a fucking plant, please  tell me you have an antidote."

"Harley. Harl, look at me." Ivy looks so genuinely concerned Harley's sure the ridiculous amount of love she can see in green eyes must be part of the potion's effects. She's hallucinating, isn't she? "What potion? You're immune, Harley, you know that. Calm down."

"No, no! Not poison, I mean--" Harley shakes her head but has to stop when Ivy places her hands on Harley's cheeks to hold her head steady and look into her eyes like she's wondering if Harley's on drugs or something. "I mean a love potion, Ive! Shit, I thought it was water and I just drank the whole thing and I thought maybe it was nothing because I felt fine but now I know for sure  I fucked up because I'm so in love with you like-- just feel this!" Harley grabs one of Ivy's hands and moves it from her cheek down to her chest, pressing it right where her heart is still skipping all over itself. "Right?"

"I-- I don't-- Harl, what potion ? You're immune to all of my--"

"The pheromones! I don't know what it was! God I'm such a fucking fuck-up and now I'm just-- shit I hope I at least turn into a rhododendron bush or something because I don't want to be a succulent, Ive. Don't let me turn into a succulent." Harley's really crying now, black mascara running down her cheeks and staining Pam's hand as she struggles to breathe through her words. "I know I should've told you but I didn't want you to be disappointed and now I'm in love and it's just-- Selina, you tell her!"

"Selina?" Ivy turns around like she's just realized Selina is still in the mansion, let alone in the room with them. "What's going on?"

Harley was expecting Selina to tell Ivy exactly what happened that morning. She was expecting Selina to tell Ivy all about Harley being an idiot who drinks things without looking first, about the pheromones and chill, about Harley's refusal to tell Ivy right away. Instead, Selina looks... almost like she's the one who's been caught in a lie.

"Selina, what the fuck did you do?" Ivy's voice sounds like she's mere seconds away from feeding Selina to the plant, too. Harley can feel the anger like tingles where Ivy's hands are still pressed against her skin. "What did you give her?"

Selina lets out a sigh. "Margarita mix."

"What?" Harley feels a lightbulb go off inside her brain. That  was the weird taste when she drank whatever was in that bottle. Fucking margarita mix. But just.. "Why? What the fuck, Selina? Why would you let me think it was pheromones? I know Batman doesn't actually fuck bats, probably. Come on, it was a joke! Mostly!" 

"Will you relax?" Selina sounds like she can't believe Harley may be a bit agitated after spending a whole day thinking she's going to die and/or mutate into a plant. "I'm sick of watching you two idiots pretend that ," she points in the general direction of Harley and Ivy, "is just a couple of gals being pals. Figured I'd help you out."

"Help!?" Harley could just-- God , she could just smash Selina's face in with her bat. But she suddenly realizes there's a much more pressing issue to handle before revenge can even begin to be considered. "Shit, Red," Harley takes one step back to look at Ivy, and for the first time ever she's surprised to see she can't read the look in her eyes, "I didn't mean-- you know I didn't mean any of it, right?" For a split second Harley swears something like pain flashes behind green eyes, but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. "I was just worried and I-- I got in my head about it. But you know I didn't mean it. You know , right? Pammy?"

It takes Ivy a few seconds to answer, and when she does she sounds... different. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

For some reason, it doesn't sound as reassuring as Harley though it would.

"Come on, Ive--" Selina tries to keep talking, but Ivy cuts her off.

"Listen, we're done here. So I'm just gonna..." Ivy shakes her head like she's trying to physically clear it of thoughts and feelings and general clutter, "I'm just gonna go home."

Harley feels like she's stuck to the floor. She just stands there, silent and frozen in place as she watches Ivy leave. She knows this isn't right. She knows something  just happened -- something she can't quite wrap her brain around right now. All she knows is Ivy's leaving, and she wants her to stay but she doesn't know how to make her body move or make any noises until her gaze drops to the desk and she sees the little plant right there.

"Ive!" Harley grabs the pot and runs out just in time to see Ivy's vines lifting her up through the same skyline they used to get in. "Ivy, you forgot the plant!"

But Ivy doesn't come back.

#harlivy #harley x ivy #fic #harley quinn/poison ivy #cliche a week 2021 #this is my first chaptered fic i can't guarantee it won't be a hot mess #comics #dcu #poison ivy

[hellowkatey]

Febuwhump day 3

Prompt: imprisonment

Warnings: medical trauma

read on AO3!

A Long Way Down

Bright lights pass in quick variables, and it takes Obi-Wan a moment longer than it should to realize he's lying on a stretcher, oxygen mask strapped to his face and wires and cuffs on every available piece of skin. He groans, catching the attention of Commander Cody who is running beside the stretcher.

"Not to worry, General, we are almost at the med bay."

That is exactly why I am worried.

He reaches up slowly to pull the mask off his face as the stretcher slows, looking up at his Marshall Commander. "Cody... what happened?"

"An explosion, sir. Tunnel collapsed," he pauses. Cody already knows his follow up question. "The men are okay. You... Force-pushed them out of the way."

Well, that explains why my body feels like it has been crushed under a ton of rocks... supposedly it has. 

Obi-Wan has no memory of this, but from the grim looks on the faces of all the troopers surrounding him he suspects he 1. doesn't look good and 2. is as bad as he looks.

"How bad?" he asks as they guide the stretcher into the med bay and stop it next to a bed.

Cody looks at Helix, the medical clone who seems to be trying hard not to make eye contact with him. With the penetrating stare of both his Commander and General, Helix finally looks up from the datapad.

"We're gonna have to dunk you, General."

He blinks, letting the words slowly settle into his discombobulated brain. Usually, he would protest. Make a fuss about being fine, because usually, he is, and medical can put their resources elsewhere. Usually, they would lock the doors as soon as he enters-- he glances over and yes, they did. What am I going to do, run? Obi-Wan is fairly sure both of his legs are crushed judging from the odd angles they are at, so he isn't sure how they expect him to make a break for it.

But today, Obi-Wan just lets his head fall back and he stares at the ceiling. He cannot protest because the tightness in his throat won't let him. He's afraid to open his mouth again because if he does his words will turn into sobs and his men do not deserve to see their General cry.

He can feel Cody and Helix's surprise. He doesn't have to look at them to know they are now even more concerned for him now that he hasn't tried to raise hell about being taken to medical. But they also seem to be relieved, so at least he can give them that respite.

He stares at the ceiling as movement begins to happen around him. Medical troopers pulling at the needles and sensors, inserting new ones. It all fades into a blur of hands touching him gently but firmly, frequent pinches and jolts of sharp pain, and the cool stickiness of applicators against his skin. Obi-Wan just stares at the ceiling.

He is fairly convinced that every medical facility has the same designer. Even the Jedi Halls of Healing have walls that are stark white. Sterile white. So bright they rival the glow of the iridescent lights, which is a design flaw in his opinion. Obi-Wan has spent a lot of time seeing these ceilings-- but not because he has spent a lot of time in medical. There is a reason he doesn't like to end up in the med bay, and the reason haunts him every time there is even a prospect of him having to go to see a healer.

Seven-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi had feet too big for his body. It's like he began to hit a spurt, but only his feet realized that growth was the plan and the rest of his body was still figuring out how to stretch his small stature a few inches taller. It gave him the unfortunate nickname of Oafy-Wan, coined by his age-mates who he didn't exactly consider his friends. His clumsiness wasn't horrible, but it was distinctive enough to cause him a bit of trouble when practicing lightsaber katas and doing his physical activity tests.

On this particular day, seven-year-old Obi-Wan Kenobi had already had a very bad day. He fell in the middle of a practice spar in front of everyone. He wasn't even doing an acrobatic move or anything, he just fell over his own feet. The roar of “Oafy-Wan” was the only thing he could hear as he stared at the floor in shock of how quickly everything had transpired. Despite Bant's sympathetic reassurance and his other friends trying to overpower the chant, he spent the rest of the lesson trying to make himself as small as possible.

His pouting continued through the day, even to their long-awaited field trip to the Senate Rotunda. He walked with his creche mates, tuning out of their excited conversation of seeing the massive Galactic Senate chambers and instead focusing on the speeders rushing past just meters away from them. He wished to just jump into one and speed away from it all. Despite his prior excitement for this journey out of the Temple, he now wants nothing more than to go back to his dorm and curl up in his bed.

"Don't trip, Oafy-Wan," a familiar snide voice rings in his ear. He turns to see Bruck Chun, one of his age-mates that often leads the cause against him, sneering at him. "It's a long way down."

They're walking along a more narrow section of the street. Just a few meters to the left there is a deep chasm that goes into the lower depths of Coruscant. So deep he cannot see the bottom.

Obi-Wan brushes him away, in no mood to deal with him. "Get lost, Bruck." His arm presses into Bruck's side, pushing him away, which is not to the pleasure of his age-mate. Bruck's eyes narrow, and he jabs his elbow into Obi-Wan's back.

"Don't push me."

Anger surges in Obi-Wan's chest as he staggers forward. He whirls around and uses both hands to push Bruck into the wall of the building they are passing. A few initiates have stopped now to watch them, but as they stand at the back of the group the mass have not noticed their tussle.

"Funny, it seems I'm doing just that."

Bruck runs at him this time, his anger potent in the Force, and Obi-Wan suddenly has the clarity that maybe this isn't a good idea. He jumps out of the way of Bruck's charge, vaguely aware he is standing at the edge of the street now. Bruck skids to a stop.

"Coward," he spits, just as the Master leading their field trip calls for them to stop lagging.

Obi-Wan avoids Bruck's gaze as he passes by him, pointedly smacking his shoulder into his. Obi-Wan sighs, and turns to join the group.

As he turns, he finds himself suddenly caught in the air stream of a speeder that is too close to the sidewalk. He feels his small body lifted off the ground, and he flails in fear at the lack of anything for him to grab onto. A chorus of yelling erupts, most of them either calling his name or Master Vant. Obi-Wan can see the ground, and he tries to position his feet to land there, but another passing speeder sends him into a tailspin.

And Obi-Wan falls.

Even years later as a Jedi Master, Obi-Wan remembers falling down that speeder shaft. When he thinks about it he can hear the screams of his friends as they watched him fall. He can see them peering over the side. Master Vant running up and raising her hand to reach for him in the Force.

Had she reached him a moment earlier she probably could have saved him. But his downward momentum was suddenly ceased as he crashed against a speeder before she had the chance to cushion his descent. And he was met with horrendous pain and the taste of blood. Much like how he feels laying in the med bay now. Everything afterward was a blur.

"Are you ready, General?" Helix asks. Obi-Wan looks past him to see the bacta tank is all set up. Obi-Wan swallows hard, and he says nothing, but Helix takes that as a yes. His stretcher starts to float toward the tank, and he squeezes his eyes shut as the horrible memories come rushing back.

Choking. Obi-Wan expected to wake up in a reality beyond life-- he truly believed he would be returned to the Force, but instead, he woke up choking. He started to panic before he opened his eyes, and when he finally tried to find the reason for his restrictive breathing the initiate realized he can't see either.

