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archonanqi · 3 years

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fragile as dust / 3

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ch 3 | first impressions

Please, sit,” the man offered. His voice was back to the way it was before, quiet, gentle and solemn. You obeyed, sitting gingerly on the edge of one of the wooden seats. “May I have your name?”

“Hansi, sir.” Quickly, you add, “though sir can call me whatever sir likes.”

“Hansi,” he murmured. In his lips, your name — something that’s been baggage all your life, a reminder of the woman who threw you away — sounded like divinity. “Please, call me Zhongli.”

Okay. The meeting was not going at all how you expected. But then again, it was what you figured: honorable in public, but behind closed doors—

“Yes, Mr. Zhongli,” you nodded.

“Would you like some tea?” He gestured to the other cup in the middle of the table. It was filled with a faint, golden liquid. “Please, help yourself. It’s Pu’Er.”

You only froze for a second. Sure, you’d play along. You thanked him, reaching for the cup. It burned your fingers through the porcelain, but Archons be damned if you were going to drop and break it. You took a small sip. It scorched your parched throat all the way down.

“How is it?”

“It’s good, sir—“

“Zhongli,” he reminded you gently.

“It’s good, Mr. Zhongli.” It was not a lie — you wouldn’t be able to tell good tea from boiled grass, but the cup you just downed warmed your stomach and soothed your frayed nerves.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he smiled, and suddenly — too late — you realized that maybe you shouldn’t have drunk something that you hadn’t watched this strange man prepare. You knew of the drugs that these men sometimes slipped into the food they gave to street rats like you, you’d seen many a woman and child stolen away because of it.

You cursed yourself — what had happened to keeping your guard up? Was a soothing voice and pretty face all it took to earn your trust these days?

You stiffened as he raised a gloved hand. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you certainly were not expecting him to launch into a monologue about the history of Pu’Er tea.

He did, anyway, losing you somewhere between “harvested from the caves of Ling’ju Pass” and “aged delicately for fifteen years”. To say that his behavior had transcended bewildering was an understatement. Was this some kind of setup? A sick joke that rich people played on their new servants and slaves?

You realized that he’d stopped talking, clearly awaiting a response.

“Wow, aged for fifteen years. That’s a uh, long time,” you offered lamely. Archon help you.

“It may seem so,” Zhongli mused, “but it’s precisely that fermentation process that gives the Pu’Er tea its signature flavor. Fifteen years is but a small price to pay for such a unique experience, don’t you think?”

Briefly, you remembered all the trinkets and wallets and jewelry you’d stolen from passersby, how desperately you’d pawned them off at the nearest willing merchant for the promise of a meal or two.

“Yes,” you agreed, even though you couldn’t begin to imagine being rich enough to wait fifteen years to sell something.

It had been a few minutes since you’d drunk the first sip of tea, and you were still fine. Besides, he was drinking from the same pot. Maybe the tea was safe, after all. You took another sip, finishing your cup. Despite yourself, you found yourself hoping that Zhongli would continue talking in that silky voice of his, even if it was just about fermented tea leaves.

“I do apologize for rambling the evening away. I’m sure you’re exhausted from your journey.” He continued, “If you’re finished with your tea, perhaps we should head home. We can talk tomorrow, once you’ve rested.”

Home. You swallowed a dry retch, the implications stuck in your throat. Of course. It served you right for forgetting what you were here for. Behind closed doors—

“Yes. We can go if that’s what pleases you, Mr. Zhongli.” Your voice broke twice in that sentence. If Zhongli noticed, he did not say anything about it.

He rose from his seat, and suddenly you realized just how tall, how solid he was. If you ran, he would catch you. If you fought back—

Sweeping by you, he opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing into the night air. “After you.”

---

You trailed a few feet behind him as you two walked through the quiet, twisting alleys of Liyue. You thought you knew the city well enough, having lived on its streets for as long as you had, but he seemed to know the back roads of the city like it were an extension of his own body.

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. He left behind a faint lingering scent of flowers — like the glaze lilies you’d stolen from Yujing Terrace to pawn, but mostly, he smelled of warmth — earthy, spices, the fresh spring grass.

Seeing Zhongli in all his standing glory made you suddenly and horribly aware of how unsightly you were in comparison. You’d been cleaned up before the escort, but there were still yellowing bruises that the damp cloth couldn’t erase, chewed fingernails and frayed hair and rib bones that jut out from under pallid skin. And while the dress you were wearing was the nicest thing you’d ever owned, it was but rags in comparison to the elegant outfit Zhongli was clad in.

Your gaze stopped at his waist, and the golden gem dangling at his belt.

“Is that a Vision?” you blurted, and immediately regret it. “I’m sorry, it’s not my place to ask about you, Mr. Zhongli.”

“Please, never apologize for speaking your mind,” Zhongli answered, without missing a stride. “And to answer your question, yes. A Geo Vision.”

The one at your chest is still warm against your skin. “That’s amazing,” you say, and you meant it. Vision users were powerful people capable of unbelievable feats — even raised on the streets, you knew that. You wondered how Zhongli got his Vision: a fight, perhaps, against the ferocious monsters that roamed the wilderness outside Liyue Harbor?

If Zhongli had a Vision, there was no longer any doubt about it: the Vision given to you was a mistake. How could you ever hope to compare to someone like him? “You must be an incredible person, if Rex Lapis himself acknowledged you.”

Zhongli did take pause at that, peering at you with a strange look in his eyes. A small smile danced across his lips. “That is one way to think of it,” he acknowledged, as he continued walking. “It has been said that Rex Lapis only grants Visions to those he deems the most worthy.”

The rest of the trek was silent, until he stopped walking so suddenly that you almost bumped into him. You looked up from the ground, and found your breath taken away by the sculpture before you. It was a statue of Rex Lapis — there were plenty around Liyue, but tonight, silver stone gleaming under a sky full of stars, he looked ethereal.

“This was cast by the first generation of Hanfeng Ironmongers, long before mankind mastered the properties of flame and the forge,” Zhongli said, citing the name of the most famous clan of blacksmiths in Liyue Harbor. “Each time I pass it, I like to take a moment to stop and admire it. It’s a beautiful statue.”

“Beautiful,” you echoed absently, “he’s beautiful.” This was the Archon who had saved your life with that Vision, whether he’d meant to or not. You offered a silent prayer — of unyielding gratitude, for forgiveness, and for mercy. When you opened your eyes, Zhongli was eyeing you with a strange look on his face.

“I would ask you what you prayed for,” he chuckles, “but some superstitious folk would say then that your prayers won’t come true. Shall we continue? We are almost home.”

---

After ten more minutes of walking, you could feel your ankles trembling under the weight of your body. You and Zhongli had left Liyue, and begun walking through the forests on the outskirts of the city. Finally, he came to a stop in front of a house tucked into the foliage of a valley. It was a sizable estate, with a walled back garden and two floors, but you were mildly surprised that he hadn’t brought you to a castle, at this point.

Zhongli unlocked the door and gestured, again, for you to go ahead. Your stomach in knots, you took your first step into your new home — and prison.

It was warm.

Embers crackled in the fireplace of the living room, casting a faint golden glow on the tasteful, lavish furniture that lined the floor. There were tapestry scrolls on either side of the fireplace here too. You don’t understand the poetry written on these ones, either.

“Welcome to my home,” Zhongli said, walking past you. He did not touch you. “We have much to discuss, but that can wait until tomorrow. You look like you’re on the brink of collapse, and we can’t have you getting sick from exhaustion.” Despite yourself, you feel a small twinge of something at that — you’d never, in your life, had someone care about your health. He probably just doesn’t want to deal with the hassle of a sick servant, you told yourself.

“Let us go to bed and have a good night’s sleep first,” Zhongli continued, and anything you’d felt quickly soured.

Bed. You swallowed the panic rising bright and hot in your lungs. You might not be as educated as he surely was, but you were not naive. You knew that sleep was not what you would be getting tonight. The plea got stuck on your tongue. What could you say, to stop this rich, powerful man from claiming what was his?

“Let me show you to your room.” He beckoned at you to follow as he strode down a long hallway. You blinked, too stunned to obey for a moment, before running after him.

“My room?” You asked.

“Yes.” He paused at the end of the hallway, opening one of the doors to reveal a cozy bedroom. Like everything else about Zhongli, it was tastefully decorated — lush, dark green curtains framing a circular window. A bed sat in the corner of the room, adorned with thick blankets and more pillows than you’d ever seen in your life.

“This room was a study until very recently, and so these drawers are still currently full of my things,” Zhongli gestured to the bedside table, “but the closets are empty and free for you to use. I was thinking that we could go shopping for some clothes for you tomorrow, if you were feeling well enough. I do apologize for not purchasing any in advance, I was not sure of your measurements—“

“Wait,” you said, afraid to let yourself hope. “Wait. We won’t be sharing a bed?”

He turned to look at you, surprise briefly flashing in his eyes, and you’d never wanted to take back a sentence so badly in your life. A palpable silence draped the room, as Zhongli studied you so intently that you thought you might fall over dead, right then and there.

“Truthfully tell me,” he said, voice as low as a hum. “Is that what you would want?”

It took all of your courage to shake your head.

“Then we will have our separate rooms,” Zhongli said, with an air of decisive finality, and continued like he hadn’t just shaken your world. “I will show you around the house tomorrow. There is water in the jug by your bed. Is there anything you might need for the night?”

You shake your head mutely, again.

“Very well. My room is right across the hall — please do not hesitate to shout if you need anything.” Zhongli smiled, and it’s so beautiful that you had to shake the shivers from your spine. “Good night, Hansi.”

There it was again, your name in his lips — divine.

Zhongli closed the door gently behind him, and you sunk to your knees, all the strength suddenly gone from your body. You’d survived the first evening with your new master. You’d survived.

Once you picked yourself back up, you peeled your Geo Vision out from under the dress, taking your first look at it under the proper light of an oil lamp. It’s unframed, of course, unlike Zhongli’s, but the golden gemstone was identical in all other ways — catching the light in all its facets with a dazzling shimmer. When you put it into the bedside drawer, shoving it under the piles of scrolls and parchments, you were surprised to feel a twinge of sadness.

Stupid. How could you miss something that was not rightfully yours?

Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little excited as you clambered into the bed — your first very bed! Sinking into the sheets (they smelled heavenly), you let out an embarrassingly loud sigh of contentment.

There was a little voice in the back of your head screaming — and part of you still knew, irrefutably, that you can’t trust Zhongli — but the call of sleep is much, much louder. You let your heavy lids fall shut, and quickly fell into the most comfortable slumber of your life.

#zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli fanfic #genshin fanfic #zhongli fanfiction #genshin zhongli #fragile as dust #my writing

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thesilkenlair · 4 years

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(Casey Here!)

