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mysteria157 · 1 month

Text

Chapter One

Pairing: Black Fem!Reader x Hitman Toji Fushiguro

CW: Profanity, Hints of Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Comfort

Word Count: Don't worry about it.

Summary:

“I’m only going to say this one more time, Toji. I don’t do situationships. I don’t do friends with benefits or the occasional hookup. You want more? I want you to try. Earn me.”

His hands are so bloody, that if you ever knew the source, you would'nt want someone like him to try. He shouldn't be here, taking up so much of your time, asking for more. But he's selfish.

-or; Toji, a notorious hitman, moves to America for more money and a better life for his son. He didnt expect to sleep with you, let alone want more. When his dangerous life catches up to him, he takes on one final lucrative hit, but realizes this target has unseen connections hitting closer to home. Now he must navigate a perilous job while desperately keeping his criminal double life hidden from you.

Authors Notes: Hello! I hope you all enjoy this first chapter. As stated in the masterlist, this fic is a continuation from Maneater, so reading that will definitely help set the tone for this fic. I plan to dig deep with this story and really find my voice writing a different genre.

As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated! Enjoy and thank you for your support!

Dividers: @royallaesthetics @eloquentmoon | Header: created by myself (fanart from Pinterest)

**Do not plagiarize any of my works or translate without my permission!**

…women like you drown oceans -Rupi Kaur

*** You ***

Pop!

The sharp sound of gum expanding and then exploding causes you to flinch, your eyeliner pen frozen just above your lid. Through the mirror’s reflection, you shoot a glare at the open closet door, where your cousin rummages through your clothes.

Pop!

She’s in her own little world. If this were any other circumstance, she would have been scolded for her habit of popping gum—a top offender on the list of annoying behaviors ingrained in both of you since childhood. You detest the sound, and if you were closer, you would have punched her in the stomach by now.

You and your cousin typically get along well, but she enjoys testing your limits to coax you out of your shell. The only way to shut her up is by letting her tire herself out during her talkative rampages or swinging at her when you’ve had enough.

Every day with her is a gamble of which will come first.

Your eyeliner is still hovering by your upper lid, suspended in place as you watch another sundress get haphazardly thrown against the closet wall instead of being put back on a hanger where it fucking belongs.

You can’t bother with trying to get violent with her, you’re way too preoccupied with other thoughts. More incessant thoughts like how to play it cool on a date. It’s not that hard, right? Be yourself, get a gauge of the man trying to impress you, entertain a few hours of your day and then back home to relax.

Easy.

If it were anyone else but Toji, then it would be easy.

You had buried yourself in double shifts and extended hours in the lab just to distract yourself from today. Anything to keep you busy and keep your mind off the fact that someone you are sort of interested in…wants to see you. And he reminds you every day when you look down at your phone.

Despite his admission of being a lazy texter, Toji is surprisingly consistent. But the messages take on a blunt form wrapped around a small pearl of care.

Toji: Eat breakfast. What good are you in a hospital if you pass out?

Toji: Stop taking on more shifts, its stupid. Go home and rest.

Toji: You better not be tired this weekend.

No matter how hard you try to force your face to stay immobile, each text makes your lips twitch into a small smile. He masks his words in harsh deliveries, but the intention is obvious. The satisfying jolt that shoots up your spine when your phone buzzes with a notification from him should be embarrassing. It should be.

But you love it.

It’s absurd, really. Only two weeks have passed since you met him, hardly enough time to form any meaningful connection. Yet, that night at your uncle’s was unexpectedly delightful. Toji was, against your better judgment, charming and attentive, almost to the point of clinginess. And, undeniably, he’s attractive. And a fucking fantastic lay.

So, despite your instinct to ignore a man and the way they flaunt their feathers for your attention, you want Toji to bring that same energy as last time.

You lean your elbows back into the shiny wood of your vanity, focusing your attention on your eye as you lower the eyeliner to your skin.

Pop!

The sound makes you jump, disrupting your focus and smearing the eyeliner across your temple.

“Rene!” you bark, slamming your eyeliner down on the vanity top with a force that makes your hand sting, and you yank a drawer open in search of a makeup wipe. “Stop popping your gum before I come over there and beat the shit out of you.” As you wipe off the smudged makeup, you catch the reflection of your cousin emerging from your closet.

She embodies a beauty that’s almost blinding, matched only by her lively personality. So naturally, heads turn when she enters a room, her chocolate skin seemingly radiant wherever she goes. With her thick, kinky hair always in a protective style and her unshakeable confidence in her intelligence and appearance, Rene caught Shiu’s attention immediately, and he’s been captivated ever since.

She is one of very few in your family who truly gets you, who sees the world with clarity and understands its nuances and how to navigate through it without compromising her ideals. Since childhood, you’ve stuck to each other like glue. She understands you and your guarded demeanor, you understand her and her loud personality. She’s one of your best friends.

But at this moment, as she stands before you in booty shorts and a tank top that accentuates her curves, her twist out cascading from a pineapple updo, and an outfit draped over one arm, she is pissing you off as she pops her gum againwith a cheeky expression.

“I like your makeup.” A sly grin stretches on her face, enhancing her soft features. You ignore her, feeling your defenses rise as she effortlessly peels back your layers. The liquid eyeliner glides against the smooth brown of your skin, forming a subtle cat-eye as you pretend not to notice her approaching you from behind.

She gracefully settles onto your vanity top, ignoring your lipstick casing that teeters over and rolls across the shiny surface. You shoot her another glare before moving to your other eye. “You should put on some mascara too. When you give him head later today, I’m sure he’ll love to see it run down your cheeks and—”

You swing at her not even a second later, landing a solid smack on the side of her thigh. “UM Ow?!”

“Um?? Shut the fuck up,” you growl, sneering at her with a leveling scowl that you hope cuts through her.

It doesn’t.

Rene snorts, shrugging off the vanity and moving to your bed to change her clothes. As she pulls your dark jeans over her thick thighs, you can’t help but wonder if you should dress more…sexy? Your jean shorts reveal enough skin, and the jersey fits snugly around your torso. You’re no stranger to dressing to the nines and making heads turn just like her, but you value practicality more than appeal. It’s a football game, after all, and you love football. Why bother looking overly sexy when you’ll be screaming and stuffing hotdogs and pretzels in your mouth?

Despite the logic, a hand of insecurity tightens around your throat.

Rene, like the annoyingly clairvoyant bitch she is, tastes the shift in the air and rolls her eyes at you through the mirror’s reflection. “You look fucking amazing. Toji asked you out—frequently, I might add.”

The memories of his persistence flash through your mind in a rush. Heated touches in the backseat of your truck, sweaty skin sliding against each other, and your mouth dripping with moans of satisfaction were constantly interrupted by his repeated question.

“Let me take you out.”

As if he couldn’t get enough. As if he wanted more. As if he wouldn’t leave your uncle’s house that night until you flat-out told him to leave you alone.

You haven’t entertained a man since your cheating ex, so your defenses remain high and guarded, fortified with brick and mortar, armed to fend off anyone who comes too close.

But in such a short time, Toji managed to advance further than others with hard skin resilient to your attacks, and a constant insistence to be by your side. He’s spoken to you in ways that would have landed others in the ER, yet his words were always laced with harsh care to make you confront your own overreactions instead of hiding.

“Stop acting up and let me be nice to you.”

“You’re not mean to men; you just don’t do bullshit.”

“It’s okay to be a little excited about this,” Rene interjects, slicing through the thick current of your anxiety.

And you are, excited and a little nervous, though you don’t respond to her, simply reaching for your clear lip gloss to finish your makeup.

By the time there is a knock on your door thirty minutes later, you and Rene are ready to go. Your curls are piled high on your head, tendrils falling to frame your face and your hairline slicked with curled edges. There’s a subtle shake in your hands wrapped around the handle of your front door, betraying the calm façade you wear. As you open it, expecting Toji’s familiar face, you’re met with Shiu, a toothpick in his mouth and a gentle smile playing on his lips.

You greet him warmly with a hug, letting him inside. He can only hug you for a second before rushing past you and toward the direction of your room, anxious to see his fiancé. “Don’t fuck on my bed!” you yell after him, loud enough for your cousin to hear.

It’s only a minute later when there’s a knock at the door that makes you jump, shocking you into reality again as you realize that you haven’t moved since inviting Shiu inside. In your stupidity, you look through the peephole and swallow the gasp at Toji’s distorted form.

“I can see your feet. Open the door,” his deep voice cuts, familiar and commanding.

Your fingers curl against the wooden surface of your door, nails scratching lightly along the veneer as you wrestle with the innate temptation to be stubborn. Besides Nanami Kento—another close friend and coworker—Toji is the only man you’ve let talk to you like this. He’s a little bit of an asshole, but beneath his rough exterior lies a tender core that beckons you to peel back the layers like an onion, eager to feel just how soft the bulb is in the center. You’re drawn to him in a way you can’t explain, and it’s a longing that ignites a hunger that you haven’t experienced in a very long time.

With a resigned sigh, you swing the door open to be welcomed by the sight of him, a picture that leaves you momentarily breathless. You swallow the drool that pools instantly in the back of your throat, curl your toes in your sneakers to resist the urge to spring forward and slant your lips against his, and bite the inside of your lip so the twitching on the sides does not turn into a gentle smirk.

“You look good, baby,” his words roll off his tongue effortlessly, his gaze sweeping over you with a knowing intensity. It feels as though he’s studying a heavily guarded masterpiece that he finally has his hands on to steal. He notices every stroke of paint, every blotch that makes you who you are and it’s with a concentration that leaves you dizzy enough to grip the door tighter in your hands.

Though only a week has passed since you last saw him, his presence still grips you with a force that borders on intoxicating. Clad in a black shirt that accentuates his commanding presence, his broad shoulders exude a magnetic strength that summons you, stirring a primal desire to dig your fingernails into him like you did that night in your truck. One of his hands is tucked in a jeaned pocket, the other is behind his back, and jet-black locks brush his cheeks as he chuckles, undoubtedly amused by the dumbfounded stare that you’re still shooting his way. His scar cradles the side of his lips in a seductive curl as he smirks.

God, he’s so—he’s so—

His presence seems to fill the entire room, a tangible force even without crossing the threshold of your home. An urgent ache surges within you, craving the warmth of his embrace, the security of his strength.

“You gonna let me in or just keep your mouth open for the flies?” His voice breaks the reverie in your mind, a well-known blend of annoyance that fills your chest immediately. You’re reminded of how effortlessly irritating he can be, yet there’s a strange allure in his confidence.

At this point, you don’t have a quip loaded up quick enough to shoot back at him. So, you step aside and hold your breath as his large body crosses the threshold of your home.

The last time he was at your door, he barged inside with a barely contained fury and pulled you into an argument that stemmed from your unwillingness to be vulnerable and his lack of expertise in expressing himself. It was a weird song and dance that marked the beginning of something you still don’t fully understand. Now, he’s here with a slightly different demeanor, calm and self-assured as he plants a firm kiss on your cheek as if he’s a hardworking husband returning home just in time for dinner.

You gape at his nonchalance, watching in disbelief as he kicks off his shoes and pulls his hand from behind his back, presenting you a bouquet of flowers in a manner that feels both rushed and sincere. You look down at the flowers, wide-eyed and blinking to make sure the reality you are currently in isn’t actually a simulation.

Daisies.

Not the cheap, wilted blooms you kind of expected from him, but fresh, vibrant flowers. Their white petals gleam softly, each grain of pollen in the yellow center visible in the light of your kitchen. The stems are freshly cut, wrapped in a simple red bow and your chest is fluttering with a severity that unsettles you.

“I didn’t know what kind you liked. And I don’t trust Shiu with an honest answer so…” His words trail off, leaving unspoken sentiments lingering in the air.

Your lips curl around words that won’t form, and you mentally sort through your book of tricks. It’s a book you’ve spent years filling after countless experiences. Men will do just about anything for pussy. There’s no reason to be shocked at why they do the things they do—they’re all the same.

But even from that first day you met, you have already shuffled through your book when it comes to Toji. Every time you look up whatever trick he tries to pull, you come up with an empty page. There’s never a solution or a pre-written response that you can use. You have no choice but to figure this out on your own and fill in the pages later.

“If you don’t like them, you don’t have to take them,” he cuts into your thoughts, words edged with a trace of embarrassment that he’s trying to cover up with frustration. “Just give them back—” He reaches for the flowers, and you reflexively pull your arms away, much to your own shock at the way your body moves on its own.

“I like them,” you blurt out, your voice not as strong as you want it to be but thankfully steady as the words leave your lips. “They’re very nice, Toji. Thank you.”

He drops his hand, shoves it deep into the pocket of his jeans before clearing his throat and giving you a sharp nod. His eyes take in your face for only a second before they flit away to focus on a random spot in your living room, a hint of blush on his cheeks that makes the fluttering in your chest pick up in speed. It’s a weird feeling that will consume you if you don’t stay in control.

So, you push it down, swallow the pool of saliva in your mouth so it can help the glide, all the way down to the pit of your belly to extinguish the embers that threaten to lick to life. You shuffle past him and into the kitchen to fetch a vase, your mind sorting through the symptoms of various pulmonary diseases to distract yourself from the giddiness of him getting you flowers.

A normal thing. The bare minimum for a man. But it makes you feel great all the same. They aren’t your favorite, not even close, but it’s a gesture that shatters your preconceived notions about Toji that probably shouldn’t be there in the first place.

“What are they?” he asks, face still pink below his eyes that linger on the countertop instead of at you. You untie the bow at the stems and slide the daisies into an antique vase with crystalline ridges, shooting him a questioning raised eyebrow in response. One of his hands gestures wildly to the vase you are filling with water. “Your favorite flowers.”

“Snapdragons.” Toji throws you a quizzical look, his eyebrows pinched together in a clear display of confusion that makes you chuckle. You push the now full vase of flowers to the center of your kitchen countertop, the sight warming your stomach no matter how much you try to stop it. “They aren’t in season, but there’s a vendor here that sells them in the Spring and Fall. Growing up, we lived right next to a river where they would grow. My father would pick them every year and bring them to my mother as a gift. Whenever they wilted, he picked more and replaced them…over and over until they weren’t in season anymore.”

You dig your teeth into the wet flesh of your cheek to stop yourself from rambling, the need to talk more about yourself is at the tip of your tongue. He’s quiet as he takes in your response, eyebrows twitching with fleeting emotion before they smooth out into their usual calm expression. Maybe it’s your eyes playing tricks, but he looks as if he’s locked away your little nugget of information and is ready to move on to the next thing.

More of you.

That gaze is now free of shyness and taking you in, sharp and cutting and rough around the edges, his green irises sliding down to the exposed skin of your thighs, and they must beckon him because he makes his way towards you with a dominating presence that tightens your throat. He walks around the countertop, avoiding the sharp edge from biting into his side and now he’s standing in front of you, looming and dwarfing you without even trying. You catch a whiff of his cheap cologne—a different scent from what you smelled before—but still rich with bergamot undertones that make you more curious than bothered at his frugal mentality.

“Can I kiss you? Or you gonna smack me instead?”

Even though he’s teasing, he displays the growing knowledge of your boundaries and the lengths you will go to protect yourself.

“What, you want to get smacked, Toji?” you retort, lifting an eyebrow at him, your neck tingling from the strain of looking up due to his height. God, he’s such a big man. Big and burly and just enough to overwhelm you in a way that you crave so, so much.

“Nah. I want a kiss,” he confidently responds, blowing away the cloud of lust from around your head.

He’s too close and yet not close enough. He smells too good, looks too good with a voice that’s too deep and melodic for you to ride on logic for a full day, but you need him closer, so much closer and—

Your back brushes against the edge of the kitchen sink, making you tense at the realization that he’s backed you up against it and is looking down at you with that nasty smirk you entertain more than you should.

“You…” you begin, trailing off when one of his muscular arms reaches past you to rest onto the counter on one side, still giving you an escape route even though you’ll take being trapped against him any time of the day. “You already kissed me on the cheek when you walked in without asking me. Don’t be stingy.”

Toji clicks his tongue in disappointment, the sound pushing a rush of electricity down your spine that’s generating too much energy between your legs. He shrugs, broad shoulders pulling up and down, stretching his shirt in the most delicious way. “That’s not enough.”

Although lust is darkening your thoughts slowly despite your resolve, you still have enough common sense to remember the kind of woman you are. You’re someone unwilling to tolerate fuckboy behavior and would rather humiliate a man than give in to temptation that would only embarrass you in the future. You have to stay in control. Just for the rest of the day to measure his intentions with a level head. Even though you feel heavy with lidded eyes, you slip into that second skin of yourself with ease.

“Ask nicely,” you whisper.

He takes the bait—like they always do—and slinks further into your space, his broad and muscular form brushes against your softer one. Your gaze remains indifferent as he asks to kiss you in a sing-song voice that’s borderline annoying and teasing, threatening to make you laugh despite your resistance.

You take in his question with a noncommittal hum and slide a hand up the soft fabric of his chest. The muscles underneath flex and twitch beneath your palm, echoing memories of that unforgettable night when you could slide your fingers on the sweat of his abs as you rode him for all he was worth.

Your hand rests against his cheek, watching as he slowly falls for your trap, inhaling deeply with his lips a mere breath away from yours before you speak calmly and softly.

“No.”

You stroke his cheek in a soothing manner before patting it a little too hard that’s close to a smack, yanking a grunt of frustration from him as he pulls away with an bothered growl. You relish in the sigh of his scar twisting when his face curls with annoyance, his eyes rolling and his arms folding across his chest like a child being denied dessert. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles from your lips, growing in intensity as his eyes narrow at you.

“You’re so damn annoying,” he pouts, and the fact that he truly looks put off for not getting a kiss only makes you laugh harder.

***

The sight and sound of cheering fans excite you, filling you with childhood memories of games with your father. As the four of you make your way through the large parking lot and in the direction of the stadium, you take in the display of emotions that cross Toji’s face as he is immersed in a part of culture unfamiliar to him. The intricacies of American sports are puzzling to Toji, you realize. While you wave excitedly to the fans who are tailgating and grilling food and playing cornhole, he looks on in disbelief. When you explain the concept of tailgating to him, his expression deepens even more. He doesn’t like the hecklers that litter right outside the entrance and try to sell nosebleed tickets twelve times the market price. He thinks porta-pottys are foul as he takes in the long line of people who wait along the side of the large parking lot. You can tell he’s a little overwhelmed, and aggravated by the new things he learns. But he doesn’t complain, content to listen to the three of you as he watches his surroundings.

Despite the array of emotions that engulf him, he keeps you by his side without a second thought. The closer you get to the stadium, the thicker the crowd gets. When you make it through security and begin the long journey up the stone circular walkway of the stadium, Toji wraps a muscular arm around you and rests his hand on your hip in a grip that conveys a protective strength that shoots fluctuating reactions through you.

At first, you think he just wants his hands on you, and you’re prepared to smack his touch away. But then your perception shifts; a random man bumps into you with a sharp elbow into your arm and he turns around with an angry expression ready to yell. The glare that Toji levels at him leaves the man sputtering and apologizing before he slinks back into the crowd.

Normally, you don’t thrive off blatant displays of masculinity, but the sight of the man running away from Toji’s imposing stare makes your stomach fill with a deep-seated lust that surprises you. Like you’re a cavewoman, watching her caveman beat at his chest when another caveman gets too close to you. Toji grumbles to himself about the sheer number of people, his voice tinged with frustration even though his reassuring touch is gentle as he guides you through the throng of people toward your seats.