He tries to thrash around, but his movements seem to be restricted somehow. Like he is tied up, but he can't feel bounds. His body just isn’t listening to him, which is even more terrifying. He tries to blink through the thick goo that seems to be covering his eyes, but it won't clear. It burns instead. He's trapped in a senseless prison, and he lets his panic radiate outward into the Force. He needs someone to hear him. Find him. Anything.

The Force responds with a collective feeling of shock. He repeats his plea for freedom, and finally, he hears something. Distant talking. Yelling, actually. Frantic. There is the deafening sound of suction, and then Obi-Wan is falling again. Slower than before but in his mind's eye he sees his friends staring down at him. Laughing at him. Oafy-Wan! They cackle. It's a long way down.

He hits the floor. The gel material that once encased him sloshes everywhere. His body curls into a ball and he feels many pairs of hands grabbing him and positioning him onto his back despite his protests. The touches are not comforting. Their goal seems to be to push him right back into the place he just escaped, and he begins to sob in terror. The voices are blending together as his vision begins to tunnel again.

"...sedative wasn't enough."

"How did he wake..."

"Get him back under!"

It was explained to him by one healer that his IV fell out of his arm. Another told him that the dosage was too light. A third said the adrenaline caused his metabolism to spike, making the correct dosage go quicker. Obi-Wan isn't sure why he woke up while in the bacta tank that day, but he suspects knowing the reason wouldn't have changed the panic he feels every time he has to take a dunk.

Obi-Wan grabs Helix's arm as he is about to inject his IV. The medic freezes and looks down at him.

"You have my correct doses from the Temple, correct? For the general anesthetic?"

Helix blinks before nodding. "Of course, General."

"And you know Jedi tend to metabolize quicker as well? You will have someone monitoring my consciousness?"

"Yes sir, we have detailed training from your healers on Jedi care. We will ensure you receive the right dose and don't get too much anesthetic."

He nods with wide eyes. His medic is slightly off in the reason for his inquiries, but it is comforting enough.

Even so, as the drugs begin to take him under he can't help but feel like he is seven again. Faded conversations of the medical troopers become the hushed words between Jedi Healers. The same fear of waking up within the tank again grips him with an iron fist around his already-intubated throat.

Never again could he look at a bacta tank and see it as an innovative medical advance. To Obi-Wan, it is a torturous prison that causes his fear to shamefully make an appearance.

He is positioned into the tank. The transperisteel doors close around him, and already he can feel his heart rate elevating. Why am I not asleep yet? Why am I still awake for this? Am I to do this conscious?

The bacta starts to fill at his feet slowly. He feels the urge to lift his legs and climb away from the rising gel, but his body has already separated from his mind. He cannot slam his fists against the doors and beg to be let free. Cannot scream with the tube down his throat.

As the bacta reaches his knees, he finally feels the heaviness reach his eyes, and Obi-Wan says a last plea to the Force to let him stay asleep for the entirety of his imprisonment.

#febuwhump #febuwhump 2021 #febuwhumpday3 #imprisonment #medical trauma #panic attacks #obi-wan kenobi #initiate obi-wan kenobi #i interpreted imprisonment very loosely as you can tell #star wars #ao3

[willa-marino]

It takes a moment for her knees to stop shaking. 

Willa dislikes heights, dislikes even more that Damon and Bianca - for all intents and purposes - shoved both herself and Sutton out of Damon’s helicopter. She’s pretty sure they laughed after the fact, and it makes her grit her teeth. Willa gives herself two seconds to be mad, two seconds for true, hot anger that rings her scalp and the back of her neck, and then she releases it with a deep breath in and then an even longer breath out. Frankly, it’s too fucking hot to be mad. 

The point of this exercise, she knows, is control. Patience. Like her morning runs, this is a lesson in endurance. How to keep moving, pushing forward. How to survive. Damon had told her they were about eighteen miles from the next town over, so Willa figures it will take them most of the day to get there, though she knows she needs to facture in the desert itself; the heat, the sun, the lack of water or any type of true terrain. Just baked earth, and her hair already heavy on the back of her neck. 

Well, first things first. Willa digs into her bag until she finds a rubber band and snaps her hair into a high ponytail, the ends brushing her shoulders. Feeling marginally better already, Willa offers Sutton a grin the moment the other girl touches down beside her. They each take a moment to check their packs - there’s water for them, and two small meals packed in neatly, as well as a compass, map, a very meager first-aid kit, several knives and even, they’re both surprised to see, a small handgun. 

Sutton says the thought that Willa has out loud. “Maybe they think we’ll just end up shooting each other in the head if we can’t make it.” 

Something about her tone strikes Willa as hilarious and she laughs, hand to her stomach, open-mouthed, deep from her belly. “They probably wish we would,” Willa replies, still laughing. She’s still searching around in her own pack and her fingertips brush past the edge of something - a little folded piece of paper. She wraps her fingers around it and pulls it out, unfolding it twice. Instantly, she recognizes Damon’s handwriting. You’re not thirsty yet. Start moving. 

“Bossy even when he’s not around,” Willa mutters under her breath. She pauses, and then shows Sutton the note. The brunette wrinkles her nose and turns away, ready to start. Willa thinks about tearing the paper up, stomping on it, even setting it on fire - there are matches in her pack - but something stays her hands. She ends up tucking the note back into her pack, and takes out the map and compass, the latter of which she presses into Sutton’s hand. 

Teamwork, too, is the other part of this. Willa glances up at the sun, which has not quite reached its highest point in the sky. Knowing it will get even hotter than it is now - and fuck, is it hot - Willa and Sutton begin. 

It’s alright, really, for the first two hours. Almost half-way through, but Willa can feel them slowing, can feel the sun dry them out, their mouths and skin, their hair. The trek across the desert is hot, yes, the sun sears into them both, sure, and Willa wishes she had a fucking IV drip of water pumping into her, but it’s not horrible. Not yet. She doesn’t let herself or Sutton touch their bottles of water until they’re forty-five minutes in or so, and she times them both on the amount of time they take a sip. Because it’s sips of water out here, not gulps. 

“We want this to last,” Willa says as kindly as she can when Sutton’s about to go in for another drink. “I know you’re hot, but it’s only going to get worse.” 

Hm, probably the wrong thing to say based on Sutton’s reaction, but Willa merely shrugs. She won’t claim she knows what the fuck she’s doing out here, which again, is also the point, but she does know the importance of conserving water, especially in a climate like this. Sweat lines her brow and she feels it between her breasts, the backs of her knees. Sutton is beginning to look miserable, and despite the twinge of annoyance Willa feels in response to her counterpart out here, she can’t say she doesn’t understand or, honestly, doesn’t feel the same way. 

“Look, there’s some brush up ahead. Maybe even some shade. We can rest there for a few, okay?” 

Sutton nods in response, looking a little more hopeful. Willa gives her a grin and they set off, map and compass in their hands, sun bearing down on their backs. Sunscreen, Willa thinks wistfully some time later, as they finally near the tangle of brambles. There’s no shade, unfortunately, but there are a couple big rocks and each girl claims one, dumping their bags and leaning forward, heads between their knees. 

“I feel a little nauseous,” Sutton murmurs somewhere to Willa’s left, and she closes her eyes in response. There’s a bit of a dry patch on the center of her tongue. Water, she tells herself, and then opens her eyes abruptly, reaching for her pack. It’s in this moment that several things happen at once: Sutton makes a startled gasping sound, there’s a loud hissing noise to Willa’s right and then, just a second after, a searing, brutal pain tears itself into her leg and does not let go. 

Despite her training, her compartmentalizing of the discomfort and the godforsaken heat and the rationing of water, her annoyance with their barren surroundings and Bianca and Damon’s humor over the whole situation, Willa cannot help or stop the scream that rips itself out of her lungs. She can’t help what happens next, either, and she feels herself fold over at the waist, falling forward off of the rock and towards the cracked earth at her feet. Her cheek hits it first and it burns. Dirt fills her mouth. Choking, Willa immediately rolls over and covers her face with both arms, protecting her eyes and cheeks from the relentless glare of the sun. 

She hears Sutton scramble up and the sounds of the other girl tearing through her own pack. Willa feels dizzied, dazed, and the pain, fuck, oh god, the pain in her leg slowly emanates outward, throbs with the uneven pounding of her heart. What the fuck? She thinks, and abruptly, her scream cuts off. What the fuck. Willa opens her eyes and moves her arms from her face, her gaze immediately locking on Sutton, who seems to have found what she was looking for: the shiny silver handgun. Despite herself, Willa scrambles around behind her, her fingertips trying but failing to find purchase on the hard, dead earth that surrounds them. She hears herself make a pitiful sound as Sutton trains the revolver somewhere to her left. Her leg is screaming. She closes her eyes, tries to reach out to the pain with her mind, probes it. She makes the mistake of flexing the muscles in her calf and almost screams again. Moments later, a shot rings out, echoing through her brain, her spine, right through her teeth. Sutton looks victorious as she nears Willa, and it takes everything in her not to flinch away from her. She hears a scuffling, and then Sutton appears in her line of vision again, holding up something. Something. Some thing. 

Her vision swims, blinks out and comes roaring back. Willa blinks rapidly up at Sutton and realizes what has happened. 

“Motherfucker!” Sutton yells proudly, swinging the dead body of the snake around her head. Willa feels hot drops of blood touch her face. She licks her cracked lips. 

“Sutton,” Willa says in a voice she does not immediately recognize. It is small and contained, like flame. A second later, she realizes she is furious. But she must remain calm. The snake, the pain, the bullet, it all makes sense now to her. But the pain. Dehydration is a soft kiss, Willa thinks to herself, her fingertips digging into the earth. Being hot is laying on a cloud, compared to the raging fire that flushes through her leg, her veins, beating in time with her heart. 

The brunette pauses to look at Willa, and her clear eyes settle on her leg. Her mouth forms into a small ‘o’. It would be hilarious, actually, if it didn’t fucking hurt so bad. 

“It bit you,” Sutton says, thunderstruck, and she drops the dead snake and the gun at the same time, falling to her knees and crawling over to where Willa sits upright, panting heavily. 

“Yeah, I know,” Willa bites back in frustration and pain. Part of her wants to apologize, but she can’t see through the fire. Can’t reach out to take it back. She feels Sutton reach for her, her leg, and Willa really has to focus on not screaming now, because Sutton’s hands feel like knives burrowing down, and when she rips open the leg of her pants, they still. Willa counts the silence in her head, but it takes too long. 

“Well?” She grounds out, squeezing her eyes closed. For some reason, she can’t bear to look at it. Cannot look at the source of the pain directly in the face, and it is her deepest shame. Willa: 0, Desert: 1. 

“It - I think it was poisonous, Willa. Oh my god. Fuck.” Sutton sounds almost scared, and this simply will not do. 

“You think?” Willa asks, and somehow, miraculously, her voice sounds steady. Smaller, but steady. 

“Definitely poisonous,” Sutton amends, and Willa sees her look closer at the wound. “Two puncture marks, fuck.” 

She does not count. She does not scream, though she wants to, thinks part of herself would be freed from it if she does, but she doesn’t. Sutton sounds scared, and fuck, Willa is definitely afraid, but she knows she has to remain calm. To stall the venom from reaching itself even further into her system, yes, but also to keep Sutton calm. Focused. Because what she has to do next requires it of her, requires it of them both. 