As much D&D as I play, you'd imagine I would eventually get around to illustrating some of their most iconic monsters! Which is to say, the ones that I personally find the most iconic. Which is to say, the ones I memorized when I was reading my dad's monster manual at age nine. Purple worm - Sandworms never go out of style. I've seen a lot of rad designs for this bugger over the editions, but I favor the slightly less reptilian older takes for this particular critter. It's kinda basic, but sometimes that's what you want. It's like a shark or a crocodile: Just flat out unchanged across the ages. Hook horror - I've heard it rumored that Gygax used a small Gigan figure to represent this monster. I can't verify that, but it definitely sounds right. Hook horrors are one of the very first things you meet when you play around in the caves, and they kind of remind me of the Father Deep monsters of the Hork Bajir homeworld that way. Mind flayer - Mind flayers! Basically, take all of your Dracula conventions and dip them in a fresh coat of Lovecraft. There's that old "decadent aristocratic upper caste system who literally eats the poor, but still somehow comes across as less evil than the actual real life 1%" setup that will never stop being relevant. Though personally, I see mind flayers as the first alternative for folks who want to play that monster-who-feels-the-urge-to-eat-their-friends-but-refuses-to-do-it shtick but don't want to deal with vampire baggage. You know, the furry option! ... Slimy? Rubbery? Do we have a word for anthro-cephalopods? I'm only a casual furry. Gelatinous cube - I'm not apologizing for giving this one a slot. Froghemoth - So, back when I participated in my very first long-term campaign, I played a druid. You've met Talia before. Naturally, I was chomping at the bit for the day I finally got to turn her into a froghemoth, and celebrated the day my wish was finally granted and she was allowed to chug human-supremacist-cultists like popcorn. Yeah, okay, the froghemoth is one of the classic vore-monsters. But it's a charming design in its own right. Kind of a freaky Hanna Barbara critter, like you'd see Space Ghost fighting. No matter how many artists draw it, they can never shake that inherent goofiness that third edition tried so hard to purge. I would probably cram them somewhere onto Fronterra if I was sure they were public domain. As is, I'm 99% certain that this is what Visser Three turned into when he ate Elfangor. Tarrasque - D&D's original kaiju! Kind of just takes the name and nothing else when it comes to its mythological origins, but I don't mind. The Tarrasque is that endgame "let's test the players" final boss monster... Or at least it's supposed to be. My DM reskinned it for our final Pathfinder session, and one of the PCs still nearly killed it in a single turn. Also, he let Talia turn into one, so maybe Pathfinder is just bullshit? Regardless, the Tarrasque has one of those simple, iconic designs. I've heard rumors it was based on the concept art for Fallout's deathclaws, and like the Gigan-figure, I can't verify this in any way. With its reptilian features, twin horns, spiny carapace and grabby fingies, it has an undeniable lizardlike quality that I can't help but find charming. Kinda feels like a more refined version of Zilla? Though for an insatiable eating machine, I notice a lot of artists give it very little belly to work with. Come on, this guy eats entire cities! Give him somewhere to put it! Rust monster - An icon of icons, the rust monster! Drawing its origin from a bizarre Chinese "dinosaur" toy, later designs have made it more insectoid in appearance, but never feeling QUITE like anything Earthly. It's the four limbs. Between the four limbs and the tail, it's hard to tell if it's an arthropod mimicking a vertebrate or the other way around. I'm pretty sure this is part of what inspired my ossaderm creatures for Fronterra. Also, Ryla can turn into one in our campaign. I have no shortage of havoc to wreak when the opportunity comes. Behir - Dragons in D&D are kind of... extra. Godlike beings, paragons of whatever personality trait they represent. Whenever there's something uber powerful in D&D, it gets compared to dragons. It makes them kind of unapproachable. Behirs provide all the essentials of a dragon - Serpentine body, scaly skin, horns, sapience, breath weapon, taste for human flesh - wrapped up in a smaller, weirder, IMO cooler package. You know, your Lambton Worms. A lot easier to port in and out of adventures, a lot less of an event when they show up, but still a formidable force in their own right. I like the behir. The behir knows how to taunt me just the right amount. Bulette - Another Chinese "dinosaur" figure monster, the bulette is actually another one I associate with Talia. Whenever we faced a problem that didn't have a glaringly and immediately obvious solution, she would turn into a bulette, whether it was for beating up robots, digging through obstacles, trampling smurfs, navigating labyrinths, distracting slashers with cute dog tricks... it was kind of her signature form. But shenanigans aside, the bulette is just an excellent monster. While the "land shark" shtick may be common, there's a lot more going on with the bulette's design. It's rumored to be a mad wizard's creation, as he combined a snapping turtle with an armadillo and mixed in a helping of demon blood to taste. Personally, I always considered that to be a neat little rumor to flesh out the world, but never assumed it to be true. The bulette just feels too naturalistic for that. Like some kind of protomammal or crocodylomorph, or weird triassic monstrosity. Magic and demons and dragons and so on DO affect the ecosystem. I always figured the bulette was just something that evolved to compete in this new biosphere. Owlbear - This one, on the other hand, I fully believe the "mad wizard was bored" explanation. Another chinasaur critter, the owlbear is frequently made fun of. What makes it scarier than a regular bear? It can't fly, so why have owl parts at all? Why trade fangs for a beak in what is at best a latural move? Well, first of all, fuck you, owls are creepy motherfuckers, and that alone is enough to justify it. But secondly, that's part of its charm. Besides some improved vision, the owl DOESN'T make it more dangerous. What makes the owlbear dangerous is that it's an insane, Frankensteinian monstrosity roaming uncontrolled through the wilderness! It doesn't need weaponry, its sheer temperament is enough to make it a worthy opponent. Sure, the practical threat might not be hugely above that of a bear, but storytelling isn't about numbers. Any asshole can go outside and get eaten by a bear. The owlbear is part of this world. The owlbear is a reminder of what magic can do. Someone somewhere actually made this thing, for whatever reason, and now the world is irrevocably changed because of it. Owlbears go beyond practicality. They bring the lore! Also, bears don't have very good eyesight, so the big owl eyes probably make them better hunters. Flumph - Is that a Japanese-style martian? Do we just have aliens in D&D? Dear lord, I love them! Okay, the flumph has got a sizable hatedom. And that hatedom can eat my ass, because the flumph is precious and perfect just the way it is! Flumphs are designed as a sort of sidekick-type creature. They're not very good fighters, but they bring knowledge and lore to the table. Whether they're aliens from some far off star, seeking your aid to prevent catastrophe, or psionic natives of the Underdark eager to bask in your positivity and hopefully stick it to the tyrants they're forced to share real estate with. My group generally treats them as straight up aliens, benevolent but strange. Course, we're all pretty strange, so we get along just fine. Otyugh - Okay so, the aberration creature type implies that this is something from another world that doesn't belong. And yet otyughs, which are aberrations, are an essential part of this world's ecosystem? Okay, I can buy the idea that an alien organism adapted to our world and is now a key part of it. Fronterra's got a TON of that. It just feels like after a point, the otyugh would be considered a beast? Otyughs are great. Every ecosystem needs a decomposer, and every fantasy story needs at least one dive into the sewers. Otyughs provide both, and are intelligent enough to keep the plot moving if it hits a snag. There's always going to be garbage, refuse, carrion, decay, things that need to be broken down and processed. Carrion crawler - The carrion crawler is pretty similar to the otyugh in that it's technically not considered a beast, and therefor must have its origins elsewhere, but feels so integrated into the ecosystem that it just feels like it belongs. They usually can't talk, so they're not just reskinned otyughs, but I still consider them pretty essential. Otyughs find a singular spot where waste is dumped and shovel it down at their leisure, while carrion crawlers skulk through the tunnels, actively seeking their food. The crawler got one of the most radical redesigns on the transition from second to third edition, but I can't really choose a single favorite. The oldschool tentacle-faced cutworm looks like it could be a real animal, while the googly-eyed Halloween decoration feels like it could be from another world, merely having set up shop here. Could there name apply to two wholly different creatures? If so, then I'm not sure which one mine would be considered. I kinda mashed them together into something that doesn't quite feel like either. But I like it for what it is. Maybe I'll sneak it onto Fronterra. Aboleth - Tentacled, telepathic sea creatures who turn humans into slimy minions, who remember everything their race has ever seen, and who are always plotting something behind the scenes. Yeah, the aboleths really crank up the Lovecraft elements. Actually, between the mind flayers, the flumphs and the aboleths, even the most oldschool D&D covered quite a few essential Lovecraftian bases. The flayers are your corrupt yet still recognizable humanoids who can be considered truly evil, the flumphs are benevolent-yet-bizarre guardians who know more than you, and the aboleths are the truly unknowable, sinister intellects. The fact that they can barely function on land honestly only adds to that, IMO. They're inherently difficult for a party to reach, and they offer some nice underwater adventure seeds. Not enough adventures go underwater. There's this perception that the ocean is bad for storytelling because so many writers lack the creativity to make it work. I wanna run an underwater adventure now. Beholder - Icon of icons! THE D&D monster! The beholder! Paranoid, jumpy, always five steps ahead and twenty steps perpendicular! Beholds are fun in just about every way. Between their wacky, diverse designs, their elaborate lairs, their eccentric personalities, their bizarre powers, you're never gonna run out of fun with beholders. Remorhaz - It's always been a thing that bothered me with environment-based monsters. Why does the ice monster who lives in the cold use ice as a weapon? Aren't most of the things it encounters going to be resistant to the cold? Sure, a cone of cold will still kill a polar bear, but a lot of the monsters in the tundra are outright immune to cold. A while dragon's not going to get much use out of its breath weapon fighting frost worms and frost giants. That's one reason the remorhaz sticks out to be. We have an icy tundra beast whose insides are a scorching furnace, which it can intensify and weaponize as it sees fit. Which also conveniently explains why its design - a sort of cobra-esque centipede - invokes warm-weather creatures, despite its icy environment. It's a nice subversion of the usual tropes, plus it's just a memorable, cool looking critter to begin with. On a smaller note, the remorhaz feels like a good loophole for Ryla's "no cold weather morphs" rule. Turning into something elementally affiliated with ice is no good, but a non-magical monster that survives the cold by superheating its insides? That seems perfectly viable to me!

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ambiguityisnoonesfriend · 6 years

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May the 4th 2018 Letter

Dear Yoda,

I am so excited! I love all the iterations of the characters and relationships I’ve requested, and can’t wait to see what you’ve created for me!

My likes: toppy women and partners who are turned on by toppy women, humor, angst, endings with hope intact, functional relationships, dysfunctional relationships, secret relationships that aren’t really a secret, canon divergence AUs such as what if they got there five minutes sooner, time loops, porn, gen, fluff, friends with benefits, friends with benefits with feelings, interactions with the other characters who would be around at the same time except as specified, mixing and matching prompts (ex: Leia and Hera both having different troubles raising Force-sensitive kids and complaining to each other, or Ahsoka/Sabine go on a double date with Ezra/Luke, or something completely different)

My specific art likes: two or three panel simple line comics, playing card or tarot card type imagery, setting a scene, magic and metaphor

My specific porn likes: failsex including interrupted during or instead of sex, cunnilingus, both slash and het anal (DNW femslash anal), light bondage, sex pollen, aliens make them do it, the Force makes them do it, mental connections during sex, mental connections as a substitute for sex, using the Force during sex including light Force choking, Force ghost sex, toys

My line for enjoying sex pollen/AMTDI/TFMTDI is based on how much trauma the characters feel -- I prefer situations where they aren’t traumatized or upset and use the aliens/Force/pollen as an excuse for what they both/all wanted.

I do not want: noncon (okay with dubcon and sex pollen), scat, watersports, omegaverse, unrequested ships except as listed elsewhere in my sign-up, non-canon AUs such as coffeeshops, DJ, Holdo, Lux

Rey/Kylo: I went into TLJ expecting to get nothing for this pairing except maybe one dream sequence. I came out loving them even more. I love this pairing for all the potential. They are opposites. They are exactly the same. Each is incredibly jealous of the other. They keep being drawn together like two ends of a stretched spring, and the only question is if they’ll fuck, fight to the death, or both. My fondest hope is both. I love all variations of dubcon for these two, from The Force Made Them Do It and Sex Pollen, to Forced To Work Together For Reasons. Force bond sex also very welcome!

Finn/Rey/Kylo: I see Rey as drawn to both of them in a classic triangle: Finn is the pull of the light, and Kylo is the allure of the dark, and Rey is fascinated by both. Maybe Finn is enough to bring both the Jedi to the light. Maybe Kylo seduces them both to the other side. Finn and Kylo carry a lot of baggage with each other. Do they set it aside at Rey’s request, or does it define how they both must deal with her and one another? Kylo defecting and having to be babysat by Rey and Finn! Rey is injured and Kylo and Finn have to have magic Force Sex to save her! Aliens make the three of them do it!

Leia & Ben: The pain and the angst and the love in this broken family is the gift that keeps on tearing my heart out and I love it. I love every piece of heartache, how they got there, what each one thought the other thought. Given all possible futures, what would the final fallout be between Leia and Kylo after TLJ?

Poe & Ben & Jacen: At some point, these three were dragged along to some Rebellion reunion where their parents had fun reminiscing about the old days and the kids were bored. Nothing starts out well when the first words you exchange with someone are "My mother said I have to be nice to you." Knowing that Ben grew up to be a human disaster, and Poe wasn't not a disaster, and Jacen is named after a different human disaster, all I am saying is that something got set on fire by the end of the party, certainly by accident, possibly by the Force. This or any other misadventure the three kids got into would be a wonder and a delight.

Kanan/Hera & Chopper, Hera & Chopper: It's strongly implied that Chopper was Hera's only friend before Kanan came along, and from the finale, it looks like he's the one friend who will never leave her. How did they grow together? How long did it take her to fix him up after she found him, and what kinds of trouble did the two of them get into along the way? What happened when she brought aboard an alcoholic drifter who is suddenly competing with Chopper for her attention? What did Kanan make of a foul-mouthed astromech who may or may not have tried to kill him a few times?