Thankfully, they aren’t nosebleeds, and they give you a good view of the field, with players already warming up. There is a large group of kids who hang off the rails, squealing in delight as their favorite players come and say hello and sign their jerseys and footballs. The speakers boom with music and commercial ads, the warm air carries the smell of popcorn up your nose, and your blood pumps in excitement.

It has been a while since you attended a football game, distant memories of sitting on your father’s shoulders as you both cheered in the stands. Since his death, you haven’t had the drive nor the time to attend another. So, to be in this position again with a man you are still trying to understand, it’s odd. But it’s not unwelcome and you’re going to enjoy every minute of it. When you watch football at home with your family, you’re a different person. You are loud and unashamed to express your feelings when you watch the games unfold. You stand up and sneer and bark at the officiant who can’t even hear you. You argue with your family about plays and players who will never know you. You love every emotion that the game brings out in you, and you’re unashamed to hide it. Toji is going to see a side of you that will either push him away or make him slink closer for more.

So, when the game begins with the kickoff, you join in the collective screams of the crowd, waving a towel in the air adorned with the yellow and black of your favorite team that is playing.

To your surprise once more, Toji did his homework. He effortlessly explains the rules as you both watch the first quarter together, looking to you for approval to make sure he’s correct. His attentive nature transforms into active participation as he cheers alongside you, his voice deep and booming compared to your screeching.

In the second quarter, there’s an injury on the field and the clash of pads ceases for long enough that fans leave their seats for food and to stretch their legs. Shiu and Rene disappear to get themselves a drink and it’s just you and Toji in the middle of empty seats.

“You’re a screamer,” he teases, his voice low and appreciative as he leans on his thigh with a cheek resting on his fist. His hair flows in the warm air before settling on pale cheeks.

“Too loud for you?” you retort, even if mildly curious about what he thinks of this side of yourself.

Toji purses his lips as he regards you with relaxed eyes. “It didn’t take me long to realize you’re not a dainty little thing. And besides,” A smile stretches across his face, white teeth glinting with a sinister disposition before his lips load with a remark you know will be salacious. “I like my women loud.”

You can be loud if he wants you to be. Preferably in another place besides your car where he can thrust like a man mad between your legs and dig those gleaming white teeth into the skin of your neck—

Oh.

For fuck’s sake.

Your blood simmers in your veins at the suggestion in his words. His eyes watch your throat when you swallow a thick pool of spit and that smile grows impossibly larger, a Cheshire cat looking at you with nasty intent. He’s too aware of the effect he has on women, and you have to look away from him to resist succumbing to the seductive charm that he wields naturally.

You steer the conversation back into your hands. “You were so curious about me when we first met but I don’t know much about you. Are you here in America for a reason? What do you do for work?”

In your own line of work, observation is key; every subtle cue from your patients holds significance, revealing layers of truths that they usually try to conceal. So, when you notice the tension in Toji’s jaw at your question, the way his features contort subtly, it’s a detail you slot into a drawer of curiosity that takes part of the file cabinet of Toji in your mind.

“I’m a private investigator,” he confesses harshly, catching you off guard. It’s a revelation you don’t anticipate. His imposing features give you the impression of a firefighter or maybe even a cop. Not someone watching others in his car, bugging houses and apartments, and gathering evidence. A PI? You open that drawer of curiosity again and slot away this information as well. He shrugs away the awkwardness that your silence brings, nonchalant and dismissive, avoiding your gaze. “It pays the bills. The hours suck sometimes but…the work is easy.”

“So…naturally I can’t really ask about the things you do?” you don’t hide the inquisitiveness that coats your words.

“It’s nothing glamorous enough to talk about.” And that’s all he offers you in response.

You have a myriad of questions swirling in your mind, each vying for attention from a man who is as tight-lipped as you. How did he even get into this kind of work? Who are his clients? Cheaters, embezzlers…or criminals?

That and so much more brew in your mind, tumbling over the other but ultimately dissipating when you sense his reluctance, evident from his still-averted gaze and tense shoulders.

“What about family? You asked me about mine, but I never got to hear about yours.”

Granted, you only told him about the members of your family who danced in your backyard when you both were wrapped in one another two weeks ago. He doesn’t know about the more intimate parts of your family life. He doesn’t know about your father’s death, or the estrangement of your stepfamily. But that can come later. Toji hasn’t given you enough of himself.

Toji’s features now morph into disdain, souring the air between you. The bright emerald of his eyes dims with a grayish overcast, the liquid of the irises hardening like cooling lava.

His response is terse, laced with palpable displeasure that intensifies the acrid taste in the air. “There isn’t much to tell. I don’t get along with them, and they do their best to not get along with me either.” The timbre of his voice is lower, menacing enough to let you know it’s a subject he won’t entertain. At least for right now.

You open your mouth to speak again, to maybe apologize for making him uncomfortable, to reassure him that you wouldn’t judge him over something like this. He shifts in his seat, clasps his hands together and absentmindedly picks at a callous on the side of his thumb. The pink flush on his cheeks is not one of bashfulness, but of frustration and embarrassment. From the sliver of his eyes you can see, there is something simmering beneath the surface that might take you a while to unveil.

“I do have a son, though.” The sentence shoots into the air and down your spine with a chilling clarity, breaking the flow of your thoughts as you blink in astonishment.

Pardon???

Considering he’s a grown man a few years older than you, it’s understandable. But the notion of him being a father never crossed your mind. The concept of children isn’t foreign to you; you see and take care of them every day. It’s the concept of children coming from him that’s a new development you have to consider.

While you believe you can handle a relationship with a single father, you’re upset at being told now, rather than before.

“You were with me all day two weeks ago and you never took the time to mention you have a son?”

You don’t hide your irritation. Once your trust is lost, it’s almost impossible to regain. Why would you give away sacred pieces of yourself to a man you wouldn’t trust to hold those pieces with care?

Despite your frustration, you rationalize.

Maybe Toji was nervous to bring it up? Some people may like to ease into such topics. This relationship, or whatever this is, is brand new and smooth. There haven’t been any cracks caused by arguments or behavior that is damaging.

But this isn’t about having a job that he’s not proud of or admitting that he is not financially responsible. This is about an entire child, a facet of his life that he cannot hide away. How long would he have waited to tell you if the topic of family hadn’t come up so soon? Would he have told you? Would he hide his son away and push him off to a babysitter on date nights so you are never aware? Would he sleep over at your house, so you can’t see the room that’s decorated for a child or the toys scattered about the floor?

As you wrestle with the growing anxiety that crawls across your skin, Toji fumbles for something in his pocket, his face a satisfying beet red as you watch him hand you his open phone. Bright from the illumination of the screen, you take in a picture of a young boy who bears a striking resemblance to Toji. His raven locks spiky and disheveled, his green eyes sharp and ethereal, and he wears a bored and calm expression just like his father. The chubbiness of his cheeks and innocence in his eyes tug at something in your chest; he can’t be any older than six years old. The sight of the boy makes you think of the many kids you take care of every day, and some of the frustration subsides within you.

“His name is Megumi,” he informs you, shy despite his rough exterior. He picks at the callous on the side of his thumb again, and one of his legs begins to shake in place.

The frustration dies down more. It’s a beautiful name, and as you look at the picture, a small smile tugs at your lips. You wonder what kind of a boy he is.

“Fuck listen—just I-I’m shit at this.”

You look up at him and take in the apprehension on his face. His lips are downturned in a gentle frown, the scar on the side of his face warped along with the muscles of his mouth. There’s a sense of shame in his gaze, and it somehow makes you feel relieved to know that he can feel just how upset you are.

“I don’t date women…I fuck them and stay around until they want me gone.” He doesn’t bother to sugarcoat his words. They shoot out of his mouth, piercing your skin with their directness. It’s a little painful, and you struggle to absorb his blatant honesty, feeling flashes of anger and indignation fill your chest as your lips part, ready to respond with directness of your own. “But you’re the first woman in a long fucking time that’s made me want more. So just…” he trails off, stuttering over what to say before ultimately growling low in his throat into silence.

You hesitate, lips flinching and syllables of fury dissipating in the small space between your top and bottom lip. “You gonna let me meet him?” you snap because you’re still mildly irritated as you give him his phone and pinch the muscle of his bicep with a harshness that reflects your fading anger and your desire to see him squirm for his actions.

He swats your hand away as if you’re a pest, moving his arm from you with a sneer that holds no malice. “No let me just lock him in my closet every time I want to see you—of course, I’ll fucking let you meet him.”

You throw him a withering glare, ignoring his sarcasm, and the smirk that slides onto his lips only makes you want to either smack or kiss him. The fact that you can’t decide on which only annoys you more.

*** Toji ***

“Gimme two hot dogs and a pretzel,” Toji mutters to the concession stand attendant. It’s halftime, and the walkways behind the stands are crowded with fans hurrying to go to the bathroom, or for more food and alcohol. You stand close to him, a welcome warmth that he wants more of but refuses to ask for on the off chance you deny him. He doesn’t feel like pouting for the rest of the day.

“And what’ll it be for the lady?” the attendant asks with a level of humor that is off-putting, a smile on his face that Toji knows you itch to smack off.

“It is for the lady,” you correct, a hint of condescension falling from plush lips that you still won’t let him taste. The attendant sputters, his face red as a tomato as he takes the rest of Toji’s order, doing his best to ignore the deadly glare you shoot him as he counts Toji’s money. A snort rattles from Toji’s chest as he watches you. He’s known from the beginning that you’re fiery, but seeing it firsthand fascinates and arouses him at the same time.

This environment is different for him, odd in every way, and a foreign ground that he’s unsteady on. The celebratory atmosphere reminds him of the loud laughter and fireworks from festivals that he could hear outside the Zenin compound throughout the year. He thinks of the Tanabata festivals he never got to experience or the years of Hanami that he was forbidden to enjoy. He could only take a small bit of pleasure in cherry blossoms in the Zenin gardens, blooming and scattering their petals on the well-kept grass to mark the beginning of the season. As a child, he was never allowed much. He was seen as ‘inferior trash’ that was insignificant and unworthy to be looked at let alone talked to unless it was to yell or belittle. Naturally, his family didn’t want others to see where said trash came from if they could help it.

He can’t think about it right now—he won’t. The thought of his family brings a tight coil of pain and anger in his chest, a coil he had used as fuel to cope with his dangerous decisions.

There’s so much more that he needs to focus on, like the fact that you’ve already taken a big bite out of one of your hot dogs. Half of it has disappeared from your hand, and there’s ketchup on the edge of your mouth as you chew. He notices the way you shift your hips from side to side in your seat, and the satisfied hum that escapes your throat. You’re satisfied, and while you eat with manners, you don’t hide your boisterous enjoyment, finishing one hot dog and moving on to the next, your pretzel wedged between the meat of your seductive thighs.

He’s been trying to be respectful all day ever since you denied him a kiss in the kitchen, but you’re tempting him. When you answered the door earlier in the afternoon, the hand that was in his pocket pinched the side of his thigh until the shameless thoughts could fade away.

You’ve graced his presence with shorts and a jersey, a yellow and black number that lays against your chocolate skin in a way that still seems to make you glow in the setting sun. No braids this time, your natural curls have fallen from your bun after screaming so much, framing your face and causing your gold hoops to wink at him. You didn’t wear makeup that night when he met you, so the sight of eyeliner on you today, and the way it accentuates the curve of your eye and the heaviness of your long lashes, it makes him shift in his seat.

He’s had to clench his jaw and bear the pain of his teeth grinding against each other to stop himself from ogling at the mouth-watering canvas of your legs. You’re all curves with dimples at the bottom of your thighs when you sit, and his gums ache to sink into the flesh so you can squeal and beg for him to touch you where you want it most. It’s been weeks since that night and he’s feigning for more. When you smile at him or shoot him a glare, it reminds him of that commanding aura you had in the backseat of your truck, and the back of his neck prickles with sweat.

While the thought of you skinning him alive if he decides to be a Neanderthal turns him on, he wants to be civil. In your kitchen earlier today, you allowed him to get close enough to feel the heat radiating from your skin, to catch the scent of coconut from your curls, tantalizing his senses until your firm ‘no’ sobered him up immediately. It was a stark reminder of who you are, and how little you tolerate.

He'll behave.

His eyes catch you guzzling down five heaping gulps of your beer, the foam coating your upper lip. You wipe it away with your finger, sucking the digit into your mouth, and popping it out completely oblivious to how sinful you look and Toji’s catapulted into that day when you sucked your own cum off his fingers.

He has to behave.

The vibration of his phone in his pocket sours his mood immediately, turning his gaze from your form as he digs into his pocket. It’s the third time it’s buzzed today, and he knows who it is. No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, he can only put off his job for so long.

Unknown: Good job on the assignment last week.

Unknown: Your pay should be in your account by tonight.

Unknown: There’s another contract for you if you’re interested. Message me back and I’ll send you details.

“Everything okay?” Your voice pulls him from his phone, and he meets your curious gaze, one of your elegant eyebrows lifting in question as you assess him. “Something with work?”

“Yea,” he replies and regrets it immediately.

Lie #1

It’s not a complete lie—it is work—but the details…

Toji takes a long swig of his beer, attempting to soothe the shame that washes over him.

You really are a screamer.

Toji sits back in his seat, watching you with a wicked smile as you unleash a torrent of colorful language that makes his cock twitch. Even though you roar with the crowd, your voice rises higher.

“That’s a fucking flag! I should come down there and officiate for you instead you stupid piece of shit!”

Your curls brush the skin of your cheeks that puff in your frustration, your arms folding across your chest as you cock your hip and growl beneath your breath. You’re easily the loudest one in this section of the stands. Rene revels in it, egging you on by rooting for the opposite team and giggling when you bark at her. Shiu is content to watch the display, a fresh toothpick in his mouth and an arm over Rene’s shoulders as he idly twirls a lock of hair at her nape. You’re all yelling and sputtering indignation as you watch the game unfold, your team losing by what Toji has learned is a touchdown.

He knew this side of you was there. He could tell in the weight of your gaze that night. It's a side of you that he did not expect to see so soon. He soaks it in. He takes in the way you cuss out the man three rows down who won’t stop glaring at you. He absorbs how high-pitched the screech of your voice makes his eardrums shake, and he revels in the smile that forms on your lips when your team scores the game-winning touchdown.

When there are lulls in the game, you tell him about your career. You’re a pulmonary pediatric fellow at a hospital here in town that’s only a year and a half from completing your fellowship. You smile when you talk about the kids you take care of and your associates at work. You’re proud of your research and of how far you’ve come.

All of it, every part of you that you show him, is comforting. Warm despite how cold you appear. It’s a comfort he didn’t imagine having…ever in his life—especially a dreary life like his. But he soaks up this—you—as much as he can.

When the game is over, you’re elated and giggling, tucked into his side as he guides you through the drunken crowd. The moon is high in the sky, and it bathes your skin and makes you stand out in the crowd. You look up at him, smiling softly with a buzzed gaze that’s two beers deep.

“Did you have fun? Not bad for your first American game?”

“You screamed the entire time,” he teases, chuckling at the way you gape up at him and then sneer before turning away. He throws his arm around your shoulders, using the touch as a safe territory to keep his hands to himself, and pulls you closer.

You demand cotton candy which he indulges in as well before you both part ways with Rene and Shiu. The journey back to your apartment is a quiet one. As Toji drives, the warm July air fills the car, mingling with the faint strains of classic rock playing on the radio. Toji watches with flickering glances as you hum along, your eyes closed and the breeze wafting through your curls loose around your shoulders.

Something inside of him rattles. Whatever it is, it’s long-forgotten and buried deep within him, surrounded by cobwebs and dust that have accumulated over time since that dark day years ago.

*** You ***

From the short journey of his car to inside of your apartment, you repeat to yourself that you have to take this slow, for your own peace of mind.

You keep the most intimate parts of yourself locked away and only those who are worthy of you have a copy of the key. But somehow, and in such a short time, Toji has stolen a copy for himself and slotted the key into the door. But thankfully, the door is caught against the wall, hinges rusted over and ungiving.

You have to know more about him before you let him in to look at those parts of you. If you jump the gun and give him more so soon and end up hurt, it will throw you into a depth of pain that you promised yourself to never touch again if you could help it.

“You have a good time?”

Toji’s voice breaks the silence, his arms folding tightly across his chest, betraying the restlessness in his hands. His messy black locks, tousled by the late July humidity, partially hide his emerald gaze, which flickers briefly to meet your own before darting away.

Your socked feet pad across the hardwood floor, closing the space between you, and your head slowly tilts to look at him. Despite his façade of composure, his scar curves against his lips in a slight twist, twitching as he tries not to frown. Thin eyebrows pitch down in frustration, and you catch the way his fingertips drum against the skin of his biceps. He’s fidgety—nervous. Is he upset with himself? Ashamed that he couldn’t take you out on a proper date with dinner and a movie like everyone else expects?

Hopefully, he will learn that you go against the grain of proper in so many ways.

“I had a great time,” you confess softly, noticing the subtle relaxation in his stance at your words. The thrumming of his fingers stop, the tension in his shoulder fades. “You wanted to take me out and I let you. That all you want from me?”

He’s such an expressive man.

His face twists, perturbed by your bluntness and the prospect of delving into emotional territory. “I told you already that I want more.”

His declaration sends a fluttering through your heart that is reminiscent of the feeling you had when he surprised you with a slice of yellow cake. It’s comforting, and you want to lean into it. But it’s not enough to overwhelm you. You’re still in your right mind and still aware of your expectations even though he captivates you.

You press your finger into the firmness of his chest, hard so that the muscle pillows around your digit. The gaze you shoot up at him is unyielding, serious, and menacing enough that he straightens his spine just a little.

“Listen to me, because I’m only going to say this one more time. I don’t do situationships. I don’t do friends with benefits or the occasional hookup. I’m not saying things need to be serious with us but…you need to show me that you mean it.”

As you speak, you assess Toji, who shows no signs of amusement or ignorance. His posture is rigid, his back ramrod straight, and his deep green gaze locked onto yours.

“That night we had was great. I won’t deny that but…I won’t compromise my expectations and I don’t tolerate bullshit. I’m not going to let you fuck me just because we did it before. You want more? I want you to try. Earn me.”

You relish in the way his eyes widen, contemplating your words and the severity beneath them before his face smooths back into its usual cool demeanor. He unfolds his arms from his chest, and you curse inwardly at the way you immediately watch his shirt stretch across defined pectorals.

“You know you’re a feisty little thing.”

Heat from the way he speaks and annoyance at his lack of attention flare within you like wildfire. You open your mouth to yell, to bark at him to be serious, but the sound of his laughter extinguishes that fire inside of you instantly.

He doesn’t offer an apology for his comment and you don’t need one. You know you’re feisty and steadfast. It’s the only way you can function around men to survive, to stay afloat and still have a grasp of who you are. And if Toji couldn’t handle it, you definitely wouldn’t have slept with him or entertained a date that you thoroughly enjoyed.

“I’ll try,” he finally offers, voice soft but filled with conviction. Normally the small remark would offend you, but surprisingly coming from Toji, it’s enough.