“Okay. Well, it hurts like a bitch,” Willa says matter-of-factly, like one would say, “Oh, look, it’s going to rain.”

Sutton starts to shake, and it takes Willa a moment to realize the other woman is trying not to laugh. 

“What do we do?” Sutton asks, the corners of her mouth trembling. Willa takes a deep breath, knowing that this, right here, is the moment. Another flare of pain lances through her, but Sutton said we, and that has her feeling hopeful. A little. 

“You’re going to have to suck it out. The poison. To the absolute best of your abilities. It’s going to deplete our water supplies by a lot, but we can worry about that later. Go into my pack and get the first aid kit, and both bottles of water in there. You won’t need to cut anything, just apply firm pressure to the wounds and squeeze. Wash your mouth out with water each time you get a mouthful of blood and venom. Spit it out immediately. Do not swallow. Repeat until I tell you to stop.” Willa closes her eyes, and her body feels incendiary. It takes Sutton less than thirty seconds to gather what she needs. She also ends up bringing Willa’s pack to her and propping her back up against it so that she doesn’t have to keep laying on the hot earth. She’s thankful for this, but can’t manage to speak her gratitude. She does, however, reach out for Sutton’s wrist as the brunette turns to her leg to begin. Willa knows this is important. “You can do this, Sutton. I’m right here. Steady, okay?” 

Something seems to clear itself in Sutton’s expression, and the woman nods her head at Willa once, the line of her shoulders strengthening. 

After that, Willa isn’t really sure what happens. She goes in and out of focus, like the pain in her leg, like the dry patch on her tongue. The sun feels like hell on her skin but she very nearly welcomes it, because as long as she can still feel anything, she’s still closer to the living than to death. She can’t claim expertise on snakes; doesn’t know how poisonous its bite was, doesn’t even know what kind of snake it was that bit her. She thinks of her morning runs and coffee, thinks of a particular mouth and a specific laugh, thinks of the opera ticket she bought for herself, thinks of her brother and mother and father, thinks of heat and oasis and the desert all around them. She thinks of other things that feel like dreams, but aren’t. And then she feels Sutton pull away, sees her sit up, wipe her mouth with the back of her hand and spit it out. Watches her swish a small mouthful of water and spit again. She tries to brush away Sutton’s hand when she holds the bottle of water out to her, but Sutton is having none of this and tips some into her mouth, and she could almost cry because it tastes so sweet, almost like liquid sugar. Willa lies very still for a moment, longer, and then she hears Sutton speak. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Help me up.” 

“I don’t think -”

“Sutton. Help me up.” 

Sutton grumbles about it, but they both know it’s necessary. This has already taken too much time and they need to get moving. The pain isn’t gone when she’s on her feet, and she has to steady herself in Sutton’s hands before she motions to her that she’s fine, she can do this, she’s got this. While Willa tests out her leg - Sutton has wrapped it in gauze - Sutton packs up both of their bags and helps Willa get hers onto her shoulders. She’s definitely weaker, but the pain is manageable, almost tolerable. It’ll have to do. Their pace is slower than it was before, but they’re moving at least. Following instructions. 

Start moving, she hears Damon say, like he did on the note at the bottom of her bag. Willa lifts her chin. Gives him a little salute in her mind. Throws him the finger, too, for good measure. 

#[ willa x narrative ] #[ willa x sutton ] #[ part two will be coming from @sutton-kohl ] #[ tw: blood ]

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XV

(A/N at end)

Parts I-XIV:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Lucie’s Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel’s house was an old brick-fronted Georgian house near the railway station. A suite of severe bottle green horsehair furniture occupied the dark-paneled front room, and Lucie tried not to slide about as she waited perched on the edge of a curlicued sofa. Heavy curtains disguised the elegance of the large windows and stopped the sun from penetrating. A thick Turkey rug in shades of purple and brown added notes of affluence. As she waited, she grew quietly more agitated at the impending conversation she had been practicing since dawn with Grace Blackthorn, of all people. She wished she had the moral strength, or the disciple to stay away as Jesse had requested, but considering what he requested was frot with idiocy and a cruelty unlike himself, she decided to ignore it. Still, after three days of his absence, she could almost feel him smirking in disapproval behind her, but without the courage to face her.

Or perhaps he was being as stubborn as she was.

Impossible, she was far more stubborn.

At last a door opening in the paneling and Aunt Cecily with her dark hair curled and pinned to rest against the nape of her neck, arrived with Grace following behind her. The girl always reminded Lucie more of a ghost than her brother ever did.

“I’ll have some tea brought in,” said Aunt Cecily. “You girls let me know if there is anything else I can bring you.”

“Thank you,” said Lucie, without taking her eyes off of Grace, as her Aunt quietly left the room. When the door clicked shut behind her, Lucie removed her gloves one at a time and placed them on the wooden coffee table in front of her. “And thank you for agreeing to meet with me. My aunt says that you haven’t been accepting much company. Is that because they all know what a conniving monster you are and you’re afraid of what they’ll say... or because you’re embarrassed by what they know?”

“Can it be both?” Grace asked down at her folded hands.

Lucie tilted her head. “You don’t get to sit up here and feel sorry for yourself.”

“That’s not what—“

“Not when my friend is lying on her death bed because of your selfish actions,” she said, straightening her posture as the maid walked in with a silver tray of tea and freshly baked biscuits. “Would you like some tea?” asked Lucie with contempt.

Grace shook her head.

“What you did was utterly abhorrent,” started Lucie, as she poured herself a cup. “Shackling my brother with some dark magic when he was nothing but a stupid, idiotic boy, without the brains or know-how to refuse a beautiful girl; all these years just stringing him along like a lost dog to use for your entertainment when you felt like it. Then, when he was finally free of you; engaged to the most perfect of humans to walk the earth since Raziel himself, and you kiss him, in front of his betrothed.”

“I can explain,” said Grace, though she kept her eyes on her hands which Lucie could now see were trembling.

“I didn’t come here for shallow explanations,” said Lucie, surprised by her cruelty. “If you wish to confess your sins then find a church, I am not here to pardon you. I am here about your brother.”

Grace’s eyes lifted then and widened at Lucie’s words.

“Jesse Blackthorn,” said Lucie. “And don’t bother telling me that he’s dead and has been for years, I already know all of this. What I want to know is where you have his body and your plan for resurrecting him?”

Grace peered at her closely as if looking for signs of madness.

While Lucie would have much rather found this knowledge out herself, she’d come to realize after hours of laborious concentration that if she were going to bring Jesse back from the dead without the last breath of his life, then she was going to need some assistance. And since Jesse, the heartless coward, was no longer responding to her, she decided that the only person in the world that she could possibly alliance herself with was Grace. Grace who lived with the corpse of her dead brother for years inside a dusty old manor. She realized that he may never speak to her again if she did manage to raise him from the dead, but at least he’d be alive.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Grace. Still looking slightly confused. If Lucie didn’t know better, she might believe her blank expression.

“Since you’ve stained yourself an unbelievable liar and a pathetic loner, I’m going to tell you a secret of mine that no one else in the entire world knows aside from my awful brother, but before I disclose this information, if I find out that you’ve told a soul what I’m about to tell you, I will tell everyone what Cordelia and I walked into that night before she left,” said Lucie, looking Grace directly in her solemn silver eyes. “I will destroy your reputation beyond repair that not even Charles Fairchild will stand to look at you.”

Grace’s face dropped, horrified.

“I can commune with the dead,” said Lucie, and sipped her tea. “Your brother,” she willed herself to say his name, “Jesse. I’ve been talking to him for months now. He saved my brother’s life with his last breath that he’d been keeping for himself, for that I owe him more favors than I can possibly repay in this lifetime. I want to help bring him back.”

Grace, who wore an expression, as if Lucie had reached across the room and slapped her suddenly blinked after a long time of not. “Is he here now?”

“No,” said Lucie. “We’re not on speaking terms at the moment. He’s being stubborn. Though, I suspect he’s not far away.”

Grace released a ghost of a laugh that sounded more like a breath. “He’s always been quite stubborn, Jesse. Always.” She gave Lucie a solemn look that roused in her the slightest trickle of sympathy for the girl she considered her enemy. “But I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“Why not?” Lucie rose as Grace did, preparing to block her path from leaving the room. “Don’t you want to see Jesse alive again? Isn’t that why your mother has been preserving his body all this time? You’ll just leave him to settle in-between realms when he so utterly deserves to return to this one?”

“Of course I want to see my brother alive again,” said Grace. “But you don’t understand what you’re asking.”

Lucy set her teacup and saucer down on the table and straightened again. “I know exactly what I’m asking. I’m not naive enough to think this isn’t dangerous or ridiculous, but I’m also desperate enough to believe that it will work. And since you’ve made yourself quite the social pariah of our small circle, I’m offering you something of a partnership.”

Grace smoothed her pale hands over her lace skirt, embroidered with snowflakes made of gold thread along the hem. “And what would James or Cordelia think of this partnership?”

Without hesitation, Lucie answered. “They needn’t know of it.”

Grace sunk back down onto the sofa, her quicksilver eyes focusing on the teapot in the center of the silver tray as she spoke. “My mother, she was an awful woman— is an awful woman. A tyrant and a bully, but she was not always that way. The world was cruel towards her since her childhood. Death always knocking on her door, but never for her, just for those she loved. It made her cruel and vicious.”

Lucie fought the urge to insist that she already knew all of this and move Grace towards the part where she agreed to help, but she reached for a biscuit instead.

“Death begets death begets death. Did he not tell you, my illusive brother? You cannot take from death without giving to death first and sometimes it takes more than its share.” Grace twisted a silver ring around her middle finger. “I’ll help you, but I’ll ask you first Lucie Herondale, only once and never again, what are you willing to lose to death for the return of my brother? What life are you willing to exchange for his?”

The biscuit turned to ash in her mouth and it took a great effort for her to swallow. Names flashed before her eyes: her mother, her father, James, Cordelia, Uncle Jem, her aunts, uncles, cousins, friends… But before she could answer, her aunt Cecily appeared in the doorway, a letter in the hand that rested at her side.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you girls, but your mother’s sent word,” said Cecily to Lucie. “Cordelia is awake and she’s asking for you.”

Lucie stared out the carriage window the entirety of the drive home, her hands fussing with the fabric of her skirts as London went by out the carriage window. Her thoughts flooded with what Grace had told her about bringing Jesse back from the dead. If what she’d told her was true, and she wasn’t entirely sure that it was, she’d need to find another solution and soon.

Why didn’t Jesse tell her? She wondered. Why didn’t he say anything? He must have known and instead of simply explaining what it would cost to bring him back from death, he ran away like a petulant child.

Recovering her composure by taking a steady breath through her nose and out her mouth, Lucie tried to think about her situation in a less objective way. It was a trick her father had taught her as a child when she was sad or angry. To analyze the problem in a larger, more empirical way would, he always said, improve her mood and her intellect at the same time. Though she now thought it possibly a very unsuitable response to a crying child, she often found herself rearranging her problems as if planning to present them in a small treatise.