Luke/Leia: I was ready for this ship to be sunk in the movie. I was not expecting to walk out shipping it even harder. I want all the happy times before the family reveal. I want all the angsty history post-ROTJ. Luke Denying his feelings. Leia denying hers. The times denying those feelings failed. Maybe Han knows. Maybe Han joins in. Maybe he doesn't know and that's part of the angst. Pre-TFA snuggling. Post-TLJ Force Ghost snuggling. It's all good.

Ezra/Luke: I love the idea of Ezra and Luke meeting up after the original trilogy and finding someone who understands what it's like to be them. They've both been through things nobody else would understand. Maybe Luke is the one who ends up finding Ezra out in the UR, or Ezra finds his own way back and runs into / is drawn to Luke.

Ahsoka/Sabine, Ahsoka & Sabine: Space lesbians on a quest! Everyone knows the point of a quest story is the journey and the discovery of the characters' own true inner selves, right? I want to know about all their adventures together! Does Ahsoka teach Sabine more badass lightsaber moves? Do they pretend to be married on one planet for reasons? Does Sabine build an awesome Machine that causes them unforseen plot problems? Do they date each other? Do they date other women while being happy for each other? I am okay with any combination of this, and I am happy to see them as a couple, or as dating any other female characters or OFCs except not Sabine/Ursa or Sabine/Hera.

Leia & Hera & Sabine: Capers for the Rebellion! This mission happened. I don’t know if it happened before or after the Battle of Yavin, or even several years after Endor, but it happened. Maybe they have to rescue other team members. Maybe they have to go woo new allies, or pick up supplies from a picky source. Leia and Hera are going to disagree about who is in charge. Sabine’s loyalty on the topic may vary depending on who is annoying her more at that moment. Leia and Sabine may wind up with their very first hangovers, or at a later setting, maybe they’re remembering same. For background pairings, I’d prefer Leia with Han, Luke, or both, and Hera with Kanan. Sabine is my little black femslash dress; I don’t ship her with Hera or Ursa but anyone else is fair game.

Hevy & 99: I rewatched the Domino Squad arc recently and was overcome with clone feelings. It seems like Hevy had talked to and confided in 99 before. Did he see his brother as a mentor? 99 clearly held great affection for all the clones who passed through his life. In the microcosm of his friendship with Hevy, how did he see himself? You can bring in the other clones to the story, but I'd like the primary focus to be on these two. You could take this in a more romantic direction if you like, or keep it platonic and focus on the friendship they built.

Hera/Rex: I could see them forming a FWB arrangement sometime by Hoth. Hera doesn't want to get feelings involved ever again because she doesn't want another broken heart. That doesn't mean she won't get feelings anyway but they're not in her plan. Rex has admired her for years but there are chain of command issues, which could be why he's on the Endor strike team and not directly under her command circa RotJ. They both can have angst because of the dead guy in the room, real ghost or imagined. She can have angst out of wonder if this is the best thing for her heart or her child. He can have angst because he doesn't do relationships and his time is getting shorter by the minute and should he accept this little bit of happy? Maybe they end it after one time. Maybe they knock on each other's door every several months even after the war.

Rex & Luke: The moment Rex figures out who Luke is, he is going to be Luke's number one fountain of information on Anakin Skywalker. How do they both react? Luke kept the Vader thing secret for Leia's sake, but did he ever tell Rex?

Hera & Jacen: My one DNW with this relationship is no character death for either, otherwise I am here with the fluffiest of fluffy kid fics to the most heart-wrenching of angst. Hera playing with the new baby and feeling her heart lighten! Jacen's first flying lesson! Maybe he has the Force, maybe he doesn't, maybe he really does but Hera convinces Sabine and Zeb to lie with her and say he doesn't. Does she spend every day worrying at the going rate for the Black Sun's bounty on any known Force sensitive child? Does she tell him the Good Parts stories about the Ghost family in their heyday, and is he the one she was talking to in the trailer voice over? Does she have to keep his legion of uncles and aunts from spoiling him? Does she take him into space battles with her aboard the ship, knowing they could be blasted into dust? How does the conversation go with Cham when she tells him he's going to be a grandfather? Did he ever attend Jedi Death School and how did the two of them react when they found it how it ended?

Hera/Kanan: All of it and everything. Their first months working together. Missing scenes from the time of the show. That time they banged in Ezra's old comm tower while everyone else was busy during "Flight of the Defender." Those times they banged in the various rooms of the ship. Kanan figuring out this Force Ghost business after the fact the way Qui-Gon did, and hanging out to watch and guide. Were Zeb and Sabine their first attempt at building a crew, or were there others around before, and what happened? He's been smitten with her since the beginning, and she didn't say she loved him until the end, so how did they work around feelings, and not admitting to those feelings despite the fact that everyone around them knew? What was he about to tell her when Rukh attacked? Fix-its! Post-canon angst! Comedy capers where they're just hanging out having fun!

#may the 4th ex

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jaybear1701 · 7 years

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Chapter Summary: Two days before the wedding, some secrets come to light and some ice begins to thaw.

A/N: @haughtbreaker calls this a 2 on the Angst scale. lol Enjoy!

“Somewhere deep inside You must know I miss you But what can I say? Rules must be obeyed”

"What about this one?” Waverly took a sip from her wine glass before setting it on the end table, showing her tablet screen to Nicole. They were tucked together on Nicole’s old love seat, legs tangled together as they searched through possible donors on the sperm bank’s website.

Nicole craned her head to read over the page she was shown, rolling her eyes before pressing a kiss to Waverly’s temple. “Are you sure you want this kid to have red hair?”

"Uh huh.” Waverly tipped her head up, finding Nicole’s lips easily for a kiss. “I want her… to look… just like you.” She whispered between soft kisses, finding herself easily left breathless. They’d finally decided that she was going to carry Nicole’s child, leaving Nicole still able to work while Waverly would be able to relax. As if that was a real thing.

"Her huh?” Nicole mumbled against unrelenting lips. “You’re sure it’s gonna be a girl.”

“Uh huh.” Waverly nipped at Nicole’s bottom lip. “All I want is a beautiful, tall, red-headed girl… Even if she might smell like copper.”

“What?” Nicole pulled away from the kiss, a mock horrified look on her face.

“And I mean… even if gingers do consume people’s souls and…” She didn’t get the rest out before long, tapered fingers attacked her side, easily slipping beyond her defenses and finding her most ticklish spots. “Nicole!” She squealed, trying to squirm away.

“I… do not… smell like copper…” Nicole grit out, having no mercy as she slipped a hand down Waverly’s side to get to her ticklish hip.

Apparently a master of combat and defense, Waverly slipped a hand through auburn locks, pulling Nicole forward for a deep kiss.

It was like magic, Nicole decided, how easily she could be distracted with a kiss. Ever since they’d made the decision to have children, it was like she couldn’t get enough of Waverly. Maybe it was something as simple as hormones, some natural reaction to the thought of procreation in turn increasing libido, but she had no complaints. Especially as Waverly deepened the kiss, a hot tongue teasing her lips. There was the sound of tablets being hastily moved to the end table before she pulled Waverly onto her lap, feeling the strong thighs straddling her own.

Breaking off the kiss with a gasp, Waverly caressed a flushed cheek with a hand, her thumb tracing Nicole’s beestung bottom lip.

God she’s beautiful, Nicole thought as Waverly leaned forward, tilting Nicole’s head to the side so she could brush her lips along her jaw, taking in a long and undoubtedly hedonistic breath.

“You’re right.” Waverly groaned into her ear. “You don’t smell like copper.” Waverly nipped the skin of the ear lobe before leaning back, eyes clouded with desire watching Nicole closely. “You did, however… capture my soul.”

Nicole swallowed audibly, her hands sliding up Waverly’s thighs. She could feel the way the muscles twitched just slightly under her touch. “I like to think it was a mutual exchange.” She hooked her hands behind Waverly’s knees, pulling her closer. “Maybe baby number 2 could look a little more like you?” She suggested as her hands slid up Waverly’s sides, bringing her top up and off, leaving her in her bra and cut off shorts. “Cause you’ve got pretty fantastic genes.”

“Oh... baby number 2 now?” Waverly laughed.

“That’s what you backwater rednecks do right?” She laughed at Waverly’s shocked look. “Get knocked up in high school out of wedlock... Keep the women barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen?” She laughed as she found her hands pinned to the loveseat.

“Backwater rednecks?” Waverly gave her a fierce look. “Look here, Miss Haught. You may have a cute tushi, but that’s not gonna save you. I mean yes at least 4 girls were pregnant my senior year but that doesn’t mean we don’t believe in traditional…”

“Then marry me.”

Waverly froze, her hands releasing Nicole’s wrists. “What?”

Nicole chuckled as she sat up a little straighter, her hands settling on Waverly’s hips. She’d expected the surprise. In truth, she’d wanted to propose since just months after they met, and quite frankly she wasn’t sure why she hadn’t. “My daddy always taught me marriage comes before children, and you know it would only make legal sense…”

“Oh…” Waverly’s face fell, a look of troubled disappointment coming over her eyes. She seemed to revert into her own thoughts and Nicole rolled her eyes, using the opportunity to reach over into the end table, finding a small box she’d hidden all the way in the back.

“Waverly.” Nicole laughed, getting the attention of unfocused eyes. “I also want to marry you because… well I don’t ever want to wake up without you there beside me.” She lifted Waverly’s hand, setting the box in her palm. “Marry me, Waverly Earp, not just because it would make total sense, but because I can’t imagine a day without you.”

Accepting the box, Waverly lifted the top, finding a simple solitaire diamond sitting in white gold. There was a moment, seconds really, that felt like an eternity passed before Waverly spoke. “You know…” She looked up as Nicole lifted the ring from its velvet pillow. As it slid onto her finger, fitting perfectly, Waverly took a deep breath. “That’s awfully traditional for someone who makes it a habit to shun tradition.”

Setting the leather box aside, Nicole settled her hands back on Waverly’s hips. It was true, she hated most traditions, and until meeting Waverly, even hated the idea of marriage, but seeing the delighted look in brown eyes watching her, how could she hate that? “Some traditions are worth keeping, I suppose.”

Waverly wrapped her arms around Nicole’s neck, pulling her forward for another kiss.

Nicole resisted, shaking her head. “Say yes first.”

“Well...It would make legal sense,” Waverly repeated, finding better things to do with her lips since she was currently being denied a kiss. She moved slowly, caressing the line of Nicole’s jaw in an agonizingly slow tease. “Tell you what…I’ll say yes,” she lowered her voice, this close to Nicole’s ear, “if we…” As she whispered softly exactly what she wanted Nicole to do, Nicole’s hands tightened around her waist.

Nicole felt a wave of heat rush through her at the seductive words, felt the need she’d become accustomed to since the day she walked into Shorty’s to find a soaking wet waitress fighting with a beer tap. It was so easy, shifting her hold as she stood, feeling legs wrap around her waist as lips found her own. Years of practice allowed her to find her room easily, laying her precious cargo on the pillow top mattress before covering the shorter frame with her own.

She didn’t doubt that Waverly was going to say yes, tasted the acceptance in a deep kiss as her fingers found the button fly of cut off jeans shorts. Some traditions were definitely worth it, her mind repeated as her hand slid between skin and cotton panties to find slick arousal. Breaking off the kiss, she watched as lips pulled into a smirk. “I love you.” She whispered, afraid that speaking too loudly would ruin the moment, feeling hips begin to move against her hand.

“Don’t ever leave me.” Waverly responded simply, her fingers tangling in red hair.

“I won’t.” Nicole pressed into her, smiling as Waverly arched against her. “I’ll always be here.”

“LIAR!” Waverly suddenly screamed, pushing her away.

Nicole woke with a sudden jolt, her eyes scanning the room before she scrubbed her face with her palms. An uneasy rumble made itself known and she tasted acid at the back of her throat. “Fuck.” She barely made it to the bathroom before her stomach rebelled, before everything from last night came back to her, including the unknown number of shots she’d taken.

Including Waverly.

Including Wynonna.

She wanted to expel all the toxic emotions along with the alcohol, but her heart was far more stubborn than her stomach.

Rising on unsteady legs, Nicole moved to the sink, rinsing out her mouth and splashing water on her face. There was a tug in her chest, a pain that attempted to make itself known. She should have been able to ignore it. She was a professional at setting aside emotional baggage. After all, she’d had twenty years of practice.