Observing his behavior today and a little bit two weeks ago, you note his acceptance of your quirks and individuality—at least the bits you allow him to see. He marveled at the amount of food you ate and joined alongside you. He let you babble to him about every single player on your favorite team and how many championships they had won. He let you display your strength in your voice and personality, didn’t try to control or overshadow you like so many other past experiences you’ve had before learning how to rule the men in your life.

He let you be yourself.

And that thought makes you finally open your mouth to give him something he had asked for earlier, something you had previously denied despite your own desires.

“You can have your kiss,” you offer with a shrug, feigning nonchalance even though your heart picks up in speed as the implication registers on his face. “So you better do it right.”

It’s an invitation that he snatches away from your imaginary hands and tears open with thick fingers, greedy and growling with finality.

His sharp gaze traces the contours of your body, unabashed in its appraisal, leering at the pieces of skin visible to him. You know he’s been looking at you all day, but his observation now is intense, heavy and without reservation and you’re fumbling from the sudden rush of longing that pumps hot through your veins.

Toji inches closer, your hands instinctively find their way to his chest, his towering presence overwhelming your small stature. His height ignites an evolutionary desire in you that makes your mouth water, makes your cunt pulse with need beckoning for him to fill the mold he left inside two weeks ago. You’re still not used to climbing up the summit of him, so the air is thin once more, pulling the oxygen from your lungs and stuttering in your chest when a large hand cups the side of your neck and tilts your face up to him like an offering.

When his lips slide against yours, your fingers in his shirt tighten. His touch singes the ends of your nerves, boils the blood in your veins that pump fast throughout your body. Your skin is burning, searing when muscular arms hoist you up and wrap your legs around his thick waist before your ass is sliding on the cold marble of your kitchen counter, your lips still sealed against his.

There’s so much of this that feels like that night at your uncle’s. So much and yet not enough.

He drowns you with his touch, digs his fingers into the plump flesh of your thighs before yanking you, hard and with unforgiving impatience, closer to his body. The fabric of your jeans rubs too harsh against your wet panties, digs against the sensitivity of your clit and you repress the insatiable yearning to roll your hips against his.

Toji’s large hands slide up your body, traversing the mesh of your jersey that hugs you before cupping each side of your face again to tilt you sharper in the way he wants. Blue raspberry from the cotton candy you both indulged in after the game coats his tongue that licks your bottom lip in a silent request for entrance, and you grant him access, surrendering a whimper into his mouth as his tongue slides sinfully against yours. Tastebuds kiss your own, slide against them with whispered promise of satisfaction if you just relax and melt further into him. Just a little.

But you can’t, god you can’t.

You’re losing control and you have to stay strong. You have to stay above the waters of logical thinking even though you’re sinking with every stroke of his tongue, with every sweet, hot breath into your mouth, with every inch of flesh that your fingers dig into his chest because you need more. More than a kiss, more than what he’s offering, and you know he can give it to you. Toji can pull you into the inferno he’s raging inside of your body until your clothes are scorched off and his skin is sliding against yours sweaty, sticky, and undulating with every roll of his hips.

But he doesn’t give you more. He doesn’t pull you further into that fire.

The intensity of his kiss dies down slowly, his lips pulling away from yours with a wet smack as you pant along with him. Toji kisses your lips once, then twice, nips your bottom lip to seal everything he’s given before smirking down at you. Too devilish and arrogant and you don’t have a working brain cell in your head right now to correct him. His hands that cradle your cheeks slide down to your upper arms, giving them a gentle squeeze before he speaks.

“You still gonna let me be nice to you?”

His words are an echo of that night, his own way of telling you that he’s here. That he wants more—that he wants to give you more. You just have to let him.

With your head still swimming and the pulsing between your legs refusing to calm, you want him to be more than nice right now. But remembering the boundaries you have set, you nod instead and sigh into him when he kisses you one last time, sweeping his blue raspberry-flavored tongue against yours before pulling away, acting as though it’s nothing, as though you’re not sweaty at the small of your back and trembling with desire.

“Lock the door for me,” he commands, words devoid of a questioning tone, but filled with a sense of security and protection that you lean into.

“O-okay,” you manage to breathe, your heart slowing back into sinus rhythm, only to jump again as he places one final kiss on your lips, then your nose. You frantically bat him away before you lose consciousness, because any more and you’ll drag him into your room and disregard everything you said five minutes ago.

You watch him saunter away, pull his keys from his pocket, and twirl them in his hand before winking. “I’ll text you.”

It sounds so ridiculous coming from his lips, from a grown man who looks as if he doesn’t even know what a cellphone is, let alone a text message.

But it still makes your heart jump all the same.

You can only nod in response because your throat is too dry and heavy in the back of your throat with each swallow you take. You follow him to the door and roll your eyes at his annoying smirk before he closes the door behind him, casting your apartment into silence.

Your fingers wobble as they turn the locks of your door into place. You’re lightheaded, brain flitting through salacious memories of what you both did weeks ago and what you could easily be doing now.

You throw your back against the door and sag to the floor with an annoyed sigh.

*** Toji ***

Unknown: There’s another contract for you if you’re interested. Message me back and I’ll send you details.

Toji: I’m interested. Send me what you have.

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mazerunner-rarepairs · 4 days

Text

Maze Runner Rarepair Bingo: Rules and FAQ

Which ships qualify as rareships?

All ships with less than 150 fics where they are the main ship posted to ao3.

Qualify: Brenderesa, Soniet, Minally, Nally, Trenda, Nalby + all other possible ships you can think of!

Don't qualify: Thomesa, Thomally, Newtmas, Thominho, Minewt, Thominewt

When does the event take place?

The bingo runs throughout the month of May - May 1st to May 31st.

Read on for rules & FAQ 🔽

Rules

When posting, tag this blog and add the tumblr tag #rareshipbingo2024. Indicate which square your submission fills.

Fic and Artwork needs to be original, that means created for the event.

Any submission types are welcome for the Rarepair Bingo. fanart, fic, fanvids, moodboards, podfics - knock yourselves out!

The AO3 board however can only be filled with fic.

All topics are allowed, the one important thing is to tag your works appropriately. With darker themes err on the side of caution. If you're unsure, feel free to reach out.

If you post nsfw fics to tumblr, make sure you put the text under a read more break (just type :readmore: and hit enter).

You must be 18+ to submit explicit content.

I will be marking all nsfw submissions with the community label for sexually explicit content, so those who don't want to see nsfw submissions make sure to enable community labels.

This event allows all kind of content regarding maturity and topic - I expect followers and participants to practise good fandom culture and adhere to the don't like don't read principle. No bashing ships or tropes you personally don't like.

Unnecessarily hateful comments are to be deleted without response after you notify me, the mod, about them. (Just message this blog)

Upload your fics to the AO3 collection .

FAQ

Is there a minimum word count for fics? No.

Are poly ships allowed? Yes.

Can one submission count for multiple squares from the same board? No. You have to decide which square you want to "use" your submission on, even if it combines prompts.

Can one submission fount for 2 squares on different boards? Yes! Eg if you write a fic for the square "poetry" and it's also the first fic for a ship, it can count for both the poetry square and the "write the first fic for a ship".

Can I submit WIPS? Yes.

Can I submit new chapters of a current WIP? Yes. If you have a rareship fic that you've been dying to continue, feel free to use the bingo as a motivator!

When is the reblogging perios? May 1-31st.

How does the Extra Rare Advanced AO3 Bord (For The Very Insane) work?

All the AO3 squares are to be filled in regards to the AO3 tag before April 22 - today.

Example: if you want to write a Rachel/Miyoko fic, and someone coincidentally would post one before the start of the bingo, your Rachel/Miyoko fic would still count for the "Be the first to write a ship" square.

Similarly, and using the same example as before, if 2 bingo participants decided they wanted to write Rachel/Miyoko, the person who posts their submission second would still get to fill the "Be the first to write a ship" square.

This applies to all AO3 squares:

If your fic is longer than all the fics posted before April 22, it fills the "Write the longest existing fic for a ship" square.

If before April 22nd there was no "General Audiences" rated fic for the rareship of your choice, your fic fills the "Be the first to write a rating no one has written for the ship before" square.

If you need help using the AO3 filtering system to figure out if you would be the first to write for a ship or for any of the other AO3 squares, drop this blog an ask and I'll help you out! I know not everyone is familiar with AO3 and I want this event to be open to everyone, including AO3 newcomers.

If any questions remain, don't hesistate to get in touch!

This post may be edited if further questions arise.

#maze runner #the maze runner #tmr #tmr fandom #tmr events #tmr rareships #rare ship

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carryonprompts · 2 years

Photo

@carryonpromps fest is live!

Carry On Prompts is a place to anonymously (or not) post fanfic and fanart prompts related to Rainbow Rowell's 'Simon Snow Trilogy' and 'Fangirl'.

This is a low-pressure fest encouraging y’all to fill some more of those prompts. There are more than 200!!! It’s in celebration of the blog’s 3rd birthday.

You can post any time between 15th September and 15th October 2022.

People can still make new prompts during this time, but these prompts won’t be included in the fest.

Find out how to take part below the cut. 🎉

How to sign up

Starting from today:

review the list of prompts

Then either:

a) If you’re happy to want to work alone or have pre-identified a collab, either:

add your Tumblr ID/AO3 name/Discord ID/etc directly into the Google sheet next to a prompt you fancy, or

complete this form. You can name a specific prompt, or (if you’re adventurous) select the option for me to randomly assign you a prompt based on some criteria of your choice. You can also be anon, if you want.

You don’t have to fill in the form, if you use the spreadsheet. You can sign up right up until the end of the fest, and you can claim multiple prompts if you think you can do them.

b) Until the end of July only: If you want the chance to collab with someone else, including artists or other fic writers:

fill in the form (you can bagsy the prompt in the spreadsheet as well)

I’ll then try and match you up with someone at the end of July. Please note, this may not be possible!

I’ve closed the form to encourage people not to use it now. All remaining match-ups will be made, if possible, and sent out. You can still sign up on the spreadsheet, right up until posting date!

Some rules:

Prompts are first come, first serve. Usually our rules are that you can post multiple fills for the same prompt, but this fest is encouraging you to fill as many prompts as possible, so please choose something no one else has reserved.

You can make an unrated prompt into a NSFW fic. You can add whatever other ships you want.

You don’t have to have Tumblr to take part, but it will help for communications.

How to post:

Is it after the 15th of September but not yet the 15th of October?

Make a post! Tag this blog, and link to the original prompt.

Happiness!

How to drop out:

If you aren’t collabing, you can drop out at any time. Just remove your name from the spreadsheet.

If you have questions, you can:

Reply to this post

Message the blog, or contact your mod @captain-aralias on Tumblr, or Discord: aralias#5807

Ask in the Carry On Discord: https://discord.gg/DxC92hpYxZ

The Google form and spreadsheet are owned by the monsterunderthebedfest account, but purely because I couldn’t be bothered to set up another account.

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #simon snow series #baz pitch #penelope bunce #shepard love #agatha wellbelove #niamh brody #brobelove #and more #mod post #fest

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tflaw · 1 year

Note

Hello!! Hi!! Where do I start? How do I start?? I'm feeling like a reader lining up in a book signing event, a fangirl abt to meet her idol in a fan meeting, I'm all nervous sending this. This is totally off season hehehe it's abt ur wt. Maybe I should share with you my exp just so u can imagine y I'm feeling this way.

-> Sooo, I only got back to Tumblr in Nov, left few years back after done w college and succumbed to modern slavery of the evil corporate world and torture of guilt to be a responsible adult, (oh, it was awful *putting the back of my hand resting on my forehead like a damsel in distress* ok that was dramatic) butt yess I return just for fun. Despite no longer reading fanfic on Tumblr/AO3 I still read original works from time to time.

-> So when I was in Tumblr the first week if, I remembered I saw an illustration and I was like woahhh nice!! I'm always so drawn to historical/period/royal au fics and I thought, oh cool concept for TR and ahh Mikey is always like a King for me. Silly me, I didn't know it was a fanart by one of your readers for ur wt!!! 2 days back I read this terrible fic from elsewhere not here, historical romance and I thought what was that TR fanart abt again? I felt so dumb, I lost the post I didn't even rb it, not sure the name/title/tag used/ until 9h ago. Found it, rb the fanart, read wt on AO3, and I'm blown away. It was 10000000000% wayyyy better than what I read goodness lawd, well for me, for me u wrote better than a published writer my love!! I felt the excitement of reading another Tolkien's and reminds me of asoiaf.

-> Oh but I had another silly episode of finding u back in Tumblr, from one handle to another my silly self did not realize I've already followed you the first week for a Genshin fic tbr and only now I understood that one person sent you some Asks as a knight or something following you. Long shall you reign hehehe. Sumtg like that abt ur handle. This also I was confused I thought it was someone else's acct. 😂

Ok there. That's why I have no idea where to start or how to start. But sweetheart,this is an appreciation msg. I'm so so in love with you and your writing, wicked throne. Gosh I wanted to just sit down w u in a coffee shop/garden and just talk abt this au. Hang on this reminds me of the two besties on IG wearing medieval dresses and walk around in some European gardens in modern day 🤭 lmao. I've read all of your TR on AO3, but I had no acct there to send Kudos so I'm sending from this Ask. I've been missing sooo much since you wrote it.sighhhh

Here you go babe ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ thanks for writing so well!!! Ok this def isn't enough for all the effort, blood, sweat and tears you've put into your babies.

FIRST I DONT RLY KNOW WHAT TO SAY OMG this is such a sweet message i'm honestly so happy!! it's been a while since wicked throne has been mentioned in any of my blogs so it makes me extremely joyous receiving this ask today!!

+ yep omg wicked throne has a lot of talented artist AND I SWOON EVERY TIME SOMEONE DRAWS A FANART FOR THE FIC!! just the effort of sitting down and thinking of wanting to draw fanart for wt makes me want to cry !!

+ thank you so much for reading!! if i could i would sit down in a coffee shop w you too to talk about it!! it's a story i've been cultivating during the last few years and it's forever in my system <33 i'm just rly sad that i haven't the inspiration to continue it but it's gonna be finished one day !! thank u for ur support and rly any kind of interaction is more than enough for me so u don't have to leave kudos or anything! this ask is already a treasure to me. again thank you and i hope you're having a wonderful day!!

#from swanphantasm.#✉️: hotmail.

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sixstepsaway · 2 years

Note

I am so sorry someone already sent you rude comments on your fantastic meta on Ao3. I'm also having a day of being super fed up with the fandom, and it sucks cause this is supposed to be fun! And people make it such a battlezone! You may already know, especially if you were around for the 'Sexy Times with Wangxian' ordeal, but there is a way to use site skins on Ao3 to block users from appearing on your page - I use it to block certain user fics, but coincidentally it does remove their comments from showing up as well (proven when I blocked that one who sent you the rude comments - the comments just disappeared <3)

Posting this so people can see how easy it is to do a block on AO3 even without it being built-in yet.

Thanks for the nice message. I was asked to post the meta to AO3 because it's an archive and because people have been getting a lot out of it and a specific nonnie was anxious about the idea of Tumblr nuking fan pages one day (which isn't an unrealistic concern, frankly). I wasn't doing it for comments or kudos or anything like that, I was doing it to archive on archiveofourown, and I dunno. It was four posts. I was going to just put everything up at once, I thought maybe that would be better, but I thought a few at a time would be better than clogging the tag with too much meta at once.

I might go in and make it chaptered, I dunno. The anon who asked said individual works seemed like a better option because then it could be referenced if someone wanted to tag it as "inspired by" more easily, and because to me it made sense because individual titles make finding specific metas much easier. I don't really want to change how I'm doing it just because someone was an ass, though.

Also, nonnie said meta is uncommon on AO3 and they don't really know why, but I bet I know now tbh.

Fandom can be so toxic, and sometimes it feels crushingly so (especially when I'm already having a rough patch with my anxiety), and other times it just feels like people don't... quite realize how fandom works?

Fandom doesn't exist because the show exists. OFMD doesn't just get allocated a specific amount of "fandom" because it passed a bar of diversity or spice or amount of episodes, it gets a fandom because people can't stop talking about it. It's the talking about OFMD that put it so high on rankings that Rhys Darby has already won an award and it was trending #1 on most popular new show for 7 weeks after it finished airing. Fandom isn't made from a piece of media, and fandom doesn't die when that media is killed, fandom is made from the conversations that spring from that thing.

Me posting a frustrating amount of meta into the Izzy Hands tag is actually a good thing, much like it's a good thing that people post their "I had a grilled cheese sandwich today and all I could think was how much Roach would love grilled cheese omg" into the OFMD or Roach OFMD tags and that people post their fanart and fanfictions and all the rest of it. Just because one person doesn't like that brand of fan content because it's 'half-baked bullshit' in their eyes doesn't make it less valid or more important. If we all stopped posting, fandom would die. Simple as that.

Also LMAO the sexytimes with wangxian ordeal. Oh yes, I was there for that. Worse still, I was actively in the CQL fandom for that!

Related to that: the CQL fandom had trolls similar to the ones that go around hating on Izzy. If anyone mentioned the ship Xiyao even in passing in their fic, the Xiyao troll would appear from nowhere to shit all over them. It was quite a time.

(proven when I blocked that one who sent you the rude comments - the comments just disappeared <3)

Anyway, thank you for the kind message. I really appreciate it. I don't think I'll ever understand people who decide their contribution to fandom should be toxicity.

(Speaking of anxiety; I have a couple of other messages in my box I still have to reply to, I just haven't found a moment to do it yet and now I have spicy anxiety simmering away under my skin for a while, I'm not ignoring anyone.)

#ask #lordess-dickery-doof

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redcallisto · 5 months

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Then why do you remove your email from any inquiry questions? Like faq or let you know art theives or fanart by fans or so?Maybe some people and you accidentally hurt each other. I guess I was worried about a few, and you may fight. I had seen a few comments hidden, nothing harmful, so I hope some of you can be better and solve problems, so good luck. 👍

ok. I get it now, so when did you send me the first email? ah, yeah, early October. What's the date today?

Anyway, i removed my email from my carrd because someone was begging me to unblock them. That was not the use for my email, and it is obvious. My email was only there for business inquiries. I'm sorry, but does someone begging me to unblock them sound like business? That was annoying as hell so I removed it. Also, who the hell asks FAQ questions through email? My DMs are open, literally anyone can send me a message anytime. Even on anon here like you're doing.

By the way, just a couple days ago someone did DM me on twitter regarding someone who reposted my work, so yeah. Also, you're the only one who ever reached out to me by email. If that was the first and only use it gained, then what's the point of it being there? For more people like you to come bother me? You begging me to unblock you, commenting literally everywhere as if you're trying to get my attention (AO3, Youtube), was fucking weird. Glad I blocked you. If you knew I blocked you, why wouldn't you leave me alone, huh? Or are you that desperate to see my work? That obsessed with me? I'm not the only danstelle artist in the world, you know? go follow someone else and fuck off kindly

#ask #anonymous #tw discourse #children i swear #still mad over a nearly 2 month old situation #imagine that #nothing stopped you from making another account to follow me #but you had to be annoying and obsessive about it huh #be forgotten. bye

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fayesdiary · 3 years

Note

For SoV ask: 2, 3, 12, 26, and one of your choice!