Besides, she couldn’t think about her situation with Jesse now. There was a more pressing matter at hand. Cordelia was awake. And Lucie's intricate web of lies to keep Belial’s agenda unknown until she could figure out how to bring Jesse back to life and anyone finding out about her ability would only draw unwanted attention to herself. She needed to know how much Cordelia remembered of what Belial said to Lucie and how much she’d already told the others.

Lucie was out of the carriage before the driver could open the door for her. She gathered her skirts in her hands and took the marble steps two at a time and burst through the doors and nearly slid to a halt on the wood floors as her eyes befell Cordelia standing by the front window between her mother and Alastair.

All of Lucie’s worries suddenly vanished like steam from hot tea into open air.

Cordelia looked a vision standing in front of the floor to ceiling stained glass window, cut with colors to look like a lake with a shining angel hovering above it. Lucie took in every detail in her mind to use in her writing later: elegant in a pink silk dress that hugged her frame. Her vibrant red hair had been twisted back in a coronet with tightly wound curls hanging in her face. Her skin lush with color in her cheeks and her eyes were alert as they caught Lucie. A sad smile broke across Cordelia’s face as she looked upon her friend.

“I’m sorry!” Lucie shrieked and ran the rest of the way towards her friend with arms outstretched. Cordelia opened her own and welcomed Lucie without hesitation. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I should have been—“

“Careful, Lucie,” said Tessa sitting on the couch between her father and Uncle Jem. “Cordelia is still healing.”

Lucie cursed, which earned her another scolding from both of her parents this time.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated to no one and everyone.

Cordelia’s smile brightened as Lucie released her and stepped back. “It’s alright. I’m not as fragile as they’ll have you believe.”

“She is,” said Sona, who also appeared healthier than when Lucie had seen her last. “She won’t admit it, but she is.”

“I will mind myself perfectly,” promised Lucie, with a nod. She made a face only Cordelia could see and understand, earning herself a laugh from her oldest friend.

“May we have a moment,” asked Cordelia to the people in the room. “I wish to speak to Lucie alone, if that’s all right.”

Sona looked to be about ready to disagree, but Alastair took her hand and led her towards the doorway that went into the dining hall. Tessa, Will, and Jem followed after leaving Cordelia and Lucie alone.

“Should we sit?” asked Lucie. “Are you still in terrible pain?”

“Not so much anymore,” said Cordelia, as she lowered herself onto the sofa. Though the way she angled her body showed that she favored her left side some. Sitting beside Cordelia, Lucie could see what she could not before. The dark shadows underneath Cordelia’s once bright and vibrant eyes, now dull by what she’d seen; what had happened to her. The dryness of her once smooth lips. The veins in her neck and dark bruising along her chest that peaked out from the lace collar of her dress.

The memory of finding Cordelia collapsed in the sand at the feet of Belial, like a broken doll, assaulted Lucie. Her mouth went dry and her eyes burned as the sound of her screaming Cordelia’s name through the wind echoed in her ears.

“You look well,” said Lucie, her throat tight and unlike herself. “You didn’t miss much while you were asleep. We were all scolded something terrible for going after you without informing the adults. We’re all on a strict curfew and cannot go out in large groups unless it’s for something mundane.” She reached forward and took a biscuit from the center of the coffee table. She took a bite and chewed for a moment, dusting the crumbs from her skirt, thinking of a way to approach the Belial subject without frightening Cordelia back into a coma. “Probably for the best. My brother and his band of— whatever they call themselves— can use a little restriction.”

Cordelia tensed a fraction, but enough for Lucie to notice. She quickly went over her words to see what she might have said and realized that her delinquent brother was not amongst the people in the room when she’d arrived.

“You haven’t spoken to him?” asked Lucie.

Cordelia shook her head.

“Good,” said Lucie. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Consider me your personal guard. I will shield you from his presence at all times.”

Cordelia’s mouth twitched at the corner. “Thank you,” she said, “but I think it’s important that we talk if I’m going to be staying here a bit longer with my family.”

“A bit longer?” Lucie inhaled. “You’re still leaving for Alicante?”

Cordelia nodded. “Once everything settles down and I remember what it is that happened to me inside the shadow realm with your— with Belial.”

Lucie could not restrain a slight start of shock. “You— you don’t remember anything?”

Cordelia only shook her head, those intricate curls falling across her face as she looked down at her hands. “I only remember leaving the institute with Alastair and then everything goes dark. Brother Zachariah said that it’s not uncommon for memory loss and that what I might have suffered was traumatic.” She said the word as if she didn’t quite trust it. “It’s the mind’s way of protecting itself. They told me that you were there. That you rescued me.”

Lucie could hear her heart beat in her ears as she met the expectant eyes of Cordelia, searching for the pass that would free her of London, James, Belial, and the memories that came with all three.

When Cordelia left that fateful night after finding Grace and James in the throws of passion, and Cordelia told Lucie that she was leaving with Alastair to return to Alicante indefinitely, she’d been overwhelmed with a dreadful loneliness that she often felt as a child when James would dismiss her to play with the other boys including Anna, and all Lucie had were her stories. While stories were a wonderful place to spend her time, some intrinsic part of her craved companionship, if not someone to share her stories with.

And then she met Cordelia, and not only did she have someone to share her stories with, but she had someone to fill her stories with. She wanted to write many more adventures of the beautiful Cordelia; their adventures as parabatai, when it was unexpectedly ripped away from her.

And now, she was being presented a second chance. But, as with everything, it came with a terrible price.

“Lucie?” said Cordelia, as if she’d been saying it for some time. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Lucie nodded and reached to take Cordelia’s hand in her own.

“They said that you brought me back from the Shadow realm?” asked Cordelia. “How? What did Belial say? Why did he want me?”

“He was after James.” And there went another strand to the web of her lie. Lucie released Cordelia’s hand and smoothed out her skirt. “I suppose word got around of your engagement. Apparently even in the Shadow Realm, engagements announcements do not go unnoticed. He thought that if he captured you it would draw James out of hiding, but instead I arrived. I tried to kill him, but he cannot be killed by earthly or heavenly weapons, and since I have nothing to offer Belial, he threatened to kill us both and return our corpses.” She went on perfecting her story as if she were writing at her desk and not lying to her friend. “He was about to do it too, but I managed to convince him that wasn’t in his best interest. If he killed me then he’d never gain access to James. So, he settled for your life instead. You did a wonderful job convincing him of your death. I, for a moment, believed it myself. The next thing I know, we were falling through what appeared to be a dark tunnel and when I opened my eyes again, we were back on the street. James found us moments later.”

Cordelia frowned. “He was after James?”

“Yes,” said Lucie, taking another bite of her biscuit. “Poor company that brother of mine. Biscuit?”

Cordelia shook her head and while she asked no further questions, Cordelia seemed to ponder Lucie’s story.

The door to the foyer burst open followed by a cacophony of loud voices and even more obtrusive footsteps as Thomas and Christopher walked into the Institute, arguing with someone over their shoulder about being five minutes late.

“Thank you for this information, Thomas” said Matthew following behind them. “Years of academia and study and I never did manage to learn how to tell time.”

James emerged last, his hands tucked in his trouser’s front pockets, as he extended his leg back to close the door. A smile curved on his mouth that did not reach his eyes then wandered towards the sitting room where Lucie remained beside Cordelia, watching her friend intensely.

Cordelia stood, her dress falling around her ankles, her fingers gliding over the fabric as she said, “Hello James.”

(Author’s Notes: Hi guys! I hope you’re all doing well. Thank you for the kind words on the last part. I missed writing/reading with you guys and I’m so thankful that you all came back to The Last Night. I have a new obsession, I’ve finally read Sarah J Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses. Have you all read this? Am I super behind? It’s amazing! I love that story so much, so if my blog is suddenly splashed with ACoTaR, then ya’ll know why now. It’s just SO good! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please hit that reblog and spread it around, give it some love, leave me a comment about what you thought, and follow along for updates. Okay, love you guys, bye! Next update Sunday 9/13)

#the shadowhunter chronicles #The Last Night #jordelia fanfiction #jordelia #james x cordelia #james herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #lucie herondale #jesse blackthorn #grace blackthorn #the last hours #chain of gold #cassandra clare #Matthew Fairchild #christopher lightwood #thomas lightwood #tessa gray #alastair carstairs

[aperrywilliams]

I don’t know you anymore/Part III (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

(Not my gif!)

Masterlist

Part I / Part II /Part III / Part IV  / Part V

———————

Summary: Reader has to do something before her relationship with Spencer get worse. Spencer has to rebuild his life without her. Could he do that?. Now Reader ends up involved in a case that is more complex than it seems.

Word Count: 4359.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences. Angst.

Warnings: References to murders, dead bodies, drug traffic, illicit activities, etc.

A/N: This is Part III of “I don’t know you anymore”. Thanks to everyone who read this and commented previous parts! I really appreciate your support!

——————–

I know I let you down Again and again I know I never really treated you right I've paid the price I'm still paying for it every day

The least I expected to see when I walked into my apartment after work was a piece of paper under the door with the  letterhead of Hawthorne Police Station and my name written on it. It was an urgent summons to present myself there. The reasons were not very specific, only it was important in order to collaborate in an ongoing investigation. I tried to imagine what this was all about. It didn't occur to me what it might be, but it seemed urgent, so after eating something I took my keys again and headed for the police station.

I felt something strange about this. And it’s true things in my life had been a bit strange lately. I had recently started a relationship with someone. Well, 'getting started' is perhaps a vague word in this case, given I had a relationship with Hunter before, when I had just arrived in DC, more than 5 years ago, even before met Spencer. We restarted contact the moment I asked for help to leave DC a little over a year ago. He helped me settle in Philadelphia and while I wasn't ready to have a relationship with anyone again, a few weeks ago I gave it a try and we started to get closer again. Hunter is a good man, loving and caring. Unfortunately we had seen little of each other in the past few days because he was out of town due to his job as an interstate realtor. It seems I have a fixation on men who have jobs involve travel. Anyway, at least in Hunter's case travels seemed to be more sporadic.

When I got to the station I walked over to the main counter and asked about Detective Gibson, who was the one who signed the paper I found at the entrance to my apartment. I handed the paper to the officer and he immediately made me walk down a hallway to the entrance of a room where there were three chairs around a metal table. He asked me to wait for the detective sitting in one of those chairs, he would come to talk to me soon.

****

"Reid?... Spencer?... Spencer!". In the distance I felt a voice repeating my name seeking some reaction from me. When I woke up, I was lying on the couch in the meeting room where we’re installed and felt the eyes of Prentiss and JJ fixed on me. I looked around and there was no one else in the room. I had a hard time putting my thoughts back on what had happened before I passed out. Within seconds I was sitting and everything had come to my memory again.

"(Y/N)..." I said, trying to get up from the couch. Prentiss stopped me and started talking, while J.J. handed me a sandwich to replenish my fatigue.

“Spencer. You cannot speak to (Y/N). As J.J. said, she is on the list. We had not made the connection when seeing her name since none of us knew her last name, but we did the checkup and yes, it's her…”. Prentiss explained.