But she couldn’t. As much practice as she’d had, she thought about Waverly and how angry she’d been and she hated her subconscious, the way it preyed on her in her sleep, reminding her of a time long past -- the past and present twisting together to torment her dreams.

She wished it could be something she could forget, to move on and just live her life, but she found herself digging through her bag, pulling out a small box she’d stuffed in there on a whim before leaving Chicago. It was still the same, a little aged, but she could remember the weight of it. She’d thought about selling it, thought about ridding her life of the reminder, but overcome with some ridiculous nostalgia and a horrible case of remember when s, she pulled back the lid. While the outside was a little worn, the sun found no trouble in reflecting off the faceted surface, Nicole wincing at the flash of light on her retinas and heart.

“Messenger dropped that off.” Becky gave her a nonchalant look.

Nicole looked at the box sitting in the middle of her desk. There was no card. No letter. Just a box and a ring, shining in the sunlight like it was a goddamn sword waiting to be pulled from the stone.

It hadn’t been that long ago that she’d been in the car, hearing Waverly and Champ arguing about a pregnancy.

It was over. She wanted to scream, but definitely not in front of her sister.

“So,” Becky seemed at least a little cautious. “About that blind date… You have to say yes.” Becky leaned against the desk. “Morgan is beautiful, sweet, and a hell of a lawyer. You guys will hit it off perfectly.”

That was the last thing she wanted. Nicole sighed softly, opening the drawer beside her desk and dropping the box in it, shutting away the memories. “Becky…”

“You don’t have to marry her, Nicole.” Becky rolled her eyes. “You don’t even have to sleep with her, but seriously, you pining away for someone who obviously has moved on is not healthy.”

Nicole didn’t want to hear it. The thought of being with anyone else caused her heart to flutter, for bile to rise in her throat.

“It’s just drinks.”

She could really use a drink, Nicole thought as her eyes fell on the closed drawer. She could use… like a few bottles. “Fine,” she hissed, even if she knew it was a bad idea.

Nicole tucked the ring back into her bag. What the hell had she been thinking? She was out of her mind thinking anything even close to reconnecting was possible. Waverly had made that painfully obvious, but as she thought about the visit, something seemed off, something on the edge of her tongue, teasing her. There was something she was missing.

She wanted to add everything up, to take stock of the random information she’d been tossed yesterday. She wanted to kickstart that legal analysis part of her brain that helped her win cases, but when she tried, her brain seemed to hug itself tight, burrowing deep inside itself and sending a defensive attack out against her, leaving her stumbling around the room looking for some aspirin.

“Fuck,” she cursed, her eyes taking in the sight of all the discarded empties from the mini bar, wishing she could blame it all on Wynonna. Another pain lanced through her head, reminding her how untrue that was and she reached for the phone, hitting 0. It took everything in her not to hang up when a cheerful voice answered, telling her what a glorious day it was outside in Purgatory today and not to miss the town square’s festival lights when evening rolled around. “This is room 407,” she grit out after the woman’s spiel was done, “I need about 4 aspirin, coffee… lots of coffee… and water.”

Her phone ringing caught her attention and she scrambled for it. She was supposed to meet Whitney at the diner in less than an hour. There was a part of her that hoped that was her asking to cancel, freeing Nicole from any other obligation.

“Hello?” She answered, instantly realising she should have checked who was calling.

“ Why the hell are you in Purgatory ?” Becky’s voice came in loud and hard.

“How the hell…” Nicole found an unopened bottle of water amongst the empty bottles scattered around the mini bar and thankfully unscrewed it. “Are you spying on me?” She asked before gulping down the water. She didn’t need an answer. It wasn’t anything new for her family.

“It’s my money.” Nicole argued, pacing back and forth in the bedroom. It was almost impossible to get any sort of privacy in the tiny apartment, but Waverly was at least pretending she wasn’t listening. That in itself was a blessing. She really wasn’t in the mood for another argument.

“You’ve gone through $40,000 in the past year, Nicky.” Her father’s voice was patronising as ever. “You’re worrying your mother.”

Nicole took a steadying breath, not wanting to say something she’d regret. “She wouldn’t have anything to worry about if you weren’t spying on my finances.”

“Nonsense. It’s not spying. I’m your father.”

“Just…” Nicole could feel the anger radiating through her. It scared her just a bit, the way she wanted to hit something… anything. “You have to let me live my life.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, afraid she might get a nosebleed from the stress of dealing with her family. “Like I told you before, Waverly and I are trying to have a baby and I don’t care if I drain my savings to do it.” Trying was the word. No matter how many rounds of expensive shots and probing, extracting and fertilizing eggs, implanting embryo…

“Don’t be silly. You know…”

“I’m not talking about this with you anymore, Dad. Tell Mom I love her and I’ll call next week.” She didn’t let him respond, just hung up the phone before setting it on the charger. With a soft sigh she turned to find an emotionless mask watching her, Waverly standing in the doorway. She had her arms crossed over her chest, hugging herself close but beyond that, there was nothing else.

Nicole missed the old smile and wave. She missed...Waverly. How could she miss someone while standing less than ten feet away? “Sorry about that. Are you ready for your shot?”

Waverly didn’t say anything, just nodded before turning back towards the kitchen.

“You need to leave Purgatory right now.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “I’m not a child and you are definitely not in charge of me.” She sighed. She really wasn’t in the mood to deal with her sister, even if Christmas was coming. “Tell Mom and Dad I said Merry Christmas.”

“Seriously. You don’t understand. You need to…”

Nicole hung up the phone when there was a knock at the door. Dropping it on the blankets, she moved to answer. She was thankful it wasn’t Randy again. Thankfully it wasn’t anyone she recognized or vice versa.

“Someone had a bit of a night, huh?” The old woman smiled, her cheeks plump and rosy. “We’ve got some aspirin, coffee, and a lot of water. The kitchen also threw in some muffins if you would like.”

Nicole signed the receipt, managing to conjure up a bit of a smile. “Thank you.”

Looking at the tray, Nicole took a deep breath, thinking about the day ahead of her. She really needed to get the hell out of Purgatory, but first she’d agreed to breakfast. Eyeing the muffins, she reached for one and ripped off the muffin top, preferring to eat the streusel top alone. It was sweet, delicious, and probably just what she needed to help soak up whatever alcohol was left in her stomach.

Whitney checked her reflection in the storefront window of the pawn shop, smoothing back her hair and making sure she didn’t have pink lipstick smeared on her teeth. She hardly slept at all the night before, even though she had been exhausted after staying up ‘til the wee hours of the morning with Anna and Jen assembling new centerpieces. They had managed to finish even though her Aunt Wynonna had pitched in, and all her “help” eventually had to be redone by her mother.

Her mom had seemed distracted even though she had smiled through the rest of the night. But Whitney knew better. Could always tell when her mom was trying to hide something behind false cheer. Coupled with her anxiety over inviting Nicole Haught to her wedding and meeting her for breakfast, the sight of her mother in subtle distress made Whitney’s stomach wrench. So much so that she couldn’t rest, and she had been up and out of bed before the sunrise.

“Whit,” Jesse said with exasperation a few steps ahead. “That’s the third time you’ve done that.” He walked back and kissed her cheek. “You’re gorgeous as always.”

Whitney rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hold back a flattered smile. “You have to say that, or I’ll leave your ass at the altar.”

“Even if you did,” Jesse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and guided her back in the direction of the pancake house, “you’d still be gorgeous. Unlike me and this shiner.” He pointed to the purplish bruising around his right eye.

“My poor guy.” Whitney leaned up to gently kiss the edge of his black eye. “Does it hurt still?” Whitney leaned into Jesse’s warmth, hoping his tall frame and bulky uniform jacket might shield the brunt of the frigid winds and dusting of snow that descended upon Purgatory overnight.

“Nah, barely felt it.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they continued walking, their boots crunching in tandem through the frost on the ground. “So who exactly are we meeting that you’re suddenly so self-conscious?”

“I told you, an old friend.”

“But no one I should be worried about, right?” He played it off as a joke, but Whitney could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Don’t be silly.” Whitney nudged him with her elbow. “She’s a…a family friend.” It was the truth. But not the whole truth , her guilty conscience whispered back.

“Then how come I’ve never seen or heard of her before?”

“She moved away a long time ago and hasn’t been back since.” Whitney shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “ It happens.” She playfully jabbed at his ribs with her elbow. “What’s with the interrogation, huh? It’ll be another few years before you’re eligible for the detective’s exam.”

Jesse winced. “Ah, sorry. I think I’m just a little on edge with all the surprises lately. There seem to be a lot more than usual.”

“Yeah…” She knew she should tell Jesse about who Nicole Haught really was, but she didn’t want to deal with a potentially negative reaction before their meal. “It just seems like that because of the extra stress of the wedding,” Whitney tried to rationalize, even though she too felt like they had hit a patch of bad luck, from the broken centerpieces and Jesse’s black eye to a text from her tailor stating that the stitching for all of the tuxedo and bridesmaid dress alterations had mysteriously come undone overnight.

“Yeah, you’re right.” Jesse nodded.

“Damn right, I’m right.” Whitney smirked. “And don’t you forget it.”

“Never.” Jesse sealed his promise with a quick peck on Whitney’s lips as they approached the old diner.

Through one of the foggy windows, she already could make out Nicole sitting in one of the booths and scanning the menu. Whitney’s heart skipped a beat. “She’s here.”

“Well then, let’s not make her wait.” Jesse walked forward and held open the front door. “After you, m’lady,” he said, gesturing her inside.

“Why thank you kindly, Officer James.” Whitney curtseyed before stepping into a warm blast of heated air and the mouthwatering aromas of fresh-brewed coffee, buttermilk pancakes, and sizzling bacon.

Whitney took Jesse by the hand, leading him past a partly torn “Seat Yourself” sign and toward Nicole’s table. She looked up as they approached, a smile on her face when she saw Whitney. It faltered when she noticed the sheriff’s deputy next to her.

“Hey Nicole.” Whitney smiled and waved, just like her mom had taught her to put people at ease. It seemed to work, as Nicole’s shoulders loosened.

“Morning,” Nicole said as she stood to greet them. Dressed in black corduroys and a blue cashmere sweater over a white oxford, Nicole appeared more relaxed than she had the previous night. And if she was hungover at all, she didn’t show it.

“I hope you don’t mind, I brought my fiancé Jesse along,” Whitney gestured to Jesse, “I like to make sure he eats a proper breakfast before work. Sometimes he forgets.”

Nicole shook her head. “Not at all. In fact, I’ve done that myself at times.” She stuck out a hand, an easy smile on her face. “Nicole Haught. Congratulations on your wedding.”

Whitney held her breath.

“Jesse James,” he said. They shook hands firmly, once up and down. “And thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

“Please, just Nicole,” she said. “And the pleasure’s all mine.” She directed them toward the opposite side of the booth. “Have a seat.”

Whitney exhaled, her stomach unknotting somewhat. She took off her coat and handed it to Jesse, who hung it and his jacket onto the hook on the side of their bench. The faded green vinyl of the booth creaked and groaned as she and Jesse slid into their seats.

“Tough night?” Nicole asked Jesse once they were settled.

“Hm?”

She pointed to her right eye.

“Oh that.” Jesse gave an embarrassed chuckle and scratched the back of his neck. “Some drunkard got loose from his cell somehow. Took me by surprise. Gonna make for some interesting wedding photos, that’s for sure.”

“Thank god for concealer and photoshop,” Whitney chimed in.

Nicole winced in sympathy. “Late night shift at the drunk tank. Been there and definitely don’t miss it.”

Whitney bit her tongue as Jesse raised his eyebrows. “You’re a cop?” He asked.

Nicole’s gaze slid toward Whitney, who half shrugged helplessly, hoping that Nicole would keep her word about not revealing too much. “Not anymore,” she replied casually. “Not for a long time.”

Before Jesse could ask a follow-up, their server moseyed up to the table, a portly old woman named Betty Johnson. “What can I get you two lovebirds?” She smiled warmly at Jesse and Whitney, but then frowned at Nicole. “And uh…” Betty squinted at Nicole through her large, coke-bottle glasses. “Have we met before, miss?”

“It’s Nicole, Betty,” Nicole said, lips curving into a tentative smile. “Nicole Haught.”