Sure thing, and sorry for being so late! To compensate, the answer is really, really long! i know you said I could choose one but question 33 is kind of a joke question so whatevs. Also no keep reading sorry but Tumblr formatting is being a butthole 2) Who’s your favorite character from Alm’s side? Faye! Yes I know, you're all shocked. But honestly, she's the kind of character who absolutely deserved better (and imo she's the one who got shafted the most alongside Rinea), but it's so fun to flesh her out from the few things we know about her! Also, her fanbase is very small but so talented?? Besides the great fanart, especially on AO3 there are a lot of wonderful stories, my favourite being this one about her travelling with Celica! 3) Who’s your favorite character from Celica’s side? Previous answers: Celica Hoo boy, answering this question again is kinda hard, since I really like all of Celica's party besides Deen, Nomah and Jesse. But since Sonya T-Posed over Jedah's corpse today, I think I'm gonna go with her for this! She's an interesting personality (her confidence is honestly great and I like that while aloof at first she slowly warms up to the party), most of what she says reveals something about her or her past and she's connected with Echoes' main villain! Also, she has the only optional boss conversation in the entire game. Honestly Sonya to me is the perfect example of a mysterious character because every interaction with her is important to learn something about her and makes you keep wanting more, but you never get the whole picture, which means there's also room to speculate. For example, how did she end up working for Grieth? When did her sisters become witches? Should her endcard be taken literally or is it a rumor she just spread herself? 12) Of all the antagonists, which one is your favorite? Berkut! He's such an interesting villain and one I constantly have the time of my life mocking, but at the same time someone you can't help but feel sorry for the more you learn about him. He steals the spotlight every scene he's in, doubly impressive since he wasn't even in Gaiden to begin with and he has an incredible presentation, between the design, Ian Sinclair overkilling it and his overly grandiose themes! Rudolf gets a dishonorable mention, because while I absolutely hate him, dragging him through the mud every chance I get is so much fun. And honestly, that alone makes him "better" than a boring villain.

17) What’s the flavor text quote that made you laugh the most?

This one:

This playthrough was the first I had Celica visit Ram Village (i didn't even know it was possible the first time I play, gods I love this game), so seeing her roasting Tobin with Ragnarok Omega without even knowing just sent me Also if you check a Library in Desaix's fortress Alm will start looking for comics, which means there are comics in Valentia, and that's a whooole rabbit hole waiting to be explored. How much do you bet Gray pranked Tobin with the loss comic once

26) Talk a bit about the game’s themes!

It's intriguing and kinda suprising for FE standards the relative nuance with each theme, and I really like it! For the class struggle while you do get the message that your station shouldn't impact your opportunities and the hint that class won't matter nearly as much in the age of mankind, you still have things like Clive openly believing in the systems of monarchy and nobility (see: his support with Python that is one of my faves), and while he wants to fight for the common people and making life better for them, he has to face the fact he knows very little about their struggles, not to mention a lot of bias he still has to overcome (see: the whole situation with Delthea). Heck, the whole thing about Alm being secretly royalty makes the whole thing even more muddled, because while the game argues for meritocracy we also see how Alm has been able to do things the average person can't because of his bloodline. So, in this fantasy world, nobility would matter, right? While obviously there need to be more equal rights and less privilage, at the same time you wonder if Berkut was right after all about nobility being meant to rule, even besides the whole prophecy nonsense. Zofia and Rigel are a teeny bit more nuanced than the usual good country-bad country of Fire Emblem standards, same with Mila and Duma, so it's really interesting to discuss them, even if I wish we could have seen a bit more of both at their best (same for the gods' philosophies), instead of the decayed mess we see ingame. Rudolf (at least in theory) is the usual conqueror, but instead of being a puppet or just working for the main villain he's actually doing the opposite, preparing the hero to be the one to save Valentia never mind that he likely did more damage to Valentia than the freaking Faithful ever did Jedah, while being the usual evil sorcerer, he's also extremely devoted to Duma, with his motivations being that Duma must maintain his position for Valentia to survive, so he does whatever he can to tend to him and further his power (outright not caring if this will end up in an age of tyranny), and while this absolutely does NOT justify his action even a little, it's so intriguing and more interesting than the usual evil sorcerer doing evil things because they're evil (Gharnef) or even because of a tragic backstory! (Not to shit on characters like Manfroy, his manga backstory fits him perfectly and fleshes out a theme about persecution that was barely mentioned in og FE4, I really hope they make it canon in the eventual remake)

33) How many cats do you think Alm and Celica adopted after Duma’s fall?

Let's just say that if someone allergic to cats even approches Zofia Castle they just die.😼

Echoes ask game

#fire emblem #fire emblem echoes #fire emblem echoes shadows of valentia #fe15 #echoes ask game #ask replies #face-stroking-intensifies #sorry for taking so long to answer!#have been real busy these last few weeks

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star-anise · 4 years

Note

Hi, star-anise. Would you mind giving me some advice? Recently there's a homophobe in my local fanfic community. She tries to indoctrinate people with homophobia. She demonizes yaoi, calling it sinful etc. She demonizes genderbend fics, calling it LGBT Agenda™️. She is undeniably queerphobic, not just about fiction. Apparently she's a part of fundamentalist cult. Also, she's a known serial harassers who habitually harass BL/slash writers. What do you suggest we do?

Damn, that sucks!

What kind of fannish infrastructure do you guys have? That is, do you all just hang out on the AO3 category/main Tumblr tag, or do you have things that you can control the membership of?

1. Encourage a positive fannish atmosphere - Decide on a core set of principles, or guidelines of behaviour, you want to encourage in fandom, whether that’s “Hate-Free” or “LGBT-Positive”, or put in rules like “No Homophobia, No Harassment”. Post things about the importance of representation and LGBT pride, or about the importance of fans treating each other respectfully. Try to build a culture of acceptance and inclusion that’s so lively and engaging that when she spews bullshit, it’s obvious a dissonant note.

2. Build fannish infrastructure - A fandom can just be the AO3 feed and a Tumblr tag. But the more you actively build spaces and institutions, the more you can shape the culture around it. For example, you can create a secondary fannish hashtag on Tumblr or Twitter where everyone hangs out and socializes, like #inclusive[fandom] or #hatefree[fandom] or #[fandom]rainbow, so someone who checks out the main fannish hashtag will see that many cool creative people are talking in this LGBT+-friendly space. You could use that tag on AO3, too.

Other types of fannish infrastructure: Rec blogs, ficathons, gift exchanges, theme weeks, podfic exchanges, Discord servers, or remix challenges. Give all of them an anti-harassment policy, for example, “This blog will not rec any work by a user who has harassed another fan in the last 6 months”, that both let you enjoy fandom without her, and give her an incentive to stop harassing people.

3. Make consequences happen - If she’s part of any group space you can control the membership of, use those rules or principles to kick her out. If people aren’t willing to kick her out permanently, then decide on a length of a ban, like 3 days, a week, or a month. Every time she says something bigoted? Kick her out. This might not stop her so much (I recommend a “3 strikes you’re out” policy to keep it from being a revolving door ban), but it will send a strong message to onlookers that this shit won’t fly, and they’ll get used to what things are like with her gone.

If your common fannish space moderators won’t do that, get rid of them, or find a new fannish space. Seriously. If a moderator won’t set rules for basic good behaviour, or get rid of a toxic troll who constantly breaks them, they are of no use whatsoever.

If you can round up proof of her harassment or homophobia, you could also report her to the websites she uses. Twitter has a Hateful Conduct Policy and abusive behaviour policy, harassment and hate speech are against Tumblr’s Community Guidelines, and AO3 has a Harassment Policy. All these sites’ policies also forbid making extra accounts to get around a block. It’s really tedious, but for a long time now I’ve kept a folder in my computer where I keep screencaps of fannish abuse, harassment, or hate speech, in case I need to make a report or go, “Hey, the user you banned previously? They’re back using a new account.”

4. Help keep everybody safe -Let everybody know that blocking, reporting, and ignoring abusive users is the best way to go. Make that knowledge as easy for new users to find as what the shipnames are and who makes the best fanart. Teach people how to filter post content on Tumblr, remove certain users from AO3 searches (type -“creators: username”), or subscribe to a Twitter block list.

5. Forgiveness is optional. Good behaviour is not - You can keep giving her chances to change if you like, or you can just cut her off. If she promises she has genuinely changed and really wants another chance, it’s up to you whether to give it to her--you don’t owe her forgiveness. If she really wants a “fresh start” she can go find another fandom where she hasn’t already hurt people.

On the other hand, harassing her or sending her abusive messages isn’t okay. One of the sad realities of the Internet today is that if you name someone for bad behaviour, various people will take it upon themselves to target that person for harassment and abuse. Therefore, naming and shaming isn’t a great first line of defense because it’s so likely to have negative consequences. See what you can do first about making your fandom resilient against her bullshit, and removing her from your spaces, before doing it. Sometimes it is necessary to have a Canonical Callout Page explaining why everyone should block this person, or to have someone keeping tabs on her who can let everyone know if she’s renamed or changed accounts. However, that’s kind of a “if all else fails” scenario. Hopefully, you shouldn’t need it.

Good luck! <3 Gay rights, trans rights, have an awesome time in fandom.

#fandom purity culture #homophobia tw #transphobia tw #bullying tw #staranise original #lady-bellatrix

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whenihaveyouromione · 3 years

Text

When I Have You - Chapter 1

This can also be read on ffn.net and ao3

A/N: This story will follow the lives of Ron and Hermione from the end of DH, to the epilogue and then beyond. This places all of my head canon in one story, along with tidbits of canon provided by JKR throughout. I like to stick mostly to canon post war, so I've followed the books to a T, and mostly everything post war is canon or canon-compliant. There will be the odd change, most barely noticeable.

Also, standard message that this in no way follows the Cursed Child plot at all, and I ignore it completely. This includes Hermione becoming Minister for Magic (which I know is something people like to include), as it makes no sense in comparison to the other canon JKR has provided. Plus, I hate Cursed Child, so… yeah.

Also, prior to reading this, please be aware that this story is intended to be LONG, it is intended to be an extremely slow burn. The chapter length is currently unknown, but I am predicting well over 200 chapters by the end. This is also not action packed, nor is it filled with unpredictability. This is a story where I go into excruciating detail about their lives after the war, but the intention is to be no surprises. Everything you think will happen, WILL happen. Please be mindful of that before going into this. I don't want anyone to be left disappointed. The idea is to detail their lives, not to have you on the edge of your seat with anticipation! If that's what you're after, this story is not for you.

This story also will contain implied sex. Sex scenes resemble 90's sitcoms — you have the before, you have the after, but none of the in between. They also talk a bit (not a lot, because it's not my focus) about sex. I am writing about their relationship, so it's obviously going to exist, but it's not going to be detailed, just implied.

Also, last but not least, this story has an Instagram account. As it's so long and detailed, I've decided to add some hopefully additional entertainment to it. The handle is (with no spaces) 'whenihaveyou . romione' on IG. Please feel free to follow. If for some reason you can't see it on here, feel free to PM me for it. I'll be posting small sneak peaks, responses to questions, etc on there. I'm even throwing my hand up to attempt some fanart on my own story, but I promise that writing is more my thing lol.

And now, to the story (I swear the future a/n's won't be this long). I hope you enjoy, and as usual, your thoughts, comments, questions, are all appreciated!

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

Chapter 1

Ron brushed a stray strand of hair away from Hermione's face, which lit up at his touch. A smile graced her lips, but her eyes remained closed for a few moments longer. It was their favourite way to spend their afternoons; lying on his Chudley Cannons spread, arms around each other, sometimes dozing or sometimes talking. After long days of preparing for the coming funerals and Flooing to Hogwarts to help with repairs, it was always nice to come back and not think about the devastation that had befallen the wizarding world. While everyone grieved, these few moments together were a welcomed solace.

When laying beside her, Ron allowed himself a few moments of happiness. Because that's what she made him feel: happy. When she'd thrown her arms around him and kissed him in the middle of the war, he thought he'd loved her then. Now, ten days later, he realised how mistaken he'd been. This was love. Spending almost every moment, day and night, with her; holding her, kissing her, had made him fall helplessly in love, and for the first time ever, he was almost certain that she felt the same way.

He kissed her lightly on the lips, running fingers through her thick hair. She smiled against him, her eyes finally opening.

"We should go down and help the others with dinner," he murmured. "Before Mum comes looking for us."

As was to be expected, Molly had been a mess since the end of the war. Fred's death had impacted all of them, but no one more than his mother. For the first few days, they'd not seen her as she kept herself locked away in her bedroom, Arthur bringing her every meal. On the third day, she'd ventured out for a few moments before taking one look at everyone and bursting into tears. She'd spent another two days locked away after that.

She was out and about now, but out of respect for her feelings, Ron felt it best to keep his sudden relationship with Hermione secret. He did not think his mother would take kindly to one of her sons finding happiness in such a dark time.

They'd intended to keep it secret from everyone apart from Harry and Ginny, but word had gradually gotten out amongst the rest of the Weasleys. Bill had stumbled upon Ron placing a kiss on her forehead one evening before going to bed. Charlie had caught them holding hands in the Burrow's garden another night. Percy seemed to just know, and Arthur had awkwardly found them in a passionate embrace one morning in a Hogwarts' corridor.

No one spoke of it after, though. Everyone seemed to know better than to mention anything in front of Molly, so meal times resulted in limiting their affection to smiles across the table. That made these moments alone even more special.

Hermione sat up, resting her back against the headboard and yawning. Today had been especially difficult; after days of being hounded by the press as they demanded answers and spat out ridiculous theories (at Hogwarts, of all places), Harry had Disapparated to who knew where and hadn't returned. If he had any sense, he would have gone somewhere no one would find him. Ron suspected he had gone to Grimmauld Place.

"You think Harry's alright?" Hermione asked, rubbing her eyes.

"No, not really," Ron said. "But I can't blame him. The media have been unforgiving. It's easier for us to brush them aside, because they don't care as much about us. Can't imagine what it's like for him."

"How long should we give him?" Hermione asked.

"A few days." Ron shrugged, feeling his mood darken. "Fred's funeral is in three days. Lupin and Tonks' the day after that. I can't imagine him missing them."

Hermione looked less convinced. She looked at Ron, clearly worried. Ron placed an arm around her shoulder and drew her to him so that her head was on his shoulder. "He'll be alright," he assured her. "He just needs some time."

There was a moment's silence, and then, "Ron?" Hermione's voice cracked as she spoke his name.

"Hm?"

Silence again. Ron squeezed her tighter as he felt hot tears against his shirt. It wasn't unusual for these moments to end in tears, for one reason or another. They'd both had their fair share of crying over the past week and a half. He'd lost count of the number of times she'd been there for him, especially after the first few days when the memories of Fred haunted him most clearly. They still did, but he'd managed to get them under control for the most part. Though, he was dreading the funeral.

"Hey."

Hermione lifted her head at the sudden voice appearing at Ron's bedroom door. It was Bill, looking at them both with defeat. "You two better come down soon, otherwise Mum'll send a search party. She wants to start dinner, and Dad is fighting her…"

"Mum wants to cook?" Ron asked.

Bill nodded. "She's insisting. Ginny is really giving it to her, but she's refusing to listen." He smiled slightly. "I guess it's good to see some of the old fight back, eh?"

Hermione pulled away, wiping the tears from her face. "We should go and help," she sniffed.

Ron nodded, and they both climbed off his bed. Hermione left ahead of them, walking past Bill as if slightly embarrassed that he'd seen her cry. Ron went to follow, but Bill stopped him by clasping a hand on his shoulder.

"You alright? Dad mentioned what happened with Harry today."

Ron nodded. "Yeah. I think a part of me knew it was coming. He's been one moment away from an explosion all week. We've just got to give him some time."

Bill nodded, squeezing his shoulder. "Let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks," Ron said.

Bill let Ron go past, following him down the stairs without speaking. Everyone was in the kitchen, Ginny arguing with Molly.

"We told you, Mum! You're not doing anything. The rest of us have got this. Look —" she threw a hand in Ron's direction, "— Ron's here now. An extra pair of hands, an extra wand! We'll have dinner ready in no time."

"Come on, Mum," Bill said, gently placing his hands on Molly's shaking shoulders. "Let's go and sit down." He slowly guided her from the kitchen and into the living room.

After she was gone, Ginny rounded on Ron. "Your appearance a little earlier might have been beneficial, you know." Her eyes flickered to Hermione, softening when they saw her tear-stained face. She looked away. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"It's alright," Ron said. "We're here now. Where do you want us to start?"

It had become the norm for all the children to prepare the meals each night, with some help from Arthur occasionally. It was the least they could do to make things easier, but since their mother had decided to venture from her room, insisting that they could handle it had become increasingly harder. Ron suspected she wished to busy herself by cooking for her large, yet broken family.

Tonight's preparation was sullen. Even the occasional laughter that had occurred other nights was gone. Ginny's mood was dark, her hurt at Harry's disappearance obvious. Like Ron and Hermione, she'd chosen not to share her relationship with Harry to her mother. If that was what it even was. Harry had pushed most of them away, including Ginny, and had snapped at all of them more than once in the last few days.

Dinner was even quieter, with no one speaking apart from asking someone else to pass a bowl over. Ginny, who had been the most cheerful of the bunch, said nothing at all and barely touched her food. Molly watched her with concern, but said nothing, perhaps understanding why her daughter was so upset. There was an emptiness around the table, one that could only be filled by Harry's reappearance — and, Ron thought, George's. Both were as much part of the family as the other, but neither wished to see anyone.

Hermione helped Bill and Charlie clear the dishes and do the washing up, while everyone else moved into the living room. Ron sat on a conjured two-seater couch that really needed a good clean, saving the second spot for Hermione when she returned.

A small chatter started around the fireplace, with Percy talking of how the Ministry was looking to get things back to normal in the coming weeks.

"Something needs to be done," he said to Ron. "In this time, people need leadership and we currently have none." He then lowered his voice so that only Ron would hear the next part. "Between you and me, the talk is that Kingsley Shacklebolt will be appointed the next Minister for Magic."

This surprised Ron, and yet, it didn't at the same time. He looked at his brother. Percy had become somewhat more enjoyable to be around since the end of the war. Ron didn't think they'd be best friends any time soon, but at least he didn't get the urge to roll his eyes everytime Percy opened his mouth any more. He was Ron's brother, after all, and finally, Ron was able to see him as such.

"That's a good choice, don't you think?" he said.

Percy gave a curt nod. "Yes, I think so."

Hermione, Bill, and Charlie came in after that, and Ron shuffled over so that Hermione could sit next to him. Instinctively, he reached for her hand, but she jolted it away and nodded her head in his mother's direction.

He flushed, his face turning even redder when he saw that his mother was watching the two of them, her eyes narrowed.

"Great," Ron muttered to Hermione, "now she probably thinks you're rejecting my advances, or something."

"Wouldn't that please her?" Hermione asked.

"I don't think either way would please her."

Slowly but surely, people began drifting off to bed. Bill left via Floo for his home — as he did every night — while Charlie and Percy headed upstairs to their respective bedrooms.

When Ginny announced she was going to bed fifteen minutes later, Molly's eyes flashed to Hermione. "I suppose you'll be wanting to go to bed too, dear, so as not to wake Ginny?"

Hermione jumped, her cheeks reddening from the brashness of Molly's voice.

"It's fine, Mum," Ginny said. "I'll be fine."