"Where is she…?" I said, after taking a piece of the sandwich and beginning to eat it by inertia.

"In the debriefing room waiting for Detective Gibson. But before he interrogates her, we have to agree with him what our line of questions will be... and if it is necessary for any of us to be present" said J.J.

"How is that about ‘line of questions’?... It should be the same thing has been done with the rest of the women from the list..." I answered a little confused.

"It’s not so. We did a quick checkup with Garcia and (Y/N) could be more involved in this matter than we think… she know directly to Hunter Rosten, the 'owner' of the list” said Emily, studying every reaction on my face.

"What?... it's not possible, she wouldn't get involved in something illegal... no, (Y/N) is incapable of something like that...". I said, already getting up from the couch and starting to pace around the room.

"We are not saying she is involved in that way, strictly speaking we do not know if Hunter Rosten is too, we only know he is the owner of the list and he is missing. We need (Y/N) to get to Rosten first”. Emily finished, as I sat back down in one of the chairs around the conference table.

"I don't get it, if she is involved with the deaths why would she be here now... it doesn't make sense". My mind was trying to fit the pieces of what was happening.

“It's what we have to find out. But for that, I need you to stay out of this. The only thing you can help us with now is to obtain more information about (Y/N) that could give some clue, but you cannot conduct the interrogation, much less approach to her” said Emily. I just shook my head trying to shake off the confusion and discredit of what was going on.

"And who's going to question her, besides Gibson?" I asked without raising my head.

“That is the problem, she knows us all. Who do you think makes her feel less intimidated? It’s clear she’ll know you are in this, but if she doesn’t see you, she will be of help…” J.J. asked. I thought for a few minutes before answering.

"It should be Emily. Although she knows we are friends, being you unit chief she’ll tend to be more cooperative if you explain to her this is for a greater good and doesn't matter if I’m involved”. As I said it and I let out a sigh. I started to panic. What had happened in this year in the life of (Y/N) to ended up involved in something like this?

"Okay, I'll do it" said Emily, taking the folders from the table. Before leaving looked at me. She didn’t know what to tell me but she knew had to say something before walking out that door. “Spencer, we shouldn't jump to more conclusions without further evidence. Let's just do our job to clear this up. I know it's hard, it's about (Y/N), but please try to stay calm as much as you can. We need you on this too". I could only look at her with pleading eyes. Then she left the meeting room. With Prentiss out my eyes turned to J.J.

“I need to see her, even if it is through glass. J.J., please…”. She knew what I was asking was quite outside Emily had instructed, but that thin limit allowed her to take some pity on me. She nodded, peered into the hallway to make sure (Y/N), Gibson, and Prentiss were in the interview room, and then motioned for me to follow her.

****

The wait seemed endless. I didn't know how long I was waiting until two people entered the room where I was sitting. A man and a woman. The man in uniform I assumed was Detective Gibson, the woman meanwhile, I was sure I 'd seen her before. At that moment, with the nerves I didn’t know how to associate her face with my knowledge of who it was, until both of them introduced themselves.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N), my name is Albert Gibson, homicide detective with the local Philadelphia police office, and she is FBI Special Supervisory Agent Emily Prentiss… we need to ask you some questions about Hunter Rosten”. Sure, of course I knew the woman. This is Emily from the FBI, Spencer's boss. At least she was in the time we were together. Emily realized I recognized her and nodded, giving me the answer I needed. She crossed her hands on the table between us and began to speak.

“(Y/N), my presence here is only intended to be able to ask you questions about a case that we’re working together with the Philadelphia police. That’s the reason for the citation in first place. We have a series of disappearances and… deaths related to people who knew Mr. Hunter Rosten, so any information you can provide about him is important…”. Emily's voice was calm, as if she was trying not to disturb me despite the information she was giving to me. These people are amazing, they make terrible things seem like normal things.

"Hunter? Why? What does he have to do with all this?". I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"We have no certainty at the moment. We are following leads and the only thing we know about Hunter is he is missing and he had a list of women... women who come from different parts of the country and settled here in Philadelphia. Unfortunately there are 3 women on that list who are dead now…”. At that moment I froze. A list? What was she talking about? Hunter missing? None of this made sense.

“Hunter is not missing… I mean, he's travelling. He called me three days ago... no... how?...”. My face must have denoted my stupor, because Emily offered me a glass of water. I accepted it with a shy nod. My hands were shaking and so as not to cry and avoid looking at the two people who had their eyes on me, I concentrated on the mirror at the end of the room. I tried to regulate my breathing. I knew there were things I would have to say and although I didn't like the idea of revealing certain things from my past and current life, there were women dying and that was upsetting me. I was more upset to know Hunter might have something to do with it. If it had to be an open book as long as this cleared up, I didn't care. Even knowing that behind the glass would be Spencer. Don't ask me how, but I could feel him.

****

It had been over a year since I saw (Y/N) last time and seeing her behind the glass in the interrogation room only reminded me to the last moment we shared together. When she said goodbye and gave me one last kiss. Now I could see her even more vulnerable than last time, and more scared too. Her body language denoted stupor, confusion, and huge fear. Every time Emily added some information, I could see how she tensed more in the chair and began to fidget her fingers, a typical gesture when she was nervous and overwhelmed by something. Her confusion and amazement looked genuine, I couldn't tell she was lying about it. It’s clear I was not the best judge at the moment, but I was sure J.J. and Rossi, who were in the room with me, could say the same as me.

"How long have you known Hunter Rosten?" Detective Gibson asked her. (Y/N) spent a few seconds thinking before answering.

"Maybe a little over 5 years. When I moved to DC I looked for a real estate agent to help me find an apartment near where I worked. A colleague from the office where I worked in Baltimore gave me Hunter's contact and I called him for that purpose…” (Y/N) replied.

"Did you keep in touch after that?" Gibson asked again.

"Yes. Finally he showed me several places that could be suitable according to I was looking for. I chose one I could pay with the money I had up to that moment…” said (Y/N).

"What was you working on at the time?" Gibson interrupted.

“Upon arrival in DC, I began working as a research assistant to a professor at Georgetown University. Given my computer skills, I was trained to work in databases and statistical analysis”.

Yes, that was how I met (Y/N). When I started teaching sporadic classes in Georgetown I had the opportunity to collaborate with Dr. Andrew Stevens, the boss of (Y/N) at the time. She started as his assistant, but eventually became his most prolific collaborator. Honestly speaking, Stevens was pretty much nil when it came to processing data, so he relied heavily on (Y/N) 's abilities.

"And after finding an apartment, did you keep in touch with Hunter?" Gibson continued.

"Yes. He helped me get a good move tips and helped me with the rent paperwork” said (Y/N).

"A gentleman, right?... Did you keep seeing each other after that?" I knew where Gibson wanted to go and was sure (Y/N) too, but his discourtesy in his words made her stand on the defensive.

"Yes, a while. Are you going to ask me if we dating? Yes, we were dating a while, if that's what you want to know” she replied with visible weariness. Surely uncomfortable saying all that in front of Emily.

"How long did the relationship last?" Gibson asked, not caring about (Y/N)'s discomfort.

"A few months, maybe 2 or 3. It wasn't very long" she stated.

"Why you broke up?" Gibson asked without flinching.

“Is all this really important…? Do I need to talk about my personal life...?. At that moment I saw the anger in the eyes of (Y/N). She never liked rodeos and clearly this interrogation seemed like exactly that to her.

"We just want to establish closeness between you. It’s not to know details of you relationship, but we need to understand some actions or decisions Hunter could have taken in this time…”. Prentiss said, trying to calm (Y/N). She held her head in both hands. She looked tired.

"Ok. Ok. I already said our relationship lasted no more than three months. We ended because... because I fell in love with someone else... and told him so". Saying that, she looked directly at the glass. She knew I was there. Or at least suspected it.

"How did Hunter take it?" Emily asked.

"Well, he wasn't too pleased with the idea. But he understood. After that, we only talked when I had some friends questions about properties, or if he wanted some publicity among my colleagues. Did we broke up in violent term? Absolutely not. Nor did he insist or try to make me change my mind. After that we didn't see each other anymore. Just a few calls or emails” (Y/N) said dryly.

"Did that last over time...? Emails and calls?” Prentiss asked.

“No… after a year we finally lost contact. I mean, I always had his number and he had mine, but we never spoke again”

"When did you resume contact and why?". Emily asked. I could see (Y/N) biting her lower lip and her eyes began to fill with tears.

“A little over a year ago I called him. I was in a difficult situation. I never had many friends in DC and ... I needed to get out of town. To start again somewhere else…” (Y/N) tried to explain.

"Were you involved in any misconduct and needed to escape...?" Gibson interrupted. Prentiss looked at Gibson reproachfully, for he was pushing harder.

"No! Of course not! ... I just had to leave the city... I had… I broke up with my 3 years boyfriend, with whom I lived and I needed to get away… from him”. She ended saying with a sob. Those words hit me like a truck and made me angry enough to punch the wall behind me. Rossi and J.J. looked at me with concern.

"Spence... maybe you better not keep watching the interrogation..." J.J. suggested. I just shook my head.

"I'm fine. I can stay here. Don't worry about me, just focus on her and what can be useful for the investigation”. I said without even looking at them.

"And how did Hunter help you?" Gibson asked.

"I asked him if he had contacts to look properties in Chicago..." said (Y/N).

"Why Chicago and not Philadelphia in first place?". Emily asked with a frown. (Y/N) sighed and then replied.

“My first choice was Chicago, I wanted to try luck at Chicago State University. I thought it might be a good option for me. But Hunter convinced me Philadelphia was better, being a slightly smaller city compared to Chicago and it could be more compatible with the quieter life I wanted to lead. Moreover, he gave me some contacts to speak at the University of Pennsylvania, where I'm working now..." said (Y/N).

"That's weird..." said Rossi. And yes, he was right. (Y/N)'s first choice was not Philadelphia but Chicago, and Hunter had convinced her to change her mind.

“It's the same thing he could have done with the rest of the women on the list. Maybe he convinced them to come to Philadelphia” added J.J.

"But... for what purpose?... What did he gain bring they to Philly?" Rossi asked. My brain also began to search for potential reasons to make sense of the facts. I tried to make connections and two things came to mind, one of which I didn't even want to verbalize at the time.

“This in part has to be related to properties. Moving to Philadelphia has to bring benefits to Hunter, beyond a good commission for every rent or sell he makes...". I said trying to explain part of my point.

"But that does not explain why there are dead women and, even more, with such a specific victimology" replied J.J.

"Maybe it’s a dual purpose: to attack Hunter's business and Hunter himself..." Rossi reflected. That said, he dialed Garcia's number. “Garcia, we need to know more about Hunter Rosten's business. He was presenting himself as a property agent. Is there something special about the properties he managed? Did he be associated with something other than the real estate business?". Penelope replied she would search and would call us immediately when she found something. J.J. texted Prentiss to ask (Y/N) if something strange had happened to her or Hunter these days. Meanwhile Prentiss and Gibson continued the interrogation.

"All right. After you settled in Philadelphia, did you keep in touch with Hunter?... ” Gibson continued.