“Office Haught, as I live and breathe!” Betty laughed. “My, it’s been a while! C’mere and give an old lady a hug!”

Whitney watched as Nicole reluctantly got to her feet and was swept into a bear hug. “Gosh, I haven’t seen you in, what? Twenty some years?”

“Something like that yeah,” Nicole said, surprised, awkwardly patting Betty’s back. Whitney had to hide a smile beneath a paper napkin.

Betty finally released Nicole, who sunk back onto her seat, cheeks pink. “She was my favorite deputy way back when,” she explained to a dumbfounded Jesse. “Used to help me get my cats down from the trees. You could learn a thing or two, Jesse.” She turned back toward Nicole, covered the side of her mouth, and stage-whispered, “He’s scared of ‘em.”

“Not scared!” Jesse defended. “Just, allergic.”

“Uh huh,” Betty rolled her eyes. “So I’m guessing the wedding brought you back into town?” She clicked her tongue, her gaze appraising as it bounced from Nicole to Whitney and back to Nicole again. Whitney felt her stomach sink. Did Betty know? Did everyone but her know about Nicole? “I’m glad everything worked out. I was hoping for a good long while.”

Nicole tensed, but kept a polite smile on her face. “Me too,” she said, her voice imperceptibly strained.

Oblivious to any growing tension, Betty whipped out a pencil and a small note pad. She licked the lead tip. “So what can I get y’all to drink?”

“Cappuccino, please,” Nicole and Whitney replied at the same time. Their brown eyes locked as Betty hummed and wrote down their order. It was just a drink -- a drink her mom always seemed to dislike for no apparent reason -- but the coincidence, and the thoughtful look on Nicole’s face, made Whitney’s stomach flip.

Jesse ordered a black coffee and Betty shuffled away, promising to return quickly.

“So you used to work for the sheriff’s department?” Jesse asked, and Whitney inwardly cringed. She wondered if he remembered the personnel file from yesterday.

Nicole swallowed, but nodded. “Sure did.”

“Huh.” Jesse’s brow furrowed, a contemplative look passing across his face as he regarded Nicole. He was about to ask another question when his eyes widened and he suddenly lifted up his menu, ducking his head behind it. “Ah shit.”

Nicole and Whitney’s lips turned down into near identical frowns. “What’s wrong?” Whitney asked.

“Ah, it’s just my dad,” Jesse explained. “I haven’t told him about the shiner yet and I’m not too keen to hear a lecture about he’d never let anyone lay a finger on him.”

Both women looked out the window and, sure enough, Champ Hardy was strutting across the other side of the street, no doubt on his way for a drink at Shorty’s. He paid no mind to the diner or its occupants.

“Is he gone?” Jesse asked.

“Yeah, baby, he’s gone,” Whitney chuckled, lowering the menu. She glanced at Nicole, who shook her head, eyebrows knitted.

“I’m sorry,” Nicole said. “But Champ Hardy is your dad?”

“Yup,” Jesse grimaced. “I love him and all, but sometimes he can be a bit much, you know?”

Nicole stared at him for several long seconds before turning to Whitney. “But isn’t he your father too? Does that mean you two are…?”

It took a moment for Whitney to put two and together, and when she did, she burst out laughing. “Champ? My father !?” She was glad they hadn’t received their drinks yet. The thought alone of her sharing genes with Champ made her want to upchuck.

“Last night at Shorty’s, you called him dad.”

“He insisted since I was marrying Jesse,” Whitney explained. “But,” she shuddered, “God, no, he is not my dad dad. No offense, Baby,” she added, kissing Jesse on the cheek.

“None taken,” Jesse sighed.

“But you said your last name is James,” Nicole continued, still very much confused. “Not Hardy.”

“Hardy’s his first name.” Jesse nodded. “Hardy James. Champ was just his old rodeo nickname.”

Mouth dropping open, Nicole looked completely floored, as if all the air had left her body, and Whitney couldn’t figure out why unless… Holy shit… If Nicole had thought Champ was her biological father, then maybe that meant…

She doesn’t know, Whitney thought, her heart clenching. She doesn’t know I’m her daughter.

“That’s um,” Nicole was at a loss for words.

“Did you know him?” Jesse asked. “My dad?”

“I did,” Nicole cleared her throat. “Actually, I kinda knocked him out once.”

“What?” Jesse and Whitney both exclaimed.

“At the Wainright. A long time ago.” Nicole fiddled with the napkin wrapped around her utensils, tearing off bits and pieces. “So don’t believe him if he ever says no one got the jump on him.”

Jesse laughed. “I won’t.” He and Nicole both grinned warmly at each other and Whitney swore her heart grew in size.

“You’re staying at the Wainright, aren’t you?” Whitney asked Nicole.

“Sure am.”

“You should come to our rehearsal dinner,” Whitney forged ahead, paying no mind to Jesse’s curious glance. “The pavilion isn’t ready at the Homestead yet, so we’re having it at the Wainright. We’d be honored if you could make it.” She slipped her hand into Jesse’s. “Right honey?”

“Ah,” Jesse shrugged. “The more the merrier, I suppose. Anyone who managed to floor my dad is always welcome in my book.”

“I… don’t know,” Nicole looked apologetically at Whitney. They both knew just who might think otherwise about Nicole being welcome. “Mind if I take some time to think about it?”

“Fair enough,” Whitney said as Betty returned with two cappuccinos and one black coffee, sliding piping hot mugs to their respective recipients. And as Jesse asked Nicole more about the night she flattened Champ, a plan began formulating in Whitney’s mind. But first, she had to get a hold of her Aunt Wynonna. If anyone would be a likely accomplice, it would be her.

Wynonna sat in the chair facing the front door, her fingers playing with an eggshell colored envelope. She’d seen many of them before, had received one herself at the mailbox Black Badge kept for her. Well, the one she’d received had been slightly different, she pondered as she thought about the information card tucked in the invitation, the phone number and email address changed to information that was still familiar, yet not the ones they should be.

And hers definitely didn’t have Nicole Haught’s address on the outside in handwriting that was most certainly not Waverly’s.

She’d found the envelope in her pants pocket when she’d woken up that morning and had a moment to take stock of her memories. To her credit, she at least woke up in Waverly’s bed and not some random stranger’s.

There had been a lot more alcohol and tears after Whitney and her friends had called it a night and she remembered passing out cuddling with a crying Waverly, but by the time she woke up, her sister was nowhere to be seen. Whitney was nowhere to be seen.

She thought about the confrontation with Nicole. It had been somewhat of a relief, freeing herself of what she'd wished she'd said twenty years ago, but on another level, seeing Nicole just take it all…

Wynonna shook her head. This wasn't the Nicole she remembered. Then again, she doubted she herself was the same person Nicole remembered.

She couldn't help but think about what they'd all been like back then. Back when Nicole and Waverly were ridiculously happy. When Black Badge had gone from their allies, to enemies, and back to allies more than a few times.

Back when Doc still cared enough to watch over them, helping them despite his utter hatred for Black Badge.

Back when Dolls had been the solid rock she needed.

Wynonna didn’t want to think about Dolls and how she hadn’t heard back, but she was sure the Black Badge would notify her if anything serious was happening.

Wouldn't they?

Wynonna shook her head as she took a sip from her glass of bourbon. She had bigger things to worry about, like the envelope and the car that pulled up to the homestead.

Wynonna sat a little straighter, waiting for the front door to open.

“Oh, hey. You’re awake.” Whitney smiled.

Waverly had been right about one thing way back when, Wynonna decided. While Earps had their share of dimples in their blood, those were 100% Haught dimples. “Hey Baby Girl Junior.”

“Getting started early?” Whitney set her bag on the table, her eyes moving from the glass and back to Wynonna.

“Hair of the dog and all that.” Wynonna shrugged. “You know what they say. The best way to avoid a hangover is to just…”

“Keep drinking.” Whitney chuckled as she snagged the invitation from her aunt. “I can’t believe I’m getting married in 2 days. It just seems so…” Her words trailed off as she flipped the envelope over to the addressed side, eyes scanning the outside before lifting to look at Wynonna.

“Take a seat, Whit.”

Whitney didn’t argue, just slid into the seat facing her. “Where did you… how did you get this?”

“From the person it’s addressed to last night.” Wynonna sipped from her glass. She’d promised Waverly years ago that she wouldn’t tell Whitney about her parentage.

“Wait. You saw Nicole? She didn’t say…”

“Wait.” Wynonna sat up a little straighter. “You talked to…”

“My mother?” Whitney’s voice was soft, uncertain almost.

Wynonna set her empty glass down. Hearing Whitney say that, it left a bad taste in her mouth. “Waverly is your mother,” she said certainly, refilling her glass with the almost empty bottle.

Whitney snorted. “Obviously.” She paused momentarily, pursing her lips before continuing. “She is always going to be my mother, just like you’re always going to be my Aunt… there’s no… DNA doesn’t change that, ya know.”

Wynonna looked her over, not seeing any anger there like she’d expected. “How did you...”

Whitney shrugged, reaching into her bag and pulling out the journal. She didn’t know why she kept carrying it around. Something about it just felt… right. Maybe it made her feel a little closer to the women in it. Not just Nicole, but to the person her mother was twenty years ago. “I found a box in the attic with a bunch of old stuff…”

“I remember this.” Wynonna smirked, reaching for the book and flipping through the pages. “Wait… you read this?” At Whitney’s blush, she chuckled. “Yeah… I read a few pages of it back in the day…” When Whitney gave her a surprised look, she laughed. “What? You were an only child so you didn’t get the joy of spying on siblings.” She cringed. “So you got to read all about Mommy and her lady lover…” She snorted. “I’ve read fanfic with less graphic details.”

“I just...” Finally Whitney’s face turned troubled. “Why didn’t Mom tell her?”

“Hmmm?” Wynonna looked up from the journal. “Tell her what?”

“About me.”

Eyes pinched in confusion, Wynonna set the journal down. “What do you mean?”

Whitney took the book back, sliding it back into her bag. “She doesn’t know I’m her daughter.”

How was that even possible? Wynonna leaned forward. “What do you mean she doesn’t know?”

“Nicole…” Whitney hesitated. “She thought Champ was my father.”

It didn’t make sense. “But your mom…” Wynonna thought about the past, thought about the many times Waverly had broken down crying, the attempted calls, the disconnected number… She remembered the threat from Nicole’s sister… Becky. “That bitch.”

“Hey!”

“Not your mom…” Wynonna took a sip, thinking about what it all meant. “Your Aunt Becky.” Just the sound of it made her anger rise.

Whitney perked up. “I have another aunt?”

“Oh you won't anymore… once I get my hands on her…” That had to be it, Wynonna decided. Nicole's sister had done it on purpose and they'd all been so willing to blame Nicole. “Oh shit,” she realized how bad it had to look from the outside.

Nicole, for some reason, thought Waverly had gotten knocked up by Champ. Nicole, who had been so willing to accept blame for everything. But did she know the truth now? “What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. We were having breakfast. I wanted her to meet Jesse.” Whitney sighed softly, reaching for the bottle and taking a swig with a grimace. “I thought she knew.” She shook her head. “But then we saw Champ and Jesse called him dad and…” She laughed. “Man, she must have some ideas about Purgatory cause I swear she thought we were a REALLY close family…” She hesitated just a bit. “I… invited her to the rehearsal dinner.”

Wynonna paused mid-sip, swallowing what was already in her mouth hastily. “No you didn’t… of course you did.” She shook her head. She was Nicole’s by blood, but she sure did have that Earp trouble streak. Oh God , she thought as she went over the consequences. “Your mother thinks she knows.” She watched Whitney freeze, eyes doubling in size. “She thinks Nicole abandoned the both of you. That’s why she never brought it up. She didn’t want you to think that…” She paused again, feeling the empathetic heartbreak that she knew was inevitable. “All these years, she thought Nicole knew.”

“And if Nicole comes, they’re both going to be at the dinner tonight…”

“With Nicole thinking Champ got your mom pregnant and your mom thinking Nicole abandoned her….” Wynonna had to snort in laughter. “Well this is a goddamned Greek tragedy if there ever was one. They make Broadway musicals about this shit.”

“Okay but… in a musical there would be a happy ending…” Whitney smiled. “So…” She reached over and refilled Wynonna’s glass. “What say you?” She held the bottle out. “Wanna help me Parent Trap my moms?”