"But, you don't want to wake her, do you Hermione, dear?"

Hermione had not spent a single night in Ginny's room since being there, just like Harry hadn't spent any in Ron's — an arrangement all four had been happy with. Ron had a sneaking suspicion that something had finally clicked with his mum, because she was now watching Ron as if waiting for him to react.

"Right," Hermione said. "I-I'll go, too. Goodnight, Mr and Mrs Weasley. Ron."

"Er, night, Hermione," Ron said. "See you in the morning."

After Hermione and Ginny had disappeared, a silence fell over the living room. Ron could only stand it for a few moments before he jumped to his feet and said goodnight, too.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he was disappointed to find Hermione not waiting for him in his room. He knew it had only been ten days, but the thought of falling asleep without her suddenly made him feel lonely. He'd become accustomed to her presence, her smell, sleeping with his arms around her, and waking to find her cuddled up against him in the mornings. It was a feeling he had hoped would last longer; forever, if he dared think it.

Unable to help but feel angry with his mother, he changed into his pyjamas and climbed under the covers. It was cold, and he had far too much space in his magically extended bed.

He tossed and turned for what felt like hours, and just as he was finally drifting off to sleep, he was woken by soft, warm lips against his cheek.

"Hermione?" he mumbled, making out her figure in the dark.

"Who else would it be?" Hermione asked, pulling back the covers and falling in beside him. "Ginny figured your mum would come and check to make sure I really was there — I think she suspects I've not been sleeping in the spare bed — so we had to wait."

"Did she?" Ron asked, rolling over and wrapping her in his arms. Instant warmth washed over him, and he buried his face into her hair.

"Yes."

"I'm glad you're here now." He kissed her shoulder and held her even tighter.

"Ron?"

"Mm?"

"What I wanted to say before, when I… couldn't…"

Ron loosened his hold on her, and she rolled over so she was facing him. He reached for his wand and lit it. He'd not realised she'd wanted to say anything before. "What is it?" he asked.

Under the wandlight, he saw her smile. "I wanted to say that I… love you."

The wand slipped from Ron's hand. He scrambled to find it from within the tangle of covers and relit it. "You… do?" In the mess that was the aftermath of war, it only occurred to Ron now that despite his intense feelings and love for her, he'd not actually said those words out loud. He'd thought them — every moment of every day — but he supposed his brain had been so convinced that she knew how he felt, that he had just assumed it was something they'd said to one another.

"Yes," Hermione said, her face practically glowing in the dim light.

"Oh, geez, I didn't even realise —"

"It's okay, Ron. I don't mean to rush you. I just wanted to tell you." She sounded so calm, so pleased with herself.

"What? Rush me? Oh, God, Hermione, I love you a ridiculous amount it's not even funny. I thought I told you that? Why have I never told you that?"

"Preoccupied?" Hermione suggested heartfully. "With a war, with losing our friends…"

Ron kissed her hard on the mouth, to which she responded enthusiastically. He felt her heart beating furiously against his chest, she was that close to him. The kiss deepened — by her, not him — and Ron became suddenly aware of every part of her. Her hands, in particular, had become rather adventurous, running along his arms, his chest, trailing further down... (Merlin, she was enthusiastic)... and then it hit him. He understood. And his bloody nerves got the better of him.

He pulled away, staring at her, the wand still in his hand. She stared back, her cheeks flushed, her breathing heavy, clearly determined to not feel embarrassed by her advancement.

Ron, however, didn't know what to do. Like forgetting to actually tell Hermione how he felt, anything other than holding her at night had not been a priority for him. He loved her deeply, he sought her comfort, but the grief still lingered and he'd not even contemplated taking their relationship further. Well, it had crossed his mind, but not as a serious thought. Not until after the funerals…

But now that it had been presented to him, even if she hadn't said the words directly, it seemed highly appealing.

"Have you, er, been thinking about this?" he asked, pulling completely away from her and sitting up in the bed.

"It's not something that spontaneously popped into my mind, if that's what you mean," Hermione said. For the first time, her voice sounded flat. "Sorry if I scared you. I just thought… I should probably have asked. Do you want to?"

"Yes!" Ron said, a little too quickly. He blushed, but then noticing the smile on her face he added, "Merlin, yes. I love you. I want to. You just caught me completely by surprise. That's all."

"Sorry." Hermione also sat up, facing him. "Perhaps I was a little too forward."

"No, no," Ron said. "I liked that." He grinned, albeit awkwardly. It didn't stop his body from tingling all over, though. A seed had firmly been planted in his mind now, and it was a good seed. A fantastic one.

"Just not tonight?" Hermione guessed.

Truthfully, as much as the idea thrilled him, it terrified him just the same. He was more than happy to kiss her, to hold her hand, but the concept of sex was something different. The insecurities he felt about being so intimate washed over him, just like they had done when Lavender had asked the same of him all those months ago.

The only difference this time was that he genuinely liked Hermione a whole lot more...

Taking his silence for hesitation, Hermione said, "I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't mean to —"

"Don't be," Ron said, reaching out and running a hand along her exposed arm. "You just made me start thinking."

"About?"

He watched her, his heart beating rapidly as he did. She was just incredible. Amazing. She was perfect, and there she was, scarred as much as him from the war, but wanting him. Ron. She loved him.

"Not tonight," he said, shaking his head. "But tomorrow? As nice as it was, you throwing yourself at me isn't exactly how I imagined it to go… not for the first time."

She smiled and nodded. "Okay," she said, and she crawled slightly forward on the bed and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her, now realising how much he wanted her back, how much he wanted to be with her. Now, he had to exercise a whole lot of control because her touch set his skin on fire.

"Hm," he chuckled, pushing her away.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Maybe we should… take a break," he said, uncomfortably.

"Why? Oh," Hermione flushed, seeing Ron's own red cheeks. She climbed off him. "Right. Sorry." She laid back down on the bed with Ron beside her, though he dared not touch her again just yet.

As he drifted off to sleep, his mind trailed to tomorrow night, and despite his heart pounding in his chest, and his sudden sweaty palms, it couldn't come quick enough.

His last thought before falling asleep was of Hermione, and how he simply could not control just how much he loved her.

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

And there is the first chapter of who knows how many! I hope you enjoyed, and remember, if you'd like some extra content, or just to interact, please follow the Insta (no spaces) 'whenihaveyou . romione'

This will also be published on ao3 (under FireTheCanon) and Tumblr (handle is 'whenihaveyouromione').

A MAJOR, HUGE, MASSIVE thank you to Autumn (insertcleverandwittytitlehere) who has graciously offered to beta this for me. Your feedback and help has already been AMAZING, along with your encouragement. THANK YOU.

#ronandhermione #romione #romionefanfiction #romionefanfic #ronxhermione #hermionexron #ronandhermionefanfiction #harrypotterfanfiction #harrypotter #ronweasley #hermionegranger #hermioneandron #hermioneandronfanfiction

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dettiot · 4 years

Text

Fic: For Want of a Lightsaber 1/?

For want of a nail the shoe was lost. For want of a shoe the horse was lost. For want of a horse the rider was lost. For want of a rider the message was lost. For want of a message the battle was lost. For want of a battle the kingdom was lost. And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.

For want of a lightsaber, the galaxy is saved.

XXX

Hello! So earlier today, I saw a piece of fanart by @squishbaebae that gave me all the feels--and ideas! So I worked backwards from Anakin and Obi-Wan being involved in the Rebellion during RoTJ to come up with this story that takes a different twist on RotS.

Dialogue taken from RotS.

I don't know when the next chapter will be up, but I hope you enjoy reading this!

You can also read this on AO3.

XXX

Anakin Skywalker, Jedi Knight, breathed hard as he held his sparking, damaged lightsaber in his hand. He felt the power coursing through his veins, a dark command ringing in his ears, as he watched Master Windu fall into the depths of Coruscant.

And at the same time . . . he felt the call of the Light Side. He could feel his bond with Obi-Wan, could feel his master’s tired satisfaction at defeating General Grievous, thinking about the end of the war. He could sense Padmé, nearby in her Senate office. And the baby cradled inside her, so bright and strong with the Force.

“What have I done?” he said, unable to stay upright. He fell to his knees, his head hanging low, as he struggled.

He couldn’t lose Padmé. He would not lose her. Not like he had lost his mother. Nothing else mattered except Padmé and their baby.

Even though he was turning his back on everyone and everything else . . . but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t fair, how the Jedi treated him. It wasn’t fair that they wanted to take away the one thing he needed in the entire galaxy!

“You are fulfilling your destiny, Anakin,” the Chancellor said, still so calm, so certain, even after what had just happened. “Become my apprentice. Learn to use the Dark Side of the Force.”

Would the Dark Side give him what he needed? Not just Padmé, but . . . the certainty that the Chancellor had? That Padmé had? Would the struggle be over?

Anakin didn’t know. But--but he had to try.

“I will do whatever you ask,” he said, lifting his head to look at the Chancellor, to see his face wrinkled and aged, his eyes gleaming yellow.

“Good!” The Chancellor’s voice was full of approval, of triumph.

“Just help me save Padmé’s life,” Anakin said quickly, needing the Chancellor to know how important this was. “I can’t live without her.”

The Chancellor nodded. “To cheat death is the power only one has achieved. But if we work together, I know we can discover the secret.”

A voice in the back of Anakin’s head, a voice that sounded like Obi-Wan and infuriated him, quietly nudged him. He doesn’t know? How will that help Padmé, when she dies in childbirth in your dreams? She’s so close to the end of her pregnancy . . .

He pushed away the voice, feeling his anger grow. If the Chancellor said they could do it, they would do it. They could get started right now!

“I pledge myself to your teachings,” Anakin said, bowing his head again. “To . . . to the ways of the Sith.”

The Jedi were so stubborn and righteous. They had lost their way. He was the Chosen One. He could learn from Darth Sidious, save Padmé, and then--then he’d figure out the rest. Just as long as he had Padmé.

“Good. Good!” the Chancellor said, his praise a balm on Anakin’s soul. “The Force is strong with you. A powerful Sith you will become. Anakin Skywalker, you are one with the Order of the Sith Lords. Henceforth, you will be known as Darth . . . Vader.”

Darth Vader? That--that wasn’t--was it supposed to sound scary?. It sounded . . . kinda lame. Like something he might have come up with as a kid.

Anakin--no, he was Darth Vader now--shook off the irrelevant thought. “Thank you . . . my Master.”

His skin crawled a little. It didn’t feel right to call the Chancellor ‘master’. It felt . . . dangerous.

The anger inside him roared and howled at the word. He tried to reason with himself, but--but then he realized he didn’t have to. He could be angry. As angry as he wanted!

“Rise,” the Chancellor said regally. “We have much to do.”

Standing up, Anakin nodded. “We have to begin our research.”

“Research?” the Chancellor said, some of the wrinkles shifting in a motion that reminded Anakin of someone quirking an eyebrow.

Frowning, Anakin said, “To save Padmé.”

“Of course, my young apprentice, of course,” the Chancellor said, patting his shoulder. “But first, we must secure ourselves. The Jedi must be eliminated. They are too dangerous. You must lead the 501st against the Temple. You know what you must do. Leave no one alive.”

The 501st? His legion? They were good men . . . would they follow his order to attack?

“How?” Anakin asked. “They’ll argue--”

“They will follow my order,” the Chancellor said, waving a hand in the air as if Anakin’s objection was a mote of dust.

Why was he arguing with his master? He had to stop--he couldn’t risk Padmé’s life like this!

But there was one more problem . . .

“Master,” Anakin said, holding up his lightsaber. A stray blast of electricity from the Chancellor’s attack on Master Windu had caught the lightsaber. The crystal inside was dead, utterly destroyed.

The Chancellor sighed heavily. “Oh, my. Do you have a spare lightsaber?”

“No, Master. And no spare kyber crystals, either.”

The Force stirred around him and Anakin felt annoyed. It was like someone tapping you on the shoulder when you were trying to ignore them.

“I must go to Ilum,” Anakin said. “The 501st are good soldiers. They will follow orders.”

“Yes, they will,” the Chancellor said, sounding dissatisfied. “And I suppose younglings and elderly Jedi will pose no challenge to the finest men of the Grand Army. Very well, Lord Vader. You will go to Ilum and then await further instructions.”

“Yes, my master,” Anakin said, bowing his head.

He turned to leave, only to stop when his master spoke. “Lord Vader?”

“Yes?” he asked, turning to look at him.

“I am no longer the Chancellor. I am your master, Lord Sidious. The ruler of my Galactic Empire.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was cold and hard and . . . terrifying. “Remember that.”

Anakin felt himself swallow. “Yes, Lord Sidious.”

And just like that, his old friend returned. “Very good. Hurry along, Lord Vader.”

His anger sparked. He wasn’t some child! He--he was Sidious’ chosen apprentice, strong in the Force!

Sidious closed his eyes. “Oh, your anger is powerful! Give in to it and feel your strength increase!”

That little Obi-Wan voice piped up again. Well, this is disturbing .

Too confused and angry and worried, Anakin ignored it all and stormed out of the Chancellor--the Emperor’s--office.

XXX

Oh, how he hated Ilum. It was always so kriffing cold.

But he had his crystals, and he had built a new lightsaber, so he was ready to get back to Coruscant. To check on Padmé, to find out if his master had found any information on how to save her.

He knew he was supposed to wait for instructions, but--but he couldn’t just sit in orbit around Ilum! It was too far away. He needed to be close to Padmé--it was nearly her time.

So he set course for Coruscant.

Only six parsecs from the planet, the holo chimed. Anakin quickly answered it, feeling a sense of anticipation in the Force.

His spirits plummeted when he beheld his master’s face.

“You were supposed to wait for further instructions,” Lord Sidious said darkly.

“I know, my master, but I thought--”

“You do not disobey my orders!”

Anakin opened his mouth to speak, but--but he couldn’t breathe--

Putting his hand to his throat, he felt an invisible hand clutch around his neck, cutting off his air. He stared at his master, who looked back at him with anger and glee.

Just as suddenly as it started, the pressure was gone. Anakin gasped, leaning forward in his seat.

“Foolish boy,” Sidious spat out. “Your ineptitude has already cost me plenty. The Jedi in the Temple were able to fight back and several escaped. I can have no resistance to my rule. But first, you must go to Mustafar. Eliminate the Separatists. I have need for them no longer.”

“The Separatists?” Anakin asked in a raspy voice, feeling a wave of anger. “You--you controlled them?”

“A simple matter,” his master said. “I do not like these continued questions, Lord Vader. I see now that part of your training will require reinforcement of my orders.”

He tilted his head. “Or perhaps you require a reason to comply. I should visit your lovely wife. In her hour of need, she must be fearful--”

“No!” Anakin said, leaning forward, his chest aching. “No, I’ll do it, I promise!”

His master tutted. “Your promises mean nothing to me. I require your unhesitating obedience. Do you understand?”

Of course he understood! He wasn’t dumb. He was powerful and strong--Sidious had said so himself. He didn’t deserve to be treated like this! He wasn’t some slave to be ordered around!

Anakin’s blood ran cold. Was that what he was now? A slave? Again?

The pressure was back on his windpipe--not so strong as before, but enough to make his breaths come short. He nodded and wheezed, “Yes, Master.”

“Go to Mustafar. Do not delay,” Sidious ordered before ending the comm.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Anakin leaned his head forward. He was so tired . . . the lack of oxygen made his exhaustion feel even heavier. He just wanted Padmé.

Without conscious thought, he reached for the comm and keyed in Padmé’s personal frequency. Only a few people had this frequency and she always answered it, no matter what.

But this time, she didn’t. Anakin felt his fears grow. “Padmé? Padmé, please call me back as soon as you can. I--I . . .”

He let his voice trail off as he tried to think of what to say. How could he explain what he had done? She would be so disappointed . . .

But it wasn’t his fault! He was doing this for her! Why couldn’t she understand that? He did everything for her!

“I need you to come to Mustafar,” he said. “I’ll send you my coordinates. Just--just meet me there, as soon as you can. Please, Padmé.”

If he could just see her, things would be better. They could figure things out. Padmé--Padmé would forgive him, once he explained everything.

Nothing made sense right now. Padmé would fix that. He just had to take care of the Separatists first.

She would be happy about that. After all, the Trade Federation was part of the Separatists. With them gone, Padmé would be safe. No more attacks on her life. No more danger for the baby.

This was good, Anakin told himself as he changed course. Once he took care of the Separatists and got Padmé, they could go back to Coruscant. He would take Padmé to meet with the Emperor and they would all work together to save Padmé’s life.

You’re lying to yourself.

“Shut up, Obi-Wan,” Anakin muttered.

You know I’m not Obi-Wan.

“Shut up!”

The voice fell silent, leaving Anakin alone.

Alone and wondering what the voice meant when it denied being Obi-Wan. Because . . . it was so like his master--his former master--but, wait, hearing voices?

Was he going insane?

Anakin shook his head and focused on the blue swirl of hyperspace through the viewscreen. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t going to lose Padmé. He wasn’t--he wasn’t--

Sleep.

Even though it felt weird, listening to some strange voice in his head, Anakin closed his eyes. And the next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes, hearing the proximity alarm, and seeing a planet covered in red through the viewscreen.

He had arrived on Mustafar.

XXX

This--this was something he knew how to do.

His lightsaber flashing, the blade bright and blue, Anakin cut through the Separatist leaders. Without Dooku and Grievous, they were all cowering, their pleas for mercy as annoying as the cackles of a Kowakian monkey-lizard.

He left Nute Gunray for last. He advanced towards the Neimoidian, watching as his green skin went pale and his already-big eyes widened.

“No--no, Skywalker!” he said, huddled in a corner. “I beg you!”

Anakin twirled his lightsaber, standing tall in front of Gunray. “This is for my wife,” he said, before plunging the lightsaber through his chest and into the stone wall behind him.

The gasp he let out, the way he slumped down as Anakin pulled his blade free--Anakin felt a ripple of pleasure at his death. He would never harm Padmé again. He would never hurt innocent people in his pursuit of money and power.

Nute Gunray had discovered, the hard way, what true power was.

He held power in his hands and it was . . . it was so good. He could do anything with the Force. He could punish the wicked, kill those who deserved it, bring peace and order to the galaxy.

And he would. He, Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader, would fix the galaxy. He would make Padmé see how much better it was. How much happier she would be if she listened to him.

With his robes fluttering around him as he stalked away, Anakin went to the landing platform. He could feel Padmé approaching.

There was something else--some flicker of a presence, too faint and gone too quickly for him to register. But it didn’t matter. Anakin was stronger than any other Jedi. And if Padmé had betrayed him, he would show her the error of her ways.

And he would forgive her, of course.

Padmé’s ship landed and within moments, she was coming down the landing ramp towards him. She had a hand tucked under her stomach, so pronounced in the tunic she wore, and all Anakin wanted to do was step forward and touch their child and her.

But the expression on her face--she was scared . Of him .

“Anakin,” she said, her voice so sweet and so worried. “I was so worried about you! Obi-Wan--he told me--”

So this was what his old master was doing? He must have felt Anakin’s fall--and instead of coming to him, instead of helping him, he had immediately gone to Padmé! To fill her head with lies, obviously.

To make her stop loving him. So he would give her up.

Anakin clenched his fists, feeling his metal hand creak. He would never give up Padmé!