"Yes. We keep in touch during these months. From time to time he called me to ask me how I was…” .

"And something else besides phone calls?" Prentiss asked.

"Well... two weeks ago we started dating again... and now we are in a relationship...". (Y/N) said quietly, as if trying I wasn't able to listen. But I don't know why when I heard it I felt angry. I had no right. In fact I was also in a 'relationship' with someone, but imagining another man touching her stuck a stake in my stomach. She had definitely got on with her life. Did I do the same?

"Do you live together?... do you know where is he now?" Gibson hurried asking.

"No... we don't live together. Five days ago he went on a work trip, he told me. Hunter called me three days ago to tell me he was fine and to ask me if I was fine. He looked worried, but he didn't want to tell me if something happened… although after knowing all this, I suppose something did happen…”

***

I didn’t know how much longer I could stand in this interrogation. I felt like I had been there for hours. And they kept asking me the same thing over and over again. It wasn't enough I had to talk about my relationship with Hunter, or to admit I had left DC because I had broken up with Spencer and start all over again. Also I had to try to think if I knew the three women who were murdered and who were related to a list of which I had no idea that I was part of.

I was astonished when they told me Hunter had “helped” many women settle in Philadelphia. I felt like I was part of some crime I completely ignored. I felt dirty and didn't know why. I felt guilty and nobody knew to explain me why.

Finally they finished questioning me and left the room, but not before telling me to wait a moment for a police officer to escort me to my house. The same officer who would later remain a fixed point outside the building 'for my protection'. I don't know how they expected me to take something like that, but at least I was more confused than when I got to the police station. I had more questions than answers. But I didn't want to fight anyone, I was tired and I just wanted to go home to sleep. I didn't mind knowing Spencer was on the other side of the mirror, surely judging me for everything I said in that room. I sat staring at the table that was now empty. From time to time I looked at the mirror, but I couldn't hold my gaze on it, both for me and for whoever I knew was on the other side.

***

After the interrogation, Rossi and J.J. were to the meeting room to join Prentiss. Seeing I wasn't following them, J.J. looked at me. "I'll go soon. I need a few minutes”. I said looking to (Y/N) through the glass. J.J. said nothing and left the room closing the door. I was unable to contain the tears that had been stagnant during the entire interrogation. I would have given everything to go hug her, to go comfort her, to tell her that everything would be fine, that she was not alone. But I couldn’t. And while I was sure she knew I was there, that gave me no right. Her eyes fixed on the table were a sign she didn’t want to look at me. For just an instant I felt her eyes on me. And I knew it. I had never stopped loving her. And no matter what I did, how long time passed or how far she had run from me, my feelings hadn't changed in the least. She is the love of my life. I had to do something to get her back, but first I had to do something to make sure she is safe. After taking a deep breath I took my eyes off her and left the room to join the rest of the team.

"Ok. Garcia, what did you find out?” Rossi said, as we were all around the meeting table.

"I don't know where to start. But I can assure you every fact I’ll will say it follows a worse one…”. My stomach started to clench again.

"Tell us..." Prentiss hurried.

"Yes. Ok. Hunter Rosten. It’s true he has a certificate as a real estate agent. But his profession of origin is chemistry. This isn’t in the official records, in fact I had to open sealed files..."

"Sealed by whom?" Luke asked.

"The same FBI. And this is where it gets all interesting. It turns out Hunter Rosten was a asset to Domestic Terrorism between 2008 and 2010. They then lost his track until 2013 when he appears in DC selling his first properties. The problem is that properties Hunter manages are 'dirty' properties…”

"Dirty? What does that mean? ..." J.J. asked

“They are properties are associated with drug dealers from different cities where he worked and were 'cleaned' by Hunter between 2013 and 2018. Many of them belonged to local cartels, others to small traffickers, and a few to interstate networks… even in some of them he had his own lab”.

"So the list has to do with 'cleaned properties'... and the women he installed there?" Tara asked.

Hunter didn’t work alone at that time. After he reappeared in 2013, he was linked to an associate, Gabriel Dickinson. In fact, Rosten's list also Dickinson had it. Records say Dickinson broke ‘business’ relationships with Rosten and he joined one of the Philadelphia cartels. Dickinson has reports of assault on women and was arrested multiple times for domestic violence…"

"But go from domestic violence to serial killer..." Matt interrupted.

"What if it's just to get revenge on Hunter?... that is, his partner softens over time, stops cooking drugs, decreases the amount of cleaned properties, he realizes he collaborated with the FBI... he must be very upset…” Rossi argued.

"Okay. And why now? And why kill women and not just Hunter?" I asked. That was what bothered me the most. I could understand the big picture, but it didn’t explain the women deaths.

"Jealousy" said Emily. "Think of it this way: Rossi is right, Hunter's life is going according to plan with his partner, but in addition to 'softening' he begins a relationship with (Y/N) 'two weeks ago'. The murders started a week ago. The similarities of the victims with (Y/N) are evident. They are a message to Hunter…” pointed Emily.

"Surrogates for (Y/N)?". I asked barely audibly. Now it was making all the sense to me, I just didn't like where this was going.

"And not herself... because it’s a message. If he had directly attacked (Y/N) he knew would lose Hunter completely” said Rossi.

"Guys... guys!" Penelope's voice rang out on the speaker. "I know where Dickinson is now. Traffic cameras place him on Allison Street with Master Av.… this is two blocks from (Y/N)’s apartment…”. Garcia was unable to finish speaking and I grabbed my blazer and ran from the police station. From a distance I heard Emily was trying to stop me while Rossi summoned the police officers from the station. This bastard was about to finish his job but a surrogate wasn't enough, now he was after (Y/N). I don't know how with my trembling legs I managed to get in the car and start driving with all the speed I could. I knew even with a fixed-point cop in the building, (Y/N) 's life was in danger. I had to hurry up. I couldn't allow something to happen to her. I had to stop this madness. While I was driving I just kept saying “(Y/N), please my love… don't leave me... don't leave me. I'm on my way, I'm on my way…”

——————–

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #dr. spencer reid #spencer reid angst

[missmonsters2]

About You || Part IV

Gif by: giuliacommissions (please check her out if you’d like to commission her for gifs and other work 💞)

PAIRING: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wanda had never known loss like she has until she lost Pietro. It’s debilitating. She can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even leave her house. Life is fading fast, and she’s not sure if she even wants to hang on. Enter you, a stranger that reconnects her to the daily things that makes life beautiful.

Warnings: Deals with loss & grief and the spectrum of emotions and depression that comes with it. Please note there is no glorification in any of this. Loss, grief, and depression are nothing beautiful. Also, please don’t hesitate or reach out for help if you are in a dark place. Love you, lovelies 💘

Genre: Angst & Romance

NOTE: Did you forget about this series? I wouldn’t blame ya LOL Please drop a comment if you’d like to be part of the tag list! 😚

PART I || PART II || PART III

PART IV of X

Translations + Transliteration Пьетро - Pietro

Count: 1497

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Honestly, you need to get out more.”

Wanda huffs as she tries to refocus back on her painting. Pietro has decided to come visit her during his lunch hour from work and he seems to be in a mood of harassing her on her social skills—or really lack of.

“I don’t know if you noticed, Pietro, but considering that my form of a 9-5 job includes me sitting in this studio all day painting solo. There’s not much I can do about human interaction.” Wanda dabs her paintbrush in the blue of her palette, coming back up with a steady hand as she continues her work.

Her brother admires the unfinished art his sister is creating, but he grins when he hears her reply.

“If that’s the case, I can totally introduce you to someone. They would seriously be perfect for you; hopefully, help you loosen the stick up your—”

“Пьетро!” She yells, accent thick as she glares at him, a slight blush on her cheeks. She rolls her eyes as she hears his laughter.

“Alright, but seriously, Wanda. I could introduce you to someone.”

Wanda focuses on painting again, absently noticing how she’s got the color green on her thumb, but she’s pretty sure she didn’t take out green today.

“Not now, I’m pretty busy with work.”

She whines when she feels Pietro flick the back of her head.

“Look at you, all grown up and busy with work.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You’re about to leave Wanda’s after doing her dishes and sweeping the floor. You’re seemingly checking to make sure you have all your things when you notice for the first time that’s heavily pouring outside.

There’s thunder and lightning, you can barely see in front of you when you look out the window.

You hum before Wanda appears beside you, looking out the window as well.

“How did you get here?” She asks softly.

“Driving,” you answer absently, still staring at the harsh rain pouring outside. It’s not like you haven’t driven in this weather before. You’re quite adept at driving in harsh conditions being overly cautious when on the road. You’ll quite often take the back roads knowing there won’t be other cars.

“This is going to be a bitch driving home,” you sigh, turning around to leave when you feel something pull at the end of your jacket.

You turn around to see Wanda looking at you seriously.

“It is too dangerous to drive,” she tells you plainly.

“It’ll be fine,” you tell her with a wave, but Wanda doesn’t let go of her hold.

“I don’t know how long it’s going to pour for, and it’s already getting pretty late,” you purse your lips.

“You can stay the night.”

You think Wanda would be more reserved about you letting her invade her space. After all, she had been quite clear about wanting you to leave and that you were a nuisance, but then you see the look in her eyes and the seriousness in them.

She won’t say it, but you don’t need her to.

“Okay,” you agree gently.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You find it kind of hard to fall asleep on Wanda’s couch. Not that it’s uncomfortable because her couch is weirdly better than your bed at home, but you can definitely hear the walls expanding and contracting and the drops of water from the sink.

You’ve probably lain in bed for hours now, wide awake. You sigh quietly, getting up and moussing your hair. You’re probably not going to get much sleep at this point, so you get up and to pour yourself a glass of water.

And then you hear it.

It’s quiet with Wanda having her door nearly shut, but the sound traveled through the small crack.

It was a groan.

And no, not a sexy groan, but a groan that indicated she might be in pain.

You bite your tongue, debating if you should go check because you’re not sure if Wanda would appreciate you entering her bedroom, but you hear her groan again and immediately go check. Opening the door slowly and quietly, your eyes try to adjust to the dark room. You do see a mass of hair in the bed and vague figure tossing and turning.

Making your way in, you kneel on the ground beside the bed, looking over at Wanda. Her face is scrunched up, a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, and lips trembling.

“Пьетро…”

It’s comes easier than you think it would to brush your cold fingers against her warm cheeks, watching as her face settles and unconsciously rub her face closer to your hand.

Honestly, it feels like someone is slamming a hammer right into your chest because you never thought seeing a stranger hurt like this could hurt you too.

Because she looks lost like you do.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

Wanda can always tell if she’s had a nightmare. She wakes slowly, blinking in the dark. She feels different, but Wanda cannot exactly explain why.

Slowly getting up, she felt a weight drag on her hand.

Looking down, she noticed you sitting on the floor, hunched over her bed with your hand intertwined with hers.

Her eyes traveled over your bare shoulders and arms, noticing the lack of blood and tiny goosebumps, a sign you’ve been there for quite some time.

Wanda wriggles her fingers, feeling the warmth, and thinks about how hard it must’ve been to sit there as long as you did.

She can’t help but think how stupid you are.