Wynonna picked the glass up, pursing her lips before tapping the edge of her glass to the bottle. The next few days were going to be interesting at least, she decided as she drank back the alcohol, feeling it warm her from within. It was a much better idea than focusing on her own shit show of a life. “Saddle up, Baby Girl Junior. We’re in for a wild ride.”

Twelve boxes were stacked on the store’s glass counter, separated into two mini-towers of pink. John Baker, the 16-year-old son of Bob and Edith Baker of Purgatory’s finest (read: only) bakery, proudly opened up one box for Waverly to inspect. Inside, one dozen cupcakes were arranged neatly, each one with elegant swirls of white frosting topped with one pink rose blossom.

Waverly leaned in and breathed in the sugary richness. “They look amazing,” she said, trying to hide her relief. With everything that had gone wrong with the wedding lately, she was just waiting for another shoe to drop. “You all really outdid yourselves this time.”

“Thanks, Ms. Waverly,” John blushed, nervously smoothing down the front of his flour-stained apron. “If you give me a minute to assist some customers, I can carry the boxes to your car.”

Waverly waved him off, already pulling the first stack toward her. “You’ve got the holiday rush to take care of.” She glanced at the growing line of people waiting to be served, some of them glowering at Waverly and John with thinly veiled impatience. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine.”

John nodded. “Well, enjoy the rehearsal tonight. We’ll have the cake delivered to the Homestead before the big day.”

“Thanks John.” Waverly adjusted the knit cap on her head and hitched up her tote bag higher on her shoulder, wishing she had emptied it out a bit or left it in the jeep as she lifted half a dozen boxes. They were a bit heavier than they looked, but she was sure she’d manage just fine. She approached the door and turned around to back into it. The boxes wobbled mid-push and Waverly paused to adjust her grip. Just as she was confident they weren’t going to go tumbling out of her arms, someone behind her said,

“Here, let me get that for you.”

It was simultaneously the last voice she wanted to hear and, though she would never admit it, the only voice she wanted to hear. The one that had been echoing throughout her mind all night long.

Waverly’s heart pounded as the weight of the door eased off her shoulders. She shivered as a freezing rush of air stung her skin. Bracing herself, she turned to see Nicole holding the door open for her and, goddammit, looking as gorgeous as ever in her gray peacoat, dark pants, and blue beanie. A tentative smile adorned her face and Waverly hated the way her stomach still flipped at the sight of Nicole’s stupid dimples.

“I had it under control,” Waverly grumbled out, knowing she was being rude but unable to stop herself. Clenching her jaw, she brushed past Nicole and stepped onto the sidewalk.

Nicole shrugged and let the door close. “That’s an interesting way of thanking someone.”

“I’m not thanking you,” Waverly snapped. “I didn’t need your help.”

“I know you didn’t,” Nicole said. “But I wanted to lend a hand.”

“Yeah? You’re about 20 years too late for that.” The words tumbled off Waverly’s tongue before she could stop them.

Pain flashed in Nicole’s eyes. She blinked it back in a second, but Waverly still felt a pang of guilt.

Nicole shoved her gloved hands inside her pockets, resembling a chastised puppy despite her attempt at nonchalance. “Have a good day, Waverly.”

Waverly hesitated, torn between wanting to apologize and wanting to indulge in two decades of pent-up resentment. But she knew, deep down, that lashing out at Nicole wouldn’t change the past; wouldn’t erase years of grief; wouldn’t suddenly make her feel better about what they lost. So she did the only thing she could do: nod and walk away.

Like the previous night, Waverly was proud of herself for not giving into temptation and glancing back, at least after the first few steps. But the pull to sneak one more glimpse of Nicole was harder to resist that morning. She blew out a frustrated breath that billowed out like a white stream of smoke. One peek couldn’t hurt, could it?

When Waverly reached an intersection and started to cross the street, she took the chance to look back, not noticing the frozen puddle just past the curb. The heel of her boot slid on the patch of ice. She let out a yelp as she lost her footing and stumbled backward until a strong hand steadied her from behind while an arm quickly wrapped around her to stop the boxes from tumbling to the ground.

“Careful,” Nicole’s voice puffed against Waverly’s ear. Vanilla and shea butter enveloped Waverly, whose pulse fluttered at the warm, familiar scent.

Flushing, she pulled away from Nicole, careful to step back onto the sidewalk. The boxes remained safely in her arms and she sighed in relief.

“I…” Waverly began.

“Didn’t need my help, I know,” Nicole finished for her. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t trying to help you.”

“No?”

Nicole shrugged. “I didn’t want anything to happen to the pastries.”

Waverly would have chuckled if not for the fact that she was embarrassed, and that she couldn’t believe she was even having this conversation with Nicole. “Cupcakes, actually. I suppose even they’re a little grateful.”

And perhaps Waverly was too despite her earlier surliness. The last thing she wanted was for anything else to potentially ruin Whitney’s wedding.

Nicole ducked her head down, a half-smile appearing before she looked back up and across the street. “Signal’s back on,” she said.

Nodding, Waverly turned back toward the street and began crossing, this time keeping an eye out for icy areas. She felt, rather than heard, Nicole follow after her. Waverly glanced backward and, sure enough, Nicole was trailing behind a few feet. Any lingering gratitude that Waverly might have felt from Nicole’s safe melted back into irritation.

“Why are you following me?” Waverly asked through gritted teeth.

“I’m not,” Nicole casually replied.

“This isn’t the way to the Wainright.”

“Who says I’m going to the Wainright?”

Waverly huffed out and continued walking forward, picking up her pace. She would just have to ignore her. Nicole didn’t follow suit, just maintained the same ambling pace, as if she were strolling down the street on a warm spring day.

Just as Waverly reached her Jeep, she felt the cardboard of the bottom box start to give way. “Shit,” she cursed, trying to arrange her arms beneath it to keep it from falling apart. Perhaps she had accidentally torn it during her near fall. There was no way she could fish her keys out of her purse and unlock her doors and trunk without sacrificing the cupcakes. She considered placing the stack of boxes on the ground, but it was covered in brown slush from the ice melt the town had laid the night before.

“Looks like the cupcakes could use a bit more help,” Nicole commented as she approached.

If Waverly had any hands free, she’d be tempted to smack Nicole. But instead she thought again of Whitney and swallowed her pride. “Just get your ass over here, Haught.”

Jogging forward, Nicole took the boxes from Waverly and secured the base of the one on the bottom. Their gloved hands brushed, and even that small amount of contact sent a jolt through Waverly, who quickly stepped back and focused on getting her trunk open. She told herself she hated it. Hated that Nicole still had that effect on her.

“New car,” Nicole commented as she gently laid the boxes down in the trunk. “When’d you get it?”

“A while ago,” Waverly found herself responding even though it was really none of Nicole’s business. “Whit…” She swallowed. “Some people convinced me it was time to upgrade. Nothing lasts forever, no matter how much you want it to.”

Nicole blinked at Waverly. “Right.”

An awkward silence settled between them and Waverly shifted her weight from one foot, unsure how to proceed. “Don’t you have other work to do besides saving cupcakes?” She asked lightly as she shut the trunk.

“Nothing more important than that,” Nicole said. “I don’t really have anything planned, except maybe pay my respects to Nedley. Finally.”

Waverly held her breath, remembering how she had hoped years ago to see Nicole at the memorial service. How, despite insisting that she was over Nicole, she still was crushed when Nicole hadn’t shown up.

“I should have come then,” Nicole said softly, as if reading Waverly’s thoughts. “I should have come back a lot sooner.”

Nicole locked eyes with Waverly, a quiet conviction in her brown eyes so intense that Waverly had to look away, suddenly breathless. “You’re here now,” Waverly said. “That’s something.”

“Is it?”

Waverly nodded. “I’m sure it is to Nedley.”

Nicole swiped at her nose, red from the cold. “Then I’d best be going.”

“Did you want a ride?” Waverly blurted out, surprising them both. “It’s freezing and, well, it’s the least the cupcakes could do to thank you.”

A slow smile spread across Nicole’s face, making Waverly’s traitorous heart thud warmly against her chest. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to respectfully decline. It’s not that much farther and I could use the exercise.”

“Okay,” Waverly said, annoyed at herself for the disappointment sinking in her stomach. “I guess I’ll… see you around.” She didn’t know why she said it. Nicole would be long gone again before she knew it.

Nicole only nodded, eyes following Waverly as she hopped in her Jeep and turned on the ignition. Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Don’t look back. Waverly pulled away from the curb and made her way back to the bakery to pick up the last of the boxes. She would be damned if she carried the rest of them that far again. She turned on her hazards and got out of her car. When she was back on the sidewalk, she couldn’t stop herself from looking back down the street one more time.

It looked as if Nicole was typing out a text before she tucked her phone back in her coat pocket. She glanced up and, even from a distance, even as much as she didn’t want to acknowledge it, Waverly could still feel a connection between them, an invisible string tying them together after all this time. Nicole gave her a small wave and then turned back in the direction of the cemetery while Waverly, ignoring the pull to go after Nicole, swung open the bakery’s door and walked inside.

#wayhaught #wynonna earp #waverly earp #nicole haught #memories that remain

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thejamesoldier · 7 years

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if you're still doing the Drabble thing then can you do 99 with Steve bc that would be too adOrable. If you're not then thank for the ones you already did, I really enjoyed them.

This was so fun to write, like baking cookies and then binge eating them all the second they come out of the oven. Thank you for sending this in!! xxx

Prompt #99: “This bath is too warm.” - “This is why we can’t do cute things, you complain too much.”

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Tags: Literally just floof

{look at this gif…chris’ face did that}

Baths (aka Soul Healers)

Being Steve’s girlfriend is a tricky business sometimes.

The man practically has a flashing ‘FIGHT ME’ sign in red white and blue neon lights on his forehead. You and Bucky concur that Steve can be a right handful when it comes to getting himself involved in things that originally he had no business in, righteous intentions or mere stubborn determination aside. Steve’s one of those people who pushes and pushes and pushes. He’s like Tony in that way, though they express it a little differently (Tony with elaborate sarcasm and Steve with face slapping bluntness), and once Steve gets in a mood its nearly impossible to pull him out of it. You’ve learned to just let him get it out of his system and sweep in for damage control after.

In this way, Steve is what people call a high maintenance partner. Not in the usual way, and not even by choice, he just comes with a lot of baggage. Not that you minded really, you knew this going into a relationship with the Steve Rogers. You were a pretty laid back gal, you didn’t mind making room for him in your heart even if he damn near needed a football field, but most of all you loved the bundle of energy Steve always carried around with him; this spiteful will to live and fight.

That energy sometimes sputtered out because Steve is in fact human, and that’s when you step in to share your own energy, your tiny warm fire. With open arms and the promise of a safe embrace Steve’s huge soul will huddle in close to you like a moth to flame and let himself surrender to the vulnerability of actually needing someone else, of needing help, of needing support, of needing love, of needing to feel small again. The only other person Steve was even close to letting in like this was Bucky, but even then Steve still kept a good chunk of himself private. Bucky and Steve had an understanding, a silent special language that allowed Bucky to read Steve even if Steve wouldn’t say what he was feeling out loud. With Steve and you instead of that silent language, you worked your way up to actually voicing your feelings…out loud, actually speaking.

Yeah it took Steve a little more than a hot minute to wrap his mind around that concept.

At first you had to learn that unspoken way of communicating, quickly becoming a certified expert in all things Steve, reading him like a book no matter what his outward exterior was trying to convince you of. Eventually though as Steve got to know you and came to trust you not just with his life (because he honestly didn’t put much value on that so it easily was the first prize of trust to earn from him) but with his thoughts, his feelings, his honest opinions, the secrets of his heart, he crawled from the safe cave of his silent language, to the exposed naked vulnerability of the open fields of the spoken word. For him it was a big step, and a step he only maintained with you – for you.

You were always good at reading people and sensing what people needed before ever meeting Steve where this skill was a requirement for communication. This talent of yours is why you easily fit snug to Steve’s jagged, complicated side like a puzzle piece. You adapt to him, something necessary with someone with a past like his and the emotional destruction that’s practically choking him.

This big step allowed you to peel away his many masks and peer down into the very core of him. Down to a soul who was too big and bold for its original frail body and is still too big and bold even in its new large flesh home; a soul that’s always expanding, always reaching, always stretching, always trying to effect anything and everything in its path: body, world, universe and all.

A soul that’s truly meant to touch others on a worldly scale.