“Obi-Wan is trying to turn you against me.” The words felt odd in his mouth, but they were true--they were the truth! Obi-Wan had always been fearful of his power. It must have come from jealousy--the knowledge he would always be lesser than Anakin. A jealousy born from the moment his master had given him up and chosen Anakin.

Padmé shook her head, her long braid swishing a little. “No, Anakin, no--he wants to help us.”

“Us?” he asked, staring at her, unable to believe that--

“He knows,” Padmé said, confirming his worst fear. The fear that had driven him to do anything to protect Padmé, to protect himself.

“He wants to help you--Anakin, all I want is your love,” Padmé said, reaching out for him.

It was all he ever wanted: Padmé, with him, the two of them free to live together in happiness. But if Obi-Wan knew, there could be no happiness. And if he didn’t serve Sidious, he wouldn’t have the power to save Padmé.

“Love won’t save you, Padmé,” he said, trying to make her understand. Hoping for a moment that he could just convince her to listen to him. “Only my new powers can do that.”

She shook her head, getting that stubborn, determined look on her face, even as her eyes looked glassy. “But at what cost? You’re a good person--don’t do this!”

He was ready to tear his own hair out at her blindness. How could she be so cavalier with her life? With the life of their child?

And he felt so kriffing angry at her, for not caring enough about him to protect herself. Didn’t she understand that?

“I won’t lose you the way I lost my mother,” he said, not caring if he was scaring her more. Because he would save her. “I am becoming more powerful than any Jedi has ever dreamed of, and I’m doing it for you--to protect you!”

To his surprise, Padmé stepped close to him, bringing her hands up to cup his face. “Come away with me. Help me raise our child. Leave everything else behind while we still can!”

Did she really mean that? Anakin searched her face, hoping he would see something to prove that she wanted to do that. To be with him, safe and happy, with their baby and their love. No more Senate, no more Jedi--just them.

He blinked and shook his head, trying to read her. But all he could feel was anger and fear and darkness.

No--no, she wouldn’t give up her career in the Senate. Not for him--not for anything. She was lying to him!

And why should they run? The Sith didn’t have any stupid rules about attachment--he could have Padmé at his side and still use all the power he had!

“Don’t you see?” he asked, bending close to her. “We don’t have to run away anymore. I have brought peace to the Republic.”

Padmé was shaking her head, but Anakin couldn’t stop talking. Even as that Obi-Wan voice started spouting its shavit again, telling him that he needed to stop. That he was losing Padmé.

The voice was wrong.

“I’m more powerful than the Chancellor--the Emperor. I--I can overthrow him. And together, you and I can rule the galaxy--make things the way we want them to be!” Anakin finished, feeling breathless and alive like he never had before.

And powerful. Even though Padmé was edging back from him, looking scared and horrified and destroyed.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” he asked, prodding her, wanting her to say the words so he could prove just how wrong she was.

“I don’t believe what I’m hearing!” she cried out. “Obi-Wan was right--you’ve changed!”

Like Obi-Wan would know anything! He hadn’t been here--he had never been here when Anakin needed him! Always spouting about duty and the Code. He had let the woman he loved die for his duty.

Obi-Wan might be the perfect Jedi, but he was a failure of a man. And Anakin would be a better man and a stronger Jedi than Obi-Wan had ever been!

“I don’t want to hear anymore about Obi-Wan,” Anakin warned Padmé. “The Jedi turned against me--the Republic turned against me. Don’t you turn against me, too!”

He would never hurt her--but he would not let her abandon him. He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t lose her. Even if it meant he had to force his way into her mind and show her how wrong she was. To blot out Obi-Wan’s voice from her head.

She’s crying. You’ve hurt her.

Anakin used his metal hand to pinch his outer thigh, hard enough to nearly rip out a piece of his flesh. It blotted out the voice of Obi-Wan in his head.

“I don’t know you anymore. Anakin--you’re breaking my heart! You’re going down a path I can’t follow,” Padmé sobbed.

“You can,” he said, standing over her. “You will come with me. I will save you, and then, we’ll be together and happy--that’s our path, Padmé!”

She was crying too hard to respond other than by shaking her head.

“Padmé, don’t you understand?” he said, gripping her upper arms. “Losing you--I’ll lose myself! I love you!”

“But--but that’s not love!” she said, looking up at him, tears pouring down her face, gasps punctuating her words. “You don’t care about what I want--just what you want! We’re having a baby--you’re about to be a father--you have to care about more than yourself! Please, Ani--stop this now!”

How . . . how dare she! Anakin felt the very air around him snap and crackle with his anger. He took a step back from her, watching as Padmé’s body slumped, barely staying upright.

“Stop, Anakin--please stop,” Padmé whispered, looking up at him with big, lying brown eyes.

But he couldn’t stop. Extending one hand, he started looking for an entrance to her mind. A way to make her see.

Even if it took rearranging her whole mind, he would prove to her how much he loved her.

“Anakin, stop!”

For a moment, he thought it was the voice in his head. But then a powerful Force push moved him away from Padmé, who slumped to the ground. And Obi-Wan was there, striding towards him, looking tired and worried and scared.

But it must all be an act--Obi-Wan didn’t care about him--he had never cared! He just wanted to keep him from his power.

“Don’t do this, my friend--my brother,” Obi-Wan said, his voice breaking.

“You turned her against me!” Anakin said, his anger hotter than the fields of lava surrounding them.

Obi-Wan shook his head and spoke regretfully. “You have done that yourself.”

No--no--no--he hadn’t, he wasn’t. It was all Obi-Wan’s fault!

“You will not take her from me!” He moved to stand between Obi-Wan and Padmé, keeping his old master away from her.

For a long moment, Obi-Wan looked at him. Then he slid off his robes, letting them fall to the landing platform. “Your anger and lust for power have already done that.”

“No!” he screamed, grabbing his lightsaber and igniting it.

Unhindered by his robes, Obi-Wan easily blocked Anakin’s attack. He didn’t care. He didn’t care that Padmé was lying unconscious on the landing platform, that his new lightsaber felt hot in his hand--why was it hot?--that Obi-Wan was fighting him like he never had before, giving so much ground, like he didn’t want to win.

If Obi-Wan didn’t want to win, Anakin wasn’t about to let himself lose in order to give Obi-Wan a hollow victory.

Into every blow and strike, Anakin poured his anger. His frustration. His confusion. His doubt. He pushed Obi-Wan back, back into the complex, past the bodies of the dead Separatists. Let Obi-Wan see what he was capable of!

He would kill Obi-Wan if he tried to stop him.

The heat from the lava, so close underneath their feet, didn’t scare him. He could win this fight. He would win and prove to Obi-Wan how much more powerful he was.

Scrambling, jumping, searching for an opening, a way to land the final blow on Obi-Wan . . . he had to do this. For himself, for Padmé.

Anakin leapt for the platform Obi-Wan was riding through the river of lava. A spark landed on his robes and he shrugged it off, unable to get it all the way off before Obi-Wan attacked him. He shifted his lightsaber into his mech hand, the sudden absence of heat in his right hand making him realize that something must be wrong with his new lightsaber.

He wrapped the Force around Obi-Wan, holding him away as he got his robe the rest of the way off. And Obi-Wan, the karking bastard , smiled.

“Remember the first time we sparred? You forgot to take off your robes then, too.”

How--how could he talk like that? Like they were just having fun, instead of fighting each other for their lives?

“Remember all the times you saved me? All ten times, like on Cato Nemoidia?” Obi-Wan said, his voice hoarse. “Anakin, you need to be saved from yourself.”

Saved? From himself? What kind of poodoo was this? He was strong and powerful! He was going to change the galaxy!

You are destroying the galaxy.

Anakin whirled around, bringing a hand to his head. “Stop!” he yelled, not sure whether he was talking to the voice in his head or to Obi-Wan.

“We don’t have to do this!” Obi-Wan said. “We can leave with Padmé, we can get you help--you don’t want to do this!”

“Yes, I do!” Anakin screamed, his whole body shaking. He brought his lightsaber up in a wide swing, his anger and fear making him sloppy--Obi-Wan would see right through this move--

But Obi-Wan didn’t. Or did he, and he just didn’t move? Anakin didn’t know. But as the lightsaber came closer and closer to his old master, ready to slice him in two at the waist, Anakin felt his heart clutch in his chest as he realized he was going to kill--

And then, just before the blade made contact, it vanished.

Obi-Wan stared at Anakin. Anakin stared at his lightsaber, then pulled it towards him and pressed on the button. Nothing happened.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to Obi-Wan. Wondering what he was going to do. He was unarmed--technically defenseless. Would Obi-Wan continue the fight? Could Anakin win a fight without a lightsaber?

They stared at each other for a moment and Anakin felt his hand ball into a fist. He could still win! He would!

But before he could throw his punch, Obi-Wan shut down his lightsaber. “This ends now, Anakin.”

“No!” he yelled, feeling so tired, so angry, just so done --

Darkness overwhelmed him.

XXX

His head was throbbing. The air was cool. A soft bed cradled his body. A gentle hum filled the air.

And when he opened his eyes, he only saw a dimly-lit white room.

Sitting up slowly, Anakin looked around. It appeared like a medical suite, but unlike any med room he had ever been in. Where were the machines? Where were the healers?

Why was he here?

His clothes were gone and he was dressed in a white gown. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and ran a hand through his hair, finding no lumps or other signs of concussion. Other than the pounding headache, he felt all right.

Anakin frowned. Actually--he felt good . Like he had slept for a year and finally eased his exhaustion, like he had been eating real food for three meals a day instead of ration bars, like he had finally received medical care for all the small, insignificant injuries that had added up over three years of war.

It was like he could actually think clearly, for the first time in so long.

A soft creak made him whip his head around, wincing even as he saw the door to the room open, revealing Obi-Wan.

“Good morning,” he said quietly, stepping into the room. His eyes were steady but opaque as he looked at Anakin.

“Um, hi,” he said, looking around. “Where--where is this?”

“Takodana,” Obi-Wan said, taking a seat on a metal stool a few feet from Anakin’s bed.

The name sounded familiar, but his head hurt too much for him to try and place the planet within the galaxy. So he simply nodded.

“Padmé is safe,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “I thought you’d like to know that first.”

An intense feeling of relief swept through him, almost overwhelming him with its power. “Thank Force,” Anakin said, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He sighed and looked back at his old master. “And . . . and the baby?”

“Safe as well,” Obi-Wan said, but with a flicker in his Force presence that told Anakin there was more to that. He opened his mouth to press him, but Obi-Wan held up a hand.

“I have a message from her that you can listen after we talk.”

Anakin frowned, starting to rise to his feet. “Obi-Wan, Padmé needs me--”

“No, she doesn’t.”

The bluntness of Obi-Wan’s words, the complete lack of sympathy or kindness in them, made Anakin stare at him. And when he saw how very serious Obi-Wan was, how much he meant those words, he found himself sitting back down.

“What have I done?” Anakin asked, hanging his head. Hearing the echo of the same words, spoken in the Chancellor’s office, when he had Fallen.

He had Fallen. He--he was a Sith.

And the Chancellor--the Emperor--his master, Darth Sidious--he would know how Anakin had failed. Failed as a Jedi, failed as a Sith--now he wouldn’t be able to protect Padmé, to save her--and their baby--

“Anakin, stop it.” Obi-Wan’s voice was firm. “Be mindful of your feelings.”

“Mindful?” he said, glaring at Obi-Wan. “Mindful?!? All I know are my feelings!”

“And you let each and every one sweep you up, like a leaf in a river,” Obi-Wan retorted. “You must learn control if you are to heal.”

Scoffing, Anakin rose to his feet and started looking for clothes. “Heal? Heal from what--falling to the Dark Side? No one can do that. I’m gone, Obi-Wan--just let me go and I’ll--”

“What? Work at the side of the greatest evil the galaxy has ever known?” Obi-Wan asked, standing up and advancing towards him. “Never see your wife again, never meet your children? Because I guarantee, Anakin, that is your fate if you don’t listen to what I have to say.”

Anakin stared at Obi-Wan. “What?”

Folding his arms over his chest, Obi-Wan nodded to the bed. “Sit.”

As directed, Anakin sank down onto the bed, frowning. It seemed like Obi-Wan thought that Anakin could . . . come back? Not be a Sith? But that was impossible. Master Yoda always said that any action that came from the Dark Side was unforgivable, unerasable. That the stain on your soul would never go away.

It was too late for him. And Obi-Wan should be the first one to know that.

“After I defeated Darth Maul on Naboo, the Council investigated me,” Obi-Wan said, sitting back down on his stool. “To fight a Sith, to defeat one, they believed I must have touched the Dark Side.”

Anakin blinked. “You? Go to the Dark Side?”

“I appreciate your belief,” Obi-Wan said, a bit dryly, but with a smile, too. “The Council finally determined I had not. But they were very cautious during the early years of your Padawan training. You might feel like they were watching you--but they were also watching me.”

“Oh,” he said quietly.

Obi-Wan looked at him for a few long moments. Long enough that Anakin wanted to squirm. To ask questions like where was Obi-Wan going with this and did he really think Anakin could come back and why was the anger so much more bearable now?

It was still there. He could feel it, churning and burning. But he didn’t feel like lashing out at Obi-Wan. He didn’t feel that drive to leave, to find Padmé, to protect her.

Nothing made sense right now.

“What happened, Anakin?”

He shifted. “What do you mean?”

“I’d like to hear, in your own words, why you Fell,” Obi-Wan said, unfolding his crossed arms and resting his hands on his knees. “Start at the beginning.”

“The beginning?” Anakin huffed. “I have no idea where the beginning is, Obi-Wan. And--and why you’re doing this.”

“I think the answer will come to you,” Obi-Wan said. “Just start talking.”

Heaving a sigh, Anakin rubbed at his temples. “Okay. Um . . . I guess--I guess it started when Padmé told me she was pregnant.”

In slow, halting words, Anakin began talking. He doubled back, jumped ahead, ran his hands through his hair, paced, fidgeted, shifted.

He talked about the dreams he’d had. He talked about what the Chancellor told him. He talked about having a secret marriage. He talked about watching Ashoka walk away.

And he found himself telling Obi-Wan about how he had slaughtered that village of Tusken Raiders who had tortured his mother. He talked about all the times he came too close to vengeance when fighting. He talked about the anger he felt whenever Padmé was threatened.

Through it all, Obi-Wan stayed silent, just listening. Taking it all in.

When Anakin finished, reduced to a voice barely above a whisper, Obi-Wan looked at him. “I’m sorry, Anakin.”

He hung his head. Of course he was. Hearing all that, Obi-Wan must have realized there was no saving him. He would--he would have to kill him. And then he’d go back to the Council and tell them . . .

Wait. The Council. Was there a Council anymore?

Sidious wanted all the Jedi wiped out. He said some had escaped from the Temple, and Master Windu had been killed, but--but who else? Who else had died?

Died because of him, Anakin?

“Just--just do it quickly, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said. “And--and please tell Padmé I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

“Anakin, what are you saying?”

“You . . . you have to kill me,” he said, swallowing hard.

There was a deep sigh, and then the bed next to him shifted as Obi-Wan sat down beside him. “You have Fallen. You have committed evil acts. You have lost your way.”

There was a long pause. “But I believe I should help you find your way back, not strike you down.”

Anakin’s head jerked up and he stared at Obi-Wan. “What?”

Obi-Wan looked grave. “Anakin, the clone troopers wiped out most of the Jedi. Master Yoda was able to escape, as was I. The Temple was attacked, and it is unknown how many might have evaded the clone troopers sent to slaughter them.”

His mind reeled as he took all this in. The clone troopers, killing their Jedi? Force, he couldn’t imagine . . .

“The Emperor,” Obi-Wan said, disgust lacing his voice, “have declared the Jedi traitors. We are at the point of extinction.”

So . . . this was more about preserving the Jedi? Even though he had betrayed so much of what the Jedi Order stood for?

The confusion must have shown in his face, because Obi-Wan shook his head. “Although truly, all of that is merely my reasoning to Master Yoda to keep you alive. Which he knew. But he allowed me to take this position--that we should allow you to attempt redemption, if you choose.”

“Then what do you want, Obi-Wan? I mean, why do you even care?” Anakin asked dully.

For a long moment, there was nothing. It was like that moment before you jumped off a cliff or while you waited for a podrace to begin. You drew in a breath, waiting to exhale, waiting for release.

“I want my brother back. I want him to be happy.”

Two simple sentences. Only a few words each, spoke with such gentleness . . . but with a raging inferno of emotion behind them.

Just like the emotion sweeping over Anakin.

“So, Anakin Skywalker, do you choose redemption for your acts of evil?”

Obi-Wan’s voice was quiet and controlled. But there was so much hope in his eyes. He couldn’t let him down again.

“Yes,” Anakin said firmly.

“It will not be easy,” Obi-Wan warned.

“I want to do this,” Anakin said. “I . . . I want to have the chance to apologize to Padmé in person. And make up for what I caused, what I did.”

With a nod, Obi-Wan stood up. “We have much work to do, then. I’ll get your clothes and we can begin.”

“All right,” Anakin said, standing up as well. He stretched a little, savoring how good he felt. “Hey, this planet--Takodana--does it have some kind of weird regenerative property? I feel better than I have in years.”

“Oh, no--you’ve been asleep for a week,” Obi-Wan said as he left the room.

Anakin stared after his former master. “A week?!?”

End, Chapter 1

#anidala #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #obi-wan kenobi #sheev palpatine #star wars #my fic

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antivirus-mh-au · 3 years

Text

Antivirus - Chapter 2

TW: None Chapter 1 here Ao3 link If you like this, please leave a like, reblog, or send me an ask! It encourages me so much.

He blew the smoke from his mouth around the cigarette, the morning sun catching all the particles as they floated into the air. Tim drew the J on top of the fresh carton and dropped the pen onto the dashboard. Pulling the cigarette from his mouth, he drew in a deep breath of fresh air, fresh as you could get at a gas station by a highway. Looking around the parking lot, at the people filing in and out, he shook his head and gave a wry smile. Hard not to be in a good mood when you got some decent sleep for once.

Becca and Lukas were okay. Lukas's leg had been taken care of, and the two had set back off for Idaho, back to the families that loved them. Another success case for Timothy Kane. Another group of people adding to the myth of his existence. Seemed like every month there were more of them. The Operator never tired. The sickness never eased. In fact, it only grew worse.

But like hell was he going to start off a good morning with that depressing shit. He'd gotten paid, gotten rest, and he'd found out where the nearest library was with free internet. He was not going to let a rare moment of peace escape him. He'd lost too much for that.

The library wasn't far away from the gas station he'd refilled at. By the time he pulled into the parking lot, it was open, as were the windows on the front of the building. He spoke briefly to the clerk at the front desk, making sure he understood their internet rules and that it was okay for him to bring in his thermos of coffee, before finding a convenient spot by a power outlet.

His laptop was getting old, it took a while for it to boot up. As Tim waited, he thumbed through a newspaper. Experts predicting a war with China for the third time in as many years, conflict in the Middle East, the royal family in Britain getting roped into some scandal or another. That was why he didn't read the news much, it was always the same. By the time he got to the comics (never his favorite part of the newspaper), his laptop had finished, and Tim traded the two without a second thought.

He could and did check his email on his phone but he was old-fashioned and preferred to use his laptop when he had the chance. Earlier Becca's mother replied to his report about her daughter returning home, a message he'd saved in a special folder he looked at when he felt particularly shitty.