But stupidly kind.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

You watched Wanda’s face, dazed and stoic and pursed your lips as you finished up cooking.

Perhaps she was mad?

It felt like you did cross a line.

“Listen, Wanda—I’m sorry about the…hand-holding—”

“I’m hungry,” Wanda cuts you off, and you say nothing more but licking your lips as you bring the dishes to the table.

The two of you eat in comfortable silence until Wanda decides to break it again.

“Why three months?” She asks, stopping your spoon from entering your mouth mid-air. You put the spoon back down in your bowl and look over at her.

“I hardly think a month will change you, so I asked for three,” you say simply.

“Three months won’t change anything either,” Wanda argues back.

“Then I will just ask for more,” You scoop more food onto your spoon again. “If you’re so sure you’ll want to die, then it doesn’t quite matter if it’s a couple months later, does it? You can spare me more time, can’t you?”

Wanda bites her tongue.

“Why are you doing this?” She’s gripping her spoon harder then she means to, but she just doesn’t understand.

You look over at her thoughtfully.

“I want to know you.”

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

“Are you warm enough?” Wanda asks unsure as she looks at the blanket and pillow you’ve got on the couch.

You hum, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Somehow, you’ve negotiated to living with her because if you want to help her, then you need to be with her. Less time together means more likely you’ll begging for more time in the end.

That’s what you told Wanda anyways, and she seemed to reluctantly agree.

Wanda walks back to her room, settling in her familiar bed and sighs as she looks at the ceiling.

All this eating together, sleeping, talking, and sharing…it was only for three months.

After three months, she can say no to more time and everything would go away.

Even though that’s what Wanda kept telling herself, she kept tossing and turning in bed. Her hand kept clenching and opening, and she already knew what she was missing—or wanted, exactly.

Wanda liked holding hands. She wanted the handholding. It felt good, the warmth and steady pressure.

It was a mix of both pride and fear that stopped her from getting out of bed to ask you. So, she lied there, thinking about with family you don’t get a choice. She would hold hands with Pietro when he cried the first time he was rejected from his dream job, or when his long-time girlfriend moved to another city. And while she was always willingly there for Pietro, she did realize one thing.

Wanda liked having the choice.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

When Wanda woke through the night again, she knew right away it was different.

She sat up and hesitantly wriggled her fingers, feeling the familiar warmth and pressure. Looking down, she found you sitting on the ground by her bedside again, the similar lack of blood and goosebumps on your arms.

The wriggling seemed to wake you slightly as you hummed quietly, eyes still closed before you intertwined your fingers more intimately. Your thumb pressing into the back of Wanda’s hand and fingers lacing together.

She lay back down facing you, watching you as your head rest on your free arm, unaware of anything.

How stupid, Wanda thought.

You were going to catch a cold like this.

But Wanda was already smiling.

PART V

#mm: my fics #series: about you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x OFC #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine #avengers x you #avengers au #avengers imagine #avengers reader insert #marvel reader insert #marvel imagine #marvel AU #Modern Avengers AU

[mementomori-demimonde]

Hidden Scars

I - II - III - IV - V

Chapter 6

You decided to take a shower.

Miranda’s words, as always, swirl in your head - you kept hearing them throughout the whole night - and you just want to get some rest and get rid of the sensation of her hands on you, in your hair, her insistent touch, the bittersweet taste of her kisses on your lips. Sometimes, you feel like there’s something toxic on your skin that itches: a shower seems the best option to get rid of it… to get rid of her.

You hate that you let her get under your skin. You hate that she affects you so much even when she shouldn’t. You hate her that despite how badly she’s able to treat you, you still miss her at night, that you know, in a couple of days, you’ll be back at asking to join you to bed.

You hate it all, but you hate the sadness and the hurt that follows the most.

Because you know, somehow, she can shout and bite, and you also know that her threats are basically empty, but you can’t also pretend those words don’t hurt you at all.

Miranda is there, yet she’s far away; always around but so out of reach. Once upon a time, you thought something would come out of there, you thought that one day things would be clearer, but none of that is happening and you’re beginning to feel stuck.

When she’s in a good mood, being with Miranda is great, but when she’s in a foul one, well, it’s a whole different story - and after she’s made clear that nothing will ever come out from whatever is going on between you two - merely a kitten toy for her to play with when she feels like it - you don’t even see a future. What’s going to happen in a month, or in a week? Will you still be here, following orders, satisfying her request, without knowing why, nor if you’ll ever do something else in your life, besides existing and entertain your kidnapper in every way she sees fit?

Bowing your head low until your chin touches your chest, you exhale loudly and let the scalding hot water cascade above your head, rinsing the soap and some of your thoughts away. You imagine your hope for something more and your dream to walk out of that building with her, spiraling down in the drain and you laugh at yourself, not entirely sure if it’s just water streaming down your cheeks.

Perhaps if you’d paid more attention you would have noticed, beyond the steamed, blurry glass of the shower, the bathroom door opening; perhaps, if you hadn’t tried so hard to cover your pitiful sobs, you’d heard the ruffling noise of buttons opening, of zips pulled, of shoes dropped on the floor with the piles of discarded clothes already there; perhaps if you could’ve just owned up and act normal - and be normal in the first place - you wouldn’t be in this situation at all, simply living and taking what she gives you, no question asked, as Miranda said.

But you’re not: your eyes sting for the soap, your ears are too focused on registering your own whimpers over the water running, and you don’t acknowledge any of those things happening until you feel the cold air on your back as Miranda slides the shower door open.

You tense up immediately, furiously rubbing at your eyes to get rid of the soap and be able to look at her with some composure. Surely you don’t want to look weak and broken when you’ll tell her to leave or reply to one of her questions or complain about one of the challenges she’s planning to give you.

You’re expecting some vicious grips on your arm, you expect Miranda to pull you out, suddenly deciding your unnegotiated five minutes of hot water are over, you expect her to be her normal self, harsh and smug and unpredictable, yet none of that happens.

She is unpredictable, but not in her usual feral way. Because, instead of the expected violence, you feel her arms circling your waist, looping around your middle. You feel her body press against yours, her breasts flushed onto your back, and her skin is a different kind of warm compared to the water running over you both, now. You feel her lips resting almost purposelessly on your marked shoulder, then her cheek nuzzles in between your shoulder blades.

You’re taken off guards but that uncalled and unexpected show of affection, especially after you thought about your next encounter would’ve been a full display of the power she has over you, and so your arms drop slowly at your sides, hands balling up into two loose fists.

“I’m sorry.” She murmurs.

You wish you had the promptness to reach out and turn off the tap to hear her better, but those words are even more surprising than the rest.

“What?” You mumble, not even bothering to conceal your disbelief.

“I said that I’m sorry,” Miranda repeats with a sigh, and you helplessly follow her movement when, behind you, she begins to sway, “I get it: it’s my fault.”

You wish you also had the promptness to turn your head back and look into her eyes as she says so. Instead, you keep staring at the steam-coated tiles in front of you, unconsciously memorizing patterns that don’t really exist.

“Your fault?” You echo dumbly.

Miranda nods against your back.

“You can’t understand something you don’t know.” She whispers, you feel the tip of her nose drawing small circles on your dewed skin.

“You’re going to tell me what’s this all about?”

You almost believe her, for a moment. Then, when you dare to breathe, dare to let the thought of her actually apologizing and gathering the courage to make that longed-for promise of her trying to act better, vanish. The grip on your waist tightens, you can hear her breathing sharper into your wet hair.

“Of course not.” She replies with the familiar saccharine tone, but you can feel that her intentions are not as sweet as anybody else would think. “I’ll just be more patient with you.”

“What?” You blink in dismay, her elbows digging painfully into the hollow space of your waist for a moment before she untangles her arms from your, her hands settling on your hips, her fingers grasping with a bruising force.

On your back, you feel the pricking of her teeth over the smooth ridges of your scars. It stings a bit, but it only serves as a reminder.

“I’ll show you what will happen to you if you don’t listen to me and keep questioning what we’re doing and I’ll try to be very patient with you when you’ll start to complain.”

She spins you effortlessly, and now that your face is inches from hers, you can see yourself in the reflection of her eyes. Teeth bare, she’s grinning innocently when she lets you go, trapping you between the shower wall and her own body even without touching either - her presence is enough to discourage you from trying anything. She reaches behind you with both hands, presses her body against your own and you release a shuddering breath at the closeness, well knowing that, from there, only ugly things will happen.

You have very little time to react before she fists your hair, tugging once and with force, making you yelp, blinking rapidly as your face stands now under the direct scalding water, the ceiling blurred and cloudy beyond the showerhead.

You don’t know what she is doing with her other hand, but everything becomes clear when the water turns cold in a second - icy cold - and she keeps you under the stream with unfaltering strength when your stomach begins to spasm and your mouth open on its own volition. You shut your eyes tight, illegible complaints falling from your lips as you pant and splutter water.

You’re barely aware of the jerky movements of your hands and arms as you cling to her shoulders for balance - and to have something firm to hold on to while you feel like choking, dying in the cold, in the most horrible of ways.

Her other hand settles on the small of your back, keeping you flushed against her, keeping you upright and still.

“Relax.” Her voice is calm but easily reaches your ears above the cascade of water over your face. “It’s just the shock reaction, don’t fight it.”

You’re left there gasping for air like a goldfish, but her voice is anchoring and you focus on that, on the steady rise and fall of her chest against your own, spasming one, on the gentle rubs of her fingers on your loins. Slowly, you blink your eyes open, shivering due to the cold stream but able to bear it on your skin. You tilt your head to the side, wincing when you feel her tug tighten, and try to breathe through your nose, water and spit trailing down your chin as you empty your mouth.

“That’s it, clear your mind.” Miranda praises, her hot breath on your neck making you shiver even more. “You need to get used to cold temperatures. One can never know.”

The muscles in your neck protesting for the angle, you try to wiggle your head free, wincing at her fingers still entangled between your wet hair. The water still runs over your face and you’re still trying not to drown in it, your lungs burning painfully, begging for oxygen. You feel your stomach spasm one last time before she releases her fist and you stumble about, sure you would have fallen to your knees if Miranda hadn’t been there, squeezing you tight.

And what did she try to prove? Teaching how to control your body reaction in case you fall into a frozen lake? Or is it some torture she’s experimented on herself, inflicted by one of those enemies she fears? The next thing she’ll do, you can imagine, will be training your ability to hold your breath underwater, preferably at freezing temperatures - or boiling ones. Yes, but for what?

You cough up water from the back of your throat, but you cannot expand your chest fully, like you so desperately desire, because Miranda’s arms are crawling on your back, rubbing messy circles as she shushes you, suddenly all protective and indulgent.

“You dropped your guard.” She murmurs. Her head is tilted, her face is buried into your neck and wet hair and you desperately trying to breathe, eyes burning and tears streaming freely down your face, mixing with the water.

“What?” You manage to croak out, your throat stinging for all the useless spasming of your muscles in search of air. What does she mean? On what particular occasion? Right now? Three days ago when you let her jump on your back and pin you to the floor on your way to the kitchen? Two months ago when she kidnapped you in a dark alley?