You can’t even begin to imagine how exhausting it must be to exist like that, to constantly strive to control or contain an instinct that’s not a conscious choice. Steve is strong – so, so strong – in the resilience of his mind and the will of his heart to not cave under such a demanding soul. People don’t realize just how much of a handle Steve has on his emotions and actions. If he let himself go completely, Steve would be a raging mad man screaming how the world betrayed him, how people – humanity – failed him, how he failed himself. Not only would he never stop screaming, but he’d probably punch and or kill anything that moved. He would be insane and you’re not too sure he isn’t. Insanity is objective you guess; humanity is insanity – repeating our mistakes since the dawn of our existence. Someone like Steve who sees the world for the weak unjust place it actually is, you couldn’t blame for going a little crazy and being just a breath away from exploding at any given moment.

Honestly it was dangerous to be so close to Steve. Not because you felt he would harm you – emotionally or physically – but because you sometimes worried that the weight he carried, the reality of life, would rub off on you; that the truth would be too much for you to handle. You aren’t as strong as Steve, you doubted many were, and sometimes you find yourself collapsing under the burden of that knowledge, of knowing how doomed we all are. It’s those moments when you realize just how resilient Steve is, how keeping his bitterness at bay under a maze of masks is the only way he can make sense of himself. It’s a miracle he withholds that bitterness from destroying him and only allows it to come out at times when Steve feels its safest and will do the least amount of damage. That kind of self control is Steve’s actual super power, not the serum in his DNA.

“Y/n the water is gonna overflow,” Steve’s voice is soft and lulling but it still wrenches you sharply from your pondering as you scramble on your knees, and reach over the bursting bath tub to twist the knob off.

When you stay on Steve’s floor in Avengers’ Tower Friday usually does the water control for you. Although you’ve never bathed at the Tower before, the AI always knows what shower head setting to use (especially when you two have shower sex) so your mind kind of slipped while you waited for the tub in your normal bathroom at your normal place to fill. Steve – the observant bastard – immediately notes your mood, having become an expert on all things Y/n like you being all knowing about him.

“Something on your mind?” Steve offers you, his tone neutral and open, giving you the control over the conversation and freedom to steer it however you wish.

Keeping your back to him as he rests the bottom of his butt against the edge of the tile counter where his and her sinks sit on top, you dip your fingers into the water and find it just on the right side of too warm. Biting your lip you stand and slip the robe you’re wearing off your shoulders to step carefully into the large tub, lowering yourself into the inviting water with a sigh.

You opt to ignore his offer for now and Steve picks up on that as he doesn’t say a word and disrobes too, sliding smoothly in behind you once you’re seated, supersoldier muscles bunching and stretching against your back as you position yourselves comfortably.

“This bath is too damn hot.” Steve remarks under his breath with a comical hiss through his teeth as he squirms against you, the water licking dangerously close to the lip of the porcelain tub as his big body moves in the tight fit of the bath.

You giggle and watch the pale skin on his long legs pressed along the outside of yours, turn a blushing spotty pink. Steve’s huge arms lift to rest on either side of the tub’s flat edges, taking refuge on the smooth cool platforms.

See, high maintenance partner.

“This is why we can’t do cute things,” Comes your lilting comeback as you melt into his impossibly wide chest behind you, slumping to slide lower against him so your head can be cushioned by his ridiculously large pecks. His washboard abs unfortunately feel like an actual washboard and aren’t very comfortable, but you catch yourself smiling fondly at the intimate touch of his half-hard cock pressing between the dimples of your lower back. “You complain too much.” You add in lazy jest, eyes closing softly in bliss.

“Well excuse me for not wanting to bathe in a vat of boiling lava.” You feel more than hear his words rumble familiarly out of the cavern of his ribcage and vibrate through your skin to settle in the marrow of your bones.

You’ve always cherish feeling this close to him, spiritually and physically.

Shaking your head (you roll your eyes even though their closed) you blindly draw designless patterns on his thick but long thighs trapping your hips, using your nails a little for a change in texture. You’re rewarded for your efforts when a delicate shiver shimmies down Steve’s spine and goosebumps rise under your fingernails.

“Always the drama king,” You simper completely content as you both soak there in the sacred privacy of your bathroom, steam curling up from the water to whisper against your skins, knowing despite Steve’s words you can feel him muscle by muscle, joint by joint, cell by cell letting everything relax.

“Am not,” He sighs on a soft exhale as his head leans back to rest on the generous ledge of the tub – you can vividly see in your mind’s eye the long thick line of his exposed neck, the hill of his Adam’s apple, the wide damp jaw sharp enough to cut through the moisture in the air.

Your lips buzz with anticipation on instinct at the thought of kissing, biting, licking, and marking up the offered skin as yours. But instead of getting riled up you let this desire swim slow and indulgently through your veins to simmer under your skin. With warmth on the inside and warmth on the outside, you glow like a mini sun caught in Steve’s orbit, a monster sun himself, enjoying the collision of different kinds of pleasures coursing through you.

“Are too,” The words hush from your throat like the wind through a small hollow log, the smile on your face sweet and resilient.

Steve only hums in response, too soothed and at peace to scrounge up one of his usual sarcastic snarks. His body temperature levels out, sensitive skin appeased, as the heat from the water is counteracted with the coolness of the porcelain pressing against the stretch of skin under his arms. You both lounge there completely stolen from the hardness of life and thrown up to float in a cloud of hazy unfiltered happiness. The intimacy of just being together, skin just simply touching, no other motive than to just be, is intoxicating. Steve did say once that he got drunk on the touch of your skin (you could have swore he stole that from Ed Sheeran even though he claimed up and down that he ‘didn’t no an Ed’) and you figured this is what he meant. Seeing as you don’t do this much, it holds all the more potency and meaning.

You’re not sure how much time goes by, neither of you really care, but a thought floats through your consciousness and you quietly break the silence.

“I really love you.”

You think Steve might have fallen asleep because he doesn’t answer after a full minute.

No matter, You hum mentally, he’ll hear it in his dreams.

But the silence is only due to him returning from his fluffy heaven and back down to a groggy mind,

“What?” His voice is scratchy, like flannel tearing, just like when he wakes up after a hardcore nap.

Steve sounds like he’s trying to orientate himself back to Earth, figuring out what century it is, what his name is and all that jazz, so you give him another minute to comprehend what you said. You feel a subtle but unmistakable shift in the air and know Steve’s come back to himself enough for you to continue. Your eyes remain closed, smile only growing before you clarify in your own gravelly sleep-voice.

“You asked me if something was on my mind earlier,” You speak slow and clear and quiet – profound, “I was thinking how much I love you.” Your fingertips had continued to caress his thighs this whole time but they stop now as you press both of your entire palms to spread lovingly against his thighs. A small but meaningful gesture you know Steve would understand much more than he would your words. “Just thought I’d share.”

Steve freezes behind you a second, gears turning, registering your touch, before lifting his head up from the ledge and sneaking his lips around the curve of your face to kiss your cheek with overwhelming tenderness. He lets his soft mouth linger there, dropping another gentle kiss in the same spot – I love you too – before pulling back to rest his cheek against the top of your head, tufts of your hair tickling his nose.

He didn’t mind the tiny aggravation as he wraps his cobra-like arms around you, holding you against him tight. You feel him smile – a sixth sense – and know that even though you both had graduated to verbally expressing your feelings, sometimes that silent language you both used to use is more powerful than any words Steve could have whispered to you in that moment.

Alrighty I’m melting. Now I wanna take a bath urgh!! Hope you guys liked it, writing content!steve was so therapeutic tbh lol xx

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redrikki · 7 years

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I'd like to hear a commentary for Nothing To Write Home About, please!

I started writing this after a half-joking conversation with @flaminganakin about how a pen pal would revolutionize Anakin’s life. So far there are three chapters. I have a terrible history with WIPs, but I hope to complete this one. Just don’t ask me where it’s going. You can read it here. DVD commentary on the first chapter below the cut.

There was a message from an unknown sender waiting on Anakin’s com channel when he finally stumbled into his bunk after three straight days of fighting on Muunilinst. According to the time stamp, it had been there for awhile, but he must have missed it under the constant barrage of orders and battle updates of the last few days. Anakin could barely keep his eyes open, but his heart raced at the sight of the blinking notification. Padmé. It must be from Padmé. Who else would be writing him from an unlisted com frequency?

The man’s life is shit and he just wants to hear from his wife alright?

It wasn’t from Padmé. Anakin, it read, you hardly know me, but your mother would have wanted us to look after each other. I know the Jedi are involved in the fighting. Are you alright? Please, don’t be a stranger. Cliegg Lars.

Cliegg Lars? Cliegg Lars?! How did he even have Anakin’s com frequency? Anakin certainly didn’t remember giving it to him. But then, he didn’t remember much about that last trip to Tatooine. Just the rattle of his mother’s dying breath, the weight of her body, and the stench of burning flesh as he cut down Tusken after Tusken. The rest of it was lost in a haze of rage and grief and sand.

For a moment, Anakin wanted to ignore it, delete it, smash the comlink on the floor. He didn’t need this reminder of his failure as a Jedi and a son, not when he’d just spent the last three days failing over and over again to protect his men. No, Anakin didn’t need this, but maybe Lars did. His mom always said that the biggest problem in the galaxy was that no one helped each other. She would want him to look after her widower.

Both Anakin and Cliegg enter into this relationship believing it’s what the other person needs. My goal is to have it be of benefit to both of them. Cliegg feels helpless and unnecessary within his family, but Anakin helps him to feel useful again. For Anakin, Cliegg is a source of alternate views and paternal support without all the baggage and agendas he gets from Obi-Wan and Palpatine.

Yawning hugely and struggling to focus his eyes, Anakin sent out a quick reply and feel asleep with his boots on.

Poor boy is so sleepy, Can’t you just picture this? He’s lying on his back and snoring with his mouth open.

****

Cliegg woke alone to the smell of caf and frying eggs. Lying with his eyes closed, he imagined Shmi must have gotten up before him and started making breakfast. But when he reached across, her side of the bed was cold. A few of her dark hairs still clung to her pillow, but it had lost the shape of her head. His wife slept in sand now and Cliegg would sleep alone until he joined her. He let his grief wash over him, then pushed it aside and started his day.

Haha, ow. I think Cliegg genuinely loved Shmi. I’d like to believe that they fell in love and then he saved up to buy her freedom rather than something more sketchy, like him buying her and then offering her freedom if he married her. This story runs with the more romantic rather than creepy version.

In the kitchen, Beru puttered around the stove while Owen methodically shoveled forkfuls of egg into his mouth. He grunted a greeting as Cliegg floated to the table on his power chair. Since Cliegg’s injury, Owen had taken over more and more of the farm work. He needed to eat fast if he had any hope of staying on top of it.

Shmi’s death and Cliegg’s maiming hit the family hard, not just emotionally, but economically. They lost two valuable workers. I imagine it caused Owen to speed up his plans to marry Beru, just so they could have someone to replace Semi’s missing labor.

“Good morning,” Beru said as she set a plate and steaming mug of caf down in front of him. Cliegg took a sip of the caf before digging in. The eggs weren’t quite like Shmi’s, but the caf had just the right about of blue milk mixed in. Beru joined them with her own breakfast a moment later. “There’s a message for you on the comm channel,” she said as she settled down on the bench next to Owen.

“Really? Who from?”

“Anakin,” Owen grumbled between mouthfuls. “Days late and a few hundred credits short as always.”

Canon gives us zero clues as to how Owen and Beru viewed Anakin. Like, Owen feels Luke being like him is unfortunate, but that’s about it. I decided Owen would vaguely resent him because a) drama, and b) it kind of made sense. Owen clearly loved Shmi, but Anakin was her kid and he knew he could never compete with that.

Beru frowned at her husband, but Cliegg just sighed. After years of Shmi’s stories about her sweet, talented boy, the strange young man who had walked off into the desert and came back with her corpse had been something of a disappointment. He’d fixed every broken thing on the farm, but had barely spoken to any of them. What Cliegg chalked up to grief and shock, Owen put down to Jedi pride and standoffishness, and no amount of tutting on Beru’s part would change that. Cliegg had hoped that maybe getting to know Anakin would. It had been a disappointment that when Cliegg reached out and the boy never reached back.

“What does it say?” Beru asked, leaning forward to get a glimpse as Cliegg pulled the message up on a data pad. He read it over, then read it again, and a third time just to make sure. Weren’t the Jedi supposed to have educated the boy? Shmi had been a slave her whole life and she wrote better than this.