Another email was waiting for him now, from a 'Meridith Frederickson'. Another client, looking for her son and his missing best friend. He replied to that one, offering to schedule a Zoom meeting later that same day. By now he knew all too well what happened if he wasn't on top of his cases.

And of course, he had new messages in the spam folder. Tim glanced over the subjects of the emails without opening any of them. Some didn't have any, but most were vaguely threatening, the kind he usually got from trolls and kids. 'Always watching', 'there's no escape', 'how could you', and on and on and on. People thought they could get a rise out of him by acting like totheark, but none of them even came close to what Brian had been all those years ago.

Tim glanced at the tab next to his email, frowning. There was no sense in trying to put it off, even if he hated doing it. Everything on that site made him feel worse, and today had been a pretty good day. But if he didn't look, he'd regret it later, falling into a rabbit hole of updates that was guaranteed to fuck him over. So he opened YouTube.

The videos were taken down years ago, the channels involved with Marble Hornets wiped from the website. But that didn't mean they were gone, just hidden away on Google Drives and shock sites. What was on YouTube was... the fandom.

It made his skin crawl thinking about it. People from all over the world were obsessed with what he and Jay had been through. He'd seen hundreds of articles about the videos, from five minute listicles to long analysises about the events and the people involved. He'd seen other things, too, things he'd rather not remember. Like the fanart...

Out of everything, though, it was the YouTube community that unsettled him the most. The passionate, wide eyed college kids. The naive high schoolers. The older people, with their backgrounds in criminal science and forensics and cryptids and God knew what else. They picked over the videos and tweets and codes like vultures at a pile of bones. Like it was just a fictional web series, like people he knew and once liked weren't dead. And they spread the disease. It didn't take all of them, leaving the YouTubers alone, but claiming their followers. It made him sick thinking about all the people he couldn't save, the people who had no one left to try and find them, the people who vanished into Rosswood Park and were never seen again. It made him sick, watching these ignorant people talk about his pain as if they were all insects under microscopes.

But if he didn't pay attention, who knew what might happen. The Operator was watching all of them. One slip up was all it took.

He scrolled through both the front page and his subscriptions. The videos were, in the end, all the same. Speculation, discussion, analyzation. Some of them he could watch later. Others needed his attention now.

Tim’s eyes landed on a video, and his heart clenched. The Neophyte was streaming again.

The still image didn’t show much. Neophyte_Calling didn’t put much work into his channel. It was just a shot of what the streams normally showed, pale, unkempt hands poking free from black robes, resting on an old plastic table. That was what he expected to find once he opened the stream.

And he’d be correct, that was what awaited him once he got the courage to click. The hands twitched and clenched and dug at the table. It wasn’t the hands that were special though, it was what the owner of those hands were saying.

“Autumn after firestorm, the nights don’t listen and the butter is on the corn. Ten days or twenty paces of living guts wrapped around an old man’s neck. The water comes up to your waist but you don’t feel the attitude of denial inside the bastard daughter’s heart. Oh, god, eureka, industry was never so smooth…”

Complete nonsense. The ramblings of a man on some kind of drug, or lost to some unknown mental illness. Despite this, the chat flooded with messages. Donations popped up occasionally, attempts to get the Neophyte’s attention. He didn’t notice. He never noticed. He just kept talking. And he would keep talking until the stream ended on its own, or he passed out on the table.

People called him a prophet. Claimed every word he spoke had a double, or even a triple, meaning. They recorded every word he said and discussed them among themselves, coming up with ‘translations’ for his maddening dialogue. And to be fair, they could have a point. Sometimes, what the Neophyte said did seem to foretell events that happened not long after he spoke them. But the god the Neophyte channeled was not one Tim would ever ask someone to worship.

Silence. The man stopped talking, his fidgeting hands resting flat on the table. Dread filled Tim’s body. Speak of the devil, he was doing this again?

The Neophyte spoke again, his voice deeper now. The words came clumsy from his mouth, uncomfortable, heavy, as if he had never spoken before. The emphasis, the tone, it was all wrong. Tim had no trouble understanding them, however.

“You always fight,” It said through the Neophyte’s mouth. “You always resist. You tire, and exhaust, and fall. You continue to fight despite.”

The robes shifted, the head hidden from the camera’s view tilting.

“Tim,” It said. “You are a grain of sand. I am eternal. I am here. I will always be here. You understand. You continue despite.”

On the side of the screen, the chat surged with messages. It raced so quickly, Tim couldn’t have read any of them even if he tried. He didn’t look away from the livestream.

“Tim,” It said again. “Enough. You have fought hard. You are getting old. That’s enough. It’s time to come home. To us. To all of us.”

The hair stood up on his arms, on the back of Tim’s neck. He shuddered.

“Like hell,” he whispered, and closed the tab.

But even though he closed the livestream, he could swear he heard the Neophyte, the thing puppeting him, whisper in his mind.

“Coward.”

When 2pm rolled around, Tim was back in his van in the library parking lot. Obviously he couldn’t do a Zoom call inside the quiet space, but their internet reached well past the parking lot. He sat on his bed, now folded up like a couch inside the converted van he lived in. His laptop open before him, the program open and ready. Now he just had to wait for her.

Hard to say what this Meredith Fredrickson would expect a private investigator like him to look like, but Tim did his best to look presentable anyway. Hair combed, beard trimmed, leather jacket kept to the side out of her line of sight - leather jackets weren’t worn by authority figures, and that was what he was trying to be right now. Not anyone could do this job, but who’s to say she knew that? If she didn’t like the way he looked, she could try to find someone else to find her son and his friend. And if she did that, by the time she realized only Tim could help her, it would be too late.

Thinking about it that way made him shudder.

Of course, while he was prepared to deal with what she thought he would look like, he wasn’t as ready for what she herself would look like. As the call began, and Meredith’s face came on screen, Tim hesitated. He looked at her closely again. Had he seen this woman before?

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Fredrickson,” He greeted.

The woman shook her head, her curly brown hair tossing around her slim shoulders.

“Meredith is fine,” she said. “I haven’t been called ‘Mrs’ since my husband died. I changed back to my maiden name - my son’s last name will be his, not mine.”

“Of course,” Tim said. Odd information to include, but people tended to ramble when they were nervous.

He looked at her again, at the frown lines developing around her lips, and the worry and pain in her wide-set eyes. Behind her was a normal looking home, a few windows with pale curtains, a kitchen kept clean from what little he saw. Something was nagging at him. What was it?

“Did you fill out the information packet I requested?” He asked.

Meredith nodded.

“Yes.”

The file appeared, Tim half-listening to her as he opened it.

“I know this is a very strange thing to ask from you,” Meredith said. “But circumstances have changed in a way I really didn’t expect. I know it’s hard to believe that after ten years my son could be alive, but I don’t have any other explanation for…”

She trailed off. Tim didn’t look away from the document she’d sent. The names written on the very first line.

Missing People: Jay Merrick and Alex Kralie

Motherfucker, had he been tricked?

Tim shot the woman a sharp glance, examining her expression in seconds. She was not the first person to ask him to track down Jay and Alex, but she was the first he hadn’t screened out before it got this far. Most people were upfront about their intentions, or were obviously trolling, or he otherwise got weird vibes from them. This Meredith had slipped him by, and wasted his time in the process.

“He is my son,” Meredith said. “I’ve included his birth certificate, since I thought you might not believe me.”

“I don’t need it.” A birth certificate? Those weren’t easy to fake, but Tim was no expert on Photoshop either.

“I would’ve included Alex’s, too,” Meredith continued. “After all the years he and Jay knew each other, you would’ve thought I’d have it too.” She laughed, and there was pain within it. “But his parents died in a car accident about six years back, and…”

“Wait.” Tim refocused. “Alex and Jay knew each other?”

“Since the first year of middle school,” Meredith said with a nod. “I have a lot of photos of them. You know, Jay went through a phase, where he wore all black, and listened to rock music with singers I couldn’t understand. He got a tattoo of one of the bands on his ankle behind my back. I was so angry...”

She laughed again, and her eyes went distant. Tim stared at her, his mind flashing back to all the conversations he’d had with Jay, things that didn’t go into the videos. Being Alex’s childhood friend, since middle school - the phases he went through as a teen - that damn tattoo he was so embarrassed of. None of these were known by the fandom.

Oh god, this woman was the real deal. Even her face, now that he looked at her, was just like Jay’s. The distant look in her eyes as she thought… Jay got that same expression.

“Meredith,” he said, his voice softer, kinder. “Do you know about Marble Hornets?”

“I can’t bring myself to watch them,” she said. Meredith folded her hands together. “But I know what… what was shown on the videos. I know that they are…” She swallowed. “Considered dead by most people. I was one of them.”

His gut twisted. By most people, including her. “But something… changed.”

“Yes.” She took a deep breath, and moved to wipe her eyes. “I got a package in the mail about a week ago. Inside was a flashdrive and a few printed photos. It had been placed in my mailbox - I don’t know who sent it.”

Oh no, Tim thought. Not this again. Please, don’t play this game with people again.

“What were the photos?” He asked, aware of the sound of his own voice more than anything else.

“I’ve included most of them in the document,” Meredith said. “I… I still can’t believe what I’ve seen, but… But they don’t look like they could’ve been faked.”

Dread pressed down on his shoulders. Dread and something else, some kind of energy buzzing through his nerves. Tim looked at the document, scrolled down, and opened the photos.

Some were blurry, taken from a distance and zoomed in before being printed. Some were clear as glass. It took him several seconds to process what he was seeing, what the subjects of the photos were. Tim blinked, looked again, and his pulse quickened.

Alex, standing on a street corner, gray in his hair, exhaustion on his face. Jay in a dark cloth jacket with a hood, looking over his shoulders. Alex, and Jay, Alex, and Jay, in all the photos, in every single one. The clothes were different, the faces aged, but there was no denying what he was seeing, and like Meredith said, no way to fake what he was looking at.

“Oh my god,” Tim mumbled.

Jay and Alex were alive.

#marble hornets #marble hornets fanfiction #marble hornets tim #Tim Wright #mh tim wright #mh tim #marble hornets alex #alex kralie #mh jay merrick #jay merrick #MH Jay #mh antivirus au #mh alex

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wheresmynaya · 4 years

Text

Cupcake Battles Ch. 1 | Brittana

I was inspired by the Brittana fanart circulating based on the Baking AU and as per usual the Discord had me out here binging Cupcake Wars until this happened! Hope this gives you a little smile.

Also available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & below the cut!

The doors of the commercial kitchen are thrown open as the most dramatic action music the Foodies Network Channel has to offer begins to play. A well-dressed, guppy-lipped blonde enters the room in slow motion and gives the camera a confident pose before he’s taking off his sunglasses and tossing them off screen.

“What’s up, America!” The man greets excitedly with a point to the camera. “I’m your host Sam Evans and tonight we’re gearing up for an intense cupcake clash. Overseeing this battle are our esteemed judges: Kurt Hummel, owner of the first ever fashion design-inspired patisserie The House of Hummel.”

As the camera pans to Kurt Hummel, he adjusts the gaudy – and most likely stupidly expensive – hippopotamus brooch pinned to the lapel of his Marc Jacobs blazer and gives the camera a prudish smile.

“Hold up,” The beautiful brunette beside him nudges to ask, “Is that a woman’s blazer?”

Kurt lifts his shoulder in disregard, “Fashion has no gender, Santana.”

“Huh,” Santana looks impressed and points back, “I needz me one of those.”

“I know a guy,” Kurt stage whispers before Sam’s voice fills the kitchen again.

“And he is joined by the ever-witty, ever-beautiful-“

“Why didn’t I get those kind of adjectives for my introduction?” Kurt grumbles.

Santana only smiles proudly without breaking eye contact with the camera, “Get like me, Hummel.”

If he were wearing any – which surprisingly he isn’t – Kurt would’ve clutched his pearls at the statement.

“Santana Lopez, owner and founder of the world-renowned bakery Sweets by Snixxx,” Sam says and the camera soon pans back to the judges’ panel where Santana Lopez gives the viewers her signature smirk accompanied by a sexy wink.

“In just a moment,” Sam continues with the camera back on him as he walks down the aisle which separates the four kitchen stations, “Four bakers will compete in the ultimate show down to see who comes out on top so,” He pauses dramatically as the camera whirls around him then zooms straight in for a close. In typical Sam-fashion, he sings the rest of his line to a familiar rhythm all while he karate chops at the air, “Let’s get down to business and meet the teams!”

The screen soon fills with two bright-eyed, young women sitting in front of a pastel pink backdrop. They’re dressed in electric blue baseball tees with their logo Batter Up Cupcakes scrawled across their chests. Their baseball caps are turned backwards and their hair is braided into pigtails and drape down over their shoulders.

They both wave excitedly at the camera before the shorter of the two blows the audience a two-handed kiss while the blonde pumps her fist in the air before it cuts to their introductions.

“I’m Brittany S. Pierce,” Says the tall blonde before she gestures to her side, “And this is my bestie Sugar Motta and we’re the owners of Batter Up Cupcakes in Lima, Ohio which is one of the only unicorn-friendly bakeries in Lima.”

The camera cuts to a cute montage of the two standing outside of their storefront while they alternate doing different poses that showcase their carefree attitude. Brittany can be heard doing a voiceover as the montage continues, “Sugar and I met when I first transferred to the Culinary Institute of America in New York and we’ve pretty much been inseparable ever since.”

We’re back in the studio with Brittany and Sugar sitting in front of the pastel pink backdrop as Sugar adds, “We just work super well together. We have a similar way of looking at things that is really unique but…there are some people out there that don’t get it.” Sugar then lowers her voice to a whisper and says, “Blaine and Tina.”

Brittany nods, “I think they’re jealous.”

“Because they’re lame?” Sugar asks behind a eye roll.

Brittany points to her friend and gives a single nod, “Yeah, that too.”

The screen then fills with another team sitting in front of the pastel pink backdrop. A man with way too much hair product smiles proudly at the camera while the woman next to him gives a wave. They both wear button-up dress shirts and little bowties with cupcakes on them as they go to introduce themselves.

“Hi, I’m Blaine Anderson,” The gel man says politely before wrapping his arm around the woman next to him. She melts into his side as he says, “And this is my lovely partner Tina Cohen-Chang.”

“Business partner…,” Tina corrects before her voice lowers slightly as she looks disappointedly to the side, “Not like a life partner, I’ve tried.”

“Yes, yes you have,” Blaine continues on before it gets any more awkward, “So together we own Baking Dreams Come True in Lima, Ohio.”

Off-screen a voice asks, “Oh, same as our other competitors: Brittany and Sugar of Batter Up Cupcakes?”

Blaine and Tina visibly grit their teeth before Blaine sucks in a deep breath and plasters on a smile, “Yes, one in the same. It’s such a small world, we actually attended the same culinary school too. They were…quite the eccentric pair.”

“It’s true,” Tina adds, “They’re known for coming up with some pretty quirky combinations. We however take a more traditional approach to things, really focus on technique rather than flare.”

Blaine bobbles along to everything Tina says, “That’s correct. They like to claim that they’re the first LGBTQ-friendly bakery in Lima but I’m pretty sure we filed our paperwork before them.”

“They say they’re unicorn-friendly, which doesn’t make any sense. Unicorns aren’t even real. It gives a mixed message,” Tina explains with an air of annoyance.

“It does, but people go there anyway,” Blaine replies with a shrug and his proud smile falters as he adds, “We’ve kind of been rivals for years now. Always trying to one up the other, it’s…awesome.”

Suddenly we’re back on Team Batter Up Cupcakes where Brittany gives a bored look to the camera and says plainly, “Honestly, with a name like that they’re not a threat to us.”

“Baking dreams come true?” Sugar chuckles, “Not today.”

Brittany giggles along with her and they both high five.

The camera is back on Team Baking Dreams Come True and Blaine’s looking like a puppy ready to wet himself with excitement, “We’re just here for fun.”

“It’s that attitude right there, Blaine,” Tina says tiredly before narrowing her eyes at the camera, “We’re here to settle the score once and for all.”

Blaine smiles hesitantly, “We love a little friendly competition.”

Back to Team Batter Up Cupcakes and Sugar is looking directly at the camera with this determined stare as she punches her small fist into her palm, “We’re going to crush them.”

Brittany nods proudly, “Totally.”

“So here’s how the competition’s going to go down,” Sam announces as he walks back to stand in front of the judges panel, “One by one, teams will be eliminated as they are judged by taste, presentation, and in the final round the last two bakers standing will have to bring it all together into one cheer-worthy cupcake display. The winner gets to have their creation as the centerpiece of the Annual Cheerios Breakfast Benefit and walks away with $10,000.”

The camera pans to Team Batter Up Cupcakes and Team Baking Dreams Come True to catch their reactions before panning to the two remaining teams to be announced.

The camera cuts to the third team that will be competing. Another couple dressed in matching flannel shirts is seated in front of the signature pastel pink wall but the camera dramatically adjusts to fit the insane height difference of the couple before anyone starts speaking. A chipper brunette smiles and waves while her dopey counterpart slowly does the same.

“Hi, I’m Rachel Barbara Berry,” The shorter one says with perfect enunciation before resting her hand on the forearm of the man next to her. She cranes her head back to stare up lovingly, “And this is my husband Finn Hudson. You might be wondering why I’ve kept my last name, well-“

Suddenly someone off-screen cuts her off, “No, no one was wondering. Just continue with your backstory, your baking-related backstory.”

Rachel looks a little peeved but waves it off, “Right. Well, I’ve always loved baking and my husband here loves to eat. Before my Broadway dreams were unfortunately-“

“Rachel, please stay on topic.” The voice says again which makes Rachel grumble.

“Fine! Finn and I started a home business called Gold Star Bakery. It’s taking a little while to get off the ground purely because someone keeps eating our clients’ orders-”

“Babe, you have to label it or else I’m just going to think it’s up for grabs.” Finn responds with a frown then looks back to the camera, “She’s a great baker and we’re just looking for our big break. This money will really help out a lot, maybe we can open our own place?”

“You mean that?” Rachel’s suddenly so overcome with emotion that a tear trickles down her face. Suddenly she’s breaking character and looks to someone off screen, “Did you get that? I can cry on command.”

Finn smiles proudly, “She’s great isn’t she?”

The camera cuts to the last team that will be competing and the man and woman smile brightly for the camera. They’re wearing matching purple t-shirts with their logo across the left pocket in blocky letters before they cut to a montage of the team showing off in their area.

“I’m Mercedes Jones,” The woman says and tilts her head to the man next to her, “And this is Artie Abrams and together we run AJs Bake Shop. We have worked together for years at various restaurants before we decided to team up and do our own thing. We’ve been killin’ it in L.A. ever since. ”

“Mhm, that’s right!” Artie nods with a sense of pride, “We’re top dogs where we come from so we thought we might test our skills and see what we can really do.”

“We’re here to win,” Mercedes says as she gives the camera an intimidating stare, “We’re not leaving without that trophy.”

“Wait, I thought it was money?” Artie asks with his brows furrowed.

Mercedes just shrugs, “We’ll take that too.”

Back in the kitchen, Sam stands by the judge’s panel to reveal another judge sitting with Kurt and Santana. A fierce older woman sits among them, dressed in a red and white track suit, and gives the audience a steely gaze.