“You knew I was coming for you, and yet you let me get close.” She says, her voice low and firm, but it doesn’t have any bite in it. She almost sounds… apologetic, but you know she’s not.

She’s talking about right now. When you were showering and thinking about her, and you noticed something was off and perceived Miranda’s presence and feared the outcome and yet did little or nothing to stop her.

“It was you, Miranda-” You blink, clearing your throat, and you sigh in relief when you notice you can breathe normally, without aching too much. “I guess I still want to talk about it." You sigh sharply. "I’m not scared. Whatever it is, I know you would never-”

“But I did hurt you in the past,” Miranda interjects, her ability to anticipate your thoughts leaving you once again speechless. Yes, you were about to say you're not fearing her because she would never really hurt you; you were about to blatantly lie. She knew and she stopped you, “I did hurt you already and I keep hurting you.” She doesn’t sound sorry as she says that, merely stating the truth. You can even hear her say that she’s doing all this for your own good, in your head.

Miranda turns off the water. You shiver against her.

“I'm aware.” Despite yourself, you relax in her hold, you slide your arms around her slender body when she starts to sway again, gently, the heat radiating from her body a welcome distraction from the freezing air hitting your back. “But it’s too late to be scared of you. I’m past that.”

Miranda sighs heavily in your hair. She swallows. You feel her hand crawling up your back, on the nape of your neck, her fingers grabbing your hair into her fist - she doesn’t tug, nor pull, but it’s possessive nonetheless.

“You mustn’t lower your guard, did you hear me?” She mumbles. “ You’ve learned a lot, but this might be my biggest failure.”

“What?” You almost sob, the word coming out squeezed as you rest your chin on top of her shoulder. Why are you so slow in getting the meaning of her words today? Has the cold water frozen your brain?

When she pushes you away, you hardly contain a whimper. You gather your arms close to your body, curling up on yourself as you try to cover as much skin as possible in the extreme attempt to stop shivering.

Miranda’s hands are on your face in an instant. She cups your head firmly, her fingers are cold against your cheeks. Her blue eyes are shimmering, boring into you with intent.

If you didn’t know better, you would say she was on the verge of crying.

“You mustn’t trust anybody.” She states, stressing every word.

You swallow, blinking rapidly but sustaining her gaze.

“You already know I trust you.”

In your head, you’ve just said something Miranda would be proud of. You imagined she would smile, praise you because that was exactly what she wanted to hear, that the world outside was a dangerous, vile place full of villains and threats while she is the only exception, the one who had saved you from a lame life, the only one who gives you a purpose.

Instead, Miranda frowns, her fingers pressing at either side of your head almost painfully. She clenches her jaw, and trembles with the effort.

“You mustn’t trust anybody.” She insists.

“Miranda, but it’s you-”

Her lips collide against yours and, just like the cold water, they steal your breath. Something within you, however, thaws out.

“Nobody.” She murmurs. “Especially me.”

Miranda leaves the room. Shivering, alone in the shower, you can’t do anything but listen to the water dripping by your feet.

#miranda croft #miranda croft x reader #tfa #the flight attendant #ao3 #four lines #hidden scars #fanfiction

[be-the-spark-flyboy]

Horror Night

Call It What You Want (1/?)

Series Masterlist

Summary: College AU where you meet Poe for the first time and you find out he isnt a fan of horror movies.

Pairing: Poe x Reader

A/N: I literally tried watch clips from the nun at 3am trying to reference scenes for this then gave up cos Valak is the scariest shit ive ever seen in my life istg 

Warning: swearing, fluff

Word count: ~1.5k

Autumn nights weren’t exactly your favourite, especially when you are not going to spend it curled up in your bed with a mug of tea, reading your favourite book. Yet here you were on a friday night, in a movie theatre. Rey stands beside you, an arm hooked around yours, chatting away about her day as the two of you wait your turn in the line.

You know Rey chose a horror movie for you, just so she could convince you to third wheel her and Finn. You didn’t mind them though. They were a sweet couple, not the type to be too absorbed in each other and totally ignore your presence. And you loved them both way too much to deny them anything.

“Oh! And Finn’s bringing a friend too, so we need to get four tickets,” Rey tells you.

“Great! Now I have to socialize?” Rey just rolls her eyes at you. It wasn’t exactly her fault that you weren’t feeling so chirpy at the time. Okay, maybe a little bit. She had been the one to drag you all the way here after a long day of lectures and presentations, not even letting you stop by your dorm to change into something more comfy. You are a little overdressed for going to the movies but you wouldn’t have minded your outfit too much if it wasn’t for the demon spawn heels, murdering your feet.

Now that your fantasy of curling up in the theater seat with a popcorn bucket, all to yourself and tuning out everyone else was crushed, your mood considerable darkened.

“Hey, come on. Poe’s a nice guy, you’ll like him.” Rey tries to convince you. Oh well, looks you were finally going to meet the Poe Dameron. The guy who Finn just can’t stop gushing about in the few months you’ve known him. At least you’ll be able to put a face to the name after today.

The two of you settle on a couch just outside the screening room with your snacks and tickets, waiting for the boys who are now running late. Traffic, apparently. Rey shifts the popcorn further from your reach when you try to swipe some from her.

“We need some left for when we’re watching the movie,” she chides, knowing how fast you can munch through your snacks.

“Are they always this late?” You whine, dramatically flinging yourself back into the couch. Rey chuckles at your antics, so used to them by now.

You hear Finn’s laughter before you see him. And who he’s with. 

Oh shit.

Now you were sure the universe hated you. It just so happened to be that Finn’s best friend was the hot stranger you had managed to thoroughly embarrass yourself in front of, barely a week ago. Sleep deprived you, had lost your footing, clumsily tumbling down half a flight of stairs. Luckily, you had escaped with just a few bruises. Unluckily, you had an audience the entire time. You were on the floor when that gorgeous face came into view, asking you if you were alright and you had stuttered and stumbled over your words, face going red with embarrassment.

Before you could consider running away and hiding somewhere, his gaze falls on you, eyes widening in recognition. Oh well, too late. Much to your dismay, the first words out of his mouth were, “You’re that girl from the stairs!”. 

Finn catches on quickly, “That was you?” and doubles over laughing at your expense while his friend gives you an apologetic smile. A smile that made his big brown eyes crinkle at the corners, making you fight to keep your cool because how the hell can someone be so hot and so cute at the same goddamn time? Unaware of your inner turmoil, he introduces himself to you.

“Sorry, I’m Poe Dameron,” you give him your name in return, trying not to cringe at the whole exchange. 

And Rey. She greets Poe, then just watches you, smirking like she knew something you didn’t. When you told her about the incident, you may or may not have referred to Poe as a fallen angel, and literally Adonis. And professed your desire to, quote, pull on those luscious dark curls. So she had witnessed you thirsting over her boyfriend’s best friend. Great. The only consolation was that Finn didn’t know about that, or at least you hope he didn’t.

Finn finally collects himself, and Rey passes the ticket around, announcing that you were going to be late if you stood around any longer. You don’t miss the way Poe frowns at the ticket and whispers a “Oh,”. Before you can ask him if everything was alright, Rey links arms with you, as she drags along to the screening room.

---

Poe is sitting beside you and he is tense. He had already shifted in his seat at least thrice in the first five minutes of the movie. 

By the time the four of you had walked into the movie theater, the lights were already dimmed and you had stumbled along in the dark after Finn trying to find your seats. And by the time you were seated, you realised you were sandwiched between Finn and Poe, and since Fin had turned all of his attention on Rey, you were left alone with Poe.

He had apologized for the whole debacle outside and you assured him it wasn’t a problem. That wasn’t the first time Finn had made fun of you for something anyways. The two of you made small talk before the movie started and turned you attention to the screen when it began. Poe, however, had gone rigid.

He was clearly not having fun. You feel sorry for him everytime he jolts at every jump scare. You feel him lean towards you under the pretense of resting his arm on the arm rest between your seats, his wide eyes never leaving the screen. You press your lips together, trying not to laugh out loud because you are paying more attention to his reactions to the movie than to the movie itself, popcorn laying forgotten between you both.

“You okay there?” He coughs to cover up the audible gasp that leaves his lips at your sudden interruption.

“Um ya, great!” 

“Not a fan of horror?” 

“That obvious huh?” His bashful smile makes your heart flutter. Before you could second guess yourself, you shift the popcorn bucket to your other hand and hook an arm around his on the arm rest. The weight of his shoulders pressing against yours and his body radiating warmth immediately feels like a safety blanket over you and you hope he feels the same way.

“Does this help?” You pray you aren’t making him uncomfortable as you look up at him and your doubts melt away at the soft smile on his face, his posture considerably more relaxed. 

Then he completely catches off guard as he laces his fingers with yours, warm skin brushing over your, the few callouses between his fingers, a contrast to the smoothness of him palms. You’re suddenly so thankful for the long sleeves of your blouse, hiding the goosebumps now rising all over your arm.

“Yeah,” he watches you carefully for any sign that you may not be comfortable, “This helps,” you give him a reassuring smile, despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You can still almost feel the shivers running down his spine whenever Valak shows up on the screen. His grip on your hand is tight but not uncomfortable. Poor Poe was trying so hard to keep it together.

You can tell Poe is not the kind of person to shy away from physical contact from how he didn’t hesitate to take your hand. Or maybe he was just that scared. Regardless, you lean you head against his shoulder, your other hand on his bicep, hoping you weren’t making him uncomfortable or being too touchy. But your doubts evaporate when he leans his head against yours, relaxing further into your touch.

You cannot really process that you were having such a soft, almost intimate moment with the guy you’ve exchanged barely a few words with. It completely ruins the adrenaline rush you were craving from the movie, but you feel way too comfortable to care. Your whole body feels tingly for an entirely different reason. You hadn’t felt like this since-

Now wasn’t the time to think about that. For now, you were busy thinking about how Poe was making your heart skip beats.

—-

Finn’s eyes are glued to the screen, and he has an arm around Rey. He hadn’t watched horror in sometime and is thoroughly enjoying himself and so was Rey. He wonders if Poe would like it.

Oh wait.

He brought Poe to a horror movie. He must be the worst friend in the galaxy, god. Poe hates horror.

“Oh shit,” he turns around to see how he was doing. Then turns back around snickering.

“What’s wrong,” Rey asks, confused with his reaction.

“Oh nothing, I forgot Poe hates horror. But it’s okay, he seems pretty cozy though,”

Rey leans forward to see what Finn was talking about and her eyes widen at the sight of you and Poe almost cuddling each other, your fingers interlocked, leaning on each other. You two did look really cozy. She leans back, jaw slack.

“Cute, right?” Finn asks, grinning ear to ear.

“Oh we might’ve done something,” the cogs in her head turns as she grins back at Finn.

---

Poe Dameron Tag list (open): @writefightandflightclub , @arkofblake , @yougottakeeponkeepinon​ , @multifandomlife22​ , @skymerons​ , @smol-peter-parker

#Poe Dameron #Poe x reader #Poe fluff #Starwars fanfic #Fluff #poe dameron fanfiction #poe fluff #fanfic #this took me wayyyy to long to write