Anakin’s writing is usually much better when he isn’t literally falling asleep. In fact, he tends to write very formally. He was teased mercilessly about his manner of speaking when he first arrived at the Temple and is, as a result, hyper aware of how he uses language. That’s why he often comes off as stiff or awkward when nervous, upset, or around authority figures. See, and you thought it was just George’s bad writing.

“Well?” Owen put his fork down and joined his wife in trying to sneak a peek. He had a man’s shape and bore a man’s burden, but, by the suns, he looked just like a boy at that moment.

I went with ‘by the suns’ because Cliegg needed something to swear by and there’s literally only one mention of god in existing canon. I figure what people swear by varies from planet to planet. No one on Tatooine seems to know about or have use for the Force, so that was out. The suns would have to do.

Cleigg chuckled and read Anakin’s message aloud, word for word as he’d written it. “Sorry. Tired. Three days fighting Muunilinst. Lost rt arm Geonosis. Hop u r well. Anakin.”

Autocorrect kept trying to fight me on Anakin’s message.

Owen and Beru blinked at him as they tried to process Anakin’s incoherent jumble of a message. Owen took a long gulp of his caf to help and shook his head.

Beru’s fork clattered on the table as it slipped from her fingers. “He lost his arm?!” Beru exclaimed. She pulled the data pad from Cleigg’s hand to read it over herself. “He lost his arm and they sent him fight?” She slapped it down on the table with a bit more force than necessary.

The Star Wars universe has some pretty miraculous medical technology, but it’s pretty unevenly distributed. As a Jedi living on a core world. Anakin had access to high-tech prosthetics where a poor farmer living in the middle of no where like Cliegg almost certainly didn’t. It greatly effected their health outcomes.

What? Cleigg pulled the pad around read the message again. Lost rt arm Geonosis. The fighting there had happened just after Anakin and his woman had left, a little over a standard month ago. Even with all the medicine a Hutt could afford, there was no way he’d be well enough to tie his own boots, let alone fight in a war. Yet, from the sound of it, that’s just what he was doing. The Jedi had promised Shmi that they would take care her son and provide him with an education. Based on Anakin’s message, they’d done neither. Well, someone needed to look after this boy and it might as well be his family. Cleigg Lars set aside his breakfast and began to write.

Man, I misspelled Cliegg’s name a bunch of times in this. Whoops. Well, I’ll go back and correct that on the original. My bad.

Cliegg is right about the Jedi having failed Anakin, just not in the way he understands. By the end of this, I hope to have Anakin realize that fact too and do something about it. We’ll see how it goes and how I get there.

#dvd commentary #star wars #shameless self promotion #pen pal au #Anakin Skywalker #Cliegg Lars

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ph-piecebypiece-blog · 7 years

Text

Chapter Eleven

Authors note: Soooo soooo sorry about the wait! I ended up in hospital from dehydration because of the food poisoning I had and other issues because sometimes I’m not very good at being an adult and don’t take care of myself. Thanks for your patience and enjoy! :)

Later that day Harry was also preparing himself for what he was sure would be an unpleasant conversation. Both his father and his brother had been calling him all morning enquiring about Everly. His father was more annoyed that his name was being dragged through the papers again whereas Will was mostly hurt that Harry hadn't told him he was seeing someone. His father had instructed him to come over for dinner to discuss the matter and Will invited himself and Kate along to give his two cents as well.

“You're in big trouble,” William said with a soft smile as he opened the door for Harry once he arrived at his father's place.

“Oh shut up, Will,” Harry rolled his eyes. “There's really no reason I should be.”

“I'm not so sure,” William informed him. “Apparently Pa forbid this relationship years ago, he's less than impressed that you went ahead with it anyway.”

“He forbid it when I was a teenager and he actually had some say in my life,” Harry pointed out. “I'm an adult now and we're both very different people than we were back then.”

“I still can't believe you didn't tell me about her,” William playfully pouted, but there was real hurt behind his words and Harry felt a twinge of guilt. “Is it a serious thing?”

“Yeah, it is,” Harry nodded. “It's been two months now and I really care for her.”

“Well good luck explaining that one to Pa,” William said, patting his shoulder before he led him into the living room where Charles, Kate and Camillia were seated.

“The guest of honour has arrived!” Kate teased from her spot on the couch closest to the door.

Harry rolled his eyes yet again, but leaned in to kiss her cheek in greeting.

“You can be quiet, I've heard it from Will already,” He told her. “But you look well tonight, much better than the last time I saw you. Are you feeling better?”

“Much better, thank you,” She smiled. “This baby's been nothing, but trouble though.”

“It'll only get worse once it's born,” Harry reminded her as Charles cleared his throat. “Sorry, Pa. Eager to yell at me, are you?”

“I'm not going to yell,” Charles said sternly. “I just want to know what on earth you're thinking.”

Harry took a seat on the opposite end of the couch to his sister-in-law, facing his father.

“I'm thinking that I met someone who makes me happy and I want to be with her.” Harry explained simply.

“But things were just starting to go well for you, Harry,” Charles resisted. “People were finally starting to take you seriously and respect the work that you're doing and then you go and start flouncing around with a drug addict!”

Harry tensed at his father's words feeling protective of Everly who wasn't there to defend herself.

“She isn't a drug addict,” Harry informed him. “In fact she's never even done anything stronger than marijuana which she only did when she was a teenager to make her father mad.”

“I see why you two get along,” Will chimed in earning himself a dirty look from his brother and his father.

“How can you be so sure, son?” Charles questioned. “She was heavily involved with a very bad crowd for a very long time.”

“Only because she was stuck there with no where to go,” Harry pointed out. “She was being horribly abused, it wasn't a situation she wanted to be in nor is it one that she is proud of being in.”

“Well whether she wanted to be there or not, she's earned herself a reputation. The people don't like her and if you continue to associate with her then it'll drag your name down as well.”

“People don't like her because they've made assumptions about her much like the ones you've obviously made as well,” Harry said, his voice raising as his frustrations grew. “She made a few bad choices and she'll be the first to admit it, but she's more than suffered the consequences and she deserves a fresh start. The press are cruel and badly informed and I thought that people in this family would be the first to understand that.”

“This isn't about her,” Charles insisted. “I feel for the girl. I know she's been through some terrible things, but that isn't your problem and her reputation will damage yours.”

“It is my problem,” Harry argued. “Because I care about her and I'm not going to turn my back on her because the press and some people in our country have misjudged her.”

“I just don't want to see all your hard work be tainted by a woman,” Charles sighed. “I want what's best for you.”

“She's what's best for me,” Harry said confidently. “How would you feel if the bad choices I made when I was young or even just the bad choice I made that had naked pictures of me on the front cover of the Sun was what defined me? If everyone saw me as the “party prince” for the rest of my life no matter what I did to show them that I wasn't like that anymore?”

“I would be angry and frustrated that they weren't giving you the credit that you deserve,” Charles resigned after a moment of hesitation.

“Well that's what they're doing to her,” Harry shrugged. “They have this image of her when she was a wild child teenager and even after all she's been through they won't change how they see her.”

“But putting the press aside,” William cut in. “Do you really think it's a good idea getting involved with someone who's been through what she's been through? That's a lot to take on, it's bound to be emotionally draining and difficult for you.”

“I already have taken it on. We've been together for two months now and there have been some challenges along the way,” Harry admitted. “There's little things that happen or things I do that remind her of what her ex-boyfriend did to her and it's hard, but she's opened up to me about everything that happened to her and we work through it.”

“But wouldn't it be easier to just find someone without all that baggage?”

Harry scowled at William for even asking such a question.

“Everyone has baggage. And people pushing her aside because they couldn't be bother to help her with her problems is what gave her so much baggage in the first place,” Harry told them. “Her mom died not long before the night we met at the banquet, but her dad never bothered to help her through it. He threw himself into his career and left her to cope all by herself. Losing mum was hard enough, wasn't it, Will? Can you imagine how we would have felt if we had no one to support us while we were grieving?”

William nodded in understanding as a quiet gasp came from Camilla.

“Oh, I didn't know her mother died. I thought her parents were just divorced,” She said, her voice full of sympathy.

“See? There's a lot that people don't know about her, but they make all these assumptions about who she is when they don't even know her.” Harry said, shaking his head. “I appreciate your concern for my reputation and I'm sorry that I'm putting our family in the spotlight in an unflattering way once again, but I know what I'm doing this time. Everly's a wonderful person and I'm not going to turn my back on her because other people can't see that.”

There was a moment of silence in the room as they all mulled over what Harry had said and to everyone's surprise, it was Kate who spoke up first.

“I think Harry's right.”

“You do?” Harry asked, surprised that one of them had come around so fast.

“I do,” Kate repeated. “I know you've made a few mistakes, but generally you're a good judge of character and the press are absolutely not so it's unfair of us to take their word over yours.”

“I would have to agree,” Camilla nodded. “The press said quite a lot of awful things about me not that long ago, but that didn't stop us from being together, Charles, or stop your family being welcoming of me. And I must say, Harry, you seem very smitten with this young woman.”

Harry grinned, knowing that if he'd won over the women in the room then his brother and father would soon follow.

“I am,” Harry agreed. “She's honestly wonderful and she's not the only one with baggage. I have plenty of my own and she's been there for me. I've spoken to her countless times about losing mum and going to Afghanistan, she's helped me just as much as I help her.”

“Where did you even meet her?” Charles asked, exasperatedly as he sensed he was fighting a losing battle.

“At a bar,” Harry admitted. “The one she works in actually. I was looking for a quiet place to have a drink when I came home and the media got to be too much and I just happened to pick the one she works in.”

“Well that's a classy job,” Charles scoffed earning a look from his wife.

“It's a perfectly respectable job, Pa,” Harry defended her.

“It seems like your mind is already made up so if you know what you're getting into then you have my support,” William conceded. “But do we at least get to meet her to see if she's as amazing as you claim she is?”

Harry sighed and leaned back into the couch, feeling more relaxed now he wasn't on the defensive quite as much.

“I would love to introduce you,” Harry confessed. “But I don't even know what's going on with us now or where we'll be going from here.”

“What do you mean?” Kate asked, her concern evident as she noticed the sad shift in his body language.

“She got very upset this morning,” Harry elaborated. “She was in a proper panic about everything, but her father kept calling her and she left to go explain things to him before we got a chance to speak about it.”

“They were saying some awful things about the poor girl,” Camilla said, shaking her head with disgust for the press.

“They were and she's been trying to lay low since her ex-boyfriend's trial ended, she wanted to get out of the spotlight and away from their abuse so I'm worried that she won't be willing to deal with again and it's unfortunately an unavoidable part of being my girlfriend.”

“So you're here defending your relationship by saying you'd stand by her no matter what, but you're not even sure if she can deal with a few nasty comments?” Charles asked, trying to get things straight and still unsure of this woman his son seemed to care about so much.

“We all know it's more than a few nasty comments,” Harry pointed out. “And I know she feels the same way about our relationship that I do, but it's only been a few months since she was being trashed in the papers for being a victim of some horrible abuse. I would understand if she couldn't stand to go through that again so soon.”

Harry's stomach turned as he said those words. He'd been so busy worrying about how Everly was feeling and how his family would react to the whole situation that he hadn't thought about what would happen next. He would understand if she couldn't handle it and he wouldn't hold it against her, but that didn't mean he wouldn't be quite devastated himself.

“Have you heard from her since this morning?” Kate asked, her voice laced with sympathy once again.

“No, I haven't,” Harry admitted, shaking his head. “I sent her a text, but she hasn't answered. I know she doesn't get along with her father though so I would assume their conversation this morning didn't go well. I figure I'll give her some space then reach out again tomorrow.”

A silence fell amongst the group as they mulled over what they'd been told until Charles broke the quiet with a sigh.

“Well, son,” He started, looking defeated, but still very reluctant. “Once you speak with her and know if there is a future for your relationship, you should bring her round for tea. It's only fair that we give this young lady an honest chance.”

“Great!” He smiled as relief that he'd won his family's approval, at least for now, washed over him. “Now, I believe I was lured here with the promise of dinner. Shall we eat?”

There was a chorus of laughter at Harry's less than subtle changing of the subject, but Charles nodded in agreement and stood to lead the family to the dining room.

#prince harry fanfiction #prince harry fan fic #phff

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