“Tonight’s special guest judge is Coach Sue Sylvester,” Sam announces grandly, “She is the founder of the Olympic-winning cheerleading team: the Cheerios! Welcome to the battle zone, Coach!”

“Glad to be here,” Sue says slowly without any emotion whatsoever and continues to stare down the competitors, “I can’t wait to see everyone rip each other to shreds.”

Kurt and Santana exchange looks of confusion while Sam tries to reel in his worry and get back to his hosting duties, “So anyway, for tonight’s theme we’re thinking breakfast. For Round One, we would like to see our teams whip up something that encompasses the Sweet and Savory side of a classic American breakfast. Remember bakers, this is a timed challenge.”

The camera pans to the teams’ reactions and everyone looks a mix of surprise and anxious. Everyone, expect for Team Batter Up Cupcakes where we find Brittany looking in deep thought with her finger tapping at her chin while Sugar narrows her eyes and purses her lips, almost angrily.

“Looks like Brittany and Sugar weren’t expecting this one,” Kurt comments lowly to Santana and the two look in their direction as the team continues to stare off.

Santana’s eyes settle on the blonde and for a moment, she forgets she’s on camera as they start to roam. Santana has met many contestants during her time on the show, but none have been as attractive as the blonde baker before her. She’s not sure what it is about the woman, maybe it’s the backwards baseball cap that is alerting her inner lesbian or maybe it’s the baseball tee that’s doing it, but Santana really can’t stop staring.

Brittany is stunning, she thinks, and she begins to tune out the sound of Sam’s horrible impressions as she watches.

“Santana,” Kurt snaps and nudges Santana out of her daydreaming in time to hear Sam announce the start of the first challenge.

“Man your stations, bakers, and let the battle begin!” He says with the wave of his hands as if he were one of those flag girls at race.

Santana rolls her eyes at his antics and looks back to find Kurt staring at her. She scrunches her nose, “What are you looking at?”

“You know,” Kurt says with an all-knowing look and begins to smirk, “I saw you.”

“Please. You saw nothing,” Santana brushes off and tries to keep her eyes roaming the room to watch as the bakers – all the bakers – set off. She tries her hardest to give everyone equal attention, but she can’t help the pull that has her glancing over to Team Batter Up Cupcakes more so than any other team.

“You look nervous,” Sugar notices just after Sam had announced the start of the challenge, “Why do you look nervous? We don’t do nervous.”

“I’m not nervous!” Brittany says defensively before relenting with a sigh, “You know how I feel about breakfast, Sug. It’s impossible to understand.”

“I know, remember that one time you got into that argument with the waiter about eggs benedict?” Sugar frowns and Brittany lets out another defeated sigh.

“He was wrong then and he’s still wrong now,” Brittany huffs.

“Obviously,” Sugar agrees then perks up, “But the challenge is sweet and savory so there’s no way we can mix this up again. We can do this.”

Brittany’s worry is replaced with a determined smile, “You’re right and I think I’ve got the perfect mashup idea.”

Sugar claps her hands excitedly as they began to brainstorm.

Unbeknownst to Team Batter Up Cupcakes, every other team has decided to make two different cupcakes which will showcase a sweet and savory aspect individually.

The judges have taken notice of that which makes it even harder for Santana to keep her eyes off of Team Batter Up Cupcakes. They speak amongst themselves about the team’s decision and wonder if they just haven’t started on a second cupcake yet or if they’re really going with just one offering.

“Dear God, what is going on at Team Gold Star Bakery’s station?” Sue frowns when a bellow of black smoke emits from the oven.

Kurt looks in horror as Finn pulls out the crisp cupcakes.

Santana smirks at the sight, “Yeah, those are gonna be dry as hell.”

“Why is the oven set to 500 degrees?” Rachel practically yells while Finn throws away the ruined cupcakes.

“Don’t look at me, I didn’t even know oven temperatures when up that high!” Finn argues but Rachel just shakes her head.

“Trouble in paradise?” Mercedes calls over with a chuckle. She and Artie are quietly working away in their own station but tune into the sound of some juicy gossip.

“No!” Rachel frowns at her and looks to Finn, “We need to start over or else we’re not going to have anything for the judges. Time is running out!”

“Okay okay, we’re fine. We just need to get our heads in the game!” Finn looks more determined than ever but then his face falls when he sees the judges stand. He spins around so fast that he nearly knocks Rachel over, “Crap, they’re getting up to make their rounds.”

“Already?! They’re going to think we aren’t prepared!”

“Well…I mean we aren’t,” Finn says plainly.

“Finn!” Rachel chastises and begins rushing through another batter.

“Alright judges, here’s our first team: Blaine and Tina of Baking Dreams Come True!” Sam introduces as the three judges approach their station. Blaine and Tina smile politely and greet them all as they continue to move around each other.

“Wow, what an…interesting name,” Santana comments, losing the battle of hiding her judgement. Not that she ever actually tries to, that’s kind of what makes her a fan favorite.

“So take us through what you are working on,” Kurt says after shooting Santana a glare.

Blaine goes on to explain the complex flavor pairings they will be using which Santana points out isn’t actually all that complex. Tina’s working on some intricate detailing while Blaine pipes frosting, but they both stop to stare at each other with dropped jaws.

“I’m just not seeing any wow factor,” Santana shrugs.

“Well, don’t count us out just yet,” Blaine counters which causes Santana to raise a brow. It’s rare that any contestant ever talks back to her. “Tina’s fondant work is really out of this world.”

“Sugar’s better!” Brittany calls out from across the aisle where she’s busy hand-whipping something. She sends a smirk their way – which of course Santana doesn’t miss – and adds, “She has beaten you in every competition ever.”

“You suck so much, Tina!” Sugar chimes in as well from behind Brittany.

Sue cracks a hint of a devilish smile, “Love a bit of trash talk.”

Santana would have to agree, “It’s something we don’t see here too often. I think we’re in for an interesting battle.” Then she looks to the team again, “Good luck.”

Blaine and Tina just stew in their annoyance as the rest of the judges bid them good luck and travel across the way to Team Batter Up Cupcakes.

“The second team competing today is Brittany and Sugar of Batter Up Cupcakes,” Sam announces for the judges. Sugar gives a wave of her fingers and flashes a bright smile, while Brittany literally does a double-take when she finds Santana smiling at her.

She has seen the show on tv before and she of course is aware of Santana’s prestigious backstory – and sure she might have a tiny crush on the star too – but she wasn’t quite prepared for the unabashed beauty she was going to be smacked with upon seeing Santana in person.

Miraculously, Brittany manages to give her a confident smile despite the flips happening in her belly. She says without a trace of nervousness, “Hey, I’m Brittany. That’s Sugar.”

“So I’ve heard,” Santana replies coolly through a smirk with her deep brown eyes twinkling.

“What’s the tea between you and the other team?” Kurt asks, giving Santana a slight nudge back into professionalism.

“We’ve always been rivals; grew up in the same small town, attended the same culinary school, even started bakeries in our local area. We’re just better than them and they can’t come to admit that yet,” Brittany says it like it is, “Hopefully they’ll finally take the hint when we win.”

Santana laughs at that, “I like your confidence, Brittany.”

“Of course you do,” Brittany says without thinking and it surprises both Kurt and Santana but she rolls with it anyway, “Going back to Bland and Tacky over there, isn’t their lame bakery name a mouthful?”

“Wanky,” Santana smirks and Kurt swats at her arm. If he had a spray bottle on him, that comment would’ve earned her a spritz.

Brittany – on the other hand – just smiled back before continuing with her work, her tone arms flexing as she whisked vigorously.

Santana licks her lips at the sight, her eyes dipping down to the bowl in Brittany’s hands then back up, “Tell us what you’re working on.”

Brittany wonders if she’s imagining things or if she really just saw Santana Lopez eye her up and down like she was a fresh glazed donut hot out off the belt. No matter, she takes a breath and goes to explain, “So we’re doing something with maple bacon for that sweet and salty factor and it’ll add a little crunch. Sugar’s working on a white truffle frosting and this is the start of a jalapeno-infused pancake cupcake for a bit of spice.”

“You’re putting all of that in one cupcake?” Kurt asks, wide-eyed. He looks a little nervous and it makes Santana snort while Sue is equally intrigued.

Brittany and Sugar shrug nonchalantly, “Totally.”

Kurt looks to Santana somewhat worried but Santana’s looking at the team with interest. It’s an odd combination, but she can see what they’re aiming for and it’s pretty out of the box. With competitions like this, contestants usually stick to the basics so she has a little soft spot for those who like to take risks.

She also has a soft spot for smokin’ hot blondes.

“I think it sounds interesting,” Santana says with a smile, “I can’t wait to taste.”

Blue eyes darken with the way the last word rolls off of Santana’s tongue. It gives Brittany this boost of confidence because Santana is known for being a pretty hard judge to please yet here she is handing out compliments.

“You won’t be disappointed,” Brittany tells her earnestly.

Santana chuckles and it comes off as the best combination of sexy and cute, “We’ll see. Good luck.”

As the judges move on to the next station, Brittany’s eyes linger on the sway of Santana’s hips as she goes. That dress she’s in does amazing things for the woman’s slim figure. It’s hypnotic and she probably would’ve overwhipped if Sugar didn’t break the staring contest she had going on.

“Britt!” Sugar gasps and swats at Brittany’s arm, “She was so flirting with you. Santana Lopez, flirting with you!”

“Why did you say it like that? Like you couldn’t believe it?” Brittany pouts playfully then laughs Sugar off, “She wasn’t flirting with me. It’s just her character, it’s all for show. I’m sure she’s like that with everyone.”

“Yeah bullshit,” Sugar scoffs and goes back to frosting, “She didn’t even acknowledge me and I was standing right next to you!”

“Well maybe you should step your game up then,” Brittany quips as she knocks her shoulder teasingly into Sugar’s before she heads over to pull out the cupcakes to cool.

“I don’t think it’s my game she’s interested in,” Sugar counters.

“Alright bakers-“ Suddenly Sam is slipping on his shades again and doing a terrible Justin Timberlake impression, “You’ve only got 4 minutes, 4 minutes!”

“He should be fired,” Santana scrunches her nose.

Kurt shrugs, “The viewers like him.”

“Shh, Madonna is iconic,” Sue hushes them both as she watches Sam continue to sing and dance.

Brittany’s somewhat nervous as she and Sugar approach the panel with their finished cupcake.

They’ve been watching the two other teams before them – Team Baking Dreams Come True and Team AJs Bakeshop – get judged when they realized they might have a bit of competition here. As per usual, Santana has found flaws in each other their cupcakes though and it doesn’t seem like anyone’s pleased her yet but Brittany has faith that she might be able to change that.

In more ways than one as Sugar not so discreetly put it.

“Did you forget one?” Sue asks as a single cupcake is presented.

“No. We decided to do something a little different, it’s something we’re kind of known for,” Brittany explains as the final plate is given to Santana who sits the furthest away from her. “Instead of creating two separate cupcakes, we thought we could combine those flavors into the ultimate sweet and savory breakfast-inspired mashup. This is our take on a classic – although, I’m not exactly sure what counts as a classic since America is a melting pot of cultures and breakfast looks different for everyone – “ Brittany pauses to wonder while Kurt and Sue stare back in confusion.

Santana is the only one that seems to understand her point of view.

Sugar interrupts Brittany’s wondering to and finishes her previous train of thought, “We hope you enjoy!”

Then Sugar goes to explain their thought process and the flavors used while the judges dig in.

Brittany has shifted to being too preoccupied with the way Santana licks frosting off of her fork to offer Sugar any assistance. It’s quiet and they wait anxiously for someone to speak. They took a huge risk by only presenting one cupcake, but their flavors are there and they’re really the only ones that tried something different so that should count for something.

“I’m actually really enjoying this,” Kurt says, “I had my doubts, but you’ve perfected the balance between sweet and savory. My only complaint is the cake itself might’ve been a little too spicy for me.”

“Really?” Santana looks surprised, borderline offended.

“What? I’m not use to having jalapenos for breakfast, Santana.”

“Yeah and it shows,” Santana says with a roll of her eyes before looking directly at Brittany. Her annoyance is suddenly replaced with delight, “Color me, impressed. Aside from Kurt’s ridiculous compliant about spice, I agree with everything he said. You’ve knocked the ball out of the park for me. I really admire the risk you took by focusing on combining the sweet and savory aspect into one cupcake instead of keeping them separate. Sheer genius.”

“Wow,” Sam says and suddenly the camera is on him again, “Such high praise on the first round, the other teams need to watch out for Team Batter Up Cupcakes.”

Sue goes on to say her comments too, but Brittany doesn’t hear them. She’s too captivated by the fact that she was able to impress the Santana Lopez, the Queen of High Expectations. She feels really, really good now.

“Thank you ladies,” Sam then waves his hand to their station, “Please return to your station. Team Gold Star Bakery, you’re up!”

While the last team goes up for judgement, Sugar and Brittany try to contain their excitement after getting such great feedback on their cupcake.

“We rocked it, Britt!” Sugar cheeses then waggles her brows, “And did you see how Santana was eyeing you up there? She was practically undressing you with her eyes.”

“She was not,” Brittany laugh dismissively.

“She totally was, I’m telling you! She’s into you,” Sugar assures her, “Look, she’s staring at you right now!”

Brittany spins to look and sure enough she finds Santana smiling at her with that same cocky grin from before.

Brittany rolls with it and gives Santana a wink before turning to Sugar, “That’s nothing. She’s just being nice.”

“If being nice means she wants a piece of you then, yeah! She’s being really nice.”

Brittany can only laugh at her friend’s comments, she’s been known to try and set her up with randoms. She wouldn’t actually be too upset though if Sugar ended up being right about Santana though, but she’s not giving into that just yet. Once Sugar is on a roll, she’s a little hard to reel back in.

“She’s super hot and successful which is the perfect combination for my dream girl,” Brittany starts, “But I don’t think anything will happen. We’re too different.”

“Seriously? You guys would be the perfect mashup!” Sugar lets out a heavy sigh but decides to drop it for now and focuses back on the excellent praise they received. “Knocked the ball out of the park,” Sugar mimics Santana’s earlier words, “That’s amazing.”

Brittany’s back to smiling proudly, “We didn’t even have to get to any of the bases first,” Then she starts to pout, “I was kind of looking forward to that..”

“Okay, you can’t get on me for thinking that you guys would be cute together then say something like that,” Sugar groans, “Let me be your wing-woman!”

Brittany shakes her head and smirks, “We crushed the first round, huh?”

“Yeah, we did!” Sugar beams and while the cameras were busy on the judges’ panel, she sticks up her middle fingers and flips off Blaine and Tina, “Suck it, losers!”

“Oh my God,” Tina frowns as Brittany joined in on it too. She’s looking completely offended as she pulls Blaine from watching Finn and Rachel. He’s confused but looks to wherever she is pointing.

“Awh, come on guys!” Blaine sighs upon seeing them, “Don’t be like that. We’re just here to have fun.”

“Spoken like a true loser,” Brittany calls over and sticks her tongue out at them while Sugar forms an L with her fingers and lifts it to her forehead.

Blaine just shakes his head at them and forces Tina to look elsewhere, “Don’t mind them, T. They’re just trying to get into our heads like always. We’ll get them in Round 2.”

“Okay. So after some deliberation the judges have come to a decision,” Sam starts and the music suddenly turns ominous as he deeps his voice, “The winner…of Round 1…goes to…”

Brittany and Sugar are hanging on to each other’s hands, their knuckles going white with how tightly they’re holding on. Brittany’s stomach is full of cartwheels and fluttery butterflies as Sam takes an excessive amount of dramatic pauses.

“Brittany and Sugar of Team Batter Up Cupcakes!”

Brittany’s jaw drops at the sound of their names being called before they’re bouncing up and down excitedly in each other’s arms while Sam continues to speak.

“Although you are the only team who presented a single cupcake for this challenge, you were able to balance the flavors of sweet and savory so well that the decision was unanimous.”

Santana watches on with a proud smile as she and the rest of the judges clap for them.

“Congratulations ladies,” Sam says then the ominous music is back, “There is one team that won’t be so lucky and that team…will be…Rachel and Finn of Team Gold Star Bakery. Your fight is over at Cupcake Battles.”

“No!” Rachel cries out dramatically and falls to her knees like she’s been shot.

Unfortunately that means she’s out of the camera’s view, but she must realize that as she squirms out from behind the station, sliding along the floor like a worm until she’s back in view and continues to cry out right on the floor.

Finn looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself but he gives the camera this gassy-baby impression before he’s trying to pick Rachel up off the floor, “Come on Rach, we’re better than this.”

“I can’t go on! The failure is too great,” Rachel says dramatically, “Just leave me here…”

Santana watches the scene with her jaw dropped slightly. Never in the history of the show has anyone reacted like that after being kicked off.

“I-I just want to know why…” Rachel asks through her tears as Finn finally brings her to her feet.

“Yeah, we were trying to get to that before the – uh – theatrics started,” Santana quips.

Santana’s words spur another outburst of cries from Rachel.

Kurt tries a more sensitive approach and looks to Rachel and Finn apologetically, “You both are so passionate and we…really appreciate that but execution is really important when you’re up against such talented bakers and you…just fell short.”

“That’s short person discrimination!” Rachel says suddenly and this time Santana can’t help but laugh out.

“What in the hell?” Santana whispers to Kurt, “Where did they find her?”

Kurt just shrugs as Rachel continues to rant. Santana’s had enough though and swiftly cuts them off.

“Alright, listen…Rachel, Finn, your cupcakes sucked,” Santana now had her infamous glare zoned in on them as she spoke, “They were overcooked, the frosting was way too sweet, the cake itself lacked depth, not to mention the fact that they didn’t rise at all yet you still put it on the plate and tried to pass it off as pancakes like we wouldn’t notice…would you like me to continue?”

Rachel stammered while Finn just looked down in embarrassment.

“Ah-ah, that was a rhetorical question. I don’t actually want to hear anything else you have to say, you’ve wasted enough time as it is,” Santana says and crossed her arms across her chest.

“Now get the hell out of my kitchen!” Sue chimes in.

Kurt and Santana exchange a look before Santana is speaking up again.

“Uhh, your kitchen?” Santana challenges. Thankfully, Kurt is sitting between them and is already trying to get her to sit back in her seat. “You’re here for like what? Five seconds? And you think this is your kitchen? Please, you’re just a guest here. This is our house, we invited you.”

“Okay!” Kurt claps overly-excitedly, trying to break the tension, “Sam? Back to you.”

Sue just rolls her eyes as Sam dismisses the Rachel and Finn.

Brittany was oddly turned on as she watched that whole thing unfold. Seeing Santana give it to someone straight like that was glorious in person and she looked so hot doing it, but it also assured her that she never wanted Santana to have that kind of reaction to anything they put up.

Now, that would be a disaster. But they were off to a good start and the just needed to keep that momentum going for the next round.

“With our first challenge done and dusted and our first round of winners and eliminations out of the way, we’re on to the next challenge!” Sam announces he looks to each team and asks, “You ready, bakers?”

Everyone yells out an enthusiastic yes!

“Awesome!” Sam cheers then turns back to the camera, “Stay tuned for more Cupcake Battles, Round 2 is sure to leave you in high spirits.”

#Cupcake Battles #Brittana #Brittana fanfiction #fanfics #Baking AU

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